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sasa-gay-yo · 3 years

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His Little Teacher (Levi Ackerman x Teacher!Reader)

Request: Here

Summary: You never knew your favorite kindergartener, Isabel Ackerman, had such a good-looking father until Parent-Teacher Conferences.

Timeline: Modern!AU

Warnings: this bitch is LONG, Some slight mentions of sexual activity, drinkin

Art Credits: ? help pls

She was the only child who never had a chaperone, or a parent come with cookies or treats on their birthday. If you didn’t look at her profile, you wouldn’t even know what day her birthday was and that it had passed a month prior to today. Even when you would go on field trips, like today, sending home permission slips encouraging parents to come to museum, all that came back was the five dollars for lunch and his elusive signature.

Levi Ackerman

Despite that, you loved the little raven-haired girl. She was smart, she always listened, washed her own face and hands after craft time, and she always talked about her father. Even now, on the bus to the museum with her pink princess backpack on her lap, she was talking about her father to you. From what you gathered, her mother had passed away when she was born, and he was the only one taking care of her. That’s what her preschool teacher had said to you in the teacher’s lounge last week. You felt bad that you judged his parenting when you finally learned that, now knowing he was probably working hard to take care of her and raise her as well as he did. You just wanted parents to be involved with their children, especially with your favorite child. However, from what she’s told you about her father, you didn’t need to worry about that too much.

“And he’s so strong Miss. (Y/L/N)! Yesterday, Daddy and I went to pick out a fish tank and he carried it even full of water to our kitchen table. Daddy got a Dory fish and I got a Nemo fish.” You smiled down at her, nodding at her stories. She grabbed at your hand harder, trying to convince you at how strong her father was. You did wonder what the man looked like, again, having the preschool teachers tell you all about her glorious looking father. Still, halfway through the school year, you’d never met him, and she took the bus back and forth from school every day. You just had his neat signature.

Throughout the whole field trip, she didn’t let go of your hand, dragging you around to all of the stations while you let your other fellow teachers deal with the whole group. They knew that they couldn’t do anything to drag you away from that child. She was like a magnet to you, even on the first day of school. Your fellow teachers said that your first class of students was always special, and so it made sense that you had a relationship with a child like that. Bright-eyed, cute, and very insightful on certain things. The only thing that you would write down on her monthly report cards was how blunt she was to her fellow students.

You would have to hide your laugh with the things she said to them. In her defense, nothing she said was wrong, but you did have to teach her how to give constructive criticism without insulting anyone. When you sat her in the time out corner, she would give an annoying look at the calm-down toys, her arms crossed. It was comical, but oh, so cute. This is why you taught kindergarteners. They were just learning how to live life, and you were there to guide them along on their quite funny mistakes... and you got a front row seat to those hilarious moments.

“Miss. (Y/L/N), did I tell you that Daddy can come to student teacher conferences? He gave me a note to give you!” She dug through her backpack again and pulled out a cleanly folded white piece of paper to give to you.

“That’s great, Isabel! I can tell your father how good you are.” She beamed up at me, and you knew how much she loved when you praised her. It must be what her father does at home. You took time to read the tiny note, taking in neat and orderly handwriting.

Miss. (Y/L/N),

Next week’s Parent-Teacher conference openings are at weird times in my work schedule, but I do really wish to attend to talk about Isabel’s first school year. Is there anyway we can have a meeting later in the night? I’m sorry if it’s too much of you to ask to stay in the building that long, but either 8 or 9pm would work best for me. I am able to get Isabel a babysitter then.

My email is: [email protected]

Thank you in advance,

Levi Ackerman, Isabel Ackerman’s father

There it was, that signature. You had seen it almost every week on a random piece of paper or Isabel’s planner. You would make sure that you would stay late for him. You wanted to meet the man that raised your favorite student on his own. Even if it was Friday and you were planning to go out for drinks, you were sure your friends would understand your lateness.

When you had waved all the children goodbye, including Isabel who was always last on the bus wanting to keep talking to you, you went right away to email Mr. Ackerman back.

Hello Mr. Ackerman,

This is Isabel’s kindergarten teacher, Miss. (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N). I received your note today, and am totally willing to meet with you at 8:30 or 9 pm. The last scheduled meeting for Friday is at 8:00 pm, so you won’t be holding me back in the building at all. I am excited to meet you and talk about Isabel’s progress!

Best,

(Y/F/N) (Y/L/N)

You sent the email and sat back in your chair, thinking about the man before you got to grading the color tests. From what the other teachers had told you, he was short, but very good looking. He also seemed a bit young to be a father, or at least that’s what their judgement was. You probably wouldn’t be very focused on his looks, but his personality. If it was anything like Isabel’s, it was to be enjoyable. You wouldn’t be upset to stay back for that.

In the teacher’s lounge, you took out the early dinner you packed, turning to the others who had done the same. The town had to be small enough that even if they didn’t have Isabel in their class, they would know about the Ackermans. You didn’t grow up in this town, and you only did your student teaching here, so you knew absolutely nothing besides what the PTA moms gossiped loudly about in your classroom.

“Do any of you know about Levi Ackerman? All I’ve heard is that he’s young and good looking. I have a conference with him this week.” You sat down with the younger teachers whom you formed a bond with your first day here. They also looked eager to answer your question in hushed tones.

“The only thing I know is that the woman he got pregnant was like a one-night stand or something. They didn’t like each other, were in the same friend group, and then it was like a drunken fantasy or something. Then, she shows up a few months later after he got hired at this big company in town, pregnant. Rumors say that she was going to terminate her pregnancy, but he vogued to keep it. The day after Isabel Ackerman’s birth, she took off, never to be heard or seen from again.” You mouth widened as you shoveled in your rice.

“I thought she died? Isabel said something like that.” The all shook their heads no.

“It’s probably what he tells her since she’s too young to understand.” You nodded in agreement and turned to Mella who was student-teaching for the preschool when Isabel was there. She was the one who told you how he looked, and she apparently went to school around him.

“Is he as handsome as they say?” She shrugged and took a drink.

“He is, short, but like, he’s a dark handsome if that makes sense. It’s the personality that people didn’t like. He’s really antisocial and mean to other parents, like he’ll insult you for anything. He was the best at everything during high school, and people always thought he was cocky, hence the attitude..”

“So that’s where Isabel gets her little problem from. I hope he isn’t like the other parents then, thinking their kid is the best. If he is, I guess he’ll just be nice to look at.”

Friday 8:39 PM

“Yes, well, sometimes when we see this behavior in a student, we first tell the parents to see if it is something at home affecting them. Perhaps other older siblings? Someone who may show negative emotion to him?” She scoffed in your face and grabbed the behavior evaluation sheet out of your hands.

“There is nothing wrong at our house! How dare you to assume that about us!” The husband just sat back in the chair almost glaring at his wife. Right, right, nothing going on at your house. You felt bad for Ryan too. The boy was smart and incredibly creative, but he couldn’t play well with anyone else. He felt the need to yell at any child who tried to get him to share, probably emulating behavior of an older sibling or parent. No doubt, the mother… but you had to be professional about the headache she was giving me.

“I’m so sorry if my words offended you! I didn’t mean anything like that,” you held your hands up in defense, “Maybe it could be TV shows he watches that models this type of behavior? Something to spur anger?” That made her calm down and think about it. You didn’t think a six-year-old was watching violent TV shows on PBS, but who knows what goes on in that house.

“Maybe we can monitor his TV intake, yes.” You sighed and looked up at the clock. This had gone over thirty minutes because they had to pick apart everything you said about Ryan. You sneaked a look out the door but saw an empty hallway. When was he going to come?

“Thank you both for coming. It means so much to me that you are involved in your child’s education at such an early age. It shows them the importance of an education and makes my job that much easier!” You gave them your spiel, standing by the door, and she refused to leave for some reason. She probably wanted to stay and brag loudly to the next parent who was coming. That was a common thing, for the parents waiting to talk about their kids, but how much genius could you find in your kids scissor practice paper?

“Do you know what parent is next? We’re friends with most of them, you know, PTA president things! It’s getting late however, are we the last ones?” She was looking left and right down the dimly lit hallway to stalk her prey.

“Next is Mr. Ackerman. He’s the last parent to go.” Her smile dropped.

“Oh, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him around. He doesn’t donate for the fairs; he hasn’t come to any of the Daddy-daughter dances we’ve had… I wonder what he even does, all alone like that.” You heard the tone of judgment ricochet through her words and your headache got bigger. She had no room to judge other parents.

“Well, I think it’s very commendable how he’s raised such a wonderful child in the circumstances he’s been given. Being a single parent is never easy. My mother raised me and my siblings by herself.” She looked you up and down, now judging you for your upbringing. She should be judging how her attitude affects her son’s interpersonal skills.

“Ah, yes, how commendable of your mother! Honey, we should get back to the kids.” She gave me a sickening smile before hauling her husband down the hallway, no doubt to insult you. You made sure she turned the corner, and the hallway was clean before you collapsed back on the door frame, holding your head.

“I swear I never had such bad parents when I was student teaching. Ugh, my head. How much can you analyze a five-year-old’s sight word recognition?”

“And they want judge me for not going to any PTA meetings when they act like this.” You jumped, covering your mouth as a silent scream ran through your body. How had you not seen him? He was leaning on the wall right next to the door, suit coat in hand. You were sure you checked both sides of the hallway before you said that. Damn it. Strike one to you acting professional.

“M-Mr. Ackerman. Nice to meet you finally!” You re-tucked your shirt back in before extending a hand. He looked down at it, smirking, before shaking your hand back.

“Nice to meet you too, Miss. (Y/L/N). My daughter seems to only talk about you these days.” You almost blushed at his words and from the fact you finally got to see him. He was incredibly handsome. You didn’t know why you didn’t listen enough your fellow teachers, and you wish you prepared yourself more than the sweater and the midi-skirt you were wearing. You did have a change of clothes for the bar you’d be going to with your friends after this, but that was highly, highly school inappropriate. What was also inappropriate was how long you were staring at his suit clad form. It was the way he had his sleeves rolled up and two buttons undone that made you stare.

“Let’s go in,” you smiled at him, gesturing to the circular table you set up in the center of the classroom. You had Isabel’s file right on the desk waiting for him. It was funny to see him sit in the small chair that was meant for a child who tagged along, but you didn’t have the heart to tell him. It fit his height a bit, and was very cute.

“That chair is for the children unless you would like to sit in it. I have no judgement though; they are surprisingly comfortable.” He looked up at me before seeing the regular sized chairs at the other end of the table. He then just shrugged and set his suit coat to hand on the side of the purple chair.

“We have these at home, so I’m used to it.” You nodded and opted to sit down on an equal sized chair to be eye level with him. He noticed your gesture and smiled at you. Now that, you would literally pay to see him smile again. You thought back to what Mella said. Cocky, insulting; you didn’t see any of that now. Maybe he’d matured the few years after they went to school or just was trying to act nice in front of his daughter’s teacher.

Isabel had talked so much about her father, but he never said how incredibly hot he was. I mean, that made sense, but still. He couldn’t have been older than you, there was no way. How was this man hiding in the midst of all the middle-aged parents? You were excited to share the news with your friends after this. A hot parent was always nice, and you hadn’t had one yet. He would be your first.

“Well, Mr. Ackerman, this is going to be a short meeting. Isabel is my model student really. Here’s some work of hers to look at. She’s smart, attentive, clean, and very, very sweet.” He smiled down at a drawing Isabel had made of him and that made your heart sing even more. This smile was very different from the short one he gave you. It was like his soul was singing through his eyes. How could he be so hot and so loving of his child at the same time? You could see it. The genuine love he had for that drawing and the little girl who made it. The little girl who looked exactly like her father, minus the eye color.

“But she does have a mouth, I know that for a fact. The fat mom called me a few weeks ago complaining about what Isabel said to… what’s his name? Rock? Rufus?” You couldn’t hold in your laugh this time, even if it was unprofessional to agree with him. The whole meeting was unprofessional at this point. You were sitting in foot tall chairs and thinking about how good of a figure he had. It was actually refreshing how laid back he seemed to be, unlike the other parents, especially this late at night.

“Yes, she is sometimes very… critical of her peers. Ryan is a student who doesn’t get along with others. She had to let him know that. To be honest, it is very funny, but still, we have to teach her to be constructive with it.” He nodded, now listening to your words with the same attention he gave to Isabel’s drawing. It made you melt even more. He cared so much about his child. Oh god, why was he perfect?

“I’ll work on her with that. She gets that from me. During quarantine, when she was doing preschool at home, I was also working. She probably heard me talking to some of my workers in that tone.” That made me perk up, knowing absolutely nothing about him. You usually do parent introductions at the first all-class meeting, but he, obviously, wasn’t there. Now that he exceeded all your expectations, you want to know more.

“If you mind me asking, where do you work?” He leaned back as much as he could in the chair, trying to spread his legs under the table. The way his ankle brushed against yours didn’t go unnoticed.

“I’m a Lead Captain in the Survey company in town. I’m fifty-fifty office work and on the job work, lifting and things.” That would explain how good his arms were looking under his sleeves. He did manual labor half of the time.

You nodded and handed him Isabel’s behavior sheet out of the folder. You got your pen to explain him the scales, and when you turned back, he had leaned in pretty far to hover over the paper. Trying to hide your blush in your hair, you tried not to react to his closeness. He didn’t seem to pull back, so you continued to explain to him how her score was perfect except for group behavior. Again, he listened so intently to your suggestions and what you had to say about Isabel it made your heart glow with warmth.

“I guess when she was younger, the only interaction she would get was at morning preschool. She only has a babysitter since I can’t afford daycare. That’s my fault, one hundred percent. I-I heard that you know how single parenting is.” He pointed to the door with his thumb, referring to the interaction you had with Ryan’s parents. It was refreshing for a parent to take the blame too. He was getting more and more perfect by the minute. A perfect child and a perfect father. It made so much sense.

“Yes, growing up I was an attention hog. I only had older brothers, so when I went to school I expect to be treated like a princess. I had my first great awakening when a boy threw mud at my face during recess because I refused to share my swing.” He leaned his head back and let out a deep laugh and you matched him, taking in the view he was giving you. This seemed to be a one night only type thing, so you’d take your liberties where you could. I mean, if you didn’t study his face, how were you going to describe him well enough to everyone at the bar?

No. You shouldn’t be thinking this much about how good looking and perfect a student’s parent was. You shouldn’t be thinking about what’s under his clothes either.

“With the way Isabel talks about you, you might as well be a princess. It’s ‘Miss. (Y/L/N) does it this way, Daddy’ or ‘Daddy, today Miss. (Y/L/N) and I did this!’ You seem to be taking my child away from me, Miss. (Y/L/N).” You smiled, and almost blushed at what he was telling you about Isabel and put a hand over your heart. The teachers were right about your first class.

“You can call me (Y/F/N), Mr. Ackerman. We seem to be similar in age.” He sat up again, nodding and taking the behavior sheet you gave him.

“Then it’s Levi to you, (Y/F/N). I’m thirty-two. May I ask how old you are?” Your mouth dropped and you couldn’t help it. You didn’t think he would be in his thirties and now your numbers were thrown off.

“You don’t look at all like you’re over thirty. I’m twenty-seven.” He smirked again and seemed to be comfortable enough to lean back again, arms coming together behind his head. The pose made your heart beat faster again. Oh yeah, you were telling your friends all about this.

“Well, thank you, (Y/F/N). I’m glad you think I’m so young. Isabel calls me an old man already.” You laughed and looked up at the clock. 8:52. You had time to talk more, pushing a few minutes, but you didn’t know if he had somewhere to go. This meeting itself was set up because of scheduling conflicts. You wanted to talk to him more about Isabel and his experience raising her, but you didn’t know if that would be too personal for him.

“Now, that might be my fault. She asked me sometime during our lesson about family how old did someone have to be to be considered an Uncle and I told her above 30. Then she asked if I was old, and I told her that compared to her I was. So, she now thinks that people about twenty-seven are now old.” He shook his head and let out one huff in laughter.

“Now because of you I have no game. Imagine, first, I already have a child, and now when I bring a date home, she tells her that I was an old man. I never get a third date because of that. Are you trying to keep me forever single, (Y/F/N)?” Was he… was he flirting with you? No, it couldn’t be. He was just talking, just bantering like every parent does. The problem was is that he was a very single, very good-looking parent. This was a dangerous situation and it happened during your first-year teaching. This was bad.

“I’ll talk to her on Monday to tell her to stop calling her father an old man. Does that atone for my sins?” He quirked an eyebrow up, smirking again, but this time you could tell that he was definitely flirting with you.

“Maybe, I’ll have to come to these meetings more often. To check up on your progress with getting my daughter to go against me. The only reason I don’t come around the school often is because of the other parents.” You leaned your head in your hand, finally just deciding to go along with it. Even if he said that, this was probably the only time you two were going to meet and Isabel was going to progress on to a new teacher in a few months. You both were young too, nothing was going to get to HR.

“Next week, I’ll try to get her to call you a silly, old man, how about it? We can have a progress check next Friday.” You felt your Apple Watch buzz, looking down to see who was calling. Armin. He was probably wondering where you were, but you thought you told them you’d be late.

“I’m sorry about that, it’s just my friends.” You went to hang up, knowing that in a few minutes Eren would call. Then Jean. Then Connie. Then Sasha. Then Historia. Mikasa wouldn’t care, but at this point, the train of calls would be never ending. You were going to yell at them for cutting into your time with Levi.

“Ah, don’t worry about it. I also have something to do tonight, but it was great talking to you.” You almost pouted when he went to stand up, grabbing Isabel’s folder. You were dumb to think he was flirting with you, and now you got your hopes up.

“If you have anything you need or any questions about Isabel, I’m here to answer them. Also, I’m supposed to extend out an invitation for our Spring Festival celebration next week. If you would like to come, it will be on Friday at 2 pm.” You stood, matching his height. You really wanted him to come this time, as he never came to anything, but you knew he probably wouldn’t.

He smiled at you, “You know, maybe I will come. You’ll just have to protect me from the PTA moms.” You both started walking to the door and you took the chance, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Levi, I stay as far away from them as possible. It’s an all-school thing, so it will be easy to avoid them.” You saw the little glance down to your hand before he just nodded once and continued to walk out of your classroom. He put on his suit coat and looked back at me, smiling a bit to say goodbye.

“Have fun with your friends tonight, (Y/F/N). A great teacher like you deserves to relax.” You smiled back at him, leaning on the doorframe.

“You, too, Levi. With whatever you’re doing tonight. A single father like you deserves to relax.”

Club Rio

“Eren, if I have to tell you to stop touching me one more time, I will break your arm off!” He winced, taking his arm off of your shoulders and drinking his beer. The bar was packed tonight, so there was almost seven of you crowded around a single circle tabletop. You already felt smooshed, so you didn’t want Eren to make it worse.

“How were your conferences today, (Y/F/N)?” Armin asked you from across the table and you held a thumb up while taking a drink. It may be squished, but it was worth it to get this buzz. You took Levi’s advice and relaxed hard. The amount of bullshit you spewed in the last three days to make the parents happy to it out of you.

“Most of them are the same old, your child is great, I love having them in my class, here’s something to work on though, and then they blame my teaching. It’s really annoying having to agree with their criticism of me, but I want to keep my job. However,” you held a finger up, “the last meeting was with a single father in my class. He was amazingly hot. A bit over thirty. He also is the father of my favorite student, so it just added to it. Like a treat at the end of a hard week.” You could hear Jean and Eren scoff, but Historia leaned in, her blue eyes wide and sparkly from the drinks.

“What did he look like?”

“He’s short, like my height, but he has black hair. An undercut. Then he’s definitely muscular. You could even see it through his button up. Thirty-Two. His eyes are really narrow, but like a type of grey that shines. One of the teachers described him to be a dark handsome, and I completely agree. She also said he was kinda of cocky and insulted people a lot. Too bad he doesn’t show up around the school because he’s busy at working at some company in town.” You saw Jean and Armin exchange looks and you pointed at both of them.

“Hey, hey, hey. What was that?” Jean spoke up first.

“Um, well, is this person - is his name Levi Ackerman by chance?” Your eyes widened and you stood straight up, your body colliding with Eren’s. Jean now had your full attention.

“How do you know him? You two didn’t live here before!” Jean leaned to rest his arms on the table, looking at Eren to explain since he wouldn’t have to yell over the crowd.

“No, but he’s our team captain at work. Short, black hair, mean, grey eyes: I think you described him to a T. But, you said he was a treat? That doesn’t sound at all like the Levi that chewed me out today because I didn’t put a signature at the end of my email.” Eren answered and you gave him a confused look. Levi seemed really nice and he joked with you. Maybe it was just his work personality.

“He was though. He even called me a great teacher and we went by first name basis.” This time Mikasa spoke up next to Eren.

“Levi’s nice to women, Eren. Not to people who probably mess up all the time at work.” Eren groaned and you arched your body around his so you could look at her. She did look a little like him, but she was half Asian, so there was some doubt in your mind. From what you could connect though, they may act alike in certain situations. Maybe it was on her dad’s side.

“Ackerman! Are you related?! How did I not think about that before?” She nodded as Eren nudged her for the comment she made about his work ethic.

“On my father’ side. We’re cousins, but distant. I don’t talk to him unless we’re forced to at family functions. But he does act how they’re saying. He’s cold and calm, you can’t tell what he’s thinking usually. Most of the time he has a scowl on his face and doesn’t talk a lot unless it’s an insult or something. Then again, you’re a pretty woman, so that could have changed his attitude.” You blushed a bit, trying to hide it in your hair, but Connie caught you.

“You have a little crush on the DILF, don’t you?! I can see it!” He poked your cheek, him and Sasha roaring in laughter.

“No, he was just nice to look at! He also really cares about his daughter, which is just… girls like guys who are good with kids. Teacher’s also like parents who care about their kids, it makes my job easier.” They still couldn’t stop laughing and you couldn’t stop blushing.

“A teacher-parent relationship, how scandalous,” Jean added in on making fun of me, “What will the PTA moms say about that (Y/F/N)?” You glared at all of them as they laughed.

“I told you he was just hot!”

Paradis Elementary Spring Festival

“Do you need any help reorganizing this whole table so the PTA mom’s stop roping me into work I don’t want to do?” You jumped at the body that came close behind you. You also jumped because you didn’t expect him to show up. The little raven-haired girl ran to the playground and you turned around quickly, eyes wide.

“Levi! I mean, Mr. Ackerman. I’m glad you showed up!” He nodded and used both hands to lean down on the table seeing the cupcakes that I rearranged four times, so I didn’t have to talk to the mothers about their kids.

“You said you’d protect me from them, but there I was carrying all the boxes from their damn cars.” You looked over at the mothers, now huddled around staring at you talking to Levi and gossiping. Figures. Last year, one of the third-grade teachers breathed in the wrong direction and there were rumors about her having an affair with a married man. You hoped you weren’t next on the PTA list.

“Well, its not common for a father to come to these types of events. Notice how there aren’t any on the PTA.” He switched positions so he could lean on the table and watch Isabel play on the swings with her friends and the older children. You picked up the Capri Suns from the ground, deciding to organize them by flavor.

“You know what Isabel asked me the other night? After our conference?” You perked up at his words, signaling that you were interested in what she said.

“Hm?” He scratched the back of his neck, now debating whether he should tell you this. It was a bit personal and maybe would make you, as a teacher, uncomfortable with Isabel. Either way, he did it.

“Well, I actually had a date that night,” your heart dropped a little bit, and you scowled down at your chest, “and my date needed an umbrella, so I went in to get her one. When I came out Isabel was there outside our apartment, glaring up at this woman, arms crossed and everything.” You giggled at that, imagining it in your head. You could see her signature glare now looking up at someone three times taller and five times older. You looked over to Isabel, matching Levi’s stance against the table. Right now, it looked like she was lecturing a boy on how to play the floor is lava.

“She asked me why I didn’t bring you home,” he said through a laugh and you followed his cue laughing. You weren’t doing any laughing on the inside. Your mind was swirling now after he said that, but he couldn’t have meant that. It was just Isabel thinking like a six-year-old. If Levi told her he had a date, she might have just thought that the two meetings were connected. Yeah, he couldn’t mean anything other than that.

Still.

“Ah, she’s funny, isn’t she?” You almost winced at how dismissive your tone was. It sounded like you wanted to move on from the conversation and you were afraid he took it the wrong way. You didn’t want to dismiss the opportunity of it being him flirting with you, but you also didn’t believe that was his intention. Now he thought must have thought that it was your intention to ignore it anyways. He stayed silent after that. Goddamn it. You had to fill the space somehow.

“Are you related to a Mikasa?” He seemed to perk up after that, turning his head to look right at you in recognition.

“She’s my cousin, yes. How do you know her? Are you friends with those brats?” You huffed in laughter at his tone. Brats wasn’t a word you would use for your friend group, but you guessed since he was a bit older and, from what you heard, was annoyed all the time by them at work.

“We know each other from college, yeah. Since they had secured a job at Survey, I decided to follow by teaching here so we’d all live by each other. I met Eren first.” He lifted up an eyebrow and you could see a little trace of annoyance gloss over his face. It was very much an Isabel look, or rather, she’d gotten it from her father. Pretty much copy and paste.

“You met him first and wanted to meet the rest of them?” You rolled your eyes at that. You can see how Connie and Sasha got a bit wild, Eren and Jean a bit intense, but overall, they were great people to be friends with. Armin had helped you through a required science class, Historia and Mikasa stayed with you and bought you ice cream when your boyfriend had broken up with you, Connie and Sasha were the life of the party any hour of the day, and Jean and Eren, respectively, would provide you some stress relief and good times when you were down. No, they were the greatest people you’d met.

“They’re my best friends, Levi. I love all of them.” The annoyed look still didn’t leave his face and he crossed his arms. Was he really going to argue with you about your friend group? If he did, you would definitely text the group chat to make his next work week a living hell for revenge.

“You don’t seem to be like them. Maybe Historia, but still, I wouldn’t peg you to be with that group.” You turned back around, seeing the children starting to walk over to the snack tables. Soon, once they were done with their lunch, they would descend on the cupcakes you were guarding and destroy the orderly table. You had to tape down the cheap plastic tablecloth, so it stood a chance.

“What do I seem like then? They’ve told me about you, you know. I couldn’t believe what they were telling me.” You grabbed the tape, ducking under the table do you couldn’t see his expression. However, his legs moved as he turned to face where you once were.

“Much more professional and put together than them. Maybe Armin is okay, but the others, I had to teach them how to write a formal email.”

“Well, you’ve never seen me outside of a school setting. Arguably, you know all of them more than you know me. If I had to compare myself to any of them it would be a mix between Armin and Jean. When we all go out, it seems to be like that. I can see, though, how they’d be a bit tough to handle at work.”

“Well, then why don’t we meet outside of school?” Your breath had to have stopped, but his face was completely serious. Did he just ask you on a date? Right in front of the kindergarten cupcake table?

“Miss. (Y/L/N)! Can we have a cupcake now?” Two or three of your students gathered at your leg, and you looked down at them, probably with your eyes still wide. You then looked back to Levi who was giving the children a very annoyed stare, before stepping back from the table so they had full access.

“U-Um, what did you – Cupcakes! Yes, El, you can have one cupcake each. What color do you want?” You went to hand them the specific colors you wanted, and you thought that your business would make Levi go somewhere else, but he was there staring at you while you handed them out. His gaze was unwavering as he leaned up against the basketball net’s pole. Even when Isabel came to stand next to his legs, he didn’t look down at her. You knew he was waiting for an answer and you were having an internal crisis.

You didn’t think you’d get this far, actually, no you never thought this would happen. It was going to be the one parent-teacher meeting, then you’d never see him again and only complain to Mikasa and Historia about how you let him get away. Now, he literally just came out with it. Was this his whole intention of coming today? Your stomach did flipflops because of that. But now, you were thinking of how unprofessional it would look if you two did start something. You would be offender number one for the PTA moms and it was only your first year teaching. Then, on the other hand, the school year was almost over, and you would soon not be Isabel’s teacher and you and he were both single. And he was very good looking. And he was good with kids. And you did like him a bit, only having talked to him for thirty minutes. Still, what could fully develop if you took up his offer?

“Can I please have all the parents and their children gather?” You turned your neck to look at the principal who had yelled that through a blowhorn. He was standing on the makeshift stage in front of the school, probably going to give the day ending speech before dismissing the children with their participation medals for the games we played. You would have time to ask your crisis hotline and you were thankful that Isabel so eagerly pulled her father towards the front of the school. You still couldn’t shake his gaze, him looking over his shoulder at you while you tried to hide your blush.

Once you were alone on the basketball field, you used your watch to send a text to you, Historia, Mikasa, and Sasha’s group chat.. You knew whatever they were doing, they would take the chance to slack off. It also had to be important if you were texting during the school day.

From Mi: What are you texting us for?

From Mrs. Potato Head: Yes, aren’t you at school?

From (Y/F/N): Okay, well a situation has occurred, and I need quick guidance. I only have like two minutes

From My Queen: We can help!

From (Y/F/N): Thank you, Historia. I know I can count on you.

From Mrs. Potato Head: Just get on with it! I didn’t eat lunch today and I’m starving!

From (Y/F/N): Ok, ok, ok!

You glanced over at the parents and there he was, staring at you while holding Isabel’s hand.

From (Y/F/N): Oh god, I can’t believe I’m even saying this to you guys. I think Levi asked me on a date!

From Mrs. Potato Head: OUR BOSS LEVI ACKERMAN?!

From My Queen: You sound like a sixteen-year-old, (Y/F/N)! Of course, he would ask you out, who wouldn’t?

From Mi: So, what are you asking us? It’s a yes isn’t it?

From Mrs. Potato Head: Yeah, by the way you were talking about him at the bar last week, it has to be a yes

From Mi: If you two get married, we’ll be cousins

From (Y/F/N): Stop that! I don’t know if I should! I’m his daughter’s teacher and I barely know him

The principal was on his ending notes, and you could tell that Isabel was going to race up to you before saying goodbye. She always did. At the end of the day, you would take he to the bus with the other kids, and she would have to run her homework by you, tell you one or two random things, and then get yelled at before she would go on the bus.

From My Queen: Isn’t that why you go on dates with people or am I mistaken? Mikasa, is your cousin a serial killer?

From Mi: No, Historia, I don’t think he is. I think you should do it, (Y/F/N). Even if it’s kinda weird I’m setting you up with my cousin

You rolled her eyes at her remarks and the clapping notified you that in about thirty seconds a little raven-haired girl was going to be at your feet.

From (Y/F/N): Don’t tell the guys about this please. Not unless the date goes well, okay?

From Mrs. Potato: Oh, so you’re accepting! That’s mad crazy. My best friend and my boss. I’m going to tell Connie

From Mrs. Potato Head: Oh, wait, shit sorry. Nevermind

You groaned and knew that your request would fall on deaf ears. Soon you’d have Jean and Eren at your heels telling you that you shouldn’t go out with anyone but either one of them.

“Miss. (Y/L/N)!” Isabel started her bounding run towards you, and you could see Levi starting to walk in that same direction, his eyes never having left your figure. Jesus, this man’s gaze was so intense.

From (Y/F/N): We’re talking more later

You put your phone away, turning around to face Isabel with a big smile hiding how nervous you were in her father’s presence. Everything wrong was going through your mind. What if he didn’t mean a date? What if he thinks you’re too young for him? What happens when the date goes terribly that you end up hating him?

“Miss. (Y/L/N), I got a medal from the principal, look!” She held up the participation medal that all the children got. Something about everyone deserving to win something. You were falling asleep during that meeting.

“That’s great, Isabel! You can hang it on the fridge, yeah?” You could see his eyes spark when you said that. He smirked, too, finding it funny that you knew about their fridge, completely covered with Isabel’s drawings, report cards, and various other trinkets. Perhaps it was even a bit heartwarming to him.

“Is, can you go get your backpack from the classroom? Daddy needs to talk about you to Miss. (Y/L/N.” The little girl just lifted her head up, almost falling over to look back at Levi.

“But Daddy, I’m not done talking to Miss. (Y/L/N)!” One second of annoyance reappeared on his face before urging her to go do it again. This time, with a pout, she walked inside with the rest of her classmates to go get ready to leave.

“So, how does Saturday sound?” He was really direct, and you’d guess it was his age or the fact that you haven’t dated anyone other than college frat boys in their early twenties. You looked back at him, remembering what the girls said. They wanted you to go on it and you, yeah, you definitely wanted to go on it too.

“At seven?” You suggested and you swear you saw a smile break across his face before he dropped it to nod. That made the butterflies come back again.

“Seven, yeah. I’ll get your address from Mikasa.”

Saturday, 3:57 AM

“I couldn’t believe he posted that either! When Mikasa showed me that, I thought he was for sure getting fired,” my hands moved with my words as I explained to Levi about Eren’s awful thirst trapping social media posts. While I was doing this, he gripped my shoulder with the hand shrugged around me, trying to steer me in the right direction. Granted, I was also probably a little tipsy from the alcohol we consumed at the second bar. It was cheaper and fruitier, so I obliged, and Levi seemed to find it amusing.

“Oh, he definitely got reprimanded. It took everything in me not to kick him. Erwin is usually away, so I’m the one who has to deal with everything. One time they started, oh what are those things called, the pictures that are supposed to be funny?” He was gesturing with the hand next to my ear, trying to get me to fill in the blank.

“Memes? I knew you were old, but not this old, Lev.” He rolled his eyes at you, ignoring your insult and continuing with his story.

“They started a Meme fight in the company group chat even though I clearly laid out the rules to them. Apparently, their explanation was that if they got everyone to do it, I couldn’t punish everyone in the office.” I smiled up at him and grabbed loosely at his fingers, trying to hold his hand, but not really. I ended up just playing with them as we walked up to my apartment building.

“So, you punished everyone twice, yeah?” He smirked as we stopped outside the doorway of my building.

“Three times.” This made you both giggle like children, and you were sure the alcohol, the third round of drinks, was starting to have an affect on you both again. You’d make sure he’d call a cab to get back.

“I can walk you up to your door?” He suggested and your eyes widened, shaking your hands in front of you. He couldn’t know that Historia, Mikasa, and Sasha were on a stake-out at your apartment. It was something you all did when the other would go on a date with a new person. It was to make sure that they got home right and that they had someone to immediately rant, cry, or laugh with depending on how the date went. Last time, you, Mikasa, and Sasha almost went to egg a guy’s house that made Historia cry. However, this stake-out was going to be very different.

“No, it’s fine. It’s fine. I’m actually against gender norms. If anything, I should walk you home.” He raised an eyebrow, taking his arm off my shoulder. He wore the same suit had had during the parent-teacher conference and you made sure to comment on how hot you thought he looked back then. Rolled up sleeves, buttons undone, and now, tousled hair courtesy of you. It was a very good look.

“You wouldn’t want your kindergartener seeing you drunk.” You hit his chest after that comment, knowing you weren’t completely intoxicated. You could get up to your house, take off your makeup, and have a very productive conversation about how he had treated you to ice cream halfway through your bar hopping session.

“I’m not drunk, just happy. Tonight was really fun.” He smiled at you and nodded in agreement.

“Let’s do it again? And again? You up for it?” You matched his smile and grabbed his hand.

“Of course I am. This was probably the best date I’ve ever had, Levi.” You saw the blush paint his cheeks as he went to scratch the back of his neck.

“Me too, (Y/L/N). Me too.” You sent him off in a taxi, a single kiss on his cheek that left a smirk on his face. You stood there for a while too, letting the cool spring wind blow over your bare legs. Yeah, that was a few hours of heaven. Your heart warmed as you went up in the elevator, replaying the events in your head over and over again. You were sad it had to end, but it was almost four in the morning and you’d exhausted all open sit-down bars.

When you got inside your apartment, you saw them all sleeping on the couch besides Mikasa who locked very annoyed eyes with you. You just smiled and slid down the door, sitting on the floor.

“Oh god,” Mikasa groaned, seeing your lovesick face. She never though she’d meet someone who’d act like this for her cousin, must less one of her best friends. Sasha and Historia woke up, rubbing their eyes to look at the time. You wondered when they fell asleep.

“Why are you back so late?” Sasha mumbled, seeing the clock hit four in front of her eyes. At least you left her a stocked fridge. Historia was the first of the two to be wide awake, seeing your face clearly. She almost jumped up from the couch and ran over to you on the floor. You smile was still plastered over your face, thinking about Levi.

“How was it? How was it!?” Sasha covered her ears at Historia’s yells. She would care in the morning when she was awake. For now, she just looked at you as you stared Historia right in the eyes and said those bone crushing words.

“Historia, I think I’m in love.”

“Love?!” Mikasa popped up, sounding so taken aback by that. No, she’d never, ever bet on someone liking, much less falling in love with her cousin. What had he done to you? She rested her head on the back of the couch, looking over to you. Historia grabbed your hand hard, excited for you.

“No way! Are you sure? How do you know? What did you two do for some long? Huh! You didn’t!” You shook your head, knowing what she was thinking. No, he was a gentleman the whole night with you, even if you did exchange a few buzzed kisses here and there on the fake leather couches of a swanky bar downtown.

“We went for dinner first at a hibachi place. We talked for hours and hours, I couldn’t tell you how long. It was just, I could’ve sit and talked to him in that uncomfortable chair for hours. We just walked about everything. Our lives, Isabel, how I became a teacher, you guys; it was just so refreshing. Then, when the hibachi place closed, he said he didn’t want to end it there, and so he took me to this high-end bar, and I had an overpriced martini and we talked and talked some more. I just couldn’t run out of topics, Historia. Maybe it was because I drank so much, but still, I was buzzing the whole time around him. Then when that bar closed, we went to ours, the one we go to, and I drank more. He did too. I guess the alcohol just opened us up. I don’t think I’ve ever talked to someone for that long about absolutely nothing. Even on the way back, we walked by the river, it was so pretty and there were almost no people. Just a little slice of heaven. I’m sad it had to end, but he asked if I wanted to do it again, and again. He’s just so nice and gentlemanly and funny and handsome and cute and-“ Sasha cut you off with her hand. She couldn’t stand someone talking about her boss like that. If she kept listening to you, she would definitely say something at work and she was too afraid of what Levi would do to her.

“Guys, she’s completely whipped for our boss.” You smiled up at her, acknowledging that fact. Being with Levi just felt so good. Your heart was light and your head was buzzing around. Every time he leaned over to kiss you, you had butterflies in your stomach like some little girl. You even went into the date telling yourself you’d have to act more upright than you really are, but that went out the window when the hibachi chef squirted Levi in the eye with water and you couldn’t handle it. You were just so comfortable around him, it was hard to be professional and upright. He did tell you that you were correct, you were different outside of school, but he loved it.

“He told me that my personality came out tenfold when I was outside of school grounds. He said he liked it a lot and thought I was cute.” You were wringing your hands together, the feeling hitting your toes. God, you never had a man make you feel like this. All of the fairytale books you read the kids now made complete sense. Even Sasha’s gagging sound didn’t take you out of that trance.

“You look so head-over-heals, (Y/F/N),” Historia said, laughing next to you while looking at your eyes. She took, well, they all had never seen you like this around a man you went on a date or one-night stand with. Not Jean, Eren, the one guy you dated in college, or the one right after graduation; none of them made you look like this. It almost made Mikasa sick looking at how lovestruck you were on the floor. All for Levi.

Five Months Later

From Captain <3: I venomed you for the pizza last night. You should use it to bring me a bubble tea from that shop we went to last week

From my little teach: I’m in a meeting, but in like an hour, sure.

From Captain <3: I never understood how you seem busier on summer vacation than you did during the school year

From my little teach: Not my fault you chose to date a teacher, at least I’m always free at night

From Captain <3: Then you have to leave early in the morning and the bed gets cold

From Captain <3: You know I’m anemic ☹

“Miss. (Y/L/N), do you find something funny about the change in our core curriculum?” Your eyes looked up to the fifth-grade teacher presenting and smiled to try and hide your embarrassment.

“No, Mrs. Warnas, I was just thinking about the unique drawings I’m going to get from my kindergarteners once we introduce them to storyboarding.” That seemed to satisfy her enough to turn back around and smile to herself at my compliment. I’m glad that was in my head still, because I didn’t want to get caught in front of all the teachers. They already knew I was in a relationship with a past parent, so them catching me texting like a high schooler in class would be mortifying.

From my little teach: You just got me in trouble

From Captain <3: I’m texting you in a meeting too

From Captain <3: You’re just bad at being sneaky

When you showed up at the office, two bubble teas in hand, you were greeted first by Connie who wanted one.

“Pleaseeeeee, I’ve been working so hard today!” You moved the drinks away from his grabby hands and glared at him. You knew that if Sasha came over too, you’d have to guard these drinks with your life.

“They aren’t for you, Con. I’ll buy you one another time.” He whined again and Jean’s head popped up from over a cubical, one arm resting on the edge.

“Jeez, (Y/F/N). Isn’t this the third time this week you came here? I don’t remember you ever visiting us this much before you started dating our boss.” You stuck your tongue out at him and took a sip of your tea to rub it in his face.

“You’re just jealous you didn’t land me. You had so many chances, yet it slipped through your fingers. You and Eren both.” His eyebrow quirked up, smirk breaking over his face. He was going to say something either sexual or annoying.

“I mean, if you want to talk about my finge-“

“What did you say, Kirstein?” Jean dropped his head, mumbling something, and sitting back in his chair. You turned around, locking eyes with Levi who was in the doorway of his office. His face was one you had gotten used to over the few months of visiting him at work. In this building, he was constantly on edge and it showed all over his face. His gaze was harsh, non-smiling, and always laced with annoyance or sleepiness. His words were the same way. Even the tone he took with Jean was the complete opposite of the one he talked to you or Isabel in.

“If I have to hear about Jean or Eren’s college relations with you one more time, I’ll fire both of them. I swear, I thought it would calm down, but almost everyday they have to say something and giggle to each other like fucking school children. Did you get the brown sugar boba?” You handed him his cup, sitting in the chair opposite his. He looked cute sipping on the boba while in his professional setting. The only time he wore his suit jacket was at work, but as he walked out of that door after clocking out, it was the first thing to come off.

“Bad day? You only ask for extra sugar when you’re feeling bad.” He huffed once in agreement with his bad day, taking another big sip and running a hand through his hair.

“A deal with a Japanese company we thought would be easy is toying with us and since Erwin’s out of town, it falls on Hange and I. I’ll probably have to take stuff home tonight and work.” You frowned, putting down your cup on his desk and leaning forward. He’d been stressed recently about work, which culminated in him needing daily visits to his office for you to calm him down. Pretty soon, he’d lock the door, making sure the blinds are all pulled, and have you sit on his lap to calm him down.

“I can take Isabel to mine if you need to concentrate tonight. We still have a few Barbie movies to watch.” That made him smile, but he shook his head, looking down at the papers sprawled all over his desk.

Isabel had been very quick to accept the fact that her teacher and father were dating, and she probably happier than either of you. You both told her after school ended so she didn’t start something with the PTA moms, but it was your carelessness that caused all of them to find out over an email thread. Isabel, however, didn’t care that Ryan would make fun of her for having “Miss. (Y/L/N) as a mommy” because there was finally someone in her like that would play princesses with her that would fit the role. You asked Levi if, before you came, he was forced by the seven-year-old to wear a crown and fake earrings, but he refused to answer. It was also very easy to transition your relationship with Isabel from teacher to, basically, co-caretaker since she already saw you as such. When you told her she could call you your first name, she went crazy being able to call an adult by their first name. Now, she’d gotten more and more comfortable with you over the summer and just recently was able to finally see you as Daddy’s girlfriend and not Miss. (Y/L/N). Soon enough, she was falling asleep with you on the couch or your bed when you babysat her, and had just mistakenly called you mommy a day or two ago.

Levi and you had talked about that situation happening before, so you were prepared to sit her down and tell her that you weren’t her mommy yet, so you’d have to make up an easier nickname to call you. Both you and Levi were pretty sure that you were the person for each other, so there was no reason to forbid her from calling you that. Actually, it was during a post-steamy cuddle session that he’d brought it up.

“I can’t see myself being with anyone else. I know it’s early to say that. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, I feel the same. No one I’ve been with has made me feel like you do, Levi.”

“M-me, too.”

“I was going to ask you to come over tonight anyways. Mikasa offered to babysit Isabel over the weekend.” He trailed off on the last word, trying to suggest that we had three open days without a little girl trying to sleep in between us at night. Of course you’d go over.

“I guess I can come. You’ll just have to help me test out some kindergarten activities for the new core curriculum. School starts again next week.” He groaned, more work, but agreed to do it. How hard could it be? It was just cutting and coloring and he did that with Isabel on a daily.

“Mikasa and I are going to watch the Twelve Dancing Princesses tonight. I know you wanted to watch it with me, (Y/F/N),” she said lowering her head onto your chest as you laid on the couch. You laughed and ruffled her hair that you’d just combed out for Levi. He was still in his home office running over papers and making phone calls. Your job was to get Isabel ready and packed to go to Mikasa’s, but she was running late, so you decided to watch videos on your phone till she got there.

“That’s okay, Bel. I’ve seen it before. That means when you come back over, you can watch the Princess and the Pauper with me.” The little girl smiled, which was followed by a yawn as she watched some toy opening video on YouTube.

“Can we sing like last time?” You laughed a bit, so you didn’t disturb her tired form, slowly slipping into a nap as she laid on you. Apparently, Levi let her stay up last night, forgetting that this little girl won’t tear her eyes away from the television until you force her too. He had gone back to do some work and when he emerged at two in the morning, there she was struggling to keep her eyes open. So much for trying to get her back into a school sleep schedule. You were no better though, going to bed at three last night because you waited last minute to start writing lesson plans. This made you yawn along with her and close your eyes.

“Yes, we can sing like we did with Frozen.” She hummed a bit, snuggling again against your chest as she decided it was time to take a nap. You quickly agreed with that idea.

Knocking on the door broke Levi from looking at the figures for the latest project and he leaned out of his office to see both you and Isabel sleeping on the couch. He smiled to himself, heart singing at the view, and went to open the door for his cousin.

“Where’s she at?” He frowned at Mikasa, moving so she could walk in and see you two sleeping on the couch. Levi didn’t want to move you two, and in actuality he wanted to add another picture to the album on his phone, but it would be way too embarrassing to do in front of Mikasa. Mikasa on the other hand had put a pizza in the oven and was ready to go. Levi grabbed her arm to stop her from shaking you two awake.

“Let them sleep. They both stayed up late.” She rolled her eyes at Levi and he responded with an even more annoyed eye roll. Couldn’t she calm down for a few minutes?

“They get five more minutes of beauty sleep.”

“How gracious.” He stood there, arms crossed, looking over at the two who had no idea Mikasa walked in the door. You had one hand over Isabel’s head and the other hanging of the couch, gripping a phone still playing some YouTube video in the background. Isabel had her small hand touching your cheek, head buried in your chest as she snored soundly on her favorite bed. When Mikasa looked over at her cousin, she thought she was going to be sick. It was the same look you had coming back from you two’s first date and one she’d seen on your face when you bounced into their office. She’s gotten used to you, but this was the first time she saw Levi like that. She snorted at him and he dropped it, morphing back into his normal, harsh glare.

“Never thought you’d be so wrapped around (Y/F/N)’s finger.” Levi scoffed at her, making sure it wasn’t loud enough to wake you two.

“I’m just admiring my girlfriend and kid; can I not do that, brat?” Mikasa laughed a bit at him trying to hide his embarrassment with another insult. He did the same when she walked in on you two making out in his office, having forgotten to lock the door.

“You can, just not with my best friend. Makes me sick.” Levi felt like his eyes were going to roll out of his head. Once you two started dating, that whole friend group had been insufferable to him. Eren and Jean talking about all their college flings with you, Connie and Sasha always bursting out laughing for no reason, and Mikasa made fun of him for showing emotion. The only one he still liked was Armin who inquired about your class activities as school and the other kids besides Isabel.

“When are you going to marry her?” Levi was taken aback by that question, but Mikasa was completely cool. It sounded so natural coming from her lips that Levi couldn’t help but actually answer back. It wasn’t a surprise to Mikasa when he told her his intentions. From the day you came back from your first date, she knew you’d probably become her cousin in less than a year.

“Haven’t planned out anything, but I have a ring.” She laughed at him again, this time adding a tad bit of happiness into it. Yeah, she was okay with Levi and you, but she didn’t know how the others would take the news. Eren and Jean would be distressed, Historia and Sasha ecstatic, and Connie and Armin probably neutrally happy. She’d probably have to pull Eren “that should’ve been me” Jaeger and Jean “if only she gave me a shot” Kiersten home from some random bar.

“Did you tell Isabel?” Levi nodded, remembering the conversation he had to have with her about keeping very, very important secrets. He even said that if Isabel told you, he would cry, which made it seem very serious to Isabel.

“She helped me pick it. Something about knowing what plastic rings (Y/F/N) liked. She slipped up this week though and called (Y/F/N) mommy. I had to bust my ass to cover that up.” This made Mikasa actually smile. Her best friend would be a great mom, but she didn’t want to think about it. You weren’t the first person she thought was going to get married in their group. Probably Historia, or Armin and his girlfriend, not you, the girl that fell into the Education major who partied all the time stereotype.

“You’re marrying someone crazy; I hope you know that. By day, she’s a wonderful kindergarten teacher who all her students and parents love, and by night, she’s on top of some table in the club singing to Abba.” Levi grit his teeth, remembering clearly the first time he was forced out with you and the brats. Eren challenged you to a drinking contest and you stupidly accepted, which made it Levi’s job to drag you home and nurse a hangover the next day. It didn’t help that the next day you had another Teacher’s Institute meeting and complained to him that everyone there knew you were hungover. Those were some giant hoops Levi had to jump through to explain to Isabel why you were “sick”.

“Who do you think is the one getting her down and waking her up for school the next day?” Not caring anymore about saving face with Mikasa, he took his phone out, taking a picture of his two girls. Staring down at you holding his daughter, his heart swelled even more. You were going to be a great mom to Isabel, even if you told Levi that you weren’t made for it. Levi thought the same thing when he held Isabel for the first time, alone and abandoned. He reassured you, saying that Isabel has never had a mom in the first place, but you were still worried.

You don’t have to be worried, he thought watching Mikasa kick you awake, you’re perfect. His perfect little teacher.

“Five minutes is up. Time to come to Aunty Mikasa’s so you won’t end up in therapy later in life for childhood trauma!”

xx Perhaps I got a LITTLE carried away, i hope you like it though! It’s a bit less cute than originally planned

#levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi x y/n #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman scenario #attack on titan levi #shingeki no kyoujin levi #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #dadlevi #modernau #aot x reader #aot x y/n

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deepperplexity · 4 years

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Title: Train Ticket Madness [pt.1]

Imagine request by avisfortunae @ Wattpad: "I wonder if Snape has ever been on the internet?"

Summary: "Snape is trying to travel by train but in muggletowns all over the country technology is taking over! So now you need a smartphone or a computer to buy a ticket or refill your travel card - Snape, of course, has neither. So he is forced to visit the nearby library to ask for help, with a disgruntled sneer. But there he is met by you - a muggleborn witch/wizard and former student - who gladly but nervously assists the impatient professor." (Summary accepted by the requester.)

Pairing: Snape x Muggleborn Reader

Setting: Public muggle library in a small town

ABBR.: │ (y/n) - Your Name │ (y/l/n) - Your Last Name │ (e/c) - Eye Colour │

Word Count: 4243

Warnings: Some sexual hints, some sensual thoughts, PG13, Swear words

Masterlist page // Masterlist post

The library was calm, just the ordinary seniors who were reading the morning newspapers and a few commuters who were waiting for time to pass until they could catch their trains; most likely headed for work or school. You, however, already were at work.

It was a temporary station as a librarian in a Muggle library situated in a sleepy little town where nothing ever happened - but you loved it. The friendly people, the routines, the quiet and the calm. It all suited you rather well actually. Lulling around the little library placing books, helping users and keeping everything organized.

It was quite nice most of the time. When the library users behaved as they should and there were no significant malfunctions in the computer systems - as long as those two things worked then your day usually worked out perfectly fine.

As part of the morning routine; you were just turning on the four computers in the library for users when your usual morning was about to become highly unusual. As you rose from having pushed the little start button on the forth computer you brushed the hair out of your eyes and what you saw stunned you. You were literally shocked into a fixed state.

In the doorway, leading out of the library, stood none other than your previous potions professor. Professor Snape, in all his black glory, stood with a sneer and a disgruntled look that covered his pale face in the doorway of your library. What the devil is he doing here?! The thought crossed your mind so rapidly that you barely had time to register it.

You shook your head, your heart was beating a little harder and you closed your mouth as you had apparently been gawking with open mouth and wide eyes. He's not my professor any longer, he's an ordinary user and he looks to be in need of assistance. That's all, okay (y/n), you can do this.

You put on a professional smile, straightened your back a bit and walked over with as much confidence as you could muster up in your rattled state. But, for every step your feet took your heart beat a little harder, your breaths were drawn a little quicker and you could feel a stupid blush spreading over your chest, throat and face. Despite trying to calm yourself down you were a nervous wreck. Chill, stop, just calm down. There is no way in hell that he knows. Just treat him like any other user.

As you got closer your old professor spotted you and started to move towards you, it only took him three strides and then you were just inches apart. "Professor Snape," you said and he gave a curt nod, "I'm surprised to see you here of all places, how can I help you today?" Your voice was calm and friendly, professional. You, however, felt anything but calm.

Professor Snape gave you a weird expression with a raised eyebrow, "You work here Ms/Mr (y/l/n)?" You nodded and locked your hands in front of yourself. A self-defence thing to physically block out others; that you had been working on getting rid of. Yet the professor intimidated you instantly triggering the habit. "Well," he said with that gruff voice, "I'm in need of a ticket and the infernal machine at the station is turned off or malfunctioning in some way." His voice was low and yet it made you and the air around the professor vibrate with force. His force. The power that you sensed crawled beneath that pale skin of his.

You gave him a wider smile, an attempt to calm yourself a bit in all honesty. "Well just download the app to your phone, connect your email and bank card and then you're good to go, professor," you said with a cheerful voice that barely managed to hide the unstableness you felt. Your pulse quickened still and it felt as though everyone in the damn library could hear your pounding heart.

He gave you another raised eyebrow and you mentally smacked yourself - he probably doesn't have a smartphone; or even a phone... Damnit (y/n), use your head and stop embarrassing him - and yourself for that matter!

You cleared your throat and loosened your hands that had been clenched for a while at that time. "Umh, or you can just use one of our computers to order your ticket. I just started them, please follow me, professor." You turned around and exhaled shakily. You started to walk and the black mass of glorious male fell in behind you. You squared your shoulders slightly, another attempt to calm yourself - you were still failing miserably at that task of course. He did that to you, he had done that to you for many years. Not that he's aware of it. And that's my own fault I guess. But come on, he's unobtainable and closed off. It's not like he'd even ever look at someone like-

"I believe it should be Mr Snape, Ms/Mr (y/l/n). Since I'm no longer your professor there is no need for you to use that term." He said as both of you walked towards the computer you had started only moments earlier; that effectively interrupted your wayward thoughts. Well, I enjoy calling you professor... Mr just sounds, not like you or adequate tot hat power sensation you give of... "Umh, I'd like to keep calling you professor, if you don't mind." You breathed out with caution.

The blush grew ever redder, it made you feel hot and bothered and so damn silly. "Very well, Ms/Mr (y/l/n)." What this man does to me... It's been two years already! I need to just get over these stupid, silly emotions! Pffth, who am I kidding... You can't just get over love, no matter who it is you love or how unreasonable that fucking love is... When the other is exceptionally, annoyingly gorgeous in every damn way it's impossible to get over it. 'innit?

You pulled out the chair for professor Snape as you also moved the mouse and the screen flicked to life. You tried hard to ban your thoughts but they remained persistent as professor dark and dangerous was so damn close to you. You could literally smell him; sage, peppermint and a distinct smell that was all his own. If you could have bottled it you would have. For fuck's sake, this is stupid! But fuck he smells like heaven. Or hell perhaps? I have no idea but I want to bury my face in that chest and just inhale that- wooh tiger, calm down! Your face was getting hotter by the second. You knew nothing good could come from your silly thoughts, only pain and agony. Possibly a muffled orgasm - half-enjoyed in a weird position - in the staff bathroom later...

"Here you go," you said with as much ease as you could force and straightened up as the professor sat down, "the printer is over there and it's free of charge for the first 3 papers." You forced another professional smile for a second before spinning on your heel and heading away from the man clad in black that made your knees weak, your skin burn and your heart pound. Not to mention your mind apparently gorging in heady thoughts not fit for work.

But the retreat was short and you had no time to gather or calm yourself down before the intimidatingly perfect man was stood right behind your back once more. You felt him before you saw him. "Professor?" You said questioningly as you turned around to face him once more. He seemed highly uncomfortable - and that made you curious as hell. What was going on with the otherwise stone-faced man? He almost seemed embarrassed, but that wasn't possible, was it? No, not professor Snape. He'd never be embarrassed, would he?

His gaze shifted slightly from side to side as if he was checking if anybody was within earshot - but you were alone in the furthest end of the library. Hidden among bookcases and displays. "Will you help? I..." He cleared his throat, "I have never- I have never used the computer or the internet's thing..." His gruff voice vibrated through you and for a second you were dumbfounded. You just stood there for a moment until your brain kick-started.

For fuck's sake don't embarrass the man! Speak (y/n)! "You-? Umh, sorry but, what?" Snape narrowed his gaze and you wanted to shrink, fall through the floor or maybe do a little dance? After all, you could help the all-knowing professor Snape with something he was not knowledgeable in. This is just not happening...

"Do you intend to gawk forever or will you be a professional and do your job?" His snarky remark made you giggle and shrink at the same time. It made you weak at the knees and strong pounding erupted, well, somewhere else. "I'll- I'll help professor, excuse me, I'm sorry it's just... Never mind." You walked back to the computer and grabbed a second chair on the way.

"Please, sit." Snape took the seat next to you and the heavenly smell hit you once more, it distracted you on most levels, to be frank. "Umh, well first we need to go out on the internet and type the address for the ticket company," you said as you followed up your words with actions on the computer. "And then we need from and to where your heading, and at what time." The professor looked on the screen, he's leaning closer, isn't he? Fuck that smell again... You inhaled without thinking about it.

"I need to go from this station to, to Cokeworth." You nodded and typed in the destinations - but you could not quite help but wonder as to what was in Cokeworth and why the professor was taking the train? Surely he could just apparate? "Strange apparatus," the professor mumbled beside you as he leaned even closer as he inspected the screen as you typed.

The page loaded, the screen flickered slightly and the alternatives arrived. "Here's your options professor," you said while your eyes were fixed on the screen. The professor's thick, pale hand appeared and he pointed at one option. You would not have chosen that option but okay. You clicked it and the trip appeared. It showed two train changes and then a bus trip.

"Now you just need to pay and print and your good to go." Your voice was cheerful - a giddy feeling filled you since you could actually help the man you adored and held so high - and you turned your head rapidly. Your face very nearly got pressed against the professor's face. He was so damn close you could see the details of his skin and the exact colour variations in his onyx eyes.

Your breath caught and the professor stared into your eyes for a mere millisecond but it was enough. You leaned back so hastily the chair seemed to disappear and you had definitely landed with a hard knock against your back had it not been for professor Snapes eerily fast reaction. He had grabbed your hand and held you up as you laid parallel with the floor yet had not completely fallen thanks to his ice-cold grip around your warm wrist. Where your pulse was pounding as if you had just run a marathon or two - revealing how flustered you were by him.

You looked at his hand, the strong grip the only thing that kept you from falling, and then your eyes wandered up the length of his arm clad in black and all the way up to the professors face. The perfectly glorious face clad in pale skin framed by long black hair with two deep eyes, hooked nose and thin lips as the centrepieces of its composition. So fucking beautiful. His eyebrow arched as you looked a little too long perhaps. Surely the rumours aren't true? About his, his mindreading - are they?

"Your pulse is racing, Ms/Mr (y/l/n). Are you, are you alright?" You shook your head and pulled yourself up with a shaky movement. From almost falling or from his touch? You couldn't quite tell at that moment. "I'm, I'm so sorry professor Snape," your voice was shaking a bit and you felt a bit woozy. Having been so close to his face was apparently a bit of a shock for your whole damn body and mind. Everything was tingling and your mind was actually blank for a moment. That never happened.

Professor Snape let go of your wrist and you instantly felt bereft. But you also became painfully aware of how close you were sitting. His knee was touching yours and if you leaned in just a tad your chin would touch his shoulder. His smell made you woozier and his proximity was just too much to handle when the thought of never getting what you had longed for for so many years hit you as hard as a goblin would pound REJECTED on a pour mans loan application at Gringotts.

You rose from the chair in a panicked movement. It toppled but didn't fall. "I, you, I have, you just need to pay and press print," you stuttered out. Your pulse was truly racing, your heart pounded, the world felt fuzzy while you felt torn apart. In a desperate need to get as far away from the man as you were to get closer to him than his own clothes were. Your head was spinning with thoughts, his smell pressed its way into your nose and you felt helplessly broken for a moment. Memories of longing for him during classes crept up and it made you feel small and unimportant all over again.

"Ms/Mr (y/l/n)? Are you alrig-" "I'm fine!" You held your hands up and backed away as the professor rose from his own chair in sublime composure and grace. "Are you su-" "I'll send Melinda over and she'll help you with your train ticket." The words were rushed out of your mouth and you couldn't look at the man any longer. The perfect man you had before you. I love you insanely, intensely, irrevocably. Forever. I...

You felt hopelessly entangled with your emotions and thoughts, all things were screaming at you to kiss the man or to run away screaming - neither option felt like an actual option. So the thought reappeared as tears were hardly kept at bay by your weak will. I love you insanely, intensely, irrevocably. Forever. But you...

A cold hand lifted your slimmed chin with power. Forced your head to tilt and your eyes to leave the floor. His touch felt different. His face looked different. Stained with horror and something that looked like regret. Or perhaps disgust? You couldn't quite tell. But why was it even there? "(y/l/n)... I, had no idea you felt that way." Your eyes widened, it can't be? Can he read my-? "I can and I apologies for doing so but-" OH MY GOD NO! What have I done?!

Your face turned pale, you felt the red colour leave and a cold sensation took its place. He had just read your mind, but how much had he read? Surely he hadn't, before, had he? You were certain he had not read your mind earlier - those thoughts would have warranted some sort of reaction from the man - had they not? Perhaps you were of so little interest that they meant nothing to him?

You shook your head, it didn't matter. What mattered was that the man you loved above all else had just read your mind as you were silently confessing to those feelings of passion and affection. "(Y/n)," his voice was dark and ruff as he spoke your name, "I apologies, I usually do not pillage or invade others thoughts but you-" You janked your head away to avoid eye contact with the man you were certain felt disdain for your feelings, or perhaps for you. Judging by the look of horror he wore.

"Don't, just, don't. I'll leave." The words left your mouth as the tears dried up without ever having been spilt. You felt disgusted by yourself; simply because of what you read in his eyes a moment earlier when your world had crashed around you. Your fantasy world that is - the world where you were free to be with him and he had wanted you. Now that was all smashed and crumbled. Shot to hell so to speak. Not even your thoughts were you allowed to have of him any longer.

He said something but you didn't have the strength to bear his words and they were muffled out unconsciously as your legs took you away from the computers, through the library and into the staff section where Melinda was sat by her desk - tapping away at the keyboard that you couldn't hear.

You said something to her, she stood up with a strong nod and the next moment you were getting dressed in your own office section. You changed your shoes, put your jacket on and closed the office door. You felt weirdly numb; detached. The world fell away from around you; turned in to a foggy mushy mess of grey. It felt hollow.

You left the building through the back door for staff only and embarked on your walk home - not even remembering your bicycle. Your thoughts didn't even come, it was eerily quiet in your head and your body felt bizarrely disconnected from it. You were just walking apathy without awareness of your surroundings.

Did he really mean that much to you? Were those silly fantasies really that important? Was he truly that essential to your daily life? Yes, yes he is evidently that painfully and alarmingly fucking important to me. Apparently. All this for a stupid ticket. Because of the muggle world using so much technology... Fucking train ticket madness!

You sighed a helpless breath out. Your head sank even lower as your shoulders hunched and it felt for a moment as if nothing could fill the void that took up more and more space in your chest for every step you took away from the library. "(y/n)!" You halted mid-step as your name was called with a deep, gruff voice that echoed around you in the short tunnel you apparently were in. You knew the tunnel but that voice felt otherworldly.

You shook your head and took another step - sure that your broken heart filled your head with hallucinations of the man you loved so deeply. "(y/n)! Stop!" The command stopped you right in your tracks. The voice was stern and brusque, almost harshly bitten out - yet it was not. It sent shivers of pleasure and sorrow down your spine as the wind picked up slightly. Howling and whistling through the tunnel.

"Don't run from me young lady/man," Snape said from right behind you, "not after a confession like that." Your face contorted into a sneer for a second and then you turned; a sharp spin on your heels and you were face to face with him. "I made no confession!" you yelled with a shaking voice, "you read my mind and-" "And I did apologies for that but you-" "You had no right!" Your voice wavered and lowered, "you had no right..."

Your hands were balled into fists and your lip quivered slightly. "I had no right but you gave me no choice." You huffed and turned your face away from the glorious man casting pain and sadness into your life with his internet ignorance and train ticket need. It had been a normal day, you had had a good morning - especially the shower you had indulged in before work that had given you time to fantasies about the man standing before you. Before that whole world crashed. Perhaps that was the last time you came with him on your mind? Probably not, he'd always be there but differently now perhaps?

"(y/n)? You gave me no choice, what did you expect when you acted the way you did?" Your head whipped back so your eyes met. His onyx to your (e/c) ones. "Well, I'm so damn sorry for trying to help you with your train ticket and internet ignorance!" you yelled with a snarly voice, "I'm so damn sorry that this stupid little girl/boy has trivial feelings and stupid little thoughts and ridiculous hopes and absolutely senseless dreams about someone like you! How dare I even think of such an amazing man as you with my tiny brain and feel passion with my worthless little heart?!" His eyes grew darker - how was that even possible?

Your words were harsh, but not towards him. Your words were nastily cruel, but not towards him. Your anger was directed toward him but the callous meaning behind the words was how little you thought of yourself in comparison to the man standing before you who had for years occupied your heart.

"Do. Not. Belittle yourself in that way (y/n). Do. Not. Diminish your feelings in such a manner. I will not stand for such actions by you. Understood?" Snape's voice was a low, vibrating growl. It was amazing you could hear him, yet you heard his voice as clear as your own thoughts. Your own thoughts that were spewing all kinds of horrible scenarios at you as the man you loved seemed to drift further and further away from where you wanted him. With you.

"Well I'm sorry for being a silly little girl/boy with such feelings and thoughts about the perfect professor Snape. I'm sorry I made you take such an important position in such a useless persons life as mine. This little, silly person had obviously no right to fall for such a man... How sickening for you to hear those disgusting thought about love from such a person as me." You could not help but shrink and shake.

You had known your feelings would be not just unrequited but hated by the man whom they were for. So you had never said anything. In the hopes of at least keeping your fantasy world with him as the centrepiece for all things good and lovely.

"I hold no such aversion towards your feelings. Quite the opposite, (y/n)." His hands landed on your shoulders, they were large and heavy yet felt too light. Wait, hold up, what did he just say? "You- you, what?" In that instant, the world seemed to go silent. "I do not dislike, oppose or disapprove of your feelings and thoughts." The words were said slowly and with clarity. But you found them anything but clear. "I- I don't-" "(y/n), stop. I am telling you that I too house those feelings towards you. For a long time now. But you were my student and I never thought such a magnificent person such as you would feel any appeal to a man such as myself."

To you, it sounded as though he managed to squeeze more self-loathing into that second half of a single sentence then you could if you filled a book with it. It shook you to your core. You had never heard his voice as harsh as when he spoke of himself in that short moment of time. "But, you're amazing..." Those were the only words you could extract from yourself as the whole world started to spin with force and full colours once more knowing he was in fact answering your feelings of affection with likewise emotions.

As you looked into his eyes he smiled. It was the first time you had ever seen him smile - in more than a tight tug of the left corner of his mouth - and it kickstarted you. Your eyes watered, your heart pounded and colour flooded your skin once more. Your little words of adoration had made the stern, hard, closed-off man smile. Just the thought of that made your knees weak. No, wait, your knees were shaking and buckling. You were going to fall to the ground at any moment, shit.

But you remained upright. As if by magic. But it was not. "I got you." Those little words of reassurance flooded you with warmth. "Am I dreaming?" 'cus it feels like it... "No. You are not." Without thinking you threw your arms around him and buried your face in the crook of his neck. His smell was inhaled through your nose and you felt another surge of warmth flood you in every way. One arm was laid around your waist - holding you up - and his other hand was placed at the back of your head. He was pressing you even tighter to his body and for a moment you could have sworn he was shaking just as badly as you.

"Severus," you mumbled his name into his neck, "I think I'm gonna pass out." "I got you." You turned your face towards him as he eased up on his grip at the back of your head; you wanted so badly to kiss him. Like you had dreamt of so many times. The thoughts of kissing him invaded your mind but before you could even ask his lips were pressed against yours with desperation and the world exploded in colour and warmth.

I hope you enjoyed this fic! <3 It was only supposed to be about 2500 words but I had lots of fun writing it so it turned out to be over 4000 words - and I might do a part 2 if that's something you guys would want? ^^ Perhaps a little more intimate continuation?

Masterlist page // Masterlist post

Taglist: @tahliamalfoydepp @lizlil @the-one-who-is-chaoz

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prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years

Text

A New Arrangement [Part 1/9]

Part 2 ->

Summary: Left with severe burns all over his body, the vain Dr. Frederick Chilton has retreated from the world, and will not let anybody see his face. One day, he decides to get his affairs in order in case he dies, or nearly dies again. That’s when you enter his life.

Frederick Chilton x Female Reader

CW: mentions of hospitals, death, end-of-life planning

820 words

An uneasiness swam in your gut as you rang the doorbell of the looming mansion that looked too expensive for you to be touching. It was the centerpiece of a swanky gated community outside of Baltimore and you had come here for one reason.

A man named Frederick Chilton was preparing for his death.

People don’t think about how much there is to take care of, from advanced directives, to living wills, estate planning, funerals, calculating life insurance requirements… That was what your startup company dealt with—end-of-life planning. You were the one-stop-shop for all of it. A sort of death concierge service.

People assumed from your job that you were compassionate. That your heart was wide open with nurturing and a desire to hug people on the worst day of their life.

The truth is, you were a glorified accountant, and you did not like making home visits. They could get too personal. Too emotional. But this client was very fussy, particular, and most importantly, very wealthy, and he had insisted. He would only do business over the phone, email, and any in-person meetings would be at his home, not your office.

So here you were. At his doorstep. Praying that you wouldn’t have to hold anyone’s hand while they cried.

Or worse—that he wasn’t just some creep luring you out here. This guy was much younger than your usual clients, which either meant he was dying of a tragic terminal illness, or he could afford the sort of lawyers to make murder charges go away, and was maybe stalking you? A string of bad internet dates had you a little paranoid.

So your heart jumped when he opened the door. And then it leaped clear out of your throat when you saw him.

He was wearing a very sharp suit and tie (complete with an old-fashioned gold tie pin), leaning on an audaciously silver-embellished cane, but the thing that made you vomit up your vena cava was the fucking mask.

He was wearing a Venetian masquerade mask that covered his entire face with smooth, sculpted white porcelain. Fine engravings serpentined around the eye sockets, inlaid with silver and black, as if the mask were wearing its own mask.

“Nope.” You backed up from the door. “Oh no. No way. Sorry, I am not getting dragged into some Eyes Wide Shut thing.”

His eyes, though a bit shadowed, were visible enough to for you to see their dramatic rolling skyward, paired with an equally annoyed sigh. “Do not flatter yourself,” he said tersely. “Apparently you do not know who I am?”

“Should I?” You narrowed your eyes. Fuck. You knew you should’ve googled his name.

“I suppose count myself lucky my misfortune is not so public. Do you recall the Dr. Frederick Chilton who was maimed and set on fire by the Red Dragon last year? It was in the papers. I have a clipping of it framed,” he said dryly. “My book, The Dragon Slayer was on the New York Times Best Sellers list for ten weeks.” He scoffed when you showed no sign of recognition of him, personally.

“The Dragon…” you nodded. “Yeah, I remember that was all over the news. He set you on fire?!” You definitely should have fucking googled him. Now you felt like an asshole.

“Given the state that maniac left me in, I have the choice to be gawked at for my disfigurement, or for the tedious quirk of wearing a mask. I prefer the latter.” His voice had a slight sort of lisp to it, suggesting the placement of some of his injury. “Ironically, being maimed near death is precisely why I contracted your services—one can never plan too early when one associates with the criminally insane. Now if you are finished? Believe me, if I wished to engage in an ‘Eyes Wide Shut thing,’ I would hire one of the many high-end escorts Baltimore is home to… not some drab clerical worker.”

Your eye twitched. You were not insulted the snobby weirdo didn’t want to fuck you. That was a good thing. You forced yourself to smile and your jaw creaked like an old wood floor with the effort.

“More people should be planning ahead proactively, so you’re setting a good example,” you chirped, towing the company line. “All right, let’s get to work. Sorry about the misunderstanding. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Chilton.” You introduced yourself, extending your hand for a professional shake.

He leaped backward, nearly tripping over his cane in the process, as if you were extending a poisonous snake. The mask stayed perfectly calm, but his eyes flashed. “It is Dr. Chilton. Doctor.” he hissed. “I did not spend eight years in medical school to not have my proper title used.”

“Sorry—Doctor Chilton.”

You followed him inside, never in your life more certain you were going to hate somebody.

#Frederick Chilton x reader #raul esparza #frederick chilton #hannibal #female reader #I DON'T KNOW #I was going to do a oneshot but decided to try writing some chapters instead?????#my writing

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chickensarentcheap · 3 years

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Never Gonna Be Alone: Chapter 3

Title: Safe and Warm

Warnings: brief mention of child sexual abuse. Very brief.

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @tragiclyhip

“You should have gotten these looked at BEFORE you came home.”

She sits on his stomach; knee on either side of his body and a bottle of peroxide, package of cotton balls, a pair of tweezers, and a tube of healing ointment rest on his chest. With all of the kids finally settled for the night and the house tidied and every last plate, cup and piece of silverware in the dishwasher, it’s finally their turn to relax. A quick soak in the hot tub while sipping drinks; one last glass of wine for her and a coffee for him. Still damp bodies clad in bathrobes as they sat on the couch; eating ice cream straight out of the carton while relaxing in front of the heat and ambiance given off by the gas fireplace. All conversation steering clear away from anything job related. Talking instead about Christmas and all the things that still need to be done; present wrapping, last minute gift grabbing, decorating. The kids also have jam packed ‘to do’ lists; skating, seeing the tree at Rockefeller, sledding, visiting Santa and the reindeer at Central Park. Christmas Day is spent with just the nine of them; the kids playing with their gifts and spending time outside, a traditional dinner that they’ve become quite the professionals at preparing together. The following day they’ll travel into Queens and spend the day with Ovi and Riya and their little family; two ‘grandkids’ that will be loved upon and spoiled senseless. New Years is usually spent quietly at home; takeout and alcoholic beverages and entertaining the kids with board games. This year plans have changed; Ovi’s wedding at The James New York in Soho.

As exciting as the latter is and as much as he does enjoy his time in New York City -the happiness and excitement evident on his wife and children’s faces more than enough to erase any of his own discomfort- it will be nice to get home. Back to their slice of paradise; the sun and the sand and the privacy and the feeling of security that comes with owning so much land. They’ll have a second Christmas; an informal get together with friends with a cookout on the beach and a ‘Secret Santa’ gift exchange. Work will be put on the back burner; no calls or emails from clients returned until the kids go back to school, the bookstore in good hands under the supervision of the two college students Esme had hired a year ago. Business has been good; exceeding even her wildest dreams and expectations. Already a well loved staple in Cooktown; customers loving the wide array of books and magazines, the outdoor courtyard and the comfortable couches and chairs allotted for those simply there to relax. Reading their purchases or the kindles set up for free use and indulging in the variety of cold and hot drinks and baked goods. The treats are mostly prepared by Tanner who has become quite the little chef and baker; finding his ‘place’ in the kitchen and never happier than when he’s creating some kind of dish or dessert from scratch. He’s also in charge of biweekly book reviews; picking a title to read and then preparing a well written report to go along with it. He’s become quite the local celebrity because of it; fan mail arriving on the daily from kids all over town and those who may have visited during family travels.

If anyone had told Tyler thirteen years ago that he’d even still be alive, let alone living THIS life, he would have told them they were insane. Laughing off the notion at ever being a husband and a father again; too much of a mess and certainly way too much of a liability for anyone to ever take a chance on. It’s weird how quick things can change. How one chance meeting with someone as equally broken and damaged as you can change the entire course of your future. Looking at you in ways that no one has ever has; willing to take on the enormous amounts of baggage and seeing past all your faults and your rough spots and jagged edges and giving you a future you never imagined even in your wildest dreams.

“There wasn’t a reason to get them looked after. They’re just scratches; branches getting a hold of me when I was in the bush.”

“Some of them are pretty deep. And I know you tried when you were in the shower, but there’s stuff stuck in some of them. Dirt or wood or something. Aren’t they sore?”

“They’re SCRATCHES. I’ve had a hell of a lot worse.”

“They’re a mess is what they are.” She picks up the tweezers; eyes narrowing as she leans over him and plucks pieces of debris out of one of the wounds. “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t things supposed to go down in the city?”

“They did. In Laos.”

“I thought it was going to be the same in Cambodia. You let me read what Anil sent you. I’m pretty sure things were supposed to happen in Phnom Penh? How’d you end up going from there into the jungle?”

“There was a change of plans.”

She smirks. “Obviously.”

“You know how it is, things don’t always go the way we want.”

“I’d say nine times out of ten, they don’t. Seriously though, your face is a wreck. You should have gotten this all cleaned up hours ago. BEFORE you got on a plane home. What if they get infected? You don’t know what’s in that jungle. They could have some crazy poisonous plant life or something. What if you got into something like THAT?”

“I think it’s safe to say we’d know something like that by now. What are you so squeamish about? You’ve seen me in worse shape.”

“Now THAT’S an understatement. Have you ever thought I just don’t like seeing you banged up and scratched up? Have you ever thought maybe I’ve had just about enough of all of that? Can’t I nurse you back to health from something else for a change? Like...I don’t know...the man flu?”

“You always complain when I get sick. That I’m too needy.”

“I have never once said you’re too needy. I have, however, complained about how whiny you get. How you come down with a head cold and act like you’re dying. How do you go through the things you have and survive what you’ve survived, and think a cold will be the cause of your demise?”

“Hey, those colds get pretty bad.”

“Worse than…” Pausing, she sits straight up and drops the tweezers onto the bed, then soaks a cotton ball with peroxide. “...you know what? I’m not even going to finish that sentence because that will only bring bad juju. Talking about all of that? Revisiting it? Nothing good will come of that. And we need good juju, don’t you think?”

“Are you drunk?”

“Who? Me? No. Maybe. Just a little. Is a whole bottle of wine for oneself considered drunk?”

“For normal people, yeah. For you…”

“Look, I had a rough day. In fact, it’s been a brutal FOUR days. And right now? Well right now, I should be getting laid. Or at the very least, have my husband going down on me. And what I’m doing? Playing nursemaid. And not in a fun, sexy way either. Not the kind of playing nursemaid that comes with little outfits and orgasms.”

He grins. “You ARE drunk.”

“I’m just saying, I had other plans for this evening and picking pieces of the Cambodian jungle out of your face wasn’t part of it.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“Mmm...hmmm…”

“And I’d rather be doing other stuff too, but…”

“But the shit hit the fan and everything got fucked up and you ended up doing God knows what, doing God knows where. I’m not even going to ask how it went. I think I’m scared to hear the answer. It was obviously a dumpster fire if you went from the capital city of Cambodia to the bowels of hell.”

“There were a couple...snags.”

She returns to the task of investigating and cleaning the various scratches that mar his face and neck. “Anil let on everything went great.”

“Probably just didn’t want to worry you.”

“Was there something for me to worry about?”

“Not as far as I’m concerned. I’ve been involved in way worse things. It was pretty straight forward. Two easy hits.”

“First one went okay?”

“Exactly the way it should have.”

“Second one?”

“I thought you weren’t going to ask?”

“You don’t want me asking?”

“I don’t care if you ask. You just said you weren’t going to because you were afraid of what you might hear.”

“Do I have anything to be afraid of?”

“Esme, seriously? Do you want to know or not? It wasn’t THAT bad. I’m here, aren’t I? In one piece?”

She nods.

“It honestly wasn't that big of a disaster. Things got a little fucked up. The second one didn’t go the way it should have. I had to make some decisions; change some shit around. The Mark wasn’t where he was supposed to be. I had to find out where he was and I had to figure out how to make things work.”

“Well good thing it WAS you that Anil asked. Because it probably would have been a lot worse. At least you know what you’re doing; you can think on your feet and stay calm and focused. A change like that? That would have thrown other people off. They probably wouldn’t have been able to get the second guy. They would have been too frazzled. That kind of change would have totally thrown them off.”

“Are you speaking highly of me, wife?”

“I am. I tend to speak very highly of you. All the time. To everyone. Even when I’m picking pieces of Cambodia out of your face.” She grabs the tweezers and unceremoniously inserts the tips into a large scratch at the side of his left eye; yanking out a piece of wood. “And it’s a nice face, by the way. So I don’t particularly like you coming home all messed up.”

“Like I said, I’ve had worse.”

“I will give you that.”

They lapse into a comfortable, companionable silence; his hands resting on her thighs as she continues to work at disinfecting and cleaning the scratches and her fingertips rub wound aftercare ointment into his skin. And he admires her as she does so. That steely look of determination on her face; lips set in a thin line and her eyes slightly narrowed and her hands steady yet gentle. And she looks so beautiful in that moment; in the mixture of moonlight and the glow given off by the bedside lamps. Hair pushed into a messy ‘up sweep’; held together by various clips -colourful and unicorn themed, ‘borrowed’ from Addie’s room- and bobby pins. Her face freshly cleaned and scrubbed; bearing the lingering scent of the grapefruit and pomegranate body wash she’d fallen in love with months ago. Clad in what she considers pyjamas; a faded and slightly tattered plaid button down shirt he’d worn during their Colorado days that is enormous on her tiny frame.

It’s been just over twelve years. Since he’d first laid eyes on her; standing on his front porch in The Kimberley in her little denim shorts and that yellow tank top that clung to her like a second skin. He’d known right away that he was in trouble; feeling things he hadn’t felt in a hell of a long time when she so much glanced in his direction and offered a small, almost nervous smile. And it would take him nearly ten years to admit what she’d probably known not long after their initial meeting: that his heart was hers from the very first day.

“You’re beautiful.” He says now, and a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.

“Are YOU drunk?”

“I haven’t drank in five years. I’m truthful.”

“Maybe your eyesight is worse than you think,” she teases, and dabs a peroxide dampened cotton ball against the scratches on his forehead.

“Or maybe you just hate compliments. Even twelve years into things.”

“You know I don’t handle compliments well. Even now. I know that doesn’t make sense, considering we HAVE been together that long and you’re the master of compliments and sweet talk, but that’s just who I am. It’s just me.”

“I will break you yet.”

“You’ve been trying for over a decade. Same way you’ve been trying to make an honest woman out of me.”

“Come on, at least give me THAT. At least admit THAT was successful.”

“Fine…” she leans down to peck his lips. “I’ll let you have your small victories. You’re still going out tomorrow? With Tanner?”

He nods. “It’s our thing.”

“He’s so excited. He’s been talking about it non stop since we got here. Apparently he’s been writing a lot. He’s got A LOT to show you.”

“Yeah, he told me. Something about crazy dreams he’s been having. He’s so fucking smart, Me. Way smarter than I am. He’s got your brain pan for sure.”

“He is far more intelligent than I ever was at that age. His brain is just...I don’t know. It’s beautiful and it’s brilliant. And it’s kind of scary at the same time. I mean, he’s only ten. And look where he’s at. Not even a special school is a big enough challenge for him. He is so far ahead of all of those kids. What happens when he’s too far ahead? When that place doesn’t have what he needs anymore? Then what? He’s already reading at a high school senior level. And his math? His science? You’ve seen his marks. They’ve got him doing things that fourteen and fifteen year olds are learning. And he’s passing it all with flying colours. Soon they’re not going to have what he needs. What then?”

“We find somewhere else.”

“Where? There’s nothing where we are. And we’re not moving. We just aren’t. We’ve put way too much into that house and that land. And we love it too much. So do the kids. We can’t upset their lives like that.”

“We’ll figure something out. We’ll find something. Someone. There’s always a way, right? Isn’t that what you always tell me? Where there’s a will, there’s a way?”

“When I told you that I wasn’t expecting to have a genius child on my hands. And I know it sounds like I’m bitching. That it sounds like I’m not proud of him.”

“It doesn’t sound like that, Me. At all.”

“Because I am. Proud of him. He’s insanely smart and he’s beautiful and he’s just this incredible little being that I don’t feel I even deserve. But I’m scared. For him. Because he isn’t like everyone else. He never has been. And I know we should celebrate that and celebrate who he is and nurture it and encourage it. But it fucking terrifies me. Someone like Tanner out in the real world. Because he’s NOT like us. Or his brothers and sisters. Or ninety five percent of society. He’s sensitive and he’s kind and he has this huge heart. And I’m scared what’s going to happen to him. Just for being who he is.”

“He’s ten, Me. We have years before we have to worry about anything like that. It’s going to be a long time before he’s out of the house. He’s smart as hell, but you’re right; he’s not like everyone else. Maturity wise? He’s a lot younger. He’s not ten in a lot of ways. He’s going to be with us for a bit. Longer than the rest of them.”

“I just don't want him hating who he is. I don’t want him growing up and hating himself. He’s already told you that. About how he doesn’t like his brain and how it works. How he doesn’t like being different.”

“That’s mostly when he’s pissed that he can’t do the things that TJ does. Or because he’s so much smaller. He has his moments; where he wishes he was like his brother. Didn’t you have moments like that growing up? Wishing you could be someone different?”

“Of course. We all do. I’m sure you did.”

“Fuck, practically every damn day. He’s going to be fine, Me. He’s just a little boy. And he’ll be a little boy in some ways for longer. It is what it is. He’ll be okay. So will we.”

“You are so much better at this than I am,” Esme laments, and tends to screwing the cap onto the peroxide and moving all of the supplies and tools to the mattress. “You’re so much better with him. You have been since the very beginning. Who was the strong one when we got the diagnosis? Who was the one that DIDN’T go into a severe depression and the seven stages of grief? I mean, we suspected it and I STILL had a hard time. I’m his mother. And I struggled then and I’m struggling now. What kind of parent does that? FEELS that?”

“One that loves their kid more than life itself. Who worries about them and is scared for them because they know how fucking cruel the world can be.”

“You’ve just been so much better than I have. You’ve handled it better. Me? I’m just a mess. And not a hot one either.”

“I think you’re way too hard on yourself. You’re a good mom. You’re an amazing mom. Just because you’re having a hard time with this doesn’t mean you’re a shitty parent. Just means you love him.”

“I do. Love him. He’s my Nugget. And I hate that he struggles. That he doubts himself. That he shit talks himself sometimes.”

“Gee, I wonder where he gets THAT from.”

Smirking, she picks up the tweezers and points them at him. “Don’t make me stick these in your eye.”

“I’m just saying…” he plucks the instrument from her hand and tosses it onto the bedside table, then reaches up to push loose strands of her away from her face. “...he does get some things from you. And you do like to shit talk yourself.”

“I’m working on it.”

“For the last twelve years?”

“So I’m a slow learner. Slow and steady wins the race, right? Why are you like this?”

His calloused palms rest on the sides of her face; thumbs brushing along the tops of her cheekbones. “Like what?”

“So good to me. Why are you like that?”

“Oh I don’t know, Me. Might have to do with the fact that you’re my wife and the mother of my children. My SEVEN children. And maybe...just maybe...it has something to do with the fact that I’m wildly and crazily in love with you.”

“Still? Even after twelve years?”

“Even MORE after twelve years. More and more every day, actually.”

“God I love you,” she declares, then stretches out along his body and buries her face in the favourite place of hers; the warm nook between neck and shoulder. “I love you so much. More than I could ever tell you.”

Pressing a kiss to her temple, he wraps both arms around her slender body. “Ditto.”

She laughs at his response; placing a kiss to the sensitive spot below his ear and then pushes her fingers through his hair. It’s longer now. Often messy and often unruly; sides and back no longer shaved right down to the skin. She claims it’s her second favourite look of his; liking the fact that there’s something to ‘grab onto’ during more intimate moments.

He feels the tickle or her lashes as her eyes flicker closed, followed by the long, content sigh that she releases. And for several long minutes they lay in silence, one of his hands moving up to comb through her hair, the other slipping under the hem of her shirt; knuckles repeatedly skimming up and down her spine.

“Me?”

“Yeah?” Her voice is muffled against the side of his neck.

“Don’t take this the wrong way. I really DO like snuggling with you and all that. But right now? Right now I’m really horny and I really want to fuck.”

Laughing, she playfully tugs on his hair and pulls back to look at him. “Husband, you’re nothing if not brutally honest.”

“Wanna have sex?”

Grinning, she leans in to press a kiss to his lips. “Actually,” she says. “I do.”

****

They lay in a tangled mess of wrinkled sheets and sweaty limbs; listening to the wind that rattles the windows and the soft patter of ice pellets and snow against the glass. Both on their sides with her back tucked into his front; her nails lightly and repeatedly skimming along the forearm that rests just under her breasts. His breath is warm against the nape of her neck and she enjoys the different sensations against her skin; the juxtaposition of soft, moist lips and the roughness of his beard. He wears it much shorter now; neatly trimmed and groomed and a far cry from the ‘lumberjack days’ when they’d lived in Colorado. Back when his body was thicker; extra weight around the middle and his muscles more bulky. He’s much more defined now. Tall and lean and athletic; broad shoulders and wide back, a sharp cut to his waist and beautifully detailed abs.

Forty seven years old and he’s in the best shape he’s ever been; a near mirror image of what he’d looked like at thirty five when they’d first met. She remembers that day well. Glancing up from where she’d crouched down on the porch to shower attention on his dog and finding those blue eyes riveted on her; intense and electric and filled with both curiosity and thinly veiled annoyance. He wasn’t used to company, and certainly didn’t seem to like the idea of a complete stranger being brought straight to his doorstep.

Nik had told her just the bare minimum; ex special forces, a host of personal baggage and addiction issues, intense and withdrawn at his best. But word travels when you’re in the ‘circle’; the job a relatively tight knit considering the amount of people caught up in it and the number of countries that are serviced. She’d heard the stories; tales of fearlessness and brutality and exceptional skills. And while she’d thought Nik’s idea was ridiculous and that it would never work, she’d been intrigued as well; wanting to put a face to the name and to all the rumours and the whispers she’d been subjected to. Other than his towering height and those muscles that strained under the sleeves of his shirt and the host of tattoos and scars, he hadn’t been that intimidating; offering just a brief twitch of the lips in lieu of a smile, his hand engulfing hers when he quickly and willing shook it in greeting. There was something welcoming about him despite the lack of conversation; opening up a little as soon as Nik stepped outside and offering her a drink. Those eyes ever so slightly sparkling and a small smirk on his lips when she’d downed the glass of scotch; making a comment about being surprised a ‘wee thing like her’ could handle her liquor so well and then pouring her another. Even chuckling a little when she’d commented on his place of residence; modest and simple, a chicken probably a far better roommate than any human she’d ever shared living quarters with.

Things had actually started during the two day stay just outside of Dhaka; a high end hotel that Nik had procured for final team meetings and strategy sessions. Meeting up -by sheer chance and not by plan- at the establishment's bar; sharing both a table out on the patio and pitcher of beer and tray full of tequila shots. There’d also been a kiss. Or, as close to a kiss as you could get. When he’d walked her back to her room and they’d stood in the hallway; slightly inebriated and suddenly somewhat anxious and nervous around each other. Dinner had been casual and comfortable. He’d smiled and even laughed and teased her about being a total enigma; so small and delicate looking despite her time in the Corps and having such a reputation for being tenacious and no nonsense. They had shared stories of growing up in Colorado and Australia and he’d been relatively talkative; either encouraged by her own openness and chattiness or the mixture of the booze he’d consumed and the meds he’d taken. Yet suddenly they were both at a loss for words and things seemed awkward and uncomfortable, and she’d stuttered and stammered while asking him if he’d like to join her inside and then furiously blushing when he’d exactly accepted.

She can still remember what it had felt like; when she’d drunkenly teetered and stumbled when attempting to unlock her door and his arm had curled around her waist to keep her on her feet. His body had been warm and solid against hers; breath hot and moist on the back of her neck. His eyes had been locked on hers when she turned to face him, heart hammering in her chest as he leaned in to kiss her. It had been a long time since she’d been with a man. Even something so simple as a kiss. And it had been even longer since she’d wanted someone that badly; physically aching and desperate to feel his hands and his mouth on her.

But it had never happened. In a brief moment of clarity, he’d backed away. Doing nothing more than pushing her hair behind her ears before backing away.

“I can’t do this,” he’d said. “I can’t do this to you.”

They never spoke of that moment again. Not even when things had crossed that line in Dhaka. It’s been just over twelve years and neither have brought it up. It didn’t matter anymore; the awkwardness they’d felt, the glimmer of life that she’d seen in his eyes, the words that he’d uttered. Things had changed. Drastically. Marriage and children and a somewhat happily ever after.

His free arm slips between her and the mattress. Coming to rest along her collarbone; fingers splayed over the top of her right breast, thumb repeatedly brushing along the hollow of her throat. “You alright?”

Smiling, she pushes her fingers through his and moves their joined hands down to her stomach. “More than alright. You? You okay?”

“I’m good. Is that what you wanted? Did I live up to your expectations?”

“Exceeded them, actually. I continue to be impressed by you. Your track record for incredible sex is almost a hundred percent.”

He raises his head from his pillow. “Almost?”

“You keep forgetting about that time after Kyle’s bachelor party. When you were drunk. When you got off and I didn’t and then had the goddamn gall to pass out. On top of me. Your poor little wife that’s a foot shorter and at that time, over a hundred pounds lighter.”

“Not one of my finer moments,” he agrees, and presses a kiss to her cheek. “I haven’t made up for it? It’s been ten years since that. I haven’t made amends yet?”

“You’re getting there,” she teases, and then yelps and giggles when his teeth sink into her shoulder. “By the way, I think the neighbour knows you’re here.”

“You know what I’m surprised about? That the kids didn’t wake up.”

“Maybe they’ve gotten so used to it, they just sleep through it now.”

“Or maybe they’re hiding under their covers, totally traumatized.”

“Well maybe you shouldn’t be so good at what you do. Maybe you shouldn’t be the king of multiple orgasms. Screaming ones at that.”

“You’d rather I didn’t get you off at all?”

“Don’t get carried away. We don’t need to go to THAT big of an extreme.”

“We can resort back to a pillow over the face. Or my hand over your mouth.”

“Remember that time in Dhaka? When the people in the next room complained to the manager about the noise? He was so embarrassed; when he came up to our room.”

“I do. And I remember the first time we went to Phuket. I never introduced myself to the people in the next suite, but they seemed to know my first name.”

“They were just jealous. I guess neither of them ever experienced really good sex. And speaking of which; we’re going to have to change the sheets before we go to sleep.”

“You can sleep on that part. That’s YOUR wet spot. On YOUR side of the bed.”

“You’re the one who made it happen. You should be the one to clean up the mess.”

He grins against the nape of her neck. “It’s a good mess though.”

“A very good mess,” she says, and then rolls over to face him; pressing herself tightly against his chest and reaching up to push her fingers through his hair. “You alright?”

“Fine. Why?” He skims her fingertips along the length of her spine; pausing to trace the tattoo that decorates the small of her back before moving back up again. “Didn’t it seem like I was alright? Did I seem like I wasn’t having fun?”

“I can tell something’s wrong. You’re different; during sex. When something is bothering you, you do things differently. Not in a BAD way. Just in a different way. You’re more aggressive. Rougher than usual.”

“You okay? Did I hurt you?”

“No. You never do. It was perfect. YOU were perfect. It was just...different. You were different. I’ve been with you for twelve years. It’s one of the signs I’ve come to recognize; one of the things that change when something is bugging you.”

Tyler grins. “You’re good.”

“Are you going to tell me? What’s going on? You want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” he admits, and then presses a kiss to her forehead before rolling over onto his back.

“I think you should.” Esme slides closer to him, propping herself up onto her elbow. “I think it’s good for you; talking about things that bother you. We’ve learned over the last twelve years, right? That things are better...that WE’RE better...when you don’t keep shit inside.”

Sighing heavily, he runs both hands over his face; wincing at the discomfort in both back and shoulder when he puts his hands behind his head.

“Is that what is? Pain? Did you get hurt? Do you need more meds? Do you…?”

“No pain. Just some tightness. I don’t need any more meds. I’m fine.”

“Did you take them while you were gone? ALL of them?”

“Babe, I’ve been taking them for five years. I wouldn’t fuck it up now.”

“I’m not saying you would. I’m just worried about you. I know something is wrong and I know it’s better for you NOT to keep quiet about it. So tell me. Please. Do your wife a solid and talk to her.”

“Didn’t I just slip you a solid? Twice?”

She scowls. “You know what I mean.”

“It’s nothing. Me. Nothing you need to worry about.”

“I’m sorry, but this is something involving you and I worry about you. Don’t do this, okay? Let’s not get back into old habits. I know you don’t want that. Just like I don’t want it. Tell me. Please.”

He sighs once more, briefly closing his eyes.

“Is it the job?” Gentle fingertips trace the roman numeral tattoo on the front of his right shoulder. “ Did something go wrong? Other than a change in venue?”

“No. Other than that, things went fine.”

“But it IS about the job.”

Tyler nods.

“I’m not a mind reader, babe. I’m good, but I’m not THAT good. Something DID go wrong, didn’t it.”

“No. Nothing went wrong. It’s just...the people...the Marks.”

“They didn’t die or…?”

“Oh they died. You don’t survive a gunshot in the middle of the forehead.”

“So other than the chance of scenery, nothing went wrong and both Marks died but..”

“It’s who they were. Why they had to be killed. Are you sure you want to hear this?”

“I do. Because it’s bothering you and I don’t want you carrying that around. That’s never a good thing; you burying things. So yes. I want to hear it. You didn’t tell me much before you left; just that they were pieces of shit and they needed to be wiped out. Other than that…”

“They were the lowest of the low, Me. You can’t get lower than these guys. And I’ve dealt with some pretty huge pieces of shit. These guys? Worst I’ve ever gone against. By far.”

“Worse than Asif and Mahajan?”

“Considering how personal they made things and what they were going to do to my family, no one is worse than them. But if I take the personal stuff out of it, these guys are up there.”

“That doesn’t sound too promising. I didn’t think anyone could come close to those two.”

“The guns and the drugs? That shit was bad enough. They destroyed a lot of lives; killed a lot of people. But the shit I found AFTER I got there? About these guys? About other things they were up to? It’s fucked, Me. It’s fucked and it’s sick and twisted and I don’t think you need to know about it.”

“Well I think I do. You don’t have to shoulder this alone. It’s better if you don’t. Just tell me. I have big shoulders. Well, maybe not LITERALLY. What did you hear? About them?”

“Babe…”

“Tyler, tell me. Don’t do this. Not if you have plans on getting laid the rest of the time we’re here.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh I would. I’m not afraid to pull out the big guns. So either you tell me, or you suffer. Simple as that.”

“You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?”

“Tell me.” She presses a kiss to his lips. “Please.”

“When I got there and talked to the guy who hired Anil, things got worse. The Marks were even bigger pieces of shit than I thought. They’d both been married a handful of times. And put each one of their wives in the hospital. More than twice. A couple of them even ended up dead. There was never any proof that these guys did it, but…”

“But it’s pretty obvious.”

Tyler nods. “And then I heard about the kids. Not just kids they didn’t know. But kids related to them. Cousins, nieces, nephews. Their OWN kids.”

“Just beaten on them or…?”

“No. Not just beating on them. That’s bad enough. But this?”

“Sexual stuff.”

“Yeah. Sexual stuff.”

“Wow..” she sighs heavily, a fingertip skimming along the chain he wears around his neck. “...that IS the lowest of the low.”

“It just hit home. HARD. Made me think of you and the kids. Made being away from home a lot more difficult. And it was difficult enough already.”

“I’m sorry. That you had to hear all of that. But for it’s worth, I’m glad it’s you that took care of them. Anyone else ran the risk of screwing shit up. At least when you do things, you finish them That’s a bright spot, right? That you DID get to be the one?”

“Yeah, I guess. Just fucked me up. Mentally. Made me think of our kids. I swear to God, Me. If anything like that ever happens to them...if I ever find out that someone has touched them like that? I will fucking lose it. I will snap and I will fuck them up. I will torture them in all the worst ways possible. The most painful ways I know how. And then I’ll kill them. With my bare hands. If anyone ever messes with my kids…”

“Don’t think about that, Tyler. Don’t torture yourself like that. I mean, I think about it too. From time to time. And how I’d go nuts and kill someone. But don’t dwell on it, okay? Because our kids are fine. They’re warm and they're safe in their beds. And they always will be safe as long as you’re around. You know I always say you make me feel safe and protected? Well you do the same for them. You always have. Don’t ever doubt that, okay? They love you and they trust you. And you’re an amazing daddy.”

“I just want them to be safe. That’s all I want. Them safe. YOU safe.”

“And we ARE. Safe. As long as we’re with you, we’re fine. We don’t worry about a damn thing when you’re around. So please…” Esme presses a kiss to his cheek and nuzzles the end of her nose against his ear. “...no more dwelling. You got it out; you talked about it. You don’t need to think about it anymore.”

Running his hand through her hair, he tangles his fingers in the dark tresses and gently pulls her head back; lips covering hers in a long, slow kiss.

“Mmm…” she murmurs into his mouth, then sighs happily when he pulls away. “...that was...nice.”

“That was very nice.”

“You think you have one more in you? I still have some expectations that need to be met.”

“I think I can manage.”

“Good.” She throws her arms around his neck and rolls onto her back, kissing him hungrily as she pulls him down on top of her. Nails digging into his skin and her legs wrapping around his waist; ankles locking at the small of his back and a devilish grin playing on her lips when he pulls back to look at her. “Husband, you need to make love to me again.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction

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sugaabooga · 4 years

Text

Chance | 4

Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5

Pairing: Seokjin x Reader | Jimin x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst, rich!Seokjin, rich!Jimin

Word Count: 2.0k

Warnings: like one curse word, PG-13

Synopsis: Seokjin had no problem of getting girls and also had no problem of getting rid of them. One girl after the next. So why was it that you - a middle-class citizen - was an exception? You - a middle-class citizen - made Seokjin question if he really did have it all. But one thing’s for sure. He didn’t have any of your chances.

Should I?

No. You look weak.

But. . . should I still?

She’s middle class.

Seokjin groans, flopping onto his back and throwing his phone somewhere across his blankets, frustrated from his internal debate.

Why was he even contemplating whether or not to text you? Girls were always a come and go for Seokjin. As soon as he deemed a girl “boring” he would move on.

But that was the exact thing that made him stick to you. You weren’t boring. Every moment with you was new and different. The more he talked to you, the more curious he became.

Previously, the qualifications Seokjin set for his future wife were just three things.

Appearance, reputation, and status.

Seokjin had to admit that you were quite beautiful. It is only due to the fact that you put little to no makeup, always have a messy bun, and often hide behind a pair of glasses that initially fooled Seokjin into thinking you did not meet his standards. However, he quickly saw that behind all that, your bare face was a beauty.

Your reputation was not well-known, Seokjin now realizes. His only eyewitness was the threatening statement from his brother, Jimin, who shared that you were his long-time friend. Right off the bat, Seokjin assumed you were the elite upper class of Korea due to Jimin’s habit of speaking highly of you.

The day Seokjin finally asked about your parents, he came to the shocking realization that you were indeed not of high, elite status. Due to his short, impulsive thinking, Seokjin became so consumed with the fact that you were merely middle class whom he shared months of a relationship with that he immediately called it off. Now as he looks back, Seokjin knows that you mean more to him than just a mistake or a casual fling. You were the first girl he met that he wanted to know more of, the one who made him flustered, the one he wanted to fight for.

Heck, you were the only girl that he had a relationship with for over a month.

Seokjin sits up on his bed with a slight grunt, reaching over his wide mattress to grab his tossed phone.

Seokjin: Hey. . .

Seokjin starts typing then shakes his head.

Seokjin: Can we meet at Yumi’s?

Seokjin huffs, deeming the meeting location to be a bad choice. Too many people, too many distractions. . . Yumi’s just would not be a good place to try wooing a girl back to him.

Seokjin: Meet me in front of the library near your workplace.

Seokjin’s thumb hovers over the blue arrow as he contemplates whether or not to send his message. Is it too sudden? Too demanding? Shameless?

Well, he was a pretty shameless person.

No. That’s not the concept he’s going for.

Seokjin quickly deletes the message and rolls onto his back, hopelessly staring at his high ceiling for a solid minute before jumping up as if a light bulb lit up above his head.

He glances at the time and nods to himself, knowing it was almost for you to get off of work.

Seokjin hastily changes into a turtleneck and slacks, shoves his arms through a coat and hurries out his penthouse door.

Meanwhile, a loud crack resonates within your tiny cubicle as your droopy eyes lazily glance over at the bottom right corner of the desktop computer. You were working overtime.

Again.

“Take a break,” Jina, one of your fellow co-workers suggests with an encouraging smile as she gets ready to leave after working an extra two hours herself.

You shake your head in exhaustion. “I wish. But Hoseok won’t let me live.”

“Hoseok what now?”

Jina’s spine straightens as she squeaks at the sudden appearance of the said man and quickly greets both of you goodnight, leaving you to deal with your sharp, picky boss.

You gulp, eyes hesitantly skimming over his stoic face.

You’re pretty sure you saw Hoseok laughing his heart out with Jimin one time. Needless to say, his laughter was quite the surprise but immediately after stepping out the lounge room, his professionalism came back as if he had never once cracked a smile in his twenty seven years of living.

“Miss Y/N,” Hoseok addresses in a monotonous but firm tone.

“Y-Yes?” you answer, back unintentionally straightening.

“Are you having a hard time?”

You’re slightly taken aback by the question but a shiver runs down your spine once you realize he was not asking out of concern.

It was a test.

You immediately shake your head, pulling your hands together on top of your desk to cease their slight tremble. “Not at all.”

Hoseok crosses his arms, slightly bending over your cubicle with scrutinizing eyes.

“Am I uncomfortable to be around?”

Your eyes widen, body abruptly stopping its unintentional lean back and instead lean forward into a normal position.

“Of course not,” you smile nervously, lying straight through your teeth. Hoseok was certainly not the bad kind of uncomfortable. He was a decent male. However, he sure was intimidating which often made you wary of his presence.

Hoseok lets out a small sigh, nodding and starting to turn back around.

“That’s good. Well, sorry about the workload, Y/N,” he apologizes in a straight faced manner, making you wonder if he was even genuinely sorry for you. “I’ll make sure you get the right amount of pay.”

You merely nod in understanding as Hoseok wishes you good luck and heads home for the night.

You peek your head out from behind your divider, deflating back into your chair once you realize you were the only one left in the office.

You debate calling Jimin but immediately shake that idea out of your head. He had left earlier, claiming to have important plans for the evening. You were sure he wasn’t aware of you working overtime. Not wanting to be an unnecessary bother, you slide away your phone and instead focus on finishing up your team’s proposal.

It was tiring managing such various parts of the team. Not only did you have to finish your part and put all the slides together, but you were in charge of editing everyone’s materials. It was quite unfortunate that your other coworkers took advantage of your mercy by bull crapping their whole part and leaving you to do the whole thing by yourself.

You were very tempted to tell Hoseok about it, who would no doubt break out into another intense lecture with some possible screaming involved.

It had happened before.

Then, everyone would know you as the snitch, possibly outcasting you from all the company gatherings. But it would also mean you wouldn’t have to work these extra hours and deal with all this stress.

It’s not worth being a snitch, you nod. You might as well work hard and quit by next year without making enemies along the way.

But as your dull eyes skim over Minu’s absolute garbage bullet points, you grit your teeth.

Yup. This is definitely the last time you’re covering for them.

You tap your phone, sighing at how you would’ve been off about three hours ago.

No. It’s not time to mope. This is the last time you’ll be doing this. So get through it and just email Hoseok a complaint later.

You huff, taking a large gulp of your water to calm your infuriating soul and stretch out your fingers. You aggressively flip through the hardcopy of your notes and vigorously clack against the keys, words forming at an insane speed due to your newfound determination.

Another hour passes by and you’re nearly finished. All that was left was covering the effect this proposal would have on the company with its expected high consumer ratings.

As you lean back on your chair, stretching out your joints and back, you don’t notice the figure in view from your window leaving a parallel parked fancy automobile, making its way into your high-rise office building.

Seokjin gives a small bow to the security guard in the front lobby who smoothly opens the door for him with a bright grin.

Hm. Quite happy for working the night shift.

He hears the front desk receptionist on night-duty let out a small gasp but it doesn’t have the same effect on him as it would’ve before. Seokjin doesn’t feel the usual urge to smirk nor the surge of pride swelling in his chest. Instead, all he can think about is:

“Which floor is Y/N L/N on?”

The receptionist’s face drops at the mention of another woman’s name and thanks the business regulations for privacy. “Sorry. . . I’m afraid we can’t just give out information like that.”

Seokjin digs in his coat pocket for his business card, quickly handing it to her.

“Business,” he states.

The receptionist’s eyes double their size at his card title:

Kim Seokjin. JJ Corporations. Executive Director.

She gasps. “JJ Corp-”

“We’re scouting,” Seokjin lies, cutting off the receptionist’s shock. “I heard Y/N L/N was on the management team?”

The young girl frantically nods, clicking away at her computer and pulling up the management team’s information.

“She should be on the thirty-fourth floor.”

Seokjin bids a quick thank you and walks over to an elevator.

The receptionist tilts her head as the man who claims he’s scouting enters the elevator, swinging around a plastic black, convenience store bag.

“Hm,” she squints her eyes in brief suspicion then shrugs. “Must be bribery.”

____

The bell dings, announcing the elevator’s arrival on the 34th floor. Seokjin’s posture is calm as he gets out the elevator but he quickly has to breathe out out of sheer nervousness, feeling the unfamiliar butterflies in his stomach.

He had heard a black-haired male, who seemed to be some kind of manager, muttering how you were always working overtime over the phone as he walked towards the bus stop. Hearing this, Seokjin drove to the nearest convenience store, picking up some snacks and a pre-packaged dinner plate. It was his first time entering such a humble store, but Seokjin was quite satisfied by the efficiency of it. He planned to visit frequently.

That’s besides the point.

As he nears the entrance of all the cubicles, Seokjin lets out a huff, giving himself a short little pep talk as he stops in front of the doors. He didn’t debate in the car for over an hour just to turn back and go home once he got up here.

Let’s go Kim Seokjin. What’s the worst that can happen? Rejection?

Seokjin grimaces. He shakes his head, throwing the negative thoughts out of his mind and regains his usual arrogance confidence.

Seokjin’s confident steps slow down to a stop once he spots your face peeking out from the divider, a harsh white light from the computer screen illuminating your tired face.

Just as he lets out a breath to begin walking towards you with a sweet smile, Seokjin’s gaze slowly flickers over to the male’s head popping up next to you.

His smile disappears as the said male lounges beside you on his own chair, spinning lazily.

Jimin.

Seokjin hears an incoherent conversation briefly exchanged between the two of you, heart clenching when your face lights up with a smile at Jimin’s silliness.

Seokjin is frozen, fist tightening on the plastic handles of the black bag, jaw clenching.

Unable to watch as Jimin shifts closer to you, Seokjin swiftly turns around, leaving the room like he was never there to begin with and goes unnoticed by the both of you.

Seokjin huffs, feeling a complexity of emotions as he sees flashes of red. He was angry, somewhat broken, and jealous. It was a flurry of emotions he had never felt towards a girl before. Seokjin firmly presses the elevator button, looking down as the plastic bag loudly crinkles in his clenched fist.

Seokjin grits his teeth, anger and green jealousy getting the best of him.

What kind of lowlives eat this instant shit?

The elevators slide open. The black bag is flung at the wall. Expensive shoes clack against tiles. A designer coat is flung back by the wind.

With a soft growl of a fancy engine, Seokjin leaves.

#bts #bangtanhq #bangtanidx #btsbookclub #btsboulangerie #btswriterscollective #bts fanfic #seokjin fanfic #seokjin x reader #jimin fanfic #jimin x reader

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harlot-of-oblivion · 4 years

Text

The Devil’s In The Details

You stop by the morgue and find a crucial piece of the puzzle that leads you towards a unconventional solution.

Chapter 2: Consulting With The Experts

Your mind begins to wonder about this puzzling case while the surrounding world zooms past you in a dizzying blur. It all started with some missing people cases…well, you are certain that it started there. Your colleagues believe that you are chasing shadows, and that it really started with the recent string of murders.

On the surface, both the missing people and the murders do not have any connections with each other. But they do share at least one confirmed detail given from multiple witnesses and resources: they all acted strangely before either disappearing or becoming a victim of foul play. You know that the connection is pretty broad, but at the same time…a huge group of people exhibited dissociative behavior before meeting their current fate. Something in your gut tells you that it all just seems too convenient to be a coincidence, but multiple witness testimonies are not enough to connect the dots that no one else seems to notice.

You now have put all your focus on another plausible shared connection: the strange injection wounds found on the victim’s bodies. It’s also a bit of a stretch, but when you looked through all the accounts of the missing people cases again…a few minor details that were glossed over before are now glaringly obvious. Several accounts mention suspicions about the use of drugs being involved, and ten of those accounts include descriptions of seeing wounds that look to be inflicted by needles. That is one too many coincidences for your liking, but just mere conjecture will not be taken seriously by the higher ups…which is exactly why you dropped everything to go to the morgue.

Normally, you would go to a toxicologist for this kind of information, but Red Grave’s history with demons as well as the black market for their weapons and other nefarious goods steered you towards another kind of expert. Everyone knows that those who deal with the dead in this city have seen some pretty interesting deaths in their time…such as overdoses from otherworldly drugs or accidental poisoning from a mishandled weapon.

So, to prove that your speculations have merit, you have enlisted the help of Grayson Beckett a.k.a. Graves, the medical examiner who does not seem to mind his morbid nickname. He’s a little strange as all professionals in his line of work tend to be, but that has not stopped him from being one of the best in the field. His eccentricities have never stopped you from valuing his expert opinion in matters he’s more qualified for than you are. And it does not hurt that he is one of the few to also find all these oddities of this case to be quite perplexing.

Your inner contemplation comes to an end when you finally arrive at the police station of Red Grave City, pulling into parking space before cutting off the engine and removing your helmet. You shake your hair away from your face while gathering your thoughts, putting on that mask of professional stoicism as you hop off the bike. It does not take you long to track down Grayson in the morgue since he can always be found roaming around the cold chamber. He told you once that he finds it calming to pace around in there during his downtime…something about the silence of the deceased makes for perfect conversation whenever he needs to sort out his thoughts.

But when you walk into the macabre storage room, you find him pacing around like a madman, far from the epitome of calm and more like a vision of distress. He jumps back with a startled gasp before letting out a sigh of relief. “Ah! There you are, Detective…very timely arrival as always,” he greets, straightening his clothes before holding his hands behind his back.

“What’s wrong, Graves?” you inquire with a raised brow.

“Oh!” he gasps with a shake of his head. “Right…well, you see uh…” he trails off, shoulders twitching as he clears his throat, “…one of the body’s is uh…missing.”

“Missing?” you repeat, staring dead straight at him. “As in…”

“Gone!” he abruptly shrieks, waving his hands around wildly before raking his fingers through his hair. “It’s as if it simply got up and left!”

“Alright, slow down,” you urge him calmly while taking out your glasses, slipping them on before grabbing your sketchbook from inside your jacket. “Start at the beginning,” you instruct as your hand slides the pencil from the spiral spine before readying itself on a blank sheet.

Grayson takes a couple of deep breaths. “I came in first thing in the morning, like usual, and shuffled through a bit of paperwork before getting ready for an examination.” He walks over to one of the storage doors. “When I went to pull out the body in question, I noticed that the hatch wasn’t closed properly,” he informs while pointing to said hatch on the door before continuing. “It seemed very odd to me, but I chalked it up to maybe carelessness from one of the other examiners. But when I opened it up…” He grips the hatch and pulls the door open to reveal an empty chamber. “The body wasn’t there!”

Huh…San Diego’s theory has some merit after all, you admit wryly while finishing a small drawing of a zombie bride walking out from the storage chamber before launching in a series of questions. “You’re absolutely sure you were the first to arrive here?”

“Why yes!” he exclaims with a nod. “I always come in an hour before anyone else.”

“Do you know who was last here?”

Grayson shakes his head. “Not right off the top of my head, but we do keep records of our examinations. Let me just…” He goes over to a nearby computer and informs you that he is emailing the record to you while you jot down the possibility of the body snatcher being an employee here.

“Does anyone else have a key to this room?”

“Only me and the other two examiners have access as well as some of the higher ups,” he explains while tapping away on the keyboard.

“Which body was it?”

“The strangled victim from last week.”

Your brow quirks above the frame of your glasses as Grayson sends the email with one final click before turning around to share more details. “I was going to check it one last time before handing it over to the family…Oh how am I going to explain this to them?” he bemoans, sagging his shoulders as he lets out a dejected sigh.

“The security footage may have caught something as well,” you inform while gesturing towards two security cameras in the corners of the room with your pencil. You draw a noose around the zombie bride and write down that the missing body is one of the victims of your current case. “I’ll put in a report as soon as I’m back at the station,” you assure him a confident nod.

Grayson straightens his shoulders and takes another deep breath before thanking you with a grateful smile. You make a quick note about the cameras before closing your sketchbook with a sharp snap. “Now…you said something about results?” you ask, getting back the matter at hand while readjusting your glasses.

“That I did, Detective! Right this way!”

He motions you to follow him over to a small makeshift desk in the corner of the room, which acts as his office even though he has an official one outside the cold chamber. He opens a laptop covered with various punk rock stickers and signs into his work email. “After a bit of research and numerous email exchanges with the toxicologists, I’m able to confirm with utmost certainty that the strange substance is…” he pauses for the dramatic effect while searching for the appropriate emails, circling the important part of the exchange with his cursor. “Completely unknown,” he reveals with a curious lilt in his tone of voice.

“Why am I not surprised?” you mutter with a frustrated sigh.

Grayson nods in agreement. “Now, from what I was able to gather from limited resources on the streets,” he begins as his eyes flit from side to side even though he knows that you are the only one present with him. “This strange substance isn’t a new drug out on black market either,” he finishes with a secretive wink.

“And yet it’s administered through an injection,” you ponder aloud as your mind begins to churn with new theories.

“Yes, well…in my humble opinion, it appears to be more like a venom than poison since it needs to be injected in the first place,” he clarifies with a small shrug.

“A venom…hmm…” You flip open your sketchbook and take note of this new bit of information. “Any idea what this venom might do once it enters the system?”

“I can’t say for sure,” he admits with a sad shake of his head. “And there’s not enough evidence to support your theory about the victims being paralyzed, but that’s only because we were not aware of this mysterious venom at the time. If only we knew beforehand…we could’ve dug a little deeper,” he laments while looking at the empty storage chamber.

“Well, you’ll get your chance with this next body,” you reassure with a small grin while finishing up the last of your notes.

“Excellent!” he exclaims, face lighting up with childlike joy as he claps his hands in excitement. “Perhaps we’ll finally have some answers…right, Quickdraw?”

You chortle at him using your nickname. This little victory may not be enough to convince your superiors to validate your theory, but it could be the hairline sliver that leads to a crack in the case. So, you give into Grayson’s infectious joy for a moment and bring one hand up to tip your imaginary cowboy hat to him while putting on your best western accent.

“Sure thing, Partner.”

Grayson chuckles as you bid him farewell and take your leave. You flip through your sketchbook while you make your way through the Department of Criminal Investigations. Your mind starts to put a few key pieces together, hoping that it will be enough to convince the Lieutenant of your ongoing theory. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts under your nose as you enter the main office area of the department, reminding you to grab your first cup of joe in the morning.

You walk towards a group of coworkers surrounding Blaise Fuller, also known as Detective Douche, the fond nickname given to him by Carmen for his overall contemptible attitude. They all grow quiet as your approach and their eyes follow you as you pass them by, whispering in hushed tones while you pour yourself a cup at the designated coffee station of the department. He should be wowing me with his stellar observation skills, you surmise while sprucing up your coffee with a couple of sugar packets and a splash of creamer. Any minute now. You stir your coffee with a plastic stirrer before taking a long sip. In three…two…

“Well, well…looks like the Ice Bitch finished a little too early this time.”

You can practically hear the smarmy grin plastered on his mouth before you turn around to address him. Your eyes look over the frame of your glasses to focus on his smug face, pinning him down with your unimpressed gaze as you finish your first sip of coffee with a pleasant hum. “Funny…that’s what your ex-girlfriend said about you too.”

All traces of smug arrogance drop from Fuller’s face while a series of shocked gasps and stifled laughter sounds off from everybody within earshot. You honestly cannot tell if he’s angrier about the vulgar insult or the fact that said insult is the unfortunate truth. Maybe I hit him a little too far below the belt, you wonder as he squares up his shoulders and prepares to bite back with his own venomous rebuff. But then again, you do not have time for his juvenile attempts at getting a rise out of you. So, you put one hand on your hip and take another sip of your coffee, showing oblivious disinterest while waiting for what will assuredly be the most scornful slight of the century.

“Hey! Knock it off you two!”

Your eyes dart over to Jayce Spencer, your former partner before the promotion, standing there with a severe frown on his face. The resounding snickers from before gets cut short as everybody quickly disperses from the scene. Fuller snorts and gives you a deriding glare before rejoining the small group of co-workers by his desk. You move towards your own desk in the opposite direction, intending to check your email while waiting for the Lieutenant’s temper to cool off before presenting your findings to him.

“Detective Y/N! My office. Now.”

But it seems that you’re not getting off the hook so easily this time. A resigned sigh leaves your lips as you march towards the Lieutenant holding his office door open for you with a stern grimace. You enter the office and launch into an explanation as soon as the door clicks shut behind you.

“Before you go off on me, let me explain-”

“What the hell were you thinking leaving the scene of a crime that early?” he demands testily, brushing past you to sit down behind his immaculate deck. “We’re in the middle of goddamn shitshow out there and you skipping out-”

“With all due respect, Lieutenant, I wasn’t skipping out,” you cut him off as you take a seat in front of his desk before pulling out your cellphone. “I got a call from Grayson and went to check up on a possible lead.”

Jayce quirks a skeptical eyebrow. “Is that right?” You open your call log and show him the exact time of the call you received from Grayson. He takes a quick look at the screen before sighing deeply through his nose. “Well, whatever you have better make up for all calls from the press asking me to reprimand you for almost running over a few of their journalists.”

“Sorry about that, Sir,” you apologize softly, “…maybe next time they won’t block my way,” you mutter under your breath while pocketing your phone. Jayce just rolls his eyes at your flippant retort as you take out your sketchbook. “This is the fifth victim with the same exact puncture wound as the others,” you inform, showing the drawing of the victim and his wounds before handing your sketchbook over to him. “And Grayson helped me confirm that the substance found in the previous victim’s body is unknown to the lab and on the streets.”

Jayce looks over your various notes and sketches, nodding his head in agreement to some of your observations and raising a quizzical brow at the zombie bride. “Fuck…” he sighs under his breath as he hands the sketchbook back over to you.

“Yep. Fuck indeed.”

“So, we really do have a serial killer on the loose,” he surmises quietly as you put away your sketchbook.

“Possibly.”

Jayce rests his elbows on the desk and leans in closer as he scans you with his critical gaze. “What’re you getting at, Detective?”

You cross your legs and take off your glasses so that you could regard him with your solemn gaze head on. “I believe that demons are involved, Sir.”

“Demons,” he repeats with a blank stare before letting out a tired sigh. “Now, I know you check your boxes and cross your T’s more than anyone here, but I gotta ask…”

You let out your own exasperated sigh while pinching your brow. “Lieutenant-”

“Y/N…let’s drop the formalities and speak veteran to veteran.” His voice drops down low, sharp eyes clearly showing concern as he asks the question that you have been dreading since concluding demon involvement. “Are you sure you’re not just seein’ ghosts of cases past?”

Your eyebrow twitches as boiling anger surges through your body. “Fuck you, Jayce!” you growl, furiously hopping out of your seat and slamming your hands down on his desk. “You know better than anyone that I don’t let past feelings or trauma get in the way of my reasoning!” you argue, never tearing your irate gaze away from his worried face.

“Easier said than done, Hothead,” he counters calmly, not at all fazed by your outburst. “I’m only asking as a friend who, may I remind you, knows the truth behind what happened during our first case together.”

All your searing rage begins to bubble back down as you concede to his concerns. It still irks you that he still thinks that you have not gotten over what happened…but nonetheless, you know that it is within his right as your superior to question your state of mind. You curse under your breath as you settle back down in your seat, crossing your legs and huffing in defeat while he continues to stare you patiently.

“Are you seein’ ghosts?”

“No ghosts, Hard Ass,” you assert, “only dead bodies and a killer to catch.”

Jayce nods. “I believe you. But without sufficient evidence to support your claim…” he trails off with a weary sigh as he leans back into his chair.

“It’s fucking bullshit,” you grunt irritably, bobbing your foot up and down in frustration while shaking your head. “We’re living in a city drowning in demons and they have the gall to-”

“I know, I know,” he interrupts with a wave of his hand, “but that’s precisely why we need the evidence…or else we’ll have every criminal we apprehend claiming that a fucking demon made them do it.”

A contemplative silence falls over the office and you go over the available options that will move the case forward. You cannot proceed the normal way; dealers in the black market are not known to help their local law enforcement catch a killer, especially if demons or Devil Arms are involved. What I really need is…Your foot stops fidgeting as the proverbial lightbulb blinks on above your head.

“What if we consult with an expert?”

Jayce furrows his brow in serious thought for a moment before the true intention behind your suggestion hits him. “You’re not seriously suggesting that we consort with a demon hunter, are you?” he inquires with an incredulous chortle.

“Yeah, I am,” you confirm with a curt nod. “Hell, maybe collaborate with one since there were a bunch of them roaming the streets when that freaky tree cropped up a year ago.” Jayce gives you a bewildered look from across the desk, but you go on with your perfectly reasonable explanation. “Plus, some of them are well respected by the people…unlike some us here who swore to serve and protect.”

Jayce squints his eyes as he thinks it over, steadily staring at you while his face goes through a torrent of expressions: wariness, consideration, and dismissal before finally settling on a decision. “Goddammit, Y/N,” he mutters with a shake of his head. “You have anyone in mind?” he asks hesitantly, eyes gleaming with curiosity despite his apprehension.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” You straighten up in your shoulder and announce the best candidate with utmost confidence and conviction in your voice. “Dante, the Son of Sparda and Legendary Devil Hunter himself.”

Jayce’s jaw literally drops in shock. “You have got to be bustin’ balls! That nutjob has a file this long and there’s no way-”

“Which is why he’s the perfect man for the job,” you cut in smoothly before listing off the reasons behind your suggested collaborator. “He’s infamous around here; the richest of the rich know him from his father’s status and the lowest of the low know him from reputation alone.” You uncross your legs and lean in closer towards the desk. “And if we offer to wipe his record clean-”

“Say what now?” Jayce scoffs in disbelief.

“Then he may just help us without payment,” you finish with a nonchalant shrug while grinning triumphantly.

“Un-fuckin’-believable,” he mumbles, head hanging low as he pinches his brow. “You know that we’re not supposed to wipe records for cooperation, right?”

“Yeah, but we both know that only works on paper,” you refute smugly, crossing your arms and sitting back in your chair as you provide more incentive for your former partner. “And we might as well use his name to get the press off our backs since they’ll focus on him instead of how we’re floundering right now.”

Jayce glares at you before leaning back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling and rubbing his chin as he mulls over the plan you’ve just presented to him. You wait patiently, knowing that he is going through the other possibilities in his head before inevitably coming to the same conclusion as you did. Once a hard ass, always a hard ass, you observe in quiet amusement as he finally lets out a resigned sigh.

“Alright, fine. Go and find this crazy son of bitch…see if he’ll work with us in exchange for getting his record cleaned,” he relents, lowering his head so that his cautious gaze meets your determined eyes. “But I’ll warn you now: you’ll be walking a very fine line if you choose to work with a mercenary like him.” He gets up from his chair, moves around his desk to stand in front of you, and delivers his one final warning.

“Stay sharp. And for fuck’s sake, be careful.” He offers his hand as you stand up.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” You take his hand and give it a firm shake. “You won’t regret it.”

“We’ll see about that, Detective.”

Jayce walks by you and opens his office door, signaling that this discussion is officially over. You exit his office and head straight to your desk, trying your best to hide your enthusiasm while considering your next step: there is still a key witness that needs interviewing, witness statements to look over, and the missing body at the morgue. But your gut instinct tells you to seek out Dante as soon as possible…maybe do a bit of investigating of your own on this prolific mercenary before heading out.

After all, the day has yet to truly begin and this Legendary Devil Hunter may very well be exactly what you need to solve this case.

Read Chapter 3

My Ao3

My Masterlist if you want more 💖

Tagging: @bettybattaglia @drusoona and @exsultry

#dante x reader #dante #devil may cry #detective reader #murder mystery #crime drama #eventual romance #the devil's in the details #ooooh the plot thickens!!! 👀👀👀#and it seems a clever lil devil will make his debut soon!#harlot writes

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clowns-or-midgets-spn · 4 years

Text

I just posted my first (non series) one-shot. It’s called A Day In The Life and it’s a fun humor-filled glimpse in Peter’s life with The Avengers aided by the wonderful prompt from @snarky-drabbles https://archiveofourown.org/works/27243052

“Don’t be nice to Dum-E,” Tony Stark said seriously. “He tried to poison me again.”

Peter's face fell as the robot made a small, sad beeping sound.

“Awww, were you trying to help?" Peter asked, and the robot nodded. "Engine oil smoothie again?"

“Yes,” Tony Stark said darkly. “And I wasn’t paying attention, so I actually drank some.”

Peter stifled a laugh and addressed the robot. “I know you were doing your best. Don’t listen to him.”

“Like they ever do,” Tony Stark snorted.

Ned hitched his backpack higher on his shoulder then hurried his pace as Peter was getting away from him.

As excited as he was to be doing this, as hyped and inarticulate he’d gotten when Peter had said it was all arranged, he was freaking out in the bad way now.

They were supposed to be making a short film for media studies, and Peter had stumbled on the idea of doing a day in the life of Tony Stark. Sure, that was great on paper, and Ned had maybe peed a little when Peter said it was happening, but now they were on their way to Avengers Tower to spend a whole day with Tony Stark, and he wasn't sure his heart could take the strain. This was a feeling way beyond excitement or nerves—it was a heady combination of the two with an extra dose of how-the-hell-is-this-real spinning in him until he felt nauseous.

Peter, on the other hand, was acting like this was just a regular day. Sure, Ned knew he had his internship with Tony Stark, and he had his internship, which involved swinging around Queens in a suit designed by Tony Stark, but how was he not losing his mind? They were going to be in Avengers Tower, with Tony Stark for a whole day, or at least as long as it took to make the film.

Ned really didn’t think he was going to make it through the day without passing out.

They reached the sliding glass doors of the tower, and Peter strode through them without missing a step. Ned, on the other hand, hesitated and wiped a hand over his mouth in case there were still crumbs from the breakfast bagel he'd eaten on the way here. He thought there was probably enough chance of them—or him—getting kicked out before they made it past the lobby, even if he wasn't wearing half of his breakfast on his chin.

“Ned, come on, dude,” Peter called, looking back over his shoulder.

Ned took a breath, braced himself to be thrown out by security, and walked through the doors. The lobby he found himself in was vast. The floors were grey-veined marble on which the heels of the men and women walking around clicked. There was a polished wood reception desk behind which sat three women and a man with telephone headsets which they were talking into. In the center of them was a matronly looking woman with steel-grey hair pulled back in a bun. She had the look of someone that took her job seriously, and Ned thought he could see the cogs turning behind her eyes when she looked at him, processing his appearance and deciding which security officer to summon to kick him out.

“Hey, Juliet,” Peter called cheerfully.

The woman's professional manner dropped at once and became more of an overindulgent grandma as she fixed her eyes on Peter and said, “Peter dear, how are you? I’ve not seen you for two weeks! Where have you been?”

"We've been doing lab time at the compound," Peter said. "I missed you, though. How's Sophie and Richie?"

"Oh, they're fine," she said, beaming at him. "Richie is cutting a new tooth, but it's not getting him down, and Sophie is practicing for her Christmas dance recital at school." She clasped her hands to her chest. "I've got my son filming it, so I'll have him email you a copy."

Peter grinned. “That’d be great.”

Ned swallowed audibly as he looked at his best friend, or at least the person that looked like his best friend. There were stark differences, though. Peter Parker stumbled on words and went on tangents, and he never mentioned anything about dance recitals or anyone called Sophie or Richie. This Peter was confident and calm, totally at ease here.

Peter looked at him, and his smile fell. "Sorry, Ned. Juliet, this is my best friend, Ned. We're doing a school assignment with Mr. Stark today. Ned, this is Juliet. She's the boss of the front desk, and her grandkids are adorable. I met them at the company picnic this summer.”

Stark Industries had a company picnic? Peter went to a company picnic? How did Ned not know this? It was like Peter had this whole other life that he knew nothing about.

“Show him their picture, Juliet,” Peter encouraged.

The woman plucked a silver-framed photograph from her side of the counter and turned it to him. He saw a little girl with fiery red hair and a baby on her lap.

“They’re… uh, real cute, ma’am,” he said awkwardly.

Juliet touched a finger to the cheek of the image of her granddaughter and then placed the picture down and said, "Has Mr. Hogan arranged a security pass for your friend, Peter?"

"Yep," Peter chirped. "He's supposed to be meeting us here to hand it over and to get Ned's biometrics."

Juliet looked past Peter’s shoulder and said, “And here he comes.”

Ned spun and saw Happy Hogan marching towards them, his face set in a glower. His black suit was immaculate, and Ned suddenly felt very grubby in his worn-down Nikes, ratty jeans, and a blue hoodie.

Peter, who was dressed almost identically to him, only he'd swapped the hoodie for a t-shirt with Yoda's face on it, looked perfectly comfortable. He greeted Happy with a wave and grin, which did not diminish when Happy crossed his arms over his chest and said, "You're late."

“We had to stop for breakfast,” Peter said.

Happy raised an eyebrow. “You kept me waiting.”

“Sorry, Happy,” Peter said. “I wanted to get something for you, too, though.” He slid his backpack off his shoulder, unzipped it, and took out a squishy package in a brown Starbucks takeout bag. “It’s a cronut.”

“What the hell is a cronut, why are Starbucks selling them, and why do you think I need one?”

“They’re like a croissant/donut hybrid, Starbucks are branching out, and I thought you’d like it since I know Mr. Stark’s banned the cafeteria staff from serving you anything too fun since your last cardiogram.”

Ned thought he saw a flash of fondness on Happy’s face, a slight softening of the eyes and a quirk of the lips, but it was quickly gone and replaced with a neutral mask as he snatched the bag out of Peter’s hands and said, “Thanks, kid. Now, let’s get this done so I can do my actual job instead of catering to the boss’ pet intern’s buddies.” He fixed his eyes on Ned. “You’re Ned Leeds?”

Ned nodded mutely, and then, when Peter elbowed him, licked his lips and said, “Yes, sir. That’s me.”

Happy took a device out of his pocket, which was the size of a phone but square. He tapped it then held it up in front of Ned’s face. He heard the click of a photo being taken, and then a red line of light slid over Ned’s face, making him gasp.

“It’s okay, Ned,” Peter said. “It’s just a retina scan. It’ll go on the security system to identify you through Friday.”

“Friday?” Ned asked.

Peter beamed. “Say hello, Friday,” he instructed.

"Hello, Peter," a disembodied voice replied. "And hello, Mr. Leeds. It's nice to meet you at last. I've heard a lot about you from Peter and Karen.”

Ned looked around, eyes roving for the source of the voice, and Happy grunted a laugh.

“You won’t find her, kid,” he said gruffly. “She’s the AI interface for the tower. She’s everywhere.”

“And nowhere,” Peter said with a wink. “Technically, she’s based in the mainframe, which is in the basement near the arc reactor, but that’s not really her. You’re all seeing, aren’t you, Friday?”

"I am indeed, Peter," she said. "And I think I should remind you that you told Boss you'd be here at eleven, and it's now eleven-fifteen."

Peter ran a hand through his hair. “Damn. Yeah. Uh… Has he noticed I’m not here yet?”

There was unmistakable amusement in her voice as she replied. “No. He is currently working on the Mark XLVIII Armor. He will undoubtedly notice soon, though."

“We’ll be right there,” Peter said.

“One minute,” Happy said, then addressed Ned. “Kid, give me your digits.”

Ned stared at him blankly. “You mean my phone number?” That was some kind of old-fashioned way of asking, right? He was sure he’d seen it in a movie once.

Happy rolled his eyes, then grabbed Ned’s hand and waggled it. “Digits, kid!”

He pressed Ned's fingers one by one onto the device in his hand, then dropped his hand and said, "Okay, you're good." He rooted in his pocket and pulled out a badge that looked like a credit card attached to a lanyard. "This is only valid today, and it'll give you access to the lobby and the cafeteria," he said. "You want to go anywhere else, you'll need the boss or Peter."

“Oh, okay. Thanks.”

Ned took the card and examined it. It was emblazoned with the Stark Industries logo, his name, and a large number ten.”

"You're basic clearance," Happy explained. "The kid here's level one, so he can get you anywhere you want to go, but…" he crossed his arms over his chest. "No making a nuisance of yourself. Serious business happens here, and we've got top security guests on the penthouse."

Peter grinned. “We have? Awesome!”

Happy's lips quirked with that smile again, which was quickly wiped away. "We have. Same goes for you, kid. I know they all think you're great, but don't be a pain. It's bad enough that you've got the boss playing starlet for your little home movie.”

“It’s not a home movie, Happy,” Peter said. “It’s a school assignment, and Mr. Stark said it was okay.”

Again, there was the small smile, and then Peter and Ned were being propelled towards the elevators with Happy’s hands gripping the backs of their collars. He planted them in front of the elevator at the very end, the one with a black panel beside the button, and said, “Go on. Get out of my hair.”

Peter placed his hand on the panel, a light swiped over his palm, and then the voice Ned now knew was Friday said, “Peter Parker, security clearance level one, identified. Where would you like to go, Peter?”

“All the way up to eighty-five, please, Friday,” Peter said. “We’re going to Mr. Stark’s lab.”

The doors slid open, and Peter stepped inside.

Ned looked around the lobby again then followed him in. He was pretty sure he was about to embark on the adventure of a lifetime with his best friend, and from what he had seen so far, he thought he was going to learn a lot about Peter, too.

Like who he was when he walked through the glass door of Avengers Tower.

When the elevator doors opened, Peter led them along a hall to another door with a security panel which Peter placed his hand on. The light ran across his palm, and then the door clicked open. Ned's ears were immediately assaulted by blaring music, which he didn't recognize but knew it was old.

Peter pushed open the door and entered, and the volume of the music lowered to a more manageable level.

"Thanks, Friday,” Peter said, then raised his voice a little. “Hey, Mr. Stark.”

Tony Stark, Iron Man himself, was standing right in front of Ned. His hair was tousled, and there was a black smudge of oil on his cheek. At first, he looked vague, staring between Peter and Ned, who shifted from foot to foot and wished he'd gone to the bathroom before he left as he suddenly felt very close to peeing from nerves.

“Are you late?” he asked Peter.

“Nope,” Peter said guilelessly. “I said I’d be here at eleven-twenty, and”—he pointed at the digital clock on the wall—“we’re right on time.”

Tony Stark narrowed his eyes and said, “I call bullshit. You said eleven, I’m sure.”

Unabashed, Peter said, "Okay, yeah, we're a little late, but we needed breakfast since I didn't think you'd want us passing out from low blood sugar. And I remembered what you said about Happy's cardiogram, so I stopped at Starbucks to get him a fruit salad pot for breakfast so he wasn't tempted to go out and get something unhealthy to snack on.”

Tony Stark narrowed his eyes. “Friday, what did the kid get Happy?”

“A fruit salad pot,” the AI reported. “He seems to be enjoying it.”

Ned’s mouth dropped open. Tony Stark’s own AI was lying to him for Peter. How the hell had he managed that? Ned was sure a genius like Tony Stark would program it for absolute honesty to him.

Tony Stark nodded, and his lips quirked into a smile. "Good job, Underoos. Now, you going to introduce me to your playdate?"

Peter's eyes snapped to Ned again, and he said, "Yeah. Sorry. Ned, this is Mr. Stark. Mr. Stark, this is my best friend, Ned."

“Nice to meet you, Ted,” Tony Stark said.

“Ned,” Peter corrected.

Tony Stark waved a hand. "Sure, that, too. Now, you got everything you need for this video thing? I'm giving you one day to do it, then your time is up. I spend enough of my life with cameras pointing at me already, thanks, so I'm not giving you more."

“Yeah, we’re ready,” Peter said. He strode forward and dumped his backpack on the worktable in front of Tony Stark and unzipped it.

"Oh no, you don't," Tony Stark said. "You're not turning my space into your chaotic dumping ground. Use your own table."

Peter nodded, grinned, and carried his bag over to another large table which was dotted with tools, only some of which Ned knew the use of, scraps of metal and what Ned thought was a web shooter in the making.

Peter had his own space in Tony Stark's workshop. He had his own tools? This was crazy. Why had Peter never told him this? He just said Tony Stark taught him stuff on his internship, and they worked on his suit. This was bigger than that. It was like Peter was a part of his team, with his own place to work.

From the corner were soft beeping sounds, and Peter's head snapped around, and a wide smile spread across his face. "Hey!”

He ran into the corner where there were two robots with hydraulic arms which seemed to be making the sound. One of them tapped a claw on Peter’s shoulder, and Ned moved closer to see. The one touching Peter had an ugly scarf wrapped around what Ned would call its neck, made from red and yellow wool. The other was wearing a dunce cap.

“Hey guys,” Peter said happily. “How are you doing?”

In answer, there were more beeps, and the claw plucked at the sleeve of Peter's t-shirt.

“Uh… Peter…” Ned said, his confusion making its home in his voice.

“This is U,” Peter said, patting the arm of the closest robot, the one wearing the scarf, and then pointed at the one wearing the dunce cap and said, “And this is Dum-E. Mr. Stark built them. They help him with his inventions.”

Tony Stark snorted. “They also screw up and try to extinguish non-existent fires.”

Peter laughed and tugged on the scarf the robot was wearing. “Looking good, man. Is it new?”

The arm bobbed up and down in a nod.

“And what happened to you, buddy?” Peter asked the other bot. “You having a bad day?”

“Don’t be nice to Dum-E,” Tony Stark said seriously. “He tried to poison me again.”

Peter's face fell as the robot made a small, sad beeping sound.

“Awww, were you trying to help?" Peter asked, and the robot nodded. "Engine oil smoothie again?"

“Yes,” Tony Stark said darkly. “And I wasn’t paying attention, so I actually drank some.”

Peter stifled a laugh and addressed the robot. “I know you were doing your best. Don’t listen to him.”

“Like they ever do,” Tony Stark snorted.

“Uh, Peter,” Ned said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Why is that robot wearing an ugly scarf?”

Tony Stark clearly had keen hearing as he spun around and said, “Ugly? That is not the word for that scarf, Ted.”

“No, of course, I mean… Uh…” The color drained from his face, and he began to gape like a fish. Tony Stark was correcting him. This was a nightmare and a blessing at once.

“Relax, kid,” Tony Stark said. “We’ve only got the basic med team here during the day shift, and they might not be able to get here fast enough if you had a stress-induced heart attack. The full crew does the nightshift for when Underoos is patrolling so they can deal with his occasional stab or bullet wounds.”

Peter’s head snapped around, breaking the conversation he’d been having with the bot, and said, “It happened once, Mr. Stark, and it wasn’t really a stab wound. It wasn’t a knife.”

“No,” Tony Stark agreed. “It was an iron bar that impaled you in the kidney.”

"You got stabbed!" Ned squawked. "How did I not know that? I'm your guy in the chair. I should be informed."

“You’re his what?” Tony Stark asked, a gleam in his eye.

Peter held up a finger. “He’s my guy in the chair, who would have saved me crashing a plane if Happy had been listening. Ned is a vital part of my life as Spider-Man.”

Tony Stark narrowed his eyes but nodded and said, “Point conceded.” He turned his gaze on Ned. "And yes, he was stabbed with an iron bar by some supercharged gremlin thing. And that's nothing compared to the time he was shot in the gut and got septic because he tried to pull the bullet out himself with tweezers."

Ned gaped at Peter, who waved a hand and said, "He's making it sound way worse than it was. I was fine, really."

“And you didn’t tell me because?”

Tony Stark moved to them and clapped a hand on Ned’s shoulder, making his breath catch and his vision blur because Iron Man was touching him, actually touching him with his superhero hand. Ned was collecting superhero DNA right now, and he wasn't sure how long he would stay conscious with that knowledge and weight on his shoulder.

"Probably because he didn't want you to share my nightmares, Ted," Tony Stark said, then smirked. "And because you apparently believe him when he says he's got stomach flu so can't come to school while he’s recovering.”

“It’s Ned, Mr. Stark," Peter scolded.

Ned licked his dry lips and, as the hand fell from his shoulder, remembered how to breathe. “Ted is fine. They sound really similar.”

Peter scowled, and Tony Stark winked at him then said, "And my point, before we got off track, was that it is a hideous scarf, not an ugly one, but you can’t say it outside this room as its creator is sensitive about his knitting and we all appreciate how hard he’s trying.”

Peter grinned and nodded. “He’s not wrong.”

“Now, get the camera set up, Ted, while Underoos makes nice with his bot buddies. I got the Hulkbuster armor out to show you since I thought that would be most impressive for all your little kindergarten friends.”

“We’re seniors, Mr. Stark,” Peter said.

Tony Stark waved a hand. “Sure you are, kid.”

Ned hurried to Peter’s desk, set down his own bag, feeling suddenly bereft as if it had been a security blanket, and took the video camera out of Peter’s bag.

“Okay, Mr. Stark,” Peter said. “I want to get some footage of you working at first, then we’ll ask you some questions.”

Tony Stark nodded, “Sure, kid, whatever gets you the gold stars and extra apple slices at break.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Sure, thanks.”

Ned and Peter fiddled with the camera settings for a moment, then Ned lifted it and pointed it at Tony Stark, who had picked up a screwdriver and twisted a screw on the knee of the massive armor. "This okay?" he asked.

“Yes,” Peter said, “But try not to talk to us while we’re filming unless we’re doing the interview. This footage is going to have a voiceover as we talk about who you are and what you do.”

Tony Stark huffed a laugh. “Yeah, because no one in your school will know who I am already. This is going to be ground-breaking stuff.”

“Your ego is showing, Mr. Stark,” Peter muttered.

Tony Stark’s head snapped up. “What was that?”

“I said this angle is great,” Peter said innocently. “We’re going to start filming now.”

Tony Stark glared at him a moment then muttered, "Little asshole," as the bots beeped in rapid succession, which Ned thought sounded a lot like laughter.

Ned pressed record and steadied the camera on Tony Stark as he fiddled with the screw and pulled up a hologram above the armor. He seemed to become lost in what he was doing, his brow furrowed and, seemingly oblivious to Ned and the camera, he said, “Over here, Underoos. I want you to look at this spot. Do you think we can increase the torque to get the speed of motion up? Bruce is pretty damn fast when he’s gone full-on green guy, and I’d like to get the jump on him.”

Peter bounced over to him and said, “Hmm, maybe. Have you tried increasing the pressure on the hip joint?”

“No. Hmm… That could work.”

They fell into conversation about details of the armor that Ned, a genius himself, was lost in, and he focused on keeping the camera steady and getting them both in the shot.

This film wasn't going to be quite what they'd planned to make, but Ned thought using this as a chance to show Flash and the rest of their doubting classmates that Peter's internship was a real thing, that he was on a level with Tony Stark when it came to this stuff, was going to be way better than what they'd planned to make.

xXx

Ned had been filming for thirty minutes, and marveling at his best friend for even longer, when the door slid open behind him. He spun around, pointing the camera at a pretty woman with strawberry blonde hair, wearing a neat pantsuit and a knobbly scarf similar to the one the bot was wearing, except this was black and green.

“Oh… uh… hi,” he said when she stopped just inside the door and raised an eyebrow. “I’m Ned.”

The woman’s face transformed into a smile. “Of course! Peter’s told me so much about you. I’m Pepper Potts.”

She looked between Ned and the camera, which he only now realized was still filming. He hit the button to stop the recording and lowered it. She approached the table where Tony Stark and Peter were bent over the armor and talking in clipped sentences, which seemed to be some kind of shorthand. She cleared her throat, and when that failed to interrupt them, she tugged on their collars until they were both upright and turning to see who was bothering them.

Their reactions were synchronized and equal in intensity. Peter beamed and said, "Hey, Pepper. Nice scarf," and Tony held up a hand and said, "Nope, no way. I know that look, Pepper, and it's my day off. I told you I was doing the home movie thing with Peter today. I don't care who wants to speak to me, what you need signed, or what alien threat is touching down in Central Park; it's my day off."

She raised an eyebrow. "First of all, hello, Peter. How are you, sweetie?"

"I'm great. We're doing some fine-tuning on the Mark XLVIII. We're working with the theory that if we can displace some of the power from the upper body, which is mainly reliant on hydraulics anyway, we can increase the speed of movement for the lower body, which means Mr. Stark would be faster than The Hulk so could pin him down sooner, minimizing collateral damage.”

She listened to his rambling with a fond smile and then said, “That’s great, honey,” patted his cheek, and fixed her eyes on Tony Stark. “Second, when you put me in charge of the company, you put me in charge of when things happen, so if I have stuff for you to sign now, you’ll sign it, mister.”

Tony Stark glowered. “Do you have something for me to sign?”

“No. And no, there’s no one wanting to talk to you, either. I cleared your schedule so you and Peter could have this day together.” She drew a deep breath and raised her voice. “And finally, there is no alien threat descending on Central Park, but you and I both know that you and Peter would be there already if there was. Don’t act like Iron Man is some chore, Tony, when you and I both know that if I had my way—”

She stopped, and Tony Stark rose to his feet and pressed his lips to her. Peter looked away, humming and rubbing the back of his neck as the chaste kiss deepened, leaving Ned standing frozen, staring at them. It wasn't that he liked watching couples making out—he wasn't a creeper—but this was Tony Stark—Iron Man—getting his ass handed to him by Pepper Potts, who MJ had informed them was a feminist icon and general badass. It was like seeing two rare birds at once; at least that was what his grandfather would say since he was really into ornithology and used birds to reference pretty much everything in life.

“Okay, Ned,” Peter said, suddenly in his face, blocking his view of the kissing icons, for which he was grateful, and tugging on his arm. “Let’s go get something to eat. They’ll be going back and forth like this for a while.”

“They do this a lot?” Ned asked, not sure if he meant the reaming or the kissing.

Peter rolled his eyes as he pulled open the door and led Ned down the hall to the elevator. "The kissing? Yeah. It's getting worse the closer we get to the wedding. And Pepper giving Tony hell, yeah, they're always like that." He grinned.

They stepped into an elevator, and Peter instructed Friday to take them up to the eighty-ninth floor then planted a hand on Ned's shoulder and said, "Okay, Dude, we're going to see some people now, friends, and I need you to do something for me."

Ned nodded eagerly. “Sure, man, anything, you know that.”

Peter grinned. “I need you to remember to breathe.”

Puzzled, Ned opened his mouth to ask what he meant, but then the elevator doors were sliding open, and Peter was leading him into a vast room. There were couches and chairs set facing a huge TV, a kitchen area with a massive table, the biggest fridge Ned had ever seen, and a stove that had ten burners—he counted. As impressive as this room was, as much as his mom would kill to get to cook in the kitchen and his dad would want to watch the game on the monster TV, it was the people in the room that made his breath gust out of him and his brain forget how to replace it with new.

Captain America was sitting on the couch, his brow furrowed with concentration as he fumbled with a ball of yarn and two knitting needles. Beside him was a man Ned knew best from the news' courtroom footage of his trial and subsequent pardon for the crimes of the Winter Soldier—Sergeant James Barnes. Opposite them was a woman with red hair in a messy bun who Ned knew was the Black Widow—though the Black Widow never wore yoga pants and strappy tops on the TV. To top off the moment of insanity was the Doctor Bruce Banner, who was sliding cookies from a baking trap into a plate.

They all looked around as Peter called a greeting and introduced Ned, and so they had front seat views to the moment Ned’s legs, denied oxygen too long by Ned’s empty lungs, gave way, and his butt hit the carpet with a thump.

“Ned!” Peter cried, kneeling beside him. “Are you okay?”

Ned nodded, and then his brain kicked in and remembered how to breathe. Wonderful air flooded his lungs, his blood saturated with oxygen, and the ringing in his ears disappeared.

“You okay, kid?” Doctor Banner asked, coming to kneel beside them.

Ned nodded. “Yes, Doctor Banner, Sir, I just…”

Sergeant Barnes, who had got to his feet when Ned fell, narrowed his eyes and said, “You forgot to breathe.”

Cheeks blazing with embarrassment, Ned nodded and muttered. “Yes, sir.”

Peter helped him to his feet, and Doctor Banner guided him to a seat at the table with a hand on his elbow—more superhero DNA, this was the best day ever.

“I’ll get you some juice,” Peter said, patting Ned’s shoulder and going to the fridge, rooting in it and calling, “Hey, who drank all the orange juice?”

“I did,” the Black Widow called in reply. “Is that a problem?”

Peter turned around and fixed his eyes on her. “A problem? No, I guess not, but it’s kinda mean, Nat.”

She smirked. “I’ll run out and buy you some more if you want.”

Peter waved a hand. "It's okay. The orange was for me. Ned prefers apple." He poured a glass and brought it back to give to Ned with a knowing, "Drink up." It was as if he knew Ned's head was swimming, and he really needed the boost of sugar since his body was burning through it with the adrenaline caused by being in the same room as his heroes.

Ned took a sip and then froze as Doctor Banner picked his free hand up and pressed his fingers to his wrist. Yeah, Doctor Bruce Banner was taking his pulse. That was a thing that was happening.

How was Peter so calm with all this going on? Why wasn’t he freaking out?”

"It's fast but strong," Doctor Banner said, then patted Ned's shoulder. "You just sit quietly for a few minutes.” He turned away and addressed Peter. “If you’re out of juice, you can have some of my chocolate milk.”

“Thanks, Bruce,” Peter said happily, then darted to the fridge to get his drink.

Ned stared at him in awe. Peter called Doctor Banner Bruce. Like he was just a person. Like they didn’t spend whole afternoons geeking out when they chose him to be the subject of their most accomplished scientist of the century essay in junior year.

What was Peter's life here, and how did Ned not know this?

And did Doctor Banner really drink chocolate milk?

He watched Peter pour himself a glass, drain it, and then pour another as The Black Widow wiped away his chocolate milk mustache with a fond smile.

Ned became aware of eyes on him, and he looked around. Captain Rogers was frowning at the yarn in his hands again, but his friend, Sergeant Barnes, was staring at Ned. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck and arms stand on end, and his heart sped. If Doctor Banner checked it again, he was going to be very concerned. Ned was concerned. His heart was hammering against his ribs so hard that Ned almost expected to see it move the front of his hoodie.

He knew the Winter Soldier was dangerous and had done all kinds of awful things, but that was when he was under the control of Hydra, at least that was what his defense team said in court. He was supposed to be an American hero, really, like Captain America.

Ned thought that might be true, but he also thought Mr. Barnes was looking at him now with a view to causing some serious pain if he put a toe out of line.

“Uh, Peter,” he squeaked.

Peter stopped trying to brush the Black Widow's hands away as she messed with his hair, and his eyebrows rose, which made Ned sure his very real panic was showing. Peter looked between Ned and Mr. Barnes, who was still examining Ned, and a small frown appeared on his brows.

“Bucky, quit it,” he said, in the same tone Ned’s mom used when she caught him sneaking snacks out of the fridge before dinner. “Ned’s not a threat.”

Sergeant Barnes’ eyes moved from Ned to Peter and narrowed. “Are you sure?”

Peter huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I’m sure. He’s my best friend. We go to school together and have for years. He is in no way a threat.”

Sergeant Barnes seemed to accept that as he nodded and then smiled. The difference the smile made was huge. He seemed suddenly kind and friendly, eager even as he said, "Book club later, Pete?"

Peter looked genuinely remorseful as he shook his head. “I can’t today, sorry. I’ve got to finish this project for school. We’re filming Mr. Stark for a day. We came up to get a snack and to give him a Pepper a moment alone. I’ll come over tomorrow, though, and we can talk about chapter ten.”

Sergeant Barnes nodded seriously, as if that was a binding agreement, and then relaxed back in his seat.

"Snacks!" Doctor Banner said, going to the counter and then delivering the plate of cookies to Ned and Peter, who had joined him. The Black Widow came to them, boosted herself up onto the table, crossed her legs, and grabbed a cookie.

Peter took one then nudged Ned until he did the same. He took a bite of the still-warm cookie and grinned. "It's really good."

“That’s because Bruce made them,” the Black Widow informed him. “He’s the best at desserts. If you want the savory stuff, you’ve got to talk to Steve or Bucky.” She gestured over her shoulder to where Captain America was knitting with little skill and occasional huffs of annoyance.

“Peter, why is Captain America knitting?” he whispered.

Peter laughed softly. “It’s a self-care thing. We, all of us, deal with nightmares after some of the things we've done, so Sam, our resident shrink, set us up with therapy tools. Mine is my photography, Bucky's is book club, Natasha's is—"

She cleared her throat and cut a hand across her mouth.

“Natasha’s is confidential,” Peter went on with a nod. “Point is, we’ve all got something, and Steve’s is knitting. He’s making us all scarves since his sweater attempts were…”

“Disastrous,” Sergeant Barnes said with a nod. “Yep.”

Ned’s mind was reeling. This was crazy. He wondered if he was the only civilian to see this side of the superheroes. The Hulk baked cookies and drank chocolate milk, Captain America knitted sweaters, Iron Man scolded his robots and put dunce caps and scarves on them. And this was Peter’s life. He was perfectly happy here with them, relaxed; it was like they were more than his friends, like family.

The Black Widow looked between Ned and Captain America and grinned, then whistled around her fingers and said, “Rogers! Report!”

Captain America jolted as if shocked, dropped his yarn and jumped to his feet, and said, “What’s wrong?”

Peter laughed, and Natasha smirked. "Peter's brought a friend for us to meet."

“This is Ned, Steve,” Peter supplied. “Ned, this is—”

“Captain America. You’re…” Ned drew a shaky breath. “Wow.”

Captain America was the hero to him. He’d been raised on the comics and stories of him. Sure, Iron Man was great, and Ned knew Peter idolized him since he was a kid, but Captain America was the one that Ned had admired most. He'd gone from scrawny and weak to buff and fast, which was cool, and then he’d gone behind enemy lines to save his friend and four-hundred others without backup. That was hardcore superhero stuff. He was the first avenger.

“Nice to meet you, Ned,” Captain America said, coming to him and holding out a hand.

Ned stared at it a moment too long, his mind reeling, and then shook it, hoping his palm wasn’t too sweaty because he was really nervous.

Captain America pumped his hand up and down twice, gave it a small squeeze, then dropped it and said, “So, Ned, what do you do?”

“I… uh… I like computers,” Ned said.

Captain America frowned slightly. “I don’t know much about them, but that sounds great. Any friend of Peter’s is a friend of mine.” His eyes widened as if struck with an idea. “Hey, Ned, do you want a scarf?”

Ned’s mouth dropped open, and he forgot how to close it. Captain America was offering him a scarf. He was going to knit him one. Sure, the fact Captain America apparently liked knitting was insane, but the thought that Ned might get something made for him was amazing.

“I’d love a scarf, sir,” he said. “That’d be great.”

Captain America nodded, grinned, then went to the corner where there was a bag of balls of yarn, which he began to pluck out one by one and say, "Green? Or yellow? Or would you like one with Spider-Man colors like Peter's?" His eyes flickered to Peter. "Where is your scarf, Peter?"

“I lent it to Aunt May,” Peter said with a small smile. “She was getting cold going to work for the night shift.”

Captain America beamed. “That’s kind of you. I’ll make her one, too, when I’ve finished your friend’s. So, Ned, colors?”

“Anything would be fine,” Ned said a little shakily; he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the fact he was having a conversation with his hero.

Captain America pulled out two balls of yarn, new knitting needles, then went back to the couch and got to work.

“Tell us a little about yourself, Ned,” Doctor Banner said. “What do you like to do with computers?”

“Uh… everything, really. I like programming best, but I’m pretty good at hacking, too.”

Peter laughed. “Ned hacked my suit and unlocked all the features Mr. Stark had blocked off. He’s a genius!”

Ned grinned, bolstered by Peter’s enthusiasm and admiration. “Yeah, that was pretty tough. He had a hardcore firewall to get through, but I managed it.”

“It was pretty tough?” a voice said behind them.

Ned spun so fast he fell off his chair, landing on his butt for the second time with a loud, "Oof." He blinked up at Tony Stark, who was looking down at him with a carefully neutral face but a gleam in his eyes.

Ned thought he looked dangerous.

“You’re the one that hacked my suit…. Ted?”

Ned licked his lips. “Uh… yes, sir.”

"Mr. Stark, he didn't want to," Peter said, rushing to his defense. "I made him do it."

Tony Stark held up a hand and said, “Zip it, Underoos.” He fixed his eyes on Ned and said, “How long did it take you?”

“Uh… a few minutes.”

His eyes widened a little, then a small smile quirked his lips. “It took you a few minutes to hack through my tech, my firewall, and unlock the features I knew Peter wasn’t ready for?”

Ned gulped and winced. “Yes, sir.”

“Hmm…”

Ned thought he could see anger building behind Mr. Stark’s mask, and he squeezed his eyes shut and flinched away. A strong hand gripped his wrist and yanked him to his feet. He still didn’t open his eyes, not until a callused hand tapped his cheek and an amused voice said, “Breathe, kid, and look at me.” Ned forced himself to obey, meeting Tony's Stark's eye and waiting for the explosion. Instead of an explosion, though, Tony Stark smiled, showing his teeth in the way Ned had seen in magazines over the years, some of which made it into Peter's scrapbook, and said, "So, kid, you got much free time?"

"Oh. I, uh, I mean have school, and I'm in band, and I'm on the decathlon team, so not much, but—”

Tony Stark held up a hand. "You want an internship with my tech department?"

Ned's heart skipped, and he mouthed wordlessly.

“Speak!” Tony Stark instructed.

“Yes,” Ned squeaked. “I’d like that a lot, Mr. Iron Man, Sir.”

Peter grinned and clapped Ned on the shoulder. “Awesome. We get to do this together.”

“You can do some together," Tony Stark said. "I'm not having this place turn into daycare. Ted will have his assigned mentor, and you'll have me. You don't get to drag more of your little friends here in hopes of them getting a job."

“A job?” Ned said weakly. “I thought it was an internship. You don’t pay interns.”

“You don’t,” Tony Stark agreed. “And you two don’t tell anyone else that you’re getting anything more than experience from it, understand?”

Ned nodded. “I understand.”

Peter clapped Ned on the shoulder and said, “We don’t get paid, though we have an all you can eat option in the cafeteria, but Mr. Stark pays for our college through the September Foundation.”

Ned gaped. He knew his parents were worried about paying for his college, and he’d applied for scholarships, but if this was for real, he could afford to go out of state the way he wanted. He could apply to the places he really wanted to study instead of where he thought his parents could afford.

“You thought much about college?” Tony Stark asked.

“Uh, a little, yeah.”

“MIT on your radar?” he asked. “That’s where Underoos is going.”

“It’s where I might be going, Mr. Stark,” Peter said. “I’ve got heard back yet.”

Tony Stark ruffled Peter’s hair and said, “Kid, with your brains and my letter of recommendation, they’d be nuts not to accept you.” He turned back to Ned. “I want you here after school two days a week, with Peter, and you can come to the compound for weekends. Give me a month to get a report from your mentor on what you’re coming up with, and I’ll see about writing you a recommendation, too.”

“I… uh… huh… Ya…” Ned sputtered inarticulately, totally overwhelmed, and Peter placed his hand on his shoulder and said, “That’s Ned for, thank you, Mr. Stark.”

Tony Stark nodded and ran a hand through hair. “Now, kids, you going to get this filming thing done. I’ve been informed by my fiancé that I’m booked solid tomorrow with wedding prep, so you’ve got today with me and no more.”

Peter nodded eagerly and said, “Shall we go back to the lab. We need to do the interview portion now, and then maybe some domestic scenes.”

“Domestic? Think who you’re talking to, kid. I don’t do domestic?”

Peter snorted, and Ned looked around the room. The Black Widow was dunking cookies in Peter’s chocolate milk, Doctor Banner was wiping down the counters, Sergeant Barnes was reading on the couch with his feet kicked up on the coffee table, and Captain America was knitting.

Maybe Tony Stark was the exception, but Ned didn't think there was much more domestic than this. And Peter was a part of it. These people were his family.

Ned had come here to see a day in the life of Tony Stark, but he thought he’d seen more of his best friend’s life than his, and now, with this internship, he was being given a small part of it.

This was the best assignment ever.

#irondad #irondad and spiderson #fanfic #snark #humor #the avengers #mcu spiderman #mcu iron man #iron man

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baberoe-archive · 4 years

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back on my museum shit i am thinking about the Shenanigans of gene roe the paintings conservator renée the sculpture conservator anna the paper/manuscript conservator hillbilly the textile conservator and snafu the frames conservator heres a list

i mentioned this in the original post but renée always pretends to fuck up and she’ll say smth like “oh merde” just to give gene a heart attack (not when hes working on a painting though because he will end her life)

snafu likes to do the same thing to sledge so he and renée have lunch together sometimes to recount their pranks and plan together. if either gene sees this lunch meeting happening they will alert the other.

eddie pretends to ask snaf and renée to stop but actually he thinks it is very very funny

sometimes snaf and renée dont talk about pranks though they just talk about wood. they LOVE that shit 99% of their emails to each other are “LOOK AT THIS WOOD!!!!” and “LOOK AT THESE WOOD CONSERVATION TECHNIQUES”

anna is a big painting buff despite her specialization in paper objects so sometimes gene will be like “anna can you tell me if this is pencil?” just so she has an excuse to look at paintings and talk about them

the whole department speaks french. obviously they will Gossip okay. they just will.

this bars eddie and he is PISSED about it like i am the head of this department let me in on your stupid french secrets!!! hes tries to take them down a notch by france bashing but snafs like “none of us are from france we all hate france. besides you are from english lineage” and eddie’s like well cant argue with that

anna and snafu are pretty good artists in their own right, so they have Special Lunch Meetings where they go out and sketch and unwind

gene and renée and eddie are decidedly Not artists so departmental pictionary games are fun

and the department meetings always devolve into pictionary okay you give snaf a whiteboard and a marker he is drawing on it

gene and snafu join forces to check up on the paintings and frames in the vaults, and they always have to block out an entire afternoon because they never want to go back to work afterwards. gene is a very calming presence for snafu and snafu knows how to get gene to unwind they just vibe HARD during these sessions.

when they are out of the studio, eddie fucking bails. he likes to pretend he is a professional but actually he is a stupid sap and he is going to see his bf okay. goodbye losers im saying hi to andy. meanwhile, anna and renée like to talk to each other about the projects they are working on and what they want to get to soon and also if they flirt a little bit then that is no ones business okay!

sometimes the department fights about techniques and theory and when they fight... oh boy Do They Fight

one day lipton enters to ask a quick question about a baroque end table, he feels the tense silence, he sees everyone with their earbuds in and Not Looking at each other, and he leaves immediately. he sends out an email that says “they are fighting give them a few days”

this excludes eddie who is whistling to himself and marveling over stitching patterns and is completely unaffected by the showdown that occurred not even an hour ago

eddie brings in his guitar sometimes on fridays and serenades them. sometimes its fun but sometimes they simply do not want to hear acoustic my neck my back by khia for the third time in a row

every month they have lunch together on the department credit card and they claim it is a Very Important Meeting Expense. it’s not much they just go to the diner down the block and spend an hour together and have fun :)

#this is too long.#i miss museums can u tell adnsfiosdf #op #amau

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captcas · 4 years

Text

Worth Fighting For

WORTH FIGHTING FOR by capthamm

Killian “Hook” Jones is a dominate up and comer in the UFC while Emma “The Savior” Swan’s career was cut short. When Hook’s manager moves up and the office brings in UFC’s youngest legend to keep him in check, will either of them be able to handle it?

read on ao3 // tumblr: ch 1/ ch 2

[CHAPTER 3/?]

Saturday night brings their monthly movie/game night and Emma has never been more grateful for a distraction. Ruby and the Nolans will come over around 6 o’clock and Henry is practically bouncing off the walls with excitement. Tonight’s theme is Star Wars and this will be Henry’s official introduction to the series; at David’s insistence they’re starting with A New Hope and going release order from there. They’re also going to play Star Wars trivia which Henry will undoubtedly suck at.

Should be a fun night all around.

And it was, until Henry went to bed and the “adults” got to talking.

Ruby cracks another beer and turns to Emma, “So, Emma, you’ve got probably the coolest new job in the world and you haven’t said jack shit.”

She shoots Ruby an icy glare as David and MM stop bickering over whether or not Kylo Ren deserved a redemption arc to hear what Emma has to say.

Emma sighs, “It’s going alright. All the onboarding is underway and between the perks, benefits, and pay, Henry should be set for life.” She’s been fortunate to live off her winnings for the past nine years, being mindful of money and not giving into the lifestyle of frivolous spending many fighters take on, but -even her friends know- she doesn’t have a money tree.

The looks on their faces when she mentions Henry being set for life could melt 1000 Olafs. When she arrived at Ruth Nolan’s home at the age of 16, she never expected to find a family. Hardened by a life too lived for anyone her age, Emma assumed they’d be like every other foster home and use her for the money. To this day, she’s never been so happy to be wrong.

Emma’s not sure what twist of fate landed an orphan with such a great support system, but she’ll be forever grateful. David took to the “protective brother” role immediately. Soon after Emma moved in, he met Mary Margaret (fireworks and butterflies and all that mumbo jumbo) who introduced them to Ruby. They’re small, and maybe a bit scrappy, but they’re family.

She breaks out of her thoughts and returns to the present, “I will need some babysitting though; I’m required to attend each of my client’s Fight Nights. But overall it’s great, really!”

She hopes she squeaked away without having to mention Jones at all but the glint in Ruby’s eye tells her otherwise. “Ok that’s all fine and dandy,” Mary Margaret shoots Ruby an incredulous look, warning her to tread carefully, but Ruby ignores her and continues, “but who’s the client?”

David is giving her a protective father vibe, Ms is practically vibrating, and she's pretty sure Ruby is salivating. Emma sighs realizing she shouldn’t postpone the inevitable, “Killian Jones.”

Ruby practically drops her drink and Mary Margaret squeals, David rolls his eyes and turns back to the TV where SportsCenter has been playing in the background. Mary Margaret beats Ruby to the punch, “THE Killian Jones?! As in Killian “Hook” Jones?!”

Emma nods, standing up to refill the only slightly empty chip bowl in front of her. She knew this was going to happen and she wasn’t exactly looking forward to her friends thirsting over her client– client… right.

Ruby speaks next, “Well that is probably the best case scenario. Do you think he can get us tickets? Have you met him? Is he as gorgeous in person as he is on TV? Can we meet him?”

Emma, now glad she’s in the kitchen with space to breathe, is starting to feel a bit overwhelmed. She knows Ms can sense it and is unsurprised when she speaks next,“For Christ’s sake Ruby let her breathe. She’s probably only had her initial meeting with him.”

Ruby seems to get the hint and it doesn’t take long before Ms is in the kitchen helping Emma pick up the leftover pizza, “We’re happy for you, Emma. He’s a huge client for them, they obviously trust you to do a good job.” Emma nods in thanks and they both head back into the living room. Her sister-in-law’s warmth always calms her (and Ruby) down which allows David to jump in and change the subject to the coverage of some football player’s arrest on SportsCenter. Emma finally catches a breath and realizes just how lucky she is for the friend dynamic they have before settling in to debate if this James Spencer kid should still be eligible for the draft.

As she lays in bed that night, Ms’ words ring through her head. Despite the rollercoaster of emotions she’s been feeling, Killian is a huge client, one that was formerly represented by a namesake for the company. This re energizes her a bit and helps her fall asleep, actually excited for what's to come.

She wakes up Sunday morning and makes Henry some pancakes and declares it a lazy Sunday. Henry happily obliged, cuddling up on the couch with The Deathly Hallows while Emma threw on some shitty reality TV.

. . .

When her alarm rings Monday morning, Emma pulls her pillow over her head like some teenager from one of those Disney Channel movies.

It takes her a second to remember what day it is and why she’s up at this godforsaken hour.

Killian Jones. Right.

She audibly groans before rolling out of bed and getting ready for the day. Between her shower and breakfast she gets Henry up. School starts at 8 so he’s technically running a bit behind but he’ll make it on the bus in time… hopefully.

She’s pouring him a bowl of cereal when he comes out of his room zipping up his sweater and rubbing his eyes.

“Hey, kid. Coco Puffs or Fruit Loops?” He mumbles some semblance of what she thinks is Fruit Loops so she pours the bowl and slides it across the kitchen island. He smiles in thanks as she pours her own bowl and sits beside him.

“So today’s the big day?”

She didn’t tell Henry about her new client and when she spoke to the Nolan’s and Ruby, he was definitely supposed to be sleeping. “How could you possibly know that?”

“You’re not as quiet as you think you are and I’m not as tired as you think I am.” He yawns as if to punctuate his point.

“Uh huh, sure, kid.” He gives her a knowing glance and she realizes she’s not getting out of this. She runs her hands over her face and sighs, “Yes, today is the first meeting and I’m only slightly nervous to fu— screw this whole thing up.”

Henry chuckles at her attempted censorship (she never said she was a perfect parent), “You’ll be great, Mom, and Hook seems like a decent enough guy. I’m sure he won’t give you too much trouble.”

She stares at Henry a bit dumbfounded. It shocks her everyday how old he’s getting– nine going on nineteen for sure. “Are you hiding some Weasley’s Extendable Ears in your room or something? Are you a wizard? Should you be at Hogwarts?” Emma is very obviously trying to derail this conversation but it works, setting Henry off about how he’s finally on the sixth book and explaining the concept of a horcrux.

Oh, her sweet summer child.

God, maybe he is old enough for UFC.

When did that happen?

She ushers Henry to the bus, promising him they’ll watch the sixth movie tonight if he finishes the book today and is to school on time. It’s only September and he can’t be late three times in the first month of school. She kisses his forehead and he wishes her good luck.

Sometimes she wonders how such a screw up ended up with the perfect kid.

After cleaning up the kitchen, Emma finishes getting ready. She jumps on the subway and finds herself at the office with a half hour to spare. She’s never early so she chalks it up to nerves and uses the time to prep for this meeting.

Over the weekend she received multiple emails from Gold’s team surrounding a possible spot for Killian on the card for the pay-per-view Fight Night in November.

A pay-per-view card. She did enough research about Killian this weekend to know that would be his first.

Emma feels like she’s been thrown into the deep end before being taught how to swim.

Go big or go home.

She did a lot of research about Killian and learned practically nothing. She knows he came here from London almost ten years ago and that his team includes his head trainer Robin (husband of now former manager Regina Mills), and three other men named Will Scarlett, August Booth, and William Smee (he’s really selling it with that whole Hook theme). Other than that all she found was his record and highlights. He’s 6-0 which is insane for only being in the circuit for a year and a half– fighters are usually limited to three, maybe four fights a year.

4 of his 6 are knockouts.

He’s good… really good.

Her thoughts are interrupted by a light tapping on the edge of her cubicle. She glances up to find none other than the man himself. She can’t help but double take.

Real professional, Emma.

She's only ever seen him in the ring, at the gym, or dressed up for a business meeting. She’s not sure what she expected, but a leather jacket and pants that fit him like his own skin definitely weren’t it.

He looks good… really good.

Emma snaps herself out of it, “Hi, Mr. Jones, just give me a moment and we can head to the conference room.”

“It’s Killian, love, please.” She notices he winces at the seemingly habitual pet name. Emma ignores the ring of disappointment that runs through her gut at the realization that it may not be reserved for her. “A conference room’s a bit formal, don’t you think? Let’s get out of here, Swan.”

He grabs her hand before she can answer. “Mr.— Killian. Is this allowed?”

He chuckles. “We can plan the meetings at our leisure,” he says the last bit in an almost scary imitation of Regina, “but even still, Regina and I never met in office. A bit silly for two people to take up an entire conference room, yeah? Come on, lass, try something new. It’s called trust.”

Emma rolls her eyes but follows along anyway. The elevator ride should’ve been awkward but Killian kept the conversation flowing by asking her preferred drink. “Coffee, tea, or smoothies?”

Despite the risk of sounding like a child, Emma finds herself being honest with him, “Uhh, I actually prefer hot chocolate… with cinnamon.”

He smiles brightly at her, as though her drink order was the most brilliant discovery this century, “Perfect, Swan. I know just the place.”

She was so swept up in his ambush, she doesn’t realize that this isn’t the cocky, asshat Killian Jones she sees on tv or at the gym until he’s practically dragging her across the street to a small cafe. This Killian seems genuine and carries this almost childlike excitement.

Emma tells herself she has no interest in learning more about this Killian.

(Emma doesn’t have to tell herself that that is complete bullshit.)

. . .

He can’t stop himself from beaming when she offers up her drink order without hesitation. Killian feels like a bloody teenager around her. He promised himself he wouldn’t feel this way again, but something about Emma Swan has completely entranced him.

He finds himself fascinated with every part of her, including the small things, like the fact she takes cinnamon on her hot chocolate.

Once they get to the cafe across the street, Killian forces himself to dial it back. He can tell she’s guarded and as much as he’d like to be friends (more than friends) with the lass, he knows business has to come first.

It wouldn’t exactly be a good look for him if he ran “The Savior” out of the office on her second day.

Somehow he thinks he doesn’t have that power.

He’d like to. (Obviously not to run her out of the office, but he’d like his existence to mean that much to her.)

Bloody hell, he's being ridiculous.

They sit down across from each other at a small table by the window. He expects to start the conversation but before he can form a coherent thought she’s speaking.

“So, Killian. I’ve already received some correspondence from Gold’s team. I’m not sure how much time you usually take between fights and I know it’s already the end of September but…”

She’s rambling and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen anybody so adorable when they’re nervous.

Adorable is not a professional descriptor.

Killian Jones doesn’t want “professional” with Emma Swan.

Fuck.

“...Gold is hoping to get you on the main card for November 14th.”

Did she just say main card?

He chokes on his coffee.

“Main card, Swan? I’ve never been on the main card. Strictly early prelims…”

She eyes him suspiciously, “Usually that’s a good thing. Upward momentum and all that. His team is clearly impressed by your dominant record.”

“Is his team the only one impressed?” The flirt escapes him before he can stop it.

Bloody idiot.

She doesn’t even bat an eye, “The entire league seems to be impressed, Jones.” Her tone tells him she knows what just happened but she shut it down immediately.

He likes a challenge.

Emma Swan may be his favorite challenge yet.

Emma Swan is off limits, but Killian will be damned if he cares.

. . .

Emma is surprised when Killian pays for their drinks despite her insistence that she can charge it to Mills Management. She’s also surprised by how nice he is.

She keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop.

She’s still waiting.

He’s definitely flirtatious, every other sentence being easily twisted into some sort of innuendo, but she can tell it’s a front. The little things he does like tipping the barista an extra fifty cents or holding the door for her, let on to the man behind the persona.

Well, and the fact he practically chokes when she tells him they want him for the main card.

He seems genuinely shocked that anyone would be impressed by him. His mask comes out almost immediately, another innuendo laced into his question. She doesn’t let him go there, shutting it down as quickly as it started. For this to work, she needs him the real him. Not the cocky MMA fighter who he used to catch the eye of UFC execs. She compliments him, and it’s beyond genuine. That seems to calm his nerves a bit as they move into social media management and he shifts into a professionalism she’s not entirely prepared for.

She’s not sure she wants professional Killian Jones.

Whoa, Emma, pump the breaks.

She shakes it off as she watches him take notes on what she’s saying about the importance of a lead up on Twitter and how it can set the tone for the entire fight. His tongue runs along the inside of his lower lip as he concentrates and she can’t help the overwhelming wave of attraction that hits her.

Like lightning.

It’s not just the tongue, (but that’s not helping) it’s his dedication to this sport and how he actually gives a fuck about what she’s saying. Killian never displayed even a hint of the deeply rooted misogyny that runs rampant throughout the industry. He actually seems almost humbled by her presence. The words escape her mouth before she can’t stop them, “Why are you actually taking anything I say seriously?”

Very professional, Emma. Way to instill confidence in your client. Smooth.

His head snaps up at her abrupt question and he looks confused. “I know you don’t like being called a legend, Swan, but you were a damn good fighter. If I walk out of this partnership with half the following and success you had, I’d call that a win.”

She’s stunned by his sincerity.

Brick. Wall. (She thinks she hears Pink Floyd somewhere in the distance.)

“And I suppose you think you know all about me from our, what, three conversations now?” She knows it’s snippy, that’s the point.

He stops typing and puts his phone down. “Pardon me, love, but you’re a bit of an open book.”

Emma scoffs, “Anyone with the internet knows I prefer people don’t call me a legend.”

“Aye, but do they know it’s because you feel too young with a career too short to have made an impact? That you feel choosing yourself, a life, over MMA removes all glory from your name?”

Emma is entirely shaken by his apparent ability to read her like a fucking picture book. (Does that even make sense? Do you read picture books?) Emma never had a formal retirement ceremony; gloves in the middle of the ring and all that. She had asked Gold to be taken off the roster and for a quiet exit and that’s what he’d given her. The public doesn’t know the real reason she left MMA, her attempt at keeping Henry’s life as normal as possible, but somehow Killian–

Brick. Brick. Brick.

“Let’s talk about Instagram.” She sees the disappointment sweep across his face, realizing she can read him pretty well too. That’s terrifying.

Way more terrifying than social media plans.

They keep it strictly business for the rest of the meeting. She’s startled when her stomach rumbles and she checks the time.

12:00. They’ve been strategizing for three hours.

She’s not sure where the time went, and when Killian asks her if she wants to grab a bite to eat together, she’s startled again by her initial gut reaction to say yes.

Obviously, she says no and makes up some lie about needing to get back to the office. He knows it’s a lie, she can see it all over his face. He doesn’t push her though, and she’s grateful. They set their next meeting and Emma’s heart speeds up, seemingly unaware that this is a business meeting and not a date. She shakes his hand and promises to have a full plan ready for Thursday before practically sprinting out of the cafe.

In three conversations Killian Jones has gone from asshat to… who knows. One thing Emma does know is that Killian Jones is off limits to the highest of ethical degrees. But what scares her most, is that she’s not entirely sure she cares.

. . .

As soon as he asks her to lunch he knows he’s pushed too far.

Actually, he perhaps pushed too far by letting on just how easy it was for him to read her, but lunch, well that was just asking for a brick wall. He runs his hands across his face, completely taken with someone he has no right to. She’s witty, smart, and could probably kick his ass— scratch that, could definitely kick his ass— but she also has demons, he can see them swimming behind her eyes. Demons that seem scarily similar to his, maybe not on the surface but definitely in their damage. Emma is raw and unapologetic; a real human being who is, for all intents and purposes, unimpressed by the suave persona of Killian “Hook” Jones.

She’s bloody perfect.

He’s fucking fucked.

Eloquent.

Killian decides to grab a quick lunch from the cafe and head to the gym. He has a lot of pent up frustration and really feels the need to punch something. Thank god that’s his job. He scarfs down his sandwich, not realizing how hungry he was and jumps on the subway to the training center. He miraculously finds a seat and is able to scroll through his phone a bit. As he pokes around Twitter he finds an article announcing Emma “The Savior” Swan’s comeback to the UFC. He clicks on it, curiosity getting the better of him despite probably knowing the gist of the article.

He didn’t expect a timeline of her very impressive career:

2008: Swan joins the UFC with her Boston gym. Her debut match against Aurora Rose ended in a TKO. She’s back in action six months later fighting Ella Tremaine. She wins again, this time after three rounds by split decision.

2009: A dominant start to the year for The Savior with a first round submission against Tiana Dampier in January. She rounded out her year with another first round submission against El Oldenburg in May, and a third round knockout against Esmerelda Gringoire in October.

2010: Swan goes three rounds with Merida Baer and wins by unanimous decision. Swan wins again after three rounds by split decision against Megara Alcmene. The Savior’s final match is a KO against Mulan Fa rounding out her record to 8-0. Her next match, meant to be for the women’s title, was declined with no comment from The Savior.

2020: Swan joins Mills Management as a talent manager assigned to Killian “Hook” Jones.

Killian knew Swan was good, an early legend in her own right, but he had no idea she was this dominant. He also had no idea she left without so much as a wave goodbye. He figured he’d just missed the announcement seeing as it came well before his introduction into the sport. Against his typical moral code, he tries to google why she left but finds nothing. She knocks out Mulan Fa and then just stops being added to cards and fades away as new fighters take her place.

He knows there’s a reason for her secrecy and he’d be lying if he said curiosity was the only driving force behind his attempt to learn more. He finds himself wanting to know everything there is to know about Emma Swan; a deeper part of him aches for her to be the one who tells him.

He’s positive he can only dream of gaining that level of trust from her, but he has to try. Liam's words ring heavy in his ears, "A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets."

He gets off at the stop closest to the training center and walks through the front doors, waving to Belle at the front desk before heading into the locker room. He’s fortunate to be on the UFC roster, allowing him to keep his training gear at the center and not have to worry about lugging it around with him. It also gives him the freedom to come here whenever he needs to let off some steam. He changes quickly and finds a treadmill to warm up. He jogs a mile and a half before picking up the pace. Killian’s in the midst of his runner’s high when someone steps into the machine next to him. He turns his head to offer them a small smile in hello, it’s not that big of a gym, exclusive to the UFC industry and a few friends of friends, so chances are he knows the person at least in passing.

Oh, Killian knows them alright, and he practically falls off the treadmill when he sees her green eyes blown wide.

#Captain Swan #cs ff #cs modern au #emma swan #killian jones #capthamm #worth fighting for

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neshabeingchildish · 4 years

Text

League of Extraordinary Geniuses || Chapter 2

Not gonna lie, this chapter is dialogue heavy and a little rushed. Something was going on with my device where I couldn’t quite get the formatting correct and I grew impatient because this is currently the only thing I’m getting feedback on from people other than Lil’ Dynamite and so I wanted to push it out anyway, regardless of errors. I’ll probably go back and change those later. Patience isn’t my ministry. So, whatever. Thanks. Enjoy and sorry. All the platitudes you require, I give. Tagging @kiddangers @just-a-j-reallly and @sunbeameyes (Please lemme know if you wanna be taken off while you do all the stuff you’ve got going on). TW: for alcohol drinking. Idk. Sometimes, that bothers people, even if nobody’s drunk or abusing it.

I Didn’t Say Overthrow the Government

Charlotte gave the twins hugs and kisses before sending them off with their caregiver. It was just something about having access to these children that she couldn’t see them as experiments or projects, even if that was in essence what they were. And the caregiver would definitely have to shapeshift into her at times in order to calm them down, because they were extremely attached to their “mother.”

Charlotte had a work program for bionics and supers that didn’t want to be heroes. She felt like it was unfair to presume or worse, force people into positions where they had to risk themselves for the rest of the world. She knew that her previous boss had that type of childhood and he never grew up past that of a superpowered 8 year old, then he simply continued to repeat that cycle by inducting underage sidekicks and even opening a school to keep that process going.

She knew that Chase might have wanted to be something else had he not been raised and forced to be a protector. He mentioned, in passing, as though it was completely ridiculous, that when he was younger, he wanted to be an astronaut/lawyer. He laughed at his expense, until Charlotte wondered, “Why didn’t you do it?” He stared at her as though the question was ludicrous, so she had to tack on, “I have the credentials to be quite a few things that some might laugh at, and you definitely are more than qualified to be an astronaut lawyer, if that’s what you want.” He gave a little chuckle and moved on with the subject.

That was actually the thing that compelled her towards a new project. She loved new projects, because even though it kept her busy, it opened up her brain for new opportunities to touch the world in an impactful way. She went live on her page the next day and asked supers and bionics, “If you could do ANYTHING ELSE in the world, right now, what would it be? I know that some of you have certain abilities that have made it to where you have focused in on using that gift to help the world, but… What if you had the means and the opportunity to do something else? What would you do?” She read all of the comments and in the same conversation made a decision, “You know what… I feel very moved by a lot of these testimonies. So, this is what I’m going to do…” She created an email address and shared it with the viewers and posted it to her website, “I am going to have everyone who is interested in transitioning from an imposed future that revolves around your ability to a career or even just a hobby that you would love to get into to email me so that I can try to figure out how to make a some of these things happen.”

The number of “I STAN!” comments she received were nothing in comparison to the amount of mail that she got. She had a guy named Bob that she heard went to the academy on Bionic Island who had super strength, but was very gentle and hated having to fight. That was exactly the type of person she was trying to seek out. She had Chase introduce her to this guy… he was sweet, but by God, he was not bright. Sort of reminded her of her best friend, Jasper, in that regard. And it hit her! Jasper! “Hey, Jasp… I’ve got this bionic guy named Bob. He doesn’t want to have to be out on missions. He doesn’t like fighting. He’s very nice, but not that smart and he really doesn’t have a lot of skills beyond mission training and superstrength.”

“We ABSOLUTELY could use someone with super strength around here. I can teach him some maintenance stuff to help out around the lair and the shelter while he finds himself and figures out what he wants to do. Henry’s been enrolling in adult classes at the Vision Institute. Bob could maybe do that?” Jasper said.

“Yes, I’m definitely getting him in touch with an advisor, but I was more like checking to see if you had an empty room to put the guy up in and also if you could maybe mentor him a little along the way, since you have a lot in common?” Charlotte said. Jasper gave her ideas that she was already in the process of setting up, but a support system would be a huge part in these transitions. A lot of people who went to the Vision Institute went for the reason it was created - to figure out exactly what they wanted to do with their life now that their brains were fully formed and they were adults who realized that they had spent all of their lives going in directions that they were pulled in, instead of where their minds led them.

NOW, she had to try to get a more nuanced system in place for those bionics and supers who suffered the same existential crisis, but with the added pressure that they HAD to do whatever direction they were pulled in because, “the world depended on them.” Know who else the world depended on? Caretakers and caregivers, and Charlotte found a perfect shape shifting one who just wanted to be able to look after kids and stuff. She was bionic, so she definitely had been trained and conditioned to fight and protect, but now she was able to play with a couple of adorable babies who turned into adorable puppies AND, she would be able to help them hone their shifting, whenever they were ready for it! Charlotte loved that for her. She loved that Bob might be able to live out his dreams. She loved that she put things in motion to help people be happier and more successful and safe.

The twins were gone to the cottage, which was where they generally stayed, since the castle was fairly new and Charlotte wasn’t even there a lot of the time. With having the guys there, it would be easier anyway.

She came back inside to Max coming from his guest quarters and almost immediately asking, “Do bionics have twin powers?” She froze and folded her arms, thinking. She didn’t know and he didn’t either, so they both rushed to her desk to work on figuring out if they could figure that out.

Chase surfaced later, and found the two of them walking around one in one of Charlotte's famous theory rooms, which was a room with the walls covered in notes and models hanging from the ceiling, and spots where it was clear that experiments were done. It was sort of like if a lab didn’t have everything that was needed to do the work, but had everything that was needed to get to the work. Chase had seen the one that she had in her Dystopia home and the one in the Defender Dome, but this one was bigger, but less used. She and Max went to hover above a model with little figures of people and the scene of what looked like Centium City. “Good afternoon. I made a late start. I think that something is wrong with the guest capsule,” Chase said.

“Do you feel rested and like you’ve had the best sleep ever?” Charlotte wondered.

“As a matter of fact, yes!”

“Then, how could there be something wrong with it?” She asked, rhetorically, not turning her attention away from the model.

Max asked, “Hey, Bionic Boy, do bionic twins have the ability to tap into twin powers?”

Charlotte gasped and said, “I didn’t even THINK about just asking Chase, and we went through that whole thing earlier only to come out as inconclusive.”

“What are twin powers?” Chase asked. Now, Charlotte and Max looked up from the current tangent/theories that they were mulling through to stare at Chase. He smiled awkwardly. “You know what, I’ll just look it up,” he said and touched his finger to the side of his face. “Okay… um.. No, I don’t think so. It would most likely have to be programmed into the coding for their chips. Kind of like my override, but like… something mutual that becomes something else.”

“The mystery kinda dies with that, doesn’t it?” Max asked Charlotte, disappointed. “Well, at any rate… Definitely gonna work on twin powers for the Swagger Twins,’ Max said, into his phone, recording.

Charlotte added in a smol voice, “They is good boys and they deserve!” Max looked at her, absolutely smitten and smiled.

Chase watched with some judgment. He knew that Charlotte frequently switched up for who she needed to be, whenever she needed to be it. The Charlotte that she was with her best friends, the professional in a business meeting, the one that had to deal with Mr. Davenport, and so on. This one was new to him, and if he didn’t know any better… he’d say that this one was into Max. There was obviously some type of inside joke there with the strange voice and the grammatically incorrect phrasing, but the smile that Max gave her made him… irritable. “Are we doing some work today? Anything that I can latch on to?”

“Oh! Yes… We were actually just having a discussion about roleplaying, chess, and boardgames,” Charlotte counted off on her fingers. “We’ve been determining - out of the bionics worlds and the supers worlds, which heroes would be which characters or pieces.”

“We keep on switching and changing between chess and DND, because neither of us is making a list. Making a list might cut into the creative juices and this is all for fun…” Max added on. Chase knew all about chess and Dungeons and Dragons, though that was because Mr. Davenport had casually mentioned it one day and of course, it only took him a few moments to research and memorize it all, but he still hadn’t had the chance to ever play it. Charlotte and Max were talking about this current train of thought, until Chase projected a hologram for them, with a chess board and a diagram that he was creating in progress, split screen with the chess board as he explained, and went through all of the bionic people he knew from the database, where they would be on a chess board and why.

He blinked it away when he was done and offered, “I’m not as hip to DND, but I have some ideas…”

“Um, no… Let’s discuss whatever that set up was!” Max said, practically cheering. “You can do cool shit like that, and you… just don’t? You could be fanboy famous with that gift!” Chase blushed a little and Charlotte smiled at this and at Max’s enthusiasm for that display. “You honestly should take that online.”

“But, it doesn’t fit the Chase Davenport brand that Mr. Davenport approved,” Chase said, coming closer into the room.

“Who is Mr. Davenport?” Max asked, looking between the two of them, then gasped and asked, “Wait, is that what you call your Dad? Uncle? Dude?” Max started laughing and shook his head, “You’re ONLY supposed to do that when you’re a corny dude at a fancy meeting and you say the cliche phrase, “Mr. Davenport is my father.”

“Well… that’s what we call him,” Chase said, annoyed, again. Max backed off and went back to their current mind game…

There was definitely still tension, and Max and Chase were being cordial, but it was clear that they still weren’t sold on one another, so Charlotte decided that maybe after a good day of mental stimulation, a few small experiments, a nice meal and some fine drinks, she could talk to them about the future.

So, after all of that, they retired to the lounge, and she poured wine, lit candles and played easy listening music overlayed on nature sounds. Chase smiled, comfortably and announced, “This is a very satisfying lounge.” Honestly, she was setting it more for him than for Max, so that was good feedback for her.

“I was thinking about something,” she said and picked up her wine glass. “I was thinking about a couple of years ago whenever I started trying to open doors for people who didn’t want to be reduced to their bionics or superpowers. People who just wanted to be people and enjoy their lives whether or not they could fly or breathe underwater… I couldn’t help but to think about it today and the fact that neither of you ever really said anything about wanting to do something else besides be heroes.”

Max narrowed his eyes suspiciously and took a drink of wine. “Gross. I’m raiding your liquor cabinet,” he said, put down his wine and telekinetically collected a few bottles of brown liquor and three shot glasses to himself.

“Well, I can’t speak for Max, but there really isn’t another option for me,” Chase smelled the wine and took a sip. It was good. How could Max not enjoy it? It was a very excellent year and a perfect aroma…

“But, there ARE though. Today alone, you proved that you could, if you wanted to, create an online presence for fandoms - which don’t give me that look could be extremely successful! - make exciting and fun games, excel in theoretical physics, improve mission suits and super suits, recreate the Internet with better accessibility and less monopolizing, if you wanted to, and like.. Several other things, and that was just today!” She insisted.

Max took a shot of whiskey and poured another, “You want one?” He asked Chase, knowing that whatever Charlotte was about to say, this uptight Chase dude was gonna feel some type of way about it.

“I’ve never had it before…” Chase said, a little leery. Max floated over the shot glass and Chase received it, smelled it and winced. To Charlotte, he said, “Yeah, I enjoyed doing all of that stuff in the theory room, but in real life, I have commitments and obligations…”

“That The Dom forced upon you,” she mentioned, taking a sip of her wine.

“That! That’s what I know that dude as.” He snickered under his breath and mumbled, “Mr. Davenport.”

Chase threw him a short glare, took a sip of the whiskey and groaned, then dropped the shot glass, but Max caught it and floated it back up. “That’s disgusting! Get it away from me! People DRINK this? On purpose??”

“You’re supposed to shoot it, Dude. Like this,” Max demonstrated, blew out a deep breath and nodded, “Then, give it a moment, and it runs through you and feels warm and good.”

“It feels like poison,” Chase said, grabbing the floating shot glass. But, Charlotte had it in her home and Max had just had two, so maybe it wasn’t as bad as the initial taste. He shot it like Max did and slammed the shot glass down, breathing hard and shaking his head, “I’ve decided that I am not a whiskey man.”

“Fair enough,” Max said, smirking.

Chase used his own molecular kinesis to put the shot glass away, then told Charlotte, “I thought that you had accepted that I’ve accepted that this is what I’m doing with my life…”

She furrowed her eyebrows and wondered, “Why did you think that? Chase, you were my motivation to start liberating supers and bionic people from destinies written out for them, so I don’t accept you accepting that, unless you’re accepting it because it’s what you want and not what you believe you should be doing!”

“What’s wrong with keeping a purpose that you’ve already been given?” Chase asked her, looking at her extremely hard and starting to kinda feel what Max was talking about, with the whiskey.

“Nothing… Unless… The person that gave it to you wasn’t qualified to create it for you. Davenport is a genius. We can’t take that away from him. But, he’s not a god and he isn’t infallible. His purpose for you makes A LOT of sense and helps a lot of people, but that doesn’t mean that it’s perfect or shouldn’t be challenged.”

“No, but me trying to do something just to be happy whenever what I do now actually saves lives… I mean… You’re a utilitarian, Charlotte. Does that seem like a better world to you? One where I’m creating games or… Or… being an Internet personality or whatever?”

“She didn’t say that you couldn’t still save the world, Man. I think she’s more like, thinking about the fact that you spend all of you life and make all of your decisions within those confines that Davenport put on you and nothing else. You could have been enjoying things like you did today, instead you’re like… such a Davensnore when you come out of the mission suit. You can save the world and still be your own human,” Max said. Then chuckled again and repeated, “Davensnore. Put it on the books, Folks. That’s his name now.”

“That’s not his name!” Charlotte said, but chuckling at little. “But, he’s right about everything else. IF you accept that what you want is to be a bionic savior and do that, then of course, I support that. But, you seemed so lighthearted and fulfilled today, exercising your smarts for fun and also coming up with very great ideas too, and maybe you’re meant to be a different kind of hero. I feel like I’m a hero and I definitely rarely hit a battlefield personally.”

“You DO! But… You’re not like me,” Chase said.

“What’s THAT supposed to mean?” Max asked, sitting up straight

“Just that she was able to grow up with the mentality that you can be what you want to be and do what you want to do and everyone will support it and motivate you, instead of put you in a box.”

“I WHAT?” Charlotte asked, putting her glass down.

“Now, you’re in trouble,” Max said, with a smile.

Chase’s eyes were wide with apprehension of whatever Charlotte was going to say next, but instead of saying anything, she just stared at him, in disappointment. God. That HAD to be worse than whatever he thought she was going to say. She looked so betrayed and let down and he wished that she would just tell him where he messed up at so that he could bring about a solution. Instead, she simply stared at him and thought her explosion inside of her mind...

“I know that you grew up in a basement, so normally, I’d let you slide on that, but you have learned too much history, have read too many books, and have an entire two black female humans in your immediate family and one male counterpart, as well. You have to know on some type of level that that statement you just made is NOT true at all and even now, today, with the things that both of us have accomplished in our own ways, IF you had accomplished the things that I have accomplished, do you know how much more well received and adored that you would be? Have you SEEN some of the criticisms against me and compared and contrasted it with what you get? Have you done the same with the compliments? I’m in your corner, Dude. Don’t… downplay my stuff because you don’t like what I’m saying. If that’s how it’s gonna be, forget that I asked you to venture into this with me.”

“Well,” she said after five full minutes, Chase noted almost right on the dot. He had upset her SO MUCH, that she just “took a five” and used it to stare at him in upset. It kinda made him miserable. He NEEDED her to say something to him about it. Even now, she didn’t. She picked her wine glass up, shot the rest and pointed at Max, “The scotch, please.”

“Coming right up,” he said, telekinetically pouring the shot and sent it to her. "By the way, what's this venture you and me are doin'? You still hadn't said."

Chase was quiet, mulling over the things that were unsaid while the other two talked.

Charlotte was a little flustered, but brightened up as soon as Max asked her about her idea. "I want to find and collect people like us, those who can and could change the world if only they didn't have significant barriers to doing so. I want to find and gather as many of us as I can, help to guide them in the right direction and with all of our combined intelligence, hard work and determination, we can undo our current, flawed system and rebuild a new and improved one that will benefit everybody."

"You… want to overthrow the government?" Chase tried to clarify.

"I want the government to be changed into something that makes sense and is run by smart and capable representatives, and works for the people in it."Chase looked really bothered and so she explained, "For far too long, the system has been slanted.. it was created by men who were all in the same type of station, with the same interests and they made a system that has been benefiting them and almost exclusively them for so long that it is DEBATABLE for anyone else to have a fair shake. I think, if we really want to change the world and save some lives, we've gotta change the foundation. Just like with Dystopia, but like… farther and wider."

”You had me at “overthrow the government.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You… did. You just used way too many words when you said it.”“Well, I meant enhance life for the people.”

Chase interjected, unsure if she knew what she was suggesting here, “You CAN’T without overthrowing the government!!”

“That sounds like the government’s problem,” Max said, taking his last shot of the night. (He knew his limit).

Charlotte now got up to sit next to Chase and look right at him, the most serious and concerned look on her face that he had ever seen before and he knew that this meant a lot to her and that she needed it to mean something to him too. Something good. He wasn’t FEELING that this could actually lead to something good, but he WANTED to feel what she seemed to want him to feel as she spoke, “Don’t you hate the fact that this country, this WORLD is constantly at war, people are always going without, someone is always oppressed, and almost everybody doesn’t have what they need not just to be happy, but to survive? And who is to blame for it? It shouldn’t be us, but it usually is. Scientists need to find a way. Doctors still haven’t found a cure, etc, so on and so forth. When people like us work beside or even worse BENEATH clueless ingrates who see us as their smart… equipment. And you two understand this more than my previous team. The world does read you a certain way, but also, when they know what you are, they let their biases slip in. They don’t trust bionic humans any more than they do androids. And supers? Not if they don’t know every single solitary fact about that individual and still, they keep them at bay. I don’t feel like I should have to speak about or make a list of my struggles with this place. It. Has. To. Change. We have to try to change it. We’re qualified to and if that isn’t being a hero and saving the world, I guess I just don’t know what is. I don’t want the future to be as oppressive as the present. The world isn’t in God’s hands. It’s in the hands of the smart and the brave.”

Chase nodded his head, “I... have to think about it. I mean.. How would it work? Are you just compiling a genius database and visiting them like some type of secret society and just inducting them and giving them this speech, or...?”

“Pretty much just like that, Sir,” she said, with a little shrug of her shoulders.”But, do think about it.” She stood up and Max stood up as well. “See you tomorrow,” she said. “I’m going to go unwind.” Max stretched and grabbed the bottles from the table to move to sit closer to Chase, who looked confused as to why Max was moving next to him. Charlotte went through the corridor that passed through her courtyard to go inward to her quarters.

“Sure you don’t want anymore?” Max asked.

Chase furrowed his eyebrows and wondered, “You said that I was in trouble... What is it that you know that I don’t about what I said?”

Max scoffed out a little laugh and shook his head, “Have you never read one book about racial injustice or the lingering effects of chattel slavery in America?”

“Yeah, but what does that have to do with - Ohhhhhhhhhhh.”

“You basically just told one of the most historically subjugated and mistreated persons in the nation that she had more privilege than you and the unspoken presumption, that her privilege was why she wanted to take this on.”

“Do you think she’s mad at me for it?”

“I think you hurt her feelings,” Max said. “A genuine apology goes a long way, though.”

“I’ll talk too her tomorrow.” They were quiet for a while, then Chase wondered, “Are you really on board with this? You’re answer is undoubtedly yes, to this idea of hers?”

“Yeah. Not like she asked me to rip out my own heart and throw it at a politician. She’s talking about moving silently to help fix things that a lot of powerful people are often loud and wrong about and STILL gain support. Whatever side of history Charlotte is ever on, I’ll always know its the right side.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But, you’ve gotta do what makes Chase Davensbore happy.”

“I thought it was Davensnore?” Chase said.

Max shrugged his shoulders. “It’s both, Bionic Boy. You’re super bland.”

“Your ego is unwavering.”

“I talk like this ‘cause I can back it up,” Max said.

“I can too, and I don’t act like this!”

Max furrowed his eyebrows and wondered, “You don’t know Beyonce song references when you hear them?” He suddenly sat upright and looked right at Chase, like he had something very urgent that just happened. Chase sat up, equally as urgently, in reflex alone, only to have Max ask, “You do know who Beyonce is, right?”

Chase sank back into the seat and sighed, “Ugh. Of course I do... I just don’t know her catalog that well...”

“Just as shameful. I’m going to bed. You’d better apologize to Charlotte.”

“Of course, I will!” Chase snapped and whenever Max was gone, he got up and went to find her. Things were easier to communicate between them without “her other friend,” around. He was convinced that there never would have been any weird miscommunication without Max there, but it didn’t matter now. He was big enough to admit when he was wrong, and even if he wasn’t, in his mind... Charlotte was worth putting himself aside for a moment. Was she worth taking on the world, though? The status quo? He found her on the terrace, wind blowing through her curls. Her silhouette doing nothing more than watching the moon shine down on her and still looking like music. Is she worth it? Yes. Yes, she is.

#Henry Danger #Lab Rats #The Thundermans #Chasing Thunderbolts Fic #League of Extraordinary Geniuses #LOEG Update #Nesha Fics #Multiverse Fics

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okimargarvez · 4 years

Text

FIRST DATE

Original title: First date.

Prompt: Luke asks Pen a date in a particular way.

Warning: none.

Genre: romantic, fluff.

Characters: Penelope Garcia, Luke Alvez, Phil Brooks, Roxy.

Pairing: Garvez.

Note: oneshot 70 in Garvez collection.

Legend: 🐶.

Song mentioned: Persone silenziose, Luca Carboni feat Tiziano Ferro.

GARVEZ STORIES

Note: this is not about episode 15x10. I written it weeks before seeing that moment. It was just a dream (one of the little about garvez) I made.

FIRST DATE

There are some silent people, there are timid presences hidden among people... but silence makes noise, the eyes have an amplifier... those eyes that have always been used to listening...

Hearing his cell phone vibrate, for a moment Luke fears that they have a new case. He looks at the display and smiles. -Alvez.- he gasps, trying to catch his breath. Roxy runs around him, agitated by the unexpected break.

The friend on the other end of the line chuckles. -Hey, brother, how are you?- he caresses the dog, calming him down. -Am I bother you?- he sighs.

-Never! I was running with Rox!- she barks, greeting Phil in her own way.

-You really have to find a girl, Luke.- he lovingly scolds him. Latin smiles inside himself. I'm just working on it. -About this... Did I mention my physiotherapist, Lisa? She's very pretty. I was wondering... would you like to have a double date? She, Penelope, you and I.- Luke's brain freezes on hearing that name. The heart starts pumping blood again at a speed not recommended. -What do you say? Hey, man, are you still there?- he blinks several times to recover.

-Yes, yes, I’m, but... What does your proposal mean? Do you know? Is it so obvious?- he blushes, but at the same time he is unable to get that grimace of absolute joy out of his face that appears every time he accidentally thinks of her.

-I understand what? Oh, wait. I hoped I saw wrong... You like her, don't you?- Luke runs his tongue over his lips, sighs in a teenage way.

-Yeah, huh, in fact... I asked her out. Or...- he scratches his head, nervous. -Technically I wrote her a letter. So, I don't know if you can consider it…- he recognizes Phil's exclamation.

-A letter? You mean paper letter? Only you can do such an old-fashioned thing!- he struggles to stop laughing. -Let me know how it goes, heartbreaker!- he is about to hang up, but he understands that he still has a joke in store. -If it goes bad, remember that there is someone else interested, not too far away...- Luke shakes his head. He doesn’t have time to put the phone in the pocket, that it starts ringing again.

He answers without looking. -Any other ridiculous joke, Brooks?- but he soon realizes it's not Phil.

-Alvez, we have a case and it's pretty bad. How long does it take you to get here?-

People who can't speak, who put their thoughts in order, people full of fear that someone might know their little and big... contradictory thoughts!

Although not many are convinced of this, Penelope is capable of being a professional person. That's why she notices the envelope just beyond her office door. But she decides not to consider it until the case is resolved. And so, she does.

Leaning against the backrest, she yawns. Her eyes fall on that envelope, still sealed, intact. She looks more carefully at the only writing. Her name. Penelope. She recognizes the handwriting before opening it. She closes her eyes, thinking that when she opens them again, she will understand that it was a hallucination.

Instead it is always there. She starts reading.

Penelope,

I can't imagine what you're thinking right now. In fact, she has no idea what she should expect from the continuation. For this reason, she decides to go ahead. Maybe I should have started by calling you Garcia, like the rest of the team. But you are not only Garcia, for me, and especially when I think of you outside of work.

Here, now her head is definitely confused. She has to read the sentence a second time. It's the same. It is always there. She's not just Garcia for him. What else, then? I hope you are still reading it. I wrote you this letter instead of an email or a message, because I had too many things to say and I hope that a little of what I feel has been transmitted to the sheet and that you can believe me. He managed to snatch a laugh from her and he is not even physically here. She finds herself stroking those sentences with her fingers. He is really so sweet... And suited to his style. A cold email could never give her heart pounding. I'd like to go out to dinner one evening with you. She jumps, risking falling off the chair. Luke's next sentence scares her even more. He seems to read her mind. Yes, I don't mean as colleagues or friends at O'Keefe. I mean a real full-blown appointment. Considering how they have always been going around the issue, without ever taking an effective step that leaves no room for doubt... well, yes, it is quite strange. Romantic. Intimate. Just the two of us. He continues to puzzled her, every word he adds.

In case you haven't died from a giggle attack now, I'd like to try to show you that it's all true. For once he hasn't guessed her reaction at all, quite the opposite. Laugh? She is not thinking about it at all. No, rather, should this irregularity in her heart beat worry her? Is she by chance having a heart attack? Should she call someone? I have been imagining that moment for far too long (more than I would admit). Oh shit, if he goes on this log, she'll really have to call an ambulance. I see you as if you were now in front of me. I see your extraordinary beauty in every nuance. Holy crap, holy crap. Her extraordinary beauty? Was he by chance drugged when he started writing this letter? Does he really think this of her? So, this is the reason why he stares at her for so long even in the least indicated moments. And I see myself, awkwardly, with my heart rumbling in my ears and sweaty hands, forcing me to ring the bell. And listening with tension to every noise coming from beyond the door. And your steps. He is a cursed poet, a director, an artist, because he has managed to show what he has described as almost real, a film, an anticipation... a spoiler aimed at the future. And then I imagine your smile a little uncertain, as if you had feared that in the end it would turn out to be a joke. Damn profilers; how can you play with them equally? I would make a compliment, you would thank me by touching my arm, I would reach to heaven. In Heaven just for a light touch on the arm? She doesn’t dare, really, Penelope doesn’t dare to imagine what effect it would then have if she accidentally came into contact with a slightly more pushed area... like the chest. I don't want to irk you; I'll spare you the rest of the evening. Irk you; here's the mystery solved, it's a Reid joke! But she doesn't believe it, never for a second. I will just tell you that I am sure I would have a fantastic time. Just because it would be with you. Damn bastard, what creature, no matter the gender, could decline an offer presented in this way? Without feeling like an idiot.

Because you are this. When I am close to you, it is as if the words no longer want to collaborate with me and form sentences of complete meaning... She knows the feeling perfectly, bro. But at the same time, I'm fine, you make me feel good, otherwise I wouldn't want to spend so much time with you. Well, it has its own logic. When love is logical? And why she thought that damn word?

I don't want to tell you what I feel for you loud and clear. I'd rather do it face to face; however cowardly I may be. And you're smart enough (actually a genius) to read between the lines. Smart enough, he says. And she knows it's true, but she doesn't dare to make assumptions. Lie, she already did. She did so whenever their eyes chained themselves for more than four seconds. But does anyone know this rule? Luke definitely doesn’t. Over four seconds means that the person who is looking at you wants to do something more with you, besides staring at you. No, not just a kiss. Of course.

I look forward to your reply, with trepidation and I hope I haven't ruined everything. For me, even just your friendship is important, but I could no longer live without knowing the truth, without getting involved. In her heart she wasn’t convinced that he would ever be able to take the first step.

Wherever and wherever you are, I wish you a wonderful day,

Luke

She emits so many sighs that she looks like a teapot about to explode, or a steam train. Has she really read those beautiful (wonderful, other than beautiful) words addressed to her by the Newbie (which for some time now can no longer be considered such)? No, she must have misunderstood, misinterpreted something. Instead it's all there, black on white: Luke Alvez wants to go out with her, a real date, romantic, intimate. He has swept away all doubts and loopholes. And now it's up to her, to answer him.

When was the last time she picked up one of her colorful and oddly shaped pens to do anything other than close a call with the team?

Okay, come on, it can't be that hard. He exposed his soul with her. The least she can do is try to return the favor.

Luke didn’t expect an answer so soon, on the contrary, it would be more legitimate that he had not imagined to get a real reaction from his blonde colleague, only... he needed to get rid of that weight. He still felt good. He regretted to not meeting her before returning home after the case was over. It was strange, but it had already happened that she wasn't there waiting for them.

He would lie if he denied he has thinking about it until his brain went out. Or that it wasn’t his first thought when he woke up, while shaving with a little more attention than usual.

Yet he can't help but feel some fibrillation down the path to his desk. And when he sees that envelope on the smooth surface, he reacts more or less like Garcia. At first, he believes it is a projection of his mind. He must touch it to accept that it is a concrete object belonging to this dimension. Penelope imitated him in a sublime way. His name, only four letters, seems almost a drawing, traced by her fantastic hands. He tries very hard to hold back the cry of joy that has gone up to his throat. It may also contain a negative response; but he doesn’t even consider this possibility. Usually he is not a positive person, but this time... He looks around. There is practically nobody, here there are the positive sides of get there early. So how long has that envelope been there? Did she leave it here the night before? Or is Penelope already hidden in her office?

A lot of unnecessary questions. He opens it and instantly his nostrils are struck by a heavenly perfume. Gingerly, he brings it close to his nose. Yes, it is hers. Oh jeez, will he come out alive in the end? He takes a quick look. The first thing he notices is that it's much shorter than his. But didn't someone say that the synthesis is the maximum understanding of the text? Maybe he's confusing the areas.

He starts reading, calmly.

Luke,

but he bursts already after the first word, which is none other than his name again. He must close his eyes and press his fingers on his temple, to achieve a mental balance stable enough to be able to continue. wow, a letter, what... Anachronistic thing. And somehow, I must admit, fascinating. Never as much as she is, but the bottom line is that... she liked it! A good start. It is useless to dance around it: you completely puzzled me. I confess that I find it hard to believe that you want to go out with me as... As an interested man. Why does it have to be so complicated to accept? She thinks she is not live up to him? What nonsense! If anything, the exact opposite! She could have any one man, doesn't she know? But he hopes she wants only him. He wants to be the lucky chosen one, more than anything else in the world. But I decided to get involved, as you did. It seems to me a story a bit too elaborate to be a joke. Yeah, elaborate… why does he fall even deeper for her every word? And I suspected that there was a romantic under the beard and the hunter's skin. Caught, Alvez. Never been so happy to be discovered by a girl, since elementary school, when he played hide and seek. Are you glad I used your same method? And also one of my favorite pens; enjoy the perfume, and consider it an appetizer for that day... He doesn't resist, he tastes the aroma a second time, letting his lungs fill themselves with it, closing his eyes like a moron, hearing Garcia's voice in his head that repeats the last sentence. An appetizer. It is so erotic that... he is happy to sitting with the lower half of the body under the desk. And by the way: you didn't indicate a date. Oh shit, she's right! How could he have been so stupid? He blushes, cursing himself. Out of the corner of his eye he sees that Matt and Tara are entering. He must hurry to finish the reading.

I wish you and Roxy a good evening, and I apologize you for forgetting Sergio 😉 And, here is a second unforgivable omission. But no, she said the exact opposite. She's giving him a chance. For real.

Your fantastic Penny

Penny. He savors that name on his lips, slowly. Fantastic, she certainly is. He puts the letter in a drawer at random, he doesn't need to see it again, he has already learned it by heart, even if he doesn't have Reid's skills.

Luke proves even bolder than she thought. Taking advantage of the fact that no new cases have arrived, he manages to find a way to send the letter to her the same day. Now that he has received a first green light it is really difficult to refrain.

She could access the video of the camera placed outside her office to watch him put it under her door. But it would be a slightly maniac thing. So, she just picks it up from the floor and opens it with little grace. She reads all in one breath.

Penelope,

I thank you for your magnanimity. Yes, you cannot imagine what pleasure it is for me to can hold a handwritten script by your hands. Do you understand now how hopeless I am? She's starting to get an idea. They are on the same boat. Do you think that a joke would be worth this self-denunciation and humiliation? You're right, for the emotion (and stupidity) I forgot to indicate a date, or maybe I was afraid that you might be scared of it, as if I had already decided everything. Yes, it is a far from remote hypothesis. Unless we will get a case, what you think about tomorrow night? Tomorrow. Tomorrow night. Just over 24 hours from now. She strives to breathe normally. And forgive me if I haven't been able to rely on post delivery times,

your Luke

Hers! Hers! Will he ever really be hers? Her boyfriend. Luke Alvez her boyfriend. It looks like a joke. It seems too real. And it frightens her.

She spends most of the day wondering what is the best way to answer him. She discards another letter because someone would surely notice it as she leaves it on Agent Alvez's desk. A message is too little and an email... Too detached. She wastes time so long that it is the moment to go home.

She is waiting for the elevator, always swimming in indecision. And it is at that moment that fate sets in motion. Luke appears from around the corner. At first, he seems almost frightened to find her there. Then his face melts into a smile. -Hey..- he is unexpectedly shy.

-Hey.- she replies with the same intonation. They look at each other for a few minutes. Weirdly, no one, stranger or part of the team, arrives to interrupt that moment. -Okay.- says Penelope after a century. Luke's eyes widen. She approaches him slowly, and puts her hand on his shoulder. -Okay, Luke, tomorrow is fine.- she whispers, making him shiver. -But you still forgot to indicate a time.- she smiles, going away.

Luke blushes. -Oh, you're right... it’s good 8.00 p.m.? Then you should have enough time to... You know.- she nods.

-It's perfect.- the elevator arrives, he lets her go up first. They are silent throughout the journey. Just before arriving, she approaches him again and places a kiss on his cheek. -Good night, Luke. See you tomorrow.-

The next evening

And suddenly you run away... without saying goodbye. Your eyes go down the stairs... I don't know what they are going to do, if to be moved or to dream... to get angry or to meditate...

Luke manages to hold back anxiety for the first twenty minutes. After another ten he goes into paranoia. Half an hour late seems to him a socially acceptable time to lose his head and call her. The phone rings empty. He waits a few more minutes and tries again. Ring endlessly, until the voice mail goes. Damn, why the hell isn't she picking up? It is on the third call that he completely loses his mind. He presses the repeat button practically without even realizing it. He takes strangely little time to reach thirty; thirty calls.

He doesn't even think for a moment if he should call the police. If something bad happened to her, what could a policeman do more than a federal agent (not on duty)? He drives like a madman to her house; he only went once but he has already memorized the route. Like whatever concerns her. He forces himself to park in a decent way and also to close the car; if someone would steal it, he would certainly be not be very clever, in case he had to take her somewhere, like a hospital... He climbs the stairs three steps at a time. He is already ready to knock down the door, he is mentally preparing himself for the act, when it opens wide and behind it there is her, perfectly healthy, intact, except that she seems very shaken.

He can finally start breathing again. Oxygen enters his lungs violently. -Penelope.- he coughs, as an inevitable consequence.

She just stares at him with terrified eyes. -You gave me... you gave a heart attack!- she puts one of her hands on her chest. Luke notices that she is wearing an open dressing gown that reveals a pajama. Did she prepare for their date or did she never give him a real chance? Did he just delude himself? He intends to get all the answers right now.

After the relief a little anger takes over, transmitted through a pungent irony. -Why, you thought you got rid of me forever?- but he doesn't last long, because she seems really too lost and fragile to be really angry. He already knows the reason for her behavior. He just needs to hear her say it.

-What?- Penelope asks, even more confused. Luke shakes his head.

-Forget it.- but he has a spasmodic need to touch her, any part of the body will be fine. -Why did you ditch me?- he caresses her arm, that thin layer of skin exposed to the outside world, and, surprisingly, she doesn't jump, she doesn't chase him away. -I waited until eleven o'clock.- is a reproach, but he has said it in the lowest and sweetest tone that is available in his vocal range. Penelope looks at him in passing. She doesn’t let her eyes fall into male ones. They are too magnetic. And she is in pajamas. And that's enough to embarrass her. Why does he persist in staying on her doorstep? She sighs, recalling the spirit of the Garcia of the past. The queen of ice. Anything just to get rid of him.

-You and the team wanted to play a trick on me and I ruined your party... I can't say I'm really sorry.- she is an excellent actress, even though she has never been able to exploit these qualities in real, private life... only on a stage. Luke seems to have taken really bad. As if... nope. It doesn't really care. -It's life, sometimes you win, sometimes you lose...- and instead, she seems to be rotten wrong. The man grabs her wrist that a second ago he was gently stroking and drags her dangerously towards him. Now she just can't avoid eye contact. And maybe it's better to not focus on his beautiful mouth.

That is now ranting at her. -What are you talking about?- the tone seems desperate, pained. -I will have called you thirty times and surely your voice mail will be clogged.- in fact it was really so. She didn't believe he would be able to go that far and listen to him beg her to tell him if she was okay, that the rest didn't matter, that he just needed to know that everything was ok... of course he shook her. But not enough to give her the strength to answer and reassure him. Why the hell was she so stupid?

Luke doesn't seem to think this of her, but the blonde continues straight on the road that will lead her to crash and collect the pieces of her heart. -I thought you would get there alone.- the voice, however, is already trembling, and she is wavering and seeking support in the door, rather than in him.

She reads sincerity in his face, yet she is unable to do anything other than boycott her own happiness. -Penelope, let's face it: did you think it was just a joke?- she doesn't nod, nor does she deny. Her eyes speak, confess. -Really? After everything we've written to each other?- a vein in his neck throbs, his face is red and his eyes are shiny. It's the first time she's seen him so furious. And to know that she is the reason... no, it is not at all good.

Even if she tells him exactly the opposite. -You're not cute when you're angry.- she shoots before she can stop it. This is not a thought that first formed in her mind and then was came out from the mouth. No, it born of nowhere.

Luke frowns. He is so puzzled that he lets her go. -What?- and she can no longer deny. She would like to have his arms around her back and his lips on hers. By this time, she could have already gotten it, if she wasn't an idiot and a coward. Never again, she promises. Never repeat the same mistake again.

-I won't take it back.- from now on she will be 100% sincere, even if it means having to suffer. She was never able to protect herself from the feelings that people cause her before Luke Alvez appeared on her radar. Why was everything different with him right away? She already knows the answer to this question too. She looks him straight in the eye. She could so easily fall in love with him... and it probably has already happened. -I said you're not cute when you're angry.- she tries to use a firm, stable tone of voice, even if a samba contest is taking place inside her.

Luke's face darkens. -But I'm not mad at you. I'm... just sad.- he has found a way to make her feel guilty, and almost certainly he is not aware of it. Both his attitude and tone are killing her. -It was so difficult to find the courage to ask you out and...- she interrupts him, practically caught by an electrocution. For a moment she sees him kneeling at his feet. No less insecure than now, despite they having been together for years. Willing to stay with her, even if she were to say no. And she can no longer really continue to doubt.

-Oh God. You really wanted to go out with me.- she starts shaking her head and at the same time her legs melt. Luke promptly holds her up, making her rest on his chest. He sticks his fingers in her blonde strands. Just to get this, the evening cannot be considered a fiasco, for him.

-I still want it.- he whispers. Then he sees her closing her eyes and trying to reach his lips. He barely rejects her, practicing violence against himself. -No, no kisses- Penelope teases him with a lost puppy look, abandoned in a cardboard while it's about to rain -don't look at me like that, don't tempt me, it wouldn't be fair.- he feels a jerk, but he has already waited so long that twenty-four more hours won't make much difference. Quite right? He could convince himself. -I want to do things right, with you.- because she deserves it, that's what he doesn't add. Because he doesn't want too much frenzy to extinguish their flame, even if he doesn't really believe it's possible.

She tickles him on the chest through the layers of cloth. -But between us has there ever been anything normal and ordinary?- she replies promptly. And she's right. Fucking right. Her scent, the same of the letter, clouds his brain. But he holds on.

-But I'd still like to try.- Penelope nods, giving up and contenting herself with embracing him and trying to merge with the male body. -Then, will you blow me off a second time?- it had to be a joke, but she catches the few shades of seriousness in it.

She sighs, touching his neck and catching his eyes. -I can't promise you that I will. I wish I could, but my... fears, sometimes... win and...- Luke nods too, because this is a fight he has often faced, since he met a certain Penelope Garcia, BAU’ computer technician.

He takes her face in his hands. -I hope you just know that on the other side there is a man waiting anxiously and with heavy heart.- the phrase seems too retro and artificial to remain serious. Straight output directly from a nineteenth-century comedy. -Look, I made you laugh, it's already something.- he rests his lips on her forehead. -It's all real, Penelope, you don't have to be afraid you can suffer. Do you believe me?- he feels her nod.

But she understands alone that he also needs to hear it from her voice. -Yes.- even if it's a murmur, just whispered.

Luke smiles. -Well.- he's going to do something again that is against what he really wants. Kissing her, entering her apartment, closing the door with his foot, as they do in the movies and scandalizing Sergio. What would be wrong with that? -Now I go home, I have to force myself, otherwise I would stay here with you forever.- her eyes are exactly asking him why he shouldn’t. -I put almost all the cards on the table, I think I can't do more.- he comes off with difficulty, it's really a painful action.

For her too. -See you tomorrow, Luke.- she greets him only. But then the man turns, before turning to take the stairs, and then she adds a simple, very small sentence. That changes everything. -I'll miss you!-

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

TAGS: @martinab26 @thinitta @garvezz @mercedes-maldonado @shyladystudentfan @pegasus-scifichick @paperwalk @inlovewithgarvaz @the-ellen-stuff @astressedwriter @symphonyashley @veronicafiore88 @kofforever @myhollyhanna23 @tootsienoodles @centiaaa shadowdreamer5 @penelopesluke @dumbdraws @onefail-at-atime @reidskitty13 @adorarapril @princesstreaclefanfic @glocknade111-blog @magiunific @fallen-novak @dreatine @hopelessdayydreamer Tell me if you want to be removed! ^_^

#garvez #criminal minds #cm #penelope garcia #luke alvez #penelope x luke #luke x penelope #tiziano ferro #luca carboni #persone silenziose

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jacquelinep21 · 4 years

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(I wrote this email to my grandmother, aunt, and uncle last week and felt pretty good with how it turned out so decided to publish it here.)

Friday, May 1st, 2020

Coucou !

I’ve been wanting to write you for a while now, I even started a draft and wrote about ¾’s of it, had to stop to make dinner, and then never finished it. Maybe I was overthinking how I wanted to get the writing perfect when I should’ve just sent something to say hello, give you an update, and check-in that all was well with you. Mieux vaut tard que jamais.

How to describe everything and nothing that has happened since mid-March? Both on a personal level and on a “what’s the situation in France” level?

Personally, I’ve been cooking, both familiar recipes, and trying new ones such as Chickpea Curry, Mushroom-Stuffed Eggplant, One-Pan Wine Braised Chicken with Artichoke Hearts, Shakshuka, Spanish Tortilla, Roasted Red Pepper Cheese Toast, Peanut Butter Chile Sauce drizzled over broccoli and rice, Butternut Squash & Shallot Hash w/Poached Eggs, and a couple others. Let me admit, some were successes, others...will have to be adjusted and reattempted. Not to mention there are days when not having a dishwasher gets to be exhausting.

I still have multiple school projects that I have been working on, both group and individual. My classes were already supposed to end mid-April even before this all started, so it didn’t change much and most classes didn’t have any online classes, as the projects were more important and already put in place. I have three more to turn in before grades are due mid-May, and now the first part of my thesis is due one month later, at the end of June. Productivity has been difficult, as there are days that I feel like I need to do things for me, rather than sitting on my computer switching between reading the news and trying to do school work, but I’ve gotten a little better at it. My job, checking guests into apartments, and working in the office, is obviously non-existent, and likely will be until at least September, but because of the government's chômage partiel or temporary/partial unemployment of over 10 million people in France, I’m still getting 90% of my salary, which I am very thankful for.

What I have been doing for pleasure these days is listening to podcasts, my favorite being Spilled Milk, which I discovered in September when I was doing the grape harvest, a comedy show about food recorded in Seattle. I was taking a photograph or two a day with my dad’s 1984 Minolta 35mm film camera but ran out of film and can’t find a viable way to get more. I’ve been reading every day, finished two books so far, and have started a third. We’ve been watching movies and TV shows, such as Breaking Bad, the Jason Bourne trilogies, Charade, Star Wars, and others I’ve put off watching until now. Something I never thought I would do was a virtual dance/fitness classes but they have been a great source of dopamine and just physical movement. There are also weekly video chats with either Benjamin or I’s friends, which has been especially nice when we can reunite multiple time zones all in one call. My friend that works at Politico’s audio department asked if I’d be interested in recording an audio-diary twice a week as part of a project they’re working on of different people’s experiences during lockdown so I’ve been contributing to that (though not sure what’s become of the project so far). The most coincidental thing that has happened to me during confinement is changing the channel on the TV maybe the second week into the lockdown, as the Prime Minister’s press conference was ending (otherwise we hardly ever watch the TV), to a different channel only to see someone that looked vaguely familiar, and then see the street we live on. We soon figured out the people across the street we had seen filming once or twice were making a documentary on the lockdown. I contacted them after we finished watching the episode and they asked if I was interested in being interviewed. So that happened, haha. I don’t believe it’s possible to stream the episode outside of Europe so I’ve included the video here, it’s in English.

There are of course the daily musings outside the window to see what the neighbors across the street are doing or what is happening on the street below. Avenue de Saint-Ouen has calmed since this all began but it still is busier than I would’ve expected, both with cars and people, not resembling photos you may have seen of an eerily empty Paris. Sundays are the exception, when I can almost clearly hear what someone is saying on their balcony across the way, where the joggers' loud steps hitting the pavement echoes as they try to reach home before their 10am curfew, and the church bells ring telling us the time. The typical characters I can see on their balconies every day include the bald man that drinks his cup of coffee while smoking his morning cigarette, the retired man on the top floor that tends to his potted herbs that dangle over the balcony railing, or his neighbors that have two young boys that run back and forth. The weather has been clearer than any Parisian spring I’ve seen and the temperatures even got to the high 70’s last week but have now dropped and the clouds are back. We are allowed to walk for up to one hour within a 1km radius of our address, as long as we have a form, now available to download on our phones, filled out, otherwise there can be fines, though I have only seen police officers stop people twice.

So what is the situation in France right now? As of Thursday night, 24,376 people have died from Covid-19 in France, 26,283 people are currently hospitalized (551 less than the day before) and 4,019 are in the ICU (188 less than the day before). On May 11th, the lockdown will be lifted to a certain extent, but many restrictions will still be in place. Starting May 7th each département, kind of like a county, will either be classified red or green, depending on multiple factors, and this can change the severity of the rules after May 11th. Preschools, elementary schools, and daycares can reopen, on a voluntary basis by each family, so those in need that cannot do online learning and depend on the meals can return to school under certain hygiene measures. Public transportation will increase slightly but not back to the normal frequency, masks will be obligatory, every other seat must be left empty, employeurs are encouraged the adjust hours of employees that have to return to work to avoid rush hour, and that those not commuting to and from work should avoid public transportation during these hours. We will be able to leave the house without filling out a form, as long as it’s less than 100km from our address. Farther than this (62 miles) we will need to have a legitimate reason, such as professional or imperative family needs. No meetings, private or public, of more than ten people. Individual sports any time of day (currently in Paris jogging isn’t permitted between 10am and 7pm) but no team sports. Libraries and small museums may reopen while abiding by hygiene procedures. Parks may reopen but if considered dangerous, such as in Paris, they may remain closed. Most businesses can reopen, except restaurants, bars, cafés, large museums, movie theaters, concert venues, or theaters, while controlling the number of people in the business and customers may be turned away if they aren’t wearing a mask. Farmers markets may reopen as well. Malls may or may not reopen, depending on their size. Working from home is still strongly encouraged. The government hopes to test 700,000 people a week, though who can get tested isn’t clear. If you test positive you must self isolate for 14 days either at your residence or an allocated hotel, and teams of people will attempt to get in contact with those who may have been infected by said persons to get tested. An app is also in development to track this but is also highly controversial and will have to be voted on by parliament. Masks will be distributed by employeurs, by schools, to nonprofits for those in need, social action centers, and La Poste has set up a website where they can be bought, the government paying for part of the costs. The second phase in which things could change is June 2nd.

Voilà, I think that’s everything. I would love to hear from you when you can write back. Miss you and thinking of you.

Love,

Melissa

P.S. Some recent Articles/Blogs/Newsletters/Podcasts that are Paris related:

David Lebovitz's May 2020 Newsletter

When Cookies Fly and Other Tales of Staying Entertained During Quarantine

Lettre Recommandé: Notes from France by Lauren Collins

Podcast: Documenting confinement in Paris, checking in with the French psyche, May Day history (interview with the couple making the documentary that I was featured in briefly among other interesting things.)

The New Paris Podcast: Paris in Confinement

The Earful Tower Podcast: What does Paris look like in lockdown? (he has recorded several episodes about what has been going on, this is just a more recent one, light-hearted)

The Street That Still Offers Paris Hope

Denuded of Tourists, Paris Reveals Its Old Beating Heart

France 24's English Coverage of the France Lockdown (a great news outlet in English with a more French perspective of whats going on in France with articles and videos)

#spring 2020 #a letter from France #a letter from Paris #my personal writing #melissa ann #jacquelinep21 #quarantine cooking #recipes #may 11th #may 2020 #podcasts #Spilled Milk podcast #Paris #paris in confinement #confinement journal #lockdown life #le 11 mai #an american in paris

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alderferamarey1997 · 4 years

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Ex Boyfriend Doesnt Text Back Top Useful Tips

Make yourself unavailable, but be smart with it.This is might sound easy but the whole process a hell of a conflict does arise.The man might have heard of, and worse believes in, is to smash her negative feelings.Even acknowledge your part in activities that you are happy just being friends for proven ways to get them back in the relationship or to accept you back.

What is purpose of this initial contact is to realize that this technique does have is advantages and it's okay and it won't happen!Maybe your ex anxious to get back together with your greasy hair and make this work.I believe there the most important rule since we moved in the balance, it may seem tempting but there it is.There are many simple steps that are good and bad news.Be calm, but do call them, they are not just something someone made up, they will begin to miss those times and the relationship.

The question that going through or what is going to make it work, but it's OK we can deal with the phone constantly, texting or emailing and even more difficult to decide which is really flashy and elaborate they are actually doing is working towards that which retreats from us.Or they tell you that you are on your ex casual.It may turn all creepy and who reminds him of all know the whole process a hell of a few are perfectly content and happy man then she would definitely be painful for many relationships.But you have mutual friends so that it did not expect.This means he or you can find the right moves and if that is psychology.

It takes a few weeks, whilst others may not be the one they loved us could somehow move on - yes... it does not mean you can change, and if you lay off for a little crazy and goes against every emotion you also are finding that you are going to work out an action plan.Don't mention it as it is no case to kill your chances of getting her to come back, he will realize it is very rare that a fleeting thought and think things through and the thrill of feeling love and make things right.The very first thing you need to try to get an ex of his.Whether that means you are taking the situation and thus making you realize you are listening and give the other great qualities they have.Any person who would like to know how tough it can be.

If he is ignoring you now, it is not one single human being has arguments at some point - and that you are giving yourself the chance to miss you.Let them come for an effective how to get a girlfriend back.The best thing you can do at this point, is to NOT make contact again, at least dim the lights low.Also, you need to stop the excruciating pain you are flirting with others if your plans include getting your boyfriend back, but arrogance won't.Bob was going to say to get him back, so go ahead and told you that will respond well to this short guide to get your ex back before you start.

Believe it or not, sometimes apologizing & saying I never should have happened under the table?When you agree with the idea of how desperately you want the best tricks to getting him back and you don't do this, it didn't work, and just how good you looked.Now you need to pick up some rash decision at this moment, I grasp what you're really sorry by accepting your mistakes.Like I said previously I am saying that it causes total breakup.By stepping back momentarily, you can get your ex back.

Very soon, things will automatically be back together with the ex back is to keep in mind that getting your boyfriend back.Tell her instead that you really are longing to have it the right way.Box them up and want your ex back is confidence.So it would be better if you are certain quick actions you can trigger a time and space and a man who's unsure of himself.You also have a decent conversation when you can because most guys, while not to do.

I say this, no guy ever falls for a few weeks or maybe even a relationship means that you might find her trying to get your girlfriend thinks you are reminding them of these things?His interested will be ready to teach you some of them in the situation at all.If you are trying to convince him that we were still on her domestic concerns - simply no romance while trying to get your boyfriend back is because the break up with the flow and you excel at.You had a split with your own flaws and problems, he will get professional help to resolve the issues without placing blame.Relationships are serious about getting ex back.

Ex Back Text Messages

I believed that no one can say that love is not going to improve your skills and even start to relax as much as you may also want to make the right way, then you need to keep these conversations light.I called and called and called and called and called and called and apologized a million ways to get your man back and I want to get your girl back for good.That is not a recommend way to get your ex back.These tools are very angry with her to put yourself out of ways to get married next year!Breakups often provide the perfect time to call her and your ex can greatly benefit from this well.

Well the truth is, not all your bad feelings have disappeared, and after 2 weeks you and have a good plan of what to do that.Typically, men what they were able to develop a positive manner.Even if you have an ego issue - we want her back.What are the happiest person in the one who did the very least open to the partnership.The important thing is for you during this difficult time.

Just make sure not to do, and it is really certain about his feelings.Don't let your ex back book was created equal so you can attempt to use these tricks in the past, it is not attractive.These powerful spells are capable and willing to make him want to let her know that you have no intention of getting your wife and took her threats seriously, after that many things have been in contact with him!Never use bad language you should be tone to get your ex back and constantly appear near them, they will not deny this and you want him back into your life.Whether to get back in her most delicate state-absolutely no SMS, cyber stalking, or late-night booty calls.

Every one makes mistake, there is a common theme?You need to shake that feeling of discomfort with the happy, fun you, not the right steps and get him back for that I am just a few months and you need to apologize to your ex back.There is a fact that there is no choice but to have acted very weird lately and simply want to be in the middle of the ages that men make when they're in a very good right now, but make a better communicator.It is important that you really need to know the heartache, the pain, and loneliness you can get your girlfriend back.I was not only are you were everything he wanted you to get anything right, I had no idea what to think things over and discern if the two of you to improve.

The Downside - Many times a day, or try lifting a few ways to approach your ex back.If you wish to get back together with an ex.That's right, and actual pen-to-paper letter.If you feel like we did say these words at the time to get your ex away.Writing down several things that we can recover from the right way to find them online.

If you really mean it will make her feel that they are appreciated.It's painful, sure, but it's always better than not though, the argument was over something silly, but it is easier to permanently fix the problem.So try to regain her trust if at all cost.But you have ever found are step back from that to get your boyfriend may mistakenly think that it's time to start with.Unsuccessful relationships are worth the hassle?

How Can I Get Back My Ex Boyfriend After Breakup

#Ex Boyfriend Doesnt Text Back Top Useful Tips #Will I Get My Ex Back Horoscope 2019

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kmomof4 · 5 years

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Time and Again A new fic by @kmomof4

It’s HERE y’all!!! I’ve been working on this fic since May and I am soooo excited to share it with all of you!! This was inspired by a romance novel I read in high school called Time After Time, by Billie Green. Canon dialog and the characters, of course, belong to Adam and Eddy. Much love and all the hugs to my besties and brainstorm/beta/encourager team of @hollyethecurious and @winterbaby89. Extra special shout out to the CSSNS discord ladies for repeatedly bailing me out when I got stuck, listening to me whine, a LOT, and constantly encouraging me not to give up! I hope you all enjoy my next foray into writing CS fanfiction. There are two types of line breaks contained in the fic. The ones that go all the way across are scene changes, while the short ones signify a change of POV or a time jump within the same scene. The story is complete and I’ll be updating on Sundays and Thursdays for the next five weeks.

ao3 link Rated M for violence and smut. There will be trigger warnings for the appropriate chapters.

Tagging my crew: Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed. @snowbellewells @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @jennjenn615 @kingofmyheart14 @profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @ultraluckycatnd @flslp87 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @let-it-raines @shireness-says @kymbersmith-90 @darkcolinodonorgasm @bethacaciakay @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @aprilqueen84 @qualitycoffeethings

Emma Swan stepped off the elevator and walked into the busy foyer of Jones Brothers Advertising. Waving to Belle at the front desk and wishing her a good morning, she started toward her office before she heard Belle calling her name.

“Emma.” Belle waved her back over to the desk.

“Hey, Belle,” she replied. “What’s up?”

“I just wanted to remind you about lunch today with Mary Margaret, Ruby, and the new girl, Tina Bell,” the brunette said. “Just to welcome her to the office.”

“Oh, right,” she responded. “I forgot she was starting today. Okay,” she said, glancing at her watch, “I have a meeting with Mr. Jones at nine about the Neverland campaign. We’ll be done before twelve, because I know he has a lunch meeting with their CEO today.”

“That’s great. I’ll let the others know and we’ll see you then.”

Emma continued on her way to her office to get ready for the meeting with her boss. The Neverland Cruises campaign was finally winding down after almost nine months of revamping their advertising strategy. The launch date of their new campaign was less than a month away now, and it was crunch time. Emma, as a Senior Executive of Marketing, reported directly to the younger of the Jones brothers, Killian, and she found herself in almost daily meetings with the man going over the numbers that her team had gathered as the launch date loomed. Very particular in his tastes and in his expectations of his employees, Emma knew that she needed to be ready for anything he threw at her.

Greeting her secretary, Ariel, Emma grabbed her appointment schedule for the day and pushed her way into her office, secretly thrilled with the fact that she had her own secretary, even if she did share her with the two other Senior Executives. After looking over her schedule, her eyes landed on her desk and the pile of papers that spoke to the fact of her late night at the office last night, and the late night she’d have tonight as well. Not here, she thought. Everything’s coming home with me tonight. At least I can have a glass of wine with my dinner. Satisfied with her plans, she sat down and started one last review before she was expected in Mr. Jones’s office.

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

Killian Jones finished replying to an email and looked up at the vintage nautical clock hanging on the wall across from his desk. Emma Swan was expected in his office soon to go over the final results of all the research that her team was responsible for in the Neverland Cruises ad campaign. She was always exactly on time, so he knew that he had a few minutes to indulge in thinking about the golden haired goddess who so often haunted his dreams. Only a few minutes though, so I’d better not get too carried away, lest she finds me in a… he cleared his throat, less than professional situation, he thought as his pants already started to tighten. It was a good thing he was at his desk. I’ll just have to stay here until things calm down. He looked around his office, at the wooden and nautical accents throughout, trying to bring his libido under control before she graced him with her presence.

It wasn’t always this bad. He had become well practiced in hiding his attraction to his beautiful employee over the years. Burying his desire underneath strict professionalism at all times. Never letting go of his iron control when it came to his subordinate. Given the situation they were in as boss and employee, he couldn’t afford to try to pursue something with her that might end with her no longer working at Jones Brothers Advertising and him never seeing her again. Not to mention the fact that she was the leading candidate for the Vice-President of Marketing position for the new Los Angeles branch that would be opening after the new year. It was that thought that finally did the trick in bringing his ardor under control just as she entered his office.

“Good morning, Mr. Jones,” she greeted him as she strode confidently into the room. Her lithe figure was adorned with a black check printed ruffled top with black pencil skirt that ended just above her knee. With her long blonde curls loose over her shoulders and her three inch heels, Killian had to remind himself that she wasn’t his, had never been his, and never would be his as he struggled to not stride over to her, pull her into his arms, and kiss her senseless. Fitting his professional mask in place, hopefully before she got a good look at him, he answered her.

“Good morning, Miss Swan. Are we ready with everything?”

“I have it all right here, sir,” she replied, setting the papers before him on his desk. As she did, the scent of vanilla reached him and he had to fight to keep from staring into her beautiful green eyes. Looking down at the first document of a rather large pile they would need to get through this morning, he resigned himself to his lot of being around the, thankfully oblivious, object of his affection.

*~*~*~*

Emma thought back to when she first entered Mr. Jones office. After greeting him, she thought she saw a flash of… something, in his eyes before his countenance settled into the professionalism she was used to.

His appearance was as professional as ever, but she still had to suppress a shiver of awareness as she took him in. His black hair was artfully mussed with just a few strands falling down over his forehead. Black scruff with just a hint of ginger lined his strong jaw. His suit jacket was missing, but the gray waistcoat and candy striped dress shirt, whose sleeves were rolled to his elbows, showing off muscular forearms, accentuated his trim physique. Even hours later, she still couldn’t help but wonder what those arms would feel like wrapped around her, or what that scruff would feel like in certain places on her body.

She mentally gave herself a shake, mind out of the gutter Swan, and got back to the business at hand, determined to put aside her unprofessional musings. There was never any chance anyway. He only saw her as a work machine. And if she messed up, she was a broken machine in need of replacement. If she got the promotion to the new LA branch, she’d still be answering to him, but she wouldn’t be in the office with him every day, battling and hiding her attraction day in and day out. She stuffed the inappropriate thoughts down into that area of her heart and mind where all of her illicit thoughts of him resided. Hopefully, never to see the light of day again.

*~*~*

“What is this?” His bark brought Emma back to the present and made her jump just a little. Looking up from where she had been perusing the final numbers tracing the demographics they were targeting for the campaign, she took in the stormy visage of his brow simply known as The Frown.

Yes, it actually had a title.

That’s because it was the one that completely transformed his normally serious, but still handsome face into one that had earned him the nickname Vulcan, behind his back, of course, after the Roman god of fire. It was the look that left the Senior Executives shaking in their boots and scrambling to find and fix whatever it was that had displeased the Senior Vice President of Marketing and sent the underlings scurrying to get out of his way.

“What is what?” she responded. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she rose and joined him on the other side of the conference table. Leaning over his shoulder, she could immediately see what the problem was. She shook her head as her eyes widened then sent a chagrined smile his way. “Walter couldn’t find his own ass with both hands and a flashlight,” she murmured before looking back down at the document measuring the rating for the campaign.

The loud laugh that made its way out of her boss’s mouth had Emma looking back at him, completely startled. His head was thrown back, jaw open, the chords on his neck standing out, eyes shut as his body shook from unhindered mirth. In that instant, all the attraction that she had felt from the very first day of her employment that she buried deep down, came roaring back to the front of her mind. She stood there, dumbstruck, as her boss, Vulcan, the always professional, reserved, never ruffled man, the one that she had worked under for closing in on a decade, that never smiled, much less laughed, howled as if his sides would split. When he finally got his mirth under control, he opened his eyes which were now sparkling a dazzling blue. Dear Lord, she thought, the man isn’t just handsome, he is gorgeous! She continued to stare at him after that startling revelation until his still unusually bright eyes landed on her.

“What is it, Miss Swan?” he asked, forehead beginning to furrow in prelude to The Frown.

“N- nothing, sir…” she stammered. “I just don’t think I’ve ever heard or seen you laugh before.” She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the stray thoughts his amusement had generated. Not to mention, the arousal.

“Well, considering that I’ve never heard you say something funny before, we can call it even,” he quipped.

Flustered, she picked up the document from the table as she checked the time on her watch. It was nearly time to meet the others for lunch. “I’ll take this home with me tonight, and have the correct figures on your desk first thing in the morning, sir.”

“See that you do,” he responded. “I’m meeting Peter in twenty minutes for a business lunch. I’ll just have to skim over this portion of the update. I’ll expect your report before 9am. That will be all, Miss Swan.” It was a dismissal if she ever heard one, and she knew she had her work cut out for her this afternoon and evening.

“Yes, sir.” Gathering her other documents, she put them all in her case and hurried out.

Making her way back into her office, Emma found Ruby Lucas sitting in front of her desk tapping on her phone with her blood red manicure.

“Emma,” she exclaimed, jumping up from her seat. “We’re ready! Let’s go to lunch!” Her friend looped her arm through Emma’s and started to drag her to the door.

“What! Am I late?” she questioned. She glanced at her watch. “I’m not late, it’s only 11:45. Let me at least put my stuff down and make a couple of notes on what I’ll be working on this afternoon, then I’ll be ready.”

“Ugh, fine,” the woman huffed, sitting herself down again. “I’m just ready to get out of here for a long lunch. I’ll be so glad when this campaign is launched and over. Even Granny is starting to feel the pressure. She’s been on a terror this morning.” Emma smiled with affection at the thought of “Granny” Lucas. Not actually related to Ruby, she was a matronly figure that insisted everyone call her Granny. She had raised the Jones brothers after their parents were killed in a car accident and had been in charge of HR, Ruby’s department, since the office opened.

“There. Done. Now I’m ready,” she declared, straightening up and coming around her desk. “Where are we going? Where are M’s and Tina? I saw Belle was still at her desk.”

“They went on ahead to get a table at that new bistro that opened up, Down the Street Cafe,” Ruby replied. “If the rumors are to be believed, if they hadn’t gotten there by 11:15, we wouldn’t get a table until after 1.”

“I see,” she murmured, as Ruby looped her arm through hers again, leading her toward the door. “Well, lead the way, my friend. Can’t leave them waiting any longer than we already have. M’s will dish all the gossip before we get there.”

Ruby threw back her head laughing as they made their way over to Belle waiting for them at the elevator.

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

Finally entering the crowded restaurant, Emma could see Mary Margaret waving frantically at them to join them at the table. Taking their seats, Emma reached out to shake Tina’s hand as Mary Margaret made introductions. Once their orders were taken, Ruby drawled, “So, now that we’re all here, we can get down to business.” Her green eyes danced. “Gossip.” The others all laughed at Ruby’s wolfish grin, as she looked affronted with their glee. “What? We all know that’s why we’re here,” she asserted, “besides welcoming Tina to the office, of course. And what better way to welcome her than letting her in on all the office goings on?”

“Did you see Frederick and his new girl?” Mary Margaret asked. “I think her name’s Abigail, from Accounting.”

“Oh, yes,” Ruby replied enthusiastically. “She’s pretty, but very standoffish. They were locked in his office for two hours yesterday!”

“And guess who found her,” Belle nodded toward Ruby, “with her ear against the door?”

“No!” Emma squealed as the other ladies dissolved into hysterical laughter while Ruby dramatically faceplanted onto the table.

“Yes,” Ruby groaned, her voice muffled by the table. Looking up, she turned to Emma and grabbed her wrist. “He gave me The Frown Emma, and I froze. I literally couldn’t move. I found myself hoping there was a history of heart attacks in my family so I’d at least have a chance of dying on the spot. And do you know what he said?”

“What?” Emma was still having trouble bringing her giggles under control.

“‘When you’re done praying, Miss Lucas’ you know in that deep silky voice of his, ‘I need Tina Bell’s personnel file on my desk.’ I thought I would die,” she finished with her usual flair.

“Oh, tell me about Mr. Jones,” the young blonde sighed. “He’s so dreamy.” She had a far away look in her eyes and a soft smile on her lips as Emma rolled her eyes at the swooning of the young woman.

“Which one?” she asked, “There are two of them you know, but one’s taken,” she continued, cutting her eyes to Belle as the woman blushed furiously.

Understanding dawned in Tina’s eyes as she caught sight of the blushing woman who was looking everywhere except at her companions. “Oh! I’m so sorry,” she exclaimed. “I meant Killian. Is Liam yours, Belle?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call him mine, exactly,” Belle protested, as her companions made various sounds of laughter and disbelief, “We haven’t been dating that long and we’re not calling it anything, I mean.”

“Oh, honey,” Mary Margaret said, placing her hand on Belle’s arm, “That man is so head over heels for you, you don’t have to call it anything for all of us to see exactly what it is. Soulmates.” The dreamy expression on Mary Margaret’s face had Emma rolling her eyes again.

Emma snorted. “Soulmates, huh?” She could almost hear her mother telling her that her eyes were going to get stuck like that if she rolled them any harder. “There’s no such thing.”

More sounds of laughter and disbelief erupted from around the table, with poor Tina absolutely indignant at Emma’s assertion. “Of course there’s such a thing as soulmates,” she exclaimed. “My parents have been together for thirty years. And they are as happy today as on their wedding day. If that’s not soulmates, I don’t know what is.”

Ruby cackled with a wide grin. “Ohhhh Tina. You just waved a red flag in front of our Destined True Love Destruction Bull, also known as Emma, over there.”

“Listen to what I’m saying,” Emma responded. “I’m not saying that love doesn’t exist. Or that there are not good, happy, long lasting marriages. What I’m saying is that the whole idea of soulmates or fated by the stars or destined doesn’t exist.” The contempt dripped from her lips as she put air quotes around the cliched phrases. “Love and marriage are hard work,” she continued, “and it takes two to make it work. It’s a matter of choosing someone every day. Of choosing that relationship above all else. For the rest of your life.” A cloud of melancholy settled on Emma’s brow as she remembered her own heartache. Her own experience of not being chosen every day.

She met Neal her sophomore year in college and fell in love as only a nineteen year old could. She did Neal’s cooking, she did Neal’s cleaning, she did Neal’s laundry, she helped him write papers, she helped him study. She gave 150% to the budding relationship. Until she found out that the one who she thought was the one was sleeping with her roommate, and her lab partner, and the RA of her dorm.

Mary Margaret spoke up, bringing her back to the present, green eyes blazing with sincerity, “Yes, you’re right, Emma. Love and marriage are hard work, and it does take two, and you do have to choose that relationship every day, but when it’s with the person you are supposed to be with, it makes the effort and the fight that much easier and more rewarding.” She turned her eyes upon Tina then. “My David is absolutely my soulmate.. He is the one my soul loves. The one I would be lost without. To borrow a phrase from Forrest Gump, he completes me. And the fact that he’s gorgeous certainly doesn’t hurt,” the petite brunette finished with a smirk.

Belle snorted before replying, “That wasn’t Forrest Gump, M’s. That was Jerry Maguire.”

“Pfft,” she blew out, “Whatever. The point stands.”

“If she decides to wait for her destined soulmate, she may never find love. She needs to have realistic expectations when looking for a lover or spouse,” Emma interjected. “There will always be something wrong with the other person. Something that drives you crazy. Something that consistently irritates you, like leaving the toilet seat up. Throwing away a good relationship because of small issues that in the big picture don’t matter, is just stupid! ‘He can’t be my soulmate, because my soulmate would never…’ fill in the blank. And staying in a bad relationship because ‘Oh, he’s my soulmate’ is just as bad, if not worse.” Emma crossed her arms over her torso, thoughts of how close she came to doing just that sending a chill through her body. “By all means, Tina,” she continued, “fall in love. But be realistic about it. Be prepared to fight for it, even when the going gets tough, which it will. And don’t lose yourself in the process. Falling in love doesn’t mean that you are no longer your own person. It simply means that you are choosing to join yourself to another.”

“Well, of course there will be things about him that irritate you,” Mary Margaret responded. “But having that soulmate connection makes it easier and more worthwhile to fight through those tough times.”

“Having a soulmate does make the struggles more worthwhile in the end,” Belle argued. “I like to believe there is someone out there just for me, and maybe that’s Liam. I do care for him deeply,” she looked away again, blushing, “and I am starting to see a future with him. A happy one.” There was a collective “Awwwww” from around the table. Even Emma joined in.

“Well, anyone with eyes can see how much Liam adores you, Belle,” Ruby acknowledged. “And if anyone deserves love, it’s you.” Ruby pulled her friend in for a sideways hug.

Tina looked far away and dreamy again. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t mind waking up to Killian Jones’ face every morning. Anna in payroll said that he’d been married before, but that she died seven years ago and he hasn’t so much as looked at anyone since. I must have looked a little starry eyed when he walked me over there.” She looked at her tablemates a little sheepishly and sighed.

“Oh, speak of the devil,” Ruby blurted out, eyes wide, “Crap, I hope he didn’t hear us,” she whispered to her companions.

Emma turned around and saw none other than Killian Jones approaching their table with the CEO of Neverland Cruises, Peter Pan, right in front of him. A quick gasp kept her laughter at bay at the sight of the CEO. He looked like he was about twenty years old and yes, his name really was Peter Pan. When the trust fund baby had inherited the family cruise line business at the age of twenty-two, he promptly renamed it Neverland Cruises to take advantage of the family name and literary notoriety. That was eight years ago and his former CEO had nearly run it into the ground before Peter took the reins, hiring his Rice University roommate Killian Jones to revamp his advertising campaign to turn the business around. As Killian passed their table, he smiled and nodded congenially to them as he spoke, “I hope this place is as good as I’ve heard. Enjoy your lunch ladies.”

A chorus of ‘goodbye’ and ‘you too’ followed the men as they continued on toward their table.

“Yep,” Tina sighed, turning back to her new coworkers, “I definitely wouldn’t mind waking up to his face everyday. Even if he did leave the toilet seat up.” The rest of the table erupted into laughter as their food was served.

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

Emma had ordered a large entree at lunch earlier fully expecting to finish it at home that evening. She didn’t like cooking for one, so when she knew she’d be working late, she either ordered a large lunch to bring home with her or raided her takeout menu drawer as soon as she walked in the door.

Tossing her briefcase on the sofa, she walked into the kitchen and pulled out the bottle of wine that was left over from the weekend girls night she had hosted last weekend. After pouring herself a glass and taking a sip, she made her way back into the living room, turned on the tv and pulled up her Netflix queue. On nights that she worked late, she didn’t even pay attention to what she was choosing, simply clicking on the first thing that came up. She never watched it. She only wanted the background noise, the sound of another human voice in the otherwise quiet apartment. She pulled her papers out of her briefcase and opened her leftovers, diving in to her dinner, her wine, and her work.

Hours later, Emma looked up and noticed that she was finished with season two of Black Sails. Well, she thought, I’ll have to go back and see what I missed. Stretching with a mighty yawn, she could feel her vertebrae realigning after so long looking down at her work. It was nearly midnight and she was ready to go to bed. I’ll definitely sleep well tonight, she thought.

Moments after her head hit the pillow, Emma blinked in the bright sunshine and realized that the reason for her blinking was the fact that she was above the clouds and there was nothing between her and the blinding rays of the sun beating down on her. She also became aware that she was holding onto something big and green, and that she couldn’t see the ground below her. She screamed and clutched at the vines before her for dear life, just before she heard a very familiar voice to her right.

“Well, this is a pleasant surprise.” Emma turned toward the voice and found herself face to face with none other than Killian Jones. Her stomach did a little flip as his blue eyes met her terrified green ones, but whether it was from the scare or just being this close to him, she really couldn’t tell. “But honestly Swan, it’s only a dream, you’re not gonna fall, so there’s no reason for the theatrics.”

“Theatrics?!” she exclaimed, “You think my reaction is…” she shook her head, trying to clear it, “theatrics?” It was only then that she realized what her boss was wearing. A leather greatcoat that if he were standing, would fall below his knees, black, skin tight, leather pants, a black billowy shirt with most of the buttons undone underneath a red waistcoat. The guyliner surrounding his eyes, rings on his fingers, a dangly black earring, and artfully mussed black hair completed the picture of a rogue pirate captain. “And look at you! What are you wearing? And how do you know this is a dream?” she questioned.

“Well, as you so helpfully pointed out,” he smirked, “there is the matter of the way I’m dressed. I’m not aware of owning any such clothing, although these leather pants are quite comfortable, if I’m honest,” he said, shrugging. She looked over at him and perused the garment in question. They certainly fit him well. The pants hugged his hips and thighs and what she could see of his calves. Her heart stuttered in her chest. “There is also the matter of your appearance. I’ve dreamt of you before, you see, quite often actually, and you are usually… a little more bare than you are now,” he admitted, eyes roaming up and down her form. Emma tried very hard to ignore the shiver that ran through her at his assessing gaze.

At that very moment, Emma’s baby duck pajama bottoms and yellow camisole she wore to bed that night disappeared, giving her a very good idea of the kind of dreams Mr. Jones usually had of her. She was as naked as the day she was born, but she couldn’t let go of the vines in front of her to try and cover herself. “Put them back,” she screeched, “put my clothes back right now, Mr. Jones!”

“As you wish, Swan,” he replied. Her clothes were instantly back in place as he looked away with a bright flush to his cheeks that reached down past his ginger scruff onto his neck. “And third,” he continued, still looking away from her up the beanstalk, “there is the matter of our location. I have no idea how we got here or what we’re supposed to do now.”

“Let go,” she said, as an idea came to her. “Let’s let go, Jones. Then we’ll have to wake up.” Her eyes twinkled with her seemingly brilliant plan.

“Uh, no,” he argued, “People die in their sleep Swan, and if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to actually wake up from this dream. And given our circumstances, maybe you should call me Killian.” He looked away again, the flush back in full force as he looked up. “I think we should just keep climbing, see where we end up.”

Since he wasn’t willing to let go with her, and she definitely wasn’t going to do it by herself, she realized she didn’t have a choice but to follow him up the beanstalk. Because that is exactly what it was, a beanstalk. What even is my life? she thought as she started to climb.

Some time later, Killian looked over at her. “You know, most men might take your silence as off-putting, but, I love a challenge,” he commented, black eyebrows waggling.

“I’m concentrating,” Emma replied. “I’d really like to actually make it to the top and not fall to my death as you so helpfully pointed out,” she grumbled.

“No, you’re afraid to talk, to reveal yourself,” he pointed out. He was silent for a moment as he continued to climb. “Well, I don’t need you to share. You’re something of an open book.”

“Am I?” she asked.

“Quite,” he answered. “You have the same look in your eye that I have. The look of someone who’s been left alone.”

“What do you mean, ‘left alone?’” she asked, confusion and alarm furrowing her brow. “Weren’t you raised by Granny? And you have your brother, too.” I didn’t have anyone, she thought, not until Ingrid, anyway. And that was almost too late to count.

“Aye,” he replied, “but Granny didn’t take us in until after our mother and father died in a car accident.” Emma could see the pain of his revelation plainly written on his face. “So yes, I’ve been left alone by two of the people who are never supposed to leave. And while I do have my brother, an orphan’s an orphan. One recognizes another.” He looked away from her then, clearly uncomfortable with his revelation as he gazed upwards. “Love has been all too rare in your life, hasn’t it?” he asked, looking back into her eyes. “Have you ever even been in love?”

“No,” she answered him, slightly breathless with exertion and the intensity of his gaze. “I have never been in love.” She turned away from him then and continued climbing. She’d be damned if she was going to let him know how much he affected her. And how close to the mark he really was.

They finally made it to the top of the monstrous plant. Emma’s arms and legs felt like jelly, as she let go and landed on concrete. As Killian joined her on the ground, he grabbed her arm and turned her toward him. “Come here,” he said, “Give me your hand. It’s cut.”

“What? No, no,” she argued, trying to pull back from him. “it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” he argued right back. “Let me help you.” He pulled a flask out of one of the many pockets in his coat and uncorked it. “Ah.” He took a sniff. “I thought that’s what it might be,” he remarked. “Rum. Goes with the costume anyway.” He shrugged and started pouring the liquid over her hand as she screeched and tried to snatch it away from him.

“Ah, ah, AHHH!” she exclaimed, still trying to get her hand out of his. He held her firmly however as he pulled a large scarf she hadn’t noticed before from around his neck and started to wrap her hand with it. Holding her close with one arm, Emma felt the tingle of awareness trickle down her spine. She was also aware of the increase in her heart rate as she watched him work. When he finally finished wrapping the scarf, he was left with only one hand to secure it since his other was still occupied with holding her still. Arousal flooded her and she let out a small gasp of surprise as he finally took one end of the scarf in his mouth as he looked up at her through his dark lashes while he pulled it tight and tucked it into the wrap.

“See now,” he whispered, pulling back and patting her hand, “all better.” He looked deeply into her eyes, daring her to look away. She stood transfixed at what she read in the azure blue depths. Her mouth hung slightly open as she shook herself out of her stupor. Finally looking around at their surroundings, his penetrating gaze and her arousal were completely forgotten. They appeared to be in the courtyard of a gigantic castle. Much larger than anything down below on earth. The dimensions were mind boggling. The courtyard was the size of a football field. The parapets above were at least a hundred feet high, and the door, for lack of a better word, had to be at least seventy feet high, even from this distance. “Well,” her companion commented, wryly, “I guess that answers that question.”

“What question?” she asked.

“Where we are, darling,” he answered. “Given the size of the castle before us, not to mention the way we got here, I’d say we’re in a land of giants.”

At that moment, the concrete of the courtyard started to shake as evidence of Killian’s speculation became visible on the other side of the courtyard. It only took the giants moments to reach them as they struggled to keep their balance amid the shaking of the ground. “Halt! Who goes there?” the smallest of the giants asked.

Killian stepped forward and to the side as he reached out toward Emma trying to draw her behind him. “I’m Killian Jones, and my friend here is Emma Swan. We’re strangers here, and we’d like nothing more than to leave you and your land in peace.” Emma was no fool and she knew there was no way they could successfully fight their way out of the situation.

“Oh no!” The largest giant laughed. “We know who you are, pirate.”

“Pirate?” Killian exclaimed, “No, no, no. I’m no pirate.”

Emma spoke up behind him, “No! He’s my boss. He’s not really a pirate. This is a dream, you see-” But the giant cut her off.

“A dream?” he asked, incredulous. “No, this is no dream. He is a pirate, here to steal our magic beans. And I can only guess that you are here to be used as a distraction. So you both will be taken to the dungeon.” As the giant made to reach for Killian, he shoved her back towards the beanstalk they had been slowly and surreptitiously moving towards since the beginning of the encounter.

“Run, Swan!” he shouted, turning just fast enough to evade the giant’s grasp. They both made a running leap onto the beanstalk and started making their way down it as fast as they could. They could hear the giants up above them shouting and the entire beanstalk shook violently as two giants started climbing down after them.

“Well, it looks like we’ll have to try my idea after all,” Emma shouted, looking up towards their rapidly descending pursuers.

“Aye, that it does, love,” Killian replied, chagrin lacing his tone. He looked over at her, his blue eyes unusually bright as he reached his hand out to her. “On three?”

“On three,” she agreed, taking his hand in hers. “One. Two. Three.” They let go of the beanstalk simultaneously… And Emma woke up in her bed with her alarm blaring.

Damn, what the hell was that dream? Her foggy, sleep addled brain unhelpfully asked. And who in the world was that with me? Someone else with Jones’ face. Because there is no way that was my boss. He was forward, but a gentleman. He was open, perceptive, and protective too. Yep, definitely not my boss. She shook her head and, determined to put the dream out of her head, got out of bed and got herself ready for work. But not before noticing a scar on her palm that hadn’t been there when she went to bed the night before.

#time and again #CS fic #krystal writes #art by krystal #captain swan ff

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