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gretavanfanfic · 4 years

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Room 419

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x (F) Reader

Word Count: 7200ish

Warnings: Smut! 18+ only

Summary: You and Jake are tricked into sharing a hotel room by your friends following their wedding.

Being a maid of honor in a wedding is no small feat. While you were flattered that your best friend had asked you to stand next to her on her big day, you quickly found out that it is a demanding and expensive role, and it has left you feeling overwhelmed more than a few times over the past couple months. Therefore, when she and her then-fiancé told you that they would book your hotel room for the night of the wedding, you were more than happy to let them take that responsibility out of your hands. It would be one less thing to worry about on a sure to be hectic day.

Maybe this was your mistake, but you were fully expecting them to book you your own room. Or if not your own room, you figured they may have paired you with one of the other bridesmaids. You’re not particularly close with any of them, but you would be fine for one night.

What you were not anticipating was having to share a room with the best man.

So when the reception comes to an end and you insert your key into the card reader for room 419, ready to shower off the day and crawl into bed, you're shocked to see that a body is already occupying the mattress. More specifically, Jake Kiszka’s body.

His brown shoes have been kicked off near the door and he’s still clothed in his navy dress pants, but his white shirt is fully unbuttoned, exposing his tan chest as he lounges on top of the plush comforter with his phone in his hand. His head pops up when he hears you enter, and while he looks surprised at first, a smirk quickly forms on his lips.

Now, you know Jake fairly well, but you wouldn’t say that you consider him a friend. Acquaintance is probably a better word. Your best friend and her new husband have been trying to set the two of you up for years now, and while you had gone on one date with him in the past, it never amounted to anything. He was very obviously only interested in casual sex, which he offered up multiple times on your date, and he was a bit cocky for your tastes. And while you can’t deny that you were very attracted to him and very tempted by his offer, you were looking for something more serious, so you declined his advances and the two of you never went out again. Since then, you’ve heard plenty about Jake’s various conquests with all sorts of beautiful women, and so you’re not upset with your decision to let it be a one and done sort of deal.

Still, your friends haven’t let up on their quest to get you and Jake together, claiming that your compatibility is off the charts. Every time you hang out with them and Jake is there, they make remarks about how perfect you are for each other, which you always try to brush off. Jake, however, has fun feeding into their delusion and will frequently make flirty comments to you, ranging from, “Come on, Y/N! Give the people what they want! You heard them, we’re perfect for each other!” to, “You know you want a piece of this, babe. There’s no need to fight it!” You try not to make it obvious that his little jests usually leave you a bit flustered, but he seems to always pick up on your embarrassment anyway. Sometimes it even seems like he’s...proud of the fact that he can so easily ruffle your feathers.

“Well, well, well. Y/N,” Jake says arrogantly from his spot on YOUR bed. “I’m glad to see you’re finally ready to admit that you want me. I have to say though, this is a bit unexpected.”

You give him a small, humorless laugh, but your unease is clear as you question in a somewhat shrill voice, “What are you doing in my room?”

Jake’s smirk turns into a full blown grin as he answers, “Actually, this is my room. Got the key and room number directly from the front desk. You can check if you want.” He points to the key card lying on the dresser so that you can look for yourself.

Wasting no time, you let out a small huff and march over to grab the card that’s still in its paper pocket on the wood surface. Sure enough, the number on it matches the number on yours.

Annoyed at the fact that you now have to pay the front desk a visit before you can crawl into YOUR bed, you frown at Jake’s smug face and stomp out the door and onto the elevator to return to the lobby.

After waiting in line for 10 minutes behind a couple who was checking in, you approach the desk at last and are greeted by a friendly looking young woman who asks, “Good evening, how can I help you?”

Plastering a fake smile on your face, you reply, “Hi, I think I was given the wrong room number. When I went inside just now, there was already someone in there.”

The woman immediately apologizes. “I’m so sorry about that ma’am. Let’s try to get that straightened out. What’s your name?”

You give her your information and watch as she types it on the keyboard, then clicks around on their computer system.

“Okay, I see we have you in room 419. Is that what you were told before?” she inquires.

“Yes,” you respond. “It looks like someone must have made a mistake with the other guest then, because he is insisting to me that 419 is his room.”

She clicks around some more and then states, “Well it looks like your reservation is for two adults. You and a Mr. Jacob Kiszka. We have a note here saying that you would be checking in separately.”

It’s at this moment that your blood begins to boil. In your head, you curse your best friend and her new husband, knowing that they are to blame for your current predicament. Even though they had pulled a few tricks in the past to try to get you and Jake together, you genuinely never would have expected them to go this far to couple you up.

It’s not that you have any particularly negative feelings toward Jake. More than anything, you’re upset that your friends have so blatantly disregarded your multiple refusals to go out with him. You know that they fully believe that they have your best interest in mind, but it still bothers you that they think they know what you need better than you do.

It would be one thing if the room had two beds, but, of course, they purposefully booked one that only has a single king-sized bed. You feel your skin itching with nervousness at just the thought of sharing a bed with a flirt like Jake.

Exasperated, you tell the front desk worker, “That’s not going to work for me. Can you get me booked in another room, please?”

The pleasant woman moves the mouse around some more, and then a frown appears on her face. “I’m so sorry, ma’am, we don’t have any more rooms available tonight. Is there anything else I can do to make yours and Mr. Kiszka’s stay with us more comfortable?”

Blowing out an aggravated breath, you give her a tight-lipped smile and sigh, “No, thank you for your help.”

You hear her wish you a good night as you walk away, defeated. It’s one night, you tell yourself. It will be fine.

When you re-enter room 419, Jake is exactly as you left him, lying on his back, phone in hand. Without looking up he concludes, “So they pulled a fast one on us, eh?” His voice is neutral, not giving away how he feels about the situation at all.

Dropping your bag on the table in the corner of the room, you gripe, “Ugh, yes. I really should have known better than to take them up on their offer. They’re pretty relentless, huh?”

“You’re not kidding,” he agrees. “I might be pissed if they were trying to set me up with any of the other bridesmaids, but I can tolerate you I suppose.”

You give him a dry laugh in response and sit down to rid yourself of the uncomfortable high heels that you’ve been wearing for far too long. Your feet ache, and you release a relieved sigh when you’re free of the painful shoes. After that, you begin digging through your bag, pulling out your pajamas and toiletries and carrying them with you into the surprisingly roomy hotel bathroom.

Beginning the process of de-glamorizing yourself, you start by taking the obscene number of bobby pins out of your hair, then painstakingly run a brush through your heavily hairsprayed tresses. Next is your face, and you have to use multiple wipes to remove all of the make-up that is caked onto your skin.

It’s not until you’re fresh faced and finished brushing your teeth, ready to finally jump into the shower, that you realize that you’re not going to be able to get out of your dress on your own. The zipper is oddly placed on your back and there’s a hook and eye that’s just out of your reach. The other bridesmaids were there to help you get into it this morning, but now the only person available to assist you is Jake. Knowing what your options are, you spend a considerable amount of time attempting to get the garment off on your own, but it is to no avail.

Resigning yourself to the fact that you’re going to have to ask for his help, you trudge out of the bathroom and come to a stop next to the side of the bed that Jake has claimed. At your appearance, he peers up at you from his phone and gives you a curious look.

Spinning around so your back is to him, you request, “Can you help me get this thing off, please? I can’t reach.” For some ungodly reason, you feel the need to show him that your arms are too short to get to the fastenings, and you flail them around helplessly.

Jake chuckles at your demonstration, and then you hear the creak of the mattress springs as he rises from his spot on the bed. You weren’t actually expecting him to get up, thinking he would easily be able to do the job from his lounging position, so your bodies end up uncomfortably close when he stands behind you. You can feel the heat of his chest against your back for just a moment until you shuffle forward a bit to create some distance between the two of you.

Jake begins by sweeping your hair over your shoulder, his fingers delicately brushing the skin on the back of your neck in the process. His touch feels weirdly intimate, and it causes goosebumps to appear on your flesh where his fingertips are. You hope he doesn’t notice.

He doesn’t break the contact between your skin and his as he trails his fingers down your back to the top of the dress. When he reaches it, he takes hold of the seam, and his other hand comes up to smoothly drag the zipper down to its end, right below the band of your admittedly skimpy underwear. As he makes his way back up to the hook and eye, he allows his fingertips to glide up your spine, and you reflexively shiver.

If you weren’t blushing before, you definitely are now. Jake deftly undoes the small hook and the dress falls open, the entirety of your back on display. You feel exposed, and your arms instinctively rise to keep the gown from revealing any more of your skin to Jake’s eyes.

Not wanting to prolong the embarrassing moment any longer, you take a step forward with the intent of returning to the bathroom. Your movement, however, is halted by Jake quietly exclaiming, “Hey, wait!”

Turning your head to face him, you raise your eyebrows and look at him questioningly.

He closes the distance between you again, and his hand reaches up to toy with the piece of jewelry that adorns your neck. In a husky voice, he asks, “Do you want me to take this off too?”

You had forgotten all about the necklace that your friend had given you as a bridesmaid gift, but Jake was right. It was fairly elaborate and would not be comfortable to sleep in, so it would definitely need to be removed. And while you could probably navigate getting it off on your own, you still find yourself nodding at Jake to accept his offer.

Whirling back around, you use one hand to gather up your hair and hold it in a knot at the back of your head, giving Jake easier access to the clasp. Your other hand continues to clutch the front of your gown to your chest, the thin straps not doing much to maintain your modesty.

Jake inches even closer, and again, you feel his body heat against your back. You hate to admit it, but the proximity makes your breathing speed up significantly. With nimble fingers, he grasps the chain and swiftly undoes the clasp, catching the heavy piece of jewelry in one hand.

Dropping your hair, you spin to face him and take the necklace from his extended palm. You look up and see that the smirk from earlier is painted on his face once again. Cheeks burning, you

mumble a shy, “thank you,” before fleeing to the bathroom.

Regretfully, your thoughts drift to Jake while you’re in the shower. Standing under the spray with your eyes closed, you can’t help but visualize his form lounging on the bed in that unbuttoned shirt and those perfectly fitted dress pants, and then that leads you to relive the moment you shared not even ten minutes ago of him helping you out of your dress. Then your imagination runs a little wild and you have to force yourself to push him out of your mind before it goes too crazy.

By the time you’re rinsing the last bits of conditioner out of your hair and turning off the water, the tiredness from the long and hectic day has totally crashed over you. You can barely keep your eyes open as you comb the knots out of your hair and pull on the loose t-shirt and short shorts that comprise your pajamas.

Deciding to forego drying your hair in favor of getting to sleep sooner, you leave your belongings scattered on the vanity and traipse out of the bathroom, rubbing your eyes tiredly. The first thing your eyes land upon once they clear is Jake’s nearly naked form, slightly bent over and rifling through a small bag, his back to you. The pieces of his suit that he was still wearing when you last saw him have been discarded and hung up in the open coat closet, and his form-fitting navy boxer briefs are now the only article of clothing left on his body.

Though you’re ashamed to admit it, you ogle his ass for a good few seconds until he abruptly stands straight up, toothbrush and toothpaste in hand. You’re sure you resemble a deer in headlights when he spins on his heel and catches sight of your wide eyes practically drilling holes into his scantily clad figure. A smug grin tugs at his lips and you quickly avert your gaze to the floor.

Not embarrassed in the least, Jake struts past you and into the bathroom that you just vacated, swinging the door closed with a loud click. A second later, you hear the faucet turn on.

Shaking yourself out of your daze, you flick on both of the bedside lamps and turn off the overhead light on the ceiling, a softer glow replacing the harsh brightness of the room. Even though you don’t appreciate his arrogance, you don’t want Jake to trip and fall on his pretty face when he exits the bathroom because the room is too dark.

You then plug your phone into the outlet next to the bed, and, finally, pull back the covers of the side of the mattress that has not been claimed by Jake. Climbing in, you turn on your side so that you’re facing away from the middle of the bed and scoot yourself almost to the edge, moving around until you’re comfortable. While you’re mature enough that you would never make Jake sleep on the floor when the bed is perfectly large enough for both of you, you do NOT want there to be any unnecessary contact between the two of you in said bed. Hence you confining yourself to a small space as far away from Jake’s side as possible.

Tugging the plush covers up to your chin, you allow your eyes to fall shut, and you are almost instantly overtaken by sleep. Your slumber doesn’t last long, however, because you’re awoken by the sound of the bathroom door opening and Jake padding back towards the bed. Your eyes snap open and you watch him, still clothed in only his underwear, come to your side of the bed and switch off the lamp, then walk to his own side and turn off the lamp there.

The glow of the moon is the only source of light as he lifts up the comforter and plops his nearly nude body unceremoniously between the sheets. He shifts around a bit, then exhales a loud breath when he finds a comfortable position. You can hear the shit-eating grin on his face as he turns his head to you on his pillow and says in a sickly sweet voice, “Good night, sweetheart.”

Too tired to respond, you give him a grunt of acknowledgement and close your eyes, praying you can fall asleep as quickly as you did the first time. It seems like you only listen to the rhythmic sound of Jake’s breathing for a few minutes before you slip into unconsciousness.

⏭

It’s still dark in the room when you awaken a few hours later. You’re lying on your side with your arm in an uncomfortable position, and you can feel the sensation of pins and needles traveling throughout the limb. On top of that, you are entirely too warm, an unidentified heat source attached to your back.

It only takes a few seconds for the sleepy fog in your brain to clear and for you to realize that the source of your discomfort is a body. More specifically, Jake’s body. And not only is he cuddled up against you, he also has an arm thrown over your waist and a leg slung over your thigh, holding you snugly against him. You’re not sure how you ended up like this, but you know that you need to move now. Meer acquaintances do not snuggle like this.

Without much thought, you make an attempt to slip free from his clutches and migrate back to your side of the bed. Jake’s hold on you is so tight though, that you’re hardly able to move an inch. The little bit that you are able to shift, however, has made you acutely aware of the fact that there is something rigid poking your backside, and it twitches slightly as you wriggle against it.

At first, the discovery of Jake’s boner pressing against you has you feeling ridiculously embarrassed. You can feel your cheeks heat up and your breathing quicken, and the combination of your absolute mortification and his body heat has you sweating.

You try again, a bit more forcefully this time, to break free from Jake’s grip, but it is to no avail. Your stirring must disturb him just a little, though, because he emits a low groan from his throat, then uses the arm around your waist to pull you even closer to him.

Quickly, your embarrassment turns to annoyance. You’re annoyed because you wouldn’t be in this predicament if you’d just taken it upon yourself to book your own hotel room. You’re annoyed because you could have asked one of the other bridesmaids to let you sleep in their room, but you decided to just bite the bullet and share with Jake for this one night instead. You’re annoyed because you made it a point to stay on your side of the bed, and you still somehow ended up in Jake’s clutches. You’re annoyed because your best friend and her new husband would have a field day if they could see you and Jake right now. But mostly, you’re annoyed because Jake’s hardness against your ass has your head swimming with thoughts that you definitely should not be thinking, and your thighs squeezing together in search of some sort of relief from the sudden rush of arousal between your legs.

It’s this overwhelming feeling of irritation that leads you to growl out, “Jake,” in an attempt to wake him.

Your efforts result in nothing. Not even a stir. He continues to snuggle you and sleep peacefully.

Raising your voice even more, you slap his arm lightly and bark, “Jake!”

Once again, he does not respond. The man sleeps like a log, apparently.

His lack of a response only fuels the aggravated fire in you, and so you turn your head towards his and shout, probably too loudly, “Jake! Let me go!”

Finally, in reaction to your yelling, Jake’s body jumps and his eyes pop open in alarm. He looks around in confusion for a second and his arm leaves your waist briefly to rub at his still partially closed eyes, but he returns it to the same spot as he questions, “Jesus, babe. Why are you yelling? Go back to sleep.” His voice is gravelly and you watch as he closes his eyes again as soon as he gets the words out.

You balk at both his nonchalance and the pet name he called you. You shouldn’t be surprised at either, but you are.

Squirming against him again, you agitatedly snap, “Are you going to let me go, or do you plan on holding me captive all night?”

From behind you, Jake hums against the back of your head and flippantly states, “I don’t know what the issue is, babe. I’m very comfortable like this.”

You’re positive that, even though he’s hardly awake, there is a smirk marring Jake’s features at your current lack of composure. The thought makes you clench your jaw in ire.

“The issue,” you start, through gritted teeth, “is that your dick is literally poking my ass. Now, let me go.”

Wordlessly, Jake flops from his side onto his back, ridding you, at last, of the arm and leg that were holding you against him. As soon as you’re free, you scramble as far as you can away from him and flip to your back as well, hoping to improve the circulation in your arm that had fallen asleep.

“Please try your best to stay on your own side,” you request tersely. He just hums in response.

Despite being free and more comfortable now, you are unfortunately still wide awake, mind racing and incredibly (disturbingly) turned on. You stare at the ceiling for a while, trying to will away the throbbing of your clit that has only seemed to become more intense since you separated from Jake. You curse him in your head for having this effect on you.

A few minutes pass and you decide to chance a glance at him, curious if he already fell back asleep or is lying wide awake like you. Slowly, as to not raise his suspicions, you turn your head on the pillow to look, and immediately regret doing so.

Neither you nor Jake had thought to shut the curtains before climbing into bed, and the moon is shining particularly bright tonight. Bright enough that Jake’s form is illuminated next to you, and you can clearly see that he is still hard. A sizable tent is present in the thin sheet covering him from the chest down, and he is lying with his arms stretched upward, hands cradling his head, and eyes wide open. He is taking deep breaths, seemingly trying to calm himself down.

The sight does NOT help quell your arousal in the slightest, and you know you need Jake and his erection to vacate the premises before you combust. You know you shouldn’t say the words before they even come out of your mouth, but the suggestion falls past your lips before you can stop yourself.

“Maybe you should, like, go take care of that or something.”

Jake’s head whips toward you. The moonlight reveals raised eyebrows, but then the dreaded smirk appears. Again. You really cannot fathom how he can be so shameless and confident at a time like this.

He takes some time to consider your recommendation, then retorts, “Actually, I was hoping maybe you would help me out…”

A noise that’s something between a strangled cackle and a sputter leaves your throat at his proposal. You give him a look as though he has lost his damn mind, and disbelievingly croak, “Excuse me?!”

Jake is undeterred. “Come on, babe,” he goads. “We both know that the sexual tension between us is off the charts.”

Astounded, you gape at him for a second. The irritation you were feeling replaced by bewilderment. You truly do not know how to reply, and so you stutter out, “I-”

“Please don’t try to deny it,” Jake cuts you off. He sits up, reaches over to flick on his bedside lamp, and turns his body to face you before going on. “I see how you look at me sometimes when you think I’m not paying attention. I see how flustered you get when I flirt with you in front of our lovely friends. And I saw how you reacted when I touched you earlier. You got goosebumps the second I laid my han-”

“Okay, okay, okay,” you interrupt, having heard enough. But Jake’s not done.

“You can’t tell me that you don’t find me attractive, Y/N.”

And he’s right. You can’t say that. Because he’s probably one of the most beautiful humans you’ve ever laid eyes on. And even though you hate feeding into him, you aren’t a liar.

“I never said that,” you resolve, and Jake’s face lights up. “I just think that us hooking up could make things messy. Like, I don’t want to feel awkward if I try to hang out with my best friend and you’re there. Because let’s face it, we see each other all the time. How weird would having a one night stand make that?”

You’re proud of yourself for being able to coherently voice your thoughts and maintain your rationality. As much as your body may want to fuck Jake in this moment, your head is well aware of the implications a meaningless hook up with him would have.

Jake, apparently, does not understand the implications though, because he is staring at you with a perplexed look on his face. “Who said it would be a one night stand?” he asks, and his tone tells you that he isn’t joking.

What does that mean? What does this man want from me?

You involuntarily scrunch your face, then sit up as well. “I thought that was implied,” you admit, skepticism evident. “When we went out that one time, you were definitely more interested in a casual fuck than a relationship.”

Jake laughs and shakes his head. “Y/N, that was literally years ago.”

“And? What’s changed? I’ve seen how many girls you’ve gone through since then,” you counter, not buying that Jake is suddenly ready to commit to one person.

He emits a loud sigh. “Listen,” he begins, running a hand through his mostly straight brunette hair. “I realize my past behavior may be a little...off putting. But I have to tell you, I’ve been pissed at myself for scaring you off ever since that date we went on.”

You’re dumbfounded. It never even crossed your mind that Jake may have regretted how things between the two of you turned out. He certainly never gave you any hints that he was interested in you.

You want to ask him for further clarification, but he speaks again before you’re able to.

“I can tell that you want to ask me a million and one questions, but I really don’t think we need to make it that complicated. I’ll just say this: I like you. And I think maybe we should just...see where things go. No pressure.”

The suggestion is tempting. Especially the sex aspect. Your heat is practically begging for Jake’s touch at this point, the wetness starting to become uncomfortable. But the “seeing where things go” part has you feeling apprehensive.

Does that just mean that he wants to fuck you regularly? Like a friends with benefits situation? Or does that mean that he wants to, like, take you out on dates and be exclusive? You can’t say you would be opposed to that, but he’s being so...vague.

You decide to voice your apprehension out loud. “I don’t know, Jake…” you drawl, staring at the wall behind his head.

Your fingers fidget with the hem of your pajama shorts, a visible display of your nerves, until Jake inches closer to you and takes your hands into his own. He uses his thumbs, calloused from years of playing guitar, to run gentle circles on the backs of your hands as he pleads, “Come on, Y/N, let me make you feel good.”

And you’re ashamed that that’s all it takes for you to give into him, but not even a second passes before you’re mumbling out a quiet, “okay,” and watching a smile, a genuine one, take over his face. Then you’re gracefully (you hope) climbing into his lap and wrapping your legs around his waist. At the same time, your arms find their way around his neck and his wind around your waist, hands settling on your lower back.

Surprisingly, the two of you don’t dive into it right away. For what feels like multiple minutes, Jake just stares up at you and you stare back, both of you breathing heavily through parted lips. The tension in the room is palpable. Your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest, and its pace quickens even more when you become conscious of Jake’s erection, hard and warm and dangerously close to your heat.

Unable to refrain, you look down between your bodies and see just how close your sexes are, only an inch of space and a few thin layers of material separating your most intimate area from Jake’s. And suddenly the room feels 10 degrees warmer.

Spurred on by the sight, you dig your heels into the mattress and use the leverage to drag yourself even closer to him, so that your clothed core makes contact with his covered cock. At once, your nipples harden to stiff peaks and your hips instinctually rock forward.

This motion is the straw that breaks the camel’s back for Jake. A pained groan sounds from the back of his throat and then his hands are gripping the back of your head and he’s pulling your face down so he can fervently plant his lips on yours.

All of the remaining walls you had raised to protect yourself come crumbling down in that moment, and you kiss him back with just as much enthusiasm, consequences be damned. You would never confess out loud to having thought about this moment before, but in your head you think that his kiss is even better than you imagined.

Hands gripping his hair, you allow him to suck on your bottom lip momentarily before thrusting your tongue in his mouth. It tangles with his and you feel tingles throughout your body. But unlike the tingling sensation you had experienced in your arm earlier from lack of circulation, this tingling is actually pleasant. You sigh into his mouth.

Jake’s hands find your waist and begin to explore under your flimsy pajama shirt, all while he continues to kiss you like his life depends on it. His fingers glide up your rib cage to just below your breasts, then back down again, leaving a trail of fire on your skin. Every time he does it, you hope he’ll venture higher, but he never strays from his path.

Wanting nothing more than for him to pay your breasts some attention, you decide to take matters into your own hands. Pulling your lips away from his, you lean back the smallest amount and swiftly yank the shirt off your body, leaving your chest exposed to his greedy eyes. You toss it haphazardly to the floor and revel at the whine that comes from Jake at the unveiling of your bare tits. You feel butterflies in your stomach as he stares at them like they’re the most beautiful things he’s ever seen.

When he meets your gaze again and asks, voice strained, “Can I?” you expect to feel his hands paw at your chest upon receiving your permission. Instead, you’re taken aback by the moist heat of his mouth enveloping your nipple, the suction he applies makes you toss your head back and moan. Loudly.

He works furiously at the tiny bud, alternating between flicking it with his tongue and sucking it between his perfect lips. It feels so good that your hips begin grinding against him on their own accord, your grip on his hair holding him to your chest. You know your underwear is probably soaked by now. Hell, your pajama shorts are probably soaked too. And you should be embarrassed, but Jake is making you feel so euphoric that you simply do not care.

Jake’s hands have moved to your ass, and it’s the small pinch he gives the flesh there that makes you loosen your grip on him slightly and look down at him. He releases your nipple with a small pop and pulls your face down to his again, giving you a brief, but still deep, kiss on the lips. Then, in stark contrast, he starts to trail feather light kisses down your jaw and neck, making his way to your other breast.

The two of you make eye contact as he takes that nipple into his mouth, and your jaw falls open at both the sensation and the sultriness of his gaze. Little whimpers sound from your throat as he pays just as much attention to it as he did to the opposite side.

When Jake’s decided that he’s had his fill of your boobs, his lips move up to your collarbone and he leaves a decent sized hickey on the skin there. You fleetingly think that you’re going to have to cover it up before the bridal party brunch in the morning, but that thought disappears when Jake’s right hand seeks out your lower abdomen and his fingers sneak past the waistband of your shorts.

Much to your chagrin, he doesn’t let them slip into your underwear, instead choosing to rub you through the damp fabric of your panties. As soon as his thumb makes contact with your clit through the material though, you’re practically melting, core clenching in delight at the pressure. You choke out a gasp and allow your eyes to fall closed.

Jake doesn’t find this acceptable though, as he uses his free hand to grab your chin and coaxes, “Hey. Look at me.”

And so you do. You stare into his eyes, pupils so dilated that they are almost entirely black, while biting your lip and grinding against his hand as he brings you closer and closer to the edge. There’s something in his eyes that you can’t quite place, a softness that almost feels like adoration, and it makes your cheeks flush. He has definitely never looked at you like this before.

In what feels like no time at all, you’re dangerously close to your peak. Only a few more strokes of his thumb and you know you’ll be seeing stars.

Then, right when you’re about to explode, Jake’s touch disappears. And while it may be dramatic, you really feel like you could cry from him ruining what was sure to be an amazing orgasm.

You’re about to voice your dissatisfaction, but Jake promptly removes his hand from your shorts and gives you a gentle smack on the ass.

“Lay down,” he demands raspily, patting the unoccupied area of the mattress to his side.

In a rush to have him touch you again, you do as he says and remove yourself from his lap, settling against the fluffy white pillows. You almost allow your hand to fall between your legs and pick up where he left off, but you refrain.

Your eyes follow Jake as he lazily rises from the bed and saunters over to his bag, combing through it until he locates his wallet and produces a foil packet. Before he joins you back on the bed, he shoves his tight boxer briefs down his legs, kicking them to the side once they’re low enough. His erection springs free from its confines, and your eyes immediately lock onto it. From where you’re lying, you can see the pre-cum leaking from the tip, and your mind starts to feel hazy with desire.

You watch in awe as he circles his hand around his cock and gives it a few lazy strokes while he makes his way back to you, bottom lip caught between his teeth. The sight is downright obscene, and so is the noise you make in response.

When he crawls back onto the bed, he settles himself between your legs, and, without pausing, reaches for the waistband of your shorts. Looking to your face for permission, you give him a small nod and then he’s pulling both your shorts and your panties down your thighs and past your calves until they lie forgotten at the end of the bed.

Still on his knees, Jake inspects your nude body head to toe, tongue darting out to moisten his lips. He moves to stroke himself again, but you sit up a bit and reach for him instead, rubbing your palm from the tip of his dick to the base, shivering at the groan he releases from his throat.

He allows you to continue for a few more strokes, clearly enjoying himself, but then he’s batting your hand away, whispering “Not gonna last if you keep that up,” and slithering over your body, trapping your lips in a kiss and taking your breath away.

You’re so caught up in the kiss that it takes you by surprise when his fingers find their way between your legs and he plunges two of them inside of you, alternating between pumping in and out and curling them so that they hit that one magical spot that makes your toes curl. He keeps his thumb busy on your clit, and his actions have you panting into the kiss, little whimpers passing from your mouth to his.

In no time at all, those whimpers turn into full blown moans, and you unintentionally break the kiss as you writhe against him. Taking the opportunity to kiss a path to your ear, Jake playfully bites at your lobe, then whispers, “Shit, you’re fucking drenched. So wet for my fingers. I can’t wait to fuck you.”

By now, you’re desperate for him, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside you, and so you scratch your nails lightly down his back and breathe, “Then do it. God, please.”

Jake doesn’t need any further prompting. Abruptly, he pulls back and reaches for the condom, tearing open the foil and rolling it on his perfectly sized (in your mind, at least) dick as you observe with hooded eyes.

Draping his body over yours, Jake encourages you to part your legs wider, and extends a hand to grip his cock. Teasing you, he rubs the head of his penis over your clit a few times, causing you to hiss. You can tell he wants to shoot you that infuriatingly sexy smirk, but the pleasure of the contact between you has his jaw hanging open instead.

When he does push into you, at last, you both breathe a sigh of relief. His eyes lock on yours as he finds a rhythm, slow and deep at first but gradually increasing in speed and pressure. There’s an undeniable fire between you as he thrusts his hips into yours, filling you and making you moan.

The tender look in his eyes from earlier has returned, and you can’t help but melt into a puddle of pleasure and affection when he grunts out, “Fuck, you’re so beautiful. I’ve been thinking about this for so long.”

He kisses you again, tongue seeking out yours and battling with it, somehow heightening your senses even more. This doesn’t feel like just a kiss though, it feels like Jake is using his mouth to convey exactly how much he likes you, and you’re eagerly responding.

As he continues pumping into you, your hands land on his shoulders, squeezing every time he hits a particularly sensitive spot inside of you. One especially hard thrust has you clenching around him, and Jake buries his face into your neck, groaning deeply. You can tell he’s close because his movements start to become a bit erratic, and thinking about Jake coming has you close to your climax too.

And it’s like Jake can read your mind, because as soon as you start feeling like you need just a little bit more to push you over the edge, he uses his arm to hook your right leg and raise it up, changing the angle in a delicious way. That, in combination with his thumb finding your clit and applying some much needed pressure, has you crying out his name, your orgasm shuddering through you in waves.

He’s not far behind you, giving a few more sloppy thrusts before his face is overtaken by pleasure and he’s cursing, collapsing on top of you.

The two of you lie like that for a moment and catch your breath, his weight fully on top of you and his head resting on your chest, and it’s scary how much you enjoy it. How right it feels. When you do part ways momentarily so that you both can clean up, you feel a strange pang in your heart that dissipates as soon as you’re back in bed and in his arms.

And while a part of you wants to check in with Jake, see how he felt about what you just did, ask more questions about his current stance on relationships, you decide to let it go for the time being and just enjoy the moment. As you cuddle into him and fall back asleep for the few short hours you have left in this hotel room, you think to yourself that, while you’re not thrilled about having to admit to your best friend and her new husband that they were right, you’re more than just a little excited to “see where things go” with Jake.

#Greta Van Fleet #jake kiszka #smut #fanfic #imagine #my writing #greta van fleet fanfic #greta van smut #one shot #greta van fleet fic #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka x reader #gvf #gvf fic

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sophiashortcake · 4 years

Text

— 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 🍰

“I GUESS I’M JUST A PLAY DATE TO YOU.”

previous ❀ next ❀ series masterlist

𝟎𝟕. am i interuppting something?

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: kicked out of her home with no place to go, y/n is forced to move into her family friend’s home, who coincidentally is also the family of tsukishima kei, the boy who denied her confession.

Kei was exhausted.

He was thankful that he was granted a day off from volleyball, wanting nothing more than to collapse on his bed for the rest of the day. After a day with Hinata and Kageyama pestering him to tutor him, Yamaguchi questioned his whereabouts that morning, and not to mention he had to start the day dealing with you, he felt he was entitled to some well-deserved alone time.

“Welcome home!” His mother called, emerging from the kitchen. “Where’s Y/N?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, going to put away his bag and take off his shoes. Why were you his problem? Like you said, you were capable of getting home yourself.

“Tsukishima Kei, why didn’t you walk her home?”

Uh oh, he knew that tone.

“... Was I supposed to?”

Before he could even finish putting his bag down, his mother grabbed him by the shirt and shoved him back out the front door.

“You’re gonna be a proper gentleman and go find our guest, and make sure she gets home safe, got it?” She smiled far too sweetly for the tone she was carrying.

He came to the conclusion his mother was insane.

“But why do I-“

“I’m not letting you back in the house until you do!” She sang, and slammed the door shut.

“Mom!”

You had lived in this town your entire life, how hard could it be to get home yourself?

Apparently, very hard.

You weren’t sure how you had gotten as lost as you did. But now you were wandering unfamiliar streets and cursing yourself for letting your phone die at school. Now you had no way to call somebody or find out where you were.

You sighed, slumping onto a nearby bench. Maybe this wasn’t so bad, on the bright side, you didn’t have to see Kei at home.

“Y/N?”

A voice broke your train of thought, you turned to the voice and saw Oikawa and Iwaizumi standing over you.

“Guys!” You sighed, relieved that you found somebody to help, “what are you doing here?”

“Shittykawa dragged us here to get milk bread” Iwaizumi replied, “what are you doing here?”

You nearly explained your situation before realizing the last rule, “above all, nobody can know we live with each other.” Damnit, Kei! How the hell were you gonna explain why you were wandering the streets alone?

“Oh, just taking a walk,” you nervously laughed, scratching your head. Please, please, please, don’t ask anymore questions.

“Come hang out with us! You never spend time with us anymore,” Oikawa pouted. You nearly sighed, thankful he changed the subject.

“Sure, why not?” You shrugged. You deserved to have some time for yourself, it’s not like Kei was waiting for you at home.

Kei made sure that when he saw you, he was going to strangle you.

His patience was already running thin, but looking for you was the icing on the cake. He was tired, irritated, and frankly, pissed. For the last hour, he wandered the streets looking for you. It’s not like he wanted to, but his mother wasn’t going to let him back home otherwise.

He had gotten your number from your mother, but it seems it was turned off. What idiot would turn off their phone in this day and age?

It was already getting dark, where the hell could you be at this hour? As far as he knew, you didn’t seem to do any afterschool activities. He was nearly about to give up and try to convince his mother to let him back in when he heard a familiar voice down the street.

Turning around, he saw you giggling and shouting with two boys wearing Aoba Johsai uniforms. Finally, now he can go home.

When he approached the three of you, he recognized the boys as Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime. Just his luck.

“Y/N,” he called, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice.

You nearly jumped when you heard his voice, before you could even process what Kei was doing here Oikawa stepped in front of you.

“Oh, Tsukishima Kei? What business do you have with our Y/N?

“Tooru!” You scolded, grabbing his arm in an attempt to reel him in.

“Why does he always have to cause problems?” Iwaizumi muttered, stepping back from the scene.

Kei nearly groaned, why was everything involving you so complicated? He couldn’t exactly say he needed to take you home, but it was a good thing he was a great bluffer.

“It’s between me and her, so leave us alone,” Kei said, shooting you a look he hoped you were smart enough to pick up on (thankfully you did). “Y/N, let’s go.”

“Ah, guys, I need to deal with this, so I’ll see you later,” you nervously said.

“Y/N, you aren’t seriously gonna go with him, are you?” Iwaizumi asked.

“It’s a, uh, personal matter. Sorry!”

Before Oikawa or Iwaizumi could voice anymore protests, you scampered off with Kei, disappearing down the street with him.

“What happened?” You asked. What reason could he have for looking for you at this hour?

“My mom wasn’t gonna let me in until I got you home,” he grumbled.

“Aww, you were looking for me?” You teased.

Kei scowled, “tch, damn brat, you wish.”

You giggled, finding amusement in his annoyance.

“My roomie cares about me!” You jested, poking his arm.

“Shut up, let’s go home.”

𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭: kiyoko spit out her water when she read the update.

𝐚/𝐧: me? still updating daily somehow even though i take all honors and ap classes? more likely than you think.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 (𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃!): @sinistersith @moronsuke @yougivemebutterfliess @saturnfarie @peachiikichu @what-happens-inside-the-box @nonoszrk @cece-lives-here @belli-jelly @cvlliesstuff @ack-aashi @mindofess @virgoamajiki @natsukitakama @shimy-deko @irenevyas @virgoamajiki @toaster-stick @little-dark-empress @h0ngh0ngh0ng @freyafolkvangr @winunk @estmagnifique @thechaosoflonging @ilovesupersoldiers @simpletype @burntcilantro @ryryryleigh @animatedrapture @intothatbluebluesky @resetrestartandreplay @lostmarimoismyhubby @witcherydotcom @kukiisan @not-venice @grapesauze @amberisnotcrazy @tarasaoristark @ammemuts @cloudymotel @loving-unicorns106 @strawberryssel @kakaokenma @cadelinha-de-haikyuu @wowie-issa-me-amario @pruemania @vitalthot @kageyamasgirl @abswrites @kac-chowsballs

#[🍰] — play date #haikyuu smau #haikyuu x reader #hq smau #hq x reader #tsukishima kei #tsukishima kei smau #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima x reader #tsukki x reader #tsukishima kei x you #tsukishima kei fluff #tsukishima x you #tsukki x you #tsukishima #tsukki

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hansolmates · 4 years

Text

jjk; angel’s trumpet [04]

summary; one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. pairing; idol!jk x reader (f), alternatively film producer!jk x reader genre/warnings; fluff, angst, supernatural, idol!au, non-idol!au, alternate universes, themes of fate, language, alcohol consumption, mentions of smut in future chapters w.c; 5k a/n; lot of angst in this one!! if your heart aches i urge u to do what i do and hug some stuffies (my current fav stuffie is my bt21baby cooky) i hope u enjoy more of w1!jk, ty for all the love pls share and like if you enjoy!

[03] [04] [05] -> masterpost

W1.

Jungkook is strongly advised not to visit you.

Jungkook has been strongly advised over the past two weeks not to visit you, despite the fact that visitors have been allowed since two days ago considering the fact that you are confirmed comatose.

A coma. You’re in a coma. It’s weird how much the notion echoes in Jungkook’s thoughts, constantly nudging the back of his mind like a petulant child wanting an out. He’s never met anyone who’s been in a coma before, the condition only reserved for late night melodramas and medical movies.

And in all of those shows, the person bedridden until further notice always looks like a wreck. He feels like ripping his heart out at the thought of you with tubes and liquids going in and out of your body, face ashen and devoid of any thought other than pain. He needed to see you, to support you even if you didn’t know.

After days of persistence and Namjoon’s inability to say no to Jungkook, Namjoon agreed to let Jungkook swing by the hospital after his solo recordings. He couldn’t get there fast enough, knowing Namjoon is already there and probably taking care of you.

He takes slow steps to your room, as if trudging through a sea of molasses. Careful to not let his combat boots strike the linoleum, he catches the tail end of a conversation. Your room is large enough for two patients, but so far you’re the only one checked in. There are three other people in your room, concealed by a thin curtain revealing them as shadows. Jungkook lingers behind, staring intently at the shadow of your figure laying in bed.

“How inhiberated was your friend the night of the incident?” Jungkook’s presuming it’s your nurse, going over protocol.

The second voice is Sehlyung, the bubbly coordinator who immediately befriended you the week you got hired. Her voice is no longer chipper, but strained and weak, as if she’s been crying for days.

“I don’t know exactly how much,” she sniffs, “but it was a lot. She had a rough day, I—I just wanted to help her forget a little,” her soft cries reverberate throughout the white-walled room. “I should’ve, I should’ve helped her upstairs. I knew how messed up she was and I left her alone!”

Jungkook’s fists clench beneath his hoodie, familiar moisture creeping into his eyes.

Sehlyung’s words felt like a jab to his form, already aching at the wounds in his own heart. It isn’t the answer the nurse wants, but it seems like the poor woman has been holding in a lot of pent up stress. Namjoon’s trying to placate her, and Jungkook can see the way he’s patting your friend’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort. “No one’s blaming you, so please don’t blame yourself,” Namjoon’s words are like a balm to the proverbial wound, “Nurse, is it possible to project how long it’ll take until she wakes up?”

“Hard to say,” your nurse replies, and has the decency to sound sad, “it could be weeks, or even months. Judging by her high amount of brain activity however, she’s predicted to awake with very minimal brain damage.”

Brain damage?

“Eventually her insurance will run out however, the longer we need to sustain her will depend on how much her cosigner—”

“Money will not be an issue,” Namjoon cuts in smoothly, almost sounding insulted that the nurse would even bring up such a thing. “We can’t put a price on our precious friend’s life.”

As much as Namjoon’s words alleviated Jungkook’s initial anxieties, the question still stands. Will you come out of this the same person you left? How long will that take, weeks, months, years? He’s extensively Googled before this, reading way too many WebMD articles that he probably shouldn’t have, effectively skewing his perception on the matter.

He fiddles with his hands in the kangaroo pocket of his sweater, clammy from the heat. You’re suffering, and just like Sehlyung, he’s trying very hard not to blame himself.

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

W2.

Angel’s Trumpet Scientific Name: Brugmansia Order and Family: Polimonailes and Solanaceae Summary: A higher order of nightshade, the Angel’s Trumpet is a show-stopping pendulous flower that hangs like bells. In myth, they were prized as chimes holding magical properties. In modern use, Angel's Trumpets have occasionally been used to create recreational drugs, but the risk of overdose is so high that these uses often have deadly consequences.

So you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life.

You push away from your MacBook, rolling over to your bed to mull. It’s near two in the morning, and you’ve channeled both your love for Buzzfeed Unsolved and your poster making skills in order to construct The Timeline.

Using your somewhat solid memory from the past two weeks and Hoseok’s own timeline from his daycare shift, you spent the entire night plotting as to why you’re in W2 and how you can leave.

Your plan of action is minimal, definitively so because there are no leads other than Sehlyung’s wine dealer, and Jungkook.

Something must’ve been in the angel’s wine, something dangerous. You remember the sky flickering that night, wondering if you were hallucinating or very drunk. Scientifically speaking however, if you really are under the influence of this flower, the hallucinogens should’ve left your body by now.

Unless it’s magic that brought you to this world. As absurd as it is, the notion of magic gets easier and easier to cite as the days go on.

And if it is some form of magic, something tells you that Jungkook has something to do with it. But why?

One: Jungkook’s birth flower, you muse. You think back to how vivid the ink appeared on Jungkook’s skin, how precious the design meant to him. It made you think back to your Jungkook, who couldn’t stop fidgeting as he was so excited to get some serious ink done when visiting a friend in Jeju island. How bright his face glowed after it healed and how proud he was to show it off.

Two: The last thing Jungkook said to you. How coincidental must it be for him to specifically cite your relationship could work in ��another world”?

You’re definitely overheating your brain at this point, and you trudge yourself out of bed to make something to eat. If you were going to spiral, you were going to spiral with a full stomach.

The pot as the water starts to boil, crackling and bubbling angrily because you are impatient and cranked up the heat to high. An open ramen block sits on the counter, ready to be softened. Suddenly, the door unclicks and you point your fork at the door. Panic fills you, wondering who could be visiting at this hour.

“Home sweet home!” Taehyung cries, swinging the door open so hard that it reverbs and hits him in the forehead. However he is unfettered, flashing you a toothy smile as he dumps his luggage at his feet. “Care to open another ramen packet for me, roomie?”

You lower your fork, remembering that Taehyung’s due to come back sometime this week. “Welcome back,” you exhale, forcing a smile as you watch Taehyung arrange his mess in a corner, “did you have a good trip?”

“Yeah, Busan’s nice,” he replies easily, dumping his body on the couch. He looks the same, shaggy brown-black hair and mischievous chocolate eyes. He still has an affinity for earth tones and long coats that make his shoulders look good. Despite the fact that you always expect that their counterparts will look alike, it baffles you how easy it is to forget you’re not in your world. “What about you? Why’re up so late?”

“My thesis was bugging me,” you lie easily, “I’m gonna work on it in the library tomorrow.”

“Ah, is that why you’ve been ignoring Jimin’s texts?”

You stop swirling the noodles in your pot, looking up from your spot at the counter. “He told you?”

Truth be told, you haven’t been exactly comfortable conversing with Jimin. You feel a little bad if your alternate self had a thing for the young man, but you know in your heart you definitely did not hold any romantic or sexual attraction towards him.

“Duh. You’ve hurt his heart.”

You scoff, dividing the pale yellow noodles and soup between two bowls. “Jimin’s a big baby, that’s why.”

“C’mon, you love that big baby,” Taehyung jests, “have lunch with us tomorrow during his break,” his eyes are glued to the bowls in your hands, as you carefully walk over to place them on the coffee table. Like an eager puppy, he scrambles off the couch and onto the floor, joining you in your meal.

You bite back a sigh, stuffing your face with hot noodles to give yourself some time. It still grossed you out that you supposedly hooked up with Jimin on the regular, but at the possibility that you were potentially messing up your alternate universes’ life still held you back for telling Jimin to kindly stop sending dick pics.

“If you pick me up from the library tomorrow I’ll come,” you concede, “just don’t make it weird, okay? I’ve had a hard week.”

“Done,” and that became that.

Taehyung and you cite the silence as being exhausted from today’s events, and you two quickly scarfed down your meal and headed off to bed. Another day gone, and another day longer it takes for you to return to your world.

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

“Your life’s totally an anime movie,”

As much as you love Hoseok’s support, the fact that he’s so excited is a little unnerving.

“You’re like an alien! Or Phil of the Future who’s trying to get back to his timeline!”

“Hoseok…”

“Right, right. Sorry. But think about it,” he jabs a finger in your notebook, citing the pastel pink sticky note where it’s crossed out. “If you fall in love with W2 Jungkook like W1 Jungkook implied, it’ll fulfill your prophecy and you can go back home! And then when you go back home, W1 Jungkook will realize he was being a pussy and then grovel at your knees for forgiveness and—”

“Please stop,” your head is throbbing. The fact that you’re talking about two Jungkooks is terrifying, because it was hard enough for you to handle one Jungkook on their own. “Even so, what’s to say that Jungkook and I really aren’t meant to be? It’s not like W1 Jungkook was wrong. He has a busy life and I know a romantic relationship could add extra stress on him.”

A little part of you felt good to tell another person about your struggles between Jungkook and yours’ unnamed relationship. Of course, you had to catch yourself sometimes when you delve a little too much. Hoseok after all, doesn’t know either Jungkook. You also forget yourself, often muttering a variant of “shut up Hobi you absolute Fruit Loop” when Hoseok gets too giddy. The Hoesok next to you is still just as new of a friend, not this co-worker you’ve spent the better half of two years with.

But back to his theory, while there was no symbolic chime that signaled the start, it grew into a slow, easy love, at least for you. As your and Jungkook’s feelings grew, the more your panic bubbled to the surface. Was it a risk you were both willing to take? Evidently not, from the way Jungkook had slammed the door in your face.

Another reason why you’re hesitant to test the falling in love theory—it’s too easy to fall in love with Jungkook all over again. It scares you. Without his music career in the way, what’s stopping you?

Hoseok squeezes your hand at the way you stare so intently into your timeline, sending you a tender smile, “Don’t think so hard. Even so, a little date won’t hurt, right?” he whispers, picking up his things, “text me if anything happens. My kids are coming soon.”

You give him a halfhearted wave, leaving him to his shift at the daycare. You were so engrossed with the influx of information yesterday that you failed to ask Jungkook for his phone number. This meant that you had to do some intense social media stalking in order to find him. If he’s anything like W1 Jungkook, you’re going to have a hard time finding any updates from him.

“Excuse me? Professor?”

Tilting your head from your notepad, you notice an undergrad had replaced the seat that Hoseok previously occupied. She’s a pretty thing, with long raven black hair and almond shaped eyes. You suddenly feel very ratty and underdressed as a professor, the leggings and oversized sweater with a questionable stain really giving off baked-potato vibes.

“Do… yeon?” you say, remembering her from an email thread you sent a while ago.

She beams, “Yeah! I’m so glad I found you. I know Professor Kim said he’d be absorbing your classes since you’re on leave, but I really need help with my final draft. Professor Kim tried to help me and…”

“Let me guess,” you smirk, “his thoughts were way too convoluted and you need me to get straight to the point.”

Doyeon snaps her fingers, “Exactly!”

While apprehensive with medical knowledge, you can still find confidence in your essay grading skills. You spend the next half hour looking over Doyeon’s paper, pointing out how things she could improve on or articles she could cite. Soon enough, Doyeon texted two other members for her study group, saying that it’s a once-in-a-semester-offer to get some time with you.

And you’re baffled at how easy it is to fall into this professor role. It makes you believe that if you really wanted to, being a professor would also be a perfect job for you. The students are buzzing around your table, excitedly whispering how happy they are to work with you after so long, and that they miss the way you teach your lectures. For two blissful hours, you forget your circumstance and keep your focus entirely on your students.

A loud, obnoxious cough breaks you and your students out of their work bubble. Taehyung is tapping his Valentino loafers impatiently, holding a very large back of what seemed to be you and Jimin’s lunch.

“Sorry kiddos,” Taehyung sing songs, already stuffing your work stuff in your bag, “she promised to go out and have lunch with mature adults.”

“We’re literally like, a couple years younger than you,” Chan scrunches his face, sending you a pleading look.

“Sorry Chan, I did say I was going to have lunch,” you concede, “but please email me if you have any more questions. Otherwise, you’re right on track!”

You wave at the thankful students happily, and Taehyung literally has to drag you out by the arm and shove him into his Uber before you could relent.

“Damn girl,” Taehyung chuckles, relieved to finally get you out of the library, “you didn’t hear me the first three times I was calling you. Chan looked like he was about to rip my head off!”

You shrug lightly, “What can I say, the time really flew with them.”

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

What a coincidence, you’re in the same place he is, again. More specifically, his new workplace.

How is it possible that you have so many handsome friends? Jungkook is baffled by the way Park Jimin and the dark-haired friend feed you fries like you’re their precious daughter. In response, you scrunch up your nose and push them off, instead deciding to shove five fries in your mouth all at once.

As much as he wanted to ask you out since you admired his tattoos yesterday, he can’t find it in him to go up and interrupt your lunch. Besides, he has work and he doesn’t want to complicate things if Jimin finds out he was the one responsible for nearly running you over the other day.

If he walks fast enough, he can avoid any awkward interaction and make it to his office so he can give the day’s full report—

“Jungkook! Get your cute butt over here and meet my friends!”

Crap.

Trying not to glare daggers at his new co-worker, he places a thin smile on his face as he moves to your table in the corner of the cafeteria. He lets Jimin give the whole spiel on how he hired him, and Jungkook decides to hover awkwardly while the rest of you are sitting. The sun filters its way through the windows and bleeds brightly onto your body, making his throat dry and constrict in awe. Your expression is definitely more positive since that time at the library, and he wonders what he has to do to reach that level of contentment you’re sporting.

“Guys, this is Jungkook. I just hired him last week. He’s like my son.”

“Ewh,” the dark haired guy upturns his nose. “But hi, I’m Taehyung.”

While Jimin goes into detail about how amazing he found his work, he can’t help but notice the fond smile that melts upon your face as you listen intently to Jimin. Jungkook wants to archive that expression on your face and save it to memory, the way you look so pretty with your chin nestled in your hand, turning your head slightly to gaze at him with a look of what—pride? Affection?

“You sound like quite the artist,” you muse, “I would love to see some of your work if Jimin says it’s that good.”

He rubs his head bashfully, clutching the camera hanging on his chest like an anchor. “Oh no, I’m just starting out,” he replies shyly, although he would be lying if he said he didn’t crave the attention you were bestowing on him.

“He’s actually going out to Dongdaemun to get some stuff done for his portfolio,” Jimin pipes up, “hopefully get some good content for the commercial he’s filming.”

“Oh, do you mind if I tag along?” you ask, picking at a hangnail, “I’ve always been so curious about the producing process.”

Jungkook’s eyes dart between Jimin and his friend, noticing the telepathic conversation they’re exchanging between you two. Jungkook’s palms start to sweat, not because Jimin definitely wants to probe, but because you made the first move. You pay no mind to the boys, nonchalantly pushing in your chair as you practically float to Jungkook’s side.

“Wait,” Taehyung recovers first, “you know him?”

You agree with a vague wave of your hand, “we work in the same area.”

Jungkook knows for a fact that’s not true, as you only started appearing in his life when he almost knocked you out. But Jungkook can only nod like a bobblehead, not wanting to get into the nitty-gritty.

“I promise to stay out of your way,” you say, “but don’t feel pressured if you don’t want me to go at all!”

“No no, I want you to come!” and Jungkook raises his voice a little too high to be deemed mannerly, and he watches you step back a bit at the sudden intrusion. His face is on fire, especially when there’s a little smirk grazing your lips.

“Well if you want me, you’ll have me.” you flirt, gesturing for him to take the lead.

Jimin and Taehyung’s faces have fallen flat. There’s a stray bit of limp lettuce hanging sadly from Jimin’s lip as he watches Jungkook escort you out of the building. Meanwhile, Jungkook is swallowing the biggest smile on his face. He’s going to spend the rest of the day with you. He doesn’t know if he’s going to get a decent shot in because you’re a definite distraction, but it’s totally worth it if he can get to know you a little better.

You mention that you haven’t walked around Seoul in a while. Jungkook wants to ask more about it, but as open as you display yourself, there’s definitely something guarding you. Jungkook wants to chalk it up behind the whole fiasco of mistaking him for someone else the other day, so he doesn’t want to step on those eggshells again.

But Jungkook is here to work. So he tells you to walk on and lead the way to Dongdaemun while he gets ample footage of the city.

He’s taking pictures of you along the way, but he decides to leave that part out. He likes the way your long red dress swishes in the breeze, the tail end of the fabric brushing against his legs whenever he gets too close.

You stop in front of a pet store, face glowing as you point to their aquarium tank. “Look!” you cry, tugging his sleeve over as if you’re long lost friends, “it’s my boi Nemo!”

He cracks up at your joke, as you excitedly shout to Jungkook that “you found your son!” and it spurs him on to continue his peals of laughter. The joke isn’t that funny but it’s humorous enough coming from you and the smile on your face is enough for him to return one equally as big.

“C’mon,” his fingers brush over the bare skin of your forearm, sending sparks straight to his heart, “it’s getting dark. Just keep swimming.”

Jungkook manages to get some good sunset content before the sky turns navy. He’s not a big fan of photographic tourism spots, but Jimin insisted that the big boss wanted a specific style for their company and he needed to get used to making the usual seem unique.

Looking over his shoulder, he sees you swinging your legs on a nearby bench. You’re munching on a bubble waffle, cheeks puffed as you concentrate on the Cheonggyecheon stream, water babbling.

He’s about to ask you if you want him to take a picture of you, because he thinks you would look beautiful with your dress billowing as you hop over the stones, but he notices the sadness in your face as you gaze at the water.

Lowering his camera, he sees the way your chewing slows, as if you don’t feel like putting anymore effort in the action. Your dimmed gaze seems to peer into a different world, as if you could dive right into the water and transport yourself far, far away from here.

Jungkook takes tentative steps, crouching down from your space at the bench so he would have to look up at you. His hand hovers to balance himself on your thigh, but he thinks better of it and decides to hold onto the wood.

“Can I ask you something?”

He doesn’t comment on the strain in your smile, “Sure.”

“Do I remind you of y’know, him? Your Jungkook?”

Your smile increases, and he doesn’t expect it. Shifting over, you pat the space next to him. It’s a tight fit, and your thighs brush his. “Yes and no. It doesn’t hurt or anything, really,” you answer softly, and you reach for his hand, pulling the long sleeves apart to reveal his tiger lily tattoo. He doesn’t believe your excuse for a damn second, but decides better than to speak against you. “He’s still around, even if he isn’t here. I guess I was just thinking about how we could never go out like this.”

He tenses under your ministrations, and you immediately pick up on it like a sixth sense. “I’m not trying to replace him,” you add, and he tries to relax as you trace the petals on his arm, “I’m sorry if you felt that way. But it’s... impossible to compare you to him, really.”

“So, would you be interested in seeing me again?”

“I’d be upset if you weren’t, Kook.” you manage to pout, and you slide your hand down to thread your fingers between his. “Can I take you out on a date?”

“Only if I can take you out on one after.”

And it’s easy for the both of you to forget your circumstances, at least for tonight.

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

Jungkook drops you off at your apartment soon after, and it feels nice to kick off your shoes and place your bare feet on your soft carpet.

Your roommate’s feet are propped up, covered by a fuzzy grapefruit-colored blanket. Taehyung stretches his head from the couch to throw you a teasing smile, “Sooo, how was your night?”

Instead, you point a finger at the flatscreen playing some Korean drama. “Is that Jin?” you balk.

Taehyung cranes his neck to where he paused the drama. The man on the screen is definitely Kim Seokjin, judging from the plush lips and irritatingly symmetrical face. He looks absolutely comical in his Joseon get up and mustache, and you’re not surprised that he made it to the acting industry.

“Kim Seokjin? Yeahhhh,” Taehyung melts, relaxing into the couch, “that man is so fine I just want him to bend me over that little well and—”

You physically gag, causing Taehyung to break into peals of laughter, forgetting about his fruitless celebrity crush. Only you would never forget this interaction, the words currently searing into your memory at the thought of seeing Seokjin and Taehyung in the same room when you manage to return. “So?” he goads, “Jungkook? He looked like a scared bunny when Jimin glared at him.”

“It was… good,” you settle as an answer, reaching over to ruffle Taehyung’s messy bed head. “I like him, Tae.”

“That’s good,” Taehyung nods, “you deserve more happiness in your life.”

“You think so?”

“I know so!” Taehyung jerks up, punching his fist in the air. You giggle at his antics, and he ushers you over to the couch, “good things are coming, y/n. I can feel it.”

You don’t tell him, but you can feel it too. Sharing his blanket you snuggle further into the couch, asking questions about the famous actor Kim Seokjin and his litany of dramas he’s filmed under his belt. Tonight, falling asleep next to Taehyung, you have the best night’s sleep in weeks.

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

W1.

Jungkook sits in your sickness.

Namjoon says he doesn’t have to, doesn’t need to stay the night. You’ll be fine, your family will come in the morning and care for you. For once, Jungkook tucks his tail and says he wants to, even compromises to bring his work so he doesn’t miss a deadline.

But he can barely get a bar in because he’s too focused on you, your form all-encompassing as he makes sure you’re well-taken care of. Sehlyung dropped off your things from the apartment, carefully packed neatly in a duffle bag you’ve never used.

Soft, lo-fi hip hop plays from his computer speakers as he takes the time to nurture you, care for you. It’s dark outside, the only light emanating from the hallway and a dim desk lamp. He’s done his research, making sure to keep you as clean as you would like to be. He brushes your hair, takes the time to remove the tangles and pin it out of your face. His hands are slightly greasy when he’s done, and his hand falls to your hospital sleeve.

“I wonder how I should wash your hair,” he says aloud, “maybe I can get a small basin or something? It’s not the first time I washed your hair, remember when you sprained your arm after we snuck around in Dongdaemun?” he smiles at your peaceful expression, neutral, “you were such a baby, didn’t feel like shampooing with one hand.”

Talking is also good, too. They say that sometimes the patient can hear and recall conversations family and friends have shared. It’s a little jarring to them, almost like they’re drowning in their heads and unable to bubble up to the surface to reply, but it’s still reassuring to hear familiar voices.

He massages your limbs with lavender scented baby lotion, making sure your body isn’t wasting away and stretches your fingers and toes. You’d have a fit if you didn’t do your whole lotion routine daily, wanting to be soft and huggable at all times of the day. He puts on a pair of pink bunny socks, making sure your feet don’t get too cold in the sterile room.

Running out of things to talk about, he settles for singing along to his playlist, knowing how much you loved to fall asleep to the sound of his voice. He’s tired and he doesn’t feel one-hundred percent, but he hopes you appreciate the sentiment either way.

Weaving through the wires and cords that sustain you he places your hand in his larger one. Jungkook wishes he could care for you everyday like this, treat your body like a temple and wait for you to wake up. Resting his head on the mattress, his soft locks brush against your thigh unkempt as he focuses on tracing words on your palm.

Lavender. Chicken. Netflix.

Your nurse steps in, giving Jungkook a polite wave as she does her nightly rounds. He mumbles a half-hearted greeting in response, immersed in working between the lines on your soft skin as he traces character by character. Your nurse is quick with her work as she checks things off on her iPad and checks the machines that keep them informed. As if she’s intruding on an intimate moment, she types her findings faster.

JK. y/n. Still with you. Sorry. Love.

Your hand twitches in his grasp. It’s minuscule, a brief curl of your fingers. The pad of your thumb barely brushes his knuckle and Jungkook’s reeling. It’s only half a second, but Jungkook cries “whoa!” and sits up straight, startling your nurse, “she’s moving!”

Your nurse smiles sadly at the sparkles of hope in his eyes. “It’s only muscle spasms, Jungkook. It happens sometimes,” and she catches herself before Jungkook’s shoulders deflate and sink into the floor, “but see her eyes?”

He blinks, watching as the nurse gestures to your face. She’s right, your eyes are movie, flickering back and forth. Your lids may not be open, but the movement is there.

“She’s either dreaming or really listening to you, Jungkook,” your nurse murmurs fondly, “make sure you keep her entertained, being in a coma is awfully boring.”

Jungkook thanks her, sending a terse smile as she whisks herself away. He squeezes your hand firmly, wishing you would give him another sign. He feels like he’s chasing you now, reaching out to you, talking to you in hopes you’ll reply. It’s ironic, considering this time he’s not sure if you’ll turn around this time, bounce back as you once were.

Wiping the wetness from his eyes, he tucks you in and scoots his chair closer to your bed. “Wake up soon, yeah? We’re waiting for you,” he whispers, holding your hand next to his head as he tries to fall asleep.

Tonight, he’s dreamless.

#jungkook fic #bts fic #goldenclosetnet #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook scenarios #bts scenarios

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greetthedawn · 4 years

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AN:

I set out with the intention to write 6 chapters over 6 weeks. It turned into 16 chapters over 6 years.

I got Black Flag on my 17th birthday, and now at 23 it remains my favorite story, full stop. I'm ready to move onto other projects, but I know I'll come back to these characters in time. Never at this length or with this attention to detail, probably, but I'm pleased with what I've accomplished here.

At the risk of sounding Oscars speech-y, I want to thank you all for giving this story the support that kept me coming back to it time and time again. I'd also like to thank my college roomie who has been beta-reading and cheer-leading for me these past two years. I never would have finished this story in a vacuum.

I hope you enjoy this last chapter of Come With Me Now!

___________________________________________________

So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light

‘cause oh that gave me such a fright

but I will hold as long as you like

just promise me we’ll be all right

___________________________________________________

Edward's final act as governor of his own little cove was to finally affix a proper headstone to his late wife's false grave.

He had delayed the task longer than he had originally intended when he had buried the box of her letters just over a year earlier. This was in part because he had grown rather fond of the grave marker Mary had fashioned from an old stool seat. The carvings had held up quite well in that time and it had individuality to it. The time had come, however, to leave Caroline with a memorial that would last in the absence of his care.

The date was October 1723. Edward and Mary had tied up their loose threads in the West Indies. The Assassins had finished shifting their base of operations to Great Inagua. There were no longer any pressing matters keeping them tied to the Americas, and their agreed-upon year had come to an end. The day had come to sail for England.

Edward had truly pushed off this task until the last available moment. Their crew – what men who had chosen to leave with them – were at the docks preparing the Jackdaw for the departure. Mary was in the manor giving each room a last comb-over to ensure they hadn't forgotten any necessary or treasured belongings in their packing. Meanwhile, Kenway was elbow-deep in the dirt with a trowel.

When the hole was reasonably deep enough to hold it firm, Edward shifted the tablet stone away from the tree where it had been propped up and lowered the bottom third into the earth. With a huff, he sat back on his knees to admire his work.

He reached out to brush his fingers across the engraving and muttered, "Two years, I promised you. It turned into eleven, but I'm leaving now. I'm coming back, and I'll come to visit you when I get there. That's a promise I'll keep. I do that these days… I'll find your real resting place, and I'll sit with you whenever I'm in Bristol, just as I have here beneath this tree the past year." He pulled his fingers back from the lines that traced out her name. "I'll see you so soon."

When he had finished repacking the earth around the new headstone, he rose, dusted himself off, and tucked the stool seat under his arm. He made for the house, taking in his lovely garden for the last time as he went. He was satisfied, on Ah Tabai's word, that the false grave would remain in place for as long as the Brotherhood held the cove.

He entered the main hall of the manor and was struck, as he always was, by the grandeur. His eyes fell over every painting and trinket he and his men had won on their travels and brought back there to adorn the walls of their base with. Every trophy, every scuff on the woodwork, every empty bottle told a story of a sailor truly living. He had built something out of this room, something he was proud of. Each of his finest deeds had come together in some way to scaffold what this cove had become.

Beyond the memories he shared with his crew in that house, it had been the cradle where his relationship with Mary had found its legs. She had been at his side when they'd taken the cove, had led him to the manor through the tunnel she'd found in its bowels. It had been in the office where she'd first urged him to the aid of the Assassins, at the docks where she'd invited him to Tulum, and on the patio where they'd finally torn down their defenses and begun to stitch their hearts into one.

He imagined, perhaps, that giving over guardianship of this cove and all its memories to his Assassin brothers would be a small glimpse of what he might one day feel when Jennifer was grown and married and starting a new life with a partner of her own. I cared for her. I watched her grow. I gave her what I had, and she turned it into something greater than myself. She has been my life's great joy, and now I trust you to treasure her the same.

He gave a bittersweet sigh, trailing his fingers over the rough, paint-chipped grain of the back of his usual chair at the head of the long banquet table. He allowed himself five long breaths to imprint the room in his mind's eye. Then, he left through the door opposite the one he had come in.

His heart smiled when his eyes fell on his wife. Mary sat at a small, round table in the sunshine just outside the door. On its surface rested two cups, a bottle of rum, and the journal that held her research and communications on Precursor artifacts. Her hair was tied up in her disguise as James Kidd, but she held herself as Mary. She had an easy set to her shoulders and mouth that told him she was relaxed, present in the moment, unconcerned about who was looking or how she was perceived.

"You didn't nearly forget that was locked in my desk, did you?" he asked, pulling out a chair for himself and gesturing to her notebook.

She offered him a warm smile and poured a drink into the empty cup, sliding it across the table. "I rather had a mind to keep it under lock and key 'til we were ready to sail." She shrugged. "It's too valuable to leave unattended on deck. It's a good job it didn't slip my mind though." She nodded toward the wooden grave marker he'd leaned against the leg of the table. "You bringing that along?" Her tone was amused.

He nodded with a humble grin. "I found it strangely difficult to part with," he answered around the rim of his cup. "Much like this here cove." He gestured generally with his gaze at the grandeur of their surroundings. He imagined their accommodations in London, once they'd settled, would be spectacular. There, however, in Great Inagua, he was a king, and a beloved one at that. He wondered if his heart would ever be graced by that feeling again, to be a leader among men alike in mind and purpose. He hoped he would, in some capacity or another. For all he knew though, he was leaving it behind on the docks.

Mary thumbed the handle of her mug thoughtfully. "I feel like I'm parting with Nassau all over again, though I didn't know that's what I was doing the last time I was there. I didn't know that was a final goodbye, the way I do now."

Edward nodded in mournful agreement. "I think I did. When Vane and I broke through that blockade with his fireship, there was something final about it. Perhaps I might return to the island, I had thought at the time, but our Republic, the community we had built with Thatch and Hornigold and all the rest, that had died the very day Rogers brought the King's Navy to our shores."

She reached across the table to give a reassuring touch to his hand that was picking at the grain of the wood. "At least we know this community here will stand long after we've left it to our stern."

He gripped her hand tightly in return and cast his gaze out over the valley below. From where he sat, he could just barely see the crosstrees of the Jackdaw and the rooftops of the trim shanties and huts of the village. The air buzzed with life and opportunity. The morning was late, and the sun shone high over the liveliness of his dominion. Its warmth was reflected in the pride he carried in his heart; no longer pride for who he was, but rather for what he had helped create.

A short distance down the patio, Assassins and pirates drank together at a large table by the banister. Smiles and friendly jests seemed to waft among them like a gentle breeze. For an endless moment, the scene shifted in Edward's eyes to one he had always dreamed of making a reality, but which had never borne fruit: his fellow devils of the sea, all gathered amicably at his manor, sharing a bottle with not a care in mind.

He saw Stede Bonnet, all draped in merchant's finery and smiles. The portly old chap had carried such a heart for adventure and contempt for domesticity, though perhaps piracy had not been the optimal way for him to explore those sentiments. Such a kind-hearted man had not deserved to meet his maker at the hangman's noose. Edward prayed, wherever his widow and children were, that they were well and remembered Stede fondly.

At Bonnet's side sat Vane. As brash and uncorked as he'd always been, Edward had truly liked Charles and counted him as a friend. The man had had a clever eye for mischief and malfeasance that he expected would not find its parallel in their lifetimes. That was how he wanted to remember Vane, and that was how he envisioned him at that table. His eventual madness and betrayal were long forgiven and forgotten.

The counterbalance to Vane's cockiness that had thrown Edward's life expertly askew was Jack Rackham's wildness. A true beast with a bottle, he'd been, and there was little love lost between them. So many evils of past years had been set in motion by that catalyst of a man. Edward could forgive him for all but that which had cost Anne and Mary so dearly. That grudge was not yet ready to die. Despite it all, Calico Jack had been an influential figure in Nassau and Kenway's youth all the same, and they'd shared more than a few jovial pints in the golden days of their pirate republic. He appeared at the table in Edward's mind's eye with the rest, his cheek propped on his fist and a tipsy, peaceful grin on his face.

His feelings about Hornigold, seated across the table, were perhaps the most complicated he held for any of his old friends. None of the men he'd killed before or since had cursed him with as many sleepless nights. He respected Ben, truly, in spite of how things had ended up. The mentor to his mentor, he'd been a man of true esteem and poise. He'd always been searching for something bigger, something more meaningful than even Nassau could provide. They'd had that in common. Regrettably, however, Hornigold had found it in the Templars. Edward knew his friend believed he'd found the answer to poverty, disease, oppression, all of it, and that Torres had held the key to prosperity for every man. Perhaps there was some kernel, some seed of goodness to the world their Order sought to bring forth, but Kenway was equally convinced that no mortal man could hold such a powerful key and not be corrupted by it. It was that corruption that had led Benjamin to his end on Edward's blade, but as the Assassin reflected on the days the old man had spent carefully training him to command the respect of his crew and fear of his victims, he knew he would only remember Hornigold in fond terms.

At Ben's side, he pictured Anne. Sweet, sweet Anne, with flowers in her hair and a confidence in her manner that the most lush and arrogant man in their ranks could never hope to rival. She'd been a perplexing blend of crass and elegant that had brought joy to all who were blessed to have known her. In truth, her death had rattled him to his core because he had truly thought her invincible against all the particular evils these islands had to bear. She'd been an angel in a hellhole and had not earned her fate. Her loss had been the final, great failing of Edward's greed and hubris. If he was cursed to live in a world where her absence echoed so loudly, he would do his very best to honor her with his life.

Bernard Kenway had been an outstanding father, as they come, but Edward had been a less than exemplary son. For the boy that he had been when he'd reached the West Indies, however, Thatch had been the father he'd needed. He saw him then, sitting at the head of the table where he belonged, just as he had sat at the head of Nassau. Edward still felt his absence in every room of important people. When decisions were being made, plans being laid, he often found himself pausing to give space for the gruff words of wisdom that would never again come. Fuck this world and fuck its gold, Edward thought, remembering his mentor's final words. You were always a hero to your men, Thatch. He and everyone he'd known and loved in the past decade would be forgotten by history as scoundrels and traitors, he knew that, but Jenny and any siblings she might have would be raised on bedtime stories of Blackbeard, the most fearsome and admirable pirate who ever lived. If his descendants knew the name, that would be enough. Edward Thatch deserved a legacy.

Mary squeezed his hand lightly, jarring him out of his reverie. She gave him a sad, knowing smile. "The ghosts haunt you too, do they?"

He nodded, blinking against the stinging in his eyes. The men at the table morphed back into their brothers and crewmen. "In every tavern. At every party."

Her gaze was sorrowful and understanding. "Any place where men are drunk and merry." She raised her glass a little higher before bringing it to her lips, a small, private toast to those lost. "London society could never appreciate the pleasures of frivolity as they did."

He tapped his mug to hers. "Of the things we're leaving behind, I think I'll miss them most of all."

"You don't think they'll follow us to England?" Her tone was sad, but unsurprised.

"They belong here. If we'd died a handful of years back, we'd belong here too. Our memories will go where we do, but their spirits will remain in these jungles." He paused for a moment. "Perhaps one day we'll join them." He was almost hopeful they might.

Mary smirked. "If we live long enough to come back here, I doubt I'll want to live long enough to leave twice." She stood, pulling him to his feet by their linked hands. "But until then, we're needed a long way from here. Come on now. It's time we're off."

Edward picked up Caroline's makeshift headstone and Mary pocketed her not notebook. Leaving the bottle on the table behind, they descended the steps toward the gate that led to town. He stopped them there to turn back toward the manor for a final time. He pictured the ghosts at the table once more, imagining himself almost able to hear Anne's singsong voice and Thatch's wheezing laughter on the wind. It would have been a privilege to sail away with any one of them, but he was taking the one friend he truly had to have at his side. That would have to be enough for this lifetime.

He turned and kissed his wife, long and gentle. "The only place I'm needed is wherever you happen to be."

___________________________________________________

So lead me back

Turn south from that place

And close my eyes from my recent disgrace

‘Cause you know my call

We’ll share my all

Now children come

And they will hear me roar

___________________________________________________

A small crowd had gathered on the docks for their departure. Their crewmen were saying goodbye to their loved ones, having a last cup of rum with their friends, pleading with their favorite dancers to stay in their arms just a moment longer and cry a little when they left port. A number of them, Edward knew, had intent to return after a year or two, but none seemed to be able to resist the sentimentality and celebrity of such a departure.

He and Mary made a point to stop and shake the hand of each captain in their fleet as they pushed toward the Jackdaw. At the gangplank of their vessel, Ikal and Glenna were helping load the last crates of supplies. Glenna gave them polite smiles but moved out of their way without a word. It was as warm of farewell as Kenway had hoped to receive. Ikal, in contrast, passed off the crate in his arms to another sailor in order to address them. Edward placed the stool seat on top of it as the man passed him to board the ship, intending to collect it later once he had his crew settled on the open sea.

"I wouldn't worry about her, were I you," he said with a touch of affection and a smirk about his partner. "She bears you no ill will anymore, though I doubt your absence will be greatly noted."

"I would expect nothing more," Mary laughed. She pulled him into an amicable embrace. "I'm glad to part as friends, truly."

"I am, as well," he agreed, releasing her.

Edward offered his hand, which Ikal took without hesitation. "I can never repay you for the service you did our family in helping to find Jennifer."

Ikal smiled pleasantly. "No, I don't suppose you can." With a last nod to Mary, he followed Glenna down the docks.

Edward and Mary exchanged an amused glance and boarded their ship. He greatly doubted they'd ever hear from that pair again.

The deck was all a bustle of activity as final preparations were made for departure. Massey darted in front of them, doing his best to chase the black and white cat that hunted their rats down below deck where it would not get under foot. Jenny toddled over to them, awkwardly carrying the fluffy gray tabby that loved Mary so well. The animal was nearly as long as the girl was tall, and it hung limply with its forelegs stuck straight out ahead. Its expression was unsettled but it didn't make any effort to wriggle free of her grasp. Edward had never met such a tolerant animal, though he'd still rather have a dog. Cats might be better mousers on ships, but wouldn't do much in the way of protecting an estate, he expected.

"What a wonderful helper you are! Thank you for catching that kitty!" he praised his daughter. Mary scooped the cat up and Edward bundled Jenny into his arms.

"Uncle Muh-see not help!" she pointed out, clearly amused by her babysitter's lack of success. She was all smiles that morning.

"No, he's no help at all, is he?" he encouraged, nuzzling his nose against hers, making her scrunch up her face and giggle.

A frazzled Massey worked his way back toward them after securing the first cat below deck. Mary passed the other off to him and it leaned into his embrace eagerly. "I don't suppose you'd stay on as our governess when once we've established ourselves in England?" Mary chided warmly.

The lad gave a playful huff. "As it happens, I've secured employment already." The news clearly excited him. "Bell's sister was recently married to an horologist's son in the city, and the family was gracious enough to offer us positions at the shop. We'll mostly be running errands, delivering clocks and the like, but I'm hopeful the old man will teach us the trade one day." He cast their daughter an affectionate grin. "We'll cross paths at the London bureau though, I'm sure, and I imagine I'll call on you often. Any chance to see the little Lady Jenny." The girl clapped at the sound of her name. She reached out her arms for him and Edward passed her over.

"Well, we're glad you're coming with us all the same," Edward patted Massey on the back as he and Jenny made their way to the upper deck. The young sailor nodded to Adéwalé and Ah Tabai as they passed on the stairs.

"It's hard to believe you won't be here tomorrow," Adé greeted his old captain with a firm hug.

"I'm in as much disbelief about it as you are, mate," Edward breathed.

"Have you decided on a heading?" his friend asked.

"Bristol!" he declared. "I've got some business I need to settle there before I can truly begin my life anew. Once we've finished, we'll find somewhere to settle for good."

"If the wind ever carries you to England, you'll have a warm bed and a seat at our table," Mary assured him as they hugged as well. "You need only ask. Both of you."

"I do not think our kind would be welcomed in such a corner of the world," Ah Tabai sighed. "but there will always be a home for you and your family in these waters if you find yourselves dissatisfied with the stillness of high society."

She smiled warmly. "I doubt either of us will ever be truly still. We'll keep that close in mind, though." She turned to Adé again and procured the small notebook from her coat. She pressed it into his hands. "These are all the notes I have from my communications with our brothers in the colonies. I've written ahead for you, so they'll know of my departure by now. They're chasing some fascinating leads on Precursor sites at the moment. I expect you'll enjoy the work."

He took the notes with a grateful nod. "Perhaps we're due for a meeting, too. I would like to see more of the Americas before my days are done." He clasped Mary and Edward by the shoulders, like he had when marrying them. "My dear friends, you'll write when you've safely landed. Understood?"

They smiled and nodded, hugging him together once more.

Edward turned to Ah Tabai and they clasped forearms in farewell. "Mentor," he started. "I must thank you. You gave me a final chance to prove myself, and I hope I've done justice to the faith you placed in me."

Ah Tabai laughed and held up his hands. "I cannot accept your thanks. In truth, I had given up on you, Edward Kenway. It was Mary who forced my hand, and I cannot say I am sad to see that her instinct continues to prove fruitful." He bowed his head. "Safe travels. May you honor the Creed, and may it bring you honor." He left them then, and Adéwalé followed him off the ship.

Mary and Edward waved them off. "I must say, I'll dearly miss his gravitas," he laughed. She rolled her eyes with a small smile.

Around them, the bustle was beginning to quiet. Preparations were largely finished and those who were not leaving with them began to disembark. The two of them moved toward the starboard side so as not to stand in the way. Men said their fond goodbyes as they passed. Edward knew each by name and did his best to etch their faces into his memory. He glanced over at Mary and could see by the set of her face that the weight of their departure was setting in for her.

Her hand went to her belt, settling on the ruby hilt of the dagger he'd gifted her so long ago, Venganza. Revenge. She pulled it free, balancing the weight between her palms, and looked at him. After a quiet moment, she said, "I don't need this anymore…" The words lingered on her tongue, like she was coming to grips with them in that very moment.

He laid his hand over hers. The steel between their fingers chilled his skin. "Then don't bring it with you."

She nodded and pulled back. Her fingers wrapped naturally around the well-worn leather grip and she paused, indulging in the sensation of its weight in her hand for a moment. Then she turned on her heel and pitched the dagger over the side of the ship, far out into cove. It sliced quietly through the gentle waves and sank, taking pains of the past along with it.

He set a hand on her shoulder and she sighed, seeming to release a weight off her heart. She looked back at him and there was new light in her eyes. "I'm ready now."

He smiled and led the way to the helm.

Jenny had settled to the right of the wheel with a toy. Looking at her then, Edward could scarcely believe he'd ever worried he might not love her. She had so much Mary in her, and a spirit uniquely her own. Every small thing she did or said was a marvel to him.

He was, for a moment, plagued by self-doubt, as he was more occasionally than he would have liked. The Atlantic crossing was not an easy journey. The life that waited for them on the other side was hardly safe, either. His mind went back to his argument with Mary on the evening of their marriage. A choice, he reminded himself, that was their agreement. In spite of his concerns, he could never quite bring himself to feel guilty for taking her away from the safety of the family that had once adopted her. He knew that, had she stayed with them and grown up as Maria Reyes, she would have known nothing but the easy and proper life he wished for her. A small part of him did mourn that loss for her. At his core, though, he must admit that he was still too selfish to truly regret taking it away from her. She belonged with her mother, and with him. In that sense, paired against that alternative, a choice was a blessing. A choice was enough. He couldn't wait to see what she would someday do with it.

"Captain!" Bell called, interrupting Edward's thoughts. The young sailor came to join them, Massey on his tail. "The men are ready to depart. Would you like to take the helm today, or shall I?"

Edward waved him off. "If this is the last time we'll steer the Jack out of this port, I would prefer to do it myself."

"You two go help at the mainmast," Mary suggested. 'We'll handle things up here.

"As you command, Master Kidd," Bell nodded. The set of his mouth was eager, excited. "We'll wait for your call." The two lads descended to their posts.

Edward huffed and tentatively curled his fingers around the underside of one handle on the wheel. He glanced down to his right palm and the long, white scar that ran across the skin there. It was the one Mary had given him when he had attacked her in his desperate panic at the Assassin graveyard, thinking her a ghost. The memory seemed so far away, though the mark was among the more recent that adorned his body. He pulled his gaze away from the thin, pale line and onto his wife at his side as she lifted their daughter to her hip. Jenny grabbed at the beads in Mary's hair – twins to those he still wore on his necklace – making her smile and shake her head to toss them around for the toddler's amusement. She noticed his stare as she did so and paused, giving him a puzzled look. He smiled back at her and touched his hand to her shoulder in their familiar gesture of trust and reassurance.

"I'm ready now too."

With a grin, she clasped his shoulder in return and glanced out over the deck. "Ready, lads!" she called out. "Loose all! Let's catch the wind!"

___________________________________________________

And the ghosts that we knew will

Flicker from view

And we’ll live a long life

___________________________________________________

Song: Ghosts That We Knew - Mumford & Sons

#CWMN Full Chapters #kiddway #edward kenway #mary read #james kidd

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prorevenge · 6 years

Text

Piss on the floor, and threaten to evict me? Enjoy your possesion charges.

Obligatory on mobile disclaimer.

This story is still unfolding, but this is where we are at currently.

Back in October 2017, I moved in with a friend (G) and his roommate (T), after they moved out together from their previous and needed a 3rd.

T and I hit it off right away. G is a pothead, and he got me started on the habit. I gave it up in December, I felt tired and slow all the time. G kept going as normal.

The house we moved into had all sorts of problems. I'm a handyman, so I'd fix whatever I could, and I was only ever reimbursed for materials, minus my share. It was kind of shitty, for my labor went unpaid, but whatever, I never brought it up, and it never bothered me. The landlord was always giving excuses as to why he couldn't fix it, and would deduct it from the rent instead. It worked out, but it was a pain in my ass.

One fateful day in January, T had been out since the day before, so it was just G, the cats, and me. I went to have my morning piss, only to find that the toilet is completely smeared in piss, as well as the floor. I am livid. I recorded it over WhatsApp, and sent it to the group. I said it was unacceptable and that it needed to be cleaned before I decided to do it. G wakes up, and immediately stats with the bullshit (woah, that's a big leak. We need a plumber). I reply that it wasn't possible for a leak to crawl up the walls of the bowl and make a mess all over. He then blamed the cats. I am somewhat allergic to cats, specifically, their piss. Just a whiff of it will have me coughing a lung out. I bring this up as well.

His tone went from "haha that is so weird!" To "quit your bitching, I'll clean it up you faggot". And he did. And from that moment on, his demeanor and attitude changed completely.

He would send passive aggressive messages if I had any dishes leftover from the day before. He would send passive aggressive videos if MY TV which was on the livingroom, was dusty. Whenever I got home and said hi, he would ignore me.

So I started ignoring all of it. I stopped saying hi to him, and limited myself to only speaking to him when absolutely necessary. He didn't like that. Whenever we'd be both walking in opposite directions, he would square up, and try to shoulder shove me out of the way. We are both pretty big dudes, so at first I took it in jest, but later I'd stiffen up and send him flying every single time he tried it (you never forget how to hip/shoulder check someone).

He eventually stopped with the physical confrontations, and would complain to T about me. His complaints ranged from "he won't even greet me" to "I never see him do any housework".

One day, his insane girlfriend was over, and they had a massive fight at 2am, where she took his PC (which I built) and threw it across the room.

He sent me a message the day after, along the lines of "fix it, I'll pay". I replied that I would fix it for free, but only if my friend G asked. I wouldn't touch it otherwise. He took issue with that, and told me he had no need to establish a friendship with me. I told him that I had no need to fix a computer, so I wouldn't do it, and he got pissed. He stormed off my room, and left the building.

A few weeks later, I left my Tupperware soaking in the sink. He sent a message to the group, stating that it was unacceptable to have dirty dishes (all the while, he had days worth of dishes at any given time). I asked if we were expected to clean up daily, and he blew up saying how he was tired of havig an ungrateful, arrogant, violent prick in his home (lease is under his name, we all pay equal parts of rent) and he wanted me gone by the end of the month.

I got home, laughed at him, and he threatened to have me evicted legally, and if that failed, he'd throw my stuff out on the streets. He claimed that because his name was on the lease, his word was law.

I challenged him to do either, and got a nifty little surveillance program that uploads straight to YouTube. I caught him once goin into my room, realizing my webcam was on, and walking out. When I got home, I broadcasted the video to his TV, and confronted him. His stance was that I was illegally recording him, and he'd sue me. I told him to go for it. I still don't know why he went in.

He turned violent and aggressive. I decided to just be the bigger man, and leave, so I moved out on Saturday. I figured I'd drop the drama, leave and that'd be the end of it. Nope. On Saturday night, he sends a message "like a bitch".

On Monday morning, I called the landlord. On the lease, there is a clause that states that the use of recreational drugs is forbidden. I told him that Gs substance abuse had forced me to leave, because the apartment was filthy all the time, and reeked of pot.

He told me he was going to make a surprise visit. I told him when to best catch him blazing.

On Tuesday, the landlord called me to ask if I would testify against G. Apparently, the landlord did go and dropped on him, the stench of pot was unmistakeable. Police were involved, and G apparently assaulted the landlord. He is being evicted, and I have a court date coming up.

I sent him a message, "good thing it's your name on the lease". Got no reply.

Tl;Dr: pothead roomie pissed on the floor, I threw a fit, he threatened to evict me or throw my shit out. I snitched to the landlord, and roommate is being evicted for breaching the no drugs clause on his lease, and being charged with possession.

(source) (story by Aeris_24)

#prorevenge #by Aeris_24 #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #revenge story #last10

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amplesalty · 5 years

Text

Day 5 - Frankenhooker (1990)

I think you’ll find it’s called Frankenhooker’s Monster

We’re branching out into the wider filmography of Frank Henenlotter today. He’s primarily known for Basket Case, which was one of the entries in the early days of this blog. I had a weird moment before watching this in trying to remember if I ever saw Basket Case 3 as I didn’t seem to mention it on here. Evidently I watched it during my attempt at the ‘365 movies in 365 days’ challenge in the mid 2010’s, which seems a little odd for me as normally I feel like I would have normally left it until Halloween, especially since I discussed the first two movies.

As the title might suggest, we’re very much dealing with the ‘Frankenstein’ tropes in this, with a whole bunch of gratuitous nudity thrown in from the hooker side of things. ‘Ol Tor has his work cut out today.

We start out by meeting Jeffrey, an oddball sort of fellow that dabbles in a little bit of mad science on his kitchen table. He follows the more Jeremy Clarkson school of tool selection as he does his mad science with hammers. Neither his fiancé or family seem to mind this and just casually carry on enjoying the birthday party they’re throwing around him. Would you mind passing me the ketchup whilst you’re performing invasive surgery on your brain/fish thing, honey? I don’t know what that thing is and they never explain it. I guess it’s just a quick way to introduce the fact that he’s able to create life in some weird ways.

He later moves it into a fish tank, at least it’s more roomy than just being a brain in a jar. Plus it has neighbours! Do you think it eats the fish food as well?

It reminds me of Arrghus from A Link to the Past, only without the tentacles or the little creatures satelliting around it.

This party takes a turn for the worse when his fiancé demonstrates the remote control lawnmower Jeffrey invented by turning it on and standing in front of it whilst it runs her over. What is it with people in Hollywood who are too stupid to take a sidestep out of incoming danger? Seriously, just a few feet either way but no, she just stands there and screams whilst the machine cuts her down.

This is an event summed up on the evening news in a manner rather lacking in any tact or dignity, proclaiming the young woman’s ‘personality’ was chopped up and rained upon the party guests like some sort of human tossed salad.

This Prison Break reboot looks a bit odd. And as much as I am curious to see if muscular and flesh level nudity would flag up Tumblr’s censors, I’ll play it safe here.

No, those are just Jeffrey’s plans to make things right again; like Doctor’s Frankenstein and West before him, he will restore life.

I say West because there is a bit of a low rent Jeffrey Combs vibe going on here. Actor James Lorinz is a bit cheesey in his delivery at times but it probably doesn’t help he spends half the film spouting exposition to himself. He has the look down though, with some good facial expressions and looking like he hasn’t slept in a week. Puts me in mind of the guy in Nightmare on Elm Street 2 as well actually. I keep going on about that bloody movie.

See, Jeffrey was only able to salvage a few body parts before the cops did their clean up. The most important thing is he got the head so he can just put that on a new body and he’s back in business.

A head that he likes to enjoy candlelit suppers with.

I must say, these fake nude images were a lot cruder before the invention of Photoshop.

The only trouble is, where to get a donor body? Jeffrey is wracking his brains but can’t think of anything so, bizarrely, he drills into his own head which seems to tap into some wickedness like tricking a bunch of stewardesses off a plan by dressing as a maintenance man and saying there’s a fault. He doesn’t think they’ll fall for that though so he figures he’ll just go kill a bunch of hookers.

I don’t know what the deal is with the drilling thing. It’s like something out of the middle ages, trepanning. He uses it later on and seems to act as some sort of relief to him. See, Dr Spengler had it right, it would have worked.

Forget all this dealing with tragedy and grief business, it’s sexy hooker party time! The girls think this is just some weird roleplay fantasy that Jeffrey has, with his white gown and stethoscope, but really he’s just sizing them up as suitable donors.

Things go slightly wrong though when they find the bag of super crack he’s being cooking up and they just go to town on it. That’s the problem with crack, it’s really morish.

Mr Stark…I don’t feel so good…

It also has the slight side effect of making you explode. The crudity of this scene really makes it, just take a load of dummies, strap some fireworks to them and just watch the show. I shouldn’t jest, there are dozens of people that spontaneously combust every year, it’s just not really widely reported.

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Jeffrey scoops up the body parts and takes them home. I think this shows the kind of neighbourhood he was in that he can drive around with his trunk rigged open, with body parts spilling out, and no one bats an eyelid.

You got these titties but then you got like this whole tray full of titties and that’s just too many titties. You need like some well rounded female characters in the titties to make titties sweeter.

Those aren’t the kind of bolt ons that most women elect to have surgery for…

Like when Dr Frankenstein created the bride for his creature, so to does Jeffrey have to deal with a rebellious streak within his creation. When she finds out that he doesn’t have any money, she shows him the back of her hand and heads off into the night. Forget being a hooker, she should be running the show with a pimp hand like that!

See, the slight problem with the new body that Jeffrey has put together is that it has infected his fiance’s mind, no longer the sweet, innocent girl he knew, now she’s taken on the personality of one of the hookers, just going round asking if people want a good time and if they have any money. For all the gore and breasts on show so far, you have to give the movie credit for finally delving into the sort of deep, metaphysical questions that I’m sure Mary Shelley had in mind when she wrote the original story. What makes us who we are? Is it just our thoughts and memories or is there something more, a soul within our body?

Eh, who am I kidding? Bring on the ungodly creature effects from all the reanimated hooker body parts!

#Halloween 2019 #Frankenhooker

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sea-dragon-pride · 5 years

Note

☕☕☕☕☕ (KIDDING, 🌟🌼🌗❓!)

☕☕☕☕☕ WELL IF YOU MUST KNOW,,, my deepest darkest secret… my BIGGEST shame… is that I can’t get Calico’s cats to like me. I KNOW! I’m a fake druid, but I try talkin to them and I chase them around and they’re not havin’ ANY of it. The cats on this boat are anti-Tiller ghskgh;skgsgds

(ALSO THIS GOT LOOOONNNGGGGG, so I’m putting it under the cut, I’m So Sorry For Getting Carried Away)

🌟When your OC loses all hope, who do they turn to first? What helps make them feel better? What calms them down and reassures them? Why?

I think when all hope is lost, I would always turn to Roy! I know I should probably say something like my real dads but I haven’t seen them in so long and I never want to worry them with things they don’t need to know about…. Roy always knew how to keep up a brave face, and somehow had a plan for everything, even when failure seemed inevitable. All the Sea Dragons for that matter, made me feel that way! I could never stay in a sour mood after an evening meal with Bingo or Codec, or hell, even Skiff! They’re practically my family and I know they accepted all parts of me into their ranks, so I can’t help but feel better if we’re all together. Though nowadays, that’s not an option, so… to calm down I usually like to hang out in the crow’s nest and chart stars. You can see the sky and the ocean for MILES, when everything is so grand and beautiful, things can’t seem so bad. Something about being up there reminds me that life is always moving, like the ocean! So if things are bad now… then they can’t stay that way forever, because that time will have to move somewhere else, somewhere in the past. On a simpler level, I really appreciate hugs and snacks. I’m the perfect form for cuddling! It’s not bragging, it’s a fact!!! So if I’m ever sad, just squeeze the life out of me and I’ll feel better.

🌼 Write a short drabble from your OCs POV meeting their LI

I see the red sails being raised at the end of the dock. Black skulls with a sun burst pattern decorates a number of them. The whole ship is made from stained black wood with red trim. The wood even smells burned.

Jeez, these guys are the ostentatious types, huh?

Everyone looks like they’re bustling about, doing the prep work for an extended time out at sea. They’ll be expecting me anytime now, but when have pirates been punctual?

Okay, okay, new boat, new story, don’t sweat the small stuff. No one can ask you too many questions if you just keep up your overly-friendly small talk. These guys are supposed to be more dangerous than the last crews, which means a bigger haul. Roy’s counting on you.

I look around the main deck and spot an older woman with an intricate braid and a wide-brimmed hat. That’s gotta be her. I run up and say:

“OH! Ahoy there!!! I’ve never been on a ship this big before wOOWW! Love the color scheming, it really brings out the whole ‘murder-y’ vibes you guys seem to be going for haha! You must be Captain Rhea!”

The older woman looks perplexed (like they usually do), and responds: “That would be me, aye. Though I don’t remember ordering for an interior decorator aboard my vessel.”

“Hehehe no! But you DID send for a navigator and that’s me! Tiller Jakobie, at your service! I’ll tell ya where ya are, where ya goin, where ya wanna be, and how to get there! I also brought my own maps!” I lift them out of my bag proudly. These babies took ages to chart, but no one appreciates map craftsmanship nowadays.

Rhea sighs: “Ah, I did put Beremy in charge of recruiting didn’t I? Remind me not to do that again…. But yes, unfortunately, our last navigator has seemed to desert us for his own misadventures. If you’re the best we can do for such a short time, then so be it. Boys, get her set up in a room, I have business to attend too.”

Yeah… the misadventures of their old navigator mostly involve spending the next few weeks in the brig of The Quick Silver. If Franz is on guard duty, the poor guy will have to listen to him while he practices new songs. Hehehe that’ll make him WISH we threw him overboard!

I turn to my new alleged crew members: “SO! Miss Captain said something about accommodations? Do you guys have room service?? OH! What about those complimentary little soaps??!! Where am I stayin!! You’ve got a five star suite for me, right?”

Most of the reactions are as expected; a couple a furrowed brows, eye rolls, a few smirks and chuckles. I’ll have em head over heels for me soon enough, I mean, come ON! I’m adorable!!! They look around at each other, and one pipes up:

“Well I know someone who don’t have a bunk mate right now…”

The group kind of snickers and mumbles to each other. I hear some whispers - “That’s a lil mean for her first day, ain’t it?” “With HER, are you serious?” “Well, I ain’t gonna be the next one with a fresh scar for waking her up by accident!” They talk back and forth some more and come to an agreement of some kind? “Alright, we got a room for you, follow us!”

I trail behind them, trying to note down the layout of this ship. It IS bigger than The Quick Silver, more in width than in length. The mizzenmast is fortified and I can see spots for snipers to sit up by the topsails. That’ll be a problem to deal with later… We continue below deck and I’m practically pushed towards a room at the end of the hall. My welcome party already starts backing up toward the hold and they shout:

“Alright, get cozy in there!” More repressed laughing. “Dinner’s served around dusk, see you then!”

Okayyyyy… whatever these guys think they got against me, I’m sure it can’t be that bad. What’s a little hazing between new crew members, right? I’ve faced worse.

“Uh hello?” I knock and open the door.

Oh Fuck. It is that bad.

In the room, there’s a girl, sitting on the lower bunk, sharpening a pair of swords. She doesn’t even flinch when I enter. Her hair is covering a lot of her face, since she’s looking down. It’s so long… Golden hoops dance under her ears. She has bandages around her hands and scars up her arms. Who IS she???

“Are you lost?”

I jolt back. SHIT, I’ve been staring!!! “Wh- huh?”

The girl looks up at me and her hair falls back. Oh NO, she’s PRETTY,,,,!!!!! My face feels hot, WAIT, is this room hot? DON’T tell me you’re blushing right now, Jakobie,,,

She asks again: “Are you lost? This is my room. What are you doing in here?”

Your mission. Remember your mission, dumbass.

“AHAHA OH RIGHT! N-NO WAY! In fact, it’s my job to be Not Lost! I’m Tiller, the new navigator aboard the ship, it’s SUPER nice to me you!!!”

She puts away her whetstone but doesn’t say anything.

I close the door, as I default to rambling over silence. “Well... ANYWAY, your friends said you needed a roomie so here I am! They seem like a fun bunch huh? They mentioned something about you stabbing someone, not that that’s important to me haha! D-Don’t answer that! Those are cool swords you have there!! Where’d you get them? Can you fight with them at the same time!!?? That’s CRAZY! But in a good way! Not that you’re crazy!! Also, I didn’t seem to get your name??” I take a seat on the chest across from her.

She starts to polish her swords. “I didn’t give it.”

Ohhhh one of THOSE types.

She glances up briefly and squints at me. “Why are you wearing a sleeve on only one arm?”

To hide my tattoo.

“OH haha! THIS??? It’s uhhh… to cover a… birthmark! It’s- It’s really gross and ugly and I, uh- hate it so I don’t like looking at it.”

She furrows her brow and kind of scoots further away on her bed after hearing that.

Smooth.

I start putting my stuff away. “Sooooo, I heard someone on the boat is named Beremy?? What’s up with that? That doesn’t sound like a real name.”

“Tiller doesn’t sound like a real name.” She mumbles.

“OHHHH SO SHE HAS JOKES!!! Miss Mystery over here has jests and japes for the the new girl, okay, I’ll take that one. I’m glad comedy is allowed in this room.”

She seems to eye me more closely now as I empty my backpack. She responds: “Just don’t touch my things and you won’t be sleeping in the galley with your namesake.”

“The other crew members seem to be kind of scared of you. Should I be worried, or are you all bark and no bite?”

I feel a whoosh of cool air whip past my ear. One of her swords is suddenly embedded in the wall behind me, inches from the side of my head.

Whoa…. she’s Perfect.

She sounds a little irritated when she says, “I like for people to make their own judgements about me and not listen to rumors from people they’ve just met.”

My heart is racing. (Probably from the sword, right??) I yank it out of the wall. “That… was SO COOL!!! I didn’t even see you throw it. You’ve gotta teach me that!!!””

She looks a little taken aback.

I continue, “Also have you ever thought about pulling your hair out of your face with something??? Then maybe you can aim better!! Plus… I think your eyes are really pretty...”

“I-”

Suddenly, there’s a bell ringing down the hall.

The girl looks away to the side. Was her face always that pink? She stands up and makes for the door. “That’s the dinner bell. You can… come with me if you want. It’d be weird to just stay in here.”

I hop up. “Alright Miss Mystery, if you INSIST!”

“It’s Mayday.”

“What?”

“Mayday. That’s my name. If I am stuck with you, then you at least ought to know what to call me.”

Mayday.

Aw man… how am I gonna figure out this one…?

🌗 Early mornings or late nights? What do they spend their time doing during these hours?

Early mornings all the way! As much as I LOVE sleepovers and gossiping over pillow talk, there’s something AMAZING about seeing the sunrise and getting to run around before the rest of the crew has woken up! Usually, I like to sneak food from Mr. Biscuit while he’s still making breakfast and I try to hide stickers in Selim’s armory. I chat with all the animals around the boat too! You know, catch up with the seagulls and dolphins following along side. I usually find a rat or two, and they always have the best jokes!!! Miss Shih says I should get rid of any rats I find, but what she doesn’t know, won’t hurt my loyal subjects. And then my favorite, I GET TO WAKE EVERYONE UP!!! Miss Shih’s always awake, so she’s the exception! You really bond and get to know a person once you’ve seen them at their most annoyed and delirious state, A HA I LOVE IT!!!

❓ A random fact or short drabble! Or make up your own question to ask the OC!

My question of choice: If you had a personalized Captain Hat, what power would it grant you?

THAT’S A REALLY HARD ONE!!! Part of me almost wants to inherit Roy’s hat because his power is really cool and he’s never let me USE IT!!!! >:///

But part of me also feels like it would be fun to just enhance the druid powers I already have! Like basically just become a water-bender and control the weather when you’re out at sea!! OH! Or maybe it could be a shape-shifting animal hat!!! (But how would that work in animal form?? Would they all get little hats?? That’s not intimidating!!!) Maybe it could be navigator related, and I would always know where I am and never be lost! OR MAYBE! It could track the thing you desire most!!! That seems kind of heavy for me though haha! Regardless, I can’t make up my mind! I want them all! The solution is that all captain’s should give me their hats and that’ll be the end of it!!! It’s only fair, and I deserve it of course!!!

#anon #anonymous #GOSH THANK YOU IF YOU READ ALL THE WAY THROUGH....#I KNOW I WENT A LIL BUCK WILD ON THE MAYDAY QUESTION BUT HGKDJSHG:SDKGG WOWEEEE #i apologize for my jank writing but it was FUNNNN!!!!#it's late now tho so I'm going to bed lmao!!#tiller talks!!!#Anonymous

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soprana-snap · 7 years

Text

Magnolia Seven-Seven

Chapter Two: The Secret Tuesday Society

Summary: Magnolia is like every other city, full of traffic jams and hoards of people. When Captain Gajeel and Detectives Gray and Natsu get involved with a shady crime boss that seems to have the whole crime ring in his back pocket, they need a little more backup to bring him down: i.e ADA Lucy Heartfilia, Evidence Technician Levy McGarden, and Caffeinator Juvia Lockster.

Rating: M for adult situations and language

A/N: I finally did it. I wrote a thing. 15 pages. It took forever and I’m tired of looking at it. I also figured out why I hated it for the longest time: I accidentally wrote most of it in present tense!

Previous Chapters: One

“At it still?”

Lucy jerked, nearly knocking over her mug of gel pens with her wayward elbow. An unladylike snort escaped her, her hand still hovering over the stack of papers as she blinked to remove the tunnel vision.

From the doorway, she watched Levy grin with something akin to jest in her face. As if that would make her regret squinting at the fine print of every document and looking like her face was to meld with the paper.

“Justice never sleeps.” Lucy replied easily, glancing at her watch and grimacing. She missed her projected bed time...again. So long, eight hours of restful sleep. At least she planned on taking care of herself, even if she never really got around to it. The thought always counts.

Her friend huffed a dry laugh. “Okay, Batgirl. Justice sleeps, but you don’t.” She stepped into the office, leaving the door open and wordlessly reminding Lucy of how late the hour was with the empty cubicles out in plain sight. Or, since Levy looked fresh and ready for a day of work, maybe the hour was early.

“Lu, don’t tell me you pulled an all-nighter. The law offices downstairs have not even opened for the day. It’s just you and the custodial staff now.” Levy informed breezily, walking forward and snagging a handful of Skittles from the glass candy dish on the desk. Taking her spoils, she then plopped into the chair on the opposite side of the desk, taking her time selecting the first to eat.

“Did I even invite you in?” Lucy mused, taking on a teasing tone as she too helped herself to candy. Sometimes, she even forgot they were there until someone just helped themselves. Her desk, while roomy and having plenty of filing space, was cluttered with folders and framed pictures of her life. It was an old piece of furniture, so heavy that nobody bothered to move it out once the building remodeled into a county office. Lucy loved it, all the way down to the mothball smell in the drawers.

Levy grinned cheekily. “Lu, we were roommates in college. You should know by now that I do as I please.”

Lucy sighed. Well, she had a point.

“So, you didn’t have a date last night since you are here, but told me you did.” Levy cast a look to the garbage can beside the desk, taking in the folded takeout boxes. “Thai again?”

Lucy, having turned back to her paperwork, shrugged. “The guy text me asking for a sample of what he was going to get after the date.”

Levy rose a brow, chewing slowly. “Ah, flirting. And? What’d you say?”

Lucy shrugged again, setting down her pen and plucking a pink highlighter from the utensil mug and carefully outlined a sentence. “Well, I would have probably flirted back...but he sent me a picture along with the text.”

“A picture? What- oh. Oh. Was it-?”

Lucy hummed, sliding a sheet of paper from one stack to another. “The whole thing with a winking emoji filter. So I replied with, ‘She gave you the wrong number, bro’. Haven’t got a text back since.”

Levy tutted, reaching for another handful of treats. “Sorry Lucy. Maybe you should try dating within our social circle?”

“Maybe I should stop trying to date at all. I’m just too busy.”

Levy pursed her lips at that answer, but let it drop when Lucy huffed and shoved a stack of papers across the desk.

“None of this is adding up! The evidence keeps cutting off just at the point where this person can be convicted!” She dragged fingers through her blonde hair, resting her elbows on the wood. “It’s like the puzzle is missing all the pieces!”

It was at that moment that Levy got a good look at Lucy’s face, her skin pale next to the dew covered window behind her. It was the same in college. Lucy put her whole being into things, never halfway. It kinda reminded her of someone else they both knew.

He was also looking beat down as of late.

“You need sleep.” Levy said softly, pointedly looking the ADA in the eyes. “You look like shit, and I say that lovingly.”

That earned her a playful glare and pursed lips.

“You can’t get them all.”

That earned her a full fledged scowl. Well, far be it from Levy to feel guilt about the truth. She ignored the look in favor of taking in the many shelves of law textbooks that Lucy obviously saved from school.

Lucy didn’t break the silent stalemate either. She never had to.

It took weeks for them to meet on common ground when they met in undergrad study. They had the same clubs, the same honors classes, the same morning routines. They bickered mostly, Levy’s idea of clean a far fetch from Lucy’s and Lucy’s love of body mists drove Levy mad. Still, they worked it out, and the silences were always comfortable, even after an argument.

Plus, Lucy knew if Levy ever found out where she got this evidence, there would be hell to pay.

ADA’s were not permitted in the evidence lockers without supervision. That was a rule. Well...she had friends in high places, so she had her own key made: without anyone knowing. ADA’s were also not permitted to do detective work. That was also a rule. Well, she had to have all the puzzle pieces to fully close a case, or her mind would not let her rest.

So, thus began her double life of snooping around crime scenes and gathering her own evidence. Levy, as well as every one of her other friends would absolutely maim her if they knew.

There was a reason she was the best. Nobody questioned it. That was how she wanted it to stay: a smoke and veil.

Her thoughts, wayward in nature, stuttered to a stop when Levy sighed and stood, bobbing on her feet. “Come to the apartment this afternoon! I have a surprise that may just brighten your mood!”

Now that got Lucy recoiling. “Last time you ‘had a surprise’ it ended up being a double blind date where I got the creepy one.” Her stomach gave a revolted clench. That was the night she made sure to have plenty of garlic and payed for it days later.

Wrinkling her nose and brushing a hand past her face, Levy laughed rather awkwardly. “I said I was sorry, anyway it’ll be a sweet surprise. You’ll love it!” She sounded even less convincing than before with her forced, light laughing.

“I feel even less enthused for this ‘surprise’” Lucy deadpanned, dragging yet another stack towards her with a hook of her wrist.

“Be there or I’ll get Erza involved.”

The threat was unmistakable, even for Levy’s cheery peep.

Erza was by far the one person Lucy never wanted to cross, lest it be her deathbed. Not that her friend would hurt her, but Erza could be very forcefully convincing if need be. Lucy could recall the time that Gray and Natsu nearly fainted in the courts when Erza had to manhandle a suspect into submission after a conviction riot. That man would never again be able to turn his neck like he used to.

“Why pull out your highest trump card to play?” She asked absently, looking to her desk again and refusing to admit that Levy had beaten her this argument.

Her friend beamed, not quite gloating but Lucy still felt it all the same. “Because I’m your friend.”

‘Because I’m your friend’. Lucy smiled slightly, making sure the burn in her eyes didn’t turn into tears. There were few things that they said to each other during college that would really mean as much as those words.

When Levy had a final in Italian III, Lucy stayed up all night helping quiz her. When Levy asked why, Lucy answered, ‘because I’m your friend. French is similar to Italian anyway’.

When Lucy got lost after an interview in the next town over, Levy came to get her and take her to a restaurant to celebrate. When thanked, Levy just shrugged and said, ‘I will always come to get you, because I’m your friend.’

The silence stretched on in which Lucy hovered her pen over printed words and Levy picked at her cuticles. Lucy read over once sentence, then the next, forgot the last sentence so she went back to read it again. The process repeated over when she didn’t gather anything from the re-read sentence.

“Well-” Levy groaned suddenly, standing and wincing at the creak of her knees, “-I best be going. Sensei Gildarts hates it when his students are late.”

Lucy managed to glance up and smile. “Well, don’t be late then!”

That earned her a playful scowl as Levy shouldered her purse and stepped to the door. “Who are you to talk about not being late? I know about your theatrical late entrances at the courts.”

“I stopped doing that...mostly-”

“Uh huh, just don’t be late coming over tonight. I won’t forgive you.” Levy said, giving the ‘I got my eyes on you’ gesture before she slipped away. Lucy listened as her footsteps faded down the hall before releasing a sigh. Well that was something that wouldn’t go away if she ignored it.

That was exactly why Levy dropped by the office. Lucy was sure of it now. It wasn’t a text, so Lucy couldn’t pretend she didn’t get it or forgot to open it.

They had their trials and tribulations in college and now they knew each other like open books.

It wasn’t like Lucy actively avoided hanging out with her friends. It was just work demanded her full attention, and with her extra curricular evidence gathering the hours of the day dwindled to the minutes.

It took a lot of effort to not get caught at crime scenes, or while she raided the evidence lockers of the precincts. It also helped that she was friends with almost all the chiefs...or was a fierce fight for the rest.

Lucy Heartfilia always got her case and Lucy Heartfilia always got her desired ruling.

Someone opened the door to the law office, the creaking of the aged brass a sign that the work day had begun for a few. Chatter echoed through the once silent rooms and Lucy found that her peace and quiet was now over.

With a sigh, she deposited the pen back into the cup, gathering her papers like so many times before and shoving them into her briefcase. How could she get any work done when there was gossiping going around and her body feeling like it was going to drop like a fly?

Magnolia had some nice buildings and Magnolia had some pretty decrepit ones. The latter was becoming few and far between since the recently elected mayor decided that historic didn’t mean the old stays old. Renovations were going on all over town, construction companies never having so many jobs like they did now.

Her dojo, however, was one of the least important renovations, being in an older, less populated part of Magnolia. No tourists dared come this way unless they were lost, so this wasn’t of importance.

But, to Levy, it was one of the most important.

The windows were cracked or poorly patched, the wood holding them in rotting away with years of water damage. Concrete stairs were stained and chipped, a rusted handrail on its last legs alongside it. What really stood out to Levy though was the ancient sign board hovering over the entrance, discolored but still proudly displaying the black letters spelling ‘Clive Doj0’.

Honestly, it would cost him .69 jewel, a screwdriver, and a quick trip on a ladder to fix that last letter. Yet, he always bragged that it added character.

As if setting up a dojo in an abandoned ballet school didn’t add enough character.

As her fingers trailed up the railing, not close enough to scrape her palms along it but close to feel the iron chill, Levy recalled climbing the stairs when she was twelve, her legs barely long enough to stretch over the stairs. This was back when her parents mistook this for a real ballet school and had dropped her off with a check to cover a few lessons.

Lost in her memories with a wistful smile, Levy shouldered the door open, wrinkling her nose at the stench of must that greeted her. The first floor was boarded up, a pitiful wall of flimsy lumber haphazardly nailed up to form a wall over the hallway that was once dressing rooms. Before it rested a battered table, a tacky water fountain bubbling away atop it with vases of lucky bamboo.

Nailed to the wall were picture frames, so many memories of Sensei Clive and his pilgrimage across the world on display. That man had to have seen everything the world offered, yet he stayed in Magnolia now. She hadn’t a clue why.

Levy took the wooden stairs two at a time, regulating her breathing as she reached the second floor and turned to the first door on her right. Through the frosted glass, she saw figures moving beyond.

Ah, so she was just in time.

Careful not to make a disturbance, she wiggled the door open, peeking in on the early morning lesson Sensei Clive liked to host before kids went off to school. Backpacks littered the walls, new and old articles of clothing abandoned temporarily as a mass of kids in gi worked through their exercises.

Before them, garbed in a white gi, stood Sensei Clive, walking them through every step of the way with a beam on his face. That man seriously loved to teach, no matter the hour of the day. It was astonishing.

Smiling to herself, Levy walked all the way to the windows looking out on the street below. In the corner, a little nook rested. Once an old janitor’s closet before the door was removed and the walls replaced, now six tan and rusted lockers resided. Levy used to count the dents and chips in the metal, back when she was younger and watching older students train felt awkward to her. 5 dents the size of fists, 21 the size of coins, and so many scratches that she never had a hope to calculate.

Gildarts had to have gotten them from a school, for there were signs of abuse and graffiti etched in...some from students of the dojo. The words ‘Gajeel sux’ were carved into the farthest locker. Below it, a dragon magnet. Below that, ‘Gray sux even more’.

Oh, that Natsu.

Her fingers reached for her locker, the third, with a little purple combination lock. It was the same lock she used from high school, the combination as familiar to her as her own birthday. With three twists, she had it unlocked, the locker open to reveal her gray gi and sash.

By the time she slid into it, she heard Gildart’s dismissal, the shuffling of feet as the class moved to gather their things and move to the bathrooms to change. In about five minutes, her lesson would begin.

She stepped out of the cove, bare feet chilled on the mats after she took her socks off. Seeing some stragglers talking with Sensei, Levy rolled her shoulders and selected a corner to start stretching, keeping an eye on the clock in the front of the room. Her lessons varied in times but today she could only stay for 45 minutes before heading out to work.

As if she projected her thoughts, Gildarts glanced her way, flashed a smile, and started ushering the last of the class out before shutting the door. Then he turned to her, hands on his hips.

“Well then. You ready to show me how much you’ve been practicing?” He laughed as he said it, excited as ever to share his knowledge with others. He shifted into a sparring pose, hands up and eyes bright.

Levy smiled, shaking her arms before stepping up onto the mats and mirroring his pose. “I’ll show you, Sensei. I’ll throttle you.”

He blinked. Then he threw his head back and laughed. It was a full belly laugh, one of pure amusement. He followed it with a shake of his head. “You are 30 years too young to be smack talking, missy.” He shifted his knees apart, an attack position. Levy only had a few seconds before he advanced, eyeing her for an opening.

The lesson lasted 40 minutes. Levy made sure to thank her sensei before rushing out and taking the stairs two at a time despite her burning muscles. He had thoroughly kicked her ass, making her meet the mats face first or on her back. She still had a lot to learn.

But her right hook has improved. He gave her that.

Lucy didn’t get past the main hall of her building before her phone buzzed and chimed. With a sigh of Levy’s name, she paused and dug into her purse for the device, pulling it out. To her surprise, it was Natsu, not Levy, that had text her so early in the morning. Didn’t he know it was rude to text before 8am?

“Hey lucy, gray was supposed to get coffee today but he’s being an ass and not answering. Since I knoow you pulled an allnighter at your office (btw you shouldn’t do that) can you go by d&d and get coffee for dajeel, erza, and most importantly me? I’ll owe you big time. Plzzzzzzzzz?”

Well...shit. Lucy sighed, feeling fatigued already now that she was out of the office. But, her friends needed caffeine for whatever can of whoop-ass they were opening today. She knew for a fact that Erza was twice as prickly before her first cup. Gajeel and Natsu were going to end up dead if she didn’t get any. Gray, unfortunately for him if she found out he ditched, would be dead soon.

Lucy knew what to do. Besides criticize her friend’s awful texting.

“K. What do ya’ll want...besides a dictionary?”

She secured her purse strap, keeping the phone in her free hand and her briefcase in the other. Her morning just got a heck of a lot longer, as well as her daily commute. Taking her time down the stone stairs that lead to the sidewalk, Lucy rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, careful of her makeup.

Time to start walking.

“Awww don’t be liek that. Expressino for gajeel and caramel macchiato for erza. For me, coffee as black as my soul and made of nightmares.”

Her left eye twitched. Her lips pursed. That idiot. She sighed and her fingers automatically moved before she thought.

“So a coconut latte with extra cream and half shot of espresso. Got it.”

It took a second for him to reply.

“ :D <3 “

Idiot. He was never able to stomach black coffee ever since he drank that day old pot of coffee at the precinct. Nobody was sure if he was going to die from it or die because of it. He was excitable one moment and vomiting all over himself the next. Erza nearly committed murder that day. Lucy had to let him curl up in her office, moaning and whining that Erza was going to find him and gut him like a fish. Not too far off from the truth since the redhead was texting her asking if she had seen him that day.

“I guess I’m getting coffee too.” Lucy said to herself, turning and walking down the street away from her direction of home. She had a few blocks to walk to the shop, and then more to the east for the precinct.

As she walked, she watched the shops slowly start to open. The smell of doughnuts and exhaust filled the air.

Speaking of, she had some leftover doughnuts waiting for her at home. She wondered if they were still good and if she would feel like eating them once she made it home. They were glazed so she had to warm them up first. Ohhh, hot, melty, doughnuts.

She loved hot doughnuts. It was something she got from her mother. On Saturdays, they both got up early and pretended to be ninjas and sneak out as to not wake up her father. As a child, it was thrilling secrecy. Something to share with her mother and her alone. They would take the car, trying to contain giggles as they escaped. Then, they went to the local doughnut shop right as it opened and buy the freshest doughnuts. Sometimes they got a dozen and others just three or four. If it was the latter, they always ate the evidence before getting home. A little secret covered in gooey glaze.

Of course her father always knew, but pretended to be in the dark about it.

The tradition died with her mother as did her father’s sense of indulgence in childish dreams. A lot of traditions died that day.

Sewing on rainy Sundays stopped, all of her Mama’s supplies put away. The tea set that was a wedding present from her late grandparents that was the pinnacle of their tea parties was something she saved and had in storage. Her Papa tried to shatter them. He got one of the saucers, so now she had a tea cup on her desk that had long lost its companion.

She missed a lot of things of the past. But, she thought as she smiled at the flower shop owner that was setting out peonies, she was happy with the life she has now. She had many friends, an exciting career, a roof over her head too.

If only her Papa could find what she had.

Happiness? Content? He sorely needed humility.

Lucy paused at the final crosswalk, the only one that always seemed to be red for pedestrians. Across the street, she could see the coffee shop nestled between a laundromat and a thai restaurant.

Drip Drop Cafe and Bakery, or D&D for short.

Small. Quaint. Cheap rent. Lucy could relate.

Once the light turned red and her walk signal illuminated, Lucy quickly made her way across the street, casting one passing glance into the corner laundromat and spying one little old lady folding her sheets.

D&D was identifiable by the tiny hanging sign with blue painted words, the glass tinted so one could not really see in the shop until the door opened. Lucy recalled when it first opened and the rising sun blinded everyone in the early morning hours. She had to remember to pack her sunglasses just to stop by for a coffee and a doughnut until Laki donated some tint for the windows. Having the owner of a contracting company as a customer had its perks for D&D.

As she placed her hand on the door, fixing her wayward hair as the wind picked up, Lucy figured she would go for a cinnamon bun frap.

She pushed open the door, listening to the bell chime with a smile and a greeting on the tip of her tongue. Then she paused, witnessing Juvia, the owner, flush vibrant red as she slapped her hands over her mouth. Leaning across the counter and nearly nose-to-nose with her, was Gray Fullbuster. His hand was frozen in the action of pushing hair behind Juvia’s ear, looking much like a deer caught in the leadlights.

It was hard to miss exactly what she walked into on this fine Tuesday morning, with the precinct ordering coffee through her because Gray ‘disappeared’. Plus, wooing from Gray involved secrecy from his housemates and awkward proximity. He was so putting on the moves...and Lucy had the pure, intoxicating power of submerging him in shit creek for it.

However, she was a lady and ladies took the high road to any blackmail opportunity. Just this once. So, with all the strength and dignity she could muster, she slowly starts to back out of the door. “Uh, I’m just gonna-”

“Wait! Don’t go Lucy!” Juvia called, reaching out as if she could hold her arm and stop her. “Juvia needs your money!”

As soon as the words left her mouth, horror struck her paling face as she clasped her hands over her mouth a second time. “That sounded bad! Please buy some coffee and fund Juvia’s business!”

At that, Gray clenched his eyes closed as a look of pain came over him. Ah, looks like ol’ Romeo remembered why he was supposed to be here in the first place, not necking the barista. Necking the barista that was Gajeel’s cousin. Not necking Gajeel’s cousin and instead getting Gajeel’s coffee. Whoops.

Screw being a lady. Lucy laughed, sidling in the door feeling like a cat that got the cream. Watching Gray scowl and pull away from the counter, she sauntered up to the glass case of scones, leaning her weight on her elbow.

“Gajeel wanted an espresso, caramel macchiato for Erza, coconut latte with extra cream and half shot of espresso for Natsu… Do you still have that monthly special cinnamon bun frap?”

When Juvia nodded with a smile, already knowing the orders by heart and was already halfway finishing Gajeel’s, Lucy grinned back. “I’ll have that.”

As Juvia moved away to quickly make the orders, Lucy felt the weight of Gray’s glare on her. “Not a word.” he hisses, avoiding her eyes with a flush as she turned to look at him.

She smirked. “Never. Snitches get stitches.”

Gray had the mind to look horrified.

She sighed in exasperation and rolled her eyes. “It’s a saying, Gray. Relax. My lips are sealed. But for real, Gajeel will grind your bones to dust and use it as flour if you upset her. Hell, if he finds out you had pervy thoughts about her-!”

Gray shushed her quickly, cringing. “I would never, but I don’t need you to remind me of my imminent and painful future demise, thanks.”

“More like disembowelment and castration.” She supplied helpfully.

He winced more. “Thank you. Not making it better.”

“Espresso, caramel macchiato, coconut latte with all the fixin’s, and a cinnamon bun frap.” Juvia called lightly, approaching the counter with the full drink carrier. But, it was Gray who held out a card for payment, smiling easily at both girl’s surprised expression.

“It was me that was originally sent for coffee. At least let me pay.” he reasoned lightly, winking at Juvia and making her squeak and avert her eyes.

Lucy grimaced, but took the coffee anyway and turned way as fast as her body and the hot liquids would allow. “Ugh, just remember to come up for air, kiddos.”

She ignored Gray’s sputters, but Juvia’s embarrassed giggles and the, “Have a great day, Love Rival” was something she couldn’t ignore.

“Juvia, it's been like five years since I met Gray and I still have negative one hundred percent wish to date him, at all.”

The wicked teasing gleam still shone in the barista’s eyes. “So negative equals a positive?”

Gray groaned and Lucy wished she could facepalm but she needed her free hand to hold the door open for a couple trying to enter the shop. “That’s still not how it works!”

What on Earth would be a perfect Tuesday night for Lucy? Well, there was sitting at home in her pajamas, snuggled in her couch with nothing but movies to watch and snacks to eat. There was also sitting at home and working on her novel.

Mostly, she wanted to stay home.

Yet, here she was, still groggy from the nap on the couch while still in her work clothes. It wasn’t surprising to her that she never made it to her bed before crashing but she was still bitter on the fact that she never got her shoes off in the process.

Anyway, here she was, dressed up and loathing the fact that Levy had the brass balls to threaten her with Erza. Any sort of surprise that required the threat of Erza was fishy. Any surprise from Levy was to be taken with caution.

The blind date Levy had set her up with had, by far, been one of the worst in her dating history. A shiver caressed Lucy’s spine.

All dressed up and standing before Levy’s apartment door, Lucy could hear noises beyond the wood. Just what did her friend have in store tonight? She glanced at her phone once more, reading the text ‘Don’t be late or I’ll send Erza over’.

She was a witch. A conniving, wicked witch with the apartment that was smelling more and more like...blueberries?

Lucy took a deeper sniff, blinking at the fact that yes, the air was filled with the smell of berries galore. What kind of evil plot involved blueberries? Lucy didn’t have the chance to think on it.

The door swung open, the brightness inside contrasting with the dim hallway lamps and making her squint. It didn’t matter if she couldn’t see, however. The shortness of the figure before her gave her a clue.

“Right on time! We’ve been waiting.” Levy greeted lightly, ushering Lucy in with more force than needed and taking the time to suspiciously glance around the hall before slamming the door hard enough to make Lucy nearly bite her tongue.

Lucy staggered inside, barely able to kick her shoes off before Levy was pushing her deeper inside, past the sitting room and all the way into the kitchen.

It was at that moment that Lucy knew she probably fell into a wormhole somewhere enroute to the apartment. That or literally walked her way into the Twilight Zone without paying attention.

“Welcome!” Erza greeted regaly with a knife and fork in her hands, a plate full of syrup and fruit piled before her. “I feared that I would have to fetch you if you took much longer to get here.”

She had a napkin tucked into her shirt, a second one neatly folded on her lap. But Lucy saw it: The hunger in the woman’s eyes as she turned to the plate before her. “Now we can begin.”

Levy brushed past her, taking her own seat next to Erza and tucking a napkin on her lap as well before dragging a bowl of melted fudge closer.

The part that really set this strange occurance apart was the sight of the man with wild black hair tamed into a ponytail leaning over a skillet with a spatula, his eyes narrowed at her as if she personally offended him by her presence.

Gajeel, wearing a red ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron, was slaving over Levy’s stove with a powdered sugar handprint right on his-

Lucy nearly peed herself laughing, clutching the door frame in a desperate attempt to stay upright. Tears came to her eyes, air so hard to breathe in because Gajeel was wearing an apron and had a very small and defined handprint on his ass. Gajeel was cooking.

“Oi, dont choke.” he said in his gruff manner, flipping what appeared to be really flat pancakes on the cast iron. “You breathe one word of this to the morons and I’ll have to arrest you.”

“Gaj-” Lucy inhaled and immediately broke into giggles again. “He-” More giggles came and she couldn’t stop them. She couldn’t remember the last time she laughed so hard. She missed it.

“You are now a part of Crepe Tuesdays.” Levy said, scooping a heap of crepes onto her plate before reaching for peaches.

“Secrecy is required.” Erza added, nibbling on a strawberry. “Nobody else but us know of Gajeel’s secret gift.”

“Gift?” Gajeel barked, picking up the skillet and dumping out three fresh crepes onto a plate. “Cooking ain’t a gift. It’s a life skill.”

“I think Erza was referring to your ‘crepe magic’, Gajeel.” Levy piped up with a snicker.

At last, Lucy found her voice. “Well, I like crepes better than creeps.” She took Gajeel’s offered plate, humming at the warm smell of vanilla.

“That was one time!” Levy said hotly, stabbing her fork down with a little too much force. “I said I was sorry!”

“Honestly I wanna hear this story from bunny girl’s perspective. You have a way of telling things to your favor.” Gajeel interrupted as he poured more batter out.

“Shut up!” She flung a blueberry at the back of his head.

“I do have one question.” Lucy said, sitting down an spooning some apples onto her plate. “Why crepe Tuesdays?”

Crepes are a Tuesday thing, duh.” Levy answered simply, taking a bite of her concoction and humming. “So accept your fate and eat crepes!”

Of course, silly her. It wasn’t wise to escape now, not when she had fresh crepes to eat.

Being inducted into a crepe eating society on a Tuesday evening wasn’t something Lucy ever planned on in her life, but she would never look a gift horse in the mouth. Taking her fork up, Lucy dug into her crepe, not questioning it again. She always liked a good fate story after all.

Natsu’s arm trembled as he lifted it to block a well placed kick at his head. There was intense power behind it, enough to give him a concussion if he had failed to block in time. The shin struck between the pads, making contact with his skin and jolting a flash of pain through his mind.

Air breezed past his lips, his back muscles tensing for a second before he reacted. Grasping the ankle, Natsu flashed a cocky grin before he lifted the leg above his head with intent to unbalance his opponent.

Unfortunately, his opponent had about 15 years more experience than he.

With a bark of laughter, the man shifted, kicking out with his other leg as he warped backwards. He landed on his hands just as his foot was inches from Natsu’s face. There was no choice. Natsu let go of the ankle to block what could be a painful broken nose.

His sensei grunted as he balanced in a handstand before coiling to land on his feet. His normally slicked back coppery hair was out of place and frazzled, eyes glittering with delight as he smirked.

Natsu tensed in alarm, forgetting almost everything he was supposed to be doing as his sensei lunged quicker than a tiger on the hunt.

I’m open. Natsu thought as he stayed frozen, watching as if having an out of body experience, He sees a weakness!

It was too late. With a viper-quick swipe of a leg to his knees, Natsu was flat on his back and staring at the ceiling. Everything burned but the mat was cold on his bare, heated back.

Damn you, Gildarts! I almost had you!

Gildarts snorted, clearly knowing his student’s thoughts as he leaned over to ruffle Natsu’s hair. “Time out, runt. You gotta hydrate.” he teased before offering his hand.

Pride dented, Natsu accepted the help up off the mat, cracking his neck as they both moved to the bench where their water bottles waited. Both men settled down on the old wooden bench, leaning back and sipping slowly. Gildarts draped a towel around his shoulders, occasionally swiping sweat that beaded on his face.

The silence spoke the most, ever since Natsu was a teen. It was the understanding between them, the calm acceptance that he had no time for outside the dojo.

“You’ve gotten flabby. Natsu, are you skipping your morning exercises?” Gildarts asked after a long yawn.

Natsu, halfway in the process of gulping down water, choked and dribbled water down his front and out of his nose. With a grimace, he accepted the second towel Gildarts offered. Of course he caught on. Today’s sparring was lackluster. It always did when Natsu had too much on his mind. It took fists and pain to bring everything together.

“You know, the man that is out of practice, takes the losses.” Gildarts said, setting down his bottle and resting his elbows on the back of the bench.

Natsu rolled his eyes, dropping the white towel on his lap. Another one of his old sayings again? “Where did you get that philosophy? A fortune cookie?” he said with no real heat behind it.

Gildarts laughed. A deep, throaty laugh that warmed Natsu just a little.

“You’re witty when you wanna be, boy.” He snorted again, glancing to Natsu out of the corner of his eye. “So, where did the Shakespeare quote book come from?” he asked slyly.

Natsu’s spine snapped taunt, all thoughts freezing as his eyes shoot to his bag and the spine of the book that traitorously peeked out of the zipper. Aw shit. “I-uh-”.

Gildart slapped him on the back, eyes glittering again with that feral look. There was blood in the water now and he was on the hunt. He watched Natsu’s shoulders tense as the younger man looked for a way out of the impending interrogation, and Gildarts lived for it. He grinned lecherously, “Is it a girl?”

The flash of panic in Natsu’s expression, only lasting half a second, but it was a clear answer.

“So it is a girl! Haha ‘bout time!”

Carefully, Natsu closed his eyes and exhaled, measuring his next inhale just as carefully. Find the zen. Erza’s weird seminars on CD’s played in his mind, the voices of faceless life coaches telling him to find peace and face this head on. It wasn’t like he actively listened to them like Erza, but after hearing them constantly in the office, he had disk one thru five memorized.

“I’m working on it, but yes.” he answered thinly.

Gildarts hummed, turning his head in interest. “Oh? Who is she? Can she handle you? Is she aware that you sleep talk? Can she wrangle you when you get hot blooded? Does she got a nice bod?” He motioned both hands at his chest with a wink and a dirty cackle.

Natsu slugged him, perhaps more messily than intended but he had to make a point.

Gildarts caught his fist easily, his perverted grin widening. “She dooo.” he drawls.

It pressed all the right buttons. Natsu bound to his feet, fist clenched and eyes sparking like flint on steel. “Alright pervy old man! You’re asking for it!”

Laughing brightly, Gildarts shed his towel and stood, walking slowly to the mat again as he watched Natsu bobbing on his feet now. Ah, he thought as he prepared to start the spar again, that is more like the little runt I know.

Natsu didn’t wait for him to count down. He lurched forward, and Gildarts dodged a punch with ease.His pupil went in for another, and Gildarts dodged that too..At first, Gildarts really thought Natsu wanted to clock him, but then Natsu opened his mouth.

“Her name’s Lucy. She’s the new ADA here.” Natsu swung wide and Gildarts seized the chance to prod at unprotected muscle. Natsu wheezed as the strike robbed him of the air in his lungs, stepping away to catch it again.

“S-She’s...amazing. Real smart and able to put puzzles together in the courtroom. She smiles real pretty too.”

Gildarts kicked out, Natsu ducking as if he saw it coming.

“When she laughs, I feel like I ate too much. But, I can tell she’s been hurt. It’s in her eyes, you know? That’s why. The quotes make her smile, even just a little.”

Gildarts stared, blinking stupidly at the boy that always clammed up on his tender emotions in the past. Now, he saw raw passion for this ‘Lucy’. Passion that he was trying to hide most of the time.

“Kiss her then.” Gildarts suggested, blocking another strike.

Natsu’s face turned crimson. “H-Hell no! She’d floor me!”

“Tell her then.” He tried again.

Natsu puckered his face like he sucked a lemon. “No way. I don’t do that mushy confession shit Gildarts.”

“Then you’re a pansy.” Gildarts teased, dodging the violent series of hits Natsu responded with. “A paaansy~”.

This earned him a few aggressive punches to the block pads but otherwise, Gildarts thanked his lucky stars that Natsu let him get away with the teasing. The runt really had grown up.

“So, you staying out of trouble?” He changed the subject, knowing Natsu didn’t want to brag about his unrequited beau t a pervert like him the whole time. Plus, it wasn’t what was bothering him.

Natsu snorted, catching a kick and shoving the leg away in the next second. His bangs clung to his forehead, his breathing leveled as he prowled around in a circle, looking for a break in defense.

“I’m not that same kid from juvie anymore.” he reasoned quietly, pouting slightly when Gildarts showed no break in his guard. “The straight and narrow, or else I got a lot of people in line to kick my ass.”

At that, the older man smiled slightly.

“I’m glad to hear it.” He truly was. The kid deserved so much more than the hell he was dragged out of. He straightened, making a show of looking to the clock. “Well, I think I’m gonna call it for tonight. I wanna go home and dot on my darling daughter.”

Natsu relaxed too, but his nose wrinkled. “Oh yeah, Cana is just darling, isn’t she?”

Gildarts ignored the sarcasm, stepping off the mat to grasp his towel again. “Same time next week?”

His pupil didn’t stop shuffling through his bag for a clean shirt. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

Turning to watch, Gildarts payed attention to the still present stiffness of Natsu’s shoulders, the shadow of fatigue lingering over him. The man wasn’t sleeping right. It was present in the way he moved, the way his eyes glazed, and the way he was his less chipper self.

When he met Natsu some years ago, there was that darkness lurking in the boy. The anger, the regret, and mostly the loneliness had mulched up much of what the boy could have been. The world showed him no mercy in the hand he was dealt, and it forged the jaded diamond of a kid that was in and out of juvie.

Honestly, at first Gildarts wanted nothing to do with him. He was to bring nothing but trouble to him and his daughter. When Makarov approached him with a favor to take the boy as a foster, he turned him down flat. The kid was too much trouble.

Then, old Makarov went to Igneel.

It was a below the belt hit to go to his boxing rival, but Gildarts didn’t blame the old coot. Igneel turned out to be a far better influence than he ever could. Natsu’s transformation was almost like magic. He laughed more, smiled more, played pranks and even grew to love those around him. The angry little boy became a man that always had a trick up his sleeves.

When Igneel adopted Natsu, Gildarts was sure that everything would be alright, that happiness had been achieved. They even came to the dojo for regular matches, Igneel teaching the kid boxing and martial arts.

Until, Igneel had that accident when Natsu was eighteen.

Igneel was out on his bike and it was dark. Some drunk driver came around and-

The loss still was heavy, Gildarts could tell. If he felt it, God knows Natsu shouldered it too.

And then there was-

Ah.

“It’s been three months.”

Natsu stiffened, pausing as he unwrapped his hands. His face remained impassive, his emotions carefully packed down again. After a second, he continued, packing his bag a little quicker than before. He pulled on a shirt and quickly shoved his boxing gloves in the bag, not looking up from his task.

“Natsu.” Gildarts tried softly.

Natsu whirled around sharply, eyes betraying every feeling he was trying to hide. “If you think I’m grieving or something, you are wrong. We weren’t close. We just survived together.” he snapped, turning back and zipping his bag closed.

Gildarts sighed tiredly, already regretting bringing the subject up but knowing it was too late to back out and leave it alone. “You were biological brothers. His death must of had some impact-?”

Natsu had none of it. He shouldered the bag strap, cracking his shoulders and glaring at the floor with all the bottled up anger. “He was arrested when I was seven. He got life in prison for what he did: to me and the others. If I felt something, it would be justice.”

But, to Gildarts surprise, Natsu let out a long sigh before meeting his gaze and smiling in exhaustion. “Anyway, I gotta catch up on The Arrow so I’ll see you next time, Pops.” He turned with a wave, walking for the exit just as quickly as he packed.

There was sorrow as Gildarts watched the door close and heard the footsteps down the creaky stairs. Already, the warmth of that kid’s presence was fading. He really was Igneel’s boy, bringing the same energy anywhere he went.

With a shake of his head, Gildarts moved to close up, muttering “That kid’s gonna pop at the wrong moment one of these days.”

Natsu kept his brisk pace down the sidewalk, pulling up his hood and adjusting his headphones over his ears. His mind buzzed, the little voice of his conscience pestering him with every step he took.

Gildarts was only trying to help. Every one of his friends were. Gajeel and Gray, they gave him space when he needed it. Laxus made sure he wasn’t going space cadet at his desk. Lucy kept his mind on the future, reminding him that whatever he was in the past wasn’t who he was now.

A face flashed across his mind, raven hair and a sad smile stained his thoughts. Natsu grit his teeth, barely holding back a snarl of irritation. Zeref, his older brother, someone who was supposed to be family.

He hadn’t seen him since that day he was convicted, sentenced to a life in Plutogrim Penitentiary. He had watched numbly as they cuffed him and dragged him out of the courtroom, his voice calm as he yelled, “No matter where you go, I will always be able to find you, precious brother.’

It scared Natsu at seven, and it scared him as a full grown adult.

Everytime a letter addressed to him in that sickenly familiar script appeared in the mail, Natsu took great pleasure in setting it ablaze. To watch the words burn made him feel powerful, like he was in charge of his life now. Sometimes there were photographs and he loved to watch them burn too.

Then, that one letter arrived three months ago, his name stamped on the envelope, not written. He recalled how his fingers trembled as he opened the letter, numb as he read the contents.

Zeref...was dead. Killed in a cell block riot.

He didn’t remember crying, or screaming. Gray and Gajeel came in just in time to see him put his hand through the wall.

It took one look at the letter for them to understand.

Now, the hole was fixed, a decent sized punching bag in the garage for all three of them to vent on. Fighting was part of their lives, so it payed to stay fit.

He didn’t know why he lost it that day. Maybe it was rage that he never fully paid for his crimes? Maybe it was sorrow for the last connection with his biological family. Maybe he even still loved his brother after all the hell he was put through.

It never erased the wrongness of their crimes. The Dragneel brothers. They started at burglary...and grew into arson and everything else on the wrong side of the law.

His nails dug into his palm. Once Zeref was removed, his life turned around. It all turned around. Even after Igneel passed, Natsu still had family in his friends.

So...why did it still hurt?

Natsu knew he still felt spite at his older sibling, the chance to prove that Zeref was always wrong about him. He wanted his brother to know he wasn’t a waste, or a monster, and that he could be something great. Now, he’d never have that since Zeref was gone. Maybe that was all there was.

He turned down the one way street to his shared house, noticing the kitchen and living room lights on. Two cars sat in the driveway, a blue Ford Focus and a silver Nissan Titan.

So both of them were home already. Natsu breathes in.

He stepped up onto the porch, thankful that one of them remembered to leave the light on so he could see the keyholes. With an exhale, Natsu felt the relief of being home settle in his chest, and his hand fell to the doorknob.

#nalu #gajevy #gruvia #fairy tail #My writing #m77

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nomadthor · 4 years

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SNAKE CHARMER STORY SYNOPSIS: ON A MISSION STEVE AND BUCKY STUMBLE ON SOMEONE THAT WOULD CHANGE BOTH OF THEIR LIVES DRAMATICALLY. OC X BUCKY

SNAKE CHARMER — CHAPTER 2: CAUSE FOR CONCERN WORD COUNT: 3,452 CHAPTER: 2/?

Monotone buzzing drilled through her ears as she eventually fell back into consciousness, and vision hazed as she slowly blinked away the blurriness. She became aware of her surroundings: the overhead light gleamingly bleaching its already bright surroundings. White padded walls and floor made up the tiny room excluding one wall which was a one-way mirror where a group of astute SHIELD operatives was sat behind. The petite girl didn’t budge from her fetal position as she sat with her back against the wall, arms tightly folded across her legs as she desperately tried to keep every inch of her body as close as humanly possible. Gently cascading down the loose-fitting ivory jumpsuit she’d been supplied with, her dishevelled sable hair stuck out like a sore thumb against the washed-out surroundings.

Ever so slightly, the heavy door to the dim observation room creaked as Bucky and Steve tiptoed their way in as they found empty office chairs to seat themselves in. Maria Hill rotated her head towards the boys knowing what they were there for considering they’ve been interrupting for the past half a day for any updates at all, primarily on Bucky’s request. “She’s finally awake,” she offered a meagre smile as she softly announced the news whilst reclining in her seat with a hot coffee in hand. It definitely wasn’t the answer that they were hoping for but it was something new. The blond super soldier glanced over to his best friend anticipating a response afore the room fell under a stymied silence, all that could be heard was the soft rasp of the chairs as people adjusted their seating position and the subtle humming of the air conditioning above their heads. Bucky didn’t offer a response, he just looked over the director's shoulder through the mirror with glassy eyes and a sincere frown. “Do you have any information on her yet?” He queried with a sombre tone, catching a glimpse of Steve who did nothing but stare at him with a perturbed lour.

The brunette exhaled deeply, peering at the files in front of her which was simply a pile of uncrinkled paper due to the fact it had barely been updated or touched, “all we know is that she has American citizenship.” Maria exhaled, slightly chided and displeased due to the fact that after all this time this is the only knowledge they had. “Then what was she doing in Norway?” Bucky accidentally muttered out, to himself for the most part but it was loud enough for everyone else to listen. Maria weakly shrugged her shoulders as she took a delicate sip of her coffee, hissing from how hot it was. That’s when the atmosphere fell stagnant once more as nobody had anything of importance to offer, it lingered for a while before Steve firmly tapped Bucky’s shoulder, sympathetically and faintly commanding him to leave them alone for now. A despondent and defeated look fell on his face whilst forced a nod, acknowledging that Steve was right. Bucky left his seat feeling shamed and hesitantly followed his buddy out of the room.

Gradually the hefty metal office door shut with a thud as the pair loitered just outside. “Why are you so worked up about her?” Steved asked out of genuine curiosity with a furrowed brow and unfeigned concern on his face, standing with his arms folded over his chest which was hidden by a large roomy pewter-coloured fisherman knit sweater. “What’s different?” He persisted when Bucky remained tight-lipped. Bucky shrugged but not out of uncertainty but for the fact he didn’t want to be derided by his friend. As a matter of fact, he felt kind of stupid. “Don’t worry about it,” he regretfully stated, planting his hands in his pockets of the same trousers he was wearing just the day before as he began to wander off down the corridor. Steve trailed his footsteps like a loyal puppy.“Bucky I trust your intuition, I always have,” he admitted as they continued to walk down the minimalistic corridor which had huge contemporary windows that lined the walls; the rain gently pattering on the glass.

The hallway fell under a delicate indigo hue on account of the midnight sky. They took a few more steps prior to Barnes slowly and hesitantly halted, swivelling on his heels. He bit at his sore and chapped lips for a brief moment as he tried to thoroughly think out what he was going to say in an attempt to sound serious and not delusional.“Every time we do a mission like this, they’re not good people,” he began to trail off prior to Steve urged him to continue. “I don’t know, Steve, the way she was sat there she looked hurt. She looked like she'd been kidnapped. She looked like she needed help, y’know. It kind of reminded me when.” Steve stopped him from continuing the sentence, holding his hand up and softly shaking his head knowing what else was about to come out of his friend’s mouth. Bucky seemed helpless and just stood staring at Steve doe-eyed as a sour and mournful expression stained his face. Steve looked grave, a firm lip and his eyes strained, it was obvious he was concerned about the Jane Doe in the padded cell but seeing his best friend so anxious made his heart ache. Especially when he knew they had little to no say about what happened from here on out. “Maybe you should hit the hay,” Steve suggested as he noticed the dark circles under Bucky’s eyes were a lot more bruised than what they were earlier.

“Maybe you’re right, maybe you’re not. But you should really get some sleep, I’m starting to get concerned, pal.” He glanced down to Bucky’s unwashed clothes, “and put something comfy on, you’ve been wearing those darn things before we even got here.” Steve jested in an attempt to lighten the mood as he smiled at his doleful friend. A hesitant smirk surprisingly made an appearance on Bucky’s face as he pulled his friend into a hug, holding him tighter than he ever had before.“Oh, and maybe a shower too,” Steve teased as he pulled back resulting in a soft punch directly to Rogers' shoulder from Bucky, followed by a huge grin.

They said their goodnights and they parted ways, stepping out of the huge glass office doors of the building and into the crisp night air. Rain droplets dampened Bucky’s hair that was hurriedly tied into a loose ponytail. His boots splashing in the tiny puddles that littered the tenebrous tarmacked outdoor parking lot which was enclosed by daily tended to tree planters and a densely wired fence. Since the Triskelion was so cut off from the rest of the teeming animation that is New York City, it was refreshing to step out into the open air and ears not instantly be harassed by the intrusive honking of horns accompanied with the loud and obtrusive conversations anyone with a sane mind would try to ignore. He sauntered across the lot towards his motorcycle which was engulfed beneath a pumpkin orange glow from the overhead lights that just about made the silhouette of his vehicle visible, it being one of the few vehicles left he wasn't left second-guessing whether he'd approached the right bike. He gathered his helmet from the top box and firmly planted it on his dampened head, slightly squashing the ponytail as he did so. Steve backed out of his parking space and shot a quick wave to his buddy preceding the gentle rolling towards the electric security gates and vanishing into the frigid night. Bucky soon followed suit.

After a sedate and somewhat peaceful ride, he tiredly stumbled into his dark apartment, flicking the light switch upon entry. He was extremely tempted to throw himself on his couch and just pass out from exhaustion but he decided against it and ran himself a scorching bath. It was one of his pleasures that he'd try to add into his daily ritual as much as possible as a suggestion on his therapist's behalf. As he ambled through his apartment, the floorboards that creaked were amplified due to the quietude of the night causing him to blench in hopes that his grouchy downstairs neighbours wouldn’t complain like they always did whenever he would do as much as just walk through his home. Not later than the bath reached the point of overflowing, Bucky turned off the taps. He was already sweating from the steam permeating through the air. He left his metal arm on his bedsheets beside his fresh sweat pants and t-shirt he planned on wearing once he cleaned himself prior to completely stripping and sliding into the boiling, soapy tub. He gasped out of satisfaction as he submerged himself beneath the bubbly water. Every single muscle in his body that was previously aching was now throbbing out of pure relief. It was a dull ache but one he enjoyed nonetheless. Bucky was scared of the blackness that would shroud him when he would always close his eyes.

For the majority, closing one's eyes is meant to be a form of escapism - you close your eyes when you don't want to see something. However, it was contradictory for him. Whenever he closed his eyes the gutwrenching sickening feelings would emerge from the darkness and deepest parts of his mind and provoke him, tormenting him beyond the point of sanity. He was afraid and often would become inconsolable. Despite this, he shut his eyes and sank fully submerged himself beneath the sweltering water in an attempt to allow the uncomfortable prickling of the heated water to distract his mind, and it worked for a while. It wasn't long before he resurfaced, throwing his head back with a throaty grunt. Face cerise and rather sore, he let the tub nestle into the curve of his neck as he relaxed back taking deep breaths which filled his lungs with the humid, steamy air. Despite the unrelenting urge to reopen his eyes, they were firmly shut. Faint and vague swirls of different colours materialized from the gloom and the wearisome irritation of his eyes finally got the better of him. Needless to say, the mindfulness and the tranquillity of his brain did not last long.

Single fragments of his past hurtled back at terrifying speeds and replayed in his mind similarly to if a record got stuck. He felt like a prisoner in his own head and reliving the memories was his form of mental torture and anguish. Albeit being an involuntary and detested part of his daily life, he heard screams of which were not his own. A woman, agonizingly screeching with a hoarse growl. It was bloodcurdling and nauseating to even begin to imagine what she was going through. Her face made a swift appearance before everything became too mentally exhausting and overwhelming.Quicker than one could blink, his eyes shot open and his body flailed in one swift motion as he awoke. Water from the now moderately cold bath had now been propelled all over the tile floor. His chest heaved desperately as he attempted to steady his breath out of sheer panic, though he was so focused on his respiration that he hadn’t even realised that the power had gone out and everything was enveloped in darkness. The only thing lighting his apartment was the moonlight peering through his windows which was ever so slightly concealed by his slatted blinds. Slowly but surely, Bucky managed to drag himself from the uncomfortable water and stumbled around in the shadows to find a towel, promptly wrapping it around his wettened skin.

Chilly droplets descended from Bucky’s water-logged hair and slid down his back, sending shivers down his spine as he traipsed to his bedroom where he hurriedly got changed. Although his apartment was for the most part barren, he did have most of the essential furniture; luckily enough one of his cabinets was home to some candles that he had laying around. A few scented, some just plain. He rummaged through the alder cupboards, pushing lofty piles of documents and paper, books, and boxes of trinkets aside to get to what he was looking for. He briskly lit a few of the candles with a match and lay them around his room because as much as he hated to admit it, the dark scared him. Evermore now that he’d frequently get haunting nightmares. He tucked himself beneath his cotton sheets and eventually fell back to sleep.

What felt like seconds but was only a few hours later, he awoke to the smell of burnt wick which momentarily panicked him before his eyes darted around his room and confirmed nothing had caught ablaze during the night. He felt groggy, swiping at his eyes, yawning and clambering out of his mattress completely calmed by the sound of birds tweeting as they perched on his windowsill. Taking his time, Bucky got ready and made a tea before heading back to the building he was just at only hours prior. It would be a complete fabrication if Bucky said she wasn't the last thing he thought of prior to closing his eyes, and was the first thing he thought of when he opened them. Completely succumbed to guilt and culpability due to the fact he couldn't intervene sooner, the ride to the facility had his stomach churning with anxiety and anticipation.

The fairly short journey he had yesterday now felt long and onerous. Bucky's broken hands twitched as he gripped the handlebars.In no time, the sound of the receptionist greeting the man, the clattering of keychains against various employees that would stride through the lobby, indistinct and distant chatter, it was unusually satisfactory. His eyes naturally drifted over towards the rather large monument that was the chrome SHIELD logo that overlooked the modern foyer. "Was expecting you to arrive a bit earlier I'm gonna be honest," Steve jested as he meandered towards the rugged gentleman, "but you're looking better," he admitted with his signature half-smirk. The two men stood out amongst the crowd of employees who were wearing debonair and unsullied suits as they were wearing considerably much casual attire. "I've actually got something to show you," Steve motioned as they headed towards the escalator, their shoes distinctively clicking against the polished and well-maintained brit stone floor.

To Bucky, it felt like Steve was leading him through a maze and was astonished that anyone would ever remember their way around the facility. The pair eventually turned down a quieter corridor but equally as sumptuous as the rest of the building, and found an empty meeting room and locked the door. The striking skyline was the first thing they were greeted with as the entire back wall was made out of glass: acres of green which were dappled with large concrete office buildings on the horizon were gleaming gold from the early morning sun. In contrast to the lighter walls, the office table and chairs were a harsh obsidian black although they still adhered to the charming yet insipid minimalistic theme. A brown folder with the words PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL printed on it in red ink slid from Steve's hands and along the table, a soft smack as it hit the surface. "You shouldn't be looking at this but I pulled a few strings," he smiled once more as he watched Bucky's eyes enlarge out of a mixture of disbelief and curiosity, "so you owe me one, pal."

Bucky reached forward, pulling the folder with his extended fingers so it sat perfectly in front of him. To say he was anxious to open it was an understatement yet he was filled with so much hunger for comprehension of the situation, he was hoping for answers. He flipped the tab, revealing an extensive profile of the young woman he saw yesterday. He skimmed through as he gradually felt his stomach sink. "Neve Douglas, who also goes by the code name Echis, member of the Serpent Squad." Steve summarised as he pulled back one of the sleek chairs and seated himself. The room fell silent as Bucky redirected his gaze to Steve who was staring at his pal in a sorry manner, "I know this isn't what you thought, but it's for the better. You don't have to worry anymore."

Bucky hesitantly nodded as he looked back at the documents and thoroughly read through each sentence. As much as they weren't the answers he was expecting he knew Steve was correct, but there was a profound itch at the back of his brain that despite all of the information that was displayed in front of him, a tiny portion of him thought otherwise. "I saw her in my dream last night." Bucky softly announced, finally and delicately shutting the folder and pushing it towards Steve. "Uh, you know those nightmares I get," Steve nodded in acknowledgement, "I heard her screams," Bucky stated as the forlorn expression returned to Steve's face. A gentle sigh exited Steve's lips as he leisurely grasped the folder and leaned his back into the chair, "the information's right there Buck. I know you're constantly at war with your brain," he grimaced slightly, "but there's nothing to worry about. You need to focus on yourself pal. Take a break, I don't think that mission's done ya any good."

He stayed a while longer, catching up with Steve who attempted to lift his spirits. Afterwards, he strolled through the courtyard as he practised his introspective nature and reflected for a few hours before he reached a calm and headed out towards the city where he shopped for fresh fruit and vegetables. Bucky grabbed a bite of brunch: A freshly baked blueberry muffin with a strawberry lemonade which he grabbed from a small boho cafe just off Greenwich Avenue. Taking this time out of his day to just relax and review himself, he'd realised how much he'd worked himself up and gotten frustrated over nothing. He didn't beat himself up about it nonetheless, he rounded up his outing and decided to head home.

The sirens which were wailing were soon hushed as the doors to the apartment stairwell shut with a thud and a strident creak. He nonchalantly climbed the steps; his plastic bag of fresh groceries rustling against his leg, each step hitting the icy concrete steps with a thud that echoed through the barren and dingy flight of stairs. Every day he'd have to squeeze past someone loitering amongst the stairs whilst they smoked a cigarette or drank and today was no exception. As he reached his floor he pulled out his keys and looked up to see someone stood at his door, banging with all their might. Upon further inspection, he noticed it was his elder downstairs neighbour. With the energy she was using it wouldn't be a complete shock if she ceased and perished right in front of him due to exhaustion. "Can I help you?" Bucky curiously asked with a furrowed brow, the petite senior lady recoiled out of surprise as she swivelled on the spot and let out an exasperated sigh. "I've been trying to do my crosswords this afternoon but I can't because whoever you've got in there will not stop stomping around!" She exclaimed with a thick and moderately sonorous Brooklyn accent, her silvery grey hair bouncing as she angrily shook. His eyes shifted between the short woman and his door several times before a frown eventually landed on his lips. "I'm sorry," Bucky uttered out plainly despite wanting to say a lot more however he was taught to respect his elders. "You're no better either always waking up my pissin' cat! Get some manners will ya," She retorted with a glower and hobbling past Bucky's tall stature and steadily descending the stairs.

Bucky stared at his door for a few seconds wondering who was making all the racket that was abhorred by his neighbours, but he shook his head and fumbled with the keys as he stood and attempted to unlock the dilapidated and stained door and was curious as to what Steve was doing. After all, he was the only other person with keys that had access to his apartment. The lock clicked finally after very aggressive twisting and pushing to get it to turn, Bucky thrust the door open prior to him being greeted by his whole apartment being upturned. Reluctantly he stepped in and observed the mess; cupboard doors opened and packets of food strewn across the tiled kitchen floor, mattress aggressively ripped from the bed and bedsheets inspected. Everything out of place and tarnished. MASTERLIST

#marvel #mcu #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barness x oc #bucky barnes fanfiction #mcu x oc #bucky x oc #steve rogers

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blooms-of-ice · 4 years

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RP Log: Wyda and Lin speak before a mission.

@lettersnorth

Aislinn North Stood within the new Company House's library, seeming staring in consternation at the spray of pink candy-tufted flowers growing in a carpet under a few comfy looking chairs. She looked up at Aiswyda's approach, her clouded expression breaking into the slightest of smiles. It had seemed like an age since she had last seen her friend. "Wyda." she greeted, warmth infusing her tone. "Fancy running into you here." she jested. "How're things?"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn enters the room carrying a well worn paperback in her hand - some kind of cheap, romance novel by the looks of it. She regards Lin with a big smile. “Just adding to the collection! Things are...” Her expression twists into a frown, as she tries (and fails) to find a precise word to describe how she’s feeling. “...good! How about yourself?”

Aislinn North Hesitated a moment as Wyda obviously reached for the right word but then turned to eye the flower carpet again. "Just...trying to get my bearings by taking myself through the new House." she motioned to the carpet in question. "These are beautiful and I don't want to know the talent involved in getting them to thrive here...but I would feel bad stepping on them to get to the chair." she turned now and took in the library in its entirety. "It's all quite amazing, really."

Aislinn North took a couple soft steps to peer into the rest of the library. "The smell of old books /and/ fresh grass? Not sure you're going to be able to get me to leave."

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn playfully pats Lin on the side of her arm. “It’s alright! I’m sure they’re some kind of magic flower that can handle being a good stomping. And if they don’t recover, well...We can keep it between us then.”

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “Not just that, but the cafe is just around the corner. Super cozy, right?” Wyda moves to slide in her own book into the first shelf that has space. There it goes! Saucy romance, riiight next to academic tomes on aetherology. “But! If I see you making the library your primary residence...I’ll have to send you to your room.”

Aislinn North A sharp breath escaped her, a bit of laughter, as she turned to face Wyda. "Duly noted." she wryly replied, before peering at the book the Seawolf has placed on the shelves. Shaking her head, she could only smile in amusement. "I'll just have to pry myself away every now and then." At the mention of the cafe, she turned and headed that way. "I briefly saw that coming in....but then the books caught my eye and all else was forgotten." she passed Wyda a look over her shoulder as she went. ...

Aislinn North: "How're you liking the new place?"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn follows Lin on the way out, proud to show her the place. The cafe certainly was one of her favorite spots to linger, only second to the bar! “I’m liking it so far! A lot more roomy, which is...both good and bad. Good because I can do this now.” Wyda stretches out her arms and turns in place, all without hitting a pillar or chair. “Bad because there’s a lot more to clean now, I figure.”

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “And it’s kinda spooky when everyone’s gone to bed, and you’re in the main hall alone! You never know when....ghosts......y'know......”

Aislinn North laughed lowly as Wyda spun around. "There's certainly more room to spread out here....wait, ghosts?"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn looks around, shifty eyed. “I dunno, I mean...feels about right, eh? Big place like this could be hiding all sorts of unwanted visitors. How do ghosts work? Why do they haunt us? So many questions...” She perks back up and redirects the topic, hard. “Have you tried the tea?”

Aislinn North Relaxed a bit as she realized Wyda was just speaking off the cuff. "Ahh. No...I haven't." she turned to glancing around the cafe. It was cute. Cozy. No doubt meant to be a welcoming sight to the mercenaries when they returned. Her eyes widened as she took in the sheer amount of baked goods. Cakes. Pastries. Breads. Carb overload ahead. She was immediately drawn to the cake display. "Oh no. Nymeia's grace, this is not good." she murmured even as she reached up and took one of the...

Aislinn North plated cake slices down from the shelves. "Have you seen this? What are they trying to do to us?"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn had never considered the cafe from such a ‘sinister’ viewpoint. Wyda thinks hard to herself. What /was/ the company trying to accomplish, serving perfect pastries to all that came by? She steps over and grabs a slice for herself, regarding it with a suspicious glare. “........I dunno. But hells, does everything taste good!”

Aislinn North briefly rummaged for a fork and took a seat as she started in on the cake. "Everything about this house is wonderful and we should stay here forever." she decided decisively with a nod around a mouthful off cake.

Aislinn North: "Even if there are ghosts." she added after a thought

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn laughs softly at Lin’s statement. Forever was a long time! But, she was right. The house certainly was lovely, ghosts or no. “Hah, seconded!”

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “So, last I heard you were in Ilsabard. That’s quite far - remind me what you’ve been up to, all the way across the sea?”

Aislinn North swallowed down her bite of cake and paused a moment, as if gathering up the past suns. "Ahh. Right. Bertram said he had a lead on where Garett may have off and disappeared to. Only, he thought the mage might have fallen in with some of the more...criminal elements around Ilsabard. We went to see what we could see." she shook her head as she reached for the teapot on the table and poured both herself and Wyda a cup.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn toys with a silver fork in one hand, looking distant. The sound of hot tea being poured snaps her out of her thoughts. She gives Lin a small nod of thanks. “Garett, right. You told me about him before. Did you find what you were looking for?”

Aislinn North Stabbed at her cake. This, in and of itself, could serve as an answer to the question. "Not one bit. There was this one port we traveled to, lots of warehouses, obviously a shipping district. We were wandering around, trying to decide how to go about getting some information and I can see the guards of one of the warehouses taking a sudden interest in Bertram." she gave Wyda a pointed look over her cup. "Like they were told to look out for someone like him." she let go a sigh. ....

Aislinn North "We ended up...ah...finding our way into the warehouse a few suns later but it was only a small time smuggling ring. Really we left with more questions than answers. Which seems to be the way of things when Garrett is involved, honestly."

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn - Her brows drew together in concern as Lin relayed what had happened. Now, Wyda’s memory is as dependable as a soggy rag, but she remembered a few things. Like how Garett was involved with Bertram...and not in a good way. It worried her to hear that the ‘small time smuggling ring’ would be interested in the man. “I’m glad you two are alright, but that’s awfully suspicious.”

Aislinn North "It is." she agreed almost immediately. "I kept thinking about it the entire trip back. Obviously there was some communication to be on the lookout for Bertram. But from who? Garrett himself or was it filtered down through the grapevine of a criminal network? Either way, it doesn't bode well for future trips into Ilsabard."

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn leans back in her chair with a sigh. “It doesn’t seem safe for Bertram to be there. I’m sure the man can fend for himself, but this whole business feels especially off. What’re you guys going to try next?”

Aislinn North a noise of agreement rose from her throat. "No, you're right. Everything about this sets off the bells in my head." In answer to Wyda's questions, she let go a deep-seated sigh. "More searching, more leads deeper into Ilsabard, I'd imagine. For now, we're regrouping." she shrugged as if to say 'what else can you do?'. "I just keep waiting for...something. I don't know. Garrett always seems one step ahead."

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn leaned in and gave Lin a reassuring smile. She had every confidence her friend could crack the case, and it looked like she needed a good pick-me-up. “You can do it! Garrett is likely up to no good, and a trail ought to turn up soon.”

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “Don’t get caught unawares, though...Perhaps there’s something you could do to get him to play on your terms, rather than wait?” Wyda shrugged to herself. Easier said than done, for sure.

Aislinn North stopped pushing her cake around her plate with her fork long enough to look up and pass Wyda a grateful look. "I know. And the goal is to keep pressing, keep the pressure on until he slips up." she shook her head and after a moment, actually ate a bit of the cake. It was too good to just let sit there. "I've thought about that. It's risky. But that might be what we have to do. Get him to come to us." she nodded firmly.

Aislinn North shook her head. "In any event, it'll be interesting times." she glanced at Wyda "But, aside from that, I hear Momori's back to give us a brief today. Think any of the new recruits'll make it?"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn considered, what exactly, could lure Garrett out from hiding. From what she had heard, he sounded a particularly calculating, and cautious, man. Wyda hoped Bertram and Lin wouldn’t do anything rash. “Wouldn’t hurt if it was a little less interesting, though,” she joked.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn - To Lin’s second question, Wyda could only shrug. She had seen some new faces around - Rising Lotus, for instance! But it was unpredictable to know who exactly would show up to help. “I hope so! The more the merrier...and safer. Seven hells, I’m starting to talk like a scared pup!” She chuckled to herself. “Don’t want anyone getting hurt, is all.”

Aislinn North snorted and shot the Seawolf a deadpan look. Less interesting would be nice. Boring, even. She'd take boring right about now. But as she finished the last bit of her cake, she nodded. "I hope so too. Lots of names I don't recognize on the roster. It'll be nice to put some faces to them." she paused. "Does that make us veterans now? Are we the old ones?"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “Ach, don’t say that Lin! We’ve still got plenty of fight left in us!” Wyda shook her head, laughing slightly. She pushed the joke further. “Well, we /are/ officers. So in some capacity, we’re officially the old maids in the group. Oughta ask the greenhorns to carry our stuff for us.”

Aislinn North a hint of laughter escaped her and she was left shaking her head. "Alright, alright, not old. Let's say...experienced. Still a right scary thought." she flashed a grin. "Speaking of which, I should go change into something more suited to.../anything/ Momori might have in mind for today." she polished off her tea. "I'll see you there?"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “Expect the cold again. I’d pack an extra coat, if I were you.” Wyda grinned back at Lin, and picked up her (now) empty plate. “See you around!”

Aislinn North grimaced. "Thanks for the warning!"

#ff14 rp logs #Aiswyda Nuthalwyn #aislinn north #I love these two ;_;#this was!! awhile back #before the ice cave quest #speaking of I have not posted ANYTHING from the tempest questline fjdkslf s #maybe I'll post a compilation or something #when it's over

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tastesoftamriel · 7 years

Text

The birthday (a long tale by Talviel)

"Lass, just trust me on this", he said, as he lifted me into a carriage and blindfolded me. "Hmm, I do and I don't, but I don't see myself as having any choice in the matter." I grumbled, still annoyed that our honeymoon had been ruined by work, Daedric princes, and more work. I did my best not to sulk or hold it against my new husband, but our once in a lifetime opportunity to relax and enjoy each other's company and nothing else had been tarnished by his inability to leave work alone for a couple of weeks, and I was generally sour since reaching Cyrodiil. Brynjolf begged me to trust him to make things better, so I sighed and thought nothing more of it. At best he would get me a birthday cake, and at worst we were probably going somewhere to train more youngbloods on how to pick locks. Either way I felt deflated, and sat in silence for most of the carriage ride.

Occasionally I'd sneak a peek out beneath the blindfold. I recognised the odd bit of scenery from my previous travels, but nothing remarkable stood out. Trees, Ayleid ruins, more rolling green plains that were untouched by winter's grasp. Brynjolf would catch me now and then, and smack my hand away from the blindfold, admonishing me for trying to spoil his carefully planned surprise. "This, lass, is going to be the best birthday of your life. I promise." I couldn't help but smile. Most romantic gestures were lost on me, but I did my best to maintain an air of cheer to mask my apprehension. I was never the best at being on the receiving end of surprises.

After a day or so, the rumbling wheels of the carriage halted, jerking me into wakefulness. Brynjolf told me to wait as he paid the carriage driver, and helped me down onto firm ground at last. I took a deep breath, trying to figure out where we were by smell. Flowers, herbs, and various tree scents wafted over me. And something else. Sea salt perhaps? Guiding me gently by the hands, Brynjolf helped me crunch up a gravel path. "Ready, Vi?" He said, sounding as excited as a child on New Life Festival. "I guess? I'm just glad to be able to stretch my legs after all that sitting." I yawned, standing on tiptoes and raising my arms into the cool air. "Alright, here we go." The soft suede tumbled from my eyes at long last, and my eyes ached momentarily in the bright orange sunlight that had started its slow descent over Cyrodiil. I squinted until the shapes around me focused, and gasped. A beautiful villa expanded in front of me, its great oak doors beckoning inside with cheery candles glinting from chandeliers. A large garden sprawled on either side of the gravel path we stood on, blossoming with fruit trees, exotic flowers, and to my delight, a herb garden.

"Bryn, this is fantastic! Where are we?" I beamed in awe, taking in my surroundings. "We're in your new home, lass. Welcome to Nightingale Manor, north west of Anvil." My jaw dropped and I tore my eyes away from the house and garden to stare at my husband agog. "Don't jest with me Brynjolf!" "I'm not, I swear it. I've got the property deed in the strongbox upstairs, signed in your name. Happy birthday, my love." He smiled, pulling me close to kiss me on the top of my head. I grabbed him and planted a kiss on his sweet mouth that always smelled of cinnamon and cloves, my eyes starting to tear up embarrassingly. "I honestly don't know what to say. Oh by the Nine, Bryn. I don't think I'll ever be able to top this for a present!" I spluttered, unable to believe my eyes and ears, and feeling guilty about being so testy towards him over the past few weeks. "It's not a competition, Talviel. But come on in, just wait til you see the place." He grabbed me by the hand and I stumbled after him, giggling giddily.

We stepped into the main hall, warm and inviting as firelight glinted off the polished wood panels that covered the floors and walls. Looking up, a beautiful frescoed ceiling showed scenes of country Cyrodiil. A young Imperial man emerged from behind a door to greet us, carrying flutes of sweet dessert wine and taking our coats. He introduced himself as Barnabas, my housecarl. Excusing himself to attend to our luggage, Barnabas nipped outside as I sipped my wine and walked around, unable to believe my eyes. "Bryn, I honestly don't know what to say. It's a dream, owning a place like this. What in Tamriel possessed you to drop septims on a villa?"

"Well, it's rather a long story. About three years ago, one of our marks owed us a lot of money, but as usual, didn't have a coin to her name. All she had was a large house in southern Cyrodiil, she said, and it was ours if we let her off the hook. Delvin, damn that old bugger, agreed to the arrangement without ever thinking of sending someone to check on the place. Of course, when we finally did get someone down here, it was an absolute mess. Half of it had been burned and looted when Anvil was hit in the Great War. The garden was a mess, the rooms were fit for only a skeever to live in. Nocturnal knows I chewed Delvin's head off for that, but I held onto the deed anyway, figuring we could probably sell off the land one day. That is, until you came back." Brynjolf explained, leading me out a back door onto a marble veranda overlooking the sea, sparkling beautifully in the late afternoon sun. "Before I even proposed to you, I thought that this would be the perfect wedding gift, somewhere to disappear to on our honeymoon. But of course, there were delays here and there by the crew I'd hired to fix the house up, which is why I had to...detain you in the Imperial City. Truth be told, this is my first time looking at the place in years, so I'm glad they didn't make a fool out of me in fixing it up. It looks wonderful, and it's all for you, lass."

I set down my empty wineglass and buried my face in Brynjolf’s chest, blubbering uncontrollably. I'd been awful to think he was intentionally spoiling our honeymoon when all of this had been unfolding behind my back. Ever since I was a child on Beggar's Row, I longed for a big house with a lush garden or even a vineyard, where I could see the ocean. As a young thief, I used to say I was going to own a mansion of that sort one day, which the others used to snigger at. But Brynjolf always took me seriously, when we would sit at the Ragged Flagon and count out my earnings. "Each piece of gold you earn here is going to get you that dream one day, lass." He used to say, both encouraging my desires and motivating me to work hard for the Guild. Never did I think that he remembered my words after all these years, and had turned them into reality.

Behind us, I heard someone clear their throat. "Sorry to interrupt, but dinner is served, Sir and Madam." Barnabas said, beckoning for us to follow him down a small staircase into a secluded alcove framed by trees and overlooking the sea. A table was set in the middle of the alcove, and a bard was playing her flute in the corner. More and more magical by the minute. "You didn't think I was going to let you cook on your birthday, did you?" Brynjolf smiled, as I awkwardly sat and the food and wine began to flow. "I'm not used to being cooked for, or being given any sort of luxury really." I smiled, digging into the cheese and onion tart that had been served as the first course. Pretty good- I would have to ask Barnabas for the recipe. Brynjolf and I didn't say much for a time, enjoying the food and the atmosphere of our very own home. The sun was swallowed by the ocean by the fourth course, and billions of stars came out to play in the velvety night, as torchbugs and luna moths flitted through the tree branches.

By the final (tenth!) dish, I was so full I could have melted in my chair and fallen asleep at the table. Brynjolf helped me up and suggested we explore the villa some. We made a lap around the property, admiring the garden and how well the outer facade had been restored after the War. Creeping vines had begun to cling to the trellises and walls, giving the manor a rustic countryside charm. An empty animal pen had room for chickens, a couple of cows or sheep, and maybe a pig. A roomy sheltered stable around the corner could house Roach and two other horses comfortably. The vegetable garden had been arranged so meticulously my heart sang, eager to try the produce for myself. We went back inside, but Brynjolf insisted we save looking around the house for the morning.

Guiding me down the stairs to the basement, I was delighted to find a large hot pool in a spacious side room, surrounded by little candles. A bottle of Surilie Brothers Vintage 188 (my very costly favourite) was chilling in an ice bucket, and fluffy white towels and soaps were laid out. Brynjolf and I stripped each other naked slowly, sinking into the hot water as we made love. I floated on my back in the pool, smiling with my eyes closed. "Darling, thank you." I murmured, as Bryn wrapped me in a towel and carried me all the way up the stairs on the second floor to our bedroom. "The pleasure is all mine, lass. With the way you used to talk about your mythical dream home, I found myself wanting to be there too, with you. And here we are, finally." Stepping into the bedroom and closing the door behind us, he rolled me onto the bed, dropping the towel. There was a small Jubilee Cake, my favourite, on the table at the far side of the chamber. I groaned, both out of appreciation, and not being able to eat another bite. "Come on lass, just a little slice, for good luck." Brynjolf cajoled me, waving a fork heaping with cake in my face. I whined about my aching belly, and without warning, I was met with a faceful of cake.

"You're going to pay for that!" I cackled, wiping whipped cream from my eyebrows and rubbing a fistful of cake into my husband's red beard. "Great, we're going to need another bath, not that I'm complaining. Come at me, you're never too old for a cake fight." He laughed, and in minutes the cake was decimated and he was licking cream from my breasts while I moaned on the floor with pleasure. Giggling like teenagers, we streaked down the stairs back to the bath, washing off the mess. Finally falling into the soft feather bed as the last candles guttered out, I curled up in Bryn's lap, resting my head against the sturdy shoulders I knew and loved and trusted with all my heart. "I love you, Bryn. Thank you. Thank you so much, for everything." "I love you too, Vi, my little stone of Barenziah. Happy birthday, lass."

#fic #fanfic #tes #the elder scrolls #brynjolf #cyrodiil #geek #nerd #games #gamer #gaming #romance #chapter 26 #long reads #long post

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undercovermcdfan · 7 years

Text

lagom | travlyn

title: lagom

summary: he asked. she agreed. Travlyn. MCD s3.

a/n: SO. This is highkey born out of the need to write a fic about travlyn??? And this came to mind! I always always yell about the Guard academy hosting Balls (like to fund the academy? Because there’s no central government, so they must generate money somehow without hindering the alliance’s economy), so what if this fic might be a two-parter; I wanted to write them dancing but gotten side tracked lol.Also yes, Travis and Katelyn live together as roommates /eyes emoji I mean the dude been living on a mountain and she could use a roomie lmfao

warning(s): eye emojis they flirt, sweet talk

Lagom (n.) not too little, not too much. Just right.

She bit her tongue, averting her eyes as a laugh wanted to bubble up. But alas, even the futile attempt to save feelings and covering her mouth, Travis caught her smile.

Which was fair, because he must know how ridiculous he look.

“I can explain,” he cracked out, the sharp pitch being the last thing to break down the dam.

The house filled with her laughter, a laugh she hadn’t in a long time; it took up the space around them, aching and deep, broken by a snort as she tried to rein it in.

Honestly, life taken quite a turn the past month— and of course it would. Travis did, in fact, always had that effect in her life. Whether she admit enjoying this little fact.

Putting aside the broom, his face warmed as he wringed his hands nervously; the home was spotless, as it always was since he taken up in her spare bedroom. She slid off her bag, the heavy thud of books and reports dropping to the ground as she shook her head. “Well, I’d love to hear it,” she said, dragging her feet to the couch and plopping down it rather ungracefully. Sure, she was the headmistress of the Academy and certain amount of grace was expected from her station as well as status of a Lady. But she also was running on so few hours of rest.

Beside Travis was the last person she had to worry about holding her governmental persona in front of.

Especially, especially, while he tried desperately to explain the scene she just witnessed.

And explain he did, flustered and fidgeting, the shame of being caught battled out the embarrassment of being caught on his face, twisting grimace twinkled as he showed too much of his sharpen teeth—a nervous habit that would normally intimidated some other than her. She found the habit rather cute.

In the matte of being truthful, she must say how strange it was, letting the affectionate thoughts flow rather than stopping and berating herself all together. It was a subtle change—she can’t pin when the switch actually happened; all she knew was her weariness of calling herself out whenever words like sweet or cute supplied as adjectives of the things Travis does.

“Dancing,” she echoed back, “You don’t know how to dance? Hmm… well I’m surprised, I seen you fight.” He squinted at her. She grinned, patting the space beside her and despite his annoyed expression, he took up seat beside her. “Don’t give me that—you fight with strength but even to this day, there’s not much grace to it because your lack of formal training.” Lowblow.

He clicked his tongue. “How bad were the meetings today?”

“Terrible. That obvious?”

“You’re always overly critical when cranky—hard to miss it.”

She hummed, leaning her head against his shoulder—feeling him tensed up, patted his arm in comfort, a well understood sign of Shh, don’t question, I’m tired. Maybe a little affection to it too. “Sorry,” she said, the last of her energy sapped by that laugh, “Juggling between debating scenarios and strategies meetings on top of fussy benefactors who badgering me for a when on the Academy’s yearly Ball—I don’t mean take that out on you. You don’t deserve that.”

“I don’t but you are forgiven, Lady Firefist,” he smirked at her slight wince; after hearing the title lady all but yelled at her today, she rather good on not being called anything besides Katelyn. But she’d let it slide, rolling her eyes. “Actually, funny that you bring up that Ball. Being a source of entertainment in your life, I do request a proper apology.”

“Oh?” She sat up slight, leaning away with furrowed brows. His tone, while playful and even a little… hopeful, she could already foresee where this was going. She pursed her lips, gesturing him to continue.

“I would like to go to this Ball.”

She shrugged, “I was going to invite you soon, naturally. But it’s not for another month—”

“You didn’t let me finish,” he said, leaning back as he kicked up his feet onto the coffee table. She nudged them off with her leg and look of warning, but her expression still open. “I want to go with you. As your date.”

“As my…” she blinked. And blinked again, her cheeks pinkening—well she shouldn’t be so surprised. It was naturally to think he would ask that and even though it wasn’t a sudden shift, the mood felt… different.

“I mean. Unless some frumpity benefactor taken you up, I just… thought it was worth asking?”

“What brought this on, though?”

Now it was his turn to blink in surprise.

She narrowed her eyes. “Did you go through my things?”

“No— well, not going through, more like you left the letter there and that disaster of an office space need a good dusting. Really unhealthy not to, Katelyn,” he rambled, looking away. “By the way—that Lord Augustine or whatever, he sounds so pretentious. I would like to do you the honor, isn’t you who’s honoring that dude?”

“Travis.”

“I mean, and that handwriting? I give points for sincerity of writing it—that or he should fire whoever writing his letters.”

“Travis.” She touched his arm.

He continued to rant, “And, Irene, who asks for a date through letters? Sounds more of a business arrangement.”

She snorted. They always are. But she should stop him before he continued to drag on, she touched him again, cupping his face with beamused smile. “Don’t do that again.”

“I won’t,” he immediately deflated, flustered and sheepishness coming back, “Now I’m sorry.”

“It’s accepted,” she smiled wider, getting up off the couch, “And yes.”

There’s a pause, as she started to walk towards the kitchen—followed by the sound of him nearly tripping over himself. “W-wait, really. Just like that? You know, before I saw that damning letter, I actually was thinking of asking you and properly,” he called out, following after her, “Irene, I said that so lamely.”

“Nonetheless, I said yes. Much rather you than some Lord who want better position on the Alliance or Academy board,” she said, throwing him a smile over the shoulder and a glint in her eye, “Consider me won over by your directness, Sir Valkrum.”

“Sir…”

“Also get use to that,” she opened up the cupboard, “And people nitpicking your every move. The Academy and the village may be use to your presence but we’re talking about almost all the lords within the alliance and their families appearing; one wrong rumor would stick more than any impressive battle victory.”

Another pause. And then a softer “Oh.”

“Oh indeed,” she shut the cupboard, pulling out two tea cups and kettle, “I appreciate you asking me out—ease my journey into social hell.”

“….it can’t be that bad, can it?”

“Travis, you been living on a mountain most of your life—and this whole game been mines since… Irene, I don’t know how long. Only person who would have more experience is Garroth. So this is your chance to back out and save yourself.”

“I…” he shook his head, opening up a cabinet and handing her the baggie containing the dried tea leaves after watching her search after she set the kettle. “Thanks.” “No problem, rearranged the contents again—but, I think… I won’t be scared off. After all,” he smirked, leaning against the wall as she turned to face him, “a night with you is too good to pass up.”

“Is that so?” she mused, raising a brow, “Even if it means you taking dancing lessons—don’t give me that look.” She chuckled, “I’m sure you’ll share dancing with not just me—people are always curious about fresh faces, after all. I rather not hear complaints of stepped toes or awkward situations. Not another Liochant incident.”

“I’ll ask about that later.”

“Mm, better another time when he’s here to defend himself.”

They both laughed, she poured the tea into the cups and slide one closer to him. “But I jest, thank you for offering. Now I have something to say rather than procrastinating my choices and making replies.”

“No prob…lem. So… choices. How many letters?”

“How many single lords looking for a gain in status?”

He frowned at his cup of tea. It’s funny how jealousy showed and the small urge to tease him even more; taking a sip of much needed comforting warmth, she hummed. “Don’t look glum. I’m rather excited now—never was before.”

Like a switch, another suave grin appeared, ego starting to visibly inflate. She snorted at his “is that so?” and cocked brow, and nodded.

“Hmm… so much to do,” she murmured, but smiling, she could already feel the stress of her day melting away. “Anyways, I didn’t get a chance to ask—how was your day?”

#aphmau #minecraft diaries #travlyn #travis valkrum #katelyn firefist #katelyn (mcd)#my writing #this might be a two parter

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pilawforhire-archived · 7 years

Text

@on-crimson-wings from [x]

Raven hadn’t been doing much, actually. Just eating, really. She was seated in her ship’s kitchen, which was actually quite roomy. Rightly so, though, because this was the most important room on the whole damn ship!

She almost hadn’t realized that Law had slipped aboard, not until he placed the hat on her head. She paused, looking up from her plate of bangers and mash, and then cast a curious glance toward him.

Sure, she’d more or less expected the company, but not the hat. That was rather nice! A soft, fluffy one, too!

“Oh, hey man,” she replied. “Thanks for the hat. While yer at it, help yerself. There’s a ton of food. There’s plenty of mash left over, maybe a few bangers left. And if ya want something from the fridge, go for it. Got some cold beer in there.”

Once she was finished eating, then she’d show him the hats. For now, she was on her third plate, and she was only halfway finished dinner.

Law nodded to himself in approval. Raven looked good in his hat. He couldn’t tell if it was his hat that made her look good, or it she made his hat look good. Perhaps, both…? While anyone would look good in his spotted white hat, he thinks, Raven was actually kind of cute in an inexplicable way. There was just something about her character that was childlike and, oddly enough, adorable. But he would not blurt those words, obviously. It was just a general impression. Law would think great white fluffy beanbags were adorable…

Before Raven could finish her sentence, Law strode toward her stove with zeal. Admittedly, until he had been introduced to Raven’s cooking, the idea of mashed potatoes sounded unappetizing. She spoiled him. She ruined him for life. Happily, Law helped himself to some bangers and mash. He took his plate back to Raven, sat down opposite her, only to stand again to fetch them both some cold beers from her fridge. Law returned to Raven and passed her a can.

At the other two emptied plates on the table, Law arched his brows. “Did you skip lunch?” he jested. “And breakfast?” Raven seemed to have a hearty appetite. Perhaps he would even go as far as to call her a glutton, though she wouldn’t be the first he met. Unfortunately, the capacity of her stomach put him to shame. After one plate alone, Law pushed his plate away and set down his cutlery. Her cooking brought him great joy and satisfaction, but even he had his limits. He did, however, stare with interest at Raven as she finished her dinner. There was something weirdly pleasing about witnessing women and men alike scarf down astounding portions of food.

“Oh, thanks for the hat, this afternoon.” He had promptly rushed over after she had taken her leave. “I like it, though it’s… flat. Big hats… I’d prefer bigger hats.” Law took a drink from his can. “So your late-husband — your… now-missing friend… was a fan of hats?” That was a close call. She hadn’t said Jumaine was dead, had she? “About your late — your friend, that’s missing… I might’ve heard about him. A while ago… I could be mistaken. It could be someone else with his name. When and where did he ditch you?”

#on crimson wings #v; canon #queued #thanks for writing :)

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Text

In the Servants' Quarters

THE Karamazovs' house was far from being in the centre of the town, but it was not quite outside it. It was a pleasant-looking old house of two stories, painted grey, with a red iron roof. It was roomy and snug, and might still last many years. There were all sorts of unexpected little cupboards and closets and staircases. There were rats in it, but Fyodor Pavlovitch did not altogether dislike them. "One doesn't feel so solitary when one's left alone in the evening," he used to say. It was his habit to send the servants away to the lodge for the night and to lock himself up alone. The lodge was a roomy and solid building in the yard. Fyodor Pavlovitch used to have the cooking done there, although there was a kitchen in the house; he did not like the smell of cooking, and, winter and summer alike, the dishes were carried in across the courtyard. The house was built for a large family; there was room for five times as many, with their servants. But at the time of our story there was no one living in the house but Fyodor Pavlovitch and his son Ivan. And in the lodge there were only three servants: old Grigory, and his old wife Marfa, and a young man called Smerdyakov. Of these three we must say a few words. Of old Grigory we have said something already. He was firm and determined and went blindly and obstinately for his object, if once be had been brought by any reasons (and they were often very illogical ones) to believe that it was immutably right. He was honest and incorruptible. His wife, Marfa Ignatyevna, had obeyed her husband's will implicitly all her life, yet she had pestered him terribly after the emancipation of the serfs. She was set on leaving Fyodor Pavlovitch and opening a little shop in Moscow with their small savings. But Grigory decided then, once for all, that "the woman's talking nonsense, for every woman is dishonest," and that they ought not to leave their old master, whatever he might be, for "that was now their duty." "Do you understand what duty is?" he asked Marfa Ignatyevna. "I understand what duty means, Grigory Vassilyevitch, but why it's our duty to stay here I never shall understand," Marfa answered firmly. "Well, don't understand then. But so it shall be. And you hold your tongue." And so it was. They did not go away, and Fyodor Pavlovitch promised them a small sum for wages, and paid it regularly. Grigory knew, too, that he had an indisputable influence over his master. It was true, and he was aware of it. Fyodor Pavlovitch was an obstinate and cunning buffoon, yet, though his will was strong enough "in some of the affairs of life," as he expressed it, he found himself, to his surprise, extremely feeble in facing certain other emergencies. He knew his weaknesses and was afraid of them. There are positions in which one has to keep a sharp lookout. And that's not easy without a trustworthy man, and Grigory was a most trustworthy man. Many times in the course of his life Fyodor Pavlovitch had only just escaped a sound thrashing through Grigory's intervention, and on each occasion the old servant gave him a good lecture. But it wasn't only thrashings that Fyodor Pavlovitch was afraid of. There were graver occasions, and very subtle and complicated ones, when Fyodor Pavlovitch could not have explained the extraordinary craving for someone faithful and devoted, which sometimes unaccountably came upon him all in a moment. It was almost a morbid condition. Corrupt and often cruel in his lust, like some noxious insect, Fyodor Pavlovitch was sometimes, in moments of drunkenness, overcome by superstitious terror and a moral convulsion which took an almost physical form. "My soul's simply quaking in my throat at those times," he used to say. At such moments he liked to feel that there was near at hand, in the lodge if not in the room, a strong, faithful man, virtuous and unlike himself, who had seen all his debauchery and knew all his secrets, but was ready in his devotion to overlook all that, not to oppose him, above all, not to reproach him or threaten him with anything, either in this world or in the next, and, in case of need, to defend him- from whom? From somebody unknown, but terrible and dangerous. What he needed was to feel that there was another man, an old and tried friend, that he might call him in his sick moments merely to look at his face, or, perhaps, exchange some quite irrelevant words with him. And if the old servant were not angry, he felt comforted, and if he were angry, he was more dejected. It happened even (very rarely however) that Fyodor Pavlovitch went at night to the lodge to wake Grigory and fetch him for a moment. When the old man came, Fyodor Pavlovitch would begin talking about the most trivial matters, and would soon let him go again, sometimes even with a jest. And after he had gone, Fyodor Pavlovitch would get into bed with a curse and sleep the sleep of the just. Something of the same sort had happened to Fyodor Pavlovitch on Alyosha's arrival. Alyosha "pierced his heart" by "living with him, seeing everything and blaming nothing." Moreover, Alyosha brought with him something his father had never known before: a complete absence of contempt for him and an invariable kindness, a perfectly natural unaffected devotion to the old man who deserved it so little. All this was a complete surprise to the old profligate, who had dropped all family ties. It was a new and surprising experience for him, who had till then loved nothing but "evil." When Alyosha had left him, he confessed to himself that he had learnt something he had not till then been willing to learn. I have mentioned already that Grigory had detested Adelaida Ivanovna, the first wife of Fyodor Pavlovitch and the mother of Dmitri, and that he had, on the contrary, protected Sofya Ivanovna, the poor "crazy woman," against his master and anyone who chanced to speak ill or lightly of her. His sympathy for the unhappy wife had become something sacred to him, so that even now, twenty years after, he could not bear a slighting allusion to her from anyone, and would at once check the offender. Externally, Grigory was cold, dignified and taciturn, and spoke, weighing his words, without frivolity. It was impossible to tell at first sight whether he loved his meek, obedient wife; but he really did love her, and she knew it. Marfa Ignatyevna was by no means foolish; she was probably, indeed, cleverer than her husband, or, at least, more prudent than he in worldly affairs, and yet she had given in to him in everything without question or complaint ever since her marriage, and respected him for his spiritual superiority. It was remarkable how little they spoke to one another in the course of their lives, and only of the most necessary daily affairs. The grave and dignified Grigory thought over all his cares and duties alone, so that Marfa Ignatyevna had long grown used to knowing that he did not need her advice. She felt that her husband respected her silence, and took it as a sign of her good sense. He had never beaten her but once, and then only slightly. Once during the year after Fyodor Pavlovitch's marriage with Adelaida Ivanovna, the village girls and women - at that time serfs - were called together before the house to sing and dance. They were beginning "In the Green Meadows," when Marfa, at that time a young woman, skipped forward and danced "the Russian Dance," not in the village fashion, but as she had danced it when she was a servant in the service of the rich Miusov family, in their private theatre, where the actors were taught to dance by a dancing master from Moscow. Grigory saw how his wife danced, and, an hour later, at home in their cottage he gave her a lesson, pulling her hair a little. But there it ended: the beating was never repeated, and Marfa Ignatyevna gave up dancing. God had not blessed them with children. One child was born but it died. Grigory was fond of children, and was not ashamed of showing it. When Adelaida Ivanovna had run away, Grigory took Dmitri, then a child of three years old, combed his hair and washed him in a tub with his own hands, and looked after him for almost a year. Afterwards he had looked after Ivan and Alyosha, for which the general's widow had rewarded him with a slap in the face; but I have already related all that. The only happiness his own child had brought him had been in the anticipation of its birth. When it was born, he was overwhelmed with grief and horror. The baby had six fingers. Grigory was so crushed by this, that he was not only silent till the day of the christening, but kept away in the garden. It was spring, and he spent three days digging the kitchen garden. The third day was fixed for christening the baby: meantime Grigory had reached a conclusion. Going into the cottage where the clergy were assembled and the visitors had arrived, including Fyodor Pavlovitch, who was to stand godfather, he suddenly announced that the baby "ought not to be christened at all." He announced this quietly, briefly, forcing out his words, and gazing with dull intentness at the priest. "Why not?" asked the priest with good-humoured surprise. "Because it's a dragon," muttered Grigory. "A dragon? What dragon?" Grigory did not speak for some time. "It's a confusion of nature," he muttered vaguely, but firmly, and obviously unwilling to say more. They laughed, and, of course, christened the poor baby. Grigory prayed earnestly at the font, but his opinion of the new-born child remained unchanged. Yet he did not interfere in any way. As long as the sickly infant lived he scarcely looked at it, tried indeed not to notice it, and for the most part kept out of the cottage. But when, at the end of a fortnight, the baby died of thrush, he himself laid the child in its little coffin, looked at it in profound grief, and when they were filling up the shallow little grave he fell on his knees and bowed down to the earth. He did not for years afterwards mention his child, nor did Marfa speak of the baby before him, and, even if Grigory were not present, she never spoke of it above a whisper. Marfa observed that, from the day of the burial, he devoted himself to "religion," and took to reading the Lives of the Saints, for the most part sitting alone and in silence, and always putting on his big, round, silver-rimmed spectacles. He rarely read aloud, only perhaps in Lent. He was fond of the Book of Job, and had somehow got hold of a copy of the sayings and sermons of "the God fearing Father Isaac the Syrian, which he read persistently for years together, understanding very little of it, but perhaps prizing and loving it the more for that. Of late he had begun to listen to the doctrines of the sect of Flagellants settled in the neighbourhood. He was evidently shaken by them, but judged it unfitting to go over to the new faith. His habit of theological reading gave him an expression of still greater gravity. He was perhaps predisposed to mysticism. And the birth of his deformed child, and its death, had, as though by special design, been accompanied by another strange and marvellous event, which, as he said later, had left a "stamp" upon his soul. It happened that, on the very night after the burial of his child, Marfa was awakened by the wail of a new-born baby. She was frightened and waked her husband. He listened and said he thought it was more like someone groaning, "it might be a woman." He got up and dressed. It was a rather warm night in May. As he went down the steps, he distinctly heard groans coming from the garden. But the gate from the yard into the garden was locked at night, and there was no other way of entering it, for it was enclosed all round by a strong, high fence. Going back into the house, Grigory lighted a lantern, took the garden key, and taking no notice of the hysterical fears of his wife, who was still persuaded that she heard a child crying, and that it was her own baby crying and calling for her, went into the garden in silence. There he heard at once that the groans came from the bath-house that stood near the garden gate, and that they were the groans of a woman. Opening the door of the bath-house, he saw a sight which petrified him. An idiot girl, who wandered about the streets and was known to the whole town by the nickname of Lizaveta Smerdyastchaya (Stinking Lizaveta), had got into the bath-house and had just given birth to a child. She lay dying with the baby beside her. She said nothing, for she had never been able to speak. But her story needs a chapter to itself.

#BrothersKaramazov

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