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maymyheartbmyguidingkey · 3 years

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aren’t we a nice pear

you can blame @duelistkingdom for this, not me

Yugi was quickly learning that certain fruits may have been tough to come by during the 18th dynasty - if not non-existent.

His first clue was when he brought a coconut back to the apartment, intending to make his famous coconut curry and sticky rice.

Atem had peeked into his grocery bags, adorably curious (Sugoroku had always done the grocery shopping, and rarely did he ever obtain fresh fruits), and had gasped dramatically, startling Yugi so badly he nearly jumped out of his own skin.

"What? What's wrong? I swear to god, if I broke the eggs -"

But when Yugi swivelled to survey the damage, he found instead Atem holding a coconut aloft, reverently.

His shoulders fell.

"A coconut," Atem hissed. "When father would return from his diplomatic travels he would near always bring coconuts. The juice was divine."

Yugi rolled his eyes good-naturedly and returned to putting away their groceries. "You almost gave me a heart attack over a coconut. What, were they not very popular in your time?"

Atem was silent for long enough that Yugi knew: if he looked back at him right now, he'd be met with an unfairly incredulous stare.

So Yugi turned to him, face resolutely deadpan, finding his prediction entirely correct.

"Yugi, my partner, light of my life -"

Yugi's eyebrows climbed into his hairline.

"- coconuts were an import," Atem said, like it was especially important, clutching the coconut to his chest as if it were a wounded animal. "Only the fabulously wealthy -" he pantomimed tossing hair over his shoulder, "could possibly afford such a luxury good."

Yugi snorted, finding the eggs (thankfully, in good shape) and placing them delicately in their designated spot in the fridge.

"Well you were fabulously wealthy, O dearest Pharaoh, so why are you clinging to it like a starving man?"

"Because coconuts are - what is it Jou always says? It is the most ridiculous - oh yes - lit."

Yugi froze, eyes squeezed shut. "Atem. My world. Dearest heart. Never say that again."

But then his brain buffered. Wait a damn minute -

Eyes comically wide, Yugi said, "Wait. Atem. What kind of fruit did you have?"

Atem pursed his lips, tossing the coconut from hand to hand, resting his elbows on the quartz island between them. "Grapes. I rather liked those. Oh - figs, though I found them too sweet. Nabk -"

“Atem,” Yugi pressed, suddenly desperate, “what’s a strawberry?”

Atem blinked, confused as to how and why the tone of their conversation shifted. “I... suppose I'm not quite sure? When you say the word, an image crops up, but I have not the faintest -”

Yugi was already grabbing his keys. “I'm going back to the store.”

“What on Earth -”

“I’ve been craving cherries anyway. Oh my god, and pomegran - no, wait, you guys had those, right? Pretty sure that was an 8th dynasty thing. Peaches! Pineapple? Holy - I need to learn how to slice a pineapple -”

“Yugi, my love, what is happening right now?”

“Oh, I’m so stupid,” Yugi scoffed, taking Atem by the hand, who squawked indignantly at his self-insult. He dragged Atem hurriedly to the front door, fumbling to slip on his shoes with only one hand. “You can just come with me.”

“Call yourself stupid one more time. I have hands now, Yugi. I can smack you.”

“Why, what better for me to kiss, my dear?” Yugi said, throwing his pharaoh a sly smirk, raising Atem’s knuckles to his lips. Atem’s face flushed a pretty red, and he stared pointedly down at his own backless loafers, grumpily slipping them on.

“Cheeky,” he mumbled, sounding secretly pleased.

☆

“Yugi. Where... what is this place?”

Yugi sent him a bright grin, squeezing Atem's hand where he held it in his jacket pocket. “This, O mighty Pharaoh, is the grocery store.”

Atem gawked at the various signage as Yugi dragged him to the cart well, snatching up a handbasket and promptly making a beeline for the produce section.

“Wait, wait, was that - was that a massive cart to wheel your groceries about in?” Atem asked, incredulous. “How affluent must you be to fill one of those?”

Yugi snorted. “I can't believe I never once brought you to a grocery store. Goes to show how often those lunches from 7/11 saved my life in high school.”

“Oh,” Atem said, staring at the wall of colorful greeting cards as they passed. “Well, this is delightful. It's much like the market, just. Indoors. And with fluorescent lighting.”

“Yeah, you get it,” Yugi encouraged, leaning over to kiss Atem’s temple firmly. “C'mon, this way.”

The produce section was lush today, what with it being a random Thursday afternoon, and Atem was already spotting things he had never seen before but knew the names of (thanks to the brain of a certain now-adult who he had often possessed when he was nothing but a no-name disembodied spirit).

“There! The - what was the word? - strawberries,” he chirped. “What kind of name is that, by the way?”

Yugi squeezed his hand twice, their mutual sign for it’s okay, grab it, holding the basket within Atem’s reach. “Says the guy with nabk. Throw ‘em in there, hot stuff.”

“The -” Atem blanched, holding up a packet of strawberries, confused. “All of them?”

Yugi raised his eyebrows. “Yes? What, you want me to open it and pluck out a single strawberry?”

“Well - wouldn’t - isn’t the whole thing expensive? They seem like they would be expensive.”

“Oh, no,” Yugi slid the basket to the crook of his elbow, swiping up a packet himself and giving the label a read. “Strawberries are one of Japan's biggest exports. Oooh, and I love amaou variety. Perfect for your first try.”

He gently took the packet from a stunned Atem’s hand and dropped both into the basket. Atem sputtered.

“That is - you can just, buy fruit en masse? Affordably?”

Yugi laughed quietly, spotting the pineapples and leading Atem toward them. “Maybe not as cheaply as in other places - we kind of have a thing for designer fruit here. But these packs are only ¥500 each.”

“Only how mu - oh my land, those are horrifying.”

“Yeah, if you’re not used to them, they’re pretty freaky,” Yugi acquiesced, reaching for a piece of the spiky fruit - only for Atem to slap his hand away.

Yugi whipped around to stare at him, bewildered. The look on Atem’s face wouldn’t be out of place beside the dictionary definition of appalled.

“My Yugi will most certainly not be touching the pointy death fruit!” he hissed, gesturing violently toward the pineapples, like his reaction was obvious. “I used to inhabit that body, you know.”

Yugi pressed his lips into a firm line, trying desperately not to burst into laughter.

“Atem. Pharaoh of my heart. My angel,” he whispered, taking a deep breath. “I love you so much. Just - watch this.”

And Yugi - while giving Atem a pointed, amused look - reached again for a pineapple, easily picking one from its perch by its uninviting body.

Atem, perplexed, brows raised in astonishment, stammered. “But - it - you -”

Yugi offered it to him. “It's not a cactus. Its bark is worse than its bite.”

Atem hesitated, but Yugi patiently held the pineapple toward him, nodding encouragingly when Atem met his eyes doubtfully.

And so Atem took it in his elegant, princely hands, brows furrowed in confusion when it did not, in fact, slice him to ribbons.

“But... it looks so evil.”

“Right? But it’s only poke-y. Honestly I just wanna meet the guy who saw one for the first time and immediately thought, “hey, I’m gonna crack this shit open and give it a taste”.”

☆

Yugi created a monster.

They had picked out a few more things for Atem to try, including the promised cherries and peaches (Atem giving a smug “now that is more like it” when he saw the peaches priced at two for ¥1990), but also some things that yugi had realized he took completely for granted: blueberries, kiwis - bananas. God, bananas.

Atem had also discovered that coconut water was sold by itself, in convenient single portions, and had happily trotted off to the self-checkout counter with a case of six, an endeared Yugi in tow.

It had been a week since that fateful day.

Atem sat on their cute little cream loveseat, newly-acquired and much-needed reading glasses on his nose and feet propped up on the matching ottoman, his current read in his lap. He held one of Yugi's many reusable water bottles in his hand, half-full with coconut water, blueberries, strawberries and ice floating prettily at the top. His bottle-holding arm was curled protectively around a bowl precariously perched on the arm rest, where he kept his (perfectly sliced) pineapple rings.

"Living in the lap of luxury, I see," Yugi said, plopping down beside Atem and draping himself directly atop the open book. He gazed up at his boyfriend, mischievous. "Lavish attention upon me as you do your precious books and fruits, O great Pharaoh."

Atem rolled his eyes, plucking a ring of pineapple from the bowl and tearing it in half. Yugi opened his mouth expectantly.

"Who said this was for you?" Atem snorted, popping one half in his mouth. "This is the last of it and you are a brat."

Yugi, as per usual, pouted to get his way. Atem, as per usual, was unable to resist said pout, huffing and presenting Yugi with the other half.

"A brat maybe, but loved by you nonetheless," he cheeked as he chewed.

"Exhibit A. Eat with your mouth closed; you are in the presence of royalty," atem said. "And sit properly, for goodness sake - you'll choke, and I refuse to have that on my conscience."

And sit properly Yugi did - mostly. He slung himself over Atem's shoulders, muttering into his neck, "You know, that's the third pineapple you've -"

"Ananas."

Yugi scoffed. Ever since Atem had Googled the Arabic name for the fruit (an adventure in it's own right), he refused to use anything else.

"Yes, ananas, yet somehow I’m the brat here," Yugi continued, "point being: it's the third one you've decimated this week. We just ran out of bananas, and I think that was the last pack of strawberries, too. I'm gonna go broke."

"This is fine. We can subsist off of fruit alone."

Yugi leaned back and stared into Atem's face, who had gone back to reading his book, unfazed. "You can subsist off of fruit alone. I need meat. Protein."

Atem pulled off his glasses and slapped the book shut, giving Yugi the most skeptical look he’d ever seen. "Yugi. You are a waif."

"Hey! No body-shaming here!" Yugi protested, pulling his legs up and into Atem's lap, again smothering the book. "All the more reason for me to have meat in my diet! I won't survive."

"You know, I used that miraculous thing - Google - and it told me that meat is actually quite bad for you. Did you know that humans only evolved to eat it because -"

Yugi groaned, stuffing his face back into the crook of Atem's neck, his next words muffled. "Google made my boyfriend health-conscious and now I can't have bacon. I'm sending corporate a strongly-worded email."

Atem's quiet laughter was like warm sunshine, and Yugi basked in it, the tell tale thunk of his water bottle being set on the side table music to his ears, as Atem could only be freeing his hand for one reason. He began to stroke Yugi's hair, and if Yugi could purr, the sound of it would reverberate through the entire apartment building.

They fell into a comfortable silence, only broken by the soft sounds of their chewing as they polish off the pineapple rings, Atem more than happy to continue feeding Yugi pieces.

"I may joke around," Yugi finally whispered, like they were the only two who existed in the universe, "but you're the best thing that's ever happened to me. I'd sell my kidney to buy you whatever you wanted."

Yugi felt a puff of a laugh against the crown of his head; the press of Atem's lips. "No need to go to such extremities, precious one. You are all I would ever wish for."

#katie writes #me? writing?? yeah i still do that sometimes #prolly never again tho lmao i'm exhausted #ygo!#puzzleshipping #fanfic

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thebadchoicemachine · 3 years

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Yall want some MYCT Magnus Archive Headcanons I may or may not draw? (Pt 1?)

I will try to include individual trigger warnings at the beginning of each explanation as much as I can think of. They may seem a little overboard but better safe than sorry. Remember, TMA is a horror podcast.

(ALSO, EVERYTHING HERE IS /RP. EVEN WHEN I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT A ROLEPLAY VIDEO PLEASE KNOW I’M MAKING UP A CHARACTER BASED OFF THEIR CHANNEL AND AM NOT ACTUALLY ACCUSING THEM OF BEING A SERVANT TO A MALEVOLENT FEAR ENTITY.)

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Philza

1. An End Avatar (TW, Numb/Apathetic Mindset)

He’s a reaper. An immortal. You only live once but life’s become, not meaningless, more like desaturated. He doesn’t care in a cheery “oh well” way. He’s pretty chill about it. He’s extremely chill about it. He is disturbingly chill about it. At first it seems great, he’s just a nice chill guy! No evil schemes or vicious plots. Just spending time with him seems to calm your nerves. And then you spend more time and you begin to understand why, things aren’t as important as you make them seem. You catastrophize a lot. Then a catastrophe happens and you’re not... upset. Why... why would you be? It doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t. It won’t in a hundred years and it doesn’t now. would end the same anyways. And then he starts to be less and less relatable. Why is he so happy? Why does he bother to go meet people and smile and eat or laugh or frown. You can’t belive you ever complained that he was so mild about everything, any amount is more than is worth. Why bother? Why... bother...

2. A Vast Avatar (TW, Heights?)

He just fucking tosses people into the sky instead of being upset with them. Do anything he doesn’t like? SWOOSH. It’s to the point it’s not even a malicious thing, it’s just routine. He gets up, goes to the store, picks up some groceries, sends a person who cut in line to a void of dusk with swirling black clouds where you fall so long you can’t tell if you’re flying up or down or left or right, maybe gets some mints, goes home, puts groceries away, does the dishes, etc.

(the rest of the cast below the cut)

Tubbo

1. A Corruption Avatar (TW, Body Horror Surrounding Lungs, Swarming Insects, Implied Murder.)

He has bees in his lungs and he loves them very much. If he ever gets something stuck in his throat or has water go down the wrong pipe he will FEAK OUT. He often has to cough up honey (and sometimes bees). It’s... a process. He just sits over a bucket or jar and hacks his little heart out. He sometimes saves the honey and offers it to people. Amazingly, his friends never take him up on the offer. Unsuspecting people who don’t know the.. supernatural origin of the honey find they have some... unpleasant side effects. (Bees. The side effect is bees. Specifically ones trying to fly down their throat.) Oh well, being a part of a hive isn’t for everyone. The really unfortunate ones make good fertilizer for his flowers, though! His lungs are literally a hive. If you tried to listen to his heartbeat you’d hear buzzing. He will sometimes hold flowers over his open mouth to let the bees get some easy pollon. He doesn’t usually actively seek out “prey” but when he is trying to feed on that good old fear he’ll act super sweet, too sweet, and then open his mouth and let the bees fly out. It’s very creepy but to him it’s just funny. (Also, all of the bees have names and he has a funeral for every single one that get’s killed.)

Quackity

1. A Spiral Avatar

I- I mean have you seen a single one of his videos?

2. A Stranger Avatar (TW, Unreality Depersonalization )

He mocks people as their own reflection, hopping from pond to mirror to camera to scream at them (sometimes literally) that they do not know who they are. It starts off subtle (Wasn’t your hair a bit longer? Weren’t your eyes a shade lighter? Did you always have that birthmark?”) but grows and changes until it gets to the point you stand in front of a mirror and every time you blink you look completely different. You feel your face, you look at your hands, but it’s no help. They change too fast. Your pictures change too, every single post on all your social media looks like different people posted it- wait... did you always have this platform? You don’t remember ever using it before. You have so many posts... none of them match up. You throw your phone away, noticing you never had the case on it. You turn to real photos for help but they are none. Of course not. You feel like just giving up as you shuffle through photo after photo, you don’t know what you really look like, so what? But then something catches your eye. A photo of you in the 5th grade concert. You don’t remember going to that school. You’ve never played an instrument, have you? Something screams yes and no at the same time. You throw the box down and grab your phone. You need to call someone. You pace throughout a house you recognize less and less searching for clues, reminders, as the phone rings. Your best friend answers. You throw the phone down again. You don’t have a best friend. You’ve never really been one for friends. No, that’s not true, you had a few really good ones but you’ve grown apart. No, that’s not true, you only have one real friend, your boyfriend. No, you don’t have a boyfriend, just a close friend. No, you have many friends just none that are close enough for this bullshit. You stop. No. No you don’t like swearing, do you? Do you? Who are you? Who are you? Your reflection laughs. It’s eating popcorn and making you do a stupid dance. What a bitch.

3. A Flesh Avatar (TW, Body Horror Surrounding Faces and Skin)

You’re a piece of meat, he’s a piece of meat, everyone’s meat. Like Chicken Nuggets.He’ll steal your face right off it’s skull and dance with one in each hand. He’ll put words in your mouth like you’re a puppet with bones. He’ll make you say the dumbest shit because it’s funny. Even when it’s obviously not YOU talking.

Technoblade

1. A Hunt Avatar (TW, Stalking/Genocide)

Many people have suggested a slaughter avatar but I don’t see it. Yeah, he kills (blood for the blood god and all that) but I don’t see it. The Slaughter is about the moment. The unplanned snap. The sudden outbursts. I don’t see that in techno. You know what I DO see that also involves quite a bit of bloodlust? The chase. The planning, the target, the unstoppable dread and panic that overtakes his victims once they realize who is after them. The power. Calculated genocide of victim after victim. The HUNT. My two pain points of evidence: His potato war videos, that time he took over the world, and his stalking speech to Quackity. Go watch an animatic of Technoblade chasing down Quackity and tell me he is not a Hunt Avatar.

Wilbur

1. A Desolation Avatar (TW, Abuse/Torture)

Everything he touches burns and hurts. Sometimes it’s on purpose, sometimes on accident, but either way he’s caught up in enjoying the drama. I’m gonna be honest, my main inspiration was the Villainbur aesthetic but the more I thought about it the more it made sense. Look at nearly any of his 100 player videos; designed to create maximum pain for hs enjoyment. Even the Dream SMP where he was mostly a good guy and more tragic than anything else fits. Maybe that Villain Arc was his first dabble as an avatar of destruction and pain. Even making his own father kill him could have been along the lines of “how can I milk as much despair out of this as possible.”

TommyInnit

1. A Slaughter Avatar (TW, Straight Up Murder)

Now HERE is a character right up that slaughter’s alley. No thoughts, not plans, just unbridled passion and rage and violence. He just stabs people whenever he feels like it (which is often) sometimes just with sticks. Like a rabid raccoon just jumps straight at people’s faces out of nowhere, always starting shit and stoking fires to make people angry at each other.

2. A Buried Avatar (TW, small tight spaces)

Tunnels and caves and sticks and spots. He’ll burry you under a mountain, he’ll lock you in a tree. Dirt man. His usual MO is trapping people under an avalanche of stones and rocks and rubble. Basically just lava casting your bones. Everything he makes is ugly but not just in a ”that’s literally a pile of rocks in the middle of the road” way in a bit of an indescribable “looking at that makes me feel like I’m breathing in straight gravel.”

Bonus: Ranboo as a Dark Avatar/Victim. He is not a willing avatar like Jude or Helen, he’s more along the lines of Oliver and Jon.

#dream smp au #dsmp tma au

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gaemkyuu · 3 years

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The Present

Warnings: Mentions of sexual assault/rape, but not overtly descriptive. A/N: As much as I like writing fluffy pieces or glimpses in time, I really wanted this series to have some sort of progression. A lot of the feelings and emotions that are in this piece was taken from personal experience or the experience of someone close to me. In no way do I claim that all experiences are similar to the one disclosed in this piece of fictional writing. Disclaimer: This is a FICITONAL writing piece on Charlie Gillespie. In no way do I claim or declare that Charlie’s portrayal is accurate to real life. I do however, own Teagan Valencia :)

Masterlist *now taking requests ;)

The Teagan Valencia Series: The Meeting / The Fight / The Proposal / The Present / The Recovery / The Future

***Please note that sensitive topics are addressed in the writing and may cause discomfort or trigger readers. If subjects such as non-consensual sexual engagement, rape or sexual assault cause discomfort, please refrain from reading the story.

The Present

“Cut! That’s a wrap on this scene, great job everyone! Let’s break for lunch” Kenny announced to the crew. He smiled at Teagan releasing a big sigh. As awesome as this all was, it could still be tiring!

“You’re doing a great job Kenny. Seriously, I can’t wait for the second season” Teagan gave Kenny a hug from behind his chair.

“I should be giving you a giant hug Teagan!” Kenny stood up from his directing chair, moving his way to Tegan. “Congratulations on your engagement!” He gave her a big bear hug. “Now let me see the ring!” Teagan showed her his hand and he inspected the ring gleefully. Although they had gotten engaged two weeks ago, this was their first week filming and the first time Kenny saw her since the night of the party.

“I told you I had good taste Kenny” Charlie came over and wrapped his arms around my waist, perching his chin on my shoulders.

“Honey, you didn’t pick out the ring, you just picked it up” Teagan joked as Kenny released her hand. Turning to give Charlie a quick playful peck on the lips, Teagan saw the playful smirk kneeing he had a clever come back.

“I’m not talking about the ring, I’m talking about the person” he smirked kissing her back playfully. “Are you joining us for lunch?” His eyes hopeful.

“Well since you can’t leave the set for a birthday lunch, I guess so” she dramatically sighed acting like she was disappointed.

“Hey! I’m taking you out for dinner! Remember? Birthday dinner?” Teagan’s dramatic façade broke and Charlie realized he fell for it. “Sometimes I wonder why you're not the one in front of the camera”.

Charlie kissed her on the cheek and led her to lunch with the rest of the cast. As usual Maddy already had the designated brownie plate that both of them shared from and Savannah was able to join them as she finished in hair and make up. Everyone had a fun time chatting and hanging out at lunch but they had to continue filming. Charlie, Owen and Jeremy had to go get touched up and a new wardrobe on, but he left Teagan in the company of Booboo and Savannah, as Maddy went to go take a nap.

“Hey Savannah, we are going to need you and Maddi on set soon” the three of them jumped at the sudden interruption from the new Production Assistant. His eyes piercing and intense staring at Teagan. “I’m James the new Production Assistant and you are?”

“I’m Charlie’s fiancé, I’m just visiting him on set today.” Teagan smiled back politely despite feeling uncomfortable under his gaze. She came to understand that this was the new PA that kept coming up in their group chat. It was no secret that a majority of the cast who had interacted with him felt slightly uneasy. Owen had been changing in the wardrobe trailer when he “popped out of nowhere and scared the living shit” out of Owen. Jeremy had been sneaking onto the set to take a nap in Julie’s infamous bed when he found James lurking around in the dim lighting. There were a few other stories that Teagan remembered, but she waved it off as James being misunderstood as he was new to the cast.

“Oh yeah! Sure! I’ll go get Maddi” Savannah stood up quickly getting ready to film.

“Well ladies, it was a fun lunch, but I’m done on set and need to head over to a photo shoot” Booboo smiled collecting their lunch mess and glancing at his watch. “Which starts in an hour, shit. I better get going. Happy Birthday again Teagan, I wish I could be there tonight!”

“Don’t worry about it Booboo, let’s take a raincheck” Booboo gave her a big hug and waved them goodbye. “Hey I’ll come with you since I’m going to hang out in Charlie’s trailer” she stopped Savannah getting out of her chair too. “As much as I love watching him act, I know he has the Switch in his trailer and I want to play Mario Kart”

Savannah giggled at her friend and the two of them noticed James still standing there. “I’ll go grab Maddi if you want to let Kenny know we are on our way” Savannah smiled at the PA, who simply gave a curt nod, never taking his eyes off of Teagan. The two girls waited until he was no longer in their line of sight before moving towards the trailers. “Between you and me, I heard he’s being let go at the end of the week”

“What? Why?” Savannah looked incredulously at Teagan, shocked at her response. “Okay, I know he’s kinda weird and freaking people out, but what if it’s because he’s new?“

“He was hired last minute because of some pregnancy complications our actual PA Sarah had. She was cleared by the doctor to come and work yesterday, but she won’t be able to be here until the end of the week. We told Kenny we would much rather have her here and not James” Savannah shuddered as she said his name. Teagan didn’t know that he made everyone feel this uncomfortable.

“Who hired him?” She wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt because someone had thought he was a good fit. There must have been some sort of misunderstanding!“

“Netflix kinda threw him in since it was so last minute! He’s from Vancouver, so it made things easier” Savannah shrugged stopping in front of Charlie’s trailer. “Now go relax birthday queen, we’ll come get you in a few hours when we’ve wrapped and we can get ready at my apartment!”.

Teagan smiled and hugged her friend, entering the trailer shortly after. She was greeted with the familiar scent of pine and cologne, just like Charlie. His trailer was neat, save for the sweater or shirt tossed here or there, and his acoustic guitar propped up against the couch. She opened his fridge pleased to find it stocked with water bottles, knowing well that Charlie mostly drank from his blue hydro flask to reduce the amount of plastic in the environment. After grabbing a bottle, she headed to the couch of the trailer where she plopped down and grabbed his Nintendo switch. She played a couple rounds of Mario Kart, drinking water when she felt a sudden sleepiness descend her. Putting the switch away, she took off her shoes and clothes opting to wear Charlie’s orange hoodie and black sweats for her nap. Glancing at the clock, she realized she had about two hours before they would start wrapping up for the day and thought a little cat nap wouldn’t do any harm. Plus, Savannah knew where she would be in case she didn’t pick up her phone. With that Teagan drifted off to sleep on the couch.

Teagan didn’t expect to wake up on the floor of the trailer with both arms restrained to the leg of the desk. Confused for a moment, she found herself restrained like a hostage in a movie, her hands tied with heavy and thick rope and a cloth restraining her mouth. Looking around, she recognized she was still in Charlie’s trailer and thought this was a cruel joke that her friends were playing on her. To her horror, she realized it wasn’t a prank when she saw James shutting the blinds and locking the trailer. She took a deep breath to scream, but quickly stopped when James noticed that she was awake, unsheathing his pocket knife.

“You're so pretty” he whispered, drawing close so that he was inches away from her face. She watched tensely as his eyes scanned her face with this crazy look in his eyes. “If you scream I will hurt you” he whispered as he untied the cloth muffling her mouth. Teagan was too afraid to say anything as James started to laugh. “You did it James, you got a pretty one” he smacked his head twice dropping the knife by Teagan’s foot. As he paced the trailer muttering to himself, she tried to inch the knife slowly to her with her foot, but this caught her captor’s attention. “Oh no you don’t!” he lunged for the knife as Teagan tried to kick him away, her leg getting nicked in the scuffle.

“Help!” she cried, but was quickly muffled by one hand on her mouth, the other holding the knife pressed up against her throat.

“I told you not to scream!” he yelled at her. Teagan began to cry in fear as she realized the man was mentally unstable and out of control. “Now I don’t trust you!” he gagged her with the cloth that was previously muffling her pulling at her hair in the process. Teagan tensed as he pressed the knife back to her throat. “I’m serious. I will cut you if you scream” he threatened holding her jaw with his free hand, forcing her to look at him. As more tears began to fall from her eyes, he cooed and shushed her hoping that she would stop. “Stop being sad. You aren’t pretty when you’re sad. I can make you happy. Let’s do that!” she trembled as his face lit up as though he had come up with a brilliant idea. He suddenly stood up and smacked his head again, muttering to himself incoherently. Teagan had no idea what to do. If she made a ruckus someone might be able to hear her, but the man in front of her might act on his words. She winced as he bumped the leg that he nicked.

“Did I hurt you? Oh no... Dammit you’ve damaged the merchandise James... You made her ugly! No. no. I can fix it. I can fix it” Teagan watched as he cursed at himself, dropping down to her side, yanking off Charlie’s sweats. The cut wasn’t deep by any means, but it was there and about two inches in length. However, it left Teagan pant less on the floor of the trailer with James staring at her half naked form, hands shaking as he drew nearer to her. Teagan knew what was to come as she struggled against her restraints and he pinned her legs down, approaching parts of her body she only let Charlie touch or see. Tears started to flow freely from her eyes as she protested through her gag, shaking her head no and trying to yell for help. James didn’t care anymore that Teagan had become vocal again, as he was too focused on indulging his own fantasies. Teagan cried out desperately and squeezed her eyes shut, wishing for this whole thing to go away. A banging on the door interrupted both of their thoughts as they froze. James terrified that he had been caught and Teagan hopeful that someone had come to end this.

“Teags! It’s Owen, open up! You alright in there?”

Teagan realized this was her only chance to end this and she screamed the loudest Help she could despite being gagged. She was sure Owen wouldn’t be able to make out what she was saying, but the fact that it was a scream would have alerted him to something important. The banging on the door became steady and stronger as if he was trying to break the door down. They could hear him screaming for help and speaking to someone over the phone. Quickly a commotion began to gather outside the trailer and James paled.

“This is all your fault! You stupid bitch! I told you to be quiet” he slapped her hard across the face, a burning sensation residing in her cheek. “You were supposed to be quiet!” he slapped her again on the opposite cheek, but this caused the back of her head to hit the leg of the desk that restrained her hands. A ringing in Teagan’s ears overcame all of her senses and she couldn’t focus on anything else. She felt him roughly cut her restraints and drag her to a standing position, but she couldn’t stand. She felt dizzy and nauseous at the sudden motion as the ringing in her ears started to subside. James held the knife against her throat, his back to the wall waiting for people to break into the trailer.

With a final bang, security was able to bust the door open, two of them filing into the tiny trailer, Owen standing behind them. There was Teagan, a knife being held to her throat, a swollen cheek, her underwear discarded on the floor and the orange hoodie preserving whatever parts of her body that it could. She felt the knife press into her neck as James and the security officers yelled back and forth at one another. She could feel a sharp stinging sensation and warm liquid languidly make its way down her neck. The yelling intensified and so did the pain. Teagan could barely hear Owen’s attempts to comfort her and assure her over the noise. She couldn’t understand what was happening, but James’ body tensed and convulsed, pushing the knife slightly deeper into her for a moment and then collapsing to the floor. In a rush of motion and bodies, the two security officers rushed to James’ shocked body on the floor and Owen rushed to Teagan, quickly untying the pink hoodie that was a part of his costume to help cover her up.

“Teagan! Teagan look at me, are you alright?” Owen’s voice snapped her back to reality as his soft anxious blue eyes searched hers.

“...Owen?” his name came out as a tremble followed by a fresh stream of tears as she lunged into his chest. He caught her and held on to her just as tight as she held onto him. Owen’s heart broke as she held onto him for dear life. He picked her up, never letting her go and moving her out of the trailer as the security guards handled the rest. As Owen exited, the small crowd of castmates and crew that had gathered in the alley gasped at the sight of Owen and Teagan. Savannah rushed over to throw her jacket over her legs to help Owen’s pink hoodie, giving her soft rubs on her back as she sobbed into Owen’s chest.

“Teagan?! Teagan! Oh my god, what the fuck happened?!” Teagan’s face came out of hiding as she heard Charlie’s voice. Their eyes met as Charlie sprinted over to her, pushing people out of the way. Owen quickly handed Teagan to Charlie, both of them crying and Kenny arriving at the scene with Maddi. Sadness befell their faces at the scene, but Kenny quickly took charge and started dispersing the crowds, giving orders to others to help remedy the situation. Teagan sobbed uncontrollably in Charlie’s arms and he offered as much comfort and solace as he could. The paramedics soon arrived and Charlie had no choice but to hand her over to them, but he followed the paramedics to their van with Owen and Savannah in tow.

Along the way, Owen had explained how he had come to find her. It turns out that Owen wasn’t needed for the final shots of the day, so he went to find Teagan before changing. Savannah had mentioned that Teagan had gone to hangout in Charlie’s trailer, so naturally Owen made his way over. He didn’t expect the muffled sounds of desperate screams and cries to intensify as he neared Charlie’s trailer. He knew something was wrong, but the door was locked, and after confirming that she weren’t doing something else, he began to yell for help and try to break the door down. As one team of paramedics checked on Teagan, Kenny asked the other team to check on Owen as he used physical force to break the door down with the security team. Therefore, he wanted to make sure Owen didn’t hurt himself in the adrenaline of it all. The entire time Teagan sat on the stretcher and gurney, covered with a blanket, Charlie held onto her hand tightly. Her tears subsided but everyone could tell she was still shaken. The rest of the cast members who were still on set were escorted to their vehicles and told to return home for the day. Filming had to come to a halt until they were cleared to run again.

“Mrs. Valencia, I’m going to need you to confirm some details of your assault so we can properly attend to you” the female police officer spoke to Teagan with an apologetic looking female paramedic at her side. “Sir, we are going to have to ask you to let us speak to her privately”

Charlie kissed her forehead and went to let go of her hand, which Teagan protested.

“No please. He can stay. Please, I need him” her voice initially came out strong and desperate, but fell to a quiet whisper as she finished speaking. The police officer made eye contact with one another and then with Charlie, who returned closer to her side.

“Very well. Mrs. Valencia, did your assailant force any penetration on you?” the police officer got right to the point, staring deeply into Teagan’s eyes. Charlie tensed, preparing himself to hear the answer he didn’t want to hear. Teagan hesitantly shook her head no. “Did he force himself upon you that can be considered sexual assault” she bowed her head, ashamed of what she was admitting, and softly nodded. “I’m sorry Mrs. Valencia, I’m going to need you to tell me a little more than that” the police officer looked at her apologetically, knowing fully that this was a difficult conversation to have. “We need to have a verbal confirmation.”

“It was just his fingers. No kissing or anything more” Teagan whispered, her eyes filling with tears once more. The police officer thanked her and nodded to the paramedic who finished cleaning her cuts and bandaging them up. Charlie held her hand the entire time, rubbing soft circles on her back. After the paramedic was done, she gave the two of them a moment alone.

“I’m so sorry Charlie” Teagan whimpered, crying all over again. She bowed her head in shame and embarrassment, feeling hopeless and defeated.

“Teagan, look at me” and when she refused to lift her head, he placed a finger under her chin to lift it. Teagan looked at his eyes full of determination, anger and conviction. “Don’t you ever apologize for what happened to you.” his voice was stern, unwavering despite the emotions he felt inside. “None of this is your fault. Don’t think for a second that you are responsible in some way shape or form.” His eyes bore an intensity that Teagan only saw when something upset him, in which she couldn’t blame him.

“Do you still love me?” she tried to be strong as she spoke, but her tears got the best of her. Charlie’s eyes suddenly became soft, concerned and worried. She couldn’t bear to look at him as she felt that he may have been disappointed in her.

“Of course I do Teags. Nothing could ever change that.” her tears softly fell down her face as Charlie pulled her in for a tight hug, peppering her with kisses. “I’m so sorry Teags, you must have been so scared” he rubbed her back hoping to provide more comfort and assurance. “I’ll love you no matter what. This doesn’t change anything, Mrs. Gillespie” the last part of his comment made her chuckle through her tears and pull away to look at him. “I can’t promise you and say things are going to be the same from here on out, but I can promise you that I’m not leaving you. Ever.” He had hoped that his eyes conveyed his commitment to her and she confirmed this with a gentle kiss on his lips. Charlie was careful to kiss her back knowing that she was still in pain from the assault.

This was a hurdle that they were going to face together. Teagan knew deep down that this event had caused serious damage and she couldn’t quite come to terms with what happened. However, she knew that Charlie was going to be with her and oddly enough, that was all she needed right now.

#charlie gillespie #charlie gillespie x reader #charlie gillespie fanfiction #charlie gillespie imagines #fanfiction #imagine #TeaganValenciaSeries

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feminaexlux · 4 years

Text

Black Cats are Some Kind of Luck

Oh god this might just be a little bit of a crack fic but I had way too much fun writing this.

Rated M, probably? Iunno. LukaNoire!

∴

In most of the mornings Luka had in his life after toddlerhood he woke up alone in his bed. When Juleka was younger, maybe a toddler herself, she had dragged him out of his bed to hide under a blanket on the floor when she had nightmares. Anarka would find her babies in a tangled nest, since sleeping on the floor meant finding no monsters under the bed to very young imaginative minds.

This morning he woke up with… someone else snuggled next to him. Someone who looked a lot like Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

He hadn't gone to sleep that way. Pretty sure of that. He was and had been sober.

He had no idea what happened.

Gently he pried himself away from her, extricating himself carefully from her grasp. He took a quick look around his room and yep, this was his room in his flat that he shared with his best friend. His guitars were hung up against the walls, his music sheet paper was on his desk in random piles, his hoodie was thrown over his desk covering his laptop.

But it was Marinette. In his bed. Oh god, he thought, HOW was she here? Somewhere deep down inside of him he didn't find the idea of him waking up next to her unwelcome but… there was a natural progression to things. Sure, he'd been in love with her for years but she was Marinette Dupain-Cheng the up-and-coming fashion star and personal designer for Jagged Stone. He was just Luka. He hadn't ever given himself even the slimmest of chances when she was Marinette and she had her eyes on Adrien Agreste, the supermodel and son of Gabriel, who ran the most prominent design house in France. She was probably 2 standard deviations out of his league.

"Shit," he whispered to no one in particular. He checked himself over and double checked that he was sober and dressed (oh god we didn't… did we?). She was wearing her pajamas and it didn't look like they did anything so that wasn't going to cause an immediate meltdown. He should probably wake her up and… figure out what happened. He knelt by the edge of the bed and gently shook her by the shoulder. "Hey. Marinette?"

"Mnnng," she groaned, eyebrows furrowing as she frowned. She grabbed at his blankets and pulled them in toward her, then started opening her eyes. "Hi," she said, lazily smiling up at him. She must still have been waking up, but if she smiled like that to whoever she woke up next to he'd happily have them both go back to sleep just so they'd wake up together again.

"Do you know where you are?" He asked. Maybe there'd been an akuma attack and she got teleported here? He wasn't sure. "You're in my room. Do you remember how you got here?"

"Yeah," she yawned. "I cam--" Her eyes shot wide open mid-word and she slapped her hands over her mouth. "Th-there was an akuma!"

∴

Oh god, she almost said she came here on purpose, and not because she'd been high as a kite on whatever kitty hormones had coursed through her veins while she was Lady Noire.

Well, she couldn't blame it just on the kitty hormones. Regular hormones were bad enough. And if she was even more honest with herself she had wanted to wake up next to Luka Couffaine, the gentleman rocker, ever since she found herself thinking about blues more than greens, distressed more than clean and crisp, shy but warm laughter more than confused smiles.

So basically for a couple of years now.

She should have seen it coming. When she and Mister Bug decided to swap permanently she'd been informed by Plagg that should she choose it, she'd be able to tap into some latent powers with the side effect of being more like the animal the Miraculous represented. She didn't think it'd be a problem so she chose it. Cats just slept all the time. If she didn't have to worry about being Ladybug anymore she could afford more sleep, right?

What she didn't really account for (and she should have after a facepalm worthy moment where she realized Plagg had been teasing it all along) was the heat. Or whatever it was that made her way more… touch-oriented, and way less inhibited than usual.

She'd been alright with napping more often. She'd been alright about unconsciously licking her hands clean. It was convenient that she was the daughter of bakers and helped out making pastries. She was practically covered in flour and sugar all the time anyway (regardless, she always washed her hands after). She didn't have a tail to swish around whenever she was annoyed so nothing about her was more cat-like than usual. Though she was annoyed more often now that she thought about it.

The cat-ness also severely affected her sense of smell.

She wasn't alright with how good some people smelled, especially near her period. When she and Kagami were having a juice date Marinette legitimately drooled at how vibrantly citrusy the fencer was. Alya, Nino, and most of Kitty Section smelled pleasant. Her parents smelled… well, familiar, which was to be expected. Adrien also smelled familiar, which was unexpected.

Luka was the worst. She couldn't place the scent but she kept thinking of blueberries, sea salt, chocolate, ocean waves lapping at her feet, the warmth of a crackling bonfire with the cooling sea breeze, and how badly she wanted to curl herself around him and take in his everything. It wasn't just near her period. It was all the time.

It seemed like after the late-night/early-morning akuma attack she had nearly gone ahead and wrapped herself around him in her kitty hormone addled brain. God, he had smelled so good and her brain had still been fuzzy at the edges when he woke her up, but she had quickly gotten to her senses after he had looked a little panicked and she had noticed that she was detransformed.

She couldn't blame him for being panicked. If the situation was reversed she might have screamed and tossed him across the Seine.

"I'm… I'm so sorry, Luka," she said in her own panic. She looked off to the side and nervously played with the rose-gold ring on her right hand, wondering where Plagg had gone. She looked back at Luka when he blew out a relieved sigh.

"Hey, it was the akuma," he laughed. "You alright? Not hurt anywhere?"

"I'm alright, yeah," she answered, then suddenly frowned. Plagg, that little shit, what the hell was he doing? She found him laying on top of Luka's head, smiling a wide Cheshire cat smile.

"I don't know why the miraculous ladybugs didn't drop you off back home," Luka said, sounding like he was talking more to himself than to her. "Maybe it works differently for Mister Bug?"

Marinette could definitely fudge it and say that the Miraculous Ladybugs kinda… skipped her. "Haha, maybe I was too far from them?" Marinette forced a laugh.

Luka shrugged. "Still, I'm guessing you'd wanna go back home, right?"

Hmm, not really. And well, her ride back home was currently lounging in Luka's hair. She reached out a hand to try to catch Plagg but the kwami slipped out of her grasp. She ended up just… petting Luka. "Oh! S-sorry you had something in your hair," she said quickly, trying to cover up her embarrassment.

"Thanks?" He said, a deep blush rising up to his cheeks. He swept his hair back after Marinette reluctantly drew back her hand and for a long moment Marinette just stared. The younger Couffaines had a mild tendency to hide behind brightly colored bangs when they were feeling shy, but Luka had as much unconventional beauty packed in his features as Juleka did.

And Juleka could very well be a supermodel if she wanted.

"I'll give you a ride back on my bike. Is that alright?" He asked as his blush faded. He still looked a little nervous with his hand on the back of his neck.

"I'd love a ride," she said absently, another yawn overtaking her. Ugh, his bed was so warm and smelled so nice and she would most definitely like to ride him--ride with him, WITH him, WITH him. Yeah, she should go home now before she ruined everything.

At least, that had been the plan. They had gone down to the garage and chatted lightly after getting geared up one after the other, both more than thankful that Luka's roommate was dead asleep in the other room. The ride was smooth and relatively short so she hadn't been thinking about how she wanted to feel him under her the whole time, no, not at all. He parked nearby as her housing complex had like, no available spaces, and walked the block and a half to her apartment with her so she could get out of the borrowed gear without going barefoot in her pajamas.

As he was heading out with the spare gear over his arms, she stopped him. "Thanks for getting me home and… for everything. I'm… I'm glad I didn't end up anywhere else," Marinette said with a shy smile. She got up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek.

"No problem," he said slowly, mostly surprised with a blush creeping over his face. "See you later?"

She had a giant yawn escape her after she closed the door and started walking back to her bedroom. Plagg zipped out of her pajama pants pocket to float in front of her. "Yanno you kissed him on the mouth, right?" he snickered.

∴

Luka slowly leaned forward and rested his head against her door. Had she just kissed him? Had she just kissed him and he said "see you later" like a dumbass? He tried to stifle a groan and pressed his head harder into the door when the door swung open away from him with surprising speed. Three things worked against him as he tried to recover from stumbling forward: being caught off guard, his arms already carrying stuff that made him unbalanced, and gravity.

Good thing Marinette was there to break his fall. The bad thing was Marinette had some really amazing reflexes and honed self-defense skills because she guided his momentum into throwing him onto the floor, landing him on his back. She gasped, covering her mouth with her hands after realizing what she had done. "Oh my god! Luka are you okay?!"

"Don't know," he said, blinking up at the ceiling. He'd been dressed for the slide but definitely felt hit by a truck after she'd kissed him. "Probably," he said after a beat. "Was that an accident?"

"… Yeah, I don't usually throw you to the ground?" Marinette replied, confused.

"No, you kissed me."

She made a couple of noises that sounded like abortive starts at sentences. "I… guess I don't usually do that either," she ultimately sighed, pressing one delicate hand to her very red cheeks. She knelt down next to him and brushed his hair away from his eyes. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'll be okay if you kiss me again," he said, thinking he'd be able to get away with ha, just kidding if she wasn't into it but desperately hoping she would be. Something in her expression shifted and he almost felt his soul leave his body. He started propping himself up by his hands looking for the gear that got flung aside when he was pulled up the rest of the way to sitting by his jacket collar.

He got hit by another metaphorical truck. She pressed her lips to his, which was pretty great by itself but then it got more and intense and open and she unbuttoned his collar and zipped down his jacket. The temperature of the room instantly got stifling and he was sure part of his brain melted.

She pulled back a bit and they got a few breaths of air. He should have used that time to ask Can this be an every day thing but then she licked her lips and all coherent thoughts evaporated. He didn't notice that she successfully tugged his jacket off. Didn't feel it when he got pushed back down. Did notice when she sat on his lap and leaned forward to kiss him hard over and over again. He only heard the faintest buzz of his phone that had almost been drowned out by her tiny, breathy moans, and that had only sunk in and registered after she sat back up and growled at it.

She picked it up and nearly threw it against her couch except she caught a glimpse of something and said "Goddamn it."

It wasn't his finest moment. "Huh?"

"Akuma. Sorry, Luka!" She took his hands off of her ass and jumped up. Somehow she hauled him up to his feet and pushed him out the still opened door, pressing his jacket and phone into his hands. "I'll get the rest of the stuff to you later okay? I'm so sorry!"

"Wait. Hold on, what--" She cut him off by kissing him again, which was a surprisingly effective tactic.

"I'll meet you for lunch, but for now I gotta g--hide! Be safe! Sorry!" Then the door slammed shut.

The phone buzzed in his hand and he took a look at the notifications. They were all from his roommate, the bastard.

Just now Di © K: Hope ur ok where ever the fuck u r

One minute ago Di © K: Shit akuma

Two minutes ago Di © K: Oi whered u go

Three minutes ago Di © K: ? Di © K: Lulu Di © K: Heeeeey Di © K: Hey

… Didn't the whole thing with akumas mean he should have stayed indoors? With her?

He wasn't sure he could sit on his bike comfortably for the next little while anyway.

∴

Mister Bug swore almost every other akuma was some damned mind-control wizard. Of course it had to be one of those today, and of course today Lady Noire was especially pissed off so she was slightly more reckless than usual. Which was saying something, as Mister Bug had seen her go on a rampage not 8 hours ago and that had been one of the quickest akuma fights he'd ever seen. Seen and not participated in, as he'd been left nothing but cleanup.

Heatstroke or whatever had literally thrown the akumatized object at Lady Noire's feet after she had beaten and clawed the shit out of him. He was cowering in the relative security of a dumpster bin when Mister Bug found him.

She must have really loved her sleep. It'd been maybe 2am?

This latest akuma called herself the Directator. She'd been managing a movie set and of course something had gone wrong early in the day. So Hawky gave her the power to truly direct everything to her heart's desire or similar bullshit like that. Mister Bug and Lady Noire took maybe a few minutes to try to figure things out when Lady Noire skipped straight to the attack phase, beating Directator with the director's chair.

He should have noticed that she was ready to pounce when Lady Noire's ears were angled back and her electric green tail was whipping back and forth in a threatening fashion. She'd been way more actual-cat-like than he ever was as Chat Noir.

Directator panicked and commanded Lady Noire to 1) stop attacking her, 2) put the director's chair down gently, 3) be a nice kitty, 4) take off and go.

Mister Bug spent the next few minutes chasing after Lady Noire. When he finally caught up with her and stopped her, she put up her hands. He sighed with relief that she still wanted to work with him. He'd been relieved all up until she started slapping him with those hands and he fell back in surprise. She took off again.

It looked like she was heading in a particular direction so, after deciding to stay back a bit, Mister Bug trailed after her to see where she ended up. He didn't have to wait too long until she stopped running across the rooftops and dropped down to street level, where she seemed to chat up a dude in full riding gear next to a motorcycle. The next thing he saw was Lady Noire taking motorcycle guy by the waist and using her baton to propel them both to the roof of the tallest nearby building.

Maybe he should… do something about that? Especially since it seemed like Motorcycle Guy was screaming out a "what the fuuuuck".

Mister Bug went after them and found Motorcycle Guy sitting against the raised ledge of the building with Lady Noire curled up against him, sitting on his lap. Adrien coughed to hide and try to suppress his laughter. Motorcycle Guy raised his visor (oh hey, it was Luka) and asked "What's going on?"

Before Mister Bug could answer Lady Noire leapt up and stamped her foot in front of Adrien. "No! He's mine! Leave us alone!!" she hissed.

"I'm what?" Luka said incredulously.

Mister Bug backed up a few steps to placate her. "Yeah, okay," he chuckled. "You're being a nice kitty, right?"

She huffed and crossed her arms. "I'm always nice."

"You're right. So the nice kitty will let me talk to her friend for a minute, right? 'Cause you're such a nice Lady Noire?"

"Only a minute," she said unhappily. She was pouting.

"Great!" Mister Bug said cheerfully. He walked over to Luka and contemplated what to do on the way.

∴

(Just a bit earlier)

Where had Marinette disappeared to? Luka had knocked several times after she shut him out but she didn't answer. He pressed his ear against the door to see if he could hear anything but it was dead silent on the other side. She wouldn't have made out with him and thrown him out like this and ghosted him… would she? It didn't seem like a Marinette thing. Not that he was an expert in all things Marinette… one day he'd like to see if she'd let him become one though.

He had loitered around her place for probably 20 minutes trying to convince himself to not break in and find out what happened. He'd have to respect her privacy and he did, really, but the last akuma attack magically teleported her to his someone else's bed and his thoughts were slowly spiraling into dangerous territory, where he imagined her ending up in Adrien's bed and her realizing she had better people than Luka to roll around under the bedcovers with.

Be cool, man, he thought at himself. Not going to help anyone if he suffered a mental breakdown. There might be a non-zero chance that she ended up back at his place? Okay that seemed too optimistic but… he should probably let his flatmate know he was fine and that he was heading back anyway.

He walked out to his bike after putting his jacket back on and unlocked the rear seat off to get to his helmet. He'd been ready to get back on the bike and ride off when he heard more than saw someone plunk down next to him. He turned and Lady Noire was looking directly at him. "Hi Luka," she said. "I need you."

"For the akuma?" He asked. Maybe he needed to be Viperion again? "Okay?" She rushed in and threw him over her shoulder, then they were a hundred meters in the air. "What the fuck?!"

He got plopped down against the ledge of the building and then she sat curled up on him. It might have been his imagination but… she was purring? This was… not making any sense at all. Luka saw Mister Bug land on the roof and the spotted hero managed to get Lady Noire off of him for a minute.

Mister Bug walked over and sighed before talking with Luka. That was a bad sign. "I'm sorry to have to ask this, but could you… stay with her until I can deal with this akuma? I just needed to know she's safe and in one place."

"… What?"

"Mind control akuma. Lady Noire's been hit with some weird commands." Mister Bug paused and looked thoughtful. "Hmm, I don't know, actually. Seems like she's just doing whatever she wants to outside of being ordered to leave the scene."

"Can't you fix that? Or… maybe get me out of here?"

"It'll be fixed after I deal with the akuma. I don't know if you noticed but Kitty here has been pretty extreme recently. Might be safer for everyone, including both me and you, if she's here and not ordered to Cataclysm anyone or anything." Mister Bug dropped his voice to a whisper. "Never thought she'd be a loose cannon. She might just attack me again so I'm not going to tempt fate if she just wants to hang out with you." Mister Bug shrugged at Luka. "Hey, greater good and all that. I promise I'll fix this as soon as I can. Take care of her, alright?"

"Hey wait--" "Bug out!"

Mister Bug up and left them. Shit. Lady Noire came walking back and looked over the edge of the building to make sure Mister Bug was gone. She sat back down next to Luka. "Okay, good, it's just us!" she beamed, hugging him.

"Uh," Luka started uncomfortably. "Not… to try to make things any weirder, but… could you get off of me?"

She pulled back, looking hurt. "You don't like me?"

"I… don't know who you are. I mean as a person, not a superhero." Luka tried to say that gently enough to not set her off. "I might like you if I got to know you?" He backtracked, feeling unsure. "But I mean, I'm just not great with the touching. I'm… into someone and it feels wrong to have someone else be this close."

Her ears flattened out to the side. "Who's that?" she asked, half sad and half… bitter? He felt like he just waded into turbulent waters. He didn't want to throw anyone under the Lady Noire murder bus, least of all Marinette.

"I'll tell you if you stay here," he compromised, hoping that he didn't just sign any death warrants. "Besides, you know her already. She usually chases after you."

"Alya?!" Lady Noire was shocked.

"No, Marinette? She always runs out to--"

"But I'm Marinette."

"… You. You're Marinette? Marinette Du--"

"Dupain-Cheng, yeah. That's me."

Oh. "… I thought you weren't supposed to tell anyone who you were?"

She snorted. "I can do whatever I want!" She leaned in closer. "So does this mean I can touch you again?"

∴

It was just a few moments shy of Mister Bug letting the ladybugs set everything back to normal, so he ignored the notification on his yo-yo from Lady Noire. He checked it after and saw one line: "Taking Luka home now! ;)" Oh boy. Well, she should be relatively okay now. Luka would be fine.

Hopefully…

∴

Lady Noire started whining and that whine turned into a full blown scream in the middle of dropping from the roof, just as the Miraculous Cure worked its magic over her. Luckily she still landed softly enough while she held onto Luka, so it wasn't that she had lost control or anything. She immediately jumped away from him after setting him on his feet.

"Oh my god I am so, so, so, so sorry Luka," she cried, covering her entirely red face with her hands.

"Thank god you're back to normal," Luka sighed, leaning back against the building.

"Any chance you could forget all that?" Lady Noire asked nervously, dropping her hands back to fiddle with her baton. She looked like she wanted to leave Earth as soon as she possibly could.

All that included him taking his helmet off, her crawling back into his lap and grinding herself against him, her ripping apart his jacket and shirt (they were fixed now), peppering him with kisses and tiny bites everywhere, and doing all of this while she was Marinette Dupain-Cheng underneath it all. He did his best to keep up and reciprocate but she was superpowered. She barely let him breathe but he survived. And he'd enjoyed it. He had enjoyed the hell out of it. But at the same time he had gotten thoroughly overwhelmed.

He didn't want to forget all that, but… "I can if you want me to," he sighed. She'd been mind-controlled, after all. "It was all the akuma, right?" Too bad. "What… about earlier?"

She opened her mouth to reply but inhaled too quickly and started coughing. "Um, I…" She coughed again. "Er. Um…" She bit her lip and looked down, muttering something to herself.

∴

Goddamn it, Plagg. Plagg had mentally kicked her and the voice in her head said "Cat's already outta the bag, toots, you've been wanting to mount that guy for-e-ver. Don't you dare take it back." It startled her enough to cause her to choke on air.

"Um, I… Er. Um…" She kicked at the ground. She wanted this. She wanted this. No mind-influencing akuma had told her to kiss him, that had been completely her. "No, don't… don't forget anything. I wanted all that," she sighed. "It was all me."

He raised his helmet visor to get a better look at her. "Are you sure?"

She nodded and looked back up at him. "I'm sure. I… kinda want to continue, too?"

It sounded like he choked. "I… wouldn't mind that."

She glanced back at her apartment a few blocks away. "See you in a few?"

∴

(Some time later)

Luka hadn't completely gotten used to waking up with someone else in bed. He wasn't sure if he ever would, since every time he woke up next to Marinette it'd been nothing short of amazing and he'd felt like he was dreaming but no, she was actually there.

Occasionally he'd have to deal with waking up in the middle of the night because she'd leave for patrol, or had come back from it to snuggle back into his arms. It wasn't really a problem because they were together in the morning.

He didn't really miss waking up alone.

#lukanette endgame #luka couffaine #marinette dupain cheng #lady noire #mister bug #fxl fic #lukanette #endgame lukanette

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pettyprocrastination · 4 years

Text

Rip Out Our Seams and Stitch Us Together

Chapter One Word count: 1.9k Warnings: Uhhh brief talk of race, some language. Chapter summary: You’re a seamstress in dc, with a tiny but successful shop run by your and your spunky cashier. Today you get a visitor that is far out of your usual demographic.

tag list: @captainsamwlsn @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @readsalot73 @zeldasayer

(yes that’s a marilyn monroe pic she’s a major look for Valerie alright.)

Many believed that the eyes were the window to the soul, your father disagreed with that. He believed the truth of somebody's character was in their hands.

“Shows a lot about them, little bee.” your father showed his own hands to you, wrinkled and scarred with tiny nics from years of work as a tailor. You were nine at the time, just last week you had completed your first sundress! You spent your afternoons after school in the shop with your father, doing whatever he asked. “-If they're a hard worker or if they don’t do anything at all. These little fellas will show you just that.” He wiggled his fingers at you before poking at your stomach, causing you to burst into a fit of giggles.

Twenty five years later and his words still ring true. When you first meet somebody, you don’t look at their clothes, or their smile, or even their eyes. You look for their character in their hands.

So the moment the tiny bell rang at your shop door, your eyes were taken away from the pinned gown in front of you and towards the lithe fingers wrapped around the door handle.

Manicured nails painted a deep red, fingers daintily curled, skin unscarred and void of all blemishes. Absolutely perfect.

Who would expect any less of Maxwell Lord’s wife?

Your only other employee, Cassandra, a sweet sixteen year old girl you hired to watch the register and sweep floors, squeaked.

“Hello,” She lifted the sunglasses from her face and set them utop her blonde curls. Her eyes zeroed in on you with an analytical gaze. In comparison to her floor length fur coat and satin blouse, you suddenly felt flushed in your ripped trousers and patterned button up. “Are you the owner?” She put such infliction on each word you couldn’t tell if she was judging your store or the fact that you owned it.

Either way you felt like you were supposed to be offended.

“That I am.”

She slid her coat off, looking at your coat rack with a wrinkled nose before finally setting it on the hook. She walked around your store, taking in the little knick-knacks that lined the counter and the racks of clothing with a judgmental eye.

Her eyes flicked to Cassandra, who still stood behind the register with her jaw dropped open.

Mrs.Lord smiled and tapped the underside of her chin and she snapped her mouth shut.

“You made all of these yourself?” Her voice was smooth like silk, but had a sharp edge to it. You felt as if you were waiting to embarrass yourself in front of her. She took a white sundress into her hands, feeling the fabric between her fingers.

“Most of them.” You answered. She froze and raised a sculpted brow.

“Most?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Some of these are thrift store finds, just altered and restyled.” Her ruby lips bent into a frown, glaring at the dress she held with disappointment.

“That one is an original though.”

She stared at the dress for a moment, face scrunched up in thought before she regained her cool composure and tossed it to you over her shoulder, which landed on your face. “Be a dear and hold that for me, would you?”

You didn’t get a chance to answer. By the time you lifted the lace that obscure your vision, she was already looking at another dress. You followed behind her.

Why the hell not? You thought to yourself as she handed you a satin blouse. You didn’t have any other customers at the moment, and you aren't being met with for a design consultation for another three hours.

Besides, how often is it that Valerie fucking Lord walks into your store like a frequent customer?

She continued to walk around your store, red heels echoing throughout as she stopped at certain dresses and tops (mostly those of silk or lace) to admire them, before either adding them to the growing pile in your arms, or setting them back on the rack with a sour look. The entire time she did, you wondered what it was that drew in her to your tiny shop.

The woman before you had been a big deal since she was born. Before she was Valerie Lord, she was Valerie Ackkerman. Her father had been a Hollywood director in the fifties who married an up and coming actress hot to the scene. The couple dominated the big screen and became a loved pair to America, that is until her mother got a baby bump, got demoted to supporting roles for the rest of her career, and her father continued to go on and make films many to this day still consider iconic.

You considered most of them to be a racist and misogynist, but you suppose they were simply a product of their time.

And a shitty director.

Valerie Ackkerman became Dr.Ackkerman, psychiatrist with multiple books surrounding a vast majority of subjects that can affect one’s mental state. Such as greed, fame, and the lack of proper paternal figures to shape your childhood.

Which made her choice in marriage all the more ironic.

Maxwell Lord the fourth was a man as American as apple pie and the corporate greed that came as a table side. He’d taken over his father’s company at the ripe age of sixteen at his passing, having been groomed for the position since he was a child.

Maxwell Lord was known as a ruthless tycoon, a tech mogul who will smile wide in his commercials before making a grown man cry in his boardroom. His wife was just as feared as him and seeing her before you now, you perfectly understood why. She was prettier than sin itself and just as rich. Which begged the question…

Why in God’s name was she in your shop?

“How long have you been sewing?” A floor length skirt with a slit up the leg was tossed in your arms.

“Since I can remember.” Her fingers ghosted along the hangers before plucking a pink slip dress off the rack and holding it up against her body. “My father was a tailor. He taught me everything he knew.” She turned to the mirror on the other side of the room and looked at her reflection while smoothing out the fabric of the dress. “When he passed away I took over the shop, but I basically ran it already.”

She chuckled, shaking her head as if your father's death had tickled her so. “Sounds like somebody I know.” Mrs. Lord turned to you, the dress pressed against her body. “Thoughts?”

Your eyes roamed over her body as you tried to form sentences, but nothing came out in fear of saying the wrong thing in front of a woman so powerful, she could burn your shop to the ground with a single call to her husband.

Beautiful. You wanted to say. And terrifying.

“It suits you.”

She turned back to the mirror, her eyes focused on your reflection instead of her own. She tilted her head to the side and hummed. You felt like you were on display, being examined, picked apart and analyzed by the prettiest blue eyes you've ever seen in your life.

“I know.”

When she walked past you to the register and you got a waft of her perfume, something sharp and citrusy, most likely belonging to a brand you wouldn’t dream of wearing.

Cassandra rang her up in silence, nervously looking up from each item to the woman standing in front of her. Her hands trembled so bad you could see the fabric shake when she picked them up.

You would have taken over for her, but you were trying to ignore the burning sensation in your face at her judgmental gaze. You’d seen it all before, from women like her. Rich, white, beautiful, and privileged as all hell. You knew the way her eyes scanned your clothes, critiquing your curls, the cut of your jeans and the pattern of your button up that lay partially open against your chest.

You wish you could say you were sick of it. But mostly? You just didn’t give a shit.

Cassandra’s shaking hands dropped the bag into the floor before it reached Valarie’s, she looked about ready to cry before you stepped in.

“Oh god I’m so-”

“It’s fine Cassie.” Her red lips snapped shut at your interjection and blase tone.

You swiped the plastic bag and held it out to the woman with a neutral face.“Eighty-nine fifty.” You told her. She looked at you as if you had grown a second head.

She must not be used to being treated like something other than royalty.

But that look was replaced by a coy smile. She took the plastic bag full of clothes from your hands and handed you a thick wad of cash that was well over the amount she owed. Red, manicured nails trailing down your palm as she did.

You suppressed a shudder.

“You know-” She took the lace sundress out of her bag, thumb trailing along the seam. “-Your work is on par with some of the brands I wear.” You weren’t sure why the sight of her stroking something you made felt so damn intimate, but you felt like you needed to look away as if you were interrupting something.“-Maybe even better than them.”

Christ, you needed to get out more.

“Well yeah.” You shrugged matter of factly and crossed your arms. “That’s because I’m driven by artist integrity. Not making some shoddy dress and slapping a fancy brand on it, in hopes that some trust fund baby will wear it to her next yacht party.”

The moment those words left your lips you realized you had said them to the wealthiest customer you ever had.

Who laughed.

Cassandra went pale as a sheet while you spoke, looking between you and the woman worth more than your entire store like she expected an explosion.

Mrs. Lord smiled at you. “We’ll you're right about that. I have to agree.” Her hands ran down the side of the dress and stopped when she felt a fold in the white fabric. “Are these-”

“Pockets?” You grinned, like it was your greatest achievement. Honestly? It kind of was. “Sure are. Decently sized ones too, can fit your whole hand in and everything.” To prove your point, the heiress stuck her entire hand into the pocket and wiggled it with a laugh.

“There’s still more room in it!” She sounded so in awe and excited, it reminded you of a child on Christmas.

Her joy was infectious.

“Every dress I make has pockets, it’s sort of like my signature.”

“Every dress?”

You drew an X over your heart. “Stitches guarantee.”

Mrs. Lord grinned. “You're certainly one of a kind miss...”

You told her your name, and she repeated it back. The way she said it made it sound like the brand name of a thousand dollar purse.

“But you can call me stitches.” You said simply. “Everybody does.”

Cassandra looked at you with wide eyes, shocked that you went from accidentally insulting her to being chummy enough to share the silly nickname you got from customers.

“Do they now?” She walked to the coat rack and slipped her jacket on. “Well tell me this, Stitches-” Mrs.Lord took the glasses off the top of her head and slid them over her eyes. “Do you do commission work?”

You blinked for a moment. “Well I do, but-”

She squealed and clapped her hands. “Oh perfect! We’ll be in touch then.”

“Wait-” You faltered, trying to run from behind the counter after her, but all you succeeded in doing was banging your hip against the corner. “Fuck! Who’s we?”

“Oh don’t you worry about that.” She opened the door and looked over her shoulder. “One more thing though, do you make suits as well?”

A/n:SHE’S HERE BABY WOOOOO. Iv’e been talking headcanons with @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa for like a week and a half now about this bad boy and im so excited to get the ball rolling! I love max and i love poly ships so HERE WE ARE Valerie lord owns my ass yall. Anyways please don’t feel shy to send me messages about these babes, asks, critiques or just come say hello! Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list, i hope you all have a good and safe day <3

#maxwell lord #maxwell lord x reader #Maxwell Lord x Valarie Lord x reader #ww1984 #Pedro Pascal #x reader #imagine #ROOSASUT #Stitches

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hopelikethemoon · 4 years

Text

The Shop (Javier x Reader) {MTMF} [smut]

Title: The Shop Rating: Explicit Length: 3000 Warnings: Smut (Discussion of sex toys and other sex-related topics, and a heavy dose of smooching and rough sex) Notes: You can find the Maybe Today, Maybe Forever Timeline here. Set December 1997. Starts with Javier POV and shifts to Reader’s. Two-part two adventure. Summary: Javier returns to the shop.

Taglist: @grapemama @seawhisperer @huliabitch @pedropascalito @rogrsnbarnes @thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow @hiscyarika @plexflexico @readsalot73 @hdlynn @lokiaddicted @randomness501 @fioccodineveautunnale @roxypeanut @just-add-butter @snivellusim @amarvelousmandalorian @lukesrighthand @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @exrebelshocktrooper @awesomefandomsunited @ah-callie @swhiskeys @lady-tano @beskar-droids @space-floozy @cable-kenobi @longitud-de-onda @cool-ultra-nerd @himbopoes @findhimfives @pedrosdoll @seeking-a-great--perhaps @frietiemeloen @arrowswithwifi @random066 @uncomicalhumour @heather-lynn @domino-oh-damn @cyarikaaa @ahopelessromanticwritersworld (if I forget to tag you, I’m sorry)

Javier tapped his thumb against the steering wheel as he stared across the street at the shop. He felt like he was sitting on a stakeout, sitting there waiting for someone to come out. But in reality, he was waiting to get the courage to go inside. It hadn’t been so bad when he went in with her. No. It had been fucking nervewracking.

What if one of his students saw him going into a sex shop? How would he ever live that down?

Christmas was right around the corner and he wanted to get something new. And considering what came from the last trip to the sex shop — he had a good feeling about this venture. And this time he wanted more of the focus to be on her. Sure, she was an active participant in the… pegging, but he wanted to do something for her.

And that was the only reason he managed to get himself out of the car and into the shop. For her.

“Good afternoon sir!” Rocky said cheerily from behind the counter. “How can I help you tod—” He clasped his hands together. “Welcome back! Satisfied with your previous purchase?”

Javier swallowed thickly, shoving his hands into his jacket pocket. “You could say that.” He cleared his throat, looking away nervously. “I’m looking for something for her this time.”

“I see.” He nodded, pursing his lips thoughtfully. “What are you thinking of?”

Javier glanced towards the door. He could still run.

“I don’t know.” He admitted with a shrug. “Outside of her, um… vibrator, we haven’t really explored much with.” Javier gestured towards the aisles of toys.

Rocky crossed his arms across his chest, canting his head to the side as he regarded Javier. “You’re very uncomfortable with all of this, aren’t you?”

“You could tell?” Javier cracked a faint smile, nodding his head slowly. “Our last purchase was our first real exploring outside of the ‘norm’.”

“There are no norms. It’s about what you’re comfortable with.” Rocky explained, “I don’t want to assume anything about your relationship, but neither of you struck me as the vanilla type.”

Javier scratched at the back of his neck, “You could say that, I guess.”

“Come with me,” Rocky waved his hand, urging Javier to follow him down one of the aisles. Javier glanced at the shelves, feeling somewhat scandalized by what he saw. He never had a problem going into brothels in Colombia — but there was something about being in a sex shop that made him want to crawl into a hole and die.

It was probably that Texas upbringing, like she’d teased.

“And roleplay is entirely out?” Rocky questioned, nodding his head towards a display of costumes that were clearly designed for sex.

“Yeah.” Javier nodded. “Not really our thing.”

“Then I really think toys are going to be your best bet,” He stopped walking, gesturing towards the shelf.

What the hell was he doing there?

Javier had stared down the barrel of guns, but there was something truly unsettling about staring at a display of neon on colored dildos styled to look like cocks. Shit, he couldn’t wait to tell her about this. If he didn’t go with something, she wasn’t going to believe he’d actually gone by himself.

“Personally, I’m not really looking for something to uh,” He gestured to a toy that seemed obscenely large. “Compete with.”

“Understood.” Rocky nodded, looking back at the display then. “Have the two of explored a little rear entry?”

“You gotta say it like that?” Javier huffed, his hands going to his hips. “Yeah. We’ve been doing it for years.” He shrugged. “Why?”

“You could always spice things up,” Rocky pointed to one of the toys that was advertised as a Booty Rocket.

“Jesus Christ.” Javier swore under his breath, rocking from his heels to the balls of his feet. “What did I say about not wanting to compete.”

“Oh, no! No.” He shook his head, “This has the potential to be quite fun for both of you.” He picked up the book and showed it to Javier. “You insert this into—”

“Yep.” Javier cut him off.

“I have heard from many satisfied couples who have used this, or one of the similar toys, in tandem with regular intercourse. I understand the vibrations are quite pleasurable for both participants.”

Javier blinked slowly, his jaw dropping a little as he realized what Rocky was saying. Oh. “I see. Well, you didn’t lead us astray last time.”

Rocky grinned. “You would not believe how many couples I have helped. I call it a gift.”

“Yeah, alright.” Javier clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Wrap it up like one.” He hesitated, “And thank you.”

“It’s no problem at all.” Rocky assured him as he headed back towards the counter. Javier lingered for a second, his eyes wandering over the display warily with a shake of his head. Things certainly hadn’t been dull since she stepped into his life.

————

“It’s not Christmas yet,” You remarked as you spotted a neatly wrapped box sitting at the foot of the bed. “Javi, what’s this?”

“You’ve got to open it.” Javier smirked as he shut the bedroom door behind him. “Otherwise you’re not going to believe where I was today.”

“Where were you today?” You questioned, shaking the box curiously. It wasn’t like you didn’t already know what he’d gotten you for Christmas. You had been there when he’d picked the bracelet out at the jewelry store.

That was going to be the closet you ever got to letting a man pick out a piece of jewelry for you. As it was, the jeweler had been so coy with his remarks about, “Wouldn’t you rather pick out a sparkling diamond ring?” No, you just wanted the platinum bracelet that matched Javier’s ring. And you wanted your daughters’ birthdays engraved into it.

But that wasn’t this. That gift was already wrapped and under the Christmas tree, alongside the fountain pen Javier had been dying for. Mostly because Connie had gotten Steve a similar one for his birthday a few months back.

Javier joined you at the foot of the bed, looking far too pleased with himself for it to be any normal type of gift. You gave him a curious look before you started to peel the paper off.

“Oh my God.” You laughed as you read the name on the box. “Are you serious, Javier?”

“Serious as a heart attack.” Javier retorted. “You would’ve been proud of me.”

You cupped his cheek, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips. “I’m always proud of you, but holy shit.” You laughed again, tearing off the rest of the paper and tossing it on the floor. “This is probably the last thing I would’ve expected from you, Javi.”

Javier shrugged, “I even had a whole conversation with Rocky.”

“And you didn’t die? The earth didn’t swallow you whole?” You pinched his side.

“Ow! What the fuck?” He rubbed at the spot.

“Just checking to see if you’re corporeal.”

“Fuck off.” He rolled his eyes, before gesturing to the toy. “Do you like it?”

You looked back down at the product. “Aside from the name — Booty Rocket, really? — I like it.” Your eyes wandered over the back of the packaging. “Ten speeds? Seven is enough to kill me with my vibe.” You laughed, shaking your head.

“Rocky seemed to think it would be something we’d both enjoy.” Javier nervously cleared his throat. “He suggested that it could be used during… regular sex.”

Your brows shot upwards, “Wait, so you and the toy?” You looked back down at the neon purple rocket in your hands, before looking back at Javier. “I am very into that idea.”

“Really?” He honestly seemed relieved. “After… what we explored, I wanted to try something that was more about you, baby.” Javier pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, giving you a look.

You leaned in and kissed him again, letting your lips linger against his. “That sounds like heaven to me.” You whispered, sitting the toy aside on the bed as you slid your fingers through his hair. “I can’t believe you went in there alone, Javi.” You actually giggled against his lips.

“I nearly left.” He admitted, snaking his arm around your waist and pulling you closer. “But I knew if I came home empty-handed, you wouldn’t have believed me.”

You bumped your nose against his, “You’re not wrong.” You never would’ve pictured Javier going into that shop again — with or without you. He had been so painfully uncomfortable the first time, you were certain he was not going to go for anything inside. You had been pleasantly surprised, twice now.

“I figured.” Javier ran his hand up your back. “Do you really like it, baby?”

“I love it.” You promised him. “And I love that you went back there.”

He shrugged, “I only went for you.”

“Really?”

Javier nodded. “I wanted to get something where the focus was on you.”

You bit down on your bottom lip, “You’re sweet.”

“Don’t let anyone know.” He teased, resting his hand on your knee and giving it a squeeze.

“I think it might already be out.” You laughed, scooting back on the bed. “Come here.” You nudged at his back with your foot as you sank back against the pillows. He smirked at him as you met his gaze.

Javier moved up the bed towards you until he was hovering above you. “You think that secret’s out?”

You nodded, running your fingers over his forearms as he pressed his palms into the mattress at your shoulders. “Mhm.” You hummed as you trailed your foot up the back of his leg. “You kiss too many boo-boos to be anything other than sweet, Javi.” You reminded him as you combed your fingers through his hair.

Javier dipped down to kiss you, nipping at your bottom lip before he pulled back to meet your gaze. He brushed his knuckles against your cheek, “What can I say? I love my girls.”

“And we love you.” You whispered, trailing your fingers down the back of his neck before stroking them over the column of his throat. “I can’t tell what I enjoy more…” You pursed your lips thoughtfully as you looked up at him. “When you punch someone for talking shit about us or when you’ve let Josie put bows in your hair.”

“Still thinking about Laredo?” He questioned as you brushed your thumb over his Adam’s apple.

You bit down on your bottom lip, nodding your head. “I’m still thinking about when you decked Chris too.” You admitted as your foot skimming over the back of his leg again, before your leg wrapped around his hip. “You get this fiery look in your eyes.” You told him, “It’s hot.”

Javier chuckled, tracing his thumb over your bottom lip. “You like that, huh?” He questioned, leaning down to kiss you. His tongue slid over your bottom lip, before he caught it between his teeth with just enough pressure to make you hiss. “You like it when I’m rough. Don’t you baby?”

“Yes.” You breathed out, fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt as you arched up against him. “I love it.”

He pressed a line of kisses along your jaw, trailing his mouth down your throat, his tongue darting out against your skin. He shifted above you, letting more of his weight press you into the mattress and you relished the closeness.

You grabbed at the back of his t-shirt, trying to drag it up his back. Fingers greedy for the bare skin that was revealed. A soft moaned escaped you as he nipped at your earlobe, his breath hot against your ear. “Javi.”

Javier rolled his hips forward, the fabric of his jeans rough against your bare thighs where your sleep shorts had road upwards. His gaze flickered in the direction of his recent purchase. “Do you—“

“No.” You shook your head, leaning up to kiss him. “I just want you.”

Need burned straight through you as his tongue slipped past your lips, sweeping against your own as he kissed you. His hand moved to grap at your hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh there. The kiss broke only long enough for you to peel his shirt over his head, before discarding it over the side of the bed.

His mouth claimed yours again, your fingers curling around the back of his neck as he rocked into you. You could feel his cock straining against the front of his jeans, the hard length of his cock grinding against the thin fabric of your shorts and underwear. But it wasn’t enough. You wanted more.

You tugged at his hair, pulling him back as you drew in ragged breaths. “Are you going to tease me or are you going to fuck me, Javier?” You questioned, baiting him into action.

Javier caught your jaw roughly, even as his thumb soothed over your cheek. “Roll over.” He ordered you, before he released his hold on you and sat back on his knees.

You looked up at him with a smirk, “Make me.”

“Now.” He drawled out as he jerked his belt from its belt loops, tossing it aside.

“No.” You pressed your shoulders back against the mattress and arched your back, your eyes flickering downwards as you watched him unzip his jeans.

“You’re really pushing your luck tonight, baby.” Javier said lowly as he grabbed your leg, running his hand up your thigh as he leaned forward again. His mouth slanting against yours far too briefly before he pulled back, “Roll over. Now.”

You huffed, shoving at his chest to give yourself room to move as you submitted to his request. His lips moved to the crook of your neck and you couldn’t help but smile, reaching back to rake your fingers through his hair. “You don’t have to go easy on me, babe.” You reminded him.

His fingers curled loosely around your throat, his lips close to your ear. “Who said anything about easy?” Javier questioned, his fingers splaying out against your throat. “On your knees.”

You complied, fueled by the way he tightened his grip on your throat when you hesitated. Javier tugged your shorts and underwear down your ass, leaving them bunched around your thighs as he moved above you. “Fuck.” You hissed out as you felt his cock brush against your skin.

“Is that what you wanted, baby?” He whispered against the shell of your ear as he slid the head of his cock between your slick folds, teasing you. “I wanna hear you say it.”

A moan rose up in the back of your throat, “Yes.”

Javier sat back on his knees, curling his arm around the middle for support as he kept his fingers wrapped around your throat, guiding you back against his chest. “You’re so fucking wet, baby.” He drawled out, dragging his cock over your sensitive flesh. “Is this all for me?�� He questioned, catching your earlobe and biting down gently as he pressed into you.

“Javi.” You hissed as the angle had his cock hitting all the right spots within you. You reached behind you and curled your fingers around the back of his neck. There was something you had always loved about this — half-dressed and desperate for each other.

He pressed a tender kiss to the curve of your neck, his breath dancing over your skin as he exhaled. “You feel so fucking good, baby.” Javier said as he rolled his hips, his cock barely slipping from you before he was driving into you again.

Javier released his hold on your throat, his hand sliding down over your breasts through your shirt, before his hands grasped at your hips. He held you steady as he moved, fingers digging into the soft flesh there.

You reached downwards, seeking out that little bundle of nerves between your thighs. “Harder.” You urged him as you circled your clit, your inner walls already fluttering as you felt your release starting to build.

You were going to be bruised tomorrow and you were going to love every moment of it. It was winter and sweaters and trousers could hide a variety of sins. “Javi.” You gasped as he kept driving into that sweet spot. Again and again.

“Come for me, baby.” Javier urged. There was something about the tone of his voice that went straight through you, stoking the flames in your veins. You arched back against his chest, crying out softly as your orgasm took hold. His hand replaced yours between your thighs, stroking his thumb over your clit as he slammed into you.

Your body clenched around him, milking his own release from him. He stiffened, breathing heavily against your shoulder before he started rocking his hips, his pace uneven as he spilled out within you.

Javier sat back on his legs, pulling you down onto his lap. His cock still buried within you. You sank against him, your still-clothed back pressed against his bare chest. “Holy shi— Fuck.” He muttered, rubbing lazy patterns over the tops of your thighs.

“Ditto.” You breathed out with a quiet laugh, reaching behind you to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I love you.”

He slid his hands over your waist, pressing a line of kisses over your clothed shoulder. “I love you too.” Javier muttered, “Never cease to amaze me.”

“That’s just the sex talking,” You teased, shifting in his lap. “Let’s try it this weekend.”

“Hmm?”

“Your gift.” You reminded him, tilting your head to look back at him. “Did you forget?” You questioned, brushing your fingers over his cheek as you turned enough to press a kiss to his lips.

Javier rubbed his hand over your hip, “I might’ve been distracted.” He mumbled as he nuzzled at your neck. “Sounds like the weekend is gonna be fun,” He said as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

“It always is.” You laughed softly as you sank back against him.

#javier pena #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal x reader

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samanthaxreed · 3 years

Text

SOLO THREAD

Locale: Sam’s apartment / Oceanside Cemetery

Mentioned: @fireinhislungs, @gracetaylorwilliams, @jessexmarino, @naomixjones

Dinner with her father went off with only a few conversational lulls, far less awkward than anticipated and yet not completely fluid. Like two people rowing a canoe at different speeds, both attempting to turn it in the same direction without being fully in sync. It would come with time Sam supposed and as she began cleaning dishes, bright hues caught sight of her father throwing a cursory examination of the window latches before shifting attention to the folded sweater on her couch. “Are you holding that for somebody?”

It took everything in her not to snort. “Real subtle... It doesn’t belong to some secret lover if that’s what you’re getting at.”

His chagrin at being caught was palpable enough to soften Sam’s raised brow, almost lingering on the edge of amused before he continued. “I worry about you living in this place alone, Samantha. No roommate, no boyfriend, or... girlfriend?” The blonde visibly winced then, hands resuming the task at hand to avoid discussing something so personal with a person she truly didn’t know well at all. Her father, still a near stranger. “Look, take it from me that too much alone time drives you a little nuts and it’s probably safer in numbers around here.”

The audacity to gently lecture as if his brand of advice mattered in the grand scheme when he never deemed it necessary until now. A measured swallow and breath came before she pivoted features to address him in a way that wouldn’t entirely nuke their still rather tepid relationship. The pair lingered a hair away from disaster and the only indication she managed to give was a firm warning. “Dad, I know what you’re trying to say, but I can take care of myself. I’m doing just fine and you’re forgetting that I literally lived here at one point.” With him and her mother, ironically enough. Apparently Oceanside had been worth settling in during her formative years, but once she could choose for herself it no longer suited the narrative.

“You always did have your mother’s stubbornness.” That, at least, managed to ring true and she might have been able to ignore that comment with a scoff or quick humor picked up from his side, but her father always prodded the right button. “I’m trying to keep you safe, okay?” Definitely a hothead like her abrasive mother because the knife she’d been wiping down tightened within Sam’s slender grasp. Hell of a time to start giving a shit, but she digressed. “Because Oceanside isn’t how you remember it and ignoring that fact’s gonna get you hurt if you don’t pay attention... I understand if it brings you comfort being here, but it’s not the same.”

The sharp utensil she had been cleaning finally clattered against metal as it hit the base of her sink, dropped in frustration because it wasn’t his business. None of it. He surrendered that right when the ink dried on her custody papers; parental claim relinquished unequivocally. “I’m not blind. I can fucking see that it’s worse and I’m not walking around the city with rose colored glasses.” Quite the opposite, suffocating every blossom of nostalgia before it could spring out of the dirt... Or ash, depending upon how one looked at it. “The whole me getting poisoned thing shot that down right out of the gate, but I’m not just–– I’m not giving up on this and lots of people I care about live here.” She swallowed against the vulnerability, choking it down like a bad tequila shot. “Which means there’s something worth sticking around for, so if you’re trying to talk me out of it then go ahead and call up Fletcher. Let him tell you how well that worked out the last time somebody tried.”

“Take it easy,” he cautioned with infuriating ease against her rising temper. “I’m only trying to look out for your best interest. If something happened to you, I wouldn’t forgive myself.” The chuckle she gave in response lacked both humor and warmth, practically bewildered at his entire savior complex... And bitter, so unfathomably jaded at this ill conceived timing. Too little, too late. “Yeah, well, you’ve been asleep on the job for twenty-eight years so it’s convenient that you woke up to do it now.”

That must have cut deep because her father maneuvered out of the kitchen doorway, hands raised defensively as if she were still holding the knife. It sort of felt like that, but her tongue became the barb instead. Stabbing repeatedly when he hardly deserved it, angered more at unseen and unresolved forces. “I know I wasn’t always as involved as I could have been, but I did raise you––”

“You didn’t raise me, you avoided me because it was easier to spend time at the casino than come home to the life you picked out. And before you start accusing me of favoritism, Mom didn’t do shit either. You want to talk about romanticizing the past? Take a look in the fucking mirror.” Fists clenched against her side were blanched white at the knuckles, three decades of resentment spilling out in verbal blows that Sam knew she couldn’t take back. Nor did she want to, not tonight. “The Williams raised me. And when they were gone, I raised myself and I did a damn good job at it.”

Some part of her would regret this moment later when his features came to mind, the shame and clear heartbreak written across them undeniable. “I didn’t realize that’s how you felt.” They had backed up fully into her living room, or perhaps she simply cornered her father with truthful criticisms when he’d only wanted to help. So much for repairing their relationship. “Yeah, well... I ruined your lives so I guess it’s only fitting that you ruined mine.” Arms crossed protectively over her middle, both avoiding one another’s gaze out of mutual hurt and then she heard the door unlock.

“I wish you hadn’t come back here, Samantha.”

While sounding bad on the surface, she knew full well it was meant as a last olive branch and proof that he loved her despite the vitriol, but Sam’s throat had tightened too far to respond. He slipped out into the evening air and despite how she wished to move, or scream, or burst into a thousand shards to match her internal schism, both feet remained firmly planted for several minutes.

Then she darted across to her purse, snatching it up along with the sweater draped along the back of her sofa. No phone, she didn’t need to talk anymore. At least no one listed in there.

–––––

One bottle of some cheap rosé from the grocery store later and she was back on the road, navigating some vaguely familiar route down the coast. GPS wound up becoming necessary at some point much to her embarrassment, but twelve years away wasn’t nothing and darkness made fools of everyone. Her car pulled into the cemetery parking lot and for a minute she simply sat with the engine idled, replaying pieces of their conversation in her mind. Not just with her father, but Fletcher, Grace, Jesse, Naomi... People who existed in her former life that now began slotting into this new, convoluted one.

The gate’s lock was either open already or rusted by the sea air, but it hardly mattered because Sam entered without much barrier. Weaving through headstones, she discovered that the path to her destination sprouted from memory which was altered by nighttime shadows and the fickle mistress of time. After getting turned around once, she eventually made it and settled into a small plot of grass, unscrewing the lid of her bottle and toasting in mock cheers to her company.

In Loving Memory of Brooke Williams

The sight alone was enough to tighten something imperceptible within her chest, washed away by the peachy drink and a half-hearted joke. “Sorry for sitting on you, but that should be nothing new. Kick me off if you hate it.” Talking to a ghost as if the long deceased girl were able to hear felt stupid on about three hundred levels, but Sam hadn’t been granted the privilege of catching up for so long. And after arguing with her parent, she just needed her best friend and other half.

“I think that maybe... everything in my life is temporary now,” she admitted to the silence. “And sometimes I can even convince myself that I’m okay with it. Never attaching myself to anybody or anything.” Mostly through her own design, sabotaging any concept of permanence before it, too, could be ripped away without warning. A self preservation measure concocted when she was far too young; no kid should delve so far into their own fear that they only knew how to run. “Except here. I feel like I keep circling back to this place and these people... And you. Always you.” For someone who only an hour previous claimed to raise herself, she truly did an immaculate job at creating an adult who wound up successful, capable, and so unbearably alone.

Maybe she should have called Fletcher instead, the thought interjected itself and became quickly dismissed. Hadn’t enough trouble been thrust upon his shoulders? And Grace’s? Stripped of their entire family in the course of a single night, tossed into a system which spat them back out, and molded to fit a world that clearly didn’t give a shit. The last thing either one needed was a reminder walking back through their door, but she had with such unfathomable selfishness. Perhaps guilt brewed in the pit of her stomach over how she treated her father tonight or that continuous fear of making the wrong move, but uncertainty brought the rim to parted lips once more.

“I’m not sure what I’m doing anymore, B.” It was easier to draw honesty from her bones out here, less like pulling water from a stone with only a bottle and the faint ocean breeze answering back. Rather than eerie or unsettling, the dim light provided a quiet comfort of remaining unseen in the midst of such raw admittance. “I don’t think I belong in this city like I used to, but I’m scared––” There was that thickness in the far reaches of her throat again. “I’m afraid that if I don’t belong in Oceanside then I don’t really belong anywhere. So what the hell do I do?”

She had belonged once, in a flickering memory of happiness that remained pure despite life’s valiant attempts to extinguish it. Friendship bracelets with her name misspelled on accident. Brooke telling Fletcher he could only join their pillow fort if he killed the spider inside. Grace’s laughter from beneath the hood of an old car as she threw a grease laden rag at Mr. Williams. They were supposed to grow old together, buy houses on the same street, live out impossibly normal lives. So beautifully mundane in their cookie cutter regularity. Even after the worst overtook them, she had been naïve enough to believe in some echo of that future; a broken shell, but enough to keep her head above water.

In that alternate time, Grace taught her to drive manual and took Sam to get her license, the pair bonding in a way that she only dreamed of as a child who idolized the eldest Williams beyond words. She would have thanked the brunette for being the only stable adult in her life and the only one worth counting on. In that alternate timeline, she got Fletcher trashed on his twenty-first birthday and sat on the bathroom floor with him all night in apology. She would have told him the truth at some point, even if he didn’t reciprocate. So many what if’s that were robbed before they even began and now she grasped at smoke, unable to hold it between desperate fingers. Why couldn’t she just let things go like a well adjusted person? Why did she leave claw marks etched into every memory?

More wine, but this time it tasted distinctly of saltwater as the wind brushed over damp cheeks.

#this is too many words #tw death #tw alcohol #tw murder #tw neglect #( x. self para )

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vmheadquarters · 4 years

Text

We’re still playing our game of written hot potato! Dozens of your favorite authors are taking turns to tell a Veronica Mars mystery story. Each writer crafts their chapter and then “tosses” the story to the next person to continue the tale. No one knows what will happen, so expect the unexpected!

Follow the “vmhq presents” and “murder we wrote” tags for all the installments, or read the story as it develops on AO3. --Chapter Twenty-Six of MURDER, WE WROTE is written by @jeanie205. And stayed tuned next week for Ch.27 from @nevertothethird - tag, you’re it!

_____________________________________________________________

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX by @jeanie205

Business hadn’t exactly been booming at Mars Investigations lately, and even though she knew her dad was right, that the PI business, like almost everything else, was cyclical, Veronica still chafed under the inactivity.

She’d filled in her time the past few days with a flurry of office organization and some paperwork she’d been putting off for weeks, interspersed with a couple of bread-and-butter infidelity stakeouts. But either the unfaithful spouses had gotten stupider over the years, or Veronica had just gotten a lot better at sussing them out. Because while the pay had been good - great, in fact - it hadn’t taken her long to come up with the Money Shots.

So now she was at loose ends again. Even Mac had taken the day off after completing her update of the MI website, which she’d told Veronica was “a disaster.”

“They aren’t going to hire you if your site looks like it was designed in a high school IT class,” Mac had said, shaking her head.

For as much good as it’s done so far, Veronica thought, sitting alone in her office with nothing to do.

Her glance fell unconsciously to her bottom right-hand desk drawer. The deep one.

Well, maybe she didn't exactly have nothing to do.

There was a case of sorts, if she wanted to count guessing the ending of a whodunit written by the least likely mystery writer she could ever have imagined. An activity that Veronica had so far found not particularly entertaining. Mostly because the plot was already so convoluted that she doubted the eventual reveal could ever make much sense.

On the other hand, she’d become rather fond of Ruby Jetson, and knew they probably owed her for helping to exonerate Logan of murder. Besides which, she had promised.

With a guilty sigh, Veronica pulled open the drawer and hefted out a thick envelope.

Ruby had brought her the manuscript nearly a week earlier, eager to know if the story was good enough to “fool” the seasoned detective. Although she’d shown up without an appointment, Veronica had taken the time to read several chapters, Ruby smiling delightedly whenever she’d frowned in puzzlement.

“I knew it was a good mystery,” Ruby had boasted gleefully. “That even you wouldn’t be able to figure it out.”

By then, it had become apparent that Ruby expected her to read the whole damn book right then and there! Thank god Mac had soon caught on and poked her head in the office door, reminding Veronica about “her appointment.”

Ruby had looked disappointed when Veronica carefully re-stacked the loose manuscript pages and slipped them into the large envelope, stowing everything away in her bottom drawer.

“I’ll finish it soon,” she’d promised faithfully.

But she never had, although Ruby had called every day, looking for an update.

“Hurry up, Veronica,” she’d complained only the day before, the exasperation clear in her voice. “I need to send it to my publisher.”

Veronica had been surprised. Ruby already had a publisher?

As she slipped the manuscript out of the envelope, quickly flipping to the red post-it she’d left to hold her place, she fleetingly wondered who in hell might actually want to publish Ruby’s novel.

Picking up where she’d left off, Veronica noted the same peculiarity that had struck her the week before. Ruby’s chapters often varied so wildly in both style and format that it was almost like they’d been written by different people. She paused in her reading, considered for a moment if Ruby might have some kind of dual personality disorder. After all, the woman did have two names.

Or... maybe the answer was much simpler. Maybe Ruby had a collaborator, the same person, Veronica thought with growing certainty, who’d passed along all the personal information that Ruby could never have dug up, no matter how much “research” she’d done.

And that was another thing. Veronica’s annoyance rose as she came across yet another intimate-sounding encounter between book-Veronica and book-Logan. Ruby had promised her faithfully that the names in her roman a clef-slash-murder mystery would definitely be changed in the next draft. Veronica sure as hell hoped she followed through. Otherwise, the fledgling author was going to be bombarded with lawsuits. And Veronica Mars would be at the head of the line.

She sighed, turning back to the story just in time to find that... Ruby had killed herself off!

Or at least, she’d killed off Della Pugh.

Veronica’s eyes narrowed in surprise at this fictional turn of events. Was this some sort of symbolic “killing” of her original self so that her Ruby persona could thrive? She shook her head, finally deciding she was no better as a psychologist than she was a literary critic. She flipped quickly to the next chapter and soon wished she hadn’t. A delusional, Veronica-obsessed Duncan Kane was not exactly pleasant company.

Veronica was considering with wry amusement how the man himself might view his portrayal (should he ever see it) when she was startled by the ringing of a phone. Not the office land line but the cell phone that she had to dig out from the depths of her well-loved but totally inconvenient studded black leather bag.

She might not have even bothered had the sounds of the Perishers’ “Sway” not told her it was Logan calling. She’d assigned him that ringtone in a burst of nostalgia the same day she’d updated his photo from pukka beads to dress blues.

The fact that he was calling was in itself unnerving. If Logan wanted to communicate with her during the day, he almost always texted. So of course her mind went immediately to the worst-case scenario.

“Logan! Is everything okay? Is my dad...”

“Veronica!” Logan cut in on her abruptly. “Are you watching the news? Turn on the news!”

“Wh-what? You mean, like... CNN?”

“No. The local news. It’s a breaking story on a continuous loop.”

“Okay.” Mystified, she grabbed the remote from a drawer and powered up the wall TV that she hardly ever used.

And there was that creepy newscaster, the one who invariably reminded her of Vinnie Van Lowe.

“... a tragedy right here in Neptune last night when promising new writer Ruby Jetson was murdered in her own home.”

Veronica gasped. It couldn’t be!

“Veronica! You still there?”

“Yeah, Logan, I’m here. I can’t... I can’t believe it.”

“Believe it. And there’s more. Keep watching.”

Onscreen, the newscaster was just beginning the introduction of an “important witness” to the tragedy.

“We’re fortunate to have with us here in the studio the man who discovered the body of Ms. Jetson. Neptune’s very own school principal turned book publisher, Mr. Van Clemmons.”

Veronica nearly fell off her chair. Holy shit! Clemmons was Ruby’s publisher?

She quickly turned up the volume, desperate to hear every word.

“I understand you were about to publish Ms. Jetson’s first novel, Mr. Clemmons?” the Vinnie-clone asked in that fake tone of sympathetic interest that all newscasters somehow managed to perfect.

Clemmons nodded.

“That’s right. Of course, I’d known her as Della Pugh back when she was at Neptune High, but she’d made some changes in her life, and if she preferred to be Ruby Jetson, who was I to say she shouldn’t?”

Veronica rolled her eyes. Right, Van. You were always so forward-thinking.

“And the book?” the newscaster encouraged, refusing to be shifted off-topic by anything about the actual victim herself.

“Well, ah, Ruby came to me with the idea. Some kind of murder mystery. Very popular genre, of course. But the story was to be based on people she’d known in high school. I thought it sounded... promising. And she was just about to deliver the first draft. Said she’d finished it but was waiting for some feedback from a trusted friend.”

Veronica blinked. A trusted friend?

She wrenched her mind away from dwelling on the sheer... unexpectedness of Ruby regarding her as a friend, because Clemmons was still talking and she didn’t want to miss a word.

“Ruby kept delaying turning in the first draft, so I stopped by last night to see if I could... hurry her along.”

Clemmons paused briefly, and for the first time looked visibly shaken.

“And that’s when I... found her.”

The newscaster nodded slowly. “Not a pleasant experience.”

“No, indeed,” Clemmons agreed.

“And the book?” Vinnie’s doppelgänger was not to be thwarted.

Clemmons shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen after all. Only Ruby had copies of the manuscript, but there weren’t any in her apartment. And her laptop was missing, too.”

“The police...?”

“Didn’t find anything, either.”

“So the book won’t be published.”

Clemmons shrugged. “I can’t publish what I don’t have.”

The newscaster paused to make sure that viewers caught the significance of his next question.

“Do you think it’s possible that poor Ruby was killed because of something in that book?”

Clemmons hesitated. “I suppose it could be,” he said finally. “But I guess we’ll never know. If there ever was a manuscript, it’s gone forever.”

Veronica stared at the screen for long seconds before she muttered the words under her breath.

“No, Van. Not quite fucking gone.”

She switched off the television and picked up her phone. “You still there, Logan?”

“No, I’m here,” he said, appearing suddenly in the office doorway. “Thought maybe I should come by.”

She nodded, and as one their eyes fell on the loose pages still sitting in the middle of Veronica’s desk.

In seconds, she’d scooped them up and shoved them back into the envelope. But this time, the manuscript wasn’t crammed unceremoniously back into that deep bottom drawer. This time, Veronica opened their rarely-used safe and locked the thick envelope securely inside.

Veronica thought Logan must have sensed how shaken she suddenly felt because he was across the room like a shot, and in seconds she was wrapped in his arms.

“I’m sorry, Veronica,” Logan said softly, breathing the words into her hair.

“Yeah, me, too,” she murmured into his shoulder.

Then she took a deep breath and stepped back from Logan’s arms, determination stiffening her spine as she gazed up at him.

“Somebody killed Ruby over that damn book, Logan. And we’re gonna figure out who the hell did it.”

#veronica mars #veronica mars fanfic #vm fanfic #vmhq presents #murder we wrote #round robin

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ilguna · 4 years

Text

Ethereal - Chapter One (f.o)

Summary: Five years of watching your trainees die, you’re sick of it. She will prevail, she will win.

Word Count; 5.8k

Warnings; swearing, DEATH MENTION

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

“(Y/n)! Reaping day!” The words ring out through the house. And instead of them settling gently, they stick in the air violently. The words echo through your head over and over.

Reed manages to forget annually that you have been awake longer than he has. That you could count the days and circle them on your calendar. He forgets that reaping day and the month that comes after seem to be the worst. Every single year.

You’ve been up since the sun peeked through your window. Knowing that you wouldn’t be sleeping lightly. Tossing and turning, trying to find a comfortable spot to sleep the rest of the night in. Obviously it didn’t happen.

The second that the sun showed, it was a reason to get up and do anything but lay in bed for longer. But when you went to get ready, you froze in place. You don’t want to be here, and you don’t want to be out there either.

Despite this, you push yourself out of bed and gather your clothes. You leave your boots at the dresser, you’ll be back in your room after the shower. It’s nothing like what you use on the train every year, but it’s better than nothing. Making tubs of cold water every morning for reaping day had gotten old.

Now it’s warm water in a shower, still with a tub. You guys give baths to Alyssum still, even though she’s turning seven or eight this year. Too old to still be babied but you don’t want to let her go. Soon, she’ll be included in the reaping.

It’s not that much of a worry. She’s got the knot tying down. She likes to fish and cook the food when given the opportunity. It isn’t often because of how she likes to burn it so it ‘tastes better’. You teach her how to use a spear and throw knives as best as you can. The problem is, when she shows she’s eager to learn, you step back.

You’re worried that she’ll want to be placed into the games because she knows all of this cool stuff and wants to try it out. She’ll volunteer at first chance to be brought into the games so she can try. And because of this fear, you started to make Reed take over.

You should be doing it, because you were the ones in the games. But the idea of watching your future twelve year old sister get picked for the games is… it reminds you of when you were in. And the misfortune the kids from district twelve had. One of them by your own hand.

You can see him in her. Which frightens you, and hardly makes it possible to be around her. The nightmares that plague you are about if Alyssum was the boy and not her. What would you have done then? Beg and plead for her to come back?

Or watching someone else do it. Being the family back home that cries when their sibling dies. Having to stand up in front of the victors when they’re on their tour. Hating every part of them for killing your child but knowing that they wouldn’t have done it if they didn’t have the chance.

It’s not your fault. It’s not any of the victors fault. The Capitol runs this, President Snow runs this as a punishment that happened over seventy years ago. He’s punishing the generations as if any of you remember. The oldest person in your district doesn’t even remember it. They declare that you guys deserve it, but time is supposed to heal wounds. They just keep digging.

Once you’re done with your shower, dressed but still with wet hair, you open the door to see your sister, holding up some flowers, “Can you put them in my hair, please? They’re busy with food.”

And they probably don’t know what they’re doing with hair either. You nod, grabbing the brush and a couple of rubber bands as you take her into your room. She sits on the floor as you sit on the bed, being gentle with her hair. You mostly get some of it out of her face, braid a spot here or there in the back. Then, you place the flowers, securing them with bobby pins.

She’s excited when she sees that it’s done. A quick hug to you before she’s running out of your room, feet thumping against the floorboard loudly as she yells for Reed to see what you did to her hair.

You pull on your socks and shoes, sliding on your mother’s ring. When you stand, you see that you can move freely. The jeans aren’t as tight as you thought they would be. You haven’t bought new clothes just yet, even though you’ve been meaning to. Laurel stopped sending you clothes a while ago.

It’s probably because her fame stopped and it went right back to the district that had won after you. It’s like trends, the stylists that had designed for the victors clothes are famous for at least a year after. And then when the new games come around, there’s someone else to focus on.

In the bathroom you pull some of your hair out of your face but leave the rest down. Then, you go downstairs to where the others will be waiting at the table.

Blonde hair stops you.

“Finnick?” You ask, he turns and looks up, you’re still in the middle of the stairs, “What are you doing here?”

Time heals all wounds right? That’s what you said, and they had healed at least a little bit. You and Finnick are on speaking terms but seeing him is as rare as it was before. He barely makes it in time to be there for reaping day. Last year, you had mentored the boy and girl on the train all by yourself. Finnick was waiting at the Capitol to help but even then, he wasn’t around.

You’d like to think that it wasn’t your fault that they died because you and him are supposed to be working together. You tried your best with what you could do. Finnick didn’t pick up his part of it. A pair of teenagers and they had a good shot at winning. Smart, they picked up things quickly. They made friends and were sure to make allies immediately.

They died because they didn’t know how to do anything medical, exactly what Finnick was supposed to do. You sent them meds, to combat infection but they couldn’t stop the bleeding. Imagine how badly you were pulling out your hair watching them bleed to death.

“Here to escort you to the stage.” He smiles, but you don’t return it.

Five years later and he still seems to be in love with you. He still thinks he can win you back even though he’s still doing the same shit. Thankfully, he stopped promising he would change and finally came to terms with the fact that he won’t make the deadlines ever.

“And why do I have this pleasure?” You ask, heading over to the dining room, Reed looks up at you. There’s a silent question on whether or not you want him to get Finnick out of here. You don’t answer.

“I want to talk strategy.”

“We’re not in the games.” You mutter to him, fixing Alyssum’s flower before it falls out of her hair. She holds up a bobby pin for you to secure it. Then, you go and sit at your own spot at the table, “Joining us for breakfast?”

“I guess I will.” He says, and then moved to sit next to you.

Off to your right as usual.

It’s mostly quiet except for Alyssum’s occasional chatter. Your eyes are watching the clock, knowing that you’ll have to get there early to be on the stage. Your family doesn’t have to be awake this early, they just choose to do it so that you can eat together. After all, it is an especially hard day.

They stopped seeing you off at the stations after you asked them not to. You’d rather they help out around town or something. It’s not like you’re going to die or anything. You won’t be permanently staying in the Capitol either. Unlike Finnick, you don’t like the luxury that they insist on showing off.

You’d rather be where your heart is, where you grew up. You figured this out a couple of years ago, that Finnick didn’t come home because his heart isn’t here. You weren’t his family then, his family was dead and it was better to be in the Capitol than anywhere near where his family had died.

Even if he’s closer to Snow in the Capitol. Closer to the person that had killed that family. You promised to be the replacement, to allow your brothers be his, but he hadn’t taken it. He couldn’t stand to be in the district, which was why he chose to leave early. He hadn’t stuck around for the festivities for all that long because he was too close.

Finnick didn’t show up on the tour because he would have to face what he had done. The people of the Capitol think that he’s so great and strong and charming. When you’re carrying this heavy load for both him and you. You faced the families, you let him lean on you, you took those interviews, and pretended to be embarrassed when he presented love stories for you in front of the nation. You stand and watch as the kids get picked in the reaping, be the only one to mentor them, and get them sponsors and watch them die. You have to apologize to the families when you deliver them dead.

Finnick has been the damsel all along. And you hope that he’ll shape up to what he needs to be soon. These games, you’re keeping him right next to you no matter what it takes.

You might be irritated that it took him five years to show, but he needs to see that this is no job for one person. If you have to pretend to be in love with him, well shit is tough. Anything it’ll take for him to be around for every single part of it. From beginning to end.

“Finnick, we should go now.” You tell him, getting up from the tale. You’d finished all your food but it looks like Finnick had been taking his time.

“What—“ He begins, but you don’t listen.

“I’ll see you three in a bit, huh?” You tickle Alyssum a little bit and she squirms out of your arms.

“Happy hunger games.” Reed mutters bitterly, you laugh with Mox.

Before you go, Alyssum hops out of her seat to give you a hug and thank you for doing her hair again. And then, you and Finnick are out the door.

“Do you normally leave this early?” He asks after some bit of silence.

Of course he wouldn’t know anything about being on time for one of these. The second games you had mentored he showed up during the boys’ reaping, and that was the last you’d seen of him. It might have been shame that inspired him to not return for the past few years.

“Yes.” You tell him, starting for Mags’ house. Finnick completely misses this, and you catch his arm, yanking him with you, “Pay attention.”

You make him stay put out of her house and you go in. You don’t bother with knocking, because her door is always unlocked. There’s no point in locking it, no one would rob you guys. What is there to take besides meaningless statues? Hell, none of your money is actually in hand either. You have to go up to the District Four “office” building just to take out a portion of it.

Inside, Mags is sitting at the chair, drinking what looks like tea. She smiles and motions you over, holding up the same cup for you to taste. You take a small sip to please her, and you’re happy to taste something so sweet.

“That’s new.” You tell her, and she laughs. She finishes off the tea and you help her to her feet. She’s only getting older, which makes it harder for her to walk around and all of that.

She takes your arm, and the both of you begin to leave the house. However, you have to give her a little warning, because one would have done you good too. Mags doesn’t show it, but she’s irritated that Finnick had left you the job alone.

“Finnick is outside.” You tell her, “He says he’s here to mentor.”

She scowls slightly, and you laugh. You know exactly what she’s thinking. It’s the same you thought when you heard that he was going to help. How long will it last and does he actually mean it?

Once you reach the doorway, Finnick perks up and goes to help you. You hold your hand out, because you get her up and down these stairs multiple times a day. She doesn’t want to be carried, because she can do it on her own. She just wants a little help so she doesn’t slip.

The door is shut, and you have your arm there, her hand hovers over it as she takes it one step at a time. When you look up to see Finnick, there’s grief. He’s missed a lot, and in that time you were able to get to know Mags well enough to the point where you’d know when he can and can’t help.

She moves faster on regular ground, no longer needing your arm. She may walk faster than your average elderly, but you still had to leave early for her. You’ll have to walk Finnick through what it’s like to sit in those chairs. Proper and poise, there’s no time to be slouching.

Cameras will be on you guys. Watching and waiting to see if it’s any family member that gets picked. Luckily for you, your sister is still too young and brothers too old. Finnick doesn’t have any family to worry about and Mags never had any kids.

The cameras and people in the Capitol will be hoping for something dramatic, and you’ll be sure that Finnick doesn’t provide. He can stand tall and wave to the cameras because he’s the darling of the Capitol. But this is no show, this is a time for mourning.

At the stage is six chairs. The first two are for your governor and the district representative, Elysia. The next four are for the victors. First sits Mags, a gap for the guy who you still haven’t seen, you, and then Finnick. While you watch as the people file into where they’ll be standing, waiting to be picked, you explain how it’ll go to Finnick.

Reed, Mox and Alyssum show up at about the same time as Caspian and his family does. Alyssum is still on Reed’s shoulders and she waves to you when she sees you. You blow her a kiss, she pretends to grab it. Mox casually slides away, and you catch him meeting up with a girl. He knows you’re watching, so he disappears with her.

One the square is filled, the normal routine goes through. The anthem, the reminder, the speech from the governor. The introduction of Elysia, her wishing a happy hunger games and for the odds to be in everyone’s favor. Then she gives a small look to you specifically and you nod.

You and Elysia are on better terms now, she can sympathize with what you had to deal with. She knows you’re under a lot of stress during the hunger games so she keeps interactions light and to the point. She helps with sponsors, and shaping kids’ personalities.

Her hand plunged into the bowl, grabbing one off to the side. No matter what slip she grabs it’s always going to be a girl on the other end. There’s no right choice here, it’s just the matter of her accidentally picking a teenager rather than a kid.

She removes the tape, and then takes a deep breath as she leans towards the microphone, “Annie Cresta.”

The name echoes from the delay, your eyes sweep over the girls section. Hoping for a teenager, someone who’s tall and looks capable for what’s to come.

A girl in the sixteen section comes forward. You must have let out a breath of relief, because Finnick turns to look at you. You pay no attention, leaning forward, watching at how she walks up to the stage.

Definitely not proud, and surprised that she was picked. The couple seconds of delay of her realizing it was her name isn’t that big of a deal. She still came relatively quickly. At least she didn’t run like the kid in your first year. They were a lost hope and targeted immediately in the arena.

Annie’s most prominent feature is the red hair. She’s got bangs and it’s kinda long. The stylists will have a hay day when it comes to it. There’s so many different ways they’ll be able to style it.

She’s pretty, the Capitol will love her. Hopefully not enough to turn her into a prostitute like they did Finnick. If it weren’t for the fact that Snow had done that to him, then none of the problems would have happened. You and Finnick would be going five years strong.

She’s short though. You clear her very easily, Finnick will look like a giant next to her. Kinda muscular, it’s what you guys get for working with fish and wrangling them up all the time. She looks to be middle class almost—because that still unfortunately exists in District Four. You’d even be considered to be upper class, if it weren’t for the games then you’d still be between lower and middle.

You’ll be able to help her.

She reaches the stage quickly, accepting Elysia’s hand for help. Stops right behind the bowl, and you watch as she straightens up her back. One look at the little tv off to the side, you can see she isn’t going to cry. She looks serious. She looks like she’s going to pose a threat.

And then Elysia moves on to the boys. Digging her hand into the paper, she pulls out the one. Removed the tape, unfolds it, a moment to read, a deep breath to say and she leans forward.

“Marsh Milillio.” She reads the name easily, even though it sounds like the last name is complicated.

A brown haired boy lurches forward from the thirteen area. Your heart sinks in your chest, it’s too young of an age. He won’t survive past the first day unless Annie helps him in the arena.

The boy doesn’t even make it two steps before the, “I volunteer!” Is echoing through the air.

You and Finnick lean forward a bit more. Because this will be interesting. An older sibling, definitely. They look almost like twins except for the fact that he’s coming from the seventeen section. Tall, somewhat muscular. But he looks worried.

Marsh seems to reach for the boy who had volunteered for him. The boy pushes him away, back into his section as he continues to the stairs. This isn’t about glory, this is about looking tough and as if he doesn’t need them. You can take a bet right now that he’ll cry when he’s finally left alone with his brother and parents in the departing room.

Elysia is surprised, as are you. There haven’t been a ton of volunteers in your district. Careers, but not careers. It’s like the middle class, you suppose. But this time you’re somewhere between high and middle like district three, five, etc. The high class is obviously district one and two. Lower ones being ten, eleven, twelve and whatever else might fit into the category.

The boy gets on the stage, and he stands tall with his shoulders back. Both very capable tributes it seems, the older ones seem to understand that they need to look strong to win. They won’t be messed with if they’re making themselves look bigger and meaner.

Obviously the other tributes will see where they walk from. All district sections are mirrored the same. Age twelve in front, and all the way to eighteen in the back. This is typically because the younger ones are shorter, and it gets taller as they go back. Of course, this doesn’t work all the time because there are a few who sprout early.

Girls on left, boys on right. It’s the same. Family hangs around the very back and sometimes the sides. Even if you’re not family, you’re required to go unless you’re sick and dying in bed. If that is the case, a peacekeeper will check it to make sure that they are dying. They don’t send out sick tributes at all, it doesn’t look good for the show, if they die easily on the first day of the games.

Anyway, your point is, you’re not entirely sure how people even thought that you and Finnick were intimidating when you had gone up on the stage. A fifteen year old girl and a fourteen year old boy. Maybe it was because of how confident both of you were when it came to the games. You guys looked prepared and almost like you had been picked specifically for it.

Too bad you’re not in district one or two, then maybe you’d believe it. They train their kids all the way up until they’re an age the trainers believe they could win. And they they pick them out specifically, forced to volunteer or whatever. Go into the games, win more than they lose, and come home to a grand victor house.

You guess it’s because it keeps the glory on the favored districts. Keep the rich, rich. And keep the poor districts, poor. If the other districts, like ten–they’re livestock–were to start winning then they would have the possibility of being favored. Guess where all their lamb, cow, chicken and pig come from? District ten. If the Capitol ever truly recognized that, then one and two would be fucked.

All those weapons for the peacekeepers and for the games? Come from district three. Without them, everyone inside of the arena would still be beating each other to death with rocks. That would be boring, and the only thing that would develop out of that would be the tributes learning how to throw and bettering their aim. Everyone in the districts would start training their kids specifically to be able to throw rocks. How useless.

Or district eleven, all their plums, apples, oranges, pears, bananas, all of that comes from district eleven because they’re agriculture. Capitol wouldn’t be enjoying their fruits and veggies without them. All those delicacies on their deserts, their breakfasts, dinners, lunches, snacks. All those foods that they throw up during their parties, come from every single district that makes food. Including four.

Your question truly is, what’s so special about one and two? All one does is make couches, lamps, lightbulbs and all of that. Sure, things that you can’t live without–actually, yes you can! You can live without all of those things. District two is the same. Masonry? Are you joking? They help make the weapons that three do. And three isn’t even in on the glory!

You know what you can’t live without? Food and water. Food comes from four, and nine, and ten, and eleven. Four districts that make the food that they eat, the you eat, that the rest of panem eats. And there’s only one of you in the spotlight for it all, and it has to be fishing. Instead of eleven that deserves it, or ten.

Another district that definitely deserves to be shown off to the rest of the Capitol, is district eight. All those clothes come from them. The exotic shit that’s on demand all the time from the Capitol comes from them. They work their asses off to make sure that the clothes make it there in time before the trends pass.

And let’s not forget some honorable mentions. District seven and twelve, no one would be warm without wood and coal. District five, power. That keeps every single district running, including the Capitol. And the Capitol takes up enough power to make sure that the other districts only get it for a couple of hours a day. Excluding the tribute houses, which is so extremely unfair. Six is transportation. If it weren’t for six, there would be no trains, cars, elevators, anything. No tributes, food, lumber, coal, textiles, masonry, all that furniture, without the trains.

And yet, one, two and four manage to be the most popular districts. It’s bullshit. It’s unfair. It’s stupid.

Elysia leans over to the boy, “And what’s your name?”

“Paslee Milillio.” he says, you lean back.

A brother, family, it’s expected. Save the younger one, since you love them too much. It means he bonded well with them, he could use that during the interviews. Be a tough guy with a soft heart, people will eat that right up. As for Annie, you’ll have a clue on her soon, you just need to dig, and most importantly, talk to her.

Elysia wraps it up after that. Soon, they’re being escorted off the stage and into the rooms inside of the Justice Building–the main district building. During this time, you say your goodbyes to your family just like the others. No danger in this, you just like to leave off on the right foot.

You hardly argue with them anymore. If it is, it’s stupid little things. So to worry about starting a huge fight with them is practically impossible. You see them around the side, give hugs and say goodbyes, and then you’ll get on the train with the others, and begin your mentoring.

“Where are you heading?” Finnick asks, and you remember that he’s clueless.

Taking his arm, you drag him with you, not saying anything. He tries to slip to your hand not-so-subtly, but you just regrasp his arm, he seems to understand after that. If you have to drag Finnick by the arm everywhere to make sure that he’s going to stick around, then you’ll do that.

You’ll lay down all the rules later, in private. Inside the train where he can’t escape so easily.

Reed is there with Alyssum, no Mox in sight.

“Where is he?” you ask, releasing Finnick’s arm.

Reed’s eyes dart to Finnick for a moment, and you sigh. Turning around, Finnick’s eyebrows are raised, “What?”

He’s in the family. You promised him five years ago he would be in the family. Yours is his and his is yours. You regret it all now. And you don’t regret much anymore.

“This is an us thing.” You begin to explain, and he holds up his hands.

“Okay, I get it–” he goes to walk off, but you catch his arm.

“Finnick,” he looks at you, “A me, you, Reed, Alyssum, Mox and maybe Caspian thing. This is a family affair.”

He turns his body towards you, “I don’t remember being family.”

“Unfortunately you’ve been family since the celebrations when we won five years ago.” you tell him, “If this shit gets to the public of the Capitol, you can consider yourself as good as dead.”

“You underestimate me.” he squints at you.

You tilt your head, lips pursing, “Really? Because I think this is a pretty big job for you.”

Letting go of his arm, you look to Reed again, and you can see the hint of a smirk. It’s too small for Finnick to know it. He would have been able to recognize it by now if he had been with you these past five years. Reed does it when he knows something that you don’t. You can guess what it is this time. It’s the tension, he’s going to call it romantic because Finnick still obviously loves you. And you’ll agree, but your part is irritation. Whether or not he agrees, you’ll find out after the games.

“Mox is seeing some girl.” Reed tells you, shifting on his feet, “He’s giving her money. I think that’s all she’s after.”

“How much is he taking from the justice building?” you ask.

Technically your family can go up and take it. Reed especially since he is your guardian, which he filed for as soon as possible after your dad had died in that boating accident. He’s in charge of you, Mox and Alyssum. Sometimes he takes out cash in advance so that you guys can cruise for a month at a time. You only need so much that you get from victors winnings, the most of it you’re saving up.

What for? A trip to the other districts.

You’ve met a lot of the victors since the sixtieth hunger games. You actually got to meet Gloss and Cashmere, they’re pretty good friends of yours. The only times you get to see them is during the mentoring and when they win the games. You were able to pull some strings and it turns out that you could go and stay with them for a bit, catch the train back and then still see them during the games.

Enobaria too, she won the sixty-second games, district two. You didn’t like her as much though, because the teeth really freaked you out. The reason why she had her teeth sharpened into points is because of the fact that she had bitten and ripped out the neck of the other career. It’s how she won her games, you guess.

To you, it’s disgusting that she would choose to embrace a memory like that. You can hardly handle your nightmares now, and they’re so… you’ve had years to get used to them. But then there’s the careers, and they don’t really get them at all. You talked to Gloss and Cashmere about it, and they said that they don’t get them.

Maybe for like a week that had gotten them, but they stopped. They said that you should be getting over yours soon. But here you are, still waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. Trying to remind yourself that they’re only nightmares, and they’re not actual memories.

Also, talking to them unlocked a friendship, obviously. You know them better than you ever thought you would. You learned a couple of things about Cashmere, which is that she was also sold around in the Capitol following her year. Which would be from the sixty-fourth to sixty-fifth. She was being sold when you were still in the games.

She was a teenager.

She wanted to know if the same thing was happening to Finnick still. Saying something that he has to be high demand if he’s still being bought. But you were kind enough to inform her of a few things. The first, he’s still there because he likes the spotlight and his title of ‘darling of the Capitol’. Second, he’s not even gaining any money from it. He’s getting ‘secrets’ that he won’t bother to tell you.

Unlike Finnick, she got out as soon as possible. She doesn’t have nightmares about the games because she’s still too busy screaming about what used to happen to her. When you think or look at Finnick now, you wonder what’s worse to him. Being sold, or the games.

“Mox is taking enough to supply a small family.” Reed tells you, Alyssum wanders over and hugs your lower body, you rub her back slightly, fixing the flower in her hair.

“Well, I’ll talk to them when I get back, I guess. How often?”

“Once a week. But it’s taking a toll on the savings.”

“What are you even saving for?” Finnick asks.

You look to him, “Anything that Reed, Mox or Alyssum will need when they get married and buy houses of their own.”

“They won’t stay with you?” he asks.

“Finnick, they’ll have families of their own. Wives, husband, kids. Even if I’m not going to have any of that, doesn’t mean I want them to crowd my house. Feel free to rent out your own though. Your things are collecting dust.” you shake your head slightly.

Finnick seems to be quiet, and then he asks, “You’re not going to have kids?”

“Or get married.” Reed adds, it’s sour. When it comes out of his mouth it’s an accusation.

Two things on the list of things you wanted to do with him. First on that list was to get through the tour together. Second, mentor a pair of kids every year until you’re old enough for marriage. Then, Finnick would propose, you guys would get married, and a few years later have some kids. Maybe get a winning tribute somewhere in there, make some friends of tributes along the way. Grandkids, holidays, all of that.

Amazingly, there’s not a single man in this district that understands, or will ever understand what you went through. They make it about them, and they’re always after the money.

Finnick? The other victors? They understand. They get it.

You’ve begun to surround yourself with people that get it and accept it. Your main family, including Mags and Finnick you suppose. The other victors. Caspian’s family because they had pitched in the most for the rope they sent you during the games. And the list gets smaller every year, when all they do is come to you to get things for them. When they never talked to you before the games at all.

“No, I gave that up.” you tell him, looking to Reed, “I’ve got to go. I’ll mention it to the governor before I go, have him take Mox off of the list. Hide any cash around the house, maybe even return it to the buildings if they’ll allow it.”

“Got it.” he tells you, coming over and giving you a hug with Alyssum, who seems like she doesn’t want to let go.

Finnick is standing off adjacently, and so you hold your arm out for him. Reed catches on, extending his arm. Finnick’s face turns a light shade of red but he comes over. You mostly lean into Reed, and then you guys pull away.

“I’ll see you soon, Aly. Be good at school, listen to Reed.” You tell her.

“Always have.” She grins, she’s still missing a tooth from last week, it should be coming in any day now, “Bye!”

You kiss her forehead, shove Reed, and then you take Finnick along with you to the Justice building. On the way you mention the money thing, and then you’re meeting up with Elysia and the other tributes.

Happy hunger games.

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair ethereal #ethereal

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thebiasrekkers · 4 years

Text

Sincerely, Yours - JJK

For the @btswriterscorner - Amor Fabula Launch Project in celebration of the month of Valentine’s Day!

Plot: Jeon Jungkook hails from humble origins, his family ranked as Laborers. Since he is the youngest of three children, his time for the lottery has not come. But when it does, he refuses to conform to society’s system and runs away. Disowned, he’s now become a fugitive, taking on odd jobs here and there as a “runner-for-hire”. What he doesn’t realize is that he will find love in the most unexpected place.

Rating: PG-13 // SFW

Genre: dystopian!au/dystopian themes | angst | romance/fluff

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Female OC (Nikita Meyers)

Warnings: Strong language, vandalism, violence, interracial/intercultural relationship

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 7,607

AN: This is the companion piece to my first story, Touch In The Dark. This is the “rebel” view of what transpires in the world that I built. In all honesty, I think I may like the MYG version a little more, but I think it’s mostly from my love of hurting my own feelings. I still had a lot of fun with this one and I hope you all enjoy it. Writing for Jungkookis is always a good time. All reblogs, critiques/reviews, comments and affection are accepted! Happy reading!

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

~ j.j. ~

Jungkook swung his legs back and forth as he sat on the edge of a nearby building. He whistled a tune to himself, a song from a life he could barely remember these days. A former Laborer, now turned Runner, Jungkook could say that he left a life that he knew wasn’t meant for him. The Class system was such a bogus way to create order and balance in the world. The Blue Bloods stayed in the upper tier and those born in poverty or with lesser means were meant to work for the rest of their days. Throw in The Lottery Bill and that was just the cherry on top of a fucked up sundae.

A soft breeze pushed against his form as he watched the sky transform into a mesh of warm colors: pinks, purples, oranges and yellows. The sun was starting to set and the world’s light would dim, blanketed by the cobalt sky littered with the few stars he was only allowed to see as he ran from rooftop to rooftop. Running free, no longer tethered to the rules of the world that dared to shackle him to a life of meaninglessness.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. Pulling it out, he scrolled through the messages and noticed the priority one at the very top. Brushing his fingers through his hair, he sighed quietly as he glanced over the message. His newest client was scheduled to meet him in an hour. It was a standard escort job. It wouldn’t be too hard and the pay was decent.

In their society, it was a crime to “fall in love” with anyone. Period. Not even the spouse that was chosen during an individual’s Lottery drawing. Love fueled emotions that often led to the ruins of others. Passion had the potential to overshadow logic and reason. When logic and reason were cast aside, only terrible things happened. Emotions were just bad things and led to bad times.

Jungkook didn’t buy into that horseshit.

It was the main reason he abandoned his station in life and lived in the moment. He didn’t worry about yesterday. He could care less about tomorrow. Today was all that mattered and all that would matter when it was finally said and done.

He slid his thumb over the screen, dialing the number of his new “job” detail. The man answered quickly, interrupting the second ring.

“Is this Jeon Jungkook?”

Jungkook smirked at the hushed tone in the man’s voice. “It is. Is this Min Yoongi?”

“Yes,” he replied softly, as if trying to gauge Jungkook’s own tone, “were you able to secure safe passage for both my wife and me?”

Clambering to his feet, he dusted off the backs of his weathered jeans and knocked a bit of dirt off his boots. “That’s not my area of expertise, I’m afraid. That was taken care of by a different handler.”

He knew he was being a little shit, but sometimes it was all about asking the right questions.

There was a semi-long pause from the other end of the line, followed by a slow sigh of what could be presumed as mounting exasperation.

“So why was I directed to you?”

Jungkook’s grin grew a little wider. “Because I’m the one who’s going to get you out in one piece.”

“I see,” Yoongi said, as if he was mulling over something, “so you’re a Runner.”

It wasn’t a question.

“That’s right.”

“I just hope you’re as fast as that mouth of yours.”

He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. “I’m faster, trust me.” Pushing back the sleeve of his jacket, he spied the time. “I’ll meet you at the Square in half an hour. Don’t be late.”

And without waiting for a reply, Jungkook ended the call. Pulling out his earbuds, he connected the jack to the phone and slipped the buds on. It didn’t take him long to find the song he wanted, cranking up the volume as the intro crescendoed slowly. Inhaling lungfuls of air, he stretched his arms out wide and then raised them up so they were parallel with his head. Once he loosened up the muscles, he rolled his neck and hopped up and down - shaking his arms for good measure.

He always had to psyche himself up for things like this.

As soon as the balls of his feet hit the ground, Jungkook lunged forward. Up and over the edge of the roof. The world rushed by him in a blur of motion, his dark hair flying off his forehead. The night was cool, but the wind stung his eyes - making them water. He quickly wiped at them, curling his body inward and then extending his limbs. The concrete scraped at the pads of his fingers, but it didn’t take him long to realign his body, forcing his lower half to swing off to the side so that he could catch the railing of the fire escape.

The bars rattled violently when his heels planted themselves onto the platform, but he was already climbing up the bars to reach the next rooftop. Once Jungkook made it over the edge, his legs pumped the ground in tandem with his heavily beating heart.

Unconsciously, his mouth spread into a wide open smile.

Free-running. They couldn’t have called it something better if they tried.

Sweat broke out across his brow and the pulse of the song’s bass seemed to reverberate throughout his entire body. With every jump, lunge, catch and pull he performed, Jungkook’s elation only seemed to climb. It would be too soon if he could never run as free as he was now.

Heaving and halfway covered in perspiration, Jungkook arrived at the designated meeting spot within fifteen minutes. It gave him just enough time to grab a bottle of water from a nearby vending machine, emptying half the contents over his head and soaking his hair. Onlookers peered at him curiously, but he didn’t pay them any attention. He almost never did. He drained what was left in the bottle, savoring the feeling of re-hydrating himself.

Craning his neck, he located a nearby waste bin and was about to toss the bottle into it - arms stretched like he was shooting a basketball into a hoop.

He stumbled forward suddenly, his body pushed forward from an unexpected impact. Grunting, he quickly pivoted on his heels to see who was responsible, but all he caught sight of was a ball cap flying in his line of sight as auburn curls flew past him. Jungkook reached out and snatched the hat out of the air as the owner turned to catch a glimpse of him.

Her dark gray eyes glared at him, catching Jungkook off guard. Despite living in South Korea, Jungkook was used to foreigners. But he certainly didn’t remember seeing someone with those eyes and soft caramel skin. Her hair looked dyed, but it strangely suited her.

Jungkook took a step forward, holding her hat out to her. Instead of taking it back, she continued to shift her gaze from him and then to the hat. He grinned.

“Not even a thank you, huh? You don’t want this back?” He waved the cap back and forth, as though he were trying to keep a cat’s attention on him. “Is this mine now?”

He hadn’t seen her move. In fact, he didn’t even realize she’d closed what small distance existed between them. Not until Jungkook felt a soft burst of pain near his stomach. The wind was knocked from him almost immediately and all he could manage was a wide-eyed stare at her.

She grinned, twisting her fist into his stomach a little more. “Not a chance, you fucking tool,” replied the girl.

Jungkook collapsed to one knee when she took a step back, her hat not back in her possession. He struggled to reclaim what air was stolen from him, one dark brown eye glaring up at her. Not to say that women were weak, but he hadn’t expected a punch from a pretty girl to hurt this much.

Hopping back on one foot, she waved the hat at him in a farewell gesture before sliding it back onto her head. She turned and bolted from the square without so much as a second glance at him. He coughed, rubbing at his chest in an attempt to regulate his breathing again.

Wow, what a bitch, he thought, but Jungkook found himself smirking once the pain subsided.

Maybe he was a glutton for punishment.

“Are you alright?”

The voice jarred him from his thoughts and he quickly scrambled to his feet. He was face to face with his temporary charge, Min Yoongi. Standing beside him was a woman with dark brown curls, hazel eyes, and mocha skin. She peered at Jungkook curiously, her hand laced through Yoongi’s. She was also a foreigner from what he could tell, and well-known through the news as the “Charity Selection” picked from The Lottery two years ago.

He folded his arms across his chest. “This might be a little difficult.”

Yoongi lofted a brow. “And why is that?”

“Well,” Jungkook began, taking a few steps toward them before circling around both of them, “your wife’s kinda popular.”

The older man narrowed his eyes. “So you’re not going to be able to help us?”

“I didn’t say that.” He held a hand up and then waved it through the air, as if shooing away a gnat. “I just said that it’ll be a little difficult. Not impossible.” Jungkook met their gazes and grinned. “I got this. Trust me.”

~ n.m. ~

“Nikita, that was reckless.”

Removing the baseball cap, she roughly ran her fingers through her curls while scoffing. She carelessly tossed the parcel onto the table. “What does it matter? I got you what you asked for.”

The man seated at the table steepled his fingers, dark eyes peering over his knuckles at her. Nikita waited for him to say something, but he merely sighed and began to untie the twine wrapped around the brown paper packaging. It was his way of dismissing her, but letting Nikita know that she wasn’t completely off the hook. He’d find a way to pay her back and it wouldn’t be pretty.

She knew this because it wouldn’t be the first time.

Not wanting to press her luck, Nikita quickly vacated the office and closed the door behind her. She rested her shoulder against the door frame, mentally kicking herself for what she’d said. She knew she didn’t mean it, and yet she continued to come off as cold and unfeeling in these situations. Nikita was about to slam her head into the door when someone suddenly cleared their throat beside her.

“Keep it up and you’re going to put Minjae Hyung into an early grave.”

Craning her neck, she cut her eyes at the shaggy-haired individual - his shit-eating grin never failing to irritate her.

“Shut-up, Taegi-ah,” she snipped, walking past him. Predictably, he followed but Nikita ignored him, focusing her attention on the warehouse.

“Aw, don’t be like that, Nikki-ah,” he whined at her back.

She rolled her eyes. Nikita hated that nickname and he knew it. She also knew that he didn’t care that she hated it.

Because that was the kind of person Yoon Taegi was.

A pain in her goddamn ass.

But she couldn’t hold it against him. Because he was the one who helped her break the chains the world decided to put on her the day she was born. Without him, she knew she would still be living the life of a woefully ignorant aristocrat - blind to the truth of society’s agenda. Nikita lived in a castle made of glass and didn’t understand her purpose outside of being a breeding agent for some future husband she would never be able to relate to.

When the day came for her to be matched with her significant other, Nikita was ready to accept that lot in her life. She was prepared to walk down the path that she was groomed for. What reason did she have to believe otherwise; to be aware that there was something else beyond the veil?

The truth wasn’t known to her until she saw a couple being arrested on the streets - cuffed and pulled away from each other. They screamed until their throats were raw, and then continued yelling for each other. They managed to share one final kiss until each were thrown into separate police cars and driven away to be incarcerated.

Their fates were declared on international television.

Taegi was the man she’d seen carted away and three months later, he broke out of prison. As punishment, the woman he loved was put to death. It was their attempt to shatter his spirit, to break him.

They failed.

Sighing, she looked at Taegi’s smug expression and couldn’t help marveling at how far they’d come. A loaf of bread, cheese and meat was all it took to barter for the truth. Taegi gave it to her and Nikita knew she could never go back to her life of privilege. Not if there were people she could help in the process. It didn’t take her long to find herself pulled into Rebel circles - all of them graciously accepting her into their fold.

hree years passed since then and Nikita didn’t regret leaving her family or her “duty” behind. She was free and she was fighting for a cause that meant something. Even if she’d never experienced it for herself.

Love.

Sliding the metal door aside, Nikita stepped into the warehouse. The smell of gunpowder and kerosene instantly filled her nostrils - causing her eyes to water slightly. She quickly wiped at them and sniffed, fishing through a crate on a nearby table. Her hands stilled momentarily as she felt Taegi’s palms slip over her shoulders. He squeezed them gently and she sighed, hanging her head a measure as her eyes stared into the box of homemade pipe bombs and hand grenades.

“Sometimes I worry that the fighting is never going to end,” Nikita said softly.

Taegi rubbed her shoulders in a comforting motion before moving away from her to lean against the table. He folded his arms across his chest, his face lifting to the ceiling. “It’ll stop one day. We just have to stand strong and in solidarity.”

Nikita shrugged, pulling out a few pipe bombs. “I just hope we’re around long enough to see it.”

She checked the fuses, gauging their length, before placing them back in the box. She set one hand grenade out, flicking a finger over the pull pin. After making sure that it was secure, she dropped it into her messenger bag and moved to the next crate. It contained knives of varying shapes and sizes. She opted for a switchblade of decent length, slipping it into her back pocket.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Pulling it out, she scanned the message on her screen. It was from Minjae, as expected. He was sending her on another assignment. There was another potential ally they could have on their side versus running amok on the streets.

Turning to move to another table, she felt Taegi’s hand grasping at her arm. She looked at him and saw the worry lines etched across his forehead. Nikita couldn’t help but smile at him.

“You just got back and you’re already prepping to head out again.” He frowned. “You’re like a machine, woman.”

“Can’t help it,” she said, chuckling slightly, “I’m not one to sit around and do nothing.”

“It’s not about doing nothing. It’s about resting. You’ve been gone for three days.” Taegi sighed, releasing his hold on her. “Hyung can’t pass this off to someone else?”

“Nope.” Nikita shook her head. “Recruitment’s my main gig. You know this. Besides…” She paused, meeting Taegi’s gaze, her own expression softening a bit. “...if we don’t have more people on our side, what good is any of this? It’s never going to stop until every last one of us are either dead or re-educated. Numbers mean everything.”

Looking back at the phone, she opened the file Minjae sent her. It was the most current dossier on a person willingly living off the grid. They had been for some time now.

She recognized his picture immediately. He was the guy she’d run into earlier that day. The same guy she punched in the gut for teasing her when she was in the process of playing “courier” for their group.

Nikita couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped her. Taegi looked at her curiously but she shook her head, slipping her phone back into her pocket. This was going to be interesting. Maybe he’d hear her out despite the terrible first impression she’d given.

My job just got a little bit harder. Great.

~ j.j. ~

Jungkook lazily sprawled himself out on the largest branch of an old tree near the edge of town. Swiveling a toothpick between his teeth, he looked around at the people who passed below him obliviously. It amused him, in a way, how they could mindlessly continue with their lives. They were like sheep to the slaughter, unaware of the truth of things.

Then again, he didn’t really know what the “truth” was himself.

All that mattered to him was no longer having a label stamped on his body as though it were a badge of shame. Society deemed that he was destined to be poor. Society claimed that his ideal match would be someone of their choosing. Society was right and the average person didn’t need to question this.

Well, society could go eat a bag of dicks.

Again, his phone buzzed. He picked it up from where he had it laying on his chest to stare at it - the screen illuminating his face in the shadows. It was another job forwarded by his employer. Sighing, he opened up the dossier of the person he was sent to help this time. When he saw the picture, however, Jungkook sat up so fast that he nearly fell out of the tree.

It was her. The woman who nailed him in the gut without batting an eyelash. The woman whose dark auburn curls and gray eyes failed to vacate his mind.

He was immediately suspicious.

Normally he would forward a job he didn’t want to another Runner. It wasn’t like Jungkook was hurting for money. In fact, he was planning on taking a small vacation soon - taking himself off the grid completely for a few weeks before coming back. But his curiosity was a damning thing and he didn’t mind being damned if it meant knowing who this woman was.

Nikita Meyers. 25. Former Blue Blood. Currently wanted by authorities due to her association with various Rebel factions throughout the world.

Blinking, he read through the short blurb again to make sure that he wasn’t misinterpreting anything. But what was there to misinterpret? This woman had it all and threw everything away to be a fugitive? Like him? He didn’t get it. Wasn’t the high life a life of pleasure and carefree days?

Why would she ever want to toss it away for the gritty life?

Jungkook frowned, thinking back on the life he left behind. He refused to conform to society’s whims and ran away from home when it was time for him to have his partner chosen through The Lottery Bill. He didn’t know what love was and he wasn’t sure if he wanted any part of it if the government was hell-bent on minimizing it throughout the globe. Jungkook could admit that he did stupid things when he was emotionally unstable, hence why he was living the life he currently was in the first place. But he also wasn’t too keen on the idea of bending to the whims of others.

Even so…

Sliding his thumb over the screen, he dialed the number his contact provided for him. It rang three times before someone answered. Her voice filled his ears and he leaned his back against the trunk of the tree as he listened.

“Jungkook-ssi?”

He smirked. “Oh, are we using polite words now?”

He heard a sigh from the other line. “I won’t apologize for what I did. I had my reasons.”

“Sure you did.” His tone dripped of sarcasm, but Jungkook felt his smile growing wider. “It’s alright. I forgive you anyway.”

“You’re so gracious. So, are you gonna help me or are you gonna pass me off so I’m someone else’s problem?”

His lips formed into a small ‘O’ while he scratched the side of his nose. “Is that normal for you?”

Nikita scoffed. “I don’t make it a habit to become a problem for anyone in the first place.”

“That’s a shame,” he replied while shifting his position to stand on the tree branch, “it’s fun to be problematic.”

“I’m sure you’d know that.”

“Of course. That's why I said it.”

“Are you going to help me or not?”

Jungkook was going to help her. He’d made that decision the minute he saw her picture on his phone as the next job he was supposed to take. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to have fun with her about it.

“Well, you’re in luck. I happen to have some free time slotted in my schedule.”

“Good. Now come down from that tree and meet me face-to-face.”

His smile fell from his face and he sat up again, looking around in every direction. He quickly craned his neck down and saw she was standing below the tree he was currently perched in. For a long moment, the two of them just stared at each other - each of them holding their phones to their faces; listening to the other person breathing.

Then he saw her smile up at him. It was a smile that clearly said that she knew more than he did; that she’d gotten the best of him. A smile full of secrets, daring someone to try to discover them.

It was a smile that made his heart twist sharply in his chest.

Hanging up the phone, he slid it into the inner pocket of his leather jacket. Without batting an eyelash, Jungkook effortlessly hopped off the tree branch, landing with an unnecessary flourish in front of her. Nikita slid her phone into her pocket as he slid his palms over the thighs of his jeans.

Again, neither said anything. They just took in each other’s presence.

Now that he got a better look at her, Jungkook was at least half a head taller than her. The strap to a dark gray messenger bag was pressed across her chest at an angle, enhancing the swell of her bosom. Other than that, there was nothing else about her that would elicit inappropriate thoughts. No skin showed outside of her bare neck, face, and thin wrists peeking out from the sleeves of her dark green field jacket. She wore charcoal gray cargo pants stuffed into a pair of shin length combat boots. A black newsboy hat adorned the top of her head this time.

“So,” Jungkook said, finally breaking the silence, “where am I escorting the lovely lady?”

“We’re too exposed here.” Nikita moved past him and he pivoted on his heels to follow after her.

They were heading back into the city.

Just as he was about to suggest they could go somewhere a little more private to chat, she hopped onto a nearby dumpster and scaled up the fire escape as easily as snapping her fingers. Jungkook slowly arched his neck, watching her fling herself up one iron landing until her body swung in a half arc to allow her the reach she needed to grasp onto the edge of the building’s rooftop. Her booted feet scraped over the brick, crumbling small bits to the ground until she disappeared over the edge.

“Well, I’ll be goddamned,” he mumbled, his smile returning. This woman was just full of surprises.

“Are you comin’ or not?” she called down to him.

Not like he needed to be asked twice. Jungkook made a game of it, determined to scale the building in half the amount of time she had. Once he reached the top, he pulled himself over the edge in time to see her running at full speed across the building.

“Hey!” he shouted after her, his own legs eating at the ground in hot pursuit, “Wait a minute!”

But just as he was starting to close the distance, Nikita jumped from the building and curled her body inward. Jungkook was almost to the edge and was preparing his own dismount when he saw her successfully clear the gap. She grabbed onto one of the metal pipes and swung herself into an open window. Jungkook didn’t have a chance to relish in the adrenaline pumping through his veins, his eyes memorizing her movement patterns so he could follow the trail she was leaving for him.

Dust filled his nostrils, causing him to cough from the onslaught to his senses. The room smelled of old wood and mold. The building had long since been abandoned and there was clearly no interest in changing its state of disrepair. The boards creaked under each step that was taken and Jungkook mentally worried if the floor would crack and collapse right beneath him.

A beam of bright light blinded him and he hissed, moving his forearm to cover his eyes.

“Yo, what’s the deal?!”

His words sounded snappish, which hadn’t been his intention, but what did anyone expect when suddenly rendered unable to see?

“Sorry,” Nikita said, lowering the light to give him a chance to adjust to the darkness, “I wanted to make sure you were right behind me.”

Jungkook rubbed his fists into his eyes gingerly, shaking his head to blink the golden spots away from his vision. “It’s fine.”

She gestured with the flashlight toward the stairs. “Follow me. And watch your step.”

Everything in the building seemed ancient and forgotten. Jungkook swore he heard it groan in response to their presence there. It gave him an eerie sort of vibe that he wasn’t sure he wanted to really wrap his head around.

Once they reached the ground floor, Nikita disappeared through a door to the right. It looked like an office building of some kind now that he got a better look at it. He could hear her roughly pulling at drawers from what he assumed were old metal filing cabinets. Jungkook took a lean against the door frame, folding his arms across his chest as more dust flew in the air from Nikita’s manic investigation methods.

“Need any help?”

She slammed a drawer closed and yanked at another one, fingers dancing over the folders. “I’m good.”

He shrugged, even though he knew she couldn’t see it. “So what is this place?”

“Used to be a Public Records office until everything became digitized and moved to the various data hubs all over the globe.”

“And now?”

Nikita pulled out a folder and sifted through the papers inside. “Now it’s a place for squatters and a go-between for Rebel units.”

Jungkook hummed in understanding. But something puzzled him.

“So why are we here?”

Turning to face him, she waved the envelope at him. “Gathering intel for another client.”

“Wait.” He stepped inside the room. “This isn’t an escort job, but a recon mission?”

Nikita grinned, shutting the drawer closed with her hip. “Yup.”

He frowned. “Then why was I hired for this? You do know that I’m a Runner, right?”

“I know.” She stuffed the envelope into her bag, using the beam of her flashlight to rifle through whatever contents were also inside. “I know exactly who you are, Jeon Jungkook.”

Jungkook didn’t know why, but he didn’t like what she was insinuating with those words.

Nikita pulled something else from her bag, but it was too dark for him to see. Using her other hand to secure the bag’s clasp, she stepped toward the window and slid it open. Jungkook watched her poking her head out, presumably to see if anyone else was coming. It was dark and most people had normal work schedules so there wasn’t a chance for anyone to be out after midnight.

Well, except for them.

“It’s a waste.”

“What?” Jungkook slightly tilted his head, confused. “What is?”

“You left everything behind the same time I did, but all you’ve done is float through life without a care in the world.” She glanced at him from over her shoulder. “It’s a waste.”

Rolling his eyes, he frowned. “What the hell do you know?”

He didn’t appreciate her judgmental attitude toward him. It wasn’t like she knew him. It wasn’t like she understood what he’d gone through up until that point. Living off the grid wasn’t easy and it wasn’t for everyone. Sure, he could have gone back home and ponied up. He could have turned to those fighting against society’s rules and regulations, seeing refuge from a dying world. But he wasn’t about to let himself become dependent on anyone. Being dependent on others equated to marginalized freedom and Jungkook didn’t want that either.

Even if it he had to remain alone to maintain it.

“I know you’re a Runner,” she said, flashing a shit-eating grin at him, “so I suggest you do what you’re good at. Running.”

Jungkook wasn’t sure what she was getting at. But before he could question her further, something fell to the ground. It rolled across the floor and into the sliver of light that leaked in through the window from the streetlamp outside.

It was a hand grenade.

“ARE YOU CRAZY?!” Jungkook barely heard his own voice through the panic cadence of his heartbeat.

Nikita reached out to grab his hand, pulling him toward her. “RUN!”

They both tumbled out the window, rolling onto the grass in a tangle of limbs. They dislodged themselves from each other, frantically scrambling to their feet as they hurried to put as much distance between them and the building as possible. The heat from the explosion pressed against Jungkook’s back, forcing his body to lurch forward. Something cut the side of his face and he grunted as his shoulder collided with the concrete. He thought he heard someone calling him, but it was hard to make out from the soft ringing in his ears and the alarms going off.

“Shit,” he muttered as he sat up on all fours, shaking his head back and forth to chase away his rattled nerves.

Someone grabbed roughly at his jacket, yanking him up to his feet. His face was inches from Nikita’s, her stormy eyes reflecting the fire and smoke eating away at the building behind him.

“Come on,” she said, her hand reaching out to grasp his, “we have to go!”

He didn’t have time to yell at her. He simply followed her direction. Besides, he knew better than anyone that he couldn’t just walk away from this. Jungkook was an accomplice - willingness be damned.

He was a Rebel now.

~ n.m. ~

She’d be lying if she hadn’t planned it out that way. Nikita never had any intention of outright asking Jungkook if he would join their cause. Instead, she chose to be a dirty bitch about it - forcing his hand and leaving him no other option but to stand at their side. The Rebels weren’t necessarily losing, but they weren’t winning, either. The more skilled people they had on their side, people like Jungkook, the more likely they would win against society’s preconceived notion of what “success” and “happiness” was.

Nikita did it because she knew that they had to have him. That she had to have him. She didn’t feel guilty about taking him away from the life he’d chosen for himself.

A month later, however, the guilt started rearing its ugly little head. Usually in the dead of night; when the urge to smoke overtook her. She puffed on a cigarette, her thoughts swirling around in her head like a busted washing machine in desperate need of repair. Minjae told her that she didn’t need to tell him the truth about that day; what her intention was. She normally never questioned Minjae or his motives.

Now? Another month passed. She wasn’t so sure anymore..

A strong gust of wind pushed up against her body, causing her to take a half a step forward. The wind was always powerful the higher a person was. But the rooftop of their hideout was the only place she could find any solace. More and more people were joining their cause, but more people meant less space. Maybe it was the former high-privileged snob in her, but she liked being able to have a little breathing room in her life.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you were here,” a voice said from behind her.

She turned to glance over her shoulder, seeing that it was Jungkook. Her brows furrowed, a soft ache building at the center of her chest. But she didn’t say anything. He took a step back, his hand reaching behind him so he could push the door back open.

Nikita exhaled a thin stream of smoke, tapping the ash off the side of the building. “Stay if you want.” She shifted her gaze back to look at the twilight sky. “You don’t have to leave.”

The door closed, but the sound of feet shuffling closer toward her caused her to release a silent breath of relief. She didn’t want the awkward feeling to continue between them, and in the last month Jungkook proved himself useful. He never demanded to leave, because the people around him wanted him to stay. It made Nikita wonder if he’d never felt a sense of community before now; if he’d always been alone.

She was decent enough not to ask.

“No assignments. That’s rare.” He said it so easily, like he’d been a Rebel for years.

Shrugging, she lifted the cigarette to her lips. “Can’t be busy all the time. Batteries need charging and all that shit.”

He chuckled, sidling up beside her but giving her at least three feet of space. Nikita cast him a sidelong glance, watching him lean against the railing with his forearms.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Jungkook reached into his pocket and pulled out a toothpick. She raised a brow, unable to force back the smirk forming on her face. It was a habit she’d never understand, but it strangely suited him. She shook her head as he clamped his teeth over the twig, making it swivel back and forth with his tongue.

“What about you?”

He shook his head. “Nah. I’m heading out in two days.”

Nikita wouldn’t ask him where. It was better if she didn’t know. The less she knew, the less likely Jungkook would be compromised should something happen while he was away.

For a while, neither of them said anything. She finished her smoke, tossing the cigarette butt off the edge. Jungkook was focused on the starry night sky, so she knew he didn’t notice her looking at him. His hair shifted in back and forth motions from another gust of wind. He looked so lost in thought, yet completely relaxed.

Anything could happen between now and tomorrow. Jungkook could turn his back on them and possibly reveal everything he’d learned to the authorities. Or he could just get captured or killed. There were no guarantees in the world they were both fighting against and fighting for.

“I’m sorry,” Nikita said, surprised at herself with how suddenly the words came tumbling out.

“Huh?” Jungkook straightened up to his full height, flashing her a confused look. “What for?”

“I put us in that situation back then so that you’d have no choice but to come with us.”

He appeared to not understand what she was getting at. Was he really so gullible? Or was he just that innocent? How had the world not broken him?!

Nikita closed her eyes tightly, biting her lower lip that was already beginning to tremble. “I purposefully set you up. I forced you to become a Rebel.”

She couldn’t see him, much to her relief. But the sound of her heart hammering roughly against her ribs drowned out the sounds of the city. If he was saying anything at that moment, Nikita was confident she wouldn’t have heard him.

“I know.”

Those two words pierced through her loudly pounding heartbeat. Opening her eyes wide, she jerked her head to face him. He was closer to her now, but still wearing that gentle expression. The one of someone who understood something that she hadn’t been able to glean. The kind of expression that told volumes about a person’s life.

About the pain they were forced to endure.

“I know you did. And that’s okay.”

She blinked up at him, gobsmacked by his words. “Wh-What?”

How could he say that it was okay? What part of what she said was okay? As far as Nikita was concerned, none of this was okay!

“Because it was only after being here, I realized why you did. To me, that’s all that matters.”

Nikita’s brows furrowed in disbelief. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. It was like she’d lost the ability to speak or even formulate coherent phrases.

He continued.

“I’m a Runner. You said it yourself, running is what I’m good at. People only ever needed me to run for them. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

She watched him take a step toward her.

~ j.j. ~

Nikita looked like a deer caught in headlights.

Jungkook felt a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach; like something was fluttering inside of it. He wondered if he looked the same. If he had that same expression on his own face. Jungkook hoped he didn’t, but he felt weirdly calm. He couldn’t quite place why, other than he believed everything he was saying at that moment.

And he believed that Nikita would hear him; truly hear him.

Because for damn near two months, Jungkook couldn’t get Nikita out of his mind.

“My family didn’t care about me running away from my responsibilities. If they did, they would be looking for me now.”

He took another step forward, his eyes flicking downward to see if Nikita was going to take a step back. She didn’t, and that strange feeling in his stomach intensified.

“My two siblings are making up for my shortcomings. They’re happy and so I kept running. Here. There. Everywhere. It never mattered where I was or how long I was gone. Because running is what I do.”

Nikita looked like she was really listening to him. He knew it because of how focused her eyes were; shaking.

“J-Jungkook,” she stammered.

He knew he should take a step back. Reassess things and think about just what the hell was tumbling from his mouth. It wasn’t like he’d planned this and he hadn’t expected for her to apologize for making him a sucker. One day was all he needed to figure it out. After the initial internal battle he had with himself died down, Jungkook was planning to get the hell out of that place. He would play nice and then bounce. Simple as that.

But one day turned into one week. Then two. Then three.

Until a month passed by.

He realized it hadn’t bothered him as much as he initially thought. Because in that short amount of time, he saw Nikita in ways that he was sure she didn’t realize was being showcased. Jungkook discovered every nuance about her as their paths crossed every single day. From the way she preferred hats with bills than beanies, to how she would scratch at the bridge of her nose when she was annoyed. She preferred dogs over cats, but had a special kind of love for horses. She liked dark liquors and she hated beer. Nikita hated mornings, but she would always get up early to see the sunrise before going back to sleep.

And she was one helluva free runner.

Taking one more step forward, there was now less than a foot of space between Nikita and him. Again, he looked down to see if she would step back. And again, she didn’t.

“For the first time in a while, no one wants me running anymore. And when I have to run, I know I have a place to run back to. Because there are people waiting for me.”

He reached out to grasp her wrists, feeling her pulse jumping with life beneath his palms. For a split second, he suddenly felt self-conscious that his hands might be cold, clammy, or all of the above. But Jungkook selfishly refused to let go. He would apologize later for it if she shoved him aside.

Or off the building.

He waited - the soft clouds of breath meeting hers as she breathed out in sync with him. Nikita didn’t move or was thinking about what to do at that moment. Jungkook knew he needed to hurry and say what was churning inside of him.

What he’d been wanting to say for almost a week now.

“Because people like you are waiting for me.”

His hands moved from her wrists, slowly gliding up her arms until his palms slid over the delicate curve of her shoulders. Jungkook even knew how strong she was under all the bulky clothes she wore. It was how people kept underestimating her. It was how she survived.

But even under that strength was a gentle and compassionate woman. A woman who cared about the people around her. A woman who decidedly left her comfortable entitlement to help anyone suffering under the injustice of the world’s system. A woman who cried in mourning for those who could not be with the ones they loved.

Jungkook’s hands cupped her neck, using his thumbs to stroke over Nikita’s jawline. He gently pressed them to her chin, lifting her face to his. He could see the tears forming in her eyes and he paused, feeling his own hands trembling. Could he afford to hesitate? Could he really let this moment pass by, only to fade away into the darkness where it would never return to see the light of day?

He had to keep trusting her. Trust that she would keep listening.

“Jungkook, what are you--?”

“I love you.”

Jungkook felt like his insides were going to fall straight out of him. He said it. His nerves felt liquefied, but he said it.

“W-What?”

“I love you, Nikita.”

Not wanting her to push him away, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. He felt her gasp in his mouth and he waited for her to retaliate. To kick and scream and threaten to toss him over the side to his death. He would have deserved it. His death would be justified.

But Nikita didn’t shove him to the side. No. And he lifted his lips from hers when he felt her hands cupping his elbows. What tears were in her eyes spilled down her cheeks. Jungkook saw her brows furrow, but there was a watery smile now on her face.

And then he kissed her again, harder. His hands left her face so he could wrap his arms around her, fully pulling her up against him. He needed her close. Closer than he’d ever been able to get to her. The need was terrible and he didn’t want to chase it away. He sucked in air through his nose, drinking in the subtle smell of her shampoo. Nipping and tugging at her lips between his teeth and tongue, he relished the soft taste of ash from the cigarette she smoked earlier. But there was a hint of peppermint. Nikita always ate a peppermint before smoking because she despised the taste.

Jungkook would continue his mission of getting her to quit.

They parted the kiss long enough to get air. He could just barely see her through the clouds of their breaths. Even in the dark, her eyes seemed to glow. He loved how Nikita always looked like she could see right through him.

“I fell in love with you. I don’t know how. I don’t know why.” He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers as their noses touched. “I just did. I just do.”

Turning to bury his nose into the curve of Nikita’s neck, he smiled against her skin.

“It’s okay if you don’t right now. We have as much time as we need to figure it out. Until then, just let me keep loving you as you are now. As I am now.”

Her body shook with how roughly she was nodding her head. Jungkook pressed his fingers against the back of her neck as he held her aloft. And for awhile, that’s all they did. Hugged each other. He could feel how hard their hearts were hammering against each other. All the anxiety and hesitation felt like it was bleeding out of him.

Nikita laughed a little. “Damn,” she whispered.

Jungkook smirked. “What?”

“Guess this means I love you too.”

They shared a laugh. He leaned forward to pull her into a hug. Jungkook appreciated how good it felt to know her arms were around him. It may have been a selfish beginning, but it wouldn’t be a selfish end.

He knew things would get harder from now on. But that was okay. Because the hole in his heart was full.

Because he loved this woman in his arms.

42 notes · View notes

harryandmolly · 5 years

Text

Complicit // 5

summary: Shawn is under more pressure than he’s ever known. He craves release and comfort, the simplicity of sex. He gets more than he bargained for.

warnings: language, NSFW (my permanent tag for this series), fraying at the edges

WC: 7.3k

---------

The dialing sound Niall’s phone makes is the British one. He tries to feel comforted by it. It reminds him of calling his nan. He could use some comfort, that’s why he’s calling Niall.

It rings twice more. Shawn’s very sure he’s about to get his voicemail which he doesn’t even think Niall checks and he doesn’t blame him because Shawn mostly texts him anyway, but he really wanted to kind of talk this out and--

“Hey, mate,” Niall greets. It sounds like he’s outside, probably in London. He hears traffic and distant car horns.

“Heyyyy,” Shawn begins casually, pressing his fingers through his hair and striding out to the balcony of his house even though he’s completely alone, “What’s up, man?”

“I’m over in London for a couple meetings and a friend’s wedding. Headin’ out to me local. What’s up?”

Shawn sighs. He squints one eye at the horizon, then the other. “I just did something… really stupid.”

Niall chuckles. His favorite start to any story. “How stupid?”

“Pretty… fucking stupid,” Shawn groans, closing both his eyes, “I just got back from Vegas.”

“I know! Everyone’s buzzin’ about iHeart Summer. Heard you killed it, mate, congratulations! Good craic?”

“Yeah, yeah, it was great,” Shawn mumbles distractedly, “But I brought Penny.”

“Oh,” Niall chirps, clearly expecting him to admit something much worse, “That’s fine, lad, I’ve flown Karina’r out places before. ‘S not a big deal.”

Shawn nods impatiently, “No, no, I know, it’s not that. We just… god, we had the most amazing night. It was… honestly, I really think it was the best sex I’ve ever had. And then I did something completely insane.”

Niall’s brow furrows. He keeps one eye up on the crosswalk signal. “Don’t tell me ya fookin’ married ‘er.”

“I… I bought her a necklace. A really, really expensive, insane necklace. Frank Sinatra gave it to Ava Gardner in like the 1950s. I had it delivered to her.”

Niall guffaws. His cornflower blue eyes dance as he cackles, stepping into the street, unbothered by the eyes he draws. “You’re kidding me.”

“I’m not,” Shawn croaks, slumping a shoulder against the sliding door, angling his eyes down, “I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. I got carried away. We just… that night… and then the festival, I mean, shit, I’ve never played a show like that before. I’ve never had a night like that onstage. I thought I had and then I played that show and it’s like… god, Ni, she got me somewhere. I don’t even know where.

“So I got back after the show like, buzzing. We were out all night celebrating after. I got back at like 5 AM and I called the guy that helped me pick out those earrings for my mom for Christmas and he said he had this necklace and Sinatra fucking designed it and, dude, she loves Sinatra, like loves him, and I just snapped and bought it. Put the fucking deposit on my Amex and called La Splendeur to arrange the delivery.”

Niall’s still laughing. “Wow.”

“I’m such an asshole,” Shawn mumbles, letting a short chuckle break through, “I mean, what the hell is she going to think? She’s going to think I’m fucking obsessed with her.”

“It kinda sounds like you are,” Niall prods, shoving his free hand in his pocket as he strides down the busy street.

“I know I am, but I don’t need her knowing that!” Shawn gripes.

“Listen, girls like her get fancy gifts all the time. She’s used to it, mate. It probably won’t faze her.”

That definitely doesn’t make Shawn feel better. If he’s going to be an obsessed asshole, he at least wants to be the only one in her life.

“Or worse, she’ll think I’m just throwing money at her because that’s all she’s worth to me.”

Shawn realizes with a swoop of his gut that that’s his true fear. The idea that Penny thinks he just wants to buy her makes him want to lose his lunch over the railing. He winces and rubs a hand over his eyes.

“Mate, you’re overreacting. When you’re with her, do you treat her like a hooker?”

Shawn blinks. “No, of course not.”

“No. Because you’re a good lad. She’s spent enough time around you to know that. She’s not going to think you’re trying to reduce her to a piece of jewelry. She’s probably flattered. I’m sure she loves it. It’s a thoughtful gift, too, if she loves Sinatra. Hey, I love Sinatra and you’ve never bought me a priceless necklace that he designed.”

Shawn snorts. “When you fuck me like she can, I’ll get you his whole collection of pinky rings.”

Niall beams. “That’s the spirit.”

“I haven’t even touched it yet,” Penny hisses into the phone, circling the red box sitting dead center on her bed like a snake charmer eyeing a viper.

“Well, you should. It’s been in a box since the 90s. It deserves a little skin,” Silver replies.

Penny purses her lips. “I… cannot believe he did this.”

“Well, not to sound… anyway, it’s hardly the most expensive gift you’ve ever received.”

Penny’s mind jumps to the Aston Martin in her garage and she bites her lip. “No, I know… but… I mean, it’s so soon.”

Silver bobs her head and runs her finger along the strand of pearls at her throat, they themselves a gift from a client long ago.

“It’s the buzz, baby. Everyone’s saying his name after that performance of his. He probably just wanted to show you some gratitude. Several thousand dollars worth.”

Penny perches beside the open Cartier box, still a safe distance. She reaches out with a fingertip, timidly stroking the largest stone at the center, where it would hang beautifully between her collarbones if she weren’t too chicken to try it on.

She swallows. “He can’t… know how much this means to me. He can’t possibly, I’ve only mentioned it in passing.”

She’s referring to her lifelong love affair with Frank Sinatra. The people who know her well, and there are few, know Old Blue Eyes has been the apple of Penny’s eye since she was a kid. So to own something that was once his, that he helped to design, something he made for someone so important to him…

“I don’t know if I can keep this,” Penny breathes.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Silver nearly snaps, “This isn’t a sweater you can return. This is practically a historical treasure. And it’s yours, he wanted you to have it. And… Pen, it was Frank’s.”

“That’s the other thing!” Penny squeaks, springing up from the bed to launch into another pacing session, “I’m sure he has no idea of the implications of this necklace. He doesn’t know the story. Ava Gardner was the love of Frank’s life. He loved her madly until the day he died. Everything they went through together, everything they put each other through… it’s the stuff of Hollywood legend. It’s the kind of love you wish on your worst enemy.”

Silver quiets. Penny is flying off the handle. The only way to calm her down is to keep head head low.

“You’re right, I’m sure he doesn’t know. Please don’t panic, Penny m’love, it’s a nice gift. Take it as that. And for the love of god, insure it.”

Penny slumps into the vintage 40s armchair in the corner of her sun-strewn bedroom, eyeing the necklace again.

“Peter’s going to die when I tell him.”

Silver smiles. “I’ve got to dash, petal, give me a call tomorrow when you have time to run through our corporation paperwork.”

Penny signs off and drops her phone into the seat beside her. Slowly, she stands, heading for the full length mirror. She focuses on her neck, her unblemished throat, her stately collarbones. She runs her fingertips against her skin. She reaches down and lifts her tank top, tossing it aside. Her breasts are soft and full, more than a generous handful crowned by perky brown nipples. She cups them, massaging her warm skin, enjoying the weight of them in her hands. Then she goes for her pajama shorts, the little blue ones with the fluffy white clouds on them. She pushes them down until they drop around her ankles.

She stands naked as the day she was born in her bedroom. She turns, admiring the swell of her ass in her reflection, the glorious mapping of stretchmarks around her hips and thighs, brushing a hand over the birthmark on her lower back. She takes a deep breath and steps to the bed, reaching for the red box.

The necklace is so heavy. She knew it would be heavy, studded by 159 diamonds (she counted), but it’s even heavier than she imagined. Maybe it’s heavier to her because of its significance.

The clasp is fiddly. She very gently eases it open, lifts her gaze to the mirror and guides it around her throat, only releasing her hold when she’s very sure the clasp is secure. Her eyes are closed. She adjusts its position until she can feel with her fingers that the largest diamond is dead center in the little valley between her collarbones. She can’t look until it’s perfect.

And oh god, it’s so perfect.

One of Penny’s hands covers her mouth, the other rests against her stomach as she sucks in a gasping breath. Her eyes well. Her bronzed cheeks flush. Slowly, she pries her fingers away from her mouth and takes a closer look.

It’s magnificent. It’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. And it’s hers.

He got it for her.

Penny wets her lips and closes her eyes, overwhelmed again. He can’t possibly know it, but he just gave her her most prized possession. How does she thank him? More importantly, how do they proceed from here?

The latter question seems too much to answer so soon. So she focuses on the former.

Chewing on her lip, staring at the largest center stone like it will show her the secrets of the universe, Penny thinks. After a few moments, her eyes flit to a shelf holding a bulky black DSLR camera with a folded tripod stashed underneath.

An hour later, she’s loading a set of photos onto a thumb drive and planting a pouty berry red kiss onto a piece of cardstock. Both get folded into a padded envelope addressed to a Mr. Shawn Mendes with no return address.

Standing over his suitcase with a hand on one hip, Shawn scrolls down to “Orthodontist” in his contacts and hits “new message,” feeling heat rise in his cheeks.

He hasn’t been home from Vegas for 48 hours yet. He’s unpacking his suitcase only to repack for the next festival, Wet & Wild Summer Fest in Atlanta. He’s calmed down a bit about the necklace fiasco. Niall helped assuage his concerns, as did a little time and space. Not much, but a little. He finds he starts to get twitchy after the 24 hour mark away from her when he doesn’t have another booking lined up.

It should be concerning. It should have him stepping back to reevaluate his priorities. It should mean his dick is fucking exhausted.

But it doesn’t.

Hey Penny, it’s Shawn. Idk if Colette gave you my number. I wanted to see if you’re around before I leave for Atlanta on Wednesday. So… tomorrow I guess lol

He hits send before he can think too hard about it. Thinking too hard is always his downfall. He hopes the message comes off as charming and casual. He shoves his phone in his pocket, on vibrate of course, so he doesn’t stare at it and pick it apart.

After-overthinking. Also one of his downfalls.

Five minutes later, the buzz in his back pocket feels like it gives him a mini heart attack.

Orthodontist: Hi! I wish I could. I’m not available tomorrow.

Orthodontist: P.S. Received your gift. It took my breath away. I’m sending you a little something to show my gratitude.

Shawn drops the phone on top of the pyramid of sock rolls he’s loading into the suitcase and presses his face into his hands with a groan.

So much to overanalyze.

Admittedly, he had half deluded himself into imagining he was her only client now, that she’d cleared the bench for him. But that was naive. Of course he’s not her only client. Not only is she likely one of if not the most sought after women at La Splendeur, she has an established career with probably plenty of regulars. He’s just been lucky so far that she’s been so available to him.

He shouldn’t be reading into this as a “stay away from me you expensive necklace-buying freak” thing. Right?

Right.

Plus, she’s sending him something. What the fuck could she be sending him? His mind floods with possibilities, from the filthy to the ridiculous.

But, really, the biggest thing is the pang he feels at the idea of going at least another week without seeing her. He would like to imagine their last encounter, as… un-fucking-believable as it was, would keep him on a high long enough to get him through it, but he’s too hooked on her already. He seems to need a fix more frequently than even last week, and even more desperately.

He really should think about slowing this down. Maybe stopping altogether.

… but god, what is she sending him?

She’s got Frank’s Come Fly with Me album spinning on the record player and her favorite Fleur du Mal skin-toned slip on as she brushes some Guerlain highlight on her cheeks, her eyes straying to the stunning necklace against her throat so often that she’s almost running late from the distraction.

Penny is never late.

She huffs at herself and stands back to assess. She catches Pamela’s big brown eyes in the mirror and grins, her shimmery nude-painted lips spreading.

“Stop looking at mommy like that,” she teasingly begs. At the sound of Penny’s voice, Pamela’s tail thumps against the ground. Penny laughs and shakes her head, her flossy curls bobbing around her upper arms as she reaches for her dress, a floaty sand-colored number by Alice + Olivia. In the right light, she looks almost bare. It doesn’t matter. Everyone’s going to be looking at the necklace.

With a final intoxicating spritz of Tom Ford Costa Azzurra, Penny steps outside to greet Gus.

Jamie got asked to a community center dance by a boy. Ty is beside himself, Gus likes to think he’s handling it well. Penny lives for the details.

Christian Becker is already waiting for her under the overhang of the Beverly Hilton. He doesn’t have to -- she wouldn’t have a problem following a young intern in to find him. He’s entirely too famous and important to be standing outside an event like this waiting for her. But he always likes to, so she lets him.

Christian is a thrice-divorced father of four. He’s the editor-in-chief of Vertigo Magazine, a once upstart music blog turned highly respected online publication (Lady Gaga was last month’s cover feature.) He’s also one of Penny’s oldest clients.

Gus rolls down the window as Penny gathers her clutch to step out.

“Evening, Gus,” croons Christian, smooth as ever as he leans into the passenger side with his wire transfer confirmation on his phone. Gus barely checks it. Christian is “good people,” as Gus likes to say.

“Mr. Becker, you’re looking well. How are the kids?”

“Getting bigger every day. How’re Jamie and Ty?” He holds open the door and takes Penny’s hand. Gus doesn’t bother to answer, smiling warmly as he watches Penny emerge from the back of the car. Christian releases a low whistle, looking her up and down as she steps out into the evening.

“Miss Penny, you’ve done it again.”

She tilts her chin coyly, narrowing her eyes. “And what is it I’ve done this time, Mr. Becker?”

“You got more beautiful. We’ve talked about this, Penny. You gotta stop that.”

She laughs, a laugh close to her very own. She shakes her head. “You sound like a grandpa.”

Christian mimes a dagger being driven into his chest, wincing. “I’m only 54.”

Penny nods placatingly, “And your Winnie is almost 16.”

“God, don’t remind me. C’mon, honey, let’s head in. Have a good night, Gus. Don’t worry. I’ll have her home by 10!”

Gus chuckles and pulls away back into the line of exotic cars leaving the event. Christian, head to toe in Dior, holds his flawlessly-tailored arm out for Penny to hold. She takes it and strides forward, matching his springy steps.

They look well together. Christian doesn’t look any older than 45, save for the salt and pepper hair. He’s extremely tall, fit and built, rugged, the kind of man who you can’t quite imagine without his facial hair.

Christian’s smart. He’d have to be, obviously, to turn a blog screaming amongst the din of millions into a revered and oft-referenced bible of music. But he’s smart about the industry, too. He knows how it looks to walk into an event with a 21-year-old in a mini dress whose only contribution to a conversation is extolling the virtues of Ed Sheeran’s last album.

So instead, Christian brings Penny along as a friend. Truly, that’s all it is, all it has been since after their first night together. He said he liked her too much to continue sleeping with her, muttering something about how “everything my dick touches turns to shit.” Their dates are not sexual, they’re business. Penny can work a room. She can charm anyone into an exclusive interview, into drinks to discuss a potential venture. She’s his most powerful secret weapon and one of his favorite conversationalists.

Tonight is Vertigo Magazine’s annual “Summer Lovin’” party where guests, exclusively musicians and industry types, gather to mix and mingle. Christian likes to brag that for the last eight years, a hit collab has come out of initial conversations had at “Summer Lovin’.” The bragging works -- it’s one of the hottest tickets in town.

The ballroom is packed. Real palm trees surround them, along with bamboo and waiters serving cocktails in exotic fruit. The theme is Blue Hawaii. Under the Dior, Christian’s in a custom designed Hawaiian shirt printed with Vertigo Magazine’s logo. The DJ is playing Iz.

Penny fixes him with a look. Christian barks a laugh.

“Too much?”

“I just got back from Vegas and I can confidently say, yes. This is too much.”

Christian grins in that boyish, easily forgivable way. “Just like I like it, then.”

He loops an arm around her waist as he surveys the garish decorations proudly, planting his lips on her temple as she swipes a frothy coconut beverage off a passing waiter’s tray.

Christian glances down at her and hums. “Speaking of too much, you’re the one dripping in diamonds.”

Penny only barely tries to hide her bashful smile. She lifts a delicate hand to press against the heavy stones. “Oh, you noticed?”

“Hard not to. A client gift?” he guesses, narrowing his eyes.

“Nobody you know,” Penny lies smoothly.

Christian laughs again, squeezing her hip. He ducks his head to speak into her ear when he gets distracted, waylaid by a passing VIP that Penny doesn’t recognize but probably should. Christian releases her temporarily to schmooze with a crooked smile and she turns to glance around the room.

She bobs her head to an oddly chosen Hawaiian folk song and twiddles the biodegradable straw in her drink. There are famous faces everywhere -- the Little Mix girls, Luke Bryan, Pitbull, Dave Grohl. Penny chuckles to herself. Only Christian could get away with throwing a party like this and still having the who’s who of the industry at his beck and call.

She sweeps a curl off her shoulder, unwilling to let anything get in the way of her necklace’s glimmer. As she does, she feels a gaze. It’s not exactly unusual for her. But there’s heat in it, enough to make her look back.

Head to toe in deep blue, shirt unbuttoned to mid chest, a perfectly placed curl hanging over his forehead is Shawn bloody Mendes staring straight at her, watching Christian Becker’s fingers absently trace over the ridges of the necklace against her collarbone.

Penny swings her head back around so fast her long hair swirls, catching in the scruff of Christian’s beard. She plays it off, giggling and swiping at it as she rests a hand against his upper back and tries not to feel like she’s on fucking fire.

This has happened before, she reminds her rioting body, You have been in this position.

Of course she has. LA is a small, small town. There are only so many people that can afford her. Of course she’s been at public events and seen former or even current clients. It does not have to be an international incident.

But it fucking feels like one. Her heart is sprinting. Her head feels light enough to pop off her body to float around with the paper lanterns on the ceiling. Her hand on her chest is the only thing steadying her until Christian’s bulky, muscled arm pulls her back in gently by her waist.

Like the professional she is, she snaps in. Her smile is dazzling. Her quippy comment is light but witty, charming. The hand she places on Christian’s upper abdomen when they all laugh is soft but firm. She’s in control.

Shawn flies into a possessive, unadulterated rage for about 15 seconds before cold reality hits hard.

Somehow even before she turned around, he knew she’d be wearing it. She’s wearing his fucking necklace while another man’s hands are all fucking over her. His stomach is in knots. His neck burns hot, he bets even his exposed chest is flushed. He wants to scream, maybe even go full caveman and drag her away from Christian Becker, of all fucking people. He even likes Christian Becker. But Penny, he…

So not the path to go down right now.

Thankfully, the red mist doesn’t last long. He’s immediately disgusted with himself for even letting his mind start to go there. But he still can’t stop staring at her.

She didn’t take the Blue Hawaii theme as literally as he did. She’s radiant in a floaty dress that looks like a beach and he looks like a dopey extra on a movie set. He wasn’t even planning on coming to this party -- he’d much rather have spent the night with her in some hotel he doesn’t care about the name of getting his stupid mind blown. But Andrew convinced him, told him Tiffany had a suit ready, even had blue suede boots.

So Shawn decided to play dress up and be friendly with industry types even if the only thing he cares about right now, other than Penny screwing his brains out, is the album he’s already written that’s being released in the fall. He’s not in the headspace to think about a collab right now. But that’s what he pays Andrew for.

It didn’t even cross his mind that she could be here. It did not even occur to him. But he knew it was her when he saw her even between throngs of people in dim lighting. It’s her bare shoulder blades. He adores them. He’d know them anywhere.

Once she’s turned back around, her poker face back on, letting Becker pet her and show her off, he slugs back a sip of his rum cocktail. He forces himself to turn around because he will certainly blow their cover if he keeps staring at the call girl he’s obsessed with from across the room.

Now that the rage is gone, it’s replaced by a hollow, whiny feeling. Turns out despite Niall’s sage advice and what Shawn thought were enough self reminders that this is something he could simply walk away from, he aches.

He’s being ridiculous. The truth is, he barely knows Penny. He doesn’t even know her last name. And it’s not like he thought he was her only client. He’s not insane. But… he feels a little lame beside Christian Becker. The man is a legend. He’s done blow with at least 75% of Shawn’s heroes. The stories he can probably tell make Shawn want to pout.

But he can’t pout. He can’t even talk to her. He has to just deal with this and try to find a way to be a man about it. The best way is probably to ignore her as much as he can. It’s hard when she feels like a magnet in the center of a room, sparkling brighter than the disco ball even without the necklace.

God, the necklace. He had finally gotten to a place of feeling kind of ok about that outrageous gesture and now he can worry about it all over again, he can feel like a desperate young fool trying to get the attention of a sophisticated woman in a garish and heavy-handed way. He frustrates himself nearly to tears.

And then he sees her, in front of him this time, tooling with Christian around the bar. Before he can steel himself, he realizes she’s already watching him. He’s… stunned. He almost picks his hand up and, like, waves like an idiot but then she’s leaning into Christian as he says something.

He looks down. His glass is empty. He’ll wait to go to the bar.

It’s all she can do to keep from planting her feet, locking her knees and screaming “NO!” like an impassioned toddler when Christian suggests a trip to the bar. Shawn has been stationed there for 45 minutes with a couple members of his team and, inexplicably, Brad Paisley. She hopes there isn’t anything fruitful coming from that conversation. But soon she’ll be close enough to listen for herself.

She doesn’t usually drink so much on the job, for obvious reasons. But how she could be expected to get through this fiasco without booze is beyond her, so she keeps the pina coladas coming. Christian doesn’t seem to mind. Her strong desire to focus on anything other than Shawn and his sad, but somehow searingly hot eyes, his bare chest, his fucking blue suede shoes is compelling enough to have her at the top of her game. She’s wheeling and dealing beside him better than even he’s ever seen.

She talks a little louder, a little faster until she has slowly managed to get Christian far enough from the bar that she can breathe again. She still feels Shawn’s eyes every few moments, like he’s checking to make sure she’s still there, she’s still with her date, she’s still wearing the necklace.

As the night wears on, the eye contact grows… reckless. They’re both drinking. They’re both loosening up. They’re both curious. So they’ve made it a sport. They lock eyes occasionally, but never for very long, just long enough to get their pulses racing. Shawn will glance at her, she’ll tuck hair behind her neck, exposing the spot below her ear that gets her gasping his name. She’ll spare him a glance, and he’ll wet his lips before he takes a sip of his drink through a smirk.

It’s childish and irresponsible and it has Penny a little wet.

Finally, Christian takes the stage to thank his guests. Penny stands in the crowd, a beacon of grace despite the gallon of fucking Malibu rum in her system. She’s literally shoulder to shoulder with people like Questlove and Demi Lovato, but the only thing she can think about is where he might be.

And then, without knowing, she knows. She can feel him. He’s standing right behind her. She can smell his fucking cologne. She can feel the testosterone-fueled heat tumbling off him. She can even feel the smirk on his face -- it’s enough to make her want to turn around and force him to his knees.

The worst part for Penny is knowing he’d go willingly.

She huffs an aggravated sigh and senses him chuckle, unable to hear it over Christian’s corny speech. She folds her hands over her front, nudging at her Cartier ring with her fingers. She tries not to imagine Shawn slowly looking her up and down but her goddamn skin is crawling with it like it’s ready to drag her back into his arms without her permission.

She grits her teeth and fights fire with fire.

Penny reaches back and drags her curls over one shoulder, exposing the shoulder blades he likes to teethe at, the clasp of the necklace he bought her, and the sensual nape of her neck all at once. She turns her face, lips parted, profile backlit by the stage lights. She doesn’t have to see him to feel him go stiff all over.

Checkmate.

The night is winding down. Shawn can already feel his hangover starting in his fucking teeth. He didn’t watch Penny leave with Christian. The game they were playing seemed a lot less fun when he realized it had to end without them in the same hotel room. He stayed behind after his team left to catch up with a couple producer friends he hasn’t seen, and to prolong heading home alone to wonder if Penny touches Christian the way she touches him.

He shakes his big, heavy head and reaches for his phone. He wants to text her. What the fuck he would say is of no consequence -- he’s not actually going to do it. He just wants to think about the option.

He doesn’t have to think about it, though. Because she’s there, standing by the pickup line, slouched against a column, probably waiting for Christian.

He’s a fucking masochist, but she already knows that. He strides up casually and stands on the other side of the column.

“Nice night?” he grunts, just hoping his voice doesn’t break.

Penny doesn’t look terribly surprised to see him. Shawn bristles at his own predictability.

“Lovely.”

“You look… really beautiful,” he murmurs, his eyes holding on hers instead of scraping over her heavenly body, “The necklace looks amazing on you.”

Her eyes show a flash of guilt. She purses her lips and ducks her head. “Thank you. It’s…” She trails off, wetting her lips, “This means more than you know, Shawn.”

The same tingle he got when the jeweler sent him the photo sparks up again from his toes, the one that told him the necklace belongs to Penny. He lets it overwhelm him enough to look over at her, his smile tipping into goofy territory.

“I’m glad you like it.”

Penny runs a finger along the side of her neck. Shawn follows it, swallows roughly. He looks back down.

“Where’s… um…” He can’t bring himself to say his name.

“He left. His kids were waiting up for him.”

Shawn’s head lifts so fast his neck cracks a little. “He’s… you’re not…”

Penny’s nose twitches. She keeps her eyes forward on the cars. “Christian hires me to attend events with him. He enjoys my company. I act as a good buffer. We don’t fuck.”

She spares him one glance. His jaw has dropped.

“You’re… going home?” Shawn chokes.

“I’m going home.” Penny’s voice is smooth and warm like her naked skin.

Shawn takes a deep breath. He reaches behind the column and gently wraps his fingers around her wrist.

“Don’t.”

The air in Penny’s lungs leaves in a rush. She takes a moment to gather herself before glancing at him. She swallows and lifts her chin, ready to give him his marching orders.

“Stay here. Do the wire transfer. Gus will be here any minute. Show it to him. I’m getting a room. I’ll text you the number.”

He doesn’t have time to comment or argue (not that he would) before she turns on a heel and walks inside. If Shawn’s not totally delusional, she’s hurrying a little.

Gus is comfortable enough around Shawn to openly chuckle at his eagerness now. Another on the long list of indicators that Shawn spends too much time with Penny. Instead of bristling, he grins crookedly.

“Does she drive everyone this crazy?” Shawn asks, tucking his phone back into his pocket after Gus nods at the wire transfer confirmation.

Gus, behind the wheel, bobs his head with a mysterious twinkle in his eye.

“Yeah. But maybe you more than others.”

Shawn licks his lips and nods as Gus pulls away, still laughing. After two seconds of staring at his shoes, Shawn bolts for the elevator.

The party has cleared out, mostly. The only people left to see him bouncing on his toes waiting for the lift are the ones busy breaking down the event. When the elevator doors slide open, Shawn lurches inside.

As it rises, Shawn grips either end of the mirrored doors, unwilling to look his reflection in the eye. He hears his own breathing, feels the way his heart riots in his aching chest. He closes his eyes. He has to calm down. He’s too riled up for her already, has been all night. The way she couldn’t stop looking at him, the way he couldn’t stop thinking about her -- about how she feels and tastes and sounds when she’s so close to coming that he doesn’t need the verbal warning she sometimes gives, he knows it like he knows his own name.

The elevator dings and he’s burrowed far enough into the thought of her that it actually takes him a second to scramble upright and get himself out before the doors shut.

He knocks quietly, like he’s aware that the walls of this hotel held a lot of influential people only hours earlier. Tonight, he has to trust those walls with his secrets the way he trusts Penny. He fights not to scrape a hand through his hair -- Anna did it just so, so that the curl dropping over his forehead lands just right.

She opens the door barefoot, dressed but looking and feeling naked. In better light he can see the way the color of the dress nearly matches her skin tone beneath it. He grunts gently, letting his head fall back.

“Jesus, sometimes I just…” His voice wanders. He shakes his head and lifts it back upright to look at her.

“You fucking overwhelm me,” he mutters. His eyes land on the necklace again.

Still standing in the doorway, he wets his lips and shifts on his feet.

“Touch me,” she rasps, her chest filling as she inhales, tilting her chin up slightly as she invites him to her neck.

Shawn pulls himself into the room, letting the door shut behind them. He cups the side of her neck with one hand and explores with the calloused fingertips of the other, enjoying the way it sits on her, the way the largest stone in the center fits perfectly between the notches of her collarbone in the spot he likes to bite when she lets him.

“It’s perfect,” he whispers, his hand falling away. His smile is wistful.

You’re perfect.

His jaw clamps shut. He looks at her, waiting. Her eyes are hot with anticipation, but she’s not anticipating him -- it’s like she herself doesn’t know what she’s going to do to him, with him when she lets herself move. He revels in her electric indecision, willing and ready.

She throws herself into his body with a weak whine, one kind of like the sounds he’s prone to making around her. He catches her easily, holding her up so her toes skim the ground as she plunders his mouth. She’s still not quiet once she pins herself to him. She moans and whimpers and sighs like she’s never had him before. He’s too stunned to react beyond letting her do whatever the fuck she wants while he holds her.

Soon, she grows restless, unsatisfied by the limitations of standing in the center of the room, wrapping around him like a python. She needs more. Whatever it is, he’ll make sure she has it.

Penny nudges him backwards and wriggles until the tips of her toes meet the ground. She steers him to the bed, shoving him when they get close enough. He collapses into it with a yelping groan, but she swallows it so fast he’s gasping for breath in her mouth like he needs the oxygen in her lungs.

Does he know? Can he possibly know her so deeply already? The panic has been static in her mind for a couple of days since the necklace arrived.

Logically, she understands it -- she’s mentioned Sinatra, has played him a few times in Shawn’s presence. He probably just saw Frank’s name attached to the piece and thought she’d like it. He’s thoughtful. That’s all.

It doesn’t have to be deeper, but it feels so much fucking deeper. Everything did tonight. She’s never been so distracted on a date, even in similar circumstances where she was dodging one client while on the arm of another.

She’s deluded, she’s drunk on the night and his suit and his lips and his eyes and her fucking necklace but it felt… so big. Frank and Ava big.

It’s just a necklace, it’s just a necklace, she chants in her head, squeezing her eyes shut as she shamelessly ruts against his pelvis, her dress riding up to her waist, the silk of her panties soaked through already. It’s no wonder why -- as she’s been tangling with her own mind, she’s been riding him hard.

She breaks off from his swollen mouth away to his jaw and he gasps an inhale so loud she thinks she was suffocating him. But he doesn’t let her go. He only locks his heavy arms around her tighter, one anchored to her ass, the other stretched between her shoulder blades that he loves so much.

“Fuck, Penny, I’m--”

She knows what he’s going to say. He’s beyond hard. He might even be as close as she is. He walked in the door under five minutes ago and she’s already heading for an orgasm like a train off its tracks.

She doesn’t fucking care. She’s not stopping now.

“No,” she hisses, “Just like this. Keep fucking me just like this.”

His breath stops in his throat. His eyes, glazed and dark, snap up to hers.

It’s just a necklace, it’sjustanecklace--

God, she’s going to fucking come. His cock is so hard against her clit even through their clothes. Her whole body pulses with it. She comes so much better, harder with something inside to clench down on but her body doesn’t care now.

“Penny.”

It’s not a whisper or a murmur, it’s just a breath and he says it like it’s his last one.

It’s not just a necklace. It wasn’t just a necklace to Ava. It wasn’t just a necklace to Frank.

Penny comes jerking, hips spasming, thighs clenched around him. It’s short and sizzling hot and she chants his name right through it until she sinks her teeth into his shoulder and he comes too, silent like she’s never seen him, his face going bright red as his voice fails him and his wet mouth drops open in a scream without sound.

It takes him longer to come down than her. As he trembles beneath her, she noses at his earring, the little hoop in his left lobe, peppering it with kisses, tasting and licking the salt from his sweat dripping down from his sideburns.

He’s quiet beneath her like he’s not sure what to say. She has no issue with this -- she doesn’t have much to say either. His hand, the one on her back, traces the distance between her shoulder blades with his fingers like he’s trying to measure without looking.

Slowly, like it’s difficult to physically separate from him, she lifts her head. Despite the circumstances, his hair is still pretty intact. It makes her smile and tug at the forehead curl with a smirk.

“You like it?” Shawn whispers, his voice fucked and broken.

Was he loud while she was on him? She doesn’t know. She couldn’t hear anything over her own frantic thoughts, until he said her name. She’s not even sure he said it. Maybe she just watched his lips form around it and her vivid imagination did the rest.

“Yeah,” she coos, “It’s got me all shook up.”

Shawn snorts appreciatively and lets his hand wander up her back, under her hair to play with the clasp of her necklace.

Penny closes her eyes. She doesn’t want to keep thinking about it right now. About what it means, about what it could mean, about what it meant for the lovers for whom it was made 70 years ago.

She lets him cradle her in his arms and tip her off him, rolling her onto her back. He ducks his face into her neck, fluttering kisses, a varying pattern of barely-there brushes and firm, wet smacks along her necklace, like he plans to kiss her once for each one of the 159 diamonds in the settings.

Penny relaxes into the bed, closing her eyes and massaging his scalp with both hands like she knows he likes. She’s got him purring like a kitten for her in under 20 seconds.

Through her welcome haze, she feels his hand trail up her arm, reaching for the strap of her dress, then the other. She wriggles free of the sticky, clingy material as he drags it off her, the clinking of the zipper teeth loud in a room only soundtracked by their breathing, which is picking up pace again. He kisses each of her puckered nipples through her satin slip, then pushes that away too, followed by her drenched panties.

He sits back on his knees to stare down at her. She can see his cock starting to twitch under the fabric again. She lifts her arms over her head and sighs loud.

Shawn shivers. He shakes his head and wets his lips to speak.

“Fuck Ava Gardner. Sinatra designed that necklace for you.”

Before he can see the shocked tears in her eyes, Shawn spreads her legs, ducks his head and buries his face between them.

Shawn is awoken in the afternoon the next day by his doorbell. He rolls out of bed and checks the app on his phone to peek at the doorbell camera. He quietly prays to whatever’s listening that it’s not a teenage girl. He doesn’t have the energy.

It appears to be a delivery. He pulls a shirt over his head and stumbles to the door, signing and accepting the padded envelope.

On a piece of off-white cardstock is a red lip print that makes his pulse pound in his ears. He dumps the envelope onto the coffee table. Only a thumbdrive falls out.

He races to his laptop, throwing himself onto the bed as it boots up. He tries to jam the thumbdrive in upside down, winces and flips it over.

The drive has encryption software installed and asks him to create a password. After a few flutters of his tired eyes and a heaved sigh, he types: Sinatra.

The folder opens to tiny thumbnails, about 30 of them, and Shawn’s chest shudders hard before he can even get a close look.

She’s bare except for the necklace. She’s perched at the end of her bed, lying on top of it, on her side, sitting up, standing by the window, facing him, turned away. He gets so overwhelmed by all the images he stops himself and focuses on the first one, lets himself digest it.

She’s sitting on the end of the bed (and his heart skips a beat just looking at it, knowing it’s where she puts herself to sleep at night) with her legs crossed delicately at the ankle like the first time he met her. Her posture is perfect and elegant but not at all forced -- it’s just how she sits. She has a hand lifted to her chest, acknowledging the necklace, and her face is turned, her eyes down. He stares at the photo for minutes on end and can’t remember why he ever regretted buying the necklace, not for a second.

----------

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Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @mendesoft @singanddreamanyway @alone-in-madness @abigfatmess @shawnitsmutual @awkwardfangirl2014 @september-lace @grittyisaho @sinplisticshawn @rollingxstone @yslsaint @randi-eve @fallmoreinlove @heyits-claire @itrocksmysocks @parkerspicedlatte @simpledomain @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day @thecurlsofgod @magcon7280 @bensbuttercup @shawnsmusical @paigeasourous @tell-me-when-ur-ready @softmendesss @searchingunderthestars @buggy-blogs @tnhmblive @greedydevil @tamegray @meltingicequeen @havethetimeeofyourlifee @normalcyisoverrated-beyou @t-i-n-y-d-i-n-o @hannahlouiseee @sarahlauramendes @shawnsmoose @mendezlatte @1dbetch

#shawn mendes #Shawn Mendes Imagine #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes fan fic #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fan fiction #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fiction #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes series #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes drabble #shawn mendes one shot

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magicianapprenticelyra · 4 years

Text

PolyShips w/ the Kids! [I]

—I’ve been thinking about some multi/poly relationships within the fandom with the LIs and their apprentices.

I’ve been wondering how these dynamics would work with Lyra and her kids from the other parents!

First one of the bunch—

Asra/Lyra/Muriel:

How It Happens: Honestly this is the one of the polyamorous relationships that has a high possibility of happening.

It comes about from when Lyra and Asra first become a couple, and eventually Muriel joins the relationship.

Muriel feels really awkward and feels like he’s intruding on his best friend’s relationship.

The feeling eventually goes away, because no matter what—and it took a while but it worked—Asra and Lyra involve him in everything.

When they do go out together, Muriel tends to be in the middle, all of them within arms reach.

Muriel made the rings for Asra and Lyra for their wedding, and eventually he was gifted a ring from them.

He teared up. They all did.

Muriel divides where he sleeps at the shop and in his hut.

Lyra’s uncle Bảo helped them get a custom bed in the shop so the three of them could fit on it.

Muriel was sure it was magic somehow, even if said uncle isn’t magically inclined.

The topic of kids coming up made Muriel wary to say the least.

Still, he was the one that made the cribs, giving each kid a custom headboard designed with their names surrounded in protection spells.

[More under the cut!]

⁂

The Kids Themselves

Hải and Noor are the older set of kids to happen first, a set of fraternal twins. Parents are Lyra and Asra.

They’re older than Iris (Muriel’s her father) by about four to five years.

Iris grows tall really, really fast.

She’s born as a really big baby: Lyra needed to get a C-section (both in-game/in the Modern AU)

Muriel felt awful and wasn’t in the room when it was happening, but once all the blood was mostly cleaned up, came back in and cried upon seeing this little tubby baby of theirs.

Asra was sniffling in the background and the twins are just in awe.

Also slightly terrified since they saw a part of the procedure before running out of the room.

⁂

The Parents’ Relationship With The Kids:

Lyra:

w/ Hải

She is really worried about him in general.

He’s not the most social.

She’s the one that has to nudge him to go outdoors more often than not.

Painfully, socially awkward to the point he’d hide under the bed in order to not have to go out.

Her son didn’t really want to have friends.

It seemed the case until she found out about the bullying.

Modern AU: She went to the principal’s office about it but not much was done.

In-game: Pulled the parents aside to talk. Pretty much the same results.

Lyra was with him when he found his familiar: Scheherazade the Earless Monitor Lizard.

Scheherazade is a much older little lizard—Hải named her that because she had many a story to tell his curious little self.

She is usually the third person—it’s a toss-up between the Countess or his grandpa for first and second—to see his designs for prosthetics.

He’s working on models geared to be affordable to the general populace and with less expensive materials than the metals his grandparents work with.

Bounces ideas off of each other for his sketches of possible toys for kids.

He uses wood usually, and he makes steel tops for kids.

w/ Noor

The baby can do fire and water magic?? Oh dear.

Lucky for Lyra and her partners, Noor wasn’t too out of depth with her magical capabilities.

Noor took an instant shine to dancing when she saw Mom, Dad and Zaza doing so.

Noor compares marriage to having a life-long partner—or partners!—that would each take turns catching the other, be it in the highs or lows.

When she is old enough is able to handle herself on her own, Noor takes trips all over the place to learn dances from all the regions she can.

Lyra: “Please show us signs of life through letters.”

Noor: “I promise, I promise!”

Noor keeps her promise, and always returns within a handful of months from each departure.

Noor does have trouble with finding a place in Vesuvia.

She gets a bit mad about it, and Lyra pulls her over to Selasi’s in order to beat the shit out of some dough.

Most of the time the dough is too overworked to be given to paying customers, but she still eats it.

Has a little too much fun being a tester for any of the toys her twin creates, so Lyra usually follows along to make sure no one loses their eyebrows, again.

It is a looooooooong story.

w/ Iris

Oh she was so heavy as a baby.

Julian talked to Lyra about her options in terms of delivering, and they agreed upon the C-section procedure.

Iris was a whimsical child.

Learned to crawl, and then run before walking.

Often gave her mom heart attacks when she’d walk off into the Forest, forcing Lyra, Muriel and sometimes Asra—Inanna was always in tow, sniffing her out—to go and bring her back to the safety of the city.

Makes friends with a baby Pika who eventually became her familiar.

Lyra: “Honey, why is he named Flower?”

Iris: “He had a mouthful of them when I met him!”

Lyra: “Fair enough.”

Wanted to be as strong as her Papa.

Lyra often secured places for her to work out as a teenager.

Lyra even convinced Nadia to allow Iris to sometimes attend training sessions of the Palace Guard.

Was offered a position many times, but Iris preferred to help out in the shop.

Biggest sigh of relief for Lyra, to be honest.

Lyra is often greeted by this child in the way of being picked up and swung around.

She’s learned to become a noodle when Iris swings her around.

Is deeply amused by the fact she’s fallen in love with Noah, the blind son of Julian and @vesuvianoak‘s apprentice Ąžuolas.

More often than not is a silent observer of their interactions from afar.

Was the one to get Noah’s ring size from Ąžuolas and nudged Iris with it so she could get the ring bands.

Muriel:

w/ Hải

Their relationship doesn’t have a lot of spoken dialogue.

Hải can be having a really bad day so Muriel goes to where he’s sulking with a pair of whittling knives and blocks of wood.

They carve together in silence, with Hải holding up his work so Muriel can give pointers.

Muriel is the one that takes him and his siblings out into the woods to get ingredients their Zaza can cook for meals.

Helped Hải get over his fear of moving water.

He taught him to swim.

To be honest, it’s just a doggy paddle.

No one is willing to point it out though.

He was the first parent to learn that Hải was aro-ace.

Muriel reminds him that Lyra is ace as well. Being aromantic didn’t change the fact his entire family was going to support him no matter what.

They hug it out a while and Hải is really thankful for it.

Mun note: I deeply headcanon Muriel is biromantic ace.

Became good friends with Scheherazade when Hải came back from his trip with his mom and grandpa—Salim took him to see and learn from some other alchemists in Zadith.

Was worried Scheherazade was truly a very small dragon, but Hải assured him she wasn’t.

When Hải needs something heavy to be held down or picked up, he turns to Iris and Muriel for help assisting with the task.

Muriel enjoys watching Hải in his element. It’s the most peaceful state he’s seen his boy.

This includes on the annoyingly complicated commissions he works on with his grandparents.

w/ Noor

Was not at all surprised of the magical aptitude she has as a child.

Deems Noor the one with the flashiest tastes in fashion.

Being family friends with the Countess does not help things.

Seriously the kid’s like a beacon or an explosion of colors wherever she goes.

The Masquerade is a big one.

Noor tries to get her Dad to dance a little more.

Works as well as you think.

Is the shoulder and warm arms she cries on when things don’t go well with any of her romantic relationships.

Muriel: “...I could have Inanna scare them.”

Noor: *through her tears, she manages to laugh*.

Usually the first one to see her coming back on her little trips, be it with Asra or by herself.

Also makes sure she eats after her rigorous routines.

She forgets to a lot and he will keep poking her about it until she eats.

This goes for also making sure she doesn’t eat too much or too close before a performance too.

Makes her flower crowns, and was the one to teach her as a kid.

w/ Iris

Muriel was scared he was going to lose his daughter and his wife when Lyra was getting closer and closer to her due date.

It didn’t go nearly as planned with the twins, how could the pregnancy with his child end well?

Luckily, the C-section was a success and Lyra wasn’t in too much pain after the fact.

Iris always points out the scar on Lyra’s abdomen when she does get a glimpse of it.

Was not expecting Iris to want to be like him in two distinct ways: Very Tall and Very Strong.

She tops off in height at 6 feet tall as an adult and she is very strong.

Carried her over his shoulder on the way back home when she snuck off to The Forest.

Iris: “I wanna see the Peryton!”

Muriel: “No they’d chop you into pieces and have you for snacks.

Iris: “DAAAAAAAD! I’M A WHOLE MEAL.”

In the bg, Asra and Lyra are dying with laughter.

*Siiigh*

Unlike Noor, Iris’s style is more in the realm of the feminine: poofy skirts, princess-sorta ball gowns, etc.

Again with the Satrinavas, they spoil her time to time.

The tailors have a good time with Iris, since she has so many anecdotes to tell.

Muriel reassures her each time she puts on a special outfit that yes, she looks beautiful.

If anyone says she ain’t pretty enough because of her muscles, Noor and Hải would look for Auntie Nahara to prove them otherwise.

When Iris starts dating, Muriel asks her to keep a protection charm on her at all times.

It’s a little charm made of twigs, some flowers and a couple of smoothed stones from the river.

Then she up and goes dating one of Julian’s kids.

It’s a funny dynamic, really.

No one had a dry eye at her wedding though. N o o n e.

Muriel: “I’m proud of you. Congratulations, sweetie”

Iris: :D!!

Asra:

w/ Hải

Is not surprised by anything in terms of Hải’s interests nor secrets.

He’s the most chill of all the parents: most things don’t ruffle his feather in comparison to his spouses.

Scheherazade was a bit unexpected, but she’s good friends with the Stove Salamander.

Was very, very proud of the fact his child was able to discover what his magical abilities were, even if he started late compared to most magicians.

If said customers ask about his kids, Asra regales the story of the magnetized spoon to the kitchenette upstairs to every customer

Asra: ✧٩(ˊωˋ*)و✧ “I’m so proud of him! He was really worried about it for a while but—”

Hải: (￣￣|||) “ZAZA YOU’VE TOLD THEM A HUNDRED TIMES. STOP, PLEASE!!!“

Gets him things made of various metals on his trips.

Upon the return trip Asra either sends them in piece by piece or they all arrive at his father’s shop at once in a number of sacks.

Hải: o(≧∇≦o) | o(*>ω<*)o | (ﾉ^∇^)ﾉﾟ|

Will help Hải paint any and all his projects, because while the kid is great at building and assembling things, his knack for painting is left to be desired.

Asra: “Are these colors okay?”

Hải: “Zaza, we’re trying to not blind people. Switch out the blue with...green?“

Asra: “Dark green, got it. I’ll make it match your Dad’s eyes.” (≧∇≦*)

Muriel: (>.<);;;

Asra always encourages Hải to do what he loves.

Gets into arguments with Noor about the toys time to time, the disagreements over the size, color and shapes.

w/ Noor

Asra’s the one she goes to for pointers on how to dance.

Noor: “Am I angled right?”

Asra: *makes the necessary adjustments.*

Noor: “Ohh, right. Thanks Za!”

Asra: o(*>ω<*)o

Was the parent that was happy to allow Noor to go on a trip by herself.

He went around in circles with his spouses for about a week until Muriel and Lyra relented.

Before she left though, Asra added in a punch of reminders of protection spells, just in case.

Every time a romantic endeavor went sour, Asra was the one to make her favorite comfort foods while the others huddled around her and hugged out the sads.

Faust was usually mysteriously gone until she returned, looking too pleased with herself.

Lyra: “Faust? Where have you been?”

Faust: Crimes!

The next day Noor would find out her ex(es) had a terrible incident happen to them.

Nothing major mind you, but they looked ridiculous for about three weeks or so.

Helped her to pick out her outfits for performances.

Lyra and Muriel helped to subdue the technicolor ‘monstrosities’ if they deemed it too much.

Noor’s loudest cheerleader in audiences.

One time he got ejected from the area for being as such.

Muriel and Lyra get a kick out of pointing it out, much to his chagrin.

Asra: “I love seeing you perform and having so much fun!!! I’m sorry...” ( ͒˃̩̩⌂˂̩̩ ͒)

Noor: “It’s okay, Za.”

w/ Iris

He asked the cards what sort of a child she was going to be.

He did not expect a jumble each time he asked.

Asra: “Even the cards couldn’t predict you, sweetie.”

Iris: “Good!!”

Is the victim of all the ‘short’ jokes from the kids to the parents, despite the fact Lyra is only two inches shorter than him.

Iris has used him as a weight when she was pulling carts around, or helping some of the neighbors with fixing up their homes.

Goes to her if he can’t open jar or two, or seven.

Iris: “Papa’s not around?”

Asra: “In the woods with your mom and siblings.”

Iris: *pops them open with ease*

Asra: “Thank you, sweetie!”

Iris: “You’re welcome.”

Oftentimes finds Faust curled up around Iris’s shoulders, because she runs the warmest in the house, second to Muriel.

Will join them, and subsequently, so will the rest of the family.

Will help her do makeup on the occasions she wants to look extra pretty.

Asra: “Glitter or smokey eyes?”

Iris: “Both!”

Asra: “Alrighty, let’s see...”

With any of the seemingly random color combinations she imagines, it turns out better than expected!

⁂

Miscellaneous Details:

Levels of confidence from most to least from childhood to adulthood: Noor, Iris, Hải.

Hải gets better with his self-confidence years down the line. It’s a long process, but he will get there.

As teenagers Iris offered free piggyback rides to her friends and siblings—the twins of course always called first dibs.

Being aro/ace, Hải never looked for any partners in the romantic or sexual sense.

[Modern AU]: His sisters defend him to the point of were Noor almost threw hands with a belligerent, willingly ignorant S.O.B.

Iris was happy enough to let her sis whup the asshole’s ass but Hải had to pull her back.

Also if Iris gets physically combative with anyone it would end up with a hospital visit for the other dude.

Hải is the Best Man at both of his sisters’ weddings.

Everyone cries, because goddamn it we love it all.

And that’s it for this post!

Next: Muriel/Lyra/Julian—TBA

#The Arcana #fan apprentice #Asra #Muriel #asra x muriel x apprentice #asra x apprentice #muriel x apprentice #magicianapprenticelyra #the scribe writes #The Mind: Hải #The Heart: Noor #The Forthright: Iris

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losingmymindtonight · 5 years

Text

Whump: Drugs

Peter didn’t even have time to process the fact that the blow hit Tony before the man was slamming into the concrete, sidewalk cracking under the force of his fall.

He knew, distantly, as he aborted his previous attack in favor of swinging frantically towards the smoking Iron Man armor, that Tony would scold him. He was putting himself in the line of fire, foregoing caution for panic. He must be breaking at least a dozen of Tony’s rules right now.

But he didn’t care, because there wasn’t a terse voice snapping at him to take cover, kid, damn it, what are you doing?, no steady stream of orders, reassurances, the occasional praise. The other end of his comm was just static. Harsh and all-consuming.

He landed beside Tony and staggered to his side, tearing the faceplate off the suit with one hand and his mask off his head with the other. Karen was babbling uselessly in his ear, it was giving him a headache, and he wanted to see Tony. Didn’t want to stare at him through all the numbers and figures and warnings the man had programming into his heads-up display. He wanted to see him with his own eyes, glaringly and truthfully human.

Tony’s face was bloody, bruised. A gash ran along the left side of his forehead, dripping blood down into his sweaty hair. But he was awake, albeit disoriented, blinking slowly up at Peter. It took him a good few seconds to process what he was seeing, but when he did, a lazy smile wrapped around his face.

“Kid,” he breathed. Blood bubbled up between his lips.

“Mister Stark.” Peter ghosted his hands over the front of the ruined suit. God, he didn’t know what to do. Tony was usually the one taking care of him. “Mister Stark, what do I do?”

Tony fumbled with his gauntlets for a second, fingers uncoordinated and heavy in a way Peter had never imagined that they could be, before finally tearing the metal off and tossing it aside. His bare palm settled on Peter’s cheek.

“Nothing,” he choked, wincing as if every syllable hurt, “Rhodey’ll come. It’ll be alright.”

“I want to help.”

“You are.” Tony’s gaze drifted, eyelids drooping on a deep exhale. Adrenaline spiked through every inch of Peter: one sudden flash of pure, no-brakes panic. “Always helping.”

God, he couldn’t do this again. He couldn’t. He’d lost his his mom, his dad, Ben. Sometimes it felt like everyone he loved was doomed.

He couldn’t lose Tony. He and May were the only people he had left. He needed them.

“No, no. Stay with me,” he sobbed, clutching at the hand Tony was still holding weakly against his face, holding it there, “please, Mister Stark. You’ve gotta hold on.”

“Good kid,” Tony slurred, ignoring his pleas. He just stared up at Peter with a bleary adoration that made the whole situation ache worse in his chest, “such a... such a good kid.”

“Please,” he was begging, crying. At this point, he wasn’t even sure what he was begging for. For reassurance? For Tony to stay awake? For Tony to just not die?

“Shh.” Tony’s voice was distant, but his palm was steady and ever-present on his face. It was mostly Peter’s grip keeping it there, now, but it was so easy to just close his eyes and pretend. “‘S okay, buddy.”

Tony’s thumb brushed lightly under his eye, smearing tears across his face, and then it stopped. His grip softened, hand relaxing and growing unnaturally heavy in Peter’s hold.

He snapped his eyes open to find Tony’s closed, lips parted, face pale. He dropped the man’s hand from his cheek, reaching desperately to shake him awake, and it landed lifelessly against the suit’s chestplate.

“No, Mister Stark, wake up.” When his frantic shaking did nothing, he fell forward with a full-body sob. “Please, please. Mister Stark, please. You have to be okay. You have to.”

He curled himself around Tony’s chest, burying his face in his neck, longing for the man to reach up and cup the back of his head, press his mouth against Peter’s hair, ask him softly why he was crying, what was wrong.

Instead, he got a stiff, not-Tony hand on his shoulder, gently attempting to tug him away from his mentor’s chest. He resisted, clinging to the suit with all his might.

His world was imploding. Tony couldn’t be... he just couldn’t... please...

“C’mon, Pete, time to go.” That was Rhodey’s voice. Rhodey. Tony had said he’d come, but he’d come too late. He was too late. “The medics are here. You’ve gotta let go.”

“No.”

Rhodey’s voice switched from gentle to firm in a split second. “Peter, let go.”

He dug his fingers into the armor, sharp metal biting his skin. “No!”

“We’ll do this the hard way, then. That’s fine.” The War Machine gauntlets closed around his wrists tight enough to bruise. “Sorry, Tones,” Rhodey muttered, “I know you’d kick my ass for this, but your kid’s being a brat.”

And then he was wrenched away. Hard.

For a second, he was so surprised at being overpowered that he just flailed uselessly. By the time he fully processed what had happened, Rhodey had already managed to haul him a good few feet away from Tony’s body. Medics swarmed the spot he’d just occupied, obscuring his view of the scene.

No. No. He kicked back at Rhodey’s legs, squirmed as much as he could in the suit’s iron grip. He heard the men let out a grunt as he fought to keep him contained.

Let me go. Let me go. Letmegoletmegoletme-

“Fuck, Tony wasn’t kidding when he told me you were strong.” Rhodey sounded breathless, frightened. “Peter, stop. You’re making this worse. Do you understand?”

“Let me go!” He didn’t care what Rhodey said. He didn’t care. He needed Tony. He wanted to stay with Tony. Why did no one care? “I need-I need-”

His frantic babbling was cut off by an involuntary heave. He gagged weakly against the sudden swell of nausea, anguish growing. Rhodey cursed in his ear, tilting him to the side so he could throw up without getting it all over the front of his suit.

“Damn it, Peter, calm the hell down!” Rhodey’s voice was ringing in his ears, but none of the words broke past the screaming grief. “I need to help Cho, but I can’t do that if you don’t quit fighting.”

“No,” he sobbed, kicking his feet uselessly in the air. His mouth felt gross, he felt gross. He didn’t want Rhodey. He didn’t want him, “no! Mister Stark! Mister Stark!”

It hurt even more when he realized exactly what he was screaming for. He wanted Tony to come sweep up the mess, glue him back together like he always did. It was the scream that always got him what he wanted. The scream that summoned his mentor within seconds. He was decimated by loss, and the person he wanted for comfort was the only one he couldn’t have.

He screamed again, this time forgoing the name. He just screamed.

“Seriously, kid, you gotta just...” Rhodey trailed off as Peter dry heaved again. When he spoke again, his tone was tight, tense. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., this isn’t working. Whaddya got instead?”

“Doctor Cho should have restraints designed for Mister Parker’s enhanced strength.”

“Not gonna work, FRI. Don’t think you understand how worked up the damn kid is. He’ll tear his wrists to shreds, and then Tony’ll tear me a new one. Anything else?”

“Boss has an emergency procedure installed in his suit called the Naptime Protocol. It is designed to contain Mister Parker in instances such as this. The sedatives were not harmed in the crash. Would you like me to release them to you?”

“Fuck. Of course the bastard would have a fucking protocol for the kid losing his shit.” If Peter hadn’t been so worked up, he would’ve recognized the man’s brief pause as one of regret. “Yes, release them. Cho, can you bring it here?”

“On it.”

Peter sobbed louder. He knew that Rhodey was talking about him, knew that he was overreacting, that he was acting like a baby, but all he could think of was the desperate need to get to Tony. He needed him. Why did no one understand?

He was shifted a little in Rhodey’s arms, and then new hands, soft, bare hands, gripped the sides of his face and tilted his head at an angle. A sharp prick stung in his neck, and then something cool rushed through him.

“Sorry, kid,” Rhodey’s voice warped as Peter’s vision blurred, “but Tony needs me right now.” There was a hard edge to the man’s words. Peter’s head was spinning too much to ponder it. “You’ll thank me later.”

He scrabbled weakly at the metal arms that had shifted to wrap firmly around his waist, artificial exhaustion making his eyelids droop. “Mis’er Stark...”

“You can see him when you wake up. Just check out now, kid. The adults’ll handle this one.”

His muscles went lax against his will, head dropping forward and chin colliding uncomfortably with his chest. He was vaguely aware of Rhodey sighing in relief, and then strong arms laying him down, a gauntlet cushioning his head before settling it against hard pavement.

He was unconscious before he could remember why he was so upset in the first place.

The world trickled back slowly.

It wasn’t exactly unpleasant. In fact, he was pretty comfortable. He was laying on something incredibly comfortable, feeling warm and cozy and pleasantly hazy. He flexed his fingers and felt them curl around something soft. Mm. It smelled nice, too. Like fresh laundry detergent.

A thought in the back of his head tickled, telling him that he was upset about... something... but he was too numbed out to ponder it for long.

“Peter?” A hand touched his shoulder. “You coming out of it?”

He didn’t know what that meant. Coming out of what? He mumbled in response, mouth cottony and dull, pushing his face more firmly into what he assumed was a pillow.

A tense laugh sounded somewhere above his head. “That’s fine, kid. You just sleep it off.”

He sank into the bleariness for a while after that, distantly aware of the occasional shuffling or door opening, closing. He surfaced again, just superficially, when he picked up the rushing beep-beep of a heart monitor and familiar voices.

“Easy, Tones.” That was... Rhodey, right? He thought he was mad at him, but he couldn’t remember why. “You’re alright. You got out of surgery about an hour ago.”

“Peter...” And that was his name. And a nice voice. His favorite voice. He felt himself relaxing instantly, the familiar inflection washing over him. “‘S he...?”

“Look to your right.”

“Why’s he... why’s he inna...?”

“Relax. He’s not hurt. Kid put up one hell of a fight when we tried to pry him off of you. Wouldn’t quit until we knocked him out. He’s just sleeping the sedatives off. Cho and I thought it’d make the whole thing easier if we let him wake up where he could see you. He seemed close to it earlier, but he’s back off in dreamland now.”

“He’s okay, though?”

“Yeah, man. He’s fine. A little bruised, but fine. I had the medics check him over once they took you to surgery.”

“Good.”

“Do you wanna hear about you, now, or do you not give a fuck?”

“‘M I gonna die?”

“No.”

“Don’ give a fuck.” Tony’s next words came out whiny, which was funny. Peter had never heard him sound whiny before. “Want him.”

“Tony,” ooh, Rhodey sounded annoyed, “he’s right there. Let him sleep.”

“Peter,” Tony called. “Peter, buddy, wake up.”

Rhodey let out an exasperated sigh. “Tony, the kid’s not just gonna push through a shit ton of sedatives just because you-”

He dragged his heavy eyelids open, blearily observing the triumphant grin on Tony’s face and the way Rhodey shoved his face into his hands, groaning.

“Never mind,” Rhodey said, not looking up, “I stand corrected.”

“Petey.” That was funny, too. Tony didn’t usually call him that. “Petey, c’mere.”

“He will not be coming here. He’ll be staying exactly where he is and-”

Peter pushed himself upright with heavy limbs. Ugh. The previously comfortable fuzziness was starting to annoy him. His head pounded, his mouth was dry, and he couldn’t seem to convince his body to do anything he wanted.

“Mis’er Stark?” He smothered a yawn into his hand, not even realizing he was listing sideways until Rhodey lunged over and gripped his shoulders, forcibly steadying him. “Huh?”

Tony giggled. Honest to god giggled. “God, kid, you’re drunk as hell.”

“Yeah, and so are you, so don’t talk.” Rhodey grabbed his face and tilted it up towards the light, checking his pupils. “Jesus, Peter. Go back to sleep. I’m impressed you’re even upright.”

Peter shook his head, fumbling off the bed and nearly faceplanting. He probably would’ve, honestly, if Rhodey hadn’t had such a tight grip on him.

“Whoa, kid, slow the hell down-”

“Mister Stark.” He reached his arms out in a pitiful attempt at conveying what he wanted. He was already dizzy from standing as long as he had. “Please?”

Rhodey sighed. “Goddamn it. You two are gonna be the death of me, y’know that?”

Tony rolled his eyes, dopey grin on his face. “Gimme my kid.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Rhodey guided him forward, half-carrying him to Tony’s beside. “Here. You can sit down in this chair, and then I’ll go get another one because I’m nice like that-”

Peter ignored him, wrenching out of his grip and bracing himself against Tony’s bed. Tony’s hand wrapped tightly around his forearm, grip surprisingly steady despite everything.

The memories were leaking back now, pieces and reflections of emotions: fear, guilt, bone-crushing grief. He swayed, vaguely aware of Rhodey grabbing for his waist to hold him up.

He blinked at Tony, heavy and disconnected but forcefully centering himself with determination. “You okay?”

“Mhm.” Checking that Rhodey had the whole keeping-Peter-on-his-feet job sorted, Tony slipped his hand up to brush a few stray curls out of his face. Peter let his eyes drift shut and leaned greedily into the touch. “Are you?”

“Mm.” He slumped more of his weight into Rhodey’s hold, ignoring the man’s grumbled curse. “Sleepy.”

“C’mere.” Tony’s hand returned to his arm, and Peter opened his eyes to shoot him a disgruntled look. Tony just tugged him closer, trying, however, uncoordinated the attempt was, to guide him up onto the bed.

“Tony,” even as he scolded, Rhodey was reluctantly helping Peter clamber up, pushing wires and IVs out of the way, “you should be resting.”

“Can rest just fine like this.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Rhodey directed his next words at Peter, who was crawling up to his mentor’s side. “Be careful,” he deadpanned, “Dad’s fragile.”

“Am not.” Tony’s arms wrapped firmly around his back, tucking him close. “‘M Iron Man.”

Considering the fact that his face was tucked in the crook of Tony’s neck, Peter heard rather than saw Rhodey sink back into his chair. “Yeah, well, you were Iron Man. Suit’s fucked, Tones.”

A hand carded through his hair, lingering at the base of his neck, scratching lightly. “Have more suits.”

“Which you will not be using for six to eight weeks.”

“Meanie.” Peter let his eyes fall shut. Mm. Yeah, the fuzziness was nice all over again. Tony was warm and breathing and he was tucked securely into his side. He was already drifting when his name roused him just slightly. “Peter, Rhodey ‘s mean.”

“He actually has a right to think that. I drugged him.” Even half asleep, Peter could detect the trace of guilt in Rhodey’s tone. “Let the kid rest, Tony. Better yet, get some rest yourself.”

“Don’ wanna.”

“I gave you the kid, so you’ve got a teddy bear. What else do you need? A bedtime story? One of those spinny things?”

“Mobiles.”

“What?”

“Called mobiles. Spinny things over babies’ beds.”

“How do you even know that?”

“How d’you not?”

“Alright, y’know what? I see what you’re doing, so quit. For once, take the kid’s example, and go to sleep.”

Tony’s thumb brushed over his temple, slow and coaxing. “He’s not asleep.”

“He looks asleep.”

“Not the same thing. Isn’t that right, buddy?”

Peter grinned, grabbing a fistful of Tony’s hospital gown and used it to snuggle closer. “Mm. You’re... very loud. ‘S annoying.”

He could hear Tony’s smile in his tone, could feel it in the way he smoothed a few pieces of stray hair away from his forehead. “Wasn’t asleep earlier, either. Eavesdropping ‘s rude, Petey.”

“‘M not sorry.”

“I know you’re not.”

Rhodey cut in. “I can’t believe you knew that. Your Dad Instincts are off the charts.”

“I’m off the charts,” Tony slurred. Peter could feel his fingers slowing in his hair, so it seemed like, despite his protests, his mentor was going to fall asleep.

Peter decided that that was probably his cue to check out, too. He was distantly aware of Rhodey scolding Tony again, and Tony giving some half-conscious, snark-heavy reply. The last thing he heard before he dropped off was Tony’s voice, surprisingly lucid and firm.

“Oh, hey, Rhodey?”

“Yes, Tones?”

“Drug my kid again ‘n I’ll kill you.”

#honestly y'all #kinda fond of this one #irondad #irondadbingo #tony & peter #tony stark #peter parker #tw: drugs #losingmymindtonight writes #sleepy Peter is my specialty #and then I thought #why stop there?#let's make Tony sleepy too #I can have my cake AND eat it too

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