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whump-me-all-night-long · 3 years

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Jeweler!Sapphire AU (not canon)

Welcome to 3k words of this amazing AU idea that may or may not become a multi-parter. No editing, we die like.. idk. Please let me know what y'all think!!

Tagging the usual group (let me know if you only want to be tagging in canon stuff): @newbornwhumperfly @unicornscotty @itsleighlove @whump-scribbles @getyourwhumphere @skunkandgrenade @penny-for-your-whump @lektric-whump @just-a-whump-lover @thelazywitchphotographer @restrainthenmaime @angstyachesplus @lilbitwhumpy @leaderofthebeanarmy @aquard-skaii @whumprincess @thatgaysnail @finaldreams1106 @reveriedeludesme @kemonoinuzuka @circlingravens @whumpasaurus101 @spicy-wendigo @femmewithadhd @wafflestakethecake @lonesome--hunter @as-a-matter-of-whump @broadwaybabe18 @whumpinggoodtime @temporary-whump-sideblog @dumb-and-lesbian let me know if you want to be added/removed!

CW: talk of death (in a pretty disrespectful manner), talk of human trafficking, intimate whumper, hair pulling, noncon touching, some pretty noncon vibes near the end, uhhh Saph/Dustin is a real asshole, let me know if I need to tag anything else!

Masterlist

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The sound of a ringing phone woke Dustin. With a groan, he rolled over in bed, blankets tangled around his legs. Blindly groping along his nightstand, he found his phone and answered the call, from an unknown number, blue eyes squinting against the flash of the bright screen.

“Yeah?” he answered, stifling a yawn.

“Is this Mr. Moore?” a timid male voice said.

Rubbing a hand across his face, Dustin sat up, glancing at the clock with a groan. “Yes, this is he,” he responded, voice tight. “Now who the fuck is calling me at four a.m.?”

A throat was cleared on the other end of the line. “Sorry to disturb you, sir, but I’m Nicholas Jameston.” There was a pause, as if he expected Dustin to recognize the name. “I’m your uncle’s lawyer.”

Dustin blinked, brow furrowing in confusion. “My uncle? You mean.. Uncle Spence?”

A curt “Yes, sir.”

“Okayyyy,” he drew out. “Listen, I haven’t talked to him in years. Since I left for college at least. Probably before even high school. You see, my dad and him, they didn’t really get along-” He cut himself off. Why was he telling this man anything? “Anyways, there must be some confusion. I don’t know why he wants his lawyer contacting me all of a sudden.” Shit, he thought. Did I break or steal something last time I was at his place? Is this what this is about?

There was an awkward beat of silence before the lawyer cleared his throat again. “No, sir, there’s no mistake or confusion. You see, you’re Mr. Spencer’s closest remaining blood relative.”

Dustin was really not awake enough for this conversation. “Just say what you need to and be done with it.”

“Your uncle is dead,” the lawyer finally said. “And you’re his sole heir.”

Dustin pulled up in his car, a shiny BMW he’d bought using his dad’s life insurance money a few years ago. He squinted against the darkness of early morning, checking the address again. This place looked less like a family home and more like a fortress. A prison.

He wondered, for the millionth time since getting rudely awoken and told that a man he’d met only a handful of times was a) dead and b) giving him everything, what exactly he was doing here. His dad must be rolling over in his grave. Not that Dustin particularly cared about that.

He knew that the brothers had never gotten along, that his dad, the older brother, had apparently “abandoned” the family business because it was “amoral,” but Dustin had never really been privy to the details. He rolled his eyes just thinking about his dad and his need to be righteous and perfect all the time.

That apparently had gone out the window at some point, but the bastard was too proud to go back to his brother - their parents were already dead by that time - and instead decided to start his own company, selling.. who knew? Certainly not Dustin. No, the young twenty-six-year-old was perfectly content enjoying his bachelor playboy lifestyle, feeding off mommy and daddy’s blood money.

“Mr. Moore?” A man was standing on the doorstep, fidgeting nervously with a thick manila envelope.

Dustin took one look at him and barely withheld a sigh. This man, short, balding, oily, was a lawyer alright. He raised one lazy eyebrow. “Jameson, I presume?” he called back, making his way slowly up the path to the door.

“Uh, it’s Jameston, sir,” the man corrected quickly.

Dustin didn’t bother to hide his smirk. “Whatever. Let’s just get this over with. It’s early and I have a busy day ahead of me. Left a pretty girl waiting for me to call. Wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

Not bothering to wait, Dustin stepped up to the door and opened it, stepping inside a grand foyer. He whistled softly, taking in the shimmering chandelier, the sweeping staircase, with a gold-woven rug running down the middle, and the many large and well-furnished rooms branching off from the entrance.

“Now this is a nice playhouse, huh?” he said, grinned indolently.

He saw Jameston’s jaw tighten fractionally. “Yes, sir,” he responded. “Now, I can give you a complete tour of the house now. However, Mr. Spencer’s real estate agent can do that when she arrives here in-” he glanced at his watch - a fake, Dustin had noticed - “a couple hours or so. Furthermore, there was a, erm, rather sensitive matter that Mr. Spencer tasked me with familiarizing you with personally.” He adjusted his tie slightly, clearly nervous, before motioning Dustin down one of the smaller hallways to the side.

His curiosity piqued, Dustin followed. “What do you mean? Oh, don’t tell me, was the old man into some shady illegal business? Drugs? Girls?”

Jameston shook his head, Adam's apple bobbing. “No sir. Your uncle, he was an.. art collector, of a sort. Well, he created his own art, really. However, it was not necessarily, um, legally acquired.”

Dustin barely held in a laugh at the lawyer’s clear panic. “Of course it wasn’t,” he scoffed. “Do you know how much shady shit has gone on in this family?” He couldn’t stop the bark of laughter this time. “Of course you do, you’re the lawyer.”

Jameston’s face flushed but he remained quiet until he reached an indiscreet door at the end of a short hall. If Dustin didn’t know any better, he’d assume it was a closet or something. Jameston cleared his throat as he opened the door. “Welcome to the Jewelry Box, sir.”

Carnelian sighed, his head falling back against the wall as he stretched his legs out along the small bed. The only sounds in the large room was the occasional movement from one of the others.

“That’s it,” he muttered, standing up and marching over to the glass wall. “Is anyone else wondering where the bastard is?” he called, frowning as he caught the gazes of several of the others.

Emerald just shook his head, silently warning him. Amethyst, however, scoffed, picking at her nails intently. “Why do you care?” she snapped. “It’s not like you’re ever doing anything but yelling and cursing.”

“So?” Carnelian shot back. “Aren’t you at least a little curious as to what’s going on?”

As if to answer his questions, he heard the door hiss open. Turning his gaze towards it, he felt his lips tugging down into a frown.

“Here we go again,” he muttered. “I knew the bastard would be back before long.”

Then he met the gaze of a stranger, arrogant and lazy and startlingly bright blue. Eyebrows flicking up, he blurted, “Who the fuck are you?”

Smirking, the stranger glanced at a smaller man next to him, one Carnelian had glimpsed down here once or twice before, always with the Jeweler. “I think I’d like to ask you the same question.”

The small man cleared his throat and began speaking, quietly enough that Carnelian couldn’t hear. Instead he took in the stranger, as if he couldn’t quite tear his eyes away.

The man was attractive, annoyingly attractive from Carnelian’s perspective. His skin was a bronzed tone, clear and smooth. He was tall, probably taller than Carnelian, with a lean, slightly muscled body. He had on a dark t-shirt that clung to his body and somehow looked expensive, with form-fitting jeans and some Converse high tops on as well. His dark brown hair was slightly wavy, with the top grown out long and falling into his face. Carnelian’s eyes drifted down towards his mouth before he forcefully pulled them back up to his eyes, which were-

Still on him. Carnelian felt himself blush and then scowl as he met the man’s gaze. Already he was getting on his nerves. And where the hell was the Jeweler? Was this stranger some new client of his, looking to buy one of them? At that thought, Carnelian felt a flash of panic through him and glanced over at Emerald, who was looking subtly at him as well, clearly thinking the same thing.

Carnelian tuned back in when the stranger exclaimed, “Are you shitting me right now?” The stranger was now looking at each of them, studying them more intently.

His gaze almost completely skimmed over Diamond and Ruby, both of them still curled up in their beds, watching with wary and confused gazes. He barely even noticed Amber, the new one still drugged to high heaven after mouthing off to the Jeweler yesterday. Carnelian doubted the kid could even remember their own name right now, much less stand up from where they were sprawled in their bed. He took a bit longer looking at Emerald, his defensive stance, wise eyes, then Amethyst, with her crossed arms and haughty expression, before finally settling on Carnelian.

After several long, tense seconds, he looked back at the other man. “So you’re saying,” he drawled slowly, deliberately. “That this, all of this, the house, the business, the.. Jewels-” his mouth twisted into a cruel smirk- “they’re all mine?”

Swallowing, the other man nodded. “Yes sir, that’s what I’m saying.” He drew out a piece of paper and, clearing his throat, began to read. “‘I hereby give the entirety of my properties, including my family home, my businesses, and my Jewelry Box, to my closest remaining blood relative upon my death.’ That would be you, Dustin Moore.”

There was a gasp from one of the other cells, where Diamond had stood up, flying to the window, eyes wide and frantic. “Death? Wait, no, Sir, he- he can’t be-” They dissolved into sobs, sliding to their knees on the floor.

Carnelian glanced around at the rest of the Jewels, the only sound coming from Diamond. The rest of them had frozen as well, not sure how they were meant to respond. Carnelian was reeling, glancing down as he took a shaky breath. On the one hand, he was glad the bastard was dead. On the other, well, the Jeweler had never looked at him the way the stranger, Dustin the other man had said, looked at him. The Jeweler looked at him like some prized object, something to be shown off proudly and then put back into storage. The Jeweler treated him less than human; Dustin’s gaze said he knew precisely how human Carnelian was, he just didn’t care.

Before he knew it, Carnelian was raising his head to glare at the other man, only to find him still looking at him. As Dustin slowly moved forward, he asked, “Did my uncle give these.. Jewels any names? Because I think I’m seeing a theme in them.” He stopped a couple feet away from the glass, his head tilted slightly. “The only one I can’t seem to figure out is this one.”

Carnelian’s lip curled. “Stay the fuck away from me,” he snarled softly, looking him up and down before raising his brows slightly. “Bastard jr,” he added.

Dustin almost seemed caught off guard before letting out a laugh. “I thought you said that he trained them to be all submissive and whatever,” he called over to the other. “Jameston, this one seems to be a bit feral.” He stepped even closer, lifting one hand to touch the glass. Carnelian fell back a couple inches, eyes still narrowed.

Jameston cleared his throat yet again. Carnelian would almost feel bad for the guy, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was complicit in letting him stay kidnapped. “Yes sir, your uncle had his ways of training them. However, he didn’t train them all the same way. He found that one’s fight to be..” He skimmed his notes quickly. “..rather appealing, sir.”

Carnelian made a noise of disgust as Dustin grinned. “I can’t say I blame him.”

Carnelian barely breathed until Dustin stepped away, turning back to Jameston. “Well, I’ve seen them all. Let’s go back upstairs now. I think I saw a nice liquor cabinet that I’d like to raid.”

Once they were both gone from view and the door had hissed shut, Carnelian leaned his head against the cool glass.

“You okay?” Emerald asked.

Carnelian just shook his head, a sudden lump in his throat. “The way he looked at me,” he said softly.

“I know,” Emerald murmured back.

He glanced up to find the older man looking at him with concern and pity.

“Well then,” Amethyst said loudly, breaking the silence that had fallen thick and heavy. “That was certainly something.”

Diamond sobbed loudly. “That.. that can’t be true. Can it?” They looked up, searching the others’ faces. Carnelian felt a twinge of pity for them. After over a decade of being trapped down here, they had been reduced to a mere shadow of whoever they might have once been. At whatever they might’ve seen on their faces, Diamond dissolved back into inconsolable sobs.

Resting her head on the wall, Ruby quietly asked, “So what happens now?”

There was a beat of silence before Emerald replied, “Now we wait.”

Back upstairs, Dustin was finally alone after getting rid of that annoying lawyer. He had had to practically shove the man out of the house to get him to leave. Even then, he had only left with promises to call later about the details.

For now, Dustin was sprawled out in a large, overstuffed armchair, a bottle of expensive whisky and a half empty glass next to him. He was already on his second glass, and he had no plans on stopping any time soon.

His mind drifted to the one who had glared and cursed at him. The smaller one, with the hard gaze, numerous freckles, and bright curly hair. The one Jameston had said was named Carnelian. Dustin looked up the stone and smiled at the pictures that were pulled up. Bright, fiery stones, of varying shades, Dustin had to admit, he could see the resemblance.

Pouring himself another glass, he sunk down further into the chair. He supposed he should be more concerned with the fact that there were six human beings locked in some creepy basement that he had apparently just inherited. But, after living the life that he had lived so far, Dustin had to admit that this was far from the craziest thing he had seen. He knew plenty of friends whose families had, well, less than legal people working for them, and now that he thought about it, he swore he could remember some show a few of his friends had gone to where the host had all his pets or whatever they were called designed as gemstones.

He laughed softly, quietly murmuring, “Carnelian, huh?” before draining the glass and pouring one more.

It was hours later when Carnelian awoke in the darkness. The bright lights, luckily, were still on their automated timer, so they had shut out at their usual time. It had been hours since Diamond’s sobs had slowly petered out and since the others’ quiet, stilted conversations had dwindled. Now, everyone was asleep.

Well, everyone except Carnelian. It took him a moment to figure out what had awoken him, a soft tapping on the glass wall of his cell. With a soft groan, he rolled over, out of the bed, squinting in the dim light.

In front of him stood the silhouette of a man. A couple seconds later, Carnelian recognized him as Dustin, his new.. owner. He almost snorted at the title. This man wasn’t any older than Carnelian, and he looked and behaved like an entitled, overprivileged frat boy.

Carnelian slowly walked closer. “What the hell do you want?” he whispered, because he didn’t want to accidentally wake the others and unleash the chaos that would bring with it. It took him a moment to realize that Dustin was fiddling with the lock on the door.

Without answering him, Dustin finally figured out how to unlatch it and swung the door open. He looked back up at Carnelian and made a silent motion for him to follow as he padded back towards the door.

Frowning, Carnelian carefully stepped out, towards him and the hallway beyond, where he could see light spilling out from the door. Knowing it probably wasn’t very smart, Carnelian walked into the hallway, squinting slightly at the suddenly bright lights.

Before he knew what was happening, there was a hand fisting in his hair and pushing him up against the wall. Carnelian looked up, eyes wide, to find Dustin standing much too close to him and several inches taller than him.

Feeling his breath stutter and his heart skip a beat, Carnelian breathed out, “What the hell do you want?” He barely dared take his eyes away from Dustin’s.

With the hand not pinning him to the wall, Dustin leaned closer and wrapped a curl around his finger, pulling until Carnelian wince slightly before letting it go, watching it bounce. This close, Carnelian could smell the whisky on his breath.

“Are.. are you drunk?” he asked, swallowing hard when that steely blue gaze met his, hazy yet surprisingly clear.

“That’s irrelevant,” he said, smirking as he pushed closer to Carnelian, who tried to pull away, but one vicious yank on his hair had his eyes watering and stilled the rest of his body. Dustin raised a hand and slowly traced over Carnelian’s cheeks, ending with one finger following the outline of his lips. “You’re Carnelian.”

Carnelian barely resisted the urge to squeeze his eyes shut and instead held his breath, eyes wide and searching Dustin’s. He didn’t dare to breathe, much less speak, so he didn’t ask why Dustin had said something he already knew the answer to.

It felt as if an eternity had passed before Dustin pulled away, shoving Carnelian roughly back towards the door. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said glibly, pulling the door shut once Carnelian was through, leaving him back in the darkness.

Immediately, Carnelian went back to the one place he never thought he’d call safe. Once he had pulled the glass door closed, hearing the lock click, he curled up in his bed, as far away from the door as he could get, the thin blanket pulled over him as his heart beat in his throat.

He didn’t sleep a wink for the rest of the night.

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wienerbarnes · 3 years

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Much Ado About Nothing (5/6)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2,747

Warnings: none! wedding stuff?

A/N: happy new year yall hope everyone had a safe one! das all imma say tho im keeping my mouth shut about 2021 i aint risking shit anyway enjoy this chapter :P

MAIN MASTERLIST | MUCH ADO MASTERLIST

For being given a week, the ballroom looks immaculate. Satin drapes and tablecloths of cream and white cover the room, gold and olive green accents strewn throughout. The handful of tables in the room have large centerpieces of small white flowers, thin branches, and delicate leaves, as well as a lace trim around the vase they rest in. A warm toned light makes the room look bigger than it is and the dancefloor welcoming for everyone.

The wedding guests include the team, of course, some of Sharon’s family that were able to make it in such short notice, and anyone’s dates were welcomed. Sam brought a date himself, Sharon extended the invitation to some agents she’d been training over the last few months, and she told you invite those who worked in the lab with you.

She insisted, in fact.

Sharon banished you and Nat to the ballroom, while she finished getting ready, wanting to have a few minutes by herself before the wedding started. You assume Steve felt similarly when you see Sam and Bucky enter the ballroom and merge together with the rest of the team. You linger by the bar, hoping to get a bit of liquid courage before the party starts, but to your dismay, the bar doesn’t open until after the ceremony.

You also don’t want to take a seat because you’ll be one of Sharon’s bridesmaids, along with Nat. You and her wear matching warm brown dresses with a slit on the side, tying in with the neutral and woodsy tones going on throughout the rest of the wedding. Sam and Bucky wear brown bow ties and you assume they’re taking the role of Steve’s groomsmen. You pray you don’t have to walk with Bucky.

As more and more people take their seats, you find Nat and meet the other boys at the back of the room.

“Sam already claimed me.” She tells you cheekily as she loops her arm through Sam’s bent elbow.

Of course he did. You sigh and begrudgingly loop your own arm through Bucky’s as he smirks. While the group of you wait for the music to start to indicate your time to begin walking, you take in the man standing next to you.

He smells crisp and clean, his cologne smelling fresh and flooding your senses with lavender, rosemary, and cedarwood. His bicep is ginormous in your hand and you can feel the warmth radiating off of him through his suit jacket that he wears. He cleans up really nicely. Not that you’ll tell him, but you’ll definitely be thinking about it for the rest of the night.

Bucky’s mind goes through a similar thought process. Your skin is shiny and smooth, and he imagines you applied lotion while getting ready with the other girls. Maybe there hints of glitter in whatever cream you use, because to him, it looks like you’re glowing. You smell like the sweetest of roses and juiciest of fruits, and you look good enough for him to take a bite. He won’t give you the satisfaction of a compliment - God knows the argument that would lead to - but he imprints this vision of you in his mind to remember.

Finally, Steve enters the ballroom and makes his way towards the front of the room and any few people left standing take their seats. As people settle, Steve adjusts his jacket and glances over the room to take in all of his loved ones in one room. He glances over to where John sits alongside Leila and Kennedy, the two other lab interns that work under you, he’s come to learn about. He briefly wonders what John is thinking about, if he thinks his plan worked, if he thinks Steve is going to cause a huge scene in front of everyone, accusing Sharon of cheating in some big explosion. He wonders what John’s reaction will be when he witnesses him marry the most beautiful woman in the world, kissing her to solidify their love.

He can’t wait.

Soon enough the music starts and Nat and Sam begin down the aisle, you and Bucky following after. For someone that has hated the idea of love for so long, walking down the aisle like this feels really great. You’re not sure if it's the anticipation for the bride, or the decorations, or the huge hunk of handsome soldier guiding you down to the front of the room, but it makes you feel tingly all over. Almost makes you want a wedding of your own. Almost.

As Bucky makes his way down the aisle with you on his arm, he meets Steve’s eye, who gives him a smirk that looks a lot like I told you so. He ignores it, though. He knows he’ll get picked on later, but for now, he enjoys having you so close to him. You’re close to him outside of the lab, outside of a mission, outside of an argument. You’re close to him, holding onto his arm like you’re his girl in a sweet silence. He can almost get used to this. Almost.

Once everyone’s in their place, the rest of the guests rise as the music changes and Sharon enters the ballroom. Her dress is beautiful; a lacy brassiere top to connect the flowing train, all of the silk following her walk, making her elegant and glowing. Her hair is lightly curled and there are a few white flowers pinned around the back of her head, matching the rest of the room.

The officiant reads everything they have to and Steve and Sharon share their vows, causing everyone in the room to shed a tear or two. Nat and Sam find it particularly amusing to see you and Bucky wipe a few tears as well, seeming to get foggy eyed in spite of their hatred for love. They’re too busy silently teasing their friends to notice the fume coming from John’s ears, realizing his plan didn’t work the way he wanted it to.

There’s still time, he thinks. Maybe Steve didn’t want to make a big, public fuss. Yeah, once everything is over, he’ll take her upstairs and they’ll talk and soon enough they’ll announce that they’re marriage is over! Shorter than the Kardashians.

Finally, Steve and Sharon kiss to seal their marriage, sharing their official first kiss as husband and wife. Cheers and clapping erupt in the room as the couple makes their way back down the aisle, Nat, Sam, you, and Bucky following after. The lights dim a bit and the bar opens as the music changes to encourage people to mingle and dance until the couple emerges once more.

“What’s the matter, don’t like weddings?” You tease John, coming up behind him, your voice making him jump from leaning against the bar the way he was.

“Uh - No, not really.” He says, turning to face you, feeling awkward as he talks to his boss after trying to sabotage her best friend’s wedding.

“They grow on you.” Bucky’s deep voice makes him jump once more as it comes behind him, forcing him to turn away from you and face him, staring at his towering stance.

“Uhm -” John stumbles as he realizes he’s cornered against the bar by you and Bucky.

“Did you really think you’d get away with it? I mean, you’re surrounded by spies and an artificial intelligence system that records everything in the tower.” Bucky tells him.

John’s eyes widen as they glance between you and Bucky, realizing where he went wrong in his plan. I should’ve figured out a way to hack F.R.I.D.A.Y.! Or at least get rid of any footage of what I did!

“Not to mention the fact that Steve and Sharon are too disgustingly in love with each other to even fall for the kind of charade you put on. In my lab, nonetheless,” You add, “Some kind of unfunny joke by an ex-lab intern.”

“Ex?” John confirms.

“Oh, yea. Leila and Kennedy, too. I don’t want to waste my time training and giving experience and advice to the kind of people that lie, play around, and cause mischief in a lab and in a tower where some of the most important and delicate information in the world is handled. If I wanted that, I’d have Barnes, here, as an intern.” You tell him.

“Hey, I thought we were on the same team here -” Bucky tries to interject, but you smack his arm to get him back into the focus of their conversation with John.

“Anyway,” Bucky continues, “Why don’t you do us the favor of getting out of here? We’ll tell Steve and Sharon that you’re sorry you weren’t feelin’ well and had to head out early. Unless, you’d like for me to get them and bring ‘em over here?” He slings an arm over John’s shoulder, leading him over to one of the exit doors, as John nods his head in agreement, accepting his defeat.

Once John has left and the wedding is officially safe again, Bucky meets you back at where you wait at the bar.

“Nice job, McGeek.” He tells you, leaning on the bar next to you as you turn to face him better.

“Could say the same to you. He looked real scared there at the end.” You giggle.

“He should be, he almost got Steve’s ass kicked by me when Sharon first told us the whole situation.” Bucky tells you, leaning just a bit closer to you.

The bartender comes over to them asking what they’d like to drink. “Whiskey, neat, please. How bout you, Geeky?” Bucky says.

“Vodka cran.” You order.

“Really? That’s your drink of choice?” Bucky teases.

“What? What’s wrong with it?”

“Well, I thought you’d pick a drink that’s actually good, is all.”

“And here I was revelling in the fact that this was the longest conversation we’ve had where we’re not at each other’s throats.” You tell him.

“Well -” Bucky’s cut off by the dimming of the lights and change in music as Sharon and Steve enter the room again to share their first dance.

His words are forgotten as he watches his best friend dance with his bride, the two of them looking happier than Bucky’s ever seen. Bucky feels a smile bloom on his own face as he watches on; he’s so happy for Steve. He knows this is all he’s ever wanted. The girl, the marriage, the house together, the kids in the future. The happy ending. And he’s happy that despite things - or people - trying to get in the way of that, Steve still got the happy ending he deserves.

He peeks over to see you have a similar smile, admiring the love shared between your best friend and his. He gets lost staring at you as the DJ is heard inviting anyone else to join the newlyweds on the dancefloor.

He asks before his brain can filter his mouth, “Do you want to dance?”

Your head snaps over at him, a surprised expression on your face, and Bucky prepares for you to make fun of him.

“Sure.” You tell him.

He doesn’t risk saying anything that might change your mind, only grabbing your hand softly and leading you to the dancefloor where other couples have begun to fill in. The slow music continues as his hands find their place on the curve of your waist and yours rest on the tops of his shoulders. He feels warmth and tingles flow from the placement of your hands through his suit jacket, down his arms, and through his entire body. He looks at you and how close your face is to his, quite enjoying having you so close in his arms like this.

“Do you remember what we were talking about last night?” She finally breaks the silence.

He hums in indication that he does and for her to continue, “So, you really don’t hate me or anything?” You ask.

“No. I don’t. Actually,” He chuckles humorlessly, “I know you like me.” He confesses.

Tension floods your body. How does he know?! “No, I don't! Not anymore than reasonable, I mean.” You deny.

Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, his body still swaying with yours with the music, “Oh. Well, you have Steve and Sam fooled, then, because they, uh, had me convinced.” He tells you, trying to play off his incorrect assumption.

“Do you like me?” You ask, drawing yourself just a bit closer to him, his arms moving from your waist to the small of your back.

“Uh, no, no more than a friend, I mean.” Bucky lies.

“Oh. Well, you have Sharon and Nat fooled, as well.” You tell him.

The two of you chuckle softly with each other at the whole situation, an attempt to hide the disappointment in each of your chests at the thought of unrequited feelings. Bucky glances back up to meet your eyes once more, eyes flickering down to look at your lips, in time to see you take your bottom lip into your mouth with your teeth. He looks back up at your eyes to catch you staring at his own lips. When your eyes meet his again, it's as though the two of you have a silent understanding. An understanding that you were both lying, and an understanding that you both really want to kiss each other right now.

So he does. Bucky leans in seemingly at the same time you do and presses his lips against yours in a sweet yet fiery kiss. His hands push a little harder into your back to bring you closer and your hands move to touch his neck and cheek, ensuring that his face won’t leave yours anytime soon. Everyone in the room has since disappeared; there are no wedding guests, there are no decorations, there is no music, only you and Bucky.

His lips are soft, softer than you were expecting, and he tastes of peppermint and the sip of whiskey he had, all mixed with a taste that’s so him. His taste and his smell and the feel of his hands on your back and his chest against yours makes you want to melt to the ground in a puddle of mush. You can’t believe you waited so long to kiss him.

Your lips are plump and soft. Your lipstick is fruity but he can taste the sweetness of cranberry behind it and a sweetness that’s all you. You’re the rarest candy he’s ever tried and he’s not sure he’ll ever get enough of it. A part of his mind wants to ignore that they’re still in public, though it certainly doesn’t feel like it, and just kiss you silly for the rest of time.

The two of you finally pull away after what feels like forever and you both can’t help but lick at your own lips, savoring the taste of each other. Before either of you can say anything to follow what just happened, another voice interrupts, “About time.”

You both turn to see Tony and Pepper, her with an admiring smile and Tony with a shit-eating grin. The two of you feel warm as you realize the rest of your friends that occupy the dancefloor are also staring at the both of you. Nat smirks from her place in Bruce’s arms, Sam winks at Bucky over the shoulder of his date, and Sharon and Steve are almost on the verge of happy tears at the sight of their best friends finally getting to be happy with each other. Even Clint and his wife smile at the two of you.

“What are you guys looking at, huh? Never seen a guy and gal dance together?” Bucky barks, Brooklyn accent slipping out as he chooses to pretend none of them saw the kiss that you and him shared.

“Not you two.” Steve says.

“Oh, whatever! What are you guys, five years old?” Bucky asks only to be met with his friends giggling.

“Whatever. Make fun of us all you want. I don’t care.” You speak up, curling your hands around the back of Bucky’s neck.

He looks back at you to meet your kind eyes with a gentle smile. Their friends continue to tease on, but you and Bucky only have eyes for each other. He ignores them and chooses to kiss you again, already craving the taste of your lips on his and the feel of your body in his arms.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes series #marvel #yay they kithed #:D #what are yalls new years resolutions #i wanna learn how to knit/crochet #and make myself a blanket #and a bucket hat #also kinda wanna learn how to sew but like make clothes kinda sew #like i already know how to fix holes and put on buttons but mamas tryna make a pair of PANTS #but i feel like knitting/crocheting will be easier so imma conquer that first

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fragileizywriting · 3 years

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locker talk (chapter 2) is out now!

pairing: Luka / Marinette (Viperion / Multimouse) word count: 8,961 / 16,208 (in total) chapter: 2/3 rating: E summary: “Is everything okay? You’re looking a little lost. Did something happen at Uni, again?” “I’m peachy,” Multimouse wheezes, snapping back into focus. What was she even doing here, again? What was the point of showing up? She can’t even remember. Right. Right. Seduce him. Sort of. Or at least confess. Or at least get to kiss him again… “Perfectly peachy. Everything is so much wetter— better— now that I’m here. Nothing happened at school— I just— oh gooseberries.” Luka barks out a laugh, running his fingers through his hair. She wonders if his hair is as soft as it looks.

AO3 | Start Here | Chapter One Link | You Are Here! | Chapter Three Link

Thank you so much for the love you've given me for this fic! I appreciate every single one of you so much 💕💕💕💕

The third chapter will be posted very soon!!!

She’s showered. She’s shaved. She’s gotten shampoo in her eye.

She hopes the redness isn’t noticeable.

Multimouse is many things— friendly, approachable, known as Paris’s sweetheart with many sweet bakery treats named after her using puns, such as Multi-feuille, or Multideleines— but they have no idea that she sits on top of the Liberty’s roof, wiggling her toes over the Seine, trying not to bite her lips raw at the thought of trying to seduce the guy she’s already had a feverish moment with.

It’s a soft night, with small dots of twinkling stars that burn and force their way through the light-polluted Parisian night, but she doesn’t mind how it’s dark enough out that no one can really see her unless they purposely go looking for her. She’s practically invisible, with the closest street lamp to her still being too far away for her to be illuminated by it. No one knows that she’s here— no one knows that she’s hiding in the shadows.

Quiet— quaint— small and hidden away like an actual mouse that sticks to the shadows so that she isn’t seen. She’s not sure if it’s Mullo’s instincts that coerce her to stick to the shadows or if it’s just her nerves.

After all— getting here, onto the Liberty, was half of the battle for her.

She’s never done this before. She’s never even considered this an option… how does she do this? She doesn’t even have a solid plan.

And Multimouse never not has a plan.

Even if she knows that Viperion— no, Luka— likes her, thinks about her sexually— she just can’t shake the feeling that her confession isn’t going to work out in her favor, that she’s going to walk away embarrassed and humiliated.

She can prepare and prepare again and over prepare for whatever she’s planning all she wants— but it’s the actual doing part that she usually gets stuck on. She can shower, she can shave, she can get shampoo in her eyes— she can text Juleka to maybe casually imply that she’s going to try to confess to her brother, not mentioning that she’s going to do it as her superhero identity instead of Marinette, and actually get Juleka to push everyone out of the house on one nice and evening Friday night— but none of that matters if she doesn’t actually get here.

She got here.

And now is dawdling on the next step— actually talking to him.

She has to try. Juleka had cleared the boat of stragglers in record time when she found out that she’d been planning on confessing to her brother— Multimouse seriously has no idea how the girl managed to get her mother off the boat, but she’s gone. It’s just him in there now. She’s grateful that she doesn’t have access to her nails to chew them through, because she’s shaking like a battery from how much her nerves consume her.

She plays with her necklace between her hands as she leans forward to put her elbows on her thighs, looking out to the water below— looking down at how the only open-blind window on the boat flickers with light as he passes next to it.

It sounds like he’s finished taking his shower— but all of it is really muffled, given that he lives in the equivalent of a metal can with sails— but either way, she stands up and starts to creep her way towards the front entrance of his house before she can convince herself that this is a bad idea and that she should turn around and book it and pretend that she never thought of this idea in the first place. Besides, it can’t be that bad of an idea, right?

This is a bad idea.

This is a very bad idea— oh— oh no.

She barely finishes knocking on the window next to the door before he pulls it open with a yelp and a curse spilling out of his lips, halfway through putting on his shirt. She stands there, transfixed, trying not to burst into flames as she catches the sight of toned and defined muscle from years of hard-earned wins against Hawkmoth disappear behind the widest shirt in existence with a heavy-metal band logo she’s never heard of, and how those muscles trail down and disappear into very low-riding sweatpants.

She knows he has muscles— she knows how big his arms are and that the pattern of his scales on his suit aren’t just to give the illusion of abs— because she’s seen him many times before with barely anything of a shirt on when the summer heat in Paris is too rough and everyone piles onto the Liberty to attempt to catch a draft.

She’s seen the way his back muscles move when he’s helping tear down stage sets for his band— she’s had many glass bottles of soda slip out of her hands at the sight of him naturally keeping up with Ivan and Kim’s strength— she’s seen all of it. Luka is nothing short of strong.

But now she knows just how it feels to have those same muscles pressed up against her. She might faint. “Uhm.”

“Hey! Sorry— I didn’t know you were going to come over tonight— you scared me with that knock. I thought I had the whole boat to myself.” Luka smiles at her, using his arm with the snake tattoo that wraps and coils around his forearm to pull out a couple necklaces of his own from underneath his shirt. Even though the shirt is wide, it seems to have a bit of a problem wrapping comfortably around his shoulders— and the neckline is wide enough to show his collarbones.

What does she even focus on? What does she want to look at the most?

“Sorry—” She blinks fast. Shirt. Chest. Arms. Sweatpants. Smile. Lips. Lips that bruised her neck so badly she had to keep her hair down for the entire week just to hide it from Alya’s enthusiastic gaze. Kissable lips. Lips she imagines all over her body all the time. Lips that— “S-sorry! Uhm. I’m just, uh— I didn’t mean to scare you!”

“I’m kidding, Mousey—” He’s all teeth when he smiles. She knows how those feel on her skin now, too— she knows how it feels to have him drag his mouth and lips all over her jaw— she has to lean against the door frame to stop herself from collapsing from how much she wants to feel it all over again. Her skin feels sensitive just at the thought. “I just got out of the shower and it was totally quiet out there. Really did think it was just going to be a quiet night by myself. Even mom’s out— probably went to go harass that last cop that gave her warning for the noise complaint. What do you think?”

Had he thought about her in the shower? He’s not flushed at all— nothing indicative of anything he had said inside the closet about how he’s always thinking of her— but Luka’s usually not one to lose his cool. It’s impossible to get a gauge out of his emotions when he hides it— something he’s incredibly good at when he’s Viperion. She’s shown up after his shower— presumably the time where he thinks about her in the most private way— and there’s absolutely nothing telling her that it’s true.

She never would’ve known if he hadn’t told her in the closet.

Assuming he even was telling the truth…

“Mousey?”

She snaps back into focus. “Oh! Right! Uhm— are you busy? D-do you want me to leave? Come back another time? When you’re not busy? Very busy?”

“Busy? Yeah, right,” He snorts good humoredly. “Busy on my laptop watching videos, probably. This place is an absolute bust when there’s no one here— you’re doing me a favor by being here.”

“S-so you don’t want me to leave?” She eeps. If he even makes one single implication that he doesn’t want her to show up, she’ll turn around and leave with no hesitation— her nerves are eating at her to the point where she’s ready to run anyways.

“No, of course not. Stay. Please.” He adjusts his necklaces to stop tangling with each other. They jingle when they hit together— a pleasant clinking noise on a pleasant night, but she’s busy taking in how shiny and pearlescent his arm is with the beautiful blue color on the coils of the snake’s body and how it matches the gold diamond shapes in strategic places. “You’re always welcome here, you know. I love it when you’re here.”

“Yep— yes. Totally.”

His hair is so much blacker and so much more bluer when it’s wet. She can’t stop staring at him, her mouth shaped into a circle, as he looks down at her with a shift in his brows when he’s stopped focusing on his necklaces. “You okay?”

“Wet.”

He blinks very slowly, speaking to her so softly, almost as if she’ll scamper off if he startles her. “Oh. Are you?”

“I meant— I meant your hair—” She squeaks, trying her best not to catch on fire from the way her cheeks heat and steam, waving her hands in the air, steaming harder when he laughs. “Sorry— oh my gooseberries I’m so sorry— that was so weird I didn’t mean to say that outloud, I mean, I just, I didn’t know you wash your hair at night— uhm— it just caught me by surprise!”

“Take a breath,” He smiles.

“Sorry,” She does.

“You need to work on your meditation again, you’re not focusing as well as you usually do.” He tilts his head with a wink. She tries her best not to follow the drops of water down his neck, down to where there’s a very obvious bruise on the side of his neck. Oh. Oh. She did that. She… she did that. She bit him. And grinded on him. And listened to him talk about how much he wanted to finger her— “Is everything okay? You’re looking a little lost. Something happen at Uni again?”

“I’m peachy,” She wheezes, snapping back into focus. What was she even doing here, again? What was the point of showing up? She can’t even remember. Right. Right. Seduce him. Sort of. Or at least confess. Or at least get to kiss him again… “Perfectly peachy. Everything is so much wetter— better— now that I’m here. Nothing happened at school— I just— oh gooseberries.”

He barks out a laugh, running his fingers through his hair. She wonders if his hair is as soft as it looks. “Alright, let’s backtrack for a bit so you get your focus back. Do you not wash your hair at night?”

She’s so thankful for this man.

“My hair is too thick for that, I need to wash it in the mornings or it’ll never dry.” She ignores her voice crack. What is she doing, talking about hair care at his door, eyes missile-locked onto the bite mark on his neck? Why is she like this? “A-anyway! Sorry to— drop in on you— I know it’s really late— uhm— I just wanted to, uh— talk? To you? Maybe? But, again, it’s okay if you’re busy— watching videos is always really fun, isn’t it? I totally won’t mind—”

“You’re thinking too much, Mousey.” He grins. “It’s fine. I’ve never not wanted you here before, right? Let’s shut the door before someone sees you.”

As if Paris would believe anyone gossipping about Paris’s sweetheart dropping by a houseboat in the middle of the city, chatting up a man only a year older than her during the night time. She’s pretty sure that everyone is convinced that she’s perpetually stuck at the age of fifteen, instead of twenty four— always too small and too cinnamon roll and too pure to be sneaking into men’s houses, because that’s not what Multimouse does.

Sometimes being adored by millions and being put on a pedestal by this city is taxing. She doesn’t mind being considered sweet and friendly— but it’s exhausting to have to hear the slight infantilization the city ends up pushing on her. Maybe she should try cursing in public during a fight— see how many people she ends up disappointing.

She wonders if Luka hates being considered the silent, brooding type. He’s approachable— but most people on the internet and Alya’s commenters on the blog assume that he’s dark— mysterious— handsome and well spoken almost like a prince.

If only.

He has a mouth of a sailor. She’s seen him get coffee foam up his nose from laughter whenever she tries the aerial rope and continuously ends up failing. He doesn’t know how to swim, even though he lives on a boat— he writes so much music in his notebooks that his room is an absolute mess of paper that he tries to keep organized using folders and binders and sticking loose leafs of poetry on the walls.

The last time they watched a documentary about penguins, he’d cried the whole way through, talking about how he wishes he could help all the exhausted and freezing little chicks. Not to mention whenever there’s a documentary about rodents on the television, he ends up crying too, smothering her in hugs that makes her face burst into flames.

The comments did get it right about the handsome, though. Very handsome.

“A-are you sure?”

“Come on. I want you inside.”

She closes the door behind her, making sure that her tail isn’t snipped off on accident, trying not to loop the words come and I and want and you in her head. Even with all the nasty, absolutely dirty things he’s said to her already— somehow that manages to get her knees to almost buckle.

“So, uhm, is your family home? Juleka? Maybe?” Her voice is absolutely not this high! Get it together!

He blinks at her curiously, thinning his lips as he no-doubt tries to keep his laughter in. Luka’s always been a tease. “You know the answer to that, don’t you?”

Does he mean that he knows that Marinette was supposed to show up to his house? Oh, no. What has she done? Was it a bad idea telling Juleka to possibly go to Rose’s house, and maybe spend the night there, if all went well? How does she get out of this one? “W-well— I—”

“Best hearing in Paris, after all, right? You’d be able to hear if anyone else was on the boat with us.”

Duh. God, she feels like an idiot. “Y-yeah. I know. I just— I just wanted to know. To hear you say it, I mean.”

“Did you?” His face transforms into one full of humor, and she can do nothing but bite her lip raw at how handsome he is when his eyes crinkle in that boyish way of his. “What did you want to hear me say, Mousey?”

Anything. Everything. As long as he keeps talking, she’ll be miserable— but loving every moment of it, and he’ll have no idea because Luka doesn’t know that she knows he’s Viperion and thinks about his voice so often that she’s constantly balancing on a hair trigger.

“Uhm—” She taps her fingers along her thighs. “I— you know— I just wanted to hear you say that we’re alone.”

“Only that?” He hums, turning around to go probably drop off his towel back in the bathroom.

“Yes?” She’s never been so unsure before in her life, and she flounders as she follows him further into the boat, following him into his room just past the kitchen. “I mean yes obviously— why would I— need or want more— uhm— that would be— weird and definitely wouldn't make any contextual sense— I mean it’s not as if I—”

He pauses to look at her. She does her absolute best not to burst into flames. “You know, I’ve never realized it until now— you are absolutely one horny girl, little mouse. Dropping by and immediately asking me to start pillow talking you—”

She doesn’t even hear him, bouncing on the balls of her boots, squeaking a floorboard that is always loose no matter how much the Couffaines try to glue or hammer it down. She’s certain she’s watched them rip out just to put back a new floorboard— and yet it still continues to squeak. “That’s not true! That’s totally not true I’m— you know— I’m just—”

“Yes?”

“It’s just that your voice is melodical— it’s so soothing and you know I have anxiety and things but being able to hear your voice always makes me calm down— it’s so nice to just— just relax— and let someone else think of things for me—”

“Breathe, Mousey.”

“Thank you.” She gasps in air, proving his point for him.

His eyes shine with something as she sucks in her breaths. “How long have you been waiting for me to pull you inside and take care of you?”

She whines, crossing her arms. “You’re being totally unfair right now, Luka, you can’t just start talking dirty to me—”

He laughs, pulling open the door to his room. “I’m not talking dirty to you, not yet.”

“And just assume that I’ll listen—”

He pauses again to look at her, and it’s enough to make her bite her lip by how absolutely jaw-dropping he looks. “Oh, you won’t? And here I thought that’s what you wanted. Is that not what you wanted?”

“What do you—”

His eyelashes are black smudges against his cheeks as his gaze drops to her lips when he brushes her jaw with the back of his hand. “Do you not want me to take care of you in the way you want? Do you not want me to tell you all of the filthiest things you want to hear?”

“Gooseberries you have no idea how much I’ll listen if you do because I will— I promise you I will— I mean I’ll do anything as long as you keep talking— I promise— I’ll be good for you, I promise—” She almost smacks her forehead in an attempt to stop squeaking out her words, instead choosing to nearly rub her cheeks raw with her gloves.

Gentle and giant hands reach for her wrists with such slowness it almost boarders asinine. “Hey. Don’t hurt yourself— that looks like it hurts.”

She drops her hands from her face without question, letting him pet and smooth away the redness from her skin. “But— I— come on, I have to focus first! At least let me try to say what I came here to say, don’t just immediately flip the script back on me!”

He turns to walk into his room, leaving her standing there, looking around and wondering if that was an invitation to start talking. He’s cleaned his room a bit— there’s no laundry on the floor this time— but his room still continues to look like a snake’s den from how cluttered it is.

He sits down comfortably in that pouf chair of his, the one she’s always wondered how it fit through the front door. Maybe they floated it in through the window, she’s not sure. It’s massive— huge— full of stuffing and fun to sit on whenever she’s here for a party and is starting to feel drunk, or here to goof off in his presence whenever it’s just the two of them and she has nothing better to do. It’s close enough to Luka’s bed that it feels like a challenge, for her, and she always feels victorious whenever she manages to convince herself to sit there.

“How long have you known, Mull?”

“K-known what?” She freezes at the doorframe, finally realizing what’s happened when he simply spins the leather strap of his miraculous on his wrist, looking at her with raised brows. “Uhm.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh oh. Oh no. Oh no. How did you—”

“I don’t think you make it a habit of begging any man you come across, unless you know who they are already.”

“I— yes— only you, Luka. I’ve only begged for you.” She nods very slowly.

“Don’t worry, I won’t bite.” Some form of a thought twinkles in his eyes as he says it. “Not yet, at least. Don’t freak out, it’s okay that you know. I kind of figured you knew. It’s okay.”

“Y-you did?”

“Of course.”

“But—” She gestures around. “How?”

He tilts his head, looking at her with such a curious face. “Intuition, I guess. Or maybe paranoia. Hey, have you known for longer than a year?”

“Ah—” She shifts on her feet. “No. Sort of. I kinda was guessing it, but— I mean— I got genuine confirmation about a month ago.”

“Have you been showing up because you knew?”

“No, no. I didn’t know when I first started showing up— I’ve been showing up because I really like you— you as in Luka, that is. And then I found Sass playing hide and seek with Mullo when I went to the bathroom, and, well I totally didn’t know what to do when I found out that you were actually in fact my partner— and then I couldn’t stop thinking about you and by then I— I had already— fallen in— uhm— with you on both sides—”

This takes him by surprise. “You’ve been here detransformed?”

She pinches her eyes shut. “Uhm—”

“We know each other, don’t we?” He exhales. “That— I mean— that does make sense. You are always so conveniently close by whenever there’s an Akuma that attacks the Liberty— and only god fucking knows why it’s always the Liberty. You’d think my mom would learn after a while to stop picking fights with the cops. Or the government in general. This place is a breeding ground for Akumas— Hawkmoth is one day just going to set up camp around here, I think.”

He taps at his jaw as he thinks. No doubt he’s trying to place her as one of his friends— or maybe his sister’s.

“It’s a good thing Couffaines know how to party, right?” She eeps into the silence, trying not to bolt for the door. Would he try following her? Would he grab her and pin her down so she can’t try to give up from how embarrassed she is? Would he let her go? She’d be far too easy to catch, if he did go after her— she’s weak at the knees at the idea of being in his arms again. “I mean— It’s always so much fun being here but I understand if you don’t want me to— to show up— anymore— and—”

“Little mouse, I hope you know I’m not mad. I can’t be mad at you.” Those six little words makes her legs weak by how thankful she is. She could weep— already starting to feel how her eyes water at the words. “I’d never be mad at you for knowing. I just— I wish I knew sooner, too.”

“I didn’t know what to do—” She hunches her shoulders, trying her absolute best not to curl in on herself but not having too much of a say in it as her body goes through the motions on its own. “I couldn’t just stop showing up, cause then you’d suspect it—”

“It would’ve been okay if you had told me, just like there’s nothing wrong with you telling me now.” He extends out his arm, asking for her hand.

She hides her face in her gloves. “I’m sorry. I really, really am sorry, Luka— I really f-fucked up.”

“No you didn’t.”

Those words fill her stomach with butterflies, stopping her from forming any more tears. “I— I didn’t?”

“Of course not, Mull. It’s okay.”

“But I—”

“It’s alright— I know why you didn’t tell me— it’s okay. I’m not upset at you— I’m not disappointed.” He gives her a smile. “Come here. You look like you’re about to cry— I don’t want you to cry.”

She crosses into his room, making sure to step over the scattered amps and repeaters— his guitar case, too— willingly reaching for his hand by giving him four of her fingers. His smile widens when she makes contact with his hands— his fingernails nearly as black as her suit.

His thumb rubs against the hexleather that wraps around her knuckles, and she tries her best not to sound so needy when she drops to her knees so they can be at a better height with each other. She doesn’t like it when she’s taller, so she fits between the opening of his legs just enough so she can place her forearm on his thighs, looking up at him with what she hopes is a thankful smile, even as her eyesight wavers.

“Congratulations on saying your first curse word,” He pets underneath her eyes with a laugh. She can’t feel it, because of the domino mask, but it’s comforting enough to her that her eyes squint at the sensation. “I never thought I’d be the one to hear it first.”

“I’ve cursed before,” Her smile twitches as she tries not to giggle despite the tears that collect at the sides of her eyes. “I just don’t make it a habit.”

“Oh yeah? What other curse words have you said?”

“I think I’ve said ‘ass’ before.” She has to think about it, much to his amusement. “Well. If I hadn’t before, I guess I have now.”

His laughter consumes him. “What a milestone.”

“You’ve been many of my firsts,” She smiles with him. “Maybe hopefully all of them can be with you, too?”

His face blossoms in color— she’s never seen him caught so off guard before. Maybe he isn’t as cool and collected as she’s always thought— maybe he does actually get satisfaction when she says what’s on her mind about how she’s wanting to have everything with him. “God, who are you, Mull? Who’s the girl of my dreams who keeps telling me she wants everything I can give her? Is it even a good idea to tell me?”

“You can know,” She nods, shivering as he brushes her jawline with his black nails and back of his palm. She likes these gentle touches— she likes the way it feels to have such a loving hand on her. “It’s only fair.”

“Hmmm, no. I want you to tell me if you want to tell me.” His eyes narrow at her. “Don’t tell me just to even the playing field. If you want to remain anonymous, I don’t mind.”

It always worries her at how plain kind and loyal he is. He would be completely right if he decided to kick her out— or to turn her away— but instead of any anger or resentment he’s simply there.

He’s always there for her— always making sure that she’s okay. If she’s eaten. If she’s going to get home safely, when the Akuma attacks are at night. It’s hard not to fall in love with a man who cares about her in the way he does. He’s always been a nurturing man— he’s never hard on her, even when he has the right to be.

Well. He’s only hard on her when they’re stuck in a closet together.

“You don’t?”

“Okay, maybe that’s a bit of a lie,” Luka smiles as he looks down at her. His sweatpants are soft against her cheek as she continues to blink slowly up at him, trying not to purse her lips in want. “I’m very curious about who you are, Mousey. I’ve always wondered who’s the girl underneath— I’ve known you since we were fifteen. Of course I want to know more about the girl who takes up so much of my notebooks.”

“I don’t mind you knowing.” She eeps.

“You don’t?”

“No— not at all! I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, really, Luka. Our friends kept telling me to try asking you out— god, Jules especially, but I— I really couldn’t do any of it, I kept chickening out.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“And then I found out that it’s so much easier to talk to you when I’m in the suit— so I— I kept trying to get the courage to ask you out in the suit and then I found out that you’re Viperion and I just didn’t know how to handle it— so I just— and then the closet— and I made up my mind to tell you— you— today about my feelings. Pretty sure your sister was going to fillet me alive if I texted her saying I couldn’t do it. ”

Something clicks in his head, she can see it. “Marinette.”

“Well, yeah, I mean I could’ve tried as myself but I mean I don’t have any faith in myself at all—” She almost bites her tongue. “What?”

“Marinette?” He tilts his head. “The only person I know that could be your height— could be your size— and a girl I’ve barely been able to get a couple of sentences out of.”

“Hi.” Multimouse says, trying to swallow, but somehow not being able to. “Yes. That’s me?”

“Hi,” His smile softens. “That makes sense, you know. Juleka even thought that the hickey on my neck was from you when she saw it, and I didn’t understand why.”

How mortifying. “S-she did?”

“Oh. Oh. That’s why you ended up in my bed that one night, isn’t it? Because you like me and you were too drunk to stop wanting to cuddle?”

She worries her lip between her teeth. His gaze drops to watch her chew her bottom lip almost raw. “Oh. Yes— that’s— uhm. Please don’t hate me— I’m sorry— your bed has always looked so comfortable— and I really wanted to sleep next to you—”

“Take a breath, Mari.” His eyes glitter when she sucks in a breath on command. She would feel embarrassed by how easy it is for her to comply, but all she feels is warmth that starts to coil in between her legs whenever he tells her to do something. “It’s okay. I’m so happy it’s you.”

“You are? You don’t hate me?”

“Absolutely don’t hate you. I’d never be able to hate you— how could I hate you?”

“No?”

“Never.”

“Not even if I got us stuck in a closet together for an hour—”

“Definitely not then, either.” He grins. “Fuck, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that. About you.”

“M-me neither,” She confesses easily, trying not to shift too much between his legs. “I— I’ve been wanting— uhm—”

“Ah, yes. That. You can say it, can’t you?” He leans forward so that she has to lean back in order to not get her face shoved into his chest from the angle. “Can you say it for me? I want to hear you say it, if you’re willing.”

She cranes her neck up to look at him square in the eyes, still sitting on her folded knees and calves, looking at the way his mouth quirks to the side as he licks his teeth. His necklaces dangle— jingle like dog tags between them— hitting her lightly on the collarbone but with just enough pressure to make her make a noise that sounds like an unf. “I— uhm— I’ve been wanting more. Ever since we did it in the closet.”

He almost looks surprised at her admission. “Good job, Mull.”

She feels a little brave. “I want to— if you’re willing— spend the night with you. Please.”

He groans. “Of course I want to spend the night with you. Every night. Keep you here in my room for weeks— you don’t have to ask if I’m willing— but it’s nice to hear it. It always reminds me at how good of a person you are.”

Warmth explodes on her cheeks as she blushes. “I’ve— I’m— I have to ask.”

“I know.”

“I know that I’m the one that is always so shy and timid— but— you deserve to have your boundaries respected too, Luka.”

“I think I like this better than when you call me Vai,” He laughs. He kisses her on the cheek— below the eyelids— where the lip of her domino mask meets skin— missing her mouth entirely even as she turns to try to meet him. She tries not to whine as she grips the fabric that bunches at his knees. “Not that the nickname isn’t good— it’s perfect— but you don’t understand just how many times I jack off while thinking about you calling me by my real name, Mousinette.”

She squeaks at the nickname, trying not to blossom into a full-body red. “I— how many times?”

“Every night,” He says simply, like he’s relaying the weather. He has no idea how his words burn in her core— why her tail becomes so agitated, even if it’s only half sentient— why exactly she gasps as she feels a sharp zing that settles between her legs. “I’m so glad that Marinette ended up being the little mouse I think about every night.”

“Every—?”

“Imagine my surprise, getting out of a shower after thinking about nothing but you and all the noises you made in my ear and seeing you stand there in front of my door.” He grins against her skin. Will he bite her? Snatch her and keep her? Use her as nothing but a bed warmer? “Fuck, Mousey. If I hadn’t been debating on whether or not you knew I would’ve dragged you into my room and onto my bed without even saying hello.”

“Please. Please.” She swallows, the idea of never leaving his burrow almost making her want to pounce on him. “I want that.”

“It’s getting harder and harder to stop thinking about you when you’re gone.”

“W-why?”

“You don’t think I can forget about you after that wonderful performance you gave me, do you?” Even when not transformed, and he doesn’t have any fangs, his teeth graze along her skin in a way that makes her toes twitch in her boots. She shivers as he follows her neck up to the patch of skin behind the ear, nosing into the sensitive area to the point where she pants. “I’ll be honest, I came home that night wanting more.”

“I— I can— give you more,” She tilts her head to the side, letting him kiss and suck bruises into her skin. She bruises like a peach, usually, and for the second time in her life she’s so thankful for how pale her skin is. “S-so much more.”

“Can you?”

“Please— I can give you anything you’d like, just tell me what to do and I’ll do it—”

“Within reason, of course.”

“Within reason,” She parrots, but more out of politeness than anything else. It’s only fair for her to agree— she obviously doesn’t want to be uncomfortable throughout any of this— but her list of potential no’s is definitely dwindling as the nights go on and she is subjected to fantasy after fantasy of what she wants him to do with her. To her. The preposition isn’t important anymore. She wants it all. “But I’d do anything for you, Luka. I— I may not have done much— any— at all before, but I want to. I trust you not to do anything damaging, if that’s what you’re trying to say.”

“No— of course not. I wouldn’t dream of putting you through pain.”

Something cold whooshes in her stomach. “N-no?”

“I’m not a brute, you know— you deserve something gentle— I want to be gentle with you— I’m still worried you’re afraid of me. Besides, I don’t like the idea of hurting you in general, it wouldn’t feel right.”

“No? Not… even a little tiny smidge? Maybe?” She squeaks out that last part, feeling self conscious about the way he pauses. There’s a question forming, she can tell by the way his brows pinch together— she bites her lip to stop herself from making a noise.

His gaze drops to her lips, and instead of responding to what she’s proposed, he whispers out: “Don’t hurt yourself, Mousey.”

He kisses her. Hard— almost painful, ironically— with the way he clicks their teeth together as she whines. He slides his hand to keep it at the back of her neck, kissing her in the same way they had in the closet. There’s a pull at her wrist, and an arm snaking underneath her shoulder, and she finds herself being deposited onto his lap.

Oh, she’s missed this.

Sweet gooseberries. She can already feel how stiff he’s starting to get in these criminally low sweatpants of his— and she hasn’t even done anything besides kiss him a bit and just tell him how she really feels. The man underneath her is honest, and never would be able to lie to her about his feelings— he really is enjoying this.

She wants him to enjoy everything.

Everything.

“What kind of hurt are you into, Mousinette?” He hums. His voice feels like pure ecstasy in her veins as he rumbles out his words, and she nearly loses feeling in the very same legs that prop her up when gives her a swat on her ass, causing her to gasp. The impact is lessened by the properties of her hexleather— but it’s enough to make her face flush and lashes flutter. “Oh. Oh. So you mean that kind?”

“Luka—”

“You’ve never done anything and yet you already know that you like getting spanked. Incredible, little mouse— do you practice on yourself with the things you like?”

She nods. “I’ve only been able to— to try out things on myself, but, yes— I know a lot about what I like— and— and don’t, by trial and— error—”

“Fuck that’s hot. Just how far do your fantasies go, I wonder?” He laughs. “Tell me, please. I want to know all of it— you know, I never got to hear what you think about when you’re fingering yourself— even though you promised.”

“I did. You’re right— I really did. But maybe later, we have other things to do—” She tries kissing him again, but he tilts his head enough so that she ends up kissing the corner of his mouth, and she whines. “Luka, please— I want—”

“I can’t do what you want if you don’t tell me what it is,” He mouths against her jaw. “Please tell me. What was the last idea you fingered yourself to?”

“I thought about how I want you to pin me down—” Her breath hitches when he follows the curve of her spine with his fingers. “I thought about how I want— I need— you to bend me over— and— and take off my clothes— I can be totally naked for you and you can wear every single piece of clothing on you, I promise it’s okay— let me be yours, Luka—”

He hisses. “Shit, Mousey. Where do you want me to fuck you?”

“On your bed— your kitchen table—” She scrambles to come up with answers as he continues to move his fingers up and down her back, petting her so gently it almost feels like a tease. “Outside, too, o-on the— on the deck—”

“Oh, you liked the outside idea, didn’t you?”

“Yes— yes—”

“What do you want me to do to you?” At her whining and begging, he smiles at her with such gentility she feels like she’s melting. “Please. Please tell me.”

She whooshes air out of her lungs. “I want you to finger me like you said you would— finger me until I come three times.”

“Four, Mousey.” He amends. “I won’t be satisfied until you’re gushing all over my fingers. I’ll make a fucking mess out of you.”

“F-four.” She parrots, feeling her eyesight go hazy at the idea. She hears her tail hit something— probably the side of his bed— but she can’t focus enough to pay attention to it. “Eat— eat me out, too. Please. Uhm. M-maybe finger me and— and maybe suck my— my clit at the same time.”

She has to pause so that he can kiss her, coaxing her tongue into his mouth. He sucks on her tongue like he’s trying to prove something to her— she’s not sure what— but regardless of whatever it is, it’s enough for her to whine and pant, gripping his wet strands of hair between her fingers to stop herself from rubbing herself all over his chest and abs.

“You’d do this all outside on the deck of the Liberty?” He hums when he breaks away, licking the bridge of saliva that formed between their mouths.

“More than just that, but, yes—”

He gives a noise of approval that makes her wetter. “What do you think Paris would say if they ever caught a glance of Viperion breeding Multimouse on rooftops across the city, or finding out that you beg for it and don’t stop begging until you’re satisfied? Do you think they would be upset with you because you weren’t behaving like the proper princess everyone thinks you are?”

She wants it. She wants it so badly. The idea is so tantalizing that she can feel that low buzz of an incoming dry-orgasm, never even touched— never even fingered. Oh, how this man is everything she’s ever wanted. Just being able to sit in his lap is enough to get her to want to stain her suit.

“I don’t care,” She breathes, and she really does shift, then, her knees not being able to handle holding her up in any way any longer. She sits on his thighs, her legs spread wide so that they can go over his— everything about him is massive and so much bigger than her. “Anywhere— anywhere you decide on taking me, Luka— I want to do it anywhere you want to, I don’t care if people find out that I’m not their sweetheart— that I’m not their sweet little angel saving the city—”

“Oh, you’re all of that for sure— you just happen to be one horny little mouse, too.” He laughs against her mouth when she moans and grinds her sex against one of his thighs like she knows how to do. Sparks of color bleed against the back of her lids as she chases the orgasm that continues to build and build and build.

He shifts his leg, giving her a better angle. There’s a gasp trying to spill out of her mouth— heat curling between her legs as she continues to rub herself almost painfully hard on the thick muscle that makes up his thigh— trying not to exhaust herself as she rubs and rubs and rubs and— “Luka? Please?”

“Are you asking me permission to come?” He says it like he doesn’t believe her, looking at her with almost an awed look to his face.

“Please,” She repeats, nodding her head hard enough for it to hurt.

“Alright,” He whispers. “You can do it. Come for me without me even touching you— go on.”

She does.

He tightens his grip on her waist and the curve of her spine as she places her forehead down on his shoulder, riding wave after wave of heat that washes over her. Her legs feel like liquid— the space between her thighs even more so. She’s completely and totally doused in a fever that almost makes it claustrophobic to stay in her suit.

“That’s it,” He kisses her ear— her temple— whatever’s closest to him on the side of her face. “Good job, Mousinette. Very good job. You did so well—”

“Luka—” She sighs, trying not to accidentally crush the charms on his necklaces with her fist as she grips them with a hand, trying to get her strength back. “Luka, I want more.”

There’s a bit of an edge to his voice, “Oh, do you? Are you unsatisfied?”

“No— not unsatisfied— I want more. I just want you.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” He laughs. His voice feels like satin on her sensitive skin. “Not that watching you wasn’t good— I don’t think I’ll ever be able to sit in this chair ever again without thinking of you fucking my leg. That was fucking hot, Mousey.”

“Sorry—” She doesn’t really mean it, feeling like she’s on the edge of her seat, even as her body continues to slow down and fill her with good emotions, making her feel as viscous as honey as she curls in his lap. “I’m so sorry— I just— I need— more— Luka— one isn’t enough— I need you—”

“Detransform for me so we can do exactly that, Mousey.” His eyes look dark, pupils blown wide open as he smiles. “Let me fuck you.”

She’s never nodded harder in her life. She calls off her transformation, the necklace that rests on her chest glowing before unleashing her kwami. Mullo blinks wide at the sight of the two of them in an obviously precarious position— the little mouse kwami grinning wide as the suit is done unstitching from Marinette’s body, leaving her in her clothes she wore before leaving her house, her hair falling against her ears and down her back. “You confessed? You confessed! You actually did it!”

“Lolo—” She mumbles into Luka’s collarbone, trying to hide her blushing cheeks. “Come on. Don’t embarrass me.”

“Oh— but— I’m so happy, Princess! I can’t believe you did it! You spent so long freaking out in your room I thought I was going to have to force a transformation on you!”

“Lolo!”

“Hi, Mullo. Sass is upstairs, I think, probably near the sails.” Luka grins, cutting Marinette off with a hand to her mouth before she can continue responding. She squeaks behind his hand— how the rings on his hands feel cold against her skin. “No doubt trying to cover his ears from the noise.”

“A sensitive one to sound, isn’t he?” Mullo winks, giggling behind her paws. “Well, well, you know what to call out if you need us! Try not to be too loud for Sass’s sake, okay?”

Luka makes her lean back from his lap when Mullo disappears through the ceiling. “Hi.”

“Hi.” She whispers back, muffled by the hand that covers her giggles.

“So. You really are the girl of my dreams and fantasies, huh?” There’s a tilt to his head as he says it, looking her over appreciatively. “Give me a second to look at you— I can’t believe I missed all the obvious signs of you being the girl I love.”

Something flatlines in her head. “D-dreams?”

“And fantasies,” He adds, shifting her in his lap with a laugh. “Come on, little mouse. You already know that. You can definitely feel it, too. I’m not lying when I said all I can think about is fucking you.”

“I— I know. I did just spend— I totally just grinded on you until I came, but I mean— it’s— it’s a little harder to believe— when I’m not—” She’s blushing, finally able to feel just how exactly stiff he is in his pants— she cuts herself off with a needy whine. “Oh, gooseberries, I’m sorry, Luka— you know I stutter a lot when I’m very shy.”

He kisses his palm over where her mouth is. “It’s okay. You’re doing okay— great, actually. There’s nothing to be shy or afraid of, Mousinette, even if you’re willingly walking into a snake’s den while being this cute.”

She giggles.

“You really do need to get out of your boat more often, Luka,” She pouts behind his hand. “You’re going to spend so much time on this boat that you’re going to end up landsick if you ever get off of it.”

His eyes drop to her shirt, a teasing look on his face. “Well, if that was your goal for tonight, I’m sorry— I have other plans involving you. You smell so good— are you wearing the perfume that I said I liked on you?”

“I might be.” An impulse buy for sure at the makeup store, but worth every single cent with the way he looks at her now. Ever since she’d worn it that first time and Luka had complimented it in passing when hauling a subwoofer the size of Rose’s full height outside to the deck of the Liberty, she’d known that she’d wear it every day of her life if it meant to get him to look at her for even a smidge longer. “You remembered that?”

“Of course I did. You always smell expensive when you have it on— you went stiff as a board the first time I complimented you. I thought I broke you, and I didn’t get why Jules just kept laughing when you ran off to go help Kagami with the banner— I understand why now.” He laughs. “So, what are you wearing, then? If you went through the hassle of smelling good…”

It’s a shame he can’t see the smile she gives him, a shy and teasing quirk of her lips. “Just my pajamas.”

“Uh huh. I don’t believe you, you’ve got something up your sleeve, I know that look in your eye. Show me what you’re wearing,” He doesn’t pull his hand away from her mouth, and quirks his lips to produce yet another boyish smile when she kisses his palm. “It doesn’t look like you’re wearing anything under that shirt, little mouse.”

“I have something under it,” She mumbles under his palm, but it doesn’t come across well enough.

He takes in the wide shoulders of her shirt— how she’s absolutely swimming in the sleeves that end up at her elbows. She can tell the moment he recognizes the band shirt’s logo on her shirt— a fun and edgy screen-printed design with neon blues and neon pinks with the word kitty section below a logo— because his breath stops.

“Oh, shit—” He uses his free hand to hold her at the rib cage, pressing his thumb inwards, presumably trying to find the band of her bra that she’s potentially wearing— he almost seems to relax when his fingertips finds the wire. “Marinette, I like this.”

She preens under his words, sitting in his lap at a better angle to let him continue petting her heavily under her bust, thumbing at the wire under her breasts. “Oh. Do you really?”

“Fuck— I can’t believe this— this is such a turn-on. As if I needed to get any harder. Whose shirt is this?”

“I don’t know,” She tries to stay still in his lap to no avail when he moves his palm so that he can pet at her lips with a thumb. She melts in his touch, how each touch feels like heaven and soft. “It was one of the leftovers of the first batch we made, I’m pretty sure. I’ve kept it for years.”

“Really?”

“I like sleeping with it,” She tilts her head to the side, letting her hair fall behind her shoulder. The shirt is soft— comfortable— it’s gotten a very lived-in feel to the fabric after the long years of gentle care. She hand washes it to make sure that none of the colors chip away. “Makes me feel comfortable, thinking I’m with you. I— uhm— I—”

“Don’t hesitate, little mouse,” He smiles easy. “You’ve been doing so well already.”

“E-ever since I found it, I’ve been pretending it’s yours,” She tries not to steam red at her confession. She’s grinded on him in a closet, grinded on his leg mere minutes ago, begged for him to fuck her— and yet she still feels embarassed to admit this, too?

Well, to be fair, it is his band’s shirt. After all, what kind of a— best friend? Lover? Budding-relationship partner?— is she, if she doesn’t support his band with all their friends? Even if she didn’t have any romantic or sexual feelings for the man who continues to blink wide at the sight of her in the shirt, she’d still keep the merchandise for sentimental values. It’s one of the few originals— a homemade shirt that they had bought in a batch so that they could at least have merch to sell.

Every time they leave for a tour, now that they’re much better in terms of fame, she keeps it close to her. She nuzzles into the fabric, dreaming that it’s actually him in her arms and him in her cunt as she masturbates to the thought of him, wishing she was in his hotel room across the hall instead of hers.

His face turns pink. “Have you?”

She blinks at the way he seems to turn pinker and pinker the more he continues to look at her. Is that— is he blushing from the idea of her wearing his clothes? “Uhm— I— I mean I obviously don’t have any of your shirts for real, but, it’s nice to pretend—”

“You now have free reign of my closet whenever and wherever.” He almost twitches underneath her. “Please wear my actual shirts anytime you want, little mouse, holy shit. Fuck. Fuck. I’ll start begging if you need convincing— god.”

“Y-you don’t need to do that.” She laughs.

His smile curls dark. “You’re right. Your begging is much prettier than mine.”

She nearly jumps when his hand at the top of her shirt smoothes down her spine, teasing the hem of the shirt, making her shiver from how gentle he is. “I’ll wear whatever you want me to wear.”

“What’s underneath?” He asks, his eyes glittering with a tease that she can read he’ll come back to her request later. “Do you want to show me?”

She nods, giving his thumb a kiss. “Maybe just a peek. I h-have something I want to do, too— i-if you’re interested?”

AO3 | Start Here | Chapter One Link | You Are Here! | Chapter Three Link

#lukanette #fragileizyfic #fragileizyoneshot #vipermouse

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apossessionadaybreak · 3 years

Text

Halloween Special

Gary looked up from the TV just in time to see his son come out from his room for what was probably the fifth time that day to stare intently at him. He supposed this was some sort of new-age method of showing disapproval. He had to admit, it was a little unnerving, but someone had to be the disciplinarian.

“Ryan, I know you’re bored but you’re grounded for good reason and you know it. Just because it’s Halloween tonight doesn’t mean you can go around egging and TPing people’s houses, especially not poor old Mr. Quille. You know that he can’t get around so easily anymore.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, whatever you say dad.”

Gary heard the sounds of shuffling feet and the slamming of a door. He sighed again.

Shaking his head to himself, he was about to turn his attention back to his programme only to be distracted by a stab of light coming from the table.

He turned, annoyed, to the source, only to find himself staring at a book. He looked quizzically at it for a moment, before abruptly recalling it was a gift from Mr. Quille from when he had gone over to talk about Ryan’s atrocious behaviour. ‘No hard feelings,’ as the man himself had put it. It was a sleek, leather-bound volume that seemed to be coated in some sort of reflective black material. He had never seen a book so… shiny before. Hell, it was probably brighter than his car parked alongside the sidewalk. Curious, he picked it up and was taken aback by how heavy it was. It felt nice though, as he weighed it in his palms, smooth and luxurious. He searched the cover for the title but could only make out the embossed shape of a ghost, the kind of shapeless blob malls usually sold during this time of year as a decoration. It looked amateurish compared to the rest of the item but somehow he couldn’t help but feel drawn by it.

He caught himself staring into the circles which represented the eyes for a bit too long before he realised he was sitting ramrod straight and the hairs on his arms were standing on end. He chuckled nervously to himself as he looked around the room but he was alone, naturally. A book of ghost stories it seemed, he used to devour these as a kid. Maybe Mr. Quille had thought Ryan would enjoy reading through them, though why he would think that, Gary couldn’t say. He cracked it open to reveal brand new, bone-white pages. He paused, up till now he had assumed that it had been an old possession of Mr. Quille’s, maybe some relic from his childhood. Yet, everything seemed to be pointing to the contrary. With his curiosity mounting, he settled down for a good read. He turned and plumped up the cushions, figuring he’d flip through a story or two. He flicked the pages at random, as images, clearer and more vibrant than he had ever envisioned began to form in his mind…

Blood Ties

The package on the doorstep was soft and shapeless but Saul still couldn’t help but feel threatened by it. It didn’t make any sense, the amount of anxiety he felt towards this inanimate object. No label, no card. Just plain, waxy, brown paper. He didn’t know why he felt so worried, it was probably a gift from a friend, or perhaps some long-lost family member?

He pondered still, for a few minutes more, wondering why he was wondering so much about it, before finally gritting his teeth and ripping open the wrapping. He stared at the contents for a moment before bursting out in laughter at his own foolishness. The package he had been so worried about simply contained some pieces of what looked to be a formal suit. A… very expensive one at that. The strange, unsettling feeling crept in again. He shook his head, he wondered what his forefathers would have thought of him, losing his mind over clothing of all things. Saul did his best to maintain his composure as he unfolded it, holding it up against his own body. Whoever sent this package definitely seemed to know him. If he didn’t know any better he’d have said it was tailor-made for him but that was a ridiculous idea, wasn’t it?

He tried the shirt on first, marvelling at the smooth, buttery feel of the fabric. He relished the effortless way his knuckles slid along the length of the sleeve, so flawless was the craftsmanship. If it didn’t feel so good to wear it, he might have been more creeped out by how well it wrapped around him, how nicely it sat on his chest and shoulders. He struck a pose in front of the mirror, smiling in spite of himself. Did he look paler than usual? Maybe he hadn’t been getting enough sun lately. He shuddered at the thought.

The rest of the suit was just as exquisite, if not more. With each new article of clothing, Saul could feel his incredulity and enjoyment growing in equal parts. Whatever suspicions he had had evaporated as he savoured the act of dressing himself. He felt, no, he knew he was irresistible in all this finery. Dressed like this, he’d be able to charm the pants off of anyone, everyone. He stopped to take a look at himself in the mirror again, taking a moment to fish his heavy pocket watch out of the vest. He smiled to himself as he checked his timing, he still had it… though what exactly he still had he couldn’t remember for the life of him. He didn’t know why such a thought had popped into his head, unbidden. He looked good no doubt but for the barest moment, he thought he had seen his face turn mean, the shadow of a split-second sneer. What was scarier was how he could feel some part of him was wishing for it to come back. He stared intently at his reflection in a mix of fear and reverence, almost daring it to act before him. It was only when he felt his gaze begin to blur until he could barely see anything anymore that he blinked himself back to reality.

At last, came the tie. He picked it up and let it flow across his open palm, admiring the red and gold fabric. It felt so small in his beefy hands. He hadn’t realised before today how built up he was but now he relished it, rolling his haunches as he appreciated his own width. Apparently sometimes a perfectly tailored suit helped you to appreciate yourself better, who could have guessed? He certainly knew he’d never be able to wear anything else after today, the material fit him as snugly as a second skin, made him feel powerful, in control. He wrapped it around his neck, letting it hang loosely over his frame. Bringing his hands up, he knotted it in one swift, practiced motion. So mesmerised was he with his own appearance, he barely even registered that his hands seemed to be moving of their own accord, tightening the knot until it felt like it was biting into his soft exposed neck. His eyelids drooped down, and then, darkness.

Saul laid on the floor for a few moments, blinking. He sat up and gave himself a once over, then did so a second time but he knew he’d be alright, he was himself now. He stood and looked at the mirror, smirking as he did so. No reflection, but he’d expected as much. He rolled his shoulders, and once again, ran his hands along the fabric, feeling his clothes, feeling himself. He ran his newly claimed tongue over his teeth, noting that they still retained the familial sharpness.

It had been a long time since he had last fed. People generally didn’t respond well to his kind. He couldn’t blame them for driving him out of town and threatening to burn his estate. But that didn’t matter now. He had done what was necessary to survive. Anyone who might have known him was long dead by now and people in general had long forgotten that creatures like him even existed. The paperwork would arrive soon enough, for the great-grandson who shared his name. In time, he would return to his rightful home and resume his old life there. Until then, Saul Senior had a terrible thirst to quench…

~~~~

Gary looked up from the book, a little stunned. He thought Mr. Quille had said that it was for Ryan as much as him, that ‘your son could learn a lot from it’. This certainly wasn’t a book he could describe as being educational to anyone, not with the contents thus far. He couldn’t deny he had enjoyed himself though. As creepy as the tale was, it had fired his imagination, filled his mind with vivid scenes in a way that he hadn’t experienced before. He looked at the words on the page, secretly replaying the pictures in his head, again, and again, and again. He turned the page and kept reading…

Halloween Spirit

“I told you already Cole, I’ll take you trick or treating later-”

“But Dad, it’s 5pm already! The streetlights are coming on and all the pumpkins have been lit…”

“Cole Alphonsus Daniels, for the last time, we’ll go out, when I say we go out. Is that clear?”

“...yes sir.”

“Good. Now find some way to entertain yourself while I finish work. After that we’ll hit the streets.”

Cole scowled as his father ruffled his hair. He ducked to avoid any further displays of affection and found his way to the front yard to sit on the porch. Holding his head in his hands, he stared glumly as people had begun to fill the streets. He longed to join but here he was, confined to waiting for his dad.

His gaze wandered, looking for something, anything, interesting to look at and found himself staring dead ahead at the pumpkin sitting on the fence. There was something weird about it, other than the way it seemed to be evenly matching his gaze. Then it hit him, the pumpkin was unlit. Cole frowned, he thought he had made sure to get all of them earlier. He got up to light it, grabbing the candle from the lantern nearest to him.

“Guess you’re missing out too huh, little guy?” He said as he waited for the wick to catch flame. He smiled as the pumpkin flickered to life.

“Well that’s you taken care of. Now if only my dad could hurry up and get out here.” The pumpkin flickered again. If Cole didn’t know better, he would have said it was winking at him.

---

Gil Daniels tapped away at his keyboard, muttering to himself. He moved to open another document, glancing at the clock as he did so. Another hour before he planned to leave the house, plenty of time. He rubbed at his temples to try to alleviate some of his headache. Damn, he was getting old, if not in body, then in spirit. He picked up his mug and took a sip of coffee, leaning back in his chair as he did so. He licked his lips. The coffee sure tasted good today. Did Lauren do something special to it? He took another sip. Kind of like a pumpkin spice latte. Usually he hated those but this one tasted fresher somehow, more authentic. He closed his eyes and drank deeply, downing it in one go. He felt a warm glow permeate through his body, washing through every fibre of his being. Slowly, he opened his eyes, and smiled.

---

“Ready to go sport?”

Cole jumped, nearly dropping the candle he was still holding. His father was standing in the doorway, beaming away, arms akimbo.

“Ye-yeah! Let me put this candle back.” He turned to the pumpkin he had just been talking to. “Did you do this?” The pumpkin stared merrily back at him but the flame held steady. “Well, if you did, thanks.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking to but I’m over here kiddo!” His father laughed as he spoke, a loud, hearty, chuckle. He took the candle from Cole as he approached and set it back in the original pumpkin. He turned to Cole, with mischief in his eyes.

“Race you to the next house.” Cole watched with wonder as his dad set off on a brisk jog. He giggled and dashed ahead of him, heading straight for the neighbour’s door, and rang the doorbell thrice for good measure.

“Beat you dad!” Cole laughed as his father saluted his victory.

“What’s all this then?” Cole turned to the source of the harsh new voice and his smile wilted. He had forgotten about the cranky old man who lived here. He opened his mouth to say something but words failed him. He felt a reassuring hand clapped onto his shoulder and turned to see his dad.

“Pardon my son’s enthusiasm, we’re trick or treating for Halloween. Surely you understand?” He said, reaching his hand out. Cole watched as the old man initially jerked backwards, ready to slam the door shut but the instant his dad grabbed onto him, he stopped. The old man closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them with a wide smile.

“Of course, of course, wait here, I’ll be only a moment.” The old man winked at Cole and walked back into the house, ostensibly to fetch some candy. Cole smiled warily back at him. Once he was out of earshot, Cole turned to his father.

“That was… kind of weird.”

His father shrugged good-naturedly.

“Seems the holiday spirit is particularly infectious today.” He said with a grin.

~~~~

Gary felt his head snap up as he finished the last word. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been reading for but it suddenly felt like it must have been hours. He looked at the TV to check the clock but was greeted by a black screen. When had he switched it off? He turned to his watch, still early in the afternoon, as evidenced by the sunlight streaming in through the windows. He wasn’t sure why he was so concerned about the time, it wasn’t as if he was going to go anywhere, he needed to take care of Ryan at home. Mr. Quille had told him as much. ‘A boy needs his father.’ He found himself nodding along in agreement, before realising how silly he must have looked to anyone watching. Thankfully Ryan was still in his room. Besides, he was really getting into a reading groove now, he looked back down as he turned the page, eager for the next story…

Bared Souls

Bernard was running. He wished that he knew where he was moving to but he knew that didn’t matter as much as staying on the move. He’d gone too deep into the forest this time and now there was a bear chasing after him. He knew his chances weren’t good but what choice did he have? He threw cautionary glances behind him every now and then, hoping the beast would get bored and wander off but he couldn’t be sure, so he kept running.

As his lungs began to scream for oxygen and his legs threatened to give out, he slowed down and thrust his hand against a thick tree trunk for support. He tried to steady his breathing, not quite willing to look around just yet. Either he had lost the bear, or he’d be overtaken in seconds due to exhaustion. He closed his eyes, hoping against hope it was the former. After a few minutes of not being mauled to death, he allowed himself a cautious look around. No bear, thank goodness. But… no signs of civilisation either. He frowned.

“Out of the frying pan and into the fire eh old boy?” He whispered to himself, trying to calm his nerves. He sat down and pulled his compass and map out, trying to get a sense of where he could go from here. Unfortunately he couldn’t see any landmarks near his position. He tried to stand up but sat back down almost immediately, his head spinning. He knew he’d probably find his way out with enough time but it suddenly occurred to him that he was very, very, very tired. He leaned against the tree trunk, figuring he’d rest his eyes for just a few minutes. Just a few minutes, that’s all…

---

When he woke up, the first thing he noticed was how much darker it was. Cursing his own foolishness, he stood up, alert, and angry with himself. Grumbling, he pulled out his compass and map again, squinting as best as he could in the fading light. Then he heard a growl. No, no, no, this couldn’t be happening. The growl came again, louder this time. He swung around, cursing under his breath, trying to locate the source of the noise. With the third and loudest growl yet, he bolted off in the opposite direction, fleeing for his life.

He ran until he once again could not run anymore. He looked around even as he panted for breath. More trees, still no sign of where he could be. With the sunlight rapidly fading, it was looking like he’d have to spend the night in the woods. How could he have been so ill-prepared? He’d be lucky not to freeze to death. That was, if the bears didn’t find him first. He walked with one hand outstretched, as the woods grew darker still. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was trying to find, if anything. He just kept putting one foot in front of the other.

Then the growling started again. Bernard grit his teeth, trying not to scream out in frustration and despair. This time he didn’t even have the slightest idea where it had come from. It was as if it had sounded all around, or maybe even from inside him. Insanity had come for him it seemed. He tilted his head, straining his ears, begging them to help him pick out which direction the bear was. He could scarcely trust his own senses as the growling began to fade away. Bernard breathed easily for a few moments. He turned his head to the front, only to find himself face to face with the bear.

He yelped out in fright, before he even realised he should not have been able to see anything in the darkness, let alone the bear. The bear did not blend in against the dark woods. Instead it glowed, brightly at that. Tendrils of light radiated off of its body and dissipated lazily into the air. The bear licked its nose, apparently entirely unbothered by Bernard or his palpable fear. It stepped closer and Bernard realised it made no noise as it moved. Even though he knew it made no sense, he could see through the bear. He could see the leaves it stepped on remain as scattered and unflattened as they were before.

The bear tilted its head and yawned at him, before pawing the ground and walking past him. Bernard didn’t realise he was holding his breath until the bear turned to look at him. Incredulous, he watched as the bear gestured with its head, twice. Follow me, it seemed to be saying. He stepped forward cautiously, shivering as he did so. Whether it was from the cold or fear, he couldn’t say. He stepped forward again, closer and closer, until he was directly alongside the bear.

And then the bear stepped into him.

Bernard stood stock still, certain he was going mad and seeing things. Yet, he could feel the bear as it continued to align itself against his flesh. Against all logic, he felt obliged to get on all fours so the bear could do so more comfortably. As the bear filled him, he felt a sense of extraordinary calm. His face twitched as he felt his senses heighten. New smells, new sounds, a completely different way of experiencing the world. He crawled forward, expecting to feel foolish, only to realise how natural his movements felt.

He broke into a running gait, as if he had known how to do so his entire life. His heart beat a steady thrum in his chest as he navigated the woods. It was all so simple, so obvious. How had he not realised it before? He headed easily through the winding roads, following the smells and clues towards where he knew humans would be. He ran for what must have been hours but not once did he grow tired. He felt alive, more than he had ever known throughout his years of existence. No need for fear, no sense of urgency, just purity of movement towards the goal that was emblazoned in his mind.

He came to the edge of the woods as the solid darkness began to give way to a pale blue. Not that he had needed the light to make his way through the night. He arched his back and felt himself stand up straight. At the same time he felt as if something was slipping out of him. His senses dulled rapidly back to normalcy but now it was jarring and unfamiliar. He turned back to see the same radiant bear again. He looked towards the road, the one that would take him back to civilisation. After the night he had had, it would be nice to return back home to a warm shower and bed. Even as he thought of his modern comforts, he couldn’t help feeling that something was missing, that he’d remain forever incomplete if he walked out of these woods as he was now.

He turned to look at the bear again. This time, it was he who gestured with his head. Twice. The bear looked as impassive as ever and he worried for a moment that it would turn back into the woods. Then it stepped forward, until it was alongside him. This time, it was Bernard who stepped willingly into the waiting spirit, for now he knew what it was. Their bodies aligned once more, the two took a few tentative steps, before throwing their head back and roaring as one.

~~~~

Gary sat with the book open in his lap. He stared blankly at the ceiling as his lips parted ever so slightly. The book rose into the air but Gary made no sign that he was aware of it, or anything at all for that matter. The pages began to flip rapidly but even as they flapped in his face, they remained neat, uncreased, orderly. As they approached the ends of the book, the pages picked up speed until it snapped shut. Whatever enchantment it was under seemed to come to an end as the book began to fall to the ground, only to be caught by a thick, deft hand. Gary blinked, and smiled as he looked over the book once again. Gone was any design that might have been tattooed on it. The front and back were now identical smooth dark faces. He smiled to see his own name now written in bold gold lettering down the length of the spine. He popped the book open, to the page he knew the dedications would be written on.

“To my neighbour, Gary, whose door is always open to me.”

Chuckling, he closed the book just as Ryan came out of the room.

“Hey Ryan.”

“Wha-uh, yeah dad?”

“Want to go trick or treating?”

“Uhhhhh, I thought I was grounded.”

“You still are mister but I can make an exception as long as you’re with me.”

Ryan looked as if he wanted to roll his eyes but the chance to get out of the house was too golden to pass up.

“...Ok, let me get changed.” Ryan said, before bounding back into his room, clearly eager to leave.

Gary smiled. He got up and stretched out his arms, flexing his fingers as he looked at them admiringly. He called out to Ryan.

“Let’s visit Mr. Quille next door first. I-uh, I mean he will be more than happy to see us, I should think.”

#daddy bear #bear #beard #suit #male possession #halloween #dad #father #object possession #clothes possession #vampire #jack-o-lantern #werebear #long story #frame story

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fangirlyah · 3 years

Text

✦ good enough - Finn Shelby x Reader

summary: finn thinks he should prove to others that he's enough and his best idea is to face a boxer in the ring

warnings: mentions of sex, cursing

word count: 1,602

a/n: MY FIRST PEAKY BLINDERS IMAGINE OMG

a typical day in birmingham. clouds, some natural and some others of the smoke, smell of shit and the sound of shots. you were used to it, you’d grown up all your life there, and now that you lived with your boyfriend, finn, in his apartment, bullets were heard closer than before.

as you stepped on the dirty pavement at the entrance to the shelby factory, everyone was looking at you. your beauty always stood out among the darkness of the city, your shiny hair and sympathetic eyes that captured the attention of any man or woman. when the news that you were dating the youngest of the shelby family spread, the surprise was not missing in any home. how someone so delicate and precious would be with a peaky blinder? or worse, a shelby?

neither of you was affected by the absurd conversations of others, you two loved each other that was the only thing that mattered.

"hey johnny!" the long grey corridors seemed endless when you didn’t recognize a familiar face, until johnny appeared in your visual range.

"well hello, mrs. y/l... may I ask what you’re doing here?" It was obvious that he was surprised, polly loved you very much and for that reason she didn’t let you near the factory very much, not even to greet tommy or any brother that was around the place. according to her, it wouldn’t take long for men to put you on everybody’s conversations and grab you behind a wall, to do things that god doesn’t want to hear. anyway, you frequented there.

"I came to pick up finn, he told me this morning to look for him here" in the evenings you used to help out at grace’s charity foundation, you loved kids and what better way to practice your teacher skills than there

"that little piece of shit...he is back in the rings" now it was your turn to look surprised, what was finn doing there?

you just smiled at johnny, to rush through the vast automobile factory and all the other illegal occupations it had inside. when you were only a few steps away from reaching the wooden and glass door that led you to the precarious place of boxing, you began to hear the moans and male screams that indicated that you were in the right place. when you opened the door a smell of sweat invaded you from head to toe, and between the three boxing rings in front of you, you could see your boyfriend fighting with nothing but, bonnie gold.

"what’s he doing?!" you asked tommy once you got to his side, so close to the ring you could hear the painful punches. thomas did not answer, only pulled out a malicious smile as he watched his younger brother bleed, as he was clearly losing. finn didn’t see you, or hear you. the fight was so intense that you thought at that point nothing could stop it. to everyone’s surprise, finn knew how to defend himself; bonnie had taken his good blows but your boyfriend was worse.

aberama laughed quietly, watching his son win. gold’s ambition was big and they were not going to miss the opportunity to beat a shelby. their bodies moved at a great speed and agility through the ring, and there you remembered that finn had already taken boxing lessons years ago and you prayed that he could remember what he had learned.

the fight could have gone on, but a big bang broke them up. it was coming from outside the factory, but still aberama and thomas quietly retreated in search of the blast creator.

both teenagers took some old towels, which were on the side of the ring, to wipe off the sweat. finn turned around looking for his shirt and saw you holding it in your hands. you had taken it to separate it from the spit that bonnie expelled while fighting. you saw your boyfriend’s look clear, but you couldn’t figure out if he was proud that you’d seen him fight or ashamed of it, because after all he was losing.

"you were lucky, shelby, I would have beaten you with one hand if we kept going" bonnie had his back to you while he was talking, so he didn’t know you were there. finn had already come down from the ring and approached you, leaving a sweet kiss on your cheek which you returned with a look of disappointment.

"shut the fuck up" replied the youngest of the shelby, as he put his shirt on, causing gold to turn around and see you standing. you knew he was in love with you, so his presence made you very uncomfortable; especially when you noticed how hard he tried to show his muscles or to get a look under your skirt every time you were around. finn knew it too, and he didn’t like it at all.

"oh little y/n, good to see you!" a malicious and perverted smile appeared on the black haired man’s face, causing finn’s fists to tighten so hard that you thought a fight would break out once again.

"hello, bonnie" short and dry, that was your answer. there was no worker left watching the scene, everyone had gone off to continue their chores, so there’s only the three of you left in the big shed.

"I must admit I missed seeing your sweet face, y/n" bonnie knew exactly what he was doing, provoking her, his best quality.

"you want me to break your face?!" your body was placed in front of finn’s, who was going to hit gold again, your hands were caressing his shoulders to relax him and you did it.

"you couldn’t do it once, you think you could do it the second time?" you took advantage of the fact that your boyfriend was already changed and ready to leave, to speed up the withdrawal process.

"let it go, finn, let’s go home" you gently took his hand and entered your fingers, making it obvious to bonnie.

"I really thought you were more man, finnegan" a laugh, very fake, came out of his mouth; while you and finn started walking towards the exit. you could tell how stressed your boyfriend was and you knew that if it wasn’t for you being there, he would have already started throwing punches "oh y/n, tell your little boyfriend to practice his mediocre boxing technique!" as you walked around you turned your body to yell back.

"don’t worry, bonnie, I’ll tell him while he’s fucking me against the kitchen table tonight!" a proud smile appeared in finn’s mouth as he hastened his way out.

the apartment you shared was not far away, so in less than five minutes you had arrived. the road had been quiet and you knew finn was eager to get there, and so were you. the area where your two lived wasn’t very nice, so when you walked in through the front door, you let out the air you didn’t know you were holding. you had lived there for months, but the constant fear was now stronger than at first. luckily, finn protected you with everything he had.

just when finn stepped into the apartment kitchen, he took off his typical peaky blinder coat and hat to look at you. you knew that look, he was horny, but when he saw your look, his fell a little.

"why did you do that?" your voice was soft but serious. "why did I, what?" finn took a seat at the table, looking at you feigning confusion.

"why did you fight with bonnie gold knowing he’s a fucking boxer?" he kept quiet, but you knew he had something to say "tommy forced you? arthur?" to mention both, he denied with his head.

"nobody forced me! I did it on my own!" finn was frustrated and it was not something unusual, you had seen it like that the last few weeks.

"but why, finn? you’re not like that, you don’t go through life beating people!"

"I know! I just... I just want to be good enough, alright?! because... my brothers won’t let me do anything, because I am not useful in that fucking company, because they keep treating me like a fucking kid! and because...and because if I go on like this you will go away" slowly you approached him, and with your hands on his cheeks, you raised his face to smile at him.

"you really think I’ll leave you?" he nodded "you’re very naive, finnegan shelby, if you believe that. haven’t you realized these past few months how much I love you? you shouldn’t prove anything to anyone, finn... if you really want to help your brothers with their jobs, and they don’t accept you, it’s their loss" your eyes exploded with admiration and love for your boyfriend and he could see it, because his eyes were the same.

"you want me to work with them?" he whispered.

"I just want you to be safe, and I know that’s not the best way to be sure… but it’s a decision you must make, and whatever it is I’ll stay beside you”

"I love you, y/n"

"I love you, finn" you laid your lips sweetly on his.

"now..." said your boyfriend separating the kiss "it was very hot what you told gold" you released a little embarrassed laugh "do you think we can make it happen?" his hands moved to the tip of your skirt, lifting it little by little.

“I think we can" and this time it was finn who started the kiss.

#fanfiction #fanfic #finn shelby #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders #peaky blinder headcanon #finn shelby fanfic #finn shelby fanfiction #imagine #one shots

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passivenovember · 3 years

Text

Sometimes I get really high and cry about how I don’t have anything from my childhood home. So here’s this.

WARNINGS FOR: mentions of suicide, Billy healing from the incident at Starcourt.

He’s never been fed by what is inherently sentimental. Even as a little boy, those precious creatures that lived on the highest shelf in his heart were easily destroyed or ripped away by the person he was becoming. Stuffed toys fell to pieces under the heat of his anger, the toxic potion that was brewing under the surface of his skin ate away at the rose-colored hue surrounding his childhood home to the point of absolute degradation.

Billy doesn't remember a time when he longed for the sanctity of his bedroom. For the pale yellow sunlight streaming past blood stained Thomas the Train curtains, or the box of broken toys that Neil had left alone. He doesn't remember when it happened, when the flip switched and his longing went from missing Saturday morning cartoons in his parents bed to simply missing his mother and all the things she had taken when she jumped off the roof.

It wasn't always like that. Billy remembers something else. He remembers a blanket that smelled like cinnamon toast crunch, adorned with microscopic holes he liked to such his thumb through. He remembers a set of roller blades the color of crushed mustard seeds; Neil taught him to skate. No one knows that, no one remembers, but Billy. Does, he. Remembers strong fingers laced with his own, holding tightly while Billy figured out how to maneuver the cracks in the sidewalk.

Billy is haunted by a time when his fathers hands were good for other things.

Before Hawkins. Before that night when the demon punched a hole through his chest, Billy had been giving things away. To lighten the load, he supposes, that which had become unbearable.

First it was his skateboard.

Max wanted it.

At the time he didn't think it was as simple as all that; his bitchy kid sister begging, day in and day out for access to the magic carpet that sat entombed in Billy's closet. He hadn't used it in years, ever a slave to the bright blue ocean, but it didn't matter. It was the principal of the thing, the skateboard to his kneecap.

Max took and took and took until Billy had nothing left to give. She said you don't even use it anymore and Billy said doesn't matter, you can't skate.

Neil told him it could be good for bonding.

Neil told him Max was a good kid, she deserved to have something of her own in their house on Willowbrook Avenue.

Neil told him to hand it over before I stick it up your ass, kid.

So Billy ground his teeth together and tried to push down the aching emptiness at tossing away the last thing his grandmama had given him before she passed away. It was the principal of the thing--if Ruthann were still around she'd tell him to let the kid have it. Let her have something of her own, so. He polished its bearings and left it outside her bedroom door, pretended to read until she came knocking an hour later with confusion twisting her freckled face to shit.

You're sure I can have it. She asked.

And.

Yeah. I'll teach you.

He wonders if Max remembers those afternoons in the driveway that morphed into weekends at the skatepark with Max scuffing up the wheels and Billy tapping into his thin line of patience. Wonders if she's plagued by the memory of hidden smiles and misplaced affection, because. Billy had thought it would hurt more, giving away a piece of his childhood like that, but. He had long since stopped attaching emotional worth to things that broke. Things that crumbled.

He wonders if Max remembers a time when his hands were good for other things.

Billy made a habit of throwing away the things that weighed him down.

The skateboard, the blanket that smelled like cereal milk, he thought all of it made him weak. The more shit he had that mattered to him the more he had to lose, so. Every Spring Billy would wrap his fingers around the mouth of a big black trash bag and lighten his load. Scoop armfuls of his childhood into the abyss that always, somehow, incredibly operated as a portal to Max's room.

Sometimes he wondered if she even had a personality or if everything she had, everything she was, came directly from Billy's dumpster.

One man's trash, and all that.

She wore his old shirts. Read his books, hung discarded posters of naked chick's on the insides of her closet doors for some fucking reason, and. In a weird way Billy felt like maybe he was being immortalized. Every phase of his life was shone back at him like the surface of a lake, or a shiny new penny on the dashboard of the Camaro, and he felt good. Useful, for his trash becoming someone's gold.

So Billy kept tossing things out.

Reorganizing and downsizing until his room looked like a generic movie set for a troubled teen. Every weekend Billy packed the little pieces of himself into neat trash bags, tying the lip closed and leaving them for max. Nestled at the foot of her door, like a bargain brand Christmas gift that was not at all what she had asked for. Gifts that came 52 times a year.

The bags always vanished. Billy felt heavy and light. Heavy and light. In the end he wasn't sad to see it go.

Maybe it was just a side effect of growing up in the big, empty house on the hill and fighting the incessant need to fill it with shit but Steve Harrington was a packrat. The kid never got rid of anything. Before Starcourt. Before that night when the demon punched a hole through his chest, Billy would tease him about it.

What, like you need five binders full of empty laminate pages?

Steve's tongue would poke out of the corner of his mouth while his fingertips brushed the offended plastic. I'm going to start scrapbooking.

And that was is usual way, to find an explanation, a inarguable reason for all the junk in his life, but.

Billy thought it was okay to have things around for comfort.

Wasn't really his style, but it was Steve's and Billy didn't stop the kid from collecting whatever he could get those slim fingers on. Old NATARI cartages, broken HAM radio antenna's, torn polaroid's, annual Moms of Loch Nora Bake sale t-shirts; he kept everything in case an old timey push mower could prove itself to be useful.

Before that night when the demon punched a hole in his chest, Billy would smirk. What sad sack wants a MILF's face on his chest?

Steve just shrugged his shoulders. Someone could need it.

And Billy just snorted, because.

Harrington's a weird guy.

Thoughtful and pretty and so, so fucking weird.

When they brought Billy home from the hospital he slept in a shirt with Karen Wheelers face on it, every night for a week.

Funny how it all comes back around.

He spends a lot of time in bed with the covers pulled up under his chin. Draped in Steve's ridiculous knit sweaters and thick woolen socks because everything is cold, now. As if winter has settled rough and desperate into the very marrow of his bones and even though the fabric rubs too harshly against the healing rise of his stitched skin, Billy can't shed even a single layer for fear of freezing to death.

That's what it had felt like Before Starcourt. Before the monster punched a hole through his chest, when it just had its fingers inside his skull.

Endless winter.

Steve buys every type of heated blanket on the market. Searches high and low for expensive down t-shirts that will help you feel more comfortable, but. Billy doesn't even remember what that's supposed to feel like.

Steve says comfort feels like sleeping in on Saturday mornings because you don't have anywhere to be. Home sounds like your mother fixing pancakes just before lunch time but--oh. Everyone always remembers half a second too late. Billy tries to smile, tries to accept the help Steve gives him--he wears the sweaters and keeps the socks on after his morning bath even though he's not really a sock person because Steve is so hopeful.

Bright.

Steve smiles over the mug of hot cocoa he fixes Billy every morning and hopes. If we start the day warm, who knows?

Billy doesn't have the heart to tell him.

Steve spends a lot of time in bed. Plastered to Billy's skin--chest to back because Billy needs to feel like he's protecting something, after Starcourt. After that night when the demon punched a hole through his chest.

Sometimes Billy feels like Maxine.

Stealing bits and pieces from someone's garbage can. Here he is, sleeping in Steve's bed wearing Steve's clothes taking up such a large part of Steve's life, and.

Pretty Boy just snuggles closer and lends his warmth in more ways than one.

Billy doesn't always know how to handle it when those milky brown eyes watch him roll around under the covers until his body finally feels at peace. Every night Billy closes his eyes says the same thing. "I can be out of here by next week, if you--" Afraid to look for fear that he'll see relief reflected back at him.

Every night Steve says the same thing in return. "You're my whole world now, Billy."

As if that's supposed to get the car back on track. As if Billy hasn't veered off the road and crashed into a tree every single day since--

"Maybe it would make you feel better if, you know." Steve shuffles impossibly closer, the hot line of him charring Billy's skin even through the layers of wool. "If you had something familiar."

"You're familiar."

Steve's flesh burns even hotter. Eyes shining even bright, at that. Something almost like love. "I meant something from your childhood."

Billy rolls onto his side.

Steve moves with him without even thinking about it--chest to back because Steve needs to feel useful, after Starcourt. After that night when Billy hit the floor and the light went out of his eyes. Billy's chest rises against the palm of Steve's hand, where it's pressed against him. Steve will never get tired of that motion.

"I don't have anything from my childhood."

Which. "Not even at home?"

"This is home now." Billy sounds like he doesn't want to talk about it, but.

Steve can't bring himself to care. Or maybe stop caring. "I meant at Neil's."

"Got rid of all that shit." He can hear the tremor in Steve's voice, when the boy finally finds it.

"Neil got rid of your--"

"No." Billy says simply. "I did."

He can hear the wheels turning in that beautiful head. Steve swallows, the movement palpable in the thick night air. "But. Don't you miss it?"

After a while Billy shakes his head in the darkness, curls catching on the plaid pillowcase. It takes Steve a moment to decipher what it means, how it makes him feel that Billy can so easily toss away the things that no longer serve him.

They're quiet for a while. So long that Billy's breathing goes deep and even, a clear indicator that he's fallen asleep. Steve knows it won't last long, knows the nightmares wake him up, and.

Steve always stays awake through the first three to give Billy something familiar to hold onto.

#harringrove #idk what this is lol

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ssatoritendou · 3 years

Text

Dragon Queen

Pairing: bakugou/reader

katsuki bakugou

Word count: 2.3k

+ summary: You and your siblings are orphans, you were the oldest and needed to take care of them. You didn’t think it was wrong from stealing from the Prince soon to be King would be bad.

Genre: Medieval AU; fluff

Warning: Cursing, suggestive content

"Shitty Hair where is my fucking sword!?” Prince Bakugou yelled across the room. "I don't know. Check the throne room or the dungeon." Kirishima yelled back. "This like the 18th fucking thing that's gone missing." "Bakugou man your mom needs you in the throne room." "Tell the Hag I'm not interested. I just want to travel to have those Princess sluts at my feet." Bakugou argued back. "Listen to me, you tell that Brat that he will get his ass down here now!” The angry Queen yelled from the throne room. "Hmph." The prince grabbed his cloak and walked downstairs. He was met with Kirishima at the bottom of the stairs opening his mouth to say something.”I heard, Kirishima get your shit together and wait outside. I'll be out in no time." "But Baku-" "Just do it. And be in a position so we can get out of here." He walked into the throne room, the Princesses his mother picked for him were ogling him again. "Not a chance in hell Hag. I will marry when I want to. When I do it will be someone I choose and certainly not a princess or of high standing.” He said with spite in staring directly into the Princesses eyes. Of course, He knew she wouldn't accept his terms. "Katsuki, you need to be married. You will be coronated soon to become the next King ever since your father died. Our kingdom needs-" "I'm leaving and when I come back I will come back with a bride and if not you can pick one I will marry. Shitty Hair let's go." He hopped onto Kirishima and left the island.

"So Bakugou where are we off to? Raid some pirates, tavern hopping, or-" "I need to find my sword. We are going to the trade market. It's worth a lot of money. Any sad sack that stole my sword would know that." "Weren't we just there?" "Exactly Shitty Hair. We got back yesterday drunk off our asses and someone must have stolen it off of me. When we got home we slept it off. We have been there multiple times and each time something of mine went missing. Find the robber and deal with him and then...I have to find a bride." "Bakugou how are you going to find a bride?" "I DON"T KNOW SHITTY HAIR!"

"If it isn't the Great Dragon King and his pet again. Two days in a row. What brings you in today?" "Did you see anybody hanging around me and the dragon?" "Mainly just girls. All wanting to be queen. No one out of the ordinary to me." The bartender responded. “Damnit.” He said frustrated. “Shitty hair let's go to the market." The pair was wandering around for a while before Kirishima said something. "Bakugou isn't that your knife?" "Which one dumbass? This a table full of knives and swords." "That one with the emerald stone. I remember it because you threw it at Prince Shoto when he beat you in a sword fight." "Oh yeah. Hey, where'd ya get this?" "This type of knife here is a rare silver and gold plated base with a jewel stone in crested in the handle." "I'm not looking to buy it! I want to know who gave it to you to sell so they could get some profit!" Bakugou lunged forward and had the man in his hands. "Bakugou-" "Shut it Kirishima!" "I can't tell you she kill me and her little minions too." "It's either me or her. Right now who are you more afraid of?" "She lives in the forest with other children. She steals from out of towners." "Did she give you a sword?" "No. I haven't seen her in weeks. No one here has. She sells to all of us and we give her 20% of the profit." "Thanks. Here's some cash. Alright, Shitty Hair we are going to the woods."

"_____ we are going to the stream.”Your little sisters said. "Ok bring b/n with you two. The last time you two went you nearly fell in and were taken by the current." “Ok, we promise. See you for dinner." The two little girls left with b/n. You lived in the woods with other orphans. You were the oldest and had to take care of them. Your orphanage was destroyed and you couldn't leave them behind. You also had to find a way to provide for them. You had come up with a plan to take care of everyone. Stealing from out of towners, selling it to merchants, and getting some profit back wouldn't be so bad. Some of their quirks were a little frightening and so was yours. No one dared to cross your family in fear of their lives. "_____ I found that berry plant again. I thought it would make a great side dish tonight.” Your little brother said to you. "That's perfect, g/n. You go and wash them and b/n is preparing the meat and I'm preparing the salad. g/n and g/n are baking. And I believe b/n is chopping wood." "Alright. Cool, where did you get the sword?" He gestured to the shiny sword sitting on the dinner table. "I was about to ask that question myself?" You turned to see a man on a dragon with b/n and the twins. 'GOD he is attractive.- Hold up children endanger because hot man is holding them captive. Must fight girly instants.' "Hey put them down this instant!" "Oh, I will once I get back what was stolen from me." "I didn't steal it. I permanently borrowed it. Put those kids down or suffer the consequences." "Oh, what are little children and a shitty girl going to do?" “b/n do it now." b/n put his hand in the dragon activating his quirk. The dragon turned back to a person. Then g/n opened a portal for them to hit the ground safely. She also made a portal for the men and transported them to the ground. Her sister went over to them and knocked them out. "What do we do with them now _____?" "Well, I guess they are joining us for dinner," You smirked.

"Look who joined us finally _____!" b/n cheered next to me. Bakugou awoke out of his slumber and he was being held captive by a boy with branches coming out of his neck. "Let me go! You have no clue what I'm capable of!" “b/n don't need to aggravate the little firecracker. King Bakugou right? Can't activate your quirk if I have someone that can cancel it out for you." The shitty girl was pouring everyone a drink. "What is King Aizawa here or something?" "Hehehe, no no I'm not related to him. I'm flattered though." Your younger brother laughed. "I just came to get my sword back." "No can do. Sword can catch me and my siblings a pretty penny or more. We need it to survive you are a King get another one." "It has value to me." "I'll have to think about it over dinner. Kirishima is the roast done?" You turned your head to Kirishima as he was explaining to a set of twin girls how to cook meat. "What the fuck Shitty Hair!?" "Language!" The group yelled at the angry blonde. "Hey, Bakugou man. They were very nice to me and I offered to help cook." "How the hell am I supposed to eat?" He gestured to the tree branches around him. "I'll feed you." The shitty girl smiled. "I rather starve." "You really want the sword back you should pay nice with _____. I'm b/n by the way. It's very nice to meet you King Bakugou." "Whatever." "Fine then starve." b/n said with annoyance in his tone. "You don't need to be rude, b/n. I guess he doesn't really value this sword." "Wait...Fine, you can feed me." He grumbled. "I have never seen him cave like that," Kirishima whispered to you. "I have that effect on cocky men." "EH, YOU HA-" "You shouldn't really yell at me. Kirishima has been lovely to us and but I wouldn’t hesitate to kill him and you too. I might have to teach a lesson on manners. And I'm not afraid to get violent." She smiled an evil smile that looked innocent. Bakugou felt something in his chest...thump...thump. 'Nope, not a chance in hell! I rather spend the day with Deku and listen to him talk about Knight All Might.' "Ok kids go wash your hands and then we will feast." "Um _____ can you bring me the soap and water?" "Of course. " You brought the items over to the boy that was holding Bakugou with the branches. She helped him wash his hands. "Bakugou what would you like on your plate?" "Everything." You gathered a plate for him. "We only have water. Once we had wine but someone here drank it all." You glared at your brother holding him. "I thought it was prune juice." "Sure." "Wasn't fun either with you messing with the gravity." "Hehe." She giggled. "Ok open up." She brought the fork to the stubborn male's mouth and he began to slowly eat his food.

You fed him before you fed yourself. And when everybody was finished for dinner there was almost nothing left for you. It didn’t bother you though. But it bothers Bakugou. He began thinking ‘I wished I hadn't eaten so much. I wanted her to have everything she needed.’ "You were good at dinner Bakugou. You can let him go b/n. We are going to negotiate. Bring everybody inside." The boy rolled his eyes and let Bakugou go and brought everybody inside the small cabin. "So how much are you willing to pay for the sword?" "I never asked your name?" "_____. I ask again how much?" "_____ this sword was given to me by my father as a gift. He died a couple of months ago due to old age and not taking care of his body. I couldn't put a price on it." "Do you or do you not want it back?" "You don't seem to care it's a gift from my father?" "Why should I? We live in free territory land, a trading stop for all kingdoms we are ruled by no one. He wasn't my king. And parents have little value to me. Mine gave me up, only people to ever care about me are those kids and myself." "How about a deal for the sword?" "A deal? I just want money." You stated bluntly. "I want to marry you." "What?" "You can be the queen of my land, rule with me, have everything you want. The brats can come too. I think they could grow on me." He was down on one knee holding your hand. He looked up at you to see you blushing. "Why me? I'm just some commoner and I'm sure there are Princesses that are a better candidate-" Katsuki placed his lips on you gently. "Have you ever met a Princess?" He laughed. "You think I would want to marry that type of girl?" "You would probably kill the Princess you marry." "Haha. Then let's go tell the troops we're leaving."

“b/n are you sure it's working?" His sister asked him. "Yes, I use it all the time when _____ is talking about new places to steal. Now hush." He was still connected to the plant life around the cabin and could listen to what was going on. "I want to marry you." "What?" "You can be the queen of my land, rule with me, have everything you want. The brats can come too. I think they could grow on me." "Have you ever met a Princess?" there was a slight chuckle. "You think I would want to marry that type of girl?" "You would probably kill the Princess you marry." "Haha. Then let's go tell the troops we're leaving." "We are moving to the castle!" He screamed in excitement. "Damnit! b/n I was going to tell you that. Stop listening in that is very rude." _____ scolded him again. "Sorry. Couldn't help it." "You are going to marry this hot head?" Kirishima said. "Watch it Shitty Hair." The king warned. "Thank you, Thank you so much. That means he does have a heart in there somewhere." He was on his knees sobbing to _____. "Pull yourself together Dumbass."

The group arrived back at the castle with _____ and all of ‘her brats’ as Katsuki put it. "Mother I found a bride!" "Yeah right what wench did you pay to set this thing off for a year before you actually marry her?" "_____ my love please come in." You walked into the throne room and your siblings trailing behind you with Kirishima. "Katsuki she is beautiful...Wait what's with the brats?" "They are my siblings, your majesty. We were orphans and I took them in and provided for them myself." "How so?" "Permanently borrowing things and selling them for a profit." "You don't need to make it sound fancy _____. She stole and threaten merchants to give her a profit after they sold it." Bakugou said bluntly. "Ha, yeah that's what I did. It was easy with cocky men like Katsuki over here." "I'm not cocky!" "Yes, you are." You and his mother said at the same time. You two looked at each other and laughed. "Don't you dare laugh at my expanse you Hag!" "Katsuki don't raise your voice at your mother that is very rude." "She is your wife. Quick Kirishima get the priest." "Hag, I want her to have a grand wedding and everybody to be invited. In every kingdom. Even dumbass Icy-Hot's kingdom.” He held you close to my waist and dipped her down and this time he planted a forceful kiss upon you. You went weak in the knees and fell right into Bakugou. He picked you up and rushed you out of the throne room. "Kirishima, show the brats the castle. We will be back down tomorrow morning." He smiled seductively at you. "Katsuki! Not in front of the kids and isn't against royal rules to be with your betrothed before your wedding day?" "You are looking at the royal rule-breaker here, my little thief. Besides you have to be punished for stealing my property. You have to please your King."

#mha xreader #mha x reader #mha #bakugou katsuki #bakugou #bakugou katuski x reader #bnha katsuki x reader #katsukibakugou #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x reader

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mollymauk-teafleak · 3 years

Text

and I’m building it with you

This is an addition to my toymaker Percy fic, done as a Christmas present for my wonderful friend @minky-for-short who is just fantastic and wonderful and deserves the best <3

Please consider leaving a comment on Ao3!

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Percy finds himself on babysitting duty, something he should be far better prepared for than he is...

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Having a child in his toy store shouldn’t have made Percy as nervous as it did. He saw so many of them every single day.

On one level he knew that, of course he did. But it didn’t help that this was the child of the woman who he...well.

A woman he was growing rather fond of.

It had been a slow morning when Vex had burst through the doors of his store in the early hours of the morning. Percy had been sitting behind the counter without so much as some sanding to do, scribbling some new concepts in his notebook, when the door had opened so quickly he’d worried the bell would fly off its hook.

Seeing Vex standing there had made his chest feel a little tight but in that good way he was starting to get used to. She did come by most mornings now, midway through after her early shift at the bakery to bring him some pastries that hadn’t sold from the bakery and a coffee. At first it had been to talk about how Raven enjoyed his Winter’s Crest gift, giving feedback on how the little wooden bear moved and functioned. Now it was weeks past Winter’s Crest and Vex was still coming nearly every morning if she worked the right hours. And now they talked about everything and anything that came into their heads, minutes running past nearly completely unnoticed.

Percy wasn’t sure how Vex saw him now, as a friend or as the man behind the counter in a strange little store or anything else. He just knew she brightened his days.

He’d been about to smile and say how lovely it was to see her earlier than usual when he’d noticed just how harried she’d looked, how she’d clearly been going at a frantic pace, the panic and guilt in her eyes. Of course there was always guilt settled in the back of her eyes, like clouds stirring in a slate grey sky, but this morning it had been at the forefront as the story came pouring out.

Being called into work last minute on a day off, Vax and Shaun having left the city to spend a week in Marquet for Shaun’s birthday, no one else available to watch Raven, could Percy maybe, could he possibly, only if it wasn’t too much trouble but she didn’t know where else to go.

Percy had agreed immediately of course, accepting the warm weight of the little boy into his arms. He didn’t need her to say it in so many ways but he understood how important her job was to her, how much she needed the money it brought in. There had been a time in his life when every minute had been counted in coppers too.

And the look of relief on her face when he’d agreed, when he’d promised it was all okay and he’d take care of Raven until her shift ended in a few hours, was worth so much.

But now the door had closed and he was left alone, holding a seven month old boy and, if he was being absolutely honest, no clue at all how to look after one at all.

But how hard could looking after a kid in a toyshop be?

Percy had broken his third pencil in twenty minutes, cracked to splinters in his grip like the first two. He slumped until his forehead hit the counter with a painful thunk.

And still Raven kept wailing at the top of his lungs.

Percy made himself jerk up, pushing back his chair and sinking back down beside Raven’s stroller. The little toddler, this tiny little thing that could make so much gods damn noise, with Vex’s soft, sweet eyes and her dark hair and those enormous ears, thrashed in his puffy winter coat, face red with the effort of his crying.

He’d been like that ever since Vex had left, after one last kiss to his chubby cheeks. He’d watched her round the corner with his enormous dark eyes, and no sooner had the last edge of her scarf disappeared from view than his lower lip began to tremble, his eyes filled and his lungs burst.

An hour later and he still hadn’t stopped. Percy had dangled shiny things in front of him, he’d offered him the bottle Vex had left in his backpack, he’d turned the radio in to try and give him something to listen to but none of it had worked.

“Look,” Percy hissed through a very tense jaw, firmly reminding himself that he could not lose his patience with a baby, “I know this isn’t where you want to be. I know I am no one’s first choice for a babysitter. But I’m what you have, okay?”

Raven just wailed harder, clutching his little wooden bear that Vex had passed on was named Trinket. He held it tight in his pudgy little fists, pulling it close as if in comfort.

Percy exhaled, shoulders slumping, any frustration that had been building draining out of him. He could remember when a little boy with dark hair had clung onto a cloth bird just like that when he’d wanted someone to come and stroke his hair and keep him safe.

“You just miss her, don’t you?” he murmured.

Raven burbled miserably, eyes huge and streaming. Percy shook his head at himself, genly picking him up out of his stroller, settling him on one hip as he walked to the door, turning the sign to closed. They’d barely had a handful of people in the shop all day anyway and clearly this young man required his full attention. And deserved it.

“You seem a curious little chap,” Percy hummed, bouncing him gently to chase away the last of his sniffling, which had petered off as soon as he’d been picked up, “Maybe you’d like to see my workshop?”

Not many people would find the little room he kept at the back of his shop as a comfort. But with no room with his little apartment for the bigger tools he needed for his work, that space had become his little piece of calm. Everything was ordered there, everything in its proper place. He could put his hand on whatever he needed, make beautiful things and solve any problem. Things made sense as long as he had that heavy door closed behind him.

Which was why he’d never invited anyone else in here. But he could make an exception for Raven.

Almost immediately, the little boy seemed entranced. Percy didn’t know if it was the shine of the tools lined up on the wall pegs in their neat marker outlines or the warmth of the old furnace combined with it’s gentle crackling but his hitching shoulders stopped almost immediately. He made a kind of soft humming instead, not unlike the purring of a cat.

Percy smiled, “See? I thought you’d like it in here. You look like a young man who appreciates quiet.”

He took a seat at the workbench, making sure to sweep away any wood shavings with his free hand. He’d been painting the last time he’d sat there just before opening, his case of paint pots was by his elbow, a neat rainbow of colours in their little leather pockets. The carved animals he’d been bringing to life were half done; he’d always intended to come back to them at the end of the day. There was a dragon crouched before them, coiled as if ready to spring, top half in a pale pine and back half in glittering green scales.

Raven’s huge eyes fixed on it immediately, mouth dropping open in awe.

Percy chuckled, “Would you like to watch me finish him off? He looks rather odd like that.”

Raven made a burble that seemed very much in the affirmative so Percy set him in his lap, with Trinket in his little one, and let him lean against the edge of the bench as he selected a brush. He found the pearlescent green he’d been using, back in its proper pocket of course, making sure Raven could see it catch the light as it dripped from the brush.

It really did seem that as long as he had something to look at and someone holding him, the little half elf was perfectly content. He only made the slightest of happy, contented noises as he watched Percy fill in each tiny scale, slowly bringing the dragon from dull pine to colourful life. Before long, he found himself smiling fondly, an emotion he welcomed but couldn’t quite name roiling in his chest at the fact that Raven trusted him so much.

Percy had very clever eyes to go along with his clever hands. Just like he didn’t need to be told that Vex needed to take every shift she was given, he didn’t need to be told that their situation before she’d moved in with her brother and his husband had been less than ideal. It was in the way her eyes darted quickly around the room each time she entered, like she was dramatically mapping it to see how to respond. It was in how tightly she clung to everything that mattered to her, it had been a good handful of visits before she’d let Percy hold Raven. It was in those clouds of guilt and sadness moving behind her beautiful grey eyes, like everything she did, some buried part of her mind questioned. Someone who spoke with another’s voice.

He would recognise those signs a mile off. He saw them in the mirror everyday.

And it leaked onto Raven as well, the same ink stained the both of them. There was a bond between them that was in addition to the one between a mother and a child, something sadder and stranger.

So he was more than touched that Raven settled into his company so easily. He understood what it took.

And Vex’ahlia…

He would take his time. He would do nothing until he was completely and totally sure it was what she wanted. And if that never happened, well, he was happy just to be her friend.

Together, he and Raven painted all of the animals he had left, the dragon got his shining green scales, the lion got his rich honey gold coat, the giraffe got his blotches, the parrot got his rainbow brilliance. Hours must have slipped by in drops of shining colour, with Percy humming to himself and Raven eventually dozing in perfect contentment, neither of them paying the slightest bit of attention.

Because when Vex pushed back the door to the shop, face set in a confused frown as to why the store would be closed in the afternoon, knowing to go straight to the workshop when she didn’t see either of them behind the counter, she came in to find them both asleep. Percy, nodding in his work chair, chin tucked to his chest and Raven curled up tightly in his arms, settled happily and safely.

Vex felt her breath catch in her throat at the sight. Even Vax and Shaun struggled to get Raven to go over, he’d usually refuse for anyone but her. To see his face, soft and gentle in untroubled sleep, held so safe and protected in Percy’s arms brought tears to her eyes before she could stop them.

But maybe that was okay.

She didn’t wake them up right away, enjoying the little scene too much to ruin it. As she leaned in the doorway of the workshop and the gentle smile crossed her face, she felt the same want ache in her chest, the one she’d been feeling for some time now. And she told herself the same thing she had again and again.

Take your time.

#percahlia #toymaker percy au #modern au #fluff #baby fluff #please reblog and comment!#critical role

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sweet-symphony0 · 3 years

Text

Despair

Hey hey, guess who’s back and finally had time to write! Happy Twin Tuesday! This one is...current, I’ll say. That’s all I’m going to say.

Summary: 01/06/2021. Rami and Sami can’t believe their eyes. They cope the only way they know how.

Tags: @the-real-ramimalekpeen @xmxisxforxmaybe @killerqueengigi @txmel @laminy @ramimedley @rathernotmyname @ramilicious @sherlollydramoine @edteche2 @hah0106

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Sami’s phone was ringing, he could hear it vibrating in his bag from he stood next to his desk, surveying his thirty students, their attention quickly diminishing. He ignored it, even as it rang a second time.

“Alright guys-hey, don’t pack up yet, this is important-reading for tonight is chapter 12, your essays on Slaughterhouse Five are due Friday, so don’t forget.” There were groans heard from around the room, and Sami continued, “and no, I won’t be accepting any late papers; I gave you a month and a half for this. That’s more than generous, get it done.”

There were more groans and Sami smirked inwardly to himself as the bell rang and students began shuffling out the door, with a few calls of “see ya, Mr. Malek!” and Sami smiled. “Yeah, have a good day guys. Nice work today.”

When the last student was out the door, Sami took a moment to himself, glad he now had a free period before his next class. He cleared his throat, and began erasing the notes from the smartboard in preparation for the next round, when his phone vibrated and he remembered someone was trying to reach him, idly wondering what was so important that someone would call him at work.

Skimming his notifications, he frowned. Three texts from Rami, a missed call from him, and two texts from friends which he ignored for the time being, instead reading Rami’s messages:

“I know you’re at work, but you need to see this.” and underneath, in a separate message, a link to a CNN article that read “Rioters break windows and breach US Capitol.”

Sami stared, bewildered, and then read the third message Rami had sent.

“Turn on the news.”

Sami reread the headline, clicking the link Rami had sent, and he skimmed the article, his mind reeling.

“What the fuck...?”

Rami’s response was instant:

“You need to turn on the fucking news. Now.”

Sami wasted no time in rushing to the staff room, thanking his stars he had a break for the next forty minutes. It didn’t surprise him that nearly a quarter of the staff were already there, and he slipped inside, spotting a few of his colleagues from the English department. Even though the second bell had rung, no one in the room bothered to move, their eyes transfixed on the news coverage blaring from the TV. And as Sami turned his gaze to watch too, he felt his stomach sink in dread.

There were a cacophony of murmurs around the room, Sami catching tidbits here and there.

“What are we going to do?”

“There’s nothing we can do right now-”

“No, we can’t just-someone has to explain to the kids-”

“No, they’ll find out soon enough, we keep teaching like normal-”

“This is a high school,” one of Sami’s friends in the history department finally sighed tiredly. “You really think those kids don’t know by now? They have social media and cell phones. They know. And we can go about like usual, but this is something we’re all going to be talking about tomorrow.”

Sami’s eyes drifted back to the television, watching intently as he drowned everyone else out. They were inside the building now, hoards of them, a never ending sight. Sami watched with wide, disbelieving eyes, horrified as people scaled the building walls, smashed through windows, and he couldn’t help but think frantically: why wasn’t anyone doing anything?

He snorted to himself. Right. You know why.

He didn’t think he’d be able to go back to work after this. Slowly, one by one, his colleagues filtered out as most of them had classes to attend to that period and couldn’t push being late anymore. Once he was alone, Sami sank into one of the chairs, eyes glued to the newscast, feeling frozen from what he seeing.

He felt sick.

He texted Rami back and forth, a steady stream of furious conversation, not even realizing when the bell rang. Scrambling out of his seat, he rushed back to his room, just in time for when kids started filing in.

“Hi guys,” he pasted a smile on his face. “Settle down, and we’ll get started.”

He taught on autopilot, the forty minutes going by without him realizing, and before he knew it, kids were standing up and he was calling out the same thing from before: “read chapter twelve tonight, your essays are due Friday...”

Whatever previous intentions Sami had about sticking around the rest of the school day to get his work done, he threw right out the window. Racing home, he dug through his fridge for a beer, and then after better judgement, grabbed another, before he turned his TV on and called Rami.

Sami didn’t even let him say hi. “Are you safe?”

“Yeah,” Rami nodded. He was moving through his apartment, Sami could see, presumably to get to a quieter spot, and his gaze was off to the side, watching something. “I’m fine. Nothing here has happened yet, thankfully.”

“Listen,” Sami said urgently. “Stay inside okay? Don’t go out today if you don’t have to. You don’t-no one knows what will happen. Please.”

“I’m not moving,” Rami said. “I can’t-fucking after this, I can’t concentrate. I’m supposed to be rehearsing lines for tomorrow but fuck that. This is insane.”

Sami watched as the mob of people made their way inside the Rotunda, and he sank onto the couch. Then a few minutes later, they were inside the Senate chamber, pushing things around, and when he changed the channel to find another possible view, there was a photo up of a man carrying a confederate flag.

“Oh my fucking god.”

Rami’s voice was low. “I know. It gets worse.”

“Oh no, don’t say that.”

“They-they took down the American flag,” Rami said with barely restrained rage. “And replaced it. With a fucking Trump flag.”

Sami choked. “You’re not serious.”

“I wish I weren’t. And our president,” Rami scoffed. “is encouraging it. Fucking-” he stopped short, thinking for a moment on whether or not to complete what he wanted to say, before he shook his head in exasperation. “It’s all so exhausting.”

“That’s unconstitutional,” Sami murmured, flipping channels again, and he dropped his beer when he saw the constructed noose on the other side of the Capitol, staining the carpet, but he didn’t care. “Who is that for?! What the fuck!”

“What? What am I missing?”

Sami didn’t answer, still rooted on the spot, watching as officers finally brought out tear gas. “Fuck...is there any update on the Senators?”

“Not that I can tell. Though they are saying a few Republican ones are agreeing with this bullshit.”

Suddenly everything clicked, and Sami realized why today, of all days, this was happening. As he watched the coverage of Trump’s tweet, the rally earlier that morning, he idly wondered how much damage had already been caused, and whatever else he’d missed.

“I’m not drunk enough for this,” he sighed, and Rami chuckled flatly.

“I’ve had a bottle of wine open for the last hour. Wish you were here to join me.”

“Well,” Sami stood up, grimacing at the mess he’d made from the spilled beer. “I can join you from afar. What are you drinking?” Rami gave him the name of a Cabernet they were both fond of, and Sami grinned triumphantly when he found a spare bottle in the back of his wine cooler. Propping his phone up on the counter against the block of chopping knives, he made quick work in opening and pouring himself a generous glass. “Cheers, man.”

“Cheers. What are we cheers-ing to?”

Sami hummed, licking the bit of wine that had dripped down his finger. “To the compete and utter fuckery that has been...the six days of this new year.”

“That works,” Rami was silent for a moment, both of them lost in their thoughts, watching the news again. “You know, I...obviously after the last four years there’s been a lot of unrest and contempt. But to this extent, for thousands of people to..to believe-”

“Say an election is rigged and then stop the process in almost every way they can?” Sami took a generous sip of his wine. “To destroy the Capitol? Yeah. I know.”

“Unbelievable,” Rami said succinctly, and after a moment: “I should’ve stayed in London.”

“They’re not much better,” Sami snickered, glancing at his twin. “Besides, London doesn’t have me.”

Rami laughed. “You think I plan my life around you?”

“What, you mean you don’t? I’m shocked. That hurts.”

“Definitely not,” Rami smirked and Sami laughed.

“Alright hot shot, don’t let that hair gel go to your brain too. There’s enough on your head already.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Rami was grinning, and Sami grinned back.

“Just trying to keep you humble, you know. I don’t give a shit if you have a shiny gold toy now.”

“Wow,” Rami muttered. “You wish your hair looked as good.”

“A greasy mess? Yeah, no thanks.”

Rami laughed again, and Sami grinned, pleased at the fact, sipping his wine again as they turned back to the news. “Fuck, it really is a shit show isn’t it?”

“I’ve always said he would leave the White House, but he’ll burn it down with him as he goes.”

“Yeah,” Sami sighed, his anger boiling all over again. “Looks like it. I wish you were wrong.”

“Me too.”

Glancing at the clock, he saw it had been a hour since he’d gotten home, which meant it was around 4pm on the east coast. Tuning back to the coverage, the mob outside the Capitol had grown, more people were scaling the wall to get inside, and Sami couldn’t help but think how all too easy it was for them.

“So uh...where’s the tear gas? The rubber bullets? The arrests?”

Rami snorted. “You’re fucking kidding, right? C’mon. Like that applies to them.”

Sami snorted too, and then laughed weakly, which turned into a laughing fit, and he could hear Rami calling his name. “Sorry...it’s just...fuck all of them.”

Rami raised his glass in a toast before he downed it in one go, pouring another serving. “Amen.”

“God, how am I supposed to explain this to my kids? You’re telling me I have to go to work tomorrow after this?”

“Same here,” Rami said. He was moving again, and Sami could see he was back in the kitchen too, digging through his refrigerator. He produced a bunch of grapes, a platter of salami, and a block of cheddar cheese, and Sami watched as he began to assemble an antipasti platter for one. “I don’t want to head to work. Seems pointless, after this.”

Sami bit his lip thoughtfully. “It’s not...useless. Use it. You’re angry-”

“Angry? No, I’m well passed pissed off at this point.”

“There you go. Use it, use that rage towards your scenes and whatever your character is. It’s...” Sami shrugged meekly at Rami, who was watching him intently. “It’s the only thing we can do at times like this, right?”

“I suppose,” Rami muttered, a tired expression on his face, and popped a grape into his mouth. He turned around, opening the fridge again and came back holding some hummus and olives in his hand. “I imagine it’ll be the only thing anyone will talking about for the next week. Rightfully so.” He opened the olives, laying a few of them out next to the salami, and stuck the jar back into the fridge.

Sami was bemused. “How much are you eating?”

“As much as it takes to get through this shit show. I’m supposed to be on a diet right now, but I don’t give a shit. If I’m going to wine and dine watching this, I might as well do it properly.”

“Now I really wish I were there.”

“Yeah, me too. It would make it more bearable. But...this will do for now.”

Sami went silent, watching the TV again, which was now reporting about gunshots and a woman wounded. “Jesus Christ.”

Rami was muttering under his breath. “Shit, shit, shit, shit-”

They didn’t speak after that, both of them too lost in watching the news coverage, and Sami gripped his glass tightly as took a breath in to ease his anxiety.

Swallowing, he poured another glass, knowing he wouldn’t be finishing the bottle, and instead capped it and placed it in the fridge for tomorrow. It was an odd feeling, one that “scared” wouldn’t be able to cover. It was a looming, threatening feeling; something like this was so deeply entrenched in the fabric of the country. It wasn’t something that would go away on January 20th, as much as he wished for that. He wasn’t surprised that people had so much hatred for anyone other than themselves were coming out of the woodwork, blindly following what their commander in chief told them. The repercussions of this day would be something that would take a long time to repair.

“I’m tired,” he said suddenly. Rami’s voice was quiet, and though Sami didn’t elaborate, Rami seemed to understand what he meant perfectly.

“I know. So am I.”

---

When the crowds eventually thinned out, and Sami went back to work the next morning, he read the highlights of things he’d missed, flipping through the photos of the wreckage before the first period bell rang. When students trickled in, he was met with a sea of somber faces, and he knew he wouldn’t be teaching his regular lesson plans for the day. He felt enraged all over again.

Instead, he hopped up onto his desk, sitting cross legged and observing his students. “Alright. I would be...a very poor educator if I didn’t bring up what happened yesterday to all of you. And I know you’ll hear about it later in the day, I’m sure, but what we do here as teachers affects you guys for the rest of your lives. Now I don’t really care if you can’t tell me the imagery themes in The Great Gatsby, but I do care if you can’t think for yourselves. You’ll be reading and hearing a lot different things in the next coming weeks from people who think they’re right. And you’re all old enough, in my opinion, to have your own opinions on this. That being said, we all know what the banned book list is, correct?”

There were students nodding, and Sami nodded too, and he hopped off the desk to pull said list up. “Good. Pick a book from here, read it. There’s a reason all these books are banned from certain school curriculum, and I want you guys to pick one, and tell me why. It’s January. For every book you manage to get through from now till June, if you give me a one page analysis on your thoughts, I’ll give you extra credit that counts towards your final.” His students perked up at that, and he smiled inwardly. “Five points for every book, sound good?” There were murmurs of approval, and Sami continued, “it’s not mandatory, so don’t feel pressured to this. But I would...appreciate it if you did.”

“What if we read them all?” Someone asked.

There was always one.

Sami’s lips quirked up in amusement. “Good luck. You’ll notice there’s plenty of books on there we’ve read already.”

His students started chattering excitedly, and Sami cleared his throat, glancing at his copy of The Color of Water, which is what they were studying now. They would be finishing that tomorrow, the test for it was Monday, something which Sami had to make over the weekend. He hadn’t decided what to teach next, his gaze drifting to the copies of To Kill A Mockingbird in the back of the classroom, which was what he was planning to start Monday, after the kids took their test.

He debated on it, and then Rami’s words came back to him from the night before.

“He’ll leave the White House, but he’ll burn it down with him as he goes.”

He cleared his throat. “Guys, we’re just going to finish reading for the rest of the period, and we’ll go over the whole book for tomorrow before your test. So if you’ve got your books, take ‘em out.”

Later, once his classes were over for the day, he headed to the library, intent on finding Maria and asking for his next lesson plans.

“Hey Sami,” she greeted. “Back again? How’d they fare with Color of Water?”

“Not bad,” Sami said. “We’re finishing it up, test is Monday.”

“So, you’re here for Mockingbird?”

“No I’ve got Mockingbird,” he murmured, scanning the bookshelves. “That was what I was going to go with originally, but I’ve had a change of heart. Do you know if any of the faculty is teaching Orwell at the moment?”

“The freshmen, some of them are doing Animal Farm. But none of the AP classes right now. Which one?”

Sami spotted what he was looking for, and based on the piles of books they had, no one else had taught it yet, or he was late to the game.

“1984.”

#twin tuesday #twin tuesday fic #sami malek #rami malek #malek twin appreciation #this might not be people's cup of tea #but i've been so angry #come chat with me about the fuckery that is known as the united states government #I tried not to make this too on the nose or preachy #hopefully I succeeded #A note: this doesn't take place in a quarantined zoom classroom obviously #even though LA is awful right now #teachers in this fandom #please tell me if I did the school setting correctly or not

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fleckcmscott · 4 years

Text

Another Year

Summary: Arthur’s birthday is coming up. Y/N wants nothing more than to make it great.

Warnings: Swearing

Words: 3,892

A/N: This request came from the one-of-a-kind, fabulous @sweet-nothings04! Thank you for asking for this. I enjoyed writing it a lot!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open! Keep them coming!

Y/N hadn't realized how much she'd missed putting together birthday celebrations. Not until the unexpected serendipity of falling in love again. Her ex-husband had preferred not to make a big deal of them, had stated he hated getting older. (Considering he'd been in his twenties, she'd found that assertion silly.) As her father had slipped away, special events and gifts had gone by the wayside to focus on routines that wouldn't throw him off kilter. She'd been invited to her sister's and brother-in-law's parties but had only stayed for the hour or two she'd hired a sitter. And while she wasn't the most attentive aunt, she always ensured her nephews and nieces at least got a card and money for a treat.

From what she'd gathered, birthdays had never been an important facet of Arthur's life. That had become obvious upon learning his was 11/21/1946 by reading documents instead of from him. When she'd discovered he'd turned thirty-five and hadn't even told her. But unlike her ex, it wasn't because he didn't want them to be. It was due to neglect, isolation, and the inability to connect. As much sympathy as she had for Penny, for her own illnesses and suffering, for what had been done to her, the wounds she'd inflicted on her son hurt Y/N’s heart. There were so many lost years. She was determined to make-up for them by spoiling him.

The diner where Patricia and she often met for lunch was halfway between their two offices. A five- or six-minute walk for them both. Y/N arrived first. She sat at the white and gold Formica counter and perused the menu. (Though she'd already decided to get her usual pastrami on wheat, garlic pickle, and coleslaw.) Patricia strolled in as the waitress jotted down Y/N's order, and told the young lady she'd have whatever Y/N was having.

They caught up quickly. The Wayne Foundation case was going to have a preliminary hearing in three weeks. Y/N couldn't have rolled her eyes harder. ("Thank god I won't be there. They'd have to drag me off the stand.") Patricia listened with interest while Y/N went on about a dispute involving break violations at Ace Chemicals. And Patricia invited her to stop by the office soon, claiming Matt had realized he'd been stupid to let her quit. ("I'm sure he misses me being a pain in his ass.")

Y/N was picking at the crust of her sandwich when she changed the subject. “I need a favor.”

Patricia arched a brow at her. “Is this going to involve me lugging boxes of files to your apartment?”

“Only if you want the workout.” Chuckling, Y/N shook her head. “Arthur’s birthday is next Saturday. You bake the best cakes. If I’m left to my own devices, he’s going to get something out of a Universal Foods’ box.”

“Mine are out of a box. I just modify the directions and make my own frosting.” Patricia used the rest of her bread to sop up her coleslaw’s dressing. “How old did you say he’s going to be? Thirty-five?”

“Thirty-six.”

Swallowing her last bite, Patricia quirked up the corner of her lips. “I still owe you for running those supplies to the office when my foot was broken. What kind does he like?”

Y/N hugged her tight across the shoulders. After a short discussion, they decided on chocolate with vanilla cream frosting - a safe choice. It would be small, since it was only for the two of them. Arthur had a job the day before. That would allow her to take it home without him seeing. She’d just have to keep him away from the fridge the rest of the evening.

They talked about the other things Y/N had in-store for him, the reservation, the gifts. She giggled, pleased at having successfully hidden it all from him so far. “You’re putting a lot of work into this,” Patricia said. “What did you do last year?”

“I didn’t know about it last year. He didn’t mention it.” Though Patricia was already aware of some of Arthur’s past, Y/N had kept the details to a minimum. She tried to think of an elaboration, one that respected his privacy but was honest. She started in on her pickle. “With Penny being sick - with everything he was going through...”

Sipping her coffee, Patricia spun her stool to face Y/N fully. “You don’t need to say anymore. I remember. It was hard for you both.”

The empathy in Patricia’s gaze prompted a smile. And reminded Y/N how grateful she was for a friend who was frank but unjudgmental. “Back then, he thought needing or wanting anything from me was a bother. But he’s getting better at letting me love him.” Y/N put a hand on her chest. “And now he’ll never need to mention it. It’s locked in here for good.”

~~~~~

Yesterday had left Arthur in a funk. One that showed signs of adhering to his brain the way flies had stuck to the tape he’d had to hang from the ceiling of his old apartment every spring. He’d spent close to twelve hours dancing and waving a “Store Closing! Everything 50-70% off!” placard in front of Dave’s Pleasure Emporium in Gotham Square. (The city must really be fucked if its denizens’ finances were shitty enough that adult shops were shutting down.) It had been his least favorite gig in months. But the slow season was coming on, and the pay had been decent.

The dull ache in his lower spine, radiating to his hip, had made it harder than usual to sleep. And soreness was seeping from familiar spots to sinews he’d forgotten were there. Even the tips of his toes hurt. Two more ibuprofen tablets and acetaminophen went down easily. Carefully, not wanting to rouse her, he removed Y/N’s hand from his stomach, wincing as he shifted onto his left side to alleviate the pressure on his right.

Thirty-five was too old for this. While he loved performing for children, he should have made it as a comic by now. And he should have finished school. He’d be able to do more than be on his feet all day, then. Have more options. Opportunities...

Or maybe he simply shouldn’t have taken that particular job.

The ability to stop catastrophizing, adjust his way of thinking, was new. And rare. He made a mental note to write today’s accomplishment in his journal and share it at his next appointment. The therapist would be impressed with him. Dozing, he thought his funk might abate after all.

It could have been five or fifty minutes later when he felt the comforter being dragged down. Heard the zip of the shades being rolled up. But he was in that snug state between wakefulness and slumber and refused to react. Then there was a pinch on his chin, a light weight on his scalp. “What are you doing?” he mumbled gravelly.

“It’s someone’s special day today,” Y/N said.

Oh. That’s right. He was thirty-six now.

Squinting in the bright sunlight filtering through their sheer curtains, he propped himself on his forearm. She was half-reclined next to him, draped in a short, black nightdress. The one she found a tad tawdry but he liked. He rubbed his eyes, his forehead. Thin cardboard stopped him when he reached his hair. His fingers followed it, found it tapered into a point.

A party hat. She’d gotten him a party hat. He couldn’t hold back his snort.

In his line of work, birthdays were for kids. He’d stopped caring about his own as a teenager. Penny had seemingly been glad he was around. But she never remembered. Hell, he’d had to remind her of her own. But the last acknowledgment of it, the last one before meeting Y/N, had been by a teacher. He’d gotten an extra five minutes of recess and escaped punishment for inappropriate laughter for the day.

This was his first birthday with a person who saw and loved him. Understood who he was. Knew he was more than some image projected onto him. A person who appeared thrilled he existed and to be in his life. As a husband. Every sit-com and film he’d watched had clued him in: wives deemed them important. They hid gifts, cooked special meals, sneaked around arranging parties. There hadn’t been any sneaking on Y/N’s part, none that he could detect. He wondered what she could have planned.

The kneading of her thumb in the hollow of his hip, briefs slung too low as usual, gave him a good idea of her plan for this morning. The entangling of their legs confirmed it. “I got donuts. Coffee’s ready.”

“You, um-“ He cleared his throat, closed his eyes at the brush of her thigh against his length. Which was getting harder with each touch of her lips to the crook of his neck. “You didn’t make breakfast?”

“No.” Her chuckle was throaty, full of desire. “I wasn’t going to torture you with burnt eggs.” She was pulling at his biceps, trying to get him to settle over her. “Let’s work up your appetite, Mr. Fleck.”

But he flinched and halted her movements. The painkillers hadn't kicked in yet. His muscles burned. "We'll get to it later," he promised between languid, lingering kisses. The kind that made him feel safe. Loved. Famished for her. She guided him onto his stomach, stroked him affectionately. Breaths mingling, they chatted lazily until they both cooled off.

Once his stomach started rumbling, Y/N insisted they get up, despite his protestations that he wasn't hungry. That staying under the covers with her for hours would be fun. That they could eat in bed, crumbs be damned. His back would get worse if he continued laying like that, she told him. He needed to stretch and move. Although he grumbled, his experiences with injuries, whether from overwork, assholes, or sleeping on a couch most of his life, had taught him she was right.

Following a cigarette on the fire escape, he went to the kitchen, grabbed a mug, and did a double-take at the round table in the dining nook. He approached it in disbelief. He tensed as he ran his hand along the rectangular gifts and their shiny red paper. Squeezed the puffy, tan winter coat. Fingered the silver ribbon tied to the chair, dangling from an aluminum helium balloon. The lump in his throat forced a short laugh. But he didn't cover his mouth, not having to hide from her. He shook his head, wiping at the sudden wetness in his eyes. "All this is for me?" He did his best to sound normal.

"No. They're for my other husband, Carnival." She came behind him, hugged him around his torso and splayed her fingers on his chest. "You may have met him. Has a penchant for making balloon animals? Wears pants with the cutest patch on his bottom?" He grasped her forearm, held her tight to him as his shoulders shook with mirth.

It wasn't yet eight o'clock. And the day was already shaping up to be one of his favorites.

~~~~~

At the vanity on Arthur's side of the bed, Y/N was attempting to create the perfect oval eye with brown liner. The wide smile creeping onto her face wasn't making it easy. But it couldn't be helped. Everything had gone wonderfully so far. Had more than met her expectations. She hoped his had been met, too.

She'd been badgering him to get a winter coat since last Christmas. (His teeth had chattered almost the entire time they'd stood outside to watch Gotham's Christmas parade. The hot chocolate from a vendor hadn't done much good. A long bath had been necessary to finally warm him up.) The one she'd picked out fit him well, and he'd seemed to like it, hanging it by the door next to his tan jacket. And she'd known he was attached to his trusty, foil razor. But it was over fifteen years old, taped together, and on its way out. The new one had a rechargeable battery. He wouldn't be tethered to the outlet over the sink if he wanted to move around a bit.

The twitch of his nostrils, his hitched breath as he'd whispered, "Thank you," had compelled her to kneel next to his chair. The poignancy of his reaction had affected her keenly. Hollowed out her core and filled it with compassion and love. He'd frowned and wiped his nose with the back of his knuckles. "Sorry," he'd scoffed, glistening eyes darting to hers. "I don't mean to be weird."

"You're not, Arthur." She'd gently removed his black and red polka-dotted party hat, set it on the table. "You're being you."

After a quick lunch, they'd leisurely strolled arm-in-arm through the neighborhood, including a visit to the nearby park. Arthur had wanted to stop into the used record shop three or four blocks away. She'd caressed up and down his back, observing his content visage as he flipped through the LPs. It was lovely to see him treat himself to a couple without hesitating to worry about the cost for too long. At home, he'd settled on the floor by the record player and put them on. He must have been feeling better, because he'd kept his earlier promise: they'd made love on the carpet. Unhurried, sweet, and giggling like idiots.

The opening of the bathroom door broke her out of her reverie. She started blotting her darker-than-usual red lipstick with a tissue. "It was nice of Patricia to get me aftershave," he said.

She smoothed the lines of her champagne color, mid-length dress, adjusted its petal sleeves, then twisted around just as he entered the bedroom. Her movements halted. Would his handsomeness, his beauty, ever fail to stun her? Gaze roaming his slender form, she stared at him. He'd only worn his black and brown oxfords seldomly, saving them for special occasions. The wrinkled white socks didn't match his black pants, but they paired well with him.

It was the teal button-up, patterned with white circles of various opacities and sizes, that caused her to need a few seconds to process his remark. It'd hung in the corner of his old living room; she'd eyed it in their closet since he'd moved in. It was such a contrast to his usual conservative clothing. Quite unlike him, she'd assumed. But seeing him standing there in it, the way it complimented his lithe figure and brought out the light green of his irises, made him look a little less withdrawn, she realized she'd been mistaken.

"She thought it'd suit your new shaver." He gave a gentle hum in response, bashful smile appearing. Such gestures were unfamiliar to him. Eventually, they'd become such an integral part of his life he'd grow tired of them. Y/N would make sure of that. The idea prompted a grin and she stepped around the bed to approach him. "You look great. Are you ready?"

“Yeah.” The crook of his mouth, the furrow of his forehead alerted her to his nervousness. He rubbed the back of his neck, flitted his look to hers. “It sounds fancy.”

She kissed him soundly and he eased into her embrace. “You don’t have to impress me,” she said. “You already did that. Use whichever fork you want.”

The restaurant was in Gotham’s Little Italy district, only a block or two from Chinatown. Y/N had never been to Bamonte’s but her colleagues had given it good reviews. (One had said he and his wife went there every anniversary.) Arthur gaped when they went inside. She watched him survey the lavish, red curtains decorating the walls; the dim lanterns suspended from the ceiling; the faux-marble floor. Huffing, he turned to her, concern clear on his face. She grasped his elbow. “It’s all right. You belong here as much as anyone else.”

The maitre’d led them to a secluded table, behind its own drawn back drapes in the rear corner of the smoking section. Arthur traced the edges of the three lit, tulip-shaped votive holders. Caressed the cream color tablecloth as he sat in the fabric covered chair. An anxious chuckle left him and he smoothed his palm over his thigh. “I hope I don’t spill anything.”

Y/N assisted Arthur with the menu, explaining some of the more exotic-to-him dishes. He was interested in the antipasto, which wasn’t unexpected, since he always kept a jar of olives in the fridge. The gnocchi with tomatoes, spinach, fresh basil, and mozzarella was what he thought sounded best. She chose an old favorite, chicken in a mushroom and white wine sauce and a Caesar salad on the side. Arthur picked the least expensive Moscato on the wine list. When the bottle was opened and left on the table, he blinked at it, then shrugged and filled their glasses.

After a couple of sips, he crossed his legs and puffed on his cigarette. “I wrote a new joke. Well, I really just changed an old one.” He reached across the table to graze across the back of her hand. “Why didn’t the old man like having insomnia?”

Her eyelids fluttered, his gossamer touch setting her aflame. She ran her toes along his calf, his resulting twitch causing her to giggle in delight. “He wanted to sleep with his wife?”

Dark brows shot up in surprise, his eyes lighting up. Their fingers laced together. “How did you know?”

Leaning forward, she traced his crow's feet, prominent due to his beaming smile. Then her touch drifted to his jawline. “It was the first joke you ever told me," she murmured. "How could I forget?” Clutching her hand, he pressed a kiss to her wrist. He held her to his lips, hard enough to feel his teeth. And he grew quiet. “What is it?” she asked after a minute.

His eyelids shut. She could feel his pulse quicken together with hers. “I- I wanna sleep with you forever,” he breathed.

Out of anyone else’s mouth, she would have taken that to mean sex. From him, however, she knew it meant mountains more. Adoration welling in her chest, her fingertips weaved into his loose, chestnut curls. “You will.”

~~~~~

Once, in high school, Arthur had gotten a hold of some grass. It was supposed to induce giddiness and euphoria, make a person relax. God knows he could have used it back then; Penny had started declining and he’d had to learn to run a household. Plus, he’d thought at the time, it’d make him one of the guys. All the cool kids were doing it. Maybe he’d be able to connect with one and learn how to be popular. But all it had done was make him nauseous and paranoid. There hadn’t been one iota of the “high” he’d imagined. He’d thrown it out and never tried it again.

Now he wondered: was it possible to be high on a person? To be drunk on their presence? To feel their essence down to the cell? Necking on the sofa with Y/N, their coffee forgotten on the coffee table, he figured it must be. Enraptured, he wanted to capture her ragged breaths, take her into his lungs, make her a perpetual part of his being. Perhaps he’d stay happy naturally, then, like everyone else. Even if that didn’t work, she’d always be close.

Giggling, she pushed him off her and headed towards the kitchen. “Wait here. No peeking.”

Laughing softly, Arthur pushed his hair out of his face. She’d already gotten him gifts. Let him make love to her. Taken him to an eatery where he was totally out of place and managed to make it comfortable. What else could she possibly do? Luckily, he didn’t have to wait long. He eagerly followed at the call of his name.

The loveliest cake he’d ever seen was on the counter. Dark chocolate shavings embellished its round border. And it was the perfect size for the two of them. Y/N was rushing to light a mass of candles on it. “Quick, make a wish before wax drips onto the frosting.”

He mused for a moment. He no longer needed to pine for daydreams and delusions of companionship - he had Y/N. In spite of the icons his mother had had in every room of their apartment, he’d long ago stopped praying to what he suspected was nothing for his conditions and illnesses to go away. Then it occurred to him. Bending to blow out the candles, he wished for his innate comedic gifts to be recognized. To be validated as the stand-up he knew he was. And to provide for Y/N. To be what she needed. To make her happy.

Although he was grateful for Patricia’s thoughtfulness, and he knew Y/N’s baking wasn’t better than his own, part of him had wanted her to be the one who made the cake. But he tried to push that aside and appreciate it regardless. The slice she gave him was far too generous. He ate it all, anyway, because it was delicious. The sponge was fluffy. And the chocolate could actually be detected, instead of a vague, sugary flavor. The frosting tasted finer than that on the grocery store bakery cupcakes he’d sampled in the past.

As he was rinsing off the cutlery, Y/N saddled up beside him and held out a bright purple envelope, inscribed with “Happy Birthday!” in her pretty longhand. He leaned his hip against the counter as he grasped it, intentionally brushing his hand against hers. Gingerly, he lifted the flap and pulled out the card.

The cardstock was a vibrant gold and white. Two mugs, one green and labeled, “Yours,” one pink and labeled, “Mine” sat on sketched coasters. The shiny purple letters underneath proclaimed, “You get me. I get you.” Pressing his thin lips together, he opened it. And sighed when he read the rest: “Hope you know how happy that makes me.”

One of his wishes had already come true.

The elation coursing through his veins made him shudder. He nearly missed the stiff papers that fell from the envelope. Y/N retrieved them and gently placed them in his palm. A wide smile spread across his cheeks as he read aloud. “‘Gotham Pops presents A Night with Gershwin?’” He double-checked the date. “These are for New Year’s Eve.”

She nodded. “I snagged them as soon as they went on sale. They’re orchestra seats.” Then she squeezed him flush to her side, bumped her nose to his. “Don’t think I haven’t heard you sing to yourself in the tub.”

“Oh,” he chuckled, eyes tracing the diamond pattern of the grey, linoleum floor. “I thought I was quieter.”

“I’m glad you weren’t.” Enthusiastically, her lips pulled at his before she grinned up at him. “Did you have a happy birthday? Was it worth getting older?”

Arthur’s answer came without delay. “Yes.” There wasn’t a way to explain what it meant to him, to explain that she helped him feel good to be alive. How full his heart was. That she patched cracks in his soul he hadn’t known existed. He longed to do the same for her. He cupped her jaw on either side, guiding her to his mouth and rasping, “I don’t mind getting older with you.”

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @howdylilflower @sweet-nothings04 @stephieraptorr @rommies @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1 @octopus-plasma @tsukiakarinobara @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile @another-day-in-chuckletown @hhandley80 @jokerownsmysoul

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x female reader #arthur fleck x ofc #joker 2019 #watchwhathappens

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eirabach · 4 years

Text

For @gumnut-logic 's FabFiveFeb Challenge

Prompt Two - Gordon

[Can't / No clothes]

Also inspired by Nutty's TAG ages meta, because it gave me *emotions*. I'm super sorry. Added Vance Joy because it’s Gordon.

---

Under the surface you don't know what you'll find,

Until it's your time.

---

The night that Jeff Tracy took humanity's first step on the surface of Mars, he had three little boys watching at home. Gordon, he liked to say, was born of the fall out. A child created in a whirlwind of press tours and ticker tape and eventually brought home to that quiet little homestead that would never be truly quiet or homely again.

By the time Gordon became a Tracy being a Tracy mattered. And sure money's great and influence is better, but Gordon's sixteen years old with sunlight in his hair and his eyes and his soul, and for him, for him the best part of being a Tracy is that no one ever tells you you can't.

Not that Gordon would listen if they did.

Because the other important thing to know about being a Tracy, is that Gordon isn't very good at it.

He's uninterested in physics or engineering or math. He has minimal desire to blow things up or shoot people or study space dust. He likes a party and he loves people, but he's miserable in a cummerbund and he kinda never understood capitalism.

When you're fourth, you gotta find your own way to be first. And all right Scott's a fighter pilot and John's a genius and Virgil's some sort of goddamn savant, but at least Alan can't even tie his shoelaces yet so Gordon's got one up on him. Gordon doesn't even wear shoes. Doesn't wear much of anything at all except teeny weeny trunks splattered red, white and blue.

Gordon won't be a hero, won't have a theory named after him, but what Gordon will have will be his.

Gordon's going for gold.

His muscles burn and his hair turns green and he sweats chlorine into his sheets every night, but that doesn't matter. Nothing matters but the next millisecond, the turn, the cleanness of his touch. He can't care about anything but his coach's thumb hovering over the stopwatch and the crest of his fly because it's coming. Gold. It's coming, and it's everything.

Everything.

---

Dad calls on Wednesdays at three. Alan calls at midnight just to hear him swear. He gets weekly updates on daring-do from Scott and a monthly serving of sarcasm and space babble from John.

Virgil calls because they tend to forget.

"You gonna come home, you think? Before?"

Virgil looks different, his floppy black hair cropped short, band shirts exchanged for some weird quasi military uniform. He's still watching Gordon shovel food down his throat with an expression of disgusted awe, though, so some things never change.

"Dunno." Gordon shrugs, mouth full. "Gotta keep training. Four months to go, can't lose form now."

"You should come, there's -- there's a lot changed around here," says Virgil, like that's a reason. Then, when Gordon just chews at him in reply, "Dad built you a pool."

And maybe that's a reason, after all.

Cause sure, his dad's never told him he can't, but Gordon's been gone a long time, and he's not sure he remembers the last time his dad told him he could.

---

Home's not the farm anymore, or the ranch, or the townhouse in Manhattan. Home is some island a billion miles from anywhere, where huge portraits of his older brothers stare expressionlessly down at him and his shoes squeak on the super shiny floor, humidity making his tracksuit stick to his back.

Gordon has only really spent a few weeks here, his training all taking place under the eagle eye of Uncle Sam and sponsored entirely by Old Glory, but he doesn't remember it like this.

The decor is still retro spy movie meets crazy billionaire with paranoia problems, and his bedroom is pretty much as he left it, but nothing else seems familiar at all. He'd left Tracy Two in a great cavernous hanger that would have been overkill even for one of dad's crazy projects, Kyrano had rushed him past huge shadowy behemoths that suggested, pretty damn strongly, that Jeff Tracy is in the midst of another too easily financed midlife crisis.

"Please tell me he isn't planning world domination," Gordon had only half joked as they’d emerged into the brightness of the villa proper. "He'd look awful in lycra."

Kyrano had glared at him, swirled back into the bowels of the island, and left him with Scott.

Scott is wearing lycra.

He's sitting behind their dad's desk, two high points of colour in his cheeks and his eyes bright with something Gordon can't name as he pours over datasets. All he's missing to complete the look is a fluffy white cat and a maniacal laugh.

"Hey. Hey." Nothing. Scott mutters to himself as he sweeps his fingers through warning signs. "Scotty, hey!"

Scott looks up. Blinks. Blinks again.

"Gordon?"

"The one and only."

Scott stands, still grossly tall, and moves to ruffle Gordon's hair. It's not as easy as it used to be, there's an actual lift of his hand, and Gordon can't help but feel satisfaction creep into his bones.

"You grew."

"Hear it happens."

"Got a girlfriend?"

"Got a pillow."

"Tragic."

"That's me." Gordon throws his arm across his eyes and flops backwards onto the sofa. "Sacrificing everything in pursuit of a noble goal. Hold tight, beautiful people. Only three more months and I'm yours."

He peeks out from behalf of his elbow to see Scott standing over him, arms folded, lips twisted into something a bit like a fond smile. A bit.

Something unpleasant settles in Gordon's stomach.

"What are you doing desk work for? I thought you were out there --" He gestures to the cloudless sky beyond the glass wall. "Y'know. Saving the world."

Scott opens his mouth, but then there's a chime from the desk and Alan hollering from the staircase and Grandma crushing him to her chest, and Gordon is left to wonder.

---

Scott isn't the only thing that's strange.

There's a fish tank in the corner, empty but for a little model sub from that docudrama he and John used to love to watch with Mom, but when he lays his hand on the glass it hums beneath his fingers and makes his teeth ache.

John's not here, replaced as resident super nerd by some guy they call Brains who makes John look dumb. Dad isn't there, either, but that's okay. Nor is Gordon, really.

He's lived apart from his family for the best part of two years, he shouldn't be surprised that they've changed. That's he's changed. But somehow, it doesn't feel like he has.

Alan's finally learned to tie his laces but still never bothers, Virgil's taken out his piercing, Grandma is being followed by a robot dog, but Gordon is still the same kid with the same dreams and he isn't sure what anybody else's dreams are anymore. Virgil's in a uniform and Scott's out of his and John is gone and Alan's looking at him like he knows stuff.

This is impossible, of course. Alan is an infant. This is the abiding certainty of Gordon's life and he intends to prove it this evening with three rubber spiders and a trapeze but whatever.

It's just that Gordon isn't quite sure where he fits, just like he doesn't know where to sit when holograms of the great and the good appear in his living room. Doesn't quite know what to make of the way their eyes skip over him to rest on Scott, or Virgil, and where the hell is John, anyway?

"Top secret," Alan says, all pre-teen smugness, "can't tell you."

"Dad'll be home soon," Virgil adds, ever the peacekeeper, "I'm sure he'll tell you everything."

Gordon's not so sure and Scott says nothing at all except a vehement 'no!' when Gordon dares to suggest going for a swim.

So much for the pool, then.

---

Night is falling and Gordon's already ready for bed when the roar of engines fills the air and the whole family dart for the window, faces pressed against the glass. Gordon hovers behind them, unsure of his place, until Scott grabs him bodily by the elbow and drags him downstairs to where the deck leads down to the pool.

"Come on! You got to see this!"

It's a thing to see, all right. The pool withdraws beneath the villa itself, leaving a great gaping hole in the earth into which a great silver plane descends, jets first. And Gordon remembers the TV-21 and his father's fascination with speed and grace and more speed -- it's the one thing they have in common after all -- but this, this is something else.

She disappears into the ground, and the pool sweeps over her, only the sway of the water left as evidence. Scott turns to him with an almost hysterical glee.

"Did you see that!?"

Gordon would have pointed out that he'd have to have been dead blind and comatose not to have seen it, but Scott's practically bouncing on his toes, his expression full of what Gordon recognises as real, true love.

"Isn't she beautiful? Come on, come on, Dad's gotta debrief and then --"

"Scott!" They both snap to attention, immediately turning to where their father stands, towering over both of them from the top of the stairs. "Debrief can wait. Let me see your brother."

Scott darts off, probably to hump the shiny thing, and Dad approaches Gordon, his eyes shining, dirt on his cheek.

"What do you think of her, son?"

"I think you've safely guaranteed Scotty won't be bringing you home any surprise grandbabies."

Dad snorts, clapping Gordon on the shoulder and turning him back toward the pool. They head out across the deck together, Gordon barefoot in only his sleep shorts, Jeff in a uniform like Scott's only gently singed.

"I've missed you. How's training?"

Gordon half shrugs. "Wet. Good. Pretty tiring."

Jeff looks him up and down with a critical eye "So I imagine. It looks good on you."

Gordon stretches and grins. "No more noodle arms, right?"

Jeff blinks, and for a moment Gordon almost thinks he sees something like sadness in his eyes, but it's soon gone and his dad's turning him to face the pool again.

"Will it do? I know it's not Olympic standard but we needed some room for the house and --"

"Dad," he says, because his dad is rambling and his dad never rambles. "Dad what's going on?"

Jeff looks down into the pool. The stars flicker into being in his reflection.

"Forest fire. Family home was cut off."

"Your rescue thing. You saved them."

Jeff looks at him, Gordon watches in the water as he schools his features, tightens his jaw. "This time.

"Scott and Virgil?"

"Are involved, yes."

"And John?"

Jeff looks up then, up to the darkening sky, and points. "We built a satellite. It monitors distress calls from all over the world - and beyond."

"Makes sense. Space case."

"Play to your strengths, isn't that what they say?"

"What about Alan?"

"Alan's eleven, Gordon. Even my insanity has its limits."

"And you built me a pool?"

"And I built you a pool. Is it -- " a breath where Gordon wouldn't expect to hear one "is it all right?"

"All right?" Gordon turns to him and grins. "It's perfect."

Because okay, so it's only a short course, and it occasionally has a supersonic plane blasting through it, but it's a pool and it's for him, and that's better than Scotty's super special plane.

His dad's clapping him on the back again and smiling and that's better than any top secret technology.

It makes a strange island full of strange things feel a little bit more like home.

Jeff's off again already though, gesturing to the round building above the villa and going on about blast radius and Gordon's content to just watch for a moment, to bask in that feeling for as long as it lasts. Then the subject changes.

"We'll be in Cape Town for the opening ceremony, of course, and I've made arrangements to ensure we can all make your races. I'm sure it won't shock you to hear Alan's made t shirts and John's bringing a banner. I hope it's safe for television."

His eyes snap to his dad's.

"John's coming?"

His dad's eyebrows twitch. "You think he'd miss it? Gordon, none of us will miss this. Not for the world. And as you now know, I mean that quite literally."

Gordon nods, mutely. There's a build up of something in his chest. Lactic acid squeezing his heart. His dad takes pity.

"What about September? Are you still planning on marine biology?"

Gordon scuffs at the tile with his bare heel. This is a conversation he's been avoiding for a long time, now. The after.

"Yeah. UCLA."

"California?"

Gordon shrugs.

"You don't seem keen? Sydney have an excellent program, do you --" Gordon feels more than hears the shudder in his dad's exhale. "No, no Jeff stop it. You tell me, Gordy. What do you want to do?"

Gordon's voice is never small, but it's as close as it's ever been. "Was thinking WASP."

Both of his dad's eyebrows disappear into his hairline. "The military? You?"

It's not an unexpected reaction. Gordon scoffs. "You wound me, Dad. Maybe I have hidden depths."

"I don't doubt that for a moment," his dad says, then he looks up, right up, to where the milky way swirls and John sits. “You’re not old enough.”

“Yeah, I know, I thought, college first - couple of years of credits and I can join as an officer.”

“You’re my son, you can join as whatever you damn well please.”

“Dad--”

"Sorry, sorry.” And his Dad’s looking into space and Gordon’s looking down at the water and it’s kinda always been like this, between them. Gordon suspects his dad hates it even more than he does.”You know I'll support you, if that's what you really want."

Gordon finally follows his gaze, imagines John in the vacuum of space, alone with his books and his stars. He wonders if Dad had had this conversation with him, before sending him up there. "That sounds kinda like a don't do it, Dad, I'm not gonna lie."

"Can I be honest?" Gordon nods, because saying no seems kinda harsh, but his heart is thundering faster than after a sprint. "Gordon, when I designed International Rescue, I designed it for you boys. A legacy, I suppose. I wanted --" he shakes his head. "I'm getting to be a selfish old man."

Gordon scowls. "You're the least selfish man I've ever met. Pretty sure those people whose lives you saved today would agree."

Jeff shakes his head.

"I want you to know," he says, "that there will always be a place for you, here, with us, if you want it. But only if you want it." A twitch of Jeff’s lips. “God knows, I could never make you anyway.”

"Thanks, Dad." Then, a wicked grin pulling at the corner of his mouth, "Race you?"

A splash, a shout, laughter rings out into the night and hell it's cheesy but it's true; for a moment Gordon kinda feels like he's already won.

---

The Olympics are due to start in June.

May, and his father dies.

Gordon flies home immediately, thirty thousand feet over Cape Town without even looking down.

He can't.

He has a place in a legacy.

---

#fabfivefeb #fabfivefeb2020 #thunderbirds are go #gordon tracy #jeff tracy #oh look its angsty #theres a wild shock #idek #there might be a part 2

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pikapeppa · 4 years

Text

Felassan/f!Lavellan: The Love That Grows From Violence, Chap 2

The second chapter of Felassan x Tamaris Lavellan is up on AO3! (It was since yesterday, too, but I guess I’ll crosspost everything here anyway.

The first chapter (the prologue) is here on Tumbles.

~5100 words; read on AO3 instead.

******************************

Kirkwall, one year after the Exalted Council...

Varric handed Tamaris a set of keys. “All right, here it is. Home sweet home.”

Tamaris stared blankly at the mansion. It was… frankly, it was huge. And fancy. Two gold-plated Orlesian lion statuettes flanked the front door, which was carved with an elaborate pattern of fleur-de-lis. The windows were made of elaborate stained glass that would make a Chantry sister envious, and she was fairly certain that the front door handle was made of gold. The outdoor fixtures alone must have cost a fortune, and she hadn’t even seen the interior of the house yet.

She shot Varric an incredulous look. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding.”

He chuckled. “Nope. It’s yours. Your name is on the deed and everything.” He folded his arms. “I’ve kind of been waiting to see your face when you saw it.”

“Well, I hope my total sense of bemusement isn’t a disappointment,” she said. Honestly, she didn’t know how Varric expected her to live in this place. She was used to aravels and tents, for fuck’s sake. Moving to Skyhold had been a stretch for her, and Skyhold at least was a functional fortress as well as being a huge grand castle.

This mansion, on the other hand, looked totally frivolous. Tamaris could only hope that it was less gaudy on the inside than the outside.

She hefted her travelling pack onto her shoulder and unlocked the door. She took one step into the house and stopped dead in disbelief.

The floor was shiny rose marble with gold veins, and the wallpaper was cream silk with gold stripes. As Tamaris slowly made her way through the foyer into the main room, she wrinkled her nose; the fireplace, the staircase bannister, the chandelier hanging from the ceiling: all of it was gold.

She unceremoniously dropped her pack on the floor. “Varric, you’re not serious,” she complained.

He laughed again. “Trust me, Cuddles, this is restrained for an Orlesian mansion in Hightown. Orlesians who settle here think they need to remind us that they’re not from here. As if we could ever forget.” He patted the fireplace. “Don’t worry, you can get it all redone. Tear out the floors, maybe put in some sod so you can pretend you’re in a forest or something?”

Tamaris snorted. “Should I set up a ritual circle too, for the evil Dalish child sacrifices that I perform every other week?”

“You could,” Varric said wryly. “Just don’t tell our Captain of the Guard. She tends to get a little antsy about blood magic here. Well, we all do, really.”

Tamaris looked at him. He was smiling, but it only now just occurred to her how she must sound.

She sighed. “Varric, I’m sorry. I’m being an ungrateful bitch. This is… I mean, you gave me a fucking house. This is really nice of you. Even if it’s the gaudiest house in Thedas.”

He snorted a laugh, and Tamaris gave him a rare smile. “I mean it. This is really kind. Thank you.”

He waved her off. “Ah, don’t worry about it. And you don’t have to apologize. I’m used to moody elves, remember?”

“Right, right,” Tamaris said dryly. “Hawke’s husband and all that. Hey, you said her mansion was in Hightown too, right?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Her uncle lives in it now, though. Hawke is off hunting slavers with Fenris or whatever it is that he’s doing.”

Tamaris nodded in acknowledgement, then looked idly around at the vaulted ceilings. Shit, this house was big. And empty.

Oh, there was furniture, sure: a big ugly carved dining table with matching chairs and a writing desk in this room, and some plush velvet sofas in the study to the left. But the house still felt so… empty. It was going to be so quiet living here all by herself. After spending the better part of the year doing contract work with Bull and the Chargers, Tamaris couldn’t decide if she was grateful or not for the impending quiet.

“So,” Varric said. “Do you want to hear the updates on the wolf hunt now, or do you want to settle in first?”

Solas. Her gut twisted unpleasantly, like the feeling of stepping into a pothole that you didn’t realize was there.

“Sure, let’s hear it,” she said. She rifled around in her bag with her mechanical left hand and pulled out a half-empty bottle of Rivaini rum. “Fancy a drink?”

Varric raised his eyebrows. “Thanks, but I’m good. I’ll wait until it’s past noon.”

She shrugged and pulled the cork out of the bottle. “Suit yourself.” She took three big gulps, then shoved the cork back into the bottle and plopped down in one of the padded dining chairs. “All right, let’s hear it. I don’t suppose we’ve actually been lucky enough to find him.”

“Not yet,” Varric said. “A couple interesting leads, though. You actually got back just in time. Rhys and Evangeline are on their way here from the Hunterhorn Mountains. Should be arriving in the next day or two.”

Tamaris blinked. “Rhys and Evangeline? But I thought Cassandra needed them.”

“She does,” Varric said. “Their work at the Tranquil sanctuary has been going pretty smoothly so far. But they recently had someone staying with them who, uh, might be interesting for you to meet.”

That’s cryptic, Tamaris thought. “Okay,” she said slowly. “I’m listening.”

Varric leaned casually against the fireplace. “An elf with Dalish tattoos,” he said. “Only he says he isn’t Dalish. And he says he knows Solas.” He raised his eyebrows. “You know, from… before.”

Tamaris’s eyebrows shot up. Then she folded her arms. “Uh-huh. And we don’t think he’s full of shit because…?”

“Tranquil don’t lie,” Varric said. “He told Cassandra about Solas before they reversed his Tranquility.”

Tamaris narrowed her eyes appraisingly. Then she straightened. “Hang on. You said… Are Rhys and Evangeline are bringing him here?”

Varric nodded, and Tamaris stared at him. “Varric, that’s insane. Solas definitely has spies in Kirkwall. This is the last place in Thedas that someone who knew Solas from before should be coming.”

Varric grimaced. “Well… Cassandra wanted you to go to the sanctuary instead. But we, uh, had some trouble getting in touch with you…”

Tamaris rubbed her forehead guiltily. Going off to mindlessly do a bunch of contracts with Bull and his company had been a selfish move, and Tamaris knew it. But the whole Exalted Council incident had been just… so much fucking bullshit, with the qunari attack and the Shattered Library and the crossroads and Solas.

Fucking Solas. Fucking Fen’Harel.

A year later, the truth still chafed. Tamaris had always known there were things he wasn’t telling her, and it had always grated at her nerves. Even during the moments when he was at his sweetest, it had always felt like there was some undercurrent of subtext behind his affectionate words. But Tamaris had never imagined that his lies were so spectacular.

Only by omission, he’d said, but in Tamaris’s opinion, that only made it worse. That he’d been so careful to omit things — so careful to stick to the truth without telling the most important parts of it…

She could feel her ears getting hot with anger. Varric stepped a little closer to her. “Don’t worry,” he said soothingly. “Rhys and Evangeline are used to travelling incognito, and apparently the mystery elf is too. No reason to think they won’t make it here safe and sound.”

She took another gulp of rum, then placed the bottle back on the table. “Fine. A mysterious former friend of Solas’s is coming to pay me a visit. Anything else?”

Varric eyed her warily, then sat in a chair beside her. “How about a hand of wicked grace?”

Tamaris lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t have to coddle me, you know.”

“I’m not,” Varric said. “I’m trying to avoid Bran, really. You’re doing me a favour by showing up here so early in the day.” He pulled a pack of cards out of his coat pocket and began shuffling them.

She scoffed and propped her dirty bare feet up on the pristine table. “All right, since I’m doing you a favour.” They played wicked grace for a couple of hours, and by the time Varric finally got up to leave, Tamaris was nicely buzzed.

She lazily followed Varric to the door. “Can I swing by your office later? See how tightly the Viscount of Kirkwall runs his ship?”

“Sure,” Varric said. He opened the door and smirked up at her. “Or tomorrow, or whenever.”

She leaned against the doorjamb and folded her arms. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you were ashamed of my drunken ass.”

“Not ashamed,” Varric said. “Just a little concerned, that’s all.”

She shrugged. There was no point denying that she wasn’t really okay. “I’m probably not the most stabilizing influence for a newly de-Tranquilized mage at the moment,” she said baldly.

“Ah, you’ll be fine,” Varric said. “You’ll be good for him, probably. You’ve got a knack for this kind of thing.”

“What, dealing with hysterical people?” she said sarcastically.

“Yeah, actually,” Varric said.

Tamaris scoffed and looked away. “Lucky me.”

“Let me know if you want to talk,” Varric said casually. “That’s all I’m saying.”

She shrugged again. “I probably won’t,” she replied. “If you want to hit me with a stick Bull-style, though, I wouldn’t say no.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass,” he said dryly. “Hey, I should have asked — this arm’s doing okay by you, huh?” He tapped her mechanical arm.

“Yeah, it’s great,” she said. “The lyrium powers it perfectly.” She flexed her arm and fingers to demonstrate. “I wrote Dagna a couple months ago to thank her, but you should let Bianca know it works almost as well as my real hand.”

Varric smiled. “I will. See you later.” He started to walk away, then paused and turned back. “Hey, I should have said. It’s, uh. It’s good to have you back.”

Tamaris managed a smile. “Thanks. It’s… well, it’s good to see you.”

He nodded understandingly, then gave her a little salute before taking his leave. Tamaris tottered back inside of her gaudy house, then toppled onto one of the big fat couches and fell fast asleep.

When she woke up a few hours later, it was with a raging headache, a stomach cramping from hunger, and a very dry mouth. She gulped down some water, then strapped a couple of daggers to her belt and put on her cloak. She pulled up the hood — more to shelter her pounding eyes from the lingering rays of the early evening sun than to hide her identity. She didn’t much care if anyone knew she was in Kirkwall, especially since she’d been out of the loop all this time and had no interesting contacts here aside from Varric. If Solas’s spies wanted to give him the useless information that she was here, they could fucking feel free.

Even so, she wasn’t particularly keen to be spoken to. So instead of leaving through the front door, she made her way up the stairs and into the first bedroom on the left.

She raised her eyebrows appreciatively when she opened the door; the bedroom decor was a Free Marcher style instead of Orlesian, and way more simple and plain than the rest of the house. Varric must have set this bedroom up just for her.

She smiled faintly, then headed for the window and pushed it open. After a careful peek into the alley to discern that no one was looking, she slipped out of the window and quickly climbed up the brick wall to the roof.

Once she was on the roof, she breathed a sigh of relief. The air was fresher up here, and the openness of the sky was frankly a relief. From up here, she could clearly see the shifting shades of the sky as the sun started to set, and she could almost pretend that she was on the shores of Hercinia admiring the sky instead of on the roof of a noisy city.

She drew another deep lungful of air, then began making her way to the Lowtown market via the rooftops. She made it to the market unnoticed and bought herself enough food for three days, then returned to her house using back alleys so no one would talk to her, and the furtive journey was challenging enough with the added weight of her bags to distract her from her headache.

Once she’d returned to her house, she immediately went back up to the roof with her indulgent supper of fish and chips. She spent the next little while on the roof watching the sun sink down behind the squat buildings of Lowtown. When it started getting dark and her thoughts started darkening to match, she moved over to the edge of the roof so she could watch the people below instead of the sky above.

She dangled her feet carelessly over the edge of the roof; no one ever looked up, so no one would see her anyway. She reached into the pocket of her vest and pulled out a slender joint and a matchbook, then lit the joint and took a deep drag.

The sweet-and-bitter smoke filled her mouth, and she held it for a few leisurely seconds before releasing it to the cool evening air. And as usual in the evenings when she had nothing else to do, she started mulling over her mistakes and failings of the past.

First and foremost, as always, was Solas. Was there anything she could have done to stop him when they’d been together? Should she have realized sooner that he was from an earlier age? Solas wasn't the only concern, though; the news about the qunari’s activities on the Tevinter coastline were frankly alarming, and Tamaris couldn't help but wonder if she should have foreseen that as well. She and her companions might have stopped the Viddasala from killing the leadership of Thedas during the Exalted Council a year ago, but had they really achieved anything if the qunari were attacking Tevinter so aggressively now?

Another huge concern was where the fuck the Grey Wardens were. Tamaris had thought she was doing the right thing by sending them to Weisshaupt until Corypheus was gone, but there had been no word of them since then, and their silence made her wonder whether sending them away had been a good idea after all. Solas certainly approved of her action, but in truth, Tamaris had never been clear on exactly why he’d approved. Even now, after what he’d told her about the Evanuris and the Veil, she still didn’t understand why he got so irate about the Grey Wardens.

Solas, she thought moodily. Her thoughts cycled back to wondering if she should have foreseen his betrayal during the time that they’d been lovers. She smoked her joint slowly and mulled over her gloomy thoughts, and all the while she was watching the streets below for anything strange.

It wasn’t until late that night that something caught her eye: a pair of figures, one tall and slim and the other shorter and a bit more broad. They were cloaked and moving quietly along Hightown’s largely silent streets, but not sticking to the shadows.

Humans, she thought. Only humans walked around at night with that much confidence. But these humans were being quiet and subtle, so they didn’t want to be noticed.

She peered more carefully at them, and that’s when she noticed the signature style of the shorter figure’s gauntlets. A Templar, she thought, and she relaxed slightly. It must be Rhys and Evangeline. But where was their former Tranquil companion, then?

She narrowed her eyes and scanned the streets; no one else was around. Curious now, Tamaris waited until the two cloaked people were closer – not so close that they were under her, but close enough that they could hear her.

She let out a low whistle, and the cloaked figures looked up sharply; sure enough, it was Rhys and Evangeline.

Rhys smiled at her, and Evangeline visibly relaxed. “Lady Lavellan,” she called out quietly. “What are you doing up there?”

“Skulking, obviously,” Tamaris replied. “Nobody ever looks up.”

“You’re right,” a man’s voice said behind her. “They don’t.”

Tamaris was on her feet with a dagger in hand before he finished speaking. But even before she could turn around to face him, a spill of goosebumps was rippling down her neck. The voice was unfamiliar to her, but the accent…

It was like Solas’s accent. Not exactly the same, but close enough to Solas’s smooth lilt that it gave her a chill of recognition.

The former Tranquil, she thought tensely. She eyed the stranger in silence for a moment. He was a tall elf, barefoot and cloaked and apparently unarmed, and he was leaning languidly against one of the chimneys with a smirk lifting the corners of his lips.

“It’s all right,” Rhys called from the ground below. “He’s with us.”

“You don’t say,” Tamaris retorted.

The former Tranquil’s smirk widened slightly, and Tamaris raised an eyebrow before restoring her dagger to the sheath at her hip. “It’s your lucky day,” she told him. “I’ve decided not to gut you on the spot for sneaking up on me.”

“Very gracious of you,” he said with a little half-bow.

She eyed him suspiciously. His words were polite enough, but his tone was faintly mocking.

She pursed her lips, then started toward the side of the roof that led back to the bedroom window. “Come on, then,” she said to the strange elf. “If you’re bringing trouble to my doorstep, I might as well roll with it.” She swung down from the edge of the roof and back into the window, then made her way through the bedroom without waiting to see if he was following her.

He was, of course; if he was nimble enough to sneak up on her via the roof, he was nimble enough to follow her back through the window. He chuckled as he followed her out of the bedroom. “And what a doorstep it is,” he said. “A fan of gold, are you?”

She scoffed and traipsed down the stairs. “Hardly. This house was a gift from a dwarf with an overdeveloped sense of humour.”

“My kind of dwarf,” the elf said.

She shot him an odd look, then paused in surprise at the bottom of the stairs. She’d just realized something odd about his appearance. He had vallaslin branching across his cheekbones and his forehead, but it wasn’t the marks on his face that surprised her per se; it was the lack of a particular kind of mark.

He didn’t have a scar on his forehead from the Templars’ lyrium brand. But Varric had said he was a Tranquil…?

He raised his eyebrows. “Something I can do for you?”

“Um,” she said distractedly. “Let me just…” She nodded at the front door, then went to open it for Evangeline and Rhys.

She stood back to let them in, then gestured at the dining table with its padded chairs. “Have a seat. Are you hungry?”

“Starving, but we should get going,” Rhys said.

“Yes,” Evangeline agreed. “We don’t want to linger in Kirkwall for too long. And Lady Cassandra requires our services.”

Tamaris raised her eyebrows. “But — wait, you just got here. I don’t think Cassandra would begrudge you a night’s rest.”

“Of course,” Evangeline said. “But we are anxious to return to our duties as well. For now, Rhys remains the only mage at the sanctuary who can safely guide the spirits through the Veil. We can’t cure any more Tranquil until he has returned.”

Rhys let out a little laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m hardly the fulcrum of this whole operation,” he mumbled.

“Don’t be so modest, cher,” Evangeline said firmly. “In any case, we should be going.”

Tamaris held up a hand. “Hang on. You’re not going to explain anything to me before you go? For example: who the fuck is he, exactly?” She jerked her thumb at the raven-haired elf, who had availed himself of one of the dining table chairs.

He gave her a charming smile. “I was wondering when you’d remember I was here. Don’t worry, I’m not offended. There’s something quite powerful about being forgotten, under the right circumstances.”

Tamaris narrowed her eyes at this cryptic remark, and Rhys smacked his forehead. “Maker, I’m sorry, Tamaris. This is Felassan. He came from — well, the whole story will probably be more coherent if you hear it from him, which is why we accompanied him here, obviously.”

She eyed Rhys skeptically. “And his whole story is good enough that you’re willing to leave him with me, even though he’s only been cured for…” She trailed off, then turned to Felassan. “How long have you been, um, back to yourself?”

He looked at Rhys. “It’s been, what? Three months?”

“That’s right,” Rhys said. “About three months.”

Tamaris raised her eyebrows. “It only takes three months for former Tranquil to become stable?”

“Oh, I’m not stable,” Felassan said cheerfully. “I can be quite volatile, unfortunately.”

Tamaris stared at him. She couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

Evangeline answered her unspoken question. “That’s true, unfortunately. Felassan is still getting… adjusted.”

“Adjusted?” Tamaris said warily. “Meaning what, exactly?”

“Meaning,” Felassan said, “that she had to neutralize me several times during our journey here. Not that I hold it against you,” he said pleasantly to Evangeline. “It’s been interesting, in fact. I never had a chance to see a Templar in action before.”

Evangeline nodded politely to him, but Tamaris wrinkled her nose in confusion. How was that possible? He’d been made Tranquil. He had to have seen a Templar in action before.

She didn’t have time to ask, however; Rhys and Evangeline were already making their way back to the door. She hurried after them. “So — so he’s… he’s supposed to just stay here with me, then.”

“That’s what Cassandra wanted, yes,” Rhys said.

Tamaris sighed. At least Rhys had the courtesy to sound apologetic. “And if he gets volatile? I suppose she was confident that I could just… handle it.”

“She was very confident,” Evangeline said.

Rhys smiled faintly. “I believe her words were something along the lines of ‘Tamaris has a special talent for highly charged situations such as this.’”

“Of course,” she muttered. “Well… I suppose I should thank you for bringing him here.”

“I think it will be worth your while, once you hear what he has to say,” Rhys said earnestly. “There’s a good reason we didn’t just send you a report.”

Tamaris pursed her lips. “If you say so. Well, travel safe.”

Rhys gave her a little salute and Evangeline bowed her head politely, and they took their leave. Tamaris sighed, then locked the door and returned to the dining table.

Felassan was sitting cross-legged on his chair and idly twirling a short length of wood in his fingers. Tamaris folded her arms and eyed him. “It sounds like I’m in for a good story, hm? Or a long one, at least.”

He quirked a brow. “I suppose that depends. Do you enjoy hearing tales of Fen’Harel?”

Fen’Harel. Fucking Solas, she thought bitterly. “I enjoy it as much as I enjoy lancing a boil,” she said snidely. “It’s distasteful but necessary, especially given… you know, everything.” She waved her hand in a vague gesture meant to encompass the entire world.

His ever-present smirk widened into a broad smile, and he let out a burbling laugh. “I think you and I will get along just fine, then.”

His laughter was knowing and playful at the same time, and she couldn’t decide if she liked the sound of it or not. She pursed her lips, then turned toward the kitchen. “You must be hungry. I’ll get you something.”

“I’ll join you,” he said, and he rose from the chair and tucked the piece of wood back inside of his cloak.

Tamaris raised her eyebrows, then shrugged and turned away. “Suit yourself. I thought you’d be tired, though. It’s a long way here from the Hunterhorn Mountains.”

“It is,” he confirmed. “A long and perilous journey, fraught with bandits and poor weather and the odd Tevinter refugee. Is that really what you want to talk about?”

“What do you mean?” Tamaris said. She opened a cupboard and pulled out an apple, then tossed it to him.

He caught it deftly. “I mean that I was brought here to speak with you about our… mutual friend. I assumed you would have questions.”

I suspect you have questions. Felassan’s words were almost an echo of the ones that Solas had greeted her with a year ago, and the memory made her curl her lip.

He lifted one dark eyebrow, and Tamaris carefully smoothed out her expression. “I would rather talk about you,” she said. “Like why you don’t have that fucked-up sunburst scar on your face, for example. Does the Tranquility cure involve removing that scar?”

He smiled slowly. “They mentioned that you were blunt. They weren’t wrong.”

Tamaris huffed, then opened the enchanted icebox and pulled out some hard Fereldan cheese. “Uh-huh. What else did they tell you about me?”

Felassan leaned back against the counter. “They said you can be aloof, sarcastic, and hard to crack. That you get things done through force of will more than charm.” His smile widened slightly. “They said that you allowed Empress Celene to be assassinated at the Winter Palace, and that you helped Briala to become the true power behind the throne.”

Tamaris shrugged. “They weren’t wrong about any of that.”

Felassan nodded and idly rolled the apple between his palms. “They also say that you are far more compassionate than you seem, and that you and Fen’Harel were lovers.”

She paused in her cutting of the cheese and gave him a hard look, but his expression was pleasantly neutral. He shrugged and took a bite of the apple. “I don’t blame you,” he said through his full mouth. “He’s undeniably compelling.”

Tamaris stared at him for a moment longer, then continued cutting the cheese. “You didn’t answer my question. Why don’t you have a scar on your forehead?”

Felassan made an apologetic face. “If you were hoping to talk about something other than Fen’Harel, I’m afraid you’re taking the wrong tack.”

She gave him an exasperated look. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He idly flicked the side of his half-eaten apple. “I mean that it wasn’t that delightful Templar order that made me Tranquil,” he said. “It was him.”

Tamaris went still. “It… what?”

He looked up from the apple and met her eyes, and her belly jolted. For the first time since they’d met, his expression was utterly serious. There wasn’t even a hint of laughter in his strange amethyst-coloured eyes.

“Fen’Harel made me Tranquil,” Felassan said.

She stared breathlessly at him. Solas had made him Tranquil? No. No, that... it couldn’t be true. Solas abhorred the idea of Tranquility. He’d initially thought all the people of her time were Tranquil, and his horror at this misguided impression had fuelled his original plans to bring the Veil down on all of them. There was no way Solas would have done something so terrible to someone.

But Felassan looked so serious, and he had no reason to lie to her. And Solas had told her that he would see his plans to fruition, by any means necessary…

Her heart was pounding, and she couldn't tell if it was because of agitation or disgust or fear. She swallowed hard. “Felassan, I am so sorry,” she said. “Do you want a drink?”

His expression went slack for a moment. Then some of his usual humour returned to his face. “That’s… not the response I expected.”

“Glad I’m still capable of surprising people sometimes,” she said. “Do you want a drink or not?”

He chuckled. “I do. Thank you.”

“No problem,” she said. She carefully placed his impromptu meal of cheese and bread on a plate, then picked up a bottle of cider and headed back to the main room with the dining table. “So, Felassan. That’s a strange name. Who decided to call you a slow arrow?”

“I did, as a matter of fact,” he said wryly.

She raised her eyebrows and set the food on the table before taking a seat. “Why would you call yourself that?”

He sat in the chair beside her and studied her quietly for a moment, and she lifted an eyebrow. “What?”

“This is truly what you want to talk about?” he asked.

She wilted in exasperation. “Cassandra might not have told you this, but I hate small talk. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t actually want to know. If you don’t want to answer the question, just say so.”

A smile lit his face again, and Tamaris idly noted that he was quite handsome. His hair was as black as her own unruly waves, and probably about half as long if he were to unbind it from its leather wrap. A few faint wrinkles creased his tawny skin, giving the impression that he was maybe ten to fifteen years older than her, but his dimpled smile held a boyish sense of mischief. And then there were his unusual and luminous violet eyes.

She dropped his gaze and started peeling the wax seal off of the bottle of cider. “So? Are you going to tell me about your name or not?”

“I wouldn't dare to turn down my gracious hostess’s request,” he said. “But I have to warn you, our dear friend Fen’Harel plays into the tale.”

Of course he does, Tamaris thought bitterly. It seemed like she could barely talk to anyone about anything these days without Solas coming up somehow.

She pulled the cork out of the bottle of cider, then took a gulp of the tart-and-sweet booze before offering it to him. “All right. Let’s hear it. Tell me about fucking Fen’Harel.”

#felassan #felassan fic #felassan romance #felassan/lavellan #felassan x lavellan #the love that grows from violence #pikapeppa writes

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ssdescendantsau · 4 years

Text

Chapter 1

Remus wanders around in silence, his makeshift morningstar slung over his shoulder, the nails digging into his shoulder. The world is too loud today, the clamour around him rising into a crescendo that grates against his ears. Maybe he could find something to steal or someone to fight so that everything would just shut up for one fucking second. Well, at least Remus lost his pursuers from the mindless fight he was just in. That was a good enough distaction. The only thing for Remus to do in the still air was talk to himself.

“You smash your morningstar in one person’s face and now the whole group is after you. Sounds petty in my opinion.”

Or well, makeshift morningstar and less like an iron mace-like weapon that it normally would be. It was more a block of wood stuck to the end of an iron pipe with a shit ton of nails pounded into the wood. A rustling sound whistled through the air, a flash of gold briefly spotted in the corner of Remus’s eye.

“From my perspective it sounds like you’re being the petty one.”

Turning around, Remus’ eyes land on a figure nestled in the shadows, another teenager by the sound of his voice. The darkness hides everything except for a distinctive glittering golden eye.

“Hi Dee~ How ya doing?”

‘Dee’, or Janus “Deceit” of Agrabah was the trader on the Isle, usually coming along with a trinket or item stolen from someone else’s pockets. A thing for another thing, a favor for Remus to fulfill later down the line in exchange for something shiny, but useless. That’s usually how these trades went.

“Alright, managed to nab a few things that might catch your eye. A favor would be nice, I’m planning on robbing this one guy and might want your help,” Dee pauses, mulling over his next words.“I just came to tell you about Maleficent's goons. Seems they’re looking for you.” He almost sounds worried. Mom huh, well at least let’s just hope it’s not because I did something stupid. Again.

“Ugh can’t Mother do her own dirty work for once?” Remus grumbles, turning around to find Dee gone. “Fine, I'll just get the stuff later then. Sneaky noodle always fades into the shadows thinking he’s cool and edgy.”

A faint hiss of air draws Remus’s attention to a small alleyway to his right, a perfect alleyway for hiding a body. He does remember a similar alleyway that one time that he hid a corpse, he doesn’t really like or want to think about that stuff.

Turning the corner he finds Virgil de Vil, the resident “artist” and the only one on the Island to wear all black, spraying something on the wall. The jacket was new though, the purple sleeves being a lovely addition along with the skull design on Virgil’s mask.

“Huh, well if it isn’t Virgie,” Remus drawls, moving forward to sling his arm around Virgie’s shoulders.

“First of all, it’s Virgil, not Virgie.”

Remus raises an eyebrow. “Uh huh.”

“Second of all” Virgil turns to look at Remus “I'm currently working on something. What do you think, some purple or red?”

Remus glances at the spray paint on the wall, moving away from his previous position. The artwork forming a purple stormcloud on a green background. “Lilac-blue, makes the green pop out more.”

“Hm.” A quick nod of reassurance from Virgil and Remus moves next to him, plopping onto the dingy ground of the space. A thin silence hangs in the air only interrupted by the sound of Virgil’s spray cans.

“Have you ever thought about getting off this dump?” Remus doesn’t know why he said it in the first place, the question already forming before he can stop himself.

“Out of this cage? Sorry, but we’re always gonna be locked away with the “villians” in this fucked up world.”

“Of course,” Remus sighs, because this place was a death sentence in and of itself. “Forget it.” Nobody was coming to save the rejects of the world. That feeling was back, buzzing underneath his skin. So Remus did the only thing he could think of, he acted on impulse, quickly grabbing Virgil’s hand and running off with him in tow.

“Remus, no!” It was too late for Virgil to protest though.

“Remus yes.”

Whatever chaos that Remus wanted to create was quickly stopped as both of their bodies collided into an unmoving wall,black suits and sunglasses filling the frame of his vision. The only ones who dressed like here were his mom’s goons because they needed to be “presentable”. Her words not his.

“Maleficent wants to see you,” Goon #1 rumbles.

He hates these stupid lackeys. Mom sends them because she couldn’t care enough about her own kid to meet in person. Instead, it made him feel like he was twelve again, like a kid who was always getting in trouble for being too ‘much’. He can’t really protest though as Goon #1 grabs both him and Virgil.

He passes by beggars and kids with ratty clothes, crammed like sardines on this floating rock. Briefly, he passes by a mom pulling her kid with a makeshift cart and a scrawny teenager his age skimming through the crowd, most likely a pickpocket. After all, there’s no guarantee that your business will get food on the table. Remus remembers the first time that he got pickpocketed, broke the kid’s fingers for even trying. The regret came later, when the drone of bitterness and apathy left his system.

Remus watches as his “home” comes into view. It was supposed to be a fortress but it resembled a cardboard castle more than anything, ready to topple over at the slightest breeze. A building to play pretend in, Remus thinks bitterly so that everything would be ‘just like it was before’. He’s heard enough about “the glory days” from his mom to get an idea. Pushed through the entrance, Remus stares at his mom standing at the front of the room.

Looking around, Dee and the island's resident “heartbreaker” Remy, were also there with their own personal “goons” hovering over their shoulders. Remy’s sunglasses and plain leather jacket were kept clean enough as if he actually cared about his appearance. He is the kid on the Island most known from the stories gathered from his various flings. Nobody said anything at first, instead dissolving into a tense silence broken by his mom.

“Janus, Remy, Virgil and you will be going to Auradon.” Maleficent announced to the room, her gaze lingering on Remus as if to say Don’t mess this up.

“I’m sorry but, what?” Virgil splutters.

Remus looks around the room to the rest of the three kids as if to ask she’s not joking right? briefly locking eyes with a panicking Virgil.

Janus spoke up, his panicked eyes looking everywhere except for the people in the room.“I’m gonna have to agree with Virgil on this one, why the hell are we going over to those stuck-up pricks?”

“Well the Prince has made a new decree, the soft-hearted fool. You four will be attending Auridon Prep,” Her tone was detached, leaving no room for negotiations or arguement. It was Remy to first act on his impulses, blurting out the first thing that came to his mind.

“Oh, fuck no. I’m not going to be surrounded by assholes more than I need to be, ” Remy said, arms crossed and glancing off to the side.

“This is an opportunity for you. You will sneak straight into those royal’s hearts and steal Fairy Godmother’s wand in the process using, of course, the generous gifts bestowed upon you by your parents that will hopefully not go to waste. Then you’ll release the barrier and evil will spread along the land, a perfect place for us to rule.”

Remus ignores that hopeful twist in his stomach that maybe, this will prove something to her. That maybe he can be a good enough son for her.

“You don’t have much of a choice. Especially considering that your ride is going to be here soon,” the Evil Queen snapped at Remy. Quickly rifling through her pockets, she quickly took out a small mirror “Now, here is my magic mirror.” Remy stares at the small glass hand mirror in her hand, “It’s not what it used to be sadly, but it should be useful,” Remy takes the small mirror in his hands and tucks it into the pockets of his leather jacket.

“And please, get some sleep while you’re at it. Those eyebags of yours are making you uglier than you already are.”

“Yes Mother,” Remy muttered.

“Now let me see,” Mom mutters to herself, rifling through what appears to be an old cupboard as she fishes out a tattered old book, worn down from use. Turning over to Remus, she holds out the book.

“Here. This is my spellbook.” Remus gingerly picks up the spellbook from her hand.

As Remus is leaving he hears snippets of conversation from the other kid’s parents and their farewells.

“Remember Janus, lying is always the best solution” Jafar quickly tells Janus

“And always look out for yourself” Janus echoes back tonelessly, as if it were a mantra he’s heard a dozen times before.

“I’ll miss you Virgil.” Cruella puts a hand to her heart with a pout

“Really?” Virgil looks almost hopeful in those small minutes, a shine of maybe a little bit of softness in his expression

“Who else will take care of my beautiful coats.” Cruella doesn’t notice how Virgil deflates at her last sentence

“Right” Virgil scoffs to himself, his expression closing off like a set of iron gates slammed shut in front of his eyes.

Mom sharply turns to the rest of the VK’s in front of her.

“Now move along, there’s a wand to steal.”

The rest of the teenagers were shuffled out of the room to their “ride” sitting outside the fortress. A sleek black vehicle sits outside, gleaming under the sun and unbelievingly long. Maleficent clutches Remus’s arm as he’s leaving, her fingernails leaving indents in his skin.

”You better not mess this up.” Mom says through gritted teeth.

Looking at the limousine, Remus steps forward. I can make mom proud of me Remus thinks, an opportunity of a lifetime. It doesn’t stop the dread forming in his stomach.

Ao3 link

#remus sanders #virgil sanders #remy sanders #janus sanders #ts deciet #maleficent #Evil Queen #Jafar #Cruella de Vil #mentions of murder #mentions of child abuse #descendants #sanders sides

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ihavejarlsberg · 4 years

Text

Blue Christmas

Author’s Note: I had a really sad idea for a short fic, so I wrote it so you all could be sad with me. You can pry the headcanon that one of Malcolm’s top love languages is giving gifts from my cold, dead hands. Have some Christmas angst, everyone! (Read more is added for those on mobile… head to AO3 if it’s cut off for you. :D )

Word Count: 2,300-ish.

Summary: Three days after Malcolm has been taken, the team discovers he had bought them all Christmas presents. It doesn’t help them miss him any less. Link: AO3.

They each found them on their desks, tucked in with the rest of their respective pieces of mail. It was obvious Malcolm hadn’t wrapped them, himself; he had clearly paid someone to do a better (and much more festive) job than he ever would have. But that didn’t matter. Not really.

Edrisa found hers first. It was, naturally, an incredibly thoughtful gift, based on a little seed of information about her she had thrown out once that Bright had picked up and tucked away into his pocket for later like a small boy collecting shiny stones.

It was a puzzle. A 1000-piece beauty that was clearly hand drawn by an artist. The pictures on it looked like they were taken straight from an anatomy book, then set ablaze with tremendous color by a talented artist. She loved it with her whole heart, and she burst into tears as soon as she got through the wrapping paper and saw what it was.

Who knows how long it would have taken the rest of the team to find theirs, had Edrisa not mentioned it. As soon as she did, they immediately went to their respective desks to check their own mail. It had been three days since Bright’s disappearance on December 25th; whatever postage they had been missing out on in that time frame was literally the last thing on their minds. Until now.

JT’s was the smallest, as far as size went; a maroon envelope sealed shut with gold-colored wax. It stood out like a sore thumb in his mail box amidst the standard white envelopes that had been accumulating. “Damn,” he’d said to himself, running the pad of his thumb over the dried wax of the seal, “Even this dude’s envelopes are rich.” He had quieted, though, once he’d opened up the card and started reading what Malcolm had written inside with his neat, all-capitalized handwriting.

JT, Sorry for crashing your date. The next one’s on me.

Merry Christmas!

P.S. Justin? Jerico? Jeremiah?

JT had to laugh, despite everything. Attached to the card was a $100 gift card to Amsterdam Billiards. He stared at it, unblinking, for several seconds before his eyes started to water from being open too long (mostly).

“Damn it, Bright,” he muttered to himself as he closed the card. “Where you at, bro?”

There was a small black postage box waiting for Gil on his desk, hiding under a manila envelope. It was not the sort of small black box one would buy a woman; Gil knew was it was the moment he pulled it out from his mail pile and saw the company name stamped on the side in raised silver lettering. He stared at it for a moment, until it blurred together in his vision beneath a sheen of tears.

His fingers traced over the letters on the front of the box, and for a moment he allowed himself to just feel how smooth the cardboard was on the delivery box the gift had come in. He had to clench his jaw against the lump steadily climbing up his throat. Before he even made a move to open the box, he pulled back his right cuff, exposing the watch he wore on his wrist. Despite how worn and well loved it was, the watch was in excellent condition for being nearly fifteen years old. Especially considering that Gil literally wore it every day, to the point that he felt naked without it. It had held up marvelously over the years, which wasn’t surprising, as it had likely been expensive. Just as expensive as the new one he was holding in his other hand.

Without warning, the memory came back, unbidden. He could recall it like it had taken place last week. Malcolm, no older than twelve, handing him a dark blue velvet box with a hand that shook so fiercely, Gil immediately moved to take it from the poor kid before he dropped it.

It hadn’t been Father’s Day, then. The Whitlys didn’t celebrate Father’s Day anymore. But it had been damn close to it, and Malcolm had thought to buy a gift for Gil. As a man with no biological children of his own, Gil had cherished this more than he ever could have put into words. He still wore the same watch to this day.

And Malcolm noticed. Obviously. Because Malcolm Bright noticed everything.

“You still have that watch I gave you,” he had said, exactly 1.5 days into the investigation of the “copycat” Surgeon case, as he stared at Gil’s wrist.

“Of course I do,” Gil retorted. He was standing close enough to Bright at the time to reach out and give his shoulder a slight squeeze. “I wear it every day.”

Malcolm had all but beamed at that. “Looks a little worn, though,” he added, as his gaze drifted back down to the silver time piece on Gil’s wrist.

Gil had shrugged. “It’s well-loved,” he said simply. Malcolm had frowned just slightly at that, clearly deep in thought.

And now he knew what Bright had been thinking about: a wardrobe update for Gil Arroyo.

Gil sucked in a breath, holding the air in his chest for a few seconds to help expel some of the fear that had taken up residence there. He wasn’t afraid a new watch, obviously; unfortunately, he knew exactly what he was afraid of, and it was too terrible for words.

He was afraid he was holding the last piece of Malcolm Bright he was ever going to see.

(They all were afraid of that, deep down.)

The atrocity of that thought propelled him into action, and he started ripping open the little box’s packaging tape. Inside was a hard, velvet case, just like the one a much younger Malcolm had first presented to Gil all those years ago. The watch inside was magnificent. It was all black, even its face, and incredibly sleek. Clearly this time, Malcolm was going for an updated, modern look for him. Gil loved it. There was a small, folded card inside, and Gil pried it open with hands that had gone numb. He recognized Malcolm’s handwriting instantly. It was simple, sweet, and to the point.

Merry Christmas, Gil! Thank you–for everything.

Love,

Bright

Seeing the words in Malcolm’s handwriting was what finally put him over the edge. It had been three long days of fruitless searching for their profiler; they were all exhausted, and none more so than Gil. He reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose, not even bothering to keep the tears at bay anymore.

“Thanks, bud,” he whispered to an empty room when he could finally find his voice again. “I love it.”

By the time Dani found out Bright had all gotten them Christmas gifts and had them sent to the station, she was exhausted. Just at the end of her rope mentally, physically, and emotionally. When Edrisa came up to her in tears, shaking a box in her face, Dani nearly lost it on her. Until he heard what she was saying.

“He got us gifts,” Edrisa squeaked out.

Dani felt the blood rush out of her face. She had a good idea who the ‘he’ in question was, but still had to ask, “Who…?”

“Bright!” Edrisa said. “Bright got us all Christmas presents. Incredibly thoughtful, probably expensive presents.” Her lower lip wobbled, and she looked like she was going to start crying again. “I didn’t get him anything. I thought about it! But then we just got so busy with the case load and… and…” She trailed off.

“And then Bright went missing on Christmas,” Dani finished for her, deadpanning. Edrisa nodded, sniffing once. Dani looked down at the box in Edrisa’s hands, studying it. “He got you a puzzle?”

Edrisa nodded vigorously again and offered up the box to Dani, who took it gingerly, like it was something to be cherished.

“It’s gorgeous,” Dani said genuinely.

“I know,” Edrisa agreed, “I’m scared to even open it. Like I’m going to ruin it somehow just by touching it. But I thought I could get started on it tonight… Maybe have it done by the time you find him, you know?”

Dani’s heart surged at the words by the time you find him, and she ground her teeth together at the familiar tightness in her jaw that meant she was definitely close to crying. Edrisa didn’t seem to notice; she was staring at her puzzle box. Dani placed it back in her arms gently, and Edrisa hugged it to her chest. The pieces inside all fell to the bottom of the box with a soft swish.

“We’ll find him,” Dani said simply. We have to.

Edrisa gave her a watery smile and nodded. “Hopefully before I even have the chance to finish this beast.”

Dani returned her smile. “So,” she started, eager to turn the subject away from the fact that Bright was still missing. “You said he mailed it?”

“Oh, right. Yes,” Edrisa said, “Apparently he mailed them all to the station. Which is kind of silly, but he must have just paid to have everything wrapped, and then he probably didn’t know our addresses, so… They were just here, waiting for us. Since Christmas.”

Dani swallowed. Part of her almost wished Bright had forgotten about hers, that he had sent something to everyone else but her. But the thought was a wasted one; Bright would never forget about her.

Dani’s gift was a fairly large box, about the size of two shoeboxes lined up side by side. There was no way she could have avoided seeing it, once she got back to her desk. (Had it really been that long since she’d been back at her desk, away from the search for him?)

She stared at it for a few moments, willing herself to keep calm, before she took out her pocket knife to cut through the box’s tape. Dani didn’t really do Christmas presents; with her immediate family, sure, but she couldn’t remember the last time she had either given or received a gift from a friend. Even the team–Gil, JT, and Edrisa–usually only went out for a drink, rotating who would pay the tab, for holidays or birthdays. Gifts were not her forte. This was foreign territory, and it left her on edge.

She could almost feel Bright watching her, those brilliant eyes of his staring at her hopefully, like he so wanted her to love whatever it was he had picked out for her.

Inside the package, after she removed a fair amount of bubble wrap and colored tissue paper, was a large wooden box. The moment she read the scripted letters burned into the top of the it, she knew exactly what she’d find inside, and she huffed out a shaky breath. As soon as she opened it, she knew she was right; the smell wafted up from the contents of the box, despite the fact that they were vacuum sealed, and it hit her like a punch in the gut.

I love Earl Grey.

She could hear his soft laugh, his words back to her. “I know. It’s the aroma, isn’t it?”

She was staring down at a beautiful box of British-imported loose leaf Earl Grey tea. Included was a small metal tea strainer, and little wrapped bags of spices and citrus peels, all individually wrapped and sectioned off into their own little spots in the box lined with velvet. In the center was a burgundy tin, and Dani smiled as soon as she read what it housed.

For someone whose tea-drinking habits involved microwaving water and using whatever brand of bagged tea was cheapest, the custom-built box before her was intimidating. And somehow, Bright knew it would be. (Because of course he did.) Inside the tin in the middle were fifty already-assembled tea bags of Earl Grey from the same gourmet ingredients, ready to be slipped into hot water without hassle and enjoyed immediately.

With friends.

It was one of the very best gifts she had ever been given in her life. And she felt a renewed hatred for Paul Lazar that Malcolm wasn’t there to share it with her. She reached down and pulled the tin out from the box. It popped open easily, and she was overtaken by that delightful smell again. She breathed it in for a few moments, until her nose grew used to it and the smell wasn’t nearly as potent to her.

Eventually, she removed the entire wooden box from its packaging, and that’s when she found the card. It was a simple folded card, red on the outside, blank on the inside, save for Malcolm’s writing. It was simple enough–just wishing her a merry Christmas and a happy new year, but the way he had signed it made the breath halt in her chest.

Your friend,

Malcolm Bright

“God, Bright,” she murmured, grinding her teeth again as she willed herself not to cry. But it was a fight she soon gave in to. What was the use? They had been searching for him for days, pouring everything they had into finding some kind of lead on where he had been taken, all to have nothing turn up. And then he’d gone and gotten her a damn thoughtful gift for a holiday he had been kidnapped on. It was all too much.

So Dani let herself cry for a few minutes. When it was over, she felt better and worse at the same time. She closed the lid of the wooden tea box and tucked it into the biggest drawer of her desk. The little card from Bright she taped, open, on the side of her computer monitor; she would see it each and every time she sat down at her desk.

And she vowed she wasn’t going to be drinking any tea at all until she found him, until he could sit and have a cup with her, himself.

#Prodigal Son #prodigal son fanfiction #prodigal son fic #prodigal son ff #brightwell

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