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randomshyperson · 4 years ago

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Wanda Maximoff/Reader - Land of Thieves - #ChapterSix

Read on AO3 (EN)

Summary: When you were a child, you swore that no matter how high the reward in your head, she could always count on you. Life as an outlaw in the west is not easy, but you believe that train robberies are still easier than asking a pretty girl to dance. Land of Thieves, also know as your love story with Wanda Maximoff in the Wild West.

Chapter Resume: The one where you hunt a bear, and gather wood to make a fire.

Warnings: 18+, explicit language, explicit violence, slow burn, childhood friends to lovers, cursing, blood.

tags: @mionemymind

It didn't take long for you to realize that this was not a good hunting area. It had been a long time since you had separated from Pietro and Wanda, and it seemed as if you were walking in circles without really finding any animals.

You walked in the direction you thought you came from, feeling your boots sink against the wet grass. And then you saw on the ground, the footprints you will learn to recognize with Thor. You realized that the reason you hadn't found any animals yet was because of the recent bear tracks. One animal of this size, and you would have enough food for the days you would be here.

Taking the rifle that was slung over your shoulder to hold it with both hands, you moved toward the trail of footprints, as quietly as possible.

The majestic creature was only a few meters away, its brown fur glistening in the sunlight. You noticed that it was feeding on some fish that were probably from the same lake that surrounded the cabin.

Moving forward in slow steps, you raised your rifle toward the bear, hoping to get a good shot of it.

And then you stepped wrongly, a stick breaking at your feet, attracting the animal's immediate attention. You hurried to shoot, but your gun locked up.

- Oh shit. - You grumbled, throwing the rifle to the ground, and rushing to run, the bear noticing you the same second you moved.

The animalistic sound of the bear's roar filling the entire room as it got up to chase you, you ran as fast as you could, and just when you thought you had put some distance between you, you spotted Pietro and Wanda, meeting you halfway down the path from opposite directions.

- I found a bear. - You shouted, as you threw yourself to the ground to get under a log. Wanda and Pietro were quick enough to pull you off the ground. You shivered at the sight of the approaching creature, but you drew your revolver, just as Wanda and Pietro aimed their rifles.

The creature fell to the ground with a thud as the shots hit it squarely in the head.

- Does that mean we tie? - asked Pietro after a moment, while the three of you were standing there staring at the dead animal. It took a second, then you all burst out laughing.

- Come on, folks, help me skin it. - You asked, stepping closer to the bear.

You spent the next few minutes skinning the animal, and a lot of meat was taken. And then you frowned as you realized that you had no way to carry it.

- Do you have any idea how we are going to get all this stuff to the cabin? - you ask, looking at the twins. All of you are covered in blood.

- Shit, it's true. - Pietro says as he looks at the pieces of meat. - I wonder if it will slip off if we take it in our hands.

You nod in agreement, and he sighs. Then you say:

- Take off your shirt.

Pietro looks at you with surprise, and then he smiles with amusement.

- Look, I'm flattered...

You roll your eyes, interrupting him: - To use for carrying idiot.

Pietro laughs, but raises his eyebrows.

- And why don't you take off your shirt?

Without patience, you start to unbutton your own shirt, while grumbling:

- You don't have the slightest bit of chivalry.

Pietro laughed, holding your hands to stop you.

- Okay okay, sorry. I wouldn't want you to feel uncomfortable in front of Stark either. - he says before pulling off his own shirt.

You can carry some pieces of meat on it, and on the jacket that Wanda was wearing. You wish you had your jacket too, but it was soaked with Steve's blood somewhere in the cabin.

Walking back, you share the weight of the makeshift "suitcase". When you finally reach the cabin, Steve is outside waiting for you, worried about the noise of the gunshots.

You show him the meat and take it to the small makeshift kitchen, dumping the supplies on the table.

- Okay, I'll take care of our dinner, you get cleaned up right away. - He says, pushing the three of you out of the hut.

- We provide your food and you kick us out of the house? - Pietro dramatizes being pushed out, Steve just laughs.

You and Wanda come out in front, laughing while Pietro tries to avoid being pushed out.

- Come on, Pietro! You stink! - said Steve.

Pietro laughs before giving up, then walks off, throwing his arms around both your shoulders and Wanda's.

- You know, girls, I've been thinking. - He starts to say, keeping his arm around you as you walk towards the lake. - I would love to be best man at your wedding.

You laugh, feeling your cheeks flush.

- If you promise to take a shower, we might consider it. - You retort, and try not to look so nervous at the almost worshipful look Wanda gives you. Pietro agreed, pretending to swear an oath. You laugh, telling him to shut up.

When you reached the lake, you exchanged a look with Wanda, and the two of you pushed Pietro into the water, laughing as he fell, struggling dramatically.

- Damn, it's cold! - he exclaimed, and then started moving his arms, throwing water on you and Wanda. The redhead sidestepped your body, trying to escape the jets of water as you both laughed. She threw you into the lake the next second, and you felt the icy water soak your clothes.

Pietro jumps on you as soon as you fall, and you start playing fight, while throwing water at each other. Pietro lands a quick blow on you that knocks you to the ground, he strikes a dramatic pose as he says:

- Do you accept your defeat, foreigner?

- My god you are such an idiot. - You say between laughs as you stand up. Pietro laughs and steps back a bit, only to take off his soaked boots and pants

Wanda sat on the edge of the lake while you played, and she had a tender look on her face when you approached. You looked away in embarrassment as you began to undress. Unbuttoning your shirt completely, you removed it, placing it on the edge of the lake to let it dry. You removed your boots, tossing them beside your shirt, and then you began to unbutton your pants. You felt like you were being watched, and looked up to find Wanda staring at you with a glint in her eyes that you didn't quite know what it was, her cheeks red. When she noticed you watching, she looked away, focusing on unbuttoning her own blouse.

- Ouch, I think a fish just bit my ass! - shouted Pietro, jumping around the lake while looking down.

- God, Pietro. - said Wanda laughing.

- No fish will want to bite you, you stinker! - You jokingly said, making the twins laugh, while Pietro gave you a gentle shove.

You spent a lot of time at the lake, running around and throwing water at each other.

The sun was setting when Steve left the cabin.

- God you guys are still there? - he asked in a disapproving tone. - Get out before you catch cold.

It had been so hot all day that this probably wouldn't happen. You picked your clothes up off the floor, now completely dry, and put them on. And then you remembered your jacket, and went into the cabin looking for it.

- What is it, kid? - Steve asked as soon as you walked in. You noticed that he and Tony had taken all the sheets off the furniture, and now the cabin was extremely cozy. Tony was crouched over the fireplace, probably trying to see how to light it.

- My jacket. - You say, looking around. - I wore it to...

- To stop the bleeding. - Steve interrupts. - I remember. - He says with amusement, walking towards the room where Bucky was sleeping. - I cleaned it up shortly after you went out hunting. - He says, and his voice is a little low because of the distance. He returns next, handing the jacket to you.

- Thank you, Steve. - You say and he smiles, ruffling your hair.

- Let's build a fire outside, okay? - He says. - Just like old times.

You nod your head in agreement, smiling. He asks you to fetch wood to light the fire, signaling that there should be a wood storage compartment under one end of the hut.

Leaving the hut, you smile when you see Wanda and Pietro playing with their hands, like those games you used to play as children. You tell them that you are going to look for some wood to make a fire, and Pietro starts looking for bigger logs for you guys to use as a seat. Tony then leaves the cabin and asks Wanda to get some wood for the cabin fireplace, and he joins Pietro in dragging a fallen log to the center of the yard.

You try not to think too much about being alone with Wanda again, walking beside her through the forest as you search for sticks, your hands rubbing together occasionally between stolen glances.

Returning to the cabin area, you look for the storeroom Steve mentioned, finding it on the outer side, almost at the back of the cabin. You let out a contented exclamation as you spot it.

- Steve says to keep some firewood here. - You say without turning to Wanda. You bend down to put away some branches, leaving the amount needed for the fire. - Let's split the weight. - You say to Wanda as she puts away the branches she has split and gets up with the others she is going to take to the fireplace. She smiles at you as you try to keep the amount the same, maybe even adding more branches for yourself. - There you go. - You smile and look at Wanda, only to find her looking at you with intensity. - Is everything mmm...

The question dies in your throat as Wanda moves forward, bringing her mouth to yours. You sigh, while closing your eyes. Wanda drops the sticks on the ground, grabbing you by the waist as she pushes you against the wood of the hut. You lift your hands to her face, the sticks long forgotten at your feet.

Wanda runs her tongue across your lower lip, asking for passage, and you open your mouth slightly to feel her tongue meet yours. When your tongues touch, you feel a sharp twinge under your stomach, and you let your fingers slide to the nape of Wanda's neck, running through the strands of her hair.

The kiss is intense, and leaves you with weak knees. Your brain goes blank, the feel of Wanda's tongue takes your breath away.

You feel Wanda push your body against the wood, the sensation draws a gasp from you as it chills your entire body.

You think you hear laughter, everything around you seems muffled. But you force yourself to focus on something other than Wanda, and then you remember where you are.

- Wanda. - You call her between kisses, completely breathless. - Wands.

And then she presses you against the cabin once more, her knee coming up between your legs, and you see stars. You really thought that there was your doom there, and you would take her for yourself at that moment, but then another noise, which sounded like Pietro shouting with joy as he managed to carry the logs, caught Wanda's attention.

She parted your mouths, probably startled by the noise, and you whimpered at the sudden loss of contact. Wanda quickly brings your mouths together again, a smile on her lips, and this time she kisses you with less intensity. A moment passes before you end the kiss completely, keeping your foreheads resting together as Wanda pulls the rest of her body away a bit so that she's no longer pressing you against the cabin, which makes you miss her body heat in the same second.

You were going to tell her that you need to take the firewood, but then Pietro's voice sounded in the distance.

- Stop making out in secret and get over here! I'm hungry! - he shouted.

You and Wanda let out a half breathless laugh. Stepping back a little, you stared into her emerald eyes, swearing that she never looked so beautiful.

- Let's go before Pietro comes to get us. - Wanda says in a playful tone. You nod in agreement, as you bend down to gather the twigs.

Before you leave in the direction of the lake, you steal a lingering kiss from her, which makes her blush and flush. You just smile, and she hurries to get in your way, kissing you firmly before walking away. She takes one last look at you before turning toward the cottage, and you try to stop grinning like an idiot as you walk toward the garden.

As you finished setting up and lighting the campfire, the others sat around the fire, warming themselves from the cold night. Steve brought blankets, and mugs, while Tony loaded the raw meats for roasting.

You and Wanda share a blanket, sitting side by side on the makeshift bench, while Pietro sat next to his sister. You tried not to blush as you felt Wanda's hand entwine with yours under the blanket.

As the meats roasted, Steve began to hum softly.

- Help yourselves. - He said after a moment, and you noticed him taking a piece for Bucky. He then got up and walked towards the cabin, signaling that he would be back in a few minutes.

- So, you're sort like his children? - Stark asked as you served yourselves. Pietro let out a little chuckle.

- I think Y/N is yes. - He teased and you rolled your eyes. Tony looked at you, looking really interested to know.

- He is not a biological father if that is what you are asking. - You said. - But he has been taking care of me since I was a child, so I guess we are like father and daughter.

Tony nodded slightly, a gleam in his eyes that you couldn't recognize. Maybe it was relief, but you couldn't tell why.

- What about you two? Are your parents with the rest of the gang? - Tony asked the twins. You guessed that he knew about the rest of the gang because Steve should have told him during the conversation this afternoon. Pietro and Wanda exchanged a look with each other, as if deciding whether to trust Tony.

- No, our parents are dead. - Said Wanda after a moment, you felt her squeeze your hand lightly. - We joined the gang as children too. Stephen, you don't know him, took us off the streets.

- Oh, I see. - Said Tony - I'm sorry about that.

Wanda shrugged. - It was a long time ago.

You were silent for a moment, enjoying the dinner. The meat had a strong flavor, and was not usually what you eat, but it was tasty. Steve returned after a while, looking pleased.

- Bucky finally woke up. - He commented as he sat up, then helped himself. - He managed to eat a little.

- He'll be fine. - You assured him, and Steve smiled at you tenderly.

When everyone was finished eating, you just sat quietly, enjoying the warmth of the fire. Tony was the first to get up, telling you that he was going to check if Bucky didn't have a fever, and Steve quickly followed him.

Pietro quickly switched places, sitting on the log in front of you and Wanda, looking at you both with mischievous amusement.

- So girls, let's do something fun? - he suggested.

- There's not much to do in this place. - You commented, looking at him. Pietro blinked, thoughtful for a moment.

- We can always hunt another bear. - He joked, making you and Wanda laugh. After a moment, his expression changed to concern, causing you to frown.

- What's up, Pietro? - you asked, and he looked away from you into the fire.

- Do you think everyone is all right? - he asked, but didn't expect an answer. - With all those O'Driscolls and guards, how can we be sure that they got out without being seen? And even if they did, where do we go from here?

Wanda gave your hand a squeeze, before letting go and getting up to sit beside Pietro, hugging him by the shoulders.

- We'll be fine, Pietro. - She said in a tender tone. - Stephen will find a place for us.

You wanted to tell Pietro that everything would be all right, and that you would be home with everyone soon. But you were overcome by your own insecurities, worrying too much about everyone. You could only nod in agreement to Wanda, forcing a smile from your lips.

- We take care of each other right? - Pietro grumbled after a moment, his eyes filled with tears. Wanda smiled.

- Of course. Y/N and I will take care of you. - She teased, and Pietro let out a hoarse laugh, wiping the tears from his eyes.

You fell silent for a moment, until Pietro said that you should sleep, and you actually agreed, finally acknowledging how tired you were from the robbery. You put out the fire while the twins got up, and then you walked together to the cabin.

Steve was tidying up the rooms when you came in, carrying blankets to the wooden beds. You were pleased to hear that there were mattresses in the cabin.

- So, how are you going to share the beds? - He asked, and you were about to say that you would sleep on the floor if you had to, but Peter was quicker to make an ironic comment.

- Well, wives should sleep in the same bed. - He joked and Wanda slapped him on the head, and he just laughed along with Steve.

- We can all sleep together, Steve. - Wanda then said.

- Actually, Pietro might be right. - Steve said with humor in his voice, and looking at the confused and surprised expressions of the three of you, he clarified. - We have a queen-size bed in the empty room. And then two bunk beds in the room where Bucky is. Maybe it would be better if the girls slept together.

You felt your face get very hot, and maybe Wanda had the same expression, because Steve took on a mixed look of seriousness and humor when he said:

- Behave yourselves, girls. - He teased, and you heard Pietro laugh. He remarked something like "early honeymoon" but you ignored it. Steve dragged Pietro into the bedroom next, and the boy wished you both a good night.

You followed Wanda into your bedroom in silence, feeling out of place. You tried not to think too much in the double bed. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your anxious brain. It was only Wanda, you had slept together hundreds of times before. You closed the door as you entered, while Wanda sat up in bed.

You gave her a shy smile as you took off your boots and jacket. She did the same.

You lay in silence, your eyes staring up at the ceiling. You sighed, turning your body to face her as you waited for her to do the same. Wanda turned around, and you smiled at her, who was looking at you with flushed cheeks.

- Hi - you whispered.

- Hi. - She said in the same tone.

You rested your head against your arm, and raised your other hand to Wanda's hair, playing with the strands in your fingers.

- Why is that strange? - she asked, looking away from you. You smiled slightly. - We've slept together before.

- Because now I want to kiss you. - You answered, tucking her hair behind her ear. Wanda blinked, surprised at your honesty. She bit her lower lip, and you let your fingers run across her face and around her cheeks. Wanda grimaced slightly when you touched her on the top of her nose, and you smiled tenderly, feeling your heart inflate with love for her.

- I want to kiss you too. - She confessed after a moment, looking into your eyes. You remembered the three men in the next room, and let out a sigh.

- We don't have to do anything just because we're in a bed together. - You said, and then let the palm of your hand rest against Wanda's cheek, who leaned into your touch. - We have all the time in the world.

Wanda nodded, closing her eyes. You moved closer, placing a kiss on her forehead. She had a smile on her lips when you pulled away.

- Goodnight, Wanda. - you whispered.

- Good night. - She answered in the same tone, practically asleep. You watched her for a few more moments before closing your eyes.

It had been three days since you had been in the cabin. Your routine consisted of waking up completely entwined in Wanda's body, smiling like an idiot, and then having coffee with Pietro. Then bathing in the lake, and spending time in their company. Sometimes you chopped wood, or tried to fish, but most of the time you just joined Pietro and Wanda in song, or you played the deck of cards he had found in one of the cabinets. The best moments were the stolen kisses that Wanda would take from you, leaving you breathless and clumsy as she walked away as if nothing had happened.

The problem was that Steve's nervousness about the delay in hearing from the camp was palpable, and it made everyone quite uncomfortable. Bucky was finally awake, and this cheered Steve up a bit, but he still had a distracted look whenever you looked at him.

And then, you finally got a letter. Peggy sent a coded message, and after a few minutes of reading and rereading the paper, Bucky finally deciphered it. They had set up camp in the Rhodes region, and everyone was safe. You let out a sigh of relief when you heard these words.

Steve signaled for you guys to have some coffee, and then said that you needed to arrange some horses.

- We are going to walk to the Esmerald Ranch. - He said while putting on his boots - And then me, Pietro and Y/N will steal the horses.

Everyone nodded in agreement, Tony looked slightly uncomfortable, but you guessed he was going to take the train as soon as he arrived at the ranch.

Then you covered the cabin furniture again, and checked that you didn't leave anything important behind.

The way to the ranch was slightly long, and halfway there Pietro started carrying his sister on his back, while everyone sang a song excitedly. You kept the pace slow so as not to tire Bucky too much.

When you finally spotted the ranch, you stopped walking, finding a place for the others to hide while you, Steve and Pietro stole the horses.

- So you see the stables? - Steve asked, pointing to the place. You and Pietro nodded. - There are only pawns inside. Don't hurt anyone, and go around the bars so as not to be seen. Now, masks please.

You and Pietro quickly put on their masks. Steve turned to Tony.

- The station is on the other side. - He said signaling. Tony shifted the weight of his feet, before shaking everyone's hand, saying goodbye. He waved last before walking the distance.

- What are the chances of him going straight to the police? - Pietro asked looking at the distance image of Tony.

- Don't worry about it. - Said Steve, he looked at Bucky fondly before pushing you and Pietro lightly by the shoulders, so that you were heading for the stables.

Stealing horses wasn't hard, you had done it many times before. So you just picked the one that looked healthiest, and you were glad he didn't knock you down. You and Pietro followed Steve out. He had to confront one of the ranchers, pointing his gun at the man, who backed away at the same second, before you left

Riding quickly to the corner where Wanda and Bucky were, you watched as Wanda helped Bucky onto Steve's horse. And then she climbed on with you, ignoring Pietro's teasing. The feeling of having her hugging your waist was good.

You didn't start riding more slowly until you were a good distance away from the Esmerald Ranch.

- Do you know where the camp is exactly? - Pietro asked Steve, while riding beside him.

- We will find it, relax. - replied Steve. - I have some idea of good places in this region, hidden enough.

You were trying not to smile so hard as you felt Wanda hugging you, and then your face flushed when you noticed Pietro's suggestive expression.

It took a few hours, but you finally reached the spot where Steve believed the camp was set up. He entered the forest ahead of you, followed by you.

- Hey, look who decided to show up! - shouted a voice, and you heard Steve laugh. You didn't recognize Thor until he walked towards you, no longer hidden by branches.

The reunion was quite exciting. Thor helped Bucky dismount, leading him to a cabin, while the other members ran up to you. Nat almost knocked you to the ground when she jumped up to hug you, making you laugh. You felt your chest lighten when you noticed that everyone was safe.

- Come, come, you must see the place. - Signaled Potts cheerfully. Nat held your arm as you walked together, and you looked back a moment, exchanging a smile with Wanda, who was walking along with Monica and Pietro.

The new camp was in an open area, which contained two tall trees. It was on the edge of a large lake, and you were happy to know that you could fish without leaving the camp. Potts signaled the location of everyone's tent, and then the group split up. Nat escorted you to your tent, which had been stowed. You made a mental note to thank Potts for this later.

Nat threw herself on your bed as soon as you came in, and you laughed as you took off your jacket. That region was very hot.

- So, dear, what's your news? - she asked, and you sat down in the chair at your makeshift little table, taking off your boots.

- Well, I hunted a bear with a revolver. - You joke, and Nat looks at you with confusion. You shrug. - Wanda and Pietro saved my ass actually. And then we had bear meat for days.

- Hmm, speaking of Wanda. - Nat started, sitting up in bed, and you just laughed, looking away. - I just mentioned her name and you were all smiles and giggles.

- Shut up. - You retorted, finishing taking off your boots. You got into a more comfortable position in the chair. Nat laughed at your embarrassment.

- Go on, tell me. - She asked. - I saw you exchanging passionate glances.

You sighed, laughing slightly. Scratching your head absently, you looked away before speaking again.

- Wanda kissed me. A few times.

- WHAT? - Nat shouted wide-eyed. You felt your cheeks heat up even more when you noticed some gang members looking at your tent with curiosity.

- God, can you keep your voice down? - You asked as you stood up and closed the tent, without first nodding awkwardly at the ones who looked at you.

- My God, what do you mean? - she asked excitedly, pulling you to sit beside her. - And it wasn't just one kiss, it was several? How long have you been hiding this?

You laughed, cradling your face in both hands, clumsily. Nat giggled, nudging you and making you look at her.

- The night before the robbery. - You told her. - I apologized for ignoring her and she kissed me outside the tent.

- And I missed this? - She shouted, and you signaled her to keep it down with a laugh. - That explains your little smile that morning. - You shrugged, smiling shyly. Nat assumed a mischievous expression. - But did you say several kisses? Girl, you're standing there grabbing Wanda in the middle of a robbery?

You laughed, pushing Nat lightly.

- Of course not, Nat, my goodness. - You denied it. - After we escaped, Steve found us a place to stay.

- If you say a brothel, I'll punch you in the face.

You laughed, and Nat smiled lightly. And then she waved her hands signaling for you to keep telling her.

- It was a cabin, somewhere near the Esmerald Ranch. - You explained. - Wanda kissed me again there.

You felt your cheeks heat up as you remembered how she had kissed you, and looked away quickly. Nat frowned, and then laughed, putting her hand over her mouth.

- My God, you want to sleep with her! - she exclaimed, and you widened your eyes. - Look at your face!

- There's no face at all. - you mumbled clumsily.

- Oh yes, you do. The face of someone who won't even wait for the wedding. My God, does Pietro know you're trying to deflower his sister?

- Oh my God, Nat. - You said closing your eyes, Nat just laughed at your shame.

- And here I thought you were an innocent girl. - She teases. - But tell me, are you two officially dating then?

You frown, looking at Nat, realizing that you didn't know the answer. You certainly wanted to, but you and Wanda hadn't talked about it.

- I will take your silence and your stupid face as "we haven't talked about it yet because our mouths were busy. - Nat joked with irony and you let out an embarrassed exclamation of shame, laughing ruefully. - My God, you two are a disaster.

- We just haven't had time to talk yet. - you said after a moment. - I think I'll invite you into town. We can do something fun.

- Look at you, planning dates and all. - Nat teased, and you rolled your eyes humorously.

- Can you tell me what happened here now? - you say, and Nat just shrugs.

- The usual I guess. We set up the camp and got busy with the daily chores. - She said and you nodded. But then Nat exclaimed as if she remembered something. - Sorry, you haven't seen them yet. Bruce and Carol have improved! I think Carol went to Rhodes, by the way.

- What? - You exclaimed excitedly. - This is amazing.

- Yes, and now that everyone is available for work, you'll have plenty of free time to date.

You laughed, telling her to shut up. Nat just smiled, looking away.

- Have you talked to Bruce yet? - you ask after a moment. Nat bites her lip, slightly embarrassed.

- We don't have much to talk about. - She says. - He still thinks we shouldn't happen.

You sigh, and hold Nat's hand, who gives you a sad smile.

- Banner is an idiot to let someone like you escape. - You say. - Maybe things will work out for you two over time. If not, I'll go over there and kick his ass myself.

Nat laughed, nodding. You fell into a comfortable silence, until Nat remembered that she had chores to keep up with, and hugged you before leaving the cabin, telling you to talk to Wanda soon. You nod, feeling your heart race with anticipation, and Nat leaves.

A new camp always generates a lot of new tasks, so you force yourself out of bed to help the rest of the gang. As soon as you leave your tent, Potts signals for you to go talk to her. She had some papers spread out on one of the camp's wooden tables, and seemed to be trying to organize everything you guys had.

- Everything okay there, Pepper? - you comment as soon as you reach her, who looks nervous. - By the way, thank you for organizing my tent.

- No worries, really. And yes, everything is fine. I'm just trying to keep this place running. - she says. And then she fiddles with the papers, reading for a few seconds, before handing one of them to you. - I need these items.

- Right. - You say as you pick up the list. And then you frown at the number of items.

- We don't have any money. - She tells you. You sigh, tucking the list in your jacket pocket. - Maybe you can rob a grocery store.

- No, it' s okay. I can do some robbing in some other town, and then buy the items. - You say, knowing that robbing stores was much more work than robbing travelers.

- Okay, thanks Y/N. - She says, but you don't leave yet, remembering something.

- Pepper, any chance that you have found Knight? - you ask. - He knocked me down during the shootout at Heartlands.

Potts assumes a mixed expression of confusion and sorrow.

- Damn it, Y/N, I'm sorry, I thought you saw him. - She says and you look at her with confusion. - Unfortunately, he did not survive.

- Oh. Oh, shit. Damn, that's really too bad. - You grumble, feeling immediately upset. You think crying over a horse would be childish, so you just nod, telling Potts that it's okay, and that you'll get the supplies. You walk toward the makeshift camp stables, where the horse you stole could serve as a mount. As you are fixing the saddle, you feel your face wet. And then you realize that you were crying. Wiping your face quickly with your forearm, you mount the horse in front of you. Trying to ignore the feeling that this really wasn't your horse.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #Land of Thieves #marvel imagines #wanda x reader #wandaxreader

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straymackerel · 5 years ago

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ahh for the event, can i have #14 with dazai pwease? hehe thank you🥺💕✨

dazai + firgun || פירגון (hebrew, v.) to truly rejoice at the success of another.

➽─{yesyesyes more soft zai moments !!! that is,, after a bit of a trial,, here’s to celebrating small successes.}─❥

warning(s): reader angst, suggestive of depression

Near the point of passing out, doing your absolute best to push through a sleepy stupor on a moonless night, your feet dragged along the pavement on your way home. The chill in the air seemed to bypass your clothes, managing to strike you at your very core, but you hardly noticed. Lethargy lived in your bones, took shelter in your muscles, after all.

Today hadn’t been a particularly eventful day at all: no, the workload was moderate at best. But as the hours wore on, the unbearable weight of menial, everyday tasks seemed to drive a wedge between you and your sanity. It wasn’t just about staying awake, either; your mind was in a fog, one you couldn’t quite pinpoint the exact inception of. Just when did you start feeling this way─start feeling like a walking, talking zombie? It could’ve been yesterday, or the day before that, or a week ago, or several. You tried not to think about it as you unlocked the front door of your boyfriend’s apartment, nearly falling to the ground when you took a single step inside.

He called your name cheerily on cue, all saccharine sweetness at your return home, and excessively so. In fact, his upbeat voice grated on your ears in all its sugary glory. You had little to respond with, half too tired to call back, half afraid of what might tumble out if you did. Yet your mind, in all its sluggishness, managed to wage war upon itself. It berated itself for its bitterness, its downright discourtesy towards such a benevolent boyfriend. It called you a million names and then some, cursing your ungratefulness. You should be running into his arms, thanking him for staying with someone as pathetic as you. Because that’s the way things ought to be when it comes to a hopeless mess like yourself. Isn’t that right?

And so as he rounded the corner, Dazai found you paralyzed in the hallway having barely made it indoors. One look at your face and he saw that you were deep in the pits of self-hatred, somewhere he’d spent much too long in himself. He rushed to your aid at once, brows furrowing as you collapsed straight into him. To you, it was like the very weight of the world went crashing into his shoulders.

“[Y/N],” he repeated, newfound concern in his voice, and that sharp twinge of guilt rose to your lips. “Are you okay?” He tested the waters only to find them all dried up.

“It’s nothing,” you said quickly, a hair above a whisper. “I’m fine, I just need to sleep it off.” Dazai’s hands dug into your sides when you tried to sidestep him, only to accomplish an ungraceful stumble over your own feet.

“Oh, love. Come, now.” Dazai rose a deft hand to cup your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his. “What exactly are you hiding from me?” He asked as though he didn’t already know, and you blinked out the tears that leapt to your eyes in surprise. You wanted to run, you wanted to hide. Heat rushed to your nose as one, two, three teardrops dripped down your face, and with them the prickling in your eyes subsided, though the pain in your heart did not.

“It’s just that─” Unable to control your voice, your words came out wobbly and hurried. A bandaged hand stroked your cheek as you drew a shaky breath, trying your best to piece a simple sentence together. “Things have been so, so…” He waited patiently as you tried to settle on a word that could encapsulate all of your struggles, but there was no such word.

“...Difficult.”

What you were unable to articulate with semantics, you expressed through your strain in tone. Not once did Dazai’s attention waver even when you paused to stabilize your breathing; you obviously had lots to say, and he was all ears. You leaned against him as the two of you began to walk down the hall, your mouth running on about how hard life had been as of late. You talked at length about the heaviness of it all, the pressures that bound you having converged upon you all at once. Every once in a while Dazai returned a nod or a small affirmation, but he mostly focused his efforts on just listening to you. With the exhaustion of grievances to spout off about came your arrival at the bedroom the two of you shared, its sudden appearance of much relief to you. You were set on the mattress with the utmost of delicacy, hardly bouncing back when laid down. He held you with care, as if you might break if lowered too fast.

“I’m sorry that I’m complaining so much,” you said sleepily, slumping back into your pillows. The aches that lingered within you were mostly physical, but shame is too insidious a seed.

Your boyfriend shook his head with immediacy. “No, don’t apologize. Things have been rough. I understand, and I’m here for you now.” A smile crossed his face as he tucked you in, blanket to your chin. “You’re so, so strong, and I’m so, so proud of you.”

You sniffled in response, using up the last of your strength to protest. “Proud?” you questioned, lips pursed. “Why?” You hadn’t the faintest idea of what he could be proud of.

“You woke up today,” he said matter-of-factly. “You got yourself up and out of bed, you put on clothes and walked out the front door. You do all of these things all the time, but that doesn’t make them any easier.” Dazai fixed a firm kiss to your forehead, eyes awash with light. If he could’ve seen himself, he would’ve sworn that that very light was you.

“You can pull through. I’ve seen you do it time and time again. No matter what happens, no matter how hard you fall, I believe in that,” he said, stopping only to pay you another kiss, this time to your lips. They loosened under his touch, having little choice but to accept him, but that was one thing you hadn’t the mind to complain about. You would remember that sorrowful night mostly by the warmth that spread across your lips and the words that followed soon after:

“I believe in you.”

source(s):

link i

link ii

If you’re in crisis, there are free and confidential options available to help you cope.

24/7 USA National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255.

Lifeline Web Chat: https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/chat/

USA/Canada Crisis Text Line: Text HOME to 741741. It is silent, it is private, you can use it anywhere discretely on your phone.

UK: Text 85258 || Ireland: Text 50808

List of international crisis lines:

http://www.suicide.org/international-suicide-hotlines.html

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines

#dazai x reader #bsd x reader #bsd oneshot #dazai oneshot #bsd #500 followers event

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brattyfics · 5 years ago

Note

Fluff 11 for Angel? 🙏🏾

Summary: “Go with me?” “As long as you take my hand.” Pairing: Angel Reyes x Reader Warnings: Pregnancy scare Word Count: 1K

You stood in front of the mirror in your bathroom, breathing in and out rapidly, desperately trying to ground yourself. Moments earlier you had taken a rapid-response pregnancy test and the results were positive. You were currently sleeping with one person which made your friend with benefits, Angel Reyes, the lucky father to be.

With one last deep breath in, you dialed his number, waiting with bated breath for him to answer. The ringing stopped. “Angel.” You pant into the cell phone receiver, sounding panicked even to yourself.

“What’s wrong, querida?” His smooth voice normally soothed you. Now it just made you want to cry.

“I need you to take me to the doctor’s office. I um, I can’t drive myself right now.”

“What’s wrong?” He sounded as panicked as you felt, dozens of worst-case scenarios running through his head, none of them correct. “Do you need an ambulance?”

His anxiety made you even more anxious, but you tried not to show it, wanting to be strong for both of you. “No. I just need you.”

“Okay.” He heard the desperation in your voice but knew you well enough to not make a huge deal out of it. Instead, he offered a small show of support with his words.

“I’ll be there, mi dulce.”

You barely managed to pull yourself together by the time Angel arrived. The sweater you wore was a poor choice because of the weather, but the big, thick fabric felt like a hug. You slipped on your shoes and locked up as you heard his bike approaching, meeting him halfway down the driveway with your car keys.

Most days you enjoyed a ride on the back of his bike, enjoying the way you could hold him close without feeling needy, but you were feeling nauseous and didn’t want to take any chances.

He looked like a kicked puppy when you sidestepped his embrace, getting into the passenger’s side of your car. You instantly felt bad for him and hoped he would understand. You couldn’t afford to break down in your driveway. Not with something so big looming over your head.

Angel’s wide-eyed and shifty the whole drive, eyes darting back and forth between you and the road worriedly. You know him. He won’t ask again because he’s trying to respect your wishes, but the curiosity is about to eat him alive. Despite how young he was at the time, he remembers times where his mother would be consumed with worry about something he couldn’t see, something he couldn’t help her with.

Halfway through the trip, you break, no longer able to deal with carrying the load alone. “I…” You start but have to swallow hard, bile rising in your throat. “I think…” You close your eyes and your lips pressed together. Finally, you squeak out, “I might be pregnant!”

Angel’s mouth opens, closes, and then does it all over again. His eyes are glued to yours until you sternly remind him to watch the road. Your own eyes are glued to his side profile, watching as he processes the information. His pout is pronounced, eyebrows bunched together the way they do when he’s thinking hard.

There’s a storm brewing inside Angel. There almost is. You were normally the cure, helping to relax him before he spiraled out of control. For the first time, you were the cause.

You being pregnant--possibly having his kid would change your relationship forever. The two of you had been friends since elementary school. You had friends with benefits on and off for years. The comfort of familiarity always brought you two back together in between relationships.

You hadn’t ever discussed the possibility of having a child together, an irresponsible choice considering the fact you slept together quite a bit. More than anything, you two were best friends at the core. You barely allowed yourself to fantasize about having a real relationship with Angel, let alone having a child with him! He wasn’t anywhere near ready to settle down and make a home.

You were pretty sure he didn’t want kids, even when he did finally settle down. You had heard him brush the future possibility off when talking to his brothers. It wouldn’t fit with his lifestyle-- the booze, partying, girls, and long stretches where he was gone in a whole other country. Other men in the M.C. were fathers, but Angel didn’t believe balancing was his strong suit.

There was also the childhood trauma he hadn’t worked through yet. The daddy issues and the inferiority complex that he would only be able to overcome with major work. You did your best to be a listening ear for him, but he clammed up every few days. Being a mother to his child wouldn’t be easy. It would take patience and a whole lot of sacrifice.

You spoke quietly to the receptionist as you requested a walk-in appointment. She let you know someone would be seeing you soon and sent you off with a form to fill out.

The results for the pregnancy test conducted by the doctor would take a few days to come in. You didn’t know how you would be able to function over the next few days while you waited.

As you filled out the form, you realized what came after the confirmation would probably be much worse. You would have to make hard decisions that could change the course of your life.

Angel’s warm, ringed hand came into your view, resting on your shaking thighs in an act of silent support. Your eyes meet his for the first time since you told him about the possible pregnancy. He didn’t look disgusted or pained by the idea as you expected. He looked resolved to accept whatever your fate was. You’d figure it out, together.

The nurse called your name, pulling your attention from Angel. You stand up, taking in a deep breath. Angel nods, silently urging you forward. You wrap your arms around yourself as you take two steps forward. Consumed with nervousness, you turn around to face him again.

“Go with me?”

“As long as you take my hand.”

♡

Taglist

@woahitslucyylu @briannab1234 @sheeshgivemeabreak @breakingnewsin-no-oneasked

#mayans mc #angel reyes #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes x black!reader

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kadavernagh · 5 years ago

Text

Avulsion Pt. 2 || Solo

TIMING: This morning, following Avulsion Pt. 1 LOCATION: The Common

Nudge.

Tap.

Push.

There was pressure against her back, against her wings, and they rustled in complaint. Regan stretched out, the pain of her tired muscles rousing her. Just a little.

“Abel, stop. We talked about this. Don’t touch the--” Wait. Abel? No. The horror of reality came rubberbanding back, and she was fully awake. She was five inches tall. And had just spent the night sleeping in the grass under a park bench. So who was-- Regan shot up, straining against the pain as her wings snapped tightly against her back. She stared up at an enormous hand, fingers crowding her, trying to nudge and poke at her again. They were dirty, with a sticky sheen to them, and Regan’s slow heart hammered frantically in her chest. Adrenaline surged. Her lungs filled. She scrambled backwards, further under the bench, and the hand tapped around in exploration, seeking her out. “Get back!” Regan yelled, because that had worked so effectively with the squirrel. “I scream impossibly loud!”

Hands. Hands were attached to people. Well, usually. She’d found plenty of hands that weren’t, over the years, but this one clearly was. Regan sidestepped the fingers and tried to peek out past the digits to see who they were attached to.

A child. Kneeling, with eyes as bright as new pennies as she got a better view of Regan. Her giant mouth widened, and Regan stared up at teeth that seemed as big as her head -- with a dark gap where a deciduous tooth had been recently lost. The child had a spatter of freckles across the bridge of her nose and both cheeks, and Regan could smell her shampoo. She aimed her bright saucer eyes at Regan and the smile didn’t leave her face as the hand reached back out to grab her. Regan jumped away again, crawling back under the bench where even tiny fingers couldn’t reach. “I told you to stay away,” Regan said, voice shaky to her own ears, “I’m not a bug. Or a doll. Or whatever you think I--”

The hand retreated. Regan watched the kneeling girl stand up and run over somewhere. Not far. She could still see the girl’s feet as she bounced on them in excitement.

“MOM!” The child shouted in a tone so loud that Regan thought she might have sustained hearing damage. “Mom, come look, there’s a fairy!”

Regan’s chest thumped again, and she pushed herself as close to the far leg of the bench as she could.

“Ashlee, there’s no such thing. Do you want your cookie?”

“No, mom, I wanna show you the fairy.”

“Here’s your cookie.”

That was close. Too close. She’d almost been grabbed by some child and--

The hand was back. Regan clung to the leg of the chair, trying to shrink into herself. If needed, she could make a run for it past the back of the bench, but she wasn’t convinced she could get very far, not right now. But instead of patting around for her, the hand -- there was something in the fingers. Regan gave it a hard look, and her nose answered the question: it was a small piece of cookie. “Fairy, where are you?” The shrill voice asked, as Regan caught those huge, shiny eyes peeking under the bench. They lit up when they landed on Regan, and the fingers pushed the cookie closer to her. She couldn’t help it; her stomach grumbled again, irritated at not being fed in… well, two days, she thought.

“My momma doesn’t believe in fairies, you know, but I dressed up as Tinkerbell for Halloween and I have TWO fairy shirts. One has glitter.”

Slowly, cautiously, Regan approached the hand. She reached out. Hesitated. She decided to make a grab for it, and used all of her might to break off a smaller piece of the cookie, devouring it greedily. Not exactly the nutrition her body probably needed right now, but it filled her stomach, made it stop chewing through itself.

“What’s your name, fairy? I’m Ashlee. With two e’s, ‘cause e is better than y. That’s what mom says.”

Regan moved back toward the leg of the bench, staying back. Not answering. Not moving. She bit back the instinct to respond, that same discomfort on her tongue that forced the truth out of her mouth. She was never good with children, or even adolescents and subadults, and now this one had taken a keen interest in her. And was massive.

“Do you talk, fairy? Most people can’t hear Tinkerbell ‘cause she’s so tiny, but Peter Pan understands her and they’re best best friends, like me and Maddy. Do you have a best friend? Do you wanna be friends?” Ashlee pushed another small bit of cookie closer to Regan, and her stomach lurched when she remembered just how grimy the child’s hands were. She had eaten out of them. But the thought of Nadia was worse. She was probably right there with Kaden, searching frantically. Regan wasn’t sure what she had done to earn Nadia’s friendship, but she was certainly the closest Regan had ever had to be a best friend. Queenie had always been a best… something else.

She sighed and looked up at Ashlee’s bright eyes. There was no way out of this without saying anything, was there? She didn’t suppose the girl’s mom would come hollering after her right now.

Regan stayed toward the back, but called out. “I’m not a fairy, first of all.” Bishop’s voice rang through her head. Crush that little girl’s dreams, why don’t you, Doc? Ashlee’s eyes grew wide.

“Your mother is right; fairies do not exist. I’m human, like you, and I’m a doctor. A doctor who is... unsure about a lot of things right now, and doesn’t know whether to question her education or her sanity. But I’ve sustained some injuries. Can you text someone for me?” She looked up, hopeful.

But Ashlee glanced around, like she was about to whisper a secret. “My mom says I can’t have a phone until I’m as old as Max, but that’s never gonna happen ‘cause he has a birthday every year too. She thinks I don’t know that ‘cause I’m six and a half.”

Regan pressed her hand to her forehead and groaned, both at the situation and the flare of pain as her palm made contact with the burn. Pressure filled her lungs, which caused a crest of pain, and the scream seemed to slink back, as if it knew Regan’s body couldn’t handle it right now. “Then can you-- I need help. Please. Can I talk to your mother?”

As if on cue, her mom’s voice shouted in an annoyed whiplash.

“Come on, Ashlee. Leave whatever bug is down there alone. Don’t make me say it again.”

“But mom, it’s a fairy! A real life fairy! A doctor fairy, like in--”

“Ashlee, we’re leaving.”

“Sorry. My mom says I gotta go.” Ashlee whispered to her, leaving the rest of her cookie under the bench, before abandoning the bench, too.

“Not a fairy,” Regan grumbled, even as she was alone again.

She stared at the cookie, covered in child-hand-grime and dirt. A six -- no, six and a half year old -- child just left her a cookie under a bench. Because she was five inches tall and mistaken for a fairy. Because impossible things upon impossible things kept happening.

I would be fascinated to hear your expert medical opinion on this, Bishop had said. Regan didn’t have one, not this time. Her medical opinions had failed her, her expertise had failed her, and somehow, like a shared secret, others in town seemed less disturbed and surprised by all of this. They always did. All of them. Kaden, Nadia, Bishop. Even her old boss, who’d ousted her from Augusta after likely being involved in an attempt on her life, all to stifle information, part of this big secret, this language she didn’t understand. Things were accepted without question, hand waved with supernatural non-explanations, and everyone thought she was the insane one for relying on facts and medical expertise.

But she was the one who was five inches tall, under a bench, torn up, with wings. Whether it was denial that got her here or her righteous, stubborn, but ultimately often correct nature, this was the result.

Desperation made you blind, she thought once more.

Maybe that was a good thing for her.

She was about to break off a piece -- at least a piece not contacting the ground -- when she heard a shout.

The word sent a shockwave through her tiny system.

“Poutine! Hot poutine! Get your Canadian snacks!”

Regan perked up, and her wings gave a small flutter. Kaden. He wasn’t selling poutine in the Common, of course (probably), but she imagined him scouring every inch of grass looking for her and getting in an argument with this Poutine Man. Maybe he was nearby. And maybe the poutine would draw his attention. He would be out searching. All night and day, he would be out. Probably with Bishop. And Blanche. And Nadia. They were all looking for her, and here she was, giving up.

She peered out from underneath the bench and saw cart wheels rolling down the path, heard the voice shouting from even closer. “Poutine! Come and get your poutine!”

It wasn’t some sign from the universe, and certainly not from some greater power, but she would take the reminder for what it was.

She steeled herself for the pulsing pain as she stretched out, wings spread as a test. Everything still throbbed, but the Poutine Man, of all the damn things in this horrible town, so prone to misery, tightened her focus. Or, at least made her not want to lie in the dirt waiting to die.

“Okay,” Regan said aloud, a hard edge of determination crystallizing in her voice, “Find Kaden. Or fly home. Whichever comes first. All without being eaten by a bird, chased by a squirrel, or mistaken for a toy.” Her feet left the ground as the wings whirred behind her; it hurt, but not as much as staying here. Find Kaden. Fly home. No more things will break. But first, the raccoon carcass.

#wickedswriting #solo

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justthehiddleswrites · 4 years ago

Text

The Reluctants | Chapter 8 | The Reluctant Trip

Pairing: Adam (OLLA) x OFC (Charlie Bock)

Summary: Charlie can’t believe her luck when she lands an apartment all to herself in Quincy, Massachusetts in a decaying triple decker. But life gets more complicated when someone moves into the basement. Specifically her landlord, Adam, who also happens to be a vampire. As life collapses around Charlie, these two forge an uneasy and unlikely relationship. But is their relationship as doomed as the building they live in?

Chapter: Adam and Charlie continue to explore their relationship and a new couch needs to be procured.

Warnings: Violence, Smut, Frottage, Dry Humping, Teasing, Coming In Pants, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex. Couch Sex. Kidnapping. Stalking. Non-Graphic Violence, Character Death

Charlie helped Adam carry the broken couch to the sidewalk.

“You don’t need to do that? I am a vampire, I am unnaturally strong.” He lifted the heavier end with ease.

“No, I helped contribute to its demise. It seems only right.” Charlie heaved the other side to her chest. The height difference not making matter any easier. “Which door?”

Adam lifted his chin to the front door and Charlie lifted onto her toes to walk backwards.

“Why in the fuck are you walking like that?” Adam scrunched up his nose.

“If you walk backwards on your toes, you don’t fall down.”

“And you learned this, where?”

“None of your business.” Charlie glanced behind her. “Watch the door.”

“I can see it just fine. Answer the question.”

“Aren’t you pushy all of a sudden?”

Adam smirked. “A nasty habit I picked up from my girlfriend.”

Charlie dropped the couch, narrowly missing her toes. “What?! What did you say? What… What….” she sputtered. Charlie fanned her face. “But we… we weren’t…”

Adam moved towards her, sidestepping the bits of wood and debris. His hands engulfing her face. He kissed both her cheeks. “I said we didn’t need labels, but I lied. However, I fear there is not a word to describe us. The imperfect word ‘girlfriend’ will have to do.”

Charlie nodded. “No, girlfriend works. Much preferred to lover.”

“That was my second choice.” Adam smiled. The first smile in days. “Now pick up this couch you destroyed by parading your magnificent tits around in those fucking sweaters.”

Adam moved back to his side and Charlie lifted back on her toes. They dumped the couch on the curb and hurried back inside as Charlie’s thin shirt did little to protect her from a November night in Quincy.

“You still didn’t answer the question.” Adam stated as he shut the door and rubbed her arms to get the blood flowing again.

“Hmm.” Charlie leaned in his chest. “What question?”

“How do you know to stand on your toes?”

“Marching band.” she blurted out before walking into the living room. Adam grabbed her wrist.

“You play an instrument and you didn’t tell me?” He narrowed his eyes at Charlie.

“I was in the Color Guard. I can’t carry a tune in a bucket.” Charlie smiled and walked away.

“Right.” Adam followed her. He found Charlie staring at a pile of stuff where the couch once stood.

“Is that my favorite t-shirt?” Charlie pointed to a ball of jersey covered in dust and bits of paper.

“Yes.”

“How did it end up underneath the couch?” Adam stood still. “You shoved it under there, didn’t you?”

Adam’s lips pulled tight, and he nodded.

“You are going to need to get a new couch.”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to take my couch?” Charlie offered, the two of them still staring at the mess.

“No.”

“Why not?” Charlie twisted to look at him. “Is there a problem with it?”

“Yes. It is ugly and uncomfortable.”

“Tell me how you really feel.”

Adam turned to face Charlie, his lips twitching. “It’s ugly and uncomfortable. Besides, There’s a couch in storage. We can rent a truck tomorrow to fetch it.”

“What is this ‘we’ business?”

Adam scooted over to wrap his arms around Charlie’s waist, pull her back against his chest. “You help break it, you help replace it, love.” His nose nudged Charlie’s curls and behind her ear. Charlie giggled.

“So what happens if we break the bed?” Charlie turned in his arms to face him.

Adam nipped Charlie’s bottom lip. “Then I fuck you against the wall.”

“Challenge accepted.” Charlie took off running towards the bedroom.

Charlie woke the next morning in a tangle of sheets. Adam’s side of the bed was cold and empty. She tugged on the black dressing gown and padded down the hallway to the other bedroom.

“How did you realize I was here?” Adam questioned when she pushed open the door to find Adam sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Process of elimination. There’s no couch remember?”

“Right.” His voice melancholy. Charlie sat down beside him and took his hand, lacing her fingers with his. She placed her other hand on top.

“You miss Eve? Feel guilty?” Adam glanced away. Charlie grabbed his chin. “It would seem the both of us brought some baggage to this relationship. I want to learn about her, Adam. She is a part of you. Will you tell me?”

Adam bit his lip and nodded. “Yes.” He tilted his body to lean against her. “But not now.”

“That’s fine. I can just sit here with you for a bit.”

“Thank you, Charlie.” He kissed her temple. She lifted his hand to her lips.

“You’re welcome.” And they sat in silence until Adam got up and so did Charlie, closing the door.

“I am working today.” Charlie rumpled her hair. “I am heading upstairs to get ready.”

“I can pick you up when shop closes and we can go pick up the couch?”

“You leave the house?” Charlie raised her eyebrows, mocking Adam.

He rewarded her with a classic Adam eye roll. “Yes, I do when the need arises.”

“I mean you realize you will need to put on actual clothes? It is generally frowned upon to go out in public in pajamas?” Charlie could barely contain her laughter.

“Go, before I change my mind.”

“You mean I could get out of moving furniture. Excellent.” Charlie doubled over in laughter. Adam swatted her ass.

“Keep it up.”

“Why, darling, I didn’t realize we had that kind of of relationship.” Adam glared. “I’m going! I get off at 6. Or sooner, if you follow me upstairs.” Charlie wiggled her eyebrows.

“Your sofa can’t handle me.”

“Fine.” She rose up on her toes and kissed him. “Try to get some sleep because I want to test out this new sofa tonight.”

“I am planning on it.” Adam wrapped his arms around her.

“Have I told you about the pigeons, Charlie?” Mr. Simmons asked as he handed her a stack of newly acquired records to price and sort.

“Not today, Mr. Simmons.” Charlie sighed. It was a quarter to six, and she glanced out the window in hopes Adam would appear early.

“Well, you recognize the government is spying on us?”

“Hmmm.” Charlie nodded, not looking up. If she acted disinterested enough, sometimes Mr. Simmons lost his train of thought.

“Never trust a zombie. Particularly a politician zombie.”

“Adam!” Charlie squealed, leaning over the glass display cases.

“Mr. Streiff.” Mr. Simmons straightened his glasses. “I wasn’t expecting you. I don’t have a delivery for you.”

Adam strolled to the two of them, not bothering to remove his glasses. “It’s all right, Simmons. I am here for your lovely clerk.” He smiled at Charlie.

“You know him?” Mr. Simmons hooked his thumb at Adam.

“Yeah, he is my…” Charlie could sense Adam glared through the sunglasses. “… landlord! And he offered to give me a ride to the storage unit to pick up some furniture.”

“That explains the truck.” Simmons commented. “No way to fit furniture in that Jaguar of yours.”

Charlie stared Adam down.

“I understand it is early, Simmons, but do you mind if I steal her away?”

“Of course! Anything for my best customer.”

“Thank you, Simmons.”

Charlie hopped from behind the counter to stand next to Adam. She resisted the urge to grab his hand.

“I promise to get those records cataloged tomorrow.”

Mr. Simmons waved her off. “Go. The work will wait.”

Adam held the door open for you and opening the door to the beat up truck he borrowed from god knows where.

“A Jaguar?”

“Not a word.” Adam turned on the truck and shifted into drive. He flicked the radio on, not realizing it was set to a Top 40s station.

Slow, slow hands Like sweat dripping down our dirty laundry No, no chance That I’m leaving here without you on me I, I know Yeah, I already know that there ain’t no stoppin’ Your plans and those

“Turn that shit off. That song is awful.” He spun the dial until he found a blues station.

“I don’t know. It’s seems catchy. But I always get stuck it in my head.”

“My point exactly.”

“Why are you wearing sunglasses, Corey Hart?”

Adam grunted. “My eyes.”

“Yes you have eyes.”

“They give my true nature away. Make people uncomfortable.”

Charlie squirmed. “I hadn’t notice.”

Adam leaned over to kiss the side of her head. “That is because you are extraordinary.”

Inside, Charlie bristled at the compliment. “And the gloves? I have never those before either.”

Adam looked away. “When you turn, it heightens certain senses. The gloves block out some of that.”

“Oh…” Her lips pursed. “Sorry. For any discomf—”

“Stop it!” Adam didn’t yell, but his words pointed. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” Charlie blinked.

“Apologize. For everything. For existing. Like your some kind of burden. You are not a burden, Charlie. You need not earn your place in my life.”

“I’m s—” Adam grabbed her hand and squeezed it tight, stopping her words. “My parents, my family, have made it abundantly clear since I was very young that I wasn’t wanted. And I have spent my lifetime doing everything in my power to earn my place at the table. I’m not used to compliments. I’m not used to being cared for.” Charlie sniffled.

“You weren’t fucking joking about the baggage, darling.” He squeezed her hand again.

“You can imagine my romantic life has been a disaster. Until… you.”

Adam smiled. “Fortunately for you, I have been pretty lucky in love. I’ve got you. I’m not letting go. I will be there every step.”

“Thank you.”

“And I will fucking kill your family.”

They both laughed, but Charlie wondered how serious Adam was. She didn’t have time to ask as they pulled up to Extra Space Storage.

“I still can’t understand why you own a storage unit. What is in the other apartments? Is it wall to wall instruments? Stacks of lesbian porn DVDs? Machinery ready to fall through the floor and crash upon my head, killing me?”

“Yes.” Adam grunted, parking the car.

“Can I organize it? I’m superb at alphabetizing. Ask Simmons.”

“Don’t you dare go into those apartments. Now come and help me.”

Charlie hustled to catch up with Adam’s long stride. They continued into the building and down a hallway. Adam fished out a key, stopping in front of a large metal rolling door.

“Stand back.” He extended his arm in front of Charlie. “I have no idea what is coming out of here.”

Charlie tucked herself behind Adam, gripping his leather jacket. He opened the lock and yanked the door up. A box of faded paperbacks tumbled out. Charlie spied the title of one. Cheerleaders in Chains.

“I assumed you were kidding about the lesbian porn.”

“I wasn’t. But that is another story entirely.”

“Can I alphabetize it?”

Adam dropped the stack of books in his hand. “What is your obsession with alphabetizing?”

“I like order. It gives me control of some part of my life.”

“Perhaps another time.” He stepped over a few more boxes. “We are here for this!”

Adam pulled back a holey sheet to reveal a dark green couch with a high back and ornately carved legs. Charlie took a running leap to flop on the couch. She stretched the full length.

“I don’t think there is enough room on here for you.”

“Then we will have share the space.”

Adam propped himself up on his hands, caging her against the cushions. He growled as he kissed Charlie, pressing her into the couch. Charlie pulled him deeper in an embrace, moaning against him. Adam raked his hands along the curves of Charlie’s body.

“It will be light soon. We should get going.” Charlie pushed Adam off her by the chest.

“How dare you be practical?” He pulled her up along with him. His fangs dragging along her neck.

“Someone has to be. Now get up and use those muscles to help me lift this.” Charlie smacked his thigh.

Adam rolled his eyes but got up and went to the opposite end where Charlie now stood. The couch was heavier than the last one. Charlie huffed and puffed all the way to the truck. Adam didn’t even break a sweat. Not that vampires sweat.

The drive back to the house was Adam talking about some of the music on the radio and Charlie nodding along.

“Can’t we leave it to tomorrow?” Charlie grumbled as Adam pulled up to the curb.

“No. Someone might steal it.”

Charlie pouted, slamming the door. “Fine.”

He smiled at her. “That’s the spirit.”

Adam jumped from standing into the truck bed.

“Impressive. Do you also have a killer jump shot?”

“Do you want to insult me or get this inside?”

She lowered the gate and helped him scoot it out. About ten minutes later, they lowered the massive piece of furniture on top of the mess Adam wouldn’t let her clean up.

“No one will see it.” Adam grumbled.

“But I will know it’s there.”

“Just forget about it.”

“I can’t.” Charlie twisted her fingers around, eye twitching.

“Let me take your mind off of it.” Adam dragged her to the bedroom.

“I hoped we were going to test out the couch.”

“Another time. I need more space.”

“For what?” Charlie’s brows knitted in worry.

“To show my appreciation.”

Adam pulled her shirt off over her head. With nimble fingers, he unhooked her bra. Her breasts fell softly. Adam planted sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone. Charlie shivered as his mouth traveled down to the tops of her breasts. His fangs nipping and marking the skin.

“Oh…” she sighed, arching her back.

Adam gripped her hips. He sucked hard on her nipple. The mix of pain and pleasure went straight to Charlie’s core. She moved to Adam’s jeans. He swatted her hand away.

“No.”

“But, I want to…” Charlie moved again to undo his pants.

Adam threw Charlie onto the bed. He pinned her hands above her head.

“Let me do this. Let it be about you. Can you do that for me?” Charlie nodded but struggled against his hold. “I’m not letting go.”

He pressed his hips into her, pinning her against the mattress. His lips trailed along her torso, leaving wet marks on the soft flesh of her stomach. Charlie wiggled in discomfort as Adam’s lips ghosted along her faded stretch marks.

“Please don’t…”

His nails dug into her wrists and he grunted, crushing his lips against Charlie’s, swallowing her excuses and apologies.

“What did I say about denigrating yourself?”

“You said don’t do it.” Charlie bit her lip, Adam’s stare making her uncomfortable. “But I was going to say—”

CRACK! Charlie yelped as Adam’s hand came down hard on the side of her thigh. Even through her jeans, it stung.

“Next time it shall be your behind. Can I continue?”

“Yes.”

Adam shifted his grip on her wrists, freeing one hand. He undid her pants with one hand after a struggle.

“I will let go of your wrists. You need to behave yourself, darling.”

“I will.”

“Good girl.”

He balanced on his knees and Charlie lifted her hips. Adam peeled her jeans and underwear off, dropping them to the ground. He kissed her ankle before moving along the inside of her leg. He bit along the inside of Charlie’s thigh.

“Please Adam.” she begged.

He ignored her pleas and repeated his ministrations on her other leg. Charlie squirmed and moaned when his nose nudged along her folds.

“Hmm.” Adam hummed. He licked Charlie’s folds, collecting her sweet arousal along his tongue. Adam commented to himself that he imagine never growing tired of the taste of Charlie. All of her tasted as Adam imagined nectar tasted.

Adam sucked Charlie’s bundle of nerves and she fisted his hair, pulling his head into her. His chuckle against her, sending more jolts of pleasure throughout Charlie’s body. He slipped a finger inside her. Her pussy clenching tight around him. With long and languid strokes, Adam continued to finger Charlie while using his mouth to bring her closer to orgasm.

“Adam! I’m…” Charlie’s words falling away when she came. She gushed upon Adam’s face who did not stop licking nor did he remove his finger, curling and curving inside Charlie.

He finally removed himself from her core. With a jerking motion, he tugged his pants down just enough to release his cock. The tip angry and weeping. He hissed, teasing her with the tip before pushing inside of her. Adam’s head fell back once he fully seated inside of her. With a roll of the hips, he thrusted in and out of Charlie.

Adam took his time, pulling her leg to his shoulder, caressing the skin, kissing the bone, biting at the thing skin. Charlie covered her face at the pleasure. It was too much, and she came again, sobbing.

“I’m close, sweetheart. Do you have one more in you?” Adam pleaded, putting her leg down. His torso against hers. His breath even while Charlie panted. She managed a weak nod from underneath her hands.

“Show me your face.” Adam peeled away her fingers, his lips soft against her wet cheeks. “I want to see you in all your glory when I come inside you. When gush upon my cock.” His words purred against Charlie’s ear.

She whimpered as Adam thrusted into her. His pubic bone grazing along her already sensitive pearl. She fluttered around him.

“That’s it, darling. Come on me. I’m close.” Adam’s body tightened, and he grunted softly, spilling inside of her.

He fell to the side of Charlie and pulled her tight, enveloping her with his legs and arms. His chest hair tickled along her nose, but she didn’t move. Charlie inhaled the scent of sandalwood and sex and exhaled in relief.

“I’m not letting go, my love.” Adam whispered, smoothing out her curls, only to have them bounce back against his chin.

Charlie’s breath was long and even. A soft metronome against Adam’s chest. His own eyes heavy as the sun threatened its ascent. A slight twinge of guilt plucked at his heart. He attempted to shove it aside but burbled up, destroying his peace and contentment for a while. He resolved him to not wallow in it any longer.

“I’m falling in love with her, baby.” He called out to Eve.

#adam #adam fanfic #adam angst #adam fanfiction #adam fluff #adam smut #only lovers left alive #only lovers left alive fanfiction #adam x ofc #the reluctants

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newsies-geek · 5 years ago

Text

Newsies in Quarantine (Javid) Part 1

Idea from @dragonsrrad !!

***

Davey hadn’t exactly been sure how he felt about Jack the first day he met him. One could call many different events having been their “first-time-meeting”.

When Jack had run into him while being chased by the Delancys.

When Davey first stepped foot into the world that was being a Newsie, receiving all sorts of gawky stares from boys who were all dressed in outfits that weren’t as pressed or clean as his.

Or, perhaps, when Jack had bought Davey extra papers, and for the first time, Davey decided to deliberately make eye-contact with the other boy.

Davey recalled every occurrence, but he considered the last one to be the first time he truly met Jack, the first time he really noticed him. He was almost caught off guard, unsure if he should reject or accept the stranger’s kindness, or if he should take it as kindness at all to begin with. His father had taught him to be kind to others, but to also have pride’s in one’s self, resulting in an awkward denial of the papers, that his younger brother had quickly thwarted when becoming sales partners with Jack.

Davey wasn’t sure how he should feel about the wanna-be-cowboy, but he sure knew how he did feel.

Skeptical, seemed to be the most obvious first answer, but keen was a one that rooted deeper within him.

There was something about the way the other boy delivered the way his words, his movements, his smiles, that would sometimes be pointed at Davey in particular.

And by the end of the day, Davey knew he was fond of Jack, of the way he could get out of trouble while still looking out for those around him, his lack of manners that he tried to desperately to make up for in quiet apologies, apologies that weren’t made up in the word sorry, but in more looks and smiles that could take a moment, or a century, to decode.

Davey was certain he could gladly look at Jack’s face for a century if it meant knowing how the other felt all the time.

Jack was expressive but not verbally, any verbal expression he had were words that he had picked up from others, usually from David. But through art, there was no telling what Jack could and would say. His art was so influential and raw that Davey couldn’t help but admire it, which is exactly what he was doing now.

Around half of the Newsies were currently inside Medda’s theatre, having not been able to make it from the last show they’d been watching to the lodging house before the county went on an affective lock-down.

Sickness had been ravishing the town for weeks, but matters to contain it had only been discussed until now.

Davey had begun to momentarily freak out when he heard the news about how they would be forcefully kept within the theatre.

Policemen on horses trotted around tirelessly outside, and David knew his parents would be more upset if he and Les tried to make it home illegally than if they just stayed out. Regardless, this hadn’t help Davey to stay calm much.

The other newsies hadn’t been so affected, Jack hadn’t been there when the announcement was made, too busy back stage painting to be bothered all that much, while the others simply took the news with slight dismay to the fact that they wouldn’t be making money selling papes, which was quickly silenced by Medda’s offer to feed and house the boys seeing as they couldn’t leave.

She’d sent a few of them up into the rafters to look for anything that could he used as a bed, seeing as how she wasn’t going to make them sleep on the floor. They’d sleep on the stage instead.

Davey had begun to hyperventilate at the news that they would be required to stay here. Sarah was at home with his mother and father no doubt, meaning that they were all most likely safe. That helped him a bit. He’d seen Les no more than a second ago before he had excitedly scrambled off with the other newsies, chanting about a sleepover. It helped Davey to know his kid brother wasn’t as phased by this as he was. But even with all of this combined, thw curly-haired boy couldn’t help but focus on the beat of his heart, quick and anxious, thundering from his chest to his toes.

He wasn’t going to see his parents for...how long had Medda said? Two weeks they were to shelter-in-place?

This reminder only made Davey feel sicker as he stumbled to the edge of the stage, leaning all his weight on it to relieve some stress from his body. His parents wouldn’t receive the money he’d made today- nor any of the money he would have made this week.

Would they have enough food?

Could they afford the bills?

What about the water bills? They could last longe without food than without water-

Would they be allowed to leave to get water if they needed it desperately?

Probably- but what if they had to prove it and someone had to come inside and then that person gave the virus to his family and they couldn’t afford the medicine because Davey himself was here with all the money. It would be his fault, no doubt. Even if the back of his mind told him that it was the Virus and not him, it was the front of his mind that Davey was listening to.

He’d have to be stuck with boys who looked like they hadn’t showered in- well, ever. Davey knee they did, despite getting just as much dirt on them, if not more, than they had when they started the day. While their hygiene was questionable, Davey at least knew that it existed, having walked into the lodging house to more than a few boys taking bathes in ice cold water once or twice. The sight had appalled him, but they didn’t seem to bothered, living with tons of other boys around them, they were used to the lack of personal space.

A realization seemed to drop into the pit of Davey’s stomach.

He wouldn’t have personal space now, would he?

Davey clutched at his arms and held them tight to his chest. Don’t presume wrong, Davey was all for physical affection, but it varied. Only with particular people. Les was basically attached to his knees when he got bored and Sarah never stopped fixing his hair. But Davey wasn’t very used to physical contact outside of his family. Well, them and Jack.

Jack was a wonder to Davey in the way that he couldn’t wrap his head around the boy. The dirty-blonde haired boy had practically forced himself into Davey’s life, by word and by action. Constantly, Jack’s arm would find a way over Davey’s shoulder while they were selling. Later in the evenings when only the desperate and the youth were out on the town, Jack would place an arm around Davey’s hips.

The curly-haired brunette wasn’t quite sure what to think about it, all he knew is that Jack’s hand felt different than any hand he had touched before.

Not just in physical texture, rough with calluses from endless work since he’d been old enough to, but also in the feeling of it on Davey’s shoulders, hips, or even his own hand on the occasion that Jack might clasp it, throwing their held hands together in the air as a sign of victory. It was warm, not just Jack’s hand, but the area that it touched. Warm and pleasant, careful and intentional, almost wary of how Davey would react to its placement.

And this thought, is what finally seemed to calm Davey’s mind.

He wasn’t sure where his friend had run off too, and that suddenly seemed to become the most important thing to him at the moment.

Looking around the near empty theatre, other than a sleeping Romeo who leaned against an also sleeping Specs, the boys’ faces having gentle, content smiles, probably from the fact that they could finally relax, what with knowing they’d be well taken care of without having to go outside to work.

It made Davey smile slightly from where he stood. Ah, to find bliss in not having to worry- wish I could relate.

Davey felt as though he always had someone to look after, or to look for- and that person, at the moment, was one Jack Kelly. And he had a good idea of where the boy was. Turning on his heel, and nearly running into the side of the stage before aiming for the stairs that led up to it on either side, Davey made his way to the wings, sidestepping down along the solid concrete wall that made up the back of the stage, using it to guide himself to the backstage door as all the lights were currently off in the wings, due to all present people being up in the props room and rafters.

Davey turned the doorknob and was greeted by pleasantly warm light as he entered the large room behind the stage, it being almost completely silent, what with the walls being made out of concrete, disturbed only by the occasional swish of a brush and slosh of water.

Davey turned his head to the left of the room, looking down from the wooden-plank floors and along it until his eyes glanced up at Jack, who was currently sitting in the ground in a white undershirt and paint-stained black pants, looking a bit big on him, unlike the undershirt, which cling to his body, showing the curve of his spine that looked as though it might be in pain from how long it had spent in that position as Jack focused in on the half-painted canvas before him, squinting with his tongue slightly blepped out.

Drawn to his face, Davey took notice of his red bandana hung over his left shoulder, covered in paint much like his face and arms.

Davey was able to get a few more moments of...studying.. before Jack seemed to register him and look up, presuming a sheepish smile as he tried and failed to hide his work, unable to from the size of the canvas, considering he was painting a backdrop, and the fact that the paint was wet, meaning his quick attempt to try and cover it with his body, failed when he realized a moment before he nearly touched it, that the paint was wet. He now sat up and stretched with an expression that gave away the fact that yes, he had been in that position for quite some time.

“Heya there, Dave.” Jack grinned as he swung his torso to the left and then to the right, popping it as he did so.

“Is that Santa Fe?” Davey approached the other slowly, bending down beside him and squinting at the warm-colored canvas that looked like mountains of clay had been painted onto it.

“Good eye you got there, Davey- I’m not sure.” The taller boy cocked his head and seemed to examine the painting for himself before nodding, “I think it is. I wasn’t really paying no attention to what it was that I was paintin’, just that it’s felt right.”

“Mm, I’m not surprised.” Davey sighed in amusement with a nod.

“So glad I’m typical.” Jack snorted as he got to his feet and stretched some more.

Davey felt his cheeks heat up as he looked over Jack’s torso. The boy was in incredible shape, from years of hauling newspapers around from every corner of town. God, Davey hoped the other didn’t lose that perfection during their two weeks inside.

“Somethin’ on me shirt?” Jack cocked an eyebrow at Davey, who hadn’t noticed that Jack was now looking at him.

This made the light haired boy blush more and shake his head, “No- no, just thinking.”

“Aw, ‘bout me?” Jack cooed teasingly as he took a few steps forward to stand before Davey with a cocky grin.

When am I not? Well, maybe when he was worrying- but that was quite often as well so maybe then too-

Davey would have had to have been an idiot to not realize his feelings for Jack were more than platonic, but he’d have to be an even bigger idiot to ever voice that, “Just thinking about the time inside is all.”

“Time inside? What’s that supposed to mean?” Jack chuckled as he sidestepped a few inches to lean against the side of the cement wall that faced the backstage room.

Davey lifted his eyebrows in surprise as he strode over to lean against a patch of wall a few feet up from Jack, “Didn’t you hear about the lockdown?”

“What lockdown?” Jack frowned.

“We’re stuck in here for two weeks so the virus can be contained.” Davey frowned at the thought of it.

“You’re kidding!” Jack sat up straighter with lifted eyebrows.

“Wish I was.” Davey scratched at his arm anxiously.

“But what about the boys back at the lodge?” Jack fretted.

“They’ll be fine there I’m sure.” Davey reassured.

“And your family?” The so-called dime-novel-cowboy crossed his arms over his chest in concern.

“A-At home.” Davey’s scratching on his arm got faster and with more force.

“Sarah’s with them?” Jack asked quietly.

Davey’s nails dug into his arm at the comment, “Yeah.” He responded quietly.

Jack and Sarah had gone their separate ways nearly a season ago, but their friendship had lingered, much to Davey’s selfish dislike. He didn’t favor the fact that Sarah constantly talked about Jack as though they were still together.

And even though Davey knew almost certainly that they weren’t, he wasn’t exactly in control of his jealousy.

“That’s good.” Jack nodded in subtle relief.

Davey knew it wasn’t fair to Jack nor his sister that he was jealous. They were both simply living out their lives with their own story, and Davey was doing so as well. He just couldn’t help but think that his story would be a lot better with Jack by his side in a more than friendly manor.

Davey’s arm was getting redder as he scratched it harder, growing more nervous.

“So we can’t leave here at all?” Jack snapped Davey out of his thoughts.

The shorter boy shook his head, “No. Law enforcement is patrolling the whole city. You can only leave for necessities. His arm was bright red now and-

“Stop doing that.” Jack made eye-contact with Davey.

Davey’s nervous antics slowed for a moment as he looked at Jack, “Do what?”

“That-“ Jack reached forward and put his hand on top of the hand that scratched at Davey’s arm, pulling it into his own while he looked over the blue-eyed boy’s arm, “Geez, Dave. You’s gotta’ find a betta outlet than that for yours nervous energy.”

Davey shrugged as his mind eased, feeling Jack’s hand on his own, “Maybe.”

“Here, how about yous try painting a bit.” The boy led Davey over to the canvas, picking up a paintbrush from his cup of paint water and flicking it to the side to dry it before handing it to Davey, “Draw somethin’.”

“It would ruin the painting though.” Davey reasoned with a frown.

“Art is art.” Jack shrugged, “It’ll be nice to have a little bit of Dave on it.”

Davey smiled at his friend’s words. Jack always seemed to know exactly what to say to him. But he wasn’t sure how affective him painting would be, “I just- any color?”

“Well-“ Jack began before shaking his head, “Any color.”

Dave thought about it for a moment and reached for the paints.

***

Part 2: https://pawsu-productions.tumblr.com/post/615272010026827776/newsies-in-quarantine-javid-part-2

#javid #newsies #davey #gays #jacobs #1992 #1992newsies #jack #javey #davey jacobs #jack kelly #1992 newsies #fanfic #fanfiction #quarantine

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spring-emerald · 5 years ago

Text

monogram (4/4)

Part 1 2 3

Pairing: Ushijima Wakatoshi / Moniwa Kaname

---

Moniwa grunts softly, squinting at the brightness hitting his eyes and rolls around the bed, wanting to sink further into the soft mattress and continue sleeping. His bed never felt this soft and he doesn’t want to part with it yet. He wraps the comforter around him and inhales the clean scent of it, missing the flowery smell of the fabric softener the laundry place he usually frequents use. He absentmindedly rubs a hand across his face to swipe at the itch he felt there and belatedly notice the lack of roughness of his glove.

He wants to let the thoughts about the whereabouts of his gloves go, but he can’t recall where he’d put it last night. He doesn’t even remember taking them off in the first place. And that lack of memory and certainty cause him to finally wake up fully and sit up on a bed that, now that he’s conscious, clearly doesn’t belong to him and looks around the room that is definitely not the one he has in his apartment.

Whose place is this, anyway? He tries to think back to yesterday’s events and finally bits and pieces come back, like how Ushijima had waited for him again, how he’d agreed to drinking last night with him… his eyes widen in horror.

The rush of panic jolts him out of the bed, and he sways as soon as he stands, almost losing his balance due to the sudden rush, but there are more important things because he can’t see his gloves anywhere. He’d been too dependent on it for the past few years, considers it his prized possession and a thing he doesn’t leave the house without. The panic of being parted from it in such an unfamiliar place makes him hits him. He brings his clutched hands in front of his chest, keeping it close in fear that someone might see, that someone had seen the letters on his palm, even though he’s obviously alone.

Which brings about another round of panicking because oh god, had Ushijima seen his hands? What if he’d seen and realized that Moniwa’s lied to him about the burn scars? Realized what Moniwa’s keeping from him? He’d been unusually curious about it. Which makes him think. Was he even the one who took off his gloves in the first place, or was it Ushijima who did, to abate his curiosity?

Moniwa crouches down, ignoring the blood rush and faint feeling at the sudden movement, willing himself to breathe, to calm down and not make his situation even messier. He clearly had been stupid to let his guard down, but he will berate himself about that later. Now, now he needs to find his gloves so he can leave immediately.

He doesn’t notice the door open, and he nearly jumps off his skin despite the soft, low voice who called his name.

“Are you alright?” Ushijima asks in concern.

“Please don’t come in.” Moniwa exclaims without looking at him. “Where are my gloves?” He clutches his hands in his chest, keeping it away from Ushijima’s sight. He’s breathing heavily, his heart is pounding like crazy and he’s feeling really faint. He’s a thread away from completely freaking out, and only getting his gloves back keeping him focused.

“Moniwa-”

“Where are my gloves?!”

Ushijima startles at the tone. “Inside the drawer,” he answers quickly. “Do you need-”

“I’m fine. Just… can you lea- can I be alone, please?”

It takes a few moments, but Moniwa hears the door close and as soon as it does, he dives at the drawer and snatched his gloves and hastily puts in on, scratching himself at the process. He stays there, backed in the corner by the bed and drawer and takes in deep breaths, willing himself to calm down enough for him to have the energy and capacity to leave.

He doesn’t want to go outside and see Ushijima, he’s not ready, but he has to if he wants to leave. Finally, he musters enough courage to stand and be done with it. If he doesn’t come out soon, Ushijima might just try to come in again, and he doesn’t really want that. He can’t.

He slowly opens the door and sighs with a small relief that Ushijima’s not waiting outside. He does find him pacing in the living room, and he stops when he sees Moniwa.

“I’m sorry about that.” Moniwa says in haste, avoiding Ushijima’s eyes. “Thanks for last night. I- I’ll leave now.” He rushes to the door but Ushijima’s in front of him in two strides, blocking his exit, and he almost whines because he’d been so close.

“I… Please… I made breakfast. At least eat.” Ushijima sounds so unsure, far cry from how he usually is.

Moniwa shakes his head, pointedly looking at the floor. “N-No. No need. I need to go,” he sidesteps, but finds himself blocked again, and this time, Ushijima’s stepped closer, his socked feet now almost directly in Moniwa’s line of vision.

He also sees a hand coming up to his face, but Ushijima must have seen him flinch because the long fingers curled on themselves before it can reach him.

However, the soft, pleading “Please, Moniwa. Please look at me,” does.

Maybe one day, Moniwa’s going to be immune to the way Ushijima is soft for him, but today is not that day.

Even though he knows he will regret it, he lifts his head and looks into Ushijima’s deep, olive eyes.

Suddenly, the overwhelming stress and panic brought by the day, the resentment he tries not to feel; the weight of the secret he’s been keeping; the affection he still has and cannot hide… culminates as unbidden tears that fall from his eyes.

---

Ushijima looks at Moniwa with wide eyes, rattled at the sudden outburst of emotion from him, wanting to wipe his tears, wanting to hug and comfort him. He does neither but takes Moniwa to the couch and makes him sit, while he hastily fetches a glass of water.

Moniwa is still sobbing when he comes back, and he hesitantly sits beside him and carefully smoothed a hand on Moniwa’s shaking back. His sobs dwindle down into sniffles, eventually, and he’s deemed it safe to offer the water, which Moniwa took.

“I’m sorry you had to see that” he says thickly.

Ushijima shakes his head, an unspoken ‘it’s alright’. It’s kind of painful to see Moniwa like this, especially after the years they haven’t had any contact. But just because that’s the case, he still wants to be someone Moniwa can feel safe to confide to. He tells him that as much.

All fight from Moniwa is gone, replaced with something akin to resigned acceptance. Perhaps it’s time to stop running away, and time to confront what has caused them to be in this predicament so they can both move on, in whichever direction this conversation will take them.

“I lied to you,” he starts. “About my hands. And my soulmate marks.”

Since it’s easier to show Ushijima than tell him, he peels his gloves off and while there is still hesitation, still the ingrained habit of keeping it hidden, he forces himself to bare it all and finally, finally reveals his palms to the very same person he said he’ll never show it to.

The soothing hand on his back stops and Ushijima inhales and stiffens beside him.

“My initials,” he whispers.

“It could be anyone,” Moniwa says, out of habit.

“No, that’s me.” Ushijima replies with conviction, as sure as his spike. Moniwa looks at him, then down to the hands that Ushijima also shows, palms-up.

He doesn’t see it a first, took a moment to find it, but in the middle of Ushijima’s large palm are letters.

Moniwa gasps, tears gathering in his eyes because his initials are staring right back at him.

“We’re…” he starts but cannot finish. He’s been denying it for so long despite wanting it to be true, but now it’s here, staring right in front of him, the possibility… the hope he doesn’t know he’s still harboring sparks, but he can’t. Not yet.

He takes the initiative, feeling braver than he’s ever been in his life and hovers his hand over Ushijima’s. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if it doesn’t burn. It’s cruel to have everything he wants, right in front of him only to have it pulled away at the very last moment.

Their palms finally kiss, the ‘W’ on top of ‘K’, and at first nothing happens. And Moniwa’s terrified at the thought that he’d needlessly suffered all this time, until a stinging pain shoots up coming from their connected palms, and travels over their arms, fire licking their nerves, warming up their whole bodies. It lasts only a few seconds, but it only needed that fleeting moment to confirm forever.

Moniwa cries for an entirely different reason. Ushijima finally takes him in his arms.

---

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ushijima can’t help but ask, once they settle down. He asks, even though he knows the answer.

“You know why I didn’t tell you.” Moniwa scoffs wetly. “You were starting to make your lifelong dream come true. I’m so happy for you and I wanted to be there for you, with you but,” he sniffs, fresh tears spilling across his cheeks. “You didn’t want a soulmate; you didn’t want me. And I couldn’t hold you back, can I? I wouldn’t do that you.” He starts sobbing again, and every shaky breath he takes stabs Ushijima’s heart, and he thinks that no amount of apology can make it better.

“I’m so sorry, Moniwa,” he still says, wiping the tears with the pads of his thumbs. Gods, how sorry he is for causing him that kind of pain. For causing them this kind of mess. For denying them time they could’ve been together, because he knows that now.

How wrong he was about how his soulmate would just hold him back, because he knows, without a sliver of doubt that everything would have been better if Moniwa had been there with him. He doesn’t regret his decision, would never regret volleyball, it’s part of who he is and what he will always be. But what he does regret, so, so much, are his words.

“I realized how wrong I was, how misguided I was about the notion of soulmates when I met Iwaizumi in the US when I visited my Dad.”

He tells him about how it was an unexpected meeting but a pleasant one. How easy and fun it had been to talk to someone familiar, their shared love for volleyball an obvious topic of conversation, until it eventually branched out to what their respective teammates and other people they know have been up to.

He already knows Oikawa’s in Argentina -had been for a few years. He’s also heard the rumor that the two are in a relationship, but it still came as a shock to him to learn that they are actual soulmates.

He recalls being so confused at the thought of them being far apart, and more importantly, how fine they seem to be in that situation. Both are clearly driven to follow their passions. It’s not something that’s holding them back, instead it’s a force that keeps them moving forward.

“I will never forget what he told me. After that, I did a lot of reflecting and I understood how mistaken I had been. How calloused I was to say and do that to my soulmate -to you.”

Moniwa’s just looking at him, hanging onto his every word. “What did he say?”

Ushijima stares deeply into his eyes, feeling some of his own tears gather. “He said that it didn’t matter that they’re apart that moment. Because being soulmates is the assurance that at the end of it all, once they’ve done what they both wanted to do and became who they wanted to be, they will always have each other.

“Moniwa, I want nothing more than to undo the hurt I’ve caused you for these past few years. I would if I could.” Ushijima gingerly takes his hands in his, and still the phantom feeling of the confirmation of their bond tingles Moniwa’s palms. “I didn’t realize it back then, but since we’ve lost contact, since you’ve been gone from my life, something had been missing. Now I know why. I guess a part of me already knew that you’re my soulmate even before I did, even before we had each other’s initials.”

He laces their fingers together and clasps Moniwa’s hands in his tightly as he brings it up to his lips and kiss it reverently. “But I can only make up for it now, and I will make it up to you however you want, for the rest of our lives, if you’ll allow me.”

Moniwa realizes he’s wrong then, about being immune to Ushijima being soft, because he doesn’t think he will ever be. And even if he miraculously does then, he knows he cannot, will not, deny this man anything. He leans down and gives Ushijima’s hands a kiss of his own.

“I want nothing more.”

-----

A few years later

“Ushijima-san,” the courtside reporter starts, “congratulations on a good game! How does it feel to play your last game, not just of the season, but your pro career?”

“Thank you. It’s still surreal, I’m still having mixed feelings about it, but as they say, all good things must come to an end, eventually. And I’m fortunate I’m able to do that in my own terms, so it’s still good, overall.”

“Fans are eager to know, what’s next for Ushijima Wakatoshi? Are you going to leave volleyball behind? Or…”

“Oh no,” he says with a shake of his head. “I mean, just because I’m not going to play pro anymore doesn’t mean I wouldn’t play at all. It’s something that I’d like to do for a long time, as long as I still can. If not, then something related to it. I do have offers back home, but they’re not my priority now.”

“What’s your top priority at the moment, then?”

“Well, going home, back to Japan, for starters. I got recently engaged with my soulmate, so planning our wedding takes precedence before anything else volleyball related.”

Behind them, the cacophonous shouts of congratulations from his teammates are heard, some having popped party poppers and champagne. Ushijima is all smiles at the camera as he shows off his engagement ring.

---

Back in Japan, Moniwa watches the interview, while seated comfortably under the kotatsu, the ring in his finger catching the light, but nothing is brighter than his wide smile.

#haikyuu!!#ushimoni #ushijima wakatoshi #moniwa kaname #hq fanfic

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justjessame · 5 years ago

Text

The Deal Chapter 18

I felt like I could breathe easier only when Dad, Daryl, and Hershel returned. The fear was still heavy, and it wasn’t lessened when Dad informed us that we were, essentially at war now. Daryl told me later that he’d learned as much from one of the Governor’s henchmen. That the meeting was for show, but in the end, it wouldn’t be worth shit.

I watch Dad as he takes Hershel aside, and wonder if he’ll ever be safe to mourn Lori. If we’ll all ever have an actual breather to just BE, instead of constantly having to fight and push.

It doesn’t surprise me when he takes Daryl and I aside later on. He wanted to share a caveat that the Governor offered him. Hand Michonne over and they’d be left alone. I share only a brief look with Daryl, my mind on Carl’s growing attachment to her. I shake my head and Daryl agrees with me, “It’s just ain’t us, man.” His arm is around my shoulders, holding me against his side as we look at my dad’s face. I’m not certain we’ve convinced him that handing her over is a bad idea. He’d do almost anything for a peaceful solution.

Later, I stand guard in a tower as Daryl and Michonne work together with Glenn and Beth to lay spike strips at the prison gate. When they come closer, I ask what’s the plan, and she grins up at me. She tells me that we don’t necessarily have to beat them, we just have to make it a pain in the ass to get inside. I chuckle and can see why Carl likes her so much. Fierce, yes, but also clever. A great addition to our little group.

When I walk back inside after guard duty, I can see Carol and Merle facing off. Moving closer, in case I have to once again step between Merle and another fight, I overhear her tell him to pick a side already.

“I’m only here for my brother,” Merle growls, still feeling about as welcome as a fucking boil.

Carol snapped back, “Yeah, well he’s with us.”

Merle smirks and answers, “No, he’s with Jessi.”

Dear God, I think, he truly doesn’t get it. Why Daryl sticks with us, all of us. He thinks that Daryl is just staying because we’re together. Shaking my head, I wait until they part, Carol going to check on my baby sister.

“You know that’s not true, right?” I ask when we’re alone. “He’s not just here for me.”

Merle gives a snort of disbelief. “Really?” He raises an eyebrow. “He wouldn’t even consider running off with me, girl. The only words out of his lips, aside from arguing about which way was the right one, was your damn name and how he had to get back to ya.”

I shook my head. “He loves me, sure, and I love him. But this group, we count on one another, Merle. And your brother is one of the most important people here. Trust me, he’s not just here for me.” Before he could argue, I walked away.

As the Greene family holds hands praying, my eyes meet Dad’s. I can see his uncertainty over the deal the Governor offered, but I also see something else. He’s seen her again, I can tell. He’s seen Lori.

Dad and Daryl take a moment to themselves as I take Judith for a bit of a walk outside. I’ve barely stepped into the prison yard, when I hear the two of them calling to me. Looking over my shoulder at them, I see a look of panic. What now?

“Merle and Michonne aren’t here.” Dad offers, showing a guilt that I didn’t expect. “He- we- there was a moment-”

I close my eyes. Of course Dad would go to Merle. Of course. And Merle, always willing to go with the WRONG fucking plan jumped to it. Opening my eyes, I waited for more fucking bad news. Daryl touches my cheek, refocusing my attention to him. “I gotta track ‘em.” Sure, right, absolutely. “Find ‘em before Merle does something stupid.”

Something stupid that my dad condoned and plotted with him to do. Why not? Another fucking goodbye. Another day spent in fear and worry. Clearly that was going to be my constant state from here on out. Using Judith as armor so I wouldn’t have time to fucking deal with the fear and worry, that would be my only course of pain control. Shaking my head, I turned away from both of them and walked my baby sister around the yard, not welcoming either of them to join me or to follow.

I miss a great deal during the following hours. I don’t realize that Glenn ‘married’ Maggie. I don’t notice Dad announcing he’s finished being supreme ruler of our group. I don’t vote for war or peace. I don’t even notice when Michonne comes back alone. I have done what I promised myself. I have thrown myself fully into the care of Judith. I won’t watch Carl to see if the harshness in his eyes has grown. I won’t watch Dad to see if his sanity is on the fritz. I won’t watch and wait and pray. Not now. Not anymore.

I’m bouncing Judith on my hip and making her a bottle when I feel Dad come up behind me. “Let me take her for a while,” he offers, his voice low. “You need a break.”

I shake my head, keeping her in my arms. “No, I don’t.” I manage, popping the bottle nipple in her mouth and kissing her forehead. “This is my focus now, Dad. Her. That’s it.” I don’t look up at him. I don’t want to see whatever emotions cross his face. “You and Daryl can save the fucking world from here on out. I’ll do the old fashioned kitchen baby shit.”

I walk away, not feeling like dealing with anything other than formula, diapers, and cribs. The rest of the world is madness, but Judith won’t know of it, not for now. Not on my fucking watch.

I’ve managed to go to sleep, a troubled nap while Judith has her own more peaceful version. I can feel Daryl’s body press into mine as he climbs into the sparse bed of a cell I’ve claimed. I add his presence to my dream, until I feel the dampness of his face press into the curve of my neck. Tears? What the hell?

I roll over, letting his arms stay locked around me and search his face. I know that pain. That grief that looks like it’s swallowing him whole. Merle’s dead. Gone. His face shows that he has no blood family left, and he doesn’t have to say it, doesn’t have to tell me what he was forced to do. I know, because it’s what Carl was forced to do. What Andrea had to do.

I pull his head to my shoulder and hold him as he lets it out. The pain. The grief. The anger. I want him to have the time to process, but that just isn’t the world we live in anymore. So instead, I give him this, the peace of me holding him while he gets as much as he can out. He’ll want to have a stronger look on his face when he really sits down with the others, and I give him that time to be able to force it.

“I love you.” I whisper, kissing his hair. “I love you and I know it doesn’t make it better, but I do.”

I feel him calming. The tears slowing, and then, when he’s collected himself a bit, he pulls away and looks into my eyes. “It does make it better.” He tries to smile, but he’s in so much pain that it’s fleeting. “I love ya. And that does makes it easier, somehow.”

When Daryl goes to talk to Dad and the others, he learns everything that I ignored. He returns and is astonished that I didn’t bother to keep informed. When I shrug, he pulls me to him and kisses me. “Ya can’t give up, Jessi.” His voice is fierce. “Ya can’t, cause then what do I got left?”

“I haven’t given up,” I correct. “I’m just refocusing my efforts to other shit.” At that Judith starts to fret. Standing I go to her and get her out of the crib, she needs a diaper change, so I do that, redressing her and holding her against my chest. “She doesn’t need any of this bullshit, and she won’t have to know about it for a good long time.” My voracity matches his.

“Glenn and Maggie are married now.” He whispers and I raise an eyebrow. Interesting. “Your dad don’t wanna be leader in the absolute sense.” I shrug. “And we’ve got a plan.”

I sigh. “What’s my part to play?”

I only return to the group after Daryl fills me in. I offer a smile of congratulation to the newlyweds, I nod at the others, and I sit with Judith on my lap as they make preparations for war. I find myself nearly screaming when Carol tries to offer some kind of fucked up in memorial of Merle, by admitting that he gave them better odds. I shoot a look at Daryl, but he’s barely listening. Thank fucking God, I think, because reminding his fucking brother that he at least did something good in his life, by Carol’s standards wasn’t exactly appropriate in my mind.

Dad’s plan, in between visits from Mom, is pretty simple. Pack all our shit up in the vehicles, just in case. There are a multitude of “in cases” but the two main ones are: in case we’re being watched, which has a good likelihood of being correct, and of course, just in case we have to flee. Michonne, I’m happy to see, has been accepted finally by Dad. I sense a tension between Dad and Carl, and feel a flash of curiosity about the source, but then Judith’s hand wraps in a loose strand of my hair and tugs, trying to get free.

Our preparations are finished quicker than I expected. My part of the plan is simple and safe. Judith and I are to take a walk to a vehicle that’s hidden full of supplies we’ll need during the attack. A walkie is with me, so Dad or Daryl can let me know if I have to beat a hasty retreat or to tell me it’s safe to come back through a code that will let me know if they’re only contacting me under distress.

The walk makes sense. I take her out almost daily, careful of the route, even if I rarely leave the gates. Anyone watching won’t bother with us, and if they do, I have more than one way to stop them from harming us. The rest of the plan is ambush. Make the prison seem deserted and then attack. Like trapped animals, they’ll be slaughtered, but at this point it’s the only way.

I leave when I’m told to. Walking as though Judith and I are just enjoying the sunshine. That we have nothing more in mind than a casual stroll. I reach the hidden car without issue, sidestepping walkers easily, and keeping Judith quiet. I lay her down on the passenger’s seat, happy to see whomever stocked the car put everything within reach so I don’t have to get out. Getting in, shutting the door and setting the locks on all the doors, I wait.

I can hear gunfire in the distance. Yelling, gunfire, and some other noises that I don’t want to consider. Picking up Judith, I push the seat back so we can sit comfortably while we wait for it to end. One way or the other, it has to end.

The walkie comes alive and my hand shakes as I lift it. Dad, it’s Dad’s voice telling me that they’re going after the Governor. He fled, with some of his followers, and so the fight has to continue on the road. I don’t have to ask who “they” are. Daryl will go, of course, and anyone else who wants to. But definitely Daryl. Another parting, another worry that I won’t get to say goodbye. Maggie and Glenn are staying behind to stand guard, he lets me know, and I know he wants Judith and I to return. To be safe within the walls of the prison that is now our home.

Inside the prison is a mood of jubilant victory, tempered only by the wait to see if Daryl, Dad, and Michonne are successful. I learned that I wasn’t the only one to sit the fight out. Hershel and Beth were waiting in the woods with Carl to defend them. My mind hadn’t been on anything except my part, and I am happy to see that we came through unscathed, so far.

Unscathed, but seeing Hershel shooting a look in Carl’s direction, I realize something troubling must have happened. Dad returns, with Andrea’s body in tow and a bus filled with Woodbury survivors, including Tyrese and Sasha, the two that Carl had found and Dad had pushed out. Hershel and Beth welcome our new members, and I see the hatred and anger on my baby brother’s face as he confronts our dad about welcoming them into our home.

Moving forward with Judith still in my arms, I try to get between them. Carl looks deadly, but he’s still my baby brother, so I hand Judith to Dad and pull him away. “What’s going on with you?” I ask, away from the others, away from Dad. “This isn’t you, Carl. This anger. This hate.”

His blue eyes, looking incredibly like Dad's, are flashing at me as his fists clench. “They tried to KILL us, Jessi. They all were a part of it, so why give them a chance?” I feel my heart clench. My little brother, so hardened by this new fucking world that he’d rather line up survivors and kill them all then consider they made a bad choice.

“No, they didn’t.” I whisper, reminding him that these people, the ones mingling in our group, stayed back. “You can’t just kill everyone, Carl.”

He walks away from me without another word.

#daryl dixon x ofc #eventual negan x ofc #mention of smut #angst #rick grimes daughter #alternative universe #mental illness

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b-icetea · 6 years ago

Note

92. "Let's move in together"

@gleedegrassi-bigfan @rosestylers

Fair warning? I made myself cry with this … IT’S MORE RELATIONSHIP FLUFF Y’ALL!!!!

92. “Let’s move in together.”

Their voices still echo, but nonetheless, it is staggering, what a difference a year can make.

Matteo can see his younger self. Hair a mess, clothes too big, soul a tangle of black lines, like someone had written down something, only to savagely cross it out until just a big ball of chaos was left. Mind slow and complicated and racing all at once, like static. He can see that boy in his mind’s eye, brought here by this mysterious other boy that he wasn’t able to figure out then. Past Matteo didn’t know what the future held for him. Had been afraid of it, because what if it wouldn’t be good? What if he would fuck it up? Plans were for people who knew what they were doing and not for an eighteen-year-old stoner kid that sometimes forgot to shop and had trouble finding clothes without stains on them.

That boy lived his life day by day and that was how it had to be back then. And it had worked out, hadn’t it? Living life like this – minute for minute – meant not having to think too far ahead, meant concentrating only on the imminent and inevitable.

Graduate. Tell your friends who your really are. Fall in love and do it right because it will be the first and last time you do it.

That took all the effort he could muster back then. Looking back at it now and looking at the previously mysterious boy, now all see-through and all the more loved for it, Matteo knows it was the right thing to do.

A year later, though, after all the madness and the ghosting and the heartbreak, the getting back together and the learning each other, Matteo is finally at a place where looking at the future is not something scary, but something to look forward to.

He wants to make plans. Actually, he lowkey has been making them for a while and David even knows about most of them.

God, Matteo used to be such a closed off little bitch. Every idea he came up with was automatically branded as stupid by his own brain the minute it was conceived. David was one of the few people he had let see into the weirdness of his mind and who had sometimes made fun, but always in a good way and who, in the end, never looked down on him for any of it.

So, David had helped. And then, a therapist.

Matteo’s mind is less of a scary place these days. He still gets lost sometimes, but he has an easier time finding his way back from the mazes and monsters he finds there.

His head is filled with other things now. Maybe that is why he suggested coming back here. They haven’t been at the pool since that night were Matteo screamed at David, because gentle and patient apparently didn’t do it and aggressive and worried had to come out to get David away from this idea that flight was the only option for him.

He can still see him sitting there, at the bottom of the pool on that stupid mat, drawing something or other like the outcast vampire he pretended to be back then. It almost makes him scoff, the idea of what nearly happened. He’s glad they both managed to catch and keep each other, even though they were both dumb, stupid boys a year ago.

They’re still dumb, stupid boys, but at least they are a unit now.

The both of them have climbed down the ladder and into the pool and are looking around at the moment. Well, Matteo climbed. David jumped because he’s a dirty show-off and that will probably never change, judging from the smirk he shot Matteo after sticking the landing.

Nothing has changed, really. It’s still a dirty, old pool. But it’s also still the place where two of the most important things in Matteo’s life happened to him and that makes the place more magical than anything. When David first showed him here, Matteo liked the abandoned quality of the building and David and him still go explore every once in a while, these days. It’s their thing. But they do it less, because it reminds them of themselves anymore. David doesn’t feel like he needs to find these buildings so he has bunkers to hide in in case of a natural catastrophe. Matteo doesn’t see himself in them anymore. Now, what they do is, they explore together and fill these empty places full to the brim with memories of themselves.

“Remember last time we were here?”, Matteo asks, knowing full well that David does, but he needs a conversation starter. He wants to talk about what life was like, then.

How angry and then blissfully happy they were. How every word had so much impact Matteo would swear he felt them hitting or caressing his body physically.

The whole thing had been like being on a seesaw. Up and down. One second, they were screaming at each other and David wanted to run away and hide. The next second, they’d told each other I love you for the first time and had exchanged the softest kisses they could.

“Yeah. I didn’t sleep a minute that night.”

Matteo turns around to look at him, blinking incredulously. “You what now?”

“It was so uncomfortable”, David admits, almost whispering, breathy laughter underscoring his words. “The mat was too small and you were half on top of me and I couldn’t move. Something was digging in my back. I had my binder on.” He shrugs.

“What the hell, why didn’t you say anything?” Not that it had been the best night’s sleep of Matteo’s life, but he’d gotten a solid few hours. Though, that was probably because he could sleep almost anywhere and at any time.

David smiles at him. “I don’t know. I kept myself busy. I didn’t matter too much.”

“Not sleeping all night didn’t matter? No wonder you slept so long the day after.” He doesn’t address the binder thing, because they’ve argued about that enough and he knows, David doesn’t do stuff like that anymore. So, Matteo takes a few steps and stops once he’s next to David and can take his hand. He slots their fingers together. Squeezes. He loves David’s hands. “What could have kept you busy anyway. It was night.” It’s not like he could have drawn anything with Matteo’s sleepy deadweight pinning him down and no light to speak of.

David lowers his gaze and smiles a shy smile. “Thoughts and stuff.”

“Stuff?”

David licks his lips. “Yeah, I mean. I had a lot to think about.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, you know.”

“I obviously don’t, dude. What the fuck. Tell me.”

“Nö.”

“Tell me.”

“M-m.”

“Tell me. Tell me.”

“Nope.”

Matteo sees then, that words alone won’t do anything, so he decides to pull out the big guns. He curls the fingers of his right and towards his palm until only his pointer finger sticks out ominously.

David presses his lips together in an obvious effort to keep any laughter in. His eyes are wide and full of mischief.

“You sure that’s how you want to play it?”, Matteo asks, voice all calm and benevolent and shit.

His boyfriends just nods, slowly and seriously. Like he thought this through.

“Okay.” And then Matteo rushes towards him, but David has already taken off, shoes squeaking on the tiles.

“Stop running, you coward”, Matteo calls after him, but only gets a cackle in response.

David is sidestepping him at every turn, twisting around, evading him. Matteo must look like some sort of E.T. cosplayer that forgot his costume at home. Pointer finger still outstretched and running like a loon.

Their laughter fills the pool, echoes of the walls, makes it seem like their fun is bigger than themselves.

In the end, as always, David lets himself be caught around the middle. He bends over and Matteo spins him, once, twice, three times, back pressed to Matteo’s belly. After that, he never lets go, but just makes David turn in his arms so that they’re face to face. He puts kisses everywhere he can reach. Kisses his cheeks, his nose, his eyebrow. Once his teeth, because David is laughing and it makes him laugh even more.

Between kisses, Matteo chants “Tellmetellmetellmetellmetellmetellme.”

“Oh, my god. I’ll tell you, stop.”

Matteo lets up, but presses one last kiss on David’s lips. He makes a growling noise during it, as is customary.

“You’re so stupid”, David tells him and tugs on his jacket hard, making Matteo bend a knee a little because of the pressure. A thought, a future kind of thought, flashes in his mind, and he grins, but doesn’t voice it.

“Tell me.”

David rolls his eyes. “I … maybe. Couldn’t sleep then.” He sighs. “Because I couldn’t believe it? Like. Everything had gone to shit. My biggest nightmare had happened and I was there to witness the whole thing? I hadn’t gone to my PE exam. I thought I had to repeat the whole year. I thought everybody hated me.”

“Who’s stupid now?”, Matteo says but he makes it gentle and David just huffs out a self-deprecating breath.

“Yeah. And then I sent you this emo, artsy sort of voice message. I thought it was really clever and romantic and sufficiently tragic for the situation. Only, you refused to accept it and instead came looking for me. I never imagined that would happen. At all. And then you screamed at me to get out of my own head, didn’t let me run away, told me, I still had friends and then told me you loved me. Suddenly, it felt like I had everything. Or could get everything, anyway. So, you’ll excuse me for being a bit preoccupied by the fact that said boy was sleeping in my arms. It felt like holding the whole world.”

Matteo’s heart does a little flip, then. David is looking to the side and then back at him. Embarrassed, but only a little, because they’ve told each other so much stuff, during this year together.

Sometimes something will happen to Matteo or he will have a thought and think, nah, I’m not gonna tell David about it. I’m gonna keep it to myself. But then David will walk in the door and the words will be out faster than Matteo can try to rein them in. Because talking to David and telling him things doesn’t feel like giving something away or giving something up. He isn’t losing anything by sharing his thoughts with him. It feels more like two people twining together, two puzzle pieces that fit and meld until they’re one.

David also knows a lot about the embarrassing things, Matteo thinks about him. How much he loves him and about the life he imagines for them. The surer he got that David and him were it, the more he started to daydream. He knew that it was too early for many of the things he wanted.

Some days he stares at his ring finger and rubs over the skin, wondering what it might be like to wear something there and freaks himself out, not because of how he doesn’t want it but because of how certain he is that he will want it one day. Not now, not until a few years have passed. But he can see it. And David knows about that. Matteo also knows what David’s answer will be when the time comes.

But now.

Now it’s maybe the time to take a different step. Ask a different question. A question that can be a response to the things David told him just now.

“Let’s move in together?”

David blinks. And then he smiles, bright as the sun.

Matteo knows what his answer will be to that question, too.

#druck #davenzi #datteo #david schreibner #matteo florenzi #matteo x david #fluff #love #all the good things #davenzi writing prompts #b-icetea's davenzi prompt fills #coster-waldau

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erintoknow · 6 years ago

Text

Something Is Wrong With Ariadne Becker

aaaah it feels like a dog’s age since i finished any writing. but here we go!! cross your fingers for the weekend fam!!!

fallen hero fanfic, spoilers from the alpha? charge step, but also mostly a lot of blurbs from different characters pov ~2.3k words [ao3]

–––

Lady Argent

Step into the break room, and lo, there she is, the weirdo who wears shades indoors. Well, alright. She did help put a name to who was behind the attack, even if you still haven’t been able to dredge up any trace of Locus. Julia liked her, and you’re not sure if that was a point for or against her.

Take the sandwich out of the fridge, sit down at the table with her. Notice how she tenses up. There’s something not quite right about her. Metal where there shouldn’t be? You’d have to really scrutinize to puzzle it out, and frankly, it’s not worth the bother. Apparently she used to be Sidestep, back in the day? Hard to believe – jittery, anxious, mess like that.

“Here for Ortega, again?” You ask. She keeps showing up now that Julia’s back out of the hospital. You don’t care what Julia says, there is definitely something going on there.

“Mmhm,” She nods her head, and then stands up, grabbing her purse. “S–s–sorry, I’ll get out of your way.” She makes a hasty exit out of the breakroom, leaving half a chocolate bar on the table.

Give a minute for her to come back for it.

She still doesn’t show.

Okay. This is, what? The third time now? You’re pretty sure now that she’s deliberately avoiding you. It’s starting to make you anxious. Did she go snooping around when she was in your head? You glance back to the door before swiping the candy bar for yourself. Something’s up.

There’s something wrong with Ariadne Becker.

Marcia

You’re not sure what you expected when you started the job, but near total freedom from any managerial supervision hadn’t been remotely on your radar. The guy who interviewed you, a gruff sounding young man was nowhere to be seen. Instead this redheaded stick of a girl gave you the rundown of the place. The shop looked several decades into its slow decline.

“Well… I work in the back so we probably won’t see much of each other, but it’s good to meet you.” Her smile is a little lopsided, uneasy, as she brushes back the tangled curls from her face. Her face is a little too pale, and she doesn’t offer a hand to shake or hug. Just disappears into the workshop behind the storefront (with the carefully organized storage system you had been repeatedly warned not to mess with).

You had been ready to write her off.

Three weeks into the job, you’re convinced there’s nothing and no one stopping you from spending all day chatting up Marcy and girls using the store phone. Friday night you’re locking up, and it’s not until you flick out the lights you realize the workshop light is still on. That woman better not still be at it. It’s just a two-bit job.

Poke your head in, and she’s still there at her desk alright. Only she’s fallen asleep, facedown in a pile of computer parts. Oh dear. Carefully step through, pick up the few pieces on the floor; you don’t really know where they go so you just put them on the table near the computer tower thingy. There’s a weird sense of unease. It’s only increased as you’ve gotten closer, like an itching in the back of your brain.

The girl mumbles something in her sleep, an apology? Something personal anyway. You prod her awake, a gentle shark on her arm. No coherent response. Harder pull, and she jumps in her seat with a start, grabbing your wrist and yanking hard as you bang your side against the work table.

“Ow! Shoot!” You bite back a curse as pain shoots up your hip. “Easy dear!”

It takes her a second but redhead lets go you, a strangled noise coming from her body. “S–s-sorry! I’m so sorry!” She staggers out her chair and steps away from you, almost tripping over herself.

“Goodness, no need for that now!” You force a laugh, try to put her at ease. Hadn’t anticipated such a forceful reaction.

As the confusion fades from her face, she fixes you with a cold stare. “D–don’t touch me ever ag–again.”

You frown, even as you step away. Well, that’s a little extreme isn’t it? There’s something wrong with Ariadne Becker.

Herald

“C–come on.” Ariadne squares up her shoulders, staring you down. “Let’s try th–this again.”

You ready yourself, putting yourself stance she suggested, feet planted wide. And then– something in her eye, you hesitate. “Are– are you sure? Do you need a rest after–”

“I’m f–f–fine,” she says, a little too quickly. “Doesn’t even hurt.” Her frown tightens, and then she’s going for your side again. You push off just before her hand would have hit, moving with the blow and twisting around to grab her arm.

Ariadne grunts as you pull her off balance, recovering with a headbutt into your chest. Winded you reflexively let go as you drift backwards to a safe distance. When she lunges after; rise up and out of her reach and – oh, that’s a little close to the edge!

“Hey! Hey uh– lets back up a bit?” You call down, moving back towards the middle of the roof.

Ariadne huffs, “D–don’t hesitate to use your environment against your enemy.”

“Okay, that’s great,” you concede, “but I really don’t want to have to catch you falling from a ten story building.”

“I–” She purses her lips, as if lost for words. “Fine. Fine.” She walks and you fly back to the middle of the roof. “Happy now, wonderbread?”

“Thank you,” you nod as you touch back down to the ground.

She takes a quick jab with her fist as your head and you swerve to the side. “N–n–never gonna take out Adrestia with–” She sidesteps your counterpunch and pushes you off balance. “–th–that bleeding heart of yours.”

You stop your fall before you can heart the floor, roll to the side. “Take out?” Cut the thought in time to dodge Ariadne’s kick. “I’m out to–” Her fist hits your hip as you fly out of range. Wipe the grimace from your face. “I’m want to stop Adrestia. Not kill her.”

Ariadne narrows her eyes up at you, still tense, ready for any sudden moves. “Why not? They’re a villain.”

Is Sidestep seriously asking you this? “We don’t need to kill them to stop them.”

“That’s not exactly a kind–” She stops herself, shakes her head and shoves her hands in her pockets. “In a fight – a real fight,” she adds before you can object, “there’s none of this pulling your punches crap. She hunches her shoulders, drawing in on herself. “If you want to win, you have to accept the reality that the other guy might die. And that you might die if you lose.”

You drift back to the ground as she talks. Ariadne’s staring a hole through the floor, another one of those moods again then. “Are you sure you’re okay…?”

A tight frown pulls at her face and she avoids meeting your eyes. “I’m just tired. Lesson over today, okay?” She shakes her head, runs a hand through her hair.

You sigh, have to watch your thoughts or she’ll yell at you again. But still. There’s something wrong with Ariadne Becker.

Chen

You had to take a second to double-check the identity of the figure on the park bench, but who else could it be? Ariadne Becker in shades, hunched over, watching dogs at 6:30 in the morning. Chancing across her here once was a coincidence. Twice, chance. But three times now?

Well, if you’ve noticed her know, she’s doubtless noticed you. Might as well do the polite thing. Maybe the two of you won’t even fight this time.

Too much doesn’t add up. Too many secrets kept. Some of that might be your fault. You can see that now. Shutting does she had been trying to open. You had to. Had to put the team first. But then again…

Things are supposed to be clearer in retrospect not murkier.

You put rest a hand on the back of the bench as you approach.

Ariadne raises a hand in a weak-waved greeting. “Chen.”

“Ariadne.”

“We meet again, old man.”

“Mm.” You sit down on the other end of the bench. Ariadne doesn’t look up. “Another hard night?”

Watch how her shoulders tighten then sag. “Y–yeah. You… you know how it is.” For once her hands are still, curled up in fists at her sides. When she doesn’t elaborate, you shift your attention back to Spoon, playing with a group of other dogs.

Take a deep breath, focus on Spoon. “I’m…” pick your words slowly, keeping any internal monologue to a minimum, “glad you’re back.”

“Really now.” She doesn’t bother hiding the sarcasm in her voice. “Y–you’re just thankful someone c–c–competent is finally showing Herald the ropes.”

You shake your head, watch her from the corner of your eye. “Julia’s really pulled herself together since finding you.”

That catches her off-guard, wipes the smile off her face. “W–what?” Ariadne looks away from you. “She seemed just f–fine when we first met.”

“You don’t have seven years of context.”

“…y–you going to share with the class, Steel?”

Take a deep breath, ready yourself for any hint of a mental intrusion. It doesn’t come. Has it ever? Would you really know if it had? “That’s not my story to share.”

Ariadne makes a sound somewhere between a groan and hushed scream. “Th–then why bring it up!?

“Because,” you shift on the bench so you can stare her down straight-on. “You’ve been good for her.”

“Good for her!?” Ariadne makes a face, something between surprise and disbelief. “I’m nothing but a–” She cuts herself off, huffs as she hunches down, hugging herself.

“I don’t think she can take losing you again.”

She stares out at Spoon and the other dogs. “I– I’m retired, Chen.”

“So you keep saying.” Spoon barks, grabbing your attention as he runs back to you, and you cup his head in your hands. Despite your focus one stray thought leeks out, but if she picks it up, then there’s no indication. There’s something wrong with Ariadne Becker.

Ortega

You tie off the loop of string around the push pin and step back to look at the whole of the cork-board, a dissatisfied frown on your face. This all leads back to Hollow Ground somehow, but there’s something missing.

Ariadne had all but confessed to having been held prisoner by someone. Who would go to the effort of faking her death and holding her captive? She’s a telepath. A run-away, who was desperate to avoid having her actual face caught on the news – Can’t help but feel guilty there. After five years, you let yourself get a little too comfortable, all that work trying to draw her out of her shell. Was it your fault they found her? And who is ‘they’? Well, who does Ariadne look like but Hollow Ground herself? Hollow Ground didn’t hesitate to kill Hood for getting too close to the truth. What would she do to her own family?

Just thinking about what they might have done to Ari is enough to send static discharge crawling up your arms.

Ari says she escaped but… She didn’t go to the Rangers. Didn’t tell anyone she was alive. Why? Why wouldn’t she tell you? Why was Ariadne so guilty around Angie? She visited you in the hospital, the same night Adrestia debuted. She looked ready to fall apart on you that night. Always knew Adrestia’s next name. Always avoiding your messages, playing hard to get, afraid to get involved with the Rangers again.

Why did Adrestia fight like her?

And yet… had Adrestia killed anyone? If anything, reports suggested Adrestia was increasingly going out of her way to avoid any injuries. Chen had the strangest story of Adrestia sticking around to help him save people trapped in a burning building.

Adrestia made a lot of noise about overthrowing the government, but what had they really accomplished so far?

But… why would Ariadne do that?

And then there’s Jane. Jane, who looks like Ariadne and Hollow Ground both. Another relative? She’s made a big splash in the underground circuit. First hiring out various mercs and crooks for odd jobs and now working almost exclusively as a go-between for her ‘boss’ Adrestia.

But was Adrestia really calling the shots?

Jane looking like Hollow Ground doesn’t mean anything on its own, but when you dragged Jane out on work she hadn’t been happy. She’d be even less happy if she had realized you caught that moment of recognition between her and Hallow Ground’s goons. So she’s not just a criminal fixer for Adrestia, she has some tie to Hollow Ground. Probably more the just a ‘tie’ but you can’t prove that any more than Ariadne’s connection.

Why does Adrestia’s fixer with ties to Hollow Ground live directly below Ariadne? What else could it be but to keep tabs on her? Whatever job Ariadne’s taken its running her ragged, and forced her back into shape.

Stringing Jane along as long as you have in hopes of her tipping her hand isn’t exactly your proudest action as a Ranger. It’s kind of a relief now to have have to cut things off with her, even if that’s only going to make keeping tabs on the woman harder. It’s your own fault really. Sometimes she just… seemed so much like Ariadne, but… more open? More willing to flirt, to see where things would go.

You’re not sure what that says about you. Nothing flattering, you’re sure.

Meanwhile, the actual Ariadne is.. trying to push you away with one hand and pulling you back with the other. She’d always been scared of closeness, but this is…

There’s something wrong with Ariadne Becker.

You have to get through to her somehow. Show her there’s still a way out.

#fallen hero #fallen hero fanfic #fallen hero: rebirth #fhr #fanfiction #wlw fanfic #trans character #fhr/Ariadne #mostly i'm just glad to be done and move on #i think maybe i was a little too ambitious with this concept given my free time constraints

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angst-fairygodmother · 5 years ago

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Who Wants To Live Forever (The Witcher, a Highlander AU)

A/N: A warning was given. No assassins were sent. I wrote The Sad. Summary: Jaskier is not immortal, but rather is An Immortal. What better way to keep your head than to hook up with a witcher and pretend to be helpless? But time marches onward. And all things must end. Content Warning: Major Character Death, implications of suicidal thoughts Word Count: 1628 Cross-posted to AO3: here

He would be needing a new name soon. “Jaskier” had gotten a little too popular and started bringing the wrong kind of attention. In the last town, while Geralt was off fighting a particularly vicious vampire who had been plaguing the region, a hunt that he said was too dangerous for Jaskier to tag along on, he had encountered another of his kind.

“We don’t have to do this,” Jaskier offered. “I just want to be on my way, entertaining the masses. I don’t care about the Game.”

“Well I do,” the other man sneered. “If you don’t want to fight, just stand still and let me have your head.”

“I said I didn’t care for it, not that I was willing to surrender and die.” His sword came out in a flash from where it lay, hidden, along the back of his lute case.

He held it before him, waving slightly, taunting the other swordsman. The man was larger than Jaskier, with a massive two-handed broadsword, clearly the sort to rely on brute strength over actual skill or talent.

“Last chance, don’t make me do this.” Jaskier’s eyes were stormy and the warning firm, dropping all the cheer of his normal tone of voice.

“Hah! You can’t possibly think you’ll win!” The man lunged, a move Jaskier was easily able to sidestep, graceful as a dancer compared to the lumbering fool.

“Okay, so we’re doing this.”

The fight was over even faster than Jaskier had predicted, the other man bleeding and on his knees, sword in the dirt far from him and Jaskier’s blade pressed to his throat.

“Promise me you will leave, never trouble me again, and you can still walk away from this,” he offered, pacing in a circle, never taking his eyes off his enemy.

The other man spit at his feet. “Just kill me already. You know how this goes, know the rule.”

“I do.” The bard sighed, raising his sword back and swinging it down viciously. “There can be only one.”

The storm rolled in from nowhere, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He quickly set about tucking his lute and doublet into a safe spot, sheltered from what was to come by a trough, upturned and placed on the distant edge of the open field.

The first strike of lightning drove him to his knees with a scream. It was unsurprising that the man, with all of his self-assuredness and aggression, was a powerful player. Still, that meant this part, never his favorite experience, would particularly suck today. He could only hope he recovered and made it back to the inn to change out of bloodstained clothes before Geralt noticed. Someday, he might tell the witcher the truth, but it wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have now.

It was funny, he thought, how easy time escaped you when you knew that you had centuries. He hadn’t considered that when he’d attached himself to Geralt, all the way back in Posada, those witchers live an extraordinarily long time if they’re not killed by the creatures they hunt. And Destiny had been kind. The pair had managed to keep each other alive for so very long. Yennefer was of course, a sorceress, and the closest thing to truly immortal besides his own kind that he knew of. The one time she seemed to have died, it failed to hold her. Even when they added Ciri to their little family, she was a child with something magical about her, and seemed just as determined to outlive the average human, by will alone if she had to.

But he knew all too well that, whether it be a ballad or an adventure or a life, all things must end. Even love could only keep something for so long, and a life was not a flower, to be pressed between pages and held close with care until it was preserved for eternity.

If he had been able to keep them, it wouldn’t have been fair. The world had moved on. It was tame now, and quiet, with no need of monster hunters and mages in the wake of science and settlement. Geralt had seen it long before him, proclaiming that the world had no place for witchers anymore, and Jaskier had denied it, fleeing from the idea as if it was the worst monster they’d ever faced.

The four of them had stopped their adventuring near Oxenfurt. Jaskier had taken up teaching full time, Geralt guest-lectured when he wasn’t busy running the orphanage he’d founded. Even Yennefer occasionally deigned for a class or two, and then got bored of it and went back to her usual…whatever. Ciri was the least settled, serving as a diplomat and travelling the world still, only coming home on occasion to visit.

He never did tell any of them about his particular affliction. It wasn’t that he’d intentionally deceived them, but with their own longevity it never seemed relevant. Ciri was the only one who ever questioned it, once late at night while they both sat up with a cup of tea. He had shrugged and told her that he was nothing special, just very long lived. Which hadn’t technically been a lie, there were in fact a number of his kind (he didn’t know exactly how many but he’d wondered more than once), and her suspicious glare told him that he hadn’t completely fooled her, but she had dropped it anyway. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t admit everything, but after so long of avoiding it, it had come as a reflex to deflect.

The occasional challenger came for his head, and always he offered them the chance to walk away. He had no interest in power or being the last man standing. He just wanted all the time he could to read and wonder and learn, to love the world and love the three people he called home.

“Come back in a century,” he would say, “come back when they’ve left me. Maybe then I will give you my head; I will have no more need of it once I’ve lost my heart.”

When they refused, he would lead them away from the city, dispatch them quickly. He was not one to toy with his competitors, or even to take their heads if he could prevent it. A last offer of mercy, a feigned distraction to let them escape, a dive into the sea to end things a bit early.

Losing Yennefer had been…confusing. She had been caught up in some sort of magical accident at Aratuza that had left the magical school a crater of ash and smoke and death. At first, none of them believed that she was truly gone. After all, she had survived a fatal event before. But as weeks, and then months passed, they began to accept it. Geralt openly wept; Ciri returned early from her latest assignment, heartbroken and hollow, and tried to be strong for her adoptive father. And Jaskier carried on, the stability they sought as their world turned upside down.

Geralt had the unique honor of being the only witcher in all of history to die of natural causes, fading away in bed, a peaceful sleeping death. At the funeral, Jaskier had laughed about how he would have hated the distinction. They buried him beside Yennefer’s empty grave, and every three weeks they refreshed the wreaths of lilacs and forget-me-nots against the headstones.

It was just Jaskier and Ciri for a long time after that. He occasionally nudged her toward other people, suggesting that romantic connection and a family and all of that typical stuff might be more enjoyable than spending the rest of her days a spinster with her dear uncle. Secretly, it was because he was afraid. He didn’t know if he could handle losing her too, and if he saw her happily settled with someone who wasn’t him, he could disappear into the night, reinvent again, and not have to face the reality that such a day would come. It might hurt, but not as much as watching her die.

She refused. It had led to a horrific fight once, and they didn’t speak for months. He thought to leave then, but couldn’t bring himself to let their end be angry. So instead he had watched the Last Rose of Cintra blossom and grow, and eventually wilt, as all things did. By that time, the world was nothing like her youth, and a part of her had decided that it was time to move on from it, that it wasn’t meant for her anymore.

“But what about you, Jaskier?” she asked, lips dry and voice rasping. “You never aged, and will be the last of us. What will you do?”

“I am a bard above all else, and consummately able to adapt. I’ll carry on, and carry all of you with me.”

The night he buried the princess beside her parents, he used his savings to buy a boat, too small a craft to be called a ship, something he could pilot alone. The world was changing, and he needed time. A few years adrift to come to terms with who he should become, with everything that had gone.

He looked at the map and set his sails toward a little, distant point on it, marked now with his own flowing script as well as the cartographer’s.

“Here there [might still] be monsters.”

One could only hope. Otherwise, he might come back around and just let one of those pernicious little upstarts with only decades under their belt have him. Let pride be damned and it be said that only the witcher kept him alive all those years.

#The Witcher #The Witcher fic #Highlander #Highlander AU #Jaskier #angst #frankly a philosophical ramble #here are technically other characters here too but its really more that they're talked about than actual #Ciri #I suppose she is actually present for a tiny bit #There Can Be Only One

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krillin-fanfic · 6 years ago

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Entwined

So I figured, as part of Chestnutfest’s free day, it seems as good a time as any to unveil that new fic I’ve been working on! Part of me had always wondered what might happen if Krillin had met “Lazuli” beforehand, and how that might affect his path in life. Would he be much different? Very different? More or less confident? And so, I decided to explore that with this story. So here we are, the prologue to yet another new work. lol Hope you enjoy!

“Keep it moving, shrimp!” Krillin groaned under the weight of several heavy boxes strapped to his back as he and two other students of Orin marched through East City. When his upperclassmen had offered to bring him with them on their supply run for the Temple, he'd jumped at the opportunity; it had seemed, after years of teasing and bullying, that maybe some of them were starting to accept him! It didn't take long for him to learn his role as a pack mule. And all the treatment that came with it. The shorter monk gave him a swift kick to the rear and Krillin yelped. “Move it, you little runt! We're gonna be late!” “All this stuff is heavy!” he protested. “I don't see you offering to help at all!” The taller, slender monk stood over him and snorted. “Wow. We decide to be nice, bring you along for a change, let you actually be useful for once in your life, and this is how you thank us? Ungrateful little bastard!” He gave Krillin a rough shove sending the boy and his boxes tumbling over onto the grimy pavement. “Aww, now you've gone and made a mess of all our supplies, nut head.” The shorter monk kicked him in the shin. “Clean it up!” Krillin grunted. “Why should I? You're the one who shoved me, you jer-” a sharp slap across his face silenced him. The taller monk laughed and cracked his knuckles. “Looks like the little imp wants to get uppity again. Guess I gotta teach you some manners!” He grabbed Krillin by the front of his uniform and hauled the boy off his feet. “Rule number one-” a sharp smack echoed in the empty street. “Don't talk back to your elders, brat!” Krillin grit his teeth, tears welling in his eyes. This was nothing new, he knew that. They did this sort of thing to him regularly. But for some reason... here, now, in this moment... he felt an emotion he'd not felt in a long time. Rage. Tall monk balled his hand into a fist and raised it. “Rule number tw-” he stopped suddenly, eyes widening, and looked down at the foot that was still planted firmly in his gut. He dropped his prey, clutching at his stomach, howling. His short companion was shocked for a moment, but quickly composed himself. “Hey! You little goon!” He charged at Krillin. Krillin braced himself, and, at the last possible second, sidestepped and stuck out a foot. “I'm gonna jack you up for tha-AAA!” The Short Monk tripped, and went flying, his trajectory aided by a well-placed elbow in the back. He hit the pavement hard and rolled next to his companion, both clutching at their respective injuries as they fought to regain the wind knocked from them. The haze cleared from Krillin's mind, rage finally subsiding. His jaw dropped in shock at what he'd just done, and he felt just the smallest tinge of pride. The pride quickly gave way to dread, however, as both his attackers stood, finally catching their breaths, their eyes wide and full of malice. And so, Krillin did the only sensible thing he could. He ran. “GET BACK HERE, BASTARD!” Krillin could hear the footsteps of the others catching up to his own. He cut through a nearby alleyway, eyes locking onto a fire escape. If he could get up there, climb that, he might have a chance. He lowered his head and sprinted, leaping for the ladder, grasping the bottom rung. He struggled briefly to lift himself higher, managing to finally get footing, until he felt a giant hand clutching his foot. He felt himself be pulled, violently from the ladder, sailing through the air until his back thudded off the brick wall on the other side of the alley. Dazed, Krillin looked up in fear at his two tormentors, as they cackled with glee and prepared to rain blows. Suddenly... BAM! The loud blast of a firecracker resounded off the alley walls, causing the two to jump, followed by two more in rapid succession. “What the-GAH!” Tall Monk's head snapped forward. He could feel something wet and slimy slipping down the back of it. He reached back and ran a finger through it, and found a very familiar viscous substance. “Some punk threw an egg at me!” Short Monk looked around scanning the area. “How? No one's even he-” another well-placed egg flew down from the fire escape, slamming into his face. “Dammit! Whoever you are, you're so dead!” He gasped and threw his arms up over his head as a torrent of eggs rained down, rapidly pelting the two. Krillin also looked up to see two figures standing on the fire escape, slingshots in hand. They were kids, he realized. Probably not too much older than himself. One of them, a boy, had his black hair pulled back in a ponytail, with a dirty white shirt and jeans that seemed to be torn off at the knee on one leg. The other was a blonde girl in shorts and a long-sleeved black shirt, sharp eyes glistening as she lit two more of the firecrackers and tossed them down at her targets. The monks jumped back as they exploded near their feet. The boy on the fire escape laughed. “Looks like someone's got egg on their faces.” His companion audibly groaned. “Ditch the shrimp, let's move!” The two ran and the boy jumped down, peeling off after them. “Hey, baldies, we ain't done!” Krillin blinked a few times, his body suddenly feeling very heavy as the adrenaline left his system. He stood, brushing off his uniform. “Oh man, whoever you are, thank you so much!” The tough girl slid down the ladder and leaned back against the wall, eyeing him with a smirk, and Krillin couldn't help but feel a tightness in his chest and butterflies in his stomach. She pointed and gestured for him to come closer. He obliged, face turning red. 'She sure is pretty...' “I'm impressed,” the girl said, patting him on the head. “Not bad for a little guy.” She cocked her head down the alleyway her brother had chased the other Orin students, his whooping and their frightened shouts echoing back to them. “Those punks there give you trouble a lot?” “W-well yeah,” he sheepishly admitted. “I mean I kinda live with them, so it's not like I get much of a break.” He looked down at the alley floor. “And it's not like the monks at the temple really discourage it all that much.” She snapped her fingers in realization. “Ahh yeah, you guys must be from that temple up there on that hill.. Nice place.” She wrinkled her nose. “The people, not so much.” “Krillin raised his hands defensively. “Well, not everyone's so bad. I mean, the monk who agreed to let me stay was nice, I guess. Even if he did kinda say he shouldn't have because I don't have much skill. Or talent.” He scuffed his shoe on the alleyway floor. “I mean, it's meant for students, not 'charity cases' and whatnot...” The girl raised an eyebrow and stood up straight. “Hey now, I just saw you fight, kid. You got some pretty good skill. Wouldn't manage to get two 'proper students' twice your size on the ground without it, yeah?” Krillin smiled, cheeks flushing a bit. “Yeah, I suppose so.” “How old are ya, anyways?” she asked. “Uhm... 13?” he replied. The girl let out a chuckle. “Ha! Looks like I got almost a full year on ya then. Already that good and you're barely a teenager though.” She put a hand on her hip. “Gotta say, I am impressed. Krillin snorted. “Yeah. Wish the masters at the temple saw it that way.” She cupped his face to look up at hers, cool leather of her fingerless gloves feeling even more intense against his flushed cheeks. “The way I see it? If they won't believe in you and give you a shot, you oughtta find someone who does. Then come back and teach them losers at that temple a lesson or two of your own.” She smiled and him, and he swore he felt his heart stop. “Who knows, might even wind up bein' a master in your own right, take over the school, start your own. Just don't let a buncha jerks push you around or live your life for ya.” “YO! SIS!” her brother called from down the alley. “Gotta scram, cops are comin', along with one very pissed off egg salesman!” The girl rolled her eyes. “I don't even wanna know.” “No, but I'll probably tell you anyways. C'mon.” She turned back to face Krillin. “Well kiddo, I gotta scram-” she paused mid-sentence, peering down the street and alley, as if to see if anyone was in view, before leaning down and placing a feather-soft kiss on his cheek. Krillin felt his face turn beet red and he froze, unable to move a muscle. “I gotta go, but I figured I'd leave ya one of those. For luck.” She shot him one last quick smile. “What's your name?” “K-k-Krillin,” he managed to sputter out. “Well, I'll be sure to look you up sometime.” She winked at him. “Gotta see how strong my future boyfriend is after all.” “B-b-BOYFRIEND?!” Krillin half-shouted, before getting a gloved hand firmly placed over his mouth. “Not so loud!” the girl half yelled in a hushed tone. “I got a reputation ta protect, you know.” Her face softened and she smiled before turning and trotting down the alley. Krillin stood there, stunned for a moment before hurriedly calling out after her. “But I-I'm a monk! I ca-” “Nah, you'll leave,” she laughed and called back. “I can tell. Then you're all mine.” Beet red, the boy called after her one last time. “Can I at least get a name?!” “Name's -” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Krillin sat straight up in bed, shaken. He peered over at the clock and noted the time. 3:00 AM. May 7th. He wiped the sweat from his brow and tried to shake off the fog of sleep. He knew he needed to rest. It was a long 5 days ahead. It was one of the most important days of his life. Yet, as he felt the cool ocean breeze drift in through the window, he also knew he didn't want to sleep again tonight. Because every year, without fail these dreams would come. Every year, he would remember what he lost. He would remember this day not as the day they defeated the “son” of the evil King Piccolo, nor the day his best friend was crowned World Champion, nor even, he noted with a pang of guilt, as the day of his best friend's wedding. To him, this would always be the day he lost her. And with that thought, he broke. Tears fell, unbidden, accompanied by heavy sobbing for what felt like an eternity. When he could finally breathe evenly and regain his composure, he noticed the first tiny rays of sunlight dancing over the blue horizon. Mentally cursing himself, he lay back down to try to get at least a bit more rest before his regimen for the day started. He couldn't afford to miss a day, especially now. Because in five days, the end of the world would begin.

#Chestnutfest #chestnutfest 2019 #Krillin #Android Eighteen #Android18 #Lazuli #Lapis #fanfic #fanfiction #Dragon Ball #Dragon Ball Z #Dragon Ball Super #DB #DBZ #DBS #Dragonball #Dragonball Z

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longsightmyth · 6 years ago

Text

Myth Reads The Naming, Chapter 24 (the last chapter)

PELLINOR

Nelac’s staff bar the doors and Cadvan says he and Maerad will go through tunnels underneath the citadel.

Oh, also Nelac is like ‘we’re going to invest Maerad as a Bard without the council, using an ancient rite that I happily know how to perform. Take THAT, Enkir!’

I’m paraphrasing.

“It is an ancient means,” said Cadvan. “The way of Afini. The very core of the rite. Not many these days know how to do it. Fortunately, Nelac is one of them.” Suddenly ha smiled at Maerad, his rare, brilliant smile, as if all shadows suddenly dropped from his soul and a great joy welled inside him. “And you shall come into your Gift at last, Maerad.”

Can we take a moment to note just how happy Cadvan is that Maerad gets to Do Her Thing? To Cadvan the Gift is this joyous thing, and he’s so happy that Maerad gets to experience it fully. It’s cute okay. I am weak for happy smiles.

Maerad, unfortunately, is less enthused.

Maerad looked at Cadvan uncertainly, the dread returning like a black wind rising inside her. She feared the power within her, even as she felt it growing. And she felt a shift in her being, as if a heavy door shut irrevocably behind her and there was no way back.

Oh dear.

Less than half an hour later Nelac performs the rite, which does involve setting Maerad on fire. But like. Magically.

Anyway it feels cool instead of hot once it hits her, and she hears her truename, which is indeed Elednor, so that’s that. She’s the foretold.

On the other hand that means everyone and their second cousin knows her truename. The book sidesteps that later and I’m still not sure how I feel about it.

Also, uh, Cadvan. Your crush is showing.

A little of the radiance of the flame still clung to Maerad’s skin, so as she sat in the room she shimmered slightly. Cadvan looked at her in wonder; he thought he began to understand the kinship Ardina had spoken of.

Nelac says Maerad is truly her mother’s daughter.

They don’t have much time to sit around though. There’s rioting in the first circle of Norloch, and Nelac begins making plans to evacuate his students to the lower circles as Cadvan and Maerad head out through a not exactly secret tunnel. It’s more of a discreet tunnel through the cellars, and Maerad realizes she hasn’t really had time to eat recently.

The tide is out so they won’t have to swim, which is good.

Cadvan worries that he will never see Nelac again, but surely, he says, he would know if Nelac was going to die?

Maerad says that Nelac is strong and Cadvan acknowledges her point even if he’s still clearly worried. They head down the very long stairwell and rest at the bottom. Cadvan says he hates stairs. Eventually they get going again and the tunnel gets smaller and smaller until they have to walk nearly bent double, which, if Maerad has to bend double Cadvan is basically crawling I assume. Yikes.

They emerge and pick their way over rocks to get to the docks, where they realize the fighting has spread and someone is burning the ships. Thankfully it looks like the specific one they’re looking for (red sails) is fine, so they try to sneak to it using the glimmerspell that Maerad can now do but get caught by a Bard patrol.

They have to fight their way through. Cadvan raises a wall of flame to try to keep the carnage to a minimum, but somebody starts countering it almost immediately even as Maerad and Cadvan make for the boat.

Aaaaaand then Enkir shows up, blasting Cadvan’s wall out of existence. Cadvan says he feels like a wight, but Maerad says only a little bit. He feels like living malice instead of dead malice. Cadvan keeps trying to defend them magically but Enkir is freakishly strong. Maerad sends a bolt of fire at Enkir. He deflects it.

Maerad suddenly remembered what Indik had said to her in Innail, it seemed years ago now. “Intelligence is the key. You’re not strong enough to be stupid. Think!”

Enkir sends a bolt of power at them almost contemptuously, but Maerad and Cadvan have been hanging out together and working together for too long: they look at each other for a split second, figure out what the other one is planning, and throw their powers together immediately to make a mirror kind of shield that reflects Enkir’s power back at him. It shatters but works. Maerad and Cadvan, unable to see Enkir in the aftermath, run for the boat.

Owan, the captain and only inhabitant of the little boat, is not impressed by the display, but he does mention to Cadvan that a little help with the wind would be appreciated. Cadvan calls up a little bit of wind and they sail away.

Maerad notes that she is glad they are going to Thorold, and Cadvan says he is too because most mainland Bard schools aren’t going to shelter them at the moment. They consider their lives.

“I regret the death of Gast,” Cadvan said, after a pause. “He was not an evil man, merely misled. He was doing what he believed right.”

Maerad thought: He was going to kill you, but she didn’t say it.

They think Enkir is still alive, or at least in the absence of a body they’re going to operate as if he is (thank goodness). They discuss how you can only do what you think is right and only rarely operate with total surety and how awful civil war is.

Maerad sits and meditates for a minute, reflecting on everything and the circle of life and stuff, now that she has an in-depth view by way of bardic magic.

As this understanding swelled inside her, the fears that haunted her gradually subsided and disappeared. For the first time since she could remember, she thought of her mother without sorrow. She saw her in her mind’s eye, tall and unbroken and beautiful: Milana, First Bard of Pellinor. She would be proud of her daughter now.

Maerad breathed in the sweet night air with a fierce exultance. This night, she thought, she did not care what the future held, what perilous journeys and dimly guessed terrors awaited her. For tonight, the present was enough.

End of book.

THRONE OF GLASS

Chapters 53, 54, and 55.

It’s the last one, y’all! I mean I have all the other books after this but leave me my moment of triumph.

Celaena is feeling better but still walking with a limp, which I actually appreciate as a nod to her injuries. What I do not appreciate:

It had been a week since the duel. Philippa was already busy with the task of cleaning out Celaena’s closet to accommodate more clothing. All the clothing Celaena planned to buy when she was free to venture into Rifthold and do some shopping for herself, once she had her outrageous salary as King’s Champion. Which she’d hopefully start receiving as soon as she signed her contract… whenever that would be.

Why is the evil king giving her a salary I thought her compensation was eventual freedom with room and board. Why does she have to sign a contract. Is that supposed to make her more trustworthy. Is it a magic contract.

(It can’t be a magic contract, magic no longer exists here)

(except wyrdmarks)

(and Dorian)

(and Mort)

(and Elena’s ghost)

(is it a magic contract)

Ahem.

Chaol enters without knocking as per the usual. The world apparently stops when he does.

Thanks I hate it.

Chaol says killing Cain was easy and he’s mad about it. Celaena says her first kill was hard. Neither of these things are ever brought up in later books in reference to continuing to kill people, so I don’t know why I’m bothering to make sure y’all know it’s happening. Chaol then asks how Cain knew about her parents being murdered, and Celaena lies and says she doesn’t know.

Look y’all, I am heartless when it comes to literature but I’m not a MONSTER. This idea is genuinely horrifying, and the image sticks with you:

“It was very long ago. It had been raining, and I thought the dampness on their bed as I climbed in was from the open window. I awoke the next morning and realized it wasn’t rain.”

I mean don’t get me wrong that could have been written ten times more fluidly (or more jerkily to show Celaena’s trauma) but the image itself is as horrifying as the book wants it to be and it’s one of the few times the book manages that.

Chaol and Celaena hug as he goes to leave, and they are interrupted by Dorian. Chaol flees. Dorian tells Celaena that her contract is ready to be signed.

Celaena decides that being officially the King’s Champion means she can’t be with Dorian, which, well. Fair. That’s a big power differential and I would also be leery about entering into that sort of thing without some very specific and very great faith in my partner, which Celaena is completely correct in not having in Dorian.

To give Dorian what (very little) credit he deserves, after a token argument he accepts that she wants to live her life free of encumbrances and leaves.

Celaena exults in her four-years-off freedom. End chapter.

Chapter 54

Chaol is staring at Celaena’s dining room door, enters, and ends up having dinner with her when she tells him she broke up with Dorian.

Celaena’s PoV has her dreaming about being in the tomb and talking to Elena, who asks her how she’s doing. Celaena says she’s fine, and that she hadn’t realized that Elena was a warrior.

“There are many things history has forgotten about me.” Elena’s blue eyes glowed with sorrow and anger. “I fought on the battlefields during the demon wars against Erawan - at Gavin’s side. That’s how we fell in love. But your legends portray me as a damsel who waited in a tower with a magic necklace that would help the heroic prince.”

You know, sometimes I think these books get it. It’s not even contradicted in the rest of the chapter.

Celaena asks why she needed to be King’s Champion, and Elena says people need her.

“Because I was sleeping - a long, endless sleep - and I was awoken by a voice. And the voice didn’t belong to one person, but to many. Some whispering, some screaming, some not even aware that they were crying out. But they all want the same thing.”

“...when you are ready - when you start to hear them crying out as well - then you will know why I came to you, and why I have stood by you, and will continue to watch over you, no matter how many times you shove me away.”

Celaena, feeling “ill at the thought of what might be asked of her [as King’s Champion]” nevertheless manages to thank Elena for saving her life, so points for manners for once.

The chapter ends with:

Elena bowed her head. “Blood ties can’t be broken,” she whispered, and then vanished, her words echoing in the silent tomb.

Uh-huh.

Chapter 55!

Celaena wears gold skirts and a maroon bodice to swear to the king as King’s Champion, but bows instead of curtsying. I mean. I guess that’s fine, but why not wear a nice set of ‘men’s’ clothes for the occasion at that point? Curtsy and show off the gold skirts. Those babies are gold.

Anyway.

King’s Champion as the king explains it sounds an awful lot like pet assassin, but what else is new. The king secretly threatens her that he’ll murder Chaol if she puts a toe out of line, and if she does anything after that like including not return, he’ll kill Nehemia and then Nehemia’s brothers and then Nehemia’s mother.

“Don’t believe I’m not as cunning and stealthy as you.”

Look man. That’s not something to brag about. Celaena couldn’t sneak up on the broad side of a barn, let alone an actual human and she can’t figure out how to make makeshift weapons either, so.

Celaena signs the contract.

Outside, the wind bellowed and raged against the glass spite, but it could do nothing to shatter the walls.

I actually appreciate that line.

Chaol joins her in her walk back to her room.

“Celaena Sardothien, the King’s Champion,” he mused.

“What about it?”

“I like the sound of it,” he said, shrugging. “Do you want to know what your first mission will be?”

She looked at his golden-brown eyes and all of the promises that lay within them, and linked her arm with his as she smiled. “Tell me tomorrow.”

End book.

COMPARISON

Interestingly, both books end on a similar note. They’ll worry about tomorrow tomorrow. I like it.

Of course, Enkir actually does evil stuff and the king only threatens to do evil stuff. Like, Enkir immediately moved to arrest his opponents and the king just kind of. Leaves them laying around. It’s not even a matter of knowing who the spy is? He literally looks into Celaena’s turquoise eyes with gold rims and doesn’t recognize them? They are storied in song and legend?

Both our heroines are fireproof though, or at least magic fireproof. Maerad comes into her own. Celaena keeps being coy about it. Aedion hasn’t even been mentioned in an aside about having brothers or something like a brother once. Celaena knows darn well she is a princess, supposedly, but we live in her head for most of this and we aren’t supposed to know for sure. It’s irritating.

Not irritating: Maerad having no time for Cadvan’s ‘dude was only following orders’ thoughts. Maerad is not down for that. Killing is bad etc etc but letting Cadvan die is worse: dude tries to kill Cadvan, dude will die. Them’s the breaks. The books are generally good about showing that as not a flaw exactly but something that should maybe be side eyed a little, and when to kill or not kill and how it’s always, always bad even if it’s in defense of good things is a theme continuously explored in the books.

Not so much with Throne of Glass. I’m tempted to describe them as ‘tiny kitten thinks of nothing but murder all day’ but that would imply that I find the whole thing amusing, which I do not. If you’re going to explore what it means to kill people then explore it, don’t have occasional throwaway lines to try to convince us that your character is good, really.

Also I found the passage that reminded me so strongly of Jaenelle Angelline’s existence. At least it’s in reference to Elena instead of Celaena?

Look my biases are clear and we knew that starting out, but please. Compare. They’re two young adult fantasy series with enough similarities for you to do so yourselves. I stand by my original assessment of Pellinor having better writing, better characters, better themes, and better worldbuilding even if there are some weird things in there once and a while. There is travel and consequences and people, people everywhere, even small parts get names and stories and they’re all relevant because Pellinor is, at its heart, a story of good vs evil and how it’s not really one or the other, but evil will never in the end come out on top… because people. Little actions, small good deeds, all have ripples in Pellinor, just as bad deeds and large actions do, and maybe that’s one of my largest problems with calling ToG epic fantasy. You don’t have a fully realized world where actions have really have consequences. Even GIANT actions only have direct results. Nothing sets off another chain of events. The plot happens because the plot needs to happen, not because it feels like we’re building to anything.

And honestly, that’s fine. I read books like that all the time. I just object to them being praised as epic fantasy when the focus is so narrow.

Pellinor gives us a world and ripples. Even Cadvans actions from before the books began have effects on the story now. Maerad’s experiences at the Cot have shaped her and they never entirely leave her even when she triumphs and lives a happy life. They are part of who she is.

Further, I feel that Throne of Glass did Evalin Ashryver a disservice by not including her since the beginning. Celaena could remember something of her mother somewhere to clue us in on the influence she is supposed to have had on her life, even if Celaena brushed the thought away or ignored it or put her fingers in her ears and chanted ‘la la la I’m not listening’. Pellinor put Milana in right from the beginning, and our opinion of her changes as Maerad’s does, and as we get more information about her.

Feel free to add!

STATS

Throne of Glass:

Pages: 6

Fragments: 6

Em-Dashes: 13

Ellipses: 5

Pellinor:

Pages: 19

Fragments: 7

Em-Dashes: 4

Ellipses: 8

#myth reads #myth reads the naming #myth reads the books of Pellinor #myth rags on throne of glass

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cosmichoneyedblossoms · 6 years ago

Text

Sangria Rush

Pairing: Wonho x Reader

Genre: Angst and SMUT

Word Count: 3,051

Aquamarine | Sangria Rush

The Alligator club was as busy as always, the line to get in was wrapped around the block and in the winter breeze that refused to let up made it hard to stand there, but this was the place to be—Wonho and the rest of the boys didn’t have to wait, they’re celebrities so they breezed by security with charming smiles. He wanted to come here for his birthday knowing you would be here working, he searched all of your social media and you still had the club listed as your place of employment, he knew you didn’t want to see him, you set that boundary with he started dating Chelsea and he abided to it, because he had her, why would he need you?

“Ah, I’ve missed this.” Hyungwon hummed next to him as they walked into the buzzing club, the heavy bass that rattled the floors and the loud music reminded him of the nights you would whine that your eardrums were almost shot, but you loved your job so you accepted it.

“How about you guys go up to the vip lounge and I’ll get us some drinks.” Wonho suggested and the guys seemed to be alright with it as they made their way over to the velvet rope enclosed lounge area. He turned his gaze onto the bar, scanning behind the dark wood to see if you were mixing for customers, but his excitement soon fell as he reached the bar and you weren’t behind it, but there were two lively girls behind the counter taking orders and mixing them. One of them noticed Wonho, her eyes lighting up as she approached him.

“What can I get you tonight?” She purred, leaning on the bar, trying to entice his gaze.

“Can I get two pitchers of beer, seven glasses, of whatever you have on tap, as well as a round of shots?”

“What kind of liquor would you like for the shots?” She asked, batting her full lashes.

“Tequila.” He responded and she started to prepare his order, his thoughts lingering on one question, “Hey…” His eyes drifted down to her name tag, “Marci… Does Y/N still work here?”

“Y/N? Absolutely, she’s actually working tonight.” She finished filling up the shot glasses, noticing a smirk tug at his lips.

“Would you ask her to bring the drinks up to the lounge for me?” Marci’s face fell at his question and she responded with a nod.

“I’ll go grab her.” Wonho left her with a heart stopping wink as he pushed off the bar and made his way to the lounge. Wonho met up with the guys at the table they chose, plopping down into the plush chair next to Jooheon. His eyes watched over the bar when he caught your figure leaving the counter, his heart thumping inside his chest as you got closer. God you were gorgeous, it had been a year and your smile still made his heart flutter, the longer his gaze lingered on you the more he couldn’t believe he had gone this long without you in his life. As you moved towards them, he noticed that you didn’t wear the uniform for the bartenders, you wore the heels that were assigned, but you also wore form fitting white pants telling him that you were too good at your job that you could carry trays of alcohol and not even ruin your pants, and the long sleeved burgundy peplum blouse gave you the air of professionalism that fit you well. He tore his gaze from you as you approached the table, his nerves now clawing at him.

“Hi guys! Welcome to Club Alligator, my name is Y/N, and I’ll—” You stopped talking as if you just realized who was at the table. Your eyes met six pairs of shocked, but familiar faces, and you turned your eyes onto Wonho, your expression falling almost immediately as your eyes connected with his, “Well, isn’t this a lovely surprise!” You hummed, dispersing the glasses and shots between the guys.

“We didn’t expect you to still be working here, Y/N.” Kihyun spoke as if he was avoiding stepping on eggshells, his hand reaching for the empty glass in front of him as well as the pitcher of beer.

“Yup! I’m still here, I actually own and manage the Alligator now.” Your smile was almost too sweet for Wonho, he didn’t expect you to react the way you were. He knew you were mad at him and thought you would run at the sight of him, but here you were, being sweeter than honey.

“That’s amazing!” Minhyuk clapped, “Why don’t you join us? It’s been a while since we’ve all been together.”

“I would love to, but unfortunately, I’ve got about three hours until we close, so I’ve got to keep an eye on the time.” You lifted up the empty tray from the table and bowed slightly, “Please if you need anything else, call for me. I should be around here taking care of business.” Your dark eyes rested on Wonho’s, sending chills down his spine, chills that ran so deep that he could feel them in his soul.

Wonho watched you bounce from corner to corner of the club, checking in with the DJ’s, the bouncers, the employees, as well as customers that seemed to enjoy your body just as much as Wonho did. The more he watched you laugh and smile with the friendly customers the more his thoughts wandered to what you’ve been doing with your time. Were you dating someone? Sleeping with someone? Has someone else filled his spot in your bed?

“...ho… Wonho!” Changkyun’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts for his eyes to look at the guys standing from their seats.

“What…?”

“They’re closing, we gotta go.” Shownu responded, his hands wrapped around the waist of a drink Jooheon.

“Ah. Okay, let me go—”

“We’ve already paid the tab, Wonho.” Kihyun hissed, helping Shownu with Jooheon. Wonho stood from his seat and followed the guys to the door, taking one more glance at you before exiting the building.

“What was up with that guy tonight, Y/N?” Marci’s voice filled the dressing room with its growl, “How come he just gets to ask for the manager and automatically gets you? Like—”

“They old friends that I haven’t seen in awhile.” You spoke nonchalantly as you fingered through envelopes filled with money, looking for Marci’s name. You pulled her envelope from the stack and handed it to her, “Next time, let me know it’s Wonho.”

“That’s the Wonho?!” She shrieked, “He didn’t look like that a year ago…” Another employee turned at Marci’s scream, quirking an eyebrow.

“Hold on, the Wonho was here tonight?” She asked, closing her locker.

“Yeah, table V4 in the lounge. You had VIP lounge tonight, Nat, I’m surprised you didn’t know.” You responded, sighing a bit.

“I mean, yeah, I did, but I was wondering why you were only serving one table in V… you served him all night, right? I give you props, you’ve got more nerve than I do. If I had to serve my ex all night—”

“He’s not my ex, just an ex-friend.” You rolled your eyes and pulled Natalie’s envelope from the stack and tossed it to her, her hands catching it in the air.

“But still, you kept your cool this whole time.” Marci continued Natalie’s thought, “Not to mention you look sexy as hell tonight.” Marci teased pulling her purse into her shoulder.

“Lucky me.” You shrugged and turned on your heels, leaving the dressing room, the girls following you.

“You’re being bitter, boss lady.” Natalie hummed as she passed you with Marci, them walking to the exit. You weren’t bitter, but still hurt from his decision, you never thought it would come down to him having to choose between you and his girlfriend, but it did, and you lost that battle.

You finished handing out paychecks and tip outs and walked back to your office, double checking to make sure everything was done for the night. You pulled out the vendor list for the afternoon drop offs and hung it on your office door for the midday crew to get. You packed up your things into your bag and pulled on your jacket, and then pulled your bag up onto your shoulder. Your heels clicked against the black tile floor as you made your way to the exit, the echo from your shoes sounded weird since it wasn’t a sound you heard much in the club, it was soothing and yet filling you with anxiety. You turned off the lights and pushed out of the exit door, it locking as it met the door frame behind you; the brisk winter air burnt your cheeks upon turning towards it, even though it was March, it didn’t seem like it would let up anytime soon. Oh that’s right, it’s March—March first to be exact, Wonho’s birthday. You let him lurk through your thoughts as you walked up to your car, your fingers clicking the unlock button, it beeping.

“So you have your own car now?” A deep voice spooked you, but you knew this voice without having to turn around.

“What do you want Wonho?” You breathed, pulling open the back drivers side door, dropping your bag into the floorboard.

“How’ve you been?” His voice sounded closer this time, but you refused to turn and look at him, let alone answer the pointless question he just asked, “You look great—”

“Listen…” You closed the door and turned to face him, crossing your arms to block out some of the frigid wind, “I know you didn’t just stand out here for an hour, on your birthday, waiting for me to get off just so you could ask me how I’ve been and that I look great. What the hell do you want?” He stepped closer to you, your bodies just a few feet apart.

“I want to talk.” You rolled your eyes, sighing loudly.

“We have nothing to talk about. I gave you your options and you chose Chelsea—”

“I know that, Y/N, but I’m here now and I want to talk.” He moved closer to you, reaching his hand out to touch you, but you sidestepped his reach.

“Give me one reason. One reason why I should let you into my vehicle. One reason to let you into my home.” You weren’t hoping for much from him, you weren’t even expecting a valid reason, so why was your heart wanting for just a reason.

“I broke up with Chelsea for you. Now… can we talk…?”

You pressed the password into the keypad of your door, it dinging unlocked; you pushed open the door and walked inside it, Wonho following close behind you, “You moved, too…” He husked as he looked around at your new place, no longer an apartment, but a gorgeous house.

“It was a gift to myself after taking over the Alligator.” You took off your heels and walked away from him to the kitchen, automatically going to the liquor cabinet and pulling out your beloved whiskey. Wonho appeared in the kitchen, his eyes watching you as you filled a glass with the amber liquid.

“Some things never change with you, do they?” He asked, admiring the sway of your hips as you put the bottle back into the cabinet.

“I guess not.” You walked back to your glass, taking a large drink of it, the tingling burn warming your throat as it went down, “You said you wanted to talk.”

“I did…” Wonho leaned against the counter, trying to figure out what to say, your eyes wandered over his shape, and you couldn’t deny it, he looked good, better than the last time you laid your eyes on him, “First, I want to say that I’m sorry for running away when you confessed your feelings for me. I was just scared—”

“Scared? Of what? It wouldn’t have been any different between us besides the fact there would be a title.” You took another long drag from your glass, keeping your eyes on him.

“I was scared of how deep we were with each other… it felt like I could drown in the love you had for me and that was terrifying because I didn’t know if I could offer you the same kind of love.” Wonho fiddled with the frayed denim of his jeans as he spoke, the anxiety that he had earlier that evening started coming back to him, raking and clawing up his nerves, “When you gave me the ultimatum, I just took the out you gave me.”

“So you ran?” You hissed, slamming your glass down onto the counter.

“I always seemed to fuck everything up with us as soon as it got good and I didn’t want to do that to you.”

“We both made a promise to each other and you promised me…” Your voice started to break, the anger and frustration you held in for the last year was finally getting it’s chance to spill, but the only thing that was spilling from you were tears, “You promised me that if either one of us had feelings for the other that we would tell each other and work it out, but when I told you I was falling for you, you went and found some piece of trash that you thought could easily replace me!” Wonho watched as your tears rolled down your cheeks, them falling down to your shirt, staining the fabric with its saltiness.

“Y/N…” He whispered, closing the space between you, his cold fingers padding away the tears that refused to stop falling, “Why’re you crying?” Your hands pushed him from you, only for him to pull you into him, your lips crashing together. His smoldering kisses seemed to melt every rebuttal you had for him of why you were so mad at him and why you hated him, but right now the only thought that passed through your mind is how much you missed him.

“Wonho…” You whined through the seams of your locked lips, his voice soon shushing you.

“It’s still my birthday and all I want is to make love to you.” He rasped, his cold fingertips pulled your shirt up, his lips pulling away from you for a moment to take your shirt off, warm kisses soon pressed into the chilled skin of your shoulders while his hands trailed down your body, feeling your shape—remembering how it felt to have you in his hands. Wonho picked you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he took you to the nearest surface, the dining room table. He sat you down, quickly unbuttoning your pants and tugging them off along with your lace panties, his hunger eager to taste you after waiting for so long.

“Wonho, please—” You cried out as his lips seared kisses to your thighs, it sparking a familiar heat between your legs, one only Wonho could conjure on command. His tongue traced the outline of your wet folds, his lips pressing a kiss to your nub, eliciting a high pitched gasp from your lungs, the sounds he’s been craving to hear. Your fingers gripped the thick locks of his hair as his osculation with your folds caused the flames in your stomach to burn hotter, them singeing every nerve, a wave of tingles started in your toes and worked their way up your legs. Your lungs screamed in pleasure as your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks, his chuckle near your core sent shivers through your body as your high had you in its clutches.

“God, your so beautiful, Y/N…” He hummed as he got to his feet, the sound of his belt clinking and the opening of his zipper met your ears, and then the feeling of his hardened length pressing against your entrance made you hum, “Tell me what you want.” Wonho groaned, stroking his length between your sticky folds.

“I want you, Wonho.” You reached out for him while wrapping your legs around his waist. He pushed his length into your heat, his hands pinned yours next to your head and his body came down to meet your skin, his lips finding yours while his hips slowly thrusted into you. He was perfect, down to every inch he gave you, every thrust rubbed you the right way, every kiss to your skin was enough to make you give him everything—Wonho was the one and you weren’t going to let him go again.

“Y/N— I can’t—” He huffed into the nook of your neck, his grip on your hands tightened while his pace became erratic.

“Come to me, Wonho… Come to me…” You whispered, pressing a kiss to his temple.

The sensation of the hot water brought you back down out of the clouds, you let the water beat over your head in steamy rivulets. You closed your eyes to the water as the warmth soaked into your skin, your body moving to lean against the cool tile as your jello like legs threatened to give out from under you. The shower curtain was pulled back, but you kept your eyes closed as you lost yourself in the warmth.

“You okay?” He breathed, the exhaustion clear as day in his voice. You hummed a simple response as you fought off your own exhaustion, you forced your eyes open to see his beautiful caramel skin soaking in the dim light of the bathroom. How did you fall so deeply in love with him? He was nothing, but a friend and then a friend with benefits before you fell for him, but somehow he became someone of importance. Wonho stepped into the shower with you, closing the curtain behind him as he stood in front of you; you raised a hand to cup his cheek, your thumb caressing his soft skin, leaning in close to kiss him gently. You ignored your tired limbs as the feeling of his hands slid over your slick body, pulling you closer to him, deepening your kiss.

“Never leave me again…” You whispered as you pulled away from his lips.

“I promise, I won’t.”

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