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kaistarus · 4 years ago

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BitterSweet

Pairing: Itadori YuujiXReader

Words: 2.4K

Summary: How Yuuji makes his way into your life with brights smiles and shitty coffees

A/N: just in time for his b-day :3 i’ve loved this boi since before i even started jjk, so i’m glad I got to finally write for him lol

Masterlist

Bitter.

Bitter-with a hint of vanilla-was what you associated with Itadori Yuuji. His beaming smile at your first tutoring session forever connected with the pungent coffee he offered you.

You stared at the cup skeptically, “what is that?”

“Coffee?” Yuuji answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I thought every college student liked coffee.”

He wasn’t wrong, “but why did you get it?”

“Because you got up so early to help me,” Yuuji’s smile widened as he waved the drink around.

“Well I’m scheduled, so I would have been here whether you signed up or not.” You pointed out, glancing at the clock nearby that read too-early-in-the-morning and gestured for him to hand it over. He looked so pleased with himself that you were sure if he was a dog his tail would be going wild.

That was the only explanation you had for why you didn’t tell Yuuji it was the worst thing you’d ever tasted, hiding your full body cringes when he looked up after digging through his backpack.

“So, what are we doing first?” He asked excitedly, holding a creased notebook with uneven pages and a packed folder with papers hanging out. You stared at it wearily, but unfortunately he was far from the worst case scenario-a folder was huge compared to some you’d run into.

“I guess just give me your last exam and we’ll work from there.”

Yuuji chuckled awkwardly, fingering through the mass of papers in his folder before producing a packet marked heavily in red ink. You sighed at the single digit number at the top with a frowny face beside it.

Looked like you and Itadori Yuuji were going to be spending a lot of time together.

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

“You’re overthinking it, Yuuji.” You rubbed your temples having spent the last thirty minutes working through the same problem with no success. You were beginning to lose all hope.

“But it doesn’t make any sense,” he groaned, leaning back in his seat. “I’m supposed to figure out the probability of what movies were action movies, but how was she able to watch eighty movies in one week?”

“That isn’t the question.”

“It isn’t possible though!” He jabbed his eraser at the paper. “Did she sleep? I bet this Melissa chick fast forwarded or skipped.”

“Yuuji…”

“Can you go a full week without sleep? If she slept through some, are they part of the eighty?” He gripped his pink locks in frustration. “How do I know which she slept through? Is there a timeline?”

You deadpanned as he scanned the page stressfully like it was holding him hostage with its contents, “I don’t think they provide a timeline, no.”

“Sorry,” Yuuji sighed defeated, slouching forward to rest his chin on the library’s table. “I swear I’m trying.”

You leaned against your palm, eyes softening as he glared at the homework sheet under him. “Don’t apologize,” you slid the sheet from under his chin. “You’re my favorite session after all.”

“I am?” He perked up.

You rolled your eyes while circling a segment of the first word problem. “You can just make up wild backstories for each person. Melissa doesn’t have to sleep and can absorb movies abnormally fast or something.”

Yuuji blinked several times as his lips curved into a smile. “What about the guy who owns over four-hundred chickens?”

You forced down your own smile and shrugged, “he’s just lonely.”

Yuuji laughed, continuing down the page while spewing out ridiculous stories for the unfortunate names in the Stats problems. Your heart beat firm in your chest at how excited he was now while scanning the page. The ticking clock above you felt like a curse the closer it got to the end of your session.

You guessed you didn’t hate the mornings anymore if they were with him.

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

You tapped your pencil’s eraser impatiently on the booth's table. The smell of brewing dark roast drifting through the small cafe accompanied by the combined noises of workers preparing early risers beverages kept you from dozing off where you sat. Finally, after what felt like forever-probably a few minutes-Yuuji slid into the booth across from you and placed a mug in front of you.

“I can buy my own coffee, Yuuji.” You took the mug wearily, eyes darting around the near empty cafe you’d decided to meet at this week to ‘spice things up’ in his words. “People might get the wrong idea.”

“I didn’t think you cared about that stuff,” he said with a teasing smile that you returned with a half-assed glare. “It’s my payment for making me smarter.”

“I already get paid,” you pouted at the drink in your hands. “And you’re already smart. I just help you understand it.”

He didn’t respond and you glanced over, confused at his slack jaw expression.

“Oh,” he started shuffling through his backpack and you swore his cheeks were dusted pink. “Yeah, that-uh-makes sense.”

“Right,” you raised a brow at the weird response, but decided it wasn’t worth pursuing. There wasn’t enough time in the world to question every random thing Yuuji did.

“What’s on the schedule today boss?”

“Your exam’s tomorrow,” you said, pulling some sheets from your own backpack. “I printed your practice exam since I’m guessing you didn’t know it existed.”

“Hey,” he pouted. “I didn’t, but still...”

You snorted, sliding the packet across the table. “Just do the ones you can and I’ll help with the rest.”

He saluted you, unnecessarily scribbling his name across the top before getting to work-his tongue poking out adorably while his eyes scanned the words intensely. You felt your chest filling with an unfamiliar warmth as you watched him work and your hand drifted subconsciously toward the mug next to you.

You coughed, unprepared for the harsh flavor, only wiping the grimace off your face when Yuuji peered upward with an innocent head tilt. Your heart squeezed when you locked eyes too long with his dark hazel before a soft smile filtered onto his lips. You quickly dropped your stare, hoping that if you avoided looking at him you could avoid the weird feeling emotion rolling in your stomach as well.

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

You slouched up the library's stairwell, pushing through the second story’s double doors that led to your usual reserved tutoring table. The school really needed to push back your start time-seven in the morning was way too early for any college student to effectively teach or learn anything. The only person ridiculous enough to continuously sign-up for this time was-

You gripped your backpack straps as strong arms wrapped themselves around your midsection, picking you off the ground without warning. An unwanted frightened squeal left your lips before you recognized Yuuji’s laughter behind you and you relaxed as much as you could with him spinning you around in a library half-full of people.

“What are you doing?” You glared at him over your shoulder, cheeks warm from embarrassment at the scene he was causing.

“I got a C!”

You blinked several times before prying his arms off you, “are you serious?”

“Yeah,” he slid his backpack off, digging around before offering you a crumpled up packet with a seventy-four and a smiley written on top. You stared at it with a growing smile and without thinking too much you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Yuuji, this is amazing!”

“I know,” he laughed, encircling your waist awkwardly given your backpack. “My roommate didn’t believe me. She’s doing my dishes for a week thanks to you.”

You weren’t sure you felt good about that after seeing his level of disorganization, but you smiled back anyway. “I’m so proud of you.”

Which was true. Your chest was swollen near bursting with pride for him and he’d only gotten a C. You told yourself it was because of your own skills as a tutor, but had you ever been this excited for someone?

“Hey, we should celebrate.” Yuuji stuffed the exam back into his bag. “Do you wanna-”

“Can you guys quiet down?” a guy with four crushed energy drink cans and food wrappers laying haphazardly around him asked. “I can’t focus and I just wanna go home, dude.”

“Sorry,” you whispered as warmth crept up your neck, turning Yuuji toward the exit as he stared at the guy in amazement. “We’ll leave you alone.”

“How long have you been here?” Yuuji asked in awe.

“Twenty-five… No, maybe eight...” The guy narrowed his eyes at the clock. “Time’s an illusion man.”

Yuuji nodded, impressed, shooting the guy a thumbs up as you pushed him toward the doors. Once in the stairwell you shot him a bright smile, “celebrate?”

He nodded excitedly. “We can get coffee!”

You turned away quickly to cover your panic, “or maybe anything else?”

Yuuji hummed, “I guess change can be nice.”

Your heart did a bizarre skip at the soft look in his eyes and you hurriedly started down the stairs without him. You spent more time that morning brushing off each reaction to Yuuji than enjoying your time with him. When everything was done you started thinking that you were having a hard time kidding even yourself.

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

You and Yuuji had been working in silence for the past twenty minutes-the longest he’d gone without needing help since he’d signed up for tutoring. It was a great sign that for some reason had your stomach knotting uncomfortably.

“You’re doing really good,” you complimented, admiring the delighted smile he gave you.

“Yeah, I used what you said about note taking for lecture.” He showed you his notes that were beyond chaotic, but apparently worked for him. “I actually understand what’s going on now.”

“That’s great,” you looked down at your Chem problems and attempted to keep your tone light. “You probably won’t need tutoring soon if this-.”

You heard his pencil snap and looked up to find him staring holes through his paper. He seemed tense as he pressed his pencil roughly against the notebook and you wondered what word problem would’ve caused that reaction.

“Are you stuck? Do you want me to-”

“I like you.”

You paused mid-reach for his textbook and locked eyes with him, his cheeks flaring up a dark pink. You opened and closed your mouth several times before mumbling out a weak, “what?”

“And I don’t want you to tutor me,” he looked frustrated with himself when you tilted your head at his contradictory statements. “I mean, I do, but not always. I just want to spend time with you and not talk about Stats because I hate Stats, but I really like you.”

That weird feeling was back. The one where your chest felt tight and your heart was beating too quickly and your stomach sort of felt like you might throw up, but all in a good way and that made everything weirder. It was a lot and not enough and that made you nervous.

“I don’t know, Yuuji.” You lied.

“That’s okay,” he smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “No pressure. I just sprung it on you, so I don’t blame you.”

You nodded, watching him dig around his bag for a second pencil while grumbling about organizing that you knew would never happen. Your heart ached in your chest as you watched him continue working casually, playing off whatever happened.

...but you weren’t sure you could do the same.

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

This was a terrible idea.

You swung your legs, perched atop a railing across from a building that Yuuji was currently taking his midterm. It didn’t matter how you got that information-accessing his schedule with the few perks your job gave you-all that mattered was you had five minutes to figure out what you were going to say to him.

This wouldn’t even be an issue if he hadn’t skipped tutoring a few days ago. You weren’t sure if he thought you hated him or if he was regretting confessing to you, but either way you needed to talk to him before your window closed.

If only any of the speeches you could think of weren’t absolutely humiliating. Three minutes now? That should be enough time for you to at least get the beginning-

“(Y/N)?”

Your head whipped to the side so fast you're sure you got whiplash, dumbfounded that Yuuji was standing there with his head cocked to the side.

“You finished early,” you said, face warming at his growing confusion. “Not that I would know that.”

“Right.” He gave you a once-over. “Whatcha doing here?”

“Uh,” your nose crinkled while searching for a reasonable excuse. You sighed when you came up empty. “You skipped tutoring.”

Yuuji’s eyebrow rose and he waved his hands around. “I accidentally slept through it.” Then you noticed the gears started turning in his head and you began shrinking in on yourself. “You came here because I skipped a lesson?”

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you were going to keep skipping,” you avoided his eyes, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “It’s a bad habit.”

He knew you were full of shit. You could tell by the way he was forcing down a smirk when you stared at your feet. This would obviously be going so much better if you had those three minutes to prepare.

“Thanks for checking in,” he smiled, fishing around in his pocket and holding out his phone. “We should probably exchange numbers so you don’t have to go through all this trouble next time.”

You eyed the phone and rolled your eyes, “makes sense.”

He looked overjoyed when you took it from his hands. Your heart felt like it would pound out of your rib cage while he watched you create your contact, your fingers shaking slightly under the pressure.

“As an apology, I should probably take you to get food too.”

You paused, looking up at his hopeful gaze before nodding shyly. “That seems fair.”

The smile that overtook his face was probably the largest you’d ever seen and your heart nearly exploded when he grabbed your hand, pulling you away from the building. You probably should have seen this coming the moment you began looking forward to your morning shifts with him. As he dragged you down the street you found yourself not caring where he took you-you knew you’d be happy as long as he was with you.

#itadori yuuji #itadori yuji x reader #itadori yuji fluff #yuji x reader #itadori yuuji x reader #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #itadori x y/n

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lucky-dreamfisher · 4 years ago

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Queer Subtext in The Illusion of Living - Part 1/3

This part focuses on the queer coding of Joey’s character. The next 2 parts will discuss Joey’s relationships with other male characters in the book.

Quotes from TIOL are transcribed in italics, screenshots are from “Gay New York: Gender, Urban Culture, and the Making of the Gay Male World, 1890-1940″ By George Chauncey.

He’s extremely vocal about his disinterest in women and shows zero hesitation about it

“I knew I had taken a risk with this game, and I could see it all over her face. She was falling in love with me. I took a step out to the side to create a bit more distance between us. Fortunately the bugle sounded soon after and we had to part ways.” TIOL, page 35

“I couldn't quite see what she was doing from where I was sitting, and I didn't want to get too close physically, didn't want to make the moment seem intimate. How many women have fallen in love with me because I got excited about something they said to me and got a little too close? I knew I was a catch. But I was meant to swim the seas alone.“ TIOL, page 166

And these are just two of the many, many similar remarks he makes in the book. Listing them all would require a separate post. He really makes sure to drive the point across.

He was bullied in the army for not being a “real man”, and pressured to find a girlfriend

“The men made fun of me: "Reading a romance there, Drew?" I remember Eckhart laughing through his mushy peas, bits flying out of his mouth and onto the dining table. "What if I was?" I replied. "Only girls like fiction."” TIOL, page 62

“Novels fascinated me. I knew before Donaldson and Eckhart had teased me that supposedly men who were "real men." as someone, maybe Arch, had put it, read about real subjects, nonfiction.” TIOL, page 62-63

“Donaldson was convinced he could find me a sweetheart, even when I said I wasn't interested in one.” TIOL, page 28

More under the cut

When describing the pros of visiting a speakeasy, he uses a gender-neutral term “pretty people”, as opposed to “pretty women”

“Passwords, pretty people, paid-off police - you could feel wrong while not being particularly bad.” TIOL, page 43

Also worth asking ourselves why are “pretty people” among the things making him and his friends feel dirtybadwrong. Unless it’s the wrong sort of people that they found pretty.

The speakeasy itself had a very peculiar password too: “Sparkle Unicorn”. It was also located in the Meatpacking District, known for having a lot of gay nightclubs. While Joey doesn’t describe any openly homosexual behavior at the establishment, Nathan notes that his description of the speakeasy isn’t entirely truthful.

“Nate A: Can't not acknowledge the compliment here, I remember this night well. Though I remember it being at the Bee Room, gold and black, not silver as the main design aesthetic. Doesn't really make much of a difference though, I suppose.” TIOL, page 44

His best friend is a woman wearing men’s clothing (heavily queer-coded herself), who seems fully aware of his lack of interest in women

“It's invitation only, but I thought you could be my date!' I turned and looked at her but before I could say anything she added, "Nothing romantic, my darling, you don't need to run through the wall leaving a Joey-shaped hole in its place!"” TIOL, page 74-75

“I leaned in and placed a hand on Abby's knee. There was a gasp from someone in the audience, but I knew Abby wouldn't be flustered by it. That wasn't the nature of our relationship.” TIOL, page 89

He reacts negatively to a straight couple kissing in his presence

“There were a few whispered conversations happening at the edge of the room, one clearly flirtatious between a young man and woman dressed in absurdly shabby clothes. He leaned in and kissed the tip of her ear, and I found that to be quite ostentatious” TIOL, page 78

You may think that it’s because he’s old-fashioned, but no - he explicitly approves of Abby’s unorthodox behavior.

“She had really started coming into herself by this point and had even started dressing in a far more modern fashion, some would even call it scandalous.”

“What man are you stealing all these clothes from?” (...) "You don't like my new look?" she asked, returning to my question. "I don't know why, but it works for you." TIOL, pages 74-76

Abby is also described - alongside Sammy, as the only person who can understand “the Illusion of Living”, which seems to be Joey’s codename for the art of lying.

“I attempted to explain a bit of the Illusion of Living to him then, but I could tell it was too complex a concept for him to grasp in the moment. And I didn't need him to understand it profoundly. After all, I was steering this ship. My artists and writers don't fully get it either quite frankly. Abby and Sammy probably are the ones who best understand it and even then, it's not to my level” TIOL, page 209

How curious that the only two people in the world able to understand a philosophy that centers on projecting a false self-image to the public just so happen to be the two other characters with strongest queer-coding.

Bertrum interprets Joey’s comment as flirtatious

"Now don't you play hard to get," I said. I remember actually wagging my finger at him.Yes, definitely light-headed. "I'm not that kind of date," he replied with a hearty laugh, and I must admit I didn't entirely understand the joke, but I laughed too.” TIOL, page 209

Did you get the joke? Joey sounds gay - that’s the joke.

While I’m not too thrilled about homosexuality being treated as some sort of hilarious punchline to be laughed at, nevertheless it does show that Bertrum (and the author) notice the double entendre in their interactions.

He lives in Greenwich Village, which was a famous gay enclave in New York

“I knew it the moment I saw the dark outline of a strange figure silhouetted in the hall of my dripping Greenwich Village apartment building” TIOL, page 43

He owns a red bow tie, which was a sign of homosexuality in the 20s and 30s

“For my part the only red thing I owned was a garish bow tie, so that was all I was able to contribute visually.” - TIOL, page 82

#bendy: the illusion of living #joey drew #bendy and the ink machine #batim #bendy and the dark revival #batdr #bertrum piedmont #abby lambert #dreamfisher certified

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softboywriting · 4 years ago

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Two Steps Forward, One Step Back | Nathan Bateman | Ex Machina

Summary: You and Nathan hit it off at a tech expo. One thing leads to another and the two of you pull a stunt, claiming you’re married. Things get out of hand, and you end up going to stay with Nathan at his home to avoid people trying to harass you about Nathan’s work. The time you spend together will allow for a real relationship to bloom. [Swearing] [Fake Marriage Trope] [Soft!Nathan] [F!ReaderxNathan]

Word Count: 3.3k

|Masterlist In Bio|

One day you realize Kyoko is missing. You're not sure when she stopped appearing, in fact you can't remember the last time you actually saw her. Last week? No. A month ago? Wait,have you been here that long? Time seems to have lapsed here in the facility with Nathan. You worried about this when you arrived. Or maybe when you took the job. Was it really a job? Everything is a little fuzzy in terms of what you are. An assistant one might think, a housekeeper perhaps? No. You took the job as Nathan Bateman's wife. Yes. Job....well...sort of. Let’s go back to the beginning shall we?

Three months ago you met Nathan at the biggest tech expo in Las Vegas. You weren't exactly there for the inventions and hottest tech on the market. You were a handler, an escort of sorts for the creators and investors from companies attending. Your job was simple. Make things as smooth as possible while the people with disgusting amounts of money make big decisions. It was a great gig. It paid incredibly well for being temporary. But Nathan didn't think it suited you.

The second he laid eyes on you it was all over. You had been nervous for days after learning you were assigned to Nathan Bateman for Thursday, Friday and Saturday of the expo. The Nathan Bateman, creator of Blue Book and the AI Project. You may not be a tech genius or even understand most of the things on display at the expo, but you would have to be living under a rock not to know who this man is and what he has done. He is illusive, handsome, sought after by many people the world over. Nathan is the definition of a sugar daddy if you ever did see one. Notoriously single, generous with his money, beyond genius intellect. He is the whole package.

One thing lead to another after you met Nathan at the expo and before you knew it he had your collar bones a mess with hickies and you were dressed in his sweater to attempt to cover them up. It hadn’t taken long before he was all over you, hands in your hair, on your butt, lips on your neck. You and Nathan had just sparked the moment you got close and you let that fire burn as hot as it could.

Of course all things in life have consequences, good or bad, and as you were leaving the rest area for creators, where the little hands on session had gone down, some press junkie saw you together. Photos were taken. Nathan had not been seen with anyone privately in years. He was never seen with a woman, let alone a woman wearing his sweater and looking a proper mess. It was a scandal to be had.

By the end of Friday Nathan was introducing you as his wife, a plan he had come up with on the fly. He had even procured a huge diamond ring for you too. Somehow you were playing along with all of this. Nathan offered to pay you, just for the appearance because it would be good for the company that he was seen as a man like any other, nothing more needed to come of your relations. It was fine. You were getting paid more than you could hope to make in your lifetime and getting to hang out with Nathan Bateman who you actually clicked with and liked to be around. Win win. You had it made. In less than 24 hours you were to be done with all of this and have cash in pocket to do whatever you wanted with.

Until.

A week after you had your crazy weekend with Nathan you were being followed. People kept showing up at your part time job in the travel agency downtown. They asked questions about Nathan, about his work. You didn't know anything. You were half tempted to tell everyone it was fake, that he never even properly kissed you, but Nathan paid you to be quiet, to play along. You signed his NDA. After a man followed you home from work and watched your apartment for two days, that's when you decided to reach out to Nathan. You could call the police and have the man removed, but there would just be others. This wasn’t a matter for the police, it was a matter for Nathan to handle.

Reaching a man like Nathan wasn't easy. He had left you a business card. A number that went to Blue Book human resources. It wasn't a way of contacting him directly, but it was. On the card was scribbled a word. "REQUIEM" You called the number and listened to the prompts. None reached an operator or customer service line. It seemed that no matter what you did it sent you to an automated system. Eventually you got so annoyed you just said the word requiem as if it were a prompt. Sure enough the phone started ringing, connecting to a line.

"Hello?"

"Nathan?"

"How did you get this number?"

"You gave it to me. At the expo." You tell him that it's you and he sighs heavily in relief. "I need your help."

"My help? With what?"

"I'm being harassed because of the expo." Your voice trembles and you realize how much of a toll this is taking on you. "People have followed me to my home."

"Fuck. Can you get to an airport first thing in the morning?"

"Yes."

"Perfect, give me your email. I'll send you everything you need to get away. Pack your bags for a few months. I'll bring you to my facility as a guest until this blows over or we decide what to do next. It's the least I could do."

And that's how you ended up in his home in the middle of nowhere Alaska for the last month and a half. Your whole world uprooted because you decided that a few hundred thousand dollars was worth playing fake wife to the country's richest and most sought after man for two nights. It was so stupid at hindesight, but here you are actually the happiest you've ever been and connecting with Nathan on a deeper level than you thought possible. The two of you just understand each other, it's as if you're two sides to one coin.

______________________

"So, where is Kyoko?"

Nathan looks over from his desk, peering at you over his glasses. You're leaning against the door frame in a nightgown you know he likes. "She's in storage."

"Why?"

"Because I decommissioned her." He turns his attention back to the computer and begins typing.

You step in and he lets out a little warning hum. You know better than to bother him while he's toiling away on code. Being here for this long has been a learning experience with his reclusiveness, but also a lesson on reading his moods. He's not irritated, yet. "Why did you do that?"

"Kitten, you are distracting me."

Kitten. The nickname he picked out day one. Who gives a guest a nickname?

"I'm curious."

"I'm working. You know the rules."

You lean against the desk and he flicks his gaze to you for a moment as your nightgown rides up your thighs. His rules were simple. Don’t bother him while he works, no kissing, no sex. Really you thought the rules were ridiculous. You were meant to be a guest, hiding while the world forgets about your fake relationship. But things don’t go as planned do they? The two of you have been pushing the boundaries of entering a relationship, though it has never been discussed.

"We haven't talked in days."

Nathan sighs irritably. "I am on to something that could be the greatest breakthrough in AI history." He pushes his chair back and pats his lap. "Come sit."

You do as told and plop down onto his lap.

"Now, if I promise to go to bed in two hours will you stop asking questions?" He runs a hand up your back, fingertips dancing against your skin delicately and making you shiver.

"That's a long time. It's already late."

"My patience is wearing thin."

"Alright deal."

"Good girl." He swats your butt gently and you slide off his lap. "Go make that bed nice and warm for me."

You take one last look back and he's already returned to typing. "One more thing."

"Nope. Get out."

"But-"

"Out, Kitten."

"Nathan, come on."

He stops typing and even in the dim light you can tell he is tense and irritated. This is the time to stop pushing his rules. "Go, or I won't be nice."

You cross the room quickly to kiss his cheek and then hurry from the room. You know he is probably going to do something to get back at you for disrupting him amid a coding session. But that's fine. You like seeing him break his own rules just for you.

__________________

Nathan comes to bed some time late in the night. You just recently began sleeping in his room, it’s what really started to blur the lines of what you were to each other. He had invited you to sleep with him after you found that your brain seemed to wander when you were alone in your cold windowless room in the inner workings of the complex and sleep never came easy. Nathan's room is upstairs, with a view out to the forest should you wish to set the windows to day mode. His bed is huge, elevated on a platform, covered in blankets and plush pillows. One may think Nathan's bed would be neat and clean like the rest of the house but no. It's like a nest of comfort, a bog of pillows that you could get lost in.

"Hey, I can tell you're awake."

"Just woke up."

"Everything is okay, you can sleep."

You arch back against him, butt pressed into his legs. "I still wanna know about Kyoko."

"Don't worry about it."

You yawn and he wraps arm arm around your chest. "It's weird. You said she was fine."

"Hush." He kisses your ear. "Sleep."

You fall silent, stewing in your thoughts. What purpose could he have for decommissioning Kyoko? She seemed fine. He said she had been working for years seamlessly. It just didn't make sense.

_____________________

Morning comes and the bed is empty. Nothing new. You wonder what it would be like to wake up to a sleepy eyed Nathan. Bet he'd look so cute. He's so hot without his glasses on. Well, he is hot with them on too but there is just something different about it you can’t describe.

"You wanna go for a walk?"

You look to the doorway and Nathan has his cargo pants and a jacket on. "I'm not awake yet."

"Suit yourself sweetheart. Call if you need me."

"Yep."

You throw your arm over your face. Your dream is coming back to you. It makes you shiver. You had been riding Nathan, hips rolling down into him desperately, his cock filling you so full. God you couldn't wait to do everything with him, if you ever do. You haven't even kissed yet. Even at the expo, he kept his mouth away froms yours, letting his lips travel elsewhere.

Nathan made his rules very clear at the expo and again when you arrived at the facility. No sex. No kissing. You suppose it has to do with attachments for him. You're just supposed to be staying with him until everything settles down around your fake marriage stunt. It's not supposed to be a real thing, but like you mentioned, everything has become blurry and unclear around your relationship with each other. Of course you both know that you have feelings for each other. Head kisses, throat, shoulder and back kisses are now allowed. Bed sharing is allowed. Cuddling. Snuggling. Talking and sharing memories is allowed. You think it's a matter of time before one of you fucks up and throws caution to the wind. What kind of host shares their bed with their guest? What are you doing here?

You crawl out of bed and grab some sweatpants on the floor along with a hoodie. If you hurry you can catch up with Nathan on the trail. Assuming he took the trail.

The air is crisp, a typical fall morning for Alaska. It's beautiful, so clean, so easy to breathe. Nothing like back home. You jog along the trail that leads away from the back porch and sure enough you find Nathan walking with his hands in his pockets.

"Hey! Wait up!"

Nathan turns and stops, smiling softly at you. "Thought you were too tired."

"I changed my mind."

"Uh huh." He plucks at your hoodie. "This is mine."

"Yeah I just grabbed something in a hurry." You stuff your hands in the front pocket.

He runs a hand through your hair, fingertips lingering along the ends. "I like it on you."

"Thanks? It's just a hoodie."

Nathan pulls his gloves from his pocket and passes them to you. "Take these. I don't need you to lose a finger to the cold."

"You won't make me a cool robot one if I do?"

He pulls the gloves back teasingly. "Mmm, on second thought let's see if I can actually do that."

"No!" You giggle and he allows you to take them.

The two of you walk along in silence just enjoying the outdoors and everything it has to offer. Eventually you end up at the bottom of a waterfall. It's loud, beautiful, almost icy when you touch the water at the edge where it pools.

"Do you want to know why I decommissioned Kyoko?" His sudden choice of topic startles you but it’s nothing new. He was always jumping on subjects randomly.

"Yes."

"Because of you."

"What?" You turn away from the water and walk to where he's leaning against a tree. "What did I do?"

"You took her place."

"What? She was your housekeeper and like an assistant or whatever. I'm neither, I'm just a house guest aren't I?"

“Just a house guest...” Nathan chuckles. "Kyoko was everything for me while I was here alone. A friend, a helper, my lover."

Your eyebrows shoot up. "She could fuck?"

"Of course she could fuck." He waves his hand dismissively. "When I say you took her place I mean in my life. I felt that she was unfair to you, that once you moved into my bed she didn't belong anymore. Kyoko is a great distraction but she isn't human, she doesn't think for herself, or feel for me. She doesn't connect like you and I do. It felt wrong to have her keep me company when you are here."

"But when I leave you'll bring her back out."

"No." He purses his lips and looks down. "Actually I wanted to ask you about that."

"Leaving? Have I overstayed my welcome?"

"Quite the opposite actually."

"The opposite? I haven't stayed long enough?"

Nathan pulls his hands from his pockets and gestures for you to come closer. You do as he asks and he cradles your face. "If you're interested, I'd like to actually start a relationship with you."

"Does that mean we can stop dancing around the edges of whatever this is between us? Because I don't think house guests normally sleep in their host's bed, or wear his clothes, or get neck kisses and give shoulder massages."

He smiles and licks his lips. "I wanted to see how far we could go until one of us broke down and drew a line."

"Nathan, I think we probably would have started showering together next if you hadn't said something by now." You laugh softly. "But yeah, I wanna see where this goes."

"So you'll stay with me a little longer?"

"As long as you'll have me."

"Don't say that." He puts his hands on your hips. "I might keep you forever. Might make you my wife for real."

"I'm not doing much for the rest of my life, so why not?"

Nathan laughs and it makes your heart swell. He rarely does so, it's such a treat to hear. "Never thought I'd meet someone I connect with so completely. Really I didn't think I'd ever meet anyone."

"Why not?"

"I'm not exactly social as you can tell by my living situation. But also I didn't think I deserved someone. Like I deserved to be alone, and be the way I am because I was gifted with such talent. I sort of accepted that it was a trade off for my intellect."

You lay your hand on his chest and his heart is pounding. "No one deserves to be alone. No one."

He smiles weakly. "When you called that day, saying you needed help because of the stunt we pulled, I knew it was you. I knew you were my chance at love in this life. There was no way I was going to let you slip through my fingers a second time."

"Second time?"

"I didn't want to leave you at the expo. I wanted to bring you home with me, I wanted to show you everything. But I knew I pushed it already with the wife stunt, and I knew you had a life and I couldn't be so selfish as to take you away from everything while chasing a high I got."

You smile softly and kiss his cheek. "I probably would have gone with you. That was the best weekend of my life and I didn't want it to end."

"I'm glad you let me play with you in that rest area and we got caught. If we hadn't I don't think we would be here right now."

"Don't make it sound so dirty."

"It was a little dirty." He kisses your cheek. "Hot too. You were so ready to just let me do whatever."

"Nathan!" You giggle and he presses his lips to yours. The sensation takes your breath away.

He cradles your face and slides a hand into your hair. He licks into your mouth and you let out a soft whimper. You grip his jacket and he turns you around so your back is against the tree. "Thought this would go a little differently."

"Yeah? How so?"

He presses another kiss to your lips. "Thought we'd be in the house, maybe curled up by the fire or in bed."

"Nathan Bateman a romantic? I'm shocked."

"I live to shock people." He chuckles. "I shocked my investors and my agent with our little marriage announcement."

"You didn't tell anyone it was fake? Not even your agent?"

"Not yet." He grins. "I like to make him sweat a little."

"You're mean."

"Sometimes."

"Well now we've established that this is happening, why don't we head back to the house? Are you free today?"

Nathan takes your hand in his and steps away from the tree. "I'm free every day."

"No you're not."

"I'm free every day you want me from now on." He threads your fingers together. "I promise."

"That's a big promise to make."

"I'll keep it." He brings your hand up and kisses it. "I'm a man of my word, you know that."

"Yes you are."

"Come on, I'm tired of waiting." He pulls you along the path and you walk quickly to keep his pace. "The last month and half have been torture."

You get ahead of him and pull your hand out of his. He raises an eyebrow. He knows what you're thinking. He knows you're going to run for the house and make him chase you.

"Don't you do it."

"Too late." You take off and he follows in hot pursuit. "You gotta catch me if you wanna keep me!"

His arm encircles your waist the moment you reach the porch and he tumbles you both down onto the sun warmed smooth wood. He rolls you under him and pins you by your arms. "You're mine now."

"I guess I am." You smile big and he captures your lips with his once more. “I wouldn’t be anyone else's.”

End .

-----------

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polar534 · 4 years ago

Text

Hockey AU: Pizza Date Pt. 1

Hi. It's ya girl. Back again. This is the last of the fully written parts I have done for Hockey AU, so anything else that gets posted is being worked on and completed currently. For example, Pizza Date was the second(?) fully written thing I've ever done for Hockey AU. I drew alot from my own experiences while writing it. Hockey AU is just the thing I write to de-stress anymore.

TW: Homophobia.

***

"So. Whatcha feeling? It's my treat today!" Luz grinned at Amity as they both stood at the counter.

"Oh. Luz, I'm not really that hungry. I thought we were just going home." Amity said with a small frown.

Luz watched her face fall and felt only a tiny twinge of guilt. Luz glanced over at the man behind the counter who rolled his eyes with smile, communicating that, yes, he didn't mind waiting.

"Oh we'll make it home eventually, but you've got to be hungry after a practice like today. I'm starving and all I did was watch!" Luz exclaimed, giving her full attention back to Amity.

"You're always starving Luz." Amity said, giving her a look.

Luz smirked. "Alright. Well, how about this, I'll order enough for the both of us, and whatever you don't eat, I'll finish." She proposed, and before Amity could answer, she turned to the man behind the counter and flashed him a huge smile.

"One large pepperoni pizza, and an order of breadsticks please. Oh... wait. Make that 2 orders."

"For here or to go?"

"For here."

Luz collected the little ticket number the man put out for them and swiftly grabbed Amity by the hand, leading them to a booth in the corner of the restaurant. She stood outside of the table and gestured dramatically for Amity to scoot inside before climbing into the other side's bench.

The restaurant was warm however, and Amity quickly got back up to allow herself room to take off her jersey. Now in just a plain tank top, Luz grinned at the witch widely, holding her hands out expectedly with a grabby motion.

Amity sighed heavily and rolled her eyes, but she couldn't hide the smile that appeared on her face at Luz's antics. She tossed the jersey the human's way, and Luz scrambled into it without hesitation.

"I don't know why you always insist on wearing that. It's all gross and sweaty from practice." Amity mused aloud, already knowing the answer.

"Because it's yours, and I looooveee you. And because it's big and baggy and swooshes when I do this." Luz explained with a grin as she shook her shoulders in a small wiggle, making the jersey ripple with movement.

It brought a giggle out of both of the girls and they fell into a quiet conversation, Luz mostly leading, as Amity listened supportively with a tired smile. At some point, Luz snaked her hand onto the table, holding it out in a clear invitation. Amity took it without hesitation.

A couple of minutes passed and Luz watched as the Sunday afternoon crowd started to file in to the pizza joint. It was mostly young adults along with a group of older, middle aged women. For the most part, they ignored the two girls in the corner, but Luz still felt tense. She kept one eye out of the booth as she squeezed Amity's hand tighter.

If Amity picked up on her anxiety, she didn't say anything. Instead she simply gently stroked the back of Luz's hand comfortingly with her thumb.

Eventually the whispers started. Just as Luz knew they would. Mostly spearheaded by a group of 3 stern-looking older ladies who sat directly in the middle of the dining area.

Luz lost focus in the conversation as Amity's eyes drooped, clearly tired after the long day. The server startled them both as he slid their food onto the table with a smile.

"And how are you ladies doing today?" He asked cheerfully as he pulled out some napkins and plates for them.

Luz glanced quickly up at the ladies who were now glaring directly at her. Her shoulders shot up as she felt the venom radiating off of their stares and she quickly turned away and gave the man a weak smile.

"Doing well. Just a little tired is all." She said in a rush, gently squeezing Amity's hand as she let go to help organize the table and food.

All three people paused in what they were doing as they heard a loud rumbling come from underneath the table. Luz's eyes shot straight up to Amity with a grin.

"Not that hungry, huh?" She smirked.

"Shut up." Amity grumbled as she grabbed at a slice of the pizza.

The server laughed heartedly as he looked again at Luz. "Let me know if I can get you anything. Enjoy your meal!"

Luz didn't dive right into the pizza like she thought she would, but instead watched curiously as the waiter approached the table of ladies next, having been waved down by one of them. They gestured for him to lean in close and pointed at Luz and Amity angrily quite a few times before the man turned to them with a scowl. A small argument ensued and the man quickly walked away, obviously upset, leaving the ladies alone to stew in their discomfort.

Luz's head sunk even lower. Despite how good the food smelled and how hungry she had been, suddenly her appetite was completely gone.

Instead she watched quietly as Amity shoveled some much needed nutrition, well, as nutritional as the best greasy pizza the town had to offer was, into her face.

Luz felt a flicker of warmth despite everything.

Titan, her girlfriend was so cute.

A few more minutes went by and with the time, so did the ladies patience. Their whispers turned into obviously exaggerated complaints and quite a few people were now turning to stare.

'It's just disgusting.'

'They have to come here of all places, out in public, ruining people's evening's and appetites.'

Luz began to fidget, her nerves were on edge and she kept glancing over at Amity, praying she didn't notice the scene that was unfolding.

After the 3rd time the ladies tried to catch the attention of a server, Luz stood up suddenly, causing Amity to pause and look at her worriedly.

"Luz? Is everything ok?" She asked softly, reaching over to take her hand in a comforting gesture.

Luz quickly swiped at the number on their table to occupy her hands before Amity was able to grasp them. Her heart twisted as she watched the once concerned expression turn into confusion with a trace of hurt.

Luz flashed Amity a quick, forced, smile.

"Uh... yeah! Everything's just fine! I was just thinking we should really be headed home is all. I'm going to grab us some boxes, you uh, you stay here." Luz's eyes flashed over at the ladies once more before turning back to face Amity. "And um... get us all ready to go." She suggested nervously, turning and practically running over to the counter before Amity had a chance to speak.

The man at the counter was the same one as earlier and flashed her a smile.

"What's up? Did your date decide she was hungry yet?" He joked kindly.

Luz couldn't meet his eyes. "Actually, I was just hoping for some take home boxes please. One for the pizza and one for what's left of the breadsticks."

The man raised his eyebrows in concern. He looked over Luz’s shoulders and his eyes narrowed. A scowl darkened his face.

“Look, kid, I don’t know what you may have overheard, but those ladies ain’t getting their way here. You are plenty welcome to stay and enjoy your pizza. You and your girlfriend, you guys make a cute couple. You’ve been here before and have never once caused a disturbance. Whereas those old birds have. Say the word, and we’ll make them leave.” He told her plainly, his voice although stern, held a warmth to it.

“No… it’s ok, we can just take the boxes and finish up at home.” Luz smiled half-heartedly. “We uh… we’ve already caused enough problems it seems.” Luz mumbled quietly, avoiding the man’s eyes.

She heard him sigh heavily. “Alright. I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable. Give me just a sec and I’ll be right out with those boxes.” He said gently.

Luz fidgeted anxiously. She fought the urge to look behind her as she waited.

Thankfully, the man came back quickly. Luz took the boxes with another weak smile and booked it back to Amity. She forced herself not to look at the ladies as she passed them, instead locking her eyes on her girlfriend as she organized what food they had left.

Approaching her quickly, Luz set the boxes down with a soft thud. The suddenness of the movement caused Amity to look up in alarm.

“Luz, is everything alright?” Amity asked, narrowing her eyes and pausing in what she was doing.

Feeling her confidence fading, Luz knew she couldn’t keep the illusion up. Amity knew her better then that.

“We just, we need to leave. Ok?” Luz admitted quietly, unable to meet those amber eyes.

Luz could sense the change in Amity immediately. The witch nodded quickly and reached over the table to put a comforting hand over Luz’s before grabbing the boxes.

The small gesture caused a ripple effect of whispers. Luz’s head buzzed with the words she heard around her.

“Oh, I don’t really think we need 3 boxes though. You wanna run one back while I pack up?” Amity’s suggested helpfully, cutting through the haze that Luz had been in.

Brown eyes widened. Luz was so tense that she hadn’t even noticed the extra box. Her fists clenched at the thought of leaving Amity alone again. Especially now. It was safer if they just stuck together.

“Oh it’s fine. I’m sure it was a honest mistake. We’ll just take it with us and make King a little something with it.” Luz mumbled quickly.

Amity raised an eyebrow, but she didn’t say anything more. Putting the last of their food away, Luz swiped the boxes off the table. Shifting them onto one of her arms, she used her free hand to grab Amity’s and led them through the dining area quickly. Her eyes flitted back and forth nervously as they drew closer to the exit. Almost all of the eyes in the restaurant were on them. Every time someone shifted or moved Luz braced herself. She was ready to run and ready to take Amity with her.

Before they were fully out the door, one of the ladies stood up from the table. Luz nearly froze in fear, but she kept up the steady pace she was making, knowing they were almost out the door.

Meeting Luz’s eyes with a cold stare, the lady crossed her arms and smirked.

***

Psssst, hey! Like this? Wanna see more or want to know what the heck is happening? Check out the Masterpost!

#the owl house #toh #toh au #lumity #hockey au #the owl house au #amity blight #luz noceda

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official-weasley · 3 years ago

Text

Meant to Be (Charlie Weasley x OC)

What happens when Bill brings home a girl and Charlie is completely awestruck by her?

WARNINGS: cursing, angst

Chapter 18

Charlie

It was a few days after my birthday and I was feeling rather cheerful. My friends made a surprise party for me and nothing made me happier than Rhylee showing up. She seemed to be doing better. She was still shy and didn’t talk to me much but compared to before, this was progress.

It actually looked like she slept for once and she wasn’t trying to run away. Theo made her laugh with his stupid jokes and her hair wasn’t a mess for a change. I was happy she was doing better and I was hoping that with a little more time, she would come around and talk to me.

I hiked to my usual spot before work, a bit sad that she wasn’t there. I watched the sunrise and appreciated the silence surrounding me until I heard a roar. I got up at once and followed the noise. I could be mistaken but I think that was Gorra, our Chinese Fireball.

“What is going on?” I asked Andrew the second I got there, hands over my ears as Gorra didn’t stop roaring.

It sounded as if she was in pain.

“I think she stepped on something!” He replied.

“Charlie, where in the bloody hell is Rhylee?!” Theo shouted while trying to get Gorra’s attention.

I looked around, she was the only one who wasn’t there. I didn’t have a watch but I was pretty sure we were all supposed to be at work already.

“I swear if she’s late one more time, you’ll have to do something about it, Weasley!” Theo stepped aside just in time as the Fireball jerked her head, almost knocking him to the ground.

“Seriously, Charlie.” Evan looked at me, wand at the ready, observing the dragon’s moves. “We need one more person.”

“I’m on it!”

Damn it, Rhylee! Where are you?

I ran down to her hut as fast as I could and knocked. No answer. I pressed my ear on the door and I couldn’t hear anything. I knocked again, harder this time. Still no sound. I tried the door. It was unlocked.

It was empty. There was nobody there. But that wasn’t the weirdest part. It looked vacant. As if nobody lived here at all. There were no books on her coffee table as they usually were. The blanket she kept on the side of her sofa was gone. I didn’t dare to step further inside and investigate. What was going on?

“Charlie?” I jumped in the air at Peter’s voice and turned around.

“What are you doing?” He asked with a worried expression on his face.

“We need help with Gorra. Andrew reckons she stepped on something and we need more people.” I explained.

“Okay.” He said slowly. “I’ll help, no problem.”

“Let’s go then.” I stood still for a second longer and then followed him back to the Fireball habitat.

I couldn’t get the image of her empty apartment out of my head but I couldn’t afford to think about it now. Gorra needed help.

“Why were you snooping around Rhylee’s place?” He asked as we were hurrying up the hill.

“She didn’t show up at work and since we were a few people short I came to get her.”

“She didn’t tell you.” He murmured more to himself than to me.

“What?” I turned to him and I could see he was going about it in his head.

“Charlie,” he stopped and grabbed my elbow for me to stop walking as well, “Rhylee left the day after your birthday. I thought you knew.”

I stood and stared at him like a statue. I didn’t understand what he was saying.

“What do you mean she left?” I tilted my head. “I didn’t give her a day off.”

“Not for a couple of days, Charlie.” Peter said calmy. “She resigned. She left for good.”

I looked around and walked to the nearest rock. I had to sit down.

She left?

She resigned?

What the fuck?

I…I don’t understand.

She left without saying anything? Without telling me? Without saying goodbye?

I grabbed my chest as I was gasping for air. I couldn’t breathe. I felt like I was having a heart attack. This isn’t happening. What does he mean she left for good?

“Charlie!” Peter kneeled before me. “Are you okay?”

“I…what.” I looked up at him, still breathing heavily.

“I’m sorry, Charlie. I thought she told you. You two were so close.” Peter frowned.

I think he couldn’t believe it either.

Close? Apparently not. Apparently, I didn’t mean shit to her. Otherwise, she wouldn’t leave like this.

I turned my head as I heard another roar. I can’t deal with this right now.

I took a deep breath and got up. I started running toward the dragon, Peter right behind me. I knew he wanted me to stop and talk about it but I couldn’t. What am I supposed to say? What am I supposed to do?

Peter sent me home the second we immobilized Gorra and the healers came to help her. I don’t remember getting home. I don’t remember unlocking the door or taking my shoes off. I don’t recall taking my clothes off and going into the shower but here I was. Hands leaned against the wall, water pouring over me.

I was so confused. I kept shaking my head. I couldn’t believe it. She just left. Without even a note or any indication where she has gone or why.

Deep down I knew it was too good to be true when she got friendly again for my birthday. It was sudden but I thought she was finally moving on from whatever was bothering her so much. I know now that I was wrong. What was she doing it for then? For my sake? Because it was my birthday?

I stopped counting how many times she broke my heart. I simply couldn’t do it anymore. This was all too much. Maybe it’s for the best. Perhaps it’s better this way. I came to terms with the fact that I will never be able to call her mine and I was beating my head around the fact that we’ll work together for what might be forever.

I didn’t have to worry about that anymore. She was gone. Apparently, not carrying at all that I will miss her. That I am clueless about what has happened to her or where she is.

She didn’t care.

I felt as if someone hit me in the chest with a Bludger. Just saying the last sentence in my head broke something inside of me.

Fuck, it hurt.

This was unbelievable. I thought she needed time. I thought she’ll come around but I guess I was wrong. I guess I couldn’t read her after all and everything was just in my head; an illusion.

—

1 month later…

“Charlie, look at this!” John handed me the Daily Prophet and pointed his finger at a paragraph. “It’s about that dragon in Gringotts. Tomorrow’s the final trial.” He summarized it.

“I hope the Ministry sees that the dragon is innocent.” I said without much interest in my voice.

“Come on, mate. This can be your chance!” I looked up at him and raised my eyebrows.

“A chance for what?”

“You have been trying to track Rhylee down ever since she left. She’s going to testify, right? This is your chance to speak to her!” John exclaimed.

“Are you mental?” I frowned at him. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you still care about her, Charlie!” Theo spoke for the first time. “And don’t try and deny it. You’re a mess and you haven’t drunk a beer with us in a month.”

“We know you’re still wondering what happened to her and why she left the way she did.” Evan said gently.

“I can’t just go there and say hello. She didn’t bother telling me she’s leaving. She obviously doesn’t care.” I scoffed.

“You’re going to attend that trial if I have to drag you!” Theo stood up and banged the table with his fists.

“Alright, calm down!” I lifted my hands in defense. “I’ll go.” I glared at him. “Alone.”

“I’ll work instead of you, Charlie.” John offered immediately.

“Thanks, John.” I gave out a weak smile.

I looked down at the paper again, my heart racing. I hated that it still did. I haven’t seen Rhylee for over a month. Not a word. Not a letter. Nothing. I had no idea where she was. I asked around but nobody knew anything.

Peter asked some of his friends that work at the Ministry and nobody has seen her. I even reached out to Bill to see if he knew anything about it or if she spoke to him by some chance but until I wrote to him, he didn’t even know she wasn’t working at the Sanctuary anymore.

I didn’t want to go to the trial but I knew I won’t be able to forgive myself if I don’t go. I deserve a fucking explanation for her behavior. You don’t just leave without saying anything. It’s reckless, childish, and cruel. I know we were nothing more than friends but I thought we had strong enough of a bond for her to tell me that we might never see each other again.

I apparated to London the next morning. I was more nervous than I would like to admit. I hated this. I hated coming here and I dreaded talking to her. What am I supposed to say?

Hi.

Why did you leave?

How are you doing?

I can’t pretend like that. I am not a person to do that. It didn’t matter that I went over at least 10 scenarios yesterday, thinking of what to say and what might happen. I knew that I would freeze the second I would see her. I wasn’t even sure she was going to be there or if I would be able to catch her alone.

I made it to the trial just in time and spotted her at once. I thought my heart was going to escape my ribcage, that’s how fast it was beating when I caught sight of her. She was sitting in the middle of the room, waiting to be questioned along with a group of people for which I assumed were her previous co-workers.

They made some good arguments, defending the dragons but I got the feeling that the Ministry has already made their decision and that the trial was just a formality so that people who care about dragons wouldn’t protest. They didn’t stand a chance.

I saw the pain on Rhylee’s face when they told them that they are going to execute Kyan. I felt bad for her. I knew how hard she worked on the case. How hard we worked on it together and it was all for nothing. I hope she’ll at least have the chance to say goodbye.

She stood up the second it was over and rushed out of the room. I got up too and made my way outside. I have to follow her. This was my only chance to talk to her.

“Rhylee!” I shouted her name when I spotted her in the crowd.

She turned around and her eyes widened when she saw me. She turned back in the direction she was walking and continued to do so. I looked to the ground and inhaled sharply.

Am I really going to go after her? Shouldn’t I just let her go?

I will and I can’t!

I followed her outside. Great, it’s raining. As if the whole situation isn’t gloomy enough. She rushed into a nearby alleyway.

“Rhylee!” She stopped walking but she didn’t turn around. “Don’t you dare apparate away!” I knew what she was doing.

She was panicking. Was she too embarrassed to face me?

“What are you doing here, Charlie?” She was still facing away from me, her voice barely audible because of the rain.

“I came for the trial.” I said bluntly.

“Then why are you following me?” She looked at me over her shoulder.

It looked as if she was crying but I couldn’t tell with rain droplets running down her face.

“I want an explanation.” I said through my teeth.

I was trying to keep it together. But it was hard. I was so mad at her. She broke my heart by leaving.

“For what?” She turned to me and I automatically took a step forward.

“Stop with the bullshit, Rhylee. You know what for!” I raised my voice.

“What do you want me to say, Charlie?” She brushed the wet hair off her face.

“How about you tell me why you left without saying anything? Without telling me? Without any sort of inclination that you’re going to resign?” Fuck I wanted to run to her and shake her by the shoulders.

I wanted her to tell me everything and more. I wanted her to say everything she ever stopped herself from saying to me and I wanted her to say it straight to my face.

“I told you…” She closed her eyes slowly, gathering her thoughts. “I can’t repeat what happened between us.”

“Oh, go feed those lies to someone else, Rhylee! Because I am not buying it! That’s not the reason you left!” I shouted at her.

I can’t believe she tried to lie to me, again. Was it so fucking heard saying the truth for once?

“Nick couldn’t get over what happened.” She sighed. “I couldn’t see him be in so much pain so I left.” She said with a bowed head.

No.

Not buying it.

That wasn’t it.

I knew her too well and she was either playing stupid or wanted to hide the truth from me.

“I thought I was your friend.” I said softly.

“You are, Charlie.” Her shoulders sank.

“Then why are you not telling me the truth?” I asked.

“I just told you the truth, what more do you want from me?” She looked at me incredulously.

“I know you better than that Rhy, and I know you’re lying to me. Now tell me the truth. Why did you really leave? I deserve that much.” My voice shook.

“I…” She sobbed. I didn’t have to see her tears now to know that she was crying. “I felt too guilty being around you.”

“The truth, Rhylee!” I raised my voice again.

At this point, I knew I wasn’t getting any more than that so I was determined to get it. I needed it to move on.

“I…” She stuttered.

“The truth!” I muttered and took one more step toward her. “Give me the truth and I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want.”

“I’m pregnant!”

My eyelids fluttered and I felt my knees weaken.

What?

I was slightly shaking my head, not sure how to comprehend what she just said.

“What?” Was all I could muster.

I couldn’t clear my head and I was hoping I heard her wrong.

“I’m expecting Nick’s baby.” She cried.

I closed my eyes and pretended that she wasn’t there. I tried feeling every raindrop that touched my skin. Is it possible to hear your own heart breaking? Because I am pretty sure that was the last thing I heard before the drumming started in my ears. My head was pounding and I felt like fainting.

She isn’t.

She can’t be.

What was she thinking?

With him!

Really?

I opened my eyes and looked at her. She was still standing there. I was hoping she would apparate away now. I didn’t want to see her face. It hurt too much. And I hated the expression on it. She was waiting for me to say something. What the fuck am I supposed to say to her?

I don’t think I slept for more than 2 hours the night Peter told me she left. I was going on and on in my head, thinking of any possible reason why she left. Why she was so miserable. Why she didn’t say goodbye. Her being pregnant wasn’t one of them. I was prepared for anything. I expected her to say anything but that.

Anything.

This changed everything. It was all over. I lost her. I really did. There was no turning back. No more chasing around. No more hope. She will never be mine.

I will never kiss her forehead again and run my fingers through her hair. I will never hear her laugh again and see that playfulness in her eyes. She won’t fall asleep in my arms and I will never be able to feel that connection between us. The tension. The many possibilities of showing each other affection and just how much we are meant for each other.

All of that was gone. All of that will never happen. I will never call her mine. I will never be with the girl of my dreams.

It was one thing when Bill fancied her and when she had a boyfriend. There’s always a chance things go south no matter how bad it might sound, me thinking about it.

But a child. I can’t compete with that. I can’t break up a family.

It really was over.

“Please say something, Charlie.” She pleaded. “I know you’re mad.”

“Mad?” I let out a suppressed laugh. “I’m not mad, Rhylee. I’m disappointed.”

I’m heartbroken.

But I can’t tell her that. It doesn’t matter now. It wouldn’t make a difference.

“I…I just thought…you know since everything…that…you know…” She started blabbering.

“How could you let this happen?” I frowned at her.

I knew it wasn’t my place to talk to her like this but I couldn’t help it. She ruined her life by staying with him and it pained me. It pained me so much.

“What?” She locked her eyes with mine.

“What were you thinking having a baby with him? With someone you’re not happy with!”

“That is none of your business, Charlie!” She screamed in my face.

“You made it my business when you distanced yourself from everybody! When you came to work late! When you started looking like you haven’t eaten anything for days!” She stared at me, her mouth slightly opened.

“What? You thought I hadn’t noticed? Everybody noticed, Rhylee! We were all worried for you and then you just left!” I threw my arms in the air.

“You wanted to know, so I told you.” She said biting her lip.

“And what do you want me to reply?” I questioned. “Want me to say that I’m happy for you? Want me to congratulate you? No offense, Rhy…but I can’t do that. You don’t look that cheerful about it either!” I turned away.

I couldn’t look at her anymore. It hurt too much.

I wanted to just walk away. I knew it would be dangerous to apparate. My mind was all over the place. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. I wanted to disappear. This was all too much.

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t walk away from her. I couldn’t just leave her in the middle of the street. I wouldn’t do that to her even if she did do it to me. I still loved her. Fuck, how much I loved her.

We were standing like this for at least a minute. I knew she was still there and I could feel her eyes piercing through me. For some reason, I knew she felt bad. I know her. She didn’t want this. We never talked about things like this. Kids or having a family. But I knew she didn’t want it to happen like this.

With him.

But she’s right. It’s none of my business and it’s her life. She’s the one who ruined it. She could be happy. I could make her happy. I know I could. But she didn’t choose me. She chose Nick.

I took a deep breath and turned around again. I walked to her and wrapped my arms around her. She whimpered under my touch.

“Have a nice life, Rhy. I wish you all the happiness.” I whispered in her ear with the heaviest heart and walked away as fast as I could, knowing she won’t follow me.

#harry potter fanfiction #charlie weasley #charlie weasley fanfiction #the weasleys #weasley family #hp imagine #charlie weasley x oc #charlie weasley imagine #the burrow #harry potter imagine #weasley fanfiction #charlie weasley x mc #bill weasley #harry potter #wizarding world

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monoxidecahedron · 3 years ago

Text

drunk on you (julian bashir x elim garak)

wrote a thing for deep space nine (because garashir my beloved), it's long, so i broke it up into two parts. here's the first one, it's 2k words and tw for blood mention, other than that it should be fine! enjoy!

“Mister Garak,” Julian Bashir slurs, leaning against said man’s couch, “has anyone ever told you how very precious you are?”

Garak tilts his head in that Cardassian way of his and gently pulls the bottle of kanar out of his drinking partner’s grip. “I do believe you’ve had enough, Doctor. You of all people should know how potent this sort of drink is in Humans.”

Julian offers him a loopy grin. “Aw, come on, Garak, it’s only two glasses, I’m fine,” he protests. His point is undermined by the fact that he keeps swaying unsteadily as he sits cross-legged on the couch cushion, not bothering to try and stabilize himself. Garak presses his lips together and tries to put on an exasperated expression. He thinks he does fairly well- in any other case it would’ve been impeccable acting, but the glass of kanar he’s already had makes the amusement he’s feeling shine through a little more than he’d like.

His friend doesn’t notice, lost in the alcohol and too busy further destabilizing himself, giggling as he tilts closer and closer to Garak next to him. “Whoa,” he mutters as he tips out of balance, twisting at the last moment and landing with his head in Garak’s lap. Garak freezes, and he has the odd urge to slowly raise his hands in a placating gesture, as if to demonstrate he doesn’t mean this beautiful creature in his lap any harm.

He doesn’t. There isn’t much reason to, anyways. They’re alone in his quarters- no one to be suspicious of him except, of course, himself- and it’s not like he’d hurt Julian anyways. Or want to. The man himself doesn’t seem very worried; in fact, there’s a fond look in his eyes, an adoring, trusting, almost-loving sort of look that he hasn’t seen directed at himself in a while. People look at him, yes, but always with fear or distrust or hatred tainting their expressions. Take your pick of reasons- Tain’s man, Obsidian agent, Cardassian, rumoured spy- but it’s always there, lurking beneath a thin veneer of politeness (or, more likely, outright glaring, veneer nonexistent).

Julian, though. Julian Bashir has always trusted him, from the moment he sat across from him in the Replimat to the time Garak raged and flipped tables at him to now, alone with him and drunk and vulnerable and feeling totally, utterly safe. It almost makes him uncomfortable, seeing the extent to which Julian trusts him. He knows he doesn’t deserve it, knows the doctor’s illusions of his mysterious but altogether clean past would shatter upon hearing of even the most irrelevant of errands he ran for the Order. Still, even with no small amount of guilt, he savors the kind curve of Julian’s mouth when he catches sight of his Cardassian friend.

Julian, not bothering to get off Garak’s lap, giggles and reaches up. He almost flinches away instinctively, but all Julian does is tap his nose once. “Boop,” he says with yet another giggle. Garak raises an eyeridge.

“And what, exactly, does that mean, Doctor?”

“Nothing.”

“I see,” Garak says, leaning back against the couch and looking around the rest of the room, content to sit in silence for a while.

“No- wait, it’s an Earth thing,” Julian says hurriedly, as if Garak had threatened him.

“Ah, I believe I’ve heard of it,” he responds absentmindedly, reaching down to thread his fingers through Julian’s hair.

“You’re lying,” Julian pouts. His mood suddenly turns serious, and he peers intently at him. “Why do you always lie to me, Garak?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t take it personally, my dear,” he says. He’s vaguely aware that he keeps forgetting to add “Doctor”, but at the moment Julian is warm in his lap and his mind is foggy and he can’t bring himself to deny this simple affection. “It’s simply a habit of mine.”

Julian hums in acknowledgement, but doesn’t seem to have anything to say to that. He makes a grab for the kanar bottle, still in Garak’s other hand, and sits up, taking another drink before the bottle’s taken away again.

Garak, kanar in hand again, chides, “ Julian. You really should stop,” but for once he feels relatively safe and isn’t cycling through all the reasons he should stay far, far away from the Doctor and the tangled mess of feelings that come with him and so he tips the bottle up.

He sighs afterward, setting the bottle on the coffee table in front of him with a satisfying clunk , other hand still in Julian’s hair. Julian’s got a face full of anguish when he looks down at him, and Garak tilts his head, inviting him to explain. He shakes his head, but a moment later he lets out a long breath and says, “He annoys me so much.”

Garak laughs. “There’s a lot of men who annoy you, Doctor. You’ll have to be more specific.”

Julian goes on as if he never heard him. “Really, though, I wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s splendid, you know?” He gestures wildly on splendid, somehow managing to smack Garak in the face and nearly overturn the kanar bottle sitting on his coffee table. “So mysterious.”

Garak, clenching his jaw against the bitter taste of jealousy, manages to get out an “I see”, but it doesn’t really matter; Julian’s far gone at this point and continues to ignore him, lost in thoughts of this mystery man.

“He doesn’t love me,” he says, giving Garak heartbroken puppy eyes. “He doesn’t love me… he said he hated me, once. He was lying. I think. He always lies but he doesn’t lie sometimes and it’s so confusing- Garak, it’s so confusing. ”

“He doesn’t sound all that nice.”

“He isn’t, really- he’s nice to me, though. Makes me feel nice.”

“That’s nice, then.” Even with years of Obsidian training, it’s still a concerted effort to keep his voice steady. Damn Federaji , damn Humans, damn this particular Federaji Human with his honeyed smile and his charming naivete and his slender body and his brilliant fucking arguments and-

“He’s brilliant, did you know?”

“You seem to have forgotten you still haven’t told me who he is, dear,” Garak says. It’s an indulgement he can’t help but allow himself. He’s lost his Doctor; what’s one little word?

“I don’t know who he is, either.” Garak makes a questioning face. “I don’t know if he knows who he is either. He’s kind of lost. Stuck.”

“Ah.”

“It’s a sad thought.”

“That your-” he pauses for a second- “that he’s stuck?” He feels silly, trying to talk to an obviously drunk, in-his-head Julian who keeps ignoring him. He might as well have put on a movie and tried to talk to the characters.

“Most people have never heard their friends’ actual voice,” Julian says. Garak pauses, considering. It’s an interesting sort of thing to think about, if (as Julian said) a bit sad.

“I learned Kardasi for him,” he continues. And that’s even more interesting- this man speaks Kardasi? He dismisses a thought before it can form. Some aren’t worth entertaining, even for a moment; hope is a dangerous thing, flighty and tempting and ultimately disappointing, and he isn’t such a fool as to invite that sort of creature into his head.

“I learned it for him,” Julian repeats. “It’s a very nice language, you know. Very interesting. I speak it to my friends and no one notices. He didn’t notice either.” So he talks to the mystery man. Hm. He starts to analyse the information, mind almost subconsciously going through the steps and piecing together what he knows. So far, very little.

“Tell me about this man,” he says.

Julian gives him a little head-tilt. “Whatever do you mean? I’ve been telling you about him,” he says. Garak can’t tell if he’s genuinely confused or if alcohol makes him more of a little shit than usual. It’s certainly making himself more impatient.

“I mean that I don’t know who this man is, and if you’ll excuse my bluntness, I would like to know,” he says shortly.

Understanding seems to dawn in Julian’s eyes. “Oops.” Scale-less arms wrap around his neck and he pulls himself up and before he’s got a chance to think bad idea bad idea bad idea soft lips are on his and suddenly all he can think is OH! and Julian’s kissing him harder and maybe the Humans were on to something with their kissing because dear god it’s so good and he leans closer and Julian hums against him and

crash

He’s on the floor, rubbing at his shoulder, at the place where Garak shoved him away. “Garak-”

“Out.”

His eyes widen. “Garak, I’m so sorry,” he says, but his words are slurred and bad idea bad idea bad idea is rushing through and he gets up off the couch ( my dear Cardassia what have I done ) and picks Julian up and goes for the door ( damage control damage control ).

“No- Garak- wait- no don’t leave me I’m sorry we can talk about it-” the door slides open with that same mechanical beep-whoosh as he approaches- “Garak, please- you can’t just leave me out here-”

“I can and I will, Doctor,” he grits out. “You’re drunk. Go home.” Bashir is set down just outside his door.

“Garak- Garak wait- no-” the door starts to slide shut again- “Elim!”

whoosh-click.

He sighs heavily, leaning against it, head in his hands.

bad idea bad idea bad idea bad idea

The pieces of the kanar bottle are sharp as he picks them up off the floor. Julian’s momentum had knocked it against the opposite wall, shattering it, breaking it beyond repair just as surely as he’d broken any semblance of camaraderie between them, and now they lie glimmering in the window's meagre light. He can’t simply leave the pieces on the floor, jagged and dangerous- can’t keep seeing Bashir, all of our usual engagements will have to go, and then some- and so he picks them up, slowly, even though they slide against his palm when he closes it around them, edges breaking skin when he shifts the wrong way ( it’ll hurt, yes, but I can deal with it, I can deal with it, I’ll have to deal with it ). He can’t feel it, can’t feel much over the roaring in his head- Tain’s voice, of course it’s Tain’s voice, it’s always Tain’s voice- you knew this would happen, it’s your fault, you knew you shouldn’t have gotten closer to him don’t be so selfish now look what you’ve done. He’s gone and deluded himself into wanting someone like you and he’ll never have happiness and it’s your fault your fault your

There’s a sharp pain and the feeling of cold blood trickling down his hand. The glass piece slides out of his grip and lands on the carpet, dripping in the stuff and staining the carpet.

He huffs. Control, Elim. Control is the key. The memories seem to dissipate as he shakes his head, along with Tain’s admonishments.

There’s a knock at his door. Doctor Bashir. He’s the only person who actually knocks, like the Humans used to in the old days before automated doors. He’s also the only person who’d want to come see him in his quarters. “I’m not here!” Garak calls.

There’s a thump that sounds suspiciously like a human fist hitting the door in frustration, a groan, and then Bashir calls, “Let me in, Garak! I just want to talk!”

Unfortunately for the doctor, talking is the last thing he wants to do. Bashir keeps yelling, desperation seeping into his voice, but he simply turns and continues picking up more pieces of the glass bottle. There’s a flash of pain and then cold blood dripping from a fresh cut ( go talk to him, what the fuck are you doing, he wants you, go out there and just take him ) and he shakes his head, sighing, but he tips the piece into the bag he’s using to hold them all because he can’t just leave them on the floor ( the fuck do you mean just go out there and take him you can’t do that you’d destroy him, you know it, you and all your secrets and your cruelty would crush his bright-eyed smile ) and it’s always the harsher voices that are loudest but this one’s right. He can’t give in to the man outside his door, has to not be selfish for once in his entire bloodstained life and so he just keeps going, collecting cuts as he handles the edges of what used to be a beautiful, whole bottle and grits his teeth against the sting.

Eventually, footsteps sound, padding away from his door, and he sighs and slumps against the edge of the coffee table. It digs into his back scales uncomfortably, but he can't bring himself to move.

...

hooray! tumblr didn't kill my formatting (i think)! part two will be up soon, i pinky promise i'll deliver this time i swear it. comments fuel my soul and my writing if you reblog i am legally required to love you forever same goes for comments x

#star trek #ds9 #deep space nine #st:ds9 #garashir #fanfic #my writing

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eldritchqueerture · 3 years ago

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Chapter 7: Threads

Hello! Long time no see! The delay was unplanned and I'm sorry about that. I had an idea in the meantime to add more fluff chapters before shit starts to go down but then I couldn't get to writing them while telling myself that I will write them eventually, and then I had other ideas, and I was writing for Summer in the Archives, and so we are where we are. I decided to just keep posting what I have and if I do feel like adding fluff that would be happening in the meantime then I will just make a separate work in the series. I'm aiming to go back to my weekly schedule (haha), so I hope I can get the next chapter out next Friday. As always, please leave me a comment or come yell at me here on tumblr, it always brightens my day and keeps my motivation up! Enjoy <3

Martin looks at Jon’s sleeping face and thoughts swirl inside his head like tendrils of the mist that has been following him, tendrils that meet in one specific place – his feelings for him. He’s not proud of the fact that this is where his thoughts end up turning every time he thinks about Jon, considering the severity of the situation Sasha explained to him, but he cannot help wondering – despite his better judgement – if Jon doesn’t share them. He replays the worry in his brown eyes, the tight hugs, always ensuring he’s there, safe, and whole… He might be adding meaning to otherwise ordinary actions, of course, but he can allow himself to hope, for when that hope sparks inside him, the fog withdraws.

Jon is wrapped in a blanket on the cot in the storage room, where Martin has laid him. They found him sleeping on the desk in his office, his eyes all red-rimmed and puffed up; they didn’t comment on it. Martin carried him to the storage room and placed his glasses nearby. Tim went to take Sasha home, so she can get some rest, too, and was supposed to come back with lunch; the events of the morning are laying heavy on all of them and have left them quite hungry.

Martin closes the door to the storage room and comes back to his desk. Working seems a bit pointless when you know that your boss is scheming an apocalypse somewhere behind your back and you can’t quit the job, but he finds himself needing a distraction, so he opens up his computer to do some follow up research on Jason North and the alleged ritual site he found in the middle of a Scottish forest. Martin’s never been good with research, not like Sasha, so he soon stumbles upon a dead end. He ends up researching pictures for Scottish forests and cottages, and he daydreams, with his poem notebook by his side. How nice would it be to just move to Scotland, to a cottage like that and forget everything. Grow your own vegetables and herbs, welcome the sun every morning with a cup of tea; go down to the town for some groceries, meet some good cows; and maybe Jon is there with him, and he finally gets through to his head that he shouldn’t make tea in the microwave, and they cuddle on the couch while reading—

“’scuse us,” comes a deep voice and Martin looks up, startled, to find two delivery men standing there, in the Archives, with a big package next to them.

“Looking for the Archivist,” the other man says, but Martin figures that just because the voice is coming from a slightly different direction. They sound exactly the same; he finds they look similar, too. Their clothes are identical; they’re different makes and all but somehow, he can’t tell these two men apart. There’s… something off to them.

“Sorry, are you two meant—” Martin blinks, but one of them interrupts him.

“Won’t take up your time.”

“Just got a delivery.”

Martin opens his mouth, trying to process the fact that they seem to be two parts of the same whole. He wouldn’t be able to explain this thought if asked, but this is what runs through his head.

“Look, you really can’t actually—”

“Package for Jonathan Sims.”

“Says right here.”

He looks and yes, there, on the package, says ‘Jonathan Sims’ in a very ordinary, unassuming writing. He glances over at the door to the storage room and back at the two men.

“Well, he’s not—”

“We’ll just leave it with you.”

“Be sure he gets it.”

Martin struggles for words.

“Okay, I will, but you really have to actually—”

“’course. Much obliged.”

“Stay safe.”

“I’ll… try?” He responds with the first thing that goes into his head.

“Your recorder’s on, by the way.”

“Might wanna change that.”

Martin looks at his desk and he notices a tape whirring steadily in the recorder.

“Oh… so it is. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“At all.”

They both turn as one and leave Martin, the recorder, and the package alone. He hums, looking from one to the other and back.

“Well, I know for a fact that I did not turn you on,” Martin speaks to the recorder. “Maybe Tim felt in a mood for a prank. It is April Fool’s after all,” he huffs out a laugh. “Would be his style to do something, even with… all this happening.”

He stops the recording and turns to the package; before he can do anything else, though, the recorder clicks itself back on. Martin gives it a sideways look and his heart picks up the pace. He frowns and clicks stop again. One second. Two. There; it clicks the red button on its own.

Martin stands up and takes a step back.

“What the hell,” he breathes out.

Suddenly he hears a familiar laugh from the top of the stairs and energetic steps running down. Tim emerges from the doorway and gives him a surprised look.

“You okay, Marto?” He asks and places a paper bag on his desk, then points his chin at the package. “What’s that?”

“Uh…” Martin collects himself in a second. “Two delivery men just came by. It’s for Jon, apparently.”

Tim places a second paper bag and his coffee cup on his desk and walks around the package.

“No sender. Interesting.” He strokes his chin and looks at Martin with a grin. “We should open it.”

“Tim!”

“Look, boss is asleep, the package came to the Archives and not to his house, how private can it be?” Tim throws his arms up but seems to be watching Martin’s reaction more carefully. He doesn’t look very bothered, Tim assesses; he seems to be equally interested in the contents. He sighs and tosses him a letter opener.

“Fine, but you’re taking the blame,” Martin rolls his eyes with mock exasperation, and Tim’s grin gets wider.

“That’s the spirit!” He cuts the tape at the corners and opens the packaging to reveal an old wooden table; there’s a hole in the centre, Tim reckons about six inches square, and its surface is covered in intricate patterns resembling optical illusions. He frowns at it. “Huh. A table. Why would Jon…” He trails off as his eyes follow the hypnotizing patterns. “Interesting…”

Martin watches as Tim drops the letter knife to the floor, enraptured by the table. He wants to say something, to call out his name, but the fog from the edges of his vision spills out at the sight of the table and it blocks out the world; Martin stops feeling the chair underneath him and finds himself stranded in a sea of grey, thick fog.

“Tim? Tim!” He calls out but there’s no answer. There would be no answer, ever; he’s all alone here.

—

Jon wakes up to a nagging feeling that something is wrong. He blinks, trying to get rid of the sleep weighing heavily on his eyelids and gathers his bearings. He realizes he’s on the cot in the storage room, a blanket thrown to the floor next to him. He still feels too hot, and he takes off his sweater vest. What’s this feeling, gently pricking at the back of his mind?

He gets up, wobbly as he feels, and makes his way to the door. As he opens it, a voice makes its way to his ears.

“…friend mentioned poetry?” Jon squints his eyes, as light reaches him, yet he immediately recognizes the voice.

“…Gerry?” He asks and blinks – yes, he can make out the thin and long figure dressed in black, sitting on top of Tim’s desk. Tim is there too, leaning against Martin’s desk in front of Gerry, and Martin sits in the chair, his cheeks coloured just a little with faint pink. They all turn to him with surprise when he emerges. He can feel tension in the room, and he acknowledges the presence of something that looks like a table covered with a blanket in the middle of the room; the nagging in his mind grows into anxiety. “Something happened.”

“God, Jon, did we wake you up?” Martin jumps up to him with genuine worry and Jon smiles slightly, as he shakes his head.

“No.” He blinks again, to chase away the sleep and looks at Gerry and his inscrutable expression. “What are you doing here?”

“Watching a zombie rise from the dead, apparently.” Gerry gets down from the desk and crosses his arms. “Also saving the lives of his assistants by accident. I know you said you’re a mess but good God.”

Jon frowns with worry.

“Gerry, I’m serious.”

Something in Gerry’s demeanour changes as he sighs, and his expression clears.

“Well, I wanted to tell you that I’m in,” he says. “Whatever your crazy plan is, if you even have one, I want to hear it or help you make it; you weren’t picking up your phone, so I decided to come, pay you a visit.” He glances towards the table and his eyes cloud with a shadow. “And it turns out it’s good that I did.”

“What is this?” Jon walks over to the table and three pairs of hands shoot out to stop him. Gerry’s touch lingers comfortably, because apparently that’s what he does, and Jon isn’t so sure he minds it.

“An old table, with weird, hypnotizing patterns,” Tim says, and Jon detects a tinge of guilt in his voice.

“Did it have a hole in the middle?” He asks urgently and Tim nods.

“We need to get rid of it,” Jon looks in the direction of the stairs. “Put it in the Artifact Storage and make sure it’s covered.”

“Are you familiar with it?” Martin asks and Jon nods.

“Amy Patel case; the one where a person got replaced. Why would they—” Jon’s face falls and he turns to Martin and Tim. “Who delivered it?”

“It was two delivery men, really big, quite intimidating, but—uh, now that I think about it I can’t remember what they looked like…”

“Shit,” Jon sighs and rubs his face. “Okay, we really do need a plan.” He looks over their faces and his eyes stop at Martin’s disgruntled expression. “What is it?”

“What you need is rest,” he crosses his arms. “You pulled an all-nighter with Sasha, and you haven’t even slept for two hours now.”

“You do look like shit,” Gerry offers his insight and Jon fixes him with a glare.

“I can’t protect you when I’m asleep,” he says and looks pointedly at the table. “Clearly. Tell me wha—” He stops when Gerry squeezes his arm sharply. He takes note of the static in the air and clears his throat. “I want to know what happened.”

Tim sighs.

“Alright, it is kinda my fault,” he admits looking away. “I insisted on opening your package to see what’s inside. But in my defence, I thought it would be something funny; at least a bit humiliating for you, and we could laugh it off. The mood’s been horrible lately,” he grimaces. “The lines kind of… hypnotized me. I couldn’t look away and I started getting lost in them. It… It felt like being trapped in a web; the more I struggled to look away, the harder it was. I don’t know how much time had passed before your resident goth intervened. Then I came back to myself and Martin… he was grey again.”

Jon glances worriedly at Martin, who starts fidgeting with his fingers.

“I didn’t think you guys could see that,” he confesses. “It’s… it’s that fog you mentioned,” he says to Jon who nods, his lips pressed together. “It was… stronger this time.”

“He was a step from disappearing,” Gerry says, looking at Jon curiously. “I thought you guys were new here.”

“We are,” Tim says, looking at Jon pointedly. “You said you know why that happens.”

“I did,” Jon sighs and leans against the desk, next to Gerry. “I’m—Martin, I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

Martin looks away and he mutters something along the lines of “don’t worry about it”.

“The fog is… another one of the fears; called The Lonely or The Forsaken,” Jon says, looking somewhere into space. “It’s the fear that you’re all alone, that you can’t connect with anyone. Martin…” He exhales. “I have reasons to believe that your connection to the Lonely might have appeared in this… reality, along with my memories.” He finally looks up at Martin; there are no emotions on his face. “When did the fog first appear?”

“S-Sometime when I got transferred into the Archives,” he nods. “I thought it was just anxiety, but… y-yeah, it makes sense, I suppose.”

“You still don’t remember what you did to end up here?” Gerry asks and Jon shakes his head; Gerry clicks his tongue.

“So, what do we do now?” Tim looks at Jon. “What is Elias’ plan?”

“I…” He rubs his forehead. “I don’t remember exactly. I…” He trails off looking at them. They are waiting for him to tell them what to do. Martin, with colour in his eyes and something else there, something Jon doesn’t let himself think about; Tim, whom he hasn’t hurt yet, who still has hope and who isn’t filled with bitter anger and sorrow; and Gerry who’s alive, here with him, offering his help. Jon thinks about Sasha, the real Sasha who’s still there. He can’t protect them all from other Entities and Elias. Even with all of his knowledge, Elias still has more power here than him, and Jon sees that his threats weren’t a bluff. Jon deflates with a sigh. “We need to know if there’s a way to fill the tunnels with CO2 before the Hive attacks; and I need the table sealed shut - it’s not getting anyone this time. Other than that, I think we need to work the statements, like before.”

“Are you kidding?” Tim raises his eyebrows. “Elias is serving an Eye power and not letting us leave, and I’m supposed to still work for him?”

Jon swallows.

“Elias… He’s dangerous. Even with everything I know, he can still hurt us. I’m not risking an open war with him.”

“What is he gonna do, kill us?” Tim scoffs but he goes quiet when Jon gives him a hard stare. “Fuck off.”

“Murder isn’t usually his style of dealing with things, he generally prefers threats and blackmail, but he can definitely do that, too,” Jon says. “Let’s just say we don’t want to piss him off more than is necessary.”

“You literally punched him in the face today.”

“Yes, I know.” Jon grits his teeth and looks away. Tim narrows his eyes.

“He threatened you, didn’t he?” He asks and takes a step towards Jon. “What did he say?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Jon says coldly. “We need to get back to work.”

“Oh, no, you’re going back home and getting some sleep,” Martin shakes his head. “Or we refuse to work.”

Jon groans but Gerry places a hand on his shoulder.

“Go, Jon, I’ll keep an eye on them,” he promises and after a second of searching his face, Jon gives in.

“Fine. Be careful.”

“You, too,” Martin says and hands him the paper bag from his desk. “Eat this.”

Jon gives him a grateful smile and, with a last look at them, walks to the stairs and climbs up.

—

Gerry Delano sits comfortably on a park bench with a cup of coffee in his hand and sips on it slowly; he thinks about the things the new Archivist – Jon – said to him this morning. He looked tired; the bags under his eyes, the messy hair, the absolutely horrendous smoking habit (at that Gerry just chuckles to himself) and the clean but messy clothes speak for themselves, and Gerry didn’t want to say it, obviously, but it was this entire image of an absolute mess of a confused man that made him believe him. The marks are curious, yes, but Gerry has seen many things which he doesn’t understand, and he’s okay with that. No, this man is clearly in need of support and if he’s really taken over for Gertrude (and, judging by the sheer amount of his energy just screamingBeholding, that was very probable), he is in for one hell of a ride.

If Gerry would have to describe his perfect life, with his mother and Gertrude gone, he’d probably say he wants to find a normal job and get some peace and quiet; that being said, he did try that as a teenager, running away from his mother and her life. He told himself then that he didn’t belong in the normal world and would always find his way back to his mother. He abandoned that dream for a while, until Gertrude offered to help him get rid of his mother’s ghost. He thought that maybe if he helped Gertrude for a while, burned some Leitners in the meantime, maybe he’d have enough and manage to build a life that didn’t always border on getting killed by something supernatural; and so his life went on and he never really grew to feel at home in the “normal” world. He’d about accepted the fact that he’ll probably die on the job with the old Archivist, and he wasn’t very surprised to find how quickly he accepted it. It seemed fitting; much more so than getting a job at a coffee shop or other, and just living among people who had no idea what’s really out there. Then he got shot in Pittsburgh – a Slaughter case he’d tried to prevent – and he was forced to stay behind in the hospital. In some fleeting moments of consciousness he saw Gertrude holding the Catalogue of the Trapped Dead and he prepared himself to wake up as a ghost any time; instead, he woke up to an empty hospital room and a note in her handwriting – “Build your life here. Stay safe.” He thought if this weren’t his chance to build the life he’d imagined for himself then it would never come; and he was right. He soon discovered that making friends is way too difficult when you’re able to tell which Fear Entity marked them in that supernatural encounter they’re too scared to talk about, and he returned to London, searching for Jurgen Leitner himself. He thought he found him, but he ended up beating up someone who turned out to just be some pathetic old man. And here he is, back in the world his mother dragged him into without his consent. Gerry sighs and takes another sip of his coffee. Maybe the universe simply needs a pyromaniacal, angry goth who did in fact end up in the business of helping strays.

He directs his thoughts back to Jonathan Sims and the Institute. They need to form a plan and Jon said he would fill his assistants in on at least the basics. He takes out his phone and checks the time – 1 PM. He rules that’s enough time to explain the basics of the metaphysical functioning of the Fear Powers in the world.

He finds his last messages and opens the one Jon sent at his request for contact saving purposes – “Here. – Jon Sims”. He’s a creative one, isn’t he? Gerry saves the number as Jon Archivist, then changes it to Jarchivist, and grins; then swipes to call.

No answer. He tries again and it still goes to voicemail.

Gerry shrugs and finishes his coffee. He burned his last Leitner in the alley just before he met Jon, so he doesn’t exactly have any new leads. He thinks he might as well pay the Archives a visit; it’s been a while since he was there last time, with Gertrude.

The street is quiet when he walks up to the building. The aura of Beholding is quite strong here already and he looks at the Latin words above the entrance. “I watch, I listen, I wait.” Tacky.

He comes inside and turns towards the stairs leading down. He’s not surprised when the lady at the reception calls out to him.

“I’m sorry, sir! Can I help you?”

Gerry turns to her. She’s a small Chinese woman with a bob cut and huge glasses; she smiles but Gerry can recognize a customer service smile when he sees one.

“Oh, actually, I’m a friend of Jonathan Sims, the, uh, Head Archivist. Saw him this morning, I promised I’d drop a few notes.”

“Notes?” She glances over at the papers at her desk. “What’s your name, sir?”

“Gerry Delano,” he tries to smile as she checks something.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I have you anywhere as a potential source—”

“Oh, that’s weird. I worked with the previous Head Archivist, Gertrude Robinson? Jon had a couple questions about her management style, you know how it is,” he waves his hand. “New job can be stressful.”

She looks over his clothes and tattoos with a frown for a second and then sighs.

“Alright, Jon’s office is right downstairs, through the Archives, Mr. Delano.”

“Thank you very much,” he nods his head and runs down the stairs.

Gerry doesn’t know what he expected to find down in the Archives, to be honest. Probably Jon being interrogated by his assistants, or maybe no one at all; he definitely did not expect to find one tall man staring into swirling patterns of a table that gave him very mixed signals of the Web, and another man in his desk chair, staring into space with a very unnaturally grey stare and his form dissipating into mist.

“Oh, I swear to God,” Gerry curses under his nose and looks around. “Can’t I meet people normally once in a blue moon?”

He picks up a blanket that lays stranded on the ground and covers the table. He then snaps his fingers in front of the tall man’s face and waves his hand.

“Hey, you still there?” He asks and the man draws in a breath, rapidly, and blinks, then looks around in confusion.

“Wh-Wha…” His eyes land on Gerry and he frowns. “Who are you?”

“Someone who just saved your ass from something nasty,” Gerry says, turns to the other man and touches his shoulder. Still there.

“Oh, God, his eyes are grey again.” The tall man grabs his shoulders and shakes him. “Martin? Martin!”

“How did he manage to go so deep into the Lonely with you there?” Gerry asks and moves to look inside the Head Archivist’s office. Empty.

“Into the what? Martin!” He shakes him again and Martin blinks and exhales but does not acknowledge him at all. “Do you know what’s happening to him?”

“Where’s Jon?” Gerry looks at the man sternly.

“Jo—who the hell are you?” The man exclaims. “We need to snap him out of it!”

“It’s not that easy.” Gerry rolls his eyes and looks through Martin’s desk. “What does he love?”

“What?” The man looks at him confused and Gerry stifles a groan of frustration.

“Martin. He needs an anchor, something that he loves that will bring him back here.”

The man’s eyes search the desk frantically.

“Come on!” Gerry rushes him and the man groans.

“Can he hear me?”

“Allegedly.”

“What does that mean?!” He looks at him pressingly.

“It means I don’t know!” Gerry grabs one of Martin’s hands. “He might, if he’s not too far gone.”

“Martin,” the man grabs Martin’s other hand. “Martin, think about tea. Poetry. Um, about—” He’s cut off by Gerry’s groan of frustration. “What?!”

“That won’t work,” he shakes his head. “He’s in the fogs of The Lonely; he thinks he’s alone and that it’s never gonna change; that he can’t ever make meaningful connections with other people.”

The man’s eyes move frantically as he puts something together in his brain.

“Martin,” he squeezes his hand again. “I’m here with you, you hear me? You’re not alone and Jon is here too, and Sasha will be here soon, and we will all be with you here because we are your friends, okay? We’re—” His voice catches when Martin’s grey gaze lands on his face. Gerry unknowingly nods for him to continue. “Look, I know you’re convinced that you’re no help here because of that fake resume that everyone pretends not to know about, but you’ve been such an amazing friend through these couple of months and—” he searches for words before continuing. “And I know you have feelings for Jon, and you need to think about him because if you ask me, he’s head over heels for you too, and you’re just too oblivious to realize, both of you,” he laughs and a tear streams down his face. “So you need to think about him because he needs you to be here and stay here, and we need you too, okay, Marto, we—we really do…” He inhales, as Martin squeezes his hand back and blinks. The man sighs deeply with relief and leans his forehead on their joined hands.

“Tim…?” Martin speaks up with a very gentle, detached voice and then his gaze lands on Gerry who has now let go of his hand and stands back up. “Who’s that?”

Tim looks up and wipes away another stray tear, then stands up to face him.

“Yeah,” he frowns. “That’s a good question.”

Gerry smirks and climbs up to sit at one of the desks.

“Seeing how I just might have saved your lives; I’d rather think some thanks are in order.”

“I’m not kidding, who the fuck are you?” Tim crosses his arms and narrows his eyes. Gerry notices he stares at his tattoos like he’s trying to remember something.

“Eh, fine.” He rolls his eyes. “Name’s Gerry Delano, but you may know me as Gerard Keay.”

Recognition flashes in Tim’s eyes.

“We had a statement about you!” He says and immediately frowns. “You killed a man.”

Gerry chuckles.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”

“What are you doing here?” Martin asks and Gerry crosses his legs.

“Waiting for Jon, actually. I thought I may find him here, but it appears I must have found his assistants, am I correct?”

“And you know Jon how?” Martin follows up; his voice gains a bit of depth to it, and he tilts his head, much more present than a second before.

“We met in an alley outside the Institute this morning,” Gerry shrugs. “Or, late night. Morning might be pushing it. He didn’t mention it?”

Tim sighs and rubs his face and Martin shakes his head.

“Eh, that’s fine. You two look like you have enough information to process for the next two months.”

“Something like that,” Tim nods and leans against Martin’s desk. “Jon’s getting some sleep and we’d rather have no one disturb him. It’s been a… hard morning.”

“He did look like he hasn’t slept in a week, I’ll give you that.” Gerry shoots a glance at Martin; his skin is regaining color, but his eyes are still unnaturally grey, and the edges of his form are blurry; the fog still lingers. “Hey, um… Martin?” He asks and Martin looks at him with surprise.

“Yeah…?”

“Just getting your names since you haven’t introduced yourselves. But that’s okay, I’m good at picking up from context.” He smiles and continues before Tim can speak. “So, Martin, what is it that you do here?”

“Uh… excuse me?” He blinks.

“I’m just interested, tell me what your usual day consists of. What do you do for fun? Your friend mentioned poetry?”

He notes the blush on Martin’s face with some satisfaction; the dark green colour returns to his eyes, though, still, his edges remain blurry. Martin can’t answer however; as he takes a breath, he’s interrupted by the door to the storage room opening.

Jon looks, frankly, even worse than he did before; in addition to everything aforementioned, his eyes are now puffed up from sleeping and he has apparently ditched his sweater vest, leaving only a creased, light blue shirt.

“…Gerry?” He frowns at him and takes in the room. “Something happened.”

“God, Jon, did we wake you up?” Martin shoots upright and the edges of his form become solid for a second. Just a second.

“No,” he shakes his head and blinks at Gerry. “What are you doing here?”

“Watching a zombie rise from the dead, apparently.” Gerry jumps down from the desk and crosses his arms. “Also saving the lives of his assistants by accident. I know you said you’re a mess but good God.”

“Gerry, I’m serious.” Jon gives him a look and Gerry sighs, but it’s a sigh of mock exasperation which hides only fondness. From the moment he learned Jon is the Head Archivist, he knew he would be a lot different than Gertrude; even if at first it was “this kid is a proper mess” contrasted with Gertrude’s calculated craft. He can see that what actually makes him different, better, is that he cares. Even though Beholding has him in its grasp far stronger than it ever had Gertrude, he has that spark of human empathy that she deemed an obstacle. He wouldn’t be the kind to sacrifice his own assistants to stop the Apocalypse, which maybe doesn’t give them big chances of success, but makes Gerry trust him. It makes him feel safer and it makes him stand stronger, and maybe that is exactly what is needed. And that one detail, that seriousness in his voice when he asks what happened to his assistants – to his friends – and the worry in his eyes when he checks if they’re okay, that’s what fully convinces Gerry that this man is worth his effort. If they can’t save the world with a strength like that then maybe no one really can.

—

Martin opens the door to Jon’s office to see the man reading something in a book. He looks up at Martin and his lips twitch towards a smile.

“Hello, Martin,” Jon says and immediately yawns. “God, sorry.”

“I was about to ask you if you’re still working.” Martin takes a look at his desk; there’s two empty mugs pushed to the side, a tape recorder (not recording), and some books and papers. Martin notices Jon’s glasses are still where he left them after he found them near the cot in the storage room. “You’re wearing contacts now?” He asks and Jon raises his eyebrows.

“What?”

“Well, I- I noticed you didn’t wear glasses today,” Martin shrugs and points his chin at them. “You forgot them yesterday.”

Jon’s eyes stop at the pair of glasses, and he frowns.

“Huh.” He rubs his chin. “Checks out, I guess.”

“What?” Now Martin frowns and Jon looks up at him, breathing in.

“The, uh—The Eye powers,” he grimaces. “This happened before too. I don’t—I don’t need them anymore.”

“Oh.” Martin shifts. “Well, I just wanted to tell you, you should get some rest. It’s—It’s late.”

Jon smiles fondly, staring into the air. Martin wonders what he's thinking about. Is he going back to memories he doesn't have?

“I really should, shouldn't I?” Jon asks no one in particular and sighs. “Thank you, Martin.”

“F-For what?” Martin laughs a little bit confused, and Jon looks at him for a moment before he shrugs.

“For caring. For being there.”

Martin looks away and shifts awkwardly again. Jon's stare, though gentle, is piercing; overbearing. Martin can't yet decide if it's good or bad, but it is certainly a lot.

“I should—”

“Could you—”

They start at the same time and look at each other. Jon shakes his head and gestures with his hand.

“Please, go first.”

Martin takes a deep breath.

“Could you tell me what—what it is that you want me to remember?”

Jon opens his mouth and closes it. His forehead ripples.

“I...” he begins and sighs, looking at his desk. “I don't think it was you. I mean—I think that... that it was a different version of you. In my past.” He looks up and his brown eyes are sad. “So it makes sense you can't remember because it never actually happened for you.”

Martin deflates with a little “oh” and looks down. The hole in his mind is settling nicely in the fog and he doesn't question it. Why would he? It was always there. He’s only lived this life, not anything else – if anybody would know it would be Jon. And obviously, it was a different Martin that Jon fell— That Jon cared for.

“Were we…” Martin stops, the word “together" left hanging in the air, and Jon looks at him for a second before something flashes in his eyes.

“We don't—I mean, I can't really— It's, it wasn't you so...”

‘I can’t really expect you to have the same feelings now’ is what Jon does not say, but Martin, of course, has no way of knowing that.

“Right,” Martin nods, and he can see Jon's cheeks blush, much the same as his own must right now. Martin swallows the awkwardness and nods again. “Alright, I'll, uh... I'll leave you to it. Then. Get—uh, get some rest.”

He closes the door and exhales deeply. Well, that was disastrous; he thinks, as he walks towards the document storage. There’s something heavy weighing down on his chest but he chooses not to dwell on it; it wouldn’t provide him with any insights he didn’t already know.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #tma oftm #jonmartin #niki.writes #new posting format because i have not heard of consistency in my life #we're back at it!!#also i promised myself that i would finish this #i Will Not abandon this #we are powering through #and we can Do this

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chemist-ana · 3 years ago

Text

Chapter 11- The Shopping Trip— Sams POV

Book: The Nanny Affair

Characters: Sam, Ana Schuyler (MC), Robin

Pairing: Sam Dalton (male) x Ana Schuyler (MC)

Rating: 18+

Content Warning: NSFW, Sexual Language, Adult Language, Sexual Situations

A/N This is a brand new series that I was inspired to write. I am going to go chapter by chapter in Sam Daltons POV. This story is completely inspired by Choices The Nanny Affair. I have used most of the dialogue from the actual story, anything written in BOLD was taken directly from the book and therefore is not my writing- credit to our good friends over at Pixelberry! All characters are credit to Pixelberry except for my OCs

Summary: Sofia corners me into taking Ana for the day on a shopping trip, what happens next is anyones guess.

Word Count: 3500

Tag List: @txemrn @secretaryunpaid @lifeaskim @aussieez @pixie88 @thefrenchiemama @sfb123 @mainstreetreader @shewillreadyou @khoicesbyk @lady-calypso @choicesficwriterscreations @somersetmummy @melalicious8383@chrissythadon

I eye Sofia warily as she sticks her hip out, arms crossed, her brown eyes not leaving mine.

“I don’t see what the problem is, Sam. I just want to borrow Ana for the day.” Her voice has a measured evenness that makes me question her true intention.

“Alright, I will take the boys out.” A smile curves her lips at my words.”But, Sofia, please treat her with respect.”

My hands grip the marble counter as she turns to walk away, her heels clicking as she rounds the corner towards Ana’s room without another word.

This is a bad idea…

I quietly follow Sofia, stopping right outside Ana’s door. I can hear their muffled conversation. I take a step closer.

“Fine. Give me the card.” I hear Ana say reluctantly.

“You’re a lifesaver, Ana. I will see you very soon.”

I dart into my open bedroom door before I hear Sofia leave Ana’s room. I wait until I hear the elevator doors close before walking back over to Ana’s room, knocking softly on the partially open door.

“Is it safe to come in?” I ask with a crooked smile.

“Sam, you really are scared of Sofia, huh?” Her lips curve up into a mocking smile. “You’re a grown man sneaking around his own fiancee. You see that, right?”

“I wouldn’t call it ‘sneaking’. More like… walking with discretion.” I slip into her room. “But I am sorry she ambushed you like that. I owe you, big time.”

“Good thing I know just what I want as compensation.” She looks me up and down, her eyes lingering.

“Oh? And what’s that?” I lean against her dresser, crossing my arms across my chest.

“I want you.” She takes a step towards me, her eyes darkening. “Just you, all to myself. Send the kids to spend the weekend with their grandparents, and leave us the penthouse…”

My mind instantly jumps to every fantasy I have ever had of her, spread in front of me on the kitchen counter, her moans echoing through the living room as I pin her to the floor to ceiling windows, and her wet and screaming my name in my shower. I push off of her dresser, taking a step towards her.

“That seems like a… dangerous proposition.”

“That’s what makes it fun.” Her gaze slides up to mine and I can see every speck of gold mixed with her emerald eyes.

“Ana…” I can feel the desire growing before my brain finally takes back control. I lean back, clearing my throat. “For the time being, maybe there’s something more immediate I can do to make it up to you?”

“I’m listening… intently.” Her eyes travel down, lingering on the now-obvious bulge in my pants. Damn, woman.

“I was thinking I could make you breakfast with…. You know, pancakes, eggs, bacon, the works.”

“Sofia would never approve.” She smiles as her eyes rise to mine.

“Sofia isn’t here. I’m willing to risk it. What do you say?”

“I guess making me breakfast is the least you can do.” She says with a sigh.

“Right this way. Chef Sam is at your service.”

I follow her out to the kitchen, my eyes glued to her hips as they sway left to right, her perfect peach of an ass daring me to grab it. I swallow as I watch her slide into a bar stool, my eyes snapping up to hers as she turns her gaze on me.

I take a deep breath, grabbing the apron from the pantry and knotting it around my waist. Alright, it’s been a while, but you know how to do this, Dalton. Impress the lady. I can at least fake it til I make it, right?

I grab some butter and set it to melt in a nonstick. I can feel her eyes on me and I give her a crooked grin.

“Normally I’m the one enjoying the view while you make breakfast.”

“I didn’t notice you were taking in the scenery.” She smiles as she squirms slightly in her seat and a blush spreads across her cheeks.

“I do try to be subtle… even if I don’t always succeed.”

Alright Dalton, pancakes first. I start adding the ingredients to a bowl.

“You have a favorite thing about what you saw?” Her voice breaks the silence.

Ahh, fishing now are we Ms. Schuyler. I will gladly take the bait.

“I’m not sure I can narrow it down to just one thing… between your adorable bedhead and cute little pajamas, my eyes just don’t know where to look.” My eyes flick up and notice her nipples have hardened under her thin t shirt. “But I definitely appreciate how sweet you are with my boys… even when they’re loud and rambunctious before coffee.”

“Sam… I care about them.” Her cheeks warm even more. “That makes it easy.”

“I’ve met my boys, Ana. I’m under no illusion that taking care of them is easy, even if you do have a magic touch.” I give her a wry smile before looking back down at my breakfast preparations. “Would you like to help, or would you prefer to relax?”

“I’ll watch you from over here. This is my treat, remember? I intend to enjoy it fully.”

Oh well, I tried to get her to come closer to me. My eyes swing up to hers and she is giving me a devilish grin as she leans back in her chair.

“Good. I hope I… live up to your expectations.”

“You’re doing a pretty good job so far.”

“That’s because I haven’t set the kitchen on fire yet. I’ve always been a little helpless when it comes to this sort of thing…”

I grab some walnuts for the pancakes and chop them on the cutting board, all while trying to ignore the heat from her gaze.

“You know, for someone who claims to be ‘helpless’, you seem to know your way around a chef’s knife.”

“The chopping part comes naturally from years of working hands-on in a lab. You need the same sort of steady strokes for both. But when it comes to the rest of it… I swear, I’ve never met a chicken I couldn’t burn to a crisp.” Why did I offer to cook for her again?

I flick the walnut pieces into the batter and stir them in.

“Should I be worried about these pancakes? You are going to have to cook them…” She chides.

“You can supervise while I attempt to not burn them.” I give her a small chuckle as I start pouring the batter. Expertly flipping them and cooking them to a beautiful golden brown. I plate her a stack of steaming pancakes. “A little cinnamon, a little honey, top with strawberries…” My eyes rise to hers as she watches me with a smile. “I hope you like ‘em sweet.”

“You know I do. Don’t forget the secret ingredient… lots of love!”

My chest tightens at her words as I turn to present her pancakes.

“Looks delicious.”

I watch as she delicately places a small piece of pancake in her mouth, her pink lips wrapping around the fork as her eyes flutter closed. Who knew watching someone eat could be so erotic…

“Mmmm… so good.” She moans as her eyes open again and meet mine. “Are you sure you’re bad at this?”

“Pancakes are the one dish I’ve perfected over the years. Theres’s a reason I offered to make you breakfast and not dinner.” I smile at the satisfaction on her face.

“And here I thought it was because you wanted to lick syrup off of me.” Her tongue darts out to lick the syrup off of her bottom lip.

I can’t help but groan at her words. “Ana…” Our gaze lingers on each other before I watch her reach for the syrup. I would lick syrup off of every single inch of your skin if I could…

“Whoops! Sorry…” Her eyes grow wide when she knocks the bottle over. She smiles sheepishly as rounds the corner of the bar to help clean up the spill. The sweet smell of jasmine and syrup fill my senses as she stands close to me.

“I’ve got it.”

“No, let me help…” She insists.

I turn to watch her as she insists on wiping up the mess with a napkin. Finally she turns to me, and I realize just how close we are standing to each other. The familiar arc of electricity flowing between our bodies, charging the air.

“Did I get it all?” I ask her breathlessly.

I watch her tongue dart out and lick her lips as she swallows heavily.

“You missed a spot on my neck.” She tilts her head to the side and my gaze narrows in to the delicate curve of her neck and throat.

I lean in, bringing my tongue to her sweet skin. I can feel her heart beating at her pulse point, and she tilts her head further to give me better access.

“Mmmm… so delicious.” I smile into my kisses on her neck. So fucking sweet.

“Wait until you taste the rest of me.” She says, her voice low.

“Oh god…” Her words send desire surging through me as I imagine the small taste I have already gotten. My hands find her delicate waist as I bunch up her shirt trying to expose her soft skin. “Ana…” I moan as I continue kissing her neck.

She twines her fingers into my hair and pulls my lips to hers, kissing me with a sense of urgency and passion that I match stroke for stroke.

“Touch me, Sam…” She whispers against my lips. “I need to feel you…”

My hands find the hem of her shirt and I reach under to explore the planes of her bare skin, relishing in the curves of her back.

“Like this?” I whisper.

“God yes…” She moans.

My hands continue exploring all of the muscles of her back, pulling her tight against my body and my growing desire. Her breathing is accelerating as I can feel her nearing the edge. Oh beautiful girl, the way you respond to my touch is unbelievable… where have you been all my life?

I completely forgot that we weren’t exactly alone in the penthouse when I heard the thunder of bare feet running down the hall. I immediately drop my arms from Ana and take a step back.

“Crap!” She says breathlessly.

I reach up and run my hands through my hair as my eyes scan Ana’s face. Her lips are swollen from our kisses and she is trying to catch her breath.

“I thought Aunt Sofia threw away all our good food!” Mickey yells as he rounds the corner.

“Boys! We made pancakes!” Ana says quickly averting her eyes from mine.

“Score!” Mickey cheers as him and his brother slide into the seats at the kitchen bar.

I watch Ana carefully as she serves two plates of pancakes for the boys, blushing furiously.

“Boys, what do you say to Ana?” My eyes fall on Mickey and Mason as she slides their plates in front of them.

“Thank you! It’s really good!” Mason says with a mouth full of pancake.

“Mmm. Yeah, way better than Aunt Sofia’s- I mean, thank you!” Mickey stops mid-Sofia insult as I narrow my eyes at him.

Ana studiously ignores me for the rest of breakfast as she slowly regains her composure.

When the kitchen has been cleaned and pancakes have been finished, she makes her way towards the foyer.

“Ana, wait! Before you go…” I walk up quickly behind her holding a travel mug with fresh coffee. “Something tells me you’re gonna need the extra caffeine to get through your day.” I smile as our fingers brush.

“Thanks.” She brings the cup to her lips, taking a small sip. “I’ll see you later.”

“Thank you, again, Ana.”

She gives me a small smile before the elevators close between us.

I let out a sharp breath before walking back into the kitchen with Mickey and Mason.

“Well, boys, what should we do today?”

***

I check my phone for what seems like the hundredth time since Ana left the penthouse this morning. My mind wanders to all the possible things Sofia could be saying to her. I turn my gaze up as Mason and Mickey put their batting helmets on.

“Alright boys, are you ready?”

“Ready, dad!” They say in unison.

I shove my phone in my pocket, it will all be over soon… right?

***

Mason and Mickey dash into the penthouse as soon as the elevator doors open. I pull out my phone… still nothing from Ana.

I sit down on the couch, turning my attention to the trees swaying in the wind in Central Park.

Suddenly my phone pings with a text message. I grab it and look at the screen, Ana.

Ana: I don’t think Im gonna last a whole afternoon w/Sofia

I sigh and sit back on the couch.

Sam: What did she do this time?

Ana: What HASNT She done?

Ana: I’m trying to not let her get to me but…

Sam: She wears you down.

Sam: I know the feeling all too well.

Sam: What can I do? Would a distraction help?

Sam: Ana? I lose you there?

When she doesn’t immediately respond, I text her again… what are you? A fucking highschooler.

Ana: Ok, I have to ask… Is our relationship all in my head?

I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. Fuck

Sam: No, definitely not. Where’s this coming from?

Ana: Just something Sofia said…

Damn it, I knew this was going to be a problem.

Sam: Ana, please don’t listen to her.

Sam: She doesn’t know anything about our relationship. And she’s a master at manipulation.

Ana: I kno I kno, its just she found a sore spot I guess.

Sam: I should’ve know she’d pulls something like this. She was so insistent when she asked. I didn’t want to arouse suspicion by resisting too much.

Ana: Her mind games are seriously next level. At this point, I wonder if her assistant even has a kid.

Sam: Ana, I WILL make this right. Sit tight.

I stand up, sending a quick text to Carter to let him know I am running out and leaving the boys at home. I stuff my phone in my pocket, grabbing the keys to the Porsche and ignoring the many incoming texts as my phone pings in my pocket. Hold tight, Ana. I am coming for you.

***

After stopping at Laudree and getting a box of macarons, I park the Porsche outside of Viver and make my way inside.

“Did you know there’s a gourmet bakery just down the street from here?” I smile as I walk into the back, Ana is bent over her phone on the chaise.

“Sam!” I watch her face light up as stands up, her long legs stepping up to me as she throws her arms around my shoulders.

“I should surprise you like this more often.” I smile as she steps away from me.

“If our think you’re gonna get away with pawning me off on Sofia for an entire day ever again…” She rolls her eyes.

“I guess I’ll just have to come up with another way to surprise you.” I give her a nudge with my elbow.

“Sam, you know how to turn my day around. Thank you for finding a way to show that you care.” She grabs the box from my hands.

“It’s the least I could do, given what you’ve done for me today to show that you care.” I place my hand on her arm and give her a long look. “You need me, I’m here. Okay?”

She gives me a small nod and I watch her melt at my words.

“Is that my boo-bear?” I flinch slightly as I hear Sofia’s voice call from the dressing room. She rounds the corner with a smile on her face. “And you brought… cookies! That’s very sweet, literally. I’ll have to save it for my cheat day.”

“I’m told they’re the best cookies in the city. Consider it my way of thanking you two, since you spent all day preparing for an event on my behalf.” I look at Sofia with a smile. “But since it looks like you’re done already, maybe I can kill two birds with one stone and take Ana home with me?”

“Hm? Oh yes, that’s fine. I have an appointment soon anyway.” Sofia grabs her phone out of her purse and barely spares me another glance.

“Ana? Shall we?”

I watch Ana give Sofia a weird look, which I decide to ignore, before she follows me out of the shop.

I open the passenger side door for her and she gracefully slides into the seat of the Porsche, her long legs look so damn good in this car. I bite my lip before I close her door, climbing into the drivers side and I put the car into drive.

My hand is resting on the center console. I feel her fingers gently brush mine before she intertwines our fingers. I glance down at our hands with a small smile.

“So, you’re going to a charity gala this weekend?” She asks casually.

“It’s not as fun as it sounds, believe me. Even though it’s not official business, it’ll be all shoptalk, all night.”

“With fancy food and fancy drinks and fancy dancing? That doesn’t sound all bad.”

“You’re right, it’s not.” I squeeze her hand lightly. “And with the right date, it could be downright fun. But-“

“You’re going with Sofia.” Her voice sounds sad as she shifts her gaze out of the window.

“Yeah. She has her moments, but she tends to stay laser-focused on business events like this.” I wish you were coming with me though…

“I wish I was going with you. You’d have so much more fun with me. Just like at your engagement party.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing I’m not bringing you, then. You were dangerous that night.” My mind wanders back to her body pressed against mine, the dark look in her eyes.

“Just that night?” I can see her look at me out of the corner of my eye.

“And every night since.” I flick my eyes to hers. “It’s not fair to tease me when I’m supposed to keep my eyes on the road.”

“I never said I play fair.”

“Ana…” My voice almost sounds like a growl as I try not to imagine her body pressed up against me, her hips pressing into mine.

“Fine, fine. I’ll be good… for now.” She smiles before facing forward, our fingers still interlaced.

***

“Are you serious, Sof? You know how big of a deal tonight is.”

“I know, Sam, and I really do apologize. I do not feel well enough to attend.” Her voice sounds quiet and subdued. “I have an idea that would keep my seat filled at the table.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. I could bring Ana…

“You should bring, Ana.” My eyes widen at her words. “She was with me when I was practicing, she should know who everyone of importance is.”

“I don’t know, Sofia.”

“I do, Sam, I insist. She won’t look as good at me on your arm, but she is better than nothing.”

I pause for effect.

“Alright, well, I hope you feel better.”

“Thank you, Sam. Don’t have too much fun without me tonight.”

“Bye, Sof.”

I am glad she can’t see the grin on my face as I end the phone call, sending a quick text to my assistant to order a gold dress from my personal shopper at Nordstroms in Ana’s size and to change my tux to one that will match.

***

The doorman delivers the suit bag and the dress box to the elevator and I walk quickly into my room, changing into the tux with the gold accents and gold tie. I take one last look in the full length mirror before turning to the box.

I carefully unbox the dress, damn this is going to look so fucking good on her…

I make my way to Ana’s room and knock softly on her closed door.

I hear her voice on the other side of the door before she swings it open. Her brown hair cascading down her back and chest, wearing that thin t shirt that leaves nothing to the imagination. I clear my throat as I remember why I am even standing here in the first place.

“Sam… you look amazing.” She reaches out and adjusts my lapels and runs her hands down my chest. “There. Now you’re perfect.” Her eyes find mine again with a sigh,

“What would I do without you?”

“Walk around with a wrinkled lapel, I expect.” She laughs softly, such a beautiful sound…

I clear my throat and her face turns serious.

“Ana, I know this is terribly short notice, but… will you be my date to the gala?” I hold my breath as surprise flashes across her face, followed by confusion.

Oh god, say yes.

#choices the stories you play #the nanny affair #choices sam dalton #samdalton #tna #sams pov

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headcans-oneshots-and-stuff · 4 years ago

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Do Angels giggle?

Warning: Mentioned death of multiple people, a teeny tiny bit of angst, swearing, but otherwise you should be fine Word count: 4k (sis snapped again)(I should really stop doing this tbh) Summary: A rumor of an angel kidnapping criminals and leads them to a path of justice and Jason is on the suspects track. He hasn’t expected to be caught and he surely hasn’t expected what met him there...

This was requested by @middevil465: 'Babe did you fall from heaven bc you seem to be a chaotic ever shifting sphere of eyes & wings making a sound not of this earth and I’m kind of hoping God sent you because this is terrifying' with jason x reader

Jason really didn't plan on this to happen. He didn't plan on getting caught while spying on the current suspect in a case of criminals disappearing only to re-appear with no memory of what happened and babbling of being lead to a better life by an angel. And he certainly didn't plan to end up in a warehouse that was decorated with a clearly religious altar and other things that heavily reminded him of the church. The only thing that wasn't church-y was the fact that he was tied to a - honestly not uncomfortable - chair in front of the altar. The worst fact was that he, too, couldn't remember how he ended up here. He had some flashes of memories, about how Bruce assigned him to the case, about how he found a man that all the criminals who found themselves 'victim' had met sometime before their disappearance and how he'd found and followed him before he blacked out.

And now he was here. He wasn't really afraid as much as he was concerned and curious about what was going to happen next. Bruce could easily track him as soon as he noticed he wasn't answering so there was also not much reason to try to escape before he knew what was going on here or if he was in any serious danger. Jason wasn't sure what to expect. Tortue, drugging, brainwashing? He knew the man must have some kind of secret weapon that made him able to re-write these criminals to his liking, but he wasn't quite sure why. Everyone in the cave had different theories. Bruce and Dick thought that he maybe got information about their 'businesses', deleted the memory and sold the info, Damian and (surprisingly enough) Tim thought that the criminals had been involved in something bigger, all of them involved somehow, and the person (or people) who hunted them down and changed their memories and life choices, were on a hunt for information. Steph and Cass had agreed that it was a cult or a conspiracy and Barbara had said that she wouldn't make any theories just yet, or rather not reveal hers. Jason had a more sinister thought though. He knew about the criminal world better than most others in his family, once having been a big part of it too, and he thought that whoever was able to do this, was slowly building an empire, first taking out smaller criminals, snitches and errand boys, maybe as to test their methods, before going for the big fish and re-writing them to take over their territory. It was honestly a good plan, but the fam wasn't really happy about it. Having an enemy that could delete and rewrite memories and demeanours could be a real threat. That was why Jason needed to find out how they did it. But he didn't see anything in the warehouse room that would implicate what they used for their plan, only all that church stuff, and Jason considered that it was probably something to harden the illusion that it was an angel who showed them the 'light'.

"I've seen thou have been awakened, man in the blooded hood," a male voice echoed through the large space and bounced off the walls. The man he had followed stepped in front of him in a robe that reminded him of a monk. "It's crimson, bitch," Jason snarkily responded and couldn't help the smirk on his face, but it didn't seem to even slightly faze him. "Many have found the devil in their words in this city, but we, the church of hope and new ways, have made it our mission to bring thou, wrongdoers, to a path of justice and good, to a path of the angel." So Cass and Stephanie were right after all? A cult, really? "So that's all very noble and all, at least in theory, but ya know, I'm kinda on your side. With hunting and jailing criminals and all that jazz." "Thou words are full of sin that thou not even recognize, but don't fret, we will free you of them, free you of the devil within and bring you on a path of belief and light, we will bring thou to face with the angel that hath shown us the way too." Now that was next-level crazy, Jason thought and rolled his eyes under his still worn helmet. "Well, knock yourself out," he sighed and leaned back in the chair. Seemingly listening to Jason, the man disappeared through a door and suddenly all the lights in the room went out, leaving Jason in complete darkness, unable to turn on the night vision in his helmet. He heard another door on the other side opening and light steps echoed through the room, but whoever came in didn't make any other sounds but that. Then he was blinded by the brightest light he had most likely ever seen and what his eyes saw when the light simmered down a bit and he got used to the brightness made him freeze to the core. The words that left his mouth next were the result of habit more than thought, but he said them nonetheless: "Babe did you fall from heaven because you seem to be a chaotic ever-shifting sphere of eyes and wings making a sound not of this earth and I'm kind of hoping God sent you because this is terrifying." He wasn't wrong though. In front of him was, in fact, actually an ever-shifting sphere of eyes and wings that was making sounds that were clearly not human, neither anything that he had ever heard off-world and even though Jason was by no means religious, he had heard enough about how the angels in the bible were described to identify this thing in front of him as an angel. Suddenly the ever so brave, fearless and cocky Jason Todd stared at that being in front of him and his hidden face was drawn by fear and terror. He could deal with torture and pain, he could deal with technology and drugs, but he couldn't deal with whatever would be happening next. What would be happening next? Well, whatever it was that he expected, it sure as hell wasn't what happened. The sphere that he feared more than he had feared anything in the last years started to giggle. GIGGLE! Do Angel's even giggle? How would I ever know if angels giggle? The glow died down and the shifting intensified, the eyes were closing and drawing together, the wings merging too until there was only one pair left and the sphere turned into a different form, something longer and more humanly shaped, until it did a final change and turned into a girl. And what a girl she was. Jason's breath was stolen by her and the atmosphere surrounding her. She looked stunning in every sense of the word, from the Y/S/C skin that was basically glowing with angelic shine, her hair that was somehow looking like a halo even though it was nothing like one and her face that seemed to be sculptured by whoever created this hellhole called life themselves. And don't let him get started on the pair off wings that she was still sporting on her back. It was quite honestly gigantic. So big that its lowest part was reaching the floor and the highest part was still a few inches higher than her head. He could imagine that they would fill out the entire room if she was to stretch them out and the thought alone made him somewhat fuzzy in his head. He wished he could describe their colour, but he was sure that it was none of the ones he had ever seen on any planet, ever, he wasn't even sure if his eyes should be humanly able to comprehend the colour and yet there he sat looking at them. He was so impressed by these celestial limbs that he didn't even notice the fact that the girl was, in fact, completely naked. But even if he'd notice it, he wouldn't have seen her body as something sexual. The way she was moving like it was completely natural would more likely make him feel ridiculous for ever thinking of a naked body as something as intimate. And then her voice. Her voice was even more divine than anything else, making his whole body tense up and relax simultaneously. "You are full of darkness, but your darkness is unlike anything else they have shown me," she stated matter-of-factly and she came close to him, rounding him a few times with curiosity in her eyes, "And not just your insides are different than the ones they showed me, your head seems to have a sort of protective shell, how magnificent." Is she talking about my helmet? Does she think it is a part of me? "Uhm, Miss Angel, that isn't a part of my body, it's removable," he said, surprised that he was even able to talk with his heart basically having stopped beating. Her eyes widened in child-like wonder and she kneeled down in front of him, her wings spreading out slightly beside her to accommodate the change in height. "Would it be okay if I were to take it off?" she asked in innocence that Jason has quite honestly never seen before. "Uhm, sure," Jason answered, completely having forgotten the whole reason that he was here in the first place. Her delicate hands slowly found their way to were his helmet laid over his ears and she looked into the general direction of were his eyes were, her Y/E/C orbs seemingly shifting colour every time she moved even an inch. "I'll try to be careful," she hummed and started trying to get it off, changing her tactic ever so often when she noticed that it wasn't working, but instead of telling her what to do, Jason just looked at the angel and couldn't find any words. Finally, after about two minutes, she managed to pull it off and carefully laid it down beside the chair, before finally leading her gaze to his now, except for the domino mask, uncovered face. She didn't say anything, just bringing her hands up to his face and tracing it, including every scar, no matter how little, and every edge. Even though he had been in awe before, now he could almost comprehend why the criminals changed their ways, hell, at that moment he'd burn the city down without hesitation if she'd asked for it. Finally, her fingers wandered over the edges of his mask and when he gave her a small nod of consent, she somehow managed to peel it off and free his eyes for her to see. He didn't mind that she now knew what he looked like, that she could now identify him, but to be honest, he didn't think much about it, too caught up in that moment and that moment only. Their eyes met in a moment of complete silence whit the only sound present in Jason's head was the pounding of his heart and the rushing of his blood. "You are really unlike the others aren't you?" her voice broke that moment, but he somehow knew that he wasn't expected to answer. For a few heartbeats, the two off them stayed in place, before the angel ruffled her feathers, the sound echoing through the warehouse, like dozens of birds flying away. She raised back to her full size, her wings folding back to where they had originally been. "Tell me, why do my saviours want me to bring you to the light? I can see that it is already in you, it may be clouded and darkened, but it is there," she asked him and her hand was cupping his cheek in an act that seemed unnoticed by herself as if she was doing it unconsciously. Jason wasn't quite sure how to respond to that question, but he noticed something else in what she said, something that formed confusion in him. "Your saviours? Shouldn't it be the other way around?" "How do you mean that?" the angel asked with honest naive confusion written over her face as she cocked her head to the side and folded her hand in front of her bare stomach. "Well, uh, I'm no expert by any means, but you're an angel right?" She nodded but kept quiet as if that question didn't give her a clue as to what he meant. "Uhm... Angels are creatures sent by God and...uhm...they are over humans, right? So how is that guy and whoever he works with your saviour? Is he Jesus or something?" What she answered was something he didn't even remotely expect. "Who?" "Jesus? Your Boss's son? God sent messiah to free all humans? Allegedly forgave us for our sins and got killed for that?" Jason rambled and tried to count down everything he still remembered. The angle put her hand in front of her mouth in shock at his words. "That sounds horrible, is he okay?" she asked in a tone that made it pretty clear to Jason that she did, first of all, not know who Jesus was, and second, had no idea what killing actually meant. "Uhm, sure, he's great, somewhere up there with his dad, I guess," Jason just shrugged, not really caring about that topic anymore and more focusing on all the facts about her being an angel that didn't add up. "Can you tell me about yourself?" he just boldly asked her, but it didn't seem to phase her at all, in fact, she brightened up at the possibility to tell him about her. "Uhm, I can't tell you much, but I was saved by the church of hope and new ways when they found me after what they called a miracle, they took care of me and explained to me that I was sent to them to be their tool to re-shape the world," she explained with a somewhat proud undertone, but Jason's feeling got cemented. The feeling that she had actually no idea what was going on around her and what she was used to do, and the feeling that she may not really be the sort of angel he, and seemingly she, believed she was. "Re-shape the world?" he investigated further, a small voice muttering theories in the back of his head. "Mhm," she nodded and her right wing folded itself slightly in front of her as if she was nervous or shy, "They bring men who are filled with darkness and they have me look into them, look if they have light and make me watch their mind, then they have told me to bring them into the sun, I show them the way that they tell me is right, make them believe in the church." Her words were slightly wary and Jason could recognize the doubt in them. She wasn't doing this voluntarily... "Do you want to do that?" he asked to clarify things for himself, and maybe also her. Her eyes wandered to the door the mock-monk had disappeared in and Jason could have sworn he saw something like fear in them. "I- Uhm- Yes," she nodded, but couldn't look at the man in front of her, she had almost turned her whole body away from him. "I don't believe you." "Why?" her voice wasn't as childish and curious and innocent anymore, it was small and fragile. "I'm not sure, but I think they are lying to you, I think you aren't an angel. I mean, you're sure as hell no human, but you're not an angel, at least not one in the...uhm..traditional sense." This seemed to gain her attention in a way that had her turning around again and made her take a step towards him. "Do you really think so? Because... I have tried to tell them, but they said no to all my questions, they told me that I am the tool for the church, that that is my only task and that I would be lost without them, but I can see it in them too. The darkness, they tell me to turn into light, is in them too, but they don't let me change it, they tell me I must see something that isn't there... And not only that... I have memories, memories of the Miracle. I see flashes of other people, people that make my heartache, and flashes of a building, one that looked like this room here on the inside. "And then there are other flashes, flashes I have at nights when I'm resting, there are loud noises and heat is licking at my skin, at my back, at my whole body, and there are so many screams." She seemingly didn't find the connection between those memories, but Jason sure as hell did. It was mainly a theory at that point, but he believed that she had been at church with her family when it burned down, maybe there was magic involved or she had the meta-gen inside her, but while her family burned she must have turned into the angel she was now, losing most of her memory in the process. The people that must have found her and figured out of the great powers she had, had decided to use her for their own sinister plans and she was none the wiser, Jason couldn't know if she had always been that naive and innocent, but she was now and, even though he had only known her for a matter of maybe half an hour, she had grown on him if he was being honest. "Can you see into other people's heads? Can you read other people's memories too?" he asked, a small plan forming in his mind. She looked at him in thought, but she seemingly was somewhat intrigued. "I believe so, I have only done it one or two times." "Read my mind, read my memories," he almost commanded, but she was taken off for other reasons. "Why would you want me to do that? My saviours tell me that it isn't my place to do so..." "I know this is confusing and what you will see will shock you, but I hope you will be able to trust me after that, trust me to help you, get you out of here." The prospect of being away from her 'saviours' seemed to make her interested, but there was something else that she had to know beforehand. "Will you stay with me? Will you take me with you? I can't be alone, I don't know where to go, what to do, I can't- don't think that I can survive all alone," she looked away and he could see the fear and pain, of not knowing what the future would hold in her whole demeanour, and he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms, but the restraints that were still binding him to the chair were keeping him from doing so. "If you don't want to be, you won't be alone, I will take you with me, we will go through this together, okay?" "Okay," she smiled slightly and came to him, her hands hovering over the rope around his chest and, in a for Jason surprising turn of event, her palms started glowing and the rope basically disintegrated leaving him free to stand up, having to physically restrain himself from holding her. "This won't be happening to me too?" he asked gesturing to what was still left off the rope. And she giggled again. God, he had almost forgotten how heavenly that giggle was. "No, I don't think it will," she said in a tone as if she was honestly questioning her statement, but before he could say anything about it her hands found themselves on the sides of his temple and the last thing that echoed through the room before the angel fell unconscious in his arms was her scream.

When the angel woke up she felt utterly exhausted. She had seen everything that had ever happened in Jason's life, including his death and every time he had killed, and she had felt it like she was it who experienced it. It had literally drained her, but Jason was correct, as she woke up again, she trusted him with her life and more. She knew him now. Possibly better than anyone else in the world. And not only that, when her eyes opened he was the first thing she saw. She was laying in his lap, something that was astounding enough considering the giant wings that were spread out beside her and partly over Jason, and somewhere along her time of being in his memories he had taken off his brown leather jacket and had put it on her and zipped it up, keeping the, in normal standards, intimate parts of her body hidden from sight. What the angel couldn't see were the bodies of the people who had, in Jason's opinion, used you for the past few months that were stacked in the backroom and, if he was lucky, not dead. "Sorry you had to see this, but I wanted for you to be able to completely trust me," Jason whispered, his hands caressing through her hands. "It's okay, I understand," she hummed back and they both knew that she meant more than just the statement about him wanting her to trust him. "Can we leave now?" "Of course," he smiled and helped her up, having been made aware earlier when she passed out that her wings added more to her body weight than he had anticipated, but that was to expect, they were robust and spread out almost twice as big as Jason in width. The angel, who Jason really needed to find a name for, had the wing on the side opposite of where Jason stood beside her, drawn in, but the one that was on his side was spread out behind him like a shield, curling around him slightly, but he just smiled and slightly shook his head at that. He honestly really didn't know what it was about the girl, his angel, or the whole situation itself, but a really small part of him wanted to believe that maybe there was something like a bigger picture, maybe not necessarily a god, but something that had brought them together, something that had wanted to make him know that the two of them knowing each other was meant to be.

#Jason todd #jason todd x reader #red hood #red hood x reader #dc x reader #batfamily #batfam x reader #batfam #fluff #angst #oneshot

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goodlucktai · 4 years ago

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it’s a better place since you came along

the adventure zone taako & angus mcdonald 7k words

read on ao3

“So, you must be here about the job,” the old man goes on. “To tell you the truth, I’d just about given up on finding a decent nanny. When can you start?”

Taako stares at him. There’s an alarm klaxon blaring in the back of his brain, along with a shrill inner voice advising him to “abort, motherfucker, abort!”

***

In which Taako answers a general “help wanted” ad that actually changes his entire stupid life.

There’s a baby crying somewhere.

Taako, left waiting in the foyer by a harried maid, has nothing else to do but tap a foot, twist one of the rings on one of his fingers, and count the long seconds that the plaintive wail continues to echo through the cavernous house.

Listen, he may not be a very good dude, just in general, and for a healthy plethora of reasons—but there’s a prickling sense of unease growing in the pit of his stomach, as one minute passes into two, and the sounds of distress go unheeded.

What in the fresh fuck, he thinks, when another member of the house staff drifts through the room without any sense of urgency. If he knew shit about magic beyond a few travel-handy tricks and the occasional intuitive transmutation, he’d assume this was some sort of elaborate illusion. Maybe a sort of test played on unsuspecting hopefuls who came to answer the help-wanted ad.

Unfortunately for Taako, he remembers all-too well what it feels like to be an unwanted child, outcast and always alone. As it turns out, he has a very particular Achilles’ heel and he’s not overly thrilled to discover it.

“Well, I didn’t need the job that bad,” he tells himself, as he gets up to single-mindedly fail this stupid test. And nevermind that he kind of really did.

‘Confidence is key’ and ‘fake it till you make it’ are two mantras that Taako could live and die by, so it’s with long, unchecked strides that he crosses the grand foyer and chases the miserable cries up some stairs, down a long corridor, and finally into an out-of-the-way bedchamber at what must have been the back of the house.

The cries stutter when the door clicks open, and Taako gets a glimpse of a tiny round face peering at him through the bars of an ancient-looking crib. The sudden appearance of this strange elf in his nursery seems to have surprised the little human, but not for long. After about two seconds, he screws his face up and screams with renewed vindication.

Taako winces, his sensitive ears twitching back at the onslaught. This is way above his paygrade, but he used to babysit younger kids in the caravans while their parents were busy or drunk, in exchange for a hot meal or a few coins. He’s not totally out of his depth here.

“Hey, little man,” he says by way of hello. “Trying to bring the roof down, huh? No, I dig that. I wasn’t gonna say anything, but this house of yours is ugly as hell.”

Taako doesn’t raise his voice, because what the hell would be the point? There’s no way he’s winning that contest of wills, and nobody wants some lunatic shouting at them when they’re this fucking distraught, anyway. He just crosses his arms on the side of the crib and leans down to get a good look at the kid.

The baby’s face is tacky and snotty, dusky skin flushed darker with exertion, curly hair a tangled mop. But he’s a cute little guy despite himself, probably a year old or thereabouts, not that Taako is in any way a decent judge of that sort of thing. As Taako talks to him in a conversational tone, his awful, heaving sobs peter out.

The tearful gulps are better. The way he lifts pudgy arms up to be held, not so much.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Taako says, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder. “I’m not even supposed to be in here. You have no idea how culturally insensitive people are when it comes to elves and babies. Your mama walks in and sees me holding you, and then she’s calling the guard, and I’m getting hauled off for attempting to spirit her little heir away, and we both perpetuate an archaic myth that all elves are equally capable of and greedy for voluntary childcare. Let me just say—from personal experience—that is not the fuckin' case.”

But he reaches a hand into the crib and lets the little human clutch at it. Tiny, clumsy fingers wrap around Taako’s much bigger ones and hold tight. The baby’s eyes are wide and curious now, soaking up Taako’s every word without a damn clue what any of them mean.

Taako almost forgot he knew how to do this. It’s been months since Glamour Springs, since Sazed ditched him on the road. Taako’s been living a half-life, made up of odd jobs and never staying for too long in any one place, and for all that it’s absurdly one-sided, this is the longest conversation he’s had since then, too.

“One of us is pretty fucking pathetic,” he confides. “And it’s not the screamy baby.”

“Ah, this is where you’ve gone,” a voice from the doorway says.

Taako jumps in alarm, and looks around in time to watch a man step into the nursery. He bears a striking resemblance to the baby in the crib, though he’s graying at the temples and his face is lined with too much age for him to be an immediate parent. Grandparent, probably. Distinguished, dressed in a suit that probably cost more than the entire cumulative worth of everything Taako currently owns, leaning heavily on a walking cane.

He doesn’t look as though he’s about to ring the alarm, but Taako is still a little keyed up. Given the way he’s been living, the feeling of getting caught, even for a moment, activates his fight or flight response.

“Sorry,” Taako says lamely. “I heard him crying.”

“I don’t doubt it. His parents, my daughter and her husband, died recently. An accident on the road,” the man says. There’s some sorrow there, but it’s pushed back and away. Compartmentalized. “He came to live with me, but the transition hasn’t been an easy one. It seems as though all he’s done is cry.”

Taako doesn’t melt even slightly for the poor kid, because he’s made of sterner stuff than that. But he does let him hold onto his hand for a little while longer. It’s not hurting anything.

“So, you must be here about the job,” the old man goes on. “To tell you the truth, I’d just about given up on finding a decent nanny. When can you start?”

Taako stares at him. There’s an alarm klaxon blaring in the back of his brain, along with a shrill inner voice advising him to “abort, motherfucker, abort!”

It wasn’t a nanny ad. It was just a ‘general help wanted in exchange for room and board’ type of deal. He wouldn’t have shown up to take the job in the first place if it had specified providing 1) cooking, 2) companionship, or 3) childcare, and that’s for damn sure. He believes in playing to his strengths, and while vapid charm is certainly one of them, being personable and likable for any extended period of time is not.

And Taako absolutely doesn’t know what to think of this old rich guy who seems to be operating under the illusion that thirty seconds is plenty of time to get enough of a read on some rando to then trust your child to them. For real, and from the bottom of Taako's heart, what the fuck?

He’s only been acquainted with this particular child for about five minutes, but his ears go back and his hackles go up at the idea of someone just walking in off the street to take charge of him.

Maybe there’s some crucial insanity element to parenthood that Taako just isn’t fucking picking up. Maybe total and complete willingness to just ditch your kid at a moment’s notice is part of the package. Sure would explain a few things about Taako’s childhood.

But… this old manor house is clearly in the middle of nowhere. Two hours from the nearest settlement, where the job posting was hiding beneath other flyers on the board in the square. Taako wandered the woods all afternoon and almost gave up finding the place before the chimney smoke tipped him off.

It’s remote. Safe. And, at a glance, more comfortable than any of the inns and caravans Taako has lived out of since his auntie died.

He’s not qualified for this position, but since when has that ever stopped him? It’s not like he went to culinary school, either, and for awhile he was one of the most famous chefs on the continent. A baby can't be that much work.

Fake it till you make it, he thinks, and then faces the old man with a smile.

“Hell, I’m already here. Might as well start now.”

Aside from Taako, there are three other members of staff on the books, and none of them are full-time. The maids come in every other day to do the cleaning and the laundry and bring in groceries, that sort of thing. The groundskeeper only works the weekends.

They like Mr McDonald well enough, the girls confide in Taako over tea on his first night there, and the pay isn’t bad, but he’s forgetful. Doesn’t think to eat until he feels hunger pains, that sort of thing. Don’t be surprised if you get paid twice some weeks, or not at all others.

“He’s just not interested in running a household, I think,” the older of the two imparts, ancient at seventeen for all the weariness in her eyes. “I’m glad he finally found someone to take care of the baby. I felt bad about him crying all the time.”

Baby Angus had seemed to surprise both teens by being agreeable and downright adorable, perfectly content to be tucked into the crook of Taako’s arm and soothed to sleep by the rumble of his voice.

Did any of you try, like, holding him? Taako wants to ask acidly. Seems a little fucked up that Taako, of all people, is more on top of this than anyone else. But the maids are little more than kids themselves, and it seems as though grandpa isn’t completely with it.

About a month after Taako first wandered in, grandpa proves it.

“It was before Angus was born,” Mr McDonald says, digging through the many drawers in his study, looking for some expensive rich person thing he’d acquired at auction four years ago. There’s an empty crystal tumbler sitting on the liquor cabinet, next to a half-empty decanter of whiskey. “We went to Goldcliff for a charity fundraiser. Marquis proposed to my daughter that night. You remember, Taako?”

Taako, halfheartedly poking through stuff on the desk while Angus chews on the end of his braid, replies, “Sure do, homie. Hell of a party.”

He finds a photo in a stack of letters and pauses. Two humans are pictured with their arms around each other, handsome smiles on their faces for the camera, a baby cradled tenderly between them.

At the bottom, in looping handwriting, someone wrote ‘Marquis, Angela, and Angus.’ There’s a little heart drawn under the names with such care that it, in itself, is something of a revelation.

Angus’ parents wouldn’t have let him cry himself sick in a faraway room. They wouldn’t have let some stranger be holding him now. They abandoned him, but not on purpose. Not the same way Taako’s family did.

This kid was loved. He’s due love. And all he has is an absent grandpa and a shitty elf looking after him.

“Check it out, Ango,” Taako says quietly, holding the photo up so the baby can see, carefully out of reach of those sticky fingers. “Your genes are killer. You’re gonna outshine the whole damn world.”

He pockets the photo with a sleight of hand he perfected at ten years old, and then guts some ugly painting in the service hallway in the name of repurposing the frame, and then he and Angus stage a tactical retreat.

The nursery was too depressing, just in general, so one of Taako’s first acts as nanny was to move all the baby stuff in with his. He had his pick of any of the second floor bedchambers, and he chose one overlooking the overgrown gardens, with a pretty bay window that it only took like two hours and a handful of stubborn Prestidigitations to scrub clean.

He enlarges the photo, slides it into the frame, transmutes it to look like a more professional job, and then sets it in place of pride on one of the empty shelves.

“Gang’s all here,” he says. He bounces Angus a few times, eliciting a toothy smile from the kid.

Lordy, Taako thinks, she’d be laughing her ass off if she could see me right now.

The thought comes out of absolutely nowhere and disappears just as quickly, sliding right out of his mind like water through a sieve. Then Angus makes a sudden dive to grab one of the charms hanging off the brim of Taako’s hat, and he has more immediate things to worry about.

Living in a house is weird. Having the run of the place is even weirder.

Taako is certainly not the type to sign up for extra responsibility, and he’d be the first to say as much to literally anyone who asked. Keeping himself alive has always been trouble enough, and now he has a whole ass extra person he’s in charge of, too.

But as time drags on, he realizes he’s been pretty solidly assimilated.

When McDonald forgets to give Catherine the grocery allowance before he fucks off on one of his bi-monthly business trips to Neverwinter, Taako forks over his own gold without feeling the sting of it too badly. He practically writes his own checks around here, anyway. He can make up the difference whenever.

When crotchety old Boniface came in from the gardens looking for an answer about the freshly broken fountain, he bypasses McDonald’s closed office door entirely to demand guidance out of Taako instead. Taako is in the library, laying on his stomach to supervise Angus’ painstaking and artistic destruction of a probably priceless but unfortunately racist oral history Taako found on one of the shelves, and gives Boniface the go-ahead to gut the old eyesore.

“If it dies, it dies,” Taako says plainly, passing Angus a new red crayon. Boniface, pleased that he’s allowed to demolish something, makes it a point to ask Taako about these things first from then on.

When Ezra shows up in Taako’s suite one morning with tearful eyes and an ugly burn from the temperamental furnace in the basement, neither of them stop to question why she ran all the way up here. They’re both reasonably intelligent people, after all, and Taako is quick to cast a nonverbal Helping Hand. He doesn’t need to overthink it. The burned skin on Ezra’s arm is shiny and red, but repaired.

The girl surges forward to hug him, visibly rethinks it, and then changes course and scoops Angus up for a hug and a noisy kiss on the cheek instead. Angus shrieks in bald delight, and Taako finds himself smiling.

So, yeah. It’s weird, the whole thing is weird, but he wouldn’t say it’s bad.

McDonald is a kind but largely absent presence in their lives. When he’s home, he’s shut up in his study. Angus hardly seems to recognize the man anymore, only watching him with solemn brown eyes from the comforting circle of Taako’s arms. It doesn’t really sit well with Taako—he didn’t take this job to upstage any relatives or be a replacement parent—but he’s already nanny to a precocious two-year-old, he can’t also be nanny to a seventy-something-year-old retired scholar. If McDonald wants to be a part of Angus’ life, that’s on him. It can’t possibly fall on Taako’s shoulders.

“And even if it did, I have a bad back,” Taako informs Angus. “You’ll have to do the heavy-lifting for me, sweetpea. How’s that sound?”

“Okay, Taako,” Angus says gravely. If there’s a tiny part of Taako that’s fucking delighted every time this tiny miracle says his name, he squashes it down good and hard and no one is the wiser.

It feels a little bit like nothing exists outside this spacious manor house. The extensive grounds might as well be a magic barrier between Taako and the rest of the world. It won’t last—nothing good ever does—but for now he allows himself to pretend that it will.

Taako and his little shadow swing into the kitchen around noon one day to find Catherine in tears.

This is so far from the norm that Taako actually draws up short in the doorway. Angus toddles right into the back of his leg, loses his balance, and plops down hard on his padded bottom.

“What’s this all about, darling?” Taako asks warily.

Catherine is sharp in all the places Ezra is soft, and while it makes her much easier to understand—a girl after Taako’s own black, shriveled heart—it also makes her approximately one million times more difficult to comfort, as likely to bite at a helping hand as accept one.

At the first sign of her vicious temper, he’s gonna grab his kid and bail. There’s fruit and bread in the larder that’ll see them through to dinner, and if not, he's not above bribing Ezra to run interference.

But Catherine just lifts her head out of her hands and says, “I burnt the stupid soup!”

Taako blinks. He stands still so Angus can use one of his legs as leverage to pull himself back upright, and cups the back of the boy's head in silent praise when he manages it on his own.

“Okay,” Taako says slowly. He can piece this shit together. “The soup is burnt. And you’re cheesed about it because…you feel really strongly about soup.”

“Don’t be stupid,” she snaps, but it’s without any real heat. “I just. I can’t get anything right today.”

Ah. Okay. So it’s one of those.

He hesitates for a moment, and then leans down to scoop Angus up and balances him on a hip. Angus knows not to toddle into the kitchen unsupervised, and rarely gets to toddle in at all when there’s cookery going on.

Taako himself rarely goes in. It feels too much like tempting fate. But his feet carry him forward, and he leans over the pot of thick and creamy chicken and dumplings, and right away he can smell the problem. It caught on the bottom of the pot and scorched.

He’s never worked in this kitchen—and he never will—but he remembers the steps. It’s mise en place. He reaches into the spice cabinet and withdraws a small tin shaker.

“Cinnamon,” he says at length, offering the tin to Catherine.

She stares at him, losing some of her steel for a moment. “Really?”

“Really,” Taako says, and firmly steps back. The six-second exchange has left him feeling tense and sick, his appetite fully and completely fucking out of the picture.

Angus is a perceptive little monster, and settles more heavily into Taako’s arms. He heaves a very pointed sigh, something he started doing to communicate that he’s feeling particularly safe and content. It makes Taako’s chest hurt in a much different way than impending panic attacks tend to, and he presses a kiss to the kid’s curly head.

“Thanks, angel,” he says.

“You’re welcome.”

“Holy shit, Taako,” Catherine says, looking up from the soup with awe in her eyes. As he watches, she tries another spoonful, and then she actually laughs out loud. “It worked!”

He finds himself searching her face for—sickness. Shortness of breath. Something.

It’s stupid. The people he killed in Glamour Springs didn’t show signs of death for days.

“I didn’t know you cooked,” Catherine goes on. “Could you teach me?”

“I don’t,” Taako blurts. It comes out sharper than he meant for it to, sudden and a little bit too loud. Catherine’s smile tapers. Angus lifts his head off Taako’s shoulder. Breathe, idiot, Taako tells himself. Be a fucking person for two seconds. “Cook, I mean. I don’t cook. Or, uh, teach. I’m kind of useless. Pretty, though.”

He flips his hair. It makes Angus giggle, but Catherine isn’t an easily-amused toddler, and she’s not buying it.

Her eyes are sharp, and seem to peel through layers of Taako’s bullshit like a knife. And then she scoffs, and mimics his hair flip with her wrist even though her hair is only about two inches long, and the tension drains out of the room like someone pulled a plug in the floor.

“You’ve been teaching Mango to read,” she says dryly. “And Elvish. And magic. But okay, Mr I Don’t Teach.”

“He’s my fucking protege. That shit’s different!”

“Shit!” Angus agrees cheerfully.

“Whatever. Now that I know you’re secretly a fountain of knowledge, I’m dragging you in here the next time I fuck up a recipe.” She studies him for a moment, and adds, “You don’t have to cook, Teach. If it bothers you. I just…I need help sometimes.

Taako feels himself relenting. This house is turning him into a fucking pushover.

“I know, Cat,” he sighs. “Try to find one person who doesn’t.”

“Alright, little man,” Taako says, tugging Angus’ collar straight. “What are the rules?”

“Hold your hand, don’t talk to strangers, aim for the eyes if I can reach them, knees if I can’t,” his boy recites gravely.

Next to him, Ezra stifles a snort of laughter. Boniface, waiting by the loaded carriage, looks reluctantly amused. Catherine says, “Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to give you a kid?”

“Uh, your boss,” Taako says without looking at her. He stands up from his crouch as the front door closes, and they all turn as McDonald comes down the steps to join them in the crumbly courtyard.

“Are we ready, boys?” he asks with a smile. “Neverwinter is waiting.”

Honestly, Taako has been sick with dread over this trip for the past two weeks, but he wouldn’t know how to go about explaining that. And he sure as hell isn’t sending Angus off alone with his absent-minded grandfather. The kid probably wouldn’t make it home.

It’s not as though Taako has been sequestered in the manor house for the last five years. He’s ambled into the settlement with the girls now and then, has gone farther up the road to buy from caravans for Candlenights gifts, has let himself be bullied, cajoled, blackmailed and bribed into helping Boniface lug imported plants home from the train station.

But this is fucking Neverwinter. The Jewel of the North.

“Taako? You okay?” Angus says from somewhere near his elbow.

“Just dreading three hours on the road playing I, Spy with you, boychik,” he lies smoothly. “Go pet the horses so we can get that out of the way.”

Angus looks mulish for a moment, but he does insist on petting the carthorses before they take the carriage literally anywhere, so he lifts his head and crosses the courtyard with great dignity. Taako watches sharply until Boniface rolls his eyes so hard Taako can practically hear it and hefts Agnus up in one huge arm to better reach the giant creatures without running the risk of getting fucking trampled.

“I’m making the salmon at home tonight,” Catherine says abruptly, a non-sequitur that takes Taako by surprise. “If I don’t fuck it up, I’m gonna cook it here, too. So don’t be late, Teach.”

“I’ll a hundred percent eat your share if you’re late,” Ezra adds. Her smile looks a little strained.

Taako has not been subtle. He’s been freaking out right out loud where anybody could see it. Get it together, asshole, he coaches himself helpfully.

“Cat,” he says earnestly, “your salmon is literally the only thing I have to live for.”

She groans and pushes him away from her. Angus has finished with the horses and returns to Taako at a run, even though they’re all going to be walking back across the courtyard to the carriage in like one minute anyway.

McDonald is handing out a few last minute instructions. They’re mostly things that have already been taken care of, errands that have already been run, the ushe. The girls nod along politely, but there’s a level of uncertainty lingering above them like a cloud. They look as nervous about Taako leaving as Taako feels.

Now, Taako is many things—an elf, a failed chef, a murderer, a dime-store wizard, and one lucky nanny—but he is not some mercurial fairy tale creature. He’s not going to vanish from their lives the second they lose sight of him. He could if he wanted to, and he will if he has to, but he doesn’t want to. For now, he doesn’t have to.

So he lifts a hand and says, “Back soon.”

But for some reason, it fucking hurts.

The trip is about everything he expected it would be: long and boring. Angus gets bored with I, Spy within about ten minutes, the interior of the carriage is a little too tight to practice his cantrips, and Boniface seems to be aiming for the roughest parts of the road on purpose. Taako tries reading aloud from one of the Caleb Cleveland books, but McDonald keeps interrupting every time they get to the good, mysterious parts, so Angus and Taako trade a loaded glance and wordlessly agree to save it for later.

Still, it’s not awful. Angus at six years old is bright-eyed and relentlessly clever. He wants to be a detective like Caleb, and has taken to solving little mysteries around the manor house, like who left the jam out on the counter (Taako, and what are you going to do about it, pumpkin?) and who tracked the mud inside the undercroft (Boniface, obviously, that’s where all the booze is, and he literally works in mud all day. You didn’t have to put on your detective cap for that one).

Needless to say, Taako would burn the whole world down for this kid.

With no choice but to spend time in his grandson’s company, Taako can see Angus’ innate charm going to work on McDonald. There’s something wistful in the old man’s eyes, affectionate and more than a little bittersweet. He stops interrupting as Angus starts to describe his latest case in great detail—the mystery of the missing tarts!

The tarts are wrapped up and waiting in Taako’s bag for when they inevitably get snacky during the trip, but he's not going to tell. He kinda wants to see how far the kid takes this one.

By the time they board the train, Angus is tuckered out. The excitement of a trip so far from home is wearing off after hours in a carriage, and Taako ends up carrying him into their sleeper car and putting him to bed in one of the bunks.

McDonald takes a seat at the small table and watches without commentary as Taako extracts the boy’s hat and glasses and wand without waking him, pulling the blanket up to his shoulders. And then, out of habit more than anything else, he murmurs the only Elven blessing he remembers, quite literally ‘sweet dreams.’ He remembers Auntie saying it to him, and…someone else, maybe? He remembers that it always made him feel loved to hear it.

“Hiring you was the best thing I could have done for him,” McDonald says suddenly.

Taako turns with a trademark smile on his face, only as charming as it needs to be. “Hiring me was the best thing you ever did, period.”

His boss smiles back, but there’s an edge to it that Taako can’t translate. This is the most present and aware he’s looked in the last five years. Taako isn’t sure he’s ever had this much of McDonald’s attention.

“There’s another reason I wanted to take the two of you with me this week,” he says.

It’s ominous as fuck, and as the train lurches into motion, pulling away from the station, Taako realizes that he’s effectively trapped here, in a way he never was at the manor house. Some of his thoughts must show on his face, because McDonald’s smile warms a bit, and he gestures at the other chair.

“It’s a good thing, son. No need to be nervous.”

Taako sits in an irreverent collapsing of limbs to prove that he isn’t nervous, actually. McDonald pulls a bunch of papers out of his briefcase and sets them on the table. They look official as fuck. McDonald’s signature at the bottom draws Taako’s eye—huh, so that’s his first name. After this long, it would have felt a little awkward to ask. Beneath that is the signature and seal of a notary.

“What am I looking at here, Charlie?”

McDonald’s lips twitch. He probably cottoned onto the name thing.

“Well, this isn’t an easy conversation to have, and I probably could have picked a better time for it, but.” He glances over Taako’s shoulder at where Angus is sleeping. “It’s probably better if the boy doesn’t overhear until it’s sorted.”

“I hear ya. That little bugbear is all up in everyone’s business all the time,” Taako says proudly. “Just the worst.”

“He’s amazing,” McDonald says. That sorrow swims into his eyes now, an ancient, ruinous thing. “He reminds me of my daughter every time I look at him.” Oh. “It’s been…hard to look at him sometimes.” Oh.

Taako carefully reevaluates his opinion of Angus’ absent grandfather. Not too much, because the dude still should have been around, but, you know. Some.

Taako tries to imagine losing somebody, how much it must hurt. He tries to imagine looking like somebody, a family resemblance, a belonging at face-value. He’s never experienced either, but there’s still a bitter pit in his throat, a feeling like if he swallows too hard he’ll start to cry. So he sits very still instead.

“But still, he’s my only grandson, and I want him to be taken care of when I’m gone,” the man goes on. “I’m getting on in years, and I probably don’t have much longer left—oh, Taako. It’s alright.”

Taako is certain he didn’t move. He’s still doing the sitting-very-still thing. Then he realizes his ears betrayed him, pressed back flat against his head. Goddamn things.

“No, it’s uh. Taako’s good, don’t. Just.”

It’s the human age thing. He doesn’t want to think about it. He waves McDonald on, a tight rolling gesture. They really need to power through the rest of this conversation while Taako still has enough self-control left to not do something really embarrassing in front of his boss, like have a whole emotion.

McDonald takes pity. Thank fuck.

“It’s normal to want to get your ducks in a row,” he says. “I’m not planning on kicking the bucket any time soon.”

“Alright, let’s organize these ducks,” Taako says with unwarranted enthusiasm. He’s trying to trick himself into it. “Fucking ducks, am I right?”

“Angus is my heir. When he’s of age, he’ll get the estate and everything that goes with it, as well as his parents’ properties,” McDonald says, once again reminding Taako that he’s a rich old fuck. Istus. “But that’s still more than a decade away. If something should happen to me, I don’t want him to end up a ward of the state.”

Taako blinks. In the back of his mind, he realizes that he has become one of those elves that would one-thousand-percent kidnap a human baby if it came down to it. Leave Agnes in an orphanage? His Agnes? It would literally have never occurred to him.

“Custody cases can be so long-winded. The easiest way to circumvent the whole mess would be to adopt you into the family,” McDonald says, super nonchalant about flipping the world upside down. “That way Angus has an immediate next of kin that no one would question.”

He looks up when Taako doesn’t say anything and frowns at whatever Taako’s face must look like.

“You don’t have to use the surname if you don’t want to. It’s mostly just for the sake of paperwork.”

“I can’t,” Taako blurts.

“Of course. I wouldn’t insist that you change your family name if it’s important to you—”

“Not—not that, who gives a fuck about my family name,” Taako says too loudly. Angus shifts around for a second, like he might wake up, and Taako snaps his mouth closed so hard it hurts his teeth. In a whisper, because it’s all he can manage without giving into the urge to scream, Taako forces out, “I—I’m—I can’t.”

In the nightmare scenarios that still sometimes plague him in the middle of the night, when everyone else is asleep and he’s alone with the voice in his brain that fucking hates him, the choices always boiled down to either leaving Angus behind or taking him on the run. Both choices were fucking awful for a myriad of different reasons, and left Taako pacing his room tirelessly trying to think his way out of an unsolvable problem.

The idea that he could become a legal part of Angus’ family as simply as signing a piece of paper is so far-fetched and ridiculous that he can’t wrap his mind around it.

But bringing all his shit into Angus’ life? Signing up for this only to get snatched away the second the paperwork goes through and the militia finally finds him? Leaving his dirty laundry all over the front yard like the worst fucking house guest imaginable, and then peacing out to spend the rest of his long-ass fucking elf life in jail, while Angus was left to just…deal with that?

He couldn’t. He can’t. Every single option is bad. He shouldn’t have stayed. He should have known he would fall in love with that baby on day one. It’s really fucking stupid that he stayed.

“—aako. Taako.”

Taako jerks his head up. His ears are twitching and his hands are shaking and McDonald has probably been saying his name for awhile.

The man’s eyes are bright and steely. They look exactly like Angus’ do sometimes, when he wakes Taako up from a miserable meditation, when it’s just the two of them in a huge house surrounded by a crumbling garden.

“Tell me,” the man says sternly.

At a fucking complete loss, Taako just…does.

When he’s finished, McDonald looks at him really hard for what feels like a long time. Then he pulls a pair of reading glasses out of an inner pocket of his coat, poises the business end of a fountain pen against a fresh sheet of paper, and starts asking questions.

It’s a business-like, no-nonsense exchange. Taako is wiped out, emotionally he is the equivalent of a damp rag wrung out to dry, and he has no wherewithal left to lie or deny or deflect.

When they’re done, McDonald has filled three notebook pages of blocky handwriting, and Taako is swaying in his seat. He watches somewhat vacantly as McDonald nods to himself and rummages in his briefcase for a stone of farspeech.

“We won’t reach Neverwinter until morning. Get some sleep,” he says, and his voice is kindly again, the way it was before. Taako stares at him. “And don’t tell me elves don’t need it, please. I wasn’t born yesterday, and you nap twice as much as my grandson ever did.”

Well, it would be nice to get one last unnecessary snooze in as a free man, Taako supposes, and he doesn’t hesitate to climb into Angus’ bunk. It’s a familiar ritual. The kid squirms to accommodate him without fully waking. Taako tucks an arm around him and buries his nose in that riot of curly hair.

He hears McDonald say, “You’re not much more than a kid yourself, are you?” but that might have just been part of a dream.

He hears someone else say, “That can’t be broken or lost or taken away, it’s always going to be so important,” but Taako thinks that, whoever that was, they were very clearly wrong.

Taako wakes up to a six-year-old’s warm brown eyes. They’re crinkled at the corners in an urchin sort of way, and it’s the only tell Taako needs. His kid has been up to some mischief.

“Grandpa said you were tired and I should let you sleep,” Angus reports cheerfully. “He also said that there was a nice lady selling flowers a few cars down, and I ought to go buy a few!”

Ah. Taako glances down at the ruin of his hair. It looks like about a hundred snowberry blossoms were worked into the thick flaxen braid. It’s going to be an absolute pain to brush out later. He’ll probably find bits of plant in his hair for days. He loves it.

He risks a glance in McDonald’s direction.

The man looks amused by their whole general existence, which is fair. He also doesn't look like he's about to summon the guard to have Taako hauled into the brig, which is a fucking relief and a half.

“The world changed while you were asleep,” he says significantly. “Would you like to sign the papers now or with your pardon?”

Angus says, all in one breath, “You should sign the papers first! Grandpa says then you’ll be my family! I mean, you already are, so I’m not sure what the point is, but it must be important. Look at how official they are!”

Taako feels about four cups of coffee behind this conversation. He scoots off the bed, spilling into one of the chairs at the table, and folds his hands.

“Charlie. Buddy.”

“I stepped out for two minutes,” McDonald says defensively, “and I thought he was asleep!”

“That’s the oldest trick in the book,” Taako mutters. His heart is doing something really complicated and largely unnecessary, fucking backflipping in his chest, at Angus’ thoughtless ‘you already are.’ Like it was a given. What the fuck. “Can you go back to, uh—the world changing? A pardon? What’s up with that?”

“An old friend of mine is a cleric,” he says pushing a steaming cup in Taako’s direction. “Level nine, or thereabouts. She owed me a favor from when we were in school together, when I—well, that’s not important. What is important is that she was happy to cast Discern Location to find your old stage manager.”

Taako fumbles the cup, almost drops it. He sets it down hard.

“What the fuck? No, hold that thought. Angus, I love you. Get lost.”

He’s really banking on the kid being more stir-crazy than curious, and sure enough, Angus hops right off the bunk and sprints for the door.

“Okay, I’ll be in the dining car! You’re not s’posed to take food back with you, but I’m gonna see how many pastries I can fit in my pockets so you won’t be hungry when you sign the papers that make you my family! Love you, bye!”

“A three-hour carriage ride followed by six hours on a train was the worst fucking idea,” Taako says severely. “He’s gonna be on eleven when we roll up to Neverwinter. They might not let us in.”

“He’s just excited,” the old man says, with the tranquility of someone who isn’t going to have to child-wrangle all day long. “I told him I had good news for you.”

Taako is fidgeting, turning the cup of coffee around and around in his hands. It’s leaving a ring of condensation on the table.

“You found Sazed?” he asks, and hates how small his voice sounds.

“We did.”

“He probably hates me,” Taako mutters. “I ruined his life.”

McDonald takes the cup from him and sets it down on the other side of the table with a firm clunk.

“Pardon my language, but you didn’t ruin crud.” Taako mouths ‘crud’ in bewilderment, but McDonald isn’t finished. “I was suspicious of your story when you described the way those people died. Those aren’t the typical symptoms of deadly nightshade, and I’d never heard of a transmutation spell failing in that way before. So I looked into it. Or, I should say, I had a few friends look into it.”

“Are you in a cult?” Taako asks. He can’t help it. He’s one part genuinely curious and two parts hardwired to deflect any time someone tricks him into having a serious conversation. “We frown on cults in this family. Mysterious shadow organizations are never a good thing, no matter what greater-good shit they’re peddling.”

“I’m very rich and belong to very elite social circles,” McDonald says dryly. He’s unmoved by Taako’s general everything. “This whole thing took about three calls. I wish you would have told me about this five years ago, but I do understand why you didn’t.”

Taako doesn’t have a cup to fuck around with anymore. He stopped wearing jewelry when Angus was a baby and literally everything smaller than an apple was a choking hazard, and he never really got into the habit of it again, so he doesn’t have rings to twist around his fingers, either. He wrings his hands instead.

“If it wasn’t the elderberries,” he chokes out, and doesn’t make it any farther.

“It was arsenic,” McDonald says. His voice is kind again, but not so much so that it’s painful to hear. “Sazed was questioned within a Zone of Truth. He admitted to—okay,” he cuts himself off, putting a hand on Taako’s shoulder. “We’re done talking about it for now. Just take it easy.”

Taako doesn’t uncurl from his chair until the door rattles open and Angus’ voice fills the room. He’s found a dozen things to talk about in the ten minutes he’s been gone, and is very proud of himself for all the contraband pastries he managed to make off with. There’s a cheese danish wrapped very carefully in a napkin, only slightly squished, that he presents to Taako with a showy flourish that he really only could have picked up from too much time around one particular idiot.

Taako accepts the danish, and then hauls Angus up onto his lap, and then says, “Charlie, baby. Pass me that fancy pen.”

For the first time in almost eight years, Taako is cooking for an audience again. His hands are shaking, but as long as everyone else is politely pretending like they don’t notice, he can do himself the same favor.

I fed those people their death, but it wasn’t on me, he recites inwardly for the seven millionth time, a nervous mantra. My magic was good. My cooking was good. I was good. It wasn’t on me.

He looks up from the counter where all his tools are laid out and his ingredients are arranged. Ezra is bouncing in her seat, Boniface is lingering in the doorway like he doesn’t care but he also isn’t leaving, and Catherine’s eyes are wide and moonlike and younger than Taako has ever seen them. Angus has place of pride, a seat on the counter by the sink with the best view in the house.

“Okay,” he says. “What are the rules, pumpkin?”

“No swiping ingredients, no magic in the kitchen, and no taste-testing until you say it’s okay,” Angus rattles off promptly. “Autographs at the end of the show are three gold apiece, photos are ten, and the overall experience is absolutely priceless.”

Over the sweet sound of the rest of his audience groaning at him, Taako goes on blithely, “And what are we cooking today?”

“Macarons!”

“And who’s your dude?” Taako asks, pointing a whisk at him. Angus giggles, and Taako’s hands aren’t shaking anymore.

In a month, Angus is going off to a summer camp out past Rockport. It’s Caleb Cleveland-themed, and the whole thing sounds extremely nerdy and book-cluby, and Angus is desperately excited. He’s also desperately nervous about being away from his family for three whole weeks but he’s trying to keep that on the down-low. He’s very grown up at nearly ten years old.

Taako can respect that. He also bought the kid a stone of farspeech, because actually fuck that.

And while Angus is off having his first away-from-home adventure—since the girls think that Taako’s just going to be useless and mopey the whole time, and Boniface already threatened to bury him in a flowerbed the first time he whines about literally anything—Taako is going to go do something cool, too. There’s always some interesting jobs posted on Craig's List up in Neverwinter. He’ll be able to find something to occupy his time.

But for now, he’s gonna make some goddamn desserts.

“Come on, Ango,” Taako wheedles, “who’s your dude?”

“You, papa.”

I’m good, Taako reminds himself. He looks at his kid, who only deserves the best this piece of shit world has to offer, and thinks, I can be good.

#the adventure zone #taz balance #taako taaco #angus mcdonald #taz fic #my writing #better place #ladies i dunno but i gotta work in like 3 hours and i wrote this instead of sleeping

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shiftingslightly · 3 years ago

Text

tw for blood at the end, nothing major just cuts. also sorry about the abrupt fandom change

Mister Garak,” Julian Bashir slurs, leaning against said man’s couch, “has anyone ever told you how very precious you are?”

“Nothing.”

“I see,” Garak says, leaning back against the couch and looking around the rest of the room, content to sit in silence for a while.

“No- wait, it’s an Earth thing,” Julian says hurriedly, as if Garak had threatened him.

“Ah, I believe I’ve heard of it,” he responds absentmindedly, reaching down to thread his fingers through Julian’s hair.

“You’re lying,” Julian pouts. His mood suddenly turns serious, and he peers intently at him. “Why do you always lie to me, Garak?”

Garak laughs. “There’s a lot of men who annoy you, Doctor. You’ll have to be more specific.”

“He doesn’t sound all that nice.”

“He isn’t, really- he’s nice to me, though. Makes me feel nice.”

“He’s brilliant, did you know?”

“You seem to have forgotten you still haven’t told me who he is, dear,” Garak says. It’s an indulgement he can’t help but allow himself. He’s lost his Doctor; what’s one little word?

“I don’t know who he is, either.” Garak makes a questioning face. “I don’t know if he knows who he is either. He’s kind of lost. Stuck.”

“Ah.”

“It’s a sad thought.”

“Most people have never heard their friends’ actual voice,” Julian says. Garak pauses, considering. It’s an interesting sort of thing to think about, if (as Julian said) a bit sad.

“Tell me about this man,” he says.

“I mean that I don’t know who this man is, and if you’ll excuse my bluntness, I would like to know,” he says shortly.

crash

He’s on the floor, rubbing at his shoulder, at the place where Garak shoved him away. “Garak-”

“ Out .”

“I can and I will, Doctor,” he grits out. “You’re drunk. Go home.” Bashir is set down just outside his door.

“Garak- Garak wait- no-” the door starts to slide shut again- “Elim!”

whoosh-click.

He sighs heavily, leaning against it, head in his hands.

bad idea bad idea bad idea bad idea

There’s a sharp pain and the feeling of cold blood trickling down his hand. The glass piece slides out of his grip and lands on the carpet, dripping in the stuff and staining the carpet.

He huffs. Control, Elim. Control is the key. The memories seem to dissipate as he shakes his head, along with Tain’s admonishments.

There’s a thump that sounds suspiciously like a human fist hitting the door in frustration, a groan, and then Bashir calls, “Let me in, Garak! I just want to talk!”

Eventually, footsteps sound, padding away from his door, and he sighs and slumps against the edge of the coffee table. It digs into his back scales uncomfortably, but he can't bring himself to move.

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#star trek #ds9 #garashir #fanfic #fanfiction #school is hectic but a. what else is new and b. it's ending really really soon #like a day soon #so i should have more time for this!

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