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wanda-little-baby · 3 years ago

Text

In action - Wanda x Reader

Summary: You prepare yourself for a mission like any other right? Or maybe not...

Warnings: No more traces of angst, just a little Avengers life (obviously under the eyes of a 18-year-old), and a nice bond with Nat

A/N: So, I've been pretty sick in the last week so I decided to take a little break but now I'm here, ready and energized to continue

Words: 2.546

Italics = thoughts

Okay, I just got out of a hot shower and headed to the kitchen to play the most important role in the Avengers in my opinion, the cook.

Since yesterday in the air it is as if I perceive something big coming and this is not good, Thor is back from some other place in space he has been and even if it is always a feast for the eyes he eats too much and a fridge would not be enough whole to feed him.

However, I spent most of the time left cooking to prepare 6 obviously personalized breakfasts (I'm pretty sure that after 2 years I know their eating habits well in the morning) and a mega breakfast for the god.

"Good morning Nat" I exclaimed obviously surprising the red shadow behind me.

"Tell me how you always know, in short, I should be one of the spies if not the best spy in the world" replied a shocked Natasha to have discovered her.

"Do you know that I can feel you? You know, with my powers, those strange things I do with my hands right?" I replied continuing to churn out an endless row of pancakes.

"Right, anyway I smell good here" said the widow getting closer and closer to the stove "Am I wrong or are those pancakes? Is Thor here?" she asked curious about this morning news.

"Yes, he arrived last night when you were still down training" I said placing all the portions meticulously calibrated freeing myself to be able to continue talking "Anyway, I heard Steve and he said he is waiting for us at 8 for another of his famous debriefings, who knows what the new mission will be" with my arms crossed and a thoughtful look I confided to the redhead intent on munching some cereals from the box

"The newbie is excited eh, remember whatever it is there are people in danger, they are the top priority" she said in his usual wise old tone. "I know I know, this is what we do here, protect people from things they can't protect themselves against" exhaling in defeat to her inevitable intellectual superiority, I headed for the bedrooms.

"I'm going to get ready" were the only words Nat heard as I ambushed my room. And within 15 minutes I was back out beautiful and bright in the ordinary way to enjoy the sleep-distorted faces of my teammates.

"Lady Y/N! Well awakened, your beauty shines like the gold that covers the Asgard palace!" greeted the mighty god of thunder with his peculiar ways. "Thor, I see you're in a good mood today, ready for the meeting?" I replied making faces at a Natasha pleased with the embarrassment of the conversation. "It's very ready, Stark and Steve are already waiting for us in the "meeting room"so it will be better not to keep them waiting, you know Steve how annoying it can be for punctuality" she replied taking her arms off the counter and walking towards the meeting room "Yeah, it's better go. Thor, with me" I continued following Natasha in line and calling back the Asgardian.

——————————————————————

Once inside Steve started talking

"So, last night the Shield gave us the position of Loki's scepter in the hands of the Hydra" Steve began speaking to the four of us seated by a long table.

"And where is it?" Nat asked as he read the digital file

"Sokovia, near the city of Novi Grad. It's one of the last remaining Hydra bases so it's not sure if the scepter is right there" sighed Bruce as he rubbed his temples with his fingers.

"Yeah, it's not sure if the scepter is there, but we're sure to kick Strucker's ass before shutting him in a 4x4 cube of reinforced concrete" Tony came up with his usual way of speaking

"Finally!! Screams of pain and death will follow our path" Thor exclaimed with too much enthusiasm.

This was certainly the most tragic-comic moment since I am an Avenger because after this particular observation we all turned with mixed looks of confusion and disgust towards the Asgardian.

"Ok, but no, no rivers of blood will flow in Eastern Europe. They may also be Hydra soldiers but they are still civilians so unnecessary bloodshed must be avoided." with a few words still perplexed I tried to bring the situation back to a level of oddities within the norm. "Y/N is right, we need a plan, a very strong plan" continued the archer supporting the newborn conversation "Thanks Clint" I replied in a tone of response but also of thanks for the support (I'm not at all good at talking to more than two people at a time without being embarrassed); promptly without saying anything, with only two fingers he made a gesture as if it were a "please"

"That's why we're here, we have to come up with a strategy to infiltrate without getting noticed and possible alternative plans in case things go wrong." Steve continued the conversation "WHEN things get wrong" with his usual teasing ways Tony tried to do something that doesn't even come close to a joke

"Ehm, I was saying ..." the captain pointed out in a rather annoyed tone "we split into three teams:

- Tony and Thor will give us cover from above and go first;

- Me, Clint and Natasha will take care of the soldiers ;

- Y/N and Banner will remain behind as in the event of an ambush

Once inside, the main targets are Strucker and the scepter, the other things have to be picked up and brought back to New York"

"You know it won't be easy to get in there?" Clint pointed out in a very impertinent way. "That's why we need more plans, to prepare for the worst. And that's why I have a stealth plan. From what I read on the file there are deliveries with a couple of trucks every day, maybe Nat and I can infiltrate one of these. and enter without being noticed, make our way and disable the shields that will surely be around the base and allow you others to enter and make a big boom!" All in one breath I presented with great anxiety all around my newly studied plan.

"Well, this is a plan, now only the worst option is missing. In the worst case, we stay on the ground to take out as many as we can by eliminating the surprise factor and Tony breaks these hypothetical shields." at the end concludes the redhead, putting an end to the briefing

"Okay then, we have the plans, now we have to get ready. We'll meet you on the landing pad tonight at 10pm, so we'll get there early in the morning," Steve said, getting up and dismissing everyone in the room.

"OK rookie, with me now, training room, I have to drop you a couple of times before I go to war." completely excited Natasha said with a smile from ear to ear. "It's been two years now, when are you going to stop this rookie thing?" with a smiling but also a little annoyed look, I replied to the widow's words.

Raising her eyes to the sky, the slightly annoyed redhead replied "I'll stop when you finally win a training session", "Yes, as if I haven't won one, right? Bah, you know it's there, now let's go down and I'll fuck your ass!" I concluded in a playful tone with a beautiful tongue as I made my way to the elevator.

——————————————————————

"I don't know Nat, I've been feeling something bad and big in the pot since this morning" I expressed my opinion before kicking the head of the "mentor" unfortunately saved. "I honestly think you are worrying unnecessarily" punch on my dear ribs (it hurts a lot I still remember the pain) "You may be right but I say that it is better to worry, and not because I feel it but because it is my powers to tell me" I don't know why but I left the fighting position while I say this (I will regret it within 10 seconds) and..." Yes but for the moment worry about this..." total darkness for a few milliseconds and then I find myself lying in ground with Nat's legs around my head as he tries to choke me "but then I still haven't figured out what kind of powers you have" he says just before loosening his grip "I have no idea, just these little balls of energy come out of my hands and sometimes if I concentrate I can make a barrier, but nothing more, even if I have no idea what a long way to go." finally we return to an upright position and sincerely with our hands against our hips and completely sweaty I look at a thoughtful and equally sweaty Nat "some times though, it seems as if you were talking and I heard you but you didn't speak at the end" with an increasingly sulky look at the end she spoke "As if you read minds?", "Yes, that's right, I have to practice maybe I could understand what is in your head Natasha Romanoff" with a smiling grimace I hit Nat's arm as a sign of challenge and she to counter instead she says "Would you like to understand me? Don't think about it, instead think about going to take a shower and eat something because it's almost time to leave", ah the famous worried Natasha I will never tire of seeing her but I have to answer her so "Yes mom!" I say sneaking out before being chased by a very angry redhead

——————————————————————

Maybe training all day was not a good idea because now I'm really tired and I still have to prepare for the mission and I think I'll spend all night sleeping on the Quinjet

Looking back, I would like to know how to make things fluctuate, it would be easier to pack. Maybe this way... "What? I thought about floating the bag in front of me, I pretended to lift it and finally in my hands my powers manifested and the bag went up in the air!" I honestly have to train more to maneuver this thing, once back from Sokovia I have to pause the spy in me and focus only on the magic in me "Wow, I will never stop surprising myself" but I absolutely have to use this thing to annoy Nat , I don't think I've ever seen her scare and I can't wait to play a lot of jokes

After this profound inner monologue, wanting to carry the floating bag up to the Quinjet at a weighted pace, I head to the elevator to leave the bedroom area

"Wait, wait wait !!!" Nat says in a panic just before the elevator closed. "Who can I see !! Do you need a ride?" I ask with a very happy look at the agitated expression on the older woman's vault

"Yes, I need a ride, ROOKIE" she replies trying to compose herself for the race and leaning an elbow against one of the elevator walls "And what is that?" she exclaims, pointing to the bag still in the air next to my hands covered with red wips of magic

"Oh, this is something I learned five minutes ago, apparently I can make things float" I said dropping the bag to the floor and putting it on my shoulders.

"Cool! But just as creepy" answered the widow with a disgusted frown "but now try to float your ass on that Quinjet and come back here whole, because I'm not going to find a new protege" she added pointing at the exit of the lift to the take-off platform

"Yes Madam!" I said, turning to look at her as I walked backward toward the flying vehicle.

——————————————————————

Once we were all seated in our seats, the captain explained the plans for the umpteenth time and then recommended us to rest because it was going to be a long journey. And so I did, I slept, and I immediately regretted it.

I was sleeping peacefully (as much as a girl can be when she's about to storm a "Nazi" base), when suddenly flashes of light, some quick images as if it were a blink of an eye and a phrase repeated over and over - You and I are the same - . And then again those images, a brunette girl (Who is she? I can't see her well! Do I know her? Why do I feel a connection with this person?), So many but so many robots (Why do they lgook like Tony's armor?), and finally a sound, as if it were a rustle of the wind (Bho?).

"Hey Y/N, wake up we're about to arrive," Bruce said suddenly, bringing me back to reality with a gasp

"Wa-" were the first words I said still in the dream, which among other things also made the doctor in front of me worry (I still had to metabolize that there was someone in front of me). "Everything is OK?" added a voice, intruding into the conversation (after unraveling that remaining veil of sleep I realized it was Clint! I just go haywire when I wake up, huh!). "Sure, just a strange dream" (No look, I just dreamed so many things that I don't understand and I keep a weight on my stomach for no reason, I'm not well at all)

After securing the two men I decided to get up and go talk to Steve who was standing on the edge of the "pilot area".

"So cap, what's the weather like out there?" I asked jokingly on the clouds clearly present trying in vain to remove the nail of the last five minutes, obviously in my mind I was thinking only of one thing: what did I dream? "Cloudy, why?" at this point he replied clearly confused by the question.

"Oh Steve, I love your ability to not understand sarcasm" I said laughing out loud as I saw the blond man put his hand on his face "See captain, today's young people doesn't respect you anymore, you have lost your charm!" Tony said turning in his chair to watch the conversation

"Ok! We understand, I don't recognize all these humorous jokes, but now is not the right time to talk about it-" the "golden boy" interrupted pointing to the castle in the distance from the glass of the Quinjet "-because we are just arrived"

Then, all the others approached the three of us listening to the captain's "profound" speech. "Let's proceed with the Y/N plan, activate the communicators, always stay in touch and pay attention" he finally pronounced (mostly facing me and Nat, but we think it is in a general tone).

"Ready to infiltrate a top secret Hydra base?" I said (obviously to the creator of the newbie's nightmare) finally opening the door of the aircraft. "Sure, as always, no?" in response the redhead came up and put a hand on my shoulder "Yep, let's go" I moved away at a lightning speed from the touch (I'm still afraid of hurting others, and I don't know if I'll ever stop having it).

#age of ultron #new avengers #wanda x reader #wanda x y/n #wanda fanfic #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #natasha x platonic!reader #natasha romanoff

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sjw-publishings · 4 years ago

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A Le’Silver Lining

Based on a story from Midas Touch, by @dumb-and-jocked

“Finish up pronto, or you’re fired.”

Aden sighed, he really wanted to get that promotion, the next step up the corporate ladder, but because of some desperate plea of a ‘millennial-life crisis’, he ended up revealing to his incredibly hot Boss...hoping he had been closeted this entire time.

He was wrong.

Recalling the many words and verbal insults from the strict CEO, it was far from a ‘privilege’ throughout these past few years.

And to be paid a similar wage while handling this douchebag’s laundry is just the icing on the cake.

All he wanted to do was to head towards the top with a faithful partner, but instead his arrogant boss reduced him to some laundry ‘boy’. He was in his mid 20s and treated like some joke.

“This is humiliating!”

Stuffing in the last few piles of clothes, he grumbled, but not too loud just in case his boss spied on him. Turning on the laundry machine as it whirled, done for the day...though not for long knowing how unreasonable that homophobe was.

Folding his arms, pocketing the white gloves he had to wear. As the douche puts it, ‘so he won’t catch the gay’. He rubbed his palms all over his youthful face, trying to contain himself from tearing over his demotion a couple of hours ago, hoping there will be a way to get some power back.

*Shone*

From the corner of his eye came a glint of something shiny, alone at the corner of the clothes basket was a singular watch, which was without a doubt very costly.

Not like his boss’s that shone gold, but rather one of silver. ‘A promising shine...yet dull’. One of the many insults that alpha would arrogantly scoff at him.

“Better polish this before he starts complaining about it.”

As he said that, he grabbed a cloth that appeared to his side and began polishing the accessory. Not realising how the watch voluntarily attached itself to his wrist as his eyes were laser focused on polishing the silver lining.

Le Silver Lining.

His fingernails began trimming themselves short, hands were bigger and more worn...yet eloquent. The changes trailed down his arms, tightening his biceps with lean muscle of a servant who had been tasked with numerous duties beyond laundry.

The boss eventually demanded more from him after all, as the shirt he wore had split into two, the lower layer ironing itself to his chest, sculpting his abdominals to six stones as two modest arches formed the front side of his chest, tightening as the solid foundation gets filled with pectoral muscle.

Starch blue Sleeves rolling down to his wrists, regaining the familiarity of a buttoned down as the upper layer rested over him like a navy suit jacket. He had to look presentable always, even if he was Mr. Conrad’s servant, especially when he had visitors.

Of course, his snobbish boss was always in control, living under his roof meant a rigid schedule with tons of tasks always needing to be done. Buttocks tightening...ensuring there will be no time for any poking from behind.

“He did give me some leeway though.”

Connecting his legs, as the stress pitched a tent beneath his trousers, which shifted to a more expensive quality that he missed, tightening on those knees in dark blue like his suit jacket, as he stood tall over 6ft, slightly shorter than his boss...but definitely the height of a man who was in charge of many things.

The man in the older twenties nodded, as with every swipe, the new reality of his situation became clearer and clearer.

His pouch rested comfortably in those briefs, which came with the uniform ‘to set ‘boys’ straight’ as so he proclaims. Being dedicated to his boss meant he had no time for a long term relationship, seeing men less and being forced to chat with women.

Though with the amount of ladies chatting with him....

“He has been exceptionally generous.”

Huffing out an arrogant flair, starting to appreciate his employer. Yes, he was bi-curious, nothing too serious though, at least with the men.

Plus the watch was, after all, a symbol of gratitude and position from the older male. Despite the consistent banter during his first few years, he really grew on him despite the excessive homophobia.

Because, it was as his boss said, working under him was a privilege.

Both things, he too had inherited from his long time boss. He did serve under him over 16 years, and while Conrad was demanding, he was absolutely generous, as long as one fits into his mould.

Which its something he slid on in perfectly.

“Still, not really my type, no?”

The age gap was less than a decade, but he was not interested in such acts with the man. Putting his foot down, shoes being polished into a prim and proper wing-tip, strictly professional like their relationship.

The strictness was something he did admire in a superior, alongside the pompous arrogance, he probably wouldn’t date the man even if he were gay! Despite it being so arou-

“Non non...what am I thinking?!”

His voice deepened, darkened. His nose wrinkled in disgust, disapproval to his more...’immature’ ways. Aging out to a matured thirty eight, as his skin took on a more elegant and healthy glow. Raised in the life of the wealthy, but with the humility of a servant.

They were simply, Sir and b...Monsieur. A Boss and his trusted butler, a respectable relationship between gentlemen.

Standing up straight, a posture he maintained throughout his years at the CEO’s house, shoulders filling up nicely on his uniform, buttocks being disciplined shut as though he vehemently made a decision to stay far from those kind of acts.

And of course, this choice was made solely on his own.

“Unacceptable, no?”

Smirking to himself, recalling the many rants from Sir Conrad about ‘faguettes’ and how disrespectful youths nowadays were, and the many nights they had fine women over as a result.

Giving a few combs to his hair, tight and thorough hairspray glued his slicked back cut to his scalp, maintaining it since he started as one of the servants in the mansion, the prim and proper look for someone who belonged underneath his employer, yet dashing enough to stand out for the ladies.

And of course, he had a level of authority unlike the supervisors of his boss’s company. Bringing his palm to his face, brushing against the dark brown bristles, stubbles, beard on his chin down to a more concentrated ‘chin strap’ as the locals call it.

Jaw sharpening itself to a cleft, moustache dressing above his upper lip, trimmed and twirled to the ideas from the CEO, with a modest patch of fuzz below his lower lip, mirroring his superior’s well groomed moustache.

Like a shadow, he would do as his employer says, and behave like him...with a Parisian twist.

The experienced servant giving a few final swipes to the watch with ease as the polished beam shone into his eyes, lenses. A pair of rectangular spectacles framed his new perspective, with utmost appreciation to his employer.

Brows arching downward, trimming away any resistance to the loyal affluence of the frenchman’s dark brown eyes. Pocketing away his hankerchief, he turned on the washing machine and made his way to the living room with a pre-prepared cart of treats.

Knowing, according to his watch, its tea time.

“As expected as always, Monsieur.”

Antoine bowed down to his waist, proud of his accomplishment of being second in command to the CEO of C.O.N. Corporations. And while he may not have a title like the fine gentlemen sitting at the boardroom, the Butler had more say in who stays than any of them ever could.

That enough was of satisfaction to the eloquent Parisian.

“Now if you would excuse us, we would like to have the rest of the afternoon undisturbed until a quarter past nine...”

As his boss said that, a fancy looking Madame climbed on top of him, and initiated an intense make out session like every other evening after a special occasion.

“Understood sir, enjoy your session.”

The french butler walked on auto pilot out of the room, leaving them to their heterosexual pursuits. Of course, while he was a fellow ladies man, he wasn’t going to steal the spotlight from his boss. He wasn’t a ‘boy’, but a ‘Monsieur’, and besides...

“Heehee~”

There was someone far more interesting on the staircase...

A french maid, dressed loosely in that typical frilly attire, winked at him. That cheeky vixen...she was literally asking to be painted, pulling his attention from his multitude of assignments to be done, and onto her.

Alas, the ladies do come first, his boss always encouraged his many trysts with women across the mansion, as long as he did a clean job.

And this blonde was no exception, most definitely another generous reward from Sir Conrad, something his eyes savoured by examining those pillows on her mattress.

Removing his glasses, he gave a dashing look at the lady, and daringly spoke.

“Bonjour Mademoiselle, Coffee, Tea, or me?”

#gay to straight #g2s #mental change #personality change #lib to cons #racial change #frenchification #gay #to #straight #butler tf #french tf #a le’silver lining #gay to straight tf #gay to straight tfs

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writingstarling · 4 years ago

Text

Comfort in You

Adrien needed to get out. He curled deeper into himself as the walls chased down to cage him like a determined hunter.

It was a trick of the mind, he knew. He knew his room was spacious enough to support a relatively large apartment. That it would be impossible for him to be closed in.

He knew. But his brain couldn’t process that.

Today wasn’t what Adrien would call a good day—and he certainly had better. Just thinking of it sent him into a spiral of his own thoughts.

The air in his room were lego blocks he's forced to inhale. Smothering his nostrils in full force. And was it just him or was the ground starting to sway?

“Breathe,” a voice brought him back to reality. Adrien didn’t even notice he was holding his breath.

He had to calm down. Gain his head back.

Breathe, Agreste. Just like the article said, 4 7 8. Inhale through the nose for 4. Hold it for 7. Exhale through the mouth for 8, Adrien did as so.

You’re alright, you’re okay. Just calm down and you can get out of here!

Somehow he had managed. His surroundings were clearing up. The walls didn’t look like they were about to collapse on him anymore. The air filtering through his nostrils lightened in weight.

He was fine.

“Fine” was an overstatement really. He was far from it as it is.

But in his situation and for argument’s sake, “fine” would fit in nicely.

Exhaling one last shaky breath, Adrien fixed eye contact with his furry companion and smiled.

“Thanks, Plagg. I needed that.”

The black cat rubbed his cheek against his chosen’s. Not for long though. Despite appearances, Plagg had a reputation to keep. He couldn’t let Tikki make fun of him!

Plagg did loops in the air before favouring a spot in front of his chosen. His flipper like hands poised on his waist and a sly smirk played on his lips.

“So, you ready to break out of this place?”

Adrien mirrored his smirk with a fresh new glint in his eyes, “Plagg, claws out!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Life had been considerably unpredictable for Marinette. With her secret life as a superhero and the sudden debut of a supposed supervillain—or magical terrorist with the ability to grant people magical powers through the aid of butterflies, Marinette had thought that she was beginning to gain the capability to be unfazed by the unexpected. That with all the bizzare events in her life she became acquainted with it.

Apparently she was wrong.

Never had she expected for a certain cat—or perhaps Chat to be perched on her veranda. It rattled her at first. Chat’s last visit had been... interesting, to put it nicely. It wasn’t his fault per se, nevertheless the escalating events left a bad taste in her father regarding the cat themed hero. The bad blood died down, but finding the very person that broke your daughter’s heart on your balcony would certainly summon a very irresistible impulse to jettison him; and Marinette really didn’t want to explain to Paris why one of their heroes managed to become roadkill near her bakery (the suit would probably protect him, but Marinette did not want to take that chance).

That put aside, Marinette shuffled under her sole protector from peering—or in this case, Chat Noir’s eyes. A hand stationed at her trapdoor as her eyes spied on her partner.

His back faced her as he surveyed the city; his cat ears were flat on his tousled gold locks while he hummed a song Marinette became familliar with as “Little Cat on The Roof”. Her lips twitched into a knowing frown.

Being partners for so long they were bound to notice habits the other owned. At the moment, it was Chat’s occasional croons. Marinette recognised the song as Chat's solace. A safe haven achieved by focusing on the assortment of melodies the song offered. She came to the conclusion that her kitty was distressed; presumably due to family circumstances.

Marinette weighted her odds. It didn’t seem like Chat had noticed her yet—which was good. She hadn’t known what action to take. On the one hand, it would be wise to not nose around and let him solve it in his own time. But on the other hand, seeing him lack his usual jubilant and bright attitude sent a jab to her heart.

She wanted to help. To be of service to him like the terrible jokes and over the top shenanigans he did for her. No matter how stubborn she was to clung to her sour mood, he would do almost everything that came to mind to alleviate her spirits. She wanted to do the same for him.

“Marinette?”

The mentioned girl tensed before sighing internally. She knew she was bound to be spotted (HA!) somehow, though she did wish it would be from her own volition rather than a slip aided by Chat’s observation skills. Marinette didn’t loiter on that thought longer and pulled herself up. Red bloomed on her cheeks as the crisp autumn air caressed her skin while embarrassment added an even darker shade of red.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to spy,” she found great interest in the floor as her fingers busied themselves by connecting and disconnecting themselves, stealing peeks as she did.

She expected, hoped, for him to take the chance to chaff her of having an infatuation on him or alleging her of being stunted by his self-proclaimed dashing looks (Marinette has thrown herself into a spiral of denial), albeit begrudgingly. She had, because if he did—there lied a glimmer of hope that it would be easier to buoy her partner. Chat, however, had other plans in mind.

Chat offered her a smile. Impeccably centered and hollow like a well crafted porcelain doll, “It’s okay, it was rude of me to steal your balcony.”

Internally Marinette cringed at the sight. Her stomach wrapped itself in knots of discomfort. It reminded her of the smile Adrien would plaster whenever Chloe or Lila claimed possession of him. That night Marinette vowed that she would never let that smile abide on either boys ever again.

“It’s all right,” she spoke as her feet planted herself next to him.

A pregnant pause held them hostage. Both fearful of breaking the fragile semblance of peace between them despite the mutually felt inquietude.

“So,” Marinette threaded with rightfully earned prudence. Voice soft and light like footsteps on thin ice.

“...So...”

“I have some croissants.”

Finally a piece of her kitty came to light in the form of a grin on his lips and a glint in his eyes.

“You would indulge this poor stray to the finest pastries in the world? Truly, you are the most a-meow-zing purr-incess in the world!”

Marinette fought the giggle bubbling in her throat with no success before sending him a playful glare coupled by a smirk that flourished nothing but friskiness, “Careful now, those awful puns might just cost you.”

Chat’s hand sought his heart above the magical leather suit as an overly inflated gasp found freedom from his peach pink lips.

“How could you Purr-incess! My puns are widely ad-mew-tted to be fur-ry paw-esome,” he retaliated, voice brimmed with feigned smugness.

Snacks and chagrins were soon forgotten as they fell into an easy rhythm of banter. Jabs aimed to Chat’s puns would immediately be reciprocated with a flimsy defense along with an additional pun. Each one personally designed to perturb her further into submission. But despite it, Marinette couldn’t brush away the warmth buzzing through her entire body as they went back and forth. The once brisk air nipping at her skin replaced by a fervour akin to a hug from a dear friend.

After a particularly long laughter from both parties as Chat had finally managed to delivered a humorous pun - “EXCUSE mew Purr-incess, my puns are always funny!” - they settled in another lapse of silence. Consisted of feather lightness and melodic sweetness.

The city was exceptionally beautiful, they had agreed. Perhaps it was due to the occurrence of a full moon, offering the city a better lighting to its beauty; perhaps it was the fiery orange lining the streets with its playful gradient; or perhaps the most immediately discarded thought in their heads, the company they had.

It was a territory they never dared to venture. A land littered with minefields yet to be discovered, yet to explode with much more uncertainty and a set of emotions they were far too fearful to label. Because trying to label the unknown might shatter the bits of understanding of their emotions they barely possessed. Putting the hesitantly glued pieces into shambles; and as a teenager finding their place in the world, it was a risk they were walking eggshells on.

Neither allowed themselves to loiter on the thought longer than a second.

“I, I should get going.” Perhaps it was her imagination, perhaps it was reality how Chat’s ears drooped as he spoke.

“Uh, yeah, it's getting late...”

Chat took the initiative to climb the rails of her balcony, hunched and ready to set off. Baton in hand and his leather-covered thumb hovering over the button to extend it the moment he leaps.

Swivelling his head to face the pig-tailed girl, he gave her a smile, genuine and sincere. “Thanks Marinette, I’ll see you next time.”

For reasons unkown to Marinette herself, a giggle burst forth from her throat. Tickling the air around them with her bubbly laughter. All at once, the air felt warmer to Chat Noir.

“Sure thing, you silly cat.”

Marinette had expected for Chat Noir to make his way. However, still he was in his previous position, unmoving. Marinette was one breath away from uttering her worries when Chat Noir’s voice cut through the air in slight whispers timid and uncharacteristic.

“Can I,” he paused for a minute, but persevered nonetheless, “can I come here again?”

The question sounded child-like in Marinette’s ears. Like a shy little kid trying to make friends while shouldering a large fear of rejection. He sounded so small, so vulnerable.

Marinette took a breath to ease the tenseness she felt from Chat’s question. She needed to deliver an answer appropriate from her words down to her tone in order to fully put Chat at ease.

Gentle and fluffy, sweeter than all the candies in the world with a tone of loveliness, she spoke. “You’re always welcomed here, Chat.”

A weight could visibly be seen lifted off Chat’s shoulders. Shoulders once guarded and fearful of rejection came to relax for the first time that night. With a nod, Chat finally made his way back to his house.

The journey was something he didn’t desire, but he can’t impose Marinette with his overdue stay. At the very least, he came back with a new feeling better than anything he had in a long time. A feeling of warmth buzzing in his heart. Perhaps, he’s finally starting to remember the feeling of home again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

HAHAHAHA SO-

I uh, I forgot about this thing’s existence and neglected it for 2 years...

Well so that’s also why the writing style is a bit screwed up but I tried and honestly I was too lazy to rewrite the whole thing so you can have this mess instead ❤️.

#miraculous chat noir #miraculous ladybug #miraculous #miraculous marinette #marinette dupain cheng #adrien x marinette #ml marinette #mlb #ml adrien #marichat #fanfic #fanfiction #chat noir #adrien agreste #miraculous adrien #mlb fanfic

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dameronology · 5 years ago

Text

tea & whiskey {jack daniels x reader} - 3

3 - an examination of agent tequila and why he takes rejection so damn hard

summary: after tequila is on the receiving end of your stress, jack decides to help you de-stress in the only way he knows how: alcohol. what could go wrong? (series masterlist)

warnings: language

honestly this might be my fave chapter yet

- jazz

song for this chapter: oil on water by bastille

Within a few weeks of being in New York City, you’d fallen into a routine.

You missed London, truly and deeply, but it was almost as if you didn’t have time to think about it. Between being dragged into more undercover missions with Whiskey, keeping up with Merlin’s demanding schedule and trying to tail Calahan and his contacts, you were lucky if you had time to sit down and have a cup of coffee. Being a Statesman was much more fast-paced than working at Kingsman; you didn’t dislike it by any means, but you had a pool-sized bathtub waiting in your shiny, new apartment that you never got to use. You were pulling five or six late nights a week, usually not leaving the office till 10PM.

Working with Jack Daniels was...an experience. He was nice, in some ways -- he always brought you coffee when he went to get some for himself, and he drove you home on those late nights so that you didn’t have to take the subways. He had a few annoying habits - namely the fact he never seemed to shut up or ever use your real name, instead opting for a thousand different nicknames - but he was more than tolerable. He worked hard and played hard, and you respected that. He helped you stay hot on Calahan’s tail and that was the most important thing.

On your third week in New York, Merlin flew out to see you. You’d been keeping him up to date with weekly briefings, but he’d wanted to come out and have a proper look at the actual work you and Jack had been doing. The evening before he arrived, you’d pulled an all-nighter to try and organise the files. Whiskey seemingly had no organisational skills, instead opting for a stack of folders that had no meaningful order. The paperwork was endless, not unlike Jack’s energy the following morning.

‘Anyways, so I tell the guy to go fuck his moth-’

‘- Jack.’ You held your hand out to him, motioning him to shut the hell up as you rubbed your temples. ‘I appreciate all your funny stories of when you were a fratboy in Yeehaw Land but I have to get this done.’

‘What’s with you this morning, tea?’ Jack looked up from his laptop, brow furrowing. ‘You haven’t insulted me once since you walked through that damn door two hours ago and I’m starting to become concerned.’

‘I just have a lot of work to do.’ You replied. ‘Merlin is landing any minute now and I...how did you put it last week? I’m as busy as a cat covering crap on a marble floor.’

‘Southern sayings don’t quite right with your accent.’ He offered you a smile. ‘So what if Baldilocks is on his way? You’ve been doing your job real good these last few weeks.’

‘Merlin is...particular.’ You let your eyes trail away from your screen and out towards the view of the city beside your desk. ‘Everything has to be perfect or I might as well have spent the last three weeks shitting in my hands and clapping.’

‘They didn’t praise you much at Kingsman, huh?’ Jack quirked an eyebrow.

‘I never gave it much thought but I guess you’re right.’ You shrugged. ‘Why would they praise us for meeting expectations? A slap on the back for doing the bare minimum is pointless.’

It was true: praise at Kingsman was far and few - and you only got for achieving superhuman standards. If you were bad at your job, they would fire you. If they were good, they kept you. That’s how it worked. That’s how it had always worked. You’d never had so much as a well done! or a you’re doing great! from Merlin, nor Harry or Arthur. It had been odd at first but you’d become used to it.

‘What you do is not the bare minimum.’ Whiskey shook his head. ‘You do you know you’re a good agent, right?’

Jack had been impressed with you over the last few weeks. You seemed to embody the very energy of getting shit done. You worked through your lunch breaks and arrived to the office earlier than everyone -- and then you left later than everyone. He was surprised you didn’t hold a more senior position, if anything.

‘I mean, I guess?’ You averted your glance back towards him. ‘I work hard. I’m just hoping it pays off some day.’

‘Just-’ Jack sighed, pausing for a moment. ‘Don’t worry about the paperwork, okay? I can vouch for the fact you’ve worked your pretty little-

‘- watch it, Jack-’

‘- that you’ve worked hard.’ He quickly back tracked on his words.

‘That’s a dollar in the arse comment jar.’

‘I didn’t even get to finish it though!’ He held his hands up in surrender. ‘And it’s not even worth taking those dollars home with you, not with this exchange rate.’

Before the conversation could go any further, Tequila stuck his head around your office door. He’d been out in the field for the last week so you hadn’t seem him that much. Having been in South America, he’d caught a slight tan. That lead your mind back to your previous missions with him -- he’d had terrible Spanish. Truly awful.

‘Merlin is here, Percy.’ He announced. ‘He’s in with Champ now. Come whenever. You too, Whiskey.’

‘Have you ever heard of knocking?’ Jack raised his eyebrows at him.

‘The door was open.’

‘Still, it’s etiquette-’

‘- hey, Patrick! Spongebob!’ You slammed your fist on the table. ‘There’s more important things to worry about.’

Half an hour later, you were waiting outside of a meeting room on the top floor of the Statesman building. Jack, Merlin and Champ were all on the other side of the door, checking over your work. You had no reason to be nervous -- you’d done your job and you’d done it well. Besides, you knew that Whiskey would fight your corner if Merlin became finnicky. He’d said it himself earlier. You appreciated that.

‘I’ve been in Chile the last few weeks.’ Tequila leant against the wall beside you, adjusting his hat as he peered down at you.

‘I know. Your new hat is a Chilean brand and you have a tan.’ You replied, attention still clearly on the door in front of you.

‘Damn. I never pegged you to be so observant.’

‘I’m literally a secret agent.’ You shot back. ‘It’s kind of an entry requirement.’

‘Or maybe...’ He adjusted his stance. ‘It’s because you fancy me.’

‘Fancy you?!’ You turned your head to look at him in disbelief. ‘How old are you? Twelve?’

‘I just mean that you’re single and hot. I’m single and hot.’ He continued, barely faltering. ‘You’ve been working your ass off these last few weeks. If you need help relaxing, you know where-’

Tequila barely had a chance to blink before you’d moved from beside him, pinning him to the wall with an elbow over his throat. He blinked in surprise; both at your speed and strength, especially considering that he was much beefier than you. It wasn’t exactly hard. You’d taken on men twice his size and strength.

‘Try and come onto me again and I will make you eat your hat.’ You threatened.

‘It was just a suggestion-’

‘- did I stutter?’

‘No, ma’am.’ Tequila muttered. ‘Sorry, ma’am.’

‘What in the holy hell is going on here?!’

You hadn’t heard Champ leave the meeting room - or Jack and Merlin for that matter. The three were stood with wide eyes and gaped mouths at the sight of you holding one of their best agents to the wall. You quickly took a step back, letting Tequila fall onto his ass with a sweet thump.

You dusted yourself off. ‘I was simply teaching Agent Tequila the value of workplace boundaries.’

Turning away, you strode off and down the corridor, the sound of your heels clicking against the ground ringing behind you. Tequila might have just been trying to shoot his shot but damn, you were sick of it happening. You’d had it during your training, from some of the guys at Kingsman and especially on missions. The amount of men that assumed you needed a ring on your finger or a proposition from them to have a good time was beyond you. Could you not just do your job? It was one thing to have a flurry of nicknames but you drew the line at being constantly hit on and asked out.

Stalking to your office, you slammed the door behind you and took a seat at your desk. An oh for fuck’s sake! escaped your mouth upon realising that you’d left all of your files with Merlin. That meant no work to do - which meant that the tiredness and consequences of your late night were about to hit you like a ton of bricks.

You made your way over to Jack’s desk, taking a glass and decanting some of the whiskey that was inside it. Drinking on the job wasn’t usually your style, but you were stressed. Calahan was still on the loose. Both of your bosses had just seen you drop kick another agent. It felt like you had been in the States for nearly a month and had no work to show for it.

‘Is it okay if I come in?’

‘It’s your office, Whiskey.’ You didn’t bother turning to face him.

‘Well, that can’t be good - you only ever call me Whiskey when you’re mad.’

Jack was right -- and it was something he’d noticed not long after you’d met. You’d started calling him by his first name not long after you’d pulled your first all-nighter together. He’d given you a ride home and it had started with a thanks, Jack. He’d come to discover that he liked how it sounded when you said it. It was so rare that anyone called him that, that it almost felt like it meant something.

‘Sorry.’ You took the glass, returning to your desk.’ You said. ‘I’m stressed and Tequila didn’t help. There’s paperwork and deadlines and I have done nothing worthwhile since I landed nearly four weeks ago.’

‘That’s not entirely true.’ He replied. ‘You’ve arrested six of Calahan’s spies, found information that lead to a raid on one of his bases and you just hit Tequila harder than a semi to a fox on the highway.’

‘I should probably apologise to him.’ You groaned.

‘I wouldn’t bother, sugar’ Jack shook his head. ‘You’re being too hard on yourself.’

‘Yeah.’ You stared off into the distance, sipping some of your drink. ‘Maybe.’

‘What are you doing tonight?’

You faltered, turning to look at the cowboy in disbelief. ‘Are you serious, Jack?! You just saw me deck Tequila for trying to make a move. You think I won’t slap that moustache right off of your-’

‘- hold your fucking horses!’ He cut you off. ‘If you’d let me finish my goddamn sentence! I was going to offer to show you a bar that I go to when I’m stressed. The alcohol is cheap and the music is good.’

‘You mean as....colleagues?’

‘I was going to say friends.’

---

It was beyond you how Jack had convinced you to come to a cowboy bar in the middle of Manhattan on a Tuesday night. He’d made a few comments about having a stick up your ass, then with a promise to reschedule your meeting the following morning and pay for your drinks, you’d finally said yes. It can’t have hurt to take a night off - in fact, you’d barely had one since you’d got to the city. A few drinks and the company of the most tolerable man at Statesman could do good for you, you figured.

Having changed your heels and dress out for boots, jeans and a leather jacket, you already felt a little more relaxed. The Statesman weren’t even as strict as the Kingsman about what their agents wore, but you had the latter’s emphasis on looking formal so ingrained into your brain that it was practically second nature. The pain of wearing high heels every day was long gone.

The bar itself was as you’d expected. Dimly lit, and filled with people in cowboy hats and boots. There was a country song playing from a jukebox in the corner and the air was stuffy; a mix of tobacco, stale beer and crisps chips.It wasn’t that different from the dodgy pubs you and Eggsy had frequented in your late teens.

Jack was dressed a little more casual too, wearing a button down and leather jacket instead of his usual blazer and tie. What were you here as again...friends or colleagues? Actually, it had been a compromise. Friendly colleagues.

‘Alright, sweetheart, we’ll go here.’ He pulled you over to two empty stalls at the bar. ‘What’s your poison?’

‘Rum.’ You replied.

Jack’s nicknames didn’t bother you anymore. You’d come to accept the fact that they were simply part of his dialect rather than a place of affection. It was the same with Champ, and even Ginger. It was no different to you calling your own colleagues mate or pal.

‘Damn.’ Jack murmured. ‘Off to a strong start.’

You took the glass from his hand, clinking it against his. Naturally, he’d gotten Jack Daniels whiskey. Then again, if you were named after an alcohol, you probably would have drunk it constantly too. But then again again, you drank it constantly anyways.

The evening was a little awkward at first -- what were you supposed to talk about aside from work? That’s what all your previous conversations had been about, even during all your late nights. They usually consisted of Jack reciting stories of wild missions during his younger days as an agent. You had a few crazy ones, but they seemed to pale in comparison. There wasn’t as much crazy shit in Britain.

You didn’t know whether you should have been asking him questions about his personal life. Wasn’t he your boss, formally speaking? Jack was a higher rank than you. He ran the whole damn Manhattan office when Champ was out. That thought was what lead you to realise that you’d hardly given his life outside of the agency much pondering. You knew he didn’t exist solely to be an agent, but he spent as much time working as you did and you existed solely to be an agent.

Did he have a wife? Kids? Based on how long he spent working, you figured it was unlikely. Being an agent didn’t really offer a healthy work-life balance. You knew that he lived in an apartment near Hudson Yards, so that meant he was probably rich too. He did have shares in the company that fronted Statesman, and it was one of the best selling bourbons on the market.

You spent the better part of two hours trying to deduce him through conversation before you realised that you could have just asked. Jack had called you his friend. That counted for something. Plus, you had two hours worth of alcohol and a fair few shots of rum floating around your system. It was liquid courage, after all.

‘So what’s your deal?’ You slapped your fist on the bar.

‘My deal?’ Jack raised an eyebrow at you. ‘The hell d’you mean, sugar?’

‘Like...what’s your life outside of Statesman?’

‘Statesman is my life.’ He quipped. ‘In the same way Kingsman is yours.

‘Damn.’ You murmured. ‘But Kingsman isn’t my whole life.’

‘Oh yeah?’ He smiled at you. ‘What else do you do then?’

‘I have an orchid at home!’ You exclaimed. ‘Although I did ask Eggsy to look after while I’m here so it’s probably dead.’

‘You miss him, don’t you?’

‘The orchid?’

‘No. Eggsy.’

‘Oh, right!’ You let out a tipsy giggle. ‘I mean...yeah. He’s my best mate. This is the longest I’ve gone without seeing him ever. I FaceTimed him the other night but he’s with Tilde.’

‘Girlfriend?’

‘Yeah.’ You solemnly nodded. ‘And do not mistake my sad face for jealousy! I love Tilde. And I love Eggsy. It’s just hard not seeing him, or having someone to bully everyday.’

‘Hey, I’m right here if you need someone!’ Jack nudged you with his elbow. ‘Just...no comments on my accent. Or my hat. Or my moustache.’

‘Okay, I’ll just rip into your personality then, shall I?’

‘Please. As if you could find anything bad about my personality. I’m fan-fucking-tastic.’

The rest of the night went quickly.

Once you and Jack had veered away from talking about work, the conversation felt natural. He was easy to banter with and it made talking to him easy. The fact he was paying for drinks too was proving to be a slippery slope - for him and for you. The more you ordered, the more he tried to outdrink you. That was when the evening had taken a bit of a turn.

You hadn’t mean for it to happen, but your temper tended to slip up when you were drunk. It was easy to describe you as trigger happy at the best of times, let alone when you had a few shots in your system. And, you were by no means wankered beyond repair, or so drunk that you couldn’t walk, but you had proven yourself to be drunk beyond normal rationale.

It was all a blur, really.

You’d seen a man try to follow a girl into the toilets and in true sisterhood style, you’d flown after him in an attempt to save her. There had been punches thrown - in both your direction and his - and it had resulted in the two of you both being kicked out. Jack had followed suit, rushing out after you with your jacket and bag. A true Southern gentleman indeed.

‘It was his wife.’ Jack had been muttering the same words over and over. He was knelt in front of you, dabbing at your bloody nose with some cotton balls. ‘He was following her into the toilet because they were married-’

‘- how the hell was I supposed to know that?!’ You snapped, wincing in pain. You made a mental note not to raise your voice too much. ‘I’ve had things like that happen to me before. I just wanted to make sure she was safe.

‘You could have gotten me to check it out.’ He reasoned. ‘I might have had to have gone into the ladies’ toilets but you can be damn sure I wouldn’t have punched the guy.’

Jack’s hands were steady as he worked to clean up your nose. Somehow, you’d ended up in his living room -- he’d refused to let you go back to your own apartment in a bloody state. On the bright side, his place was a thousand times nicer than yours. And, given your jacuzzi bath tub and flat screen TV, that was truly saying something. His felt a little more homely, and a little more lived in. He had random knick-knacks lying around; there was magazines on the table and piles of shoes by the doors. You, meanwhile, had been living out of a suitcase.

Once he was done, Jack stood up and dropped onto the couch next to you. He stared at you for a moment, pondering what to say. You didn’t look too tired; your eyes were slightly hooded and hazy from the drinks, but the sock to your face had sobered you both up to the point where you might as well have only had one or two shots.

‘God, what must you think of me?’ You finally spoke, flopping back against the cushion behind you.

Jack frowned. ‘What on Earth do you mean?’

‘You saw me deck Tequila this morning and then attack a guy in the bar.’ You snorted. ‘I’m not a violent person. I promise.’

‘I don’t think you are.’ He replied. ‘I definitely think you could knock a man into the middle of next week looking both ways for Sunday but I think it’s admirable.’

You couldn’t help but cackle. ‘Admirable?!’

‘A lot of people run their mouths but very few would actually square up when things came down to it.’ Jack shrugged. ‘I know y’all believe in manners maketh man but I think fury maketh woman.’

‘Fury maketh woman.’ You repeated the words back to him, turning your head to face him.

A moment of silence fell over you after that. Not an awkward one, but rather a comfortable one. Things weren’t so hazy anymore - if anything, that guy punching you had been rather sobering. Meanwhile, Jack definitely looked like he’d been around the block a little bit; he’d long ditched the hat, leaving his dark hair in a ruffled mess. You were holding his gaze, looking intently at his eyes.

They were brown - but no shit, Sherlock. You knew that. What you hadn’t noticed was the way they creased when he laughed, or the fact they had little gold flecks in them. And they looked a little more caramel under the bright white lights of his living room. The man had a chandelier. An actual fucking chandelier. In 2020.

If you could just lean a little closer to get a better look.

Just a tiny bit.

Just edge a little bit closer, not too much and -

- Shit.

His lips caught yours halfway, and you suddenly realised that you hadn’t been trying to look at his eyes at all. No, absolutely not. Had you wanted to kiss him this whole time? Or had the urge just suddenly over come you this split second?

Either way, it didn’t matter because Jack Daniels was a fucking good kisser. He was giving and soft, but there was a hint of something deeper too. Desire? Lust? You didn’t really possess the brain capacity to figure it out, not when he was biting at your bottom lip and gently holding one hand against the back of your head. His large, calloused hands were clutching loosely at your, pulling you into him It was so good that you let out a moan in your head.

Except, it wasn’t in your head. It was very much out loud, and right into his mouth. Your immediate reaction was to consider pulling back, to apologise straight away and swear never to talk about it - but he liked it. You felt Jack smile against you. He placed his hands on your hips and gently manoeuvred you into his lap, being careful to avoid putting too much pressure on your sore nose.

It didn’t take an idiot to work out where this was going, and you were both pretty smart people. Smart enough to know that it was going to make things awkward in the morning, and then everyday after that. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the fact that his kisses were more intoxicating than any spirit you could possibly have consumed. You didn’t know.

And frankly, you didn’t care.

#agent whiskey #jack daniels #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey imagine #jack daniels imagine #agent whiskey x you #jack daniels x you #kingsman imagines #kingsman x you #eggsy unwin x reader #eggsy unwin imagine

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lillian-lang · 4 years ago

Text

Zutarians, I need some help...

Happy Zutara week, y’all! I’m Lil.

I’ve been working on my fic for...awhile now, and I’m at the point where everything’s kind of turned into word salad. I’d like to finish this thing, soon, but I need editors - badly. So, if you’re one of those folks who can write. (And particularly if you can write Katara or Zuko’s voice really well.) Please, please take a look. Friendly feedback is welcome!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25653406/chapters/62276836

And here’s an excerpt from a Zutara moment below the cut:

Katara looks out from high up in the north wing of the palace—reserved especially for the royal family and their guests. She can see across acres of bleak concrete pavement leading up to the palace gates and, behind them, the jagged volcano walls of the capital city rising in the distance. It isn’t a particularly comforting sight.

Fifty-six bacui berry, fifty-seven bacui berry, ��she counts to herself. Until, finally, she reaches one hundred bacui berry, and turns away from the gray window, back towards Azula’s wide canopy bed. The princess’s mouth hangs open and a trickle of drool spills out, but otherwise, she looks better than she had an hour ago. Katara removes the last acupuncture needle from her wrist and places it onto a gauze pad, which she rolls up and hands to Zuko.

“These need to be sterilized in a white-hot flame for twenty minutes before they can be used again,” she instructs.

Zuko puts a hand up to the bundle. A flame appears at the center of his palm. “Do you want me to just—?”

“Sorry Zuko, but you’re not hot enough,” she says, without thinking.

The corners of his mouth flicker upward into the kind of smirk she hasn’t seen since his ponytail days. Spirits, he’s infuriating, she thinks—grateful that her skin is dark enough to hide a blush. She removes the rest of her supplies from Azula’s bedside and takes a seat by the window, trying to ignore the burning sensation of Zuko’s eyes lingering on the back of her neck. She forces herself to concentrate on the little vials and instruments in her hand, but it’s no good. Everything is in the wrong place. She’ll have to take it all out again and repack it later.

“Katara,” he says, coming up beside her at the window. “Did you ever read Love Amongst the Dragons?”

Katara shoots him a wry smile. “No,” she says. “Funnily enough, we didn’t have a lot of fire nation epics in our village library.”

“Azula made fun of me, but I always liked it.” He smiles a little to himself, then points, drawing Katara’s attention to a spot on the grim horizon. “Do you see that mountain, there? The one that curves?”

Katara shivers, drawing a little closer to Zuko. “The one that looks like a claw?” she asks.

He nods. “I know, it’s scary, isn’t it? If you believe the old story, it’s the claw of the great dragon, himself. It’s where the name of the district comes from — Kaa Garr. Great Dragon. And, right there where the mountain turns in on itself…” he moves his finger up the pane a little so Katara can see a black spot in the distance, “is the prison where I’m keeping my father.”

Katara lets out a little involuntary gasp and presses her fingers to her mouth. Zuko looks down at her, a wry glint in his eye. “If you thought my sister’s arrangements were bad,” he says, “you should see his.”

“I’m sorry,” is all she can think to say.

“Don’t be,” he shrugs. “You know my father isn’t exactly a nice guy. I didn’t get this scar on my face from a training accident, you know?”

“I know,” Katara says, reaching up to touch the edges of his burned skin with the practiced hands of a healer.

In truth, they had never really talked about how he’d gotten his scar, but Katara had heard rumors going all the way back to her time in the Fire Nation with Toph, Sokka, and Aang. Zuko allows her fingers to wander over his scar for a moment, tracing the lines and folds on the puckered skin. He gets lost for a minute in the phantom sensation—wondering if he’s only imagining the gentle pressure. It’s so tender and intimate that his breath catches in his chest for fear that a sharp exhale might disturb the delicate balance between them. But then Azula flops over in bed, bringing Zuko back to himself. He clears his throat, and Katara’s hand drops to her side.

“It just makes me wonder if I should be trying to help my father…you know…the way you’re helping Azula.”

Katara tries not to let her emotions show on her face. She does not believe for one second that Ozai is entitled to the same treatment as his daughter, but she also believes that, ultimately, the decision is Zuko’s to make.

“Do you think your father deserves a second chance?” She asks, trying to keep her voice even.

“No!” he shouts, raking his fingers through his hair in frustration. “That’s the problem, I don’t think he deserves it! But I can’t figure out why. I mean, he not that different from my sister, is he? But, every day, I felt guilty about Azula, and every day I’m grateful that my father is still locked up!”

Katara watches as Zuko paces back and forth across the antique carpet, winding himself up. “Then you came, and I feel better about Azula—I really do, Katara—but now I’m suddenly guilty about my father. I’m the fire lord, shouldn’t I at least be fair?”

“Zuko,” Katara says, holding out an arm to stop his pacing, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but when was the last time you had a bath? Or slept in a real bed?”

He blinks down at her, “Uh, it might have been a few days. Why?”

“I think,” she says, using her most soothing voice, “that all these big questions can wait for a day or two while you rest.”

He looks skeptical, but Katara insists: “Look at you, Zuko, you’re exhausted. I’m not saying that it won’t be difficult, but I promise it will all seem better in the m-morning.” As she says it, she stifles a yawn, and Katara suddenly realizes that she, too, is exhausted.

Noticing this, Zuko takes the medicine bag from her hand and, after checking all of Azula’s locks, leads her down the hall to her room. It’s hard to tell with Zuko, but he seems excited about something. The corners of his mouth keep twitching up, like he’s trying to hide a smile. The whole of the third-floor hallway smells like fresh paint, even though the hallways look the same as they’ve always been. It makes Katara’s head swim. When they arrive at what she assumes will be her bedroom here in the Fire Nation, Zuko throws open the door for her, and Katara gasps.

The room is in the style of the Fire Nation—a wooden chest for clothes, a low-slung writing table, and an imposing four poster bed, but the details are all Water Tribe. The walls are covered with bright blue paper depicting life in the poles. The furniture handles are all solid, gleaming mother of pearl. The bed is strewn with gigantic, fluffy pelts that could only have come from the south pole.

“What do you think?” Zuko asks, studying her face. “Is it too much? I had rooms made up for the Earth Kingdom and the Air Nation, too. I don’t want you to think I’m abusing your culture, but I do want my guests to feel welcome here. I know the Fire Nation royal palace isn’t anybody’s favorite place.” He winces, thinking about the terrible stain of his father’s legacy.

Katara considers Zuko kindly. He’s hovering just outside the room—neither in nor out. She realizes that she’s never felt more warmly towards the young fire lord.

“You’re a lot like your uncle, you know that?” she says, after a minute.

Katara watches as his guarded features break into a genuine smile. “Thanks,” he says, running his fingers along the edge of the doorframe. “You know I was hoping you or your brother would be the first ones to use this room.”

“You’re lucky it’s me! Sokka would be jumping on the bed, already.”

Zuko laughs, and Katara grins with pride. It’s not easy making Zuko laugh.

“I didn’t even ask!” He says, eagerly. “How is Sokka? And Aang?”

Now it’s Katara’s turn to look guarded. “Sokka’s fine,” she says, trying to keep her voice neutral. “He’s angry because he can’t go to Ba Sing Se without Appa…” Then, anticipating Zuko’s next question, Katara explains everything in a rush: “Aang left for Omashu. He got a letter from Bumi saying that the city was unstable, and he left me and Sokka behind.”

Zuko’s reaction is not what Katara expects. His eyebrow furrows, and he lets out a troubled groan, so sharp and low that Katara can almost feel the reverberations in his chest. “Katara…Bumi is dead. He died about a week ago. Didn’t Aang tell you?”

“Oh,” is all Katara can manage. She plops herself down at the end of the bed and looks up at Zuko, dazed. “No, Aang hasn’t written to me since he left for Omashu.” The admission earns her a sharp sideways glance, but she doesn’t notice. She’s too wrapped up in thoughts of the Earth King.

“What happened?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” he admits, lowering himself down beside her on the bed. “The Fire Nation has…informants…in Omashu, but I haven’t heard from them in a few days.” The way he hesitates before the word ‘informants’ makes Katara wonder if he is uncomfortable having spies in the Earth Kingdom. Zuko had always preferred fair-play and transparency, even at his own expense.

“But you have suspicions,” she presses him.

He nods. “To tell you the truth, I’m glad Sokka’s not in Ba Sing Se right now.”

“Why not?” Katara gasps, “It’s not unstable, too, is it?”

“No,” he says, resting his head against the bedpost and letting his eyelids droop. “At least none of my advisors seem to think it is. I’m the one who has an issue. And it’s only a feeling, Katara…”

“Because of Kai Kozu?” she asks.

Zuko’s snaps to attention so quickly that he sprains his neck. “Where did you hear that name?” he growls.

“Bumi wrote about him in his letter to Aang,” Katara explains.

“Ah, that makes sense,” Zuko says, rubbing the sprain. “Kai Kozu used to keep a pretty low profile. Barely anyone outside the Earth Kingdom had ever heard of him… But lately he’s been moving more and more into the public eye. I don’t like it. He’s already got power in Kyoshi and Chin. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had plans for Omashu and Ba Sing Se, too.”

“Oh no! Zuko!” Katara’s hand flies to the reassuring carvings on her mother’s necklace, and she traces them apprehensively. “What about Toph and Suki? What about your uncle? Isn’t he still in the city?”

“I did write to them,” Zuko shrugs. “I asked them to stay here in the palace, but Toph and Suki are out in the country somewhere. I can’t reach them.”

“And your uncle?”

“Uncle doesn’t want to leave his tea shop. And besides…” Zuko blushes brick red, “I think he might have a lady friend in the city. He’s acting like a love-sick teenager.”

Katara watches as Zuko drags his fingers through his hair, tugging at the ends. “You’re really worried about this, aren’t you?” she asks.

“I am,” he admits.

Katara leans back into the mountain of fluffy pillows and soft white furs, and closes her eyes—too tired to care that Zuko is still watching her. She says a silent prayer for Toph, Suki, and Iroh in Ba Sing Se, and thanks every spirit she can name for her father’s stubbornness. At least she knows Sokka is safe in the Southern Water Tribe—far, far away from the Earth Kingdom capital…

As she drifts off into sleep, she reaches out to feel Zuko’s warm body beside her—his chest rising and falling evenly. She draws a little closer, and he opens his arms wide to make room for her. She pillows her head in the crook of his arm and breathes in a scent like something out of a dream. In fact, she thinks it must have been a dream, because when she wakes up in the night he is gone, and the spot where she imagined he had lain is awash with moonlight.

#zutara #zutara week #wip #y'all please help

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cha-melodius · 4 years ago

Text

Follow You Into The Dark

Whumptober No. 9: Rumors of My Death Have Been Greatly Exaggerated

Fandom: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015) Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo Additional Tags: Napoleon Solo Whump, Illya Kuryakin Whump, Near Death Experiences, Heavy Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Suicidal Ideation, Missions Gone Wrong, Pining, Hospitals, spies getting old, First Kiss, Sacrifice, Non-Linear Narrative, Illya POV

Summary: Following a diastrous mission, Illya doesn't exactly cope with the new situation he finds himself in.

Notes: I blame this fic on @heytheredeann. She's the one who encouraged me to write this angst-fest and finally finish it. Fair warning: this is a pretty heavy fic, on the whole. It deals almost exclusively with death and dying, and the characters' reactions to these topics. There is some suicidal ideation in this, though it is more on the "what's the point of living" end of the spectrum than actively wanting to die. That said, despite what it seems like during the fic, the tags are accurate, and, well, you can see the prompt. There is a happy ending here, I promise, but there's a decent amount of pain before that point.

Read on AO3, or below the cut!

Add’l Notes: FYI, the main action in this fic takes place about 15 years after the events of the movie, during which time Napoleon and Illya have been working at UNCLE. It's kind of vaguely referenced in the fic, but in this story Gaby took another role in UNCLE that doesn't involve fieldwork fairly early on. They're still all close friends, but it's just been Illya and Napoleon as partners on missions for quite a while.

This fic was inspired by the song "I Will Follow You Into The Dark" by Death Cab For Cutie, which I recognize is super unoriginal for a fic about love and death, but I don't really care.

*****

You and me have seen everything to see From Bangkok to Calgary And the soles of your shoes are all worn down

It might be cliché to say that the day started out like any other, but that doesn’t make it any less true. There had been nothing special about this mission, no sign that things would turn out like this, even in retrospect. Coming to this building was supposed to be an exercise in checking another undoubtedly dead-end lead off the list. They had bickered about nothing as they prepared, as usual; Napoleon had been annoying him lately by humming off key versions of Tchaikovsky and Rachmaninoff, seemingly just for the fun of watching him twitch in response. They’d still been arguing as they cleared the abandoned building, unconcerned that anyone might be alerted to their presence. It was familiar. Comfortable in the way it always is with Napoleon, in the way that Illya stopped fighting a long time ago.

And then, without a trace of warning, the ground floor of the building had blown up. A rocket, in all likelihood, given that there had been no explosives present when they’d cleared it earlier, though fired from where, he couldn’t say. The building had been solidly built, which means its collapse had been rather spectacular. Napoleon and Illya, caught in a middle floor, had little chance. That Napoleon wasn’t already dead when Illya found him—that Illya found him at all—is something of a miracle.

Not that either of them would use the word to describe their current situation.

“It’s no use,” Napoleon grunts. “Get out of here while you can.”

A fine layer of grey dust and soot has settled over both of them, filling into every crease and line on his face, and that in combination with the dimness of the light makes it look like he’s been rendered in charcoal. With his free hand, Illya reaches up and rubs his thumb across his partner’s cheek, smudging through the dirt. Convincing himself that this isn’t all a terrible dream.

“It is too late,” Illya tells him, though, strictly speaking, that might not be 100% the truth.

There is a slim chance—exceedingly slim, in his estimation—that he might be able to get out, although it is far from certain. Half of the building has collapsed around them and the other half is on fire, rapidly filling the small chamber with smoke. Pure adrenaline had fueled Illya to clamber over the wreckage, looking for his partner, but there could be no mistaking that something is seriously wrong with his left knee, and he no doubt made it worse in his desperate, failed attempt to move the beams trapping Napoleon. In all likelihood Illya would not get very far. And if he did leave and still didn’t make it, if he let go of the hand clenched tightly in his and left him here to die alone for nothing… Well. That is not a choice he is capable of making.

“I’m not leaving you here, Cowboy,” he says, his voice firm.

It’s not the first time he’s said something like it before. And to be fair, it’s not as if Napoleon has not said those same words to him. Both of them have been in enough close scrapes that they were sure was the end. It has never been like this, though. Those situations were followed by one of them hoisting the other over his shoulder or dragging him to an extraction point. Those situations were followed by long, sleepless nights sitting by hospital beds, and sometimes by cold sweats and night terrors.

Those situations never had this kind of finality.

“Goddamn you, you stupid, stubborn Russian,” Napoleon groans, glaring at him now. “You have to try. I won’t— I won’t let you throw your life away like this.”

“And under what circumstance would you permit me to do so?” Illya snarls back. His anger is something familiar to retreat into. Something he both can and cannot control, unlike this situation. “That is not up to you. You don’t get to make that decision.”

Napoleon’s face crumples in resignation at that, like he expected this answer all along. “Illya, please,” he pleads, “you have to let me go.”

“Remember Calgary?”

The question makes Napoleon blink in surprise for a moment. “Of course I do,” he says, a little hesitantly. “That was different.”

“Was it?” Illya challenges.

His vision is rapidly blurring from the tears brought on by the smoke, which is, truly, their cause. Because a wave of something washes over him, then, something that brings with it an odd sense of peace. In that moment, he knows that he can’t leave, that he won’t leave, and making that decision is not nearly as terrifying as he thought it would be.

He is so, so tired. They are both of them old, for spies. Every injury takes longer to recover from, every string of sleepless nights more exhausting. Neither of them is as fast or as strong as they once were, which is probably how they got into this situation in the first place. His life has been longer than he expected, thanks not only to the man lying before him but an entire team who are nothing short of his family, and for that he is thankful. But right now, in this moment, he thinks he does not owe anyone anything more. He has already given so much of himself. For once, he thinks, he can be selfish.

It has been years of missions, years of partnership, years of carrying with him this silent, forbidden love that has made every moment together sweeter and more bitter than he could have ever imagined. Now he is determined to keep a promise he made years ago, a promise that Napoleon probably doesn’t even remember, but a promise nonetheless.

Napoleon is just staring at him, so motionless that Illya might fear he was already gone if it weren’t for the watery brightness of his eyes. His breathing should be more labored, Illya thinks almost absently. He’s not fighting it anymore. That realization should be horrifying, but somehow it isn’t. The carbon dioxide inhalation will knock them both out soon enough anyway. Probably not the worst way to go, in the end.

Illya curls himself forward, pressing their foreheads together, and Napoleon’s hand tightens around his.

“You don’t get to make that decision,” he repeats, softer this time, his voice rough with smoke and thick with emotion. “Not this time.”

*****

Bangkok, Thailand 8 Years Previously

One would think, with how long Illya has been in this game, that very little would bother him at this point. That’s mostly true, but it doesn’t mean that there aren’t bad days and missions that make it difficult to sleep at night. Napoleon tends to be more affected by these, which Illya would say is because he’s a thief and not a real spy, but that line got tired five years ago. It’s just his disposition, and it doesn’t make him any less of an agent (not that Illya has ever admitted that out loud).

Today had been one such day. UNCLE’s presence in Thailand was a delicate matter; they’d been sent to look for traces of a weapon that rumors said was being built somewhere in the Thai jungle, and they weren’t the only ones looking. UNCLE’s aim was to prevent either side of the war that raged to the East from acquiring it, of course, if the weapon even existed in the first place. After days of searching, Napoleon and Illya had finally located a promising lead, which had led them to a facility that had been all but destroyed already. That, in and of itself, had been more than disappointing—it’s still unclear if whoever destroyed the facility took the weapon, or obliterated it—but it was the carnage they’d found inside that left them both unsettled that evening, back in the hotel room that they are sharing.

It’s a rather dingy place the outskirts of Bangkok, the kind of seedy establishment where a former KGB agent could hide out without drawing the attention of the American military presence in the city. There’s no air-conditioning here, unlike the ritzy hotels in downtown that Napoleon would probably be staying in without him, just the sticky heat that permeates everything and doesn’t abate after dark, topped off by the incessant, maddening whine of countless insects.

When Illya walks out of the bathroom after a shower that probably left him dirtier than when he stepped into it, he finds Napoleon sprawled in one of the wicker chairs as if it alone is keeping him from melting into the ground. He’d thrown on a light linen shirt after his own shower and had apparently only bothered buttoning the bottom half of it. It’s not like Illya hasn’t seen him shirtless countless times before at this point, but there’s something about the way the collar hangs open that is unintentionally yet indescribably far more alluring than if he had been wearing nothing at all. Napoleon’s head is tipped back against the chair, drawing Illya’s eye along the long line of his neck, down to an exposed collarbone and into the dark hair that covers his chest. His skin is glistening with a thin sheen of sweat in the low yellow light of the room’s paltry bare bulbs, and the whole effect leaves Illya rather more breathless than he’d care to admit.

Napoleon’s eyes had been closed when he’d stepped into the room, but they flutter open at his approach and he stares at Illya with eyes that are as dark as the ocean in a storm. Some kind of strange electricity seems to crackle in the room between them, but a moment later it has passed, and Napoleon is nodding toward a glass of amber liquid that sits on the low coffee table before him. He has one of his own in his hand, partly filled, and Illya wonders how many drinks he’s already had tonight. Illya carefully lowers himself to the couch on the other side of the table and retrieves the glass—some kind of whisky that Napoleon had managed to find that doesn’t taste more like gasoline than not.

“Chatter on both sides suggests neither of them know who blew the facility,” Napoleon says after a stretch of silence. So apparently he’d checked in while Illya had been attempting to clean himself up.

Illya takes a sip of his drink and doesn’t suppress a wince at the burn of it. “So the weapon is in the wind.”

“Unless you believe the guy we found.”

There had been a man, among the wreckage. He’d been the only survivor, if he could even be called that, because by the time Illya and Napoleon arrived he was barely hanging on by a thread. Napoleon had spoken to him in broken Thai while Illya searched the building, and when they had met back up there had been an odd, haunted look in Napoleon’s eyes.

“You said yourself he was mostly incoherent,” Illya says, repeating Napoleon’s earlier report back to him.

“Well, that’s a low bar, when you barely speak Thai,” Napoleon replies self-deprecatingly. “He was too scared to answer questions, just kept telling me not to leave him.” “He didn’t want to die,” Illya reasons.

Napoleon shakes his head, staring down into his glass. “He knew he was going to die. He didn’t want to die alone.”

“Is there a difference?”

“Of course there is,” Napoleon scoffs. “Doesn’t it bother you? The likelihood that you’ll die alone?” “We all die alone, Cowboy.” “What is that, Nietzsche?”

Illya shrugs. “Just a saying.”

Fortunately, the conversation doesn’t linger on that topic very long. They talk a little more about the mission and their next steps, which transitions into one of their usual arguments about the war, but that fades without much heat. They play a couple games of chess on Illya’s travel set, and then a game of cards when Napoleon complains about the futility of playing Illya in chess. They finish the bottle of whiskey between them, which was probably not the best idea, but it wouldn’t be the first time, especially after a bad day.

Napoleon is pensively inspecting the last dregs of the bottle when Illya decides it’s probably time to call it a night. Not that he’s been able to get much sleep in this weather, but it feels like he should probably switch from staring wearily at the wall to staring wearily at the ceiling. He’s just started shifting forward to stand when Napoleon speaks again, not looking away from the glint of the amber liquor.

“All the same, I think I’d rather not.” Illya pauses; they had lapsed into a comfortable silence, and he’s not sure what on Earth Napoleon is referring to. “Rather not what, Cowboy?” “Die alone,” Napoleon answers, almost absently.

That was not what Illya expected, and he’s honestly too drunk to have this kind of conversation right now. That also must be the reason for what comes out of his mouth next, because it’s certainly not anything he’d admit to sober.

“You won’t have to.” Napoleon’s gaze snaps over to him, far sharper than it should be under the circumstances. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Peril.”

He’s right, of course, there’s no way Illya can guarantee such a thing, and his impulse to do so should be a little suspect, given his earlier, rather nihilistic position on the matter. Napoleon stares at him like he’s waiting for Illya to take it back, to say something like, you’re right, you and I will both die alone because we are spies, and that’s what happens to spies. The words don’t come, though. In that moment Illya knows it is a promise that he will keep, if he has any say in the matter, but it’s probably better for both of them if he keeps that fact to himself.

*****

As it turns out, Illya doesn’t get to make that decision either.

The room he wakes up in is familiar, if only in the way that all hospital rooms are familiar. The silence is broken only by the whirr of machinery and the steady beep of his heart monitor. Or not-so-steady beep: he is still intubated, and the sensation of the tube down his throat immediately triggers both his cough and his gag reflex. His heart rate spikes erratically as he struggles to get rid of it, setting off all kinds of alarms. The nurse is there in moments to help, and it is only when he lies back against the pillows and takes a deep, shaky breath that the reality of his situation dawns on him.

He is alive. He is alive. It should have been impossible, that anyone could have gotten to them. They were trapped, and the building was burning, and extraction was kilometers away. The last thing he remembers was curling over Napoleon’s body, pressing his face into his partner’s rapidly fading pulse, and then nothing. He does not know what happened, exactly, but he knows. He knows it in his bones, because there could have been no other outcome.

Napoleon is gone, and he is here. Illya has long since stopped raging at the injustice of the world, but this— this is not fair. So much of his life had been dictated for him. What he could be. How he could live. Who he could love. It had felt freeing to be able to make a decision that was his own, in the end, but it turns out he didn’t get that one either.

He can feel, distantly, the pain throbbing through his body and understands he’s not in good shape, but that just seems… entirely inconsequential, now. It is nothing compared to the deep, visceral ache that he feels at his core, like there is a part of him missing. He sees the tremors come before he even registers feeling them, his hands shaking uncontrollably on the bed by his sides, and moments later the alarms on the monitoring equipment begin blaring again. His pulse spikes and his breaths start coming in ragged, uneven gasps, but in his current condition he is too weak to do anything except curl his hands into fists in frustration. The nurses clearly don’t understand what is happening to him, but the result is the same: within a few minutes they administer a sedative, and Illya slips back to unconsciousness again.

*****

In the mountains near Calgary, AB, Canada 3 Years Previously

“Well, this is certainly suboptimal,” Napoleon says as he surveys their surroundings.

Illya could almost laugh, if their situation weren’t so dire. As it is, though, between the state of his ankle and the fact that they have been sealed into an old, semi-collapsing mine, he can’t quite find the humor in Napoleon’s typical dry commentary. They have been left to die, and die they will unless they can find some way out of here. He has to admit, it seems highly unlikely.

The small chamber that they are currently occupying is illuminated by an ancient oil lamp that they’d found amongst the refuse, abandoned by miners who knows how long ago. Miraculously it still had enough fuel to light, but Illya guesses it won’t be long before it goes out and they are left with only Napoleon’s lighter for illumination.

Apparently finished with his inspection of the small space, Napoleon he returns to Illya’s side and drops down onto a chunk of an old beam. “Do you think signal from the transmitters will make it to the surface?”

“Maybe,” Illya answers uncertainly. The new trackers tucked into the soles of their shoes are a lot more powerful than the old standard models, but even so, Illya doubts their range through several tons of near-solid rock.

“I guess we can hope,” Napoleon sighs.

“You should look for another passage out,” Illya suggests. “Many mines have more than one entrance.”

The look that Napoleon gives him is extremely dubious. “And what about you?” “I will only slow you down.” He can still walk on his ankle, painful though it may be, but clambering over rubble is probably pushing it. “Besides, one of us should stay close to the surface, in case transmitters are working.”

“We only have the one lamp.”

This time, Illya can’t hold back a wry smirk. “I am not afraid of the dark, Cowboy.”

“I wasn’t saying you were,” Napoleon huffs. “Look, say I take the lamp, and it goes out while I’m somewhere deep in this mine, and it will, because you know it’s not going to last very long. Then I’m lost among who knows how many miles of tunnels—which, let’s face it, I probably already would be at this point—with no hope of finding my way anywhere, much less out of this place. And even if the lamp did hold out, and I did find another exit, I would never be able to find my way back to get you out.” “You would find me from the surface,” Illya argues, then adds with a shrug, “Or you would not.”

Napoleon frowns deeply, the expression all the more severe in the flickering light of the lamp between them. “Oh no you don’t. If you think I’m leaving you behind to die because of a fucking sprained ankle, you’re more insane than I thought. Either you come with me, or we both stay here.”

“Cowboy—”

“This is not up for discussion. Those are your options.”

Illya stares at him, and he stares back unflinchingly; this is one of those few, rare times, that Illya knows that he will break before Napoleon does. “Fine,” he grits out. “Maybe… maybe I could build amplifier for the transmitter, if you would find scrap wire and some metal.”

Just like that, Napoleon’s face softens and he smiles, as if their chance of survival is anything but vanishingly small. “That, I can do,” he says, getting to his feet. “Promise you’ll sit here and not try anything stupidly heroic.” “Like what?” Illya asks incredulously. “I don’t know, I’m sure you’d come up with something. Just promise me you won’t.” Illya hesitates a beat, but Napoleon seems to be entirely serious about securing his word. “I promise.”

It is only later, when Illya is hammering ancient wire into a paper-thin conductive plate under the dying lamplight, that he ventures the question that has been eating at him since their earlier conversation.

“Cowboy?” “Hmm?” Napoleon hums, glancing up from where he is watching Illya work, no doubt for lack of anything else to do.

“If this does not work, if no one finds us… we will both die here,” Illya points out. He doesn’t meet Napoleon’s eye, doesn't really trust himself to. If he concentrates on his work, he can pretend this is just a simple conversation. “I’m well aware of that, Peril,” Napoleon says, his tone utterly dry.

“And you are ok with this, knowing you might have gotten out without me?” There is no hesitation before Napoleon’s reply. “Yes.”

“Oh,” Illya breathes, because he can think of nothing else to say to that.

He will spend a lot of time thinking about that answer, even after his jury-rigged transmitter leads a search party to their position and they are pulled, filthy but alive, from the mine. Maybe it has nothing to do with Illya himself, and everything with Napoleon not wanting to die alone. In the end, Illya isn’t sure it matters.

*****

The worst part is thinking is that he could have done more. If the extraction team had arrived in time to save him, maybe they could have also saved Napoleon, if only Illya had done something else. If only he’d been better, maybe his partner would still be alive. He could find out more about what happened when the team found them, but he hasn’t been able to bring himself to ask. What does it matter? The outcome is the same no matter what.

Still, the thought bangs around in his head incessantly. Whenever he actually manages to fall asleep, he wakes not long afterward in a cold sweat, Napoleon’s name on his lips and the taste of ash and dust on his tongue. Sometimes, in his dreams, he is the one who is trapped, and Napoleon asks him why he should bother saving Illya, since Illya didn’t bother saving him? Sometimes he dreams that Napoleon is already dead when he finds him in the rubble. The most excruciating dreams, though, are the ones where Napoleon is alive, where Illya wakes up in a hospital room and Napoleon is next to him, because every time, without fail, he actually wakes from the dream and looks to his side and finds no one.

Three days go by, and even though he should be improving, his condition only worsens. It’s true, he wasn’t in great shape to begin with: besides his knee—which, despite three surgeries and a bunch of pins, is still really fucked up—he’d suffered severe smoke inhalation and moderate burns on covering the side of his torso and thigh. Even so, the doctors are perplexed by the instability of his blood oxygen levels at this point. They don’t know why he doesn’t seem to be healing, and it is quite clearly beginning to frustrate them.

Illya does not care if they are frustrated, and he frankly doesn’t care if he gets better. He is tired of being poked and prodded and rather wishes that they would all just leave him alone in his misery. That, however, is about as futile a wish as wishing that he could go back in time and stop them from ever entering that infernal building.

He’s just gotten through the usual battery of tests that they run each day when Gaby shows up clutching a brown paper bag of something he has to admit smells pretty good. The hospital food is, as usual, inedible, and she has taken to bringing take away from a Polish restaurant down the block in the hopes of lifting his spirits, or something like that. It’s not quite like home, but it’s pretty close, and he’d probably even enjoy it if he felt capable of enjoying anything right now.

Gaby kisses him on the cheek in greeting and distributes the food: pierogis and bowls of some kind of savory barley soup for both of them. The pungent smell of herbs and spices are enough to make his mouth water, even though he knows he’ll only be disappointed; everything he eats these days tastes flat, bland, and a little like ash. Still, he eats dutifully, for Gaby’s sake if nothing else.

“The doctors told me your condition is still declining,” she broaches after a long stretch of silence.

Illya shrugs. It is not news to him, and he knows it is not news to her.

“Illya, please,” Gaby pleads. She scoots her chair closer to his bedside and takes one of his hands in both of hers. “You can’t just sit here and waste away.”

“Who is wasting?” he retorts. “I eat. I do nothing but rest. What else would you have me do?”

“Fight!” she urges, squeezing his hand. “It’s like you’re— you’re just giving up, and I don’t understand why.”

Illya stares at her in disbelief. Surely, if anyone would understand, it would be Gaby. Even though it’s been quite a long time since they all partnered together in the field, they still remained close. After all these years, she must know what Napoleon meant to him, even if he’s never said it out loud. That she doesn’t—can’t—understand why he lacks the strength to carry on, as if nothing has changed, is unfathomable.

“You have to get better,” she pushes when he doesn’t offer any explanation.

“For what purpose, so you can send me to the field with new partner?”

“What? No, that’s not—”

“Of course,” Illya laughs bitterly, cutting her off. “I should have known. Always was too difficult to work with for anyone but— him. So it is to be solo missions, I suppose.” He hates the way his voice breaks, near the end; it is only a word, so what if it is also his name.

Gaby huffs and folds her arms over her chest, obviously frustrated. “You’re being absurd. Where are you getting all these crazy ideas? You know Napoleon—”

“Don’t,” he snaps. It is one thing to sit here and be told he just needs to get better, but he refuses to listen to the inevitable Napoleon wouldn’t want this. Napoleon is gone, and Illya cares about as much about Napoleon would or would not want as he did when he was holding his hand while he died.

In response, Gaby presses her lips together in a tight frown and stares at him long enough that he is forced to look away under her scrutiny. “You don’t want to talk to me about this? Fine. But you need to talk to someone.” She rises and walks to the door, then, pausing briefly on the threshold. “We care about you, Illya. We don’t want to lose you.”

It hits him, for perhaps the first time since he woke, how worn she looks. Her hair is never all that neatly done, but it’s even more messy than usual now, and dark shadows have fallen under eyes filled with unmistakable sadness. She lost Napoleon too, he reminds himself, and now she’s worried about him. He should try to get better for her, if nothing else, but he’s just not sure he’s strong enough. It feels insane, that his heart could be so bound to someone else, that going on without them seems impossible.

He looks away again, unwilling to make any promises despite how much he knows it hurts her. Yes, she would be sad to lose him, but she has a family now, and lots of other friends. She would be ok, he tells himself as he listens to her footsteps fade away.

Illya doesn’t really sleep that night, and it does nothing good for his condition. His breaths are shallow and labored, and they make him wear the oxygen mask all day, which he hates. He would take it off, but the alarms they’ve set make it impossible to get away with it, and he really doesn’t want to summon a thunderously angry Gaby to his room today.

He thinks he must still not be getting enough oxygen to his brain, despite the mask and alarms, because around mid-morning an apparition materializes in the doorway to his room. Or perhaps he’s dreaming; it would be a new variation, but there can be no other explanation for Napoleon appearing without warning, looking more than a little worse for the wear but very definitely alive.

The Napoleon-illusion leans heavily on his door frame, straightening up from where he shuffled in using a walker. He looks cautious, like he’s not sure what Illya will do, which is kind of odd. In his dreams Napoleon is always confident and sure, even in the ones where he’s in the hospital with Illya.

“They tell me there’s a very stubborn Russian in here refusing to listen to sense,” the illusion quips. That, at least, is more typical.

Illya’s eyes flick over to his blood oxygen meter, which reads relatively steady, and when he looks back Napoleon is frowning at him, his eyebrows knit together into a deep furrow. Finally, Illya pulls away the mask and grunts, “You’re not real.”

“Excuse me?”

“You are a dream. Or maybe just figment of my imagination,” he elaborates flatly. He waves the mask in the air. “Not enough oxygen.”

“If that’s the case, I’d appreciate if you could imagine me in less pain. Do you mind if I sit?” the Napoleon-illusion asks, gesturing to the chair next to the bed.

Illya nods slowly and watches with increasing uncertainty as Napoleon limps over with the help of the walker, then drops heavily into the chair. He tips his head back, breathing hard, like even this short journey was pushing it. It seems impossible that Illya’s mind would conjure this much detail, but an illusion is still more believable than the alternative, at this point.

“I gotta tell you, being crushed by a building? Not as fun as it sounds,” the illusion jokes, trying on a hesitant grin. “Though I hear I’m doing better than you.”

Great, now even imaginary people are giving him a hard time about his condition. Illya narrows his eyes suspiciously and wonders if he might actually be finally dying. Maybe this is just the last, desperate gasp of his brain to make sense of something before he goes.

“Oh for Christ’s sake, Peril!” Napoleon bursts out after a few minutes of silence. He drags an exasperated hand through his hair, dislodging curls that haven’t been wrangled into place by pomade in days. “Enough with the games.”

“I watched you die,” Illya argues.

“No, you didn’t. I mean, I’m not totally sure what happened, because I was kind of unconscious at the time, but obviously I didn’t die, because I’m here.” Napoleon’s frown deepens as he tilts his head, as if in confusion. “Is that what’s going on here? You thought I was dead?”

Illya no longer trusts himself to speak. This isn’t real. It can’t be. But it is hard to hold onto that certainty when Napoleon grabs his hand and squeezes.

“Illya, c’mon. You’re not imagining me. I’m really here, I promise,” he says softly, almost pleading.

Slowly, he draws Illya’s hand closer and lifts it to his face, pressing the tips of his fingers to his cheek. Several days of stubble bite into Illya’s skin, the coarse scratch of it a stark contrast to the warm, smooth skin underneath. Without really planning to, Illya pushes his hand forward, until he’s cupping Napoleon’s jaw with his palm and his fingers dig into the soft, short hairs at the nape of his neck. He feels so solid. So intensely real. Napoleon is looking up at him as he leans close to the bed, his ocean blue eyes shining with something that Illya can’t quite identify. Maybe… maybe he really is here, impossible as it seems.

“Napoleon,” Illya whispers, swiping his thumb across his cheek almost absently.

Napoleon’s hand is still curled loosely around Illya’s wrist, pressing against his pulse point just so, as if he needs reassurance that Illya is alive and not the other way around. He leans in to Illya’s touch, his gaze never wavering, and his voice matches the same hushed tones when he repeats, “I’m here.”

Illya doesn’t think, then; he leans down, closing the gap between them, and presses his lips to Napoleon’s. For a bare instant Napoleon is frozen in shock, but then he’s pushing into the kiss and reaching up to pull Illya closer, his fingers clutching at Illya’s hair. His lips part invitingly, and when Illya’s follow suit Napoleon wastes no time licking into his mouth and tugging at his lips in a way that makes Illya feel absurdly light-headed. No matter how many times he’d imagined this moment over the years—which wasn’t nearly as many times as he’d not allowed himself to imagine it—it had never come close to reality. Napoleon is here, and alive, and kissing him, and Illya is dizzy with the emotion of it all.

Or maybe that’s the lack of oxygen. The alarm on the blood oxygen monitor blares, loud and insistent, and the two men spring apart in surprise just as a nurse comes hurrying into the room. She frowns at the mask, laying discarded at Illya’s side, and tuts disapprovingly as he lifts it back to his face.

“What did I tell you about the mask?” she scolds. “Until your blood oxygen is stable, you have to wear it, no excuses.” Then, without waiting for him to respond, she turns her frown on Napoleon. “And you. What do you think you’re doing up?”

“Thought I’d stretch my legs?” Napoleon tries.

“Very funny. You shouldn’t be stretching anything. Don’t move, I will be back with a wheelchair.”

“Wait!” Illya blurts. The nurse stops mid-stride and turns back, her brow furrowed in confusion. A little sheepishly, he pulls the mask away again. “Could we— maybe put another bed in here? Or— or I could go to his room, if it is bigger?”

The nurse purses her lips as she looks between them, apparently trying to figure this out, and Illya really hopes he doesn’t have to explain that having Napoleon near him is the only way he’s going to get any sleep any time soon. Instead he tries to give her his best pleading look, which he has been reliably informed—by Napoleon and Gaby, who else—is difficult to resist. Finally she sighs. “These are meant to be single rooms, but, well, I’ll see what I can do. Anything to keep the two of you out of trouble,” she adds, under her breath, as she leaves the room.

It is only after she’s gone that he realizes that Napoleon is still holding onto his hand. He feels his face heat with embarrassment at the thought of the nurse’s evaluating gaze, but he doesn’t pull away. Can’t quite bear the thought of it, really. His hand tightens around Napoleon’s, feeling like that link of contact is the only thing that’s keeping him grounded right now.

After a little while, Napoleon quietly asks, “You really thought I was dead?”

“No one told me you weren’t!” Illya protests.

“Maybe because whenever they tried to bring me up you freaked out and wouldn’t let them say anything.”

Illya huffs, offended. “I did not.”

“That’s not what Gaby told me,” Napoleon counters. He hesitates a moment, before adding, “I thought maybe I’d done something to upset you and couldn’t remember it.”

“Like what?”

“Like finally kissing you, before we both bought it,” Napoleon says, a little wry.

Illya blinks at him. “Oh,” he breathes, the word muffled into the mask.

Dropping his gaze to their hands, Napoleon takes a moment to carefully rearrange them, interlocking their fingers together. “I can’t imagine what I would have done, if I’d thought you were— well. You know,” he admits eventually, his voice sounding thick toward the end. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to you sooner, Peril.”

“You could not leave your bed,” Illya points out.

“Since when has that ever stopped me before?” Napoleon asks with a tiny smirk playing on his lips.

Illya wants badly to kiss them again, to feel Napoleon’s breath mingle with his, to hold him close and never let go. There are myriad reasons, of course, why that is not possible, not in the least the stupid oxygen mask he’s currently holding to his face, but now there is hope. The promise of something more sizzles under his skin and would probably leave him breathless even if his breathing wasn’t already labored. Instead, he settles for squeezing Napoleon’s hand and hoping it conveys even a fraction of what he’s feeling.

“Just… do not go dying on me again,” he mutters past the mask.

“Not planning on it,” Napoleon says. A grin flashes across his face, fading quickly into a pensive expression that Illya’s not entirely sure he likes. “I, uh,” he starts and stops, then takes a short, steadying breath. “Probably won’t be back in the field for a while. Or ever, maybe,” he admits. “This one really did a number on my kidneys, apparently. I’ll be fine as long as nothing else happens to stress them, but Waverly’s not keen on taking the risk. Says they have plenty for me to do back at HQ.” He huffs, short and humorless. “Can you imagine me, with a desk job?” “Not really, Cowboy,” Illya says, surprised at the steadiness of his own voice.

“But I thought, it might not be so bad, if I had my partner with me,” Napoleon ventures cautiously. “Assuming, that is, he and his bum knee are planning on sticking around.”

Illya automatically looks down at his own knee, the braces and bandages obvious under the thin hospital blankets, and thinks back to everything he’s been told about it over the last few days. He’d barely paid attention at the time, not much caring under the circumstances, but now he realizes that his assumption that he’d be sent back out as soon as he was able was deeply flawed. It will be months before he can walk without assistance, and even then, his knee will never be the same. It would be frankly stupid to send an agent with such a liability into the field, and Waverly is anything but stupid.

Apparently, Napoleon had been informed of this development, and had… what? Thought Illya might leave UNCLE, if he was to be permanently benched?

“What else would I do?” Illya asks, without really thinking about how it sounds.

A startled laugh escapes Napoleon, and he arcs an eyebrow at Illya. “Oh, well, as long as you have no better options, then.”

“You know that is not what I meant,” Illya growls.

“Do I? Because I distinctly remember you saying—”

Whatever inane claim he’s about to make, he doesn’t get to, because Illya drags him into another kiss that quite effectively shuts him up. It’s a fiercer press than the first, but he feels Napoleon smiling into it anyway, like this was his plan all along.

“You are the one who could easily leave,” Illya huffs breathlessly after he breaks away, their noses brushing and their lips still only centimeters apart. “Your sentence was commuted years ago.” Then he untangles his hand from Napoleon’s robe and slumps back against his pillows, retrieving the oxygen mask and taking a long, deep breath before the monitor’s alarm can go off again.

“Yeah, and why do you think I stuck around?” Napoleon challenges, his expression flashing defiance before slipping into something devastatingly unguarded. “I could never leave you, Peril.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Cowboy.”

The corner of Napoleon’s mouth quirks up, which is all the confirmation that Illya needs that he still recognizes his own words. “So I’m safe to make it, then. Just you wait, you’re gonna be sick of me.”

You’re impossible, is what Illya means to say, but the only thing that actually makes it past his lips is a soft “impossible,” which is too honest by half. It’s ok, though, because Illya can’t regret the way the answer makes Napoleon’s eyes light up, nor how that sight makes him feel, for the first time in days, like he’s going to be ok.

*****

Meanwhile, in Napoleon's room sometime during the last segment:

Gaby: What did you do? Every time we try to say something about you he freaks out. Napoleon: I didn’t do anything! I don’t know what his problem is! Gaby: He just seems so miserable and I don’t understand why. He says he wants to be left alone but he keeps on muttering something about the room being too empty when he thinks I’m not listening. Napoleon: Really, you’d think he’d be happier under the circumstances. He’s the one who always complains that I snore whenever we have to share a hospital room. Which, by the way, I don’t. Gaby: Yes you do.

Did I just tack on some jokes to a fic about death? Yes, yes I did. LOL, what can I say? Coping mechanisms, or something. In any case, I hope you enjoyed this fic, and I'd love to hear from you! Your comments mean the world to me and are the fuel that keeps me writing. Thank you so much for reading!

#whumptober2021 #no.9 #presumed dead #the man from u.n.c.l.e.#fic #napollya #napoleon x illya #napoleon solo #illya kuryakin #tmfu #the man from uncle #my fic

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rebelliouslala · 4 years ago

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4 Something

warnings- character death, language, cult like behavior, angst

word count- 1.7k

You had been introduced to everyone, but to be honest, you felt as if you could not memorize the men you had just met.

To be fair, there were 16 other men.

Selen was the eldest, and therefore the elder brother figure of the entire Pound. Mouse was the youngest. He was an “intern” at the Dream Gems. He sat next to Chenle, and whispered to him quietly in Korean. He looked so small in this gang. You assumed he had to join when he was possibly younger than you became a member in the Ripple.

Selen had made you meet the others, and even repeat their names. Victory sighed as he endured everyone hugging him and strangely calling him Orpheus. Selen, surprisingly, went quick. With each snap of his fingers, as if it were the 1920’s, he pointed and named.

Your head spun with the names; You only went by small descriptions to memorize each man. And even then, you had no idea. Osaka, or Herac was sitting next to a lean man, Zeus. This man was lanky, but smiled widely and laughed as he sang.

The one that Johnny sat next to, with his statuesque face was Aphrodite. He was breathtaking. Gogo- Hermes, was faced away from a very energetic boy, with feathery hair, Helios. You looked at another man, with a pinched nose, named Athene. Selen sat next to him. You stared at him, and he nodded at you silently.

And in this room, Johnny was not even referred to his name, his English nor Korean, but as Ares. You held his hand under the table.

“So, Eos has made this, Psy is their name, as a new spy. Now, Athene will make the plan.” Selen said loudly.

The man mentioned nodded, before he did a double take. “What? Hyung—?”

“Eos orders.”

Athene blinked, and he stood up, quietly kicking you.

“OW.” You stated with disgust, glaring up.

“Oh! Pardon me, would you mind punching Selen?” Athene said like a gent.

There was an ahem. The man who made the noise placed his hands under his chin. “Continue, Athene.” Aphrodite said with a coolness.

The other man sighed quietly, but he got out a scroll. It was curled, but he laid it out so everyone can see. Yuta -you didn’t even want to try to remember his name-, helped it keep it open with his elbow, and another boy who was introduced as Songbird, who smiled up at Athene.

Athene now read loudly, “My fellow Gods, demigods and mortals; we invite a new, fellow mortal by the name of Psy. They have a chance to take down our enemy. Because of this, all business is now closed. We will be quiet and we will,” Athene leaned closer, muttering to himself in Korean, “We will now not be active. Herac, Dolphin, Psy and Ares, shall all go to the West Side and take the corrupt Ripple down. Any news from our spies will be delivered by Songbird and Orpheus.” Athene sighed as he pulled away, “With Godspeed, Eos.”

You hid your smirk at his flat tone. Perhaps Eos was too much of a narcissist to even realize his team was much too sick of his dramatics.

Athene pulled the scroll back, and he blinked. “Any questions?”

“Yeah.” You crossed your arms, “Is Eos okay?”

Aphrodite scoffed and he looked at you through his lashes. The other men, including Selen, scoffed and harrumphed at your response.

“Well don’t look at me like I’m some sort of goon.” You stood up. “You all might’ve thought the same.”

“Eos,” said the young man you saw training earlier, you believe his name was Achilles, “Is a God among us. I am lucky to be seen as a demigod—,”

“Oh my god.” You rolled your eyes as you grabbed Johnny’s shoulder, and whispered loudly, “What a cult, am I right?”

“Psy,” he whispered with guilt.

You turned, and sighed, holding the bridge of your nose as you looked upon everything. The shining waxed table. The white suits everyone wore. Their stares. How they all looked down.

“I’m going to take down the Ripple my way. Chenle—,”

“He is known as Dolphin!” Orpheus, started.

“Not another word out of your mouth.” You glared at him, before turning away, gently tapping Johnny.

He sounded worried. You’re already in enough shit. You should be dead. More than ever in this situation. With Eos. This is the worst scenario and your best friend didn’t know how to act. You held his hand tightly above the table and smiled.

“Let’s go. I will contact Ch- Dolphin, with updates. And or, Victory- Orpehus.” You giggled as Johnny stood up with you.

“Then Godspeed,” Helios said to you calmly.

“God damn,” you replied with a smirk, and pull your friend out as the others daggered your back with judgement.

And another, foreign dagger stared above the table, witnessing every single move you had just made.

The funeral was that. A funeral.

Nothing prepared you for the pain you felt staring at Yangyang’s body. His face was still, no smile, and he was so, so pale. Unlike the photo that was next to him. It was only from a few days ago. He was grinning. Laughing. It was with Mr. Money and Sushi, but they were edited out.

His real name was read out in multiple languages. From German, Chinese, Korean, English. It read the same. Liu “Dreamer” Yangyang. Friend. Son. Brother.

You gripped onto Johnny, and looked up at his eyes, trying to find his warmth. It had to be. It was supposed to be. Impossible. It had to be.

Johnny sighed quietly as his lips contorted, before he finally grabbed onto the words. “D-Do you remember how Dreamer always knew what you wanted for your birthday? And how he always shared with us the photos of Louis and Leon?”

A hot tear escaped your eye, as you hid in his huge chest and nodded. You nodded frantically as you began to sob. Johnny’s big hands held you, and he placed his chin on you, sighing quietly again.

The plan was ruined. You lost the man who should be here and hugging you and Johnny before you both went on a cruise to Korea, and then after that, the world.

You let go to breathe, biting the inside of your cheeks with anger. Your gaze turned to Victory’s tears, and Sushi looking at the youngest member’s body

His face reminded you, strongly of how you were young once. Running away and living with Johnny out on the streets of Baise. You had only one television, the news, and that broadcast that evening was of a grown woman crying, over and over in Taiwanese, “WHERE IS MY SON? WHO TOOK HIM AWAY FROM ME?”

His eyes shared the same pain.

“Psy.” You turned as Mr. Money hugged you. Embraced you. He hid in you. “I-I can’t we could’ve lost you too. And John, we- fuck.”

Osaka was in the corner, looking down as he stared at the Ripple mourn.

Once Mr. Money had released himself, you stared at Jewel letting Smalls and Henry hug him tightly. Jewel despised any touching.

The fierce, cunning man, couldn’t even look what is inside the coffin. He only held the two now youngest members close to his heart.

Your hands gripped, nails digging to your palms. Now this was something you couldn’t take. The Pound may have you and Johnny’s lives on a string. But nothing could describe your frustration, to Sicheng. Victory. Whatever his name was.

To Yuta himself.

Osaka got up from his place on the wall, and he strutted himself to the coffin. He peaked over.

Today, the man wore not the white cult suit from the Pound, but a simple, and dull outfit. He took off his grey jacket, his white shirt bulging out oddly, as his black shoes, matching his black suit pants, had rubbed against the table that Dreamer was placed upon.

“He knew.”

Everyone turned to the man. Osaka took a katana from inside his shirt, and now the cloth hugged him. The weapon had a sky blue diamond handle. The blade itself was an opaque diamond. Osaka placed it in Dreamer’s hands.

Jewel stopped him, gripping it and he glared at him. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I thought perhaps—,”

Jewel grabbed it with both hands, and he threw back into Osaka’s chest, stepping forward. “You don’t touch his body. You don’t look at it. What the fuck happened there.”

“John already explained,” Smalls tried to explain.

“No, bullshit. John is a nice guy. We don’t even fuckin’ know Osaka- in fact. It seems his Japanese is a little shaky.” Jewel pushed Osaka now, speaking in Japanese quickly, with poison. Your ears weren’t the best in the language, but he did say something along the lines of, “Speak now or hold your peace, bitch.”

Osaka took the blows from Jewel. But he looked up. “We were all ambushed by Dream Gems. You know that they work under the Pound. We believe Chenle—,”

“BBall.” Mr. Money held his cane and separated the men.

“Listen. I’m sorry. I wanted to pay my respects—,” Osaka tried to reason.

“YOU DONT DO SHIT HERE!” Jewel roared, his eyes glowing with anguish. “YOU GOT HIM KILLED!”

“He’s not dead.” You said.

Everyone turned.

“Really? He’s okay? Di-,” Sushi started.

“He’s in a very deep, deep coma.” You slowly take your hand back, and put it in your pockets.

Henry teared up, hugging Smalls, “G-Good.”

“That doesn’t mean shit. Yuta needs to be investigated. On our last and final mission all of the sudden it goes wrong?” Jewel said as he glared at Osaka from the side of his eye.

“Then let’s attack The Pound.”

Johnny held your arm and gently pressed four times.

What.

Are.

You.

Doing.

“We need to make the Pound pay for what they did. And if Osaka isn’t bad, he’ll help.” You look at Osaka. “Won’t you?”

Osaka’s cold face suddenly melted to the side as he leans on a hip and he raised a brow, his smirk curving out as he said, almost naturally, “Perhaps I will for ya, doll.”

Johnny rolled his eyes. “Who should go with us?”

“Gogo. He’s reliable, after all he’s known Sushi for a long time too, hasn’t he?”

The big man nodded. “Yeah.”

You look at everyone. You planned for a bigger plan. A bigger dramatic. But that’s the Pound’s job. Right now, a plan, quite without common sense, was forming.

And the goal is was for you, and Johnny to be safe.

“For the Dreamer.” You said firmly.

“For the end.” The Ripple echoed back.

#nct #nct 127 angst #nct imagines #nct 127 #yuta angst #johnny angst #wayv angst #dee writes #4 Something

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keelywolfe · 4 years ago

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FIC: Drifters ch.9 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Enter the Other Brother. Blue, welcome home! You might be in for a surprise!

Tags: Spicyhoney, Violence, Rescued Child, Medical Experimentation, Babybones

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

Edge was not a Monster who cared very much for surprises. In his experience, they never led to anything good, not to birthday parties or unexpected gifts, but rather ambushes and dust. He preferred careful planning to the seat-of-the-pants schemes that his brother often came up with, every step made with strategy in mind.

He couldn’t say for certain if Blue was the same way, although he suspected he may be. His understanding of how the alternate worlds worked was more for the layman rather than the professional, but he wasn’t blind to the personality traits that he and Blue shared, the sort of twist in nature vs nurture that any sociologist would love to explore.

He had a fair idea of how he might react to finding this clown car of a domestic scene in his own living room and if he’d known that Stretch hadn’t even mentioned he and Red were here, much less the baby, he would have at least sent Blue a blasted text.

That might have at least braced him and given him a chance to come up with a better question than simply, “Is that a baby?”

His brother, ever the peacemaker, chose that precise to speak up, scoffingly, “sure can tell you two are brothers, ya share the same brain cell, your bro said the same damn thing. yeah, it’s a baby, good on you for noticin’.”

“blue!” Stretch scrambled upright and his bright grin was too wide, too wrong, tinged with poorly hidden guilt. “sorry, bro, i was gonna call and it slipped my mind. yeah, hey, everyone showed up on our doorstep yesterday. check out the snow princess, cute, huh?”

That much at least was the truth, but Blue didn’t seem to have heard a word of it. This wasn’t quite the reaction Edge had been braced for; he’d expected Blue to make a beeline for the baby, had been resigned to handing her over for plenty of excited cuddling and cooing.

This was something else entirely. The normal stars of his eye lights were overly bright, flashing between blue and yellow with seizure inducing intensity, set into a face that was like stone. He barely glanced at the rest of them past a brief, bizarrely sympathetic glance at Edge. The anger in his gaze was for his brother alone.

Stretch seemed equally confused, his oversized smile faltering, “bro?”

“How could you?” Blue said, his voice carrying despite its deadly softness.

“wha…me?” Stretch looked around the room as if perhaps another person had appeared, that it was to this stranger his brother spoke that way. He shrank back as Blue abruptly moved, slamming the door shut as he stalked over to the sofa, his small body radiating fury.

“How could you!?” Again, louder this time, not quite a shout but verging on one.

“coulda woulda shoulda? bro, what the hell—”

Blue ignored that, stamping his foot and sending out a spatter of rapidly melting snow from his boot to dampen the carpet. “Irresponsible!”

Stretch’s face was falling, going oddly blank, his false humor fading. Next to him, Red looked equally perturbed. “now hang on a sec, short stuff, ain’t no reason to go off on the honey bun.”

“Stay out of this!” Blue snapped and for a wonder, Red jerked back, his mouth snapping shut. His eye lights briefly guttered, leaving his sockets dark and black, returning only when Stretch spoke up next to him.

“yeah. stay out of this,” Stretch agreed, softer but no less sharp and from the look he shot Edge, he was included in that statement.

Edge said nothing and even the child was silent, a dab of runny banana sliding down her chin as she stared at the Swap brothers with wide sockets. Even if he’d wanted to intrude, this argument was between brothers and it was an unspoken rule through all the ‘verses that one did not interfere with brothers.

Despite the surface similarities, none of their relationships were exactly the same. Edge knew all too well that if he railed at Red over his laziness, his brother never took it to heart or soul. He let Edge rant, blowing off the steam that built within him throughout the day and his frustrated insults rolled off Red like water off the proverbial duck. The only fallout tended to be yet another sticky note added to the continuing line trailing away from a single, absurd sock.

Stretch was, well, lacking waterproofing. More like Edge in that way, truth be told, and if Edge could snipe at his brother all day long for his ridiculous puns and lazy ways, one genuine return jab from Red often left him deeply wounded, all the more painful for its unerring accuracy and rarity.

He wondered how he’d handle being under the weight of that much visible disappointment. Edge almost always agreed with Blue’s assessments of his brother’s behavior, but his delivery needed work and the unexpected impulse to protect Stretch from that disappointment took him off guard. He wanted to scoop Stretch up like he did the baby, hold him close, cradle him in his arms and protect him, and that was ridiculous, utterly; he was an adult, older than Edge, and yet the urge remained.

In the end, Edge could only look away, stirring the gloopy remains of the banana while the two brothers whispered furiously behind him.

“Of all the careless, irresponsible—” Blue took a deep breath, let it out, muttering out, “This is all right, this is fine. We can deal with this.” He scrubbed his gloved hands over his face and then squared his shoulders as he said, “You still should have called me.”

“probably,” Stretch agreed, and perhaps the unexpected storm had passed. He relaxed back into the sofa, the tension in the room easing. “didn’t want to interrupt your important training.” He flashed Edge a sharp glance and he tried to look as if that was the exact reasoning.

“Yes, well, that’s true,” Blue admitted. “And I appreciate you thinking of that, but next time…well, there probably won’t be a next time of this, I should hope.” Any lingering worry that Blue might object to them staying for a time vanished as Blue finally swung back to the baby, this time with a familiar, bright smile on his face as he gushed out, “Which is a shame because she is simply adorable!”

He rounded the coffee table with the haste Edge originally expected, grabby hands extended, and the moment Blue bent down to reach for her, the baby burst into sobbing howls, squirming away.

Automatically, Edge swung her up, settling her against his shoulder and patting her back gently as he soothed her with a bewildered, “There, there, it’s all right. What’s wrong?”

Blue looked as if he might burst into tears himself, stumbling back a step and his eye lights faded from stars to unhappy circles. “I didn’t mean to—"

They both turned to look at Red as he let out a harsh laugh. “what’s wrong? he scared the shit out of her coming in like that, that’s what’s wrong,” Red snorted contemptuously, “don’t you know nothin’ bout babies? you’re almost as bad as my bro.”

“Not really,” Blue admitted. Shame filled his expression as he shuffled his feet. He noticed he was still wearing his boots and sat on the floor to pull them off, carrying them over to the door and automatically straightening the other shoes before adding his. “Most of my experience with children has been seeing them from a distance.”

That gave Edge a start and he realized he’d been expecting Blue to have some sort of knowledge about childcare, though he wasn’t sure why. This world was softer and tended towards kindness, but that hardly meant it gave them any innate parenting skills.

“Well!” Blue straightened, propping his hands on his hips. “I’m sure that the Magnificent Sans can learn!”

“sure you can, bro,” Stretch said, cautiously, and that Edge could understand, being very familiar with Blue’s brand of determination.

“yeah, well, here’s your first lesson,” Red slouched back on the sofa, picking at his gold tooth with a sharpened fingertip. “babies don’t like it when ya shout.”

“yep, that’s a good place to start. you know what, i’m gonna get everyone some coffee,” Stretch announced and fled to the kitchen, the coward.

Blue paid that no mind, already came back over determinedly when he spied the bowl Edge had hastily shoved on the table. The child was watching him warily as Blue picked it up, taking hold of the little spoon. “Here, let me help!”

Before Edge could stop him, Blue tried to poke the filled spoon into her mouth. The child refused to part her teeth, leaving a smear of mushy banana across them, and Blue’s brief confidence sagged, “Oh. Um. Maybe she’s not hungry?”

“Maybe.” Edge took the bowl back and immediately she began bouncing eagerly in his lap, mouth opening wide as she made urgent little sounds.

“fuck, you two are morons,” Red snorted, because of course he would stay to bear witness. “she don’t know you. kid is small, she ain’t blind. she ain’t gonna take her banana goop from just any plain asshole, she likes an asshole she knows.”

“Yes, thank you for clarifying that for us all, brother,” Edge said sourly. Somewhat gentler, he said to Blue, “Sit with me. Let her see you, it may make her more comfortable.”

“yeah, hold out a hand and let her sniff ya, that’ll do it,” Red chuckled meanly as Stretch came back out with a tray of mugs. He set it down before smacking Red on the back of the skull.

“will you cool it on the running commentary? let them work it out.”

Red rubbed his head and scowled, but he accepted the coffee cup when Stretch handed him one. “just callin’ it how i see it.”

“yeah, well, if they give up on trying, that leaves you as mary poppins, smartass.”

“good point. my teeth are sealed.”

The child grudgingly allowed Edge to settle her back on the pillows with the unspoken promise of more food. She watched Blue warily the entire time she was eating, but he made no move towards her. He sat obediently still the entire time, his gloved hands clasped tightly together in his lap as if to stave off any impulse to scoop the baby up. If nothing else, her attention on Blue kept her from messily sharing any more of her banana.

When the bowl was scraped clean, Edge wiped the child’s chubby face clean with a damp cloth then settled her back into his lap. “You see, little one?” he told her softly, “Blue is a friend.”

“I am! I really am! Want to come here?” Blue slowly held out his hands without getting too close, waiting with impressive patience. The baby looked from him to Edge, and he tried to look encouraging.

Slowly, she held up her arms to Blue. He lifted her a little awkwardly, but managed to get her settled into the curve of his arm without intervention.

“There we go!” To Edge’s relief, Blue kept his enthusiasm at a minimum, though he practically vibrated with excitement. Almost immediately, the baby began to loudly babble and if he didn’t know better, Edge would say she was scolding Blue for his part in the earlier brotherly dispute.

Soon enough, her chattering dwindled to murmurs, her sockets growing heavy, then closing entirely as she slept. Edge let Blue keep holding her as he gratefully took up his own cup of coffee and never had caffeination been so delicious.

Blue only looked at her in awe, lightly touching each of her tiny, perfect fingers. “She’s beautiful,” he whispered, turning the full force of his starry eye lights onto his brother, “but honestly, Papy, you should have told me you two were expecting a child!”

Stretch choked, spilling coffee down the front of his shirt. “wait, what? that’s why you were so pissed off?”

“I would have thought you would be more cautious about that sort of thing, but I suppose it hardly matters now,” Blue said philosophically. “You still should have called me though when she arrived!”

“but we didn’t…!”

“Here we have a new baby, and I wasn’t even able to give her a baby shower!”

“She’s already had a bath,” Edge said, confused. This was going entirely too fast and he was not in top form, how could they possibly have been expecting her, there was nothing about the past two days that Edge had expected in the slightest.

Rescue came from an unexpected and wholly unwanted source.

“fuck’s sake, blueberry, she ain’t their kid!” Red snapped.

“Don’t swear,” Edge and Blue said, nearly in unison. Then Edge nearly choked on his own coffee as realization clicked with the force of an open-handed slap. Blue thought that the baby was his, not simply his responsibility but his own and Stretch’s. Suddenly his earlier sympathetic look made more sense, by Asgore’s horns, of all things he could believe…!

“She’s not?” Blue asked, confused. “But, then where did she come from?”

“where the fuck do you think, numbnuts?” Whatever the patience Red usually had for Blue seemed to have found its limit. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, all but slamming his mug down on the coffee table, “she wasn’t flown in by the stork, kid was homegrown just like the rest of us and she’s got the fucking serial number to prove it!”

“Oh.” There was a wealth of meaning in that single, soft word, too many to properly interpret. Blue looked down at the baby sleeping in his arms, his fingertips hovering over her rib cage without touching, right over where her pajamas hid the healing scar. The same scar his brother and Red still had, faded and blurred, but still there. Then he wordlessly handed her to Edge, climbing to his feet and walked determinedly over to his brother.

Stretch only watched warily, allowing Blue to take away his half-empty coffee cup to shove it on table, ignoring the splash of coffee that slopped out and spread across the wood. He slid his small, strong arms around him, holding onto his brother tightly.

“I’m so sorry,” Blue said simply. The words were muffled, buried into Stretch’s coffee-stained hoodie. “I shouldn’t have been so upset with you and I certainly should have let you explain.”

“aw, bro, it’s okay—” Stretch hugged him back, resting his cheekbone on top of Blue’s skull.

“It’s not,” Blue said, the words tainted with the hint of a sob. “I assumed you were being irresponsible, and I shouldn’t have.”

“not like i don’t give you a reason for that.”

“There’s a difference between a messy room and, well, this.” They stayed there a moment longer, holding on tight, and when Blue drew away, he swiped a hasty sleeve over his damp sockets. “Now!” Blue clapped his hands together softly. “I think we should discuss living arrangements.”

“We can,” Edge said, quietly firm, “but I hardly think that will be necessary. We won’t be here for long.”

The sudden trio of protests was loud enough to wake the baby and Edge turned away, bouncing her in his arms as he tried to soothe her back to sleep. He’d known there would be objections, but he couldn’t allow them to sway him. This child was his responsibility, his choice, and his alone.

He had a duty to her and Edge was determined to see it done.

TBC

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #drifters

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fivefeetfear · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 4

.............................

(Y/N) spent about an hour showing Spinel around the small town, giving the pink gem a rundown of the tiny metropolis. At some point Spinel stopped processing the words the short girl was saying since her brain seems to be on the fritz as alarms went off in her head. Because at this very moment (Y/N) was holding her hand. She was holding (Y/N) hand. They are holding hands! This was all she could think about for the last hour; they're laced fingers locked together. It felt nice. However, as a means of distraction from the hand holding, the pink gem began to pay attention to (Y/N) facial expressions. The taller gem admiring every smile line whenever she smiled, or the way her eyebrows knitted together or the way her cute nose scrunches up! This isn’t helping. Spinel averts her eyes when the (Y/G) would glance up at her. She could feel her cheeks glowing pink. Shit she was almost caught staring! Little did Spinel knew, she was, a few times, and it only made (Y/N) smile as she walked closer to Spinel; their arms brushing against one another every so often.

"Ok, I think it's time for us to take a break. I'm going to take you to my favorite ice cream shop! They have the best (F/F) ever! It's so creamy and sweet, I know you'll love it." She sighs softly ready to have her favorite frozen treat.

"There it is!" The (C/G) gem calls out happily, (Y/N) picks up her pace as she tugs the pink gem along. Spinel grins to herself eagerness; she had a feeling she has to get used to the idea of her arm possibly be dislocated. And she was ok with that. The two approached a cute yellow shop with a large neon sign reading "Scoops". Before the two made it to the door, the tall gem used her stretching abilities to open the door and gestured for (Y/N) to go first.

"After you ." Spinel says softly.

"Thank you." Y/N replies as she walked into the chilly shop. The two made their way to the front, standing at the register was a short teal Opal gem, she waves at them politely as she glanced at the familiar (Y/G)

"Would you like your usual Ms. (Y/N)?" Opal asks getting ready to punch in the order.

"Yes!" the (Y/G) answers nearly rocking in place, eyes wide with childlike wonder. The teal Opal looks over at Spinel and asks her for her order too.

"I'll take a raspberry cone please." The magenta gem orders. The list was huge so she just called out the first one she could see. Food wasn’t her thing but she enjoys sweets.

"Ok, your total will be $7.45." Opal confirms with a bright smile. Spinel reached into her sweater pocket to pull out her money, Steven had given her some for the outing. The slim gem then glances over sees (Y/N) pulling out her wallet from her dress pocket. Um no? She was not about to let this cutie pay for her, not on her watch. With a heavy sigh, Spinel begrudgingly releases the short gem's hand. The pink gem stretches her arm around (Y/N) and swipes the wallet from her grasp. (E/C) eyes widen as they followed the hand as it springs back to Spinel. The pink gem tucked it away in her sweater for safekeeping.

"Spi-"

"I gotcha covered." She says coolly giving the cashier the proper amount of money.

"But you're my guest; I'm supposed to treat you." The (Y/G) explains as she pouts gazing up at the pink girl. God, she's too damn cute for her own sake. It wasn't fair on how big of an impact (Y/N) has over her already. Spinel averts her eyes away as she rubs the back of her neck.

"It's the least I could do for you for being so nice to me." Spinel informs as she gives (Y/N) a shy smile. (Y/N) chest tighten as her cheeks lit up. This was the first time she has seen Spinel smile! And it was so cute! The (E/C) eyed female could feel the gem on her neck grow warm as she memorized the wrinkles by Spinel's eyes. The short gem hums thoughtfully before taking the frozen treats.

"Fine, but next time I'm treating!" she says, playfully bumping hips with the taller gem. Spinel's left brow quirks up as her orbs followed her retreating figure. Next time? She wanted to ask what she meant by that but decided against it. Maybe when they were lone.

................................

The pair made their way across the street to a large park in the middle of Little Homeworld. They sat on a bench as they finished their frozen treats in a comfortable silence. Spinel watched as other couples wander the park enjoying the warm weather. Her eyes spotted two gems holding hands as they sat on the swing beside each other. Her eyes drifted down towards (Y/N) petite hands that rested next to hers. Feeling warm under the collar, Spinel tried to summon the courage to touch her hand, but she couldn't do it! The pink gem was in an internal war with herself as she trembled in her spot wanting to have physical connect with her again. UGHHH why was she so pathetic!

"Spinel?"

"Yes!" the pink gem shouts nervously startling (Y/N).

"I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean t-to shout." (Y/G) waves it off as she leans in closer into Spinel's personal space.

"Don’t worry about it, I just wanted to make sure you were having.” (Y/N) hums sweetly as she swings her short legs, her feet barely touching the ground.

"Y-yeah, I'm having f-fun, but I've b-been meaning to ask y-you something. S-something that d-doesn't make any sense." Spinel informs, her voice trailed off at the end. (Y/N) stops swinging her feet and turned her body to let Spinel know she has her full attention.

"Sure, what is it?" Spinel could feel every atom in her body shaking with fear, her chest constricting tightly with each second that goes by. Relax, she needed to....relax. The pink gem took in a deep breath holding it for ten seconds and slowly releasing it. Ok, she could do this. Spinel lifts her head higher as she shifts her magenta orbs to look directly into (E/C) eyes.

"At the ice cream parlor you said, you’ll be treating next time. What did you mean by that?” (Y/N) blinks her eyes several times as she tilts her head to the side.

“Well it means I would like to hang out without with again.” The curvy gem answers like it was obvious. Or at least she thought SHE was being obvious about her crush towards Spinel.

“See thats what I don’t get? Why do you want to hang out with me again?” Spinel quips anxiously back needing more clarity. Why would she want to be around her! Spinel knew (F/N) and everyone in Little Homeworld knew who she is! They have to know what she has done! And if she does why does she wants to be even near her!!

"Because you're nice." (Y/N) answers simply as she waited for the slender gems reaction. The (Y/G) didn’t understand why this was so important to Spinel. It seems like she wants a life altering answer on why she wants to be spend time with her but she doesn’t have one.

The dots were not connecting for the pink gem and it was beginning to irritate her. Spinel sat unmoving on the bench as she stared down at the (Y/G), her expression completely unreadable. (Y/N) began to shift her eyes around growing nervous under the magenta hues. Did she say something wrong? Before (Y/N) could speak, Spinel started chuckling to herself, it gradually got louder and it threw (Y/N) completely off guard. It was not a happy laugh either, it was a laugh empty of joy and filled to the brim with bitterness.

"W-what's so funny?" (Y/N) asks meekly. Spinel quicks her laughing then snaps her attention back to the short gem as she frowns in disdain.

"You. You're what's funny!" she responses mockingly. Ok? The short girl's eyes widen with confusions as she grips the hem of her dress in firmly completely confused what is happening. Spinel resumes her spiteful laughter as she leans forward placing her elbows on her knees. The pink gem felt like she had completely crashed and could not help the uncontrollable laughter that erupted from her form. Spinel has spent the majority of the day thinking about why a talented and beautiful gem such as (Y/N) wanted to hang around her? A gem that is twisted and completely unstable! And to hear her say it was because she thinks she is nice! What a joke! Where on earth would she get that idea from? Spinel hasn't done anything nice in her life! All she has ever been was a burden!

The self-hatred laughter died down, she then sharpens her eyes in a scowl. Her teeth gritted down as the pink gem felt the fire of distrust burn within. Was she toying with her? (Y/N) has to know who she is and what she has done, right?! Of course, she knows! She is friends with the Crystal Gems! Maybe this was a setup! Was she using some form of reverse psychology? Maybe this was all some elaborate plan to see if she is still as unhinged as the day she left.Why else would she be gaslighting her like this? Paranoia floods her mind drowning any rational thought she had left. Spinel felt her eyebrows twitch uncontrollably as she let her insecurity devour her.

"Did you hit your head or something? Or are you always this full of shit? Why would you think that? I know you heard about me and what I've done. I gave you no reason to believe I am nice. Was it because I bought you ice-cream, mmhm!? If that's your only proof then you set the standards for yourself pretty damn low! It's sad really! If that's all that it takes for you to consider ME nice to consider hanging out with me, I can’t imagine what I have to do to get between your legs." Spinel cracks with a sadistic grin.

(Y/N) eyes widen in anger as she stood up from the spot on the bench, her hand glowing a bright (F/C) as she reeled it back as far as she can and swung it forward with all her might. She refused to let anyone talk to her like that.

SLAP

Spinel head swirls around from the powerful impact as she hisses in pain. Damn, that really hurt, she knew it was going to leave a nasty bruise. The pink gem unwind her neck as she cupped her injured cheek, her eyes meeting teary (E/C) ones. (Y/N) breathed heavily in anger as her tiny hands shook with rage.

"You are such-"

"A bitch? Asshole? Monster?!" Spinel suggested with a crooked smile. The pink gem felt her figurative heartbreak knowing this was her defense mechanism trying to protect her. Protecting her from any more pain. The hatred that she harbors for herself had completely overruled Spinel's hope for any potential relationship with (Y/N). She knew she was already attached to the (Y/G), and it scared her on how quickly it happened. The magenta gem refused to let anyone have that kind of hold on her again.

(Y/N) seethed in rage as her fists glowed once more, angry tears building up in her eyes.

"To t-think you...you...fuck!" (Y/N) growls under her breath, choking on her tears. How did this happen? How did this day take a wild one eighty!? (Y/N) saw a crowd begin to form and it took everything inside her to ignore the stares.

"To think what? That I was NICE?" Spinel snaps as she reaches over and grabs (Y/N) wrist.

"Oh I'm a swell gal alright. I'm sooooo nice that I brought an injector to earth filled with Bio-Poison to kill your precious Steven! To completely wipe him out from existence right along with the planet and his friends! YOUR friends! So please tell me what it is that you?!” Spinel demands as she glared harshly at (Y/N). The furious gem began to tower over the (G/C) girl as she grabs her other wrist to yank her closer, staring directly into (E/C) hues trying to figure out what her aim is.

"ANSWER ME!" She screams into the short gem's face, panic laced within her words.

"To think you were the one that found me!" (Y/N) roars back into the Spinel's face refusing to let the pink gem intimidate her. Spinel's face contours in confusion when her words-processed in her head. Found her? What did she mean by that?

(Y/N) growls as a blinding white light consumed her form, this startled Spinel as her grasped loosen around her wrist. The (G/C) gem latched her hands onto Spinel's forearms keeping her in place.

"Let go of me!" Spinel yells frantically trying to escape the iron grip of the short gem, but no dice. The light then creeps up onto the base of Spinel's forearms and spread to the rest of her body. This kicked her into panic mode as her eyes dilated in fear, feeling her skin heating up.

The two then vanished into thin air.

#spinel #spinel steven universe #steven universe #cute #fanfic #love #reader #spinel x reader #su #spinel x self insert #spinel x you #spinel x fanfic #spinel x y/n

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thorne93 · 5 years ago

Text

The Stars Made Us (Part 28)

Prompt: In this world, you’re one of the “lucky” ones who got a soulmate, but what if the universe gives you more than you bargained for?

(Prompt challenge – You live in a world where your soulmate can write on their skin and you will get the writing on your own and vice versa. Where they can wash away the ink on their own skin, however, the writing is forever scarred onto your skin until you meet face to face)

Word Count: 2741

Warnings: angst and language throughout, seizure/medical complications

Notes: This was supposed to be for @sorryimacrapwriter and their challenge like a year ago, I think? I still loved the prompt though and have been working on this story for quite some time. This aesthetic was made by @dontshootmespence, thank you so much! Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes, couldn’t have done it without you, as well as @carryonmyswansong and @arrow-guy and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo

Also, I’ve never really liked the whole soulmate AU thing idea, but this felt so right and it was amazing to write. I hope y’all love it too!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Over a month had gone by since Stephen so painfully sent you away. Your work had picked up after a week and you went back to business as usual. You fell back into your role in the mansion quickly and easily and when no one was around, that's when you let yourself grieve the loss of your love with Stephen.

It was getting slightly better with time. And a large part of that was due to Charles. He was practically worshiping you every day. He surprised you with flowers quite a bit, cooked for you every now and then, took you to restaurants, made picnics. He bought you a few pieces of art you'd been eyeing. He even gave you foot rubs after the end of your long days.

He was your saving grace.

The two of you felt as if time hadn't passed at all for you. There was no lull in returning to your romantic lives together. You still loved him with all of your heart and nothing had changed that, not even the issues with Stephen.

One day, while you were working on a report for work, you got a call. You frowned, not recognizing the number, but picked it up anyway.

"Hello?"

"Y/N? It's Wong. How are you?"

"I'm fine, Wong, how are you?" you wondered, extremely worried as to why he was calling. You told him only to call you if there were issues with Stephen.

"I'm okay, but Strange isn't. He's... Well he's not himself."

"Isn't that a good thing?" you joked.

Of course, Wong didn't respond with any kind of laughter.

"In this case, no," he informed.

"Why? What's wrong?"

"Well he took the position as protector of the New York Sanctum."

"Mhm."

"He's doing that fine, he's just not... You might just want to see for yourself."

"Wong, I told you to call for emergencies. If he's just in a bad mood--"

"He won't talk," he said. "He always had something to say before. Some joke, some horrible crack to make. Now, he doesn't speak. He talks to me about the sanctum, but that's it."

You frowned. That was unusual.

"I'd like to help, Wong, I would, but Stephen cast me out. He doesn't want me around."

"I don't know what he told you before, but he lied. The moment you left, it was like someone drained the life force out of him. I've been sending him new books to learn, to keep up with his training, but when I check in on him, it's like he's in a fog. He hasn't read, or what he has read, he doesn't retain."

You chewed on your lip. "Okay, I'll see what I can do. New York sanctum?"

"Yes, he's there 24/7, never leaves."

-------------------------

You got home that night and Charles greeted you cheerily, as he always did. Kissing you sweetly before showing you to the dinner he had made. Hank was working late tonight out at a military base.

"I got a call today," you informed as you began to pick around the roast beef on your plate.

"Oh? Who from?"

"Wong."

Charles stilled momentarily, and he hoped you didn't catch it, but you did. He went back to eating.

"What'd he have to say?"

"He wants me to come see Stephen."

Charles put his fork down and gave you his full attention. "Has something happened? Is he alright?" he asked, concerned.

"I think he's okay mentally. He told me that I suppose he can't focus, that he's a bit of an emotional wreck." You sounded almost confused. "Why, I don't know, he's the one that sent me away."

"Do you want to go to him?" he asked softly.

You chewed your lip. "I don't know. Yes, and no. I want to see him. I want to make him feel better. I want to talk about why he was cruel. But I also can't take it again if he just turns me away, if he's as hateful as he always is when it comes to me."

"You know I support you either way?" he said as he reached across the table and held your hand.

You nodded, fighting back tears. "I know, and I love you for it."

"What does your gut say?" he inquired, staring at you with those dreamy blue eyes that made you melt.

"I feel like I want to see him, but..."

"But what? Talk to me," he urged.

You pressed your lips together, worried about what you were about to tell him. "I love him too. I don't want to have to choose."

He nodded. "I know, my dove. While I would be over the moon if you were mine, and mine alone, I also understand that the universe has granted you two souls to love, and two souls to love you back. When you made visits to me from Nepal, that felt quite alright. Of course I'd rather have you here, but if you need to split your time between us, I understand and support that."

Happy tears went down your cheek as you peered at him.

"Thank you so much."

"Of course, darling. I would never, ever, make you choose. Whatever your heart desires, it's yours."

You got up and went to hug him. He hugged you back, tightly, pulling you into his lap. You were crying, kissing him, and hugging him. The stars truly blessed you when you got Charles Xavier as your mate.

The next morning, you decided to make your way into the city to see Stephen. You had no idea what you'd find, what you would say or do, what he would say or do. All you wanted to ask, was why he made you leave, so forcefully, when everything seemed so perfect.

While you were driving to the sanctum, you were white knuckling the whole way. You were so nervous about seeing him again, nervous that he'd turn you away.

You arrived at the sanctum, sucking in a breath before knocking. You could feel yourself break out in a cold sweat, your heart hammering in your chest.

The door opened and you saw Stephen. His eyes narrowed quickly, taken aback by your presence.

He looked so much more beautiful than you remembered. His cuts from the fight had healed. Surprisingly, when you saw him, happiness flooded you. You didn't think that would happen.

"Y/N?"

"Hi, Stephen. Can I come in?" you asked.

"Uh, sure." He moved out of the way and invited you in, where you stood at the bottom of those large stairs.

"I see you got the place all cleaned up," you remarked.

"Yeah, uh, Wong helped. Mordo quit the program. After he learned about the Ancient One's power, he felt like he'd been lied to," he informed.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. But you're sticking around?"

"I am. I had an encounter that made me see that you and Christine were right about me saving lives that doesn't require a medical degree."

You smiled slightly. "I'm glad to hear that. Whatever makes you happy. Um, Kaecilius, is he?"

"Dead. Him and his followers. We sort of gave them up to Dormammu."

"That dark entity? You encountered him?"

He gave a slight laugh. "That's one way to put it, yeah."

"What happened?" you inquired, pressing him for more information.

"Long story short, we went to Hong Kong. I had to use the eye of Agmatto to turn back time, to fix things, to bring Wong back. We realized that if we did that though, we'd only have to keep fighting Kaecilius. So, we went after the source, or rather, I did."

You took a step closer to him. "Stephen, what did you do?"

He took a deep breath, his eyes staring into yours. "I faced Dormammu."

"You did what?" you gasped. "How--How did you survive? What did you do? Jesus, Stephen."

"You used to have so much faith in me," he quipped with a smirk.

"And I still do, but I don't approve of anyone putting themselves in the line of danger."

"I had to."

"What'd you do?"

"I... I created a time loop, and trapped him in it endlessly. He killed me, over, and over, but the time loop reset. Basically, I annoyed him so much that he agreed to leave Earth alone."

"That sounds about right. You pestering a dark entity so much that they beg you to leave them alone. Only the great Dr. Stephen Strange could do that." You gave a weak smile. "What did the Ancient One do? Was she helpful? Did she give you the idea to do that or...?"

"She... she died. We were fighting Kaecilius and she fell from a great height and hit the ground. She died before we ever went to Hong Kong to fight. She was the reason I decided to stick around, do something more meaningful with my life."

"I see... I'm so sorry. I'm sure that wasn't easy," you said, starting to reach towards him but then you began to lower your arm.

He grabbed your hand and held it in his. "I've missed you," he suddenly confessed.

"And I you."

In a shaky voice, he said, "I missed you so much, I, uh, I came to visit you."

"Was I not home?"

"Uh, you didn't know I came by," he informed. "I used my astral form."

You nodded slowly. "You spied on me?"

"No, not quite. I just... I came by to make sure you were okay. I went once to your work. I went another time to your home."

"You did? But why?"

"Because I missed you so much," he said, his voice thick as tears came to his eyes. He smiled down at you before his hand came up to rest against your neck, his thumb stroking your chin. "I'm so sorry I invaded your privacy, I just had to see you. I had to know how you were doing."

You let out a sigh. "And what did you find?"

He let out a bit of a sigh, the tears now rolling down his cheeks. "I saw you, standing at your bedroom window. It was pouring down rain. Charles was in bed, fast asleep. You were standing at the window, talking to yourself."

You sighed, your own tears now. You remembered that night.

"What... what did you hear?" you managed to ask before taking a deep breath.

"I heard you asking yourself why I made you leave. I heard you asking why I didn't want you any more. I heard you asking what you'd done. I heard you churning it over and over in my mind what happened. It broke my heart to see you that way. To see what I'd done to you."

You took a deep breath. "Uh, um, but if you have missed me, why did you leave me? Why did you kick me out of your life?" you asked, shaking your head. "I mean if it really killed you to see me that way, why not just come visit me in your normal body and talk to me? Tell me what happened? How do you go from telling me I was just one giant distraction to caring about me? You told me you wanted him out of your life and then you come and see me? That doesn't make any sense. What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing," he assured, smiling at me as he cried. Both of his hands were resting on either side of your face. "You did absolutely nothing wrong. You did everything right. That was the problem."

You were crying more now, shaking your head. "I don't understand."

"I... I pushed you away because I saw you almost die, protecting me. You almost died because of a situation I put us directly in. You were pinned to the floor by a blade. You bled out and passed out next to me. You carried me to a hospital to my ex lover. You put everything aside, just to protect and save me. When I saw you and I saw how determined you were to get back and help me, but I felt so responsible. I had to kill a man to protect both of us. You nearly died. I didn't want that again. I don't want to put you in that position, ever again."

"I'd do it, happily, though," you informed, staring up at him.

"I know," he said, laughing slightly. "That's what the issue is. You're so ready to do so much for everyone else, and I can't risk that."

You looked down, feeling your heart break all over again.

"But I can't live without you either," he said, dipping his face slightly so he could see your eyes.

You looked up at him, surprised. "Me either. I've been thinking about you non-stop. For the life of me, I can't figure it out but I miss your smart-assed comments."

"Y/N, I love you."

"I love you," you said.

The two of you searched each other's eyes before you threw your arms around his neck and you collided your lips with his. Feeling alive again at the feeling of it. He kissed you back fervently, holding you close to him.

"Be with me," he requested when he let you go.

You nodded, feeling a light growing inside you. "I can do that. That's easy. Charles already said that he doesn't mind sharing if that's what I want."

He shook his head. "No, I-- I mean just be mine."

You took a step back from him. "Stephen, I--"

"Hear me out," he begged. "What if... What if the universe got it wrong? What if Charles isn't your soulmate? Or what if he's supposed to be your first but I'm supposed to be your last? Maybe there's a reason he and I showed up at the times we did."

"I--I don't think..." You shook your head, letting go of him. "No, that can't be right. It's not right," you affirmed.

"How do you know that? You don't. No one knows anything about having duel soulmates - no one. It is completely unique to you."

"Yeah maybe the phenomenon, but not how I feel. Soulmates or not, I am still very much in love with Charles, just as much as I love you. I can't choose between you, please don't make me. Charles isn't. Don't make me do that... I can't."

"But don't you see? What if this is the way it's supposed to be?" he pleaded, getting closer to you again, putting his hand behind your head. "What if Charles was your beginning, and I respect that, I do, but what if I'm your end?"

You shook your head.

"I don't know. I can't..."

"You can't say one way or the other if that's what it's supposed to be."

All you could do was panic, feeling trapped. What if he was right? What if you were just tied to Charles from all the history you had? Of course you still loved him. You were just as in love as before. Was it even possible that they weren't supposed to occupy your life at the same time? Maybe you weren't supposed to choose. Maybe you were supposed to move on.

But that just didn't feel right. You felt happiest when you had them both in your life.

"Stephen, I... I'm so sorry, but I just don't believe that. I love you, I do, but I can't choose, I won't choose. Charles is okay with sharing me, so either you are okay too or..." You trailed off, making the implication clear.

He let go of you, stepping back, he still held onto your hands, but barely as he continued to put more distance between you two.

"Then I can't do this," he said sorrowfully. "I can't have it both ways. I just want you all to myself, so if you can't give me that..."

"You'd rather not have me at all than share me?" you asked in shock, gasping from the pain.

"I'm sorry, but I want all of you. I don't want to have to fight for your attention."

"You wouldn't."

"That's how it would feel." He picked up your hands, bringing both to his lips, kissing them. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. I love you. Please come see me again if you change your mind."

He let you go and walked away, leaving you standing alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Forever Tag:

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#the stars made us #charles xavier x reader #stephen strange x reader #charles xavier #stephen strange fic #charles xavier fic #stephen strange

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forever-rogue · 5 years ago

Note

57. “Let. Her. Go” for Cassian

“It appears we’ve gotten ourselves into a mess,” K2′s voice was enough to send your eyes rolling as you let out a long sigh. He wasn’t wrong, no he was correct on many levels, but the way the droid pointed it out was the icing on the cake. If your punches would have any effect on him, you’d have done that long ago, “perhaps we should have waited for Cassian-”

“No,” you insisted as you crossed your arms over your chest. You’d purposely left Cassian behind, a vain attempt in proving a point; that you could handle any mission on your own. Too bad that had all gone very, very wrong. Wrong enough to land you in a small cell along with Cass’ trusty companion. The plan had been to leave him behind as well, but once he caught wind of your plan he had insisted on coming, or he’d tell Cassian. You’d reluctantly agree. You had even more reluctantly agreed when he demanded a blaster. Sometimes you swore The Empire’s programming was still coming through with how calculating and sneaky he could be.

“We wouldn’t be in this situation if he had come with this,” the droid insisted as he loomed over. If he was human you were sure there would be a smirk on his face, “would you like to know the-”

“Never tell me the odds,” you hissed, waggling a finger in his face. This isn’t helping at all, you thought to yourself as you paced along the cell you were trapped in. Luckily you hadn’t been captured by anyone related to the Empire, but a group of pirates and bandits, which you weren’t sure was any better. At least the cell wasn’t something high tech, and you were sure if some craftiness you’d be able to make your way out. You just had to figure out exactly how.

“They would have been better,” he murmured under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear, “much better.”

You ignored him and started looking around, scanning everything as you tried to figure out an escape plan. Even if you had gotten sidetracked from your main mission, you were in luck - the rusted and rotting bars of the cell were weak. If even strength and muster, you’d easily be able to break through and make a hasty escape.

“K2,” you looked around to make sure no one was paying attention to you. They all seemed busy and no one was even casting a glance in your direction. He came over to you, and looked at what you were pointing, “do you think you push the bars out. They look like they’re about to fall apart.”

“And then what are we doing to do?” too much of Cassian had rubbed off on him, or perhaps it was the other way around, “have you thought about an escape plan? Do you have a route out planned? What if-”

“Shut up, K2, and for once, just do what I’m asking,” you insisted, stomping your foot, “you don’t have to act just like Cass to make up for him not being here. Just knock the bars out and we’ll go. Simple as that.”

“I do not think that’s a good idea-”

“Kay-”

“We’re going to fail-”

“Kay!”

“We’ll be doomed-”

“Kay,” you smacked the droid’s hand, immediately regretting it as pain flowed through your whole arm. You closed your eyes and sighed at yourself in annoyance, “just do as you’re told. And that is an order.”

“But Cassian-”

“KAY!” you insisted, “now. Or I’ll leave you behind and have you sent back to the Empire. You really want that?”

He remained silent as he started working on dismantling the bars so you could try and run away. You hear him ever so faintly under his breath muttering a few things; you caught something along the lines of I only listen because Cassian told me too and I told Cassian you were trouble from the start. You decided to ignore him and let him work; the argument was not worth your time and enjoy.

After a few minutes of silent straining, K2 pushed the bars and created an opening that you both could slip through. You moved in front of him and stepped into the dimly lit hallway, holding your arms out in triumph as if to say ta da, “told you it would work.”

“We have escaped yet,” he reminded you and jerked your head in the direction you hoped was the way out. You decided to ignore his little comment. He quickly trailed after you, both trying to remain as quiet as possible, as you ascended up a dank and dark staircase, there was light coming from the top, and while you weren’t sure were it led, you figured it was worth a try.

When you reached the top, you quickly spied and an exit and pointedly at it excitedly, “look! There it is, the way to freedom!”

“I suppose I should offer you an apology,” the droid sounded defeated, annoyed that his calculations had been incorrect. You wouldn’t let him forget about this one anytime soon.

“Yeah, Kay, you do,” there was a lot of confidence and bravado in your voice, “and know that I can handle things on my own too, not just with-”

But before you could say anything else, you felt a rough pair of hands grab you, holding you tight and covering your mouth. Kriff.

“I take it all back,” K2 had a blaster pointed directly at his head. It appeared your escape would not be so easy after all. You hung your head as best as you could when you realized that the group of bandits had probably been expecting this, judging by their perfect timing. It would be even harder to try and escape now. That was enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You decided your best bet was to try and fight back, but just as quickly as you had been recaptured, the man holding you tensed up.

“Let. Her. Go,” you knew that voice. As much as it frustrated you at times, you loved and adored it, as well as its owner. A wave of relief washed over you as you realized you were safe now.

“It appears that Cassian has found us,” K2 told you and gave him a no duh look, “we should be safe now, no thanks to you-”

“Not the time, Kay,” Cassian shot a glare at the droid as he quickly blasted the man holding him followed by the man holding you. They both crumpled to the ground, dead.

“Cass,” you turned around to him shaking his head at you, a tired expression on his face, “you-”

“What the hell were you thinking, Y/N?” he was angry. Very angry, “you could have gotten yourself killed!”

“But I didn’t?” you shrugged innocently, “and I had it handled...kind of.”

“This was what you considered handled?” he gestured to the men on the floor, “what would have happened if I hadn’t shown up?”

“Odds are that we would have been ki-”

“Not now,” the two of you both told K2 in unison.

“It’s fine, Cass, we’re okay,” you insisted, giving him a small smile.

“But what if it wasn’t?!” he asked and you flinched away slightly, “you should have waited for me.”

“I love you, Cass,” you decided to try this route and see where it got you, “so much. My sun and stars-”

“I’m being serious, Y/N,” he sighed as he gave in and wrapped his arms around you, holding you as tightly as possible, “I was so worried. I-I don’t know what I would have done if something had happened to you.”

“I just..wanted to show you that I was capable of doing things on my own too,” you admitted, “everyone always says you’re so great or we’re a great team, but I wanted them to see that I’m good too.”

“You are,” he promised, kissing the side of your head as he finally calmed down, “everyone knows it. I know it. You still should have waited...you have nothing to prove to anyone, especially not me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he promised, “I love you, so much, but you can’t keep pulling stunts like this. Okay?”

“Okay,” you grinned at boyfriend, soaking in the wonderful sight of him. How you loved him so, “sorry for worrying you, Cass. Next time I’ll ask permission first and then act-”

“Y/N!”

“Fine, fine,” you giggled, “we’ll do things, together.”

“Together,” he agreed, “now let’s go home.”

“What about me?” K2 had been so uncharacteristically silent you had forgotten that he was there.

You exchanged a look with Cassian before jokingly shrugging, “I guess you can come too.”

“Not much of a thank you,” he sighed as he followed you and Cassian out, “I do so much for the two of you.”

“Kay!”

#cassian andor #cassian andor x reader #star wars #rogue one #Diego Luna #k2so #i had to put in my sassy boi #requests #prompts

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bruhimaunicorn · 5 years ago

Text

The one with betrayal, back stabbing, and Daryl Dixon

Paring : DarylxReader

Summary : After getting hurt on a run, you come back to find your best friend with Daryl. But not all as it seems as your best friend might have been playing with the both of your heads...

Warnings : Betrayal, mind games, cursing, mentions of dead parents, fluff, angst, implied smut, wounds, blood, and walkers.

A/N : A little pyscho bestfriend one shot! Hope you guys like it and leave a request !

“You need to be more careful, Y/N “Hershel sighs at you, smoothing a bandage over your knee. You grin at the older man and hop off the make shift bench beneath you - which happens to be an old milk crate that you drag out at night to smoke- and kick it to the corner “ Blame your son in law, he’s the one who dared me “. Hershel rolls his eyes and turns his head in the direction, Glenn is currently at “Are you going to help me? “. Glenn is mid chew into a apple and goes wide eyed. He knows better than to pick a fight with you and encourage Hershel’s warnings. “You’re both hopeless “Hershel sighs, defeated, but smiles as you give him a small kiss to his cheek. “I’ll try ok? “. He just nods and you know it’s just out of his concern for you, so you leave him to his business and walk outside for the first time since you got hurt, to start work outside.

The sun is welcoming on your skin- hence the reason your wearing shorts and a tank top- and you smile as you can see Emma and Daryl patching up the fence East of you. It’s hard to imagine Emma actually working being that she’s the timid type, but she really did try and replace your needed hands while you were healing. Or at least that’s what she told you she was doing. “Dixon! I thought we were best friends! “ You yell, parting the two with your voice. Daryl’s lips perk up at the sight of you, not hiding the fact that you are his preferred company, and Emma jumps slightly since you aren’t supposed to be up until tomorrow. You limp slightly over to the two and he looks you up and down “ Yer’ not supposed to be walkin’ around ,girl”. You roll your eyes, but don’t miss the fact that he’s been checking in on you through Hershel. “ Couldn’t sit in that bed anymore. It drove me crazy “ You shiver thinking about it, but turn your attention to your friend. “ Thankfully too right? I know he’s probably drove you crazy” You joke and she smiles with a little shrug.

“ He wasn’t too bad “. She combs her stray blonde hair behind her ears , a clear red flag you should’ve recognized earlier, but you looked past your friends actions “ Well I guess this means your free! “. You confidently take your place back at Daryl’s side and inspect the piece of fence they’d been working on. “ Oh.. uh . Yeah I guess so “ she mumbles to herself, and returns to being Judith’s nanny. Daryl watches her leave, clearly about to say something private, and you turn to him “ What is it ? “. He has a tight expression, but spits it out “ She’s a lil’ strange “. This wasn’t news to you. Emma’s always been the quiet type, but in a different way from you. You’ve known her since high school and she’s never really been the most social person. Which worked perfectly for you both since you weren’t either. It stemmed from your dad passing away and she was the only one that truly understood that and didn’t push you to be the perfect all American girl.

She stayed with you in the quiet and didn’t push you, which in return you gave her the same respect. Which is probably why you two have been friends for so long. You wouldn’t be here without each other. “ She’s got good intentions “ You defend her, but don’t snap at him. Daryl holds back what he truly wants to say -- afraid that he would push you away -- and it wasn’t worth it. You two are closer than ever and he doesn’t want to ruin that by bashing your oldest friend. “We just need some chain to close this gap “ You examine, changing the subject. He nods in agreement. If you were smarter, you would’ve realized that the chains were internally cut. “ Guess we’ll need to go on a run “ You suggest, causing Daryl to scoff at you. “ Yeah right like ima’ let you go and get your knee fucked up even worse “. “ Didn’t know I needed your permission “ You tease, turning your attention back to the man next to you.

His blue eyes engulf yours and you take a moment to appreciate his features. Daryl had really surprised you. Never did you expect when you met this man, that he would become the one to make you catch your breath. Or the one to leave a flower in your room while you were healing. “ Thanks by the way “. He doesn’t play the game where he doesn’t know what you’re talking about. He just nods. That’s what draws you to him. That he doesn’t play games with you like other men have. Sure, he was older than you and isn’t too straight forward with what he wants, but he makes your feelings valid. Other men loved what they saw when they looked at you, but always sent you running into Emma’s arms each time it fell through. But not Daryl.

“ How’s it feelin’? “ he asks, his true concern coming through, “ Thought ya’ shattered it the way you fell “. You wiggle it in front of him “ It’s ok. My basketball career might be over though “. You can still picture the look on his face when you fell. Stupidly, you let Glenn egg you on about playing some make shift basketball and let’s just say you’re very competitive. That would be thanks to a very extensive life of soft ball. And it did not end well. All in all, you did it just to get people to smile. The governor loomed over you all and tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed. And as soon as you broke free of Glenn’s blocking, you slipped. Hard. And Daryl was the first one to reach you. His blue eyes were wider than ever, but it truly showed you his feelings.

He just smirks as he knows you had the best of intentions. Sure, you could kill anyone within your path without flinching, but you were a big softie for those you love. Hence, the night he found you dancing with Judy just to keep her from crying all night long. Really he spied on you, but you looked so happy spinning around the baby that it didn’t matter. You would’ve made a great mom if you had the chance. “ I need to get out of this place , Daryl. I’m crawling out of my own skin “. He looks around before deciding to grab your wrist “ If they send you out on a run, they’re not going to let me go too. I won’t be there to protect you “. You love his touch in any way you can get it, but you know you don’t need him to watch over you. “ I’ll be fine. You know I can take care of myself “. He breathes deeply through his nose, but nods. He trusts your confidence.

If you weren’t so distracted, you’d see Emma watching you from a far. And it would’ve saved you so much time...

———

After much convincing, Rick decided it would be ok to send you on a run. After all, it wasn’t a secret that the prison was struggling and baby Judith was gobbling formula by the day. So, you mapped out a church that wasn’t too far that had a surrounding neighborhood of newly constructed houses. It would hopefully store everything you need. Sighing, you climb in the truck they deemed ok to leave and toss your bag in the passenger side. You turn the key and bring the old truck to life, just in time for Daryl to slap the side of the door “ You got your list right ? “. You nod at him and point to the dirty paper in the seat next to you. “ Got your gun? “ He asks as this is part of you twos checklist. If you could’ve predicted this would be your going out check list two years ago you’d laugh. “ Yup “ You pop the p. It’s clear he’s not excited about this, but he doesn’t get a say.

Not yet at least.

“ Don’t worry ok? I’ll be back tonight “ You try to ease him. He doesn’t seem to take much comfort, which you understand. You’d be in the same position roles reversed. “ And maybe I’ll find you some smokes huh? “. This finally breaks his fine line of grimace “ I’m going to hold you to that “. You smirk back at him “ Goodbye, Dixon “. He parts his lips to speak, but decides not to. Instead, he backs up and let’s you drive away. He watches you speed through the gates with no hesitation and feels his stomach drop. This didn’t sit right with him, but he doesn’t have a right to speak for you. The thought causes him to grimace again. How do you open up to someone like you? How do you cross that line? “ She’s going to be ok you know? “ Emma squeaks, causing him to jump slightly.

Where did she come from?

Daryl just clears his throat and tries to leave this conversation Emma was trying to initiate. It’s none of her business to address his concern for you. Best friend or not. She just rubs him the wrong way lately. “ Wait I didn’t - “ She tries to stop him, but he turns around unexpectedly and glares down at her. “ I’m going to make this clear. I’m not stupid. I can see yer’ up to sum’ stupid shit I want ‘nothing apart of “. She’s caught off guard with wide eyes “ What are- “. He cuts her off immediately “ I might look stupid to you, but I’m not. You claim to be Y/Ns good friend, but the other day you proved that wasn’t true “. She looks like a deer caught in head lights, but Daryl isn’t having any of it. “ Look I know you and y/n are.. talking, but you’ve been ‘ talking ’ for months “ She suddenly gains confidence. The statement, while true, is like a blow to Daryl. First off, she’s betraying her friend, but secondly is assuming that means that he’s free to be with anyone. And that’s just not true. While neither of you had said it, he was yours.

“ And I know her better than anyone. She goes through men like she goes through walkers. You might be the apple of her eye now, but just wait.. she’ll pull away and leave you in the dirt. Just like she did my brother “. Daryl is still recovering from her words and she takes the opportunity to strike. She gets closer to him “ I bet she used this run as a opportunity to get away from you. Sure, she said she’ll be back by tonight, but she’ll take her time. She’ll figure out a plan to let you down easy.. “. Emma knows exactly what she’s doing as she tugs at his insecurities. “ It’s ok that you’re not ready to kiss me back.. I’ll wait “.

And with that she continues the games she’s playing and leaves him to his doubts.

——

It’s nearly midnight, as you are crammed in a tight space praying that the monsters just five feet from you can’t smell you. This whole run had taken a dark turn. It all started with the truck breaking down miles from the church. You found it was leaking oil after a quick inspection causing you to curse your luck. Of course after you gave Daryl a promise that you’d be back tonight, God had other plans. Sighing, you decide to finish the task by walking there. Everything seemed fine at first, but the walk was putting your pressure on your knee and it began to swell. But you made it to the town anyways. And as soon as you found the church, it was like you rang the dinner bell. Turns out that the church had an old security system that had a hell of a battery back up and as soon as you opened the door, it blared for the whole world to hear.

You cursed for the hundredth time and fled to the closest house, walkers already flooding to the noise. You barricade the back door to the house and quickly observe your surroundings to find the front door wide open , but it’s too late for you to shut it. Your eyes go wide as you can hear the groans and as you try to run in the other direction, you cut your arm deeply on a broken picture frame. You don’t have time to even wince as two walkers bustle inside and you dart for the stairs as it wouldn’t be smart to try and take them on with your injuries. You rush up them, blood dripping on the stairs and you pray there’s somewhere to hide. You find the unfinished upstairs to be baron besides a closet and without hesitation you dive into it . You’re hoping they won’t notice. You hold your breath as you can feel nervous sweat drip down your neck. You’re screwed. Hours go by of them shuffling through the hallway and it’s clear they haven’t lost interest in you. It’s like they could smell wounded. And right now you reeked of it. Fortunately, there was duct tape left in this closet and you taped it over your deep cut. Daryl was right. Why did he have to be right all the time?

If you could, you’d scream at the irony, but now wasn’t the time. Now was the time to wait the storm out. And grip your knife to your chest like a security blanket.

——

It’s two days later now and everyone at the prison was growing worried. It wasn’t like you to be gone this long. Had the governor grabbed you? Had the walkers eaten you? Are you stranded somewhere ? Everyone’s nerves are showing, but Daryl’s is the worse. He’s pacing constantly, snapping at everyone when they approach him, but it’s even worse when he’s alone. Was Emma right? Was this your excuse to get away from him? Did he wait too long? And what did she mean about her brother? Daryl knew James. At the beginning of all this it was the three of you. And he saw the way James looked at you, but you never reciprocated it. Did you lead him on? Little did he know this is what Emma wanted. The psych major was twisting the two of you and neither of you realized it.

Daryl reaches into his pocket to find his cigarettes and sighs when he finds your little note inside the flap.

‘ You owe me Dixon ‘

There’s a smudge of your fingerprint there beside it , reminding him of how you aren’t scared to get dirty. All the other girls here hated it, but you didn’t care at all. He can see you now with a dirty grin and big eyes. It makes his heart skip a beat. But where were you? And is Emma’s story about you true?

- Another two days later -

Everyone is now beyond concerned. It’s code red and time to act. “ Someone has to go get her! For fuck sakes she’d come after us! “ Glenn yells, Rick being the blunt end of his rage. Maggie is behind him, the same expression on her face, but she holds his arm back. “ You don’t think I want to go after her?! But we can’t! You know what’s outside these walls! “ Rick yells back, just in time for Daryl to enter the cell block. Glenn sighs in relief “ Daryl! Explain to him that we’re going after, Y/N!”. Daryl looks between the couple and Rick, reading the situation for what it is. You were gone and they love you, but why were you gone? Why were you putting them through this? Daryl notices out of the corner of his eye that Emma is standing in the corner with her arms crossed over her chest as if to say I told you so. “ This isn’t like her, Daryl. You know her .. she wouldn’t just disappear “ Maggie speaks to end the silence.

But how well does he know you? We’re you the woman who smiles so big at him and makes him feel wanted for the first time in his life? Or are you the impatient girl Emma seems to believe you are. Everyone can hear Emma scoff in the corner and this causes Maggie to turn on the small girl “ What’s your problem, Emma? This is your best friend we’re talking about”. Maggie is ready to defend you as the girl parts her lips “ This is what she does. She runs”. Now Glenn has to grab Maggie’s arm “ You need to watch your mouth! Y/N has always been here for us! She saved Glenn from that horde just a week ago! “. Maggie’s loyalty is clear. “ But where is she now huh? When the governor is breathing down our necks and we’re running out of food? Sounds like the perfect time to cut her losses “ She purposely makes eye contact with Daryl now.

Maggie is the one to scoff now and she looks to Daryl for back up. She expects him to defend you like he always has, but her stomach falls when he just looks away. “ What the hell, Daryl? “ Maggie swears at the man she thought loved you. “ What’s wrong with you? “ Maggie spits. Daryl snaps his eyes at your true friend “ She’s perfectly fucking capable with taking care of herself! Stop lookin’ to me to take care of her ass! Maybe she cut and run huh? She’s always acting like she’s better than this! “. He throws his arms around him to point out the prison. Glenn now glares at Daryl “ That’s fucked up to say, man”. “ It’s the truth “ Emma brings attention back to herself, eyes locking back onto Daryl’s.

And in that moment, Daryl’s mind snapped.

——-

Your loud scream is muffled as you bite down on your worn out belt and a metal scrap is shoved down on your wound. Tears stream down your face as you force yourself through the pain and you try to think of better thoughts. Your mind frantically searches for happiness and it lands on an old memory of Daryl that does the trick. It’s a little fuzzy, but you can still picture the moment.

There’s a fire burning out near his tent , signaling to you that he’s the last one up and you take the opportunity to be near him. You creep up towards his little place to call home and offer a small smile when you find his face “ Hey “. He’s currently fiddling with the whole in his jeans, but looks up to find your grateful face. “ What ya’ doin’ up so late ? “ He asks, trying not to accept the fact that you stayed up just to spend time with him. “ Couldn’t sleep “ You shrug your tank top clad shoulders, hoping he buys it. His blue eyes graze your face, stopping only for a moment on the bruise on your upper lip, and then points to the spot across from him “ You can sit “.

You take his offer and sit Indian style across from him. He glances from his hole to your lip and you touch it subconsciously “ I’m fine “. Daryl rolls his eyes, a man twice your size punched you dead in your face in the bar fight with Randal. He’s seen men go down for less. “ Yer’ not” he declares. You just roll your eyes back “ Well I’m here and he’s not so “. Daryl gives you that. Right after he punched you, you took a vodka bottle and shoved it straight into his neck. Which is why you have blood stains on your arms. “ Ya’ look a mess “ He tells you instead of agreeing. You just laugh in response “ Oh and you look any better? “. His smirk slowly grows. He loves to push your buttons.

“ Besides, we both know I’m still a ten even covered in shit “ You wink at him, grabbing a laugh from his chest. You’re the only one he can do this with and you know that for sure now. “ C’mere “ he now waves you over, pulling out a rag from his pocket. He wets it with water and grabs your arm as soon as your in reach. He runs the rag over your smooth skin and you awe at how he treats you. No way would he ever clean the blood off anyone else. He’s quiet as he works his way up and down your arms, but you can tell he’s taking his time for a reason.

He likes this just as much as you

This memory would’ve made you smile in any other situation, but all you can do now is suffer through. You finally remove the metal from your skin where he once touched you and you quickly wrap the forming scar in a piece of your shirt you cut. Tying it with your teeth, you wonder how long you’ve been gone. They were all probably freaking out and you hate the thought of what they’re going through, but you’d make it back to them soon and that’s what counts. And not empty handed either. Even after escaping the herd and slaying through walkers with one good arm, you made it to an old Piggly wiggly five miles from where you started. There you found formula, cans of green beans and sweet carrots, and even a half pack of cigarettes you found on a walker. This is just who you are.

Maybe a week? It seemed accurate, but after all the blood loss it could’ve played with your memory so you just put the thought away. Now you just need to find a way home. You debate walking, but it didn’t turn out good the first time... So hot wiring a vehicle was your only true option. The piggly wiggly is scarce of cars so you would at least have to walk half a mile to the next available store to find a car. You began your walk,but stop as you see in the corner of your eye a bike. It’s pink and has a stupid little basket on the front, but this would do. You jog over to it with obvious objections from your knee, but grin at the first sign of hope. You can already hear Daryl’s jokes about this bike, but it would do.

You swing your leg over it and let a happy laugh escape, before heading back.

Only if you knew what was waiting for you when you got there....

——

Arriving at the gate, you let the bike drop and run to it “ It’s me! Let me in! “. There’s no one around to hear you causing you to groan. Of course when you get back it wouldn’t be this easy to come home. You now look to each guard tower and when you find a warm body you wave your hands in its direction “ Hey! Let me in! “. The body raises a rifle and once they realize it’s you, they drop it quickly and rush down the tower. It takes five minutes for them to reach you and you realize it’s Glenn and Maggie. “ Y/N! “ Maggie yells happily, ripping the gate open before throwing herself in your arms. You gladly hug her back with your good arm. “ I’ll go get the others! “ Glenn yells excitedly and darts for the prison. Maggie’s scent reaches your nose and you finally let a relaxing breath out. You were home.

But all of the sudden she pulls back as she remembers she needs to warn you. You can see the stress now on her face , a complete 180 from before “ What’s wrong? “. She grabs your arms, now noticing your burn, and goes wide eyed at it “ What happened?!”. She begins to pick at your makeshift bandage, but you grab her hand “ It’s fine! What’s wrong?”. She drops eye contact for a moment as if she’s ashamed to tell you this, but it’s too late as you hear everyone running out to greet you. First, you see Rick and Glenn again, then Carol and baby Judith, and then it hits you. And it hits you hard. There in broad daylight is your ‘ best friend’ with her arm hanging around Daryl’s waist. Maggie’s grip tightens on you now and it reminds you that this is all real. That your best friend since high school, the same person who you confided in about Daryl, is now holding him like you should be.

And you can see everyone looking at you like this is high school. Like it was your dad’s funeral again. “ Y/N “ Maggie whispers as if it’s in condolences. You just lock eyes with Daryl with betrayal in your chest, but he says nothing. He just stands there. Allowing her to hold him proudly. “ How long? “ You whisper, your teeth grinding. Maggie’s eyebrow arches “ Wha- “. “ How long have I been gone! “ You interrupt, patience long gone. “ A week- almost two .. we were so - “ She begins, but’s all you needed to hear. “ TWO FUCKING WEEKS?! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME ?! “ You scream, charging out of Maggie’s grip. Emma’s eyes go wide, never expecting you to come for her this way since you’ve never been the person to handle your issues so publicly, and Glenn tries to stop you “ They’re not worth it “. He’s standing in front of you with his hands up, but you just look past him “ Glenn I don’t want to hurt you”. Glenn looks to Rick for an answer and you take the opportunity to move past him, and in a swift movement your right in front of the pair.

She’s now behind Daryl, holding onto his shoulder as if he can save her. No one can save her now. It’s beyond wrong what’s going on here and it’s obvious where the groups loyalty is considering they’re not in any hurry to stop you now. “ Who the fuck do you think you are ?! “ You yell at the girl who you once considered family. She doesn’t say a word, obviously this wasn’t part of her plan. “ Some friend you are huh?! How many nights did I come to you about him?! How many nights did you listen to me and wait for your time to strike ?! “. She’s still silent as your anger boils over “ Real quiet now for a fucking back stabber! I’m sure you weren’t quite when you fucked him huh?! “. Daryl now steps in as you look ready to kill her “ Back up “. And that’s what kills you out of all of this. You take a step back in denial. You thought he was the one man who actually loved you. But it was all a lie . All of it.

“ Some big man you are , Dixon. Did it feel good huh? Hurting me like this? Make you feel like a man ? Well I’ll tell you what .. fuck you! Fuck you both! Your dead to me! “ You now dig in your pack and throw the cigarettes at him” You’re going to fucking need this ! “. With that you walk away, and begin to throw Emma’s stuff out of your cell. You make sure to break most of it on its way out and once done, you slams the door shut and pull the curtain. You were done. “ Fuck them both! “ You growl, tears pouring down your face.

Everyone around the new ‘ couple ‘ just stared at them. You deserved loyalty. Glenn and Maggie are the first to go in after you, but Maggie makes sure to glare at Daryl “ You know every day I saw you with her. I saw you care for her and watch after her. And I saw you love her. It’s sick that you threw that away on someone so disloyal “. Emma tries to defend herself, but Maggie looked just as ready to punch her for you. And with that, they all went inside.

Once it was just Daryl and Emma, she tried to speak “ I knew she wasn’t going to take it well but- “. It’s obvious he’s not listening to her as he opens up the cigarettes and finds another note .

‘ Kinda risked my life for this, but you’re worth it ‘ - Y/N ‘

And it finally makes since to him.

——

That night, you didn’t speak to anyone. Not even when Hershel forced his way in to inspect your burn. You let him do what he needed to feel better, but after that you sent him away and spent half of the night staring at the picture of you and Emma at graduation. When exactly did she decide to fuck you over? It only pissed you off more and eventually you left your cell to burn the picture. You want all evidence of the so called relationship gone. And you plan to do so as you exit the prison with a lighter. “ Fuck you! “ You grumble at the picture, setting it ablaze in front of your eyes. Now you aren’t the woman to let a guy get in the way of a friendship, but this was not that. This was a betrayal. This was to hurt you. You can still see her arms wrapped around him. You can see her doe eyes sparkle at him when she expected him to defend her.

In this moment, you wish your dad was here. He was always there to help you. To be the wise in your crazy. What would he tell you now? To leave? To forgive--well that wasn’t happening. You shove your lighter back in your pocket and grasp the necklace on your chest. His wedding band dangles from it and you close your eyes as it’s the closest you can get to his touch. “ Tell me it’s all going to be ok, Dad. Cause I don’t know that it is “ You whisper, tears slipping again. Never had you been through this. You wonder if he had. If when he was dating your mom that someone had tried to steal her away and succeeded for a brief moment in time. You bet he would’ve fought for her and the thought makes you smile.

You’ve only seen pictures of your mom, but she seemed to truly love you and your dad. You wish you could’ve truly met her. That your parents could be here to hold you, but instead you were truly alone. Emma was your rock and she .. she’s just gone to you now. And sure you have Maggie, Rick , and the others .. but it’s not the same. A sob racks your chest as you realize it’s true. Your alone again. Just like you were at sixteen. You let your body fall to your knees and you don’t even feel your knee whine , only your heart beating. Why did you make it through this last week for this? “ Tell me what I’m supposed to do now! “ You yell, not caring who hears. You sob so heavily that your throat hurts from the lack of air, but you don’t care.

In a guard tower not to far from you, Maggie and Beth watch your break down with frowns. “ Why did they do this to her? “ Beth asks, her heart yearning to help you. Maggie just shrugs half heartedly “ I don’t know, Beth.. I don’t understand why Emma would betray her like this or why Daryl would fall for her “. Beth agrees “ She doesn’t even help “ . Maggie’s attention darts to her sister as if she shouldn’t have said that. “ What? This last month she hasn’t helped me with Judith at all. She’s always sneaking off somewhere “. Maggie begins to question Emma’s where abouts and motives. “ Something’s not right here “ Maggie looks to you again as you’ve finally grown silent. She watches you just now blankly stare out into the darkness and notices the void you’re feeling.

“ I’m going to figure it out “ Maggie vows, with no objections from Beth.

——

The next week, Maggie begins to follow Emma’s trail. Whilst you just keep to the following schedule: ting up after two hours of sleep, eat half an apple and save the rest of it for later, ignore everyone’s concerned stares, leave the room as soon as Daryl enters, and make sure to take as much guard duty that you can. It wasn’t much, but it was the best you can do right now. And Maggie didn’t like that, which fueled her to truly find out Emma’s motives. She follows the girl for three days. What she’s noticed so far is that one Daryl is ignoring her, two she journals after every day, and three she weirdly stares at you when you’re not paying attention. Like she’s waiting for you to figure something out.

Emma’s also anxious lately. Maggie decides she’s going to get that journal from Emma at dinner tonight while she’s distracted and get to the bottom of this. Carol is currently cooking a couple of rabbits Daryl caught so she knows it’s coming close to time. Glenn already has a prepared alibi for his wife and everything is set in place. You, having no knowledge of this, approach Carol to see if she needs any help since Daryl is now decided to take tower duty. You force a smile for the woman “ They’re not the best to skin , I know “. You stretch out your hand for her to pass one of the dead animals and she gratefully does. “ That’s an understatement”. The two of you laugh quietly at the fact. You can feel eyes on you right now, but this time it feels different. You look in its direction to find Daryl staring from his position and you’re surprised when he doesn’t look away once you’ve caught him. It’s the same signal he use to give you when it was clear to come be around him, but you just ignore it.

He was with Emma now and he could go fuck himself. You look back to your task and begin to skin the animal again, this time with more force. You don’t even notice Maggie leaving the surrounding group of people, her plan going perfectly so far. She creeps back into the cell block where Beth is waiting for her “ Go stand by the door and whistle if someone’s coming “. Beth nods and goes to position as Maggie rushes to Emma’s new cell. It takes a moment to find the journal, but she does and takes the moment to open it. As soon as she opens it, there’s a picture of you with her taped inside.

‘ Prom 2000 ‘

Maggie smiles at the goofy you in the picture with a flask raised to the picture taker. It truly sums you up in one flash. But why does Emma still have this? Obviously, your friendship is over. Maggie begins to flip through the pages until she gets close to recent entry.

‘ Y/N told me last night about , Daryl again. Honestly thought this was a passing phase just like the others were. At this point shouldn’t he have broken her heart like the rest? I mean he hasn’t even kissed her I don’t understand the pull towards him... But they seem to be getting closer. I saw them a couple of days ago by his bike and she was grinning up at him like he held the stars in the sky himself. She also had her hand in his jacket pocket like she was in high school again..

Maggie immediately flips the page for more proof and once she finds it, she’s running out the door and right to Daryl. This was all so screwed up. Daryl was just part of this controlling girls mind games and he deserves to see this. Maybe it can even salvage what he and you have. She’s running up the stairs before she knows it and once she’s in front of the hunter, she shoves the journal in his hands “ She fucking used you”. Daryl’s eyes narrow at your friend and he takes it to see what she’s talking about.

And once she sees the anger reach his face, Maggie knows she’s got her.

——

You’re actually enjoying being around Rick and Glenn at dinner again, even if Glenn is telling you some dumb knock knock joke he’s told you a million times. It feels good to just laugh again. “ It should be illegal to tell that joke so many times “ Rick nudges your ankle to join in. Glenn rolls his eyes at the former cop “ Oh ha-ha “. You’re just about to join in, but everyone stops what they’re doing as Daryl throws some kind of book at Emma. It’s clear some type of couples drama is about to erupt so you’re just going to make your quick exit. “ Well this was nice, but I am not ready for whatever that’s about. See y’all in the morning “ You calmly tell the two, and get up from your spot to do so. “ Uh-uh you don’t fucking move “ Daryl now points at you, causing you to groan out loud now.

Who is he to tell you to do anything? “ I’m actually good -- I don’t need to be part of this bull shit again so do me a favor and fuck off “ You stand your ground, crossing your arms over your chest. His eyes soften as he sees the pain in your eyes. You’ve been through hell and he has a part in that. “ Stay “ He demands, his voice dropping slightly. Maggie now joins your side to help him keep you there. You roll your eyes and let the show begin. “ What is this huh? “ Daryl now looks to Emma. She grabs it from the ground and holds it to her person like that’s going to stop this from all happening. “ Daryl- it’s - it’s not what you think “ She takes a step towards him, but he’s quick to back off from her like she’s a mental patient.

You’re very confused at this point. Why are you being made to watch this? Is this just to twist the knife left in your back? “ Shut the fuck up! Read it! “. She’s shaking as he yells at her and for a moment you feel for her. She’s never done well with yelling. “ I-I “ She’s scared now, her true colors now on display. “ What is this about? “ Rick now stands to end this all for good. Daryl just holds his hand out to his friend “ You’ll see. Trust me “. Rick now turns to Emma “ Read it”. The girl now has no choice.

“ Ok.. ok “ She squeaks, opening the book. There’s a pause as she’s trying to buy herself enough time, but Daryl takes a step forward and she jumps into it.

“ Y/N told me last night about , Daryl again. Honestly though this was a passing phase just like the others were. At this point shouldn’t he have broken her heart like the rest? I mean he hasn’t even kissed her I don’t understand the pull towards him... But they seem to be getting closer. I saw them a couple of days ago by his bike and she was grinning up at him like he held the stars in the sky himself. She also had her hand in his jacket pocket like she was in high school again..

It’s honestly just time for him to screw up. He’s awkward when it comes to all this and I’m sure I won’t have to step in like all the other times . But I’ve got a plan just in case he doesn’t ... she’ll forgive me too. I’m all she’s got ‘ “ She quoted herself, causing shock to spread through the group. “ Y/N I’m so - “ She begins to plead, but you can’t believe your ears. She did this to keep you close to her? Every guy you’ve been with... she’s sabotaged. You feel like you’re on some episode of the twilight zone. And then it also occurs to you, she used Daryl. She twisted his head with the information you confided in her with. She was watching and waiting to strike. “ You cut the fence didn’t you? “ you ask, pitting the pieces of her plan together. Maggie already read this, so she confirms this for you “ And she tampered the truck you drove. She’s the reason you were stranded”. She put your life in danger...

“ You tried to kill her! “ Rick yelled, now having all the evidence he needs to kick her out. She’s frantically looking around for help “ No! I knew she’d be fine!! I just.. I just “. “ You just thought it was a window of opportunity right? That walkers won’t take a chunk out of her ? That the governor wouldn’t find her ? “ Rick is now furious, already walking towards her with his pistol drawn. “ Wait! “ She’s begging, but Rick grabs by her arm and yanks her towards the prison. Her screams are cut off by the slam of the prison door and your now left to silence. You now take the moment to rub your face in frustration “ What.. Just “ . It would be so great right now if some camera crew came out and said this was all some big joke. You’re honestly waiting for that to happen. That there’s no crazy best friend, that Daryl was never brought into her crazy, that there’s actually no governor and no walkers. “ Y/N ? “ Maggie asks, as your hiding in your hands. You peak through the cracks “ This is a joke right ? “.

Her tired eyes tell you no and you mentally scream. How could you be so stupid? How could you let her do this to Daryl? Why did you let yourself need someone so bad that she felt she could do this? You look around to see if someone could answer your mental questions and find that you’re the only three outside still. They must’ve all went in to help with Emma. She’s obviously getting removed from the prison tonight. Maggie now squeezes your shoulder “ I’m going to give you two a minute “. You’re still trying to wrap your mind around what just happened, but you let her walk away. Once she’s inside, you peak over at Daryl “ I don’t know what to say “. He just shrugs “ Ya’ seem to like fuck you lately “. You roll your eyes at him “ You deserved that. I won’t take that back”. He smirks slightly “ Seems fair “. You feel like a child about all of this. He’s still the same person to you that he was before. “ Honestly, I have wanted to punch you so hard this whole week and now .. I don’t know what to do “ You dig your hands into your hair instinctively.

Daryl knows you only do that when you’re nervous , so he offers you a cigarette. You walk over and accept his offer “ Thanks “. You let him light it for you since your lighter is in your other jeans. He watches you inhale for a long moment before letting it go. “ You can do it Ya’ know “. You raise your eyebrow and take another drag “ What? Punch you?”. He nods, now taking a drag from his own cigarette. Now you’re rolling your eyes again “ I’m not going to hit you, Daryl”. “ I deserve it “ He admits, but you don’t believe that. “ No. you deserve a girlfriend who doesn’t have a psychotic best friend who tries to mess with your head “. You inhale the sweet poison again, this time hoping it’ll help the pain in your knee. “ Are we that now? “ He asks, causing you to realize your words.

Your eyes grow huge and you look at him as if you can now take it back “ I didn’t - I’m not - “. Daryl can count on one hand how many times he’s actually seen you so nervous and the only other time was when you two were stuck hiding in mud from a herd. Your whole face was covered in awful smelling fresh mud, but you never took your eyes off of his. He throws his cigarette to the side, followed by tossing yours as well , and he grabs the side of your neck gently. You allow him to rest his forehead on yours and having him this close was all you needed to calm down. This meant you two are fine. That nothing has to change. He smells of smoke and some type of wood that you can’t make out, but you love it. His callous thumb rubs your neck lovingly and he whispers “ Yer’ mine “. You smile to to yourself. That’s all you’ve wanted for the past year. When you were stuck in the mud with him all you wanted was for him to say that, when the farm fell and you didn’t know where to go next that’s what you wanted, and when you got drunk that night in the barn and threw yourself at him all you wanted was him to give in.

You run your hand over his that’s on your neck and he opens his eyes to find yours already look up at his “ You’ve made me wait a long time for that “. You watch a embarrassed blush appear, but you just remove his hand from your neck and run your own into his hair “ You’re worth waiting for, but I can’t wait anymore ok? “. He’s expression changes quickly to confused, but instead of using words you just bite your lip and kiss him. You don’t know how he’s going to take this, but you were going to take the chance. He’s frozen at first, not moving at all,but after a moment his lips move in harmony with yours. He gives you a happy grunt in return before he balls the back of your shirt in a fist.

You part for just a moment to catch your breaths, but he’s quick to reconnect. You welcome the embrace. He doesn’t waste time to pick you up and your arms wrap around his neck without hesitation “ Where are you taking me, Dixon ? “. Your smiling at him and he gives you a slight shrug “ Guard duty”. You raise your eyebrow “ Why? “. He just rolls his eyes as he throws the tower door open “ You’re always askin’ too many questions“. Smirking , you let him set you down so he doesn’t have to carry you up the stairs “ I just like to bust your balls. I’m great with ‘ guard duty ‘ “. You show him your air quotes and throw him a wink before leading the way up the stairs. You open the next door and he’s quick to shut it behind you both.

“ Yer’ a pain in my ass “ He tells you, before grabbing you again.

——-

The next morning, you wake up on the hard guard tower floor. Your knee is already thanking you for that smart decision, but you’d take the pain. Because you were waking up in Daryl’s shirt. You grin at the fact, but turn over to find he’s not there. Your eyebrows furrow when you find a note in his place.

‘ Went to help Rick fix a walker problem. Be back soon.... Didn’t know you snored ‘

“ Dick “ You smirk at his note, but sit it to the side so you can get dressed. Last thing you needed right now is for Glenn and Maggie come up here and find you in just a shirt. Not that you haven’t found them in the exact same situation, but you’d like to keep that whole score 0-1 . You shove on your jeans and your shirt from last night before heading out of the tower , Daryl’s shirt in hand. It’s early enough that no one should be up anyways so you shouldn’t have to hear anyone ask where you were last night. When the dead started to walk, people lost their reality tv shows so you just know how it would be if you don’t go and ‘ wake up’ in your cell. Your about to do so, when out of the corner of your eyes you see Rick and Daryl out by the entrance.

You try and find any walkers around them, but you only see one other body and that’s Emma. It occurs to you that they were getting rid of her now instead of it being a big show. Daryl was just nice enough to call it ‘ Walker problems’. You sigh at the site, but don’t give it anymore thought and step inside where your actual family is sleeping. It’s quiet inside, but you can hear Judith beginning to stir and to save Carl some sleep, you quietly grab her from her crib and sway her around.

“ I know you’re ready to play “ You coo at her as you walk her around to keep her content. You make funny faces for awhile until her dad returns to the cell block to retrieve her . Daryl is right behind him and you smile at the sight “ Your daddy’s here to steal you from me, Judith! Tell him you want to stay with your aunt! “. She smiles at you even though she can’t understand and Rick laughs while taking her from your arms “ You like daddy better “. You just scoff as he walks off to feed her and Daryl smirks at you “ Are you training her to like you better ?”. “ It won’t take much persuasion. Her and I have a great time together as you can see “ You joke, but you can see he’s ready to tell you about Emma. “ I saw you take care of - that - I’m good not talking about it if you are “. He just nods.

“ Oh and you think I snore? Try sleeping next to someone who steals the pillow! Much worse! “ You accuse, causing him to roll his eyes and place a kiss on your lips. “ Should’ve been prepared “ He accuses you, just to annoy you. “ I see how you are, Dixon. Sleep with a girl and then blame her for the lack of preparation. Next time I’ll just kick you out of bed ! “.

“ Mhmm so all I heard was next time “ And that’s when you realize you’ve truly ended up with your best friend.

#daryl dixon #DarylDixon #The Walking Dead #the walking dead daryl #fanfiction #fanfic #daryl x you #daryl x reader #daryl x oc #daryl dixion imagine #daryldixonfanfiction #reader #maggie greene #glenn rhee #Rick Grimes #Carol Peletier #Beth Greene #hershel greene #walkers

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johannas-motivational-insults · 5 years ago

Note

I'd like to read your commentary on the closet scene in Hail Mary!

Well ask and you shall receive, friend! (Commentary is bolded.)

I love this scene. Tbh I first wrote the sardines gag into an original fic I wrote in high school and I’m just nostalgic for it. But it is also a really great way to get characters in close quarters together, so... ;)

As it turns out, Adora does find Catra first. She knows her better than anyone, after all, knows how she gravitates towards small, dark, enclosed spaces for a sense of comfort. (Ah, here’s another instance of Catra behaving like a cat but hopefully in a non-distracting way.) Also, there’s the whole thing about how she used to hide in the closet at home when she was scared, or upset after a disciplinary encounter with Ms. Weaver. It was about the only place she could get privacy in that house, sharing a room with two other girls.

Adora remembers hearing her muted whimpers from behind the slatted doors, knocking gently and being yelled at to go away. She remembers sitting down leaning against said doors, guarding the space while Catra collected herself. (A lovely role reversal here!) In the times when she was scared, for good reason, Adora would eventually be torn away by threat or force, Catra would be ripped from her hiding spot, and the screaming would begin. The screaming and…

Adora prefers not to think about those times. She prefers the memories of after the danger had passed when she could just sit there, a comfort to her friend. On rare occasions Catra would not even allow her that, would shout at her until she left the room. Others, she didn’t tell Adora to go away at all, and Adora would crawl into the darkness and find her curled up on the floor, her face stained with tears. Adora would sit silently and take her head into her lap, gently scratching her scalp and stroking her hair, rubbing her back if it was safe to do so. It always calmed Catra down, and it was soothing for Adora too. It helped keep her hands busy and her mind off of what she’d just heard.

Oh hello my poor little traumatized neurodivergent children, stim to your hearts’ content. (And yes, Catra is also neurodivergent in this fic. It’s only been hinted at so far but later it’s revealed that Catra believes she’s ADHD but she never got a chance to get diagnosed because Weaver just saw her as a troublemaker. And because she’s brown many shrinks or social workers would tend to jump to that conclusion too instead of thinking maybe she has a disorder. It’s a little hat tip to the double standards and obstacles to diagnoses that neurodivergent women and POC have to deal with. And you all get to learn that early because you bothered to read this. :D)

Obviously the wave of nostalgia she’s hit by when she finds Catra once again hiding in a closet is not an entirely pleasant one. But she can’t help a small smile either, both at her victory and at seeing Catra’s face. It’s a natural side effect.

“Hey look, I won,” Adora brags when she spies Catra flattened against the wall on one side

Catra shakes her head slightly, amused. “Of course you did.”

Oh wow, I really didn’t hold back on Catra’s subtle resentment, did I?

Pulling the door shut behind her, Adora steps through the thick curtain of garments. Catra actually picked a pretty good spot - there’s a bunch of coats on that side of the closet that obscure her legs, and with how full the closet is it would be easy for someone peeking past the clothes to miss her.

The positioning may be different, the two of them on more or less equal footing and nursing no physical wounds, but Adora can’t shake the sense of awkwardness, her fear that their previous closet rendezvous are all Catra can think about too. (...Out of context this sounds a little bit like they’ve engaged in BDSM in a closet lmao but no, wrong fic.) And the idea of that is unbearable, especially if Catra’s already upset about Scorpia, so Adora takes it upon herself to break the tension.

“Look at us, back in the closet together,” she cracks, poking Catra in the ribs. “Who woulda thought, after all those Pride parades?”

This joke is stupid and I love it.

Catra brushes her hand away with a scoff. “Speak for yourself, I was never in any closet.” Despite her words of protest, she’s smiling a little. Eyeing Adora up and down, she adds, “And you were always like the ultimate sports dyke, so it’s not like people didn’t know about you either. Even if you didn’t figure it out until we met everyone’s favorite MILF.”

I will never let the Huntadora crush die. Tbh this is a little sad though because Catra doesn’t realize it’s always been her for Adora. She doesn’t let it show but she is kinda sad that from her perspective Huntara was Adora’s gay awakening, not her.

Oh, that definitely went a direction Adora didn’t expect. Brow furrowing, she purses her lips as she weighs the cost of the truth, how much she can divulge before it becomes incriminating. Her voice is quiet and eyes are down when she says, “No, I knew.”

It takes a second for Catra to respond. “What, really?”

Slowly lifting her head, Adora raises her eyebrows as she meets Catra’s confused gaze. “Just because I didn’t talk about it doesn’t mean I didn’t know.”

This is such a pivotal moment, just an understated one because it’s from Adora’s POV. Catra thinks she knows Adora so well, and the idea that Adora not only intentionally kept something (her awareness of her sexuality) from her but was able to fool her is a shot to the ego.

A tiny scoff escapes Catra’s throat, eyes flicking away as her arms fold over her chest. “Never thought you were that good at keeping secrets,” she remarks. Finally she looks back at Adora, gesturing expectantly. “Well? How long have you known?”

Adora frowns in thought. Not because she doesn’t know the answer, but because there’s no casual way to tell your best friend ‘I’ve wanted to marry you since I knew what marriage was.’

I don’t remember what exactly possessed me to write this line, but once it did I knew it was going to murder you all in cold blood. I really enjoyed all the comments about this one. :D

“Always,” is what she says instead. “I mean I didn’t know what it was, but I was always drawn to other girls, always wanted their attention, wanted to be close to them.”

This is such a mood.

Nodding pensively, Catra stares into the darkness. After a moment she murmurs, “Yeah, me too.”

If only she was saying that to what Adora was thinking, not what she said. Because there’s no way Catra could know, right? She’s smart, but she’s not a mindreader. If she was she probably would have kicked Adora out of her room years ago for being a pervert.

Adora she means the exact same thing as you you fucking walnut!

The crack of the bedroom door opening jolts Adora from her thoughts, making her flinch.

“Shit,” she mutters, pushing forward and flattening against the wall, against Catra. In her haste she bounces off the wall slightly and starts to tip backwards, but a pair of quick hands steadies her hips, pulling her closer. Adora’s eyes flick down to find Catra’s already on her, widened in a clear order to be quiet. Adora can barely bring herself to nod apologetically, dazed by the sight. And their proximity. And the scent of sour candies on Catra’s breath.

Because being stuck in a closet together wasn’t taking advantage of the sardines gag enough, I threw this in here. And Adora’s clumsiness provided a great opportunity for Catra to touch her in an intimate way :D. And idk why but the described experience of the smell of the sour candies on top of the close up of Catra’s eyes and them being pressed together is just overwhelming. That sour candies thing gets me every time I read it.

Suppressing the urge to groan, Adora adjusts her positioning and tips her head down so her forehead is resting against the wall, removing that temptation before it can take hold. (Oh right, that’s why it gets me every time.) She breathes deeply, as quietly as possible, praying to god that Catra will interpret her pounding heartbeat as excitement purely from the game. She can feel Catra’s heart hammering against her rib cage too, can hear it echoing in Catra’s jugular mere inches from her ear. Catra’s hands are sweaty where they’ve wound into Adora’s shirt, trembling slightly in anticipation of being caught. Catra may act like she doesn’t care that much about winning and losing, but Adora knows better than anyone just how competitive she is, how wound up she gets.

Oh for fuck’s sakes Adora. I’m glad people asked for Catra’s perspective of this scene because I think confirming in the next chapter that her body was reacting to the exact same thing Adora’s was is valuable. At least a few readers bought into the ‘Catra is competitive/traumatized about hiding in closets’ thing I had going with Adora as an unreliable narrator, so it was probably best to clear it up.

The closet door opens and they both tense, not daring to breathe. The metal hanger hooks screech along the rod as the seeker parts the sea of garments, the sound making Adora wince. The light suddenly flooding their dark space doesn’t help in that regard either. She squeezes her eyes shut with the tiniest little whimper and one of Catra’s hands taps gently against her waist, acknowledging her discomfort and offering solace.

Idk how many people have noticed but I have this running theme of Adora being especially averse to sounds as a sensory sensitivity thing. And the fact that Catra knows and consistently acknowledges it in small ways just makes my heart happy.

In seconds it’s over and the person is closing the closet door, then the bedroom door on their way out. Adora expels as heavy a breath as she dares and whispers, “Phew, that was close.” She starts to pull away and lower her arms from where she’s braced them against the wall, bracketing Catra’s head. (That visual *eyes emoji*) But she doesn’t get very far.

Catra’s arms are locked in place, fingers still clinging to Adora’s shirt. Resting her elbows on Catra’s shoulders, Adora pulls her head back to get a good look at her face. She arches her eyebrows questioningly but Catra’s eyes are fixed firmly on the opposite wall of the closet, refusing to meet hers. Frowning in concern, Adora brushes a thumb over the baby hairs on the back of Catra’s neck. “Catra?”

Still Catra doesn’t respond. Not with words anyway. It’s just a tiny movement, but when her shoulders curl forward into Adora just a little bit, Adora clues in. Sometimes you just need a hug when you’re sad. She gets it.

God damnit. Catra doesn’t want to let go because she’s yearning, not because she’s sad. Why you gotta be like this, Adora? (She says as though she didn’t write it.)

Slowly leaning back in, Adora wraps her arms around Catra’s shoulders. She sighs in relief when she feels Catra respond, relaxing in her grip and slumping slightly to rest her chin on her shoulder. Squeezing a little tighter, she nuzzles into the curve of Catra’s shoulder in response, breathing her in. Catra smells… like Catra. It’s a scent Adora could never quite put a finger on, something uniquely her, but it’s the most comforting smell she knows. It smells like safety, and tenderness, and just a little bit of mischief.

Adora could fall asleep in these arms, in the peace they bring her mind. She has, many times. When they were kids Catra ended up sleeping on her bed more often than not, sprawled half on top of Adora with her head on her chest. Though technically she was usually the one holding Catra, and Catra was often the one seeking comfort, it made Adora feel safer too. It felt a little like Catra was guarding her in the night, and the pressure pinning her to the mattress felt so good. So… secure. They’ve always been better together, perfectly suited to each other’s needs. Adora can't even imagine a life without Catra as her closest companion, and she doesn't want to.

Is that a reference to the torment of canon? Yes, yes it is. Is it also foreshadowing of how agonizing it would be for Adora if she and Catra ever had a falling out? ...maybe.

Absentmindedly brushing her fingers through Catra’s hair, Adora’s pulled out of her head by Catra’s low hum next to her ear. The long lost sound makes her lips turn up. She always used to tease Catra about how she purrs like an actual cat. Not quite, but… it’s nice. It’s soothing.

Rubbing her cheek against Catra’s ear in a similarly feline fashion, Adora chuckles, “Yeah, I miss this too.”

A quiet snort is muffled in her shoulder, Catra’s back puffing out against the arm still slung across her shoulders. “Don’t ruin it.”

“Okay,” says Adora. So she holds her close, and doesn’t say another word.

Maybe this is all she’ll ever get from Catra, holding and comforting her after others have hurt her. But it’s enough. It has to be.

Adora, NO, shut up! She loves you!

Ughhhh well this scene is super cute and super frustrating, both of which want to make me throw things. But that’s very on brand for this fic.

#ask games #director's commentary #spop #catradora #fanfic #hail mary #writing #asks #super-zrhueiao

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thirstbxtch · 5 years ago

Text

Otherwise

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia/Reader

Rated: M. Implied violence. Mentions of violence. Light smut.

He's left his own share of occasional bruises, but this is something else entirely.

Just a little something that hit me out of nowhere. Cross posted to AO3.

"The same?" The brothel keeper asks when she spies Geralt entering her establishment.

The Witcher has been returning with some regularity every few months for the past two years or so. Always asks for you and if you're not available, he takes no one. Tells her to make sure you're available the next night.

"As always," Geralt answers inclining his head.

He doesn't like to think too much about how he'll look for any reason, take any job to return to the area as he follows you to a room.

Geralt doesn't necessarily care for whores. Lays with them because he possesses all the needs of men. Always treats them well enough, but doesn't like how they tend to make a show out of ooo-ing and ahhh-ing over him. Hands trailing his body with cheap comments. Overreacting to his touch. Rambling on about how big he is, how good he feels. Asking about his scars after when most of the time he just wants quiet.

But every now and then, he'll find one like you. The kind that let their bodies speak for them. You don't have to tell him how good he feels, he knows it from the catch of your breath, the curve of your spine, the flutter of your cunt when he enters you. Genuine.

They always tends to ruin him somewhat. Have him do things like go out of his way just to come back to a brothel in a nothing town. Usually stays for days when he does.

He's sitting on the edge of the bed now.

"You can, request someone else if you like," you say, pulling reluctantly at the tie of your silken robe and Geralt's brow furrows briefly in confusion, only to catch your meaning when your robe hits the floor moments later.

Amber eyes filling with rage as he looks over your body. Maps of black, blue, and yellow spread across your shoulders, ribcage, hips. A handprint circling your upper arm. Wrists still healing pink from the rub of a rope.

He's left his own share of occasional bruises, but this is something else entirely.

"Who fucking did this?" Geralt questions low and deadly, drawing you to stand between the v of his legs.

"Someone just passing through," you answer, seemingly unbothered. It's been a few days now. You thought you'd seen it all. You were wrong. "He paid well to do it. She couldn't refuse him," you continue, referring to the brothel keeper. She had set rules of course--face and neck were off limits. No skin was allowed to be broken.

Otherwise.

Geralt fumes silently while palming your bruises. One hand splayed across your rib cage, the other spanning your hip. He'll ring whatever information he can out of the brothel keeper later; she'll be lucky if he doesn't ring her neck after.

"You don't have to live like this," he says looking up at you, brows knitting together, "Go somewhere else. Start a new life."

You give a bitter kind of laugh.

"It's not that easy, you know it's not."

"Besides, who would you come back to if I leave?" You ask somewhat teasingly, eager to change his mood, but his mouth remains a hard set line as he thumbs over the marks on your wrist.

He doesn't respond, just drops your wrist and goes to the door. Grabs one of the girls passing by. Orders a hot bath be brought in.

Skilled fingers easing the tension from your muscles. Holds you close to his chest while your body goes lax in the water. Head tilting back to rest on his shoulder. Face curving into the crook of his neck.

He gazes into the fire for a long time until your breath is soft and even. Lashes long against your cheek. Runs his thumb along the curve of your throat to wake you.

And he's so gentle the next morning. Slips his broad shoulders between your thighs, licks at you until you're sweet on his tongue. Pulls you into his lap after. Handles you like glass. Just kind of rocks into you until you shake apart so gently in his arms.

Questions the brothel keep on his way out. Growls threats at her about what will happen if he ever returns to find you in any kind of such state again.

Remorseless as he watches the life drain from his eyes later. Men are often the worst monsters.

#geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #reader insert

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adamdriverwrites · 5 years ago

Text

Carpe Noctem || Part 3

Plot summary: Mob boss’s daughter & bodyguard au ft. Kylo Ren. Based off this plot bunny (x)

Warnings: nothing worth mentioning. So your basic mentions of death, swearing, implications of crime.

Word count: 3888

Pairing: Kylo Ren/Reader

A/N: Here is part 3! Thank you to everyone who commented, I never knew this many people would like my story! I can’t believe the amount of people who have liked and reblogged so thank you so much xxx

Taglist: @helloimindelaware, @dandydragonz, @musicalcoffeebean, @driverficarchive, @hazydespair, @maybell88, @bikinibrattoms, @fanfic-fangirl, @stillreadingfantasy, @0nevergrowoldnevergrowold0, @sarasxe, @um-well,

Masterlist here

You sat in your parked car outside the Supremacy. The facade of the building was seemingly unchanged since you had last seen it all those years ago. It was a large, two story building in a relatively nice neighborhood. Dark stone stretching almost half a block, black windows obscuring a view inside, and a neon red sign with 'The Supremacy' in a cursive font hanging over the door.

It was a long shot coming here, but you were still working up the courage to go to Mallory's apartment. You figured this was a suitable stepping stone. She had mentioned her friend in passing conversations, had apparently worked at the establishment for years. You didn't know what time she worked, day or night, and she probably wasn't even here today but you didn't want to head back home right away. And it was a long shot in which you were wiling to investigate a little further. You had to start somewhere.

There was a lone member of security outside the front doors. Black clothes, tall figure, imposing; completely the modus operandi of your father's workers. There was no line to get in, not unsurprising given it was mid afternoon on a Friday so you straightened your leather jacket and walked up to the bald, intimidating bouncer.

His eyes looked you up and down, before quirking an eyebrow. "ID?"

You pulled your ID from your pocket, where it was nestled in between your card and your phone and handed it to him without fault. He looked it over, eyes checking the photo matched your profile before he looked back at the driver's license. His brown eyes widened profusely, and he handed it back to you.

"Sorry, Miss Snoke." He stepped the side, an arm outstretched to welcome you into the establishment your father owned. You entered a dark hallway, bass in the music traveling further, blackout curtains separated as you walked through. Your eyes were assaulted by bright, colourful lights. Dancing wildly around the room in perfect time with the music. Four elevated stages, with poles that stretched to the ceiling were placed around the room, seats arranged the stage. Tables were littered in between and a long bar was nestled against the far wall. It was slightly more busy that you thought it would be, your expectations exceeded to see a woman dancing on a stage, six men littered around her in various seats. A few more patrons sat at a table, two women talking to the group, flirting and petting the men in their suits.

You had never actually been in the Supremacy. But it was a classier joint than you extrapolated. Surfaces looked clean, and the air was fresh with a hint of perfume. Black furniture, and red silk curtains hanging from the ceiling provided some tables extravagant privacy on the wall opposite the bar. Large stairs in front of you wound up to the second floor. Another set of double doors were open, revealing a long hallway that disappeared. A glass railing on the second floor surrounded the deck, and you noticed it linked all the way around to a second floor office. The front wall of the office consisted entirely of glass, a suitable viewing precipice for whoever ran this place for your father now.

You spotted a male bartender working, polishing glasses and stocking the bar. A young man, maybe in his late twenties, blonde hair and blue eyes, black uniform t-shirt that simply had 'The Supremacy' in the same font. You walked forward, weaving through the empty tables before you stepped up to the bar. He looked up, smile painted on his previously vacant face, and put down a glass and a polishing rag.

"Welcome!" His eyes raked over your form quickly, and it felt like he was vaguely ogling you. "What's your poison?"

You gave a half assed attempt at a smile, "I'm not here for a drink."

"Hmm," he hummed in interruption, leaning forward on the bar. "A dance? A job, then?"

You bit your lip, "No-"

"I mean, you've got a great body but, darlin’, this is one of the best clubs in town. Girls are dying to dance here."

You were sick of him interrupting you. Ogling you. You had little patience today, so you decided to tell a half-lie just to shut him up. "I know. My Father owns this place." You had no idea of the waiting list to work here, but you pretended.

His face stilled and he leaned back slightly. You pulled your ID from your pocket once again and waved it in front of his face for good measure, then placed it back into your jacket. "I want to talk to Lacy. Is she around?"

He reeled, "Look, I didn't mean no disrespect, I had no idea-"

"I don't give a shit." You interrupted him in turn. "It's important, I just want to see Lacy. I don't know her stripper name but I know she works here."

"She's not in, she hasn't been in for a few days, I don't know her work schedule but I can get the manager? He'll know more than me."

You nodded your head. "Okay, sure."

He leaned over, leaning his hand under the bar, he pressed something and his eyes averted up to the office you had spied previously. He withdrew his hand and picked up the glass and rag once more. "He'll be down in a moment. Wait here."

You nodded, and watched as he moved down the bar slightly, back to restocking the glasses on the wall.

You gazed around, music changing as the dancer walked off the stage after collecting her money, another dancer filling her spot. The men didn't move, cigars between their lips and drinks in hand, patiently waiting to get their fill. All men looked successful, and had amber liquid swirling in their glasses. Suits adorned their bodies and shiny watches adorned their wrists. It was easy to assume this was a classy establishment, catering to more high paying clientele.

Which confused you slightly because this business had originally started as a front. It was a way for your father to launder money from his other ventures that were less than legal. Or a way to siphon a small amount anyway - he had a few legitimate businesses for this purpose now but the Supremacy had been one of the first.

Clearly, the Snoke name was still among high standards of rich and elite of New York. Your father had all sorts of friends in all sorts of places, and almost all of them owed him favors. Politicians, lawyers, moguls - clearly they all wanted to be a part of something bigger, something mysterious. The Snoke crime family.

A blur out of the corner of your eye caught your attention. At the top of the stairs you noticed a tall figure in a dark, all black suit. Pale skin, bright red hair, and a caustic confidence you could feel from basically halfway across the room.

Armitage Hux.

You didn't fight the smirk that curved your lips as your eyes locked with his. A chilling smirk mirrored his lips and he made his way down the stairs. Eyes completely focused on you.

You couldn't believe he was still alive - let alone running the fucking Supremacy. His father had been an advisor of your own. A part of a small council that ran the whole operation. Hux had been around when you were a kid, though he was closer to Ares' and Roman's age than yours.

He had been a smarmy, confident piece of shit growing up. Like a lot of people, he was at your house often. You didn't start getting to know each other until you were a little older, around 12 or 13, before you left for boarding school. You still thought he was a cocky shit, but the two of you had something in common.

A disdain for Lyon.

He seemed to rub a lot of people the wrong way, though you never seemed to mind him too much. But you were a good judge of character - you knew he was manipulative, cunning, cruel even. But he had always had a good head for business, and was loyal to the Snoke family and the Order. If you knew what you were expecting, then it wasn't that bad.

Hux approached the bar, green eyes piercing as he walked closer. He spoke your name with an almost unbelievable exhale. "I didn't know you were back in town."

"Well, you don't know everything."

"Ah, but I do. That's my expertise." He came to stand in front of you, looking you over before leaning against the bar nonchalantly. He looked exactly the same as you remembered, if only aged slightly, soft wrinkles around his eyes. Otherwise his hair was still perfectly gelled back, not a strand out of place, his clothes still immaculately pressed with his usual stiff and rigid posture.

"Never the less, to what do I owe the pleasure?" His eyes shifted to the bartender behind you and he flicked his finger, his attention returned to you. Pale green eyes absorbing your figure. "Tell me you're here for me." You knew you were rather heavy in the chest area, and had an ass to boot, but you weren't under the allusion you were pretty, or gorgeous by any means. In fact you felt particularly plain enough to go under the radar. Though since being home, you hadn't felt more like the opposite. You figured it was the stark growth spurt you had under gone since you were last back home. Last everyone knew - you were just a teenager. Prepubescent and awkward.

"Not quite," you huffed, "I actually just wanted to talk to Lacy." His head raised slightly, eyebrow cocked before realization dawned on his face but you spoke anyway. "She was friends with Mallory."

"Oh... yes. I'm sorry for your loss, I suppose.” You wanted to smile at his awkwardness before he sighed. “Your father has been... never mind. You came all the way here just to talk and reminisce with a stripper?"

Again, you felt the instinctual need to lie, but resisted. "I just wanted to hear some things about Mallory's life, since I've been gone so long." It wasn't a lie, technically.

The bartender's presence interrupted your conversation, and he placed two glasses of scotch down on the bar before making himself scarce. You didn't want to drink, though now it was placed in front of you, you wanted to knock the whole thing back.

"Anything for you." An almost evil, calculating smirk curved his lips. "But first, let's catch up in my office. You owe me that much."

"I don't owe you anything."

He hummed out a laugh, signalling something you didn't know to the bartender and gestured up the stairs towards his office. It was a short walk, though his close presence felt behind you made it feel longer than it actually was. You reached his office, and he opened the double doors, allowing you inside before shutting them behind you.

It was a big area, not wide, but particularly long as it recessed into the building. Half of the office was glass, giving a perfect view to the club below. It was dark grey walls with a flourish of a red velvet couch. A desk with a few papers were scattered on it, and you noticed it was devoid of any type of computer. You guessed your father was still paranoid about any digital trails leading to evidence that could prove hurtful.

"Please, take a seat." He gestured to the red velvet seat situated opposite his desk. "It’s been a long time. What have you been up to all these years?"

You walked forward, taking a sip of your drink before collapsing into the comfortable seat, eyes watching Hux as he rounded the desk and followed suit. "Studying..." you shrugged, "working... enjoying life away from my family."

"It would appear so." Hux's eyes flashed with something, and a smirk graced his lips again. "He sent you off to boarding school, you graduated, and never came back. Clearly you were off having fun."

"Fun is for children."

"Which you are not." Again Hux looked over your form.

"You know what he's like, it’s why I didn't come back. Why are you still here?"

"I've worked hard to get where I am today, my loyalty and allegiance to the First Order and the Snoke family-"

"And look what you have to show for it; a strip club?" You interrupted his tirade. "You've done far more than Lyon has and less to show for it. You respect nepotism?"

His nostrils flared at the mention of your brother and you knew that he was still a sore spot for Armitage. "That is but one instance. Not everyone of import in the Order is of your father's blood."

You nodded, "Phasma?"

"Ren."

It was your turn for your nostrils to flare and you quirked a brow. "My father's bodyguard?"

"That's a simplification. I wish his duties were that insignificant."

"Well they are now."

"What do you mean?"

"He's been tasked as my bodyguard while I'm here."

Hux leaned forward at this, elbows resting on his desk, his interest suddenly focused. "Is that so?"

"Why is that so interesting?" This piqued your curiosity. "What does he do for my father exactly?"

Hux seemed to choose his next words carefully. "Ren is his... fidus Achates, his saboteur, his right hand man."

You got that sense with how often he was in your father's office. He was even in his office when he had kicked Lyon out earlier. If anything that was conducive to the fact that he was more trusted than any other man you knew about in the Order. Even when you were a kid, your father didn't have any men that seemed permanently glued to the shadowy corners of the room.

"Whatever problems your father has, Ren makes them go away."

"So like his hitman?" You ask.

"More like a rabid animal." Hux spat the words, and you gathered there was a little contempt from the red headed man. "Kept on leash by only your father and let loose whenever he pleases. You thought he was ruthless before you left? Well, Ren is solving every problem with bloodshed and violence."

"Unnecessarily?" You sipped your drink, leaning back into your seat.

"No, your father points his finger, and Ren takes care of the rest... destroys everything in his path."

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly. "If he’s so important why would my Dad assign him to me?"

This made Hux smirk. "Precisely."

You had your perceptions about Armitage, you had known him since you were young. While you didn't trust him exactly, you trusted that you knew him well enough to talk about Mallory.

"He thinks something happened to Mallory."

"I know." Hux sipped the amber liquid. "We've talked about it. While Ren handles the... messier assignments, my strength is acquiring knowledge and intel."

"And what have you found out?"

"Nothing." He didn't look like he was lying, not that you were sure what that even looked like. "Not yet, anyway. Is that why you're here?"

You sipped your drink again, if only to stall time before you answered. "I just wanted to talk to Lacy, but yes."

"And now look at you, talking to me. Isn't this so much better?"

Your mind couldn't help but wander, back to Kylo. So much mystery surrounded him, leaving you in the dark and Hux was finally providing a little light on the situation. And he seemed rather accepting to share. You made a mental note to think of some questions to ask him, hoping that he would give some truthful answers.

About to open your mouth, you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket, and you pulled it out of your pocket to see a message from your father. And two missed calls.

Where are you? We're having an early dinner. Just family.

You withheld a sigh that wanted to escape, and you looked back to your company. "I've got to go." You threw back the rest of your whiskey and put it on his desk before standing up.

"So soon?" Hux mirrored your movements. "You just got here."

"I'll see you soon."

He grabbed a pen and paper off his desk, handing it to you. "write down your number, when Lacy comes in I'll let you know."

You wanted to question his helpfulness but decided against it. Feverishly writing down your digits and handing it back to him instead. "Thanks, Hux."

"Of course."

Leaving the Supremacy left you feeling a little defeated. Even though Hux said he would text you when Lacy was next in, it meant today had come to a standstill, stagnant in your search for information. Your next plan was to head to the penthouse, see what possessions of Mallory's was still around, however, your fathers text had brought that idea to a standstill. Maybe you could go later tonight, when everything had calmed down? Jumping back into your car, you sent a quick reply to your Dad

Just at the store getting tampons, leaving now.

You hoped he was grossed out enough by a woman’s basic bodily functions to not want to reply. Starting your car, the V8 grumbling loudly. You pulled from the curb and headed to the direction of your house.

Seeing Hux again after so many years was a refreshing change of pace. He acted the same as he did all those years ago and looked the same too, save for a few wrinkles displaying the passage of time. The two of you catching up was good, and he had divulged some impertinent information regarding your new ‘bodyguard’ that proved fruitful. You hoped next time he would be even more forthcoming.

The drive home was shorter than you expected, just less than an hour. Traffic was light, and you were pulling into the Snoke driveway before you knew it. You wished it had dragged on longer, you half preferred sitting in your car than going inside to drink and eat with your family. You hadn't shed a single tear at the funeral earlier today, and you expected the strong facade you had adapted was going to falter.

As you drove down the long winding driveway, rounding the towering willow trees either side you came into view of the house, and then the garage. The electronic door at the very end already open, you didn’t have time to be confused as a tall, dark form came into view.

Kylo.

He was standing in your spot, a cigarette dangling between his fingers as his dark eyes stared at you. His stoic form didn't move until you came forward, moving so you could park your car in the area he had occupied. You killed the engine once you parked and didn't have time to open your door before he had done it for you.

"Welcome home." You grabbed your belongings from the seat beside you and looked up at the man standing over you. Once you were clear, he shut the drivers side door, and blocked the way to inside the house. You tried to maneuver around him but he moved to defer you.

This caused you to sigh. Your eyes darted up to meet his.

"Yes?"

"Your father’s been worried."

You rolled your eyes. "I was gone for a few hours, so that's his problem."

"And his problems become my own." He stepped forward, the small distance between you became even smaller. "If you don't want me to come with you then you at least need to tell me where you're going."

It was obvious now what he was getting at. Your little field trip to go see Hux had apparently not gone unnoticed. Or, well, to the store to get tampons if your message was to be believed. You didn't think your father was going to be enforcing the whole bodyguard thing so intensely, or so quickly. Though an idea came to mind.

"You seem like a moderately intelligent guy..." Your eyes looked over his form. "Built for brute force rather than a boring protective detail of the little old likes of me." His full, pink lips encompassed the cigarette to take a puff and it almost momentarily made you falter. His hum pulled you from your thoughts of what they could have felt like and you continued. "I have a proposition for you."

"And what would that be?"

"Surely you have more important things to deal with. Which is why, if you want to do your own thing while I do my own, that's totally understandable - in fact, its actually preferable." For the first time since you've been home you tried to plaster a welcoming smile on your face. Trying hard to seem like a demure little girl your Dad had painted you to be.

Kylo expelled a huff of breath, something akin to a laugh. Your smile faltered slightly at the thought of him laughing at you.

"Your father relies on my ability to perfectly..." he searched for the proper words, throwing his cigarette over your shoulder onto the concrete behind you. "execute whatever he asks of me."

"And you can do that, really make a difference!" It was hard to try appear as chipper as you were. Manipulation was a hard game, and you were not a happy person. "Instead of following me to the mall, or to see my friends while I'm here, you can strive to make my Dad proud."

You weren't much of a shopper, and you had no friends here to speak of. It was a low shot, but you hoped by his assumptions on your gender and what most women liked to do, you could get away with the lie.

"Your father informed me of your shrewd capabilities." You didn't know it was possible but he walked forward another step, closing the distance between you two. You had to strain your head to look up at him. He spoke with a deep conviction that conveyed anger being tethered by a small sliver of control. "It's why he chose me for the job. I won't be swayed so easily, especially by a spoiled little princess."

Your smile faltered, and you felt your rage flourish at his words. Suddenly, you couldn't be bothered with this shit. You would think about it later, when your mind wasn't so clouded with the thought of Mallory. "Good luck." You moved past him, looking over your shoulder as you walked into the door that led to the house, shooting him one last look. "Haven’t you heard? I’m cursed.”

He watched you walk away, exhaling the last cloud of smoke through his nostrils. The door to the garage slammed before he dug his hand deep into the pocket of his pants, pulling out a small gps tracker. Getting down on the floor, he leaned underneath your car by the rear wheel frame. Pulling off the small adhesive backing, he pressed it to the metal where it would be hidden. Flicking the switch to activate, he quickly paired the device to the app on his phone before getting up, and following suit into the Snoke manor.

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