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writemywaytoyourheart · 3 years

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Aim For The Heart | Chapter 3: Plan B

Pairing: hitman!jk x female reader

Genre: E2L, romance, drama, angst

WC: 5.1k

Warnings for this chapter: language (jk will continue to have a potty mouth), a gun, attempted murder

Tag list; @hopekookies @moonchild1 @barbellastyles98 @teresaisla @ggukkieland @mwitsmejk @scuzmunkie @sugaslittlekookies @jaebeomsblackgf @moon-asia

summary; Jeon Jungkook is an infamous hitman, known for his inability to fail at whatever job is thrown his way. At least, up until now. Y/n, a kind-hearted and full of life teacher, is his newest target. Jeon isn’t sure who would put a hit on this seemingly innocent girl, but fortunately, that isn’t his problem. All he has to do is pull the trigger.

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"Excuse m-me, sir."

Jungkook turns and his heart stops in his chest when he sees the wide eyes of a horribly familiar girl staring up at him.

You're clutching a piece of paper in your hands as a smile spreads on your face when you look at him closer. Jungkook blinks a few times, the rest of him frozen in horror at being caught.

"Th-This is for you." You hold out the paper.

Jungkook takes it limply, his eyes never leaving yours.

When the initial shock leaves his body, he tears his eyes away from you and looks down at what you gave him. He squints in confusion at what he sees. Then he looks back up at his target.

What the hell is this?

"Uh-"

"I hope it isn't c-creepy. I j-just thought it might make you s-smile." You brighten when he looks back down at the picture.

Jungkook swallows thickly.

On the piece of notebook paper, is a terribly drawn picture. But that isn't what's gotten his attention. On it, is an image of what he can only guess to be himself, sitting on a bench.

He looks back up at you, "Um, I don't understand..." His voice gives out on him as he fights the urge to bolt. Everything about this situation is telling him to run. You know him. You've known he was following you.

But you aren't outright telling him that you know...

What the hell does he do now?

You smile shyly, a small blush creeping up your cheeks. "I know it m-must seem weird. But p-please let m-me explain."

He nods uncertainly, forcing his feet to stay planted where he is.

"Ok," You wring your hands together and he watches in confusion as you blink a few times. "O-Ok, I like to d-draw. And sometimes when I d-don't have anything else to draw, I draw p-people. Then I give them the p-picture as a present to make them h-happy!" You bounce a little on the balls of your feet.

"But-..." Jungkook scratches his neck. "When did you do this?" He's starting to think maybe he's out of the line of fire. Perhaps he jumped to conclusions and you don't suspect him of following you at all.

You put a finger to your chin as you think about that. Then you tap your cheek, blinking hard a few times. "Mmm, I think it was Wednesday? Maybe Thursday..." You start mumbling to yourself.

Jungkook raises a brow, watching you curiously.

He looks around, no one seems to be paying attention to the two of you. Good, he can't be seen as one of the last people to be with you.

You suddenly speak up again, drawing his attention back to you.

"W-Well, anyway. I decided to m-make it and give it to you b-because you looked sad. Are y-you lonely?" You look up at him with big eyes and he blinks, looking away for a second to regain his composure.

Damn, she's nosy.

Jungkook clears his throat and looks back at you, "I'm not lonely. And as much as I appreciate the thought, I don't need this." Then he shoves the picture into your chest, making you flinch and grab it.

"Have a good day." He says curtly, then he turns and walks as quickly as he can away from the situation.

After a minute of walking, Jungkook breathes a sigh of relief to be out of that. He messed up. Now he really needs to get this done quickly before the target figures anything out for real this time.

The relief is short-lived though. A second later, he flinches when he hears a voice calling out to him and the sound of feet running.

"Wait! Mister, p-please wait!"

Jungkook pulls his hat down further and picks up his pace, trying to find a crowd he can lose you in.

He's squeezing in-between people and pushing past others, ignoring their sounds of annoyance. Then a hand grabs the sleeve of his jacket and he internally groans.

Shit, she's fast.

Jungkook shakes you off of him and turns to glare at you.

"What?" He snaps.

You blink and cock your head to the side for a second before straightening it out, a crooked smile forming on your face.

"I w-wasn't able to introduce m-myself." You state simply.

Jungkook audibly sighs, "Look, I'm busy."

"Oh." Your face falls and he resists the urge to roll his eyes.

You look at the ground for a second, then you look back at him, your eyes bright again and the smile back on your face. "P-Please, take the picture. I have n-no room in my bag f-for it."

Jungkook sighs again and snatches the picture out of your hands, "Fine. Happy?" He waves it in the air before folding it and sticking it in his jacket pocket.

You nod happily, "My n-name is ____."

I know.

"Alright." He looks away, trying to give you the hint that he's done with the conversation.

"What's y-your name?"

Gosh, she never shuts up, does she?

"Jungkook."

...

...Fuck.

Why in the literal hell would he say his real name just now?

He wasn't thinking. He just wanted you to shut up.

You see the look of pure panic on his face and laugh to make him feel better, "Nice t-to meet you, J-Jungkook." He must have trouble talking with people, you think.

"Ok, well yeah, it was nice to meet you. Thank you for the picture. Goodbye." He turns and all but runs off, finally disappearing into a crowd.

You watch him go into the big crowd and you smile, he was so kind. Giggling and looking down at your fingers, you turn and start making your way home. _______________

Jungkook hauls ass all the way back to his place, constantly making sudden turns and glancing around to make sure you're not hot on his heels.

When he finally makes it up the stairs and into his apartment, he locks the door and yanks his shoes off, hurling them at the front door and flinching when they slam against it loudly.

There aren't enough curse words in his vocabulary for him to scream into his pillow that would satisfy him right now. He starts to shake, the adrenaline pumping through his veins as his brain goes into overdrive trying to figure out what to do now.

He's never been caught.

Not once.

He's never even been close to getting caught.

In and out, one and done.

That's how it's always been for him.

Jungkook takes his hat off and tosses it onto the tiny dining table, then he walks over to his bed and flops onto it, face down.

"I quit." He mumbles into the comforter forlornly.

Then he lays there for a minute, contemplating everything.

"I can't quit..." He mutters to himself a second later.

It's impossible.

He can't quit.

He just needs to get it over with tonight.

No more hesitating, no more distractions, no more overthinking. It doesn't matter that she saw his face and knows his name. She'll be dead by morning anyway, and it's not like her friend is here for her to tell anything about him to.

Once he's calmed himself down enough to think clearly, Jungkook gets up and moves to his closet to pull out the safe. He puts in the code and it swings open when he gives it a little tug. He takes out the gun that he failed to use the other night, then he unloads it, pouring the little bullets onto his bed. Jungkook counts them before reloading them, then he dumps them out again, counting them before once again reloading them.

He does this whenever he needs to think, it helps him concentrate. When he's unloaded and reloaded it four times, he's finally able to take a deep breath. He sits on the edge of his bed, his head hanging for a minute before he lifts it and stares at the wall. _______________

When you get home, you kick your shoes off and head straight to the kitchen to grab a snack. You grab a little drinkable yogurt and grin as you open it up and take a sip.

Then you move to sit on your couch, still gently sipping your yogurt. When you're almost halfway done with your snack, you pull out your phone and text Mina.

You 4:32- Mina, I met someone today ^-^

Then you toss your phone next to you and grab your TV remote, turning it on you quickly find the drama you're currently binging and you hit play.

After a few minutes, you hear your phone bling. You pause the show and grab it to see Mina has answered you.

Mina 4:40- YOU WHAT? WHO

You laugh quietly and you're typing a reply when a picture of you and Mina making silly faces pops up on the screen and the ringtone you made special for her starts ringing. You answer it quickly, laughing when she shouts through the phone immediately.

"WAS IT A BOY??" She shrieks, almost breaking your eardrums.

"Y-Yeah." You can feel the blush creeping up your neck at her next words.

"Is he cute? Is he single?"

"M-Mina!" You cry in embarrassment, "It isn't l-like that."

You hear a disappointed sigh leave her lips, "Well, what is it like then?" She asks in curiosity.

"I gave him a p-picture that I drew. He t-took it, Mina! He didn't say I was c-creepy like the other girl did." You're grinning from ear to ear.

She laughs quietly as she realizes what this is about. "Ohh, so you drew a picture of him and gifted it to him?"

"Yup!"

"That's so sweet of you, ____. And he actually took it?"

You nod, then remember she can't see you.

"Y-Yes, he took it. He said th-thank you, and he told m-me his name!"

Mina laughs again at your excitement, "What's his name?"

"Jungkook."

"Ohhh," There's a teasing hint to her tone, "Sounds like a name fit for a cute guy. So, was he cute?"

You bite your lip then whisper, "Uh, yes. He was c-cute."

"Awww! ____ has her first cruuuush!" Mina shrieks again and you shake your head.

"No, Mina. I d-don't have a crush on h-him! I just thought he was n-nice. He seemed like he would m-make a good friend." You pull at the hem of your skirt, your knees tucked up to your chin.

You hear her giggle on the other side, then her tone turns serious. "Ok, you're right ____. No man is good enough to date my sweet best friend. Don't you dare pursue him until I get there and give my approval!"

You roll your eyes, "I'm not going to p-pursue him at all, silly."

You two chat for a couple of minutes, then you let her go because you both need to figure something out for dinner soon.

You decide to finish the episode of the drama, but you can't resist and watch a few more after it. By the time you're able to peel your eyes away from the TV, the sun is starting to go down. You rub your eyes in confusion, I didn't realize how many episodes I watched.

You stretch your arms above your head and yawn, "Ah, I should g-get some d-dinner," You stand up to go to your kitchen and scrounge around. You come up with a few pieces of celery, half a jar of kimchi, and one hard-boiled egg.

You scrunch your nose at the emptiness of the fridge. You'll just have to go to the grocery store tomorrow. But until then, you decide to just go out and get something to eat for dinner and maybe find something for your lunch tomorrow.

You pull your tennis shoes on and grab your bucket hat, plopping it onto your head. It doesn't go with the rest of your pastel outfit, but you don't really care. If it's comfy, then it's a win for you.

Then you take your bag and sling it over your shoulder. Remembering to lock the door, you leave and head down the stairs. _______________

Jungkook thanks the man at the food stand as he takes the fishcake skewer and hands his money to the man. Then he bows and turns to make his way through the crowds of people that always come out at night in Seoul.

He finds a bench in a park a little ways from the hustle and bustle of the city, so he sits there and takes a deep breath of the crisp evening air. Jungkook takes a bite of his fishcake, chewing it thoughtfully as he goes over the new plan of action in his head.

A few people pass by while he sits there, one of them is a small girl with her mother. She reminds Jungkook of that little girl, Mi-Rah, from the other day. His throat constricts when he remembers the child's words to him. Then he scoffs and takes another bite of fishcake, chewing it aggressively. If that annoying kid hadn't distracted him, he wouldn't be sitting out here right now trying to come up with a new plan...stupid.

Jungkook finishes his food, then he stretches his long limbs out, grunting from exhaustion. This hit is really taking a mental toll on him for literally no reason at all. He can't wait to be done with it.

He rubs his hands together and stands up, stretching a bit more before heading in the direction of the target's home.

He's going to finish this.

Tonight.

When Jungkook is a few blocks from her apartment, he slows down and glances around before slipping into the dark alleyway from the other night. Once he's in the dark, he slips the gun from his pocket and checks the bullets. It's an obsessive thing at this point, but it makes him feel more secure.

He slides the last bullet back in, then-

"Jungkook?"

The gun clatters to the ground with a loud sound as Jungkook whips around to see the one person he doesn't want to see at this moment.

Gosh fucking damn it all to hell.

You're standing there, looking up at him from under your bucket hat. Jungkook scans you quickly, noticing you're still in your light yellow skirt and pink blouse from earlier. You have some bags in your hands as you smile at him.

You don't seem to have taken notice of the fact that he literally just dropped the gun he was going to shoot you with. So, Jungkook quickly kicks it to the side, relieved when it slides behind a bag of trash.

"Uhm, hi...____, right?" It takes all his willpower not to fumble over his words after being caught for the second time on the same day.

You nod happily at the fact that he remembered your name, "Yes! F-Funny to run into y-you again!"

Jungkook chuckles dryly, "Yeah, what a coincidence."

You gesture to him with one of the bags in your hands, "D-Do you live n-near here?"

Jungkook's nose twitches, but he keeps a straight face. "No, I just...I was out for a walk."

"Ohh! Night walks are th-the best."

"Mhm.." Jungkook looks around, trying to figure out what he should do. Maybe he should just do it now...yeah, that's the best idea.

"So, what did you buy?" Jungkook asks suddenly, gesturing towards your bags. You take the bait instantly and brighten, bending down to place your bags on the ground so you can show him.

The second you aren't looking, Jungkook crouches and grabs the gun from behind the trash bag he kicked it towards.

"Well, now. L-Let me see." You're crouched on your heels, looking through the bags. Jungkook cocks the gun and raises it, his finger on the trigger.

"I've g-got an apple, that was from the k-kind old woman at the fruit s-stand-"

He's about to pull it when another voice rings out in the alley.

"Miss ___! Is that you?"

Jungkook quickly brings the gun down, switching it to safety and stuffing it into the front of his pants. Clearly, he isn't thinking straight right now.

You look up at that moment and glance behind Jungkook before a smile of recognition lights up your face. "Ohh! Mr. Ch-Chang! What are y-you doing out this l-late at night?"

Jungkook bites his lip in pure frustration and turns to see an older man smiling at the pair of you. "I was taking my trash out, and I thought I'd heard your voice coming from over here."

You grab your bags and scoot past Jungkook to greet the older man properly, "It's s-so nice to see you. It's b-been a l-long time!"

Mr. Chang smiles and nods, "It has indeed. And who is this handsome young fellow?"

He looks around you at Jungkook, who screams internally, not knowing anything that could make this situation worse.

"That's m-my new friend, Jungkook."

Oh, ok. So, that makes it worse. Good.

Not only was his plan foiled, but this old man now has a visual and a name to put to someone should anything happen to you.

Great, just great.

"Ah, it's very nice to meet you, Jungkook." Mr. Chang holds out a shaky hand and Jungkook takes it and gives it a shake. "Oh, this one's got a good shake." The old man winks at you and you laugh.

Jungkook forces a smile onto his face.

He's always been good at charming people, that's what makes him so good at his job.

"It's nice to meet you too, Mr. Chang." He says politely.

"Well, very good. Very good. What do you say we all get out of this creepy old alley? Let's get into the light." Mr. Chang leads you and Jungkook out until the street lamps pour golden artificial light onto the three of you. Jungkook wants to flinch away, it feels like the light is exposing all the dirty little secrets he's got hidden away.

But he remains stoic.

You and the man exchange a few words before Mr. Chang clears his throat, "Alright dear, I really am an old man, I must be heading to bed. Jungkook," Jungkook looks up from where he was staring at the ground, "Hm?"

"Be a good lad and walk my young friend home?" He looks at Jungkook with such kind and trusting eyes that Jungkook finds himself looking away.

"Of course." He mumbles.

This man doesn't suspect a thing. He has no idea that the guy he's asking to protect his friend is the one that was about to kill her for a hefty price, and would have if he hadn't been interrupted.

"Thank you. You two stay safe and I'll see you again, ___."

"Goodnight, M-Mr. Chang!" You wave to him as he slowly makes his way around the corner. Then you turn to Jungkook and smile.

Jungkook briefly wonders if your cheeks ever get sore from smiling all the time.

"I l-live this way." You raise an arm to the right, the bag hanging from it dangles. Jungkook nods, then he starts to walk. You need to jog to catch up to him, his long legs take huge strides as he hurries down the street.

The walk is silent, you sensing that Jungkook isn't really in the mood to talk. But it takes a lot of willpower for you not to start asking him different questions to get to know him more.

When you've finally reached the stairs that lead up to your apartment, you huff in a breath.

"Hoo, I'm so t-tired." You laugh.

Jungkook looks at you, his face unchanging.

You hold up a bag, "Would y-you mind carrying th-this up for me? I'm sorry, it's gotten so h-heavy during the walk. And I n-never walk that f-fast."

Jungkook takes the bag with a sigh, then he turns and hurries up the stairs, leaving you to huff and puff up them slowly behind him.

When you reach your door, Jungkook sets the bag down on the ground and turns to leave, "Have a good night." He mumbles.

"W-Wait!"

He turns back to you, biting back another sigh.

"Th-Thank you...for today." You say softly, a hint of a smile on your lips.

"No problem." He says quickly before hurrying down the stairs and disappearing around a corner.

You unlock your door and bring in the bags, lugging them to the kitchen to start unpacking them. As you put the stuff you bought where it belongs in the kitchen, you think back on your day.

It's so crazy that when you were so lonely without Mina, you were able to talk to someone new! A spark of hope comes alive in your chest that maybe you've just made a new friend. Hopefully, you'll see him again and you can learn more about him.

You're so curious to know more about this dark and lonely stranger. _______________

Jungkook opens the door to his apartment, walking in slowly.

He shuts the door and locks it, then he pulls off his shoes and drops them by the front door. After that, he walks over to his bed, pulls his pants and shirt off, then climbs into bed.

Wrapped up in his covers, Jungkook stares straight ahead into the darkness.

"How the hell am I going to do this?" He whispers numbly.

His head is spinning with new plans and everything that's happened today, but he can't grasp a single one of those thoughts as they race by.

Hours pass by as Jungkook tries desperately to get his head clear enough for him to focus. Eventually, he passes out from pure exhaustion, falling into a fitful sleep.

The next morning, the sun slips through the blinds. The birds are just starting to sing their morning songs, their pretty little voices waking up the rest of the world.

Jungkook shoots straight up in bed, "That's it!" He shouts, then he claps his hand over his mouth, remembering how thin the walls are in this apartment complex.

A smirk spreads across his face as he takes his hand down, "Ah, thank goodness." Jungkook almost laughs out loud in relief at finding another solution.

He jumps out of bed and runs to the shower. It ends up being the shortest shower he's ever taken, he doesn't have any time to waste.

When he gets out, Jungkook grabs a bottle of chocolate milk and a banana before hurrying to get dressed and out the door. _______________

Jungkook arrives at the school before you, so he gets a paper and sits on the bench, as usual, waiting for you to appear.

It only takes ten minutes of waiting until he spots you across the street. Jungkook smiles to himself and waits patiently. Sure enough, you glance across the street and see him looking at you.

You feel a warm spark in your chest when you see your new friend sitting on the bench across the street from the school. You wave happily, delighted when he smiles and waves back. Then, he stands up and jogs across the street until he's standing right in front of you.

"Good morning, ____."

"Hi, J-Jungkook!" The smile on his face makes your cheeks warm as you look down at your feet.

Then you look back at him, "H-Hey, would you l-like to hang out t-today?" You ask suddenly, but hopefully, afraid he might turn you down instantly.

Instead, Jungkook's smile grows and he nods, "Sure. I'll meet you out here when you're off work."

"O-Ok." You grin at him, not expecting him to agree so fast. Then you look at the time, "I have t-to go. I'll see you l-later."

He waves as you turn and hurry into the school.

Jungkook can't stop the smirk from coming as he watches you disappear into the doors of the school. If you insist on talking to him and making him your friend, then he'll just have to go along with it. _______________

"Alright, m-my little ducklings! Time t-to pack up!" You clap your hands to get their attention. They all listen immediately, moving to get their bags put together and ready for home.

A few minutes later, the school bell rings, signaling the end of the day.

The kids squeal with happiness and you feel your own rush of excitement, remembering that you have a new friend to spend the rest of your day with. The kids get into line quickly and you give them each a punch in their reward cards as they file out the door.

The second you step out of the school, leading the line of little ducklings behind you, you glance across the street, but you don't see Jungkook sitting there.

You try not to think too much about it and focus on getting the kids into the correct lines for the busses.

You wave to Joon Woo as he climbs into his father's car. He and his dad wave to you and smile before driving away.

Then you look across the street again, but there still isn't any sign of Jungkook.

You bite your lip before turning and walking into the school.

Gathering your things, you think about all the things you and Jungkook might be able to do to pass the time. You're so consumed in your thoughts that you don't notice the knock on your door. The second time the person knocks, louder this time, you hear it.

"C-Come in!" You call out, sorting the last bits of the worksheets that the kids did today. The door opens and Mr. Baek from class A walks in.

You look up and smile at him, "Good afternoon, Mr. B-Baek. How can I h-help you?"

He glares down his long nose at you, "Did you give any thought to what I said last week?"

"Um..."

What did he say last week...?

Oh...

"Oh, uhm. Mr. Baek, I still d-don't understand."

"What do you not understand about it?" He snaps.

You flinch, then set down the stack of papers and stand up while grabbing your bag. "I th-thought maybe you'd had a b-bad day-"

Mr. Baek scoffs loudly, cutting you off.

"You aren't that dense, sweetheart."

The way he says that makes your stomach turn, "Ok, I'm s-sorry that you're upset. I h-have s-somewhere to be. If y-you'll excuse me."

You move around him and hurry out of the room before he can say anything else. You really aren't sure what's gotten into him, but you're going to avoid him until he's over it.

When you walk down the steps to the school, you look around, but Jungkook isn't anywhere to be seen. You try not to let it get to you, this has happened before.

The only person who has ever followed through on plans with you is Mina.

You blink a few times, then you start making your way home.

"Going home so soon?"

You turn to see Jungkook standing behind you.

A smile spreads on your face at the sight of him. "I thought y-you'd left." You say slowly.

He shakes his head and steps closer to you, " I always keep my promises."

You feel your chest lift at his words, finally someone that isn't going to leave you hanging. Then you readjust the bag on your shoulder, "W-What would you like t-to do?"

Jungkook frowns when he notices something off about you. He knows it's none of his business and he doesn't really care, but he's curious.

"Did something happen?" He asks, taking you by surprise, "You look kind of upset."

At that, you smile bigger, "N-Nothing happened! I'm f-fine."

"Ok." Jungkook doesn't buy it, but he doesn't push you any further. He doesn't care enough to.

"So, w-what did you w-want to do?" You ask again, relieved he doesn't continue to ask you what's wrong.

"You pick." Jungkook gives you a small smile, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

You decide to ignore that and clap your hands together, "W-Well, I'm hungry! How about we g-get some food?"

Jungkook nods, "Food sounds great, do you know any good places?"

You laugh and try to send him a wink, though it's the worst wink he's ever seen. "Oh boy, I know e-exactly what we c-can eat."

Jungkook gestures forward, "Lead the way."

The two of you talk about the weather as you stroll through the city, making your way to one of your favorite food carts. You don't have much to talk about besides that. You're trying to come up with some questions to ask him once you've got your food.

Once you arrive at the steamed bun cart, you break into a little run. Jungkook watches you skip over and jump in place once you're in line.

She acts like a kid.

He shakes his head but hurries over to you anyway.

You tell him all your favorite kinds and he suggests you get them because they sound good to him too. When you take your card out to pay, Jungkook beats you to it. He hands the man some cash before you can even blink.

"Oh, y-you don't have to do th-that."

"I know." He says simply, thanking the man once he hands him the bag of buns and his change.

You two walk to the park that he had followed you to the other day and find a spot on the green grass. You plop down and pat the spot next to you, indicating that he should sit as well. Jungkook sits down and hands you the bag.

"Th-Thank you for b-buying it." You whisper shyly.

Jungkook shrugs, "No problem. Which one should we try first?"

"Um, the pork ones a-are really g-good." You say, taking out the two pork buns. You hand one to him and he immediately takes a big bite, making you chuckle a little.

"Mm, you're right. It's delicious." Jungkook says around a mouthful of food.

You nod, glad that he likes it. Then you start to eat yours, thinking about which question you should ask him first.

"So, how long have you been a teacher?" Jungkook asks you suddenly.

You swallow the bite you were chewing, "I j-just started at the b-beginning of the school year in A-August. I graduated from c-college last year."

Jungkook nods knowingly, "That's good. So, you must be around twenty-two?"

You nod, "I am t-twenty-two, yes. How o-old are you?"

"I turned twenty-three in September," Jungkook says before taking another bite.

"Oh, n-nice. And what d-do you do f-for work?" You ask politely.

Jungkook swallows the bite that feels like it's stuck in his throat at your question. "I work for a small business. I just take care of client's needs and stuff."

You smile, "That's a g-good job."

He nods, finishing off his last bite.

"It pays the bills."

Why is he suddenly uncomfortable? There's something about you that makes him nervous, but he can't tell what it is.

No, this is on his terms. This is all part of the plan, he just needs to play along. He needs you to trust him.

Jungkook glances over at you as you stuff more food into your mouth.

This is gonna be easier than I thought.

______________________________

a/n: thank you so much for all the support so far! I hope y’all liked this one

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allthingsmustfall · 3 years

Text

For @rockscanfly ‘s prompt of “charles gets to watch arthur do embarrassing shit all the time. whats one time that arthur saw charles do something embarrassing?” which ate my brain and made me cackle incoherently to myself.

This is the ‘like thieves in the night’ verse, after they get to Serendipity and before John’s in the know:

Arthur’s been loitering near the stables, avoiding Hosea’s endless dickering to make nice with some a new foal and its weary momma, so it’s only seeing Charles’ back go rigid that makes him glance up.

It’s a bright spring morning, just barely out of the grip of winter, and they’d ridden down to the Smit’s ranch to pick up a few head of cattle for the farm, something that Arthur figures should’ve taken ten minutes, but with Hosea there’s always twenty minutes of small talk and an hour of haggling over prices, so he’d settled in for the long haul while Charles inspected the herd.

Arthur leans out of the barn to get a better look at Charles, who’d been leaning against the fence, smiling vaguely as he looked out over the rolling hills. He’s not doing that now - his hackles are up and he jumps back from the fence like he’s touched a live wire, furtively casting around like he’s looking for cover in a firefight.

Doesn’t seem to Arthur that anything’s changed, really, Hosea’s still up on the porch with the owner, and it seems his eldest daughter has stepped out to join them. She’s a nice enough girl, just turned twenty with no ring on her finger, and she’s plush and soft in the way Mary was, like she’d break should Arthur so much as look at her wrong. Matilda, Arthur remembers suddenly, her name’s Matilda.

Glancing back to Charles, he finds the man has jumped the fence, making for the side door of the stable, creeping along like he’s hunting game.

“Charles!” Matilda calls from the porch, her voice bubbling with the kind of excitement that only comes with youth. She dashes down the steps, her skirts in hand. “Daddy didn’t mention you’d be coming down too!”

From where he’s leaning, Arthur can see Charles’ face through the side window as he’s caught, and his eyes go rabbit-wide, and he mutters a curse that Arthur has only ever heard him use when he’s talking about the Army or Dutch.

“Heey there, Matilda,” he says, voice strained as he turns on his heel, still backing away slowly.

Matilda is fussing with her hair, straightening her dress as she comes up on the fence. “I told you,” she teases, “My friends call me Maddie.”

Charles makes a strained noise and backs into one of the struts holding up the stable’s overhang. “I - yes. Sorry, Maddie. I was just - just going to take a closer look at the herd -”

“You know,” Matilda says, like she’s being subtle or shy, “I never did get a chance to thank you proper for seeing me home after Glenda threw a shoe.”

Charles throws up his hands, “No need for thanking,” he says quickly. “Just - being neighborly.”

“Lending me your coat,” Matilda goes on, oblivious, “Letting me squeeze up behind you on the saddle - “

Purposefully, Arthur bites down on his knuckles to stifle a laugh .Somehow, Charles has neglected to relate this particular little story of neighborly good-deeding. Funny, that.

“I just - the weather was real bad,” Charles says, still backing away. Arthur has seen him less wary around rattlers. “Just - best for all that you got home safe -”

“It was just so - heroic,” she says, wistfully. “Daddy says you’re an American? You used to be a cowboy out on the frontier?”

“Oh no I - I just - I - just ranching, mostly,” Charles lies, because if the girl wants heroic stories, then Arthur’s got a few dozen to fill her head up with. “Nothing interesting -”

Matilda sighs gustilly, fanning her chest as she positions herself in a way she must think looks enticing, but mostly seems uncomfortable. “It sounds so romantic.”

“It’s not,” Charles says, almost plaintively. “It’s really -”

“Oh no,” she says, purposefully letting an old handkerchief flutter into the muddy paddock. “I dropped my handkerchief.” She leans over the fence, making as if to grab it, but even from this angle Arthur can tell she’s just shoving her breasts together as she leans over, deepening her cleavage with a lot of creative positioning and hope. “Would you be a dear and grab that for me?”

Charles stills, looking from the girl to the pile of manure it’s landed in and says, deliberately, “I’d just as soon leave it, miss, I think it’s ruined.”

Arthur just about has to shove his fist into his mouth to silent a peel of laughter at that, almost doubling over.

The girl pouts, but goes on unperturbed. “You know, I’m a really good baker,” she says hopefully, perking up. “I’d love to come by Serendipity sometime, just to show my appreciation. Momma says no one makes pie like me, you know. Would you like a slice of my pie, Charles?”

Charles just about yelps, probably because he backed his way onto a loose, rusty nail in the side of the barn, cowering back like he’s never done for lawmen or O’Driscolls or the god damn US Army, but it’s just as well, because that sends Arthur to the ground, wracked with silent laughter, and the shout covers the noise of him sinking to the ground.

“I don’t - like pie,” Charles says shortly, which as far as metaphors goes, ain’t even a little bit wrong. “I. My. I been stepping out with Tilly Jackson for a long while now, and she makes, uh, some real nice biscuits, though -”

“You mentioned her,” Matilda says, her voice going a bit suspicious. “I saw her ‘round the market last weekend and she seems real surprised you told me about the two of you -”

I bet she was, Arthur thinks hysterically, another peel of laughter trying to claw its way out of his throat.

“Oh no,” Charles whispers to himself, quietly. Arthur claws his way back to his feet just to see how wide his eyes have gotten, and he’s not disappointed. There’s small rodents living out in the desert with less fear of hawks than Charles has for Matilda Smit in this moment.

“-and she told me you two called things quits? She said you’re a real gentleman but you broke her heart.”

“Did she,” Charles says darkly, in a tone of voice that promised later retribution.

“I think any woman would be lucky to have you, Charles Smith,” she says, earnest and sweet, blinking big brown eyes at him like a fawn in spring.

“That’s - uh, that’s real kind, but really, it was Miss Tilly who broke, uh, my heart,” he says quickly, “I’m just. A broken man about it.”

Tactical mistake, Arthur thinks. In his misspent youth, Arthur has used that line to the exact opposite effect that Charles is hoping for.

On cue, Matilda makes an anguished noise. “Oh you poor thing,” she says, hitching her skirts up to climb over the fence. “Oh, women can be so, so cruel, you deserve yourself a good wife, and lots of babies running around -”

“No, no, no, miss, please!” Charles says, pure panic in his voice, “You’ll muddy your skirts. You just. Stay over there.”

“You’re such an gentleman,” she says, almost as if it pains her, but she at least stops trying to go over the fence. “I was thinking, maybe you’d like to come around some evening,” she says, and her voice goes sly for a moment, “You know, my daddy is driving the herd down to Montreal the end of the month -”

If he was a good man, Arthur would stop this, but thank god he’s a bastard because the anguished noise that Charles makes at that invitation is one that will bring Arthur joy for years and years to come.

“I wouldn’t want to - to presume, Miss Smit -”

“Maddie!” the girl says sharply.

“Maddie! I wouldn’t - I wouldn’t want to bring you any trouble-”

“I like a bit of trouble-”

“And I just - the farm needs me -”

“You’re so responsible -”

“And I, I, uh, uh -”

“No need to get flustered, Charles,” the girl says, all sweet and understanding, “We both want the same thing-”

“Arthur!” Hosea calls jovially, striding into the barn and drawing up short when he finds Arthur doubled over, barely holding back tears of laughter. “What on earth are you-?”

“...Arthur?” Charles growls from the other side of the wall, suddenly glaring in through the window at the pair of them. “You been there the -”

“Mister Matthews,” Matilda says, sounding put out and sour, “Charles and I were just - “

“I’m real sorry, Miss Smit,” Charles says quickly, “We best be on our way. Gotta drive the cattle home -”

“Think Hosea and I could manage it the two of us,” Arthur says helpfully, palming away tears. “If you wanted to -”

“No!” Charles says, then more calmly, “No, no, I think it’s best we all three of us go, just to be sure. Sides,” he says, glaring at Arthur, “We got things to discuss when we make it home.”

Arthur flashes him a sharp, innocent smile, shrugging. “Don’t wanna get in the way of young lo-”

“I’ll go see to the horses,” Charles snaps, heaving himself over the fence and stalking away to where they’d reined up the horses, but not so fast that Matilda doesn’t have the opportunity to lean over, whisper too loudly, “End of the month!”

“What on earth was that about?” Hosea asks, frowning faintly after him.

“Oh, don’t you worry, I’ll tell you the whole thing,” Arthur says, laughing despite himself. Charles was gonna skin him alive, but there wasn’t a force on earth that could stop him telling everyone back home.

~A few hours later~

Lenny is laughing so hard he can’t breathe, doubled over on the ground, looking near to passing out, and Sean and Karen ain’t much better off, both leaning against each other to stay upright.

“I think it’s entirely fair I said what I said,” Tilly says, unrepentant. “What on earth were you thinking? You know I’m thinking about letting Beau Montreau step out with me, and he’s skittish as a cat -”

“I’m just telling her I’m an invert,” Charles says wearily, headown on the table and, taking pity on him, Arthur quietly refills his glass. “It was a nice life here, but it’s time we moved on.”

“And break her heart?” Lenny manages, weeping with laughter. “You scoundrel.”

“Now I ain’t a jealous man,” Arthur says, enjoying this far, far too much, “But if you’re leaving me for her, best you just come out with it, do it quick like setting a bone.” Arthur makes a show of marshalling himself. “Do it now, quick, while I’m ready.”

Charles’ lashes out, but Arthur ducks the smack deftly, catching his hand and pressing a kiss to his unresisting knuckles, only dropping it when the door creaks open behind them. John struts in looking pleased with himself, fresh back from town with the groceries. “Ya’ll will never guess what I heard down in town - seems Charles’s finally got himself a woman - hey, hey! What’s so goddamned funny!”

#prompts #my fic #charthur #like thieves in the night #completely self indulgent #and i have no regrets #rdr2

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cole-winchester · 4 years

Text

SNEAK PEEK

'Scars That I'm Hiding'

Bishop x Reader

⚠️ Angst, Violence, Abuse ⚠️

A/N : here's a little smidge to get you all riled up cuz I'm a monster like that 😈🙃🤷‍♀️

Release Date : TBD but soon!

Tags: this is my first Mayans fic so hit me up below if you want in

🖤-🖤-🖤-🖤-🖤

You opened the tailgate of your Wrangler, leaning in and stacking a couple boxes together to take inside your new apartment. You'd managed to snag the house rental for a song and a dance and you couldn't be happier. The landlord didn't ask questions, didn't have you fill any form out and seemed content with the cash deposit...perfect! Santo Padre was, in every way, the furthest thing from your past life, which made it the perfect place to start over. New ID, new home...new life.

You eased back out of the Jeep and bumped into the tailgate. The top box slid and you attempted to counter, but it was no use. The box dropped to the driveway and spilled your sketchbooks and drawings across the pavement.

"No! Shit shit shit!" You placed the boxes back into the Jeep and dropped to the ground, desperately trying to collect books.

---

Bishop stepped down from the porch to the driveway, the bright morning sun glinting off of his bike. He scanned the neighborhood, as he always did each morning before he left for the day. Being El Presidente came with its own heat and he made the habit of being on top of his surroundings.

His gaze landed on the black Jeep in the driveway nextdoor. Guess Juan finally managed to find someone to rent the place. Wonder what fucker he swindled-

Bishop's breath hitched as you moved into view from around the Jeep. Holy shit... you were absolutely gorgeous...and definitely not from around here. No way in hell he would've missed seeing you in town.

He watched as the box you were carrying crashed to the driveway, you cursing trying to collect the books.

Bishop moved and quickly snatched up the flyaway papers, gathering them neatly together.

A page caught his eye and he glanced over them as he stepped to you. Graphite potraits and city scene sketches adorned the papers.

"Impressive." He smiles, handing the stack to you. "You've got quite the gift."

"Thank you." You return his smile, placing the papers back into the box.

"Sorry," Bishop shakes his head, smiling in apology. "I'm next door." He motions with his thumb over his shoulder before holding out his hand to you. "Bishop."

You took his hand and eyed him...leather kutte...patches.... El Presidente. Your eyes flicked behind him to the bike in the driveway next door. Might not be a bad idea to have the President of the local outlaw bikers in your pocket.

"Y/N" You smiled warmly.

Bishop returned your smile, not missing the guarded, calculated once over you gave him.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N. Need some help with all this?" He motioned to the boxes in the hatch of the Jeep.

"Gosh, that would be awesome-" Your phone rang, interrupting you. "Sorry, one sec." You set the box down, retrieving your cell from your back pocket.

Bishop averted his gaze from you and quickly took stock of the items in the Jeep. Five -not entirely large- boxes and one back pack. This wasn't a premeditated move...you were running. The question is, from what?

"You don't have a spare truck?...but I already paid for everything to be delivered today....I can't-" The line clicked as the department store hung up on you.

"You've gotta be kidding me" You sighed and ran your hands through your hair. "Shit."

You looked up to Bishop, his questioning gaze meeting yours. "The department store's truck is down and they don't have a spare. Said it'll be another week at least or I can rent a truck.....guess they expect me to be able to move everything by myself. " You sighed angrily.

"The one in town?"

You nodded. "Yeah," as you hauled a box out of the Jeep and began walking towards the porch.

He followed suite with another box as you entered the house, taking note of the few other boxes you must've moved in before he'd come out this morning. Still no where near enough to be all of someone's possessions. "I'll have the guys go pick everything up for you." He set the box down against a wall where you'd motioned.

You spun around to him. "Bishop, no. I can't ask you -"

He smiled, holding up his hands. "You're not asking, sweetheart. What type of neighbor would I be if I didn't help when I could?"

You eyed him... gauging if he was doing this to pull the card later if he wanted something. "I don't want to be in debt to anyone."

He smiled softly, reading your apprehension. "It's not like that at all, querida. No strings."

-----

Hours later, after thanking the men for all of their troubles, you'd attempted to hand Bishop a wad of cash but he gently placed his hand over yours and refused. That warm smile assuring you that no payment was needed.

You'd decided that you were not going to be in debt to this man. He may not see it that way, but you did. He'd been so generous, you had to do something as a thank you. You'd made your rounds to the grocery store and the butcher shop (that one the guys insisted on - the owner, apparently, was the father of two of the men) and you had just now finished making a heavenly lasagna. Making a plate, you wrapped it in foil and headed toward the door. You checked out the window to see if his bike was still in the drive before heading over.

You footsteps faultered as you stepped on his porch.

What if he has a wife?

He didn't have a ring, no other car in the drive... And so what if he did? This was a simple neighborly thank you... you're literally just dropping off a plate of food. You straightened your shoulders and rapped on his door.

Your heart pounded lightly in your ears as you waited, hearing heavy footsteps approaching. You smiled as he opened the door, his eyes taking you in as he returned your smile.

You held up the wrapped plate. "A token of my gratitude for all of your help today."

His gaze flicked briefly to the plate before returning to yours.

"I didn't know if you'd eaten yet so I - I just wrapped it up. Homemade lasagna." You held the plate out to him as you rambled. He waited a moment before accepting it, his warm gaze never leaving yours.

"Y/N, you didn't have to--"

You put your hand up, halting his words. "Please... let me do this?"

He smirked, dropping his gaze a moment before meeting yours again. "Thank you, sweetheart."

----

And that... was how it all began.

Moving in next door to Bishop Losa.

That one fateful moment sparked a fierce protective love with the Mayan President... and as a result, you found your new family within the club.

But now....

Was the club even aware of your kidnapping yet?

How long had it been since you'd been taken and where the fuck were you?

More importantly....was Bishop still alive?

Images of his broken body bleeding onto the living room floor flashed across your mind.

This was all your fault. You should've known better than to think you could run from your past.

Sobs broke from your chest as you violently fought against the metal wrist restraints, screaming into the darkness.

🖤-🖤-🖤-🖤-🖤

#bishop losa #bishop losa x reader #mayans fanfic #mayans x reader #bishop losa x you

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idris-hunts-the-mando · 3 years

Text

Right place, Right time \the departure pt.1/

Rating: Mature

Words: 6.1k

A/N: this took me the bulk of a week to complete, i think ill make a few small bite sized works for a while, working on the next part in a week or so, once i get myself back together. give me all the love you as a reader can, I’m fueled by praise/hj

pairings: none yet

Warnings: series typical violence, hard swearing, moderate gore

I woke up sore and hurt in the bunk room, the cold cot felt like frozen river stones under my tired bones. I could tell we arrived at our destination from the frostbite settling into my fingers and nose. The slow neutral hum of machinery was a tell tale sign that the ship was at ease, the noise usually deafening. Pulling my threadbare scarf up over my neck and chin, i started regretting choosing this particular cargo ship going to a frozen planet for a runaway plan. I braced for the aggravating beginning to the tiresome day and sat up from my cramped bunk space. sleeping in a room with a dozen oily work worn men didnt make any part of the trip to Maldo Keris easier, not to mention the fact they all saw me as more of a womp rat and less of a sentient being. keeping my eyes to myself, i shoved my tattered boots over my feet buckled my tool belt to my hip and hurried out of the barracks before the bulk of my crew mates woke up. stepping out onto the loading dock,i took a breath in. the smell of poorly filtered air irked my mechanics brain. It would be such an easy fix if they payed me to care. But alas, for this particular voyage, i was bunked out like a stowaway, giving in return my fix-it help around deck for passage off my planet of origin. Sighing out the musty air, i checked my stations. Navigating the hold was like a womp rat through a maze, you had to be rather nimble and graceful to get through the makeshift corridors without issue. Unluckily for me, I was neither nimble nor graceful. When i got to the panel, i took out my key ring and unlocked the rusted metal door to expose the intricacies within. the wiring looked tip top shape, but the fuel lines needed a bit more attention than the other tangle of electronics, so i took out my multi-tool to tighten the fittings. The liquid distilled Rhydonium that flowed through these particular lines was a less explosive substance than its pure form, but dangerous nonetheless. the multi-tool was a newer model, so it didn't fit this type of bolt all the way, but it was better than nothing. Better than allowing it to loosen over another voyage and have the ship explode mid hyper-speed.

My mind was so stuck in its own world, the training I had over the many years in a scrappers shop spewing all of its knowings about rhydonium and fuel lines that I didn't have time to notice the first lieutenant Maegs stalking his way over to me. I jumped a moment before he spoke, tightening the last half inch of the bolt down maybe a bit too aggressively.

"We the captains crew appreciate the helping you've been do'en for this ol beasty of a ship," he mentioned, one his independent eyes viewed me separably, while the second one was monitoring my work. I froze for a moment out of fear, but i didn't think he took notice. "You're more than welcome to stick 'round 'an see what else you can fix up for this rust-bucket." the first lieutenant never gave me much of a hard time, unlike most of the crew. But I had made up my mind the first night in hyperspace that I would haul ass out of this suffocating ship as soon as a habitable planet was spotted. I finished up closing and locking the wires box, shaking my head slowly and turning to face him.

"I do love the sentiment, lieutenant. but maybe another time if our paths cross again." I forced an obligatory smile, avoiding making eye contact with him at all costs out of fear for not having the attention span to pick and stick to a wondering eye. If i could ever force myself to say something nice about the ship and its crew, it would be the acceptance of short interactions. A conversation rarely surpassed the 'how are you doing today' phase, by the moons it never got to that phase in the first place. And I was a person of not many words, and not much of a filter.

Maegs nodded slowly, clasping two of his 4 arms behind his back and turning away. I felt the need to repay his unprompted kindness with some suggestions for the ship before I left it for good. Call me sentimental, but this ship, albeit mostly composed of literal blood sweat and spit, was my ticket into a new life. "don't let yourself get caught without changing the air filtration system, them new republic scouters are picky about what type of poison you use for cremates." I remark with a little smirk. Maegs paused, narrowing his eyes, amused by the backhanded remark. He had surely gotten complaints about the smell before. He gave a thoughtful nod toward me, and allowed himself a small smile. I looked down in my hands, the key ring still hanging off my index finger. I tossed it towards him and was relieved when he caught it. he turned with no further words needed. On his way to the control room, he pushed the cargo bay door release button. My line of sight was clear from the opening door to the nearby port town and when the frosty air stung my face, I knew in my soul that this was a good thing. Taking in a breath of the salted frozen air, my body naturally recoiled. I'm not one for cold. 'Ah well, way to go picking the nearest ice planet than idiot' I scolded myself, pulling my cloak back over my shoulders to take the first step out of the ship held together with sticker line and bantha spit. 'Good riddance'.

Walking into town was harder than expected, the ice on the ground blended into the ice of the horizon, making spacial reasoning a thing of the past. The only anchor I had to the planet besides its heavy gravity was the stark grey buildings stapled to the sheets of ice about 10 meters in front of me. I never could have guessed the sky of Maldo Keris could get any uglier, but planets like these have a way of surprising a person. I tucked my hair and ears away with the hood of my raggedy travelers cloak, bracing myself from the heavy winds by retreating further and further into my cloths. I stayed on the worn path from the ship's dock port, hearing from previous crew mates that this was the warm season, that the ice was thinner and the creatures lurking underneath had no sense of remorse. Now nervous at the revival of that pleasant memory, I kept a close eye on my surroundings, not having the most faith in my feet for staying their course. The wind stung at my exposed skin, reminding me I was wearing only my work cloths that weren't meant for the sudden change in climate. The cloak I had was best at protecting my human skin from the suns above. Beyond that, my tatterd outer layer didn't do much for the safeguarding of my body heat.

I was relieved to have stumbled to shade from the wind so quickly, the heavy kit bag on my back was starting to feel more like a boulder taped to my body than a simple means of containing my tools and spare cloths. Paying attention to the signs overhead, i quickly located the nearest cantina and rushed towards it as fast as any human Popsicle can. Opening the circular doors with the press of a button took me into what felt like a summer time resort. Hiding my appreciation for the warmth from the patrons staring at me, i collected my composure and swiftly found an open table. The electronic doors closed rather harshly behind me. I recognized the sound of faulty pressure hinge and eyed the door for a moment when i took my seat. That door was a danger to customers who get caught in it, it could cause some serious injuries for larger species and even fatalities for humanoids.

Sitting down at the frosty old wooden chair was a relief on the fatigue in my joints. It was neither a comfortable seat, nor a relatively stable one, but it gave me time to take off my pack and study the small, rather ugly, room I found myself to be in. It wasn't too long before I would have to order something, or I feared starvation. The crew mates on the cargo ship were kind, if the bare minimum counts. Food once a day (as per average in the parsec), and as much sleep as necessary per species or race. For humans in particular, that amount of time was annoyingly low. tired and hungry was a bad mix for me as it is, but add cold to that mixture, and the first person to get on my nerves would be the last. i checked the contents of my bag to make sure everything looked as it should and moved up from my chair, replacing the spot with my hefty bag. I was rather confident that if any Kung Nerfhearder tried to run off with it, it would be too weighted for them to get far. I may be rather small compared to other sub species of humans, but i pride myself on my strength often.

Making my way to the bar counter, I lean up between two silent patrons sitting a few seats away from each-other. I get the barkeep's attention with a wave of my fingers, calling him to me. "What kind of meal do you have on the stove top right now?" I ask with my flattest low tone. In port towns like this its important to be as emotionless as possible in order to not draw attention to yourself. Colorless, shapeless, uniform and mad was always the role you had to play to make it through the galaxy.

"We got a silver weed in the radiator, it'll be 3 credits." He replied, picking up a glass and wiping it out with his rag covered hand. I pulled the amount needed out of my pocket and set it down on the bar counter. he swiped his hand over the credits, picking them up quickly. nodding, he left the sight of the bar for only a spit second before returning to the table with a small bowl of mush. I tried my best to smile and be thankful for the meal, but as the bowl transferred to my hands I had to focus on not gagging. I hurried back to my private table in the corner and settled back into my seat, dropping my bag on the floor between my legs to keep it as safe as possible. The last thing I want is a soup that tastes like the scrapings of a persons shoe into street worn snow, but what can you expect on a planet such as this. Prodding the gelatinous mass in the bowl with my spoon, I ponder the ever growing question of 'what in the hell is in this shit'. my mind wonders deep into its personal wonderland while my environment continues to be less and less favorable.

Hostile voices from the other side of the cantina rise louder and louder, as if at the warm up stage of a slowly progressing screaming match. The feeling of sourness in my heart rose with a predictable inclination. The tension in the air grows as yet again the same scene unfolds before my and all other patrons of the cantina's eyes. I strain my neck to see what was happening. At the far end of the room, closer to the door than I am, I saw the oddly familiar face of a poor amphibious creature's head being slammed on the table he was sitting at. The oldest and most primal of situations, the strong picking on the weak. Three tall imposing figures towered over the poor humanoid looking fellow who was obvious to any idiot to be lacking in intimidating features. Seeing this obligatory show of power for any insecure creature with anger issues never sat right with me. It reminded me too much of where I came from, the slums of sand and glass where bullies like these were treated like royalty without challenge from the ones they harassed.

'Dank ferrik, don't do it' i challenged the assaulter internally, as if pleading with them to harm their victim any more so I would have a reason to put in use my blade skills. i had no idea where I've seen that face before, but as they say, curiosity killed the Cathar. And there it happened, the final action in the escalation. The largest of the assaulter lifted the poor guy to his feet and the ring leader lifted his knife to the throat of his victim. A cry of anguish and fear came from the poor fool being restrained, and that was my last straw.

I stood from my chair, kicking away my bag and drawing my vibroblade from my thigh holster, walking over to the group across the tavern. I growl, squaring my shoulders and stiffening my legs to make me seem bigger. I must have looked pretty wild, my tattered cloak drawn over my body like a dark fog, and my scarf still pulled up like a mask over my nose with only my furious green eyes over the top. Just as I started my warpath towards the men, the heavy ring shaped door to the cantina opened abruptly, startling a few of the onlookers. I knew what type of situation I had put myself in and how important focus and intimidation was, so I didn't take any time away from the assholes with blades to gawk at who had happened to stroll in. With my attention solely married to the poor bastard and his assailants, I noticed all of their attention was stripped from their target and glued to the newcomer. Evaluating my surroundings, I saw most of the other patrons in my sight were enthralled too. This piqued my interest and I felt it safe enough to turn and check out the royalty.

Standing soberly at the bar counter, the figure of a mandolorian stood in silence, facing the bar keep. My heart dropped first, than my jaw. Only legend, only in the oldest fables and the scary stories my nan would use to scare me into not stealing the sweets late at night, had I ever heard of the likes of him. from the bescar armor forged in the heart of a black flame forge (or so i've been told) to the galaxy known creed of mandalore, this being was the stuff of leadgeneds. To be feared and adorned wherever they so chose to walk. but not anymore. Not since the planet turned to glass a hundred years ago, destroying much of what was known of the infamous warriors.

I don't think the aggressors saw me and the dangerous piece of weaponry clasped in my hand, instead they looked drunkenly amused at the new patron, like sly cats with a new toy. surveying his surroundings, the warrior's expressionless visor swept the room. He inspected the threat levels of the patrons, the bullies, the amphibious humanoid sucker that was caught under it all. The mandolorian made no comment as he momentarily swept over me, with my clenched fist around the vibroblade. Rather he ignored me entirely, leaning against the bar counter and staring absentmindedly at the wall ahead of him. The scum saw this as an odd mandolorian intimidation tactic and took it to heart, growling a string of multilingual insults. I couldn't quite understand all the words from their chosen dialect, but something about a drink spilling and how it was somehow the mando's fault.

when they didn't get a response, they snorted, puffing their chest out and stalking towards the armored newcomer. Continuing to talk in another language I didn't understand fully, the bar keep attempted to translate, feeling the tensions rise in the air. "He says you spilled his drink." a moment of silence, with the smell of anger wafting from the half intoxicated bantha shaggers, And the barman attempted to diffuse the situation by offering the men drinks to hopefully get them to settle down. And by the two suns it did not. The drink slid from the barkeep's hand and down the table. The mandolorian took it out of its trajectory and started the assault, smashing the creature's head on the counter to his right and simultaneously twisting the louder man on his left arm until the knife in his hand stabbed himself in the ass. As the third attempted to run out the front door, mando caught him with his grappling wire and pulled him back. The tangled creature got his blaster from a thigh holder and shot a round at his would-be captor. The blaster fire ricochet off the bescar Armour, bringing the mando's attention to his own firearm. With the tangled assaulter in the right position, mando fired a single shot at the door of the cantina, Forcing the wiring to go into hyperactive shut down, closing the doors around the alien. The doors struggled for a moment, and so did the thing caught in it, but nothing stopped the metal and electricity from slicing through the meat of its body. The legs of the now dead man fell to the ground at the door with a sickening thump.

After this, the silence in the room was so thick you could swing at it with a hatchet and not make a dent in the shock factor. unsurprisingly enough, every patron went back to their own businesses with each other as if nothing had happened. A pair sitting at a table close to the door went swiftly to the half body to move it away to continue the flow of traffic as they then scurried out the doors, carrying the top half between them. Scavengers i bet, black market womp rats' i thought, sighing at how quickly the circle of life can flash before your eyes. death isn't something to be dewlled on in a universe like this, now back to the issue at hand.

recollection hit me like a half ton of bricks when I remembered where I saw the face of the teal looking bastard with a knife previously on his neck. Spite flooded in my blood as I narrowed my eyes at my next target, shoving my vibroblade back in my thigh holster aggressively and stomping towards the useless excuse of flesh. "You're a dead man now, Mythrol." I said to myself. he must have heard me, or possibly sensed all the rage walking swiftly at him. His eyes upturned towards me, full of fear, but I now remember there is an ugly smugness to him too. I made it to the table, putting my hands down in front of him, leaning my top body weight on my palms. "You better have a divine excuse for not meeting me at that port you Druk Nerfhearder, or you'll be seeing the wrong side of the ice ocean outside in 30 seconds." I could barely contain my frustration with this sniveling worm, he was the reason i had to bunk with the disgusting oiled engineers for a week in hyperspace. The reason I had only 12 credits in my tech vault and less than that on hand. He scammed me out of a decent ride and my entire years savings. It was a genuine miracle how well I kept myself from not leaping over the table he sat at and giving him a new meaning to crazy bitch.

"H-hey, hey you, long time no see huh, man am I sorry for missing out on that meting we had that one time, sorry pal I kinda slept in-" but before he could make up any more exuces, any more lies, my vibroblade was at his throat right where the other man's was just a moment ago. He hissed and recoiled back in his seat, opening and closing his mouth a few times, trying to breathe, to speak. whichever it was, it wouldn't matter soon. He had talked enough in his lifetime to anger hundreds of poor victims throughout the parsec, letting him one last word would be a dishonor to all of them.

Before I could press the blade into his flesh, a firm leather covered hand wrapped around my forearm, pulling it away carefully. I looked at the arm, attached to it was a shoulder, and atop the shoulder sat a gleaming bescar helmet. I felt my heart sink into the depths of my stomach, the anger switching places with feral panic that I tried my absolute best to contain. No words came from the mandolorian, a simple shake of his head was all i got. he loosened the grip on my arm, letting it recall back to my center of gravity.Ii looked down at the arm, looking for any obvious signs of damage, but his grip was closer to gentle and firm than harsh. A soft metallic thud brought my attention to the table, where the mando has tossed a puck. A bounty puck. Today was certainly a day for emotions, because T felt as pleased as a jawa coming across the flashing screen of Mythrol's face on the holographic screen projected by the puck. Mytrol looked between me and the mandolorian a few times before painting his face with a fake smile, the wheels in his head turning into overdrive trying to make a lie up to get himself out of this one. "Is that me?" he questioned, the forced denial barely hiding the fear in his eyes. "Aw come on, I can pay you more than that pitiful bounty, a whole new cruiser," he pleaded, bargaining for his life. "on me, waddaya say."

The mandolorian doesn't waste a breath to reply, his electronically filtered voice filling the getting-to-be awkward silence. "I can take you in warm." he placed a hand on his hip holster, bringing attention to the deadly gun strapped in it. "Or I can bring you in cold." Mythroll's face turned pale with fear, looking like a sort of pale blue spirit. Gulping down what could have been vomit, or another plea for life, he couldn't move at all, just staring at the mandolorian's unfeeling visor.

The mandolorian slaps restraints on mythrol's wrists, pulling him up and out of his chair in one swift motion, the disparaged lump following along with his hands bound together. He seemed resigned to his fate as he was pulled out of the cantina, leaving in his wake and eruption of whispers and a few sobs of relief from the clientele of the bar. I myself was in a state of shock by what had happened and the intense speed at which it had occurred, Standing in front of a table with drops of blood on it not knowing what to do next. Mythrol had cheated me out of a lot of money, and he was just walking away, atoning for crimes he didn't commit against me. that in and of itself felt somewhat fair, fair to any of the galaxy he had screwed over so far.

My body flew back to my table mostly on its own, smashing into the chair at which I had just been sitting less than a minute ago. I hauled my ridiculously large bag over one shoulder, the extra strap free in the wind. I knew i had to at least try. for myself. Running back to the door panel where the halfed creature had met his end, I slammed the controls urgently, opening the door back out to the wild wind of Maldo Keris. Scanning the nearby environment was hard without protective goggles to shield me from the dust and yuck in the wind, but I spotted a pair of hulking figures 15 yards from the cantina, moving at a steady pace away. Try for me, I can do this one thing for myself. I sprinted as fast as I could with the pack over one shoulder, making me surely look like some sort of lame bantha to any possible onlookers. "Wait! wait please!" I called out to the mandolorian, my tone accidentally becoming demanding, but I think that helped to get the mandolorian's attention. They stopped and Mythrol looked at the mando, as if he was pleading to get him away from me in fear I had came back just to fight a mandolorinan for a chance to stab him again. As tantalizing as that thought was, the actions I were taking were purely selfish. I deserve justice just as much as any poor sap sad enough to cross paths with the scamming womp rat or the mystery person who called for the bounty.

"Please let me come with you for when you collect his bounty." I asked somberly, stopping my chase a few paces away from the pair standing together. "I swear I wont take the credits from you, I just want to see him pay for what he's done." Tiny beads of sweat pearled at my brow, my breath was labored in my throat. Even walking with my bag was hard, but I had just chased down a bounty hunter and his captive. Strands of my hair stuck to my forehead and I wiped them away with the back of my forearm once they crept into my eyes.

Mytrhol had to get his two cents in of course, holding the bounty hunter by the cape and making his eyes go wide with worry. "I don't know who this person is, don't let them come along, they could try to hurt me!" He plead, tugging on the cape like a whiny child. Now the anger came back, a cold rage in my fists, ready to start brutalizing someone at the drop of a pin. I narrowed my eyes at Mythrol, who didst bother to return the look. the mandolorian stared for a moment, looking off behind me in thought. The worry then set in, a fear whispered in the back of my skull 'You'll never get your closure and die alone on this hell planet.' My eyes went to the obsidian visor of the mando, creasing my brows together, subconsciously chewing on my lip as he made his decision. Loosening his shoulders, he slumped his head downward, as if morally defeated. I was taken aback by the conflict he was having about weather or not to let a weird stranger aboard his ship or not. oddly enough I understood his seeming frustration, I wouldn't let me go if I were him. He picked his head up after a second, looking me up and down as if to study me entirely. I felt eyes over my body, it was weirdly intimate. When he made his way back up to my eyes, he stood in silence for a moment before asking. "Do you have any weapons on you besides the blade?"

Certainly a different question than what I thought was going to be asked, so for the answer, I had to think about it for a moment, mentally going through my bag and person. "n, no. I have my vibroblade. and a sack full of my electrician's tools, but they arn't traditional weapons." I responded earnestly, my tone going flat again. Another moment of silence, Mythrol looking quickly between the bounty hunter and myself.

"If you truly wish to see the bounty delivered, I can take you to the trade. In exchange for the ride there, my ship needs mild internal repairs. If you try to cross me," He paused, a hand went to his blaster as a warning. A flashback to the cantina entered my forethought, the image of his hand on his blaster the same way as it was now moments before a man got cut in half. The warning was received properly, I felt thoroughly intimidated. "You'll be dead before you could pray to any gods." damn. That was intense. thoroughly intimidated, to the core. i took a breath in, almost allowing myself time to rethink my request in its entirity. but i responded with a quick nod. I knew my way around most ship interiors, if the ship wasn't rusted and breaking in half on take off, i knew i'd be able to mend it.

The mandolorian gave no other word to me and turned, walking towards the ice flats docking crew. I allowed myself a cheeky smirk, fulfillment at the succession in my pursuit gave my heart a good warm squeeze. Following along behind the mandoloian a pace, he negotiated with the docking crew, asking oddly enough for a live pilot, not a droid. Some harmonic whistling came from the ferryman, hailing over a rust bucket of a speeder. As the speeder came to a stop to collect its haul, rusted pieces of under backing fell from the rear, clanking to the ice annoyingly. We all loaded into the speeder, I sat in front with the driver, the mando and his bounty in the back, a gloved hand around Mythrol's bicep at all times. We reached out frozen destination, the driver of the speeder calling one last warning to the three of us after collecting his dues and puttering off towards the port.

I took a moment to asses the hull of the razor crest, it wasn't too bad for a pre new republic vessel. Some battle scars here and there around the landing gear, a charred blaster fire mark on the windows of the cockpit. This was truly the ship of a bounty hunter. Turning to follow the speeder's course, I couldn't help but feel a deep unease, he had warned about the ice planet's personal creature of death, Ravanack. Just then, the entire rusty hull of the speeder and its driver were swallowed whole in a single angry bite. The ravanack retreated back into the ice just as Mythroll let out a girlish scream of terror. He booked it twords the mandolorian who was opening the hatch to the belly of his ship, screaming for dear life to let him in. The ice where the speeder was swallowed started cracking in the direction of the ship, very quickly speeding directly at Mythrol.

My instincts kicked in and I hopped out of the way, swinging myself onto the floor of the cargo hold of the ship with the momentum of my bag. Just as i got out of harms way, the mandolorian swung himself out of the ship to grab the petrified blue idiot only moments before the jaws of his early death lunged out of the ice, driving sickeningly deep into the landing gear of the razor crest. I winced at the damage done, scrambling back away from the flying Mythroll the mando had haphazardly chucked at me. The mandolorian seemed to ignore me entirely, herding his bounty into the cockpit with him. As the engines revved and the propellers blasted their heat down towards the ice at max capacity, the beast clung tightly to its prey of metal and paint, determined wholeheartedly to bring the ship down to its frigid death. The mando hopped down the ladder, rushing to the cargo bay door with his riffle. he stabbed the bayonet into the beast's head, sending a current of electricity into its skull. the beast roared furiously, releasing the ship and sinking back into the inky ocean.

I collected myself and scrambled up off the floor. the cargo bay doors closed quickly, leaving the mandolorian and myself in the ambient humming of the bay. His breast plate rose and fell, getting less an less noticeable as he calmed down. turning towards me. He nodded at a upturned metal basket with a weather worn blanket tossed over it. I took the hint and put my bag on top of the makeshift stool, retrieving from it my more universal tools. Going from one job to another wasn't my ideal, but this was a more opportunistic adventure. My original goal was only ever to get off the sun bitten planet i was from, beyond that was up to fate, and I can't really complain about where it took me today. Now i'm headed to gods know where with a mandolorian and his bounty who single-handedly ruined the last year and a half's hard work I had done. turning my head towards the mandolorian, I saw him stand in the hallway between the cargo bay and the cockpit, eyeing his bounty.

Words hung on the end of my tongue, ready to ask millions of questions out of pure adrenaline fueled thrill. But I stopped myself from spilling over, taking notice of the details in the mando's body for the first time. For the most feared warrior in the galaxy, this man looked as any other bounty hunter. His armor was chipped and dented, highlighting the flaws in the outer most shell of himself. A deep rooted curiosity took roots just then, desiring to know more of what laid under his iron and bescar plates. "Where should I start working first?" I asked as politely as possible. feeling a need to use respective words when in the presence of a man who just stabbed a water beast in the head. This got his attention away from the bounty if only for a moment. He paused for a second, going through the archives of his mind to see where needed the most urgent attention. Turning 180 degrees, he lifted a gloved hand to point at the panel of buttons and levers at the end of the metal room. It looked mostly in tact, but only mostly. There was blaster char at the center of the damage, near the bottom left hand corner of the panel itself. "Yikes." I whispered mostly to myself, reaching in my bag for a clean oil rag. Acknowledging the mandolrian's request with a glance and half nod, I got to work at the station. It looked to be the control panel for the gun hold under the main cargo bay. The possible stories tied with the maiming of this piece of equipment swarmed my mind, finding my own way of theorizing any number of adventurous tales.

A few minutes go by, tweaking the damaged area as best I could to fit my hands into the circuitry. Mythroll passed by quickly, entering the open door of the munitions hold to the ladder down. I got nervous for a moment, than I heard him calling back to the mandolorian pilot, talking about molting and stellar seasons. What an odd being. Slimy thieving nerfhearder. Going back to work, not questioning the reasons tmythroll went down there. so wrapped up, figuratively and literally, in the wires of the control panel, i hadn't noticed mando sneaking past me, silent as death. I hadn't noticed him, that is, until I heard the thumping and crashing of combat and the pitiful yelps of the bounty rise to draw my attention toward the lower hold. Mythroll's shout cut short with an angry metallic hiss. The fear now taking a hold of my stomach, I pulled my hand out of the tangle to look nervously down the ladder, seeing the mando start his ascent. "carbon freezing." he said simply. I know his intention was to explain what had just happen in hopes to ease my worry, but no. it worried me more. Drawing my thought to the intense reality that I was willingly trapped on the ship of a proven dangerous bounty hunter. I felt rather idiotic in that moment, the crushing weight of the situation bringing me to a moral defeat. The mando slid by me, his body language more casual than it should have been seeing as how he had just half killed someone in the hold of his ship. He paused momentarily, looking over my work. nodding, He left in silence, returning to the cockpit.

After a second, I gathered my thoughts and took a deep breath into my lungs. The reality of my life now was flipped upside down and tossed into a spinning vortex of crazy, but I know my strengths. I know myself and what i can handle. This? was obviously odd and scary and new, but the skills I cary can get me far. Exhaling, I focused my mind at the task at hand. Knowing my entire world was going to be changing from here on out was more calming than expected. The determination I felt towards my own new chapter of life soothed my aching back and fried nerves. This was going to be epic.

A/N: i'm so glad to have finally finished this, holy hell ;-;

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youngerdrgrey · 3 years

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I know you (even if you don't want me to) // a Batwoman fic, chapter 4

about: After finding out Batwoman’s identity, Sophie tries to trap Ryan with her newfound knowledge. If she’s going to be on the outside, she might as well have some fun – and maybe fall in love along the way. #Wildmoore

CHAPTER FOUR SUMMARY: Ryan’s on a mission to stop Sophie’s crush on Batwoman, but she is very unprepared for what a rejected Sophie is about to do. + read on ao3

previously: read chapter one, chapter two + chapter three

Unknown to SM (21:37) Hostage situation at the Krell Warehouse. Could use an assist. No Crows.

SM to Unknown (21:42) ETA 20m

Sophie crouches low at the rendezvous point. A few rusted shipping containers form a makeshift wall on the edge of the warehouse property. Ryan’s fully suited up with her favorite batons ready for the action. She turns them in her hands to try and get rid of her nervous energy.

Sophie nods her way. “Surprised you called for help.”

“Yeah, well….” Technically, Ryan hasn’t called for help. She needs to put space between Sophie and Batwoman, and doing this over text would be even more uncomfortable than doing it in person.

“What do we got?”

“Six people inside — mostly teens who thought cruising an old Wonderland haunt would be a fun way to spend their Friday night.” Ryan points to the second level of the building where a row of boarded up windows give them their best entry point. “One got out a distress call, but False Face is all over the lower level and all the reasonable exits.”

Sophie mulls that over. “Do they know they’ve got company?”

“They found one kid who split off solo. The others are hiding, waiting for us to get them out.” Ryan stands back up.

“How’d you hear about this before us?” Sophie asks.

In a word, Parker. The inherited back-up / hacker teen is a senior now, and she’d reached out to Mary for an assist. Mary caught Ryan up to speed, but there’s not really a quick way to clue Sophie in.

“A little doggy told me.”

Sophie side-eyes Ryan. “I didn’t know riddles were your thing.”

Ryan gets her baton ready. “Saving people’s my thing. Now, I’m going to break through the boards. Draw their attention to me. After that, you find the kids and get them out of here.”

“Aye, aye Captain.” Sophie salutes her.

Ryan hesitates. She could bring Sophie up with her. Get them both into the building the same way. “You want to take the shortcut with me?”

A slow smile curls onto Sophie’s lips. “Yeah?”

Ryan pulls Sophie to her with her left hand. “Hold onto me. Tight.”

Sophie doesn’t need to be told twice. She wraps her arms around Ryan from the left side. Ryan secures her arm around Sophie’s waist, then clicks the button on the baton, launching the zip wire and effectively sending them into the air.

Sophie clings to her tighter. She gives a little gasp that Ryan’s sure will live in her mind rent free. Ryan shifts her weight to push boots first into the wood boards. She kicks through, and the splintering will definitely be enough to get the False Face members’ attention.

She lands firm, and Sophie takes a moment to readjust. Ryan knows she shouldn’t, but she glances up at Sophie. There’s a breathless awe in her that Ryan can’t look away from. Sophie genuinely laughs.

“That was awesome!”

Ryan smiles back despite herself. “Go find the kids. Thank me later.”

Ryan takes out three different False Face goons. The two remaining ones chase her through the building and out the front doors. It’s not the most effective strategy, but she catches sight of Sophie leading the kids out from the corner of her eye. Parker has the audacity to wave at Ryan, like they’re friends. The girl might’ve been Kate’s chosen teenager, but Ryan is not taking in any strays.

She focuses back on her two shadows. “Aren’t you guys sick of getting your asses kicked at this point?” She assumes her fighting stance while they split masked looks and probably choose who is charging at her first. “I knocked out three of your buddies back there. I broke into your boss's hideout. Gotham is mine.”

A car starts in the distance. The guy in the Seal Mask cheats a glance towards the shipping containers. Ryan takes the opportunity to launch a Batarang at his shoulder. It slices through his jacket like butter. The Monkey Mask runs at her.

She blocks three punches and a kick before getting a roundhouse one of her own straight to his side. Monkey Mask crumbles with the kick. Seal Mask storms right at her, but thankfully, Sophie shocks him with a taser from behind. As he writhes his way to the ground, Ryan chops Monkey Mask in the side of the head to knock him out too.

Sophie pockets her taser. She wipes her hands after. “Kids are gone. They say thank you.”

“Did you tell them this was a one time thing?” Ryan asks.

Sophie nods. “I promised I’d haul them in myself next time.”

Of course she did. Because that’s who Sophie is. How many times has she said those same words to Ryan? Her solution will always be to lock people up and maintain the status Crow. Ryan cannot be a part of that.

She bites the bullet and announces, “There won’t be a next time. Not for us.”

Sophie’s smile drops. “I’m sorry, what? If it’s the Crow thing again, it was a joke—”

“No,” it wasn’t a joke, but it’s now or never to put an end to this. “It’s the Kate thing.”

The mention of Kate works exactly the way Ryan thought it would. A wall builds around Sophie in an instant. Her voice drops to a warning.

“Watch yourself, Batwoman.”

She has to watch out for Gotham. Keep them safe by keeping Sophie out of the Batcave and back with her Crows where she belongs.

“You said it yourself: she was the love of your life. Isn't it a little weird that you’re asking me out for drinks?”

Sophie’s nostrils flare. She grinds out, “It’s a drink. Not a marriage proposal.”

“You’ve already done that part, right?”

Okay, Ryan may have gone too far with that one. But the point is to drive Sophie away. If Sophie thinks Batwoman is a bitch, then Ryan’s in the clear. No more crush, no more problems.

But Sophie spins Ryan around with a vice-like grip on her wrist. She glares down at Ryan, and Ryan’s thankful once again for how the cowl and the wig cast her eyes in shadow.

“And what have you done, besides try to push away the one person who’s repeatedly saved your life? I’m not your enemy, and I’m not going to stand here while you try to use my dead ex against me.”

Sophie’s whole body shakes. Her rage is clear and channeled straight at Ryan. She practically growls, “You want to work alone so badly? Be my guest.” Then storms off into the night.

After a beat, the crackle in the Comms gives way to Luke.

He sighs heavily into his microphone. “Not cool, Ryan.”

Ryan clears her throat. Tries to sound a bit less affected. “Hey, mission accomplished.”

Screw Ryan. Sophie would normally go for more eloquence, but she’s a little sidetracked. She squares up her shot in the minimalist Crows shooting range. The small scale facility has a row of five shooting stations opposite the targets. On a Friday night, the other Crows are either working or relaxing, so the space is all hers. And Mary’s, who presses a pair of earmuffs tighter onto her ears and squeaks as Sophie takes another shot.

Mary practically screams, “Are you sure that this is how you want to spend Girls’ Night?”

Girls’ Night meaning yet another last minute outing to distract Sophie from how shitty Ryan is acting. At least the last time, Sophie could have a bit of fun. This time, her blood’s boiling, and she grinds her teeth so hard that she might upset a filling.

“Any better ideas?”

Mary gives an incredulous look to Sophie. “There are so many clubs in Gotham. You can take shots instead of shooting them. And… didn’t you used to go shooting with Kate?”

Sophie sets her gun down. “It’s great stress relief.”

“Yeah, so’s dancing. And it’s a lot more fun.” Mary pushes her ear muffs down onto her neck. “I don’t need to know what’s got you so…” She waves a hand at Sophie’s generally tense demeanor. “But you can find plenty of ladies who would love to help you forget about it.”

And forget about Ryan slut-shaming her for even looking like she was moving on. “Look, I can live my life however I want. It’s not disrespecting anyone to do that.”

“I wholeheartedly agree.” Mary turns knowing eyes up at Sophie. “I also feel like there’s someone else that you want to be saying that to, and it’s not me. So, you work on your speech, and I will cement our spot on the guest list, okay?”

Mary squeezes Sophie’s arm and then excuses herself from the room. She stays right outside, where the pop of Sophie’s next shot is on the other side of the glass. Her phone’s ringing before she really thinks about it.

Ryan groans into the phone upon answering. Then she must hear the muffled shots in the background. “Are you getting shot at?”

“Thankfully, no. Sophie’s got me at the Crows shooting range because someone pissed her off tonight.” Mary rolls her head in a circle and wills some of the tension out of her body. “An hour ago, you two were fine, so want to clue me in how you royally screwed things up?”

Ryan scoffs, and her voice pitches higher in indignation. “She’ll be fine. This is Crowphie we’re talking about.”

Mary watches as Sophie fires off three rounds before her arms drop. Sophie lays the gun down and plants her hands on the wood of the stall in front of her. Her shoulders shake with what may actually be a sob.

“She’s not invincible, Ryan. And you can’t hurt her just to push her away. It’s not fair.”

“When has any of this been fair, Mary?” There’s a thud on the other end, like Ryan’s slamming their fridge. Is she home right now? “I’m doing the best I can.”

“Well, do better. I’m taking her out to hopefully dance through some of this intensity. Maybe tomorrow you can try to fix this. Okay?”

A bottle cap pops on Ryan’s side. She’s definitely got a beer from the fridge. This won’t end well for any of them, will it? Ryan takes a swig that’s loud enough for Mary to hear through the phone.

“Which club?”

Mary sighs.

Leave it to Mary to pick the one club playing decent music tonight. Ryan half expected Mary to have picked Curse, but Sophie’s not really an EDM kind of girl. Before tonight, Ryan would’ve assumed Sophie’s never been to a club at all. She’s the tight lipped, straight backed type. The type to think of a few drinks at a bar as a wild night.

Tonight, though, Sophie’s hotter than ever. In a tight dress that stops above the knee and heels that make her tower over half the patrons, Sophie’s got the attention of at least half the club. Ryan watches from beside Mary at their table. Sophie had taken one look at Ryan, downed her drink, and gone onto the dance floor.

“She’s not even a good dancer,” Ryan mumbles. Sophie’s a bit too stiff to really be good out there. She does have a natural rhythm though. Everyone around her bends to match it. One particular person with a mullet slips up behind Sophie. Their hand finds Sophie’s hip, and Sophie only misses a beat before dancing again.

Mary twirls the ice around in her drink. “She’s fine.”

She’s vengeful. Sophie gets told one time that she’s moving on too fast, and now she’s grinding with a stranger at a club. If anything, she’s proving Ryan’s point.

Mullet takes Sophie’s hand in their free one and spins Sophie around to face them. The move gets a laugh out of Sophie. The laugh gets a kiss from Mullet. Ryan groans.

She leans across the table to Mary. “I thought this was Girls’ Night.”

Mary shrugs. “Mullet's a girl. Maybe. I'm trying not to assume anyone's gender based on expression. Look, you rejected her, so she’s going to rebound.”

Ryan pulls a disgusted face. It’s not about Mullet in particular. Just, if Sophie’s going to rebound off of Batwoman, couldn’t she do it with somebody interesting? Somebody who will do more than kiss along her neck in a sweaty club surrounded by strangers. Now both of Mullet’s hands are on Sophie’s hips, and Sophie’s head is tilted back like she’s actually enjoying this. Like Mullet has found just the right spot and —

Ryan turns to put her back to the dance floor. “I’m not watching this.”

“You don’t have to. You also… didn’t have to come?” Mary’s voice lilts up at the end. Her face is that mix of carefully constructed curiosity that usually means Mary’s leading Ryan into a trap. “I get that you wanted to see how bad she’s taking it, but I could have just texted you. Imani would’ve loved an impromptu date night.”

Things with Imani aren’t as great as they were before. Imani’s still amazing, but she gets quieter and stares at Ryan like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. The last time Ryan bailed for Bat business, Imani looked absolutely betrayed.

Ryan could keep it to herself, but she blurts out, “Imani doesn’t trust me. I have to bail on half of our dates because of work and after meeting Sophie—”

“Why would she be jealous of Sophie?”

Ryan scratches at the back of her neck. “We may have gotten caught up in an argument in front of Imani.”

Mary hums. “And the two of you forgot anyone else even existed.” She says it like this is something that they do.

“I didn’t forget.” Sophie infuriates Ryan. She’s so sure that she’s right about every little thing, and if Ryan doesn’t correct her, then who will?

“But you didn’t care. Forgive me if I’m wrong, but shouldn’t the woman that you’re sleeping with have your full attention? Not your ‘coworker.’”

Ryan gives her a tight smile. “You’re forgiven.”

Mary turns her eyes back to the crowd. Ryan glances back, and of course, Sophie’s still with Mullet. But as Mullet kisses Sophie’s neck again, Sophie stares across the dance floor straight at Ryan.

Mary claps her hands together. “Alright. You two might want to talk about whatever this is. Preferably before I become an unwilling third and Imani ends up heartbroken.”

Ryan’s halfway out of her chair before she remembers to deny it. “There’s nothing to talk about.” Mary’s sarcastic mhm follows Ryan as she cuts her way through the crowd towards Sophie.

The heat of the bodies engulfs her. Somebody familiar tugs at Ryan, but she shirks out of the touch without so much as a look. Her eyes catch Sophie’s again, and she holds the stare as she slips around the last few people between them.

Mullet’s behind Sophie again. They possessively wrap an arm around Sophie’s stomach. “We’re good,” Mullet says.

Ryan ignores them to talk to Sophie. “Mary’s worried about you.”

Sophie’s dismissive. “Then Mary can come talk to me herself.” She turns her nose up at Ryan, and honestly, it’s enough to make Ryan see red.

Ryan’s here because Mary said Sophie was hurting. Ryan could be anywhere else. She could be at home, drinking a beer, in her bed. She could be patrolling the city. She could be with Imani, but she’s here because Mary had the misguided idea that Sophie was actually sad about being rejected. Mary was wrong.

Ryan huffs. “Whatever.” She starts walking back through the crowd.

Sophie calls out, “Hey, don’t walk away from me!”

Ryan glances over her shoulder to see Sophie push Mullet away. Sophie storms after Ryan, cutting through couples and dancers to get to her. Ryan speeds up. She makes a sharp turn in the crowd. No need to head back towards Mary and her leading comments.

The bathrooms are packed, as always, but there’s an exit door a bit further down the hall that’s normally unlocked. Ryan wiggles along the hall to get there and slips out into the night air.

A wave of humidity lingers outside the door. The stoop can barely fit Ryan. She pauses, which is just enough time for Sophie to push her way outside too. Ryan has to step down off the stoop. So she takes the remaining two steps to be firmly on the ground.

“Ryan, stop!” Sophie stomps down the steps. Ryan can’t move quick enough, so she ends up with Sophie standing over her. Sophie’s breathing hard. Her cheeks and neck are flushed from the club. Her lipstick’s in tact, but there’s a well kissed swell to them too.

Ryan can’t explain the fire in her veins. She shouldn’t have the power to get to Sophie like this. And maybe Ryan doesn’t. Maybe only Batwoman means something to Sophie.

“I have never seen you like that.” Ryan throws a hand towards the club. “Who was that in there?”

“You’re the one who said we didn’t know each other,” Sophie snaps.

“Maybe with good reason!”

Sophie quickly shakes her head. She stabs a finger into Ryan’s shoulder. “You do not get to judge me, Ryan. I am not interested in hearing some speech about how I should be acting. I decide what I want to do. I spent twenty-nine years denying myself that. And I am tired of letting other people tell me what team to be on.”

“You picked a clear one in there,” Ryan retorts. She should have worn her heels. Sophie’s a fucking Amazon woman right now, and it makes Ryan flare up. Makes her puff her chest out more than she needs to.

Sophie says, “I didn’t have a choice!” She catches herself. Her eyes cut to the wall before coming back to Ryan. “Did you know that I worked with the last Batwoman?”

Of course Ryan knows that. Everybody knows Sophie and Kate worked together. It’s why Sophie got suspended last year. Even low level non-criminals like Ryan heard about that. The Crows number two getting the deuces.

Sophie knows too. She keeps going, “For months, we worked together, and she never told me who she was. She never even gave me the chance to keep her secret. And you could say that she was protecting me, but really — ” Sophie’s anger fractures. Her lip trembles, and she sniffles before setting her jaw again. ”She was protecting herself.”

Luke always talks about Kate like she was perfect. Kate stood up for the people of Gotham. Kate had a code. Kate loved Sophie and established a legacy that Ryan’s supposed to carry on. Is hurting Sophie a part of that?

Sophie pushes her hair back out of her face. “I’m sick of playing games, Ryan.”

Ryan’s blood runs cold. “Meaning…?” Does Sophie know?

“Meaning I am going where I’m wanted.”

Ryan sighs in relief. A stressed laugh slips from her lips. It’s not about her. It’s still about the rejection.

Ryan lightens her tone. “You didn’t have to come to the club for that. There’s a line out the door at The Hold Up.” Sophie shakes her head, and the tension’s still tight between her eyebrows. Ryan needs this out. She takes Sophie’s hand in hers to swing it playfully between them. “I’m serious! Much hotter than Mullet. You should see the number of women checking you out every time you’re there. They are waiting for you to give them a chance.”

Sophie’s shoulders drop, like the fight’s slipping out of her. “You’re being nice.”

Ryan runs her thumb along Sophie’s knuckles to undercut her words.

“When have I ever been nice to you, Sophie?”

Sophie gazes down at Ryan in such a tender way that Ryan forgets how to breathe for a second. Forgets that they shouldn’t be toe to toe in an alleyway underneath the moonlight.

Sophie’s natural rasp pokes through. “You tell me.”

The quick hits: saving Sophie from Black Mask, cracking jokes with her and Jordan, the free margaritas. Sophie’s the nicer of the two of them. She stayed with Ryan on the island. She didn’t even look under the mask when she could’ve. She got Ryan back to Mary’s clinic with no questions asked.

She always plays along when Ryan wants a fight. She comes running for every text, every call, and she flips the Bat-signal to see Ryan. Not for some ghost of who used to be.

Sometimes Sophie smiles at Ryan like they’re the only two people in the world. Like now. Ryan gets lost in the warmth of it. The hopeful glow in Sophie’s eyes. Maybe Ryan should’ve been in heels. Sophie wouldn’t have to lean so far down to kiss her. Would it be so bad if Sophie did have a crush? If Ryan maybe —

“OW! What the —” The back door snags on the sleeve of Mary’s dress. She stumbles on the stoop, and her eyes jump up in time to spot them. Ryan and Sophie freeze, hands still together, faces angled towards each other but no closer to bridging the distance between them.

Ryan’s whole body feels like it’s on fire. Like she’s been caught in front of the whole of Gotham with her mask off.

Mary stares down at their hands. Ryan finally remembers to drop it. Sophie just licks her lips and steps back to turn to Mary.

The medical student points back into the club. “I… I could go back inside.”

Sophie walks back up the steps. “I’m calling it a night. Thanks, Mary. This was….” She glances over her shoulder at Ryan, who can’t bring herself to move yet. “Yeah.” Sophie slips into the club.

Mary lightly closes the door behind Sophie. She takes a deep breath in. “WHAT WAS THAT!?” She shrieks. Her eyebrows have practically left her face when she turns to Ryan. “You were supposed to be apologizing, not making out in the alley!”

Ryan snaps back to the moment. She readjusts her top, which she doesn’t have to do since it’s not like Sophie touched her. It’s not like they actually did anything. They just… stared? Looked? Saw each other, maybe.

“We weren’t making out.”

“Oh really?” Mary doesn’t believe her.

“We didn’t even kiss,” Ryan snaps.

Mary snorts. “Don’t sound so disappointed.” Ryan crosses her arms defensively. Mary’s eyes quadruple in size. “Oh my God, are you disappointed!?”

Ryan stomps up the steps to the door. Mary figuratively dissects Ryan with her eyes. Maybe Ryan could sprint through the club. If she starts running, the other Black people at least should run. It’s code. A little stampede, and she can ditch her roommate and this awful line of questioning.

Mary keeps up with Ryan as she speeds up though. Mary fast-walks beside her down the narrow hallway.

She says, “You can’t ignore me. You know that, right? We’re going home together. We need to talk about this.”

“Talk about what?”

Mary jogs to get around Ryan and stand in front of her. Ryan nearly crashes into her. Mary grabs both of Ryan’s shoulders so Ryan has no choice but to look at her. It’s almost not fair that Mary and Ryan are nearly the same height. It gives Mary an advantage when it comes to reading Ryan directly. Plus, Ryan can’t escape the soft concern in Mary’s eyes.

She asks it softly but like she already knows the answer. “Do you like Sophie?”

Ryan scoffs and laughs and shakes her head and does everything she can to look like that’s not true. Because it can’t be true. It shouldn’t be true. “No, I do not like Sophie.” So why does that sound like a lie?

Sophie shouldn’t be up here. She should be back home, like she said, not waiting under the Bat-signal. But she can’t exactly go to Ryan’s loft and ask Ryan what the fuck that was back at the club. At first, it just seemed like judgement. Ryan’s never been subtle about her discontent. She tells Sophie everything she dislikes from the way Sophie’s done her hair to the fact that Sophie’s committed her life to a police state that may never be capable of getting better.

Judgement doesn’t pinch Ryan’s lips though. Judgement is a self-assured raise of the brow. Judgement is that all-knowing smirk and a dimmer switch on Ryan’s normally bright eyes.

At the club, that was something else. That was heat. That was anger. That was jealousy. Ryan might’ve spun it into jokes about The Hold Up, but it started from there. They were so close in that alley. So close as themselves, and that should be the goal of all this, right? Sophie started messing with Ryan to get Ryan to be honest with her. Sophie could take the first step. Drop the charade and tell Ryan that she knows. Ask her to let Sophie in.

Ryan lands on the roof with a whoosh and a soft thud. The wind runs through the wig. What would it feel like through Ryan’s hair? What would Sophie’s fingers feel like?

Ryan shifts her weight from one side to the other. She gives a little “Hi” that sounds nervous even under the voice regulator.

If Sophie speaks, then those nerves will go away. This charade makes it easier. It gives them an excuse and an out. Because if Sophie and Ryan kiss, then Sophie has to change her life. Sophie has to quit her job, and Ryan has to bend her beliefs, and neither of them can ever go back to who they were before. But if it’s Batwoman….

Sophie summons all her strength. “You owe me an apology.”

Ryan glances down at the roof. “Kate was a low blow.”

“And Tyler,” Sophie reminds her. It’s probably a good thing Ryan doesn’t know enough about Julia to bring her up too.

“I’m sorry. I….” She licks her lips and steps closer to Sophie. “I panicked. You’re out here telling people that you have my phone number. What am I supposed to do with that?”

Sophie fakes a thought as she steps towards Ryan. “You could try talking about it, like an actual adult. You are an adult, right?”

Ryan takes another step. They’re only an arms length apart. “Yeah, I’m an adult.”

Sophie’s turn. “Good. And you want me?”

“I….”

Sophie stops. They’re almost toe to toe again. “Yes or no. Do you want me?”

A few agonizing seconds creep in. Ryan doesn’t move, or speak. Dread sinks in. She read this wrong. Ryan really was being nice in the alley, and now Sophie’s pushed too far. She’s gone back on her word, and it’s only going to give Ryan more ammunition against her. She’s going to kill Mary for bringing her out tonight.

“Yes,” Ryan whispers. Sophie jumps forward at the word. “I think…. Yes.”

Sophie drapes her arms around Ryan’s neck. The wig tickles against her bare skin. Ryan’s breath catches in her throat. Tentatively, her hands come up to Sophie’s waist. The gloves bunch her dress. Sophie’s eyes drop from Ryan’s down to Ryan’s lips, then back again. Sophie leans in, so close that their lips almost brush.

“Do you trust me?”

Ryan tenses around her. She says, “I want to. I just… can’t.”

Sophie nods and swallows around the immediate lump in her throat. “Then I can’t do this.”

Sophie detangles herself from Ryan and heads for the doors. She only gets a few steps away before Ryan grabs her hand. Ryan runs her thumb over Sophie’s knuckles the same way she did in the alley.

“We can work on it. It’s not just me, you know,” Ryan says. “I don’t have to work alone.”

Right, there’s Luke and Mary, who lie to Sophie every single time she sees them. There was Julia. Even Alice gets to be in on the action sometimes.

Sophie asks her, “So what’s wrong with me?” Why keep pushing her away? She’s done everything she can think of to prove she’s trustworthy. The last few weeks of jokes and games aren’t the problem. Ryan doesn’t care about kids thinking Sophie’s friends with Batwoman. She doesn’t care about drinks. There's something else at play here. Something Ryan won't admit.

“Soph….” Ryan starts, but no explanation follows. Sophie can’t set herself up like this. Not again.

Sophie pulls her hand back. “Figure that out, and get back to me. Until you do, I’m done.”

a/n: So many fun things in this chapter! Let me know what's working for you and how you felt about our near kisses (one of which was almost a full one -- can you guess which one?)

END OF CHAPTER UPDATED, MONDAY JUNE 21ST AT 10AM.

it's going to be a busy week for me. give me some fun comments and reblogs to keep my energy up?

#batwoman #batwoman fic #wildmoore #ryan x sophie #sophie moore #ryan wilder #mine #batwoman: s2 #fic: i know you even if you don't want me to #mary hamilton

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Text

Christmas Specials: Fishcake

CW: Some hint of dehumanization and references to Bahram’s depression/past breakdown at the end, some brief emeto references, but really this is just fluff. Oh, also brief unintentional ableism that Miah calls out.

---

BAHRAM’S NOTES

December 24th, 20XX 11:15 pm Mer in Residence: 71 Days

Miah showed up tonight with a Christmas present for me, and now I feel like a giant dick for not having anything to give her.

Christmas just isn’t a thing in my family. I mean, I have cousins who go overboard with it, kind of a fitting in thing, but my family never did. Baba does some kind of fast, but for Maman it’s just another day and for me it’s always meant mostly a day where I played video games all day because I didn’t have to be at school or work.

Oh, I need to call Baba and Maman tomorrow, note to self. She always gets worried about me right around the end of the year, what with how they figured out I was quitting school and everything.

I guess getting a phone call from a hospital leaves a bloody impression.

Anyway, Miah comes in with this big shopping bag in her hand, waving at me all bright and sunny and cheerful. She set the bag down long enough to berate me for - she assumed - having not taken my medicine on time.

For the record, she was right, but I didn’t tell her that.

Nearly drowning in saltwater made my lungs apparently terribly angry with me, so for the next eight days I’m on a run of antibiotics to handle a lovely case of bacterial pneumonia. Would’ve been far handier to get pneumonia right away, but instead I ended up in Urgent Care yesterday, paying 200 dollars and waiting two hours to see a doctor for less than ten minutes.

Dr. L says she’ll reimburse me the cost, but still.

Miah asked me how I was feeling, I said I felt fine, really, and then of course I had an awful coughing fit just to prove myself a wonderful liar. The coughing’s the worst part - every time I really get going, it’s like being underwater all over again. I can feel my lungs fighting to inflate, to take the air in, and I can hear how hard I’m working to get enough air to stop coughing at all. Miah can’t hear it, but she can see it all right, and she looked worried.

I signed, “I’m fine, it’ll stop, the doctor says it will,” and she frowned at me, but let it go, I guess. While she had her face turned away to greet the mer, I opened the pill bottle and dry-swallowed the meds really fast. Sometimes there are benefits to Miah not being able to hear things.

The mer - Kima, I can call him by his name in these notes, the ones only I see - was already at the side of the tank, watching us. He’s perked up a bit lately, since I started giving him live fish on the days Dr. L isn’t around and Miah brought him all these enrichment things. We’re doing what we can, but I know it’s still not enough.

Enough would be figuring out where his bloody family is and getting him back to them, but I just… I can’t even begin to explain, even to myself, the logistical nightmare of hauling a six-foot-long mer back to the ocean and finding someone who would take him back up north where his family likely is in the middle of bloody fucking December.

It’s the right thing to do, yeah.

But it’d just be too hard to pull off, not without losing… my whole taped-together life, yeah? Plus I’m still dealing with trying to figure out who exactly is my real employer at this point - who’s paying Dr. L - and what they want from the mer’s… thing he can do.

Miah glanced over at him and signed, “Don’t worry, I have something for you, too,” and Kima just looked back at her, head cocked to the side. She looked over at me and signed, “It’s a fish-cake.”

I have to admit, it took me a second to even begin to respond. My hands just… hung in mid-air, before finally I asked, “A what?”

“A fishcake. It’s like a fruitcake, but so much worse.” She leaned down to dig around in the big bag and pulled out a box, pausing to add, “I had to wrap it and box it or the car would have smelled horrible for days,” before she picked up and laid the box on my desk, opened it, took out something wrapped in layers of plastic, and unwrapped that, painstakingly slowly.

I glanced over at the mer, who watched with total fascination. Maybe he’d caught the sign for fish, he’s incredibly food-motivated. Which makes sense, of course, probably with his pod he’d spend a lot of his day eating and hunting for more, but

Bahram. Focus.

She was right - as soon as the plastic came off, I could smell it.

“How can you handle that? Isn’t your sense of smell… really good?” Ah, yes, I am always so proud of myself when I forget a sign for a word I want to say and have to sort of cobble together the spirit of it with other signs.

She looked at me with this sort of dry are you kidding me expression, then signed, “I’m deaf, B, not a superhero,” in a way that made me feel about ten inches tall.

“Sorry. That’s an awful smell, though.”

And it was. I like fish as much as the next man, but this was foul. She grinned at me and picked up the tupperware the fishcake was in using towels to protect her hands from picking the smell up too, I guess, and went over to the ladder up to the platform. Her back was already to me, so I couldn’t ask her the question I had, or tell her not to do that one-handed. Instead, I just sort of… got up and hovered uselessly while she climbed up without looking back, and then followed her up there.

The platform makes me… nervous, now. I stay closer to the ladder, farther from the water. I hope the mer, that Kima doesn’t think I don’t want to be close to him or something.

Miah took the lid off the tupperware and waited. Soon enough the mer popped up near us, interested in what we were doing on the platform.

I watched those nasal slits open wide when he smelled the fish. And I watched how his eyes went big and shiny with excitement. Whatever Miah had put in the foul thing, he wanted it.

She dumped it into the water - I didn’t see much, other than a sort of loaf-shape and a sense of texture I never want to think about again - and Kima tore into it. It was the grossest thing I’ve ever seen, and I have actually watched Kima eat raw fish that was living seconds before. I had to look away - and so did Miah, but she was laughing. She can’t hear herself, only feel the vibration in her own throat. Her laughs kind of sound almost honking, choked-off, just totally un-self-conscious noises she’s barely aware of.

I should tell her that I like the way she laughs.

Oh, I absolutely should not do that.

Maybe I should, though.

She grinned at me, still laughing, and signed, “This is disgusting!”

“It is,” I signed back, “And it’s your fault, don’t forget that!”

She was still laughing when Kima looked back up at us, fish bits smeared around his mouth, and she signed, “Merry Christmas, K-I-M-A,” to him. He stared back, signed yes, and then dove back under the water, present utterly devoured, leaving only gross little particles I will probably have to hose off the sides of the tank on cleaning day when the filters can’t quite pick them up.

Miah looked at me, and I just thought, you know, she’s really pretty even under the sun lamps, and nobody is pretty in that light. Then she signed, after this moment of stillness, “I bought you a present, too.”

“Me?” I pointed back at myself, blinking, surprised. “I don’t do Christmas, M, I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “I know. But I still bought a present. Can I show you?”

“Um, sure.” I get nauseous when I’m nervous. For a second, climbing back down the ladder, I thought I’d just get sick all over myself. I was badly designed, my defense mechanism is just to vomit on myself to scare predators away, clearly my body thinks pretty women are dangerous and I have to embarrass myself until they stop looking at me.

Finally, though, we were back at my desk. The smell… lingered. I’ve since burned the candle Miah got me, and the sulfur from the matches and the scent of the candle itself have largely done away with it, but when we got back, it was still powerful.

She didn’t pull anything out of the bag, instead she just took a small card out of her back pocket and handed it to me.

I looked down at it. “Alborz?” I realized I’d spoken out loud, looking down, and looked back up quickly so I could repeat it in sign, so she could see. “A-L-B-O-R-Z? A gift card to a restaurant?”

She nodded, quickly, signing so fast I was having trouble keeping up. I guess… was she nervous, too? “It’s food like you grew up with, yes?”

“Yeah, more or less. I mean nothing is better than my mother’s food. But why-”

She reached out and grabbed my arm with one hand to stop me, leaned in so close that the smell of this super subtle perfume she wears was stronger, for a second, than the smell of fish. “B,” She signed, with heavy, slow emphasis, “Think about why I bought you this.”

I just looked at her. I didn’t get it at all, and told her so.

I’m so bloody dense.

She sighed, throwing her hands up in the air with an eye-roll and a smile, and then signed, “When are you taking me there?”

She had to repeat the signs three times before I realized she was asking me on a date.

So anyway, I don’t think I’ll sleep a wink tonight, and also I think I celebrate Christmas now.

Date-mas.

That was an awful joke. I’m leaving it there just to properly shame myself if I ever reread this.

---

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @slaintetowhump @moose-teeth @misspelledwitch @whumpfigure @whumptywhumpdump @boxboysandotherwhump @whumpywhumpwhump @yet-another-heathen @fanmanga1357-blog @justabitofwhump

#mer whump #christmas specials #signs of the sea #depression tw #breakdown mention tw #emeto references #mer whumpee #fluff #angst and fluff #all comfort no hurt #referenced drowning #bahram anvari #miah kirsse

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riverdale-retread · 3 years

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Riverdale S2 Ep 13

- NEWSFLASH: Jughead Jones is ambidextrous. Evidence: Jughead can draw on a map with his right hand while he eats noodles using chopsticks (held correctly!) with his left. (Who taught Jughead how to use chopsticks?) When the phone rings, he picks it up with his right hand, while continuing to ply the chopsticks with his left. Betty is calling him to involve him in the cover up of a murder (nice girl you got there) but I had to push pause on the rage about that, because I had to (had! to!) go back to the Bughead Consummation right quick to see if the ambidexterity has an impact on how he unzips the pink dress. It does. Lucky Betty, she really does get everything.

- Alice hiding the body in her ‘childhood secret place’ which is a filthy looking giant sewer pipe in the middle of the forest. Or is this the swamp where Polly goes missing in S5? This says a lot about Alice’s childhood.

- Jughead

Jughead is so brave. Even when he was the bullied boy with literally one friend, Jughead never backed down from Reggie. Adults scream at him all the time about his newspaper articles and he never loses his nerve. By the same token, given Betty’s behavior Post-Bughead Consummation, he has good reason to think Betty might pull an about-face, that she is going to tell him “it wasn’t enjoyable” (this phrasing has the same vibe as Thank You For Meeting Me, so cute). Jughead just decides to go straight to her house as soon as it’s light out, to ask her directly what’s going on. I admire his courage, though like many things about Jughead, it’s a bit twisted. Jughead’s courage is flavored with masochism, he is resilient because he has had to endure so much despair, and later, his creativity is fueled by a destructive reliance on drugs.

Oh great, and now I have made myself sad.

Let’s make fun of Jughead, then!

He’s such an impatient smartass. When he figures something out, Jughead takes it directly to the perpetrator so he can Poirot-shout into their face, AHA I AM ON TO YOU, rather than maybe think about how to actually use the insight to stop that person or punish them. (Sending the statue head to Hiram; confronting Mayor McC with that map).

- Tender Cheryl. Cheryl has very strict insider-outsider rules about people in her life. Betty is family, so she uses that sweet, family-voice when Betty is vomiting in the bathroom. Even when she hates her mother, she calls her Mommy in that same cute voice. She hasn’t done it yet, but I recall that one time when Cheryl hollered at some clueless kiddo who came into the bathroom at the wrong time and got told to pee somewhere else. Cheryl tells her mother and Hal Cooper to Think Of Betty. (Betty takes all this for granted, of course, because Protagonist Girl.)

- Archer Cheryl. This is the first time we see her with archery. Ooh, tingles! The calligraphy on the target, Cheryl’s whole look with the long wavy hair, grey-red tartan jacket, the wide belt fitted so tight at the waist (does Cheryl have all the organs in there and if so how?), that long shot of the curated grounds and pond at Thornhill cloaked in mist. Every element of every single shot of this Archer Cheryl sequence is so sumptuous. People who natter on about how ‘awful’ Riverdale is don’t know how to appreciate splendor. Also Cheryl wears that flaming red lipstick when she’s just hanging out by herself at home, which I appreciate.

- Betty, exploiting her Protagonist Girl privileges to the max. Betty feels no qualms about burdening Jughead, the gang member, who already has been hauled in as a suspect on a different murder and just barely avoided being scapegoated, with information about a new murder and becoming an accomplice to hiding evidence thereof, but she will not tell him that she kissed Archie. (And she never does; Cheryl tells Jughead, and I will be doing some shouting about this later, probably). Then she gets on her high horse, judges and yells at her father for the Penelope Blossom affair. Oh, and the only I’m Sorry that’s said in this episode is uttered by Alice apologizing on behalf of Betty, for bringing in Jughead, to FP. Betty is absolutely not sorry, and accepts Jughead’s comforting shoulder as her due. I really want to go back to having peachy glowing feelings about Betty Cooper, but it’s hard.

- Archie v Fake FBI Man

Jughead, as I’ve posited (ahem), really can’t be the protagonist, stealth though he may be, when the site of the action is Riverdale High. I think this is why they all spend so little time at school starting with Jughead’s return. But Archie doesn’t know how to be a protagonist anywhere else, though, which is why so many things just happen to him, over which he either feels powerless or is in fact powerless.

#archie andrews #jughead jones #betty cooper #cheryl blossom #alice cooper #oh and i have nothing to say about chick because he's so boring this season #riverdale #riverdale opinions #too many thoughts about riverdale #is jughead ambidexterity why it took so long to get bughead consummation #do all those memes that say jughead is a dyke mean that he uses his hands like one #spoilers #riverdale recap #riverdale episode recap

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goodomensblog · 4 years

Text

Afterward - Part 15

A Good Omens Choose Your Own Adventure Fic

Here’s how it works:

I’ll write a scene.

At the end of each scene, you’ll be presented with 2-3 options for what the characters will choose to do next.

Comment or reblog to vote for your choice. I’ll count all votes after the first 24 hours after each update is posted.

Read: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14

(#3 wins because y’all love chaos, don’t you? Totally understandable. I love it too.)

Afterward - - - Part 15

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

Beelzebub, lord of flies, master of tyrants, patron of demon worship, and prince of Hell, is having, by their own estimation, a pretty shit day.

“I think I’d honestly rather die,” Beelzebub groans, as Crowley hauls them impudently up onto his skinny back.

“I’m saving you, you ungrateful lump of flies, whether you like it or not.”

And Beelzebub, who is having the unfortunate realization that they are too weak to so much as wriggle their way out of this humiliating position, settles for flopping over the demon Crowley’s shoulder in such a way that the black, clotted blood dribbling out of their mouth splats grotesquely down the front of Crowley’s shirt.

“Thank you. Thanks for that,” Crowley says, grabbing underneath Beelzebub's legs to hike the demon a little higher on his back.

“Welcome,” Beelzebub replies, and more blood dribbles out.

Snatching the jar of Hellfire from the table, Crowley clutches it to his chest. With his other hand scooped behind Beelzebub’s leg to keep them in place, he kicks the door open and prowls, piggy-backing Beelzebub, prince of Hell, into the halls of Heaven.

Beelzebub, bouncing with Crowley’s every loping step, has closed their eyes. Head lolling forward, they’ve half given into the encroaching darkness, when Crowley’s annoying, incessant mutterings drag them back into full consciousness.

“-now for this to work, I’ll just have to-”

The jar lid pops open. Hellfire leaps up, red flames lapping at the edges of the jar and the nearby grasping fingers. Beelzebub can feel it - the rich, tantalizing heat, and slumps forward, breathing in the fire’s acrid scent.

Crowley carelessly drops the jar, and it clatters across the floor as eager flames wrap around the demon’s wrists; they twist, winding up and around his forearms. It’s at that point that Crowley resumes walking. He does nearly trip over the dropped jar, but manages to stay on his feet with a skip and a hop.

With each step, Crowley mutters sibilant syllables beneath his breath. They are rich as velvet, coaxing the fire with ancient, saccharine promises.

Beelzebub is generally repulsed by Crowley, but not enough to resist perching their chin on Crowley’s shoulder when the first flickers of flames slide over Beelzebub’s dangling arms. They sigh, going limp with relief as revitalizing flames sink into their skin.

Crowley continues walking and chanting and only stumbling occasionally. And Beelzebub hates Crowley, they really do, but they have to admit - he’s not bad at coaxing Hellfire. Beelzebub can feel the healing warmth of the flames sinking into the marrow of their very being.

“You awake, Lord Buzziest?” Crowley asks, hiking up Beelzebub from their slowly sliding descent down his back.

When Beelzebub opens their eyes to a completely unfamiliar hall, they have the abrupt and horrifying realization that they had indeed drifted briefly to sleep. While being piggy-backed, no less. Would the humiliations never cease?

“Of course I’m awake,” Beelzebub grouses, digging a bony knee into Crowley’s side. “And no nicknames.”

“Alright, alright,” Crowley says, hands up. “I’ve given you all the Hellfire, by the way. Is it working?”

Beelzebub straightens up, pressing a hand against their chest. Eyes closed, they draw a long breath in. Breathing out, they tip their head from side to side, cracking their neck.

“Yeah,” Beelzebub answers, fingers splayed across dry, cracking blood. “Starting to.”

They hadn’t expected the Hellfire to make them good as new, but it has at least kick-started the process. Beelzebub can feel the infernal energy within themself stirring, slowly mending what had very nearly been irreparably broken.

“I’m looking for Aziraphale, or Gabriel - or I guess, really anyone,” Crowley says, the tension in his voice embarrassingly undisguised. “They’re not where I expected them to be. At least based on the earlier racket.”

Beelzebub’s lip curls in disgust at the emotional display, but nonetheless closes their eyes, spreading their awareness wide.

Heaven is... not exactly what Beelzebub remembers. Not that they remember much. But somehow, in those blotchy, indistinct recollections, it is brighter, louder, warmer. Safe.

And there definitely wasn’t a malignant, pulsing thing in the central courtyard.

“The thing is in the innermost courtyard,” Beelzebub says, opening their eyes. “Don’t know if your stupid angel’s with it.”

“Alright then,” Crowley replies, and promptly sets off in that direction.

He’s halfway down the corridor before Beelzebub fully processes the significance of Crowley’s unilateral decision.

“Hey! Hey! Hold up!” Beelzebub says, weakly digging their heels underneath Crowley’s ribs. “I don’t want to go near that thing. Put me down!”

Crowley doesn’t slow. “Can you walk on your own yet?” he asks, yellow eyes rolling up behind his dumb glasses.

The tingling ache in Beelzebub’s extremities suggests they probably cannot. It’s infuriating and humiliating and Beelzebub wants to die.

Crowley takes their silence as an answer. “Guess you’re tagging along, then,” he says with a grim smile.

“I hate you. With the entirety of my being.”

Whistling, Crowley walks faster.

As they approach the courtyard, the air begins to feel heavy, and it tastes - tart, cloying, rotten. Beelzebub’s lips curl back, and they warily suck the air between sharpening teeth.

“Demon Crowley,” Beelzebub orders, fingers curling over his shoulders as their sharp gaze scans from left to right. “Go slowly.”

Crowley, for once in his miserable existence, listens. Rolling through his steps, he prowls cautiously into the courtyard.

It’s exquisite - if you’re into uninspired pale flagstone and modern, geometric looking decorative fountains. The bodies on the ground don’t at all fit with the aesthetic.

The Archangel Gabriel is slumped over the edge of the fountain, golden blood sliding down his arm, dripping into cloudy water. The second figure is crumpled closer to the center of the courtyard - as though they’d put themselves between the archangel and whatever had been attacking him. The second one, though further away and also face down, is obviously Crowley’s angel - Aziraphale.

Crowley makes a pitiable, strangled sound, and Beelzebub just knows he’s going to charge out into the courtyard. Nails shifting to claws, Beelzebub digs them into Crowley’s shoulder.

“He lives, Crowley, I can feel the flicker of life from all the way over here,” Beelzebub hisses at his ear.

Beelzebub can feel Gabriel’s life as well, a bright flare of energy at the fountain’s edge.

“Do not rush in,” Beelzebub continues, clenching at cloth and skin, “Something watches from the shadows.”

Crowley stiffens at that. Head tilted, he slowly, carefully, pulls down his glasses.

“Who’s there?” he calls out.

Beelzebub shivers, the hairs on the back of their neck rising, one by one. Not daring to breathe, not daring to move, Beelzebub watches the space they know a creature waits.

At the courtyard’s edge, a figure unfolds itself from the shadows.

It is...an angel. The short, balding one. Sandalphon, if Beelzebub recalls correctly.

Beelzebub and Crowley watch as the angel Sandalphon strolls out of darkness. His pale, pudgy hands are folded in front of his stomach, and he narrows his eyes, chin tilting inquisitively up as he inspects them.

Crowley looks from that angel to his angel, and Beelzebub digs their nails deeper into his flesh. Do not move. Do not move, Beelzebub thinks, squeezing.

Sandalphon tilts his head and speaks. “The angels fought me. And then they ran from me. At least, they tried to.”

The voice that emerges from his throat is layered and ringing and it leaves Beelzebub with more than a passing inclination to shove their claws deep into their own ears, if only to make it stop.

“I thought I’d conquered all of Hell,” Sandalphon continues, lips quirking in puzzlement, “and yet here, in Heaven of all places, I find two unconquered demons wandering about.”

“Conquered?” Beelzebub growls, mind racing.

They’d fled Hell after Satan had gone mad and started attacking his Princes. At the time, everything had been a giant fucking mess, and Beelzebub had made a tactical retreat to recover. Hell had been chaotic, sure - but conquered?

Crowley cuts in before Beelzebub can say another word. “You’re not Sandalphon, are you?”

The thing smiles wide, revealing the angel’s ostentatious gold capped teeth. “I’m wearing Sandalphon. Just like I’m wearing Satan. And the demons and angels who weren’t quite quick enough.”

“Satan-” Beelzebub breathes, trembling. They’d thought he’d been bespelled. or some level of possessed, but this was - unforgivable.

“And God?” Crowley cuts in, voice sharp.

The thing tilts its head in a jagged, unnatural jerk. “She disappeared before I could get my hands on her, I’m afraid. Awfully cruel of her, I say, abandoning all of you like that. Though I suppose you two are rather used to it.”

“What the fuck are you?” Beelzebub snaps.

“Oh!” And the thing wearing Sandalphon like a second skin gives a start, “I didn’t introduce myself, did I?”

Sandalphon’s head dips forward. From the back of his neck, pale, twisting limbs unfold. Like spider’s legs, bent and folded back over themselves, they jerkily unfurl. There must be at least eight, and at the end of each limb, bony, clawed hands splay - reaching. The pale, sickly limbs spread out, lifting a creature which emerges from the back of Sandalphon with a frankly horrifying squelch. The thing is limpid and waifish, and watches them with black, eternity old eyes.

“Dear creatures of this poor, dying universe, you may call me Entropy.”

“Entropy?” Beelzebub hisses.

As Crowley says, “This universe?”

The thing smiles, and it’s mouth is a void. “Everything ends, honey. I hop from place to place, returning universes to the nothing from which they came.”

“Why?” Crowley asks.

“Why not?” the thing answers, void smile spreading across the lower half of it’s narrow face.

And then Crowley is unhooking Beelzebub’s arms. When he lowers them down, Beelzebub hates how their legs, still embarrassingly weak, give out beneath them. Teeth gritted, Beelzebub kneels on cold flagstone.

Crowley steps away, turning toward the abomination of limbs and hands.

“Demon Crowley?” Beelzebub calls when he takes a careful step forward.

“Gonna get Aziraphale,” Crowley says, soft.

The thing - Entropy - looks down. Round eyes unblinkingly survey the courtyard.

“Aziraphale,” it says, singing the name in that horrifying voice. “Is he the soft looking one? He did put up a formidable fight.”

“I’m taking him with me,” Crowley says, low and dangerous.

The thing laughs and it’s so awful Beelzebub has to physically refrain from flinching back. “No. No you’re not,” it says, and laughs again. “He’s strong. And I need the strong ones. I like wearing them best. And if I’m not careful, even the strong ones-”

The clawed hands encircling Sandalphon squeeze. Within moments, black cracks are crawling ominously over the angel’s form. The air begins to whine. Then, with a pop the angel’s form folds in. He shatters into a cloud of black and gold dust that falls silently to the floor.

“Oops,” the thing exclaims.

Beelzebub and Crowley stare, mouths open and the pile of angel at the creature’s feet.

That kind of power is...Beelzebub can’t conceive of it. Not that they have time to try. Before the last Sandalphon dust speck has fallen, Crowley launches into motion.

“Shit,” Beelzebub breathes, because this is not a fight any angel or demon can win.

Crowley gets to Aziraphale before the creature does, but he only just has time to drag Aziraphale aside before a clawed hand spears down, piercing clear through the stone tile. Crowley, scrambling, drags Aziraphale back, avoiding a second stabbing hand.

“Move faster you idiot,” Beelzebub shouts.

“Trying to,” Crowley yelps, yanking his angel another several feet back, barely avoiding the third strike.

He’s not going to make it, Beelzebub realizes with a sinking certainty. Crowley has always been a slippery one, but this thing - this Entropy - is like nothing Beelzebub has ever encountered. It has the strength to casually turn an angel to dust, and Crowley was half-exhausted when they entered the courtyard.

Beelzebub should get the hell out of here - while the Entropy creature is preoccupied with Crowley.

Bracing their hands on cold stone, Beelzebub, rises on shaking legs. Their legs burn - and not in the good way. Clenching their jaw, Beelzebub sways, remaining determinedly upright. They take an unsteady step back, away from the chaos in the courtyard.

Behind them, Crowley screams.

Beelzebub, shaking with effort, looks back.

Crowley is on the ground, one leg speared by the creature’s clawed fingers. He’s pushed Aziraphale behind him as the creature, balanced on pale, spindly legs, rises above them both. It’s speaking, void-black mouth stretched in that wide, unsettling grin.

“Poor, poor demon,” it croons, and presses the claw deeper. “Abandoned by God. Left to rot in Hell. And then you didn’t even fit in there did you? What kind of outcast doesn’t even fit in with the outcasts?”

The claw twists and Crowley gasps.

Beelzebub closes their eyes, clenching aching muscles in an effort to remain upright. If they are going to escape, it’s now or never.

“I do want the angel,” the creature says, it’s porcelain face looming over Crowley, “but don’t you worry demon - I’ll mercifully end your miserable existence.”

Beelzebub moves.

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

A creature calling itself Entropy is revealed! It seems to have plans to end this universe, and has already single handedly conquered both Heaven and Hell (yikes). Entropy intends to use Aziraphale and to kill Crowley, and Beelzebub is left with a choice. Beelzebub will…

Fight. Mustering their remaining strength, Beelzebub will show this Entropy abomination the hell a real demon is capable of raising. It’s not that they care about Crowley (or his stupidly nice angel)….they just don’t want to feel like they owe him.

Flee. Beelzebub is a survivor. They are injured and weak and they are not about to enter into a fight they have little hope of surviving. Sorry Crowley….it’s nothing personal. (Note: this will result in an immediate POV shift)

Please comment or reblog to vote! :)

(also, I absolutely love all of you who have been taking the time to explain the reasoning behind your votes. It’s always interesting to see where you all are coming from!)

Part 16

#my writing #choose your own adventure #choose your own adventure fic #good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #ineffable husbands fic #ineffable husbands fanfiction #multi-chapter fic #good omens beelzebub #good omens gabriel #Aziraphale #crowley

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the-oc-lass · 4 years

Text

Second Chances - The Prologue

*Waves* Hi there. I wanted to promote my book Second Chances (I will put the links to my Wattpad and Ao3 accounts at the bottom of the post - or remind me to post them if I forget to) by posting the prologue here and letting everyone have a taste of my work. So, like, weeeeee.

(Note: I know my work isn’t perfect so feel free to leave suggestions on how I can make my writing better. I need to get better with criticism)

(Note #2: This is a Hamilton AU fic from the perspective of OCs, so there you go)

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO...

The End and The Beginning:

It’s a dreary day, yet so beautiful. These days are always nice. The lovely day is shattered as a single gunshot, followed by another, rings through the air. I freeze and listen, before creeping through the streets slowly. I look around, ever careful. Then my eyes find him, lying there on the cobblestones. I gasp.

“Philip,” I breath, before rushing to his side and falling to my knees. His hands are pressing against a bleeding wound. Although I know how little it will help, I pull a handkerchief out and press it over the wound in a feeble attempt to absorb the blood. His breathing is ragged, and I’m scared.

“Someone get a Doctor!” I scream, looking around the streets. Whoever had shot him is nowhere to be seen. A coward! I look back down at Philip’s face. It’s contorted in pain and agony, and his eyes hold so much fear as they stare up at me.

“Everything will be alright. Come here,” I say gently. I lift his head and place it in my lap, and he hisses in pain.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I whisper, brushing his hair off his forehead. He has tears on his face, and looks so afraid. I run my fingers through his hair slowly, hoping to soothe him and calm him down. He makes a strangled noise, and I shush him softly.

“Hush. I’ll take care of you until you’re brought to a doctor. Please, save what strength you have. You must survive, for your family,” I say, pausing to brush my thumb gently across his freckled cheek. Blood smears across where I touched. He coughs, and I shush him again softly, still stroking my thumb across his cheek, ignoring the blood. The expression shaping his face is breaking my heart. I want nothing more than to comfort him. He reaches a hand up toward me, and I pull one of mine from his hair to hold it. His hand is still covered in his blood, but I don’t care. Mine is too.

“Who are you?” he manages to ask in a strained voice. He doesn’t know who I am...Of course he doesn’t. I smile softly down at him, giving his hand a comforting squeeze.

“It does not matter. I am just someone who could not leave you here all alone. For, fear only grows in the privacy of one's own thoughts,” I say. He makes a strangled noise that sounds something like a laugh. He’s smiling at me very slightly.

“You are a poet?” he asks. I give his hand another squeeze and continue to run my fingers through his hair.

“Something of the sort, Mr. Hamilton,” I say kindly. He continues to smile at me.

“Philip. Call me Philip,” he says. I smile back at him.

“Philip,” I correct myself quietly. He coughs again, and I frown with concern.

“Let us take him!” Men cry, and I raise my head to see them coming. They’ll take Philip to get the help he needs. I nod, and they hoist him from my lap.

“One minute,” I say, stopping them before they go. Philip is still holding my hand, and I hold it tightly before leaning down and kissing his forehead.

“All will be well, Philip. I promise,” I say softly. He squeezes my hand weakly, before he’s hauled away. And I stand there in the street for a moment. Blood sits sticky on my hand. My handkerchief is gone. It’s okay. As long as he is okay.

“M-mother, you cannot be serious,” I stutter, eyes wide with horror. My mother shakes her head.

“Too serious, my darling. He passed many hours after he left you. You are likely the last person outside of his blood that he saw,” she says, holding my hands in hers. Her eyes shine with sympathy, but all I can think of is the darkness from her words. Philip is dead. He didn’t recognize me, but I’ve known him for my whole life. He’s...The first man I’ve ever loved. And I knew the fear on his face as he laid in my lap, dying. And now he’s...I shake my head and draw back, refusing to believe it.

“They have lied. It is not true!” I say, voice overtaken by emotion. My mother reaches out for me once more, but I flee from her, into my father’s study. I lock her out, and move slowly to my father’s desk. I know he keeps a pistol inside the drawer. It’s a man’s job to carry on the legacy in the first place. This will not matter. I take up a quill, dip it in ink, and write. My words spill desperately across the parchment. For I am running out of time. My last poem, my last words. And the words I’m Sorry curling at the bottom. I do not sign my name. I place the quill down gently and lean down, opening the drawer containing my father’s pistol. There is a bang on the study door, and my mother is calling my name. I do not answer. I draw the pistol out. It is loaded, as it always is, and I know how to use it. Father was adamant that I learned how. I move over to the window, and I stare out it. The gun somehow doesn’t feel heavy in my hand. In fact, it feels nice. As if it were made to sit there. My mother is still calling for me. I lift the gun, and the metal feels cool against my head. I whisper an “I love you” into the air, and close my eyes. The air smells of books, paper, and ink. All of the things I love.

“I’m sorry, Philip, mon amour,” I whisper. My finger moves to the trigger. I take in a last deep breath, and push it down. Bang.

I open my eyes. It’s bright and beautiful here. For a moment, I wonder where I am. I wonder how I got here. And it all comes back. I look around, searching for anything or anyone.

“It’s you.” I turn toward the voice. And there’s a freckled face, framed by bouncing locks of curls. Philip. I reach a hand out slowly, carefully. He does too. Our hands meet, and his is...Warm. His hand is bigger than mine, and he has the calluses of a poet. The same as me.

“What did you do?” he asks me, a sad look on his face that should never sit there. I frown and turn my head away, hand dropping.

“I lied to a dying man. I removed the liar,” I say softly. His hand takes mine again, holding it.

“Miss, you said what was necessary to comfort a dying man. I do not feel as though you lied to me,” he says. I risk a glance, and his gaze on me is one that is kind and soft. Everything but angry.

“This is her?” another voice inquires. I turn. He’s a man in uniform, from a war long gone. A bouncy head of curls tied back. Something about him reminds me of Philip. Perhaps it is the freckles and the curls.

“This is her,” Philip confirms, and I glance back at him. My other hand is lifted, and a kiss is placed upon my knuckles. I stare at the top of his head for a moment, until he straightens.

“Who are-“

“John Laurens, Miss,” he says. My eyes widen.

“Laurens...My mother’s Laurens?” I ask. His brows wrinkle in confusion.

“Your mother?” he asks. I step toward him, tears in my eyes.

“Mr. Laurens...My name is Lilith Derven. I’m your goddaughter,” I say. His eyes widen, and he reaches out to take his face in my hands.

“You’re...My Anastasia’s daughter,” he says. I nod, and he pulls me to him. I bury my face into his chest.

“You’re just as beautiful as your mother. I can see her intelligence in your eyes...She must be so proud of you,” he says, holding my head. I laugh slightly, a tear running down my cheek.

“Lilith?” Philip mutters. I turn my head, and his mouth is agape as he stares at me.

“Hi, Philip. I was waiting for you to recognize me,” I say, smiling through the tears. He runs to me and sweeps me into his arms, lifting me and holding me close.

“How long has it been...My Lily. My beautiful Lilith. My best friend in this world, a poet greater than I, and the girl I’ve-“ He pauses, and sets me down.

“Laurens, could you-“

“I’ll leave you two be. I’d like to check up on Alexander anyway,” Laurens says. I hear him retreat, but my eyes are only on Philip. He takes my hands and stares me in the eye, cheeks flushed.

“I wish I’d told you when we were both alive...Maybe we wouldn’t be dead in the first place if I had. We’d just grown apart. I was busy with school, as were you, I’m sure. I’ve always known you wouldn’t require a man to become successful, so some part of me was afraid that if I told you...You’d turn me down, or I would hold you back from your dreams. I didn’t think I could. I wanted to be bold like my pops, but it seems like the boldest thing was the one thing I couldn’t do,” he says. I tilt my head slightly, giving him a kind look.

“Pip, what are you talking about?” I ask, using his old nickname. He squeezes my hands and looks down at them for a second, then back up into my eyes.

“Lilith...I’ve been in love with you since I was ten years old,” he says. My face flushes and my lips part in surprise.

“You...Love me?” I repeat, still shocked. He swallows and nods.

“I do,” he says. I smile at him and pull one hand away from him to raise it and touch his cheek.

“Mon doux petit poète (My sweet little poet), I wish you would’ve told me sooner. Je t’aime aussi,” I say, caressing his face with my thumb. He stares at me for a moment.

“You do?” he asks. I smile wider and nod.

“Have I ever lied to you, mon amour?” I ask. He grins at me.

“Probably, when we were children,” he says. I laugh and lean my forehead against his.

“I’ve missed you, ma douce (my sweet) Philip,” I say. He chuckles, putting a hand respectfully at my hip. I pull back slightly to look at him through my eyelashes.

“Pip?” I ask softly. He tilts his head to show he’s listening.

“How much French do you know?” He hums in thought for a moment, looking at me curiously.

“Only what you taught me,” he says. My stomach twists nervously. Damn this corset. I take a deep breath and lean toward him.

“Embrasse moi,” I whisper in his ear. He pauses as I pull back. He swallows and licks his lips.

“That...Kiss you?” he asks. I look away shyly and nod. He smiles bashfully, before gently taking my face and turning it toward him. His eyes sparkle with adoration as they look at me, before they drop to my lips. His eyes close as he leans toward me, and mine do too. His kiss is soft and sweet, warm like the morning sunlight, and a bliss unheard of. I smile against his lips and I feel him do that same. It lasts for only a few seconds, before we pull away from one another. Blushes spread across our cheeks, and smiles curve our lips.

“Wow,” he breathes. I giggle and throw my arms around him.

“Je t'aime,” I say, holding tightly to him. He laughs, kissing behind my ear.

“I love you too, ma beauté française (My French beauty),” he says. I giggle, and then shriek as he lifts me up. He’s spinning with me, and I hold on tighter. When he finally puts me down, I step back and sway.

“You’ve made me dizzy!” I giggle, grinning at him. He laughs at me, and I hug him tightly. Someone clears their throat, and we jump, moving away from each other. Laurens smiles at us.

“I take it your feelings were mutual?” he asks. Philip blushes and nods.

“U-um, how are my parents?” he asks, changing the subject. Laurens’ face drops.

“They’re...Grieving. Not just you, but Lilith. And they’re still searching for Evangeline,” he says. For a moment, my heart breaks. The Hamilton’s are grieving for me as well? I’m not even their daughter, I’m not of their blood at all, but they still grieve for me? Then my attention is drawn away from the fact. I look at Philip and raise an eyebrow.

“Who’s Evangeline?” I ask. He looks at me for a moment, silent.

“You are,” he says. I crinkle my eyebrows in confusion, tilting my head.

“What?” Laurens and I ask in unison, each with differing ratios of shock and confusion. Philip takes my hand, seemingly planning out his response.

“My mind was so blurred after I got shot. I was looking at the sky and still didn’t know which way was up. When I saw you, I couldn’t see your face. Not in the literal sense, but it didn’t click. In my mind you were a pretty stranger with pretty words, and I couldn’t see you as Lilith. Maybe it was my own mind’s way of trying to be merciful, because knowing that it was you I was dying on would’ve been many times worse than believing I was dying in the arms of a stranger. I tried to describe you to my mom, I wanted to have you speak at my funeral,” he looks up at Laurens to address him instead. “We couldn’t just call her ‘the girl in the purple dress,’ so my mom decided to call her Evangeline. It’s supposed to mean bringer of good news, which she associated with Lilith comforting me.” The way he’d described it all had been so poetic and sad. And he’d wanted me to speak at his funeral? What...What have I done? I turn to Philip.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, feeling overridden with guilt. He puts his other hand over mine.

“Lilith, it’s perfectly fine-“

“But it’s not. I caused your family so much pain and uncertainty. They may never know that it was me who sat with you, and they’ll live the rest of their lives wondering who I was. Not to mention that I’ve caused them more grieving by taking my own life,” I exclaim, tears welling up in my eyes. The outburst is so unladylike, and nothing like how my mother taught me to act. Yes, speak to be heard, but stand strong. Women are already seen as weak, do not allow yourself to show weakness if you wish to be taken seriously. Show emotion with words, not with your tears. Philip wipes a stray tear from my cheek, kissing my forehead.

“Don’t cry, mon amour,” he mutters softly. I hiccup and nod, taking a deep breath to pull myself together. There’s a long silence.

“I want to show you kids something,” Laurens says, placing a hand on each of our shoulders. I grin slightly.

“You just aged yourself a lot, Mr. Laurens,” I giggle. He sighs and rolls his eyes fondly, shaking his head. He turns and waves for us to follow him. We do so, hand in hand. Eventually, he leads us to a cliff. The horizon is a painting of beautiful colors, which reflect serenely off the waves of the deep blue waters below the cliff.

“It’s beautiful,” I say, awestruck. Philip is at a complete loss for words beside me.

“As is everything in heaven,” Laurens says, eyes remaining glued to the horizon. I release Philip’s hand to climb a bit higher on the cliff, standing beside Laurens. He looks at me and I look back.

“As much as it saddens me that you’ve both come so early...Welcome to the afterlife,” he says. I smile slightly.

“Thank you, Mr. Laurens. I’m glad to have finally met you.”

~~~~~~

“My mother talked of you often, Mr. Laurens,” I say, staring across the sky. I pull at the petals of my flower crown absently. Laurens turns toward me.

“Did she?” I nod, smiling softly.

“She would tell my brothers and I stories of you, and read us your letters. And she told me once that when you saw me as an infant, you looked at me as if I were yours. You had the same love in your eyes as my father did, which is why they decided to make me your goddaughter,” I say. I try to imagine it. My infant self in his arms, a look in his eyes that can be described only as the all too pure pride of a loving father. I will never be able to feel that pride. I have robbed myself of it. Somehow, though, I do not worry. I am with Philip now, and John, and other family that has passed. I am content.

“Mon bien-aimé (My beloved) Anastasia,” he says, soft and fond. My smile is sad now, and I place the flower crown in my lap to prevent myself from crushing it.

“You loved her, didn’t you?” I ask. I miss my mother. My father. My blessed little brothers.

“Not in the way that I love my Alexander, or in the way she loves your father, but, yes. She and I loved each other deeply,” he says, smiling sadly. I nod.

“She told me that she saw you at that ball and could tell you were different. She approached you, and you looked at her with all the politeness of a man that thought he was going to have to fend her off like other women. But the first thing she did when she reached you was turn her gaze across the room to Alexander, and whisper in a tone only you would hear ‘you love him, don’t you?’” I say, remembering the story my mother told me when teaching me to accept others. We never owned slaves. We claimed to, but we paid them and treated them as humans. And we’d never harmed them. They had families, children I’d played with. I smile softly at him, and he returns it.

“She’s always been such a strong, intelligent, and accepting woman. I never felt as though she was disgusted by me, and I never felt unsafe in her presence. She and your father were more of a family to me than my own blood,” he says, pausing for a moment before reaching for my hand and adding, “and when you were born, you were as well.” I hold onto his hands and gaze at him softly.

“She’s always wished you could have loved him openly,” I say, unaware of the tear rolling down my cheek. He reaches up to wipe the tear away, and pulls me to him.

“Mon petit tout (My little everything),” he mutters. I can’t help but laugh.

“Mother told me you called me that,” I say, pressing my cheek against his coat. We sit silently for a moment, the both of us reminiscing on our individual memories of my mother - his Anastasia - and longing to be back with her. We move away from each other in unison, and he smiles at me with an adoring look I’ve only ever seen from my father. He lifts the flower crown from my lap and places it on my head, grinning at me.

“I didn’t know it was possible for people to accept this part of me until I met your mother. She looked at me with a teasing and playful twinkle in her eyes, and I could always talk to her without fear of judgement,” he says fondly. I touch the flowers in my hair, a fond smile on my own lips.

“She taught us that we do not choose how we are made, or how we are born. She said that we must treat everyone as we feel we should be treated. It is why we never owned slaves,” I say. John chuckles.

“Yes, your mother and I were adamant abolitionists. She had so much passion, especially when she was young and newly wedded. She went against the societal standards of women and we all admired her for it. Lafayette was quite taken with her,” he says. I gasp and put a hand over my mouth.

“Marquis de Lafayette and my mother?” I ask, mouth agape with a surprised grin. He laughs at my expression.

“Yes, but as far as I am aware, all that was shared was a few dances and some flirting in French. Your mother knew about his wife, however, and respected his love for her. Ever self sacrificing, your mother,” he says. I sigh and nod.

“That she is, ma chère mère (My dear mother),” I say. He pats my shoulder.

“She’s-“

“Mr. Laurens!” We both turn when we hear Philip. He looks panicked. Afraid. Laurens and I both rise.

“What is it, Philip?” he asks, voice steady. Ever the soldier. Philip swallows

“It’s my father. He’s about to duel with Aaron Burr.”

~~~~~

Laurens has descended to be with Alexander for the duel. I hold tightly to Philip’s hand as we watch from above. He flinches when his father is shot, but Alexander seems quite calm considering the situation. Typical Alexander. He’s taken to a doctor, and Laurens comes back to retrieve Philip.

“We should be with him,” he says. Philip nods, and his hand slips from mine.

“Time passes differently when you don’t watch. It will only be a few minutes for you. We’ll be back soon,” he says, looking briefly at me. I nod, and I watch them go. Then I’m alone. Is this what it was like for Laurens? Long and lonely silence? I wait, eventually sitting in the grass. Sounds of nature surround me, so it’s not a deafening quiet, but I miss the presence of another person. I find myself weaving more flower crowns, and singing a French lullaby my mother sang to me as a child. I’m about halfway through my third flower crown when a voice breaks through my song.

“My dear Laurens...And Philip?” I look up. It’s Alexander. He’s been reunited with his lover and his son. For a moment, I think to rise. I decide against it. Let him have his moment with the ones he loves first. I return to my flower crown, and continue to sing. I sound nothing like my mother, but it’s comforting nonetheless.

“Lilith?” My singing stops as I look up, and I smile. Dropping the half-made crown, I rise to my feet.

“Monsieur Hamilton,” I say with a curtsy. He breaks away from Laurens and Philip to come forth and embrace me.

“Do not be so formal with me, my dear. You are like a daughter to me,” he says, sounding...Heartbroken? I wrap my arms around him in an effort to comfort him.

“Darling, why did you do it? Why did you leave your poor mother in the manner of which you did? You have no idea how much heartbreak we felt in losing you. Lafayette returned for your funeral. Why, Lilith, why?” he asks desperately. I...I caused all that?

“Because she’s Evangeline.” Alexander pulls away from me to look at his son.

“She’s...What do you mean she’s Evangeline? You would’ve recognized her, and you didn’t know who the woman was. That’s why we’ve called her Evangeline,” he says. Philip shakes his head and moves to my side, taking my hand.

“My vision was blurred and my mind wasn’t working correctly. Think about it, Pops. Look at her. She’s exactly as I described Evangeline,” he says. Alexander looks from Philip to me and stares for a moment.

“I don’t understand why being Evangeline would cause her to-“

“I felt guilty. So guilty that it hurt. I couldn’t take it,” I say, fingers twitching in Philip’s grasp. Alexander stares at me, shocked. Then suddenly he has my face between his hands.

“You had nothing to feel guilty for. I should’ve stopped him,” he says. I blink back tears.

“I should’ve told him I loved him sooner. Perhaps the three of us would not be here in this moment,” I say. The hand against mine flexes.

“Do not think in what if’s. What if’s will only destroy us,” Philip says. Alexander releases my face to look at his son, and I look at him too.

“Mon doux petit poète,” I say with teary eyes, releasing his hand to touch his cheek. Alexander chuckles a little.

“We always hoped you’d fall in love,” he says. I grin a little bit.

“The plan always was to have us married anyway, wasn’t it? You wanted Derven-Hamilton grandchildren. That’s what mother said anyway,” I say. Alexander and Laurens both laugh, and Philip turns his head away to hide a blush rising to his cheeks.

“It has been a while since I’ve been to a Derven wedding,” Laurens says. Mother mentioned that the four had come to her wedding. Laurens had given a speech, and danced with her. She said that until the day I was born, the day she married my father was the best day of her life. Not just because of her marriage to my father, but because of her friends, whom she loved so dearly. I can see why.

~~~~~

As the years go by, more join us, and I meet many whom I never had the chance to meet. I’m reunited with others. My parents, my brothers, Eliza, all of Philip’s siblings. I’m properly introduced to people whom I haven’t met since I was born, or very young. I meet spouses and nieces and nephews. They all remain in their best form. Some being as they were when they died, and others appearing younger. Many reunions are tearful, joyous. When I first saw my mother, some ten years after my father passed away, I broke into sobs and collapsed in her arms. We all spent years in the blissful afterlife together, creating memories we never got. Philip and I get married in the presence of our families and friends. In the year 2016 on the regular Earth, I see a young woman portraying pieces of mine and my mother’s stories in a big theater in New York, in a show that is big on what is now known as Broadway. It is after I see this that the disappearances occur. The first to go is General Washington. Then my grandparents, and Philip’s. Years pass and Angelica is gone. A year later and Mr. Mulligan and Lafayette, then my father. The following year, Mr. Laurens, Alexander, my mother, and Eliza are gone. Two years and Aunt Peggy disappears. Very soon, it is Philip and I, and our siblings and their families. We await the certain fates of disappearance. And it is to my horror that Philip is gone first. Months later, I see a bright light. Each memory of my life flashes through my mind rapidly, and the light swallows me. The last thing I can see in my mind is Philip. Philip. Philip. Philip…

Yo. So that’s the prologue. It probably reads better on Wattpad or Ao3. It’s not updated as frequently on Ao3, but every time I finish a chapter, I update on Wattpad. I’m up to Chapter 14 there. So like.

Wattpad (Main platform): https://www.wattpad.com/story/238070007-second-chances

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28575150/chapters/70031022

#I write too much #Hamilton fic #Oc protagonist #Hamilton #Alexander Hamilton #John Laurens #Philip Hamilton #WEEEEEEEEEE

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flamehairedwritings · 4 years

Text

The Fiancé: Chapter Four

Characters: Steve Rogers x Female Plus-Size Reader

Rating: The whole series will be E, 18+ ONLY

Summary: A lie about your best friend at a Christmas party spirals into world news, but a previously unknown threat leaves you having to now live the lie of Steve Rogers being your fiancé.

Originally based on the prompt ‘Character A’s ex will be at the Christmas Party A is attending. Character B poses as A’s fiancé,’ by @alloftheprompts.

A/N: The whole series will include swearing, alcohol, threat, violence, apartment sharing, protected sex, and more tags to be added!

The Fiancé Masterlist

All Works Masterlist

Read on AO3

Please don’t copy or steal my work, and please don’t post it on any other sites; credit does not count.

Can I Tell You Confidentially, Ain’t You Sweet

MONDAY

“This is a fucking nightmare,” Steve mutters, leaning against the wall and looking out of the window, Sam the other side.

Staring down at the seemingly growing crowd, his agitation is growing with it, but all he can think about is how you must be feeling.

He’d nearly hurled his phone into the God damn Reflecting Pool when Fury had told him.

“Now, hang on a second, what?”

“This is a great opportunity to find out who these guys are and stop them, Steve.”

He’d scoffed, a hand on his hip as he’d paced. “So we’re putting a civilian’s life in danger, my civilian friend’s life in danger, who not only has absolutely no training in any kind of operation but is also just an innocent human being?”

A sigh had come through the line. “Steve... What these groups are talking about doing is getting worse, and they’re recruiting, not just people to assassinate you but for other operations as well around the world.”

His jaw had moved as he’d stopped, staring into the water. “There has to be another way.”

“There isn’t.”

“Nick, I can’t see—”

“This isn’t a request, Steve, it’s an order.”

So here he is, a soldier with his orders, putting his friend’s life on the line for his own... And even though they’d appeared to give you one, you hadn’t really had much of a choice.

He hates it. But... as Nat had said, you couldn’t be safer. Part of him was actually relieved that you would now officially be under the watchful eye of SHIELD and the best agents he’d ever known, especially after the letter he’d received.

Sam shifts, mirroring Steve with his folded arms. “Yeah, you’re not wrong,” he murmurs. Shaking his head, he looks to him. “Only for six days, man. Just keep tellin’ yourself that, six days.”

Steve releases a breath, a muscle in his jaw moving. “Yeah, ‘cause nothing goes to shit in six days, huh.”

—

“I’m coming over the moment work finishes, if I can get out of the damn building.”

You lick your lips, balancing your phone between your shoulder and your ear as you carry a box to your bedroom door.

“Uh, actually, Bridge’, I’m packing right now.”

“You’re packing? Oh my God, please don’t tell me you’re eloping, I want to be there!”

“No, no, we’re just moving in together.”

Just.

“Oh my God, your place or his?”

“Uh... a new place.” You lift a suitcase onto your bed, unzipping it.

“Where?”

“I’m not sure, actually, Steve’s chosen a place.” You move to your wardrobe, stare at it for a second and then grab an armful of clothes and turn, dropping them onto your bed.

“Ugh, it’s like he’s gifting you an apartment, that’s amazing. Oh, Y/N...” You pause your half-hearted folding of a sweater at Bridget’s sigh. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Licking your lips, you place the sweater in the suitcase. “Well, we’re... we’re such good friends that we wanted to keep it a secret, just in case it didn’t work out so it wouldn’t be weird with our friends or for anyone. And, you know... the whole world seems to think it can be involved, as we’d, uhm, as we’d expected.“

You hear them hiss. “I know, I can’t believe what some people are writing, it’s such trash.”

“Yeah.” You haven’t dared to check the notifications that have been making your phone buzz, even as you’ve been speaking to Bridget, and their angry tone doesn’t exactly fill you with confidence.

As you fold another sweater, you hear the clicking of a computer mouse on the other end, and then Bridget gasping. “Oh my God, is the ring really from Tiffany’s?!”

“Uh...” You glance at the ring on your fourth left finger. The ring Nat had removed from a box she’d taken out of her coat pocket and unceremoniously handed to you, telling you to put it on. You have absolutely no idea where it’s from. Does SHIELD just have a storeroom full of these? Does Nat? “... I don’t actually know, Bridge’, but, you know me, I’m not really bothered by that kind of stuff.”

“Oh, I know. Is it new? Old? What does it look like?”

You continue to stare at the alien object. “It’s... silver. And new. Got a diamond in the middle, three smaller ones either side, going down the band.”

“Ugh, simple and elegant, love it. Can you send me a picture?”

“As soon as I’m done packing.”

“Good. And let me know where you’re moving to, please! I want to drop by unexpectedly every day.”

“Oh, I will as soon as I know.” Having finished folding, you zip the suitcase up and place a hand on it, exhaling a short breath.

There’s a small pause.

“Are you okay, babe?”

“Yeah, I just...” You rub your forehead before making yourself smile even though they can’t see it. “... This is just all happening so fast and it’s a lot, truthfully.”

“Oh, I bet. You know we all love and support you here, right?”

That makes your smile soften. “Yeah, I know.”

“And you’re still okay for drinks with me and Doll’ on Wednesday, right?”

“Oh, yeah, absolutely.”

I fucking hope it’s okay, I know I’m gonna need those drinks and giggles.

“Good, we’ll blow off some steam then.”

Hauling the suitcase off the bed, your eyes dart to the door as someone knocks on it.

“Come in,” you say, raising your voice slightly.

It opens and Sam appears, smiling. “Hey, you ready?”

“Just about.” You pass the suitcase to him, him lifting it like it weighs nothing, and the expected sharp inhale comes from the other end of the line.

“Is Sam there?” Bridget whispers.

Your lips twitching, you nod as you say, “Yeah, Bridge’, Sam’s here.”

The man of the moment pauses, looking back at you as his lips lift higher. “You’re talkin’ to Bridge’?”

“Yep.” You have to control your smile.

“How, uh, how’re they doin’?”

“How are you doing, Bridge’?” you ask, raising your eyebrows slightly as you hear them clear their throat.

“Uh, tell him I’m fine, thank you... And that I would like to have a secret engagement with him,” they finish in the quietest of whispers that has your lips twitching again.

“They say they’re fine, thank you.”

Sam nods, pauses for another moment before he moves to turn again.

“Oh, hey,” you say, a wholesomely sneaky idea coming to you. “Sam, why don’t I give you Bridget’s number, then you two can plan the respective bachelor and bachelorette parties together?”

Bridget’s almost squeal of an inhale gives you their answer as Sam looks at you and grins. “Yeah, sure. I’d like that.”

“Oke doke, I’ll give it to you in a bit.” You smirk to yourself as Sam heads into the hallway.

There’s half a second before Bridget launches into a speech. “Oh my God, I love you so damn much, I’m gonna throw you the best damn party ever, I’ll get you whatever you want, whoever you want...”

Okay, maybe I can joke about with this situation now... Just with myself.

—

It takes you twenty-five minutes to pack. You haven’t packed much, only what you need for the week, and any food that will be going out of date soon, and it isn’t like you are actually moving out, so... the essentials it had been. Like you’re going on holiday. A bizarre, unwanted holiday. Nat has assured you there’s towels, cutlery, glasses, bedsheets, etc, all at the new place, you just need your clothes, toiletries, laptop, phone and anything else you might want to entertain yourself, her words. The last part had made you think of the box you keep under your bed, an array of toys you’ve accrued over the years inside.

... I mean... This is going to be a very stressful week... I’ll take just one... The silent, water-proof one.

That had disappeared into your backpack after you’d, quickly as you could, fumbled with the box and pulled it out and your toy cleaning wipes, sweating slightly as you’d heard the three of them moving around outside your door.

I will not humiliate myself further this week, no thank you.

Well, Nat would probably just nod in approval, Sam would probably actually do the same or just not even react, but Steve... There’s some things that you didn’t talk about, no matter how close you are.

Pulling your coat back on and the bag, hoping Nat doesn’t want to rifle through it this time, you step out of your bedroom, closing the door.

“So, what now?” you ask as they turn to you, Steve carrying your suitcase, Sam holding two boxes in his arms, Nat typing on her phone.

She slips it into her pocket and clasps her hands together as she speaks, “We leave, quickly and safely as possible. Sam and Steve are gonna take your things and Steve’s and head down to the parking garage, Sam’s got his car there, and they’ll come a little behind us. You and I are gonna head out the front, draw some of the crowd away and head to the new place.”

“Right.” You can’t work out if this is nice or not, having someone else take over and make all the decisions. At any other time, you’d be railing and demanding an input, but with this situation...

Carry on, Nat.

“All right, let’s go,” she says, as if having heard your thoughts, and moves to the door, peering through the peep-hole, checking the hallway, before she opens it.

“See you later, Y/N,” Sam says with that lovely warm smile of his as he heads out and, actually, between remembering the people who are now going to be looking after you and having decisions taken away from you, you’re starting to relax a little.

You meet Steve’s gaze and smile as he raises his eyebrows a little. “Well, I guess I’ll see you at home, then,” he says, a smile pulling at his own lips.

“Yeah, I’ll put the kettle on,” you reply, making his smile widen a little more.

“I look forward to it.”

You watch him as he heads out and into his own apartment, Sam having already opened the door. As he closes it, Nat steps out into the hallway, gesturing for you to follow, and you obey. Pulling your door shut, you lock it and turn to her, your keys disappearing into your coat pocket and you zip it closed.

As you both head down the hall, she pulls her phone out and starts typing again, her thumbs moving rapidly. You press the button to herald the elevator, and grip the straps of your bag, staring at the closed outer doors.

You try not to think about anything in particular, but you’re definitely feeling a lot more mellow.

Just six days, I can do that. Six days is fine, it’ll fly by. I just won’t watch the news, stay off of social media as much as possible and keep my head down with whatever Nat plans for us to do. Steve’ll want that, too, it’ll be fine.

Cheered by your new resolve, you breathe a little easier as the elevator arrives and you step in after the doors open. Nat presses the button for the ground floor as she steps in and glances at the ceiling corners, probably looking for bugging devices.

Pushing her phone into her pocket as the elevator begins to descend, she leans against the back wall, folding her arms and looking at you.

“We’ve got a couple of agents in the crowd and in the building along the street, so don’t worry, we’ve got eyes from every angle.”

“Okay,” you answer, having to stop yourself from saying ‘thank you’ because you know she’ll just smirk and arch an eyebrow.

She pulls the sunglasses down from her head to settle over her eyes once more and you raise your eyebrows.

“... Can I ask, what’s with the glasses?”

“They scan people’s faces, log and check them on a database we have.”

“Oh.”

Oh. Facial recognition.

That unsettles you a bit.

Licking your lips, you look back at the doors. “Where is the new place?” you ask after a moment.

“Other side of town.”

She doesn’t elaborate. You don’t know why you even bothered asking.

The elevator slows and she straightens, glancing at you. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, clinging onto the calmness you’d felt only minutes before.

The doors open and you both step out. Aaron is stood close to the door, his hands on his belt, frowning, and there’s another guard with him, one you recognise as usually taking the night shift. Aaron must have called him... and as your eyes dart to the windows, you can see why. The faint, jolly music is still playing and it’s a bizarre juxtaposition to the muffled shouting and screaming from outside because the crowed have spotted you now. People are trying to peer through the floor-to-ceiling windows, craning their necks and shoving each other out of the way to get a better look at you, filming on their phones and trying to take pictures.

Aaron turns to you and gives you a small smile as you approach, Nat a step ahead.

“How’re we looking?” she asks him and from his blinking and surprised expression, you guess he isn’t one of the eyes she was talking about.

“Uh, well, no-one’s tried to get in, yet. Someone seemed as if they were about to follow someone who lives here in, but other’s started yelling at them that we could then call the police, so, seems like they’re seasoned.” He glances at you, giving you another smile.

You return it because, God, he’s probably not trained for this, and he’s such a nice guy.

“All right, well, they should go soon once they realise Steve and Y/N are moving.”

“You’re leaving?” He looks rather crestfallen as he meets your gaze again, and you don’t quite know what to do, but it’s left to you to say something because Nat’s moved off to the other guard.

Lying to him almost feels as bad as having to lie to your friends. He’s been working here for quite a few months now and he’s always ready to have a goofy laugh with you, especially when you come back from after-work drinks. It was always nice, too, to come back from a shitty day and see him, smiling and asking you how your day was.

“Well, tomorrow’s a new day,” he’d always say back, to the point where you both just ended up saying it together.

Do you just say bye? Do you give him your number, or promise to add him on Instagram or Facebook?

Yes, please.

Yeah, all right, you have a tiny bit of a crush on him, but it’s fine and you won’t ever act on it, so it’s fine.

“Yeah, sorry,” you say to him, offering a slightly sheepish smile.

Why am I apologising.

He smiles quickly, a beam that you’d come to enjoy seeing. “Well, I wish you luck with your new life, you two always seemed happy together, I don’t know why I didn’t figure it out.” He laughs and you make yourself join in.

Oh, it’s because it’s not truuueee...

“Thank you, Aaron, I appreciate that.” You pause for a second before continuing as you don’t know what else to say, “I’ll see you around.”

He nods. “Yeah, we follow each other on Instagram, so...”

“Do we?” Oh God, that’s embarrassing, as is the tone of surprise you hadn’t quite managed to stop. It’s like you’ve forgotten about him or don’t care, oh my God...

“Yeah, we...” He pauses to let out a chuckle. “You just took my phone that one time, when you came back from a friend’s birthday party, and followed yourself on my account, then promised you’d follow me which you did, so...”

Dolly’s birthday party. Tequila shots.

“Oh, right, yes, sorry, I remember.” Your face feels too warm. “Well, I’ll make sure to say hello.”

“I’d like that.” He smiles and takes a breath before clearing his throat “Goodbye, then, good luck with everything.”

“Thank you,” you answer, but he’s already turning and moving back towards the other guard, Nat giving him a brief smile as they pass each other and she returns to you.

Arching an eyebrow at you, a smirk hints at the corners of her mouth.

“Already initiating an affair?” she murmurs as she places a hand above your backpack, gently guiding you towards the door.

“Shut up,” you mutter, very much aware of how warm your face still is.

Her mood shifts the moment you’re in front of the door, the other guard gripping the handle, ready to open it.

“Okay, just keep moving towards the car, all right, don’t worry if you feel me pushing you, just keep your feet moving, and look straight ahead.”

“Okay,” you whisper, and from the corner of your eye you see her nod.

The guard opens the door and steps out, pushing people back, and then you’re out and through the door.

The moment you feel the cold air touch your skin, it’s pandemonium. People scream, cameras flash, and questions are yelled at you, so many you can’t even make them out properly. You keep your feet moving but your eyes are darting all over, trying to take it all in, there’s so many people. Your anxiety comes flooding back as the guard and Aaron try their best to keep people back and Nat keeps pushing you forward, silent. You just can’t believe they’re all here, in the freezing cold, just to see you.

Well, not just you.

“He’s not here! He’s not with her!” you hear a man shout next to you, making you flinch.

Suddenly, your hands are on Nat’s Corvette and you’re fumbling for the handle. Finding it and tugging it open, Aaron has to really push against a group beside you to allow you space to open it and so you can get in. With your bag still on your back, you slide into the seat and call a “Thank you!” to Aaron. He doesn’t get a chance to turn and acknowledge it as Nat closes the door and the group surges slightly, trying to press against the car. Keeping your eyes down, you lean forward to slide your backpack off and drop it between your feet.

Your hands shake slightly as you buckle your seatbelt, so you clasp them together in your lap once you’re done. It takes Nat a few more moments than last time to get round to her side, but then she’s there, swiftly getting in. Slamming the door shut, she secures her seatbelt and turns the engine on, the sound of it, luckily, making people step back.

Within moments, she’s pulling you both away and down the street. Staring through the wing mirror on your side, you’re grateful for the first time for her speed, knowing by the time the group scatters and gets into their cars or news vans that you’ll be blocks away.

Closing your eyes, you try and cheer yourself.

The hard part’s over. That’s it. You did it.

—

The hard part is definitely over.

This is the fanciest fucking place I’ve ever seen in my life.

You don’t think your mouth’s closed once from the moment you stepped into the building let alone your new penthouse.

It’s huge. All open-plan and white or stripped wood furniture, lush, thick, beige carpeting throughout, except in the kitchen where it’s polished stone, and the bathrooms where it’s white tile with thin flashes of gold. The dining room is decorated to a show-room standard, with a long, glass table and white cushioned chairs, cutlery set out waiting to be used. The living room, with its two ridiculously comfy beige couches, darker than the carpet, with terracotta blankets draped over them, a huge TV, brick fireplace, and intricately carved coffee table, meets the floor-to-ceiling windows and a glass door that opens out onto a balcony and a view of the city. A swinging chair and four, regular, but as equally comfy-looking, chairs are on it with a stone table, and to the right there’s a pool and more couches and a firepit. To the right of the living room area, behind a door, is a gym room, complete with, what you assume is state-of-the-art, equipment. The kitchen is to die for with its black marble counters and island, accompanied by stools to sit at, and the huge silver fridge and the white beech-wood cabinets and the bedrooms...

There’s two, one’s going to be yours, the other’s Steve’s. You very much agreed with Nat when she said, as you were the first here, that you get first pick but, truthfully, you’d have been over the moon with either of them. The one you have chosen, though, is the first one you come to after walking up the stairs. The king-sized bed is the most comfortable thing you’ve ever lain on, and the grey and white striped duvet and sheets are so soft. The wardrobe is a walk-in, you have your own en-suite, featuring a clawfoot bath, a huge shower and an ornate sink, and the windows in the bedroom are also floor-to-ceiling, the view gorgeous.

Maybe this will feel like a holiday, maybe this won’t be so bad after all, oh my God, even the toilet paper is the softest thing I’ve ever felt, I never want to leave...

As you finally pull yourself out of the room, you lean against the landing railing, gazing down at the open-plan floor below. It looks even more gorgeous from up here, perfect, coordinated, a dream.

Nat stands by the balcony door, talking to someone on her phone, and as you practically float down the stairs, she brings it to an end and hangs up, pushing it into her jeans pocket as a smile begins to form.

“So, everything is satisfactory for you, ma’am?”

“Oh, Nat, this is beyond anything I could have ever imagined.” Crossing the room, you sit on one of the couches, leaning back and looking at her. “How did you find this place?”

She folds her arms, leaning against the window. “We keep a few places on hold, just in case.”

Your head tilts forward, your eyes widening. “This place is a safe-house?!”

Her lips twitch. “Not anymore. Clint’ll be pissed.”

Before you can respond, the front door opens and you both turn, watching Steve and Sam enter. Sam lets out a whistle as he walks down the short hallway, his eyes wide. “Oh my God, can I move in?”

Grinning because this feels good, this feels nice to find it exciting rather than terrifying, you raise your eyebrows. “Hey, I wouldn’t mind, there’s probably room for ten people here.”

“Yeah, Sam snores, so I don’t think so,” Steve quips as he passes the other man, setting the three suitcases, one of them yours, he’d been carrying down by the kitchen archway. He seems just as impressed, though, if a bit more quietly so, his eyes roaming the interior. They arrive at you.

“You happy with it?” he asks, and it makes your chest ache with how sincerely he says it.

“Are you kidding me?” You maintain your grin, wanting to keep the tone light. “I can probably sleep in the wardrobe I have up there and there’s a pool outside.”

“It’s winter, Y/N,” Sam says, but he’s craning his neck to peer outside as he puts your two boxes on the kitchen island.

“It’s heated,” Nat says casually, making you and Sam gasp quietly.

I’m never leaving.

“Right,” Nat continues, moving away from the window as Sam takes her place, her arms still folded. “There’s food in the fridge and cupboards, plenty of towels in the downstairs bathroom cupboards, there’s a washing machine and tumble dryer in there, too, and I’m gonna advise you to not order take-out this week for safety purposes.”

If that’s the sacrifice I have to make to live here then fine.

“Steve, come with me, I’ll show you how the machines work, Sam you take Y/N’s things upstairs and help her unpack.”

“I know how a washing machine works, Nat,” Steve sighs even as he follows after her.

“Oh, not this one, trust me.”

Your gaze darting to meet Sam’s, you both grin.

“Please show me this wardrobe, I’m dyin’ to see it.”

Rising off the couch, you gesture towards the stairs with a flourish of your arm. “This way, then, please, sir.”

Striding across the floor, he grabs your suitcase in one hand and manages to carry both boxes in his other arm before turning to you. “Take me there, ma’am.”

You feel like a giddy child as you both head up the stairs, nearly running.

Nat shakes her head as they listen to you both and she meets Steve’s gaze, her lips twitching. He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Even though she knows you nor Sam will be able to hear her in the bathroom she and Steve are stood in, she still softens her voice. “You okay, old man?”

A corner of his mouth lifts a little higher than the other. “Yeah. It’s just gonna take some getting used to.”

“I know,” she murmurs, leaning against the washing machine, instructions forgotten, and she knows not needed. “I know this isn’t exactly how we planned on locating these guys but we couldn’t let this opportunity go—”

“I know, I know,” he sighs, a note of exasperation to it. “Fury said the same thing.”

She looks at him, the tightness in his jaw, despite how relaxed he appears. “She’s going to be safe,” she says gently after a few moments. “I know I don’t have to remind you, but we’re doing this for her, too.”

That makes him stiffen slightly, but she knows he needs an objective for this, something to fight for, something personal, his own life not being enough. He nods after a short pause, then his eyes meet hers and he gives an easy smile.

“You gonna show me how to use this thing or what, huh?”

—

You wish Nat and Sam could’ve stayed longer. Could’ve helped you both settle in, maybe even shown you how to operate the TV, even though you knew... Could’ve stayed longer because they helped to keep the excitement up.

The moment the door closed after they’d said their goodbyes, barely an hour after they’d arrive, said adamantly to call if either of you needed anything, and that the building was already being watched by agents, silence descended.

You’d both been stood by the front door to bid farewell, Steve holding it open, and you’d watched them cross the small circular foyer to the elevator that only someone with a passkey could get into and come to this floor with. You, Steve, Nat and Sam were the only people to have one. As the latter two disappeared, the elevator doors closing and Steve closed your own door and the silence came, you just looked at each other. You couldn’t think what to say, not quite in the mood to crack a joke, some of your energy having left you. Steve had appeared to feel the same way, his hands sliding into his pockets as he gave a light smile.

As the silence went on a second too long, you had returned his smile, though wider, and made some excuse about having promised to video call Dolly and Bridget to show them the place. He’d just nodded and joked about keeping out of the way.

You hate this. Hate that there’s some kind of... disconnect between you two now, though, you hope, you’re the only one to feel it. You don’t want to become awkward strangers to each other, you don’t want to feel uncomfortable and embarrassed every time you want to speak to him because how the hell are you going to get through the week? Or beyond it? You know it’s all your own doing, your own insecurities and embarrassment holding you back, but you just need... a few minutes to adjust.

The video call with your friends doesn’t exactly help. They’d gasped and squealed at everything you’d showed them, so delighted and excited for their friend, and you don’t know where you’d found the energy from to be ‘on’, to be at their level, and the level of an excited, engaged woman. You had quickly excused yourself after half an hour, though, saying you and Steve still have some things to unpack.

You hate lying to them. You hate it so much.

You'd felt tears pricking at your eyes as you’d waved goodbye, catching their blown kisses like you usually would but unable to return them with quite the same goofiness. If they’d have asked, you just would have said you were tired, which wouldn’t have been a complete lie.

When you end the call and drop your phone onto your bed, you close your eyes, wiping at them after a moment to eradicate any stray tears.

Six days. Just six days. And it’s to help save your best friend’s life.

Changing into a sweater and pyjamas trousers, you leave your room, your phone held in one hand. A quick glance around as you descend the stairs shows no sign of Steve, but as you reach the bottom you hear sounds of a machine in the gym room despite the door being closed. You leave him to it, knowing he’s probably got his own adjustments to reckon with.

Despite his status, he’s still a private guy, and he probably hates the limelight now being shone on him once more.

There comes the guilt again, gnawing at you from the inside, and swiftly comes the challenge that without your lie you wouldn’t be able to help SHIELD find whoever wants to hurt him... Then comes the sadness, anger and helplessness.

You sit on the nearest couch, grabbing the remote, and turn the TV on. The channel you’re on is showing an advert, so you skip through until you land on a talk show. You pause for a moment, before lowering the remote.

“... also have a statement from June & Mayflower Publishing,” a woman is saying, text appearing on the screen beside her.

You don’t bother to listen properly or read it. Nat had called Yvette while you’d been packing, and she and her assistant Alice had drafted a statement saying the whole company was delighted. She’d sent it to you while Nat had been driving you here to read beforehand but you’d just replied to the email saying it was fine, you trusted her.

You tune back in when a man speaks, and a weird feeling rises in your chest as a picture of you and Steve, from probably only a few months after you’d moved to D.C, walking in a park and smiling, pops up on the screen.

“Y/N has actually been sighted with Steve before, they’ve actually been neighbours for three years, isn’t that romantic?”

“Awh, so cute!” the woman says, beaming.

“I know, right? People were asking if something was going on, we were desperate to know if our boy in red, white and blue had finally found the one again, but after months of quiet speculation we all knew they were just good friends.”

You wouldn’t have exactly called it quiet. You can still remember the shock and surprise of leaving your building and someone coming up to you to ask questions about you and Steve every other day, but it had soon faded, and had been nothing compared to what you’d experienced today.

“Now what we’re all desperate to know is is it going to be a winter wedding?”

“Yeeesss,” the woman says, clapping her hands together. “Now, some of us may think that that’s unusual but they are becoming more popular, and if the wedding of the century is going to a winter one, then, well, cancel Christmas, wedding planners, you’ve got work to do!”

As they laugh, you cringe, playing with the sleeve of your sweater. Unused to wearing a ring the size of the engagement one, it keeps catching on it.

“Now, we have Chrisse Christianson on the line from Chrisse’s Boutique, the store that specialises in all things weddings right here in New York, hi, Chrisse, have you been contacted by the couple?”

“Hi, guys! No, I haven’t been contacted yet,” she laughs, the trilling sound echoing across the studio, “but as Steve is from here we’re hoping they decide to shop local, and—”

As the gym room door opens, with lightening speed you change the channel, landing on a documentary of some kind.

Clearing your throat and lifting your head, you smile at him as he steps out... and you can’t stop your gaze from travelling him. His shirt is sticking to his skin with sweat, beads of it trailing down his neck and temple. His muscles somehow look bigger, straining under the sleeves of the shirt. You swiftly lift your eyes as you catch yourself, and his warm smile is what sets off the fluttering in your chest.

“Hey,” he greets, closing the door.

“Hi,” you manage to say nonchalantly.

Glancing at the TV screen, he then looks back to you. “Dolly and Bridge’ okay?”

“Yeah.” You fold your arms as you smile a touch wryly. “Can’t tell if they’re more excited about the engagement or the apartment.”

He chuckles, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. You have to stop yourself from watching his muscles flex. “Well, they’re only human.”

Your smile softens as you exhale a laugh. As he crosses behind the couch to the stairs, your eyes return to the TV, but you hear him pause on the bottom step.

“Hey, after I shower I’ll cook us something to eat, okay?”

You look to him, your smile returning as you nod. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

He nods and ascends the stairs, and you make yourself look back at the screen.

Well, there you go, you’ve spoken and it wasn’t awkward. Hey, you’d even laughed. That was good, fine. It would just be a little weird adjusting, that was all.

You focus on the documentary, which you realise is about birds. You focus very hard on it.

—

Cutlery quietly clinks against plates, the only sound that fills the air of the penthouse. Usually when you both cook together one of you will put music on, more often than not the playlist you’ve curated together over the years that holds a charmingly eclectic mix of music ranging from the 20s to now. Today, though, neither of you felt much like listening to any.

You’d just stayed on the couch, anyway, when he’d reappeared, showered and dressed, and cooked, almost frozen to the spot and staring at the TV screen. It was nice to drift away for half an hour or so, be distracted by something. He’d gently called you when the pasta dish was ready, and you’d both decided to sit at the island, something too unspokenly formal about the dining table.

And so silence has fallen.

Steve watches you as you both eat quietly, your head slightly lowered. The only thing you’d said was how good it tasted after your first mouthful, and he’d thanked you. You haven’t said another word since. He himself is slightly slumped in his chair, his shoulders down, his arm resting on his thigh, back a little curved. You’d laughed the first time you’d seen him with such an unsuperhero-y posture, fully relaxed. He’d just smiled, and you’d realised over the years that that was how Steve Rogers sat and how he always had, even pre-serum, almost like his body was curving in, protecting himself.

Your fork lowering onto your plate pulls him from his thoughts, his eyes focusing back on you. Running a hand down his mouth, he clears his throat.

“How are you doing?” he asks quietly.

You just look at your plate for a moment as you push it away, your hands clasping together in its place. You’d known this was coming the whole time you’d been eating, before even. Taking a breath and exhaling it, you swallow before you finally look at him. His features don’t change, just watching you.

“Steve, I’m so sorry, about all of this,” you say, your voice just as quiet as his. “For what I said at the party, all of this, I just...”

“Why?” he asks when you don’t carry on.

You raise your eyebrows slightly, a faint expression of surprise. “I used you. I used you to get back at someone who doesn’t matter, and I hate that I did that, I hate it. It’s what everyone else does to you, they use your status and the symbol of Captain America, they take advantage of it, I’ve seen people do it, they pretend they’re your friend just to get something, and I never wanted to be the person that did that, I’m so sorry, I’m your friend because I like you, not because I want to look important or have some kind of status, but that’s what I wanted in that moment, I wanted him to look at me and think I was important and he’d missed out, and I could do better than him and now I’ve just thrown that all away, I’m a hypocrite and I’m so sorry.” You stop abruptly and inhale a slightly broken breath.

He didn’t interrupt you as you got it all out to him, finally, his expression didn’t change, he just sat quietly and listened, knowing the thoughts have probably been rolling around in your mind incessantly. His features soften now, though.

“Y/N...” he says after a moment, “... It was a bit of fun.” You just look at him, your lips slightly parted. “Sure, it’s spiralled, and here we are, having to pick out cake decorations...” He trails off with a smile as you exhale a laugh, your own smile finally breaking out across your features. When he continues, he’s still smiling but his tone is sincere. “I know the kind of person you are, Y/N. I know when I’m being used, despite how old I am I’ve still got all my marbles, but it was just some fun, and I was glad to do it for you, he seemed like an ass.”

Your smile has lingered, your shoulders relaxing in relief as you inhale a breath. “Yeah, he was.” Shaking your head, you look at him. “God, you’re just...”

He arches an eyebrow, his head tilting. “What?”

Your smile widens. “Incredible, Steve Rogers.”

He chuckles, his hand falling into his lap. “You are, too. And Y/N, you are important—”

“I know, I know,” you say quickly, feeling your face warm. You can’t bear to hear one of his pep-talks now, it’ll just make you feel like even more of a child for having done what you did.

Mercifully, he takes the hint and leans his elbow on the island, his fingers brushing over his lips. There’s a small pause before he speaks again.

“Look, I’m not the best at all this undercover stuff, I’m quite bad at it actually, I’m surprised Nat hasn’t entertained you with the tales, but I think having to do it with you will make it a little easier.”

Your gaze lifts to him, the heat lingering on your skin, and you smile softly. “Well, thank you. You, too.”

You want to cry. You have some kind of emotional release from the day, but you know that would just make him feel guilty.

You attempt to lighten the tone again, raising your eyes to take in the penthouse once more. “So why don’t you live in a place like this?”

“What do you mean?”

You shrug. “Your apartment’s the same size as mine, but you probably have ten times what I do. Don’t give me that look,” you swiftly continue, the corners of your mouth lifting, “They published it, and I couldn’t help but accidentally read it, and I’m just saying, why do we split the bill.”

He arches an eyebrow, a smile threatening. “Because you insist.”

“Well...” You scoff, raising your eyebrows. “I’m gonna stop insisting.”

He chuckles and shrugs, his hands clasping in his lap. “I like my place. And where could I find a better neighbour, huh?”

“Oh, well...” You shrug a shoulder as you smile faux-demurely, shaking your head. “You couldn’t, so, good.”

“I know, I know, God’s gift,” he concedes with raised eyebrows, his smile betraying his tone. Moving off the stool, he takes your plate and his and heads to the sink, placing them in and turning the tap on, letting the water run over them.

Placing your arms on the island, you exhale a long breath. “So... How are you gonna spend your first afternoon here in paradise?”

The corners of his mouth lift as he turns the tap off and leans against the counter beside him, his hands in his pockets. “Think I’m gonna give Buck a call, and Nat, see what’s goin’ on. You?”

You wrinkle your nose, shrugging. “I don’t think I’m technically not working just yet, so, I’ve got a few things I want to take care of and send to Yvette, then...” You shrug again. “... The shower in my room looks great, actually, so I might spend about three hours in there.”

“Yeah, mine was life-changing, so...” He smiles as you laugh, sliding off of your stool.

“Oh, good, maybe I’ll spend four hours in there, then.” Tugging your sleeves over your hands, you grab your phone and return his smile. “All right, I guess I’ll see you in a bit, then.”

“Yeah. Don’t work too hard.”

“Oh, I’ll try.”

And there it is again, that weird, unfamiliar awkwardness returns, not too overt, but definitely there. As you climb the stairs, you once again hope he doesn’t feel it, but, you are relieved that you got out what had been rattling around in your mind since the morning. Relieved that he was so understanding, too, but when is he not? That’s what you lo— admire about him so much. Empathy is seemingly a rare trait these days so it’s nice to be reminded that people do have it. And, oh, you’d had a normal conversation. You almost laugh at the boost it’s given you.

You push him, the day, everything out of your mind, though, as you enter your room and close the door. Taking your laptop from your backpack, you turn it on and sit back against the luxurious cushions on the bed, closing your eyes for a few moments to get your brain into work-mode.

This will distract you for a good few hours, be something that you can handle and focus on.

Opening your eyes, you sign into your laptop and straighten your back.

Oke doke... Hello, my actual life.

—

You manage to waste more than a good few hours sending emails, receiving them, taking calls, approving events and posts, planning out the next few months of what you want to get done and make public. You ignore the emails that have ‘CONGRATULATIONS!!!’ in the subject line, hoping people will just think you’re too busy being desperately in love to reply to all the well-wishers. It’s almost bliss, to lose yourself in your work and think of nothing else, even though you do have to block a few numbers from tabloids every half an hour or so.

As darkness falls, though, and everyone else ends their working day, you force yourself to send your last email, to Yvette, explaining, as Nat had asked you to, that you would be taking the week off. Yvette already knows, of course, but Nat had requested you to do it just in case someone hacked into your emails, or the company’s. Shutting your laptop down and closing it, your gaze drifts to the window. The sky is an inky black, and the bedside lamp you’d turned on an hour or so before illuminates the room in a warm, gentle glow.

Moving off the bed with a slight, stiff, wince, you pull the curtains closed, and take a moment to let your thumbs caress the silver, velvety material.

Ugh, just perfect.

Blowing out a breath, you turn back to the room.

What now?

...

Time for that shower, I think.

You take another moment to once more take in the beauty of your bathroom, before you open the shower door and stare at the buttons because it has buttons and not knobs and taps like you’re used to. Thankfully, they’re easy to understand and in seconds a warm stream of beautifully pressured water is pouring down onto the floor.

You dart back into the bedroom to grab your phone, wanting to play some music, and as you wander back into the bathroom, you unlock it. As you search for your desired playlist, an Instagram notification suddenly appears at the top of the screen. It’s a message—

You pause.

A message from Aaron.

You feel your face heating up, and it’s not from the steam of the shower, as you tap on it to open the app and read it quickly.

Hey, I hope you’re settling in okay, and your new door guys aren’t as funny as I am.

You smile, quite touched by the sweetness of it. Your thumbs start to move before you can stop them.

Hi, thank you so much! It’s all fine here, and no, they certainly aren’t, so you can rest easy.

Feeling faintly like a giddy teenager as you quickly close the app in case he comes online and sees you’re active, (and oh my God, did I reply too quickly?), you start your playlist and place your phone by the sink. After undressing, leaving your clothes in a pile on the floor, and spending a moment considering if you should remove the ring in case you damage it but deciding to leave it on, you step into the shower and are unable to stop a soft groan as the warm water washes over you.

This is so much better than the water in our building... then again, it’s not hard to beat it.

You take your time to shower, washing every inch of your skin with the new bottle of body-wash that was already in there and smells divine. When you finally turn the water off and step out, you pull a cream, fluffy towel from the nearby rack and it rivals the bed in softness. After patting yourself dry and moisturising with the new pot of cream that was in one of the cabinets under the sink, and comes from that fancy shop you and Dolly go into every month for samples, you wrap the towel around yourself, take your phone and head into the bedroom.

Checking for notification as you sit on the bed, you find Aaron has answered.

Oh, good, to both of those. My reputation remains intact.

Your teeth graze over your lower lip as you reply.

Absolutely, I’ll let them know here that they seriously need to do better.

Being on the app reminds you to make your account private as, oh, boy, strangers commenting on every single photo you’ve ever posted is overwhelming. You’re about to exit out of the app when you decide to have a look at Aaron’s profile. It’s a standard grid, photos of him at bars or parties, by the looks of it, selfies, photos of him at the gym...

Wow... His uniform kinda hides those muscles.

Stop it.

Locking your phone, you lie back on the bed, not quite ready to change just yet.

God, that was a good shower.

Wonder if Steve’s shower was really good. If the water pressure was good like mine, not if he had a nice time, if he just really enjoyed it as much as he said he did.

You stare at the ceiling, swallowing lightly.

Your eyes drift to your backpack on the floor.

Where your toy calls quietly to you.

... This would help the unwinding to continue.

Moving off the bed, you reach inside your backpack and grab the toy, pulling it out of its drawstring bag.

It’s one of your favourites; smooth, rose-gold silicone, medium length, a ribbed shaft, silent, different speeds and patterns, water-proof, you can use it anywhere, anytime, and do whatever you want with it.

Lying back again, you shift into a more comfortable position and close your eyes, your thumb finding the familiar button to set the vibration at the first, low speed.

You think about what you usually do when you can’t be bothered to look a stimulus up online; a faceless mouth on your neck, on your breasts, licking and sucking at your nipples, on your thighs, hands pulling them apart, gliding down to your wet pussy lips, caressing and stroking.

A rush of breath escapes you as you glide the head of the vibrator up and down your cunt, your hips jerking slightly at the initial contact. You’re wet already, and you hum gently as you stop at your clit, leaving the vibrator there.

Your free hand tugs the towel open so you can reach your breasts, your fingers going between your nipples and, tugging and pinching them along with your fantasy. You increase the speed by one as you start to lose yourself in the pleasure thrumming throughout your body.

... And you can’t stop yourself from not thinking about it anymore.

You picture Steve in the shower.

You’ve thought of him a couple of times before while masturbating, accidentally. Like when you've been drunk he’s just slipped into your mind... or just at the last second when you're coming his face has appeared in your mind and his name from your lips. You just can’t help it.

The faceless mouth and hands become his as you rock your hips, quiet moans sounding from your throat. He whispers your name into your ear, telling you how good you feel, how wet you are, what a good girl you are, how he can’t wait to sink his cock into yo—

Two gentle knocks sound on your bedroom door.

“Y/N?”

Your eyes snapping open, you stare at the door.

Steve.

Oh my God, it’s like I summoned him.

“... Yeah?” You try to sound as nonchalant as possible, your voice just a touch higher than normal.

“Can I come in?”

“Uh...” You’re off the bed in seconds, the towel falling to the floor as you thrust the vibrator behind one of the many pillows and clear your throat, “... Hang on, two seconds...”

You can’t answer the door to him in just a towel, you can’t, where—

You find the robe you’d spotted earlier, still hanging on the back of the bathroom door and grab it, pulling it on and tying the cord tight.

God, that’s soft...

Clearing your throat again, you take a breath and open the door, smiling widely as your eyes fall on him.

“Hey, sorry, I just had a shower.”

He takes an almost involuntary step back, his back straightening. “Oh, sorry—”

“No, no, it’s fine.” You’re still smiling, and he’s returning it, albeit a bit softer and less forced, his eyes on yours.

“Right, I was wondering if you wanted to watch a movie? I can make some dinner for us while you change?”

He’s just so fucking nice, how can I think such filthy things...

“Yeah, that sounds great.”

“All right, I think it’s your turn to pick the movie.”

“All right, I’ll get thinking.”

I hope I don’t sound as manic as I feel.

You watch him descend the stairs for a moment before you close the door and lean against it, closing your eyes.

Oh, God...

It’s good actually, that he turned up, you shouldn’t be thinking about him, it’s wrong, he’s your friend—

Stop. Just stop thinking about it.

Opening your eyes, you exhale a long breath and move towards your new wardrobe, finding your pyjamas.

Right, now to just get through the evening without any awkwardness... and the rest of the week.

Okay.

Right.

Fine.

Perfectly easy.

—

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berjhawn · 4 years

Text

Angel On Fire - Chapter 13 - Jail

Warnings: None really that bad, a little nsfw toward the end but other than that pretty safe

Pairings: Bucky Barnes X Reader ; Thorin Oakenshield X Reader ; Bucky X Reader X Thorin ; Marvel X Reader X Hobbit

(A/N) I live!!!!!!! and i’m here to bring you two new updates!! So enjoy!!

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

Thorin didn’t know what to do now that he was staring down the strung arrow of a blonde elf. He wanted to fight but knew he and his kin were no match for the elves in their foggy state. It was only when he saw (Name)’s (H/C) hair out of the corner of his eye did he lose composure. His eyes snap to her to see that a nearby elf was cradling her in his arms as her head lay gently against his chest.

“What have you done to her?” Thorin asks anger filling his chest and words.

“What is it to you?” The blonde elf asks narrowing his eyes at Thorin.

“She’s a friend. Now, what have you done to her?” Thorin inquires his brow narrowed in anger.

“We found her as she collapsed to the ground in fear.”

“Give her to us, we’ll carry her.” Thorin orders causing the elf to narrow his eyes at him and scoff.

“What help could you give her that we cannot?” The elf scolds annoying Thorin greatly. “She’ll remain in our care until the king decides otherwise.” He adds before turning from Thorin and to the other dwarves as his men start to search them all. As he is given Thorin’s sword he lifts it up and admiring its craftsmanship says, “Echannen i vegil hen vin Gondolin. Magannen nan Gelydh.” (This is an ancient Elvish blade. Forged by my kin.) He pauses his eyes meeting Thorin’s as he adds, “Where did you get this?”

“It was given to me.” Thorin answers honestly but the elf scowls, and points the sword at Thorin.

“Not just a thief, but a liar as well.” He accuses before ordering his kin to take them.

After then blonde sheathes the sword he walks over to where (Name) is being held by another elf and after a brief word he lifts her into his arms to carry himself. Thorin stares at him with anger and jealousy filling his body as the elves begin to lead the dwarves away. As they begin to walk, Bofur turns and whispers to Thorin, “Thorin, where’s Bilbo?” Thorin looks around, but sees no sign of Bilbo.

The dwarves are led through the woods and over a bridge and into the Woodland Realm. After they pass through, the blonde elf pauses before he addresses the guards of the gate. “Holo in ennyn.” (Close the gate.)

The blonde elf turns, sensing something, and looks down the bridge. Seeing nothing after a few seconds, he turns and walks through the gates as they close. The dwarves are led through the raised wooden walkways of the Woodland Realm. The entire place is built out of tree roots in a subterranean cavern. The rest of his kin are taken deeper into the city, to the dungeons he reckons. He unfortunately loses sight of (Name) when he is brought to a familiar face.

Thranduil, the king of Mirkwood, and the elf that turned his back on the suffering of Thorin’s people sits on his throne his eyes focused on Thorin.

“Some may imagine that a noble quest is at hand. A quest to reclaim a homeland and slay a dragon. I myself suspect a more prosaic motive: attempted burglary, or something of that ilk.” Thranduil says as he looks closely at Thorin. “You have found a way in. You seek that which would bestow upon you the right to rule: The King’s Jewel, the Arkenstone. It is precious to you beyond measure. I understand that. There are gems in the mountain that I too desire. White gems of pure starlight. I offer you my help.”

“I am listening.” Thorin replies cocking an eyebrow at the elf.

“I will let you go, if you but return what is mine.”

Thorin turns and slowly starts walking away.

“A favor for a favor.” Thorin adds scoffing.

“You have my word. One king to another.” Thranduil concludes.

Thorin stops walking. Still facing away from Thranduil, he speaks. His voice gets louder and louder as he speaks. “I would not trust Thranduil, the great king, to honor his word should the end of all days be upon us!” Thorin spins around and point at Thranduil. He is now shouting. “You lack all honor! I’ve seen how you treat your friends. We came to you once, starving, homeless, seeking your help, but you turned your back. You turned away from the suffering of my people and the inferno that destroyed us! Imrid amrad ursul!” (Die a death of flames!)

Thranduil leaps down from his throne and puts his face right in front of Thorin’s.

“Do not talk to me of dragon fire. I know its wrath and ruin. I have faced the great serpents of the north.” As Thranduil speaks, his face contorts, revealing his face covered with what appears to be burns and scars from his past encounters with dragons. His left eye is milky and unseeing. He draws away, and his face returns to normal. “I warned your grandfather of what his greed would summon, but he would not listen.” Thranduil turns and walks up the steps to his throne. “You are just like him.”

Thranduil motions, and guards grab Thorin and haul him toward the dungeons.

“Stay here if you will, and rot. A hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an elf. I am patient. I can wait.”

“Wait!” Thorin calls making the guards pause. “What of my companion?”

“Your dwarves will remain in the dungeon along with you.”

“The human woman that was with us. Return her to us.” Thorin orders making Thranduil narrow his eyes at him.

“You are in no position to be giving me orders dwarf.” Thranduil spits.

“What will you do with her?” Thorin inquires trying to keep his composure.

“She will be seen by our healers and then who knows?” Thranduil waves his hand signaling the end of their conversation.

Thorin is dragged down the vast hallways until they reach the dungeon. Then he is thrown into a cell beside the other dwarves, and his jailer walks away with a ring of jangling keys.

“Did he offer you a deal?” Balin inquires from his cell.

“He did. I told him he could go ‘Ish kakhfê ai’d dur rugnu!’ (I spit upon your grave!) - him and all his kin!”

Hearing this, Balin closes his eyes and sighs wearily in frustration. “Well...that’s it, then. A deal was our only hope.”

“Not our only hope.” Thorin adds under his breath thinking about Bilbo.

“What did they say about (Name)?” Bofur asks making Thorin let out a defeated sigh.

“The good news is they are taking her to their healers. Bad news is that is all they would tell me.”

“Don’t worry Lads, the elves may be bastards, but they are some of the best healers. I’m sure she will be fine.” Balin adds making Thorin roll his eyes.

(Name) should be there with him. He pauses a moment as he realizes what he just thought. Thorin reaches up and scratching the back of his neck thinks back to when he had initially heard her screams of panic. He had tried to find her but it was too late as they were all surrounded by spiders. He hoped and prayed that she was okay.

Thorin wouldn’t admit it out loud but he had grown rather fond of her. Moving to the back of his cell he sits down and thinks back on when he met her. She was feisty, from the very moment he they had met she had challenged him. He smiles at the memory. If he survived this, he would tell her how he felt.

His eyes widen at the thought. What exactly did he feel for her? Even if it was more than companionship, he could never tell her. She wanted to return to her home. She didn’t belong here. Thorin’s heart clenches at the idea of never seeing her again; but what was he to do? She had made it quite clear she wanted to return to her world.

Would she change her mind if he told her he had feelings for her? Closing his eyes, he leans his head back against the cool wooden wall and lets out a heavy sigh. ‘Thorin…’ he hears her sweet voice calling his name causing his brow to furrow as he opens his eyes to see that a vision of her has appeared before him.

“(Name)?” He says his voice barely above a whisper.

She smiles as she kneels down in front of him, her hands reaching up to rest on his thighs. Thorin gulps down a breath of air as he, unable to move, watches her. ‘Don’t you have something to say to me?’ she asks as her hands start to drift awfully close to his aching member.

“You’re not real.” He says more to clear his head than to actually reply to her.

‘That’s not what you want to say, is it?’ She adds lust thick on her voice.

“You’re not her. I’ll tell her when I’m ready.” Thorin adds folding his arms over his chest.

‘What if you’re never ready?’ She inquires her fingers grazing over the ties on his trousers. ‘What if she doesn’t want to hear it?’

“Stop.” He orders narrowing his eyes at her as he gulps down a breath of air.

‘Stop what?’ She asks her eyes narrowing at him as she moves from her spot between his legs to straddle his waist. She reaches up gently cupping his face continues, ‘You said it yourself, I’m not real. I’m just a figment of your imagination. What I do, is what you want her to do.’

“That’s not the point.” Thorin growls reaching up to grab the vision’s hands and pull them away from his face but his hands go straight through her. “Get off.”

‘You should tell her sooner rather than later, or by the time you gather your nerve, it will be too late.’ And with that she vanishes leaving Thorin feeling irritated and little embarrassed.

Will continue

Tags:

@elysasthings @gaenahelleborus

#berjhawn #berjhawn writes #bucky #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #thorin oakenshield #thorin fanfiction #marvel x reader x hobbit #hobbit x reader x marvel #marvel au #marvel fanfiction #the hobbit #hobbit fanfiction #thorin x reader #thorin x readerx bucky #bucky x reader x thorin #hobbit au

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amlovelies · 4 years

Text

what desire will make foolish people do

@wayhavenmonthly Fall for Unit Bravo

Day 5: game

pairing: Mason/f!oc Serena Willis (not a detective)

warnings: not technically smut, but super suggestive also smoking and foul language

words: 2779

read on ao3

A/N: this is part of my Au and takes place before the scene I posted for day 2: Liability. I’ve posted parts of this before as “excerpts from a fic I’ll never write” guess I’m a liar. This is all pulled from different parts of the story because I liked the way I could use them to fit the theme, so there are some slightly awkward bits where I edited it to make more sense.

Round 1

The cool spring air outside the warehouse helps to clear my head. The last few weeks have been hard, and as much as I think I am adjusting to my new life and role here, there are still days when it’s harder. Days when I miss home and feel so out of my depth it’s almost a joke. I lean back against the door and close my eyes taking deep breaths.

“Are you planning on blocking the door all night?”

My eyes snap open at the growled question. Great, Mason. Of all the members of Unit Bravo I’ve been unable to really connect or understand him. He’s made it clear he thinks I’m useless and I’m surprised he bothered to waste a whole sentence on me rather than just grunting. I watch him pull out his damn near ubiquitous pack of cigarettes.

“Can I have one?” I ask almost surprising myself. I haven’t smoked in years, but maybe it’ll take the edge off.

“Sorry,” Mason says as he pulls a cigarette from the half full pack in his hands, “I’m all out”

“So you’re the only one who gets to use self-destructive behaviors to make them feel better?” I ask in what I hope isn’t a petulant tone.

“Isn’t self-destructive if I’m immortal. Besides, I’ve got something I can give you that’ll make you feel much better than a smoke would.”

I’m glad it’s getting too dark so I don’t have to see the smirk on his face. It’s too bad it doesn’t affect his vision because I’m sure he can see the blush that paints my cheeks even as I’m rolling my eyes at his much too obvious come on. I’d heard rumors about Mason’s “charms,” but this is the first time he’s ever tried to use them on me. No matter what I think of his personality, he is a dangerously handsome man and I hate how flustered the comment makes me feel even if his flirting has more in common with a battering ram.

“Or I could just go to the store and pick up my own pack. Sounds a lot more satisfying.” I say as I push off the door and make to walk past Mason. I don’t actually want a smoke that bad, but I also don’t want to back down in front of him.

“Fine, don’t say I never did anything for ya.” Mason scoffs and I yelp as I’m hit in the chest with the pack. I eagerly pull one out and pass the pack back to him. I’m a little skeptical about his sudden altruism, maybe he really is trying to get me into bed.

“Where’s your lighter?” I ask.

“Never asked for a lighter, Sweetheart, and it seems I’ve lost mine.” He says, voice smug and mocking. So much for my victory. “Maybe you should pat me down, see if you can find it.” He adds opening his arms wide to give me access.

“I think I’ll pass.”

“Your loss.” He replies as he leans against the wall.

I sit for a moment tapping the cigarette against my leg trying to figure out how to regain the upper hand. Or maybe not even the upper hand so much as just to stay in the game. Because this is some sort of game to him, and the last thing I was going to do was let Mason win this round of whatever the hell this is.

A hazy memory resurfaces of younger wilder nights, and I start speaking before I lose my nerve.

“Don’t worry, Sunshine.” That gets his attention and a scowl replaces the smirk he’d had only a moment before. “I know how to take care of myself. It’s not the first time I’ve had to get creative to get what I want.” I say in what I hope is a low and teasing tone, but I worry sounds like I have a head cold. I close the space between us.

I raise my cigarette to my lips and wait until he begins to pull another drag from his. “All I need is for you to stay still.”

I move forward on my tiptoes until the unlit end is pressed firmly against the glowing ember of Mason’s cigarette. We are so close and alarm bells start ringing in my head. His presence envelopes me. My senses are overwhelmed by him. The scent of smoke and sandalwood is heady and enticing, especially combined with the heat I can feel pouring off his body. God he’s good looking. I have to remind myself to breath, to inhale or otherwise this won’t work and I’ll just be trapped under the intense gaze of his grey eyes.

To my relief, it ignites and I’m able to move away from him. I put some space between us, and take a thankful drag from the cig hoping it will ease my now rattled nerves. It doesn’t, and to be honest I’m not sure why I used to enjoy this so much. I steal a glance over to where Mason stands with a wry smile, his eyes studying me. I’m not sure what he’s looking for.

“Well thanks for the smoke.” I say with an attempt at a flippant tone. I don’t wait for a response; I turn on my heel and walk off toward the fence. I can hear the door open and I breath a sigh of relief to find myself alone once more.

Round two

I guess I earned some sort of respect in Mason’s eyes after the cigarette incident. Oh, sure it was mostly him making innuendos and propositioning me, but it was a hell of a lot more than the monosyllabic grunts that I was used to.

I tried not to read to much into the flirting. That he wanted to sleep with me I didn’t doubt. I also had heard enough rumors, and been subtly warned by Nate, that I knew it wasn’t really personal. Mason wanted to sleep with everyone. Besides I found myself enjoying our little verbal sparring matches. Considering the fact that he kept doing it he didn’t seem to mind or maybe he just viewed me as a challenge.

Mason manages to corner me in one of the warehouse’s many labyrinthine hallways. I had been avoiding him all day. The night before I had woken up from vivid dreams that definitely didn’t involve the incredible annoying vampire in front of me. As much as I try to play unaffected by his seduction attempts, I know it’s a lie, and my subconscious did not come to play last night.

“I don’t know if you’re aware of this, Sweetheart, but our bedrooms share a wall.” Mason leans forward closing the already small gap between us a wolfish smile on his face, “and my hearing is very good.”

He pauses and I try not to be entranced by the sight of his tongue running over his top lip. I’m pretty sure I know where he is going with this and I wonder it is possible to die of embarrassment.

“Not that there was much to hear last night. I’d be glad to show you how best to use your fingers,” he raises one hand to push his hair back drawing my attention to his well-shaped and surely dexterous hands.

It takes all my self-control to hold his gaze and I’m secretly grateful for the solid wall pressed against my back. You could probably boil a pot of water with the heat pouring off my face. The thought that he had heard my clumsy fumbling last night is perhaps the most mortifying thing I could imagine. He probably couldn’t wait to use this against me. At least he doesn’t know I was thinking about him. After all everyone masturbates. The only part of this that is really getting to me it knowing that there is some part of me that wants to see exactly what those hands can do. Not the rational part obviously, but still I’d be foolish to continue to pretend it’s not there.

At least he had waited for a moment when we were alone. I could only imagine the field day Farah would have with this, or maybe he was afraid of Nate’s disappointment. He looks so pleased with himself and I would give almost anything to wipe that smirk off his stupid handsome face. I have to think of something quick.

“Listening at walls? Are you really getting that little action?” His smile drops and I know I’ve picked the right counterattack.

“You know I don’t really think I should be the one you’re concerned with,” I smile and place a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Maybe Dinah can set you up on a bind date. I’m sure she knows some nice girl who is just frothing at the mouth to reform a bad boy and teach him the meaning of love” I gaze up with what I hope is an innocent expression.

The angry growl that he response with is music to my ears. I try and keep the glee from my face, but as he stomps away, I can’t help but congratulate myself on another victory in what-ever-the-hell game it was that I somehow found myself playing with him.

Round 3:

“You suck at this.” Mason says as he once again knocks me on my ass. He isn’t even breaking a sweat while my gasping attempts to catch my breath seem to be echoing in the empty training room.

I push away the hairs that are sticking to my sweat drenched face and give him a withering glare. He just laughs. How kind of him to make sure I want to hit him, not that I’ve managed to land one yet.

“Always such a gentleman, Sunshine,” I say as I haul myself back to my feet. “Considering how charming you are it must be a miracle that I haven’t just fallen into bed with you yet.”

He quirks a brow and gives me a look that I know well enough by now to know is trouble, “yet?”

I inwardly curse my poor word choice or Freudian slip or whatever. Not that I’d found myself thinking about him late at night more and more, or appreciating the long lean lines of his body, or wondering if he actually had to skills to back up all his bravado.

“Fuck off, Mason” I say as I roll my eyes and sink into a crouch ready to continue our sparring. It’s a petulant response, not at all keeping with the game we’ve been playing. A game which mostly consists of me trying to not let him unnerve me and find new and exciting ways to drag the very dangerous vampire who is has spent the last few hours kicking my ass.

He circles me, his movements lazy and languid. When he moves it’s sudden and with a speed I can’t follow. Before I know what’s happening, he’s behind me, his breath ghosting over my neck, “I’d much rather fuck you.” He says with a laugh.

Summoning ever bit of agility I possess, I turn and swing, but there’s nothing but empty air and his laughter. I overextend myself and have to stumble forward a few steps to avoid falling over. Once I’ve regained my balance, I flip him the bird.

He just grins and lands a stinging hit to my right side. “Do you know what the problem is Sweetheart?”

“Oh? Enlighten me.”

He moves in a blur, and I find myself pressed up against him chest to chest. My arms are held secure behind my back. His face is only inches above mine, his well-shaped mouth curled in a taunting smirk. This close I can clearly see the freckles that dust his checks. He’s breathtaking, and I hope he attributed the rapid increase of my pulse to a fight or flight instinct of being trapped rather than his proximity.

“Your body gives you away.” His voice is almost a whisper. A fierce blush erupts over my cheeks. Damn his stupid vampire super senses. He’s so smug and enjoying this. I rack my brain for a way to turn this around, but it’s hard to think clearly when I can feel the lean lines of his body pressed against me, and I can’t help but wonder how far those freckles extend over his body. I have to act quick, maybe I can distract him.

I tilt my head up to meet his gaze and moisten my lips. His eyes dart towards the action and I press forward against him. I’m playing with fire. This is a stupid idea, but that has never stopped me before.

“What exactly is my body telling you now?” I ask my voice breathy, low, and inviting. Before he can answer I close the space between us and press my lips against his. I try not to think about the feel of his lips against mine.

His hands on my arms loosen in surprise. I know that it’s now or never, but I hesitate. No small part of me what’s to stay in this moment surrounded and overwhelmed by him. But that would mean he wins. So, I pull my arm back and strike a weak jab to his right side. He moves back from me with a grunt

. “Not afraid to fight dirty. Maybe there’s hope for you yet. “He says with a nod before turning and leaving me standing along in the center of the training room.

I know I should be savoring my victory, but all I can taste is Mason on my lips.

Match

It’s a little after midnight and I’m standing in front of Mason’s door. I’ve spent the last few hours tossing and turning in a vain attempt to sleep. I keep replaying what happened in the training room: the feel of his body against mine, the brief taste of his lips, the feel of his breath ghosting over my neck. All these months of trading innuendos and hot tense moments seem to have come to a head and I feel consumed by wanting. It was a line I shouldn’t have crossed, even if it did let me land a punch, but now that I have, I feel like I’m falling towards the inevitable conclusion. And would it really be the worst thing? It’s been so long since I’ve been intimate with someone. Maybe it’s better to do it this way knowing that it’s just fun?

So now I’m standing in front of his door daring myself to knock. I mean he’ll probably be insufferable after this, but at least I’ll get laid? We both want this. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.

In the end, he saves me from having to knock. I jump a little, startled out of my deliberations, when the door swings open. His shirt is off and my eyes trace over his form. Freckles dot his skin and a patch of hair curls over his well-defined chest. Fuck he’s hot.

“Is it yet already?” He asks with a smirk his eyes tracking over my body. I’d only thrown on my bathrobe before following my libido to his door.

I take a deep breath and swallow the snarky comment I want to make. “Guess it is,” I say as I push past him into the darkened room.

He closes the door and turns to face me.

“You sure about this?” he asks taking a step closer to me.

I step closer as well only a foot or two separate us. If I wanted to, I could reach out and run my fingers over his chest tracing the line of dark hair to where it disappears under his skinny jeans. And god knows I want to.

“I am. Are you? You’ve talked a big game. Afraid you won’t perform to expectations?” I ask with a smirk.

His laugh is dark and low and confident and turns something within me molten. He closes the space between us, pulling my body flush against his. I’m intensely aware of the thin fabric of my robe as the only barrier between us.

“Not even remotely.” His voice is velvet and sends a shiver through me.

Then his lips are on mine and all I can sense is Mason: the smooth skin of his back under my hands, the wicked glint in his grey eyes, the heady scent of him-sandalwood and smoke, the taste of him on my lips, and the way he growls as nips his way down my exposed neck. He walks us backwards toward his bed and I know I am lost.

tagging: @morgans-ass-freckles @specialistagent-morgan @bionicgrapejuice and @agentnatesewell

#the wayhaven chronicles #TWC #twc mason #fallforunitbravo #liability au #mason/serena #scribblings #fanfiction #not totally in love with the last two sections #but trying to not get too in my head about this #so just post it #embrace the cringe 2020 #lovelieswrites

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inspirationdivine · 4 years

Text

Scream || Sammy Solo

Timing: Today, mid afternoon, read part 1 first Summary: As the full moon draws nearer, Sammy gets desperate. Trigger warnings: domestic abuse, physical abuse, emotional abuse, gun use

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Sammy didn’t get a chance to answer before Lydia yanked him backwards, scraping up his knees against the concrete floor. She grabbed his arm, hauling him upright. It was so easy to forget at times, just how incredibly strong she was. Fire burned in her eyes as she looked him up and down, disgust curling her lips. Sammy’s stomach dropped. She still had her coat on, her handbag slung over her shoulders, her hair fluffy where the autumn wind had whipped it around. She looked beautiful, and terrifying.

“Answer me,” Lydia snarled, pushing him back against the wall.

“I-I need to go,” Sammy stammered, “it’s to keep you safe! I’ll come back, I promise, I always come back!” He stumbled and tripped over his words. “It’s just tonight. I promise, I’ll be back before you know it!”

“But I know it. Where. Were. You. Going?” Lydia hissed, pushing him harder against the wall with every word. Unbidden, tears sprung to Sammy’s eyes. He touched her wrist, not to push her away but to reassure her, calm her. It didn’t seem to work.

“The- the woods. Lydia, I need to go, the sun will start setting soon. Please, I’ll explain everything. I’m doing this for you. I want to be better for you!”

“What are you doing?” Lydia’s eyes narrowed, looking down to the tunnel. “Sammy, what have you done?!”

She was panicked. Sammy swallowed, his stomach curling and twisting. He’d done this to her, made her frightened, made her worried. God, how was he stilling fucking up? This was supposed to fix things, make Sammy worth her while, instead of a pathetic human. “It’s for you. I- I want to be better, I made myself better, for-”

“What did you do?!” Lydia yelled, shaking his shoulder. The door upstairs creaked. Sammy looked up with a pale face and wide eyes at Chloe, who froze, her mouth covered with her hands. She was staring at the tunnel too. The tunnel she’d found all those months ago, that they could escape through because they’d promised never to cross over the thresholds of Lydia’s home. But the tunnel went right under it. Chloe had told him over and over to be careful, to play itself. She’d told him to stop seeing Ari until she was blue in the face.

“I made myself better! You’re always telling us how pathetic we are, how hard we make your life, how much it sucks to live with humans. You deserve better than that. I-if I could give you the world, Lydia, I would, no doubt, but I wanted to make myself someone you could be happy around, so that you didn’t feel like you were wasting your time on me.” The move Sammy talked, the more understanding seemed to calm Lydia down. Her bruising grip on his arm slackened, she stepped back, staring at him like he was a painting to solve. Unspeakingly, Lydia reaches up to one of her ears, and unfastened an earring, before dropping it in Sammy’s hand. All at once, his palm began to sting, and he yelled as he threw it out of his hand.

“Show me,” Lydia said after a long beat.

“What’s goi-“

“Don’t interrupt,” Lydia interrupted Chloe, her voice tense and cloaked, like she was actively holding something back. Relief? Joy? Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as he thought it would be. Even if it was surprise, or anger, he could fix it. He could explain everything. He was better now. Sammy yanked up his shorts to show the still healing bite to Lydia.

“You’ll like me more like this! I’m always letting you down but like this I’m not human anymore, you don’t have to hate me anymore! This is a good thing-“

“You betrayed me.” Lydia spoke softly.

“No, no!” The thought made his stomach turn. Sammy began to sob, frantically wiping away his tears. “I’d never. I kept all my promis-“

She slapped him across the face, all semblance of restraint gone. Sammy shrank in on himself, cupping his cheek. She grabbed his shoulder, shoving him against the wall, then grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at her. “That’s where you were! The night I was attacked, you snuck off to meet your werewolf best friend. You’ve put all of us in danger!”

“No!”

“How many people, Sammy? When they come to hurt Chloe, when they come to kill me, will that make you happy?! Is that what you want!”

“No, Lydia, I didn’t-“

Lydia grabbed him and threw him accros the room into an adjacent wall. Sammy groaned, standing upright, his hands raised in front of him, but she was already there again. He looked to Chloe frantically, but she had huddled herself into the corner, frozen. Lydia was never like this, never, she never hit them or threw them around,

she never looked so-

“You did! You selfish brat, you thought you could escape me? You thought you could deprive me of yourself!”

Sammy opened his mouth to deny it, but no words came out. In a tiny corner of his mind, he knew she was right. He loved her, he wanted to spend every moment with her and make her happy, but he also… he didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to dread being kissed, to feel exhausted every time they interacted. Being around her was like walking on eggshells. He wanted so much more for them. For him.

Lydia looked at him with a furious satisfaction. “Is it going the way you planned? Do you think you’ll just run off into the sunset while you send hunters to slaughter me? I made you everything you are. You were a pathetic, friendless brat when I found you, so unimpressive even your own family couldn’t be bothered to protect you from me. I made you everything you are! And now you’re trying to leave me.”

“No,” Sammy replied hoarsely, his voice cracking and broken. He reached for her in comfort, and she pushed his hand away. “I was going to come back. I will come back. Please, Lydia.” Lydia dropped him, and Sammy immediately dropped to his knees, hugging himself as he fought back hard sobs. “I’m so sorry. I thought I could make things better. I was wrong, let me fix this, please, tell me how to fix this.”

“Oh, you’re sorry?” Lydia repeated, stepping back. He kept his gaze down and away from her, terrified of summoning another wave of her wrath, but she didn’t say anything else, rummaging through her things, probably trying to calm herself down. Werewolves were supposed to be strong, Ari had told him, and maybe that part would come later, but Sammy didn’t feel strong right now. He wanted to lie down and sob, ashamed and humiliated, and work out how to fix this. Maybe there was a potion or something, so he could fix this. They could go back to before. No more Ari, but he could live with that if it would mean he didn’t make Lydia mad anymore.

Chloe gasped, moving towards Lydia for the first time since she’d walked in. He looked up, right into the barrel of a brass gun.

“What a waste,” Lydia said with a blood freezing calm.

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

Lydia stared at the art she’d painted all over the wall. Red on grey, arranged like a rose bouquet. Small fragments of white and pink stuck like textured highlights, although some slowly slid down, spoiling the image. There were people who would pay good money for abstract pieces like this. Especially if they knew the medium.

“Stop screaming.” Lydia’s voice sounded distant even to herself. She was breathing deeply, Lydia realised, like she’d run a mile. The ringing in her ears stopped - that had been the screaming, apparently. It was like experiencing it all through glass - the racing of her heart, the smell of urine, the thundering of footsteps down the stairs. Behind her, Chloe coughed and gagged, choking back her screams until she could hardly breathe.

Chloe threw up. The longer Lydia stared at the wall, the more she wanted to too. Her habd was shaking. Anger, Lydia thought distantly. That was what this felt like. Anger. She turned her gaze to the hole in the wall, the tunnel she had so apparently missed all year. It would need to be filled with cement, blocked at both ends so no one would find it. Those ungrateful humans, really thinking they could -

“Clean this up,” Lydia said. It wasn’t glass at all. All that rage, betrayal, fear, all of it had been soothed by the ringing of that gunshot, puncturing through all of it.

“No-” Chloe said, her voice broken in disbelief, in grief, her voice raw from suppressed screams. Lydia felt none of it.

“Clean this up before I get back, or there will be hell to pay,” Lydia replied calmly, her voice cutting through Chloe’s like ice. There was blood on Lydia’s shoes, on her skin. What a fucking waste. She looked down from her bloody bouquet to the figure slumped at the wall. He stared back at her, his eyes glassy with shock and fear. “Don’t even think about leaving.”

The bloody black hole she’d shot through his face stared back too. Stupid boy. He’d had potential, and now he was just another mess for her to clean up. He’d really thought he was worth it.

Humans never understood just how little their lives were worth. Lydia looked down to the bite on his leg, swallowed, staring at the bites and the silver burn for a second too long. Bile rose in her throat as she Lydia spun away from him. Lydia’s stilettos clicked up the stairs, chased by Chloe’s wails long after she’d locked the human in.

#wickedswriting #para #solo #domestic abuse tw #emotional abuse tw #physical abuse tw #gun use tw #again message for summary

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valkyrieofthehighfae · 4 years

Text

Desire

Pairing: Wolffe/Danica Word Count: 1.9k Warnings: Smut, smut, and more smut **18+ only here, minors, please don’t interact** Tagging: @clonewarslover55, @hounding-around, @catsnkooks

The 79’s was loud tonight, louder than normal thanks to Sif and some of the others who were here to check out Coruscant. I was sitting in Wolffe’s lap watching Sif arm wrestling with Sinker, cheering as one of my closest friends won out, the group around us roaring loudly with a mix of triumphant laughs and disappointed groans, credits exchanging hands as bets were paid off. I went to reach for my drink, only to find it empty and made a face at the glass.

“I’ll be back love, need a new drink!” I pressed a quick kiss to Wolffe’s cheek with a brilliant smile as I popped up to my feet and headed to the bar. I was planning on getting as smashed as possible tonight in celebration. I was getting a full week with Wolffe being planetside, something I hadn’t gotten to have in months, so needless to say I was excited. “Hey man, what’s good? Let me get your strongest drink please!” I greeted the bartender as I leaned against the bar with an eager grin on my face. He nodded and got to work prepping my drink while I waited semi patiently, shifting from foot to foot, eager to get back to my friends.

“Hey darlin’, don’t think I’ve ever seen you around before. Mind if I buy you a drink?” A voice to my left asks and I glance over to see some clone I don’t recognize grinning flirtatiously at me.

“Thanks, but I’m good here.” I gave him a tightlipped smile and turned back to the bartender, thanking him for the drink and handed him some extra credits for a tip. This new guy wasn’t giving up, blocking my way just enough so I couldn’t squeeze past without jostling someone else.

“C’mon sweetheart, if you won’t let me buy you a drink, you could at least give me your name.” His hand dropped to my waist, grasping at my exposed skin, fingers caressing softly. I opened my mouth to tell him to fuck off when Wolffe came flying in out of nowhere, his fist connecting with this guy’s jaw, rocking him back into the bar.

“Wolffe!” I yelped out, my drink getting spilled all down the front of my shirt and the two men brawling with one another, the rest of the pack, my group, and this guy’s crew immediately getting ready to step in. “Hey!” I bellowed, grabbing onto his waist and hauling him back with some help from Sif.

“I’m going to wreck him, princess.” Wolffe growled, moving to try and jump back in and I shoved him back again. “No one touches you like that and gets away with it.” He was pissed, waves of anger rolling off of him.

“Wolffe, mirr ruiya, calm down. You are my mate, this jackoff isn’t worth it.” I kept my hands on his chest, looking up at him with a stern expression on my face. “And if you ever lay your hands on me again, I will make sure that you don’t walk away next time.” I whirled to face the other man once I was sure Wolffe wasn’t going to try and get past me, grabbing the front of his blacks and yanking him down to my level with a snarl, baring fangs in a furious hiss before letting go and walking away, Wolffe right behind me with a smirk on his face and a hand gripping mine tightly in his.

“Cyar’ika, have I ever told you how sexy and terrifying it is when you do stuff like that?” He murmured in my ear as he pulled me back into his lap, arms wrapping around my waist to keep me close to him. “The things it does to me, it’s unbelievable.” He pressed a hot, open mouthed kiss against my bare shoulder, grinning against my skin when I shivered at the contact.

“That so, mirr ruiya?” I whispered, leaning back against him so I could rest the back of my head against his shoulder. “Maybe you should show me what you mean so I can see it for myself.”

“Fuck.” He swallowed hard, hands gripping my waist tightly. “Your shirt is soaked from the asshole knocking your drink onto you. We should go home so you can get a clean shirt.” He spoke up just loud enough so the rest of our group could hear us and I nodded wordlessly, getting up and waving goodbye, Wolffe wrapping his arm around my waist with a pleased look on his face as other clones looked on enviously as we passed by them on the way out to catch a speeder to my apartment.

~*~*~

The moment the door shut behind us, Wolffe was immediately on me, hands on my hips, lips crashing down on mine in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, a guttural groan coming from Wolffe as I ran my hands down his chest, fingers ghosting across his abs and down to his hips.

“Oh fuck, Dani. Come here, princess.” He groaned against my lips and picked me up to carry me to bed. I pulled him back down to kiss him deeply, whining as he slid his warm hands up my sides, pushing my shirt up so he could toss it aside, swearing under his breath at my lack of a bra. “No wonder everyone was staring at you tonight. You’re a tease, walking around without a bra, showing off all this skin. Making all of them think they stand a chance when you know you’re mine.” He growled the word ‘mine’ in my ear, drawing a moan from my lips.

“Y-yes Wolffe, only yours.” I whimpered out, carding my fingers through his hair and moaning when he bit down on the juncture between my neck and shoulders, sucking hard at my skin and laving his tongue over the bite mark to soothe away the sting. I found myself falling back onto the neatly made sheets with a startled yelp, taken by surprise by his fast movements as he began to shuck his arm and blacks quickly, my pants following seconds after, Wolffe groaning when he saw I was going without underwear. He dropped down onto the bed, pulling me by the legs and settled in, lowering his mouth to my aching core, his tongue dancing over my clit, drawing a moan from my lips.

“Taste so good princess. So sweet.” He rasped, pausing long enough to look up at me with a hungry gaze, his chin slick with my arousal, and he leaned back in to continue eating me out like his life depended on it. Fingers found their way into my core, pumping slowly, curling and teasing, his lips wrapped around my clit, sucking hard, making my hips buck up into his touch.

“Wolffe!” I keened, tugging his hair roughly, making him growl against my cunt. A tingling sensation rose from my feet and raced through my entire body, a white hot coil winding tighter in my belly, threatening to snap every second longer Wolffe kept going, fucking me with his fingers and tongue. The coil snapped and my mouth fell open in a silent cry of pleasure, thighs snapping together around his head, back arching up off the bed as my pussy clenched around his fingers. I went limp, panting for air when he sat up, chin coated in my juices, a devilish grin on his handsome face as he gathered up my juices and sucked them off his thumb.

“We’re not done yet, my queen,” He rumbled, his voice rougher and deeper than earlier, like honey-coated gravel. “Gonna fuck you so good. You’ll be feeling me for a week.” His words a promise of what was to come when he slid a hand up my thigh and moved us so my thighs were draped over his and with one, smooth thrust, Wolffe was filling me completely. We moaned brokenly, foreheads resting together while we took a moment to adjust to the feeling, Wolffe rocking his hips forward slowly, shuddering as my walls gripped him tightly.

“Wolffe, please, I need more.” I pleaded, gripping onto his forearms to try and ground myself. He snapped his hips forward, moving at slow, hard pace, taking his time, teasing me. “Wolffe!” I was whining, begging for more, the slow pace torturous.

“What do you want, my queen? Gotta use your words to get what you want.” He smirked down at me, coming to a stop, letting me squirm under him. “Come on cyare, what is it you need?” He was pressing soft kisses along the column of my throat, biting down on my pulse point and sucking at it, marking me as his. I was dizzy and lust dazed, my brain hazy as I tried to form the words while he continued his way down, mouth dropping to my breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth, sucking greedily, drawing the ruched peak hard against the roof of his mouth. He was drinking me in like I was the only thing nourishing him, his teeth and tongue working me over while rough fingers began to knead with rough motions over my other breast, fingers pulling at my erect nipple, making me cry out in pleasure.

“Mirr haesd, I need you!” I was almost crying with desire, hips arching up, trying to get some sort of friction and he pulled back, straight, sharp teeth nipping at me hard enough to sting, but not enough to injure, tongue smoothing over my nipple to soothe the sting.

“Want me to fill you, my queen? Breed you?” He murmured, pressing another kiss to my lips, moving his hips again. “Is that what you want? For me to fuck a baby into you, my lady?”

“Yes! Please, breed me. I-I want you to fill me, mirr kailr.” I could barely see straight, stars exploding in my vision, my walls clenching around him, drawing a delicious sounding moan from his mouth.

“As you command my queen.” He caught my lips in a heated kiss, growling low in his throat as he fucked me into the mattress. “Fuck you’re so tight. Feel so good around my cock. Gonna fill you up nice and good, cyare. Gonna fuck you til you’re carrying my baby.”

I couldn’t speak, my brain shorting out with his words, mouth hanging open in a silent scream, body shaking as I came apart, starbursts exploding in front of my eyes, all noise whiting out into a loud ringing sound in my ears. I was torn apart and stitched back up as my orgasm had my walls clenching so tightly around Wolffe that I almost didn’t realize at first that it had been enough to push him over the edge, hips stuttering as he painted my walls with his cum. I took in a shaky breath, trying to find my bearings as my vision cleared, hands tangling in Wolffe’s hair as I pulled him down to kiss him softly.

“So… gonna fuck a baby into me, huh? Is there something we need to talk about?” I was grinning lazily as we settled in, my head resting on his chest while his hands traced soft patterns across my shoulders and arm.

“I don’t know princess, is there? You certainly seemed into the idea.” Wolffe chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

“What? No! I just… look, it was heat of the moment and it was kinda sexy. I just rolled with it. We’re not having babies any time soon, love.” I yelped, sitting up quickly to stare at him with wide eyes. He only chuckled and pulled me back down to lay down, putting my head back to his chest.

“Don’t worry princess, I’ll give you what you want. Anything for you, cyar’ika.” He rumbled in that low, honey-coated gravelly tone of voice that sent another jolt of desire rocketing down my spine and pooling in my stomach. *** Mirr kailir - My king Mirr ruyia - my love Mirr haesd - my heart

#Kat writes #smut #18+ please #Wolffe X Danica #I'm a bit rusty when it comes to writing smut #so please excuse the low quality

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