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oogaboogasphincter · 3 years ago

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A Magpie, a Goose and a Sparrow Walk into a Found Family Trope (Ezra x f!reader)

Summary: A nightmare caused by trauma he endured before and on The Green haunts Ezra one night, his fear bleeding into reality. Under the fog of sleep, he hurts you, thinking you are the monster that is endangering you, Cee and himself while on your next trip. He apologizes by doing something that terrifies him: opening his heart up to another person.

Word Count: 10.7k+ (holy shit i deeply apologize for putting my readers through this agonizingly long junk)

Rating: M (mature) just to be safe (some pretty intense themes but i don’t think there’s anything too explicit)

Warnings: non-fatal manual strangulation and bruises from it, swearing, sexualization of two adults, mild references to sex, mild allusions to sexual arousal, discussion of trauma and its effects, Prospect (2018) spoilers, some argument, hair braiding, one (1) ✨neck✨ kiss, one use of (y/n), sprinkles of that sexual tension we all love, a resolved ending!

Author’s Note: first off, thank you SO much to @martinsmomo for this request!💜💕 this was so creative, i hope i did it justice :). second, AHHH!!!!! my first piece ever!!! i haven’t written anything on my own time for my own enjoyment since i was like 13, which may or may not be apparent by my comma splices, repetitive sentence structure/word choice and disagreeing verb tense💀. the thought of i have no idea what i'm doing never left my mind while i was writing this, but i just tried to go with it and have fun :). ALSO, i had so much fun reading all of the lore about the world that Prospect (2018) takes place in. Here is a link to a pamphlet about a lot of stuff that is featured in the movie, which i used while writing this piece. i highly recommend you check it out! i tried to stick to as much canon stuff as i could, but 🦋The Blue🦋 is something that i made up. also this is not beta’d, i just wanted to throw this into the void and see what happens✨. i also also want to point out that in no way am i trying to romanticize or sexualize domestic violence. i know that the subject matter in this piece can be triggering, and even though the violence wasn’t intentional and it’s resolved through love, i don’t want it to be misconstrued as something that it’s not. with that being said, i hope you enjoy it! :)

gif by @anakin-skywalker

A grunt stirs you from your deep slumber. Your eyes open easily, a treat that you weren’t given often due to the dryness of the pod’s recirculated air. The inside of your shared galactic chamber is as dark as your mind; no illumination to shine on your thoughts and wake them up or to show you how Ezra is doing. You know the grunt had come from him, as the only other passenger was his adopted daughter, Cee. You turn in your pilot’s chair, looking over your shoulder to try and make him out through the impossible darkness.

Parcel-Class Planetary Drop Pods were designed to fit only two travelers, however the three of you had decided to embark on your next journey together. To save on costs, your partners opted for a model without cots. Being the gentleman that he is, Ezra insisted that you and Cee sleep in the pilots’ chairs. He had thrown a few blankets on the cold, flat floor and had proudly announced, “Sleeping quarters fit for a king!”, eliciting pitiful laughter from you and Cee.

Now, your eyes can’t find the sad bundle of warmth that is his sleeping figure. He is a restless sleeper, and every time he made a noise that was more than a good-natured hum or a soft swish of rearranging his blankets, you would wake and turn to make sure that he was okay. You would do the same for Cee, but she was a fantastic sleeper. Not too deep, not too light, and never made a peep. You turn back around, giving up on trying to spot Ezra in the dark, when you hear another grunt.

This one is louder than the last.

You turn back around yet again, your own blanket falling off of your chest and into your lap. Eyebrows furrowing together and eyes squinting, your pupils strain themselves to find any shred of light to let you see. The noises increase in abundance and volume. Ezra’s sleeping fit has transformed from a halfhearted rustling to an aggravated clamor in less than a minute. Your eyes stay on the dark patch of space where you know his “bed” is situated while Cee arises from her sleep. Her chair lets out the slightest creak as she follows your gaze and attempts herself to see what all of the commotion is about. She asks you, “Is he okay?” Ezra answers her with an irritated growl through his teeth. You say to her, “I don’t know, I can’t see him, should we-”

Your suggestion of waking him up is cut short as two hands wrap around your throat. The hands twist your head to face forward, and you’re greeted with Ezra’s sweat-slicken face. Instinctively, you grasp at his forearms in an effort to ease the constriction of your neck.

Cee screams, “Ezra, let go of her!”

He defies her command and puts one of his knees in between yours on the seat of the pilot’s chair and leans closer to you. The brown eyes that you had grown to love now bore into yours with unwavering menace as the pads of his fingers press harder into the sides of your neck. His palms are flush with your larynx, threatening to crush it. You want to let out sobs of heartbreak, but are unable to. He’s restricted your actions to only being able to watch him attempt to strangle you. Your fingers aren’t able to get a grip on his limbs due to his angry sweat and your panicked claminess. Your mouth hangs open as his is shut tight, his jaw muscles stuttering with intense rage. He starts to growl through his teeth again, but a flash of light turns it into a howl.

His entire body falls back, his hands losing their purchase on your neck. You suck in a harsh breath and lean forward as Cee grabs your hand and pulls you out of the pilot’s chair. In her other hand she grips a Boscelot Frontiersman: the source of the light that had extracted Ezra’s shriek and drilled its way into his thigh. He sat on the floor in front of your chair and laced his hands just above his injury, throwing his head back and wincing.

Cee puts some feet in between the two of you and guides you across the floor to the other side of the impossibly small pod. Hoarse coughs begin to rise from your surprised larynx, accompanied by trembling of your entire body. Cee, still holding you by your arm with one hand and the Thrower in the other, yells your thoughts at Ezra, “What the fuck was that for?!” She flicks the lights on, allowing everyone to see each other’s face for the first time all night.

Ezra stares at the two of you in disbelief. Both brunette and blonde strands of hair are stuck to his forehead with sweat, eyes depressed from the subsiding adrenaline, his whole body drenched in distressed perspiration. You and him lock eyes, even through your flailing about as you continue to choke on air and delicately place your own hands over where his just had you in a vice grip. He knows what he’s done as soon as he sees you. He begins to cry and opens his mouth to start an apology that can never be adequate, but Cee hurls a field kit at his head. It hits him and he takes the blow without complaint. His devastated eyes keep to your bloodshot ones as he opens up the kit and starts to treat his justified wound. Cee stares at him with aggravation, and so do you, but her expression is void of confusion.

You are confused as all hell. What could have possibly made him do that? He seemed to be having a nightmare, but that didn’t give him the excuse to nearly strangle you to death.

Your coughs and stress start to dwindle as all of you sit there, not saying a word, the only other noise in the room being Ezra opening and closing medical supplies. He squirts a sanitizing solution over his wound, hissing, and then he takes out a Patch Gun. This sets your heart racing. The strangling was unpredicted and almost successful, would he get up once he was healed enough and try to do it again? You push yourself back against the wall and keep your widening eyes on him as he sprays the medicated foam into the hole the Thrower had burned through his trousers. He squeezes his eyes shut, winces intensely, and then fails to keep a painful wail inside his chest. You’ve seen him treat himself before, and usually his next step is to throw more than the recommended amount of pain relievers into his mouth and chew on the tablets, redirecting the pain from his injury to his mouth. He doesn’t do that this time.

Instead he throws the used Patch Gun to the side, closes the field kit and pushes it Cee’s way. He breathes your name out of his mouth, causing you to retreat further into the wall. You bring your legs to your chest and wrap your hands around the back of your neck, resting your elbows on your quaking kneecaps. Burrowing your face into the cavity you’ve created, you start bawling. Pain sears your throat, and is only intensified by your sobs, but you can’t help it. You’re absolutely terrified. Ezra says your name again, genuine with care, in an effort to get you to look at him. You shake your head once and continue to gasp into yourself. Cee startles you by touching your shoulder, and she quells your worries, “He won’t do it again.”

Her five simple words plant a seedling of peace in your heart, but it is nowhere near close to blooming. You don’t look up as she gets up and goes over to your pilot chair and grabs your blankets. Her footsteps return to you quickly, and within moments her warm, calm hands are draping the fabric over your shoulders. She rests her chin on your shoulder, moving with your heaves. A softening tone takes over her beautiful voice as she murmurs “It’s okay”s, “I’m here”s and “You’re safe”s into your blankets. Before you know it, your body succumbs to the overwhelming desire to heal mentally, emotionally and physically with sleep. Your trust in Ezra may be broken right now, but you know that Cee will watch over you. Despite her lack of size and experience compared to Ezra, you know she has the upper hand on him intellectually. He may be full of wondrous prose, a never-ending vocabulary and sharp wit, but Cee has had him in the palm of her hand ever since they met. You can sleep knowing that she can protect you and herself, if need be.

You peek out underneath your arm to qualify to yourself that Ezra is in no shape to attack again.

He sits where he landed when he fell, slouching with exhaustion. His eyes sparkle with tears of regret, his eyebrows quirked in a way that reads “There aren’t enough ways to apologize, but I’ll try every one until you forgive me.” You close your eyes, lay your head against the wall and beg the Sandman to bring you all a night of peace as you rest until the Sun comes up.

The pale blue morning light penetrates your eyelids and alerts your brain that it is time to get up. You awake to find Cee and Ezra sound asleep, her in her pilot’s chair and him in his “bed”. You are still huddled up against the wall, opposite to Ezra, and look upon him with a wary gaze. The fear he inserted into you last night makes your nerves feel like static, but at the same time you can’t help but be relaxed by his presence. It’s obvious he didn’t cause any more damage during rest of the night, so maybe his eyebrows were telling the truth: that he is sorry.

The muted sunshine washes his complexion out and dulls the warmth that his chestnut locks hold. It makes the blonde patch in his hair and the arc scar on his cheek glisten cerulean. His expression is relaxed, eyelids fidgeting under the controls of REM sleep.

The sound of Cee’s alarm clock distracts you, and moments later her hand reaches out and pushes the ‘stop’ button. Awakening limbs appear above the back of her chair, accompanied by a yawn. Your eyes dart to Ezra. He’s still asleep. She turns to you first and smiles, “Are you alright?” You nod once, return her smile, and you both turn to the slumbering man. She says, folding her blanket, “He’s fine. Calmed down after you fell asleep. He said he had a nightmare that you had turned against us. He said he wants to apologize but understands if you don’t want to speak to him.” You sigh through your nose, glancing over at him, “That’s okay. I think I would like some time away from him though. Just to process things, y’know?” Cee turns to face you, “That’s what I figured. I told him that.” You look at her and nod once.

She gets up and stretches again, folded blanket still in hand. She puts it on her seat and looks up at you excitedly, “Want to come look for aurelac with me today?”

“Definitely.”

Her face lights up with a wide smile and you mirror her reaction. Getting up and dropping your blankets to the floor, you go over to the compartment in the wall that holds your equipment. You take out what you’ll need - suit, helmet, air filter and a few Slurry Packs - and close the latch. The door slams shut harder than you intended, the resulting crash jolting Ezra awake.

A shy, apologetic smile graces his face as he meets your eyes, and you return the expression. You were still tightly wound, but were ready to start dispelling the fear, and that began by being cordial with him. His smile fades when his eyes lower to your hands and take in what you are holding. He gets up off the floor and inquires, “What do you have all that for?” His expression is neutral, but you worry that you will anger him by telling him what your plans are.

He had made it very clear since you joined him and Cee that he did not want you to prospect. He had told you that it was too dangerous of a task in itself, let alone the implications that came along with it: bartering, lying, gambling, stealing, killing. He didn’t want you or Cee to be subjected to any any of the horrors that accompanied prospecting, but Cee had been stubborn about her desires and had proven her abilities. She was great at prospecting, possessing an attention to tedium and an unwavering sense of calmness while performing the task. For a man who seeps with wisdom, Ezra wasn’t all that good of a prospector. He had the tendency to lose patience and cripple under pressure, which sometimes led to compromised digs.

“I’m going to look for aurelac deposits with Cee.” You nudge your head in her direction and she smiles at Ezra. He waves his hand dismissively, “That’s all fine and dandy,” now pointing a lazy yet warning finger at you, “But don’t you dare let prospecting dance upon those beautiful brain waves of yours.” His comment irritated you. You had never shown any signs of true disobedience to his wishes, besides the casual sigh of boredom or the bratty roll of your eyes. The words also set your heart aflutter. As you try to hide your blush and bury your annoyance, Cee says to him, “We don’t be doing any prospecting if we can’t find any aurelac.” His head tilts in agreement. He pads over to you and gingerly puts a hand on your shoulder. He had sensed your irritation and repeats his mantra of why he doesn’t want you prospecting, “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Your anger became fiery again. Shoulder jerking to flick his hand off, you jab at him, “Because I’m safe in the confines of the pod?”

He points a finger at you again, this time accusatory, “That was purely an accident. Do not take it as anything but.”

Cee commands, “Both of you, stop, now. I’m not dealing with this all day. It was an accident. An inexcusable one, but an accident.”

Your and Ezra’s eyebrows had shifted to take on the same irate slope, however you both decide to just let it drop. You visibly signal your concession by dropping your shoulders and Ezra reflects you. He spins on his heels to open his own equipment hatch, and you turn to the wall yours is on. You all face the walls and change into your suits, a ritual of trust and time efficiency you decided on when the three of you agreed to work as a group.

Once dressed, you exit the pod, Ezra being first and Cee being last, and embark on your daily journey. The Sun had retreated behind some dark grey clouds. The sky was a royal blue, the ground was greige and the dark foliage that surround you drips with dew. You were stationed on the Blue Moon, an orbiting moon in the Bakhroma System. This place wasn’t highly traveled like its permanent sister (the Green Moon), due to the popular aftermath of the Aurelac Rush. Although Cee and Ezra had been there and left, many people in the galaxy still went to try and scoop up some valuable remains. Unlike The Green, The Blue wasn’t known for its abundant aurelac deposits, which is precisely why your partners chose to come here.

Their original plan was to travel to The Blue with just themselves, but while on a stop to Puggart Bench you had entranced Ezra while Cee tried to scope out her old friends and catch up with them before she set off on another mission. Demonstrating your eagerness to explore the galaxy and your expansive knowledge of it, Ezra decided to add you to his partnership. It didn’t hurt that you also tried to express your attraction to him, complimenting the rugged floater on his impressive vocabulary. He had complimented you on your willingness to listen to his ramblings, and it had been love ever since. Neither of you had come out directly and said “I love you”, and you hadn’t partaken in any physical affection, but your yearning for each other could not be more understood. His adoration for you only deepened when he saw how you interacted with Cee. Being closer to her generation than Ezra’s, you were able to connect with her like contemporaries. However, you were far enough away from her age group to the point where Ezra couldn’t act as a father figure to you. This duality made you irresistible to him.

Back to the present, you gaze at the back of his helmet intently, waiting to see what his plan of action for the day is. The Green requires visitors to wear air-tight suits and breathe through air filtration systems at all times because of harmful spores that float in the atmosphere. The Blue’s spores are far less harmful, and helmets can be taken off for 45 minute intervals, but the three of you only took them off when the confinement of the helmets became a little too much. The glass window of Ezra’s helmet swivels to you and he asks, “Split up, hourly check-ins, reconvene for lunch?”

As you’re thinking of your answer, you notice his eyes dart repeatedly up and down your body. You can tell by the way his mouth is slightly parted that he isn’t assessing your body language to predict your response. He’s thinking about all of the ways he would devour you for apology’s sake.

You look to Cee in the middle of your answer, “Sure. I’ll go with Cee today.” She smiles at you and turns to him. His mouth closes and he looks down to fiddle with his radio with thick-gloved fingers, “I’ll be on channel one.” Cee says, “Okay,” and beckons you to follow her as she sets off on a worn path. You and Ezra look at each other one more time before you turn in opposite directions and begin your divergent treks.

Catching up to Cee by jogging, your steps slow to match her pace once you are by her side. There’s silence between the two of you for a little while as you weave your way through trees of varying heights, eyes keeping to the ground to spot humps in the dirt. Humps gave away the location of aurelac deposits. A couple of slips were shared between the two of you as you climbed over hills and shuffled through valleys, the forest floor littered with puddles. What The Green has in vegetation, The Blue has in water. There were multiple lakes, some touting depths that are only achievable by advanced marine technology. Rainstorms are common, but they never grow to something like a hurricane. Everything was doused in a blue hue, whether it was the air, the water or the plants. The spores in the air resembled stagnant raindrops, peculiar in the way that they seemed to stay in their place in the atmosphere.

Cee broke the silence, “So, are you okay?” You know exactly what she is referring to and answer, “Yeah. Still a bit shaken up and confused, but other than that I guess I’m fine. I can feel bruises where his hands were.” She turns around to look at you and you lift your chin for her to see. She grimaces and says, “Yeah, you can see where each finger was and everything.” You look down, feeling disappointed that the event even happened. You ask her, “So he had a nightmare about me?” You watch the back of her helmet as she nods, “Yep. He just said that he thought you were going to endanger the three of us. He didn’t say in what way, really, just that you were a threat.” You take a moment to process the information and then fire off another question, “So, I have nightmares too, but I don’t act on them in real life. So why did he do what he did? Is there, like, an underlying feeling of distrust that he has for me, or...?” She started shaking her head halfway through your last sentence, “No, no, not at all. It’s just that The Green was so traumatic that I can understand just how vivid nightmares about it can be. And even though I don’t know much about what he went through before I met him on The Green, I’m sure prospecting was just as dangerous as it is now. I wouldn’t be surprised if at one point, or at a million points, someone that he trusted backstabbed him. But it’s nothing personal against you at all.” You nod and take in her words, trying to reassure yourself that you can trust him, even though he had done everything he could to prove you otherwise the night prior.

Cee stops and turns to you, chuckling, “If anything-”

A short sound on your radios cuts her off, and Ezra’s voice comes through the speakers, “How are you little birds coming along?”

Cee answers, “Fine. No deposits yet. What about you?” She grins at you, not forgetting to finish her comment as soon as he leaves the two of you alone.

“Nothing. I’ll be shocked if we stumble across any hint of a deposit today. Like every day. Over and out.”

You look at her, eager to hear what she has to say. This only widens her smile, and she rolls her eyes as she begins, “Like I was saying.” You both laugh as she continues, “If anything, you’re the best thing that’s happened to him. I’ve never seen his eyes light up so much at anything like they do when he looks at you.” You blush and look down at your feet shyly. She gives you a playful shove and knocks you out of your butterfly-ridden trance. Her tone changes serious as she sighs, her pitch dropping a little bit lower than normal, “You really don’t have to worry about him hurting you or me. He’s just fucked up from our time on The Green. I am too, but I experienced it in a slightly different way, and deal with it differently too. I mean, I lost my father, but he killed two other people. It got us out of there, but that’s probably going to haunt him for the rest of his life. And since it was recent, he’s still trying to figure out how to handle the whole thing. I’m not making any excuses for him, because he didn’t have any reason to attack you, regardless of any dream, but he seriously wouldn’t do that under any other circumstances.” She puts an assuring hand on your shoulder and smiles. You smile back and nod once in understanding, saying, “I believe you.” She pats your back, and you both turn to continue on your walk. A few moments pass, and she lets out another laugh. You teasingly ask her with a smile on your face, “What is it now?”

“I mean, it’s obvious that Ezra’s been through some shit, because the guy’s fucking weird as hell.” Your helmets are filled with your cackling as thoughts of the strange man play out in your head. Cee jokes, “I mean, little bird? His confusing speech pattern in general? Someone who talks in crosswords is either an ancient person who is trying to be clever in their last days because that’s the only form of strength they have left or just some asshole who finds enjoyment in verbally tricking people.” Another few moments of giggling pass before she ends with, “And what’s with the drawl?” She turns to you, the injuries in your throat burning from laughing so hard, “Have you ever heard someone else, in the entire Bakhroma System, talk like that?” You shake your head while wheezing and she says, “I haven’t either. So how did that weirdo even get here?”

The surrounding forests may be quiet, but the inside of your suits are filled with the joyful laughter of two friends who continue on their merry way to find some aurelac.

What yesterday lacked in aurelac, it made up for in emotional gains. You had spent the rest of the day with Cee, strengthening your tender bond, exploring the terrain that The Blue had to offer. Ezra kept to his promise and checked in on you two hourly, making sure that you hadn’t run into any other travelers or went too far off the grid. Your group hadn’t crossed paths with any other citizens of the galaxy since you landed, which didn’t surprise or disappoint any of you; the three of you needed some peacetime for regrouping.

You start today by scanning the pod’s dashboard of lights to make sure nothing is out of order. Because of his contempt to the idea of you prospecting, Ezra had assigned you to be the pod’s programmer. Pods were cheap to rent, so they were justifiably subject to malfunctions. Given that Cee and Ezra were tasked with mapping out The Blue and harvesting aurelac, you obliged to take the responsibility of operating the astronomical vehicle. The other job you had been given was keeper of the harvested aurelac. Once in its containers, you were to check on the gems every day and make sure that none had cracked during transport. The problem is that you haven’t had any luck at finding such valuables. It has been documented that The Blue does contain aurelac, but that it is extremely difficult to find. However, the average gem on The Blue is thrice the size of that which The Green holds. So the size and abundance differences are a lawful tradeoff.

While you’re analyzing a digital screen on the dashboard, an expressive yawn escapes a man’s mouth. You twist to see Ezra stretching his arm out, eyes and nose scrunched in delight at the wringing out of his muscles. A smile graces your face as you take in his exaggerated display of awakening, and he mirrors your smile when he opens his eyes. His arm relaxes at his side, and a raspy morning voice greets you, “Hi.” You smirk at his unadorned statement and say back, “Hi.” He holds your gaze for a moment before turning to pick his mechanical arm up off the floor next to him. After losing his arm on The Green, his prospecting abilities fell drastically. He had to take out a loan to pay for the artificial limb, but it would restore his talents, so it was a fair deal. That’s why the three of you had gone on this mission, rather than building your friendship on Puggart Bench: to harvest aurelac to repay the loan.

Cee grabs both you and Ezra’s attention as she wakes with a start. Getting up and out of her pilot’s chair, she merrily folds her blankets and marches over to her equipment hatch. You and Ezra share a look of bewilderment, and he questions, “Good morning?” She flips around to you both, forgetting that you were in the pod with her. She cheers, “Good morning!” Reading the two confused expressions that watch her, she explains, “I want to go and look at this area that we missed yesterday. It has a lot of hills, so maybe that’s an indicator of more deposits. I was going to look at it yesterday, but then we came together for lunch, and I completely forgot about it until now.” Noting that she is the only one in the pod that is anywhere near awake, she asks both you and Ezra, “Is it okay if I go by myself?”

Memories of the last 36 hours flicker in your head, discomforting your nerves. It’s not that you don’t trust Ezra, but you don’t trust Ezra. The outburst that he had the other night frightened the shit out of you, and you’ve been wary to interact with him at all, let alone without Cee present to diffuse the situation if it got too tense. The fear he had shoved upon you was still fresh, but the excitement in Cee’s face and your tiresome brain convinced you that it would be okay. Maybe during this time alone you could patch things up with him. Him and Cee had given you a general rundown of what had happened on The Green when you first met, but you could prod Ezra about the details. Hopefully you could uncover some explanations to his night terrors.

You look over at him to gauge his reaction to her proposition, and he’s staring at you with puppy-dog eyes. His mouth is turned up in a soft smile, and you can’t help but grin at the way his hair is still unruly from his sleep. Suddenly you feel a pleasant heat between your legs, and you can’t tell if it’s just your body waking up or the overwhelming desire to pepper a million kisses over the sleepy man’s face. Refusing to admit to yourself that the latter is the true culprit of your wetness, you shake your head slightly to rock you out of your trance and say to Cee, “Yeah, that would be fine.” Ezra’s smile at you widens before he turns to Cee and inputs, “I concur. Like always, just be sure to watch your surroundings carefully. You’ll find us here when you return.” She nods once and turns to her equipment hatch, signaling you and Ezra to turn to yours as well to give her some privacy as she changes. Once changed, she closes her hatch, puts her helmet on and departs, “I’ll be on channel one. See you guys later!” You and Ezra both give halfhearted waves, still too tired to formulate any meaningful words. The door to the pod closes behind her, and you are alone with Ezra.

The anticipation of being alone with him made you more anxious than how you feel now, letting your eyes fall to the man still on the floor. He’s already looking up at you, the lazy smile still pulling at his cheeks. The desire to invite yourself into his bed, wrap yourself in his blankets and limbs in order to match the warmth that is flooding your genitals, and doze off into a lustful nap tries to take over your mind. You fight it with everything you have and make your way over to your pilot’s chair. Positioning yourself so that you’re facing Ezra, he simply asks you, “Hungry?” You nod your head and he reaches behind himself. His hand reappears with a Bits Bar, tossing it to you. The only sounds that fill the pod are the crinkling of the wrappers and your respective chewing. Although you’re both preoccupied with eating, Ezra’s silence is deafening. He tended to drop his confusing lingo when talking to you, since he wasn’t trying to trick you. He hadn’t had the courage to reveal his true feelings to you yet, which will be so poetic and heartfelt it will make you sick to your stomach, so he stuck to simple statements. He wanted you to note the difference between his conversations with you and other people, so he made it a very clear point to forgo his prose and expansive vocabulary. He wanted you to note that he revealed his truest sentiments to you and tried his best to hide them from others.

The peaceful nature of the morning encouraged you to bring up an irritating topic with him, “I only want to prospect because I want to help you guys.” He tries to keep his eyes on his food, knowing that looking into your eyes will ignite his possessive and protective nature, “I know that. And it doesn’t matter how many motives you come up with, birdie, there will never be a time when you’re in my care that you will prospect. That’s the extent that I will let this conversation fester to.” His dismissive demeanor infuriates you. You fire back at him, trying not to let your tension leak into your voice, “I’m not Cee. You are not my parent or my guardian, you’re my partner. So there’s no social expectation that I have to submit to your desires.” His irritation grows, entertaining his fingers by folding the wrapper, “That is technically true. But a good partner will never put their partner at risk. And I have deemed it risky for you to prospect.” His retaliation sets you off. You didn’t want this to turn into an argument, but you also don’t want to back down from this. Your eyebrows crease together in frustration, your arms cross and your mouth sets itself in a frown.

He looks up from his distraction and becomes infuriated by your look. Now he’s pissed. He begins a verbal knife fight, “Maybe if you had experienced what it’s like to have a shitty partner, you would appreciate my efforts to protect you.”

“I’m not ungrateful.”

“In a way, you are. You abandoned everything you had on Puggart Bench once you met me and Cee. You had friends, a nice family, a stable living situation, a good education. Don’t blame me for a position that you put yourself in.”

“First of all, that’s how it looked to you. Second, a good education in prospecting! Maybe if you weren’t staring at my ass every second of every day, you would have asked me what I was studying. I can probably prospect better than you can.”

“I’d find pure, mocking enjoyment in seeing you try to harvest. I would bet my life that I can prospect better than you can, even with my impediment!” He motions to his mechanical arm.

“You wouldn’t have the impediment if you weren’t so fucking devious! And don’t even get me started on the arrogance, or the fucking pretentiousness!”

Your overheated exchange comes to a halt when the pod’s door opens. Cee climbs in, and you and Ezra try to mask your fury for each other as much as you can. She acknowledges the two of you and says, “Just need an air filter.” The atmosphere turns awkward as you watch her get what she needs out of her hatch. She’s leaving as soon as she came in, and you hold up a parting hand and say, “Be safe. Have fun.” She tilts her chin at you, and Ezra chimes in, “Be safe, Sparrow.” She exits, disappearing into The Blue.

Her interruption quelled the fire that burned between you and Ezra, subsequently drowning you in a wave of guilt over your words. Ezra’s looking down at his hands, shadows keeping his expression unreadable. You uncross your arms in defeat as you feel tears gather on your bottom eyelids. Opening your mouth to apologize, Ezra puts his hand up and directs, “Don’t apologize.” You protest, “But-” He cuts you off, “Don’t. Apologize.” You audibly sigh and sit back in your chair, not facing him anymore. You wish you could just kiss him. It would shut the both of you up and finally bring your shared, passionate feelings to the surface. Instead you opt to stare at the program board in front of you. How sexy. Such allure. You roll your eyes at your own naivety.

Both of you sit and replay all of the moments that led you to the peak that you sit atop, questioning how to safely start the descent. You decide to break the silence with a neutral topic, “Why do you call her Sparrow?” Staying turned away from each other, Ezra answers, “Well, now that I have two little birds in my life, I have to distinguish them.” Your heart glows at his comment, but it’s not enough to wipe the somber expression off of your face.

“Why Sparrow though?”

“She’s adaptable. She’s been able to keep a sane mind while traveling through Puggart Bench, The Green, The Ephrate, The Blue. The presence of others doesn’t deter her from her work, yet she’s not aloof to their existence.”

His musings entertain you. Your anger begins to become a thing of the past as you get off of your chair and sit down on the floor a few feet away from him. Being on a literal level playing field only increases your ease.

“What are you?”

He smirks, “A magpie.”

“I should’ve known.”

You share a bit of laughter before he explains, “I’m intelligent in trickery. I take pride in my illusions, but that’s not all I possess. Once I find my mate, I become protective of them, sometimes to the point of absurdity. A magpie male and female share the brunt of building a nest; as all great relationships should split the responsibility of reconciliation equally.” Regarding his last sentence, he raises one eyebrow at you. You stretch your legs out so that the soles of your shoes touch his.

“Magpies mate for life.”

You break your eye contact. You have grown shy from his pointed allusions, so you playfully fiddle his feet with yours. A moment passes before he says, “You’re a snow goose.” Confused, you look up at him, “A snow goose?” He nods enthusiastically, “Yes, a snow goose.” You shake your head, giggling, “I’ve never heard of those.” He leans forward with shock, “Really?” “Yep.” He shakes his head once and stands up to open his equipment hatch above you. He pulls out a book and sits back down, this time beside you. All About Birds. You assume the birds are alphabetized as you watch him flip the book open about 4/5 of the way through, and he presents you with a page: “Snow Goose”. Amused by the fact that he wasn’t lying, you let out a laugh. He laughs with you, “My Goose needs to brush up on her avian animal knowledge.” A minute has to pass before the cackling subsides. Then he paraphrases, “Snow geese are another adaptable bird, preferring to travel in packs. They roost mainly in bodies of water: marshes, ponds, the like. Ringing true to stereotypes of the general breed, they are very territorial of their property once they claim what is theirs. Snow geese have a brilliant white coat, which I equate to your magnificent aura. They are similar to magpies in that they mate for life.”

You look up from the book and are greeted with chocolate eyes glazed in infatuation. Thighs and arms pressed together, you turn to rest your chin on Ezra’s shoulder. Flickering eyes go back and forth between his eyes and his lips, signaling to him that if he wanted to kiss you, you wouldn’t object. He inserts, “Snow geese also don’t lack in paying homage to their reputation of being loud bitches.” You gasp and lay a swat on his chest as he chuckles away at his poking. After he has had his fill of laughing, you return to your resting place on his shoulder and let out a sigh.

A few quiet moments go by before you look up at him and admire the handsome, irritating, brave, stubborn, loving man who are you enamored with. You reach your hand up and comb your fingers through his hair once, twice. He leans into your hand as you continue to brush his locks, “Ezra?” He hums, eyes closing rapidly from the lulling pleasure you’re giving him, “Mm-hm?” You whisper, “I’m sorry.” A stark contrast from earlier, he allows your apology. He opens his eyes and they’re dripping with honest remorse and helpless romance, “I’m sorry too.”

Yesterday didn’t amount to what you had originally planned to accomplish, but it was still a good day. Despite all of the insult hurling and badmouthing, you and Ezra ended the day on a nice note. Getting to the bottom of his nightmares could wait for another time. You both had needed a day of fun together to put aside your hostilities before you embarked on discussing trauma. Cee had returned without a problem, hands void of aurelac but filled with notes of The Blue’s landscape.

You wake up, startled, All About Birds slipping off of your lap and onto the floor. You had sliced it out of Ezra’s dormant fingers after he had fallen asleep, your curiosity piqued from his earlier paraphrasing. Cee’s awake and bustling about in the pod, trying to find something, anything, to eat that isn’t a Bits Bar or a Slurry Pack. As you lean over to pick the book up from the floor, you catch Ezra’s eyes on you.

He’s standing at his equipment hatch, doing some much needed cleaning up. He’s a traveler who believes in organized chaos, that putting things in their “right” place takes up too much valuable time.

You smile up at him shyly and as you sit back upright with the book in your hands he says, “Did you find any specimens that better suit us?” You shake your head, “No, you were pretty damn spot on with your choices.” He flashes a smug grin, one that paints your face pink with amusement. Cee plops down in her chair with a huff of defeat, unwrapping a Bits Bar. Ezra hears her and says, “(Y/N) and I will take today’s assignment, Cee. You’ve warranted yourself a break after your ingenious expeditioning yesterday.” She says, “Good, because my legs feel like jelly.” The three of you laugh and you get up and rush to your equipment hatch. With your and Ezra’s friendship on its way to restoration, you were excited to find what the day would hold. The two of you get dressed in a flash, and you tell Cee before putting on your helmet, “We’ll be on channel one, like always.” She sticks a thumb up from behind her chair, and with that you and Ezra are on your way out of the pod.

The rays of the Sun today are periwinkle, streaming through small gaps in the overhanging vegetation. The air is tinted royal blue, the trees shimmer with teal sparkles, the soil a shade of navy. You inhale deeply as if you can smell the fresh air through your air filter, imagining a place where you could be with your gang without all of this clumsy equipment, without giving up the majesty that this landscape has.

Ezra snaps you out of your daydream, “Where to today, Snow Goose?”

You pull out a map from a pocket on your back and scan it, looking for any uncharted territory. “Let’s go west today. There’s a big chunk of land that we haven’t documented yet.”

He nods and begins your quest by turning to the left and walking. You follow him, folding the map and keeping it in your hands. Little conversation is shared between the two of you for the first bit of the journey and the silences aren’t awkward. The majority of your time is spent looking up, admiring the scenery as the Sun comes up and illuminates more of the land. Different hues of blue are unearthed as light reaches deeper crevices: the underside of leaves show turquoise veins, the inside of a hollowed tree trunk boasts a purplish-blue hybrid. The puddles on the ground vary in shape, size, depth and color, and are scattered about the ground in an oddly methodical fashion.

After a while of marveling at the sights, you regret getting dressed so quickly. You hadn’t brushed your hair properly, and the braid you had put it in was loose. Rubbing against your helmet with all of your head turning, the braid had fallen almost completely out of his shape and it was threatening to combine with your sweat to mold to your face. You instinctively put your hands to your helmet to try to push it out of your way, but you are met with glass resistance. Ezra, peeking over his broad shoulder to make sure he hadn’t lost you, notices your frustration, “Let me help you with that.” You furrow your eyebrows at him and wave off his help, “No, it’s okay. I’ll deal with it.” He shook his head quickly and spins on his heels, looking around and spots two conveniently placed tree stumps, one behind the other, that will accommodate te his fantasy. He gestures to them, “Have a seat, Goose.”

You stand there, not wanting to indulge in the dream. This was just as much of a dream for you as it is for Ezra. He watched you, everyday before you went out of the pod, braid your hair and willed that one day it would be his hands that would twist your smooth locks. And everyday you braided your hair, you would envision him standing behind you, concentrating hard on his handiwork, his hot breath cascading down the back of your neck, his knuckles grazing your back. Ezra starts walking over to the stumps and motions for you to follow.

You obey his command and sit down on the seat in front of his, scooting back so that he doesn’t have to reach very far to touch you. A depressing gasp fills the air as you detach your helmet and set it in your lap. Ezra’s gloves appear over your shoulder, “Can you hold these for me?” You were already turned on enough by the thought of him braiding your hair, now he would be braiding your hair with naked fingers and you got to hold the battered material that guarded those impossibly large hands almost everyday? Yeah, this is an illusion. You wait to wake up from your slumber. but are reminded that this situation is very real when Ezra’s fingers reach around your head to brush the sweaty hairs out of your face. His touch is gentle, unlike from the incident a few days ago. Now that you aren’t fighting for your life, you can take in the small, romantic details that you didn’t notice before. The pads of his fingers are rough but not scratchy. You see his fingernails, neatly trimmed and free from any sort of grime. How he pulls off that sorcery while being a prospector, regardless of the gloves, you will never know.

You tense as his fingers glide over your bruised neck, collecting your hair and bringing it all to your back. He holds your hair in one hand while the other stutters on a bruise. He senses your unease and strangles out, “I’m sorry.” You grip his gloves a little tighter, trying to fight your tears from spilling, and shake your head slightly, “It’s okay.” You’re ready to move past it. It’s important to remember that it happened, but you’re ready to rebuild your relationship. Like he jabbed at you the other day, leaving Puggart Bench had been tough for you. You worry that your leaving left behind permanent scars that would impact the relationships you had there. Ezra and Cee feel like the only friendships that you can count on to last. You need them.

Knocking you out of your despair, Ezra pulls your hair to one of your shoulders and rests his chin on the other. He turns his head so that his breath spills across your bare neck. He runs a finger lightly across a bruise and asks, mouth millimeters away from your skin, “May I?” You nod, and he plants an imperceptibly light kiss on your neck. You let a tear dribble down your cheek, wiping it away as quickly as it ran.

A thought enters your mind: my god, his lips are soft as fuck. The combination of the softness with the tickling of his patchy facial hair was heavenly, if not orgasmic. You giggle at your own thoughts* (*thots), intriguing Ezra, “What is it?” You decide to be transparent, “Nothing, it’s just that your mouth is soft as fuck.” A hearty laugh erupts from his chest, “Now I don’t want to put an end to your seductive observations, Goose, but I want this to be an innocent affair.” You smile and sit up straight, letting him know that you are willing to drop the flirtation. For now.

His fingers separate your hair into three sections and he says, referencing the other day, “As a treaty to our battles, I would like to clarify that I don’t think you’re ungrateful.” A soft smile graces your face and you input your own treatise, “And I don’t think you’re arrogant or fucking pretentious. You are a little devious though.”

He chuckles, “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be the scoundrel that I am, now would I?”

You shake your head no. No, he wouldn’t be the scoundrel that you are not so secretively in love with. As you sit there, enjoying the limited amount of time you are allowed with your helmet off, the details of your dreams prove to be true: you can feel Ezra’s concentrated breath warm the nape of your neck, his knuckles tap your suit when he twists your hair a certain way. You yearn for the day that you will be able to touch each other, feel each other’s true weight and texture, without the suits getting in the way.

“So, if you’re so good at prospecting, why don’t you tell me how you do it?”

His tone is playful and your situation could not be more peaceful, so you decide to indulge him, “Well, first you have to find a deposit, which is usually indicated by a lump in the ground.”

He verifies your first step, “Uh-huh...?”

“Then you want to pour a solution into the deposit’s hole. You don’t want to pour too much though, or else it could cause an explosion.”

Ezra’s hands stop. You turn and ask him, “Is everything okay?” He nods, his eyes first staring off into the landscape and then refocusing once they land on you. He continues to involuntarily nod as he says, “That’s what permitted Cee and I to escape The Green. She threw an entire pint of solution into a deposit. Nearly blew the entire place to bits.”

You feel rude when you realize that your mouth is hanging open in shock. You close your mouth and words about his time on The Green tumble out of his, “I am devious, indeed. But there were people--beings--there that would make me look like an angel. I take responsibility for killing Cee’s father because he tried to hijack my stash. A man’s work is no petty thing, Goose. I ended up having to kill two others there, in the end. I overestimated our luck after the first one, thinking that it would’ve been a simple escape. I killed the other mercilessly. You see now, Goose, the dangers that I encountered on The Green alone. I would never be able to forgive myself if I allowed you into harm’s way, and you became a tragedy.”

You reach a hand out and cup his face, which he leans into. He still holds onto your hair, your braid halfway done, and you say, “I was ungrateful, and I’m sorry for that.” He shakes his head once, taking your hand from his face and kissing your palm, “Now you see why I wanted to strangle you in my nightmare. I dreamt that you were someone else, some other thing, that was threatening to drag our trio back to that wretched land.” You both breathe out a shaky laugh, trying to lighten the mood. Even though it was nervous, you are glad that the both of you are taking some steps in the right direction.

He clears his throat and sits up straight, “Now, after you dodge an eruption, what is the next step of prospecting?”

You face ahead and let him continue your braid as you speak, “Next you want to remove the husk from the deposit, and cut the cord that connects the two. Then you want to remove the inner membrane from the husk.”

He quizzes you, “And what’s inside the inner membrane?”

“The aurelac gem.”

“Correct. Continue.”

“Then you want to cut out any blisters, but if you cut too carelessly you could puncture it, which will release acid. If that happens then the gem ceases to be worth anything.”

“That’s where my expertise usually falters.”

“Finally you want to remove the gem from the inner membrane, douse it in fazer solution, and you have your stone.”

He tests you again, “What is the purpose of the fazer solution?”

“To stabilize the gem and increase its clarity. Higher clarity grants higher payout.”

He pats your shoulder twice and ties your hair off with the hair tie you used for your loose braid, “Fantastic job, Goose. Couldn’t have explained it better myself.” He stands, walks around your stumps and holds a hand out to you. You take it, even though you were perfectly capable of getting up yourself. You got to hand him his gloves, and he stops you, “Wait a minute.” Both of his hands come to the sides of your face and push a few stray hairs behind your ears; the finishing touches to his masterpiece. You can tell he did a good job without having to look at it, since it didn't feel too loose or too tight, and the problem you had before was now solved. His tongue darts out and runs the edge of his bottom lip before he takes a step back, throwing his hands up, “Voila!” You giggle, eliciting a smile from Ezra wide enough to make the skin around his eyes crinkle in happiness. You hand him his gloves, which he puts on before you both secure your helmets back to your suits.

Ezra checks in with Cee, “Everything alright, Sparrow?”

A few seconds pass before she answers, “Yep, just listening to my music. Everything alright on your end?”

“Affirmative. We’ll be staying outside for lunch. Over and out.”

Ezra’s eyes gaze into yours for a brief moment before they move past your shoulder, eyebrows raised and mouth agape. You ask, “What?” before turning and following his stare. A patch of undisturbed soil, littered with lumps. In his rush by you, Ezra grabs your hand and pulls you along with him as you run to the potential aurelac deposits, laughing at his enthusiasm. He halts at the brink of the field, choosing which one he wants to dig up first. You suggest, “Why don’t we start from the outside and work our way in?” He nods, “That’s a great idea,” and drops to his knees. You stare at the mound in front of him as you sink down to the ground, pulling out your map. You mark where this field is located as he preps his harvesting tools. Once he’s prepared, he sighs and takes your hand, “Do you want to help me, Goose?”

You nearly spring to your feet with excitement, “Would I ever!”

He beams at your reaction and begins the process by clearing the dirt away from the mound to reveal the deposit. “How about for this first time, you just hand me the tools?” You nod, taking this as slowly as he wants to, “Whatever you’d like.” He grins as he cuts a hole in the deposit, knife already in hand. “Solution,” he requests. You hand him the bottle and he does the honor of pouring it over the deposit. A white steam emits from the hole, and he reaches in and grabs the husk. “Let me cut this cord, you can do the next one.” You agree and watch as he cuts it with his knife. He places the husk on a flat patch of land and requests his next tool, “Scalpel.” You hand him a Ralon Crusader Laser Scalpel and watch him work.

Laser scalpels are primarily used for precision work, like this step and the removal of blisters, while any generic knives will do the job when cutting the cord or opening up the deposit.

You watch as he makes an incision in the husk, handing you back the tool once he’s done. He wrangles the inner membrane out of the husk and holds his hand out. You know that he wants the scalpel back, and you give it to him. He flashes you a smile for your readiness, but then hands you the scalpel back. You take it, confused, and he says, “I’d like you to cut the blisters off of this one.”

Your pupils narrow and your muscles grow tense. You know the steps of prospecting backwards and forwards, but you had never carried out a lab experiment, let alone prospected aurelac in the wild. Ezra lays a gentle hand on your forearm, “I have eternal faith in you, Goose.” You move toward the membrane and turn the scalpel on. Ezra holds it steady for you as you go to remove the blister. There’s only one, which is a slight relief. You plunge the scalpel into the membrane, thinking that the skin would be thicker, and a hiss greets you. You pull back as the membrane deflates and an amber liquid seeps from it, the hissing never stopping. Your mortified eyes look up into Ezra’s and you immediately apologize, “I’m so sorry, Ezra, I thought that-” He raises a hand, “It is not a big deal in the slightest, Goose. I’ve never come across a prospector that didn’t puncture the membrane, or fail to mix the fazer solution correctly the first time.” He senses your lingering humiliation and grabs your shoulders, turning you even more towards himself, “Really, it’s fine.” You want to melt into his hands, crawl into his lap and just hide there until you feel better, but you know that you have to move on.

He points to the mound behind you, “Let’s try that one.” You stay on the ground and move the tools with you, while Ezra stands and walks over before he squats. You hand him the knife, watch him repeat the process and hand him tools as he needs them: slice the deposit, squirt in the solution, remove the husk, sever the cord, open the husk, take the membrane out. He looks to you, “I want you to try again.” Turning the scalpel on, its vibrations feel more vigorous against your heightened nerves than they did last time. Ezra assumes his position of securing the slippery pod, and you begin cutting. Again only one blister, you circle the blemish with the blade. Once the circle is complete, Ezra reminds you, “It’s easiest to pull it off with your fingers.” You follow his directions, turning the instrument off and setting it to the side. You pull on sticky flesh, and the part that you cut comes off easily. Ezra sighs, “Incredible.” Sliding his fingers in between the membrane and the aurelac, he pulls the rock out and discards the pouch. He calls for the fazer solution, which you hand him and watch as he washes the gem with it. Another hissing sound can be heard, much quieter than the one that came when you punctured the membrane. He holds the aurelac up to the blue Sun, and both of you observe, amazed, at how the light shines through the gem. Aurelac is an amber-hued stone, sometimes with ripples in the color, encased in a foggy crystal. The blue light complements the orange shade of the gem exquisitely.

Ezra turns to you, eyes bright with satisfaction, hands muddied with gristle, “Superb job, Goose!” He leans into you, helmet shields touching and reaches forward to kiss your glass. You smile and laugh with him in gratification. You can’t wait to harvest the rest of the mounds with your partner.

A warmth you have never felt before bestows itself to you this early morning. It flourishes in your heart and subsequently pumps through your body, reaching from the crown of your head all the way down to the soles of your feet. It stretches from your ribs to the ends of your fingertips, running in cycles back and forth. The cause of this pleasure was not from the large aurelac haul you had pulled yesterday, but from the man that you harvested with. Ezra’s arms encircle you, heavy with sleep. You’re swaddled in his blankets with him, the depths of sleep tempting you to fall back down to their level of subconscious. The Sun hasn’t risen yet.

You had crawled into Ezra’s awaiting lap after Cee had fallen asleep the night before. It wasn’t that you felt like you had to hide your feelings from her, but the dynamic still made you feel a little bit awkward, even with Ezra’s reassurance and Cee’s encouragement to pursue him. You would feel more comfortable if she were to wake up and find the two of you in your designated sleeping arrangements, and not in an amorous yet innocent entanglement of limbs.

You can practically feel a rainbow sprout from your chest as you look up at Ezra, finding delight in his relaxed expression. His hair is messy not from the tossing and turning of a restless night’s sleep, but the enamored strokes of a yearning partner’s fingers. The whirlwind of malachite butterflies in your stomach nudges you away from sleep. You press your hands into Ezra’s chest, where they have been resting, and turn to nuzzle your nose into his collarbone before you start to slip out of his embrace. Gently lifting his arms off of you in an effort to keep him asleep, you fail. He cups the side of your face and rubs his thumb back and forth against your cheek a few times before he lets his arm fall to his side. He gives you a smile of understanding, allowing you to leave him only because he will dream about holding onto you for forever once he drifts off again. You give him a playful boop on his nose before you stand and trudge over to your pilot’s chair, sinking down into your own cold blankets. You try your best to recreate the heat you just deserted by bundling yourself up tight, but it’s not the same. However uncomfortable, you quickly succumb to the temptation of sleep.

The true morning gives rise to an energetic group of prospectors. Still joyful about yesterday’s collection, you, Cee and Ezra are enthusiastic to stroll around The Blue again and see what else could be in store for you. Stretching in your chair, Ezra grabs your raised hands and leans over the back of your seat. You look up into his eyes and he greets you, “Good morning, Goose.” You smile and tease, “Good morning, Magpie.”

Cee blurts out, “Finally, you give her a nickname too!” You and Ezra laugh as he releases your hands, and you turn to face Cee at her equipment hatch. “I like Magpie too. Very fitting,” she raises an eyebrow at Ezra and he shoots you a wink. You get up to fold your blanket, Ezra glides over to his own equipment hatch, and Cee says, “You know, I say you guys last night.” Your face instantly beats red, and Cee notices, “No, it’s fine. It makes me happy to see a couple that can get over obstacles and love each other through it all.” You still feel a bit embarrassed, but shrug it off.

A word she chose makes you question Ezra, “Are we a couple?”

“Of course. We’ve always been partners, haven’t we?”

Suited up, the three of you enter The Blue. After your daily assessment of the land (beautiful, as always) you turn to Cee and wait for her direction. She had mapped out the majority of the Blue Moon the day that you and Ezra stayed inside the pod, so you trusted her guidance the most. Ezra asks, “Where to today, birdies?” Cee analyzes the map before pointing to an area, “This block was filled with hills. It didn’t look like there were many deposits, but then again I’m not the best at spotting them.” Eager to start, you ask, “Which way do we go?” Ezra glances at the map, points to the right and commences your expedition, “This is the way.”

💘taglist: @pascalpanic

#ezra x reader #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect #ezra fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #ezra x fem!reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pascalitos #found family trope #prospect 2018

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wakaoujisenhime · 4 years ago

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Mighty waves - Daigoro x reader

Synopsis: A clairvoyant predicts your kingdom's ruin, and no matter how ridiculous this claim sounds, your position forces you to take it seriously.

One day disaster struck as a fleet of warships takes course towards your empire. Your situation seems hopeless at first, but then one of your messengers reports how a particular individual requests an audience with you. Overcome by despair and ready to hoist the white flag of defeat, you accept, but the man you come across appears to be someone entirely different ...

tags/warnings: Daigoro x reader ✅ smut (18+) ✅ royalty x pirate AU ✅ oral sex ✅ quirkplay/quirk usage ✅ slight dubcon ✅

A/N: This fic is based on a prompt a server bot-generated for me while I was contemplating what kind of fantasy AU would be suitable for this hunk of a man whom I love so much. Choosing him specifically meant that I'd have to include some minor manga spoilers...hope you don't mind... All in all, I have to say that I'm a little disappointed with how this turned out, but maybe some of you guys will still enjoy it even if it’s just a little bit! (〃．．)

This piece is also my very first contribution to a bnharem collab, so I really hope you'll enjoy it, and please make sure to check the other authors' unique works out! *\(>‿<)/*

→ collab masterlist

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Being the queen of an entire empire wasn't always an easy task, thanks to the lot of expectations and responsibilities resting on your shoulders, and to top it all off, you had to always remain calm and polite, no matter what or who you were confronted with.

Back when you first got appointed as queen, there was this elderly woman who requested an audience, under the pretense that she had some alarming news for you. Wishing for nothing but the best for your people, you granted her request.

Two years from now on, the kingdom will meet its end by the hand of soldiers from the sea...

This was the future's outlook, according to the self-proclaimed oracle of fate. Regardless of your personal opinion, you had to keep on smiling and politely accept her 'great words of wisdom' but did you really believe her?

No matter your conclusion, here you were now gripping your throne chair's arms to such an extent that your courtiers were starting to consider the possibility of your knuckles piercing through your skin, and it frightened them even more than they already were.

One of your messengers just brought you the news of an incoming fleet of enemy soldiers, who were ready to battle you and your men so that their ruler's plan of expanding his own kingdom could succeed.

Since you were repeatedly asked and pleaded to give your crown up and just let your home be annihilated, it didn't surprise you that they'd resort to war next after the countless rejections you wrote and mailed them. No, the most surprising and unexpected thing for you was their numbers. You knew that their kingdom was just a thousand men more than yours, so why did the messenger report a count of 20 enormous ships, all loaded with soldiers, heading straight for the small patch of land you called a 'kingdom'?

The fear that the moment they set foot on your land, the outcome would be nothing more than a brutal and pretty much one-sided bloodshed overcame you.

You were lost, hopeless, had neither someone to turn to and ask for help nor the ability and resources to help yourself.

What am I going to do now?

After asking yourself this one particular question multiple times, the only conclusion you managed to draw from it was to admit defeat to protect your citizens' lives.

Your decision was greeted with some resistance at first, but after your courtiers noticed just how anxious you actually were, they shut up, and heavy heartedly accepted their fate.

——

"Your highness...someone just set sail on land and demands to have a word with you." informed you one of your messengers, a hint of fear accompanying this dreaded piece of information.

You held your breath for a second and let your eyes wander around the throne room, noticing nothing but despair twisted faces. Their expressions pained you enough as is, but the presumption that you were about to meet the general of the entire crew only made you realize just how low of a blow the next words you'd utter be.

"...bring this person to me."

With each passing minute, your body continuously tensed up, and the fact that you didn't know who you were about to meet didn't make your situation any better.

Soon though, you began hearing the faint sound of very heavy steps, making you wonder just what kind of individual you were about to encounter.

The heavy throne room doors were opened, and a muscular man stepped through them. His walk was more confident than that of your advisors or even your own. With every step he took, his frame got bigger and broader than it was the first time you looked at him, and you couldn't help but retract ever so slightly in your seat.

"Well, hello there, your highness, it's a pleasure to finally meet you!"

Even with these few words, his deep and rumbling voice managed to break through your perfect façade of a 'noblewoman'.

This was the first time in your entire life a man managed to leave such an impression on you that every word you planned on saying failed you.

While you were in this small trance of yours, both of you used the opportunity to eye the other.

While you still eyed his impressive physique and tried to figure out why his playful yet serious gaze made him seem attractive to you, he did the same. The man standing before you was more of a warrior than any of your soldiers, or at least that's what the countless scars on his body told you, and there was no room for doubt in your mind that he was the type of guy who'd always get what he wants, no matter the cost.

"Have you come here to claim what you've wanted all these years?" you asked with the firmest voice you could muster. Much to your surprise, the man before you seemed quite confused for a second, but after a short, while he had recovered, and a bright grin replaced his former poker face.

"Oh, there seems to be some kind of misunderstanding between us." he paused for a second and spread his arms as if he was about to embrace someone. "You see… I'm not a part of that small army that was headed towards your kingdom."

Small army…? And he's not a part of it?

It was now his turn to explain what he meant, so he smiled and began walking up and down the small space in front of you.

"Well milady, I am the captain of a small crew which consists of nothing but pirates. All we wanted was to visit your kingdom, which has been the only one up until now to not fight with us, and it just so happens that the fleet which was headed your way, posed some difficulties...so I chose to eliminate them."

The last part of his sentence made you shiver, and even though he grinned from one ear to the other, you just knew that he was absolutely serious.

Your relationship with the pirates was genuinely peaceful, cause unlike your predecessors, you were more focused on building a more comfortable and accepting society than on gaining riches from the bandits of the sea. But you weren't stupid; you knew that this self-proclaimed captain of a pirate crew had done everything with some kind of goal in mind, so you decided to show him that you weren't about to back down from whatever request he was about to propose, so you stood up from your throne and headed right for him.

Much to your surprise, he was polite enough to actually stop his little walk and stand still like a soldier while his eyes never left your gracefully moving form. You thought that he was tall before, but now that the two of you faced each other, you couldn't help but direct your eyes straight toward the ceiling; that's how enormous this man's height was.

"Now that you've gotten rid of them for us...what is it that you'd like to receive as compensation?"

If he had eyebrows, then you would've seen him raising them ever so slightly. He then did something that no one has ever dared to do, namely, take your hand in his own massive one. That small gesture put your guards on the alarm, and within just a couple of seconds, their hands were on their swords' handles. If you hadn't stopped them, then they might have been the ones that needed saving…

——

"Your highness...are you sure about this?"

"We don't know what he and his comrades might come up with, so let us at least send someone with you! Even if it's jus-"

"Gentleman, please calm yourselves down. He isn't some kind of barbarian...all he did was invite me to dinner at his ship so that we can talk about our individual plans. There's really no need for you to worry this much."

While their concerned gazes rested on your back, you slowly headed back to your room in order to prepare for this evening's rendezvous...

——

When you arrived at his ship, the first thing he did was compliment your choice in garments, saying just how well this black dress fitted you and successfully managed to emphasize your body's most charming points. He then helped you up on deck and hooked your arm around his own as he gave you a tour of his wooden home, all the while the man cheerfully shared pieces of memories with you. It didn't take you long to realize that he was indeed different than any other man you've met before.

The way he carried himself, the carefree and bright grin that adorned his lips almost the entire time, and his adventurous character made him stand out the most from all the other countless interesting and peculiar people you've met up until now.

"Well, milady, it seems like our tour is slowly coming to an end."

With slightly wide and surprised eyes, you began glancing around, it seemed to him as if you couldn't believe it and felt the need to confirm it for yourself, but in Truth, all you were looking for was another room so that the two of you could spend more time by each other's sides.

In that short period, he had managed to awake so much curiosity in you with merely his own recollections of his daily life. It was no secret that a ruler like you wasn't really authorized to embark on random adventures; your kingdom was and had to be your only concern, until the day your successor was fit for the throne. Up until now, you never questioned or doubted these 'facts.' Still, when you heard of the many rebellious situations the bulky man next to you had gotten himself into, your inner adventurer couldn't help but try to break free. And that's when a particular door caught your eye.

"Sir, I think there is still some exploring left to do" you said and discreetly pointed to the room that embodied your hope to stay here longer.

After a short while of silence, he simply took course to the room you wished to see, opened the door, and let you go in first.

Turns out that this was his own cabin.

With flushed cheeks, you took a look around, admiring just how minimalistic he had arranged it to be. The only furnishings he had were his bed and one of those massive wooden desks your ministers owned.

While you were looking around with slightly flushed cheeks, the pirate beside you began strolling around you in rather big circles.

"Don't you think that an introduction should usually come before sharing a bed?" he asked with a smug grin, enjoying just how red you'd gotten as realization hit you. Before you could defend yourself, he closed the distance between the two of you to such an extent that you could literally feel him breathing down your neck every time he walked behind you.

"Truth be told...I don't really mind your way of thinking. If anything...I like it."

Just as you were about to turn around in order to meet his gaze, you felt something like a rope wrap itself around your body, completely stilling your movements.

"Oh no, my dear queen...I wouldn't struggle if I were you."

Despite his warning, you decided to take your chance and wiggle out of whatever had wrapped itself around you like a snake. Unfortunately for you, the more you kept on fighting against it, the tighter it grew, so you had to stop before it squeezed you to death.

"You're quite the rebel, aren't you?" he chuckled darkly.

The man was now standing right before you, his eyes darker than the night sky, but there was also something else hidden beneath that darkness...a certain glint you couldn't quite characterize.

He placed one of his big hands on your shoulder while the other gently caressed your cheek.

"Since we pretty much skipped a proper name exchange, let me catch up on that."

"W-Why now all of a sudden?" you hissed, expecting to earn yourself some kind of annoyed reaction, but what you earned was another one of his grins instead.

"Trust me... you'll need it."

After he said those words, he kissed your lips and placed both of his massive hands at the collar of your dress. The moment he found the buttons, which were hidden beneath a thin layer of fabric, he began undoing them one by one, slowly but surely exposing your upper body to the mild temperature of his room.

His lips began trailing down to your neck and collarbone, leaving a trail of small marks behind. You were so confused and overwhelmed by the entire situation that you hadn't noticed how his hands had begun to slowly expose your lower body as well, and when you finally realized it, it was too late.

"You do know that it was a pretty bold move of yours to come to this meeting on your own, right? It might've been better for you to at least bring a guard or two with you."

That statement made you mad, and that only helped your body to increase the amount of adrenaline that was circulating inside of you. Luckily the black rope-like mass, which bound you, had released your legs a short while ago so that the bald man could slide your dress' skirt down. You used that opportunity and attempted to kick his abdomen, but his reflexes were quicker.

The man's hand caught your calf and placed it on top of his shoulder, while his other hand supported your back and stopped you from falling back.

Now that his face was literally facing your clothed sex, you were far more embarrassed than before, and knowing that your plan had no outlook of success, crushed any remaining hope of escape.

"Mm...I should've known that you were an impatient person, but who would've thought that you would be so desperate."

With each word he uttered, his breath teased your slightly twitching core, and thanks to the thin light pink material that separated his grinning mouth from your private parts, it was relatively easy to tell how wet you already were.

Daigoro Banjo

This was the last thing you heard before your panties were ripped apart, your labia spread, and your clit attacked by his tongue. A single gasp escaped your lips as you tried to pull your hips back and stop him from pleasuring you any further, but - as expected - your attempt was nullified by his hand and those misty ropes that enveloped your body so that it remained in a straight position.

His tongue lapped against your folds as he slurped up every bit of your flowing juices, making sure that none of it was wasted by trickling down your thighs.

The moment his thick fingers entered you, you were reduced to a trembling and moaning mess that wanted nothing more than to cum. You had to bite your lip in order to stop yourself from moaning any further, hoping that the pain might stop your rapidly approaching orgasm for at least a short while.

Daigoro noticed your futile attempt and immediately thought of a countermeasure. He bared his teeth and bit your already swollen and sensitive clit, while his thick fingers arched up to where your g-spot was and began rubbing it at a relatively quick and brutal pace.

Being pleasured that intensely was a first for you, and that fact mixed with the gradually growing shame caused some tears to begin flowing down cheeks.

"Cum for me, my queen, come on now..."

You shook your head, not wanting to lose even that last bit of dignity you had left by fulfilling his request, but unfortunately, he didn't take no as an answer and did something that you would've never expected him to do.

He directed that black and rope-like mist directly to your dripping sex, and the moment Daigoro pulled his fingers out, it penetrated you so deeply that you felt it collide with your cervix's opening.

With a loud moan, you threw your head back and came so hard that you forgot how to breathe for a second. The pirate captain held your trembling legs spread apart and watched, after deactivating his quirk, with delight as your walls tried to clamp down around nothingness. After a short while, he began to lick you clean while your orgasm slowly but surely came to an end.

You tried to regain your breath as the man licked his lips, stood up, and cupped your face, forcing you to look directly into his hazed eyes.

I'm going to pleasure you to the point where you'll never want to ascend your throne ever again.

The moment you embrace me, your kingdom will fall...

So, what are you going to do...?

#bnharem #bnharem collab #bnha scenarios #daigoro x reader #daigoro banjo x reader #bnha smut #bnha x reader smut #━𝙱𝙽𝙷𝙰 #━𝙼𝙷𝙰

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wickednerdery · 5 years ago

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Title: Out of Time Author: @wickednerdery Fandom: Marvel Pairing/character: Loki x Stark!OC Rating: FRC Summary: “I’m always VIP.” Notes: So I found this gif on Google - if it’s yours, I’m happy to credit - and it inspired this idea where Loki (after escaping with the Tesseract in Endgame, perhaps?) ends up in a strange cyberpunk/futuristic Earth. No idea if I’ll continue this or what, but it HAD to come out, lol!

Chapter 2

The Midgard he arrived at was not the one he left. It was older, wilder, both brighter and darker in turn. Loki shifted into Midgardian garb before approaching a main street, nothing looking familiar. The cars ran on their own, machines walked alongside mortals, and the sky above was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel.

“Hey, you lookin’ to jive?” A man asks from behind leopard-printed leather mask.

Loki takes the other in fully. Boots, hooded jumpsuit to match the leopard-print mask, and wild burgundy mohawk. The lights at the knuckles of his gloves alternate between red and yellow as he closes fist, then glow pure yellow across the board as a small, square, tab appears from between two fingers.

“Three million credits.” Heterochromatic eyes smile. “Thirteen million for VIP.”

“I’m always VIP.” Loki waves his hand, the man switches a plain white plastic bit for a red one, stamped with golden mask. “Now, tell me more about this ‘jive’.”

“Ms Stark! Ms Stark!!” The crowds, press and plebeians both, call for her as she steps from black auto-motive. Some cheer in excitement, telling her they love her. Others scream in tirades, declare her a “Tuhao war bitch”. Interviewers ask about men, women, freedom versus security, and her thoughts on Stark technology used to hold down the lower class.

“Sorry, no questions this evening. Not for Ms Stark anyway.” The voice of her car is that of her ancestor. Red lines blaze from head and tail lights, demarcating a barrier and allowing her to carry on into the museum unaccosted. “But I’d be more than happy to answer some, maybe take any praise you have for her.”

Once away from the masses, Ana tugs at the collar of her cocktail dress. It unravels gold, falling to the floor as a gown for the evening. Simple trick really, more to do with sewing than technology, but it never fails to turn heads. “Tony...” she smiles. “Don’t get yourself a parking ticket talking to all your fans.”

“Of course not, when have I ever done that?” The auto replies in her ear.

“Last week? That time in Tokyo...that other time in Mumbai.”

“Okay, okay, point made. I’m out.”

Ana chuckles as car tires screech away in the distance. She carries on, men stepping aside with bowing heads to let her in. Her name is a whisper of reverence on their lips. Upon entering the exhibit turned ballroom people catch sight of her and begin to applaud.

“Ladies and gentleman, CEO of Stark International, chairperson of the Avengers Youth of America, and head of Earth’s Legion of Scientific Security...Ms Ana Roget Stark!” In the official announcement by the museum’s spokesperson the applause rises in volume and gusto.

Loki looks up, drink in hand, with interest. Stark? His lips curl in amused interest. He scans the crowd, then moves his focus back to her. Like the Stark he knows, she’s wholly confident and reveling in the face of adulation. While more polite, her smile indicates she believes herself worthy of the love she receives.

Her eyes scan from the balcony, land on the mysterious man in black. When he lifts his glass in notable salute, her brow goes up a fraction. Then she turns to the museum head. “Yes, yes, thank you for that...way too impressive introduction. I really would have just settled for Nobel prize winning person of the century.” She laughs, all but Loki join in. “My great-grandfather, Anthony Stark, unknowingly started this museum when he passed, leaving behind his suits and prototypes in the workshop of Stark Tower. Some still unfinished, some ready for mass production to make the world safe in his absence. They were able to be preserved and, yes, even improved upon as this place was created around them. As much as the Starks may have given to this museum, it gave back to the world. It is a sprawling testament of technology and innovation, of how far we have come and how far we can go. I thank all of you, each and every one, for your commitment to science, to knowledge, and to this museum in particular. I encourage you to continue that commitment tonight at the auction and in going forward with your donations.” Her eyes return to the man whose eyes never left her. “Thank you for coming, I look forward to speaking with you all before the night is over.”

Loki does not approach the lithe beauty with his enemy’s name, but his eyes do not leave her either. She swans about the room with the same confidence as the Stark he knows, but her manner is more delicate. She uses more deference in approaching others, is more flattering toward them than herself. Her show is alluring, appealing, boarding on arrogant but never crossing the line. Yet, when she does finally approach him, her manner changes.

“So, how did you do it?” She’s direct, no longer glad-handing, but nevertheless rapt with anticipation as she sits beside him at a table. “Cyber worm? Reverse engineering? Or did you figure out the sequence and use the key-code?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it. He’s no clue what she’s talking about, can’t even think how to answer.

Ana’s face falls to disappointment bordering on annoyance. “You bought it pre-rigged. Figures. I send out a golden ticket and people can only think about the quick buck.” She sighs, starts to get up. “I hope this was worth whatever the invite cost you, because it’s all you get. I don’t have time for fans.”

“Wait.” His hand flies out, takes hold of wrist.

She twists free, grabs his wrist in retaliation, and hits him with 75,000 volts via taser ring worn on her middle finger. She keeps hold until he’s limp, then releases and lets him tip over the table like a drunk. “Security, toss the lump in black at table 17.” Frustrated at her failed test, done with the night, Ana heads out a discreet side door that leads to the rest of the museum.

Looking over the reconstruction of the late Tony Stark’s penthouse Ana sighs. This is still where she feels most at home. Here and her own workshop, but she’s no mind for innovation right now. “How did you do it? How did you keep going?” She asks her ancestor aloud. Failures didn’t bother her, they were always part of success. It’s lack of momentum that drives her to darkness, to the functional bar where she pours two fingers of old school whiskey.

“You are a Stark.” Loki, in more regal and battle-ready gear, stands before the screen display of old New York. “Though a far fairer one, to be sure.” He winks, laughs when glass drops, shattering at her feet.

“Who are you?” Hand goes to her ear first, patching her into Tony, then the ruby and gold bracelet. She rubs it, anxious. “Oscorp? Stane International? Yak?” Ana takes him in, his new suit and the wild glint in his eye. “Or are you one of the anarchists? AIM? One of those anti-techs groups?”

He laughs. “Oh no, I’m my own man, Ms Stark. I don’t follow, I am followed.”

“Well, you have my attention, Mr...Mystery Man. What do you want?”

Loki hadn’t thought that far ahead. He’s merely intrigued by her, by wherever, whenever, he’s arrived.

“Really? I give you the floor and you stand mute?” Ana smirks. “Fascinating...and pointless. Thanks for the disruption and broken glass.” She starts to make another drink.

“Not curious how I got here then?”

“Only when you plan on leaving.” New glass in hand she heads out of the exhibit. She sees a biohazard symbol swimming across a fully masked face, hears the huff of the silencer, and feels the world slip past her as she goes down.

In a flick of his wrist Loki blasts the man through the wall, rushes to Ana as her gold dress goes red, then black, with blood. He gets arms under before her head hits the floor. “You’re not allowed to die until I wish it.” He watches her eyes widen in surprise, as if she didn’t expect him to be real.

“H-How...noble...” She snarks through the blooming pain, her world going dark as the mystery man’s suit.

So...that’s everything I have that’s clear in my mind for this right now, haha! Like, I know that Ana lives and all, but I’m not sure after that. I’ve some options: Loki leaves her to recover and stalks her from afar, Loki brings her back to her home and keeps her semi-captive there, Loki leaves her, but she seeks him out in gratitude and interest. ...But, even then, unsure of the sweeping story - is there a set enemy to go against together? Do they become enemies themselves? Or is this more of a romance? Is there more time travel?? So many questions/ideas, not enough determined yet, lol!

I’ll take suggestions though, haha!! 😉

Side Notes: Tuhao is a Chinese term referring to people of wealth. By “jive” the guy means party, in general. The description of the sky is a pull from William Gibson’s Neuromancer (awesome book!). The groups Ana lists are all from Marvel, all enemies of Iron Man in one way or another. And, yes, her self-driving car has the voice and personality of Tony Stark - he is her main AI, just as JARVIS and FRIDAY were Tony’s.

Tagging: @lady-crowned-with-stars, @beccaliciooouuusss, gravitational-anomaly, @fuckthatfeeling, @v-2bucky, @ultrarebelheart, @tarithenurse @latent-thoughts @chibiyanai @lukeevansandjdmobession @sweetfictionalworld @ladyfluff ...And I legit don’t know who else to tag anymore lol

#loki #fanfiction #tony stark #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #marvel cinematic universe #stark!oc #plot bunny #cyberpunk #come and play with me #my writing #not my gif

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cadcnce-archived · 4 years ago

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Sonia was uncertain regarding two particular issues when it came to Valentine’s Day: One, did Wylan even celebrate it or care for the Japanese tradition of giving chocolate. And two, did he even like chocolate that much? For all the time they’d spent together, she’d never thought to ask.

That didn’t, however, indicate she hadn’t placed any thought to the forest green box she now offered him. Tied with a gold bow, there were a dozen chocolates inside in three different shapes and varieties: the milk chocolate candies were molded into the shape of mini hamburgers and filled with peanut butter ganache, the dark chocolates resembled decorative mini-discs, poker chips, and filled with rum cordials. And the last ensured the box needed to be made taller than most presentation boxes: made of white chocolate, the final offering was filled with matcha and ginger, shaped like board game pieces and coated with edible green pearl paint.

“I’m not quite sure how different American Valentine’s Day traditions are from the European and Japanese versions,” She admitted to him, a bright smile on her face as she presented him the box. “But I hope you’ll accept these and enjoy them. Happy Valentine’s Day, Wylan.”

@more-than-a-princess

Should he have been expecting something, when he ended up spending the evening of February 14th with Sonia? It’s difficult to place how they see one another, sometimes intentionally so, outside of a mutual silent agreement of trust and disregard for who they are despite knowing what they are. They were two people seeking ways of living that could put a smile on each other’s face and help them forget other frustrations. Wylan has admittedly had much less healthy methods of handling such thoughts in the past, and he’d still be loathe to admit that he is beginning to prefer passing the time with Sonia in a fully platonic sense in all meanings of the word (oh yes) rather than with strangers in less palatable settings.

Valentine’s Day is an odd holiday, clearly a celebration of couples as far as he saw it despite many now reclaiming it for friendship or strong bonds. In the past it was awkward days in grade school, pressured into going around and handing out candy to everyone in class… something he didn’t do himself, too abrasive and aimless to go along with the ‘rules’ or ‘expectations’ much like every other part of his life. He’d failed that period of his life. And even though kids often gave him candy he still never really reciprocated.

Since then, the only time he’d actually celebrated it with someone unironically was the first and last serious relationship he had after getting out of school. It felt fake despite how real the relationship had been, too generic and mandatory rather than something his heart had gone into. Trading organ shaped boxes and some cute letters off the shelf. Another patch on a failing relationship that eventually they both ripped the bandage off of. It was a reminder that he couldn’t keep his lives separate, that he wasn’t going to be a normal person by wearing a mask and keeping his ducks in a row.

He hardly expected the Princess to bring up the holiday with him, instead opting for their usual play of getting something to drink and remarking on things the other didn’t properly understand. A give and take sort of chatter. As a joke he was going to give her something later and they’d both have a good laugh before going their own ways. It’d be casual and tongue in cheek as two single people usually do on a day like this. Perfect plan to have some fun either way!

That was until the elegant looking box had been procured and immediately Wylan felt a sense of panic wash over him. He fights it away from his expression, lips wrapped around the straw of a bubble tea aiding in the endeavor, but it doesn’t help the rising pulse that echoed in his chest. Or the heat rising at his neck that compliments a staggered breath. What the fuck is this what the fuck is she doing this looks ridiculously fancy and she got it for me what does this mean what are you doing how are you going to–

“What? Oh uh, traditions? No, it’s really nothing fancy most people just make of it what they will and buy what they care… for… but this is… wow. Now I feel stupid.” He snorts and makes the equally stupid choice of opening the box while they were sat at the table. She didn’t just give him nice European chocolate, these were all– what the fuck were these even?!

“Holy shit, these are…. hahahaha! Oh fuck. And those are–” Maybe the moment of panic dropped his usual guard, let the mask slip, but that’s one hell of an honest laugh that comes from the man. Lighter and lacking in the usual cackling or teehee-ing tone it usually has. Same goes for the smile as he fingers through the tray. Poker chips that he immediately flips between his digits like the jester he is. Little burger he snorts as he eyes the minor details of toppings even… and then the damn Clue pieces. Mr. Green. Even for something so short lived from the first time they met, she still remarked on it enough to make some chocolates from it. Shit. She may never let that go, him and all of his names, and it’s that kind of thing that has him feeling stupid. Feeling ridiculous. There’s a war in his mind saying that admiring this is stupid too. That he’s reading too much into this.

Sonia preparing chocolates like this is probably a non issue after all. As the princess she can whip up an idea and have master makers make it into a reality. She could do this for everyone she knows. But what if she didn’t. And she still went through the trouble of doing it for you, didn’t she? Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

Wylan is intentionally not looking Sonia in the eyes. Whether that’s out of consideration for her or for himself is unknown even to him. It’s undeniable that there’s something that stirred in his chest at receiving something the box of chocolates even if he’s not a connoisseur of the stuff. The assassin would eat a Hershey bar and be fine. The problem now was properly quashing it and bringing things down to level. Flattening the playing field and filling up the hole that was starting to burrow down deeper into his chest. To deliver that shock to his core that so eagerly wanted to burn but Wylan knew would be a bad idea. He’s had this conversation with himself before. About Sonia. About himself. Fortunately his stupidity from earlier provides an out, a way to break whatever moment may be growing and reset things at least a little bit.

“Damn. Well thank you. I’ll keep these, but I think you got the wrong guy here for handing out treats this fancy. I’m all the wrong material. Fortunately for you the right guy happens to be nearby, so it’s understandable you got confused, Bluebird.” He gestures a hand then pulls a box from his bag and sets it proudly on the table. “The perfect man for your generosity is right here. So perfect in fact he said I can keep the chocolate so long as I let him spend the evening with you. Isn’t he the gentleman?”

A pause. A beat. This facade is short lived.

“Uhhhhh. And Happy Valentine’s Day to you too, Sonia. Yeah. Might be a better idea to share these chocolates you got.” Back to feeling stupid. This box look ridiculous next to what she had provided and fuck knows how awful this gag gift tastes. It cost less than the tea he was drinking right now after all.

#morethanaprincess #inbox :: answered ic #inbox :: submission #verse :: main #bravo sonia #just bravo #submission

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angel-tries-to-write · 5 years ago

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Love Patch

Fandom: Assassin’s Creed Rating: Mature Pairing: Jacob Frye x Reader Word count: 2847 Genre: hurt/comfort, a bit fluff

Jacob needs help, so you help him. Though it’s not the easiest task, obviously. After all, everyone knows that people are out of their minds when someone they love is in pain.

A/N: You know what also was a pain? Titling this s**t!

You were sitting in your favorite pub, surrounded by the Rooks you grew close to recently. This gang was really something meaningful, something that changed London's status quo that made the city prosper at a horrible cost. You turned down a lot of their offers to join them, you knew that street fights and risking your life in actual action wasn't for you. So you were trying to help the other way, by tending their wounds and fixing their clothes, because these were the things you liked. And that was enough, you wouldn't want to be a regular Rook even if it meant you could spend more time with their boss. Truth to be told, you quite liked that man. It wasn't surprising, he was a very handsome gentleman who knew his way to ladies' hearts and not only hearts. Many women had feelings towards him and you didn't feel like a good competitor, so you tried to brush it off. He had something in him, like a typical bad boy. And he would never treat you seriously, so there was no point in showing him interest. That you thought until one night you saw him and you immediately knew something was wrong.

The moment Jacob stepped inside the pub, the Rooks cheered loudly for their boss. He greeted them with his trademark smile and took a seat, falling heavily onto a nearby chair. You could say he was exhausted, but as you kept watching him, you started to notice he was wincing and grabbing his side. One time he was taking his hand away, you spotted crimson shade of blood, pooling on green vest. That was the moment when you stood up so quickly you almost spilled your alcohol and you rushed to the Assassin.

“Undress. Now” you growled angrily, putting your hands on your hips.

“Shouldn't we go somewhere private first?” the man asked and his deep, sexy voice sent warmth to your veins and a shiver to your skin. You knew you wouldn't say no to him of he wanted you. His fellow Rooks snickered. But you tried to pretend it didn't bother you.

“You're wounded, idiot. Pretty seriously as far as I can tell” you pointed to his side. Jacob looked there and blinked a few times.

“I thought it was just a bruise, maybe cracked ribs” he muttered, looking at blood that stained his green vest. He shrugged his coat off, one of the Rooks caught it immediately, then he pulled his clothes up. You saw a short but deep wound that bled heavily. It was clear he was stabbed. You quickly pulled his clothes back down and pressed the wound to prevent further bleeding. The Assassin grunted in pain.

“I'll go fetch a doctor” offered one Rook and they left the pub before you could answer.

“There's no time. He needs stitches now” you decided. “I'm going to need some things.”

“I'm on it” another few Rooks ran outside to find necessary items. You washed your hands and prepared for this little surgery, while the Rooks helped Jacob take his clothes off. That wasn't necessary, but it was easier to wrap the bandages when the patient was shirtless. Besides you deserved some pleasure while doing your job. Well, maybe not that much pleasure you thought to yourself upon seeing him. It was definitely a nice view to look at.

“See something you like?” Jacob teased, noticing the way your eyes gleamed at the sight of his chest.

“Maybe” you lifted your gaze to look at his face and your eyebrows furrowed with worry. His skin was paler than usual. “But I also see many things I don't like. How do you feel?”

“Tired. And wounded” he looked at his hand that was covering the still bleeding injury. The cloth he was pressing to it quickly changed its color to bloody red. That wasn't good. You were afraid that stitches might not be enough.

“Shit” you swore under your breath. “Does anyone have a small Blighters' knife?” you asked, getting an idea. It was dangerous, but could actually help for a while if you did it right.

“I do” one of the brutes pulled out his knife. Its size matched the wound.

“Disinfect it and give it to me” you ordered. After a few moments you held it in your hand.

“What are you going to do?” Frye asked and despite trying so hard, he didn't manage to hide his fear.

“Save your life. Hold him still” you commanded and took his hand away from his side. Then you carefully slid a knife into the wound. Jacob screamed in pain and you flinched, but at least the bleeding stopped being so heavy. “The stitches won't be enough. We have to cauterise it” you decided, looking at the Rooks. Jacob groaned.

“For fuck's sake, (y/n), have some mercy, woman” he wasn't happy. You knew he already suffered a lot, his breath was unsteady and beads of sweat shimmered on his skin. The adrenaline wore off already and he could feel the pain that the wound caused. But there was no other option.

“I can either burn your wound or let you bleed out. You've lost so much blood already, we can't risk you losing more. I need to stop the bleeding right now” you said firmly.

“I'm already heating the knife” said one of the Rooks. Their boss gave you puppy eyes, silently begging you to change your mind, but you were adamant. You knew it was for his own good. You ordered to clear one table for Jacob to lie down on it. The Rooks helped him to move carefully, to spare him pain. Performing medical procedures in a pub wasn't the best idea, but there was no time to move somewhere else. Besides, the Rooks were very helpful.

“I really hope Evie will never know about it” the Assassin smiled, trying to lighten up a little.

“She will kill you if she does. How could you be so reckless and let them stab you that badly?” you asked reproachfully. After all you were worried about him.

“First of all I didn't even know I was stabbed” he admitted sheepishly.

“How is that possible?” you raised your eyebrows. Sure, sometimes people didn't feel they were hurt because of an adrenaline, but this wound was serious, he should have known. Unless he simply ignored it.

“Do I look like I knew?”

“No, you don't look like you knew anything” you deadpanned. Time was passing painfully slowly. Jacob tried to joke with his Rooks how he hoped this incident won't ruin his reputation among them. You were just waiting.

Finally the knife was ready. You took it and told the Rooks to hold the Assassin very still and be extra careful. He could hurt both of you if he moved too rapidly. You took a deep breath to calm down, it was always stressful and you never liked that, causing someone's pain, even if it was necessary. You removed the knife that was stopping the bleeding and you slid the hot knife inside the wound to cauterise it and prevent also inner bleeding. The smell of burnt flesh filled your nostrils and the screams of pain were ringing in your ears. Jacob's body jerked, but the Rooks held him firmly, so he didn't do anything.

If that wasn't enough, the door opened and Evie Frye herself burst into the pub. There was no worse moment than this, when her brother's cries filled the room. She pushed through the Rooks until she reached the table. You removed the knife, the bleeding finally stopped and you sighed relieved.

“Jacob” you called firmly. “Hey” you slapped his cheek lightly, only to keep him awake. “Hold on. We're almost done, the worst part is over” you promised. He opened his eyes and the first what he saw was his sister.

“Evie? Great” the man muttered. “I'm dead” he whispered, closing his eyes. You knew he was conscious, his heavy breathing and face twisted in pain could tell you that.

“Shut up, idiot” she answered and you could swear her voice cracked. She made easier to bandage the wound by carefully lifting Jacob to the sitting position and leaning him against her chest. You two worked in silence, when you looked at her, you saw a deep worry and sadness on her face when she brushed her brother's hair, trying to comfort him. Even though she rarely showed it, she deeply cared about her twin and she loved him more than anything.

The Rooks took Jacob upstairs, to the owner's quarters, to let him rest, Evie followed them. You cleaned the mess and finished your beverage before you followed them either. When the Rooks had left, you told Evie everything that happened. After that, you've sat in silence for a while.

“I always knew he was reckless and stupid, but this is a whole new level of being an idiot” she said, never looking away from her brother. “When I was told he needed help, I thought it was something unimportant, maybe he was just drunk or got into the fight. And when I was near the pub, I heard him scream... it hurt, you know? I felt almost physical pain when I heard it, because I knew it was something very serious” her blue eyes shimmered with tears which didn't need much to fall on the freckled cheeks. Evie quickly wiped them with her sleeve.

“It's all right, you can cry if you want to” you said softly. “He's your brother after all. It's normal you feel sad when someone who you love suffers” you added, biting your lower lip.

“Are you saying that from your own experience?” she asked and you blushed lightly. Did she know? You couldn't tell.

“Yeah” you admitted. “Sort of.”

She didn't push. You didn't say. It was a conversation for another time.

You spent the night watching over Jacob, sleeping only when you were certain Evie wasn't. You didn't want to risk that you could sleep when the man would wake up. But he didn't, until the early morning. The female twin literally kicked you when she saw her brother stirring in his sleep. You quickly awakened, watching as he was waking up slowly.

“Jacob. Jake...” you called softly. You knew no one ever called him that, but you weren't thinking much that moment. “Look at me, baby. Look at me” you caressed his cheek to help him focus on you.

“(Y/n)?” he asked quietly, his low, sleepy voice made your heart skip a beat.

“That's it. How do you feel?”

“Terrible.”

“Here. Drink” Evie offered a glass of water. You two helped Jacob drink it.

“Thanks. I think I’m going to rest today” he decided when he was lying back on the pillow.

“You have no other option. We wouldn't let you get out of bed anyway” his sister said. The man took her hand and squeezed it gently.

“I'm sorry.”

“We'll talk about this later” Evie reciprocated the squeeze. “Now I need to go and you need to sleep. I leave you in the good hands” she smiled and left.

“She was worried about you, you know?” you said, looking at him. Jacob sighed.

“I do. And I'm impressed she took it so well. I don't know what would I do if the roles were reversed” he admitted. You didn't say anything, so he closed his eyes and after a while he was asleep again. Everything was calm and quiet.

You stirred, feeling a warm hand on your head. It was brushing your hair gently and carefully, trying to wake you up. Wait, when did you fall asleep? Your eyes fluttered open and you lifted your head. You were sitting on the floor by the bed, but you couldn't remember why did you decide to do that. You looked at Jacob whose hand stopped stroking your hair and laid on your cheek.

“Jacob? How are you?” you asked sleepily.

“Better than in the morning” he admitted. “The wound still hurts, but at least it doesn't bleed.”

“We'll see if it doesn't” you said, covering your mouth when you yawned and then you stood up, stretching your muscles. “Do you think you can stand up?”

“I hope so, because I need to use a bathroom.”

You giggled and helped him, but only a little. He was indeed in a better state than before, though he definitely needed a couple of days before he would be able to fight and free run. When the bathroom business was done, you undid the bandages to examine the wound and it looked pretty good. No fever, no reopening, no sign of infection. You redid the bandages for extra protection and helped your patient to get back to bed.

“What?” you asked finally after a long moment of silence.

“What "what"?” Jacob asked, trying to pretend he didn't know what you were asking about.

“You've been staring at me for a while. Do you want to say something or...?” you hesitated. He looked at you nervously.

“Actually... yes. Well, first of all thank you for patching me up of course and... I just wanted to ask... what you said in the morning...”

“I didn't say anything-” you tried to protest, but he interrupted you.

“You called me 'baby'.”

“Oh...” you blushed. You hoped maybe he didn't quite catch it. Well, he did.

“I thought... I hoped... that maybe... maybe that meant something” the man looked at you sheepishly. For the first time you noticed how adorable he was. His cheeks had the same pink shade that probably had yours and under that whole brash gang leader facade was a very warm and sensitive heart. If you weren't already in love, you would fall for him this moment.

“I wasn’t thinking what I was saying. I cared only about you to be fine” you admitted. “But... do you want it to mean something?” you asked hesitantly.

“I do” he whispered. You gasped with surprise. He had many women around him, all willing to do anything to have his attention. Yet he chose to show some interest to you.

“I... I never expected that you... that maybe... ah, crap” you sighed, unable to find the right words. You took a deep breath, trying to form a coherent utterance. “I've fell for you some time ago” you blurted out, blushing hard and unable to look him in the eye. “I never said anything, because I was certain you didn't feel the same way. After all, you could have anyone you wanted. A very few women and not straight men would decline. I just thought I have no chance, I'm neither beautiful nor useful. Why would you show any interest in me?” you shrugged, smiling sadly.

“You caught my attention a long time ago. We were liberating children from one of the factories and you casually walked by. When you saw us, you didn't think much, you rushed to help the children. Then you did the same when I made this explosion...” he hesitated. You could see he still felt guilty about it.

“It's okay, the children survived. They wouldn't if you didn't come back though” you reassured him. You knew of course he caused the "accident", you've seen him around the building before it exploded, but you knew everyone makes mistakes.

“But the thought I let it happen because Roth...” Jacob closed his eyes and shook his head, tryingto get rid of his memories. You had heard of Maxwell Roth, how important he was for Jacob. You had been even told that things were pretty serious, someone even dared to say they were in love. Everything was a deep secret of course, but that was how you realized Jacob was attracted to both women and men. “Anyway. I started to ask my Rooks about you and they told me you don't want to join us, but you want to help. And I must admit, your medical skills are something we could use. I kept telling everyone and myself that I want your skills, but one day I realized I just want you. When you casually approached me last night and told me to undress, I was this close to obeying without a word” he chuckled, showing a half-inch space between his fingers.

“That would be interesting to watch” you chuckled too. A moment of silence fell between you before Jacob spoke.

“Would it... would it be too much to ask for a kiss?” he asked sheepishly and you couldn't help but laugh.

“I'm sorry, but I've just confessed I have feelings for you and you ask me if the most obvious thing you should do would be too much?” you looked at him amused. “You can be so cute sometimes.”

“Wha-” he tried to ask, but you leaned down and kissed him. Jacob kissed you back, snaking his arms around you.

None of you noticed Evie who stood by the door with the most "it's about time" impression ever.

#assassin's creed #jacob frye x reader #jacob frye #my fic

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alexrogersstark · 5 years ago

Text

My Baby Takes the Morning Train

Steve’s hand tightened around the cold metal bar as the elevator gave its first lurch and then sped higher and higher at a dizzyingly fast pace. He could swear he could hear a whirring of the air rushing past them outside and a nervous clench captured his stomach. He and machines never got along so well. Ma always used to joke he could break anything running on electricity with a single look.

A soft smile came to his face at the hazy memory, faded from years of disuse, and his hand continued to constrict as the elevator shot up; never knew when his luck might strike, Steve thought on a nervous huff of a near-laugh.

To his left, Steve felt more than saw Bucky shuffle, and the scrit-scratching of his shoe on the carpet started. Steve took it for the tell-tale sign that it was. The noise of a car gearing up, revving its engines.

He felt a tenseness begin its ascent up his shoulders as he glanced to his right.

The young man had settled in besides him right as the doors were closing. Well, more like slid in through a barely there slit and shoot a glare up towards the shiny, reflective ceiling like it had personally offended him. The man hadn’t so much as given them a cursory glance as he lodged next to Steve.

Steve eyed him, curiosity spiking in his gut. The young man’s nose was practically glued to the screen in front of him, a white reflection shining in round, clear glasses. Brown eyes shown, wild and excited beneath the frames lining them. There was a slightly wild twist to his dark brown hair that Steve suddenly wanted to capture in wild whips on a canvas.

Blinking, Steve realized he was staring, or, rather, openly gaping at the stranger. Glancing away, he caught a soft whiff of cherries circling his nose from the man’s direction, and Steve looked over again, captivated.

It was a good distraction. The fluttering in his stomach started to take the form of that nervousness he got whenever someone interesting caught his eye. The feeling, a swooping, thrilling sensation, was a little different, though. Stronger than any of those other times and easily overcoming his first day jitters.

He and Bucky had gotten the interviews via an old friend. An old co-worker of his mom’s who’d come to the funeral and given Steve peonies that made him think of the sunsets she used to enjoy. Steve couldn’t remember the gentleman’s name after his tour. There was a flicker of guilt there that Steve couldn’t quite place. From not remembering the name or for being so outwardly desperate and weak enough to need a man he barely knew anymore to offer them help.

Still. Stark Industries.

He couldn’t turn his nose up at such an offer; couldn’t afford to. Neither of them. Not after Bucky had been honorably-discharged and given a barely usable arm and a small wad of gauze to patch it up with. Not after the medical bay diagnosed Steve with PTSD and depression because of the mission that sent Bucky home and then the mission that cost Steve the rest of his team mere days later.

The only thing that greeted him when he came home were screams that echoed in his ears at night, lasting so long the line blurred and Steve couldn’t tell if the screams were his or theirs. Sometimes, he could still smell the dirt that coated his nose and skin so thick, they were almost another layer of skin. Or maybe a layer of armor. Armor that had done no good at protecting him from the gut-wrenching scent of gunpowder and burning skin.

The attack had been a surprise. It hadn’t been his fault. That’s what they’d told him, at least.

Steve took a deep breath in.

Cherries.

He glanced back to the right. Bucky had made some comment a moment ago, under his breath, about the young man’s choice of attire, adding on some tacky line about kids-these-days and getting-old-and-going-downhill. Steve smiled to himself. The man couldn’t be younger than twenty, and he and Bucky were only twenty-five. But he could understand that the outfit wasn’t the most professional of choices. Didn’t mean Steve didn’t appreciate and find the clothes absolutely stunning.

The man wore a sleek button up shirt absolutely surging with bright yellows and reds, buttons parting all the way down the man’s chest only to join back together just above his belly-button. The shirt was hanging open just enough for Steve to get a glimpse of a gorgeously lithe frame and a slight mottling of red, puffed skin at the center of the man’s chest. Like he’d been burned.

Steve wanted to reach forward and run his fingertips along the ridges. Find out if there was a way for him to make any lasting pain go away. And he couldn’t help but think how brave this man was to be showing something so personal so proudly.

Lord knew Steve didn’t have the guts to do that himself. There were thirty-eight missed calls, all contained in a little, red bubble, from doctors and pharmacists reminding him to make appointments and pick up medications he couldn’t afford and Bucky knew nothing about.

The front of the man’s shirt was tucked neatly into a tight pair of skinny jeans that left very little to the imagination. At the man’s ankles, the pants were folded up to show a glimmering patch of tan skin that disappeared into bright, white Oxfords.

His eyes stuttered up to find the young man staring back at him, phone dark in his hands. Steve quickly felt heat threaten to take over his entire face and forced it back. In a miracle of all miracles, despite Steve’s highly invasive checking-out of the man’s everything, he gave Steve a small smile.

Automatically, Steve smiled back, quickly looking away at the sight of that doe-eyed look from beneath sinuously long lashes.

On his right, Steve heard Bucky shift again, and Steve shot him a reproachful look. A warning he knew Bucky wouldn’t listen to. But, well, insanity and all that. However, a bored Bucky had never been good, and the returning mischievous grin only lent to Steve’s worry.

He stepped a little closer to the young man, furtively trying to put his body between the man and Bucky.

The man glanced up again and caught Steve’s eye. Steve gave another soft smile before swiveling his head to the ground to stare at his shoes. God. They weren’t nearly as nice as the man’s next to him. He frowned at one particular scruff over the faux-leather covering his big toe. From the corner of his eye, he thought he might have caught the man returning his smile, something Steve couldn’t quite place lurking in those amber eyes.

Steve felt the man’s continued gaze on him like a physical branding, leaving his skin hot and twitchy. Like the caress of a barely-there touch from calloused fingertips, and Steve had the wild thought of asking this man if he played violin or guitar. What had caused the callouses? The question seemed important for no other reason than he so desperately wanted to know.

Tilting his head back up, their eyes instantly snapped to one another’s. This time, Steve could clearly make out something akin to confusion swimming through flecks of deep greens and golds. He got the distinct impression that he was being asked some silent question he couldn’t possibly hope to answer.

He sent another shy smile the man’s way and then looked down again.

Bucky cleared his throat, and Steve suddenly had to close his eyes and pull in a slow, deep breath. The scent of cherries calmed over his nerves. He wanted to give the man some kind of warning, but Steve was pretty sure saying, “Sorry that my best friend is probably about to make the rest of this elevator ride miserable and uncomfortable for the both of us because he’s bored,” was grounds for ending whatever they were doing with their game of eye-tag. He found he really, really didn’t want that.

Steve raised his chin, watching the man immediately train his focus on Steve. An unsure smile crossed the man’s pink lips, and there was a startled quality to it. Like he wasn’t used to whatever it was that they were doing.

Sending the man a sheepish grin, Steve realized it was the only warning he was willing to risk.

“So who are you?” Bucky finally spoke up from behind Steve. He felt Bucky shift so that he was leaning around Steve’s own bulk to get a look at the man himself. There was an odd undercurrent to his words that only came about when Bucky sensed Steve liked the fella he was talking to.

The man’s eyes widened a fraction, and there was a sudden quirk to his lips that seemed bemused. Steve felt his knees go a little weak.

Tilting his head, the man’s eyes darted to Steve’s for a moment before returning to Bucky. “You don’t know?” he asked.

Steve shook his head, and Bucky let out an unimpressed grunt. “Sorry,” he told the man, shooting Bucky a glare. “Are we- um, should we? Know you, that is? Should we know you? It’s- I, uh, sorry. It’s our first day here.” He wanted to smack himself in the face. Stupid! he thought to himself.

The man turned back towards him, eyes searching his. Steve thought he could make out something soft in the look.

His skin heated up even more, and Steve knew the blush was definitely covering the back of his neck, now. Steve reached up, rubbing at it self-consciously. He’d always hated how obvious he was.

Clearing his throat, he looked up at the man even though Steve had almost a foot on him. “Sorry,” he said, voice quiet in the cool air around them.

The young man shifted from foot to foot as he stared up at Steve with wide eyes. He mimicked Steve’s posture by resting a hand on the back of his own neck, and Steve wondered if he’d realized he’d done that. A moment later, he seemed to, pulling it away and letting it land at his side with a gentle smack.

“No no,” he murmured, and glanced away only to glance back a second later. “It was a-a stupid, silly question to ask anyway. Should’t’ve…” He shook his head.

Steve opened his mouth to reply when Bucky cut in. “You some bigshot?” he questioned, barely avoiding Steve’s well-aimed elbow-shot towards his torso.

The man’s gaze left Steve’s in favor of Bucky, and Steve felt the instant loss. It was like the elevator had gotten colder somehow.

He seemed to eye Bucky with curiosity as well. “I suppose that would be up to who you ask. Are you some bigshot?” he retorted smoothly.

“Went to Columbia University and graduated top of our class,” Bucky said, a hint of pride there that was innocent enough. “Joined the army, did a couple tours. How ‘bout you? Where’d you go to school? Are you still in school? You look a little young to be working for Stark Industries.”

The man’s eyes flickered to Steve for a second. The look was similar to all the one’s he’d received whenever he mentioned he was a veteran. A mixture of pride and respect and honor Steve never felt he deserved. But this look was also vastly different. This look didn’t make Steve squirm in discomfort, and he felt a sense of pride wash over him. He liked the look in those eyes, and it made him proud that he’d been the one to put that there.

“I went to a private school out of state,” the man said, looking back to Bucky. “I doubt you’ve heard of it.” And a thrill shot through Steve when he watched the man’s long, lean fingers twist into a cross, black fingernails gleaming in the fluorescent lighting shining against titanium floors. A smile came to Steve’s lips, one of the most genuine ones he’d felt since coming back to the States. It was like he was in on some private joke, and he was suddenly aware that this man has no problem playing the game Bucky had set up for them.

“And you’re right. I don’t, well, I honestly don’t exactly work for S.I.” he said, phrasing it as an admittance.

Steve let the tenseness leave his shoulders. Whoever this man was, Steve could tell he had what it took to deal with Bucky. He even suspected the man might just come out on top.

It’d be nice, he thought wistfully. Bucky always had this tendency to get them into trouble with the combination of his mouth and his boredom. He never meant anything by it, and by the end of most of his escapades, Bucky had won himself two black eyes and three new friends.

Steve flashed back to the crouched posture and inability to walk after Bucky had first met and spoke to Natasha. Now the two were inseparable – Bucky was even starting to look at rings. But Bucky had this way about him, and a part of Steve thought it was a little unfair. Bucky could make friends with anyone at any time. He was the life of the party, and he knew how to play his cards exactly right to keep them out of any real trouble.

There was visible amusement in the man’s posture as he folded his arms and squinted up at Bucky. Steve worked harder to fight his smile. The upward bend of the man’s spine as he placed his hands firmly on his hips, a narrowed, challenging look on his face; Steve thought Natasha would adore this man. He looked like he was about to chastise a child.

Maybe he’s just as bored as Bucky, Steve thought.

“So what are you doing here, kid?” Bucky asked, smirking as his eyes went wide as if he was genuinely curious.

Around him, Steve heard the whirring of the elevator come to a stall. It slowed and came to a halt, the light above the doors stopping and blinking once, twice above the black letters of 23. The doors opened and both Bucky and the man looked towards them. Sounds of amused chatter reached Steve’s ears, and Bucky began to step out. Steve followed, glancing at the man as he passed. Those impossibly large and round brown eyes beamed up at him. Steve wondered if he was beaming back just as goofily.

When they stepped off, Bucky looked back towards the man with a raised brow. Steve twitched as the noise came to a quick stop. Everyone’s heads raised and pointing towards them.

Steve glanced back as well, watching the guy strut out, raising his head like a pleased cat who’d just killed its prey. He trotted past them, giving Bucky a smirk.

“Good morning, everyone!” he greeted cheerfully. “I’m sure you’re all wondering what I’m doing down here in the design team’s department, but Miss Potts has decided I need to work on my ‘human resource skills,’” he said, fingers coming up to add air quotes to his statement. “Thus, today's introduction of our two newest members of the Stark Industry’s Graphic Design Department.”

Intrigue buzzed through Steve’s mind the more the guy talked, shock beginning to course through him as he started putting pieces of the puzzle together.

Whirling around on his heal, the man held out his hand towards Bucky. “This is…” he paused, waiting.

“Uh,” Bucky grunted, shooting Steve a confused look.

But Steve got it, and the man did look vaguely familiar now that he thought about it. He could see the headlines that described the deaths of Maria and Howard Stark, and the picture of a very young boy trying to grieve his parents in peace. Hear the other soldiers rage and rant when they were told that the now young man had put a stop to his company’s weapons manufacturing after being kidnapped for three months. Could feel the pride and admiration for that decision when an S.I. bomb came barreling towards the Howling Commandos.

Because this was Tony Stark. The kid who’d grown up in the spotlight. The one Steve used to judge when he was younger until his mom had chastised him on the rudeness that came with his unwillingness to find understanding and empathy for someone he knew absolutely nothing about. The one who Steve had started to admire for his bravery and generosity and genius as he grew up. The one who Steve used to pray would end up okay because he’d thought he understood, then. Just a little.

“James Barnes,” Bucky eventually finished, turning back towards the man in the elevator. The man who’d asked, “You don’t know?”

“Barnes,” Tony Stark purred, turning back to face the room. “Mr. Barnes, here, is going to be our newest errand boy!” He clapped his hands excitedly, and there was a murmur of amused chuckles. Steve thought he saw a fist pump lowly in the air from a man sitting in the back of the room. A worry filled him as Steve thought of Bucky’s arm, but before he could say anything, Mr. Stark said, “Sorry, Gerry. You’re gonna have to stay on the team and help with some of the heavy lifting. Most of it, actually; don’t think I’ve forgotten what you said to me on your first day. Mr. Barnes!” he snapped. “I know you could probably bench press Gerry, here, but I need you to make him do most of the work, capisce? So, even though it’s your first day, I’m promoting you to Senior errand boy. But, you are still an errand boy, Mr. Columbia.”

And then there was that swelling in Steve’s chest, warm and dizzying and constricting his every breath. Mr. Stark turned to him, and Steve saw a minuscule, barely-there shift in the man’s eyes as he looked at Steve and asked a name.

Those eyes seemed to pin him in place, and Steve wondered, hoped, prayed, that the man with the beautiful brown eyes and breath-taking smile was just as struck as he was. A name. A name shouldn’t seem like such a monumental thing to give.

Somehow it was.

“Steve,” he said on an exhale, and he hoped his voice didn’t come out as breathless as it sounded to his own ears. “Steve Rogers.” And suddenly he could see their entire lives flashing before his eyes. He wanted to laugh; ever the hopeful romantic, Bucky and his ma would always say, but there was a realness to this strong pull tugging him towards the man a few small feet in front of him. Could see the flashes of a life he hadn’t had, yet, but as Steve watched scenes in his head the way a child looks at a stick figure flipbook, he wondered, How can it not be real? Each scene, each drawing, singular and captivating all combined to create this entire story of them. Two people who knew nothing about each other but knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that one day they’d know more than anyone else ever would.

Steve could see it. Could see waking up with an armful of long, thin limbs and slipping out from underneath a warm body and a couple covers to start the coffee machine and possibly get a run in before the day started and he’d be forced to part ways. Holding a trembling body as news reels spread something horrid and heartbreaking across millions of people’s screens. Being held in a tight embrace after a particularly difficult day where past and present blurred and left him practically incoherent. Watching television on the couch and ignoring all that extra room to the right. Making a mess of the kitchen, but coming out with an edible feast to announce to friends plans of moving in together. Looking for rings and hearing a yes to a question Steve couldn’t even finish because there was too much excitement. Standing in a tux and saying, “I do.” Playdates at Natasha’s and Bucky’s house because they had the pool. Looking at colleges and attending weddings as Fathers of the Groom and Bride. Two rickety old rocking chairs that Steve remembered from browned and torn photographs with now-softened edges holding a familiar couple sitting in each one, reaching across the distance to hold hands in the front of his childhood home. Chairs he would dig out from the storage unit he’d always refuse to give up because he could never bring himself to throw away his parent’s things. Sitting those chairs on a deck up in the mountains because it was time to escape the city and pass on legacies, and taking a similar picture to pass down to his kids.

In a manner of seconds, in flashes where Steve could practically taste the kisses, feel the skin beneath his hands, hear the laughter, see the crow’s feet… smell the cherries. Like a light, guiding him, calling him back home, and Steve was incapable of not following – he doubted there had even been much of a choice – because he hadn’t been home. Not in years, really. Not since his mom passed away.

“Steve,” Mr. Stark repeated, and Steve knew there was no way to mistake the odd softness to the tone. Said low in a way that made him wonder if anyone else heard it. Heard the way his name seemed to hitch over Mr. Stark’s tongue, and roll off ever so slowly. Steve wondered how his name tasted. If it was good. If Tony Stark liked saying it as much as Steve liked hearing it. Mr. Stark cleared his throat, turning haltingly to face the room again. “And if you’ll all be so kind as to show Mr. Rogers the ropes. I…” he cleared his throat again, peaking at Steve as he continued. “I hear he’s got more talent and dedication than most.”

Mr. Stark moved away, then, and Steve had to physically push down the urge to follow. He stared after the man nonetheless, ignoring the people walking up to greet and welcome them with kind smiles and heartfelt hellos.

Tony Stark turned back exactly once, locking his gaze on Steve’s on last time. Steve let the soothing warmth of rightness utterly inflate throughout his entire body, making his skin tingle. He could barely breathe past it. Then the eyes were gone, going downcast towards the floor as Mr. Stark reached the door. Steve caught the smile, though, curving over those rosy lips, the faint blush on olive cheeks.

The feeling continued to swell as the door swung closed.

A hand clapped Steve’s shoulder, and he startled at the reminder that there were other people in the room. Bucky was looking at him, eyes darting around Steve’s face for a sign of something.

Steve couldn’t help it. He let out a laugh, tossing his arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “You have to admit, he won that one. And you kind of deserved it,” Steve pointed out, feeling fond and exasperated and completely, utterly, insanely overjoyed all at once.

@->-- Alex Rogers-Stark --<-@

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aurelacs · 5 years ago

Text

Ten of Wands

An Ezra/F!OC Red Dead Redemption AU

WORD COUNT: 3.6k

CONTENT: mentions of spousal abuse, character introductions, setting the scene

A/N: Here goes! My first multi-chapter fic! I’m not sure how frequently I’ll be able to update because of work, but I do have it all planned out. This is set in the Red Dead Redemption universe, however there’s no spoilers for either game, and you don’t need to have prior knowledge of the games to understand the fic. I’m just using RDR for the setting and the time period (1899). Hope you enjoy!

chapter list | masterlist | read on AO3

I. Temperance

In terms of nightmares, it wasn’t the worst Annie’s had: screaming for her life as she frantically stumbled through her minuscule cottage, trying to avoid her husband and his wrath. He was holding a knife, always the one he used to break down deer, a gift from his father. He was always walking so slowly that if she wasn’t stuck in her mind, she would have no trouble running out the door and far away from him. She always walked slower, stuck in an invisible molasses as her husband encroached, ever closer. The doors were locked, the furniture sturdily held in place, so she couldn’t move anything to block his path. On bad nights, he reached her; the engraved handle of his butcher knife glinting in the afternoon sunlight before coming down and waking her. Good nights, like tonight, were the ones where she managed to wake up before he caught her, or somehow opened the door and ran, far, far away, leaving her husband in the dust.

Neither of them were reflections of what actually happened.

Her husband did chase Annie around the house with his favorite knife. He had called her a ‘wasteful wretch’ for using up his last hunt too quickly. He had hurt her before, threatened her, but never like this. Unlike her dreams, however, their cottage actually had a small set of stairs that led to their bedroom, where she grabbed the shotgun he kept under the bed, and fired. Annie’s dreams never made her rewatch her husband’s lifeless body crumble down the stairs. She knew, somewhere, deep in the back of her mind, that the law wouldn’t look favorably upon her; would take no sympathy in her story or her situation, and would gladly see her hang. So she ran.

For three months, Annie wasn’t sure if she was even wanted. She and her husband lived far enough from the nearest town that if neither of them weren’t seen for a couple weeks, it wasn’t out of place. She indulged in the delusion that maybe his body would never be found. No one would miss him. When she left their cottage, she cut her hair and wore her husband's clothes in an attempt to disguise herself. She didn’t call herself Annie. If people asked, she had never been married, had no suitors of which to speak. Annie figured she could lay low for a couple more months before trying to return to some sort of normalcy. In the local saloon, she had overheard a couple people talking about a ranch outside of Armadillo that was always hiring. It seemed like a promising lead but a stagecoach was too expensive, and the trains were notorious for keeping the law on board in case of outlaws.

Initially, she thought she was safe in Valentine. It was a decent sized town that took a couple days from her home to reach, far enough that Annie thought she could safely let the mental pictures of her husband and home bleed away. The people were quiet and mostly kept to themselves. No one seemed to blink an eye when she attempted to interject herself into the day to day. Annie would ask around for small jobs, taking what she could when she could. She did her best to keep her head down. It wasn’t until one day, as she was passing by the sheriff’s office, that she saw the notice board. Annie’s blood ran cold as her eyes frantically scanned the ‘wanted’ poster bearing her likeness.

WANTED

ANNIE GRAY NÉE COBB

BOUNTY : $50

FOR: MURDER AND EVADING THE LAW

CONSIDERED ARMED AND DANGEROUS

WANTED ALIVE FOR QUESTIONING

The site of the poster overwhelmed her with nausea to the point where she sincerely thought she would throw up in front of the sheriff. Annie chose to bury her grief and guilt, to let it fester in her stomach until it eventually ate her from the inside and left her for dead. It’s how she wanted it. Seeing the wanted poster forced the images of her husband at the bottom of the stairs back into the forefront of her mind. She knew she killed her husband. She knew this was what she deserved, and yet she didn’t want to confront it. The months she had spent in Valentine, she played the part she wanted to have. Not the one of the self-inflicted widow, but of the resilient wife who couldn’t take her husband’s abuse any longer. Annie liked to pretend that her husband was still alive. A defense mechanism to keep the bile at bay. She loved her husband. Loved him when he first courted her, loved him when they got married, loved him when he told her she couldn’t write to her mother anymore and beat her when he found out. When he spat out her cooking. When she couldn’t bear him children. When his face twisted itself in hatred as she greeted him after a day of hunting. Loved him so much that when she fired the shotgun into his chest and killed him she couldn’t find it within herself to scream.

Annie could feel the sweat beading on her forehead. She searched frantically, made sure no one was watching as she ripped the poster off the notice board and stuffed it into her satchel. Hopefully it hadn’t been up for long and if anyone realized the poster was missing, they would assume a bounty hunter had accepted the task. The situation sent Annie so off-kilter that she opted not to find work for the day, and instead made the trek directly back to her camp. She slept, the stress somehow managing to quiet her racing mind. She dreamt not of her husband or their home, but of a stagecoach passing through a dusty town full of tumbleweeds that smelled of horse manure. Her coach passed by a sign that read “Welcome to Armadillo.” Annie took it as fate. She would find her respite two states away no matter the cost. The sooner she left, the harder it would be for bounty hunters to track her, and the faster she would be able to raise the money to pay it off.

The morning sun warmed Annie’s face as she rose the next day. She stamped out her fire and packed up her tent, wrapping it into her bedroll and strapping it onto her back. Her husband’s shotgun slung comfortably over her shoulder. She had settled on her plan while she slept, not just to go to Armadillo, but how to afford it as well. The intent, as foolish as it was, was to rob Valentine’s general store of money and provisions, and perhaps a horse from the stable across the way. She felt herself somewhat justified with the act. Annie wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t necessary. It’s not like she would be hurting the shopkeeper, just scaring him into giving her the money. In the back of her mind she even managed to convince herself that she would find a way to bring back the horse.

Annie’s camp was an hour walk outside of Valentine, and with every step she took closer to the sleepy town, she felt her confidence wane. Her mind raced with every way her plan could go wrong. The law would be alerted, and they would laugh at her before dragging her into the sheriff’s office. They would mock how her bounty poster claimed she was dangerous. Maybe they would release her with the thought that there was no way this was the same woman. Who could kill a man but not rob a store? If that did happen, she resolved that she would neither kick, nor scream, nor demand penance. The guilt still weighed heavy on her shoulders. She knew she deserved a noose, but was afraid to face it. But if she was caught, who was she to deny fate?

Valentine appeared suddenly, expanding over the horizon like a threat. Doubt creeped in further. She could turn back. Perhaps Armadillo was closer than she thought, and the stagecoach was a luxury meant for the rich and the lazy. She could just steal the horse. The stable was the first thing she passed as she walked into town, it was easy enough. Her legs continued to carry her. Annie kept the shotgun slung over her shoulder as she walked toward the store, greeting those who walked by her. No one seemed suspicious of her as she continued to tread, her paces slowing as she finally approached the old wooden steps that lead to her goal. In the morning light, they still managed to appear a dark, foreboding mountain that she had to climb. They creaked as she walked up until she was flush with the door. It was metal, painted white, with a screen to keep errant bugs from flying in and ruining the fresh produce that was sold inside. Annie prayed that it was locked, or that the store was closed for the day, but as she focused in, she could faintly hear talking from behind the door. She recognized the shopkeeper’s voice.

Annie took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and kicked open the entrance to the general store, her husband’s shotgun aimed toward where she thought the shopkeeper might be. When she opened her eyes, she was greeted by the elderly shopkeeper’s horrified face: a ghostly white that made her fear that he was about to faint. To his left was another gentleman, his face a combination of annoyed and... amused? His left arm was resting on the counter. In his hand was a pistol that gleamed in the sunlight that shone through the shop’s window, and Annie could just see the delicate engravings in the barrel. The man seemed out of place for Valentine, doubly so for an outlaw.

Her first thought was that he looked nothing like her husband.

He stood nearly at her husband’s height, but he stood up straight, like he had less burden to carry. He was well groomed, too. His beard was closely trimmed, enough to keep the definition of his jaw intact and still slightly mask the two small patches on either side of his chin. The hair poking out from under his derby hat looked a little wiley, and Annie could see a small tuft of blonde sticking out from under the brim. There was a youthful look in his eyes that betrayed the wrinkles on his forehead and the ones by his eyes. His clothes looked fresh as well, save for the mud that caked his shoes and the hem of his pants, a rarity in a ranch town like Valentine. Even more perplexing was the faint scar that traced over the cushion of his cheek. The man’s accent was distinctly Southern.

“I do believe you are interrupting my robbery.”

His voice interrupted her thoughts. It felt like the first time Annie had looked upon a man since she married her husband. He felt like an outsider to her, despite being an outsider herself. All the while the shopkeeper still managed to stand, hands still in the air, eyes back to focusing on the man’s intricate pistol. Once the gravity of what was in front of her sunk in, Annie panicked. He was the last thing that stood between her and Armadillo. Every extra second she wasted in the store without the money in her hand was a second the law could use to catch up to her. To find her. To kill her. If the law was going to catch her, she didn’t want a robbery charge on her as well. Annie mustered up more courage, more voice, than she had had in months.

“No. I think you’re interrupting mine.”

The man seemed stunned, but the look of amusion still sat on his face, almost like he enjoyed the situation. This was a funny joke someone was telling at the saloon across the street, not a real life occurrence. Or perhaps that’s how those kinds of jokes came to life. The man tucked his pistol into its holster and bowed, his arms held out wide and gesturing to the shopkeeper. Annie swallowed, hard. The barrel of the shotgun trembled with her as she slowly crept closer to the old man. She wasn’t sure who was shaking harder.

“I-I need the money.”

His trembling hands impeded the speed at which the shopkeeper could open up his small, black till. He almost dropped some of the bills as he handed them to Annie, who stuffed them into her satchel, shotgun still poised at his chest. The amount didn’t seem like much, but by Annie’s estimation it felt like enough to get her a stagecoach to Strawberry. Her heart seized in her chest. It wasn’t that great of a distance between her and her home, but it was a start. And Strawberry had a small hotel with baths and rooms. When she believed the ordeal to be over, she lowered her weapon, forgetting about the man that almost beat her to her ticket out, until she heard the click of a pistol being cocked.

“Now, now, little bird. Do you or do you not agree that I am entitled to some of your newfound, bounteous wealth.” Annie found herself staring down the barrel of his gun. He still had the same smirk on his face. No, no, no. This man had been a thorn in her side for longer than she had the patience. Maybe it would be easier to die here. Maybe it would be easier to kill, now that she’s had the experience. Before Annie could raise her gun, she saw the man’s eyes flick to an area behind the shopkeeper. She could make out what looked like a back closet with a door.

“It seems as though we are at an impasse. Perhaps we could discuss this stalemate elsewhere, away from prying eyes.”

She got the hint. The man stepped to the side to let Annie pass behind the counter. She could still feel his gun trained on her as she walked toward the area. The shopkeeper followed the two with his eyes as Annie opened the door. It led outside and the man slammed it shut behind him.

“If you want to make it out of this town all creamy, I suggest you follow my lead.”

The man took one of Annie’s arms and pinned it behind her back. With his other hand, he pressed his pistol into the middle of back and pushed her forward.

“I am not going to shoot you, that I can promise. Act natural.”

They walked in tandem through the back throughway of the shops. Nearby, Annie heard what she assumed was the shopkeeper scream. A shrill whistle sounded in the distance, and the man picked up his pace, urging her forward as well. To passersby, they looked like a couple walking unreasonably close to each other. Annie spotted a horse hitched on a post next to the auction yard that she assumed was the man’s. She figured he would kill her there and take the money when the rumbling of hoofbeats interrupted her thoughts.

“Stop right there.” A posse of five men formed a semi-circle in front of them. Each one had a repeater trained in their direction. The fear that built up in Annie was enough to make her scream, but the feeling of the man pressing the gun to her head silenced her. “You’ve been accused of robbery. If you surrender now, we won’t shoot.”

The silence rippled through the grass. Annie was ready to surrender now, to submit to the pain she earned. The tension flooded her veins and she wanted to break from his grasp. She had no reason to trust his word, but no reason to not trust him, either.

“Gentlemen, let’s be reasonable. There is no reason as to why you would put an innocent, young woman at risk.” The barrel felt cold against the heated skin of her temple. “If you let me leave, I swear you will never see my face again in Valentine, and the lady will be brought back with nary a scratch.” He pointed the pistol at the group of men. “However if I leave, and I sense that one of you is following me, I will ensure that Hell rains upon this little shitheap of a town, and she will be the first to go.”

Annie could feel his heart race against her back. It betrayed the confidence that his voice exuded. His breaths, when not speaking, were shaky. When the posse did nothing but stare silently at him, he began to gently pull against Annie and walked backwards. He kept his eyes trained on the men until he realized he had backed into his horse. Slowly, he let go of her arm.

“Get on, on the front,” he mumbled, outstretching his newly freed hand to assist her up. Annie scooched forward on the saddle to make room. She watched as he unhitched the horse and hopped on behind her. “I have camp set up by the falls,” he whispered in her ear. “We’ll ride and discuss our little predicament there.” He set his horse into motion, still checking on the posse behind him. To her surprise, they weren’t following them.

“They will most likely wait for a spell before tracking us, but we’ll be long gone before they are able to find where I set up,” he said, as if reading her mind.

The man, who introduced himself as Ezra, had his camp set up by Cumberland Falls, along the Dakota River. By the looks of it, he was in the same situation as Annie. The camp looked lived in. The grass around the fire pit was colorless from the smoke. His bedroll was adjusted in an odd position in his tent that was most likely meant to keep the rising sun out of his eyes. He had even set up a small post to hitch his horse. Ezra insisted on getting off the horse first, and helping Annie off by outstretching his hand once more. He waited until she had sat herself on her own bedroll before speaking.

“Now, little bird, do you mind telling me how you interrupted my robbery back there?” There was no anger in his voice, but the annoyance permeated throughout.

Annie remained silent. She picked at her ragged cuticles and clutched her satchel closer to her chest.

“I do not like to be made a fool.” Her silence vexed him. He crouched down next to her, close enough that when she looked over at him, she could count the moles that freckled his neck and chest. “And I need that money.” That struck a chord in her.

“I need it more.”

He made a face, the corners of his lips pulling down and his eyebrows rising. “That is. A fair assumption. However, I spent weeks planning that robbery, so I do believe I am entitled to my due share. Half, at least. I will not accept a penny less.”

Annie reached into her satchel and counted the bills. Fourteen dollars. It felt like so much and so little at the same time. Fourteen was more than enough to get her to Strawberry, maybe even Blackwater with some persuasion. Seven would get her to Strawberry, but immediately leave her in the same position she’s in now, possibly even worse off if the shopkeeper told the law that it was in fact she that robbed him.

“Maybe we can come to a compromise.”

Ezra scoffed. “I don’t think you’re in the position to be negotiating-”

“Without me, those men would’ve shot you dead.”

“And without me, you would have left that store with your tail between your legs and not a cent to your name. The last thing I expected to see in all of New Hanover is a woman trying to be an outlaw. Do you mind telling me what had you so inclined to ruin all of my hard work?”

Annie hesitated. What could she get away with telling him? If Ezra needed the money as much as she did, telling him about her husband would lead to him turning her in for her bounty. Fifty dollars was a lot of money for anyone, even for outlaws who were so meticulous as to spend weeks planning a robbery. She thought about lying, telling Ezra that she was on the run from her husband, banking on whatever sympathy he might have.

“I need to get to Armadillo.”

Ezra burst into a fit of laughter that knocked him back into the grass. It was the only sound the river carried through the air around them. As he continued to laugh, Annie grew more cautious. The thoughts of all the times her husband acted the same way before exploding on her ran through her mind, and she began to crawl backwards away from him. His horse was too far to reach without him catching her. She could run right now and keep the money.

“Where are you going, birdie? I am merely laughing at the serendipity of our shared quandary.” He stood up and brushed the grass off the seat of his pants. “I, too, have dealings in Armadillo that need to be tended. It is why I found myself in Valentine in the first place. Admittedly, I have many dealings in many places, but if you need to get to Armadillo, I can oblige. That is, if you would allow me.”

Annie honestly, truly, couldn’t believe her luck. She was flummoxed at the prospect of a man so easily and willingly wanting to help her. There was a worry, in the back of her mind, that he might eventually exploit this. But for now, she let the concern pass. Armadillo, for the first time, seemed within reach.

They shook hands, and silently agreed on a deal.

Tag List: @immundusspiritu @borderlinedindjarin @aforces

#ezra prospect #ezra x oc #pedro pascal #my fic

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wistfulcynic · 5 years ago

Text

abandon

@kmomof4 I wrote this for your birthday, but since I STRONGLY SUSPECT that you will have many birthday fics to read tomorrow I thought I’d post it early to celebrate you getting your stitches out. Congratulations on being one step closer to a fully functioning hand! Have 6k words of Neverland sex-pollen smut! 🤣🤣

Seriously, though, thank you for being such a great cheerleader for the fandom. Your real-time flails are a highlight for so many writers, and it’s been wonderful seeing you start writing yourself! I am soooo looking forward to what you have planned for CSSNS next year! And of course I personally have loved getting to know you over the past year. You are a lovely person and a great friend, and I wish you the happiest of birthdays (a few hours early) (but it’s already the 15th here, so...) ❤️❤️❤️

Summary: “Neverland sex-pollen smut” pretty much covers it. Set post-Dark Hollow, Emma and Hook get separated from Neal and encounter some unfamiliar flowers.

(Just to be very clear there is NO dub-con here. It’s not that kind of sex pollen.)

Words: 6k Rating: E Tags: smut, sex pollen, PWP, Neverland

On AO3

abandon:

“What’s that?” Emma pointed to the patch of tall, dark red flowers just to their left. Hook frowned.

“I don’t know,” he said, the first time he’d ever not had an answer for one of her what-the-actual-fuck-is-the-deal-with-this-nightmare-place questions.

“You don’t know?” He shrugged. “You don’t know. How many years did you spend here again?”

Hook rolled his eyes. “I’ve told you before that much has changed in Neverland since I left. I never encountered these flowers during my time here. I suggest we steer well clear of them.”

“Agreed,” said Emma, and turned back to the path… to find more of the flowers waiting for her. “What the—”

“That bloody demon,” snarled Hook. “He’s playing with us.”

“What? Why?”

“Who knows why Pan does anything? Just making us dance to his piping is reason enough for him.” His expression was dark, frightening in a way it hadn’t been since before he’d turned his ship around and come back for them.

He really doesn’t like being manipulated. The stray thought flashed into Emma’s mind and and clung there as Hook gingerly reached out with his namesake to ease the flowers aside so they could continue along the path.

She took a step forward just as the flower caught in the hook seemed to cough and a shower of dust burst forth, covering both of them in a thin, faintly glittering layer. Her eyes flew to his face to check his reaction, ready to gauge the seriousness of the situation based on how he handled it. He seemed fairly calm and not in any obvious distress, she noted with relief, noticing also the way the dust clung to his eyelashes, how it highlighted his bone structure and the scruff along his jaw, how it sparkled in the hollow of his throat and the hair on his chest.

“God, you’re hot,” she said.

“Aye, the weather is oppressive here, but that is the least of our concerns—”

“No.” She felt the oddest desire to laugh. “No, it’s slang, it means… handsome.” She stumbled a bit over the word. “Attractive. Like I want to…” She reached up and brushed her fingertips over his chest, exposed by the open buttons of his shirt. His skin was warm, the hair softer than she’d expected. He caught his breath as she flattened her palm against him and she could feel his heart begin to pound. “I don’t know why I’m doing this,” she whispered.

“I do.” His voice was deeper than usual, rougher, and angry. “This is Pan’s game. The pollen from the flower must be making you do things you don’t want.”

“Oh, she wants,” said a taunting voice. They turned to see Pan lounging against a tree, arms crossed over his chest. Emma felt Hook tense, felt his hand come up to curl protectively around her waist. “That’s the point. The pollen doesn’t force you to do anything, it merely amplifies your existing desires. And dulls your inhibitions. Like good rum does. You should be familiar with that, Captain.”

Hook growled. “How long does it last?”

“Well you both got a good faceful of it so I’d say three, four hours at least. Have fun.” And with that, he was gone.

“Curse that wretched bloody child,” snarled Hook as his arm snaked around Emma’s waist, his hand fisting in her hair. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“Why?” She began to press kisses along his jaw, loving the way he shivered at her touch. His head dropped to nestle against her neck and he breathed deeply.

“Because I shouldn’t—I should let you go.”

“Do you want to let me go?” she murmured, pulling back to look at him. His eyes were dark and their expression made her thighs clench.

“No,” he whispered. “I don’t.”

His eyes fell closed on a soft exhale then as she watched his features shifted and hardened into a leer. When his eyes opened again he was the man who’d left her in Rumplestiltskin’s cell. “Shall I tell you what I want, Swan?” he asked, his voice low and harsh. “I want to rip every scrap of clothing from your body with my hook.” She caught her breath as he snagged the front of her shirt with the appendage in question, then let it trail up her chest to her neck, the point dragging lightly across her skin. “I want to mark you with it, and with my teeth,” he continued, “Marks on your soft skin that will last for days, and every time you see them you’ll think of me and remember what I did to you. I want to push you up against a tree and wrap your legs around my shoulders and I want to bury my face in your wet cunt—” Emma gasped and he smirked, his tongue tracing a glistening path along his lower lip “—and it will be wet, won’t it darling,” he purred, his voice dropping still lower as he leaned in close to her ear. “Positively dripping with how much you want me. I want to lick you, Emma, to tease you with my tongue and my teeth, work you up and hold you just on the edge until you beg me to let you finish, and then I want to thrust my cock up deep inside you and fuck you until you can’t take any more. I want to wreck you, Emma Swan.”

“You’re trying to shock me,” she said unsteadily, struggling to think over her pounding heart. “Trying to offend me so I’ll leave. But everything you said—” She hesitated, afraid of what this confession would reveal to him but so desperately turned on she was prepared to let him see it. She drew a shuddering breath and went for broke. “That’s what I want too, Hook. I’ve—I’ve had fantasies of you fucking me for a while now.”

The leer melted away, leaving him looking as wrecked as she felt and he groaned, shaking his head in denial even as he pulled her closer, as his lips traced a damp trail up her neck. “No,” he rasped, his breath hot against her skin. “It’s not what you want, it’s just the pollen making you—”

He broke off as Emma snapped open the clasps on his vest and pulled his shirt from his trousers, dragging her fingernails across his stomach as soon as it was bared. His skin was smooth and hot and he actually whimpered when she touched it, his muscles leaping beneath her hand and making her dizzy with lust. “You heard Pan, the pollen doesn’t force us to do anything,” she breathed, then leaned in and sucked hard on his collarbone. He wasn’t the only one who could leave marks. “It just takes away our reasons not to.”

“They’re good reasons, though,” he muttered into her hair as his own hand quested beneath her shirt to close over her breast. His thumb caressed her nipple and his hooked arm was tight around her hips. “I couldn’t bear it if you had regrets… after.”

“I won’t.”

“How could you not?” His voice was raw now, and Emma had the fleeting thought that he might be as exposed as she.

“Hook, please.” She tried to keep the neediness from her own voice. Without success. “I promise I won’t blame you for this, none of it is anyone’s fault but Pan’s, I just—please.” She met his gaze imploringly. “I need you to touch me.”

He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes boring into her, dark and desperate. Finally, he nodded. “Come with me.”

He took her hand and pulled her back in the direction of the Dark Hollow, turning just before they reached it and heading down a small hill towards a thick copse of trees. He didn’t hesitate, pushing through the dense foliage and into a clearing where a small pond lay rippling gently in the breeze.

A breeze. Emma had almost forgotten what they felt like. She sighed and lifted her hair off her neck to let the cool air caress her sweaty skin. Hook watched her with hooded eyes, his hand clenching and unclenching into a fist.

“Emma,” he said harshly. “Are you sure about this? If you choose to walk away I won’t follow you.”

His shirt and vest were hanging open, and she could see the rising and falling of his chest as he fought to keep his breathing steady. She could see the effort his restraint was costing him, the sweat trickling down his temple despite the breeze, his eyes so dilated the blue was barely visible. Their kiss the day before had rocked her more than she cared to admit, but she wasn’t sure she was ready for this, ready to deal with her attraction to him or what it might mean.

And he was giving her an out. He wasn’t lying when he said he wouldn’t follow her but Emma was ashamed to admit to herself that she almost wished he would. If he tried to force her she could push him away, but this—this being the gentleman he always claimed he was… this just made her want him more.

“I want to fuck you,” she admitted, “I have since the beanstalk. I don’t like this—” she wiped some pollen off her face “—or this stupid game of Pan’s any more than you do, but I want to know what it feels like to be with you.” With sure steps she closed the distance between them, pushed his coat, shirt, and vest off his shoulders in one go then trailed her hands down his chest, letting them come to rest just above the laces of his trousers. He was rock hard beneath those laces, and his breath in her ear was ragged. “Show me what you’ve got, pirate.”

With a growl he pounced and swept her up into his arms, his mouth coming down hard on hers. They kissed frantically, all tongues and teeth and clawing hands; Emma was so caught up in pleasure that she didn’t notice they had moved until she felt rough bark against her back and gasped at the feel of it.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted you against a tree,” Hook murmured into her mouth. “Or that I’m bloody desperate to taste you. But what do you want, Swan? We have hours to fill, if the demon can be believed.”

“I—” Emma tried to make herself think. “I—”

“Tell me, love. What shall I do to you?”

Her head was spinning and her clit ached, and only one thing came to mind. “Just fuck me.” She ground her hips into his. “I just want your cock inside me. We’ll figure out the rest later.”

“Always so practical, Swan,” he said, sounding almost amused as his hand and hook tore at his trouser laces. “I bloody love that about you.”

Something fluttered in Emma at those words but she had no time to examine it; she barely had time to kick off her jeans before he was on her again, hoisting her up to wrap her legs around his waist. She threw her arms around his shoulders, gouging his skin with her nails as he buried his hook in the tree just above her head and slid inside her, groaning at the ease of the penetration.

“I knew you’d be dripping,” he growled in her ear as he thrust into her with deep, hard strokes. “Gods, you feel so bloody good. Better even than I imagined.”

He felt good too, thick and hard inside her, bigger than she’d imagined and oh yes, she had also imagined it. “You—oh fuck, yes, right there!—you imagined—this?”

“Darling, I have had the—filthiest fantasies—about you,” he breathed between thrusts. “Shall I tell you—about them? Many involve handcuffs—chains, perhaps—always you spread out beneath me—begging me to let you come—then me beneath you—with the same—plea—”

The tension was coiling tight in Emma now as his velvet voice roughened by lust wove intoxicating images in her mind.

“Both—ah, fuck—both sides, then?”

“I am a very—broad-minded man, love. Now come for me, darling—I know you’re close—come, Emma.”

Oh, she loved it when he said her name, even more now with his voice so completely wrecked by lust. She clenched around him, thrilling in the way he gasped, how his fingers dug into her thigh. He thrust harder, ground his pelvis against her clit and she came, harder than she could even have imagined possible.

She thought she may have screamed but she couldn’t be sure. The world was whirling around her, Hook was still moving inside her, still whispering filthy things in her ear—how good she felt squeezing his cock, how he was going to come deep inside her. Then he did, groaning her name into her hair, his cock pulsing as he pressed it into her one final time.

Emma drifted down slowly from her high, still held against the tree by Hook’s body, still touching him because the influence of the pollen was strong as ever and she wanted to. It was oddly freeing, this permission to do the things she had been dreaming about for far too long, she thought as she combed her fingers through his hair.

He seemed to feel the same way for a moment later he eased himself out of her, set her gently on her feet, then latched his mouth onto hers like he couldn’t go a second longer without kissing her. He ravished her mouth with a hard, wet kiss then dragged his lips down her neck and along her collarbone, leaving a damp trail with his tongue that caught the chill of the breeze and made her shiver. He couldn’t seem to keep his mouth off her skin, not even looking as he eased the tip of his hook beneath the straps of her shirt and bra and tugged them down to expose her breast. He trailed soft, damp kisses along the curve of it then licked her nipple roughly, and Emma felt lust begin to surge in her again.

Hook kissed his way down her torso, licking and nipping and sucking over her navel and down to her mound, nuzzling his nose into her curls. She felt the cool curve of his hook on the back of her thigh, gently easing her leg up over his shoulder, spreading her open for him.

“You smell bloody amazing,” he rasped, and the vibrations of his voice against her skin made her writhe. “Is this okay, love?”

“Yes!” She pressed herself against his face, hating the desperate eagerness in her voice but damn it, she really wanted to know if he could do more with his tongue than just talk.

He was as eager as she, growling in approval as he buried his face in her just as he’d promised, licking through her sensitive flesh in a slow, savouring caress that ended with the tip of his tongue pressed hard against her clit. Her hips bucked of their own volition and she moaned loudly.

“You like that?” he breathed against her.

“Yes,” she gasped, barely able to force out the word. “More.”

“As you wish.”

The strokes of his tongue grew rougher, licking deep through her folds and up inside her then out again to press hard circles against her clit that brought her just to the edge of bliss and held her there, held her taut and tormented as she made helpless pleading noises and clutched at his hair. His hook arm was wrapped around her leg, the sharp tip of it digging into her thigh as his fingers clutched at her ass so tightly they would surely leave bruises. He was as frantic as she, Emma realised somewhere deep in her consciousness. He loved this.

The thought of that—of Captain Hook on his knees in front of her, barely hanging on as he pleasured her with that smartass mouth of his—sent her careening over the edge. She definitely screamed this time, as waves of pleasure rolled through her and Hook sucked her clit between his teeth to draw them out.

When the last one had faded away he stood, catching her as she swayed on wobbly legs and pinning her to the tree to kiss her, hard and frantic, his tongue deep in her mouth so she could taste herself. She hummed in enjoyment but had no energy left to do much more than let him take what he wanted.

He broke the kiss just long enough to scoop her up in his arms and then his mouth was on her again, kissing her even as he carried her to the edge of the pond and laid her down a patch of soft, sandy ground. Stretching out beside her, he pulled off the tank top and bra that she was somehow still wearing. His touch was gentle and his movements careful but his cock was hard against her hip and his hand trembled as he eased her legs apart and sank it into her again. She angled her hips to take him in deeper and he groaned when he was fully seated, nipping at her neck as he began to move. He thrust slowly this time, long, deep strokes that kept her body humming despite how sated she felt and she sighed, relaxing into the sand and just enjoying the slick drag of him inside her until he came.

He collapsed against her, panting breaths hot in the crook of her neck. She wrapped her arms around him and stroked his back, not stopping even when his breathing calmed and his cock softened within her. Neither of them spoke or moved for several long moments, save for her hand on his back and his curling into her hair. Deep in the depths of Emma’s mind a faint voice was screaming that this was too intimate, too tender, too much, but it also felt too damn good and she wasn’t ready to stop.

—

The last thing Killian wanted to do was move, though he knew eventually he would have to. They couldn’t stay this way forever, however wonderful it felt to have her stretched out beneath him he was probably already crushing her with his weight, and both of them were sticky with sweat and other fluids. Reluctantly, he rolled away and risked a look at her face. She was smiling a soft smile that made his heart ache, and it didn’t fade when she met his eyes.

“How are you feeling, love?”

“Good.” She stretched luxuriantly. “Bit sore. Bit sticky.”

“Aye. Perhaps, ah, you might care for a swim?”

She glanced dubiously at the pond. “Can we?”

“We can indeed.” He stood and offered her his hand, pulling her to her feet when she took it and leading her to the edge of the pond.

“Are you sure this water’s okay?” She eyed it with a suspicious frown between her brows that he wanted to smooth away with his lips.

So he did. This was the one time he could be free, after all. Free to touch her as he’d wanted to for what felt like a long time.

She slipped her arm around him when he kissed her forehead, pressing her naked body along the length of his. He nearly groaned, nearly dragged her back down to the sand, but however strong their need to touch each other he didn’t think either of them were ready for another go-round quite yet.

“It’s perfectly okay,” he said, answering her question. “I used to come here often. There’s something about this place that Pan doesn’t like so he tends to stay away. And the water itself has soothing and healing properties that—well, come in and see for yourself.” He took her hand again and she let him lead her in until they were about chest deep. Emma swirled and splashed the water around herself and he did the same, enjoying as he was sure she must also be, the cool relief it offered from the heat of the day and the sweat of their earlier activities.

“It feels great,” she said, smiling the widest smile he’d yet seen on her face, simple and happy.

Killian felt his heart tumble perilously at that smile and reminded himself forcefully that this was merely an interlude. It was just the effects of the pollen that made her let him in like this; once they wore off her walls would be up again higher and stronger than ever. He still intended to break them down but certainly didn’t relish increased difficulty in this already challenging task. If only he’d been successful in his attempt to resist the pollen’s effects... but he was barely able to keep his hands off her when she wasn’t wrapped around him begging for his cock. He hadn’t stood a chance.

They went deeper into the pond. When they were neck-deep Killian dunked his head beneath the surface. Emma did the same. Her hair swirled in the gentle current and he watched it, mesmerised.

“How deep is the water?” she asked.

“Deep enough to swim properly, if you’d like,” he replied, then demonstrated by diving under the surface and swimming a few strokes to his left before coming up again. When he opened his eyes he couldn’t see her but she appeared at his side a moment later, laughing as water streamed down her face and hair. She caught his shoulders and pressed close to him. “I haven’t been swimming in forever,” she said. “I did a bit in Tallahassee, but—” she broke off and a cloud passed over her face.

“But what?”

She shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

“You can tell me, Emma,” he pressed. “Anything.”

Please, he begged in his mind. Please don’t shut me out. Not now. Later, perhaps, but not—

“Tallahassee was where Neal and I were going to go,” she said in a small, quiet voice. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders and he wrapped his arms around her, careful not to nick her with his hook. It occurred to him that he hadn’t been swimming with a woman since Milah, and he’d had both hands then. Emma allowed him to hug her though, let her own arms slide around his neck. “It was supposed to be like our happy ending, or something.” She tried to sound dismissive but Killian heard the decade-old pain, still in her voice. “After he left me”—Killian’s arms tightened on a flash of anger; he hadn’t known Bae had left her, what was the lad thinking?—“I went there myself. To wait for him. I thought—I thought he’d—but he didn’t, and so I moved again.”

He brushed her wet hair back from where it was sticking to her cheek, tucked it behind her ear and kissed her. She responded warmly, opened her mouth for him, but he kept the kiss soft, just a gentle brush of lips and tongues. “I’m sorry, love,” he whispered.

She tried to shrug. “It’s nothin—”

“It’s not nothing if it hurt you,” he interrupted. “Which it clearly did.”

She stared at him. “How do you do that?”

“Do what, love?”

“How do you always understand me?”

He smiled, soft and almost shy. “As I told you on the beanstalk, Swan, you’re an open book.”

“Mmm,” she murmured as her fingertips ruffled the hair at his nape. “And I suppose I said myself that we understand each other.”

“Aye, so you did.” He let his hand slide down her back and over her ass, pressing her closer against him.

She hummed and tightened her hold on his shoulders, letting her forehead rest against his—just for a heartbeat—before she leaned back again to look at him, her expression troubled. “Hook, this doesn’t—this can’t—”

“Shh, darling I know,” he soothed. “We don’t have to speak of it. Not now, anyway. Right now I—”

“Now you what?”

“I want to take advantage of it,” he confessed. “This… amnesty, if you will. When the pollen’s effects have worn off we can go back to how things were, but now—”

She cut him off with her lips on his. “Yeah,” she said softly. “Me too. Amnesty.”

She kissed him again and this time he let it deepen, let it grow hot and aching until she was clinging to him as the water swirled around them and he was hard again, pressed insistently against her stomach. He lifted her with his hook arm and swam them both to the side of the pond where he knew there was a large, smooth rock tilted at just the right angle to support a resting body. He had lain on it himself on many an occasion to enjoy the peace of this place. He lifted Emma onto it then stretched out beside her and couldn't help smiling when she immediately snuggled up against him, as though she couldn’t get enough of the feel of his skin against hers.

He understood the impulse.

He wrapped his hook arm around her shoulders so she could rest her head on it then let his hand explore her body, tracing feather-light touches over her hip and the dip of her waist, up to her breast to tease her nipple, down her belly to the soft curls between her legs, slipping into her folds as she bit her lip and moaned.

“How do you like to be touched, Emma?” he asked as his fingers stroked her, gathering her moisture and rubbing it over her most tender spot.

She gave a strained laugh. “I’m surprised you have to ask,” she said breathily. “Everything you do is—fuck—it’s just right.”

He felt a ridiculous surge of pride at that, but while he’d always made it a point of principle not to leave a woman unsatisfied with Emma he wanted far, far more. “I’m glad to hear that, love, but you could give me a little more to go on?” he insisted. “For example—” he slid a finger into her whilst keeping his thumb on that sensitive pearl. “How does that feel?”

“Good. Not as… satisfying as your cock, but I like it.”

“Could you come from this?” He slid a second finger in. “What about this?”

“Maybe?” she gasped. “If you touched my nipple too—ooh,” she cried as his mouth closed over her breast and he licked her nipple with the flat of his tongue then nipped at it. “Yeah, I could come from that. But—”

“But what?”

“I don’t want to,” she confessed, meeting his eyes. “Not until I’ve had my turn.”

“Your turn?”

“To taste you.”

With a quick, lithe twist of her body she flipped him onto his back and straddled his hips, clutching at his shoulders as she leaned in to kiss him. He reached for her but she shimmied away and down his body, trailing kisses as she went. Killian sighed at the feel of her mouth on his skin, absently licking his fingers—she really did taste amazing, he thought—then nearly choked on them when he felt her lips closing around his cock.

“Sweet bloody fuck, Emma,” he groaned.

“Hmm?” she hummed, and he hissed out a more vicious curse as the vibrations of her voice made his balls tighten. He sank his hand into his hair and clutched it hard, tugging at it to distract himself from the soft, wet warmth of her mouth as she began to suck on him... from the gentle friction as she moved her head up and down... from her tongue swirling around his tip.

Pleas and curses fell heedlessly from his lips as gradually she eased him deeper and deeper into her mouth, until he was hitting the back of her throat and his scalp was aching from his fist pulling on his hair. Until he couldn’t hold off any longer.

“Emma,” he gasped. “I’m going to—”

“Mmm,” she hummed again and took his balls in her hand, squeezing them gently as she sucked his cock hard. Killian interpreted this as consent, and with a strangled noise he barely recognised as his he came in her mouth, his hips bucking helplessly. She swallowed around him until he was spent, then licked the last drops away with the tip of her tongue. He gave a garbled moan.

She slid back up his body and lay against his chest, her chin resting on her hands and a smug little smile on her lips.

“So I'm guessing you liked that, huh?”

“You are… a bloody goddess, Swan,” he panted.

“I just like having the fabled Captain Hook at my mercy,” she teased.

She had no idea how true that was, he thought. He was beginning to suspect that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for this woman.

And so much he longed for from her.

“Would you do something for me?” he heard himself ask.

“Didn’t I just—” she broke off when she caught his solemn expression and the teasing smile fell from her own. “What is it?”

“Would you—” he took a deep breath “—would you call me Killian? Just until…”

He could see in her eyes she understood everything he meant by the question.

“Killian,” she said softly. “It’s a good name.”

He pulled her up into his arms and kissed her, deep and soft and far too tenderly, but between the pollen and their bare bodies pressed together and the fact that she’d just sucked him to oblivion and the fact that he was falling in love with her—may have already fallen, if he was honest—he couldn’t hold the tenderness back. Her arms curling tight around him, her lips and tongue pressing and sliding softly against his were the best things he’d felt in three hundred years—and far too soon they would be gone. The pollen’s effects were already fading; before long he and Emma would be back to how they had always been, if not worse. She would pull away from him, retreat back behind walls rebuilt high and strong, and Killian wasn’t sure his battered heart could take it. Now that he’d had Emma soft and open in his arms he wasn’t sure he could live without at least a scrap of hope that he might have her like that again.

Emma began to make that humming noise at the back of her throat that he now recognised as a sound of pure pleasure, her arms tightening around him, her hand sinking into his hair and combing the drying strands with her fingers. Killian’s heart clenched and his chest tightened with the anguish of impending loss. He rolled them over so she was on her back on the warm stone and gazed down at her, fixing the image of her face—of that look on her face—firmly in his mind. Water from the pond lapped against their feet as her hands roamed his body and he began to trail soft kisses down her neck, savouring her sighs of pleasure and the salty-sweet taste of her skin. He found a sensitive spot just at the curve where her neck met her shoulder and he nuzzled it, sucked and nipped at it until she was gasping and quivering.

"Killian," she breathed, "Killian."

He groaned helplessly at the sound of his name and the press of his fingers on her skin grew more insistent. Every inch of her body he explored with impassioned strokes of fingers and tongue; every spot that made her moan he worshipped. He’d give her something to remember him by, he thought almost viciously—something to warm her on those cold nights alone behind her walls. Memories that would last far longer than the marks left by his mouth on her skin.

Memories that might weaken her fortifications, just enough to give him hope.

—

Emma couldn’t think and she was glad of it. If she could think she’d be thinking about how right this felt, with Ho—with Killian worshipping her... there was no other word for it... with his mouth and his fingers and even his hook, trailing the cool metal along her heated skin as she sighed and shivered and fought not to beg. And if she thought about how right it all felt she’d be terrified and she’d run. And if she ran... she would miss all of this.

They didn’t speak and she was glad she couldn’t think about how that was because no words were necessary. Her body was so responsive to his touch and he was so intensely focused on her—noting every sigh and charting every moan and working her up higher and higher until she felt ready to shatter. She felt like he was mapping her as he must have mapped many undiscovered lands in his time, and she knew that if they ever found themselves like this again he would remember everything about her body and how she liked to be touched.

It was unnerving and exciting and terrifying and wonderful and if she let herself she could get addicted to this, this dedicated attentiveness and single-minded focus on her pleasure. She wouldn’t, of course. Emma knew herself well enough to know this, to know that once the already-fading effects of the pollen were gone she would push him away as she always did, too afraid to let him in—to let him see all the broken parts of her despite how she knew that he was broken too in exactly the same ways.

But for now she had an excuse to let herself be open, to have him like this, to give herself over to him and let him pleasure her, and she wished fiercely for enough time to take full advantage of it.

But the pollen’s effects were fading fast and her fears creeping back in to take their place. There was desperation in her fingers now as they gripped his shoulders and pulled him up to kiss him and press herself tightly against him. She wanted to feel him inside her once more before this was over, just once more, but she couldn’t find the words to tell him…

“Please, Killian…” she implored him, “please…”

He understood—because of course he did—and she saw the flare of emotion in his eyes as she moaned his name, just before he kissed her again. His hand curled around her thigh, lifting and positioning it over his hip as she reached down to grip his cock and stroke the head of it through her slick folds before slipping its tip inside her. Their eyes met and held as he pushed in the rest of the way and god it was too intimate and too raw and she couldn’t deal with what she saw in his eyes but also couldn’t look away. She dug her heel into his ass and her fingers into his shoulders as he found their rhythm, as he filled her again and again with smooth, hard, deep thrusts and helpless moans fell from both their lips.

Far, far too soon she felt her orgasm coiling in her belly and she wished, just for a moment, that she could hold it off and keep him here with her for longer. Just a bit longer... But everything just felt too damn good, he felt too good, and she couldn’t stop it, couldn't hold on to what she wasn't ready to let go. She cried out his name as she came—something she had never done before in all her life, but she wanted Killian to know that she knew it was him and not Hook that she was with. The sound he made in response was almost agonised; his fingers gouged painfully into her thigh as he drove himself into her with bone-shaking force then came moments later with a heartfelt groan, deep within her body. Emma lay trembling and gasping beneath him; she felt sore and roughly used and she welcomed it, welcomed the gouging fingers and the hard fucking and the bruises both would leave behind. She knew it meant he understood, and that was all that she could give him.

They lay entwined for as long as they could, until the strengthening breeze made goosebumps rise on their skin and they pulled apart, not looking at each other. Killian cleared his throat. “You should make use of the pond to bathe,” he said. “It’s the best place on the island to do so. The water is soothing and cleansing even without soap.”

She nodded and slipped into the water, into its welcome softness on her over-sensitised skin and though her sweaty hair. Killian followed her with a smooth dive. He surfaced in the middle of the pond to rub himself down before heading towards the sandy shore where they had left their clothes. Emma followed his lead, rubbing her hands vigorously over her skin and thoroughly rinsing her hair. Killian was right about this pond, she thought. She felt cleaner than she had in days, refreshed and invigorated.

Even if the water easing away the soreness between her legs made her want to cry.

—

He watched her warily as they dressed, waiting for her to pull away as she had after their first kiss. Waiting for recriminations and blame.

“I’m not angry,” she said, not looking at him. “And I don’t regret this. But I think—there’s still Henry to save, and I can’t—” She sighed and squeezed water from her hair with a sharp twist of her arm. “Look, don’t misunderstand, but can we just pretend this never happened?”

He echoed her sigh, but his was in relief. This, at least, was no worse than he'd expected. “Aye, love. It never happened.”

She nodded, glanced just briefly at his face then spun away, heading for the edge of the clearing. Before she could reach it he darted forward and snagged her elbow with his hook. She didn’t turn around.

“I still intend to win your heart, Emma,” he murmured, low in her ear, and just enough of the pollen’s effects remained to make her smile at the earnestness in his voice.

“Good.”

Hope lit his eyes as she curled her fingers around his hook and held it tightly as they left the clearing together.

—

“You see?” gloated Pan.

Neal didn’t reply. His fists and jaw were clenched so tightly they hurt, his eyes fixed on the image of the pirate and the saviour as it shimmered and faded from the still surface of the pool at his feet.

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, trying to shake the images from his brain. Images of Emma falling apart in Hook’s arms, screaming his name as she came... he doubted he’d ever be able to scrub them from his brain. What was it about that damned pirate that made women ready to throw everything away just to fuck him? Sure, Emma said she wanted to forget about it but then she held the bastard’s hook…

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “It was just those flowers. Emma and I have a history, we have a kid. She’ll see. He doesn’t mean anything to her.”

“Sure. You keep telling yourself that,” smirked Pan.

#birthday fic #kmomof4 #smut #and lots of it #and sex pollen #and all the things Krystal likes #I hope #cs fic #cs ff #abandon #profdanglaisstuff

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ellana-ravenwood · 6 years ago

Text

Salt, Tequila, Lemon - Jason Todd x Reader

Please read this intro, thank you very much :

So. I posted this yesterday, but after a bug on the Tumblr app on my phone it got deleted. I’m super bummed out because it had over 200 notes and quite a few feedbacks that I never got to read because it was accidentally deleted...If the people that took the time to comment things on the story could take a bit more time to write a little comment again and give me their feedbacks, and also if the people that liked and reblog could do it once more...i’d appreciate the hell out of you <3. So reposting it (thanks god I always have back ups of all my stories now). Written in twenty minutes during my break at work. Bam. Hope you’ll like it :

Also, since Tumblr’s new guidelines and enforcement of it, I DON’T really appear in searches anymore, so the only way for this story to be seen by others than those who follow me is to reblog it. So if you wanna, you can show your support for my writing by doing just that. Thanks very much. You can find my masterlist here : @ella-ravenwood-archives

_________________________________________________

Ok. So. Grandma’s remedy against heartbreak ? Oh, right.

Salt. Tequila. Lemon.

Got it. Licking the back of your hand to make the salt stick to it, you pour yourself a massive shot of “To-Kill-Ya” in your coffee mug, not even caring about the fact that there is still some remnant of your cappuccino from last night in it.

You focus on the sound the liquid makes as it fills your cup. Makes you think about something else. Good. Yup. This was totally gonna help right now.

“Cheers”, you exclaim to yourself, your empty apartment echoing your voice.

Salt.

Wincing. Stingy. Salt on its own is gross.

Tequila.

More wincing. Oh my god, it burns. The coffee that was still at the bottom of the cup is an oddly nice touch.

Lemon.

The last of the Wincing.

You spit the piece of lemon you just bit into in the trash and…miss. The yellow fruit falls with a little flat sound on the floor, and you honestly can’t bother to pick it up. Your apartment is a mess anyway, so you just stare at it angrily and pour yourself another drink.

Salt. Tequila. Lemon.

You gulp the last of the citrus and shiver. Miss the trash again.

Damn. This was good.

Well, actually, it was disgusting.

You didn’t like strong alcohol and what the Hell ?! Why did you leave a bit of coffee in your cup ? Now that the aftertaste was kicking in, it was actually really gross. If the tequila itself didn’t make you wanna throw up, the stale coffee taste nearly did. Oh, and the salt and lemon combination was as awful as ever.

You really didn’t like salt, tequila, or lemon.

But it was still good.

Because thanks to all this immediate awfulness, you could slowly feel yourself drift into “haze land”, and forget about your worries.

Forget that your boyfriend of two years just cheated on you with some random woman you worked with. Woman that, by the way, he met at the Christmas “end of the year” party from you work you invited him to…You gave him free champagne and mise-en-bouche and all your love, and he broke your heart.

It wasn’t your thing, to drink your sorrow away. And it wasn’t your thing either to wallow because of a man…But you genuinely thought he was “the one” (oh what a mistake you would soon realize that was).

He was always so nice, treating you like a princess. He complimented you daily, and never forgot an important date. He was affectionate, not to an annoying point. He was the perfectamount of affectionate. He was a gentleman and seemed to love you and yet, he betrayed you.

If a man like him, that was nothing short but sweet and passionate with you, cheated on you, then did that mean you couldn’t trust anyone ?

Because in your eyes right now, he was perfect. Albeit said eyes were slightly clouded by a a few tequila shots.

You were downing a fourth drink starting to slowly sob when…

There’s very few things that can get you out of a drunk state in seconds.

An extremely cold shower could do the trick, for instance. Brings you back to your senses a bit you know ? You wouldn’t magically be sober, but you’d get a clearer mind. Or someone giving you shocking news ! Or like, an event so incredible that your body just forgets how drunk it is for a minute.

And this event, for you, came at the perfect time.

Right when you were entering your “sad drunk” phase, which was between the “lol alcohol does NOTHING to me” phase where you downed most of your drinks, and the “dancing on the bar’s counter” phase (a few more drinks and you would have a one woman dance party in your living room, acting as if you were on a bar’s counter and that your name was suddenly “Britney”).

Right when you were about to wallow times a thousand, and cry, and yell “whyyyyyyy ?!” to the sky, arms in the air (drama queen).

Years later, looking back on that particular event, you’ll start to realize that Destiny HAS to exist. Because come on, it was just too perfect a timing to be a simple coincidence.

You were about to swallow up your fifth drink, launching yourself head first into the “sad phase” when an ear shattering noise rang all around your apartment.

Broken glass.

It was the sound of broken glass. Heightened to the max by your drunkness. You turned on your stool, and…there he was.

It was a guy. That you were sure of because he had no boobs and too much pecs. And that guy…well that guy just flew right through your window, destroying it. How rude.

There was glass everywhere.

How much did a window cost ? Probably a fortune.

You wondered briefly if you could just use aluminium foil and tape the shit up. There was nothing of value to steal in your apartment anyway, and if aluminium foil could keep meals warm, it definitely worked with a house too right ?

You sobered up quite a bit, but you were also very drunk when this event happened, so your mind was still in that cloudy weird phase where your priorities were…interesting.

You worried more about the broken window at first, than about that guy who just launched through it.

A guy.

Not just any guy.

You saw that guy before.

He was one of those night vigilante your crazy hometown was filled with…RED HOOD !!

“Thick thighs”, is the first thing you thought right after you recognized him (priorities).

The second thing you thought was that you needed another drink, and so you downed what was your fifth one, but with that crazy thing happening ended up being on the same level as if it was a second one. You were tipsy, but not “drunk” anymore.

The third thing that came to your mind was…Is he still alive ?

No cause, he was like, just laying there, on your living room’s floor, not moving.

“…Outch.”

Oh. He spoke.

So he ain’t dead. Good, means you can have another drink then, you don’t need a clear mind to call an ambulance or something.

Oddly enough, in your half-drunk half-sober state, this sounded completely reasonable. Nevermind if Red Hood had some internal bleeding or something. He talked. He was probably fine.

A minute passed, and you just sat there, sipping up your tequila in between taking a pinch of salt and biting into a piece of lemon.

Salt, tequila, lemon. Great remedy against heartbreaks.

Wait, were you heartbroken ? Really ? You couldn’t really recall that fact now. But, yeah…it was the reason why you were drinking right ? Because right now, all you could think about was the fact that this Red hood guy had abs for days…

This unforeseen event sobered you up quite a bit, but the two shots you just took kinda brought you back to the same state than you were before.

Well. Not quite. You were drunk as hell again, but seemed to have avoided the “sad phase”. Instead, Red Hood bursting quite literally through your window took you to another road.

The : “Cool, I got a drinking buddy phase”. Well, taking for granted he didn’t have any internal bleeding and wouldn’t die while biting into a lemon wedge.

“Tough day ?”

You ask him, as he slowly sits up and shakes his head, trying to regain his senses. He looks towards you and seem surprised (or at least you think he is, because he wears a mask so…kinda hard to tell).

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

Jason definitely thought he was alone in this place, because no sane person would just sit there, not saying anything, as someone simply jumped through their window. Nope, most people would just freak out. Scream.

He knows, because it’s not the first time he falls through a window during a night on duty. And every single time it happened, people freaked out. Screamed. Threw stuffs at him, or hid away begging for their life to be spared.

And yet here you were, half a bottle of tequila in front of you, surrounded by lemon wedges you bit into, and table salt all over your hand, just staring at him curiously. And did you just say : “tough day” ?

Well, Jason guessed the empty half of the bottle was why you were so chilled about it all. He sat up, and slowly got back to his feet.

Usually, going through a window meant the end of the night for him. He’d go back to one of his secret stash, patch himself up and get some rest. Most of the time, he fell through windows because someone pushed him or threw him there…Though today, he just embarrassingly missed a step and fell by himself.

Of course, no one would ever now he tripped while jumping from one building to another (you lived on the last floor) and went careening into your home (and life). Nope, the official story would be that he fought a fierce enemy and was thrown into that window. Finding fake villains name was easy, given how truly ridiculous some could be.

Tim and Damian were still after the “Illusive Blue Man” that he totally made up that one time he walked into a poll and had a huge black eye that he couldn’t quite explain…Oh man, he had to stop telling such elaborate lies and just say “I fought with a few guys last night” without more explanation.

But he couldn’t help it. And those kids believed everything he said, it was too tempting…But for now, this wasn’t the issue. Nope.

He did a quick check of his body and knew he wasn’t really hurt (thanks “dad” for the amazing body armor ugh ?), so he was planning on leaving that poor girl’s house and send a mystery check in the mail to pay for the damage (money stolen from a certain Bruce Wayne of course, as if he would pay himself).

Yup. He was just gonna stand up, and go on his way and…somehow, he found himself sitting on the stool opposite side of this mysterious girl, and now she was peppering salt on his hand ?

“Salt”, she says, and she has a cute drunk voice. Jason almost forgets he just went through a window a few minutes ago.

“Tequila”, she continues, downing her drink and pointing at the one she poured him. He doesn’t even care the she poured it in a cereal bowl that she didn’t even seem to have clean…He drunk worst things in worst recipient. He turns away to take off his mask and so that she can’t see his face, and “bottom’s up”.

“Lemon !” she finishes, biting into the sour fruit and spitting it in the direction of the trashcan but missing completely. The lemon wedge goes to lost itself amongst his fallen brothers…

Jason bites into his own lemons, and spits it. Right into the garbage.

There’s a slight pause, where she just stares at the trashcan, and then at Jason, back to the trashcan, and then turns to him again and simply says :

“Wow.”

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

So. This was surreal.

Here you were. In your home. Taking tequila shots. With…Red Hood.

One of Gotham’s night vigilante. The most violent one. But the dude seemed chilled. He was holding his liquor really well.

And now you were talking about your broken heart, telling him the story as if he’d been your friend for years. And he was listening. Intently. And reacting to what you were saying. It had been a LONG time, since you had this kind of talk with anyone, and despite the fact you were drunk, you still noticed how nice it felt to have someone to talk to. Someone that genuinely listened.

“And then he slept with her !” you say angrily.

“Nooooooo !?!”

“Yes, he did ! He slept with…with…what was her name…”

“Nicole. From accounting.”

“Right, Nicole from accounting ! That bitch ! She always just…counts and shit ! And he slept with her ! Nicole from accounting ! Whom he met thanks to me, by the way ! At a partyyyy !! At my wooooork !!”

“What an ass.”

“Right ?! Oh but he had such a good ass though…Quite firm. But whenever he wore jeans, it was super flat.”

“So, not such a good ass in the end then ?”

“I guess not. You have a good ass. Popping right out in this outfit of yours.”

Red Hood chuckles, and the sound of his laughter makes you forget that you just said something incredibly embarrassing. His voice is…nice. Deep. Manly. You like it. You wanna make him chuckle some more, so you say, hoping :

“And it looks very firm. Not just quite firm.”

It works. He snorts and it’s very cute. Oh wow. He can be sexy and cute. Full package. You smile a bit dreamily.

For a second, he’s lost in that smile of yours, and there’s a silence installing itself in the room. A comfortable one. That you break :

“Ok. So now, he’s not that perfect anymore ! He got no ass ! Penalty points ! I never notice how un-assed he was before…”

Jason smiles and damn. He’s hot.

Somewhere along the way, he stopped turning his face away from you whenever he took a shot, and just ended up taking his helmet off. He was probably hoping that you’d black out or something, so you wouldn’t remember his face (or he just didn’t care).

In any case, you were pretty sure you never saw him before. His face kinda reminded you of an old memory. Of someone you saw somewhere long ago, when you were a kid…Which wasn’t really a big help right ?

Right. You had no idea who he was. And in your drunken state, probably couldn’t piece anything together anyway. So even if you did know who he could be, you wouldn’t know in the end anyway…Makes perfect sense right ?

What you knew was : he’s hot.

This white streak in his hair did something to you that you couldn’t explain. And that jawline ? You would love to get cut on that bitch. It could actually cut a bitch, you were sure of it. Those blue eyes ? You’ve never seen someone with such blue eyes. And did you mention to yourself how muscular he was ? Because man you only saw guys like this in magazines !

But beyond his handsome features, he seemed like a nice guy. Like he was listening to you, a total stranger. And this realization suddenly raised your guard up.

You also thought that your ex-cheating-boyfriend was a nice guy. And come to think of it, who the hell just barge in someone’s home like that, and actually stay to drink tequila shots ?! Wait but…in your guts…it’s not like with your ex.

You don’t think he’s a nice guy. You know he is.

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

There’s a visible shift in your mood, after this realization. So far, you talked to him about your broken heart freely, and he listened.

Oddly enough, no words that came out of your (perfect) mouth bored him. Jason wasn’t sure wether it was the alcohol or not, but you captivated him.

But in a split second, and without him knowing why, your features changed. You were now frowning. Like an unhappy little kid. It was kinda cute, but he didn’t like it because…why were you frowning ?

He tries to lighten up the mood and says :

“Well here you go. See, you didn’t loose the perfect guy, his ass was flat in jeans. Can’t work with that, can you ? I bet we can find other flaws. Make you realize he actually was a looser.”

Your guard is up, but you can’t help but smile a bit, plus you were frowning just now because you realized you just knew you could trust that total stranger, and it was so weird….

Besides, no harm in indulging this, because you’re pretty sure it’ll make you feel better to try and see the bad side of your ex-boyfriend, not just his good ones. No one was perfect. And so, still a bit careful, you say :

“Well…He never got any of my Tv shows or movie references.”

“Well, here’s a point to take off of his “perfectness”. Doesn’t get pop culture references. Deal breaker.”

“Yeah…Yeah you’re right. It is. He also used to hate when I made jokes. I like puns ya know ? Terrible ones. Well, he was always embarrassed whenever I made them in public.”

“Ashamed of his girlfriend, doesn’t sound very gentlemanly, right ?”

“Yeah. It doesn’t. Maybe he wasn’t such a perfect gentleman…He also used to not want to go out with me if I didn’t wear any make-up and was dressed just casually.”

“What you mean, he never just went out with you ?”

“We only went out on dates. I had to dress up. I could be casual home though…”

“Well goodie, the man let you be yourself when you were home. Big deal. To be honest, sounds like a douchey move.”

“That was kinda douchey…I never cared what he looked like.”

And it’s true. For you, physical appearance wasn’t everything. And sure you thought your ex was hot and all, but only because you liked his personality too. You liked his jokes, you were never ashamed of anything he said.

And right now, sure that stranger that bursted through your window was hot, but the reason you felt like you could tell him things was because he just made you comfortable by his mere aura. Because he gave you such a good vibe.

You never were fully about appearances. It was always just a bonus for you…So it never occurred to you why your ex would only hang out in public with you if you were pampered. Like he used to hate when you just wore hoodies and no make-up, even if you didn’t need make-up to be beautiful.

Comes to think of it, he was very much about appearances…Uh. Interesting. You never realized that before.

You turn to Red Hood, and the look on your face says it all. You’re slowly realizing maybe you didn’t just lost “the one”. The vigilante says :

“Ok, so : no ass, no humor apparently, doesn’t get pop culture references, and was kind of a jerk when it came to going out with you…”

“He did tell me often that I was beautiful though. Including when I just woke up from a night out, and was awful looking.”

“Yeah, but he never went out with you looking like that. He shouldn’t feel ashamed of hanging out with you looking like that. Just like he shouldn’t feel embarrassed when you joke. He can be exasperated, like if you really make bad puns, sure. And he can think it’s unfunny…But embarrassed ? No.”

“I guess…I never thought about it.”

“Well let me tell you, as someone who does not know neither you nor him personally, he sounds like a bit of a jerk. Let’s not forget he cheated as well. Like, that’s not something good people do. Especially not with…Nicole from accounting.”

“Nicole from accounting…Yeah. They’re together now though.”

“So ? He should’ve broken up with you if he realized he liked her. That’s the right thing to do. Trust me on that, I put villains behind bars for a living, I know what’s right or wrong.”

“I heard you kill criminals.”

“Used to. I used to kill criminals, I had issues. I’ll tell you one day if you wanna. It’s a real tear jerker story. With clowns and crowbars. And I’m telling you that because I’m drunk, right now. Also, if we want to be specific, I don’t actually make a living out of putting villains behind bars. Like, I don’t get paid or anything…”

Jason finds himself ranting about anything that comes to his mind, and though he hears himself claim it’s because of the alcohol he’s saying all this, he realizes maybe there’s something else making him want to talk.

You. A total stranger he walked upon. Or rather, went-through-the-window upon. Who didn’t freak out when he went through said window. And instead, invited him over to have tequila shots.

Because, according to your grandmother, the best remedy to…basically any problems in life, was “salt, tequila, lemon”.

“She was a wise woman.”

He says, and you turn to him, clearly not understanding what he was talking about.

“Who ?”

“Your grandma. For saying that salt, tequila and lemon was a great remedy against heartbreaks and all.”

“Oh. Yeah. I wouldn’t know, I never met her. She died before I was born.”

“Well what she passed on to your parents is great.”

“What ?”

“Well, that “salt, tequila and lemon” thing, I assume she said that to your mom or dad, and then they said that to you, and then it became your grandma’s advice. Right ?”

“…Nah. It’s an excuse I made up. Whenever I need to justify something, I just say “like my grandma said, ain’t no shame in eating an entire tub of ice cream if you want to”, and then people are just like “oh yeah, cool”, because when you say the word “grandma”, then it gives a perspective to your words ya know ?”

Jason had no idea what you were on about, but he loved it. You seemed to be very smart. And witty. And funny. The hell did that guy cheated on you for ? And why was he ashamed of going out in public with you when you weren’t dressed up ?!

You currently wore “Hello Kitty” pyjamas, had absolutely no make up on, and your hair was a mess, and he thought you looked gorgeous.

“Why are you so nice ?”

Your question takes him by surprise, and for a few seconds he doesn’t register it and just says : “ugh ?”

“To me. Why are you so nice to me ? Is it the alcohol ? Does it make you nice ? Or are you just nice to every stranger ? Every girl you destroy the windows of ? Or are you like my ex ? You seem nice, but then you go off and cheat on your girl simply because you like another girl and you’re too cowardly to break up with your current girl ?”

Jason hiccups slightly, and says :

“No, I’m not nice to any girl I met. I’m actually usually kind of a jerk, too “brutally honest”. But you…I don’t know. You give me good feelings. Oh and here’s to add on his flaws list. “Coward”. Can’t even break up with a girl, has to wait to get caught red-handed and break her heart. Cooooward. Bad flaw. Kind of guy who runs in the face of danger, instead of standing by you.”

It’s probably the fact that he said “you give me good feelings” that spurs this in you. That gives you a new clearer perspective on things.

“My heart wasn’t broken.”

It’s a shock, to you. This realization. This sudden feeling jumping in your face. You…are not heartbroken. You’re mad. You’re frustrated. You feel betrayed. You feel a crazy burning anger towards your ex for toying around with you like that. For not having the balls to just break up, after spending two years together.

He was suppose to know you. To be your friend. Things could have turned out better. He could have just come up to you, say the truth, and…You were pretty sure you’d still be friend. Because he really was a great guy.

He really was all the good thing you though about him. He made a mistake, an unforgivable one in your book. But he was a great guy.

He was just…not your great guy. Not anymore at least.

And you realized, there, quite drunk, that…It was ok.

Your heart wasn’t broken.

Your pride was. Your trust was. But your heart ? …Maybe you weren’t completely in love with him. You were best friends, yes, but love ? Maybe it wasn’t love…

Your heart wasn’t broken.

“My heart isn’t broken.”

You tell Red hood, looking at him right in his wonderful ocean blue eyes. And he looks right back at you, and just nods. Just like that. And then he pours you one last tequila shot.

Because like your grandma would say : “When you make great discovery about yourself…Salt, tequila, lemon”.

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

It took you only a few hours with him to realize that you weren’t in love with your ex, and that was kinda scary. Because this realization didn’t come from nowhere.

Nope.

But when he said that your ex broke your heart, you felt obligated to tell him that no. No your heart wasn’t broken. You were sad and angry, yes, but not heartbroken. For you, in that moment, it was important for this total stranger to know you weren’t actually in love.

Hell, you didn’t even know yourself you weren’t that in love before you talked to him. It just came as a sudden, yet utterly true revelation.

Because, and this wasn’t the alcohol speaking…You felt incredibly attracted to that guy. To Red Hood. Not just because of the white streak in his hair, and the eyes, and smile, and voice, and abs, and thick thighs. That too, sure, but not only…Nope.

Nope. Not because of this.

But because he had a tough day (he said so himself, explaining to you how he went through the window…he was fighting a super-villain when he got flung through your window, tough tough time ahem), and yet he sat with a crazy lady that peppered salt on his hand and practically forced him to take a tequila shot…

Because you could see in his eyes, and felt in your guts that he didn’t have an easy life…and yet he took a break from whatever he was doing to just sit with you and listen to you. He didn’t even make sense, that you trusted those feelings so fiercely. And yet, you did. Because he listened to you.

He saw you were struggling and he stayed. And though you felt you couldn’t trust anyone at that time…You oddly felt like he was ok.

Like he wouldn’t be the kind of guy to cheat, or run in the face of danger, leaving you all alone to fight off demons.

In a few short hours, you fell for this guy more than you ever fell for your ex.

What did that say about you uh ? …That was pretty pathetic…

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

Jason didn’t think that you were pathetic at all.

On the contrary. If he went to seat with you, and drink with you, is because he was instantly mesmerized by you.

And though he didn’t know at first why, now he was sure of it.

It’s because you didn’t freak out. And something told him it wasn’t only because you were a bit drunk (he fell in drunk people’s home before…none reacted like you).

Nope. It was because you were special. He just knew it. Special in every way. Funny. Beautiful. Genuinely listening to him when he was speaking.

He peppered his own problems within your story, as you told him. And you listened. Hell, even referenced a few things he said early on, way later, while you were crazy drunk. You listened.

You gave a total stranger that seemed to have a tough day some salt. And tequila. And lemons.

And then you cared. You asked him a thousand times if he was ok, and he basically had to take off his armor to prove it so (to your eyes’ greatest pleasure…mm mm mm those muscles).

Captivated. He was captivated by you. It was strange, and though he knew it was because you were special, he still was unclear as to why his feelings were that strong.

For someone he just met. And barely knew. And only knew while drunk.

You were just…Special.

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

It was surreal. The all thing.

What started as a night where you planned on wallowing your pain and drinking…ended up changing your life.

And no one could convince you that it wasn’t Fate. Because what were the odds that Red Hood would fall through YOUR window after tripping (yeah you didn’t buy that “fighting super-villains thing” at all) ?

What were the odds of his timing being so perfect, arriving just before you started to cry ? Because there was no doubt in your mind that if he had come a few seconds later, he wouldn’t have stayed.

He would have found a crying mess, and maybe he would have tried to confort you but…You wouldn’t have answered. In your “sad phase”, you only cry and whine. He would have eventually left. And the wonderful talk you’d just have, would never have happened.

But instead. He came right before your lips touch that fatal shot of tequila that would have brought you into the “sad phase”. And took your drunkness down a notch. Rerouted your evening.

You weren’t wallowing anymore, you were ranting.

Sharing your anger and frustration.

And he helped you realize that your ex wasn’t that perfect…That maybe it was just not meant to be…After all, he cheated on you.

Uh. What a shame. You didn’t even know his name…”Red Hood”…

You wished you knew his name.

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

The morning lights were rising, and the bottle of tequila was long gone.

There were still salt and lemons though. For some reason, you decided to buy the entire grocery store’s stock of lemons.

Red Hood stood up, and said he had to go.

He was nice about it. Said it was a pleasure to have spend the night with you. You both laughed about the innuendos that ensued.

You were exactly on the same page. And he understood all your joke referencing to pop culture…

But it was time for him to go. And he apparently had no intention of telling you his real name. He didn’t hint either at ever coming back to see you again.

And there was that. Just a nice night, spend talking to a genuine friend that you’ll never see again.

A genuine friend that you didn’t even know a few hours before.

Maybe it was the alcohol speaking. Maybe not.

And even if you ended up never seeing him again, this evening truly changed your life…At least, it saved you from a heartbreak. Made you realize it wasn’t that.

Though, now, as he climbs out of the window again (he couldn’t possibly use the front door), you feel like the actual heartbreak is starting.

Grandma’s remedy against heartbreak ? Right.

Salt, tequila, lemon…

But the tequila is all gone.

“I’ll send someone to fix that window…Sorry again about that. …Bye.” are his last words, and then he’s out.

And the tequila is all gone.

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

…

Days pass by in a blur.

Salt. Tequila. Lemon.

Ugh. But you don’t want to this time. You don’t want to get drunk to forget.

You don’t want to forget him. And you know it’s ridiculous to get that worked up over a guy you met one night and that will never come back. That you didn’t even know the name of.

This entire night was weird anyway.

Getting drunk with a dangerous night vigilante. Pouring your heart out to him, and him doing the same. The hell were you even thinking ?

Salt. Tequila. Lemon.

That would be a good idea to do this right now, because man…your heart hurt. More than when you discovered your ex sleeping with Nicole. From accounting. But you can’t resolve yourself to drink. To forget. Nope. Instead you…

*Knock knock knock*.

Uh ? You take a quick look at your clock in the kitchen.10 pm. Who the hell is coming at 10 pm ?! It can only be bad news. Especially in Gotham…You peep into the eyehole and…

WHAT ?!

You open your door quickly, and…

“Told you I’d send someone to fix your window.”

It’s him. It’s Red hood. But in…civilian clothes.

His ass doesn’t look flat in jeans.

He’s holding a window wrapped in cardboard, and there’s a toolbox at his feet.

“Yeah, you did…come in.”

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

Jason Todd.

That’s his name. And connections are fast to be made in your brain. Jason Todd. Bruce Wayne’s adopted son. That supposedly died…ten years ago.

And is Red Hood now. Oh. It makes sense. Even his little “killing criminals” thing while Batman never killed. You easily put two and two together.

Red Hood. Jason Todd. Bruce Wayne.

Wow. Can’t believe you never guessed that before. Of course Bruce Wayne is Batman. He’s got the motive, the means, the excuses…It’s so obvious. And yet, you never realized. And no one else in Gotham ever realized.

Jason Todd.

Now you know his name.

And he’s fixing your window. Nobody ever fixed windows for you before (even those who broke it).

Um. To add to the “perfect man” list : “Handy”.

Jason Todd.

He quickly works the window up, and then he turns to you. While he was working you talked, as if you knew each other for years. Joking around. Like old friends. Like old extremely good and close friends.

It fits. It clicks. It’s natural. You and him, him and you.

Barely knowing each others, and yet knowing each others the best.

Jason. Todd.

He turns to you now, and with a smirk, he says :

“Ya know, my grandma always say that when something good happens to you, you need to celebrate. And I feel like this, right now, you and I, though I have no idea what we’re doing and where it’s going…Well it’s still something to celebrate. And she always says, my grandma, that to celebrate perfectly you need…”

You smile.

Yeah. You don’t know where this thing between you two is going, but you do know that you never met someone who so fully understood you.

And in such a short span of time. And you know you’re not mistaking. It’s a feeling too strong to be a mistake.

He came back to fix your window for god’s sake. And trusted you enough to tell you his actual name. Without a second thought. Which meant everything. Especially since from all the hint he let slip through last time you saw each others, about his father, well…let’s just say telling people his real name wasn’t really something he was used to.

But it just works. It fits. It clicks. It’s not like with your ex, because you don’t think you know it does. It just does. The fact that you say those next few words in perfect sync finishes to convince you :

(“…And she always says, my grandma, that to celebrate perfectly you need…”)

“Salt, tequila, and lemons.”

______________________________________________

I’m so mad the Tumblr app crashed and I deleted the original post...Y’all were great and reblogged the hell out of it ! Which is why it got so many notes in such a short span of times. And feedbacks. I haven’t had that many feedbacks on a story in a long time. So just one last time and I won’t bother you with that again : Please, if you enjoyed this story, don’t hesitate to reblog it and share it with others. People who don’t follow me can’t really find my stories anymore so...you’re a big help by spreading them. It’s always very encouraging.

And if you got the time, feedbacks are always hella appreciated and always make my day a little brighter <3.

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wolfpawn · 5 years ago

Text

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 76

Chapter Summary - Tom and Danielle enjoy some time in the countryside once more, talking about something that has been on Tom's mind before celebrating Tom's birthday.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long. This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @wolfsmom1

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

Tom looked around the house, wondering where Danielle was, the fact that Mac was hiding under the table looking less than pleased caught his attention also. "Where is she?" The dog only gave a small groan in response. "Where is she gone?" His answer came a moment later when a loud engine roared and Mac's ears went up, his attention to the back garden as he did so. Tom walked out and watched as Danielle mowed the grass on the small patch of her garden that was green. It took only a moment before it was done. "A woman of many talents."

"And yet a master at none," She smiled looking over at him. "Come on, I am going to do your mum's while I'm at it."

"Okay?"

"Open the gate," Danielle instructed.

"Where is she gone?" He asked, doing as he was instructed, noting his mum's car was gone from her driveway.

"Shopping, she said she wants to grab a few bits in town."

"Don't you usually go with her?"

"If by that do you mean 'Danielle, you usually play chauffeur, why not today' then the answer is because I am doing this housework, and I want to get everything here sorted." she smiled, leaning up to kiss him. "So I was thinking…"

"Oh God," Tom chuckled as she swatted his arm. "What were you thinking, Darling?"

"A walk after lunch, you, me and a particular canine?"

"The woods?"

"Yep."

Tom wrapped his arms around her, "I think that is a wonderful idea." He leant down and kissed her. "I hate not being able to walk around with you in London."

"I do too, until you go out and are photographed going to Sainsbury's or going for a jog and am reminded that as soon as we are out, they will harass you again like they did when they were trying to get you to talk about Swift."

Tom's brow furrowed. "What about when they start harassing you, why would you be worried about when they are harassing me, I am used to it?"

"Well, I am working on me, so I know I am getting there, so I am worried about you," she explained before getting ready to mow Diana's lawn.

"I should do that." Tom edged forward towards the lawnmower.

"Do you know how?" Tom looked at her, insulted at her insinuation. "Okay," she backed off before turning to look at him again, "Don't forget to prime it though." She stated before going to get the bag to tidy the cut grass so that they could minimise the time it would take.

Tom looked at the lawnmower, wondering what she meant by priming it. After a few seconds of looking at the machine, he turned to see her looking at him expectantly. "I…"

"Never used a petrol one?"

"No, just electric." He admitted, relieved she was not using a ridiculing tone, but one of comprehension.

"Right, well, it is fairly simple." She dropped the bag down in a corner and walked over to him. "The primer is this red button under here," she bent down and showed him the button in question. "You push it three times to send petrol into the engine to start her up, then, you pull this lever here," She pulled a lever. "Keep it pulled, and you yank this rope back and it will start the motor." She explained, showing him by doing it. The motor roaring to life once more as she did so before she let go of the lever and it died again. "Now you try."

Tom slowly went through the steps she told him again and got it, for a moment, before leaving go of the lever. "What happened?"

"You let go, you kill it when you do that." She explained.

Tom smiled down at her. "How do you know all of this?"

"My dad told me to never depend on other people to do house chores, plumbing, electrics and tiling aside, every girl should know how to look after her house."

"I saw you fix mum's sink once." Tom corrected.

"That was cleaning the U-bend, that isn't plumbing, that is basic hygiene."

Tom leant down and kissed her again. "You are an incredible woman Danielle."

"Because I know how to use a lawnmower?" She stared at him as though he was mad.

"No, because you are so independent and strong." his smile fell slightly. "Can I ask you something?"

"You just did," she joked, before nodding slightly, noting his slight change of tone. "Sure, ask away."

"Would he have approved of me, your father?"

Danielle did not answer for a moment, not because she did not want to hurt Tom's feelings, but simply because she was assessing the question properly. "I think so."

"Really?"

"He would have joked about being thankful you're not a vet, he always was at me to never marry a vet, my life would be hell putting up with him. He would love how much respect you have for your mum, that would have been something he would focus on, and your sisters, that really mattered to him. That would have him approving in a second, hands down."

"My career?" that was where Danielle looked at him awkwardly. "Please, Elle, be honest."

"He would have worried. He didn't want me left raising a family by myself while my husband would be working as a vet, out a few times a night, or pretty much be a single mother in Springtime, so I can't imagine you going off for a few months would be something he would have been too pleased by, but that being said, my career isn't stationary either, I mean we are effectively in the same industry, so I think he would see that as a plus and badger me, and you too, to take jobs together."

"Do you think we ever will?"

"What, work on the same set?" Tom nodded. "Dunno, I mean there is a chance, but until I get a bit bigger, I am not sure, you are usually on big jobs, Marvel, Kong, that sort of thing, but who knows, the day might come."

"Would that bother you?"

"Yes, I mean how am I supposed to work if I have to try and function with your sexy ass nearby?" Danielle joked. "Before we make this public, if we were working together, yes, it would, because I would have to listen to every female and probably a man or two too, going on about how sexy you are; at least if it happens after, I can laugh at them saying I only got the job because of you and get to walk around knowing that for all their staring at your ass, I am the only one that gets to have it."

"Most definitely." Tom grinned.

"What about the other way around. How do you think you would feel me working close to you like that, barking orders at construction men and having directors angry that I am costing shooting hours because the set isn't to my standard?"

"Well I know you are a very meticulous woman of very high standards of quality in your life Ms Hughes, and regarding seeing you in action, telling those men what to do, I fear we would come to have an issue." He grinned.

"And what issue is that?" She asked, her brow raised.

"I would be very much inclined to find you the subject of daily lust that I would have to endure torturously before sating myself with you nightly."

"You are a fiend, Tom Hiddleston." She swatted his arm as she looked at him, her own lust rising at his words. "Now, enough dallying and mow the lawn, it will be your fortieth birthday before you are finished this, much less your next one if you keep trying to avoid housework."

Tom smiled as she walked around his mother's garden to pick up some plant debris as he did as she instructed and started the lawnmower.

"What about your mum?" Danielle looked at him as they walked through the woods, watching Mac sniff and mark nigh on every other tree. The leaves finally starting to consider coming out of their hibernation on the chilly but dry overcast February day. "Would she have approved?"

"Can I ask why this even matters?"

Tom's pace faltered slightly. "She wouldn't have?"

"No, I think she would, but why does it even matter, they are not here, they cannot have an opinion on this."

"Is it wrong for me to want to know if my partner's parents would like me?" Tom asked. "You know what my parents think of you."

"Your parents make it very clear what they think of people and to be honest, that's not a bad thing either."

"Elle?"

"Look, Mam would have thought you a gentleman, she would have fawned over you and dare I admit it, giggled like a schoolgirl at you saying you love things in the house and probably get smitten," she stated factually before looking at him again. "Now, why does this matter now?"

"Mum asked me yesterday was I going to Ireland for your grandmother's anniversary, I said no and mentioned what you said about your aunt not approving of me, which led to mum making a comment about her opinion not being the one that would have mattered, but your parents and she was sure they would have approved of me, but of course, we have no way to know that," Tom explained.

Danielle thought over his words for a moment, glad to understand why he had asked such a random question. "My aunt is a battle-axe. Literally, you could have two Oscars, four Golden Globes and a couple of Grammy's and she would think you not good enough for our family, she cost her daughter a marriage to a guy she really loved because of her notions. But Dad wasn't like her, they were from the same house but he was a farmer's son and he never forgot it. He earned more than his dad ever did, he had a bigger, nicer house, he had fancier things but he was a farmer's son and no way would he forget it. It doesn't matter if we had a dining room as well as a kitchen, it was the same food on fancier plates as my grandfather put it that was served. Bacon and cabbage, stew and all that, no fancy posh meals. I remember Mam served him some pizza once, he asked what the fuck squashed his quiche." she laughed, Tom quickly joined in. "My aunt acts as though they were landed gentry and not from 'knee-high in cow shit' as my dad used to say."

"I see where you got your love of swearing."

"Stop, Mam used to give out to him for swearing so much."

"Was she the rock of sense?"

Danielle looked at him bemusedly. "Tom, I swear, her way of saying 'stop swearing' was, and I swear this is the truth 'watch your fucking language'." Tom erupted in laughter at that, so much so that Mac stopped sniffing a plant and looked around at them.

"You're not serious, please tell me that's the truth," Tom begged.

Danielle raised her hand as though she was about to swear on a bible. "I solemnly swear, that is what she used to say. And dad used to give out to her for it then and blame her for my foul mouth, both using expletives in doing so and with Mam bearing arms with some form of kitchen utensil in her hand."

"That is brilliant." Tom chuckled.

"Yeah, so that is my parents."

"I wish I could have met them."

"Well, if you had, I would not have been in England, so you would not have known who they were." Danielle pointed out. "But yes, I wish you could have. Dad would have loved you, a fellow Jameson man. He'd have hammered the GAA into you though."

"Did he not like soccer and rugby?"

"Nah, he had no time for them 'foreign games'," she explained. "I mean he'd watch them yeah, on the telly, but not in an 'oh great, the soccer's on, stop what we are doing and pop it on' sort of way." She explained.

"So he didn’t follow a team?"

"Ireland in major tournaments, obviously, but his brother lived near Highbury as a young man, so Arsenal." Tom came to a halt. "What?"

"You had family in London?"

"Pretty much everyone in Ireland has someone who came over to work for a while."

"Where is he now?"

"New York."

"That's a far cry from a farm."

"Yeah, and the farce is he went all the way to America to marry a woman from Mayo." Danielle laughed.

"I am afraid that means nothing to me."

"Mayo is the county next to Galway, he went New York to marry a woman from seventy kilometres away," She explained, Tom laughed at that. "So yeah."

"Okay, that is very funny," Tom admitted. "So your parents, they would have been happy with me?"

"Well, since I am a short-arse, Dad would have been harping on about you giving any kids we have some height, important in a good hurler, and Mam would think you too thin."

"If it meant more food like yours I would have been happy enough." Tom chuckled, putting his arm around her. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just a little sad I never got to tell them about you, to get to bring you over and show them that I am actually able to get a decent guy, that's all they wanted."

"I'm sorry, Darling."

"Don't be, they'd tell me to cop on to myself and be happy."

"It's done?"

"It's done." She smiled, extending her hand to him.

Tom looked at it for a moment, Danielle was never one to be overly affectionate in public in any manner, he had heard her scoff at people who were overly affectionate, but considering that she had just spoken of her parents, he knew she felt somewhat vulnerable and took her hand in his, bringing hers to his lips. "Are you scared of being seen?"

"It's a woods, besides, I am more scared of losing you for something so stupid as not showing you how much I care about you."

Tom's eyes lit up at her admission, insisting on having his hand in close proximity to hers for the rest of the walk when he was not holding it, close enough for her to feel it occasionally brush against it as they did so.

"Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday dear Thomas, Happy Birthday to you."

Tom hid his face in his hands as everyone sang to him, his mum holding his shoulders as Danielle laughed as Tom's face began to redden. "You know what to do," She joked, "You've had enough of these things by now."

"Sarah, Elle's calling you old," He joked.

"Oi!" Sarah swatted Danielle, who laughed more.

"I did not!"

"I am older than him," She pointed out.

"Crap," Danielle commented. "Sorry."

"No, you're not," Emma whispered in her ear with a big smile.

"Shh," she giggled back.

Tom watched as they acted as they always had before the conflict before Christmas. "Can I eat this now? Mum, as usual, you bake the best cake."

"After you blow out the candles," His niece's tone was scolding.

"Of course, how silly of me. Will you help?"

"Because everyone loves saliva covered cake." Danielle laughed.

"She is just trying to help." Tom admonished.

"I am talking about you spitting and dribbling, old man," Danielle commented, as his sisters, their husbands and his mother laughed, Tom rose to his feet. "Eep." Danielle used that moment to scarper around to the other side of the table.

"Are you sorry?" He demanded, trying to get her to go around the table towards him.

"Not really, no." Danielle laughed while remaining on the far side of the table.

"Actual children." Emma scoffed.

"The five-year-old is more mature than the two of you combined," Sarah added, but the smile on her face showed how elated she was for her brother to finally appear to be genuinely happy.

"He started it." Danielle pointed to Tom.

"How did I start it, you are the one calling me old."

"You spent your morning looking for grey hairs and checking your hairline." She laughed.

"Right," Tom thought strategically for a moment and used Jack as a barricade to keep Danielle pinned while he took the other direction.

"What, no." Danielle used her small height to her advantage and slipped through the Brother-in-law barricade and rushed for the door. "Woohoo."

"How is she nearly thirty, no really, how is that woman your best friend?" Jack asked Emma who was too busy doubled over laughing at Tom who was still seemingly trying to compute how Danielle had gotten out. A moment later, her phone went off. From where he as standing, Jack could see the message, which he read aloud. "I win, someone owes me cake."

Tom stormed out of the room and towards the sitting room, having not heard Danielle go upstairs. "Where are you?"

"Not here." She replied, her tone light.

Looking around the door, he saw her looking at him cautiously. "You are a terror," he grinned, looking down at her from his far taller frame. "I am going to have to get you for that."

"But then you won't get your present." She threatened.

"I told you not to get me anything, the breakaway for Christmas was enough." He scolded. Danielle bit her lips together. "What is it?"

"You don't have to."

"Elle?" She pulled out an envelope from her pocket, folded over from bring shoved in there. "What is it?"

She handed it to him. "It's not Rome, and I don't have a private jet." He gave her a look to tell her to cease talking like that. "I just thought, after our conversation the other day."

He opened the envelope to see a small piece of paper inside, which contained two dates for after the Kong tour. "Where is Shannon?"

"An airport."

"Where?"

"Clare, Ireland."

"You want to bring me home with you?"

"I have no one to really show you to, well my aunts and them are there, but since you asked about all of that."

Tom looked at the paper in his hand and thought about it, a small smile coming to his face. "It's better than Rome."

"Okay, there's no need to lie, it's not but it's home," Danielle smiled.

"No, Elle. It is where you are from, I get to see what moulded you, it is better." He confirmed. "I cannot wait to see it."

"You were in Ireland before."

"Yes, the other side of the country, I always wanted to see the part of the country that inspired the great scholars there."

"You're in for a treat with Connemara and all that so, but we also have to go to West Cork."

"What's there?"

"My mam's lot."

"What are they like?"

"Nice, country stock as well, there's just one issue..."

"What?" Tom asked worriedly.

"Remember those two brothers that won the silver medals in rowing for Ireland in the last Olympics?"

"Yes," Tom looked at her, elongating the word as he spoke. "They are from around there, aren't they?"

"About forty minutes from my Mams."

"Wait, does everyone there speak like that?"

"Not usually as strong, but broadly similar."

"Oh God, this will be hilarious." Tom chuckled.

"They won't have a clue what you are saying."

"The feeling, I can assure you, is going to be mutual," He smiled, kissing her. "I am going to get you for the old man comments."

"After cake?"

"After cake," He confirmed before kissing her again.

"Euch!" they turned to see a disgusted face of regretful curiosity before the Duchess fled the room again. "They're kissing."

#I Hate You I Love You #chapter 76 #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fic #wolfpawn

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theawkwardterrier · 5 years ago

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These Bricks and Beams

Steggy Week 2k19, day 5 Prompt: Domestic Bliss

Summary: On the house hunt. Frustratingly.

AO3 link here.

Peggy has a plan. She does for most things, after all, and buying her first house as a newlywed is no exception. She and Steve have stayed in the familiar flat they love several months past its being strictly comfortable. It’s always been a small place, and it was already becoming cramped with two of them living there. Steve’s clothes hang in the front closet because the bedroom wardrobe is too small for them to share, and now they’re stepping around wedding gifts when they just want to make some toast in the morning.

So one Monday Peggy puts the plan into motion, calling up a Realtor and requesting that they be shown some scaled up residential properties on the market. She and Steve have agreed on their basic qualifications for size, location, price range, and amenities, and Hank Farmer (Number 1 seller three years running! - according to whom, she wonders) gives her every indication that he’ll be able to find some good options for them to see by next week.

Farmer is just as toothily smiling in person as he sounds over the phone. She and Steve exchange a look, but he does come highly recommended (Steve had actually called the local Realtors Bureau, and apparently it is they who keep statistics on who has sold the most in the area) so they push onward, schooling their faces into welcoming blankness.

They see four properties on the first day, flats larger than their current one but with prices that push at the upper boundary of their budget and perhaps even overflow. Steve widens his eyes and shakes his head behind Hank's back when he tells them how much the third floor walkup costs, and she isn't entirely certain the serum will protect her husband from giving himself a stroke at the thought of writing the monthly rent check.

Hank shows them some houses at their next outing, which do have the advantage of price and space, although she'll have a slightly longer commute.

"These units are just sprouting up like weeds," Hank enthuses as they walk through their third such identical house. "Got plenty of young couples set up in ones just like this, and they love them! All the latest: garage for the tinkering gentleman, fresh new linoleum and appliances for the missus." No matter how many times they've mentioned that Steve plans to stay home, Hank refuses to actually absorb the information, handling his discomfort over the arrangement by ignoring it completely and carrying on as if they haven't said anything at all.

His information is accurate, at least. "I think the first kitchen is a bit bigger, and the fourth had lovely exposure if you'd actually like to start that garden, but they all seem in order and they tick the boxes that we'd discussed," Peggy says on the way home.

Steve makes a little sound of acknowledgement, although it's so absent that it almost sounds like one of his sleeping noises. He doesn't speak for a while, and when he says, "I'm not sure that I could see us in any of them. Maybe we should keep looking," he sounds oddly tentative.

She looks over at him in the dim light. She doesn’t know what the purpose would be exactly, but she loves her husband and he has good judgment in his own way. "Certainly we can," she agrees readily.

A month later she is regretting her easy acquiescence. They have gone out with Hank Farmer twice more and seen a dozen other options in the growing suburban communities surrounding the city, and Steve has nodded through each tour, shaken Hank's hand politely, and on the way home said that he couldn't picture them in any of them. Finally Hank told them that perhaps they needed a break to recalculate what they were looking for, and even he looked exhausted, his smile just about ready to melt off his face.

Peggy tells herself that it's fine. She has a backup plan, too, and each morning she and Steve sit in their kitchen which seems increasingly tiny and circle likely listings in the paper. Once a week, they go see them in person. The novelty of shopping for such a major purchase, of getting to see inside all different homes, has long worn off for Peggy. On the way up each front walk, she thrusts her purse over her shoulder with a grimness once reserved for warfare.

And yet Steve continues to reject each house with equally flimsy logic each time: the front door of this one opened right into the kitchen, their current furniture wouldn't coordinate well with the wallpaper in that one. Once or twice, Peggy wonders dully whether he is tormenting her on purpose for some reason, but of course that’s not his nature and, anyway, he is too open for such deception. His face would show any such ridiculous thing in an instant.

Finally one Saturday morning he brings the newspaper over and starts to open it to the classified section and she snaps.

"I don't expect to find anything promising in there," she tells him tartly, buttering her toast so violently she wonders if the bread will be entirely crumbs before she is done. "We've likely seen all that's on offer at least once before, and if we haven't, you'll no doubt discount any new options with ever more minor explanations. Tell me, is there a particular reason that we haven't seen a single property where you can apparently imagine us living?"

"I know," he says, his voice softly miserable. He folds the paper and sets it on the table with that care that she admires and loves so much. She softens a bit despite herself.

"Can you at least try to explain it to me?" she asks, but he shakes his head.

"I can't even explain it to myself. All those places we've seen, they look fine. They all look nearly the same, as a matter of fact - I’m sure I'm just torturing you, making you go tour each one when if you've seen one you've seen them all. But I don't know, Peg. They just don't feel like our house." He steps away from her, sliding his hands into his pockets. "I'm going to take a walk, okay?"

He is gone for so long that she is called into the office before seeing him again. She's distracted all day, her thoughts returning to him at each open moment, always an undercurrent of wondering and worrying even as she takes care of the problems that she can.

He's made shepherd's pie, she realizes as she returns home that evening, and she softens toward him even more. She'd only mentioned once that she used to beg her mother for it at every occasion and she still considers it such a comforting dish.

He kisses her gently as she comes into the kitchen and dishes her out a portion. She starts in on it immediately - apparently worrying over one's husband builds an appetite - and it is a minute before she realizes that his still remains untouched.

Swallowing, she asks, "Did your walk help?"

"It did." He looks down at the table and then back up at her again. "I hate all the places that we've seen. They're just copies of each other, and more than that, we don’t know whether they’ll last."

"They've all been inspected," Peggy feels obligated to point out, poking a fork tine through a single pea rolling on the edge of her plate.

"I don't mean that they're going to fall to pieces tomorrow. But they haven’t been tested at all. In twenty years, in fifty, are they going to just be identical pasteboard wrecks? The place we buy is going to be where we live our lives. We're going to bring kids there, and maybe grandkids." He presses his hands together. "I want our home to be something more, Peg."

She doesn't entirely understand - all of the houses had looked fine to her, decently built if modern, not exactly what she was accustomed to from England, and an older house certainly had its own likelihood of falling to pieces or becoming a nuisance to keep patched together - but she touches his hand, closing her fingers around his and squeezing.

"We can keep looking," she says, and she finds in his smile the strength she needs to make it true.

It's not a newspaper advertisement that finally leads them to the place, but Rita Langforth from down the street who mentions that her great-uncle and -aunt are selling their house to move where it's warmer. Peggy and Steve go to look the next afternoon.

"It’s a bit small, but we never really considered leaving. We moved in here the day after we were married, all the way back in ‘06," Anna Moss tells them as she takes them through each room, a fond sadness on her face as she looks about at everything. "Joe carried me over that threshold, and carried each of our babies out for baptism after they were born upstairs."

"She weighed about the same as the babies, though she was about a thousand times prettier," Joe Moss jokes in his craggy tenor and Anna blushes and says, "Don't lie to the children, Joey."

"Are you truly certain you can part with a place like this, with so many memories?" Peggy asks gently. Anna keeps touching the solid wood doorframes, and Joe has pointed out a half dozen spots with particular imperfections or stories in a way that Peggy understands to mean that he has several hundred more to share.

"Oh, it's getting to be a little too much for us," Joe says with peaceful regret.

"We'd like to pass it on to someone who will love it as much as we have," Anna adds earnestly. She peers at Peggy through her small eyeglasses. "I would be happy to give it to the two of you."

"Steve?" Peggy looks over to where he is standing in a shaft of sunlight, taking in the place with a slightly distant look in his eyes. Until he looks at her, and he focuses, and smiles.

"I can picture us here," he says. “Can’t you?”

And although she'll never admit it, she's happy he made them keep looking, because she can picture them here in a way she couldn't entirely in the other places they had seen. There it had been the vague shadow of a Steve chopping vegetables at the counter, or a version of herself taking advantage of the fireplace: images which were almost functional, as if she were posing paper dolls or extending a measuring tape to make sure that the two of them were the right size for the interior. But here it is a whole life she can see, a vivid array of board games and reading together in this parlor, a Christmas tree which will stand in that corner, of dancing in full view of the windows for no reason at all, waving to neighbors from the front porch, of children who will bicker over who has the bedroom with the window seat and challenge each other to climb the shade tree in the front yard.

Peggy turns to the Mosses and asks, "Where can we sign?"

Three weeks later they stand in the middle of their new front hallway. Their old loveseat is already in place, as are the kitchen table and chairs, and the new bed they bought. Otherwise they are accompanied only by three suitcases and five boxes. Neither of them has been particularly accustomed to permanency or the acquisition that comes with it.

“How in the world are we to fill this place?” Peggy asks, turning this way and that with hands on her hips.

Steve rests his hands on top of hers. He kisses her until she twines her fingers with his, then pulls back and looks at her so he can say, “We already have.”

#steggyweek2k19 #Steggy #Steggy fic #Steve Rogers #Peggy Carter

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jamiemac26 · 7 years ago

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Movin’ On - Chapter Three

Movin’ On - By JamieMac

Description: A relationship is made up of moments. Moments that span days and years, spaces of time. Y/N had been with Harrison Osterfield for 10 years, but after a horrific argument they break up and she finds herself reminiscing, about all the good times they had together and all of the bad times that they went though. She starts to see the pieces that fell - what she once thought was the perfect puzzle, every piece in its place, turned out to be a facade, one big jumbled up mess with nothing but patches in place of the missing pieces.

The flight had been long and she had been restless during the entire thing. Her mind wouldn’t stop replaying her memories with Harrison, strangely enough, she had been focused on their first year together. It had been a happy time for them. They were young and life had been less complicated at that time. She had fallen in love with him, head over heels, and if she would have known at that time what that love would have cost her, she might have walked away.

She was tired. Her feet felt heavy as she slowly made her way towards baggage claim. Her eyelids drooped as she watched the endless line of bags go around and around the never ending carousel. Finally spotting her large black suitcases, she hauled them off the line and onto a cart. It took her more than one try, a kind gentleman even offering his help and his muscles. She thanked him and started on the short journey out to the pick up area. She wasn’t sure what kind of car he now drove, so she found a spot in a visible area and waited to see the familiar face. She checked her cell phone once again, the same text the only thing glaring back up at her. She sat down on the small concrete wall, propping her feet up onto the bag in front of her. The exhaustion she was feeling was an overwhelming sensation and she felt herself starting to subcombe to is. Her head tilted to the side, resting gently on her shoulder. She allowed the sleepiness to wash over her and she let her eyes close, the darkness a welcoming sight. She took a deep breath, slowly exhaling the stress from her body.

“Hey.”

She heard the familiar voice, her eyes flying open. She smiled tiredly at his face, pushing herself up to her feet. He stood before her, looking the same as he had the last time she had laid eyes on him. He had a few more wrinkles around his eyes when he smiled, but the beautiful brown eyes that stared back at her made her feel like she was finally home. He opened his arms and she stepped into his embrace. As his arms tightened around her, the dam that had been holding the flood back, broke and the tears flowed freely down her cheeks. He pulled away, holding onto her shoulders as he studied her face.

“Let’s get you home,” He let her go and pushed her luggage towards the back of his car. She crawled into the front seat, her head was heavy and she felt herself relaxing. She heard the door open and close and felt his fingers grip a tight hold on her hand.

“Thank you for coming to pick me up and for letting me stay with you. I promise that I won’t be in your way for very long,” Her voice sounded tired.

“Y/N how many times do I have to tell you that you won’t be in my way and that you can stay for as long as you need to,” He turned to look at her, his smile evident in his eyes. “I’m just really glad that you’re back home.”

“Me too Tom, me too,” She whispered, the words barely leaving her lips before she gave in completely to sleep.

She woke up in a strange bed, surrounded by unfamiliar things, and her heart started to race. She couldn’t remember how she got here and for a brief, paralyzing moment, she had no idea where she was. She closed her eyes, taking a few deep breaths to get a hold of her bearings and in that second, the scent of coffee touched her nose. It all came flooding back to her. The plane ride. Tom picking her up from the airport. Him carrying her into his house and putting her to bed. Him making sure that she was comfortable before shutting off the lights and closing her into darkness. She tossed the covers from her body and followed the heavenly smell into the kitchen. Tom stood in the middle of the room, cup in one hand, phone in the other. Sweatpants clung to his hips, his chest toned and bare. She stopped in her tracks, her heart skipping, followed closely by an overwhelming sense of guilt.

He looked up, spotting her, “You want some coffee, or maybe some tea? I wasn’t sure what your preference would be so I’ve got hot water ready as well.”

“Coffee,” She managed to find her voice and surprisingly it came out normal. She moved towards him and pulled out a stool from the beneath the counter. She climbed up onto it and took the cup of steaming liquid that he handed her.

“When are you starting your job?” He leaned back against the counter, taking a slow sip from his own mug.

She inhaled the intoxicating smell, allowing it to wake up her senses. “Ummm...not until Monday, so I have a few days to get my bearings.”

“Oh good. I’ve got a couple things to do downtown today, you are more than welcome to join me.”

She nodded her head, “I’d like that. I miss London.”

“I’ve missed you.”

The words were said so quietly that she almost missed them. She looked up at him, his eyes glued to the screen of his phone but a slight smile danced across his lips. “I missed you too Tom, so very much.”

The noise of London encompassed her. It was loud just like L.A., but at the same time it was different. This felt normal. This noise didn’t make her want to crawl into herself and disappear. This noise had a familiarity about it that gave her a sense of peace. A sense that everything would end up being okay. This noise let her know that she was finally where she belonged, where she had always belonged. She walked down the sidewalk, her eyes catching glimpses of the treasures that shimmered at her from behind the glass fronts. She ran her hand along the smooth surface, taking her time as she passed by each one. She was killing time, waiting for Tom to finish up his meeting. He had told her that she was welcome to stay with him, but she had insisted upon taking a walk. The sunshine felt good on her skin, and she reveled in the rarity of the yellow ball blazing in the blue sky. One thing she was going to miss would be the L.A. sunshine, so allowing it to kiss her skin, if only for a moment, brought a quick smile to her face. She was so trapped in her head that she failed to notice the young woman turn her head and then her direction to follow closely behind her.

“Hey, aren’t you Y/N Y/L/N,” The unfamiliar voice shouted at her.

Y/N stopped short, turning quickly, nearly colliding with the stranger, “Excuse me?”

“Aren’t you Harrison Osterfield’s girlfriend,” The inquisitive girl asked.

Y/N hesitated, unsure of how to answer. She used to know, it was once a quick ‘yes’ but not now, now it was a lot harder for her to answer.

“Where is he? Is he back in London? Can I meet him?”

The questions ceased to stop and Y/N wiped her palms against the fabric of her jeans. She wasn’t sure why the inquiry was making her so nervous but she needed it to stop. “Um...No he isn’t back in London and I have no idea where he is.”

The talking stopped and in its place was a look of disbelief.

“I’m sorry but I really should get going,” Y/N tried to brush by the young fan but the girl refused to move out of the way.

“How would you not know? Wouldn’t his girlfriend know?”

The questions stung but Y/N knew that she had to hold her composure as best as she could. “Maybe whichever girl he’s currently dating would know the answer,” She stepped around the blocking figure and continued on her way down the crowded sidewalk.

Thankfully she was able to blend in and after a few blocks and circling back around towards the building Tom was in, she found an empty bench. She sat down, her head heavy, propping it up with her hands. How did she still have so much emotion built up for him? Why, after everything that he had put her through, did she still care so much? How did one get over someone who had been such a huge part of her life? She couldn’t remember her life without him. Could she create a new life for herself, one where he wasn’t a major aspect? She closed her eyes, allowing the sounds of the city to swirl around inside of her. Of course she could. She had lived her life for him for so long, it was time she lived her life for herself.

Her head popped up at the sound of her name. Faint at first, as if in the distance but growing louder, echoing footsteps following in its wake. She beamed as he appeared from around the corner. Funny how he could always bring a smile to her face. He had always had that ability. It was something that she had always loved so much about him.

He plopped himself down on the bench next to her, his arm instinctively wrapping around her shoulders, as if he was protecting her.

“Do you want to grab some dinner,” He leaned close to her, breath brushing against her skin.

She nodded, “Is that little place we used to go to after school still there?”

His nose scrunched up, “That cafe on the corner?”

She nodded.

He stood, his hand extended towards her, “I think it is. Shall we go and find out?”

She took his hand, his finger lacing with hers.

The outside looked exactly as she remembered it. The inside looked exactly as she remembered it. Their booth was empty and she hurried past the hostess to slide onto the bench she so often occupied. Tom muttered a couple of words as he passed the hostess, his with less urgency and she smiled as he touched her arm. He slipped into the booth, across from her and she smiled at him as menus were placed on the table.

“I can’t believe that this place hasn’t changed at all,” Her eyes took in every nook and cranny of the space. “Man, all of the hours that we spent in this exact spot.” Her hands ran along the smooth surface of the tabletop, her fingers tracing all of the cracks and lines. It was like each one held a specific memory and she slowed down.

“Are you okay,” Tom’s voice was soft and caring.

She glanced up at him, nodding her head slowly, “I will be. It’s just hard.”

Movin’ On Masterlist

Tag List: @5-seconds-of-sarcasmm @marvelmakeuplover @baileythepenguin

#tom holland #harrison osterfield #tom holland fanfiction #harrison osterfield fanfiction #tom holland imagine #harrison osterfield imagine #tom holland x reader #harrison osterfield x reader #movin on #tom holland fanfic #harrison osterfield fanfic

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doctormambo · 7 years ago

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woah boy it’s been an emotion week, like literally just been crying since the show closed... but to cheer everybody up, let’s have some heartbreaking fanfiction! as usual, spoilers, comments, likes, all that kinda thing, it’s a little bit longer than usual (i got a little carried away bc emotions) but i hope y’all enjoy!

The morning usually roused Grinpayne with a gentle feeling as he awoke, but this time he was just frustrated that the sun decided to shine its rays into the cart. He grumbled to himself as he shielded his eyes, the conversation from last night filling his head as he rolled onto his side to face the wooden wall of the cart. Life was sometimes confusing and complicated, but he never expected that he would ever find himself in such a situation. Venturing into the world beyond the cart had brought a beautiful woman into his life, but created a conflict he didn’t know if he would be able to resolve, and now it had also thrown an ultimatum that seemed impossible to solve. The time he had spent with Hazel outside the asylum had been some of the best time he had spent in this world, but he had no knowledge of her life on the inside. What if the life on the inside was so horrible that she needed a way to get out of there and the only way to do that was to take away the thing that would stop her from doing what her parents wanted her to do? Something told him that walking away from her wouldn’t help her solve anything. To help someone, you needed to be there for them.

The thoughts had plagued his mind throughout the night and that was why he couldn’t sleep, not even a quick five minute nap. He couldn’t even come to a decision on what he should do and didn’t think he ever could, it was like his mind was tormenting him over and over again. No matter what scenario played out, he was creating pain and discomfort to her and that was something he wanted to avoid at all costs. If there was one thing he was becoming certain of, he couldn’t help her if he wasn’t in her life. He had to figure out his own way to get her out of there if he could. There had to be some happiness in all of this tragedy, he was going to make sure one of them would have a good life in the end. Maybe leaving her to a mediocre life of marriage to a boring gentleman was safer for her. Then again, would a life like that ever satisfy her? He didn’t think it ever could, but perhaps he had misunderstood the person she truly was. The best way to understand what she wanted in her life was to ask her, which was now what was giving him the motivation to sit up and get on so he could see her tonight.

He looked up as he watched Dea stir and slowly wake. He felt if he tried to explain to her what happened last night it would give her the biggest opportunity to tell him now was the time to walk away from all of this. If there was a way to get her opinion on this without the emotions towards the situation, he felt he could get useful advice from her. Then again, knowing Dea, if she didn’t want to keep him to herself, she would tell him to follow his heart as well. She had slowly moved on the bed and stretched her hand out for Mojo and the wolf happily padded over to her. The current tableau gave him that satisfyingly warm feeling in his stomach, but it just wasn’t entirely completing him the way that it once used to. The one thing that he wanted right now was for Hazel to be sat next to him, holding his hand as they both just sunk into each other. Perhaps there was a way that he could try to convince Hazel to run away with him and leave it all behind, but he guessed she couldn’t really just disown her family and come to a life with no true stability. Her parents gave her a true house to live in and if she got that husband, she would get a good amount of money.

“Grinpayne, are you awake?” she asked softly. “Just about,” he rasped. “Are you okay?” “Yeah, I just couldn’t really get much sleep last night.” “Oh, was Ursus snoring? Or did I fidget and shake the cart too much?” “No, it was neither of you, I was just thinking too much.” “I thought it was getting warm in here last night,” she giggled softly. “What was it concerning?” “It’s nothing you need to worry about,” he forced himself to smile even though he knew she couldn’t see it, almost trying to convince himself. “It doesn’t sound like it, what happened last night? Was there bad news from Hazel?” “In a way,” he said sullenly, “no, it’s fine, it’s something I can figure out myself, I’m sure.” “Grinpayne, you can speak to me about this. Please tell me what is going on.” “Hazel is currently in the asylum… she isn’t crazy, she’s there because her parents want her to marry and she refuses,” he inhaled slowly, “but now her brother wants me to abandon her, to leave her in that asylum so she can lose hope, so she’ll go home and marry a boring old man.” “That… that is quite a predicament…” she reached out, slowly making her way towards to the bed before finding his hand, sitting beside him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” “It was a lot for me to take on…” he said softly. “Plus, I kind of know what your answer would have been.” “What does that mean?” “I know you don’t want me to be around her, and so you would tell me to walk away from the problems.” “But you care about her,” she was finally realising how much Hazel meant to him, and getting between them was going to be harmful to Grinpayne. “I think you wouldn’t have listened to me considering how much I’ve already tried to warn you against being with her. And she makes you happy, I see that now, I can’t let you give up on someone who makes you happy.”“So what do I do? I don’t want her to be hurt, but I don’t want her to leave my life.” “There has to be another way. Perhaps we could come up with something better than her brother, we do have a different perspective on things.” “You’re right! We can find a better way through this.” “Father could help as well, he was very helpful the last time.” “I’m sure he can come up with a plan just as good as the last,” he smiled brightly. “I’m sorry I was so negative when she first came into your life… I just didn’t want to lose you.” “You’re not going to lose me, I’m always going to be here Dea, I love you, and I always will.” “I know that now, and I promise to help you two,” she reached for his hand and he snatched it tightly. “Thank you, so much,” he pulled her hand to his chest. “I think you two will make the best of friends.” “She does sound like a really kind person.” “Oh Dea,” he let her hand slip from his, “she really is a fine person. She’s so interesting, and her compassion despite being in this horrible situation… she leaves me in awe. I just wish I could get her out of that place.” “And we will,” she felt the air, carefully placing her hand on his shoulder.

Grinpayne was beginning to feel positive about all of this once more and he wanted to start thinking about something right this moment. He resisted so he wouldn’t rush into this with an idea that was only partially thought out. There was a new vigour to do this, like they would definitely be able to get an idea that would be better, something that her brother won’t have thought of and they could save her. It helped that Dea was now on board, it gave him an extra push of positivity that this was all going to turn out okay. The morning sun no longer taunted him, but was encouraging him to get through the day so he could wait to see if she would be at the performance. If she was, there was even a chance that they could start to come up with an even better plan with all of them working on this together. With a smile in his heart, he held onto Dea’s hand once more, watching the sunlight stream through the small window.

The morning light was harsher for Hazel, another reminder that she wasn’t outside in the world that she wanted to explore. There was some movement outside of her room and she could hear the low murmur of nurses discussing something she couldn’t quite make out. Nervously, her hand began to find the crook of her elbow as she started to scratch the skin away. There was no reason, apart from the fact she was scared, scared of what could become of her. Were the nurses discussing her future in the asylum, there had been a thought about her treatment worsening so they could get her to finally break. Or what if someone else was being discussed and she could have been able to warn them. Rushing over to the door, she pressed her ear to the door, hoping to get a listen.

“We need to keep this as quiet as possible.” “No one in here is going to know who she is, she’s barely recognised by the normal public, these lunatics won’t have a clue.” “I hope you’re right matron, this is very risky. It’s not exactly protocol.” “Don’t lecture me on protocol. If my son thinks this is the best place for her, then it is. We just need to find her a place.” “All rooms are full.” “I know they are!” she barked. “What female patients do we have that aren’t violent?” “There’s only really two if you want to make sure she’s definitely unharmed.” “Newton and Stevenson?” “Yes, those are the only two with no violent tendencies. But Stevenson is prone to self injury.” “Put her in with her then. Maybe it’ll give her the push to finally give up on her silly notions. Newton is a lifer so there’s nothing to be gained from them being roomed together.” “Yes matron, when will the patient be arriving?” “My son will be arriving soon with her.”

Hazel stepped away from the door, her skin turning pale apart from the patch under her fingernails, small beads of blood forming on her skin. She wasn’t sure what this was even going to mean for her. The questions began swimming around her head, the ideas of who this person could be, the fact the matron’s son was the person bringing her in, that could only mean that this person was filled with just as much cruelty and evil as he was. They wanted to put her with a non-violent patient, which could mean that she was filled with violence herself and wanted someone who wouldn’t fight back. They were going to be sorely mistaken; Hazel was ready to fight anything that wanted to take away her passion from life, anything that threatened taking away Grinpayne.

As the door lock clicked, she quickly sat back on her bed, acting as if she had been simply looking at the walls. Even though she had an idea what was going to be said to her, she was still filled with terror at what was going to happen next; the matron instilled fear in her no matter the situation. The other nurse stood behind her, holding they tray with today’s medication on it, but Hazel’s eyes wouldn’t shift from the matron, just waiting for what she would say with baited breath.

“Today is an interesting day for you, Stevenson. You’re going to be hosting another patient. The two of you will reside together in this room for duration of her stay. You are to look after her,” a sickly smirk appeared. “W-will we get another bed?” “Oh no, we can’t afford that, I’m sure you can figure something out. I’ve heard at how resourceful you can be.”

A lump began to form in Hazel’s throat as her mind began to whir at an unholy speed. Did the matron know about her late night trips? Or was it just that she had seen the way Hazel nursed other patients when they needed her help? Either way, the panic was beginning to set in and she couldn’t shift it no matter how hard she reassured herself. Her gaze shifted as the other nurse moved over and handed her the daily dose with the glass of dusty water.

“She’ll be arriving later today, so I expect you to be on your best behaviour,” the matron teased.

After taking her medication and presenting her mouth to show she had swallowed them, the matron and nurse left her alone with her thoughts. There was something that sat in the pit of her stomach, making her feel sicker by each passing second. It was the unknown that worried her, not knowing who this person was or what they would be like, but also what it would entail. The questions rushed through her head, making her think of almost every single possibility. Each one was worse than the other, but all of them ended with her in pain and discomfort. The more the thoughts swam through her head, the deeper her nails dug into her skin and made it raw and irritated. The top layer had come away and she was getting deeper and deeper, blood sitting on the surface until it was scraped away and smeared around the area.

The more she scratched, the deeper she went and therefore the worse it would be once she had finished. But none of that crossed her mind at this moment, the only thing that was there was the cloud of anxiety and confusion. The more she scratched, the more she didn’t have to think about those things and be utterly lost in a haze of pain and routine. That was until her eyes fell on the letter that Grinpayne had left her poking out of her book and her fingers fell limp. She started to remember the love that she felt when he was near and the love she could feel even though he wasn’t here. If he was here, he could hold her and assure her that everything was going to get better; that she would be okay and this new patient wouldn’t bring her anything she couldn’t handle. She pressed her forehead against the cold stone wall and waited with closed eyes, hoping she would be able to do this.

Her heart leapt into her throat as she heard the lock click once more and she turned quickly to see who it was. The matron’s son was a sickly thin man whose skin always looked like it was peeling as he seemed to never be able to get all of his clown make up off. He scuttled into the room, his hands clasped together as he seemed to inspect it, looking at what was available for the person he was putting in here. She couldn’t take her eyes off him despite being the one thing she never wanted to look at again. He turned sharply and stared at her with pursed lips. Her skin crawled as she tried to look away, chewing her lip nervously, waiting for him to say something as her eyes looked at any spot on his face apart from his eyes.

“So, who are you?” “H-Hazel Stevenson,” she looked at the floor. “H-H-H-H-Hazel,” he mocked, “so what is your affliction?” She cast a glance up at the matron with confusion. “Well, he asked you a question, answer him,” she snapped from behind him. “Extreme bouts of melancholy, moments of madness which induce self injury.” “Hmm,” he lifted her sleeve with a crooked finger, “I guess it will do.” He turned to the matron. “At least she doesn’t look crazy.” “Quite, and she keeps to herself, pretty quiet most of the time,” she explained like she wasn’t even there. “So why is she in here? “Despises aristocracy and refuses to marry her betrothed.” “Almost fitting.” “Quite.”

The two shared a sickly grin with each causing a shudder to run through her body. To know that the cruelty that ran through the matron, also ran through him was enough to make a sane person avoid both of them. Sadly, she wasn’t able to simple ignore or run away from them, having to suffer whatever sick game they wanted to play next. The matron slowly walked into the room and revealed the patient standing behind her; she wasn’t much taller than Hazel, and her hair was all horribly matted together, and she seemed terribly pale, but she was well looked after and her white gown was in perfect condition. As she looked up to the woman’s face, she couldn’t help but notice the utter confusion in her eyes, fixed with one eyebrow cocked up, looking to the matron’s son for some advice on this situation, but getting nothing from him apart from being dragged further into the room.

“This is all of yours now, your father believes it best you’re not able to cause problems in the public, and so here is where you’ll find yourself for the foreseeable future. Maybe if you get well in here, you’ll be able to come home, but for now, this is your home.”

Hazel looked between the two of them as she waited for some kind of acknowledgement or something from either of them, but there was absolutely nothing. The woman shuffled further into the room and simply sat herself down on the bed and looked back up to the matron’s son, confusion still on her face. She wasn’t sure if she should say something to disperse the tension or whether it was simply safer to keep it to herself. She looked to the woman who now sat next to her, and then to the matron, and then to the matron’s son, waiting for something, anything just to kill the painful silence.

“Well, I best be off now Angelica, I’ll tell your father you were on your best behaviour, but now you are in the right place, you’ll be more suited to life in here,” his sincerity was forced and awkward. “I will visit to check in on you from time to time,” his forced smile suggested otherwise.

And with that, he and his mother left the room, shutting the door and then locking the two patients into together. Without thinking, Hazel got to her feet and quietly tiptoed over to the door to see if she could hear them speaking, if there were any last words that were being exchanged that she could understand. She wanted to get at the bottom of this, to find out who this woman was and why her father wanted so desperately to dispose of her in a place where no one would find her. They were murmuring lowly, so she pressed her ear to the door to get as close to their conversation as possible.

“Barkilphedro, stop worrying, no one will know she’s here, this is one of your most brilliant plans yet. You will surely gain more respect from him.” “I hope so, I still have my eye on that velvet gown.” “I know, I know, and you will have it soon, son.”

They moved away from the door and now it was impossible to understand what they were saying, so she walked back towards the bed to watch the new patient, Angelica. Her face seemed slightly familiar, but there was nothing coming to her on where she would even know her from. Of course she knew that the matron’s son was a man who worked for someone wealthy, someone who was influential, but Hazel had never really met women of that world, only the men that she was supposed to marry. Cautiously, she sat down on the edge of the bed, wondering what this patient was having problems with or whether she was in a similar situation. There didn’t seem to be any reaction from her at all, as if she was frozen now she had finished moving and it unnerved Hazel.

“My name is Hazel, yours is Angelica, right?” she said softly.

There was no verbal response, but she finally looked in her direction, as if that was her answer, which she assumed meant yes unless she had completely misheard it earlier. Unsure of what to do next, she wiped her hands on her dress and sat in contemplation for a few moments. It didn’t seem as if talking was going to get her anywhere, but there wasn’t many other ways she could think of to interact with her. Plus, she didn’t know if there was something that would eventually set her off, or if this was her constant state. Some of the other patients she had seen had become this way after years and years of abuse, simply unable to react or interact at all which meant they weren’t much of an attraction for the viewings for the public. Although it was a horrible state to find her in, at least she wouldn’t be a victim of the gawping and pointing from the paying masses. Tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, she carefully leant forward, cautious in case it created a reaction.

“I know it’s hard to be placed in somewhere like this by your own family, but I promise I will help you as much as I can,” she smiled. “Is it okay if I help tidy up your hair?” she remained formal and polite.

There was no reaction from Angelica and Hazel wasn’t entirely sure how to proceed next. She shifted on the bed slightly and leant in towards her, lifting her hands to start to ease the matted hair. Her hands stopped in midair as Angelica flinched, and she moved back slightly to see if she wanted her to leave her be. They locked eyes for a moment and Angelica seemed to accept the help this time, simply scared as she wasn’t used to be treated with kindness. It broke Hazel’s heart to see someone who seemed so docile being so scared of human contact because of the cruelty she had probably experienced from Barkilphedro. Once more, she began to move forward and this time Angelica didn’t flinch, instead allowing her to carefully put her hands into the matted hair.

It was a long task and most people probably wouldn’t have bothered to help someone with such a meaningless task, but she felt that something like this could help her simply to just feel normal. Delicately, she began to divide up parts of the hair the way it naturally fell away from each other, sectioning off a little more to make it easier on Angelica as she started to untangle the hair. She worked her fingers through it, slowly pulling apart some of the knots and slipping the hair through others, trying her hardest to not pull it painfully. Part of this felt kind of therapeutic for her, her mind concentrating on her actions instead of all the things that had been bouncing around her head for most of the morning. Not only was it occupying her thought space, but it was nice to watch the progression of how her hair was becoming detangled and eventually she would have a nice head of hair that could be plaited, or just admired in its natural form.

Hazel moved across to grab her ornate silver hair brush off the bedside table, pulling her book that was under it and bringing both with her. She placed the book next to Angelica on the bed and then held her brush, teasing the hair with her free hand before starting to brush out the sectioned which were now able to have the brush ran through them. A smile started to play on her lips as the progress was coming along nicely, seeing that there was a chance she could have this done before lights out if she kept this pace. The hair was beginning to show its true beauty, with natural curls adding a little extra bounce to it. Perhaps she had spent a few hours doing this, but it hadn’t been wasted time, especially if it was one small thing that would make Angelica to feel a little better in herself.

Finally, she was able to run her brush through her hair without much trouble. A few small tangles were still there, but she didn’t give up, carefully pulling and picking at the small knots until her fingers could run through it. Then once more, she ran the brush through the hair with a proud little smile. Sitting back down next to her new roommate, she carefully moved the hair over her shoulders to show her how pretty it looked without the terrible mattes in it. Angelica seemed to show a small amount of emotion for the first time, having sat perfectly still the entire time, a smile cracking the corners of her mouth as she then looked up to Hazel, her eyes seemingly glassing over slightly. Hazel placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, rubbing it softly, just to remind her that she was always going to be here for her if she could be.

The sun was slowly sinking in the sky and creating a fantastic hue of soft reds and oranges that seemed to create a final sense of calm over the day. Hazel’s eyes darted to the outside world for a moment; could she go out and leave Angelica for a trip to see Grinpayne? As she shuffled to give her a little more room, Hazel knocked the book off the bed causing the pages to fall open and his note fall onto the floor. While she had never been a big believer in signs, if there had ever been a moment to, this would be it. Before Angelica could cast a look towards the tatty paper, she scooped it back into the book and placed it on the bedside table, and the brush on top of it once more. The flood of anxieties and questions came back as she tried to make a decision since there could be more of a risk of being caught now there was another patient they were more likely to check on regularly.

The door clicked open, both Angelica and Hazel flinching at the noise as they looked to see who would be coming in. This time it was only one of the other nurses, so they were relatively safe for the time being. Without a single word or interaction, the nurse roughly grabbed Angelica’s arm against her best struggling and placed the needle into her skin, pressing the plunger and taking it out just as she began to fall backwards onto the bed. The nurse looked to Hazel and simply held out a small glass which had the medication she was supposed to take during the day to battle with the melancholy. She drank it quickly and handed the glass back, then the nurse left without anything else. As she looked between the letter and Angelica, she thought about the best plan of action for tonight.

Once the performance for the evening was over, the crowd dispersed and the performers for The Grinning Man all slowly made their way back to the small wooden cart. They were all quiet, mainly waiting to see what would be waiting for them once they got back. Of course, Grinpayne was waiting eagerly to see Hazel and to just speak to her, being in her calming and almost healing presence. Mojo padded softly next to Ursus, panting happily as his tail wagged, and nudging Dea’s empty hand playfully. With a small smile, she lifted her hand and then started to scratch the wolf’s head lovingly, starting to feel the effects of the conversation she had with Grinpayne this morning, things becoming more comfortable as she accepted this new and different type of love. Maybe all of this was a better thing than they had first imagined.

Before they reached their travelling home, he could hear footsteps behind them and couldn’t resist looking over his shoulder, catching the eye of the person he was hopeful to see. Although as pale as she usually was, there seemed to be a glow about her under the soft lights from the fair. Part of him just wanted to stay in this moment and not ruin it, but he knew that he had to tell her about what her brother had wanted to him to do. There was a real fear sitting inside him that this news would break her heart and that was something that he always wanted to avoid, but he couldn’t not tell her since it seemed like this was too important to ignore. Before he had the chance to say or do anything more, he was pulled into a tight hug from her, his hands slipping around her waist and pulling her closer, taking her in.

“That was a wonderful performance tonight, Grinpayne.” “Thank you,” he blushed slightly, still not used to the praise from anyone. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get out to see you last night.” “It’s okay, you don’t have to apologise, it’s not your fault.” She smiled sadly. “There’s a chance it’s going to be harder for me to come more often. A new patient arrived today and was placed in my room. She definitely needs my help, I can’t leave her alone in that place.” “I understand that, you want to help her,” he nodded despite feeling that he was being passed over for someone else. “I do, she needs someone to show her kindness as she has had none her entire life. She jumps at almost every movement, she doesn’t even speak. I spent all of the day detangling her hair, just because she has never been taken care of. I can’t let cruelty be her only experience.” He couldn’t even think of what to say, simply holding onto her hand and smiling. “But I will always try to visit if I can, I’m not going to leave you,” she squeezed his hand. “If I can visit you, I will try, but I don’t know if your brother has me on a blacklist.” “Georgie? You’ve met him? Why wouldn’t he let you visit me?” “He visited me last night. He believes that our relationship will hold you back, that it won’t let you move towards the ideals your parents have for you.” “He doesn’t understand that’s not the life that I want, this is the life I want!” “I think his main reason is because he wants you out of the asylum, but the only way out is to do that.” “So he would rather me be bored and unhappy, than do the things that I want?” “He wants to get you out of that place, but so do I. So I need to find a better way to get you out of there, and we will do it,” he pulled her hand to his chest. “I guess he’s trying…” she looked up at him with glassy eyes. “But I would rather be in there than outside in a loveless marriage. I may be free from the asylum, but my life would be unlived.” “I know, which is why I refuse to play into his plan, I won’t let him take you away from me.” “He won’t, I’ll make sure he knows this is a terrible plan. And now with Angelica, I can’t abandon her in that place.” “Dea and I are going to help think of something better, something that means you can live the way you want.” “If Angelica hadn’t fallen in my lap, I would have been inclined to simply run away with you.” “I would have had no objections,” he could feel his cheeks tighten into what would have been a goofy grin. Her free hand slowly cupped his cheek. “We could have been true adventurers, going wherever we wanted on a whim.” He let go of her hand and took a hold of her shoulders. “Chasing the sun through the sky and sitting in the company of the stars.”“Carving our own roads in the landscape, and leaving a trail of for other people to follow behind us,” she locked eyes with him. “We’ll follow our hearts and not let a single person tell us what to do.”

Her reply was to slowly stand up on the balls of her feet and kiss him, her hand pulling him closer to her so she could now slip her arms around his shoulders. After a few moments, she settled back down on her feet, but Grinpayne didn’t break the kiss, leaning down as his arm slipped around her back. He didn’t want to be pulled away from her, just wanting this moment to last a lifetime, but he did need to breathe at some point. As he could feel the slight discomfort beginning to pulse through his wound, he pulled back from her, looking at her for a moment before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. They stayed in silence, their hands resting upon each other as they both tried to find the heart to part once more as the bell chimed like a taunting reminder. Their hands found each other in the darkness but they both knew they couldn’t stay here. He cast a glance over to Ursus as if asking for permission to go with her and he nodded him on.

Hazel gave Ursus a small wave of appreciation and then they turned to walk on the way to the asylum. They didn’t have to engage in conversation, the two of them simply being in each other’s company being enough to satisfy them. As his free hand slipped into his pocket, he remembered Osric’s scarf and quickly tied it around his lower face to hide his bloodied bandage. He carefully slipped his hand around Hazel’s waist, pulling her closer to him and unable to stop the warmth coursing through his body as she leant her head on him. There was something so simple in this moment and yet it was almost like it was of great importance.

They walked briskly through the quiet streets of London, each step bringing happiness and sorrow at the same time. They go to spend time together, being with the person they felt most connected to, but with each step they knew that they would be away from each other but didn’t know for how long. The unknown was the thing that worried both of them, Grinpayne more worried about the fact that maybe Ursus would decide they needed to leave London without him getting a chance to say goodbye to her. Of course he hated the idea of breaking up his family, but he was beginning to wonder if he would choose her over them if the time came. He would never be able to replicate this feeling of happiness and calm with another person, and her arm around his waist felt like the most natural thing in the world that he didn’t want to give up for anyone.

They could both sense the daunting feel of dread as the asylum loomed in front of them, their grip becoming tighter on each other. As they entered the garden, they looked up to each other with sadness in their eyes, but they knew they had to do this. Suddenly, he could feel his chest tightening as his hand fell from around her waist, falling to his knees on the overgrown grass. She watched him fall and her eyes filled with terror at what this could mean. Not only was he in pain and dealing with something horrible, but now she had the panic of if she would be able to get back to her room before there was a room check. Quickly, she knelt down in front of him, holding onto one of his hands while his other grasped his chest, and watching him for a moment, trying to figure out what she could even do to help him.

“Grinpayne, I know the pain is hard, sometimes it takes over completely, but you have to listen to my voice, you have to come back to me,” she squeezed his hand tightly. “Please, just let yourself feel, but don’t dwell on it, feel it, but let it wash over you because it doesn’t define you,” she said softly, her other hand starting to run through his soft curls.

Her words played through his head, each word bringing him back towards her and the pain slowly subsiding. The pain throbbed in his chest, tightening his heart, but her voice slowly loosened the hurt that gripped on it. As the haze of pain started to clear from his mind, he could finally focus on her, but he could also see someone in his mind. It was someone that he felt he knew but hadn’t seen for years; a woman, probably around the same age that he was now, her skin was dark and her eyes were soft and caring. He blinked slowly and the beautiful woman disappeared from his mind. Looking back to Hazel, his eyes welled with tears as he wasn’t able to understand how this was the first time in years that he had ever seen who could only guess was his own mother. She had to be the reason that he had remembered her face and all he could do was look at her and slowly let the tears fall from his eyes.

Hazel leant forward and slowly wiped the tears from under his eyes, offering him a kind smile and holding tightly to his hand. There was no need for either of them to say anything in this moment as she didn’t expect him to share anything. Still fully aware that she needed to get back to her room, she stayed with him so she could make sure that he was okay. Tentatively, she pulled down the scarf from his face, placing her hand on his cheek to bring his face up slightly, the tears glistening in the soft glow from the street lamps. A soft sigh escaped from his mouth as he could feel the relief washing over him, leaning into her hand while his other hand grasped her hand. In one smooth motion, he stood to his feet, and then helped her to her feet as well, never letting go of her hand at any point. He was well aware that she needed to go so he tried to be as quick as he could, pulling her in for a hug before she had to go. That goodbye wasn’t enough for her, leaning in to steal a sweet goodnight kiss before disappearing behind the heavy asylum door.

#the grinning man #grinning man #l'homme qui rit #the man who laughs

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