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honeypiehotchner · 4 years

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Normal (Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader) -- oneshot

I know this is def not my normal content because y’all know I’m a huge Hotch girl, but sometimes I slip back into being a Reid girl. It’s hard not to! I see a lot of myself in him and it led me to write this, so enjoy this (very real, actually) glimpse inside my head in the form of a fluffy Reid story xx.

I listened to “Normal” by AJR a lot while I wrote this!

Summary: Spencer has recently returned to the BAU after a short period of leave, and he comes back to find you, an agent-in-training filling his Resident Genius shoes. He admires you for who you are. You think he hates you. He tries to convince you otherwise.

DR. SPENCER REID MASTERLIST

At first, you thought it was because of the way you read books.

You’ll never forget the first day you met the infamous Dr. Spencer Reid. He had returned from leave for his injured knee (he was shot, you were told) and this was apparently the second time he had attempted to step foot in the office. The first time didn’t go over well when Hotch found Spencer’s file that said his doctor did not clear him for work yet.

Regardless, you were sitting in your desk chair, legs crossed underneath you, “like a human pretzel,” Morgan always teases. You were reading a book, one of your favorites, to pass the time when Spencer walked in.

You knew it instantly because Morgan’s loud and affectionate, “Pretty. Boy!” could be heard all over the BAU.

You didn’t get up from your chair or stop reading -- besides the brief moment when you looked up to see what the commotion was about.

You still remember your internal monologue. Should I get up and hug him like Morgan? No, no, I don’t know him that well. I don’t want to hug anyone today, anyway. Shake his hand? You remember your hand tensing at the mere thought. Okay, not that either. I could wave, but I can’t tell if I even need to. I’ll just keep reading.

You had heard of Spencer before this. Hotch made it abundantly clear to you and the team that you were not replacing Spencer when you joined. You aren’t even officially a member of the BAU yet. You’re on a bit of a trial run, so to speak. That’s how Hotch explained it.

Yes, you were and still are well aware that the timing looks awful. An agent who is vital and loved in the BAU is shot and out of work right as a new, younger, and less experienced but surprisingly intelligent agent steps in for a “trial run” (which no one ever does).

To anyone else, it obviously looks like you were sent here to replace Dr. Reid under the disguise of a short “trial run.”

But that isn’t the case at all.

You thought Spencer didn’t like you because of the way you read books. You immerse yourself in them. You use a pencil to track what line you’re on, so nearly every page has a vertical, light gray line in the margin where the tip of your pencil lead barely grazed the page. You underline keywords and phrases. You draw arrows. You write commentary in the margins.

You thought that was what annoyed him until you saw him highlighting a book and writing in the margins, too. He doesn’t even necessarily need to, especially since he can read so damn fast and remember everything.

That’s also what you suspected -- that he didn’t like you because you could read almost as fast as him.

Keyword here: almost.

You can scan a page and spit the information back out in layman’s terms, sure. But you won’t remember what you read in great detail the next day, sometimes even the next hour -- especially when you were sort of filling the Resident Genius shoes and you’d have to read through stacks of evidence every hour.

You had thought your speed was just another thing Spencer didn’t like because it was just one more thing pointing to the conclusion that you were hired to replace him.

But he doesn’t care. You gladly let him read the evidence and memorize it, but you’ll help him out sometimes by scanning something first to see if it might have what he’s looking for. If it might, then he goes through and catches the fine details.

He’s never once acted as he hates you -- even though you’ve had “friends” who hated your guts and you had no idea (true story: high school is brutal and you were always shocked when your childhood best friend told you how “fake” others were acting toward you). But you’ve tried to look for specific signs, and he shows none of them.

You’re grasping at straws at this point. You’re on a profiling team and you had to Google how to tell if someone hates you. It’s pathetic, truly.

He doesn’t avoid you -- but he also is a really private person like you who likes his time alone.

He doesn’t drop a conversation with you after it’s been started -- but he also rambles so much anyway that you don’t know if he himself is capable of dropping a conversation abruptly.

He doesn’t avoid eye contact with you -- but even that one is tricky because you’re still working on it yourself, and you definitely have some days where you avoid eye contact. Sometimes you can hold it too well, though, and you always wonder if that’s rude.

Going through the rest of the signs that you found on Google goes exactly like that. He hasn’t done it, but then again… There’s always a catch.

It’s exhausting.

It’s a straight week of this before you finally cave and go to the one person you know you can always trust.

“Morgan, does Reid hate me?”

Derek stops stirring his coffee and tilts his head, furrowing his eyebrows at you. “What?” He goes back to stirring before tossing the stick in the trash. “Kiddo, why would he hate you?”

You misread this, too, and think Derek is confirming that Reid has hated you all along. “I don’t know. Why would he? What did I do?”

Morgan pauses, staring at you for a second before he realizes. “Ah, alright. It’s not clicking?”

You and Morgan have this phrase for when things completely fly over your head. “It’s not clicking?” is all he has to ask and all you have to do is nod, and he explains things to you.

So, you nod.

“Okay, listen, he does not hate you,” Morgan says. “I mean that. He’s been struggling to get settled after being out, but he doesn’t hate you. He’s far from hating you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just, trust me. He doesn’t hate you.”

“Okay,” you say slowly. You do trust Morgan, but somehow his words don’t ease your mind this time. “Should I talk to him about it? Or is that overstepping?” You pause. “I don’t wanna be annoying.”

“Kiddo, you’re never annoying,” Morgan smiles, raising his coffee at you. “I’m serious. And sure, if you think talking to him about it will help, go for it.”

“Okay… How do I ask him?”

Morgan shrugs. “Say you’ve felt like there’s been underlying tension and you want to clear the air.”

“Underlying tension and I want to clear the air. Got it,” you chant to yourself. “Thanks, Morgan!”

“Anytime, kiddo.”

Fast forward an hour or two and you finally have enough courage worked up to confront Spencer. The first hour was spent rehearsing what you plan to say and the second was spent rehearsing what you might be asked and what you can say. And finally, you were ready to walk around the set of cubicles to get to Spencer’s.

Spencer looks up when he sees you walking over and he raises his eyebrows. “Oh, Y/N, I just found this really good book about the strategies of--”

“I’ve felt like there’s been a lot of underlying tension between you and me and I wanna clear the air,” you blurt.

Spencer pauses, eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“Are you mad at me?” You try again.

“Why would I be mad at you?”

“Do you hate me?”

“What? No!” Spencer sets his book down on his desk. “Of course I don’t hate you.”

“Oh...okay,” you nod slowly. “That’s...that’s all then.”

As you’re turning around to go back to your, Spencer stands. “Wait, Y/N.”

You raise your eyebrows in question. “Oh, right,” you chuckle nervously. “What book did you want to tell me about?”

“Oh,” Spencer looks down at his desk, then shakes his head. “I’ll tell you that later, I wanted to ask first if...if you wanted to get dinner later? There’s a reading downtown for this new poet and I thought you’d like to go.”

“Oh,” you nod. “Yes, I was actually already going, but yeah. We can get dinner.” You mentally rearrange things in your schedule as you speak.

“Okay,” he smiles softly. “Oh, the book. Here, you can--” He pauses and grabs a chair, rolling it over for you.

Derek watches from his desk as the two of you sit down and Reid starts rambling.

+++

You and Spencer leave straight from the BAU to get dinner before the reading.

One thing you’re grateful for that comes with spending time with Spencer is that you never have to worry about conversation. He carries it and if there’s ever a silence, he fills it. Or, like tonight, the two of you enjoy a mutual silence.

You opted for a table outside on the patio because the dinner rush was crowding the restaurant indoors, and it made the lights seem a little too bright. You could feel a headache coming on when Spencer asked if the two of you could sit outside.

It’s a little chilly outside, so you guys are alone, but you’re both always bundled up, so you aren’t cold. Spencer is always in some form of layers and a scarf, and you are, too. Minus the scarf, though, because some days it doesn’t feel right on your neck (and lately it doesn’t). But you’re always in a sweater and a cardigan.

Winter is your favorite season because of this. You can wear as many layers as you need and not suffer from a heatstroke.

After a quiet dinner (that you actually kind of needed, though you didn’t realize it at first), the two of you walk down the street to the small bookstore where the poetry reading is taking place.

“So, you said you were already coming,” Spencer begins.

“Hm?”

“To the poetry reading,” he clarifies.

“Oh, right,” you chuckle. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he says, unfazed. “Do you read a lot of poetry?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “I’ve always loved it, I think. I write some, too, but I don’t know how good it is. Probably not very since I’m in the FBI.”

Spencer laughs softly. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Do you write poetry?” You ask.

He shakes his head. “Not often, but sometimes.”

“That’s cool.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I like it. Not enough to do it for a living, of course. Actually, I almost got a Masters in Poetry a few years ago.”

“That’s crazy.”

“I can’t imagine being a poet,” he says, slowing his steps as you reach the bookstore. “But I guess that’s why I’m not one.”

You’re not sure what else to say, so you stay quiet while he opens the door for you, gesturing for you to go inside.

Bookstores are your forever safe haven. The quiet stacks, the mutual agreement between everyone inside not to speak to anyone else unless it’s dire. Not to mention, being surrounded by words.

Even events like these are small. Every event you’ve been to, you’ve been one of maybe twenty people attending. It’s your Heaven. It’s the kind of social interaction you’re somewhat good at.

Spencer is surprised when you willingly sit in the front. He would’ve expected you to sit at the back, in the middle row, even, but not the front center. He doesn’t question it, though. He just quietly sits next to you.

You pull the poet’s book out of your bag and it’s a well-worn copy. You flip through the pages and Spencer catches glimpses of underlined words, commentary, everything that lets him know this must be your favorite.

“Do you um…” Spencer pauses, waiting until you tilt your head, showing your attention. “Do you come to readings here often?”

“Every month,” you nod. “It’s a weird routine I’ve had ever since I moved here. I went to readings almost every week in college, and I didn’t want to stop.”

“I don’t come to a lot for poetry,” Spencer says. “Mostly novels -- and mostly conventions for academia-based writings.”

“Those have always scared me,” you chuckle, only half joking.

“Really? Why?”

“Oh, just the idea of hundreds of people crowded in a hall. That kind of thing just isn’t my speed.”

“You know, if it’s too scary to go alone, you’re welcome to come with me,” Spencer offers.

“Okay.”

“There’s one next Friday,” Spencer says. “If we’re not out on a case, we can go together, right after work.”

“Okay, yeah,” you smile. “What time?”

“It starts at 7, so we could leave work at 5:30 and get dinner beforehand.”

You mentally begin piecing next Friday together in your head and you nod, thankful for his mention of specific times. “That sounds good.”

Soon the chairs around you are filled and you recognize a few people who smile at you, so you smile back. Before long, the manager of the store is stepping up to introduce tonight’s poet, and Spencer watches you eagerly crack open their book.

+++

Somehow, spending time with Spencer has gotten worked into your routine.

You go with him to academic readings, and he comes with you to your poetry ones. The two of you have dinner together most nights because it’s your routine to eat right after work, and most of the time he’s already rambling about something to you when 5 o’clock hits and you begin packing up your stuff.

Tonight is no different, only this time when you’re walking next to Spencer to the bookstore for another poetry reading, he fills the silence.

“Can I tell you something?”

You pause, but nod anyway, wondering why Spencer is asking this time when he hasn’t before -- not that you can recall.

Spencer takes a deep breath. “I know you thought I hated you, and honestly when you told me that, I couldn’t believe it. Because I don’t hate you and I never have. I...I like you a lot, Y/N.”

“Oh,” you let out a breathy chuckle. “I like you too, Spencer. I’m glad you don’t hate me and thanks for saying it again. Sometimes I need the reminder.”

He chews on his lower lip as he listens to you, and it’s obvious you didn’t catch what he is really trying to say. “Y/N, I mean...I like you. I have feelings for you -- romantic feelings,” he clarifies, watching your face intently.

You’ve never made the most facial expressions, but when you do, they can be exaggerated. Which is what happens now.

Your eyes widen and you make what looks like a grimace with your lower lip. “I’m sorry,” you say, scrunching your nose. “Have these…have these all been dates?”

Spencer shrugs. “Only if you want them to be. I just like spending time with you.”

“I like spending time with you, too,” you smile softly. “You don’t hate me for not realizing, do you?”

“Of course not,” he laughs. “But I wanted to tell you because I like being honest with you and...if you feel the same, then...we can go from there, but if not, it’s okay. Like I said, I like spending time with you.”

“I do feel the same,” you blurt. “At least, I think I do. I don’t know. I might need to think, but I know I’m interested and...and I know I really like spending time with you.”

Spencer smiles. “Okay, uh...do you-- Can I hold your hand? Is that okay?”

You can’t help the smile that crawls onto your face in that moment, and you nod.

Spencer stretches out his hand and you take yours out of your pocket, hissing through your teeth for a moment at the cold air, but when Spencer’s fingers tangle with yours, you feel better.

Everything feels better when you’re with Spencer.

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smashboxgirl26 · 3 years

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vengeance / chapter 8: unspoken confession

chapter 7: helping | chapter 9: anxiety

vengeance masterlist

It was 6:50 by the time you’d thrown open the door to your apartment and stumbled inside.

You’d gotten no indication from Katsuki that he was coming, or where he was, or anything. This put you off a little, considering he could be off doing dangerous things somewhere.

You walked over to the tv and switched on the news, scrolling up on your phone to see if there were any new notifications. Thankfully, the news reporter stated that the day had been relatively peaceful, with no villain attacks in the area, before droning on about the elections that were coming up soon.

You let out a sigh as you leaned back against the couch, staring at the light bulb directly above you. You really wanted to call Katsuki and ask him what was taking so long, but the reminder that he could be undercover still lingered.

It felt so wrong, in the way that you felt empty without him there.

Guess I should actually be productive and not lazy around while waiting for him.

You got up from the couch, stretching your arms over your head before grabbing the remote to turn the tv off.

If anything, you needed to take a shower, badly. You hadn’t showered since yesterday morning, not having nearly enough time today since you immediately had to head off to work with Katuski when you got home.

And showers were nice. They helped, in some ways.

You stood in front of the mirror after stripping all your clothes off, staring at the blank face that held no emotion as it stared back. You felt worse, somehow than you had earlier. The dark circles were visible even under the concealer you’d put on this morning. You looked back at the reflection with sad eyes, trying to ignore the ideas running rampant in your mind as you pushed your way into the shower.

The warm water trickled down endlessly as you leaned your head against the wall and stared up at the tiled ceiling. There was still so much.

The work you had been getting recently was pushing you to the end of your rope, you felt like you were drowning. Not to mention studying for the MCATs, and keeping up with everything happening at the agency along with all your classes.

You let out a large breath of a sigh, as you stared down at your legs, observing the way they felt against the cool, tiled surface that the shower provided in its walls.

You just needed to study and do homework. Then you’d be done.

But the longing to stay in the shower and daydream for longer won, so you upped the temperature of the water, watching the steam rise to the top of the shower and out to the rest of the bathroom.

…

You rolled your head to each side a couple of times after settling yourself down on the couch with your laptop in front of you. You’d barely been getting any work done these days, continuously putting it off for practically no reason. It was piling up, and fast.

You stared at the long list of assignments posted on the application the school used. You hoped it would help motivate you to try and work on it in some way, yet the sight just gave you a large amount of anxiety.

You didn’t even want to look at it, let alone work on it. The feeling rose quickly in your chest, and you shut the laptop, opting to stare at the blank TV screen in front of you instead.

It felt horrible to be so, unproductive, but you couldn’t bring yourself to actually do anything about it. It felt easier to just ignore everything right now and worry about it in the future.

Plus, you felt hungry.

So, instead of doing some work before heading off to the kitchen to make food, you ignored it all and just decided to eat dinner and watch tv instead.

Is Katsuki going to be coming over when he’s done or what? Should I make enough for both of us or just me?

You stared over the packets of frozen noodles in the fridge. It would be incredibly awkward for him to come and for you not to have food ready. But on the other hand, maybe he kinda deserved it for blowing you off for the rest of the day and not even mentioning something before he left.

He could’ve easily sent you a text before he left, but he didn’t. And that, honestly made your chest sting a bit.

Yeah he might’ve had an emergency but he could’ve said something. Anything.

Whatever.

You brushed away your thoughts, and decided you’d make enough for the both of you. He wasn’t exactly one to take proper care of himself when he was focused on something. And the fact that he hadn’t said anything before he ran off to do whatever showed that he was probably incredibly focused on whatever he was doing.

After putting two packets of the noodles in the pan and turning the heat on, you decided to turn the tv on and watch as you cooked in the kitchen.

It was peaceful, different from how it usually was.

Generally, either you or Katsuki would end up at the other’s place after work or school, and then the other person would always end up sleeping over. For some reason, you hadn’t gotten an apartment together yet - which was incredibly weird considering how long it’d been.

But, it never really felt like the right time, or you could never find a place you both liked. So, you stuck with what you had together - pretty much two houses where your stuff was equally distributed.

The consistent chatter from the TV allowed you to delve into your thoughts, as you mindlessly began finishing up the noodles and pouring them into the two separate bowls on the counter.

And just as you were putting the big pan into the sink, you heard the jingling of keys coming from the front door, watching as it opened to reveal Katsuki as he sauntered into the living room. He was still wearing his hero costume, minus the mask and the gauntlets, and you watched as he made sure to close the door and lock it behind him before he continued into the small space.

He almost looked too big for your apartment. Something that was incredibly funny at first, that he now just found plain annoying. Well, that’s student housing for you.

“Hey,” he said as he followed the scent of food into the kitchen.

“Hey.”

You didn’t really want to say anything to him first. He should be the one explaining himself to you.

“Sorry I was late,” he said gruffly, eyeing the bowl of noodles on the counter. “I got, caught up in a few things.”

You immediately noticed the hesitation in his voice, but didn’t raise any awareness to his tiny mishap. “It’s fine.”

He only nodded slightly at your response, choosing not to say anything more as he stalked off to the bedroom so he could change. He wanted out of his sweaty costume as soon as possible.

More than that, he could see that you were visibly upset (probably because he had been gone all day without a word). But in a way, he was thankful you didn’t blow up on him as soon as he’d walked in. He was going to tell you, obviously, but then the issue with De-, no, Midoriya came up.

He wanted to tell you about what had happened between them as soon as he could. It would be better if you heard it from him and not some random extra, or even worse, Midoriya himself.

And honestly, he needed that time for himself. Even if was technically on patrol, the walk easily cleared his mind and helped him with his anxiety. It would all be okay, as long as you heard it from him.

At least that’s what he’d been telling himself.

He sighed heavily, taking one last look in the mirror as he slipped one of his t-shirts on, sticking his hero costume in the small hamper that laid in the corner of the bedroom. He had stopped at the agency on the way back to your apartment, but he was too exhausted to change over there, opting to just take the gauntlets and the mask off before coming over.

He stepped back out of the bedroom, clad a plain t-shirt and sweatpants, before heading over to where you were sitting in the living room. By the way you were hunched over, he could tell that you were closing yourself off from him.

He knew he fucked up by not even shooting you a text before he left.

“So, um, how was your day?” he asked awkwardly as he sat himself down across from you at the small dining table.

You didn’t even look up at him when you replied, “Fine.”

“S’good.”

And once again it was silent.

Katsuki hated himself for being this awkward around you. You’d been together for so long now, why couldn’t he just say that he was sorry and admit it was his fault? Clearly you were mad at him, because you hadn’t said anything to him unless he said something first.

“Sorry…”, he said slowly.

Only then did your eyes finally look up to meet his, urging him to continue.

“I-I should’ve told you I was going to be going out and staying late, so yeah,” he said, forcing his pride and ego down. Normally, he wouldn’t have hesitated to defend his innocence, but he hated it when you acted cold towards him.

Funny in a way, since that was how you got to know each other in the first place.

“It’s okay,” you said, giving him a small smile, trying to reassure him.

You didn't want him to feel guilty for much longer. In some ways you understood how his job was and it was inevitable that sometimes it would end up like the way that it did.

“You could’ve just told me, ya know? Before running off like that.”

Bakugou didn't say anything afterwards, not wanting to drag the discussion and make it worse. So he left it at that, the air pretty much cleared as Bakugou began scarfing down the noodles you made -- even if they were frozen, he didn’t really care since he hadn’t eaten anything since this morning.

You noticed how quickly he was eating, and ended up pushing your half-eaten bowl towards him. He glanced at it, looking up at you from across the table with a confused look.

“Eat it,” you said as you got up from the table. “You didn’t eat anything at lunch.”

“Wot abou t-ou?” he asked, his voice muffled from the food stuffed in his mouth.

“I’m good, I’m not that hungry anyway. I had a big lunch.”

Before giving him another chance to protest, you had already walked back to the living room and grabbed your laptop. You knew you probably weren’t gonna end up doing any work, but you could at least try to motivate yourself.

Katsuki only looked guilty down at the bowl you’d pushed in front of him. He really didn’t deserve you, did he?

‘Just pray that you’ll be born with a quirk in your next life, and take a swan dive off the roof of the building.’

‘Take a swan dive off the roof of the building.’

‘T a k e a s w a n d i v e o f f t h e r o o f o f t h e b u i l d i n g.’

He needed to tell you. You needed to know what had happened between them. And if you ended up leaving him over this, in some ways he deserved it. He knew he did.

What would’ve happened if Midoriya actually jumped, huh? What would his life look like then? He probably wouldn’t even be here, with you. He never would’ve been able to go to UA, or anywhere else frankly, after that.

Bakugou stood up slowly from his spot on the table. He was hungry, but the noodles could wait. He couldn’t wait any longer. You couldn’t wait any longer.

The thought had been weighing on him all day. If he held onto it for any longer, he felt like he was going to burst from guilt.

“Hey,” he said from the entrance of the kitchen, watching as you typed away at your computer.

Your gaze was torn away promptly, and you looked up with him with a slight smile.

Fuck.

“I need to tell you something.”

“Okay,” you answered, urging him on.

“It’s about.. Dek- I mean Midoriya and I.”

Bakugou promptly opened his mouth to speak, and you clung onto what he was about to say. But before he could say anything, his phone began ringing.

He cursed inwardly, snatching his phone out of his pocket, only to decline the call. Almost immediately, his phone began ringing again and it was flooded with notifications.

You stared at his phone expectantly, clearly he was needed.

“It’s okay,” you reassured. “Answer the phone.”

You watched as he scowled, muttering a sorry as he angrily pressed the accept button.

“What?!” he barked out.

And you watched as his face went from anger to sheer horror in a matter of seconds.

“Wh- What happened?”, you got up quickly from the couch and made your way towards him, trying to see if you could catch the conversation.

By that time, he had already hung up the phone and was making his way to the front door. His expression at the moment was unreadable, not giving you any indications on what had happened and why it was so bad.

“Katsuki, what happened?” you called out from behind him.

“It’s fine,” he muttered. “Just stay here and don’t let anyone in, got it?”

“Okay, but wh-”

“I’ll tell you after.”

“Bu-”

And with that, the door slammed behind him, the time on the clock in the corner reading 8:15.

──────────────

lol, i forgot to put these in the last chapters, but if you want to be added to the taglist, just ask in the comments

tag list: @spicy-therapist-mom

#midoriya x reader x bakugou #yandere midoriya #izuku midoriya #midoriya x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #yandere #mha #bnha #yandere izuku #mha fanfiction #bnha fic #bnha bakugou katsuki #bnha izuku #mha x reader #keke.writes

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timefirewrites · 4 years

Text

I won NaNo!!

Words written: 525

Total words: 50280

Favorite lines from the whole story:

“Uh, state your business.”

“Current objective unknown. Error.”

Well, that was helpful.

------

Right. The robot didn’t know about their foolproof plan yet.

“See that train? We’ll sneak onto it and ride it into freedom.”

“Understood.”

Silence. Wow, Neb had to do everything on their own, didn’t they.

“We need to get into that freight car.” They pointed at a random car in the middle of the train.

“Understood.”

What a thrilling conversation. Neb mumbled something under their breath and strode towards the hovertrain, head kept low again.

-------

“The stuff we’re mining here. Dark black, dusty. Makes the air hard to breathe. Looks like your metal, except less shiny. Also COLE and Coal sound similar.”

-------

“Hey.” Coals head immediately turned to face them. “Please stop squeezing me. I don’t wanna die just yet.” Neb spoke painfully slowly, not yet having regained complete control of their body. Coal on the other hand was very quick to act and stopped pressing Neb to their chest.

------

“What’s up with your display?” Their voice sounded more steady now, which was good.

“I do not understand.” Their voice on the other hand just sounded confused.

“Oh, right. You probably can’t see it. You’re currently displaying an error message. Which just reads ‘error’. Not very helpful.”

“Fuck. I didn’t deactivate it.”

------

They settled on two things they were pretty sure were edible: a soda labeled “SpacePop: the best soda in the universe” with a “multiple sunsets on Madoras” flavor and some leftover pizza. (They were pretty sure Madoras didn’t exist, they never heard of that planet before. Maybe they shouldn’t drink that soda after all.)

------

“We could just go in and race to the top.”

“What? No. Why would we do that? We can’t afford to get caught, we need to make a plan, Coal.”

“You said you wanted an adventure. Plus, I do not think we could create a plan, seeing as we know next to nothing about its defence and security.”

They said that because of them? They were just rambling earlier, not really thinking about it, just talking to fill the silence.

“Okay. But if anything goes wrong, it’ll be your fault.”

------

“Then let me go. This is my spaceship now, go steal someone else’s.” They crossed their arms.

“Your spaceship? I think not. Believe me, I know which ship we’ve been waiting for and it’s that one.” Cap gestured to the ship the child was still standing in.

“And? Who cares.” Cap repressed a long sigh and/or a string of curses.

“Joshua White does. Because that’s his ship. What did you do to him?” If that child killed him, then Cap had no problem with just letting them go again.

“Who? I stole it. And? It doesn’t matter anyways!” Someone was worked up about something. Cap was as well.

“So you mean to tell me that our target is back on Earth?! Stranded! On one of the most secure planets in this part of the galaxy! With no way for us to get down there without dying!” They took a deep breath. And then another one. Then, they threw their damned breathing exercises out the window.

-------

“Where are you?”

“What?” The voice was taken aback.

“I mean, I can’t see you anywhere?” Neb looked around again, and yes, there still wasn’t some small alien they just didn’t notice the first two times.

“Oh. I’m the ship. Nice to meet you?” They sounded somewhat embarrassed, like they can’t believe they forgot to mention they’re a ship.

------

“Then that’s it. Welcome to the 35th century. Here we have technology that works most of the time.”

------

“I’m Laser, my gender is a burning trash can and my pronouns depend entirely on the mercy of the universe.”

-----

“I was really looking forward to never seeing this thing again.” This comment earned Laser a punch in her ribs from Ahdia.

They signed something to Laser, who flipped them off, [...]

-----

In the community room, the screen went blank, just as the bad guy held the heroes at gunpoint.

"Darling, I know you resent my taste of movies, but this is way below you." Mer did not look pleased.

"You're outnumbered now! Coal agreed to watch Love On A Foreign Planet with me. So, uh, get moving, Fishsticks."

"I can't believe you already brainwashed them. It's not even been a full day, give them a break first, darling." As if to illustrate his point, Mer draped herself over the couch, an arm covering their visor and sighed dramatically. They reached for the remote control and turned the screen back on. Rude. Com turned it off again.

"You are insufferable, darling."

-------

“I’m okay!”

Another crash, another sentence yelled: “Fuck!”

------

Laser seemed to be enjoying it as well, while Mer stared at Neb's skewer longingly.

"You want some?" They're the last person to not share their food.

"No thanks, darling.” Okay, Mer stared at Neb’s skewer with disgust.

-------

“A word of advice, don’t insult the only person preventing me from killing all of you.” Laser typically spoke with a monotone voice, but this was different. It was ice cold.

-------

“Stop staring at me, you creep.” Laser didn’t open her eyes, and if Lifo wouldn’t have noticed her mouth moving, there would be no indication that she was awake at all.

“Make me.” Fel was concerned. It’s been a while since Laser last passed out.

“Ugh. Fine.” She slowly reached up, grabbed the scarf that was still hanging from her head and threw it at Lifo. She missed by half a meter or so.

------

“Ah, good. You’re, uh, awake again.”

“Good morning to you too.” So much for enjoying breakfast in the comfortable silence of his room.

“Actually, uh, it’s already afternoon.” Huh. The stuff Nova gave him must’ve been stronger than he remembered. Or maybe he had just been very tired. Ugh, Cap probably wanted to talk to him as soon as he got up.

“Cap wants to, uh, talk to you.” And there it was.

--------

Somehow, Neb ends up at the medbay. Nova was in the middle of doing something very important on his display, which certainly wasn't playing Gen’ros Apocalypse with Com.

-------

“Understandable. But hey, once we’re done you can probably spend the rest of your life on whichever planet you want.” Mer let out a chuckle.

“I highly doubt it’s going to be that many creds, Arequos live very long after all.” At least as long as they don’t show their face on planets that want them dead.

-----

“And let me guess: you’re planning our downfall right now.” Laser tried to look unimpressed, but the way the corners of her mouth lifted up ever so slightly ruined the act. Not everybody is born as talented as Mer, after all.

“Maybe so. Perhaps I’m thinking about the best way to shove you out the airlock and how to pretend it was all a terrible accident.”

“As if your reflexes are fast enough to overwhelm me like that.”

“Darling, you know me by now, I’m more than capable of startling you.”

“Prove it.”

Well, Mer couldn’t refuse an invitation like that, now could they? Moving as sleek as ever, she was up in Laser’s face in the blink of an eye.

“Surprise.” It was barely audible, but the grin on his face spoke for its own.

--------

“Ugh.” Fel wanted to say something more, fel really did, but apparently fel had spent too much time with Mer because Lifo dramatically collapsed onto the floor, face first.

------

“It worked! Fuck yes! It worked!” Nearly bursting with excitement, Coal punched into thin air - and accidentally fired bursts of energy at the ceiling.

------

It was green. No oceans, no land that wasn’t overgrown. But it was a sick green, like all the plants were infected with something and slowly rotting. And that only got worse as they entered the atmosphere and Cap could start to make out more details. Nothing was moving. But that was probably just a trick of… the light or something. It would be impossible for a whole planet to be absolutely frozen in time, right?

------

“Good luck to you two and don’t take too long, I really want to get back.” He opened the door for them and Cap gestured to Coal to go first.

“Believe me, I don’t want to either. Don’t move. Unless, you get, like, attacked by some plant monsters, then please do just that.” Laser gave them a thumbs up and Cap left as well.

------

So Coal went to pick them up, but both of them realized half way through that they had no idea what they were doing. Coal ended up clutching Cap to their chest in a weird, one-sided hug and proceeded to lift them out the water. Wait, what?

“What are you doing?”

“I am going to fly. I am sick of wading through this mud.” Cap didn’t know they could do that.

The flying turned out to be more of a hovering and it wasn’t particularly fast either.

“Can’t you go any faster?”

“Sure. If you want me to spend an hour or two afterwards recharging.” At least the mental image of the two hovering across this bog walking speed managed to push back the horrible feeling that grew stronger and stronger the longer Cap was on this planet.

------

“Attention. Intruders on floor minus 30. Everyone keep calm and stay in your rooms, the COLEs will take care of it. I repeat: intruders on floor minus 30.”

“Fuck.” Cap and Coal said in unison.

“What do we do? Fuck, what do we do?!” Cap gestured wildly around.

“Keep calm and stay in our room?”

“That’s. Not. Helping.”

------

There was no reason in getting back to the others quickly, so Cap took their time. A big disadvantage of disrupting the radars on the planet below them was that their own radar couldn’t pick up any signals anymore either. They don’t remember when exactly, but at some point Coal shut down, not having enough energy to keep going, still clutching the weapon tightly to their chest.

Taglist (ask to be added/removed): @black-lakritz-dragon @marewriteblr @spacetimewraithwrites @emmaschoutenwrites @abalonetea

#I DID IT!!!!!#the first draft of book one is finished and i won nano!!#this has been challenging but also really fun #part of me is glad nanos over though because that means i can actually do something besides writing now #nano 2020 #nanowrimo 2020 #gay space pirates #my writing #com #cap #laser #lifo #mer #ahdia #nova #neb #coal #lao

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capricornus-rex · 4 years

Text

Someone Left to Save (5)

Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by Anon

Summary: The Mantis crew arrives to the capital of Ulfin, in the planet of Pevera, under siege. They meet the local rebel cell spearheaded by the former Republic admiral, Jax Beneb, who seeks to destroy the Empire’s occupation that was aggressively imposed upon while exploiting the planet of its natural resources. A plan is devised to destroy the Imperial’s main base of operations—as well as their influence—in the planet; however, it was a do-or-die mission that you and Cal had gotten yourselves caught in.

A/N: I’m so sorry it took way longer than it should :((( Work got me close to a burnout and my laptop’s sometimes a lil bitch ;-; I should pick up the pick soon, but thank you for still reading this fic! I really appreciate it ❤

Tags: Force-Sensitive! Reader, Inquisitor! Reader, Jedi! Reader, Fake Death, Jedi turned Inquisitor, Seduction to the Dark Side, Turn to the Dark Side, The Dark Side of the Force, Aftermath of Torture, Torture, Psychological Torture, Redemption Arc! Reader, Possible Redemption, Premonitions | Trigger warning: Graphic bodily descriptions

Also in AO3

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 | Previous: Part 4 | Next: Part 6 | Masterlist

5 of ?

Cal reluctantly left the structure with his companions. Throughout the entire exit, the Jedi never spoke a word, Larki and Morzen could do nothing but glance at him every once in a while until they mounted their speeders again.

Not even BD-1 himself could get a response from his owner.

Throughout their exit from the structure, Cal spoke nothing. Larki and Morzen could only catch a glimpse of the Jedi, neither of them can say something of value to him—perhaps nothing at all. The three of them mounted their speeders and without even waiting for the two, Cal revs up the engine of his bike and sped out. Fortunately, Larki was able to catch up as soon as his own speeder sputtered to life.

The small search party returned to the temple ruins, as they were told by Cere via comlink in the middle of their drive. Cal’s entrance rattled some of the rebels loitering within the ruins’ vicinity, Cere included; when she saw that the headcount remained the same as they left, her heart sank to the pit of her stomach.

“Cal, where is [Y/N]?”

Silence. Cal’s eyes drooped, avoiding eye contact with Cere.

“Cal, where is [Y/N]?” Cere spoke through her clenched teeth while her fists shook with a confusion of anger, worry, and fear.

“T-This…” Cal stammered, unfolding his fingers to show the bracelet to Cere, which she instantly recognizes to be yours.

“That’s all they found?” the woman’s voice cracked.

Cere covered her gaping mouth with trembling hands, in full shock of the discovery, and her breathing became shaky. Her hands fell to her chest, as if her heart’s about to burst through her ribcage. Eventually, Merrin and Greez were drawn to the scene, quickly, the Nightsister spotted the trinket in Cal’s hand; she held her gasp and her eyebrows furrowed, she brought her hands to her mouth but they stopped at her chest.

Greez worriedly uttered your name.

Cal was given time to be alone. He stayed in one of the chambers of the temple that served as a sleeping quarters. For the rest of the day, Cal was exempted from strategy conferences by the grace of the empathetic Jax. The grief-stricken Jedi never let go of your bracelet, however, he was unresponsive even to the little boy staring at him as he sits on the floor in the far corner of the room.

BD-1 chirps and beeps from time to time, trying to fish a word out of Cal, but he would speak very little.

“She’s not gone, BD… I know it. So, why don’t they believe me? They look like they don’t,” Cal’s eyes trailed, aligning it with BD who’s nestled on the space between his crossed legs. “I’m not crazy, aren’t I?”

The little droid shook its head in reply, BD-1 nudged your bracelet with his head’s visor, followed by a sad, long beep that faded out. The hours felt like only minutes to the boy, he leaned his head against the cold, cobblestone wall and eventually dozed off.

That night, Cere personally went to the Cal’s room with a tray of food. Cal has lost track of the time that he didn’t wake in time for dinner. It was BD-1 who sensed Cere coming into the room, a quiet chirp emitted from the droid, and the woman carefully walked into his bedroom to set the tray down on a podium. Even upon her presence, Cal didn’t wake up; Cere’s eyes wandered to his open hand, one cord of the bracelet dangles out of his palm. She took a deep sigh and didn’t bother waking up to remind him to eat.

“Keep an eye out for him, BD, please…” she softly pleaded and then left. “And tell him to eat when he wakes.”

A good chunk of minutes passed after she left the room and Cal finally wakes. He blinks several times until his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room in the moonless night; the first thing he notices is the power lamp sitting next to his futon built from straw, animal hide, and mismatched pieces of cloth sewn together.

“Hey, BD… dozed for a long time, haven’t I?”

“Boo!” BD nodded and then gestured to the tray that Cere had left.

Cal’s stomach ferociously growled when his nostrils flared upon picking up the scent of the food—albeit having gone cold for a time. The rations weren’t exactly a culinary art, neither was it a cuisine, but it was enough to sate an empty stomach—the adrenaline from earlier had dulled Cal of his senses and awareness of the goings-on in his body, only then was he starting to realize just how hungry he is.

Cere had sneakily doubled the servings for each food type she’s prepared for Cal: three scoops of Lemus corn, a bowl of bone broth nearly filled to the brim, and two turkey drumsticks—instead of one as imposed by Jax to conserve rations per headcount.

“Looks like the fighters must’ve looted the Imps’ storehouse, huh?”

“Woo!”

The Jedi scrambled towards the food and helped himself, however, he didn’t exactly scarf down whatever’s on the platter. He only ate what he wanted and had some leftovers. He dismissed it and returned the tray on the podium.

—–

The Inquisitors, Seventh Sister and Fifth Brother, charted a course to one of the Imperial medical outposts and also their satellite fortress—a smaller likeness of their stronghold like that of the one in Nur—in Mons Golotha, a moon situated in the Outer Rim.

“We are bound to Mons Golotha in T-Minus 35 minutes, Seventh Sister,” reported the command ship’s admiral.

“Good, have them prepare a medical capsule for the bodies we’ve recovered—for immediate transfer.”

The admiral bowed in compliance and returned to overseeing the cadets on their computers.

The pair strode in exit of the bridge and to the command ship’s cramped medical bay. The Fifth Brother sensed the Mirialan’s thoughts dwelling on you.

“What’s on your mind, Sister?”

“The girl’s an intriguing subject. She’s going to be very busy in her interrogation when she wakes,”

“If she wakes,” reiterated the Fifth Brother.

There was silence between them as they marched through the corridors. Crew members avoid eye contact as much as possible from the Inquisitors in any way doable—tipping the rims of their uniform caps downwards so their eyes are obscured, others would maintain eye contact while speaking even though they caught the Seventh Sister giving them a passing glance when she entered their periphery.

The pair didn’t mind their fear of them, it was insignificant of them to pick up every single thought and feeling flooding this corridor.

Upon their arrival to the moon, Mons Golotha, they were instantly given confirmation to land and instructed whoever’s capable to transfer the patients from the medical bay to the shuttle for their descent to the surface. A couple of medical specialists assigned in the medbay helped in settling both you and the Second Brother in your own medical capsules, the 2-1B medical droid meticulously configured the control panels of both pods to the optimum setting for each one’s survival from the descent until the complete transfer.

From one medical specialist to another, you and the Second Brother were handed over. While being escorted to your rooms, the doctors and nurses were performing their SOPs in bringing in emergency patients.

“Both of them are in a vegetative state, but he’s in a more critical state. I want an operating table prepped for him and a Bacta tank filled to the brim—infused with antibiotics for his second to third degree burns. This surgery is strongly required pre-Bacta treatment.” Barked one of the doctors who led the way while the Inquisitor pair flanked them.

“The girl’s vitals are stable. I have a heartbeat! Blood pressure is low though, she’s suffering from minor concussions and burns,” diagnosed a second doctor who stood close to your own gurney. “Prepare a Bacta tank for her as well, infuse it with a mild painkiller and antibiotics for her burns so they won’t infect and blister.”

The nurses rushed to comply with the doctors’ orders. Your doctor was astounded with your body’s physical resilience, he wagered it was your fight-or-flight response or your self-preservation instincts despite lying down on the brink of unconsciousness—seconds before the Fifth Brother picked you up and spotted you. He may have not seen what happened to you, but he was sure that you were a fighter—perhaps even more of a fighter than the Second Brother, dare he thinks!

“Alright now, you little darling, let’s get you patched up.”

The female nurses strip you off of your soiled and scorched clothes, washed off the grime and soot that stuck to your skin and face, and attached the apparatus necessary for your body before submerging you to the vat of Bacta.

“How long will they be submerged?” asked the Fifth Brother to the Second Brother’s attending physician.

“That depends on their case, really. In his case, since he’s the most severely injured, it may take him weeks to recover fully—better if he regains consciousness in the middle of his treatment,”

“And…” the gray humanoids jerks his head to you in the tank. “What of her?”

“Well, evidently, her wounds are less fatal compared to the other patient. However, we are detecting some signs of internal bleeding. Recovery may take weeks as well, but perhaps it’ll be shorter for her.”

“Will she have regained her strength when she wakes up?” the Mirialan interjected.

“All of that will be determined on the amount of time she’ll use for rest and recovery,”

The Mirialan hummed and dismissed herself to the doctors. She contacted the Grand Inquisitors in private, reporting the diagnoses of the doctors for both you and the Second Brother, and your involvement with the rebel cell that they’ve encountered in Pevera.

“We found one of the Jedi helping the rebels, m’lord,” reported the Seventh Sister. “But she’s still being taken care of here.”

“Good, let her body relish the remainder of her days where she will not yet feel any pain and anguish,” the Grand Inquisitor snarled through the small hologram projection on the Seventh Sister’s holodisk. “She will answer to us the moment she opens her eyes.”

“The girl is a survivor—a better one than the Second Brother, he didn’t have it easy. I sense something in her, something familiar,”

“Oh? How intriguing,” the Grand Inquisitor took the bait. “I should like to hear what you have to say about this girl, Seventh Sister.”

“Yes, m’lord,”

“See to it that she recovers in her treatment, she has a lot to answer for us,” the Grand Inquisitor added before his hologram fizzled out.

The doctors and their companion medical droids worked on the Second Brother’s surgery meticulously and tirelessly. They picked up a pulse from him and then began their procedure. It was a gruesome image, even for the droids.

For one, a large patch of burnt flesh stands out from the Second Brother’s scarred, olive skin. It covered his left shoulder down to the left half of his torso. Shards and portions of his clothing—both the undershirt and the armor plates—have melted and stuck to his skin, tools were required to separate debris from the flesh. A string of viscous pus connected the removed shrapnel and his blistering, black and red skin. Bodily fluids oozed out from every orifice conceivable on his wounds—throughout the operation, he’s partially conscious, flinching on particular moments where the droids would prod their syringes and quite-delicate mandibles on his skin.

“I sense his hate, even in his dormant state,” the Fifth Brother commented as they watch the operation.

“Likewise. Last I heard, these two were fighting. I’m certain he’ll be most hostile towards her,”

“I checked the database,” the Fifth Brother huffed, and a curious Seventh Sister craned her head to face him. “I found her in the records: [Y/N] [L/N]. Another Jedi survivor, in hiding until she apparently joined the rebels with the other Jedi—Cere Junda and Cal Kestis—and then the Second Brother engaged her while trying to infiltrate the stronghold with the rebels.”

“They’re all the same,” the Mirialan scoffed.

The Inquisitors watched the doctors do their work until the surgeons have finished their job on the Second Brothers and then he was dropped into the tank. The two of you were being observed by the Seventh Sister and Fifth Brother, she watched the two of you bobbing in the liquid substance like apples in a bucket.

“Doctor, do whatever it takes to speed up the girl’s recovery period. We want her conscious as soon as possible,”

“B-But… Seventh Sister, we haven’t even carefully observed her wounds and their fatalities on her body!”

“Unless you want to be the one strapped to the Imperial torture chair, I suggest you do your job faster,”

“Y-Yes… m-madam.”

The Fifth Brother has gotten the hint of the Seventh Sister’s other plans for you. He’s been sensing it running in her mind ever since.

“Do you think she’ll get the Grand Inquisitor’s attention—even Lord Vader?”

The Mirialan girl turned to the gray humanoid, having to tilt her head back to emphasize their height difference, she smirked.

“I don’t doubt it,”

“And if she refuses?”

The smirked retained. Seventh Sister seemed to be amused to answer his question.

“Well, I think we can persuade her,” she pans her head to your tank: sections of hair floating about like soft tendrils, closed eyes yet bursting with life the open they shoot open, and a weakened spirit that she perceives as a blank slate. “One way or another.”

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miraworos · 5 years

Text

Our Remedies Oft in Ourselves Do Lie (Rated T)

Ten days. It had been ten bloody days since Crowley and Aziraphale had fooled their respective head offices and celebrated at the Ritz. Ten days didn’t seem like a Hell of a lot, but when it was ten days added onto six thousand years of bleeding his heart dry with pining for his best friend, it was a sodding eon.

And Crowley was literally bent out of shape about it. He couldn’t concentrate. He could barely look at Aziraphale without falling down for no apparent reason. His blasted legs would just stop working, and he’d have to brace himself as gracefully as possible against the nearest surface to make it look deliberate. Like he just wanted to lean. Flash bastard and all that. He couldn’t eat (which was fairly routine). He couldn’t sleep (which was categorically not). He was a bloody mess, and he had no idea how to fix it.

Meanwhile, Aziraphale was completely fine. Acting like not a bloody thing was different. All smiles and inviting Crowley in for a nightcap and calling him on the phone to arrange a visit to the new museum exhibit about Satan knew what. Crowley was so busy staggering into priceless artifacts and getting shouted at by security that he had no idea afterward what they’d even gone in to see.

The point was, Aziraphale was normal, and Crowley was not. And he was fairly sure it had something to do with the uncontrollable lust-love-whatever-EMOTIONS that he couldn’t stop feeling for a certain angel now that Hell was no longer breathing down his neck.

Crowley had tried to stay away for a bit, get some distance between them, but the Bentley, and his phone, and even his own feet all conspired to take him straight to Aziraphale’s door no matter what he said about it. Crowley had then tried to pretend to himself that Hell was still in the picture, still watching his every move so that he dare not say anything to Aziraphale for fear of putting them both in danger again. All that had got him was a bad case of jump-out-of-his-skin paranoia and an outbreak of supremely attractive hives. So at last he had tried to actually address it with the angel--and the stuttering stream-of-consciousness drivel that fell out of his mouth merely led to a confused look and a sincere, if somewhat condescending, “Crowley, are you quite all right?”

So. Now he was here. Because he was desperate. Because he had literally nowhere else to turn. Because Aziraphale happened to mention that the woman would be leaving town soon, and it had put the idea in his head. And, frankly, because he was a bloody idiot with zero chill.

He rang the bell first before reading the sign.

Madam Tracy, Sibyl to the Stars, By Appointment Only, DON’T RING THE BELL

“Bollocks,” Crowley swore, snapping his fingers.

Madam Tracy opened the door in a swirl of robes. She was wearing considerably less makeup than the last time Crowley had seen her, and was minus one ginger wig.

“Mr. Crowley,” she said, surprised. “It appears we had an appointment. I have no idea how I missed that in my diary this morning. Won’t you come in?”

“Obliged,” Crowley muttered as he followed her into a nearby sitting room.

“I’ll just get us some tea.”

As she bustled about in the kitchen, Crowley took in the tawdry fabrics, brass figurines, and crystal ball.

“Here we are,” she said kindly as she settled the cup onto the table in front of him. “What can I do for you, Mr. Crowley?”

“I need some sort of…” He waved his hand vaguely. “...hocus pocus. Something to tell me...what to do.”

“What to do about what, love?”

“I have a...a problem. I can’t be more specific.”

Madam Tracy raised an eyebrow that could either mean I know exactly what your problem is, you daft pillock, or I am only tolerating your brusque manner because you’re paying me. He didn’t give a blessing which it was. He just wanted someone to tell him what to do.

“Cards, then,” she said, picking up the crystal ball as if it weighed nothing (which was likely, since it was obviously made of plastic) and set it on the floor next to the table. Then she pulled a squarish, scarf-wrapped bundle from a pocket in her voluminous robes. She set the bundle on the table and untied the knot, folding out each corner of the scarf around a deck of Tarot cards.

After unwrapping the cards, she closed her eyes and folded her hands together, making some sort of hmming-hrrking noise in the back of her throat that did not sound particularly healthy, nor confidence-inducing. This had clearly been a Bad Idea.

Her eyes popped open like someone had pinched her arse. Then her features relaxed into her usual smile, and she started shuffling the cards. After a minute or two of shuffling and sorting with a sublime expression on her face, she laid the deck on the table in front of Crowley.

“Now, cut the deck in half whilst contemplating your question.”

Crowley did as he was told, though he very nearly took her literally and cut the cards into pieces out of spite.

“There, there,” she said, looking down at the cards rather than at him. “It will be alright. We’ll see what the cards have to say, hm?”

Crowley ground his teeth together and slumped loafishly in his chair. Profoundly. Stupid. Idea.

“Well, isn’t this interesting?” she said after she’d laid out a cross pattern of four cards.

“Interesting?” he said, leaning forward. Maybe she’d See something useful, though truthfully, it looked to him like a nine-year-old had gone to a Ren Fair, got a contact high from all the weed, and decided to draw silly pictures.

“Yes. You see this card here at the top? That’s the Seven of Wands, love, only it’s reversed. And in this position in the spread, it’s saying that you need to believe in yourself. You’re battle weary from a long, dark struggle. But you’ve persevered, haven’t you? You’ve made it. So hold to that belief as you’re dealing with your problem.”

Crowley harrumphed. Sounded like a bunch of garbage psychobabble to him. Though the part about the battle weariness was true, he supposed. He nodded for her to continue.

“This card here, the Knight of Cups, is telling you there’s a gallant man in your life that you need to propose to.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You need to propose, love.”

“Propose...like...marriage?”

Madam Tracy pursed her lips, looking at him as if he were being particularly thick. “Could be marriage. Could be an arrangement of sorts? The cards only reinforce what you already know.”

“Shows what good they are, then,” Crowley sniffed. “I know fuck all about anything.”

Tracy sighed heavily and took a sip of her tea.

“Wassat one?” Crowley said, indicating the card on the right. “I like that one. Pointy swords, girl all tied up. That looks like me.”

“Ah, yes. The Eight of Swords. But it’s reversed, love.”

“Meaning…?”

“Meaning you’re in a rut, and you need to use the strength we talked about with the Seven of Wands to dredge yourself out of it. You are your own worst enemy, dear. Getting in your own way all the time.”

“Huh, yeah, well… I resemble that remark, I suppose.”

“And this one is the most important card. It’s the What’s-Next card, you know. The Magician.”

“The Magician? Augh, really?” Crowley said, wrinkling his nose in disdain. Charlatans. Totally bamboozled Aziraphale last century. Crowley’d never cared for them since. “Can’t bloody stand magicians.”

“This one is special,” Tracy insisted. “This one is positive, quick-thinking, and inspiring. Harness that positive energy, and your problem will be resolved as if by magic.”

Crowley sat for a long moment--a long few moments, in point of fact--considering what Tracy, and the cards, had told him. On the one hand, they’d been vague and unhelpful. On the other hand, they’d been...hm...vague and unhelpful.

“Yeah, I don’t get it,” he said.

Tracy rolled her eyes to the ceiling, and said in an overly calm voice, “The cards are telling you to just kiss him already.”

Crowley, who’d decided for some silly reason to tilt his chair back at that particular moment, fell completely to the floor, knocking the table with his foot and sending tarot cards flying in every direction.

“What?” he squeaked, popping back up onto his feet as Tracy rose gracefully to hers.

“I said,” she began, taking a deep breath. “Just kiss him already, you ridiculous person. Saints preserve us, you are incredibly dense.”

Crowley gaped at her for a full minute in complete shock.

For her part, Tracy straightened her robes, and plastered her calm smile back into place.

“Thank you so much for coming, love. That’ll be eighty quid.”

Grumbling, Crowley paid her, and then sped the Bentley all the way back to the bookshop.

Stupid cards, stupid fortune, stupid brain not knowing what to do. Tracy got one thing right: he couldn’t go back, and he couldn’t stay still. He had to do something or he’d end up like that girl all tied up and abandoned. And he had to admit that having his problems resolved as if by magic held a tremendous amount of appeal.

Maybe...maybe he should take Tracy’s advice. What was the worst that could happen? Okay, the worst that could happen is that he’d lose the love of his life and his best friend and any hope of happiness in this life or any other. Splendid.

He was still undecided about what he was actually going to do when he shoved open the door to the bookstore and called for the angel.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley whipped off his sunglasses. “Aziraphale, where are you?”

“Here, dear,” the angel said, calm as you please, standing at the top of the stairs to the flat he never used. “Whatever is the matter? You look positively disheveled.”

“Dish--? Ngh-- Angel, come down here.”

With an arched eyebrow that Crowley could see even from this distance, Aziraphale capitulated and walked steadily down the stairs towards him. Crowley’s legs wobbled treacherously while he waited, the shifty bastards.

As the angel’s feet touched the floorboards, he said, “Crowley, what could possibly be so--”

“I…” Crowley interrupted, but then stopped, words stuck in his throat.

“Yes?” Aziraphale said with a half-amused, half-exasperated expression.

“Fuck it,” Crowley said.

He lurched forward and captured the angel’s face in his hands. He paused the length of a heartbeat, waiting for Aziraphale to pull back, to protest. But he didn’t protest--he slid his hand over Crowley’s wrist, gripping it softly, as if granting permission. So Crowley leaned that one inch further and pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s, pouring into it all of the strength and faith and adoration and magic he felt for the one being he loved enough to stay and save the world for.

Crowley could barely feel his body for all the energy radiating between them as they kissed. And he wondered, for just a moment, if this was what it felt like to be discorporated.

A full measure of euphoria later, Crowley pulled back to assess the angel’s reaction.

“Sorry,” he said huskily. “Should’ve asked first.”

But Aziraphale was smiling up at him without a trace of regret or worry.

“The only apology I’ll accept is one for taking so damned long to kiss me in the first place,” he said, his smile turning smug.

Crowley gaped, speechlessly. “Wh-- You could have kissed me!”

“I suppose so,” the angel said, tracing a finger along Crowley’s jaw and gazing at him in a dreamy fashion that was causing havoc in Crowley’s lower extremities. “But sometimes an angel likes to be wooed. I have standards.”

Crowley scoffed. “Oh, oh, well, alright then. I suppose it was worth all the anguish I’ve suffered this last fortnight. You have standards, after all.”

“Mmm,” Aziraphale agreed, unfazed. “Anguished, were you?”

Crowley made a few inarticulate noises as the angel’s hand dropped from his face to stroke his hip.

“I bet I can think of a few ways to console you,” he said, leaning in for another kiss.

Fuck, Crowley realized in that moment of neurons exploding in his corporeal brain, the cards were right.

It was the last cogent thought he had for, frankly, an obscene amount of time.

* * *

The next afternoon, Aziraphale hummed to himself as he shelved a few books on the ancient art of divination from his section on human mysticism. Crowley had gone to get them something to nosh on, and just in time, too, for Aziraphale was positively famished from the previous night’s--and morning’s--activities. He’d need all the sustenance he could get to keep up with Crowley’s robust energy levels. Not that he was complaining. He had plans for later that evening, and he intended to see them through.

A knock at the door interrupted his ruminations. He set the books on a nearby stack and walked to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open, as he already knew who would be on the other side.

“Good day, love,” said Tracy with a brilliant smile. She was wearing a sedate cardigan and beige, knee-length skirt. “I hope everything went as expected last night.”

“Oh, yes. Very much so, thank you, my dear.”

“Always happy to help out a friend,” she said, winking at him. Then she held out her hand. “That’ll be eighty quid, love.”

Aziraphale pulled out his rarely used wallet and handed over the requested fee.

“Worth every penny,” he said, smiling.

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#good omens #good omens fanfic #Ineffable Husbands #aziraphalexcrowley #Crowley is an idiot in love #Aziraphale is a bastard in love #Tracy is quite good at her job #the pyschic one not the other one

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bangtan-gal · 5 years

Text

Birth Claim

Bang Chan x Fem!Reader Powers!AU Warnings: swearing, angst, not much fluff, light smut, a little bit of a rough plot, mentions of blood and death, dubious consent, low-key kinda kidnapped Word Count: 12.7k (lol go me) A/N: Yee Haw

A cloud of frosty breath puffed out around you as your heels clicked against the cement. Your mouth was snuggled into a fuzzy scarf and a thick jacket fell to your knees. Your tights were thicker than your liking and your boots were lined with faux fur. Not a single soul littered the streets as you marched down the sidewalk alone. The sun, although covered by clouds, was still high in the sky and it hadn’t begun to get chilly yet.

You held your chin high and kept your back straight, your gaze only focusing on what was ahead of you. The sound of your heels echoed on the empty streets and the blankness sent chills down your back. What once was the most populated part of the district was now a ghost town.

A whistle—from something or someone—sounded from behind you. Your back stiffened and your heart dropped. Your steps faltered for a moment, only for them to speed up moments later. Your hands curled into fists, fingernails painfully digging into your palm. It was probably nothing, it was just nothing. The mantra repeated itself in your head.

You turned into your apartment, hustling up the stairs. You swiped your keycard over the scanner, bouncing as you waited for it to beep and flash green. You swiped it again, your hand shaking as you shoved the door open the second you saw the green. You locked the door, gasping, and then pressed your forehead against the door.

You shrugged your jacket off, fumbling to hang it up in the darkness. Your nails scraped against the wall, searching for the light switch. When the cool metal pressed against your fingers, you pushed the switch up, only for nothing to happen. You flipped it again.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” you grumbled.

You felt your way through the apartment, hand brushing along the velvet couch and your glass cabinets. Your hand grasped a light fabric and you slowly pulled it back, letting the grey sunlight pour into your living room. It didn’t do much to change the lighting, but it was better than pure darkness.

You turned around, closing your eyes and pinching your nose, breathing out deeply. Of course, the power is out. Your apartment used to be one of the most expensive in the city, but once this side of town became a warzone, maintenance disappeared. Now people pay to not live here.

You opened your eyes with a groan.

And then you screamed.

A man with light brown hair leaned against your wall. He wore all black and stood completely still. His gaze ran over you, his body poised as if waiting for something. Your heart raced in your chest and you watched him, your hands pressed against the cool glass behind you. He tilted his head, hair softly falling across his face and something gleamed in his dark eyes.

You opened your mouth.

“Han. The name’s Han,” he introduced himself, stepping forward. He held out a gloved hand, raising his eyebrow when you shied away from it. “Don’t be afraid sweet, I haven’t done anything yet.”

Yet.

“You snuck into my apartment and cut the power,” you mumbled. “Doesn’t that count as doing something?”

Your chin slowly rose and straightened your back. Han scoffed and then took a quick step towards you. You jumped, slamming your head against the glass as you tried to get away. Heat raced up your neck and face and you refused to meet his gaze as you studied your boots. He chuckled and you watched his feet as he slightly paced away.

“You have a 4.0 GPA, one of the top students in your college, right? I’m sure that means you’re not too dense so you might have a vague idea as to why I’m here,” Han murmured. You glanced up, watching as his silk glove ran over the glass cabinet. He pulled it back, eyes squinting as he inspected the dark fabric.

“Something tells me you’re not here for money or goods,” you commented, still pressed back against the glass. His whole outfit was linen, minus the gold-hued combat boots and the gloves—“is that real leather?”— you nodded towards the boots.

He smirked. “Indeed. Cowhide if you’re really curious.”

Real leather… cowhide. You pursed your lips, narrowing your eyes at them. Not even you had the luxury of that. It made no sense, animals were scarce, even more so when it came to animal products. Especially something so materialistic as combat boots. You hadn’t had a proper piece of meat for nearly three weeks.

The only sound that filled the room was your erratic breathing. He paced along your floor, running his hands along the walls and the couch. With a sigh, he sank down into the couch, crossing his legs and leaning back. He fit in so well with the opulent layout of your home. It was… chilling.

“You have a bone to pick with my father?” You queried, slightly straightening up against the surface behind you. He shrugged, studying his nails boredly. Your teeth dug into your lip and your fingers scratched at your skirt. He waved his hand in front of his face.

“Everyone has a bone to pick with your father, Y/N,” he chortled. “But let’s say… that my bone to pick isn’t just mine. I was sent here to come to collect you sweet and you will be coming with me whether you like it or not.”

You frowned.

“And what makes you think that?”

With a flagrant roll of his eyes, he pulled down the collar of his shirt. You tilted your head, squinting your eyes as you tried to see exactly what he was showing you. There: a yellowy-orange tiger was imprinted into his skin. He let go of his collar, the fabric jumping back up to cover his collarbone. Han raised an eyebrow, standing up slowly. He slid off one glove, gently tucking it into a pocket.

“I would like to say I’m sorry Y/N… but I’m not one to lie.”

He approached you. You fumbled sideways, running over a small table. The vase that held your Nana’s ashes tumbled to the floor. He caught you before you could escape and you blindly lashed out, trying to scratch at him. His hand—warm and buzzing—wrapped around your wrist and a strange sensation started from the contact zone and spread. Your body sagged and you fell against him, your eyelids slowly drooping.

Darkness consumed your vision.

++++++

The back of your head pulsed as light started to peek through your eyelids. You grumbled, covering your eyes as you sat up. A blinding light cast across the room, sending warmth running along your arms. Dizziness filled you and you grunted, pressing your hands to your ears. What’s going on?

You clutched the comforter that you were tucked into and then froze. It was white… white. Your comforter was purple. You jumped out of bed, hurrying towards the window and looking out. The sky was a brilliant blue, with very few clouds littering the canvas. The ground was at least 800 feet below you and was a blurry twist of gray and black. You pressed a hand to your stomach, shocked when skin met skin. A silk robe hung loosely on your shoulders, with only a bra and undies on.

Neither of which were yours.

You tried to piece together how exactly you got here, but your memory was fuzzy. You remembered the darkness of your apartment and the man… the man, what was his name? Your teeth dug into your lips and your eyebrows furrowed.

“Damn.”

The door opened with a squeal. The same man from before stepped in, this time dressed in white. His collar dipped low, revealing his creamy skin and the golden tiger that stained his skin. You stepped back, wrapping the robe tightly around you. He snorted, not even sparing you a glance as he walked past you towards a large dresser in the corner room.

“You’re expected downstairs soon sweet,” he said, opening the doors with a flourish and shuffling through the fabrics.

“Who changed my clothes? Where am I? How long was I out? What did you do? Why can’t I remember anything?” You fired off, watching as he tossed something gray on the bed. The brunette ignored you for several minutes as he continued to throw articles onto the comforter. He finally whirled around, sighing when he saw you standing in the same place.

“Could you get dressed?”

“Could you leave?” You shot back.

He snorted and sat down in the chair, raising a curious eyebrow at you. You pursed your lips and then made your way towards the clothes. It was a mix of gray and pink. A sigh fell from you as you quickly threw off the robe and pulled on the outfit that was laid out for you: light gray pants and a medium pink shirt made of pure silk.

“Are you going to answer my questions?”

A forceful sigh followed.

“I changed your clothes—I’m grown and its nothing I haven’t seen before—you’re in the Deep City, just for the night, it’s not my place to explain that, and maybe you’re just a dipstick,” he explained.

You turned around, hands seated on your hips. You narrowed your eyes and he boredly pulled at his gloves. There was a gleam in his eyes: a flicker of a bright color that burned in their dark depths. Cold ran along your spine and you involuntarily shivered. He stood up, throwing a pair of gloves at you. They matched the color of your pants and were a soft material. You raised your eyebrows at him.

“What’s up with the gloves?” You murmured, raising your own and nodding towards his.

“You’d better wear em or you’ll regret it later on.”

He didn’t explain as he stood up, his hand wrapping around your upper forearm and dragging you towards the door. You followed along silently, a sudden fear creeping down your neck and rushing along your shoulders. Something had happened to get you here. Whether it was drugs, pure force, or some other force… it was something that could clearly take you out. You didn’t want to tangle with it again.

The walls were a dark wood that had recently been polished and the white carpet was unstained. The man stayed in step beside you, his eyes focused ahead of him as the two of you made your way down the hallway. His grip slowly loosened up, but you could feel a silent threat radiating from it. Despite the immense urge to run, the fear of the unknown held you back.

You descended a flight of stairs and were met by a spacious parlor. The chairs and couches were made of sleek black leather with silver lining. The floor changed from carpet to a blue-stained tile. A large deep brown rug sat in the middle of the floor, a sparkling glass table holding it down.

“I didn’t realize it took fifteen minutes to get someone, Han,” a voice interrupted your gaping. A man that was close to the same height as your escort approached. He was adorned in all gold and looked like a prince as he approached. Midnight black hair fell right along his eyebrows, brushing against his light skin and a shock of gray eyes squinted at you.

You blinked, glancing at Han and then back at the stranger. Why were they both so… pretty? You weren’t sure if it was their actual looks, the flattering clothes they wore, or just the way they held themselves.

Han shrugged beside you, slowly releasing his grip on your arm. You unconsciously ran your fingers over the area, the skin feeling sensitive and raw. You watched out of the corner of your eye as the two glared at each other, both of them looking ready to fight. Your shoulders hunched and you shrunk into yourself, not in the mood to experience something so brutal, especially in your current state.

“Would the two of you shove your dicks in your pants and calm the fuck down?”

Another man marched into the room, arms crossed. You watched as Han backed down and the black-haired man bristled before slowly relaxing his shoulders. As he approached, you noted that he was taller than both of them and his frame was larger. He was surprisingly dressed more casual, with a polo shirt and light-washed jeans. His hair was light blue and styled back over his head.

“Minho, aren’t you supposed to be helping Felix right now?” He asked, nodding at the silver-eyed boy.

Something close to a growl came from Minho.

“Yeah, what’s it to you?”

The blue-haired man smiled, but no amusement shone in his eyes.

“I’m sure neither Chan nor Changbin would be happy to see you sitting here causing problems,” he cooed, tilting his head.

“Fuck you Woojin.”

The young man stormed off, the room slightly lightening once he left. The tension didn’t completely leave and you noticed Han shoot a questioning look at the taller man. If he saw, he didn’t reply, he just walked towards one of the chairs and sat down.

“Come sit down Y/N, we have much to talk about,” Woojin said, motioning you over.

Your legs wobbled beneath you as you stumbled across the tiles and sat down on the couch. You clasped your hands in front of you, your eyes focusing on the fluffy rug that your feet were now buried in. You listened as Woojin shifted, a small sigh escaping him and then tensed up when Han sat down directly beside you.

You were caged in.

“I’m sure you’re curious as to why you’re here?” He queried, leaning forward on his knees. You shrugged, refusing to meet his gaze. “I’d like for you to use words, Y/N.”

You glanced up, sharply meeting his gaze. His eyes had a lavender tinge to them and despite his soft features, you could feel something radiating off him. It pulled at you, luring you in, and begging you to spill your secrets. There was a sharp pain in your left temple and you pressed a finger to it, closing your eyes and letting out a hiss. If your eyes were open you would’ve seen the warning glance that Han sent Woojin’s way. The discomfort quickly subsided and you opened your eyes, staring at the table in front of you.

“Yeah… yeah, I am,” you murmured.

A satisfied hum came from the man.

“You see here Y/N, your father owns a huge rationing company which is perfectly fine. We actually didn’t have a problem with your father until two weeks ago. Th-”

“His new business contract?” You interjected, playing with the gloves on your hand. Woojin raised an eyebrow and then nodded, his blank expression faltering for a small moment.

“Indeed. Do you know who his new partner is?” Han said, placing his hand on your knee. You scooted away, sending him a quick glare. Woojin chuckled and the look of horror that flashed across the brunette’s face would’ve been comical to you if not for the situation you were in.

Before you could reply, Woojin answered for you. “Clidei Industries: they sell technology and are constantly working on new things. They’re supposed to help make rationing cards so people won’t have to bargain and struggle for rations anymore. The only problem is that Clidei isn’t only selling your father technology; he’s selling him some sort of drugs.”

You blinked, your nervous scratching on your gloves ceasing. That couldn’t be possible, could it? Your father was a good man, why would he buy drugs? Especially with drugs being such a problematic view in this day. Drugs were the main reason the world collapsed in the first place and people wouldn’t even take pain medication or anesthesia. He owned a large rationing company, drugs would only make him…

“Unless people don’t realize he has them or what he’s doing with th—holy shit,” you gasped and stood up.

The roiling in your stomach that had been bothering you since you woke up was suddenly unbearable. You covered your mouth and rushed from the room. You stumbled upon an empty tin box and emptied the contents of your stomach into it. Han was right behind you, stepping back once he realized the reason you ran.

You slid to your knees, pressing a hand to your forehead and the other clutching the box. What was your father planning to do? You knew your father well, you knew he would only do what he thought was best for society. He wouldn’t put drugs in rations, would he? Maybe it would be an antibiotic and a calorie gain. He wouldn’t put anything dangerous in them.

You accepted the cloth that Han offered you and wiped the sweat from your forehead and your mouth. With weary steps, you followed him back to where Woojin waited for you. You met the man’s gaze and scowled. When he motioned for you to sit, you stubbornly resisted, deciding you’d rather have this conversation standing up.

You were your father’s daughter after all.

“You’re wrong about what my father is doing. He would never do something that dark,” you huffed.

Woojin raised a dark eyebrow.

“Your reaction proves otherwise.”

“I haven’t felt good since I woke up,” you retorted, waving the statement away. Your stomach just decided to act up at the wrong time. Woojin snorted and opened his mouth, a snappy reply ready. You cut him off. “I’m famished, where could I get something to eat? Or do you plan to starve me?”

Woojin glared at you and something crept along the back of your neck. You brushed it off, crossed your arms, and met his stare with a sneer of your own. His gaze looked past you to Han and the boy wrapped a hand around your wrist, dragging you from the room. You kept your back straight and chin high as you sauntered away, but once you pushed past a pair of doors and into a new room, you sagged down.

You weren’t hungry; you’re stomach felt too messed up for food but you had to escape that situation. How were you supposed to argue with him over whether your father was bad or not? All the signs were there and it just seemed weird that your father had been so silent about the drug part. He told you everything—why didn’t he tell you that? But he’s your father, no matter what, and you have to protect him. All I have to do is get out of here and then talk to him about it.

And even if he was doing something terrible, you would never throw him to these savages.

You sank into a chair, leaning against the quartz counter. Han opened up the pantry, shuffling through the shelves before he pulled out an orange and a bag of bread. He threw the fruit to you and took out a slice of bread, shoving it into a toaster. You turned the orange over in your hands, a loud sigh escaping you. After this, you’d be forced to go back into that room and try to argue in your father’s favor.

Shame flooded through you and you dropped the orange on the counter. What happened to the vicious girl that you usually were? Where did that “rich little bitch” go? Where was the spunk? The fire? Why were you so quiet around these people?

If they were trying to hurt your father through you, all you would have to do is be uncooperative.

You managed to eat the orange and ate half the toast that Han made you. Your stomach screamed in protest the whole time, but the way the boy watched you forced you to choke it down. He led you back into the parlor and you forced yourself to straighten up and dig for your usual self. You wouldn’t be able to get out of this if you didn’t have a backbone.

There was a conversation going on when the two of you stepped in. Silence ensued when the two of you got closer. Another man stood next to Woojin, his hair a mix of brown, black, and blonde. He was the same height as Woojin, but there was something that made him seem taller… harder to ignore. You made eye contact and then his eyes slowly moved over your body, his face blank. Nothing shimmered in the depths of his dark eyes.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” he hummed, tilting his head at you.

“Another random guy I don’t know.”

If he was expecting something different, he gave you no hint. He watched you silently, his head still tilted as he stood tall in the middle of the room. You stiffened up when both Woojin and Han left, the doors slamming shut behind them. He adjusted his jacket and then sat down. His leaned back, spreading his legs, and his veiny hands dropped to rest on his thighs. You looked away, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth and chewing on it.

“So, I’ve heard that you have questions,” he murmured, a smirk pulling on his lips. Your heart raced as you made your way towards him, sitting down opposite of him and shrugging.

“I’m sure you have things you would like to explain,” you replied, resting your chin in your hand. A dark eyebrow tilted upwards, the corners of his lips pulling upwards.

“You’re not going to be leaving for a while, Y/N. You see here, we’re not using you to get to your father exactly…” he sighed, twisting a ring on his index finger. “Y/N, confirm this for me: your mother died right after you were born and your father never remarried, right?”

You pursed your lips and nodded.

“So you’re his only child, which makes you the heir for the company?”

You didn’t have to nod, his inquisitive stare told you that he knew everything he needed to know.

“What’s your point?” You snapped.

A low chuckle came from the man. He swiped his thumb over his bottom lip, a curious looking shining in his eyes. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and eyes wide while he watched your face.

“You take over the company once you graduate from college and you’re in your last year, which means in under four months it’s yours,” he stated. “The business deal has been signed, but it will take at least six months for it to be secure. Which means that if you’re given the business on time, you’ll have two months to destroy the contract.”

You wished you could smirk back at him because he got his details wrong, but you weren’t stupid. He knew, he most definitely knew what all the conditions were for you to take over the company once you graduated. You glowered at him, your hands tightening into fists and your nails were starting to scrape at the fabric that covered them.

“What makes you think I’d do that?” You asked, your voice short and curt. Heat was pulsing in your veins and your teeth were tightly pressed together. You felt like you were already losing and it was infuriating you because the killing blow hadn’t been dealt yet.

“Why hasn’t your father told you about the second part of the deal, Y/N?”

You blinked.

“The drugs are awful—yes—but what’s more awful is letting an inexperienced child take over one of the biggest companies of this age. It’s not just the chance of you failing, but will the people really accept you? You’re young and your own classmates still see you like a bratty child. Clidei Industries has an heir, who’s older, more qualified, and a man. See, what if your father wanted those drugs so bad that he was willing to merge with Clidei and let his son take over both companies?” He said, his eyes widening as he went. You blinked, lifting your head and staring at him. He… he couldn’t be serious, could he?

“There’s no way,” you mumbled, shaking your head. “You’re lying.”

He flicked an eyebrow up and then grabbed a remote that lay on the table. He turned around, pressing a few buttons and you watched as a screen came down and flickered to life. It immediately opened up to a channel: there your father stood beside Yuvo Clidei, his son behind him. They were announcing their business deal.

“And I’m honored to say that soon our children will come together and Yuvo will take over my company in the future.”

He turned the TV off.

Silence.

“No… no no, no nononononononono, he-he wouldn’t do that. H-h-ha-he, he wouldn’t put me in an arranged marriage. Espe-ha-especially without telling me,” you stammered, standing up. He watched as you turned around, running your hands through your hair. There was no way your father would do that.

Would he?

At least, the man you knew as a child would never do that, but how close have you been with your dad the past several years? How often did you see him nowadays? How much did he really tell you about business? Hell, when was the last time the two of you had dinner together and just… talked? It’d been at least over a year and people can change their ways in just three weeks.

You hiccupped, bringing your hand up to your mouth, feeling the tears that ran down your face. You suddenly felt too hot and the walls were way too close. A sob escaped past your lips and you closed your eyes, teeth burying themselves in your bottom lip. The man approached you, softly gripping your shoulders and forcing you to turn towards him. You stared at his chest, trying to force the tears to disappear and struggling to even out your breathing.

“It wasn’t fair of him to do that, but the contract won’t be permanent for six months and that means you can still legally take over in four months,” he muttered, leaning down so you’re face to face. You can just barely meet his gaze.

“And what illegal work are you gonna do to get rid of him?” You sniffed, searching his face. He had to know that part of the contract your father made—you’d only take over the company after you graduated if he died before then.

“Don’t worry about that baby girl,” he cooed. “If you take over, the deal with Clidei can fail and you won’t be forced into a marriage with that pig.”

You snorted.

“I’m still an ‘inexperienced child’,” you grumbled. He rolled his eyes at your quote but met your gaze, something close to honesty burning in them.

“Once you take over, you won’t be an inexperienced child anymore. You’ll be a queen and people would be stupid to deny you of your birth claim.”

++++++++++++

Two days passed in silence. You hadn’t seen the man, Chan, since your talk and you’d been stuck with Han the whole time. You occasionally saw Woojin or Minho pass by and sometimes nameless faces, but Han seemed to be the only one content to give you company. You had expected yourself to fall into a shell of who you were, but shockingly, you didn’t seem too broken over what you’d just found out. Actually, you found yourself more determined to take over the company now.

Of course, nothing seemed to be happening.

Han kept claiming that Chan wanted to talk to you soon about his game plan, but whenever you asked, the boy would just shrug. So, instead, you resorted to being bored half the time and the other half spent annoying Han. He seemed fun—he sometimes got your jokes and would occasionally crack of few of his own—but he never wanted to do anything. The place was big and interesting and you hadn’t seen all of it, but there was nothing exciting about staying indoors. You wanted to go outside, but Han seemed extremely against it.

You pulled on your outfit of the day—once again something picked out by your personal babysitter. It was a black silk jumper, with a white leather belt, and the usual pair of gloves to go with it. This time though, there was a hat and a pair of sunglasses thrown in. You held up the hat, a simple baseball cap, frowning at it.

“Ah yes,” Han said, the door creaking as he stepped in. “We’ve been given permission to go outside today. Have you ever been to the Deep City?”

You shook your head and grinned at the boy. You pulled on the cap and grabbed the sunglasses, hurrying after him. Han walked quickly, with a hop in his step and you clearly weren’t the only one excited for the field trip. The two of you made your way through the hallways and past the parlor and into a new room.

Minho leaned up against the wall beside a door, looking extremely bored. He wore a deep blue shirt, matched with white trousers which were held up by gray suspenders. It was the first time you’d seen him in short sleeves and your eyes fell on the silver tattoo of a tiger on his bicep. You shivered unconsciously at the sight of it, still trying to get used to the idea that the people you lived with were Miroh. Miroh. The lead gang of District 9. The dangerous ones.

“Why are you here?” Han asked, his eyes shifting towards you wearily and then to the door.

“Chan told me to come along with the two of you,” Minho sighed, pushing off the wall. “And I couldn’t get out of it because Felix is still on his nocturnal schedule and Woojin… I don’t even know.”

The brunette beside you frowned.

“Am I not enough?”

Minho shrugged, turning away and opening up the door. He stepped through and motioned for you to follow him. You carefully did and Han followed behind you. You were greeted by a stairwell and you groaned, realizing you’d be going down hundreds of flights of stairs. You’d be exhausted before you even reached the ground.

The three of you made your way down in silence. You finally reached the bottom and your heart raced as you approached a set of double doors. Minho carefully pried one open, stepping out. You stepped out next, covering your eyes as you looked around. The sun was nowhere in sight and the streets were crowded.

A hand wrapped itself around yours and you glanced down, staring at Minho’s bare hand as he held tight to you. You tried to pull out, but the black-haired boy shot you a warning look. You sighed and gave up, letting him pull you along as you marched down the sidewalk.

“What exactly are we doing today?” You murmured. “Are we going shopping? Getting food? Going to a park?”

“We’re visiting a friend of mine. Be on your best behavior, keep the hat low, and put those sunglasses on. We don’t need you getting recognized,” he instructed. You nodded, struggling to put the sunglasses on one-handed. Minho watched, unimpressed, as it took you multiple tries before they were snug on your face. “Don’t talk to anyone, don’t look at anyone, and don’t get separated from us. The Deep City is dangerous, especially for someone like you.”

“Shouldn’t I be fine if I’m under your guys’ protection?” You queried, trying to keep the mocking tone out of your voice, but failing. Neither boy replied. Minho was intent on dragging you along and sending a glare at anyone who passed too close to him. Han walked beside you, keeping a careful eye on everyone.

You glanced around, trying to get a view of the great Deep City. The sidewalks and streets were cracked, but the buildings were shiny. Water fountains were placed here and there and trees were reaching for the sky. Fairy lights hung from overhangs and between trees. You could only imagine how beautiful it would be at night.

The place was more crowded than any place you’d ever been. Even in college and high school, you’d never seen so many people. Was this place really safe? It confused you if people were so scared of Miroh, why would they flock to the City that they ran? Or maybe the views your father gave you were wrong—maybe people actually worshipped the gang. It was possible that your father only saw them as a threat because they threatened the way the world had functioned for the past several years and that would put your father out of business.

Finally, you arrived at wherever Minho wished to terrorize someone. You stepped into a slightly rundown building, cool air running through you. The inside was bright, with neon lights and blinding yellow walls. The three of you stood out completely from the interior. Minho’s grip on your hand tightened when several people shot curious stares your way.

Minho made his way towards the woman who stood behind the counter. She was dressed in bright pink and her eyes were a terrifying purple. She looked up when you approached, a smile slowly pulling at the corners of her lips. She nodded at Minho, glancing to you and then to Han.

“Jisung, Minho, and…?”

“Unimportant,” Minho muttered. “Chan had an order made a week ago, has it arrived yet?”

She nodded and then glanced at you. “Unfortunately I can’t let dearie come see it unless you tell me her name.”

She sent a sarcastic grin Minho’s way, batting her eyelashes. He snorted, letting go of your hand and muttering a soft ‘you wish.’ He nodded at Han and your other hand was taken by the brunette. Minho followed the woman into the back, his back stiff and hands clenched into fists at his sides.

You harrumphed.

“So… Jisung, huh?” You chortled, turning to the boy. He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head.

“Real name,” he explained and then glanced around. “Minho’s gonna be a while, do you wanna go get ice cream?”

You nodded, deciding to leave the topic of his name behind and go get something sweet. You wondered if it would be real ice cream, with actual milk. You tried to think of the last time since you’d had milk and your mind came up blank. Most animals were scarce in general, but dairy cows were extremely rare.

He dragged you outside and hurried across the street, where a cart was. The man there greeted the two of you. Han refused to let go you of you, all throughout ordering and paying. You kept it simple, getting a cup of vanilla. You found a park bench and sat down. You looked around as you enjoyed the desert. The few bits of grass were extremely green, the trees looked healthy, and there wasn’t an unhealthy gloom over the city like most places. Once you finished, Han offered to throw it away.

“Don’t move and if anyone approaches, ignore them,” he said, raising his eyebrows. You raised yours back, nodding quickly. The boy hurried off to find a trash can and you sat in silence. You closed your eyes, leaning back and basking in the light breeze that brushed against your skin.

A hand fell on your shoulder and you opened your eyes. It wasn’t Han. A woman with white hair stood over you, watching you with an ominous stare. You jumped up, whirling around and placing a hand over your heart. Your sunglasses were held in her hand and you froze.

“I know you,” she murmured, the words hummed out like a song. You shook your head.

“You must have me mistaken for someone else. I just have one of those faces,” you stammered, a shaky laugh following after. She slowly moved around the bench, moving towards you. You backed away, unable to ignore the odd vibes running off her.

“I know you,” she demanded, eyes narrowing. You glanced over your shoulder, searching wildly for Han. How hard was it to find a trash can?

“N-no you don’t.”

Somebody grabbed the back of your neck. You stiffened up under the touch, gritting your teeth when their hold tightened. Dammit, you should’ve just gone with Han. The woman stepped forward, her hand reaching out to trace your face.

A gloved hand grabbed the woman’s wrist and Han stepped into view. A look of fury burned in his dark eyes. He glanced at you, to whoever was behind you, and then back to the white-haired woman. The sunglasses dropped from her hand and she watched Han with a slightly surprised stare.

“Who the fuck are you?” He snarled, his lip curling back.

She raised her nose. “I could ask you the same.”

You expected him to do some dramatic reveal of his tattoo or mention something related to Miroh, but instead, he let go of her wrist and shoved her back. He met your gaze for a fleeting moment and then narrowed his eyes on the person behind you. He ripped off his gloves, tossing them on the ground, and his hands curled into fists. You wriggled nervously, biting your lip.

“Deep breaths sweet,” he huffed and then his foot rammed into the person’s knee. The grip on your neck loosened enough for you to yank away. You got a good look at your captor, a large man with a crew cut. Han was a lot smaller than him, but he didn’t seem to care.

You backed up, watching in horror as you watched the man swing at Jisung. He kept dodging, backing up, his eyes focused solely on the man’s face. When the man swung again, he caught his hand and then moved his grip to his wrist. There was no twist or hit back, instead, his eyes lit up and you watched as the man’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and he dropped to the ground.

He turned towards the woman, cracking his neck. Light yellow sparks flickered between his fingers as he approached her. She backed up, eyes darting between him and the people that rushed by. No one seemed to notice what was going on. You glanced past Han, frowning. Three more men came sprinting from across the street, eyes focused on your protector.

“Han!” You squeaked out, trying to warn him to the attackers, but it was too late.

Two jumped on him wrestling him to the ground while the other checked on the woman before turning to you. You backed up, your knees pressing against the bench and then your eyes darted past him. Minho stepped out of the store, his eyes darting back and forth as he searched for the two of you.

“MINHO!”

Your scream was loud and piercing as you tried to step back again, only to fall onto the bench. Your eyes focused on the man before you, no longer trying to see if Minho heard you. You blinked and then Minho was just there: right in front of you. His fist connected with the man’s skull, a dull thump being heard as he groaned. He wasted no time ramming his foot into the man’s stomach, knocking him over and wrenched one of the men off of Han.

The younger boy sprung up, his eyes bright orange and raging. You watched as he pressed a hand to one of the attacker’s chests and light started pulsing from his hands. You clasped a hand over your mouth, not noticed the woman and one man hurrying off. Both boys backed off from the two left and then turned to you. A bruise was already forming on Han’s cheek, his hair was a mess, and grass and dirt clung to his shirt.

Minho scooped you up, shouting orders at Han as he raced across the street. You barely kept up as the man rushed back towards the Miroh building and barrelled up the stairs, not even faltering with your added weight. He slammed open the door and hurried into the parlor, dumping you onto the couch.

He disappeared into the kitchen, a loud scream of frustration coming from the room. You gasped, pressing a hand to your face and pulling back to see it wet. You hadn’t even noticed you were crying and suddenly you were more aware of your racing heart, the sweat that clung to your hairline, and how you felt extremely cold.

He took off his gloves. That night in your apartment, he’d done the same thing. You remembered the feeling of everything being drained from you. You sat up, ignoring the way the room spun. What are these people?

++++++++

“I want to talk to Chan.”

“Y/N, he’s busy,” Minho argued. You crossed your arms, trying to push past him. You had a vague idea of where Chan’s office was—you’d seen him disappear behind the glass wall multiple times. “Just let me explain it to you.”

“No, I will talk to Chan,” you demanded. You didn’t know who to trust, but so far Chan had been the most honest with you, even in the one conversation you’d had. Minho opened his mouth, ready to brush off your whines, but then closed it. He turned around just as the door behind him opened, the man in question stepped out. Dark circles were under his eyes and his hair was a mess.

Chan waved Minho away and then motioned you into his office. You marched in, plopping down on the couch. He leaned up against his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose and a letting out a loud sigh. You crossed your legs, tapping your hands on the arm of the couch. He looked back over to you.

“I’m assuming something happened that can’t be explained by science or reasoning,” he murmured.

You nodded.

“Something tells me you already know the answer to that question,” he sighed. “But I’ll explain anyway.

“Before we all found each other, the nine of us had nothing in common. We weren’t experimented on in some weird lab, our parents did have some disease, nothing weird happened in our childhoods that would give any explanation as to why we had these… abilities. The universe clearly dragged us together though, because we’re all here now.”

You opened your mouth to interrupt, but Chan raised a hand and you slowly closed it.

“The first one I ran into was Felix. It was mid-winter, freezing cold outside, and the boy was in shorts and a tank top, not even aware of the weather. I took him into my apartment, ignored his claims that he was fine, and took him under my wing. It took a while for me to realize the boy had powers like me, but one day I walked into the kitchen to see him freezing his water. When I realized I wasn’t alone… I guess you could say I made it my mission to find others like us and train them,” he explained and you watched as he picked up a glass and studied it. “Hyunjin protected me from a spray of bullets, Minho disappeared right before my eyes, Jeongin tricked me into giving him all my money, Woojin found me, Seungmin lit Kiol building up, Changbin could control things with his mind, and Han was draining the energy out of lightbulbs to stay warm.

“Y/N, you might think we’re monsters because we’re not normal, but don’t run from us, we’re here to help,” he said, pushing off the table and slowly approaching you.

“Were you ever gonna tell me?” You asked, holding up a hand to keep him at bay.

He bit his lip. “I’m not sure.”

You stared at him, waiting for something like anger or hatred to come forward, but nothing did. Instead, there was a rush of relief that raced through your body. You closed your eyes and leaned forward, closing your eyes. He was being honest and that seemed to be all that mattered at the moment. Your own father hadn’t been honest; shouldn’t you take shelter in the one person who’d been truthful with you?

“There’s nine of you?” You queried, brushing your hair out of your face as you looked up. He nodded, his eyes running along the length of your body. Chan chewed on his index finger, his shoulders stiff. You had a hundred questions, millions of them that begged to be answered, but you didn’t really want to dive into his world. Depending on whatever his plan was, he would put you on your rightful throne in a couple of months and help you out for a while, but you probably wouldn’t see him after that.

“Chan, if you want me to work with you, I need to know exactly what you plan to do,” you said.

He sighed.

“In order for you to take over the company by the time you graduate, your father needs to be dead. That’s in four months. Your father’s planned death is the day after your graduation, at 9:50 AM. One of Minho’s powers is possession, we plan on having him possess your father and walk him in front of a car, which will be driven by a random man so it can’t be found as murder. Jeongin, you haven’t met him yet, but he has the ability to… persuade others to do whatever he wishes. He’ll convince the driver to do it, with those exact details.

“The deal won’t be official for another two months after that, so we are going to establish you as temporary CEO within three days. We can’t make you permanent CEO immediately, because you’ll have to not only fight the Clideis, but you’ll also have to convince the people. The first week after your father’s death will be silent, that much can be expected. The second week, there will definitely be meetings and it will be our job to get you into every single one—invited or not.

“We’ll play nice that week, but the third week you will announce your decision: you will be taking your father’s position. The Clideis will argue, but you’ll have to stay strong. This is where you’ll start doing most of the work. You’ll need to gain the people’s support and trust and somehow scare the Clideis out. Destroy the contract before they can complete it and then you take it over it. After that, we trust that you’ll only work for the greater good of society.”

You bit your lip, taking all the information in. It was a lot and you weren’t sure how well you could sell it. Getting the people on your side… persuasion wasn’t your strong suit. You unconsciously dug your nails into your knees, already knowing how you could get rid of the Clideis. You had an unfortunate past with Yuvo Clidei, that his father didn’t know about.

“I need my phone,” you demanded. “I have some stuff on it that I could use as blackmail against them.”

Chan raised a curious eyebrow before his eyes slowly glazed over. The clock ticked loudly in the dark office as you waited for him to get back to you. He shook his head, blinking his eyes as he forced himself back into reality.

“Done.”

++++++++++

Three months rolled by in a blur. When you weren’t at college, you spent most of your time with Chan or Han, occasionally having lessons with Woojin and the boy Chan had mentioned, Jeongin. You saw Minho every now and then and someone with deep brown hair and wide eyes. Woojin was beating knowledge into your head, going over everything you would need to know about business, and most specifically: your father’s business. Jeongin was teaching you how to talk and act to get people to be swayed to your side, but in most lessons, you found yourself just nodding and zoning out because the boy really had a way with words.

“And that’s why I think you should get me ice cream,” you cooed, tilting your head at Han. The brunette looked unimpressed as he crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair. You groaned, burying your head in your hands. You were better at bribing people to do what you wish, not talk them into it.

“You talk too much like an essay,” Jeongin pointed out from the corner. “You use too academic words and it’s too controlled. Your voice is good and you smile a lot and flirt when you need to, but if you make your talk flowery and smoother, people will listen to you.”

You send a glare the younger boy’s way.

“Easy for you to say dipstick, you literally have to smile and people would lick dog shit off your shoe,” you snapped. The boy chuckled and shrugged, messily running a hand through his red hair. Then you turned back to Han. “Can I please have some fucking ice cream?”

Shrill laughter came from both boys. You pouted, crossing your arms. Han was the easiest to push over and you could barely convince him to do something for you without questioning you. How were you supposed to get a whole group of people to listen to you, and even more of, support you?

But you really wanted ice cream at that moment.

You widened your eyes and popped out your lip at Han. He looked over, saw your attempt at a puppy face, and burst into even louder laughter. He fell back in his chair, eyes closed, and head tilted back. You stood up, tossing your hair over your shoulder and marched towards him. You leaned over him, placing your hands on either side of him. He didn’t notice at first, but you leaned closer, tilting your head.

Han finally opened his eyes and froze when he realized just how close you were. You moved one of your hands from the chair arm to his thigh, slowly snaking it up. He opened his mouth and then shut it, swallowing loudly. You leaned forward till you were nose to nose and smiled softly.

“Can I have that ice cream now?”

You massaged his leg, watching as the boy started to crumble. Han shifted, running a nervous hand through his hair. You bit your lip, smirking as you tilted your head the other way. His cheeks were bright red and he refused to meet your gaze.

“What the hell?”

You jumped away, ears turning pink when you turned towards the doorway. Chan leaned up against the frame, sweat running down his body. He stood in just a tank top and basketball shorts, his muscled arms, and legs on display. His shirt was wet, clinging to his body and complimenting his carved chest and stomach. His hair was a mess and holy crap, he looked like a whole snack.

Suddenly you didn’t want the ice cream anymore.

He glanced between the two of you, eyes narrowed. You opened your mouth, trying to explain, but an awkward squeak just came out as you made wild hand motions. Standing there with Chan’s scrutinizing stare on you made you wonder if you and Han were too close. Hell, you were basically just straddling him without any emotions. Han stood up, ready to come to your defense, but Chan shot him a glower.

“Y/N, come with me please,” he huffed, turning around and walking away. You glanced at Han, sticking your tongue out and hurrying after the man.

You caught up, nervously playing with the sleeves of your shirt. The two you walked to the kitchen in silence. The man grabbed a glass of water, leaning against the counter, sipping at it as he watched you over the rim of the glass. You shifted, tucking your head behind your ear.

“Y/N, I understand that it’s easy to get close to someone when you spend all your free time with them, but I would appreciate it if you could refrain from romantic or sexual relationships, whether there are feelings or not. I need my boys on full focus and I need you to be as well. There won’t be much connection between us once you leave and I don’t need there to be any broken hearts when that happens,” he explained. You shake your head.

“You just walked in at the wrong time,” you argued. “Han and I are only friends—no-not that. I was just trying to convince him to get me ice cream.”

Chan raised a dark eyebrow and placed the glass in the sink. He wiped his forehead, his bicep flexing as he did so. You looked away, turning your knees inward and pursing your lips.

“You shouldn’t have to use your body to get what you wish, Y/N. You’re a strong woman and being sincere will get you where you need to be,” he murmured and walked towards you. He took a piece of your hair, twisting it around his index finger and searching your gaze. “If you really need to do that to get your way, then maybe you’re weaker than I thought.”

You blinked, watching as the man left. You stood in silence, completely shocked by his words. You did it as a joke because you knew exactly how Han would’ve reacted, not just for the sake of getting ice cream. Eyes narrowed, you whirled around and raced after Chan. You rushed in front of him, arms crossed, and glared up at him.

“I’m not weak!” You retorted, pressing your pointer finger to his chest. He stared down at you, looking unimpressed, almost like you were just a puppy that was yipping at his heels. “Because if I was weak, you wouldn’t have even bothered with me. You would’ve either gone to Yuvo and scared him into listening to you or found a completely new candidate. Instead, you came to me and I’m not dumb—you’re thorough and have enough information to make sure nothing could go wrong—so you knew my personality, my quirks, and what ticked me off when you came to collect me. You knew what weak spots to hit in our first conversation. Everything you’ve done up to this point has been to drag out whatever you saw in me!”

He listened to your rant, staring at you with a completely blank face. When you finished up, panting loudly and your finger still digging into his chest, he snorted. Chan grabbed your wrist, yanking you forward and leaning down until your foreheads almost touched. His lip curled up and his warm breath fanned over your face.

“Maybe so, but I won’t tolerate you playing with my members like they’re toys. I don’t care the reason you were feeling up Jisung, but I do care about their performance, and most importantly, your performance,” he hummed. He moved his mouth so it grazed along with the shell of your ear. Fiery hot shivers ran along your arms and spine and an unintentional gasp escaped from you. Chan stiffened up against you, his grip on your wrist loosening, and his body slowly sinking closer to yours.

He pulled slightly back, tipping up your chin with his thumb. With him, this close you could see the gold and blue flecks in his dark eyes. You weren’t sure if he was leaning down, but you knew for sure that you were leaning towards him, your eyes fluttering. Your gaze dipped down to his lips before darting up to his eyes once more. God, he looked so inviting and his body warmth called out to you like a secret song. You closed your eyes and let your lips carefully brush against his.

There was a moment of pure serenity as you pressed tighter against him. Chan responded for a fervent moment and when you spread your hand on his chest, you could feel his racing heart. He stiffened under your touch and then shoved you away. You stumbled back, eyes flying open and watching as the man pressed the back of his hand to his lips before he turned around and disappeared into the next room.

Your hand shook as you pressed it over your own heart, feeling the unsteady stutter that hid there. You blinked, licking your lips and running a hand through your hair. You shook yourself out, trying to force yourself into the right mindset.

“Y/N? Are you okay? He didn’t say anything too rude, did he?” He asked, popping around the corner. You smiled tightly and shook your head.

“No, but I think I deserve that ice cream since I took a hit for the team,” you joked softly and the boy nodded.

“Ice cream it is.”

As night rolled around, you found it impossible to sleep. Han had gotten you tacos and you’re favorite ice cream, apologizing repeatedly for making you go into the hell zone alone. You’d brushed him off, choosing to eat dinner in your room and then you tried to retire early, but it was nearing midnight and you were still wide awake.

All you could think about was how soft Chan’s lips were, how he felt so amazing right there and then the bitter, frigid air that followed afterward. You understood his reasoning behind no relationships, but you wish you didn’t. A prickle ran through your body and you sighed, sitting up in bed. You slipped out, trying your best to be silent as you made your way down the stairs. You felt your way through the parlor until you found the kitchen door and stepped in.

Surprise ran through you when you found the lights on. A boy stood with his back to you, his hair a white-blonde and his body was lithe and lean. He turned around, holding a container of ice cream in one hand with a spoon hanging from his mouth. He froze when he saw you, eyes widening. You glanced down, staring in dismay at your container of ice cream. You’d been wondering why everything sweet in this place always seemed to disappear so fast.

He pulled the spoon out of his mouth with a ‘pop!’ and blushed. “You’re Y/N, right? I’m Felix.”

The first boy Chan met.

You smiled and reached over the counter to shake his hand. His grin was a shining white as he gripped your hand and lightly shook it. His skin was numbing and it burned through your anatomy. You unconsciously rubbed your hand vigorously against your shirt, pressing your lips together.

“Sorry ‘bout that. Channie and I have tried multiple times to figure out how to warm my hands up, but it seems to be impossible,” he apologized. ** (Remember this for Felix’s story)

You chuckled. “Are you the reason everyone wears gloves all the time?”

His voice was deep as his chuckle joined yours.

“Believe me, I wish,” he huffed. “Those are more of a safety precaution. Not everyone in the group can completely control their powers.”

A comfortable silence fell over the two of you as Felix turned around to dig through the drawers for something. He produced another spoon and handed it to you, offering the container of creamy sweetness to you. You dove in, sighing when the flavor hit your tongue. You flopped into the barstool, scooping out another spoonful and savoring it quietly.

“How do you like it here?” Felix queried. “I’ve heard about you, but I don’t really get to hear about how it’s going or even talk to you.”

“It’s fine. A little stressful.”

He snorted and nodded, his eyes full of pure understanding. He shuffled across the kitchen and searched through the fridge, pulling out a jar of peanut butter and a banana. You contemplated him as he found some bread and made a sandwich, humming a soft tune under his breath. He seemed to be a lot younger than the others—there wasn’t a dark aura that radiated off him. You knew the Jeongin was the youngest but even the young teen had something mysterious and brooding hiding in his far corners.

Felix walked around the counter and sat down next to you, his stomach grumbling as he quickly devoured the food. Amusement filled you as he managed to scarf it down in just four bites. At this distance or lack of, you could see a spray of freckles that covered his face and noted the way his skin shone unnaturally under the kitchen lights. He glanced over at you, mouth screwed shut, cheeks puffed up, and eyebrows raised. You giggled.

“Is there a reason you’re staring?” He mumbled after he swallowed his food.

You shrugged.

“You don’t remind me of the others,” you said, glancing over his face.

Too much innocence.

“I get that a lot—you’d think I’d be colder because my powers—but because of my powers I feel like I’ve always made it my job to be warm and sunny,” he murmured, brushing the crumbs off his shirt. Then he scoffed; “Rather ironic, isn’t it?”

You shook your head.

“I think it’s a good thing… everyone here seems to beat down and ominous. Chan’s a good leader, but sometimes you need someone with an actual smile to keep people closely knit,” you vocalized. Han was fun and loving at times, but you saw the shadow behind the shine in his eyes and you always dwelled on those times he would go silent, his eyebrows would furrow, and you could practically see the horrors flash across his face. It was refreshing that Felix didn’t emanate that feeling.

A shy smile pulled at his lips.

“Thank you.”

You hummed.

“It’s unfortunate you’re leaving so soon, Y/N. I wish I could’ve met you earlier.”

One Month Later…

You crouched next to Han, the two of you completely hidden by shadows. Your eyes ran over the silhouettes in the coffee shop, wondering which one was your father. Minho sat on a park bench next to the building, earbuds in and head bobbing as if he was listening to music. His arms were completely covered, hiding his Miroh tattoo from view. Chan and Woojin were hiding on one of the roofs, both over-looking to make sure everything went well.

Your heart thrummed loudly in your ears, realization pounding through your body because today was the day. You’d walked across the stage last night, in your purple satin gown and had accepted the flimsy piece of paper with an immoderate smile. Chan had been satisfied with your lessons; the way you talked and presented yourself had managed to improve immensely within the last month you had.

The door opened and your father appeared, a double-shot Americano in hand and his phone in the other. He made his way towards the crosswalk, completely oblivious to what was going to go down in a couple of minutes. The streets were mostly empty, giving the driver a perfect runway. Minho’s eyes peeped open, the silver irises noticeable even from across the street. He glanced at your father, his body stiffening and then sagging, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as his conscious completely moved.

Your hand tightened around Han’s, perspire collecting along your jawline and forehead. He squeezed your hand, but his eyes were completely focused on the scene and his worry was definitely not directed towards you.

Your father stalled at the crosswalk, suddenly finding interest in his phone as Minho waited for the truck to approach. You glanced down the road, unable to stop your gasp when you saw the pickup truck. Your father’s gaze snapped towards it and you listened to the sound of the vehicle picking up speed. When it was barely five meters away, the man that raised you stepped out and rushed in front of the truck. You looked away, covered your mouth and tried to drown out the thump of a body being hit and the sound of the truck still going as if nothing happened. Screams filled the air and you were sure one of them was yours.

Han let go of your hand to race across the street to where Minho struggled to stand up. You surveyed the situation, noting the way his skin was much too pale and his head lolled to the side. Chan had told you that Minho took some damage whenever the life he was possessing got injured or killed. Han wrapped the boy’s arm over his shoulders and started stumbling down the sidewalk.

You made the mistake of glancing towards where your father was. Red gushed across the dark pavement and you looked away, tears pricking your eyes. You were supposed to wait for Han or Woojin to come to get you, but suddenly the idea of letting one of them touch you, lest come near you was sickening.

You stood up and turned around, quickly racing down the alley and taking several sharp turns. You had no idea where you were going, but you couldn’t face them at the moment. Hell, you couldn’t face yourself.

You kept running for awhile until you found yourself in a familiar place. Your steps were loud as you stumbled along the cement, coming to a stop in front of the white gate. You ran your hand along the fence and glanced at the soft blue house hidden behind them. The gate squealed as you shoved it open and marched up the walkway. Creaks sounded underneath you as you stepped up the old wooden porch.

Despite the crazy amount of money your father had and continued to make, he always preferred the simple, rundown house. You remembered him always saying that it was like a reminder that everything was still normal. You sniffled as you bent down to get the spare key from under the mat. The sound of the door unlocking was loud and for a moment you thought it would be impossible for you to step into your childhood home.

But you did and you shut the door loudly behind you. The house was gleaming and clean, as expected. Your father could never live in a mess. You slid out of your shoes and walked across the carpet, moving down the hallway, and tracing your hand along the wall. As if in a trance, you walked into your room, looking around. It hadn’t changed since you left—it still had the same color scheme of blue and white, with the same posters and paintings decorating the walls.

Your hand ran along the dresser and your finger came back up, dustless. A sigh escaped you and you smiled, but it was bittersweet. Would this house go to crap now that there was no one to take care of it? You had never developed your father’s cleanliness and even if you did, did you really want to live here? In this big house, all alone? You sank to the floor, leaning against the bed and closing your eyes. Your hand skimmed along your shoulders and down to your collarbone. Your hand slowed over the spot where you knew it was—the ink. A grimace darkened your features as you traced the pattern, having it memorized. The memories of your hand grasping Chan’s tightly as the needle approached your delicate skin and marred it for eternity flooded your mind.

“A backup plan… in case nothing else works, this can get you where you need to be.”

The small black tiger on your skin that matched the rest of Miroh. If your words and your image couldn’t get you your birth claim, then this would. The Clideis wouldn’t dare challenge you, knowing who stood behind you; and the people would be split between respect and fear. You knew what the mark meant, you knew it would put you on a beacon of power and terror.

“But I don’t want to win them over with fear…”

That was a lie, because deep down inside, you knew that as long as you had Miroh on your side, you would always be on top with fear. You would run the biggest business, you would choose how much food each family got, all because you had a gang that represented agony, horror, and gore behind you.

“You scared us.”

You jumped, eyes widening as you watched Chan step into your room. His eyes darted around the room, a mix of emotions shining in their depths as he surveyed the place. You didn’t move from you position and looked up at him. Chan sighed and walked towards you, sliding to the floor next to you.

“Y/N… I am truly sorry, but this had to be done. Your father was a danger to the survival of society and it had to happen,” he declared, fingers playing with the edge of his sleeves. You nodded, biting your lip.

“You could’ve just gotten rid of the Clideis,” you mentioned, but it was pointless. You already knew his answer. He glanced over at you, the sunlight dancing beautifully across his skin. His hand reached for years, wrapping around it tightly.

“You can do this, Y/N, with or without the tattoo.”

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and then opened them. His other hand wrapped around the back of your neck and brought your head to his. You let him pull you until your lips met. You melted into him, your hand tightening around his and your other running along his jawline. It was sweet, simple, and soft. You pulled back first, keeping your eyes closed and nodding.

“I can,” you whispered.

+++++++

It took time, it really did. You had about five days left to take your father’s spot before the contract was officially in place. Then it happened and the Clideis arguments crumbled and the people cheered louder for you. It was deafening, standing on that stage between two security guards as roars and claps filled the air.

It had been an accident—your collar had slid to the side for a moment to reveal the tattoo that marked your skin. No one believed it at first, but then your own banner was raised in the Deep City, surrounded by nine masked dangers, with all their tattoos on display. The Clideis disappeared in a snap and no more protests from the community. And so, Y/F/N Y/L/N’s daughter took the biggest business under her finger.

You remembered when you were up on that stage, you remembered seeing the bright smile that you could always recognize despite only seeing it twice: Felix. The white-haired boy stood on a ledge, hands tucked in his pockets, and a broad smile on his face. Then you quickly noticed the others: Minho’s silver stare, Woojin’s light blue hair, Han’s eccentric outfit, Jeongin’s smirk that was impossible to ignore, and then there was Chan.

He stood out in his white and gold uniform, his hair no longer multi-colored, but a dark blonde. Your heart had thundered loudly and suddenly you couldn’t hear the shouts anymore. You hadn’t seen him since that day in your old house and the tingles that rushed over your body were blinding. You’d nodded in acknowledgement and he’d nodded back and that was it. You allowed yourself to be escorted to your bachelorette pad and then sat in silence, sipping a glass of wine in victory.

Your gaze flicked towards the computer screen on front of you as it lit up. Chan stepped into your home, no longer adorning the white suit. Instead he wore a simple hoodie and sweatpants. You closed the screen and finished your wine, allowing the man to silently move into your kitchen.

“Hello Chan.”

“You did amazing,” he complimented, his hand squeezing your shoulder as he stepped up behind you. You nodded, your body relaxing under his touch.

“I thought Miroh was supposed to cut off contact after it was done,” you sighed, setting down the glass. You peeked up at him, tilting your head curiously. Chan shrugged, running a hand lazily through his hair.

“We’ll do yearly checkups to make sure everything’s all right. I’m just here to make sure that you’ll uphold what you promised.”

“I would never do what my father dared to,” you stated. Your heart no longer squeezed whenever you mentioned the man, you could easily talk of him and keep a straight face. Whatever love you once felt for him was gone—he raised you, but he wasn’t the perfect man you always saw him as. Your mind wasn’t meant to be set on his death, you were meant to focus on your world. The world that could crumble if you just barely brushed it wrong.

“So, I figure this is good-bye?” You queried. Chan’s hand ran through your hair, a soothing touch if it wasn’t for the sadness that lurked behind it.

He hummed in agreement and then bent over you. His lips brushed along your temple, to your ear, and he proceeded to ask what you were drinking. You got him a glass and the two of you conversed over the bottle.

You weren’t exactly sure how it happened. The two of you were mostly just talking, with occasional kisses here and there. Then suddenly you found yourself pinned beneath him on the table as his mouth moved down your neck. His hips rutted against yours as he struggled to unbutton your shirt. A gasp fell from you when he gave up and just ripped it open, his warm mouth trailing along your breasts.

You helped him wiggle you out of your pants and you struggled to throw his shirt off. A blush ran along your cheeks when you saw the planes of muscles along his stomach and chest. Chan hissed as he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, his fingers dancing along your panties. You whined, arching your back and the man finally gave in.

You gasped, hands flying down to grasp his hair and eyes squeezing shut. His tongue ran up your slit and then his mouth enclosed your clit, harshly sucking on it. His fingers danced along your stomach and legs, keeping you in place as you writhed beneath him. When you begged for more, he groaned in response and wasted no time sliding two fingers inside you.

“Fuck, Chan!” You squeaked, tasting your own blood when your teeth dug too tightly into the bottom lip. He peeked up at you, his hair a mess from your insistent tugging and a glisten on his nose and chin. “No foreplay please. No foreplay.”

Chan mumbled something along the lines of wanting to cherish you, but listened to your pleas. He threw off his boxers and pushed you farther onto the table. He climbed on top of you, sucking marks on to your neck and collarbone. Your hands gripped his biceps and your legs wrapped tightly around his waist as you waited.

There it was again—that small moment of serenity before the world rocked itself. Chan’s eyes flashed a muted blue and then he was there. You mewled when he filled you completely, his cock hitting you right to the core. He grunted, sitting still for a few moments before he started.

It wasn’t hard or rough. It was soft and slow, a gentle rocking as the new of you created a melody with your moans. Chan’s mouth kept meeting yours in soft brushes and his tongue would dart out along your lower lip. Moments passed as he continued to thrust into you, his eyelashes fluttering along his flushed cheeks and mouth slightly parted. You felt yourself come undone, eyes pinching shut and nails burying themselves in your lover’s back. He followed you soon after, saliva hanging from his mouth as his hips stuttered against yours.

You woke up in the morning in your own bed. It was mid-afternoon and the sounds of traffic down below were mild. You glanced over, expecting to be met with empty blankets, but found Chan’s sleeping face. A smile broke out on your face as you traced along his cheekbone, mesmerization running through you. He was still there.

His eyes slowly opened, narrowing against the harsh sunlight that danced across the two of you. Chan yawned, stretching out his arms and then nestled back into you. He smelled like sex and you couldn’t stop your nose from wrinkling, but you didn’t mind.

“I don’t want this to be the last time I see you,” he mumbled, tracing patterns along your skin. You glanced over at him and brushed his hair out of his face.

“It doesn’t have to be,” you commented.

He chuckled.

“You’re right.”

#skz #stray kids #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids network #miroh #stray kids chan #stray kids smut #stray kids angst #stray kids fic #bang chan #chan x reader #chan smut #chan x reader smut #chan fic #chan angst

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bee-kathony · 5 years

Photo

The Oath | Ch. 17 “History”

a/n: thank you all for liking, reblogging and commenting on the last chapter! thank you so much @lcbeauchampoftarth for being my beta and for all the questions she kindly answered! hope you enjoy this chapter, let me know what you think will happen! xx

Arc I | Ch. 16

December 7th, 2019

Ned Gowan’s office was located in old town Edinburgh near where Claire worked at the hospital. Jenny had sent Jamie his details yesterday, and thankfully, Ned had time to meet with them today. Jenny had also agreed to stay with Madeline for the day while they figured out what to do next.

Claire clocked out for her lunch break, wrapping her new tartan scarf that Jamie had bought her for her birthday around her neck. The air was crisp, with that cold bite that comes with winter in Scotland. Jamie was meeting her at Ned’s office and he had just pulled up when Claire crossed the street.

“Hello my love,” Claire smiled and stood on her toes to kiss him as he closed the car door. “It’s been too long since I’ve last kissed you.”

“Ye mean four hours?” Jamie chuckled and then kissed her again, his lips lingering after. “Any time at all is too long, Sassenach.”

“I suppose we’d better get in there, I only have 40 minutes left of my lunch break,” Claire sighed and took his hand, both walking towards the entrance of the building. Inside, it was nicely decorated — smaller than she thought, but at least the place wasn’t falling apart.

“Ned Gowan is your family’s lawyer?” Claire asked as Jamie checked in with the receptionist.

“Aye,” he nodded. “He helped my parents when my Mam’s side of the family was furious with their marriage.” Jamie led her over to a small couch in the corner while they waited. “My Mam and Da ran away together, ye ken, and got marrit. My uncles Dougal and Colum — both passed away, bless their souls, well… they didna like my Da, especially because he was a Fraser.”

“Well what’s wrong with being a Fraser?” Claire asked, rather intrigued. “Is there something I should know before I marry you, Jamie?” She poked him lightly in the ribs.

“Fraser’s are verra stubborn,” he laughed. “But ye already knew as much.” A glint of mischief shined in his eyes and Claire could imagine a troublesome young Jamie, refusing to eat his vegetables or take a bath. “Nah, there’s nothin’ wrong wi’ bein’ a Fraser, Sassenach. Tis just that for hundreds of years there was a distrust between Clan MacKenzie, which is my Mam’s family, and the Frasers.”

Claire loved listening to Jamie tell stories, especially about his past. She found that whenever he talked, she was almost enchanted — he was a natural born storyteller and she hung on every word.

“So ye can imagine my uncles’ displeasure when they find out that their lovely sister, Ellen, has run away wi’ a Fraser! ‘Black Brian’ they called him, for his silky jet black hair.” He raised his brows, touching his own auburn locks. “It sounds a bit old fashioned, clan rivalries and such, but the MacKenzies are nothin’ if no loyal to their history.”

“What did they try and do? Your parents ran away and got married, surely they didn’t have any other option but to accept it,” Claire said.

“Ahh,” Jamie grinned. “That’s where Ned comes in. Colum tried to track down my Mam and Da, but they’d gone into hiding after the marriage. It was Dougal that found them eventually, back in Broch Mordha, already starting to make a home for themselves. He’d brought Ned wi’ him to try and persuade my parents to annul the marriage. Or perhaps try and prove the marriage was false,” Jamie recalled.

“But when Dougal walked inside and saw my Mam, nearly five months pregnant, there was no’ much to be done. My father presented him wi’ their marriage certificate, and Ned confirmed twas legitimate.” He chuckled then, remembering something as if he’d actually been present and not just a thought in his parents’ minds. “My Da said that Dougal just looked at Ned and called him a bastard, saying that he was supposed to be on the MacKenzie side of things!”

“Ned wouldn’t lie, you mean? He wouldn’t try and force your parents to separate?” Claire ran her fingers slowly over Jamie’s palm, smoothing them over the lines of his hand.

“No, he wouldna. He said he could never break apart true love,” Jamie smiled down at her. “He’s a bit of a romantic. Ever since then, he’s helped our family wi’ small legal matters. Twas very helpful wi’ the whisky business and what kind of permits we needed and such.”

Claire took a deep breath, absorbing all of this new information. “Well, I’m very much looking forward to meeting this infamous Ned.”

Not a minute later, the man himself walked out into the lobby.

“Dear Jamie!” He embraced Jamie, a good foot shorter than him, his head barely reaching Jamie’s chest. “How have you been, lad? Been a long time…”

“Too long, Ned,” Jamie smiled, patting the man’s shoulder, and then turned to Claire. “I’d like ye to meet my fiancé, Claire Beauchamp.”

Bowing his head slightly, Ned reached for her hand, kissing it softly. “Tis a pleasure to meet you, Claire Beauchamp. I’ve known the Frasers for many years, yer in good company!”

“I’m glad to hear it,” she smiled. Ned Gowan was a short man with grey hair and round glasses perched on his nose. She trusted him immediately, hoping that he would be able to help them with the matter at hand.

“Let’s go into my office, shall we?” He turned back and welcomed them into his office with tall floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books, a fireplace on the wall opposite them, and a large mahogany desk in the center of the room.

“Now,” Ned said, sitting down in a brown leather chair behind his desk. “Jamie didna tell me just exactly what ye needed my advice on. Marriage advice?” Claire saw him glance at their clasped hands where Claire’s engagement ring rested on her finger.

“No,” Jamie squeezed her hand. “We’re settled on that front, wi’ luck the weddin’ will be in the summer.”

Claire smiled at him and then let go of his hand to reach into her bag, pulling out the envelope with the paternity test in it. “We’ve come to ask about a delicate matter… one involving our child.”

“A child?” Ned looked surprised, but kept his expression in check. “Let me see how I can help, lass.”

“Our daughter, Madeline… well, she has two possible fathers. Jamie, of course, and then my ex, Frank Randall. We only just got the results of the paternity test yesterday,” Claire said as she slid the paper across his desk. “It says that Frank is her father, but we just know it can’t be possible.”

“She has hair as red as mine,” Jamie smiled and pulled out his phone, pressing the side button to show a picture of the three of them on his lockscreen.

“I dare say.” Ned moved his glasses on his nose and leaned in. “She’s the spittin’ image of ye, Jamie.”

“Which is exactly why we think that Frank has somehow messed with the results, or maybe the lab made a mistake.” Claire twisted her hands in her lap, her stomach in knots.

Ned glanced at the results, reading over all the information carefully. Jamie’s fingers tapped nervously against his thighs, waiting to hear what actions they should take.

“Well, my first bit of advice would be to find another lab and have only Jamie take a paternity test.” Ned slid the paper back to Claire and she put it back in her bag. “That will tell you for certain whether or not the results have been tampered with.”

“And if the results say that Jamie is Madeline’s father?”

“Then ye come back to see me and we’ll figure out the next move. Legal action would be required on either this Hawkins Laboratory or on your ex, Mr. Randall. But I don’t want to put anything into motion before we know the results from Jamie’s solo test.”

“Of course,” Jamie nodded, grabbing Claire’s hand again. “We should be able to get that done sometime this week. I dinna want to take this to court, but if it means proving that Madeline is in fact my daughter, so be it.”

The three of them rose, nothing further left to discuss. “Thank ye, Ned. It means a lot that ye would be the one to help us wi’ this.” Jamie shook his hand tightly and Claire laughed a little when she saw Ned flexing his hand after.

“Tis not a problem, Jamie. I’ll always help a Fraser in their time of need,” he smiled, and then they all said goodbye. Once Claire and Jamie returned to the street, she took a deep breath and leaned her head against his chest.

“That went well. As well as could be expected,” she said.

“Ye ken that I love Madeline,” Jamie looked down at her. “No matter if she is Randall’s blood and no’ mine… I love her wi’ all my heart, Sassenach. No test result can ever take that away.” He met her lips, kissing her slowly.

“I know that, Jamie. I also know how much it would mean to you if she was your blood, stubborn Fraser and all,” she grinned. “I feel good about this. Once we get the test done and get the results, I’ll feel even better.”

“Aye.” He rubbed his thumb over her cheek. “So will I. I’ll research a few labs when I get back to the office and let ye know what I find when I get home.”

“Sounds good,” Claire kissed him again. “I’ll see you at home tonight, then.”

Jamie climbed into his car to head back to work while Claire made the short walk back to the hospital, where a store-bought salad was waiting for her in the fridge.

++++++

As she walked into the hospital, Claire walked past the front desk, smiling at her friend Liesel. She waved her over, holding up a note.

“While you were out, a gentleman called for you, said he used to be a patient of yours,” the woman said and handed her a sticky note with a number to call on it.

“Did he give a name?” Claire asked, wondering why any patient of hers would call.

“No, but he was British. He said that he had a question about some kind of operation you helped perform,” Liesel shrugged. “Sounded a bit weird, but I told him I’d give you the message.”

“Hmm, well thank you, Liesel. I’ll call him later.” Claire shoved the note into her purse and walked down the hall and into the staff lounge. With only ten minutes remaining of her lunch break, Claire scarfed down her salad and reminded herself to call this mysterious patient on her way home from work.

The only thing standing in her way from going home to Jamie and Madeline was a simple cholecystectomy — a gallbladder removal. In surgery, Claire’s mind was blank, only focusing on the task before her. There was no Frank or paternity tests or potential lawsuits. Only the patient before her and the scalpel in her hand.

Two and a half hours later, Claire was changing from her scrubs to her blue jeans and white t-shirt. The next time she would have to go into work would be after the holidays thanks to her new baby keeping her occupied.

As Claire started her car, she remembered she needed to call back that patient that Liesel had mentioned. Surely, it would be just a simple call she could handle while driving home. Claire pulled out her phone and retrieved the sticky note from her bag, punching in the numbers. It rang four times before someone picked up on the other end.

“Hello, this is Dr. Beauchamp, I’m returning a call that was left for me at Edinburgh Royal Infirmary.”

“Claire,” uttered from a voice that chilled her to the core. A voice she hadn’t been expecting to hear on the other end.

“Frank.”

Her knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. Thankfully she hadn’t started driving yet, or she might have just run off the road at the sound of his voice. “Why are you leaving messages for me at my work?”

“I didn’t have many options now did I, Claire? I knew you wouldn’t answer if I were to call your phone, so the hospital was the only option,” he said.

“What is this about?” She already knew what this was about, but was hoping he had called to chat about something else.

“I received a rather interesting letter in the mail yesterday from Hawkins Laboratory. I assume that you did as well…”

“Yes, what of it?”

“The results were stated very clearly, Claire,” Frank sighed on the other end, as if he was annoyed. “I am that child’s father. I don’t want to take this to court, I’m hoping we can resolve the matter of custody between ourselves.”

“Custody?!” Claire snapped. “You’ve lost your mind if you think I would ever let you get any kind of custody, full or joint, of my daughter.”

“I have rights as her father and you know it,” Frank replied. “You can go and play house all you want with that Scottish bastard, but at the end of the day, it’s not quite as picturesque as you’d like it to be.”

“Shut your damn mouth, Frank,” Claire rolled her eyes. “I don’t want you to call me ever again, especially not at work. The next time I’ll speak to you will be with a lawyer present, now goodbye!”

Claire hung up and tossed her phone down onto the passenger seat. Her heart had started racing dangerously the moment he said her name, sending a chill down her spine. Her worst fears were all coming true and it seemed there was nothing she could do.

Closing her eyes, Claire punched the steering wheel and let out a scream — a sound she didn’t even know she had in her.

When she opened her eyes, she noticed that two people standing on the sidewalk near the car were staring at her and she waved her hand at them. “Sorry,” she softly muttered, and they kept walking, probably wondering who this crazy woman was.

“Christ, Beauchamp, keep it together.” She took a deep breath and put the car in drive.

++++++

Jamie was in the kitchen, Madeline swaddled to his chest in her sling, while he made dinner. Claire simply stood in the doorway when she got home, watching the two of them. It filled her heart with contentment to see them both, knowing that they were all hers. Jamie caught her eye and grinned, softly singing off-tune to Madeline.

“What’s on the menu, Chef Jamie?”

“Burgers!” He flipped a patty. “And I ken I shouldna have Mads so close to the stove in case the grease pops up, but she was cryin’ in her crib and the meat was about to burn…” he reasoned with her.

“It’s alright, she seems to be enjoying her sous chef duties,” Claire laughed and kissed her daughter on the head. As Jamie finished making their dinner, Claire unraveled her scarf from around her neck, shedding her winter layers on their bed. She would have to tell Jamie that Frank called, and he would rightfully, be furious.

Thankfully, Claire was still partially on maternity leave — giving her plenty of time now with Madeline. Also, this meant she could give all her attention to dealing with the paternity results.

Claire changed into comfier clothes, sliding one of Jamie’s old sweatshirts over her head before joining him back in the kitchen. He was just sliding their burgers onto plates as she took a seat at the table. Madeline was still strapped to his chest with no signs of wanting to leave, though she would need to be fed soon.

“How was the rest of yer day, Sassenach?”

Claire picked up a knife to slice her burger in half and then sighed. “Frank called me,” she spat out and then held up her finger in front of Jamie before he could respond. “He called me at work and posed as a former patient because he knew I wouldn’t answer my phone for him.”

“What does he want?” Jamie asked, his burger in midair.

“What do you think he wants?” Claire’s eyes landed on Madeline. “He got the results in the mail yesterday, same as us. He wants her… at least, he wants joint custody.”

“Joint— No. No, Sassenach. He wasna there for ye during the entire pregnancy, he cheated on ye and now all of a sudden he wants some kind of claim on her?” Jamie scoffed and took a huge bite of his burger, the juices dripping down his hand.

“Thanks for reminding me of all that,” Claire raised her brows and sighed.

“I’m sorry,” Jamie said with a mouthful of food and swallowed. “Claire, I’m sorry, I—“

“I know what you meant,” she reassured him, one side of Claire’s mouth turned up in understanding. “But… if he is her father then he has the right to ask for custody. Of course, this is where we will need Ned’s advice. Oh! Also, did you find another lab to take the test?”

Jamie wiped his mouth with a napkin, “Aye. I did, I meant to tell ye when ye walked in, but now’s a good time as any. It’s called Edinburgh DNA Centre and it’s only a short distance from where I work.”

“Great,” Claire nodded, mentally checking that off her list. “We’ll need to do that as soon as possible. I’m sure Frank will want to move forward with any kind of custody agreements.”

Jamie made a grumbling noise, rolling his eyes. “I wish that bastard would just leave us alone.”

“Trust me,” Claire said. “I would be happy to never see his smug bloody face again.”

They finished their meal, and Claire took Madeline from Jamie to feed her. She was hungry and latched on quickly, her greedy little hands tugging on Claire’s curls.

“I’m thinking about calling Hawkins Lab,” she said softly, peering down at Madeline.

“Why?” Jamie said from the kitchen as he cleaned up the dishes. “They surely wouldn’t tell ye if they’d tampered wi’ the results.”

“I just want to know who handled our files is all,” she shrugged. “I also have a weird feeling about the name Hawkins… it sounds strangely familiar.”

“How so, Sassenach?”

“Well, I’m not sure. I swear I’ve heard that name mentioned to me several times though,” she said. “I’ll do that tomorrow probably.”

“I won’t stop ye, a nighean,” Jamie said, and then a few minutes later he joined her on the couch, sliding his arm around her shoulder. “I’ll call the DNA Centre tomorrow, book an appointment. It doesna feel like only yesterday we got the results.”

“I know,” Claire cupped Madeline’s head. “I just hope this is all resolved before Madeline’s first Christmas.”

“Me too, Sassenach.” Jamie kissed her temple. “Let’s just pray for a Christmas miracle then, aye?”

“Aye,” Claire grinned and leaned her head against his shoulder and they both watched their daughter, small and precious, their reason for living and for fighting to get the truth.

Chapter 18: I Promise To...

#the oath #outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #jamie x claire #chapter 17 #history #jamie fraser #claire fraser #curlsgetdemgurls

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morganmarston · 5 years

Text

Gentle Souls

___________

Here’s my first fic guys! Sorry if it’s a bit of a mess! This is probably going to have at least 2-3 more chapters, so hopefully you guys enjoy it. ❣️ Any feedback is very much appreciated! :-))

Word count: 2,834

Warnings: slight mentions of depression, language, (eventual smut?)

Colter is where it started.

The snow was coming down, softly blanketing the hard ground. The cold and the almost eerie silence of your surroundings seemed to mirror everyone’s low spirits. You stepped out of your assigned cabin for a quick smoke, the small living quarters making you feel a bit like a caged animal. You opened your cigarette tin and began to grab a small amount of loose tobacco. While your nearly numb fingers readied your tobacco paper, you overheard Pearson's voice.

“We’re going to starve to death up here, Mister Morgan.”

“We’re okay,” you hear Arthur say dismissively.

As you fumbled to finish rolling your cigarette you somewhat zoned out their conversation, only really getting bits and pieces. Something about Pearson sending Bill and Lenny out hunting, and them coming back empty-handed. You chuckled as you heard Arthur call Bill a fool. As you took a long drag, your attention was brought back to their conversation when you heard Charles speak.

“Enough of this. We’ll go find something. Come on Arthur.” His gruff voice was quick to end the conversation, urgent to get something done.As Charles turned to begin walking to the horses, Arthur spoke again.

“You can’t go hunting. Look at your hand!”

“I can’t stay here listening to you two.

Look, if there’s game in those hills, I’ll find it... And you can kill it.”

“You need to rest Charles!”

“You think this is rest?” He was quick to retort back. “Come along.”

And with that, Charles turned around again to head to the horses, not leaving another second up to argue. You liked how quickly Charles took action, and the promise of food slightly lifted your spirits. You waved to both of them as they got on their horses, both men nodding in your direction before they took off.

When they arrived a while later, you were shocked to see that they had brought back not one, but two deer to feed the camp. One doe, and one very large buck. In the time they had gone, the wind had picked up. Snowflakes were flying every which way in the winter storm and the overall morale in the camp had stayed at a grim state. The promise of a warm, full meal lighted everyone's spirits in the camp; for just a second, it seemed as if the weight on everyone's shoulders had lessened. And that's when it started. That's when you started to really look at Charles. Sure, you’d been harboring a bit of an innocent crush towards him. You hadn't thought much of it though, not thinking it would go anywhere. But this was really the turning point, when you began to feel comfort and warmth in his presence, his words, and his promises.

__________

After your first decent meal in what felt like an eternity, you walked out of the cabin for some fresh air. It was still frigid and crisp out, which was oddly relaxing compared to the tight quarters and all the bodies in your cabin. You hated feeling so cooped up. You wanted to feel productive and like you weren’t just helplessly sitting around. You had tried to busy yourself by doing what you could around camp - little chores here and there. You even took the liberty of changing Johns bandages for fresh ones and bringing him his share of the deer stew Pearson had cooked. You soon felt restless, however, and your mind wandered to how quickly Charles had wanted to get out of camp and do something as well; it almost perfectly mirrored how you felt now and it further sparked the urge to be by him. You weren’t sure where he was staying, so you wandered towards the cabin you knew Lenny, Bill, Micah, and Javier shared to find Arthur and Lenny standing out front with their hands hovering above the scout fire for warmth. You quickly waved at them as you approached.

“Hey, guys! How’re ya’ll feeling?” You grinned at their huddled forms, your question mostly a rhetorical one. They grinned back, and you warmed your hands with them from a brief second. “Hey, have either of you guys seen Charles?”, you asked, rather timidly. Arthur quirked an eyebrow at you, and you grinned again.

“I was just wondering if he’d take me out hunting too. Gettin’ kinda fed up of sitting around here.”

“You know how to hunt, don’t you Y/N?” Lenny teased. You rolled your eyes jokingly and softly chuckled. “Yeah yeah yeah, I know how to hunt. I figured some practice couldn’t hurt though. And, well, some peace and quiet would be nice too. I swear if I hear any more out of Swanson, I might set up camp outside.”

Both men nodded in understanding, a fresh cloud of visible air floating into the breeze when Arthur exhaled as he nodded in the direction of the building Pearson set up for cooking. “Last I saw him, he went around the side there, probably working on one of his carvings.”

“Thanks, Arthur!” you enthusiastically chime as you start heading in that direction. Sure enough, as you turn the corner of the building, you find Charles leaning against the wall whittling away at a small chunk of wood, glancing up at you as he notices your presence. He’s all bundled up against the cold, the collar of his coat propped up, and his hat was worn over a hooded scarf of sorts. Your eyes move to the scars on his face, and then to his eyes. You suddenly became very aware that you were staring at him, and you could feel his eyes on you as well, the realization quickly making you shy, as you began to speak to him. “Hey Charles, I was looking for you!”

He exhaled quietly, his expression soft, as were his words as he gently said: “Well, you found me Y/N.”

“Um, since you took Arthur out hunting earlier, I was wonderin’ if you’d take me out as well?” He was quiet for a second, as he thought about your question.

“Hmm, well, we’ve got enough food for a couple of days now. But, I suppose it couldn't hurt to see what we can find out there. You ready to go right now?” His expression was a little hard to read, but you were relieved that he didn’t seem to mind your request. You knew Charles well enough to know he likely wouldnt have.

“Yeah! The sooner the better.”

With that, he pocketed his knife and unfinished carving, giving you a quick nod as he began to head to the horses, with you following close behind.

__________

You’d been riding for a little while now, your time with Charles thus far quiet for the most part, minus some friendly banter and quickly catching up. Being away from camp finally allowed you to really be able to think- and that was both good, and bad. You were fairly new to the gang, having become part of the family no more than about a year before Charles joined, and that was only about seven or eight months now. You’d fit into the group quite nicely, becoming pretty close with Arthur, Charles, Mary Beth, Tilly, John, Javier, and Hosea. You struggled, however, with feeling out of place.

This wasn’t a new feeling for you though, having struggled with feeling out of place for most of your childhood, and into adulthood. At this point in your life, you knew this feeling would follow you anywhere you went, it was a part of you and you knew that. These people were your friends, your family, and you felt at home. You were happy with these outlaws and misfits - you knew there wasn't much to be done, and that your issue wasn't one of an external battle, but instead that of an internal battle. It made you feel isolated sometimes, and you hated that. It made you push others away sometimes, and you were aware that that’s exactly what you were doing now. A little bit of space from camp was what you had needed, and you felt refreshed as the cool air flowed through your hair, filling your lungs. You closed your eyes as you took a long intake of breath, and slowly exhaled. A literal breath of fresh air.

Unbeknownst to you, Charles had taken notice of your quiet and reflective state. He usually kept to himself anyway, but there was something about the look on your face that made him think what you had really needed was to get out of camp. And what else was that, that look in your eyes? Sadness? He thought about his words carefully, before he spoke to you.

“You know (Y/N), we’ve passed quite a few deer and rabbit tracks so far, did you have a specific animal in mind for a special stew?” His tone was light, despite his deep voice.

You chuckled, a little embarrassed as you realized just how in your head you had been.

“Sorry Charles, I was in another world. I guess considering our recent circumstances, I haven't had much time alone with my thoughts.”

He nodded as he looked at you, slowing Taima so you two could comfortably talk if need be.

“Do you... Want to talk about it?”

You were a bit taken aback at his open concern for you, seeing as how Charles seemed to avoid conversation and enjoy his silence. You smiled, his genuine interest making you feel warm and comfortable. You knew that even though Charles seemed a tad bit out of his comfort zone, his attempt at opening up to you was a sincere one, so after a quick glance at him, you tried your best to explain how you felt to him.

“You know Charles, most people can’t tell when something is racking my brain. And even if they can seem to tell I'm bothered, they never ask me how I’m doing. I know they mean well, and would talk to me if I asked for help, but other than you, Arthur or Hosea, no one really bothers. So, thank you for that. It means a lot.

Charles gave you a quick nod, which was accompanied by his gentle smile. For a second there, you could swear you felt butterflies at the sight. You continued.

“I don’t really know where to start, honestly. Most of my life, I've felt like I don’t belong. Not just with others, but even... With myself? I know that probably doesn't make much sense, but that's the best way I can describe the feeling. And in times like this, when we’re stuck and waiting for better days, this feeling I usually have, it seems to be magnified. And I dunno, it’s just hard to talk about for me. Doesn't seem like people usually get it.” You give a quick, humorless chuckle. “Ahh, I guess I can't say I blame ‘em. I don’t get it much myself. And, I’d say we’ve got more important things to be worrying about anyhow, what with those Pinkertons on our tail.”

You’re quiet for a moment, slightly embarrassed at how much you’ve told Charles. You glance over at him, and you’re surprised to find him already looking at you. The sound of your horses sloshing through the snow and their gentle snorts, the soft clanking of your holstered weapons, all sound fades away for a minute as you look back at Charles. The look in his eyes quickly registers; Sadness. You know right away, that Charles understands.

“I think I know what you mean, Y/N. If I'm honest, I often find it easier to be on my own.”

Charles was quiet for a moment, seemingly trying to find the right words. “Life has always confused me. I don’t have much figured out, I just try doing what I can every day and that seems to work. Some days are better than others, but those good days often make the not so great times worth it. What helps me, is setting my mind to something. Even if it’s little tasks. I’ve noticed, though, that my time with all of you has made the days easier.” You looked on at him, unable to look away from his eyes. His gaze met yours as he continued. He faltered slightly, seemingly still not sure how to go on. “Look, I know I’m not that great at this. I guess all I can say is to live in the present, try to enjoy what you can when you can. And, being around people who care always helps. This odd little family we share, well, just don’t forget that you’re cared for. I might not be the best company, but I’m here if you ever need anything.” His gaze didn't falter and you couldn’t stop the grin that quickly spread across your face. “Thank you, Charles, that means more than you know.” He smiled as he gave you a quick nod, his eyes lingering for a second before he brought his attention back to the path ahead of you. You softly chuckled, happily relishing in the fact that not only had Charles opened up to you but that he wanted to be there to support you as well. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say so much mister Smith!” You quipped. “I quite like it.” He chuckled and you both rode on in comfortable silence for a couple more minutes before he spoke up again. “You know what? I have something I’d like to show you. Follow me.” He glanced at you quickly for approval and at your nod, swiftly changed course with you following close behind.

You quickly made your way to what you could now see was Lake Isabella. Charles slowed and you both quickly dismounted your horses as you neared the lake. He turned to you as you both slowly walked through the snow. He was quiet as he walked. Curious and slightly confused as to what you both were there for, you reached out to his shirt sleeve and softly pulled, timid as he turned around and smiled at you.

“Sorry for being so secretive,” he softly spoke, “I don’t want to spoil it, give me a second.”

You watched as he tracked some prints in the snow, both of you only a couple feet from the lake. As you rounded a large tree, Charles suddenly crouched down, his hand brushing against your shoulder to signal you do the same. You look at him quizzically as he points to an opening of trees ahead of you by the lake, and then you see him. A beautiful, lone bison. He’s massive, and even more remarkably, white in color. Your breath catches in your throat as he slowly walks to the edge of the lake for a sip of water. He’s a sight to behold, almost unreal. Charles' voice brings you back to reality.

“I saw him when I was out for a ride the other day.” You look at him as he explains, his voice barely a whisper as he continues. “I couldn’t bring myself to hunt him, let alone disturb him. And I sure as hell didn’t dare let anyone know he was here.”

Your eyes were wide as you listened to him, words unable to formulate how touched you were that he’d share this with you. He smiled at your expression as he proceeded, both of you looking back at the bull as he slowly sloshed through the snow. “This guy, he’s all on his own out here. But, looking at him I don't think twice about how resilient he must be. He’s..he’s one of a kind. He’s strong all on his own. He’s made it this far despite the cold around him, despite any hardships he may have faced.”

The Bison was now taking in its surroundings, he stood still as he breathed in the air, a gentle snort coming from him as a rabbit bounded by him. He paid no mind to it, only slowly looking in its direction before he pushed his snout into the snow before him, looking for any vegetation under the frozen white blanket.

“A gentle soul. At peace with himself and his surroundings.”

At his words, you looked back at Charles. You could feel your chest swell with emotion, his gesture really hitting home for you as you realized he was doing his best to make you feel better. Unable to contain yourself, you quickly hug him. At first, he’s stiff, and you worry that you’ve made him uncomfortable. You begin to pull away but he quickly warms into the embrace and holds you, not ashamed to share this moment and all that comes with it. In that moment, the frigid air, the frozen ground and the snowflakes that softly fell around you were lost to the feeling that welled inside of you. All you felt, all you knew was warmth. You could get used to this feeling.

#charles smith #charles smith x reader #gentle souls #fic #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #lenny summers #slow burn

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quicksilversquared · 5 years

Text

How to Announce a Pregnancy: Chapter 2

Several years after the event of How to Fake a Marriage, Adrien and Marinette are ready to expand their family. When it comes to breaking the news, though…

Well, some people are harder to tell than others.

Adrien didn't know why he had thought that telling his father would be easy.

In theory, it should have been simple enough- after all, they just needed to schedule a dinner with Mr. Agreste and then tell him. After all, that was what they had done with Marinette's parents (minus, of course, the scheduling bit, since they regularly had weekly dinners).

Of course, that assumed that Gabriel could actually manage to make the time for a dinner with them. That apparently was not the case, even though the Gabriel launch went fairly smoothly, the frantic lead-up and release only taking up two weeks. But following right on the heels of the launch was a whole slew of meetings with investors, followed by a series of somewhat alarming doctor's appointments on Gabriel's part following what he referred to as an incident in the office.

Apparently Gabriel sorely needed to take a break for a bit and cash in on a chunk of the vacation time he had built up over the years before the stress from running the company ended up affecting his heart any more than it already had. Nathalie had taken the doctor's recommendation one step further and insisted that he travel out of the country, just to keep him out of the office and away from all of the reports on how the company was doing.

He was leaving in three weeks, since that was the earliest that Nathalie could get together all of the reservations that Mr. Agreste needed for his extended vacation. Marinette and Adrien phoned up Nathalie again after they got the news, asking if Mr. Agreste would be able to have dinner together with them. She penciled them in, only to call back the evening before to let them know that Mr. Agreste was meeting with one more client and couldn't make the dinner.

"Of course," Adrien groaned as he hung up. "He probably figures that we met up with him recently enough, since we just had dinner with him before we found out that you're pregnant. But he's bound to want to see us once more before he leaves for two months, right?"

Marinette looked rather uncertain. "Uh…"

…..on second thought, yeah, maybe Marinette had a point. His father had gone for longer without having dinner with the two of them. After all, Mr. Agreste probably just saw the dinners as a way to get a abbreviated update on what Adrien was up to, and to try to get Marinette to quit her current design house and instead be a designer at Gabriel. He could get the updates from Nathalie just as well, and Marinette had just rejected his n-th offer at their previous dinner.

Still, that didn't mean that they shouldn't try. Besides, they had had a doctor's appointment of their own coming up the following week, so they would hopefully find out if they were having a boy or a girl.

"My Nonna Gina is coming up this week," Marinette told Adrien, pulling him out of thoughts of wondering exactly how difficult it might be to break the news to his father. "I was thinking that we could break the news over here over dinner, because she wants to see the kitties while she's here."

"Are you thinking of having her over with our usual Saturday evening dinner with your parents, or midweek?" Adrien asked, trying to figure out what dates he could give Nathalie to see if his father was free. "I think it might be your parents' turn to host Saturday dinner, but we could always change that."

"Midweek, I think."

Adrien nodded. That made sense. Marinette would want to see her grandma as often as possible while she was in the city, so having more than one meal together would do that. "Can you see which evening she wants to do as soon as possible? I'll try to reschedule with my father."

"Of course!"

"And then do you want to go shopping to get a few more baby supplies tomorrow, since we won't have to be home by a certain time to meet up with my father?" Adrien asked her. "I know we're probably going to be fine with baby clothes, but we do need a crib and a changing table, and a baby carrier, and- oh, all that stuff."

Marinette winced. "Yay, shopping. I suppose we should get that done before I get too far along, though."

Adrien laughed. "Nearly six months isn't considered too far along?"

Marinette patted her still-very-flat stomach. "Not while I still look like this, it isn't."

"Should- should we wear disguises while we're out?" Adrien suggested after a moment's pause. "I mean, I think we've stayed out of the tabloids so far, since someone would have to look super close to even be able to guess that you're pregnant. But if anyone happened to see us buying a lot of baby stuff, they might put the pieces together."

"Just like old times, sneaking around to stay out of the tabloids." Marinette huffed out a breath, then nodded. "Yeah. Nothing crazy, but baseball hats and sunglasses would probably get us pretty far. Maybe a scarf."

"Sounds good." Adrien reached out, giving Marinette's hand a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry my side of the family keeps making us do this. I really thought that he would have gotten better after the whole prank wedding and surprise engagement things, but I guess I shouldn't have been holding my breath."

"At least we won't have to sneak around for as long this time," Marinette said. A small smile had snuck onto her face. "And it'll only be the occasional trip out where we have to sneak. It's not bad at all." She giggled. "It kind of makes me feel like a teenager again, sneaking around and trying to get away with stuff that I'm not meant to be doing."

"Like saving the city?" Adrien suggested, though he knew right away that that wasn't quite what she had meant. That hadn't been sneaking for the sake of sneaking. "Or more like me trying to sneak out and see a movie without my father finding out, I guess."

"The latter. I never really had to do that, I guess." Marinette shuffled on the couch and Adrien kept one eye on her, trying not to hover but not wanting to leave her if she was at all uncomfortable. She might not be showing a lot yet, but that didn't mean that the pregnancy wasn't having other effects. "And maybe we could eat out after we finish our shopping? I can ask my parents if we can borrow the bakery van to put the stuff we buy in, so we won't have to haul it around."

That sounds good. And speaking of eating, I'll get dinner started. You can put your feet up." Adrien grabbed the large pillow that Marinette favored for propping her feet up, passing it over so she didn't have to reach. "If we're going to be out and about shopping tomorrow, you don't want to start out with sore feet."

"You are the best, honestly." Marinette accepted the pillow, shuffling around to sit sideways on the couch. Masha hopped up next to her right away. "My sweet kitties."

Adrien laughed as he headed into the kitchen. "I have to compete with my own cats for affection now. Fantastic."

"There's no contest," Marinette called after him, laughter in her voice. "You'll always be my favorite."

They really should have outgrown the sneaking around by now. But still, Adrien and Marinette found themselves dressing up just enough to hide their faces and Adrien's hair before heading out. Tom and Sabine had agreed to loan them the bakery van for the evening, and had promised to help if they ever wanted to do more baby shopping on a Sunday.

"When was the last time we have a tabloid article written about us, even?" Adrien asked as Marinette carefully navigated towards the first store that they wanted to visit. "It's been a couple years, hasn't it? Ever since you got your job at Lotus instead of at Gabriel and the whole fashion world went into a tizzy."

"Yeah, I think so," Marinette said, frowning. "There might have been others, I don't know. I haven't exactly been looking. It's not like I care about what they're saying about me. They have no power."

"I don't know if my father's been looking, either, but it would suck if a client came in and congratulated him on his first grandkid because they paid attention." Adrien winced at the thought of the chewing-out they would get. He might be too old now to be getting scoldings from his father, but try telling Mr. Agreste that. "Better safe than sorry."

"Oh, we should have invited Nino and Alya out," Marinette said a few minutes later. "They're bound to want to start shopping for stuff soon. But maybe that would make us too identifiable."

Adrien grinned. "More so than the van with your parents' bakery logo on it?"

"I was hoping that no one would pay too close attention to that, honestly."

It didn't take long for them to get to the store. Adrien adjusted his hat once more so that none of his trademark blond was sticking out, then followed Marinette inside.

It...was overwhelming. Everything was colorful and there were rows upon rows of toys and cribs and baby carriers and bottles and everything. Adrien blinked as he glanced around, a little lost.

"First things first," Marinette said, and Adrien snapped to attention. Right, he could follow her lead. "A cart! Then, uh…."

...okay, she was just as lost.

Plagg stuck his head out of Adrien's collar and yawned, showing off his teeth. "Why do you need all of this stuff? People back in my day just tossed their kids in a cleaned animal skin with a bit of moss and called it a day."

"Not helpful, Plagg."

"Big things first," Tikki piped up helpfully. "A crib and carrier and feeding seat thing, right?"

"Right," Marinette echoed. She glanced around, then headed purposefully towards the first aisle of cribs. "So I've been talking to my coworkers about cribs, just so we wouldn't have to look at everything, and they said that a crib that can transition to a toddler bed would be good, especially if we don't get to move to a three-bedroom apartment by the time our catbug is ready to be done with the crib. And I got a list of good brands, too."

"Oh, thank god," Adrien said immediately, practically sagging with relief. "I can tell from here that there are a ton of crib options, so that's great that we don't have to look at all of them."

"Yeah, that would stink. My ankles are already sore." Marinette bent down to glance at a box, then straightened. "I mean, not super sore, but…"

"Were you on your feet a lot at work?"

Marinette made a face. "Yeah. There were fittings all day, and I didn't think to ask if I could be on the alterations team instead." She sighed. "I'll be fine for a couple hours, probably. We just won't be able to continue shopping after dinner for more than an hour."

"That would be my limit for shopping, anyway," Adrien said cheerfully. "Besides, I can try to get the crib set up tonight once we get home, if we have the time and I still have any energy left."

It didn't take long for them to decide on a crib, and Adrien wrestled it into the cart. A baby carrier was next, and once again Marinette had done her research and figured out which ones would be good.

Even with Marinette's preparation, they were both tired by the time Adrien pushed the cart out to the parking lot and they loaded their purchases into the van. There had still been choices to be made and features to discuss, and they had done a quick walk-through of the entire store to make sure that they had a list of other baby things that they would have to buy (or make, or otherwise obtain) before their baby arrived.

"Still more fun than dinner with my father," Adrien said cheerfully as they loaded the last box in and got in the van to drive to a restaurant not far from the baby store. "Much more fun. And actually productive, too."

"We still have to manage at least one dinner with him before the baby arrives," Marinette chided him gently. "Even if it isn't fun."

"And preferably before he leaves, I know." Adrien glanced over at Marinette. "What are the chances that he actually relaxes on this trip? I know Nathalie made him go on it so that he couldn't go into the office at home, but he's still going to have his tablets and his sketchpads and access to his email."

"Designing itself isn't that stressful, though," Marinette objected. "At least not for me, unless I have a crazy timeline or something."

"He's going to give himself timelines, though. And he'll expect that he produce an entire line's worth of sketches by the time he gets back, I just know it." Adrien rolled his eyes, then changed the subject. Talking about his father would never be fun. "So when is your Nonna going to arrive? Early in the week, midweek…?"

"Midweek. She's arriving on Tuesday evening, then we'll have her and my parents over Wednesday." Marinette gave a little wiggle in her seat. "I can't wait to tell her! We've already told all of our friends and my coworkers and my parents, so we're kind of running out of people to surprise with the news. And we have the doctor's appointment on Tuesday, too, so we might have more news for my parents."

Adrien grinned. "Are we making buns again?"

Marinette could only giggle. "If you want. Maybe we can be less obvious about it this time. No knocking buns around this time. It hurt my poor baker's daughter heart."

"We can just announce that we have buns in the oven and leave it at that," Adrien said cheerfully. "I'm sure that your parents will be all wink-wink-nudge-nudge at that, so maybe she'll catch that hint."

"Are you sure that we're talking about the same person here?" Marinette joked. "My Nonna, pick up on a hint?"

Adrien could only give her a fond eye roll. "I'm sure she can't be that oblivious."

Marinette's Nonna Gina was officially the most oblivious person that Adrien had met, and that was saying something, considering- well, considering that technically, he knew himself.

She had completely missed all talk of buns in the oven. She hadn't spotted the pile of in-progress baby clothes that Marinette had left on the armrest of their couch. Tom and Sabine had mentioned their experiments with different versions of the rattle sprinkles, and there wasn't so much as a blink. Adrien mentioned his difficulties putting together the crib to Tom, who agreed to help him look it over, and Gina mused about the first time she had volunteered on an international house-building team and how she had struggled to learn how to use the different power tools there.

...Adrien gave up, really. Gina was lovely and clearly cared for her granddaughter and was very there, but it seemed like she wasn't always listening to what other people were saying.

Finally, Marinette decided to go in for the kill and ask her Nonna what baby clothing styles were in the different countries that she had visited.

Gina still didn't catch on.

"Oh, it varies so much," she told Marinette right away. "Most people just go for the typical onesies, and then tiny pants or skirts once they're a little older. But some people go for a bit of local flair- are you doing a line of baby clothing at work? That's so cute!"

Marinette sent Adrien a Look. Adrien winced.

Okay, he so owed Marinette a back rub. He had bet that Gina wasn't as oblivious as Marinette thought, and, well, clearly he was very, very wrong.

She probably deserved one back rub for each hint that Gina missed, honestly.

"I should show you some of the photos I took of these Guatemalan babies- they were dressed just like their mommas. I could not believe the embroidery on their little outfits- it was absolutely exquisite. I don't have the pictures on me, but I can send them to you," Gina assured Marinette. "And I can send you any other pictures that I find. It might take a bit, though, I have so many photos."

"I'm sure, Nonna," Marinette managed before Gina was off again.

"I did see this one baby once- I didn't get a picture, because not all moms allow it- but she was dressed in the most ridiculous outfit for a baby that size. All ruffles and snaps and floppy bits and it had to be so hard to wash. It was cute! But not practical at all. So Marinette-a, when your team is designing baby outfits, tell them that they have to think of the practical aspects, too. There aren't all sorts of bits and bobs on normal baby outfits for a reason."

Adrien tried not to laugh at the look Tom and Sabine were exchanging behind Gina's back.

They finally got through dinner and Marinette and Adrien cleared the table. They retreated to the kitchen to get the plates loaded into the dishwasher and to have a bit of a conversation while they had a bit of privacy.

"I told you that she was oblivious," Marinette said as she handed rinsed plates down to Adrien for him to load. "I mean, what else can we do? My parents are going to go ga-ga over the cupcakes once those get out and it's not like those were subtle at all, so it won't be a secret after that, but…"

"We can share the news about the apartment hunt," Adrien pointed out. "I mean, we obviously wouldn't be looking for an apartment with another room for our cats. It's worth a shot," he added when Marinette's expression turned dubious. "And if not, her reaction when she figures out all of the hints that she's been missing has got to be pretty funny."

It didn't take long for them to get things in, and then the two of them headed back out to the table. Gina had been distracted by Sasha begging for attention, and Tom had claimed Masha. No sooner did Marinette sit down, though, before Masha was jumping over to her chair to curl up in her lap.

"Aww," Tom groaned. "C'mon, Masha, you get to hang out with Marinette all week. Come sit with me for once."

"Marinette is her favorite at the moment," Adrien said with a laugh. "I don't think that's going to change overnight."

Marinette grinned as she ran a hand over Masha's back. "You're just jealous that I get the lap warmer."

Adrien laughed. "You say that as though you don't sit in my lap all the time."

"And you're jealous that my lap is already full so you can't put your head there."

Adrien considered that. "Okay, fair enough."

The whole group laughed.

"So, we've made some progress on looking for a new apartment," Marinette said, changing the subject. "We took your advice and met up with our landlady, and she does have larger apartments that she rents out."

"And there was an open spot?" Tom asked, looking surprised. "That was fast."

"Not quite," Marinette corrected him. "There aren't any open spots, but we've been put on a list of interested renters. So when someone decides to move out, then we'll get contacted first. We're just trying to decide on how many rooms we want- if we're going from two-bedroom to three-bedroom, or if we just want to jump straight to four so that we don't end up moving again in another couple of years. It depends on how big the master is, probably," she added. "If it would be large enough for me to section off a bit for my sewing space, we could probably do three-bedroom and just move my sewing things once we need the third room."

Sabine nodded. "And I think you mentioned wanting to move to a more townhouse-style home eventually, so it would make sense to go to three-bedroom first instead. Four-bedroom apartments in Paris are going to be expensive."

"And you need to think about how much free time you're really going to have at home," Tom chimed in. "Really large projects might be off the table for a bit. So do you get to look at someone's apartment in the upcoming weeks to decide on that?"

Before Adrien or Marinette could respond, Gina chimed in again. "Are you trying to add a guest room, Marinette-a? That would be so expensive in Paris, the prices here are absolutely out of this world. Besides, any visitors you have could stay with your parents, surely. They have the guest room and your old room, Marinette, so you two shouldn't need any. Or guests can stay in a hotel, it'll cost less to rent a room for the night than it will to rent a bigger apartment all the time. Why, when I was living in Costa Rica-"

The rest of them exchanged a look of disbelief as Gina chattered on about how expensive apartments could get when they were more than two bedrooms. They were good when there were several individuals sharing the apartment, but otherwise…

Adrien was very, very glad that they had decorated the cupcakes as obnoxiously as they had. Originally, he had thought that the painfully pink frosting and IT'S A GIRL toppers adorning the cupcakes were a bit in-your-face (especially paired with more of the handmade rattle candies), but there was no way Gina would catch on otherwise.

"Did your doctor's visit earlier this week go well, Marinette?" Sabine asked as soon as Gina had finished with her (very extensive) commentary on apartment prices around the globe. "Monday, was it? Or yesterday?"

"Yesterday," Marinette confirmed, glancing over at Adrien. "And it went well- we can discuss it over dessert, perhaps?"

Adrien nodded, recognizing his cue, and hopped up to bring in the covered platter of cupcakes. He took a moment to make sure that they would be facing the right direction, then brought them out. With a flourish, he uncovered the tray.

There were twin "Oh, it's a girl!"s from Tom and Sabine, and a very startled "OH!" from Gina.

Adrien grinned, thoroughly enjoying the reactions. Tom and Sabine were the picture of proud grandparents, and Gina- well, Gina was apparently finally catching on to all of the hints that they had dropped.

Marinette had been fully overtaken by giggles at her Nonna's expression.

"You're having a baby!" Gina exclaimed at last. "Oh! So that was why you were asking about baby clothes, and have baby outfits on the couch, and were talking about moving, and- oh! Buns in the oven! That was exactly how Tom announced you to the world!" Gina added to Marinette.

Tom laughed. "And then you asked if we were feeling all right because we kept talking about those buns. We had to change to a more direct approach."

"And a girl! What exciting news!" Sabine added. "It's good she cooperated this time around. The first time they went in, their baby was in the wrong position to see anything," she told Gina. "So we were so hoping that this time, they would have more luck."

"And we got the first kick during the appointment," Marinette added. "Right after, actually, before Adrien and I went back to work."

"I could have missed it if it came any later," Adrien told them. "We got lucky."

"Kicking- wait, how far along are you?" Gina wanted to know. "You're too small for kicking."

"Nearly six months," Marinette told her, and both of them grinned at the flabbergasted look on Gina's face. It never got old, this inadvertent pranking via tiny, tiny belly. "We found out that I was pregnant at almost five months, because I just didn't pick up on any of the clues before then."

Gina seemed at a loss for words.

"Their friend Alya is also pregnant," Tom told his mom. "Though she figured it out much earlier along than Marinette did. They're going to have their kids about three months apart."

"Oh, what fun!" Gina positively lit up, momentarily forgetting her shock. "Your kids can grow up together! And oh, what exciting news! A great-granddaughter! You're going to make me feel old."

"You're aging wonderfully, mom," Tom said at once. "Still young at heart."

Sabine was beaming. "First kick! That's big news. You might have trouble sleeping at night once she really gets active. You were really wriggly- always punching and kicking. Once you got started, you didn't want to stop. It was like you were acting out one of those superhero cartoons in the womb."

Tom laughed at that. "Yes, I remember that. The first few days of kicks were magical. After that, not so much."

"It was still magical, just not when I was trying to sleep." Sabine flashed Marinette a fond smile. "So! Emma, then?"

"Right!" They had talked about the names that Adrien and Marinette were considering several dinners ago, and they had decided on either Emma or Hugo, depending on the baby's sex. After all, Louis could easily become Louisa if they ended up having another girl instead of two boys. "We still have to tell Nino and Alya that part. They've been begging to know."

"And Adrien's father has yet to find out anything, right?" Sabine asked. "He's not managed to pull his head out of his-"

"Sabine!"

"We're still working on it," Adrien admitted, trying not to laugh. His in-laws didn't bother to hide their distaste of his father's tendency to blow him and Marinette off, and it was pretty funny. "We've scheduled another dinner with him on Friday, so hopefully he won't cancel on us again. But you have to admit, the longer we go, the funnier it's going to be."

Marinette nodded. "Yeah. As long as we tell him before he leaves on his trip, we'll be fine. Probably."

#Miraculous Ladybug #My writing #How to Announce A Pregnancy #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng

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tenspontaneite · 5 years

Text

Peace Is A Journey (Chapter 2/?)

In which Rayla beats up a camp of soldiers and reluctantly steals their boat.

Content warnings: chapter contains depictions of violence and harm against several random OCs. Also, mild emetophobia warning.

In the end, it turned out that both humans were pretty heavy sleepers.

About an hour into her watch, becoming simultaneously too tired and too bored to remain alert, Rayla pulled everything out of the bags and started organising it. She rolled each of the heavy fur cloaks up and tied them with some of the rope, as if they were bedrolls, and affixed each one to the bottom of the three backpacks of the group. She hesitated to go near Ezran’s, since it had the egg in it and she was fairly sure they didn’t want her going near it…but it wasn’t as though she were actually opening the thing, so in the end she tied that one on too. The toad opened his eyes to glare suspiciously at her while she was near him, and on one occasion croaked warningly, but left her alone.

By the time the first hints of day started lightening the sky, Rayla was feeling weary to the bone, but had sorted out all the supplies of the party, minus whatever Ezran might have in his bag with the egg. She laid his bits of clothing next to the bag so he could pack them himself, but got Callum’s bag all packed, filling it with his clothes, book, the sticks of charcoal, one jar, the bar of soap, the hairbrush, and one coil of rope. She was in the process of packing everything else into her own bag when the dawn chorus started, birds warbling out their songs, and she looked up at the sky.

The sight of the incrementally brighter sky instantly blanketed her with instinctive exhaustion. Even under the best of circumstances, daylight was usually a cue that made a Moonshadow elf feel drowsier, and these were far from the best of circumstances. She’d been awake for pretty much an entire, very active, day. Exhaustion pressed horribly at her, even the mild hint of daylight intensifying the sleepless headache behind her eyes.

She had planned to wait an hour or so more before waking Callum. But…this was probably fine. She really needed the rest. Even just a couple of hours. Slowly, she packed away the last straggling supplies into her own bag, and conceded to her tiredness.

She shuffled over to where the princes were sleeping, leaning over to gently shake Callum by the shoulder. It took a few tries to get him to stir, and that only after she started shaking him considerably more vigorously.

“Mmmwha-“ He mumbled, incoherently, and nearly rolled over right onto her. She rolled her eyes, shuffling out of the way, and shook him again. His eyes opened a little, bleary and unfocused, and blinked a couple of times. She watched the look on his face progress from vague confusion to something closer to sleepy recognition. “…Rayla.” He assessed, and raised a hand to rub at his eyes. “Mm…everything okay?”

She nodded up at the sky. “Dawn’s coming.”

He woke up a little more, eyes flickering between her and the sky, and then pushed himself upright. “Oh, right.” He mumbled. “My turn to watch, yeah. Okay.” He yawned. “Give me a few minutes?”

Rayla made a vaguely assenting noise, pushing all the bags aside to find a decent patch of ground to sleep on. Her hand twinged at her, the bind growing genuinely uncomfortable now, but frankly her headache was the greater evil at this point. She rubbed at her temples, the tiredness turning her quiet and sluggish and entirely disinclined to communicate with Callum while he got his bearings. She was vaguely aware of him brushing his fingers through his hair to remove a few leaves, and considered telling him that she’d obtained a hairbrush. In the end, she didn’t have the energy even for that, and just stayed silent.

“Okay, I think I’m good.” He announced after a minute, yawning again. “When should I wake you up?”

She looked up at the sky again, squinting. “…’Bout an hour after the dawn colours go away.” She said, distantly aware of her accent intensifying and slurring her words as she grew closer and closer to being allowed to pass out. “Or, if, y’know, humans come along.” She took his noise of agreement as cue to stop fighting for consciousness, and pretty much collapsed onto her chosen patch of grass.

She fell asleep within seconds.

As much as Rayla had raised her eyebrows at the princes’ heavy sleeping, she apparently wasn’t a great deal better that morning, because when Callum got around to waking her up, she opened her eyes to a scene of considerable mess; a mess whose making she hadn’t heard at all. She blinked, head pounding and eyes full of grit, and groaned lowly at the brightness of the daylight.

“…Should I let you sleep a bit longer?” Callum asked, hesitant, his hand drawing back from her shoulder and fidgeting nervously with the end of his scarf.

Stars above, Rayla wanted to say yes. Wanted to close her eyes and not wake up until a sensible time of day, like dusk, or midnight. But they were in enemy territory, and their position wasn’t exactly secure, and they had a long way to go today.

“…No.” She croaked, voice creaky, and cleared her throat. She sat up, accidentally shoulder-checking Callum out of the way in the process, and found the fingers of her left hand feeling vaguely tight and stiff as she flexed them. “Got t’wake up, ‘n do things. Ugh.” She dragged herself to her feet, and stared at the mess she’d half-noticed in her first seconds of wakening. “…Why’d’you unpack everything?”

“Morning, Rayla.” Ez greeted, sounding entirely too bright and awake for her peace of mind. “We wanted to see what you’d got from the lodge, but didn’t want to wake you up.” He held up one of the two large jars she’d packed. “What are these for?”

She swayed forwards and snatched it from him. “Food.” She said, shortly. “Storing berries or whatever. Where’s the other one?”

Callum passed it over to her, looking vaguely intimidated by whatever her facial expression was doing, and she grunted in acknowledgement.

“’m goin’ to find breakfast.” She said, and with the two jars under her arm scaled the nearby tree with considerably less elegance and grace than usual.

She trampled through the forest canopy, taking a brief glimpse above to look at the human camp, but nothing much seemed to have changed there, so she swung through the forest in search of edible spots of colour. She found an apple tree, but the fruit were all small and only one looked potentially ripe. She found a berry bush, but it was a poisonous one. Finally she found a young milkfruit shrub, with a family of deer grazing nearby. She approached slowly, to not alarm them, and set the jars down to fill them with fruit.

The deer were wary at first, but her extreme disinterest with them prompted them to return to what they were doing soon enough. Normally she might have watched them, appreciative of the cuteness of the fawn, but she was not anywhere near awake enough to appreciate wildlife right now. Rayla sat for a few minutes to eat some fruit beside the deer, a little of her grogginess fading. She wiped grit from the edges of her eyes and wished that the sun weren’t so stupidly bright.

After a few minutes, she pulled out one of her last bottles of moonberry juice, and had a gulp of it to take the edge off her thirst. It would hopefully help her wake up a bit, but she wasn’t feeling optimistic about that. She exhaled, and rubbed her eyes again. Finally, she got herself up and headed back to bring breakfast to the other two.

There was still mess everywhere when she arrived, and she sighed, dropping a jar in front of each of them. “Here. Breakfast.” She informed them, and went to see what they’d done with her chosen bag.

“Oh, thanks! I’m starving.” Ezran said, pulling the lid off and immediately passing a fruit to his toad, who had been eyeing the jar hungrily the second it appeared.

“Thanks, Rayla.” Callum echoed appreciatively, popping open his own jar. He watched her curiously as she picked up her bag and started shoving the nearby items into it. “Is that the bag you’ll be using, then?”

“Yep.” She said, words still clipped and short. She was not the greatest of conversationalists when this thoroughly sleep-deprived.

“Oh, um, cool?” He offered, still trying to communicate with her, not yet privy to the knowledge that Rayla was emphatically not a morning person unless she’d had, at the very least, five or six hours of sleep before said morning. “Are you…okay?” He asked cautiously, and well, at least he’d picked up on something.

She forced a smile, though it felt more like a grimace. “Just tired. It happens.” She said, picking up the articles of clothing she’d filched from Callum’s drawers to set about folding them.

He shifted, eyes fixed curiously on them, and for the first time Rayla realised she hadn’t actually asked him permission to use his things, even if Ezran had assured her it would be fine.

She paused. “…Hope you don’t mind me borrowing these?” She asked, awkwardly, flapping one of his shirts. “Otherwise I’ve only got what I’m wearing.”

Callum instantly waved his hands emphatically towards the clothes. “No, no, it’s fine, go ahead.” He assured her, and perhaps in some attempt not to look awkward, took a bite of milkfruit emphatically enough that he just ended up looking more awkward. Rayla huffed lightly under her breath, amused, and kept packing her (his?) things away. “Um, thanks for getting the cube, by the way.” He said, after finishing the rest of that particular milkfruit. “Did you know it glows the right symbols when you put it near something magic?”

“The moon rune lit up when I found it, so yes, I assumed.” She said, and after a second, found it in her to attempt making actual conversation. “Did you get any of the other runes to light up?”

His face brightened a little, like a puppy she’d deigned to show some attention, and he nodded. “The sky rune lights up near the primal stone and the egg.” He informed her.

“And the sun rune lights up next to Bait.” Ezran added, and she looked over to find that between them, he and the toad – Bait? – had eliminated most of the jar. Maybe they should fill up again once they started moving. Her eyes wandered the clearing, looking for the waterskins, and found them looking fuller than expected, resting next to the tent pack.

Callum followed her gaze. “Oh, yeah, we went over to the river to fill those up. It’ll make things easier, having a waterskin or two. Honestly, I’d have had no idea what sort of thing to pack.”

“…Makes sense. You’ve never gone on huge cross-country hiking trips before. Or have you?” she shrugged, faux-nonchalant, and ignored the way her skin crawled at the idea they’d gone near the river without her.

“No, not really.” He admitted, adjusting his scarf. “I mean, we come here every winter, and we go to the Bay in summers, but we’ve always had guards and porters and cooks with us, so it’s not exactly the same.”

She raised her eyebrows, and smirked a little. “No, I’d say not.” She said, packing the last of her things into her bag. “When you travel for a long time, you need to think of things you need in advance. And leave lots of time every day for…camp things.” She propped the bag up on its bottom, starting to feel more alert as she considered how to concisely describe the basics of cross-country travel. “Setting up tents, eating, that sort of thing. Every week or so you have a laundry day.”

Ezran made a thoughtful noise around a mouthful of fruit, and Callum looked pensive. “I guess we’ll lose a lot of time to….just that sort of general maintenance thing. Setting up the tent, taking the tent down…”

“Yep. It eats a lot of time.” She nodded, and after a second, shuffled forwards to grab a fruit from Callum’s jar. “Another thing. When you’re in a group, everyone carries some group stuff. Sharing the weight, and all that.” She nodded to the tent pack. “I thought I’d take the tent most of the time, since you two aren’t used to walking all day yet.” She took a bite of the fruit.

Callum blinked at her. “Oh. Huh. Thanks? I mean, I’m happy to carry it too? It’s only fair.”

“I appreciate the sentiment,” Her lips quirked into a wry smile as she shook her head. “But trust me. You’re going to need a while to get used to the walking first.”

“My legs hurt already.” Ezran admitted, kicking the legs in question in front of him.

“That’ll get worse for a few days, stay mostly the same for a few more, and then eventually start getting better.” Rayla informed him wisely, from the lofty position of someone with personal experience.

“Great.” The boy sighed. “Well, at least it gets better eventually.”

“Eventually.” She emphasised. “And if we go up any of those mountains, I’m not making any promises about how your legs will feel then.”

“At least we have the tent?” He tried instead, optimistically. “It was pretty cold the last two nights, sleeping outside like this.”

“I am definitely glad we have the tent.” Rayla agreed, and stood. She gave the rest of the mess a long look. “…You can pack all of that up. I did it once, I’m not doing it again.”

Callum shrugged and put his jar of fruit aside to pack. “Sounds fair.” He said, gathering his things together. “What’s the plan for today?”

“Walk east.” She answered succinctly.

He made a face. “Is that it?”

“Walk east. Stay away from roads. Avoid humans.” She elaborated, rolling her eyes. “…Since your Aunt Amaya is meant to be arriving with who-knows how many of her battalion, we want to stay well away from the roads.”

He considered that, shoving his clothes into the bag, and then the group-things she’d allocated to him. “…Yeah, sounds reasonable.” He agreed. “We could walk along the river, maybe? It’s heading east, and that way we’ll have plenty of water.”

Rayla went briefly still, grimacing, and looked over in the direction of the nearby river. “…Best not. Someone might go by in a boat, and that’s the last thing we’d need.”

“Good point.” Callum followed her gaze to stare out towards the river as well. “It sucks that we can’t just go by in a boat.”

She made a rude, dismissive noise before she could quite contain it. “What? Nah, what would we need a boat for?” She looked away quickly, aware her voice had taken a distinct up-scale in pitch but, in her defence, she really didn’t want boating to enter their plans.

He looked at her strangely. So did Ezran. “Getting to Xadia faster?” he suggested, raising his eyebrows. “That river goes a long way. If we had a boat we’d probably save days of walking. I almost want to say we should walk along the river just in case we find one, but then we’d have to steal it, and that’s…not ideal.”

Rayla stared at him, silently.

He tensed a bit, suddenly nervous. “What?”

She warred with herself for a few long seconds, scowled, and looked away. In the end…she couldn’t justify staying silent. Not because she was afraid. “There’s a boat moored at the lodge.” She admitted, unhappily, crossing her arms. “It’s under guard, but…I could probably get it.” She’d known that stupid boat would be relevant somehow. It was just her sort of bad luck.

Callum and Ezran straightened, expressions brightening. “Really. That’s great!”

“Yeah, great.” Rayla mimicked, sarcastically, scowling back towards the river.

Ezran shared a look with his brother. “…Is something wrong?” The younger prince asked, frowning.

“Of course not.” She huffed, pulling her bag up. “I just love the idea of stealing a boat from a bunch of heavily armed humans in broad daylight! Humans with horses, who can chase us! Nothing could make me happier.”

Callum’s brows furrowed at her, and he stood, hefting his bag onto one shoulder, and then his sketchbook strap. “…Do you think the horses could catch up to us, on the river?”

“I’m not exactly an expert on horse speed.” She said after a moment, shoulders dropping a little. Finally, unhappily: “…Let’s go look at the river.”

They picked up their things and did, indeed, go to stare at the river.

“It looks…fast-ish?” Callum said dubiously, looking at it.

Ezran tossed a leaf in and watched it flow away. “I think the horses would get tired faster than the boat would, anyway, even if they did catch up to the boat.”

“Hmmm.” Rayla expressed, still incredibly displeased about the idea of travelling by water at all. Her skin crawled when she thought about it too hard, so…she tried not to think about it. “I think we should walk along the river a while, pick a good spot, and then I go to grab the boat alone.”

“And what, then you meet us downriver?” Callum nodded, picking up on the plan. “Sounds good.” He looked down-river and adjusted the straps on his shoulders. “…I guess it’s time to start walking, then.”

Ezran sighed sadly, and hefted the egg-bearing bag on his back. Rayla pulled the strap of the tent pack over her shoulder and set off determinedly along the river bank.

Around twenty minutes’ walk down the river, they made the fortuitous discovery of an overgrown ditch full of thorns along the riverbank. While this was annoying to walk around, it would certainly help to provide an impediment for pursuing horsemen. They debated stopping right there, but after a while walked a little further, finding a vaguely rocky area where the water was a bit shallower than usual.

“This river is called the Lune, you know.” Callum remarked, setting his bag down next to where Rayla had put her own things. “Can’t remember if I mentioned that.”

She scowled at it. “Of course it’s called the Lune.” She muttered, scathingly, and stretched to get the cricks out of her neck.

“What’s wrong with the name?” Ezran asked, perplexed. “I think it sounds nice.”

She checked her blades, flipping them out and then back again. “….It comes from the draconic word for ‘moon’.” She explained after a moment. “Seems a bit ironic, considering.”

Callum laughed, a short surprised ha. “I didn’t know that. I guess it makes sense, though – ‘lunar’ must come from the same word, right?”

“Yep.” She said, looking between their things and the river. “…Make sure you’re ready to go any second. There’ll probably be people chasing me, and ideally, I don’t want them to see you.”

“Er. Why?” Callum blinked at her as cluelessly as his brother.

“Because they’ll think I’ve kidnapped you if they see you with me, and I don’t need the kingdom after me any more than it already is.” She said dryly, and looked up at the trees. “…It’ll take me a while to get there, but if I’m gone more than a couple of hours…you’d best keep walking without me.” They both shot her alarmed looks, and she folded her arms, defensive. “Look, I’m going to try my very best not to get shot full of arrows, but I can’t make any promises, alright?”

Ezran, wide-eyed, scampered forwards to hug her around the middle. She stilled, surprised, but after a second of hovering hesitantly put her hands on his shoulders. “Please don’t get shot full of arrows, Rayla.” He said, worriedly, looking up at her. “You’re really nice. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“…I don’t want me to get hurt either, and you lot need someone to look out for you, so I’ll do my best.” She said after a moment, smiling reluctantly as her developing fondness for the little prince prodded its way onto her face. He really was a good kid. “Stay put, and stay ready. I’ll be back in no time.” She gently detached his arms from her, and patted him awkwardly on the shoulder.

Callum was watching somewhat inscrutably, but he did look concerned as she turned to glance at him. “…Be careful.” He said, fiddling with the strap of his sketchbook. “I don’t want you to get hurt either. If it’s too risky, just come back without the boat.”

“I’ll see if I can beat them up and break their bows first, or something.” She shrugged, shot both of them a smile, and turned back westward. “I’ll be back.”

She gave them a final glance, and ran off into the forest.

As much as she’d originally intended it in jest, the more Rayla stared at the human troops from the vantage of her tree, the more she thought it would be a good idea to beat them up and break their bows before she took the boat. She squinted at the armoured shapes milling about the lodge, trying to gauge the sturdiness of the bows, as well as their numbers. Eight humans seemed present, and six of them were armed with bows, which was a much higher number than she’d have liked. She could deflect a certain number of incoming arrows, but six in the air at a time was a lot to contend with.

She inspected the horses, too, noting that only four of the sixteen seemed fully prepared for riding. The rest had been made bare of their tack and armour, and were even now being brushed down by two of the eight visible humans. That was good. Fewer horses at the ready meant fewer riders in pursuit.

For good measure, she had a good long look at the tents in daylight, too, committing to memory what they were meant to look like when pitched. Surprisingly similar to the tents she was used to, at first glance.

Eventually, Rayla couldn’t put off the task any longer, and with a sigh slunk around the rooftops of the lodge, debating where to strike first. If she could take out a few humans first without the rest being aware, it would make things easier. She’d just need to wait for an opening.

Two were taking care of the horses, within full view of the river and the commander. They did not have bows. The commander was talking with two soldiers who looked recently returned from patrol, and all had bows. Three were posted by the bridge over the river, and they all had bows as well. None of them were especially well-positioned for stealth-takedowns, nor looked likely to be changing that any time soon. Except possibly the guards giving a report. Maybe they would move off elsewhere when they finished?

She watched for several minutes, but whatever the commander and the patrolpeople were talking about was evidently just…taking a while. Was it worth waiting? Were these humans likely to be skilled enough to be that cautious? If they’d been General Amaya’s people – well, if they’d been General Amaya’s, she’d have given up the boat heist from the start. But if these were as good as the average Crownguard she’d encountered at the castle, she’d probably be fine. Probably.

…Oh well. Nothing else for it.

She rolled her shoulders, flipped out her blades, and crept along the rooftop. If she managed an especially good jump, she could take the commander and the patrollers off-guard. It would be the archers at the bridge she’d have to be particularly wary of.

Rayla took a breath, exhaled, and then jumped off the roof.

The commander saw her coming and opened his mouth to shout; fortunately, the patrol guards in front of him didn’t have enough time to react. She landed behind them and kicked them solidly in the back of the knees to knock them down, one and then the other, and then slid easily past the first thrust the commander made with his sword as he drew it, tangling her own arm and blade around the inside of his until she had the perfect leverage against his elbow.

She pulled; the commander made an outraged noise of pain, and a slight twist of her arm saw him disarmed. Not wasting a second, she kicked his legs in as well, grabbed his bow from his back, and cracked it over her knee.

A whistling sound-

She snapped her head to the side and rolled away, three arrows whizzing past, as well as the patrolpeople who had by now picked themselves up to lunge at her, thoroughly over-committing themselves to the attack and barrelling straight into the space she’d just vacated. That was practically asking for her to attack them from behind, so she gladly obliged.

Rayla tore the bow from the first woman’s back and broke it over her head with two hits, the first cracking the bow and producing a loud clanging on the helm, and the second knocking the helm off and breaking the bow. The woman didn’t seem out of commission from that, sadly, and whirled around with a yell of anger and a hand shooting to the blade at her side.

Rayla did not let her complete the motion; she stepped aside, locked her elbow around the woman’s wrist, and broke it in a quick clean snap, provoking a half-strangled shriek of pain. For good measure she used her position to step under and into the guard’s centre of gravity and flip her from her feet with quick, well-practiced ease. She landed in a clatter of metal right in front of the other guard, who had managed to draw her sword, and very clearly intended to use it.

She smirked, and rolled to the side to clear some space and dodge the next volley of arrows from the bridge. Rayla finally deigned to use her own weapons, meeting the second patrolwoman’s sword with two of her own, then slipping easily through her guard to brutally slam the hilt of one weapon down on her opponent’s elbow; once, and her arm dropped with a shout, twice, and the sword fell from numb fingers. Rayla grabbed the stunned woman by the back of the cloak and pulled her down, snatching her bow away and absconding with it in the direction of the bridge-archers. She pulled the bow-string off as she ran and discarded the ruined weapon. Three down.

The horse-tending soldiers had by now got their act together, and the injured commander and patrolwomen were both staggering her way with admirable determination as well. Rayla dodged around the horse-tenders in her way in quick slide-spinning motions, and redirected the motion of one of them to send him stumbling into the other.

She ran straight at the remaining archers, all of whom were looking distinctly alarmed by now. They lowered their bows, and one managed to do it in a timely enough fashion to reach for his longsword, but it was distinctly not enough. She disarmed the faster man with laughable ease, flinging his sword into the river, and when the second man lunged at her all she had to do was step out of the way and push him a bit for him to fall on his face. The third archer, who’d been incoming with a mace, stopped short as her comrade fell at her feet.

Really, there was so much you could do when people practically invited you to mess with their balance.

She divested the fallen man of his bow and hit the mace-wielding woman over the head with it, ducking to the side to avoid retribution from her and her fellow. The soldier grabbed it, shouting something with outrage that Rayla didn’t bother to parse. She grinned, plucked the bowstring off, and slipped around her to take her bow too. She threw it off the bridge, spun behind its owner, and kicked her knees out from behind. That only left the bow of the first archer of the three – and it only took a few more seconds of fast-paced ducking and weaving to divest him of his, too.

The variously-injured humans she’d left behind her were all charging towards the bridge, none of them sufficiently impeded as to be unconscious or unable to stagger angrily in her direction. She assessed them all in a quick second – the biggest threat was the commander, who had one arm out of commission but looked to be ambidextrous. The horse-tenders were also in very good shape, since all she’d done to them was knock them over.

One of the horse-tenders was closest; she ran out to meet him, dodging out of the way of his strike and using his arm as a springboard to jump up and whack him in the head with the base of her blade. He staggered backwards, stunned, and she backflipped off of him, converting her other blade to its hook-form with a flick of her wrist. When the other horse-tender reached her, she stepped to the side and let his own momentum hook him by the throat, protected from fatal injury by his armour but definitely taking an uncomfortable blow to the front of the neck. He made a choking, gurgling sound as she disengaged, flicking the hook back into a sword.

Then she spun away to meet the commander.

When he wasn’t taken totally off-guard, he was actually pretty decent. Definitely better than the others, and this even with his presumably non-dominant hand. He was holding the other one carefully at his side. She’d at least sprained it, possibly broken or dislocated it.

She met his blade with one of hers, and after exchanging a few easily-parried blows, she slipped under his arm and got all up in his space to use a combination of his outstretched arm and the side of his neck to send him careening off his feet, landing heavily on his back.

Rayla’s eyes flicked to the rest of her adversaries, assessing.

None completely out of commission, but…thoroughly dodgeable.

She flipped her blades back and ran for the boat.

The advantage of doing this in a combat situation was that she didn’t have a lot of time or opportunity to think too hard about what she was doing. She sprinted over the small stone mini-dock thing, slashed the rope connecting the boat to the post, and jumped into it.

Her stomach lurched horribly the second the boat rocked under her feet. She shuddered, caught off-guard for a second, and then managed to steady herself enough to kick the boat away from the side. The river took it quickly into its grasp, and Rayla watched the outraged humans at the banks to see what they would do.

“Follow her!” Shouted the commander, which was indication enough of his intentions. Rayla observed, trying very hard to focus on the humans’ actions rather than what she was standing on and how deep the river was, and waited.

The river was quick. Quicker than she’d expected. Quick enough she couldn’t help but be alarmed at its motion. In seconds the boat was passing under the bridge, in half a minute it was almost clear of the lodge. She could see the four ready horses being mounted. No one seemed to have spare bows, which was a mercy; her work had paid off. By the time she heard the horses whinnying and the hooves hitting the ground, the lodge was out of sight, and her escape was well under-way. She stayed standing in the boat, swords at the ready, eyes fixed on the banks up-river.

After around a minute she saw the horses in pursuit. They didn’t seem to be approaching all that fast. Perhaps they were running nearly at the speed of the boat, but she had enough of a head start that they were certainly falling behind. Hopefully the distance to the princes, as well as that convenient ditch, would ensure they wouldn’t be able to catch up.

Rayla sighed, and breathed, and tried not to think about the water rushing past so very close to her.

After a minute or two had passed, she managed to start thinking analytically about the situation. When she found the boys, she’d need to pull the boat over, somehow. She eyed the rope she’d cut, and wondered if she could grab it and anchor it to the riverbank herself. That seemed easier than trying to figure out how those paddle-things were meant to work in a fast river. She kept one eye on the bank behind her and one on the bank ahead, tense from the fighting and nauseous from the motion of the boat, but so far she was at least managing to control her fear response.

She waited a lot longer than she’d have preferred before she finally saw the ditch coming up on the side, and knew that Callum and Ezran had to be near. The horses had fallen far enough behind them that she could hear them in the distance, but not see them.

They could do this.

She saw the boys on the bank before they saw her, little specks in the distance. She raised her fingers and produced a loud, piercing whistle that echoed along the water; their heads raised instantly, and she saw them scrambling to their feet and for the bags.

Rayla took a deep, steadying breath, and then another one, and moved over to the side of the boat to grab the rope.

The river wasn’t too wide here, and they’d picked a shallower area for the meeting point. It should be fine. It would be fine. She wouldn’t drown in water this deep even if she fell in, and she could swim anyway, so it – it was fine. It would be fine. She ignored the way her pulse was thrumming unhappily in her throat, and breathed, and prepared to jump.

With several metres to spare, she leapt for the river bank, rope wrapped twice around her arm to brace it. She dug one of her blades into the bank and pulled the boat inwards, panting not entirely from the effort.

“Rayla!” The princes exclaimed, in chorus, rushing over to her.

“Into the boat, fast.” She ordered, voice tight, and jerked her chin towards the damnable thing. “We’re being chased.” She finished pulling the boat in, and stabbed the rope into the earth with her blade, a temporary tether. She grabbed the nearest bag, the tent pack, and tossed it in, watching like a hawk as the boys stumbled with their own bags over the edge of the boat. Then there was only her pack left to grab, and she swung it over her shoulder, pulling her blade from the ground and pushing the boat away from the bank and back into the water.

She hopped unhappily aboard in the next second, noting with some relief that Callum and Ezran were already operating the boat’s paddles and she didn’t have to worry about it.

“Phew!” Callum exclaimed, sounding exhilarated, dropping his bag and sketchbook into the bottom of the boat in a brief pause in his paddling. “I can’t believe you did it!”

“Of course I did it.” Rayla grumbled, settling as deeply into the hull as she could in hopes it would prevent her from having to look at the river. “Those humans were hardly elite forces.”

“Er. Good to know?” Callum tried, looking suddenly alarmed. She eyed him, and after a second he straightened and added “Er. You said they’re following us? Are they all…” He trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

“Should be four of ‘em on horses. They’re slower than the river, so if we keep going, we’ll be fine.”

“Horses can’t run all out for long before they get tired.” Ezran put in, matter-of-fact. “They’ll have to stop soon.”

She waved towards him with a nod. “Well, there you go.”

“…How many people were there? When you got the boat.” Callum asked, after a second, still looking uncomfortable and shifty. Rayla stared at him flatly.

“Eight.” She said, and watched him squirm for a couple of seconds before rolling her eyes. “I didn’t kill anyone, if that’s what you’re worryin’ about.” The way he flinched was answer enough. She looked away, vaguely irritated. “Broke a few arms, maybe, but don’t you worry. No dead humans on your princely conscience.”

Callum laughed nervously and very conspicuously turned to pretend to be occupied with the paddling. Ezran wasn’t bothered, and even rolled his own eyes at his brother. “Thanks for not hurting them too bad, Rayla.” He said guilelessly, as if he’d never expected her to do anything else. “I knew you wouldn’t, even if Callum was worried – but thanks anyway.”

She ignored Callum’s spluttering and glanced briefly at Ezran, interested. His faith in her character was nice and all, but a little confusing. She knew that Moonshadow elves were meant to deal as little death as possible to achieve their missions, but if they knew that, she’d be very surprised. Even other elf assassins didn’t always operate with the same creed. “…You’re welcome, Ezran.” She said, offering him a small smile, and looked back the way they’d come.

Still no sign of the riders, and she couldn’t hear them, now.

Still, she tried to focus on staying alert for signs of a threat. It kept her occupied.

Not for long enough, though. Eventually, the lack of action allowed her blood to settle, which allowed her to feel the full force of the rocking and jostling and swaying of the boat, which made her feel sick, which made her even more conscious of the sound of the water and the smell of the water all around her, and it was just – ugh.

She crawled into the bottom of the boat and vegetated there.

Rayla….did not look pleased. In fact, she looked somewhere between angry and nauseous. Or maybe she was nauseous and angry about it. She was hunched in the bottom of the boat next to the bags, seeming as if she were making an earnest attempt at retracting her head into her body like a turtle. After a while, she made a low, groaning noise of discontent.

“Uh. Rayla? You doing okay?” Callum asked, tentatively, after a few seconds.

“Absolutely.” She answered, flatly, burying her face in her knees.

He exchanged a glance with Ezran, who didn’t seem any more convinced by this than he was. “….Are you sure?” His little brother pressed, putting Bait down onto one of the boat seats. It was at least a pretty roomy one – they wouldn’t be sitting without leg room for hours.

“I’m doing great.” She groaned again. “I just love this boat so much. I’m so glad I stole it.” She retched, and shuddered, and huddled down again. “That’s why I’m down here. To be close to the boat.”

“Do you get boatsick?” Ezran asked with interest, shuffling onto the floor to sit with her.

She opened her mouth to speak, gagged, and then managed to control herself enough to speak. “Why ever would you think that?”

Ez ignored the sarcasm. “Dad gets boatsick sometimes, when it’s at sea, but I’ve never met someone who gets sick on rivers before.” He informed her, and if anything, she looked even sicker at that.

“How wonderful for you,” She managed, and then shot upwards to vomit over the side.

Callum and Ezran winced, the splatter of sick hitting the water both visceral and disgusting to listen to. After a second of hesitation, Callum stepped down from the oar and crouched beside her to rub tentatively at her back. She stayed hunched over the side of the boat, eyes closed and hair hanging in front of her face, for a good while, and groaned intermittently.

“Do you want some water?” he offered, after a minute, and at the words, Ezran went to scramble around in the bags for the waterskin.

She raised her head slightly to glare at him, moving a hand to wipe at her mouth. “Great. More water. That’ll definitely help!”

He rolled his eyes. “Ha ha. Yeah, I don’t mean river-water. Although, technically, it is river water, but anyway-” He accepted the waterskin from Ez, offering it to Rayla. “You can wash the taste out, at least.”

She eyed it for a few seconds, then swiped out her hand to grab it. She took a swig and washed out her mouth, spitting it over the side, and shuddered again, before passing the waterskin back. “Thanks.” She said, begrudgingly, and inched slowly back into the bottom of the boat.

“Sometimes once you’ve been sick you feel better.” Ezran commented wisely, patting her sympathetically on the knee. “Maybe you’ll be fine now.”

“I’m sure.” She did not, in fact, seem sure. Rather, she was hunching back into the assorted bags as if maybe she could hide in them if she tried hard enough. Callum spared a second to feel a bit weird about her proximity to the dragon egg, but dismissed it easily enough – it seemed kind of silly to worry about her being near it when she looked so sick.

….Besides, technically speaking, she could have taken it and run off with it any time she wanted, really. It’s not like they’d be able to stop her.

Still.

Callum found it easier to ignore his persistent, instinctive distrust when she was looking this wretched, so that was something. He pursed his lips for a second, then went back up to paddle for a while.

In any case, no matter what Ezran had said on the matter, Rayla did not noticeably improve after being sick. Instead she went silent and still and tense, and every time he glanced her way her skin seemed paler, her expression more drawn. She wasn’t sick again, but she shuddered and gagged sometimes, and occasionally groaned. It seemed pretty horrible, actually – he couldn’t help feeling sorry for her.

Neither could Ez, apparently, because after a while he shuffled over to engage her in a rousing round of ‘I Spy’. It took him some prodding, but eventually he managed to convince her to raise her head and, you know, look at things, which was somewhat necessary to the game. Callum joined in when prompted, and among them they spied trees, a rock, a river, a bag, the sun, Bait, Callum’s sketchbook, an oar, a frog, a duck, and a patch of cattails.

At this last one, Rayla unexpectedly lunged out of the boat to grab a handful of them and cut them free with one of her blades, the speed and efficiency of the motion vaguely alarming after how long she’d been motionless. She returned to her previous position plus one large bundle of cattails, looking distinctly nauseous again, and offered as explanation “They’re edible. If you cook ‘em.”

After that Rayla declared that she was done spying, and resumed vegetating in silence.

And, well, there wasn’t much to be done for that. He and Ez shrugged, and went back to operating the oars between rounds of idle conversation and travel-games. Rayla at least seemed to be listening, so maybe it was helping to distract her, but who really knew. She just looked…pale. And distinctly unhappy.

In the end, he couldn’t take more than about an hour of it before he suggested they pull over to the river bank for a break on land. She seemed so pathetically grateful at this that he couldn’t help but wonder how bad, exactly, the boat trip was for her.

He and Ez paddled the boat over to the river bank, where Rayla found her legs and stabbed one of her swords into the ground, tying off the boat’s tether to its hilt. When this was done she collapsed onto land with almost palpable relief, muttering something that sounded like “sweet, sweet land” into the grass.

Ezran apparently elected to take the backpack with the egg in out of the boat for their break, which seemed pretty sensible, and he sat beside her in the grass with sympathetic concern. Callum joined him, taking his own bag with him, and after a second commented “So boat travel really takes a lot out of you, huh.”

“Really?” She mock-gasped, rolling over onto her back and staring up at the sky. She had a leaf in her hair. “I never would have noticed!”

After a second of hesitation, he tapped his hair on the corresponding location. “You’ve got a-“ He gestured meaningfully, and she blinked, sat up, and reached up to pull the errant foliage from her hair.

“Thanks.” She said idly, and after a moment, pulled herself to her feet. She was already looking less pale. “Who’s got the fruit jars? I think I’ll go stretch my legs, see if I can find some lunch.”

They removed the remaining milkfruit from Callum’s jar before passing them over, noting that they’d got a bit squished and the jars were now a bit messy. “Maybe we should wash them out?” Ezran suggested, holding one up.

Rayla shook her head firmly and plucked it out of his hand. “Nu-uh. This is my break away from water. So I’ll be spending it away. From water.”

Ezran squinted quizzically. “But it’s just boats that make you sick, right? There’s nothing wrong with the river.”

“No reason not to rinse out the jars when the river’s right there.” Callum commented, watching closely now. There was something…something here, nagging at him, like a detail he’d noticed but hadn’t quite understood yet.

She went very still for a second, and then bent to retrieve the other jar, which Ezran had extracted from Callum’s bag. “…I’ll be back in a bit.” She said, stiffly, and absconded into the treeline.

Ezran made an interested noise as she went. “That was weird.” He said. Bait croaked loudly, and his tongue shot out to grasp a handful of the mushy fruit.

“…Yeah.” Callum frowned, trying to get his head around whatever it was he’d noticed. In the end, he couldn’t quite piece whatever-it-was together, so he sat with Ez and engaged in the creation of a daisy chain while they waited for Rayla to return. Both his head and Ezran’s were adorned with flower crowns by the time she got back, a third one eaten by Bait, and a fourth in progress – though this was swiftly put aside when she arrived in favour of inspecting what she’d found.

It was mostly green stuff. Leaves, some herby-looking things, and what looked weirdly like thistle flowers. “I was expecting more berries.” Ez said, looking at the jars. He sounded disappointed.

Rayla rolled her eyes and dropped the second jar, which did have more tempting colour in it. “There’s some gooseberries in there. But we can’t live on only fruit, you know. All those plants are edible. They’re better cooked though, so we can sort something out with a campfire later on.” She sat down and raised an eyebrow at the two of them. “So, what’s with the flowers?”

Ez perked up. “We made daisy chains!” He declared proudly. “But we didn’t make them long enough to go around our necks so they’re flower crowns instead.” He held up the third one, still under construction, to demonstrate. “We’re making you one, too!”

She eyed it dubiously for a few seconds, but in the end couldn’t seem to withstand Ezran’s enthusiasm for long without a reluctant smile breaking over her face. “Cute.” She commented, in the end, and sat back to watch with tolerant amusement as Ez got hurriedly back to work with the daisies. Callum supplied him with the material, snapping off the flower stems as close to the earth as he could manage to allow more leeway for chaining them.

And so, a few minutes later, he and Ez had the interesting experience of trying to put a flower crown onto an elf. “Huh.” Ez remarked, as Rayla huffed amusedly and bent her head to be crowned. “I’ve never tried to put a flower crown on someone with horns before.”

“I’d be very surprised if you had.” Rayla commented dryly, and Callum shuffled forwards to help, taking the clumsy crown from his brother with delicate care.

“Here, Ez, just sort of hook it around – there.” He settled the daisy chain around her head with a lopsided smile, sitting back to inspect their handiwork. “Looks good.” He declared, and Rayla carefully raised her head again.

The white flowers with their yellow centres looked interesting, on her white hair, settled carefully around her horns. He’d even say it suited her. “I’ll take your word for it.” She said, eyebrows raised, and Ezran beamed at her.

“Now we all match.” He proclaimed, evidently satisfied. Goal accomplished, he promptly went to investigate the gooseberries.

With all the flowers and the food and the pleasant riverside break in the sunshine, Callum’s earlier nagging feelings about Rayla and the river had entirely slipped away. Up until he commented that they should probably get going soon, and she went still and stiff, and glanced out at the water with a strange look on her face. Like dread, almost, or anticipation, or reluctance. Or maybe all three at once. And then she took a little breath, like she was steeling herself, and stood up.

Callum’s head tilted as he observed all this, his impressions clicking into place in his head with a thought-fast flash of intuition. “Oh,” he realised, out loud, and the others turned to look at him. “Rayla, are you scared of water?” Ezran blinked, startled, but Rayla’s reaction was more interesting.

She tensed as soon as the words left his mouth, in a very telling way, and opened her mouth as if to protest – but then shut it again without saying a thing.

“Ohh, that makes sense.” Ezran said, sympathetically, and stepped up next to her. “No wonder you were having such a hard time.”

She gritted her teeth and strode determinedly towards the boat, turning to gesture them sharply into it. “Being scared of water is a stupid idea. Just because boats make me sick -” She broke off, muttering something darkly, and Callum noted that she hadn’t actually denied anything. Yeah, he was pretty sure he was right. And wasn’t that something? Someone as crazily talented and strong as Rayla being afraid of something as common as water – he’d never have expected that. “Get in. It’s time we got going.”

Callum and Ezran glanced at each other, and shrugged, before grabbing their things and obediently heading for the boat.

Once they were all aboard, Rayla pulled the boat’s tether from her weapon, retrieved the weapon itself, and jumped onto the boat. Her expression turned queasy the second she touched its surface.

Callum eyed her with new understanding, and stepped up to operate the left oar. “Come on, Ez, let’s give ourselves a boost.” He said, and together with his brother, they steered the boat back into the river’s grip.

Rayla sank into the bottom of the boat again, and didn’t say a word.

05.13.1001

From: Captain Camsun, Crownguard U12 Detached Operations To: General Amaya, Standing Battalion Border Operations Subject: Report of enemy action in the area

As ordered, my unit detached from duty at the Castle to report to the Banther Lodge and await the Princes. We arrived at approximately 18:00 hours on 05.12, and though we searched the premises and the surrounding area, the Princes were not to be found. We established a temporary base of operations on the grounds with difficulties that, in retrospect, are likely due to enemy action.

I regret to inform you that as of today, we have confirmed the presence of a Moonshadow elf in the area, and the Princes have not yet been seen. Reports from the Castle state that one of the last sightings of Prince Callum was by guards on the wall who witnessed him being chased by an elf assassin on the eve of King Harrow’s death. Word from Lord Viren, now crowned Lord Protector, is that the Princes are dead, and as yet, I see no cause to disbelieve it. We remain at this post in hopes that the Princes may yet arrive, alive and unharmed.

The Moonshadow elf we spotted was a young female, between 5’6”-5’9” in height, with white hair and pale skin and relatively short horns, matching reports of the elf seen chasing Prince Callum at the castle. This morning at approximately 10:45 she invaded the lodge grounds to commandeer the river boat that was moored nearby, injuring eight soldiers in the process, including myself. We have suffered no fatalities, but were entirely unable to prevent the elf’s escape, and must assume that she is using the Lune to expedite her return to Xadia. We attempted pursuit, but the speed of the river was more than our horses could match. I elected to call off the pursuit in favour of remaining at our post. I must offer my most sincere apologies for our failure to bring the elf to justice. I am sending a report to Kalsanis to alert them to the possibility of the enemy passing through in the next few days.

We believe that the assassin spent the night in the area. A tent was mislaid in the process of establishing camp, and while this was initially assumed to be due to human error, we have now made another inspection of the interior of the lodge and seen signs that it has been raided for supplies. I must conclude that the assassin stole through our defences in order to outfit herself for her journey. As we do not have an inventory for the contents of the lodge, it is not possible to say with certainty which items were taken. However, signs of the elf’s footprints have been found in the dust in every room except for the master bedroom, along with indications that she entered through a window in the kitchen. I have attached a list of items presumed stolen based on impressions in the dust of various furniture in the lodge.

I accept full responsibility for this unit’s failure to apprehend the assassin or impede her actions. Once again, I offer my most sincere regrets and apologies for what has occurred here.

This unit will remain at this posting to await your command.

End chapter.

Timeline: This chapter takes place very late on 13.05 to a decent way through 14.05, days 3 and 4 since the start of canon. Subtract two days to determine how long the kids have been travelling.

Key canon divergences: no one has seen the princes, and a bloodthirsty elven assassin has been sighted where the princes should have been. The few people who have reason to believe Callum and Ezran are alive aren’t talking, and as a result…General Amaya is about to get some very bad news.

Fun fact: when Rayla disarms the moustachioed dagger guy in canon, it really reminded me of the weapons taking exercises I’ve done before, so some of the stuff Rayla does in the combat section is inspired by various throws and movements in aikido. Another fun fact: I had to count bows on my fingers through editing the fight scene to make sure I got them all.

#tdp #tdp fic #rayllum #tdp callum #tdp rayla #tdp ezran #piaj #happy season 3 confirmation day!#piaj chapters

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xerxia31 · 7 years

Text

Glühwein and Girl Talk - an Everlark drabble

The lovely @litlifelover and I have some of the most interesting discussions, and hopefully she’ll forgive me for turning one of them into this little drabble.

This one’s for you, M ;) I’m still keeping three Chrises...

“You can’t have all of the Chrises, Katniss, you have to save at least one for me,” Madge giggled, the warm ruby liquid in her cup threatening to slosh over the edge.

“Careful with that, drunkie,” Katniss snickered. “Peeta will be cheesed if you spill Glühwein all over his couch.” Madge rolled her eyes at the botched pronunciation.

“Who are you calling drunkie, drunkie?” Madge giggled again, but put the cup down anyway. “Peeta never gets cheesed,” she continued. “Your roomie is the most even-tempered guy I’ve ever met.”

“He has to be, to put up with me.” Katniss winked, and grabbed another cheese puff from the tray Peeta, her best friend forever, and roommate since they finished college a year and a half ago, had prepared earlier. He’d baked several trays of treats - both savoury and sweet - for her Christmas girls night in. But six hours into her annual celebration of mulled wine and bitching, the trays were nearly empty and all that remained of the Glühwein was two very drunk women and the lingering scent of orange and cloves. “Fine,” Katniss said, returning to their conversation. “I'll give you one Chris, your choice... but I'm keeping Henry Cavill.”

“Oh maaaaan,” Madge groaned. “You have three Chrises, you have to at least share Henry, I'm sorry, those are the rules.”

“Well,” Katniss acquiesced. “Henry is so big, we could share and not even notice that we're both clinging to him.”

Madge burst into laughter. “Although, if he keeps the mustache, you can have him.”

Katniss shuddered. “I hate the porn ‘stache too.” “Okay then, you get three Chrises, I get one, and we share Henry ... you’re getting a better deal here, girlfriend.”

Katniss nodded. “I think you need one more to add to your harem.”

Madge picked up her cup again. “I can't think of a single attractive man now. What's in this stuff anyway?”

“Uhm,” Katniss wrinkled her brow, thinking back to earlier when Peeta had been cooking and she'd been assisting. “Cloves. Cinnamon. Cardamom. Orange peel. Peach juice. And four bottles of wine.” Minus the glass Peeta had poured for her as a helper payment.

“It's sooooo good,” Madge sighed, draining the last of her cup. “Oh! Tom Hardy. Add him to my list.” Katniss scowled.

“I just don't get what you see in him.”

Madge grinned. “He looks like Gale.” Katniss rolled her eyes. As much as she loved Madge, being reminded of her friend’s perfect relationship just made Katniss all the more aware of her own complete lack of romantic prospects. Hence, the imaginary harem she was building of hot men.

“What about Armie Hammer?”

“Who's that again?”

“Madge! He’s only the hottest guy on the planet!”

“Talking about me, are you?” Katniss looked up with a start to see her best friend walking through the apartment door. Peeta crossed the room, unwinding the scarf from around his neck and shaking snow from his overlong curls. He stopped in front of her, leaning down to press a kiss to her hair.

“You’re home early,” Katniss said, but the smile was clear in her voice. Peeta laughed, holding out his arm for her to read his wristwatch.

“Rye and I closed out the bar,” he said. “It’s half past two, Kitten.” Katniss flushed with pleasure at the nickname that only he was ever allowed to use.

“I thought you were going back to his place?” she said, gazing up at his wide smile and winter-kissed cheeks.

“I thought so too, but he decided he’d rather keep company with a girl he picked up at the bar.” Katniss snorted; that was pretty typical of Peeta’s brother.

“And you couldn’t find a one-night-stand of your own?” Madge laughed, but Katniss frowned. Peeta hadn’t brought any girls to their apartment the entire time they’d been roommates, and the idea of him doing so now made her strangely uncomfortable.

Peeta stood, rubbing the back of his neck as he turned to acknowledge Madge. “Ah, no, wasn’t looking,” he said. “And how are you, lovely Madge?”

“I am a little tipsy on this very nice Glühwein you made for us.”

“I’m surprised Katniss let you have any of it,” he laughed. “It’s her favourite you know.” He started towards the kitchen, calling back over his shoulder, “Where are the rest of the ladies?”

“Their boyfriends all picked them up already,” Katniss called back, pouting. Except for Madge, the others had all bailed early, anxious to spend time with their significant others.

“Meant more wine for us,” Madge said, wrapping her arm around Katniss. “But I should really head home too.” Katniss nodded, and Madge pulled out her phone to text her boyfriend for a ride.

While they waited for Gale to make the four-and-a-half minute drive over to the apartment, Katniss pulled up Armie Hammer in google images. “See,” she slurred. “Totally hot. He’s exactly my type.” She sighed. “So pretty.”

Madge stared at the phone screen for a long time, flipping through image after image with a thoughtful expression. “You know, he looks an awful lot like Peeta.” Madge squinted. “A slightly older Peeta, maybe.”

Katniss snatched the phone from her friend’s hand and gawked at the screen. Bright blue eyes. Ashy blond hair that flopped appealing over his forehead. Perfectly defined pecs. Shit, he really did look like Peeta. Her jaw dropped and she lifted her glassy gaze to Madge’s

Madge was smirking. “And the Chrises, they all kind of look like Peeta too, blondies with big blue eyes…”

“Stop,” Katniss whined, and Madge laughed.

“I’m just saying…” The doorbell ringing put a halt to any further teasing.

Peeta reappeared, wrapping an arm around Katniss as she said goodnight to Madge and Gale. When the door closed, Katniss looked up to find Peeta was gazing down at her, a soft smile lighting his handsome face. “What?” she said, but she was smiling too. It was hard not to smile around Peeta.

“Missed you tonight,” he said. “That’s all.”

“Me too,” she smiled. She twisted in his arms, pivoting to really look at Peeta, whose eyes twinkled in amusement at her inspection. It was true that he resembled Armie Hammer, they were both strikingly handsome. But Armie Hammer didn’t make her Glühwein or cheese buns. Armie Hammer didn’t hold her hand when she was scared or send her flowers when she got that promotion. The more she looked at the beautiful, kind man standing beside her, the more she realized that all of the Chrises and Henrys and Armies in the world couldn’t compare to Peeta. He was the real deal.

#everlark #more drunken fluff #what can I say #tis the season #to get drunk #xerxia writes #litlifelover #the queue

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kayrockerqog · 7 years

Text

Somehow, Cats Were Involved: Giripan Oneshot

Meeting your soulmate. Something every person on Earth has been dying to do ever since they were born. It is said that you will be given small snippets of information about how you will meet throughout your life, random pieces of information that don't even make sense for the time being.

The concept of meeting your soulmate was an interesting one, well, interesting being an understatement, at least to Kiku. He would watch in silence from across the way as his fellow nations revealed in the little details they were given on how they would finally know who their soulmates were.

Alfred always went on and on about being extremely tense and anxious to merely walk through the automatic doors of a Walmart during Christmas season, because he has no clue when he'll be hit in the face with a carton of chocolate milk.

Arthur knew his encounter was going to happen next to a famous landmark, although unaware of which one, and that it also involved light snow and a purple rose. Francis had a similar one, only he knew his soulmate would appear next to his landmark, The Eiffel Tower in Paris, and that his soulmate had blonde hair. The fact that they didn't realize it was unnerving to Kiku, to say the least. He always thought they would hook up.

Feliciano and Ludwig had figured theirs out quite recently. He had been there to witness his best friends realize their connection, while they took a trip to one of the various beaches in Southern Italy after a marathon. Ludwig had been nervous because he would be meeting his soulmate in his swimsuit in Italy, and Feliciano would meet his while he was nearly drowning in the Mediterranean Sea. Needless to say, both sides were pleasantly surprised at the outcome.

But the most 'interesting' case was his own. Kiku didn't know much about his encounter, despite being alive for so long. All he knew about his, was that it would be in the snow and that somehow, cats were involved.

Little did he realize, that this could happen at any time. Snow wasn't uncommon in most of the places he could be found, minus most of Italy and parts of Greece, and he always spotted a cat one way or another wherever he went. He adored their independent and intelligent facades, the fluffiness of their fur against his pale olive skin, and the sarcastically lazy yet loving look in their wide eyes. Cats were a comfort, and he wasn't the only one who thought so.

The introverted nation spent the early December morning strolling through a small village in Northern Greece, watching the bright blue sky covered in powder blue clouds scrape the horizon as the sun rose. He watched his breath become visible, in a transparent white cloud from beneath his scarf in the chilled morning air. Despite the minor goosebumps, he was content.

Suddenly, the peaceful sky began to turn sour, the puffy clouds slowly turning dark and dull, more and more hiding the sky as little specs of white fell to the ground. 'Oh, it's snowing,' Kiku thought to himself, his face melting back to its neutral expression, as he contemplated the same idea he always had, was this it?

His pace started to quicken, as did the downpour of snowflakes colliding with the cracked stone back-road he walked on. He approached a nearby alleyway, next to a local coffee shop that seemed to be just opening for business. Kiku noted the paper sign sporting the words 'Now Open, Welcome!' in both English and Greek, and proceeded to walk in.

It was a quaint little shop, a few early morning customers gathered at small toffee-colored tables with dark oak chairs, framed pictures of sunsets and ocean views laid against the walls, and the counter up front was very welcoming, with their operators constantly smiling and spreading extra warmth around the room.

The short nation lowered his scarf from his face to his neck, exposing his glowing pink cheeks to the light. He took a quick breath, his thinner frame quivering a bit from the sudden chill he received. Kiku spotted an empty seat at the counter-top, and he calmly took it, eyeing the menu curiously. "Good morning, sir. May I help you?" A young woman approached him from the other side, her voice producing a slight Greek lisp as she spoke in her native tongue.

Kiku raised his head slightly, a light blush of embarrassment poking at his face as he replied to his best abilities in the language. "My apologies, I don't know much Greek." The woman smiled at him, her lightly tanned skin glowing in the ceiling light, "That's quite alright, do you speak English?" Kiku smiled, and nodded, "Much better, yes. Thank you."

"Not a problem, sir. May I get you anything?" "Yes, is a plain green tea alright?" "Of course! Coming up soon." He watched his server prance back into the kitchen, possibly to start a new batch, and he was left alone with his thoughts. 'Everything seems to be going smoothly. Perhaps this isn't the time . . .' However, he was just proven wrong.

The front door suddenly crashed open behind him, a freezing cold wind blowing through the shop and trailing a mess of snow behind it. "I need help!" A straining voice called from the door, their footsteps heavy and squishing against the floor from the snow on their boots. Kiku recognized the phrase, and coincidentally, the voice, despite the volume and the hurt it possessed.

He turned in his seat, his back facing the counter as he met the eyes of his fellow nation. His wet, wavy brown hair was spread all over the place, white specks covering it all over. His bright green eyes were trembling with worry, their soft and typically docile glint switching to the exact opposite. Kiku didn't know why, until his saw what Heracles was carrying.

Lying unconscious in his arms, shivering helplessly from the cold, was a tiny grey kitten. Its leg was bleeding and its breathing was shabby at best. Several staff members burst through the back doors, one of them carrying a medical kit, as if they knew what was happening. "What happened this time?" an older man asked the elder nation, who carefully removed the kitten from his arms and laid him on a table. "She was attacked by a wild dog, poor thing."

Heracles' voice was hurting, he rarely ever spoke this loud, and needless to say it peaked Kiku's interest. He left his seat, approaching his comrade from behind as he watched the patrons tend to the poor creature. "I'm sure she'll be just fine, Hera-kun." For a moment, the nation of Greece was stunned, but he turned to see his Eastern friend and gave him a sad and partially confused smile, "I do hope so, hello Kiku."

The tiny Asian returned the gesture, placing a hand on Heracles' shoulder while the two of them watched the supposed owner of the shop wrap a bandage around the kitten's fragile leg. "This has happened before?" Kiku asked, his accented voice struggling a bit as he attempted Greek again. Heracles gave him an odd look, before shoving him aside from the crowd.

"What . . . what are you doing?" he demanded, concerned and cringing slightly from the force his fellow nation was using. Heracles gave him a blank look before leaning down to match his gaze. "This may seem like an inappropriate time, especially when an innocent creature is suffering right next to us," he began in English, sending a quick glance back to the table before returning his sights to the raven-haired nation he held against the wall, "But I was told that I would meet my soulmate when they attempted to speak my language in a coffee shop."

They were silent. Kiku could sense Heracles' arm leaning above his head against the wall his back was forced into, and he felt his knees buckling from the revelation. With a stutter, he replied, "Mine was supposed to arrive during a fit of snow . . . and somehow, with cats involved." This time, they both eyed the table impatiently, before the owner straightened back up and searched for the two of them.

"She's awake, sir." The nations shared a quick look of collective relief as they rushed back to the table, eagerly awaiting the kitten's gaze. Kiku saw her first, and he froze immediately. She was laying on her back, her tiny legs flailing playfully in the air as the woman trying to serve him was flinging a toy at her. She mewed quietly, licking the side of her face as she yawned. Carefully, Heracles lifted the small creature back into his arms, staring at it admirably.

"What a brave girl you are. So strong, so beautiful." Kiku gave a half-smile, glad to see they were both happy, but it swiftly wavered as he recollected what just happened. Only nations were allowed to pair with other nations, so with all of this . . . He paused, and evidently, so did Heracles.

The staff left them alone, somehow realizing the newfound tension between the two, and got back to work. Heracles set the kitten down on a table for a moment, and trudged toward Kiku, grabbing his hand and holding it to his chest. The Japanese nation could feel the stinging blush rising to his face as Heracles remained firm. "I fell like there is only one thing we can do now." Kiku nodded, knowing exactly what he meant.

They then proceeded to play vigorously with the kitten, later named Tamashī*, until the storm cleared up. The two nations also admitted their coherent feelings for each other, accepted each other as their soulmates, and later took a huge nap at one of Greece's nearby homes in each other's arms, Tamashī cuddling between them.

**Words: 1648**

*Tamashī --> Soul in Japanese.

#Giripan #aph hetalia #aph #hetalia #hetalia fanfiction #my writing #soulmate au #fanfiction #aph japan #aph greece #mentions of others #greece x japan #hetalia ships

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roobierubyroobieruby · 7 years

Text

I Remember It

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 5,520 (minus song lyrics)

Warnings: angst and heartbreak - no resolution to it (sorry)

Summary: In a short amount of time, Steve became one of your best friends. Over the course of your 11 month friendship, things changed so drastically that you could barely keep up - and you’re still suffering the Rogers Effect a year on...

(italics are all flashbacks, **flashback scene in a flashback)

A/N: This is based off of the Taylor Swift song “All Too Well”, so I wrote this for Steve because I wanted to do an angst-feels fic that essentially was all about heartbreak. This fic talks about events taking place over 11 months, then 3 months after those 11 months - so where I’ve written “1 month post...” means 1 months after the events of the 11 months. If that makes sense? And I designed it to jump around, it’s a rollercoaster! I used real experiences for this too so yeah, hopefully it breaks your heart a little <3 ily

You stepped through your apartment door, your heart heavy with sadness. You had been on your way home from SHIELD, mindlessly flicking through your social media when you saw a photo Wanda had uploaded two hours ago of the whole team. Your heart had sunken into your chest, your breathing ceased, as your eyes were drawn to look at his face. You tortured yourself doing this, stopping to stare at the photo instead of scrolling passed it like you should have.

It had been just over a year since you’d seen him, even longer since you had spoken, but the pain was as fierce as if no time at all had passed. Your eyes studied his features - his carefree smile, the way he stood behind Wanda with his hand on her shoulder, his other arm slung over Bucky’s, his hair was so perfectly swept to the side as he always liked it, and his eyes shone so brilliantly blue that it felt like you were staring into the sky after months of darkness, having forgotten what it looks like.

You bit down on your lip, your leg bouncing up and down, trying to ward off the tears as your throat closed up. You had held yourself together until the moment you’d stepped through your door, feeling the hot tears run down your face.

You shuffled through the lounge and hallway, taking solace in your bedroom while you changed into comfier clothes. Thankfully, this was one place he hadn’t invaded, hadn’t tainted, with his own personal poison to ensure you were haunted by him forever.

You heard the front door open and Nat’s voice sing out, realizing she was home earlier than expected as she moved through the apartment. You were perched on the floor of your room, your back resting against the cold, hard wall, and your knees pulled up close against you.

“(Y/N) are you ho- oh my god are you ok?!” She rushed over to you, crouching down to look you in the eyes.

I’m fine.

You wanted to say, the words stuck on your tongue.

I saw a picture of him and barely felt anything.

You wanted to scream, but it died in your throat.

I finally think I’m over it, over him.

You thought to yourself, the words sinking you further into the floor.

Instead, you let out a loud sob, unable to hold it in anymore, your chest cleaving in two. As soon as the floodgates opened, it all came out. Your mind raced through everything that ever happened between you - from start to finish, and every beautifully pure detail in between. Your body shook with the ferocity of your tears, Nat moving to sit next to you and pull you tightly into her in an attempt to provide some comfort.

(Nat’s POV)

She knew exactly what had happened, that you had seen him. She was sure it was that photo Wanda had uploaded, since there was nothing else that could cause you to break like this since you deleted him from all of your social media, and your life. She had been there every single day, from the moment he’d left you high and dry, to now. Even though you were still healing your broken heart, you had made so much progress.

You had lost weight at the beginning, your pallor looking thin and sickly, you stopped sleeping and eating, and that was when she insisted that you two move out from the tower. She even spoke to Agent Coulson and got you moved to another team - although they weren’t the Avengers, they all had their own abilities and worked missions the same way the Avengers did. They weren’t as high profile either, being dubbed “The Silent Knights”, so you got a break from the constant media frenzy that used to surround you.

It had worked in your favour that this team was specialized for covert, highly classified missions that relied on stealth, since you and Nat had both had the same...treatments. Where she was the Avenger’s super spy weapon, you went back to your roots with the Knights, enjoying the thrill of the hunt in the cover of darkness.

After a couple of weeks off, away from him and the tower, you had begun to gain some colour. You filled out your clothes a bit better and you begun venturing outside of your shared apartment, even if it was just down to the shop and back. You had even begun to laugh again, a sound that nearly brought tears to her eyes because she feared he had broken you to a point you wouldn’t be able to recover from entirely.

She had kept Bruce away from the apartment, not wanting to flaunt her relationship with him in front of you, but you had noticed how his absence had affected her and you’d given her the okay to have him over. You had explained that you were a big girl and that you didn’t want to be the one standing between her and her happiness, that just because your heart was broken, she didn’t have to suffer alongside you.

Besides, you had to start moving passed it all eventually, and Bruce was lovely, he knew the situation and wouldn’t dare bring up his name, so he was safe to you.

As she sat there, cradling you and soothing you, she wondered whether there was going to come a day where you would be able to be truly happy again, a day where the mere sight of him wouldn’t reduce you to anything. A day where you were finally indifferent, or at the least unaffected by him.

(Your POV)

You were captive into your head, your mind forcing you to relive those 11 months with him, and the 3 months after that in limbo felt like your own personal brand of torture. You held onto Nat, your fingers curling around her arms as you struggled to regain control, but it was no use. This was it. You had fallen again, your body draining of energy and falling apart at the seams, each memory another blow to your already fragile heart.

I walked through the door with you, the air was cold

But something ‘bout it felt like home somehow

And I left my scarf there at your sister’s house

And you’ve still got it in your drawer even now

(Four months in)

You collapsed through his door, laughing as he scrambled to pull you back into his arms.

“Steve no, please stop,” breathlessly squealing through his attack, “you know I hate being tickled!”

“I’m trying to warm you up and get your blood pumping! I’m helping you doll!”

He laughed, wrapping his body around yours and nuzzling into your neck. The sensation of his skin on yours jolted you away from him, turning to face him.

“I forgot my scarf! I knew I was colder on the way back here than when we went there! You thought I was crazy!” You punched him in the chest, knowing he would barely feel it, “well I will get it back for you then, I’m sure Wanda probably picked it up on the way out.” He moved in to kiss you, his lips warm and soft, his arms encircling your waist. It was slow, lingering, your fingers moving up around his neck to play with his hair. You heard a low moan when you did, his grip tightening before you broke apart.

“I think I’m pretty warmed up now Steve, you’ve done well.” You chewed on your lip, savouring the taste of him.

“Oh love, I have much better ways to do that...:” His eyes grew hungry, his hands wandering down your body as he pressed his lips against yours, moving you back through the room and kicking the door shut.

A week later, you were rifling through Steve’s drawers - wearing nothing but your gym shorts and sports bra - looking for your favourite shirt of his to steal, when your hands brushed over familiar fabric. You pulled your scarf out of his drawer, staring quizzically, wondering when he’d picked this up.

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to give that back to you. I kept forgetting.”

He was standing in the doorway, fresh from his morning run, his hand nervously running through his hair.

“Or, maybe you keep it because you secretly want to wear my pretty red and blue floral scarf?” You wiggled your eyebrows at him, snickering at the image in your head. “The red and blue are your colours after all, Captain America.”

He strode up to you, his hand pulling the scarf - and you - to him, “I also wear white, Red Widow.” He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek while you feigned shock at him using your spy name, before sauntering off into the adjoined bathroom, allowing the door to remain ajar so you could see him strip his shirt off through the mirror.

“You know, between you stealing my shirts, and leaving your own stuff here, it’s as if we live together at this point.”

He stared at you through the mirror, a smirk playing on his lips as you shook your head at him.

“You know, maybe this is home somehow. Not the room, just wherever you are.” You moved through to the bathroom, poking your head through to see him in the shower.

He opened the shower door, “you know what I think?” A mischievous grin broke across his face as he launched himself out and wrapped his arms around your torso, lifting you and carrying you towards the shower.

“STEVE WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” You squealed in delight, your arms flailing to grab a hold of anything that might give you some leverage. He smoothly reoriented himself to pin your legs, edging towards the water.

“I need a shower, and I want you to help me.”

You relented, nipping at his lips, “aren’t you a big boy? Why do you need my help?”

“Maybe I just want some company.” His fingers brushed under the waistband of your pants, tickling your skin. “I’ll deal with these in a minute.”

He stepped into the warm steam, putting you down gently while his mouth worked its way over your neck, up to your jaw, before finally giving in and meeting your mouth. His hands roamed your body, grabbing your waist harder as he grew more frenzied in his actions.

You both had a really, really good shower that morning, feeling right at home.

Oh your sweet disposition and my wide-eyed gaze

We’re singing in the car getting lost upstate

Autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place

And I can picture it after all these days

(2 months in)

You snuck a glance over at Steve, the sunlight gleaming onto his face - highlighting his soft, pouty lips, his long eyelashes framing his crystal blue eyes, and his golden hair creating a halo around his head. His brow slightly furrowed in concentration as he absentmindedly ran his fingers over his lips, driving one-handed in his usual fashion.

You heard the familiar chords of the electric guitar fill the speakers of the car as you leapt with joy in the passenger seat, causing Steve to yell in panic.

“What, are you ok?!”

You stared at him, eyes wide with joy, “it’s my song Steve!! Sing with me!”

He chuckled beside you, shaking his head as you turned the volume up, drowning out the world.

You swung your head wildly with the beat, pointing over to him, “I’m going out tonight, I’m feeling alright, gonna let it all hang out. Wanna make some noise, really raise my voice, yeah I wanna scream and shout.”

You winked at him, stomping your feet to the rhythm, “come on, sing with me!”

“The best thing about being a woman, is the prerogative to have a little fun, yeah!”

You belted out the chorus, looking over to see Steve staring at you in his usual sweet way as he held his hand up like he was holding a microphone - belting out the chorus alongside you.

“Oh oh oh, like totally crazy, forget I’m a lady, men’s shirts short skirts, oh oh oh oh really go wild yeah doin’ it in style,”

You squealed in delight, his moves exaggerated - rolling and shaking his shoulders, slightly moving his head from side to side - as if he were performing to a stadium instead of just a girl in a car, his eyes shining with glee.

“oh oh oh get in the action, feel the attraction, colour my hair, do what I dare, oh oh oh I wanna be free yeah, to feel the way I feel,”

With the final line, you both turned to stare at each other, holding your invisible microphones, deadpan expressions on your faces, “man, I feel like a woman!”

You threw yourself back into your seat, lost in a fit of laughter over the Captain breaking out into a Shania Twain song - ‘Man! I Feel Like a Woman’ no less. You would remember this moment forever.

And I know it’s long gone

And that magic’s not here no more

And I might be okay

But I’m not fine at all

(9 months in)

“No please Nat, don’t go talk to him. If he wanted to see me, or even talk to me, he would.”

“(Y/N), he’s being an ass! He can’t treat you like this just because he feels like it. You’ve been there for him for months now, and what, just because he’s ‘busy’ he has no time for you anymore?”

“Look, I am more hurt by this than I ever thought I’d feel, even more so because I never thought he would be the one to hurt me. But he has, and I don’t know what I did to deserve it but whatever we had is gone.”

“You seem awfully okay to just let this go…”

“I’m not okay, I’m not even remotely okay or fine or managing at all. But I have to anyway, because if he’s too busy to even let me know he’s okay then I can take the hint.”

“You shouldn’t have to just take it. He’s the one that’s pulling away for no reason and you shouldn’t be expected to just accept that.”

“I have to. If he wants to talk, he knows where to find me.”

‘Cause there we are again on that little town street

You almost ran the red ‘cause you were looking over at me

Wind in my hair, I was there, I remember it all too well

(2 months in cont.)

Your laugh echoed through the car, almost drowned out by the wind whistling through and moving your hair in wild directions, your eyes taking in the small town shops and the way the light shone through the trees to cast an earthly glow on the entire place.

You felt him slip his hand underneath yours, his fingers intertwining, squeezing gently. You turned back to him, meeting his eyes, your lips parted slightly in surprise before melting into a smile at the sight of him smiling at you.

You bit your lip gently, feeling his thumb move over your skin, sending shivers across every nerve, butterflies erupting through every part of your stomach. You glanced down, your mind wanting to make sure this was real, before you were jolted in your seat as the car came to a halt.

He erupted into deep, raucous laughter when he realized that he’d narrowly avoided running a red light, a little old lady glaring at the two of you in your own personal bubble, oblivious to the outside world when you had each other.

Photo album on the counter, your cheeks were turning red

You used to be a little kid with glasses in a twin sized bed

And your mother’s telling stories about you on the tee ball team

You tell me ‘bout your past, thinking your future was me

(6 months in)

One night, you were sat on the barstool next to Steve, leaning forward into his side, looking through some old photos that he had found of himself, as well as photos of you when you were younger. He didn’t have many, seeing as it was the 40’s and after his parents died and he went to war, there wasn’t really anyone around to keep things.

He treasured what he had, regaling stories of times when he and Bucky would get into mischief, or when the two of them were so inseparable that he had tried out for the school baseball team just to be with Bucky.

You stared at his profile, taking in every feature - big and small - while he told you of the time that little seven-year-old Steve tried to jump from his twin bed across the room onto his dresser. He had missed and hit the floor with a thud so loud that his mother had raced in fearing he was unconscious. He had broken his glasses, thankful they were intended to be temporary anyway, and he had cut his lip open on his teeth, causing blood to run down his chin and stain his clothes. He’d never heard the end of it from Bucky.

Sliding your photo album forward, his eyes roaming over every single photo and page - studying your child self and commenting about how cute you were, how similar you looked to your mother, how much you had and hadn’t changed - you began telling your own childhood stories.

You rarely opened up to people, having the experience that they always left once they got what they wanted from you, but you slowly began to trust that maybe - just maybe - Steve might be the one who changes your mind, breaks through your walls, and will stick around to be part of your future. Whatever that was, however it happened, you didn’t care so long as he was in it.

And I know it’s long gone

And there was nothing else I could do

And I forget about you long enough

To forget why I needed to

(3 months post…)

As much as you hated to admit it, Nat was right. Being in a new apartment, away from the tower, was good for you. Eating became a regular habit, as did sleep, and you had even moved teams so you didn’t have to see or speak to Steve anymore.

You had deleted him from all of your social media the day you’d started seeing posts of him with Sharon Carter, not wanting to subject yourself to the torture of wondering what she had that you didn’t - why she was good enough for him. Why giving yourself over to him, giving whatever he wanted of you to him without a second thought, wasn’t enough.

Soon, you noticed you’d go a day without him entering your mind, then two, then three. Soon, you were giving him a passing thought at best - focused on your team, missions, and life. Even though you hadn’t gotten any answers, or apology, regardless of the times you’d reached out in hopes of getting one, you had begun to accept that there was nothing else you could do. This was his choice, to cut you out of his life as if you were a malignant tumour that was killing him, and you didn’t need someone like that in your life.

Every now and then, your mind would wander back to him and you’d think of the good times you had, enjoying the untainted memories before you remembered why you were in this position in the first place - why you needed to forget him at all. You deserved better. That was what mattered, and that was why you were determined to forget him, because he didn’t give you any sparing thought when he was cutting into your heart and ripping it to pieces with his silence. Why should you have to continue to suffer for someone else’s choice. You don’t. You deserved better.

You just had to try and remind yourself of that every time you remembered his face, and why you were no longer a part of each other’s lives. You deserved better.

‘Cause there we are again in the middle of the night

We’re dancing around the kitchen in the refrigerator light

Down the stairs, I was there, I remember it all too well, yeah

(7 months in)

You had wandered from your room, seeking out a hot cup of tea in the hopes it would calm your mind enough to sleep. You sat on the very same barstool as the night you had reminisced about your past with Steve, letting the memory relax your body, closing your eyes as the heat flooded through your cold limbs.

“Can’t sleep?”

His low voice, so familiar you didn’t need to look to know he was already sitting next to you, broke through your trip down memory lane.

“Nope, another night of exhaustion and an inability to make up for it. But hey, it’s only 1.30am, I still have time to get in a couple of hours if this tea does its job.”

You smiled weakly, sparing a glance at him while he moved to open the fridge - always on the hunt for food - taking the opportunity to gaze at his form: the way his sweat pants hung low on his hips, his shirt stretching across his shoulders, the way his soft hair was standing haphazardly on end, sleep making him look at least 50 years younger than his 95 years old and almost as if he were vulnerable.

He turned around to face you, sighing with a small smile on his beautiful, soft lips, “ok, come here.”

You quietly put your mug on the counter, shifting off of the barstool and moved into Steve’s open arms. You wrapped your arms around his neck, him hugging your waist, nuzzling into your neck as he began to slowly rock. He pulled away ever so slightly to rest his forehead against yours, moving his arms to rest on your hips, licking his lips.

You both were turning in a small circle, illuminated by the fridge light, the only sound being your slow breaths and your heartbeat thundering in your chest. You heard him begin to hum, one of his favourite slow tunes from the 40’s, letting the sound wash over you and relax your mind. Your eyes grew heavy, laying your head against his chest as he kissed your forehead, his steady heartbeat syncing with yours.

“You know I love you right? You’re my best friend, and I know I said that I don’t think you can love a person unless they’re family or a lover, but you were right. You can love someone more than other people, you love them because you treasure them above all else, without wanting it to be romantic. So, I love you (Y/N).”

You felt a small smile tug at the corner of your mouth. “I know I said that, but I don’t expect you to tell me you love me just because I believe in that kind of love. You don’t and that’s fine, because I know you care about me whether you say it or not.” You let out a long breath, “but in any case, I love you too Steve. You’re my best friend, and I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you in my life.”

You felt him breathe a sigh of relief, his fingers moving under your shirt to trace small circles in the sensitive skin above your hips.

“I’ll always be here. I have nightmares about you leaving me, you know. I wake up panicked, scared you’re really gone.” His hands tightened around you, his voice low and laced with anxiety. “I actually had one tonight, which is why I was up. I’m glad I have you right here with me right now.”

“You know you could always call me or come and find me if you’re having nightmares. I’m always here for you.”

The cold from your body was gone, replaced with his warmth as you nestled yourself further into him, soon begging sleep to let you have just five more minutes.

Maybe we got lost in translation

Maybe I asked for too much

But maybe this thing was a masterpiece

‘Til you tore it all up

Running scared, I was there, I remember it all too well

(1 month post…)

He’d gone radio silent again, only one week after you’d gone to the movies together - his attempt at repairing the rift in your friendship. Relationship? Whatever this was. The pain buried itself deep inside your heart, constricting your chest, as your finger hovered over his name in your phone.

Should you bother texting him anymore? All you got were limited responses, if any at all, but you just couldn’t forget about everything that had happened between you - dropping it as if it never existed in the first place.

It’s as if he got scared of the idea of being close again and high-tailed it out of there, as if you had the plague. Not only had he hurt you the first time he did this, but he’d tried since to hope you’d forgive him, to earn back your trust. You had given him both, even though fear and experience told you to run for the hills and not look back, knowing that your friendship was worth fighting for.

The fact that history repeated itself only told you that whatever you were - whatever you had - he’d torn up, thrown away, burned. What you thought was a masterpiece, was just scrap paper to him. You began to look back over your friendship, trying to pinpoint moments where you might have gotten confused and misunderstood his friendly intentions, or maybe times when you’d asked too much of him, but the only things that came to mind were the times when he’d sought you out - which was every single time - to hold you, kiss you, touch you, and tell you he loved you. There was no mistaking that, right?

Hey, you call me up again just to break me like a promise

So casually cruel in the name of being honest

I’m a crumpled up piece of paper lying here

‘Cause I remember it all, all, all too well

(10 months in)

“Nat, he texted me. I mean, he didn’t come and see me or call me, but he messaged me, asking to go to the movies. He said he misses me. He said he loves me.”

You were staring at your phone in your hand, looking at the text message as if it were physically hurting you, like a hot stone burning into your palm.

“Well what do you want to do?”

You put the phone face down on her bed, throwing yourself into her pillows. “I just want to ignore him, hope that he suffers even a smidgen of what he put me through last month, but I can’t say no. God, why can’t I say no!”

You felt silent tears sliding down your face, thinking back over the way he’d so casually just dropped you from his life without so much as a message or anything. You ceased to exist before you snapped and confronted him. It’d been hours of arguing, yelling, him insisting that he was only doing it out of concern that you were getting feelings for him and he was trying to spare you.

“Steve, I’ve been upfront and honest with you this entire time, and I’ve never made a move on you or done anything unless you initiated it. You hold my hand because you want to, you hug me because you want to, you told me you loved me because you wanted to. I never initiated any of that because I knew you wanted to keep your distance, that you’re not an overly affectionate and emotional person, which is fine by me, just don’t go putting this on me when it was your decision to cut me out.”

“It’s as if you want me to be two different people! You say you want Steve Rogers but then get mad when I’m not Captain America. I can’t be both at the same time, you can’t just pick and choose the parts of me you like.”

“Since when have I ever asked you to choose? I chose you - all of you - from the get go. Not once have I done anything to have you question that, or at least you’ve never brought it up to me. Everything was fine until you decided it wasn’t, Steve, so I can’t play this game. You hurt me, you don’t get to decide you didn’t, and you don’t see how that’s your problem.”

You had stalked away, hiding away behind your locked door, buried under your blanket as you crumpled into a sobbing mess.

The unanswered text message taunted you, before you finally relented and said yes. The whole time, he’d held your hand, grabbed your waist, and made sure that in one way or another, he was always in contact with your skin. When you’d gotten uncomfortable in the theatre seats, he’d shifted the arm rest up, pulling your feet onto his lap as he lazily drew small circles over your thighs.

He’d wrapped his arm around your shoulder when you’d gotten cold, laying small kisses on your cheek and temple, his attention warming the chill you had been trying to maintain in defence. He’d told you he loved you as he dropped you at your door, insistent on walking you even though you lived in the same building, and as soon as he’d left, your phone lit up with a message from him saying goodnight and reminding you he loved you once more.

You began to question what his love meant, fear creeping into your skin as you debated whether his declarations of love were starting to mean something more to him.

Time won’t fly, it’s like I’m paralyzed by it

I’d like to be my old self again but I’m still trying to find it

After plaid shirt days and nights when you made me your own

Now you mail back my things and I walk home alone

(2 months post…)

You were packing up the last of your things, glancing around at the stark, bare room in shock. This had been your home for so long and now it was time to go. Of course, you couldn’t stay anymore when it meant being around him, but you didn’t want to leave your home and your family just because of him. Nat had been insistent that you two needed to move out together, calling your apartment the ‘Widow’s Web’ in an attempt to get your more excited, but you were grieving. The loss of your friend, and the loss of your home.

You were putting the last of your clothes in a box when you pulled out a dark blue plaid shirt, instantly recognizing it as one of his. Your chest caved, remembering how many nights you spent wrapped up in it, the smell of him relaxing you into a deep sleep devoid of your own nightmares. Now, you had to find your own ways to cope, now with your normal nightmares and the ones he’d induced.

You folded it up, placing it on top of the empty dresser as Wanda poked her head in the open door.

“Hiya (Y/N)! Wow, it’s really happening. It’s so strange to think we won’t be neighbours in the tower anymore.”

She put some things down on the stripped bed, hugging you hard, fighting back her own tears.

“I’m so sorry you felt you had to leave to find yourself again lovely.”

You pulled away, nodding for fear that you’d begin crying if you opened your mouth. You noticed the pile of things she’d placed on the bed, your throat closing up.

“Oh, yeah. Steve gave me these to give to you. I wouldn’t of given in if it had been stupid stuff, but I noticed it was all yours and I thought you’d want it back before you left.”

“Thank you Wanda.” You slowly grabbed everything off the bed, handling it as if it were poison, and dropped it into the last box, not caring that it was meant for clothes. You wanted it all out of your sight unless you wanted to spend another hour crying your eyes out.

Wanda pulled you into another hug, your body paralyzed as your mind was lost to thoughts of Steve, and what had happened over the last year - almost a year. You hadn’t even gotten through a year of true friendship before he’d disappeared from your life. No rhyme or reason except being too busy. Even that excuse had faded into nothingness. Silence was what your friendship with him was now. Just devoid of everything except the deafening silence.

But you keep my old scarf from that very first week

‘Cause it reminds you of innocence and it smells like me

You can’t get rid of it ‘cause you remember it all too well, yeah

You had noticed in the months since Steve froze you out, the only thing you hadn’t found was your scarf. You thought maybe he had kept it, wanting a piece of you with him as if he still cared. But anyone who cared about anyone wouldn’t do what he did, so he’d have no sentimental reason to keep the scarf.

You guessed you’d misplaced it sometime, putting the absurd idea that Steve might care for you out of your head.

‘Cause there we are again when I loved you so

Back before you lost the one real thing you’ve ever known

It was rare, I was there, I remember it all too well

It had been six months since you’d left the avengers tower, and your dreams were still haunted by his beautiful face, the way he’d throw his head back whenever he laughed, and the way he’d hold you close - always wanting to be touching your skin, hugging you with his hands on your waist, kissing you on your cheeks or temple. You thought back to the countless times he’d said he loved you, sometimes for no reason at all.

You knew you would’ve gone to war for him if he’d asked. Your love for him would’ve defied anything, because you trusted in him that he would be true to his words and actions, and that he treasured you just as much as you treasured him.

He had always said that he rarely felt true attachments, scared for them to leave or something to happen to them, and yet he was unable to imagine being without you. He’d told you over and over that you were one of the most important people in his life, one of the few he loved and one of the only people he ever told he loved. He felt what you had together was rare, and that he wanted to have you in his life forever.

You realized you two had different definitions of what forever meant.

Wind in my hair, you were there, you remember it all

Down the stairs, you were there, you remember it all

It was rare, I was there, I remember it all too well

You had made it through an entire year without Steve in your life, experiencing moments of joy and triumph that were only yours, not poisoned by his presence, You had been on your way home when you saw the photo. It brought back memories you had tried to bury, not wanting to relive his words and touches, his glances and kisses, not wanting to remember the way he said he loved you, and forever. It was rare he said, but evidently not so rare that it was priceless.

You remembered it all too well.

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