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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

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Of something beautiful, but annihilating🚬4

Warnings: nonconsensual touching, fingering, deceptive behaviour, allusions to abuse.

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Note: I haven’t updated in a minute but I got the yen to come back to Arvin so here we go! Also working away at my gif requests which are super fun :)

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

The fight echoed in your head as Arvin buttoned up the front of your dress, although a few were missing. He helped you to your feet and you leaned on him heavily, barely able to see ahead of you, let alone support yourself on your shaky legs. You climbed the stairs as your mind passed through a tunnel of shock. You didn’t realise you’d even left the living room until you were lowered onto the bed.

Arvin sat beside you, his hand on your shoulder as he spoke softly. You didn’t understand his words as you turned your face away and tears trickled down your tender cheek. You weren’t sad that Roy was gone, you were embarrassed that another had seen what you let him do to you, and terrified of the nice man with the pistol.

Was he really so nice? You barely knew him at all and he’d had a gun under your roof. Sure, Roy had a rifle but that was for hunting. You couldn’t say or even try to imagine why Arvin had a handgun.

The lamp clicked off and the end of the chain clinked against the long stem. You laid in the dark, not daring to move, and after hours of dazed disbelief, you dozed off, your back wracked with pain from the tension and awkward position.

You woke with a stiff neck, a swollen face, and a weight in your chest. You sat up slowly and held your forehead as the bed shifted. Arvin dumped an armful of Roy's old flannels into the open suitcase at the foot of the mattress. You blinked and rubbed your eye as you leaned on one arm. You yawned and stretched your shoulders.

"What are you doing?" You asked.

"I'll see him today," he said as he pulled open the chest of drawers and grabbed the stained and torn denim from within, "make sure he stays away for good."

"What? Arvin," you bent your legs and crossed your arms over your knees, "he's my husband."

"He didn't act like one," he continued to toss Roy's clothes haphazardly into the bag, "he beat you!" He stopped and put his hands on his hips, "he never talked to you nice and…" he stopped and shook his head and closed the suitcase. He zipped it up with a sigh, "I heard him that first night. I figured, you weren't my wife, I could live with it. Well, I can't. You deserve better than him."

"It's not that easy. I can't just toss him out--"

"No, I did," Arvin insisted, "and I'll keep him out."

"You shouldn’t have done that. Last night. He'll be mad."

"So?" Arvin hauled the bag off the bed and dragged it to the door. The bottom of his shirt moved and revealed the butt of the gun sticking out of the top of his jeans.

"Are you gonna make sure with that?" You asked as you turned your legs over the side of the bed, "you can't just shoot him, you know that, don't you?"

"Of course, but he doesn't know I won't," Arvin looked back at you, "I'm gonna make breakfast then head out… how's your head?"

"Feels like there's a rock in my temple," you groaned and stood, "I don't want anyone to get hurt."

"No one but you, huh?" He challenged, "Look, I won't hurt him, I promise, but I also won't let him hurt you."

You neared him meekly as you hugged yourself, "why?"

"Because you do," he said, "because if you won't save yourself, I will. I have to," he looked down at his scuffed shoes, "I seen too many girls, too many women, hurt in my life. I ain't that old, you know? But I can't stand no more."

You watched him go and listened to him descend the old stairs. You frowned and flinched as you glanced around and caught a glimpse of yourself in the antique oval mirror your mother had left behind all those years ago. You looked as bad as you felt, worse; you couldn't help but be comforted by Arvin's concern, in fact, it felt good to have someone who cared about you.

🚬

It was hard to concentrate that day. Even a chore as simple as the dishes or sweeping the floors took twice as long as usual as your mind strayed to the night before and fears of what was to come.

You tried to convince Arvin to leave the bag there but he wasn’t folding, not like you. You admired him for that, but at the same time it made you squirm. Something had changed. He was no longer the sweet young man staying in your attic, he became the indomitable and angry man waving the gun around as he spoke about killing others without so much as flinching.

You remembered what he said. He’d killed a man before, or was it men? It wasn’t like you had anyone who could or would help you. You doubted Roy would come back even if you wanted him to, and on that front, you just couldn’t be sure. He was your husband and it was improper to put him out but let another man sleep under your roof.

The only woman in town who’d dared divorce her husband was Carmen Dolan and there was no where in town she went where people didn’t whisper about her; at the store, in church, and even on the sidewalks. It didn’t matter that her husband was sneaking around or that he was little better than Roy in his manners. It was a small place and people had too much time to talk.

Well, how many friends did you have there? Noreen couldn’t be called as much and all the girls you knew in school were married and too busy to keep up those old teenage ties. You could bide them at the sewing circles, they never were very nice, and you went to church out of obligation not out of a need for that ridiculous shallow socializing of housewives. Besides, you’d failed at all that, hadn’t you?

Then you began to worry. What if Roy flipped and hurt Arvin? Or Arvin hurt him? The suitcase would hardly be taken with a thanks. If Roy was ashamed enough he might just grumble and ignore the other man for the rest of the day, but if he wasn’t, he might just pick up where they left off last night.

You were hanging out the washing when a faded old Chevrolet drove up the dusty drive. You squinted past the stiff jeans as it steered closer and the engine stopped. Arvin climbed out and jingled the keys as he went around the other side. He took out a paper bag and crossed the yard.

“How was your day?” he asked with a smile.

You stared, dumbfounded. How could he act so… normal?

“Wh--what happened with…” your voice trailed out and you unclipped a pair of his jeans.

“Roy? Oh, he took his things and tucked tail after lunch,” he scoffed, “he didn’t look too good. Probably didn’t feel good neither.”

You nodded and dropped the jeans into the basket and tucked the pegs into your pocket. He crinkled the paper bag and stopped you from reaching to the next pair.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

You shook your head and stepped back so that his hand fell from your arm.

“I know last night was-- hard. I only did what I had to, not anything I wanted to,” his brows drew together, “here.”

He held out the paper bag and you eyed it warily. You chewed your lip and he stepped closer.

“Please, it’s, uh, I want you to have it,” he said, “you deserve it and maybe it is an apology. I went a little far but… I don’t regret it. Roy got what was coming.”

You took the bag and he tucked his hands in his pockets. “You didn’t have to get me nothing,” you said.

“Like I said, I wanted to. You do all the hard work here,” he replied, “and I’ll finish this up.”

He reached up and took down the next pair of pants and put them in the basket with the rest. He moved down the line as you watched him, the bag under your arm. You didn’t move, just watched. You looked over at the Chevrolet and frowned.

“Where’d you get the car?” you asked.

“Used,” he said as he folded a shirt in half and dropped it into the basket, “they had it down at the shop for a while now and I told the boss to take out installments from my next few checks. He didn’t mind much, he ain’t been able to get rid of it. Some work to be done but--” He lifted the basket and neared you, “you didn’t look yet?”

“Inside,” you said, “I didn’t wanna just leave you out here with all that.”

You nodded to the laundry and he pointed you toward the house. He followed you up onto the porch and through the screen door. He stopped to slip off his shoes and continued on after you into the living room. You put the bag down on the end table and uncurled the top.

You pulled out the large square and held up the record. The man who stared back at you had sparkling blue eyes and black hair. Elvis Presley smiled as if it was all a funny joke.

“There’s more,” he said.

You set down the record against the arm of the couch and reached into the brown bag again. You pulled out the fabric and a finely tailored pink dress in the latest style unfolded before you. You stared as he neared and he took the bag from the table. He revealed the last piece from the bag and set them down on the carpet, a pair of brand new heels.

“Why did you do all this?” you shoved the dress at him, “I can’t accept it.”

“You can,” he stepped back, “and just so you know, I’ll be paying my rent to you direct now.”

He sidled past you and took the album from the couch. He went to the record player and slid the vinyl from the sleeve. He carefully placed it on the player and lined up the pin. He turned back to you and crossed the room. He pulled the dress from your hands and let it slump over the couch cushion.

“Do you know the shimmy? I could show you? It’s the new thing,” he said as he took your hand, “you just move your hips, bend your legs a little, keep your arms out like this.” He moved slowly at first as he drew you into the middle of the room, “just with me, to the rhythm.”

“I can’t,” you protested, “really, I’m not a dancer.”

“Me neither, but it’s fun,” he tugged on your hand, “come on.”

He sang out of tune as he kept his hips moving. You watched him and tried to copy him, hoping to placate him long enough that you could escape to the kitchen. The dress, the album, the dancing, it all felt so wrong.

As the song ended, he brought you close and wrapped you up and slowed down. He swayed you with him as the record kept spinning. His eyes clung to yours.

“He didn’t know what he had,” he said.

“Arvin, I gotta start supper,” you whispered as you pushed on him, “please.”

“I got you the new dress so we could go to the drive-in,” he kept you against him, “Friday night. You like Audrey Hepburn?”

“I… haven’t seen much of her,” you confessed, “Arvin, really, the ham--”

“He’s not coming back,” he released you reluctantly, “I told you. I told him.”

“He’s still my husband,” you crossed your arms and looked down.

“Is he? He never treated you like his wife.”

“It’s the law--”

“Divorce him. You’ll keep the house, it’s yours. Your daddy left it to you.”

“And do what? I can’t afford it on my own--”

“You got me.”

“You won’t stay here forever,” you uttered.

He didn’t say anything and narrowed his eyes. He shrugged and turned away. “You have options and Roy is the wrong one,” he said, “you can’t hate yourself that much.”

You barely heard him and didn’t know how to respond. So you didn’t and left him to Elvis’ soft tones as you went to pull out the honey ham. You still had some of your sweet mustard left in that jar from last year or maybe the apple sauce. It was easier to focus on the food and not the madness of men.

🚬

The nights and days drifted by like sand in a glass. Whenever Arvin was there, even when he was in the attic and you were below, you were painfully aware that it was only the two of you in that big house. You weren’t afraid for yourself really, he hadn’t done anything to you. You should hate Roy for how he’d been to you all those years but you didn’t want to be the reason he got hurt.

But as the time went by, it was also harder to tell Arvin no. You never thought anyone could be overly helpful, especially after Roy’s indifference, but you were overwhelmed by his presence. He was always lurking around when you least expected, watching you, waiting. He always offered to finish the chore or kept you from doing it entirely. You should be thankful but it made you feel more guilty than anything.

When Friday came, you carried on your usual routine. You were mopping when the Chevrolet pulled up. He’d spent the night before with his head under the hood. He said it wasn’t too bad for the price and the repairs were minimal and none so urgent.

The car door closed then his steps walked up onto the porch. As he entered the house, you hit the mop against the wall and kept your head down, swiping back and forth against the wood. He didn’t dare to step past the threshold and mess your clean floors.

“You should finish up and get ready,” he said.

You looked up at him and feigned ignorance. You hoped all day he would forget about the movie. You didn’t want to wear the dress, it made your wedding ring chafe just to think of it. You focused again on the mop and kept back stepping away from him.

“Maybe not tonight, Arvin,” you said, “I’m tired.”

“You don’t have to work yourself sick,” he leaned against the doorframe, “really. You can always just take a day and… relax.”

You put the mop in the bucket and rested it against the wall. You took a deep breath but didn’t look at him.

“I don’t think we should go at all.”

He sighed and rubbed his cheek, “Really? Roy hasn’t even tried to come back. Hasn’t even tried to apologise. In all these years, did he ever once say sorry to you for anything?”

“Maybe not but I married him. I made that decision and I have to see it through.”

“Not like that,” he tutted, “besides, it’s just a movie…”

“Just a movie,” you repeated and walked over the drying floor, “alright then.”

He watched you and the thoughts wrinkled on his forehead. He let you go as you grabbed the railing and ascended the stairs. You felt his eyes on you, even after you turned down the hall, as if he could see you through the walls.

“We got time,” he called up, “no rush. It’s not even close to dark but I don’t want you to worry about… all this.”

You didn’t reply and closed the bedroom door. You sat on the end of your bed and clasped your hands. You still felt terribly trapped. You didn’t think so much of what Roy would say, he always said the worst. You thought about your father and how disappointed he would be. You knew he wouldn’t have let Roy treat you so bad if he was still alive, but he would still be sad if he knew how it all worked out.

🚬

You hadn’t been to the drive-in since you were going steady with Roy. It was a singular occasion and an unpleasant one. He got drunk and couldn’t drive home so you had to get behind the wheel and pray you didn’t crash. It wasn’t that you couldn’t drive, you just hated it. Thinking of it then, you should have expected all that came after.

Arvin pulled in as the sky dimmed slowly and he left you to go to concession and grab popcorn. When he returned, he handed you a box of chocolates as he cradled the large paper bag of kernels. You thanked him and opened the box, distracting yourself with the chewy caramels covered in milk chocolate. You offered him some as you looked around and waited for the screen to flash into motion.

There were a few families among the patrons but mostly teenagers, couples and groups, rowdy as they impatiently hollered for the film to roll. You hadn’t heard of this one, Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Arvin said he read about it in the paper and it was supposed to be a flick meant for ladies. He said he didn’t mind as he liked the actors.

When at last it was dark enough, the movie began and you set the box down on the seat and munched on a handful of popcorn out of courtesy. The credits began and you were quickly swept up into the life of Holly Golightly. You were almost agog to think that a woman could live like her. City life seemed so different, so free, so scary. And she didn’t let all those men rule her.

You felt Arvin slide closer to you and his arm snaked around your shoulders. You tensed as you focused on Hepburn’s waifish voice and offkey plucking of the ukulele. You tried to ignore him as you felt his warm breath and the kiss on your temple made you wince. Your eyes flicked over to the car on the other side of you, then the next. The audience was rapt.

His hand grazed along your skirt and he kissed your cheek. Your heart raced wildly. You wanted to stop him but didn’t know how. And he was so sweet and he did so much for you. He’d brought you all the way here and kept Roy from cracking your head open. Could you really say no?

“I know I said it already,” his hand lingered on the pink fabric, “but this looks wonderful on you.”

“Thank you,” you whispered as you kept your wide eyes on the screen.

“Really, you’re beautiful, honey,” he purred as he nuzzled your throat, “living so close… it’s hard…”

He pushed his hand under your skirt and up between your thighs. He wiggled until you parted your legs and grabbed your chin with his other. He turned you to face him and crushed his lips against yours. He leaned on you until you were flat against the seat and he brought your legs up onto the leather as he held himself over you.

He kissed you even deeper as his fingers tickled over the front of your panties and crawled up to the top. He slipped his hand down the front of your underwear and you whimpered. When he touched you, you were afraid but confused. It felt good, better than anything you’d ever done with Roy.

You gulped and turned your head as you gasped. You grabbed his shoulder and shuddered. His fingers delved between your folds and swirled. You murmured and squeezed his arm.

“Please, I’m-- I’m still married, we can’t--”

He nibbled at your neck and blindly reached up to grab your hand. He gripped the ring on your finger and forced it off and flicked it away. It rolled under the seat as he rasped against your throat.

“He’s gone,” his fingers danced around your clit eagerly, “don’t you understand? I’ll make sure he doesn’t come back, honey.”

“Arvin, I--” you squeaked as the waves swelled and flowed down your legs and you were caught in the tide, “please…”

You closed your eyes, your mind stormed with how wrong it was but your body pulsed with delight. He pushed his fingers further back and the heel of his hand pressed to your bud. He curled his fingers inside of your and you moaned as he rested the weight of his pelvis against his hand. He rocked his touch in time with his hips, as if he was fucking you, and kissed you on the mouth again, swallowing up your desperate cries.

Your legs wrapped around his as you came and you tilted your pelvis as you rode the high. He lifted his head to watch you orgasm and your lashes fluttered as you succumbed to the ecstasy. You squirmed as he slowed his fingers and stilled his hand entirely. You were out of breath as he stopped at last but kept his hand nestled between your legs.

You covered your face with your shaky hand and exhaled deeply. He pulled your hand down and rubbed the tip of his nose against yours.

“I’ll buy you a new ring,” he purred, “a nicer one.”

#Arvin Russell #dark arvin russell #dark!arvin russell #arvin russell x reader #the devil all the time #Of something beautiful but annihilating #series #fic #dark!fic #dark fic

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heloisedaphnebrightmore · 4 years ago

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Honest mistake [Ron Weasley x Reader]

Title: Honest mistake Pairing: Ron Weasley x Reader Word count: 2.5k Published: 13 April 2021 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Warning: Alcohol, drunk teenagers Summary: [x] Winning a quidditch game means one thing and one thing only, drunken teenagers stumbling across the corridors of Hogwarts. Ron Weasley isn’t any different, he is anything but sober by the time you catch up with the trio and for once you don’t mind drunk people. Bingo: [x] This is part of my Band–psychos 1.5k Followers Bingo Card by @band--psycho

Square filled: Drunken Confession

Harry Potter Characters Masterlist | Masterlists

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Winning a quidditch match meant one thing and one thing only. Teenagers drunkenly stumbling around the castle trying not to be caught by Filch and Mrs. Norris. It was a hard task, one that many failed to achieve. But you seemed to be on the right path as you hid in empty classrooms, behind statues and hidden passages. You were on your way to the Gryffindor common room to continue the party, you simply slipped out to help your friend going back to the Ravenclaw common room after she had decided that clumsily undressing herself on a table would be the best way to entertain the rest of the school. Although she was somewhat comical, you couldn’t let her go through with it, so there you were, trying to sneak back in.

Luckily the corridor leading to the Gryffindor tower was empty, no sign of Filch or his cat, but you still kept the noise of your shoes as faint as you could possibly manage. You quickly whispered the password to the Fat Lady, who opened the door for you, although murmuring something under her breath that you couldn’t quite catch.

“Finally, where were you?” George slurred as he threw his arm around your shoulder, his scent of alcohol immediately hitting your nostrils.

“You smell like fire-whiskey, George,” you grimaced as you removed his arm from your shoulder.

“It’s the smell of adulthood,” he shouted after you, but you didn’t even acknowledge that you heard his drunken rumbling. You looked around searching for your cousin, Angelina, who previously tried to get you as drunk as she was, unsuccessfully. Drinking wasn’t something you enjoyed, and it wasn’t because of the taste of alcohol, but because it felt like you lost control over yourself and that wasn’t something you enjoyed. You liked to be in control one way or another.

As you tried to push past the sea of people, you caught sight of Angelina, but she seemed to be rather occupied by Fred Weasley’s lips. Rolling your eyes, you turned around, searching for some better company. There was one particular ginger boy you were interested in finding, but you couldn’t see him anywhere nor did you see his friends. Hermione, Harry and Ron were glued by the hips as far as you saw and when one was gone so were the others.

Giving up on your search you flopped down on an empty armchair, not far from Fred and Angelina, who seemed to have better things to do than realise your presence. The sound of their saliva exchange seemed to bother you the longer you sat in your spot and by the time Angelina slipped into Fred’s lap, you couldn’t handle it anymore. The definition of control was something you just wanted to forget as the whole Gryffindor common room was a mess of drunkenly stumbling kids with no self-control. You couldn’t handle the sight, the noises, the crowd, you reached for the lonely bottle of fire-whiskey on the table and chugged a good shot down your throat.

Inevitably you started coughing, your body’s reaction to the unusual substance was obvious rejection, making you feel like you were about the throw up. Taking slow, deep breaths however seemed to have worked as the alcohol stayed down and after taking a second and third round, your body got used to the feeling. The room started heating up and you felt your cheeks flush, your ears burn as though someone changed the temperature in the room. But you weren’t naive, you knew it was simply the effects of the alcohol.

“Someone changed her mind about alcohol,” Angelina quipped as she finally parted from Fred. You didn’t even realise when the smooching sound has stopped, but it felt calm and somewhat pure again, regardless of all the drunk, dumb teenagers crowding the room.

“I couldn’t handle the atmosphere anymore,” you replied in a dry tone.

“Or?” she raised a questioning brow, a rather suspicious smile spread across her face.

“Or what?” you squinted with a deep frown across your brows, trying to understand her indications.

“You know, liquid courage,” she winked playfully, but her words meant nothing to you.

“I have no idea what you are on about. What would I need courage for?” You grimaced, scrunching your nose in the process.

“Obviously to ask Ron out,” she deadpanned you as if her statement was natural.

“Hold on a minute, you have a crush on my brother?” Fred quipped in with a wide grin on his face, one that didn’t indicate you were about to get out of this uncomfortable situation any time soon.

“Oh, she is head over heels for him,” Angelina laughed, slightly tilting her head back, holding onto her stomach. You didn’t find the situation quite as funny as she did, but it might have been because of the difference in the amount of alcohol you both consumed.

“So, when are you going to confess?” Fred asked with a humorous tone to his voice. Although you expected to be made fun of, it felt wrong that they found your feelings for the youngest Weasley brother comical. Watching him for years, yearning to be close to him and being swept aside to be stuck in only a friendship with him was beyond hard for you to handle and now that two people who were close to you made fun of you certainly didn’t help your unfortunate case.

“I’m glad you are enjoying the situation,” you huffed, trying to divert your attention from the couple, indicating that you didn’t find their presence interesting any longer.

“Oh, come on, we were just joking around,” Fred added upon seeing how uncomfortable he’d made you. But there was no reply, you didn’t even spare a glance at him. Fred heaved a heavy sigh and stood up, stumbling over to you and taking a seat on the arm of your chair. “Listen to me, my brother is a complete idiot for not realising your feelings, and I’m an idiot for making fun of you too, but it’s in our blood, maybe he just needs a little nudge,” he grinned proudly as if his idea was some sort of newfound solution. But in reality, you have tried to nudge the boy so many times, giving him hints, staying close to him as much as you could, but he remained blind to your feelings.

“If I nudge him anymore, I might as well push him down a hill,” you added bitterly, making Fred snort.

“I think our mother would have a say in that, but whatever you feel comfortable with,” he kept chuckling as he walked back to Angelina and captured her lips again. You never meant to be bitter about other couples, you didn’t want to be jealous, but watching them embracing each other made you feel useless for once. You stood up from the couch, securing your firm grip around the bottle of fire-whiskey as you stumbled around the room, not even trying to control your own body’s reaction to the alcohol. At that moment you just didn’t care anymore.

“Hey, we were looking for you,” you heard Hermione’s voice from across the room faintly. It took you a good few seconds to find her as you glanced around the room in anticipation, hoping the ginger boy was close by. As you caught a glimpse of Hermione’s bushy hair with Ron and Harry on each of her sides, you cut through the crowd, halting in front of the trio.

“So was I. Where were you?” You questioned as you tried to catch Ron’s eyes, but he found his shoes more interesting than your presence. You heaved a heavy sigh, one that has been an hourly occurrence around the boy, each time destroying just a little more of the hope you still harboured for the slightest of chance that you might just have a tiny chance with the boy.

“Ron got a bit too drunk,” Harry huffed in an annoyed tone.

“As if,” Ron quipped in, his cheeks crimson red, his words slurred. You found his pouting adorable, and you could barely contain the small smile threatening to grow wider.

“He confessed his undying love to me,” Harry added with a deadpan expression.

“I didn’t see that it was you,” Ron added in haste, trying to save himself from further embarrassment.

“You were looking straight into my eyes whilst you did so. So, whether you really are in love with me, or you have had way too much to drink. Your choice,” Harry raised a questioning brow, waiting for his friend to reply.

“Well, I’m certainly not in love with you,” he huffed.

“Then I guess you are drunk, what a surprise,” Harry retorted, making you giggle.

“Whatever,” Ron shrugged, heading towards an empty sofa and dropping down on it.

“Can you pay attention to him until I get some food and water for him from the kitchen?” Hermione asked with an exhausted expression and you could just imagine the amount of effort it took her not to strangle her drunk friend.

“Of course, but hurry back. He needs to just sleep it off,” you told her as she nodded and walked past you with Harry in her steps.

You walked over to the couch, looking at the boy, his limbs spread all over the cushions, his eyes closed, clearly in need of a good sleep. “Don’t worry, Hermione and Harry will be back soon and then you can go upstairs,” you tried to reassure him as you sat down beside him.

His eyes opened and effortlessly stared at you, making you feel as though you were tiny under his intense gaze. You attempted to turn away, but his blue eyes completely captured you and as much as you tried, you couldn’t get yourself to take your eyes off him. Gulping loudly, you shifted deeper into your spot, feeling as though it would be better to disappear.

“You’re fairly pretty, you know?” He asked with a lopsided grin, his confidence surprising you.

“Excuse me?” You asked, fearing you have heard him wrong.

“You’re quite pretty,” he repeated himself as he leaned closer, this time making sure you heard him well. His cheeks were slightly blushed, his freckles scattered all over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

“Qu—quiet? What does that even mean? Am I supposed to feel happy and take it as a compliment or were you trying to insult me?” You chuckled awkwardly, although you were rather happy both as a result of the bottle of fire-whiskey you were still holding on to and the compliment or so that you have received from Ron for the first time.

“Well, I mean— I can’t just walk up to you and confess my love for you, can I?” He snorted, laughing at himself, but you didn’t find his words funny. You were stunned, your smile disappeared and there was only one thing going through your mind. How sincere he was. “You would kill me if you realised how much I loved you,” he added, surprising you even more. Trying to control your heartbeat, you took deep breaths, but it didn’t seem to help. His words affected you both physically and emotionally. Your cheeks felt as though they were burning, your breathing was irregular, and you could physically feel your blood pulsing through your veins whilst your brain didn’t seem to process his words.

“What did you just say?” You asked, needing reassurance.

“I said you would murder me if I told you how much I loved you and I can’t risk that,” he slurred, his eyes closed once again, feeling tired from the amount of alcohol he has consumed throughout the night.

“Ronald, you just have,” you tried to reason with him, a small smile hiding in the corner of your lips, his confession making you feel content. It did run across your mind that it was the alcohol talking, but in the end, you just ignored the voices, because alcohol or not, no sane person would make such a silly mistake.

“No, I haven’t. You might have a hearing problem,” he replied cluelessly, shrugging his shoulder. You found his state rather funny, so you decided to push him.

“So, you don’t like me?” You asked, raising your brows curiously.

“Wait what?” he asked as though he finally realised something was wrong. His adam’s apple bopped firmly as he swallowed, his palms sweating in his nervous state. “I—you are my friend, of course, I like you,” he tried to save the situation.

“Then you won’t mind if I leave you here and go and dance with other people. You wouldn’t mind a bit,” you questioned with a rather proud smile.

“Erm— I’m your friend and I don’t feel well,” he cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck, trying to keep his hands occupied. “As a friend it wouldn’t be nice of you if you left me like this,” he added, nodding along to his clever thinking.

“Okay, but after you have gone to sleep, it would be perfectly fine if I danced with others, right? You wouldn’t be jealous,” you asked with an innocent smile. Ron was clearly searching for the right words, but they just didn’t come.

“If— if that makes you happy, sure, go ahead,” he nodded along awkwardly, confused about his own words. You couldn’t stop the silent giggle from leaving your lips as you leaned closer and kissed the corner of his lips.

“I like you too, Ronald,” you chuckled at his cheeks taking on an even darker shade of pink and the surprise sitting across his face.

“Hey, we are back, let’s get you up,” Harry added as he appeared in the crowd with Hermione following him behind. “Are you okay?” Harry asked, looking at his friend who still looked at you as though he had seen a ghost.

“He is just tired,” you replied instead of him with a proud smile.

“Come on,” Harry stepped closer, hooking his arm around Ron’s body, placing his arm around his own shoulder.

“I meant it,” you quickly said causing Hermione and Harry to frown, but Ron understood. A wide grin spread across his face as he tried to balance himself.

“So did I,” he chuckled and leaned closer, hinting a small kiss on your forehead. “Hopefully I won’t be dead tomorrow and we can actually sit down and talk without me feeling like a rag doll,” he laughed, and you couldn’t stop yourself from returning his expression.

“I’d certainly love that,” you offered him a sweet smile as he nodded and stumbled across the common room with Harry’s help.

“What was that about?” Hermione asked with a deep frown, for the first time feeling completely clueless.

“I guess you will just have to wait to find out,” you giggled as you headed towards the dormitory, shoving the bottle of whiskey into George’s hand. You left the loud crowd and walked up the stairs to your room, with a wide grin across your face, impatiently waiting to wake up even though you weren’t even asleep just yet.

Notes: If you enjoyed reading this little piece, please don’t forget to leave a like, comment and/or reblog. Your opinion matters and gives us motivation. Thank you ^^

If you enjoy my stories, please consider donating and supporting me on Ko-fi. Of course, it’s completely your choice, I will continue updating for free anyway :) Thank you <3

Taglist is in a reblog from now on.

#ron weasley #ron weasley x reader #ron weasley x reader fanfiction #ron weasley x reader imagine #ron weasley x reader oneshot #band—psychos bingo challenge #harry potter fanfiction #rupert grint #Ronald Weasley

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evarcana · 3 years ago

Text

I See the Moon

Oh when you are looking at the sun

Ev wears some very impractical shoes and learns that she does not know the city quite as well as she thought.

characters: the usual cast of Ev and consul Valerius

words: 2,4k

warnings: none!

notes: I wanted to write something short and sweet to act as a placeholder between the previous part and what is coming next, but I think I got a bit too emotionally attached in the process. The title is from “Be the One” by Dua Lipa and I will leave it open for interpretations.

Darkness strikes Ev’s eyes as she steps out of the theatre doors and for a moment she is completely lost in time and space, staring at her surroundings as if seeing everything for the first time - the disorientation which comes with returning to reality after the magic of the theatre wears off.

A few myopic street lanterns glimmer faintly and the moon, pitched extraordinarily high, is covered by the ragged organza of thin clouds and barely available to light the streets below. Passing groups of people turn into clusters of dark silhouettes, and Ev watches the collars being lifted and scarfs wrapped tighter, as the theatregoers hide themselves from the wind moist with the cool evening dew and disappear into the shadows, leaving only trails of soft footsteps and animated chatter behind them. It is this time of the year when night falls suddenly and way quicker than anyone anticipates.

The impatient tug on Ev’s arm cuts through the hazy darkness. “Are you going to let me leave or what?!” Valerius sounds desperate in his exasperation.

“Just a moment and you are free.” Still watching the dark street, Ev reaches for her bag and throws a pair of flat pointy mules decorated with golden beads and tassels on the ground in front of her. Using Valerius’s arm for support, she lifts one leg to untie the ribbons on her ankle. Somebody behind them helpfully holds the theatre door open, letting the light out, and they both stare at Ev’s bright red toenails as she steps out of her shoes. Ev frowns to herself and curls her toes - it is hard to be an intimidating opponent when you wear a cute sparkly little ring on your fourth toe, when she feels another tug and catches her breath in surprise, losing her balance. The arm slips from under her hand causing her to immediately crash into Valerius. Well, no chance of looking like a menace now. At least Valerius can’t run away, she thinks, because her entire face is smashed into his chest. “So impatient,” Ev rolls her eyes and tucks her heels in the bag.

Valerius hurries to brush off something invisible from his coat and then looks down at Ev’s feet with cynical interest, “Going on a hike?”

She contemplates telling that it took her a very detoured walk from the palace and four nervous circles around the Town Square to finally burn all that destructive energy her body generated in their morning argument, and that right now she is dying to rub her sore ankles, but decides against it. After all, wounded animals are easy prey. “Looks like it,” Ev says, shifting her weight from one foot to another. She scans the road once again and clicks her tongue. There is a carriage pulling away, two people inside, and another one rolling on towards the theatre, the coachman already waving to somebody, but most of the theatre crowd chooses to walk. They all must be locals, or heading to the closest tavern, Ev realises.

“Don’t tell me, -” Valerius’s voice says and Ev looks up, surprised that he is still standing there, “you don’t have a carriage because you were hoping to find a date to continue the night. You shall forgive me for ruining this little plan of yours.” His words are dripping with distaste.

She realises that Valerius must have been following her eyeline. The nervous lough blasts out of her but she manages to catch it and it turns to sound like a cough. A lucky guess on his part? Or did he take inspiration from his own plans? Ev refuses to think about the whole theatre fiasco. The sinking feeling in her chest has started and she puts her hands on her hips in annoyance. “I thought there would be carriages waiting,” she manages to say.

Valerius arches his brow in response, “...how pathetic.” Ev gives him her best withering look and turns away.

The last carriage departs with the din of wheels hitting the worn edges of the stones. Valerius’s eyes are still set on Ev’s face and his brow begins to crease slowly. He is clearly deliberating something but Ev cannot see it. She is watching clouds moving slowly across the moon. “Where do you live?”, he finally asks.

“By the Town Square,” Ev responds automatically, squinting at the sky above her.

“Not in the Heart District?” It sounds like a genuine question at first but the edge of his mouth lifts in a wry grin. “Didn’t you say I wasn’t the only one with the money here?”

“Too close to you,” she smirks back, “the urge of leaving a dead fish by your gate at least weekly would be -,” she leans in closer, turning her voice into syrupy sweet hush, “- irresistible”. This is getting weird. “Anyway,” Ev hurriedly looks behind her shoulder at the theatre doors, “I think it is going to rain later. Have a good night,” the words come in a flat orderly row, she is already concerned with something else, “I will see whether the theatre director can fetch me a carriage.”

“My carriage is waiting down the road.”

“Mm good,” Ev mutters to herself but then the realisation hits and she turns to the consul, eyes wide. “Are you offering me a lift home?” A ‘thank you’ sign lights inside her head but she crashes it with a wave of suspicion. It’s Valerius out of all people. He has no reason to offer her a ride in his carriage besides plotting to murder her and then ditch the body somewhere in the forest. Ev gives him a hard stare.

Valerius breaks the staring game first - his eyes flash with the new unidentified emotion before he regains his usual dismissive look. “Not home,” he snorts, “to the Town Square,this should suffice for a favour.”

“No no, hold on,” Ev raises her hand in protest. “I haven’t asked you anything yet, and hospitality is not a favour.”

“What hospitality are you talking about?”

“You repeat that it is your city all the time! Technically, I am still a guest.” Inside her head Ev is thanking all the available gods for her ability to just keep talking, regardless of whether it makes sense or not, because she definitely has not processed what happened yet.

“Yes, well, just keep your mouth shut,” Valerius says and walks off without a backward glance, his back soon disappearing in the darkness of the narrow lane.

Ev’s eyes follow his path and then she throws another look at the theatre building. The light in one of its rounded windows goes down. She watches the emptying street and feels the goose bumps scatter her forearms. The air is beginning to chill. She looks down at her feet. Ev decides that the consul is the kind of man who would rather pay somebody if he wanted to get rid of her than being involved himself and for the second time this evening she rushes after Valerius. This is so weird.

She is about to call him out to slow down because the sound of duck feet that her ‘emergency’ shoes make is getting on her nerves when she hears a loud thud and a curse. In the darkness of the path Ev is not sure how close Valerius is to her but she knows that he stumbled and it makes her giggle in delight. She stretches her hand out glancing at the strips of warm candlelight coming from the gaps in the window shutters and the ivory glare of the moon. A small globe of light, the size of a plum, forms above her hand. Its light is delicate and warm, as if filtered through the frosted glass, but bright enough to fill the space between the two of them.

The consul straightens up quickly, “Why -”

“I don’t know about you but I like my toes all intact,” Ev walks over to him. “It’s only a small trick, here,” she raises her hand and the light gets brighter, “you can touch it, it’s not hot.”

Valerius takes a step back, looking at the ball of light suspiciously. “You are full of tricks, aren’t you?” he says.

“Don't even make me start on what you are full of.” She bunches her hand in a fist and the light sphere drops down but, before hitting the ground, it bounces back in the air like a small ball and splits into a dozen of smaller lights, startling Valerius. They hover in the air along the path similar to a garland of lanterns as they walk in silence until the lane ends, opening to the canal, and Ev asks, “Is it your carriage there?”

***

The servant opens the carriage door and much to Ev’s astonishment, Valerius waits for her to get in first. She gives him a confused look but complies. There is no evening chill inside and the cushioned seats are invitingly soft, so Ev’s immediately decides that regardless of what is going to happen it was a good idea not to walk home. Valerius takes a seat opposite her and reaches to unbutton his coat and pull his long loose braid from under the collar. His head rolls gently to the side and Ev sees a couple of inches of the neck, soft lines and the glowing skin. She feels her cheeks beginning to heat, suddenly remembering the warmth and the bitter almond fragrance she breathed in every time she got too close to the man, and gods did she get too close tonight.

This is about as far from the real world as Ev can imagine. The carriage is small and the little triangle of her beaded slipper somehow ended up between the consul’s leather boots. If she was to stretch her leg, the bareskin on the side her foot would brush along his shin. They have never sat this close together. Ev thinks about the old lady from the theatre. How would she feel if she knew that she was the only thin barrier stopping them from recognising each other and fully succumbing to the mutual hostility, claiming at least half of the theatre as casualties in the process. This could have been a disaster.

Ev looks at Valerius again and tries to understand how could she not recognise these features straight away. The signature crease between the dark brows and the sulky mouth. Valerius sits in silence, and his eyes are definitely not the ones she knows. They are so wistful and lonely, and so golden under the lamp light, Ev has to look away.

She puts a hand under her chin and leans to the window. A fine mist of rain has started to grit on the glass, and behind the sparks of its tiny drops - a bridge arches over the canal’s silver curve, both ends of which are clipped by infinity, which, in the dim light of the early night, is only ten feet away. The backdrop is all in flashes of the lit windows and the black outlines of pointed rooftops, round cupolas and slender towers, all together resembling a crown adorned by a single grand jewel of the moon, burning bright white. Then, the skyline and even the moon gets momentarily obscured by the huge wall, deprived of any lights, looking ghostly in the tempered gloom.

“That massive rounded building, what is it?” Ev is surprised with herself for striking a conversation.

“Have you not seen it before?”

“No, I have not really been to this part of the city,” she says, turning to Valerius, “What is it? A hippodrome?”

“It's the coliseum. The count’s favourite place,” he gives a chuckle which sounds bitter. “The man loved... performances.”

“What kind of performances?” Ev asks, watching his mouth twisting in distaste. Something about his look makes her frown.

“Gladiators. Bloodshed which lacked any order or purpose besides the count’s own entertainment,” Valerius rubs the bridge of his nose and glances to the window. Ev cannot tell whether he is looking at the moon or the looming coliseum, considering something. “But it’s not what this place was intended for,” he pauses. He turns back to Ev and the expression in his eyes is softer. “It was built before Lucio became a count, although it was slightly less grand back then. The rituals and ceremonies were conducted there during the festivities and the previous count used to reenact scenes of the famous battles there, using the actors. It brought the whole city together. Nobody wants to remember those days anymore.”

Ev feels a weird tremble inside and she is not sure what has caused it until she realises that it is a strange, unusual affection in his voice. She crosses her arms and seats back to contain the feeling. It’s so freaking strange to talk to him when his face is not a mask of boredom. “Did you use to come to watch?” she asks.

“Only when I had to. As if I would mix myself with the roaring crowd of plebeians. Besides, it was terribly distatestful and the smell inside was disgusting.” His mouth tightens, and a strange shadow clouds his expression this time. “Pointless waste of human life.”

“Oh,” is all Ev can manage. She cannot stop staring at Valerius. There is some kindness beneath this asshole facade, human decency, fairness even. It is not the perspective that she has been prepared for. “I meant before that,” she adds faintly.

“Yes I did, when I was much younger.”

“I cannot believe I have never heard of it.”

“Did you do any research before you came here?” The consul is back to his dismissive tone.

“Honestly? I had other things to worry about.” Ev turns back to the window, suddenly unable to look at him anymore.

She hears an irritated snort from Valerius but then, after a brief silence, he starts talking again, and it is not about Ev’s inadequacy. He talks about the canals named after constellations, traditions which Vesuvia used to have, and what you could find in the city before the plague. His voice is calm and steady, and has this velvet quality to it, which fits the night perfectly. Ev closes her eyes and thinks that maybe if she asked Valerius, as that favour she got from him, to continue his stories sitting by her bedside, she would finally be able to fall asleep before the sunrise.

#omg if there is such a thing as MY writing style it is writing things where nothing is happening #but I promise they will kiss..maybe…eventually #I wrote something chronological do I need like a master list now #the arcana #consul valerius #the arcana Valerius #evpanopolis #ev x valerius #the arcana fanfiction #writing #valerius x mc #the arcana fanfic #the arcana fic

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simonsrosebud · 4 years ago

Note

FOXES AND MORGAN! FOXES AND MORGAN! DADS AND FOXES AND MORGAN! GIMMIE SUPPORTIVE FOUND FAM!!!!!

don’t have to ask ME twice...

they find out that morgan is allergic to banana’s the hard way.

it’s a month since they brought her home, and kevin is a state over for something he couldn’t back out of. it’s just dalton and morgan for the day.

and dalton decides to mash up bananas until they’re soft enough for her to eat.

at first it’s fine.

but five minutes go by and she starts making this weird sound with her throat.

and then she coughs every once in a while, and dalton starts getting worried.

he rushes her out of the house when she starts breathing heavily. the hospital is fifteen minutes away, and he doesn’t even know that it’s an allergic reaction yet but he’s freaking out and kevin isn’t answering his phone.

he calls neil. dan is working, and he knows andrew has therapy at some point on wednesdays.

“you need to calm down. if she’s breathing she’s fine and you’re only five minutes away at this point.”

“i know but-“

“you did nothing wrong, dalton. foster care didn’t know she was allergic and neither did you.”

“allergic to what?!”

“you said she started being weird after lunch, you said she had bananas.”

and jesus, of course it’s the bananas.

morgan gets a shot almost as soon as they get to the emergency room, and she screams sitting on dalton’s lap and he’s trying so hard not to cry right now it’s not even funny.

they keep them there until she’s back to normal, and at one point dan pushes back the curtain they’re behind.

dalton looks to the side, but dan comes over and wipes a tear off his cheek with the cuff of her sleeve. “are you okay?”

he’s not even going to question how she knew he was here. “i’m the reason she’s even here, so not really.”

“hey. this is not your fault. you had no way of knowing if she was allergic because she’s never had bananas before. you rushed her here as soon as you noticed was something was wrong which is the best thing you could’ve done.” he nods.

“once, when abram was learning to roll over i was trying to help him out. but i pulled his arm too hard and pulled it out of the socket.” dalton’s eyebrows shoot up. she shrugs. “matt was there, too! we didn’t know anything was wrong until he wouldn’t stop crying for like two hours. abby came by and popped it right back in.”

dalton takes a deep breath and hugs morgan tight. “you’re a good dad, dalton.”

and ten minutes later kevin shoved the curtain out of the way, out of breath with andrew on his heels. all is good.

another thing… morgan is loud, when she wants to be. she isn’t speaking yet, but she squeals and babbles.

her favorite is copying what her dads do. for instance, when kevin is putting his shoes on for a run, she often takes her shoes off and brings them to him to put back on her.

or when dalton goes through a phase of trying to do a handstand, she always bends over to touch her hands to the ground. it’s as far as she goes, but it’s good enough.

but... whenever andrew and neil find themselves around her, she follows andrew around like a magnet. from the time she’s crawling to when she just gets the hang of walking.

it shouldn’t be a shock to any of them. andrew is her godfather.

when the foxes make their way to kevin’s house, morgan falls off of allison’s lap to scooch next to andrew on the sofa.

she puts her face down on the cushion and sticks her tongue out at him.

her obsession with him is very noticeable. “she gets me,” he says.

and later in the night he’s sitting on the floor in front of neil. everyone is in the living room together, and morgan comes running in after one of the boyd’s children. well, more of a slow waddle.

andrew sees her trip over a shoe before it happens. he’s sitting on the floor and grabs her with one arm before she reaches the ground and plops her in his lap all in one move. you can tell the whole movement is too fast for her to comprehend.

“no,” andrew says when she looks back and goes to grab onto his arm. she stops.

“no,” he says, when the foxes look his way. and “no,” he says, when kevin starts to come to the rescue. i’ve got her.

dalton is grinning at allison’s side, raising a brow at kevin.

but andrew goes on his business ignoring everyone and continuing a conversation with renee. he grabs her pacifier sitting on the coffee table and holds it wordlessly and blindly in front of her face until she leans forward and takes it with her mouth, and then he drops neil’s little stress ball into her lab. big enough not to choke on.

plus, if she slobbers on it it’s neil’s fault for leaving it in his jacket anyway.

after ten minutes, morgan leans back against andrew’s chest. he tenses for a moment, not expecting it, but neil’s hand in his hair grounds him. she’s just a baby. harmless.

from then on, uncle andrew kind of turns into fun uncle andrew. he doesn’t show it in the typical ways, but he’s always been her favorite anyways.

now, he’s the one who tosses a new stuffed or plush toy to her when they visit, and he’s the one who silently gives her a spoonful of ice cream whenever the times arise. and when he and neil get the chance to babysit her for the first time she comes home with a new little blankie, a stuffed fox, and the smallest kids size of a minyard south carolina jersey.

kevin fumes. she doesn’t even have one of his.

she’s also the first person besides neil to call him drew, once she’s talking. whether it’s because she just can’t pronounce it right yet is irrelevant.

she sees andrew and neil leaving practice when dalton picks kevin up one day. the windows are down, and she shakes her legs in her car seat. “unuh dew!”

andrew snaps his head over. he comes over, holds his hand up for a high five, and walks off after she hits it.

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starryknight09 · 4 years ago

Text

That’s not how Ironman goes out

Febuwhump Day 7: poisoning

Read on AO3.

________________________________________________________

Peter pulled his grey hoodie on, practically bouncing on his feet as he finished dressing. Today was going to be the best day. He was headed over to Ned’s this morning to work on the new Star Wars Lego set his friend had gotten for his birthday last week, and then he had plans to take MJ out to a new Mexican-Korean fusion restaurant she’d been talking about ever since it opened last month. They’d been together for almost three months now and he still loved seeing the look on her face whenever he surprised her.

“Peter can you come here for a minute?” Aunt May called from the living room.

“Yeah!” He answered, not thinking anything of it. He shoved his wallet in his back pocket and toed on his shoes, checking his phone for any messages before pocketing it as well.

He made a detour to the kitchen to grab an apple out of the bowl on the counter, enjoying the crunch of it as he took a huge bite before turning to find May sitting on the couch across the room.

“What’s up?” He asked, barely understandable, around a mouthful of apple.

“Come here.” May patted the couch cushion next to her. The oddness of the invitation made him stop and focus. He noticed a characteristic crinkling in the corner of May’s eyes, something she only did when she was worried and trying to hide it. It was an expression he’d seen more than a few times ever since she’d discovered his vigilante identity.

“What’s wrong?” He moved to stand in front of her.

“Sit down honey.”

“No, I’m good. I have to get going to Ned’s soon or I’m going to be late. I promised I’d be there by noon.” He said, checking his watch for show. The way May was acting made him want to escape. Made him afraid.

“I need you to sit down.” May patted the space next to her again.

He had the irrational urge to whine, ‘I don’t want to.’ To stamp his feet and refuse. Because no good news ever came from scenarios like this. But instead of refusing, he forced his knees to bend and hesitantly sat down next to his aunt.

May reached out to hold his hands. “Honey, I have to tell you something.”

His heart started racing. “May, you’re scaring me.”

“You know how Tony had that fundraiser last night?”

He nodded. Tony had invited him, but it was a stuffy black-tie event, which wasn’t really his thing, and Peter had already had a readymade excuse not to go. He’d made plans with MJ and hadn’t wanted to disappoint her by cancelling. Tony hadn’t minded because Peter was heading up to the cabin tomorrow to spend the weekend with him where there wouldn’t be a bunch of uptight old people milling around.

“Well,” May continued, “we’re not sure how it happened yet, but somehow someone managed to slip something into Tony’s drink.”

His stomach dropped out of his body. No.

“Is he dead?” His voice trembled, afraid to hear the answer. Afraid that the reason May had positioned him here was to deliver the news that his last remaining father figure was gone.

“No honey.” May reassured him and his eyes closed as he let out a sharp breath of relief. She squeezed his hands. “But he’s very sick, and they’re doing everything they can, but we just don’t know yet what’s going to happen.”

He bit his lower lip to keep it from quivering as tears welled up in his eyes. This couldn’t be happening.

“Why would someone do this?” He managed to choke out the question.

“Oh honey.” May tugged him forward into a hug. “I know. It doesn’t make any sense. They think it was someone from that ridiculous group.”

Peter clenched his jaw. He knew exactly what group she was talking about. After Tony had saved everyone, and almost died in the process, a group of zealots had become vocal about how reversing the snap had set back all the environmental progress Earth had made after losing half its population. They hated Tony for what he’d done. They believed life had been better before the reversal because the human race was no longer multiplying at a rate that the Earth couldn’t sustain. Apparently, there’d been less hunger. Less pollution. Less war. But infinitely more heart ache. Peter didn’t think any of the other stuff even came close to canceling that out.

“I think we should go see him.” May suggested, rubbing his back as she held him and the tears slid down his cheeks. “Just in case.”

In case he died. The words went unvoiced. The very thought that it was even a possibility made him want to scream. Because of some hate group. He should’ve gone to that party. Maybe he would’ve sensed something. Maybe his ‘Peter tingle’ would’ve caught on. But no, he’d chosen to hang out with MJ instead.

“Yeah.” He said, trying to get a handle on his emotions. “Let’s go.”

“Ok.” May gave him another tight squeeze before releasing him. “He’s at the compound. I’ll drive.”

It’d taken months, but they’d rebuilt the compound, like some sort of symbol, bigger and better, in the same place where it’d been desecrated. Peter usually felt some amount of awe whenever he drove up to it, but not today. A numbness had descended upon him ever since he’d gotten in the car. It was as if he couldn’t process any more emotion, good or bad, until he knew if Tony would be ok. Like a kind of limbo.

The clop of his sneakers on the immaculately polished floors echoed ominously throughout the silent halls. May had tried to throw her arm over his shoulders in support on the walk in but he’d shrugged it off. Even though he desired the comfort, he hadn’t wanted to be seen as weak by any other Avengers they might encounter. They already looked at him like a child.

He and May rounded the corner and Peter stopped up short. Tony’s door was at the end of the hall, and he was almost afraid to cross the remaining distance. He didn’t want to see him hooked up to machines with wires attached and tubes coming out of him. Seeing him like that was always hard. The man was supposed to be larger than life, so anytime something happened where he actually appeared mortal, it was like the cosmic forces were out of sync.

“Come on baby.” May nudged him forward with a hand against his back.

Peter took a deep breath and managed to put one foot in front of the other again. He could do this. He had to. He’d never forgive himself if he didn’t see Tony and something happened. When they got to his door, Peter paused again, but he forced his hand to grip the door handle and twist it open.

“Hey kid!” Tony greeted him cheerily, sitting up in bed and not looking at all close to death.

Peter froze, not quite believing his eyes. His gaze shot over to May, wondering if this had all been some sort of cruel trick, but she looked equally shocked. His eyes darted back to Tony, afraid to believe it. But the man seemed fine. Maybe a little drawn and tired but not on death’s door like he’d been led to believe.

He took a halting step forward, not quite ready to trust it, and worried that too much hope might shatter the mirage in front of him.

“What’s wrong Pete?” Tony frowned.

“You…you’re ok?” He asked, taking another step forward.

“Yeah I’m fine.” Tony held an arm out towards him, encouraging him to come closer.

Peter hurried over to him, grabbing Tony’s arm once he got close enough. He was real, solid and warm

“You’re ok.” He repeated as if in affirmation.

“That’s what I said. Try to keep up kid.” Tony smirked at him, and Peter felt his resolve crumble. Relieved sobs bubbled up and out of him, shaking his frame.

“Shit. Come here.” Tony pulled him into a comforting hug. “I’m fine. I promise I’m fine.”

A minute later Peter heard the familiar click of heels enter the room behind him, but he didn’t lift his head, still working on regaining his composure.

“Oh.” He heard Pepper say in surprise. “Oh May. I’m sorry. I forgot to call you back. As soon as I got off the phone with you Bruce figured out the antidote and an hour later Tony was fine. I can’t believe I forgot to let you know. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s ok. I’m sure you had a lot on your mind.” May reassured her.

“Still, that’s no excuse. Oh sweetie I’m sorry I scared you. It was touch and go there for awhile but Tony’s going to be fine.” Pepper placed her hand on his back. He really didn’t want her to feel bad. He tried to pull himself together. Tony was perfectly fine. He wasn’t going to die.

Peter took a deep breath and pulled away, wiping his eyes as he sniffled.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall apart.” He gave them a tight smile. “I just— Well, we thought you were dying.”

“Dying? You told them I was dying?” Tony threw an accusatory look at Pepper.

She crossed her arms and raised her voice, “We thought you were dying.”

“Pfft. It’d take more than some crazy zealot to take me out. Don’t you know me at all honey?”

Pepper rolled her eyes.

“I mean seriously, poison? That’s not how Ironman goes out.” Tony shook his head and then looked at him with a smirk. “Right?”

“Right.” He agreed with a nod.

“If anything, it’ll be in a blaze of glory.”

It took every ounce of Peter’s being to not think about Thanos and Tony snapping the gauntlet, coming as close as anyone could to death.

“Yes, at the rate you’re going, you will probably blow yourself up someday.” Pepper deadpanned.

“Hey!” Tony said indignantly. Peter couldn’t help it. He snorted out a small laugh, the numbness and fear inside him finally melting away.

“No,” May smiled, joining in the fun, “it’s going to be—”

“Old age.” Peter interrupted, not wanting to think of any other possibility at the moment, not even in jest.

They all quieted down, and Tony looked at him, a soft smile on his face and eyes alive and twinkling. “Yeah. Old age. That could work.”

#febuwhump2021 #febuwhump #irondad

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time-to-cause-chaos · 4 years ago

Text

catch me to infinity

5 times Wanda catches Peter, and 1 time she doesn't know if she can. (Reblogs appreciated <3) (st*rk*r shippers, pls DNI) (also this is PLATONIC, not slash so yeah, pls don’t read this as slash)

AO3 link WC: 5,738

1. Accidentally, off a couch

“Wanda” Peter says, laying across his chair, feet dangling idly in the air.

“Wandaaa”, Peter whines again. His half-finished hot cocoa sits abandoned on the coffee table while Wanda sips hers quietly.

Wanda pauses the tv, raising an eyebrow and looking over to Peter with an unimpressed look.

The guy on the screen is leaning against a wall, mouth half-open, caught in the middle of a joke.

“We’ve watched this episode like a million times. I can probably tell you every single line and scene by heart at this point.”

Wanda sighs, “Which one should we watch then?”

A quick glance at the window says they’re still stuck inside, if the storming winds and downpour mean anything. They didn’t have a problem with some light rain, in fact, if Tony and Steve hadn’t expressly told them they couldn’t go outside, they would already be soaked and muddy. The last day they’d gone outside in the cold though, the next day was full of fevers and snotty napkins so it was decided they’d actually listen this time. That rainy day had still been awesome though and there were absolutely no regrets, even when Peter was delirious and giggling everywhere in a haze.

The sitcom playing in front of them was one of Wanda’s favorites - probably why Peter had put up with watching it for the millionth time - but at this point, she was barely making it through the episode without wanting to rip her hair out.

She was bored.

Peter came around her and sat on the back of the couch, his feet planted on the cushions. Flipping through the shows was a waste, they’d also gone through nearly every episode they could and starting a new show right now sounded exhausting.

Wanda slumped and Peter got up, standing on the sofa, “There are so many things we could do, we’re in the Avengers Compound, there can’t be nothing to do.”

“We could go swimming?” Peter asks.

Wanda groans, “Then you’ll be the one explaining why we got sick again”

“Wanda, it’s indoors”

“N-o” she spells out, “No swimming”

“Well what about-”, Wanda doesn’t figure out what Peter was going to say because his balancing act comes toppling down, maybe balancing on his heels and pacing on the headrest of the couch hadn’t been one of his best ideas.

Peter yelps and his arms come over his head as he crashes to the floor.

...Except the crash never comes.

Instead when Peter opens his eyes, his nose is one inch from touching the floorboards and his limbs are covered in bright red ripples of light.

“Whoa”, he breathes, uncurling himself and spreading his arms out, as if he was floating.

Wanda scoffs and with a flick of her fingers, let’s go of her hold on the mist and helps him close the gap between himself and the floor, dropping him harmlessly on the floor.

He picks himself up and looks at her, mouth agape, “Wands, you have powers!” he shouts in glee.

She rolls her eyes and snorts, “Really, Peter? That is news to me.”

“No, no I mean imagine all the fun things we could do with this”, Peter’s hands flail wildly to emphasize his point, “we could prank the others, for one”

She smirks up at him, “That’s actually not a bad idea”

“When have I ever had a bad idea”

Wanda’s eyebrows pinch together in exasperation, “The swimming idea?”

“Okay, fine moment of weakness but anyways,” he grins, “We need supplies, I’m going to get supplies”

He snaps his fingers and is out the door before he can hear Wanda yell, “If Tony grounds you, it’s not my fault!”

2. Mysteriously, for the suspense and drama

Peter laughed into the comms as he kicked one of the bad guys down, “Was that a dad joke, Mr.Stark?”

“It was a pun, there’s a difference Spidey” Tony grunts, blasting up into the air and firing another guy down a stairwell.

Clint pops on the comm link, crackling into their ears, “I’m pretty sure that was a dad joke Tony”

Peter shoots a web onto the ceiling and swings around, webbing up the last few people in the room, “Mr.Stark, just make sure to give us a warning before you go full dad-mode and start playing golf and bringing us our lunches”

“I actually think I did bring your lunch to your school that one time”, Peter doesn’t have to see Mr.Stark’s face to know he’s smirking.

“Nope, nuh-uh, no I definitely don’t remember that”

“Oh yes you do,” Tony laughs, “Your face was red the entire time”

Peter grimaces,”No idea what you’re talking about”. Oh he definitely did, it had been embarrassing, god and Ned’s jaw was practically on the floor while MJ watched unimpressed as the entire class’s eyes bulged.

“I think I saw some dudes slip up to the roof, I’m going to go grab them” Peter says, changing the subject and looking for Tony for confirmation.

“Go ahead, Underoos. I’ll be right behind, just going to make sure law enforcement have a hold of these guys, first.”

Peter nods and slips out of the room, already running up the fire escape.

He bursts out onto the roof and immediately has a gun trained on him.

“Make one move, Spiderman, I dare you”

“Well, I do love a good dare”

Peter ducks behind a potted plant just as the guy fires a bullet. Spinning out from his hiding place he yells, “I’m going to call you Boots!”

The man was wearing heavy black combat boots with large wedges, a short person’s true love, Peter thinks.

He had thick wedges too on most of his sneakers, but he assured himself Tony he only wore them because they were fun to wear.

Speaking of, he was pretty sure Mr.Stark made his shoes with wedges in them too-

Peter yelps and ducks as the gun fires again, missing him by a foot this time.

Anyways, he was average height, thank you very much. Anyone who said otherwise could eat his webs and dirt.

Peter notices a slight hesitation in his opponent’s movement and immediately shoots a web out, yanking his gun arm down.

He flips behind him and punches him down right before the man flips back up, nailing Peter on his nose and forcing him back.

Peter yelps and realizes their fight is nearing the edge of the roof, which had a good 8-story drop behind it.

He tries to push his punches in another direction, trying to redirect them both before one of them goes over but the man stays strong pushing them closer and closer to the edge.

Wanda’s voice comes in through the comms, “Peter, where are you?”

“Roof” Peter barely gets out through his grunts.

“I’m under you” she says.

Ironman comes out through the roof access door and watches as Peter stumbles, barely inches from tipping over the side.

He raises a metal hand, ready to shoot but Peter stops him, “Just trust me”

He would’ve let Tony handle it, but the blast could knock him off too, not just the other guy, and if he was going to plummet off a building today, he wanted to do it on his own terms.

Balancing on the small wall, the only thing keeping him from falling off, Peter jumps sideways just as the man raises a leg to kick him down.

Peter smirks, using two fingers to salute, “Sayonara, sucker” he laughs as he pushes off and starts free-falling backwards, wind and gravity pushing on him.

That was so cool, he thinks. It was a perfect reenactment of those scenes in movies where a character will dramatically fall off a roof narrowly escaping their nemesis and then gets caught by like, a dragon or a flying pirate ship.

It’s called a fashionable exit, to all the uncultured misfortunes who think it’s stupid.

Mr.Stark was probably pretty confused about what just happened though.

He plunges through the air for a full three seconds before he’s caught by Wanda’s magic, floating mid-air.

He catches a glimpse of her pursed lips and smiles, “You’re so dramatic” she tells him, concealing her amused eyes.

Wanda takes them both up to the roof where Mr.Stark already has the man Peter was fighting, tied down.

Tony groans in exasperation when he sees them both, already having figured out their little magic act.

They just laugh.

3. To annoy, off the counter

It’s a Friday and the essay sitting on the table next to Wanda has already been long abandoned. He was not going to waste another minute trying to figure out what personal connection he could make the short story they’d been assigned to read during class.

He related to it because he’d been in a similar situation maybe?

But anyways, he wasn’t going to waste time trying to find a way to spread that over 8 detailed sentences and supporting textual evidence.

He’s sitting on the counter and watching Wanda and Vision read books next to each other on the chairs. Wanda’s legs are resting on Vision’s lap and as fun as it was watching them both, he was still exhausted and not in the mood to face the dangers of his other homework for tonight.

Didn’t Mr.Stark say not to risk his life unnecessarily? This should definitely count because just looking as the textbook took away two hours of his energy, at this rate he’d be on his death-bed by nightfall.

Munching on a protein bar, he looks up at the ceiling.

The only one in the building right now, besides Vision and Wanda, was Steve - well technically Mr.Stark too, but he was in a board meeting that Pepper begged him not to bail on so he was off-limits.

He glares at Wanda, trying to get her to notice him bored out of his mind, but she stubbornly stays focused on the page.

She’s actually reading Harry Potter, the result of Peter’s pestering, and she loved it. The plan to get Wanda to do something with him was interfering with the joy he would usually feel though.

Like yay, my pseudo big sister is finally catching up on all the books and movies she’s missed while working with evil people but also please please please notice me before i throw my stupid homework into the sink disposal-

His alarming train of thought still didn’t catch her attention so he slumps before getting up and deciding to walk all over the counters and ceiling. You know if that mark on the wall from when someone - ahem Clint ahem - had thrown a pen on the ceiling, acted like a mark he could pretend he was doing an obstacle course.

Yes, he could see it now, he’d do a cartwheel over the pen mark on the ceiling, then run on the wall, then he’d jump over the couch, and jump back onto the counter, the living room was plenty big enough.

Wow, this is a sorry excuse for fun.

He did the course three times and was skittering across the ceiling when Steve walked in and immediately shook his head at him.

Peter freezes in surprise and looks guiltily at Steve.

“I’m guessing the homework didn’t get done”, Steve says.

Peter sits criss-cross on the ceiling, if he gets down, he’s probably going to be guilt-tripped into doing his homework and no thank you.

Steve sighs and looks at him, “At least get down, you’re going to fall and get hurt.”

“No I won’t. I’m part-spider, this is like my natural territory”, Peter says.

“You have the traits of a spider”

Why did he always have to pull out the school detention PSA voice?

“But look! I can do a cartwheel on here, I’ve been doing them and I’m fine”

He’ll get down, as soon as he does just one, little cartwheel to annoy Steve.

Of course, that’s when his body decides to betray him and he slips, losing his grip on the ceiling.

He wasn’t worried about falling and smashing his nose at all, he knew Wanda would catch him every single time, in fact he’s already crossing his arms over his chest and scowling as he hovers on his back 3 feet above the ground.

Steve walks by him, still suspended in the air, and ruffles his hair, “Homework now”, then probably feeling bad for Peter, he adds, “Tony said you can use the lab later if you finish early”

Peter groans, “Fine”

Wanda puts him on the couch and he walks over to her and drops in the chair next to her on the table. She hasn’t looked up once this entire time, not even when she’d caught him in the air, only unlatching her fingers from Vision’s and stopping his fall with her powers.

Now she looks up and smiles at him, poking his forehead and pushing his computer towards him.

He groans again.

4. To spite and win, off the balcony

Peter licks his lips, running through the plan again.

There’s someone coming down this hall, he can hear their soft footsteps padding on the floor. Peter’s going to jump out and get the offending person out of the game, it’ll be easy as long as he times it right.

He jumps out from where he’s hiding behind the door frame and pulls up the gun aiming it at the unsuspecting form.

His paintball gun chooses right then to stall and dang it, that means that he has no defense or attack.

He looks up to find Clint grinning at him coyly, gun already trained on him and finger poised on the trigger.

He yelps and jumps out of the way just in time, the purple paintball splattering against the counter.

Peter runs back through the hallway, getting away from Clint and his treacherous smile (it was the smile of a deranged man who would do anything it takes to win paintball) and finds a cleaning closet to hide in while he fixes his gun.

Did the plastic pieces just have to jam right then? Talk about shitty luck.

He picks at the inside of the barrel with a toothpick and grins as a faint click ensures that the machine is functioning again. The paintball that had gotten stuck shoots out and Peter ducks out of the way as pink splatters against the dark wall.

He knows Clint’s prowling the halls for him right now and he prays the man didn’t just hear the shotgun go off.

Slowly creaking the door open and making sure there’s no one there, he tip-toes out and runs to the balcony, it’s the perfect place to hide out and wait for his next victim. The second anyone enters the living room, he has the perfect view on them and nobody looks at the balcony until it’s too late, which means more wins for him.

He underestimated Clint though.

The older man jumps out (umm where did he come from??) and kicks Peter’s gun away from him with a triumphant laugh. Peter backs up against the cool metal railing and looks at him imploringly, “Can we talk this out?” he offers weakly.

He really regretted voting for the no superpowers rule now.

“Any last words, Parker”

Peter turns his head around, looking for a way out. It was too high to jump from without his webs and it won’t be possible to run around Clint without getting hit by a paintball.

Right before he decides to accept his inevitable defeat he sees a flash of bright red hair hiding in the branches of one of the thick, green trees below them.

“You know what, you got me Clint�� he smirks, letting Clint bask in his moment of victory for a second, “Just kidding” and he flips himself back off over the railing.

He really wishes he could’ve seen Clint’s face at that moment, sadly success came with a price.

Right on schedule, the sharp red crackles of electricity catch him a couple of feet from the ground and he plants his feet on the ground, turning around to face Wanda.

“Thanks Wands”

“Oh I didn’t do it for you”

It takes him a second too long to figure out what she means but by the time he does it’s already too late, a dark red paintball slams into his protective vest.

“You’re a traitor, Wanda” Peter sulked, wow and here he thought he could actually win - or at least come second to Nat.

“All is fair in love and paintball”

5. Unwillingly, off a stage

Wanda had decided to pick Peter up from his Decathlon practice, it was always Happy who did it but he was sick and plus, they could grab some ice cream and talk before they had to head back.

She tapped her fingers idly on the steering wheel, rapping out a misplaced tune and glances again at the school gates.

She fixes the rearview mirror and frowns, Peter should have come skipping out 15 minutes ago.

Wanda steps out of the car and smooths her wrinkled hoodie, running her fingers through hair once in the window before walking towards the school.

Her sneakers squeak, echoing loudly through the empty hallways and she has to wrinkle her nose at the spitballs stuck to the walls and lockers. Someone’s book report flits around in the air and suddenly, she’s incredibly grateful she never had to go to a real high school.

There’s a piece of paper with a handwritten “Academic Decathlon” scribbled on it taped loosely on heavy, wooden doors and she pushes them open, shivering at the rush of cold air that bursts out.

Peering in, Wanda sees Peter on the stage but he’s not alone. There’s another high-schooler gripping hard at his shoulders and sneering at him, speaking words Wanda’s not close enough to hear. It doesn’t take any amount of genius to know the two boys weren’t friends/

She doesn’t even have time to intervene because Peter’s pushed off the stage, it’s barely a 2 foot fall but Wanda doesn’t care, she’s angry.

Peter looks at her in surprise with dark red cheeks once she puts him, gently, on the floor. He practically curls in on himself and she honestly wouldn’t be surprised if her skin was a similar shade as his, just not for the same reason.

She stomps up to the other boy who’s looking at her in alarm and pokes a harsh finger at his chest, “You. bastard.” she accentuates each word by pushing her finger even harder against his t-shirt, “What’s wrong with you?!”

She may not have gone to high school but she definitely knows what a bully is. She’s had plenty of her own in the past, even if she hadn’t realized it at first.

It wasn’t fair Peter had to go through the same thing, school wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was where you were supposed to goof off with your friends and learn, not get pushed around by kids because they think they’re better than you.

A hand tugs at her wrist and she’s so wound up nearly forgets to soften her face when Peter tugs again, silently asking her to just drop it.

She looks back at the bully who’s gone pale and pushes him, sending him stumbling back a few feet.

“Don’t touch my little brother again, asshole” she snarls before whipping around and dragging Peter out the doors by his backpack.

By the time they get to the car, Peter still hasn’t said a word and instead opts to look out the window, not even sparing Wanda a small glance.

Her face is still aflame and her hands are still clenched around the wheel as she pulls to the side of the road and parks, looking over at Peter. His eyes are tinged red.

“I’m sorry” he whispers, the second they’re parked.

“Don’t say sorry, it wasn’t your fault, but why didn’t you fight back? Just one shove”. It doesn’t make sense, Peter is strong enough to take on super-soldiers, he practically is one himself with all his advancements, so why doesn’t he just push back? He doesn’t have to get hurt like this, he doesn’t deserve to.

“I’m just Peter Parker. I’m not Spiderman at school so it wouldn’t make sense, I can’t just do that”, his fingers dig into his thighs and he kicks lightly at his backpack.

“Then you could’ve said something to us,” she’s looking up at him, eyes almost crazed. It’s not okay, it’s not even close alright, it’s awful that this happens to him.

And she knows it’s not just a one-time thing.

Not when bullying at Midtown has been discussed far too many times for comfort, not when he’s come back with bruises and marks even when he hasn’t patrolled in days, and definitely not when Peter just tried to subtly wipe a tear from his cheek.

She feels tired all of a sudden, as her raging wave of anger reaches a crescendo and plummets to the ground, scattering, dropping her intentions to take care of anyone who even comes close to hurting Peter with some well-placed punches and kicks.

Wanda sighs and squeezes her eyes shut, blindly, she grabs Peter’s hand and asks, “Was that the Flash guy?”

“No, Flash never gets physical, he’s not too bad. This is someone else”

“So you’ve been getting bullied by multiple people?”, it’s not a question, she already knows. “Peter, you’re Spiderman, you know this isn’t right so please, please the next time this happens just” she exhales, “Just please, promise you’ll tell someone, anyone and they’ll take care of it”

“Promise” Peter breathes from next to her.

“Okay” she pulls back into the traffic, “I’m getting cookie dough ice cream, which one do you want?”

+1. This one was definitely not supposed to happen, shit, shitshit

It’s getting really hard to breathe.

Which should probably not be happening, but in Peter’s defense, he hadn’t even wanted to skip class. MJ had told him to, quote, “Get out of here before your dumbass throws up on someone’s shoes” and for once he’d actually listened, deciding going home and sleeping his fever off was better than being stuck in a stuffy old classroom, doing schoolwork.

The heater of the apartment sounded like heaven and sunshine right about then.

He was just going to take the subway when one of the tv’s turned on, flashing a news report about the Avengers fighting the group of people near the tower.

According to the news channel, they had a whole lot of advanced technology, from ray guns to shapeless contraptions you couldn’t tell heads or tails of.

And there were a lot of them.

So of course, Peter had immediately donned his warm hoodie and jeans and switched into his suit, already swinging towards to get there, it made his stomach queasy and his head spin, but it was fine, he was already almost there.

“Peter, you’re not doing this right now, stop it and go home”, Tony’s voice is playing through Karen the second he’s in range.

“Technically, I’m supposed to be in school right now, Mr.Stark”, Peter swings onto a roof and crashes against someone, knocking them down before looking at the metal cube object they had abandoned.

It was glowing a light purple, which should probably not be happening.

He walked cautiously around it and his eyes widened as the glow got brighter and spread more, covering the entire cube now.

“Shit!”

Peter manages to scramble back before it explodes, leaving a black scorch mark on the floor and the smell of smoke in the air.

“Peter!?”

Oops, he’d forgotten Mr.Stark was there.

“Yeah I’m fine, just where did these people get all this stuff?”

“No idea, but Pete, I swear to god get out of here, or else I’m calling your aunt”, there’s a strangled grunt and the comms go silent.

“Mr.Stark??”, there’s no answer, “Karen, take me to Mr.Stark”

He swings two buildings away and lands on the 9th floor balcony, entering and running towards the signal. When he enters the room, Tony’s being held up against the wall by someone who’s wearing heavy metal body armor, it could pass for an Iron Man cosplay if you squint really hard.

He jumps over, kicking them down and ducking a punch. Grabbing the wrist of the armor, Peter twists their arm and slams them on their back before immediately looking back at Tony and helping him up.

“You okay?”, Peter questions.

“Yup, something she used fried the comm link though, I can’t get to to anyone else”

Peter nods and they both run through the halls, racing to get to the top of the building.

“What do they want?”

“I don’t know, but right now I think they’re just trying to blow stuff up”

Bursting onto the roof, there’s only one person there with some weird silver spear, which honestly looks pretty harmless compared to everything else.

The man there, sees them and immediately backs off, dropping everything and stumbling away with a forced smile.

Tony still closes in on him and Peter webs his wrists and legs to the floor, just in case.

They’re both looking down onto the other rooftops for trouble when the headache Peter has been ignoring grows, and he stumbles back feeling his fever spike.

Tony approaches him and kneels down next to him where he’s sprawled on the floor waiting for the dizzy spell to pass.

“Kid, you have a fever”, Tony says after asking Karen for his vitals.

Peter swallows and fights the urge to keel over and vomit, “I’m fine”

“If I had a penny for every time I heard that” he jokes, voice unbearably soft, “Listen, you stay here and I’ll come and get you when this is over, ‘kay?”

Peter’s about to nod when someone flies onto the roof, they’re wearing goggles and using mechanical wings to help them fly.

Peter’s too dizzy to do anything so he watches as Tony raises a gauntlet and fires it up with a low whine that resonates in Peter’s keyed-up ears.

“Back off”, Tony says as a warning.

The girl smiles and takes off the goggles, slipping them up on her head with a puckish smirk, folding her wings in.

“Pleasure to meet you Iron Man, as well as you Spider”, she has a lilting accent that Peter can’t place.

The gauntlet doesn’t falter, even as Tony shifts so Peter is stuck in his shadow, “What do you want?”

“I want one of your inventions. I may not be in charge of all these idiots, but my best friend is our leader and if you get me what I want, this can all be called off.”

“Best I can do are scraps from the intern labs, sorry.” he says, before firing a repulsor as she ducks out of the way.

“I wasn’t going to this the hard way but I suppose I’ll have to”, her curly, brown hair whips in her face as she puts it up into a ponytail, still dodging Tony’s blasts.

Peter’s spidey sense flares just as her wings do and she’s coming at him at full speed, lifting him up and flying up, past the buildings. Oh he really has to hurl now.

Tony swears and tries to blast up, only to realize the girl had stuck a small square chip on him and his suit’s shutting down, his breathing clips and he looks up to where Peter’s being flown up.

He gets out of the suit and runs to the edge of the roof, “Wilson!” he calls, signaling Sam over from where he’s hauling debris out of the street for a car to get through.

Sam flies up to him and without a word, grabs him and flies him over to where Clint, Natasha, and Wanda are a few buildings away. The whole 30 seconds he hasn’t taken his eyes off the Peter-shaped speck in the sky that’s getting harder and harder to see.

He stumbles over to Clint who’s looking at Wanda in concern, arms braced behind her to catch her if she falls.

Tony briefly wonders what’s going on, before looking up at the collapsing building in front of them, the scarlet circling her wrists, and the sheen of sweat covering her forehead.

Clint looks over to him, swallowing, “Steve’s in there trying to get the rest of the people out, we can’t get in though, it’s too unstable. The second Wanda lets go, the entire place is coming crashing down”

Tony can’t hide his panic anymore and he points up the sky, “Clint, it’s Peter”

Clint follows his finger and he jerks, seeing the red and blue suit in the distance, “Oh god”

The comms finally crackle back online and Tony swears his heart skips a beat when he realizes the bird lady just dropped Peter, oh my god.

They’re well over 4,000 feet up and his heart is in his throat as Peter’s screaming floods through the comms.

Wanda hears it too and her hold on the building falters as she falls to her knees, eyes squeezed shut. Clint moves to hold her but hovers around her instead, glancing back up at Peter when Wanda has a semi-stable grip again.

Natasha kneels on the ground next to Wanda, “You’re going to have to catch him”

Wanda’s voice teeters on a cry, “I’m trying”

Tony holds back his own cry and desperately tries to speak into the comms, if Peter realizes Tony’s trying to get through to him he doesn’t acknowledge it.

The comms are filled with wheezing and rushing wind and Tony’s gripping his arm so tight because that’s his kid dammit, and he can’t do anything.

Wanda’s attempts at catching him are proving futile, she can’t handle anything else without dropping the building which she can’t do, not when Steve and a whole lot of people are depending on her not to let it go.

“Sam, can’t you take your wings up and get him?”. He doesn't care how panicked his voice sounds right now.

“One of the guys stuck a chip on it, the thing’s dead-weight now” Sam says, voice filled with sorrow.

Tony gulps in a breath and falls on his knees next to Wanda, “You have to catch him, Wanda” there’s a grim undertone in his voice hiding the waver and pure terror flooding through his veins.

Wanda grunts, tears are shining in her eyes, if it’s because of the strain or Peter, he has no idea.

“GUYS! Guys, guys, I’m falling!” Peter screams into their earpieces, voice cutting out, hot tears squeeze at his eyes.

Wanda looks up with a new sense of determination and her eyes flash, Tony suddenly knows that anyone going toe-to-toe with her would probably run first chance instead of fight.

“You can do it Wanda, come on” Tony pleads.

Peter’s form is getting bigger every second, little by little.

At around 500 feet, a faint glimmer of red runs over his body but it’s not enough, it slows Peter’s fall the tiniest bit before he’s hurtling through the air again.

‘Tony, Tony, Tony” Peter says his name like a prayer in the comms and Tony clenches his fist again, switching between looking at Wanda and Peter so fast, he wouldn’t be surprised if he ended up with whiplash.

The strain on Wanda’s forehead grows and her eyes squeeze shut as she tears at her limits.

Tony stands beside where she’s kneeled on the ground, trying to see if he’d be able to catch Peter if this didn’t work. He really hoped it didn’t come to that though, he didn’t have his suit and with the speed Peter was falling at, he didn’t know what would happen.

Eyes focused on Peter, Tony realizes a thin, flickering layer of red is very slowly growing over his body. Relief bubbles in his throat and Wanda is able to slow Peter enough so that he and Sam can grab onto him, they all fall to the ground in a pile of limbs.

Tony grabs Peter under his shoulders and holds him upright as he gags and chokes on nothing, taking off his mask and brushing his curls off of his sweaty face.

Tony’s ears ring with the lingering screams of Wanda and Peter, his throat feels raw and he realizes that in his panic, he had been screaming too. And it wasn’t just his ears that were buzzing, it seemed like everything was still ringing, the air vibrating with panic.

Peter was held close to Tony’s chest as he shook with heaving gasps and suppressed sobs, dried tear tracks streak the sides of his face and Tony tries to comb his fingers through the knots in Peter’s hair.

Looking around, Tony took everything in, everyone’s faces were pale and Wanda was barely holding herself up on her elbows, her heavy pants were forced through clenched teeth.

She’d let go of her hold on the building as Steve had come running out, waiting till he was out of the damage zone before sending it all crashing down. All of that had happened just seconds after she had managed to gradually slow Peter down and get him to the ground in one piece.

A sigh of exhaustion huffs through Tony’s nose and the team sits in silence for a few minutes, trying to process all the chaos that had just happened.

Clint was helping Wanda, shakily, sit up and Peter crawled out of Tony’s arms to her before wrapping his trembling arms around her shoulders and whispering something to her.

Tony doesn’t know what was said but Peter was safe, everyone was safe. They were all alright and his breaths started to come easier.

Natasha sat next to him giving him a small, reassuring smile. He leaned back and shut his eyes, making a mental note to add a parachute to Peter’s suit, among many other things. Also to thank Wanda, because if she hadn’t been here...Tony didn’t want to think about it.

That was done now though. Tony’s chest feels much lighter when Peter smiles at him over Wanda’s shoulder, the type of smile that conveys a million emotions, with nothing else.

He gives a shaky grin back.

10 notes · View notes

cilldaracailin · 4 years ago

Text

Heaven For Everyone

Hello my Tumblr Lovely’s!

So my plan was to post the next part to this every week or even every three/four days but I just don’t have the will power to do that. I start to shake from lack of posting, so here is part two on this story.

Thank you so much for all the love you have already shown this story. I am glad you are all enjoying it already!

Suze xx

“Everything that happens to you matters to me.”

Robyn wiped her eyes as soon as she slammed the door and started to walk. She didn’t know where she was going and when she looked down and saw her bare feet, she realised she didn’t have the option to go outside so when she reached the lift, she pressed the button for the club lounge and prayed she would be allowed in. Her jeans were flared at the bottom so they mostly covered her feet and they couldn’t be seen so she probably could get away with chancing her arm and getting into the lounge. Her blue stripped t-shirt was definitely not club lounge attire but as the lift dinged to say she had arrived at the private lounge, she held her head high. Once the lift opened, she was met with a crystal clean cream carpet, bright lights and a mahogany reception desk. Still keeping her posture strong, Robyn walked out of the lift and to the counter.

“Good evening ma’am.” The immaculate dressed man behind the reception acknowledged her with a slight frown and did well to hide his shock at her appearance. “Welcome to the club lounge. Can I please have your room number?”

“Sure. It is three three three.”

The man typed into his computer and then returned to Robyn with a wide smile. “Miss Quinn.” Robyn nodded. “How can I help you this evening?”

Robyn heard the complete change in his voice, his face and manner and figured the name next to hers on the room booking made all the difference. “Could I sit at a table, get a drink?”

“Of course. If you would like to follow me.”

The man pulled a black leather-bound book from behind him and then walked out around the reception. “Anywhere in particular would you like to sit?” He asked her.

“Somewhere quiet, in a corner.”

“Of course. I have the perfect table.”

Robyn kept her eyes straight ahead as she walked, ignoring the looks from the very well-dressed hotel guests that gazed her way and kept right on the heels of the club lounge receptionist, taking in from the corner of her eyes the sleek leather furniture of the lounge and glass tables. She was thrilled when she was showed to a green leather couch with gold cushions right out of the way in a corner at the very back left of the lounge.

“Is this ok for you?”

“Perfect. Thank you.”

Robyn moved to sit on the couch, crossing her legs at her ankles, keeping her feet tucked in so they couldn’t be seen. The man left the bar menu on the glass coffee table. “That is our wine list and...”

“Can I just get a double vodka straight up please?” Robyn asked interrupting him.

Although, she knew he was startled by her drink of choice, he nodded. “Sure of course. I will pass your order onto your server and he will be right back with your drink.”

“Thank you.”

Once the receptionist was out of sight, taking the wine list with him, Robyn ran her hands up into her hair, knowing she was making it messier than it already was. Tears dripped down her cheeks and she saw one travel down her nose and slowly fall off onto the carpet under her. Her breathing quickened and she pulled shaking hands from her hair, wiping her eyes roughly. She was still taking it all in. What Taron had said to her. How easily he turned her worst fears against her, threw back in her face her own anxiety and doubts about her own weaknesses and it was something she never thought he would say to her. Not after how he had reacted on St Patrick’s Day, how he had hugged her so tightly, worried his actions had upset her. Back then they hadn’t but now, now his words had hurt her deeply.

She threw herself back in the chair and sighed heavily. As much as Taron’s words stung her, Robyn knew she was as much to blame for his reaction. He had reacted as she thought he would have when she hadn’t been up front and honest with him and told him what had happened to her and she couldn’t fault him for being angry and upset with her and he was right. Robyn had dropped everything in Paris to help him and stayed with him for nearly two days, watching over everything he did, taking care of his every need and she couldn’t even call him to tell him over the phone that she had hurt her hand. It was the simplest of things she could have done and she didn’t do it. She didn’t want to worry him and that was her biggest weakness. She had become to accustomed to being on her own, to caring for herself and not depending on anyone, that for her to open up and share her worries with someone was hard for her and she kicking herself for not letting Taron in. She was so ashamed of herself for not contacting Taron. He had proven his love for her, his friendship and had on countless occasions been a support to her, a confident and a wonderful caring man and her shame deepened. He had been everything to her lately and he was right. She rushed to Paris to help him but wouldn’t treat him with the same courtesy of letting him care and look after her, even through the simplest motion of just talking over the phone. As she sat in the hospital, she desperately wanted to call him, to hear his voice, to have someone apart from her parents ask how she was and it was her own miserable and single-minded stubbornness that stopped her.

“Here you go.”

Robyn heard the light clink of the glass on the table and looked up to see her drink placed in front of her. She immediately reached forward and downed the clear liquid in one go. She knew her behaviour was out of character for her and very un-lady like for the upmarket hotel she was in but it didn’t stop her from ordering another drink, the waiter only nodding at her request.

The straight up alcohol burned her throat and hit her empty stomach quickly and a second drink was not a good idea but Robyn’s mind was in pain. Everyone had told her not to let her past experiences jeopardise her future ones and she had just done the worst thing possible and that was walk out on Taron when he was only concerned about her. A sob left her and she curled up onto the couch, her head going into her hands again. This weekend had suddenly taken a complete turn for the worst and her excitement of seeing Taron and spending some time with him, time that equalled to more than forty-eight hours with him, was evaporating very quickly. She shivered with not only the cold as she sat in her jeans, t-shirt and bare feet but also with the wounded pitiful state she was in.

Taron flung himself back onto the bed and cursed once more. He was playing his words to Robyn over and over in his head and he was so upset and furious with himself. He knew how hurt Robyn had been in the past, how her trust was something that was earned and he knew he had earned it, she had even told him so and it took one sentence to break it. Even though he was mad at himself, he was also really hurt by her actions, by how she hadn’t called him to tell him she had been injured and sat in a hospital all night. He sat up and sighed hard. This was not the way he had expected their reunion to go and he had yet to get his desperately needed hug.

“Taron…” He scolded himself as he stood up and paced around the room, trying to sort his thoughts out. His mother had warned him to be very careful with Robyn but within the space of five seconds he had really upset her. Robyn was the least selfish person he had ever met and she never did something harmful intentionally and as he further thought about her reluctance to tell him what had happened, she was doing it to more than likely protect him. “Taron you…” He stopped pacing as his feet kicked Robyn’s case which was open on the floor. Her converse lay still laced up on top of her clothes, garments that definitely looked like work clothes and more snippets of Robyn’s last few hours were quickly building into a story for him. It was becoming clear as day that once again she had rushed to come and see him and straight from a hospital no less.

He picked up her converse and her bag from the bed and headed for the door. He could only pray she still wasn’t angry with him and that they weren’t headed for a heated argument because it wasn’t what he wanted. He needed to speak to her and apologise and ask her why she didn’t talk to him when she is always so willing to give her all to him.

Knowing she had no shoes on, Taron made his way to reception first, having a glance around, avoiding the looks from the overbearing receptionist, trying to find Robyn. He went to the spa and wandered around every floor until he was back in the lift starting to fret a little and stared at all the buttons for the floors. He pressed the one for the club lounge and once he said his room number to the receptionist, a smile met him.

“Miss Quinn is already here. Would you like me to sit you with her?”

“Please.”

Taron’s heart raced as he followed the man towards the very back of the lounge and there sitting on the green leather couch, tucked into the corner was Robyn, her eyes focused on a clear glass in her hands which she brought to her mouth and swallowed the last of the liquid inside.

“Thanks.” He said to the receptionist watching as the waiter brought another glass with clear liquid to Robyn.

Her second vodka went down a lot easier and as the waiter placed the third glass in front of her, Robyn could feel the Welshman’s presence before he even spoke.

“I will have one of those too please.” Taron accepted the nod from the waiter and moved a little closer to her. He knew she had no shoes on and held out her converse to her. “Thought you might need these.”

Robyn took the smallest of looks to what he was handing to her and when she saw him with her shoes, she swallowed hard. She took them from him and untucked her legs so she could pull her shoes on.

“And here is your bag.”

Robyn didn’t look to Taron this time but reached out towards him and felt him press the handle of the bag into her hand. She took it and placed it on her right side, cradling her aching right hand in her left. She felt the couch move and heard the squeak of the leather as he sat down. The space between them was the furthest they have ever sat from each other since they met and the silence was horrible.

The glass was placed on the coffee table as the waiter left his drink order behind and Taron reached for it, drinking it straight down, coughing once he had swallowed. The vodka didn’t come as a surprise to him but the double did and it hurt his newly healed throat as he swallowed and he knew mixing the alcohol with the antibiotics he was still taking was a terrible idea but before Robyn could reach for her glass, he took it and drank the alcohol down too, wincing with the taste, not knowing how many drinks she had already consumed in the ten minutes since they had spoken. He was glad to have taken two away from her though.

She watched him from the corner of her eye and he drank the two double vodka’s quickly, Robyn cringing as she watched his face wince with the alcohol. He placed the second empty glass beside the first and sat back into couch, his hands tucked under his arms. She didn’t look at him and continued to hold her aching hand in her left. Even though he had barely been sitting for about thirty seconds, Robyn was almost disturbed by the silence between them and she couldn’t take it anymore.

“I am sorry Taron.” She whispered.

Her broken words had him beside her and wrapping his left arm around her shoulders, bringing her body into his, hugging her close to him. “Please don’t apologise. I am such a fucking idiot Robyn. I am the one who needs to be sorry.” He felt her cuddle into him and he gently started to rub her right arm up and down, feeling a chill on her skin and the goosebumps on her arms. “What is it with you and being cold and not wearing jumpers.” He took his arm away from her and started to open the buttons of his dark check shirt, taking it off and draping it around her. “Come on chicken, give me some help here. Arms in.”

Robyn moved forwards on the couch and slipped her arms into Taron’s shirt, the material still warm from his body and pulled it tight around her with two hands, a long sorrowful groan leaving her lips as she forgot about her injured hand. She felt Taron move to sit right beside her again, taking her hand in his, feeling her fingers shaking once more after the sear of pain she felt.

“Robyn?”

“I’m ok.” She replied. “It just fucking hurts.”

“Do you have painkillers?” He asked her gently, gripping her fingers softly into his, making sure he stayed away from her sore hand. He saw her nod. “And you’ve been drinking straight vodka?”

“You still taking your antibiotics?” She returned.

“I didn’t know that was vodka.” He answered with a slight grin. “Ok well I didn’t know they were double vodkas.” Taron looked at her. “Robyn I am so sorry for what I said.” She went to interrupt him but he continued. “I had no right to say that to you, especially when I know why it is hard for you to trust people and I know you trust me; I do Robyn. I just can’t understand why wouldn’t call me. Robyn I am always at the end of a phone for you, the way you are always there for me, are constantly there for me but I cannot express how sorry I am. I let my anger and frustration come out in the worst way with words. I don’t have that tact you have.”

“I shouldn’t have stormed out Taron.” Robyn covered his right hand which was holding her bruised one, with her left one. “That was unfair on you.”

“You were mad and an appropriate response to what I said.”

“No, it wasn’t.” She replied. “It was childish and not the way an adult should deal with her feelings. Your words did hurt me but then I realised that you had every right to say them because I wasn’t being fair to you by not telling you what happened to my hand and you were right about me having every opportunity to call you, that you could have taken the call and I should have rung you. I desperately wanted too.”

“Robyn why didn’t you?” He breathed. He watched as she stopped stroking the back of his hand. “You were worried I was still ill, that what happened to you was not as important compared to what happened to me in Paris. That you sitting in a hospital, getting an X-ray and MRI scan, being worried you had really damaged your hand was something you had to protect me from knowing because you knew I was back to work today and tomorrow, nervous and anxious about tomorrow evening and you didn’t want to burden me more?”

Robyn had to look at him. “I am sorry.” She muttered under her breathe.

“You’re a nut job you know that right?” Taron moved so he could wrap his arm around her again, pulling her close into his left side. “It’s ok to let people worry about you. It’s ok to believe in the trust of others, of me sweetheart. I love you way too much for me to think anything but highly of you. Robyn, you can hear my heart racing. It’s beating because of you.” He kissed her head. “I am so sorry about the words. I let my emotions get too far.”

“Never apologise for you emotions Taron. Never.”

“I am still really sorry Robyn. I was so excited to see you and then it all just blew up.”

Robyn smiled as she sat close beside him. “I am sorry.” She repeated to him. “I was so happy to be coming back to see you too and I absolutely trust you and I am still learning to let people in.”

��Sweetheart, a proper friendship, a loving friendship works both ways where the two can depend on each other, can turn to each other and know the other is there for them no matter what. Robyn you give everything you have to me. Last weekend I was an utter mess and you just took care of me without question. I need you to let me do the same for you when you need some help, someone to talk to. I happily would have talked to you all night when you sat wating in the clinic. I am not going to run Robyn if you ask for help.” He leaned in to kiss her temple. “I am not him.” He whispered into her skin.

Robyn buried her face into his shoulder, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I know.” She reached for his left hand with her left hand so she could give his hand a squeeze. “I know.” She said more firmly. “I am sorry for walking out.”

Taron chuckled. “Definitely a first for you.” He agreed. “And like I said, I understand why.”

“Still wasn’t the right thing to do.” She insisted.

“Long forgotten.” He assured her. “So, your hand is really ok?”

“It is.” She could hear the internal sigh he was holding onto with her very brief reply. “The X-ray came back clear with no broken bones but the doctor wanted to get an MRI to check for tendon damage because the bruising was so dark. That came back clear too. He cleaned the thin wound and wrapped it loosely with a bandage, prescribed some pain killers.”

“How long until you have full use of it again?” He asked.

“The doctor said it will take about forty-eight hours before all the swelling goes down. My hand will remain very bruised and then for as long as that takes to heal, it takes, the bruising fading as it does so. Initially at least a week and then after that just depends on me.”

“On you?”

“On me not using it.”

“Bet that is going well.”

“Terrific.” She answered sarcastically. “I am naturally right-handed but complete a lot of tasks with my left hand however it’s amazing when little simple things like fixing your own bloody bra become a frustrating issue”

Taron laughed a little. “I got you covered there Robyn.”

She rolled her eyes. “I couldn’t stretch my hand back without it throbbing to pull the strap back around to fix it myself.”

“Coming here probably has not been easy.” He felt her lift her head from his shoulder so she could look at him.

“I can use my fingers but sometimes they pull on the sore skin and even when I don’t move it, I can feel it throb. I’d imagine the best way to explain it to you would be to compare it to when you bruised your ribs. Any movement too fast or bending the wrong way just stung. Same for my hand.”

“Just a pity you use your hands constantly.” He pouted a little.

“And what is that sad look for?”

“Head massages.” He answered his lips in a sad smile.

“I have two hands Taron.” She lifted her left hand to reach up to his head, giving his scalp a deep scratch. “Still possible.” She took her hand from his hair sighing.

“What’s that horrible sad sigh for?” He asked her.

“It’s so stupid.” She muttered.

“If it makes you sound like that it is not stupid Robyn. It is very important to you. What is it?”

Robyn looked to his concerned face and then to her hand, her eyes glancing up to him once more. “You’re going to laugh at me.”

“Robyn Rose Quinn. I love you and would never.”

“Because I had to go to the hospital, my evening was obviously changed and well I ended up sitting in a clinic for a few hours.”

“And?”

“I had made a hair appointment for after work yesterday to get my hair done and it never happened. I had to cancel it.” Robyn took in his slightly confused look, watching his forehead frown a little. “I wanted to get my hair done for the premier, to get the highlights topped up, to be ‘camera ready’.” Robyn air quoted very grimly with her left hand.

Taron quickly got the point. “Robyn…”

“Yeah I know Taron, I know but it would have been nice to have gotten the chance to fix my hair before tomorrow evening.”

Taron nodded, left her disappointment there and gave her left shoulder a comforting squeeze. “You get any sleep?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“Yeah I do. The private clinic really took all night?”

“I honestly thought it would have been quicker but apparently there was a backlog. Dad was going to drive me to A&E in the nearest hospital but I was in bits and just wanted to be seen to so stayed where I was.”

“It looks so sore Robyn.” Taron extremely carefully lifted her right hand onto his leg, brushing his index finger over the skin on her wrist. “You really bruise terribly easily.”

“My hand was caught between two metal door frames Taron. It was a strong wallop I got.” The soothing motion on her wrist felt glorious on her skin and she very much appreciated how he kept away even from the lightest of the bruising on her hand. “It constantly twinges.” Robyn tried to hold her yawn in, but she struggled to hold it in.

“And you are exhausted, as always lately.”

She laughed. “Quite a pair we are huh.”

“Indeed.”

The waiter approached their quiet corner. “Anything else I can get you both to drink?” He asked politely.

“I think we will skip the vodka, thank you.” Taron grinned. “But we will take a slice of your chocolate fudge cake from the dessert menu from the restaurant instead please with two scoops of vanilla ice cream on the side and two spoons.”

“Of course, Mr Egerton. No problem at all. Can I get you both a drink too?”

“I will take a cappuccino and Robyn will have a peach iced tea please.”

“Sure. I will get those for you too.” The waiter turned with a nod and made his way back towards the bar.

“Taron, I don’t think you can get chocolate cake in the lounge.”

He gave her a cheeky grin. “Sometimes I might just take advantage of my name to get things like chocolate fudge cake from the restaurant into the bar.”

Robyn giggled. “You are terrible. That poor waiter having to fulfil your request for cake.”

“I got it for you.”

“Sure, for me.”

“Mostly for you.” He changed his words. “But that’s the perks of booking a suite at a hotel like this Robyn and getting to sit in a private lounge. You ask for something, you get it.”

“So, if I asked for a packet of tayto and a flake, I could get them?”

Taron laughed hard. “Might be pushing the boundaries there Robyn, but if you decided you wanted to have breakfast for dinner, I am sure it can be arranged.”

“But you are ‘the Taron Egerton’.”

Taron laughed again, so glad to see a little sparkle back in her tired eyes, to hear her laugh, to have her sitting next to him smiling. “Let’s chance pancakes for dinner first before we ask for Irish crisps and chocolate.”

“Don’t need to ask. I have some in my case.”

Taron laughed even harder, giving her shoulder another squeeze. “I have missed you. I missed this. I didn’t have any of this last weekend.”

“No, you didn’t but it is so good to see you back to yourself.”

“I told you happy go lucky Taron would be back on Thursday.” He grinned his grin fading, as he coughed a little.

“Still lingering around?”

“A little yeah. After I talk too much or laugh too hard but I feel so much better Robyn. I never, never want to feel so ill like that again. It was horrid.”

“Yes, it was.” She agreed, moving her right hand to cover her mouth as she yawned, wincing with the speed of the movement of her hand. She hissed as she inhaled sharply, feeling Taron’s whole body freeze beside her. “I’m fine. I just forget. It’s still so raw.”

“How did you manage to get dressed?”

“With a lot of shuffling around. Thanks for bringing my shoes and my bag.”

“Figured you would like your shoes, wasn’t too sure about the bag and just brought it.” He watched as she yawned again, hoping she didn’t catch his little sigh. “You ready for a nap?”

“I think a sleep is on the cards to be honest Taron.”

“You are probably still tired from the weekend. You didn’t sleep much with me in Paris.”

“I know I always say I can function on little sleep but I think this time, not so much.”

“Let’s eat the cake and then head back to the room.” Robyn nodded agreeing, raising her left hand to cover her mouth as she yawned once more. “Or we could take the cake back to the room with us.”

“I think I want to have it here. I mean you made the poor waiter get it and this lounge is lovely.”

Taron chuckled at her choice of words for the lounge. “It is pretty nice and private.” He was still aching for his hug but knew it was something he was going to have to wait for. He settled for just lightly holding her right hand with his, palm to palm, keeping any direct pressure from her skin. “Are you sure you are ok Robyn? I know your hand aches and you are shattered but you still seem so down. Everything ok with work?”

Robyn leaned her cheek against his shoulder. “Work is good. It is really just my hand. It stops be from doing so much.” She paused. “From being in control.” She admitted, finally speaking the honest truth. “I hate not being in control of things Taron. I don’t like having to depend on others for the simplest things like not being able to put on my own bloody underwear. It is so unnerving for me. It makes me so nervous.”

Taron gently swung his left arm around her shoulders. “My wonderful head strong and stubborn Robyn.” He whispered into her hair, still lightly scented from her shampoo. “I know how independent you are, how important it is for you to be in control as you call it and I understand Robyn, I really do but I just don’t want you to feel that you have no one around you, no one you can turn to outside of your parents, your best friends. You can still be strong but ask for some help and it not be seen as a weakness. You have told me many times that I need to talk about my emotions, to not bottle things up and it isn’t weakness. It is a strength. I don’t want you to change who you are. I love your strength and the way you handle yourself but I also know everyone needs someone to turn too, to talk to, to hug and we both know I give the best squishy hugs.” Taron gave her shoulder a soft squeeze. “At the musical a few weeks ago, you let me in during the interval and I know you needed the hug then, the words of comfort. My job and my work commitments do not make my need for comfort any less important than yours and if you need to ring me Robyn for any reason, you bloody do it ok? I am here for you. Always, just as I know you are always there for me.”

When Taron had moved his arm to give her a sideways hug, Robyn hid her face into his chest, listening to his sincere and earnest words and his strong beating heart. He was as warm as always and comfortable. He was always comfortable and as she felt her eyes welling up, she nodded against him, not for the first time with Taron, her words failed her.

“Good and I hope you are fully aware that tomorrow, Stella will be in control of everything.”

Robyn smiled into his black t-shirt. “To be fair you have had me forewarned about that and honestly, it’s probably a good thing. I don’t think I could do my make-up left-handed and my hair hasn’t a hope this weekend.” She gave his right side a light rub with her left hand, her right still resting on his lap. “Thank you Taron. I am trying, I promise I am.”

“I don’t want to you change Robyn. I never want that. Just keep me in the loop ok?” He very lightly placed his left hand over her right, keeping the weight of his off hers. “And I am here for you this weekend. You need to tie your shoelaces? I’m on it. Need help to brush your hair? I got it. Need to unhook your bra? I can do that too.”

Robyn chuckled hard against him. “I don’t open my shoelaces; I can use my left hand for my hair and maybe I’ll just not wear a bra.” Her words made him laugh hard and loudly and she moved to sit up, his arm still around her shoulders. “That is such a beautiful sound. I missed that last weekend.”

He smiled more. “Me too.”

“Your management was ok about all the interviews?” She asked him.

“Yeah they were. Wasn’t really much they could do but I got a bit of a telling off.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing I didn’t deserve and I have made up some of the interviews today and I am going to make up some more tomorrow and before you say anything, I promise I am not pushing myself. I am meeting Lyndsey at nine for two hours of skype interviews and then Matthew, Colin and I have our panel for the London press. Then after one I have some more skype calls.”

“For how long?” Robyn asked him.

“Another two hours or so and please don’t make that sigh Robyn. It’s the right thing to do after last weekend and I need to make up for my own actions. I will be back in the hotel by four to get ready for the premier.”

“Your voice will be gone by tomorrow night.”

He smiled again. “Still putting me first chicken.”

“Always.” She replied.

“It’s nothing new Robyn. Red carpet interviews and then the movie.”

“And afterparty.”

“Which we will both decide if we want to attend during our evening. There is no pressure for me to go. Like you said, my voice could be gone and even though I am feeling much better and even with all the sleep, I still feel tired in the evening so let’s just see what happens.”

“Sure. Sounds good to me. What time is Stella coming for my make over?”

Taron laughed again. “Stella will be coming to help you get ready around one.”

“One?” Robyn exclaimed. “One? What is she planning to do for five hours Taron?” Robyn sat up from his arm.

“Something about hair and make-up?” Taron pondered. “And she needs to make sure the dress fits you perfectly and has time to make alterations if she needs too.”

“She hasn’t gotten it wrong yet.”

Taron smiled shyly. “This dress is, well it’s a little different from the blue one, or the other one. It’s special.”

Robyn moved again so she could face him a little. “Taron…”

“I promise you will love it.”

Robyn went to reply but the waiter arrived back with a tray and Taron’s drink and dessert order. He placed Taron’s coffee in front of him along with a ceramic dish filled with white and brown sugar cubes and then placed Robyn’s iced tea in front of her too. He then put a white square plate, one large slice of glistening chocolate cake on it, two perfectly round scoops of ice cream either side of it, a dusting of gold glitter on the plate. “And two spoons.”

“Thank you.” Taron nodded to the waiter.

“Enjoy.”

Taron looked to Robyn who was grinning. “Instagram worthy.” She chuckled. “But it is better than my key lime pie.”

“Or cookies.”

Taron moved forward to lift the spoons and handed one to her. “A big spoon I am afraid.” He chuckled.

“For cake, I will take any spoon.”

Taron then lifted the plate and brought it closer to them, holding it in his left hand so they could share the rich chocolate dessert. “I probably should have gotten you something more filling than cake. Have you eaten anything since your lunch break yesterday?”

“One of the nurses grabbed me a sandwich from the clinic around mid-night last night.”

“Good. At least it was something.”

“Yeah I didn’t eat it though.” She could feel his eyes staring at her. “Wasn’t hungry.” She lifted the spoon in her left hand and dug it into the cake. “I know Taron. I know.” She ate the cake and dipped the spoon into the ice cream. “Eat the cake.”

Giving her a look he knew she avoided, Taron ate some of the cake too, closing his eyes with the taste of the chocolate sponge. “Might be eating a lot of this dessert this weekend.”

“Fine by me.”

The cake didn’t last long on the plate, Taron making sure Robyn got the last bite in and he placed the empty plate back on the table, picking up Robyn’s ice tea to give to her before he added two sugars to his coffee, sitting back in the couch his hands wrapped around the cup.

“Do you think we will ever get to see each other without a rush for a flight, a visit to a doctor or anything like that?” Robyn asked him.

“Don’t you think that is just our norm Robyn? It is how we met. Seems to be our way.”

“Just one visit.”

“Maybe our next one.” He said taking a drink from his cup.

“One we have yet to organise.”

“Might be easier for us now.” Taron replied after taking another drink of coffee.

“How so?”

“Matthew has finalised our filming locations.” Taron stretched to put his cup back on the table, then taking Robyn’s glass from her too putting it beside his cup.

“I am still drinking that.” She said with a frown.

“So our filming locations.” He continued. “Are in London and Belfast.”

He knew taking their drinks away was a smart idea because as soon as the word Belfast left his lips, Robyn had thrown her arms around his neck in a tight hug, his whole body laughing as she gave him a squeeze, tighter with her left hand than her right. Taron already knew that a sound stage in London was going to be used for filming but he had only found out that morning that Belfast was the chosen location for all exterior scenes as well as some others and Taron was very excited to tell Robyn that he would be filming so close to her. He knew Belfast was only about a two-hour drive from Kilcreen and it would be so much easier for them to actually see each other now, get more time together.

“In Belfast?” She repeated.

“Yep. We will be moving to and fro from London but there will be some considerable time spent in Belfast too.” Taron moved his head to kiss her cheek. “I figured this would be your reaction, hence I put our drinks back on the coffee table.”

“I will be able to see you every weekend now.” Robyn laughed.

Taron chuckled at her enthusiasm. “Maybe not every weekend chicken. I do have to work.”

“Pfft. Work, smurk.” She replied. “Every weekend.”

Feeding off her excitement Taron nodded against her. “Every other weekend.”

“We will be so close Taron.” Robyn couldn’t wipe the smile from her face. To hear how close Taron was going to be her, how she could just drive to see him in half the time it took her to take a flight to go and see him, just made her ridiculously happy. “I will have to thank Matthew.”

“He did it for the location for the movie. Not for you.”

“Meh.” Robyn answered him. “I will still thank him.” She gave his back one last squeeze and moved away from him, still grinning. “So, when do you head to Belfast?”

Taron moved to pick up his cup and Robyn’s glass and settled himself before he spoke. “We are going to shoot some stuff in London first so I don’t think the move across will be until June. So, you will have to find a way to entertain yourself for a few weekends until then though maybe keep the weekend after your birthday free.” He winked as he took a long drink from his cup, grinning at Robyn’s face. “You did tell me I would never forget your birthday and I haven’t.”

“What are you planning?” She asked him, smiling widely as he tapped her nose.

“Stuff.”

Robyn rolled her eyes and then finished her drink, moving back in the couch, resting her right hand on her lap. The playful conversation with Taron was a great distraction from the constant pain in her hand but now as they settled back, it was all she could feel. Taron could see her mood change and wrapped her arm around her shoulders again.

“When did you last take your painkillers?” He asked her.

“Before my shower. They have kicked in. I know because although it hurts, it doesn’t hurt as bad. It will just take time.”

“You not sleeping or eating probably hasn’t helped.”

Robyn smiled a little. “We are on this role reversal thing again.”

“Surely it’s my turn at this stage to take care of you and I promised you this weekend I would.”

“I am supposed to be making sure you are ok to work. I told your mother I would.”

Taron groaned at the mention of his mam. “Let’s not even. I am in for such an ear clip when I see her.”

“Got your lecture?”

“And more. She was so angry with me.”

“Love how a mother can still be angry at her grown children.” Robyn chuckled.

“And I am ok to work. I saw a doctor this morning. Lyndsey organised a check-up for me. Doctor gave me a full once over. Lungs are clear and good; chest is clear and good and my throat is all healed up.”

“Cough is still lingering though.” Robyn interrupted.

“And the doctor said that was normal after a serious chest infection and like I told you, only after a lot of talking it happens. A little bit at night when I lay down. I have still been sleeping slightly sitting up just to be sure. I am free for the evening Robyn. Then yes I have to work tomorrow but I am all yours for the rest of the weekend and on Saturday we are going to sit on my couch in my flat and watch movie’s all day.”

“I love that idea.”

Taron hugged her closer to him ready to change the subject and move on. “So, you up for a swim?”

“And I have been waiting for that too.” She laughed. “I couldn’t figure out why you wanted me to bring my swimming suit.”

“May as well take advantage of the amenities of the hotel.”

Robyn held up her hand. “Don’t think I can swim with this.”

Taron took his arms from her shoulders and held her hand in his two, holding it very carefully. “We can wrap it in a plastic bag like you did my arm when I took a bath at yours.”

“You had stitches.”

“And you don’t. You should be ok. I can help you into your suit.” He grinned.

Robyn laughed a little. “You wish. I can manage.”

“So that’s a yes then?”

“Sure, why not. It will help wake me up a bit too.”

“Oh, shit Robyn. Maybe you would like to just go back to the room and sleep instead. Especially after last night.”

“Nah I am ok. What will it be? Two hours? I can last until then. Actually, I think a swim sounds like a nice idea. Couldn’t tell you the last time I had a swim.”

“Been a while for me too.”

“Probably Florida.” Robyn thought out loud and looked at Taron, eyes wide, hoping her mention of Florida wasn’t going to bring back upsetting memories for him. “The morning of the day in the 7/11. I would go for a swim in the ocean before I went to work, so yeah that morning.”

“My last swim was with you in Aber.” Taron chuckled as he stood up, holding out his hand for her to take.

“You call that a swim?” Robyn asked as she took his hand and he helped her up from the couch, swinging her bag over her head.

“Sure. We were in the water and swimming. It counts.” He linked his arm with hers and together they walked out of their private little corner and through the lounge, a few looks heading their way as they walked past the other guests in the bar. Having already speed walked through the bar in her bare feet, walking back wearing Taron’s shirt was a breeze to her and they both thanked the receptionist as they walked past, heading for the lift.

#Taron Egerton #Taron Egerton Fanfiction #Taron Egerton Fanfic #Taron Fanfic #Love #Friendship #Forgiveness #Trust #Opening up #Sharing #Leaning on Others #Feelings #Hugs #Cuddles #Laughter #Robyn and Taron

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friendlylocalwhumper · 5 years ago

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interviews

Interview 1: Remy

“What’s your name?”

Long black curls frame an elegant face. Kind eyes are shadowed by thick eyebrows and circles underneath from exhaustion. Bruising spans across the cheekbone catching the light from offscreen, blue and green and yellow. He cradles his left elbow like a single wrong twitch will get him writhing in pain.

“Remy,” He whispers to the person behind the camera.

“Remy. What happened to you?”

His eyes flick to something the camera isn’t pointed at. His fingers flex slightly with nerves. “I… got caught sneaking in someplace.”

“Why were you sneaking?”

The shirt that he’s wearing, heather grey and wrinkled, has blood on it. There’s a smear of brown by his nose: dried blood. Remy lifts his good arm, leaving the injured one alone, to tuck his nose into the crook of his elbow and inhale. It appears to calm him down.

“Is there something special about that shirt, Remy?”

He glances up and nods, talking into his sleeve, speaking above a whisper now but it makes no difference, his voice is muffled. “Yeah. It’s… I borrowed it. I was sneaking in, to see… his parents wouldn’t approve. They were never going to. A warlock, a boy… I just wanted to see him. Not even do anything. We’ve only kissed.”

“I’m not judging you, Remy.”

Nervous tapping fingers still. He offers a jerking nod. “I know. It’s just… this is all I have, his shirt. My shirt. He gave it to me, said it’s mine now. It still smells like him. It won’t forever. And I won’t see him again. I promised I’d keep coming back, even if it wasn’t safe for me. As long as it was safe for him.” Remy falls silent, haunted. “...He said it was safe.”

The interviewer allows him a moment to collect himself. Then, they ask, “Was he wrong?”

Tanned fingers scratch idly at a scabbed-over cut on his cheek. “...He was really wrong. I got… we got caught. I never used magic in that house, I swear. Never even talked about it. I just wanted to be with him. His brother came in. Tried to kill me.”

“What exactly happened? What made you think he was trying to kill you, not just scare you off?”

Remy snorts. “Grabbed me by the neck, tried to shove me out the window I climbed in. I almost fell. M-... my… the guy I was with, he defended me. Got into it with his brother so I could run. I tried to grab my shirt off the floor, but I got his instead. He might be dead. He might hate me.” Remy is staring at the floor, shoulder scrunched up to his cheek like the pressure can replace a warm hand cupped there in support.

“What happened to your arm?”

A twinge of pain rolls through the limb as Remy’s reminded of it. “Oh. The brother, he pulled on it. Messed something up, inside, I think. I don’t know any healers.”

“And what’s it mean for a magic user, if you can’t find a healer?”

Dark lips angled into a frown, Remy looks into the camera for the first time. “You find a place to hole up and you hope it heals on its own.”

“No hospitals means you’ve gotta make do with what you can find. Can you always find supplies when you need them?”

He snorts, eyes back on the interviewer. “Barely ever. Mostly you can find the basic stuff, or trade for it. Wrappings, uh, rubbing alcohol, bandaids. But the painkillers, the suture kits, the, uh, splints and slings, that stuff is impossible to get. I’ve seen…” Curls ranging from pitch black to a deep warm mahogany, depending on how much light they catch, get thrown dense and wild as he shakes his head. “That’s dark stuff, though.”

“Go on. Just the truth, that’s all I’m looking for. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Remy scrunches up his nose, itching at the blood clinging to the skin there. “Um. Yeah, okay. I was saying… I’ve seen people die from not being able to get bandages, using hoodies and stuff instead. Infection. Seen kids… there’s just, a lot of bad stuff happening, that doesn’t have to happen, just ‘cause we can’t get what we need.”

“So your arm? What are you going to do about it?”

With his good shoulder, he shrugs. “I don’t know. Get drunk and find someone to shove at it until it pops back into place, I guess. Or just try not to move it, for a couple weeks, and hope it’ll fix itself. Even if I do find a healer, I don’t have anything to trade. So, um… I guess I’m kind of screwed.”

The interviewer doesn’t answer. Remy’s eyes find the camera again, brown twinkling with the same light that illuminates the colors of pain at his cheek. The image freezes, the video finished playing, lingering on the face of the warlock who was resigned to pain and little hope of finding any help, even from his own kind.

Interview 2: Nona

The video starts with a blur of movement. Brown carpet that’s been crushed into a grimy, stale, solid mass. Stained walls, a torn beanbag chair, limp hands with split knuckles.

“Tell me about the safehouse.”

The witch tips her head, eyes narrowed. The camera is aimed at her, and she looks like she wants to fight it. “Why.”

“Because it matters. You matter. Someone, someday, is gonna ask how we survived. You’re part of the answer.”

The interviewer’s explanation doesn’t flatter her. Lilac hair goes flying as the witch tosses her head back, clearing the straight strands from her face.

“I’m Nona,” She starts, mouth hanging open on the last vowel. She tests the camera’s patience for a handful of seconds before continuing. “I’m a witch. I run this safehouse. It’s a grimy shithole but ask anyone who comes through, they know I’m in charge.”

“So I’ve heard. Does it matter, that they know?”

“That I’m in charge? Fuck yeah. You’ve gotta make it clear. No one’s in charge, anyone can throw their jacked-up muscle around, then people are getting the shit beat out of them all over power struggles. One guy wants the living room to himself, the other’s decided he rules the kitchen and if you want food, you gotta pay an entry fee. Stresses everyone out. Gets people more hurt than they already are. That’s why I kick people out, lay down a couple rules, show my face every now and then.”

“You’ve got to remind everyone that there’s someone keeping the place running.”

“Abso-fucking-lutely. It doesn’t work, otherwise. And they could take over anytime. I think about it all the time. But they know I keep the fridge stocked. They know I forgive shitty mistakes and let the worst ones come back when they’ve been fucked up by cops, or something. I found this place and I built it up myself. Boarded up the windows, got the electricity going, sewed up the shitty cushions so you can sit down without fluff shooting out of the seams. And you know how long it took me?”

“No. How long?”

“One motherfucking day. I did it in one day. You know why I busted my ass for sixteen hours?”

“Why?”

“Because if I didn’t finish, if I didn’t get a lock on that front door to keep the dumbest non-magic criminal fucks out, I wouldn’t have a place to sleep that night. I put the lock in last, because if I couldn’t manage the rest in time, I didn’t deserve to fucking sleep. I wanted to make this a place that people could sleep, at least. And I did it. People know that. Ask me why they don’t do it themselves, make a new place, get to be in charge.”

“Why?”

“Because they hurt. They’ve been sleeping on floors, and getting beat up, and they’ve been walking in shoes that don’t fit them. Because they’re angry, and paranoid, and tired all the time, and they can’t pick a lock without their hands shaking, so they sure as shit can’t fix up a whole house. And they’re so focused on fighting each other, watching their own back, making sure their stuff isn’t stolen, that they can’t stop to pick up a project and see it through.”

“Are all magic users like that?”

“Mmh…” Nona taps her chin. “Most of them. It’s the easier way to be. You get stuck in a loop of getting hurt, running, hiding, going out again to get something you need, and getting hurt again. It’s hard to get out of that. The only ones who can really try to do more are, like, witches who get tired of the loop. The guys, they don’t get out of it as much. But we don’t live long, anyway, so it’s not like anybody gets much of a chance to change through the years. There’s no plans, just trying to live through the day to get to sleep again.”

Nona cracks her knuckles and stretches, lounging in the beanbag chair a moment before sitting upright again and scuffing the heel of her boot against the floor.

“Does anyone ever challenge you? Try to take over?”

The witch nods, hair falling forward over her shoulders to brush her cheeks. “Sometimes. I knock ‘em on their ass with magic, though, so they never get far.”

“Get far?”

“They never do much. I don’t let ‘em.”

“Never do much? What is it they try to do?”

Eyes dark with makeup glint with anger. “They try shit. You’re not stupid. This talk’s over.”

“What do they-”

“You get that camera out of my face,” Nona growls, knocking it off whatever held it, sending the picture flying with blurry smeared colors, “Or I’ll-”

The audio cuts off, and the video stops on a blur of brown and grey, the chaos of escalating fury falling into silence.

Interview 3: Lux

“Okay.” The camera shifts, settles, shifts again. Someone breathes heavily from beyond its line of sight. “Okay. It’s safe here. Can you talk? We got away. Can you talk now?”

The camera turns, finally set up securely against some steady surface, to focus on a shaking warlock with a hand pressed to his stomach. Blood seeps between his fingers.

“Ye-eah, I can - th-this is important, you said?”

The interviewer gasps a few more harsh breaths. It sounds like they’ve been running hard, and can only now catch their breath. “Yes. Yes, it’s important. Tell me - tell the story of what, just happened.”

Blue eyes flick up to the camera, then the off-screen interviewer, then back to the camera. “Um. O-okay. I can… I can, talk about it, just, hnn - I-I, what’re you gonna use this for? What can I… is it safe, to t-talk about…? Anything?”

“Lux.”

“Mnh?”

“We already talked about this.”

A shudder runs through him, a wince twisting his features. “Oh. S-sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s just that I explained all that, like, twenty minutes ago. Do you have trouble with your memory?”

Tense shoulders tilt inward. “I th-thought, thought you wanted to hear ‘bout, what happened.”

“I do. I also want to hear about you. Why can’t you remember things?”

His breaths, jagged and quick from running, too, don’t even out. “...What happens if I don’t want to talk?”

It’s silent for a moment. He looks like he’s prepared to get hit.

“That would be disappointing. But I’d leave you alone. I don’t interrogate people, I just try to collect their stories. You don’t have to do anything, Lux.”

An uncertain hum slips out of him and he lifts his head from where it fell, his body uncurling from the defensive position it settled into. “Really?”

“Really. Can I ask you something?”

A shoulder scrunches up toward a dirt-streaked cheek in a half-shrug.

“Did you really think I would hurt you, if you didn’t want to talk?”

There’s no audible guilt in the interviewer’s voice, but sadness flickers across the warlock’s face. “Oh, it’s - it’s okay. You didn’t do anything, to, to scare me. I don’t think. It’s just… I’m just like that.”

“Why are you like that?”

The fingers of his free hand twist a loose thread of his ripped sleeve. Lux stares at the floor.

“Lux?”

“Hmm? So-orry. Um. What did you ask?”

“Why are you like that? Why do you get scared? I’ve done a lot of these interviews, and most people are angry, or tired, or sarcastic. Most don’t let it show that they’re scared. You seem very open about it.”

It’s hard to tell, in the poor lighting of the video recorded at the first snatched moment after some escape from danger, but Lux is paling from his wound. He glances down at it, curls hanging. When he looks back up, he blinks, searching for words to answer with. “Um, I… got made that way. I was, I was… do you know who the Hunter is?”

“The Hunter? He made you open? I thought he killed everyone he took. Did he kill someone you knew?”

“Mnh - uh - ye-eah, but - that was just part of it. He-e, he used to kill, everyone. Mostly. Then he… he took me. I was there, he had me, for… for a year.”

“A year? How did you survive a year with the Hunter?”

“He… I don’t know. He just liked me. It was a l-lot, a lot of pain. And… mind magic.”

Lux glances up, as he mentions the taboo magic, and cringes. He must’ve seen a reaction in the interviewer.

“So your time with him wore you down, took way your defenses. He… did that, to you, and now… what is your mind like now?”

Sweat beads across the warlock’s brow. He doesn’t ask for the interview to stop. “It’s, it’s a mess. It’s just all mixed up, and I forget things, and… everything is hard. M-my… my magic, ‘specially, it, it doesn’t like to work anymore.”

“Do you think that was part of his tactics? He kills a lot of magic users, it seems like he’s trying to cripple the community. Did he mix you up so that your magic wouldn’t work, so you wouldn’t be a threat?”

His frown draws lines into his face. “No. He just, he just liked it. Scaring me. Changing me. It’s not about… he doesn’t do it for, like, society. Going after magic users, it’s just because they’re already hurting, no one cares about us. We’re just easy to target. He’s not like the feds.”

“You sound like you know him pretty well.”

Lux takes a breath, holds it, then nods. His head is heavy on his shoulders. “Better tha-an anyone, I guess.”

“Better than Quinn Mae?”

He blinks. “Quinn - you mean, Quinn, who, who let the Hunter take them, to try and… make a difference?”

“Yes. They sacrificed themself to learn about the Hunter. And it seems that they were successful. But do you know more about him than they do, even after that mission?”

Emotion gets Lux fidgeting. “Th-they - they did a good job. I think they probably learned really important stuff. It wasn’t… I don’t think it was a good idea, but I, I’m proud of them, for trying. I just - I was there for so long. I know more than the facts, I know how he feels about stuff. The Hunter loves, loved me, I… was close to him, for a long time. And I, I haven’t been much help, even though I know all that. Just knowing about him doesn’t make him that much easier to take on. It, um - it actually makes him angrier.”

“Angry enough to start torturing his way through every witch and warlock alive?”

“That’s - you’re out of line.” The assertion is quick and anxious. “It’s not Quinn’s fault. It’s no one’s fault. The Hunter likes to hurt people, he likes to punish people for being brave. Quinn did the, the bravest thing in the world, and that - it just, I guess it set him off. But it’s not their fault.”

“Sounds like cause and effect, Lux.”

“No. I - if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine, he - he wanted me back, he wanted to hurt me, and I said no. I said no to him. He’s punishing me.”

“How did you say no? Did he ask? Why didn’t he just take you anyway?”

The trembling has gotten worse in Lux again, and it jars his hand against his wound, adding tension to the way he sits. “He-e, he called me. On my phone. I said no. I said - he could take me, but I wouldn’t make it easy. I wa-as trying to be b-brave. I was - healing. But… but I guess, he’s been frustrated, and, and I… set him off. I don’t know. He’s hurting so many people, and I’m trying to, to find them all, to make sure they don’t die, to help them process it all. I know what it feels like.”

“So you’re trying to help with the spree, on this end, after they get hurt.”

“Ye-eah. Trying.”

“There’s no way you can save them before they get hurt? You can’t stop him?”

The warlock’s brows twitch. “I-I… no. I’ve thought about it. I’ve… I tried to offer myself up, instead. He loves me, I thought maybe he just wanted me to, to break, to take their place… but he doesn’t want me. He said, said maybe some other time. He just wants to… he’s having fun.”

“I see. Alright, Lux. I’m sorry for bringing up a painful topic. I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything. It’s not your fault. I try not to step in with how I feel, but I wanted to say that. It’s not your fault.”

Lux’s head is dipped down, leaden with guilt. “Yeah, well… you don’t know him like I do.”

#whump #drabble #angst #mine #the spree #lux #remy #nona #riku rose #this is how we lived #recorded #past trauma #afraid #angry #bruised #blood

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 4 years ago

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A Family of Five- Part 3: Sick Day

Calum and Harlowe’s marriage hasn’t always been easy, but it has always been filled with love. This is a collaborative experience with In Sorrow and In Joy. Dad!Calum. Black OC.

CW: Over the course of this series, there are mentions of pregnancy, therapy, and postpartum depression. There is also 18+ Content (Smut)

Enjoy my masterlist | Series Masterlist

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No one has my permission to repost my work of fiction. This includes translations as well

_____________________

The house is finally silent. Koha’s no longer shouting about needing his lunchbox, Harlowe’s not clicking against the tile floor with her heels, Pepper, Sissy and Jack their three dogs have been taken out, sprawled out across their favorite spots in the living room Jack and Sissy are the latest additions. Jack a german shepherd mix and Sissy is a Cocker Spaniel Corgi mix. They were a two for one deal, only in the sense that the pound warned them that the two had become extremely attached to each other. So much so that they could not go to separate foster homes.

Calum can only blame himself for the dog additions. Koha had Pepper and they grew up together. So of course, Calum wanted Esha to grow up with a dog. So they went looking at the same local shelter from where they got Pepper from. That’s how they ran across Jack and Sissy. Esha was stoked to have a dog she could cuddle with. This of course meant that him and Harlowe were outnumbered, though the dogs did help when one of the kids is hurt in another room. They could run and get the attention of Calum or Harlowe to come to the rescue. Of course, the crying also indicated that. But the dogs loved the kids and they best was naptime when they Pepper lays down first, Koha and Esha curled up near each other and Jack and Sissy outlining them. Calum has too many photos of the same scene from multiple different times they curled up together.

Esha whines a little from the couch; Calum walks over, running his palm over her forehead. Normally, she would be off to daycare. However, she had a fever last night and it hadn’t broken yet either. Calum usually drops Esha off, every morning at the same time, with the same kisses, pressed into both cheeks and a big hug. Harlowe’s job and Koha’s private school are in the same direction. Esha’s daycare is a bit of an offshoot, which Harlowe could easily do. However, Esha prefers Calum to drive her. Calum loves it too, her dancing in her carseat, her singing along to the radio. His little baby girl always excited to show him something new that she learned. It’s time for just them.

Though the house wasn’t too chaotic, Calum did feel like he was constantly running around. He was constantly moving, more things added to this To-Do List and never enough time just to enjoy the moment. The moments he has with Esha though on the fifteen minute drive are what keeps him going some days. He loves Harlowe, Koha, and the dogs. But there’s nothing quite like seeing Esha smile, even as he’s dropping her off in front of her preschool There’s the way her tiny hand takes his, and the way she grins, waving at all her friends still close to his side that makes all that chaos still; Calum feels at peace.

Right now though, his little slice of heaven is sick. Esha stirs from her half sleeping state at the feel of a hand on her face, groaning a little. “How you feeling, baby?” Cal asks softly.

She shrugs. “Still hurt a little.”

He nods. “Okay, give it some more time before the meds kick in.” Her cup is empty thankfully. She drank all of her water.

“Okay.”

He tucks the blanket higher up around her, stroking softly over her cheek and bonnet. “I’m sorry you’re sick, baby girl,” he whispers, watching her eyes flutter close. Jack walks over, jumps up onto the couch and settles down at her feet. Pepper keeps watch from the floor with Sissy. Calum scratches over their heads, happy to see them being gentle with her in her present state.

Calum washes the dishes from breakfast, squeezes in a quick work out and after his shower, wakes Esha again. She pushes up away from the pillow, a small ‘hmmph’ falling over her lips. She looks just like Harlowe waking up. The same squint and the matching satin bonnets. “I know, baby, I know. But I have to keep fluids in you.”

Esha takes the cup from her father’s hand, still blinking back sleep from her eyes. There’s no sass, no remark. God, he hates seeing his baby girl like this. Thankfully, she doesn’t get sick often. When she does, it’s like someone has pulled her plug. There’s no power, no life to her almost. She falls back into the cushion, sipping away at her cup. Calum stands, picking her up, before settling into the sofa with Esha in his lap. She snuggles into his chest, though he put her in light pj’s, he can feel the warmth seeping from her body.

He’s already adjusted the AC some to help her stay cool. “Can we watch Moana?” she mumbles against him.

“Of course sweetheart. We’ll start if after lunch, okay?”

Esha nods. “Love you, Daddy.”

“Love up too, baby girl.” When she’s fast asleep, yet again, Calum brings the blanket back around her body. He can wait to fix her soup just a tad bit, not wanting to disturb her sleep too much. Softly, he hums a few songs to her sleeping body.

Calum doesn’t even realize he’s fallen asleep until the feelings of nails against his scalp stir him awake. Harlowe’s smiling down at him. “I came by just to see how see she’s holding up. And I’m come back to both of y’all passed out on the couch,” she chuckles.

Calum sighs. “Hadn’t intended to fall asleep.”

She kisses his forehead. “I’ll fix some soup and then be on my way.”

The sounds of Harlowe’s work around the kitchen sends a shiver down Calum’s spine. He rests his head into the cushions, listening to the soft sounds of metal pots and pans clinking against each other. Esha’s not so warm against him; he’s not sure if it’s just because he’s gotten used to her. Gingerly he places the back of his hand to her forehead. She’s not as warm. Readjusting her, he stands, holding his sick child to his chest.

They’ll be leaving soon. It’s, of course, going to be tricky with the dogs and the house still here in California. Calum’s tempted to just keep the house since it’s paid for as a vacation home. They can retire here during the school breaks. Maybe they can rent it out through an agency so it’s not just sitting unoccupied all the time. Harlowe’s got a couple uni’s that are interested in her already, which is a good sign because she was worried about finding work.

Calum watches Harlowe. She’s still in the heels from this morning. It’s a shock she makes this long anymore in the shoes. The heels are a good sign though. Today’s a good day so far. Bad days don’t see heels. Bad days don’t see skirts, or fancy blouses. Calum thinks part of her recovery and stability is linked to going back to work. She can’t help her students if she’s not thinking straight. She can’t enjoy the worlds they’re creating and she can’t help them shape those worlds if all she has is a fog on her shoulder.

It was hard, before on the maternity leave for Harlowe. It was the same old same old. Day in and day out it was just her bedroom, just the kitchen, and occasionally the outdoors. She didn’t really have a goal, just a muddled sameness marked up rising and fallings of the sun. There was Koha and Esha and Calum for sure. But part of her had taken them for granted, that of course they would be there. She was a mother, she was a wife. These people were in her life for good.

The thing is, life is fragile and it took realizing that her students wouldn’t be able to see her on campus to know that she couldn’t take anyone or anything for granted. Just because Calum was here now didn’t mean he would have to stick this out. Te Koha had already taken too much of her illness into his soul, she couldn’t crush her own child with her heaviness, with her burden.

“Don’t you have a class to be teaching?” Cal asks. He remembers now that her schedule shouldn’t allow her to be here. He blames the post nap fog.

“That was last semester, babe. I redid it so I start teaching at 9, go until 12. Break for lunch for an hour and some change. Then my last class ends goes from 2 to 3:30.”

“That’s right,” he hums, still trying to shake the sleep from him. Harlowe glances over her shoulder a smirk on her face. He knows what she’s thinking. “Don’t say it.”

She holds her hands up in defense. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“But you were thinking it. You’re always thinking it.”

“You just love her, that’s all. There’s nothing wrong with that.” Her face says it all though how tightly Esha has Calum wrapped around her tiny finger. It doesn’t matter though. As long as his baby girl knows how much he loves her, it doesn’t matter what Harlowe or anyone else things, or says, or doesn’t say. He’d go through Hell for her, and come back, only to go through it again if he had too. Nothing would stop him from taking care of his daughter.

Pepper walks over, whining, pointing to the door. “I’ll take her,” Harlowe says, sliding out from in front of the stove.

As he stirs the soup, Esha starts to wake, groaning. He sets her onto the counter. Calum’s still impressed that he can hold her with one arm. Esha’s getting bigger with every passing second. It scares him a little when he won’t be able to hold her like this anymore. When she’ll be too big and want nothing more than to run through the streets, just as wild as she’s bound to be. She holds onto the blanket, asking, “Chicken noodle soup?”

“Of course. It’s your favorite.”

“Can I have some water?”

Calum hums with a nod, opening the fridge. The back door opens and Esha smiles at up at her mom. “Hi, Momma.”

“Hey, baby. How you feeling?”

“Why you not at school?”

“Came by to see how you’re doing.” Harlowe presses a quick kiss to her forehead. Calum watches them. This is the Harlowe he knew was buried under her fog. This is the Harlowe Koha knew. The new meds seem to be helping. The idea of moving is still scary, but necessary. This place has run its course. Besides, Calum’s worried. New meds always work and then she stops taking them. He can’t do this alone, taking care of two kids, three dogs and his wife. He needs an extra pair of hands to help him out, especially when Harlowe slips. She doesn’t listen to just anybody. Her family’s no help. But Momma Joy has always managed to slip through her guard and keeps her on the right take.

“Daddy can take care of me,” Esha retorts.

“You’re definitely feeling better,” Harlowe laughs. “I know Papa Bear can. Momma’s just a worrier, you know.”

“Love you,” she whispers as her mom wraps her up in a hug.

“Love you too. I’ve got a meeting, so I should probably get back soon.” Harlowe turns to Calum, sliding her hands around his waist. “Want me to pick something up for dinner?”

“I’ll cook. Don’t worry.”

With a nod, she slides away, but not before lightly patting his butt through the sweatpants. “Gross, Momma!” Esha huffs, noting the contact.

“Do you call Papa Bear out like this?” Harlowe teases, waving as she exits the house.

“Yes, I do!” the little girl calls to her mother’s back, laughing. These are his two girls, constantly teasing each other.

Soup finally warmed, Esha sits at the table, taking small spoonfuls to her mouth. Her little legs dangle high above the floor. She crosses her eyes, sucking on a noddle in response to Calum’s face. He laughs, eyes closing, the skin around them crinkling too. Esha beams at the sound; she puffs out her chest a little. The laughter is because of her doing.

“Do you want to take your hair down?” he asks, after calming from his laugh spell.

“No.”

Calum waits until she finishes all the bits of her soup, before they start racing to see who can drink the broth down the fastest. Esha winds up getting more on her pj’s than actually in her stomach. “Look at this mess,” Calum tsks, helping her down at of the chair. “Messy little one, aren’t you?”

“You were beating me. I had to win!”

He nods, waving her towards the stairs, a smile tugging on his lips. “Clearly winning involves dumping half the broth down your shirt.”

“Uh huh, it does.” He cleans her off, sliding her into clean pj’s. She climbs onto the sofa, while Calum cleans the dishes. She’s clutches the DVD cover for Moana, waiting. Calum’s not sure how she hasn’t grown sick of the movie yet. But she watches it with the same eager and awe as the first time she’s laid eyes on it. Calum pulls the plug on the drain, washing his hands off again.

Esha climbs into his lap right at the start of the movie, she holds a juice pack in her hands, eyes glued to the screen. “You gotta do the singing parts, Daddy,” she states.

“I know,” he nods, chuckling, “I know.” The singing parts also include the choreography too. During ‘You’re Welcome’, Esha joins her father, dancing around the living room. Both of them know it so well, they barely pay attention to the screen.

When Harlowe returns that afternoon with Koha, she can hear singing before she fully crosses the threshold. Her first guess is Moana, but the further they get into the house, it’s not. It’s Princess and the Frog. Calum’s dancing around during The Shadow Man’s man song. Koha drops his backpack in the foyer, running to join in. Normally, they would try to keep the kids separate if they’re sick. Clearly it is not going to work this time.

Everyone settles in to finish the rest of the movie before Calum stands to start dinner. Esha watches from the bar counter, also scribbling over copy paper. Koha chats about his day, going over his homework with Harlowe. The house slowly fills with a white noise of sizzling, laughter and paws clicking.

#calum hood #calum hood fanfic #calum hood fic #calum hood imagine #calum hood x black OC #dad!cal #dad!cal series #dad!calum #5sos #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #5sos imagine #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer fic #5 seconds of summer imagine #h writes

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beeblebrox-be-damned · 5 years ago

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Silohuette (Part 6: Preventative Measures 2/2)

Dark!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Steve cursed under his breath as he slammed the heel of his hand down on the horn, joining the cacophony of irritated New York drivers. Of course, they were irritated for a much less pressing reason than him. Bucky would be in hot pursuit of him by now.

Finally, the traffic began moving again in slow, faltering spurts. He turned down a side street as soon as possible, wanting to get as far from the police station as fast as he could. The side street was relatively empty, giving him room to speed for just a few moments. Steve was loathe to break laws, but it seemed necessary given the situation.

The side street opened upon another main street, this one less crowded than the last. He wove in and out between slow-moving cars, receiving several angry honks from multiple drivers. He flinched each time, mentally apologizing to those he disturbed.

Just as he passed another vehicle, there was the screeching of breaks behind him. He glanced back briefly, hoping he hadn’t been the cause. Nobody had crashed, so he kept moving.

Something hit the top of his car, hard. He froze, then floored it, weaving erratically as he sped down the street trying to shake off what had landed. A fist broke through the window, and Steve knew he was beat.

With a heavy sigh, he pulled over to the sidewalk and parked. The fist withdrew and the owner of it jumped off the roof of the vehicle. He glared at Steve, rage dancing in his eyes. Steve switched the car off and shoved the keys in his pocket.

“Out of the car, Steve,” Bucky said coldly. His voice was muffled slightly by the mask he wore, the one he’d used as the Winter Soldier.

Steve opened the door and held up his hands. Bucky shoved past him and began to search the car. “She’s not in there, Buck.”

Bucky withdrew and glared at Steve wordlessly before turning and checking the back of the vehicle. True to Steve’s word, it was empty. He slammed the hatch shut angrily and marched back over to Steve, grabbing him by the collar and shoving him back against the car. Bits of glass poked his shoulders.

“Where,” he growled savagely, “is she?” His eyes were sharp as chips of ice.

Steve kept his face straight, a poker face. “I don’t know. She ran off once we were out the door.”

Bucky yanked Steve forward and then slammed him back. Steve’s breath faltered as air was forced from his lungs. He coughed for a moment before he regained his breath.

Bucky stared at him fiercely. “Bull. You wouldn’t have been driving like that if that were true.”

Steve shook his head. “I’m not going to tell you where she’s at.” He met his friend’s gaze steadfast. “You can’t just take someone from their home, Bucky, it isn’t right. Not at all.” His voice was firm.

Bucky let go of Steve and shoved him away from the car. He swung open the door and climbed into the driver’s seat, not bothering to brush away the shards of glass that littered the cushion. He slammed the door shut and yanked the mask off his face.

“Get in the car,” he barked at Steve. Steve opened his mouth to protest, but Bucky cut him off. “Now, Steve.”

Steve slid into the passenger side without a word.

The apartment was worse than Bucky had remembered, which served his purpose well. he pulled to the curb and led Steve up the sidewalk. His friend was silent as they crossed the expanse of broken concrete.

The doorknob was nearly hanging of the door. The gutters above, which had been busted before, were now resting across the tiny patch of dead grass in front of the building. A slur and a lewd picture had been spray-painted on the mildewed wall. Bucky heard Steve shift uncomfortable beside him as they stood and surveyed the damage.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Bucky scoffed.

“I- I had no idea. I just called a few people to clean up, but I didn’t know…” Steve trailed off.

“Wait until you see the inside,” Bucky sighed gruffly. He nudged open the door, which creaked but fell open easily. He led Steve inside.

The carpet was patchy at best, the couch soiled. Someone had come in and wrecked the place. Bucky was feverishly glad his girl hadn’t been there when it happened. The tiny kitchen to the side was in shambles, water puddles warping the floor. The bathroom reeked, several rats lying dead around the small shower stall.

“How can someone live like this?” murmured Steve. “I can’t even imagine…” He shoved his hands in his pockets, nudging a piece of broken plaster with his shoe. A cockroach skittered out from under it. “Anyone could’ve gotten in through that door.”

Bucky nodded solemnly. He trudged through the kitchen, testing the water faucet. A small spurt of dirty water shot forth then slowed to a stop. “Pipes must’ve burst during that cold snap,” he muttered. Considering the state of the place, he’d wager that the landlord- whoever the sorry bastard was- wouldn’t get it fixed. His girl would’ve been living without water.

Steve swallowed, his heart sinking to his stomach. “And this-” he said grimly “-was all she could afford?” He looked at Bucky, face fallen. Bucky nodded, his mouth set in a grim frown.

“I understand now.”

Someone’s hand rested on your shoulder, shaking you gently. You grunted and opened your eyes, the bright lights of the station blaring. Your neck ached from how you’d fallen asleep, head resting on the wall as you leaned against it.

The kind officer who’d taken you in, gave you a gentle smile as she pulled her hand away. “Feeling better?”

Your brow furrowed. Had you seemed sick when you came in? Perhaps she meant the anxiety you’d had. “Yes, thank you.”

She nodded. “Good. Up and at ‘em. then. Someones here to get you, take you to a safe place.” You raised your eyebrow, looking at her skeptically.

“Who is it?” you asked cautiously. She stepped back out of the room and waved someone over. Steve Rogers ducked in the door, smiling. You gave a relieved sigh. Maybe he’d set you up a safe-house until Bucky forgot about you.

“Ready to go?” he asked. You nodded, following the lady officer and Steve out of the small room. The officer handed you a pair of flip-flops.

“Had these in unclaimed goods. Figured you’d need at least a little somethin’ to wear home.” You blushed and looked down at your bare feet, slipping the shoes on quickly. They were slightly large, but you’d make do until you could buy some suitable shoes.

“Thank you, really,” you said, looking back up at the officer. “I know I must’ve seemed a bit… overwhelmed. But thank you for listening to me and keeping me safe.”

An odd expression flashed over her face before she nodded. “No problem, hun.” She looked up at Steve. “There’s no paperwork or anything, you two are free to go.”

He nodded appreciatively and shook her hand. “Thank you.” He turned to you and put his hand gently on your shoulder. “C’mon, the car is waiting outside.” He led you out of the station and to the SUV.

He opened the back door and nodded towards the seat. “I need you to sit back there, okay? It’s safer.”

Your stomach dropped. Was Bucky still looking for you? You climbed in the back seat obediently. Steve shut the door and walked around to the other side to the driver’s seat. You fastened your seatbelt, rubbing your fingers over the rough material nervously.

Steve glanced back at you and gave you a reassuring smile, noticing your nervousness. “Don’t worry, I’ve got somewhere safe lined out. Just sit back and relax, it isn’t terribly far.”

You nodded, leaning back in the seat as Steve pulled into the bustling morning traffic. You gazed out the window idly, wondering where you’d end up and how you’d support yourself. It’d be impossible for you to get your old job back after so long.

You rested your forehead against the window. Steve turned a corner, and your brow furrowed. “So where are we going, exactly?” you asked, curious. Surely your safe place wouldn’t be so close to the suburbs where your former captor lurked.

Steve looked back briefly, the corner of his mouth twitching. A hand clamped over your mouth, metallic and cold. It muffled your screams. In the back of your mind as your eyes settled on the broken driver’s side window, you could hear the shattering sound of the cab driver barrier. A rag settled over your nose.

You sank into a deep, dreamless sleep. Bucky lowered his hands and slid over the back of the seats settling beside you. He pressed a kiss to your temple. TAGLIST: @the-soulofdevil @imaginedreamwrite@divinepurp1evoid @kennedysbrainpiece

#dark!bucky #dark marvel #dark!bucky x reader #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #kidnapping #dark!steve rogers

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therightwaytocustomizesneakers91 · 4 years ago

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The Best Way to Go for an Suitable Couple of Sports Shoes

Have you been really a sneaker fiend that simply are not able to get enough of the hottest sneakers from Nike or even Jordan Brand or Supra foot wear? Would you like to really like collect more and more shoes however the sole thing stopping you is your own cash? Very well, shoes out of big manufacturers do not appear cheap now - especially supposing it is actually just a collector's item. Hence, if you are an creative fan, then produce your own custom sneakers, anything private to telephone your own personal. Additionally, who knows, you'll be able to build it around be shoe kingdom just like Nike.Shoes, simply like your clothes supply a window into your nature and lifestyle. Maintaining your sneakers talk out on yourself, they're a means of expressing yourself, just enjoy any other art. You can either perform the customization yourself, or even get the aid of several services that provide the art of scrutinizing your own shoes. You are able to opted to customize your sneakers ranging from selecting custom made colours and cloths, to presenting artwork painted onto a pair of classic shoes. The craft of imitating shoes have attracted a reach of artists to the foray-those who appreciate designing and have a fad for sneakers. Moreover, the craze for sneakers don't just apply to girls, adult guys of are time consuming a fetish for sneakers too ranging from shoes to lace to loafers.The top from the art of imitating shoes is acquiring them painted. A few web site stipulates this provider and they allow you to choose images from their gallery or you can work with them to come up with some personalized art that demonstrates you. Besides painting on footwear they even splash color on matters like totes, jackets, as well as other apparel item.Customizing bags, shoes and different substances you could think of is a great gift idea. Envision giving your companion or boyfriend/girlfriend a bag or pair shoes that signifies them. Christmas is around the corner so this could eventually be convenient for you as a gift idea.Realizing this sudden boom at the craft of scrutinizing shoes, even many prominent manufacturers have all but jumped into the bandwagon of personalization. If you aren't feeling adventuresome at the clothing section, but want trendy looking shoes to satisfy your feet in, then you may have a look at some of the many huge player brands who've jumped on the lace band-wagon. Clearly, you think Nike, the king of sneakers and sports apparel will not fall within this group? Of course they do! Nike has its own own field of customization artwork found in Nike ID. Nike allows you to personalize a large number of all Nike footwear styles like the Air Force 1, Shox, Air Max, Air Zoom, as well as some other types of basketball, football, jogging and overall athletic shoes. Pick your colours for everything from your"Nike Swoosh" to the laces and you may add your own name! How cool is that? Evidently, the art of personalization was accepted to some completely new level.My beloved, and also predictably most expensive, basketball shoes ever had been a set of Allen Iverson's The Answer III. The main reason I loved it so much was the cushioning. It felt just like I was running on pillows. I felt as I raced faster, jumped increased, and eventually become tougher. I threw my own body into traffic, driving into the lane to obtain lay ups. While I place those sneakers , I felt just like I had been Iverson.I bring up this because about a week ago, my present basketball footwear began off to give me blisters. The pillow came where the arch of my feet satisfied the shoe. Because my feet are obnoxiously level, my foot was basically rubbing against rubber. That caused B-listers overly painful to manage. Trying to play with the pain, I started initially to over compensate my step by landing exclusively on the blade of the personal foot. This began to harm my legs and shins. I couldn't run, '' I could not leap, also I couldn't maintain up on shield. Following failed experiments with shortness, I chose to obtain new basketball sneakers.This clearly is not the first pair of basketball sneakers but since I want to maximize my limited basketball skills, I figured I would do my own research first. So how can I buy good basket-ball sneakers?When you head into the store, the first thing that you notice is how the shoes look. Idon't need to inform you that you should get footwear that you just think look good.The subsequent point you will likely consider is that the purchase. This could be one of the most significant factor you consider when deciding whether or not to obtain the shoes rather than. You really don't want to splurge on shoe, but at the same period you want the very best sneakers you are able to spend. While well-known tips of coupons and sales employ, remember athletic merchants are not your sole choice. Department stores, discount stores, and also other clothing stores have sporting shoes in stock. I finished up acquiring LeBron's Soldier II in Nordstom Rack for 50 percent away retail.Finally, you take off a shoe off the rack, so ask the shoes out of your sales man, also try one. There really are a handful different facets of the shoe to think about. In the event you would like to an even far more in depth look in different attributes read but in summary: make sure there are enough cushioning on the floor and sides and make sure your foot will not slide around within the shoe should you lace them up. That is really all you need from your own shoes. The very first action to do is to consider the sort of player you're. The majority of us are not adequate to notice the subtle differences amongst a shoe constructed to get a player and also a shoe designed for a quick player but, it's still very great possess an understanding of you need to be searching for in a more shoe.For electricity players (forward and centers), it's important for the shoe to become well cushioned and to your own shoe to lock the foot in to the shoe - stabilizing the foot therefore it will not slip around within the shoe. These functions include mass and weight into the shoe - that can be the reason they are more suitable for larger, slower players.Fast players (guards) will want lighter shoes that tend to be more flexible. The drawback to versatility will be you'll give up support. Giving up a small service makes the shoe more comfortable and much more flexible allowing faster, sharper cuts.As for instance, Hyperdunks consider in at an incredibly gentle 16.6 oz whilst LeBron's Soldier II weighs in at huge 21.6 ounces. Whether you're a slashing player or a very low pole player, keep the weight and bulk of the shoes at your mind as they can indicate the strengths of their shoe. A thick shoe supplies more support and cushioning while a mild shoe delivers far much additional flexibility.Of program, you'll find sneakers between the two of these extremes, therefore that it's fantastic to know exactly what you would like from the shoe to find the optimal/optimally fit.Now, the more traditional basketball footwear really are high tops, however that's slowly changing. Kobe built waves putting out low shirts this past year, however, the ordinary participant will desire high shirts as they provide ankle support that is needed. Again, even low shirts present greater versatility and range of movement than high shirts, so if you are willing to forfeit just a tiny support, provide low shirts a go. Kobe did.An crucial and dominant layout alternative is the way the shoes lace upward. Many shoes have directly laces. Other individuals use some combination of straps, zippers and laces to ensure the foot in the shoe. Straight laces have functioned as the birth of sneakers and shoes are perfectly good enough, but try out some straps and zippers in the event that you would like. You would just like to make sure your foot is not slipping around as you go around - specially once you move facet to side.Another major caliber of a basketball shoe is it is cushioning. I don't will need to tell you that the shoe needs to be cozy. Great shoes is likely to ensure it is feel as if you are walking on pillows. Nothing elaborate here. If you believe it's fine, it is fine. In the event you believe that it's bad, it's bad.Finally, there's the out sole - at that the base of the the shoe. Try about the shoe see just how good your shoe handles the bottom. If you play out a lot, look for thicker, more durable out slopes because they'll endure longer. Again, your intuition is just a superb estimate. In the event you believe it's fine, it is. Otherwise, it just isn't. All these are different information you are able to consider for example airflow (is it comfortable for you to receive air while inside the shoe) And heel to toe transition (just how can the shoe feel when you travel from heel to toe? ) ) But do not get overly caught up in the particulars. When you try out the shoes, try out some side to side movements and be certain the shoes really are comfortable. In the event you don't feel overly ashamed, consider leaping and down only just a little. These will be the big moves you make on the basketball court and also you also want to simulate in what way the shoes texture as if you're playing with. If that which seems very good, they truly are going to be very great shoes.Lastly, don't dismiss the psychological factor of sporting your favourite player's footwear. Like I mentioned at the intro, playing with in Iverson's shoes left me really feel such as Iverson. Even as you get old, absolutely nothing motivates you to perform such as placing the shoes of your favourite player and faking you are him (or her).Just remember that the player's touch shoes are specially designed for that participant. Kobe's sneakers have been developed for Kobe. LeBron's sneakers have been developed for LeBron. Thus, should you play with just like one of these guys, their shoes will suit your drama style.No thing exactly what the match, however your home is, the shoes you select will be to give you the comfort and style you deserve. Not any sneaker will really do. Design, color and a great look are unquestionably important elements of the selection procedure but performance is crucial too. The substances used from the sneakers are paramount to your comfort and your achievement if you are a runner, even a golfer or maybe only a kid.The upper aspect of the sneaker is your part which grabs folks' eyes. This can be where the fearless layouts, shoe laces and bright colors combine to attract the remaining part of the shoe with each other. Uppers are made of three primary substances: canvas, mesh and leather. That cloth is preferred pertains for the purpose of the shoe. For example, a shoe that is running need to offer support and airflow.As the name suggests, the midsole is at the exact center of this shoe. It is here now that support and protection are given for your own feet. Some of those greatest shoes make use of a mix of standard materials such as Phylon, polyurethane, Phylite, and EVA. The attributes each content provides include value to this sneaker. Phylon is lightweight whereas polyurethane has become the most sturdy material. Phylite can be just really a combination of rubber and Phylon that's milder compared to solid rubberized although heavier compared to Phylon. It may be utilised to earn a one-piece midsole and outsole. This dramatically reduces the burden of their shoe. EVA may be your cheapest material available for mid-soles. It is light weight, flexible and soft.This is the portion of the shoe where the rubber meets the pavement, so to speak. It is your foot first field of defense versus the earth, sidewalk or basketball court. The sneaker substance utilised this is a type of rubber. Five unique types are most frequently used: gum , Duralon, long lasting plastic substance, carbon rubber or solid rubber.To receive new details on this please see this official statement. Gum rubber comes with a distinguishing tan coloration and is a synthetic and natural rubber mixture. It supplies great traction on indoor surfaces such as basketball and volleyball courts however is perhaps not encouraged for exterior surfaces.Duralon can be a blown synthetic rubber that features air pockets and a soft pillow, typically for the area in the leading part of the foot. It's commonly found in conducting shoes.Durable rubber substance carries strong rubber and also comprises additives that offer it extra durability. It's a hard finish and is suitable for tough, outdoor surfaces.Carbon rubber joins pure rubber together with carbon dioxide to create a durable outsole chiefly utilised in conducting shoes.Solid rubber is a blend of both synthetic and natural rubbers which provide exceptional durability and traction nevertheless is still maybe not as great on demanding exterior surfaces.If you decide on sneakers make certain you have the best possible materials and functionality along with a pleasing design and style and style.It is famous that so as to direct a healthy lifetime, you have to practice one or even sports over a regular foundation. Yet, what isn't stressed nowadays is the demand for having proper gear when experiencing one or another sort of action. That is what contributes to numerous injuries that will ultimately allow men and women run away from sports.One among the absolute most important pieces from the apparatus may be the sports sneakers. They protect the feet and make them feel at ease throughout the full practicing period. Yet, regardless of these great significance, many individuals are inclined to neglect them and decide on all those typo of sneakers comes to their own hand , without pondering if these shoes are proper for them (or to your own game they'll experience ) or not.What individuals don't know is how indoor athletic shoes (utilized at the gyms) and outside athletics shoes really are very different and they need to never purchase fitness shoes and also walk outdoors with them. This is principally as the rubber from the soles of in door shoes is much more durable plus also they will probably get ruined in a short length of time.On the other hand, that the outdoor shoes tend to be somewhat more rigid, therefore they are not suggested for fitness moves or indoor immersion. Still another thing that gets ignored with many people purchasing athletics shoes is really there are various designs for different sportsbetting. So there are basketball sneakers, fitness footwear, sneakers or walking sneakers, every single one having its features adjusted accordingly that they would best serve the wearer. Perhaps not carrying this to account might result in uncomfortable moments for your feet and possibly even blisters and open wounds.You may well not believe that inappropriate shoes could do that, nevertheless they could in fact do even worst. Knee or back pain as well as tendinitis or alternative muscle conditions can result from the erroneously picked pair sports shoes. When you've found the perfect type of footwear for the activity, be certain they also match snugly onto your feet!The lace closure must be matched, the soles have to be correctly reinforced and also the fabric should be comfy enough to stay long time in them. For exterior sports that require lots of motion, so make certain that they're also rather effectively ventilated with lots of cushioning. This will prevent the feet from perspiration and attain a wonderful fever inside.

#How to Lace Sneakers

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anubislover · 5 years ago

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Welcome to the Heart Pirates, Nami-ya chapter 11: Dinner with Dr. Heart Stealer

As the clock struck seven, Nami critiqued her outfit in the mirror; a strapless little black dress that hugged her curves like a glove, gold stiletto heels, black thigh-high stockings, and the tourmaline jewelry she’d bought from the seller in Tokken. She even used the hairpins Law had gotten her to clip back the left side of her hair. She finished off the look with some dark red lipstick and gold smokey eyeshadow, giving herself an elegant but sensual look.

“Getting all dressed up for the captain?” Ikkaku teased from her bed. The engineer was thumbing through the romance novel she’d caught Nami with, and though it wasn’t her usual thing, had decided to give it a shot. After all, it had managed to entrance the usually energetic navigator for hours, and she had some time to kill before Ladies Night.

Brushing some gold highlighter over her cheekbones, Nami scoffed. “Please, I’m getting dressed up for you. Law’s just a lucky bastard who benefits due to scheduling.”

“I’m flattered,” she said with a wink. “Though I’ll understand if you ditch me to take him back to the nearest inn so he can rock your world. I mean, I won’t be happy, but I’ll understand.”

“Ok, I gotta ask—have you ever slept with Law? Because you’re always vouching for his sexual prowess…”

Ikkaku immediately made fake gagging sounds. “Oh, hell no! That’d be like fucking one of my brothers! But I have talked to some of his past lovers, and they all seemed pretty damn satisfied. Something a girl like you deserves to be.”

Hip jutting out and eyebrow raised in challenge, Nami replied, “How do you know they aren’t lying? Maybe he’s terrible in bed but they’re all too scared to speak ill of the Surgeon of Death, especially to one of his fearsome subordinates.”

The grin said subordinate graced her with was nothing short of salacious. “Because if he were bad, Drake wouldn’t keep coming back for more, even though Law pisses him off so much.”

Nami bit her lip to hide her grin. “Ok, fair point. Also, I want the inside scoop on that relationship.”

“If Law doesn’t give you the dirty details himself, I’ll happily fill you in,” she replied, sniggering. “Bet they’ll give you better fantasies than whatever’s in your books!”

Pink rose to the redhead’s cheeks as her eyes briefly darted to the space under her bed. Nami had shoved Ikkaku’s scandalous box to the very back corner to hopefully never see the light of day again. She dared not throw them out; she doubted Ikkaku would take kindly to it, and knowing her, would probably present her with something even more embarrassing in retaliation. “By the way, as much as I hate your stupid ‘gift’, thanks for not spilling that to everyone. At least, not directly.”

“I thought about it but figured the sex toys would be just as funny without the guys prying into your hobbies. Most of them have enough tact to keep them from teasing you about a dildo, but I doubt they’d show the same restraint if they found out you were into erotic novels.”

“You just want to lord my guilty pleasure over me, don’t you?”

“How’d you know?”

“I have a sister, remember?”

“Ha! Good point. I’m guessing she teases you about this stuff?” she asked, pointing to the book.

Chocolate eyes rolled in exasperated fondness as she played with her bracelet. “All the time. It was annoying, but I guess I appreciated it, in a way. It was one of the more normal things we could talk about, given how screwed up our situation was.”

“Because of the pirates holding your town hostage?”

“Yeah,” she replied, debating on whether she should elaborate. Finally, she added, “I was kind of an outcast among the townsfolk because I made sea charts for the captain. My sister was the only one who knew it was against my will, and that I had made a deal to raise money to buy the village back. Or at least, they all pretended not to know so if I ever decided to give up and run away, I wouldn’t feel guilty.”

“You know, I’m beginning to understand why you have so many trust issues,” Ikkaku quipped, though her eyes were sympathetic.

“Believe me, it was way worse before Luffy came into my life. If we’d met a year ago, I would have already betrayed you and stolen the ship and all the treasure on board.”

“You could try, but the Boss would kill you. He loves this ship and he does not take threats to his crew lightly.”

“I’ve noticed,” Nami deadpanned, adjusting her bodice. It was a sweetheart neckline, which nicely accented her generous bust, had enough support to keep her from spilling out. Such a thing was extremely necessary, given the low back of the dress. Not long ago, she would have been nervous wearing something so daring around Law, but she was still leaning on the theory that he had a weird fetish for modest clothing. If she was right, showing this much skin would act as a repellant.

“He wasn’t too rough with you, was he?” Ikkaku asked, genuinely concerned. “I mean, he can get intense—”

“Oh, he was absolutely terrifying, and I’m pretty sure he was ready to start removing body parts if I hadn’t been having a panic attack, but honestly? I’d still choose him over Arlong.”

Before Ikkaku could ask any questions, there was a firm knock on the door. Grabbing her new purse and slipping into a leopard print, fur-trimmed coat, Nami nodded at her roommate. “Promise me a 9pm rescue?”

“Hmmm, only if I don’t get too caught up in this book,” she teased, cracking it open. “I mean, you did say there was some pretty intense eye contact to look forward to.”

Blushing, she shot back, “You laugh, but chemistry like that can be more intense than any make-out scene.”

“Says the virgin.”

Choosing to ignore the jab, Nami yanked open the door and was met by Law’s cocky smirk. To her surprise, he wore a tailored white suit with a black dress shirt, which brought out that extra little bit of olive in his skin tone. His polished black dress shoes gleamed as brightly as his earrings and the thick, gold chain around his neck. A heady, musky scent tempted Nami’s nose, and she realized Law’d chosen to wear some kind of cologne. Oddly enough, his white fur hat and tattoos didn’t seem as out of place as when he’d dressed up on Tokken Island; perhaps it was because this wasn’t a disguise, or the color was just far more complimentary to his trademark accessories. He looked slick and dangerous, but also at ease—a criminal on a night off.

Damn it, he looked even better than he had at the gala.

Leaning against the doorframe, Law’s grin widened at her perusal. “Do I pass inspection, Nami-ya?” he purred, giving her his own approving once-over.

Gold eyes locked with hazelnut as Nami cocked her hip. “Considering how you haven’t told me where we’re going, it’s a bit hard to judge. For all I know, you’re underdressed.”

“We’re going to a jazz club I frequent, so even if I showed up in jeans, they’d let me in—especially if I have a beautiful woman on my arm.”

“Flatter all you like, Law—you’re not getting out of footing the bill.”

Never breaking eye contact, he gave a little mock bow. “Of course not. A gentleman always treats on the first date.”

“I don’t know you’re more wrong about; that you think this is a date, that there’ll be more than one, or that you’re anything even close to a gentleman.”

“I think I proved myself at the gala. I was on my best behavior, wasn’t I?”

“Maybe in public, but the second we were alone, you went right back to being a bastard.”

A low whistle interrupted their banter, and Nami turned to see Ikkaku wiggling her eyebrows suggestively as she meaningfully glanced between them. “You know what, Nami? You may have a point with that ‘intense eye contact’ thing.”

Cheeks inflamed, Nami grabbed Law by the arm and dragged him down the hallway before Ikkaku could say anything else. As she felt the captain’s intense gaze burning into the back of her head, she silently wondered if a free dinner was worth it.

XXX

The outside of the jazz club was far from impressive—in fact, the entrance was a nondescript wooden door against a plain brick wall, its only ornamentation a faded bronze knocker and a number “8” nailed at the top. Nami was positive she would have walked straight past if Law hadn’t led her to it, pausing to quickly rap three times with his knuckles, then four with the knocker.

After a moment, the door opened, and they were greeted by a young woman dressed in a short skirt and tailored red vest. “Captain Trafalgar. So glad you could join us tonight.”

Law gave a lazy, familiar grin as he wrapped his arm around Nami’s waist. “Always a pleasure, Akari. Is my usual booth ready?”

“Of course, sir,” she replied, ushering them inside and leading them down a narrow, winding staircase.

As they stepped into the lounge, Nami’s eyes widened in surprise. The bland building façade hid a much more elaborate interior; everything from the bar to the floor to the wall panels were made of mahogany or cherry wood, with ruby red cushions, upholstery, and carpets. Red and gold lamps provided just enough light to see by while giving the place a sensual, mysterious ambiance.

At the far end of the room, low couches formed a semi-circle around the small dance floor in front of the stage, where various instruments and music stands awaited performers. Currently, the stage’s sole occupant was an older gentleman playing a soothing tune on the piano. There were a few larger tables scattered about, but most of the seating appeared to be small booths in the walls, their openings framed by red velvet curtains. Several were occupied by canoodling couples, and it didn’t escape Nami’s notice that a few even had the curtains drawn.

Akrai led them to an empty booth, and Law graciously helped Nami out of her coat, handing it to their hostess to hang up before sliding comfortably into his seat.

“Wow,” Nami said, taking it all in. Their seating arrangement was cozy but not claustrophobic, the velvet cushions that padded the crescent bench wonderfully plush. A gold lamp hung above the round table, allowing her to more easily peruse the embossed menu. Appetizers ranged from shrimp cocktail to deviled quail eggs, while entrees featured grilled seafood, roast duck, and steak. The drink list was extensive with an assortment of sparkling wines, cocktails, hard liquor, and even absinthe.

“I figured you’d approve,” Law replied smugly, lounging back in his seat. “And I told you I wasn’t underdressed.”

“I guess not. How’d you hear about this place?”

“It’s an establishment that first started in the North Blue—Prohibition Island decided it wanted to outlaw alcohol, among other ‘sinful’ things. The club’s owner was an entrepreneur from the West Blue, so she knew a thing or two about setting up businesses under the government’s nose. The original club became successful enough to branch out to other islands, and eventually made its way down the Grand Line.”

“I wouldn’t expect Grimm to ban alcohol,” Nami replied, brow furrowing in confusion. An archipelago that catered to pirates and other scum, which had a thriving black market and a brothel on every corner, but outlawed alcohol? The very idea was baffling.

Head shaking, Law chuckled, “Oh, it doesn’t, but Haiko-ya felt the atmosphere suited the clandestine aesthetic. This just happens to be a place where you can get quality booze and not worry about someone spiking your drink. She’s a criminal, but she has standards far higher than most of the island’s establishments.”

“You sound like you know her personally.”

He shrugged but gave a mysterious smile. “She’s Kimo-ya’s wife, actually. Considering all the business I do with her husband, she was happy to give me a lifetime VIP membership.”

A wave of paranoia sent a shiver down Nami’s spine. “What if she sells us out to Jinzo?”

“She won’t. She hates the man’s guts to an impressive extent. Hell, if she’s here tonight, she’ll probably give you special perks for ending up on his shit list.”

By that point, a young man in a red satin waistcoat appeared, smiling at the pair pleasantly. “Welcome back to Ruby 8, Captain Trafalgar. My name is Hansuke, and it’s my pleasure to serve you tonight. What can I get you to drink?” he asked, flipping open his notepad.

“I’ll have a neat whiskey,” Law said easily.

“A Sour Sunrise for me, please,” Nami said, pleased to find an orange juice-based cocktail. She flashed Law a catlike grin as she added, “And a bottle of your best champagne.”

“One glass or two?” the waiter asked, glancing at Law for confirmation.

“Two,” Law replied, smirking at Nami. “In fact, make sure there’s another bottle ready for when we finish the first one. We’re celebrating, after all, and I intend on giving my woman an unforgettable evening.”

“I’m not your woman,” she growled, but was ignored by both men.

“Of course, Captain Trafalgar,” Hansuke said with an eager nod. Men looking to impress were men who spent a lot of money, and if he did well, he might just earn himself a hefty tip. “Are you ready to order your meals as well, or do you need more time?”

“I know what I want,” said Law, barely glancing at the menu. “I’ll take the grilled salmon with the house salad.”

“I’ll have the orange duck, and can we also get a basket of rolls for the table, please?” Nami asked the waiter sweetly, fluttering her eyelashes for extra measure.

The young man nervously glanced between her and the scowling Supernova, clearly debating which one was better to please.

“I…let me check with the chef—I think he said something about running out,” he squeaked out before sprinting off.

“That was cruel of you, Nami-ya,” Law rumbled, fixing her with an annoyed glare, though sadistic humor twinkled in his eyes. “I told you, I’m a regular here. They know I despise bread and will decapitate anyone stupid enough to bring it to my table.”

With a huff, she crossed her long legs and flipped her hair haughtily. “Killing a waiter isn’t a great way to impress a girl and will definitely get you banned from any self-respecting restaurant—VIP or not.”

“I wouldn’t kill him—you forget, my powers allow me to cut a man to pieces and still keep him alive.”

“You should seriously still be banned.”

“They’ve served far worse patrons than me, and they know I’ll be on my best behavior and fill their pockets with plenty of belli so long as they don’t intentionally piss me off.” Lips turning up in an amused grin, he continued, “I’d say it’s a lesson you could stand to learn, sweetheart, but half the time I find your petty acts of defiance charming.”

“Does that include the sunburn I gave you?”

“No, though I did enjoy everything you did to distract me from it.”

The waiter returned to their booth with their drinks and a small tray of assorted meat and cheeses, smiling at Nami apologetically even as a drop of sweat trickled down his face. “I’m so sorry, miss, but it seems we’re out of bread this evening. Not so much as a crumb can be found. Please accept this complimentary charcuterie board with the house’s sincerest apologies.”

Annoying as it was that Law had the staff wrapped around his finger, she took pity on the poor man and gave an understanding smile. If the Surgeon of Death really was a regular at this place, she couldn’t blame him for not going along with her game. “Oh, this is just lovely! Thank you so much!”

Hansuke’s relief was palatable as he set down the tray and their drinks before running off to fetch the champagne.

“See? It’s things like this that keep me from getting too mad at you,” Law chuckled, popping a cube of cheese into his mouth. “I haven’t gotten a free appetizer since that time a new waiter insisted I’d ordered breadcrumbs on my salmon.”

“So, you tolerate me so long as I get you free stuff?” Nami quipped, taking a dainty bite of a slice of ham. It had a surprising fruity note and practically melted in her mouth. She’d have to tell Sanji about it. Hell, even Luffy might appreciate it, assuming he took the time to chew.

She swallowed a bit more harshly than she’d intended when Law leaned across the table, long fingers lightly stroking her elbow as he murmured, “I put up with your antics so long as you make it worth my while, Nami-ya. Keep that in mind next time you’re tempted to pull one of your little pranks.”

Despite pulling his hand away to pick up his drink, Nami could still feel tingling sparks dance across her skin. It really was ridiculous how a brush of his hand invoked that reaction. She was supposed to be more composed than that—a wily thief that didn’t mix business with pleasure—but while his overt come-ons could be annoying, his subtle touches and inviting glances still managed to tempt her. “Fine, but the fact that you’re willing to literally take someone’s head off over bread is way more childish than my ‘little pranks’,” she grumbled into her cocktail.

Whether Law heard her snarky comment or not, their conversation was briefly interrupted as the waiter appeared with the champagne, popping the cork and carefully pouring the bubbly liquid into a pair of elegant crystal flutes. “The sous chef has received your order and will of course be making it himself, Captain Trafalgar,” he said. “If you need anything else in the meantime, please, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thanks,” he said breezily, sipping his whiskey. “What time is the band scheduled to start up?”

“In less than a half-hour, sir. They’re currently on their dinner break, but I can ask—”

He waved him off. “I’m in no rush, and I’d rather they be at peak condition while performing. I don’t need my evening ruined because one of them fainted onstage from hunger.”

“Of course, sir. Regardless, I’ll inform them you’re in the audience. Anything else?”

“Time alone with my date would be ideal,” he replied in a clipped tone, raising an eyebrow meaningfully.

Nami could see the way the young man shivered at Law’s glare, and he skittered like a mouse back to the kitchen, wisely leaving the bottle behind.

“And you call me cruel,” she stated blandly as she savored another piece of ham.

“I’m all for attentive servers, but the constant sucking up was getting old.” Trying some of the meat for himself, he glanced at her appraisingly. “But enough about him. You’re a far more interesting subject.”

She frowned, brow furrowing suspiciously. “Am I?”

Linking his fingers and leaning his elbows on the table, he smirked. “Of course. Despite being on my ship for nearly three months, you’re still a mystery. A puzzle with so many missing pieces that I can’t yet visualize the total picture.”

“I could say the same about you,” she said, remembering the confusion she felt as he ran off the day before. “We’re both complex people who play their cards close to the chest.”

“That we are, but yesterday proved that a lack of communication between us can be detrimental to our working relationship, not to mention your health. I promise not to pry too much, and you don’t need to give me all the details, but I expect honest answers.”

Much as she wanted to argue, Penguin’s advice stopped her. The first mate was right; everyone had baggage, but how were people supposed to know her bugbears if she didn’t tell them? As worried as she was that a man like Law would be willing to exploit her weaknesses, he also had a point regarding how their communication issues had nearly gotten her killed. Even if it drudged up unpleasant memories, this was a necessary talk for the sake of side-stepping further unpleasantness. “Fine. I’ll open up—just a little—if you will.”

Resting his chin on his knuckles, Law took a minute to mull over his first question. “Tell me, Nami-ya, how’d you get the name ‘Cat Thief’, anyway? Rumor has it it’s been your moniker since well before the World Government issued your bounty.”

Taking a deep breath and a steadying swallow of her Sour Sunrise, she replied, “My…first captain was always comparing me to a kitten. Guess it was his way of praising me despite my species, since he saw humans as the lowest of the low.”

“Odd opinion.”

“Not for a Fishman.”

Leaning back against the plush velvet cushions, Law unlinked his fingers and munched on another piece of cheese. “Ah. A backhanded compliment. Better than a human, but still little more than a pet.”

“That about sums it up,” she said, pushing down the image of Arlong’s patronizing smile. God, some days she’d hated his condescending approval more than his disgusting hatred for her species. It made her feel dirty, being someone that a monster like him could admire.

Law rubbed his goatee thoughtfully. “No wonder you had such an extreme reaction to me calling you ‘kitten’. I’ll try to avoid it in the future. Still odd you’d adopt a feline signature, though.”

Shaking off her former captor’s vindictive smile, Nami shrugged, buying time before replying by nibbling on some cheese, even though she barely tasted it. “Guess it was a little out of spite; I wanted to take the word back and feel like I had just a shred of power. Didn’t really work, but it was still a good nickname for a thief.”

Perhaps he sensed her discomfort, but Law gently nudged the topic towards safer waters. “Fair. Shachi was the one who came up with ‘The Surgeon of Death’. Bit over-the-top, but I like it. Iconic, and definitely strikes fear into the hearts of my enemies.”

“Sounds like something from a comic book,” she scoffed as she finished her cocktail, moving on to the champagne. She knew she wouldn’t get drunk, but the bubbles tickling her palette would be a pleasant way to keep her mind from slipping into the past. Even without the meds in her system driving her towards panic attacks, she knew nothing good could come from dwelling too long on what Arlong had put her through.

“Like I said, it was Shachi’s idea. He was worried the Marines would give me something lame, so he and the crew went out of their way to mention it in every port we stopped in until they had no choice but to put it on my wanted poster.”

“I’m sure Drake had his own suggestions on what to call you.”

Law chuckled smugly, looking far too proud of himself. “Oh, I’m sure he did, but those posters are seen by the general public, so anything he’d propose would have to be censored. It’s probably why Eustass’ moniker is just ‘Captain’; either that or it’s a lame form of overcompensation.” His grin grew even more devious as he added, “First time we met, I deliberately acted like Killer was the captain, just to piss him off.”

Despite herself, Nami had to giggle. She’d only met Eustass Kid briefly, but he’d seemed the type to not take an insult lightly. With the highest bounty of the rookies, he was certainly someone she wouldn’t want to mess with. “You’re an asshole with a death wish, aren’t you?”

Law shrugged, knocking back the rest of his whiskey. The humor in his eyes dimmed. “Perhaps I do, just a little bit. I didn’t expect to live past the age of thirteen.”

“Why?” she asked curiously before she could catch herself. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Face cast in shadow by the brim of his hat, he tersely replied, “I was a sickly child. My father was the best doctor in the providence, but even he couldn’t come up with a cure. Didn’t help that the world believed it was a contagious disease, so we had no outside help. I only survived because of the Ope Ope no Mi.”

“Your father must have been happy about that, at least.”

“He was killed years before I got my hands on it.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry.” Her heart clenched at the thought. A dead parent before the age of thirteen. Wasn’t that a painfully familiar story? “Well, I’m sure he’d still be happy you survived.”

He shrugged again, watching the bubbles in his champagne flute pop to avoid meeting her sympathetic gaze. “He’d be disappointed that I became a pirate instead of following in his footsteps.”

“Maybe, but I think he’d accept it so long as you’re alive and happy. Bellemere was a Marine, but while she wouldn’t approve of her daughter becoming a pirate, she’d support my decision because I’m free and working towards my dream of drawing a map of the world.”

As he finally looked at her, Nami caught Law’s lips briefly twitch upwards. “I suppose we’ll never know, but it’s a pleasant fantasy, at least.” He gave a mock toast. “To the parents who wanted better for us.”

With a wry smile, Nami clinked her glass to his, the pair gulping down the sparkling wine just as their food arrived. Digging into her meal, she appreciated both the delicious flavor of the duck and the blessed break in the heavy conversation eating allowed.

Talking to Law about her past was far different from Luffy. Nojiko had informed her before they left Cocoyashi that her stubborn captain had opted out of hearing her backstory when she’d offered to reveal it. At first, Nami’d been offended—what, had he thought her reasons for betraying the crew and faking Usopp’s death didn’t matter? But then she realized that, even without knowing who Arlong was or what he’d done to her and the villagers, Luffy had still gone after him.

All because that bastard had made his navigator cry.

As they’d sailed for Loguetown afterwards, Nami had pulled Luffy aside one night, sat him down, and told him everything. Not because he needed to know, but because a man like that was someone who deserved to know. Deserved to know the awful things she’d endured and done to survive. Why he’d found her mutilating her shoulder, cutting off that awful tattoo. Why she was so grateful he’d destroyed that room and all of the charts she’d toiled over for eight years. Why his refusal to give up on her had meant the world to the distrustful thief.

For his part, Luffy had listened quietly, occasionally nodding his head to show he was paying attention, an unusually patient and serious expression on his face. When she was finished, he’d clapped her shoulder, gave her that carefree, goofy grin, and simply said, “Now I’m really glad I punched that jerk!”

Law wasn’t like that. While he didn’t pry, he did ask questions, clearly seeking those missing puzzle pieces he spoke of and not taking her answers at face-value. Admittedly, they had been pretty bare-boned, but it highlighted the difference between the two captains—Law sought to understand because he didn’t fully trust her. Luffy didn’t need to understand, because he trusted her from the moment she’d refused to fire a cannonball at him.

Looking at Law’s nearly-finished plate, she had to suppress a giggle as another difference between him and Luffy hit her—his chewing habits might have left something to be desired, but at least he knew not to eat the fish’s skeleton.

Noticing his companion’s attention had returned to him, Law took a sip of champagne as he considered her. “You mentioned your ‘first captain’. I’m assuming this wasn’t Mugiwara?”

Nami sighed, setting down her fork to drink from her own glass, hoping the sharp beverage would wash away the foul taste talking more about Arlong would inevitably bring. “No. Before Luffy, I served as the cartographer for another pirate crew for eight years.” She deliberately didn’t mention she was an officer—it was easier for people to accept she was a prisoner when it didn’t sound like she was in a position of authority. Perhaps that was why Arlong had “promoted” her, even though she had no real power among the Fishmen. “He…his crew invaded my village when I was ten and made everyone pay for the right to live. Bellemere only had enough money to save her own life, or mine and Nojiko’s.”

“And, of course, she sacrificed herself to protect her children.” Law shook his head, and for a moment, Nami swore she saw a wince of pain, but the amber light made it hard to tell. “Eight years…I know captains who recruit kids so they can brainwash them into loyal subordinates, but he killed your mother. I doubt you joined him willingly, after something like that?”

“Believe me, I didn’t,” she growled. Hands shaking slightly, she instinctively grabbed her knife, holding it like the dagger she’d used to fake Usopp’s death and destroy her tattoo. “Working for my mother’s murderer was nothing short of torture. Day and night I drew maps for him until my hands bled, barely allowed to sleep or eat. And all the while he acted like he was doing me a favor, since cartography was what I loved most in the world.”

The word DEATH entered her field of vision as Law covered her trembling hand with his own. The warmth was comfortingly familiar at this point, and she felt her white-knuckled grip on the cutlery slacken. “Don’t worry; I do believe you,” he said softly, catching her gaze with his own. His expression was soft and concerned—similar to the way he’d looked at her last night in the infirmary. “You’ve shown yourself to be loyal to those you care about, and we’ve all done awful, painful things for the sake of survival. And I have to say, you may actually have a stronger will than me—I doubt I would have lasted a week serving the captain who murdered someone I held dear.”

“Yeah,” she said, breathing deeply, willing herself to calm down. Law’s thumb rubbing little circles across her knuckles was surprisingly helpful with that. It gave her something to focus on; to ground herself instead of letting the memories take over. Rough as the callouses from his swordsmanship and hard life at sea were, they were still so much smoother than the sandpaper-like skin of a shark Fishman. So blessedly human. “I guess…I guess you were right, though; if you’re not strong enough to protect yourself, you’re the property of someone who was strong enough to claim you.”

“I know I’m right, but I wish I weren’t. I’m assuming this first captain of yours has something to do with your dislike of my uniform?”

“You could say that.” She sighed, jerking her chin towards her left shoulder, the faint scars beneath her swirling tattoo barely visible in the dim light, but neither had to see them to know they were there. “One of the first things he did was have me branded with his Jolly Roger to make sure I couldn’t run off. So the whole world would know I was his property.”

Much like Penguin, Nami could see the dots connecting in Law’s mind. He’d recognized right away that the scars were self-inflicted, but now that he knew what had once been in their place, he could deduct why she’d caused herself such grievous harm. She felt his fingers tighten around her own, first in anger, before easing into a comforting squeeze. With forced calm, he said, “Considering how often Fishmen and Mermaids are sold as slaves, it was probably just as much a petty form of revenge. Still, I guess that explains your objection.” Frowning, he rubbed his forehead beneath his hat with his free hand. “Look, I can’t promise you’ll never have to wear the uniform again. Like it or not, it really is the easiest way to keep you safe.”

Deep down, she appreciated his apology and understanding, even as she inwardly groaned at the thought of wearing the beige jumpsuit. “It also made me a target,” she argued. “Drake wouldn’t have looked twice at me if I’d been in my normal clothes.”

“Please, Drake-ya reads the news and would have gone after you regardless of what you were wearing. He’s smart enough to recognize a dangerous alliance when he sees one, or at least an opportunity to get a leg up. Pitiful as your bounty is, getting his hands on a lone Straw Hat, especially one who was able to rob a former Marine Intelligence officer’s mansion, would be quite tempting.” A wide, predatory grin stretched across his face as he leaned forward, resting his chin on his fist as he leered at her. “Though, personally, I think he was jealous that I’d found a new redhead to play with.”

Nami snorted, the tension in her back loosening. Creepy as he was, Law was smart, steering the conversation away from the past and the world’s speculation on their partnership to something they could casually fight about. “Are you kidding? I think he was relieved; with me around, he doesn’t have to deal with you bothering him anymore.”

“If that were the case, he wouldn’t have tried to abduct you.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, he was trying to ‘rescue’ me; Drake’s a real gentleman, unlike you,” she quipped, taking a condescending sip of her drink.

“Oh, yes, a real gentleman who kidnaps and threatens to sell off unwilling women,” Law replied sarcastically.

“Better than a pervert who makes a girl wear an ugly uniform to indulge his weird sexual fetish.”

“…my what now?”

Confident that she’d just played a winning hand, she leaned forward, bending her chest slightly over the table. “Please, I see right through your little act. Sure, you flirt and tease, but only if I’m fully dressed.” The tip of a manicured finger teasingly traced along the swell of her cleavage. “When I’m wearing next to nothing, you show no interest in my incredibly sexy body. Given your proclivities, I’m surprised you even helped me out of my coat.”

Blinking owlishly, Law replied, “I’m sorry, you think I’m attracted to you…when you’re wearing more clothes?”

“Yeah!” she insisted, not caring for his disbelieving tone.

He covered his face with one large, tattooed hand, but through his splayed fingers Nami could still see yellow eyes light up with amusement. As she glared, they only shone brighter, and his shoulders slowly began to shake. Gradually, low chuckles slipped from his lips, finally morphing into full-on laughter, his palm failing to muffle the sound.

An irritated vein throbbed in Nami’s forehead as Law continued to cackle. “Don’t think you can fool me by treating this like a joke! You have a clothing kink! During my initial check-up, you didn’t give a damn that I was strutting around in my underwear. At the mansion, you were all over me when I was in that gown, but once it’s off, woosh, I’m as attractive as a lamp! Even after the mission, you barely even acknowledged what a hot piece of ass I am. Then you insist I wear that freaking jumpsuit…”

“Nami-ya,” he chortled as his hand dropped back to the table, managing to calm down enough during her rant to formulate a reply, “I don’t have a clothing kink—I’m just good at compartmentalizing and know there’s a time and place. When we were in the infirmary, not only was I acting as your doctor, but it was clear you were too nervous to be receptive to any blatant advances. As for the mansion, yes you looked absolutely delicious in that bodysuit, but we were there to do a job; there was simply no time to indulge myself. And when I treated your wounds,” his smile fell a bit, “you’d just been through a potentially traumatizing event. You were flinching just from me touching your calf. I know I can be an asshole, but did you really expect me to come onto you when you were acting like I was Harpin?”

For a moment, Nami just sat there, jaw hanging uselessly as she realized just how far off her theory had been, and most importantly, just how badly she’d managed to embarrass herself. Her own vanity had blinded her to the obvious answer. She could justify it with the fact that most of the guys she knew were either perverts or barely acknowledged that she was a woman, so she wasn’t used to a man who could both flirt and control himself, but she wouldn’t lie to herself.

“So…the uniform isn’t some weird sexual thing?” she asked, trying to cover her humiliation by finishing her glass of champagne. Times like these made her really wish she could get drunk; it would be the perfect excuse for her ridiculous accusation.

“I mean, I won’t lie and say I don’t like you in it, but it really is just for your own protection.” Law’s returning grin was smoldering and devilish as he purred, “I’m curious, though, about what bothered you more; that I might have a strange fetish for fully-clothed women, or that I wasn’t giving your incredibly sexy body the attention you felt it deserved?”

“I…”

He shuffled closer, sliding across the booth to close the distance between them, resting his right arm across the back of her seat and teasingly trailing the fingers of his left land along the soft skin of her jaw to cup her chin. “Because if it’s the latter, I’m happy to show you just how much I appreciate it when you run around my ship in crop tops and booty shorts.”

Nami blushed, realizing she’d played directly into his hands.

“You know, one of the reasons I like redheads so much is how vibrantly they blush,” he chuckled, leaning down so his breath danced across her sensitive neck and ear. The way she’d pinned her hair meant she had no shield from it, and she shivered at the sensation. “It’s so cute, watching the capillaries that carry your blood widen as adrenaline rushes through you. No matter how good a person’s poker face is, the body doesn’t lie. Lets me know my target’s receptive to my flirting, even when they stubbornly refuse to admit it.”

“You base it all on a blush?” she countered, defiantly poking him in the chest. “People blush in anger and embarrassment. You can’t assume someone wants you just because their face gets a little red.”

Like a leopard sizing up his prey, Law loomed above her, gaze analytical and hungry as he studied her. “No, you’re right; good thing, as a doctor, I know all the other physical indicators of arousal.” Tilting her head up, he stated, “Dilated pupils.”

His hand dropped from her chin to carefully brush along the flesh of her arm. “Goosebumps.”

Long fingers encircled her wrist, thumb resting over her pulse. “Increased heartrate.”

Honey eyes dropped to Nami’s mouth as the tip of her pink tongue peeked out to moisten her suddenly dry lips. “Unconsciously licking one’s lips.”

Releasing her wrist, Law’s touch traveled back up her arm to gently stroke the ends of her mikan hair. “And the fact that you haven’t even tried to move or push me away. In fact, I’d say you’re leaning into my touch.”

Nami’s face warmed further as she realized he was right. Mentally she berated herself, but deep down, she was beginning to accept that, even if she refused to act on it for pride and professionalism’s sake, she was slightly addicted to his attentions. She was never short on male admirers, but Law challenged her, the push-and-pull giving her a thrill the way heart-eyed fools like Sanji failed to. There was something about Law that drew her in like a moth to a flame—she knew it was fatal to get too close, but damn it, she couldn’t help but dance with danger.

Winding a short, orange lock of hair around a long finger, Law declared confidently, “All this says you find me sexually attractive.”

Before she could confirm or deny this claim, an excited voice bellowed, “As I live and breathe, Trafalgar Law graces us with his exalted presence once again!”

Said captain’s seductive grin shifted into his trademark smirk as he turned to greet the newcomer. “Are you living and breathing, Hiroshi-ya?”

The man chuckled, grabbing Law’s hand in a firm shake. Beneath a silver fedora his graying hair was cut close to his scalp. His skin was dark but sported prominent laugh-lines, a pair of oval sunglasses rested on the end of his large nose, and his brilliant grin could have replaced one of the stage’s spotlights. “If I’m not, you’d probably know before I did, doc.”

“Because I’m that good, or because you’d be too focused on performing to realize you’d dropped dead?”

The two shared a laugh before the man turned to introduce himself to Nami. “Hope I wasn’t interrupting a moment, here, darlin’, but I simply had to come over and say hello. The name’s ‘Devil’s Fingers’ Hiroshi, and your boy Law here is one of my favorite patrons. Tips well, and he saved my life.”

“I only fixed your hands.”

“Considerin’ how they’d been crushed beyond recognition and I need those to make a living, I think that counts.”

Nami gaped in shock as Hiroshi held up his hands, showing that while they were clearly in working order, they were littered with tiny surgical scars.

Law shrugged, though he seemed pleased with the praise. “It was a fun operation—not every day you get to remove someone’s finger bones one-by one to rebuild your favorite musician’s hands.”

“You put someone else’s bones into him?” Nami asked the surgeon, astounded.

“Of course,” Law said casually. “His own were absolutely pulverized, so a transplant was necessary if he ever wanted to play the saxophone again.”

Part of her was horrified at the mental image, but beneath that, something niggled at her. This was the second time she’d heard someone sing Law’s praises as a legitimate doctor, and unlike Reginald, Hiroshi seemed perfectly aware of the Surgeon of Death’s criminal activities and sadistic reputation. What reason did Law have for helping this man? Was it just because he liked his music?

“Well, I’d best get ready for the show, and I’m sure you want some more alone time with your girl, eh, Law?” Hiroshi teased, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“I’d certainly appreciate a little mood music,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a few large bills.

“You got it,” the sax player sniggered, winking at Nami. “Hope you don’t mind, but we’ll be stroking your boy’s ego a bit. After the surgery, I wrote a little ditty about him as thanks, and it’s become pretty popular with the crowd. Plus, it’s the only time Oscar lets me take over as the lead singer.”

“Law strokes his own ego plenty,” Nami groused, eyes rolling heavenward. “And if you want to write about him, go for his flaws; there’s enough of those to fill an opera.”

“Oooo, she’s feisty! Have fun with that, doc!” he chuckled as he strolled off towards the stage.

“I plan to,” Law purred, turning back towards the woman beside him. “I just can’t resist a fiery ginger.”

“Speaking of,” Nami deflected, hoping to keep the conversation from returning to their original topic, “you and Drake, huh?”

He chuckled at her obvious ploy but proceeded to go along with it. “Ah, one of my favorite playmates. What do you want to know?”

“I mean, let’s start with how the hell that happened?”

“You mean, how did the golden boy of the Navy find himself thoroughly seduced by the North Blue’s most notorious rookie pirate?”

“Yeah. Mainly because Drake seems smart enough not to fall for your sleazy tricks. Or at the very least, composed enough to ignore them until you lose interest.”

Refreshing their glasses of champagne, he gave a wolfish smile. “So you’d think, but Drake-ya’s got an instinctual, animalistic side that’s just so much fun to rile up. Besides that, I observed his physical reactions whenever we crossed paths, and wouldn’t you know it? They were damningly similar to yours.”

Picking at the remains of the charcuterie board, she munched on a piece of cheese to keep her body’s natural responses under control. Keep it together, she thought stubbornly. Even if I did mix business with pleasure, there’s no way I’m letting him win. “Pretty sure the heat of battle elicits similar responses. I think you were just looking for clues that weren’t there in a desperate attempt justify a hopeless crush.”

Her sass received a sharp laugh in reply. Handing Nami her glass, Law brushed the tips of his fingers over hers as he stated, “Maybe, but my theory was undeniably proven when Penguin, Ikkaku and I snuck onto his ship and found him moaning my name while jerking off in the shower.”

Nami nearly choked on her drink, the bubbly wine burning as it tried to make its way up her nose. No wonder Penguin wanted to repress that, she thought, mortified for the poor first mate. She’d probably feel the same way if she’d overheard someone masturbating to the thought of Luffy. “Oh my god.”

“You should have heard the things he was saying—fuck, harder Law! Put that dirty mouth to good use, you bastard!” Law moaned in her ear, mimicking his rival’s deep, guttural growl.

“M-maybe he had a hard-on for justice. You know, the actual law,” she argued weakly. She didn’t even really know why she bothered—it was clear he’d been right, considering how he and Drake had fucked at least once, but she just felt a need to try to knock him down a few pegs and keep his ego in check.

“Mmm, do you really believe that?” he hummed, honey eyes regarding her with amusement as he took a sip of his drink. “I think you’re just looking for clues that aren’t there in a desperate attempt to justify your need to be contrary.”

“Oh, shut up,” she grumbled, downing her drink and pouring the last of the bottle into her glass. “Fine, so Drake was utterly repressed from his time in the Navy and you were able to use that to get him into bed.” A thought came to her, and she raised her eyebrow curiously. “Wait, he didn’t leave the Marines because he fell in love with you or something, right?” That…would be kind of tragic, actually. Despite the sexual tension, the two Supernova hadn’t seemed to be on the friendliest of terms, so if Drake had defected for Law only for their relationship to sour…

“God, no,” he laughed, finishing off his own glass of champagne. “Drake-ya was dishonorably discharged not long after he massacred a village rumored to be sheltering pirates. He may seem honorable and composed, and I’ll admit he usually tried to avoid senseless cruelty, but when situations called for violence, he was cold-blooded and bloodthirsty. I think his family history also played a role; his father had defected and turned pirate, so I imagine there was a bit of a glass ceiling Drake-ya knew he’d never overcome.”

“And you know this how?”

“Pillow talk.”

Nami mulled his words over carefully. “Was Drake close to his father?”

“From what he told me while completely shitfaced, Diez Barrels had once been a Marine Drake-ya wanted to emulate, but when he switched sides, he was nothing short of an abusive monster.”

Pity welled up in Nami’s heart at the implications. “Poor guy.”

“You do remember this is the same man who tried to kidnap you, right?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it must not have sucked for him; looking up to someone, wanting to be just like them, only to be let down in spectacular fashion.”

For a brief moment, Law tilted his head, the brim of his hat casting a shadow across his face, but his voice was tight as he replied, “Enough about Drake-ya.” Clearing his throat, he turned to catch their waiter’s eye, pointing to the empty bottle of champagne. When his gaze returned to Nami, his tone was back to normal. “I’m getting a little jealous with all this talk about another man.”

She frowned. Nami could tell she’d hit a bit close to home there. Had Law once looked up to someone? Part of her wanted to pry; the man was uncharted waters, and the cartographer in her itched to discover his secrets and map them out.

But more than anyone, she respected wanting to keep a painful history private. “Then what do you want to talk about? Because if you want any more of my past, you’re going to need to buy me more than another bottle of champagne,” she replied before knocking back the final sip.

He raised an eyebrow, impressed. “You drank quite a bit of that, Nami-ya, and yet I’m not noticing any signs of inebriation. It seems Mugiwara wasn’t exaggerating when he bragged about your tolerance.”

“Please, this is nothing—Zoro and I could drink whole taverns dry and still walk a straight line. Hell, it was one of my favorite ways to swindle pirates; get in good with the crew, outdrink them, then swipe their treasure while they were all passed out.”

“Interesting. You may be physically weak, but your liver sounds formidable.”

The lights, dimmed, and Nami glanced around curiously. Law chuckled, drawing her closer and pointing towards the stage. “Looks like the show’s about to start,” he murmured in her ear as he settled in, the arm around her waist telling her that she wasn’t moving for at least the duration of the song.

The band played a low, steady beat as a handsome man in a white silk blazer escorted a curvaceous woman with bold red hair wearing a silver dress onto the stage, the spotlights hitting the sequins in a way that nearly distracted from the daring slit and sexy black garters underneath. Turning her back to the crowd, she swayed her hips to the rhythm as the man took the microphone.

“Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen,” he drawled, tossing the crowd a smirk that could give Law’s a run for its money. “We’ve got a great night in store for you. I see a lot of new faces out there—as well as some familiar ones—so I’m not gonna yammer on too long. I want you to sit back, enjoy the service, the scenery, but most of all, enjoy the show.”

As he finished, he signaled to the band, who immediately transitioned into a smooth but lively tune, Hiroshi’s saxophone front-and-center, and the red-haired woman turned around, sensually dancing with the emcee as he began to sing.

It ain’t no big thing to wait for the bell to ring It ain’t no big thing The toll of the bell

Aggravated, spare for days I troll downtown the red-light place

Jump up bubble up - what’s in store? Love is the drug and I need to score

Enthralled, Nami watched as the pair performed, the song turning into a duet as they moved, the woman’s low, husky voice sending a thrill down her back. Or perhaps it was Law’s fingers stroking idly along her side—far from his groping in the alley, but the light touch was just as hot. Thighs clenched as the male singer bent the woman over suggestively, and she hoped Law was too focused on the show to notice her aroused blush. She didn’t want to imagine herself and the Supernova next to her in their place, but with the woman’s red hair and the man’s cocky smirk, it was really difficult not to picture the sensual scene the song suggested—her and Law stumbling around a dark room, locked in a passionate embrace, until finally they made it to the bed…

God, she joked about Drake being repressed to give in to an asshole like Law, but clearly, she was just as pent-up.

When the song ended, Nami let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, quickly going for her refilled champagne, gulping it down to wet her suddenly dry mouth. She hadn’t even realized Hansuke had refreshed their drinks as she hadn’t been able to pry her eyes from the stage, too lost in the song and her fantasy.

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Law smirking in an all-too-knowing manner, but before he could comment, they were once more interrupted, only this time by the gorgeous singer who had left the stage to visit their table.

“Captain Trafalgar,” the red-haired woman purred, voice husky with an edge of a rough accent that somehow made her even more glamourous, “I heard you were back in town.”

“Excellent opening act, Haiko-ya, as usual,” Law replied, standing up to gallantly kiss her hand. “Oscar may be your prized vocalist, but everyone knows you’re the real star up there.”

“You charmer. Still sure you don’t want to quit piracy and come work for me?” she asked with an inviting smile. “I could use a man of your talents.”

“I’m sure you could, but as much as I like this club, staying in one place just doesn’t appeal to me. I like to wander, you know.”

“Pity, but you can’t blame a woman for trying. After all, who wouldn’t want a skilled doctor and enforcer on her payroll? Especially with my husband’s…accident,” she replied, tone suddenly going sour.

“I assume Jinzo’s challenging your claim to Kimo-ya’s share of the business?”

“Oh, he’s doing more than that—he’s trying to compete against my business. Opening his own club and even a few brothels so he can steal my clientele—rumor has it that’s why he’s being so stingy with his black market clients. His recent investments have put him in the red, and he he’s going to have to do something drastic to recoup the cost.”

For a brief moment Law frowned, though his lips soon turned back up into his calculating, sadistic grin. “Until then, his broken promises could earn him quite a few enemies.”

“Oh yes. I hear X Drake in particular was extremely pissed that Jinzo didn’t have his money today.”

“He was even more so when I told him that there’s no way he’d planned on paying his asking price.”

Haiko tsked. “Oh dear. It would be such a shame if some frustrated client were to cross Jinzo’s path before his latest business venture can properly take off.”

Behind them, Nami swallowed audibly, catching onto their intentions. Law glanced at her over his shoulder before returning his attention to Haiko. “Now’s not a great time to talk business, but perhaps we could continue our chat after the show. Jinzo’s trying to screw over a lot of treacherous people, myself included, and while I’m not interested in your job offer, I’d be happy to negotiate a deal that could benefit us both greatly.”

Her blood red lips curled upwards, eyes alight with interest. “Meet me in my office at nine-thirty sharp—it would be a pleasure doing business with you.”

“Before you go, I want to introduce you to my date,” he drawled, gently tugging Nami out of her seat. “Haiko-ya, this is Cat Thief Nami.”

“Ah, the woman who swindled Jinzo out of a lot of money,” the businesswoman replied, pleased smile fixated on the younger woman as she shook her hand.

“Does everybody know about that?” Nami squeaked.

“Oh, darling, it was the best piece of news I’ve heard all day. And not everyone knows—yet. I just happen to have a few eyes and ears stationed close to him so he doesn’t try to do to me what he did to my darling Kimo. I may not be able to prove he was involved, but it never hurts to be ready for anything.”

“Very true,” Law agreed. “So, I’ll see you at nine-thirty?”

Haiko blew him a kiss as she sauntered off. “Absolutely. And as thanks for embarrassing that piece of shit, your drinks are on me tonight. Keep it up, Miss Cat Thief, and you might just earn a VIP membership here, too.”

Nami couldn’t keep herself from staring as the woman left. Beautiful and glamourous though she was, she totally believed Haiko was the sort who would slit a man’s throat with a smile. She had a dangerous aura about her, and given how casually she and Law spoke, Nami was certain an ill wind was blowing.

“You two are going to do something to Jinzo, aren’t you?” she asked, sweat prickling at the back of her neck. She had no sympathy for the man, but she hoped whatever Law was planning didn’t involve her; the last thing she wanted was to get caught in the middle of an underworld power struggle.

“Mmmm, don’t worry your pretty little head over that, sweetheart,” Law purred as he tugged her towards the stage. His eyes were half-lidded and inviting, and Nami’s breath caught in her throat as her heart stuttered. Maybe it was just the aftereffects of Haiko’s performance, but the heat between her legs begged her not to resist him. “Ikkaku’s due to steal you away from me soon, so I’m not wasting another second.”

“What are you doing?” she asked, voice barely more than a whisper.

One hand clasped hers as the other wrapped around her lower back. “It dawned on me that, with how busy you were pick-pocketing rich assholes at the gala, I never got a dance with you. We’re going to remedy that. And wouldn’t you know it?” he rasped, leaning in so close his lips ever-so-slightly brushed her ear. “They’re about to play my song.”

Though initially thrown by his sudden change of tone and forwardness, Nami quickly realized from the feeling of hard wood beneath their feet that he’d led them onto the dancefloor. Before she could protest or break away, Hiroshi noticed them, tossing a wink and pointing them out to the male singer from earlier. Oscar quietly chuckled as he handed over the microphone, even giving a playful bow before stepping over to a xylophone.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are graced with the presence of the man who inspired this next song, the one and only Dr. Heart Stealer!”

As the music began, Law swept her into a dance, easily leading her in time to the lively beat.

Why is everyone so impatient? Recklessly jumping into things Crushing backstabbing

To achieve your goal Sometimes you just need to dive deep, hide yourself Scan the situation, that’s all

Welcome to Trafalgar’s ROOM Look into the mirror and see Are you who you really are? Welcome to Trafalgar’s ROOM Shall I steal what’s most precious to you?

Dr. Heart Stealer

Once you’re addicted, you can never escape…

As Hiroshi crooned the lyrics, Nami forced herself to focus on keeping pace with Law, and not on the surprising suggestiveness of the lyrics or the heat of the doctor’s palm on her exposed back. There were mere inches between them—enough space to properly move, but still so close that their breaths and body heat mingled. He was a surprisingly good dancer, too, gently guiding her across the polished floor in time to the beat, giving the occasional spin and dip, all while those golden, hungry eyes never left hers.

If something’s important, hide it away Once you shout about it out loud It’s just too naive, so sickening

Waiting is not a futile thing With enough clinical data You won’t make a mistake, there’ll be no trouble

Welcome to Trafalgar’s ROOM It’ll be over once your space’s safety is breached Welcome to Trafalgar’s ROOM Because I know what’s most precious to you

Dr. Heart Stealer

Once I set my target, I’ll definitely get it

Don’t run away, come join me Show me how you dance

Welcome to Trafalgar’s ROOM Look into the mirror and see Are you who you really are? Welcome to Trafalgar’s ROOM Shall I steal what’s most precious to you?

Dr. Heart Stealer

Once you’re addicted, you can never escape…

At last the song came to an end, and while Nami wanted to blame her breathlessness on the dancing, she knew at least a little of it had to do with the way Law was looking at her. His intense stare sizzled her skin pleasantly, and she had no choice but to admit that, as much as she wanted to fight it, the song was right.

If she let herself get addicted to him, she’d never escape.

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