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leviiattacks · 4 years ago

Note

CASHIER LEVI AND LIKE THE READER IS THE CUSTOMER AND IT’S LIKE THEY HAVE A CRUSH ON EACHTOHER

author note :: honestly not my best at all..... like at all..... this was actually pretty good but the entire draft got deleted and i just lost all my effort but i felt bad for starting it and not completing it for anon so you may take whatever i have managed to salvage. i hope u enjoy it :’( i am extremely sick rn and yeah writing is the only break i am currently getting from anything :-) SO AGAIN I’ M SORRY ANON..... i may write a 10k + word fic on this though so i can redeem myself bc this is just disappointing 😭

word count :: 3.3k

every single thursday you stop by ackermart. maybe it’s because the day is convenient for you or perhaps it’s because of a certain cashier that works the evenings...

HAHA it’s got nothing to do with a cashier why would it have anything to do with a cashier? :-)

today is like any other. you walk through the fresh produce aisle then proceed to make your way towards the bakery section picking up a loaf of bread

it’s stupid, you know it is but... you think you’ve worked up enough courage to speak to him today!!

and who is him you may ask?

levi at till number four. his tired eyes always happen to pierce into yours and his calloused thumbs brush past your skin when you hand him your rewards card

levi is what his bright red name tag says and although he doesn’t look like a levi you’d like to think your crush isn’t stealing someone’s identity so you believe that it’s his real name

anxiously fiddling with your basket you’re beginning to think this was a horrible idea

the girl ahead of you is flirting up a storm with him and although he’s not reciprocating it by any means you still feel deterred

levi bags the last of her groceries and looks up at her when she asks for a way to contact him. he doesn’t look mad... just bored?

“ma’am. this is an ackermart i don’t think it’s appropriate you ask me for my number. the customer service line is listed on our website.”

the woman raises a brow looking completely flabbergasted. okay, if everything before this wasn’t a warning THIS sure was

she stomps off when she realises levi isn’t kidding and you think you’d feel bad for her maybe if she was more respectful about it

“next customer.” levi calls over his shoulder and you shuffle forward pretending to be engrossed in your phone

“cash or card?” he asks plainly.

you hear the BEEP of your groceries being scanned and think on it for a while before replying with “cash”

you’re clearly pretty good at your pretend to be totally into your phone act because levi tries to get your attention but you don’t hear what he has to say till the third time he repeats himself

but even then you’re still unsure what it is he’s said????

looking down you see his hand is stuck out in front of you and now you’re even more confused

faltering for a second you look at his palm and then speak

“um, i guess your hand is nice? it’s pretty big compared to the rest of you actually.”

“i was asking for your cash?” he says and now you look at his palms in mortification

gasping you yANK your hand into your purse as you laugh awkwardly fishing around to find your money

“oh, OH i knew that. just kidding!! i mean- i meant that thing about your hand?? but i thought it was- i funny? yes the joke funny? i’m-”

he leans back into his spinning chair and sighs contently. “you’re not making much sense peaches.”

“pe- peaches??” you repeat. no way you’ve heard that correct

levi lazily points at the abundance of the aforementioned fruit in your grocery bags

“you must love em.”

“i, well yeah i do like peaches but i also like...” um??? what food would make you look sophisticated and professional?

OH YEAH

“FRENCH CUISINE :-)!!!!” you say rather proudly

“...cool. i guess.” levi hands you your grocery bag which is basically an invitation asking for you to get out

he doesn’t seem mad but he’s definitely going to look back at this encounter and laugh his ass off at how stupid you are

hanging your head down low in embarrassment you make your way out towards your car

there’s always next time!! maybe you can practice in the mirror yeah that does sound like it would help!!!

okay so.

it is officially next time.

actually you never got the opportunity to practice in front of the mirror because you chickened out of looking like an idiot even if it was in the privacy of your own home

but!!! you did try to practice some cool pick up lines because who doesn’t like a good pickup line or two??

the two mini milk cartons in your hand and the pack of doughnuts you have tucked under your arm aren’t too heavy so you aren’t too worried about having to wait in the line

for some reason the guy in front of you keeps turning around and glancing at you as if you don’t even exist

you are not casper the ghost

also casper is a little boy and you definitely aren’t a little boy

finally after a good five minutes the man ahead of you is having his stuff scanned but he’s STILL doing it. even levi notices and gives him an odd look which borders annoyance and anger.

“can i pay for your groceries? maybe walk you to your car?” the stranger asks suddenly

so that’s what this is, he’s simply taken an interest in you

my god this is new but it is uncomfortable and you’d rather say no

“oh, i actually walked here and no thanks i can pay for my own. enjoy the rest of your day!!” you hope your white lie is enough to fool the man but instead of agreeing as any other person would he looks majorly deceived

“i saw you in the parking lot.” ok this is getting a bit too uncomfortable for your liking

“c’mon i’m offering to buy your shit too?”

his voice is raising and you’re not sure what exactly you can do but thankfully for you the manager steps in and takes him away before any more threats can be made

the man had taken up so much of your attention you almost forgot levi was even there until you turned back around

“do you want a member of staff to accompany you to your car? it’s getting dark out.” levi’s comment helps ease your nerves and you try to laugh off what just happened

“i’m good :-)” you say shaking a little. you’re unsure if it’s the cold or the fact you still haven’t completely calmed down

“you sure peaches?”

“i haven’t bought any peaches this time.”

“you’re still peaches to me.” your cheeks flush at his confidence

wait, maybe this is your chance. you’re the last person in his line and they’re closing up for the day so...

“could you walk me to my car?”

and to your surprise even before you can take back what you’ve said levi agrees

it stays like that for a while.

every thursday levi walks you to your car by the end of his shift, all the while the two of you exchange a few words together

like last week you asked him what his favourite colour was (he said purple) you’ve learnt about his hobbies (he’s a decent cook), you’ve even found out about some of his own personal problems. he had mentioned suffering with insomnia in passing.

to be honest each and every time he walks you to your car he has to notice that you begin to park further and further away from the front entrance. but if he does notice he doesn’t say a word about it

“is that all you’re checking out?” you ask with a cheeky grin plastered across your face

looking down at your new dress your lopsided grin is far from fading away any time soon. you especially picked this one out after asking levi what his favourite colour was last week

god. this is so embarrassing but never actually have you had a crush this huge

levi who’s sat behind the counter shoots you a look which almost seems to be on the verge of uninterested. he isn’t entertaining this at all or this is just his typical bored face, you can’t really tell

BUT..... you still have a huge crush on him and you aren’t one to give up this easily

for the record you don’t harass him or anything, just the occasional hint is thrown around but he’s either really dense or doesn’t care

his expression does you no favours, you can’t tell what he’s thinking half the time

“you’re always buying energy drinks... might want to cut down on those they’re no good for you.”

warmth blooms in your chest. he’s just saying it to make small talk but the fact he even thinks to bring that up has your heart fluttering

“i- well- yeah i will!! just have a few overdue essays to get over with :-)” twiddling your thumbs together you think that makes your nerves too obvious so you begin to scratch at the back of your neck

if anything is a dead give away it’s your constant neck scratching, thankfully levi hasn’t picked up on it

“so you wore purple today?” his eyes linger on the thin straps of your dress and you feel the goosebumps rise up onto your skin immediately

“oh yeahhhh-”

“did i tell you yellow was my favourite colour last week?” he asks holding up a neon yellow pack of crisps and for the first time you see him smile

he looks so ?!|>\€|^ pretty ?!/)/&

wait?? yellow??

“didn’t you say purple?”

“no?” he crosses his arms playfully over his chest thinking for a bit

“maybe i did but no it’s really yellow.” he says as he hands you your bag

nodding your head you smile “yeahhhh sure it is.”

damn, now you’re going to have to find a yellow dress just to make him revert back to purple because who even likes yellow?? that’s a deal breaker right there??

update

it’s been two weeks!!

and a yellow dress has been found and secured B-)

it’s been a pretty rough day at work and you need to desperately collect a pack of green tea and get going

you don’t know when exactly being a secretary meant you had to babysit your boss’ children but that’s what the last week has entailed

being made to work overtime to this extent has had an effect on you and you’re ready to head home as soon as you swing by ackermart

not seeing levi for a week made you a little :-( because to be honest he’s the highlight of your thursday evening BUT!! you’ll be able to see him today at least

walking in through the entrance you’re met with connie smiling right at you, he holds the door open for you and smile back greeting him

“so you didn’t come last week...?”

it’s weird for him to ask that, after all you don’t really speak to anyone here apart from levi, you’re surprised you’re enough of a regular to be known by name

“oh i didn’t think anyone would notice? but yeah i had to work overtime you know what boss’ are like.” groaning you crouch down and look at the pot noodles on display

“i didn’t notice it. boss man did.”

“boss man?” you ask feeling out of loop

“levi.” connie answers as he hops into the backroom

????

isn’t he just a cashier??

“you still look confused.” connie remarks as he heads back out with a cardboard box full of pringle’s tubes

“levi’s the boss man, this is his store. he literally only ever mans the cash register on thursday evening because of you.”

at that you start laughing because it makes no sense at all to you

there’s no way connie is being serious

“good one.” you say as you stand up with a chicken flavored noodle in your hand

“i’m not kidding?”

turning around you give him a skeptical look

he sighs and shakes his head.

“listen. me and the part timers are tired of making bets on when he’ll give you his number and i bet that it would happen today so if you could confess to each other that would be perfect!!!”

“who said i like-”

“anyone with a brain can tell you both like each other.” he’s rolled his eyes so far into the back of his head you begin to take him a little more seriously now

“i... did i make it that obvious??” you’re directly facing him trying to get out as much information as you can

“yeah. very. at least levi wasn’t as bold.”

“i think you’ve got the wrong end of the stick he definitely doesn’t like me.”

connie gives you an “are you fucking with me?” look and you look away trying to distract yourself with the the canned goods lining the shelves

“he was worried sick when you didn’t come in for the entire week. he even asked me if he scared you away.”

“maybe i’m just his favourite customer?”

“favourite customer my ass he has a crush on YOU. confess.”

playing around with the ends of your sleeves connie sees he’s fighting a losing battle unless he gives you definitive solid proof

“please... i’ll get free barbecue if i win the bet and i’m kinda broke rn :-(” okay, you do want connie to eat well and be treated and maybe this is a good thing. if levi doesn’t like you then you can move on!!

“i’ll think about it.”

before connie can continue talking you make a beeline towards the tea aisle whilst throwing a “see you next time!” over your shoulder.

by the time you’ve gathered all of your groceries your basket is full to the brim. you’ve been lingering as much as you can out of fear but you think you’ve collected just enough courage to ask for his number

looking at the cash register levi is sat there and your shoulders slump. he’s probably going to say no and you’re going to look like a huge loser.

right as you’re about to take a step towards him levi finally spots you and gives you one look before standing up from his seat

“hi!” you wave at him

“...hey!” he smiles wide but he bites it back pretending it was never there in the first place

placing your basket in front of him he eyes what you’ve got

“hm... lots of peaches as per usual peaches.” the nickname that rolls of his tongue makes you tremble a little. will he call you that after you fuck everything up with this stupid confession?

his tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek when he gets to the heart shaped box of chocolates

“a gift for a friend? didn’t know you had those?” he teases as he scans the barcode

“gift for a crush!” you reply back enthusiastically as you dig through your wallet looking for your card

levi doesn’t respond for a few seconds and an awkward silence fills the air. you glance up to see him looking at you open mouthed in shock

“good luck.” he murmurs under his breath he’s not even returning your gaze at this point and is hurriedly scanning through your barcodes

“you okay?” you ask worrying about his mood

“yeah, yeah. great.” he’s quieter than usual.

the rest of your encounter is the same, levi silently bags your groceries and you can’t tell if this is a good or bad response.

just as he’s about to place the heart shaped box into your plastic bag you lunge forward holding his wrist to stop him

“no i don’t need those.”

he cocks his eyebrow upwards trying to analyse your expression and gain an understanding of your thoughts

“don’t tell me you’re chickening out. whoever it is will say yes.” he scoffs as he places the chocolates into the bag handing them over to you with a warm smile

there it is again. the fear returns and you swipe your tongue over your slightly dry lips.

no way.

is he telling you to confess to someone now? so he must not like you?

taking the bag away from him you scratch your neck out of habit and huff feeling frustrated

“he keeps giving me mixed signals.” you say hoping he catches your drift

“give him the chocolates and let him put two and two together. don’t even say anything.” his advice would be great if he weren’t the guy you were trying to confess to in real time

nodding you reach into the bag and bring the box back out before gently placing it in front of levi

“are you serious?” he asks and your face drops seeing the possible displeasure in his eyes

great, connie and the part timers just over analysed he doesn’t like you, obviously he doesn’t like you, why would he like you?

without looking back you hurry out, the embarrassment is eating you away now and the thought of ever returning to ackermart isn’t even feasible in your mind

at this point you may as well change your name, identity, dye your hair, have a few children and wear sunglasses the next time you come back so you look like a soccer mum and not the foolish y/n who thought they had a chance with their cute CASHIER???

god, you probably look like a creep

the sound of footsteps can be heard behind you and labored breaths follow before levi calls out for you

“please wait up.” he grumbles. slowing down your pace you let him catch up to you. he grabs at your wrist and sighs in relief

turning you see him savour the air

is this the part where he confesses he likes you too or—

“your receipt you forgot it.” he gasps as he opens your hand for you and places it into your palm

oh.

fingers clasping shut onto the paper you feel the humiliation seep into your pores

this.

is.

the.

worst.

moment.

of.

your.

life.

“open it.” he offer you a boyish smile and your nerves don’t let you find comfort in it

you grimace as you fold it open, you’re imagining he’s charged you an extra £100 for having unwanted feelings for him and if that’s the case you’ll die on the spot

but instead your eyes light up in joy. you’re pleasantly surprised

...

inside of the receipt is his phone number haphazardly sprawled across in black biro - you even double check by comparing it to the number for the customer service helpline

hello??

HELLO.?.!/)£ HIS NUMBER???

“if you just wanted to return the chocolate this is embarrassing.” he’s the one who’s now scratching at his neck and you find that he’s endearing this way

the streetlight from above illuminates him, the shadows cast over his face and his brows aren’t furrowed as they usually are

you open your mouth to reply but connie cuts you off unintentionally. he can be heard YELLING into his phone ecstatic that his plan has worked out

“I WIN!!! HA BBQ’S ON YOU JEAN!! MUST SUCK TO BE YOU.”

you and levi look at each other and laugh, reassuring the other of what has just happened.

well...

you guess this is the start of something new? maybe??

:-)

528 notes · View notes

fanfics4all · 4 years ago

Text

Torture

Request: Yes / No

Requests are closed <3 Have a nice day/night

Harry Potter x Fem!Lupin!Reader

Word count: 4190 (Probably could have gotten to the torture party quicker, but I just had to add backstory lol)

Warnings: Torture obviously, and Dobby’s death

Y/N: Your Name

Y/N/N: Your Nickname

A/N: Bingo card made by @slyttherins

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, I WORK HARD ON MY FICS AND IT’S NOT COOL TO STEAL SOMEONE ELSE’S WORK!

If you want to be on the tag list for anything (My series fics, specific character fics, or just all of them) All you have to do is send me an ask and I will add you!

Masterlist

(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

Harry and I have been together since he and Cho broke up. Now we were in our seventh year and everything was going to hell. Professor Snape had killed Dumbledore and was now in charge of Hogwarts. I feared going back to school, but I feared for Harry more. So, when the summer was coming to an end and my older brother Remus said he was going with the Order to Harry’s I immediately demanded to go with him.

“Y/N/N, it’s dangerous.” He said.

“This is my boyfriend’s life in danger. I am coming with you.” I said, standing my ground.

“Y/N/N… if anything happened to you Mum and Dad would kill me.” He sighed.

“If anything happens to you or Harry, you won’t have to worry about Mum and Dad.” I threatened.

“There’s nothing I can do to convince you to stay home with Edward, is there?” He sighed again.

“Not a thing. And if you go without me I’ll just follow you.” I shrugged and he sighed once again.

“Fine, fine. You can join me, but you better not leave my side.” He said and I smiled.

“Thank you!” I said and hugged him.

Before we went off to Harry’s house, The Order met up to discuss what would be happening. You-Know-Who was searching for Harry. He was going to go after him and we needed to act first. We were the only line of defence for Harry and I was going to fight for both our lives till the very end. Once the plan was in order we all got on our brooms and headed for Harry. When we all landed Harry opened the door and I ran up to him, throwing my arms around him and holding him tightly. He hugged me back and I leaned up to kiss him.

“What are you doing here?” He asked shocked.

“Did you honestly think I would just sit around while your life was in danger?” I laughed and walked into the room with the others.

“I tried to get her to stay home, but she’s stubborn.” Remus said and I smiled.

“All righ’ ‘arry? Yeh look fit.” Hagrid said with a smile.

“Yeah, he’s ruddy gorgeous. What say we get undercover before someone murders him.” Mad-Eye said in his usual rough tone.

“I thought you were looking after the Prime Minister, Kingsley?” Harry asked.

“You’re most important.” Kingsley answered. Harry smiled and Bill Weasley walked in, extending his hand to Harry.

“Hello, Harry. Bill Weasley.” He introduced himself.

“Wasn’t alway this handsome.” Fred joked.

“Dead ugly.” George joined in.

“True enough. Owe it all to a werewolf by the name of Greyback. Hope to repay the favor one day.” Bill said. Fleur walked in next to him and kissed his cheek.

“You are still beautiful to me, William.” She said.

“Just remember, Fleur, once you’re married, Bill takes his steaks on the raw side now.” Remus said, finally walking into the room with Tonks.

“My husband, the joker. By the way, wait until you hear the news! Remus and I are-”

“Alright, alright! You’ll all have time for a cozy catch-up later! We’ve got to get the hell out of here and soon!” Mad-Eye cut her off. He dropped a sack by his feet and turned to Harry.

“Potter, you’re underage, which means you’ve still got the Trace on you.” He said.

“The Trace?” Harry asked.

“You sneeze and the Ministry will know who wipes your nose. Point is, we have to use those means of transport the Trace can’t detect, brooms, thestrals, and the like. We’ll go in pairs. That way if anyone’s out there waiting for us- and I reckon there will be- they won’t know which Harry Potter is the real one.” He explained.

“The real one?” Harry asked.

“I believe you’re familiar with this particular brew.” He said, pulling out a flask.

“No! Absolutely not!” Harry exclaimed.

“I told you he’d take it well.” Hermione sighed.

“If you think I’m going to let people risk their lives for me-”

“Never done that before, have we?” Ron joked, cutting him off.

“This is different. Taking that. Becoming me- no.” Harry said.

“Well, none of us really fancy it, mate.” Fred said.

“Yeah, imagine if something went wrong and we were stuck as scrawny, specky git forever.” George joked.

“Reckon Y/N would love having more than one Harry.” Fred added and I rolled my eyes.

“Piss off, the both of you.” I said and they laughed.

“Everyone here’s of age, Potter, and they’ve all agreed to take the risk.” Mad-Eye said.

“Technically, I’ve been coerced. Mundungus Fletcher, Mr. Potter. I’ve always been a huge admirer.” Mundungus introduced and just about everyone rolled their eyes.

“Nip it, Mundungus! Alright, Granger, as discussed.” Mad-Eye said. Hermione nodded slightly and grabbed a bit of Harry’s hair and pulled.

“Blimey, Hermione!” Harry groaned.

“Straight in here, if you please.” Mad-Eye said, holding open the flask. Smoke rushed out the top and he handed it to George first.

“For those of you who haven’t taken Polyjuice Potion before, fair warning. It tastes like goblin piss.” Mad-Eye said.

“Have a lot of experience with that, do you, Mad-eye?” Fred joked. Mad-Eye’s eye rotated towards Fred.

“Just trying to defuse the tension.” Fred said. George took the first sip, then Fred, Ron, Hermione, Fleure, Mundungus, and finally it was passed to me.

“Y/N? No! Lupin, you can’t seriously be alright with this!” Harry said, before I could take a sip. Everyone else was already transforming.

“I’m not, but like I said, she’s stubborn.” Remus sighed.

“Who’s she gonna ride with?” He asked and everyone was silent. That was something they haven’t figured out yet.

“I’ll go on my own. They won’t expect it and probably will just leave me be.” I shrugged.

“Absolutely not!” Remus said.

“It would look less specious than two Harrys riding together.” I pointed out.

“Very well.” Mad-Eye nodded.

“What? You can’t be serious! What if she gets hurt? There’s no one with her to protect her!” Remus said.

“She can’t go on her own!” Harry said.

“Y/N, are you willing to take the risk?” Mad-Eye asked and everyone looked my way.

“If it means Harry is safe, then of course.” I answered.

“She agrees, now hurry up and drink so we can get on with this.” He said. Before my brother or boyfriend could stop me I took a gulp of the awful potion and handed the flask back to Mad-Eye. I soon also looked like Harry.

“Wow, we’re identical!” Fred and George said together.

“Not yet you aren’t.” Mad-Eye said. He walked over to the sack he dropped earlier and dumped out eight pairs of identical clothing.

“Don’t you have something a bit more sporty, do you?” George asked.

“Yes, don’t fancy this colour at all.” Fred agreed.

“Fancy this, you’re not you, so shut it and strip.” He said to the twins and turned to Harry.

“You’ll need to change too, Potter.” He said. All of us started stripping, and I think I can speak for everyone when I say that it was a bit awkward.

“Bill, look away… I’m ‘ideous.” Fleur said dramatically and I rolled my eyes.

“I knew Ginny was lying about that tattoo!” Ron said with a smirk.

“Harry, your eyesight really is awful.” Hermione said, wobbling a bit.

“Don’t worry Harry, I still love you.” I said and he smiled.

“Blimey. I almost forgot!” Mad-Eye rummaged through his pocket and pulled out a bunch of glasses.

“Right then. We’ll be pairing off. Each Potter will have a protector, except for Y/N, As for you, Harry…” Mad-Eye started.

“Yes?” Everyone but me answered, again I rolled my eyes.

“The real Harry! Where the devil are you, anyway?” He asked.

“Here.” Harry said, walking towards him.

“You’ll ride with Hagrid.” He finished.

“Brought yeh here sixteen years ago when you were barely bigger than a Bowtruckle. Seems only righ’ I should be the one ter take yeh away.” Hagrid said and I smiled at how sentimental he could be.

“Yeah, it’s all very touching. Let’s go.” Mad-Eye said and stormed out of the house. Everyone got on their brooms and thestrals, while Hagrid got on his motorbike. As the real Harry walked out of the house Hagrid tapped the sidecar for him. Instead of going to him he walked over to me.

“Please be careful, love.” He whispered.

“I’ll be fine. And if for some reason I’m not then you and Remus can tell me you told me so.” I smirked.

“Harry, we need ter go!” Hagrid called him.

“Go, I’ll see you soon.” I smiled and he nodded. He got in Hagrid’s sidecar and everyone looked towards Mad-Eye.

“Good luck, everyone. On the count of three. One… two…” Before he could finish Hagrid’s bike came to life and off he went. Everyone flew to the skies and split off. It wasn’t long until an uneasy feeling filled the air. Death Eaters dropped from the clouds and started surrounding us. Green flashes lit up the sky as they tried to hit us. I glanced ahead and saw the real Harry was getting away. Everyone was splitting off more and I found myself alone. I couldn’t see anyone ahead or behind me, no one was around to help me if I needed it. I pushed those thoughts away. This is for Harry. This is so he’s safe. Suddenly three Death Eaters came out of nowhere and shot a spell at my broom. My broom stopped flying and was now pulling me towards the ground. Fear gripped my heart as the wind harshly hit my face. I suddenly stopped falling and was grabbed by one of the Death Eaters.

“Think he’s the real one?” The one holding me asked.

“No, they wouldn’t let the real Potter go off on his own.” Another answered.

“Doesn’t matter if he’s the real one or not, he could have information. Let’s take him with us. Bellatrix will get ‘im to talk.” The last one said. My eyes widened and my throat went dry. Harry and Remus were going to kill me if Bellatrix didn’t first.

I didn’t say a word as we arrived at Malfoy Manor. I knew the potion was going to wear off soon and they would know exactly who I was. Just as we were arriving at the large gate I could feel myself turning back into myself.

“Oi, looks like you was right, this ain’t the real Potter.” The one gripping my arm said.

“She’ll still be of some use.” Another said. We walked up to the gate and standing on the other side was Bellatrix, Lucius, and Narcissa Malfoy. Bellatrix walked forward and the Death Eater holding me pushed me against the metal bars.

“She was a fake Potter, but we thought she might have information.” One said.

“Bring her in.” Bellatrix said with an evil smirk. I was roughly brought into the Manor and pushed down to my knees.

“Call Draco, he might know who she is to Potter.” Bellatrix said. She kneeled down in front of me and roughly pulled my chin up to I was facing her.

“Tell me dearie, why were you left all on your own?” She asked, but I said nothing.

“What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?” She asked with a smirk. We heard footsteps enter the room and I saw Draco. His eyes widened slightly and I saw worry swimming in them.

“Draco, I was hoping you would know who our guest is.” Bellatrix said, turning to face him and letting go of my face.

“S-She went to Hogwarts.” He answered. It was obvious he was scared and that he didn’t want to give me up.

“We know that much, but who is she to Potter?” She asked in a slightly annoyed tone. Draco stared at me for a moment and gulped.

“Now Draco, all you need to do is tell us. She could be the key to keeping the Dark Lord from killing all of us.” His Father said. It was now my turn to gulp. Sure Draco was a huge git to my boyfriend and friends, but he oddly never said anything about me. Always just questioning why I was with Harry. Perhaps it was because I was nice to him despite everything he did.

“I’m Y/N Lupin. Harry’s girlfriend.” I answered and everyone looked at me in shock, Draco especially.

“See dear, that wasn’t so hard.” Bellatrix said, her smirk growing and seeming to get more evil.

“If you simply answer all my questions then no harm will come to you.” She said, walking closer to me again.

“I will not betray my friends, family, or boyfriend.” I answered with a hard stare.

“Then this will be a very hard time for you.” She said, her fake kindness dropping.

She wasn’t lying when she said that. At first it was just little cuts with her knife. It was painful, but nothing I couldn’t handle. However, she was just warming up. She then moved on to the Cruciatus Curse. The pain was like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Even when the spell was over the pain still lingered for a little while. That lasted a month or so, I’m not entirely sure, but once she realized that I wouldn’t be talking by that means she moved on. She said she didn’t want to damage me to the point I couldn’t say anything. Nothing she was doing was working and I could tell she was getting frustrated. That’s when she had her brilliant idea. She brought me up from the cellar and standing there was Lucius, Narcissa, and Grayback. I felt my blood run cold and boil at the same time. He was the man that hurt my poor brother at the age of five!

“I’m sure you know Fenrir well.” Bellatrix smirked. She pushed me to the ground and held me down.

“Now, I’m going to let him do the same thing he did to your brother, unless you tell me what I want to know.” She said.

“Where is Harry Potter?” She asked.

“Now that you’ve all taken over the Ministry, he could be anywhere.” I answered. I didn’t know where he would be at this point. I didn’t know what the plan was.

“Liar!” She shouted and started carving something into my arm.

“Tell me where he is!” She shouted at me.

“I don’t know! Please! I don’t know!” I cried out in pain.

“You are a pathetic little liar. Fenrir!” She called and got off me.

“I think it’s time you gave her a little gift.” She said, that evil smirk appearing on her face once again.

“With pleasure.” He smirked. He crawled over to me and sniffed me. He laughed and licked the blood that split from my arm.

“I’m going to enjoy this.” He said and bit into the same arm that Bellatrix carved into. I screamed and cried as his sharp teeth drug into my skin. He was suddenly pulled off me and Narcissa was there placing something on my arm.

“Wormtail! Come lock our new little puppy up. I suspect she’ll become hungry soon.” Bellatrix smirked. I was pulled off the ground and brought back down to the cellar. Wormtail locked a metal collar around my neck and smirked.

“Be a good dog and keep the howling down.” He said and left with a laugh.

It wasn’t long after he left that I started transforming. I thought the Cruciatus Curse was the worst pain I’ve ever felt, but that was wrong. Transforming into a werewolf was way more painful. It felt as though all my bones were breaking and shifting into different places. It felt like my mind was going hazy and I had no control over myself. I felt the hunger hit me and the need to hunt became strong. I tried to run, but the collar around my neck kept me in place. I screamed, growled, and howled trying to get out of the chains and to something to eat. When I realized that I couldn't, I started hurting myself. I clawed at my neck and arms, ripping the skin from my body. That was the longest night of my life. And the next few days I felt incredibly ill and weak. It didn’t help that they were hardly feeding me anymore.

That was how it went from then on. They didn’t bother torturing me for information anymore, I was now torturing myself. They had done the worst to me and now were just leaving me with my own thoughts. Remus would blame himself for this. I know he was going to say how he should have tried harder to make me stay home. Or how he should have made sure he was with me the night we all split up. I knew Harry would blame himself too. He’d say how it was his fault all this happened. All because I was with him.

“Y/N?” Someone asked quietly and I looked up to see Draco. He was standing over me and I pushed myself closer to the wall.

“Please, don’t come any closer…” I whispered.

“What did they do to you?” He asked, kneeling down, but not coming extremely close.

“They made me like my brother…” I answered and his eyes widened.

“Grayback?” He asked and I nodded.

“They’ve kidnapped Luna, they’re bringing her here.” He said.

“They’re keeping her with me? I’ll kill her!” I cried.

“No, you won’t. You’re locked up and can’t get to her, she’s smart enough to not come near you.” He said.

“I’ll bring you something to eat later tonight, I know they’re starving you.” He said.

“Why do you care so much?” I asked.

“You’re one of the only people who was ever nice to me.” He answered with a small smile and stood up.

“I’ll see you tonight.” He said and left.

Just as Draco said, Luna was thrown into the cellar with me. She looked at me with wide eyes and came towards me.

“Y/N?” She asked.

“Luna, stay away.” I said.

“Why? Why are you in chains?” She asked confused.

“I-I’m a werewolf now… So please just stay away.” I begged.

“Oh Y/N, I’m so sorry.” She said and took a few steps my way.

“Please Luna! Just stay back, I don’t want to hurt anyone.” I cried.

“You’re not in your wolf for now Y/N, you won’t hurt me.” She smiled and came to sit next to me.

“I don’t know when the full moon is…” I whispered.

“Then I’ll stay away at night, but you need a friend right now.” She said and hugged me. It was the first kind touch I had since I got here. She was right, I needed that.

A month went by and as promised Luna stayed away from me each night to be safe. When the night was finished and I was back to human Luna came to comfort me. She helped keep me distracted and even helped Draco when he came to check on me. The two of them patched up my wounds that I had given myself. Luna was sitting with me and talking about something her Dad had written about in their paper. I tried to pay attention, but my mind kept drifting off to Harry and my brother.

“What are we gonna do? We can’t leave Hermione alone with her!” A new voice said and Luna and I looked at each other confused.

“Ron?” She asked as she got up and looked around the corner.

“Harry?” She asked and my heart skipped a beat.

“Luna?” Harry asked and a few tears fell down my face.

“Y/N is here too, just this way.” She said. She came back around the corner with Ron and Harry following her.

“Y/N!” Harry said, his face looking a bit odd, but it was definitely him. He ran up and hugged me and I held him back.

“What happened to you? Why are you locked up like this?” He asked, worry clear in his voice

“They tried to get me to tell them where you were…” I answered.

“What did they do to you?” He asked again.

“Grayback…” I whispered and his eyes widened.

“You’re…” He couldn’t finish his sentence.

“I’m just like Remus now…” I whispered.

“I’m so sorry Y/N.” He said and pulled me to him.

“We’ll get you out of here, I promise.

“There’s no way out of here. We’ve tried everything. It’s enchanted.” Ollivander said. He was here before I was, same with Griphook. Harry pulled up his pant leg and pulled out a piece of mirror.

“You’re bleeding, Harry. That’s a curious thing to keep in your sock.” Luna said.

“Help us.” He whispered to it. Then quickly put it away as footsteps grew closer. Ron and Harry ran towards the door as it opened.

“Let her go!” Ron growled.

“Shut up! Get back!” Wormtail growled at them.

“You, goblin, come with me.” He said and then they left.

“Aah!” A new voice said suddenly.

“Dobby? What are you doing here?” Harry asked.

“Dobby has come to rescue Harry Potter, of course.” He answered.

“Dobby will always be there for Harry Potter.” He added.

“You can apparate in and out of this room? Could you take us with you?” Harry asked.

“Of course, sir. I’m an elf.” Dobby answered like it was obvious.

“Works for me.” Ron said.

“Dobby, I want you to take Luna, Y/N, and Mr. Ollivander-”

“Shell Cottage on the outskirts of Tinworth.” Ron cut him off.

“Trust me.” He added.

“Whenever you’re ready, sir.” Luna said.

“Sir? I like her very much.” Dobby said and they made their way over to me.

“Meet me at the top of the stairs in ten seconds.” He said and Luna grabbed my hand. We were suddenly out of the cellar and on a beach. There was a little cottage that was quite cute, I wondered who it belonged to. Luna kneeled next to me and smiled.

“Are you alright?” She asked. I felt my neck and the chain was no longer on my neck, but I felt some blood dripping down from where it dug into my skin.

“I should be, but I shouldn’t be around anyone. The next full moon could be soon for all I know.” I said, slightly freaking out at just the thought of hurting my friends.

“Shh Y/N, we’re free and safe now. Just enjoy that.” She smiled. I suppose she was right, but Harry wasn’t with us yet.

It wasn’t that long until the others arrived. Their landing was a little rougher than ours, however.

“You’re alright. We’re safe. We’re all safe.” Ron said to Hermione.

“Harry Potter.” Dobby said and we all looked at him.

“Dobby. Dobby! No, just… hold on.” Harry said and ran to him, holding him in his arms.

“Hold on. Look, just hold on, okay?” Harry begged.

“We’ll fix you. Hermione will have something. In your bag, Hermione? Hermione? What is it? Help me!” Harry begged, but she didn’t move.

“Such a beautiful place… to be with friends. Dobby is happy to be with his friend… Harry Potter.” Dobby said, his last words he’ll ever speak. No one moved except for Luna.

“We should close his eyes, don’t you think?” She said, kneeling next to them. Harry nodded and she gently closed his eyes.

“There. Now he could be sleeping.” She said.

“I want to bury him. Properly, without magic.” He said and everyone nodded. I got up and made my way to him.

“I’ll help you.” I said and he nodded. We all buried him without magic, but in the end it was just Harry and I left at his grave.

“I’m sorry I didn’t protect you. I should have stopped you from taking that stupid potion.” He said and I shook my head.

“Stop it. This isn’t your fault.” I said.

“Yes it is Y/N, it is entirely my fault! You were brought into this mess because of me!” He said and I hushed him with a kiss.

“Stop it. I love you Harry Potter and I would have done this no matter what. You and Remus are going to blame yourselves for the rest of your lives, but I will not ever blame either of you.” I said and he went to say something, but I stopped him with a kiss.

“Whatever it is, don’t say it.” I said and he sighed.

“Remus is going to kill me.” He said and I shook my head.

“Not if he knows what’s good for him.” I said. That was when everything turned around. I was safe and with Harry and my friends. I’d allow myself these few moments of peace before the full moon came to ruin it again. But for now, I need to focus on the good. I needed to be happy that I was reunited with Harry and my friends.

Tag list: @les-bio-lie @tashy-bear @ashwarren32 @hollie-blogs-blog1 @schisbro87 @lover-of-books-and-teas @nerdygaloresposts @teenwolfbitches2 @genius2050 @drw0301bieber @lady-of-lies @ravenmoore14 @ravenempress101 @cillianchamp @rowanthomasknapp @rachelxwayne @in-slytherin-we-trust @accio-rogers @sambucky8 @bruisedfists-and-splitlips @answer-the-sirens @andreasworlsboring101 @vanessa-kom-skaikru @impulse-anchor @vamora

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santastic · 4 years ago

Text

[5am adventures - choi san drabble]

"god, my parents are literally going to murder me if they realise I snuck out, san," you whine, rubbing your face as the reality of your little crime begins to hit you.

granted, it's not actually a crime, but it might as well be because if your parents catch you missing from your bed then you're done for.

"they won't find out, angel, and even if they do," he says as he drops an arm around your shoulder, "I promise to visit you in hell when I get there, 'kay?"

you scoff and shake his arm off, giving him a Look™. he just smiles lazily and shrugs, skipping ahead a few steps and stretching his arms above his head.

"wait, why do you think I'm going to hell, huh? you literally call me angel!" you point out, catching up to him just so you can give him the side-eye.

he sticks his tongue out at you rebelliously, but you know that means he's got no smart retorts left, so a victorious smile finds its way to your tired face.

the sun hasn't started rising just yet, but the sky is a faint blue-grey colour as night becomes early morning. streetlights still light up your path as you walk side by side, and at this time of day, it almost feels like you're two movie protagonists exploring an abandoned neighbourhood in the middle of an apocalypse.

"doesn't it kinda feel like a zombie movie or something?" san comments, reading your mind.

"in that case, I'm happy you're my companion," you say, and just before he can coo at you, you add, "'cause at least I won't feel guilty when I use you as bait, y'know?"

"those are bold words from someone who can only run half as fast as me," he responds with an eyebrow raised.

for a moment, it looks like he’s getting ready to prove his point, but then he realises he’s too tired to put in that kind of effort and instead you both break out into laughter. he turns away from you and you loop your arm through his as you continue your walk.

leaning your head against his shoulder, you say, "I know you'd never leave me behind like that. I'm such good company, it'd be a shame to lose me."

he just scoffs and tells you you're on thin ice, but you can hear the smile in his voice.

reaching the end of the street, you realise he’s leading you to the unfinished part of the estate, decorated with random sand dunes and areas marked out for houses yet to be built. as a kid, you lived in a neighbourhood with a similar layout, and you remember the adventures you’d go on with the kids who lived next door.

you’d pretend to be vampires on a hunt for blood, or mischievous princes and princesses running through your kingdom’s village. sometimes, the adults would even join in and play a game of fantasy-themed tag with you guys, but secretly, you always preferred the thrill of sneaking away without them realising.

funnily enough, even now, it seems like you have that internal feeling of longing for fun, risks and adventures. that’s why san knew you’d sneak out with him, even if you complained about it.

“I really like this time of day,” san comments as he kicks away the fragments of brick on the path. “like, I feel like my thoughts are so much clearer, and I don’t have to think about what’s next on my to-do list, you know?”

he walks ahead to a sandstone wall surrounding a plot and takes a seat, crossing his legs. you sit beside him with your legs hanging over the edge, and he tilts his head as he thinks to himself.

you find yourself admiring his profile absentmindedly, and you can’t help but feel it’s a little unfair how lovely he looks in the pale light. when his gaze finds yours again, you immediately look away in embarrassment, but he doesn’t comment on it.

he hesitates for a moment before he finally says, “I think it’s kinda special when it’s just us two out here.”

at that, you look up again to find him watching your expression carefully, nervously. this time, it’s him who looks away first.

he picks at the jagged rocks poking out of the sandstone, and you find it cute because you know he only fidgets with things when he’s nervous about something.

“god, it’s so cliche, but you really feel like home to me. I feel like I can say anything that’s on my mind and you’ll just listen and care and, I don’t know, I can just trust you wholeheartedly and I know you won’t hurt me, and I’ve never felt that way about anyone before, and it’s so...” he trails off, sighing when he realises he’s rambling.

flicking a rock from the wall, he grows quiet again. he won’t look up at you, but you can tell he’s waiting for a response.

“I get it. it’s the same for me. you know me the most,” you tell him, and even though he’s still staring down at the wall, you see his eyes widen, so you continue, “literally, there’s no one else who I would be able to tell the things I tell you, and maybe it kind of seems like I take that for granted ‘cause I don’t thank you nearly enough, but I’m so grateful, san. seriously.”

there’s a moment of silence after that, but it isn’t awkward and you don’t feel the need to fill it. it’s like you’re both sitting there and processing the real meaning behind what you said. you have so much more to add but right now, no words come to mind, so you can only hope that he understands what you’re feeling.

you’re pretty sure he does when he stands up and reaches for your hand, intertwining your fingers casually as he gets ready to walk around together again. feeling a little braver now, you decide to speak up.

“so, I know we should probably sleep when we get back, but would you be down to go out like this again tomorrow?”

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yeojaa · 4 years ago

Text

( TO THE MOON AND BACK. )

You use your one brain cell for love. It doesn’t always end well.

pairing. kth x (named) f!reader. jjk x (named) f!reader.

genre + rating. non-idol!au. there’s some fluff and there’s definitely some angst. general.

tags / warnings. none, except for a lot of emotion. 😐😐

wc. 4.9k

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif as per usual (i owe you my life) and @yeoldontknow for tolerating me when i came crying into our messages.

author note. this was a commission for the endlessly lovely @1088x1088. thank you so, so much for loving this series enough to support it. it was a ton of fun to write (even though this chapter did really hurt). finding my voice again was a bit of a struggle, but i hope you enjoy it! i’m sorry this was late!

chapter 12.

You can feel the difference in the air the moment you step out of the building and into the arms of your bouncing, bubbly boyfriend. There’s something about him today - an intensity that radiates out of him, refracts off his edges like an aureate coin. He’s got the biggest grin on his face - so wide and unabashed you think he doesn’t even need the umbrella he’s brought along - that the sheer power of his joy might be enough to push the rain clouds back. It stretches wide, brighter than the summer sun, and spills light into darkness, chasing away all the spiders. It warms you from your toes through to the tips of your fingers, filling your veins with lovely golden thread, dust that settles in shades of yellow.

“Did you win the lottery or something?” The question is paired with a sweet kiss to his cheek, your entire body sagging comfortably against his as he wraps his free arm tightly around your shoulders and mirrors the gesture. Your cheek tingles where his lips land. You think he might be a wizard, magicking away all the hardships of your day.

“No, even better.” The excitement is nearly bursting out of him, seeping out at the seams that hardly hold him together. How he hasn’t simply told you yet is beyond you but you know Taehyung’s a bit dramatic - loves the build up as much as the climax - so you wait patiently, linking your hand through his elbow when you move onto the sidewalk. It’s easy to fall into this routine: the one you’ve perfected over the last few months. It never feels stagnant, never anything less than a warm hug on a cold day. You find comfort in that.

The sun sits low on the horizon, casting long shadows over the street. They throw shapes across Taehyung’s face, bathing his features in darkness when you step beneath an awning and out of the downpour. His eyes never stop twinkling - like stars against the night sky, lighting up even the places where the rays can’t reach.

“We’re hosting an exhibit for local artists.” He’s trying to be careful, hold himself together. Still, you can hear the way he speaks a little too fast, too quick to be nonchalant. Bite back a laugh when the words tumble into each other, failing under their restraints. “The director asked me to curate it.”

He stops and looks at you then, hopeful and bright and so brilliant you imagine the sun’s disappeared behind the clouds and found a new home in his smile. You know how much this means to him - how long he’s worked for this, how it’s cost him his parents’ affection and long hours that he’ll never get back. It goes without saying he deserves this, this incredible opportunity.

It doesn’t do it justice, but you offer your congratulations regardless, slipping support seamlessly between syllables. Blending the words with a squeeze of his arm, a delighted little giggle that spirals into the air like a Christmas orange, tart and sweet. “That’s amazing, Tae!”

He’s a million miles over the moon, eyes waning, lost to a flood of emotion as he beams down at you.

“I did all the research and she was happy with it and—” A twinkling laugh breaks up the excitement, steeping it heavily in the sound as he exhales a big breath that seems to steal a little bit more of his coherence. “I just—it’s huge. It’s next month but the director’s given me the go-ahead. Me!”

You decide you’d really like to bottle this moment forever, to keep it on a shelf in your thoughts. You think it’d be the best cure for a bad day, better than any chocolate, more comforting than an afternoon nap.

“Of course you, Tae.” You’re matching his smile, cradling his jaw in the small of your palms. Thumbs brush over the seam of his bottom lip, the freckle that dots the edge of his nose. “I’m so, so proud of you. You’ve worked so hard for this.” You know the words aren’t possibly enough but you gift them anyway because it’s still nice to hear. Everyone deserves that recognition, kindness to hold you up like ribbons, to keep your head held high.

“Thank you, jagi.” He sighs a soft sound, all rounded edges and a deep, abiding satisfaction that fills every inch of his expression. It’s still there when he begins walking again, guiding you back to his favourite place with you at his side. You fit exactly as you should, tucked under his arm, the tips of his fingers brushing over the teddy bear fabric of your coat.

“Have you told the others yet?”

“No, I’m going to tell them at dinner.” The pride that colours his tone is shades of yellow - marigolds sprouting between vowels, sunflowers encapsulating consonants. “I want Jungkookie to show his work in it.”

He must not feel the way you stiffen at his side, how the blood runs cold in your veins and sticks you to the spot like an icicle. You play it off well enough, tripping over your own two feet and righting yourself as if it were all just a matter of misplaced steps.

(In truth, you could’ve sworn your heart had plummeted through your feet, all the way to the molten core. You can feel it burning to a crisp, setting every nerve aflame at the mere thought.)

“I don’t want him to feel like… it’s a handout though.”

“He won’t,” you reassure around the strange, familiarly silhouetted lump in your throat. You are intimately familiar with Jungkook’s work - what spreads over canvas in lovely lilac shapes, stark ink bringing relief to watercolour. You know who inspires the evening skylines, the immaculate and yet effortless scenes he brings to life with strokes of pen, paint, charcoal. (Or, rather, you knew. Things could be different now.) Who graces - had graced - the rolls of film, painted in sepia tones until brought to life by a careful hand.

(You have a feeling they aren’t - that they’re just as they’ve always been. Too much the same to be safe. It’d be impossible to miss, even with blinders on. You and Jungkook would always be complicated.)

“He’s worked really hard.” Taehyung’s more or less speaking to himself, carrying a one-sided conversation as you duck back beneath sheets of rain, droplets rolling off the umbrella he carries and splashing all over your toes. Suddenly, the torrential downpour feels fitting, as if the skies have opened up to soothe the burn beneath your skin. “It’d be nice if he just caught a break, you know? Something to give him more confidence.”

He, as well as you, knows just how much of himself the youngest puts into his work. How every canvas, every roll of film, represents a corner of his heart. Offers a glimpse into his thoughts.

You, possibly more than anyone. But Taehyung doesn’t know that and it certainly isn’t your place to say, so you simply nod along, humming in agreement as you wander the quiet Seoul street. (It’ll be busy soon, once you pass from the residential area into the bustle of nighttime and exploration. Not even the rain can keep people away, everyone far too eager to catch up amidst a crowd of smoke and drinking games. You’re used to it though - used to being dragged out by the ragtag group for their impromptu yet regular weekly dinner dates.)

“I’m sure he’ll say yes.” It’s all you can offer as your boyfriend rambles on, lost in his own world

“Really?”

The amount of hope - strung up on fairy lights, dim and yet somehow so full - rings crystal clear in Jungkook’s voice, tearing your thoughts from the piece of pork belly you’re carefully grilling. You do your best not to jerk your head up, already all too aware of the topic. You remind yourself it’s not your place and you flip the slab, gaze trained on the fat that renders out and slides over the metal grill.

It’s hard to do but you weather the storm, quietly observant as the excitement level at the table turns to eleven. With a group of four it’d be boisterous; with a table of nine, it’s a cacophony of sound, rising above the din of the bustling restaurant. It kicks above the chorus of cheers and clattering utensils, as if this moment means so much more. (It does.)

“You think I’d joke about something like this?” Taehyung’s doing his best to play it cool, to convey something suave and reassured, but there’s the tell-tale wobble of his words, the way his knee bounces beside yours, nervous energy thrumming through his frame like a livewire. It practically pours from his fingertips, shooting out past his teeth as his mouth shapes into that familiar boxy grin that belies his delight.

Not that Jungkook’s any better.

On your other side, his hand’s tensing and relaxing over the tabletop, lips pulling and pursing around thoughts he hasn’t fully formulated. He’d always been someone who had to be moving - tapping his toes, shaking his leg, simply shimmying in his seat - but this is something else. It’s as if he’s on the precipice of a realisation, of diving headfirst into his lifelong dream.

(Which, you suppose he is. He’s wanted this forever, just like Taehyung. The break he so wholly deserved. It warms your heart even as it stills it, stutters it uncomfortably in the small of your chest.)

“I’m just—” Speechless seems to be the appropriate word, because Jungkook simply trails off, wonder in his eyes, his expression that of a child on Christmas. “Thanks, hyung.” It’s a rare occurrence, usually offered with that sly bunny smile of his, but it’s dressed in gratitude now, year’s worth of tenderness occupying the spaces between each syllable.

“Don’t thank me.” It comes, dismissive and yet still just as soft. Rounded by an awareness that exists only within this group, a tenderness that blooms and blooms and never withers. “Just make me look good.”

A teasing comment echoes from across the table - that’s impossible from someone who looks and sounds suspiciously like Kim Seokjin - and your group dissolves into a puddle of laughter, the chorus of amusement dissolving above your heads.

This is too good an opportunity, not the time for your selfish concern. You swallow your worry with a dab of ssam and a crunch of lettuce.

You miss the look Jungkook shoots you.

He has two weeks.

Two weeks to select five pieces he thinks will showcase the best parts of himself, the depth of his dedication, the quality of his passion. Two weeks to go through his extensive portfolio, to rummage through harddrives and pick through his canvases. Two weeks to determine what home means to him.

It’s certainly not the hardest thing in the world - Jungkook imagines it starts with the words Jeon and ends with a certain group of six idiots - but it still leaves him stumped, sitting at his desk for three long hours as he pours through folders, thankful he’d had the wherewithal to name things properly. (None of the Aug17uuuuuuughfuck.raw files of his college days.)

It lightens his load, keeps him from upending his entire setup and throwing it out the window in frustration. Not that he doesn’t still want to. He very much does.

But perhaps it isn’t the hundreds of images that’s the issue. Maybe it’s just one - the same one he’s been staring at for the better part of the evening, unable to move on even when he wants to, tapping over his mouse yet never actuating enough to pull him onto the next slide.

It sits front and centre on his screen and he can’t look away; drinks his fill of it like a man drowning at sea; savours it like a king at his final feast. A photo developed with an accidental light leak and how fitting that is, as if all the sunshine has been captured in the single click, trapped behind the shutter for him and him only.

You’ve always been that to him, though. Crystalline and beautiful, with light catching off your edges, refracting from every angle to spell something like I love you; with fireflies at the tips of your fingers, guiding him home in the dark; with the summer sun strung between your teeth, filling him with warmth.

Could he use this? Would it be too much?

More importantly, how would you react? Had your story ended, chapters of friendship folded between flat pages and tucked within a shelf to accumulate dust? To sit among the tomes long forgotten, never reached for, barely worthy of a second read?

Was this meant to disappear, just like you had? What did that mean for him - for his future? Were you meant to take all the possibilities with you, tucking them alongside your cotton candy laughter, the sly turn of your smile? Were they lost to the tangle of your hair, braided into a knot he’d never been able to unravel?

Jungkook hates feeling like this - all the uncertainty swallowing him whole and spitting him out; leaving him black and blue and bruised all over; dressing him in shades of grey that only seem to fade with each pass through the wringer.

A part of him wonders whether he should just ask. Surely you’d answer the phone, sound so pretty carried over the airwaves he’d probably forget himself.

Could he find the words? Would you laugh in his face?

He stares at the photo and wishes it held all the answers, that the light would offer something more than beauty, more than memories that feel more like nightmares.

Half your face glares back at him, a silhouette of the girl he’d been helplessly in love with. Rays balance across your cheekbone and cut through him like a knife. When he blinks, you’re still there but his heart’s all the worse for it, riddled with nicks and tears.

He’ll choose another, he decides.

Finally, he finds the strength, skips to the next preview - and regrets it almost as much as the first.

(This was his fault, of course. Jungkook had spent so long living in a world with you, saddled at your side, two pieces inexplicably interwoven. Of course there’d be thread still, a red string of fate coiled all the way around his heart, hanging uselessly at his side, snipped by hands that weren’t his own, now gone to tatters.)

It wouldn’t matter so much if it were someone else, if the bits of you weren’t so stark, holding his attention like a star in the sky, endlessly bright and unrelenting. Maybe if he could pretend it was someone else, his hands wouldn’t shake, a tremor in his chest from the way his heart bounces about, demands to be let out, to lay alongside yours.

As it stands, it is you - brought to life by his hands, overlaid in watercolour and black and a blanket of regret. The shapes are impossible to miss: the curve of your hip, rounded and warm, peeking beneath a wash of colour; the river of your hair, the wayward strands that curl across your cheek and tickle the stack of silver that lines your ear; the peek of your tattoo, embossed across your ribs, hidden beneath thin layers of paint.

The longer he looks, the worse it feels. A white pith of a lemon, bitter on his tongue, stinging all the cuts he’s never taken the time to seal up. That cry out now, echo the same sadness he’s felt for the last year.

Was there anything you hadn’t touched? Something that didn’t carry you in its hands?

He imagines there has to be.

And yet, as he goes along, clicks through image after image, he’s only left with reminders. Figments of you with blood-stained teeth and scarred flesh, sharks that patrol his thoughts and bite chunks when he ventures too close. He hadn’t meant to dive this deep - lost somewhere amongst the shipwreck of your friendship, a once beautiful thing now rotten and rusted, devoured by darkness. The empty hulls aren’t where he wants to be, caught on broken anchors and torn flags, sinking deeper and deeper.

He doesn’t know how to get out.

It’s absolutely perfect, because of course it is. Taehyung has put every waking hour into this, coordinating with vendors and artists and hardly sleeping a wink. The walls are painted, artistry strung up for all to see, picturesque beneath an array of lights. There’s not a thing out of place, each piece given their due, framed neatly with thoughtful text painstakingly written by your boyfriend.

There are dozens of people in attendance - the turnout the gallery had hoped for and yet still has Taehyung giddy, eyes wide like a child’s, wonderment written into every lovely facet of his expression.

You’re delighted for him, completely over the moon with how happy he is, pride rolling off him in waves that you’d gladly sink beneath. You whisper words of affection - pride, support - purring them into the warmth of his palms when he sandwiches your face between them and laughs so loudly you swear there’s no other sound in the world.

“Can you believe it?” This boy before you isn’t the Taehyung you know, carefully composed. He’s a comet through the night sky, illuminating, fluorescent, lit from the inside out. Glowing so bright it hurts your eyes, makes you blink once, then twice, then another time just to capture the moment against the backs of your eyelids. (You wish you had your camera with you - something to allow you to remember this moment forever, process it and store it in your pocket for rainy days.)

Your laughter comes in tandem, overjoyed for your love, for all he’s worked for and all he’s now achieved. It spills forth in bell chimes, silver in your ears, and you catch his hands in your own, fingers caught together. “Of course I can.” The distance between you becomes nothing, barely a breath passing as you press your lips to his, offering as much affection as you can in the tiny gesture. “I knew you could do it.”

“Really?” He doesn’t doubt you. Doesn’t even really doubt himself. But he asks anyways and you don’t mind giving, folding your support into another kiss, another squeeze of his hand.

“You can do anything, Kim Taehyung.”

He animates, a coin-operated boy whose sole currency is your words of affirmation. Springs to life with adoration in his step, a giddy smile that eats up everything else and wanes his eyes into crescents. Peaks like the sun above the clouds, endlessly bright - a supernova. “I love you.”

“I know,” you answer with your heart in your hands - in his - when they drop to his sides, fingers still intertwined.

He stares at you expectantly, unabashedly, waiting for the words he wants to hear. (A man with the world at his feet, whose heart still flutters for you.) “And?”

“And?” You parrot, cheeks round, a well of teasing growing in the dimple of your left cheek. It spills forth when his mouth pouts, turns this way and that before settling into an expression that’s utterly undeniable, the perfect blend of endearing and infuriating. When you relent, it’s with further laughter, a nudge of your hip against his as he pulls you close, cementing you to his side. “I love you too.”

You’d been prepared for the people (the professionals, the journalists, all the friends and family, anyone who was anyone gathered to attend) and the chaos (your friends - all of them running amok while simultaneously on their best behaviour, biting back laughter, echoing words of encouragement).

What you hadn’t been prepared for?

This.

Standing before a painted portrait of yourself, blown up ten feet and hung in the centre of the gallery for all to see. Full-lipped and grinning, with hands hiding half your face, dark hair piled atop your head and a bandana knotted below your ear. A picture that you can hear - your laughter sounding off the page, reminiscent of that night so many months ago, standing at the edge of the water, the ocean calling you out to sea. The sky streaked in colours you could never hope to replicate, hues that blend and bleed and build into something glorious, beautiful, ephemeral. An arm that reaches for whoever has taken the photo, light reflecting off the sheen of silver, of gold, of the gems on your nails.

You recognise it in a heartbeat - one that feels like it goes too long, as if it’s skipped not one, not two, but three beats - that thunders loudly in your ears the moment everything snaps into place.

(And oh, how it does. A hundred memories that shudder into a single image and tell the story of an entire summer.

Afternoons at Jagalchi, amid the smell of fish and flesh, eating to the point of gluttony. On the shores with sunshine at your fingertips and a hand in yours, endless possibilities stretching as far as the eye could see. Staring up into the sky night after night, admiring the stars packed against the dark and yet always drawn back to the brightest one at your side, a heavenly body hidden within the silhouette of your closest friend.

Your head on his shoulder during the train ride there and back, the quiet offered by his presence, the comfort found in his form. All the little pieces of himself that had somehow found their way to you: your pinkies intertwined, his dark hair spilling over yours, his breath that came low and slow, condensing between you and turning your cheeks ruddy.

What had felt like a lifetime away - seven hundred galaxies apart, never to be found again, engulfed by a black hole of your own creation.

What now feels like it’s right at your feet, so close you might touch it. That echoes in your chest, a spectre living within your bones come back to haunt you.)

“Pretty, huh?” Hums the voice at your side, filled with too much pride - for himself and his friend, for all they’ve accomplished. Taehyung has no idea, blissfully unaware, heartbreakingly handsome as he studies the image alongside you, lets his stare rove across the contours of the woman’s cheekbones, the shape of her mouth, pulled wide in a smile that might as well carry the world in it.

There’s something familiar about the girl in the painting, something that calls to him, draws him in and keeps him anchored. He wonders what it is, makes a note to ask once Jungkook arrives.

Your answer comes belated, disconnected and strange, a voice too far away to be picked up clearly. (You don’t mean it to - try to swallow down the emotion that crests and crests like a terrifying wave above your head.) “Very.”

“Kook mentioned a girl a few years ago, so I think it’s her.” How he speaks is thoughtful, as if he isn’t sure how much to say. Doesn’t want to overstep even as he offers these tiny bits of information - things he thinks you have no idea about, that’s the same thing that lives within your bones, settled like bedrock that cannot be eroded. (Guilt gnaws at you, turns its teeth cruel and unrelenting and licks the salt from your wounds like the back of a spoon. You swallow it down, listen quietly, quietly, quietly and try to slow the discomfort growing like weeds, the blooming of tiger lilies in the small of your chest.)

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Taehyung’s conversational, adoring, indulgent. He hooks his arm around your shoulders and holds you close, unaware of the turmoil that turns your insides to ash. He holds you like you’re precious - a sunbeam caught in his hands, just for him.

If only he knew.

“Do you want to see the rest?” There’s an eagerness that spills forth, tacks his words to one another and turns them into a single breath. He inhales all the bad and dresses you in nothing but good, pins stars into your hair when he fixes you with that smile and pulls you along, further into the gallery with a hop in his step.

You should say no; you can’t find the words.

So you follow him to his next destination - to another version of you. Another photo, grainy and overexposed, intimate in its detail. A faceless blur, made alive by light, artificial and too white, casting long shadows where there should be none. It’s easier to imagine this is someone else - a girl worthy of this love, of all the emotion captured within the single image. (Someone who could carry the weight of Jungkook’s affection without dropping it, whose hands would be a suitable home for the heart he’s now offered up, laid out ripe for the picking. Sugar sweet and saccharine, held aloft by a branch that threatens to give away.)

The truth is in the details, though, and you see them for all they are. The dainty thread that loops your wrist - mirrored within the frame before you. It sits evident in the freckles on your arms, the wayward beauty marks sprinkled upon your skin, constellations that should have names - do have names, whispered by the boy at your side.

“He’s really got a good eye, right?” There’s that pride again, full-bodied, like a parent with macaroni art stuck to the fridge. It’s sticky and honeyed, bright with affection, lemon tart and yellow - sunshine streaming past like the warmest day in July. It further cements the relationship he has - that they all have - one built upon years of friendship, of togetherness you cannot begin to fathom.

The guilt rears its head again, roars like an angry beast. You bite it back, catch its tail between your teeth and nod along, unfocus your eyes as best you can. The longer you look, the more it grows, spiny and angry and demanding of attention.

“He really does.”

Taehyung’s satisfied with that, too caught up in his own delight to notice the stillness, the quiet. It’s a silence he overlooks, sweeps past without a backwards glance. “There’s one more I want to show you.” The joy is unbridled, eating up every part of him, and your heart thumps feebly in your chest, kicked around by two pairs of feet. “I saw it and it made me think of you.”

You’re surprised this time - because it isn’t you. It’s not the shape of your shoulders or the turn of your wrist. It’s not a half-hidden smile, the dozens of tell-tale signs that would give you away. It’s something far worse, that sticks to your lungs and makes it hard to breathe, wet paper towels plastered over your airways like papier-mâché.

It pains you when you step forward to drink in the colours, the texture that lays everything in nostalgia. An image you recognise because you have the same one in your home, hung upon your wall, taken by your own hand.

Jungkook in an infinity room, bathed in a million little lights.

Except this is a painting, painstakingly recreated, with shadows deepened and white ink spread throughout. One of your most precious memories laid in gouache.

“I swear I’ve seen it before.” It’s a throwaway thought, more for himself than for you, but it breaks you apart, crumbles the foundation you’ve been carefully laying. It kicks your knees right out from beneath you and you swear you’d fall if not for the comfort of his side, the way he holds you up and inspects you curiously. “Are you okay?”

He looks at you with nothing but tenderness in his eyes; you unwind beneath his stare, sinew and bone unfurling, realigning, forming into someone worthy of his love. You tell yourself nothing else matters, that all the what ifs pale in comparison to this - how he looks at you as if you’d hung the stars in the sky; as if you’re more than just a girl who has his heart; as if you hold all the answers to the universe.

“Fine,” you answer, even as you aren’t, as the ground beneath your feet threatens to give way and send you to an early grave. Even as you cannot tear your eyes from the painting, terrified and awestruck, too many emotions turning your senses to nonsense.

You wonder if Taehyung can hear the tremble of your breath, feel it all the way through into the centre of his own chest. You wonder what he reads into it, whether he worries for you. You wonder if he can love a monster like you, who has kept these secrets under lock and key, tucked away into a far corner riddled with cobwebs and spiders and a fine layer of dust.

You wonder and wonder and then you have your answer when he speaks again, something in his voice that steals your attention, pins it directly behind the light in his eyes.

“Don’t you have this in your house?”

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @codeinebelle

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tarithenurse · 4 years ago

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Nightingale - 40

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Hatake Kakashi &/x Fem!OC Contents: Angst. Stress. Desperation. Relief. Confessions. A bit of fluff? A/N: Had to delay something a bit which meant moving other things up some...you’ll see what in the next chapter. As usual, ASK or REBLOG for tag! HUUUGE thanks to all who are reblogging already <3

Ch. 40

The morning doesn’t carry hope on the soft wings of pastel coloured light. Instead, heavy clouds drag out the grey dawn and threaten to drown out the carefully cultivated optimism that Kakashi and the ninken are holding on to as they reach the foothills. From now on, the path slopes upwards.

Just a short break? Like all the other times throughout the night, Kakashi dismisses the idea even though he can see Pakkun and the pack are looking as tired as he feels. He groans silently. The rapid pace is taking its toll – a jōnin like the copy-ninja can travel for more than a day without a rest if they curb the speed correctly, but he has not done so this time. Stiff and tired muscles are dragging his movements with their leaden weight, making him kick up loose gravel because his feet are too heavy to lift. Stealth was never much of a concern from the beginning, but he dislikes the exhaustion and the risk it might it might pose to Uguïsu if he finds her. When...when I find her, he corrects himself bitterly.

“The trail’s only a few hours old,” Pakkun tries to cheer the human on, sensing the distress.

A fat, wet drop of rain lands heavily on the little dog’s nose as if to mock the group for still having hope. A shiver of desperation extends in the air between the ninken and their jōnin, and it’s strengthened as another drop falls. And another. And another. Everywhere the rain lands, dust is beat up in tiny vortexes only to be bombarded and brought down, quickly creating a layer of mud across the landscape as it fades in a curtain of water.

Further up, where the hills turn into cliffs and jagged outcrops, Kakashi knows there are caves. “Let’s find a dry spot and take a break.” Just until the worst is over.

...

The cave they find is narrow and deep, but perfectly dry. Someone has stashed firewood near the bottom and there’s a circle of stones which must have been intended as a place for a campfire although it hasn’t seen use in quite a while.

That’s all Kakashi has time to register before he freezes mid movement. I know this scent.

“She was here,” Shiba huffs, his nose stirring up dust and sand, “she was here until-”

“- less than an hour ago!” Buru finishes.

I can catch up.

“Our noses aren’t any good out there now, pup,” Pakkun nuzzles against Kakashi’s ankle in an attempt to show support, “but we know you’ll find her now.”

The white-haired jōnin barely takes time to dump his backpack and thank the canines for their help, but he knows they are aware how much he appreciates the effort...and he’ll make sure to get a lot of meaty bones for them from the butcher when they’re back in Konoha.

A last squirt of adrenaline powers him through the rain although visibility is more than halved: whenever he tries to look up ahead, drops force his eyes (yes, both) into thin slits. His feet are slipping, mud mixing into the soaked clothes from the knees and down as he scrambles past boulders and leap over gurgling streams that cross his path.

Thunder rumbles off in the far distance. The wind picks up. The little bit of sunlight that makes it through the stormy weather is not enough to give any indication of how long Kakashi is fighting the elements with only one goal in mind...but the moment he rounds a bend in the path and sees the blurred out figure, he doesn’t care anymore. He would’ve walked for the rest of his life if that’s what it would have taken.

Uguïsu doesn’t hear him yelling for her to wait and so she doesn’t turn until the very last moment when the sound of his approach isn’t drowned out by the elements. However, nothing can silence the chanting of her name as she becomes pliable in his embrace and they cling to each other.

“I won’t force you to stay, Uguïsu,” he whispers against her shaking shoulder, “but don’t leave like this...or let me come with you...please...”

“Oh, ‘Kashi!”

...

Huddled together in the cave, Kakashi has opted for the blue-haired woman to do all the talking, giving her a chance to unload some of the worries as they get a fire going to dry by.

It’s a stroke of luck, really, that they knew where to find shelter with firewood provided and even luckier that the damp weather hasn’t cooled the air too much. Very fortunate, yeah. Trying not to stare, he can’t help but steal a glance now and then as the beauty wriggles out of the outer layers, leaving her in tight, knee-length leggings and a tank top. His own vest and pullover are splayed across a boulder in the back of the cave.

Glad for the cover of his collar, Kakashi tries to get comfortable with the back against the rock wall. Boots placed at the foot-end near the fire, rucksack with the few rations he had grabbed on the way out of Konoha to the side, and a view blocked by heavy curtains of rain that sometimes is translucent as the first lightning flashes across the sky.

Nope, not working. The cave’s inner sides are too uneven to rest against. Instead, he finds a good position as he slides to a horizontal state with hands behind the head. Or...it’s okay...until Uguïsu joins him, her knees pushing him gently as she forgoes the struggle and simple curls up against him, head resting on his chest and eyes trained on the grey storm.

The humidity amplifies her cottony scent. The flow of hair adds colour to otherwise drab surroundings. And Kakashi lies as still as possible to prevent the moment from ending.

“I don’t want to leave, ‘Kashi, but...but what if...if...” she gives up with a groan.

What if he sends someone to find you, right? “You’re not alone anymore,” the man vouches, finally pulling her closer, “you can lie low or maybe there’s a mission out of town y-”

“Lie low?” The tone of incredulity is tempered but present nonetheless. “I have to barricade myself indoors? I live so close to the Academy where all the visitors will be, I won’t be able to open a window without someone noticing!”

You can live somewhere else. The carefully considered scenarios are forgotten, pushed aside by a babbling (and at first confusing) explanation about a house that’s waiting at the outskirts of Konoha. It takes a while, but eventually Uguïsu catches the drift of it all and cranes her neck to flash him a smile which he returns happily even if it’s mostly obscured.

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tsarisfanfiction · 4 years ago

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Long Way From Home: Chapter 5

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Friendship Characters: Scott, Tracy Family

Some of you predicted this was coming... although I hardly tried to hide it. This is the longest chapter so far because once you get the fish going, he never shuts up. Most of you know I adore Scott; some of you probably know my favourite brother relationship is Scott&Gordon. If you didn’t, this fic is probably going to make that very obvious. I have plans for these two...

Also, trying to sort out TAG’s timeline is a headache and I ended up fudging a lot of it. Please just roll with it because I spent far too long agonising over this before giving up and throwing this out into the void. It’s fiction. It doesn’t have to make sense.

<<<Chapter 4

The problem with plans was their tendency to go wrong. Finding his way back to the infirmary was no challenge – the white building made for a clear target, and the trail was clear enough to Scott’s eye. Getting back inside was no issue, either. The window was left ajar, simple enough to silently pull open and slip through.

Finding Other-Gordon perched on one of the chairs, one of Scott’s bracers in his hands, was not part of the plan, and he mentally cursed himself. He’d escaped from the infirmary, so it would be obvious to anyone with a brain cell that he’d return that way, too, especially with his gear there. Gordon had many brain cells, which he frequently used in unorthodox ways, and Other-John had even warned him that Other-Gordon was crafty.

“Welcome back,” the ginger greeted him calmly. “The others are on a mission.” Scott swiped the gear from him, carefully running his hands over the remote control units to make sure they were still intact. He didn’t know their range, and doubted that even Brains had managed to make something that could get signals through multiple universes – especially as his comm unit failed to do so – but he was still cautious about activating them. Just in case.

“I saw.” Technically he’d only seen One’s launch, Two’s runway presumably out of sight from Other-Scott’s hiding place. “Power plant meltdown.” Other-Gordon’s gazed briefly flicked to his wrist, where Other-Scott’s watch still sat.

“Has John found your brothers?” he asked, and Scott shook his head. “Ah well, no news is good news, right? If John can’t find them, they’re still safe at home.”

Unwilling to engage in further conversation, he scooped up the rest of his uniform, tempted for a moment to put it on for comfort’s sake but discarding the notion, before glancing at the map in the watch face and heading out of the room.

“You’re not going to put that back on, are you?” Other-Gordon asked him, following. Scott ignored him, following the hallway almost to the kitchen, where Other-Kyrano was doing something with the odd contraption in the middle of the floor, before making the right turn towards the stairs. “Father’s in the lounge.” For someone who had been almost silent the entire time up until then, Other-Gordon was suddenly making a lot of noise.

“I’m not going there,” he told him firmly.

“You’re stealing Scott’s clothes.” Other-Gordon didn’t bat an eyelid. “I’ll help.” Scott wished he was surprised, but it was a Gordon thing to do. “Here, this way.” Unlike his father, Other-Gordon had a preference for the stairs, which suited Scott just fine. He had no issues with elevators, but the one at the end of the hallway was another example of the different technology. Stairs were far more trustworthy.

Last time, Not-Dad had guided him quickly and firmly into the lounge, but Other-Gordon strode ahead after reaching the top of the stairs, away from the door to the lounge, and turned into an extended corridor with six doors all set into the right-hand side. These, according to the map in his watch, were six equally-sized rooms, all with smaller rooms set into them. The second one from the far end contained the flashing blue light indicating that it was Other-Scott’s room. Presumably, that put the rest of them as the other four brothers’ rooms, and probably Not-Dad’s room.

“My room,” Other-Gordon waved vaguely to the door immediately in front of the branch of hallway they’d just left. “John’s is that one.” He indicated the door next to his, at the end of the corridor, before continuing to walk. “Alan’s, Virgil’s, and here we are! Scott’s.” He pushed open the door with no hesitation and strode inside. Scott checked the watch face again. It agreed with Other-Gordon, so he followed.

Even without either guides, he wouldn’t have had any problems identifying the room’s owner. Images of various, fast, planes decorated the walls – many unrecognisable to him, but unmistakable in their theme regardless. Blue was the prominent colour, edging its way around the room and various screens and alcoves set into the walls. The bed linen was also blue. Towards the far wall, the en suite took out a reasonably small chunk of the room.

Other-Gordon didn’t wait for him to adjust to the reality that yes, this room felt like a room he could see himself having, heading over to a closet door and throwing it open.

“Clothes,” he announced. Scott was slightly concerned at just how nonchalantly the younger man was rummaging through his older brother’s room, although, he was a Gordon. His Gordon was probably just as likely to do that. Well, that was one of the hazards of younger brothers, he supposed. Thoughts like that just made him remember just how far away from his own younger brothers he was, and he stepped forwards to the closet to look at Other-Scott’s wardrobe before he started dwelling over things he currently couldn’t change.

Clearly, his counterpart liked rollnecks and shirts. There was quite a collection of them, ranging from simple mono-coloured designs to rather louder, patterned, offerings. Scott dismissed the rollnecks immediately, hunting through the shirts until he found a mono-coloured one that felt like it might be some sort of cotton, rather than silk. Silk was for special occasions – business meetings, and formal events he attended only because he had to. The selected shirt was some sort of yellow-brown colour, not his first choice but apparently the only blue Other-Scott owned was in the forms of rollnecks and cardigans.

Ignoring Other-Gordon’s presence in the room, he shrugged off the by now muddy pyjama top he’d woken in and pulled the shirt on, leaving the top buttons undone and rolling the sleeves up until it mimicked his preferred style at home. There were no jeans in sight, so with some reluctance he found the least-smart pair of pants, which were at least dark blue, and in concession to company retreated into the en suite long enough to shed the pyjama bottoms and pull them on.

“How long have you been wearing those underpants?” Other-Gordon asked him when he emerged, and Scott rolled his eyes.

“There is a line,” he said firmly. “Unless there are some new, unworn ones lying around, I’ll stick with what I’m wearing, thanks. Now, shoes?” Other-Gordon pointed to the next door over, sitting himself down on the bed and letting his feet rest on the headrest. Scott paused, the position familiar.

“Your back bothering you?” he asked. Amber eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“How do you know about my back?” Other-Gordon asked slowly. Scott yanked open the indicated door and glanced over the various shoes in a growing state of despair. No sneakers. How could there be a Scott who didn’t own any sneakers?

“Hydrofoil accident,” he said. “Four months in hospital.”

Other-Gordon let out a noise that sounded almost like a hiss, which Scott ignored as he poked at the shoes dubiously. What was with all the smart shoes or sandals? Did Other-Scott have nothing in between?

“Scott wouldn’t have told you,” Other-Gordon mused out loud. “Nor would John. You haven’t spoken to anyone else.” He sighed. “Your Gordon, too?”

“When he was sixteen,” Scott confirmed. “Finished his career in W.A.S.P. before it even started. They said he’d never walk again.” Other-Gordon made a noise of agreement.

“They said that about me, too,” he said as Scott finally accepted that a pair of sneakers were not about to materialise and, as with the pants, grabbed the least-smart pair of shoes and a random pair of what felt like cotton socks. “I guess they were wrong.”

Scott let himself smile. “Gordon’s got the gold medal to prove it.” Remembering the accident, and the months of pain after it, hurt. Remembering the moment Gordon stood on the first place podium, gold medal around his neck and American national anthem blaring out all around them barely two years later filled him with pride.

“So do I,” Other-Gordon said, watching him pull on the shoes and tie the laces firmly. “Father’s going to have a fit if he sees you looking like that, you know.” Scott glanced down at himself, light brown shirt still unbuttoned at the top and sleeves rolled up to three-quarter length, untucked over dark blue slacks and a pair of black shoes. It was almost just like home.

“I don’t see the problem,” he retorted. Other-Gordon eyed him dubiously.

“Well, it’s your funeral,” he conceded, stretching out and shifting into a sitting position. “I’ll show you the guest rooms.” Scott gathered up his uniform and waited for him to stand, leading the way out of the room and closing the door behind them. “Dad’s room.” Other-Gordon gestured to the last door on that stretch of the corridor, and then headed down the hallway opposite, stopping at the first door. “Kyrano got this room ready for you.”

Right by Not-Dad’s room. Scott sighed but entered the room. It was a nice enough room, the same size as Other-Scott’s with a queen-size bed, en suite, and even a veranda he could step out onto. The view was impressive, with palm trees and craggy rocks co-existing harmoniously, and the shimmering ocean behind. No view of the pool, he noticed, not quite sure how he felt about that. Sure, his room at home didn’t directly overlook the pool, but he could at least see if he looked in the right direction.

He located a closet and placed his uniform inside, out of immediate sight of curious individuals. No doubt Other-Brains would want to examine it in detail at some point, and if Scott wanted the best chance of getting home, he would have to allow that, but that would be happening under his supervision. Just in case the remote controls were still active.

“Do you want the rest of the house tour now or later?” Other-Gordon asked him.

“Now works for me,” he said, glancing at the watch on his wrist. It still showed the map, a flashing blue light signifying Other-Scott’s room. How did he turn that off? It had served its purpose now, and Scott was used to maps being easily dismissed if they didn’t automatically vanish.

“Third dial,” Other-Gordon said, gesturing to the same knob on his own watch. “That’s basically the ‘stop’ button.” Scott glanced at him, wondering if he was really that easy to read, before pressing the end transmission button Other-Scott had shown him. Sure enough, the map vanished and the analogue clock face stared back at him instead. “Thunderbird Two won’t be far short of the danger zone now, so Dad’ll be busy in the lounge for a while yet.”

That sounded like a perfect time to explore the rest of the house, and the hangars, too, if he could wrangle it. Thunderbird One had appeared to be reasonably close to his own; he was curious about the other Thunderbirds.

“So what else do you have here?” he asked, heading for the door, and Other-Gordon was quick to catch up.

“Well, you know the bedrooms and the lounge,” he said. “If we keep going round there’s another guest room next to yours.” He nodded at another door, set further down the hallway. “And that is Brains’ main lab opposite.” That drew Scott’s attention. Somewhere in there, the scientist was looking for a way to get him home. If Other-Gordon hadn’t been with him, he wouldn’t have been able to resist entering, Other-John’s caution to not interrupt him discarded. As it was, he had company and Other-Gordon wasn’t showing any inclination to enter it. Indeed, he was already carrying on down the hallway, past the other guest room. Scott jogged to keep up.

Another door marked the end of the hallway. Other-Gordon pushed it open.

“Rather a narrow hallway, this one, but it has a gorgeous view of the ocean,” he said, stepping through and turning a corner to reveal a corridor – narrow, just as Other-Gordon had warned – and lined with windows. The view was indeed beautiful, but Scott’s attention was caught by the runway protruding from the beach much further below them. He could just about see the end of what looked like a row of palm trees on either side.

Other-Gordon stepped closer to him, following his line of sight before making a noise of amusement.

“See something familiar?” he asked. Scott nodded.

“Seems like there’s more similarities than differences between Thunderbirds One and Two so far,” he commented. It was easy to visualise the trees bowing backwards as a green behemoth travelled between them.

At least, he was assuming Thunderbird Two was green in this universe. Thunderbird One’s colourings had been identical, anyway.

“It’s not just for Thunderbird Two,” Other-Gordon told him. “The domestic jets use that one, too. It’s where I launch Thunderbird Four if Virgil isn’t giving us a lift, too.”

“Thunderbird Four?” Scott asked. “You don’t have an underwater tunnel for your island launch?”

Amber eyes flickered with interest.

“Underwater tunnel?” Other-Gordon returned. “You have an underwater tunnel? How do you get Four there from the Pod?”

Scott mentally translated pod to module. Different yet similar terminology was a nuisance, but it was a nuisance he was going to have to get used to if he wanted to get home. He refused to consider the idea that he’d be stuck here forever.

“Magnetic grabs and pulleys,” he said. It was a rather over-simplification of the complex mechanism Brains had set up in order to get the submarine quickly and efficiently between Module Four and the nicknamed ‘squid tank’ she otherwise settled in by Thunderbird One, but with the difference in technology – and the fact that Scott didn’t fully understand the nuances of that particular A to B journey anyway – he saw no point in explaining further. After a moment or two of silence, Other-Gordon clearly hoping for a little more detail, the ginger man sighed.

“Well, this is what I think you’re really after,” he said, turning away from the sea and heading further along the corridor. What he was really after? Scott followed, intrigued as Other-Gordon rotated a large vase ninety degrees only for a section of wall to slide back.

Okay, so yes, this was what Scott was really after. Thunderbird One’s hangar looked different without the ‘bird inside, a large square hole where she normally sat. Trailing off down beneath the walkway they were stood on – the same one as earlier, Scott could see the lamps in the wall further along – was a slope. Scott assumed that headed in the direction of the pool.

The fact that their Thunderbird One was literally stored in the villa still felt odd to him, especially with no sign of any of her sisters nearby. Where was Thunderbird Three, towering above them? The landing pad for the space elevator, sharing One’s gantry? Thunderbird Four’s little tank, the little yellow sub bobbing happily beside her larger sisters?

It felt wrong, his Thunderbird stored all alone – even if she wasn’t his Thunderbird, strictly speaking. Other-Gordon fell back, letting him walk over to the lamps. The route was partially blocked by a large metal tube snaking down and away, and it took some manoeuvring to pass it. He couldn’t see where it led, but he could probably make an educated guess.

“What about the others?” he asked, and Other-Gordon raised an eyebrow at him.

“You want to see the other hangars?” he asked, in a voice that told Scott that Other-Gordon had no intentions of being his guide there. In fact, with the ginger man between him and the door they’d come through, Scott realised he’d been cornered. Even though he was closer to the other exit, Other-Scott’s own access point, that lead to the lounge and Not-Dad, and a situation he was not interested in facing just yet. He scowled.

“What do you want from me?”

“Answers,” Other-Gordon said, at least having the grace not to deny the trap now that Scott was aware of it. He really needed to get his head in the game; he couldn’t afford to be making slip-ups.

“Well I want those, too,” he retorted, crossing his arms and fixing the shorter man with a hard look. “Particularly about how I’m getting home.”

“John’s given you all the answers we have on that front,” Other-Gordon said calmly. Scott knew that, but it didn’t do much for the frustration that he was stuck away from his family, with no way of letting them know where he was – or even that he was still alive. “I want to know about you.”

Scott’s brain screeched to a halt. Him? He’d been expecting a grilling on his home, his family, his own International Rescue. Other-John had already done some probing, and Other-Brains would doubtless be after every scrap of information that could help him solve the puzzle, but information on him?

“Why?” he asked, back-footed, cornered, and hating every moment he wasn’t in control.

“Because I want to know exactly who we’ve got living with us until we can get you home,” Other-Gordon said bluntly. “You’re like Scott, which was apparently enough to have you two trying to punch each other’s lights out once already, but you’re also not like Scott.”

“That’s not what your John said.” On the one hand, Scott was glad he wasn’t the only one who thought there were some differences – cowering from his father being the immediate one that sprang to mind, never mind fashion sense, although from Other-Gordon’s attire, it might just be that fashion was different in general – but on the other, he wasn’t sure he wanted to be micro-analysed by a too-sharp ginger.

“I’m not John,” Other-Gordon pointed out. “I also don’t have the luxury of hiding in space while a stranger with my brother’s face appears and throws my family for a loop.”

“Throws your family-” Scott started, fully prepared to remind him that his family would be out of their minds, but Other-Gordon talked over him as though he wasn’t talking.

“You’ve already punched my brother, broken my Dad’s nose, and then also got into a shouting match with my Dad,” he reminded him. “I don’t know what your family’s like, but here, Dad’s word is law. No-one talks back to him like that. Not us, not Kyrano, not his friends. So where do you get off disrespecting him in his own home?”

It wasn’t rage Scott saw in amber eyes glaring up at him, not budging an inch despite the height difference putting him at a natural disadvantage. Not entirely. There was curiosity there, and a healthy dose of suspicion. Annoyance, and maybe even a hint of compassion, buried right at the back. Scott was reminded of his own outburst, sometime earlier, in that very same hangar, and knew he wasn’t the only one thinking about it.

Other-Gordon didn’t mention it, however, remaining stock still and pinning Scott with the intensity of his gaze. Behind him was the escape to the lounge, and the very man he was determined to avoid. Other-Gordon blocked the other way out, and Scott wasn’t naïve enough to think he’d be able to get past him. Gordon could match him just fine – Other-Gordon looked to be older, a little wiser. Almost certainly stronger.

Besides, Scott was tired of running away. In order to get home, he knew he needed to co-operate, and while Not-Dad was high on his list of individuals to avoid as much as possible because Other-Gordon was right, he would keep clashing with the man as long as he tried to act as Scott’s superior, he wasn’t a coward and had no intentions of starting to be one now.

“You heard what I said earlier,” he started. “My father’s gone. You’re not an idiot, work it out. What would you do if yours vanished without a trace?” He didn’t want to talk about it. He could barely talk about their Dad and the Zero-X with his own brothers, let alone strangers who knew nothing. It was easier to fall into the tried and true big brother mode of making them reach the answers by themselves, even if the man standing in front of him wasn’t one of his brothers.

From the sharp look Other-Gordon sent him, he’d seen through the façade.

“Scott would take full command.” It seemed like he’d be humoured anyway. “And he’d be terrible at it.” Wait, what? Scott squinted, trying to work out who the insult was aimed at and why. “How long ago?”

That was unexpected.

“Why?”

“Because I’ve seen Scott when he’s been left entirely in charge,” Other-Gordon said. “Dad tore into every decision he made when he got back. Didn’t agree with any of it, even though Scott was trying to follow what he thought Dad would have done. You aren’t fumbling for approval, but I bet you were to start with.”

What would Dad do? It was an instinctive mantra at this point. Other-Gordon was wrong; he still wanted Dad’s approval, he wanted to know he was doing things right. Should he have pulled Alan from school? Should he have let Alan join the team so young? Were the changes he’d made in the eight damn years since the Zero-X the best things he could have done?

If Dad came back, would he be proud of him? Or would he be like Not-Dad, and tear into all his decisions?

It was that line of thought again, and he trampled it down firmly. He couldn’t think like that. Not now, not ever. If he started to doubt, if he started second-guessing himself… No. He had to look forwards. Always look forwards, never back.

Other-Gordon was watching him like a hawk, and Scott wondered how much of what he’d been thinking had been visible on his face. The ginger didn’t give him any clues, simply standing and waiting for him to talk.

“Too long,” he admitted. “Eight years.”

Other-Gordon’s poker face broke for just a moment, shock flitting across his expression before he slammed the walls back up.

“Geez,” he muttered under his breath, before he frowned. “Your International Rescue’s been operating for eight years?”

“IR did their first rescue just over eight years ago,” Scott confirmed. Six months Before, with Dad, Kyrano and Uncle Lee doing the heavy lifting while Scott and then John assisted around college. Five years out of operation, until they were all old enough – except Alan, who was too young but snuck in anyway. Three years since they’d taken up the reins again, with him at the helm.

Other-Gordon looked like he had several questions. Scott didn’t want him asking any of them.

“What about here?” he asked, challenging Other-Gordon to try and turn it back into a one-sided interrogation.

“Three years,” the man admitted, but the calculating look was still in his eyes and Scott wasn’t sure he liked it. Something along those lines must have shown in his face, because all at once, tension leaked from the other man’s shoulders. “You do realise we’re on the same side, here?”

“You’re the one that started interrogating me,” Scott snapped back, and Other-Gordon raised his hands in mock-surrender, just like Other-John had done earlier.

“Were you going to tell me anything if I didn’t?” he asked, and Scott had to admit that no, he wouldn’t. A thought struck him and he glared at the shorter man.

“You’d better not tell anyone.” The only thing worse than telling them himself would be having them gossiping about him behind his back, putting together bits and pieces with no guarantee of finding the right answers.

“Tell them what?” Other-Gordon challenged. “That the reason you’re so snappy is because you’ve been single-handedly looking after your family for eight years and being separated from them has you on edge? Or that Dad’s got you off-kilter because secretly you still want approval from yours but know you can’t get it?”

For the second time that day, Scott’s knuckles found the wall of the hangar, and protested loudly at the treatment. He’d realised Other-Gordon was getting something more than he’d outright said, but hearing the thoughts he’d been determinedly burying even from himself thrown in his face by a stranger with his brother’s eyes was more than he could take.

“Geez,” Other-Gordon muttered, stepping closer and taking hold of his outstretched fist. “Are you always this self-destructive?” Scott tried to pull his hand back, but the other man’s grip was strong. “You’ve gone and wrecked Tin-Tin’s bandaging; she won’t be happy about that.” Scott scowled and tugged again; Other-Gordon let him pull free that time. “Scott.” It was the first time the man had referred to him by name and he met his eyes. “We’re going to help you. Remember, we’re International Rescue, too.”

Scott glanced sideways, at the empty hangar that usually housed Thunderbird One – not his Thunderbird One, but Thunderbird One regardless. Earlier, he’d been too overwhelmed by everything to properly appreciate what that meant. Two conversations later, it was starting to sink in.

“I guess that’s true,” he admitted.

“You guess?” Other-Gordon demanded, but there was a grin on his face and a sparkle in his eyes that stole Scott’s breath all over again. He’d known he was this universe’s Gordon, but with the serious face and wrong colour hair, it hadn’t really hit.

With his face lit up like that, he wondered how he could have ever looked at the unknown ginger man sitting between him and Other-Scott in the kitchen what felt like hours earlier and dismissed the niggling familiarity. This man, ginger hair and older age aside, was definitely Gordon.

“You okay?” Other-Gordon asked, and Scott’s shoulders slumped.

“I miss them,” he admitted.

“Of course you do,” Other-Gordon said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “If there’s one thing I bet you and my Scott are definitely identical in, it’s being a ridiculous smother hen.” Despite everything, Scott had to grin ruefully at that. “Come on, let’s get something done about that hand of yours before Tin-Tin spots it.”

Other-Gordon turned and climbed around the large metal pipe without waiting to see if Scott was following. Scott watched him go, noticing that he was just as nimble as his Gordon, and frowned. Should he not be letting Gordon go out on missions after all? Or was Other-Gordon actually perfectly fit for duty, and Not-Dad was grounding him for no good reason?

“If you had the choice,” he started, mouth running ahead of his brain, “would you go on more rescues?”

Other-Gordon stopped and turned to face him again, amber eyes searching.

“Why?” he asked. Scott met his gaze evenly and waited. Other-Gordon grumbled something under his breath about there being two of them now. “I’d go on all of them, if Dad let me.” The bitterness that crept in told Scott everything he needed to know.

“No reason,” he shrugged, casting one last look at the empty space where Thunderbird One lived before heading for the door himself. Other-Gordon made a noise of protest, a little brother’s my big brother is being annoying again noise that made something go tight in his chest, but he didn’t let it show.

“Seriously?” Other-Gordon grumbled a little louder. “You don’t think I believe that, do you?” Scott shrugged at him, and amber eyes narrowed. “Just because you look like my big brother doesn’t mean you get to act like it!”

“I’m acting like me, not him,” Scott informed him airily, falling into the familiarity of brotherly banter, even if this wasn’t his brother.

“Well just because I look like your brother doesn’t mean you get to act like I am,” Other-Gordon continued, not at all deterred. Just short of the door, Scott stopped suddenly.

“What?”

“You heard me,” Other-Gordon insisted, although there was something ever so slightly different in his voice, a note of uncertainty as though he’d realised he’d said something wrong but wasn’t sure what. “Just because I look like-”

“You don’t,” Scott cut him off, turning round to face him. Other-Gordon blinked, mouth half-open a little like a fish before he closed it again.

“I… don’t?” he asked. “But… you and Scott are near enough identical, and you said Dad looked like-” He cut himself off before he could finish that sentence; Scott was grateful for it.

“You don’t,” he admitted. “I can tell you’re him, but you don’t look like him.” No, that was a lie. He had the same high cheekbones, the same angled jaw, the same eyes. It was just the hair and the fact that there was no question he was a man, not a teenager just crossing into adulthood, that made him look different.

If it was just Other-Gordon, he’d wonder if the man had dyed his hair – Other-Scott was also older than him, although he didn’t want to ponder on what that meant for timeline continuity – but Other-John and Other-Virgil also had the wrong colour hair. Other-Brains, Other-Kyrano and Mrs Tracy also looked notably different, and Tin-Tin was not only visually different but had a different name as well.

“That’s strange,” Other-Gordon mused. “Is it just me?” Scott shook his head.

“More like it’s only me and your Scott,” he said. “And your father. Everyone else is different.”

“So if someone other than Scott had come in, you might not have attacked them?” Other-Gordon asked, almost dryly. Scott shrugged.

“Who knows,” he replied, although privately he doubted it. It didn’t matter what the other party looked like if his brothers were at stake. Other-Gordon sent him a small grin, before brushing past him and opening the door.

“Still, you’ll have to tell the others that,” he said, strolling back along the narrow corridor. Scott followed, ignoring the pain shooting through his knuckles. “I know the fellas are keeping an eye out for anyone else that looks like us while they’re off base just in case, but if they don’t know what they’re looking for they might miss something.”

He was right, and Scott nodded. He hadn’t realised they were all looking, not just Thunderbird Five, but it made sense and there was a rush of gratitude at their efforts.

“Talk to Virg once he’s back,” Other-Gordon continued. “That’ll be the easiest way to make sure we get it right.” They skirted the lounge door with Not-Dad’s voice emitting from it, interspersed with Other-Scott’s tinny speaker-voice reports and traipsed down the stairs again – a route that was rapidly becoming familiar as they once again headed for the infirmary. “But come on, what does your Gordon look like? He’s gotta be handsome, right?” There was that grin – that Gordon grin – again, and Scott rolled his eyes.

“I’m the wrong person to ask about that,” he scoffed, watching Other-Gordon pull a disgruntled face, and managing a small grin of his own. “His hair’s blond, and…” he trailed off, not sure how to put it into words. As far as basic descriptions went, there wasn’t any other big differences, just lots of small things Scott couldn’t even put his finger on exactly.

“And..?” Other-Gordon prompted, although he was tugging at his bangs – falling in front of his forehead, rather than swept back like his Gordon’s – and trying to look at them, no doubt trying to figure out how he’d look blond. Scott shrugged helplessly.

“I’m a pilot, not a novelist,” he pointed out. “It’s not the big things, it’s the little ones.” He frowned. “How old are you?”

“How old are you?” Other-Gordon shot back, releasing his hair in favour of pushing the infirmary door open and pointing towards a chair. “I’d say you’re younger than Scott, except he’s not going grey yet.” Scott scowled and resisted the urge to touch his temples, where he knew the accused hairs were most prominent.

“I asked first,” he pointed out, and Other-Gordon rolled his eyes.

“Twenty-three, now sit down or I’ll get Tin-Tin to redress your hand.” Tin-Tin had seemed like a sweet enough young woman, but if she was being used as a threat – and Scott knew a threat from a sibling when he heard it – then she was no doubt more Kayo-like than first impressions betrayed. Scott sat. “Why?”

“That would probably explain the rest,” Scott muttered, trying to work out what his Gordon would look like in four years’ time. The same age as Virgil, which meant Other-Scott, and probably Other-John as well were older than him. He consoled himself with the fact that with Not-Dad around, they were probably under less stress, hence the lack of greys. “Gordon – my Gordon – is nineteen.”

“So I look different because I’m older?” Other-Gordon surmised, unwrapping the old bandages and pouring something that stung like disinfectant on his swollen and once again bleeding knuckles. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m twenty-seven,” Scott admitted, and Other-Gordon blinked.

“Not twenty-six?”

“Why would I be twenty-six?” Scott asked, taken aback. Other-Gordon frowned and opened a fresh roll of bandages, carefully but efficiently rewrapping his hand.

“Well if your Gordon is four years younger than me, you should be four years younger than Scott, right? Scott’s thirty.” It was Scott’s turn to frown. Clearly there were more differences than just technology, and his gut coiled unpleasantly, not sure it liked the implications. “What are your other brothers’ ages?”

“What are yours’?” he retorted, and Other-Gordon raised an eyebrow at him as he tied off the bandage.

“I asked first.” Typical younger brother, turning his earlier words against him.

“John’s twenty-five, Virgil’s twenty-three and Alan’s fifteen,” he said. “Yours?”

“Your Alan’s-”

“Yours?” he repeated firmly, cutting off any comments about his youngest brother and International Rescue. He knew fifteen was too young; he didn’t need to hear that from an alternate universe’s version of one of his own brothers. Other-Gordon gave him a look that said the topic was not dropped, but answered anyway.

“John’s twenty-eight, Virg’s twenty-six and Alan’s twenty. Seems like the difference is me and Alan,” he observed. Scott didn’t miss the intent in his voice when he said the youngest’s name, but ignored it.

“Seems like it,” he agreed instead, checking over the bandaging despite knowing it was professionally done. Other-Gordon was sharp, too sharp, and once again their conversation was veering into territory Scott would rather it didn’t. “That seems like something Brains should know about,” he said, and once again ignored the look the younger man sent him. Other-Gordon knew exactly what he was doing, and Scott got the uncomfortable feeling he was once again being humoured.

His dislike of being humoured didn’t outweigh his determination not to talk about things like Alan’s young age or Dad’s crash, though, so he suffered through it with a glare.

“We’ll tell Brains when he comes looking for more information,” Other-Gordon said out loud. “Surely your Brains hates being interrupted mid-flow, too?” He did, but that had never stopped Scott from doing it when it was an emergency, and anything relating to getting him home qualified in his books.

A hand landed on his shoulder, Other-Gordon leaning down slightly to meet his eyes firmly.

“I know you want to get home, but don’t take it out on Brains,” he said, his grip tight. “Brains will find you once he’s finished processing the data he got from your arrival.” Scott scowled, glancing away, and the other man sighed. “I can stop asking questions if that helps.”

That would help. He met Other-Gordon’s eyes again and relaxed at the sincerity he saw in them, nodding. Other-Gordon scrutinised him, although what he was looking for, Scott didn’t know, before letting go and taking a step back.

“Normally I sit in on the mission,” he informed him. “We can go to the lounge if you want, or there’s the games room if billiards or chess is more your speed right now.” The offer to continue evading Not-Dad was clear.

“And if I want to be alone?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“If you want to be alone, I’ve shown you your room,” Other-Gordon began. “But I don’t think you do.” Didn’t he? Scott wanted time to let it all sink in, mull over all the information Other-John and Other-Gordon had bombarded him with and figure out what it all meant for him and his chances of getting home.

He caught sight of his useless communicator, still on his wrist, and remembered curling up against a boulder, begging and screaming for it to connect with another universe. Maybe Other-Gordon was right; if he was alone again he’d go back to focusing on what had happened. Dwelling, his brothers called it immediately before they did something outrageous to get him to stop staring into nothing, brain stuck in a loop of past events.

Looking back, letting himself think about what had happened always threatened to drive him crazy. It had been that way since the Zero-X, and held true even now. Especially now, when events defied all probabilities. He sighed.

“It’s been a while since I last played chess,” he said by way of an answer, and Other-Gordon cracked a grin. Chess would keep his mind focused, especially if Other-Gordon was half as good as Gordon or John; if he was, Scott was in for an inevitable thrashing.

Other-Gordon at least had the grace not to say ‘I told you so’, simply straightening up and offering him a hand, which he accepted, pulling himself to his feet.

“The games room’s this way,” he gestured, leading the way out of the infirmary and then further along the hallway, to a brightly lit room dominated by a billiards table. Various chairs and small tables dotted one side of the room – spectators for the game, or perfectly positioned for a quiet game of chess in the corner, as Other-Gordon withdrew a chess set and placed it on the table.

“White or black?” he offered as Scott stared at it. A proper, wooden chessboard with real, hand-carved pieces. He picked up a white knight and stroked its mane, feeling the indents of the carved hair with the pad of his finger.

“White,” he replied after a moment. Other-Gordon watched him closely, but as promised didn’t ask. Scott shrugged, folding himself into the comfortable chair and placing the piece back where it belonged. “It’s been a long time since I last used a wooden set,” he volunteered. “Gordon’s the only one that owns one and no-one’s allowed to use it until they beat him.”

“You haven’t?” Other-Gordon asked – despite his promise otherwise, but Scott knew he had opened himself up for that one. Talking about something as mundane as chess didn’t hurt as much as their previous conversation had.

“Not since he got that board,” he admitted. “John and-” he caught himself, not wanting to mention EOS and open that can of worms for debate. “John’s the only one that has; they play whenever he’s down from Five.” Other-Gordon’s eyes flickered in interest, catching the slip, but to his credit he didn’t ask.

“White goes first,” he reminded him needlessly, and Scott picked up the knight again, leaping it over the row of pawns. Other-Gordon hummed in interest before nudging a pawn forward. Scott recalled that particular opening as Gordon’s favourite to use, a win in five moves unless their opponent knew the counter. It might have been a while since he’d last had the time to play – and the inclination to probably lose to Gordon – but Scott still remembered the counter, moving his knight into position.

Other-Gordon laughed, seeing his experiment foiled, and switched tactics. Scott got the feeling he’d just passed some sort of test.

The game went much as he suspected it would – while he wasn’t bad at chess, he was out of practice and Other-Gordon was very, very good. He held out for a while, half an hour maybe, but eventually the inevitable conclusion of his King toppling occurred and he bit back a laugh, laying down the piece with good grace.

“You’re not too terrible,” Other-Gordon commented, collecting up the mass of white captured pieces and handing them over. “Some practice and you might even be a challenge.” He winked, and Scott groaned good-naturedly, trying hard not to think about why he didn’t get much practice before that ruined his mood. “Again?” What were his other options? Billiards, or sitting in on a mission with Not-Dad. It wasn’t exactly a difficult decision.

In answer, Scott pulled his King upright and set up his forces again.

Chapter 6>>>

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #gordon tracy #long way from home #tsari writes fanfiction

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macybeckham7 · 5 years ago

Text

Tattooed Heart - Jack Grealish

tagged: @luc-57x @cinnnabaee

Part Two

Jack was sat watching as Yn dancing on the table with Tyrone, the two had the biggest smiles on their faces as they danced, they were holding hands as the footballer spun her around before they swayed from side to side. Jack smiled as he saw how big their smiles they had one their faces. It was one of their teammates birthday party which was 90′s themed. He raised his glass up to her as she spotted him and instantly said something to Tyrone before making her way over to him.

‘There’s my favourite’ she giggles as she sits beside him, instantly stealing his drink and taking a sip and instantly grimacing in somewhat pain as she didn't like how strong, and the burning sensation running down her throat.

‘That’s what you get for stealing my drink asshole’ he mutters making them chuckle with each other.

It had been a few months since Jack did the tattoo on her, and they had been nonstop talking, he would text her ever morning hoping she had a good day, and every night asking her how her day was and to sleep tight. They would have hours long facetime calls, where Jack was working out while Yn was drawing some tattoo details, while the other weren’t looking the other found themselves just in complete awe of the other. Yn always texting Jack wishing him well for the game ahead, and often finding a photo of her IG story of her either at home or in the shop and showing that she was in fact watching. Jack had invited her to a few games, especially the game against Chelsea which she brought her dad along. After the game he took her onto the Villa Park pitch, the two playing under the flood lights as they both had massive smiles on their faces as Jack was somewhat surprised at her skill. She scores and instantly jumps into his arms as they celebrate as if it was a goal in an important match. Yn had often been midway through a design when a delivery guy had popped in and brought either her favourite smoothie or a doughnut from her favourite place or a bunch of flowers with them all having a little slip with a small J writing on it in mark, making her feel butterflies in her stomach.

They had countless sleepovers together, but nothing really happened between them, a few kisses here and there but then they finish the night just snuggled up with each other, just enjoying being close to each other.

As the two sat watching Tyrone now dancing on the table with one of his teammates girlfriends, Yn rested her head on his shoulder as they both laughed and tried to get the other to hear what they were trying to say. Jack followed her outside as she looked through her little clutch bag and pulled out a cigarette, he watched as she placed it in between her lips and flicked the blue lighter and burnt the end and took a long drag, he watched her as she exhaled.

‘So are you coming home to me tonight?’ he asked with a small smirk.

She walks towards him and gently places the cigarette in his mouth as they looked deeply in each others eyes. She gently caressed her cheek before kissing him softly.

It was currently 2am in the morning, YN had her heels in her hands as she walked carefully along the road. They both had McDonald’s milkshakes as the two laughed and joked with each other. The two getting a few weird glances from people, as they probably looked like they had just walked out of a time machine and was lost in the present day Birmingham. They both were being pretty rowdy and every so often they brought out a rather questionable dance move, or started playfighting, which ended up with YN dropping her milkshake which she wasn't too happy about. The two of them felt like they were best friends, but also could be something more. With Jack he had never had a feeling for something like this before and it kind of scared him. Previously his other relationships had finished because he had always put his career ‘first’ and he didn't want to fuck anything up with YN, because how cheesy it sounds he doesn't want to think about his life without her in.

The two stumbled into his house, as they were in a heavy make out session, he pins her to the wall as his mouth moves along her jaw, he picks her up and takes her to the bedroom. He lays her down on the bed and undressed her, his eyes took in her beautiful body before her starts leaving a trail along her skin, making a gentle moan escape before she bites down on her bottom lip. He leaves a small kiss on the tattoo on her hip bone before he looks up at her and sees her smiling at him. He pulls off her panties and pushes her legs apart, he leaves a kiss along her inner thigh making her whimper. He moves closer to her as he watches her reaction to his touch, her back arches as he slots to fingers inside her, before he starts to eat her out, she enjoying how good he was making her feel and the how good his stubbles feels against her skin.

…..

YN was feeling somewhat fragile as she entered the tattoo complex, she waving to her dad who laughed at how she was feeling as he saw the Mr Bump plaster on her knee. Which she got last night from tripping over a few times. Her first client was already sat on the sofa filling out a form, so she luckily didn't have time for a grilling from her family. She quickly set up and called her over, the two girls with her came along and sat next their friends. YN wasn't as chatty as she usually was but tried to make the best experience for them, her mum appearing and offering drinks and snacks which she usually does.

‘Are you the girl who is dating Jack?’ the girl asked as YN was getting the area ready.

She looked up shocked about the question. ‘Grealish’ she mutters, as if she had to be certain she knew which Jack they were on about.

The other piped up, mentioning that they had been seeing you on Jack’s and Tyrone’s IG accounts, with even the #40 mentioning in a recent video ‘imagining being with a tattooist and not getting freebies’. YN couldn't help but giggle as she knew that was such a Tyrone thing to say. She decided to keep quiet as she focused on getting the tattoo stencil on.

‘You’re really pretty’ she smiled.

YN only had a half a day and she felt like she had spent the whole day talking about Jack, either clients mentioning him and gushing how cute they were or how they met, or talking about the Villa captain might be moving away to Manchester United, YN just keeping quiet as she listened to everyone’s comment.

They didn't see each other till the weekend, when Villa had a game, YN wore his jersey and went to Villa Park to support the boys. She felt her heart in her throat as she saw him get clattered into and was left on the deck on the floor, she could tell he was hurt, luckily the ref stopped the game. She felt like she didn't breath until she saw him get up, he winced but managed to carry on in the game. After the game they both were at his house, YN showing some attention to his ankle, his eyes trained on her as she gave soft delicate touches.

‘Can you tattoo me..’ he mutters.

Her eyes meeting his as she looks at him questioningly, the two jumped in the car and drove down to the shop. He wanting her to free hand draw a heart on his ankle. She asked a few times if he was sure with him nodding and telling him to colour it in too. He noticed her hand shake slightly before she took a deep breath and started the tattoo gun, she looked at him again before leaning in and concentrated as he was going to have a piece of her art on him forever.

She looked at him and saw him wincing in pain, his thigh tight as she could see his muscles contracting. She decided she needed to get his mind off the pain

‘Do you feel the pressure to be the captain to your childhood club?’ YN asked.

He shook his head. ‘No I think I thrive with it’ he mentions.

She smiles as she wipes the tattoo. ‘How did you get into football?’

‘I think any boy gets thrown into football’ he smiles. ‘But I just wanted to be Gazza’ he explains. There was something about YN for Jack, where he thought he could just talk to her about anything and she wouldn't judge him like someone else would because they didn’t understand him. He felt safe with her and that kind of scared him.

A few weeks had past and just like YN said the tattoo was coming alone nicely, YN and Jack are still at the awkward ‘what are we’ point, both set of friends kept trying to get them to ask the other one out and questioning ‘what is the worst that could happen?’ and for them both they both couldn't help but think what if they had read signs wrong. It was only really behind closed doors and when they were alone when they would show any affection to each other, when they were around anyone else they just casually flirted with each other.

It was a nice summers day when YN suggested they should go on a bike ride and have a little picnic together. Jack invited his sisters as they enjoyed the day together.

YN was laying on the blanket as Jack was watching his sisters mess about, Jack gently leaned down and kissed her.

‘I like the new hair colour’ he smiled as he gently played with her hair, as he noticed his two sisters watching them.

He had already got a grilling from the two of them, they were getting attention from his fans, a few of them turning up at her store, having to stop with her clients with a few people wanting to know if she was dating Jack. She didn't understand how people even knew where she worked, because she kept her IG separated from the business IG. A few just choosing her just to spent a few minutes with her. He knowing this was all new to her and was probably scary, he kissed her again with their lips moving perfectly insync with eachother, the two not caring about the pressure or anything else in the world when they were with eachother.

#tattooed heart #jack grealish imagines #jack grealish blurbs #jack grealish

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thephantomofthe-internet · 5 years ago

Text

Candy Hearts and Paper Roses

Steve Harrington x Carol’s Sister!Reader, Tommy x Carol

Word Count: 7,251

Warnings: Pregnancy, Smoking, Body Shaming, Swearing, Marriage

Author’s Note: Did y’all know that Carol’s last name was Perkins? Or that Tommy’s was Hagan? I didn’t! I also thought Tommy was more of a Hanson. Well, whatever.

Tag List: @madkskillz @moonstruckbucky @hotstuffhargrove @scoopsahoyharrington @thechickvic @alex--awesome--22 @lilmissperfectlyimperfect @so-not-hotmess @hawkeyeharrington @sunflowercandie @kaliforniacoastalteens @songforhema @mickmoon @spidey-pal @buckybarneshairpullingkink @baebee35 @myrealloveissleep @allfandomxreader

You found out that Carol was pregnant before anyone else did. You found the test in her closet, in her black high heel. It was your own fault, she scolded when you confronted her with the test, you shouldn’t have been trying to steal her lavender turtleneck when she told you that you couldn’t borrow it.

Maybe she was right. Then again, you weren’t stupid enough to let Tommy Hagan knock you up less than a month after graduation. Tommy Hagan was beyond stupid. Carol wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box either, but you’d always assumed she wouldn’t let herself get caught up. Guess you were wrong.

Both your families freaked. A wedding was planned, a tiny diamond put on Carol’s finger, and her college fund spent on a tiny, run down shack of a double wide. She wasn’t going to college anyway. She wanted the baby, she could raise it on her own. Tommy wasn’t going either, not that he ever wanted to. The air force was the right place for him, that way he didn’t have to be there for the kid, just like his old man. A grotesquely nuclear army family. Maybe Carol would sell Avon, get her cosmetology degree once the kid was in school, cut hair at Marie’s shop. Maybe Tommy would excel at flying fighter planes, maybe he’d teach flying. Or move to commercial flight like his dad did. You hoped that they’d have an okay life.

You hoped even more that Carol wouldn’t pick ugly bridesmaid’s dresses.

Your mother insisted that Carol make you her maid of honour. “She’s your baby sister!” she cried from her seat on your family’s ugly floral couch. The two of them had been planning out a guest list and you made the mistake of walking past on the way to the kitchen.

“I promised Tina that she could be my maid of honour! She’s my best friend!” Carol whined. She was three months by then, her pregnancy just beginning to show.

“Tina will be happy just to be a bridesmaid. But your sister is family and we put family first. You’ll make your sister your maid of honour or you’ll have no bridesmaids at all.” Your mother warned, moving the paper doll representing you up to the bridal party. Carol had really spent too long on making her table diagram.

“Mom! That’s completely unfair, you can’t do that!” Carol cried, her red hair whooshing around her head.

“Carol, your father and I are paying for this wedding. If you want to do it your way, you’ll get a job and fork over the dough to pay for it yourself.” Your mother replied harshly. Carol shut her mouth after that, crossing her deer like arms over her chest.

It was settled. You’d be the maid of honour with Tina and Macy trailing behind you. Tommy would have his brother and Mason Pruitt in his party, with Steve Harrington acting as best man.

“Tommy’s brother isn’t his best man…” Carol muttered as your little group walked into the bridal shop in Hawkins, Nana’s Bridal. The weather was just beginning to turn cold, leafs turning brown and crunchy at your feet.

“And I can’t stop him. He’s not my son.” Your mother chuckled, examining the make of a white polyester nightmare on the sale rack. All of your shopping was to be done on the sale rack. Your parents weren’t putting much money into this wedding.

Carol insisted on shopping for hours, to the point where Tommy and his party waltz into the shop to meet the group for lunch and found Carol crying in a puffy, whipped cream looking dress with chintzy flowers blooming out of the neckline, held on by clear glass beads at their centre. Apparently Melanie Moore had just bought the same dress and she’d seen everything in the shop and nothing was perfect. Tommy just laughed at the scene, elbowing Steve and Mason in the ribs, whispering about how stupid she looked. You’d never seen a girl in a wedding dress hit their groom, but then again you’d never imagined your sister as a bride. Maybe the image would’ve been more expected if you ever thought she’d get married. Your mother broke up the scene, telling the Carol to go get changed so she didn’t ruin the dress. That she’d wear her old wedding dress if she didn’t want to pick one.

Carol chose the floral nightmare when Tommy wasn’t looking. Melanie wouldn’t be seen in it until after her anyway. The group went off to lunch without a word. Carol and Tommy went back to being lovey-dovey sweethearts. Tina rushed off to gossip with Macy. The parents huddled to regroup and cope with the scene. Suddenly, you were alone.

You turned to Harrington out of desperation. He looked about as exhausted as you were. “How’d suit shopping go?” you asked, drawing Steve’s attention immediately to you.

He chuckled, leaning down to whisper in your ear “Don’t tell your mom, but we didn’t go.” You looked up wide eyed. Steve smirked “Yeah, we all own black suits and white dress shirts from other things. We’ll get matching ties when we know what you’re wearing.” He nodded to Carol, who was gripping onto Tommy’s arm, pointing out a horrifying mustard yellow velour dress with matching bolero. You cringed, hoping she was making fun of the dress rather than genuinely choosing it as an option for her friends. You really hoped she wouldn’t put you in it as punishment.

“Pray for me, Harrington.” You replied with a wry smile, bouncing ahead to join your mother, hoping she’d slip you one of the unlabeled white pills she was taking, or at the very least an Advil.

Steve watched you go, your own hair moving with every step you took. The light caught the strands, haloing your crown in golden light.

Yeah, he was fucked.

Carol’s little sister wasn’t exactly someone he’d usually pay attention to. He’d known you since you were a little kid, with scraped knees and ripped tights. You were a wild little thing, always chasing after him and his friends, trying to impress the older kids in your paisley pilgrim dresses and shiny Mary-Jane’s. You were a little girl, then a stroppy preteen who didn’t want to hang out with her older sister but wanted to do the same things she did, then, out of nowhere, you had grown up. Standing tall, haloed in light, keeping up with every punch her older sister could throw at her, laughing all the way. You weren’t the little girl who cried when her teacher’s were mean or her sister abandoned her on the playground and you weren’t the middle school kid with dirty ripped jeans and a moody attitude. You’d grown into someone new. Someone who intrigued him. Someone he couldn’t stop staring at, even when Mason smacked him in the back of the neck and tried to engage him in football talk, Steve kept his gaze and focus on you and you wide grin. Shining in the sunlight, radiant and proud and beautiful.

He felt like such a creep. He was perving on his friend’s girlfriend’s younger sister.

But he couldn’t escape you. Every weekend, as the wedding date grew closer and Carol grew bigger and bigger, he saw you. The wedding was set for Valentine’s Day, another note of pure cheese for the nuptials.

You weren’t insanely focused on Harrington. You had too much damage to try to control. Your mother and Carol seemed hell bent on torturing you, although your mother seemed to be unaware of the pain she was inflicting on you. They wanted to deck out the hall in pure white and pastel pink, candy hearts on the table in glass bowls and a mix of real red roses and paper ones as centrepieces. The whole thing was going to look like a slightly more expensive version of the Valentine’s Day parties your homeroom classes had in elementary school. The bridesmaid’s dresses were the worst part.

You, Tina, and Macy were dragged back to Nana’s Bridal shop in town, with Carol and Tommy in tow. You were not impressed with Carol’s grabs. It turns out she really liked that awful mustard velour nightmare. Your mother had to hold her back, although her only reasoning was that it didn’t match the colours. They had to be pink or red to match the colours of the wedding. The boys had to have matching ties to the dress colour. It had to match. It was a Valentine’s Day wedding.

You vowed to yourself that you’d never be this cheesy.

Carol spent the appointment torturing you, putting you into the ugliest pink dresses she could find purely to laugh at you. Everything was awful and itchy and smelt like plastic. You wanted to crawl into a ball and die. While Macy and Tina wowed the crowd in the nicer, more refined dresses, you were the frumpy ugly duckling.

The last dress Tina tried on was the choice. Tea length salmon pink polyester with a high boat neckline and soft layered cap sleeves. The dress was plain and simple, no excess sequins or crystals. It was also on sale, which meant your mother jumped at the dress; telling Carol that she could put little fabric flowers on the waistband to match hers. She still pouted.

“Ma, that dress isn’t going to work. It’s going to look terrible on Y/N.” she snapped, pointing her stubby nail at you. You were still dressed in a similar pink dress, although this one had a white lace appliqué to cover your cleavage. You felt your face heat terribly, tears brimming in your eyes. Macy and Tina refused to look at you and Tommy had long ago went to use the phone at the front desk.

“Here, Tina go change and Y/N, go try the dress on.” Your mother instructed. Tina turned on her heel and headed back into the dressing room. You sighed, following behind the salesgirl as she returned you to your own poorly lit dressing room. The salmon dress came into your dressing room quickly and you slipped it on. You looked yourself over in the mirror, wiping the tears that had built up in your eyes as you looked yourself over. You thought you looked fine, but you knew in your heart that Carol was going to shoot you down no matter how good you looked in it. You took in a deep breath and stepped out of the dressing room, heading back out to see your family.

As if on cue, the bell over the front doors chimed and Steve Harrington’s chipper voice sounded by the entrance. Tommy and Steve joined the group. You looked down quickly smoothing your skirt.

“Now, you see Carol, she looks fine.” Your mother said “Y/N, turn around show us the whole picture.”

You rolled your eyes, but obeyed, turning slowly to let the material swirl around your ankles.

“Ma, she looks like one of those ballet dancing hippos from Fantasia. Y/N needs a wider skirt and more details to hide her-” This was what you expected from Carol. Her not so subtle jabs at you were poison dipped. Usually, you could handle her, but today it was too hard. Tears began to well up in your eyes again, which you quickly tried to hide, turning to look yourself over in the mirror as if you were looking over what Carol was saying.

“Wow, you look great Y/N.” Steve cut in with a grin. “The colour looks great with your hair.” Everyone turned to look at Steve, confused or surprised or annoyed. You turned to look at him as well, surprised. You didn’t expect a compliment from Steve, much less over your looks.

“I agree, Steven. Y/N looks wonderful. Carol, this is the dress. This is what we’re going with. We’re not getting two dresses. You like this one, we’ll do this one. We can add a flower to the waistband, they’ll be wearing jewellery.” Your mother added, standing up to squeeze your shoulders comfortingly. You smiled up at her as she sent you away to change. Dress shopping was over, thank god. You heard as you left your mother add “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all Carol. You’re too hard on her.”

“I’m just trying to be helpful, mom. I don’t want her to go out there and look like an idiot.” Carol retorted. You couldn’t see her face, but you felt the sneer digging into your back, her hatred never stronger than when she was told that she was in the wrong.

When you came back out, everyone was impatiently waiting for you, chatting absentmindedly. Your mother announced that the group would come back for a fitting in two months time, in January. Your mother wrapped her arm around your shoulders. She told the girls to find nice jewellery and matching shoes for their dresses and the boys to get their salmon ties and to remember their tie clips. Everyone was sent on their way from there, Carol and your mother leaving you in the dust.

You felt a firm tap on the shoulder. “You wanna go for a drive?” You met the eye of Steve Harrington and his lopsided grin. You chewed your lip, thinking for a moment, before nodding.

Steve and you drove in silence for awhile before stopping on the edge of town. The weather had gone cold and the wind had picked up in the wheat fields, blowing softly into a tan blur. You and Steve sat in the front seats, staring out the windshield in silence.

“So…what’s up with your sister? Is she always this much of bitch or is it the hormones?” Steve asked softly, cracking his window. You reached into your purse, pulling out a pack of cigarette and lighting one, offering the pack to Steve.

You puffed out a cloud of smoke, chuckling to yourself “She’s always been a mythic bitch…just usually not so much in public.” You said, offering Steve your lighter.

“Why does she do that? She used to bug Nance too I just don’t get it…” Steve asked, lighting his cigarette and bringing it to his lips, passing you back your lighter.

“That’s just girls, Harrington, if you’re not their friend and they notice you, you’re an enemy.” You replied, looking out the window at the empty field in front of you. “We can’t have any competition.”

“Why’d she think you were competition?” he asked, turning his attention to you, resting his arm on the gear shift.

“She’s always been the pretty one, and now she’s fat. She can’t handle it.” Pregnancy hadn’t brought Carol the glow everyone promised. Instead, it gave her acne and swollen feet and greasy hair. It didn’t even make her boobs bigger. She had just reverted into herself in middle school, except with a baby growing inside her.

“She hasn’t always been the pretty one…” Steve muttered. You turned to look at him, your brow furrowed in an intense stare. Steve simply shrugged in response.

“Well, she’s always thought that she was. And now she’s pregnant and having her dream wedding and it’s still not what she wants. I don’t know what she thinks is gonna happen once she’s married.” You smirked, turning to ash your cigarette out the window.

“Carol and Tommy have always gone back and forth, ever since the seventh grade. They’ll be fine.” Steve shrugged.

You frowned “I don’t know, I mean with a baby in the mix…they can’t just break up and make up easy anymore. There’s too much at stake now.” You replied.

“Yeah but they’ll make it work.” You raised your eyebrow at him, watching him carefully “Tommy’s gonna take it seriously. They both will.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” You crossed your arms over your chest, flicking the butt of your cigarette out the window. You both went silent for awhile, but something was eating at your mind.

“Why’d you step in today?” you asked.

“Huh?” Steve looked over at you again, more focused on the growing line of ash about to tip into his lap.

“With Carol, she was ripping me a new one and you stepped in. Why? It wasn’t your issue to deal with…” you clarified, picking at the skin around your nails.

“I mean…she was being mean and I didn’t want to listen to it.” He replied. You nodded to yourself. That answer made sense.

“I meant it, you know.” Steve added “You look really pretty.”

“Oh…” you breathed, looking down at your hands “Thanks, Steve…”

“No biggie.” He grinned. You really didn’t know what to do with yourself. He thought you were pretty. How were you supposed to react? He was Steve! Sure, you had a crush on him when you were a kid, but now? Now you barely felt like you knew him. And yet your heart was pounding in your chest. Maybe you just hadn’t gotten a good compliment in awhile.

Or maybe a part of you wanted his approval. You’d had a crush on him when you were young, he broke your heart without knowing it. Now, you were equals. Maybe that was it. Or maybe the crush never left.

Steve drove you home after that, letting Hall and Oates drift you back into your personal circle of hell. When you arrived in your driveway, you popped open your door and climbed out, leaning into his cracked window.

“Thanks for the ride, Harrington.” You said, adjusting you purse strap on your shoulder. You wondered if you looked like a hooker. You hoped not.

“No problem, thanks for coming out with me.” He replied, leaning his elbow on the inside of the door. “I’ll see you around?”

“I’m pretty sure I’ll have to.” You giggled, turn on your heel and running up the driveway. You pulled open the front door, stepping into the warmth of your house, rubbing your hands together to bring the feelings back into your fingers. Carol had the fireplace going in the living room, feet propped up on the tapestry covered stool as she flipped through a copy of Glamour magazine.

She looked up when she heard the door close and she frowned when her eyes met yours. You tried to just go upstairs, but Carol snapped her fingers at you. “Hey.” You turned to look at her, not stepping down from the stairs.

“Leave Harrington alone.” She snapped, slapping her magazine closed.

“Why does it matter to you who I hang out with?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

“He doesn’t like you. He’s being nice. Don’t get it twisted in your sad little head that he’d like you.” Carol replied with a smirk.

You didn’t bother to reply, simply heading upstairs and slamming your door. Of course Carol had to ruin it. You have one nice thing, one uplifting moment in an otherwise awful day, and she had to take a crap on it. She couldn’t just let you have anything. That would be too easy for her. Carol couldn’t let you have anything, what else would she do with her free time.

You knew that Carol was just bored and trying to stir shit up, but a part of your mind wouldn’t let it go. Steve didn’t like you. He was just a nice guy. You refused to let yourself get caught up in any sorts of hyper inflated one-sided romance made up in your mind.

Luckily for you, most of the wedding prep from there on didn’t involve the whole group going. In fact most of it didn’t even involve you. Your mother took over planning, dragging Tommy and Carol to bakeries and to meet the pastor who’d do the service. Tommy wanted his drunken uncle to do the service, he was a boat captain and Tommy didn’t understand that a boat captain can only perform a wedding on a boat at sea and that he was in the middle of the country.

Your mother tasked you with the all important job of making flowers to pin onto the bridesmaid dresses. She gave you enough money to buy the supplies and sent you on your way with a beleaguered sigh, turning her attention to Carol who was whining over her bowl of Captain Crunch. Apparently, she was craving pickles and salt and vinegar chips and the house was out of both.

You took yourself down to Main Street. The date of the girl’s fitting was inching closer and closer and you were more than nervous to go back in to try on dresses. You knew Carol would be on your case if the dress fit even a little bit incorrectly. Even if it was too big, she’d be pissed at you for something. It had only been a couple months, and you were certain that you hadn’t gained or lost any weight since trying on and sizing the stupid nightmare. Who wanted to wear a dress in a colour named after a fish? Salmon was not an appetizing colour. It drew the mind to dead fish sliced up on a plate.

You pushed open the door of your favourite fabric store. In a small town full of old ladies, there was a huge market for sewing stores. Yours was Sylvia’s Sewing Supplies, its owner gave you discounts and slipped you new patterns whenever you came in. You relished in the warmth of the shop. Hawkins had frozen over in November and hadn’t even gotten close to thawing out. Your favourite cashier, Marie wasn’t in, so you slipped into the aisles to find what you needed. You needed a fabric that would stand out against the salmon pink of the dress, flat topped pins, and a bit of wire to give the fabric some body. You grabbed your pins and the crafting wire, before heading to the sale section for fabric. You’d need something lightweight and clean, with no distinctive or big pattern, and little stretch. You found a thin cotton material with bit of pink sparkle and bought a yard. You’d use some leftover magenta coat buttons for the flower’s centre.

You left the shop with a grin, plastic bag swinging in your hands as you headed back towards your family’s home. You were proud to have gotten all your supplies for under the budget your mother had given you.

You’d barely made it past Melvald’s when a familiar maroon car came swerving to a stop next to you, Steve Harrington leaning out the driver’s side window. “Hey! Perkins! Where ya headed?” he asked.

You waved at him, edging closer to his car. “Oh nowhere really, I thought I might go up to King’s Street.” You said, clutching your coat around yourself.

“Whatcha buying?” he pointed to your shopping bag.

“Wedding stuff, I’ve been given a job. Woo hoo…” you pulled a painfully fake grin, using your free hand to do a bit of a jazz hand.

Steve laughed, shaking his head “Well, come on get in.” he said.

“Oh no, that’s alright Steve, I don’t mind walking.” You replied. Carol’s words rang loudly in your ear.

“Perkins, its freezing. Get in the car before you turn blue.” Steve said, leaning over to pop the passenger’s side door open. You shook your head, jogging around the car to get in, if only to escape the cold and keep from someone taking off the door. Steve drove off quickly, crossing town a bit too fast for your liking. You directed him towards Tom’s Curio shop; a sort of thrift store meets pawn shop on the edge of town, closer to Kingsville than Carmel. You liked Tom’s; it was the closest thing to a thrift store you could get in town. It had been open since Hawkins was founded and Tom still stood behind the counter every day.

You dragged Steve along with you inside, instructing him to park close to the front door. “Alright, what’re we looking for?” Steve asked as he pushed open the heavy front door.

“We are looking for something shiny to pair with my bridesmaid dress.” You replied, waving politely to Tom, who was haggling with a customer at the desk. You weaved through the racks to the back case, filled mostly with costume jewellery. The good stuff was at the front, locked away and protected by Tom’s stern gaze and the shotgun he kept behind the counter.

“Ah, I need a tie clip anyway, wonder if they’ll have anything good…” he said, following behind you up to the well lit case. The case itself was filled with a variety of plastic beads in every colour, from fake pearls to giant rainbow baubles that your grandmother used to wear. There was some rhinestone on silver plated copper pieces, most of which had their copper showing or rhinestones missing. You weren’t insanely impressed.

“What about that one?” Steve pointed at a set of sort, pale pink plastic beads.

You cringed “If I have to wear grandma beads, I’ll freak out.” You replied, eyeing down the long case. Something caught your eye. A small silver chain with a little pink flower in its centre. “Hey Tom!” you called “Can I get a hand in the case?”

“Case’s open, it’s all junk in there anyway!” Tom called back. You slipped behind the desk and slid open the glass panel. You gently pulled out the necklace, examining it in natural lighting. The silver didn’t seem to be rubbed off or chipped and while the pink flower had clearly had it details rubbed off, you liked it more because of it.

“You want me to grab a tie clip? I see one that isn’t faded or ugly.” You said, eyeing a plain silver tie clip at the end of the counter.

“Sure, I should own one anyway.” Steve said. You grabbed the clip but your arm was just a bit too short, it slipped from your fingertips. You groaned, sidling over to where it fell. You reached for it and found two clips instead of one. First was the tie clip, but the other piece was more interesting. It wasn’t another tie clip but instead a hair pin. A straight clasped pin with blue stones and a singular stone shaped like a small flower bud at its centre. It clearly wasn’t something worth any money, but it was pretty and the details were intact.

You lifted yourself off the floor and closed the glass. You handed Steve his tie clip and dusted off your jeans, the knees now white with dust and dirt. The pair of you paid for your pieces and headed into the snowstorm that Hawkins had become. He drove you home slowly, excessively careful in the changed weather. But when he turned down your street, you stopped him.

“You can drop me off here.” You pointed about eight houses down from yours. Steve was driving at a snail’s pace and you were getting antsy.

“What? No way, Perkins. The weather’s shit and the sidewalks are icy. Those little sneakers aren’t gonna do you much good in this weather.” He chuckled, nodding at your dingy white Reebok sneakers. He wasn’t wrong, but he didn’t see the inherent problems Carol was going to cause.

“Carol’s going to cause a scene if she sees us together again.” You countered, grabbing your plastic bag off the ground.

“Why does she give so much of a shit about you and me?” Steve asked, parking in your driveway.

“I don’t know, pregnancy hormones are crazy, apparently.” You sighed, popping open the door. You were barely out in the snow for a moment when your mother came rushing out the door.

“Steven!” she called “Y/N, tell that boy that it’s not safe to drive home in this. He’ll stay for dinner.”

Fighting this request would not end well. You sighed, turning your attention back into the car “Steve, my mom is insisting you stay for dinner. It’s too bad for you to drive back home, wait it out inside.”

“It’s not that bad, I’ll be alright.” Steve replied with a shrug.

You rolled your eyes, smiling softly “It’s not a request, Harrington, come one.” You turned on your heel and your smile grew as you heard the ignition turn off and Steve’s door open and shut.

“Thank you, Mrs. Perkins.” Steve said as he passed your mother by.

“It’s no trouble at all, Steven, we’re happy to have you.” She replied, shutting the door behind the three of you. Carol was again sat in the living room with the fireplace going, gorging herself on salt and vinegar chips, laid out on the couch. When she saw Steve, she sat up as fast as she could, her stomach protruding much more at five months than it ever had before.

“Steve! What’re you doing here?” she beamed, adjusting herself in her mountain of pillows.

“Oh, I found your sister stuck in the storm, I drove her home.” Steve replied, pulling off his navy blue coat and kicking off his damp sneakers. Carol’s bright smile dropped into a frown as she eyed the pair of you. The silence was thick and tense enough to slice with a knife.

“Well…I’m going to work on the flowers. I bought some nice material, I’ll make a test one for you to look over, yeah?” you said, lifting the grey opaque bag as if to prove you went shopping. Carol nodded shortly and you ran off as fast as you, abandoning Steve to her clutches.

Working on the flowers proved to be much easier than you thought. You plugged in your small sewing machine at your desk, plugging the foot peddle into the machine. You pulled in your hot glue gun as well, plugging it in. Then, you drew out your petal shape. You decided to have a five petal flower and to make the shape similar to a heart, with a rounded cupid’s bow at the top of the petal and a bit of a point at the end. Then you cut your fabric into five even strips, folding the fabric over, and setting the excess aside. You used your fabric chalk to copy the image onto the fabric five times. You cut out your hearts and set them aside. Then, you used a pair of wire cutters to break off five pieces of similar lengths. You hot glued each piece of wire onto five of your ten hearts and loaded in your thread as they dried. You placed two hearts back to back and sewed around the edges and turned them inside out. Then you hot glued the other half of the heart to the wire. Repeat four times, the wind the wires together in a circle, hot glue the flower to the pin and glue the button to its centre. Bam. A flower. It looked alright too.

With a proud grin, you bounded down the stairs. Steve and Carol were sat in awkward silence, which you easily broke. “Alright, Carol this is the first one. What’d think of the fabric and design?” you handed her the pin “I tried to make the petals look like hearts, to sort of fit the theme-”

“They’re fine. They’re just to add something to the waistband. You don’t have to think so hard about it.” She cut in, handing you back the flower. In an instant, you were defeated by Carol.

“Alright then…” you muttered. You went to leave, but Steve’s voice caused you to stop in your tracks.

“Think I can give you a hand?” he asked, hopping to his feet.

“Oh…I’m alright, keep Carol company, I’m sure she enjoys it.” You said quickly.

“I’m fine, go ahead Steve, I’m sure Y/N can put you to some kind of work.” She drawled, watching you with a sneer.

You sighed, bounding up the steps. Steve followed close behind. You kicked open your door, pushing a pile of notebooks to the side as you let him into your room. “Alright, sit there and cut out petals. I’ll do the rest.” You pointed to your bed, then pulled out your own desk chair and flicked off the light above your needle.

“Alright,” he rubbed his palms together and looking over the pile. “What am I going here?”

You leaned over to him in your chair “Alright take your pattern, pick a place on the fabric,” you pointed to the white chalk “Draw the pattern out on the fabric, then cut it out.”

“Alright, I got this.” He said. You nodded turning back to your machine as a small pile of hearts began to grow. You made steady, silent progress, until Steve broke it.

“Why do you let her push you around like that?” Steve asked.

“What do you mean?” you replied, not looking up from your machine.

“You were clearly proud of the pin and she dismissed it. Why couldn’t she say it was nice?” Steve asked.

You chuckled “God, you’re such an only child…” you mutter, gluing your wire onto your first heart and sewing pieces together. “That’s how older sisters are. They all wanted to be only children and then some baby brat came along and stole all the attention. She’s disliked me from the day I was born.”

“And she can’t be nice for five minutes?” Steve countered with a matching chuckle.

“Like I said, blame the hormones. Usually, she’d just ignore me. Now, she needs me to make stupid little flowers for her wedding.” You replied, flipping out your first heart and gluing it shut.

The pair of you made five pins in about an hour, laughing and talking all the while. Steve was a nice guy. You had a lot in common, mostly in your annoyance with your peers. Steve was much more normal than you remembered, much more relaxed and easygoing than the hyper kid who ran circles around you and his friends on the playground. He was a bit of a grown man now. Maturity looked good on him.

Your mother fed the family and Steve was gone quickly, the snow settling fast. Just as quickly as Steve left your house, January passed you by. You spent the month in full wedding mode. You and your mother were high strung. It didn’t help that Carol was rounding seven months pregnant and a nightmare to be around. You spent your free time hiding in your room.

By the time the date came around, you were more than happy to be over everything wedding based. You didn’t care if Carol was marrying a man child and she was pregnant with the next spawn of Satan, you just wanted everything to be done. The dresses fit, the ties matched and were clipped, the wedding dress fitted to Carol’s massive stomach, the caterer’s had the food ready and the cake was iced and cooled. All that was left was to marry them off.

The morning of February 14th, 1987 was one of pure chaos. Tina and Macy had slept over with Carol, although you weren’t into to their bridal pampering. Carol was flashing around her bridal box, full of everything she needed. She was more than ready to be married. You all headed to Marie’s Beauty Parlour to have your hair done at eleven o’clock that morning, yours and Tommy’s mother giddy to be getting rid of their children. Your mother had bought the mustard velour nightmare for herself to wear. She had her hair curled in ringlets and pinned away from her face. You and the other bridesmaid’s were put into tight, poufy bouffant hairstyles. Carol’s being the highest and poufiest of them all. Then, you all waited around while Carol had her makeup professionally done. The rest of you would have to do your own makeup, which you were happy with when you saw the outcome of Carol’s.

The group dressed and did their makeup back at your house, trying to match each other’s makeup. Macy and Tina were deadlocked in attempts to outdo each other. You finished yours first, not worried about overpowering their makeup. You slid into you salmon dress and, at the nagging of your mother, pulled on a pair of pantyhose before putting on your matching wedding shoes. You pinned your little flower pin on your right side and clasped on your necklace, jabbing a pair of tiny silver hoops into your earlobes.

A scream from Carol pulled everyone’s attention to her. She was found crying on the floor in her white wedding lingerie, screaming up at your mother “Where is it?!?”

“What’s wrong, ma?” you asked, stepping through the small crowd and touching your mother’s shoulder.

“Great-grandma Petra’s wedding tiara!” Carol moaned. You looked to your mother with a confused expression. You’d never met your great grandmother. She died before you were born.

“I told you, honey, she was buried with it. I don’t have it.” Your mother said, pulling your sister off the floor “Your mascara is running, honey, you have to stop crying.”

“But now I don’t have anything old and blue!” she cried, letting her mother put her into the stool at her vanity.

“We’ll find you something, let me look through my jewellery box, I’m sure I can fine something-” your mother tried.

“I’m already borrowing your pearls, I can’t get any more luck from you.” She sobbed, her breathing getting ragged. She was going to hyperventilate if someone didn’t do something. You ran to your room, grabbing the blue hair pin off your desk. You had intended on wearing it in your own hair, but the bride needed to be appeased and the conversation needed to be over. You brought the pin into your mother’s room.

“Here,” you held out the pin to Carol “I bought it for myself, but you can wear it. It’s vintage, so it’s old, and it’s blue.” Carol took the pin cautiously, examining it with watery eyes.

Her whole face broke into a wide smile “It’s perfect, Y/N, thank you!” she held out her arms, pulled you into a tight hug. You let her hug you like she meant it. Maybe she did. You weren’t going to forgive her for everything because she was nice to you once. Giving her your pin was just what got you all to the wedding.

The ceremony started on time, which was a shock to you. Stood outside the church, Tina and Macy fussed over Carol veil, which was attempting to blow away in the icy wind. You heard the music start and, on cue, Mason and Kenny opened the doors, Steve and Tommy waiting at the altar. You gripped your roses tightly, making your brisk walk up to the altar. Steve was watching you far too intensely for your liking. You lowered your gaze and made your way to the front. He was too handsome to look at anyway.

The vows went fast, the ceremony was kept short. Everyone at the wedding knew it was a shotgun wedding before they even arrived and nobody really took it seriously. The applause was polite as Tommy and Carol headed to back down the aisle to their getaway car. Steve sidled up to you as you headed down the aisle out of the church.

“You wanna get out of here? We’ve got like an hour to kill for the happy couple to take photos.” He asked, grabbing the crook of your arm and looping his through it.

“Sure…” you muttered. You made it outside, trading your bouquet for your winter coat and following Steve over to his car. You drove out to his house, because it was closer than yours and neither of you wanted to join the festivities there anyway.

“You look…really beautiful, by the way.” He said as he pulled into his driveway.

“Thank you…” you replied shyly, not meeting his eyes “You look really handsome.”

“Thank you…” Steve smiled. He led you to the front of his house and let you into the empty, dark house. You’d never been to Steve’s house, much less without anyone there besides you two. You kicked off your heels, relishing the comfort of being flat on the ground again. Steve’s hands came to your waist and spun you to him carefully.

“Steve, what’re you doing?” you whispered. Something about the scene made you feel like you were sneaking around. Maybe you were. Somewhere in your mind Carol was still watching, hinting, assuming the worst of you. She already thought you were a slut for even hanging out with Steve.

“Well…I was going to kiss the prettiest bridesmaid…” he grinned, leaning down to you.

You pulled back “Why?” you asked, placing your hands on his chest to push him away.

Steve’s hands fell away. He looked at you closely, and then let out a sigh. “Because…I’m crazy about you, Y/N, I can’t stop thinking about you. I thought, well I figured, you felt the same but if I’m wrong I mean tell me now-”

“No! I mean I don’t know…Carol already thinks I’m a slut I don’t want to add to it, I mean if she found out about this…” you replied quickly.

“Y/N,” Steve reached for your arm, pulling you a bit closer. “Can’t you see that she’s just jealous of you? You don’t have to plan your life around her.”

You looked at him sceptically. He didn’t know Carol the way you did. He didn’t live with her. “Steve, it’s never been that simple. You can’t just say that she’s jealous or crazy and move on.” You scoffed.

“Y/N, what are you afraid of?” Steve grabbed your hand.

“I…I’m afraid that…she’s right. That I’ll never be as good as her or as liked as her. I’m afraid that you only like me because of her. That you’ll move on the second you get bored or that this is some elaborate game you and your friends are playing. Like when we were kids and you would play those awful pranks on me.” You explained, looking away from Steve. You felt ashamed of your emotions, of feeling small and useless, like the child you were so certain you’d grown out of being.

Steve swallowed, stepping back again, looking you over with a worried expression. “You are…so different from your sister. And that’s the best thing about you. Carol is Carol, but you? You’re indescribable. You’re so amazing, it kills me. And I would never treat you like the way we used to. We were kids, and I’m so sorry we hurt you. But I would never treat you like that again.”

You inched closer, watching his expression curiously. He looked almost hurt by your words. You didn’t regret them though; you needed to say them to be understood.

“I know that, Steve, I just” you let out a heavy, thick sigh “I’ve always been scared of everything, you included.”

Steve’s face broke into a small smile “You don’t ever have to be afraid of me.” He murmured, his hands coming carefully to your cheeks, running his knuckles up and down your cheek. His lips came gently down to yours. This time, you didn’t pull away. You didn’t want to. Fuck Carol, fuck her stupid ideas on who you were and her damn ugly wedding to a massive idiot. You were allowed your happiness. You were allowed to have Steve. And he’s exactly what you want.

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myblacknightworld · 5 years ago

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NiNi’s Flower Fluff June

Prompt n. 8, white carnation

Ao3 Next

If you want to be tagged for the next, just ask :) not in the comments tho, please

Marinette was happy: Grandma Gina had showed up for her third birthday and had whispered conspiratorially, “I have a very special surprise, bimba mia. A very special gift. Tonight, I’m stealing you to go to your surprise!”

And steal her she did! Grandma Gina had handed her a bright pink helmet and then had put her on her motorcycle. Marinette loved going on it with Grandma Gina, loved the feeling of the wind in her hair, loved the excitement it brought her.

It was a place on the outskirts of the city, near the Seine, and when Marinette had hopped down from the motorcycle, she had been greeted by loud music and coloured lights and laughter. A circus! It was a circus! Grandma had brought her to a circus! Inside the gates there were so many people, so many different sounds and voices and things to see that Marinette didn’t know where to look to see everything. And that was why she lost Grandma Gina.

Marinette had just ran ahead a bit, just a little bit, to watch in fascination an equilibrist on a rope. It wasn’t one of the main acts, because it was outside of the big tent, but the woman had nevertheless acquired a small public. And Marinette was among them staring with bright eyes and a big smile. When she’d turned to tell Grandma Gina to “look, look! She’s awers- arwe- a-we-so-me!”, Grandma Gina wasn’t there. Marinette had looked around, but she couldn’t see her, and the other people were so much bigger and taller and Marinette couldn’t see Grandma Gina and she didn’t answer when she called and she couldn’t see her and- Marinette started sobbing. She had crouched, arms around her knees as tears rolled down her cheeks and just stayed there, because... because maybe Grandma Gina would find her.

And she waited and waited, but her grandma wasn’t arriving and Marinette was scared and- Suddenly a hand was on her shoulder and someone was crouching in front of her. Marinette blinked her tears away as she stared at bright blue eyes. The person was saying something, but her ears were still ringing from before so she couldn’t understand much.

“-u ‘kay?”

Marinette nodded once, then shook her head. “Ma- mamie!” she had sobbed, “C-an’t find M-Mamie!”

The person, who was a boy much older than her, had hugged her tightly and then had stretched his hand out. “I’ll help you find her! I know tis place like the back of my hand!”

Marinette had grabbed his hand like he was a lifesaver.

“Name’s Dick, by the way!” Dick had smiled at her. “What’s your name?”

“Ma-ma-marinette.” and then she had added, “But you can call me Mari.”

“Mari uh? That’s a pretty name!” they were walking around now, “Mine is Richard, in reality, but that sounds boring and long and so I prefer Dick. Wait!”

Marinette had stopped walking to look at him, tilting her head on the side in a mute question.

“I can pick you up on my shoulders so you can look better if you see her! That ‘kay with you?”

And that was how Marinette had found herself watching the world from higher than she was used to. Dick was nice, and funny, and he knew lots of things about the circus. He told her all kinds of stories, told her his mum and dad were trapeze artists, whatever those were, and that they were the best in the world. He bought her cotton candy and brought her to meet all his animal friends. Marinette was laughing and smiling before she could even think about crying again.

“That’s Zitka!” he had said excitedly, pointing at an elephant, “She’s my best friend!”

Marinette’s eyes had grown wider at that, “Your bestie is an e-le-phant? Dat’s cool! My bestie is Nino! He’s got cool eyes and he’s the bestest friend!”

Dick had laughed and had nudged her closer to pet Zitka’s trunk. Marinette had laughed too and had moved her hands to caress the elephant, but somehow she tripped and fell face first.

She didn’t even make contact with the ground. Somehow she’d found herself hugging Zitka’s trunk as the elephant manoeuvred it to put her back on her feet.

Dick was on her immediately. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? Everything alright?”

Marinette had stared at him, blue eyes wide. Then she’d let out an excited scream. “Dat’s fun! Again! Again!”

Dick had been about to let the little girl on Zitka’s trunk once more, when two people had come in.

“We heard a scream! Everything alright, son?”

“Dick? Are you okay?” The woman had a worried gleam in her eyes, but it softened when she took in the scene.

Dick set Marinette on his hip, so to hold her with only one arm, then waved at his parents.

“Hey mom, hey dad! This is Marinette.”

“Hi!” She’d waved too, smiling at the two adults. “You can call me Mari!”

One of the man’s eyebrows arched as he smiled, “Care to explain, Dick?”

“Oh, I found her crying. She couldn’t find her mamie, so I helped her.”

And that was when Grandma Gina arrived, looking distraught.

“I’m sorry! Have you seen my niece? She’s about this height, with black ha-” Her eyes fell on Marinette, who wriggled free from Dick’s hold.

“Mamie!” She screamed, running to hug her. “I was so scared! But den I finded Dick and we goed everywhere! Mamie! His bestie is an e-le-phant! Dat’s so cool!”

Grandma Gina held her long after that, nodding at her words, and smiling and caressing her hair.

“I’m sure, bimba mia. I’m sure.” And then, to Dick, “Thank you, young man. I owe you a lot.”

“Oh it’s nothing Madame!” Dick put his hands in front him, "It's okay really! Mari's a sweetheart and we had lots o' fun!"

“Still, thank you.”

Dick’s mum moved close to them, a smile on her face, “Are you staying for the show? I have a feeling the kid’s gonna like it!”

“Of course, of course! I brought here my Marinetta exactly for the show!” Grandma Gina had smiled. Marinette had nodded eagerly too, then had run back and took Dick’s hand.

“Can we go now?”

Dick had looked down at her, eyes bright and a big smile, “Sure! And watch carefully, I’ll do a special flip only for you!”

Marinette’s smile could’ve lit the night sky ten times over.

#maribat #MaribatFloweringFluff #platonic dickinette

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rexelectus · 4 years ago

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● – || GET TO KNOW NOCTIS

𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 𝟶𝟷: THE OUTSIDE.

𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄: Noctis Lucis Caelum or Noct/Noctis for short.

𝐄𝐘𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐑: Crystal blue -- Signature Caelum blue.

𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄 / 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐑: Organized chaos, Bangs leave his eyes in a slight shadow, causing them to pop beneath darkened locks. Cut in such a way that it creates a nice little nest-like formation in the back, but not tangled by any means. The colour is charcoal grey -- signature Caelum grey,

𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓: 5′7.

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄: Usually, it’s what Ignis has picked out. It tends to be a cropped pair of pants, a short-sleeved fit and flare jacket, a t-shirt, and matching lace-up boots. All other articles of clothing that don’t look ‘princely’ or ‘put together’ come from Prompto or Gladio. Usually, it’s Ignis who prepares his clothes with his own say in little things like the colours and the style. Example: His fishing outfit. His shirt is an old one of Gladio’s {you can tell because it’s too big}, his fishing vest {though too big} is his own, the white t-shirt underneath is also his own, the hat is an old one of Gladio’s, the skinny jeans and sneakers are his own.

𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄: He has his father’s eyes. He has the Caelum blue eyes.

𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 𝟶𝟸: THE INSIDE.

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒: Losing what little family he has left, getting ambushed like he was when he was a child, letting down those who look up to him. Genuinely, Noctis has a lot of fears that revolve around those three key ones. He has nightmares revolving around them constantly.

𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄: Milkshakes and other sweets he gets for being ahead on his studies or his lessons even though he can’t have dairy.

𝐁𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐄𝐓 𝐏𝐄𝐄𝐕𝐄: Noctis HATES being underestimated. He’s small, not just in height but in body structure due to injuries he has from his childhood, and people underestimate him for it a lot. He hates it with a passion. He is not a fan of being talked over or dismissed without his case being seen. Being woken up from his naps {because he doesn’t sleep usually and the naps are all he has}. People taking things away from him -- freedoms, choices, etc. Things are constantly taken from him without reason and it always feels like his box is getting smaller and smaller.

𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄: To follow in his father’s footsteps as the next King in line. While it isn’t the life he would have chosen for himself, he understands that it is his duty and that he must step up and be King when his time comes.

𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 𝟶𝟹: THOUGHTS.

𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐖𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐔𝐏: I can’t wait to eat what breakfast Iggy has made.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓: ‘Walk tall, my son. ‘ Noctis is always thinking about this quote and trying to apply it to his life however he can. It is something Regis says often and it’s been drilled into him since he was little. He will pass it on to his own son, when that time comes.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐃: If I close my eyes, will I see what haunts me or will I finally be able to sleep? I guess we’ll find out. -- Noctis suffers from nightmares as well as his crippling headaches.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐈𝐒: His ability to lead with his heart and follow it in order to do what he thinks is right.

𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 𝟶𝟺: WHAT’S BETTER ?

𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐑 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐏 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒: Single. He prefers alone time with someone he cares about. However, because he has to bring Gladio and Ignis everywhere -- and sometimes Prompto for protection -- though they promise to stay out of sight and out of the way, it still becomes a ‘group’ date.

𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃: Both. A good King is loved and respected.

𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐘 𝐎𝐑 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒: Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. However, Noctis always believes in brains over beauty. Beauty can be a facade that leads to something dangerous. He’s been raised to tread with caution.

𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐎𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐒: Cats.

𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 𝟶𝟻: DO THEY …

𝐋𝐈𝐄: He’s a garbage liar. Anyone who knows him well enough knows this. Who is he the worst liar to? Ignis and Gladio, but mainly Ignis. Because of their bond and their relationship, Noctis can’t lie to Ignis. It never works out, it always backfires, and it never ends well. As a whole, Noctis can’t lie period but especially not to the guys.

𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐒: 50/50. He believes in himself in some things and not in others, but that’s where Gladio and Ignis come in to help him through his weaker areas. He will rise up to any challenge, even if it is bigger than he is prepared for.

𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄: Noctis does believe in love .Both platonic and romantic.

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄: He does want someone. In his main verse that’s always Luna. She was his first friend, and the first person who really understood him as a person. He will always long for her company, even if it’s just a letter from time to time.

𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 𝟶𝟼: HAVE THEY EVER …

𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐄: Most likely yes. He’s a Prince. He’s gone to many special events.

𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐆𝐒: Never. Ignis would kill him. Also, he’s royalty. Should it get out that the Prince does drugs it would be a scandal.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐍: Only slightly. Talking to Luna helped him open up a little. While he still keeps to himself a lot, having her friendship helped him see that it’s okay to make friends with people. It was shortly after this realization he met Prompto.

𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 𝟶𝟽: FAVOURITES.

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐑: Midnight blue, black, sky blue, white. Colours that remind him of peaceful moments in his life. The color of the sky decorated in stars when the night is still. Black, the colour of the ring his father wears proudly that later will dawn himself. Sky blue, the colour of Luna’s eyes and the colour of the sky above his favourite fishing spots. White, the only colour he had ever seen Luna wear during their visits together.

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐋: Noctis loves fish. All sorts of fish. Why? Because it ties to him and his father going fishing when he was younger but also, Noctis has always admired how free they are. Even when he was younger, he understood that the oceans were vast and it meant that the fish could go anywhere they wanted without limits.

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊: Noctis absolutely loves comics. However, he is also raised by Ignis, meaning he has read some really good literature. All in all, Noctis just likes to read anything that allows his imagination to be carried away from the walls of Insomnia.

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄: Chess is a big one for Noctis. He loves games that involve strategy and puzzles. He also loves King’s Knight -- it’s the game the guys all play together during their kick back nights.

𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 𝟶𝟾: AGE.

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄: August 30th.

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐁𝐄: Verse dependent, usually 21.

𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 𝟶𝟿: FINISH THE SENTENCE .

𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄: My mom, dad, Luna, guys. . .

𝐈 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋: The weight of the world. I wear it like a cape as I sit on the velvet-lined throne of Kings before me. We wear it proudly as we walk tall and rule stoically.

𝐈 𝐇𝐈𝐃𝐄: My pain, my trauma, my fears . . . my scars still hurt as I walk through the hallowed halls of the Citadel.

𝐈 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒: My family being whole, my time with Luna back when we were children, and when peace was a word spoken with hope and promise.

𝐈 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐇: For my freedom and to rule in a way that would make my father proud of me. . .

𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑮𝑬𝑫 𝑩𝒀: @hamadaxfighter {I stole it from you} but I was tagged by @scourgeborne {THANK YOU MY LOVE!}

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆 : @novuscaelum, @beguilingfury {Kai}, @sharp-shot, @soughtsky, @infideliis, && YOU! STEAL IT FROM ME! <3

#● deeper reading into the void || headcanons

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yeojaa · 5 years ago

Text

SUGAR HIGH, chapter i. (w. JJK)

You're not entirely sure when it happened, though you'd come to terms with it. You'd counted the days, waiting for the inevitable. You'd truly thought you'd be okay, but by the broken, half-beating thing in your chest - you knew you'd never really been prepared.

alt summary. You thought you’d known real love and maybe you had - it just wasn’t with who you thought.

pairing. jeon jungkook. mentions/involvement of ot7.

tags. angst, break up, post-break up, comfort, OT7, slow burn, friendship, moving on, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, emotional bagge, fluff, canon compliant, jeon jungkook is bad at feelings, jeon jungkook is a good friend, jeon jungkook is a sweetheart.

rating. general (for now?)

word count. ~2000

chapter 1. This Is Not a Love Song

Endings are never easy and rarely are they simple. But when the person you once loved feels more like a stranger, isn't it better you say goodbye? You're not quite sure.

Had it been days? Weeks? Months?

You truly tried to remember, to recall what the feeling of his hands felt like, the soft ache of his voice in the early morning. You tried to piece together the memory of his I love you's and attempted to recall whether the emptiness had always felt like this - suffocating.

Had his stare always been so lackluster? You'd sworn you could've once been swept up in the depths of his emotion, happy to sink beneath the tumultuous waves. You would've died happy, curled around the treasure that you'd found there within the cavern of his chest. You'd found a home in him -- or so you thought.

You wondered idly whether it was normal for this to happen, for love to settle into half-baked embers. Perhaps this was just how things were. Perhaps the intensity of your love - like a kerosene rag soaked in gasoline - had skewed your perspective. Maybe this was okay. (Not great, but okay.)

"Soomi-ah, are you okay?"

The concern tore you from your reverie, snapping you back to reality.

Something like a smile arranges itself on your face - but he can tell it's strained. There's too much weight in the jut of your bottom lip, tension hugging the curve of your small jaw. He sees it - or the lack thereof - in your eyes, the warmth of your amusement hardly reaching the honeyed depths.

Though he's miles away, connected only by the quickest connection the hotel can muster, he wonders what your hands look like. Would they be coiled together, knuckles blown white?

"I'm fine, Jungkook-ah." Your expression falters, dips just barely, before returning in full force. Laughter sounds in what's meant to be reassurance and you breath in sharply through your nose, willing the sudden wetness from your eyes. You silently thank yourself for having gotten talked into a haircut earlier this week, the softened strands at your crown casting a safety net across your features.

"You don't seem fine."

It's not accusatory - only concerned.

What did you do to deserve someone like him?

There's another inhale, this time masked beneath a quiet clearing of your throat. Could you lie to him? Did you even have reason to? He was your best friend (and you were one of his seven). You knew you could tell him anything.

And so you did.

"I think... things are over. Or they're going to be over. I don't really know. It's like I'm all alone." You're rambling, tripping over your own words in your haste to get them all out before they're steeled once again behind the cage of your teeth. "I mean, I know I'm not. I have you. I have Minji and Yejin and... everyone else, but he feels so far away."

You want to explain how you'd thought you'd be together for- no, not ever, but a long time. You thought you'd have years ahead of you, two puzzle pieces haphazardly thrown together that somehow worked despite the awkward edges.

You thought you'd loved enough for the both of you.

"We haven't spoken in days." This draws a noise of surprise from the figure on the screen, whose arms fold neatly over his drawn-up legs, bottom lip bruised under the ministrations of his teeth. He says nothing more though - simply nods and continues to listen.

"It's like I'm living with a roommate. A really, really quiet roommate."

"I wish mine were quiet." You know he's trying to cheer you up and it works - a flutter of laughter dropping off your tongue.

Then silence returns, filling the spaces you don't know how to, and he sees more than hears the way you squeeze your fingers in your lap. You've always done this - some sort of defense mechanism in place to prevent you from feeling too much. You'd adopted it from him, honestly, so he couldn't fault you. When you spent so much time with someone, you were bound to steal the best and worst of them.

"I'm here for you," he finally breaks the quiet, leaning forward in his chair, head cocking to the side in that way you love so much. "I'll be home next Wednesday and we can figure things out together."

His words carry weight to them, as if he could anchor you there with him, keeping you from drifting under the current of your sadness. And maybe he can.

"Okay."

You'd promised you would let him know if anything changed, wiggled your pinky finger at him through the FaceTime screen as he'd done the same. He'd laughed when you'd rolled your eyes, aware that deep down these little things were what helped get you through the harder days.

You'd lied - but you were sure this was for the best. After all, he was busy. It came with the territory of being an idol.

He didn't have time for all of your little problems.

(He did - you knew he did. He'd drop the world if it meant anything to you.)

So you packed your things with the help of Minji, carefully tucking clothes into boxes and stripping all indications of you from the slate grey walls. You smoothed the faded pink fur of your Cooky plush against your cheek, breathing in the familiar scent - a mixture of his cologne and something distinctly him.

Across the room, Minji hums as she slips yet another pair of shoes into a box. "Do you really need this many?"

You tear your attention from the handful of stuffed animals on the edge of the bed, Cooky still snuggled happily in the crook of your elbow. A hand flies to your throat, feigned affront evident in the width of your stare and garbled gasp. "Of course I do. What else will I wear when..."

There are a pair of Converse staring you down, what was once pure as snow now a muddy off-white. They're identical to the other pair in Minji's hands, though significantly more dirty.

"I wore those to DisneySEA! Namjoon-oppa nearly broke my ankle in them. I can't throw them away!"

You were a dreamer, a romanticist, someone who held onto everything from ticket stubs to sticky notes. You kept every stuffed animal you won (or was won for you). You never threw away anything so long as they held some sort of sentimental value. Even if it hurt, you held onto it.

Minji had noticed this when you packed up the photos of you and Seunghoon, meticulously arranging the frames within the brown box. She would've thrown them against the wall and left it for him to clean up, if it had been up to her.

She knew not to push you, though. She knew this was hard enough already.

"Okay, okay," she relents with a pronounced roll of her eyes, hands none-too-gently shoving the second pair of sneakers away. "But you seriously have too much stuff. I've put away at least fifteen white shirts and they all looked the exact same!"

You say nothing in response, a small little smile quirking the edge of your mouth as you tape the box closed, inspecting your handiwork.

"Yah - I'm serious! We're roping the boys in and Marie Kondo-ing your apartment."

"Good luck with that. Kookie will vote to keep all the shirts." After all, it was his fault. Another habit borrowed from your best friend - collecting a million plain tee shirts. "And none of the other boys will care enough to make me toss them."

Behind your back, Minji scowls albeit playfully and tosses a pair of fluffy white slippers at your head. "You're the worst."

"And you love it," you singsong back, setting the slippers in question back into the box she's working on.

"I do."

"I'm sorry."

You're not quite sure why you're apologizing, why the words trickle off your tongue like tears. You'd meant to stray strong, to bury the sadness among the cobwebs and forget about them. You believed you'd be able to ignore the gaping, Seunghoon-shaped hole in your chest.

He's sitting by the front door, ankle resting casually against his knee. Fingers curl together and you fight the desire to interrogate him - ask him why he seems so unaffected.

(You know the answer.)

Still, you can't help but feel what you imagine is the second breaking of your heart.

What you'd thought would be a golden happily ever after is anything but, sunshine giving way to a dull Sunday afternoon and rain that comes heavy enough to drown you.

"It happens." The words are like a jagged edge, slipping between your rattling rib cage and slotting itself exactly where your heart shudders. The way he meets your gaze, stares right through you, is like a twist of his hand, and you momentarily forget how to breathe. How could this be so easy for him?

In, out. Just in and out.

You stand feeling small in the massive doorway, hands balled into fists at your side. You can feel Minji's eyes on your back as she waits by the car. You know if she made any indication, she'd be there in a moment, gathering you up in her arms and whisking you away.

But you need to do this by yourself - for yourself.

When you turn away from him, from his half-empty expression, you can feel the remnants of his love buried beneath your skin. They're little splinters of better memories, of rose-coloured glass. You know they'll leave scars.

"Goodbye," you muster up the courage to murmur the words before you're gone, taking the steps as quickly as you can.

You try not to wish, to hope - but you do anyway. Just one sign this is tearing him apart like it is you.

He says nothing.

You've made the right choice.

In your old bed, with your old sheets, you drift. You're not sure what time it is or when you last ate, but you remember.

You remembered coffee after you'd left what was no longer your home, wrapped up in the comforting embrace of your friend. You'd felt the way she'd come apart alongside you, holding you as you'd cried yourself hoarse in the parking lot.

You remembered the way she and Yejin had appeared on your doorstep the next night, an assortment of goodies carried between three bags. Among other things, they'd brought pickled radish and mandu and a giant bottle of your favourite lemon tea. They'd hugged you when you'd started sobbing quietly, shoulders curved inwards as you attempted to stifle the noise. (They'd regretted choosing a romcom to watch.)

You remembered last night when Jungkook had called, clearly concerned by the lack of response to his adorable selca and short video of Jimin wrestling a half-asleep Taehyung. He'd sounded tired and you could tell by the way he exhaled and the rustle of blankets that he was settling in for the night.

You'd felt bad, guilt gnawing at the column of your throat, when you told him you were fine. "I'm just tired," you'd murmured, cheek pressed to the cool silk of your pillowcase. You'd tried to still your breathing, regulate the ache that weighed in your chest. He always knew when you were lying.

"Me too," Jungkook had returned with a yawn. You'd imagined his big doe-eyes in the dark, the little mole beneath his lip in full view as he pouted. Such a little bunny.

"Then hang up."

You hadn't meant it as dismissively as you're sure it had come across but you'd certainly felt it when he exhaled, the sound amplified within the quiet of his room and the cocoon of his blankets.

"I just wanted to check up on you." He'd spoken softly, as if he was the one hurting you, and your vision had blurred. The heaviness on your shoulders had twisted and turned, coloured this time by shame, sinking into your spine and drawing you deeper into your bed.

You were such an asshole.

"I'm sorry, Kookie."

He'd hummed in response and then you'd drifted into silence - the quiet bringing comfort in the still night. You'd continued to lie there, un-moving, phone screen a dimmed light as you thanked your lucky stars for someone like him.

When his breathing had evened out, you'd remained on the line until sleep came calling. Only now could you happily drift beneath sandman's dust, finding solace in your best friend on the other line. "Thank you."

notes. thank you for reading!

this is my first fic in... forever, and i haven't written anything in about 3-4 years. please bear with me on this journey. i was inspired by the incredible people on this site (and AO3, where I'm @makotako) and couldn't help jumping in.

i wasn't really sure what this story would be like, so i apologize if it's a bit all over the place. this is largely based off of (recent) personal experience, so i'm hoping i've conveyed all my emotion the best i can. lauv's "who" really inspired me to put everything into words and honestly, listening to the song on repeat (and screeching about JK and jimin) was the easiest task in the world.

i would really appreciate any and all feedback. <3

#bts fluff #bts #bts fanfic #bts fic #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook fluff #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #work.zip #bestfriends.zip #sugarhigh.doc #jungkook.doc

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amethystpath-writes · 4 years ago

Text

A Gentle Blade Part 9

Part 8 here

If anyone wants to be tagged in this series, feel free to comment, PM, or send an ask (can't add you if you send as anon!).

Word count: 1,720

TWs: (as always, if I miss any lmk!) Dead body, hanged body (not killed by hanging), mention of seeing bone (on the decaying body, no broken bones), collar, stabby collar (heretic's fork if you're familiar), slap across face, I think that covers it!

Enjoy, my whump gremlins!

******

Daylight should have been pleasant; Leera thought it would have been. It seemed more threatening considering the crowd gathered before the assassin's eyes. Some faces looked worried, most were cloaked beneath a veil of emotionlessness. Leera knew it couldn't have meant anything good.

Usually, crowds were great. Crowds meant activity, which meant distraction. Crowds were a blissful sight in Leera's youth. She was a mouse then, small and capable of getting into small spaces, fitting between bodies and casually picking pockets as she did so. This time was different. There was no distraction- or maybe there was; she was it. Some other little girl or boy would be weaving through the crowd, stealing rings off of fingers while...while Leera performed, as the queen liked to say.

Already, Leera could feel something twisting in her gut as she took in the rest of the scene. Within the circle of people- the assassin couldn't think it, couldn't think it. She squeezed her eyes as tightly as they could be and a whine rose high in her throat as she tugged away as harshly as she could. Leera couldn't walk any further, she wouldn't, not at the sight she saw.

A body- the king's body- suspended by the neck with a rope, his ankles tied to a slanted post. And beneath the post was some- some mechanism that Leera wasn't familiar with. She only knew she didn't want to be familiar with it. Seeing the king's body like that, not just suspended so cruelly, but the ugly pallor of his dead skin, the blue tinge, and half-decayed flesh. The assassin was almost sure she spotted bone in some places. It was a wonder how they had him hung at all. Don't think about it. Don't think it. Don't think. Don't think. Don't think. She was going to be sick.

Another whine fell around the collar between her teeth as Sir Guard jerked slightly. When she continued to pull back, hot tears streaming down her already sun-heated cheeks, he coiled the chain in his hand like he had before in the woods, coiled it until he was face to face with Leera. Of course, he had to slouch to achieve that face to face.

The assassin loosed a shuddering breath. Rennera had Leera's hands tied behind her back by another guard. The restraint was a short rope that was held by the extra guard, who pulled it back as much as he could, making Leera more than uncomfortable. Her shoulders were too stretched, and so was her neck when Sir Guard walked ahead of her. As uncomfortable as it was, the assassin wished he were walking now, instead of being stopped like this, so close to her, so threatening.

Leera had to remind herself of her discovery. Sir Guard was scared. What of, exactly, she was still unsure of. But she knew he feared being in her position. Knowing he was as fearful as her usually helped, but now, as Leera glanced over his shoulder and saw the hanging body, nothing helped.

There were hands in the assassin's hair, tucked just below her ears. And there was a hot breath on one side. "I'm sorry," Sir Guard muttered, so quietly that only she would hear. Leera's breaths became harder, more frantic. What cruelty was this? What trickery was this? "For everything I've caused you, I'm sorry." And without so much as a blink for warning, his hand struck Leera's cheek, sending her chin in the in direction of the hit. If she were able to touch her cheek, she would have found it even hotter than before. If she were able to see it, she would see it was pinker than a sunset sky- not a pleasant colour to adorn one's cheek. "Walk." Sir Guard's voice turned cold once again. How quickly he could change.

Once again, Leera was being dragged forward by the leash in her mouth. She was too stunned to fight again. The assassin was too busy contemplating her guard's behaviour. She didn't doubt that he was sorry, but what about? Surely he only meant the leashes and collars. But they'd already discussed that in the woods. Sir Guard brought her back because his life depended on it. Leera understood that. That didn't mean it didn't suck, but she understood. If he wanted to live, he had to do this. The queen's kiss suddenly popped in Leera's head. What would have happened to Sir Guard had the assassin not told Rennera he was admiring her, not fearfully glancing at her, like in truth?

"On your knees." The assassin's attention was stolen by the queen's voice. Leera's eyes darted toward Rennera, who stood in front of her, beside the king's post. The king looked even more horrid, now, as someone so lively stood next to him for comparison. Leera bit her tongue to avert the sick feeling in her stomach and throat.

With a bout of fear, and somehow courage, the assassin shook her head back and forth. No, she wouldn't kneel. This was sick. Absolutely sick.

Only now that Rennera moved her hands in front of her did the assassin realize they were behind the queen to begin with. "Uh is," Leera swallowed. "Uh is -at?" She hated not being able to speak. It made her seem even less than she already was.

"Oh this?" Rennera ran a finger along two metal prongs. "This is what's called a Heretic's Fork. Quite pretty, isn't it?" When Leera didn't respond, the queen continued. "No? I guess not. It does have quite a bit of rust. We shall hope it has no effect on your bloodstream. I'd hate for you to get sick, my dearest assassin."

Too late for that. Leera couldn't forget the pit in her stomach. Especially as the queen stepped closer and closer with that...that fork. The assassin had never seen such a thing before but she had a guess as to how it worked. Strap around the neck, two forks on either side. It was evident that either side would poke into her skin, one at the chest and the other at the chin, though Leera wondered how it would fit. It was much too long to fit against her chest and chin. But, as the assassin took in her surroundings, at how everything was set up, it was beginning to make sense.

"I'd also hate to exhaust you more because you can't follow a simple demand. Kneel, Leera-" The assassin squeezed her eyes shut at hearing her name said aloud to the massive crowd. True, they already knew it, but it was a harsh reminder of the doom Leera caused herself. She opened her eyes as Rennera continued. "-and I might allow your performance to end before tomorrow's sunrise."

"-unrye?!" But it was already sunrise! The queen couldn't mean that Leera would be out here with the fork strapped to her neck for a full day.

Rennera smiled, one step away from her captive. Leera suddenly felt very small, even though she equaled the queen's height. "Guard? Remove her collar if you will, please." Please. She actually said please. Of course, it was said to the future king. Still, it was very much surprising that a true kind word might have fallen from the queen's lips.

Leera didn't fight as Sir Guard removed the leather collar from between her teeth, but she did keep her mouth open slightly- even when she was told to close it fully. Closing it hurt since it had been forced open for so long. "Would you like for me to fix the new collar on her, Your Majesty?"

The queen gave a dreamy sigh and handed the fork off to Sir Guard. "Darling, you are the only one I would allow having such a daring attitude. Everyone knows I hate questions." She waved a hand and smiled. "Do as you will. I need her on her knobs."

Sir Guard didn't wait a moment before he turned, grabbing Leera's shoulder and hooking the back of one of her knees with a foot before pulling it forward, knocking her to the ground on both knees. She couldn't speak. It happened so fast. The assassin didn't even have time to predict it. Not anyone was so capable of knocking someone of her occupation down like that.

"Who are you?" she whispered, rasping as she hadn't spoken freely in so long. It was unnatural at this point.

Sir Guard was on a knee, heretic's fork in hand. He didn't answer. Leera demanded an answer.

"You are very unwise, you know that?" Sir Guard said this aloud. Then quietly, he told the kneeling assassin, "Don't make this worse for yourself, or me. Take this punishment and I'll work you through the next ones. Believe me."

After moments of silence, Sir patted her cheek several times, staring intently at her as he expected a response, as the queen expected some course of action.

"Fine," Leera finally muttered. "Fine."

Rennera clapped. "Finally!" she squealed. "Finally, we are getting somewhere!"

With a deep, calming breath, the assassin shut her trap and allowed the heavy forked collar to be tied around her neck while she kneeled on the rough, pebbly ground. Sir Guard fixed a fork against her chest, then against her chin until the prongs pushed Leera's head up so that she was gazing into the dead king's hollowed eyes.

And she would remain this way until sunrise, just as the queen wanted. There were no stipulations, no requirements. Leera was to sit and wait in this uncomfortable position, forcing herself away from sleep so as to not let her head fall heavily onto the spikes, and also not speaking or else her skin would be pierced just the same.

"Until tomorrow, my dearest assassin." The queen mockingly bowed before turning on a heel and clicking away in her regal attire. Sir Guard followed, but not before sending the barest of a sympathetic look at Leera, who sat, straining her neck as she tried to preserve herself. They both knew she wouldn't last long. Leera would exhaust herself and by morning, her chin and chest would be bloodied, four puncture holes being the source of red. 'Believe me' Sir Guard mouthed, and he followed the queen into her wrecked palace.

******

Part 10 here

#part 9 #a gentle blade

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ripley95 · 5 years ago

Text

Echoes of Old Embers

Chapter 4

Pairing: F!Shepard/Kaidan Alenko

Rating: T

Chapter length: 4.6K

Story Tags: friends to lovers, mini slow burn, angst

Story Synopsis:

After surviving the war, one of Shepard’s biggest regrets was rejecting Kaidan at Apollo’s. Fate has a way of bringing Jane and Kaidan back into each other’s lives. A misunderstanding with his family makes Kaidan and Shepard relive old history and question where they stand.

Link to Chapter 1 on AO3

Chapter Synopsis:

Kaidan and Shepard make their way to his family home on the orchard. Shepard finally meets Kaidan’s family.

Link to Chapter 4 on AO3

Tumblr Links:

Read the chapter here below the cut:

Shepard was looking out the window, admiring the view from Kaidan’s rental skycar. They were well on their way to the orchard. The sky was relatively empty heading towards the Okanagan, not much traffic getting in the way of the scenery. They passed beautiful mountainscapes still covered in snow. The whole journey into the interior was more scenic than she was expecting. BC offered a lot of Earth’s beauty, and she figured she’d try to enjoy what she could from this trip. ‘Try’ was the operative word there, still thinking this plan was a mistake. She bounced her uninjured leg nervously, contemplating how difficult this week was about to be. Something Kaidan seemed to be picking up on the closer they got to the orchard.

“You alright there, Shepard? You look like you’re getting a little restless.”

“You could say that,” she said, looking over at him with a smirk. “If you’ll recall, you forced me to drink two whole bottles of water before we left, not to mention my coffee. I think I’m ready for a pit stop.” It was the truth, but she’d be lying if that was the whole reason behind her lively leg. She was getting more and more nervous, the closer they got to their destination.

Kaidan smirked at her. “Sorry about that. Maybe I should have let you pace the water a bit, but I still think you’ll end up thanking me for it later. Think you can hold it, though? The orchard’s only a couple minutes away.”

“Already?”

“Yup. Just over that hill up there,” he said, pointing ahead of them.

“Well, in that case, I’m pretty sure I can hold it.” Her leg continued to bounce impatiently, despite what she said.

They rode in silence the rest of the way. It really wasn’t far off at this point, and the thought of it only put her more on edge. Any minute now, she’d be meeting Kaidan’s family. Yet another thing that reeked of intimacy. This was something that people who were romantically involved did, and yet again, she felt as though she was stealing someone else’s place that should have been here instead of her. Kaidan wasn’t fazed at all as she glanced back towards him. He was just steering the car with a wistful smile.

No matter how he might have felt about their relationship, he was still here for a celebration and to get to be here for his sister on her special day. He would be welcoming someone new into his family. It at least made her happy that he was getting the chance to experience this. She knew this was going to be a stressful week for herself, but seeing the look on his face made her feel better about it.

Just like that, they were already making their descent. Kaidan was right, the ride was short. They made a soft landing on a patch of grass in front of the house. She practically bounced out of the car with her nervous energy. Kaidan went to the trunk to grab the bags. As Shepard reached for hers, he quickly intercepted it, and she looked at him questioningly.

“You know I can carry my own bag, right? I’m not that debilitated.”

“Maybe not, but after what I saw this morning, I don’t want you to be adding any unnecessary weight on that leg,” he said, taking the bag and putting the strap over his shoulder.

Shepard chuckled at that. Always the caretaker. She just wasn’t used to relying on anyone else to make things easier for her. “I guess I can’t argue with that. After you,” she finally agreed as she directed her hand towards the house, still fidgeting a bit thanks to her need to go to the bathroom.

He made his way up the steps and waited for Shepard to follow after him. “Well, I hope you’re ready to meet my family. I’m warning you now, they can be a bit much,” he said with a laugh, his hand hovering over the doorbell.

“I’m sure they’re fine. Even if I wasn’t ready, though, I’m about to pee my pants if this waits any longer.”

“Right,” he said with a smirk as he rang the bell.

As they waited, Shepard examined their surroundings. This was where Kaidan was raised. His childhood home. She never had anything like that, always changing ships, or being dropped off at boarding school while her mother was on active duty. She could see the appeal of having a place to always call home, not to mention being raised close to nature. It must have been nice, not that she begrudged her own upbringing by any means. It was just different. The house was very classic looking, made out of real wood, layered in soft hues of paint with a large porch on the front of the house that they were currently standing on. The property was stunning and bigger than she expected. Well kept, too, barely any signs of the war leftover. She didn’t really know what to expect when she agreed to come out here, but she was pleasantly surprised that they already managed to have it looking so good after the end of the war.

One of the windows must have been open, because they heard some shuffling from inside, followed by someone yelling.

“Kaidan’s here!!” they heard before there was a large commotion of thumping.

That made Shepard look at Kaidan, surprised. She wasn’t expecting such a reaction from an Alenko. She had envisioned them to be reserved and quiet. Then again, her only example to go off of was him, so that wasn’t necessarily a fair assessment.

“That was Maisie. She can be… enthusiastic. Acts like a teenager, even though she’s well into her twenties already. Like I said, they can be a bit much.”

“Ah,” Shepard said with a nod, still a little surprised from the complete contrast to Kaidan.

“I’ve already got it, Maisie. Calm down,” they heard someone shout back before the door opened.

Shepard got the briefest glimpse of the woman opening the door, before a blur of colour shot right past her. Said blur of colour jumped onto Kaidan, hugging him with what looked like the force of a death-grip. Kaidan promptly dropped the bags in his hands as he staggered backwards, nearly falling down the steps.

The woman that opened the door walked outside onto the porch, looking like she was trying to greet her brother as well. She had strikingly similar features to Kaidan, the same dark hair and eyes. There wasn’t any denying that they were related, likely Raiya, the oldest, if Shepard had to guess. There was something about her serious disposition that screamed maturity. She made eye contact with Shepard, and she stopped dead in her tracks. There was an expression of shock at seeing who Kaidan brought with him as his plus one. Shepard waved awkwardly as Kaidan’s younger sister was still dramatically hugging her brother.

“Aaah, I missed you so much. You’re the only cool sibling, you know that?!”

“I’m standing right here, Maisie,” the older sister said, finally moving her attention away from Shepard.

“Oh yeah. Forget I said that,” Maisie said, finally lowering herself from the hug, not even noticing the awkward silence filling the air behind her.

“The only reason you say that is because I’m the one gone long enough for you to miss me, you know,” Kaidan said as he smiled at her. It was one of warmth that looked like he was happy to be home, seeing his family again. Shepard couldn’t help but notice how good it looked on him.

Suddenly, the sound of a dish dropping came from one of the rooms in the house, prompting everyone to turn towards the noise. Shepard had a perfect view, noticing two other women in what looked to be a dining room just past the main foyer. Both of them stood there, staring. That must have been Kaidan’s mother and Libby. All of the Alenkos shared similar features, no denying their relation. Libby was acting flustered for having just dropped the dish as she bent to pick it up. Luckily it didn’t actually break, and they were examining if anything could be salvaged. Shepard couldn’t help but think she seemed a little perturbed, too. That was terrific. She was already making a horrible first impression, causing people to drop dishes.

With the commotion drawing everyone’s attention, Maisie was the last one to finally see Shepard standing there. “Holy shit,” she muttered out. She also had that trademark Alenko black hair, but hers had streaks of bright blue and pink running through it. From what little Shepard knew of her, she could already tell it matched her colourful personality.

All eyes were on Jane now, as she stood there awkwardly, immediately prompting her to look towards Kaidan. “I guess you forgot to tell them I was coming?” she said with a nervous laugh. She was usually the picture of confidence, able to keep her cool, yet somehow having the attention of all of the Alenko women on her was enough to make her anxious.

“Uh,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I told everyone I was using my plus one last night.”

“Yeah, sure, but none of us believed you!” Maisie said, hitting Kaidan in the abdomen with the back of her hand playfully.

“You also left out who it was that you were bringing,” Raiya cut in, sounding much less enthused than her lively sister.

“I didn’t think I had to,” Kaidan said, sounding a bit confused about everyone’s reaction.

“You didn’t think we’d be interested in knowing you were dating Commander Shepard?!” Maisie cut in sharply.

That made both Kaidan and Shepard go wide-eyed at each other, their mouths agape.

“That’s not- I never-” Kaidan said, stumbling over his words.

He was interrupted by the sound of Libby sniffling, and Kaidan’s mother comforting her and bringing her back into the kitchen.

Shepard stared at Kaidan in a way that was begging for help. Somehow, everything that could have gone wrong was going wrong and then some. She had no idea what to do in this situation, and she still had to go to the bathroom.

“Uh, right, Shepard has to use the bathroom,” he said, picking up their bags, and guiding her through the doorway and down the hall, his hand resting on her lower back.

“Aww, how cute! He calls her Shepard,” Maisie squeaked from behind them.

Kaidan dropped the bags by the bathroom door and gently grasped her shoulder to get her attention.

“I am so sorry, Shepard. I have no idea what that was or how they came to that conclusion. All I said is that I was using my plus one, I swear. I’ll go clear this up.”

“It’s okay,” she said. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to reassure Kaidan or herself at that point. It was a simple misunderstanding, but it wouldn’t help her own situation and how she was already feeling about Kaidan.

Kaidan gave her a quick nod before trying to go and smooth things over with his family.

She closed the door behind her. It was made out of thin plywood. The kind that was hollow in the middle, so as she closed it, she could still hear everything that was going on.

“Commander Shepard?! Kaidan, are you kidding me?” It was said with a scolding anger that Shepard wasn’t expecting.

“Libby,” he said, already sounding exasperated. “I told you I was bringing someone.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t say it was Commander Shepard! The whole point of a wedding is to celebrate the people getting married. No one’s going to care about Derek and me with her here!”

Well, that explained the anger then. This was an issue that she hadn’t even considered. When she joined the Alliance, gaining celebrity status wasn’t exactly on the agenda, but she had gained it all the same. It was even one of the reasons she had opted to come with Kaidan instead of staying in one of the refugee camps. Libby’s concerns were warranted, considering how much of a problem her fame had become even before the end of the war. She couldn’t land on the Citadel without being stopped by a reporter or people wanting to talk to her. It was even a bit of a problem at the hospital where she was staying in London, but they at least had security. How could she have not thought of this complication when agreeing to go to a wedding of all things? The last thing she wanted to do was steal Libby’s thunder during her own wedding. This sure had turned into a colossal mess much faster than she expected. That didn’t change the fact that she was already here, though, stuck in this situation for better or worse.

Shepard heard more muffled conversation through the door, so she put her ear flush up against it to hear better.

“Libby, you are so missing the point. When has Kaidan ever brought anyone home? That means they’re serious. How could you not have told me?”

That was definitely Maisie.

“Guys, I think everyone’s gotten the wrong ide-” Kaidan tried to cut in.

“Yeah, the Savior of the Galaxy, Kaidan? I don’t think any of us were expecting that.” It was Raiya this time.

“Hey, would you be quiet, please? She doesn’t like being called that. I didn’t bring her here to be paraded around. She’s still a real person underneath all of that, you know. It would be nice if you could all treat her like one.”

“Oooh, look at that, already coming to her defense. Kaidan’s got it bad. So just how serious are you two? Is there going to be another Alenko wedding in our future?”

“Guys, you’re all reading way too m-” He said, getting cut off yet again. He certainly came from a family of strong women, all fighting to be heard.

“All right! That’s enough. I swear, the moment all of you get into the same room together, it’s like you all revert back into being a bunch of wild children again,” Kaidan’s mother cut in. “Where have your manners gone? You’re almost all in your thirties for goodness sake. Whether you like it or not, Commander Shepard is a guest in our house, and we will treat her as such,” she scolded. It sounded like it did the trick if the following silence meant anything. “Kaidan, she seems lovely. I look forward to getting to know her better, but now, will everyone help me set the table. Please.” Shepard heard her huff out in exasperation.

That lecture wasn’t effective enough to completely stop the snarky behaviour, but everyone was speaking more quietly. It was harder to hear them through the door now. Shepard took that as reason enough to stop eavesdropping and finally went to relieve herself.

As soon as she was done and washed her hands, she exited the bathroom. She was almost startled by Kaidan pacing right in front of the door.

“Shepard, I think we have a problem.”

“So I heard,” she said, not being able to contain a smile. As much as this had become a stressful situation, the sheer absurdity of it was enough to make her want to laugh.

“Well, I’m glad you find it funny,” he said, her own smile bringing one out in him. “I’m really sorry. I can’t get a word in edgewise. I tried to tell them that we’re not - you know.”

“I heard. I know,” she assured him. She wanted him to know she didn’t harbour any ill will towards him over the confusion. “It was a simple misunderstanding. I’m sure we can smooth things over when they calm down.”

“If they ever calm down,” Kaidan huffed out seriously, as his gaze drifted off in frustration. “I haven’t seen them so determined to believe something before in my life.”

That didn’t bode well.

“I guess the most we can do is just keep emphasising that we’re not actually together,” he said. The words stung more than she expected. “Hopefully, they’ll get the picture eventually.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Shepard said, not sounding very enthusiastic about it, but it was all they had.

“I’m really sorry about the confusion. I really didn’t even think to mention it was you I was bringing. I guess to them, you’re still larger than life. To me, you’re my friend, which is who I said I was bringing. They somehow made up their own narrative about it. I didn’t think it needed to be explained more at the time. In hindsight, I can definitely see where I went wrong,” he said, sounding genuinely apologetic.

“It’s okay, Kaidan. I know you wouldn’t have done something like this on purpose. Don’t worry about it. We stick to the truth enough, I’m sure they’ll follow suit eventually.”

Kaidan nodded, still upset for having caused such a misunderstanding. “Okay,” he said, not sounding entirely convinced with the idea. “I guess we should get back to them. The table’s set, and they’re waiting for us.”

Shepard nodded in agreement, so Kaidan turned to lead them towards the dining room.

When they finally got there, Libby was still scathing. Definitely off on the wrong foot with her, it would seem. Shepard figured she’d have to try extra hard to get on her good side now, already tarnishing something that was supposed to be a special time for her. Kaidan’s mother and Maisie at least greeted her with a friendly smile that helped her feel welcome. Raiya was harder to grasp, not giving up any outward judgments through appearance alone. This was going to be one hell of a week. The silence was so awkward, Shepard just offered a smile to everyone for a moment, before glancing back to Kaidan for help.

“Uh, right. Well, is everyone ready to eat, then?” he asked, looking around the room. “Mom and Libby have been working on a big meal all morning.”

“Oh,” Shepard said, finally looking at the table setting. There was a big roast prepared and plenty of fresh vegetables and potatoes. It looked like quite the feast. “Everything looks amazing. I haven’t had a good, fresh meal in a long time.”

“Oh, well, in that case, let’s dig in, shall we?” Kaidan’s mother said with a big smile, proud of her accomplishments, and happy to see that her hard work would be appreciated by someone. She was the first to sit, taking the head of the table. “No need for manners now, just grab whatever you want,” she said, pointing to the chairs to prompt everyone to follow suit.

Jane looked at Kaidan to follow his direction. She wanted to make sure she wasn’t stealing anyone’s spot or stepping on even more toes. He quickly took notice that she was waiting for his lead, and went to pull out a chair for her.

“Oooh, look at that, Kaidan’s being such a gentleman,” Maisie said as she sat at the foot of the table.

“Yeah, about that,” Kaidan spoke up. “Shepard and I are not together,” he finally managed to get out without being interrupted. It was a relief to both of them.

“Oh come on,” Maisie said with a laugh as she started dishing some food onto her plate. “With the way you’ve been acting? There’s no way that’s true. If you’re just trying to downplay whatever’s going on between the two of you to avoid breaking the regs or something, you should know that your secret’s safe with us.”

Kaidan let out a sigh, and rubbed his forehead, hardly able to believe that this was happening.

“All right. That’s enough, Maisie. Leave them alone.”

Maisie finally listened to that well enough, but something about the whole situation didn’t seem very finalized.

Kaidan quickly acted as though everything was normal and plated some pot roast before passing it on to Shepard, which is when he broke into the conversation again. “We didn’t get to do any actual introductions, so--”

“Wait, no. I think I have a pretty good idea of who everyone must be,” Shepard said as she took a piece of the pot roast before passing the plate. She figured maybe showing a genuine interest in them might put her back on their good side.

“You have to be Maisie. Awesome hair, by the way,” she said with a genuine smile.

“Thank you,” Maisie said with a smile, glancing over to her sisters with an impressed look on her face.

Continuing around the table, “You must be Libby, and uh, I just wanted to say congratulations. This must be such an exciting time for you,” she said, trying to be extra nice.

Libby said a quiet ‘thanks’ as reciprocation, clearly not happy still, but at least trying to maintain pleasantries. Shepard just nodded at that, knowing that things weren’t going to be smoothed over for her unless she was assured that her wedding day could go off smoothly. That was an issue for another time, though.

“Raiya,” she said with a smile. Raiya just nodded, smiling back. Shepard still wasn’t exactly sure how to read her yet, but she supposed it was better than Libby. Shepard glanced at Kaidan for confirmation after that. The look he gave her was even more surprised than when he learned that she remembered all of their names. It was almost as though he hadn’t expected her to pay attention all those times he discussed his family with her. Especially not to have enough detail to have determined who everyone was on her own. She gave him a warm smile as she tried to move on to the last woman in the room.

“Not together, my ass,” Maisie mumbled under her breath in a way that was still audible to everyone else in the room, and Kaidan rolled his eyes.

Shepard wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so after a bit of an awkward pause, she continued. “And that leaves you, Mrs. Alenko. I’m sorry, but I never actually got your first name.”

“That was impressive. We’re a big group to have gotten everyone right. You can call me Ada.”

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet all of you,” Shepard said.

Maisie just stared at Shepard blankly before looking around the table. “Oh, come on! Seriously? They’re clearly together.”

Shepard and Kaidan shared a bit of a concerned look between the two of them. Apparently, her plan to get on everyone’s good side was just making this other issue of theirs worse, and now she regretted it.

“Just ignore her,” Ada interrupted. “What about you, though. Surely the great Commander Shepard must have a first name. It’s surprisingly well hidden from the public. I can’t say that I’ve ever heard it.”

Shepard had to laugh at that. It was somehow surprisingly well-hidden. Not only from the public, but even from people she was close to in her real life. Everyone had always called her Shepard ever since she was young. Likely a side effect of growing up in the military. Come to think of it, the only people that ever really called her Jane was her own mother, and Kaidan. Kaidan had only ever used that name briefly when they were together, though, and quickly reverted back to Shepard ever since.

“I do have one. Shocking, I know. It’s Jane.”

Ada gave her a genuine smile at that. “Well, it’s lovely to meet you, Jane.”

Shepard smiled back at the sincerity of it. She figured it must be strange to meet ‘Commander Shepard’ given her service record and media coverage. Maybe ‘Jane’ would be a little easier to see the person underneath all of that. This was supposed to be shore leave after all—a personal trip with a friend on top of that. If ever there was a time to put her rank aside and be Jane, it was now.

“The feeling is mutual. Kaidan’s told me so much about all of you. It’s nice to finally put faces to the names,” Shepard said.

Ada smiled at that, and everyone took a moment to eat. It took Maisie a second longer than everyone else to start eating as she sat there looking like she was about to burst. She clearly wanted to say more but didn’t want to be yelled at by her mother.

“Well, I hope you’re okay with waiting a bit before you can settle in. Kaidan only told us last night that he’d be bringing someone.”

“Sorry about that,” Shepard cut in. “You can blame that one on me. I was actually only just released from the hospital, so it was on short notice for everyone.”

“Oh no, I didn’t realise you were still recovering. Your injuries must have been quite serious.”

“You could say that,” Shepard said, warily, not really wanting to relive the worst of it right now. “I guess the important part is that I’m doing much better now,” she said, as she glanced over to Kaidan momentarily. She was almost surprised to see a look of genuine gratitude at the statement before she looked back to Ada. “I still need to be doing the exercises they’ve been teaching me in physical therapy, but I’ve been feeling much more like myself over the last month.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear you’re doing better,” she said with a warm smile. “Anyway, I hope you don’t mind sharing a room. With all of the kids back at the house again, we’re at capacity.”

Being a soldier, sleeping in close quarters with someone was hardly an issue. Her only problem with it was remembering what it felt like to wake up in the same room as him earlier that day back in Vancouver. It did nothing but make her feel worse about her current situation and constantly being reminded of her feelings for him. Then again, it was better than being temporarily homeless.

“No, that’s fine. Don’t even worry about it. I’m just thankful for the hospitality.”

Maisie flung her arms out in frustration, before crossing them indignantly, clearly wanting to say something again. Shepard mentally chastised herself for continuously shoving her foot deeper in her mouth.

“If I have anything to say about it, you’re always welcome here, Jane,” Ada said with a cheerful smile, completely ignoring her youngest child. “I’ll have your room ready in a few hours after I get a chance to wash the sheets and everything.”

“Oh, mom, that’s okay. You don’t have to go out of your way or anything. We can set up the room,” Kaidan cut in.

“No, no, don’t be silly. Your time here is so limited, and Jane’s a guest. You should take her around the property after lunch. There’s a lot to see. The apples aren’t quite ready to bloom yet, but the leaves have all come back and are such nice shades of green. The orchard looks so pretty. You should go enjoy yourselves.”

“Are you sure?” Kaidan asked. It almost looked like it pained him to think that he had inconvenienced his mom. Shepard wouldn’t put it past him. The man never liked to feel like he was a burden.

“Of course I’m sure, now quit asking.”

Kaidan nodded at that reluctantly, accepting that his mother wasn’t going to budge on the issue.

Everyone continued with their lunch, having a passing conversation. Ada’s warm disposition was already making her feel incredibly welcome, so she figured that was at least one good thing out of this whole situation. As for everyone else, it seemed like she’d be keeping herself plenty busy trying to smooth things over.

#my fic on tumblr #f!Shepard/Kaidan Alenko #f!Shepard x Kaidan Alenko #f!Shepard #Kaidan Alenko #mass effect #fanfiction #mass effect fanfiction #friends to lovers #angst #mini slow burn #my writing

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whitewolfbumble · 6 years ago

Text

Expressions of Love - Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: You have the ability of physical attraction- more a curse than a power- that makes you a particular asset to the team. Distancing yourself for your own protection and while personally knowing nothing of love, you thought of yourself as somewhat of an expert on the topic when it came to the members of the team. All except Steve, who you were closest with and for some reason couldn’t keep away from.

Prompt: “I keep drawing you in my sketchbook because I’ve always found you to be beautiful and I’m longing to tell you how I feel, but one day you find it and you have questions”

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: People get unwantedly handsy/gropey with you and there is low-grade recurring trauma from it (please don’t read if you think that in any way would bother/trigger you!), a fight breaks out, Reader is a bit touch-starved, kinda hurt/comfort?, Protective!Steve is protective,

Word Count: 8k

A/N: Somehow this is my first Steve Rogers x Reader fic??? And it happens to be for @stanclub’s 2.5 Writing Challenge! Hope you enjoy darling!

MY MASTERLIST // JOIN MY TAG LIST

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“We could use a distraction here,” Nat said lowly in the comm, crouched behind the safety of a large tree some distance away, blasts and gunshots ringing through the air. “This isn’t a cell group at all.”

“It’s a small army out here,” Bucky said, finishing her thought with the ratatat of his machine gun pinging off.

You were already off the quinjet at that point, boots softly crunching down on the thin and hard layer of snow that covered the forest. Without the sun for warmth on this blue-grey morning it wasn’t all too bad out, leaving you in a long-sleeved shirt, trimmed vest, and fingerless gloves that had you blending into the scenery. The elements weren’t what you needed to be hidden away from anyway, but a group of high-tech extremists whose base was a few hundred metres ahead.

The team was already engaging them, the fight starting off easy and as planned, but was fast devolving into something far more precarious and bloody.

“I’m making my way over, just tell me when,” you said.

“Y/N,” Steve responded. “We’ll manage here on our own, I don’t w-”

A yelp rang through the air, jarring and pained. The sound stopped you in your tracks, footsteps faltering. It lasted only a moment.

“Clint’s hit!” Nat said.

If the first sound caused you stop still, that one made you sprint into action, the crunch of footfalls hitting the ground hard as you took off sprinting. The deep of the woods did nothing to impede you, weaving through statuesque trees and bare brambles to get to your companions in the fray.

“It’s bad,” she continued after a moment, voice tight in her throat between your heavy puffs of air as you ran. “We need to get him out of here now.”

You soon saw the team up ahead, their figures muted through the hazy cold of the morning and coming in flashes of colour. Black for Nat and purple for Clint, huddled together and struggling to stand. Black and silver for Bucky, providing cover for the pair as his gun didn’t stop firing and determination didn’t falter a second. The deep blue of Steve, shield whipping out and back to his hand faster than you could track. A flash the red and gold for Tony, flying through the tops of the trees while dodging fiery blasts. Another shot of red was Thor, barreling on top of tanks and throwing down Mjolnir to crumble the metal below his feet.

But the dark green-clad figures of the enemy were everywhere and for every one the Avengers took down, it was like two more rose in their place. Often times on missions you were outmanned- that wasn’t anything new- but this was brutally so, and clearly here you were vastly out-gunned too.

“There aren’t too many, it’ll be fine,” you said between clenched teeth, looking out to the scene in front of you and trying not to let the gritty apprehension you felt settle into your bones. “Call it, Captain. I’ll be ready.”

You saw Steve fighting straight ahead, throwing punches as Tony whipped by him, momentarily clearing the way for him to speak.

“Alright, but we’ll be right here,” he assured, a concerned edge to his voice as there always was when you did this. He turned from his position if only briefly to try and spot you through the trees. For a second his eyes held yours. “We’ve got you, Y/N.”

You nodded as he turned back to the fight, somewhat encouraged by his words even if your hands were shaking just slightly. You sidestepped out from being half-hidden behind a tree trunk and into the small clearing in front of you.

You took several deep slow breaths, purposefully exhaling out your power into the space around you. It filled this morning winter scene, seeking out the enemies the Avengers were fighting against. In your mind you focused on the green-clad men, just focusing and breathing and letting your power trickle free, coming loose from some hidden place inside you.

“Look out team,” you said in warning, voice suddenly calm and smooth, matching the expression on your face as you kept your eyes closed.

Your hands weren’t shaking any more as one raised in front of you, holding it out as though reaching for something.

The gunshots suddenly stopping short was the first sign, and the second was the crunching of snow as innumerable footsteps began to move closer to you, slow and steady.

Cracking open your eyes as you felt a firm and steady handle on the power seeping from you, you saw them coming closer, emerging from the forest like the living dead. Their eyes were transfixed on you singularly and their hearts beat under their chest a mile a minute, a chorus flooding the forest with the sound of drums.

You were “calling” them to you in a sense and it set off a longing for you so deep in their souls and bodies that they lost sight of the fight, each other, and themselves in the process. The only thing they wanted in that moment was you and you alone. It was something primal and all-consuming.

And that was your ability; to have people desire you so deeply it consumed and clouded them from everything but you.

Nat and Clint, with the help of Vision, were well on their way to the quinjet and part of you hummed with ease at that. With the mob of people slowly making their way to you, the rest of the team worked to incapacitate them as fast as they could. Through training and focus your teammates could fight your abilities somewhat- and you did you best not to target them- but it was an unspoken struggle on both sides.

Still, the mass of dark-clad and faceless people kept coming in droves, despite how many the team were getting too. God, you should have started this farther back, you didn’t realize their numbers as they practically emerged from the woodwork to surround you.

You felt a hand grip your shoulder, wretching you back and trying to take hold of you. Without breaking concentration you took hold of their hand, ripping it off of you and half-turning your body to snap their wrist bone, sending the assailant to their knees. With a kick to the head they were out like a light and you were back to the matter at hand.

The facts were that you didn’t have super strength, you weren’t a super spy with super skills, and if you snapped the mob out of this before they got to you, there was no guarantee all of them would actually stop their insatiable want for you. You were trusting the team to incapacitate them in time, and they were trusting you to hold out long enough for them to do so.

Sometimes the longer you held people under your sway the more crazed they got, and sometimes the longer you held them the harder it was to keep it up. It just depended on the individual, and in a mob like this, you had to use a significant amount of your power to keep everyone under the same level of influence. Meaning you were now piling on the power to those who were already crazed enough.

Another hand, this time on your hip, gripped you. Before you could so much as move you saw someone appear from the side and grab you across your waist. Another wrapped their arms around you from behind, trying to rip you away from the other two.

Shit!

“Let go Y/N!” shouted someone, but frantically above the encroaching mob like a sea of dark green in front of you, you couldn’t tell who.

You swung out elbows and used just about every maneuver Clint, Nat, Bucky, and Steve had collectively taught you, but it was too much. Too many hands now began to cover your body, scratching at you and pulling your skin and your clothes and your hair. Your vest was torn in two, one boot ripped off, and you felt the heat of blood cooling fast all over as your skin was torn open under fingernails.

You pulled back your power like a rubber band, hoping that whoever of the mob was left would still be dazed enough for the team to take them down before they could start firing again.

In a rush you were pulled down to the ground with countless people falling on top of you, crushing and stealing the air from your lungs in a bone-rattling thud. You couldn’t breathe- could barely move- as people consumed and overwhelmed every sense you had.

As you felt yourself drowning in skin and pressure that made you want to scream, a sudden hit of cold air entered your lungs. It was the sweetest you had ever tasted, bodies being thrown off of you and the shining glimmer from a shield, a hammer, and a metal suit flashing somewhere through the crushing mob.

A deep navy-clad arm reached down by way of life raft and you scrambled to grip it through the horde covering you. The arm roughly pulled you up and out of the clutches of the mob, and you launched yourself towards the body it was attached too. You gripped the frame of Steve as he held you tightly, holding you firm to his body and sprinting from the mob as though you weighed nothing.

You were jostled hard for a few moments before you were carefully set down against a tree. Eyes closed, you breathed deep, shaking breathes of the cold, clear air. As you did, you felt the feather-light touches of his hands searching across the tattered, barely held together garments that hung from you. It was blissfully so unlike the hard, demanding gropes of countless hands that were just trying to tear you apart.

You wanted to commit that feeling to memory forever, to hold that feeling close to you in the dead of night when you woke up terrified from nightmares and gasping for freedom. You wanted those light, caring, deft fingertips and broad, warm, caressing hands on you always, to shake away every other horrible feeling of unwanted flesh groping yours.

Only after a moment of his studying your frame for serious injury did you open your eyes, looking up to the super soldier. His light blue eyes were a picture of concern, brimming with emotions rippling through his eyes too fast for you to decipher in your spent state. You felt the ghost of his fingers cradle your jaw, the other settling lightly on your hip to steady you.

“Tell me that helped,” you murmured shakily, grabbing onto his arm as though grounding yourself to the safe presence that was your dear friend. “Or at least lie to me if it wasn’t?”

“It helped,” he said, his light blue eyes shining again as though sunlight glinting off the ocean. Now you were aware enough to see a calm and relief spread through his muscles as you spoke and joked, signaling to him you were fine. “I don’t need to lie about that.”

You gripped him tighter, trying to move to get up, screwing your eyes shut against the sharp flashes and throbbing pulses of pain that moved through you.

“No, you’re done here,” he said, words firm and kind, keeping you from moving. When he spoke next it was into the comm. “Y/N’s okay, I’m getting her back to the jet. Let’s get this wrapped up.”

When he picked you up it was both fast and hesitant, and you couldn’t understand why, but then again, you never could. It was always Steve to get you, who pulled you from danger long before your stupidly self-sacrificing nature would allow. Always Steve who gently set you down and created a wall of protection with his own body. Always Steve who lightly touched you, checking for injury with those caressing fingers and under those caring eyes. Always Steve who picked you up and carried you back to the safety of the quinjet or a safehouse or home base.

It was always him, and you knew somewhere deep that it would only be him. Though it remained some unspoken, unacknowledged secret, neither of you would allow anyone else to.

So when he held you to his body, you found your favourite spot against him, head pressed gently into the crook of his neck, pain be damned, and focused on what could anchor you to him in this moment. His scent of sweat and adrenalin and clean soap filled your nose. The only thing you could see was him. The only feeling you focused on was his muscles under you and the cage of his arms, firm but gentle, hesitant but confident.

“I’m alright,” you whispered into his skin. Maybe to steady him, maybe to steady yourself. You didn’t know. “I’m okay… I’m okay.”

The words were punctuated with watery tears building, seeping from your eyes and down his neck. They formed and spilled as you felt this episode added to the black swirl of nightmares ever-churning at the back of your mind. You swallowed, trying to force down the whole thing from your mind but it didn’t work. It never did.

A venom and bitterness sprung up in your mouth as you pushed yourself closer to him, a loathing spreading through as it always did after using your ability.

You hated it. Hated using it. Manipulating people to “love” you and want you? It was sick and twisted and deplorable and you hated it. Far beyond just the injuries it caused you.

But the rational part of your mind reasoned, as it always did, that you saved your team members. It was a mantra that was getting old. They could have called in Bruce or you could have insisted they did, but the casualties would have been so much higher.

So you held on to Steve and he held you together.

______

A week later after the mission was done, the enemy rounded up and shipped to the Raft courtesy of Ross, things had eased back into the usual running of things, as it always did.

Through the afternoon, as was customary, the rest of the team had been getting ready and heading out for their respective Friday night plans. Even Clint was well enough now to head back home for some deserved rest and relaxation.

It left you and Steve at the kitchen island, him reading the newspaper and you sipping a cup of calming tea, while Bucky and Nat were grabbing a bottle of water post-training and pre-date night. The airy space seemed all the brighter and energetic with those two here.

“C’mon, Y/N,” called out Bucky to you, though his eyes remained on Natasha, a small mischievous smile on his face as she finished the water bottle. “I think it’s time you snapped me out of this already.”

Natasha rolled her eyes at the brunette super soldier, not seeming overly bothered as you turned back down to your tea warming your hands.

“I told you Buck,” you said, taking a sip as you watched the flirting couple, a sad tinge of envy nagging at you. “This is definitely not me.”

“Oh? So, you taught Nat your ways, did you?” he teased, following closely behind the redhead as she walked out of the kitchen, hand on her hip and satisfied curve on his lips.

She could lead him to the end of the world and he’d probably follow. You had yet to see the love they had for each other reach a limit yet.

Expressions of love across the team were as varied as the members themselves you had found since joining them.

It was impossible not to see Bucky’s smirk of adoration when he sat back and watched Nat train or kick ass or even just walked by him. She was more apt for soft teases in close quarters (which he was picking up on now too, apparently) or colding demolishing anyone on the battlefield that so much as looked at Bucky in a way she didn’t like. He loved sitting back and watching her be her, while her attitude was one of “I can toy with him but don’t you even think about it”.

Tony was devoted eternally and completely to Pepper. Sometimes his gestures for her sparked teasing discussions about what terrible or inconsiderate thing he had done this time. But guilt was never his motivation with her. His constant striving to do right by her filled his mind and thoughts constantly. He was astounded by her, talking a mile a minute to hide the fact that a hundred of his words would only equal one word spoken from her lips. She, on the other hand, was generally the level-headed, cooling, and calming presence to his genius, scattered life. She brought balance to him: joy when he was upset, calm when he was anxious, and a fiery spirit of challenge when he needed a kick in the pants.

Bruce had Betty, though that was hardly a traditional relationship. Distance was how he showed his love for her, refusing to allow himself even the possibility of hurting her. So not exactly a touchy-feeling situation, for obvious reasons. You hadn’t actually met her yet, only seeing pictures and hearing Bruce’s soft words of praise. A particular demure smile would follow whenever he mentioned her, usually followed by a fond-feeling silence.

Sam had a few relationships in your time here, with his smile wider, jokes lighter, and praises readily given to those around him when he found someone new that caught his eye. It was very easy to tell with him when were was someone new in his life, with joy positively beaming from him the moment he walked into a room.

Clint would talk of his acts of service when he returned back to the compound after seeing his family. How he put new flooring in the dining room because Laura’s sock got caught on a loose floorboard and almost made her trip with the newest family addition in her arms. Or that he took out a linen closet to add another walk-in closet for her, because the thought of asking her to purge some of her clothes didn’t even enter his mind. Anything she needed, he readily gave without her needing to ask.

Vision talked a lot to Wanda. He was constantly trying to find the right words to put a smile on her face or hear that twinkling laugh from her. While Wanda herself was more patient with him than anyone else, a happy gleam in her eyes and wry smile on her lips as Vision talked on (and on… and on…).

Now Steve? Well, you had yet to really pinpoint his defining characteristic yet. You could say he was gentlemanly, fair, considerate, fought endlessly for those he loved. But romantic love? You had yet to really see him in love or even in moderate like yet. Even with Natasha and the others offering up possible options for company on a Friday night, similar as they did with you. And like you, he always declined.

It sat like a stone brick in your stomach, thinking of the day when he would give in and say yes. To know someone else would get those light touches or breathe him in or spend your Friday night together as you had been, eating and talking and watching movies together.

But you had made it another week with him politely declining the offer for a blind date. Thank goodness. So once Nat and Bucky were out of the kitchen and the coast was clear, you hopped off your stool, walking around to roll up your sleeves and washed your hands.

“What’re we feeling tonight?” you asked, happily settling into the quiet of the evening and your usual Friday night routine with the only other single member of the team.

“Last week was fajitas?” Steve asked, setting down the paper mirroring your movements, sliding up beside you and washing his hands at the same time.

As usual, you felt the brush of his hip against yours. You smiled to yourself, happier than you had been in a week that he was still here with you and not off on some date with some woman.

“Yeah, I think we have chicken left in the freezer? I can quick thaw that and maybe we have something to make a casserole?”

Steve turned to the cupboard while you turned to the freezer, the two of you moving like a well-oiled machine. You pulled the chicken out of the freezer, popping it in the microwave while Steve rummaged through the cans and dry goods. You could picture the look slight concentration on his face and the bright blue of his eyes.

“Hmm, cream of broccoli?” he asked, throwing a can lightly over his shoulder.

You smiled, holding back a laugh as you caught it deftly, while the other one that immediately followed wasn’t so graceful.

“You’re getting good at that,” he noted, glancing your way with that winning grin of his as he pulled out a can opener.

“Well, this is what, the twenty-sixth Friday in a row?” Steve saddled up to you again, arm brushing against yours as he started cracking open those cans. Maybe you shouldn’t feel so contented by the feel of him so close, but he was about the only one you’d let touch you outside of hand-to-hand combat training…. And even then, that was still mostly only Steve, actually. “I should be the best at this point.”

“Rice is on the counter,” he said, nodding back behind him with his grin only increasing.

“And I heave a big sigh of relief you didn’t throw that,” you remarked cheekily, bumping your shoulder on his arm as you went to put on the rice.

You could almost sense the eye roll and feel the warmth of his smile.

“I’ll never be able to apologize enough for that one, huh.”

“Considering that was the fourth Friday? Probably not.”

And so it continued as it always did, with easy grins, light brushes of skin on skin, friendly chatter with your… well, you were sure what to call Steve, really.

“Teammate” was too distant a word. He might be your friend, but he probably wasn’t your best friend, since he had Bucky. Can you be best friends with someone if they weren’t best friends with you? You’d ask yourself this before, with still no real definitive answer.

Relationships weren’t exactly your forté, considering you had to distance yourself from anyone and everyone, and certainly all those from your past. When your power was developing, it had been out of necessity. You weren’t in control of powers when it first started developing when you were a young teenager. Suddenly having to fight or flee became your life as the people around you were drawn to you beyond their control or yours.

It had been a dark time in your life. You had forced yourself to run away, to be alone, to not risk getting close to anyone. Even after you did have more control over your abilities, there was a distance you kept from those around you. Because what if you slipped up and you couldn’t get away?

But light came back to your life once you found the Avengers. And things got every brighter when you got closer to Steve. When you found yourself able to touch another person again without fear. When you trusted him to not only be able to protect himself from you but protect you from others. When you found yourself able to have him touch you. When you started living for those brief moments.

So while learning everything you could about Sam’s new girl (an old friend from the military days) both of you were too wrapped up in conversation to notice his arm up against yours on the island counter. That little bit of warmth from his skin and the cooling calm of those blue eyes filled you with ease and relaxed each and every muscle down to your toes.

You both were also too wrapped up in each other that you didn’t remember the casserole until it was far, far too late.

Your face quirked, eyebrows pulled together and chin lifted up a bit. You looked around the kitchen, sensing something off but not quite able to pinpoint what. Steve lightly took your hand, eyes searching yours for a moment.

“Is something... burning?” you asked, turning back to him.

Realization hit you both at once, Steve rolling his eyes at his lack of awareness and you both shot off your stools at the same time, sprinting around the island towards the oven.

The moment Steve opened up the oven a plume of smoke billowed out and took over the whole kitchen, the grey swirls pooling in a massive cloud at the ceiling. Both of you were reduced to coughs and sputters, him looking a bit amused and you looking rather abysmal. You were starving at this point, your stomach growling at the exact moment Steve reached in and gingerly pulled out the almost comically blackened casserole.

Not a moment later, the fire alarm started beeping at its most intrusive, ear-shattering pitch.

Both of you took to fanning the room with tea towels, still sputtering in the grey haze though this was a bit of a lost cause and you both knew it.

“It’s like the fourth Friday all over again,” he said loudly over the alarm.

“I’m surprised after the disaster of that night we still kept doing this,” you pointed out, earning a smirk from him. “Alright Captain, call it.”

His smile stayed, looking rather silly with his large muscled body fanning the air with a tiny tea towel to just about no avail.

“Team decision,” he said as his eyebrows pulled together with the same mock seriousness as you, though he couldn’t manage to dash the smile from his face. “Pizza or Thai?”

“Pizza,” you nodded firmly though your eyes began to burn a bit. “You stay and clean, and I’ll pick it up?”

“Affirmative,” he agreed, coughing as he waved smoke in front of his face. You grabbed your sweater slung on the back of the stool and dashed out, smiling as you left the poor thing to this disaster.

_______

You announced yourself by way of a slamming door and hard footsteps booming through the compound. Steve knew something was wrong before you even walked in, hearing how angry and upset you were before you entered the cleaned and much less smoky kitchen.

You blew into the white open space, your eyes red and watery and mouth set into a hard, angry line.

“What is it?” he asked before catching a good look at you. Once he did see the state you were in his tone turned into the same one he had on missions: firmer and deeper. “Y/N, what happened? Are you alright?”

You were already bee-lining right for him but he was too quick and met you halfway, coming right up to you with concern flashing hard and deep in his eyes. He grabbed the pizza boxes from your hands and set them blindly down on the kitchen island behind him, eyes flitting between yours.

“Some assholes at the pizza place,” you commented, running your hand through your hair, anxiety still rocking through you. “Some upstate frat boys here for the weekend, thinking they’re the irresistible ones and I’m some dumb piece of ass that likes being threatened and grabbed.”

“What did they do?” It was less a question and more a threat of action from the soldier. His bright blue eyes became dark and stormy instantly and you saw his fists clench and unclench beside him.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat (unsuccessfully) and before you leaned into the man in front of you, seeking out your favourite spot between his shoulder and neck, you moved away. You passed the brick house of a man, heading for the fridge and one of Clint’s beers. You grabbed two, both for you.

“It’s fine Steve,” you said, still upset and eyes still a puffy, watery mess. “I’m alright.”

You took a swig of the beer, feeling that warm presence walking up behind you. You turned, leaning back against the edge of the counter and tried to keep those burning tears from spilling over.

“I’m okay,” you said once you put down the beer on the counter. It didn’t sound all too convincing though, and you looked up to Steve, wondering if for one he believed it.

You had to admit that look in his eyes, though intense, was familiar and comforting. You were close enough to breathe in that clean smell of his. Feel the pleasant heat radiating off of him. Compounded with your racing heart and longing to feel him and the security he gave, you gave in.

Sighing, you held your elbows and leaned forward, resting your forehead against Steve’s chest.

“I’m okay.”

You felt his hands come up your back, hovering above the thin fabric of your shirt before connecting, holding you lightly, then closely. He wrapped his arms around you, so familiar and comforting. The both of you moved together, body pressing together out of habit and clicking together like puzzle pieces. You felt his fingers thread lightly through the ends of your hair, his other hand splayed out warmly, helping to ease the light shivering he felt moving through your spine.

When he spoke it was soft, leaning down to your ear, that soothing protective tone washing through you.

“Y/N,” he said, low and smooth. “You left with a sweater on… Where is it?”

You screwed your eyes shut tighter, moving up to that spot between his shoulder and neck, breathing him in deeply.

“Those guys… It wasn’t even that bad,” you said, though it wasn’t too convincing and it wasn’t even the point. The act itself was shocking and unwelcome, but it was the trauma it brought up was the worst of it. It always was. “They just- well, one of them grabbed my arm. He wouldn’t let go and the other just wouldn’t back off. He practically pinned me against the counter… so I just punched him. Hard. Then zipped off my sweater so the other guy would let go and got out of there.”

Steve didn’t say anything for a moment, and usually he wasn’t at a loss for words. He was always ready to give hard and motivating speech when things got rough, or kind word to ease things over, or some snappy, biting remark to the enemy.

“Steve?” you swallowed, a feeling of guilt mixing in with the other twisting in your chest.

When he didn’t respond you felt your shoulders slag, sadness hitting you.

“I know, I’m an Avenger,” you rambled quickly, trying to fill the silence since he wouldn’t. You didn’t even look up to see what those blue eyes would tell you. “I know I shouldn’t have just punched the guy; I should have gotten out without going violent on him. But he wasn’t letting go and he was too close and you know I can’t handle that from anyone but you and yes I know how to get out of a hold like that but I wasn’t thinking I was just hurting and I’m sorry, alright?”

Your chest heaved against his, wrought with emotions and words tumbling too fast from our mouth to breathe.

“This isn’t your fault, Y/N,” Steve started, tone controlled but edged with something upset. Something hurting. You felt it. You knew that feeling. “I’m just angry. At them, that they touched you. I’m angry I wasn’t there to do something about it. I should have been there.”

At that he looked down to you but you didn’t meet his gaze, just wrapped your arms around his neck, breathing him in again.

“It’s just pizza,” you said after a moment, the shivering having stopped and emotions settling little by little at his words. “And it’s not that big a deal, I’m just… Well, I’m just me. I should expect this.”

“Don’t do that,” he said, firm tone coming out again as his head rested against yours. “This wasn’t you overreacting and it wasn’t your fault, Y/N.”

“Okay, but only if you don’t blame yourself for it either.”

You looked up then, seeing a twist to his lips that wasn’t quite a smile but certainly was confirmation of your assumption he’d somehow feel guilty over this. Although it wasn’t exactly accurate to say, still, leave it to Steve to feel upset over staying behind to clean up rather than getting pizza.

“No promises,” was his final verdict.

You closed your eyes, settling back into him. You probably should have backed away. You should have given him maybe what would have been a hollow but encouraging smile, something to show you were in fact okay. You would then make some remark about the pizza getting cold and grab some plates. The two of you would then sit at the kitchen, eating the cooled pizza and maybe eventually chatting. Maybe your arm would touch his again or your foot would move next to his or something. Neither of you would mention it, and that would be okay.

But you didn’t. You stayed, coiled up and wrapped up in him as you had done at the end of missions. But this time there had been no mission and there was no threat, no injury, no need for Steve to be the leader and take care of you like this. And yet there you were.

You wanted to say something to him, maybe to justify this connection or even try to make this last longer, but you couldn’t think of the words. Whatever Steve was thinking, maybe he couldn’t think of the words either.

He bent down a little, a noise of displeasure squeaking out of your throat without you meaning to, before his arm went to the top of your thighs, hoisting you up and carrying you in his arms. Your eyes went a bit wide but you certainly didn’t want to fight it or ask why and jinx it.

Steve paused a moment, handing you the opened beer bottle from the counter before you slowly took it from him. He then walked over to the edge of the counter and picked up pizza boxes with his free hand. He carried you in one arm and held your dinner in the other, as though neither weighed a thing. Admittedly, the pizza didn’t, but you were a different story.

Regardless you let the protest out of common decorum die in your throat as he walked you through the compound and to his room. You even reached out and opened the door as you got there.

Once the pair of your entered, you were greeted with the faintest smell that was Steve: sweat and soap and comfort. It was similar in style and configuration as most other bedrooms there were: a large bed on one wall with a door to the bathroom or closet on either side, and a couch, small table, and TV on the other half of the room. You had been Steve’s room a number of times- at least twenty-six times in fact- as was the second part to your usual Friday tradition.

Yes, Steve had a love for training and fitness and leading and strategizing. But the quieter side to him love the contemplation of certain activities like reading, or visiting museums, or listening to music. So along those lines the two of you began to watch films together on Fridays after dinner, picking one popular or critically acclaimed movie from each year since he went under the ice. It brought the modern world into view for him, caught him up perhaps on some things he missed, and you weren’t exactly a gym-buff yourself so this was a nice compromise for you too.

The two of you had just hit the seventies.

The pizza boxes hit the little coffee table with a satisfied thunk, but you were lowered to the couch a lot softer and certainly with more care. Steve sat with you, still holding on, though his grip loosened enough for you to lean back a little, showing him a soft smile.

There was a long moment where he didn’t move and neither did you. A thought was on the tip of Steve’s tongue, heavy and intent. But before he spoke his expression and tone shifted, coming lighter than you expected.

“Sam let me borrow tonight’s movie; want to eat and watch?” he said instead, giving you the feeling that it wasn’t what he had wanted to say.

“Sure,” you nodded, and it made you wondered if you have ever actually told him “no” before…

Steve got up with a smile, apparently choosing to put aside whatever it was on his mind and what had happened to you tonight. Of that last one you were thankful. You wanted him and pizza and a movie, the reality of everything else be damned.

“I thought Sam had given it to me,” he said, rummaging through the draw of the TV stand. “I thought I brought it back here…”

“Maybe he took it back?”

“Maybe,” he said, mulling it over but not convinced. “He gave it to me in the lounge. It might still be there, I’ll be right back.”

You watched him leave, debating as soon as he left whether to grab a slice of pizza. But your appetite wasn’t back yet really. Instead you brought your legs up to your chest, looking around the familiar room and waited.

Usually you would get into some comfy sweatpants post-dinner in your room, letting Steve clean up any unmentionables you doubted he actually left around his space. As you glanced around the room, that assumption seemed correct. Everything was tidy and neat, clearly the days in the army sticking with him as you had noted on occasion before.

After a minute you got up, spotting something on the nightstand that looked like a DVD case. It was tucked half under a large leather-bound book.

“I think I got it, Steve,” you shouted out, him probably not hearing you. You were about to call out again, but that leather book caught your eye. In all your time here, you couldn’t remember seeing it before.

Curiosity winning over any degree of boundaries, you put the DVD down and picked the book up.

You realized once you opened it that it was a sketchbook.

You flipped through wondering if this was something from his old days that Tony was able to dig up for him, but you noticed a drawing of the Avengers building, then the view of the lake from the compound. You were a bit surprised, considering how full this sketchbook seemed though never once had you spotted Steve sketching.

It was beautiful, Steve’s hands deft at bringing intricate details alive on the page. There were landscapes and architecture, all poised and full of life and realism, shadow and light. It was simply stunning.

But you frowned when you saw one of you.

It’s not that it wasn’t beautiful because it was, wonderfully so, and certainly a more flattering light than you thought you deserved. But you didn’t think you were worth taking up a space in a book so masterfully done as this was.

Flipping through you saw another one, this time you were holding a cup of coffee and looking out the kitchen window- nothing particularly special about it to note in a sketchbook- but the look you had was serene and joyful.

The next page was you asleep on the couch from this room.

The next was you again, this time with your eyes coloured in. It was the only colour in the book so far, everything else in charcoal grey.

You flipped the page over, and there you were, the colour in your eyes again but this time a better match than the last one.

As you turned page after page, they were all of you, the colour of your eyes the only colour on each page. The hues shifted slightly and changed as it went, but eventually you realized that he had been experimenting with it. Steve was clearly eventually able to find the exact right shade and intensity, and as you went through page after page after page, you saw that colour gleaming right off the page at you.

Steve had walked in so quietly you hadn’t realized, until a bit breathlessly you looked up, your eyes locked to his unreadable ones.

You held the book, not speaking for a moment as you looked at him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you said, voice airy and shocked.

“The sketches they aren’t-” he began, not able to find the right words. “The sketches are just… I was just…”

“No, Steve,” you said quietly, knowing from the care and detail and sheer volume this wasn’t an exercise in practicing drawing a figure. These sketches spoke a thousand words and more. “Why didn’t you tell me about- about how you felt about me?”

Silence filled the room, getting heavier as his skin on his cheeks tinged redder.

Steve wasn’t one to back down from a confrontation or fight, and though this was neither, he didn’t back down now. It took a moment, but his gaze was steady as was his voice.

“I know you, Y/N,” he started. “I didn’t want to push you to something you didn’t want, and I didn’t want to lose you because of it. I couldn’t- I won’t be able to handle that.”

“You can handle anything,” you whispered, swallowing as you tried to move from shock to something useful in forming a proper thought.

“Not that,” he stated.

The words rung through the room clear and honest, and it made your lungs fill and deplete in rapid succession.

“I’ve never…” you spoke, words not coming strong enough for you to hear, so you tried again. “I’ve never done this before? I mean, I don’t…”

You felt your voice falter again and a pain hit in your chest. You had no doubt Steve could see it on your face, stepping closer reflexively before making himself stop short of reaching you, landing halfway through the room. Again, you saw emotions rippling through him too fast for you to decipher.

“I’ve never known if anything was- was real I guess,” you tried again. “How could I. And when I… the couple times I’ve told people about what I can do when I thought they genuinely... they’d think I was making this feel that way and… Well, it never went over well.”

“What I feel?” Steve started, leaning in with his head tilted just so to catch your eye. “That’s real, Y/N.”

He paused, again, letting those words sink into the space between you.

“This isn’t you manipulating me or making me feel this way,” he said before there was a tug at the corner of his mouth. “And I don’t have any real experience with this either.”

You nodded, crossing your arms in what you hoped was a casual way, trying to play this off while you were holding on the sketchbook with white knuckles. Because you weren’t convinced. You didn’t think there was a way you could be.

“This isn’t just attraction,” he said softly, in that way of his you liked so much. “This is love, Y/N.”

That stilled you where you stood, the words holding you motionless. You didn’t respond but simply stood there. Slowly Steve walked forward, stopping when he was toe-to-toe with you. Carefully he took the book from your hand, casting it aside on the bed.

You waited as his hands reach out, hovering just above your arms. You waited for him to connect his skin to yours, soft and warm and perfect. You waited for him to press that feather-light touch into you that made you feel and want and need.

But it didn’t come.

Steve went as far as dared, hovering just above your skin, so close and yet not close enough. He pushed as far as he could, and this was his limit.

His eyes were down, caught up in a thought he didn’t share before he snapped back to you with a gentle look on his face.

“It’s okay, Y/N,” he said, doing his best to convince you of words that were somehow false. He was a bad liar and you saw through it to the cutting pain underneath. “It’s okay that you don’t… That you don’t feel the same. I’ll be okay. I’m okay.”

Those were the words you tried to use to convince him that you were okay. But it was a lie each and every time. And just like you did now, Steve always saw through those words. He didn’t challenge them though. Not once. He never challenged you, actually. The others he had no qualms about laying down the law when it needed to be done, but you realized never with you.

He used actions with you. Slow and steady and soothing. He held you or protected you or removed you, taking you somewhere where you could be at peace, be tranquil, be alone with him. He never tried to use those words against you or make you believe otherwise. He let you be, and he asked wordlessly that you let him be with you too.

And if he used action to combat those words, so you would too.

You felt your chest tighten and throat constrict, but you let it happen. You felt your mind pull up every bad experience, every horrible touch, every infliction of physical pain and you let it fall away. You stopped holding yourself back from this- from him- and put your hands on his chest.

You felt his eyes watch every movement with biting intensity, waiting and not hoping- doing anything but hoping- as you slowly leaned in. You tilted your head up to him, not seeing those quick flashes of heat and feeling behind that beautiful blue. Your eyes were on his lips, closing as softly as your lips touched his.

It was the briefest of connection, a simple brush of your skin to his. But it made your heart jump and electricity fill your veins. It made his breath come rapid and warm across your mouth. It made him tense his muscles and close his eyes, savouring that feel of your kiss as though it would be the last.

You swallowed, hands at his chest, gripping his shirt between your fingers. You tried not to shake but you did. You tried not to let the yelling in your head say that this wasn’t real have a voice, but it did. All the same, you carefully closed the distance again, gently capturing his lips with yours.

The second kiss was different. It was a breath of fresh, clean air and an exhale of relief. It wasn’t a test or a question or a hesitant challenge. It was a choice. Something that was wanted and yearned for.

You felt that heat Steve radiated increase tenfold as his lips cautiously then longingly moved against yours. You felt him, hands touching your arms then gliding along your back, try to hold back from deepening the kiss. From letting the unspoken, untended love for the past months overtake you both and drown you in the affection you wanted, but weren’t ready for.

All the same, your hands moved up across his chest and wrapped around him, pulling through his hair as he did the same to you. You had a hold on him as much as he had on you, and it was as quiet and compassionate as his embraces have always been. How could you not have known? How could not have seen and felt his love for all this time?

As you released your lips from his, settling into that space between his shoulder and neck, you went through every moment you had shared. For the first time you saw clearly ever gesture and expression of soft adoration.

With him you were safe. With him you were yourself and he could be his. With him you were happy and whole and calm and alive. And now could see and feel that love expressed in every touch, every movement, every glance, every word, every action, every sketch.

The nightmares that lived at the back of your mind didn’t stop. The pain of your power didn’t fade. Your history and past were unaltered and undiminished.

But that didn’t compare to the truth of this moment. The truth being that with him you were wholly and truly loved.

_______

A/N: This got away from me so hard I’m so sorry for the length of this novel.

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