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angstyaches · 4 months ago

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The Hexagon: Parts One and Two (Extended Editions)

As I expanded the storyline, there were some things I realised needed to be addressed in the first two parts. It was also nice to go back and see what details I would want to add without the word limit.

CW: trapped characters, anxiety, burns, paranormal whump, prolonged hunger, fear, hopelessness. (They will be okay, just not in this post.)

___

Part One - 5 Minutes

“You’ve...” Charlie tilted his head back, his gaze trailing up into the night sky. The glistening fuchsia tendrils of the ward shot up past the treetops and twisted towards the stars. The walls themselves were laid out in a perfect hexagonal shape, about forty feet wide in diameter. Charlie had a bad feeling; so bad that he didn’t really want to finish his sentence. “Never seen something like this before?”

“No.” Shayne’s voice sounded distant, though he’d only just stepped away from Charlie’s side. “Never.”

“It’s not just a ward.” Charlie lowered his gaze, eyeing the outline of the wards along the forest floor. It had spliced some pine needles right in half when it had shot up around them. “It’s like... a demon trap? Set off by...”

“You.” Shayne caught Charlie’s eye and shrugged. His face was drained of colour and his eyes were clouded with worry, but there was an air of curiosity around him. “Well, CT.”

Charlie nodded, wishing he could match Shayne's cool. His stomach was twisting with dread as he turned to look at the closest wall again. Peering through it, everything seemed to shimmer a pinkish purple, until his eyes adjusted and he could clearly see where the wards cut through the air. He raised a hand – his right hand, the one that was typically less influenced by the demon’s will – towards the shimmering wall of magic.

“Ah – fuck,” Shayne hissed from behind him. “Wait, Charlie, don’t –”

As soon as his fingertips grazed the surface, Charlie felt a push, like something slamming into his chest. Pain exploded behind his eyes, and he gasped, stumbling backwards until Shayne grabbed his arms to steady him.

“Are you okay, love?”

“I-I can’t – I can’t go back through it,” Charlie choked out. The realisation clamoured for more attention than the pain did. He lifted his right hand, his nausea surging as he watched tiny red blisters bubbling up from his fingertips. If the wards had rejected his left side, he could have put it down to CT’s presence, and it would have made sense, but –

“Yeah.” Shayne’s voice was low, tense. “That makes sense.”

“What?” Charlie blinked. Since he had just been thinking the opposite, that none of this made any sense, he turned to look at Shayne and demand to know what he meant. The stress and the motion agitated the fresh headache so that he had to cradle his temple against the heel of his unburnt hand.

“What do you mean, ‘makes sense’?” he asked, digging a little harder against the ache. “Even with CT, I can usually pass through wards with...”

He stopped short when he realised that Shayne looked about as sick as Charlie was starting to feel. He lifted a shaky hand, to show Charlie the red welts across his palm.

“You can’t pass through it either?” Charlie was shocked at how calm his own voice sounded. He turned his hand over, looking between their matching burns, as though trying to shock a reaction out of himself.

Any thoughts on this? Charlie directed the thought towards CT, feeling a little flicker of anger at the fact that the demon wasn’t already weighing in on the situation. Yeah, they were always there whenever Charlie’s ego could use a little teasing, or when his anxiety became comically ridiculous, but naturally they had gone radio silent now that they could have actually used some demonic input, CT had gone radio silent.

“Apparently not,” Shayne mumbled. He was pushing on his jaw, hard. He moved away from Charlie and started to pace the edges of the hexagon, as though he might find a gap or a weakness in the flawless walls of warding magic.

Meanwhile, Charlie buckled under the pain in his head and the fear in his chest and sank to his knees on top of a scattering of pine needles.

“Who the fuck did this?” Shayne asked in a low voice.

Charlie looked up, which took a lot more of his energy than it should have. He had a very obvious guess on the tip of his tongue; the only fully-fledged witch they knew, who just so happened to have dabbled in demonic magic long enough for her eyes to have stained purple.

“Nancy?”

“No!” Shayne snapped, but his shoulders sank a little. “Why wouldn’t she tell me about something like this?”

“Well... does it matter?” It was no secret that Charlie didn’t trust the Aldridges as much as Shayne did, but it seemed irrelevant to bring that up. He wrapped his arms around himself. The night wasn’t cold, but he was shivering, sagging more heavily with each passing moment. “Either way, we’re –”

He was cut off as Shayne let his jaw drop open and screamed, sending out a huge wave of energy through the shimmering wall and out into the trees and darkness beyond. Charlie didn't flinch, simply moved his hands to cover his ears, but Shayne’s power was aimed safely away from him.

He closed his eyes. Are you okay? He wondered. Shayne’s screaming should have stirred CT at least a little, out of basic survival instinct alone, but the part of his mind that was occupied by the demon was silent.

Shayne fell quiet, too. Charlie opened his eyes to see him combing his fingers roughly through his dark curls.

Every surface of the hexagon still stood, unflinching and as unaffected.

___

Part Two - 47 Hours

The treetops swayed, untroubled, against the pale blue glow of late evening. Charlie watched, not because he found it particularly interesting or satisfying, but it was the best way of keeping his breaths slow, and his body still, so that he could conserve his energy.

Conserving it for what? CT might have pried, if they had been in a prying mood. Charlie still hadn’t heard a thing from them since the wards had shot up, so he had to ask the question himself. The answer was that he didn’t know what he was conversing energy for, but the hope was that he was conserving it for... something.

Otherwise, he’d have to think about the fact that he might never leave the forest, the hexagon, and if he thought about that, he was finished.

He knew CT was still with him because there was a horn growing out from his left temple. He hadn’t reached up to touch it, but he had grown used to knowing when it was there and when it wasn’t. Maybe the demon had been incapacitated by the wards, and revealing their physical form through Charlie’s face was the only way they knew to let him know that they were okay. Or, at least, still around.

I miss you, Charlie felt himself thinking.

His mind was silent.

The silence in the real world was split, not by a growl from Charlie’s clenching stomach, as desperately empty as it was; the worst of the hunger pangs had passed earlier that evening, but Charlie reckoned that wasn't a good thing.

It was a powerful scream that set the forest floor trembling. After feeling so many of them now, Charlie could sense that these surges of power were faltering. The shimmering walls that stretched up towards the sky didn't even wobble.

“Stop it, lovely.”

Shayne spun around and stepped closer so that he could look down at Charlie on the ground. His curly hair was soaked with stale rainwater and fresh sweat, but that wasn't what Charlie found jarring. There was a particularly wild look in Shayne's eyes that Charlie didn’t recognise. It was like opening your kitchen cupboard and finding that someone had sneaked a random coffee cup in amongst your familiar collection. “What?”

“Just...” Charlie closed his eyes. It was all he could do to keep himself from tearing up. Crying would be a waste of energy and water. He wished Shayne would think the same way, but ironically, he didn’t have the energy to debate him on it, so all he managed to say, hoping it would work, was, “Stop.”

“Stop trying to get us out?”

“Yeah.” Charlie spread his hands over his belly as it gave a low, acidic gurgle. Long beyond the need to burp up any excess air, he could practically feel his stomach walls scratching against each other.

It had rained the previous night, and by some mercy the water had come down through the wards. They hadn’t been able to catch much of it with just their hands and mouths, but it had been enough to stave off major dehydration. The trees had provided enough shelter during the day that they hadn’t gotten sunburned. But the hexagon hadn’t provided anything edible yet. Charlie couldn’t even picture what the best-case scenario would be; if some small animal managed to enter without being fried to oblivion by the wards, he knew deep down that neither he nor Shayne were capable of slaughtering it for food.

You've given up, too, haven't you? Charlie wondered, thinking of CT. All he wanted was for Shayne to do the same, so that Charlie wouldn’t have to feel so guilty about it.

“Lie with me,” he whispered. “It’s kind of nice down here.”

“You’re fucking joking, right?”

Charlie didn’t dignify that with – or waste his breath on – a response.

A few seconds later, there was a soft scuffling of pine needles next to him. Through his damp clothes, Charlie could feel Shayne’s warmth just to the right of his own body. As he settled on the ground, Shayne’s stomach gave a deep, rolling growl. He cleared his throat, trying to muffle it, a moment too late. How he still had it in him to feel embarrassed was beyond Charlie. Shayne had a lot more experience with extended bouts of hunger than Charlie did, so maybe it didn’t have the same effect on him as it had on Charlie.

Or maybe you’re just weak. The thought hadn’t come from CT. Whatever voice that was, Charlie didn’t like it, but he also couldn’t fight back against the gloom that it draped over him.

“I’m...”

Charlie turned his head and opened his eyes.

“I'm so... sorry, love.” The hollow pits under Shayne’s eyes were almost as dark as his hair. The lines of his cheeks and jaws were too sharp. “I’m supposed to be the one who knows about this shit, I should – I should be able to –”

“Stop.” Charlie frowned. He couldn’t listen to this, not when he’d just been thinking about how resilient his boyfriend was. “I get it. I’d do anything to get us – even just to get you out of this, lovely, if I could. We’re on the same page here. It’s... not just you who feels helpless. I can't... I can't even talk to CT anymore.”

Charlie was out of breath by the time he finished speaking. If he hadn’t already been on his back, he’d have needed to sit down.

“That's not your fault, Charlie,” Shayne said. “It's this fucking place.”

“Maybe if I hadn't touched the ward...” Charlie's teeth chattered in his skull. With his left hand, he reached for his temple, though it didn't hurt. “Maybe I hurt them.”

“We can't know that.”

As he sifted through the dizzying fog of emotions, Charlie tried to find that tendril of detached calmness again. His stomach shifted with each hurried breath, until it squeezed out a sluggish, acidic growl.

“Not even sure if I’m hungry anymore.” He just about choked on the admission. He had complained of feeling hungry two hours into their first night in the hexagon, and many times after, but complaining had lost its appeal after the sun had set the following day. He wished he could go back to how he’d felt when he’d first thought he was hungry. “I just feel...”

“Sick.”

Charlie nodded. Shayne blinked harshly and looked up towards the darkening sky. Charlie did the same. He thought about asking Shayne how he was feeling, but wasn’t sure if he could handle the answer, so he didn’t. Beyond that, he couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't make either or both of them feel even worse.

As the sun went down, the glare of the wards became harsher to look at. The rustling leaves had become a single, black mass that seemed to close in around them the longer they were stared at.

“This is not nice,” Shayne murmured.

“No.”

“You’re a liar.”

They reached for each other’s hands at the same time, their fingers hooking together as their wrists rested on the forest floor. Charlie sucked air between his teeth as Shayne’s hand brushed against his burn, but tightened his grip when he felt Shayne try to pull his hand back. The pain could go fuck itself; he wanted to hold hands, even if Shayne's hand was clammy from over-exertion.

“Yeah,” Charlie whispered. “But at least you’re not wasting your strength anymore.”

#Swallow the World #hurt comfort #hurt comfort fic #whump fic #whump writing #OC whump #StW Shayne #StW Charlie #demon whump

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seeyatellite · 1 month ago

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I refuse to deny reality and I will deeply, completely acknowledge even the most horrible things I’ve done in life. It may not bring me success in life like my father’s narcissistic lies and feigned perfection but at least I won’t destroy people with manipulation or isolate anyone from loved ones with denials of accountability, blame-shifting or self-inflation.

I’d like to let go of the burden of shame around the darkest, dumbest moment of my life… I’d like to objectively explain everything about this with as much clarity and explicit, non-shaming and non-judgmental detail… here is my framework:

Children’s Home of Detroit - Warren campus

Something I often have weighing on my conscience and replaying in my head is the stupid decision I made at 15 years old… I shoved my mother off me with a metal bat.

The bat spent the whole night under my bed as I left it there rather than throwing it in the garage. I had come in late and it was essentially the still of night before I thought to put it where it belongs.

Mom usually woke me up with a kiss on the forehead and a “good morning. I’ll be back to get you out of bed.” or something along those lines.

I felt… I dreaded school that morning. I felt drained. I felt exhausted and I just didn’t want to go, so when she came in and woke me the first time I grabbed that bat and hid it under my sheets.

When Mom came back in to get me out of bed and she leaned down to wake me up again I pulled it across my chest and pushed her off… I immediately regretted it as I saw her blue eyes and felt her hands rest across the bat and go limp.

I pushed up through her weightless arms and the bat’s narrow hilt connected with her teeth, apparently chipping one… and I felt sick. I felt a wave of regret, sorrow and panic in me and I saw some of the same feelings in Mom’s eyes as she stumbled back in disbelief.

It was a rational decision, I thought… I put some consideration into it… wanted to scare her away so I didn’t have to go to school and face the boys who were enjoying a normal, educated puberty with good Dad’s who actually talked with them about their bodies and feelings. I didn’t want to hear the seemingly sexist, misogyny of traditional teenage boys.

I just wanted to stay home.

Instead I spent a few hours in a juvenile detention center as a “scared straight” punishment and 217 days in CHD… Children’s Home of Detroit… a legally questionable facility with both short-term and long-term units and separated boys and girls. It was just a glorified, less severe detention center with lax security and constant supervision… we had to yell “staff assistance.” Before using the bathroom each night… the bathrooms were shared between two adjacent rooms.

I used a metal bat… and I assaulted my mother. This sat with me… it twisted around my skull. It mixed itself into my journals. I self-assessed behaviors and wrote poetry about how much more horrible things my father had done without punishment and I grew bitter. I wrote IT about Dad; a poem which… speaks exactly the message I wanted it to.

Dad’s insurance would only cover the short-term unit, which was the same level of care as long-term except the girls dayroom was in the same hall as ours. Our long-term dayroom was right at the front; SouthEast corner.

CHD is now permanently shut down and it had already been shut down a few times for various violations when I was there. Not least of which in my mind was allowed a manipulative, penny-pinching father to claim disability income for his son using a lawyer, rather than a doctor. Last time I had been “assessed” before Dad’s decision not to bear financial responsibility for this was 2 years prior at which time I was diagnosed with “Pervasive Developmental Disorder or Otherwise Specified” along with doctor’s notes of “low ego strength” and timidness. That doc refused to diagnose anything specific but all it took was a phone call while I stayed here to have him up the diagnosis to “Asperger’s Syndrome” which could qualify me for disability income and therefore let the government pay for my punishment.

Don’t ever be fooled into believing this place was a “treatment center.” It was absolutely a structured punishment center. We had very limited access to a therapist and even then, that was by request. We had no education beyond a small school tucked into the basement where we were taught by one of two teachers covering all subjects.

Still… while I didn’t attack my mother, I assaulted her… it was a force of violence for me to chip her tooth with a metal bat. I find myself having to dance between logic and acceptance when Dad’s narcissism takes charge and he brings this place up as a narcissistic, fingerpointing recollection of history between the two us. If it were an attack or I swung in any fashion; if I had made contact with Mom’s face in any other way using a metal bat there would have been far more severe injuries.

Dad did such terrible things to Mom… and I was punished for something terrible… yet, not more than a “go away.” Then again, many of Dad’s angry outbursts were also vioent expressions of, “Go away.” and “Leave me alone.” or “I don’t want to deal with this right now.” Dad also likes to shift the conversation away when this place is brought up with others. He’ll quietly and timidly say, “CHD was a terrible idea and never should have happened,” while still holding it as an intentionally targeted point of shame between only us. When pushed for inquiry, Dad often blames Mom for CHD.

Dad forcibly restrained Mom. He choked her. He forcibly restrained and choked me… he blocked doors in palpable rage, physically shoved or pulled me in this direction or that. Dad stood in front of Mom’s car in the driveway to force conversations and even had CPS called on him for pulling me out of bed so hard my shoulder displayed bruising and a St. Lawrence teacher showed concern. While he did these things I was the one who attended CHD and “anger management” classes for an emotionless, consciously rational decision to be frightening.

I’m a screw up. I couldn’t even tell my mother I was emotionally struggling at school because everyone was trying to direct me toward masculinity rather than accepting I was raised almost exclusively by women and a physically and emotionally violent, abusive man-child of a father... while learning the ralationally superficial structure of a decade of Boy Scouts training with weekly 2-hour meetings, monthly camping trips and yearly week-long summer camp. I had no place to learn healthy conversation around dating, women and sex let alone the intricacies of feeling flawed for unusual self-identity and a clinically damaged ego.

I’m grateful for continued therapy now with a reassuring therapist each week and I’d like to continue reparenting and remedying my communication skills journey.

Dad may never change.

I sure as hell intend to.

I lived here at CHD Warren Campus for 217 days until my 16th birthday… the day I left. I “ran away” from the front door… “free” with a timebomb added to my life; a choice to claim a disability so severe it warranted government aid after Dad’s insurance refused to pay for an extended stay.

After leaving, I continued to live a normal teen life. I made friends, had girlfriends, went skinny dipping, lay with grieving friends in my arms on trampolines, carried my girlfriend out of a wild crowd of screaming MCR fans at Warped Tour as she fell into an anxiety attack and couldn’t breathe or move, went to live with a friend in Florida for 3 weeks, met and “dated” a girl down there and stayed long-distance until it was too hard for us to love without touch, stripped for a group of 3 girls (which they loved - it was very exaggerated and flowy) I moved in with my girlfriend at 17 and a half after Dad chased me up the stairs and out my second story window… lived with her for 8 months until moving into my first apartment at 18 years old.

I always found it perplexing how my father often claims it was Mom’s decision to kick me out when they lived separately or to say our stepmother was afraid of me to justify his own actions. Then again, Dad’s bullshit also convinced our stepmother to choke Mom on the front porch when she came to get some paperwork signed.

I actually believe he’d succeed in twisting the narrative of me jumping out of a second story window to convince her to fear me. He convinced himself I did it to impress friends.

From there… the “wrong crowd” finally found me. I had a friend who told me someone she knows needed a place to stay so I let him live with me. He brought along a friend of his; both strangers to me at the time along with someone else I’d met through friends less than a year prior. It took them all a few months of coercion, encouraging weed use, shaming and teasing me for being sober and coming up with creative hypothetical situations for me to choose drugs... and I folded to let them smoke weed in my apartment. I also wound up doing ecstacy and panicking for an entire night as my roommates hid the phone, blocked the door and prevented me from going to the hospital or calling 911 because the ecstasy did not sit right with me. Fair... I didn’t die. I did slip into extreme depression and a related, total emotional shut down.

It wasn’t long before I checked myself into St. John’s psychiatric ward to escape all measure of drug community and reassess my life. Inwas prescribed an increasingly powerful selection of pills and I further receded into myself as I missed my high school graduation. Things went further South... and West from there as I signed myself over to a guardian ad litem who moved me to a placed called Beacon Specialized Living Services on the other side of Michigan. I attempted suicide with a plastic fork and wound up at another hospital; Ascension Borgess Hospital in Kalamazoo. They held me a few months then released me back to Beacon where I stayed a decent chunk of time.

Life hasn’t been... “normal” and I’m finally exploring some traumas and relational education issues including the deep shame of a father scapegoating myself and my mother while never taking accountability for his actions. Dad’s successful. He’s a prolific engineer with massive respect from the automotive industry. He doesn’t have time to do anything wrong, let alone tell people about it. Oh, what horrors of social pariahism would accountability visit upon him.

So I deal with reparenting, overcoming decades of isolation and the scars of feeling emotionally, relationally and physically abandoned through it all. I refuse to spend a moment alone with my father, giving him the chance to play victim in another one of his own violent outburts. I’ve lost nearly all of my adult life to his manipulation and lack of accountability. I witnessed the emotional hell my mother went through as he did the same things to her while constantly referring to her as “crazy” and “manipulative.” I often wonder how he refers to me... then I try to let go.

I’m still learning… somewhat suffering related consequences to the crowd of that first apartment but I have a semblance of confidence that I’ve cut them out, set my straightedge values in diamond clarity and I’ve chosen self-awareness with absolute accountability and therapy.

My father, the financial manager of my childhood, loopholed the law into placing me on disability at age 15. I’m still on disability. I’m also still under legal guardianship/conservatorship circa Britney Spears's previous situation. I have a detached, state-appointed overseer on all legal and financial decisions. Nothing can be accomplished by denials of truth, circumstance or accountability and the psychological function of manipulation requires some form of success or satisfaction to perpetuate. There’s no success to be had here.

This is all a worthy exploration of self and circumstances. While I cannot change my father’s strategies for meeting his own needs, I can choose to heal and grieve. I may feel shame, heartache, deep sadness and the fear of starting with nothing and limited support because I refuse to play into Dad’s self-protective narrative but I will come out of this wiser and hopefully more able and willing to aid others in their struggles.

“To think in terms of either pessimism or optimism oversimplifies the truth. The problem is to see reality as it is.” —Thích Nhất Hạnh

#mental health #family trauma #horrible decisions #violence #domestic abuse #disability fraud #communication skills #accountability #healing #therapy

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thefruitiestofbois · 11 months ago

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The Worst of Us

Chapter 1

Link to wattpad^^^

My heart hammered in my ribcage as my shaky hands twisted the handle on the door leading to my dad’s office. The familiar feeling of dread consumed me with every step I took towards his desk. Rain pattered against the floor to ceiling windows as clouds coated the entirety of Seattle. The view from the 45th floor of Fourth and Madison was breathtaking, even on a gloomy day, but it’s a shame the prick occupying the office doesn’t appreciate it. He doesn’t even acknowledge me as I sit in one of the green cushioned seats across his mahogany desk. The article about Owen is the only thing racing through my head as I mindlessly pick and bite at my nails. After what felt like a decade, he clears his throat and addresses me with his grating voice, “Have you spoken to your husband?” I don’t miss the way the last word reluctantly leaves his lips. I shake my head, bringing my hands down just enough so he can’t see me picking at them behind his unnecessarily large desk. I hated his desk, we weren’t even that big of a company for him to be blowing all his money onto a fancy desk that, to this day, has never seated any important clients. The fancy furniture, like the desk along with the expensive paintings he slapped on the walls, did nothing to hide the inflated ego packaged into this small man. “Did he tell you I fired him?” Resting my hands on each armrest, I lean back, in an attempt to steady my thundering heart, and ask,

“Did you fire him or was it actually Joel?” His eyes glared at me over the top of his monitor and paused before rolling his eyes.

“M&W have no say in who I hire or fire and Joel certainly isn’t my fucking boss.” He spits through gritted teeth.

“What do you want me to do about it? Cause I clearly don’t control who my husband fucks and who he doesn’t.”

“Abby, this isn’t about you.” He glances at me once more with the same look he gave me when he told me- no he ordered me to go off to boarding school, so I could learn “how the real world works” and outgrow my apparently ‘naive’ outlook on life. I was eleven. “If it was about you, I’d be firing you instead.” I know he wishes it were true. I almost let a laugh slip through as I imagined how my father would be if he had the means to fire me and rid me from his family. Funnily enough, I was the only real family he had but he still kept Yara, his step-daughter, and his current wife, Thea, closer to his stone cold heart than he ever kept me. In fact, I don’t even think he sees me as family, only an employee he was unfortunately obligated to keep around. The bastard was always looking for something to blame on me, so he could use it as an excuse for his lifelong disdain towards me. If it wasn’t for public opinion and the pressure of keeping up a pristine reputation within the media, I am certain my father would have had me killed. Or worse, he would kill me off, make it look like an accident and then play the role of grieving father so well it would put any Oscar winner to shame. No matter what, he always came out on top. The phone starts to ring and my dad gestures for me to leave while holding up three fingers to indicate how many hours he wants me back in. As I make my way out of his office, I offer a polite smile to Sarina, my dad’s assistant, but all she does is awkwardly avoid my eyes and shift her focus to her screen in return. Weird. Every little thing about today is driving me further into my anxiety-filled cave. Instead of heading to the elevator to go back to my office, I head right at the end of the hall into the toilets. The hinge of the door creaks shut behind me as I grab the sink with a shaky grip and try to control my breathing. In and out, it’s easy, in and out slowly. The very idea of dealing with Owen at home, especially after he had been fired so publicly, makes my insides twist into a steel knot. White noise echoes all around me as the floor beneath me starts swaying and I tighten my grip on the sink in an attempt to steady myself. In and out Abby, in and out. I can’t do it. Tears burn a trail down my cheeks as I let out short, irregular bursts of breath to try and relieve the crushing weight of my own heart in my chest.

A hand on the back of my shoulder snapped me back to reality and, as if on autopilot, I twisted my body and grabbed the stranger by their jacket and shoved them as hard as I could into the wall adjacent to the sink.

“Woah easy, I’m just trying to help.” I use one hand to wipe my eyes and keep the jacket balled up into my fist in the other. My gaze wanders up and finds a wide eyed girl staring back with a panicked expression. Shit. Nobody was supposed to see me like this, especially not someone from my dad’s floor. “Do you wanna, you know?” She hesitantly lets out an awkward chuckle and looks down at my iron grip still on her jacket. I instantly step back and apologise but she waves me off and smoothens her jacket out. Giving a lookover in the mirror she continues, in a feeble attempt to break the awkward silence, “You didn’t do much damage, I think I still look presentable enough for a meeting with the big, bad CEO.” Without even thinking I blurt out,

“You have a meeting with my dad?” She stills and narrows her eyes, her demeanour shifting from playful to serious instantly. Almost the same expression Sarina had earlier.

“Are you Abby?” I nod and she mutters out a barely audible “Fuck” and she looks to the floor for a second then at me with an apologetic frown. “I’m here to see Jerry about Owen but I think I better tell you first seeing as you’re his wife.”

“I already know about the article.” I reply with a roll of my eyes. What is with everyone needing to avoid me or treat me like I’m made of glass because of something my husband did? Yes, I know he slept with practically every assistant from every department and now he had been fired because directors shouldn’t be doing fucked up shit like using their position to screw around at work. Honestly, Owen had it coming. Owen had a lot of things coming. I’m sick to death of pretending to be the happy wife so the rest of the world could relish in the happy family facade my father had so carefully crafted. A puzzled look flashes across the stranger’s face but disappears quickly as she takes a step towards me, “Abby this isn’t just about the article, the police found Owen’s body at his apartment a few hours ago. They think it was suicide, I’m sorry.” The rest of her words faded out and the white noise began echoing all around me but this time my heart was thundering in my chest, almost bursting out of my chest. My insides churn in anguish as I rip through the stalls and release bile, and the rest of my dread, into the toilet. Everything has gone numb. I can’t feel anything except pressure in my skull. My mind was somehow empty but ready to explode out of my skull. Her hand returns to my back, trying to be soothing but the touch burns into me and I jerk away and I hear her footsteps become fainter and fainter until she leaves me alone in the room. Thank God she knows how to take a hint. I need to be alone. I need to think. Actually, what I really need is my medication. Guilt encases me as I rip out a few pills from the emergency packet in my blazer pocket and swallow them dry. I can’t even calm myself down without the help of a chemical, it's pathetic. My therapist says I shouldn’t beat myself up over needing a little extra help. I, on the other hand, think my brain is an asshole for not being on my side, but I guess if my own brain doesn’t side with me then maybe it is actually my own doing? I don’t fucking know. I don’t know anything. As I steady back into some form of chemically induced normality, the realisation creeps through- Owen is dead. I begged myself to feel some form of grief but for some fucked up reason, relief flooded through me bringing me a level of serenity even my pills coudn’t give me.

“So where are we at for this charity gala?” Joel asks, fixing himself a drink from the cart in his office. We still have an hour before five o’clock but Joel looks like he needs it so I don’t question him.

“We got catering and music sorted and I’m still working on the venue.” Stress lines form on his forehead and he stops pouring for a second before I reassure him we would get the venue. The gala was in two weeks time and would serve as a celebration of M&W’s newest acquisition: Anderson and Moore. Although in light of Owen’s misconduct, I wasn’t sure if a gala would be setting the right tone but Joel assured me that a gala would be a perfect spotlight instead of the article about Owen. I guess he was right. I know Joel was regretting the decision of buying Jerry’s firm but he was a man of his word and he saw the deal through even after the initial accusations against Owen. Grabbing my laptop so I could show Joel some potential venues, I moved to sit on the sofa next to him. Just as I place the laptop on the coffee table, Joel’s phone rings. I go to look at his desk but quickly realise it's his personal phone on the table in front of us. The caller ID reads ‘Tommy’. That’s weird. Tommy never calls Joel. Like ever and especially not during official working hours. Joel answers and immediately sets his drink down. His frown lines look more prominent than before and the look on his face stirs unease in my stomach. A minute or so passes by and Joel sets his phone down, takes a swig of his drink and says, “Police found Owen’s body this morning.”

“Was it us?” he shakes his head, “Tommy said it wasn’t any of our guys but he’s not sure cause it looks like a suicide.”

“Looks like it or is actually suicide?” I ask and he mumbles that he isn’t sure through gritted teeth. “Shall I call Dina or Jesse? I can ask them to-”

“No it’s okay kiddo,” he stands up and grabs his coat which was sprawled on one of the sofas, “you just focus on this gala. Choose whatever venue you want, I trust you as long it ain’t the space needle.” He smiles at me and I let out a small chuckle as I remember the conversation we had a few months ago about a venue for his birthday party, “Not everyone wants to be looking so far down after eating cake, Ellie.” He said trying to conceal the fact he was actually just scared of heights. Joel was one of those bulky looking guys, with salt and pepper hair, a scruffy beard, which definitely needed trimming at this point, but even though he had a rough exterior, he was a soothing anchor in my life. He’d never openly admit he cared but he didn’t ever need to, I always knew. All those times he would fool around with his gravelly Texan accent to impersonate the different characters from my story books to help me be less afraid of the dark. Joel Miller was the person I knew I could call in the middle of the night and he would drop everything to be there and he would do it countless times. In fact he had done so more times than I could count throughout college. He was my person and I’d be forever indebted to him but he was obviously the kind of man to never expect anything back except for respect and honesty.

A few hours pass and I settle on the aquarium as the venue, emailing and making the necessary calls needed to finish booking. Finally, I fix myself a drink from the cart and wander past the sofas and up to the tall glass windows. When Joel wanted a headquarters in Seattle, I always knew he’d choose the Columbia Center. With 76 floors, it was the tallest building in the city and it was right in the centre so it was Joel’s way of saying “We’re the biggest corporate law firm here and don’t you fucking forget it”. Joel wasn’t flashy but he wanted the headquarters to not only serve as a working space, but also as a reminder to himself that he built this company and deserved all 76 floors of this giant building, as well as a way to make a statement to the rest of the corporate world here in Seattle.

I sipped my drink slowly and glanced at the glimmering array of city lights underneath the full moon. The highways weren’t that busy seeing as rush hour was over but the city was still bustling. The people of Seattle weren’t finished for the day and neither was I, but I desperately needed a break. The acquisition as well as this new Owen mess had me on the verge of forming my own permanent frown lines. If I can sort out most of the gala stuff today it’ll be one less thing to stress about so I finish my drink and resume my hunt for the perfect fundraiser, this time heading to my own office to work.

Around 9pm I head to Joel’s office once more and drop off a few files but as I approach the door, I hear two voices, one is Joel’s, bickering. I only make out a few words to do with Owen and his suicide and then my name popped up but it wasn’t Joel talking about me, it was the other person. I knock and slowly creep through, nodding at Joel before looking just behind him to come face to face with the one person I vowed I’d kill if I ever saw them again. Rage flushed through my veins and I did nothing to hide the scowl and all she gave me in return was that stupid cocky smirk. That just about did it and I charged forward, ignoring Joel’s orders to stop and, with full force, connected my fist with her cheek.

#fanfic #ellie williams #ellie tlou #abby anderson #enemies to lovers #modern au #ellie x reader #wlw #mdni #eventual smut

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iron-hearts-ablaze · 3 months ago

Text

It had been a near-year since the Fall of the Absolute - since they had sunk into the Hells once again. The all too commonplace red hue permanently glazed over her eyes, the domestic smell of brimstone cling to her bones much like her flesh. It was a dreaded familiarity. Yet she was not alone.

Astarion's decision to join her in the Hells in an attempt to keep her alive stunned her. It forced her on the back-foot. Since that harrowing, wretched ritual, he hadn't been the same. It was as if the only part of him that remained was the ego. It had engulfed him completely.

No longer was Karlach able to suffer him. There were no more tears shed between them, no holding onto their very souls. No more stolen kisses amongst soft words - all taken away in her pursuit of power. He had done more than just disappointing her when he claimed those seven thousand souls as if they were his to take - he had completely obliterated her.

Yet again, a man seeking power had taken what he wanted - had sold it to the Devil to receive seemingly unlimited potential. How those people were cast aside and smeared. Killing to survive was one thing, Karlach could fully understand and even endorse it, but this was something else entirely.

It was as if they had swapped. Astarion had swelled with an oppressive heat. His heart beat once more, his skin began to tint ever so slightly with blood rush. His chest was puffed out with a sense of pride and disdain for others. Karlach, on the other hand, grew cold. She kept herself away from him as much as she could, lest the rage cloud her - or worse...her love remained.

Because he made it incredibly difficult to fall out of his favour. She thought it would be easy to leave him in the light he so craved, to retreat back into the comforting darkness of death. But he refused her. He remained around her with a relit passion she couldn't shake. Promises of grandeur, of remaining loyal despite not being able to turn her.

Despite the rest of the party's apparent want for Karlach's life to remain on Toril - not one of them stepped up when the time came. Astarion remained steadfast and stubborn... He had even inclined that should she give up and die anyway, he would find another way. In her vulnerable state, burning up on those docks, she caved...

It was not as if Astarion wasn't a formidable force for her cause either. He protected her as she did him. They were an inseparable team, his newfound powers more than obliterated all in their way. Her knowledge of the land and Zariel's mindset brought them to victory far sooner than Karlach could have ever imagined.

Now they were here. In what was once Szarr's palace. She had everything laid out in front of her - and Astarion, unfortunately, wasn't lying when he said he did indeed lay it out for her. If not for him, she wouldn't be here. As much as her stomach twisted at the thought... She owed him her life.

But did she owe him her eternity?

Karlach's eyes remained steady, whereas before they would have softened at his touch - melted at his words. She let him move her hand, a fleeting part of her craved his closeness still. But she remained silent until he had completely finished his little practised spiel.

"Cute," Karlach spoke lowly, tensely. Her jaw clenched for a second. As if trying to keep her tongue in her mouth until she could think about what she had to say. She needed to be careful. Karlach was not ridiculous to think she could completely dominate the Vampire Ascendant after seeing how he worked in Avernus. "But I've heard all this before. Gortash enjoyed his honeyed words as well, you know." Her eyes narrowed, slipping her hand away from his and folding his arms.

"I know you. You'll scoff, claim I know nothing, but only because you don't like that I'm right." She leaned down, dangerously close to him now. Noses almost touching. Her sneer was more apparent, her own set of tiefling fangs almost on show. "What do you want, really? All this bullshit about wanting and loving me, I'm not falling for it anymore. You've done all this with me before, remember? Back then, it was a harmless game. But I'm not playing anymore. I'm not about to let you turn me into a fucking puppet, Astarion."

Her words bit, but her chest fluttered where a heartbeat should have been raising. It sounded dreamlike... Enjoying life with the man who ensured it's survival - yet it all felt like the cold bars of a trap were surrounding her.

@iron-hearts-ablaze | cont’d from here.

Astarion savors the quiet grandeur of his new domain, the echoes of his footsteps reverberating through the vast, empty halls of Cazador’s former palace—his palace now. The curtains are drawn wide open, allowing the sun’s last rays to flood the foyer with a golden glow that dapples the marble floors, transforming the once shadowed estate into a realm all his own. No longer confined by the constraints that had once bound him, he moves through the space with a languid, predatory grace, knowing that no sunlight will ever burn his skin again.

But even amidst all this power, amidst the thrilling taste of freedom and dominion, his focus remains fixed on the woman before him. Karlach. His Karlach. He lets the name turn over on his tongue in the privacy of his mind, each syllable a possessive whisper, a promise of things yet to come. She stands there, framed by the fading sunlight like a divine vision—warm, steadfast, fierce—and his hunger stirs. It’s a different sort of hunger than the one he’s known for centuries, a need that isn’t purely physical but something that sinks deeper, clawing into the dark pit of his soul.

He strides toward her, his voice low and rich, each word draped in the kind of devotion that he knows can cut sharper than any blade. ❛ I wouldn’t have gone above and beyond for anyone else, my love, ❜ he says, the words slipping from his lips like velvet, a smooth contrast to the echoing clip of his shoes. He keeps his gaze locked on her, devouring every detail—the way her hair catches the light, the strength coiled in her stance, the battle scars that speak of a lifetime of struggle. But now, now she has him, doesn’t she? And he would ensure she never has to struggle alone again.

He stops just a breath away from her, a closeness that borders on intimacy but still leaves a whisper of distance between them. His hand, pale and elegant, reaches for hers, dwarfed in the size of her own calloused grip. He relishes the touch, the coolness of his skin against the warmth of hers, and he lifts her hand to his lips. With a kind of fervent reverence, he presses a kiss to each scarred knuckle, slow and deliberate, letting his mouth linger against her skin. His lips curl into a smirk against her hand, an edge of possessiveness in the softness.

❛ You do know that you are absolutely everything to me, don’t you? ❜ he murmurs, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. His crimson eyes gleam as he drinks in her expression, searching for any flicker of vulnerability, any crack in her carefully guarded strength that he might pry open. He lifts her hand higher, resting it against his cheek, turning his face slightly into her palm. His expression is tender, almost worshipful, but the possessiveness in his gaze betrays him. ❛ Which is why I want you to stay here, in the palace . . . with me. ❜ He breathes the words as if they are a benediction, his breath cool against the calloused skin of her hand. He keeps his gaze locked on her, even as he lowers her hand from his face, but doesn’t let go—no, he cradles it between both of his, like something precious and fragile that he alone is allowed to hold.

His voice softens further, turning coaxing, as if he’s sharing a secret only meant for her ears. ❛ Just like in Avernus, I can keep you safe here with me. I can give you everything you need. ❜ Each word is laced with the promise of safety, protection, yet there’s an unspoken thread woven through them—one of control, of dominance masked as care. He imagines her by his side as she was before, the two of them against the world, but now he envisions something more, something deeper. He envisions the night, the two of them in this ancient palace, the world outside reduced to shadows and whispers as he keeps her close, as he molds her into the eternal companion she was meant to be.

He straightens, casting a long shadow over her as the last of the sun dips below the horizon. His lips curve into a small, knowing smile, one that barely hides the hunger lurking beneath. ❛ Being the most powerful vampire in the realms means nothing to me if I don’t have you by my side. ❜ He wants her to believe it, to let herself lean into the comfort of the lie, so that when he finally reveals his true desires, she will not recoil, but accept it willingly. Gladly.

He tilts his head, watching her with a keen, predatory focus, wondering how long it will take before she gives in. Before she sees the truth he’s so carefully crafting for her—that she belongs here. That she belongs to him. He can almost taste the sweetness of it, the way her submission will feel on his lips when she finally chooses him, when she allows him to claim her in the way he has dreamed. He will be patient. He has always been patient, when the reward is worth it. And she . . . she is worth everything.

#v; ~a life to live~#~risen - fallen~#~queue~

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shoichee · 4 years ago

Note

Heyy congrats on 100 followers^_^ Could you do prompt no 25 with kise?

HELLO HELLO HELLO THANK YOU FOR BEING PATIENT;; i am finally here with this request! This Kise is a mixture of dramatic, whiny, wholesome, and asshole (if you REALLY squint though) just sweeter overall~

Kise x Reader

25. “You’re mine. I don’t share”

Word Count: 2953

prompt list here

»»—————　☼　—————««

The day he had always dreaded slowly crawled by after the sluggish, harsh months of winter took their sweet time.

Though, he’s quite certain that the dreaded day would also… ironically take its sweet time to pass to the subsequent day.

“(y/n)-cchi!!” He sees you fumbling with your school bag on the school benches before he sprints to your side. “What’s with the frown anyways?” He stops to rub a thumb to smooth out the furrow out of your forehead. “Come on, if you keep that up, those wrinkles would actually stay there permanently, y’know… it wouldn’t be good for your skin at all.”

Upon seeing your exasperated reaction to his dramatic exclaim, he couldn’t help but childishly grin. Perhaps today wouldn’t be bad after all. Not when it started off on such a good note like this seeing you first thing in the morning.

“Anyways,” you sigh. “You didn’t have to run all the way over here… I was gonna catch up to you in a few minutes.”

“Yeah, but…” Kise gives a chagrined laugh, fiddling with his locks. “You looked really scary having a scowl like Kagamicchi, (y/n)-cchi. Wanna let your boyfriend in about your troubles?” Of course he had to pull the puppy eyes on you. Typical Ryōta.

“Hmmm…” you hummed for a bit, clearly trying to stall for an appropriate answer but putting up a facade of being dramatic like Kise. “Not really of importance. Just something I’ve been thinking about to deal with some scheduling and last-minute things.”

“Eeeeeeh? It didn’t really look that way to me…” Kise pouts, jamming his hands into his blazer pockets as he continued to stare at you. You slightly squirm under his intense scrutiny, but you sigh before turning to walk ahead. “But if that’s all it was, you can always ask me for help, (y/n)-cchi.”

“And since when did our all-star player and model have spare time?” you tease, swiftly changing the topic. “Hurry now, Ryōta. We have to get to class or we’ll be late.” Yet, even as you continue to briskly walk, you still felt something piercing at the back of your head before that feeling eventually subsided. You turn to call for him before you continue strolling into the building.

Kise sports a harsh frown, staring at the ground pensively for a few moments before sighing. He finally walks to class after you, trying to mentally prepare himself for the inevitable incoming chaos.

———

“Kise!!”

“Wh-Where did he go?! He was… just here a moment ago…!”

“Do you think he’s with that basketball club…?”

“Bummer… I really wanted him to have these.”

“So why do we have to help you hide when you could always tell them off to leave you alone?!” Kasamatsu scolds, irk marks apparent on his temple. “You’re always creating these problems for yourself!”

“Kasamatsu,” Moriyama ticks his tongue in disappointment. “Don’t be crass. We should be thanking him for bringing everyone over here. In this way, we all have a greater shot of getting chocolates, or even better… a cute date!” At his words, the captain only groans before facepalming; however, when he takes a deep breath and turns to lecture Kise about these matters once more, he notices the 1st-year’s sullen and distracted expression.

“Oi, does this sort of stuff really bother you?” Kasamatsu roughly ruffles his hair to snap him out of his thoughts. “You shouldn’t be encouraging this type of behavior from others. Just put a stop to them for your own good.”

“It’s not that…” Kise mumbles while looking off to the side with his arms crossed. “Besides, they always follow me around regardless of what I do anyways.”

“Oh!! I saw him moping a(l)ound after (y/n)-san [went ahead] this mo(l)ning! Su(l)e(r)y it’s about that!” Hayakawa explodes into the conversation with enthusiasm, eyes slightly sparkling at the fact that he hit the nail on the head about Kise’s mood. Kise only pouts more in silence in response.

“Well, if that’s the case,” Kasamatsu huffs irritatedly, as if the solution was as clear as day. “Then talk it out with (y/n)-san! Quit moping around like you have all the time in the world!” As he said this, he puts a firm foot on Kise’s back, ensuring that there would be a visible footprint on his blazer.

“Ow!” Kise laments. “But Kasamatsu-senpai… We’ve just started dating, and it feels out of line if I’m always snooping around in (y/n)-cchi’s business… It wouldn’t make sense for me to be nosy if they already told me they could handle this on their own… but…”

His teammates lean in closer to try to pick up Kise’s next words.

“Today’s Valentine’s… day, so I was kinda hoping… things would be… different?” Kise stops to crane his neck around out of uncertainty, which was quite uncharacteristic of the usually self-assured ace player. “Though (y/n)-cchi never seemed to be someone who liked stuff like this, but it would be nice if I got…”—he coughs out the next words—“... chocolates from… y’know.”

“W-W-What?!” Kasamatsu’s entire face erupts into a red tomato, slowly backing up. “That’s what you’ve been upset about?!”

“Ah,” Moriyama says, as if he understood everything. “Yes, yes… I see it now. Kise, if you want to get chocolates from (y/n)-san, you have to create the perfect inviting atmosphere and present yourself as an elevated gentleman. I guarantee this method will work…!”

“Moriyama-senpai, what are you even talking about?” Kise raises a skeptical brow but nonetheless tries to be polite to his senior. Hayakawa slings an over-friendly arm around his shoulders, but with the sudden weight, Kise’s head slumps down a bit.

“You can do this!!” Hayakawa shouts, pumping a fist up.

“What? Do what? No way I’m taking Moriyama-senpai’s suggestion!” Kise firmly pries Hayakawa’s arm off before he does his easy-going sigh. “It’s not that big of a deal. Don’t worry, I’m sure we can all go do karaoke night instead, right?~”

“Hmph, no taste. I still suggest for us to go pick up dates after school today,” Moriyama huffs with a slight pout, but it looks like no one paid any mind to his comment, because everyone started packing up their belongings to go back to their respective classes after lunch.

———

Kise plasters on his usual beguiling smile across his face, trying hard to not grimace at the ever-growing piles of sickenly sweet desserts on his desk… and the ever-louder fawnings of surrounding students vying for his attention. While the coos and ah’s are thrown in his direction, his mind is elsewhere… to you.

You’ve been actively avoiding him today. That much was obvious… especially during breaks.

Even when he eyes at your desk every so often, you don’t even notice his gaze, deep in thought with a scrunch in your brows every single time. Did he do something to upset you recently without him realizing it? He taps his pencil with a steady rhythm on his desk while racking his mind for any possible offenses he might’ve committed… all with that convincing smile still visible on his face.

“Kise, Kise! Will you accept my chocolates today?”

“Ah… hm…”

“Kise-sama, what do you think about these?”

“Nothing in particular…”

“Please take these…”

“Now, now everyone…!” Kise’s voice finally rings out loud and clear, taking Kasamatsu’s suggestion. “I’m touched that everyone put in their efforts for these! But you see… there’s way too much for me to carry and take home as of now… so I would really appreciate everyone to save it for someone much worthier of these chocolates than me!~”

Either way, Kise was going to dump all of the sweets off to the Kaijō team for them to enjoy these more than he ever could. After the clamors of disappointment and understanding, he was relieved to see that he was finally left alone, with the mountain of chocolates being his sole company. Yet, he was still hoping that you would stop by his desk after the crowd dispersed.

You didn’t.

———

He’s unbelievably antsy.

So much so that even the other upperclassmen besides Kasamatsu had to kick him out of his thoughts to focus on practice. Still, could anyone blame him for being so jittery when it was already after school, with still no signs of you nearby?

“What did I just tell you about that gloomy face?” Kasamatsu asks, smacking the back of Kise’s head. “Did you not talk to (y/n)-san about this?” The team starters were walking out of the gym, their outstretched shadows covering the orange-cast path with every step they took.

“Er… well… (y/n)-cchi didn’t look like they were in the mood for a conversation with me—Kasamatsu-senpai don’t give me that look! I swear I didn’t do anything wrong at all!”

“Tsk tsk,” Moriyama butts in. “Looks like you didn’t try my foolproof plan either.”

“Your idea is the last thing I’d ever do!”

“Hmph, suit yourself.”

Kasamatsu stares at Kise for a few moments, turning to face his shadow on the ground before looking at his face again with a frown. Kise catches his gaze and returns it with an inquisitive look of his own.

“Kasamatsu-senpai… that look you’re giving me is sorta scary, y’know…”

“Kise,” the captain says. “You said that (y/n)-san likes you right?”

“Of course!... or at least I hope so.”

“Then you shouldn’t worry, dumbass. Didn’t you say that they might not be a fan of doing things like this? Valentine’s Day isn’t for everyone.” He sighs before continuing. “So don't get yourself in a twist just because you didn’t get candy from them. Just because everyone has always given you chocolates every year doesn’t mean that there won’t be a first time where someone won’t really do that. Keep your ego in check, rookie.”

“E-Ego?! Rookie?! Kasamatsu-senpai, you’re cruel!”

“The captain means well, Kise,” Kobori says, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “He’s right that today isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. Perhaps (y/n)-san merely thought of it as another ordinary day.”

“Well… when you put it like that… I guess you’re right… It’s not the end of the world if I don’t get chocolates from them, and I guess it’s not fair of me to expect something like that out of them and get upset when it doesn’t happen. Thanks, senpai.”

“Well if you got it, then quit moping! If our ace player is in low spirits, the rest of the team will follow suit! Jeez…”

With his spirits uplifted by his seniors, Kise stops and waves off his upperclassmen before he sets off to look for you. Even if he doesn’t get anything from you, he wants to spend time with you before Valentine’s Day was over at the very least. Now… if he remembered your normal schedule, you should still be on campus near the…

He stops, wide-eyed.

Were you giving chocolate to someo—were they giving you packaged chocolate too?—

Before he could fully register the dull pain settling itself in his heart, his legs moved into overdrive, sprinting at breakneck speed that would’ve ended Aomine’s fast-pace career had he actually done this in the courts.

“(y/n)-cchi!!~~~~” He cheerfully calls out, completely masking the hurt from his voice and from his face. In hearing his unmistakable nickname for you, you turn to him mildly shocked seeing him bolting straight for you without a single warning.

“R-Ryō—!”

“(y/n)-cchi!~” He pounces on you with a fierce embrace from behind, his arms wrapped around your upper body and his head on your shoulder. But his chirpy closed-eye smile completely wipes off into a cool, narrowed stare directed at the person in front of you.

“... You’re mine. I don’t share.”

“Ryōta!” You turn around to face him within his hold with a chastise, and then you turn back to the person in front with an embarrassed apology. “I’m sorry, he’s usually not like this, I don’t think. Please don’t let him scare you like that…”

“(y/n)-cchi!!” Kise spins you back around to face him with his hands on your shoulders. You note the tight grip he had on you. “You’re awful, you know that? I waited the entire day for you to give me anything for Valentine’s but then thought maybe you didn’t celebrate today at all… and then you’re here giving chocolates to someone else?!”

“Um… (y/n)-san… should I leave?” You look out of your peripheral vision before giving a defeated sigh.

“I’m really sorry, but yes, that will be best. I hope you find the rest of the evening well.”

“H-Huh?! You’re… gonna ignore me? Oh, come on! We’re dating, right, so at least—” Before Kise went into full hysterics, you promptly placed a finger against his lips to shush him. Kise, who had a few tears accumulating on his long lashes, was stunned into silence, and it was frankly effective in stopping his theatrical tears.

“Ryōta…” you whisper, pulling your finger away from his lips to fiddle inside your school bag… just like this morning. He keeps quiet, but he resumes watching your every movement like a hawk. “I have your… chocolate here.”

“H-Huh?” Kise makes a noise of confusion but still keeps the silence, opting to try to figure out what the hell was going on.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, dummy.”

“I don’t get it.” He narrows his eyes, but you merely tilt your head in confusion while holding out the fancy package.

“H-Huh?” It was your turn to be befuddled. He crossed his arms petulantly in response.

“If you had it all this time… why didn’t you give it to me first thing in the morning? But you went and gave someone else chocolate first, and you know… it just didn’t feel good seeing you hand chocolates to them like that. Like, if I didn’t know better, I’d totally thought that you two were a couple—”

“Ryōta… were you jealous?”

“(y/n)-cchi, who wouldn’t be after seeing that?!”

“Ah, dummy,” you tease, realization dawning on your face. “Those were giri choco… they were the last club member I had to find to give to them in honor of our newfound friendships. You know, after the bonding activities we did in our club room this year?”

“Ah…?” Kise merely blinks before he slightly flushes from embarrassment. “But it still doesn’t make sense!”—he stops to wipe “tears” from his eyes with his arm—“I know we’ve barely started dating, but not only did you not give me anything until now, you actively ran and hid from me! You really broke my heart the entire day!” You grew nervous in an instant, slightly wringing your wrists and tapping one foot behind the other.

“People told me…” you started hesitantly, “that you hated Valentine’s Day. So…”

“Hn…” Kise stops his theatrics to give a casual shrug. “They’re right, more or less. I do find the entire thing annoying, to be honest.”

“Yes, exactly,” you reply. “Knowing you, they were probably right. Even still, I made you homemade sweets, but I didn’t know if it was a good idea to go through with this and give it to you. Besides, what if I was being too fast or forward? I don’t know… I lost all of my courage when I saw you that morning.”

“Eh??? Still, did you have to run from me like that? I seriously thought I did something wrong!”

“... I was jealous,” you whisper, looking down at your feet. “I didn’t like the fact that everyone was so bold to give you all their affection and confessions through their chocolates, but I didn’t feel like it was my place to tell them to back off. Felt like… it was better if I just… didn’t see it all. But… after seeing your outburst earlier, I decided it was the perfect time to give it to you…”

“(y/n)-cchi!!” Kise glomps onto you again, nuzzling his cheek against yours. Him being relieved is a huge understatement. “To think you were jealous too…!”

“Wh-What the—? Does that really make you happy?”

“Of course! It means that you care about me that much!” With one hand holding your Valentine’s chocolate, he tilts your chin with the other to plant a short kiss. “I was never a fan of this type of stuff, but… I love anything you give to me, I swear.”

“Ryōta…! K-Kissing? Right here in public?!”

“No one’s here anyways! They all went home, and speaking of home…” Kise grabs your hand to lead you out of the campus gates. “Do you want me to walk you home, or do you have any other place in mind you wanna go to?”

“Huh? Now? I mean, wait. How are we gonna go somewhere when you have all those… chocolates from school today? Wait, where are they anyways?”

“Oh, those? My teammates found them delicious apparently. I wouldn’t know.”

“You gave them away?!”

“Duh! Yours was the only one I wanted, (y/n)-cchi! Before you start lecturing me about how inconsiderate that is, if I just kept it, they would’ve all sat and melted on the tables anyways.”

You merely roll your eyes at him and sigh, but Kise only grins at your usual reactions to his antics.

“Just you wait for White Day next month, (y/n)-cchi~ I’m gonna go all out, and there’s no holding me back.”

———

Today might’ve been a bittersweet rollercoaster ride of emotions for the two of you, but the ending has morphed into something truly delectable. Just like the dark chocolate truffles in your Valentine’s gift to Kise.

#knb #knb x reader #kise x reader #kise ryota #kise ryota x reader #kise ryouta #kise ryouta x reader #kuroko no basket #knb fic #knb fics #knb scenarios #100 followers #100 follower milestone #valentine fic #knb fluff

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infinitegalahad · 4 years ago

Text

SHE WILL BE LOVED (Floyd Talbert X F! Reader)

Summary: Floyd drove for miles and miles, and still wounded up at the same door. Every. Single. Time.

Word-Count: 6.5k

Warnings: Slight mention of smut, past mentions of abuse/ rape

A/N: Based off of the Maroon Five Song. Not gonna lie, there old stuff is salvageable and can go hard, Overexposed is a great album. I have a love and hate relationship with this oneshot. I should be sleeping because I have to wake up at 7:50AM tomorrow but like...Floyd Talbert, am I right? Also, I'm working on dribbles. My inbox is acting strange so if you sent in anything, please send it in again, thank you! Hope you guys enjoy!

Taglist: @tvserie-s-world @easy-company-tradition @liebgotttme @50svibes @ricksmorty

Masterlist | Add yourself to my taglist!

Women say men are all the same; A gentleman, at least what Floyd Talbert considered him, proves women wrong.

Floyd Talbert knew he was no good. He didn’t consider himself a playboy , even though he charmed a new girl every week and possibly took them to bed, but he definitely knew how to play the game. Heck, his friends called him the master of the game. Girls back home and Europe loved it when Tab would break their young hearts with his dashing smirk. Every week, he’d have a pretty lady or two hanging off of his arms, giggling and smiling at anything he did or said. It boosted his ego even bigger than it already was. What was there not to love? He got whatever he wanted, when he wanted, and he always was satisfied in the end.

Guys wished they were him and any girl he could get his hands on simply adored him. Floud Talbert was like Hercules, but more conceited and naive. He was too young for marriage and too old for foolish games. He liked the flamboyant lifestyle he lived, it kept him on edge. Besides, who would Floyd Talbert, the one, the only, change for?

--------

“Busy night?” You questioned, leaning against the counter, overlooking the packed bar. There was soft jazz in the backing music, singing, dancing, and loads of drunken men. Most of them were Americans. Alborune had been hosting the Paratroopers in the quaint little town. On the weekends, the pubs would turn into total clusterfucks, at least according to your boss.

Your boss looked at you and shrugged his shoulders, throwing a towel over his shoulder. “Unfortunately, and a lot of damn drunks,” He cursed. You looked behind him, seeing the American soldiers sloppily dancing with the local girls and even some of the waitresses. You could see the soldiers, their breaths of beer and hands grasping the waitresses' backs and butts, spinning them around as swing music played in the black. You had worked in a pub and knew how these relationships ended; divorce or after an awkward one night stand. Unfortunately, you had experienced the two of those more times then you could count on your fingers. Not wanting to get hurt, you made it official that you were here to do your job, make drinks, and serve the men. Nothing else and nothing more.

You bit your lip, letting out an inhale, “Another Friday night at the pub.”

“Jus’ be careful, you hear me?” Your boss warned. He was like a father towards you; an old man with sweet eyes. He always made sure the waitresses in his bar weren’t being harassed in the pub. “And whatever you do-”

“Don’t get yourself into trouble,” You repeated as you tied the apron onto your hips, “I know. ‘S not like I’ll be getting into it anytime today, or at all.”

At the bar you worked at, most of the waitresses were the most beautiful women you had ever seen. They looked like they belonged in Hollywood with their soft curls, red lips, and large breasts. They were always either chatting up a storm with a Paratrooper, giving a paratrooper a motorboat, dancing with a Paratrooper, or sneaking with a Paratrooper to the back of the Pub. It was because they were beautiful on the outside, but not within. The men weren’t smart enough to see that. All they desired was a pretty girl to use and then dispose of the next day. It occasionally made you a tad bit jealous. You knew how childish it was, but you wanted to be that girl who was loved not only for her looks, but her personality. Loved for who you truly were. But you reminded yourself that it was better if you kept yourself out of the limelight.

You had begun your shift, taking orders and rushing to the counter to make two full trays of beer in your hands. The night was so far going well. A few of the men had hit on you, but it was nothing new or special. You simply ignored it, doing your mundae little schedule.

Rosie was one of your co-workers. She was everything you wished to be; pretty, bubbly, and got everything she wanted. Every week, Rosie would wrap another Paratrooper around her finger. However, she began to play their game as well. Rosie took pleasure in twisting the mind’s of the Paratroopers and breaking their hearts, finding entertainment in it. She was a tease and took great pride in it. As much as you wanted to be her, seeing the Paratroopers have drinking games and even fights over her hand in “marriage” or “too see her glorious caboose”, you stopped and questioned yourself with emotion and logic. Was she truly happy doing this? Was she trying to fill a void in her life? Was she more of an object then a woman? Was it moral of her to break hearts as well?

You saw Rosie sitting next to a young Paratrooper as they made out passionately, hands traveling across each other's bodies. You couldn’t help but look and see their burning desire and hunger for each other. Rolling your eyes, you walk around the crowded bar, the strong smell of Alcohol and vintage jazz pleasing your ears. Every table was full, and as much as you dreaded it, it was your job to go around and ask what the men wanted.

You approached the first time and put on a counterfeit red smile, tilting your head as you chirped to the men. They all turned to you, half smiles and tired eyes, begging for more alcohol. You simply took the groups and wrote down their orders, going from man to man until you reached the end of the table.

“And what would you like?” You asked, preparing your pen and pushing it against your tiny notebook.

The man at the end of the table was conversing with her friends. He first turned his head, greeting you

with his big hazel eyes. You observed his boyish features of ruffled golden hair, a babyface, and lightly tanned skin. Sure, he was handsome, but so was every other man in this bar. He looked at you up and down, a smirk forming at the edge of his lips before he turned his whole body around to face you. He leaned on the edge of the table and simply stared at you, like he was in awe.

“You,” He spat, earning a laugh from all of his friends.

Through your smile, you grit your teeth. “As If I’ve heard that one a million times..” It was a lie, that was the first time you had ever heard that in a while. You weren’t pretty enough to be noticed, but this time was apparently an expectation. “Do you want me to get you a menu?”

You pointed his finger at you, “Like I said-you.” He stood up and smirked, holding his hands out. “You-me, I think we’d make a pretty great match.”

“How would we make a great match If I’ve known you for less than a minute?” You questioned, raising your eyebrows. “I could be mean.”

“Oh, come now. You're gorgeous, I’m handsome.” He persisted. Great, not one of these. “Besides, I like challenges. Just be warned, I always win them miss…” He hesitated on your name before continuing, “Your name, doll?”

“Your order?” You said as you tapped your pen against your notebook. His little nickname had your cheeks flush a little. Thank god the pub had been litlety dimmed. “Please?”

“A beer and your name, please.” He politely requested. “I don’t believe I’m asking for much.”

You looked at him with a sarcastic and puzzled expression, “Why do you care so much about knowing my name? You seem like the type who would forget by the next morning.”

His friends made “ohing” noises like middle schoolers like a teacher would reprimand one of their friends. The cocky bastard let out a chuckle, flashing his pearly whites in a cocky smile. “Well, it depends. You’re feisty-I like it. Since it’s gonna be a while before we have anything going on between us, I best thought I’d make us familiar with each other. It’ll take some time for you to fall for me, but when you do, you’ll be lucky.”

This man could not be for real. It wasn’t a man, but a boy. But on the outside, he was so god damn handsome. He looked like a homewrecker, but god damn, he did a good job of being one. Your boss's word’s of staying out of trouble were lingering from your mind now, and so quickly.

“You’re not gonna shut up until I tell you my name now, are you?”

He shook his head, “Where’s the fun in that, dollface?”

You wrote down his order for beer and then looked up, a smirk, “Y/n. Now you?”

“Y/n, a good name for a good girl. I’ve met a lot of y/n’s, but none like you. They fell into my arms like flies, but you aren’t like that. Just yet,” He joked, earning an eye roll from you. “It’s only fair If I tronduce myself, Sergeant Floyd Talbert,” He gave you a quick salute before relaxing, ‘But you can call me Tab, your boyfriend, or that silver fox that swept you off of your pretty little feet.”

“I think Tab will be good. Just try not to forget my name now, even though my expectations aren’t very high.” You sassed. He gave you an air kiss and you simply gave him a side eye, holding the tray and notebook to your chest as you ushered back to the counter to retrieve Beers. As you prepared them, you thought about Floyd Talbert. There were thousands of men like him. Good for nothing players who were too damn handsome for their own goods. Floyd Talbert was the type of man your parents would warn you to stay clear of since their middle names were trouble in all capitals.

But if he was so bad, then why was he so good to look at it?

Back at the bustling table, Floyd had kept his eyes on you. He watched your eyemove, like a hunter with its prey. He saw you converse with other waitresses, turn down compliments from other paratroopers, and do your job. He wasn’t one for formality, especially in the dating fields. It wasn’t what he was accustomed to doing. By now, the two of you would’ve been in the back of the pub, faulting to get your clothes off of each other for a wuckie. But you were different, you were a special case that Floyd knew would take a lot of investigating,

“Why’d you ask for her name?” Malarkey asked, knocking Floyd out of his trance. “You say it’s not good to ask for a dame’s name. You know, to make it easier.”

Floyd didn’t look over at Malarkey and simply stared at you, filling the large drinks with beer. He pulled on his lip, slumped on the chair. He always knew the answer for everything, he always had a solution.

But this time, it was different.

Floyd had gone into one of the bathrooms with a waitress, who simply smirked at him. Her whole face had trouble written her face, and so did he. She had red lipstick, bedroom eyes, and the nicest rack Floyd had ever seen. He knew from that moment that he would use his words to woo her. After a brief conversation of aggressive flirting, her and Floyd headed to the bathrooms with the blonde, angrily took their clothes off, and fucked. It was quick and there was not a single word spoken between the two. Floyd loved the attention and girls he got, but he never got a relationship or word out of them. He only cared for their looks, which even he knew was shallow. But it was all he knew how to do. If they seemed happy, so was he. But inside, was he truly happy with this lifestyle he lived? Did he like leaving a girl heartbroken the next morning with no goodbye? Did it make him happy?

And yet, he never asked for her name or had a small conversation with her. After they finished, she simply cleaned herself up and left, acting like nothing had happened. Floyd acted like that too, it was easy to put on a facade. He brushed back his ruffled hair and looked at himself in the mirror. He liked what he saw on the outside, but what did he like on the inside?

He still thought about the girl who had served him, y/n, who was not like his other targets. Y/n rejected his advances and twisted his words, which even Talbert found entertaining. He didn’t know this girl very well, but he wanted to. Flirt with her and talk to her, heck-even have a drink with her.

His hyperixation with Y/n wasn’t going to be ending anytime soon.

--------

So Floyd did what he did best-he kept coming back to the Pub. He would come with the men from Easy Company, and sometimes on his own. There he’d find y/n, who’d roll her eyes as he’d walk over and make another “amazing” attempt at flirting. His comments weren’t very creepy, after all, he was a gentleman. You had seen him around the bar before, but never learned his name. You always saw him as the handsome player with a blonde or brunette on his arm. Sure, he had that classic boyish look every girl and guy wished or wanted, but under all that hair gel and his pristine uniform-was he doing it all for his own pleasure? Did he think of women as toys he could throw away the next day, just like had been before? So you did what you did best-keep your distance and roll your eyes at his remarks.

But everytime he walked in and the doorbell would ring, signifying his presence, your hand would grasp against the cloth you were holding to wash down the bar counter..

Floyd kept his promise and kept being persistent with winning your heart. He’d walk in and lean against the counter, saying your name like a sweet singsong. You’d serve him a drink, and he’d tell you about his day and occasionally flex his muscles. At first glance, Floyd seemed a boorish boy; the one who’d brag how he’d conquer multiple women like they were countries. You knew boorish men all too well, and didn’t need another one to increase your pessimistic view on romance.

While much has Floyd loved to boast about himself, he also loved to talk about you. He always complimented your outfits, asked about your day, and even scared off the creepy paratrooper’s who’d get too close for comfort. When Floyd would talk to you, he’d look directly into your eyes and respectfully listen. And he remembered the tiniest of details, such as your little daughter or your neighbor, an edlery women, who’d pester you about marriage and cooking.

“So, how’s Ms.Walsh?” He asked as you placed a Beer in front of him. He had a shit eating grin on his face, so you already knew where this was going. “Did you tell her about your new man?”

You shrugged your shoulders and played it off, “Much to your dismay, I did not. I’m still single.”

“Funny that you say that, y/n. Next time, tell her that you have a very handsome and strong Paratrooper with a dog. I think Trigger will like Poppy a lot.” Floyd boasted as he kept his eyes on you, leaned against the counter with your arms crossed. “Poppy will get used to Trigger, just like us.”

Every Time he’d throw a remark at you, you’d throw it back with a tint of sarcasm. You had learned how to play his game, but occasionally loosened up. Floyd wasn’t a bad guy at all, his ego was big, but he didn’t have any cruel intentions when it came to you. He treated you like a human, with feelings and emotions. He always asked about your day, how you were, made you feel better when you were sad, and did anything to make you happy. So you broke out of your ice a little and did what he did to you in return; show him kindness. You’d finally sit with him at the bar if it wasn’t busy and talked to him.

It was hard to deny, but as much as you hated it, you were falling in love with him. It was hard to resist him, his words were as smooth as silk. Whenever he’d see you, he’d call out your name and would make sure everybody knew you were his-or at least that’s what you thought. The girls you worked with in the bar tried to flirt with him, but much to your surprise, he would push them all away-just for you. All of his attention was focused on you, and only you.

You were beyond conflicted. Your head was telling you to simply be friendly and civil, but your heart was leading you to pursue this romance. You were torn between logic and emotion. One part of you loved him, one part of you hated him. You hated the way he made you feel, think, blush, and do things. Floyd was taking over your life, whether you liked it or not. Whatever you and Floyd had going on was no longer on thin ice. The two of you were deep in the water scuba diving, together.

The bar was busy at night, but tonight was different. It was less busy than usual and much quieter. The ambience was peaceful, soft souls playing in the background with the warm lights dimmed. Your manicured nails tapped at the counter as you observed the setting; some paratroopers drinking, a paratrooper cuddled with a fellow girl in town, and a waitress casually conversing with the costumors. Only a few more hours and you could finally return home with little Luna, nestled in your warm bed, alone and safe from the cruel world.

The little bell on top of the door had rang, alerting the whole bar of a new customer. You turned your head and bit your lip upon seeing the incoming danger. Great, your shift had just become a whole lot more entertaining.

Floyd was donning his new uniform, cap and gelled hair. He strutted across the bar to you, knowing that he was handsome. He knew he was hot shit and wanted to make sure everybody knew. He came up right to the bar counter and leaned against up.

“Miss y/n…” He greeted in his boyish voice, looking up and down at your figure as he usually did. He stopped at your face. You never wore makeup, and if you did, it was barely noticeable to the naked eye. However, Floyd noticed you looked different tonight. You had a bright shade of red on your lips, a light rogue pressed onto your cheeks, and a soft eyeshadow to match your (y/e/c) eyes. It was soft, just like Floyd perceived you as. “Are you wearing makeup?”

You nodded and looked down, feeling your heart skip a beat. You tried to snap back at him, but your body forced you to look and not embarrass yourself. “Yes. I suppose I try something new, to make myself look somewhat put together.”

Floyd looked puzzled at your response, “Put together? You always look gorgeous, I don’t know what you mean.”

Keeping your gaze down, you were finding it difficult to be around him. The room got darker and you felt a cold sweat overcome your body. You weren’t asking for his sympathy. Of course he saw this and found another way to flirt with you. You refused to give him the satisfaction he wanted, even though you did enjoy his kind words. You shook your head, “You don’t have to lie, Floyd.”

“I never lie. Look at me, y/n,” Floyd stated as his fingers tipped your chin up. His grasp was as light as a feather. The two of you made eye contact with each other. His fingers rested on your chin for longer than you both expected. His long fingers slided away as he caught a glimpse of your face so close, noticing all the little features about you. “You’re beautiful, without all of this and with this. I don’t know if you could deny it. If a man doesn’t find a dame like you gorgeous, then they must need glasses.”

You looked at him and back down, scrambling to find your words. Romance was something that you hated. It should have made you feel happy and left you with a good relantishop, but instead you were left with broken hearts and scared. As much as you wanted to love and be loved, it was hard to. You were scared of getting hurt again but Floyd Talbert made you reconsider. And your mind was stubborn. You didn’t want to reconsider, all you wanted to do was stay in your old ways and be alone. But how long were the two of you going to play this game of cat and mouse? How long could it go on?

Every time Floyd tried to leave you, he always ended up back at your door, hoping you’ll finally open up to him; by either literally opening her door or letting him into her heart. Floyd’s way’s, the small and big things, illustrated his dedication to winning your heart. Floyd was willing to drive for miles to end up with you, and he wished you would appreciate his effort.

“Well, I guess you need glasses then,” You smirked and turned around to fix Floyd a beer, his favorite drink. He always liked the glass to be half way since he wasn’t a real drinker, he was more of a social one. You had picked up on that after befriending him. But was he a friend? Someone who you were in love with? What was he to you, and what were you to him?

Placing the beer in front of him, you attempted to walk away, but Floyd even knew you weren’t getting away that easy.

“Sit with me,” He requested, patting the empty barstool next to him. You opened your mouth to protest, but he already beat you to it, “Nobody’s here. Just one drink, and I’ll leave you be.”

Rolling your eyes, you walked over and towards Talbert to sit across from him. Instead of patting the barstool, he was now patting his lap with a look of lust and humor. Knowing that he was teasing you, you chuckled and sat on the barstool.

“Okay, you have me now.” You said as you put your hands up, ‘Why do you want me here?”

“I wanna know the pretty dame behind all of the makeup,” Floyd responded as he pulled on his lower lip, “Tell me about you. Home, your cat, everything.”

“One minute you want to marry me, the next you want to know my life story…” You replied as you also leaned onto the counter, “If you want to know so badly, then you go first. Tell me your life story.”

And so Floyd Talbert did. He told every little detail he could about himself from his family, Kokomo, his love for fishing, his four brothers-basically, his whole life story. Floyd had no problem openly sharing his problems with the world, especially you. He was fine telling you about his dad not being present, working odd jobs in high school, not attending college-he was ok with it. He accepted and loved himself, as you could clearly see. You on the other hand couldn’t understand how open he could be with himself, in relationships and in general.

The hard front of Floyd’s boot gently kicked your heel, his toe caressing against your bare ankle. A chill was sent up your spine as you looked up at him, straightening his back.

“You seemed so interested that you started drooling,” He commented, a smirk on his face.

You gave him a puzzled expression before you could notice the sticky sensation at the corner of your lip. Groaning in embarrassment, you looked for a napkin to wipe the drool from. Before you could find a napkin, Floyd had grabbed a handkerchief from his breast pocket and grabbed your chin gently, wiping the side of your mouth. He held you like you were made of glass, easily broken by a little infraction, which was partially true.

Once Floyd removed his fingers, he handed you the handkerchief. “Here, for you.’ He slicked his honey hair back, “Some ladies would kill for that.”

Hearing the comment, you rolled your eyes and shoved it into your apron. “Hardy Har Har, thank you.”

“Ok, enough about me. What about you?” Floyd said as he scooted his chair towards you, resting his arms on the counter with his chin gliding against his palm. “I’d like to know more about my dame.”

You looked at him and back down, biting your lip. A sarcastic comeback crossed your mind, but somehow you couldn’t spit out the words. The possessive word made you freeze in place as your grasp tightened around your drink. Nobody had called you in years.

“I’m no one’s,” You stated, taking a long sip of your drink, “I’m boring. I grew up in Albourne, always have been here. I have a daughter, I like to read, smoke, I-”

“I know that, but I want to know what’s in here.” Floyd pointed a finger at your head and heart. It was sweet, and even adorable. As much as you wanted to give into his warmth, the ice that surrounded your heart began to freeze.

“Come on, darling. Don’t play so hard to get, I know it’s not easy. Just loosen up a little for once. I can tell you that I’m stubborn, just like you. I like a challenge, and I always win,” Floyd cockily stated, which only pushed your buttons. The closer he scooted his chair towards you, the more you felt like screaming at the top of your lungs. “Stop being so scared and jus-”

“My goddess gracious, shut up!” You exclaimed loudly, burying your hands in your face. Floyd, respecting your wishes, shut up and was left speechless, his face contorted. What had he done wrong? He hadn’t touched you at all.

“You know, I’ve been with guys just like you. Total flirts, sleep with whoever they want and do whatever they want. They don’t care, just as long as it doesn’t affect them. God forbid If a woman does that, she’s considered a whore,” You ranted, “Guys like you are bad news. You treat us like objects that you can use and then throw out the next day. I know this game-you don’t care about me or my feelings at all, do you?” You looked away from him, holding back years, “After all, you said you wanted honesty, so there.”

Floyd was shocked at your sudden rant. He considered you sweet and quiet. This was the most he had ever heard come out of your mouth. Normally, he wouldn’t be moved by these things since they never occurred. This was his longest “flirting avvenire” he had experienced in years. His heart broke at your words. Being ashamed of himself, he attempted to fix what had been broken.

“Y/n, that’s not what you think. I know I’m like that, and it’s no excuse. But you’re…” Floyd stopped and let out an exhale with a red face, “different. When I first looked at you, I thought I died. I haven’t talked to any other dame since-you’re the only one that matters. I think about you whenever I’m not with you. Y/n, I think I lo-”

You let out a dry laugh, “Yeah. You may talk to me, make me laugh and say the sweetest things...but how many other girls are you doing that to? How many other girls have you shamed for being your property? How many girls have you slapped for looking at another man for less than a second? How many other girls have you forced yourself on and left them with a child you never wanted? Tell me, I’d love to hear.”

Floyd listened to your words carefully, analyzing them. The thought processed on his head, and instead of looking offended, his face softened. He looked sad and pained. Even though you had said a little, Floyd could piece together your past. He felt like an idiot for not knowing. No wonder you were cold and distant. From what it seemed, you had been not only physically abused, but touched without your consent and forced to take care of a child you didn’t want. Floyd felt terrible for you. It was no longer a game anymore, it was serious.

“Y/n...I’m sorry. I never knew. I feel like an idiot for not knowing. I’m not like that. I’d never do something like that I-”

“You sound just like him. All of you are the same. You put on a fake little smile and say sweet little things,” You ranted as you pushed yourself out of the chair to walk out. Floyd cursed under his breath and followed you right out, “Then bomb, under your control.”

“Y/n-”

Slamming the door open, your feet angrily stomp through the mud. You don’t care if you're sinking. You don’t know where you're going, but you want to be as far away from Floyd as possible.

You turned around and pointed a blaming finger at his chest, “Don’t interrupt me. You're so damn manipulative. From the minute you sat down, I could see that you wanted me in your bed. My biggest mistake wasn’t falling for you, it was thinking you had fallen for me.”

Floyd didn’t say anything and watched you turn over and run a hand through your neatly done up hair and makeup, which both became unruly.

“I’m sorry.” He apologized. Floyd walked over and grabbed your hands in an attempt to win you back, “I know it’s cheesy, but you're changing me. I tried to move on, but I can’t. Just let me help you. I can be whatever for you. A friend, a lover, anything. I had no idea what you had gone through. Can you let me inside so I can help you?” He was serious, this was no joke to him or you, “Let’s stop this game of cat and mouse. Honesty is number one here.”

You threw his hands away and began to back away, black tears streaming from your caked face. The nice outfit, soft hair, and pretty dress all for him. It was blind ignorance. How dumb you felt and looked.

“Goodbye, Floyd.” Is all you said before you hastily turned around and left him alone. You could imagine his gorgeous face, all heartbroken. Deep inside, you hated doing this. Breaking hearts, just like Floyd did.

But you and Floyd were different. He was the archer and you were the prey in the big scheme of things. In your world, to prevent history from repeating itself, it is better to be safe than sorry.

-----------

You always left your door unlocked. Albourne was home, you had never left in. You knew your neighbors well enough. They liked you and your bubbly little daughter enough. Whenever you’d come home from work, she would run up to your feet and smile at you. Her smile would remind you of the man that shattered your heart, but there was something special about Poppy. She was not his, but yours, the light in that dark relationship. You made sure she was loved every single day and put her happiness over yours.

Another girl had taken your shift for the night, which made you relieved. You had a whole day to yourself, and Poppy. It was an indoors day due to the heavy rain. You accomplished from cleaning with the help of Poppy, some reading, and a game of princess and dragons. You were the dragon and Poppy played the role of the princess, and her stuffed animal the prince. The way she played the prince triggered the thoughts of Floyd.

After cleaning up, Floyd would infect your mind like a parasite. After you had bid him goodbye, you hadn’t seen him since. You had seen his friends at the bar and around town, but not him. Why did you miss him? You made it clear that you wanted nothing to do with him. You couldn’t stand being hurt again, even if a part of you, just a tiny one, considered feelings.

When Poppy had drifted off into a nap, you decided to go check out the rain. The garden you had built outside was weighed down by the heavy amount of train. You slowly walked into the rain as you felt your hair stick to your face and the clothes on your body become all moist. It was like taking a shower, it was beautiful. Closing your eyes, you tilted your head up and let the rain pour down your face and body.

The rain suddenly stopped falling into your mouth and clothes. Confused, you had thought it stopped raining. You opened your eyes and instead of a gray sky, you were met with the black top of an umbrella, being held by none other than Floyd Talbert.

“What are you doing in the rain?” He asked casually as he put a hand on your waist, walking with you to the cover of your house. He was drenched too, but you were soaking wet. “You’re gonna get sick.”

You blinked a few times to make sure what you were seeing and hearing was real. You stuttered and pointed at you, “Floyd...oh...I...how did you..?”

“Waitresses at The Pub. I got worried, I didn’t see you at the pub.” He explained not to sound stalkerish, “I looked everywhere for you because I needed to talk to you. Please, I know you hate me, but before I go, I might not come back. I rather tell you then die with it.”

You had forgotten there was a war that Floyd was a part of. He would soon be shipped off to Europe and be gone for forever or an indefinite amount of time. His hazel orb’s begged for your attention, and you were finding it hard to resist.

“Since you’re here...I suppose it’s only fair.” You accepted, “Go on.”

“I was thinking about what you told me, and it made me think too. I used to not do it a lot, until I met you,” He admitted, “Y/n, I know it’s crazy, but I could’ve sworn I died when I first looked at you. My heart stopped and I didn’t know what to say when you came over to me. You were sweet, quiet, and drop dead gorgeous. No other dame mattered to me, only you did. When I was with you, I only thought about you and what you wanted to do. You’re in my dreams and thoughts when I’m not with you. I think about you a lot, and...I love you, angel, as crazy as I sound.”

“I know what you’ve gone through and I’m sorry. But, I want to help you. I want to make you feel beautiful and loved. You know I’m there for you in whatever way you want, as a friend or a lover. I’m always a door away, and you know that y/n. But I love you more than anything in the world, and I want to show that to you in whatever way I can.”

You didn’t know what had triggered the kiss. Maybe it was Floyd’s speech, the hand on the small of your back, or his wet uniform. You didn’t respond with words and leaned in. Floyd didn’t protest and dived right into the kiss, his hands wrapped around your waist and back for support. The girls at your job were right, he was the best kieer you had ever met. He was gentle with you, his plump lips felt like heaven on your lips. It was a genius and heartfelt kiss. He could taste your lipstick and you could taste his cologne after the two of you had far gone.

There the two of you stood, wrapped in each other's arms as the rain poured down onto you.

You looked up and grabbed Floyd’s hand, nudging your head. “I’ll get you some warm clothes. I can make you a drink, if you please. Tea, coffee, anything.”

Floyd walked right beside you and pulled you in close for warmth. He planted a kiss on your wet hair, “You?” You looked at him with that motherly glare, which earned you a giggle. “You did say anything I wanted.”

“Well, I guess I did,” You raised your eyebrows and smiled. You leaned into his shoulder as you walked back into your little cottage, Floyd holding you close to his side.

You ended up serving him Tea. Poppy had woken up from her nap and followed Floyd around like a dog, believing that her wish of a father had come true. Floyd was intent on making Poppy’s dreams come true. Poppy would rave about the stories she wrote as you sat on Floyd’s lap, a blanket sprawled on your lap. His hand would play with the ends of your loose hair as you leaned in his chest, a soft smile on your face.

You had made dinner for three instead of two that night. As you cleaned the dishes, Floyd had read Poppy a story and sent her to sleep. He promised her that the next time he came over that she would get to meet Trigger and walk him. After Poppy had fallen asleep, Floyd came back to the kitchen and carried you to your room. The two of you got rid of your dirty clothes and left them sprawled on the ground, jumping into the bath with each other. He made sure that you were pampered that night as he washed your body and hair, massaged your back, planted kisses on your body, complimented you every other second, and did thousands of little things that would make a girl go head over heels. He took you to your bed and wrapped you in warm blankets and even made you a cup of tea. He knew he was going to get in trouble, but he stayed behind with you and cuddled with you until you fell asleep for “warmth”. It was cliche, but you absolutely loved it. Floyd’s radiance and warmth had melted away that icy barrier.

And with that, Floyd truly made you feel loved once again.

#Floyd Talbert #floyd talbert imagine #band of brothers #Floyd Talbert x reader #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagine #old maroon 5 slaps #carrie's writing

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bunny-hoodlum · 3 years ago

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Asynchronous With You: Ch 6

ship: naruhina

rating: teen (quite possibly mature or explicit later)

tags: Modern Day AU, Foster Siblings, Family, Angst, Unrequited Love, Poor Communication, Missed Opportunities

summary: An awkward journey full of self-denial and missed moments between two foster siblings. Perhaps their love will find the right timing someday.

"I think everyone should know," she said.

They were walking the usual route to their high school, the train station coming up ahead. Naruto kept a protective though furtive gaze on Hinata as he walked behind her on the steps.

He swore she's never modified her skirt. It would be against the dress code she's forced to protect. So he has no idea why it feels like he's seeing more of her than usual.

"Know what?"

Usually he's already doing this, because he's worried about perverts. Even in grade school, he was worried. If it weren't for their teachers educating them on Stranger Danger, he probably would have had to do it himself.

He had to learn it the hard way before Kurenai-obasan took him in, but so did Neji apparently. That's why he's gotten good at being less obvious with his suspicion, and also why he can better tell apart intent based on their body language.

He used to perceive everything around him to be potentially malicious. He never realized the toll that had been taking on him until Neji taught him how to really see.

He stood close behind her on the platform as they waited.

"That we're fosters."

A burst of wind shot through the platform, ruffling overcoats and business suits and whipping pleated skirts and loose hair in a sudden frenzy.

The PA announced the train's arrival, and it wheezed to a stop soon after.

He observed Hinata as she flattened her skirt down and smoothed her bangs, but none of it registered in his brain.

It was simply auto-pilot for him to follow her onto the train, then using his larger frame to block the other passengers from nearing his little sister.

Right. His foster sister.

In all of their nine years together, they've never told anyone. It wasn't that it seemed weird, it just… never occurred to them?

But now it did seem pretty weird.

"Why, though? In a couple years, it's not going to matter anymore."

She turned her face against her shoulder to look at him, but he didn't know what she was thinking. It was the same schooled features she put on last night when visiting Neji, like there was a one-way mirror and only she could see through him.

Then she looked away.

"You're not going to introduce a girlfriend to Kurenai one of these days?"

"Hmm?" The suggestion bloomed in his mind and quickly withered. The idea wasn't… very appealing. Something about inviting judgment onto his life and stuff. He defends himself in every aspect but at home, and he'd rather keep coasting on the good thing he's got. "Dunno. Hadn't ever thought about it."

He certainly wasn't going to introduce any of the one's he's taken to bed when the apartment was empty. He's rarely done it with the same girl twice, mainly because he can't help but lose interest.

He blames it on sexual incompatibility.

"Well, I know I will."

He misses the melancholy hedging around her words, and latches onto the opportunity for an easy ribbing.

"You're gonna bring a girlfriend over?" he's happy she shoots him a look so that she can see his corny grin, otherwise he worried she might've mistaken him for serious.

He's nonplussed by the severity of her glare, but then she says "Maybe when you're not around," and he no longer knows what to think.

"Wait, what? Hinata?" He's craning left and right in hopes of catching a smirk or a giggle from her, but she's evasive. Has she? "Hinata, are you--?" And since third grade she said? "Also, what's that supposed to mean 'when I'm not around'? Huh? Hey, what's that supposed to mean 'when I'm not around'?? Hinata???"

"We're getting off topic--"

"Bullshit! I have questions!"

She ignored him.

"I vote to tell our friends that we're fosters. And I'd like to have it taken care of during Lunch. What's your vote?"

Is this what she sounds like during her Public Morals Committee meetings? Because it was doing something to him.

Oh, right. She wanted an honest answer.

But… "What do you get out of announcing this? I mean, aside from knowing how to introduce me in the future or whatever. Have you thought this through at all?"

What's the rest of the school going to say?

The guys who share their skin mags with him might get wary and reject him. The girls he's dumped might try to get to him through her. Teachers might give up on disciplining him, essentially offloading their responsibilities onto her as both Public Morals Committee and his sister. And he wasn't having any of that shit again.

All kinds of things could bite them in the ass one way or another.

She hasn't replied to him at all, and he thinks she's upset again, but he has to make his point.

"Hinata, the way things are now isn't broken, so what are you trying to fix?"

"It would help me."

"Huh? How? With what?" He waited, and she was silent. A drop of dread sank in his chest for her. "So something is wrong," He leaned in closer, causing her to shrink. He sighed. "Hinata, for someone who wants the world to know we're fosters, you sure don't seem willing to rely on me like a sibling."

"I don't favor Neji-niisan over you."

"Yeah, well, you don't have to," Tension clutched at their throats. "People always have more history with their blood. I can't really compete, y'know?"

He can't compete at all, actually.

Sometimes he thinks his only true brother is Sasuke, but he still wants to work at this. She just has to let him.

"I'm sorry. I just thought it would be less lonely if we could talk to each other normally again. And we only see each other at school these days, so…"

He envisioned her waving to him in the halls between periods, or her having a reason to cheer him on during a deadlift tournament. It would prevent people from making the wrong idea about them.

Damn, he felt stupid now.

"Fine!" He intoned with mock-annoyance. "If it'll make you happy."

She looked over her shoulder again, and what she found was his warm, supportive smile.

________________________

Hinata gathered her friends, Kiba, Shino, Ino and Sakura.

And he gathered his friends, Sasuke, Shikamaru, and Chouji.

Ino had tsked in distaste when she saw Sasuke, had gone as far as to drag Sakura away so that the others sat in-between them. He caught some sort of nickname from her lips, but wasn't sure what she had really said.

As Naruto stood before them alongside Hinata, his gaze fell on the skinny lad scribbling away at his sketchbook, and immediately his fight instinct was switched on.

"What's your monochromatic ass doing here??! Did anyone invite him?!" He jabbed a finger in Sai's direction.

The monotone, softboy, little creep didn't even look up.

"I'm making a record of these proceedings for posterity," he lifted the sketchpad and flipped it around.

Inkified Naruto was pointing right back at him with an agape snarl. Sai then proceeded to show everyone else individually, and they all cracked up, one by one.

Ino was absolutely dying. Stomach-clutching and tears rolling, the whole nine yards. She snatched the sketchpad from Sai and begged if she could keep it.

"Whaddya want that for??" Naruto interrogated. He was so about to punch Sai and throw his art supplies in the pool. This was Hinata's announcement and the softboy was ruining it.

Ino mockingly tilted the sketchbook side to side. "Something to keep your ego in check, Charato."

Hinata faintly snorted. He wasn't sure until he saw how she had her face turned around and her shoulders were lightly trembling.

He frowned at her, feeling betrayed.

"Ahhhh, alright, enough! Me and Hinata have gathered you all here for a reason! So shut up and listen! Hinata, tell them!"

Hinata jolted out of her humor, her face flushing as though this were the first time she's done public speaking.

"Uh, Uhm… Naruto-kun and I… we're foster siblings. We, uh… we live together," Hinata froze up under their collective stares. With a stiff smile, she half-heartedly sang "Ta-da," and punctuated it with rather embarrassed jazz hands.

"And as our friends, you're the first to know," Naruto added. "Also we don't care if the whole school finds out. So don't worry, we're not sharing this out of confidentiality."

Their collective shock evaporated rather quickly.

Sakura was the first to speak. "Well, that answers a lot of questions. And raises plenty more." She ended it with a growl and a glare. That accusatory look irked him.

"Feel free to ask away! I've got nothin' to hide!"

Sakura flattened the back of her skirt as she rose up like a dignitary representing The House of Hyuuga. And then like a certain video game attorney, she pointed at him.

"I always wondered why you obsessively protected Hinata in the past, but never showed any romantic initiative towards her. Now I have to ask, knowing the sex maniac that you are: Do you ever sneak into her bedroom?"

"No," He answered unconvincingly. He looked at the jury one by one, unsure how much of their scrutiny was sincere or misperceived. Sasuke was leaning forward, arms circling around his knees. He looked a little too interested in the idea of him and Hinata… doing things… "I-I've never done that! I would never do that! Hinata's special to me, okay?! You've got a filthy fuckin' mind, Haruno!"

"Me?! You've tried to sneak into the female locker rooms!" Sakura took off her shoe and slugged it at him. "Multiple times!"

Naruto hunched up and twisted away as the shoe smacked his shoulder and bounced away.

Hinata moved in between him and the one-woman mob. "Okay, this is getting out of hand--"

"I will never fucking do that to Hinata. I was in an orphanage for six years. And they're not all run by saints."

Dammit.

This was way more than he ever wanted to share.

He took a few steps back before turning tail. He jogged downhill as fast as he could.

What was he doing?

Uzumaki Naruto doesn't run away.

But it was either that, or… have them watch him cry.

________________________

AN: So this is missing a scene cuz I cut it. I might not use it anymore, and instead I'll see if the backstory I had expanded upon will be worked in later on in the plot. Because before I started writing this, I had anticipated that things would actually get cuter from here on out. (Also anticipating that I may work in at least one smutty chapter in the future. Yeah, it's totally diverging from this fic's original concept when I posted it for Secret Santa, but that's okay!) And the total Ego Death I unexpectedly wrote just feels kind of Deus Ex Machina in a way to Naruto's vices. I just can't have him maturing right now. That's a plot route I don't have any material for, and I don't quite see it as not defeating the other stuff I had planned to write. (I'm also happy to state that I'm starting to get a better picture of how to condense this content on AO3, because I honestly feel like this could be Ch. 2 now. :B I mean, it's too short on its own if I do, but it kinda has that hook for the rest of the story.)

I hope you enjoyed this update! 😘💕💕💕

#asynchronous with you fanfiction #chapter 6 #naruhina fanfiction #naruhina #naruto x hinata #modern au

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deceptive-jo · 3 years ago

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Whumptober 2021 - Alt.4 Mercy

The Host and the Author are not merciful men. Especially if you harm what is theirs.

Words: 981

---

The Author awoke with a strained back and an uncomfortable pinch in his neck. Weirdly enough the restraints only registered afterwards, a sad testament to the normality of the situation. He tried to slip out, maybe turn around to recognise the person he could hear breathing behind him- asleep if the lack of motion was anything to go by- but it was no use. The ropes were bound tight enough to cut off his circulation. It was hard to tell how long he’d been asleep but judging by the state of his hands waiting wasn’t much of an option.

The tingling spreading through his fingers was immediately drowned out by the burning rushing over his arms as he twisted his hands. It was clear the restrains wouldn’t loosen any time soon but much more movement wouldn’t be necessary. The Author watched in distant concentration as the ropes cut into his flesh, leaving it reddened and irritated, yet didn’t stop until the sore skin was slowly covered in dark red blood trailing down his fingers and tripping onto the floor.

He didn’t pay much attention to the way it turned pitch black upon contact, rather preparing himself for the next move. With the little give his ankle was allowed he began to write…

The Host was awoken with a hard slap to the face. “You awake?”, the dulled voice of his brother reached through the mist still clouding his mind. “He is now.” The response felt weird in his mouth, like his jaw wasn’t quite sure how to form words yet. Slowly, as his quiet narrations began picking up again in fluidity, the room started forming around him, most prominently the Authors form, crouched in front of the Host and doing his best to support his head. The Host’s nose crunched up as he caught the strong scent of blood wafting off of the writer. “How did the Author get out?”

“They didn’t drug me...it’s just taking a while to heal”, the Host was pulled to his feet, by now steady enough to navigate out of the room without support, “Gotta admit though, kinda insulting that they didn’t think I needed to be drugged-“ The Host stopped abruptly as he rounded another corner, the faint glow of a distinct aura hitting him. “The Host hadn’t been alone.” “The fuck you mean…”, the Author slowly trailed off as the familiar sense finally reached him as well. “Oh hell no.”

The two Egos sprinted down the dark hallway, only led by the faintest glow of mint blue, minds racing. They finally came to a stop in front of a heavy metal door, apparently sealed shut. It didn’t last a second against their force. They stumbled forward as it flew open, eyes immediately searching for their partner. Their blood froze in their veins.

The Host stumbled forward, invisible gaze trained on the bloody lifeless body of Dr Iplier, sinking to his knees in front of him. Tears mixed with blood as he reached upwards, tracing his love’s face, already cold to the touch. The Author watched, as his brother collapsed in front of his partner’s corpse, dread filling his soul, and something snapped-

He stepped closer to the shaking body with forced calmness, aura slipping over Edward’s remaining energy and slowly combing through the Host’s hair. All the while ink was seeping into the floor and slipping through cracked walls, pulsating with barely contained anger.

The Host looked up, mouth twisted in a grimace of sorrow. “They will have to pay for what they did to Dr Iplier. He will find every single one of them and make those bastards pay!” The Author didn’t take his eyes off his best friend’s corpse as he slowly helped his brother up. “They will, don’t worry”, the rich smell of ink was joined by the rustling of old parchment, growing in an intensity that was pushing against the walls and making the windows rattle. “The night patrol just noticed their absence. It will not be long until the brothers are found.” Ink shot back out of the infrastructure, tightening Author’s hold on the building as he slipped into a nearby-shadow, “Let’s find ‘em first, then.”

Their captors were horribly under-prepared. Then again, not much could prepare you for the wrath of two gods on a war-path. The first guard didn’t last a second before his lifeless body was flung through the wall, right into the next pair of security. One of them barely managed to send off a distress signal before the messenger was crumbled to pieces, much like his skull, leaving behind a bloody mess that followed the entities into each room they entered.

The Author didn’t spare the vermin another glance as he stormed past, uncaring for their thoughts and motivations. It didn’t matter which of them were even responsible for their captures, who landed the final killing blow to the doctor’s body, as their bodies turned inside out, screams rattling in his ears before the light was squeezed out of them. They were all pathetic, weak, disgusting.

By the time they made their way outside, Edward’s unnervingly cold body wrapped up in the Author's arms and the Host heaving, anger just barely stilled, the warehouse was standing ablaze. They shared a quick nod, just enough for their auras to melt together, blazing, destructive and incomprehensible. This was an example. A show to the entirety of Egotropolis. It tore out the Host's heart that it had to come at the life of his beloved. But he'd make everyone involved pay. They would find the rest of the organisation and burn them to the ground. It was time to remind these fools that they were wielding the power of gods.

#whumptober2021 #no.26 #mercy #altprompt #markiplier egos #fic #death tw #blood tw #body horror tw #the host #the author

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welllpthisishappening · 4 years ago

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But Once a Year (4/5)

This is a trick.

It has to be. Something Pan planned, or some nonsense only possible in Neverland, because one second Emma’s sitting outside the Echo Caves and wondering how exactly things could possibly get worse, and then the world decides to take her up on the challenge. She’s not where she was. Or when she was, either.

And the future isn’t entirely what Emma expects it to be, but that might not be entirely horrible and Christmas with a husband and a family that quite clearly loves her is only kind of messing with her head. God bless us, every one.

————

Rating: T Word Count: Another 9K or so, but with feelings AN: I had every intention of posting this on actual Christmas, but there was a Doctor Who marathon on and, well—I got distracted by other time travel. Hopefully my timelines are more consistent than River Song’s. Sorry, River Song. Here’s a whole bunch of kissing and feeling feelings.

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll || Or start from the start

————

“Were you ever actually going to paint?”

No eyebrow movement that time, although Killian’s actual eyes widen ever so slightly and that particular reaction is starting to do dangerous things to Emma's ego. He keeps his coffee mug hovering just above his lips, which she’s certain is a carefully calculated ploy to also keep her staring at his lips, but that’s not all that difficult and she’d spent at least seven full minutes kissing those same lips senseless that morning.

In bed.

The one they’ve slept in — for four days straight now, which is probably more time than it should be, but he was right. Falling asleep with his arm around her is far easier than the opposite, and he only occasionally complains about the frost-like tendencies of her feet. Mostly into the back of her neck. That’s just where his mouth ends up.

So, everything is still going great. Not potentially problematic. Because neither Regina nor Tinker Bell have come up with a working time-travel theory, and Emma’s baking endeavors haven’t gone over all that well either, but she’s discovered Killian’s tendency for stealing batter, and that’s even more ridiculously endearing information that’s only sort of skewing with her sense of reality, and— “Is this you volunteering?”

Startling, Emma almost forgot she’d asked a question. His mouth does something else. Stupid, and distracting and he uses almond milk in his coffee.

Claims it’s a modern convenience he’s more than willing to take advantage of.

Great, great, excellent. Possibly falling towards something, in a free-fall sort of way, and Emma shakes her head. Brushes away dangerous thoughts and hard-drawn lines in the much more metaphorical sand, and she wonders if sand ever lingers in their entry way during the summer.

They must go to the beach.

Spend time on the Jolly Roger, and she hasn’t seen much of the ship, but she’s starting to think it’d be nice to pass an afternoon on the water, with the sun and the salt and— “Swan,” Killian says, obviously not the first time he’s tried to draw back her attention. Chair legs scrape across their kitchen floor when he stands, and Emma’s brain barely acknowledges that particular pronoun before he’s crowding her space and bumping his hips against hers and nothing like that has happened yet, because that’s not just a line, it’s an entire rhombus or some other geometric shape that’s more like a tangled mess and knotted feelings and she flinches.

When his hook drifts under the hem of her shirt.

Floral patterned, and far gauzier than anything Emma would even think about owning now. Or then, she supposes. Tenses continue to be their own specific type of issue, and she’s starting to like the clothes hanging in her questionably large closet.

They’re soft.

Which is probably not a commentary, or observation of whatever tense she’s willing to use, but it’s definitely different and possibly better and Killian chuckles in her ear as soon as her head falls to his collarbone. He kisses the top of her hair.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

Scoffing into his shirt threatens to rumple the fabric, and she doesn’t really miss the billowy fabric of what’s now years past, but she also wonders if he kept them and where he docks the Jolly during the winter, and she can’t start giving pirate ships nicknames. Not now. Not yet. Not when she’s got to leave, and that only makes, like, half her muscles ache, so it’s probably not as bad as it could be.

“They’re not worth that much,” Emma mumbles, the soft laugh she gets warming her from the inside out. A mix of magic and much more, and she’s back on the alliterative. As a defense mechanism or something.

For her heart, maybe.

“Luckily for you, I’ve got something of an eye for undiscovered treasure and—” “—Is this a line?” He laughs again, noses at her temple and the crown of her head and neither one of them mention how tightly Emma’s arms wrap around his middle. “If you can’t decipher when I’m flirting by now, we may have some issues.” “Some is a vast understatement.” “It’s going to be alright,” Killian promises, but it rings a little hollow and part of Emma knows. Still dark and distant, it doesn’t want to acknowledge everything it’s ignoring and a pointed voice echoes between her ears. With the same mantra.

Magic is emotion.

And Emma’s emotions are decidedly split. Just like Pan thought they’d be. Maybe she’s not just a coward; she’s selfish and greedy and inching dangerously close to a crying jag in the middle of the kitchen, but then Killian’s fingers drag across her spine and it’s a rhythm she can time her breathing to.

“We’re running out of time.” “That’s not entirely true. Time travel’s apparently heavily involved, makes deadlines rather defunct, don’t you think?”

Emma scrunches her nose, but the voice is back and it’s sharper and a little angrier and stamping on several different parts of her brain if the growing pain is any indication. All magic comes with a price. “Talk to me about paint instead.” “Not much to talk about,” Killian says, but the caution in his voice makes it obvious they’re both all too aware of what they’re avoiding. Possibly even dreading. Emma is, at least.

She’s going to strangle Peter Pan when she sees him.

“But you haven’t done it.” “Some other things have been going on, you see.” “Don’t you want to paint?” “It’s not particularly high on my list of ways to occupy my time,” he admits, one side of his mouth tugging up. Flirting is getting easier. Some joke about practice, Emma is sure. “But, if it’s something you’re willing to help with, and it will get those thoughts of yours to settle for a few moments, then—” “—Who says my thoughts aren’t settled?” Tapping the all-too-noticeable furrow of Emma’s forehead, Killian’s eyes widen again. “Absolutely God awful at masking them, m’dear.” “Maybe that’s just a you thing.” “Aye, my mind-reading talents have been well-documented, but I suppose if we’re going to wait for Her Majesty to come up with yet another pointless—” “—Kinda harsh,” Emma mumbles. He kisses the furrow. Traces the lines of her brows, and hovers just on the edge of her eyes, grazing cheekbones and the bridge of her nose, until Emma's skin is buzzing and her magic threatens to pour out of her, and she’s only just able to contain whatever wave joke is pressing against her lips. Good, since those lips can be put to much better use against Killian’s. “Better plan, anyway,” he mumbles, working his arm back around her waist. So he can tug her up, and pull her closer to him and neither one of those things feel like the multitude of other problems Emma’s overactive brain is dealing with and they do eventually get out of the kitchen.

Finish the coffee, and figure out where Hope’s favorite hat has disappeared to, because Emma’s rather quickly learned that this hat has legs that quite often move from its spot on the shelf into the hallway, and the overall width of Mary Margaret’s smile when she opens up the farm’s screen door isn’t as jarring as it would have been a week earlier.

Getting back home takes longer than it probably should — ducking into the alley behind Granny’s for at last forty-two seconds of totally uninterrupted kissing, and Emma’s not entirely sure this is what being a newlywed is like, or was, she supposes, but it’s still pretty fantastic and she doesn’t want to name the sound that works its way out of her.

Part giggle, a hint of overjoyed, and some sort of lingering fear because this isn’t quite real, but feels like the exact opposite, and they find old drop sheets in one of their half a dozen closets. Right next to the shirts she’d been wondering about before, and that’s probably not serendipity or fate or anything except Killian’s own sentimental tendencies, but she’s got to change her clothes anyway, and she doesn’t drown in the fabric like she worried she would.

Likely not a metaphor, either.

“Cheating,” Killian accuses, reaching for Emma anyway and moving the furniture isn’t the easiest thing in the world. Until Emma also remembers she’s got magic, and the ability to be very attracted to the guy who can’t seem to keep his hand off her, and she only has to blink once.

For the furniture to move into the basement, at least for the time being.

“Impressive, right?”

“Look who’s fishing for compliments now.” “C’mon, that was a shit ton of—” She doesn’t get the rest out, far too busy gasping and blinking and he’s swiped paint on her nose. “Are you kidding me?” Shrugging, he dances out of her reach before Emma can totally react and the paint’s already starting to dry. And crack. The signs are just getting obnoxious now. Makes much more sense to keep ignoring them.

“No, no,” she argues, not bothering with the brush stuffed into the top of her leggings. Twisting her wrist, paint soars towards Emma’s fingertips, curling around her wrist and practically vibrating with the energy she’s flush with.

Killian takes a step back. One more, another. A quick shake of his head makes the strands falling across his forehead shift again, and she’s not counting how often that happens, but she’s also paying fairly close attention to it and—“Revenge is never wise, love,” he advises, not able to keep the laugh out of his voice.

“Pots and kettles, and all that, right?” “I’m completely reformed now. Ask anyone.” Humming, Emma advances on him. Magic ripples up her arms, power she’s never quite experienced before and it’s oddly intoxicating. Not in an overwhelming, potentially villainous sort of way. It’s far too warm for that.

Villainy has to be cold, Emma’s sure.

As it is, she’s not quite sweating, but she’s decidedly comfortable and all of her internal organs are functioning with an ease that belies their situation, or the problems it presents, and none of the paint ever touches her skin. Hovers in the air around it, wholly controlled and that’s not something Emma’s particularly familiar with.

It’s nice. It’s—much more than nice, but she fell once while trying to do the long jump in that one Minnesota high school she spent a few months in when she was fifteen, and the prospect of something similar makes her wary of leaving the ground again. The line’s still there. Drawn with precision, and possibly permanent marker, and they can’t paint over that.

Not yet, at least. Not entirely.

“It does kind of match your eyes,” Emma says, hoping Killian doesn’t notice the shake in her voice. No such luck, she knows. Can see the flicker of concern in his gaze, but he’s able to push away. Not from the wall, and there’s something cyclical and symmetrical about this too, emotion almost visibly hanging between them. Another thing they haven’t talked about, and likely won’t have time for.

Totally fine. Absolutely great.

Falling for—

No, no falling. Standing and walking and Emma lifts her chin. Lets her magic twist its way up her spine, and flicker towards her bare feet, and Killian’s mouth twitches again.

“Care more about the dress, really.” “What’d it look like? And where was Elsa’s—you said it was a wedding, right?”

“Her wife was here, you saw Mulan yesterday.” “No shit!” “Always with the perfect response,” Killian grins, “but yes. Met while Mulan was doing ambassador work for Aurora and Phillip, and love conquers all or so I’ve been told.” “Say it again without making it a joke.” Not shuddering under the force of his ensuing gaze is another victory Emma’s going to relish, even when she’s wherever she’s actually supposed to be, and she hopes she remembers this. In picture-perfect detail. “Conquers all,” Killian repeats, “as far I know.”

“Personally?” “Deeply so.”

Emma licks her lips. Killian stares. Tries not to, but she really is getting better at reading him and he doesn’t put up as much of a fight about information anymore. Seriously, everything’s so fine, the word barely holds any meaning now. But, like, in a positive way. “So, we went to Elsa’s wedding because—” “—You and she are rather good friends. Hope’s godmother, in fact.” “Oh. That’s—wow, that’s kind of nice.” “It is,” Killian agrees, not adding to it. He doesn’t have to. They both hear what they haven’t said — how few and far between friends are for Emma, and she briefly wonders if he knows about Lily or the kids who showed up, only to disappear just as quickly, and it would be second-nature to tell him. Part of her wants to now.

Rehashing seems silly, though.

“Anyway,” he adds, “Elsa and Mulan got married, and there was a dress that I will admit to thinking quite a lot about still, and it was blue. With these…” His eyes flutter closed. Magic roars in the very center of Emma. “Little bits of twisted fabric on top, looked like starbursts.” “Like the candy?” Gods, she an idiot. An entertaining one, if Killian’s smirk proves anything, though. So that’s something, at least. “Did we dance?” Nodding, his eyes keep darting back towards Emma’s hand and the paint that’s become some part of a questionably romantic thing, but she’s also starting to get the suspicion he’s using the wall to stay upright. Something thumps into it.

Light bursts from the end of Emma’s hair.

“Oh,” Killian groans through clenched teeth, and a jaw that can’t possibly be comfortable, “that’s hardly playing fair, sweetheart.”

Huh.

The light grows. Flares, even — until it’s casting streaks across the floor and hovering just under Emma’s skin, because apparently she can glow now, and she almost feels like she’s floating. On endearments and sentiment and the air blowing through windows opened solely so they didn’t suffocate on paint fumes suddenly smells a little sweeter.

“You’ve got your hook embedded in the wall,” Emma points out, none of those words all that even either. She doesn’t sound like herself, but she also didn’t know she was a person who reacted quite like that to one ten-letter word, yet here they. So, whatever really.

Wider eyes and slightly parted lips meet her somehow still-lifted chin, and Killian’s nod barely warrants the description. Leaves his chest shifting, but Emma’s also admittedly staring at his chest because for as big as the shirt she’s wearing is, his is just as tight and touting a college she figures Henry thought about going to at some point, and she seizes her opportunity.

Paint flies — literally. Soars across the barley-there space between Emma’s toes and Killian’s socks, and she genuinely cannot cope with how he only ever takes his socks off to sleep. He gasps when color splashes his cheeks and his shoulders, hangs from the ends of his hair, and threatens to find the edges of his lips. “Gotta close your mouth,” Emma advises lightly, getting the exact spark in his eyes that she was hoping for and she yelps all the same. When he ducks his head, nosing at her neck and the line of her collar. Which is technically his color, but she’s been using all those collective pronouns, that it can’t possibly matter at this point and she definitely giggles. While his fingers trace patterns across her stomach and the side of her waist, dragging lines of blue paint over skin and fabric and she’s not sure when they fall over, just that they’re a tangle of limbs and slightly ripped sheets and— “Do you think I could magic the paint on the walls?” Emma asks, flipping her paint-covered head to her side. Without opening his eyes, Killian mumbles an agreement, his fingers fluttering against hers until they lace between them and she’s only like seventy-four percent positive he does it on purpose.

Concentrating on the twenty-six percent that absolutely knows it’s that same instinct and inherent habit from before, Emma twists her lower lip between her teeth. Feels the first brush of magic, and the small inferno that erupts between her ribs doesn’t actually set her on fire. So, more victories.

And it only takes about twelve seconds.

Give or take.

Blue walls appear around them as if by—well, magic. Not a streak out of place, or mark on the baseboards and Emma’s only a little annoyed that they bothered to move any of the furniture. “Single most impressive thing I’ve ever seen,” Killian mutters. “Your eyes are still closed.” “Aye, but I know it’s happening.” Not letting go of her lip or his hand, Emma’s heart thunders in her chest as soon as she notices the question sitting on her tongue. “When did that start? Because—well, as far as I know you can’t tell in Neverland.” He doesn’t respond. Not immediately, anyway. And that’s only momentarily terrifying, before a slightly different and passably darker shade of blue meets her. “That’s not entirely true. It gets a little confusing, though.” “Don’t offend me like that.”

“I’m not saying you won’t understand,” Killian laughs, “just—the other time travel adventure? Well, that happens rather early in my timeline. And, uh...well, by that point you’re feeling some things and—” “—Kissing as a distraction,” Emma breathes, realization shaking her and this version of the puzzle is equally surprising and wonderful.

“You’re an eavesdrop.” “Piracy excuse.”

He laughs again, kisses her cheek and pulls her closer to his side until nearly all of him is touching all of her and that’s another word much bigger than nice. “As far as I’ve been able to reason it, that sets off a chain of sorts. Magic exists in you, can be felt by me, I don’t entirely remember it—” “—You don’t entirely remember it?” “Making it difficult to tell the story.” Emma rolls her eyes. “Anyway, it’s always been this sort of—presence, I suppose. In the back of my mind, a reminder of something. Good and possible, and it makes it rather easy to tell when you’re agitated, actually.” “Seems like cheating.” “Piracy excuse,” he repeats, and Emma’s mind trips over itself. Falling across line and thoughts and leaving here might be one of the hardest things she’s ever done. Part of her wonders if she knows how, though.

“You know about Neal. Everything that—” Her breath catches, out-of-place tears already threatening to fall, and that’s kind of lame. Killian’s cheek brushes Emma’s. While he nods. “For what it’s worth, your parents do feel bad about the naming legacy one they realize.” “He’s not here.” “No, that would be rather difficult for him. He’s—” “—Dead?” “Honorably,” Killian says, even through the hint of acid and Emma drapes her arm across his stomach. “And he does care about Henry, quite ardently. But...well, I don’t imagine I’ll ever entirely forgive him for everything he did, and it was difficult to rationalize the Bae I knew with he Neal who acted like that.” “Probably weird to be attracted to that, huh?” Chuckling, his lips press against her hair. “Whatever way you’re willing to be attracted to me, is something I wholeheartedly approve of.”

“I’ve got another question.” “Waiting with baited breath.” “You’ve got a ship still, right?”

Tensing the way he does isn’t really the reaction Emma anticipates, although she should probably be ready for anything now, and Killian mumbles, “aye, I do.”

“Could we—I mean, I’m capable of teleporting, right?” “I’ve got no doubt. But it might be cold.” “Good thing you just radiate heat, huh?” His tongue pokes between his lips. Emma’s staring again. Has a hard time stopping, really. Which makes the magic return all the stronger and all the more suddenly, and Killian’s soft hitch of breath is oddly pleasing, even as the smell of salt replaces half-dried paint.

Strictly speaking, Emma hadn’t spent much time exploring the Jolly Roger before they got to Neverland. Portal-based travel, and those mermaids and massive rain storms, all made it difficult to notice much else, and it takes her a moment to realize she’s blinked them into the captain’s cabin.

“Efficient,” Killian observes, already perched on the edge of the room’s lone cot and the bedding looks crisp. Military-grade folds, and pillows that aren’t quite as fluffy as the ones in the house, but Emma’s already glancing at the shelves to her right. Books line them, in what is obviously alphabetical order, while the desk nearby is covered in instruments for navigation, and maps of several different realms, and she knows Killian’s watching her.

Feels the force of his stare as it tries very hard to read her mind again, baited breath that’s not quite as much of a joke anymore. He's hoping. For the response, and the reaction, and she belatedly realizes what a big deal this is.

Falling into the deep end of it all is really the only reasonable thing to do now. And appropriately water-based pun.

“Give me another random fact,” Emma says, failing to keep the demand out of her voice. “Royal decrees are coming much easier for you now, Your Highness.” “Something good.” “I’d hardly give you a bad fact.” “Weird, I’m still waiting for one.”

Stabbing a finger into the space next to him, Emma’s leg bumps Killian’s when she sits down and she’d been right about the body heat. All of the blankets stay exactly where they are. “We go to Boston one weekend, relatively soon after we get married. To—” He clicks his tongue, as if he’s deciding what details to include. “Get some stuff out of your apartment. That’s not the important part. But we bring Henry with us, and drive out there. Spend a few days, and go to all of the tourist spots you say we should avoid, but Hope learned that eye trick from Henry, and it works all the time. So we go to Quincy Market, and that one brewery. Tour guide makes some history jokes, which in turn make you roll your eyes, but we get free samples, and Henry tries very hard to steal one of his own.” “Doesn’t work?” Killian shakes his head. “Not as such, no. I’m rather good at observing, you see.” “All those nights as lookout?” “Something like that,” he agrees, “It’s the first time in a very long time that we don’t have any looming threats. Nothing to worry about, no villains to contend with. We sit and walk and eat, and then eat some more, and it’s not the first time I let myself believe this is real, but it might bet the first time that reality seems to linger.” She’s holding her breath. Lungs burn in Emma’s chest, letting go of a shuddering exhale that also comes with tear-filled eyes, and Killian’s fingers hover near her neck. With the chain around it, and Emma knows it’s important — that ring that hangs just behind her stolen shirt, but she doesn’t ask and she wants to live it, anyway.

Wants those moments to come of their own accord, at their own pace, until they linger as well. Settle into her and take root, building a foundation for everything else.

“Can I do something?” she whispers, another imperceptible nod and he doesn’t object. When she unbuckles the leather at his brace, trying very hard to keep her pulse steady and her magic relatively quiet, but neither one of those things work very well and it doesn’t take very long.

Snaps and pieces of metal give way under Emma’s touch, eventually pulling away from his skin and the scars aren’t worse closer up. Just more obvious, maybe.

It’s another stupid sign.

Following the lines with her fingers, Killian’s not much more than a statue. With exceptionally wide eyes and slightly erratic breathing, watching her like he’s bracing himself for impact or the inevitably of her disappearing. Emma sits. Presses her feet into the floor, and there’s no dust on the floor. She has to swallow more than once while she accounts for every mark on him, though — emotion clogging up her throat and her thoughts in equal measure, and it’s not really instinct to bend her neck and kiss the first spot she can reach, but it’s absolutely want and she wants far more than she’s supposed to have.

Right now, at least.

“Emma,” Killian exhales, without the regret it should hold, and honestly the goddamn symmetry is as good as it is awful. She smiles. Against his skin.

“You said, ‘until I met you.’ Did you mean it?”

Glancing up without moving is another hint of cowardice, but Emma’s neck isn’t all that interested in participating in the conversation anymore and it’s easier to notice the state of Killian’s jaw like this. “More than I realized, actually.” “Yeah, me too probably. If I had said—well, I’m the worst liar in the world, y’know?” “At least several different realms.”

Scoffing, Emma’s teeth graze the blunt edge of his wrist and that only gets her a noise she’s never heard before and it’s better than all the other noises, and she loses her shirt eventually. Nothing else happens.

Still can’t, still won’t. They’re both all too aware of the inability of this to linger, but want’s a funny sort of thing and contentment’s just as strange as ever. Falling asleep with her cheek pressed to his bare chest makes sense, though, the steady rock of the ship lulling Emma until her eyes close and her thoughts silence.

“So, you’re not even trying anymore, huh?” Emma sighs. “Here I thought we’d get through the afternoon without any pointed opinions.” “Well, that was just foolish of you,” Regina shrugs, sitting on the front steps of the farm with her legs stretched out in front of her and that’s almost strange. She’s wearing jeans. No one else is surprised by that. And Mary Margaret is leaning against the door frame behind her.

One arm wrapped around her middle, she doesn’t cross her feet at the ankles like Killian would, and that’s probably for the best. Emma’s brain can only cope with so much at one time, and she might not be trying anymore.

Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve.

“You think the wisdom is our problem?” Mary Margaret asks, barely blinking at the sound that erupts from Regina. Snarl and sneer, and Emma rocks back on her heels. Like that will put some distance between her and the queen, who doesn’t appear all that evil anymore, but could be even more determined than ever and they’re still waiting for that goddamn bird to come back.

No one’s mentioned the knights in the forest, either.

Emma’s not sure they’re still there.

“Can’t steal intelligence from the dead,” Regina reasons, and Emma’s shiver doesn’t have anything to do with the cold. It smells like cookies, even outside. “Should that make sense to me?” she asks. Mary Margaret shakes her head.

“Not at all. Just—when Zelena did this...she had a bunch of ingredients.” “She has no idea who Zelena is,” Regina mutters, shrugging at Emma’s slack jawed expression. “Don’t bother telling me you’re standing right there, you’re very predictable and I am painfully aware of your continued presence.”

“Was anyone actually going to tell me who Zelena is?” Emma snaps, a better reaction than the magic she’d like to use. On Regina, and her judgmental face. Tinker Bell went to help in Wonderland. Where magic is failing, more than it was a week earlier.

“The Wicked Witch of the West," Mary Margaret replies. “Was bad, had strong magic, gave up her magic, got it—no, she never got it back, did she?” Regina makes a contrary noise.

“How can you possibly keep track of all of this?”

Mary Margaret’s smile isn’t entirely effective, but there’s still a bit of the friend Emma occasionally worries she’s lost and of all the things breaking the curse did, that’s probably one of her bigger issues. There just hasn’t been time to deal with it. “Living it helps,” she laughs, “but she was holding Rumplestilskin hostage when she built the spell, and that’s—” “—Wait, wait, Gold is dead?” “That’s a little harder to explain, actually.”

“Huh.”

She should be upset. She should mourn...maybe not the jackass who consistently ruined everything, but at least the idea of the person he could have been, or the help he occasionally offered, but Emma’s feeling a little vengeful, and is even more annoyed. By like—the entire state of the world, right now.

She’s definitely not trying. Magic is emotion, and all of hers are far too scrambled to be effective as part of a time travel spell a witch who—“Was she actually green?” Emma asks, before she can stop herself and Mary Margaret’s smile works better that time.

“Occasionally,” Regina drawls. “But as your mother pointed out, she’s also lacking any magic now, and with Robyn in the Wish Realm—” “—That can’t possibly be a real place. And who is Robyn, exactly?”

“You met her. She brought you to—” “—That was a witch’s daughter? You realize that none of the ages for any of these kids makes sense? She was an actual adult.” “Don’t think about it too hard,” Mary Margaret advises, “will only make your head hurt.” “That ship sailed, like, two weeks ago,” Emma admits, refusing to look at whatever face Regina is making while also growling softly. Fire dances between her fingers. “Keep interrupting like this,” she warns, “and I will put you under a sleeping curse.” Jaw dropping and air rushing out of her in a wholly undignified huff, Emma’s reactions are so loud that she hardly notices Mary Margaret’s quiet “that might not be all that bad.” But then it clicks and there’s another puzzle, and more words she should not be thinking about right now, and Regina’s eyes thin enough that it’s difficult to notice any color in them.

“Huh,” she says, echoing Emma and that’s not very comforting, actually. “Well, that’s fascinating isn’t it? Plus, we don’t have any innocence.” Mary Margaret’s shoulders drop. “Oh, yeah that might be right.” Emma’s mouth is already hanging open, and her jaw physically cannot separate, so she can’t quite react like she wants to. Magic rattles around her all the same, Regina’s eyebrows doing a fairly good job of masquerading as someone else’s because— “Back to the drawing board, it seems,” she says, all but jumping back to her feet and glancing at Mary Margaret on her way back into the house.

Moving is something of an impossibility for Emma, torn between embarrassment and objections and the second one isn’t entirely possible either, but her mother only looks passably amused and that’s not the right emotion for this situation at all.

“Sleeping curse could force us into all kinds of realizations,” she reasons.

“That’s fucked up, Mom.”

More titles. More feelings. Not enough time to deal with any of them.

“Yeah,” Mary Margaret agrees, “it kind of is. How much batter do you think the rest of your family has stolen?” “At least an entire cookie sheet’s worth.” “Sounds about right, let’s see if we can cop any of our own.”

“Where is everyone going to sleep?” Emma asks, sitting at a dining room table that’s nearly buckling under the weight of food covering it. “And where did they even get all this stuff from?” Fingers drift over her bent knee under the table, Emma’s hands preoccupied with doling out food and Hope’s a very big fan of mashed potatoes. As she should be, really. Less so by the small feast of vegetables her mother has provided, but certainly not cooked because Emma’s spent most of the afternoon with her mother and Regina, trying to figure out if they could replicate Zelena’s time travel spell, and it didn’t work. Like, at all.

Lack of innocence likely isn’t their biggest problem. “Not everyone stays here,” Killian explains, “although I doubt your mother would mind all that much if they did.”

“Doesn’t explain where they’re going to sleep.” “Are you concerned about privacy, love?” “Pirate,” she accuses, but it lacks any actual vitriol and someone whistles when Killian’s lips brush hers. “I just don’t want to sleep in the hallway, if there’s no more room at the inn.” “Very confident in your own brand of religion-based humor aren’t you?” “Oh, color me impressed with your knowledge.” “Not many of your jokes evolve much over time, that’s why. And I think you’ve proven your ability to relocate us fairly well, don’t you?” Twisting her lips only gets her a flash of amusement and eyebrows that move so quick, there should also be smoke involved. “As far as I know, Her Royal Highness Snow White has concocted a rather extensive and possibly color-coordinated sleeping arrangement, that ensures no one will be forced to sleep in the hallway, while also allowing for maximum comfort and the ability to ransack parents as early as possible tomorrow morning.”

Something drops into the bottom of her stomach. It’s dread. And fear, and what Emma knows is that growing selfish streak and if her hand finds Hope’s back, then that’s neither here nor there.

Plus, Killian can totally tell.

The overall volume of her magic helps too.

“Mary Margaret’s pretty in her element, huh?” Nodding, he ignores the brussels sprouts in favor of the broccoli casserole, and she’s resolutely not attracted to that. No sane person could be attracted to side dish choices. On Christmas Eve.

It’s Christmas Eve.

“She is, indeed,” Killian agrees, “which is why outsourcing made quite a bit of sense.” Emma’s eyes dart towards Granny, and no one’s introduced her to Ruby’s girlfriend yet, but Ruby also hasn’t announced that she quite obviously knows something about this family gathering is off, and that’s nice enough that pushing the issue seems like another asshole move.

No one can be an asshole on Christmas Eve.

Emma assumes, at least. Hopes a bit too, just for good measure. “Granny made all of this?”

“Eh, certainly tried. Coerced Ruby and Dorothy—” “—No,” she hisses, drawing a few curious glances and half of Hope’s plate is covered in mashed potatoes. Killian’s fingers tighten.

“Someone told you about Zelena, didn’t they?” “I met her daughter without realizing, I guess.” Making a sound of understanding, Emma doesn’t miss the length of Killian’s drink. From the wine glass next to his own mostly-filled plate. “Is that another reason they went to that Wish Realm? So she didn’t have to talk to Dorothy Gale?” “I’m sure it was a consideration.” “Keeping track of all these things is a full-time job. Ok, so—Henry’s staying here though, isn’t he?” More noise, another sip of alcohol that Emma’s strangely jealous of. Nearly knocking her own glass over, her drink is closer to a gulp her dad absolutely notices, and whatever this is, it’s not any wine she’s familiar with.

“Camelot vineyards are enchanted,” David says, answering another question Emma hasn’t actually asked. Ruby’s eyes noticeably flicker towards Henry.

Who is not very subtle.

“Something about the soil, right?” Regina asks, although it certainly sounds like she’s perfectly aware of the reason, and Emma’s less sure as to why her mouth immediately dries. Possibly because Killian’s fingers have gone vice-like.

Glancing at him isn’t very subtle either, but she couldn’t care less and curiosity’s always been a bit of a thing for her. He probably knows that, anyway. “Camelot wasn’t my favorite place,” he explains, like that’s a reasonable string of words, but this isn’t the time for that and the knights are gone. Disappeared entirely, it seems.

“No Arthur, huh?” Silence descends on the table, silverware clanking on plates and chairs scuffing when they’re pushed away from the table. Emma widens her eyes.

Challenging that no asshole on Christmas Eve policy.

“He was kind of a shitty king,” Henry shrugs, Regina glaring in that same maternal sort of way that immediately makes him look far more like a teenager than a grown man with a kid. Emma can’t figure out the timeline of Lucy at all, either.

“Redeemed himself a bit in the end,” Killian adds. “Had no trouble from that particular area.” There should be more to that sentence. Emma knows, can hear it in the clipped way his voice cuts off and his tongue swipes the front of his teeth, and—“Whatever happened to that girl Henry knew in court?” Ruby asks, and they all lack subtlety it seems.

Emma tilts her head. “Henry knew a girl in the court of Camelot?” “Very complex story,” he mumbles, dots of pink on his cheek and Ella laughing at his side.

“Should I be upset I didn’t know about this?” “He used music to woo her,” Mary Margaret adds, some of the tension hovering over them evaporating. Killian’s fingers don’t move. “Although I never entirely understood how the iPod managed to stay charged.” “Magic,” Henry reasons. “And Violet went back to Connecticut, with her dad.”

Groaning, Emma’s reaction to this wine is even stronger than anything she drank in the diner or the buttered rum, and Henry’s face might stay red for the rest of the night. Festive, at least. “A guy from Connecticut?” she asks. “In Camelot?” “Didn’t click for me at first, if that makes you feel better.” “He was too busy flirting, that’s why,” Killian adds.

Henry scowls. “Reminiscing about any of this is not nearly as fun as you guys think it is. Plus,” he slings an arm around Ella’s shoulders, kissing her temple for good measure, “it all worked out in the end, so—” “—So,” Ruby echoes, “did we decide on snowmen rules, or…”

Voices all but explode around them — shouting over one another, in what is another questionably competitive Christmas tradition, and there are apparently judges involved and boxes of decorations that Mary Margaret keeps stored in the basement. Which Emma assumes is a much better use for the space than hoarding weapons, but any thought about her house quickly gets lost in how delicious this food is and how Henry’s arm rarely leaves Ella, and at some point Hope clamors onto Killian’s lap before Lucy starts demanding snowmen and they’ve all turn into giant pushovers, it seems.

“The theme,” Granny announces from her spot on the porch, because she’s head judge, and that holds more weight than anyone else, “is whimsy. Delight me, or you’ll lose points.” “What does that even mean?” Ruby challenges. She’s already rolling snow together, Dorothy’s head barely visible while she digs through one of Mary Margaret’s boxes and produces a pair of plastic fairy wings.

“Why do you own these?” she demands.

It’s difficult to tell if the color on Mary Margaret’s cheeks is a blush, or simply a product of how cold it already is, but none of that matters as much as the inches Henry has on her and how easy it is for his arm to find her shoulders as well. “Like to be prepared for any potential theme, isn’t that right, Gram?” “Not too old for any of the parental figures around here to ground you, you know,” Mary Margaret threatens. As much as she’s able.

David throws a snowball at both of them. “Build your snowman, kid. You’re going to lose, and it will be something else we can reminisce about for holidays to come.”

“C’mon, love,” Killian says, directing Emma to their own patch of snow and overflowing box and Hope’s already discovered the plastic tub of glitter that’s inexplicably in there. “We’ve got a reputation to uphold.” “Do we win this a lot?” “Don't insult me like that.”

He kisses her to ensure she doesn’t. Emma doesn’t argue that.

And as promised, Regina magics everyone’s snow creations to ensure they won’t melt for “at least a month, maybe longer” and the dread in Emma’s stomach threatens to rise up her throat. Until there’s a hand tugging at the side of her jacket, and—

“Can you get him to smile, Mama?” Hope asks, what looks like a slightly lopsided snowman’s bottom behind her and Emma might be the biggest pushover of them all.

Waving her hand is easy, though. And magic’s getting closer to second nature than she’d like to admit, positioning shiny rocks that Mary Margaret inexplicably had into what actually looks like a smile onto another freshly-made mound of snow.

Hope is overjoyed.

Emma tries very hard not to cry.

And fails spectacularly.

Monopoly is an adults-only game. This takes Emma at least forty-two seconds to come to terms with, but then there’s more wine and it’s a miracle they don’t wake up any of the kids, and Killian really does cheat.

She just can’t figure out how.

Bills appear in front of him like he’s the one with magic in this relationship, and Emma’s definitely drunk enough not to care about her word choice. She’s admittedly far more concerned with the houses that keep cropping up on Killian’s properties and how close some of those properties are to forming multiple Monopolys and he grins at her. From across the board.

David made it very clear that couples weren’t allowed to sit next to each other.

For fear of collusion, or something — although Emma can’t imagine there are actually many alliances formed in this game, particularly after the snowmen and the judging and it took Lucy nearly an hour to come down from the understandable high of her win. Hope was more interested in getting glitter everywhere than properly constructing a snowman.

“What was that about revenge?” Emma asks archly, more than a few other alcohol-saturated adults groaning at what is blatantly even more obvious flirting. And he hadn’t been lying about the state of her parent’s tree.

More candles line the branches, not a fire hazard when the flames have been enchanted and that’s for the best because there’s just—a copious amount of tinsel on those same branches, and a few ornaments that are obviously hand-made by kids and grandkids and it’s nice to know that even descendants of fairy tale characters use popsicle sticks in their arts and crafts.

Mary Margaret probably has a box of those too.

“This has nothing to do with the snowmen,” Killian promises, quirking his lips when Ruby lands on Marvin Gardens. He owns Marvin Gardens. “Look at that.” “Are you playing with weighted dice, pirate?” Ruby cries. “Because that is—” “—Cheating,” David finishes.

Killian shrugs. His eyes don’t leave Emma. “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about. You owe me twenty-four dollars, Lady Lucas.”

She throws the bills at him.

“How would I even use the weighted dice I don’t own anymore—” “—Anymore,” Henry repeats, and he’s only got a few bills left in front of him. Killian ignores him. Emma is far too charmed by this.

She got a Monopoly on the green properties, though. And she didn’t cheat to get them, so she’s also in possession of the moral high ground. Gives her free room to be entirely charmed by her husband. Kind of. “To calculate what you’ll land on,” Killian finishes. “That doesn’t even make sense.

Shaking her head, Ruby’s hair nearly flies into her face, threatening the state of the board and several other player’s pieces. All of whom are very loudly offended by that. “I hate you,” she sneers, and she doesn’t get back to Go before she goes bankrupt.

In the end, the moral high ground doesn’t help Emma’s ability to turn profits when Killian gets the Monopoly on that yellow corner and immediately starts building hotels and she nearly snarls when she lands on Atlantic Avenue.

“I think I might have won, Swan.” “Shut up.” “You don’t have to actually give me all your money, I’m more than pleased to simply hear the words from you.” “Shut up,” Emma says, and her mom fell asleep at least an hour earlier. David rolls his eyes. When she leans across the board, knocking over pieces and hotels, and Killian built so many goddamn hotels. He’s smiling when she kisses him.

Nothing overly magical happens, but Emma swears one of the candles flickers in the corner of her eye.

They do get a room. Directly next to the one Hope and Lucy are sharing, but Emma’s finding it harder than she expected to walk away from the tree and she never had a Christmas tree when she was a kid. Lights start to blur the longer she stares at it, floorboards creaking in an unnecessary announcement of the hand that finds her and— “I put an ornament on, you know,” Killian says, staring ahead when Emma turns towards him. “Was worried you’d notice, but I’m actually rather good at—” “—Sneaking?” “Covert movements.”

Scoffing out a laugh, her head falls to his shoulder. With the magnets and the feelings, magic fighting against dread and a slew of other feelings that are now as twisted as any family tree they could create. “Is it wrong to ask you what you wished for? Or should we talk about why you hate Camelot?” “They go together, actually.” “Do they just?” He kisses her hair. More than once, like he’s grounding himself or reminding himself of something that may not happen if they don’t somehow fix all of this, and Emma’s tongue is doing that thing again. Taking up way too much space in her mouth.

She’s not sure what she’d say, anyway.

“Dying makes it rather easy to shuffle a man’s priorities, and—” “—You die?” Emma shouts, but Killian’s shoulder only bumps her cheek and half the candles flicker. “How is that—God, that’s…” More kisses. A few hand squeezes. Her knees shake all the same.

“Doesn’t stick any of the times.” “It happens more than once.”

His cheek shifts her hair when he nods, a picture of only passably believable calm, and that wasn’t a question. “Something of a stubborn lass, though. So you don’t accept it very often, and occasionally that doesn’t work very well, but—” Tears fall down Emma’s cheeks, hot in the way a brand is, or she figures it would be, and she swallows as his thumb brushes over her skin. “You save me. Several times over.”

“Does calling me lass ever end well for you?” “Not as such, no.” Sticking her lower lip out is definitely a misplaced attempt to regain control of the situation because Emma’s all too aware of just how quickly Killian’s gaze will drop, and she’s not disappointed. A little nervous, but she figures that’s to be expected and her voice only kind of shakes when she whispers, “That’s not just a you thing, you know that, right?” “A me thing, what?” “The saving. Being stubborn too, I guess, or holding onto this with both hands, and this is an us thing. I’m...well, maybe I’m not totally there yet, but—” Her lips are chapped. Cracking with more emotion than she’s entirely sure she’s capable of, and Emma swallows once. Her tongue doesn’t do anything else. “Is that what you wished for? The saving?” “Awfully selfish, I know, but I—I think I need that.” “No, it’s not,” she objects. “Might be sweepingly romantic, even.” Eyes trace over her face, like he’s memorizing all of it, all over again, and innocence was a long gone ideal when they made out in the jungle, but this feels entirely different and somehow more important and Emma has to push up on her toes. To press her lips to his, and make sure his arm pulls her flush against his chest, and there’s no music or rainbow, but that might have something to do with her greed and her want and neither one of them pull away.

While a clock chimes down the hall.

“Merry Christmas, love.” She closes her eyes. “Merry Christmas, Killian.”

Something taps at their window. Incessantly, until it’s obvious Emma’s not dreaming the sound, and it takes her a few blinks and one grumbling, half-asleep pirate to realize it’s a bird. Without a sense of direction, it seems.

“Oh shit,” Emma breathes, pulling the blankets over her shoulders like that will keep them here and the bird outside and that’s an exercise in futility that lasts less than a full minute. Once the bird realizes he’s at the wrong room.

She counts. Seconds and breaths, trying not to give into the whimper that’s pressed behind her lips, and Killian’s fingers find hers. The floor creaks. Doors swing open, and David’s voice calls for them and Regina, and there are more squeaking hinges and calls to action because—

Mary Margaret knocks before she comes inside, already dressed with a full quiver of arrows strapped to her back. “Camelot’s gone,” she says, which may actually be the last thing Emma expects to hear at whatever time it is. Late, if the lack of sun is any sign. “Disappeared in a wave of...nothing.” “How can a wave be nothing?” Emma asks. “That—” “—It’s the opposite of magic,” Regina finishes, curled around the door with her hair twisted and there’s no fire in her palm. It’s in her eyes, instead. The end of reality turns Emma into something of a poet, apparently. “Get ready, we’ve got to head this off before it gets to the town and,” her gaze drifts towards Killian and his hand and his hook his on the bedside table, “might want to get your sword out of storage, Captain.”

Nodding silently, Killian doesn’t show any other signs of acknowledging his marching orders, but then he’s looking at Emma, a mix of expectant disappointment and unhinged longing and she blinks. Twice. They’re dressed.

And his sword hangs from his hip.

“You alright?” he rasps, which seems like more cheating and entirely unfair and Emma nods too.

“Let’s fix this.”

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #but once a year #festive fic a thon 2k20 #things are happening!#they are decidedly emotional!

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starrynite7114 · 4 years ago

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everything is you: seven

A/N: Two updates?! I know, I’ve had this update ready and I’ve been writing ahead for some fics. This one has been ready, but I just wanted to post a few things before posting this one. I would just like to apologize now, these next few chapters are going to be very angsty, but we’re getting to fluff I promise!

Enjoy the chapter! Love you all!

everything is you

one : two : three : four : five : six

Word count: 7523

Warnings: Angst

Masterlist

Request tagged list: @justahopelessssromantic : @ifoundmyhappythought : @carlaangel86 : @woahitslucyylu : @encounterthepast : @enamoured-x : @whyisgmora : @briana-mishell24 : @bribri-82 : @briannab1234 : @chibsytelford : @agirllovespasta : @twistnet : @everyhowlmarksthedead : @trulysuccubus : @jadert15 : @sammskellington : @cind-in-real-life : @claytoncardenasbabymama : @sadeyesgf : @thickemadame : @summertimesadnesswithadashofsass : @gemini0410 : @elcococruz : @samcrobae : @sesamepancakes : @iambabyharry : @blackmissfrizzle : @soamayansfangirl : @1-800-imagines : @phoenixhalliwell : @lady-pswrld : @dazzledamazon : @getyourcrayoncas : @fvckthisbxtchup : @lukealvxz : @scuzmunkie : @lilac-tea-time : @danie1432 : @cocotheclown : @soaronmywings : @my-rosegold-soul : @buttercup812 : @itskiranbitch : @angelreyesgirl : @sheeshgivemeabreak : @vicmackeybullshxt : @bigcreatorwombatdreamer : @khyharah : @strawberrywritings : @cherry-icetea : @fuzzy-jellyfish : @losolvidad0s : @brownsugarcoffy : @courtrae89 : @prdsdjarin : @blessedboo : @marvelmaree : @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat : @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead : @thesandbeneathmytoes : @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind : @maddie-georges

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Angel closed the door of the home he shared with Alena, sighing at the day’s events. Being entangled in Potter’s web of lies and killing Kevin, it was too fucking long of a day. All he wanted to do was relax until he had to go to the club for Templo.

He heard the laughter coming from the backyard. The sun had already set, but he knew Alena and Cruz liked hanging out at the backyard, once the sun was not as high up. But it was the male voice that threw him off.

“Cruz, maybe you should become a painter just like mama.” He knew that fucking voice.

Victor.

This was what he fucking needed.

“Daddy is a painter too, he’s awesome.”

Angel smirked at that. But he was still irritated that Victor was in his home. Of all the fucking times to have this mother fucker here, it had to be today.

Opening the door to get to the backyard, he found Cruz, Victor and Alena painting in the grass area. What a pretty sight.

“Daddy!” Cruz ran over to him. Angel picked him up, giving him a kiss. “Want to see what I made?”

“Let me shower first.” Angel placed him back down. He looked at Alena, waiting for her to greet him and she just smiled at him.

Smiled.

That’s it.

“Sunshine, can I speak to you?”

Alena frowned, and nodded her head. She excused herself and walked over to Angel. He looked down at her before going inside with Alena following behind him. They left Cruz with Victor, Angel didn’t want Cruz near them since he knew they were about to fight.

“What’s he doing here?” Angel turned, surprising Alena causing her to bump into him. He held her in place making sure she didn't fall.

“He came to drop off some pastel that he got at an art gallery for Cruz.” Alena explained, stepping away from his hold. “Apparently Coco invited him to the party later.”

“Coco? Coco invited him? For fucking what?”

“He stopped by at the scrapyard so he invited him.” Alena shrugged. “He’s just my friend Angel.”

“Friend that you kiss?” He scoffed. “I don’t want him here Alena.”

“You’re being unreasonable, we’re not doing anything.”

“I’m unreasonable?” Angel gave her an incredulous look, shaking his head. “This man doesn’t give a fuck we’re married, and you think it’s fucking okay for us to be in this position?”

“Angel, I let Victor kiss me. Why are you so focused on him?”

“Because he’s fucking enticing you.” Angel was so fucking frustrated. The fact Alena didn’t seem anything wrong with her friendship with Victor was so fucking annoying.

“You can’t just blame him, I was a willing participant.”

Angel groaned. “You’re so fucking irritating. I told you I have feelings for you and you rub this motherfucker in my face.”

“I’m not rubbing anything.” Alena glared at Angel, annoyed at having such a pointless argument. “He’s just my friend, that’s it. The guys liked him and invited him. I think if you give him a chance you would too.”

“Fuck no Alena, he’s trying to take you from me, so fuck that.” Angel wanted to laugh at the situation he was involved in. This was the last thing he fucking needed today. All he wanted to do was be with Alena and Cruz, now, all he wanted to do was get the fuck away from here. “I’m going to shower.”

Alena watched as Angel disappeared into their room, sighing.

Tonight was going to be a long night.

===========

“I could get used to this.” Victor took a sip of his beer, sitting next to Alena, across from Coco and Gilly.

“Hanging out with a bunch of misfits? Your prim and proper background is cool with that?” Coco teased.

Victor shrugged. “Being prim and proper is quite boring. You guys are pretty cool and I get to hang out with this pretty lady right here.”

Alena blushed, laughing at Victor’s compliment. She looked up and found Angel sitting with Creeper and Hank. He was smoking his cigarette, legs wide open as he just stared at her. She knew he wasn’t happy, especially since she came to the clubhouse with Victor. They weren’t going to go, but Coco insisted they went.

Was Coco playing devil’s advocate, perhaps, but someone had to fucking push Angel.

“Angel is gonna end up fighting this guy.” Gilly warned Coco, his voice low so that Alena and Victor couldn’t hear him.

“Maybe that’s what he needs to wake the fuck up.”

Alena watched as one of the club hangarounds sat on Angel’s lap. He smirked at Alena before the woman covered her from Alena’s view. Alena’s heart dropped, looking over at Victor. He saw what she saw and sighed. She always knew that there was something going on with Angel and other women, but seeing it first hand was something different.

“You wanna go?”

“Yes, please.” Alena stood up, taking her purse. “Let me go use the bathroom then we can go.”

Coco saw the crestfallen look on Alena’s face and looked back. He shook his head, watching as Angel flirted with the woman on his lap.

“This dumbass motherfucker.” Coco shook his head.

Gilly and Coco watched Alena go inside the clubhouse. When they turned to Victor, he was making his way towards Bishop, who just sat down beside Angel.

“Looks like you are about to win a 20.” Gilly commented.

“Mr. Losa, thank you for inviting me again.” Victor shook his hand.

“Any friend of Alena is a friend of the club.” Bishop smirked. “Alena going with you?”

“Yes, she’s not feeling well.”

“What’s wrong?” Angel stood up then.

“Shouldn’t matter to you, that woman not giving your ego enough attention?”

Bishop, Hank and Creeper all shared a look. This was not going to end well.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” Angel had enough of this motherfucker. He had him fucked up.

“You heard me, don’t pretend you give a fuck about Alena when you know exactly what you do to her. You let that woman sit on your lap, knowing Alena could fucking see you. After all the sacrifices she made for you and your son, the best you can do for her is toy with her feelings to assure she stays by your side?” Victor scoffed. “What a real man you are.”

Bishop, Hank and Creeper’s eyes went wide at Victor’s words. Someone had to finally tell him what was going on. They saw Alena approaching, she could immediately tell that his body was tense and seeing the look on Victor's face, she knew nothing good would come out of this.

“Angel, please, don’t start.” She wrapped her arms around him from behind. She knew Angel could still make his way over to Victor with her hanging on him, but she didn’t care.

“Alena, let go of me.”

“No, it’s okay, just go have fun with that girl.” Angel turned to her then and she had that irritating smile again, the one that she gave him whenever she tried to smile through whatever shit that was said or done. “It’s fine, um, she has to finish sewing your patch on.” She touched the patch that was slightly hanging off his kutte.

“Cielo,” he closed his eyes. He tried to take her hand in his, but she moved away, walking over to Victor.

Angel was wounded.

“It was nice to see you guys, I’ll see you.” Alena quickly said her goodbyes. She whispered something to Victor before he said his goodbyes and led her to his car. She looked at Angel one last time and smiled again, before sliding inside Victor’s car.

For once in his life, Angel felt like he was losing Alena. He watched as Victor’s car drove off.

Looking at Coco, his brother shook his head. “I never thought I would see the day, but it seems like you’re not the only one who has her attention.”

Angel turned his motorcycle off, letting out a breath. He waited for an hour before coming home to blow off some steam. He didn’t see Victor’s car so he figured he dropped Alena off and left. Taking off his helmet, he made his way to the front door and frowned at the darkness inside. Alena usually left a light on for him, just so it wasn’t too dark for him. It was more for her than him and whatever made her feel at ease he was fine with.

Opening the front door, he had this feeling of dread. Taking his phone out, he saw a message from Alena.

She just sent it.

‘Wifey ♾👑💍’‘

Hey, I went to San Diego and I brought Cruz. I think it’s best for us to try this trade off thing. I can take care of Cruz from Sunday to Thursday and drop him off at your place Thursday morning or Wednesday night, whichever you prefer. It’s Tuesday, I’ll drop him off Thursday morning. Have a good rest of your night. Congratulations again on getting the secretary patch. :)

Angel’s heart dropped, rereading her message. What did she mean trade off’s? They were doing this whole drop off bullshit? Absolutely not.

Angel walked right back out of their home, locking the door. He rushed towards San Diego, parking at Alena’s second parking spot in the underground parking lot of her apartment complex. He was so anxious that he took the stairs to the fourth floor where she was. When he got to her floor, he rushed towards her door and he felt like the wind was knocked out of him. Right in front of him was Alena and Victor talking right outside of her door. She pulled away, eyes widening when her eyes landed on him.

Victor turned around and pursed his lips. He kissed her cheek, whispered something in her ear and pulled away. Making his way down the hall, he nodded his head at Angel, the smirk on his face was something Angel wanted to knock out of him, but he kept his composure. His mind couldn’t let go of Alena’s statement.

“Hey,” she greeted him when he was in front of her.

“We need to talk.”

“Cruz is sleeping.” Lame excuse, but she didn’t expect Angel to come and see her.

“He’s not part of our conversation.”

Alena led him inside, closing the door behind him. They sat down on the couch, sitting on opposite ends.

“Alena, that girl at the club sh-“

Alena cut him off. “No, you’re fine, you don’t have to explain anything to me.” She shook her head, waving him off. “We always knew what this was and I’m sorry I reacted the way I did.”

“I was trying to make you jealous and I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot, it’s okay.” Alena let out a small laugh, her hands on her lap, smoothing out her skirt. “It’s almost one in the morning Angel, we could have talked tomorrow.”

“No, I didn’t want to wait.” Angel studied her and she wouldn’t look at him. She had her hands folded on her lap, and she was just looking at anywhere but him. She was retreating into her shell, something she did when trying to avoid a conversation she didn’t want to be a part of.

Tough shit.

She couldn’t drop a bombshell like that on a text message and expect for him to be okay with everything.

“I don’t want to do trade-offs.” He addressed the elephant in the room.

“This would be a nice practice once we get divorced Angel. We can’t stay like this forever.” Alena reasoned, for once looking up at Angel and meeting his intense stare. She’s never seen him look so displeased with her.

“Do you ever think about Cruz? Don’t you think it would confuse Cruz if we do that? Why change something that’s working?” Angel knew it technically wasn’t working.

“But it’s not working for me!” Angel was surprised when Alena yelled out. He’s rarely heard her scream, but it was never towards him. Angel’s statement angered her. She always thought about Cruz, it was the reason she was still in this, regardless of how many times her heart broke. “I want a family. I want to experience life too. You and Cruz have been my life for years, and nothing is going to change that, but please Angel, I deserve to be loved, to have a marriage that’s not out of convenience.”

Angel looked like he was just struck. He frowned, not expecting Alena’s outburst. You can only push someone for so long. “I, Alena, I love you. We have a family. You want more kids? We can have that. Just,” for once, he didn’t know how to charm Alena. “Don’t do this Alena, please, I need you.”

“If you love me, respect me, give me what I want and just let me put this space between us.”

“You know I respect you and I love you, I can’t lose you.” Angel tried to move closer to her, but she shook her head.

“Doing this would push me away Angel.”

He didn’t know what to do. Letting her go was never an option he thought he would be given or force to have, but it was here looking at him straight in the eyes.

“Cielo, please don’t make me do this. Don’t separate us. If you don’t want to sleep on the same bed, that’s fine, but please don’t put such a great distance between us.”

Alena shook her head. “I’ll stay here from now on and we can work on something. This isn’t about Victor, the girl, or anything. This is about you and me. We’re facing that reality soon and it would be better to ease Cruz into it. I work in San Diego so it shouldn’t be a difficult adjustment.”

“What about the weekends? He’s used to all of us being together.” Angel felt himself losing, drowning, and he couldn’t stay afloat no matter how hard he tried. “Alena, come on, I didn’t do anything with that girl.”

“I’m going to bed, you know where the pillows and blankets are.” She stood up and forced herself to look at Angel to offer him a smile. “We always knew it would come to this. It’s better to start early than keep pushing this act that was eventually going to fade.”

Alena walked away and into her room, closing the door behind her. The tears she held back fell then and she felt like an idiot. She kissed Victor, something that made the butterflies in her stomach run wild, but the guilt ate her up too. When she saw that woman on Angel’s lap, the way he smirked at her, it was almost a taunt. And all she could do as always was withdraw herself, and be that girl again. The one who knew Angel Reyes would never want such a weak woman. The one who knew Angel would never settle for her. The one who knew that no matter how much she gave, just like her father, everyone would leave her. She shouldn’t have high expectations and she didn’t. She was thankful at the blessings that Angel has bestowed in her life, she would forever be thankful for him.

But things were coming to a close.

Alena wanted to protect her heart as much as possible, though she knew she would have done it sooner.

Looking at her bed, Cruz was sound asleep holding his bunny. She quickly changed and joined Cruz in bed.

Their dynamics were finally changing, something everyone was not eager to see.

Everyone knew this would have a great effect on Angel more than Cruz.

After all, Alena was taking away one of the most important things that has kept him sane throughout this whole ordeal.

Her presence.

Angel walked into their room, leaving Alena’s after their discussion. He couldn’t stay there, it was too much for him. Victor’s words about her sacrifices, Alena’s words and this shit with his family, everything was falling apart.

Going inside their shared closet, he looked at Alena’s clothing, feeling like a completely pathetic douchebag at how emotional it made him feel to look at clothing. He looked through her clothes, her side was always so organized and his was slightly messy due to him changing quickly to get to places. He tidied up his side of the closet, trying to distract himself.

Alena’s side was tidy, but maybe he could rearrange things for her.

He couldn’t believe how much of an idiot he was. He should have known that action would hurt Alena. She already believe he slept with every fucking person that hangs around the club, he was certain this didn’t help his cause.

“You’re such a fucking idiot.” Angel took a box out that was on the shelf that separated Alena’s dresses and jeans. It was unmarked, and the box was too nice to not hold anything. Maybe it was pictures for the scrapbook Alena was trying to make.

Sitting on the floor, he opened the box, ready to go through the pictures of him, Alena and Cruz. But instead, what he saw was a shock.

Inside the box were not pictures. It was a brochure for a school in Paris, France. A plane ticket for Paris, Alena’s name on the ticket along with a portfolio that had Alena’s artwork. He dumped the contents of the box, going through every letter and content of the box.

Alena was going to Paris. She lied to him. She told him that she didn’t get in, that she was going to stay out in Santo Padre. But from what he could see, Alena was going to leave, but he remembered asking her when Valeria brought it up, she said she wasn’t going.

===========

Alena let out a yawn, placing her head on Angel’s shoulder. They were watching the season finale of some show Angel was an avid fan of and she just came cause Angel wouldn’t let her say no.

And he bribed her with his father’s carne asada.

“Let’s go to bed.” Angel turned the television off, standing up and causing Alena to fall on the couch.

“Okay, I’ll make breakfast in the morning.” Alena grabbed the throw blanket she had given Angel, getting comfortable on the couch.

“The fuck you doing?” Angel chuckled. “You’re not sleeping on the couch.”

“You’re dating someone Angel, I don’t think she would like it if we slept on the same bed.” Alena let out another yawn, taking off her glasses and placing it on the coffee table.

“Cielo, I don’t give a fuck about Valeria. Come on.” Angel always thought it was so cute how Alena gave a fuck about Valeria, she could kiss his ass. Their relationship was solely based on Alena and Dante’s relationship and right now, they were no longer together. His relationship with Valeria was almost over. He was going to go for who he truly wanted and that was Alena.

Just as Angel was about to join Alena on the couch, there was banging on his door. Angel’s eyebrows furrowed since Coco and Gilly knew not to disturb his time with Alena. Opening the door, Valeria pushed past Angel and walked over to Alena who had gotten up due to the knocking. As soon as she reached Alena, she slapped her, knocking Alena’s glasses to the floor.

“I told you to stay the fuck away from Angel, did I not?” Valeria was immediately pulled away by Angel who was absolutely livid.

Alena kneeled down to find her glasses and Angel just glared at Valeria.

“I’m gonna need you to get the fuck out of my house.” Angel told her, trying his best to keep his cool since he didn’t want to lose it in front of Alena.

“Fuck you, I’m your girlfriend not that bitch!” Valeria shook her head, not surprised that Angel sides with his precious Alena. “Did she tell you she was leaving for Paris? Been planning it for years! Did your precious cielo tell you that?”

Angel looked at Alena who just put on her glasses, shaking as she did. He knew that Valeria hated Alena, which was the cause of many of their fights, but he didn’t give a fuck what this placeholder has to say.

“We’re done.” Angel opened his door.

“Fuck you and your bitch.”

Angel slightly blocked his doorway and leaned down so only Valeria could hear the words coming out from his mouth. “Next time you harm her in any fucking way, you’re gonna wish you never touched her.” Valeria swallowed hard, leaving Angel’s apartment. She knew Angel would never harm a woman, but for Alena, he would.

“I’m gonna go.” Alena grabbed her phone and keys.

“Alena, don’t leave.” Angel frowned, standing in front of the door. “Cielo, let me see your face.” Her hair was covering her cheek, and she kept her distance from Angel.

“No, it’s okay.” She shook her head. She should have stayed away from Angel, but she couldn’t even if she tried. It just hurt since Valeria hit her at the same spot Dante hit her not a mere two weeks ago.

“She hit you at the same spot, go sit down and I’ll put some ice on it.” Angel wasn’t moving, he wasn’t going to let her go home. Valeria was psychotic and may be waiting for her there.

“Angel, please, I just really want to go home.”

“Come on Cielo, I don’t want to argue, please sit down.”

Alena looked up at him and his heart clenched seeing the tears in her eyes. He was going to fucking kill Valeria.

“Hey baby, don’t cry.” Angel closed the distance between them, softly cupping her cheeks. “Go to bed and I’ll get you some ice.”

Alena nodded her head, not wanting to argue with Angel. Making her way to his bed, Alena placed her things down at the bedside table she had gotten him a few years ago. Slipping under the covers, Angel came back with a pack of frozen vegetables. He slid in beside her, turning her body so she could face him. He placed the frozen pack on her cheek, frowning.

“She told you to stay away from me?”

“Yeah, I get it though. She said that I ran to you all the time and that you two couldn’t flourish if I keep getting in the way.” She gave him that small smile he was accustomed to, the one she gave people even when whatever was said to her hurt her. It made Angel angry from time to time how she just let people do that to her, but she was all about killing them with kindness.

But she didn’t need to worry, she had him.

“Are you really leaving?” Angel’s chest tightened hearing that from Valeria. Alena couldn’t possibly leave him.

But she was, she had a plan to do so, he just didn’t need to know.

“No, I could never leave you.”

A small lie never hurt anyone

===========

Angel chuckled bitterly, shaking his head. He couldn’t be angry at her, she didn’t leave. But it further infuriated him.

How many more times was he going to ask Alena to make a sacrifice for him?

Hell, he would have never let her make this type of sacrifice for him.

She deserved better.

But he couldn’t let her go.

He would do better for her.

He’ll give her the space she wanted and they could go from there.

===========

Bryan sat across from Angel, giving the waiter his order.

“This is unexpected.” Bryan commented as he placed his cell phone down.

“Yeah, I needed some clarification and I figured no better person to ask than you.” Angel was still not happy regarding the box he found at Alena’s side of the closet. He rarely went through her stuff, but after their falling out, he wanted to tidy up the closet for her. And when he did, he found that box.

“What’s going on?” Bryan took a sip from his water.

Angel placed the plane ticket on the table sliding it over to Bryan. His eyes landed on it and was unsure of what the problem was, from what he understood, Alena told Angel. Bryan closed his eyes then, letting out a chuckle at his stupidity for even thinking Alena would tell the person who had the power to make her stay that she was leaving.

“She never told you.” Bryan sighed. “Where’d you find this?”

“Alena has a box that she didn’t label and it had her portfolio and everything for the school in Paris that was connected to that museum.” Angel was angry, not at Alena, at least not mostly, he was angry at himself for being so selfish. For not realizing how much she sacrificed. He remembered how angry Alena’s mother was at her, how angry Bryan was at her. They didn’t talk for a few months until they came to meet Cruz.

“The Louvre.” That whole fiasco was a sensitive subject for all parties. Though him and his mother have moved pass the whole situation, every now and then his mother would bring it up and it would just upset Alena. They wouldn’t want her to trade it for the world, they loved Cruz and they could never fault Alena’s good heart. “Angel, there’s no point in bringing that up. She didn’t leave.”

“The point was she was and she had no plans on telling me.”

“How do you know that?”

“Cause I asked her.”

“My sister knew that if she told you, you would ask her to stay and you know her, she has no powers over you.” Bryan thanked the waitress who placed his food on the table. “Come on Angel, you had my sister wrapped around your fingers since she was sixteen years old. She can recognize that you’re not a saint, but that doesn’t matter to her since her world revolves around you.”

Angel couldn’t argue with that. She’s had him wrapped around her fingers since she was eleven years old.

“I’m not upset at your sister, I just thought she would have told me. She was planning it for years.” Angel thanked the waitress when she placed his plate on the table.

“She was planning it for years because she kept backing out.” Bryan sprinkled tabasco all over his dish. “This is supposed to be spicy?” He scoffed, taking another bite.

“Not everyone burned their tongue with spices when they were young such as yourself.” Angel shook his head amused by Bryan’s ridiculous spice tolerance. “I want to make it real with your sister.”

Alena and Angel have been civil with one another, but she’s kept her word. She stayed in San Diego and came to Santo Padre when she dropped off Cruz or shit at Vicky’s or the clubhouse. It was painful, difficult for Angel and this only started two weeks ago.

But he had to give her the space she wanted, he was going to fight for her.

“Has it not been?” Bryan scoffed. “I don’t know why you two continue to play this game with one another, we all know you’re as devoted to my sister as she is to you, though you may be a little bit more devoted.” Bryan always teased Angel. He knew what their relationship was, yet, Angel never stepped out on his sister, which he was thankful for. He wasn’t certain why Alena had it in her head that Angel always stepped out on her when it was nowhere near the truth. “Alena gave up plenty for you and my mom and I always resented you for that. But we would never fault you, Alena’s a big girl, she made her own choices. We swallowed our opinions since we could see that you cared for her, maybe you weren’t ready to face facts, but we knew you did.”

“Why’d you let it go on for this long? I hurt your sister.” Angel hated admitting how much he hurt Alena, but he truly did and he would spend a lifetime making it up to her.

Bryan shrugged. “Alena loves you Angel. No matter how many times we discuss it, how many times we dissuade her, she’ll come running to you.” Bryan took another bite of his food. “I hated you for a long time because my innocent baby sister was enamored by you, I was convinced you fucking did some voo doo magic on her.” Bryan remembered how much he disliked Angel. Whenever Angel came to pick up Alena, he would watch him like a hawk, but Angel was never intimidated by him. They were the same height, almost the same built, but Angel was focused on Alena. He was even certain Angel didn’t notice he disliked him so greatly. “Then I realized that in your own fucked up ways, you were in love with Alena too. I knew you wanted to confess to her before Dante’s unfortunate arrival, but every time it was going to happen for you two, something came in the way.” He recalled how Angel pulled him aside, informing him of his intentions on asking Alena out, that this was it. “I honestly thought after Cruz, my sister would walk away, go to Paris as she intended to do so. But then you married her.”

Angel knew the circumstances were always so terrible for them, but he was in love with her and he was happy Bryan could see it. He wasted time and he knew he did. But he would give her time to take time for herself. He didn’t want to pressure her, when she was ready to talk they would talk then.

“I want to give Alena the world. But she isn’t exactly talking to me right now.”

“My mom told me.” Bryan wiped his mouth with the napkin on his lap. “It’s Alena, she’ll eventually come around and run to you.” He smirked, he knew his next sentence would rile Angel up. “Oh, but that’s right, Victor has finally decided to make a move.”

“The fuck, you know that clown?”

“I do, Alena introduced us years ago, even then you could tell he was into my sister.”

“Thanks for the heads up.” Angel scoffed.

“Angel, I don’t fucking understand your relationship with my sister any better than anyone in this unconventional family we have. I always thought you knew about him.” Bryan shrugged.

“Should I be worried about that asshole?” Angel wondered.

Bryan sighed. “Alena has been in love with you for years. She’s had her moments where she’s decided that she would keep you at arm's length. Remember when she had a miscarriage?”

Angel did and it was one of the worst times in his life.

It happened a year ago. He and Alena usually used protection, but a year ago, they decided to forego it since she went on birth control. Then she got pregnant and it was difficult to see how hard she was on herself.

===========

Alena sat on her side of the bed, wiping her tears as she read the discharge papers she was given.

How could she have not known?

She was too early, this much was true, but this was just difficult to accept.

Her inhaler was right beside her just in case she became worked up by this whole situation.

Miscarriage.

She miscarried her and Angel’s child.

“Cielo, I’m home.” She heard Angel call out.

She debated whether or not she should tell him. If she didn’t let him know, there would be no disappointment. The door opened and Angel immediately frowned seeing the distress Alena was in. Cruz was peacefully sleeping on the bed, his back touching Alena’s leg since Cruz always had to be in some type of contact with Alena when he falls asleep near her.

“Cielo, what’s wrong?” Angel rushed to her side, kneeling in front of her.

Alena handed him the paperwork she was given and Angel skimmed through, frowning at the diagnosis.

“Baby,” he sighed. He stood up, pulling her up so she was kneeling on the bed. He wrapped his arms around her, Alena crying into his chest. She was doing so well holding in the sobs that wanted to wracked through her body. “It’s okay.” He tried to comfort her as best as he could. This wasn’t on anyone, it’s not like they knew and even if they did, they can always try for another.

“I’m sorry Angel, if I knew, I would have been careful.” Alena was holding on to his shirt under his kutte. It broke him hearing her in this way. “They said it happens, but I didn’t even know.”

“Alena, stop being so hard on yourself. It’s okay.” Angel’s heart broke. He was sad about the possible baby, something he always wanted with Alena, but they could always have another child. “I love you mi Cielo.”

Alena didn’t reply and just hugged Angel. Having his arms wrapped around him definitely made her feel better. But she just realized that whatever this was with Angel, them being intimate and enjoying one another, it had to stop.

She couldn’t put herself out there to just be put down like this.

After the miscarriage, Alena distanced herself from Angel, requesting they wouldn’t be intimate, which he didn’t care. But he didn’t leave her alone. He did everything for her as best he could. Because he knew Alena blamed herself for losing their baby. And it wasn’t her fault.

Shit unfortunately happens, but his Alena was a saint and took everything on her own.

Angel walked in the room he shared with Alena and found her laying on her side, turning away from him. He sighed since that’s what he always walked into, Alena’s back turned to him and as much as he wanted to hold her, she wouldn’t let him. Again, it was fine, but he wanted to help her and she wouldn’t let him. She was drowning in this self loathe and he just felt powerless.

“Hey Cielo, did you eat?” She hasn’t been eating well and usually only did so while Cruz was eating. She would nibble on a few things and that was it. Cruz was at his father’s since he wanted to give Alena a break so he was almost certain she didn’t eat.

“Yes.” Alena continued to scroll through her phone, not wanting to face Angel. How could she face Angel? She lost their child. He kept telling her it wasn’t her fault, but it was hard to think that.

“Alena, come on, can you at least face me when you talk to me?” He missed her. She would crack a smile every now and then but it was momentary. Then she would just go back to whatever she was doing. The only time she had a genuine smile on her face was when she was with Cruz.

Alena sat up and turned to face him. “Everything okay?”

“No, it isn’t, you won’t fucking talk to me. I get it, you’re upset, you blame yourself, but Alena, it’s not your fault. And I’ll keep saying it till it registers.”

“How can you even say that? I lost our baby and you’re okay with that?” Alena narrowed her eyes at him. “You don’t have to spare my feelings, if you’re upset just come out with it.”

“I am fucking upset because you won’t fucking talk to me! Whenever I try to comfort you, you retract like you’re fucking repulsed by me.” Angel snapped. “Alena, I’m sorry we lost the baby, but that doesn’t change what you are to me, to Cruz or to anyone. We can always try for another if you want, but don’t close me off, please.” His last word was a plea and Alena frowned at his words.

She didn’t realize she was closing him off or at least in the way he was describing. Alena just thought that Angel hated her, that he was just masking however he truly felt. She knew Angel wanted a baby, she’s overheard him tell the guys. Her mind was cruel and it did not provide any mercy towards her feelings.

Angel hated her. Angel didn’t want her. Angel was just being nice. Angel hated her.

These thoughts persisted in her mind and as hard as she tried to push them away, it wouldn’t go away.

“It’s okay if you hate me.” Alena’s small voice broke Angel’s heart.

Hate her?

He could never hate her.

Alena looked up at him, tears brimming her eyes. “I’m useless and not special just like what they all say. I can’t even carry a baby.”

Angel rushed over to her then, wrapping his arms around Alena. She tried to push him away, not wanting his comfort even though deep down she did. She just didn’t think she deserved it.

“Stop fighting me Alena, please.” Angel buried his face at the crook of her neck. “Don’t you ever listen to these idiots. You’re the best person I know, I would die without you. Accidents happen Alena, but this isn’t on you. Please. You’re killing me. You won’t eat, you won’t talk to me. Don’t close me off.”

Angel held her tightly. It was the first time in four months that Alena has let him hold her. He felt like a sap, but he missed having her in his arms. He missed it when she would bury her face on his chest whenever her alarm went off to go to work. He missed it when she would be draped over him because Alena was a mover when she was asleep. She always managed to be entangled with him. But these last few months, she hardly slept and somehow she was able to function. It worried him greatly, and she refused to tell her mother. But Angel got her brother to come and for a moment he thought it would turn around.

It didn’t.

But he was going to heal her, he was going to help her.

Just like how she always did for him.

When Angel felt Alena’s arms wrapped around him, he felt a sigh of relief rushed through his body.

“I’m sorry Angel.”

“Don’t apologize, you did nothing wrong.” He pulled away but made sure Alena’s arms remained around him. He cupped her face, softly caressing her cheek with his thumb. “I’ll always be here for you Alena. We’re a team. Don’t close me off again, let me be here for you.”

“Okay.” She nodded her head. Angel wiped away her tears. “This is a weird request, can you kiss me?”

Angel chuckled. Alena never had to ask, the only reason he hasn’t kissed her was because she made him feel like she didn’t want him anymore after the miscarriage.

“Of course Cielo.”

Angel bent down and kissed her. Feeling Alena’s body relax as soon as their lips met. He missed the warmth of her lips against his. She wrapped her arms around his neck, loving the feel of his lips against hers. She loved feeling his scruff against her skin.

She knew it was still a battle, but at least now she finally let Angel be in her corner.

===========

“That period was hard.” Angel sighed, losing his appetite. Alena avoided him for almost four months. The worst part, she was actually around when she was doing it. This time, she put great distance between them and he knew he wasn’t going to last four months. There was no way. “So, should I be worried?” He’s never been uncertain with Alena before. It was always pretty straightforward in some sense. But this time around, there was someone around he felt that was influencing Alena and that he didn’t know how to deal with.

“You’ve never been worried before, why worry now?” Bryan was always intrigued by their relationship. Angel kept Alena at arms length, but as soon as the atmosphere changed and Alena was going to move forward, he changed and held her close. He did this for a few years and for the last two years, Angel was still hot and cold, but he made sure to never keep too much distance between them. He held her close, but not too close. Quite frankly, he was tired of it, so maybe he would play devil’s advocate, his sister deserved better than this.

“There wasn’t another person. Also the same person she hid for years. It’s like she was protecting their relationship.” Angel was picking at his food. He was a fucking bottomless pit and this woman had him picking at his fucking food.

“She wasn’t protecting their relationship, she just picked certain words to avoid you worrying. I mean, what guy our age would babysit a kid for a woman he lived next to?” Yep, devil’s advocate. “Like I said, he’s always liked my sister and she anticipates to divorce you within a year since that was your deal. Unless, things truly have changed?”

“What?”

“Don’t be obtuse Angel, you do this shit all the time. Something or someone could threaten your position in my sister’s life, you become this clingy husband that would not let her out of your sight. I don’t doubt your love for my sister, but how do I know you just don’t love her because you need her to keep your life in order? How do I know that you’re not playing the part to get laid? My sister is an adult, but so are you. If you truly care about her don’t play with her feelings and just divorce her. She’ll still be there for Cruz.” Bryan took some of Angel’s food and he gave him an incredulous look. “What? You’re not eating.”

“First of all, I should beat your head in for even saying shit like that to me. Playing with her feelings? I’ve protected your sister since she was twelve fucking years old. You think I’m fucking with her? I’ve been in love with your sister since we were kids. A love that grown into this unconditional and uncontrollable feelings that I can’t even fucking pinpoint.” Angel was furious Bryan would assume that he was playing with his wife, his love, his life, his soul. He could see why it would appear that way, but he was all in. He didn’t need to prove it to Bryan. Maybe to Alena, no, to Alena he would, cause if her brother thought this way, god knows what she was thinking. “Second of all, fuck you. I was there for your sister when you turned your back on her after your father kicked her out of your home.”

Bryan pursed his lips then, not expecting for Angel to bring that up. He wasn’t angry at Angel, but he still never forgave himself for turning his back on Alena when she needed him most.

“I won’t apologize for giving you my opinion Angel, that’s how I feel. If you always felt this strongly, why haven’t you told Alena?” Bryan looked outside the window, resting his arm on the table, his hand in opening and closing, trying to remain calm. “I’ve never forgiven myself for turning my back on her, thank you for always being there for my sister.”

“I’m not going to apologize for bringing it up, don’t try to act mighty on me. We’re not trying to count our sins, but don’t act innocent either.” Angel leaned back on his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Every time I wanted to tell Alena how I felt, something always came up, the last one being Cruz. I thought that after we married, even though I created this farce we could divorce in five years time, things would just fall into place and I didn’t have to worry about it. I haven’t slept or looked at anyone since Alena slipped my ring on her finger. And I have no plans of doing so. I don’t deserve your sister, I hear it all the time, but I’ll spend my whole life trying to at least be the man she deserves to have.”

Bryan nodded his head. “Good, glad you can finally see that.”

“Wait what?” Angel was confused, sitting up straight at Bryan’s words.

“Come on Angel, I’ve watched this dance you’ve had with my sister for far too long. It seems you’ve truly gotten your head out of your ass. If I knew it would be Victor that knocked some sense into you, I would have dropped the bombshell long ago.”

“It wasn’t Victor. It was your mom.”

Bryan cackled. “Of course it was. So what’s the game plan? I heard my sister is quite determined to not speak to you.”

“I’m going to give her time, I hurt your sister this last time and I just want to give her time.”

“How much time? Victor may sink his claws in her.”

“However long she needs.”

The ball was in Alena’s court. He didn’t want to push her. He could wait, just as she’s awaited for him.

#angel reyes #angelreyes #angel reyes fanfiction #angel reyes fic #angel reyes fanfic #mayans mc fic #mayans mc fanfic

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captainillogical · 4 years ago

Text

Home Ch.4

The domesticity of living with an alien who hasn’t quite had the chance at a normal life.

Distant Lands sequel.

Spinel/Reader

collab with my lovely wife @firstofficertightpants

Today is another hot, bright day outside, and you have not had enough coffee to deal with it. Or any at all, actually.

Currently it's about an hour before your first lesson, and you're at Kiki's place - sitting on the toilet inside her bathroom in particular - trying to not panic.

"-and then! I told her if she wants to keep borrowing my jacket, the least she can do is NOT get mustard all over it! Can you believe her?!" Kiki huffs out next to your ear, dabbing more pigmented cover-up against your collarbone.

"Why the hell do you buy clothes that you know she'll keep stealing? You know she's not going to stop since you basically wear the same size." You reply, leaning into her brush. It tickles your skin, and you feel yourself almost sneezing.

"Because they're cuuuuuute, okay?" She whines, twisting her face in concentration as she smears makeup on a particular spot on your neck. "Wow she really did a number on you here.. are these teeth marks?"

"Pretend you didn't see them, just cover them up as best as you can," You plead, giving her The Face you know she can't resist. She rolls her eyes. "I just wanna look professional, you know?"

"They're gems, Y/N." She makes a point to jab you particularly hard on the side of your neck with her brush. "You seriously think they're going to care? Or notice?"

"Well, apparently a few humans signed up too, and I really would prefer to not get any more looks, er - more than the usual, anyway." You feel your phone vibrate in hand, and look down to see Steven giving you several thumbs up to your earlier text.

"Why are humans signing up?" She asks, pausing momentarily.

"Not sure? But I'm blaming Steven on that." You reply, remembering to shoot Garnet a message as well about having her attend just in case you make a fool out of yourself in front of a crowd.

"Maybe they saw you with Spinel, and thought, hey, maybe the rest of us could-"

A door slams against a wall, and you hear a resounding 'HEYYYYYYYY' from the hallway in a very familiar voice. Several pairs of footsteps are walking towards the bathroom the two of you are in.

Oh god, you need to go. You attempt to stand up from sitting on the toilet, and Kiki forces a hand on your shoulder with an "I'm not done!"

"Kiki!" Jenny pops her face into the bathroom doorway with an infectious smile. "What are you dooooooooo- whoa, Y/N?!"

If you could clap your hands and disappear, you would.

"Heyyyyy Jenny," You greet her as flatly as you can, and then Lars also pops his head into the doorway. Oh. Great. "Lars. What are you guys doing here?"

Lars gasps dramatically, pointing to your neck. "YOOOOOOOUUUUUU-"

Kiki silences him with her palm over his mouth. "Dude I already told you, why are you being so dramatic right now,"

"You TOLD him?!" You screech, feeling completely betrayed.

"Well, YEAH, clearly you were going to just internalize it and dance around the subject!" She places her hands on her hips, makeup brush still in her fist. "I'm just expediting the process!"

"Tell him what!?" Jenny pipes in, completely engrossed.

"That Y/N's dating Spinel!" Kiki huffs out, like this is obvious information, and Jenny gasps.

“I wasn’t going to dance around the subject!! I just haven’t had the chance to shoot him a text yet..” You mumble, trailing off sheepishly. Okay, so, you know you should’ve told Lars already! It’s just.. Ugh. Talking about your feelings is hard. The face Jenny’s making is making you wish you could flush yourself down the toilet.

“You dumbass, were you seeing how long you could hide this from me?! After all I did for you.” Lars crosses his arms over his chest, miffed. “It’s whatever, I knew that was going to happen sooner rather than later, anyway. I was expecting like, two days, tops - with how you had talked about her.”

“Am I that obvious?” You ask flatly.

“Uh, yeah.” Jenny gives you a look. “Girl, you avoided me for an entire year after I asked you out, and then acted like nothing ever happened. I probably would have recovered my ego a lot faster if I knew your type was Gems.”

“My type isn’t GEMS,” You sputter, utterly amazed at the audacity of the three of them.

“Yeah but your neck says otherwise,” Lars teases, and you groan, covering your face as the other two howl in laughter.

“Remind me why I’m friends with any of you?” You say, muffled behind your hands.

“Um, because you have no other options?” Kiki grins, and you put your hands down just to lightly kick her on the shins, and she chokes out a snort.

“So, what’s the occasion? Why are you dolling up Y/N?” Jenny peers over at you, taking in the new.. upgrades to your appearance.

“She’s got some lessons today, and wanted to look more professional,” Kiki rolls her eyes, like somehow you wanting to not talk to a class looking like you got half-mauled by a sea lion is ridiculous. “Speaking of, did you want me to cover the scar on your face?”

“Ehhh, leave it. I don’t really care about that.” You look at the time on your phone, knowing you need to leave soon. Spinel has texted you a few words of encouragement coupled with quite a pile of heart emojis, and you have to school your face into not smiling at it like some sort of cheese ball.

"I think you look cooler with it anyway," Jenny tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, her gold earrings shining in the light of the bathroom. "Makes you look like you won't take shit from anyone."

"What about my scar?" Lars asks. "Is my face scar not cool??"

"Yours looks more like you fought a raccoon in a dumpster." Jenny grins, and you can't help the laugh that comes out of your mouth as Lars sputters at her response.

The four of you chat for a little while longer while you finish up with Kiki, Jenny asking way too many questions about your personal life - but this time, you don't feel uneasy at all about sharing some of the details with her.

You're standing in the middle of Little Homeworld near the town center, coffee in hand - surveying the area as people and gems hustle around you. You probably should've also grabbed something to eat, but it's kind of too late now. Steven's bringing you lunch after this anyway.

It's twenty minutes until your first lesson, and you're starting to see a few gems show up early. They had to relocate where you'd be having the class - originally they had given you a decent spot under some coverage, but because the attendance got so high they moved you to the literal town center for the space. There's a lot of gems (and some humans) around, and most of them are either working on small construction or going about doing their other jobs. You watch three Amethysts a few yards away struggle to lift a large sheet of glass for what looks like a new cafe. Huh. The gems are really trying for inclusivity here.

You turn around to look at your chalkboard that Garnet placed here for you, and write out a giant welcome sign on it, along with the class title and your name. You could've probably written it a little more eloquently.. eh. The gems aren't going to care. There's some sudden yelling coming from around you, so you turn to look - one of the Amethysts nearly dropped her side of the glass because someone bumped her — aaaand it's Spinel, with Bismuth next to her, who are reading over some blueprints.

You stand there, hoping Spinel hasn't seen you. She doesn't know your class got moved, but you're positive she was supposed to be working with not Bismuth today. Great. You don't need a reason to be any more anxious about this than you are, even if seeing her pink hair kind of sets you also at ease.

More people and gems walk by loudly, and you start to wonder if you're going to need a megaphone. You grab your stack of papers, and go over your notes on your bench while you bide your time until it's noon.

About five minutes pass, and someone sits next to you on your bench.

"Heyyyy." A familiar voice speaks, and you look up - you're greeted with the smiling face of that rose quartz you've bumped into twice. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Oh, it's you," You reply, a bit off-guard. You weren't expecting anyone to sit and chat with you, nonetheless the very specific gem you keep randomly meeting.

"Saw you sitting here, and wanted to say hello before I went to this class I signed up for," She holds out her hand, her bright smile not making you feel as uneasy as it did the previous day. "I realized I never introduced myself. You can call me Rosie, if you want. The other quartzes have taken a liking to it."

"Rosie, huh.. that's actually a nice name. Mine's Y/N." You return her smile, and shake her hand.. which is strangely soft.

"Are you here for the lesson too? I'm pretty excited about this one, this has to be the most interesting class they've got on the current schedule right now." She leans in, putting an arm up on the bench back for support. More gems have started to gather in the centre now.

"I am, but I'm actually the one teaching it.." You reply almost sheepishly, and her eyes widen in response.

"You're teaching it?!" She lights up immediately. "I thought it was just gonna be one of the other gems! No wonder so many came here from Homeworld for this!"

"... you're pulling my leg, right? How would any of them have heard of this? We only posted this class within the last week, and just on the singular board." You feel the bubbles of dread in your stomach. Or maybe that's just the excessive caffeine.

"I heard a couple talking about fliers over there, I'm not sure, but they were so excited." She takes a second to look around, and lowers her voice briefly. "I heard that one of the Diamonds wanted to attend, even."

WHAT. Your brain cannot deal with this information.

"B-but they're not, right?" You hear your voice waver, and you push your creeping anxiety down. "I don't think I can deal with a Diamond here, today."

She laughs, and it's not mockingly. It's almost sweet, actually.

"That would be something, wouldn't it?" She winks at you, a light smile on her face. "But no. I don't see their gaudy ships, so I think you can rest easy."

“Phewwwww,” You dramatically wipe your hands down your face, and let out a groan. “I was so worried there for a sec. What would the Diamonds care about interacting with humans, anyway? So absurd.”

“I have no idea,” She giggles at your antics. “Your guess would be about as good as mine.”

You see Spinel staring in your general direction, and your heart rate speeds up when you see her eyes connect with yours. Her face lights up like you’re the best thing she’s ever seen in her life, and you can’t stop the goofy smile that breaks out on your face. You wave at her, and she nearly drops the box she’s holding to enthusiastically wave back.

“Who’s that?” Rosie asks, face turned to peer at Spinel way over there.

“My girlfriend.” Is what comes out of your mouth automatically, and she whips her head back to stare at you with a strange face.

“You’re dating a gem?!” She hisses out, clearly shocked as her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline.

“Yes - jeez, why does everyone always react this way - and it’s not THAT weird, before you ask,” You say, feeling your face heat up in embarrassment.

“And a Spinel, of all gems? No offense.” She looks back over to stare at said pink-haired gem, before turning back to you.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You give her a look, taking immediate offense to her statement. She brings her hands up in defense.

“I didn’t mean it like - It’s just, Spinels seemed to always be designed for friendship; not romance. I’ve physically witnessed three dating catastrophes between them and other gems, in my time.”

“Well, my Spinel is perfectly fine.” You say, and it comes out a little more aggressively than you had wanted, and she recoils a bit. “But thanks for your concern.”

“I'm sorry, it wasn’t my intention to offend you.” She at least has the decency to look apologetic. “How long have you two been dating?”

“We just started this week..” You answer.

“New relationship, huh.” She looks like she’s studying your face, and you’re not sure how you feel about it. “I do wish you two the best,”- There’s a sudden low murmur in the group of gems nearby you, and you look over to see what they’re mumbling about.

Fucking hell.

Jasper, yeah THAT Jasper, is standing over in the now pretty fucking large crowd of gems that’s gathered to attend your class, and you don’t know whether to laugh or scream.

“Whoa, she’s huge.” Rosie does a double-take at said gem, eyes widening hilariously.

“Yeah, a huge bitch. Jasper fucking hates humans, why the hell is she even here?” You groan, hoping that maybe she’ll just sit quietly and not make any remarks or heckle the other students.

"You know her?" She asks, amused by your response.

"Unfortunately, thanks to Steven."

"That kid is some kind of magnet for problems of all shapes and sizes." She laughs, shaking her head.

"You don't even know the half of it.." You give her a tired look, and she laughs even more. She asks you a few more questions about Steven and your life, and you answer them truthfully while attempting to distract your anxiety.

A hundred gems is your turnout. A bit over, actually, and a handful of humans too.

You maybe feel just a little in over your head with this, but, well.. it's too late now. You spot quite a few gems you've seen before in the crowd, as well as Onion of course, and your neighbor George. You even spot Buck sitting in the middle of a group of Lapis who look like they're discussing heavy gossip with him, and he's actually engaged. Interesting.

There are.. so many eyes peering at you. You've never talked to a crowd this big in your entire life, and public speaking has never been your strong suit. But these gems came here for a specific reason, and goddammit, the thought of Pearl or Sour Cream teaching this instead in your place just doesn't sit right with you at this point.

You greet the class once the volume dies down enough, and a wave of enthusiastic greetings come back at you. You see Garnet in the corner and she gives you a thumbs up, and honestly it makes you feel a lot better that she's here.

You start off with your orientation notes, and talk generally about the basics, mainly about the similarities between gems and humans as common ground. Literally only about three minutes into this class, and a quartz that is most likely from Homeworld raises her hand. You call on her.

"Is it true that humans eat their younglings?" She shouts out from the middle of the crowd, her vibrant purple hair half covering one of her eyes.

"Er," You stumble on your words, a little perturbed that that's the first question you get. "No, humans don't eat their young at all, you're probably confusing us with some other species."

She nods, like that sounds like the right answer, and then about twenty more hands shoot up.

"Let's save the questions until I at least get through this pile of papers, guys," You insist, and a noise of disapproval comes from near the front left side of the group. You turn your head, and.. it's fucking Jasper. Does she know that you'd throw hands with her if it were not for the fact that you're trying to be professional?

You completely ignore her, and continue on with what you were previously talking about.

A good 20-25 minutes pass, and you're now in a good place to stop so people can ask their questions. A few humans you don't recognize ask you about how you know so much, and you answer truthfully. You briefly talk about living with Steven and the Crystal Gems, and how easy it was to co-exist.

A LOT more hands pop up after that.

"This might sound strange, but how do you ask a human to be friends?" The Lapis you call on asks.

"You can just ask. Humans do it too. Sometimes people prefer to form them naturally though, but if you guys are already talking then it's a good sign."

"But what about if they scream at you?" Another gem blurts out, and you curb the bark of laughter that wants to escape from your mouth.

"Generally speaking, what do you do if a gem screams at you? Same principle. Guys, humans and gems are way more similar than you think, and communication is key in this." At least your voice is steady, and you don't really feel as anxious as you were before, since the class seems to actually be going smoother than you had thought.

The giant hand of the Morganite in the middle of the crowd waves frantically, and you call on her with amusement. It's kind of cute how excited and interested a lot of the gems are. "You seem to have a ton of gem friends, and I have no human friends! Could you be my first?" She yells at you.

"Oh, I don't see why not," You answer truthfully, feeling a bit sheepish and taken aback by her request. Once those words leave your lips though, half the crowd starts shouting - ME! ME TOO! COULD YOU BE MY FRIEND?? - and you can't help feeling a little flustered as you try to calm the class down, taking a few more regular questions to keep it going.

You don't even realize through the noise of the center of little Homeworld when you spot a camera crew at the edge of your crowd, setting something up. It's the fucking local news station, what the FUUUUUUUUCK. You try not to outwardly display your internal panic and it's proving to be one of the hardest things you've ever done.

"When did you get that scar?" Jasper stares at you from her seat, pointing to your face.

You freeze momentarily at the lack of tact in that question, and that's when you spot Spinel off to the side of the class, at the edge of the crowd of students. Your brain stutters.

"U-um. It was during an accident with my girlfriend." You blurt out quickly, and instantly regret those words. You should've fucking lied or something because you can see Rosie narrowing her eyes at you in the front.

"Is that why you look like that now?" Jasper grunts out, crossing her arms. If you could throttle her you would in a heartbeat.

"Yes." You state firmly, meeting her gaze. She looks a little surprised at your answers. "Anyway, moving on." You hear a few murmurs in the crowd after that, opting to ignore how anxious it makes you.

You answer a few more questions, and try to not look at Spinel who keeps raising her hand with the rest of the gems. Shouldn't she be working?! Oh god, of course the camera crew is actually filming something - you can barely offhandedly hear the reporter spouting off something about little Homeworld into the camera as it pans around him.

Your heartbeats are hammering in your chest, but you move onto more questions and try to keep your cool. Eventually you can't ignore how obnoxiously your girlfriend is raising and waving her hand trying to get your attention - several gems around her keep pointing at her so you'll give her a chance.

Oh, little do they know.

You sigh, resigning to letting her ask a question.

"Spinel." You call on her with a pointer finger as neutrally as possible, which is way harder than you had thought.

"Finally!" She cries with a fist pump, and a few people around her chuckle. "I just wanted ‘ta ask, is it possible for a gem and a human to fuse?”

You feel yourself freeze on the spot, taken completely by surprise. There’s a couple murmurs among the crowd.

Why the fuck is she asking that.

“U-um, no, unfortunately there’s no way to do that because of the differences in our biological make-up,” You say, feeling your face heat up in embarrassment - there are so many eyes staring at you.

“Well that sucks!” A random gem in the crowd shouts, and quite a few gems erupt in laughter.

You try your best to wind them down and finish with their many, many questions.

It isn’t long until the class is over - you had only taken up hour sessions, and you’re so thankful for it. The class went over well, and many gems walk up to you to chat and shake your hand, and the local news station seems to be interviewing a couple gems on what went on - you guess there’s some sort or segment they’re doing on Little Homeworld, and today just happens to be the day they chose to do that.

You avoid the camera crew as much as possible as you tidy up your belongings, and Spinel walks up to you as you gather your papers in your arms.

“That went pretty good!” She beams at you, looking proud. You squash your feelings of affection that overwhelm you - you wish you could kiss her if you were not in public.

“Yeah, and if you ever ask me a question like that in my classes again, I’m actually going to ban you. I’ll even put up a photo of your face so the other’s know to barr you from the class.” You scoff at her, and she completely disregards it, getting a little closer to you to give you a look that you recognise as her challenging you.

“That wouldn’t work on me anyway,” She grins, hand raising up to tuck the stray hair that just flew into your face - she looks to the side of you briefly as you hear footsteps and speaking -

FUCKKK, THE REPORTER IS WALKING RIGHT OVER HERE.

Your eyes dart back to Spinel, body posed to leave. “U-Um, I gotta-”

“Ma’am! Maaaaa’am!” You hear the reporter shout at you.

Cool cool, keep it cool. Just breathe. You want to vomit.

"You two look pretty close." He remarks as he jogs up to you, slightly out of breath. The cameraman follows him, and if you could run you would. But you'd rather not be turned into a local meme, so your feet are firmly planted in the spot. "I wanted to catch you before you left, Miss Teacher!" He smiles brightly at you - that you know is just for the camera.

"I was just finishing up." You smile politely.

"I wanted to ask you a few questions regarding the class you just held if that's alright with you?" He asks, adjusting the small mic on his collar. He also holds up the microphone that the logo of the local news station is emblazoned on.

"Sure." You feel your nerves go haywire. This is way, waaaay too much pressure for you, you feel like you're going to faint, the fucking cameraman just winked at you.

"What's your name, firstly."

"Y/N." You answer him with just your first name, and he gives you a look.

"Last name? You gotta have a last name." He insists.

You tell him your last name, and his eyebrows furrow before they shoot up into his hairline.

"Last name, last name?" He implores, holding the microphone closer to your face. "Like, -last name- the lawyer working on that Gem case in Empire city, -last name-!?"

Oh. You forgot about your father.

"Y-yes," You stutter out in a panic, and instantly regret waking up this morning.

God fucking dammit.

#spinel #spinel x reader #spinel steven universe #steven universe #su #home #my fic

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k7l4d4 · 3 years ago

Text

Midnight Striga: Fairy Tail/Owl House Cross Fic Episode 2 Part 2

Hello all, here’s another chapter of Midnight Striga! Everybody Clap Your Hands!!!

“So Luz, what kind of magic are you gonna use to help deliver these potions?” King, ‘innocently’ asked.

Luz snorted. “Hopefully none. As much as I would love to just bulldoze through everyone who ends up bugging me, causing trouble is just going to lead to trouble. Plus, that potion I took may have gotten me energized, but it’s a quick fix.” She glanced down at King. “It gets me up to a point where I can function normally, but if I exert myself, like using magic, I’ll end up burning through a lot more energy than I should. I really don’t want to end up captured by some creeps because I lost my temper and got too tired to defend myself.” She carefully made sure not to mention the unspoken “again” of that statement.

King huffed, but didn’t try to push it. “Fine. But just to let you know, while Eda’s probably right about people not caring too much about you being human, you should expect some of her stupider customers to try and cheat you.” As magnanimous of a King as he was, King was nothing if not blunt and to the point with his subjects; he wasn’t going to have his latest vassal humiliated by fools stupid enough to underestimate her.

Luz snorted. “Pfft. If these guys are dumb enough to short change me, than they’ll have to answer to Eda. And, to make sure she knows just how much to shake down punks like that for, I’m planning to write up a list of who pays me what amount, so Eda can see for herself.” Luz finished, a satisfied smirk playing across her face.

King giggled mischievously. “Oh, the looks on their faces when Eda comes calling is gonna be priceless!” As Luz herself cracked up at the thought, the two friends laughed all the way into town, the slight gloom that had been hanging around them since leaving the Owl House all but gone.

As they finally approached the town, the two had markedly different reactions. Luz gave a wry grin, a mix of apprehension and eagerness crossing her face. King, on the other hand, just gave a tired grunt at the sight before him; in the end, the town was no different than any other day.

King turned a side-long glance at Luz. “You sure this’ll go alright? I wasn’t kidding about people here being willing to take advantage of you.”

Luz just grinned back. “Eh, nothing I haven’t had to deal with before.” King wanted to ask, but was prevented by the pair of arms suddenly wrapped around his torso, lifting him off the ground.

“OH MY TITAN YOU ARE SO ADORABLE!!!!” The Witchling who was responsible for King’s predicament squealed. The echoing squeals revealed that the Witchling in question was just one of a group. The lead Witchling, a girl with a pink tone to her skin, purple-fuchsia hair, and a third eye, was currently cooing over King, who was vigorously struggling to escape.

“And enough of that.” Having realized what was happening, Luz easily yanked King from the girl’s grip, plopping him on the ground.

“Hey!” The girl shouted, her group pulling up behind her. “Who do you think you are?!?”

Luz cocked an eyebrow, completely unimpressed by the almost stereotypical display. “I think I’m late for my deliveries,” she gestured to King, “and he’s the one guiding me around. Later.” Her piece said, Luz turned on her heel, swiftly walking away from the annoyance.

Said annoyance rapidly grew red in the face at the blatant dismissal. She reached out for the human, expecting to stop her. “Do you have any clue who I am?” Just as her hand touched Luz’s arm, her wrist was caught, painfully twisted to the side, all while Luz’s eyes stayed fixed to the map King was holding up to her, effortlessly dragging the witch along.

Luz idly responded to the girl, clearly not paying attention. “I don’t know, and I don’t particularly care. I’ve got a lot more important things than dealing with a kid on an ego trip.” As the girl started struggling against her grip, Luz released her, sending her sprawling into the dirt.

“My name is Boscha, remember it!” The girl, Boscha apparently, shouted. “And I’m not going to take that kind of disrespect from a human of all things!” With her declaration made, Boscha quickly cast a fireball, holding it aloft for a second before chucking it.

“Light-Make: Shield.” Not even turning to the oncoming threat, and utterly heedless to the rapidly growing muttering of the bystanders, Luz effortlessly blocked the, by her standards, mediocre fire spell launched her way.

Finally bothering to turn to the Witch, Luz gave her an unimpressed stare. “Cute. Try that again, and I’ll send you to your parents in a full body cast.” Still holding the shield in place, Luz dismissed it, and headed on her way.

Boscha couldn’t breathe. What just happened, it should’ve been impossible. That was one of her best fireballs, and a human of all things blocked it with magic! Light magic, the most basic magic of all times! How was that even a thing!? Humans can’t use magic, everyone knew that, so how did a weakling human block her flames? She didn’t understand. As her mind started to spin, Boscha’s legs grew weak, buckling under her as she fell to her knees. What just happened, it couldn’t be.

Even as her followers (friends, her brain whispered), shook her shoulder, she wouldn’t respond. Eventually, Skara decided enough was enough, and hoisted the other Witch over her shoulders, visibly exerting over the strain of lifting Boscha’s more athletic body. Boscha didn’t respond. What just happened, she needed to understand.

Utterly indifferent to the stir she had created, Luz carried on her way, following King’s instructions to navigate to the letter. As they worked their way down the list, Luz couldn’t help but feel progressively more and more annoyed. Every time the customer opened the door, she either got screamed at, an attempt to eat her, or both. And to add injury to insult, over eighty percent of the customers had short-changed her!!! Needless to say, Luz was in a pretty bad mood after a few hours of dealing with that.

Luz groaned aloud, utterly exhausted from the ordeal. “Ugh, this is so annoying!! Everyone, absolutely EVERYONE, on the list acted like I was diseased or a wild animal!! I get it, humans aren’t normal here, but did they have to act like I was some half-trained pet!?” She growled.

King hummed, hiding his own frustration. Any insult to his court was an insult against him, so of course he wouldn’t stand for it. “As much as I hate to say it, that probably isn’t that far off. When me and Eda said that humans aren’t thought too highly of here, we meant it. They treated you like a pet because, to a lot of people, you might as well be one. Humans aren’t just seen as weak, they’re also seen as pretty dumb too. Sorry you had to find out like that, though.” And he meant it; Luz was one of the few people who consistently treated him with respect (so far at least), so seeing her disrespected was seriously frustrating.

Luz shot him a crooked grin. “Eh, it’s no big deal. I’ll just have to put more effort into changing their minds than I thought. That’s all.” She hummed to herself, idly tuning out the memories of the last time she had been treated as a “pet.”

King gave his best shot at a grin. He didn’t really get Luz all that much, but if she was gonna try, the least her King could do was offer his support of a worthy goal, and the respect of the masses is always a worthy goal. “Still, we got one last person to check off the list before we head home; some guy called Adegast.”

Luz groaned. “Ugh! If this turns out like all the rest, I swear I am going to burn his house to the ground. Seriously, if this had been one of my novels, we’d have already been recruited by some kind of quest granting Wizard and drafted into a mission against the forces of evil. If this guy doesn’t at least treat us with some basic decency, I am going to lose it.” Luz was seriously done. Today just seemed to keep getting worse, and she was almost at her wits end.

As they arrived at the destination, King and Luz both pulled up short. Standing before them was, to put it bluntly, a fantasy-style castle you’d see in a fairy tale. Luz sent a sideways glance at King. “I’m guessing castles in Bonesburough are new to you too?” She tried to play it off, but her battle instinct was itching.

King gave a wary nod. “Yeah, that’s definitely new.”

Before they could continue, however, the doors of the castle opened on their own, a mystical-looking fog spilling out. Striding forth was, by all accounts, a stereotypical wizard, beard, staff, robes and all. Luz was instantly suspicious. “Hello travelers! Are you the ones sent to deliver to me my potions order?” His voice was deep, one could even call it wise sounding, but to Luz and King, it just sounded like trouble. A familiar bitterness built up in Luz’s throat.

Shaking her head, Luz brushed off her personal feelings, putting on her most pleasant expression, no reason to needlessly antagonize a customer, after all. “Hello sir, we’ve got the potions you ordered right here!” She held up the sack of potions, now heavily depleted compared to how it started, and tried hard to hold in her dislike of the situation. Her suspicions increased when the “wizard” closed in.

“Nonsense! Please, come inside, come inside! You two must have worked yourselves to the bone handling such dreadful deliveries.” Before they could protest, he hurriedly ushered them inside, revealing an opulent interior. “Please, make yourselves at home, I insist!”

“As nice as this all seems,” Luz began, hesitantly rubbing her arm, “We really do have to get going soon.”

“Adegast’s” eyes widened in apparent distress. “But young lady, you’ve only just arrived! Please, you and your companion simply must join me for some tea!” He gestured to his table, tea and scones already set out and ready. The alarm bells were ringing even LOUDER in Luz’s already wary mind.

“Luz, let’s go, this guy’s seriously creepy!” King fervently whispered.

“Trust me, I know.” Luz murmured back. “But if we offend him, Eda might permanently lose a customer.” And like hell was Luz going to sabotage her Land-lady’s business just because one of her clients gave her the willies.

As the two reluctantly sat down, Luz did her best to keep a pleasant look on her face. King allowed his concerns to ease as he dug into the scones, focusing on them over the eeriness of the situation. “Adegast” leaned forward. “I dare say, I never thought I’d see a true human before mine eyes. Pray tell, how did thou find thyself upon our fair Isles?”

While Luz was sure this guy was hamming it up way too much, she felt caution was better than full-blown paranoia, and decided to answer. “To be honest, an animal stole my book, and I followed it to here.” Her eyes caught sight of something; a small cart loaded with potions. “Do you run a potions business yourself?” The sinking feeling was getting stronger.

“Adegast” nodded, a pleased gleam in his eyes. “Indeed, I run a small stand of procurements for those in need.” The admission did nothing for Luz’s nerves; if anything, the pit in her gut grew deeper. “But enough about me, what about you, dear one?” It took a lot for Luz not to snap at the overly-familiar title. “I see something special in you…”

Luz recoiled. “Me!? Special!? Oh no, nonononono, you’ve definitely got the wrong girl.” She wasn’t bluffing, as experience had amply taught Luz that, personality aside, she was utterly ordinary as a person in terms of abilities, nothing exceptional about her beyond her own determination and stubbornness.

“Adegast’s” eyes shone with sparkles; Luz found it creepy. “But you are!! I believe you to be the one to complete the great quest!”

Luz pulled up short at that. “A quest?”

“Indeed!” The self-seeming wizard stated. “You are the one who can retrieve the Celestial Staff, and vanquish the great evil plaguing these lands!! Look, I even have a map!” He revealed the map, and while it certainly looked old, all of Luz’s instincts were on edge. Still, she put on a cheerful face, hiding the bitterness building inside.

“I-I thank you for this quest, sir.” She stated as politely as she could. “As soon as I return to my master, I will inform her of this development.” With her piece said, she stood up, bowed, and dragged King out the door, “Adegast” waving them off behind her.

“Pfft. Chosen one. What a load, eh Luz?” King joked, clearly in disbelief of what the “wizard” was trying to pull. King froze at the look on Luz’s face; cold-blooded hate was etched across her face, almost stone-like in how still it was. “Luz?”

Luz’s face cleared, a look of tired despondency on her face. “Sorry King. I just… I just want to get home.” With that said, she and the demon made their way back to the Owl House, neither saying a world over what they had experienced.

As they crossed into the house, the two pulled up short. Before them, sprawled across the couch, utterly coated in trash and feathers, was a completely exhausted Eda, the snoring form of Hooty laid across her torso.

Luz’s face fell into a deadpan. “He got into the potion, didn’t he?”

Eda turned a weak glare her way. “No duh kid. This menace was ripping his way around the house for HOURS!!! I couldn’t even stop him, all I managed was to minimize and repair the damage, and wait for him to tire out. Say, why are you all looking so glum?”

King glanced at Luz, before speaking up. “One of the customers said she was some kind of chosen one, or something.”

Eda blinked, before cracking up in tired laughter. “A Chosen One!?!? Pleeeassseee don’t tell me you believe that kind of malarkey!?”

Her laughter stilled at the baleful glare Luz leveled at her. It cut deep, just how much pain was in it. Luz gave a grin, one filled with the kind of bitterness Eda usually only saw on herself after a run-in with Lily. “We’ve got a saying in the Human Realm: fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.” With her piece said, Luz marched up the stairs, heedless of the concerned calls from behind her.

#the owl house #fairy tail #owl house au #fairy tail au #owl house crossover #fairy tail crossover #eda clawthorne #luz noceda #king the owl house #boscha the owl house #skara the owl house #adegast #magic

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 4 years ago

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Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt.61

Coming back to VOLTRON was a little disappointing after the night before. Lance felt like he was walking on air right up to being greeted by Coran and Allura. Allura with a waiting blood bag, Coran with a knowing smile. Lance had had Keith drop him off, they’d showered the night before, and again in the morning before they left, but Lance figured Keith could use some time to check on Kosmo and get changed

“Well, come on my boy, you must tell us everything”

And that was that. Heading to Coran’s office, Lance let Allura have the chair as he sat on the edge of the examination bed, before twisting the top off the bag of blood

“So? Did you two have fun? What did you do?”

Coran nodded at Allura’s questioning. Both of them too obsessed with his love life

“He took me on a ride on his bike and went to the hotel. We kind of talked about things and stuff”

Allura groaned

“But did you enjoy the date?”

“Yeah. Talking was nice”

Lance wasn’t about to say that after dinner had been had and digested they’d had sex again, the laid tangled up in each other as Keith explained more about the murders and Lotor. Lance was shocked to hear Lotor’s name again. It must have been a good 2 decades since Allura mentioned him.

Burying her face in her hands, Coran wrapped his arm around Allura

“My boy. You must understand, we wanted this night to go well for you both”

“It did. I mean... the room was amazing. The food was good. The company was good, but I want to keep somethings to myself”

Sucking deeply on the blood pack, Lance didn’t want to talk about being intimate with Keith. That was something special and between them

“You two were intimate?”

Lance blushed at Coran asking. Did Keith sucking his dick count? Because fooling around was one thing. Sex was something else, especially with Keith

“Is that important?”

“Only in the terms of data. Did you experience any heat like symptoms?”

“The usual scent and stuff happened”

“And you remained clear minded?”

“In the way you’re asking... is it bad?”

“No, my boy! This is excellent. Now, Allura and I have had a little chat. We know you living with us is sadly temporary and currently unavoidable. With your permission, we would like you to help us”

Lance felt a little betrayed

“You set us up on a date so you’d make me feel obligated to say yes”

“Not at all, my boy. Both Allura and I are firm supporters of you and Keith. As the kids these days say “we ship it”. No. We were thinking it was quite unfair the time apart you spend due to your schedules. Our current investigation is failing to divulge leads as fast as fast as we would like and were wondering you’d possibly help us. This means being in contact with other vampires. We wish to perform a couple of tests on scents to ensure you won’t go into heat”

Lance crossed his arms. He wouldn’t be against it, but didn’t they have Lotor now?

“What can I do, that Lotor can’t?”

Allura finally raised her head

“Both Shiro and Keith have taken issues with Lotor. Lotor’s status ensures that he is noticed wherever he goes. We have tried to talk to him about it, but I’m afraid his ego is only fed by being half fae. I feel that we may have more chance is we run two operations, Shiro, Keith and Lotor in one location, the two of us in another”

Oh. So they needed a plain and boring vampire. Way to make a man feel special...

“What about my scent?”

“If we can capture a sample of your scent, we can analyse it and figure out a means to temporarily deaden or shift it. Keith and Shiro will both be sitting this one out with the pair of you, due to Keith’s natural scent. It’ll be you and Allura, for one night. The fact that the murder pattern is changing means something has changed with our killer. None of what I’ve told you obligates you to help”

No, but loved Coran. He’d repay the man for the warming family feeling he’d gifted upon him so easily. Waving his free hand, replied

“It’s fine. I’ll do it. But Keith won’t be happy”

“Ah yes... I do not want to complicate things between you two. Perhaps have a little think and a talk with him?”

Keith was coming back as it was... now they just had something else to talk about

“Yeah... I’m gonna head back to my room now”

And get cleaned up before Keith got there

“Long night?”

Coran sounded so pleased, like the question was going to make Lance crack and spill how nice it had been down to every detail. Throwing them a wink, Lance slid off the examination bed, thankful that blood would soon take away the lingering pain in his hips

“I’ll leave that to your imagination”

Heading down to his room, Lance was now torn between the feeling of happiness every time he thought of Keith, and his boyfriend being angry about him putting himself in danger. If he was out with Allura he should be safe... but Keith had been deeply traumatised by him being hurt. He didn’t want to put Keith through that again... but he honestly had hit his limit of feeling useless. He still hadn’t heard from Pidge and Hunk. The two never far from his thoughts for very long... Maybe he should try reaching out again? But if he was going out and there were bad guys he didn’t want to lead them home. His poor house was probably traumatised for life putting up with two werewolves... Maybe it was time to bite the bullet and just go home? If Pidge wanted to burn his house down, she would have by now. Rieva ensured him she was keeping Matt in line, but things had gotten damaged when the full moon came. It was funny. He thought he could some kind of silent protector for Garrison when Matt and Rieva first came. Like keep the big bad wolves under control. He couldn’t even keep his post for a night... He missed Matt and Rieva. He missed people... People who understood and didn’t judge... He missed Pidge and Hunk, even though he knew seeing them would probably lead to a boat load of judgment in his direction. It hurt his heart to think that maybe the pair didn’t think he cared about them because he hadn’t reached out again.

Flopping down on his bed, Blue let out a “roow” as she came flying up to jump on his stomach. His princess settling herself down to knead at his chest as she flicked her tail. She missed her house. She missed prowling around at night, and running around the house like a lunatic. If Allura and Coran wanted his help, he’d give it, but this wasn’t fair on Blue. He seriously needed to get his act together. When Keith came he’d message Pidge... after he’d asked Keith if he thought it was time for Lance to return to Garrison. He was supposed to be the adult. He was supposed to be the cooler more mature one. Ever since Keith came into his life, it’d been one thing after another... but that was okay. It was okay because he had Hunk and Pidge. It was okay because things changed and evolved with Keith. Keith’s life turned upside down because of him, but he functioned. He did what he had to do. He took pride in his job, even letting Lotor parade him around as a fake pet...

Scratching Blue between the ears, Lance drained the rest of the blood bag. Last night felt more like a dream. Him and Keith... the warmth of his boyfriend against his cold body. Laying in bed, trading secret whispers. Keith opening up to him about Lotor and work in general. He was tired of all the negative feelings in his head. He knew Pidge and Hunk wouldn’t understand or want him around. But having that cord between them cut so suddenly... Maybe he could reach out to Hunk first. Arrange a meeting. Him, Hunk, Curtis and Keith. Keith because this concerned him too. Curtis because he missed him. Curtis had his own work to do. The time they’d seen each other drastically cut. He really missed his house, but he missed those days when they were all together. He hadn’t appreciated Curtis leaving sex stuff for him and Keith, but that was Curtis being Curtis. He liked that about him. He cared. Lance knew he cared, but he didn’t know if Curtis knew he cared about him

“Blue, what do you think? Is it time we go home again?”

Blue bunted into Lance’s hand, purring loudly as she did. The glare in her eyes telling him she didn’t care. She hadn’t had her wet food and that Lance’s actions disgusted her

“Okay. Up we get. I’ll get you your food, but then you’ve got to let me sort our life out. We’re better than this, princess”

Keith had finished cleaning up Kosmo’s mess as his personal phone chimed. Shiro was still sleeping, so his return to there apartment was kind of a let down. The hunter had hoped his brother would be awake to ask him how his date went with Lance. Normally he wasn’t a “gusher”, yet he’d had such a good time with his boyfriend that he wanted to tell Shiro. He wanted his brother to ruffle his hair and tease him... but no. He’d come home to find Kosmo had chewed up a shoe, and left a trail of pee from the bathroom to the now dead shoe. Two more chimes went off, Keith having to ignore them as he took the mop and bucket to the laundry. Kosmo had a grass mat for doing his business on, but his fur son seemed to pee every time he found something exciting.

Returning from the laundry, his phone chimed again. Knowing the messages had to be from Lance, Keith scooped Kosmo up before retrieving his phone from the kitchen bench. Opening up chat, he found three new messages in group chat, and four in his personal chat with Lance. Nerves washed over him. Thumb hovering before clicking on his personal chat with Lance. Too chicken to check group chat in case it was Hunk, Shay, or Pidge saying their friendship was over.

Though he’d parted with Lance a little over an hour ago, it’d taken that long to clean up the pieces of shoes, dispose of the evidence, then mop the floor, his boyfriend hadn’t gone back to his room to rest. No. Apparently Lance had gone back to his room and started thinking. Keith didn’t have a problem with Lance thinking, what he had a problem with was “We need to talk”, “That sounds bad”, “it’s not bad”, “I don’t want to break up LOL, but we need to talk”. Most people dreaded the “we need to talk” message. Keith could imagine Lance had written a great long message, before deleting it and sending that instead, then realising how it sounded. He just didn’t know what they suddenly needed to talk about.

Gathering up his courage, he checked the group chat. “I’ll be in Garrison next week”, “I know I’ve been giving you space, but I miss you guys”, “If you’d rather I left you alone, let me know”. So Lance going back to Garrison was what they needed to talk about? Why couldn’t Lance just say it like that? Did he think Keith was going to be mad? That he wasn’t going to support him for trying to reconnect with his best friends? How could Lance think that after the night they’d spent together? He’d support him. Hell, Garrison was probably safer than Platt right now. Lance had taken the news of the vampire deaths rather well, considering. Was that why Lance was moving back home? Because he didn’t trust Keith to keep him safe? Groaning at himself in annoyance, Keith opened up his contacts list, calling Lance, only for his call to not connect. His boyfriend wasn’t elevating his worry. Who messaged someone, then turned their stupid phone off? Lance, that’s who. His boyfriend was an idiot.

Now unable to call Lance back, Keith forced himself up off the sofa and to his room. Setting Kosmo on the bed, he changed his clothes, put on his sneakers, grabbed Kosmo’s lead and sighed heavily at the thought of walking to work. He should have just gone in with Lance. Then his boyfriend wouldn’t be overthinking things and making him overthink things thanks to his thinking. Clipping Kosmo’s lead to his harness, the puppy tried to lick him to death, wagging his whole body with excitement as Keith tried to put the harness on. Slowly Kosmo seemed to be learning that harness meant an outside trip to the closest patch of grass for pees. Very slowly. Kosmo was a special kind of “smart stupid”, with Keith suspecting he was the one being trained instead of his puppy.

The walk to work was slowly, Kosmo wanted to sniff and pee on everything he could. Every stranger had the possibility of being a friend, which worried Keith enough to wonder if he should get a muzzle in case someone tried to feed Kosmo something bad as a joke. He’d never known that grapes could kill a dog. The fruit now banned from the apartment, and a list posted on their fridge so he and Shiro didn’t accidentally poison his precious pup. Shiro might grumble about Kosmo’s “accidents” and how he wasn’t responsible for Keith’s dog, but he’d caught the pair of them snuggled up sleeping on the sofa, Kosmo’s nose against Shiro’s cheeks. He now had photographic proof that he wasn’t afraid to hold over Shiro’s head the next time he complained.

Reaching the bookshop, Keith scooped Kosmo up so his son couldn’t cause chaos inside the car. He’d barely opened the door before he heard a voice that made him jump

“I don’t think they let you bring dogs in there”

What the hell was Narti doing here? It was the middle of the day. Turning towards her, he found Narti and Axca both bundle up in thick jackets, long pants, and sunglasses

“Oh? Um. Thanks for letting me know. He’s my... um... companion. I’ve brought him here before”

Leaning forward Narti sniffed at him

“You smell really good. If this place allows pets, maybe we should bring ours next time?”

Narti shouldn’t know it was him. He and Shiro kept their faces covered... so why did this impromptu meeting not feel so impromptu? He felt like a Narti was showing up deliberately to fuck with him. She was annoying like that. All Keith really knew about her was that she really liked blood and making everyone uncomfortable like it was a game. Lotor had no patience for you, yet let her get away with it all the fucking time. Keith didn’t have the patience for it

Narti reached towards Kosmo, hand stopping just short

“It’s a shame when something happens to a pet because their blind to their master’s true nature. Sometimes the closer you are, the less you see. let’s go. I don’t feel like being here anymore”

Turning away, Keith felt his eyes meet Acxa’s as she turned. Axca was still very quiet and level when they spoke, Keith felt that she was hiding something big from them. If only he could talk to her alone. Not that he was great at talking, but he was sure she had something she needed to say. Hugging Kosmo tighter, Keith stepped into the bookshop wishing he’d never bumped into those two with his face uncovered. His puppy wasn’t something he appreciated having threatened. Kosmo was his precious boy and best boy. Narti could die in a ditch for all he cared. Now he was going to have to tell Coran... and hopefully not be benched from work because of it.

#once bitten twice stupid #oncebittentwicestupid

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