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roger-that-cap · 4 years ago

Text

peace

natasha romanoff x fem!reader

summary: natasha wanted to marry you more than she wanted everything, but how was she supposed to propose to you and ask you to be hers forever when she couldn’t give you even the simplest of things?

warnings: so this is minimal angst, don’t be fooled, this is fluff, ya know the drill. this may or may not be cheesy, but i tried

word count: 6.4k, short and sweet

so, i listened to peace by taylor swift while i wrote this one. take that information how you wish lollll. also, not edited!

Natasha met you years ago. You were the bright eyed girl at the front counter of an ice cream shop near the tower, soft serve shop. Natasha, ever the reader of mankind, immediately knew that you were kind, patient and simply sweet. Sweeter than the vanilla cone she had treated herself to, the one that you had made yourself because your coworkers were on an extra long break that wasn’t exactly authorized.

You knew who she was, but you didn’t ask her for anything. No autograph, no murmuring of a catchphrase, nothing about whether or not Captain America would be into you. Natasha admired that. She loved that she saw the flash of excitement and recognition in your eyes, but that it never went further than you asking her if she wanted sprinkles.

That one encounter led to many more. Soon, you two were on a date, after you had been brave enough to ask if she wanted to go on a picnic in the park after she kept coming into the store. And that one date was enough for you both to know that you wanted to see each other again, and again, and again.

You and Natasha spent two months dating each other before making it official, and it was the best decision either of you had ever made.

You made her feel like she was needed and loved, and she made you feel like you were cherished and safe. The feeling that you got when you looked at her was just so… natural. You weren’t worried about angering her, or about messing up in front of her. She made you feel calm, and one look at her washed all the jitters out of your nerves easily.

And in return, there was no one on the entire planet that made Natasha as happy as you did. You were the one, and it was almost over night when she realized that you were it.

One night, she was in bed next to you after a long day of training recruits and having a briefing for an upcoming mission. She had only been in your apartment for about twenty minutes, just lying in your gentle and welcoming arms, and she was fighting the urge to nod off where she felt safest. She was tired, but she knew one thing above everything else, and it was that she wasn’t going to waste an entire night with you because she wanted to sleep.

“You don’t have to stay awake, sprinkles.” You said to her in the dark room, your hand smoothing her hair. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you all day.” Maybe that’s when Natasha should have noticed. When the urge to talk to you was stronger than the drive that she had while training recruits, or when she nearly forgot that she couldn’t go home early because of how much she was just ready to.

“I won’t be upset, you work hard,” you said softly. “You deserve some peace and quiet. Sleep, I’ve got you.”

Natasha did a few things for the first time in a long time that night.

One: she felt at peace enough to fall asleep immediately.

Two: she went to sleep with the sound of someone humming in her ear.

Three: she realized that she was completely in love with her girlfriend.

There were plenty of times that hinted to her that she was falling in love. She looked for you or an essence of you everywhere, from seeing something the color of your eyes to looking over at your favorite brand of yogurt in the grocery store and contemplating buying it. Whenever you smiled, she couldn’t help but grin twice as big. If you laughed, she was happy. When you were upset, she wanted nothing more than to make it better, than to eliminate whatever it had been that made you feel that way. She would do anything for you. And she really believed that you would do anything for her right back.

Your relationship wasn’t perfect, but it was damn near it. It was the thing Natasha was most proud of, just like you were the person that Natasha was proudest of to call hers. And she wanted that. She wanted you to be hers for the rest of your life, and she wanted nothing more than to be officially yours.

And that was why she stood in a high end jewelry store that specialized in special rings, closed for two hours from the public just for her. And Tony and Steve, who desperately wanted to tag along.

Tony was more of the planner and the doer. He was the one pointing out the rings that seemed pretty, the ones that looked like they would fit your style. He was the businessman, ready to negotiate price even though he could easily afford the entire store ten times over. Steve, however, was the mother hen. Hovering mostly silently, an excited buzz flowing out and touching everyone else in the vicinity. He was excited for Natasha, it was obvious, and he also wanted to make her feel as comfortable and ready as possible.

“That one’s pretty, isn’t it?” Tony muttered, pointing towards an intricate ring with a diamond in the middle of the studded band. “Y/N likes stuff like that.”

“No she doesn’t,” Steve cut in, and he pointed to a ring that was quite literally the opposite of the one Tony was referring to. It was a simple ring, one with a silver band and a decently sized diamond in the middle. It was clearly an engagement ring, but it wasn’t flashy. “That one is probably closer to what she’d like.”

Everyone in the tower knew you well. Natasha made sure that you knew her friends well when you two started to get really involved. You introduced her to your siblings and parents, and she let you meet her own family, the Avengers. Natasha remembered the day that you met everyone vividly. Everyone had loved you immediately, and she was so proud of the way that you handled yourself while being so nervous. Hell, she was always proud of you.

You made fast and sturdy friendships with everyone and fit in well, and that was all Natasha could ever ask for. Eventually, she started to bring you over at least once a week just to hang out with everyone, to get you familiar with every member of her found family.

Perhaps that was another sign that she should have taken and read. She had never introduced a significant other to the family that she cherished so much, not once before you.

“Steve’s right,” Natasha murmured, and she heard Tony’s playful scoff. “But I have no idea when I’m going to actually do it.”

“You don’t have a trip planned?” Tony asked incredulously. “Well, I can schedule anything you want, whenever you want. Just ask me.”

Natasha knew exactly what Tony was referring to. He had gone above and beyond for every romantic gesture that was ever for Pepper, and Natasha knew that your relationship wasn’t like that. You didn’t need grand gestures or long trips to beaches. The both of you were happier than ever just being with each other. She knew that you would cry in the middle of a Wendy’s if she popped the question there and held her hand patiently waiting for the ring. The location mattered the least.

“We probably won’t do a trip, that’ll make it obvious.” There was one thing that Natasha was very picky about that had to do with the whole affair, and that was surprise. She wanted you to be the most pleasantly surprised you had ever been in your life, and she wanted to watch those beautiful eyes of yours light up and start to water in the most joyous of ways. She wanted the cheesy hand-over-heart move, the hand grabbing, the excited chatter of a small gathering of random people looking. And most of all, she wanted to hear your elated yes and she wanted to slip the ring onto your ring finger, and she never wanted to see it off from that moment on.

But that was just her.

Natasha, Steve, and Tony spent another hour in the jewelry store. The owner was buzzing around, clearly excited for the amount of business that their presence was sure to rope in. He took a picture of them and promised not to release it until Natasha proposed, even though he was quite literally bursting at the seams to brag about it. In the end, Natasha ended up getting a pretty ring with a silver band and a nice sized diamond, simple and just your type.

They were on their way out when Tony spotted paparazzi. He stopped in his tracks and turned around. “Okay, I’ll go first to lead them away.”

“Why?”

“If Y/N sees you on a tabloid at a ring shop with me and Steve… the surprise is up.” Tony made a clicking noise with his tongue and left without anything else to say, strolling out and indeed leading all of the people with cameras away from the shop, all of them entranced by the billionaire.

To be safe, Natasha and Steve waited for a few more minutes before walking out and getting jumbled in with the crowd. Her grip on the bag was tight, and she was holding the box in her hand through it. So, are you excited?”

“Not as excited as you,” she teased, but even she could hear the nerves in her voice. “I just don’t wanna ruin anything.”

“Please,” Steve scoffed. “Y/N is so in love with you that I forget that you two aren’t already married, honestly.”

Steve saying it aloud made Natasha’s heart race, even though she already knew that. That was one of the million wonderful qualities about you. She never had to ask you for validation, because you told her with everything you did. You tapped her hand three times at parties. You whispered it into her ear before you both went to sleep. You kissed her cheek or her jaw when she started to get antsy, and rubbed her back while you did it. Every touch, every kiss, every breath that the both of you took told the other that you loved them. There was no question about that.

“So, what are you worried about? She’ll say yes. Everyone knows that.”

If only Steve knew that it was so much more than you saying a three letter word instead of a two letter one.

They walked back in silence to the tower, comfortable silence between two friends who were both deep in their own heads even as they swiped their clearance cards and went into the elevator.

§§

Natasha always felt bad when she lied to you, no matter how small or white the lie was. One day, it was small and for the both of you, but it still didn’t smooth the guilt.

She had told you that she had a late night meeting, top secret, and that she would call you when you could come up in her room. “So, that’s the plan.”

“You’re gonna pop the question of your lives in the park?” Tony asked, a brow quirked upwards. “Well, to each their own.”

Wanda rolled her eyes. “That’s a really sweet idea, Nat. Tony, here, is just annoying.”

“Thank you, Wanda.” Natasha said, and then turned to the billionaire. “So, what would you do, then?”

“I would go on a crui-”

“Yeah, I’m thinking Nat wants a more casual approach,” Sam said, giving Tony a once over. “So the park would be great.”

“I know,” she said absentmindedly, thoughts already on the next hour, where she would be on the couch in her quarters with you, watching one of your favorite shows together.

“We’re still allowed to come, right?” Wanda asked, gently bringing Natasha out of her thoughts.

“Of course.” That was another thing she really wanted. Her family had to see everything happen first hand, that was non negotiable. “Just lurk in the shadows, she’ll know what's happening if she sees all of you.”

That night, she left the tower to go to your apartment rather than just have you come over and swipe your card that Tony had made you. She figured that the less people around that knew about the proposal, the less likely it was that someone was going to spoil it.

She wasn’t an idiot. Weddings were special to you. Hell, when you were younger, you used to want to be a wedding planner. Natasha knew that a goal in your life was to be loved by someone so much that they wanted to spend their life with you, and luckily, the both of you found that in each other.

“Baby,” Natasha called when she stepped through the threshold of your apartment, her ears already pricked up as she heard the television coming from the room that you had moved half of her belongings into. She smiled as she walked closer, purposely making her footfalls a little louder so that she didn’t startle you.

You were smiling at her when she opened the door to the bedroom, and Natasha felt her heart stutter for a second as she caught her bearings. “Hi, sprinkles. How was work?”

She would never get tired of the sound of your voice. “It was alright.” Natasha walked over to you, and you leaned into her hand, the same one that always reached for your face and cradled your cheek, her own little greeting. “You weren’t there, so.”

“Sadly I was doing soft serve,” you said, rolling your eyes at the customers you had encountered. “And one woman was particularly… not nice.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, baby.” Natasha said softly, pulling you closer. “At least now all you have to worry about is sitting down in time to catch your show.”

“That is my only worry,” You agreed playfully. “Come sit, I’m tired. And I know you are, too.”

§§

Natasha thought that she was going to do it as you walked through the park, on a trail that the rest of the Avengers were following you on flawlessly. She was surprised that they could keep that quiet for that long, especially Steve, with his non-stealthy physique and training. But they were doing it. In a way, it made Natasha worried out of her mind that you couldn’t feel that five people were trailing you. But she forced that part of her mind, the one that was always so overwhelmed with the need to keep you close and safe, to the back of her mind, and instead felt for the little box in her pocket.

“Oh, do you hear that bird singing?” You asked softly, trying not to disturb the peace. She watched your eyes scan the tips of the trees, watching as a smile grew on your face and planting one of her own. “I wish I could see it.”

“You go bird watching all the time,” Natasha mused at you, and you snorted a bit.

“But we never really sit down and do it together,” you said after a moment, and just like that, Natasha’s excitement was dried out. Her fingers left the box in her jacket pocket, and her hand swung at her side with the other held by your hand.

“What?”

“We just don’t do it much, ‘s all.” Like you sensed that you had said something that changed the mood of your little stroll, you turned to look at her. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

But there was. There was everything wrong with that statement. Mostly because it was one hundred percent true. The two of you didn’t have any time to bird watch or stargaze like you wanted to. And it wasn’t on your end, no, it was on her’s.

She came home late more often than not. She left early in the morning, sometimes before the sun even rose. She was sent on missions that were weeks long, sometimes even months. Sometimes, she didn’t even get to warn you or say goodbye before she had to get on a quinjet, just up and leaving and sending a text, apologizing for things she couldn’t control.

“Nat?” She hadn’t even realized that she stopped walking. But she had. Her arm was stretched out towards you because you hadn’t dropped her hand yet, and you closed the gap between the two of you with a look of concern on your face. “You okay?”

“Um, yeah.” She cleared her throat and rubbed her face with her hand, blinking a few times as the familiar guilty feeling burned in her chest like acid. “Wanna keep walking?”

For the rest of the walk, Natasha was stuck in her head. She was good at multitasking, so she indulged you and your words to the best of her ability while she thought about how terrible she felt for you. She couldn’t even take you birdwatching. And she thought that you would want to marry her?

“Are you ready to head back, darling?” Natasha asked once the sun started to finally make its retreat, and after she felt that the others had left and were far ahead of them. They knew her just as well as you did, and they knew that it wasn’t the day that she was going to ask.

“As long as it’s with you,” you murmured, and then you turned around to press your lips to hers in an innocent, binding kiss, and then pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Natasha said back just as sincerely, wrapping her arms around you and hugging you right in the trail, closing her eyes tight and waiting for the feet and doubt to subside.

It didn’t.

§§

It took two more failed attempts for Steve to finally come knocking on her door one night. The night of the third failed proposal attempt, everyone was anxious to see a ring on your finger, and everyone just wanted it to be done so that they could plan the wedding.

Natasha was not on the same page.

At first, the team was confused. Natasha’s love for you never wavered. It was as certain as the sun rising and falling, as the tide coming in and going out. It was constant, and it never faltered. So her backing out of making it official, of finally tying to knot with you, confused everyone. And then, they thought about what exactly made the change in conversation.

Wanda was the one to crack the code. She subtly picked at Natasha’s mind during the last of the failed proposals, and when she came back out into the present, she didn’t seem surprised at all.

The first thing that Wanda said when they all got back to the car was, “she doesn’t think that she’s enough.”

Doubt.

Natasha Romanoff never doubted herself. She was the best assassin in the world, capable of literally anything that she put her mind to. She had no reason to doubt herself. Until she started to work for someone else, not just for herself.

“What is she doubting?” Tony muttered, the exhaustion at watching one of the boldest people he knew dancing around a woman who clearly loved her to death. “Y/N is going to say yes. She would say it if Nat asked her on the toilet.”

“No, it’s not that,” Wanda said softly, shaking her head. “She thinks that she’s… neglecting her. That her presence isn’t often enough. She feels guilty about her job.”

Silence.

That was something many of them who had relationships dealt with. The balance between domestic life and life as an Avenger was hard to achieve. Not only did the Avenger have to know when to separate things. The Avenger also had to find someone who knew what they did, what their job entailed, and that they would both have to make sacrifices. You knew how to do those things. So what was the problem?

“Y/N takes the distance and the danger really well,” Steve stated. “So, what’s the problem?”

Wanda shrugged. “There was… there was more. But I didn’t have enough time to really see.”

While the others tried to figure out what was going on the the former assassin’s brain, Natasha was back in her room, sitting and twiddling her thumbs as she thought. Her eyes kept going back to the box, resting on it very now and then before she looked away in apprehension.

There were three knocks on her door, way too harsh and precise to be you. Besides, you hardly ever knocked, just as she never knocked on your door. “Um,” Natasha started, and then her brows furrowed as she put the ring in a drawer just in case. “Come in.”

Steve Rogers was standing at her door, arms crossed, a slightly disappointed look set on his face. “What’s up?”

Natasha raised a perfect brow. “You came to my room, Cap.” She crossed her arms as well, even though they both knew that neither was on the defensive. “Are you okay?”

“Why haven’t you done it yet?”

Her heart dropped to her toes, but she knew how to control her facial expressions. She was sure that she would never lose that skill, no matter how old she got and how much she would start to forget things. “Done what?”

Steve shut the door. “You haven’t proposed to her yet. Why not?”

“The time wasn’t right.”

“That’s a lie.”

She wasn’t used to Rogers calling her out so fast. Typically, she was an A list liar, and the only person she failed at lying to was you. She rarely ever did that, and when she did, it was for the better. Like, when she would tell you that she would be back within a few hours knowing that it would be about two nights still. Or when she would tell you that she wasn’t hurt, knowing good and well she had been bleeding out five minutes not even two minutes before she made the call.

The second lie that came to mind came flying out of her mouth. “I’m scared she’ll say no.”

Steve rolled his eyes, to Natasha’s surprise and sligh humor. “She’d find a way to say yes to you even in the afterlife, Natasha. You can’t play the lying game. Not with me, not with us, and especially not with her.”

“Why are you so worked up right now?”

“Because you deserve happiness, and it’s right there in front of you. You’re throwing it away, for what?”

“I never said that I wasn’t going to propose,” the redhead defended, but Steve just put his hands on his hips.

“I can see it in your eyes. You’re not going to unless someone pushes you, and because Y/N can’t in this situation, then I will.” His “Captain” voice was on. “It’s much more than you being worried about something that won’t ever happen, so what’s wrong, Natasha?”

Natasha stood there for a second, her eyes narrowed on him as her face stayed still, and her mind raced a thousand miles an hour. She pursed her lips after a few seconds and breathed in, trying to decide whether or not to spill everything to one of the people that she trusted the most in life, one of the few that she trusted with her very life itself. Her mouth started moving before she could even approve its speech.

“Because of who I am and what I do, I can never give her what she deserves. I can never give her the suburban life, the calm life, the one where all she has to worry about is whether or not she’ll have to go to the store to get more cheese. I can never give her that.”

“I have money, she’ll never have to worry about going hungry or not being able to do things, yes, but at what cost? At the cost of me leaving her by herself one day for forever because of one wrong step? At the cost of me not being there to hold her at night or wake up with her in the morning? I can’t even do simple things with her like stargazing because I don’t have time for it. I don’t have time for her, do you realize how horrible that is? How terrible I feel?”

Whatever Steve was expecting, it surely wasn’t that. Natasha was never one to have an outburst, even with the people she was the most comfortable with. But there she was, spilling all of the feelings she had been harboring within seconds, her eyes resting on Steve’s as they both refused to look away for more than a few seconds at a time.

“I can never give her a calm life without worry, or without pain. She’ll have to be scared about whether or not I got shot in Siberia, or if I’m rotting somewhere at the bottom of a cliff, or if I’m a prisoner halfway across the world. All I bring to the table is worry, and all I want to give her is what she gives me every second I’m with her. Peace. I want that so badly, and she deserves it more than anything. And I can’t give it to her.”

Steve was silent for a moment, and a singular moment turned into two. “Have you ever asked her what she wants?”

The question stopped Natasha’s erratic thoughts in their tracks. “What?”

“Natasha, she’s been with you for years now, and I’ve never heard her complain about your job. I’ve never even seen her cry about you being gone more than anyone else would. She knows what you do, and she knew that when she agreed to be your girlfriend. She wouldn’t have stayed with you if she couldn’t handle it.”

“How do I know she’s handling it?”

“Ask her.” Steve said softly, like he was nudging her with his words alone. “You’ll only know if you ask her.”

As she drove to your apartment that night, her mind was buzzing with nerves. “Ask her,” she mocked, making her voice deeper. “Not that easy.”

The door was open when she got there, enough to make Natasha shout your name with anxiety in her voice, and that sound was enough to make you come poking your head out from the kitchen.

“You alright, sprinkles?”

Natasha could breathe again. And when she inhaled, she smelled chicken in the air. She grinned. “Perfect now,” she said, shutting the door, locking it, and walking over to you.

§§

It hit her in bed with you that she should bring it up. You two always had conversations before bed, it didn’t matter what about. Sometimes, the conversations were as serious as a heart attack, and other times, they were about whether or not Candyland was a good game. That night, it was leaning on the more serious side.

“Y/N,” Natasha called softly, and you hummed in response. “Do you… are you happy? With me?”

The soft humming that was coming from your throat cut off abruptly at the question, a question Natasha had never asked you before. To say that you were confused was an understatement. You two had almost always been on the same page, and if one of you were to be unhappy, the other would know. “Of course I am, Natasha. Why? What’s wrong?”

“Do you think that my job complicates things between us?”

Natasha sat up after you did, looking at her like she was in the process of growing a second head. “What?” Before she couldn’t say much else, you were talking again. “Who put that idea into your head? No, your job doesn’t put a strain on us, unless you feel something on your side?”

“No, no,” Natasha rushed out. “I just… I don't want you to feel like I’m neglecting you. I don’t want you to feel like you’re not getting what you need from me, as a w-girlfriend.”

“Natasha,” your voice was soft in the night, a satisfied and sweet whisper that never failed to calm her nerves. “You give me everything I could ever ask for. You always have, and I think you always will. Is this about stargazing?”

“What?”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice the way you got weird when we were walking in the park,” you said softly, your fingers tracing little hearts on her back. “I told you that we didn’t go stargaze or bird watching together, and you got upset. Is that what this is about?”

She couldn’t lie to you. “Somewhat.”

“Oh, Nat,” you said, and you pulled her closer to you, resting your head on her chest and listening to her heartbeat, steady and constant. “I don’t care about that. All I care about is you.”

“Do you even see enough of me?”

“Your job does not affect me whatsoever,” you answered. “I knew who you were and what you did when I asked you to go to that picnic with me, remember? I knew exactly what you did, and I knew around how much I could or could not be seeing you. I knew everything. So, why would I back out now after all these years? And why would I leave you?”

You had no idea how soothing your words were to Natasha in that moment. To you, it was just reassurance, affirmative words. To her, it was everything. It was the solution to all of her worries regarding the ring that was in her dresser back at the Tower.

“The point is, I could wait up for you to get home until four in the morning and make dinner for you after a long mission every day for the rest of my life, if you wanted me to.” The tracing of hearts never stopped on Natasha’s skin, but her breathing surely did for a second. “Because, what’s losing a few days compared to sharing a lifetime?”

Natasha smiled as the fear washed out of her system like it had never been there. More or less, you had just confessed to her that you wanted to be with her for a lifetime, and that for that lifetime, you didn’t mind any of the things that she was worried about. She was going to do it.

§§

After a short chat with the team, Natasha was finally ready. Like they could all tell that it was the day, they gave her a serious pep talk and Tony even muttered his premature congratulations, even though Wanda insisted that saying it before was a form of bad luck.

The plan was set. She was going to get you from work, pretend like you were going to go to dinner, and then take you stargazing. And then, she was going to pop the question. And hopefully, most likely, you were going to say “yes”.

When her car rolled up to the windows of your store while you were cleaning, you laughed. “Hi, Nat! What’s up?”

“Just here to pick you up,” she said with a smile, and your grinned at her.

“Alright, give me fifteen.”

By the time you had gotten home, gotten dressed and were both seated in the car, Natasha’s hands were sweaty, and the weight of the little box was somehow heavier than anything Natasha had ever carried before. Her leg was bouncing up and down in the driver’s seat, and she hoped that you paid no mind to it.

“It’s pretty tonight,” you mused, and she nodded.

“Yep, very clear.” And it was pure luck. She thanked all the gods that were ever worshipped that it was a clear night. “You can see everything.”

“Yeah, you can.”

“Do you… do you wanna go look at the stars?” She asked, and you turned your head to the side to look at her, a spark in your eyes that had just caught flame.

“You didn’t reserve anything, right?”

Natasha had forgotten about the fake dinner already, her eager mind already onto the next stage. “Oh? No. I didn’t.”

“Then, we should ditch the food and do that. I’ll make you dinner after.”

When Natasha parked on the side of the road, it was empty. It was emptier than it usually was at night, and the closest street lights were off. It made it much easier to see the stars. You were the first one to sit down on the dry grass, and you patted the spot beside you, urging Natasha to sit down with you. The second she did, you laid down and sighed, eyes on the sky.

After a few moments of holding hands with eyes to the stars, roaming the dark blue sky in silence, you quietly began to speak. “It’s so pretty,” you murmured. “I haven’t done this in forever, and I hardly remember what it was like, but I can’t imagine that any other time could have been better than a time with you.”

Natasha turned her head into your neck, resting it there like she always did. “I love you,” she whispered, and you shivered at the intensity laced between the three words, the sincerity warming your heart. “I love you so much.”

“And I love you,” you responded, just as genuinely. You tapped her hand three times with your pointer finger, saying it twice. “More than I love the stars.”

You two stayed there for hours, just watching the sky and ignoring the dull hunger pains that kept leaving and coming back. You spent a little time pointing out constellations, and Natasha told you how to navigate using the stars. Eventually, it was time to leave, and Natasha reached her hand out to you once she stood up.

Natasha slowly walked you towards the car, but you didn’t notice how out of character it was for her to walk without a sense of urgency in the moment. She knew that you couldn’t hear their footsteps, but she could. They were soft and familiar, trying not to alert you of their presence, and they were succeeding. Natasha cleared her throat softly and swallowed her fears.

“Y/N,” she started, and you furrowed your brows at the usage of your name. “Do you remember how we first met?”

You stopped walking, your back towards the approaching people. “Of course I do,” you responded, a smile on your face as you reminisced. “You ordered a cone with no sprinkles, what a weirdo.”

“Is it weird for me to say that I knew?”

“Knew what?”

“I knew that you were going to be a part of my life somehow. Whether it was going to be a friendship, a relationship, or even just an acquaintanceship, I didn’t know. But I knew you’d be around.”

“That’s so sweet, Tasha.” Your bottom lip poked out and you went in to hug her, closing your eyes as you held her tight and then pulled away. “I think I knew after our third date.”

Natasha cracked a smile, even though she felt like she was going to throw up. “Coney Island?”

“Coney Island,” you confirmed, eyes glimmering under the starlight. Natasha was about to get lost in them, well on her way, before she shook her head and cleared her throat again, checking behind you discreetly to make sure that everyone was hiding before she turned you both sideways, so that your side profiles were visible to the others.

“But… you have the most beautiful soul that I’ve ever had the privilege of meeting. You're everything I could ever dream of asking for, and I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything in my life. You’re my day and night, my high tide and low tide, and you’re the only person I’ll ever admit that I need. Because it’s true. You give me a peace that I never hoped to ever receive from anything, and I love you even more for that. You are just… you’re the one for me. And I…” she swallowed as her eyes tore away from yours, and she wiped her sweaty palms on her jacket. “I’m sorry I’m no good at speeches, but I...”

She reached into both pockets at the same time and pulled the box out in a swift movement, and before you even knew what she had done, she was on one knee right in front of you. A strangled noise came from your throat, a gasp and a sigh all the same, and then you put one hand over your mouth.

Natasha’s eyes were watering, and so were yours. “I would be the luckiest woman in the world, the most privileged and honored person in the entire universe, if you let me marry you.”

There was utter silence for a second besides your harsh and surprised breathing. Then, a gasp left your mouth. “Natasha!” You shrieked, a hand still over your mouth as the tears ran down your face, reflecting the joy you felt on the inside. Your emotions roared and rushed inside of you, like a furious river of elation. You blinked rapidly, but you were so happy that your eyes didn’t even get that familiar burning feeling that came with the tears.

“Is that even a fucking question?” You bent down to her level and your lips met hers, passionately and full of love and relief. Neither of you noticed the clapping and cheers after being so immersed in each other.

Natasha pulled away, a shit-eating grin on her face as she started to say something to you, right when you noticed everyone else around you. “Wait, baby, let me put the-”

“Have you been here the whole time?” You shouted towards the rest of the team, who were all watching with proud and excited expressions, and Wanda nodded.

“Most of the time,” she grinned, and you wiped the tears from your face, only to see the one and only Tony Stark recording you and Natasha, who was still on one knee in front of you, holding one of your hands.

“Can I?” Natasha asked from her kneeling position, gesturing towards the ring, and you nodded excitedly. She slipped it on your left ring finger, and you yanked her up with such excitement that she was sure that one of her bones popped, but she didn’t care. She kissed you again, a sweet and meaningful kiss, before she hugged you tightly.

“Thank you.”

You would have been confused if you weren’t on a high. You were going to get married. To Natasha. You were going to have forever with her, like you always wanted. “For what?”

She kissed the shell of your ear softly, and then your jaw and cheek, right where you always kissed her. “For everything, darling.” You leaned back into her, your face in her neck, and she made brief eye contact with her friends, who were all looking at the display of affection with soft eyes and even more tender hearts. She closed her eyes as she felt your heart beating against her chest, savoring the feeling of being so close to the woman that she loved unconditionally, her soon-to-be wife. “For everything.”

****

hey guys! hope y’all liked this one, i wrote it in two hours, and then thought about deleting it, but here she stands. if you liked it, feel free to like and reblog! comments are also widely appreciated, i love those! also, i wanna make friends up here so feel free to blow up my messages! hope you have a great day/night 💕

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff fluff #lgbt #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #natasha x you #the avengers #black widow #natasha fluff

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elysiadjarin · 4 years ago

Text

Kill the Lights

Part 2: https://elysiadjarin.tumblr.com/post/647758084188602368/kill-the-lights

Warnings: implied discussion of threesome? I mean, it’s a symbiotic relationship, literally. Poly at the most, but we all know that’s what we’re here for.

3: Furthering Feelings

Eddie started as he heard a knock on the door. A little puzzled, he went to open it. His eyes widened as he saw her standing on the doorstep, a shy smile on her face.

“Hi there,” she greeted. “I hope it isn’t a bad time...”

“Oh, no, no, come on in,” he managed, swinging the door open and shuffling aside.

She stepped in, and he could practically feel Venom drooling in the back of his mind. He could smell the soft, sweet smell of her natural scent and her perfume, and it washed over him like it always did.

She turned back to him, holding a paper bag. “I wanted to come visit you both, but I also wanted to bring you this...” She handed him the bag. “I tried out a new recipe and remembered that Venom loves chocolate, so I figured he could give me an opinion on it?”

He peeked into the bag. “Wait, you made these?” He looked up at her.

She flushed. “Well, yeah,” she laughed. “I am a chef. I like to experiment once in a while.”

Give me.

Eddie hastily pulled it out, opening the neatly wrapped box. “Sorry, he’s- Uh- impatient.”

She tilted her head, smiling. “I’ll take that as a good sign.”

Venom’s head appeared over Eddie’s shoulder, and he opened his mouth to let his tongue flick out and grab a piece of the chocolate. Eddie grabbed one for himself. His eyes closed as he groaned, the taste of the sweet chocolate bursting on his tongue.

“This is... this is amazing,” he said, looking at her.

Her eyes lit up. “Really?” She clapped her hands.

It’s good. Venom gobbled another piece.

She laughed delightedly. “Success!” she cheered. “I’m so relieved you like it, both of you. I was worried the flavors were too strong.”

Venom extended his head toward her, getting close.

“Whoa- whoa Venom-“ Eddie reached out.

But as always, Rosemary didn’t even flinch, instead smiling brightly. “Hi Venom.” She reached out and gently placed the tips of her fingers on his cheek.

He growled, pushing his head further into her hand.

She laughed. “I’m so relieved you like it.”

Like you.

“I like you too, Venom.” She smiled at him.

Venom turned his head to Eddie. Eddie, tell her.

“Whoa, no, we talked about this,” Eddie hissed back, eyes flicking between Rosemary’s face and Venom’s.

“Tell me what?” Her head tilted.

Fine then. I will.

Before he could protest, Venom took over.

I stared up at Venom, his face a good few feet above me. Venom didn’t frighten me. He’d never hurt me, never seemed to want to. And something about him always made me wonder what it would feel like to just... sink into his organic matter. I swallowed back my feelings.

“Did you want to tell me something, Venom?” I asked, a little confused.

Venom stepped forward, his tongue flicking and head tilted. His large, milky eyes stared at me. Eddie’s a coward. He doesn’t want us to tell you.

“Tell me what?”

He took another step forward, but I didn’t flinch. We like you.

I blinked. “Um... thank you-? I like you too?” I responded. Though I’d always wished he meant a different way, I’d found out that Venom was always blunt about his likes and dislikes.

No. Venom closed the distance, reaching out.

My heart leaped into my mouth as his giant hands gently encased my waist. But I didn’t move, just letting the large alien do whatever he wanted.

His face loomed closer, until his forehead rested against mine. My hands found their way onto his forearms. His body seemed to almost suck me in, tendrils curling around my fingers. My breath hitched at the feeling.

Want you. If possible, his voice had deepened into a growl that echoed through my body. Love you. We want you to be ours.

I gasped. Head jerking up, I looked up at him, hope warring with fear. Did he... mean it?

“You... you like me?” I whispered.

Yes. Me and Eddie. Want you.

I closed my eyes and let the hope bloom. “Me? But I’m just... I’m just...”

Ours.

My fingers clenched. Venom’s organic matter started to curl around my waist, snake up my back, pulling me closer. My eyes fluttered closed as his mouth covered mine, moving across my lips. It felt strangely both warm yet cool, sending sparks skittering down my spine. His tongue flickered at the seam of my lips.

My lips parted almost automatically, and I muffled a gasp as his tongue slipped between my lips. My mind fuzzed, giddy. Everything about Venom felt so... safe. The way he was so much bigger than me yet molded around me, embraced me so fully. Even the kiss felt so different, so much more... intense.

I tugged away for air, chest heaving as I caught my breath. “Venom,” I breathed.

You like us? His eyes searched mine.

I managed to laugh a little. “Yes. Yes, Venom, I do. I like both you and Eddie,” I said shyly, smiling up at him.

Venom melted back enough to reveal Eddie’s head and torso, though his black matter still anchored us together by the legs and waist. Eddie stared at me.

“You do?” He sounded bewildered.

I tentatively reached up and touched his cheek. “I know it’s a little weird of me, but... I do. I’ve liked you for a while, Eddie. And Venom, too.”

“Then, you’ll... be our girlfriend?” he seemed to blurt. “Venom- I- we- have been c-crushing on you since the day we met. He won’t stop telling me to kiss you.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, imagining it. “I would really like to be your girlfriend, Eddie, Venom,” I addressed both of them, smiling. “If you’re okay with me...”

Eddie bent. His mouth slid against mine, burning hot compared to Venom. Still, he felt just as safe, just as solid. His kiss was different, less possessive, more... hesitant. But as I shyly responded, the hesitancy seemed to slowly melt away.

It felt like a dream.

His mind fuzzed as he pulled away reluctantly. Her breath tasted so good.

“You’re beautiful,” he blurted, staring down at her. “I... I can’t believe you’d date us.”

He’d long since accepted that Anne had moved on. He liked Dan well enough, and the man made Anne happy. His feelings for her had faded into memory.

But Rosemary... Rosemary was different.

She shook her head, cheeks flushed. “I’m not anyone special. I... I didn’t think you or Venom would ever think of me that way.”

“Why not?” he asked, genuinely baffled. “You’re- you’re gorgeous. And you’re smart, and your cooking is incredible. You accepted both of us, chose to be our friend. I mean, I’m just a journalist with a-“

A what? Venom growled.

He corrected. “A symbiote. A weird one. Two losers.”

Rosemary reached up and kissed his cheek. “Then we’ll be three losers together,” she said. “Besides, you helped save me that night. And both of you have protected me ever since then. You’ve helped me feel safe again.”

Eddie swallowed thickly. “We’re lucky.”

Rosemary blushed. “And I’m lucky too,” she murmured.

Eddie lost himself in her kiss.

I pulled away from Eddie, then smiled up at him. “I love both of you, but that chocolate needs to go in the fridge before it melts.” I gently patted his chest, then skimmed my fingers across Venom.

No. I’ll eat it.

I shrugged. “Sure, Ven. But I thought I’d... well, if you don’t mind, I figured I’d stay and make dinner-?”

Eddie buried his face in my shoulder. “Please stay,” he mumbled.

I reached up and buried my fingers in his hair. It didn’t feel half as rough as I thought it would, and I could feel him shudder a little.

“For dinner, or just stay?” I half-laughed.

His hands tightened. “Yes.”

“Alright. I’ll stay.” I kissed his forehead. “But if you want dinner, you might have to let me go so I can actually make it.”

He groaned in protest.

“Okay, okay, deal.” I patted his hair. “Let me make dinner, and after that I’ll get on the couch.”

Deal. Venom decided to make the decision.

I laughed at Eddie’s disgruntled face, then went to the kitchen. Draping my scarf over the back of a chair, I set up my phone and hummed, going to the fridge. Finding some ingredients, I hummed to the music I put on and familiarized myself with his kitchen.

“You know, Anne told me to date you. Both of you.”

Eddie grunted and dropped something. “What?”

“She’s the one who encouraged me, actually,” I admitted, cracking eggs into a bowl. “She... guessed I had a crush on you both.”

“I- I guess that’s... good?”

I nodded absently. “I’m just a bit surprised she figured out that I was crushing hard on Ven,” I said thoughtfully, tapping the wooden spoon against my lip as I turned on the burner. I turned to him, holding the pan. “I mean, you’d think it’d be unusual. No offense, Ven, but I’m pretty sure I’m one of the very few people in the world that would crush equally on you both.”

Eddie quirked a smile. “He says he doesn’t care.”

“I figured.” I turned back to the stove.

“I worried about it. That’s why I didn’t want to tell you.” Eddie set something on the table. When I glanced back at him, he was staring at my scarf, fingers twisting nervously. “I mean, with Venom... it’s not like any relationship can just ignore him.”

“I guess I’m lucky, then.” I smiled. “I don’t have to choose, I can have both.”

“Venom, stop,” Eddie hissed behind me.

The eggs sizzled as I poured them into the pan, and I reached over to grab two plates. “Can you get the tots from the fridge, please, Eddie?”

He handed them over. “What are you making?” He peeked over my shoulder.

“Oh, you had the ingredients for omelette rice and bacon wrapped tots so I figured I’d just go with that.” I looked up at him. “Did you want something else?”

His eyes widened, but before he could say anything, Venom’s head darted out from his shoulder. I squirmed and giggled as his tongue licked across my cheek.

“Ven, that tickles! I take it you like that idea then-“

Yesssss. He hissed.

I kissed his head. “Sounds good, now let me actually not burn the eggs.”

Half an hour later I finished setting it all on the table. Eddie brought me a drink from the fridge, and we both sat down. Venom immediately launched off of Eddie’s shoulder to gobble down his plate of tots, while I smiled and took a bite of the omelette rice.

“This is so good,” Eddie said around a mouthful, tucking into the food as eagerly as Venom.

“I’m so glad.” I contentedly ate. After all, the greatest compliment a chef could receive was seeing people devour their food. I was no different.

Eddie loaded the dishwasher once we were done, and I went to go curl up on the couch. From what little Anne had said, Eddie had really taken an up in his life after settling into Venom’s presence and renewing friendship with her and Dan.

I sighed and grabbed a throw, pulling it over my legs and shivering slightly. Eddie came into the living room and shuffled over to the couch.

“Are you alright?”

I nodded. “I run cold,” I explained sheepishly.

He hesitated, glancing at me.

“Does Venom like... to cuddle?” I asked, curious.

He blinked. His eyes unfocused a little, listening to Venom. “No, it’s- it’s like hugging.”

I tilted my head. “I can show him.” I reached out my arms. “I’m a cuddler my friends always told me.”

Venom took over, and he hunched over me.

I laughed a little. “Okay, just... sit down, Ven.” I crawled into his lap, settling myself sideways and leaning into his chest. I pulled the blanket over our laps, then wrapped his arms around me. I snuggled into his chest, feeling his organic material begin to wrap around me in tendrils, making me sink into him a little.

This is... cuddling?

“Mmhm.” I nodded, then took his hand in my lap. His talons were long and pointed at the ends, and I laced them with mine. “I’m so tiny compared to you,” I laughed.

His fingers shrank a little, creating more of a glove around Eddie’s hand. Our fingers tangled together, and I hummed.

We like this. Venom’s head bent, his face barely brushing my hair.

I tilted my head up, leaning back against his huge arm. My nose bumped his face, and I smiled. His tongue flickered, his fangs bared. His breath washed over me, but I just closed my eyes and didn’t say anything as his tongue grazed my collar and flicked up my neck.

My noise of surprise was lost in his mouth as he abruptly kissed me, but I didn’t protest. Eddie’s fingers were clenching around mine, and I let my eyelashes flutter as Venom dragged his tongue across my lips.

I reached up with my other hand and cupped Venom’s cheek. His growl vibrated against my mouth and chest. I pulled away from the kiss, catching my breath.

“Ven, I do need to breathe, love,” I murmured.

He nuzzled me, a sort of purr rumbling through his chest. I melted at the sound, smiling.

“I’ve never heard you do that before,” I remarked, delighted.

He pulled back, head tilting a little.

“Don’t stop, I really liked it,” I pleaded.

His purr accompanied his eyes half-closing. I ran my fingers across his chest, feeling the odd texture. It felt more rubbery than slimy, but it had a sort of... pulse to it that made it so much more alive.

Ours. We will protect you.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

Venom’s head darted down. I gasped but didn’t flinch when I felt his fangs prick at my neck. My head rolled to the side out of pure instinct, and I could feel him clearly needling a mark onto my shoulder. He let go, his tongue swiping over it as he purred.

Biting my lip, I pushed back the little prickle of pain. I supposed it made sense with him being a possessive being that he’d want to... mark me?

With one last nuzzle, Venom retreated his head to let Eddie have control of the talking, though his body still remained.

“Are you okay, Rose?” Eddie asked, eyes concerned.

“I’m fine, Eddie,” I reassured, smiling. “It’s just Venom.”

He blinked at the mark on my neck. “He did a number on you.” Reaching up, he brushed his fingers across it gently. “Does it hurt?”

I shook my head. “It just stung a little but it doesn’t hurt anymore. Really, it doesn’t bother me, Eddie, I promise.” I leaned into him comfortably.

“Ok. Ok, that’s... that’s good. Sorry about him.”

“Don’t be.” I ran my hand over his arm soothingly. Curiously, I looked up at him. “You know, it doesn’t bother me if you talk about Anne.”

He looked startled. “Wha-?”

“I noticed earlier, you looked uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to make it awkward, she’s a good friend.”

He sighed, leaning his forehead against mine. “You’re so perfect,” he muttered.

“Not perfect,” I protested. “I just know that both of you have moved on. I’m glad you’re both friends. I’d be sad if I weren’t friends with Anne and Dan.”

He leaned forward to gently brush a kiss to my lips. “I promise I only think about you. I’ve... thought about no one else for months.”

I could feel the blush rising. “I can’t say I’m not happy.”

Eddie stared down at her, just... drinking her in. How did he get so lucky? She liked both him and Venom equally, made them food, comforted them, even didn’t mind their being friends with Anne. And with Venom’s teeth marks on her shoulder...

Venom felt all too pleased about that in the back of his mind.

His breath shuddered a little at the feeling of her delicate fingers laced in his, her other hand pressed against their chest. She just felt so warm and fit perfectly in their arms. She hadn’t been wrong when she said she was tiny in comparison.

“I love you,” he blurted.

She blushed, but her smile lit up her eyes. “Love you too, Eddie. And Ven.”

Love her.

“He says he loves you too.” He pulled her a little closer.

She snuggled into him with a contented hum.

“Rose, does it...” He sighed, unable to push the thought from his mind. “Does my job bother you?”

She looked up at him with a confused blink. “Which one?”

It was his turn to be confused.

“Vigilante or Reporter.”

He had to snort a little, shaking his head. “Both, I guess.”

“No.” Her head tilted. “Should it?”

He glanced away guiltily. “I mean, I do tend to get wrapped up in work and obsess over things sometimes. I am a journalist.”

She laughed. “Sometimes I work a lot more too just because I enjoy it, Eddie. Besides, if you start to make me too lonely, Venom will bring you back to me. Right, Ven?”

She’s right.

He sighed. “He agrees.”

She smiled triumphantly. “Told you. But really, I’m proud of you for sticking up for what’s right. It’s how you met Venom. And how both of you saved me. It’s important to you.”

He wondered if she could get any more perfect.

She sighed wistfully, then. “Being selfish is one of my weaknesses,” she admitted. “I always want to just... I always think of my friends as being just my friends and no one else’s. I start to get possessive of their time with me, even though I know they have a life besides me.”

She wrinkled her nose. “And I wish I weren’t so worried about my job. I always get so stressed worrying that things need to be absolutely perfect.”

“But that’s just the way you are.” Eddie furrowed his eyebrows. “Pretty natural.”

She smiled. “Well, it’s something to work on.”

He and Venom agreed that they’d follow her on the journey. As long as they could be beside her.

#venom x reader #my writing #venom #we are venom #x reader #Eddie Brock #eddie Brock x reader #marvel #exophilia #alien

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shorkbrian · 4 years ago

Text

Enough

My take?

Bakugou asks you out - it honestly comes out of nowhere.

Why would a pro hero be interested in just another paper-pusher working in his agency building?

(NSFW, rough fucking, slight predatorXprey)

You were flattered to say the least, but also intimated. He had stormed up to you at your desk (the man had never spoke to you before, so you didn’t know what to think) and slammed his hands down, rattling your pens in their cup, making you jump.

“You’re gonna go out with me”

“W-what?”

“Did I fucking stutter? Go out with me.”

Had you missed something? You had never talked to the man in your life, had only seen him as he came and went, your work station one of the ones on the same floor as his “office”.

There had been no indication that he was interested in you - there had been no indication that Bakugou even knew you existed.

But you didn’t want to insult the hero, you knew he was proud and brash and maybe not the best at feelings, so maybe he’d been wanting to ask you/ talk to you for a while.

Still, you didn’t feel comfortable saying yes.

Maybe it was the way he stood over your desk, practically leaning into your space, leering down at you with those bright red eyes. You didn’t like his tone, the way his words were a statement instead of a polite request. Almost as if he was ordering you to go out with him... or else.

So you brushed him off, you need some time to think about it, have to see if you have any free time (”I’ll give you a whole damn month off, lets fucking go do something or some shit.”) and you had to quickly come up with poor excuses, ones that both of you could tell were weak, fake.

Bakugou had just set his jaw, before clicking his tongue and storming back into his office, leaving you alone at your desk.

Yeah, that had been a weird day.

The next week at work had been weird too, Bakugou glaring at you whenever you unintentionally looked in his general direction. He caught you in the break room, leaning in the doorway with a cup of coffee clutched in his calloused hands.

The man just smirked, stood still, made you squeeze your way past him even though he was perfectly capable of moving.

He had bumped into you in the elevator, mouth set in a firm line that somehow seemed pleased when the elevator filled up with other people, allowing him to crowd into your space, literally breathe down you neck.

The pro hero managed to “accidentally” trip and spill his cup of water all over you, making your shirt stick to your skin, your cheeks heating up in embarrassment. He had scoffed at you, before you had hurried past him and rushed to the bathroom to try and pat your shirt dry with paper towels.

By the third week of Bakugou being an absolute shithead, you had made your decision - not that you were going to let him know that. He hadn’t asked you about going out any further, and by now you knew, you didn’t want to get involved with that.

Bakugou was too volatile, too unstable and angry and insecure. You wouldn’t be able to handle even trying to connect with him.

So you did your best to avoid him

----

And oh, did Bakugou notice.

He didn’t like being ignored, being fucking teased. Because that’s obviously what you were doing, playing hard to get. Well, he was good at this game, always got his prize, everything that he wanted in the end.

It was clear that you wanted his attention, any attention for that matter. You wore those tight little shirts, buttons almost straining at the seams, the top button undone so Bakugou could see down you shirt every time you bent over in his line of sight.

Those slutty skirts, short and form-fitting, the slit up the back giving teasing glimpses of your legs as you walked. Every skirt you owned made your ass look great, Bakugou enjoyed admireing the view everyday whenever you were turned away from his office, bending over at a co-workers desk to look at some documents or some shit like that.

Your silky stockings that made your legs look so long and soft and smooth, the high heels that clicked with each step. Even though each and every outfit was modest and work-appropriate, your body just wouldn’t quit. You looked hot, Bakugou wasn’t afraid to admit that it was the reason why he had noticed you.

But there were plenty of beautiful women employed by his agency.

You were special.

There was something about you, the spark in your eye, the straightness of your spine. You were bold, weren’t willing to roll over and show your stomach. Bakugou knew you were stubborn and confident and stupidly self-assured.

It intrigued him. You hadn’t thrown yourself at him, respected his space - that’s why you were allowed on the same floor as his office, one of the few desks that was in view of it.

He didn’t care about your existence at first. No, you were just another shitty extra. But damn, he had sure taken notice when you put an idiot in their place.

A fucking mailman had tried to “hand deliver” a package - meaning he was going to try and get up in Bakugou’s face, beg for an autograph, fanboy all over his office and be stupid and annoying and clingy. Bakugou was left wondering why the receptionist had even let him up, in which case damn, he should probably fire her or something.

Bakugou hadn’t even noticed the man until a shout drew his attention away from the boring paperwork on his desk. There you were, hands on your hips, staring down an angry mailman who was flailing his arms like a goddamn octopus. The man was mad, shouting at you about delivering the package, before you promptly snatched it out of his hands.

You set it to the side on your desk, before crossing your arms and turning back to the shocked mailman. You informed him that he could either get out now, or you’d drag him out by his ear, since he wanted to act like a pissy little baby.

And damn, did that make Bakugou pay attention to you.

Unfortunately, after the mailman had left with his tail between his legs, you hadn’t even attempted to take the package to Bakugou. You had asked one of your coworkers to do it, Bakugou had watched you gesture to the box on your desk while talking to one of the other employees. Truthfully, Bakugou was a little disappointed you weren’t going to come into his office.

But from that day on, he was hooked on you.

And now, with you trying to play coy, being a little bitch that couldn’t own up about their feelings? Bakugou was furious with you. He had been man enough to admit his feelings, to ask you out on a date, show his interest. And what had you done? Brushed him off, gave little fucking stupid excuses and tried to smile your way out of things.

Bakugou could see what you were playing at.

Little tease.

He could tease right back.

After weeks of your stupid flirty game, Bakugou was done. It was clear you weren’t interested in him, kept avoiding him and turning the other way whenever you spotted him. Tried to take the stairs in order to not run into him on the elevator, conveniently got sick whenever Bakugou wanted to do trust building exercises with the team working on his floor.

He didn’t need your fucking approval, he could take what he wanted. You thought you were better than him? You were nothing but dirt.

Granted, you were pretty dirt - dirt that made his heart clench tight and his dick twitch whenever he thought of you in your little pencil skirts.

But still dirt.

And for some reason, even though you had subtly turned him down, you still decided to be the worlds biggest tease. Bakugou was going to snap, he was frustrated and horny and angry that you didn’t even have the balls to tell him in person that you didn’t want to go out with him.

All day you’d been acting extra flirty, laughing with your coworker over some stupid shit, the sound making Bakugou’s do little flips. He saw you accidentally drop a stack of papers - bend over to pick them up, perfect little ass sticking out just for him. You had ate your lunch at your desk, coincidentally Bakugou also randomly decided to do the same, watching you lick yogurt off your spoon. God, the way your tongue swirled around the spoon, licking up the creamy white substance had Bakugou popping a stiffy, had him chewing through his vegetables with a little more force than normal.

After lunch you had given a quick stretch of your arms, letting your back curve just right and Bakugou wanted to swear as you let out a breathy little moan as you stretched out a sore muscle, no one else around to hear it but him.

Fuck.

Getting through the rest of the work day was hell, Bakugou remaining seated at his desk so he wouldn’t have to be bothered with trying to hide his boner when he stood up. He had to watch you welcome your coworkers back from lunch, smile at one of them, let out a stupid little giggle at some stupid shit one of the fucking stupid little employees said.

He tried to put you out of his mind, focus back on his work. He was managing to do it pretty well actually, until his bladder got the best of him and he had to make a trip to the bathroom. Luckily by then his boner had gone down.

There weren’t many people on this floor, no need for separate bathrooms - just one single room, unisex.

Bakugou knocked on the door waiting barely a second before pulling it open, almost blowing up the damn thing as someone practically fell onto him.

“Sorry! I was just opening the door and I didn’t hear you knock…” You trailed off as you realized who was attached to the arms steadying you.

Bakugou glared at you, not listening. He was focused more on the fact that your breasts were squished up against his chest, could feel your rapid heartbeat, was so close that he could see the bright little specks of color in your eyes as you gazed up at him with a shocked expression.

With a flurry of movement, you pushed yourself away from your boss, stumbled backwards, and promptly fell flat on your ass.

Now normally, Bakugou would burst out laughing, or maybe sneer and goad you about being clumsy and dumb, but not now.

Not when he had caught a glimpse up your skirt as you fell away from him.

HIs heart was beating so fast in his chest, Bakugou didn’t even register your quick “So sorry sir!” as you scrambled to your feet, hurriedly trying to straighten out your clothes. He could only stare at you, try to control his breathing, stop himself from jumping you right then and there.

Were you serious? Teasing him like this, leading him on, being an absolute slut with no remorse? He could barely believe you. As you dashed past him, cheeks flaming, Bakugou watched you go, a plan forming in his head.

He was going to teach you a lesson.

——

Bakugou waited until the end of the work day, 4:55, before exiting his office and stomping over to your desk.

“Hey, I need you in my office in twenty minutes.”

You looked up at him, confused, brow furrowed. “Bakugou-san, it’s almost five.”

Bakugou could care less, sneering. “And? I need you to stay later. You and I are gonna have a little discussion about your compliance with company rules about work attire.” You turned bright red, glancing quickly down at your outfit. “Of course, I can talk to you now if you’d like, out where all your coworkers can hear me tearing you a new one. …Your choice.”

Glaring up at him, you shook your head, spitting out “I’ll see you in twenty minutes Bakugou-san.”

He smirked as he turned away from you, swaggering back into his office. The man liked your little spark of defiance, the stubbornness hiding deep down.

The two of you would be having a lot of fun in a little while.

There wasn’t much more for him to do except wait, scroll through his phone, boots knocked up on his desk, leaning back in his office chair, hand behind his head. It was almost amusing, watching you say goodbye to your coworkers as they left, pretending to straighten your desk and finish up whatever you had been working on.

Ten minutes passed, Bakugou watching you squirm out of the corner of his eye as each subsequent “goodbye” of your peers left you more secluded with your boss.

Twenty minutes passed and you got up, straightening out your skirt before coming to knock loudly at his office door, pushing it open before he could acknowledge your presence. He raised an eyebrow at the subtle show of disrespect - maybe you knew what game he was playing, were trying to rile him up even more? Every little play of yours made his blood burn hotter.

You sat down in the chair across his desk, folding your hands in your lap, tucking your feet to the side - the very picture of professional employee. Bakugou kicked his boots off his desk, leaning forward over his desk.

He didn’t say anything, just watched you, narrowing his eyes as you lifted your chin, staring straight back at him.

“If you had me stay late just so you could try to intimidate me, that’s disappointing.“ Bakugou shrugged at you, and you almost snorted before continuing. “I’m curious as to why I’m here - my work attire is always appropriate, I complete my work on time, there’s no reason for complaints. What am I not doing for you? I’m a good employee.”

“Well, for starters-“ Bakugou stood up, rolling his neck, relishing in the subsequent pops from his bones releasing stress. “You could stop always being such a fuckin’ tease.”

The look of confusion on your face was priceless.

“It’d be nice if we could get this game over with too - much as I like playing, I wanna get to the part where my cock is down your throat.”

Mouth dropped open in shock, you quickly snapped it shut, a blush rising on your cheeks. “What game? This is inappropriate Bakugou-san-“

“What game?” Bakugou scoffed. “This little game of cat-and-mouse. Damn, didn’t take you as the dense type. Are you just trying to get me to punish you? You’d like that, wouldn’t you - little slut.”

Bakugou knew you weren’t playing a game with him, knew that your teasing was unintentional. But your obliviousness made him hard, and it was fun watching you rocket to your feet, indignant at his words. Before you could even get a response out, Bakugou spoke again, starting to walk around his desk towards you.

“Seriously, don’t act fucking stupid. If you want me to spank you so damn bad, all you gotta do is ask.”

He held out his hands, as if it was ridiculous that he had to tell you this. The blond could tell you were starting to get what was about to happen, eyes flickering down to the steadily-growing bulge in Bakugou’s pants. He could see the wheels turning in your head, the reasons he wanted to talk to you after everyone had left for the day, why he had been such a creep these past few weeks.

You bolted.

Heels clicking against the floor, only able to take short steps in your pencil skirt, brain blank with fear.

This was exactly how Bakugou had wanted this to go.

He wanted to chase you down, pin you despite how you struggle, and fuck you like an animal.

It was easy for him to cut you off from the elevator, leaping over desks and sliding in front of the doors before you could reach them. With a frustrated cry, you whirled on your heel, dashed towards the stairwell. Bakugou beat you there too, lunging at your form and pushing you to the side before you could open the door.

You stumbled, a heel coming off in the process. You shucked off the other shoe, taking a second to throw it at your boss. Bakugou laughed as he dodged the strong throw, your heel thudding uselessly against the wall behind him.

“Keep running bitch, you won’t get far - there’s no where to go.” He taunted.

You barely waited a moment before taking off across the office floor again, able to go faster without difficult shoes. You were heading back towards Bakugou’s office, the man realized. A smart move - the door locked, there was a phone you could use to call for help. Too bad you wouldn’t even reach the door.

The pro-hero grabbed your shoulder, pulled to whip you around to face him, making you stumble backwards. Without missing a beat, he slapped you across the face, palm burning. That wasn’t part of the plan, but Bakugou was worked up, running on adrenaline and emotions. Your head whipped to the side from the force of the slap, shocked.

Taking advantage of your sudden stillness, Bakugou grabbed your waist, lifted you up and into his arms. Your arms were flailing now, trying to punch and hit and scratch but even with your strength you were barely a nuisance to the pro-hero.

Here’s the part that he had trouble with - where was the best place to bend you over? Your desk? Should he shove you to the ground and rip off your skirt? Up against the wall where he could thrust up into you with wild abandon?

On his own desk?

That sounded good.

The man marched to his office, kicked open the door and then kicked it shut, wincing when you landed a solid kick to his knee that twisted the joint a bit too far to the left. “Goddamn, you still gotta lot of energy? That’s gonna change, I’m gonna fuck you until you pass the fuck out.”

You shrieked at his admission, doubling your efforts to try to get the man to loosen his hold on you. Bakugou dropped you onto his desk so you were sitting upright, wrenched your thighs apart, stood between them as he wrapped a hand in your hair and pulled your neck back as he pushed himself flush against your body.

“Mm, you feel real damn good. Like the way you struggle ’n shit - rubs just right over my dick. Feel how big I am? I’m gonna fuck you open with it.”

He could hear your choked whine, still too proud to beg. No, you were too stubborn and proud to beg and plead right away. Bakugou knew you would after he broke you down though, had you drooling over his desk.

The man used this moment to bite at your neck, relishing your gasp as he bite down roughly on the side, before quickly sucking over the red indentions of his teeth. Your hands were on him, one wrapped around the wrist of the hand wrapped in your hair, the other hand pushing against his chest as if that was going to make him go away or some shit.

His hand not wrapped in your hair fisted into your shirt, uncaring of the fabric as he flexed his arm, literally tore it off your upper half. Bakugou didn’t have the patience to take it off properly; He had waited too long for this, he was almost lightheaded with how much blood was rushing through his dick right now.

You were wearing a simple bra, nothing fancy - which was good, cause Bakugou ripped that off too, leaving you bare from the waist up. He was breathing heavily, panting as he quickly glanced at your body, taking in your soft skin, the rise and fall of your chest as you squirmed and whined and tried to escape from his grip. He liked the way you leaned your upper half away from him, following the hand pulling your hair so it wouldn’t pull your strands, subsequently pushing your lower half against your boss.

The blond groped roughly at your tits, giving quick little slaps to each one to watch them jiggle.

“You have been such a fucking tease, you know that? Wearing these tight outfits, little shirts that don’t even cover your tits. Every time you bend down I can see right down ‘em, see what the tops of your tits look like.” With a grunt, Bakugou bent his head, biting roughly at the top of your chest. “Makes me wanna fuck your tits, spit all over ‘em until they’re dripping, make you hold ‘em together around my dick. God, that’d be hot.”

He let go of your hair, hands falling to your waist to pull you closer so he could grind his bulge between your legs. With him not pulling your head back, you could focus on what he was doing, fight back.

Bakugou felt the burning pain on his cheek, then heard the sound, then registered that you had just slapped him. Fucking bitch. With a growl, Bakugou grabbed your face, squishing your cheeks painfully in-between his fingers, bringing your face forward so he could press his forehead against yours.

“Try that shit again, see what happens. I can assure you it won’t be fuckin’ pretty. I don’t mind, but you probably would.” He threatened. Your eyes shined, not wet with tears, still sparking with the fire of defiance.

Bakugou wanted that spark. Did he want to extinguish it? Fan it into a blazing fire? He didn’t know, he just wanted.

He glanced at your lips quickly, instinctively licking his own before making eye contact again. He couldn’t resist - didn’t want to. Bakugou surged forward, capturing your lips with his own, immediately biting and growling into your mouth, using the hand on your waist to move you against himself, humping into your clothed pussy.

When he pulled away, you were gasping, a string of saliva dripping down your chin.

The blond gripped at his throbbing cock through his pants, groaning. His hands moved to your skirt while pulling you to your feet, clumsily fiddling with the zipper in the back, trying to tug it down with one hand while the other kneaded into your chest.

With how you were positioned, it’s no surprise when he felt you bite down onto the side of his neck.

Bakugou laughed, tapering off into a moan as the pain bloomed in his neck.

Fuck, that felt good. He didn’t mind you biting at him, even if you were doing it to try and get away from him, and not out of lust.

Finally beating the zipper on your skirt, Bakugou stripped off the garment, whistling when you were revealed to him, no panties covering your sex. There you stood, nothing but smooth, sheer panty-hose covering your legs.

Bakugou flipped you around, shoved your face into his desk. He needed to be inside you now, he was done with games, done with the teasing, done with the dirty talk.

You were bent at the waist, ass up in the air. The blond quickly undid his pants, pulling down his boxers just so his dick could be pulled out. There was already precum beading at the tip, and Bakugou hissed as he gave his member a quick stroke. Letting go of his cock, the man took hold of your panty-hose, right at the crotch, smirking as you wiggled around, yelling profanities.

Damn, you really were perfect for him.

The panty-hose ripped easily, a large hole that exposed your cunt, the barest hint of wetness in between your folds. The blond didn’t want to wait to prep you, simply spat into his hand, gave his cock a quick stroke to cover it in his saliva, then lined himself up, cock nudging at your pussy.

“Relax your fucking hole bitch, this’ll hurt less.” He paused, surprising himself. Usually he wasn’t so considerate. “Or not, again, your choice.”

And with a snicker, the man began slowly pushing in, grunting as he was immediately met with tight resistance. But Bakugou wasn’t a quitter, and what he wanted, he got.

It took several minutes - minutes of you beginning to cry, beg for him to stop, shrieking at each new inch that sunk into you. Bakugou on the other hand had his head thrown back, calloused hands gripping your hips tightly to prevent you from moving anywhere but back and further onto his cock.

And then he was bottomed out, balls pressed against the top of your pussy, the pressure teasing your clit.

“Jesus Christ, You’re such a damn tease, but fuck, this pussy’s worth the work.”

You squirmed, before stilling as you gasped, able to physically /feel/ your boss’s cock twitching inside of you.

Bakugou didn’t waste any time getting to work.

“You have been riling me up every damn week. I fucking hate you and you’re slutty little body, making me all hot n shit- haven’t been able to focus on anything. Stupid bitch.”

He was thrusting into you, pushing you across the desk before pulling you back onto his cock.

“Bet this is what you wanted the whole time. It’s why you brushed me off, huh? Ignored me like that? You just wanted me to hold you down and take what I fuckin’ want.”

Deep down, Bakugou knew that wasn’t true. It was clear by the way you struggled, your pathetic cries, you whimpering “No, no I’ll rip your fucking throat out!” On each thrust. But even deeper down, Bakugou didn’t care whether you wanted this or not.

He did, and that’s what mattered.

His abs were clenching, pleasure shooting through his gut as you tightened around his cock, practically milking him. The suction was heavenly, made him groan, made him relax down against your body, sprawling to cover your back.

Like this, Bakugou let his arms rest over your shoulders, his hands grabbing the other side of the desk. Your hips were trapped against his, pinned to the desk. There was no where for you to go, you could barely breathe with the man’s weight on you.

But it let Bakugou hammer into you like a stallion.

You whined as his speed increased, aided by his grip on the desk, his hips working furiously, skin loudly slapping against skin.

With a growl, Bakugou buried his face in between your shoulder blades, mouthing roughly at the skin there, panting and growling and groaning like an animal as he fucked you.

Fuck, he was close, fuck.

With one last thrust, his balls tightened up, his dick jumping. He quickly pulled out, immediately reaching his hand down so he could fuck into his fist, and within seconds the man was cumming over your back.

Fuck, that felt fucking amazing.

When he was able to think clearly again, actually bring air into his lungs, Bakugou looked down at you, laying limp against his desk. There was a shine of wetness between your thighs, your pussy glistening and clenching around nothing.

“Aw, poor little tease wants to cum?”

He could tease too, giving your ass a quick, light slap. With an embarrassed shudder, you nodded imperceptibly. Bakugou chuckled, bringing his fingers down to the puffy little nub nestled at the top of your pussy. “If you want me to make you cum, you gotta say so. Don’t try and tell me you aren’t turned on’ you’re a shitty-ass liar.”

You trembled, before managing to spit out “Make me cum.” Bakugou shuddered, loving the hate filling your voice, the emotion. You sounded like you wanted to kill him, strangle him with your bare hands, and yet you were still begging for him to make you cum. How pathetic.

“Mm, too damn bad-“ Bakugou pulled his fingers away from your cunt, slapping your ass again, a little harsher this time. “Maybe next time I’ll let you cum. Teasing sluts don’t get to have shit, gotta earn it first.”

Maybe next time he’d fuck your throat.

#yandere thoughts #yandere bakugo katsuki #yandere bakugou #yandere bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou #yanderebakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakugou #bnha #tw noncon #predator #prey

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xwing-baby · 4 years ago

Text

Impulse: El Ojo (Javier Peña x f!Reader)

Summary: Top of your class, the DEA have sent you to Colombia to be the poster child for their new ‘placement program’. You’re thrown in at the deep end into the drug war. With Agent Peña as your mentor, what could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: swearing, injury to reader, alcohol and drug abuse, threatening with guns, brief mentions of torture, description of injury and blood, unwanted touching, flirting, bad thought processes (addiction). PINK SHIRT

Word Count: 5k

A/N: Had a little change of plan last week, this is now the final chapter of this series. I am so sad to end it now, I’ve loved writing this so much. My first time writing for Narcos so thank you so much for all the support y’all I’ve given me with this. I love you all. I hope you enjoy this chapter!!

<-- Previous Chapter // Masterlist // Next Chapter -->

You were on a winning streak. Since you’d found the list of sicarios and matched that up with the more current information, you’d presented it to Carrillo and surprisingly he was on board. With his help, you had brought down five, admittedly low level but increasingly more valuable, sicarios. If you didn’t think about the torture and abuse each of them undertook once captured, used to break them into more telling more information, you could say you were doing a good job. Escobar’s organisation was shaking. You were coming for him.

You and Steve leant against a wall, soaking up the sunshine chatting amongst yourselves when you saw Javier arrive. You hadn’t expected him to come at all, having disappeared without a word early on in the morning. He parked his truck close by, walking over to you and Steve with his vest in hand. You grinned and jabbed Steve when you saw the shirt Javi was wearing.

The pink shirt had been a long-standing joke since you’d found it in his closet a few months ago. He had many colourful shirts, was known for them, but the pink one always seemed like another level. You and Steve teased him about it constantly, though you had to admit it did look good on him now. Javi scowled when he saw you and Steve’s mischievous grins, immediately realising his mistake.

“I know you get called the Whore of Bogata but you don’t need to dress like it! Jesus christ Javi!” You fanned yourself with your hand, grinning at him, “really I’m going to need a minute,” Javi flipped you off as you laughed hard.

“Shut up, I look great,” He grumbled.

“Just thinking about the poor flamingo you rinsed for that colour,” Steve joined in the teasing, shaking his head sadly.

“You are just jealous you could never pull this colour off,” Javi said smugly. You laughed.

“Maybe you shouldn’t come out today, could be quite distracting,” You said, pretending to be thoughtful. Javi’s frowned, only making you and Steve laugh more, “Aw don’t get pissy, Baby. We love you really” You teased him in a mocking voice, pouting at him. “You and your flamboyant choices,” You ruffled his hair up as you passed him. He tried to duck out the way but you caught him. He shoved you away, muttering expletives under his breath. You skipped a few paces out of his reach, flipped him off.

“L/n!” Somebody called your name across the street, one of the technicians you’d been talking to before Javier arrived. You left Steve and Javier to talk.

The technician explained the problem again, showing you the options for moving forward. It was quite common that things would go wrong before any kind of mission. Today was no different, the technicians had lost a signal and were now not sure that the address you had swarmed was correct.

You chewed your nails while you thought. You could risk getting the wrong house, letting the sicarios know you were on to them and you’d lose them again. You could come back another day, but risk losing them again. Or you could ransack some innocent person's house and have Carrillo on your ass for ruining his reputation in the one week he’d left you in charge.

If you messed this up it would mean your stronghold would be lost. There would be time for them to work out what was going on and move everything again.

At a loss, you excused yourself needing to take a break and a few minutes alone to think without soldiers trying to put in their two cents.

As your work life had become more stressful over the last months. You had found some relief in, ironically, coke. It wasn’t a habit you were trying to form, but you had learnt just what good taking just a little bit could do for you. It quietened down your worried brain and made you simultaneously more aware of everything. You were better when you were just a little bit high.

You had started keeping a small amount in your pocket. Hidden in a small sewing tin in your jacket pocket, you had started keeping a little coke on you especially for moments like this. You could take it, have a breather, and come back with a solution. It was fine. Nobody would know.

You’d spotted a cafe across the road, and hoped they had a restroom. You gave an excuse to the soldier you’d been talking to and walked across the street.

“Oi Rookie!” Javi called as he noticed you walk past on the opposite side of the street. “Where are you going?”

“Going to the bathroom. Women’s issues,” You called back, Javi and Steve grimaced. That was always the best excuse.

While you wouldn’t do it at the compound you didn’t have any reservation here. You’d been itching for a hit all morning and there was only so much more you could take. You walked into the cafe, asked for the direction of the restroom, and locked the door behind you once you were inside. Small, dark and stinking of pee, it was not the best place but hygiene wasn’t particularly an issue you were worried about.

You tipped a small amount from the box onto the sink counter, lined it up with a card from your pocket, bent down and took it up your nose. You grimaced, while it had burnt your nose somewhat it still stung. But it was worth it when the feeling began to kick in. You smiled at your reflection and double-checked your appearance in the mirror, wiping your nose. Nobody could ever tell.

As usual, the drug kicked your brain into gear again and everything fell into place. The raid went brilliantly, by pure coincidence you’d bagged two sicarios in one as your original target had invited your next round for dinner with his new girlfriend. Your plan well into the swing of things now, much to everyone’s surprise.

—

Like every weekend for the last three months, you were going out. The line between enemies and friends was long since blurred, hanging out with ‘Isabela’s’ friends was not an issue. Most of the time you weren’t even trying to get anything from them, you’d got what you needed months ago. As fun as Javier and Steve were, it was much more enjoyable to hang out with people your age. And they wouldn’t give you cocaine, María had it on tap.

You were dressed up, recently treating yourself to a new outfit as a job well done. A black off the shoulder top, covered in lace, and a little black mini skirt. You felt sexy, you were going to have a very good night.

“Rookie!” Javier called out to you as he came out of the apartment building. You were standing outside waiting for a taxi, smoking a cigarette.

“Javi, baby, you’re looking slick! Where are you going?” You checked him out. He wore his signature tight blue jeans and an equally tight black shirt that was almost bursting at the seams. He looked incredible, as he always did.

You were thankful that things had gone back to normal between you and Javier. The awkward stepping around each other had gone, you weren’t jealous. You acknowledged you would probably always like him a little more than was professional but that had fallen into a fun flirty banter that more than anything just wound Steve up.

You found yourself calling him Baby more than his name, it’d started as a joke to get back at him for always calling you Rookie but now it was so commonplace people had stopped picking you up on it if it slipped out while you were working.

It was fun. You cared for each other, that was clear to even a blind man, but there was no romanticism to the relationship anymore. There was no need. It wasn’t good for either of you. You’d found a comfortable rhythm and were going to stick to it.

“Out,” He shrugged, “That’s a new top,”

“You noticed?”

“Course, can’t keep my eyes off you,” He purred, happily playing along with your game.

“Thought you’d be more interested in the skirt,”

“Will you two quit it?” Steve’s voice interrupted your flirting as he walked down the stairs. You barked in laughter.

“Steve! So it’s a boys night I see? Where was my invite?”

“Figured you’d have your own plans,” Steve said.

“And you are correct Murphy but it’s always polite to ask,”

“Next time,” He assured you. “Where are you going tonight?”

“I don’t know. Some club, El Ojo or something?” You shrugged, “Seeing as this is maybe Isabela’s last time out I am going to go out with a bang, literally,” You raised an eyebrow, insinuation of your worlds made Steve roll his eyes.

You were hoping within the next few weeks to be able to close in on some higher level sicarios and associates to Escobar. Drawing the noose in slowly so he wouldn’t notice until it’d choked him. That meant your position as Isabela was going to have to come to an end to keep you safe from your own program. You’d discussed it at length with Peña and Murphy, while you didn’t agree you had to listen to them. They were still your superiors after all, no matter how close friends you were.

“If you told past you you were going to willingly sleep with a Narco I think you would have passed out,” Steve laughed.

“I’m a changed woman Murphy, what can I say,” You smirked, “Imagine what I’ll be like by the end of the year,”

“God help us,” Javier shook his head, a smirk plastered on his face. You laughed and stubbed out your cigarette with your shoe as your taxi pulled around the corner.

“Here’s my ride. Have a good night, boys. I will be back in the morning,”

—

El Ojo was just as María had told you. Modern and smoke-filled, people were filling every inch of the space. You walked in and couldn’t help the smile that grew on your face. This was exactly what you needed. Crowds were anonymous, nobody cared who you were or what you were doing. Everyone was just there for one reason, to have a good time.

You ordered a drink at the bar, flirting with the man next to you briefly before taking the drink and finding your friends. As usual, they were up in the VIP area, courtesy of the Parreño name. You walked up and were let inside the cordoned-off area to find Diego stood up on his seat, wild-eyed, shouting about something. It wasn’t until you got closer that you heard what he was saying.

“I’m telling you Isabela is lying!” He shouted above the music.

“What’s going on?” You asked. None of the ten people surrounding the booth noticed your approach, their eyes shifting awkwardly when they saw you.

“You! You’re a liar!” Diego pointed down at you, hatred burning behind his eyes.

“What is going on?” You asked again. You looked around for María, she was usually the one to step between you and Diego, but she was nowhere to be seen. This was not the kind of conversation you’d wanted for this evening.

“You were the only one to survive that raid at Carlos’,” He continued, jumping off the couch to your level, “That fucking maniac Carrillo killed everyone but you! You’re working with them, aren’t you?”

“You’ve lost it,” You rolled your eyes, “Completely lost it,”

“You don’t deny it!” He yelled. You gulped, trying not to look scared of the man but the rage in his eyes was shaking you. You stepped backwards as he advanced toward you

“You’re insane!” You laughed in his face, “I’m not a fucking spy, especially not for Carrillo,”

“Bullshit,” He spat, Suddenly he pulled a gun from his back, waving it in your face. People shouted and screamed around you, scattering as the metal glinted in the light. Your eyes remained on his, not saying a word as he pressed the barrel into your neck. You didn’t move, barely breathing, “You’re a fucking rat,” He growled.

“Diego!” Finally, María stepped in, running over when she heard the commotion. “Stop it, put it away. Idiot,” She pulled the gun from his hand, standing firmly between you and him. “Ignore him. He’s paranoid. Someone’s leaking information and he thinks it's you because he’s a jealous asshole,” Maria explained, swiftly pushing him backwards until he sat back in the booth again, “How fucking ridiculous would that be? You? A spy!”

“Insane,” You agreed through a clenched jaw. Diego continued to glare at you dangerously, leaning over to whisper something to a friend.

“I swear if we get banned from this club because of you Diego I am leaving you,” María said angrily, “Come on, I want to party,” She linked her arm through you, not caring that you were still in shock from having a gun held to you, and dragged you to the bar.

Fortunately, copious amounts of vodka and tequila were great for calming your nerves. In a few hours, you had nearly forgotten the entire ordeal. You couldn’t think about anything more than the music ringing in your ears and how good it felt dancing on the stranger behind you.

After a while, María pulled you back up to the booth where Diego and his friends were still sitting. You did your best to ignore him, chatting to one of the girls at the table instead. You laughed and did a few lines, generally relaxing into the evening. So relaxed you didn’t notice the newest member of the group until he finally addressed you.

“Don’t I know you?” You looked over and panic spread over you like a bucket of ice water over your head sobering you almost instantly. He did know you. The man before you was the first man you had arrested, almost six months ago. He must have been bailed out for jail.

“No,” You answered confidently. You didn’t lie. You didn’t know him, not really.

“Gabriel, sit down!” María cheered, “Isabela this is my cousin, Gabriel. Gabriel, Isabela,” She introduced you. Her cousin. Of course. You smiled politely, praying the dim lights would hide the nervous sweat that had overtaken you.

Gabriel looked confused but didn’t say anything if he did recognise you. Not that that would matter anyway, as soon as he spoke to Diego his memory would no doubt be jogged. If he found out you were a DEA agent you would be dead. You had to leave.

“Here take my seat, I’ve got to get some air for a minute,” You stood up, letting him take your place next to Maria. You caught Diego’s suspicious look as you walked past, spotting the nearest exit door.

Your hands were shaking, your body not sure what to do with itself. The cocaine and alcohol said to go back inside and take them all out. What was left of your rational brain was consumed by fear and kept you outside. It was bad enough if someone like Senator Parreño had suspicions about you but Diego? Gabriel? Diego had already shown he wasn’t afraid to threaten you in public. Of the two of them joined heads they would connect the dots and your cover would be blown wide open. So would you, you thought morbidly. Coke and anger never mixed well.

You took breathes of the warm summer air, leaning against the wall of the club as you tried to calm yourself down. You shouldn’t have taken the last shot, now verging over the edge of blacking out; your vision was spotty, sound not registering properly and your tongue felt heavy in your mouth.

You wondered if Steve and Javi were nearby, the fresh air having the opposite effect than you’d wanted. You would blackout and you were going to need help to get home if you did. But you didn’t recall either of the men telling you where they were going, they could be anywhere in the city.

Stumped for the moment, you decided to wait it out, lighting a cigarette hoping that might help sober you up. You pulled the packet from your purse

“Need a light?” A man appeared next to you, lighter in hand. You nodded and he flicked the flame up, you bent over and lit your cigarette between your teeth.

“Thanks,” You mumbled, turning away from him, hoping he would leave. He didn’t. Instead, the man continued to stare at you, following you into your personal space as you shuffled away from him.

“Can I help you?” You snapped, immediately getting a bad feeling about him. You crossed your arms over your chest, frowning at him.

“No need for that tone baby. Come on, I wanna talk to you,” He purred. His eyes dipped to your cleavage, a lustful look in his eyes.

“I’m not interested,” You said, stepping backwards away from the man. He seemingly didn’t hear you, continuing to get into your personal space, arms reaching out to grab your hips.

“You were interested earlier. Come on, baby,” He purred, pulling you close to him, pressing his hips against yours.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” You yelled, pushing him off hard enough to make him stumble backwards.

“Fucking bitch,” He growled.

If you were sober the situation would have a very swift end. You would punch him square in the face and he would leave you alone, scuttling away with a broken jaw and a shattered ego. However, you were not in a state to do that now. He had the upper hand. All you could do was run, hoping once you were back amongst people he wouldn’t attack you. You looked up the alley, the open street was just a few feet away.

You bolted.

Unfortunately just as you didn’t have enough coordination to punch the man, you didn’t have enough to run in heels on the uneven floor. Not even ten foot away your legs wobble, heels falling into a pothole sending you forward. You fell into a dumpster, head hitting the corner of the metal with a thud. You yelped, vision going black for a moment as you lay on the concrete.

“Hey hey hey,” A man ran over, instantly scaring the man off of you. He knelt by your side and helped you up from where you’d fallen. You groaned and pushed yourself up, head throbbing harshly, warm liquid trickling down your face. Your world was spinning even with your eyes closed. “Y/n, Fuck are you okay?”

“Get off me!” You exclaimed, trying to push the stranger off, not that your shaking arms were very effective.

“Y/n hey it’s me, you’re okay!” You looked up and saw Steve through a haze of blurred vision. You squinted as something dripped over your eye. Steve then saw the cut to your head, “Oh shit,” Your eyes are glassy and blown out, you mumbled something to him and pushed yourself out of his reach again, wobbling and tipping backwards. He caught you before you hit the floor again. “Y/n what are you doing out here? Weren’t you with your friends?”

“Her brother was the first guy,” You said, your speech slurred so much Steve barely understood what you were saying.

“Rookie, you’re not making sense. What are you on about?”

“I’m so fucked,” You sighed, letting your head rollback. You giggled as the world spun.

“Yeah, I can tell, come on let’s get you home,” Steve stood up, holding his hands out to you and pulled you up to standing again.

“Where’s Peña?” You asked.

“At the bar,”

“I want to go talk to him, let’s go talk to him!” You exclaimed. You began to walk in the opposite direction, dragging Steve along by the arm. He pulled you back with ease.

“You can talk to him in the morning, we’re going home,” He insisted.

“But I have to tell him about the brother he’s going -,” Your rambling was interrupted as you threw up, barely missing Steve’s leg. He grimaced and jumped out of the way, “I have to talk to him,” You said quietly once you were done.

“Tomorrow, Kid,” He repeated himself.

You pouted, tears of frustration welling up in your eyes but you didn’t fight him. Despite how drunk you were you knew that going home would realistically be the best course of action right now. You could barely string a sentence together let alone get anything important out coherently.

Steve got you into a taxi, luckily the driver paid no attention to the blood dripping down your face. You were falling asleep on his shoulder as you pulled up to the apartment, Steve pulled you out of the car and up the stairs to the apartment. Only when he opened the door, he was met by Javier and Vanessa also on their way inside.

“Woah!” Javier instantly turned his full attention to you when he saw the state you were in, hanging onto Steve’s sleeve, “What happened?”

“Some guy tried to touch her up, she hit her head, I’ve got it covered,” Steve explained.

“Hey Baby,” You grinned, obviously giving Javi a once over.

“She doesn’t look alright,” Vanessa commented, “Did she just call you baby?”

“It’s a long story,” Javi dismissed the comment. “She doesn’t look okay,”

“I’ve got it covered. I’ll get her to throw up and get some water to sober her up,” Steve said, “We’ll be okay, won’t we Rook?”

“Fine and dandy!” You grinned.

“If you’re sure,” Javi said hesitantly. You were gone, hanging onto Steve’s arm to hold yourself up. Your eyes were blown out and blank, if you remembered anything in the morning it would be a miracle. His first reaction was to help you, not sure Steve could handle you alone. Steve wasn’t exactly sober himself, sinking a good few beers with Javier in the bar before he’d left. However, his decision was made for him as you and Steve began walking up the stairs, Vanessa’s hands were back on him and any worry was squashed as she dragged him into his apartment.

Upstairs, Steve took you into his apartment. He took you to the bathroom, sat you on top of the toilet and rooted around the medicine cabinet to find some cleaning supplies so he could patch up your bleeding head.

“Connie’s probably got something in here,” He rooted through the cabinet. Connie had gone back to Miami for the week to see her family, inconveniently right when her skills were needed. Steve’s tipsy attempt at first aid would have to do,“Ah-ha! Here we go, clean that cut out with this,”

“Ow!” You whined, flinching away from him quickly when he showed you the antiseptic bottle.

“I didn’t touch you,” Steve chuckled, “Hold still,” Carefully he poured the liquid over a cotton ball, took hold of your face in the other hand and dabbed the cotton on your cut.

“Ow! Steve that fucking hurt,” You complained, flinching away from him as the alcohol stung the wound on your head. You frowned at him, tearing up a little.

“Don’t be a baby,”

“I am a baby!” You exclaimed. Steve grabbed hold of you again, he needed to clean the wound if it was going to heal properly. You whined and hissed at him but eventually, it was clear.

“Look, all done, got the grit out,”

“Thanks, Steve,” You kissed his cheek quickly.

“You’re welcome,” He laughed awkwardly. “Come on, you can’t sleep on my toilet. Bedtime,”

“You’re not my type,” You scrunched your nose and leant away from him.

“Ouch way to break my heart Rook,” Steve chuckled, “No, you’re going to your own bed, by yourself,”

“It's so far away!” You whined.

“It's across the hall!” He copied your tone making you laugh.

Steve pulled you up from the toilet and managed to wrangle you across the hall. Half asleep, leaning into Steve before you even got inside the apartment, you fell into bed without protest. Steve pulled off your shoes, throwing them on the ground before stumbling back to his apartment to collapse in his bed.

—

Waking up in your apartment unsure of how you got there, was a strange feeling. What was even stranger was the harsh throbbing on your head. You blindly brought a hand to the sight, recoiling instantly as you touched something sore. You sat up, slowly opening your eyes to the daylight and looked at your reflection in the mirror opposite your bed.

You groaned when you saw the gash on your forehead. Dried blood sat in the creases of your neck, and underside of your jaw as well as being crusted into your hair. You tried to remember how you’d gotten the injury but came up blank. You couldn’t remember anything from the night before. Not unusual for your almost nihilistic habits, but it was concerning given the infliction.

You looked at the clock. 9 am. You’d slept in. Since you were up you decided to clean yourself up. You padded to your bathroom, wincing at the harsh light inside and the grinding sound of the extractor fan. You filled the sink with warm water and gently cleaned the blood from your face with a cloth, only once stopping to throw up into the toilet.

You showered, hot steam help clear your brain fog but not helping the cut on your forehead which now stung immensely. But that wasn’t the feeling you were concentrating on.

A new kind of hunger, one you weren’t yet familiar with had settled in on the back of your tongue. A repeating idea chanting over and over in your head. It had partly been cocaine’s fault you’d got into this mess, but it would get you out of this hangover now.

You remembered you had some in your jacket pocket from the day before, leftover. Once you’d thought about it there was no stopping you. You didn’t have to take it all, you could stop yourself if you wanted. You pulled the tin out from your coat, sit it down on your dressing table while you pulled on some clothes.

You sat back at the dressing-table again once you were done and stared at the box. You’d not done it here more than once or twice. Never by yourself. Something about being at home with it made you feel guilty, possibly because you were surrounded by your friends who also happened to be DEA agents who would kill you if they found the stuff in the building.

You picked up the box, contemplating it. You could get something done if you took it. Wouldn’t have to sit in your hungover state and wallow in self-pity until the headache left. You could go for a walk. Do nice things. Taking the cocaine would bring you nice things, as it always did.

You opened it.

“Morning,” Javier’s voice inside your apartment suddenly startled you, causing you to spill the contents of your box all over your dressing table.

“Fuck,” You swore out loud.

“Okay in there?” You regretted giving him a key. You did not need the interruption. His voice snapped you back to reality. You decided you didn’t have time, or rather not wanting to be caught red-handed, you decided to leave it and greet your surprise guest.

“Good morning,” You said brightly, opening and closing your bedroom door tightly behind you. Javier was standing in the middle of your living room, a book in hand flicking through it. He discarded it back to the coffee table where he’d found it when you appeared.

“Just wanted to check you were alright, you looked rough last night,” Javi said, “that cut looks sore,”

“It stings but it’ll be ok in a few days,” You shrugged. Javi looked at you strangely, “Did you come up here for something?” You asked.

“You don’t remember what today is?” He asked. You frowned and thought for a moment.

“It’s your birthday?” You asked slowly.

“No,”

“It’s my birthday?”

“I don’t know when you’re birthday is,”

“Javi I’ve obviously forgotten please just tell me,” You pleaded.

“Searchblok, you and Steve swapped. Remember?”

“Shit!” You exclaimed. How could you have forgotten?! You scrambled back into your room to get changed, boxer shorts and a hole-ridden t-shirt wouldn’t cut it.

“I should write you up for the mess you were in last night,” He called through the door as you rushed to get dressed, pulling on the nearest jeans on your floor. That’s not the only thing you should write me up for, you thought looking at the cocaine on your dressing table.

“I should write you up for sleeping with hookers,” You said back.

“Nowhere in my contract does it say I can’t! You however have a reckless behaviour clause,” He said. Your heart stopped at that, opening the door quickly to pop your head out.

“Javi-“

“I’m joking Rook, don’t worry!” Javier laughed. You rolled your eyes and shut the door again, pulling on a fresh shirt. A few seconds later you stepped out, buttoning the last of the clasps on your shirt. “I was worried about you but you’re fine so we’ll forget it ever happened,”

“Thanks, Baby,” You grinned at him. Javi rolled his eyes.

“You need to stop that though,”

“You love it,” You teased him. He didn’t reply, turning on his heel and walking out. You hesitated for a moment, glancing back at your bedroom door. The coke was still lined up in there, calling to you. It would only take a few seconds to do it and get rid of your hangover for a few hours.

“Rookie, hurry up!” Javi called you from the hallway, audibly impatient. You decided against it, grabbing your keys and a jacket and running to catch up with him. He was already waiting by the truck by the time you got downstairs. “Did anything interesting happen last night, then?” Javi asked. You tried to think for a moment, you remembered something important had happened, something you’d wanted to tell him last night but you couldn’t remember what. You shrugged.

“Apart from getting this,” You gestured to the injury to your forehead, “I can’t remember. There was something but I don’t know,”

“Can’t have been very important then,” Javi added. You shrugged and shook your head.

“Guess not,”

Next Chapter -->

Finally we’ve come full circle, I am so sad it’s over I have absolutely loved writing this series. Again I want to say a massive thank you to everyone’s that read the series, it means more than you could imagine. I love you all. I’m going to have a cry and make a start on all the other things I’ve been neglecting to write this.

The ending is already written and posted so if you haven’t read it go enjoy :))

tag list: @beskar-falcon @peterssweetpea @beskarbabs @all-hallows-evie @harrys-stan @wille-zarr @danniburgh @rentheisopod @urbankaite2 @whataloadofmalarkey @ahsofka @yeetus-my-feetus @sara-alonso @xiao-lusi @all-good-things-have-an-ending @eternallyvenus @ajeff855 @mayangel19 @1950schick @pedrosmustache @wantingtobekorra @balmasedas @angelsunflxwer @brujademente @kingsmanandqueens @igotissueswithfictionalmen

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swanslieutenant · 4 years ago

Text

a place in time - chapter xiii

Summary: Emma’s an agent working to reunite missing people with their families when the biggest missing persons case of all time appears in front of her in a flash of bright, white light. Thousands of missing people from throughout history, including one particular pirate, appear on the shore of a lake in the middle of winter: none have aged a day since their disappearance and, with no memory of their missing time, must venture into a strange and uncertain future. Loosely based on the TV show “the 4400.”

Rating and Warnings: Teen. For now.

Catch up: ch1, ch2, ch3, ch4, ch5, ch6, ch7, ch8, ch9, ch10, ch11, ch12

Read on AO3

Note: *shows up nearly 2 years late with a Tim Hortons hot chocolate* - apologies for the length it took for me to get this updated. It has been a hard/chaotic two years for me and this fic is a hard one to write, but things are settling a bit, so I will try not to leave it for that long again.

thanks to all the folks over at the @captainswanmoviemarathon discord channel for welcoming me in and helping me get this finished with the many many writing sprints it took!

___________________________________________________________

Neither Killian or Emma speak as they march back to her office, their steps quick and staccato against the polished floors. The world seems to be on a tilt, like Emma is walking through a funhouse with slanted floors, with the glass doors of the offices lining the hallway like the twisted and bendy mirrors of the carnival house, warping and distorting reality all around her.

Emma supposes she should be used to this feeling by now. After all, her entire world has been on a tilt since that night down at the lake, with the sudden appearance of thousands of people.

But this time it feels different. Like her normal life, or what has been her new normal at this point, has been shattered once again. What she thought to be true, who she thought she could trust and rely on – broken, once again.

I know him from my time.

When they reach her office, after unlocking the door, she gestures Killian ahead of her. He hasn’t said a word yet, and his face is solemn, the utter shock now an icy grit. His jaw is set, his eyes steel, the cold-hearted pirate that lurks beneath his charming veneer returned full force.

“This is his doing.” His voice is shaking with rage, the words more a growl than a sentence.

“This is crazy,” Emma says, swallowing the growing bile rising in her throat as she shuts the office door behind herself. She grips the side of her desk, her knuckles turning white, as she falls heavily into her desk chair. “How – are you sure that it’s the same guy?”

“Absolutely.”

He is still sanding by the door, hands curled into fists at his side, almost vibrating with fury. There is clearly some history here, and Emma remembers the vile that Gold spoke of Killian with when the returnees first arrived, how he had demanded for him to be locked up and kept away from the others.

“Who is he, Killian? How do you know him?”

“He’s a monster.” He spits the words, and then lifts his left hand, shaking his sleeve up his arm and rubbing at the scar that encircles his wrist, ragged and rough. “See this scar, Swan? He did it to me.”

She has wondered about the scar ever since she first saw it weeks ago, and now the shadow that had darkened his expression when she mentioned it then makes sense. She is truly sick now, her stomach twisting at the thought of her boss, the man she has sat across from in meetings and who controls this entire goddamn situation, literally attacking someone to the point of leaving such a horrific scar.

“He – dear god, Killian. That looks like he tried to cut your hand off!”

“It was no mere attempt,” Killian replies hollowly, eyes darkening. “He did cut it off.”

Emma blinks at him, and then stares at his hand, clearly attached to his arm. Now fair enough, she doesn’t know a lot about surgery or how re-attaching a limb would work, but Emma sure as hell knows there is no way Killian would have had his hand re-attached or be able to use it with 1700s medicine.

“He – what? I don’t understand. But your – your hand? How was it … fixed?”

“Magic.”

Emma’s heart stutters at the word. She leans back in her chair, stunned as if she’s been slapped.

“What?”

“A witch,” Killian continues, oblivious to Emma’s reaction, and he waves his right hand airily. “Or a fairy or some other manner of creature. I suppose I never actually asked her. My crew and I had come across her once before ever meeting Gold, and we retreated to her after his attack. She was a bit prickly, but she re-attached it for me after my crew begged her to. She had only a little magic left after running into trouble of her own, and she was no expert, hence the scar, but she did her best.”

Magic, witches, fairies. Her superpower remains silent, indicating Killian is telling the truth as he sees it, but Emma can’t believe it. Abruptly, Emma feels on the edge of tears. A hand re-attached by magic?

What?

Killian seems to finally notice her thunderstruck expression. “To you, Swan, magic is a myth. In my time, it was as common as your light switches. And clearly,” he adds, holding up his hand and flexing his fingers, “it worked.”

Seriously, what the hell is her life these days? Magic? Fine, she has no explanation for why Killian is standing in front of her, two and a half centuries after he should have died. But magic? No way. Aliens or scientific advancements in time travel make more sense than magic. But then she thinks of the video Anna had shown her of her sister controlling snowflakes as naturally as could be, and well, hell, magic at this point may make as much sense as anything else.

“I don’t understand,” Emma manages finally, wrenching her mind away from the literal concept of magic to the problem in front of her. Gold, Killian, time travel, his hand. “How – why did Gold cut your hand off?”

“I stole something from him.”

… Of course he did.

Her mind starting to burst at the seams, she can only gape back at Killian as he explains his history with Gold, utterly lost for words. In Killian’s time, Gold had been a powerful landowner in England, who ventured to the New World after making a bad deal and losing his fortune. He didn’t know how long Gold had been in America before Killian heard of him, but he did know was already successful and rich in his new surroundings, a dangerous businessman who no one dared cross.

Except Killian.

“As you may remember, Swan, at that time I was a wanted man by the English Crown, having stolen and burned many of their ships. They had done their own damage to me, and it was my utmost desire at the time to ruin them in any other way I could. So, when I heard rumours of an enchanted object that Gold had brought over from England, the last of his previous fortune and a gift from the king and royal family themselves, naturally, I wanted it. Besides, my crew and I hadn’t had a good heist in months. It was a hard, cold winter, and the stormy weather had kept many ships trapped in European harbours, and my men were itching for some action.”

Even amidst her shock at this whole situation, Emma has to resist the urge to roll her eyes – pirates.

“My crew and I were moored in a town called Newport, near where his new estate was. We were restocking the Jolly Roger when I heard he’d left the town for business and would not be back for a fortnight, leaving his mansion unprotected.”

“So, you of course just waltzed in and stole it. What even was it?”

He flashes her a devious grin, a glimmer of his charming, mischievous self breaking through his dark demeanour. “I’m a hell of a pirate, love, even on land. It was only too easy to sneak into his manor. We took everything we could get our hands on, and then I found this object, the king’s gift.” Killian cups his hands, as if he was holding several apples in his palms. “It was roughly this size. I couldn’t tell you what it was called, for I’ve never come across anything like it before. I thought perhaps a music box or a small chest at first. It was circular, with the sides plated in pure gold leaf. The top of it was beautiful, no doubt painted by the finest artist to represent a dark indigo sky with white stars emblazoned upon it. I wondered if it was only the case for the true treasure within, but I could never get the damn thing to open. My crew and I tried everything we could think of – prying it, smashing it, hammering it. Nothing. It seemed empty inside, too, for when you’d knock on it, it was hollow. After all the efforts for seemingly nothing, I thought about simply selling it. But, then I heard Gold was desperate to have it returned, that he had ripped his manor apart looking for it, so I knew it was something valuable indeed.”

Emma is trying to picture the object Killian describes, and she has no idea what it could be either. Sounds to her like a little box, like something you’d find in an old antique or knick-knack store. “Okay, so what did you do with it then?”

“I buried it, somewhere safe where I knew Gold couldn’t find it.”

The entire tale is the most Killian has spoken about his past as a pirate since appearing in this time, and Emma supposes she shouldn’t be surprised it ends with a tale of buried treasure. Typical.

“Besides that,” Killian continues slowly, and he rubs one of his upper arms absently, as if recalling a past chill. “My crew didn’t like it. Once we realized we couldn’t do anything with it or allow Gold to have it again, we needed it off the ship as soon as we could.”

“Didn’t like it?” Emma echoes, her skin rippling with goosebumps. “What do you mean?”

Killian frowns, and he rubs at his chin thoughtfully. “I know you don’t believe in magic, Swan, but if you saw this, you would. Even though we couldn’t get it open, the damned thing seemed to suck the energy of the area around it. People were grumpier near it, more prone to anger, and more likely to need hours upon hours of sleep after being around it for a long time. As if it pulled their energy into itself and made them weaker, less honourable versions of themselves.”

He’s right, she doesn’t believe in magic. The thought of a strangle little box, gifted to her boss in the 1700s that caused hardened pirates to want it out of their sight, is something out of a movie. But … after all Emma has seen and all she’s heard, even just in the last few minutes, perhaps she better start believing.

“In any regard, we buried it and forgot about it for a few months until we returned one day to Newport. Gold knew my ship – hell, everyone knew my ship, then – and he was watching for it. He surprised us and thought to kill me and my crew, but realized rather quickly if we were all dead, he’d have no way to find out where the object was hidden. So instead … he thought to teach me a lesson.” He holds his left hand up again. “Hence, this.”

Emma leans back into her desk chair, sinking into the old cushion and letting out a deep breath. She’s starting to get a tight, fluttery feeling in her chest she gets when she’s becoming overwhelmed, the feeling that usually spurs her to run, run as fast as she can.

But there’s no running from this. This, this twisted world with time travel and now apparently magic, is her reality.

Killian falls silent, finally taking a seat opposite her instead of standing, fuming, by the door. But Emma doesn’t know what to say back to him, so they sit in silence for several long minutes. After all, what do you say back to someone who is telling you about their adversarial meetings in the 1740s with your boss, who was the one to cut off his hand that was then re-attached with magic?

Emma has always been a logical person; she’s had to be. There was no room for whimsy or belief in the unknown during her childhood, not when she was burned too early by a world that only showed her its dark and cruel side. Her mind is so overwhelmed, she’s not even sure how to begin processing all this. If Killian wasn’t between her and the door, she may have started running.

“So, you buried this object,” she begins, forcing herself to focus on the tangible parts of Killian’s story, though it’s not enough to not notice the irony of discussing ancient buried treasure with a pirate. “Probably in a place built over by a parking lot, or so deep underground that its lost to history, or found by a random person and sitting on someone’s grandma’s shelf –”

“That seems unlikely,” Killian muses. “I would hazard a guess it has never been found. After all, that must be why I’m here, in your time. He’s after the object again. He couldn’t get it from me then, and for whatever reason, he’s brought me here to find it.”

Emma has come to the same conclusion herself now, but she shakes her head in dismay. “I just don’t understand. If he wants this thing back so bad, why not get it from you back then, not invent time travel and wait nearly three hundred years for it?”

He shrugs, but his eyes flash. “Only the devil himself knows what madness lurks in that monster’s mind.”

Emma sighs and rubs at her eyes. If ridiculous was a line crossed back when Killian first said he knew Gold from his time, this situation is so far gone, Emma’s not even sure what to make of it anymore.

“So where is it buried? The object?”

Killian doesn’t answer, idly tracing the scar around his wrist. She watches him, wondering if he’s simply trying to remember, but when the silence stretches on, she realizes he has no intention of answering her, and for whatever reason, that hurts.

“Killian … you know you can trust me.”

“I do trust you, Swan,” he says, and his voice softens as he meets her eyes. “It’s Gold I don’t. This object, whatever its value to him, has been safe for nearly three centuries. Its secret is safest with just one person.” He pauses briefly. “For now.”

Though still stung, Emma nods. “Okay. For now.” She lets out a deep breath, and runs a hand through her hair, combing out the tangles. “Well, if this object is really what Gold is after and you’re the only person alive who knows where it is, it makes sense why Gold wanted you arrested at first.”

“He what?” Killian’s voice is sharp, his eyes flashing with anger again, and Emma winces. She supposes she hadn’t told Killian that part yet.

As his expression darkens, Emma explains how Gold had first wanted Killian detained more formally than all the other returnees due to his reaction down at the lake where he first fought and argued with the Storybrooke agents, along with his past as a pirate and wanted criminal. How, now that she knows this history, it was most likely just a ruse for Gold to be able to keep a closer eye on Killian than the others.

“That slimy bastard.”

Silently, Emma agrees. She doesn’t know what Gold is planning, but she already knows whatever it is, it isn’t good. At her last meeting with him, when he’d asked her about ‘anything odd’ with the returnees, she’d left the conversation with a pit in her stomach, the root of doubt and suspicion that has now blossomed into fully fledged mistrust and, frankly, fear.

“We have to get you out of here. Out of Storybrooke, away from Gold. It’s not safe for you here anymore.”

“I concur.”

But then Emma frowns. Regina is away today, attending meetings offsite in regards to the returnees’ release, and Emma knows there is no way she is going to get Killian discharged from here without her permission. Any other returnee, maybe, but not Killian the media magnet.

She could attempt to sneak him out, but if they are caught … well, it was bad enough that Emma was seen by the media near him during his previous escape attempt. If they are caught again when she’s aiding him in an escape attempt … she’d be re-assigned to another returnee at the very least or fired at the very worst, and Killian will be kept here, in Gold’s clutches, for even longer.

“I can’t get you out of here tonight,” she says, swallowing down the anxiety that comes with the thought. “We have to wait until Regina is here, and do it all by the books or … well, I don’t know what will happen. She’ll be back tomorrow.” Emma sighs, and rises to her feet. “Come on. I’ll walk you back to the barracks. I think you may be safer there with the guards all around.”

They leave her office, walking carefully around the corner leading to the foyer where the media conference had been. But it’s over now, all the chairs and the podium cleaned up.

The walk to the barracks is mostly in silence, both of them lost in thought. When they reach the lobby, Emma grips Killian’s arm, pausing him in his tracks.

“Don’t get into any trouble,” she warns, her voice a whisper. “I’ll be back first thing tomorrow to talk to Regina about your release.”

“When have I ever gotten into trouble?” he replies teasingly, and he rests his hand over hers briefly before moving towards the staircase. “Goodbye, Emma.”

She watches him head upstairs to his room, until he’s gone through a door and out of sight. Emma should go back to her office and get some semblance of work done, but she pauses instead. The cafeteria is just ahead of her, buzzing with the hum of conversation. It’s lunch now, and the returnees are free to move about as the media are gone. An idea has occurred to her, and instead of heading back to her office, she walks into the busy cafeteria.

Near one of the wide windows at the opposite end, Emma spots David and Mary Margaret. As she’s walking over, Mary Margaret notices her first, brightening with a wide smile and shining eyes.

“Hi Emma!”

Their enthusiasm still makes her a bit uncomfortable, but she tries to smile genuinely as she takes a seat opposite them. They are smiling widely at her, clearly thinking she’s here for a friendly chat or at least a step in the right direction for their relationship, and suddenly Emma wishes that was all she was here for. A pleasant, light conversation with the parents she lost for 28 years, returned to her miraculously by (as it’s truly appearing to be) magic.

And yet here she is instead, a dark cloud of fear and suspicion hanging over her. She glances around before speaking, not really sure who she should be on the lookout for, but in any case, the other returnees and agents are pre-occupied with their own meal or conversation. And, besides, she supposes she has an excuse to be sat here talking with David and Mary Margaret – they are, after all, her parents.

“We’ve been wanting to tell you,” Mary Margaret starts brightly, before Emma can get up the nerve to speak. “Graham told us that once the first group of returnees start to be released, he thinks David and I will be allowed out for more visits. We were hoping, well …” she trails off suddenly, uncertain, and David grasps her hand tightly, squeezing it for support. Mary Margaret smiles at him, and continues, her voice much stronger now, “Maybe we could meet you and Henry somewhere for a meal one day?”

“Oh,” Emma says, taken aback. “Um, yeah, that that would be great.”

They smile in delight, and Emma finds she does truly mean that. If they had said something like this even a few days ago, she probably would’ve scowled and made up some excuse as to why it couldn’t happen, but instead, she is already imagining them at Henry’s favourite restaurant, with him showing them his favourite dishes and desserts. “Um, Henry will be so excited to hear about that. And I want to hear more about it too, but first – I came here to ask you for a favour.”

They nod, exchanging a glance with each other, plainly thrilled that whatever this is about, Emma has decided to ask for their help. Their willingness makes Emma’s heart twinge; they’re so happy to have anything from her, even if it’s an indication of a grain of trust, that it lights up their whole expressions as if she just agreed to start calling them mom and dad.

She gives herself a quick mental shake, and focuses again. She leans forward slightly, lowering her voice so they can only just hear her. “There’s something … weird going on around here, I’m still trying to figure it all out, but I need your help in the meantime.”

David and Mary Margaret trade worried glances at her tone. “Of course,” David says firmly. “What’s going on? What is it about?”

Emma hesitates. She wants to tell them what Killian told her, but it’s not her story to share. Besides, the less people who know about Gold, the better. Instead, she says, “Can you keep an eye on Killian Jones for me for the rest of the day? Make sure he’s doing okay and keeping himself out of trouble?”

David frowns, and crosses his arms across his chest. “The pirate?” he demands, and Mary Margaret glares at him.

“It’s important,” Emma continues, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “I – can’t really say much else, but it’s important.”

“Of course, Emma,” Mary Margaret says, and she elbows David, who, reluctantly, nods. “That’s no problem at all. We’ll ask him to have dinner with us tonight.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate it.” She then gets to her feet, and disappointment flashes across their faces. She winces. “Sorry, I have to get back to work. But, I – uh, well I’m looking forward to that dinner one day soon.”

The disappointment fades a bit, and they say their goodbyes. Emma returns to her office for the rest of the afternoon, trying to get through her stack of endless paperwork, but it’s pointless. She gets nothing done, her mind on Gold and buried treasure and even when she gets home, she’s a nervous wreck all night, unable to focus on anything at all.

Henry is his usual chatty self, but Emma can’t keep focused on what he’s saying. She has no patience for cooking tonight either, so instead orders in pizza, much to her son’s delight. As he’s munching on his fourth piece of deep-dish pepperoni, Henry pauses mid-bite, glancing at Emma’s untouched first slice.

“Mom? Are you ok?”

“Sorry, kid,” she replies, and she forces herself to smile reassuringly. “Just distracted by work. Want to play a game tonight?”

He is satisfied with that answer, and playing Clue with Henry does help to pass the time, but her heart isn’t in it and she is soundly beaten in each of the three rounds they play. When it’s finally her son’s bedtime and he’s sound asleep, peaceful and warm in his bed, Emma herself gets ready for bed.

Sleep, however, has never seemed so far away. Her mind roils with the revelations of the day, her stomach turning with nausea and anxiety. With no wink of sleep in sight, Emma sits up in bed instead. She leans against the solid wood of her headboard, and hugs her knees into her chest, watching the tree outside her window sway with the cold wind.

It’s so simple, to watch the trees, illuminated by the street lights below. They are just as they were yesterday, unchanged by the revelation of magic such as controlling snow or re-attaching hands or transporting hundreds of people through time.

She watches the trees for a while, and at one point, Emma finally drifts off, her dreams a jumble of pirate ships and bright white light.

Those dreams, however, are abruptly broken by a shrill ring of her cellphone.

Emma jolts awake, and grabs the phone from the nightstand, answering it without reading the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Emma, it’s Anna!” Her colleague’s voice is frantic and harried, and Emma sits up, her heartbeat accelerating.

“Anna?”

“You need to get back here to Storybrooke right away. It’s – it’s about Killian Jones. One of the returnees was found dead and –”

Emma swings her legs out from under the covers, the floor cold beneath her bare feet, as icy as the shot of pure panic running through her. “What? Is – is Killian –”

“No, no, he’s fine,” Anna says hurriedly, as if just realizing the implication of her words. Emma’s heart stutters again, her emotions of fear and relief in whiplash. “Well, I mean he’s not hurt, he’s not quite okay as you would say, but –”

“Anna, what the hell is going on?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean – okay, like I was saying, I was staying here tonight with Elsa, and then – well, there was a commotion maybe an hour ago and when I went to see what had happened … well, one of the returnees is dead. It’s pretty clear they were attacked … like, with a sword.”

Emma’s heart sinks though she’s sure she already knows. If he’s not the one dead, and the victim was attacked with a sword …

“And what does this have to do with Killian?”

“He’s been arrested for the murder.”

_______________________________________________________

The drive back to Storybrooke is a blur. She’d woken up her neighbour across the hall and half-dragged her over to watch Henry and get him off to school in the morning, only telling her there was an emergency and she had to leave right now.

When she makes it onto Storybrooke’s grounds, she careens into an empty parking spot, half out of the vehicle before she’s stopped the engine. The main returnee barracks building is bright and illuminated, and Emma marches towards it, her heart pounding heavily with each step she takes.

On the steps leading to the building, outside the main doors, stands a group of several individual Emma recognizes as police and FBI officers from their emblazoned jackets. As she approaches, one holds her hand up to block Emma’s path.

“Hold up! No one is allowed entry right now. A federal investigation is underway.”

Emma’s hands curl into fists at her side, and she digs out her identification badge from her jacket pocket. She has no time to argue. “You don’t understand, I need to get in there.”

The officers’ frown at her badge, and she opens her mouth to furiously continue, when a voice calls her name from within the main doors.

“Emma?” The guards move aside, revealing Kristoff Reinsdyr, one of the guards at Storybrooke, looking pale and frazzled. “Thank goodness you’re here.”

One of the FBI officers scowls, and looks Emma up and down. “We have orders to not let anyone else in until Commander Hua says –”

“Emma needs to come in. She’s Jones’ agent in charge of his case here.”

Kristoff gestures her forward, and Emma doesn’t wait to see if the officers complain again, though they do move out of her way finally. She and Kristoff hurry inside, where the brightness of the fluorescently lit building makes her eyes sting as he leads her towards the back staircase.

“Glad you’re here, Emma. Anna told me she called you,” Kristoff says, as they take the steps two at a time up to the fourth floor to the isolation and interview area. Emma is reminded sharply of the first time she had come up here, when she’d met Killian the first night, when he’d been belligerent and thrown in here to cool down.

The thought sets her teeth on edge. “Kristoff, what the hell is this about? Anna said there had been a murder?”

He hesitates. “Yes, it seems like it. There was some commotion around midnight in the residences. We thought perhaps it was a fight, but when we got there to see what had happened …” He trails off, and shakes his head once. “It was awful, Emma. Truly horrific.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and Emma decides she doesn’t want to know. “And – they think Killian did it? Where is he now?”

“In one of the interview rooms upstairs. He was with a few of the other guards for a bit, until the FBI got here about an hour ago. Now he’s in with their commander.”

They reach the top floor, and Kristoff leads her down a cold, empty hallway to the cluster of interview rooms at the end of the corridor. Kristoff opens a small side door, into a small observation room that faces the larger interview room through one-way glass. Three FBI officers are in the room already and they frown at her, but she simply flashes her identification badge in their direction before looking through the one-way glass at the scene ahead.

Killian is seated in a similar room to the one she first met him in, his face smooth and impassive, as cold as she’s ever seen it. His wrists are bound with handcuffs, chained to the table in the centre of the room. Mulan Hua, the commander of the Boston FBI who Emma recognizes from the lake, is seated across from him, watching him with a careful, quiet gaze.

“Let’s go over this again,” she is saying, her voice strained with patience. Emma isn’t sure how long Killian has been talking to her, but by his sour expression, she knows they’ve already been over this conversation several times. “Tell me exactly what happened this evening.”

“As I have told you a thousand times since I was dragged from my bed by your deranged guards,” he snaps, drawing the words out so they are each peppered with a near growl. “I have no idea what happened. I was in my room all evening, save for dinner. All I know is what you’ve told me: a man has been found dead, and you suspect I had something to do with it.”

“Murdered,” Mulan corrects, her face solemn. “He’s not only dead, he was murdered.”

Killian rattles the handcuffs pointedly. “Not by my hand. If I’d done it, I’d bloody well confess. I may be a pirate, but I’m no coward. I’ve committed my fair share of atrocities, but I will not confess to something I did not do.”

“How do you explain the fact that your sword was found discarded nearby, stained with blood?”

It could be a damning statement, but Killian laughs, rumbling and low. “You think me fool enough to leave a murder weapon lying about where any bumbling twit can come across it? Not to mention that I haven’t had my sword since I arrived in this bloody time when your guards confiscated it, so how, pray tell, do you think I managed to get my sword back?”

Mulan sighs, irritation flitting across her features. “Well, we know how you did it. We have evidence. Video evidence of you removing the sword from the Collection Room.”

Emma’s eyes widen, and she feels abruptly like she’s been punched in the gut. They have what?

Killian, however, isn’t fazed by this bombshell; after all, he probably has no idea what a video is. “I don’t care what evidence you say you have. It’s all false, I didn’t do it and I haven’t had my sword in weeks. So, either arrest me and throw me in a dungeon, or let me go for I have nothing more to say to you.”

And at that, he falls silent. Mulan tries to get him to speak again, but to no avail. Eventually, she sighs and gets to her feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor and making Emma flinch. “Okay. You think about things, and I’ll be back with something for you to eat and drink.”

As she heads for the door, Emma sees her chance to speak with her. She darts past Kristoff and the other FBI officers in the observation room, out into the hallway, catching Mulan just as she’s shutting the door behind her.

“Commander,” Emma calls. “What the hell is going on?”

“Oh, Agent Swan, I’m glad you’re here.” Mulan breathes out heavily. Now that she’s out of the interview room, she appears tired, her face pale, her eyebrows pinched together with stress. “I’ve been wanting to talk with you. Do you have any idea why Jones would want to kill Henry Jekyll?”

“No!” Emma replies vehemently. “Killian wouldn’t kill – who the hell even is that?”

“He is another returnee. Or rather, was. He was one of Jones’s roommates when he was released from isolation. He was found dead earlier by his current roommate. He’d been stabbed several times.”

Emma stares back at her, lost for words, as Kristoff peers out of the other room, as if making sure everything is okay.

Mulan nods at him. “Officer, can you get me a sandwich and water bottle for Jones?”

He agrees, and disappears back down the hall the way he had come with Emma. Mulan turns back to Emma, and at her expression, lets out another deep sigh.

“Emma,” she says gently, almost understandingly. “I know you must have gotten close to Jones while he’s been here –” Emma inhales sharply, but Mulan doesn’t seem to notice “– since you’re his agent and all. Obviously, you don’t want to believe he could have done something like this. But you have to remember that he’s a criminal. He was an outlaw and a pirate, wanted by the British Navy at the time for treason and murder. And that’s just the recorded crimes. We really don’t know anything about him, or what he’s capable of. I’m not surprised something like this has come up, honestly.”

“I am,” Emma replies bluntly. “There is no way Killian killed someone, not when tomorrow – I mean, we are trying to get all the returnees out of here not keep them locked up longer!”

Mulan pinches the bridge of her nose, and gestures for Emma to follow her. “Come with me, take a look at what we found.”

Emma follows her into a second interview room, empty save for a steel table with a laptop on it. Mulan opens the laptop, entering her credentials to log in. It seems to take an exorbitant amount of time, Emma’s nerves fraying further with each passing second. The screen opens to a generic Federal Bureau of Investigation backdrop, and Mulan clicks on a video saved to the desktop, labelled simply ‘surveillance footage.’

“This is from back in early February,” Mulan explains, as the video loads up to reveal a room Emma recognizes as the Collection Room in the basement, where she visited once before to collect Mary Margaret, David and Killian’s belonging, with its shelves upon shelves of boxes and plastic containers.

“Security pulled it for us once we identified the sword. Watch.”

The recording is of the deserted collection room for several moments, blurry and shrouded in shadows, the time blinking in the corner of the video as 3:30 a.m. Then, grainy white light floods the room, the main door swinging open to let in the hallway light.

Through the pixelated footage, Emma recognizes Killian as he strides into the room, confident as ever. He walks to the back of the room without hesitation, to a small area behind a chain link fence which reaches to the ceiling. He disappears off camera as he steps into the fenced-in area, but he’s only hidden for a few moments before he steps back into view.

In his hands, is a sheathed sword, its handle black and simple, apparent even in the poor footage. He removes it from the sheath, and holds it up to his eye level, admiring the blade. He then re-sheathes it and slips out of the room, the light fading from the room as the door swings shut behind him.

The video stops, and Emma stares at it, dumbfounded. There it is, plain as day. Evidence of Killian retrieving the sword.

But she shakes her head as she remembers her own visit to the Collection Room more clearly. “No, no, that’s not possible. Listen, I know he couldn’t have gotten the sword. It was checked out, I remember because I went and got his other stuff and saw it on the list.”

“The list?” Mulan frowns. “What list?”

“There was a list in the Collection Room, a list of each person’s items which weren’t allowed to be checked out, but his sword had a note that it was taken out. So he couldn’t have done it, because you needed special permission to get those restricted items out. I remember because I was –”

Emma trails off, because Mulan is watching her with a skeptical frown. She clearly doesn’t believe Emma, and after all, why would she? There’s video proof of Killian getting the sword himself.

Kristoff knocks on the door to the interview room then, opening it to show the water bottle and wrapped sandwich in his hand. “Here you are, Commander.”

“Perfect,” Mulan says, closing the laptop and striding towards him. “Thank you, officer.”

She’s already back in the hallway, food in hand, marching down to the Killian’s interview room, before Emma, still stunned by the video, springs into action.

She hurries out into the hallway and, before Mulan can open the door to re-join Killian, blocks her path. Killian may be her … well, Emma’s not sure if she could even call him a friend, but whatever he is, he’s her responsibility. Returnees are always given legal counsel if they require it for any reason, including an active criminal investigation whether they are defendant or plaintiff.

“Does he have a lawyer on their way?”

“No, he declined one.”

Mulan says it calmly, but something about it is the last straw for Emma. The last twenty-four hours have nearly broken her – the video of Elsa, the knowledge that Gold is from the 1700s too, that magic is the most probable reason why all these people have shown up here, and now this: her … returnee arrested for murder and being questioned without legal counsel.

“He’s from the 1700s!” Emma shouts, and Mulan flinches in surprise. Even Killian glances over to the door, as if he heard her too. “Of course he declined one, I don’t know if they had lawyers back then. He has no idea about our laws or processes or anything. Killian doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into, he needs a lawyer!”

Mulan regards Emma quietly, and she shrugs. “Well, I’ll speak to him about it again, but I doubt he’ll change his mind.”

She opens the door with the food, and as she does, Emma leans slightly around her, to peer into the room. Killian is watching Mulan enter, stony-faced, but for a moment, a single moment before the door slams shut behind Mulan, he catches Emma’s eye.

If only magic was real; maybe she could send him a telepathic message to ask for a lawyer. But, Emma’s no magician, and the door swings shut, the breeze catching her in the face and rustling her hair.

“Here,” Mulan says, her voice muffled by the door, and Emma hurries back to the other room, to the one-way glass so she can hear better. The other agents are glaring at her now with open hostility, but Emma ignores them, moving past them so she is standing directly in front of the one-way glass.

Mulan has resumed her seat, the water bottle and sandwich on the table between them, but Killian doesn’t move to reach for them.

“Listen,” she says, casting a pointed look to the one-way glass. “Before we talk anymore about this, I’m going to remind you one more time that you are allowed to have legal representation before speaking with me.”

Killian remains silent.

Mulan huffs a sigh. “Alright. Okay, so let’s go over this again, shall we?”

Killian leans forward, the handcuff chains jangling loudly against the steel table. “Commander,” he says, intently staring now at her across the table. His tone has changed, the defensive snarls replaced with a charming lilt, soothing and persuasive. “You are a smart woman, smarter than those oafs who were in here before you. You know I didn’t do this. Even if I was so idiotic to kill a man I had met only a handful of times on the eve of being released from this prison, you know as well as I that any criminal worth their salt wouldn’t leave a bloody murder weapon tied to them and them alone near a massacred body should they hope to get away with the crime. Whoever did this wanted you to find that sword, to know that it was mine so you would come to me right away and keep me locked up here.”

Mulan narrows her eyes, and she asks, only half-jokingly, “So what? Someone is setting you up?”

Killian’s gaze flicks over to the door, to where he had seen Emma, before he shrugs, as if the suggestion is ludicrous. But it’s enough to clue Emma in.

Of course. He’s right, he has no motive to kill Jekyll. But someone else does. Someone else, who has something to lose if Killian is released from Storybrooke with the rest of the returnees.

Gold.

He must’ve seen them at the news conference, must know Killian would’ve told Emma everything about their history together. Know that, of course, Emma would try everything in her power to get Killian out of here before Gold could do anything like lock him up like he had always wanted to. So he moved faster, found a way to keep him here, in his grasp where he hopes to get the location of the mysterious object out of Killian, once and for all.

“Emma?” Kristoff asks, reaching out a hand to her in concern, and Emma realizes he and the FBI officers are staring at her.

She waves them away, realization and horror roaring in her ears as loud as thunder. She is still trying to process this, when in the interview room, Killian leans back in his chair, his expression dark and cold.

“Perhaps it is time I speak with an attorney.”

#cs ff #cs mc ff #captain swan #ouat #cs fic #a place in time #hope people like this one!#it's been a long time so i'm grateful for anyone still reading

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lizardkingeliot · 4 years ago

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First Line Meme

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line, then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

tagged by @phoenix-ascended thank you!!!! 💖

Okay SO. I’m gonna cheat a little bit here. The first nine I’m going to post are all going to be from the first nine chapters of time cast a spell on you (but you won’t forget me) but to be fair the chapters are so long they each might as well be a story all their own lmao. ANYWAY. Here we go. I’ll post the first paragraph from each I guess, in order of chapter number obvs:

1. Quentin shook out the tension in his hands. He didn’t understand why it wasn’t getting any easier. For days on end he’d been trying to perfect the illumination spell the rest of his fellow First Years had nailed in a matter of hours. But no matter how he tried, Quentin couldn’t seem to make anything more than a spark.

2. Quentin waited until Eliot was asleep to slip out of bed and hastily tug his clothes back on. The illuminated screen of his phone told him it was just past 12am. Clutching his shoes to his chest, he opened the door as quietly as he could manage and tip-toed out into the hall, all but running to his room and clicking the lock shut firmly behind him.

3. Dry-mouthed and groggy, Quentin woke in Eliot’s bed alone. He groaned, groping around for his phone to check the time for a long moment before remembering he’d left it in his room. Quentin rubbed at his eyes, rolling over and up to his feet, muscles he didn’t even know existed screaming as he went. He picked his bathrobe up from the floor and pulled it on, then tottered down the hall to empty his bladder and brush his teeth and gulp down frantic handfuls of water from the bathroom sink.

4. Tuesday morning was hell. Quentin woke just before eleven, empty as a husk. Filthy, all used up. His thighs sticking together where Eliot’s come had dried there in the night. Quickly realizing he’d already missed his first class of the day, Quentin pressed his face into his pillow, pulled the covers up over his head, and surrendered to the blank comfort of late morning sleep.

5. Quentin couldn’t feel his face, or much of his body for that matter. Which was… fine. It was great. It was fucking phenomenal. As long as it meant he also couldn’t feel the sinkhole that had formed in the center of his chest. The one that had been there for days, weeks, months, fucking years. He couldn’t feel anything at all.

6. Quentin felt a lever turn inside his chest, the source of his magic eking out a spark. Enough at least to send a message to Julia back at Brakebills. One of those little enchanted paper airplanes they’d learned his first week in Practical Applications that he never could get to fly quite right. He scrawled his SOS on a cocktail napkin and watched it flutter away like the world’s saddest butterfly. The universe took pity on him. Quentin figured he was probably due. 7. Christmas morning was a lackluster affair.

Exchanging gift cards over coffee and devouring great mounds of Ted Coldwater’s Famous Ham and Eggs while still in their pajamas. After, Julia and Quentin lay on the living room floor and Skyped with James, his grandparents waving hello from Pennsylvania in the background. They opened the stack of impersonal and overly-extravagant gifts from Julia’s mother that had been delivered to the house the night before. Quentin received a pair of cashmere socks and a leather belt with a shiny silver buckle.

8. Quentin stood at the bathroom sink, watching his face shift in the steamy mirror glass. Stark naked save for the towel looped around his hips. Hair dripping in cool, fat beads down onto the planks of his shoulders. So clean he swore he could feel himself sparkling from the inside out.

9. Quentin tossed his phone down onto the floor and leaned back into Eliot’s heat. “It’s almost like you want my dad to know I’m faking sick so I can stay in and let you fuck me until I pass out.”

Some patterns I guess: I love how chapters 2-4 all open with Quentin in bed after hooking up with eliot but all with very different vibes. In chapter 2, he’s just experienced subspace for the first time without having any idea that’s what actually happened to him and he is having A Time. In chapter 3, they had a very intense hook-up the night before and Quentin is sneaking out again, but this time he fully plans on returning right after. And in chapter 4, we see the joy of their beginnings at Columbia contrasted hard with the misery of where Quentin is at Brakebills.

ALSO 2/3 of the chapters begin with Quentin’s name which feels right considering just how deep into his headspace we are in this fic.

Okay. Anyway. Moving on:

10. Eliot loved watching Quentin lose himself in a moment.

It could be anything really: mastering a brand new spell; savoring something decadent and sweet; fussing with his hair when he thought no one was looking; focusing very hard on making himself a cocktail and getting the ratios just right; ranting about his Fillory books; reading his Fillory books, to himself but especially aloud; reading anything; riding dick...

That last one held a particularly special place in Eliot’s heart.

(from but i would die for you in secret aka the one where eliot is pretty sure quentin is only using him for his dick. spoiler alert: he’s not they’re just idiots)

11. Teddy was turning six years old. There was nothing in the world he loved more than stories.

His favorite was a version of Lord of the Rings Quentin had cobbled together from memory. He must have told it to their son a hundred times before it occurred to Eliot he could contribute more to story time than ogling Quentin’s hands while he spoke, or popping in to suggest when the Balrog should actually be making an appearance, Quentin.

(from in a land far away aka the mosaic fic where eliot makes margo hand puppets for teddy)

12. The words came out of Quentin’s mouth without a single coherent thought behind them.

“I’m just about to catch a movie with my boyfriend!”

There, outside the coffee shop on Eighth Avenue, Quentin’s maybe-friend from high school whose name he couldn’t even remember shot him a wide-mouthed grin. “Oh, that’s wonderful!” she said. “Which movie? My wife Danielle and I don’t have any plans for the afternoon and we’d love to tag along. Isn’t that right sweetie?”

(from your name like a song (i sing to myself) aka the one where quentin’s memory is shit and he and eliot pretend to be boyfriends in a post-monster world)

13. Eliot dropped the last box onto the floor. “Daddy’s wardrobe is safe at last,” he said, lowering himself down into the gold chair with a sigh. “Though I can’t seem to shake the terrible feeling that Todd raided my closet at the Cottage before I could get to it all.”

Quentin surveyed the damage from his spot on the sofa: there were at least seven large packing boxes bursting at their seams scattered around the penthouse. “I don’t know how you would even be able to tell. I’m pretty sure one of those boxes is just vests.”

Eliot quirked a brow in his direction. “Some of us are cultivating an aesthetic, Quentin,” he said. “And I didn’t see you complaining when I let you dress me for dinner last night.”

Quentin couldn’t help but smile. “I wouldn’t call picking between two pre-approved ties dressing you, El.”

“I’m also counting the fact that you said my ass looked great in my new pants.”

(from the parentheses (all clicking shut behind you) aka the suspender porn fic)

14. The night Quentin Coldwater died, a brand new star appeared in the sky over Brakebills. A little brighter than Venus, it stayed fixed in the same position for weeks on end. Eliot hardly would have noticed such a thing if it hadn’t been for the way that it hummed. Or at least, that’s how it felt. A humming in his bones. An old, familiar presence. Margo thought that he’d gone mad with grief. Alice was the only one who could understand.

(from a myth of devotion aka the one where eliot is sorta icarus and quentin is sorta the sun)

15. It didn’t happen the way Eliot expected it to. He dropped the letter into the mailbox, and pain blossomed in his abdomen so brightly it was like he’d gone supernova.

And everything went dark.

(from by night, beloved, tie your heart to mine aka the one where eliot sends the letter)

16. Eliot stretched out over the mosaic, his shirt riding up just a little as he clicked a yellow tile into place, and Quentin’s pulse leapt in his neck once, twice. Three times. His breath hitched. It was becoming nearly impossible to focus. In the heat of the sun, watching the sweat soak Eliot’s shirt clean-through.

(from i won’t deny (all the things i would do) aka the one where quentin and eliot start hooking up three months into their life at the mosaic)

17. After they decided kissing on the mouth was okay, Quentin and Eliot wanted to do it all the time. In every corner of the penthouse (“If you don’t stop sucking face while I’m trying to eat my sandwich,” Kady said one afternoon, “I’m literally going to feed you to the Baba Yaga.”), outside coffee shops, in between bites at the sushi place in Chelsea that Eliot loved. Once, they went to see a movie they couldn’t even remember the name of just to make out for two blissful, uninterrupted hours in the dark.

(from and a song of praise upon your lips aka part three of the box of chocolates series where quentin and eliot are definitely dating and finally talk about their feelings)

18. Eliot startled awake to something sharp and pointed slamming into his shin. He opened his eyes, and the toe of Margo’s shoe made contact one last time. Pain seared up the side of his leg, and he winced. Jesus, she really did not realize her own strength sometimes. Or the strength of her Jimmy Choo’s.

(from that you may know (the secrets of your heart) aka part two of box of chocolates aka the one where hand stuff is still banging)

19. Eliot Waugh was High King in his blood, and somehow that felt right. When they first arrived in Fillory, Quentin assumed he would be the one to wear the crown. He’d dreamed of it most of his life after all. On the throne in Whitespire, a fleet of talking animals at his disposal, a noble quest waiting around every corner to ferry him away to the next grand, heart-stopping adventure. But when the blade bit into his palm and drew no blood, and Eliot’s came up red, it felt like the final piece of some perfect puzzle clicking into place.

(from and this is the map of my heart aka the one where quentin wants to marry eliot and they have some incredibly filthy sex before everything falls apart)

20. Eliot walked into the penthouse to an eerie quiet. He found Quentin sitting in the kitchen under a dim illumination spell, drinking a beer and poking at the screen of his phone.

“Hey,” Eliot said, setting his shopping bag down on the counter. “Where is everyone?”

Quentin sighed, rubbing at his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “Out. I don’t know.”

Eliot squinted at him. “You didn’t want to go with them?”

Quentin lifted his eyes, shot Eliot a look. “No.”

(from for love (if it finds you worthy) aka part one of the box of chocolates series)

And I have now been here doing this for so long I no longer have time to try and find anymore patterns lmao BUT I will be tagging: @thelucindac @akisazame @fishfingersandscarves @nellie-elizabeth @freneticfloetry @rubickk7 and anyone else who wants to play!

#the magicians #queliot #otp: proof of concept #myfic

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bookishbarnowl · 4 years ago

Text

Two Kinds of Snapping

They’d been saying the same things to each other for a week, the argument running in maddening circles as Dream spouted his usual insane drivel and Tommy shouted abuse back. He kept going on and on about the revival book, and Tommy wished he would just shut up about the stupid thing. It probably wasn’t even real.

Tommy is stuck. Losing it. Trapped with the person he hates the most on the entire server, and no one's getting him out. Conflict is the natural result.

Or, I write the dsmp prison scene ’cause angst go brrrrrrr

No I did not have the teletubbie kill him with a potato. Thought about it though.

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence, Major character death, very much not a happy fic

Relationships: Canon compliant Dream and Tommy (aka: ENEMIES)

Word Count: 1,501

Ao3 Link: Here

Tommy was done. He was so sick and tired and stuck and hurting and he wanted out so badly that he was ready to fly apart at the seams. The prison cell was infuriatingly small, and Dream’s presence in the corner was unignorably large. His fresh bruises were smarting from their short-lived scuffles and he had a long scratch on one arm sluggishly leaking blood from their most recent fight.

It hadn’t taken them long to switch from furious and resentful words to physical violence. Tommy had lashed out first, with a wild roundhouse punch thrown in desperation on his second day trapped, but Dream had shown no hesitation when he swept his feet out from under him in retaliation. Almost every argument they had ended with Tommy sprawled on the floor in an incandescent state of boiling rage, and he always came out worse in their exchanges. His body was littered with marks, but Dream was only sporting a swollen cheekbone from a lucky blow and a couple scrapes.

Tommy didn’t know why he kept trying. He’d never be able to beat Dream one on one, but there was so much seething anger bubbling up inside him that he felt like he couldn’t help it. They’d been saying the same things to each other for a week, the argument running in maddening circles as Dream spouted his usual insane drivel and Tommy shouted abuse back. He kept going on and on about the revival book, and Tommy wished he would just shut up about the stupid thing. It probably wasn’t even real, just a bluff to make him let down his guard.

He got up from his spot at the edge of the room and started pacing, tracing his now-habitual route back and forth along the netherite strip. His thoughts were running in loops again, repeatedly telling him that the only thing he wanted right now was to leave. He knew that already, he didn’t need his brain freaking out about it. He was pretty sure he’d had at least one panic attack. He didn’t want to spiral into another.

He’d asked the question a thousand times before, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking again. “How long’s it been,” he snapped.

“Close to a week now,” Dream replied evenly.

“What’d you mean close to a week? Either it’s been one or it hasn’t! I want out of here now!”

The other man shrugged. “Nothing I can do about it. Sam must still be dealing with the security issue.”

“That you’ve caused, stupid idiot. I’m done with you. When I get out of here, I’m never coming back.”

“Aw, wouldn’t you miss me?” he crooned.

“No. Hell no. I’d rather die.”

Dream’s eyes flashed. “Would you, now?”

He shuddered. “Not literally. You’re sick in the head.”

A grin tugged at the corner of the prisoner’s mouth and he stood up, moving a step closer. “But think of all the fun times we had together. I want to be your friend, Tommy. I’d certainly miss you.”

Tommy angrily rounded on him. “I want nothing to do with you,” he snarled, stabbing an accusatory finger towards his chest. “You can rot in here for the rest of your life for all I care. I’m getting out, and I’m leaving you behind forever. I’m gonna forget I ever knew you. There are people out there who care about me more than you ever will.”

Dream took another step. “But I do care about you, Tommy. And here’s the thing,” he leaned in, “are you sure the others are your friends? After all, you’re still stuck in here, aren’t you?” He smiled, an expression too wide for his face. Tommy hated how it looked.

“Shut up,” he growled, turning back towards the lava. “Of course they are.”

A hand rested on his shoulder, and he batted it roughly away.

“So irritable,” Dream mused. “You have the shortest fuse of anyone I know.”

“Gee, do I?” he muttered sullenly. The hand returned, and he slapped it off. “I never want to see your idiotic face again for the rest of my life.”

“But if you stayed with me, think about how much longer that would be. I could give you another life. Heck, I could give you as many as you wanted. I want to help you, Tommy.” He reached for the teen’s shoulder a third time.

Tommy ducked out of the way, pushing the larger man back. “Not back to this thing again. I don’t believe it. That stupid book isn’t real. You’re just trying to get me to buy into your lies, but I won’t do it.”

Dream’s eyes glittered darkly as he closed the distance between them. “Oh, it’s real, alright. I don’t think even Schlatt knew the extent of the power this book gives. I don’t know what I can do to make you believe me.”

“Nothing,” he blustered, disliking the closeness. “I’ll never side with you.” He planted his palms in Dream’s chest and shoved him away, feeling the start of another fight brewing in the air. His enemy stepped neatly backwards and kept his balance, smiling his creepy leering grin.

“Oh, come on. Do you really want to do this again? We both know how it ends.” He spread his stance into a more stable boxing pose.

“I hate you. You’ve made my life hell for months. I hate you!”

He rushed at Dream and attempted to drive his shoulder into his stomach, but his opponent side-stepped and tried to shove him to the ground. He barely kept his footing, tripping forwards for a few steps before whirling around to face him again. He yelled in rage and charged a second time, aiming for his feet instead. Once again Dream dodged and grabbed Tommy’s elbow as he tried to run past, hauling him around and throwing him to the ground.

He scrambled back to his feet in time to avoid the kick heading for his gut and stumbled away from the swinging fist that swiftly followed. He tried to get in a counter punch but was blocked by Dream’s other arm. A sharp pain burst in his knee as Dream sent a sudden kick flying into it, and the hit distracted him enough for the other man to shoot a rapid jab straight into his nose.

His head snapped back and he cried out, automatically bringing his hands up to his face as his vision blurred with reflexive tears. That was all the opportunity Dream needed to kick him squarely in the stomach and send him crashing to the floor. His head cracked painfully against the obsidian, stunning him as more pain blossomed in his skull.

This is where he’ll back off, something in his brain told him. Their fights always ended quickly.

But Dream drove his foot into Tommy’s gut a second time, putting his full weight into the crushing stomp. Tommy yelled in agony as he drew his foot back up for another blow, trying to roll to the side and get out of the way. Dream followed the movement easily and the second stomp landed on his ribs. He heard something crack and the pain multiplied, another scream tearing itself from his mouth.

He tried to get away, pulling himself towards the far end of the room, but he couldn’t drag himself more than a few inches before another devastating hit slammed into his sternum. He couldn’t stop screaming, he was in so much pain. It was the worst pain he’d ever felt, being shot by an arrow was paling in comparison to his organs being pulverized by a heavy boot. Dream wouldn’t stop, laughing maniacally as his foot pounded into his torso over and over again.

“How about this to convince you?” he screeched, unhinged. “You can go ask him yourself!”

Tommy tried to say something, but Dream kicked him in the jaw and the words were choked back in another cry of agony. His insides felt scrambled and wrong and painful and he’d never felt anything so bad in his entire life. He tried to curl up around his ruptured and bleeding stomach, tears streaming down his face, but moving felt worse so he stopped.

Dream was still hitting, crunching his fingers into the ground and grinding his arms against the obsidian floor. He knew things were breaking but he wasn’t thinking about what, brain consumed by the indescribable torture pulsing through him in time with his heartbeat.

He knew he was still screaming but it was past voluntary, a primal, animalistic noise that should never come from a person’s throat.

He knew Dream was still laughing. The raucous noise was psychotic and terrifying and how the hell did this happen he was supposed to get out. But now Dream was drawing back his foot for another stomp, higher than the others, and Tommy’s last thought was I’m not ready to die.

The boot came down on his neck with a sickening snap, and the pain stopped.

#dsmp #dsmp tommy #dsmp dream #angst #mcyt #fanfic #prison arc #tommy trauma #get this man to puffy for therapy

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aiupenn · 6 years ago

Text

Piece By Piece

Five times Jouno realized Tachihara loved him, and the one time Jouno realized he loved him, too.

[a/n: written for @bsd-rarepairweek day 4. the theme was slipping through my fingers.] tw: fire, burns, vomiting, and a kiss without consent.

First: Discovery

Saigiku relied on heartbeats to count the number of people in a room. This was handy for a lot of reasons, not least of which that he could immediately gage people's reactions to his entrance. It was easy to pick out a villain from a group if they were the only one who's heart turned frantic at his arrival.

But here's the thing: that shouldn't be true at the Hunting Dog's offices.

When he entered, there were four heartbeats, exactly as it should be. What was strange, however, was that one of them started to race like a freight train when he walked through the door.

"Welcome back," Teruko said cheerfully.

"I'm back," Saigiku said, his voice a little quiet as he pinpointed the owner of the nervous heart.

It couldn't be Teruko or Fukuzawa based on size, so that meant it was either Suehiro or Tachihara. He could hear Suehiro doing push-ups by the window, so that left him with Tachihara. The realization put him a bit on edge. Tachihara had betrayed one group already. Mission or no, Saigiku wasn't the sort to trust so easily. Figuring out why Tachihara was nervous became priority #1 on his list.

He approached Tachihara's desk silently. The man didn't suspect a thing or turn around until Saigiku spoke up behind him. "What can you tell me about Michael Ende?"

Even though he'd startled him on purpose, Tachihara's reaction was still a bit extreme. "Jouno! I-I didn’t know you were here." He clutched at his chest, rubbing at it as his heart-rate attempted to go back to normal. Saigiku merely lifted an eyebrow, waiting for Tachihara to answer his question.

The change of subject to something like Micheal Ende—a low-level ability user they'd been keeping tabs on since his entry into Japan—should've put a traitor's mind at ease. There was no way Tachihara could betray them on that front, and if Saigiku didn't immediately move onto a subject Tachihara were guilty of, he would've relaxed.

So what the Hell was wrong with him, then? "Tachihara," Saigiku paused the man took a sharp breath at the use of his name. Another strange response to add to the list. "Are you sick?"

It was a stupid question. Saigiku knew he wasn't. He could smell a cold from a mile away and feel a fever from farther than that. But, it would be another move away from any suspicious situation Tachihara might be in. If he was planning a betrayal of the Hunting Dogs, he should've calmed.

Instead, Tachihara's heart beat faster. That was dangerous, considering his heart already sounded like it might burst. "I'm fine," Tachihara said, obviously struggling to keep his tone even, "Didn't get much sleep last night."

As if to mock his obvious lie, Tachihara knocked a stack of papers from his desk. He cursed.

Saigiku rolled his eyes and was about to walk away—it was Tachihara's mess to clean up after all—but at the last second he came up with another hypothesis for Tachihara's nerves. A mischievous smile crept onto Saigiku's face as he bent down to help, kneeling uncomfortably close to Tachihara.

As expected, the moment their thighs brushed, Tachihara blushed hot enough for Saigiku to feel it. Without any sort of grace, Tachihara shifted away. A Hunting Dog should be better at disguising their emotions, but Saigiku set that aside for now. Instead, he set his sights on Tachihara's hand, slowly but surely inching their fingers closer and closer together until there was only a single page left on the ground. The moment Tachihara reached for it, Saigiku reached for it too. For just a second, their fingers brushed and that's all it took to get Tachihara to freeze up entirely. If Saigiku wasn't mistaken, his heart even literally skipped a beat.

Saigiku smiled to himself as he handed the paper over to Tachihara. He'd just gotten a fantastic piece of blackmail the next time Suehiro and Teruko needed babysitting.

Second: Gift

After Saigiku had noticed Tachihara's little crush, it was so blindingly obvious that he couldn't believe he hadn't noticed sooner.

Tachihara would find all sorts of excuses to go on partnered missions with Saigiku or bring him coffee in the morning even though Saigiku rarely touched it. Hell, once he'd even found an excuse to bring paperwork straight to Saigiku's dorm. It was ridiculous. Somehow, the rest of the office had remained blissfully unaware of the crush and of course, Saigiku didn't let on to his knowledge. He kept that little trump card in his pocket for when he really needed to play it. For now, he was more than happy to make Tachihara's life miserable.

Saigiku used every trick in the book to touch Tachihara. Without fail, it brought the man's heart rate up to a frankly concerning amount. If Saigiku was feeling particularly evil, he'd hit Tachihara with a real one-two punch: taking a hold of his shoulder then leaning in close enough to whisper in his ear with a seductively low voice. That was sure to turn Tachihara to a distracted mess in meetings, crime scenes, and anywhere else Saigiku had tried it.

It was hilarious.

However, when Tachihara turned down a group mission for the first time in months, Saigiku had to wonder if he'd taken it too far. A part of him didn't care. If Tachihara got over his emotions, then it'd make Saigiku's life easier. Another part of him was a little upset to have lost a valuable source of entertainment. It was an annoyance more than anything, but... Well, Saigiku had to admit he was a little slower on that mission than he should've been.

"What have you been doing‽" Teruko demanded when they returned to the office. She kicked Tachihara's chair hard enough that it skittered along the carpet just a bit. "Did you just skip work to lay around, you big lout‽"

It did seem Tachihara had spent his time at his desk eating snacks and folding paper airplanes. Saigiku had to wrinkle up his nose to the overwhelming smell of sugary candies. It was a miracle Tachihara didn't seem to have a stomach ache.

Saigiku listened to Teruko scold Tachihara with no small amount of amusement. She was only pacified when he gave her a bag of his candy. With the loss of their argument, there was nothing for Saigiku to do other than work on paperwork.

Like usual, it weighed on him. After a lifetime of blindness, filling out forms wasn't half as difficult as it could've been. However, he was always slower than his colleagues. Times like this put that in sharp focus. Fukuchi, Teruko, and Suehiro all trickled out at their own pace, calling out 'good-byes' over their shoulders. Then it was only him and Tachihara.

Tachihara remained just as obvious as usual. It was easy to tell he was staring at Saigiku as he worked.

"Haven't you got some bar to patronize?" Saigiku asked, a smile on his face but an edge to his voice.

Tachihara stiffened for only a second, then he sighed and stood. "No." He closed the distance between their two desks.

Inwardly, Saigiku groaned. He wasn't in the mood for his usual teasing. It was too much effort.

Tachihara's heart gave a nervous tick as he set something down on the desk. Saigiku turned his head towards the object, brow furrowing. "What's this?" he asked.

Tachihara shrugged. "Nothing."

"A bomb, then."

Tachihara let out a beleaguered sigh. "It's a birthday gift."

Birthday, huh? Saigiku raised an eyebrow. He supposed he must have one of those, although he didn't know why on Earth Tachihara knew the day. Maybe it was in his file. Saigiku reached out to touch the object, a small box of soft wood. He delicately traced the edges of the box with his fingers before finally picking it up and finding the seam. Tachihara held his breath.

Saigiku cracked open the box, then reached inside to pull out whatever object it was. A perfectly spherical object reached him, small but cold. He pinched it up in his fingers and rolled it around. "A marble?" he asked.

"A bullet," Tachihara corrected, "An old one. Found it once."

Saigiku wasn't sure how to react, which was a terribly disconcerting feeling. He should be able to come up with at least a fake response to such a situation. Instead, he let the bullet roll in the palm of his hand.

"Don't think of it as anything special. I only picked it up this morning on my way out of the house."

Saigiku heard the lie in Tachihara's voice, but for once he didn't correct it. If he did, Tachihara might realize Saigiku wasn't so clueless to his crush. "I don't have much of a need for presents," he said instead, "You should've kept it."

Tachihara shrugged again, but his disappointment was palpable. "Wasn't anything of worth to me. Toss it if you want."

To Saigiku's own shock, he felt a little guilty to have insulted him for a gift. In truth, it was the first birthday gift he remembered receiving. Before he could stop himself, he rushed to remedy the situation. "I'll accept it this once. It is quite nice."

Tachihara perked up again, although he clearly tried to hide it. "Yeah, whatever," he said and he turned toward the office door, "See you tomorrow, Jouno."

Saigiku rolled the bullet between his fingers, then between his hands. He relished in the weight of it in his hands, although he'd never admit it. An antique bullet never would've been on his mind as a gift and Hell if he knew what he was going to do with it, but he could admit he liked it. There was comfort in the object somehow... Which was stupid, he reminded himself. There was nothing comforting about a bullet and nothing important in a gift.

But Saigiku's mind was a traitor. It kept whispering over and over again how nice it was to receive a gift, how nice it was for Tachihara to look up his birthday, how nice it was to have someone remember his birthday for the first time in his life...

Tachihara clearly had more than a crush.

Third: Injury

Saigiku practically threw his coat on the coatrack as soon as he entered. He'd have rather thrown it in the face of Teruko, but she didn't deserve his wrath. No, it was Fukuchi he was pissed at. He'd returned from a mission not even hours ago, but he was already being called back in. If he had another assignment, Saigiku was more than prepared to use a bit of manipulation to get himself out of it.

Saigiku took a quick tally of everyone in the room, as he often did. Fukuchi was in his office, of course, Teruko was at her desk, and Suehiro had somehow found himself on top of the refrigerator. Tachihara stood not far off, smelling of rubble and sweat, so he'd only just got done with a mission as well.

"Jouno," Tachihara said in greeting.

Saigiku scowled in response.

"Fukuchi's gotta be joking."

"All in a dog's work," Saigiku said.

Tachihara gave a small hum of agreement. Saigiku took a step towards Fukuchi's office.

Tachihara suddenly made a grab for Saigiku's hand. Saigiku twisted out of range just in time, but he still sent Tachihara an unambiguous look of disgust. Despite this, he made another move to grab it. Saigiku snatched up his wrist and squeezed it harshly.

"I just want to see your hand," Tachihara said in a slightly strained tone.

"My hand is my hand. It's none of your business." Saigiku would've let go of Tachihara, but he was still attempting to touch him.

"You're bleeding."

Saigiku frowned and, in a very rare instance, focused on his own body. His heart was beating a little fast, he smelled of sweat and wine, and... his hand did hurt now that he thought about it. He let go of Tachihara's wrist to gently touch the back of his hand. He let out a hiss as the pain hit him. The wound was a bit deep. How had he done that? How had he only just noticed it? Perhaps it would pay off to put a little attention on himself from time to time...

"If you're not going to bandage it up, let me," Tachihara said.

Saigiku shook his head, pulling down his sleeve to cover up the injury. The fabric brushing against the cut almost made him wince. "After Fukuchi."

"You'll bleed all over the carpet," Tachihara said and he finally succeeded in taking hold of Saigiku's wrist.

It'd clearly been too long since he'd had non-professional interactions because Saigiku's heart leaped at the contact. Tachihara's fingers were soft and careful as he peeled off the ruined glove. Even he applied a burning disinfectant, he still seemed to be doing it with care, trying his best not to hurt Saigiku. It was almost embarrassing to be doted on. His ears were uncomfortably warm as he let Tachihara bandage him up. Saigiku had to admit, though, that Tachihara had probably done a better and quicker job than he would've done alone, all while being gentle.

Just how bad of a crush did Tachihara have?

Fourth: Truth

Missions like this had a tendency to make Saigiku's skin crawl. Being among so many rich, entitled assholes who only gave him the time of day because he wore the right things and spoke the right words was awful. Even one slip-up would cause all that hard work to go to waste. What an annoying, stupid, self-absorbed bunch. As important as information-gathering was, he wished there were better ways. It was a crying shame he was good at it.

Tachihara, on the other hand, was not good at parties. While Teruko, Fukuchi, and Suehiro all held their own at this to some degree, Tachihara was a fifth limb that kept Saigiku from truly getting his job done. He tripped, he spilled drinks, he stumbled over his words... Truly a walking disaster. It'd always been Saigiku's assumption that this was part of the act, an act that would trap the altruistic types who would pity such a man. Unfortunately, Saigiku had become hyper-aware of Tachihara's emotions since his discovery of the crush and now he knew better. For the first time, he noticed that Tachihara was nervous. Scratch that; Tachihara was panicking.

Despite the risk, Saigiku found himself making his way through the crowd to stand in front of Tachihara. He was against a wall, smiling politely at anyone who looked, but he seemed incapable of approaching anyone at this point. His breathing was shallow and fast, and his pulse was nothing to sneeze at. Instead of the thudding that it made when he was nervous around Saigiku, Tachihara's pulse was a screeching animal, begging to be free.

"You look a little lost," Saigiku said, flattery dripping from every inch of his voice.

Tachihara's breath hitched as his head snapped to face Saigiku. "I'm—I'm overwhelmed is all, sir," Tachihara said, doing his due diligence to appear unacquainted.

Saigiku smiled softly and hummed, placing a soft hand on Tachihara's arm, an open invitation for anyone watching to interpret his intentions incorrectly. "Unprepared for so many people?"

Saigiku heard Tachihara swallow. He could feel the other man's arm stiffen at his touch. Surely he understood this was an act for the mission? He couldn't be stupid enough to think he was actually showing some affection. Well, if he did think that... why did that bother Saigiku? "There's a lot more than I expected," Tachihara said after a long pause.

Saigiku smiled sinfully and leaned in close, letting his lips brush Tachihara's ear. "Let's get out of here then, shall we?"

Tachihara nodded and Saigiku gently lead him to one of the many private rooms afforded to guests. The moment the door clicked closed, Saigiku dropped Tachihara's hand unceremoniously. Tachihara collapsed into a chair and then began rubbing at his chest. "What's going on?" Tachihara asked, his voice a little hesitant. Hopeful actually, Saigiku noticed with a pang that shouldn't have felt.

"You should tell the Commander what missions you're going to be next to useless for," Saigiku said.

"Watch what you're saying."

"Because it hurts your feelings? Or because someone might be listening? There's no bugs, I would be able to hear them."

Tachihara seemed to have no answer to that. He focused on steadying his breathing, breath by breath, while Saigiku stood there. Now that he had completed his goal of separating Tachihara before he could do more damage, Saigiku really should leave. If he did that however, then it would be obvious that they're tryst had just been a ruse. Never know who might be watching at parties like these. With a sigh, Saigiku fell into the chair across from Tachihara and started to tug off his tie. When he reached for the top button fo his shirt, Tachihara sucked in a panicked breath.

"Wha—what are you doing?" he asked. His heart went started beating uncontrollably fast.

For once, Saigiku was not amused. "I'm hot. And I hate these things anywas." He draped the tie over the chair.

"O—oh." Although Tachihara said it a if he understood, Saigiku could still hear his heart racing.

He leaned over in his seat to ruffle up Tachihara's hair. He popped up his collar a bit, his fingers brushing against the exposed skin of Tachihara's neck for just a moment. They both took in a breath at once, a fact that Saigiku was determined to pretend didn't happen. Tachihara tried to shy away, but Saigiku took a firm grip of his hair. "It'll be more convincing if it at least look like we properly fucked."

Tachihara stopped breathing entirely, something that concerned Saigiku more than he cared to admit. Tachihara was already losing too much oxygen. Saigiku carefully withdrew, moving to muss his own hair instead.

"Why—" Tachihara started, and then he had to clear his throat before continuing, "Why'd you get me out of the ballroom anyway?"

"You clearly don't do well with crowds." Saigiku sat back before realizing that that wasn't a good reason. It was a personal one, having no logic behind it. "And you were jeopardizing the mission. I don't know why Fukuchi keeps letting you come with us."

Tachihara paused before answering. "Sorry..."

"Don't be 'sorry'. Just tell him so that I don't have to fight against you every step of the way."

"I'm more than capable—"

"I never said you weren't," Saigiku pointed out, "Everyone has a weak spot, Tachihara, which is why you leave the job for others."

Tachihara stood from his chair and walked in a small, angry circle. "I can handle it!"

Saigiku raised an eyebrow at Tachihara's tone. He'd felt him getting angry, but it was quite possibly the first time Tachihara had actually raised his voice at him. Saigiku was at a loss on how to react. "Don't take kindly to having weaknesses, Michizou?"

Tachihara definitely hesitated at the use of his given name, but he didn't calm like Saigiku had hoped he would. He still pushed on in his anger. "I fought my way here of my own merit. I get to decide what I'm capable of."

"So why'd you come in here for a break if you were so in control?"

"Because I wanted to!"

A smile turned up the corner of Saigiku's lip. Tachihara had just slipped up and Saigiku felt the very moment when he realized as much. All the anger went rushing out of Tachihara and his heart pounded loudly in his chest.

Some sick part of Saigiku couldn't help but push his luck. He wanted Tachihara to admit it out loud now. Hoarding the information all for himself suddenly didn't seem all the enticing. He stood with as much grace as he could manage, then took long, smooth strides towards Tachihara. In seconds, he had him pinned against the wall, their faces inches away. Tachihara's nervous breathing echoed in the now silent room. "Why? Something in here you like?"

Tachihara didn't even hesitate. Their teeth clicked as he roughly forced their mouths together, a sensation that caused Saigiku's head to ring. There was no ceremony or sentimentality behind the kiss. It was raw need swarming out of Tachihara as he fought with the emotions in his ribcage. Saigiku's eyes opened for the first time in years. His eyes stared blankly ahead, trying to process the strange feeling of another pair of lips against his own.

What was stranger, was that he didn't think he hated it. For one terrible second, Saigiku’s eyes closed and he pushed back, wanting to pull Tachihara closer.

Saigiku scowled and pushed their bodies apart hard enough that Tachihara's head hit the wall. He stumbled back, the two of them struggling to catch their breath. Saigiku rubbed the spit off the corner of his mouth. "What possessed you to fall for a man like me?" Saigiku asked, his voice full of disgust and amusement.

Tachihara didn't speak or move for a moment longer. Then, he strode across the room to put on his tie in one, flurried movement. "I don't know," he growls, "Hell, half the time I think I hate you."

"A much more reasonable response."

“I happen to know you're not as reasonable as you think," Tachihara said, hand on the doorknob, "and I also happen to know you didn't bring me in here because I was 'jeopardizing the mission'."

He was gone before Saigiku could even give a smart retort.

Fifth: Warning

"It's the single stupidest idea you've ever had," Saigiku said hurriedly.

"She clearly likes me," Tachihara snapped back, "I don't see how I can't use that to our advantage."

"She wants to kidnap you. There's a world of difference between that and 'liking' you."

"You would know."

Saigiku bristled. For no good reason, his heart stuttered in her chest. "No. I don't."

"You'll save me if I need saving," Tachihara said.

"You're being needlessly reckless."

Tachihara turned around in one fluid movement and shoved his finger accusingly towards Saigiku's chest. "And what do you care?"

There was a level of hurt to Tachihara's voice that made Saigiku swallow. His body stiffened involuntarily and he hated himself for it. His head was very certain he hated Tachihara, but unfortunately, his body didn't seem so sure. In defense, his tongue lashed out. "You sure take rejection poorly, don't you?"

"'Rejection'‽" Tachihara scoffs.

Saigiku acted like he hadn't spoken. "Think you're handsome enough to woo anyone you please? That's not going to work on me."

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't get kidnapped and I'll believe you. For now, I'm still convinced you think more highly of me than you'll admit."

"A dead Hunting Dog's member is a hassle to replace." A sarcastic answer was all Saigiku could give. He was trapped in a corner. If he said anything more, it'd show his uncertainties. Anything less would be an agreement.

"I won't die and you know it," Tachihara picked up his suit jacket, heading for the door, "Not if you and the others do your job."

"There's other ways to get this info—"

"But it's the best way. I thought you of all people were all about efficiency, Saigiku."

The use of his name threw Saigiku so off balance that he couldn't even respond before Tachihara spoke again.

"I'll come back because I've got an offer for you after this mission's over. And I think you want to hear it."

He left the hotel room and all Saigiku could do was stand there and wonder. Why was he so against this? Tachihara was more than capable of taking care of himself and this woman didn't pose hardly any threat. It was the most efficient route to info, and that was the whole point of the mission. People who thought they had a pliable victim in their hands tended to be more loose-lipped.

And he also had to wonder... what kind of 'offer' did Tachihara mean? Saigiku had an idea—an idea that should've made his skin crawl. Instead, he got goosebumps as his heartbeat quickened.

It was complete idiocy. There was no universe in which Saigiku had any feelings for anyone—Tachihara least of all. It hadn't started until Saigiku had noticed his crush, so it must just be some sort of confirmation bias. His brain merely thought he had feelings for Tachihara. It was the only reasonable explanation. It was all fake.

It had to be.

Final: Fire

"Jouno, don't go in there!"

It was the first time in his life Saigiku had ignored an order. Against every instinct in his body, Saigiku raced deeper into the hotel, fighting against a panicked crowd. The acrid smell of smoke stuck in his nostrils stubbornly, but he knew the fire was a few floors off yet. He had time.

He took the stairs two at a time, cursing himself the whole way up. This had been their plan all along: burn down the hotel building, kill a Hunting Dog, escape in the ensuing chaos. And a part of Saigiku had known that. If only he'd gotten over his pride for a few seconds and admitted to himself and to Tachihara the truth, this all could've been avoided.

Don't go. I'm worried for you.

The fire had started on the floor Tachihara had gone to and as Saigiku burst onto the third floor, his senses were overwhelmed. There was too many noises, too many smells, and he struggled to find Tachihara's heartbeat among it all. Every so often, he thought he heard it only for it to be his own thundering pulse. Finally, there was a groan from a room and Saigiku took the chance. He kicked down the door that was already half coal. His hands went up defensively as a wave of heat hit his face.

"Tachihara!" he yelled.

There was no response. He stepped into the room gingerly, keeping his steps near silent as he tried to pick up signs of life separate from the crackling flames. Finally, he caught it—soft pounding in the far corner of the room. He rushed toward it, barreling through flames despite the blisters rising on his forearms.

He knelt next to Tachihara, feeling his neck for a pulse. It was there, but weak and growing weaker by the second. Saigiku missed the sound of the crack of a beam above him until it was too late. It slammed into his back. Stars erupted behind his eyes as he struggled to stay conscious. Breath hissed through his teeth at the ache in his spine. He moved to shove the beam off, his arms straining. Even after he had succeeded, it quickly became clear that the two of them had become trapped. If he had sight, he'd probably be able to find his way out quickly, but as it was he was going to lose valuable time trying to find his way out.

Despite the burns on his back, Saigiku hoisted Tachihara up before starting to feel with his hands for an opening in the wood. Flames licked his fingers and it took a lot of effort for him not to flinch away every time.

His hands felt numb by the time he found a place for him to squeeze out with Tachihara on his back and by then Tachihara's pulse was so faint he worried he might be dead already. Saigiku was struggling to breathe himself. He could practically feel the ash building up in his lungs. All his caution was thrown to the wind as he made a beeline for the door. It was lucky that there weren't any beams to trip over.

Unfortunately, the hall didn't provide relief. The entire floor was engulfed in smoke by now and flames kept getting uncomfortably close. The stairwell was largely clear, however, and Saigiku would've liked to have caught his breath for a moment, but Tachihara needed medical attention. Now.

The stairwell door wouldn't open at the bottom. He could only hope it was because of another fallen beam and not because the metal doorframe had melted, because if it had... He cut off the train of thought, propping Tachihara's limp body against the wall before bracing himself to ram his shoulder against the door. Hit after hit made his shoulder scream in agony, but after what felt like an eternity, it paid off. The door popped open and he only had to ram it twice more to make the opening wide enough to get him and Tachihara through. Saigiku scooped him up with far less ceremony than before and hurried through the door.

And there was another obstacle. Saigiku wasn't entirely certain what had happened, but there was clearly a wall of flames in front of them. His mind raced as he tried to remember the floor plan. There had to be a window nearby.

In the end, his panicked brain couldn't remember, but the sound of breaking glass saved their lives. His head snapped around at the sound and he ran toward it immediately. He cleared the remaining shards with his elbow as best as he could then shoved Tachihara through first. If there was only one of them who could survive this...

He jumped out after him and finally there was cool, fresh air to fill his lungs. Despite his better judgment, he lay in the grass, heaving in breath after breath before coughing uncontrollably. He flipped onto his stomach and retched, the foul smell making him vomit again.

The sound of more breaking glass urged him back into motion. He got to his unsteady feet and grabbed a hold of Tachihara's shoulders dragging him farther and farther away until his legs couldn't hold him up anymore.

He collapsed on his knees, placing Tachihara's head on his lap. Saigiku listened desperately for a pulse, holding his breath as he waited for the reassuring thrum.

It wasn't there.

Frustrated tears formed in Saigiku's eyes. Despite all of his effort, Tachihara had slipped through his fingers. It was so unfair. He hadn’t even heard his offer!

Tachihara suddenly burst to life, his breath raking through his lungs noisily as he turned to his side to cough it out. Saigiku was so relieved that he couldn't move. His hands hovered uselessly as Tachihara coughed and coughed. Eventually, he put his hand down to brush out the layers of ash in Tachihara’s hair.

"Saigiku...?" Tachihara croaked.

All Saigiku could do was nod numbly. A jolt of awareness went through him and he moved to shift Tachihara's head from his lap. "Cough more. I need to get a paramedic."

Tachihara's hand held tight to Saigiku's pant leg. "You could've died..."

"This isn't the time. You're hurt."

"You look worse."

"Your heart wasn't beating only seconds ago."

"Stay," Tachihara whispered, his hand holding tighter, "I can see the paramedics from here. They see us. There's just more major injuries to tend to."

Saigiku held his breath as he listened. He'd been so preoccupied with Tachihara he hadn't stopped to pay attention to the world around them. Tachihara was right of course. He could hear the paramedics busy at work, one yelling to another 'the men in the grass'.

Saigiku relaxed almost against his will. He was tired, very tired. Every inch of his arms felt burned and his back ached. There was a lot of healing that was going to need to be done and Fukuchi wasn't going to be happy about it. Saigiku's hand came to a rest on Tachihara's chest, where he could feel his heart beating steady and strong beneath his palm.

"Did Fukuchi send you in?" Tachihara asked.

Saigiku would've lied if he hadn't known that Teruko would rat him out. The silence lingered a little too long before he admitted the truth. "No."

There was only dead silence for a moment, and then Tachihara slowly reached for Saigiku's cheek. The touch agitated a burn, but that wasn't why Saigiku shivered.

"What do you think of me, Saigiku?"

Saigiku tried to think. His mind was a muddled mess of emotions and feelings he was so unused to that he was struggling to pin them down. Tachihara was silent, letting Saigiku take his time. Had Tachihara struggled like this too?

Saigiku could never say that he didn't care for Tachihara at all anymore. He wouldn't have run into a burning building and risked his life for any other Hunting Dogs member. He held his breath, bracing himself for his response. "I think highly of you, Michizou," he said. It wasn't the whole truth, probably, but it was what he could say for now.

Tachihara took in a sharp breath at the sound of his first name. "Do you?" he asked, his voice cynical.

Saigiku moved his head to look down at Tachihara in his lap. He could hear his heart beating from here, fast and uncertain. After a moment, Saigiku realized it wasn't Tachihara's heart he was hearing, but his own.

Saigiku found Tachihara's lips easily, as if they were always meant to slot together like this.

#bungou stray dogs #michigiku #bsd rarepairweek #day4 #bsd #wrting #fan-fiction #kiss without consent #burns #fire #5+1 Things

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wanderers-minuet · 5 years ago

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I haven’t been active on here in a while but i still browse, and i saw this, and it really hit home. it’s entirely accurate, and exactly how I’m feeling right now.

Rest under read more, tw: animal/pet death, grief.

I just went through a major loss - I had to put down my dog Bandit of 16 years, my best friend, yesterday on Tuesday Nov. 12th. He’s been part of my life for literally half of it. (I turned 32 oct 26th.) I got sent home twice from work the last few days because I couldn’t keep my cool, and was crying and generally being a hot mess. Monday I was sent home after 20 minutes, and spent the next 6 hours or so at the vet with my family and Bandit crying and basically losing my mind, gave myself a headache and nearly threw up. We decided at the end to bring him home for the night so my sister and her boyfriend could cuddle him all night. I was off the next day, thank god, but I couldn’t stand to spend the day watching him be miserable and suffering like I had for nearly 6 hours the night before, so i spent most of the day trying to distract myself in my apartment with laundry and games or just busywork, and a few bouts of crying, with only a few hours of sleep during the night. So I went over in the evening to get a little time with him at the house before we brought him to the vet around 7:30pm. We spent some more time with him in a special Comfort Room, and I kept my cool for the most part, just the quiet sobbing kinda thing, for a few hours until we pressed the button for the doctor to come in. Me and my sister held him between us, face to face, in our laps, while the doctor did their thing, and I went absolutely batshit insane crying. We didn’t get home until around 11pm, and we buried him in our backyard. At this point I’ve pretty much been crying for 48 hours. I’m very not okay. I didnt get back to my apartment until around 12:30, my boyfriend helped me wash my back and hair in the bath (I was craving the human contact and being cared for), and I didn’t get to bed until close to 2am. I tried to go into work today at 11am (wednesday) and I lasted about 10 minutes before I started crying (one of my coworkers asked why I was crying when I was sort of sniffling at my register - i was really trying to keep my shit together, i really was, but the question and my subsequent answering of it just broke the dam and I lost it, and was sent home) so that didn’t go well. I spent the day at home thinking about Bandit, playing games to give my brain a break, crying a lot, took a nap cuddling one of his favorite toys and his collar that i took home with me.

I saw this and I thought: the ball in my box is bursting the box at the seams right now, there is no release of the button unless I forcibly distract my thoughts (games are easy, as is sleeping with the aid of benedryl and NyQuil.). Working is not as engaging as I would like/need, which is why i had problems working the day before and after, bc my mind could easily wander.

I’m really hoping my ball is smaller tomorrow, because I can’t afford to keep missing work, and keep putting them at a disadvantage bc i’m not there. I need to get my shit together and move on, like my mom says (even though I don’t really agree, I think I should be able to take more time for myself to work through my grief but such is the way of life, I guess. Especially for “just a pet” as a lot of people like to thing of it. Fortunately my workplace is really understanding though so there’s that I guess)

anyway i don’t know where im going with this I guess I needed to write this out? Thanks for reading if you got this far.

i should go to bed now because I work at noon and I really dont want to be sleep deprived again on top of grieving.

I love you Bandit. I miss you a whole lot and I feel like I’m dying and there’s a giant hole in my chest, and I keep thinking you’re gonna just pop up and be there when I visit the house, that this isn’t real.... but I know you’re in a better place, and making lots of friends in doggy heaven - i’m sure Bentley was there to greet you, and you’re teaching all your new friends all the tricks I taught you! Such a smart boy! The best boy, my handsome little man! My little buddy.

You be good. I love you forever.

(gonna go cry myself to sleep now.)

This is the most accurate description I’ve ever found, thought it was worth spreading ❀

#ooc #grief #personal #tw: pet/animal death

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secreto-draco · 7 years ago

Text

gert centric fic ,with hints of gertchase, exploring a bit of gert’s pan sexuality and early friendship with karolina. and also there’s molly.

fair warning people;

1) gert is Jewish Latina cause the actress who plays her, Ariela Barer is latina and jewish.

2) spanish is my 2nd language,and i have lived in a country,Chile-south america for 7 years,it’s been a bit over a month being back in the USA,so i speak castaño-meaning basic universal Spanish,with hints of Chilean slang,moreover my spanish grammar ins’t perfect so bear with me.

3) i’ve left the ending open-so i could write one more chapter from either or both gert’s and chases’ view -let me know if i should.

4) the time is kinda altered here-the astronomy project occurs a bit after Amy's death.

p.s shout out to @carolruwer who agreed to be beta.thank you so much :)

ill get out of your hair now;

It’s her 7th birthday, all the invitations clearly stated so, even the banner hanging overhead and the icing on the cake. But once again the father -daughter duo that is, Frank and Karolina dean have stolen the show. It shouldn’t bother her- she doesn’t like being on being in the spotlight anyways (it makes her anxious, kind of like her head’s underwater) and quite frankly [pun intended] it’s the norm. People and yes including, Gert Yorkes herself, can’t help but turn to Karolina when she floats in, she’s ethereal like a fairy or an angel or some being of light.

Yet Gert can’t help feeling bitter and invisible, even with a giant piece of cake on her plate that spells out her name in bold lilac icing, and a table set to the side holding gifts with tags that literally say,’’Happy Birthday Gertrude’’. Because right now, sitting on the edge of a circle with all her classmates, who only engage conversation and play with Karolina moreover, even the mothers who are supposed to be over with all the ‘’superficialness’’ and are supposed to be mature and nice to everyone, only happen to ‘’pop in’’ under guise of parental checking just to compliment karo, always with; ‘you look beautiful.’’ ,’’so sweet’’.

What is worse, is that after complimenting karo, they don’t stop to wish her a ‘’happy birthday’ they don’t even glance her way, instead choosing to go off to Frank Dean to loudly (seriously ladies chill) proclaim and shower him with compliments for his daughter; precious and remarkable. And to tell him that he’ll need to keep an eye out for boys, especially ‘’that chase stein.’’.

it burns her all the way down, fills her to the brim with shame, makes her cheeks red with embarrassment and her eyes sting with frustration and hurt. This party was a bad idea. She just wants it to be over, so everyone can leave, but unfortunately; there are games to play and ice cream to devour. So, it would take at least a few more hours till sweet solitude.

Amy and alex had left earlier to go inside to play video games in the living room, Karo is surrounded by her adoring ‘’public’’ alongside best friend Nico, Chase seems to be engaged with some of the boys playing soccer. Molly’s snacking on chips and pizza. Her parents are offering everyone their homemade cheese and joking around. Contemplating, maybe she could just slip up into her room to read, it’s not like anyone would notice plus she’s sad and bored, but just as she’ heading in,

‘‘hey Gert, you get the first try at the piñata. ’it’s chase, tone playful and boyish. Turning to him, she doesn’t fail to see his furrowed brows or his line of site. Chase, it seems, whilst clueless to her plan; has not failed to notice her on her own, or that currently, Gert is halfway inside through the patio door. He gestures to the bat he’s holding out to her, bringing a smile to her face. Giddy, she rushes off to make it rain candy.

Much later though, various parents gather them around for pictures and Gert’s perking up a bit, at least until she hears;

‘’Karolina, dear come stand next to Gertrude, you’re barely in the picture.”

Followed by;

“Karolina.come quick! I want to take a picture of you with the rest of your friends, you look beautiful in that dress of yours.’’

Standing next to Karolina who is glowing more than usual: flushed cheeks and shiny eyes from playing and laughing, not a single hair out of place and in a still crinkle-free baby pink dress and spotless white ballet flats, Gert feels less, in her army green shorts and purple blouse and old boots, long hair knotted and tangled, cheek scrapped. Rubbing salt to the wound is that, every picture taken focuses on Karolina. And the person who she feels closest too, her best friend, Chase looks just perfect on the left side of said blond blue-eyed girl, both beautiful and flawless; seeming to fit together.

In the end, though, just before leaving, Chase drags his mom over to take a picture with his best friend and birthday girl, his proclamation making Gert’s cheeks warm; and Molly, appearing out of nowhere jumps on her back and sings, terribly off-key’ happy birthday’-and quite loudly , in her ear, just as Mrs. Stein clicks on the camera.

She may be invisible to the world, but Gertrude Yorkes has her parents and Molly and Chase, they always see her.

2012

The ear-splitting bell had just released them from class and rushing out to meet the others in their usual corner in the playground.

‘‘Hey Gert, hold on a sec.” she barely hears him, but she stops. He’s short, a brown-haired kid with a combo of a weird smirk and smile;

With a rushed out ‘‘Hey thanks, ’ he starts walking with .Strange as it is, it’s also kind of nice, especially because everyone only talk to her just to ask her about-

‘‘So, you’re friends with Karolina?”. Of course. There is such a eagerness in his voice, making it obvious that he can’t play it cool.

‘‘Yeah”. She knows she’s being curt, but Gertrude Yokes doesn’t care.

‘‘And Chase, too? ’he keeps prodding.

‘‘Ye-’‘’

‘‘Do they, you know, like each other? Because I was thinking of asking Karolina to be my Valentine. And I want to know beforehand if she likes Chase or anyone else. I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes or cause any problem” he’s being so boyishly nice and bashful and sweet. Damn Karo.

No, I don’t know. And we’re eleven, we’re kids so we don’t normally talk about this stuff.’’ It comes out of her mouth in a rush, like strong waves crashing forcefully and loudly on the beach and the foam that’s left behind, dirty in the sand, gross and icky, is her embarrassment when she realizes what she said and how she said it.

‘‘bye, nicetalkingtoyou!” rushing the words out she power walks over to her friends, who are goofing off, Gert tries to ignore the burning in her heart and the way her blood is sluggish and cold.

Two weeks later, her card box only has 6 “Happy Valentine” friend cards, one from each of her friends: Molly, Chase, Nico, Karolina, Amy and Alex.

‘‘Molly asked me to put hers in for everyone, because she wasn’t allowed to come in and do it herself” says Chase, with a shy voice carrying a similar box, except his is full. She smiles in response.

*Whistles* ‘’Damn Karolina, did the whole school give you a card?” and her smile drops, Karolina’s got two boxes, bursting at the seams, Nico next to her, has a full box as well. Her eyes land on Alex and she feels better and a bit of kinship: they’re both in the same boat.

‘‘You need help there, Alex? ’voice playful and laced with sarcasm, she tosses in a wink.

‘‘You got your hands full, Gert. Doubt you could help me with mine.” He answers with a wink back. Self-deprecating humor for the win!

‘‘Let’s head out, whose place are we hanging out this time? ’asks Chase, his voice strained, sharp and heavy.

huh. Weird.

2012

She’s arguing with some jerk, he calls her a bitch. And just as she’s about to respond it’s Karolina that’s softly, yet firmly, tells him to watch his mouth and to leave. It surprises her. For the rest of the day she keeps talking with Karo, hanging out and it’s nice. She’s sweet, sometimes sickeningly so, but she treats her with respect and talks to her even when it’s just the two of them.

Two days later, though, Karolina starts acting weird. They’re in Alex’s game room, their usual afterschool hangout, and the seven of them are making plans for the weekend. Gert proposes to watch a scary movie at the movie theater.

Karo and Nico share a glace and look at her weirdly, then Karolina says:

‘‘Gert” voice stern and tone chastising it doesn’t suit her, Nico, sure, but not Karo, who adds:

‘‘If you don’t want to go to the sleepover it’s fine, but don’t just assume we won’t go either’ ‘

‘’What sleepover?’’ asks Gert curtly.

‘‘Don’t play dumb. Eiffel’s slumber party, she’d invited all the girls in our class, back on Monday.’‘

‘‘I wasn’t invited” even though her voice is steady, she can feel the humiliation staining her cheeks and shame settling on her shoulders. ‘‘I didn’t even know.”

‘‘oh….Gert I’m sor-“ starts to say Karolina, but Gert’s quick to stop her:

‘‘It doesn’t matter, though it seems like you and Nico won’t be able to hang out with the rest of us.” Then turning to the others; voice strained and forcefully cheerful; “So, what’s the plan kids?’‘

That weekend Alex has an online video game thing, Chase has a lacrosse away match and Amy has a school project. So, she and Molly have their own sisterly sleepover. It is awesome, fun and cozy.

2 months later;

Her friendship with Karolina has always been rocky. Karo’s a mama’s girl, the perfect girl, ethereal and nice. On the other hand, Gert is... well she’s Gert. They’re both too different, besides what friendship doesn’t have its patchy moments and difficulties. And moreover, it must be difficult for Karo to get along with her too. So, Gert tries, but things don’t always go smoothly.

Karolina usually has church things to go to, to be a face for it or just support her mother, but it comes in the way of their friendship a lot, mainly when Gert’s inviting her and the others to things, because if Karolina can’t come, then automatically no one ‘’can’’ come to her thing, whatever it may be. She tries not to feel snubbed and bitter, furthermore, her stance on religion doesn’t help, it usually just adds to the tension. Other times, it’s their differing personalities like now;

There’s a garage band that she hears off in the neighborhood which she wants to check out, but Alex isn’t into it, neither is Karo because, as she puts it, “loud angry music” is not something she’s into. She tries not to be offended or too sensitive about it and, ‘’luckily,’’ within seconds Chase is butting in offering up his plan. He does that a lot. He can’t side with either Gert or Karo so he always ignores the issue and friction at hand and proceeds to move the attention to something else. It bothers her that her best friend won’t stick up for her, especially when it’s against Karolina.

They end up hitting the Arcade and going for ice cream, Chase’s suggestion. And when she gets her period midway through, it’s Karolina who helps; handing her a pad and loaning her an extra pair of gym shorts. Coming out of the bathroom, she shoots a thankful little secret smile to Karo, who returns it with a soft one of her own. And that little secret makes things a little bit better between the two of them.

2014

Getting to take music lessons is a fun 13th birthday present from mom and dad. And even though Gert knows without a shadow of a doubt that she really likes chase. There’s this girl who sits next to her with piel morena y pelo negro. She has shining black eyes that light up when she’s being mischievous and sparkle when she smiles. She is beautiful, but not the angelic kind like Karolina, her beauty has a sharp edge and ruggedness to it, as does her wit, which can cut you in half. Valentina is also kind and sweet and mischievous, a bit of a trouble maker. She and Gert start to hang out a bit after class and, within a few weeks, Valentina is a regular visitor at the Yorkes’ household.

For Gert it’s refreshing to have a friend outside of her usual group of friends and even outside of her school circle. More importantly, having becoming friends with Vale boosts her confidence, even though it shouldn’t. Now, when all her friends within the “pride group” have their own thing, she doesn’t feel pathetic anymore as she’s no longer alone when they’re all busy.

When with the group she doesn’t feel out of place because she now has a friend to share certain interests with. Her research on feminism, for example. Her parents are feminists so hearing them talk openly about stuff is liberating and researching and learning has opened her mind and she feels she is a better person because of it. And nowadays, thanks to being able to share this with Valentina, she doesn’t have to nervously ramble about it with her disinterested friends. She doesn’t need to ask them to go with her to check out indie bands or to join marches, she has her parents, Molly and Vale for all of that.

A month into their friendship, she and Valentina have shared a kiss somehow,someway and in the end the details don’t matter, what is important is that it feels good. It’s different from kissing Chase, who was her first kiss when they were 12, they’d both wanted their first kisses to be safe and with someone they could trust, thus,with a touch of the lips, they’d kissed, but she’s not going to delve into that, too many feelings, too complicated for just a simple brush and press of lips. And that’s when it hits her, like a piano, loud and heavy and man it should have been obvious-she likes both boys and girls, and that maybe, maybe gender doesn’t matter to her. She’s attracted to Karolina, who’s both beautiful inside and out; she strongly likes Chase, who is someone she never wants to lose, someone who makes her feel safe, Chase who is all heart and soul. She likes Vale, who’s spunk and sweet and who shares interests with her, such as music, feminism and mischief, which she’s coming to like. Valentina who’s loud, who doesn’t make her feel small or shameful or patronized or last.

She continues to share little pecks with Vale sometimes, it’s nice and she likes Vale quite a bit, not as strongly as she feels about Chase, but that’s not something she wants to ruin with awkwardness with either of them.

Unfortunately, Karo catches her and Vale one day in Gert’s sound proof basement where they’re supposed to be working on a piece for Mr.Ashraff’s drums class, and the tensions rise too crucial heights. For days on end Karo’s quiet and tense and terse around her, spying on her through the corners of her squinted eyes- is Karolina homophobic?

Thus, once again, Gert doesn’t feel quite safe in the group and is on the brink of frustration when one day the seven of them are hanging out in Alex’s game-room. After yet another side eye from Karolina, she bursts;

‘‘Got a problem, Karolina?” her voice cold and bitter and angry to hide the hurt and the anxiety.

‘‘no.”

‘‘okay, good.”

‘‘good.”

‘‘I’m going to get some more soda” walking out to give herself a moment ,to reign in.she’s not alone,

‘you two okay? asks Chase in a soft yet concerned voice, sharing a worried look with Molly.

‘‘yeah. of course.’’ she’s lying so obviously lying, and by the looks on their faces, molls and chase know too.

She needs to avoid this confrontation, so Gert rushes back into the room and throws herself in her spot, pretending to look busy on her phone.

Craving something sweet Amy drags them all to timely for baked goods and frappes.

It takes her a bit to decide, but eventually she gives her order hesitantly to the annoyed barista. Gert feels accomplished, she doesn’t how or why she feels so uncomfortable at times, but she isn’t going to let it control her, she’s going to own that bitch one day.

“Oye bandadia’,(hey badass/bandit) calls her a teasing voice underlined with pride, for her? She turns so abruptly that she gets whiplash, and it hurts her neck. And yes, she isn’t hallucinating, it really is Valentina giving her a teasing smile with those shining lit up eyes.

‘Cállate cabra, probaste el vanilla frappe?” (shut up weirdo [goat],have you tried the vanilla frappe?) she manages to answer reigning in her nervousness. She’s still a little anxious about her order, but still, small victories, besides it’s seen as making conversation.

‘No, pero mi hermano sì y le gusto” (No,but my brother has,he liked it)Valentina tone ringing with teasing and smug and her lit up eyes, she knows, ugh, the little shit.

“ah, okis, hola” she says almost as an afterthought after realizing she hasn’t properly greeted her yet. leaning in to touch her cheeks and to make the kiss sound, only Vale kisses said cheek loudly. Afterwards, Gert can feel her cheeks warm and can also feel the group’s eyes on her, well not Molly’s because she knows Valentina and greets her the same way Gert did, except this time Vale doesn’t peck her cheek. So much for playing it cool. Proceeding to do the introductions to try and keep the attention away from her, more specifically Karolina’s, who is starring-hard. ‘‘everyone this is Valentina, a friend of mine from music class, vale, everyone.’’.

Bit’s only when they are back at Alex’s place that they start questioning her;

“what was that thing that you did and why did she kiss you on the cheek?” surprisingly it’s Chase. is it her or is he sounding rather insistent? And what is he prodding for?

‘‘She’s Chilean, now American Chilean, and in South America kissing each other cheeks or pretending to and just touching and making the sound is a common way of greeting people. And since she misses her home country, and since both Molly and I are Latinas, ‘I’m Jewish Latina, she’s asked us to greet her that way.” Gert automatically answers,it comes out sounding like she’s tossing in an obvious factoid-good, cause she’s anxious right now.

‘‘Oh..That’s sweet of you. ...and Molly” with a soft breathless voice and melting eyes. She doesn’t understand why he does that with her sometimes and she’s not sure she wants to know because it does things to her, and she doesn’t want to dig into that either, shit. are her own eyes doing the same? So, she lowers her head and fiddles with her frappe’s straw to keep herself busy.

‘but a kiss on the lips is just a kiss ’‘she can’t be serious.

‘‘‘Yes, a kiss on the lips, it’s usually universally meant for, you know, either love or lust or whatever people feel when they kiss.” Nope. She’s not going to let Karolina get to her. She won’t look at anyone or anywhere, yup she’s just sipping her frappe, it is delicious.

‘‘Gert?” just the sound of her name and how can someone sound so vulnerable and quiet and yet loud and baleful with only just a one-syllable word. But that’s just how Chase is. She makes the mistake of looking up at him and his whole stance has shifted, he’s tense, standing with his back straight, jaw clenched, Adam’s apple bopping, neck muscle pounding and his brown chocolate eyes are the color of burning onyx and are showing swirling hints of pain, sadness, anger and a few other things she can’t really discern. The air around Chase, chase is heavy and charged.

‘‘Valentina and I have shared a few kisses.... I’ve come to realize that I like both girls and boys, I don’t care about gender to be honest.” Her voice is quiet and firm, but she can feel the fear stirring up in her. She has realized she’s either bi or pan-sexual (yes, she’s been researching) and these people won’t be her friends if they’re not okay with it. She has her parents and Molls whom she has spoken with and have accepted her and they don’t love her any less because of it.

She’s tall and defiant, pushing down the fear; no one says anything but her sister comes to stand beside her, tan hand on her shoulder,squeezing, giving love and support, Moll’s brown eyes locked on the rest of the pride kids, cold and alert.

Looking at Chase and she sees that he has changed yet again. Now he’s looking at her softly and openly, but his eyes are still the color of onyx with all that swirling darkness, his aura is lightly tinted with loss and anger, his stance has relaxed, his arms hang loosely on his sides, but for some reason he looks defeated.

‘‘Chase?’ her voice comes out tentative, even she doesn’t know what she’s asking for. Acceptance? Understanding? to at least say something?

‘Gert” he says openly, standing in front of her, “you’re my best friend, always”, and she’s tearing up and she can’t take it anymore, so she clutches him to her and his arms wrap around her tight. Then he releases her, but plants himself on her right, throwing his arm around her shoulders, clutching her to his side giving her safety and support.

‘‘I don’t get it, but it’s okay. ’Nico says and then her, Alex and Amy and even Karolina all pull her in for a hug. It’s one of the best feelings ever.

Later she is left alone with him., everyone having left for their own homes but chase had come and stayed at her place, and Molly’, had feigned tiredness and retired to her room, the little sneak.

‘‘You like her, Valentina I mean?’‘he’s looking at her inquisitively.

‘‘I kind of do.” She keeps quiet and for some reason she feels guilty like she’s said something wrong. She and Chase have a well-balanced friendship that’s bordering on domestic, it’s easy going, even though sometimes it feels like a relationship to her; just without the label and the kissing, but it’s not and it’s best to break out of it now because he doesn’t like her, at least not like she likes him so it’s better to try and move on.

‘‘Are you or will you be dating her?” the more they talk the more dejected and frustrated Chase sounds.

‘‘No and no. I kind of like her, but I don’t want to be with her that way” she answers quietly.

‘‘Why?”

“I don’t know. She asked me on a date and I said no, because it didn’t feel right. Don’t get me wrong, kissing, it’s more like pecking to be honest, we’re still kids, pecking her it’s nice, but maybe I’m too young to date or maybe I can’t give her what she wants. She wants to build an established relationship in the future and Vale’s feelings are so much stronger than mine. I feel like we’re friends and we’re figuring things about ourselves, being bi or pan or whatever, it’s a slow road we’ve just found ourselves walking, and at this age.... She was disappointed with my answer but she accepted it. She’s asked for some time and space before we can go back to being friends.’’ It’s the truth, those were the things she told Vale except Gert’s leaving out another part, the one where she feels too strongly about Chase to entertain getting in any kind of relationship with somebody else. It wouldn’t be fair to Vale or herself. But there’s no chance in hell that she’s going to tell Chase that. Luckily, though, Vale understood and gracefully bowed out.

Gert, she’ll come around and be a friend to you again. Though probably time and distance will be good for both of you.”

‘‘I know” she answers pulling him in for yet another tight hug that day “Thank you, Chase’’ She’s pouring all her feelings in that hug and drowning in his security, she knows she’s putting herself on the line but it’s ok for now, she will chastise herself later for it.

During the next music class Vale doesn’t sit next to her or smile her way or even glance at her. And somehow the class had lost some of it’s luster. Within 2 months Vale and her family leave for Miami to be closer to her abuelita.

It’s stupid for her too feel sad, because she lost her friend long before she left,since they weren’t even speaking. But Gert can’t help but feeling sad for weeks until Molly has had enough and crawls into her bed and cuddles with her bringing her love and warmth and sunny, positive and reassuring feelings. She’s so lucky to have her.

The pride kids don’t treat her any different, except for Chase who listens to her, pays more attention to Gert and her rants, and asks her questions when he doesn’t seem to understand and needs further explanations. This is not a bad thing.

Though,looking back, Chase has always like this, constantly careful not to hurt; he checks his words when he does speak, he’s mostly quiet in serious matters instead choosing to absorb and think. It does make him passive at times-it annoys her, cause why won’t he just take a stand! dammit! He’s extra gentle with his strength. It’s heartwarming cause, God this boy is patient and he’s good to his core. He’s witty beyond measure, matching her in battles of wit and snark, which makes him even hotter, if that’s even possible. And Chase is a dork and a closeted theater junkie who likes to apply red tinted lip balm and rock out to “wake me up before you go go”.

2015

Amy’s dead. Alex didn’t show up to the funeral. Nico’s shut down. Karolina’s helpless. Molly is sad and won’t leave her room. Chase is furious because Wilder didn’t show up, so he’s concentrating on lacrosse and his physique. And Gert has being losing sleep and is overall, just losing it.

All of them are drifting apart, but at least Molly comes back to her, crawling into her bed, holding her tight so that no one could snatch Gert away and asks for her lullaby.

Days turn to weeks and then months. Her phone keeps quiet. None of them can stand to be together, so even calls or texts are too difficult to fathom and even at school they avoid each other.

She doesn’t know exactly what’s going on with the others, their absorbed in their own lives. Nico looks buried with guilt. Karo seems to feel helpless so she’s running off to the church. Chase is always looking angry and is slipping into the role of the popular jock living the typical high school life.

Gert develops anxiety and panic attacks, she starts to go to therapy accompanied by Molly -God does she loves Molly.She makes the careful decision to use the doctor’s prescribed pill. With the help of her family, the exercises she’s learnt from therapy and the pill, does she start to get better.

Though after a particularly bad panic attack, her long, long hair was a stressor. [Sentient tentacles pinching and chocking, wrapping around her neck, crushing it and crawling into her mouth and down her throat.] she gets a slightly layered bob with bangs. And purple, from an eco-friendly brand, because she needed the change, something to break out of the after the stifling aftermath that was Amy’s death and the disbanding of the group.

she’s doing alright and life without her friends, the pride kids and Vale, is slowly becoming her new normalcy.

At least it was, until she gets partnered up with Chase in astronomy. When the professor announces it, Eiffel snorts and proceeds to reassure Chase, who is sitting in front of her, that she’ll Snap him to keep him company. Gert feels her blood freeze and tries to control herself because she can’t lose it now.

#gertchase #gert yorkes #chase stein #chase x gert #molly hernandez #karolina dean #pansexual #gertchase fic #gertchase fanfic #gertrude yorkes #marvels runaways #marvel's runaways

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dust2dust34 · 7 years ago

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I would just like fluff. Them chasing each other around the loft & him catching her and them laughing and it ending is smutty goodness of course. Just chasing and laughter and smut. Maybe he has something she wants or vice versa and that prompts the chasing? Tickling in there too, would be awesome. :D Thank you! :)--Gretchen

Stupid Damn Duvet Cover (Olicity, Early Season 6ish)

(A little domestic!Olicity fluff set in the domestic-af Season 6 I see in my head before tonight’s episode.

Does include some spoilers based on recent photos from the set.)

Soft curses greeted him when he opened thefront door.

Oliver chuckled.

“I can’t believe how bad these directions are.This is YouTube voodoo.”

Balancing the last box in one arm, he closedthe door behind him with his other hand, quietly, not wanting to disturb her.More cursing drifted from the far corner of the loft. Their loft, now. His heart warmed, just like every other damn timehe’d walked into their house today.

Their home, for their family.

Setting the box on the ground with the others,Oliver went to find his wife.

“Why. Aren’t. You. Working?”

A frazzled Felicity was waiting for him whenhe walked into their bedroom. Her hair fell around her shoulders in unrulywaves and a dark frown colored her face. And she was glaring at their new duvet where it was draped across the floor.Oliver had to bite his lips to keep from grinning as he stopped in the doorway.God, she was so damn cute. She didn’t notice him right away as she shook herhead, huffing in frustration.

“Okay,” she said, “this shouldn’t be thishard. I’ve done this before, so I know I can do it, I just need to… do it. AndI will. I will not admit defeat. Hear that, you stupid damn duvet cover?”

She emphasized her question by kicking thecrinkled duvet cover at her feet.

Oliver chuckled, finally alerting her to hispresence.

Her head whipped to him, and she didn’t skip abeat as she asked, “Do we really need this?”

“The cover?” he asked, walking towards. “Orthe duvet itself?”

“This entire thing,” she replied, scooping upthe duvet cover. She waved it at him. “This thing is smarter than me, Oliver.And it’s pissing me off. I should be able to put on a stupid duvet cover, butnooo. I’ve tried six times already and I swear three out of those six timesthis thing tangled itself.” Felicity dropped it on the ground. “I looked updirections and I even YouTubed it to figure out that rolling technique, butthat technique is a dirty lie. Nobody can do that. It’s not real. Theinstructions lie. And whose idea was it to get a king size? This thing isridiculously huge. Ridiculously.”

He laughed. “It was yours,” Oliver remindedher as he reached her. He swept some of her hair off her shoulder beforewrapping his arms around her from behind. She immediately melted back into hischest and Oliver pressed his face against her neck as he added, “Mostly becauseyou hog the covers.”

She slapped his arm. “I do not.”

“Yes,” he said with a grin, “you do.” Hehugged her tightly, dropping a kiss on her pulse point with a quiet, “You canhog them all you want, though. I’m just glad you’re here.”

Felicity huffed, shaking her head, a smilethreatening to pull at her lips, but she fought it off. “No,” she said.“Honeymoon-phase you won’t take away from my righteous anger. I won’t let it.”

“No?” he asked, turning her around in hisarms. He dropped a series of butterfly kisses all over her face, fighting hisown smile when she refused to give in. “Felicity…” he breathed, dragging hername out, knowing exactly what it would do to her before he cupped her face andkissed her on the lips.

She stayed serious for all of two secondsbefore she broke into a grin. Felicity scrunched her nose at him and kissed himback, her hands finding his waist. She twisted his t-shirt in tight fists,pushing up on her toes to deepen the kiss just enough to make him growl beforeshe pulled away.

“Okay,” she hedged, looking up at him fromunder her lashes. “Maybe I’ll let you a little.”

With one more kiss - more like six, there was no such thing as one kiss between them - he asked, “Doyou want some help?”

“I’m past the helping stage, Oliver. I’m atthe ‘screw this, let’s sleep without the cover’ stage.”

“Then the bed won’t match.” He picked up thewrinkled duvet cover and shook it out. He turned it inside out and grabbed acorner, indicating the other one to Felicity. “Here, I’ll do this corner, youdo that one, and then we’ll flip it.”

“I tried this,” Felicity said, but she did ashe said. “It didn’t work.”

“It will this time,” he promised.

It took them a second to get the ties in theircorners. Felicity had hers tied and was already prepping to turn it inside outwhen Oliver finished. He grabbed the edge of the duvet and stood to shake itout…

Except he’d tied the wrong damn corner.

Felicity snorted.

“Damn it,” he whispered, dropping it to untieit. He shot her a look. “That one didn’t count.” He didn’t wait for her torespond before he was shoving his hand into the massive amount of duvet coverto find the right corner. He fished it out before quickly tying that corner tothe duvet. “Alright, there we go.”

Oliver grabbed the edge again and shook itout…

He’d tied the other wrong corner.

“What the hell?” he snapped, shaking it outeven more, just to make sure. Nope, it really was the exact opposite corner.“How did I…?”

Felicity burst out laughing. “I told you!” Shesidled up next to him, poking him in the side. He jerked away from her, but shedid it again, tickling him as she teased, “Mister ‘It’ll work this time, I know what I’m doing, it’s just a duvet cover,how can it be smarter than me…’”

Oliver moved to grab her hand before she couldpoke him again, but she danced away. Triumph gleamed in her eye as she laughedat him, and even if he wanted to be annoyed, he couldn’t be, because the purelight and happiness that suffused her face was too damn gorgeous and amazingand contagious.

With a dark laugh of his own, Oliver chasedafter, but she evaded him again, saying, “‘Ohno, Felicity, I know exactly what I’m doing.’” She moved around the bed,her grin getting better. “‘I’ll make sureit’s…’”

Oliver caught her, yanking her against hischest, his fingers instantly diving into her sides.

Felicity’s words dissolved into laughter andher knees gave out in an attempt to get away from him, but his reflexes weretoo fast and he hauled her up into his arms, keeping her close.

He was relentless, earning wild laughter thatturned into tears and eventually into Felicity begging for him to stop beforethey finally toppled onto the bed.

Fighting for air, Felicity pulled him on topof her, cradling him between her legs.

“We don’t need the duvet right now…” she said breathlessly, wrapping her arms around hisneck. She arched her back and her intention was oh so clear. The welcoming heatbetween her thighs pressed against the seam of his jeans, right against thegrowing bulge waiting for her there. “... do we?”

Oliver shook his head, his nose brushing overhers. “No, no we do not.”

Her lips grazed his. “What time is it?”

“They won’t be here for a few hours,” hereplied, knowing exactly what she was asking - where are William and Raisa?

“Oh good,” Felicity breathed before her lipscrashed into his.

Thank you for reading! Reviews literally feed the soul and muse.

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anhed-nia · 7 years ago

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BLOGTOBER INTERMISSION: SINGIN’ IN THE RAIN

I’m a hundred percent positive that everything I’m about to say has been said better and more thoroughly by legions of real writers and critics who came between 1952 and my very birth, but luckily for me, I’m not a professional who is in any way harnessed to the history and discourse of my favored field. I just re-watched SINGIN’ IN THE RAIN LAST NIGHT and now I have something to get off my chest, that must be gotten off my chest even if it has issued forth from other people’s chest before, because otherwise, you know, I’ll be setting here with something on my chest.

The story begins on the red carpet in front of the legendary Grauman’s Chinese theater, where Gene Kelly treats a celebrity-obsessed throng to a lavish telling of his fake life story, culminating in his made-up romance with frequent co-star Jean Hagen. Kelly’s marketing-minded monologue, detailing his alleged lofty artistic achievements, is foiled by a montage revealing him to be nothing but a vaudeville refugee whose raw physical talent helped him transition from stage to screen--under the providence of the silent era’s reliance on pure spectacle. Inevitably, Kelly finds himself in a pickle with the advent of the talkie, especially since his leading lady Hagen has a voice that could crack a mirror. Between keeping her quiet at public appearances, and preserving the illusion that the pair are the same loving couple behind the scenes as they are in the pictures, Kelly and Hagen are a full time job for producers. With their box office pull already threatened by their secret mutual loathing, and now doubly so by their dubious ability to adjust to emerging technology, the team has to face the very real possibility that they won’t survive the march of modernity.

Don’t let this perilous interpersonal drama fool you, though: SINGIN’ IN THE RAIN is not about human beings. Sure, there’s real chemistry between Kelly and burlesque dancer Debbie Reynolds, whose voice may launch her from seedy obscurity to sound-era success. Certainly Kelly’s scenes with his stalwart sidekick Donald O’Connor, the only man fleet-footed enough to follow his act, virtually glow with warmth and charm. But the foundation of SINGIN’ IN THE RAIN is laid bare in its first few minutes: The film is entirely about artifice. Gene Kelly’s handsome mug hides the reality of the grueling hustle required to keep a shallow cad like himself among Hollywood royalty, just as Jean Hagen’s babydoll looks keep her in beads and boas so long as she keeps her rusty trap shut. Even their relationship with one another is a fraud, as we see that their simmering on-screen passion is actually a mistranslation of their insuppressible hatred for each other, the reality of which is lost on audiences who can’t hear them speaking. The central issue of the film is embodied in the way that sound seems to insist on authenticity--that is, whether Kelly and Hagen can learn lines and integrate them into convincing performances, as audiences are coming to expect a more perfect illusion of reality from modernizing cinema. SINGIN’ IN THE RAIN’s answer to this quandary is that to demand realism from the movies is to miss the point of movies entirely.

The film deftly and methodically debunks the idea that cinema should synthesize real life. Kelly and Hagen fail one sound-era challenge after another, with their comical inability to memorize a script, speak into a mic, or suppress the wild gesticulations that once compensated for the absence of dialog. Even pure-hearted Debbie Reynolds has drunk the Kool-Aid on realistic performances, as she heckles Kelly about the superiority of eloquent soliloquies and naturalistic acting. However, Gene Kelly and Donald O’Connor, survivalists that they are, eventually determine that their problem is not the impending obsolescence of theatrical craft; They must instead challenge misguided goals of realism-obsessed filmmakers who fail to understand the full potential of film. To do so, they invent the most artificial genre of all: the movie musical. Truly, no fantasy or science-fiction conceit could be as radically absurd as the proposal that human beings might suddenly burst into coordinated song, accompanied by music arising from absolutely nowhere, within collections of strangers whose physical movements suddenly and lock into step with one another without the slightest communication between them. Even modern entertainment’s diseased insistence on laboriously explaining the mechanics of vampires or werewolves or jedi mind tricks has failed to penetrate the terrifyingly surreal world of the musical. The very preposterousness of this premise will be what saves SINGIN’ IN THE RAIN’s protagonists from the unreasonable demands of a world pervertedly fixated on reproducing its own mundanity.

To drive the point home, virtually nothing you see in SINGIN’ IN THE RAIN is “real”. Many of the film’s most delightful scenes unfold with a camera and crew right there in the frame, or on a nearly barren sound stage with fans and spotlights in plain view. O’Connor’s signature solo number “Make’m Laugh”, in which he demonstrates an exhausting repertoire of mind-bending stunts amid a dangerous cluster of half-constructed film sets, not only eschews the need for any sort of convincing backdrop, but literally tells the audience that the transparent distortions of comedy win out over sneaky pretensions to perfection every time. Even when Kelly is ultimately inspired to film the elaborate, semi-autobiographical dance number “Broadway Melody”, the view we get into his imagined masterpiece plays out over janky cardboard sets with chalk sketches that merely suggest what the final product could be. That is, even in Kelly’s mind’s eye, show business is, and should be, frankly artificial.

While it distracts you with its song and dance about Kelly’s secret affair with true love Reynolds, his escalating war with fake love Hagen, and the whole team’s struggle to keep up with the times, SINGIN’ IN THE RAIN is littered with philosophical statements that point away from theses petty human foibles. Music, for instance, is often thought of as something that arises from the fathomless depths of the human soul, but here, in one of history’s most revered musicals, the songs are as outrageously vapid as one could possibly imagine. Kelly’s aforementioned opus, a lengthy, rampaging demonstration of choreographic greatness, is driven by a batty musical composition whose lyrics are almost only the mindless battle cry “Gotta Dance!” Even the eponymous song that Kelly performs in a punishing downpour, “Singin’ In the Rain”, is a borderline dadaist lyrical exercise, consisting of a daffy list of pleasure responses to pain stimuli. While our heroes Kelly, O’Connor and Reynolds realize that the way to maintain their professional standing is not to simulate reality, but to scale up their talent for artifice to the newly outsized silver screen, Hagen is signaled as the movie’s defacto villain because of her belief in existing hype. Disturbingly, she buys into the PR fabrication of her love affair with Kelly, and she seals her own fate by bowing to the producers’ insistence that she have a voice to match her physical beauty, leading her to try to enslave the golden-throated Reynolds to a lifetime of VO. In one way this move is perfectly in line with the film’s thesis--that the entertainment industry is so entirely predicated on artificiality that its machinery can separate individuals into their choicest components, and frankenstein them into a more perfect performer. Unfortunately, Hagen misses this memo on what makes movies great, so when she tries to sell this wedding of her face with Reynold’s voice as a genuine article, it allows Kelly and O’Connor up to unmask her as a talentless cheat, effectively ruining her while simultaneously setting Reynolds up to become one of the first stars of the talkie era.

Herein lies the wonderful irony of SINGIN’ IN THE RAIN’s manifesto, though. It may tell us constantly that synthesized sincerity is a sin, but obviously no work of art could sustain itself entirely on an exhibitionistic display of its gears and cogs--see today’s dreary legions of post-post-post-everything movies and TV programs that try to pass off self-abnegating “humor” and painful admissions of laziness as intelligence and wit. While the movie takes an Emperor’s New Clothes attitude toward highfalutin technology, and the ridiculous idea that art should aspire to imitate life, it does not settle for cynically chipping away at other people’s pleasures. It also shows us time and again what it believes to be the actual greatest achievement of this medium, in the simple form of its actual corporeal stars. In one impossibly long take after another, we are shown that Gene Kelly’s dancing cannot be faked; that Donald O’Connor’s spooky physical ability is not divisible as a collection of special effects and editorial trickery. This could be read as a reductive message about the importance of the human being, but I think SINGIN’ IN THE RAIN’s agenda is nothing so simple-minded. Even in the movie’s most emotional moment, Gene Kelly is incapable of expressing himself to Debbie Reynolds without the aid of a painted scrim, an electric sunset, and a mechanically-produced mist blown in by an industrial fan, all of which he assembles frankly before her eyes. These stars’ incredible physical prowess indicates the importance of spectacle itself. The film rejects the furtive pretentiousness of illusion, with its spineless subtleties, while uplifting the virtues of dazzling presentation. We’re allowed to see the seams in “Broadway Melody’s” production because of SINGIN’ IN THE RAIN’S strength of conviction, that the dance, the costuming, the colors, the lights, and the power of visual composition, are far greater than any simulation of reality could possibly be. It is truly astounding that a movie made in 1952, that was itself a period piece, that spends so much time reflecting on bygone forms of entertainment that were obsolete even within the context of the narrative, could not only avoid drippy sentimentality and nostalgia, but it could also be so thoroughly and potently modern. I’d be hard pressed to demand the return of a musical golden age, but this exercise in artifice says more about the real value of entertainment than so much of the cinema that would come in the ensuing decades. In today’s media landscape, choked with contrived documentary television and movies that rest on the laurels of being “based on a true story” even when that isn’t properly true, swollen with CGI that only calls attention to its failures by attempting to replace practical reality, SINGIN’ IN THE RAIN feels more timely than ever.

youtube

#singin' in the rain #gene kelly #donald o'connor #debbie reynolds #jean hagen #musicals #musical comedy

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howardlinkedin · 7 years ago

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Debriefing (And Other Bad Jokes) Part 3

Part 2 here: X Summary: Things get serious except not since Tyki Mikk is now involved and Kanda breaks a chair. Meanwhile, Link struggles coming to terms that everyone he works with is attractive.

The basement of the Black Order Police Department houses a gym, for the long nights of work, giving reprieve for the mind from homicide cases and missing persons reports.

Often, Lenalee could be found tearing up the treadmill or destroying yet another punching bag. Link had been given a perfect view of a hundred pound leather bag of cushion be ripped off its chain from the ceiling and burst at the seams the instance it hit the padded floor one evening, and it part frightened him and part aroused him.

The second half of that particular section in his lizard brain was vehemently beat down and shoved into a dark void Link managed to conjure up in his mind.

He was excellent at compartmentalizing.

“Oh, hello detective!” Miss Lee greeted, not at all out of breath as she lifted a new bag to replace the one she just decimated. “Do you need a sparring partner?”

---

Lenalee Lee, for all her loveliness and grace, was a real powerhouse compacted in a five-foot-eight, 140 pound body.

After Link became fast friends with the gym floor for the sixth time, countering the two he managed to deal her, the detective decided it was time to cede.

From the sidelines, Miranda applauded them both.

Laughing, the female officer handed the blonde a water. “Thanks Link! Who knew a stuffy guy like you had it in him?”

Link couldn’t tell if he was being insulted or complimented, but took the water anyway with gratitude.

On the opposite end of the gym, Walker was doing handstand pushups with just one arm, like the show off he was. Kanda thought it was a good opportunity to kick the arm out from under his partner.

The sparring match that ensued was really just a flurry of white and black, and Lenalee snorted while ushering out the medic and detective. “Let’s go before they start making out.”

“That is unprofessional.” Link looked cross, and was about to make himself stay and monitor the two.

“Listen.” The female officer looked the blonde detective in the eyes. “Either you ignore them or Allen will try and convince you to join them, OR Kanda will break both of your legs.”

---

Link wisely left, if only because he was conflicted and didn’t know which option sounded most appealing to him.

Once again, into the naughty thought box these feelings went.

---

Exactly one day after the bloodied wall and discovering that Walker had a stalker (and that he and Officer Kanda have more meaning behind the wrestling they do on the floor), Allen says:

“Arrest me officer.”

On reflex, Kanda snaps handcuffs on the other man and starts to drag him to the cells.

“No, no, you have to take me to the actual prison Bakanda.” Allen had the audacity to sound vexed that his partner didn’t follow his train of thought.

Lenalee was the one to often remind him that no one understands his thoughts, regardless of years acquainted, because his brain was a barrage of cats chasing after the same laser light.

Except, sometimes Kanda could comprehend Allen’s thought processes, when given the right cues.

Which leads the officer to turn into rage personified and snap a very pointed “NO.” in his partner’s face.

Allen sighs and shrugs. “Well alright.”

Two seconds of silence.

“If you won’t come with me I’ll just take Link.”

With a click, the handcuffs fell to the ground, and Allen is out of the door with a very startled detective dragged behind him.

Kanda is left seething, glaring at the door.

---

This is how Howard Link found himself in the center of the Maximum Security Penitentiary’s recreation room, surrounded by people who have earned their occupancy, shadowing Officer Allen Walker.

“Where’s your usual guard dog at Walker?” The one Link began to call Fellon 1 in his mind, asked.

“Yeah! Ain’t you always followed by that angry lookin’ guy?” Fellon 2 quips, looking Link up from head to toe. “This one’s just as nice to look at though.”

The blonde’s eyebrow twitched.

With a snap of his fingers, Allen redirects the group’s attention, expression serious. “Alright eyes over here.”

He slaps a hand of cards on the table.

“Full House!”

Everyone in the room groans, couple kick chairs over.

“Damnit Walker!”

Of course, Allen Walker is playing poker with criminals. Of course he is.

How the officer even gained easy access to the prison was beyond Link, seeing as it took months of paperwork to gain clearance. But nope. Not Allen Walker, manipulative, sunshine boy of the Black Order.

All the security had done was take one look at the white haired officer’s smiling face, and all entrances were open.

“Walker.” The detective hissed, side eyeing everyone else in the room. “This is not necessary! You’re overstepping your bounds enough as it is, if you don’t leave this instance, I’ll have to personally report you to the board!”

All parties in the recc room gave Link a blank (and somewhat crazed) stare.

White brows raised, Allen huffs. “Link it’s fine, these are my friends.”

“What?!”

All felons present erupted with laughter, because apparently Link was in an alternate universe, and he was actually the one not making sense.

The door slides open, and clad in awful prison orange, ankle chains and handcuffs, a scruffy man with a nest of hair and cracked glasses was escorted in.

Silence.

Allen twiddled his fingers at the newcomer. “Tyki, I love the,” He motioned with his entire hand. “Whole hobo rat aesthetic you’ve got going on.”

Turning on his heel, the man exits the room, only to return minutes later looking like a completely different person.

His hair was slicked back, revealing a crown of thorny symbols tattooed across his brow, glasses gone. He even popped his collar on his ugly orange jumpsuit, which Link thought was pointless.

The ink across his forehead labeled him unmistakingly Noah.

“Boy! Long time no see! Where’s your handsome hellhound at?”

Tyki Mikk managed to make walking in chains look languid as he shooed Fellon 1 from his seat and took the spot for himself.

The detective was really getting tired of being compared to Yuu Kanda, who apparently rarely left his partner’s side if even criminals took notice.

Allen began to collect and reshuffle his cards. “It’s hardly been a month Tyki.”

“Yes, but a lonely month without you here to brighten my dim days.” The literal murderer purred, accepting his cards.

“No.”

Both men blinked and turned to look questioningly at the detective. He looked down right aghast.

“YOU.” Link points directly at Allen nose.

It scrunched.

“Are NOT going to play POKER with a Noah, and FLIRT with him!”

Allen sets down a three of spades in response. “Yes I am.”

Tyki began to howl with laughter.

---

For all their bickering, both Kanda and Walker made an excellent team.

And this was not just because they sometimes make out heavily on desks or hold hands at dinner.

Well, Allen holds Kanda’s hand while Kanda frowns A Lot at his fork like the awkward duck he was.

But as the smaller officer would say, details.

This exceptional teamwork allowed them to work in tandem through various plans, without needing to breathe an actual word to the other about said plan.

Which was why, even though Officer Yuu Kanda would rather be holding his sword to a certain Noah’s throat, he also needed the detective out and his busybody ass away.

And Allen knew this. Thus, the grand display to drag Howard Link with him to crusade the Maximum Security Prison, and allow his partner to do what he felt needed to be done.

Which right now was lock himself and Lavi in the Profiler’s office like a creepy creeper.

“Now Yuu,” Lavi admonished, “I respect Allen too much to have an affair.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Kanda decided slicing Lavi’s chair in half would be a good stress relief.

The redhead looks balefully at the slaughtered seat. “Feel better?” “No.”

Bookman hummed and opted to sit on his desk. “Is this about our new detective?”

“I hate him, and I know you can give me actual reasons why.” Kanda rarely ever needed an excuse to hate someone. It’s usually his default reaction to new people, until they move mountains to prove to his judgmental and distrustful ego that they are not, in fact, agents of Satan.

Which makes many wonder how exactly Allen Walker managed to worm his way into the angry man’s prickly heart.

But Howard Link? He arrived too soon to replace an incompetent detective, directly after too suspicious and fresh circumstances.

---

Lavi Bookman, mischievous, freckled man known by most for his constant jokes and upbeat persona.

Red hair in a constant state of windswept, with one eye hidden behind a patch after an unfortunate encounter, and the other a happy green.

Though, if one really took their chance to know him, they would soon find out that Lavi was also a satellite of surveillance. Every inch moved, every breath taken, Bookman could categorize someone’s every nuance and motivation with just a glance.

He wasn’t a Profiler for nothing.

It was thanks to him, that the PD was able to compile Tyki Mikk’s exact mental profile, right down for his need to become emotionally attached to his victims into order to kill them. Lavi never even saw the man, until the night of his arrest.

The moment Howard Link entered his line of vision, Bookman saw everything.

Which served frustrating, given the fact that Lavi was also a secretive bastard, and hardly ever shared his knowledge unless when on a case.

Kanda was frustrated he even had to ask.

---

A solid hour escaped them as Tyki and Allen tossed words and cards like ping pong across the table.

At one point, the Noah had tried to glide his foot up Allen’s leg, only for the officer to stomp it into submission.

Quite brutally.

For all of Allen’s honeyed words and inviting eyes, he had a very strict No Touching Allowed policy with condemned criminals. At this, Link’s mind rested just a millisecond.

Allen set down his cards. “Four of a kind!”

The Noah gaped and slammed his hands on the table. “STOP BEING A CHEAT!” he accused.

The officer took on an innocent expression. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, everything I do is fair and square.”

Letting out a frustrated, gravelly sound in the back of his throat, Mikk slouched elegantly in his chair.

On this day in history, Howard Link witnessed a decorated officer of the Order make nice with hardened criminals, play a card game with a Noah and watch said Noah pout like a child.

What was Link’s life, honestly?

“So,” After getting over his small fit at losing, Tyki stared intently at the officer. “What can I do you for? I doubt you came all this way to just humiliate me at cards.”

Wordlessly, Allen tossed a manilla file on the table, along with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Link glared at the white haired man, because where and when did he even get that information?

“Walker.” his voice warned.

At the sight of nicotine and fire, the Noah’s copper eyes light up. “Always so thoughtful, this is why I love you.”

At the admission, the detective felt his jaw crack, due to how hard he had just snapped his teeth.

Allen merely sighed out his nose and rolled his eyes.

Wasting no time opening the packet and lighting a stick, the Noah flipped open the obvious very classified file, filled with very sensitive information. “What bedtime story do you have for me here-oh GROSS!”

Tyki took on a very offended expression, sticking his tongue out in disgust. “Who the hell IS COPYING me? What the FUCK? THIS IS HORRIBLE.”

Stealing hearts, literally, was HIS modus operandi!

Before the Noah could get further outraged, and beyond reasonable, Allen reached over and

Poked his nuckle.

Tyki Mikk stared at the lone finger for a good three seconds before attempting to grab at the whole hand entirely. Allen moved it away out of his reach, looking as unimpressed as can be.

It should also be known that listed in Mikk’s file, the man was known to be obnoxiously tactile, needy, and prone to fixate on things he felt he couldn’t have.

As Tyki made grabby hands, Allen asked. “Do you know of anyone willing to go this far in copying you?”

“No.” The Noah had resorted to laying half of his body on the table in a sulk when he realized that he would not be getting to hold hands with the pretty police man.

Tyki’s life was frustrating like that.

“Sheryl might know though. The bastard knows everything that goes on when it involves death and destruction.”

Allen groaned, “I can’t stand Sheryl.”

“Join the club, Boy.” Mikk, still sulking, resumed flipping through the file. “OH DAMN.” He bolted up, eyes filled with glee.

“Whoever this jackass is, they sure take good photos.” The Noah, much to Link’s horror, spread all of Allen images on the table and began to pet them. “Damn, you look fine in these.”

“I know.” The officer was smug.

“I’m keeping these.”

“No.”

---

After Allen most likely fractured the Noah’s hands with a deck of cards for the file (and photos), the very frustrated detective and overly calm officer made their leave.

“Just be careful Boy.” Tyki warned. “Whoever did this, took a lot of effort to make this message for you. Someone wants your attention.”

An ominous promise, if Link have ever heard one.

---

Back at the Department, Kanda all but dragged his partner away where no one saw hide or hair of either officer for the rest of the evening.

At his desk, Link felt the hairs on his neck stand on end.

Someone had been through his things.

It was minute, subtle. But Link was a detective, and the little misalignment of his pens and computer items sent warnings behind his eyes.

After thoroughly combing over all of the drawers, it seemed as though no one has taken anything. In fact, despite the slight misplacement of everything, none of Link’s belongings were missing.

There was a clap on his back, causing him to jump.

“HA! How was your first ride with Allen?” It was the Bookman, eye twinkling. “You look a little frazzled, my guy.”

“It was...interesting.” The blonde cleared his throat. “I am in decent order mentally and physically, there is no need to comment.”

Lavi blew a rather loud, and unneeded, raspberry in Link’s face. “Yeah, whatever Mister Short Stack McTough Guy.”

“What?”

---

That night, Link also discovered that someone had ransacked his home.

Walker’s file was missing.

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raindrenchedstories · 7 years ago

Text

Brave little knight 2

Warning! Foul language. Shorter than most of my chapters, but all the interesting stuff happens AFTER this chapter.

Neil had gained quite some time with his thoughts. Time, and regret. Had he just stayed out of the giants view. Had he just remained happy travelling with his fellow humans. Had he just THOUGHT for two minutes instead of acting brashly.

The giant had been gone an hour. Maybe two. Or so it felt. He couldn’t tell without the sun there to show him the time. He actively avoided examining anything but his cell within the room. No good could come from giant paraphernalia.

At least, not in HIS experience. He scoffed, examining his cell once more. There had to be an opening, a way out. The bastard couldn’t have made the cell perfect. Placing both palms on the glass, Neil began to slide it. The panel budged, then stuck. Causing the man to fall to the left.

“Fucker.” He cursed under his breath. Slowly rising. He had to be OUT by the time the giant returned. Dreading the torment he’d be subjected to next. Would there be more spells? They weren’t so bad, but he’d still rather avoid them entirely.

Neil began ramming his shoulder against the glass, hoping in vain it would shatter. When that didn’t work, he began exploring his cell. He found a hole, about the size of one of those water taps the giants left around. He began trying to work an arm through.

He wouldn’t fit, but maybe there was something on the other side. Something he could use to escape on the other side. Even just a particularly jagged stone. But no, smooth on the other side. He slumped onto the floor, deflated.

This would take a bit more thought than ‘desperately claw at any crack like an animal’. He had to think. To be smart about this. The giant said ‘an hour or two’ he’d be back soon. And when he returned, Neil had to think of something to act upon.

If that fall safe spell weren’t on him, he would have tried jumping from a high place and injuring himself. Pulling sympathy from the giant, and hopefully, being given a more escapable venue. His sword was taken as well. So no ‘I accidentally cut myself’ ploys either.

Or...Did the giant plan to hurt him anyway? Could he even trust the beast to take sympathy? What if he just decided to ‘put Neil out of his misery’? His stomach squirmed in place.

The uncertainty was eating at him. It didn’t make the grinding sound of the cave opening much better. Now he had to face the fucker. Sure enough, his captor moseyed in. Seemingly calmer than before. Relaxed. He set a large sack on the table and began pulling objects.

“Got anything to say for yourself?” The giant asked.

Neil scoffed. Opting to watch as the devious bastard continued his work. He could make out the uses for many of these things. Bedding, dishes, toiletries, it looked like Neil was in for the long haul. He did get confused by the last objects the giant pulled.

Two stones wrapped in some sort of gel, a large tank, a tap, and a smaller, less impressive tank and tap. Neil watched, and contemplated what the purpose of the stones were. The tanks, water delivery system. No question.

The stones however, each had their own little quirks. They were small, the giant seamed to have trouble handling them due to this. One was a nice little green colour, the other an icy blue. Carefully, the giant took the green one.

He could see the bastard grimace, taking the small tank and tap up. The tap in the same hand as the stone. With a deep, measured breath, the giant harshly slammed the green stone into the tank. The gel burst and water seamed to fill the container.

The titan screwed the tap on quickly and exhaled. The tap cutting the water off, making the tank, a filled, and ready source of liquid. The giant set that down. He gazed up at Neil with a small smile. Leaning on the table.

“So, what did you do while I was gone?” He set his golden eyes on Neils face. Causing the man to press back against the wall.

“Oh, you know. The usual. Jacked off and thought of you while doing it.” He hissed. That dragged a snort of laughter from the giant.

“You know, hating me only makes you cuter. But really. You don’t seam like you’ll just give up after a scolding. Did you injure yourself trying to escape?” The bastard tilted his head, starting for the enclosure.

Neil almost told him to go fuck himself when he cut in quickly. “If you don’t answer me honestly, I will be checking you over.”

He huffed. Really assessing the damage from his attempts. “Shoulder’s bruised. That’s about it as far as I can feel.” It was humiliating admitting his attempts, but he’d rather deal with that than being grabbed and held again.

“Anything unbearable?” The giant piped in.

“You.”

“Right. I forgot you were a homicidal little maniac.” Archibald-THE GIANT- sighed. Yes, Neil knew his name. He wouldn’t forget it. But the moment he started seeing the bastard as anything but his captor, tormentor, and source of all his problems, was the moment Neil lost the fight.

That said. The giant wasn’t in- NO! He couldn’t think like that. The giant was the one who threw him in a cage, he had all the power, he had the magic, and the size. It was unfair just how badly humans had it in comparison to the local races.

Balefully, Neil watched the giant repeat the earlier process with the larger tank. Shortly after, he stood, carrying the bits and bobs toward the cage. Neil shuffled back, grumbling. It caught him off guard when the giant reached for HIM. “HEY! HEY! You said you wouldn’t-”

“Never said that. Besides. You DID stab me. I’m kind of done with trusting you for now.” Neil was held loosely in one hand, while the giant busied himself with fixing the cage up. The smaller tap placed by a large sort of dish. Big enough for Neil to lay down in. Another dish made into a bed.

Both on the top floors. In difficult to reach spots. “Could you AT LEAST make the place livable?” Neil whined. There was a soft laugh above him.

“Relax. The spells will keep you from getting hurt.” That wasn’t the issue. Neil didn’t care about getting hurt. He cared about comfort. And the way the cage was set up, his comfort would come in the form of climbing, swinging, and working just to get to bed.

That said, he was probably going to just pull the blankets down and make his own little spot elsewhere. No way he’d stay in the places the giant wanted him to, if he could avoid it. “So... What? I just stay here ‘till you get bored of me?”

“No. You’ll be out of here before long. I promise.” The giant spoke in earnest, shifting things awkwardly with one hand. Neil smirked at this.

“Having trouble big guy?” He folded his arms over Archibalds index finger, forcing himself to be casual and friendly towards the other...For the moment.

“Yeah. Don’t know what I’m going to do with the curtains. Maybe I’ll paint the walls pink. With daisies!” The giant grinned down at him. Spoiling his cocky attitude.

Neil inhaled, then exhaled, he couldn’t keep this up. ‘Out before long’ What did that mean? Dread rose in his heart a moment. “So...You going to tell me what you’re doing?”

“Currently making your cage more comfortable. Little tap is the bath. Big is water. Should be a nice cold drink.” Neil groaned at this, slumping in defeat.

His fault for asking. Then again there was one out he hadn’t tried. “Listen. I got kids to feed. Could you just-”

“No. You don’t.” He was cut off. Neil shot up with an indignant snarl. “You wouldn’t have brought them up just now if you did.”

“I’m a shit father okay!?” He snapped. The giant was right, however, Neil had been lying.

Archibald sighed, leaning in and bringing Neil to eye level. “Buddy. You’re talking to a dad. And young man, you are NOT a father. Now are you going to man up and speak in a civil manner with me? Or are you going to keep crying?”

“Fuck you.” With that, Neil was stuffed back in his cage, the glass sliding back in place. Archibald walked away. It was jarring to say the least. The man found himself following Archibalds path with his eyes until the titan was out of sight.

Resigned to his fate, Neil faltered, and fell against the wall, sliding down and covering his face. Particularly his eyes. It was as though the problem would go away if he didn’t see it. Perhaps if he pressed hard enough he’d go blind. Then maybe the idea of spending the rest of his life in a cage wouldn’t be so bad.

He’d stayed like that for a while, until he heard, and felt the titan return. Glaring out the glass wall, he watched Archibald pull another stone from the massive box. He tried not to think about what it would take to bite through sheer rock like that.

“Why don’t you just pull from the mountain? Why bother even storing rock?” He asked out loud. The giant tilted his head to the sound as Neil spoke. Heaving a sigh, the gargantuan man seated himself.

“Two reasons. One; variety. Can’t just eat one kind of thing all my life. Two; I’d literally eat myself out of house and home.” He laughed the last bit. Neil didn’t join him in his mirth however.

Those golden eyes fell on him again, only now, less intense. No judging, no anger, and no real intent. Archibald sighed again. “We have some things to discuss.” He folded his arms, not truly looking at Neil.

“Nah. We don’t. But you can go ahead and talk. Not like I can stop you.” Neil glanced over at the water tap. He was thirsty, but he decided to go as long as he could without accepting anything from the giant.

“...I’m not going to keep you here-”

“You said that already. So... How long ‘till I’m off to market?” The man scoffed, leaning his head against the stone wall. He heard a massive groan.

“You’re not.”

“Ah, to the grave then. Great!”

“Not that either. Just shut up and listen.” The giant snapped. He seamed to be fighting not to get angry now. “I’m setting you free after a little while.”

Neil froze up, slowly rising. “Come again?”

“Well, sort of.” Despair rallied in the humans gut. “I’m going to give you what you want.”

“Oh, so you want help dying?” He let himself smirk at the thought. Neil wouldn’t mind one bit if that was the giants intent.

“...I’m going to assume you’re set on being an ass hole today?” Archibald rose from his chair, bringing one of the bags from earlier back onto the table and rummaging through it. He pulled a strange box from this and carried it over.

“No no...I’m set on being an ass hole for as long as I’m here.” Neil leaned back grinning. Playing his nervousness off as anger, or perhaps a smug sense of satisfaction. He wasn’t sure which he was expressing at the moment.

A small bowl formed on the opposite side of the water dish, and slid out towards the titan. Archibald filled this and returned it to the inside of the cage. Neil still refused to budge. With a roll of the eyes, the titan leaned himself on the wall.

It was a little surprising how effeminate Archibalds movements were. Neil cringed. “So... The Mrs. Okay with this?” Neil scoffed, starting for the opposite wall. He pressed the tap, ignoring the glasses provided.

There was a bitter laugh behind him. “There... Is no mrs.”

“Dead?” The water was almost painfully cold in Neils hands. But oh, it was sweet. Nothing like the muggy living taste from the rivers. Or the hot, strong flavor of the boiled water he’d survived off of. “Or were you lying about your kids?”

“...I don’t know if I’m comfortable telling you all the details. But in short, she’s dead. But I’m not sorry.” The titan pulled a small golden chain from around his neck, staring into a clockwork locket.

“And you judge me for simply trying.” Another sip of that wonderfully cold water.

However, Archibald laughed. A genuine guffaw. “I suppose that’s a logical conclusion. But you’ve got the wrong killer...She used me to sire a son to serve her. But. Died in childbirth.”

Food for thought. The human filed that information away for later, if this captive thing went on too long. Once Neil was done with his drink, the cage was re-opened. The man flailing away.

“Now, since you don’t seam to want to hear me out~ I guess this just has to be a mystery for you.” No it wasn’t! Neil knew what giants did to smaller folk. He’d heard the stories. Using them to play out horrifying fantasies. Flights of fancy.

“Fuck off. Fuck OFF!” He backed against the water tank, forcing himself in-between it and the wall. Words were failing him, but Archibald seamed to fill the silence. Nothing of importance, he simply shushed and reassured Neil that everything would be fine.

The human was lifted, then cupped in-between those hands again. A few more spells worked into his person before he was left to himself, back in the cage. “I SAID FUCK OFF!”

“No thank you. Leaves a terrible mess.” Archibald strode off. Picking another boulder up.

“....So what do those ones do?” Neil glanced at his hand, wondering if he should feel so... well actually he felt really nice. Like he was swaddled in something soft and fluffy.

“Couple spells to keep you out of trouble. Make sure you don’t die two steps out the door...Eat up.” Neil could feel his stomach lurch and growl, causing him to straighten bolt upright.

“DID YOU JUST!?” He shrieked in outrage.

“No. The spells had nothing to do with that. You just haven’t eaten anything in a while. Far too thin to be healthy.” With a flick of the finger, the stone bowl moved closer to Neil.

He had to fake casual interest, glancing at the contents. It looked like some sort of bread disk, just sprinkled in there. Harder than Neil knew possible, but not indigestible. He lifted one, broke it, and took a bite. It...tasted like stale boot leather. “Ugh. Please tell me the OTHER humans eat better.”

“For the most part. Kibble is hardly ever used. Trust me, you want that over my cooking.” Archibald sat himself down, keeping his back turned to the human.

“...So here’s the full ration question; How long am I staying?” Neil watched as the giant stiffened, leaning back a bit in his seat.

“Until you’re ready, I guess. That said, you can leave any time I’m not watching. If you can figure your way out.” That didn’t sound promising. But it was better than nothing.

“Alright then.”

#G/t

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