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wouldpollyapprove · 4 years ago

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A Girl That Wasn’t Meant To Love

Request: can you do a tommy x reader based on the song hell on high heels by motley crue

Requested by @magnificentzombiebasement

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Language, alcohol, prostitution

A/n: I had a completely different idea for how I wanted to write this and what I ended up actually writing is more of like a prologue. If you guys like this, I may write a second part, but it’s not a priority at the moment. I also want you guys to know that I gave up editing this halfway through b/c it’s hella long and I’m lazy. So, that’s the reason things may be spelled wrong or not make sense at all.

Masterlist

“There’s no shame in this life,” she’d been told before. It was by an old woman, one stuck in her place at one time in her life. “There is no shame in doing what must be done to survive.” Head held high, that’s what Y/n lived by. Ugly truths and monstrous men, she saw nothing but the end of the line. Every night was touch or go, wondering if she would have enough money to make it to the next. But with each rising sun, she grew stronger and the money in her pockets started to bulge.

There was no shame in what she did if it led to her survival.

Y/n never liked the only word ever used to describe women like her: “prostitute”. The word, unclean, allowed men to shove her face in the mud. Women, who never had to do a days work on their back to pay the bills, would spit at her, curses, even words sailors wouldn’t utter, leaving their porcelain lips. They didn’t see the pot of gold they had stumbled upon, all that they had that was out of reach from other’s. They were selfish in believing that some people had a choice in what had to be done to put food on the table.

It had always been a struggle to come by much of anything. Y/n grew up in a village in France that knew everything but wealth. People made enough to live, but never leave. War was the only thing that ever allowed boys and girls alike to wave at the village behind them. Most never returned, but there were always more to replace those in the ground. Producing like rabbits, there was no such thing as plentiful. Skin and bones, they all worked day and night to live for another hour, but it was never enough for Y/n.

Tough as nails, she was tired of living from meal to meal. Wishing for the world, she wasn’t like her mother or sisters, who dreamed of getting by, she wanted to take what was her’s. And so, with what little she had, she fled to Paris. It took days, different strangers pitying her state, the dirt stained clothes and tangled hair, but eventually she reached the golden city.

There, she could find little work with the skill set she’d acquired as a child. Laborers weren’t meant to walk the streets of the capital, they were meant for the tiny villages that she came from. And so, another line of work had to be found and that is when the woman who ran Le Sphinx pulled her inside. Knowing nothing of prostitution, Y/n was forced to quickly learn, being educated in both the desires of men and etiquette.

Once ready and thrown to the lions, she did whatever she could to stay above the sharp, white teeth. At first, there were many nights with tears streaming down her cheeks and the thought of home forever circling around her mind. It was hard to adapt to something she’d known nothing about. Even harder when she was merely competition to the other girls. No one would extend a hand, wipe the tears off her stained cheeks and tell her that it would get better. The girls at the brothel were worse than the ones Y/n encountered on the street. They did anything to start a fight and were worse than thieves. If you valued anything, it wasn’t to be kept in plain sight. It was a war zone one no man would ever have to face.

But before Y/n knew it, she was on top, the woman all the business men and visiting royals wanted to spend the evening with. It wasn’t bad to be sitting in the lap of a Norwegian royal, not once you were aware of how much their hat alone cost. Drowning in riches, this was close enough to the life she wanted. With all the money given to her by the men that believed they were her only loves, she packed her bags and moved to London.

That was where the rich became even richer and where our story starts.

Settling into her London home, Y/n decided she would rather spend her days doing anything but lying on her back. There were some clients, wealthy ones, that she’d see occasionally, but she wanted to make money in other ways. And with all that she had saved up, she did just that by purchasing a dress shop. It was the perfect quaint life that she had been looking for all along and it was finally her’s. Most of her days were spent hiring seamstresses or going over new fabrics, Y/n wanted women to flock from all over the country to buy her dresses and she would do anything to achieve that.

But like everyone, she got bored.

Wanting more than to roam the streets of London, she decided to put one of her best workers in charge and run around the English countryside. While on her little holiday, Y/n stopped in Birmingham. Meant to be the manufacturing capital of the country, it didn’t try to hide that fact. But she loved it. The dirt and grime, the sweat that covered the brow. She was raised just as they were, work until the day was done. The broken backs and accidental deaths were something she was all too familiar with.

These people were her people.

Taking in the city around her, Y/n wandered into a pub near a few factories. Whether it was accepted for women to venture out on their own in this city or not, she didn’t care. A mediocre whiskey sour was all she was asking for. Pushing the doors open, gold details ran along the wall as the sun peeked through stained glass windows. For a pub on the wrong side of town, London was all that crossed her mind. There were many pubs in the capital that held themselves like the one she stood in. Shaking off her shock, Y/n took a seat at one of the bar stools, sinking into its cushion.

“What can I get you?” the barmaid with eyes that dripped of honey and charcoal curls asked her.

“How about a whiskey sour?” she smiled at the girl. She looked to be no more than eighteen, what an age to be. By the time Y/n was that age, she was already in Paris, doing the job few women willing accepted. The girl nodded, curls bouncing around her chiseled face, before fetching the ingredients needed.

Y/n leaned back in her chair and began to search her purse for a cigarette. It was a bad habit she’d picked up from the brothel, but it did wonders at calming the nerves. She searched and searched, but it appeared that she smoked the last one that morning. “Fuck,” she muttered, doubling checking.

“Missing something?” a voice asked from across the bar.

She straightened to lock eyes with a tall man, his brunette hair shaved at the side. Unsure what to make of him, she simply nodded. He held himself like a businessman, suit and all, but all she could see were the rough edges of a working man.

“What have you lost?” he asked, waiting for a proper answer.

Sighing in defeat, Y/n placed her bag on the bar. “My cigarettes. I fear I’ve cleaned myself out.”

A soft smile tugged at his lips, slowly he dug a hand into his jacket pocket and pulled a pack out. “I happen to have a few.”

Y/n couldn’t help but smile seeing the canister. God only knows where she’d have to go to buy a new pack. “Mind sharing one with me?”

Waltzing over to her side, movements swift and precise, he held one out between his fingers for her to take. Gently, she slipped it between her own before placing it between her lips. Being a gentleman, the man already had his lighter out by the time it was snug between her painted lips and lit it for her. “Thank you…” she waited for a name, taking a drag.

“Tommy.”

“Thank you, Tommy,” she smiled and watched as he slid into the seat next to her. “I assume your first name’s Thomas then.”

Tommy smiled. “No, it’s Ethel.” The statement pulled a laugh from the woman sitting next to him. “And what’s your name? Or do you not have one of those?”

“Oh I have one,” she said right before the barmaid returned with her drink. “Thank you,” she smiled at the girl. Attention back on the man beside her, she took a quick drink of her better-than-mediocre whiskey sour before answering his question. “Y/n L/n.”

The man nodded, eyes going up the length of her body. The silk smooth fabric of her dress, the purse discarded on the bar top, and the jewels that hung around her wrist told Tommy all he needed to know about her. Plain as day, Y/n came from money. “What brings ya to Small Heath?” Tommy questioned, lighting his own cigarette, and leaned back in his stool, turning towards her.

“Small stop before traveling to London,” she admitted.

“London’s home, I take it.”

Y/n shrugged and flicked ash into the ashtray between them. “For now.”

Silence fell between the two. For once in her life, butterflies fluttered around her stomach, creating a knot that was both nerve racking and pleasant. There was never a chance for Y/n to even think of any sort of love except that of money before moving to England. But still beside Tommy, she felt something that she had never experienced before. Her heart told her it was more than just the love that overcame a silly school girl. No matter what it said, though, her brain overruled and told her off on the silly notion.

The two spent the rest of the day talking at the bar, swapping stories of all they had done. Y/n swept her early career into a dark closet, locking it away from the young man. She knew how his sky blue eyes would turn the color of the sea with the knowledge out in the open. She couldn’t have that. For most of her life, Y/n had watched people’s views on her change in an instant based on a profession many dipped their toes into in the name of survival. She wouldn’t have that with him. Not when she could feel it in her bones that he was meant to be something more.

Eventually, Y/n had to go back to London, but she didn’t board the train without handing Tommy her address. “Write. Please. Anytime you wish, write to me. I will always answer,” a glossy smile danced on her lips, she placed a small paper in his palm.

“I will. I promise,” he answered. Though they hadn’t known each other long, both knew that they would never lose touch.

“I best be going now.” Y/n scanned the station, noticing as people began to board the train. “Goodbye, Tommy.” Before she could turn on her heels, a hand caught her wrist and pulled her back. A grasp escaped her before soft lips captured her’s. Deepening the kiss, Y/n wanted to do anything but board the locomotive.

Tommy pulled away, resting his forehead against hers. “Goodbye, Y/n,” he said with a sad smile as he tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

They parted that day and as Y/n watched him become nothing with the growing distance, she could still feel his lips on her. Call it love, call it lust, but it was one of the great wonders of the world, that she knew.

Once in London, Y/n made haste to write to Tommy. Her friends couldn’t help but notice the smile that adorned her face when the mail was dropped by every day and the one letter she picked out of the rest, holding it to her chest. They wondered if she’d found a lover or a boyfriend, but there was no answer she could give them.

What was Thomas Shelby to her? To a girl that wasn’t meant to love?

An answer couldn’t be given in fear of ruining what had been created.

Piles of letters flowed between the pair and soon, Tommy was asking her to come to Birmingham once more. The same excuses were used each time. She couldn’t find anyone to watch the shop or money was tight and she couldn’t spare a penny. White lies left her lips dressed as the truth. She couldn’t leave the safety of her home to visit the darkness of the unknown. Everything surrounding the man was new to her and Y/n couldn’t figure out how to handle it. Run straight at it or hide in the corner, those were her options. She liked the corner.

But Mr. Shelby wouldn’t have it with the excuses, deciding that if she couldn’t come to Birmingham then he would go to London.

A knock at the front door pulled mighty barks from Pearl, the French Bulldog Y/n found starving on the streets one night. With eyes on the stove, Y/n was weary to leave them unattended to answer the door. “Be there in a minute,” she called, giving the eyes a few extra seconds before sliding them onto a plate. Pearl ran between her feet, almost tripping her, as Y/n walked to the front door. Doing her best to keep the creature in the house, using one foot to hold her back, she opened the door, body freezing when she locked eyes with the man in front of her.

“Y/n.” A smile like honey spread across his face, almost making Y/n forget why her heart seized up in fear.

“Tommy,” she breathed out in return. The dog behind her used the shock to her advantage and quickly found a gap between her owner and the door, slipping through to bark at the stranger in front of her. Y/n scoffed and quickly scooped the dog up before she could take a bite out of Tommy’s polished shoes. “Pearl, you pest,” she scolded. “Um, please, come in.”

When the door was opened wider, Tommy stepped through the threshold and began to strip himself of his coat. “I was in town for business, thought I’d come see you.”

A smile lit up her face at his words. No one had ever been kind enough to do that, not for the innocent reasons he was. “There’s breakfast in the kitchen if you’d like some.” He nodded, following close behind as she led the way, eyes scanning the walls that past him.

“Lovely home,” he remarked as Y/n gestured for him to have a seat at the kitchen table. Doing as she pleased, he sank into the wooden chair and took in his surroundings.

The second his eyes had landed on her months before in the Garrison, Tommy knew the woman came from money. Back straight as a board, jewels dangling from her body, there was no mistaking it. He sat beside her, hoping she couldn’t sniff out dirt poor, violent prone individuals. By the end of her stay in Birmingham, it seemed she knew no difference between expensive suits obtained by gun point and those with a handful of coins.

It was foolish for Tommy to believe she would want anything to do with him. He was a poor boy turned thief turned war hero turned criminal. Little he touched after the war was legal and he knew better than to believe that a woman of her status would ever want a man like himself.

“Yeah,” she shrugged while dishing eggs onto two plates. Before placing them on the table, she set a piece of toast next to the eggs and grabbed the butter off the counter. A plate was placed in front of her guest, who wasn’t sure if he should be surprised that she knew how to cook. Anyone who owned a house such as the one Tommy found himself in usually had a few maids and a cook, but not Y/n it seemed. “What business brings you to London?”

“None worth anything,” he answered.

A groomed brow raised, she wondered why he wasted the trip. “Then why come?”

The answer that escaped his lips hit her in the heart, the one she saw coming. “For you.” For her, he had left the comforts of his home. For her, he had wasted precious time. And for her, he would surely be disappointed.

“Tommy,” she drawled, eyes gloomy to match her said smile. “You didn’t have to.”

Leaning back in his chair, his blue eyes pierced her own. His demeanor had changed. Once loving and sweet, now sharp and calculated. “You refused to come see me, decided to come see why.”

Y/n sighed, unsure whether to let her eyes wonder or stay focused on the man in front of her. “I’ve been busy,” she lied.

Her words must have been see through, not an ounce of weight to them, when Tommy rolled his eyes. “Apparently, you’ve been so busy that you’ve allowed yourself to visit the coast.” His words were bitter, laced with venom, each syllable as dangerous as the next. “Thought I wouldn’t find out?”

A foolish move to believe she could live a wonderful life. Once back in London, Y/n had done her fair share of research on Thomas Shelby. When it came to survival, it was always best to know all those around you. Y/n couldn’t allow anyone to burn her empire, no matter how much she was willing to let them. She knew Tommy was making his way up in the world, climbing the latter, each rung as illegal as the next. He was a quick witted and calculated man. Ambition seemed to always cross his mind. Tommy seemed to know as much about her as she did about him. But if he only mentioned her trip to the coast, perhaps he didn’t know all she thought he did.

Opening her mouth to say something, she was cut off before a word could get out.

“What am I to you?” The words were heavy on his tongue, even heavier ringing in her ears.

Y/n sat there, opening and closing her mouth, the breakfast in front of her completely forgotten. There was no perfect answer. No sentence that could be formulated that could wash away the pain evident in his eyes. There was no word that could be uttered to mend what she had broken but the simple truth.

Letting her eyes scour the room, she did her best to avoid eye contact as Tommy’s gaze drilled into her. “If you believe you don’t mean anything to me, you’re wrong. You mean the world to me.”

“You have an interesting way of showing it.”

Y/n couldn’t help but flinch at the bitter words. “I…” she shook her head and got to her feet. She couldn’t sit still, not with her heart attempting to beat out of her chest. “I don’t know how to love.”

The words were barely above a whisper but Tommy heard them from his place at the table. Eyes softening, he wasn’t sure he’d understood her properly. “What do you mean?”

Pacing around the kitchen, tears welled up in her eyes at all she didn’t want to say. Y/n wasn’t ashamed of her past, in fact, many would find it triumphant, but it wasn’t one that bathed in love. She had never been loved or in love until she had met Thomas Shelby at a pub in Birmingham. Many only had one love and that was good enough. But with her background, love was never enough. She could love with her whole heart, but her loyalty would always come into question.

“I have never been allowed to love,” Y/n explained at the mini bar in the corner of the room. It may have been early, but it was never earlier too early for a drink. A strong on at that. Shaking hand poured whiskey into a glass, filling much more than needed. “I-I have never been in a… relationship that wasn’t physical.”

Tommy wasn’t sure what to make of her announcement or the woman that stood before him. Whiskey pouring over the rim of her glass, it wasn’t hard for the man to see that her gentle words covered up a dirtier trust. Pushing himself out of his chair, in a few quick strides, he was by her side. Long fingers snatched the drink from her hand, placing it on the counter. “Were you a-”

“Please, please don’t say it!” she begged, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Please.” Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her against him, her head resting against his chest. “I won’t, I won’t,” Tommy said, rubbing a hand up and down her back. It did little soothe her but it was better than doing nothing. “It’s alright, love.”

Y/n shook her head, pulling away enough to meet his eyes. “No, it’s not,” she cried. “I’m fucking filthy! Not someone anyone would love.”

It broke his heart to see the pain in her eyes, the truth she placed on each word. Placing a hand against her cheek, he stroked the smooth skin, letting her melt against his touch. “I love you, Y/n,” he said softly to combat her sobs. “And I don’t care how filthy you are, I love you. And if I have to teach you how to lover properly, then so be it. But if you can love Pearl then I know you can love anyone.”

She was quiet, savoring each word that was said. No one had ever said such a thing to her and meant every word. Some customers had believed they were in love with her, taken her kindness for passionate love, but it was never that. “Do you mean it?” Y/n asked as Tommy wiped her tears away.

“Every word.” He leaned down, capturing her in a kiss. Y/n grabbed him by the collar and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. Tommy could have stayed there, with his arms wrapped around her, forever, but Pearl had other ideas. The dog barked from the other side of the room, earning laughs from two. Turning his attention back to Y/n, Tommy brushed a stray hair behind her ear and asked, “Now, will you come to Birmingham with me?”

*~~*~~*

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frostsinth · 4 years ago

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The Secret We Keep - Pt. 2

Part 1 - MasterList

Good morning, my dudes. Have a new part of the new orc story to celebrate me hitting 300 followers. As always, my eternal love for your support. I am grateful to have such wonderful feedback and overwhelming support for my work.

Thank you, and keep being you! Please comment and reblog with your thoughts. I read every single one. Multiple times. It is my sustenance. Feel free to DM or shoot me an ask if there’s something you’d like to see or any questions you have.

I was humming to myself as usual while I swept out the front shop when a huge shadow fell over me. I started, spinning with a tiny gasp. My hand even went to clutch at my breast in surprise. But as soon as I recognized the disheveled looking behemoth before me, my face split into a smile instead.

“Hans!” I exclaimed excitedly.

I beamed up at him as he bowed his shoulders to duck into the little shop through the door I had left propped open. His slate eyes roamed around, as if looking for something. Not much had changed in the week since I had last seen him. The cow haunches had been replaced by goat’s legs, the mackerel by trout. I had some fresh wild pheasant on the fire in the corner, and its juicy aroma filled the air. I leaned the broom against the wall and smacked the dirt off my hands.

“Welcome back! I was hoping I’d see you again!” I told him eagerly. “Hungry?”

He turned his big eyes on me, frowning. When he made no move to come deeper into the shop, I rolled my eyes in amusement. Perhaps he still wasn’t used to such friendly greetings, I decided as I went over and closed the shop door. Then I took up his big hand in both of mine and gave a gentle tug. His eyes dropped down to my hands, which looked like delicate glass compared to his meaty sausages. Of course, my tug had probably hardly even registered to him. If I was being honest, the effort of lifting his hand with both of mine was almost difficult.

But he allowed me to coax him out the back. I dropped his hand as soon as he started moving and turned to lead the way. A pair of deer were smoking today, and a wild turkey. There was a small pig’s head on the chopping block, its meat skewered and its ears put out to leather on the rack. I had left the door to my room open to let in some of the fresh summer air, and nodded to it.

“Go ahead in. I’m sure you’re sick of venison if you’ve been traveling. How about turkey?” I suggested. “The pig still has a few hours. I’ve got some salmon if you’d prefer.”

He didn’t go immediately to the house nor answer me. I saw his eyes considering the broken gate and the still empty stables. They drifted up to the makeshift skylight, then the crooked door and bent and beaten skewers. A frown tugged his lips in a deep, downward pitch. I hummed a few more lines of my previous song patiently as he looked about, dipping a smaller bucket in the barrel of water by the gate to bring in with us.

“You’ll never guess what happened,” I told him as I hoisted the bucket over my shoulder, “Not long after you left. Erlif and his men were found hogtied and bloody in the old prison. Nobody knows how they got there!” I laughed. “I heard they were shipped off to Osfar. They have a bounty on their head there.”

I waited by the door of the house, but he didn’t seem inclined to follow yet. I saw his eyes considering the meat on the skewers, and I thought I saw his tongue dart out to lick his lips. I felt a little ashamed of the wild meat on the coals. A good butcher would have only cooked and sold domestic grown meat. Raised themselves, if possible. While I was reduced to taking anything I could bargain for.

“You don’t say.” He grumbled in his deep, quiet voice.

“Good riddance, in my opinion.” I replied distractedly, looking a little forlornly at the meat on the skewers. “Sorry about the slim pickings today. Can’t afford to pay the farmers for their stock if I don’t have enough people buying the meat. And if I don’t have enough meat to sell, I won’t be able to buy the stock.” I shrugged. “Endless little circle. Luckily the hunters will sell their game cheap,” I tried to sound cheery at that, but wasn’t sure I managed, “Though I can’t ask for as much as I could for beef and pork.”

Hans scowled at me, and he drummed his big fingers on his ax head. His slate eyes looked me up and down again, and I raised an eyebrow curiously. I had a feeling I knew what he was thinking. I sighed quietly, brushing one hand through my hair. I ducked into the house, placing the bucket of water by the door and going over to the barrel nearest the stove. After digging around inside for a moment, I brought my findings back outside.

The orc seemed surprised to see the little coin purse held out to him in my tiny hand. His slate blue eyes shot back up to me, and a fresh scowl settled on his face.

“It’s all there.” I assured him, shifting my weight to my other foot.

He rubbed one rough hand at his scruffy beard. “It was payment for your services.”

I scoffed, leaning back and smiling. “What service? A little kindness to a stranger who helped me out?” I shook my head. “I manage well enough to do that.”

A growl formed in this throat, rumbling from somewhere deep in his chest. He slowly reached out and wrapped his huge hand around the pouch. My skin tingled where his fingertips brushed against mine. His brow was knotted, and his lips still set into a deep frown. I considered that for a moment, then smiled.

“It’s nice of you to worry, but I assure you. I’m fine.” I said, then rested my hands back on my hips. “So, are you hungry or not?”

The orc grumbled unintelligibly. The way he looked around my yard, I had a feeling he didn’t quite believe me when I said I was fine. He chewed at his lip thoughtfully, staring at me. I met his gaze, unabashed, and smiled. He grunted, then shook his big head. He tucked the pouch back into his belt slowly.

“Well, I would offer you a drink, but all I have left is water.”

I turned to go into the house, gesturing for him to follow me. Perhaps I could offer him some bread, though I only had a little left. But I paused in the doorway when I realized he wasn’t following. Instead, he turned, making his way over to the gate on the back wall. I followed him after a moment.

“What are you doing?” I asked curiously.

Before I could say more, he wrapped one huge hand around the top and bottom of the old broken gate. With one tug, the large gate shattered, ripping off its hinges. I was so surprised my hands went to my mouth. The big orc brought the pieces over to the wall, leaning it against it. Then he considered the scrap wood there before selecting a piece and a few nails.

I bustled over quickly as soon as I realized his intent, holding up my hands.

“You don’t have to do that!” I protested.

He gave a loud, almost startling snort. “I’m not asking.” He growled.

He considered the tiny hammer by the pile, then kicked it aside with a grumble and pulled out his ax, spinning it deftly in his hand. I continued to protest, even going so far as to place my hand on his huge bicep. He froze under my touch, and my words died in my mouth. I looked up at him, meeting his stormy blue eyes. We stayed like that, perhaps for a moment too long. Then I yanked my hand back, taking a little shy step away. I felt a little heat in my cheeks, though I wasn’t sure why. I swallowed a few times, smiling stupidly, flustered.

“W-well, then you’ll have to let me feed you. If you insist on fixing my gate.”

His responding grunt sounded affirmative. Satisfied he wasn’t going to fuss about it, I went back to the house. I adjusted the fresh flowers in the pitcher, trying to sort my thoughts and looking around as I thought about what I could offer him. Then I went over to where I had some dough rising, readying it to put in the oven. I stoked the coals until the little clay stove was back to baking temperature and slid the dough in. Smacking my hands together to get off the excess flour, I pulled out a pair of hollow horns and dipped them into the cool water. I took a sip myself, and brought the other outside to the big orc, placing it on a stump near him. It was a very hot day, after all.

Hans had already neatly trimmed and hammered two slats into place. Even as he worked I felt his eyes on me while I moved about the yard. I went over to the pits, seasoning the meat with some gravy and vinegar as well as dried herbs. Then I took up a hanging cloth and wiped down a few dishes by the water barrel, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. He was still watching. I couldn’t help a small, amused smile on my lips as I stacked the wooden plates before taking them inside to place on the small shelf by the larder.

It was only late afternoon; starting anything now would have it dried out and chewy by the time he finished the gate. I would just have to preoccupy myself with something else in the meantime. But I felt guilty letting him work alone in the heat.

So I gathered up my basket of herbs and carried it out on my head to the little yard. I dragged another stump over to the doorway of the shop and set the basket by my feet as I sat down. I would be able to hear if any last minute customers stopped by that way. I took up a few and began braiding them together. My small hands worked nimbly at the familiar task. It was mostly mindless, and allowed me to watch the big orc work.

“Do you have business in the area again?” I asked him conversationally.

He gave another positive sounding grunt, and I smiled, looking down at the forming garland of wild garlic in my lap. What a mystery he was! But I decided, looking at how efficiently he was repairing the gate with just his ax and a pile of scrap wood, my original assessment had been right. He was a laborer of some kind. I berated myself quietly for forgetting about an orc’s sense of pride. Of course he would insist on some sort of payment for the food I had given him last time. Orcs rarely took handouts. I snuck a look at him under my lashes, hiding another smile. Same as me.

“I wish I had more to offer you than water,” I mused aloud, interrupting the soft song I had been humming absentmindedly to myself. “And would you rather the pig or some goat for dinner?”

Hans straightened, reaching up one hand to wipe the back of it over his sweaty forehead. He snatched up the horn of water, guzzling it down. I watched his gullet move as he swallowed, and found my chest tingling at the sight. I blinked a few times to clear my head as he replaced the horn and reached for his belt again.

“Here.” He grunted, holding out a gold coin. I started to protest, but his growl silenced me. “Get a bottle of wine… or whatever you womenfolk like.”

At first, I was torn. My own pride would not allow me to take the offered coin; but my desire to be a good hostess reasoned that a bottle of gin would go quite well with the goat. I sighed, relenting to my latter argument. I replaced the half finished garland in the basket and held out my hands. He delicately placed the coin in my palm. Again, our skin brushed, and I felt my heart skip a beat. Swallowing, I stood, skittering over to the house. I hooked the bucket of water over my arm and brought it out, resting it in the shade before refilling his drinking horn.

“I won’t be long.” I promised, untying the straps of my apron hesitantly.

I glanced at him, then at the gate. I was unlikely to have any customers come knocking, but it still felt a little strange leaving him there in the yard all alone. Still, I knew the distillers shop just around the corner wouldn’t be busy. I could be there and back pretty quickly. I draped the apron over the stump, lingering.

He gave another hearty grunt, picking his ax back up. “Go. I’ll keep working.”

A little over half an hour later, I was back, the biggest bottle of mulberry gin they had on hand under my arm. It’d still cost less than the whole gold piece, and I carefully patted the silver coins in my pocket lightly. In my other hand was a fresh bundle of the wildflowers I had seen growing at the corner of the road that led out of town. I hadn’t been able to resist stopping to pick them. I brought them up to my nose to smell as I went to the back wall of the shop.

I nearly dropped both as I came round the corner. The sun was beginning to set, and dusty orange rays splashed across the yard. The air almost hummed with the heat of the day slowly starting to rise up from the ground as the air cooled. But it was the sight of Hans that had me frozen in place like a startled doe.

He was lifting a final slat of wood into place, and the sweat that trickled over his skin caught the orange sunlight making his dark green skin seem to glow. And there was quite a lot of skin to look at. The big orc had discarded his armor and his tunic and was now stripped bare down to his hips. Each movement had his muscles coiling and rippling with raw power. I swore he was less a man and instead simply one giant corded muscle as he reached for his ax and rotated it in one meaty hand to use the back of its head to hammer the final nails in place. Unlike those on his arms and shoulders, his muscles on his chest and abdomen were not defined. His was not the body made for show; they were the muscles made for work. Thick and tough, they did not jiggle or sag when he relaxed them, but they were more uniformed in shape and not distinct as individual muscles. Rather an entire torso designed to get the job done. And certainly, he was getting the job done; the gate was almost finished. Like watching a snake move through the grass, I found myself transfixed, unable to move.

It took him taking a step back and placing his hands on his hips as he admired his handiwork for me to come back to my senses. Unfortunately, I didn’t have much time to recover, for the big orc turned, as if sensing my eyes on him. I quickly fumbled a sheepish grin, blinking rapidly and letting out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“I hope you like mulberry gin,” I told him breathlessly, finding my feet well enough to close the remaining gap between us, “I thought it would pair very well with the goat-”

A soft ‘eep!’ escaped my lips as my foot caught on an errant board. I tumbled forward, arms going wide. My hands scrambled for the bottle, dropping the flowers in favor of saving the glass. I braced myself for impact, clutching the bottle to me and squeezing my eyes shut.

It came as a surprise when I didn’t suddenly feel the wind knocked from my lungs. Or the sting of the ground against my shoulder. In fact, I actually almost felt weightless, and a soft tingle of air hit the back of my neck as my hair lifted from it. A deeply rich smell filled my nose, and there was something firm but gentle at my back.

I cracked open an eye, and found it met by dark stormy blues. Slowly, I opened the other, feeling my breath hitch and my heart race beneath my skin.

I was delicately cradled in Hans’ arms, with one of his hands at my back and the other beneath my legs. He had dropped to one knee in his lunge to catch me, and bent over my body with his heavy brow knotted up. As he looked down at me, his hot breath splashed against my face, and I drew in another whiff of his thick scent. He seemed equally surprised to find me in his arms, but neither of us moved to change positions. I found myself simply staring, lost in his big eyes.

Finally, he gave a soft grunt, and slowly, carefully, lowered my feet back to the ground. I found myself quivering, and took a deep, steadying breath. The big orc dropped his hand almost reluctantly from my back, straightening up. I smiled at him again, dropping my eyes.

“Sorry.” I mumbled bashfully, thumbing the bottle between my hands.

He shrugged those huge shoulders, reaching up one hand and scratching at the back of his neck. I had to work hard not to stare at his broad chest and solid looking abdomen as he did.

“I shouldn’t have left shit lying around.” He grumbled, reaching down to pick up the offending piece of wood. He chucked the huge plank off to the side with about as little effort as swatting at a fly. “Just gotta mount the gate.” He finished, glancing over at the opening I had just walked through in the clay wall of the yard.

“O-oh! Right, yes.” I stammered, feeling heat rising to my cheeks again. I pushed my hair back from my face, looking about. “I’ll finish searing the meat while you do.” I frowned a little sadly, noticing the scattered flowers littering the yard. “You can wash up at the trough after if you’d like. The water is fresh.”

He followed my gaze around the ground, nodding. When he turned back to the gate, I bustled quickly into the shop to grab the goat. Focus, focus! I scolded myself, expertly taking the meat down and adjusting the coals to a hotter blaze. I shifted the pheasant to the side, letting it keep warm without continuing to cook. I’d have to slice it later and leave it to salt overnight. I reached under the table and grabbed my herbs and molasses, quickly spreading some over the outside of the leg. It sizzled as the coals burned hotter under it, and I used my handheld bellows to breathe a little more air onto them until they glowed orange. Kind of how Hans had in the sunlight. I shook my head, scolding myself again.

If only my father could see me now! Losing my head over a man. And an orc at that! He would have been in stitches on the floor. Would have teased me endlessly. At first, the thought of my late father warmed my smile. But then his memory and loss sobered me, and I slowly turned and braised the leg in quiet thought. Things had gotten a lot harder since his passing; this little run down town had a bad reputation, and a young, unmarried woman living alone was as dangerous as too much bellow work on hot coals. I sighed, turning the leg again and considering the crust that had formed. I would figure it out though. I always did.

A short while later, the leg was done. I grabbed my carving knife and put the leg on a wood slab, turning and ducking back out to the evening air with the gin under my arm again. It was refreshingly cool after the hot day, though I was certain it had probably only dropped just a few degrees. Still, without the sun beating down overhead or the fire on my face, it felt marvelous.

As I crossed the yard, I snuck a look at Hans out of the corner of my eye. He was testing the gate, swinging it slowly open and closed. He was still shirtless, and I greedily soaked up the sight of him. I shook my head again, clearing my throat and ducking through the open door of my house. No time for that now!

I quickly set the table, clearing the clutter and trying to rearrange the wilting flowers. It was a shame the new bouquet hadn’t made it; these could really use refreshing. But they would have to do. The bread in the oven had just finished, and I took it out and drew in a deep breath of its warm scent as I brought it over to the table. Gin, drinking horns, leg roast, plates, carving knife. I had just about everything set. I turned back to my little larder, thinking to myself a few snap peas would be a nice side for the roast. I heard splashing outside, and knew my time was going to be limited.

I hesitated by the bowl of water on the barrel by the stove. I reached up and twirled a strand of hair between two fingers thoughtfully, looking down at my worn old dress. It was covered in blood and gravy stains, and I smoothed my hands over it restlessly. Looking about, I went over to the pile of things on my bed and pulled out a fresh apron. Less dirty, at least, I thought to myself. Then I rinsed my hands and splashed water at my face, smoothing over my messy locks. I chided myself quietly, not entirely sure why it mattered what I looked like, but couldn’t help but untie the thong in my hair and brush my fingers down its length a few times before retying it.

The shadows had begun to lengthen with the departure of the sun. So I lit candles about the room and went back over to the larder with a small basket. I heard his footsteps, followed by the sound of his shoulders scraping against the door frame.

“Go ahead and have a seat,” I told him, reaching in and scooping a few handfuls of the snap peas into the basket, “I’m not sure if orcs like vegetables too, but I thought-”

My words caught in my throat as I turned back to face him. He was wearing his tunic again, but not his armor, and his hair was slicked back. I could still see the water droplets in his beard. It did nothing to impede how very handsome he suddenly looked. He fiddled with something in his hands, not quite looking up at me. When I managed to tear my eyes away from his now clean face, I noticed the wild flowers clutched in his huge, meaty fists. They looked a little rough, with a few bent stalks, missing petals, and pulverized leaves. But the sight of them had a smile blossoming on my own face.

I walked over, placing the snap peas on the table. Hans awkwardly held out the flowers, peeking at me through dark lashes. My smile grew as I reached out to take them. I couldn’t resist letting my fingers linger on his as I gently slid them from his grip. The touch had him looking up, meeting my eyes with his. I felt my cheeks turn a little pink, and brought the flowers to my nose to give a light sniff.

“Thank you, Hans,” I breathed, running my hand over the petals gently, “That was very kind of you.”

He gave a rumbling grunt that seemed to come from from somewhere deep in his chest. But his brow looked a little less scrunched than usual, and I could have sworn his lips weren’t quite so scowly. I decided he was pleased with himself, and hid my smile as I emptied the old flowers from the pitcher and replaced them with his. As I did, he slowly settled himself back on the bench, looking over the food.

I settled opposite him, bringing the carving knife over to me. I made quick work of the leg, separating it from the bone and cutting it into manageable pieces with a few well placed strokes of the blade. Hans watched quietly, and I thought I saw his cheek twitch and his brow soften even more. Was he impressed? I gave him a shy smile.

“You won’t make it far as a butcher if you don’t know how to handle a knife.” I told him, then speared a piece of the leg roast on the tip and held it out to him. “Here, tell me what you think.”

He eagerly took the offered piece between his thumb and index, bringing it to his mouth. I heard him suck on it, chewing it slowly. Savoring the flavor. He gave a resounding sound of enjoyment, his tongue darting out to keep escaping juices in his mouth. I smiled, picking a piece for myself and nibbling at it.

“Hmm. More bay leaf next time, I think,” I mused, rolling the flavor around in my mouth critically.

Hans was already reaching for another piece. I uncorked the gin and poured some into the horns. Never a short supply of those around here. I snapped a pea between my teeth, chewing quietly as I swirled the gin beneath my nose. The orc took a deep draught, and gave a happy ‘ahhh’ as he drew the cup back.

I smiled at him. “You act like you’ve never had a good meal!” I teased, sipping at my own gin. The tart liquor paired well with the sweet molasses I had braised the goat with.

He grunted again. “Not often.” He rubbed his cheek with the back of his hand. “Not like this.”

I refilled his cup and took up the bread, breaking it in two. I made sure he got the larger piece. I took up another piece of the meat and offered him the snap peas curiously.

“Well, whenever you’re in the area, stop by.” I told him shyly, and he took a few of the peas in hand, sniffing them thoughtfully. “I’ll make sure you get one.”

Hans seemed to enjoy the crunch of the peas, and took another small handful. I placed the basket back on the table and used my bread to sop up the juices on the cutting board. I sipped at my gin, then refilled the horns again. I could already feel its warmth seeping into my cheeks and the tips of my ears.

“You are alone?” Gurgled the orc conversationally, using my example to sponge the sauce and juices with his bread before bringing it to his mouth.

I nodded. “It used to be my father’s shop. He was an excellent butcher and cook. Taught me everything I know. But he passed away almost a year ago…” I dropped off, burying the sudden pang of loss with another sip of gin.

“Sorry.” Growled the orc, and though his voice was rough, I decided he sounded sincere.

I gave him a smile. “It’s alright. He died peacefully in his sleep. Can’t ask for much more than that.”

He grunted. I remembered suddenly exactly what orcs thought about a so called ’peaceful’ death. I remembered my father once telling me that they considered any death other than that on a battlefield almost shameful. I wondered if he found my statement insulting, and quickly tried to recover.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I apologized, feeling flustered, “I hope you don’t mind me saying as much.”

Hans snorted, shaking his big head. “I don’t care.”

I took up a handful of snap peas, popping them one at a time into my mouth. “The only things I know about the world are from what others have told me. I’ve never been outside this village,” I confided in him, “I’m not sure what I would do out in the great big beyond!” I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head.

He looked about my little room, and I felt a blush returning to my cheeks. I could almost hear the question he posed with his gesture. I thought about it for a little, following his eyes around my childhood home. Then I shrugged.

“I wouldn’t mind moving, perhaps someplace quieter, but I like my work.” I said. “No matter where I go, I think I would find myself just setting up shop, same as here. Though I suppose I could see myself on a farm, out in the countryside.”

“No cities?”

I laughed again, finishing off my cup and pouring myself another. “Oh Gods no! I can’t stand crowds of people. And the noise!” I shook my head, looking around, “I enjoy the little things; what I’ve earned with my own two hands.”

He gave another sound, deep in the back of his throat. I thought it sounded approving. I smiled at him, then glanced down at my cup bashfully.

“Do you often have business in the area?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

He raised one big, bushy brow at me. “...Sometimes.”

I shuffled my feet under the table. The plates before us were empty, and the shadows of the setting sun had long since disappeared. I considered the bottle of gin between us. It was hardly an excuse to keep him here, I thought, disappointedly, but it was the only thing I had. My head spun with the realization that I wasn’t ready for the orc to leave just yet. I stared numbly down at my cup, trying to find some courage.

“Come.” He growled suddenly, breaking the silence and standing.

I looked up at him, surprised, but followed suit without questioning. He certainly wasn’t much of the conversationalist, but it seemed the big orc never did anything without forethought. Whatever he had in mind, I decided I was curious enough to wait to find out. He took up the gin bottle and ducked his head to pass through the door. I was barely a step behind, holding my own horn nervously between my hands.

Out into the night air, I noticed the finished gate and smiled. I walked over, resting my hand against it. I couldn’t remember the last time the gate hadn’t looked like it would fall apart with a stiff breeze. It was obvious the gate had been repaired; the different types of wood interlaced with each other without much sense or pattern. But it was very sturdy. I wouldn’t have to worry about anyone unwanted coming through there. I traced my fingers over the wood, still smiling to myself.

I heard a soft grunt, and turned towards the source. The big orc had shuffled the stumps together against the side of the house, and was sitting on one. He didn’t look at me, but pulled out the cork of the gin with his teeth and refilled his horn. I slowly wandered over, wringing my hands. He leaned back against the house with a sigh, stretching his long legs out and letting his knees naturally fall apart. I watched quietly, edging a little closer, sipping at my drink.

He took a deep swallow, leaning his head back. I used the opportunity of his distraction to slip even closer. Coming up to his side. I glanced at the stumps, then around the yard. Beyond my tiny little haven, the soft sounds of the town closing up for the night echoed. Doors closing, windows shuttering, and calls of farewell. Trudging boots and soft laughter. Slowly, I lowered myself to sit on the stump next to him.

Hans refilled his cup again, then turned, leaning over me. I stiffened a little, but he merely poured some more gin into my horn. I felt his shoulder brush mine as he did, and my ears felt hot. All too soon he was leaning back again, recorking the bottle and placing it on the ground between us.

“Thanks.” I murmured, looking down into the cup.

He gave a rasping huff, reaching up and running his thumb along his bottom lip. I swirled my drink for a moment, then brought it back to my mouth. I liked the warm feeling wrapping about my core. And though I wouldn’t admit it, not all of that warmth was because of the liquor.

I wasn’t sure what else to talk about. Wasn’t sure if talking was what the big orc had in mind when he had brought us outside. I chanced a glance at him out of the corner of my eye, and saw his head back. Dark eyes looking up at the stars.

I followed his lead, leaning back against the house and tilting my chin up. I sighed deeply, forcing myself to relax. Took another sip to aid the process and tucked my ankles comfortably against the barrel. The position had my knees falling dangerously close to his thigh, but I tried to ignore that fact. Wondered if he noticed how closely we were sitting together. Or if he even cared.

“...You know, I had a man come to my shop the other day and tried to sell me his dog. His dog!” I giggled, finding the edges of my words slightly slurred. “And no matter what I told him, he kept trying to convince me the meat would ‘taste like chicken’...” I glanced at Hans out of the corner of my eye, but he didn’t seem to mind the story. I took another deep sip of the gin. “The man was drunk as a skunk, and I almost took him up on the offer. Not for the meat, mind,” I added quickly, “I don’t frown at any kind of meat, but that skinny hound would have been gamey as hell. Would have just been bad business to buy him for that. No, I wanted to buy him because I didn’t like to see the way he treated the poor thing.” I sighed. “It probably sounds hypocritical, but I hate to see an animal suffer-” I tapped my chin thoughtfully “-You know, maybe I should get a beast like that for around here. I’ve sure got enough bones lying around.”

I smiled, taking another sip and glancing at the orc again. He seemed to be listening quietly, his head tilted slightly towards me as he looked up at the heavens. He took a deep drag from his horn, and I watched his lips curl around the cup with a hungry eye.

“Though I’d want a big dog,” I said quickly, dragging my eyes away from his face. “Those tiny yappers they keep around in those big houses are only good for kindling.”

That garnered me a short, huffing snort. I thought it might even be a laugh. I grinned, tracing the rim of my cup with my thumb.

“Would be hard to find one around here, even if I had the coin to buy it.” I shrugged, tossing back the last of my gin and reaching for the bottle. “Probably better I don’t. Big old hound like that would probably stink…”

I dropped off as my hand brushed his, also reaching for the bottle. We froze again, and I craned my neck back to look up at him. His big eyes met mine, and I felt my mouth drop a little to see the way the moonlight glimmered there. Somewhere in the distance, a lute started playing amid the soft chatter of the tavern through an open door.

He turned his hand suddenly, catching mine in it and swallowing it up in his palm. I blushed a little, feeling my ears burning hotter than the midday sun. But I didn’t pull my hand away. Slowly, he brought it up, looking down at it. Running his big thumb over my knuckles. His hand was firm and strong, and quite warm, but despite the callouses, his touch was very soft and gentle. He turned it over, thumbing open my fingers to trace his fingers over my rough palms.

“...Worker’s hands…” I murmured apologetically, feeling suddenly a little ashamed I didn’t have the soft, pristine hands of a lady.

He shook his big head, his thick locks like a lion’s mane about him. “... I like them.”

He brought my hand up higher, unhurried, bending down slightly to meet it. Then he haltingly traced my knuckles lightly in a line along his lips. My breath fluttered in my chest, and I was sure my heart skipped more than one beat. In fact, I was pretty sure it had stopped all together. His large tusk brushed against my finger as he moved my hand slowly back and forth, sending a little shiver of excitement racing down my spine.

I had subconsciously shifted a little closer, and when his eyes lifted again, I was nearly leaning against his huge bicep. Our eyes met again, and we sat in silence for a long moment.

“I should be going.” He rumbled finally, beginning to straighten up.

“Oh…” I breathed, finally finding the air returning to my lungs in a rush. It came ladened with more than a small helping of disappointment.

But he didn’t release my hand as he stood, so I stood as well. Standing perhaps just a hair too close to him than was necessarily appropriate. My eyes flicked to his big lips, and I saw them twitch slightly under my scrutiny.

His free hand went to the pouch at his belt, and he turned, digging through it for a moment. He turned over my hand as he did, then pressed three gold coins into my palm and closed my fingers around it.

“But-”

“I want to buy a pig.” He interrupted before I could finish my protest. “A whole roast pig.”

I was surprised, and looked down at his hand clasped around mine. “Three gold would buy you two pigs! Maybe three!”

He shrugged. “Then I want three pigs.”

“But-”

“How long?” He interrupted again, and I felt him squeeze my hand in his gently.

I fell silent, breathing in the warm night air. Each breath I drew felt thin, and my heart pounded so loudly against my ribcage I was sure he could hear it. I tried to find a reasonable answer to his question amid my spinning thoughts.

“Four days.” I replied finally, then remembered something, turning to dig in my pocket with my own free hand. “Wait, I have your change from the gin-”

“Keep it.”

“But-”

He growled softly, effectively cutting me off again. My eyes jumped up, but his big brow seemed smoother. Not angry or annoyed. He studied my face for a moment, then reached up and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Get some more gin… it was good.”

He finally dropped my hand, shuffling in place for a moment before turning with a grunt. He walked over to where his armor rested, draped on the fence. I watched him, unsure what to do with myself in that moment. Finding myself at a loss for words.

Gathering up his armor, he tossed it over one shoulder, then looked back at me. I gave him a cheery smile, but dropped my gaze shyly. I heard him shift his weight.

“Four days.” He promised.

I didn’t have the strength to lift my head until I heard him opening the repaired gate. Then I watched him disappear into the night, my head spinning.

...

UPDATE: Part Three HERE

#slow burn #orc lover #orc boyfriend #monster boyfriend #monster lover #monster x human #terato #dnd #exophilia #the secret we keep #oc #update #monster romance #budding romance #other tags here

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everyhowlmarksthedead · 4 years ago

Text

BUSINESS AND PLEASURE

JOHNNY “COCO” CRUZ X CHIBS TELFORD’ DAUGHTER!READER

“What if you should move to Santo Padre for two months…”

Chapter index.

Chapter two.

Word Count: 3.5k

Author Comments: I hope you all enjoy. Gif credits: @angels-reyes.

Thanks to my lovely beta reader and partner in crime with this one, @chibsytelford 💘

TAG LIST: @starrynite7114 @dazzledamazon @chibsytelford @mara-mpou @sammskellington @gemini0410 @whyisgmora💥 (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

The roulotte isn't that bad, but being placed in a yard of the car scrapping it's something that gives you chills. Still your new house, for the next two months, is enough for you. It has a bed, a little kitchen, a bathroom and a sofa next to a table. Large windows covered by curtains and a smell of jasmine that reminds you of your mother. Maybe your father told them. Your clothes are already hung inside the wardrobe, while the empty suitcase is under the bed. There's no food in the fridge, nor the furniture on the wooden wall, so probably you will have to wake up early to find a supermarket or, at least, a place to have breakfast.

It's one at night and the heat of southern Cali is insufferable. You're rolling from one side of the bed to the other, with the sheets tangling on your feet. Leaving a heavy snort, you jump out of the bed to put on some sneakers and wear a shorts, to walk outside. Following the sound of laughter and voices, you arrive at the clubhouse. There's light inside and some latin music playing, similar to that one Canche listens to. Feeling stupid in front of the door, you don't know if you should call by knocking it, or come in without invitation. So you mixes both options. Opening the door you stick your head out. The silence floods the place. Everyone is looking at you, even the girls that you don't know, but you guess who they are.

The president does a move with his hand to continue the party, getting up from the pool table and leaving away one of those girls, walking towards you.

“'You ok?”

No, you're not.

“Yes”.

The man opens the door completely to let you through. You're scared because you don't know those men and, even if they're allies and you're trained, it's one against nine. Not counting the women.

“Can I help you?” He asks after some seconds, resting his forearm on the door frame.

“I was wondering if... I could have some water, maybe a beer”. You finally say clearing your throat, with both hands against your back.

“For sure”. When the Mayans president smiles, you feel somewhat better. Putting an arm on your shoulders, narrowing you for a second, guiding you to the bar. “Hey, prospect, give the kid whatever she asks fo'”.

After palming the top of your head one time, Bishop comes back with his girl.

“I'm Ezequiel, by the way”. The man offers you a hand, holding yours in a salute. “But you can call me ‘Ez’”.

“(Y/N)”. You answer giving him back the same smile.

“So, what you need?”

“Water and beer, please. One and... maybe three?”

“Take it easy, girl!” He says frowning in amusement. He turns to take the order, putting it inside a small box to make it easier to carry, adding a bottle opener. “Anything else?”

Yes, you need a hug and company.

“No, thank you. Enjoy the party”. Shaking your head and taking the box, you walk outside with slow steps.

You don't expect anyone to ask you if you want to stay, but could be good have someone to talk to. Usually, when you feel alone, you call Happy or go to his house. The only thing you can do now is play some music on your headphones and write on your diary, drinking a beer. The front yard is dark and raising your gaze to the sky you can see all the stars in it, and it's really beautiful. So, when you're back at the roulotte, you take the decision to put a blanket outside on the ground with a cushion to be comfy. Lying on it and turning on the music with your phone, you open the diary to find some paper folders to write in.

Usually, you write letters to your father, telling him about your days. Then, when he's back in Charming, he spends the whole night reading them while you sleep next to him. But before putting the pen on the paper, you hear some male voices coming to the roulotte. You get up on your knees, looking the five men walking towards you bringing some packs of the mexican beer you got minutes ago.

“What's up, girl?” The taller says with a big smile on his lips. “We haven't introduce ourselves!”

Sitting on your heels, you close the diary while the guys take a place on the ground around you. Then, the man points everyone.

“I'm Angel, EZ's old brother. You already know Coco. Creeper, my skinny man. And Gilly, the big guy”.

“(Y/N)”. You say with pursed lips, while they're opening the beers.

“Yea', we know. What is it like to be the daughter of the great Chibs Telford?” Creeper asks before drinking.

“‘The great Chibs Telford’?” You break in laughter, shaking your head. “I could kick your ass and empty a load in your chest without battin' an eye. Why don' ya' ask him what is' like to be my father?”

Sometimes you should watch your mouth, but you live in a constant competition and you can't simply shut up. Drinking and looking away to hide your shame, the Mayans break in laughter. That makes you smile, glancing them with the bottle against your lips.

“We heard about it too”. Angel says then, with all the looks on you. “Tel'us about'e”.

“Should I introduce myself as in Alcoholics Anonymous?”

It's six am and when someone yawns, the rest too. At this point of the dawn, they know a lot of things about you, like what are you studying, what you do in your free time, and you even talked about some missions in which you participated with Stockton and Yuma. But, even if they're interested in knowing more about you, the guys starting to leave one by one, because they have had a long day on the road.

“You don' sleep?” Coco asks taking a drag of the cigar.

“I can't”. You shrug your shoulders. “I mean... I'm tired, but I can't sleep”.

“Wha' you were doin' when we came?”

“I... Mm...” Pursing your lips, you push a strand of hair behind your ear, taking the diary to showing him. “When my father goes out of Charming, I write him... like... letters. More or less”.

The man throws away the cigar, shaking and cleaning his hands on the shirt before holding it. He have a quick look, not wanting to seems too curious, giving it back to you when he finds the pen and the blank paper.

“Wan' me to wait for you'?”

“For what?”

“Till you fall asleep”.

“Sounds weird”. You try not to laugh, shaking your head slightly.

“No! I mean...!” He laughs too, supporting his hands on the asphalt, and resting his weight on them. “You said before that sometime' you have nightmares. Maybe you're just... afraid or something like that, and that's why you can't sleep”.

“Or maybe I took a nap of four hour hearing your battles”.

“He', you asked fo' them! Don' play fool with me”. He says pretending to be offended. “See, mami? I didn' fall asleep with yours”.

“Okay, I'll let you continue tomorrow”. Maybe you're not thinking about your words, but sounds better than having no plan.

“Another battle, fo' a letter”.

“What?”

“I have to ride to Mexico on Friday. 'Will be back on Sunday”. He explains getting up, checking his phone to watch the hour. “Shit... I work in three hours”.

“Me too, but it was worth it”. You nod, holding his hands to get up and be able to take your things.

“Yea'”. Coco says keeping them inside his pockets. “So, we have a deal?”

“About?” You ask then, going inside the roulotte leaving the stuff on the table, before sticking your head out of the door.

“Another battle, fo' a letter”. He repeats standing in front of you.

“Good night, Coco”. You chuckles shaking your head, closing the door.

“Goo' nig', mami”.

You can see him through the window going to the entrance. Taking your phone, you fall down on the bed, checking if you have any message. But nothing. At least, on Saturday, Canche will come to see you, so you could be entertaining for a day.

You start to roll again on the mattress, till you find a good position with an arm behind your head. It feels like the first night in Charming, when you left Scotland, with the difference that you don't know these men and you have to be in a constant state of alarm, for anything that could happen. You know that, maybe in some days, this feeling it's going to disappear. But it's always hard to adapt yourself to new changes.

Sleep seems like it's not an option today, huffing heavily and getting up of the bed, to get undressed and walk to the shower, when dawn begins. The warm water relaxes you, falling all over your body, till you know it's enough time in it. With a towel surrounding you, knotted above your chest and brushing your hair, you look for a track-suit to dress so you could go to find a supermarket to buy some food.

It doesn't surprise you the fact that there are some vehicles near of the car scrapping, checking you have all you need inside your funny pack, leaving the Mayans property. With your headphones on and some music playing in your ears, your gaze travels from one side to another with curiosity. Santo Padre looks like Stockton but in a most mexican way. Even so, seems like a good place and people smile at you kindly, knowing that you're an outsider because of the way you dress and your smell. Good clothes, expensive perfume. Your father always giving you the best.

(Meanwhile at Romeros and Bros)

“THE HELL MEANS THAT YOU CAN'T FIND THE KID?”

Bishop's voice resonating all over the car scrapping makes the Mayans tremble, even the most veterans. The man types your number again, but there's no answer before the voicemail. Rubbing his eyes with two fingers of his left hand, he knows he's fucked if Marcus comes to the clubhouse and you're not there.

“I want you... ALL looking for the kid. Call your fucking contacts, kick the streets, track her scent if necessary! If Álvarez doesn't see her in thirty minutes, he's gonna rip our balls off and weAR THEM AS A FUCKING COLLAR. FIND. THE. KID”.

Your stomach roared, putting boths hands on it with a soft sigh. Raising your eyes, you finally find the wished place. Yes, it's happiness what you're feeling. And hunger. Especially hunger. Walking inside and taking a basket, you walk the different corridors to catch the most basic things, at least. Once you're done with the shop, you place it on the cashier. An old man takes it, checking the price and putting it inside some plastic bags.

“¿Algo más, señorita?” (Anything else, miss?) He asks you with a soft smile and a kind gesture on his face.

“No, es todo, gracias”. (That's all, thank you). Your accent is a little rusty, but it's enough for him to understand you, offering him the credit card.

Walking up the avenue, with the headphones kept in your pocket and carrying two plastic bags in every each hand, you see how two bikers pass you away by the road, staring at you for a second. Suspicious. Swallowing, your steps going faster. Without a gun behind your shirt, you don't feel protected yet out of Charming.

“Hey! Hey! Chamaca! Bishop is looking fo' ya'!”

Your heart stops for a second, rolling your eyes. Yes, for sure. You turn to the men shrugging your shoulders and pursing your lips.

“Go up, I'm taking you to the Mayans”. The one with darkest hair, at the side of the other, talks then. You shake your head incredulous.

“Do you think 'amma ride with you?” You're about to break in laughter. “Thanks, I have legs”.

“Then, we will escort you”.

You can't believe it. Rolling your eyes again, your feet starting to walk slowly, trying to desperate them so you can come back alone, enjoying the views and the town. And the way that took you ten minutes, it's transformed to thirty.

“How it happened, primo?” You can hear Marcus' voice, walking faster towards the clubhouse and leaving the bags on the floor to run at him.

“Shit, I'm gonna kill her...” Bishop whispers when he sees you.

It's been two months since you last saw him and you can't be more excited to see a familiar face. You practically jump into him, before the mexican can holds you in his arms.

“Look at you!” You say in laughs, referring to the suit he's wearing.

“Sweet Jesus Christ! You scared the shit outta' me, (Y/N)! 'The hell you went, ah?” Marcus hugs you tightly, before pulling you to make sure you're ok.

“I couldn't sleep and I was hungry, so I went to find some things”. You explain, before turning to the Mayan president with the crew behind him and upset gesture on their faces. “Sorry, I should have left a note”.

“Yes, you should, kid! You scared us all!” He demands really angry.

“Hey, don' yell at her, Obispo! Nine men and no one thought about the kid has the strange habit of feeding”. The older retorts sarcastically. “Show me the roulotte, I'll make you some coffee, ah?”

You nod then with his arm surrounding your shoulders, walking next to the bags to carrying them to your new ‘house’. Marcus Álvarez was one of the first men you knew at Charming, when you had to move from Europe, being one of your father's best friends and loyal ally. He use to go to your city every two or three weeks, having meetings with the SOA and spending some time with you improving your spanish. So you like to call him ‘tío’, and it's makes him feel good 'cause he has never had a niece or a daughter or anything like that.

He holds you the door, walking in to leave the groceries on the counter to keep the food in its corresponding place, while the man turns on the ceramic cooker to prepare some breakfast.

“Now are you with the cartel? Galindo treats you rai'?”

“Yes, as a Counselor. I was too old to keep ridin', mija”.

“How are your knees?” You ask interested, grabbing the necessary cutlery to put them on the table.

“So much better, without doubt”. Turning at you, he rests his body on the wall cross-armed, while the coffee maker is doing its job. “Listen, I know you, okay? I told your father, if you don't feel comfortable here, you can come with me. A mi casa. You know it's your house too. But every step you do, tell Bishop. He was really worried, not only because I was about to rip off his balls, but because of you, mija. You can fight, I know it well. But this isn't your territory, and you have to abide by the rules”.

“I know, I know, tío. I just... forgot it, I didn't give any importance”. You sigh nodding, resting your waist against the edge of the table. “I was talking till late with Coco, and th...”

“With Coco?” He raise an eyebrow with a funny smile on his face.

“Yeah, the guys came to make me some company, and at the end we got alo... Why are you looking at me, like /that/?”

“Coco, ah?”

“Don't”. You point at him with your forefinger about to break in laughter.

“Es un buen chamaco”. (He's a good guy).

“I said ‘don't’, tío”.

“I like it for you”.

“Oh, bloody god... Here we go, stop!”

Someone knocks the door, having your attention, with the mexican about to serves the coffee in two mugs. Opening the door, you find ‘the king of Rome’.

“Hey, uh... I need 'talk to you”.

“Sure, come in”. You say frowning, leaving him some space.

“Ah, Coco! We were talkin'bout ya'!” Oh, shit. You rub the bridge of your nose, dying on shame and your cheeks getting red'. “Coffee?”

“Were you?” He asks with no gesture on his face, looking at you. But you can't say anything, or do any move. “Well, the point is that Bishop asked one of us to be your sponsor, I've volunteered”.

“Did you?” Marcus and you ask in unison.

“Ya' know? I think I've some business to take care of. I'll see you tonight, mija”. The older runs away as soon as he can, leaving you there with your heart beating too fast.

“But if you d...”

“No! It's ok”. You say, trying to look normal after to be left lonely against a war. “I mean... Cool”.

But you're so far to be normal.

“Awesome. Uh... You're comin' with us to Mexico on Friday”.

“Really?” You're always excited about ride to new places, but, damn! Mexico! Cross the border, another culture, real tacos! “Shit! That's bloody amazing”. You can't help but hugging him really anxious and happy about the travel.

He got frozen, with your arms around his neck and you jumping as a rabbit does. But when he's about to put his hands on your hips, you turn away to offer him the coffee. Seems like he needs it as you do, before starting to work.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

You also know Chuckie, the lovely and kind man without forefingers, who was formerly in Charming. He has been sometimes at the SAMCRO headquarters, always treating you with a lot of respect in a dearly way. Usually, he talks you about the things your father told them about his beautiful, smart and badass daughter. A scottish from head to toe, with his character and her mother's eyes. Chuckie knows a lot about you and your life, even memories you can't remember of your childhood.

He's showing you all the car scrapping, while you're drawing something like a map with different notes in the borders to don't miss a single detail about the place, and about where is located every stuff for spare parts, the warehouse of new orders, the garage, the office... Everything. It's easy. It's a little bit bigger than yours in Charming, but it has no lose.

“You fuckin' idiot!”

“My bad!”

“What's up, guys?” You ask, putting the notebook against your chest, between both hands.

“This fuckin' idiot left the keys on”. Angel says snorting, pointing a smashed car above four more. “And now we need it!”

“What you were thinkin', man?” Gilly breaks in laugh, giving your notebook to Chuckie.

“Ok, Reyes, teamwork”. You palm his chest with the back of your hand.

“Wha'?” The guys ask incredulous.

“Lift me on your shoulders, you're the taller one”.

The men look at each other strangely. But nobody says anything. Angel complies bending down to let you sit on him. Getting up, you try to keep the balance while he walks towards the row. Now, using his hands you place your feet on them to go higher, till you're able to crawl into the smashed car. Stretching an arm straight, you reach the keys, keeping them inside your pocket.

The point is how are you supposed to go down? You duck your head down to the boys, seeing that Angel is gesturing to tell you to jump. You're doubting, but you finally do. He catches you on air and on time, feeling like you're about to having a heart-attack.

“'Got you, kid”. He says in a whisper, so close that you don't find any distance.

“What a superhero!” You answer sarcastically.

“I earned a kiss”. Proud words.

“In this case, you earned a punch in the face, Reyes”. You laugh putting your feet on the asphalt. “Maybe Coco forgot it, but you were supervising him”.

“'Hell you doin'? Do ya' think the kid is a fair monkey?” Behind your backs, you hear Tranq's voice coming to you. “You ok, (Y/N)?”

“Yea', I just... forgot a keys in the car”. You lie loudly, shaking your jeans and taking the green shirt his offering you.

“Didn' Angel tell you?”

“Yea', yea', he did. But I was overthinking, it's not gonna happen again, sorry”.

The man looks satisfied with your reply, nodding before continue with his own business. Now that Coco is your sponsor, you've to cover his shit. You know well how it works. With your father was easy, of course, 'cause he's the president of your charter and he doesn't owe any explanation if he fuck up something.

“Thanks, mami”. He says with some kind of surprise on his voice.

“Watch your moves, Coconut, I'm too young to die”.

#mayans mc imagine #mayans x reader #mayans mc x reader #mayans mc #coco cruz x reader #coco cruz #johnny coco cruz x reader #here we go coconut

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chalantness · 4 years ago

Text

fic: Here, On the Edge of Hell (6/6)

Rating: M Word Count: ~14,300 (part six) Characters: Steve/Natasha Summary: mafia au. She knows her father hadn’t been lying when he said that Uncle Howard wanted her to keep an eye on Steve, but if this was simply about protection, he wouldn’t have put her on the line at all. Especially not with all of the heat Steve Rogers is getting from the other Families, which means that her uncle has another reason for Natasha to be involved.

He just won’t tell her what it is.

Read On: [ ao3 ]

A/N: I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S FINALLY HERE! The last part of the mafia 'verse!!

I initially thought this was going to take me 1-1.5 months tops to finish, but in true Chanty fashion, it took twice that long... three months later, and we're finally at the end! I'm excited and a little nervous to get to the big reveals, and I'm warning you now that this is my first genuine attempt at writing action sequences of this kind, but I'm really happy of how this chapter and this whole story turned out and I hope you darlings are, too! I had so much fun with this 'verse, and it's definitely the closest of anything I've written to the kinds of stories I want to tell in my original works. If you liked this story overall (I know there was a lot of room for improvement!) then I think you may like the stories I've got in store as an author!

Thank you darlings for all of your support and enthusiasm!

“I must admit, I was beginning to doubt if I’d ever get the satisfaction of having a Rogers on his knees. Of course,” Anton muses, sliding both hands lazily into his pockets, “I’d always pictured it to be Joseph. Maybe Pietro. But I suppose you look enough like both of them to suffice.”

Steve clenches his jaw, eyes flickering to Wanda kneeling beside him in the middle of what seems to be an empty warehouse. Honestly, Steve wouldn’t be surprised if it’s exactly that. The restaurant he and Wanda had been about to pick up food from is near the harbor, and Steve knows that Howard Stark just bought a few shipment facilities in this area from a business going bankrupt. He mentioned they were about to break ground on this site, too, which means all of the buildings would’ve already been cleaned out and fenced off from the public, and since this place is going to be the new site for another Stark Industries building, it would make sense that Anton would have access to it.

“And you, my dear,” Anton continues, turning to Wanda, and Steve feels his entire body stiffen as Anton reaches down to grasp at Wanda’s throat, forcing her to tip her chin up to meet his stare. Her wrists are tied behind her back, probably just as tightly as Steve’s are, but her arms still wiggle as she struggles against the knot, twisting her body away from Anton as best as she can. “Unfortunately, I’ll have to get rid of you as well. If I thought you would actually stay quiet, I would’ve kept your pretty face for myself.”

Wanda narrows her eyes up at him in a glare. “I would have begged for you to kill me instead.”

“I thought you were smart enough not to show your hand.” Anton releases her throat with a shove, nearly knocking her over, and Steve grits his teeth together. “Since it seems worse than death for you, I might just change my mind. Kill your beloved brother in front of you then keep you out of sight for a while, just for my amusement.”

“I’m all for that plan,” Ivan chimes in, squatting down beside Wanda and brushing her hair from her face, glass shards from the shattered back windshield of the car still threaded through the wild strands. He grasps her chin with his fingers, flashing his teeth in a dangerous smile. “What do you think, princess? Should we have a little fun?”

“That’s enough,” Steve practically growls. “You’re not touching her.”

“Unless it’s over your dead body?” Anton guesses. “Because if that’s what you’re waiting for, it’s about to be arranged.”

“You’re not touching her, period,” Steve snaps, only barely keeping his voice from shaking, every muscle in his body going taut. He’s pissed. He’s fucking pissed, and he knows that Anton can see it in his eyes because there’s a fleeting flash of alarm in his eyes before he blinks, smug once more.

It doesn’t fool Steve, though. Anton might’ve taken his gun, and he might have Steve on his knees with his hands tied, but the man still feels threatened by him.

“You’re not in any position to be making threats,” Ivan spits out at Steve, practically sneering. “But what else would I expect? You Rogers feel like you own the fucking world. Howard barely even blinks in my direction all these years and yet, you step in and he serves his precious niece up to you on a silver platter, just because you’re Joseph’s boy.”

Steve curls his fists even tighter, somehow, almost tight enough that his fingernails practically break through his own skin. “Therein lies your problem,” Steve replies, and some small, selfish part of him relishes in the obvious annoyance flickering in Ivan’s expression at how calm his voice is, almost nonchalant. No doubt the guy thinks it only proves his belief that Steve feels like he’s entitled. “Maybe if you stopped treating women like playthings, he might start to consider you as someone worth acknowledging.”

Ivan half-shoves his hand away from Wanda, just as Anton had, and grabs the front of Steve’s shirt with his fist, hauling him onto his feet as he practically growls in his face.

Steve blinks back at him, jaw ticking, but he manages to keep his expression composed. Which of course only pisses Ivan off even more.

“You think you can just swoop in and take your daddy’s place on top?” Ivan demands. “You think you’ve got everyone fooled?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Steve hitches his mouth up ever so slightly in a smirk. “I think being head of the Family already speaks for itself. Not that you’d know what that kind of respect is like considering Howard barely considers you one of his soldiers.”

Ivan grits his teeth. “I’m the only one who isn’t too big of a coward to be scared off by Stark’s made up rules. That’s the real reason he doesn’t get in my way.”

“You’re a liability,” Steve counters. “You think my father is the only reason I get any respect? Your father is the only reason you haven’t been cut off.”

A growl rips of Ivan’s throat. “You little—”

“Calm down, boy!” Anton barks, yanking Ivan back by his jacket, and Ivan shoves Steve back before shrugging his father’s hand off of him, still gritting his teeth. “This is why you get sloppy. He’s trying to rile you up and you’re falling for it.”

Steve holds back a grunt of discomfort as his knees hit the ground again, his body very nearly swaying back from the force of Ivan’s shove, but he manages to catch his balance at the last second. Anton is in Ivan’s face now, his words coming out in a low hiss as he says something to Ivan under his breath, and Steve takes the moment of distraction to turn to Wanda once more. He hadn’t wanted to risk more than just a few quick glances, wanting to avoid drawing any more attention onto her. It’s already obvious to Anton and Ivan that the only real advantage they have over Steve is his sister, and likewise for Wanda, but actually showing that weakness is even worse.

He was worried that she might’ve been more banged up from the crash than he initially thought, and now that he has the time to look for any injuries, he notices a fresh scrape on her arm, probably from when Anton dragged her from the wreckage. But it isn’t bleeding, nor does it seem all that deep, so he won’t worry over it right now.

What does worry him, though, is the fact that Wanda is still squirming against her restraints. It’s subtle enough that Ivan and Anton probably won’t notice, but Steve does, and for a moment he thinks that maybe she’s in discomfort because of how tightly the rope could be knotted around her wrists—but then he catches a glimpse of something shifting behind her back. The slim, black metal is hidden by Wanda’s blouse at an awkward angle with the way her wrists are tied together, but he recognizes it in an instant.

Bucky’s knife.

... ...

The hotel that Yuri’s men take her to is one of the few in New York that her uncle hasn’t managed to buy out, which Natasha is willing to bet isn’t a coincidence on their part. That’s likely the only reason they were able to slip under the Family’s radar for so long, though the place itself is by no means modest, and Natasha isn’t surprised when they lead her onto the elevator reserved for the residential suites at the top. And he’d probably booked out the entire top floor, too, not simply for his men but for the sake of discretion as well – and, not for the first time, Natasha knows it’d been the right call to follow Yelena’s advice to not have Tony follow her when she was going to be grabbed.

Judging just from the number of men posted along the hallways on the way to the suite, Natasha knows her family would’ve been outgunned on their own, even with every capo and soldier available on such short notice. Having the entire Family and their men will give them the advantage.

Just as long as Natasha can hold out until they find her.

Yelena has barely glanced in her direction, her composed expression perfectly in place, and Natasha has been careful to keep her own gaze appropriately alarmed considering she was just coerced into the back of a van off of the street without any explanation. If she comes off too unaffected, they may realize that she’d been expecting this; but she can’t come off too affected, either, considering it would be just as suspicious for someone so high up in a mafia to act as if this is her first ever time in this kind of situation.

Which it isn’t, though both other times had been part of her plan, so it really didn’t matter how unaffected she appeared to be when she’d had the upper hand from the beginning. This time is far different, and if Natasha had any less of a poker face, she wouldn’t stand a chance at making Yuri believe she’s entirely in the dark.

Yelena produces a keycard from her pocket as they reach the double doors of the suite, unlocking them, and then two men draw them open from inside, revealing a large sitting room with wide, glass walls overlooking the city.

And, lounging on the couch in the center of the suite, is Yuri Petrovich.

Natasha had already known who he was before Yelena had explained their connection. He may live in a different country, but his mob has associates in New York, so the Family has always kept tabs on them. Even without that reason, her uncle would’ve insisted on it, anyway, simply because of their reputation.

And because of her, she realizes. Just as Yelena had said, whether or not Natasha truly is related to him isn’t relevant; the possibility of it alone would’ve been enough for her and her mother to be on their radar to begin with, and that would’ve been enough for Uncle Howard to view the threat of the Petrovich mob coming after them as real.

“Natasha,” he greets, his smile almost charming, and his men usher her further into the room as they close the doors behind her. “I’m glad that you can join us.”

Her lips curve into the ghosts of a smirk. “I couldn’t exactly decline the invitation.”

He waves her over with two fingers, and she takes a moment to let her gaze slide over the room. Partly to assess where his men are posted throughout the suite, a move he would’ve expected her to pull, but also to take note of where Yelena has come to stand behind the couch Yuri is seated on. Distant enough as to not draw suspicion yet close enough to have an advantage over him from behind, though it also puts her in everyone’s line of fire, so the chances of her actually being able to make the first move are slim.

Not without a distraction, at least.

Natasha walks around the couch opposite of Yuri, perching herself on the cushion, and he leans forward to grab a bottle of vodka out of a bucket of ice on the table. “Care to join me?” he asks, pouring the alcohol into two shot glasses. “I know it’s not a traditional drink to share for first meetings, but I have a feeling you and I have the same taste.”

She lets cautious curiosity flicker in her eyes when he looks at her. “That’s quite an assumption”

“Let’s just say, I recognize a kindred spirit when I see one,” he replies, sliding one of the glasses over, and she eyes him skeptically as she picks it up. “After all, we already have quite a lot in common.”

“Because I’m of Russian blood?” she asks. She knows it could be dangerous to try and coax the truth out of him like this, but the secretive, smug edge to his smirk only widens, his eyes flashing, and Natasha can tell that he finds her choice of words more ironic than suspicious. “If you know this about me, you’ll also know I was raised here.”

He hums, lifting his glass instead of replying, and Natasha tips her head back as he does to drain her shot. It’ll take more than this to get her drunk or even buzzed, but she still needs to be careful if he insists on more.

“I do know this,” Yuri finally answers, setting the vodka aside as he stares back at her. “I know quite a bit about you, in fact.”

“And I suppose the reason for that is why you’ve come all the way here to pay me a visit in person,” Natasha muses. “Or is this how you woo all the Russian girls?”

“Woo?” He shakes his head. “No, that would be rather inappropriate, though I don’t suppose Melina Stark has given you a clue as to why.”

Natasha allows her irritation to flit across her expression, her body stiffening in annoyance at his tone, though the satisfied curl of his lips tells her that she’s come off as alarmed as she’d intended. “If we have as much in common as you say, then you’ll know that as adept as I am at playing games, I don’t particularly enjoy them,” Natasha replies, letting her casual tone slip from her voice as she narrows ever so slightly. “I would hardly consider us kindred spirits simply because we’re both of Russian descent.”

Yuri raises his eyebrows slightly, almost seeming impressed by her bluntness. “Perhaps we don’t have everything in common, because I do enjoy a good game of watching others squirm. But since I admire your boldness, I’ll return it: our Russian descent isn’t all that we share, dear sister. We are blood by its very definition.”

She tilts her head, gauging his expression. It’s clear that he believes his words, just as Yelena had said, and she lets anger flit across her face. “And I should take your word?”

“If I had the time, I would’ve brought Melina here to tell you the story herself,” Yuri replies, his smirk widening as he lounges back against the couch. “But since she isn’t with us at the moment, I’ll give you the courtesy that she should’ve given you and tell you exactly why Melina Vostokoff fled to America on your father’s arm. Of course, if I’d been accused of having an affair with my best friend’s husband, I wouldn’t be too keen on sharing that story with my supposed daughter,” he adds with a shake of his head.

“An affair?” Natasha questions.

“I believe you’re intelligent, dear sister, and the talk of you within the underground of New York would support my belief,” Yuri muses. “I know you must have wondered what would’ve compelled your mother to marry a man who had been on vacation and leave her country on such an impulsive whim. Sure, it makes for quite a romantic story, but you know deep down that isn’t the truth.” Yuri leans forward again, his elbows resting on his knees as he holds Natasha’s stare, eyes flashing dangerously. “The reason that Melina acclimated so quickly to her husband’s lifestyle is because she was already familiar with it herself. It was a life she shared with her best friend Alia back in Russia.”

“Which is supposedly your mother,” Natasha guesses, keeping her voice dry and unamused. “Alia Petrovich.”

He flashes his teeth in a wide grin. “Formerly known as Natalia Romanov. Quite similar to your own name, isn’t it, Natasha?”

This time, Natasha’s surprise is genuine as she pulls back slightly. He reaches into his pocket, making Natasha’s body stiffen in alarm, but rather than a weapon, he produces a thin necklace and tosses it in her direction, and she catches it in her palm. The charm is a slim bar, engraved in script—her own name, she realizes.

“When my mother passed, this was found among her possessions. At first, I believed it was simply hers. Natasha is a variant of Natalia, after all.” He shakes his head, and there’s something in his voice, something in his eyes, that has Natasha nearly holding her breath. She isn’t simply feigning ignorance for his sake; she can feel her blood begin to hum in her veins, as if anticipating his next words. “But then I realized that it wasn’t meant for her. It was meant for you, my dear sister,” he tells her, and Natasha nearly risks a glance at Yelena, wanting to see if this is a surprise to her as well. Natasha is willing to bet that it is. “Melina never had an affair. Our mother was the one that did.”

... ...

Steve clenches and unclenches his jaw, careful to keep his anger in his expression even as he feels relief unfurl in his chest as Wanda finally slices through the knot around her wrists. She catches the rope in her fingers before it can go slack, hand closing tightly around the handle of the slim, black knife. The one that Ivan had evidently missed when he’d patted her down. Considering her arms have been drawn behind her back this whole time, Steve is guessing that she had the holster strapped under her blouse. Bucky’s knife is thin enough that it would have still been decently concealed despite the tapered fit of the material, but also, they’d been lucky that Ivan hadn’t done a thorough check.

He probably thought he hadn’t needed to; Wanda is as adept with a gun as the rest of the Family, but she isn’t typically armed.

It seems that Bucky has taken care of that himself.

“Enough,” Anton finally barks, shaking his head at Ivan before turning back to Steve. “Yet another example of how you Rogers have been a thorn in my side all these years.”

“Considering I didn’t even know who you were until a few months ago, it’s rather an impressive accomplishment to be under your skin for years,” Steve retorts. Anton may not be as reactive as Ivan, but Steve still knows how to piss Anton off. He’s pretty damn full of himself, and considering how long Joseph Rogers has known him, it’d be a definite bruise to Anton’s ego to know he hadn’t been worth mentioning, especially since Steve had already known most of the other Family members when he took his father’s place.

As long as Anton and Ivan are too focused on being pissed at Steve to notice that Wanda’s freed herself, all she’ll have to do is hold off until the right time.

Though Steve doesn’t know how easily that’ll come, if at all. It may just be Anton and Ivan inside the warehouse with them, but Steve knew he’d had a few men with him during the crash. Likely the handful of capos and soldiers loyal to him rather than to Howard, because there’s no way they’d go along with this kind of plan otherwise. It’d put their asses on the line, too, and Steve would hope that they’re sensible enough to know that both Anton and Ivan would throw them under the bus if Howard got wind of it.

Anton’s jaw ticks. “I’ve known you the least, but I’m pretty damn sure I’ll get the most enjoyment out of putting a bullet through your head.”

“Because I walked in and took the seat at the head of the Families that you’ve wanted all along?” Steve asks. “Or because I know you were the one stealing from Howard?”

It’s something Steve had a gut feeling about being true when it’d clicked into place in his mind, but the flash in Anton’s eyes is all the confirmation he needs. He manages to school his expression back into annoyance only a second later, but it’s more in vain than anything else. He knows Steve had caught his initial reaction.

And maybe that’s why he doesn’t completely deny it like Steve had still been expecting. “And what makes you say that?” Anton asks, still feigning annoyance.

“Howard is a cautious man when it comes to his legitimate businesses, and especially when it comes to Stark Industries,” Steve points out. “I can only imagine how much stricter he was when Stark Industries was getting off of the ground, and operating out of only one small building with a handful of employees should’ve meant he’d have no trouble keeping everything locked up tight. Not unless someone Howard trusted enough to give complete access without his monitoring was the one stealing,” Steve adds.

Anton’s eyes flash. “I’ve known Howard for years. He wouldn’t believe your word over mine.”

“He would if it made sense, which it does,” Steve counters. “Howard’s loyal, but not blindly loyal. And considering your son’s recklessness puts the Family’s ass in some kind of jeopardy almost every day, he’d have no problems cutting both of you out of the picture the second he gets a decent reason. Even if your secret dies with me, he’d still cut you off for trying to get rid of Pietro and Wanda, too.” This time Anton doesn’t attempt to hide his surprise, and in his peripheral, Steve catches his sister flinch, genuinely shocked.

Anton smirks, but the smugness from his eyes is gone. “Those incidents weren’t my doing,” he argues.

“Maybe not directly,” Steve counters. “It was an Asgard car spotted near both of those scenes at the time, and by every one of the Family’s busted deals and shipments, too. But if we dig just a little deeper, it’d be easy to find out that you and Ivan were the ones goading Hela into doing your dirty work.”

“She doesn’t need anyone to help fuel her crazy.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Steve agrees. “Which makes her a convenient person to pin the blame on, especially since the Family knows she has it out for my father. Dad was getting a lot closer to your secret. You knew he’d share his theories with his kids, too, so you needed a quick and permanent fix. Then my dad goes missing and you get your chance.”

Anton narrows his eyes. “You think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?” he questions, but there’s no real threat in his voice, and Steve knows his assumptions are right.

Before Steve can respond, though, Ivan snaps, “I’m getting sick of all this talking.” He draws his gun from the pocket inside his jacket, giving Steve a glimpse of his own gun hooked into Ivan’s holster at his hip. “Maybe we should test your theory of this secret dying with you,” he snarls. Steve simply blinks back at him, but then he catches Ivan’s gaze shift back to Wanda and Steve’s shoulders go rigid. Ivan smirks. “Or better yet, maybe we’ll start with your sister first. You won’t feel like such a smug ass then, huh?”

Ivan squats down and grasps Wanda by her neck, forcing her chin to tip up as he starts to dig his fingers into her throat—

And then a screech from outside. It’s muffled but unmistakable, and close. Maybe no more than a few dozen feet away.

Tires.

Ivan and Anton’s heads snap around toward the doors at the other end of the warehouse. “What the hell is that?” Ivan growls out, but Anton lets out a low hiss for him to shut up, one hand already reaching into his jacket for his gun as he takes a few steps closer, as if ready to head outside to check himself.

There are voices being raised from outside; the men Anton kept posted out there to keep watch start to shout over one another, their words muffled but the alarm ringing clear in their tones.

And then two harsh cracks rip through the air – gunshots – right before the sound of metal slamming together, colliding in a hard crash.

“Shit,” Ivan mutters, starting to get up, but then Wanda slips her arms out from behind her almost in a blink, knife in hand, and Ivan lets out a sudden groan as she thrusts the blade into him. He hisses, his hand going slack around his gun as he staggers back, and then Wanda is shoving him forward and sending him stumbling back into Anton as his weight knocks them both over. Another blink, and Wanda is lunging across the small distance, on her knees beside Steve and shoving him over as another shot goes off.

Steve groans, a jolt of pain shooting through his shoulder right before his side hits the ground, but he barely has a second to register it before Wanda is down on one knee in front of him, her body half-angled away from him just as Anton has gotten back onto his feet, lifting his gun to aim it in their direction.

For a fleeting second, Steve’s heart slams to stop against his ribcage—

And then Anton’s face twists into a sneer as he spits out, “You’re too much of a princess to pull that trigger,” at Wanda, and Steve’s eyes snap onto his sister. With the way he’d fallen and the way Wanda’s back is turned toward him, he hadn’t noticed the gun in her hand, pointed right back at Anton.

Ivan’s gun, Steve realizes. His gaze slides down and, sure enough, he finds Bucky’s knife still curled tightly in her other hand, only a little bit of blood actually smudged onto the blade from how quickly she’d pulled it out of Ivan’s chest.

“Go ahead, prove me right,” Anton goads. “You don’t have the balls to—”

He’s cut off as another crack rips through the air, and then he’s shouting, staggering down onto one knee, his gun falling from his hand and clattering onto the ground as he clutches at his shoulder with a hiss. Wanda shifts her body, arm swinging toward Ivan as he’s in the middle of staggering back up to his feet, and then another shot goes off and groans out, “fuck!” and clutches at his leg, his body hitting the ground once more. Wanda whirls back toward Steve, bending over him, and though the blade manages to nick his skin in her haste to slice the ropes from around his wrist, he barely notices. After getting grazed with one of Anton’s bullets, a little cut is hardly going to bother him.

Wanda is on her feet before Steve is, gun aimed at Anton once more as she gets her boot on his gun where it fell, sliding it back before he can attempt to retrieve it. Steve half-lunges across the small distance to Ivan, still clutching at his leg where Wanda shot him, and then Steve snatches his gun out of Ivan’s holster and aims it at him.

He turns his head, keeping Ivan in his peripheral as he looks at Wanda with his lips twitching at the corners. “Good aim.”

Wanda’s eyes twinkle. “I’m Clint’s best student for a reason,” she replies as the doors at the other end of the warehouse are thrown open, and then both of their gazes are whirling in that direction just as Bucky and Sam and a few officers burst through.

Steve very nearly slackens in relief, but he manages to keep his gun aimed at Ivan until one of the officers reaches him, producing a pair of handcuffs.

Wanda lowers her gun, too, just as Bucky reaches her, one hand reaching out to cup her cheek as his eyes dart over her almost wildly. A moment later, he exhales a breath, the tension ebbing from his body as he seems to confirm for himself that she isn’t hurt, and then he’s reaching down with his other hand to curl his fingers around hers where they’re still gripping the handle of the knife. His knife, stained with Ivan’s blood. His eyes glint. “Atta girl,” he murmurs, and then he’s drawing her close, slanting his lips over hers. Steve watches as Wanda’s body finally eases in relief, very nearly melting into Bucky as she sways forward, and he hooks an arm around her to keep them both steady.

Steve turns away to give them a moment, and then Sam is beside him, reaching up to touch the frayed line of his jacket where the bullet grazed him.

“Just a scratch?” Sam asks, one eyebrow arched as his lip hitches at the corner, and, despite everything, Steve breathes out a laugh.

“Barely a paper cut,” Steve returns, and Sam just shakes his head. “You guys got here pretty fast.”

Sam nods, gaze shifting onto Anton as two officers are snapping cuffs around his wrists and starting to lead him out of the warehouse. “We’ve had a tracker on Anton’s car for a few days now and we’ve been tailing him at a decent distance. The second it got cut off in the crash, our asses were on the move.”

Steve nods, but there’s something in Sam’s eyes that makes him pause. “What?” he asks, aware of the way Bucky and Wanda pull away from each other in his peripheral as Bucky tugs her closer to Steve’s side, his lips twitching into a grin.

“We’ve got something for you,” Bucky answers, nodding his head toward the doors.

Steve catches his sister’s curious gaze, exchanging a look before Bucky is gently urging her forward with a hand on the small of her back, and Steve follows the two of them out of the warehouse with Sam. There are already several patrol cars parked along the fence that’d been put up by the construction company, officers in the midst of loading Ivan and Anton and their men into the back seats, and what few pedestrians happen to be walking in the area are already starting to pause to try and see what’s happening.

It isn’t until Steve’s gaze finds a familiar car at the end of the fence, though, that he realizes why Sam and Bucky had been grinning so hard.

Dad.

... ...

Our mother.

Natasha’s fingers tighten around the necklace in her hand, so much so that she can feel the charm starting to dig into her palm, but she barely flinches. Her stare stays fixed on Yuri, searching his face for any small shift in his expression, any small twitch or tell that may give away the fact that he’s bluffing—but that smirk sits perfectly in place and the smug gleam in his eyes never wavers. Rationally, she knows that this doesn’t automatically mean he’s telling the truth. She has a pretty damn good poker face, too, and she can count on one hand the number of times someone had picked up on it when she was bluffing. Even then, they hadn’t been entirely sure if she was actually lying or not.

But she can feel her chest tightening, and her instinct tells her that something about his story makes sense.

She’s always found her parents’ story odd, and though Yelena’s explanation would’ve cleared a lot of it, Natasha knew something was still off. Something was missing. Why would her mother join a mob so that she, Joseph, and Alia could keep each other safe and yet sleep with the man her best friend married? The very same one she wanted to protect Alia from? And Natasha knows she looks like her father, like her Uncle Howard and Tony and Peter. It’s been said countless times that she has the Stark stamp to her.

Belatedly, her conversation with Steve comes back to her and how he apologized for getting upset when she hid “Sarah Rogers” from him. He told her he would’ve done the same thing, would’ve waited before telling Natasha something that could upset her because it was about her mother.

I just want to be sure, he told her.

This was what he’d been hesitant to tell her. Maybe he didn’t put together the exact truth, but he’d already suspected that her mother wasn’t her birth mother.

“I suppose you expect me to just take your word for it,” Natasha replies, managing to keep her voice steady despite the way her heart is starting to pound against her ribcage.

Yuri sits up a little straighter, lifting his eyebrows. “Perhaps I should have invited Melina to join us and tell you herself.”

Natasha lets out a light, almost nonchalant him in reply, even as her fist curls even tighter around the necklace still in her hand, and she knows she’s managed to catch him off guard by her lack of reaction to his threat because there’s a fleeting shift of uncertainty in his eyes. Then he blinks and that smug, knowing gleam is back in place.

“I’m surprised you didn’t consider it to begin with, after going through all this trouble to come here to convince me of the truth in person.” Natasha quirks an eyebrow at him. “Unless, of course, you have another reason for coming to an entirely different country to meet someone who could only supposedly be your family.”

He nearly bares his teeth in a dangerous grin. “You really don’t enjoy games, do you, dear sister?” he drawls. “It’s almost as if you’re trying to rush this along. Of course, if I were you, I would be eager to get to my date tonight as well. With Rogers, correct?” He reaches for the bottle of vodka again and then leans forward to retrieve Natasha’s shot glass, his eyes glinting as he catches her stare. “Like mother, like daughter, after all. I’m told that our mother was quite fond of Joseph Rogers. I’m sure I would’ve heard all about him if not for the way my father got particularly violent whenever Joseph Rogers was ever breathed. It’s quite tragic that he went missing a few months ago, isn’t it?”

Natasha studies his expression for a moment, and, possibly for the first time since he began speaking, she knows he’s bluffing.

His tone is suggestive, and threatening, wanting her to believe he’s in on the secret of how Joseph Rogers had gone missing, or maybe that he’d been involved somehow.

But he wouldn’t be here if he knew the truth. Even if he’s cold enough not to care about someone planning to kill his own father, Ivan dying while Yuri is overseas won’t make it easy for Yuri to take control of the mob if he makes it back to Russia. Not if there are already more than enough people that want him gone.

Maybe she doesn’t need to stall. Maybe she can distract him herself.

“Oh, you don’t expect me to believe that you listen to the rumors,” Natasha counters, letting her voice lilt in amusement—and, sure enough, there’s a flash of uncertainty in his eyes at her reaction. He slides her shot glass back over and she picks it up, letting a secretive smile curl at her lips. “But I will say this, your acting is quite convincing.”

She downs her shot without waiting for him to finish pouring his, licking her lips, and his jaw ticks. “And here I thought you don’t like playing games.”

Natasha tilts her head, arching an eyebrow. “And what game is it that you think I’m playing?”

Yuri smirks, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “I’m sure it doesn’t do well for your reputation that the head of the Families went missing at all, let alone for this long and without any leads,” he muses. “But there’s no need to keep up pretenses for me.” She simply hums as he sets the bottle of vodka down on the table between them, letting her lips curve into a smug, knowing smirk of her own, not so much as blinking when he holds her stare, and she can see exactly when he realizes that she may not be bluffing.

He blinks twice, working to keep his expression unaffected. “Alright. I’ll humor you, dear sister. If Joseph Rogers hasn’t been missing all this time, where is he?”

Natasha leans in closer to the table between them, nearly perched on the very edge of the couch. “Tell me, baby brother,” she starts, her smirk widening when she catches the way his jaw ticks, “why I should divulge that when you haven’t even admitted that you’ve come here to kill me. I’ve never even stepped foot in Russia and yet, I’m a threat to you, aren’t I?” She leans in even closer, catching the way Yelena draws closer to Yuri from behind, too, as is protective. “If it’s a choice between you and me, I’m the best bet. A mafia princess to the underground and a Stark princess to the world. I can offer them everything, but you and your father are nothing but liabilities they’re eager to cut out.”

A growl nearly rips from Yuri’s throat, his composure quickly slipping through his fingers. “You think you know everything, don’t you?”

“No,” she replies, her voice dropping to a low, staged whisper. “I only pretend to,” she says, glancing over his shoulder to catch Yelena’s gaze, and the woman gives her a barely discernable nod right before she has her gun up, firing two shots – one each for the two men standing at the doors of the suite.

Natasha doesn’t have to look back to check to see if they hit, nor does she have time to, because just as Yuri starts to turn around, Natasha’s hand wraps around the neck of the bottle of vodka and she’s swinging it hard, slamming it up into Yuri’s jaw with as much force as she can muster at such a close range.

Yuri keels over as Natasha is on her feet, twisting her body around as she flings the bottle toward the two men standing to her left. There are also two more men to her right that could have a chance to shoot at her, but as she gets a running start, she catches a glimpse of the two guys that’d been posted behind Yelena dropping to the floor as she whirls around, gun pointed, so Natasha doesn’t worry about what’s behind her as she sprints forward, dropping to the ground right as one of them manages to get their gun up. He gets a shot off, but Natasha is already sliding across the carpet, swiping her legs under the other guy – the one already staggering back from being hit with the bottle of vodka – before spinning back around and onto her feet, and then she grabs the other guy by his jacket, yanking him down and sending his head cracking against her knee.

She swipes one of their guns out of their hands and whirls around, aiming it at where Yuri had been in the same second that Yelena does—

But Yuri is already up and over the couch and bounding out the suite, the doors slamming closed behind him, and Yelena exhales a curse under her breath as she lowers her gun and catches Natasha’s gaze.

“As soon as he caught me, he knew he’d be outnumbered when it came down to the three of us,” Yelena tells her. “But if the others are still in the hallway when we leave this suite, we’ll be outnumbered. If even half of the men stayed, that’s too much heat for us to take, and there’s no other way out of this suite.”

“Well, if he makes it out of this hotel, he’ll come after both of us and my family, too,” Natasha counters.

Yelena rubs her lips together, considering this for a moment, and then she swears under her breath again. “Let’s go,” she says, and Natasha swallows lightly, crossing the room and meeting Yelena at the door. “Any plan?” she asks.

Despite herself, Natasha lets out a humorless laugh. “Try not to die?”

Yelena nearly cracks a smile. “Your plan sucks,” she retorts, and then they’re both tugging at the handles, throwing the doors open and stepping into the hallway, and Natasha whirls around to stand with her back to Yelena’s as she points her gun at—

“Mom,” Natasha breathes out, her heart nearly slamming to a stop against her ribcage as she lowers her gun. Her mother lowers her gun, too, and her composed expression dissolves into relief. Natasha’s eyes flit over her shoulder and down the hallway, her father already lowering his own gun as he makes his way over to them, and then, right in front of the door to the stairwell, Uncle Howard and Nick Fury are watching as Thor and Odin are shoving someone over the threshold and maneuvering him down the stairs.

Yuri.

Natasha nearly sways back on her feet as she feels the relief flood through her, her eyes shifting back to her mother. “You got him?” she asks, even though she already knows the answer. She still wants to hear it, though.

“Yes,” her mother tells her, her voice soft. “If you had waited a few more minutes, we would’ve saved you from all the excitement.”

“She wouldn’t be our daughter if she preferred less excitement,” her father quips, coming to stand beside them. Natasha exhales a sharp, breathy sort of laugh as her mother reaches for her, drawing her close—and though she and her parents have never been the kind to prefer hugs, it’s almost instant, the way she melts into the embrace.

... ...

Wanda must’ve seen their father a split second before Steve had, because just as Steve’s mind is starting to catch up to the fact that that’s him – that his father is here, after being gone for so months – Wanda lets out a shaky, sharp, breathy sound, and then she starts running, quickly crossing the distance to the gate at the corner of the fence as their father gets it open. She throws herself at him in a hug that quite literally knocks him back a few steps, but his arms go around her, too, as his deep laugh fills the air.

Steve takes his time making his way over, feeling himself smile as he watches his father brushes a kiss to Wanda’s hair, murmuring something to her that makes her giggle and press her face into his shoulder. Then his eyes shift, watching through the fence as Pietro gets out of their father’s car and starts heading toward their father and sister. He catches Steve’s gaze, lifting his hand in a wave, and Steve’s smile widens, relieved his brother doesn’t seem any worse for wear considering he just got out of the hospital.

“Bet you didn’t see this coming!” Pietro calls out, and their father lifts his head, his eyes wrinkling into a brighter smile when they land on Steve.

Wanda turns to look over her shoulder at him, too, her eyelashes dotted with tears she hasn’t quite shed yet. His sister’s smile is small and shaky, but beautiful and relieved and so fucking happy, and then she steps back from their father, practically ducking under his arm to squeeze Pietro in a hug the second he’s within her reach.

“Steve,” his father greets, his voice low and gruff. The two of them had never been particularly affectionate with each other, not in the same way his siblings are, but it was never something Steve held any resentment towards him for. His father raised the twins mostly on his own, while Steve didn’t even meet his father until after high school, and anytime they’ve spent together since then, they’ve had the twins as a buffer. He and his father are closer now, but there had still been some lingering space between them.

Still, somehow Steve isn’t all that surprised when his father doesn’t hesitate to grasp at Steve’s shoulder, pulling him in for a hug as well.

Steve blinks, his chest tightening, but he doesn’t miss a beat in returning his father’s embrace. It doesn’t linger quite as long as his hug with Wanda had, but his father still gives him one last sort of squeeze before pulling away, one hand still lingering on Steve’s shoulder.

And this time, Steve is surprised when he catches the cracks in his father’s usually nonchalant expression. Considering who the man is, Steve had always seen his father as formidable and unyielding. Sure, Steve knew firsthand that the man had a soft side for his children, but for the most part, his composure never wavered.

“Welcome home,” Steve tells him, his voice a little rough. “How was your trip?”

His father’s eyes glint. “Good,” he answers simply, and it should be strange, how that one word seems to make the air shift. He turns to Wanda and Pietro as Wanda blinks up at him, her eyes wide and glimmering. “It was really good,” he tells them, the meaning clear in his tone. “But I much prefer to be home.”

“I take it that means you don’t have plans to be anywhere else anytime soon?” Steve asks.

His father squeezes his shoulder firmly, his lips hitching up into a wider smile—and, for a fleeting second, Steve almost sees his own face smiling back at him, making his chest squeeze in a way he hasn’t felt since his mother had passed.

“No,” his father promises, shaking his head once. “I’m right where I need to be.”

“Well, if you ever did decide to take another vacation,” Pietro chimes in, his lips spreading into a wide grin as he glances at Steve, “we can hold down the fort.”

Wanda breathes out a laugh, her smile bright, proud, and when Steve catches his father’s stare once more, he sees the same emotion reflected in his eyes. “I’ve always known that,” he says, and Steve feels his chest squeeze again, his own smile widening because he’s starting to realize that maybe he always had, too.

... ...

Her uncle stays behind at the hotel to handle things with Nick and Odin, and though Uncle Howard asks Natasha if she wants to have a say in what they do with Yuri and his men, she promises her uncle that she won’t come up with something nearly as creative as he can. Besides, she knows that the Family likes to take their time in dealing with anyone that’s threatened one of their own, and Natasha doesn’t want to waste another ounce of her energy on Yuri if she can help it. And she’s willing to bet it will drive him crazy to be told that he’d gone through all of this effort to come after her himself when she doesn’t even want to be there to watch while the Family has their fun with him.

“I know today has been exciting and all, so I thought I’d make one of your favorites,” her father says, and it’s almost instant, the grin that pulls at Natasha’s lips when he slides over a double shot of vodka poured into a wine glass. Part of her wonders if she should find the choice of alcohol ironic, all things considered, but as she picks up the glass, swirling it around as if it were actually wine, she doesn’t think of sharing shots of vodka with Yuri in that hotel suite. Instead, she thinks about the first ever time her father had poured her vodka in a wine glass just like this, when she first moved into this apartment out of college and her parents had come over to help her get settled in.

He’d joked about it being a celebration of both of her heritages, when in reality, they simply hadn’t wanted to open every box until they found her shot glasses.

“How sentimental,” her mother notes, amusement pulling at her own smile.

Her father tips his head, considering this. “I have my moments,” he admits, reaching into his pocket, and Natasha watches as he pulls out the thin, silver necklace that she’d held earlier that night, setting it carefully on the kitchen island between them, his expression softening.

Melina picks it up gently, threading the chain through her fingers and lifting it to let the engraved bar dangle for her to read.

Natasha watches her mother, remembering the way she and Alia—Natalia—had looked in that photograph she and Steve had found among his father’s things. It had to have been taken after Joseph Rogers, Alia, and her mother had joined the mob since Alexi was in the photo, too, and yet, Alia looked content. She looked happy because she was with the people she loved most, and that was enough to make her feel as carefree as she’d looked in that photo, even if her life had been anything but that because of Ivan.

“Is there any truth to that?” Natasha asks gently, nodding at the necklace in her mother’s hand, though it’s not really a question. The expression on both of her parents’ faces is more than enough proof.

Her mother catches her gaze, her smile soft. “Yes,” she answers simply, reaching over to tuck some of Natasha’s hair behind her ear. “You’re my last piece of her.”

Natasha feels something warm tug at her chest, and then she turns to her father. “How did you all meet?”

“Because of Joseph,” her father replies. Natasha lifts her eyebrows slightly in surprise; she hadn’t expected that. “By now, I assume you and Steve both know the truth about him and Alia and your mother?” her father asks.

She nods, glancing at her mother. “We found an old picture of you with some of his things.”

Her mother’s smile widens just a little as she sets the necklace back down, untangling the chain from her fingers. “The three of us had known each other since childhood,” her mother explains. “Alia had the biggest heart and wore it on her sleeve, but that was a dangerous thing in our world. Ivan wanted her the moment he saw her, but it was clear to everyone that Joseph and I were the only ones she cared for. She always blamed herself for Ivan wanting to get rid of Joseph, and she was never the same after he left.”

“Joseph was the reason your uncle and I went to Russia in the first place,” her father adds. “He couldn’t risk going back, but when Howard and Maria were having problems and needed space, Joseph asked Howard and I to go to Russia just to check on his old friends. He never stopped worrying about them, but also, he could tell that Howard needed some objective to keep his mind busy.” Her father’s eyes shift to her mother’s, his lips quirking. “Your mother was actually the one to introduce me to Alia,” he says.

Natasha turns to her mother, her own amusement tugging at her lips. “Really?”

Her mother chuckles. “He and your uncle didn’t quite do a good job at hiding how they studied us at the bar,” her mother tells her. “I didn’t know at the time it was because of Joseph. I just knew that Alia had been having a particularly hard time lately and could use a charming stranger to comfort her.”

“We actually left Russia shortly after, but your mother tracked us down when Alia found out she was pregnant,” her father continues. “She hadn’t been engaged to Ivan by then, and your uncle and I snuck the two of them away. But Ivan was far too possessive to let Alia go, and Howard and I hadn’t been prepared to handle this kind of threat away from home.” His eyebrows furrow, the frustration of the memory flashing in his eyes. “Alexi was able to warn us that Ivan finally found her after Alia had given birth.”

“She wanted your father to take you to keep you safe.” Her mother gives her a small, wry sort of smile. “She wanted me to go with him. Ivan only wanted her. He stopped searching for Joseph because he was no longer in his way, and he wouldn’t care if I was gone, either. If she had come with us, he would’ve stopped at nothing to find her and drag her back. She didn’t want to put anyone through that, and she absolutely didn’t want you to be raised like that, always on the run, hiding. She begged us to save you.”

“The moment we brought you home, Joseph recognized her in your face,” her father says, voice soft. “Everyone says how much you look like me, but you look like her, too. You just have to know where to find it.”

Natasha feels herself smile, feels a warmth fluttering in her chest as she thinks back to the photograph they’d found among Joseph’s things. It’s a little odd to think that she hadn’t recognized her own face in Alia, even when Alia had been so much younger in that picture, but part of her liked that it hadn’t been something so obvious. Her likeness to her birth mother, just like the secret itself, was something you have to know to see—something that makes a difference but doesn’t change everything about Natasha’s life.

It doesn’t change who her mother is. It simply gives her another woman to admire.

“I wish I could’ve met her,” Natasha says quietly, and her father comes around the island, cups the back of Natasha’s neck as he brushes a kiss to her forehead.

He doesn’t say the words – neither of her parents do – but Natasha knows the feeling is mutual. She also knows that there wouldn’t have been a way for that to happen, even if Alia was still alive. Not as long as Ivan was alive, too.

A knock at the door makes her father draw away slightly, glancing at Natasha, and, despite everything, she feels her lips twitch in a grin. The only people other than her parents who have ever had her codes to the apartment before are Uncle Howard and Tony, and neither of them would’ve let themselves in at the lobby only to knock on her front door. Then her father blinks, amusement glinting in his eyes as he realizes who it could be, and she rubs her lips together to fight off a smile as he goes to answer it.

And no, she’s not at all surprised when Steve is in her kitchen a moment later, his gaze finding hers within seconds.

“Nat,” he breathes as he crosses the distance to her in a few steps, cupping her face with his hands as his eyes flit over her, checking for himself to see that she’s alright.

Then he exhales a sharp breath, his body easing in relief, and Natasha feels herself smiling as he slants his mouth over hers. The kiss is hard and deep in an instant, and she almost feels herself swaying back atop the barstool with the force of it. He sucks on her bottom lip, thumbs brushing over her cheeks, down the line of her jaw, drawing a soft noise from her throat, and then she hears someone (likely her father) clearing their throat. Steve chuckles as he eases his lips off of hers, parting their kiss and pulling back.

“I’m alright,” she reassures softly, reaching up to wrap her hands around his wrists, giving him a gentle squeeze as if in emphasis.

Over his shoulder, she catches her mother getting up from her barstool, walking toward the threshold of the kitchen – and that’s when she notices Joseph Rogers filling the doorway, reaching for her mother and pulling her into his arms in a hug.

Natasha feels her chest flutter, the warmth of relief at seeing Joseph Rogers alive and home mixing with the bittersweet twinge of knowing what he and her mother are offering each other comfort for. Natasha’s throat tightens a little, her chest tightening, and then Steve is stroking his thumbs over her cheeks in slow, soothing strokes, and her eyes flit up to his. She doesn’t have to ask to know that his father must’ve filled him in on the truth of her and Alia because she can see it in his eyes, just as she knows that the empathy there isn’t just for her. It’s for his father and for her parents, and for Alia, for the hope that they could’ve reunited one day, no matter how slim the chance.

“Come here,” Steve murmurs, pulling his hands from her face so he can wrap his arms around her, drawing her close—and she doesn’t quite realize how overwhelmed she is until her eyes are closed and her face is pressed against his chest, blocking everything else out other than his steady breaths and the soothing circles he rubs over her back.

... ...

It’s late by the time they make it back to his place, but he’s still wide awake as he lays next to Nat in bed. She’d come back with him rather than the two of them crashing at her apartment since they were already there, and he knows it’s because she wanted him to be close to Pietro, just in case. His brother is supposed to be watched for the next few days, anyway, and since Wanda and Pietro had already taken to sleeping at his brownstone rather than their own apartments for the last few days, Steve doesn’t see a point in switching things up. It’s hardly a bother to have them under his roof, and after having the place all to himself for so long, he likes that it feels less empty these days.

He starts to slip out of bed when he feels Natasha reach for him, her fingers curling around his forearm as he’s sitting up, and he smiles down at her in the dark. Even though he’s not tired, he knows she is, because she’d passed out almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. Still, part of him had expected her to wake up as soon as he moved.

She’s always been attuned to him like that.

“I’m just going to drink something warm to help me sleep,” he tells her softly, leaning over to brush his lips to her cheek, running a hand over her side through the duvet.

“Do you want me to come with you?” she asks, her voice heavy and a little raspy with sleep, and he feels his smile widen as he peers down at her in the dark. She’s practically still half asleep, but he’s not surprised at all that she still offers to get up with him. He knows she had quite a day, but she knows he did, too.

“No, it’s okay,” he reassures, sliding his lips lower, pressing a kiss to the spot along her jaw that always, always makes her shiver, and she makes this little noise from the back of her throat. “Sleep,” he murmurs against her skin, and she chuckles softly, barely above a whisper, as she curls into herself a little more and hums in reply.

He clicks his door shut softly behind him when he steps out into the hallway, quietly padding past Wanda and Pietro’s doors as he heads downstairs. He can see that the kitchen light is already on, which likely means his father is still up, and, sure enough, Steve finds him sitting at the kitchen island with a mug of tea sitting on the counter in front of him. His father has his head bent over his phone in front of him, but considering the screen is off when he lifts his head to look at Steve, he was probably just lost in thought. Steve doesn’t blame him. It’s probably the reason the man is up at all, just as Steve is, which is likely why his father doesn’t seem surprised to see him up, too.

The kettle is still hot when Steve picks it up, so he pours some in a mug and grabs a packet of chamomile tea from the box that Wanda keeps stocked in his pantry.

“So, you and Nat, huh?” his father asks once Steve is sitting in the barstool next to his, and a laugh bursts from Steve as he tears at the packet, dunking the tea bag into his mug. His father chuckles, too, shaking his head a little at himself, and maybe also at the strangeness of the moment. Not because it’s the two of them talking alone, when that hasn’t really happened much before, but because, out of all the things he could’ve asked about after the last few hours – hell, after the last few months – this is what he picks.

“Yeah,” Steve says, and maybe he should feel like an idiot for smiling so widely, but he honestly doesn’t care and he knows his father doesn’t, either.

In fact, his father’s mouth hitches as his smile widens a little, too. But his eyes soften a little as he asks, “How’s she holding up?”

Steve pauses as he considers this, toying with the string of the tea bag hanging over the rim of his mug. He thinks about the way Natasha had held onto him in her kitchen when he’d pulled her against his chest, squeezing him close but yet not quite clinging to him, either. “I think maybe it hasn’t entirely hit her just yet,” he admits, because he thinks that’s the truth. She hadn’t seemed particularly shocked when they had dinner at her apartment with their parents; she simply seemed tired, and maybe a little distracted, like she couldn’t help her thoughts pulling her away from the conversation every now and then. “But I don’t think her entire world has been knocked out of place.”

His father nods at this. Considering he’s known Natasha her whole life, he’d probably know how to interpret her reactions pretty damn well, too.

“Honestly, I didn’t think it would be,” his father tells him, rubbing a hand over his hair. “But we didn’t want to minimize how big of a secret it was to keep from her, either.”

We. As in, him and Melina and Edward, maybe even Howard and Maria, too, since Steve doubts Howard would’ve kept this from his wife this entire time.

“Why did you and Melina pretend not to have known each other from before?” Steve asks. It’s not an accusation, and he knows his father won’t take it as one, and though Steve already has an idea of the answer, he figures he might as well ask, anyway, now that all of this is out in the open.

“I think it was instinct, mostly.” His father’s smile turns a little wry as he looks at Steve. “We’d gotten pretty good at downplaying how close we were with each other and with Alia back in Russia, even before Ivan started actively threatening me. When Edward brought her to New York and I saw her again after all those years, it was like a reflex. I’d missed her—missed both of them—but there really wouldn’t be a reason for me to have known a woman who’d never stepped foot in the States before. The Family knew I was adopted, but not from where. Your grandparents kept it under lock and key because Ivan was on a manhunt, and even after he’d stopped, we didn’t want to risk any slip ups.”

Steve nods at this. “Did you ever plan on telling her, or any of us?”

“We debated on it for years,” his father admits with an exhale. “It made sense not to when you were all younger, but there were several times later on that could’ve been right that we just didn’t say anything. I don’t think it was any one thing or any one reason. But it was more about how we felt about it and about bringing it up. You all had the right to know the truth, especially when it could’ve put you in danger, just like Natasha had been today. That’s on us,” his father adds, swallowing roughly with a shake of his head.

“Dad,” Steve says, his voice low and a little rough, too. “It’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault.”

He’s not just saying that to comfort his father, but because Steve genuinely believes it. Yeah, his father had a point; if he’d never sent Yelena to warn them before Yuri got to New York, they wouldn’t have had an edge over him.

But the truth had come out when they needed it, not when it was too late to help anyone, and it was so much more than just keeping Natasha’s birth mother or keeping his father’s past a secret from their own children. His father had to flee the only home and the only family he’d ever known at only thirteen because a man almost twice his age was threatened by his friendship with the girl he wanted, and Melina had to leave her best friend behind, knowing she would’ve likely been dead once Ivan found her. And it wasn’t just that, either. Melina must’ve been terrified of what Ivan would do to Alia for running in the first place, but Alia begged her to keep her daughter safe, and so Melina honored her plea. Even Edward, who had only known Alia for a short while, had to have been affected at leaving the mother of his child behind right after she’d given birth.

If telling the truth meant having to relive those memories, Steve would’ve been incredibly hesitant of it, too. That’s not something he or Nat, or Wanda or Pietro, would hold against their parents.

“Your mother knew, though,” his father adds after a moment, and Steve feels his heart trip in his chest as he stares back at his father. “She was the first to meet Melina.”

Steve feels his eyebrows furrow at this. He’s a few years older than Natasha, but not by much, which meant… “I thought you’d stopped seeing me and Mom by then?”

His father nods. “I had. We thought it would be safer, not just because of the Family, but also because I never knew for sure if Ivan was still looking for me. I also knew it was a lot for your mother to take in general, even if she’d never say it. She never would’ve asked to keep you away from me, but I knew she needed it to be that way, at least for a little while.” He rubs his lips together, looking Steve in the eyes as he adds, “I know that wasn’t a choice I should’ve made for her, for you. And to this day, I still wonder if it was the wrong one. I knew your mother was a tough person, tougher than both of us, but maybe I’d underestimated what she was willing to bear for me,” he admits quietly.

Steve doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until it comes out in a sharp exhale. “You thought she wouldn’t want to handle this life?” Steve asks.

His father rubs at his jaw, seeming to contemplate this. “I wondered a lot of things. Your mother was too good for this world from the beginning, but she’d also known who I was when we met. She’d chosen to trust me, and I respected her and her choice. I loved her. But I knew it all bothered her to some extent, especially when you came along.”

Steve swallows lightly. He’d like to believe his mother could’ve handled anything, but he also knows firsthand that this world is a lot at first glance. It’s still a lot once you’re on the inside, too, but his mother had been young and had her child to think of. She genuinely loved his father, but that didn’t mean she had to love his lifestyle, too.

And he knows his mother. If she let his father convince her that keeping Steve and herself from him and the Family was for the best, it was because part of her had believed it, too. If she wanted to raise Steve in this lifestyle for whatever reason that may have been, she would’ve fought her father like hell to stay and she would’ve won, too.

Like he said: she was tougher than both of them.

“How did she meet Melina, then?” Steve asks after a moment, already feeling a smile tug at his lips. He knows without a doubt his mother probably loved Melina.

She would’ve loved Natasha, too.

“By pure chance, actually,” his father answers, his own smile widening, too, as he glances down into his tea at the memory. “Your mother recognized Melina from the photograph I had and knew of her from the stories I told her, and we happened to run into each other in Brooklyn. It was the one and only time your mother and I had approached each other since we agreed to keep our distance. And they loved each other, of course, but I knew they would. You’d think they were the childhood friends.”

Steve chuckles at this, feeling a warmth squeeze at his chest. Somehow, he could almost picture the memory perfectly.

“Your mother and Alia would’ve loved each other, too,” his father adds, his smile softening as Steve stares back at him. “And Alia would’ve loved you.”

Steve reaches over, placing a hand on his father’s shoulder, and his father lifts his hand to grip Steve’s. “I would’ve loved her, too,” Steve says, giving him a squeeze, and his father lets out a breathy laugh as he nods.

... ...

She can feel Steve’s hand at her hip, his fingers calloused yet gentle and teasing as they toy with the hem of his shirt on her. Natasha had rolled onto her back sometime during the night, her shoulder practically pressing against Steve’s chest, and she feels her lips pull into a soft smile as he inches her shirt higher up her body, making her stomach flutter just under his palm when he splays his fingers over her skin. Then he dips his head to press a kiss to her cheek, her jaw, the column of her neck, feeling her pulse thrum under his lips, and she makes a soft noise when he hand dips down, fingers slipping under the waistband of her panties and pulling them down over one hip.

“Steve,” she breathes, feeling his mouth curve into a grin against her collarbone, and then his fingers hook under the other side of her panties, too, pulling them down her legs and then off entirely.

“Good morning,” he says into her skin, and she feels her smile widen, feels him nudge her legs open as his body slides down hers. He pushes her shirt up a little higher, kisses over one of her ribs, brushes his lips against an old scar on her other hip, and then his face is pressed against the inside of one of her thighs, lips quirking into a smile.

Her eyelashes flutter open as she lifts herself up on her elbows, glancing down to where Steve is settled between her legs, pressing one into the mattress as he pulls the other over his shoulders. She can already feel her breaths coming in a little shorter and shallower, feel her heart beating a little faster, even as a slow, almost lazy sort of smirk pulls at her lips as she meets his gaze. His mouth is hitched in that crooked, boyish sort of smile she’s come to love, but there’s nothing teasing about the heavy look in his eyes.

Under the darkening arousal, she can see the pure adoration in his gaze, reflecting her own. She knows, realistically, it’s only been a few days—but she can’t really remember what it was like to wake up without Steve beside her, to fall asleep to his large, warm body curling over hers, and she doesn’t want to remember, either.

“Good morning,” she breathes, reaching down to cup his jaw, rubbing her thumb against the corner of his mouth as it widens just a little more.

Then he’s dipping down, licking into where she’s warm and already a little wet for him, and she sucks in a breath, trapping it in her chest as her eyelashes flutter. She keeps her hand on his jaw, rubbing the budding stubble there, feeling it flex with every pass of his tongue against her, every little groan and lick and nibble, and it almost makes it feel heightened, somehow. She’s not quite holding onto him, but still, it feels as if he presses in closer at the exact moment her fingers twitch to drag him in, feels as if his licks linger when his tongue slides over a particularly sensitive spot that has her hand trembling to twist into his hair. She keeps her gaze on him as her vision grows blurry and her eyelids grow heavy, and then his eyes lick up to hers, sucking at her little bundle of nerves, and her head almost falls back as her body gently arches off of the bed.

He sucks at it again, her elbow nearly sliding out from under her, and then his tongue dips down and into her, and her lips part in a soft moan. And then his lips slide back up before she can find a rhythm, teasing her, tongue flicking against her hard bud right before he sucks it again, and she twists her neck to press her face into the pillow.

Again, and again, and again he works his mouth over her, groaning with her every little shift, sending delicious vibrations everywhere as she arches and rolls her hips—

And she doesn’t know if this morning feels different because of what happened yesterday, or if they feel different, but already it feels like too much, too fast, and she practically smothers herself with his pillow to muffle her voice as she bursts apart at the seams. White-hot pleasure crashes over her, rushing through her as he holds her to him, and she twists one hand into his sheets, the other braced against his headboard as she rides out her high and he coaxes every last drop of it out of her with a long groan.

Then he eases his mouth off of her, sliding his hands gently up and down her thighs, over her hips, almost soothing her as she shudders delicately from the pleasure. He kisses up her flushed skin, his lips brushing against almost every inch of it along the way, letting her catch her breath as he settles back over her.

He presses his face into her neck as she wraps her arms around his torso, kissing her there, too, and she lightly digs her nails into the muscles in his back.

“Good morning,” he says again, drawing a breathy chuckle from her that quickly dissolves into moan as she feels him between their bodies, hard and pressing right against her little bundle of nerves. His hand curves over her hip, gripping as he presses at her entrance, and then her body arches as best as it can under his as he slides in. She sinks her nails into his back a little harder as he sinks into her a little deeper, pausing as he slips all the way, and then his other hand is braced against the mattress, his mouth slanting over hers as he starts to move, and she very nearly whimpers into the kiss as he sweeps his tongue into her mouth at the same second he snaps his hips harder against hers.

They try to be slow at first, to savor it, but within seconds their kiss quickens, and then so do their bodies as they move against each other. Her chest squeezes, her lungs starting to sting just a little bit because she needs to take a breath, but she doesn’t pull away, not yet.

Not until a few moments later, when her second orgasm bursts through her, almost taking her by surprise as she twists her lips away from his to suck in a shaky breath. Pleasure rushes through her again, a little harder and a little faster now, her lips parting in a moan that seems trapped in her chest as she shudders under the white-hot waves crashing over her. He kisses her cheek, her neck, her shoulder, groaning words into her skin that she can’t quite hear over the blood pounding in her ears, but then she feels his body growing taut above hers, his hips growing more urgent, until he stiffens and buries his face into her neck, teeth sinking into her skin as his groans out in his release.

It’s a long, few moments before Natasha feels her breaths finally start to even out, feels his body finally start to ease above her, and then his tongue darts out, licking at the indent of his teeth in her skin before he lifts his head to peer down at her.

“A girl could get used to a wake-up call like that,” she breathes out, and even though her voice is light and teasing, she knows there’s something more in her own words.

And she knows that Steve can hear it, too, because the warmth fluttering in her chest is reflected in his eyes as he smiles down at her. He replies with a teasing, “I’ll keep that in mind,” but she can hear the promise in his voice, and she’s smiling when he dips his head down to kiss her.

... ...

“Hey, soldier,” a voice whispers in his ear, warm and teasing, and Steve feels his lips twitch into a grin as Natasha slides onto the stool beside his, setting an empty glass on the bar counter. He spins his barstool to face her, rubs his lips together in vain to hide his amusement, but even if he could manage a poker face around Nat, she’d still see it in his eyes that he doesn’t find her new little joke as annoying as he sometimes pretends. Somehow, she’d decided that his father being back to take over as head of the Family meant that Steve was no more than a soldier now, or less, considering he wasn’t technically a “made” man, and honestly? Steve is far more amused by how much delight Natasha takes in her own joke than the actual joke itself. “Can I buy a man a drink?” she asks, setting her hands atop his knees to lean in and brush a kiss to his lips.

“The drinks are free,” Steve points out, arching an eyebrow, and Natasha smirks, her eyes bright with amusement.

He remembers how she’d had that same twinkle in her eyes when they first met right in this restaurant, almost at this very spot at the bar just a few months ago. The place had been closed that day, too, though rather than catching it between the lunch and dinner rush, the restaurant is closed for the rest of the night.

And technically speaking, it’s closed for them, though Steve is starting to realize that the Family will find any and every excuse to gather together and celebrate.

“Shouldn’t you two be over there?” Pietro chimes in from behind the bar, pouring more water into Natasha’s empty glass before gesturing at the dining room filled with the rest of the Family, loud with excited chatter and the sound of the kids screaming. “Of course, if Howard is retelling how he kicked Anton’s ass, I’d be hiding here, too.”

Steve breathes out a laugh. Over a month later and both Howard and Tony still manage to bring up the story of officially kicking Anton and Ivan out of the state—hell, damn near out of the country—but then again, considering Anton had been a fundamental part of Stark Industries from the ground up, Steve doubts Howard will get over it anytime soon, or ever. Even if Howard had only really tolerated Anton these last few years, knowing that he had been betrayed for so long was a hard thing to get over. Howard may be more pissed than anything else right now, but some part of him is upset, too, just as Odin and Frigga must have been upset that Hela had been behind all the ambushes.

Steve half-expected Odin to argue against banning Hela from New York, but he had practically demanded to do it himself. Odin had been furious with his daughter, but at the end of the day, she’s still his daughter, and it’s probably easier for Odin to focus on her betrayal and her recklessness more than anything else.

“It’s a good story,” Sam comments, dropping into the stool on the other side of Nat, pulling Maria between his knees as she sips on the tumbler of rum in her hand.

“You only like it because you’re in it,” Maria retorts, and Sam hides his grin against her shoulder as she rolls her eyes, her lips twitching at the corners in a smirk. “Although, it does make for quite a tale. Two cops joining in on an old-fashioned mafia shakedown and chase? I still say you should let me publish an anonymous article on it.”

Sam just chuckles, knowing there’s no genuine threat behind her words, and then something catches his eye that makes him sit up a little straighter, flashing his teeth in a smile as he asks, “And where might you two be coming from?”

Steve turns to look over his shoulder as Wanda and Bucky step out from the kitchen, his sister tucked under his best friend’s arm. He has his head bent close to hers, likely to whisper something in her ear, but he straightens up at Sam’s comment, pressing his lips together as he shakes his head. Wanda’s cheeks are flushed, and yes, maybe Steve would feel wary about that, except he already has a pretty good idea on why Bucky might’ve wanted to steal Wanda away for a little while. He’d come to Steve and his father earlier that week about wanting Wanda to move in with him, not because he had been asking for permission or anything, because in the end, whatever she wanted was what he was going to give her, even if her father and brother were wary of it. But he’d wanted their honest opinion on whether they thought it would be too much, too fast for her.

Had it been a few weeks before, maybe it would have been. Steve still remembers how his sister sat in his kitchen and admitted that she didn’t see things going further between them. Even if he didn’t care about her being a mafia princess, she’d been worried about the Family never quite accepting him. But if Sam and Bucky helping to protect Wanda hadn’t been enough to earn the Family’s good graces, the evidence that they gathered against Anton, Ivan, and Hela to prove their betrayal would have.

“Pay attention to your own girl, Wilson,” Bucky counters, brushing a kiss to Wanda’s hair as she giggles. She pauses their stride as she turns to them, stretching on her toes to whisper in his ear, and he dips his head to kiss her, quick and hard, earning a half-hearted noise of protest from Pietro that has Wanda pulling away with another giggle.

Then she glides over to Natasha, taking her hand and giving it a tug. “They’re about to start slicing and serving cake, which means we need to do a toast!”

Natasha catches Steve’s gaze as Wanda starts to pull her onto her feet, her eyes sparkling, and Steve gives her a grin, grabbing their glasses as they all head back into the main dining room. It’s louder and warmer, and little Morgan Stark and Nathaniel Barton nearly trip him over as they run by, but it only makes Steve’s grin widen.

He joins Natasha where she’s standing at the head of the long table in the middle of the room, a few dozen faces staring back at them as they take their seats. He peers down at Nat as he hands over her glass, catching the way his mother’s ring twinkles on her finger under the bright glow of the chandeliers. Then he glances around the room, finding his father sitting further down the table, smiling at him from his seat between Howard and Melina. Across from them, Peter nudges Bucky with his elbow as he and Wanda sit with him, Peter whispering something that makes Bucky hide his laugh with a cough, and on his other side, Pepper and Tony laugh as Morgan practically climbs into Sam’s lap.

It quiets down as Steve lifts his glass, curving his hand over Nat’s hip and drawing her close as he thanks them for celebrating with them tonight, asking them to raise their glass in a toast to his father coming home safe, to Pietro’s quick recovery, and to his and Nat’s engagement.

“And to Family,” he finishes, peering down at Natasha.

“To Family,” she echoes, and there are cheers and clinks of utensils against glasses of wine right before his mouth slants against hers in a kiss. Then he feels Natasha smile against his mouth just as she parts their kiss a moment later, turning his head to bring her lips near his ear. “And when exactly do you want to tell them the Family is about to get a little bigger?” she whispers, and Steve breathes out a chuckle, pressing a kiss against her neck. If he thought he could get away with touching her stomach, he would’ve.

“This is the Family we’re talking about, Nat,” he points out, drawing back to catch her bright eyes, a warmth squeezing at his chest. “They probably found out a week ago.”

#romanogers #natasha romanoff #steve rogers #chanty writes #mafia 'verse

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

Text

Come Home to My Heart, Chapter 6 (Lemyanka) - Plastiquedoll

read on ao3 ✨| previous chapters

A/N: this is rated “B” for Bickering. It’s getting gay(er) I promise. I hope you enjoy it and thanks for reading it! <3

-6-

Priyanka’s bad mood lasted some more time after Lemon left. She shushed her friends when they tried to bring up the issue again and ate her waffles in silence until the girls started cracking jokes to make her laugh.

She was glad when the conversation focused on Denali as she explained to the other girls how her skating programs worked and told them all about the training and the traveling she had done during the year. It was compelling enough to lift the spirits on the table and once they were done with their food and the coffee refills, they all parted ways.

Priyanka drove Denali back to the house of her friend where she was staying for the month and got the chance to catch up with her a bit more. Inevitably, a question would pop at any moment.

“So…” The girl on the passenger seat began and Priyanka already knew what was coming. “this girl Lemon and you… what’s the story behind it?”

“Ugh…” Priyanka wanted to hit her head with the steering wheel. “It’s a long story.”

“I have time.” She said. “And you did mention a place that serves the best ice cream in town, don’t think I have forgotten.”

Priyanka sighed. “Nosy bitch…”

Denali cackled. “Oh, c’mon! I’m dying to know.”

“Fine. But you’re paying for my ice cream and I’ll make sure I order every topping, sprinkle, and syrup available.”

Priyanka turned left and changed their destination until they arrived at the ice cream parlor. Just as she had threatened, she ordered a monstrosity of ice cream for herself while Denali sat there with her cookies and cream sundae.

“Lemon and I were friends since kindergarten…” She started.

She told Denali everything, the first time they shared cookies, their days of primary school, the day Lemon left for New York, and the aftermaths of that moving. She told her the exact moment her crush began and when she knew it was way more than just a temporary thing. She told her about the big fight when Lemon visited her and how she had ignored her for the next five months until the blonde stopped trying whilst Priyanka thought she was doing the right thing. She told her about the moment she knew things were never going back to normal with them.

“Wait… wait, stop right there. So you two argued about something so stupid and then boom that’s it?”

“When you put it like that…”

“Because you know it is something stupid two fifteen-year-old girls would argue over, right?”

“First of all, it was a big deal back in the day.”

“Pri you were jealous of another girl and the remote possibility of your plans not being fulfilled. Plans you made when you were ten.”

“It wasn’t only about the plans we made… I could feel the distance between us and the way she was moving out without me in the future… it scared me.”

“Then why you never told her that?”

“Because… I’d have to admit my crush and end up with my heart broken twice by the same person.”

“Or… maybe give her the chance to decide that?”

Priyanka glared at her. “Denali, what are you implying?”

“I’m just saying that you were mad at her for not letting you being her friend and yet you weren’t giving her the chance to know your feelings, neither of you were being completely honest with each other… does that make sense?”

Priyanka took a big spoon of her ice cream and put it on her mouth to avoid answering.

“What I’m saying is that… this is your chance to make things right with her… maybe even the start of something new?”

“This isn’t a Disney Channel movie, you’re aware of that, right?”

“Priyanka, don’t you see? What are the odds of something like this happening? After seven years…”

“If you’re trying to make it look like a «this is fate» kind of situation, quit right now. It’s not going to work.” She crossed her arms on her chest. “Anyway…”

“You’re such a stubborn head sometimes I swear to God…”

“But you love me for that, don’t you?”

“I question myself sometimes.”

Priyanka threw a napkin playfully at her.

“After seven long years… things might have changed for you two.” She had a mischievous look on her face.

“What are you suggesting?”

“Listen, tomorrow’s Friday night, I’m sure the New Yorker in her is going to be out enjoying the nightlife… maybe you should do the same… Show her what she’s missed all this time.”

“It’s a stupid idea.”

No, that wasn’t going to work, it was ridiculous.

“I still think it’s a stupid idea.” Priyanka complained while sitting in the backseat of the taxi.

“Kiara and Juice are meeting us there.” Scarlett confirmed, ignoring what her friend had just said.

Denali put her thumbs air and smiled at Priyanka.

She had complained, protested, and kicked like a toddler but once their friends heard Denali’s labeled as a «genius idea», there was no way back. They had kidnapped her along with a bunch of her clothes and dragged her to Scarlett’s house to get ready.

Hence, she had no choice but to go along with their plan and she might as well put a little effort on since the goal was to get noticed by the devil in disguise herself.

She deliberately chose a pair of tight black shorts that barely covered her ass, a gold sequin top with thin strips that began on the front and finished tied on her back, and a pair of long black velvet boots that prolonged her legs by miles. Denali and Scarlett had her twirling around in her outfit just to throw cheesy compliments at her and whistled as old wolves in cartoons did.

Once her hair was tied in a high ponytail, she did her makeup while chattering with her friends.

What if she doesn’t show up?

She’s going to, we’ve some inside info.

Still, why do I have to go? I don’t wanna see her.

Bullshit, of course you do.

Besides, it’s about her seeing you.

“I can’t do this.” She whispered in front of the mirror.

“Your eyeliner or going to the nightclub?” Scarlett asked before applying red lipstick on her lips.

“The nightclub…”

“Priyanka, you’re a grown-up woman who’s going out on a Friday night. If Lemon happens to be there then wave at her and take a shot after it.” Her friend scolded. “Listen, I love you but it’s clear that if she has the power to make you feel this way it’s because there’s something underneath neither of you have solved. I say that you get over that fear and move on with your life.”

“No, you’re right…”

“The Priyanka I know would pick up girls in clubs with ease because she’s confident and that’s hot.”

“I’m so telling Juice you think I’m hot.”

Denali chuckled while putting mascara on.

“My point being that… I don’t know what’s about that Polly Pocket bitch that turns your already soft oatmeal brain into a liquid state but get a grip.”

Priyanka laughed at loud. “Okay, okay… you don’t have to drag me like that. We’re going to have fun tonight, I promise.”

They got to the club five minutes after; it was a chilly night –one of those that might require a jacket they hadn’t brought- but nothing that a good shot of alcohol couldn’t fix within a few minutes.

Music was blasting from the speakers; there were circles of people dancing on the floor already, the unmistakable frenetic energy buzzed in the air and made every touch, every brush charged with electricity.

Kiara and Juice found them in the crowd; they were carrying a couple of vodka shots and shared them with the newly arrived.

Lemon was already inside the club, Priyanka spotted her sitting on the bar stirring something that looked like a pink vodka lemonade.

She was wearing a white strapless tube dress with a sheer shirt with fur on the tips of the sleeves on top of it along with a pair of pearly ankle strap shoes. Her hair was curlier than the other day so she had probably styled like that with an iron.

Next to her, Kyne enjoyed a bottle of beer and Priyanka suddenly understood where the piece of inside information had come from. Kiara, you slut…

Priyanka drank the shot in one gulp and let the alcohol burn her throat. It was the good type of burn, a little spark to ignite the fire in her veins.

“I’ll go get the next round.” Priyanka announced.

“I’ll help you.” Denali followed her.

Priyanka dodged some drunkards that offered to buy her drinks and walked directly toward the bar making sure she casually appeared next to Lemon. She rested her elbows on the bar and moved her ponytail to display the intricate knots on her almost naked back.

Lemon stared for a moment and then sighed. “You gotta be kidding me.”

“Ignore me, I’m just getting some drinks for me and my friends.”

“I already do that.”

“Well, you’re not very good at it.” She looked at Kyne. “Hey there… Kiara said she’ll buy you another beer once you’re done with that one. You should go dance with her later.”

“Ah… alright…” The girl blushed and took a sip of her beer.

“Remember Denali?” She pointed at the dark-haired girl next to her.

“Yes… I had the pleasure to meet her the other day… unlike others.” She drank what was left of her drink.

Priyanka called the bartender and ordered the round of shots, shortly after five full glasses were in front of them.

“Which one is yours?” Lemon asked.

Priyanka frowned. “This one on my hand, obviously.”

“Good.” Without giving her time to protest, Lemon snatched the drink from her hand and took it herself without flinching, and put it back on her hand as if nothing had happened.

“Hey!”

“You’re welcome.” She said.

“For what?” Priyanka was still dumbfounded.

“I don’t let many people buy me drinks.” She smirked again.

The brunette’s lips turned into a grimace; there wasn’t anything in the world that she wanted more than erasing that little cocky expression off her face.

“Let’s go, Kyne, let’s find the others. I wanna dance.” She smiled at Denali overlooking Priyanka. “See you around.”

Priyanka shook her head. “I can’t believe it… I can’t… did you see that?”

“Pri… this is great.” Denali seemed to be amused by the exchange.

“What?”

“Don’t you see? She was provoking you.”

“Yeah, by inciting violence.” She waved back to the bartender.

“To get a reaction from you… It’s like a game, now is your turn to move.”

“You’re crazy. She did it just to bug me and she succeeded.”

“And now you can’t stop talking about it… my point exactly.”

She shook her head. “No, Lemon’s not like that… she wouldn’t.”

“Maybe the Lemon you knew before but this Lemon is different… a bit bitchy and that’s a good thing.”

“Oh, no, that’s not new. She’s always been a bitch, trust me.”

Denali laughed, they grabbed their drinks and went back where the other girls were.

They made it just in time to dance to I Love It by Icona Pop and sing the chorus from the top of their lungs. After the second shot, Priyanka could finally loosen up, just go with the music and the environment to let herself enjoy the night.

They danced non-stop for a good thirty minutes until Priyanka went to the bar again. Kiara gave her money to get her a vodka tonic and she ordered a fireball for herself. She sat for a moment on one of the stools to catch her breath while she waited to be served.

It was when her eyes found her.

Lemon had taken off the semi-transparent shirt and now she only had that small dress embracing her body as she danced, and God, the way she danced… She didn’t miss a single beat, her body reacted to the music in a way Priyanka had never seen before, it was calculated yet sensual, it was methodic yet loose, in other words, it was hypnotic.

Priyanka was so mesmerized at the moment she almost had no time to play it cool when Lemon walked toward the bar once again. Now her body glowed with a thin layer of sweat and her hair wasn’t as neat as the beginning of the night, Priyanka liked it better that way.

“Thank you.” She talked to the bartender disregarding the blonde next to her.

Lemon stole her drink once again and took a sip of it but this time she cleared her throat loudly, grimacing in disgust at the taste of the flavored whiskey.

“Ew, cinnamon.”

Priyanka mocked her right away. “This is going to teach you something.”

“Yeah, it just taught me how tasteless you are… that’s disgusting.”

Priyanka drank it and let an “ah” out. “Delicious.”

“What’s that?” She pointed at Kiara’s drink.

“Vodka tonic but it’s for Kiara.”

“She’s not going to need it… her tongue is somewhere Kyne’s throat right now,” Lemon said as she extended her hand and took the glass of the countertop. She rinsed the flavor of the fireball with some more alcohol. “Is that a thing? Like a recurrent thing? Them I mean.”

“Sorta but Kyne didn’t acknowledge it until like last year so I’d say it’s still very recent.”

At that moment a guy tried to approach them with the intention of buying them a drink.

“Eat dirt and get lost.” Lemon hissed making the guy disappear from he came from.

“Wow, that was kind of aggressive…” Priyanka said but she sniggered anyway.

“I told you I don’t let anyone buy me drinks plus I don’t like men that try to win women over with drinks. I don’t need their coins, I can buy my own drinks.”

“I’m quite sure you haven’t bought any of the drinks you had tonight, am I wrong?”

“I could buy them if I wanted to…”

“Could you?”

“Yes.”

“Bartender,” Priyanka drew attention from the person behind the bar. “two shots of tequila over here.”

Lemon glared at her. “I said if I wanted to… and I’m certainly not buying you a drink.”

“Fine, I’ll take both shots myself.” Priyanka grabbed both glasses with one hand.

“Wait! Fine…” She pulled a bill from her cleavage and put it on the countertop. “Happy?”

“Classy.” Priyanka grinned.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was because it was Friday night but Priyanka was having fun there with Lemon and it had been an eternity since the last time they hung out like that.

The blonde rolled her eyes and then right before Priyanka’s eyes licked a stripe on the side of her palm, added salt, and licked it again before drinking the shot in the blink of an eye. Finally, she sucked the lime and threw it on the plate in front of them.

Priyanka gulped.

Lemon stared at her. “Well? You were the one who wanted to drink tequila.”

Priyanka repeated the process but she knew for sure she wasn’t putting on a show as Lemon did.

“That girl… Denali…” Lemon tested the waters at the mention of her name. “is she… close to you?”

“I adore her, yeah.”

“Is she… your girlfriend?”

Priyanka looked at the dance floor where Denali was still dancing and having fun with her other friends and then back at Lemon.

“Why?”

“I don’t know… I saw you two together earlier… I just assumed…”

“Would you care?”

Lemon shrunk on her seat. “Why would I?”

“You asked me about it.”

“I was trying to make small talk… plus you haven’t answered my question.”

“You haven’t answered mine.”

The blonde seemed to be cornered for a moment but she looked at Priyanka in the eye with the combative spirit she had always had in her.

“You didn’t answer my calls for five months back in the day, cute, isn’t it?” There was anger and some poison on her words and it hit the brunette right away.

Lemon went back with her friends without saying anything else.

Priyanka watched her until Scarlett dragged her back to the dance floor.

After several hours of dancing and drinking, Priyanka was drunk and exhausted in the best possible way. She was outside the club sharing a cigarette with Scarlett -it was kind of cold but she was completely unbothered by the weather- when a very sleepy Juice showed up, Scarlett went home with her and Priyanka didn’t even try to say something. Let them be happy or whatever.

Denali had left an hour ago, tired as hell too, and Kiara was probably going home with Kyne so she might as well get a taxi for herself as soon as the cigarette on her hand died.

Lemon walked out of the club just when her friends had closed the taxi door and left Priyanka alone. The blonde was carrying her shirt over her shoulder like a jacket and looked at Priyanka as soon as she spotted her in the corner.

She walked straight but there was something on her face that told Priyanka she hadn’t sobered up yet.

“There you are.” She dragged her words comically.

Priyanka shrugged. “Here I am.”

Lemon was about to say something but then she squinted. “Why are you so tall?”

“Because I ate my vegetables when I was little.”

“Liar, you threw them on the trash can when the teacher wasn’t looking at you.”

The brunette laughed. “I had forgotten about that. I got into so much trouble when they discovered it.”

“Trouble? Are you talking about trouble? What would your mother say if she caught you smoking?” She accused.

“Bite me.” Priyanka started laughing. “Did you come here to fight?”

“Yeah… but then I remembered you’re too tall.”

This cracked Priyanka even more; she was almost bent in half.

“What is it so funny?”

“I just remembered that Scarlett called you Polly Pocket earlier and now I can’t unsee it.”

“Fuck you and fuck her too…” She said. “Who are you calling Polly Pocket? I’m a whole ass Bratz or I will be when I can afford the botox injections.” She pouted.

“You sure will, doll.”

“Why are you here alone anyway?” She hiccupped. “Why isn’t your girlfriend with you?” Lemon leaned against a lamppost.

“All of my girl-friends left earlier.”

“You know whom I mean…”

Priyanka shook her head. It was too absurd for her.

A taxi turned around the corner and the brunette waved at it.

“Okay, Little Miss Sunshine, time to go home.” Priyanka tapped the vehicle’s roof.

“I get it… okay…” She got into the cab. “good night… Sprinky.”

“Good night, Lemon.” She closed the door and watched the car leaving.

She could take the next one.

#rpdr fanfiction #drcan #can1 #lemon #priyanka #lemon x priyanka #childhood friends #friends to lovers #lesbian au #come home to my heart #plastiquedoll #concrit welcome

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thechildoflightning · 5 years ago

Text

Forecast

Title: Forecast

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairings: Remile

Word Count: 3217

~~~

Summary:

An average fall morning with Remile, ft. depression fog, broke college students buying expensive coffee, teeny tiny pumpkins, emotional distress, and succulents (not in that order).

For the lovely @illogicallyinclined’s hockey au.

Warnings: Depression, Seasonal Affective Disorder

[ao3 link]

~~~

Forecast

Remy had mixed feelings about October and the approaching holidays and seasons.

On one hand- October meant Halloween which meant seasonal drinks like Pumpkin Spice. It also meant that decorations went up and he and Emile would get a bunch of those ittie bittie pumpkins to put literally everywhere in their apartment. Emile would light his candles and the apartment would smell like falling leaves, and apples, and pumpkin pie. He loved it.

On the other hand- October brought the beginnings of Remy’s seasonal affective disorder- which he had just nicknamed “The Big Sad.” Seasonal depression adding onto his regular depression was just another weight on his back, until it became an almost struggle to just be at a decent mood level. He hated it

This year had hit him hard.

He wasn’t even sure why.

So here he was, lying on the bed he shared with Emile, blinking up at the ceiling and trying to convince himself to just… get up.

He could. He knew he could.

It was always the mornings too. The mornings were a bit harder than everything else because now he had the whole day looming ahead of him and it just seemed so long and forbidding.

Over the years, Remy had counteracted this with a routine. If mornings were always going to be hard for him, might as well give him something to get up for, right? So he had collected succulents over the past few years, slowly decorating the apartment. He’d check them all every morning, fingers gliding over their leaves carefully to take note of growth, decay, light damage, shade damage, soil dryness, and much more.

Had he really expected to learn this much about succulents? No. But he had. And he loved it.

Most importantly, it gave him a reason to get up.

He would then make himself breakfast, and Emile some too if he was around, before heading to classes, work, practice, or whatever he had that day.

The routine kept him moving, kept him active, kept him from not sitting in bed all day long.

These days, it generally wasn’t even a struggle. But he woke up on the third day of October with a weight in his bones and the faint smell of ginger and cinnamon in the air.

His alarm had gone off twice now. The second one was his safety. His “okay, you’re having a rough day, here’s a few extra minutes, but then you need to get up alarm.”

He hadn’t gotten up.

Nope. Instead, he was blinking lazily up at the ceiling, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes and a heavy weight settled across his chest. Fuck depression. Fuck SAD.

This was, of course, when the door opened.

“Remy!” his roommate? friend? boyfriend? partner’s voice cheered as he entered the apartment, “Guess what! The cafeteria put up little pumpkins today and I remembered we hadn’t gone out and gotten any yet and we don’t have weights or Zumba today, and you don’t work until later so we totally have time to-”

Emile cut himself off as he realized that the kitchen area (that was more than a kitchenette but less than an actual kitchen) did not actually contain the person he was attempting to rant to.

Remy would give him to the count of three.

Sure enough, right as Remy ticked the final number off in his head, the door to their room (which had technically started as Remy’s but was now really both of theirs) was pushed open by Emile.

“Rem?” the voice called.

He couldn't quite make his vocal cords work, but he could shift slightly under the bed covers.

Seconds later the light in the room was flickering on and Emile’s warm gaze met Remy’s cold one.

“Oh,” Emile said, taking in the situation, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Remy replied meekly.

Emile sighed at the reply. But it wasn’t one of those sighs of frustration or annoyance. It was one of those small sighs that was just a breath of air. A reassurance. Emile always sighed like that. Remy thought it was maybe a stupid thing to love, but he loved it nonetheless.

Emile walked forward and settled on the edge of the bed, extending an arm with the palm face up.

A knot grew in Remy’s throat, even as he extended his own hand to grasp Emile’s.

“You’re usually up by now,” Emile offered.

“I know,” he said.

“What are you at?”

Remy sighed. This sigh wasn’t like Emile’s nor was it one of frustration. No, it was a sigh representative of the crushing weight of everything in the world building up and accumulating, dragging Remy down with it.

“Big SAD’s at like a six or seven? It’s, it’s not so bad. Just used to it being a lot better now. This year hit hard,” Remy confided.

Emile nodded and rubbed his thumb soothingly against the back of Remy’s hand.

“I need to get up,” Remy said.

“You usually check on your plants,” Emile said. It was his way of agreeing, his way of encouraging and supporting Remy on days like this without providing pressure. Holding his hand and grounding him, reminding him he wasn’t alone. Talking about his plants and their needs, reminding him he had a routine. That getting up seemed impossible, but it wasn’t.

Remy groaned loudly before dropping Emile’s hand and rolling to the side of the bed. He let his weight carry himself over the edge, caught him just before he fell, and stood.

He made it out of bed. That was something.

(Emile’s soft laughter at his behavior was also quite the reward).

As Emile continued to giggle, the faint outline of a smile graced Remy’s face. He rushed forward and lifted Emile up, twirling him once before setting him down and giving his hair a soft kiss. He released Emile, and then started for the day.

“Plants first,” Remy said, “Then breakfast. Sound good?”

“I can help with breakfast,” Emile offered.

“No,” Remy insisted immediately, “No I always make breakfast, it’s okay.”

Emile shrugged, but relented without further argument.

Remy moved to the windowsill that contained his plants, and began to check the first one’s leaves. Emile stood right next to him, not quite in his way, but close to it.

“Maybe I should get some plants. Maybe some flowers that can grow indoors.”

“Em, honey, you don’t have the time.”

Em pouted, sweater paws folding over his chest, but didn’t protest Remy’s claim. Remy laughed at the sight and moved to the next plant.

The fog of depression still settled in his brain, but now that he was up and talking and moving, it seemed to be lifting a bit more. It was settling back to be manageable once more, instead of overwhelming. He could deal with that.

“Remy! This one has flowers!” Emile suddenly exclaimed, from further down the windowsill, which considering the windowsills length, was just a few more inches down.

Remy pulled his attention away from the current succulent he was inspecting, and directed it towards the plant Emile had been pointing out.

Sure enough, just in between two thick green nubs, a long green stem with tiny blooming white flowers appeared. Remy smiled at the sight and Emile tucked into his side.

“It’s pretty,” Emile claimed.

“Mmhmm, yeah,” Remy agreed, hooking his head over Emile’s own, and holding him there for a minute. He wasn’t really quite tall enough to do such, so he had to stand on his tiptoes and raise his chin a bit, but it was so worth it.

They stood there together a bit, peering at the little white flowers, before moving onward with their day.

During breakfast, Emile re-explained what he had started to that morning when he had first entered the apartment.

He told Remy about how the main dining hall now had the tiny baby pumpkins up in it and how they absolutely had to get some for the apartment themselves. He was practically begging, coming up with a billion and one reasons that they should get them, as if Remy didn’t love them just as much.

After breakfast, they cleaned up, and Remy showered and dressed, before heading out to get said pumpkins. Emile had been right, it was hard to find substantial time when they were both free to do things together, and Thursday mornings happened to be one of the few times. They still didn’t have a lot of time, but it was something.

They were walking in the direction of the grocery story when Emile came to a complete halt. Remy blinked and tried to figure out what had happened.

Just a minute ago Emile had been talking about one of his classes. Remy had been trying to listen, really he had, but the fog in his brain had started to pick up again, making each step a little bit harder and listening to even mindless chatter almost impossible

It also meant that if Emile had given any warning or explanation for stopping, Remy had completely missed it.

“Emile?” he asked.

“Let’s get coffee,” he said, gesturing to the Starbucks in front of them.

Okay, that wasn’t fair. Emile knew he was going to say yes.

“Coffee’s expensive,” he mentioned. They were broke college students which was why it was completely unfair of Emile to say they were getting coffee because of course Remy was going to say yes but they couldn’t keep buying the stuff if they wanted to have food for meals and tiny pumpkins.

“Yeah, but I know you love the seasonal drinks. My treat,” was Emile’s response.

“Emile, I’m literally the one with the discount.”

And the one with the father that was more than willing to fund Remy’s coffee addiction three times over but he was trying to adult himself with minimal support from parents. Minimal support meaning yes please pay for my education and part of rent that is very appreciated but also I should probably learn how to feed and clothe myself I’ll let you know if I’m failing at that and then you can swoop in and save me.

“Okay. Then your discount, my money. Mostly my treat.”

Emile’s defense was weak at best but it didn’t really take much to convince Remy in the first place. Plus, he had that blinding smile on his face that just made Remy melt.

“Okay,” he agreed, “Okay. Coffee. But we can’t make it a habit.”

Emile shrugged, nodded, and pulled him towards the door.

“We won’t,” he promised, “Just today. Special occasion.”

Remy grinned lightly. Emile was always saying stuff like that, calling mundane things special or important. Remy pretended to hate it, but somehow, whenever Emile did it, it really did make whatever event just a little bit magical.

“And what, pray tell, is so special,” he drawled, dropping his arm onto Emile’s shoulder.

Emile shrugged and moved forward to get in line, Remy trailing afterwards, leaning his weight against him just to piss him off. (It didn’t seem to be working as Emile just sorta snuggled into his side and, great, now he was blushing).

“It’s special because…” Emile trailed, before his eyes lit up like gems, “Because you got out of bed this morning!”

A lump grew in Remy’s throat and he had the urge to take his arm off of Emile’s shoulder. The blush that had spread across his cheeks faded.

“I did,” he said, aiming for casual, “Y’know, it’s pretty simple. You just yank off the covers and hop out. Or fall off in this morning's case.”

Emile gave him a look.

“Yeah. It is simple. Doesn’t mean it's easy,” Emile said, with that wisdom he seemed to always carry and spew out. Damn emotional intelligence.

Remy did drop his arm this time, pulling it away from Emile.

Emile frowned and opened his mouth, but didn’t get the opportunity to say anything more as they made it to the front of the line.

Remy moved forward quickly and ordered for himself. When he was done, he went to order for Emile like he always did, but stopped when he realized that Emile hadn’t actually told him what he wanted this time.

See, Remy always ordered for Emile. Emile’s anxiety made it harder for him to talk to strangers, especially when it involved ordering or asking for something. It was certainly something Emile was capable of doing, and something he sometimes insisted on doing just so that he knew he still could, but it was also something he generally preferred not to do. Remy had no such issues and so Emile would tell him what he wanted and Remy would order for them both.

But Emile hadn't gotten the chance to tell him what he wanted. Remy could guess, but he hated to do that when Emile was right here and could choose what he wanted himself. He hated to assume, even if he was usually pretty spot on. Knowing Emile for such a long time made it pretty easy at this point.

The worker was looking at them now, as Remy’s pause went on for a touch too long.

“Emile?” Remy asked.

“Oh, uh,” the other boy stuttered, before rattling his own order off.

They didn’t really speak until they had left the shop and continued on their way to the grocery store.

“Earlier,” Emile started, “I know you can get out of bed. I wasn’t trying to- I dunno- mock you or something. I just know that it can be hard for you- that it was hard this morning. I-” he shrugged, “I’m not proud of you because that’s just-” he wrinkled his nose up, “That’s not something for me to be proud of, but you… You should be proud of yourself.”

Remy sighed and reached out to clutch Emile’s hand.

“I know,” he agreed, “It’s just that…” he sighed, and the fog in his brain continued to swirl around, “Thank you,” he said instead and worked on trying to maybe take Emile’s words to heart. The swirling didn’t seem to like it, but it could fuck off because he was going to buy little mini pumpkins with his- his Emile and it was going to be great.

Emile squeezed his hand.

“Pumpkins?” Remy offered, and Emile just smiled and nodded in return.

They didn’t have the time to decorate their apartment with all the little pumpkins they bought because they were starting to run late for morning skate. So they left the clump on the small table in the main room before getting ready and heading towards practice.

As they did so, a little foreign weight dropped in Remy’s stomach. It wasn’t like the fog. It was more like dread. It was starting to become a familiar feeling whenever practice and games approached. Remy absolutely hated it. Plus, morning skate wasn’t even really practice, it was just to get them moving so why the hell did Remy feel this way?

He enjoyed hockey. He did. He really really did.

(Just maybe not lately).

But he ignored the feeling, as well as the concerned look from Emile and headed out the door. They had morning skate to attend.

It wasn’t until late evening that they were both home at the same time.

The moment Remy walked through the doors he wrestled Emile away from his studying because come on Em, you can take ten minutes to decorate the apartment. Emile relented, standing to give a soft kiss on Remy’s jaw, and moved towards the pumpkins from earlier. Remy absolutely did not blush whatsoever and followed.

“Remy,” Emile commented once they were finishing up, “Are you- Are you doing alright lately?”

The fog buzzed louder.

Remy let out a weak chuckle.

“I’m always doing alright,” he said.

Emile just gave him a look.

“No really,” Remy insisted, even as a lump formed in his throat, “I’m- I mean. I’m okay. Uh- this morning was hard. Today wasn’t- wasn’t the best. I can tell this year isn’t going to be the best. But yeah, yeah Em I’m okay. I promise.”

Emile’s worry dropped a bit but didn’t fade completely.

“Okay,” he said, “I- You’ve just seemed more stressed lately. Uh- with Logan-” Emile swallowed and Remy squeezed his eyes tight for a second, “With Logan… out. I mean, it’s a lot more on you.”

“I’ve been Starter before,” Remy said gently.

“Yeah. I know.”

Because Remy had been Starter before. But not- not like this. Never like this before. And they both knew it.

“It is more,” Remy admitted, “But it’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Emile said, and let it rest.

What Remy didn’t say was that it wasn’t the extra games, extra playtime that was getting to him.

It was the team’s faces.

It was how they went into games expecting to lose and Roman and Patton couldn’t agree on a single thing and Remus was getting reckless again and even Deceit was joining him and Virgil just seemed off and the fans hated that Remy was taking Logan’s place because it was Logan’s place and sure Remy was good but he wasn’t Logan good and they all knew it and it wasn’t even a bad thing but it did mean that even playing his best Remy knew he was letting his team down, letting Logan down, letting himself down.

But it wasn’t the playtime.

Oh no, it was so much more than just the playtime.

The fog expanded, pushing down and back on Remy’s brain, encoating him in a layer of discontentment and hopelessness and misery.

Remy sighed. He set the last pumpkin down.

“I think I’m gonna head to bed,” he said.

Emile nodded. He usually checked the clock when Remy announced he was retiring for the night, making sure that it hadn’t gotten too late yet. But he didn’t bother this time. They both knew it was still much too early for either of them to be sleeping.

“Okay,” Emile said, and smiled, but it didn't quite stretch across his face like it usually did, “I have work to do still, but I’ll join you in awhile.”

“Okay,” Remy agreed.

And they both stood there staring at each other.

Then, suddenly, Emile lurched forward and grasped Remy tightly, clutching the taller boy in a tight hug. Startled, but not about to deny the hug, Remy gripped back, just as tight.

He didn’t start to cry, but it was close.

“Love you,” Emile said.

“Love you too,” Remy responded, voice muffled from where his head was buried in Emile’s neck and trying not to cry.

With that, he headed off to bed.

Later, Emile would slip in next to him, acting in a rare occasion as the big spoon. That next morning would be a little bit easier and three mornings after that would be a little bit harder. Remy would continue to get out of bed.

Hockey would continue and Logan wouldn’t return and tensions on the team would get worse. Through all of it, Remy would be caught in the absolute worse position as Logan’s replacement.

But for now, Remy would go to bed early, fog pressing down, harsh and unforgiving, but still much softer than the upcoming storm. Because that’s really all this was, wasn’t it? The calm before the storm.

~~~

taglist below

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morallygreyprompts · 5 years ago

Text

Vampire Continuation #2 (and finale)

First part here

Did I deliberately hold this back a few days for Halloween? Um… Well... You have no proof.

There is a keep reading because this beastie is 3.3K words- that’s right I spoiled you lot and finished the whole story. If that isn’t dedication, idk what is ^^’ I made up some of the vampire things, mainly sealing the wound, but like, what I say makes sense.

Enjoy your spooky day, kids. Bop to Spooky Scary Skeletons, do the time warp, and don’t forget to brush your teeth an extra time- oh, and eat your pumpkins, please don’t waste food. There are loads of recipes and ideas online, (except my friend who is allergic. You’re excused ^^’) Use fruits your more likely to eat- like watermelons that you can cut in half, carve all the red out and just use the skin. Anything like that and animals like to eat the pumpkin guts, but you’d have to read up on that. Point is, don’t just leave it to rot.

I will also say now the dreaded November 1st is here, I have my queue readyish and I’m not posting anything extra on this page, and I won’t be doing submissions because I have the memory of a sieve that’s missing its mesh and I’ll forget.

Sidekick followed Hero and the Vampire for as long as they could, mainly focusing on the direction they were headed, thinking about what sort of hideaways were in that area. There were a few, but there was one place in particular that seemed especially likely, and that was dilapidated lighthouse, rumoured to have a tangles mass on tunnels beneath it. Tunnels that a vampire would no doubt thrive in and have plenty of space to keep their living meals. It was as good a place as any to start, but Sidekick didn't know how long they had until Hero was turned, or killed.

They also knew they couldn't go after them without getting ready. They needed weapons, and one can of aerosol just wasn't enough. They had no idea what they were going up against.

Sidekick, still panting from their previous run, took off back toward their base to get ready. They just hoped they had enough time. They read up as much as they could on weaknesses, and tied to collect everything in the base that they could. Garlic crosses, silver, knotted ropes, a second aerosol, and they spent at least half an hour sawing at a broom, quartering it and then sharpening one edge to make a stake. It took longer than they would have liked, but it was the best weapon they felt they could get and now they had four of them. There was another thing they needed, but they could get that from a church on the way to the lighthouse.

Sidekick caught themselves and decided to telephone Vigilante, but after the second attempt, there was no answer. They couldn't wait any longer. They set off toward the church, using Hero's bicycle to make the journey faster. Sidekick was able to get to the church quickly, and they managed to salvage two bottles of water, but that was all. They would have liked more, but there wasn't exactly the time to wait for the next service. It was getting late into the night. Every second that went by might have been too late.

Sidekick had only just pocketed the two bottles when they heard a screech. They looked up overhead to see three vampires coming at them.

"Oh, crud." This meant trouble. If three had been sent after them, then how many other ones were they?!"

Sidekick snarled and started running toward the church. If they could get there, they'd be safe. Only one of the Vampires grabbed them and lifted them high into the air, holding them by their ankle. Sidekick cried out in terror at being so high, so droppable, getting further and further away from the safety of the church. They weren't even going in the direction of the lighthouse. Sidekick snarled and scrambled for a stake. With a battle cry, they forced themselves to sit up and plunged the stake into the vampire's chest.

A deafening shriek pierced through the air, forcing Sidekick to cover their ears. As the vampire began to turn to ash and descend to the ground beneath them, they dropped Sidekick. They hit the ground hard, face first, but thankfully they were low enough for nothing to be broken, although that didn't remove the pain. Sidekick would have laid still for a moment, assessed what parts of their body they could still feel but they didn't have time for that. There were still two other vampires to deal with.

The first was easy, all things considered, as it flew toward them, Sidekick took out a stake, ducked, but swung their arm out, hitting the vampire in the chest again. What they didn't realise was that as the vampire turned to ash, so did the stake. Now they only had two left. They didn't want to use them on this third vampire- not that they had the chance to. The vampire grabbed them by the shirt, dragged them closer, and exposed their neck. Sidekick punched them in the head, and wearing a silver ring made it far more effective.

The vampire recoiled, holding its face in pain. Sidekick didn't have the time to feel sorry for it. Anger took over and the creature dived at them. A bang sounded, and the vampire dropped from the air like a shot bird. It took Sidekick a moment to realise that was exactly what had happened. They sat down for a moment, panting for breath, wincing at the pain and rubbing their chest.

"This week on 'what trouble are [Hero] and [Sidekick] hip-deep in time'?'" Vigilante said in a commentator-style voice. "In this episode, [Sidekick] tries to take on three vampires at once and almost very epically fails if it weren't for me having one last silver bullet."

"Lay off," Sidekick grumbled. "You saw my missed call?"

"Yeah, and from there I just followed the sound of you imitating a screaming little girl. Wasn't so hard. I'd say what's up, but I feel like those freaks are kinda self-explanatory."

"They took [Hero]. [Villain] is one of them, and they've bitten them," Sidekick answered.

"So... they're turned?" they asked, using their index fingers to imitate sharp canines.

"No. To start turning you also have to drink vampire's blood. To become a full vampire, they have to drink a few times. Some say it's when they have their first feed that there's no going back. I'm starting to think it's just that every vampire is different."

"Lovely," Vigilante grimaced. "Signing a contract or shaking hands not edgy enough for these guys?"

"[Vigilante], this is serious! Come on, we have to kill [Villain] before [Hero] turns. I don't know if we have days, hours, or even minutes."

"How long have you known there to be vampires here?" Vigilante asked.

"I've suspected it for a while. [Hero] wouldn't believe me."

"Ooh! Are they getting the biggest 'I told you so' in the history of I told you so's."

"Yeah, if they live that long. Here."

Sidekick rummaged through their things, giving them a bottle of water, the madly knotted rope, and a stake.

"Um... rope?"

Sidekick shrugged. "Vampires have compulsions. Counting things like seeds is one of them, the other is unpicking knots. It'll buy you some time and they're pretty defenceless when they're working."

"Interesting..." Vigilante furrowed their brow as Sidekick gave them some garlic as well.

"Well, my uniform's gonna stink."

"[Vigilante]!"

“Alright, alright. We should wait 'til daytime and attack."

"I would but we really don’t have time. If they’re underneath the lighthouse, there’s no sunlight to keep them at bay."

Vigilante sighed and let their shoulders sag. "Okay. Let’s do this, but don't expect me to be a Van Helsing all of a sudden cos you gave me a knot, a bottle of water, and a stick."

Sidekick rolled their eyes. "Well, at least I'm not doing this by myself."

The lighthouse reeked with the smell of death, which seemed like a good sign that the undead were camping out there. There was no sign of movement, not a soul. Sidekick kept a lookout for any sinister animals, bats, wolves, snakes maybe... But the air was still and crisp. Sidekick was sure if there was a mouse nestled in a tuft of grass, they'd have been able to hear its little breaths, its silent patter of its heartbeat. They could go as far as calling the place dead.

Sidekick gestured for Vigilante to be quiet as they crept down the overgrown paths, the bristle of the dry grass seemed deafening to them. No matter how carefully Sidekick tread, there was no way to keep the noise down any further. They decided to try for speed rather than stealth in this circumstance. They had to get inside.

The two carefully opened the broken door of the lighthouse, the wooden plank that had sealed it looked torn away. They were close. Vigilante took out their bottle of holy water and took off the lid, pressing the rim of the bottle on their neck and tipping it. None spilt out, but it wet the skin. They did the same with their wrists. Sidekick looked at them with confusion, but Vigilante only shrugged. "I'd do the same." Sidekick rolled their eyes, took out their water and poured a little bit along the doorway, maybe it would stop them coming in. They looked at Vigilante's expectant expression and decided to do as they had done. It was only a few drops, and if it worked, then it was worth it.

It was quite easy to find the loose slab that led to the underground tunnels, there were hand marks, where someone had tried to resist being dragged down, followed by a thin trail of blood.

"At least they sealed the wound," Sidekick mumbled.

"How?" Vigilante whispered.

"Real blood-drinking bats have a chemical that stops wounds closing till they've drunk their fill. Vampires have the opposite since people bleed so heavily."

Vigilante mouthed 'oh'. They hadn't heard of that before but really, if a vampire was going to feed off the same person three or so times, then there had to be a way to stop the bleeding. Puncturing an artery would kill someone in less than a minute. It made sense.

The two carefully made their way down the tunnel. One thing they hadn't brought was a torch, but Sidekick used the lighter just to give a slight sense of which direction they needed to go in. The tunnel smelt worse than outside, with next to no ventilation, it was suffocating, and the odour of rotten blood and corpses was nauseating. Sidekick was just glad not to have come across any victims yet. Sidekick doubted they could stomach such a thing. Locked away in the long dark, Sidekick could hear only the faint dripping of liquid, they hoped it was water. As they walked, they kicked over tiny stalagmites. Sidekick shuddered. They looked back at Vigilante to receive a reassuring nod, and that gave them enough to keep walking.

Eventually, they came to a better-lit clearing, full of at least thirty or so vampires. Sidekick gulped and ducked into cover, Vigilante followed suit. They were far too close to the creatures to speak, but with some thin lighting from lamps scattered around the place, Sidekick knew Vigilante was hoping for some sort of idea on what to do. Sidekick reached in their pocket for the seeds. Vigilante peeked their head above the stone and gave a thumbs up. They pointed at Sidekick and then used two fingers to imitate walking, then pointed to the exit on the other side of the clearing. Sidekick took that as a 'you go on ahead'.

Sidekick grabbed a handful of poppy seeds and launched them into the air. "Hey, count those!" they exclaimed. The vampires turned and snarled, some tried to resist, but soon they all slinked over to the seeds, struggling to even see them let alone count them. Sidekick had grabbed some sunflower seeds form the kitchen too, and they threw them just to be sure they were thoroughly distracted. This was up to Vigilante to deal with, who was assessing the situation to decide how was best to kill so many vampires that studied the ground like a flock of chickens.

Sidekick tried to run across the clearing, only for a wolf to block their path. It seemed not all vampires were drawn to the impulse of seeds. Sidekick grabbed their aerosol and sent a blast of fire towards the wolf, only the wolf dived at them from an angle, only just avoiding the flame. Its claws caught on Sidekick's arm, drawing long deep wounds. They yelped in pain, and with the wolf stood squarely on Sidekick's shoulders, their thumb slipped off the lighter and the wolf bit the can, piercing the thin metal and making it useless.

The wolf tried to bite them, but Sidekick threw their head to the side and reached in their pocket. They used the hand with the ring on to try to keep the wolf back, and the other leapt into their pocket. Their fingers locked onto a clove of garlic. They shoved in the wolf's open mouth and it screeched. Scampering back, using its paw to bash the garlic out of its mouth. It took off running, whimpering and squealing. Sidekick heard them transform, and the growls and whines turned into screaming and moans.

"Go!" Vigilante exclaimed. "Here!" They tossed them the knotted rope Sidekick had given them earlier. Sidekick caught it and took off running down the passageway, clutching their injured arm. The tunnel was still barely lit but Sidekick couldn't worry about that now. Some noise had been made, and that meant the others all knew that intruders were here. There was a good chance that Villain would kill Hero just to spite them, just to make this rescue attempt an utter failure.

Sidekick kept going down the rocky passage, groping their way down, hoping they didn't bump into anything they weren't meant to. They held onto the crucifix, holding it out in front of them, just in case anything tried to get the drop on them. Their thoughts were becoming blurry, their only focus was on the unnatural threats around them, the need to stay alive, to save Hero. The idea that those things could be anywhere was making their heart rattle against their ribcage, trying to escape and run far away from it all.

When there was light coming up ahead, they knew that that was where Villain would be hiding. With a deep breath, Sidekick went closer, crucifix in one hand, and they took out the holy water for the other, pulling the cap off with their teeth. As the room came into sight, Sidekick froze. Hero crouched on the floor, alive, but looking sticky and sickly, with dried blood down their chin. They hoped with everything that had that they weren't too late.

"[Hero]?" they mumbled.

Their head shot up toward Sidekick, but their eyes were blank. "B.blood... need..."

Without warning, Hero leapt at them, and Sidekick barely managed to swat them away with the crucifix. "Hey! [Hero], focus, it's me! It's [Sidekick]. Come on, stay with me!"

Hero tried again to jump at them, and Sidekick knew they were running out of options. They held the crucifix up, using it to drive Hero into a corner. Hero hissed, pressing themselves against the walls. Sidekick poured the water on the floor, circling them, and it did seem to act as a barrier.

"I'm not going to kill you."

Sidekick heard the slightest noise behind them, and they turned just in time to see Villain lashing out at them. They hit Sidekick's arm, tossing the crucifix from their hand. Sidekick felt around desperately for what they had left. Aside from the rope, the ring and the stake, they had nothing. Nothing at all.

"Your friend hasn't fed just yet. I think it would be fitting however, for it to be your blood they feast upon."

Villain licked their fingers, where a few drops of Sidekick's blood had touched their hand. The scratch was painful, but Sidekick could work with it. They'd had far worse before, that didn't mean it was going to be easy to fight vampire that was so much stronger and faster than them.

Sidekick tossed the knot to Hero, just to make sure they stayed focused on that and not Sidekick. They snatched up the rope, trying to pick at the incredibly tight knots Sidekick had made in it. It would last long enough for the fight. Only one of them would survive, and the winner got Hero.

This was a fight they just couldn't lose.

Villain sprang at them, lashing out with their long nails, letting their teeth shine in the dim light. Sidekick punched them with their ring hand and caught Villain above the eye. The vampire hissed as blood began to drip down, a wound unable to heal due to the silver that had cut it.

"I'm warning you," Sidekick seethed.

"Oh I'm terrified," Villain said smugly. "You think you can just come in here and kill me? Destroy my empire? Ha! Mortals really are stupid."

Sidekick had an idea. A stupid, life-threatening, terrible idea, but it was an idea all the same. They needed Villain to get close. That was there only chance of being able to hit them with the stake, but if they got bitten there was every chance they'd die. They just had to get close.

Villain leapt up, clinging to the ceiling. Sidekick focused on keeping their feet as Villain crawled toward them. They took out the stake ready.

"Any more surprises?" Sidekick exclaimed. "Come on!"

Villain grinned and let themselves drop. Sidekick wasn't far enough out of range and they fell back. The stake fell out of their hands from the painful impact. Villain pounced before Sidekick could pick it back up. They held onto Sidekick's clothes as they climbed toward Sidekick's neck. Sidekick punched them but met only air.

Villain seized hold of Sidekick's arms by below the elbows, forcing them well out the way of their neck.

"No!" Sidekick cried. "[Vigilante]!" They knew help would not come soon enough. They kicked and writhed, but Villain was too strong.

"You tried," Villain said smugly. "You did well, but nothing comes between me and my prey."

Villain buried their face against Sidekick's neck, jaws open wide, but they let out a scree noise.

"It. it burns! How?!"

It took Sidekick a moment to be able to answer the question. The holy water they'd put on.

"Y.you like my perfume?" Sidekick said.

Villain growled and had to let go of their arms, yanking their shirt down, leaving nothing between Sidekick's pounding heart and their teeth bit a thin layer of skin.

"There's more than one place to bite someone, dearie."

Sidekick acted quickly. They reached for the stake, at first it was only their fingertip brushing against it. That became two... three- they had it!

With a scream, Sidekick plunged the stake into the vampire's heart. Villain recoiled in shock, clawing at their own chest. "N.no! No! What have you done?!"

Sidekick stood up and took a shaky breath. "Given you what you deserve. Mortals might be stupid, but we're very good at surviving."

Villain screamed as blood poured out of the wound. The fell to the floor, slowly turning to ash. Sidekick had to look away from the gruesome death. They looked at Hero, finding them unconscious in their little corner. They didn't look so weak and drained now. Sidekick covered their eyes as the scream reached an unbearable note. They dropped to their knees and waited for the noise to stop.

With a gurgle, the air became silent again. Sidekick shook where they knelt. A lot had happened that night. Too much for them to think about all at once. They hissed in pain at their arm. Something felt deeply wrong with it. Their world spun, and they collapsed on the ground. They'd won.

They opened their eyes to find Hero cradling them, and an ungodly pain in their arm. They screamed and tried to get away but Hero and Vigilante held on tight as Vigilante poured the holy water over their arm. It was a searing pain that brought tears to their eyes and snatched their breath away. That felt worse than cleaning a wound with pure alcohol.

"You're okay, buddy," Hero soothed.

"Had to clean it out. I don't know what attacked you, but that wound went a colour I really don't think it was meant to," Vigilante said. "Maybe a werewolf..."

"God, I hope not," Sidekick winced. They lay still, catching their breath.

Hero cleared their throat nervously. "Go on then... say it."

"You're an idiot," Sidekick said without missing a beat.

"And?"

"I told you so."

Vigilante clapped. "Those are the words I love to hear!"

Hero helped Sidekick to their feet, and the two had to support each other somewhat, though Sidekick felt worse off.

"So," Vigilante grinned, "anyone else in the mood for garlic bread?"

Like my stuff and want to support what I do? Then maybe consider buying me a Kofi? Ko-fi.com/morallygrey

Happy Halloween and Good Luck with NaNoWriMo!

#hero and villain #writing prompts #continuation #sidekick #vigilante #hero #villain #vampire #supernatural #halloween #sidekick saves hero #fight #rescue #OH NO #it's the 31st #NANOWRIMO BATTLE STATIONS!!!!!!#*sirens*#send help

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animeniacss · 5 years ago

Text

6 Years - Hoseok x Reader - Chapter 17 - First Day of School

Synopsis: 6 years. That’s all it can take to take another look at someone and see that they have completely changed. You were once an eager 20-year-old, with your dreams all in view, and Jung Hoseok at your side to view them with you. However, after a break up the end of your junior year of college, everything seemed different. Now, you’re a recently divorced single mother of two, and your life is nowhere near what you thought it would be. However, after reuniting with Jung Hoseok, you may just be able to capture a little bit of that exciting youth you once knew so long ago.

Feat. BTS Members, Nayeon (TWICE), and Yuna (itzy)

Genre: Romance, SingleMother!AU, Past Relationship, Drama, Some Depictions of Violence/Domestic Abuse

Length: approx. 4.6k words

Chapter 17- First Day of School

Weong-Bin didn’t seem to bother you or Hoseok after that. He would come to your house, pick up the girls on the days he was supposed to, the both of you would offer a hug and a hello for the girl’s sake, but that was it. He wouldn’t try to swoon you over or make a request to stop seeing Hoseok. It just all came to a stop. In a way, it relieved you, but you were skeptical. Had he really given up, or was he planning something? Oh well, for now, you had more important things to worry about.

Summer came and went faster than you had planned for it too, and it was mid-August. That meant Min Ja was starting school soon, and boy was she sure that nobody forgot it. She would beg whoever she could to take her school shopping for cute clothes, or backpacks, or school supplies, whatever she could think of just so someone could get her into the school section of the local shopping mall. Today, Taehyung was dragged into it and took Hyo Bin with him. This left you home to prepare an early dinner for them and Hoseok was happy to come and give your company when you had asked. He was sitting on the couch, humming a tune as he flipped through the channel, and while you stood in the kitchen and prepared.

“They should be home pretty soon.” You pointed out. “I hope Taehyung didn’t go too crazy with the clothes for the girls.”

“Well, depending on where they went shopping, we’ll just have to see.” Hoseok chuckled a bit. You nodded in agreement, turning back to the sizzling pot on the stove.

As the two of you relaxed in silence for about another hour, you heard the door unlock. Looking over, you saw Taehyung walk in… kid-less.

“…Tae…where are my girls?” you asked curiously, turning the stove off. Taehyung looked around.

“What? Oh…right. I forgot; your girls are dead.” He saw both you and Hoseok, and the confused yet slightly worrying looks on your faces, despite how calm he was acting. “I would like to introduce to you, the most fashionable little ladies in all of South Korea.” He pushed the door open a little more, revealing Min Ja and Hyo Bin standing side by side. They were dressed head to toe in all Gucci apparel: shirts, pants, little coats, headbands, and shoes. Your eyes widened as you looked at the girls standing in what was obviously their attempt to copying Taehyung’s modeling poses. “Cho Min Ja and Cho Hyo Bin at your service.”

“Oh my God…” Hoseok began to laugh as he walked to your side to get a better look at the girls.

“How much did all of that even cost?!” You asked, looking at your brother. He grinned as he scooped Hyo Bin up.

“The only things that are real Gucci are the headbands, the rest is all off-brand for kids, so it isn’t expensive at all.”

“But still, Gucci headbands for a four and two-year-old?” you asked, walking towards him.

“Mama, I’mma model~.” Hyo Bin cooed. Taehyung laughed a bit as you nodded.

“I know you are, baby girl. But next time, Uncle Tae needs to buy you some practical clothes. Right? Can you say practical?”

“Pracal.” She repeated, pointing to Taehyung. “Pracal.”

“Okay, okay.” Taehyung laughed. “But you like them, right Min Ja?”

“Yeah! I’m gonna look so cool in school!” She cheered happily. You sighed, setting Hyo Bin down.

“Let’s get you both changed for now.” You said, leading Hyo Bin into the bedroom. “Dinner is almost ready. Hobi can you just turn on the stove and watch it again for me?”

“Righty-O.” Hoseok cheered, offering a thumbs-up as he and Taehyung headed into the kitchen. You took your kids into their room, helping Hyo Bin put on some clothes while Min Ja grabbed some and dressed herself.

“Mommy look, I’m better at dressing myself now.” Min Ja said.

“That means you’re ready for kindergarten.” You said, smiling as you fixed Hyo Bin’s shirt. Min Ja watched you fold all of the Gucci stuff, and set it in a drawer.

“Is kindergarten fun, Mommy?” she asked curiously.

“Hm? Well, yeah.” You assured her. Min Ja walked over to you and rested herself into your side, head resting on your shoulder. A motherly arm wrapped around her, and you kissed her forehead. “I haven’t been to kindergarten in a while, but I remember that school as a whole was a lot of fun. You’re going to play games, and learn how to read and write, and how to do the math.”

“I can do the math. One plus one is two. Five plus five is…uh…”

“Ten.” You said.

“Ten!” She shouted, grinning. “Plus, I can count to twenty all by myself. So, I don’t need to do that part.”

“Heh, well, maybe you can learn other cool things too. Because there’s a lot more math than just counting to twenty.”

“There is?!” She asked in amazement. “Oh no…” you smiled, patting her back as you stood up.

“You’re going to be okay.” You assured. “Ready for dinner?”

“Yeah.” She nodded, taking your hand. Hyo Bin took the other one as the three of you headed into the kitchen. Hoseok and Taehyung were setting the table, as the food seemed to be just about done. “Yummy!” She beamed, hurrying to her spot in the table with her sister following right behind. You took your seat as well, and the group began to eat. Min Ja happily spoke to Taehyung about this new and innovative idea of counting higher than twenty, something that was absolutely fascinating to her! He listened, amused at her excitement the entire time she chewed his ear off.

“I can’t wait for kindergarten now!” She said eagerly.

“You already couldn’t wait for it, Min Ja.” Taehyung pointed out.

“I know, but now it’s even more!” The adults at the table let out an amused chuckle as they continued to eat.

--------------

Mid-August finally arrived, and Min Ja was just as excited about the first day of school as she was for almost anything else – overly excited. After taking what felt like decades to pick out her perfect first-day outfit, she was struggling to fall asleep. She was sitting in bed all night, begging both you and Hobi to tell her stories about what school would be like, what she would do, really anything she could rattle off in her tiny mind. It took a lot of prodding and desperate pleas to get to fall asleep. The next morning, you managed to wake up before Min Ja, somehow. So, slipping out of bed to not disturb Hoseok, you tossed on some clothes for work and headed into the kitchen to prepare a nice breakfast for everyone. The apartment was silent, you could barely hear sounds of Hoseok making noise in his sleep from the bedroom. It was just enough noise that you were able to remain at ease as you heard the sound of eggs sizzling in your pan.

As you continued to cook, you heard the sound of shifting coming from your bedroom, followed by a tired groan. Hoseok must be up. You thought to yourself. Shifting turned to shuffles on the floor, getting louder and clearer as they entered the living room, then the kitchen. You felt two arms sneak their way around your waist, and a chin plop itself down on your shoulder.

“When did you wake up?” He asked curiously. “I didn’t feel you get out of bed.”

“About ten minutes ago.” You said. “I thought I would get a head start on breakfast before Min Ja starts bouncing off the walls.” As you noticed the eggs were just about done, you turned off the stove and sighed. “Are you awake enough to set the table?” you asked curiously. Hoseok groaned, nuzzling his head farther into your neck, the sensation making shivers run up your spine. You giggled. “Aaaah, stop.” You begged, squirming away. Hoseok grinned sleepily. “I guess not.”

“No, I am.” He said, rubbing his eyes.

“Okay, then I’ll go wake up the girls.” You headed into the girl’s room, seeing both of them were still sound asleep. You decided to leave Hyo Bin for a bit longer, but you went to Min Ja’s side and shook her gently. “Min Ja~.” you cooed. “Time to wake up, and get ready for school.” At the very mention of the word, Min Ja’s eyes shot open, and she sat up in bed. You had to quickly shush her before she began shouting, telling her that Hyo Bin was still asleep. “Let’s put on your clothes and get your hair all done up.” Min Ja nodded, slipping out of bed and grabbing her clothes before racing into the bathroom.

Once Min Ja was changed in her white button-up blouse and navy overall skirt, you brushed the knots out of her hair and let it lay in two low pigtails against her shoulders. She was beaming as she stared at herself in the mirror. She slipped on her socks and hurried to the front door, grabbing her backpack and tossing it on her back. Hoseok looked up from the table to see her eagerly spinning around.

“Look, Mr. Hobi!” she squealed.

“You look wonderful, Min Ja.” he said with a happy smile. “You must be so excited!”

“I am!” She beamed. When she noticed he was setting the table, she hurried over. “Can I help you?” she asked curiously. Hoseok chuckled a bit. “I’m in kindergarten now! That means I’m almost an adult-like you and Mommy!”

“That is true.” Hoseok laughed a bit. He handed her some of the napkins and eating utensils. “Can you just put these next to all the plates for me?”

“Okay!” She said, practically skipping around the table to do so.

You had woken Hyo Bin up once you knew Min Ja was ready to go. She was a bit fussy at first, but it died down once you rubbed her back and brought her out to see her sister and Hoseok, who were both setting the table.

“Mommy! Mr. Hobi said the food is all done!” She cheered; her smile stretched so wide across her face you were worried it might be starting to hurt her cheeks. Setting Hyo Bin in her seat, the four of you gathered around the table and began to eat.

Min Ja and Hyo Bin were busy eating, Hoseok asking Min Ja some questions about what she was most excited for and she answered, whether she had food in her mouth or not. You had to scold her for it a few times. Just as you were beginning to clean up, you heard a knock at the door. For a moment, you felt your body go rigid, dread wrapping you in its chilling embrace and trying to suffocate you. However, taking a deep breath, you got out of your chair and made your way to the door.

“Min Ja, guess whose here?” You cooed, watching her glance up from the table. Opening the door, Weong-Bin was standing there, hands in his pockets. He had a day off today, so instead of wearing his usual business attire, he was in a tee shirt and a pair of jeans.

“Hi, Daddy.” Min Ja said happily after swallowing her food. Weong-Bin glanced at you, and you simply motioned him inside. As he did so, he slipped off his shoes and glanced back to the table. Hoseok was at the sink, washing the dishes. He had looked up when he heard Min Ja call out to Weong-Bin, and didn’t do anything except offer a polite nod in greeting and turn back to start the dishes.

“He stayed over?” Weong-Bin asked curiously.

“Yes? You act like this is a new occurrence.” You replied as you shut the door. Weong-Bin walked towards the kitchen, kissing his girls hello and hurrying them to finish their food, since it was a bit of a journey, taking Hyo Bin to daycare, then Min Ja to school. When he turned to Hoseok, he saw that he was wiping his hands on a towel.

“Good to see you.” He said simply, offering a hand. Hoseok glanced down at it, before simply taking his hand and shaking it. The minute their hands interlocked, Hoseok winced. Like a snake, Weong-Bin hands bound itself around Hoseok’s in a tight, vicelike grip. Hoseok tried not to act bothered, though it did sting. A small smirk formed on Weong-Bin face; he could easily tell he was putting enough pressure where Hoseok was uncomfortable. He pulled back, and Hoseok’s hand went immediately into his pants pocket.

“You too.” He said. He glanced at the time. “I need to get dressed.” You watched him head into the bedroom and noticed faintly that he was shaking his hand in distress as he closed the bedroom door. Glancing back at Weong-Bin, you had noticed he had continued putting the leftover dishes into your sink. It was almost totally silent between the adults after that, the only conversation in the house occurring if one of the girls was involved in it.

The walk out of the apartment building and down the street was better because of Min Ja was chatting everyone up. She just couldn’t stop talking, and some of the conversations were no longer about school. It was just whatever came to her mind, and Weong-Bin had her hand in his, so he was getting the brunt of it. You walked beside Hoseok, Hyo Bin in your arms.

“Are you alright?” you asked Hoseok, and he looked in your direction. “You looked like you were in pain before.” He only offered a shrug.

“I’m alright. Weong-Bin was trying to intimidate me again with a scary handshake.” A playful grin covered his face, and you sighed.

“What an idiot.” You mumbled.

“Mommy!” Min Ja shouted, making you looked over at her. “We’re at daycare! Miss Yun Yun said she wanted to see my new clothes for kindergarten!”

“Okay, okay.” You said happily. The group of you made it inside the daycare, while the kind old woman was waiting for you.

“Good morning, Miss Yun Yun!” Min Ja said happily. “Look, I’m all ready for kindergarten.”

“I can see that~.” She said happily. “We’re going to miss you in daycare this year.”

“Me too.” Min Ja said. “But Mr. Hobi said I cried all my sad tears out at graduation so I can’t cry anymore! I can only be happy. Then he made a funny bridge with his hands like this-.” She lifted her arms up over her head to make a bridge-like structure. “-and he told me to walk through it.”

“You do that a lot, don’t you?” You whispered to Hoseok, who grinned, confident in his method to cheer people up. Min Ja continued talking with Yun Yun for a few moments before you told her it was time to go.

“Bye, Miss Yun Yun!” She waved happily.

“Goodbye, honey. Have a great first day.” You passed Hyo Bin off to Yun Yun with a kiss in her hair. She glanced down at Min Ja from where she was, and it didn’t take her long to realize Min Ja was not coming with her.

“Ummy?” she reached out to her. “C’mon, Ummy.” Min Ja looked up at her and blinked.

“Hyo Bin.” She said, putting her hands on her hips. “We talked about this last night…” you blinked, glancing down at your daughter as you heard speak. “I go to kindergarten now, not a daycare. There’s a big difference.”

“U-ummyyyyyyyy.” She sniffled, eyes watering. Yun Yun smiled, rubbing the whimpering toddlers back to try and calm her down. You saw Hyo Bin look up at you as if you were going to be the one to make sure her big sister stayed in daycare with her. All you could do was walk over and kissed her hair gently, and she tried to hug you.

“It’s okay.” You said softly, taking her back in your arms. “We’ll see Min Ja later okay? It’s time to go to school.” Hyo Bin didn’t look like she was going to be convinced any time soon, so you passed her back to Yun Yun. It was then she really began to cry. Glancing at Yun Yun, she only offered you a kind smile.

“I’ll calm her down, we’ll be fine. You guys go, or she’ll be late.”

“I’ll call later.” You assured. Despite Hyo Bin crying for her sister not to leave, you had to take her out of the daycare and towards the school. Min Ja took her Dad’s hand, and looked up at him.

“Daddy, will Hyo Bin be okay?” She asked curiously. “I can go to school tomorrow so she stops crying.” Weong-Bin smiled, scooping her up in his arms.

“That’s very sweet of you, honey, but you need to go to school. Hyo Bin will be just fine with all of her friends.” Min Ja still felt a bit guilty, but she did no. “Don’t worry, after school, you can tell Hyo Bin all about your day.”

As you continued to walk to school, Min Ja was growing more and more nervous. The realization seemed to be set in that this wasn’t a daycare, this was something almost completely different. She wouldn’t say it, but she showed it. Every few minutes, she held another adult's hand. Each time she did, her grip would tighten and she would clutch their arm as well. Whenever someone asked her what was wrong, she would say that it was nothing.

“Here we are.” You said, pointing to the elementary school building. It was flooding with children and their parents, taking pictures outside the school with friends and family, mothers crying into their husband’s chest as their young ones were progressing into their school careers. You had to admit, you were choking up just seeing the school building. “Aren’t you excited?”

“Mhm… it’s so big.” She said.

“It’s the same size as it was when we came to look at it over the summer.” Hoseok said, squatting down beside her. “It’s really cool. I wish I went to school here.” Min Ja looked at him.

“I don’t wanna go in alone.”

“Well we can walk you to the door.” Hoseok said Weong-Bin watched as Min Ja walked into Hoseok’s arms, hugging him tightly. “Awww, don’t be nervous….”

“I’m not.” She said, but Hoseok could hear the trembling in her voice. Weong-Bin sighed, turning his back away and sticking his hands in his pockets. He didn’t want to watch his daughter bonding with Hoseok when he was standing right there. But at the same time, he didn’t want to cause a scene in front of an elementary school. He could hear Hoseok calming his daughter down, mentioning the bridge that they had done whenever Min ja got upset over the summer. It seemed to be working. When you saw her calming down, you motioned to Weong-Bin.

“Want a picture of the three of us?” You asked him curiously. He sighed. “I’m only doing it because I want a bunch of different pictures, and you are her father.”

“Yeah, of course, I do.” He said. You turned back to Hoseok, who was still holding Min Ja close to him as managed to calm her down.

“Hobi, can you take a picture of the three of us? I want to get a bunch!” You smiled happily. Hoseok smiled, pulling out his phone.

“Of course!” You led Min Ja to a space that was open enough to give you privacy. Hoseok smiled as he snapped some pictures. You took some with Min Ja and Weong-Bin, some with just you, some with just Weong-Bin, Min Ja by herself, and Hoseok even hopped into a few. All of the photos made Min Ja feel a lot better, and her mood only improved when she heard someone calling her name.

“Min Ja!” She looked over and saw San-Ha, dressed in the same little uniform as her, charging towards her with full speed. Her eyes sparkled at the sight of her best friend.

“SAN-HA!” She cheered, quickly hurrying up to her. The girls quickly embraced each other in a tight hug, and you couldn’t help but snap a few more pictures with the two girls. “Are you nervous too?”

“Mhm, a little. But Mommy and Daddy said it would all be okay.” She assured. You had glanced up to see So-Hee, hand in hand with her husband, whom you had only seen at the recital once, but seemed like a good man. They approached you and it when then you noticed So-Hee’s cheeks were red.

“How are you not crying?!” So-Hee asked when she approached you. “I haven’t stopped all morning.” You smiled a bit.

“Oh well, maybe it just hasn’t hit me yet.” You motioned to the two little girls who had rushed up to Hobi. “I still have her in my sights.” You saw So-Hee’s husband laugh a bit at that.

“I hate to see what’s she’s like once San-Ha goes inside.” He said. So-Hee took the moment to introduce the both of you, then she quickly noticed Weong-Bin make his way over and introduce himself to San-Ha’s father. So-Hee must have told her husband about you being divorced and seeing Hoseok, but he kept it just as cheery as he most likely would have had the both of you still been married. The fathers took a few moments to chat, leaving you and So-Hee alone as well.

“How’s having the both of them around been?” she asked curiously.

“Oh, it’s not that bad. Awkwardness is something I’ve had to kind of get used to at this point.” Shrugging, you glanced over at Hoseok, who was kneeling down between the girls and pointing to the building as they watched some of the older kids, mostly in fifth and sixth grade, heading into the school with high levels of confidence and familiarity. He was doing a good job of hyping the girls up. Suddenly, a warning bell rang through the courtyard.

“Oh, it’s time to go to class!” Hobi said, smiling at the girls. You looked over at them and slowly made your way over to your daughter, kneeling down before her. “You’re going to have so much fun.”

“Mr. Hobi is right. And we’ll be here to get you after school is over.”

“You promise?” she asked.

“Of course, we will.” You assured. “Then we’ll go get Hyo Bin and get some ice cream so you can tell us all about your day!” Min Ja nodded, her eyes wandering back to the school. She and San-Ha both gave hugs to their parents, and you could hear So-Hee begin to blubber up some tears as she kissed her little girl. Both girls made sure they had their bags and their hair was still sitting the same way it was when they left the house.

“Bye, Mommy!” Min Ja said happily, waving to you. San-Ha waved to her mother as well, the duo hurrying into the crowd of other young kindergarteners. Older kids were waiting around, the ones who were kind enough to assist little ones in finding their classrooms without a hassle. You watched Min Ja walk into the school, before an older girl stopped her and San-Ha, offering her assistance. It wasn’t long before the crowd of children overtook your vision, and Min Ja was nothing more than a little fish, swimming into her very first school. Once she was out of your sights, your throat closed up and your chest tightened. Quickly, you wiped your eyes, your shaky breath of air alerting both Weong-Bin and Hoseok.

“Oh, are you crying now too?” Hoseok frowned, wrapping his arm around you. You hugged him tightly, and he couldn’t help but smile. “Awww c’mon, I just had this talk with the girls, you can’t cry now too.” He cooed playfully. Weong-Bin walked up to, and you felt his hand on your shoulder. You wiped your eyes and looked over at him.

“Are you going to be okay? Do you want me to drive you to work today? It’s just parked outside your apartments.” You let out a deep sigh. It didn’t sound like he was trying to be manipulative at this moment, he was probably just as emotional as you, seeing his first daughter start her very first day of school.

“Uh, no, I’m okay.” You assured. “I actually am going to call Yun Yun on my way to the station and check on Hyo Bin. Thanks, though.” Weong-Bin let out a sigh, nodding. You turned to Hoseok. “You head to work, too. I’ll call you later.”

“Okay. But promise you won’t cry.” He pouted, wiping away the few tears in your eyes.

“I can’t promise that, now can I?” you teased, and Hoseok chuckled. “But I will let you know when I’m at work.” Hoseok nodded, and after fixing the bag on your shoulder, you kissed Hoseok goodbye, said your goodbye to Hoseok, and headed in the direction of the station.

On the way, you saw So-Hee and her husband, So-Hee crying in her husband’s arms. She looked up when she saw your cheeks were a bit red as well.

“See? I told you that you would cry.” She joked, smiling a bit. You couldn’t help but giggle.

“If you want to join us for ice cream after school, you guys are more than welcome.” You offered. “I’m sure both girls will be at the hip from morning until afternoon.”

“I’ll let you know.” So-Hee said. You nodded, waving her off as you continued off school grounds and back down the street to the station.

Back on school grounds, as parents were finally starting to disperse, Weong-Bin and Hoseok walked to the entrance. You were already a faint blip in their view by then, leaving the two of them alone. Hoseok checked the time.

“I need to go.” He said simply, putting his hands in his pockets. As he turned to leave, of course, he was stopped.

“Hoseok.” When he heard Weong-Bin’s face, Hoseok couldn’t help but groan and make a face of annoyance. However, he turned back to Weong-Bin.

“Yes?” he asked. Weong-Bin was silent for a moment, and Hoseok was waiting to see what he would say. It took a moment, and Hoseok was growing a bit impatient.

“My girls really seem to like you.” He said simply.

“I treat them as best as I can.” Hoseok said simply. “They’re good girls.”

“I know that.” He said simply. After another moment of silence, he added something. “How often do you sleepover that house?”

“That’s absolutely none of your business.” Hoseok stated simply. Weong-Bin scowled, and he crossed his arms. “I made myself clear when you try to assault me at my job. I won’t let you have any control over her anymore. You won’t be knowing anything about our relationship, no matter how much it kills you. And I know it will.” He scoffed. “Also, as a business, you might want to work on your handshake.” Weong-Bin glared at Hoseok’s attempt to be cunning and sarcastic, but Hoseok was proud of his diss, turning back around and heading down the street with a confident stride in his step.

Weong-Bin watched him head down the street, and he knew that Hoseok was absolutely right. It was killing him. He didn’t know how often Hoseok was over, what kind of things the two of you were doing together? The idea alone of the two of you in bed together made him want to punch a hole in the nearest wall, but he had to keep himself composed. His eyes wandered up towards the school building, the faint sounds of school children entering their classrooms, and first day lessons quickly beginning. The images of Min Ja hugging to Hoseok when she was scared, asking Hoseok for advice, smiling, and laughing with Hoseok.

Yeah. That needed to stop.

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sirrriusblack · 5 years ago

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Your Royal Highness - Part 1

Part 2, Part 3

* * *

I sighed into my glass and downed the vodka inside. Marlene and Dorcas had dragged me here, deciding that I needed a night out. They were probably right, but then again they were currently grinding against each other on the dance floor.

“Another one?” someone asked. I turned to the bartender to shake my head, but he wasn’t there. No, the voice had come from next to me. “My shout.” His hair was very… red. And soft. It looked soft. I winced.

“No, I’m good thanks,” I declined, shifting in my seat. He took the seat next to me.

“No as in you don’t want another drink, or no as in you don’t want me to buy you one?” he smirked, leaning his elbow against the bar. I turned slightly to catch a glimpse of his green eyes. They were really green. And really gorgeous. I shook my head.

“Uh, both?” I knew I was being harsh, specifically when his smirk dropped for a moment, but... well... I didn’t know why.

“Ouch, really,” he threw a hand over his heart. “You cut deep.” I smiled gingerly, not wanting to be completely rude but not really wanting him there. He stuck his hand out. “I’m Fabian.” I cleared my throat and shook his hand, only out of general politeness. His smile hinted that he may have taken it as more than that.

“Uh, I’m Kingsley,” I replied. He considered the name for a moment.

“Huh, Kingsley. It fits,” he commented. The lights danced over us and for a moment I could see his face more clearly. He called the bartender over and ordered a drink. I didn’t get one. There were freckles everywhere, all over his face. It was so…

I looked away. “What are you on about?” I asked instead of what I wanted so badly to ask. Can I have your number? Can I stare at your eyes all night?

“Well, obviously only royalty can look that good.” He smiled, pleased with himself, and I rolled my eyes and huffed a laugh.

“You know, this could be considered harassment,” I told him, though he could probably see right through the facade.

“How so, Kingsley?” He leaned in a bit and I shuddered.

“Well, you won’t leave me alone,” I spat out, wanting anything else but for him to leave me alone. I hated how desperate I was for attention, for love. I hated how one cute stranger at one stupid club could make me feel jittery inside.

“Well, you haven’t asked me to leave you alone yet, have you Kingsley?” He grinned, toothy and white and I could see the smile in his eyes. I cleared my throat again.

“Would you act like this if I were a girl?” I countered. Fabian chuckled and leaned away from me. To grab his drink, I realised.

“No, Kingsley, I wouldn’t. Because I’m very very gay.” He sipped some of his drink. It looked lemony, and sugar lined the rim of the glass. I scoffed and shook my head tapping my fingers on the bar. “Speaking of my crazy gayness, can I get your number, Mr Kingsley?” he asked, a mischievous grin adorning his face. It looked good on him. I opened my mouth to say no, because honestly, why would I say yes? Give it a few good nights and I’d get attached, and he’d get creeped out and then we’d all be back at square one. So I was going to say no.

And then I saw Remus.

And then I kissed Fabian.

* * *

His lips were soft and perfect and I almost didn’t break away because this, this was so good. But I leaned back and I looked at Remus, his hand holding onto Sirius’. I smiled sheepishly as we locked eyes.

“What?” My head snapped back to Fabian, to his red lips and his flushed cheeks. “I’m not complaining, but what?” My eyes went wide as I realised what I’d just done. Shit. An arm was slung around my shoulders.

“Come here often?” A low, sultry voice asked. I shoved Sirius off me with a forced grin.

“Only every time I’m missing you,” I replied, shaking the hate, the disgust at myself out of my head. I’d just fucking used a stranger to what? Make my ex-boyfriend jealous? Why would I even want that? Remus grinned at me.

“Kingsley, it’s been a while,” he hugged me. I smiled.

“Don’t try and act like it’s my fault when you two’ve been spending all your free time shagging,” I joked, earning a flushed, wide-eyed look from the both of them. Fabian almost choked on his drink. Fabian. Right. The random guy I‘d just fucking kissed.

“Er, right, Fabian this is my ex, Remus, and his boyfriend Sirius.” I regretted that sentence the minute it came out of my mouth, but Fabian seemed to get it. At least if his not-so-subtle grin had anything to do with it. I shook my head, internally screaming. “Remus, Sirius, this is Fabian. My…” Random club stranger? Ten second make-out partner? Gorgeous, freckled—

“Boyfriend.” What? What? Fabian smiled fondly at me, something sparkling in his eyes. “It’s alright, Kingsley, you can say it.” Remus ran a hand through his hair.

“Oh, I… Kingsley, you didn’t…” The last Remus had heard of me, I was sitting around at home all day, doing nothing but scrolling endlessly through pictures of all of my friends and all of their partners and all of their love and happiness. Ugh, I was so pathetic.

“Kingsley and I have only just become official, he’s still a bit awkward, he doesn’t want to weird me out,” Fabian explained. I dropped my head into my hands. Remus’ shoulders seemed to relax and he reached his hand out to Fabian.

“Oh, well, nice to meet you Fabian,” he smiled. Sirius did the same thing, but then hit me on the shoulder.

“Kingsley, you tosser, you didn’t tell us you were talking to anyone!” He grinned, ruffling my hair. I hid my wince with a smile.

“Yeah, well, I uh… didn’t want to get my hopes up too soon,” I quickly recovered, grabbing a hold of Fabian’s hand and shivering at the scrape of his calluses against my palm. What was I doing? I was friends with Sirius and Remus and we hung out all the time. We all had the same bloody friends for god’s sake. I was an absolute idiot. Fabian tutted at me. Tutted.

“You’re an absolute idiot sometimes, babe,” he said, like he was reading my mind. He flicked me, and I hated it. I hated how much I liked him calling me babe, how much I liked him flirting, how much I wanted to spend time with this weird, freckled, cute stranger. Remus and Sirius smiled at each other, and then at me.

“Hey, Kingsley, you’re coming to James and Lily’s engagement party, right?” Remus asked, smiling a bit too wide. They clearly wanted James and Lily to meet Fabian. I… ugh.

“Yeah, of course, I’ve already RSVP’d,” I said, nodding and smiling and trying not to explode into a panic attack right there.

“Awesome, well, you should bring Fabian, if you want to come, of course,” he directed the last part to Fabian. I looked over to him; he was grinning widely. The little shit.

“Oh, I don’t want to bother James and Lily. Knowing James, he probably already has all the seats planned out and the food—” Sirius snorted.

“Nope, James already had all that planned a week after they got engaged, but he organised extra just in case, the paranoid prat,” he said, which, of course, I already knew. But I needed an excuse to get out of this.

“If they’d have me, I’d be happy to come. I’ve been wanting to meet you all for ages,” Fabian said. I could feel the steam coming out of my ears. But I also had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. What the fuck?

“Yeah, tell Lily and James we’ll both be there.” I smiled at them both.

“Perfect. Well, we better be going but... it was good to see you, Kingsley.” Remus said that like I was some broken doll, like I’d finally been fixed. I swallowed a knot in my chest and nodded. “And it was good to meet you, Fabian,” he finished. Fabian returned the sentiment and saluted to them both. Sirius leaned in close to me.

“I’ll see you next time, love,” he said in the same sultry voice from before. I cleared my throat and forced another smile to my face.

“I’ll be waiting,” I laughed. And then they were gone. Shit.

* * *

Fabian snorted. “You sure he’s not the one you dated?”

“What, Sirius? No way, we fake flirt all the time,” I explained. It was odd, especially now that he was my ex’s boyfriend, but it was Sirius. I shrugged. Fabian’s eyebrows rose but he didn’t say anything. Until—

“So, I guess this means you have to give me your number now, huh?” he teased. I rolled my eyes.

“No, this means I’m going to have to find a way out of this, no thanks to you.” Fabian scoffed, and then handed me his phone. I hated every part of this, everything that told me this was a good idea, everything that told me to type my number into his phone. Fabian grinned and kissed me again.

“Until next time, Your Royal Highness,” he bowed low and dramatic. I rolled my eyes again, and he was gone.

Marlene and Dorcas slammed into me a moment later.

“Who the effing hell was that?” Marlene giggled. I sighed and ordered another drink.

* * *

So this is part 1 of a short Fabian x Kingsley au that I’m doing... I wanted to write something out of my usual range so, yeah. Here’s this. I’ll link the other parts as I post them, but there’ll probably only be three or so parts :)

#fabian x kingsley #fabian prewett #kingsley shacklebolt #wolfstar #dorelene #marauders era au #Your Royal Highness #part 1 #thank you hglb!#and also thank you to e-of-west-glendia #:))#my writing

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gayboy-selfships-archive · 4 years ago

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It’s Not About the Money Anymore (A Waylon Smithers x Self Insert Fiction) Chapter Three

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The next day, Waylon was expected to arrive before Audrey was even awake. So at four in the morning, after a sleepless night of staring at his microwave, Smithers dragged himself away from the table and into the shower. With the way he sluggishly moved through his morning routine, he was impressed to find that he had made it to the manor in time, that morning's news newspaper in hand. He was once again let into the house by Mrs. Diane who was the one to show him to Audrey’s private quarters.

He quietly slipped into the master bedroom, not quite ready to wake Audrey and fill the atmosphere with an icy chill. He glanced around the room, committing the details to memory. The first thing that caught his eye was a large pile of stuffed animals, some he recognized from when they were kids, their fur matted and worn, their once bright, playful color diminished. But others were new and looked soft to the touch, like they had just been bought yesterday. Waylon continued his gaze to the large bed that contained a very small (at least in comparison) Audrey. Waylon watched Audrey sleep for a long minute, liking their peaceful expression much more than the icy glare he had become accustomed to looking at. He looked so much more like the child he was used to when he was sleeping. Waylon made his way to the window and on his way passed by a desk in the corner of the room. He rolled his eyes, of course Audrey would bring work to his bedroom.

But, upon further inspection, Smithers realized that all the paper on his desk was actually piles upon piles of sketches. He paused, one hand on the curtain, and studied the drawings. He recognized many of the people in the pictures as employees from around the manor and the office. He smiled, Audrey had always loved doodling as a kid, it was nice to know that he hadn't given up on that.

The last thing he noticed was a framed picture, he knew he shouldn’t touch anything but the sight of the picture filled him with such curiosity, he picked it up for closer inspection. He recognized the photograph instantly. Audrey was ten and Waylon was twelve, they were laying in the grass together and playing with Malibu Stacy dolls. They both had wide smiles on their faces, like they had been caught mid laugh. He had remembered his mother had taken the picture and he had pestered her for days asking over and over again when it would be developed. And when his mother finally handed him the photo, he stole the nicest pen he could find from Mr. Burns’ office and in his nicest handwriting wrote, “see you next summer!”

He remembered riding his bike all the way to this very manor, the picture and his most prized Malibu Stacy doll securely in the basket. And he had given them to Audrey as things to remember him by before he went overseas to boarding school.

He had counted the days till summer, often pestering his mom or even Mr. Burns about how long it would be until Audrey returned home. And when that glorious day finally came, he was so happy to finally see his friend again…

Only to be informed that Audrey wouldn’t be home for a very, very long time.

He never saw him again after that. Not until just a few days ago, of course.

“Smithers, did you ever plan on waking me up? Or just on snooping through my things?”

Waylon let out a yelp, nearly jumping out of his skin as he became aware of a very disgruntled Audrey standing behind him. In his fear he let the frame fall to the floor with a soft crack.

“Oh! Mr. Stellaluceat! I’m so sorry. I got distracted.”

Audrey frowned, watching Smithers with an unreadable expression.

“Clearly.” He sighed, bending down to pick up the frame.

Waylon could hear the soft tinkle of broken glass as Audrey gently freed the photograph from the broken frame. His frown deepened as he studied the worn photo, though if he was anything more than slightly bothered, he didn’t show it.

“Smithers, when you go down to fetch my breakfast, please ask one of the maids to bring up a vacuum. Oh, and tell the staff I’ll be having my tea in the blue tea cups today.”

Waylon nodded, “I’m sorry about the frame, sir.”

“No need to worry about it, I can buy a replacement. Though do try and keep your hands to yourself in my bedroom. I keep my most prized possessions in here.”

Waylon nodded, unable to dismiss the gnawing feeling of guilt as he collected Audrey’s breakfast and informed the cleaning staff about the mess upstairs. He felt bad, having a photo that old exposed to the elements could be harmful. Perhaps he could get him a new frame tonight after work. Yes, that would be just the thing. The knot in his stomach eased as he knocked on the bedroom door with Audrey’s breakfast.

“Come in.”

When Waylon stepped inside, he was surprised to see that Audrey wasn’t around.

“Set the food on the desk, I’m in the closet,” came his voice from a door to Waylon's right.

Smithers did what he was told and waited patiently by the desk until Audrey stepped out of his closet. He always felt so silly standing around waiting for his bosses to finish something, he felt like a lackey. Though he supposed that’s exactly what he was.

When Audrey finally stepped out of the closet, it took all of Waylons self control not to let his jaw drop. Like, he had to remember to breathe when he saw what Audrey was wearing. It reminded him of something out of a vampire movie, but not a vampire movie that any straight person would ever put together.

Everything hugged his frame perfectly, from his blood red undershirt, to the grey corset-vest he wore on top of it. His lace up boots led all the way up to his knees and the heels ended up lifting him a good inch taller. Waylon gulped, trying to lower his gaze away from his boss but his eyes only ended up caught on his thighs.

“Smithers?”

“Oh! Um, yes?” Pull yourself together man!

“I asked if you told a maid to bring up a vacuum?”

“Yes, sir.”

Audrey nodded approvingly and turned to his breakfast, leaving Waylon to scold himself for getting carried away so easily. Though he supposed it was bound to happen when he sexually repressed himself for years on end, pining after a man who barely saw him as human.

“Smithers? Have you eaten breakfast yet?” Audrey asked, scooping an egg onto a piece of toast, “Who am I kidding, you look like you haven’t eaten a real meal in eons, here.”

He handed him the toast, not giving him much of an option, not that Waylon minded. The food smelled amazing and well, he hadn’t had breakfast. He ate everything that was handed to him, which earned him a smile from Audrey.

“I’d prefer it if you took care of yourself. If it means I have to feed you myself so be it.”

“Well, I appreciate it, sir.”

“It’s no problem. I can’t have my assistant collapsing on me.”

Audrey shot a glance at his watch and sighed.

“Come on, we have to be in the boardroom in thirty.”

And with that they left, side by side.

The rest of the day was busy, but it went by in a blur for Waylon. All he could think about was, even if it was in his own little way, Audrey still cared about him.

#self ship #Selfshipping #Self Insert #self ship community #f/o: nuclear power couple

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pkg4mumtown · 5 years ago

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New Man (pt. 2)

A/N: Another silly addition to this fic just because I felt like it. The song fragments are from For Island Fires and Family by Dermot Kennedy. Thanks again to @abigailredgrave for the original request and the hilarious plot we’ve thought up for future parts. Hope you enjoy!

A/N 2: I made a Masterlist page!

Summary: Go read Part 1. You’ve shut down Kyle’s accusations in his new song, but what happens when you see him in person again? Nothing good, of course.

Warnings: Fluff, strong language, violence, mild adult situations (not quite sex, but not innocent either).

Taglist: @anita-e-taylor @futuristic-imbecile @samanthagraceg @beyond-antares @cuttlefishcatfish @gwenebear @derangedcupcake @cumberbatchbaps @celestiaelisia @lunaticgurly

I splashed my face with water, groaning in displeasure as I shocked myself awake. I knew John wouldn’t let me go back to sleep after seeing me awake, as he preferred to utilize the day as much as he could. I made my way back to his bedroom, where he waited patiently in nothing but boxers with the sheet low on his hips. I had picked up his discarded t-shirt from the night before and threw it over my head on my way to the bathroom. It fell to just around my mid thigh, barely covering my ass but I knew John loved it. His arms were crossed behind his head, propping it up slightly. His eyes raked over my body as I stood at the foot of the bed. He removed his hands, spreading his arms out in front of him in a silent invitation.

I crawled over him, straddling his torso and kissing him eagerly. His hands slipped under the shirt, running up my back and pulling me closer to his chest. I pulled my lips away from his, teasing him by keeping my mouth just out of reach as he tried to chase my lips. My lips made contact with his jaw, sliding down to his neck. He turned his head away from me, causing the long muscle in his neck to contract and bare itself to me under his skin. I pressed my lips against where the muscle connected to the top of his sternum, trailing my lips up and biting the muscle gently until I reached the end behind his ear.

“Do you work today?” he asked me through a soft moan.

“Nope,” I responded by teasing his neck with the tip of my tongue.

“I want to take you to dinner tonight,” he sighed, grasping the tops of my thighs.

“I thought you had a job tonight,” I wandered my hands down to his chest and brought my lips back to his.

“It was small, not worth my time. You’re more important,” he confessed, staring at me as if I was the most important thing in his life.

I blushed, hiding my face in his neck as I was overcome with emotion. It never ceased to amaze me how sincere and thoughtful John was. I brought my head back up, pressing my lips to his scruffy cheek.

“So, dinner and dancing?” I asked hopefully. He made a displeased grumble in his throat at the mention of dancing. “Actual dancing, not club dancing,” I rolled my eyes.

He thought for a moment and nodded, “I can get behind that.”

“Oh, Jonathan, that’s club dancing,” I teased.

He furrowed his brows in confusion before the terrible joke caught up to him, causing him to sigh and press his lips together in a tight line. I laughed at his expressionless face, which broke as soon as a smile spread over my lips. His eyes crinkled as he chuckled, causing his chest to jump under me.

“I know a restaurant we can go to downtown,” he murmured, pressing his lips to my chin.

“Just you and me, no weapons?” I asked, smoothing his hair back.

He grimaced, holding up a finger to his nose sheepishly, “One pistol?”

“Do you really need a gun at dinner?” I squinted my eyes at him playfully.

“Hey, you can never be too careful, sweetheart. I brought one on our first date,” he smirked, letting out a soft laugh.

“No extra magazines or knives,” I compromised, shaking my head at his comment.

“Deal,” he shrugged, knowing full well he could handle a situation with whatever he had available.

I stretched my body out over him, letting my toes run along his sheet covered legs and resting my head on his chest. His hands made their way under the shirt once more, allowing his rough fingers to press into my skin. His fingers rubbed soothing circles, occasionally digging into the tense muscles he discovered in my back from standing at work for hours.

“Is the restaurant nice?” I mumbled into the warm skin of his chest.

“Mhmm. Why?”

“Just want to see you in a suit,” I murmured. While I did see him in a suit frequently, it was almost always strictly for work and I never got to truly feel the material under my hands. It was insanely attractive, especially knowing what he did in the suit and how efficiently he did it.

“Do you need a dress?” he asked, trailing his hands down until they rested teasingly on the top of my ass.

“I don’t even get to enjoy the ones you’ve bought because you buy me so many, John,” I huffed, peppering kisses against his chin, just out of reach of his mouth.

“Okay, okay,” he chuckled.

The day was mostly spent outside playing with the dog, since we would be gone in the evening. When we finally separated ourselves from the outdoors, we were sweaty, itchy, and out of breath. A handsy shower was in order but I refused to give into his touch until later tonight, slipping away from him and out of the shower. John squinted his eyes and gave me a small pout in response, before following me out of the bathroom. I stood in front of the closet, staring at the dresses I kept here when I felt him step behind me and wrap his arms around my waist. He bent slightly, resting his chin on my shoulder and staring at the contents of the closet with me.

“You looked stunning in this one,” he murmured, running his hand over the silky material of a dark blue dress. It had a moderately deep v-neck and ended at my knees, making it one of John’s favorites.

I pulled it off the hanger and pulled myself from John’s grasp to go change. Once I dressed, I turned to see him half dressed in a suit. His black trousers were open while his fingers worked on the navy-blue button down adorning his torso.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you wear anything but black or white with your suits,” I observed as I walked over to him. “Did you pick this specifically to match?”

He dropped his head as if I caught him doing something bad, a smile creeping onto his face. I took his tie from him, sliding it around his neck after he finished tucking his shirt in and buttoning his trousers. He watched me intently as I tied the knot, using it as leverage to bring his head toward me to plant a kiss to his lips. I secured the knot against his neck and stepped back from him slowly. He ran his hand through his hair, making his way to the bathroom and grabbing his bottle of hair gel, which was like second nature when he wore his suits. I stopped him before he could open the bottle, sliding in between him and the bathroom counter.

“Leave it soft,” I requested, letting my fingers brush through the hair framing his face.

“Ready, then?” he murmured, bringing his forehead to mine. I nodded and pressed a light kiss to his lips.

“So, what’s this place called?” I asked John as we got in the car. He didn’t answer me, instead turning the car on.

I had forgotten to shut the radio off the last time we were in the car, so the radio blared as the amenities in the car woke up.

I don’t wanna know about your new man

“Nope,” I said to myself, slapping the “off” button. John chuckled next to me as he drove off, planting his hand on my thigh for the ride.

John was right, the place was fairly nice but not overly so. We were seated almost immediately considering the place was packed, leading me to believe that John had some kind of connection here. We passed rows of tables, before being sat in the first row of tables from the open area set aside as a dancefloor. Beyond that area was a small stage where a singer stood with a guitar and pianist next to him. The table we were sat at was circular in shape, which allowed John to scoot closer to me, so we were both facing the stage. He threw his arm over my shoulders possessively as we waited for our food, tickling my exposed shoulder with his rough fingertips. My own fingers danced on his thigh, which was skimming my knee every so often as his legs were spread open under the table.

I barely gave him any time to recover from the meal before I was tugging him to his feet and dragging him to the dancefloor, where a few couples were dancing to the end of a song. As we stopped among the other couples, a soft guitar filled the room joined by the singer’s powerful voice. John pulled me into his arms, swaying us around the space as we let the lyrics wash over us.

I rested one of my arms over his shoulder and letting my hand glide into the hair at the back of his head, happy that I had caught him before he put anything in it. I pressed my cheek against his jaw, closing my eyes briefly as I inhaled his scent. When I opened my eyes again, I caught a glimpse of a figure I hoped I’d never have to see in person again. Kyle. He had sat next to some young woman, unsuspecting that he was probably using this dinner as a way to get in a quick lay. He even had the audacity to show up in a colorful snapback and flashy hoodie, neither of which were appropriate for the restaurant. As if my luck couldn’t get any worse, his eyes met mine and I watched them widen in recognition before John was taking us in a different direction.

And I couldn’t tell you enough that I’m sorry

And no, you couldn’t tell me enough that you loved me

She’s bringing the moon and stars to me

Damn permanent reverie

And even though this life, this love is brief

I’ve got some people who carry me

“Everything okay?” John’s voice rumbled in my ear, feeling my body tense at the sight of Kyle.

“Our least favorite person just walked in. Just our luck, right?” I sighed sarcastically.

“Ignore him,” John replied comfortingly, “He’s not worth any of your emotions.”

I pulled my head back and grinned at him, so grateful to have him with me. He pulled me impossibly closer, kissing my forehead and reciprocating my smile.

Wasn’t it love as soon as we knew each other properly?

Living ‘bout half right, until a certain person got to me

Nothing is secret, everything’s sacred, how it ought to be

Under the moonlight on a clear night, on rooftops is where I want to be

Just like that, the room melted away as I was lost in John’s eyes and embrace. The only thing I was sure of was him and the music surrounding us. Kyle didn’t matter, he hadn’t in a long time and moments like this reminded me of that. Despite whatever John got himself into, he always came back to me and made sure I knew that I was important to him.

Sometimes I’m like a child, it’s something I can’t release

Dreams of her coming home, sweet home

I’m telling you home’s so sweet

Said you reminded me of the summer times, and I still mean that

In a full room I’m the only one she’s smiling at

As the song faded out, John kept his arms firmly around me and holding my attention so well that we didn’t notice the commotion near the stage. Kyle was arguing the singer, who shoved his guitar into Kyle’s hands and stormed off. I was surprised that Kyle was even allowed on the stage but as I saw—who John told me was the owner—next to the stage, I realized that Kyle had bribed him.

You know that feeling when you think your heart is gonna come right out through your shirt?

I get it a couple times a year, but I’ve been getting it more often with her

Now when I’m face to face with death I’ll grab his throat

And ask him, “How does it hurt?”

Up in those golden moments growing old too quickly

Was he thinking of her?

But she’s bringing the moon and the stars to me

Damn permanent reverie

And even though this life, this love is brief

I’ve got some people who carry me

“Um, hi, the name’s Kyle Eagan and I’m gonna sing you one of my songs. It’s actually top five in the charts right now, so I’m dedicating it to a gorgeous woman here, tonight,” he spoke while adjusting the microphone and glanced my way. I felt for the girl he was with, probably thinking this was all for her.

“Let’s go,” John murmured as Kyle started singing.

He led me back to the table, dropping probably more than the dinner was worth just so we could leave now. As we approached the front door of the restaurant the song ended abruptly, causing John to look behind us as Kyle bounded off the stage in our direction. He growled in annoyance, shoving the door open and letting me go through first.

“He’s following us,” John grumbled as the brisk, night air enveloped us.

I caught a glimpse of his arm disappearing into his jacket, presumably to grab his pistol to scare Kyle. Kyle’s hurried footsteps grew closer to us, so I took action to avoid John killing Kyle on the streets of New York.

“John,” I warned, “Don’t.” I grabbed his hand and tugged him into the alley we almost passed. I held his hand, stepping back slowly as his body shadowed mine, “Take me right here, John.”

John was pissed about the interrupted evening, the emotion darkening his eyes and mixing with lust at my words. I bit my lip as his eyes hovered down the neckline of the dress. He backed me up against the rough wall, running his hands up my thighs and dragging the bottom of the dress up until it was bunched around my waist. He lifted me and pressed me against the wall, fusing his mouth to mine with pent up frustration. His hands gripped my ass while he ground himself against me. I moaned in his mouth at the friction caused by his actions, clutching his shoulders as he repeated his movement.

“Hey!” a hazy shout came from a few feet next to us.

“John, please,” I whimpered, playing up the theatrics more than necessary. His mouth left mine, leaving a trail of burning sucks and bites down my neck until he reached the top of my trapezius. His head turned away from me, looking outwards at Kyle’s shadowed form as he sank his teeth into the muscle. The corners of his mouth curled up in a satisfied smirk as he found Kyle’s infuriated gaze. John’s lips sucked the skin he just bit, leaving behind a large red mark that would definitely bruise later, as if he was claiming me.

“This fuckhead won’t leave,” he snarled, grinding against me to make a point. I gasped, digging my fingers into his back.

“Excuse me!? Do you know who I am!” Kyle shouted louder. “Hey!”

John clenched his teeth, seething and growling in his throat. I felt his grip on me slack, telling me to drop my legs until I could stand. He brushed my mussed hair out of my face, combing his fingers through and back until my face was clear.

His lips pressed against my forehead before mumbling against the skin, “Give me a minute.”

John straightened his suit jacket, turning to face Kyle and taking large strides toward him. He stared intently into Kyle’s eyes, conveying all of the anger he had toward the smaller man.

“You really want to do this, Kyle?” John spat, uttering Kyle’s name with a mocking tone.

“Yea, you know what? I think I do,” Kyle replied with a cocky attitude, reaching into his waistband and pulling out a small revolver.

John didn’t even flinch as the revolver was aimed at the material of his suit. He had half a mind to reach for his own gun but knew I wouldn’t be happy about that.

“Kyle, put the gun down,” I warned him, hoping he wouldn’t be dumb enough to fire it.

“I’m doing this for you!” he shouted, the revolver shaking in his hand.

“Do it,” John murmured. “Grow a pair and do it, Kyle. Think she’ll be head over heels when you shoot me?” Kyle’s hand shook partially out of anger and partially out of fear as he pondered what to do. “You gave her up. You had your chance. She won’t fall for your bullshit ever again.”

A shot echoed in the alley, causing my heart to stop. John’s torso shifted sideways from the bullet hitting the tactical lining of the suit, his foot stepping back to brace himself so he didn’t fall backwards. His teeth clenched in a grimace as he grabbed the lapel and shook the bullet off the material. The mauled bullet fell to the floor while John smoothed the material out. He stared back at Kyle’s terrified eyes, moving quickly before Kyle could fire another panicked shot. John disarmed Kyle too easily, packing his fist with the gun and delivering a swift punch to Kyle’s face. Kyle stumbled and fell back but was soon picked up as John twisted the material of Kyle’s sweatshirt in his fist and hauled him to his feet. Kyle was shoved against the alley wall, John’s fist poised in the air and ready to deliver another punch.

“Is this how you keep her around, huh?” Kyle sneered at John with blood dripping down his cheek.

John shoved him harder at the accusation, about to land another punch until I stopped him, “John!”

John paused, turning his head toward me with his chest heaving with rage before turning his attention back to Kyle, “Come near us again and I won’t be as nice.”

“This was you being nice? You’re fucking crazy!” Kyle shouted in his face.

“You’re still alive, aren’t you?” John questioned with a wicked tone.

John glanced back at me once more, sighing heavily and stepping back from Kyle. John released the revolver’s cylinder and tilted the gun back so that the remaining bullets fell to the floor. He chucked the revolver down the alley, listening to it clatter along the gravel. I walked toward them cautiously, sliding my arm through John’s and grabbing his hand.

“I warned you, Kyle,” I shrugged as he touched his bleeding cheek.

“Does he hurt you like this, Y/N, huh?”

I sighed, really just wanting to go back to John’s and sleep, “Not that I have to explain myself to you, but the only marks he leaves on me are with his mouth.”

Kyle scrunched his nose in disgust, letting his body fall against the wall, “I can’t believe you’d rather be with this old asshole.”

“John treats me better than you ever could and he’s a far better man, so you can fuck off and leave us alone!” I raised my voice, pointing at his chest with my finger.

I dragged John out of the alley and toward his car, letting out a dramatic groan as we sat inside.

“Sorry about that,” John apologized guiltily.

“I’m not mad at you, you didn’t do anything wrong. He’s getting on my last nerve and tonight was going so well until he showed up,” I sighed.

“How about we head home, I’ll run you a bath, and we can continue our night?” he proposed, turning his head to look at me in the seat. He leaned over the center console, kissing me breathless.

I pulled my head back, meeting his eyes and smiling, “I’d love that.”

Part 3

#john wick x reader #john wick fanfic #john wick x you #john wick imagine

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luthorao3 · 5 years ago

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Roisa Secret Santa | Mac & Cheese

Prompt: Mac & Cheese, side of angst Rating: T (teen) Word count: 2009 words

merry christmas, @only-freakin-sunflowers!!!

it’s been so much fun writing this little piece and dropping into your inbox to spread that festive cheer this winter. (im dreadful at keeping secrets when im excited about something - the amount of times i panicked that i’d sent an ask without anonymous being ticked, my god...) i really wanted to add an over the top cutesy ending to this, but when i tried to write it, it just didn’t fit with the foundations that i’d already set down, so i’m sorry if you’re expecting that! i hope this story does your prompt justice, and thank you for all the lovely replies to my asks these past few weeks!

i hope that the next few days bring you so much joy (and some freakin good food, man), and that the new year is kind to you. <3

Luisa’s gaze lingers on the view from their balcony window.

They’ve been in France for three nights, already, tucked into a snowy city with a Swiss border, and mountains that threaten the stars sitting peacefully in their back yard. Luisa feels the biting chill even in spite of her many layers, but does not make to enter the wooden chalet that Rose had secured them for the week. The glass doors behind her reveal a lamp-lit bedroom and the suitcase that they never bothered to unpack, given that they might, at any point, need to make a speedy escape.

Luisa cranes her neck to see the row of wooden buildings that line the mountain road, instead, some small and quaint, others triple-storey and magnificent, all of them like a scene from a real festive movie – the kind with snow piled up to the windows, and hot cocoa with marshmallows floating on top, and innocent mishaps that threaten to ruin Christmas for good, but never actually succeed.

It’s not Luisa’s first white Christmas, and yet the novelty has never really worn off.

Behind her, the sound of a sliding door opening and closing signals Rose’s return from the shower.

Warm arms wrap tightly around her from behind, struggling around her middle and the three separate jackets that Luisa has smuggled herself into. Rose snorts a delicate laugh when she barely manages to rest her chin on Luisa’s shoulder, the faux fur around her hood tickling her cheek. She smells like hotel shampoo and warmth, and Luisa sinks back against her with a sigh.

“Are you still brooding?” Rose asks by her ear.

Luisa considers the question before answering with a quiet, “A little.”

“What can I do to make it better?” Her gaze flicks to one side. “We can turn on the hot tub.”

“I’m not really in the mood for that. Besides, it’s freezing.”

Rose’s voice lilts, suggestive, when she offers, “I can keep you warm.”

Luisa straightens, relieving Rose of her weight, and turns around. She balks when she realises Rose is wearing nothing but a thick white bath robe and a pair of complimentary slippers, damp red hair hanging limp over one shoulder, inviting a frost. “Are you serious? Get inside right now!” Luisa’s concern for her far outweighs the lingering uneasiness that had led her out onto the balcony, where she’d hoped the frigid air would cool her temper. “You’re going to catch your death.”

Rose stops Luisa from man-handling her inside with gentle but firm hands on her biceps.

“Wait. Talk to me before we go back in there. I know you’re upset, and I don’t want to bring this to dinner with us. Tell me how you’re feeling? Let me help.”

Luisa’s mouth gapes like a fish forced to the surface. She clicks it shut with more force than she means. “I’m feeling cold just looking at you. Please can we just—” She attempts to usher Rose back toward the balcony door, but Rose is firm and unrelenting. Her gaze pierces Luisa like a spear, rooting her in place, until Luisa drops her arms with a sigh. “I don’t want to do this right now. Can we go sit down inside, where you’re less likely to contract hypothermia?”

“No,” Rose answers plainly, crossing her arms. She looks less affected by the weather. If not for the gooseflesh crawling up her exposed throat, Luisa might assume she couldn’t even feel the cold. “I’m sick of pretending that nothing’s wrong, or biting my tongue and hoping that whatever’s upsetting you will eventually just go away. It isn’t, and it’s—” her acerbic tone gentles, the words whispering out of her in visible puffs of white breath, “it’s not fair for you to pretend that you’re okay just to keep me from worrying. I know you, Luisa, I know when something is bothering you.”

Luisa blinks a sheen of moisture from her eyes and lowers them to the knot in Rose’s bathrobe. She tugs on it with gloved fingers and then re-ties it tighter than it had been, all the while with Rose waiting patiently for her to speak. Casting a look over her shoulder, Luisa eyes the distance to the ground from their balcony perch, and considers how badly she might hurt herself if she were to jump.

She’d survive the fall. Probably, the landing could do little damage…

The thought brings a soft tut from beneath her tongue, and she releases the robe with a cloudy sigh.

“It’s Christmas,” she whispers, unable to meet Rose’s gaze. Instead, it lingers in the fine silver stitching details on the robe’s lapels – spun silken snowflakes caught in a wintry gale. Just looking at them makes her feel colder. “It’s Christmas Day and I can’t call anyone to wish them a Merry Christmas. I can’t even write. I have no idea what they’re doing, if they’re together, if they’re okay— they have no idea about me, either.” Her expression draws in, bottom lip pulled between her teeth. “I bet they’re not even thinking of me. I bet, if they are, it won’t be anything good.”

It comes out on a breath of laughter that holds no mirth, and Luisa swallows against the lump in her throat.

“I chose to do this,” she says, and Rose wonders which one of them she’s addressing. “I wanted this, us, I chose you. I don’t regret that.” She looks up, finally, her big brown eyes soft and warm and a little watery, sheening against the light coming from the balcony doors. “I don’t regret that,” louder, steadier, her hands coming to rest in the crooks of Rose’s elbows. “I knew this wouldn’t be easy. I’m just… struggling, I guess.”

Rose presses closer, her slippers dragging against the balcony decking.

She presses a cold, soft hand to Luisa’s cheek – holds it there, until the warmth of Luisa’s skin inspires feeling back into her fingers.

“No one’s faulting you for that,” she murmurs, her voice a low hum. “I know it hasn’t been easy, loving me.”

Luisa’s brow wrinkles. “Don’t think that.”

“I don’t blame you for anything, you know? If not for me, you’d be with them, now.”

“Would I?” Luisa bites the inside of her cheek until it dimples. “We never had Christmases like normal families, not like what you’d see on TV. The best Christmas I ever had was when I decided to stay in college over winter break. It was just me and the foreign exchange students; they did potluck in their dorm, and we ate out in the hall on beanbags and pillows, and then we played hide and seek in the library.” Her brow crinkles again, this time fondly. “I made out with a girl from Greece who was built like a professional football player. I can’t even remember her name.”

Rose snorts delicately, warm breath puffing from her nostrils.

The sight draws a tender smile to Luisa’s mouth.

“You’re not, you know?” she says, stepping forward, lassoing her arms around Rose’s waist and pulling her closer. “You’re not hard for me to love at all. My life would probably be much simpler if you were.”

Rose hangs her arms around Luisa’s shoulders, relaxing against her front.

“It’d be boring,” she agrees, and Luisa snickers. “Sometimes boring is good, when the alternative is going on the run from the law and never seeing your family again.”

“Thanks, I was just getting over that.”

Rose brings both hands to Luisa’s face, this time, squashing her sarcasm between them.

“You’ll never be over that,” she says, and the matter-of-factness of the statement makes Luisa’s breath hitch, but then she never has managed to get over how delicately Rose delivers her killing blows. Rose knows exactly how to turn the world inside out, and she can do it with the same precision it takes for a needle to pop a balloon. The bang makes you jump even when you’re expecting it.

Rose studies her face like she’s looking for a reaction, like she’s waiting for something to happen. Luisa wonders if she’s supposed to protest, but can’t. Won’t. Finally, Rose’s gaze softens. “Next year,” she says, picking her words with care, and with the future so far in the distance Luisa cannot blame her, “I’ll give you a proper Christmas. Dinner, presents, a tree. Anything you want.”

“Anything I want?” Luisa repeats, smiling, but Rose’s expression keeps its almost-solemn quality.

“Anything you want,” she agrees. “I’ll take you to Lapland, I’ll buy you your own goddamn reindeer, if that’s what you ask for.”

“I mean, I don’t know the first thing about their diet,” Luisa scoffs, and then her brows draw in tight with thought, “but Google has never failed me before…” Rose shivers, drawing Luisa’s attention quickly back to her. “What’s this about dinner, though? It’s not too late to find somewhere, right? I know it’s not the same as cooking your own, but I think we’re just gonna have to forgive ourselves for that, given the circumstances.”

“Actually,” Rose begins, coy, caressing Luisa’s cheek with the fat of her thumb, “I thought we’d eat in, still. I don’t want to tempt fate, today of all days. It won’t be a Christmas Dinner, or anything even remotely close to it, but I want to do this for you. I want you all to myself tonight, if that’s okay with you.”

“Wait, you want to cook for me?” At Rose’s nod, Luisa’s lips press closed. “Babe, I love you, but you really don’t need to do that.”

“What are you trying to say?”

Luisa clears her throat. “I mean…”

“Wow,” Rose puffs, unable to hide her smile, even if the offence is real. She drops her hands from Luisa’s face, draping her arms back around her shoulders. Their bodies sway together as Rose suppresses a laugh. “Fine then. I won’t cook.”

Luisa squeezes her tighter around the middle. “You can’t cook, sweetie, it’s not a matter of won’t.”

Rose scoffs but does not disagree, until—

“I can manage mac ‘n’ cheese,” she says, lips pursed. “I can make a really good packet mac ‘n’ cheese.”

Luisa’s eyes her, dubious. “You want mac ‘n’ cheese?”

“I do.”

“You want to make us mac ‘n’ cheese out of a box for Christmas Dinner?”

“That’s right.”

“Huh.”

Rose wets her lips and instantly regrets it. Her ears are beginning to ring from the cold.

“Will you eat it, if I do?”

Luisa snorts and nods her head.

“At this point, I’d take peanut butter on toast. Come on, though, let’s get inside before you freeze to death. Popsicle isn’t on the menu tonight.”

As she says it, she untangles Rose’s arms from around her shoulders and ushers her toward the balcony door.

Shivering, Rose shakes her head, taking Luisa’s hands in hers and halting any further movement. At her girlfriend’s confusion, she presses a kiss to each gloved palm, and then her face. Luisa shivers at the feeling of her mouth, cold and wet, against her own. When she draws back, there’s a light in Rose’s eye – a twinkle in the corner, like a star that’s emerged from behind a slow-drifting cloud – that gives her pause.

“I love you,” Rose tells her, all hot, visible breath and a smile so tender that Luisa bites back the urgency to get them both inside, if just to bask in the warmth that is Rose’s unwavering adoration. “I love you so much. If I could change things—” She sighs. She can’t, and so she discards the thought, with effort. “I’m sorry it isn’t everything you deserve. I’m going to do better, Lu, I mean it.”

Luisa bites the inside of her lip, blinking back the glaze of moisture in her eyes – it only attracts the cold.

“We both are,” she promises, sniffing. “Please, can we go inside now?”

Rose laughs and nods her head.

When Luisa next tries to save her from the cold, she gives no protest, and they step hand-in-hand back into the warmth.

#only-freakin-sunflowers #roisa secret santa #luisa alver #rose solano #fanfiction #fic #i feel like im posting this early but you're mostly probably all just on some funky american time zone lmao #merry christmas to everyone participating in this lil gift exchange i hope you all have a gay old time

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btgalaxy · 5 years ago

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Ineffable

➳ pairing: namjoon x reader, yoongi x reader

➳ genre: ceo!au, smut, angst, probably fluff too

➳ word count: 3.8k

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Chapter 2

The office has changed. There were refurbishments going on for a couple of weeks over summer, but you never went in to see what was being done. The walls are now a dark grey and the whole office is minimalist and sleek— Namjoon’s desk is at least a couple of meters long yet only holds a black lamp, a MacBook and some paperwork. Behind the desk are some shelves, again almost completely bare, with only a couple of framed photographs and a few books. There is nothing in here to say of family, a girlfriend, friends; nothing. It feels so isolated. He sits behind the desk and you awkwardly shuffle forwards to stand in front. He doesn’t say anything for a few moments, just clicks away at his laptop.

“So,” he starts, “the presentation was… adequate.” Adequate. The presentation you worked your damn arse off for was adequate.

“I think it had the potential to be great, but your ideas were underdeveloped, and the hindrances weren’t thought through well enough. You need to be more thorough,” he is unforgiving with his criticism and meagre with his praise. Although you should have expected this.

“Right, sir. I’m sorry, sir. Is there anything in particular I should work on?” you ask, bringing your lower lip between your teeth. His focal point falls to your lips for a second and lingers there momentarily, before his eyes snap downwards and back to his laptop. It’s a trivial movement, but it doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“There’s a lot of work that needs doing,” he tells you.

“I know, sir. Will you be able to help me please, sir?” You trail off, head lowered slightly, although not far enough to miss the lustful look on his face, watching you with a heated gaze. Can he be at least a little less obvious?

“Yes. I’d like you back here tomorrow evening, after my final meeting of the day. I’ll discuss this with you then further,” he focuses back on his laptop and you frown slightly.

“You mean your 8’o’clock meeting?” you question. His hands freeze above the keyboard for a moment before continuing.

“Yes, will that be a problem?” He doesn’t even look at you as he continues to type. You look off to the side in irritation before taking a deep breath.

“No. Of course not. I will see you tomorrow,” you announce before turning around. You reach for the door handle when he calls your name.

“Yes, sir?” you answer.

“Wear another dress,” he tells you. You can’t find the words to respond so you simply excuse myself, shutting the door behind you to finally be able to breathe again. What was that supposed to mean? He really must be a sleazebag if he’s already hitting on the only woman in the senior team. Ugh, you should’ve known. Those sultry lips and that deep voice was never going to lead to anything good.

You dismiss the thoughts occupying your mind and instead leave the building promptly, saying goodbye to Jihee and the image of Namjoon with his ruffled hair and untucked shirt.

When you open the door to Yoongi’s apartment with the key you’ve been given, you’re greeted with the sound of the shower running. You sigh, sliding into some slippers and padding over to Yoongi’s fish tank which he always forgets to feed. You sprinkle some pellets into the top of the tank and watch as they all flock towards it. You’re going to have to clean them out this weekend, it’s starting to look extremely grimy. You aren’t even sure why he keeps these damn fish, he doesn’t look after them at all. If it weren’t for you, they’d be long gone already.

You straighten back up and head into the kitchen to scavenge the fridge for some food. There isn’t much, bar leftovers from the takeaway you had a couple of nights ago, so you settle for the days old Chinese, placing it on the side and heading over to the kettle just as your phone vibrates from your bag.

6:03pm Chimchim: you wanna come out tonight?

You look at the clock and note the time then push your mouth to this side, contemplating. You could ask Yoongi to come with you, but you aren’t exactly sure you want to go out. The kettle switches off and you pour it into two mugs, adding in two teabags and taking everything into the lounge.

6:05pm You: maybe Wednesday? I have to work late tomorrow and already told Yoongi I’d spend the night with him

You pick up the remote on the coffee table and switch on the tv, flicking between channels to find something other than a soap opera as the shower is turned off.

6:06pm Chimchim: why so dead y/n, see u tomorrow xx

6:06pm You: u too xx

The bedroom door swings open as you send the text and Yoongi ambles in with a towel hung low around his waist, a lazy smile poking at his lips when he spots you.

“That food’s a bit old, babe,” he laughs slightly, coming round to place a kiss on your lips from behind the sofa.

“I’m hungry,” you mumble against him, wallowing in the soft lemon scent of his shower gel.

He moves his hand to the back of your head to kiss you harder before pulling back, “We can order something new.”

He quickly jumps back as you lunge for his towel, playfully attempting to rip it off, but he rather jogs through to the hallway to retrieve the landline. You shrug internally, still picking up an old box of chow mein and digging your fork into it.

You flick through Netflix as Yoongi calls the local pizza place, searching for something you can both enjoy, but the newest rendition of Pride and Prejudice looks far too appealing to scroll past, even though it’s not exactly your boyfriend’s cup of tea. Some moments later and he ambles back in, now clothed in only a pair of loose shorts, the outline of his crotch looking a little too good and making your stomach churn slightly.

Sometimes you just want your boyfriend to screw you hard until you’re seeing stars, but he’s always been a bit funny about sex— all these rules and precautions. He won’t have sex with you without a condom because ‘it isn’t safe’, and he couldn’t even consider making love to you anywhere other than in your bed or his, in any other position than missionary. You’ve tried talking to him about it, but he shies away and gets all embarrassed, and if you ever attempt to ignite something in a restaurant say— just a hand on his crotch under the table, he remains completely calm. Sometimes he won’t even bring it up. But you suppose you do find his shyness and familiarity endearing and comfortable. He does keep you happy, you can’t really complain. In fact, more than that, he takes his time with you in bed and always ensures you finish before him. He’s perfect, no matter what.

“Pizza will be here in 15— I thought I said not to eat that!” he chastises, prying the box from your hands despite your pouting and pushing it to the other end of the coffee table. He then slumps onto the sofa beside you, offering his arm so you can crawl beneath it and curl up into your chest.

“Why are we watching Pride and Prejudice?” he chuckles slightly.

“I had a bad day.”

You can feel him scowl and look down at you, “The new CEO? Did you meet him?”

“Yeah, and he’s a sleazebag; just like I thought.”

Yoongi stirs in the seat, manoeuvring himself uncomfortably, “The girls in my class tell me he’s the most attractive man in Seoul.”

He’s always hearing the gossip from the class he teaches, “Yoongi, I love you. I would never leave you for such a pervert.” You look up at him, offering a warm smile and he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“What does Jimin think of him?”

“Didn’t really have much of a chance to talk about him.” You hold back the comment Jimin made, not wanting to give Yoongi another thing to feel insecure about. “He’s even implementing this stupid clock-in-clock-out system, as if we are some teenage part-timers or something.”

He exhales, despondently, “You could always leave that job, you know.”

You curl into him tighter, full well knowing if you did want to leave he’d pick up extra classes and probably even find another job just to look after you. He’d do anything to keep you happy and safe. He always puts you before himself, whether it’s the fuller glass of orange juice or buying something that you want rather than for himself, it’ll always be you. You’re certain Namjoon could never treat anyone as well as Yoongi does.

“I love that job, and I’m not going to let a pig like him drive me out,” you contend, placing your hand on your boyfriends thigh, then glancing at his face. He is a handsome man, and he’s worthy competition of that new pig CEO. He’d be perfect if— no. He is perfect.

You kiss him hard, gradually moving till you’re on your knees on the sofa facing him, “How long did you say till the pizza gets here?”

He grunts, sliding his tongue across his lips, “About another 10 minutes.”

“Brilliant,” you smirk, jumping to your feet and dragging him by the hand behind you, straight into the bedroom.

When your eyes open, sunlight is spilling in through the blinds. Your face is squashed against the pillow of Yoongi’s bed, an empty pizza box by your feet and a pale arm slung across your waist. You groan as you sit up and rub your face, disgusted by the make-up that comes off onto your hands and you sluggishly get to your feet, padding into the bathroom to wash the remnants off your face and brush your teeth.

You amble back into the bedroom and leans against the doorframe, admiring Yoongi’s face with a small smile as he sleeps, looking so vulnerable and innocent. You could never hurt him; he’s all that you seem to live for these days.

You yawn and head back into the lounge to pick up your phone, switching it on lazily and starting to clear up the mess you made last night. As you walk into the kitchen, however, your eyes flicker to the clock.

7:56am

You do a double take. Wait. Suddenly, you’re running through Yoongi’s apartment to the bathroom where you pick up your hairbrush from the side of the sink and frantically begin to attempt de-knotting it all, running into the bedroom to retrieve some clothes from your small duffel bag. Coincidentally, after Namjoon’s whole ‘wear a dress’ you brought a sleek black bodycon, which you slip into it as fast as possible and blast on some powder from your handbag.

“Babe?” Yoongi groans, finally succumbing to racket you’re making and waking up slightly.

You push all your stuff together with your feet while you apply some perfume, awkwardly shuffling over to Yoongi’s side of the bed, “I’m late for work. I need to go, otherwise my idiot boss will fire me.” You lean down and press a kiss to his lips, relaxing into him for a second before snapping away again, squeezing his hand and telling him goodbye.

You race back into the lounge, picking up your phone and shoving your hairbrush and powder into your bag to hastily make your way to your car.

As you’re driving, you rapidly whip your hair up into a bun and get beeped by other drivers too many times to count. You have three minutes left by the time you reach the car park, in which you have to park at the furthest space from the building due to everyone already being here after Namjoon’s little announcement about being on time yesterday. Typical. You slam the car door shut and practically run to the building where you enter at exactly 8:30am. Just as you let out a sigh of relief, you hear a deep voice resonating beside you.

“Cutting it a bit close, don’t you think Miss y/l/n?” Namjoon raises an eyebrow at you and you see him standing in the foyer with some kind of a checklist. Clearly signing people in. Talk about tyrannical. You bite your lower lip and he moves towards you, one of his hands ghosting on your waist as he leans down to your ear.

“The dress is nice,” he tells you quietly, smirking. You open your mouth to say something back, but no words come out, your chin instead dipping down to your chest.

“I’ll see you in my office this evening then,” he takes a step back, “And don’t be so risky tomorrow, Miss y/l/n. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to have to face the punishment.” The corners of his mouth seem to lift ever so slightly, and you frown, not entirely convinced he is talking about getting fired, or something other than that. Pig.

He then strides away, as if nothing just happened, and you can breathe again. You move towards the reception desk and greet Jihee, still a bit dumbfounded.

“I think he likes you,” she smiles, excited. You shake your head and frown.

“I don’t care if he does or not. I have Yoongi,” you persist.

She rolls her eyes from her chair behind the desk, “y/n, that doesn’t mean you can’t find him attractive—”

“Yeah, it does. I’m dedicated to my boyfriend.” Although you’re the one saying the words, it doesn’t feel like they’re entirely authentic. You are dedicated to Yoongi, in many respects, but does wanting something— someone— else make you less so?

Never. Because you don’t.

You tell her all about your first meeting with Namjoon and talking to him in his office. You also tell her you’re seeing him tonight to discuss your presentation.

“And you came here looking like that?” she gapes, and you remember you barely brushed your hair and didn’t have time to shower— you haven’t even looked in a mirror since last night. You must look gross.

“I woke up late,” you sigh, groaning.

“If you want, you can go take a shower at my place during lunch,” she offers, and you accept immediately. She lives just next to the office so it’s easy to get there and back quickly, and you offer in return to take her out tomorrow with Jimin as a thank you, then head up to your office.

Lunch cannot come around quick enough; you feel revolting. You practically race out of the office and down to reception where Jihee gives you her keys. You cross the road and go up into her apartment and just the steam from the shower makes you feel better, scrubbing away all of the dirt from yesterday and today and washing your hair of grease and oil with Jihee’s mandarin-scented shampoo.

You dry off your hair and borrow some of Jihee’s make-up: some foundation, a bit of mascara, some pink-y red lip stain. You look and feel a hell of a lot better once you’re headed back to the office, with freshly washed hair and some deodorant on. You walk back into reception and over to Jihee who looks you up and down and sighs.

“You’re so effortlessly pretty,” she pouts. You laugh at her, shaking your head.

“You saw me earlier, right?” You grin and she chuckles before taking back her key from your offered hand.

“So are you excited for later?” She speaks in a far more hushed tone as you perch against the desk, tapping your fingers on the marble surface warily.

“I don’t know- I don’t know what to think,” you run your tongue over your top teeth and purse your lips. Your eyes dart about the room in a futile attempt to look for something to distract you.

“I think you should be. Y/n, I don’t think you’re appreciating the possibilities,” she tells you.

“Jihee, I have a boyfriend,” you try to tell her as she smirks, but she simply shrugs in response and turns back to her computer.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t, y’know, get in his good books as Jimin might put it,” she grins. You choose to ignore her and tell her if you don’t see her later then you will tomorrow.

Back in your office, you slump into the chair with what feels like the weight of the world on your chest. Jimin’s left a little note on the computer screen telling you he is out scouting locations for an upcoming event with a co-worker and Jen told him you’re taking the two of them out for drinks tomorrow night. You switch on the desktop and scroll through your most recent emails, a little shocked to find one from Mr Kim, your old boss. You open it up and find he has asked you to come and see him in his new office on floor 7 whenever is convenient. Odd. You frown at the email, first to ensure it’s actually meant for you and then trying to figure out as to what he would possibly want to see you for; he was always very kind to you, yes, but never more so than other colleagues.

You send an e-mail back, telling him you’ll come now.

You walk deliberately slow down the corridor after exiting the lift at floor 7, analysing all the different names on the doors. This block of offices are far less extravagant than those on the top, such as Mr Kim’s old minimalist, open-plan, beautifully sleek headquarters of which he used to keep the door open at all times, unlike Namjoon. He believed keeping his door open would make his employees more likely to communicate with him and co-operate better. He always put his workers first, before even the success of the business— although he’d probably argue that’s what constructs a prosperous company.

After a minute or so of walking, you’re faced with a silver plaque on a deep, mahogany door that reads ‘MR KIM’. You hesitantly bring up a fist and knock twice gently on the wood. At first, there is no response, so you go to knock again, only for the handle to turn and Mr Kim’s face to be smiling at you, warmly.

“Y/n,” he says, “come in.” He steps back and holds the door open for you as you take an awkward step past, noticing the smell of the pipe he must’ve just been smoking. That was one thing you always appreciated when he used to keep his door open back when he was CEO— it reminded you of your grandfather in front of the fire at Christmas when you were a child, smoking his black gold tobacco he saved for special occasions while your grandmother nagged at him to take it outside, so you nor your brother would inhale the steam. He’d always stay, of course, insisting he couldn’t enjoy it anywhere else. You got a lot of your stubbornness from him.

Mr Kim pulls out a chair for you to sit and seats himself comfortably on the other side of the desk opposite. He leans back slightly, shifting in the chair while he takes a breath

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve asked you here,” he announces, smiling a tad awkwardly.

“Yeah,” you laugh slightly. “A little…”

“Well I wanted to talk to you about my son.” His question takes you by surprise— you’ve barely spoken to his son.

“Namjoon?”

“I am sure you are aware I demoted myself to this position to help him starting off at this company,” he tells you, “but that stubborn boy isn’t telling me anything. He’s shut me out. He thinks he is capable of running this place entirely on his own and I am just a burden, I-“ He stops himself, dropping his head as he pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“I just need someone I trust to keep an eye out for him. I know this is a lot to ask of you and I am in no way asking you to spy on him I just,” he fumbles for the right choice of words, “I just want to make sure my son isn’t hiding his failures from me. I don’t want him to be forced to ask me for help because he has really messed up one day. I want him to stay stable until he is capable enough to start taking some risks.” You sit across from him in absolute awe.

“But he seems so sure of himself,” you speak, startled.

Mr Kim chuckles at you, “I have no doubts he does think highly of his abilities. Right now, he feels more than capable, I’m just worried he isn’t considering the responsibility of running a company that has hundreds of employees relying on their paycheques.” You nod in response, understandingly. You’ve never seen this side of him; a father concerned about his son, but it doesn’t really come as a surprise. If he cared so much for his employees, he must care immensely for his own relatives.

“So, what do you think? Just keep an eye out for me? Just tell me if he says or does anything out of the ordinary; anything that makes you even the slightest bit concerned.” His eyes are pleading, and you don’t know if you’re able to say no.

“I can’t guarantee he’ll even talk to me very much,” you disclose, honestly.

“A gorgeous girl like you?” Mr Kim looks at you incredulously, “I know my son, and I know you, y/n.” He smiles knowingly. What’s that supposed to mean?

With a somewhat reluctant sigh, you agree. You feel a little guilty, as if you’re prying into your boss’s personal life unjustly, but you cannot reject the man looking so stressed about his son in front of you.

You continue to chat for a while, just about life and the company. He really must be a wonderful father. It’s a shame that Namjoon’s cut him off like this; he doesn’t deserve it.

When you leave, you feel a little more confident in your position here now Mr Kim is clearly on your side, in case anything were to happen. It’s reassuring to know he trusts you— even better, he likes you. You feel a little giddy and smile to yourself slightly as you step off the lift at the top floor, about to head to your office. However, as you fleetingly glance to the right, down towards Namjoon’s office, you stomach drops. What the—

#bts reactions #bts imagines #bts rm #bts suga #bts angst #bts fluff #admin lottie

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