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mizelophsun11 · 3 years

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Mizeloph's Tale Chapter 8

Pairing - It is still General Kirigan x OC Sun Summoner and will eventually shift to Kaz Brekker x Reader

Summary - First the little group from Ketterdam has to make it through the Fold before they can get to Eastern Ravka. As they travel through the Fold a past that Kaz does not like to talk about haunts his thoughts. A promise that he never intended on breaking brings more to Kaz than he cared to admit.

Word Count - 2550

“They want you to believe the Sun Summoner has been found to finally tear down the wall that divides us. But how many times have we been fed a story like that?! And how many times have we in the West been told to send our sons and daughters through the Fold for another year? It is time to accept that we need to break away from the old country! Now is the time to form our own country, to keep what we make and what we earn instead of sending it to the East! For the true Ravka!” Zlatan finished his speech and walked off towards the entrance of his tent where he shook hands with Arken who had an interesting proposition

Out in the open Kaz Brekker watched their exchange, he had not been too thrilled about this, but knew that they needed Arken to get them across the Fold. He would be able to come up with a plan to deal with Arken later. Kaz spotted Inej looking at the stones with names of people from the West who had gone through the Fold and died or never come back.

Inej noticed Kaz walk up to her with the tiny goat “he’s adorable”

“Don’t get too attached” he looked between her and the stones “I didn’t think I’d have to specify no detours for you”

“Even if just a few minutes could end a lifetime of questions?” Inej asked

Kaz sighed “I have looked at these stones for answers, when I couldn’t find her name these stones felt useless, just another reminder of an unknown”

“Maybe because she was able to survive the Fold, she is now the Sun Summoner, you cannot continue to deny it forever, there is hope you two will see each other again” Inej knew that they both were trying to find a name to have some closure, but it was not always that easy

“Hope is dangerous, it can cloud anyones judgement, including our own. Just like your mind has been clouded by your questions of my past with Anna Mizeloph, I told you I wanted your complete focus on this job” Kaz said adjusting the goat he was holding in his arm

“I will, this will be the last time I promise” Inej could tell that she was pushing on Kaz berries with talking about Anna

“Don’t forget Inej, we all have debts to pay” Kaz walked off to meet head towards the meeting point with Inej walking behind him

Once it got darker everyone had met at the disclosed location near the edge of town so they could start their journey, but there was one person missing, Jesper. They still made their way towards where the train would be when Inej stopped to read the sign.

“Wait, there are landmines here..” Inej said looking to Arken

“I put those signs up there to keep people away” Akren informed them

Kaz looked behind “where the hell is Jesper?” he did not want to be delayed

They walked over to where the machinery was hidden that would get them through the Fold “It’s one thing to hear about it, but.. This is..” Inej looked at the looming darkness as they got closer

“Nothing compared to what lies within” Arken went through the thick shadow and pulled the train out “there, so the goat, jurad.. Thank you. Now we are just waiting on the coal..”

“Wait for me!” Jesper yelled as he ran, followed by gunshots

Arken began to panic as he saw Jesper running towards their location with people following behind “they can’t see the train!”

“Leave the lantern!” Inej yelled

“Landmines!” Jesper looked at the sign

“Come on!” Kaz knew it was going to be close

Jesper tossed the lantern onto the ground and ran to the train in the dark making sure to watch his step. Once he got in he felt a slight sigh of relief wash over him, he had gotten coal and not been blown up.

“Please tell me you have 20 pounds of alabaster coal” Arken pleaded

Jesper gave him the bag “slight snap in the plan, turns out the kid who was helping me buy the coal didn’t exactly know how to, um, buy coal”

“We know you gambled it away” Kaz knew Jesper too well

“I lost a bit of the money.. Well, I lost all of the money, but! I was able to steal 20 pounds of alabaster coal” Jesper smiled a little

“No no.. there’s only 16 pounds” Arken was slightly panicking

Jespers smile faltered “16 pounds of alabaster coal”

“Can we do it on 16?” Kaz asked

“Never been done before, now I need you three to sit down and never shift your weight” Arken started to set everything up to get the train to start moving, then they suddenly heard the sound of an explosion and men screaming

Jesper shook a little “Landmines..”

Kaz looked up a Arken from his spot “I thought you said they weren’t real”

“I said no such thing, I just said I put the sign up” Arken began to put coal in and the train started, they entered the Fold.

It was quiet in the train so far, everyone was thinking about anything else than being inside the Fold. As the train chugged on Kaz knew that right now he should be thinking about what they will do to get into the Little Palace, but his thoughts drifted to Anna Mizeloph. He knew better, but Kaz could not help it, the little girl with white hair that he remembered was now the Sun Summoner. He remembered when they were younger, imagining their lives and how everything would work out.

Little 8 year old Kaz and Anna were holding hands as they ran down an alley holding a few items of food. Once they got to their safe spot they sat down and started to nibble at the food, Anna looked over at Kaz.

“What do you think our lives will be like once we are older Kazie?” Anna asked

“Honestly, I’m not sure, I want to get back at Pekka for putting me and Jordie in our current situation” Kaz was angry, he and his brother had the chance to start a new life when their father had died, they should not be in this situation

“But you met me.. You mean a lot to me Kazie” Anna said looking at the small amount of food she had left, this was all she knew, living on the streets

Kaz sighed “the future also involves me and Jordie becoming rich and you will be a part of that Anna, we will stick together” he smiled a little at her and pulled Anna close

“Good” she rested her head on his shoulder “but if you become rich can we travel the world? Maybe see Ravka? I’ve only heard of it from others travelers, but it sounds beautiful”

“Anything you want Anna” Kaz adjusted Anna and began to run his fingers through her hair to try and get a few tangles out “when we are older you will get whatever you want, I promise”

Anna smiled and closed her eyes feeling Kaz run his fingers through her hair. While she hated that Kaz and Jordie were cheated out of their money to survive, Anna was thanking every saint that she had known for meeting Kaz. She felt beyond lucky to have a best friend like Kaz and wished that they had met under different circumstances.

“Hey Kazie?” Anna said softly

“Yes Anna?” He continued to run his fingers through her hair now for comfort

“Can you make me another promise? This one is more important..” Anna could not imagine her future without Kaz

“Anything you want Anna” Kaz smiled a little finishing his combe through of her hair and pulled her close into a hug

“Promise me that we will never be separated, that we will grow up together and never leave each other, please promise me this” she pleased

“Yes, I promise” Kaz said, not knowing what the future held and that in a year he would break that promise. However, he didn’t know that, so with his ignorant bliss he made the promise

“Can we pinkie promise?” Anna asked looking at Kaz

Kaz smiled and nodded holding his pinky out “I promise”

Anna held her hand out and linked their pinkles “I promise” she continued to stay close to Kaz as he kissed the top of her head, their promise.

Kaz thought about that promise more than he would like to admit, he was the first one to break it. Even though it wasn’t really his choice because the people who collected him and his brother thought they were dead. However, that was still the moment of separation and Kaz wished that things could have been different. Anna was and still is an important girl to him and it made him think about what would happen when they were finally face to face. It would eventually happen since Anna is the key to the million kruge mission. Kaz wondered if she would recognize him or not, if she did how would she react? There was a lot running through his mind about Anna that was suddenly jossled when the train jerked.

With the sudden motion of the train came a strange noise snapping Kaz out of his thoughts “what was that?”

“Bits of metal hun on the poles, when they collide with the one on the train it markes where we are in our journey, right now we are on time” Arken said while looking at his watch

“How did you know where to put the poles?” Kaz asked

“Physics and engineering are a part of.. Most of my success” Akren continued to focus on his watch, he would glance at the coal then back at his watch

“And the rest?” Kaz glanced up at Arken

“What we might call divine intervention” Akren checked the coal against

“What other might call luck” Kaz never enjoyed relying on luck in anything

“And after all, the Fold is thick with volcra, and the tracks are not complete. Coal please” Arken said, Kaz threw some coal in

“I’m sorry, did you say the tracks weren’t complete?” Jesper asked starting to feel a little bit nervous and began to move

“Ah, ah! No moving” Arken said “it seems like we are falling behind, by my calculations we are now a tad late, more coal” Kaz put some more coal into the flames, fueling the train to continue going

“Back to the real issue, we are on tracks that don’t connect to other tracks” the amount of panic in Jesper was beginning to rise

“There is a gap, but..” Arken was going to continue but Kaz cut him off

“You said you could get us through, how much of a gap?” Kaz asked

Arken sighed, continuing to watch the coal and the watch to see if they could get back to being on time. “I built slats on the car, they roll into place under the wheels and the turbine generated enough wind to push all the way to the eastern tracks. This only works if we did not shift our weight, now we are about to go past a nest, the noise may attract volcra but it is the only way across”

As they continued through the sound of growling volcra echoed “now we have a problem, but we should be fine if they haven’t attacked us by..” the flapping wings of volcra got closer

Kaz looked at how Arken reacted “if need be how do you fight them off?”

“There is no way to fight them off, I can only outrun them to give a fighting chance. Open the throttle and toss all of the coal in, if we had 20 pounds this would work” as the coal was tossed in the train was gossled, Arken looked out to see what had happened “Damn! One of them impaid itself onto a spike”

The blood from the Volcra seeped through the ceiling and into the train “we need to get it off or else the other will stand on it” Kaz said

“More coal!” Arken commanded

Kaz threw the rest of the coal in and the bag it came in “we are down on fumes!”

Everything was beginning to unfold against them, they were behind, volcra were now attacking their only means of transportation through the Fold. A true nightmare, it almost had seemed too good to be true in the beginning when everything was running smoothly. Kaz could tell that they would be cutting it close, if they could even make it through.

Arken nodded “we won’t make it with this extra weight” he continued to try and get the dead volcra off the spike

“This is how we die” Jesper said

“Jesper grab the goat” Arken looked down at his watch to see if they were any close to the other side of the Fold

“I’m not throwing out the goat!” Jesper yelled

“Damit it Jesper, grab the damn goat! It’s not bait, it is for you now I need you to calm down and hug the goat!” Arken yelled back at Jesper

The sound of metal meeting metal rattled through the train “no no.. we should have hit that mark 20 seconds ago”

This caught Kaz's attention “20 seconds? Meaning..”

“My timing is precise in order to get us through, even 20 seconds behind means the train could stop inside the Fold which means.. Death for all of us” Akren looked down at the flames keeping the train going, but his attention was pulled away by the sound of volcra “there are more coming.. You may want to make your peace..”

Kaz never hoped for anything, until now he was hoping to make it through the Fold to see Anna. He had never been afraid of death, every mission in Ketterdam was a risk. However, this was different, he could die right here and never see Anna again. Within his thoughts he realised that there was so much more to this mission. Once her name left that man's lips the night of the job, that night he knew that this would be his chance to see her again. He needed to stay alive in order to see her and that would not be possible if he died in the Fold.

Arken looked up as the contraption that had taken him across the Fold too many times to count, it was now being torn apart by a few volcra. Jesper knew what he had to do, he had the guns, with his skills in hand he approached where the volcra were tearing through the top. The monsters screamed and with collection Jesper began to fire off shots at the swarming volcra killing all of them. It was a moment of silence before another metal ping rang, the sun shone through the hole made by the dead volcra. A sigh of relief left everyone in the train, they had made it through the Fold, alive. Now they had to figure out what the next plan was in order to get them into the Little Palace and get Anna Mizeloph.

Author Note - I am so sorry this chapter came later than I had hoped! These seem to only get longer and longer XD However I hope everyone enjoys this chapter! I originally did not plan on adding this chapter, but I thought it would be good to see more of Kaz and the past he has with Anna Mizeloph. Like always feel free to pm me if you would like to or leave a comment, I love reading what everyone has to say!

Tag List- @rika90 @itsemy01 @hotleaf-juice @teatimeforusreaders @benbarnes-supremacy @graciefullygracie @aleksanderwh0r3 @klaudosh @herbatkazmilosica

#shadow and bone #shadow and bone fanfiction #the grisha series #grishaverse #grisha fic #ben barnes #general kirigan #general kirigan x reader #freddy carter #kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader

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iron-mum · 3 years

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I wish you would write a fic where Tony and kid Peter are being adorable father and son as retribution for the angst you’ve made me suffer through in the past hah! (JK I love you and your angst! 💛)

Well, well, well. What do we have here, eh? A request for adorable? I'm not sure, I'm very good at that 😌

Here's SIMTony who would stop at nothing to help his unwell son, Peter get better. Even if it meant using Extremis.

P.S. ILY3000 💕

In the final throes of the graveyard shift at the hospital floor, the elevator pinged for its frequent lone visitor. The front desk staff, whilst tense and sitting up suddenly straighter, knew not to actually engage. No ID was needed for their boss, one of them barely suppressing a gulp as his determined strides headed for the private room that had been deliberately placed near to the room equipped for every possible kind of emergency. Once inside, he carefully shut the door silently and took a seat at the bedside.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Sharp blue eyes shifted from the persistent buzzing of the most technologically advanced medical equipment anyone, anywhere could offer before looking back down to something far more invaluable and precious. Tony’s entire world. His purpose in life. The little boy on the bed lay motionless, breathing slowly and evenly, nose occasionally scrunching up at the discomfort of the oxygen mask upon him. He should have been cocooned in a hug from his father but instead his son, Peter, was littered with wires attaching him to the very best modern medicine had to offer.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Pale, soft skin with the daintiest of freckles stood out against the dark curls spread across the far too big pillow. The small fingers of his left hand had loosely closed around the calloused thumb of his father, letting him know that whilst he had been rendered weak from illness, he was still aware of his comforting presence. Tony’s index finger gently glided across the small knuckles, willing himself to see a tiny curve of the lips on his son’s face.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

This had been the Avengers fault. Peter’s current critical condition. The young boy had been on a school trip when a battle had broken out and the wannabe heroes managed to cause more destruction than lives saved. A chemical explosion had landed most of the class in hospital and many of them had ended up becoming very unwell. Unfortunately for Peter, he already suffered many ailments so even under the wing of Stark’s finest medical personnel, the struggle had taken a toll. The genius shook his head as thoughts of revenge started to sprout from the many seeds that had been planted since the catastrophic incident. He shelved the many ideas he had that would lead to the demise of the reckless group once his kid was better.

It had been hours when the sound of a nurse's footsteps acted as the catalyst that would remove Tony from the room so he could head back to his lab. As he reluctantly moved his hand away, there was no reaction. Not even a twitch from the slender child. Bending down, he tentatively stroked a small amount of the exposed skin that was available on the boy’s face before planting a light kiss on his forehead. By the time the nurse was opening the door to the room to complete the routine checks, any sign of a visitor would be long gone.

The moment Tony was back in his workshop, he strode towards his desk. Music started to reverberate from the ceiling, the sound greatly appreciated compared to the low hum and incessant beeping from the emotionless devices that were currently keeping his son alive.

Tony didn’t believe in a higher power other than himself. So in no way, shape or form was he ever going to accept that he couldn’t save Peter from the incurable illness now ravaging his frail body. Feeling powerless was simply not an option.

Rolling up the sleeve to his top, the genius opened a drawer and pulled out a device meant for extracting blood as painlessly as possible. Not that pain meant much to him these days. No pain would ever compete with a parent having to watch their child deteriorate every single second of every single day.

Satisfied with the draw, Tony placed it into a diagnostic machine of his own making. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass of his workshop, eyeing it like he was in the most intense staring contest of his life. Jaw clenching, his arm shot out allowing liquid metal to glide across his skin before firing a repulsor at the glass and shattering it. There was an element of irony to everyone loving his face except himself in the minimal but intrusive “what if” moments that surrounded his current situation. With a crack of his neck, his arm remained outstretched so the Endo-Sym armour could return to it’s housing tank.

“Boss, the results are back,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. informed as the music lessened in volume. “No adverse reactions detected still. The chemical composition indicates that the Extremis is unchanged in it’s integration with you on a genetic level and continues to remain stable.”

“And the sample from Peter?” Tony asked, confident that he knew what the answer would be.

“Also remaining stable.”

“Alert the staff intending to see Peter following tonight's shift that their presence will not be needed,” the genius demanded as he mentally reiterated the next steps of his plan in his head. Lips curled into devilishly handsome grin at his victory, eyes crinkling at the sides. The smile only softened when his eyes drifted to a framed picture Peter had drawn of the both of them. He’d done it.

“Certainly, boss,” the AI had responded without any acknowledgement. Tony was too busy in thought. Not only was the Extremis flowing through his own veins, leaving him feeling at perfect health. But soon, it would be doing the same for Peter too. Pain free, peak performance and at complete and optimal health.

“Have there been any sightings of the Avengers in the last hour? I feel a splash of revenge is in order for this special occasion?” The holo-screens in front of him started to flicker as social media sites were searched and hashtags refreshed repeatedly. Hulk had been trending within the hour and Hawkeye in the last eleven minutes.

"Well, how about that?" he grinned gleefully. "I really am being spoiled for choice."

Whilst the genius had been certain F.R.I.D.A.Y. had relayed the message to the morning staff, Tony still found himself exhaling sharply at the sight of someone sat by Peter’s side reading his file. The thin bag of Extremis in his hand was shifted into his back pocket as quickly as humanly possible. The good feeling from beating the shit out of one of the Avengers, plus the buzz of providing Peter with a cure that no meagre doctor had been able to, shifted into a tension as tried to work out who it was.

Their face was narrow with sharp features and glasz eyes remarkably penetrating when they met his perusing stare. His black hair had been combed back neatly, the sides of his temples a distinct light grey. The well fitted suit looked designer even for Tony’s impeccable standards.

“Your services are no longer required,” he affirmed with a dismissive flourish of the hands before the man could even introduce himself.

“I’m sorry?” the other man replied without hesitation, closing the file and rising from the chair. Tony’s chair. If he’d been expecting any pleasantries or introductions, he was thoroughly mistaken. Tony was already locked onto Peter, the gentle rise of his chest a welcoming sight as always. He refused to allow his attention to be divided, ignoring the piercing stare boring into him now. “I have an oath to this patient. He critically needs help from the best in all fields. He needs my help.”

The genius turned at that, an eyebrow raised as he looked the doctor up and down. He certainly held himself strongly for someone who had that much audacity in addressing the owner of everything within his current vicinity.

“Are you new around here… Doctor Strange?” He asked disingenuously, eyes narrowing as he scrutinised the name badge. The letters ‘VISITOR - Dr Stephen Strange’ jotted on the bottom, likely the reason he hadn’t got his AI’s memo. The receptionist who let him in would be fired whether it was her fault or not.

“Unlike everyone else in this building, no, I don’t work for you” the doctor shot back tersely. “However, you were so insistent on my consultation that, somehow, I found my diary completely cleared of all surgeries that were booked in.”

“Well, you can now stick them back in your diary. We’re done here.”

“I know this is difficult,” the doctor started, tone suddenly softer as if he were hoping a change of tact would get through. “You brought me in for my expertise, so use them.”

“I’m the most intelligent, capable person on the planet. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.”

“Your arrogance surpasses all the rumours and expectations I had of you,” Strange snapped back incredulously. Apparently nothing was going to get through. “Your child is-”

“You know, it would be a real shame if you were to lose your medical licence, wouldn't it, doctor?” Tony sneered dangerously low. This ungrateful little shit was going to get it for not only wasting his time and energy, but also his son’s. An insignificant speck like the rest of the world.

“Are you threatening me?” the doctor replied doing his best to keep his tone cool and unflinching when the other man removed all personal space between them. The lack of intimidation he was feeling only pissed Tony off more.

“Let’s not test my resolve, doctor.” Despite feeling completely wrong about leaving considering Peter’s condition, Dr Stephen Strange tucked the file he’d been reading under his arm and left the room in just a few strides. Tony had spotted the hand diving for a phone as the door shut behind him and clenched his fists in disdain.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., be a darling and ensure Doctor Douchebag doesn’t make it back home,” Tony demanded followed by a nonchalant sniff.

“Yes, boss. His phone has also unexpectedly lost all signal so will not be usable anytime soon.”

Satisfied with the course of action his AI had taken, Tony locked the door to his son’s room for good measure. He eyed the current equipment before making his move. One of the drips currently providing Peter with much needed medicine was switched to make way for a sample of the Extremis that Tony had meticulously created and tested on himself. He peered at his son, swallowing thickly that this would all be worth it.

Bag secured, the first few drops started instantly, the older man watching as they flowed along the thin tubes before entering the cannula imposed on Peter’s hand. The skin began to glow orange, the lava looking trail gliding all the way up the arm’s before entering the chest. Daring a glance at the monitors, Tony noted an instant improvement in the readouts. A smile spread across his face as sheet-white, sickly skin started to immediately brighten.

Peter’s big, brown doe eyes suddenly shot open as he took a huge gulp of air, eyes landing on his father who was remarkably in focus for the first time in his life without the aid of glasses. Tony removed the oxygen mask so he could take his son’s face in fully for the first time in well over a month.

“Dad?” the young boy croaked, clearly a little disoriented from the abrupt wake up.

“Hey, buddy,” Tony whispered, voice cracking with emotion as he closed the distance between them.

Peter lunged at his father, his small arms wrapping tightly around the genius’ neck and face burying into his chest. It had been far too long since either had been able to enjoy the tender, heart-bursting feeling of overwhelming, unconditional love from one another.

“I love you, kiddo.” Tony gushed as one of his hand’s lovingly cupped the back of Peter's head holding him as close as possible. The other enveloped around his back, his thumb slowly stroking up and down. When the older man's hand started to trail through Peter's hair, the boy somehow managed to burrow even closer. Tony soothingly lifted curls between his fingers and then let them ping back as new life continued to circle through his son’s body.

“I love you too, dad,” Peter whispered, a strain evident in his voice that Tony hadn’t been expecting. When he leant back, he saw the likely cause. Now unnecessary wires were tugging at his child’s skin.

“Let’s get these off you, bud. You don’t need them anymore,” he promised softly as he carefully went to work at removing the monitoring equipment clips and stickers. Peter’s curious eyes followed every step of the way, surprisingly not wincing even when some of the tougher stickers were peeled away. Although he was too young to even begin comprehending what had happened, he knew from vague memories he’d been hurt and that he’d slept a lot. Often he had been unsure if he was dreaming or awake when he’d hear his father read him stories, express his love and let him know how brave he was being. A slight tug on his hand drew him from his recollection as he looked down.

"I’m scared," Peter timidly admitted as he eyed up the last piece of medical equipment attached to him. The cannula in his hand.

“Here’s what we're gonna do, bud. We’re going to put on our brave faces and before you know it, it’ll be all done and over with. Can you show me your bravest, fiercest face?” Tony gently challenged, as part of his upper lip curled and he playfully growled.

The child’s dinky nose scrunched up and his lips pushed out into the biggest pout he could form. He shook his head a little and hummed in a way that likely felt fierce to him but could only be described as adorable to his dad.

"Wowzer. That was super mean, you nearly scared me!” Tony gasped dramatically, as he gestured for the boy to look down and see that the only thing on the top of his hand was a small cotton wool ball and a light pressure from his dad. Using his free hand to fish into his pocket, Tony revealed a green Paw Patrol sticker with Peter’s favourite character, Rocky, on it.

It had been a distant memory since the young boy had handed it to him, having spotted the numerous nicks and cuts that littered his hard working hands after a long day in the workshop. Extremis meant Peter wouldn’t even need it, but the placebo effect would make it worth it.

“Am I all better, daddy?” Peter asked as Tony eyed him up once more. The overwhelmed father cupped his kid’s face and planted another kiss on his forehead, relief washing over him that he was now free from the concatenation of medical instrumentation.

“You most certainly are. And that means we get to skedaddle out of here.”

Before his son could anticipate his next move, his father had scooped him up into his arms and they were making their way not only out of the room, but off of the floor for good.

They’d had a chance to change into matching casual wear and feasted on a huge breakfast before snuggling up on the sofa. Peter had selected an Octonauts movie to watch as he tucked into his father’s side and enjoyed the sound of his steady heartbeat.

It would be a couple of hours when Tony’s phone pinged with a notification he knew was F.R.I.D.A.Y. when she was being discreet. His son huffed at the movement as he shuffled to get the phone out of his pocket, muttering an apology to his kid before opening the message.

[Unfortunate accident on the Hawk’s Nest, Route 97. Vehicle crossed the barrier and rolled multiple times down the cliff’s edge before landing in the Delaware River. Initial scan from one of the Iron Sight Bot #364 shows one survivor.]

Tony’s smirk widened into a full blown smile. Peter’s heart-of-gold eyes suddenly on him, looking up from his position. It was likely a silent protest at the lack of head strokes he was suddenly receiving so the genius replied swiftly.

[Call off any emergency services and get him med-evaced here.]

“You know what I think we need. Celebratory cheeseburgers for lunch,” he announced as Peter let out a squee of joy.

#writer prompt game #thank you for sending this one in!#ill be working on the next over the weekend! 🐸

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lunarliza · 4 years

Text

Dirty Little Secret | Chapter 4: Ferry Tickets

fuckbuddy!JJ x kook!reader

series masterlist | prev. chapter | chapter one

You and JJ are fuck buddies- strictly physical. But what happens when you find yourself falling more and more for everyone’s favorite golden boy even though all he can see you as is a spoiled rich girl?

note: smut ... like right under here

“Fuuuck me,” you whimpered, face pressed down to your floral pillowcase.

“You like that don’t you?” JJ’s hand twisted your hair as the other smacked the side of your ass while he slid himself in and out of you from behind.

Ted and your mom went into the city for a few days while Macy was off at her tennis lesson which left you with an big empty house for the morning. You had contemplated doing a sunrise yoga on the beach or riding your bike along the pier, but a surprise text from JJ had you cancelling all your self-care plans.

Which is how you ended up in your current position- under him, back arched, and feeling his thick cock stretch you out.

“Mm,” you whined, lifting your eyes to his hungry ones as you watched him take you. You felt the cold metal from his rings cling onto your sweaty skin when his hands moved to grip both sides of your hips.

“Mm, play with me.”

JJ’s hands snaked around to your wet clit where he gently rubbed you back and forth. It sent you over the edge as you moaned louder into the pillow you were clenching.

He came into the condom and pulled out of you, collapsing onto your side in a fit of pants. His gold locks were disheveled on his face as his broad chest heaved up and down. You laid in your current position for a few moments, collecting yourself, before springing to the bathroom to get cleaned up.

You expected him to be gone once you got out, but, much to your surprise, JJ was still submerged in your fluffy white comforter, underwear on, scrolling through his phone. Slightly taken aback, you flopped down next to him.

You and JJ had this unspoken no cuddling or pillow talk rule, but you decided that, after three months of fooling around, you could at least engage in small talk.

“Why’d you call me up so early?” you asked, hugging your knees.

“I was at the store and saw your parents getting gas to leave town. Didn’t see you in the car so I thought you’d be home alone,” he smirked, still glued to his phone, “and I was right.”

JJ paid a lot of attention to little things- more so than you thought. Here and there he’d bring up a small fact he remembered about you like how you’d braid your hair before swimming or how he saw you talking to someone he thought you didn’t like. It was odd, but you pushed it aside.

Another thing that always fazed you about him was why he was so open to sleeping with you. You assumed it was him getting off on the satisfaction of fucking a Kook, but the hateful remarks he made the other day on the boat with Rafe confused you.

“Since when did you start hanging out with Topper and Rafe?” he asked, tossing his phone to the side.

You didn’t expect that question from him. “I don’t. Jade just dragged me with her because she’s trying to get with Rafe.”

JJ snorted. “Oh Jade... she has a nice rack. And she can do way better than him, he looks like a celery.”

You giggled at his uncanny comparison. “Hey JJ.”

He lifted his eyebrows, leaning over on his side. “It was you that day wasn’t it? The day you caught me smoking, you’re the one who fucked up Topper’s bike.”

You had always wondered what on earth JJ was running from the day you two met. You almost forgot about it until Topper brought up his messed up bike on the boat. You remembered hearing him whine about it months ago during class, the Monday after, and mentally put the pieces together.

“What’s it to ya?” JJ responded, growing peeved.

You shrugged. “Just wondering. I just don’t get this war between you guys. It’s honestly ridiculous, like what good is throwing shit at each other or punching each other gonna do?”

The light-haired boy groaned and sat up in annoyance. “Of course you wouldn’t get it. You’re a fucking Kook. You can do whatever the hell you want- buy whatever you want, hurt whoever you want- and get away with it. Nothing ever affects you because at the end of the day, you just come straight home to your gated neighborhood with not a spec on your back. You’ll never know what it’s like to not have everything you want!”

You scoffed and crossed your arms, standing from the bed to get away from him. “Well guess what, prick? I actually do know what it’s like. I didn’t always have this stupid life!”

You ran your hands through your hair and avoided his gaze. That was probably the first time you confessed that out loud to someone since you moved. You heard JJ shift a little on your bed as pure silence soon enveloped you both.

Since he was already there, why not just let the entire cat out the bag?

“I use to live in a small town outside of Charlotte. My parents didn’t have a lot but they tried to give me and my sister everything they could. My dad would come home late sometimes- there were days when we wouldn’t even see him. My mom sold clothes, shoes, hats, anything she could make at home so we could eat.” You turned to face him. “And as much as it fucking sucked, I liked it better that way than now.”

“So what happened?” JJ peered up at you with sheer orbs and, for a moment, you forgot about his tactless, cold-blooded self.

You sighed and pursed your lips. “My parents divorced because my dad kept having to leave and I moved homes for a few years. Then my mom met Ted and I was, unwillingly, initiated to this Kook life.”

JJ lifted his eyebrows in shock. “You know most people see that as a like a Cinderella story.”

“Well I see it like hell.”

He let out a soft chuckle.

“I know I should be more grateful of everything, but it’s just hard. And weird.” You’re back sitting beside him on the bed at this point. “Like, I’m just not use to this. I’ve never had a phone with internet until now and my mom keeps wanting me to pretend I’m some preppy fairy. And the kids here all suck. They have no personality other than their clothes and cars, and they don’t like me cause I don’t give a shit about that stuff. I really do hate it here. And I miss my dad. I haven’t seen him in years.”

You plopped your head on the pillow and stared at your ceiling. It was nice to get all that off your chest, especially to JJ who’s been shoving his preconceived notions down your throat.

“Well I almost feel sorry for you,” JJ said jokingly as you playfully shoved him.

“But I get it, kinda. I don’t know. My mom passed away, so it’s just me and my dad. He’s,” he paused for a moment, “he has his quirks, you can say. We don’t get along too well, and he’s too busy working to really give me any real attention. It sucks.”

“I’m sorry,” you comforted as he maneuvered so he was laying down next to you. You both rested side by side, fixated on your plain white ceiling. It was nice to finally talk to JJ without making a snide comment every two seconds.

“Do you think it’ll get any better?” you asked, out of the blue.

“You wanna know the truth?” You turned to your side, tucking your arm under your head, ready for his spiel.

“I think we’re where we are for a reason. Do I wanna get the fuck outta here sometimes? Yeah. But I just know I’m meant to have this life and there’s not much I can do to get out. Just gotta take it day by day.”

“C’mon, you never dreamed of going anywhere else in the world? Traveling?” you raised, a bit more enthusiastic than you intended to let on.

JJ exhaled. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

The two of you laid in a comfortable silence for a while longer. There was, finally, an air of understanding between you.

“Why don’t you come to our side then?” JJ asked after a few minutes. “If you hate it here in Kookville so much, why don’t you try the other end for a change?”

“I don’t know. My stepdad thinks The Cut is literally a death wish. He wouldn’t even let my mom go grocery shopping near there. It’s honestly kinda weird to me why he hates it so much.”

“And he never told you why?”

You shook your head and JJ retreated in thought. “I think he’s hiding something. Probably has a mistress over there to be honest.”

You laughed and hit his stomach. “No! Him and my mom are literally attached by the hip! I don’t know... One day Macy went over to see a friend she met and he just flipped. Went over, took her away and everything. Maybe he’s just classist. I mean, he’s old money so I wouldn’t be surprised. But if he is then he wouldn’t have married my mom.”

“Maybe...” JJ muttered. “I still think he’s hiding something. Could be drugs. You know I see Kook guys come over for coke sometimes. Then, on their lunch breaks, their dads come for the same thing. Father and son bonding if you ask me.”

“Well, whatever it is, we can add this case to our mystery book,” you laughed. A real, heartfelt laugh.

You and JJ spent the remainder of the morning talking about your lives, learning how wrong you each were about the other. He told you about the Pogues and how his friend Kiara, who you recognized from school, hangs out with them despite being wealthy herself. On the other hand, you continued to complain to him about all the stuck up nonsense your mother would make you do- to which he actively listened and pitched in his own amusing opinions.

“What do you need etiquette lessons for? How hard is it to stick your pinky out when you drink?”

The topic then switched to Topper and his crew. You settled on calling them the Veggie Tales which made you both erupt in laughter. “What was your first time like?” you asked bluntly.

He threw you an odd look, but continued. “Tourist at a party. I was 15 and I think she was 17? I dunno, but she sure showed me the ropes that night.” He beamed up at the ceiling, thinking back to the time.

“Aren’t all first times supposed to be really awkward and bad?”

“Maybe. I don’t really remember it. Just her. She was fine as hell,” he had on his dreamy eyes. “What was your’s like?”

You let out a sharp breath. You’d never told anyone about it until now. “Before I left the city I was dating this guy for a little while. He came from farmers, so we did it in his uncles barn.”

“Aw, how romantic,” JJ commented before you smacked him with a decorative pillow.

“Ow! What? I thought every girl’s dream was to do it with the chickens watching.”

Your face knotted. “It was horses. And I still have nightmares to this day about the hay sticking at my ass.”

The boy next to you snickered and went on to tease you about your story, cracking all the farm jokes his little blonde head could come up with.

“I should get going soon,” JJ informed when you both settled down, “Thursdays I meet Kie at The Wreck to help out.”

Your eyes jolted. “Thursday?!”

You soared up from your bed and checked the time on your phone. “Fuck fuck fuck!” Your hands tangled up in your hair in stress. “My debutante lessons!”

“What the fuck is that?”

“I have to go to Chapel Hill, my ferry leaves in 20 minutes,” you explained while hastily shoving heels into your canvas bag. Then it occurred to you that your parents took your car because theirs was in the shop.

“Fuck! JJ did you drive here?”

“Yeah, I parked my friend’s van by the gate,” he answered, still confused at the gibberish you spoke moments ago.

“JJ I need you to take me to the dock right now! Please! I can’t miss this ferry.”

“Alright, alright, hurry up then woman! The van only goes up to 110 on a good day.” JJ struggled to get his clothes back on and didn’t even notice his t-shirt on backwards.

You both sprinted out your house and to the front of the neighborhood, past the gate, and towards a clunky old Volkswagen that was parked on the side of the road. You hurried in as JJ fumbled with the keys before thrusting it in the ignition and speeding off towards the dock.

“Fuck we’re not gonna make it!” you stressed, balling your sweaty palms, as your legs bounced on the torn up seat.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry! She’s old but just give her a minute,” JJ assured before he revved the engine and flew down the street. You were concerned at how he expertly steered the old clunker at 105 miles per hour but were too anxious about missing your trip to bring it up.

He finally pulled up to the side of the dock. You sighed in relief, seeing people still boarding.

“Aaand here we are! With 3 minutes to spare,” JJ announced, flipping his blonde locks, proud of his Speed Racer work.

“Thank you for the ride JJ,” you said as you exited the van, “and the heart attack.”

“Hey, you got here in once peace didn’t you? So I don’t wanna hear it!”

You giggled and shut the door, heading towards the herd of people while you dug in your bag for your ferry ticket.

“Have fun at your degenerate lessons!” JJ called out the window at you before speeding away.

You shook your head with a goofy grin before getting on.

-----------------------------

chapter five

tags: @starkeybaby @obxlife @everydayimfangirling @iamaunicorn4704 @tangledinsparkles @poguesrforlife @thx-quxxn @obxmxybxnk @rororo06 @poguesforlife @ilymarkchan @outrbanks @hazelgirl355 @hsunflower @cinnamon-roll-seth @alotbnouf @tembo-ndoto

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years

Note

winter prompt fill 5, indruck, nsfw?

5: your car slid into a snowbank and i’m the mechanic that comes to tow you

Two hours.

Two fucking hours, that’s how far this guy is from town. But because he’s three hours from the one to the west, it’s Duck’s company that got the call from AAA for a tow. On night three of what's forecasted as a week-long snowstorm. And because it’s that kind of job, the call came in at 4:45 pm. At least he’ll get overtime for this.

Being out of Kepler means the radio has real stations, half of them playing blocks of pop hits and the other half blaring Christmas carols. Duck doesn’t mind either, settles on listening to crooning about sleigh bells and winter wonderlands as he tries to keep the truck from sliding into snow piles.

He’s all prepared to be aggravated at whoever was clueless enough to get themselves stranded and stick him with the four hour round-trip, but the closer he gets to his destination the more he sympathizes. Because this is a rural two-lane highway and not a major through-road, the maintenance is spotty at best. Couple that with the still-falling snow and he’s just glad the guy was in the kind of accident where he could still make a call after it.

The last half-hour he’s down to thirty miles an hour, lets out a groan of relief when the dead taillights of a car reflect back at him. Once he positions the truck and hops out, he rolls his eyes; the sedan doesn’t have snow tires or chains on, something even a person with a Nevada license plate should have known to carry north.

Duck wonders if being unprepared is a habit when the driver steps out in far too light a coat for the weather, shuddering and stuttering out an “Th-thank g-goodness.”

“Guessin you’re Mr. Wilde?”

Pale hair falls over red glasses as the man nods. With his hood up, he looks owlish, guarded. He’s all limbs and edges, and Duck can’t help but think of a stray cat that needs a warm bed and some food.

“Go ahead and get up into the passenger seat. Heat ain’t runnin, but it’s sure as heck warmer than out here. I’ll get her hitched up and we can get going.”

Another nod, the man hunching forward as he scurries into the truck. This is the easy part, getting the damaged car hooked to the truck and freeing it from the snow. The hard part comes when they turn towards town, two hours of darkness and icy roads ahead of them.

“I’m so sorry you had to come all this way. I, ah, did not intend to crash, nor to do so this far from help.”

“Hey, it’s what we’re here for. Gonna be slow goin on the way back, since it’ll be real fuckin embarassin to call a tow truck for a tow truck.”

A snicker, “I picture them as growing exponentially larger, like nesting dolls. A tow truck towing a tow truck towing a tow truck towing a car would be the size of a semi.”

Duck chuckles, “Yeah, it’d be a sight. And a fuckin nightmare for anyone who got behind it.”

The cab is warming nicely, so his passenger pulls back his hood. In the darkness he can tell the pale hair is metallic silver, and there’s a hell of a bruise blooming on his forehead. Duck’s never seen anyone quite like him, and if their survival didn’t depend on his concentration, he’d spend the next hour studying him.

“Damn, got banged up in the crash huh.”

“Yes.” The man gingerly touches the bruise, sighs, “It’s my own fault for being careless.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, nearly spun out on the way to get you from the damn black ice.”

“I wish I could say that was the sole cause, but I was also asleep.”

Duck bites back the urge to scold him; he wants him to be comfortable around him and besides, even if Duck is having a crappy night, this guy is having an even worse one.

“Wouldn’t be the first person who thought they could make it one more town before stoppin for the night and was wrong.”

“True. It’s just that, ah, I’ve been driving three days straight without sleep.”

“Jesus Christ, you on the lamb or somethin?”

In his periphery, he swears the taller man flinches.

“No. Just having bad luck with a chaser of poor choices.”

“Gotcha.” Duck drums on the wheel, “so, uh, Mr. Wilde, what do you do when you ain’t stuck in the snow?”

“I draw. And Indrid is fine…” he peers awkwardly at Duck’s name tag, “Duck.”

“It’s a nickname.”

“Ah. Are you a mechanic as well as a driver?”

“Yep. Do it part-time when I’m not workin at the national forest. Friend of mine, Ned, runs the garage attached to the Cryptonomica.”

“I recall seeing that when I drove through. Quite the Jacks of all trades, you two,”

“Most of Kepler’s got more’n one job. It’s the kind of place that’s always losin fundin or people, just barely stayin afloat.”

“One sympathizes. Do you like your jobs?”

“Trained in forestry, so it’s always what I’ve wanted to do. The mechanic stuff,” Duck shrugs, “nice workin with my hands and beein able to help folks out. And I ain’t half bad at it.”

“I certainly appreciate your efforts. I--wait, hold on, I’m sorry but I need to…” he turns up the radio, playing what Duck assumed was Santa Baby from the melody.

“He is saying ‘buddy.’ What in the world? Why would you change it?”

“Can’t have the fella in the red velvet suit thinkin you’re gay.” Duck jokes.

“Heaven forbid.” Indrid smiles, and Duck likes the expression so much he decides to see if he can get him to do it again.

“You wanna hear a slightly inappropriate joke?”

“Absolutely.”

“How come Santa don’t have any kids?”

“How come?”

“Because he only comes once a year and it’s down a chimney.”

There’s a beat and then Indrid guffaws, covering his face with his hands as his whole body shakes with amusement, “that was horrible, do you have any more?”

Thank god he’s got a wealth of bad jokes tucked in his brain. When he exhausts those he and Indrid trade brainteasers, stopping now and then to talk about their lives. The taller man asks Duck about his jobs, about the woods, and the town, and offers a few anecdotes in exchange. Duck senses they’re about they’re set in a time in his life that’s further away than Indrid would like.

Indrid also readily shares the snacks from his small backpack. Duck eats what he can while still safely piloting the car. Then nearly takes them across the yellow line when Indrid unwraps a Starburst with his tongue, and prays the man will stay in Kepler long enough for Duck to take him to dinner.

-------------------------------------

Given he was expecting a painfully awkward trip at best, Duck’s friendliness is a welcome surprise. Now that they’ve been stuck in the car together for close to two hours, Indrid is confident saying this is most fun he’s had talking to someone in a long time, even before things went all to hell.

It helps that Duck is the picture you’d get if you googled “Indrid Cold’s type”; sturdy, handsome in an unassuming way, undoubtedly pleasant to cuddle, with muscles that Indrid is positive could hold him up against a wall for at least a few minutes. In another life, one that’s so far away he fears he imagined it, he’d wait until they were done with the business portion of this evening, then slip Duck a card with his name in silver letters and his hotel room number on the back. The man is so genuine in his kindness too, Indrid feeling safer in the dark with him than he’s felt in years.

Which makes him feel even worse about what he’s going to do.

“Not too far now.” Duck turns the windshield wipers up a notch, “thank fuck for that.”

Indrid curls forward, holding his stomach, “I, ah, I really hate to say this, but I’m afraid my gas station lunch is coming back up.”

“Shit, okay, lemme pull over.” Duck guides the truck onto the side of the road, “do what you gotta do.”

His hands are on his lap, keys still dangling from the ignition. Indrid lunges over, grabbing them and trying to shove Duck into the door in one go. The mechanic is too fast, yanking the keys to his chest.

“What the fuck man!?”

“I’m so sorry about this!”

“Then fuckin stop!” Duck kicks, misses, and Indrid knees him in the stomach as gently as he can.

“I can’t, I need the truck.”

“Are you fuckin car-jackin me right now?”

“It’s not personal.” He gets the keys away, only for the world to flip ninety degrees as Duck tackles him backwards.

“It sure feels like it is!”

Indrid hoped that his survival instincts would kick in hard enough to make up for the exhaustion and that coupled with the element of surprise would bring him success. Instead, his limbs have no power behind them, and all he can do is curse when the driver flips him onto his stomach, trapping his hands behind his back and pinning him with his body weight.

“Fuck.” It’s a pathetic noise for a pathetic man.

“Explain. Now.” Duck growls.

“I, I, you were right when asked if I was on the lamb.”

“....fuckin what?”

“It was a set up, and I finally, finally got free, and, and I will not go back, I can’t, but if I’m out a car I need a replacement and-”

“And you almost stole a truck that’s got a goddamn tracker in it.”

“Oh.” He presses his face to the seat in shame.

“Somethin tells me you ain’t a seasoned crook.”

“I’m not a criminal at all! I have no idea what I’m doing. I was just going to drive and drive until I hit the coast, I hadn’t even decided what to do after. I, I’m sorry, I waited until we got close to town so you wouldn’t be too far away to walk home safely. I, ah, I wasn’t prepared for having to do this to someone I like.”

Duck shifts above him, mutters, “what the fuck do I do now” to himself, and tightens his hold on Indrid’s wrists.

Indrid whimpers, realizing with horror that his body responded to the mechanics of the fight but not it’s context.

Duck freezes at the noise, and when Indrid hazards a peek the mechanic is staring down in disbelief.

“Are you fuckin hard from this?”

There’s no use in lying, he’s faced worse humiliation than this, “Some. Not on purpose. I, ah, I enjoy rough treatment.”

Duck’s face fills with bitter amusement, “And I like givin it. But not to fellas who nearly steal my truck. Fuckin figures the first guy to flirt with me is doin it for some other reason.”

“That’s not true, my plan involved no flirting.” Indrid huffs, “I was flirting because I think you’re handsome.”

More pressure on his back as Duck leans down to whisper in his ear, grinding against his ass, “Yeah? Were you hopin I’d fuck you in here? Or over the hood when we got back?”

“Maybe.” He manages a smirk.

“Hopin I’ll fuck you now?”

Indrid nods, but Duck doesn’t notice. The mechanic sits all the way back, releasing his hands, “too damn bad, because unlike you, I only take things with permission.”

“C-consider it granted.”

The hand finds his back again, but instead of shoving or grabbing it strokes up and down, “Indrid, I’m serious. I ain’t doin anythin if the only reason you’re offerin is because you think I’ll hurt you if you don’t.”

“I’m not. I want this, Duck, I want to be with you.” He’s going back to jail one way or another after this, unwilling to consider the thought of hurting Duck to get the keys. He’d rather go back with one happy memory and a few minutes of fun freshly stored in his mind.

There’s silence, Duck’s hand still as he thinks. Then it comes down hard on Indrid’s ass, “Okay sugar, happy to oblige you. Besides, seems to me you owe me an apology for that sorry excuse for a car theft.”

Indrid moans loudly when Duck hauls onto his elbows and knees, though it’s the pet name that hits deeper than any of the much-welcome pain. The waistband of his dollar store sweatpants hits his thighs, there’s a pop of something plastic, and then a slick finger is teasing between his asscheeks.

“Vaseline. Great for keepin your skin from cracking in the cold.”

The finger disappears and he whines, pushing his ass back and getting it slapped so hard he yelps.

“Nice try. But this ain’t for you, it’s for me. Don’t got a condom and only got a tiny bit of this left and it ain’t enough to fuck you full on.”

“It’s alright, I like the pain, you could use spit or-”

“Nope” another slap, “that turns into the bad kinda pain real quick. Now open your fuckin legs.”

Indrid does so, gasps happily when Duck slides his lubed-up cock between his thighs.

“Close ‘em and keep ‘em closed. Good, ohfuckyeah that’s good.” The thrusts are already fast, Ducks hands holding his hips in place, “fuck, tell you what sugar, you may be a shitty crook but you’re a damn good lay.”

“Yes.” Indrid moans, scrabbling for a hold on the upholstery.

“Shit, you do like it rough. Like it when I talk like that?” One hand comes down, petting Indrid’s head and brushing his hair away from where it’s stuck over his eyes.

“So much, Duck, please, please, more, I want more AHgod!” Tears slip past his glasses as Duck hits the right side of his ass over and over again. He’s been treated like a criminal mastermind, made miserable because of it, so being nothing more than an eager piece of ass is a welcome change.

“Then I oughta tell you this is what you get for tryin to get one over on me. Think you can throw my ass out in the cold? Gonna turn yours so red you won’t be able to sit for a week.”

He’s so hard it isn’t even funny, and beneath the wonderful cycle of pain-relief-pain-relief his mind chants safesafesafesafe.

“Fuck, Indrid, I’m so fuckin lucky you tried that stunt on me, can’t wait to cum all over that cute little ass, ohyeah, fuck, fuckyeah.” He pulls out, cum spurting onto Indrid’s ass and legs and Indrid hears his own voice saying “thank you” as he does.

As he’s contemplating what form of begging will earn him an orgasm, he’s flipped onto his back, one calloused hand pressing him down by the shoulder while the other jerks him off. He squeaks and squirms, one palm thwacking into the door as his right leg catches the steering wheel.

“Sensitive, sugar?”

“Yes.”

“Shoulda thought of that before you bent over for me.”

“TechnicallyAH, you, you’re the one who bent me over.”

Duck jerks him extra hard in reply, grinning. The sight of him is just the right balance of menacing and protective that Indrid only needs two more bucks of his hips before he’s cumming. The mechanic works him through it, squeezing him roughly just to hear him whimper (Indrid’s certain of it).

He sits back and starts putting his clothes in order as Indrid lays there, panting from exertion and the weight of reality on his chest.

“I don’t suppose you have something I can, ah, wipe off with before you take me to the station?” He asks softly.

“I’m not taking you to the police, Indrid.”

“What? Why?” He bolts up, his mind screaming that he shouldn’t ask too many questions lest it make Duck change his mind.

“I’m not sure what kinda guy fucks someone and then hands them over to the cops, but I’m damn sure I don’t wanna be one.”

“You’d do that without even knowing the full truth?”

“Wouldn’t mind if you told me.” Duck starts the car, adds “seatbelt” as he pulls back onto the road.

Indrid gets his pants up and buckles in, huddling in on himself, “As you probably guessed, my name isn’t Wilde. It’s Indrid Cold. Wilde was the man I stole that car from, who also had a very nice AAA plan it seems. I am, or was, an architect. Quite talented, if I do say so myself. And many other people said so, once upon a time. My firm got a contract with a certain large city to design and help build a bridge. I was head of design, and I was certain this would be the project that made my name. It did. Just not how I hoped.”

Duck slows down as they reach the edge of Kepler.

“Have you ever heard of the Silverlake Bridge?”

“Ain’t that the one that collapsed a few years agooh, oh shit was that your bridge?”

“Yes. Halfway through the project, I became concerned that certain elements of the design would not be as stable as they needed to be and might collapse without warning. The higher ups said it would require a larger budget to do the new, far safer design, but gave me the go ahead to finish my proposal of the securer model. They accepted that design, and I thought that was the end of it. Turns out, they funneled the money needed for the better bridge into their own pockets, both my bosses and the representatives from the city. Unbeknownst to me, they built the weaker bridge. When it collapsed I” he takes a deep breath, the memories surfacing in a tidal wave, “I was shocked, and prepared to accept responsibility, as I could not understand how the design failed. It was only when the investigation revealed how it failed that I understood my warnings had been ignored and I was being set up as a fall guy. Not only for the collapse, but for the missing funds, my bosses swearing up one side and down the other that they’d given the money to me to manage. They’d had this planned for months, and so had built our communication in such a way that I had no proof the money hadn’t come to me. Thus I was blamed, tried, and convicted, and in the minds of many I am responsible for the death of 67 people.”

The engine shuts off and he looks up to see them in an auto garage. Duck is turned to him, face so sad and sympathetic that Indrid could almost believe..

“You think I’m telling the truth.”

“I know you are. Not sure how, but even though I ain’t much of a liar myself, I can usually tell when someone is bullshittin me.”

“I don’t want to go back to prison.”

“You won’t.”

“Duck I, I can’t ask you to hide me, that could put you in danger of arrest.”

“There’s all of four cops in Kepler, and I’d bet my life no one here could pick you out of a line-up as a ‘disgraced architect Indrid Cold.’ And if we need a cover story, Ned’s got a knack for ‘em.”

“We?”

Duck cups his cheek and Indrid leans into it, “You and me. Indrid, I think fate is a load of bullshit, but I can’t shake the feelin me pickin you up tonight was meant to be. Lemme help you, please.”

Indrid sets his hand on Duck’s own, “Okay. Ah, where do I stay? I have fifty dollars left.”

“Could stay with me if you want. No strings attached.”

“Is that your way of letting me down gently?”

“My way of saying you don’t gotta fuck me to have a place to live. If you wanna fuck me just because, say the word and I’ll rail you into next week.”

“I’d like both those things so very much. Though right now all I want is to sleep.”

Duck leans forward, kissing him so chastely that the following lovebite is all the more thrilling.

“In that case, sugar, let’s get you home.”

#Indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #winter fills #mechanic au #on the run

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hubbie22 · 4 years

Text

Tears Ricochet Pt 3

Tagged: @jennyggggrrr

A/N: let me know if anyone wants to be tagged! Enjoy my angsty sad trash 😊

Everyone around Liv changed, from the person they used to be to who they were now. In those five years she spent comatose, they were growing and finding themselves.

Now, it was her turn.

“What excited you before the accident?” Dr Styles asks her one day, it seemed like an odd question for a doctor to ask his patient. “What did you enjoy?”

Her brows knit together as she thinks, “I loved photography.” She majored in Art History in uni, and from what she could remember she was a photographer for a magazine. She could remember tagging along on a few tours with the boys, taking candid photographs. That seemed like another lifetime ago, and in truth it was. Her face lights up, “It used to be my job.”

“You should get back to it.”

“Yeah?” She hangs on his words, but then she remembers how she approached everyone. “You should tell that to my friends.”

“I can’t keep depending on y’all for a free handout.”

Freddie rolls his eyes, “Nonsense! Don’t be dramatic! Besides, I can’t legally adopt you. I checked.”

Liv looks at him, “Are you joking?”

Freddie deadpans, “No.”

“I’m almost 30 years old.”

“And your point?” Freddie says with a mischievous grin.

“You aren’t finished with PT and your hospital appointments.” Chrissie says she looks like a frazzled mother. “Bloody hell! You’ve been up for a few months!”

Promoting Brian to follow with a logical explanation, “You can’t work, no company would be flexible enough to allow you to juggle the amount of appointments you have.”

John looks more sympathetic, “You need to have something that’s not handed to you?”

“Yeah, Deaks.”

“Well we can work that out, can’t we?” Veronica says with a small smile, always the chipper one. Always positive, glass half full type.

Of course, what was worked out was Freddie giving you an allowance for running errands. You really were their child.

“I’ll speak with them. I think it could help you readjust to life. It will also give you a sense of the normality you used to have.”

“You think I could?” It’s a veiled question. It’s loaded with the unsaid thought, you think I could be normal?

“I think you have all the tools to be successful, I think you also have the personality to put this behind you.”

“I wish my friends felt the same way.” She sighs, she was growing tired of their incessant worrying. “They treat me like their child. You know they proposed I stay a week with each of them?” She huffs, “Fred, Deaks, Ronnie, Chris, and Bri devised a plan to share custody of me. Me! An adult! I even heard Freddie enquiring to Miami, the band’s lawyer, if he could adopt me! It started as a joke between us, but he seriously wanted to know!”

He chuckles, before he turns to her. She’s clearly upset, but she needs to understand that they only do so much because they care. “They love you.” He wanted to finish the sentence with and it’s easy to see why, but that would be unprofessional and unethical. “They are being careful, as they should be. Your mind is healing, and so is your body. What you went through was mentally and physically traumatic. Not only that, everything you thought you knew vanished, when you woke up. You can’t blame them for handling you like they have.”

“You think Liv needs a job?” Chrissie looks at the man like she has two heads. She and Brian are sitting on the two chairs flanking Liv, looking like worried parents as Dr Styles briefs them.

“I think she needs independence.” Dr Styles says with a pointed look. “And a job can be that form of independence Olivia needs to feel like she isn’t a burden.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, from what I’ve read assimilating to normalcy to early can cause regression-”

“With all due respect, Mr May, I am the neurologist here. We all want Olivia to be happy and healthy, correct?” Brian and Chrissie nod their heads, “As I thought, then don’t drag her into a depressed state under the guise of helping her. Because that’s what is happening here.”

“What do you even want to do?” Brian looks at her, and she feels like a child getting in trouble. “Have you even thought about that? What if you want to go back to school? Which you could do-”

She interrupts him, “What I used to do, Brian.”

“I’ve already contacted the magazine Olivia worked for, they are more than happy to welcome her back. They are more than willing to accommodate her appointments.” Dr Styles looks at her, and she mouths a thank you to him.

“Well, Brian and I can’t fight that.” Chrissie says with a small smile on her lips, as she watches the way Dr Styles looks at Liv.

The conversation with Freddie, Mary, Ronnie, and Deaky about her new found employment went down fairly well. They accepted it, and for the first time she felt like she was going in the right direction. Maybe they noticed the change in her, when she came home from that first day. A new camera hanging off her neck and a megawatt grin plastered on her face. And how she went from feeling like she was so far behind them, she was no longer paused. She was finally trekking down the intended path, instead of being motionless in the void.

“Surprised you don’t have that old camera around your neck.” Marcus’s fingers grazed over the shiny black metal casing her new camera. She remembered him when he came back from assignment, it felt nice to see a familiar face in the office that wasn’t her boss. And the time apart, did nothing to hinder their working relationship. They picked up where they left off.

“You were attached to that bloody thing, like it was an extension of you.” All it took was one sentence to bring back the memories of that camera, and who bought it for her.

“Open mine!” Roger says with a twinkle in his bright blue eyes, he had been on pins and needles for months about her Christmas present.

She tears open the poorly wrapped paper, Roger was many things- a master gift wrapper was not one of them. She’s greeted with that camera she’d been looking at in the shop window for the better part of six months. She’s practically flying across the space between them to hug him. “This is amazing! Thank you! Thank you!”

“That was ONE year worth of Reaction gigs.” He says, quite impressed with himself.

“Now I can immortalize you in film!” She says happily as she snaps a picture of him. Blonde hair sticking out everywhere in his mismatched pjs, a beautiful sight on Christmas morning.

“Happy Christmas, Livie.”

“I don’t even know where it is, don’t even know where to start.” Her mind comes out of the memory of a time long gone.

“Start with that mansion you used to live in.” Marcus says, “I’d start there.”

She wondered if Roger threw out that camera, like she assumed he had done with her clothes. Because the moment she stepped over the threshold of Garden Lodge, her room was lifeless slate; devoid of personality. Because of this, she assumed Roger threw out all of her belongings or simply gave them away. It took one look at her for Freddie to decide that she needed a new wardrobe. And she was never one to turn down a chance to go shopping, it reminded her of the old times, when Fred and Rog had their Kensington stall. She knew something was off when Deaky told her he had possession of her dad’s records. She knew there was something more to that, something Deaky wouldn’t tell her. And she let that be, because what’s the point of dragging up something Deaky clearly didn’t want her not to know.

She wondered if Roger erased every trace of her from the Surrey house.

“Really?” Liv looks at him, they were going to go from a two bedroom flat to buckingham palace? “I didn’t know the Queen was selling one of her properties.”

“Oh come on, Livie! It’s bloody brilliant!” His blue eyes dance with the possibilities of the future they could have here. He’s dragging her around every room, his voice echoing of the emptiness. He’s already pointing out what would go where.

“And the kids have their own rooms.”

That caught her off guard, “Kids?”

“Well, yeah!” He opens up the door to one of the superfluous bedrooms in the ten bedroom home. Sunlight pours in from the windows. “Imagine your hair, my eyes, my talent our kids will rule the world.”

“I guess I don’t have talent?” She punches him in the shoulder.

“In other areas.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

She rolls her eyes, pretending she didn’t hear him.

“Well what do you think?”

“It’s very practical.” She says with a shit eating grin. “Save us loads on heating. And a garage for every one of your lovies.”

“You’ll always be my number one.” He pokes her cheek, and bops her nose.

“Yeah, yeah. Keep it in your pants.” She pushes him off.

“What do ya say?”

“I’ve always wanted to live like the Addams Family, I suppose.”

“We are very creepy and kooky.”

“This it?” The gruff voice startled her back into reality. She could go anywhere she wanted, and yet she couldn’t go home.

“Yeah.” She says handing the man his money. She exits the car, she can hear the gravel crunching as her legs carry her to the front door. It was an alien feeling, ringing the doorbell to what was once your house.

The door opens after what seems like years, and she’s facing Roger. “Livie.” He slips back into his old nickname for her so easily. He looks like he wants to pull her across the doorway and into a hug, like he used when he came back from touring.

But he doesn’t.

“Can I?” Her teeth are chattering from the cold.

“ ‘m must be freezing!” He says as he steps to the side letting her walk into the foyer. “Come on, let’s get some tea in you, yeah?” He takes her coat, and hangs it on the bare rack. She wonders if they get any visitors? Have the sounds of the wild parties been replaced with the sounds of baby toys and children shows?

He leads her to the kitchen, she notices the cabinets are no longer light, but now dark. The whole of the kitchen is completely re-done, it’s no longer light and airy, but dark and chic. The whistle of the kettle startles her from looking at the kitchen, and him from looking at her. “Here.” He lays out two mugs, “And of course the most sugar for you.” His eyes twinkle as he overloads her tea with sugar.

“Surprised you remember.” She blows on the teacup, relishing the warmness pooling in her hands.

“Kinda hard to forget, you like sugar with a splash of earl grey.” He gives her a cocky grin, before he motions her to follow him to the living room.

She walks down the hallway and into the living room, none of the pieces of furniture she bought for the house stayed intact. All of it was replaced with new pieces, emulating the French countryside in an English country home. Ironic. She smiled when she saw the maroon colored antique couch she bought at a Kensington market so long ago.

She settles down on the couch, “You kept it.”

He sits across from her on some chairs, she remembered Roger picked out. “ ‘Course I kept.” She wants to ask if this was the only thing he kept of hers? Since, he threw everything else out.

The silence around them is deafening, so many emotions and unsaid feelings hanging between them.

“So, I’ve been working at the magazine.” She looks around her, seeing the frames that used to house pictures of her and Roger have been replaced with Roger’s new life. She swallows the bitter bile that raises up in her throat.

He smiles at that, remembering how much she loved her job.“Fred told me, I’m proud of you. You always enjoyed what you did.”

“Marcus mentioned my old camera and I thought it might be here.” She cuts right to the chase, she didn’t want to be in this house longer than she absolutely had to. “Do you have it?”

He runs his hands through his hair, “ ‘M sorry Livie, but-”

“But, what?”

“I dropped it.”

She let out a breath, she didn’t even know she was holding in. “What do you mean you dropped it? That camera cost you one year of reaction gigs? How can you drop something that was in a case, anyway?”

He looks at her with those damn puppy dog eyes, she knows that look. It’s the look he used to give her when he wanted forgiveness. “I had taken it out of the case, see if you had film in it. Dom wanted to look at it and it happened so fast.”

“You lied.”

“What?”

“You said you broke it, but you didn’t.”

Roger tries to reason with her, “It was an accident.” But she will have none of it. She knows he isn’t telling her the truth. It was so very like Roger to skirt around it, telling bits of it to make his conscious lighter.

“Just like it was an accident, that John ended up with my dad’s old records?”

He was taken aback by that, she can practically see the guilt radiate off of him. “I was in a bad place. I wasn’t myself.” He bites his lip, “For the first two years, I listened to those records before every show. My way of keeping you with me.” He looked at her, a little smile playing on his lips, “Bloody hell it hurt. It was like I was flayed open, and every nerve ending going off. And I just had too...” He can’t look at her for the next part, “A roadie told me that if I wanted to forget, he had something. And for the first night, I could look at a woman and not see your face. And it felt good... so good not to be flayed open for a few hours.”

Her eyes began to water, so she bites her lower lip to keep the tears from pouring down. And for the first time, it’s Roger that is broken. But like all things concerning him, whatever he is feeling she takes on. “So, I threw them out. I threw them out thinking. I packed everything I had of you up. I figured if I buried myself in coke and groupies, I wouldn’t feel so raw and open.”

She stands up, she can’t believe him. “Did I really mean that little to you?” She asks, voice cracking.

“You meant everything to me. How could you ever doubt that?” He’s holding her face in his hands, and she can feel every one of his calluses on her cheeks. He has more than she remembered, another sign of time slipping away.

“Meant as in past tense.” She takes his hands off of her cheeks, “Something that’s over, that’s done now.... like us.” She steps away from him, “You put me in something that meant to you, when you trashed my dad’s records. And I didn’t mean everything, when packed my whole life into boxes. Just like all the other things you don’t want to want remember, you filed me along with everything else that meant something to you.”

“No, please don’t think that… please.” She’s opening already headed to the foyer, determined to get the hell out of this house. But, Roger won’t let her go. It’s ironic, that he was so eager to once. And now he can’t. “I was high and just dead inside, I went back for them. I’d always go back. And John had them, because he knew. He knew, I’d always find my way back to you.”

She whips around, looking at him. He looks like the scared little boy, she used to know. “But you didn’t, you didn’t come back this time.”

“I wanted too, bloody hell I wanted too.” She wonders if he is going to start crying. His blue eyes are glassy. “The worst thing I ever did was what I did to you. And I’ve done some shitty things. Telling you about my life now, watching you try to understand and accept that I gave up on you. I couldn’t hold onto you, without killing myself.” He tries to hold onto her hand, but she pulls it away. He flinches at her reaction to him. “‘M so sorry that for the first time in a lifetime, I can't come back to you.”

Her voice is breaking, “Would you? If you could, would you?” An unanswered question hanging in the air. Would you trade what you have now, for what you had?

“I- I don’t know if I could. It’s like half of me is screaming to keep you, whatever the cost. But, the other half of me can’t do that. But then I think of not having you in my life as anything, not even my best friend. And I’m angry at myself, at the world- at how cruel time can be.” There it was the truth laid bare.

“When you feel that way you should look what time and the world have brought you.” She tries to smile, but she doesn’t have the energy. “As much as I want you to say you’d change it, that you’d come back to me…. I don’t think you would.” She bites her lip, a nervous habit. “Not now, not after knowing what it’s like to have a family of your own. Having what you always wanted, what you craved but never had.” She opens up the door, “Goodbye, Rog.”

Between appointments with Dr Styles, and work she kept busy. She kept herself away from Roger, it was easier that way. It was easier than pretending she wasn’t dying inside, every time she saw him and Felix. It was better that way. She was better that way.

“She’s sick? Again?” She can hear Roger’s voice waft up the grand staircase of Garden Lodge. “I brought Felix to see her.” He sounds defeated, because he pulled out the big guns this time.

“Liv seems to always be feign illness, when you pop by Roger darling.”

“What the fuck happened between you two?” Leave it John to be the one who would cue to the chase. “One minute she’s playing on the floor with your kid, next minute she doesn’t want to see you.”

“She showed up the other day at the Surrey House.”

Freddie made a gasp that could belong in a soap opera. “Oh my the scandal! Liv showing up announced! None of your gentlemen callers will want you now, that you have been left sullied by an unchaperoned visit!”

“Shut it, Fred.” Roger’s voice is low.

“Some guy at work told her about her camera. She wanted it and I had to tell her Dom broke it. It somehow all went up in flames after that.”

“You have a tendency of doing that.” Brian quips with a snort.

“What exactly did you do, Rog?” Freddie asks

“Isn’t it obvious?” Deaky scoffs. “He told her the truth, the whole truth. Didn’t you, Rog? He had to tell her about the drugs, the women, and how he basically had a massive purge of her from his life.”

“Deaky, darling, don’t be rude.”

“I’m being honest.”

“So was I.” Roger says flatly. “And it cost me everything.”

“Your short term and long term memory seem to be functioning at a normal rate.” Dr Styles says, as he jots down notes on his chart.

“That’s good, right?”

“It’s excellent, Olivia.” He’s the only one to call her by her full name. It makes her feel like someone else. “So much so, I’m signing your release forms.”

This shocked her, she hadn’t expected to be released only nine months after waking up. She thought she would be in and out of hospital for years.

“Really?”

“Consider yourself officially discharged from my care.” He says as he hands her the paperwork. “Of course, you will have your routine checkups with your primary, but no more weekly visits.”

“I’ll miss those visits. For a time, it was the only stability I had.” She hops off the exam table, “Alright, I guess this is goodbye, Dr Styles.” She extends her hand for him to shake.

He didn’t want to say goodbye. “It doesn’t have to be.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well you aren’t my patient anymore, that means anything is possible.”

Her brow raises, “Anything?”

“Like is having dinner tomorrow night at seven?” He says hopeful, and praying to whatever god above he didn’t just ruin this. Because he was smooth with the nurses here, he’d even go as far to say he was popular. But, bloody hell she made him nervous.

She laughs, “I’d like that.”

#roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader #queen imagines #roger taylor #roger taylor x y/n #roger taylor angst #ben hardy! roger taylor #roger taylor fanfiction

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wanderingworldwarrior · 4 years

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Of Twisted Emotions - Chapter Twenty-Six: The White Witch and the Golden Sorcerer

The fates smile upon them, Sigrid is sure of it. The day has finally arrived and there’s not a cloud in the sky. She had fretted over nothing, just as Asmund had told her.

She smiles at the thought and turns to look at the man in question, and he gazes back at her with an expression so familiar it threatens to bring tears to her eyes.

Sigrid is undeniably stunning in her dress and bridal crown. There are strands of white flowers and golden ribbons woven through her dark locks. She’s swathed in fabrics of gold, her jewelry matching. It had cost them a fair amount of coin to have the dress made, but all those who are present find it worth it.

Asmund looks dapper in his ornate wedding attire, as close to regal as he’ll ever be. He has forgone his sorcerer’s robes for the occasion, which is admittedly unorthodox for a master sorcerer. All ceremonies are carried out in their guild’s attire, as representation of their dedication. But the way he sees it, he’s marrying this woman – the love of his life – as Asmund, not Master Asmund. If the guild wishes to have words with him on the matter, so be it.

But not today.

The wedding party is gathered in a small courtyard just outside of Brenna’s home. Sigrid and Asmund’s new house will be across the city, closer to the sorcerer’s guild. Master Hammond had helped them procure it, and while it is not a large house, Asmund knows they’ll have no trouble making it feel like home.

There’s a tree within the center of the courtyard, its leaves a beautiful green. This is where the attendees have gathered. This is where Asmund and Sigrid are to be wed.

It is a Friday, as is customary. With their friends and family so few, the gathered group has no trouble finding room to sit or stand. Golden bubbles of magical origin float through the air, and calla lilies bloom around the courtyard where none had grown days before.

From underneath the tree, Sigrid and Asmund look from one another and briefly scan the small crowd.

There is Brenna, smiling broadly with tears in her eyes. Also present are a number of their old friends and fellow servants of the palace, as well as a few members of the sorcerer’s guild. Lady Freydis has shown face to support Sigrid, although the duchess looks around the courtyard with poorly concealed distaste.

The ceremony begins, slightly different from Asgard’s norm, as each is missing important family members of such a union.

They quote ceremonial texts and ask blessings of the fates. The crowd bears witness to their vows and turns to Brenna when it is her turn to give her approval of the union. Her words are solid and sure, her eyes clear of the confused haze that once plagued her. After years of helpless confusion, at last she is living in the present, and she is happy.

When Brenna falls silent there is no one else to continue this part of the ceremony. The lack of other family members to bless the marriage does not seem to bother the couple, who both beam happily at Asmund’s mother.

Asmund does not skip a beat as he moves on to the next ceremonial tradition. He draws a sword from the scabbard belted around his waist, eyes back on Sigrid.

“I present to you the sword of the family Brennason,” Asmund claims. He flashes the blade towards the crowd – an old silver sword, ornate but dull, with metal spirals and filigree covering its handle. Runes are etched down the blade of the sword; ones of prosperity and luck. “It is to be a symbol of our union, and the joining of our families.”

He gives the sword to Sigrid, who holds it in one hand, its tip dipping close to the ground. Asmund speaks once more. “It is to show that I swear to protect you. To love you. To cut a path through this life together, until we reach the end of our days. And then ever on, come what may.” He gazes at her while he speaks, and as she sniffles, he says, “You have the strongest will of anyone I’ve ever met. Talented, strong, and beautiful. Oh, so beautiful, Sigrid. I am honored to take you as my wife.”

Sigrid’s truly crying, although her smile is the biggest and brightest thing Asmund thinks he’s ever seen. It warms his heart like nothing else ever could.

Sigrid takes a moment to compose herself and then meets Asmund’s gaze. “I’ve no family sword,” she tells him. “The only blade I own is this.” She draws a dagger from the sheath attached to her dress belt. When she holds it up, it is clear that this is the dagger you made for her, so long ago. “Will it suffice?”

“Of course,” Asmund says.

“Then I present it to you,” Sigrid tells him, “in good faith, as a symbol of our union.”

Asmund takes the dagger. It is a blade of darkness. It saved Sigrid’s life, and it was left unburnt in the flames of Asgard.

He knows what it means to her.

“Asmund, you are truly the love of my life.” Sigrid’s cheeks are flushed, although she does not waver in her words. “I admire you. From your wit and intellect to your adorable admiration for all things magical. You cared for me when no one else did. I was not an invisible servant girl in your eyes. I am proud to name you not only my friend, but my husband.”

Asmund’s grin is one unburdened, all else set aside and forgotten.

As they exchange golden rings, thoughts flash between their minds, images and feelings that come unbidden.

Memories.

Talking and cleaning together in the kitchens. Asmund’s boyish smile and Sigrid’s flushed face. The pair sitting across from one another in the gardens right before their first kiss.

Embroidering a handkerchief with Asmund’s name. Working side by side in Brenna’s shop. Learning magic and practicing enchantments.

Tearful hugs and feelings of safety.

Through it all – through war, blood, and death – they’ve kept faith in one another.

And ever on, Asmund repeats in Sigrid’s mind.

As the party breaks to adjourn to the wedding feast, Sigrid and Asmund both cast their gazes around the courtyard a final time. They search the darkened alleyways and peer into the shadows.

Congrats, kiddos, your voice whispers through their thoughts. I’m really happy for you both.

Sigrid smiles and Asmund takes her hand. They never doubted you, even if they would not have begrudged your absence. They’re well aware you are not supposed to be in the city.

Asmund and Sigrid never do spot you in your place on a nearby rooftop.

It’s as Willow always says: No one ever looks up.

---

You’re aware you’re risking everything by coming to the wedding, but even so, you had always intended on attending. Your unstable portals were the only thing that made you hesitate, but your power had been functional enough to get you to the outskirts of the city.

You stand and gaze over the empty courtyard. A few of the golden bubbles have floated up to your level, and they pop one by one as the magic dissipates.

You wonder if Heimdall has alerted Odin of your presence in the city. You have no doubt he knows you’re here, although you hope the Watcher will spare you on this one occasion. You’ve kept your word until now, and you’ve been playing nice.

“I’m leaving,” you say aloud, just in case.

You hop down from the rooftop, lightly pushing your energy towards the ground to soften the impact. You take a few steps down the alley, blanketed by the harsh shadow of the building. You intend to go back the way you came. You can step into your shadows once you reach the edge of the city and be back in time to report to Destin.

You tell yourself you’ll do this, but you find your feet won’t listen to you.

You instead walk into the courtyard, eyes traveling up and up until you’re staring at the top of the distant palace, its golden walls gleaming in the setting sun. You’d done a fantastic job of avoiding it from the rooftop, focusing intently on the proceedings below.

You grimace and bite your lip. The wordless thought escapes before you can get a hold of yourself.

Loki?

Warrior.

His answer is instantaneous. A short laugh escapes you, born of shock instead of humor. The situation seems quite surreal.

Here you stand in Asgard, a prince’s voice in your thoughts, as if no time has passed at all. No decrees or betrayals, no tesseracts or scepters.

You…. Are you in the city? his voice asks. Breaking your agreement with Odin, are you? It took you long enough.

I had a thing to go to, you reply as you turn away from the palace. Worth it, even if I get smited or something.

Odin is quite fond of smiting, Loki notes, amusement curling around his words. How long have you been here?

A while, you say.

Then perhaps you’ll make it out whole.

You navigate the streets of Asgard, sticking to the shadows and doing your best to stay out of sight. It’s easier than you thought it’d be. You remember these streets, after all. You’d ran them repeatedly after Asgard had burned.

What is on your rebellious agenda, then? Loki asks.

Currently, I’m leaving, you say. I might be dumb enough to risk being here for a bit, but I’m not quite dumb enough to press my luck.

A shame, Loki says, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

What sort of smile, you wonder. Is he sad? Perhaps a bit wistful? It doesn’t seem right to make such assumptions.

A shame, you echo back to him. You turn a few corners to avoid the market. You sound… better.

More like myself, yes, he says, the words coming slower this time. There’s a beat of silence, and then he adds, As do you.

I am, you say, moreso in hope than belief.

You’re well, then? he asks.

You scale the side of the building next to you when you hear voices a little too close for comfort. Well enough, you think to Loki as you take a seat on the side of the sloped roof.

You’re facing Asgard’s palace again.

I’d ask to see you. His voice is hushed, and you almost confuse it with thoughts of your own.

You mean you want me to bail you out.

He laughs. A soft noise, familiar and… it makes you think of green.

What a tempting offer that I know you have no intention to make good on, he says, his tone dry but not unfriendly. I wouldn’t ask you to do so.

Sure, you say. I definitely believe you. A hundred percent.

There’s no cell keeping you here, however, Loki adds. I’ve been waiting for word of your disappearance, and it has yet to reach my ears.

You don’t answer, turning away to see how far from the city outskirts you are. There’s still a decent way to go, but at least the voices below are fading.

Loki says your name. Why linger? he asks.

You want me to leave?

No, he says evenly. I’m simply curious.

I don’t know, you answer.

Well, we both know that’s a lie, he states. It would be easier for you, if you quit Asgard and rid yourself of Odin’s law.

You jump to the next roof over, landing as quietly as you’re able.

I know there are other places for you to go, filled with people that would undoubtedly welcome you with open arms, Loki muses. The Healer has remained on Midgard with your… companions.

Next roof. You think your feet thudded a bit too loudly this time, but you continue moving.

And if you don’t prefer the mundane, which I know you don’t, then there’s always your home to return to, Loki continues.

My home, you say, the phrase repeating and overriding everything else. You see the palace in your mind’s eye, the training grounds, Loki’s room.

You can’t shake the visage fast enough, and you know he’s seen it, too.

Even now? Loki asks, his voice quiet as it floats through your thoughts.

You don’t answer for a while, and he doesn’t press. You focus on the sounds of the city as you jump to the next rooftop.

Until, at last, you cave.

Stupid, I know, you think to him. But you’ve always called me a fool, so it shouldn’t be a surprise to you.

There is no laugh this time, no banter like you expected.

I don’t understand, he says instead. When you don’t reply, he asks, Why?

‘Why’ what? You’re stalling.

You need to jump down to the street, but you’re frozen in place. He’s asked the question you’ve been refusing to ask yourself, and you don’t know if you’re ready for the answer.

This time, he’s the one that remains silent.

I…. Your gaze is drawn to the golden palace yet again. Its windows accuse you of lying to yourself, its gardens and halls holding ghosts that aren’t quite ghosts anymore.

He’s alive, and so are you.

You can’t help but think of the wedding. Siggy and her half-pint, making vows and doing ceremonies. You’d never been to such a thing on your home world.

Your thoughts stutter to a stop when you realize they might unintentionally slip to Loki. Marriage has never been an easy subject. And yet…. At this point, what would it matter? What would it change? You feel like your fear is almost laughable.

You want to know why I’m still here? you ask.

Indeed.

You worry your lip. What if it’s because of… what if it’s something… awkward?

Those are the best sort of secrets to discover, don’t you think?

You shake your head and decide you have nothing else to lose. May as well get it all out. Look… I… you already know that where I’m from, my people don’t have ‘marriage’.

There’s a beat of silence, and before you can continue, Loki says, Well, I can’t say I expected our conversation to take this turn.

Shut up, just listen. Your heart is pounding in your ears. My race of people don’t have marriage, we have bonds. You try to focus your thoughts so faces won’t flash in your mind’s eye. This is hard enough already. Bonds don’t have to be romantic. Like me and Will, we’re bonded. But when they are romantic… it’s a thing that just… happens. It’s when your life changes because of that other person. It’s when you choose to spend your time, your life, with them. It’s why Willow chose to stay on Earth with Rogers. And… it’s why I’m still here.

You wait on him to say something – anything – and surprisingly, you don’t have to wait long.

The bond you speak of…. ‘While you live, I want you.’ Your stomach pinches at his words, and you hear them repeat in your memory, when he first spoke them to you. Loki’s thoughts swim through your mind again, saying, Am I right in suspecting this sentiment could be the beginnings of such a bond?

That’s all you have to offer him on this topic. At least for today. I don’t want to talk about it, you tell him, words fading to a soft whisper. Not yet. Maybe not even for a long time.

I see, he replies. And his tone is soft, too. But one day.

One day. Yes.

You rub at your eyes. They sting, and it makes you tired. Or perhaps it’s the emotional toll. Either way, you’re exposed by your own doing. He could really hurt you right now. He has hurt you. And yet….

I… can’t make myself give up on you. It feels strange to finally tell him.

You force yourself into motion, moving away from the past and its ornate palace. You continue through Asgard’s streets on reflex, your thoughts busy.

I cannot fathom why, Loki tells you.

You’ve slowly been feeling more… normal, you say. When you try to talk to me, each time, you’re kind of… you again. Like you mentioned earlier.

I was always me, he reminds you. Through all of it.

I know, you say. I was, too. You hesitate, and then add, I guess in a weird way, I’m glad I can understand. Still hurts, but at least I’m not as confused.

He doesn’t reply for a beat, and you lose yourself in the methodical rhythm of your footsteps.

I’ve wrongs to amend. His voice breaks the silence, his tone somber. There’s more battles to come. More war. I’ve seen it, and was almost a part of it…. Was a part of it.

We still need to know more about all of that, you say. It’s something you’ve been thinking about, too. And I feel like you know more than you’re telling.

There’s no use repeating myself when my warnings fall on deaf ears, Loki says tightly. Odin does not care to listen. Not yet. But it’s inevitable.

Foreboding, you tell him. Maybe Thor can convince him to do something about it.

Ha!

You roll your eyes at his laugh and shift your weight, preparing to dash to the next alley. The sunset has bathed Asgard’s streets in red.

Hopefully we’ll have things… sorted out, or settled, or something before worse comes to worst, you say.

If we want to live, I suppose that would be a good start, Loki says, his thoughts laden with snark.

I think… we both want to live, you reply, ignoring his attitude. Right?

He’s silent, and you realize you’re standing still. This trek through Asgard is taking forever, and you’re not interested in getting caught.

Will our lives ever fall back into step, murderess?

You can sense no ill will behind the old nickname. You dart around the street’s corner, plotting your course in your mind. Loki silently waits, probably seeing your mental map as you focus.

When you’re back on track, you sigh and turn your thoughts to the conversation at hand. Maybe? I don’t know…. It’d have to be a slow walk. We’ve been through… well…. It’s a lot. You pause a moment, your mind providing you with a plethora of unwanted examples. I know what you did… and what I did. But the scepter isn’t a viable excuse for those actions. So, right now, I’m just… not sure.

I don’t expect your forgiveness, he says quietly, his voice almost fading completely for a moment. I hope you know that wasn’t what I was implying.

You grimace, fighting back another heavy sigh. I know. As far as forgiveness goes… I’ve gotta forgive myself, first.

Your actions were nothing compared to mine, warrior.

You bite at your lip as you glance at your gloved hand. But it’s not a comparison.

I see.

You tug on your glove, pulling it farther down your wrist so that you cannot see the metal embedded in your skin. It truly is remarkable magic. Maybe Asmund will be able to persuade Sig to join him in the sorcerer’s guild. Or maybe Frigga will take an interest in her – she’s seen your hand with her own eyes, after all.

You still aren’t quite used to it, but you know it’s strong, protective magic. And you will always wish the best for Sigrid.

I’ll be around, you tell Loki. You and I both know this is just the beginning. I don’t plan on letting some space jackasses get away with all of this.

I believe we may count among these ‘space jackasses’, depending on who is asked, Loki says.

You snort and roll your eyes.

You figure the conversation is over, but after a minute or two, Loki speaks again. It is good to hear your voice.

It reminds you of being half-asleep in his bed, late in the night, when it is easier to say such things. Yeah. Heh. I guess it is. Maybe we… can talk again.

I’d like that.

You must be really bored in there, then, you say, tone light.

Dreadfully so. Though, I suppose I’d speak to you regardless.

Always the charmer, you think to him. You drop the sarcasm and realize that the teasing banter is nostalgic and… almost normal. You haven’t felt such a normal in over a year. It’s… good to have you back, Loke. I don’t expect everything to be the same, but….

The silence stretches, until at last he asks, Are you suggesting we start over?

No. Your answer is immediate and blunt. It’s impossible to start over at this point. We’re not really wiping the slate clean…. There’s stuff on our slate that isn’t gonna come off. But we can still wipe it down, and whatever stays… well, I guess we can go from there and see what happens.

You think on your own words, and it makes you feel as if you’re at the beginning of a mountain trail, preparing for the long trek to its peak. Intimidating. It’ll take work.

Naturally.

Such a thing will be quite the hike, yes… but you think it might be possible.

Is that what you want? he asks.

You know Loki’s question encompasses everything. Everything, including him.

To be soft, even through the hurt. To relearn one another and fall back into step on the road ahead.

Is that what you want?

Yeah, you decide. Yeah, it is.

Then I thank the Nine.

---

You hear his approach, the whoosh of air and heavy thud of his landing. You’re surprised at just how familiar the sound has become since you first arrived in Asgard.

“Warrior.”

You stop in your tracks, not two steps over Asgard’s city border. “Thor.”

You turn and face the god of thunder. He’s a few strides away, but neither of you moves closer. It takes you back to the first time you saw him, a mystery man on the back of a horse, across a bloody battlefield.

Emotions war across his face, and when he meets your gaze, your heart hurts.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. “I know I’m not supposed to be here.”

His expression slowly clears, and he gives you a small grin. “And you aren’t.”

“Heimdall?” you question.

Thor shakes his head. “No. I’d heard of your previous servant’s nuptials and came to my own conclusions.”

“Yeah,” you say, “couldn’t miss their ceremony. I figured I’d risk it.”

“I’d expect no less,” Thor says with a chuckle. “And I see I’ve caught you on your journey back.”

“Yeah…. I don’t want to push it. Not supposed to be here, and all that.”

“Which you aren’t here,” Thor reminds you.

“Exactly,” you agree, matching his brief grin.

But the smiles fall, and the two of you are left staring at one another with too many words left unsaid.

“I’m… sorry,” you say, not referring to your presence in the city this time.

A cool breeze whips the flags posted near the city border. You get the urge to tug on your glove, so instead you squeeze your hands into fists and wrap your arms around yourself.

Thor shakes his head. “It has been too long. These absences… both you and Loki… it reminds me of the time just after he left. I do not care for it.”

You wince. Of all of your blurry, distant memories… that one is painfully clear. “I… don’t either. But there’s nothing to do about it, really. I’m going to keep… doing what I’m doing.”

“Fighting with our army, just as before,” Thor states.

“We both know there’s still something bad coming,” you tell him. “Gotta stay ready. Just in case.”

“Is that truly why you choose to stay?” Thor asks.

��Yes.”

The answer comes quickly, but it’s hollow. And you can’t lie to Thor.

You drop your gaze as you say, “… No. It doesn’t matter.”

“I want you to stay. I am glad you have made such a choice, more than once now.”

That makes you look up. Thor’s eye is filled with somber determination, and though he appears calm, a low rumble of thunder echoes in the distance. His red cloak swirls with the wind, his silver armor and winged helm reminding you that he is both a warrior and a prince.

“I’m going to change things,” he says solemnly. “When I am king, I will welcome you home.”

You uncross your arms, tug at your glove, and then adjust your sword belt. Any excuse to blink your tears away.

At last you look up at Thor Odinson. The man that had carried you, broken and bleeding, into a new life you’d never anticipated. The man who had become your friend. Your almost-brother.

You turn away and tear a rift into the dark, the edges fuzzy and periodically sparking with light. You aren’t sure how to answer, your feelings so scattered, but at last you land on, “I’d… love to see that day.”

You hear footsteps, and when you look back you see Thor walking to you. You face him, and he comes to a stop with his hand extended.

You watch him for a moment, hesitant. He seems so sure of such an unsure future. It is hard to admit that you want that hope, too. You want it so bad it hurts.

At last, you hold out your hand, and Thor grasps your forearm firmly. You mirror the action, wrapping your glove around his forearm as well. It is a gesture that has never made you feel as grounded as it does now.

Secure.

Hopeful.

“I swear it,” Thor says.

And you believe him.

---

And that's a wrap, my friends.

I'll post an epilogue, which will briefly go over a few things regarding Loki and our warrior's future, but this is officially the last real chapter of this series. I can't believe we're finally here!

Thank you all for reading, whether you were here from the very beginning, or if you're just joining us now. I can't thank you enough for taking this journey with me.

I wish the best for all of you, and thanks again.

With love, W

@littlemisssyreid @thedoctorlivesthroughbooks @imthinkingaboutthis @verryfuckingpunny @shadows-echoes @auria223 @white-chocolate-mocha-fan @agentpiku @bookscoffeeandracoons @lokibarncs

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#loki x reader #loki odinson #loki fanfiction #fanfiction #loki/reader #reader insert #marvel #OTE update #of twisted emotions

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hikaridemina · 4 years

Text

*Quietly tucks this into the corner* I really want to keep making OC x canon snippets but my confidence wavers. Oh well.

This turned out way more sad than originally intended.

Warnings/tags: Angst, swearing, OC x Canon, OOC

-----

A dim ray of sunlight shone through the darkened bedroom from between the curtains. Fizz’s eyelids fluttered open with the light shining in his vision, his eyes steadily gaining a green glow as they powered back on. He turned over on his side in the bed and was now facing the bat demon sleeping soundly beside him.

He was the first one awake apparently, which was... new. Normally Demina was the one waking him up at the ass crack of dawn, so she must have been exhausted to still be asleep. Well, after what they had done late into the night, it wasn’t too much of a surprise. A sly smile crept over the jester’s face as he thought about it.

After a little while, he carefully slid out of the bed, trying very hard not to wake her up. He seemed to have succeeded, and with the utmost care he grabbed the edge of the blanket and pulled it up to cover her shoulders. He then made his way over to the bathroom, stepping around both of their articles of clothing, including his trademark outfit, that were strewn about on the floor.

He flicked on the light switch as he entered and leaned on the vanity counter to look at the mirror. A frown appeared on his face as he tapped on the shiny piece of metal that started from where his collar bone would be, then extended all the way up to the middle of his neck. The posture collar had a fancy heart engraved on the front, and was a shiny silver which contrasted with the off-white of his torso.

The thing wouldn’t bother him so much if it didn’t stick out like a goddamn sore thumb, but at least it was relatively hidden while he had his clothing on.

Or maybe it wasn’t the collar itself that bothered him, but the reason why it was there. He had gotten careless, let his guard down for a few seconds and it put him out of commission long enough for Demina’s life to be thrown into danger. Luckily, she had managed to get herself out of it before any real harm had happened to her, but...

Still. That event continued to haunt him no matter how hard he tried to push it from his memory, and this fucking collar did nothing else but remind him of it. Well, aside from holding his upper chest together and keeping his head attached. Honestly, he rather would have gone through the long-term repairs for that instead of this ‘quick fix’ they did on him while he was offline. He let out a sigh as he kept staring into the mirror.

Damn, feeling sad sucked. Who knew that actually, genuinely, caring for someone else would make things so complicated.

His attention was then immediately drawn to the person who just had stepped into the doorway behind him, whom appeared to have put on a black t-shirt and shorts after having gotten out of bed. He quickly turned around and forced a toothy grin as he leaned back on the counter.

“Hey Dems! Finally decided to get up, huh?”

“Yeah...” The bat let out a yawn, “What are you doing in the bathroom?”

“... Uhh.” He didn’t know how to answer that, actually. “Just, you know... things.”

Fuck. That was such a Blitzo answer.

She picked up on the awkwardness right away, especially with that fake grin of his, which she was sure if it got any wider his face would probably get stuck like that. She raised a brow at him.

Another thing that sucked was when someone else cared just as much about you and could tell when you were full of shit.

Fizz then froze completely as she walked up to him and placed a hand on his chest.

“It’s the collar, isn’t it?” She said while keeping her gaze down, running her thumb over the heart-shaped engraving.

How the heck did she know? He had never voiced to her how he really felt about it... Maybe she was just too good at figuring these things out.

“Now I know what you’re gonna say...” He gently grabbed hold of her hand to move it from his chest, his fingers lacing between hers.

“You don’t need to feel sorry for it.”

She kept her gaze down, her hand now squeezing his a bit.

“But you got hurt.”

“Well robots can’t really get hurt, so-”

He was taken aback as she shot a piercing glare up at him. Through her angry expression he could spot her bottom lip quivering, along with the dew forming in her eyes telling a completely different reaction.

She threw her other arm over around his shoulders and nestled her face into his neck.

"That's not what I fucking mean..." She took in a shaky breath to try to keep her voice from cracking, but it didn't do much.

"I know you think you can just keep getting into shit, getting fixed over and over again until one day..."

She couldn't hold it back anymore as steady streams began to flow down her face. Fuck, how did it get to this point so quickly.

"I had to-" her voice hiccupped mid-sentence and she had to gulp down her breath before continuing, "I had to fucking see you on the ground with your eyes all black, you didn't answer when I called you, you didn't move, I thought you were... Gone."

For once the jester was speechless. He had no witty remarks, no comebacks, no smartass-ness. All he could do in that moment was stand there motionless as his girlfriend hung on to him, while he continued to clutch her hand like he was never going to let go.

"Dems..."

If he could be crying himself right now, he would be. This entire time he had thought she had gotten out of that terrifying situation unscathed, but it was now apparent that wasn't the case. His free arm coiled around her waist to pull her closer into the hug.

"I... I'm sorry, okay? I couldn't let those bastards get away with trying to hurt you-"

"But you didn't have to chase them!" She interrupted him, her breath hitching again as she had to breathe through her mouth.

"We could have just ran away! We could have got away together and everything would have been fine!"

She unintentionally let out a sob as she buried her face in his shoulder, her large ears folding flat. God, she was such a mess, and now she also felt bad for practically yelling at him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to be such a bitch..."

"N-No you're not bbbeing a bitch!"

Wait, did his voice just glitch out? God fucking dammit that was supposed to have been fixed. He nuzzled the side of her face.

"I'll be more careful from now on, for you."

Demina sniffled as she wiped her face on her arm. She was finally starting to calm down.

"You have to promise, and not just for me either."

"Alright. I, Fizzarolli, promise to stop being a dumbass and scaring his girlfriend."

He smiled at the exasperated sigh he received in response from the bat still nuzzled into his shoulder.

"Stupid fucking clown." She muttered just loud enough for him to hear, a smile also having formed on her face.

"Crazy ass bat." He said playfully in return.

She moved back a bit so she could look up at him, unable to hide her smile.

"How am I crazy?"

"For crying over the stupid fucking clown."

Their smiles widened as they both leaned in to connect for a kiss. The soft moment felt good after the emotional rollercoaster they had just been through.

After the kiss, Demina let go of Fizz's hand and motioned for him to let go of her as well.

"Okay I'm gonna have to kick you out of the bathroom now."

"Oh woe is me."

He unraveled his arm from around her waist, but didn't budge from his spot in front of the vanity as he grinned at her.

"What if I wanted to stay?"

"You are not staying in here when I need it."

"Aww, you never know, I could be into that."

"Ew."

She promptly used one of her wings to push him out before slamming the door shut behind him, whilst he did that wicked chuckle of his that he does every time he acts like a little shit.

At least that unexpected morning drama was over with and he felt pretty much back to normal.

He noticed the clothes that were on the floor had been picked up and put in the laundry basket, with the exception of his jester attire which instead had been laid out at the end of the bed.

He had a different idea though and made a beeline for the closet, sliding the door open to take out a faded violet hoodie. With some effort he managed to slip it over his head, pulling it down over his body. He held his jester ears down in front of himself as he put the hood up and pulled the string to keep it in place.

Now he was perfectly content.

Fizz then moved into the living room to sit on the couch. Moments later, Demina entered the room as well and began to gather her wallet and keys.

"So I have to get some things from the store, you can come along if you want... to..."

She stopped and stared at her boyfriend sitting on the couch wearing her hoodie, which was fine, except there was something missing.

"Where's your pants?"

He shrugged in response.

"Didn't think I needed them."

"Oh for fuck's sake," she rolled her eyes as she went back into the bedroom, a few seconds later returning with his black and white striped pants in hand.

He gave her that shit-eating grin again.

"If it was for fuck's sake, I'd leave 'em offPFT-"

She had thrown the pants over his face.

Yeah, everything was back to normal, alright.

#robo fizz x oc #oc x canon #robo fizz #helluva boss #helluva boss oc #my writing

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ninjakitty15 · 3 years

Text

Chapter 5: A Basic Witch (Loki x OFC Pairing)

"So archery, huh? Let me guess, you were born in the wrong century."

Clint glanced back at me while flying Tony's "borrowed" flying thing I wasn't quite sure was a plane or jet. "You might actually be worse than Tony with those quips of yours."

"You love it really," I teased.

"Love is a strong word, I tolerate it...moreso with a raise."

I cackled. "They not paying you enough to put up with me? Gotta feed the kids somehow though, right? Have you thought about being a hooker, they're always hiring."

"Do you want him to shoot you?" asked Loki though he had a smirk on the entire time I was bugging Clint.

"I could keep talking but then I took an arrow to the knee," I jested. "Not quite the ring I was hoping for there."

"You know, I read about you people," Clint commented.

"What do you mean 'you people'?"

"Necromancers. Don't you normally require certain things to do what you do? Google images suggest you need a staff at the very least."

I snorted but also took out my new smartphone Tony was nice enough to give me and looked up what people thought necromancers looked like, allowing Loki to see what I see as well. "We also apparently only wear black attire and wear bone jewelry. Really? That's still a stereotype? Bone jewelry? Okay some voodoo practitioners might wear that for shock value but it doesn't have any real purpose and more important is super fucking tacky. We're already made of bones, why do we need more and why wear them on the outside if we need more, they're brittle as fuck, especially if they're old. This is where you got your info from, Clint?"

"Not exclusively," he tried to recover.

"So I'm expected to wear the least practical attire and accessories all time? You any idea how much I stick out looking like Skeletor's little sister here without wearing all black all time while dragging some long metal or wood staff like I'm Sarumon summoning orcs against Rohan. Sure I might blend in well enough at night in all black but the stealth is gone with all the bone jewelry rattling with each movement. Let's just throw some chains in there too, I'm sure they won't see me coming then. Seriously, who comes up with this bullshit? When you caught Loki, did you ask if he gave birth to a horse too?"

"You don't think I did?" Loki responded in amusement while snatching my phone and scrolling through all the depictions of what people thought I'd look like.

"From what I'm told, your adoptive father is too arrogant and vain to ride a horse you created."

"Clever girl. You are correct, that is a myth created to deface me more than they already have. Surprisingly he didn't ask me anything, too busy plotting my death after I got in his head."

"Someone's a sore loser," I mused under my breath so only Loki could hear me. "We there yet? And did you find any actual facts about 'my people' or just what the internet told you?"

"We're nearly there....and I'll let you know when I do," Clint muttered.

"We used to need instruments like a staff or something to be fair," I told Loki quietly. "But they are an eyesore for everyone and can easily get lost, stolen, or broken so we adapted and found another way to channel power. You need three things typically, well two now but at one point it was a staff to channel, a jewel to draw from and collect, and a blade to end it all."

"You don't have any of those though, do you? You were found with just what they told you to wear and what powers you had in you. They didn't..."

"You need to be a necromancer to even know what to do with those three let alone wield them for their intended purpose but no, never had a staff for obvious and previously listed reasons. My blade is kept hidden until I need it which thus far I haven't, as for the jewel...that's hidden elsewhere as well." I stopped at a fanart pic of a necromancer wearing all three items in an over the top armored black robe surrounded by bones. "Well that's just pretentious. Who goes around wearing everything they need to gain the upper hand out for all to see?"

"What about that one? I could see you wearing that," Loki purred, pointing to one necromancer woman wearing a cloak and more or less a black leather bikini while raising a skull above her.

"I bet you could, I wouldn't be caught living in that, nice try."

"Alright, we're here as requested, everyone out of my jet," Clint called back to us.

I opened my mouth to point out it was once again Tony's plane but Loki just held up a hand and shook his head, sometimes it was better to just roll with it. "You've damaged his ego enough, let him dream a little." The plane landed in a park that had been conveniently shut off from the public, probably Tony's doing and we hopped out. I took one long deep breath and smiled at scent of fresh salty sea air and a little bit more. Loki stepped out behind me, in his ironically all black suit in place of armor or leisure robes but he didn't seem to stick out in them, just rocked them like a death metal band, hardcore.

"You feel that?" I murmured under my breath so Clint wouldn't know what we were talking to.

"You're right, there is something otherworldly about this place, something strong but subtle."

"Alright you two, I'll be watching you but won't get in your way unless I have to, go and explore Salem," Clint informed us.

I grinned and lead Loki into the heart of witch city. I took him to all my favorite little shops, both the tourist traps and the legit ones where wiccan things are sold, to some of the museums, explained more of the city's history and how it became a safe haven for those with magic in their blood. Eventually we stopped by where the final resting place of the victims were, the memorial stones that often had fresh flowers resting on so they'd never be forgotten. It was empty beside myself, Loki, and the dead so I dropped to my knees then in front of the small stone gated graveyard, my hands digging into the ground to feel for any unrest and breathed out. Let those who linger rest easy and those with unrest tell me how I can help. My eyes shot open completely white as the unquiet spirits came forward. I could feel Loki watching me from where he stood some feet back but kept my attention to the unseen souls asking for peace. When I did all I could for them, my eyes faded back to their normal murky color and I slowly stood up and brushed myself off, signalling Loki to walk over and beside me.

"All of these people were innocent?" he asked me quietly.

"This wasn't about actual magic, this was about fear and power, this is what you get when you mix religion and politics, the innocent burn while the guilty rises."

"And now people celebrate here what their ancestors were accused of."

"I like to think of it as saying fuck you, we are the children of witches you didn't burn."

"Brilliant," he breathed out. "You're right, I do like this place already."

"Of course I'm right, I'm always right, the sooner you accept it, the happier we'll both be for it."

Loki chuckled but didn't disagree. "When did you find out about this place?"

"As a kid, everyone's taught about the Salem Witch Trials in school, we were then driven there for a field trip like this to see for ourselves. There's many places of magic in America, but this is my absolute favorite place ever. This is my home." I paused mid stroll, took a deep breath in, closed my eyes and opened my arms, welcoming the wonders of witch city.

"Do you hear a high pitched squealing noise?" murmured Loki while watching me embrace my inner witch.

I didn't get a chance to reply as I was suddenly knocked several feet to the side and off my own feet by a pair of boobs with arms attached them engulfing me. "You're alive!" a familiar voice cried in joy.

"Not for much longer if you keep that up," I grumbled, stumbling back onto my feet and straightening up to meet a more familiar face. I was then hugged again and then roughly shaken around almost angrily. "Not everything you love is a fucking cocktail, stop shaking me!"

"Where the hell have you been, woman? We all thought you were killed off or burnt yourself out like the ones that went missing! You left without warning, no calls, no texts, not even a damned email I would've accepted, not a damned thing!" the tall Louisianan woman shaking me around exclaimed.

"Would you believe I was away on business?"

"Your business is here, try again."

"Attacked by ninjas?"

"This ain't feudal Japan."

"Chuck Norris with a bbgun?"

She just glared at me with her hands on her hips tapping a foot impatiently.

"Hydra got me midflight back home."

"Fo realz? How'd they know?"

"Someone had to have tipped them off, I used my aliases the entire time, kept low profile, all that jazz."

She had to sigh and drop the frown in acceptance and squeezed me hard again. "It has been soooo boring without you causing trouble around here, are you back for good?"

I picked up the frown she dropped and shook my head sadly. "Day trip, didn't get out of Hydra on my own, out of the fire and into the frying pan."

"By who?"

I glance back at Loki who was closely watching the two of us, not sure if she was friend or foe to him and the team. "Avengers plus one."

"So that's why it's been boring, you took all the fun with you and didn't think to share, as always."

"Bitch I ain't your source of entertainment, get your own damn rescue team."

"Sharing is caring."

"Do you see the care on my face?"

"I missed your face, can you believe that? I got addicted to IZombie just so I could see someone that looked like you."

"Not the first show I got you hooked on, I regret nothing there."

"Your face though..." she now turned her attention to the god watching from the sidelines. "You're not from around these parts, are you?"

"Where I'm from has been completely destroyed," he replied stiffly.

"Didn't you try to take New York City ages back?"

Before Loki could defend himself, I decided to step in. "Let she who is without a body count, cast the first stone."

"What? I'm not judging, I don't like NYC either but you are the same guy right? God of mischief and alien invasions?"

"I might be," Loki spoke up. "And who are you that seems to know Nell so well."

"I'm her best friend, Zari."

Something clicked in my head about what she said moment earlier then and before more introductions were made, I spoke up. "Hold up, they burnt out?"

Zari blinked and recalled what I brought up and arched an eyebrow. "When they were found they were shells and around their remains was all dead, that has to be it, they burnt out like overrused acid leaking batteries."

"All of the missing?" I murmured.

"All except you...what are you thinking?"

"My zombie senses are tingling. This doesn't feel like a coincidence, that's doesn't feel like an accident either. How many of us are left?"

"A fourth of what we started as."

"We're becoming an endangered species."

"You always wanted to be a tiger as a kid, now you got something in common with them besides a body count."

I scowled or attempted to, I did love tigers after all. "Hunted to near extinction wasn't what I had in mind."

She snickered and glanced at the amused god before returning her attention back to me. "So here for today at least, you show him all the cool places I hope."

I pretended to look offended and held a hand to my chest. "It's like you don't know me at all."

"Either way, there's a few places you missed that I'm sure you'd love to see," she nudged me with a wicked look in her eyes and I instantly knew what she meant.

"By all means, lead the way."

She took us to a small cafe she worked at that actually had a hidden passage way underneath the kitchen and leading to the Hawthorne Hotel, away from Clint's prying eyes for once so we all settled down in a nice suite permanently reserved under Zari's name. There we caught up and explained stuff to Loki we trusted him but not the Avengers with...for reasons. Zari was actually more a witch or voodoo priestess, not as powerful or naturally gifted as a necromancer but still pretty damn dangerous with her own form of death magic.

"Barton probably called in the cavalry in our absence," Loki muttered. "We should return to the open before the Avengers ruin the day again."

"We probably should, would hate for them to ruin my happy place. We should go somewhere public and totally open so they look like idiots before they yell at us though," I suggested.

"That can be arranged easy enough, well done. Zari, it has been a pleasure."

"Look after her, Loki. And Nell...don't let the bastards get you down," she reminded me.

I grinned. "Nevah." I took Loki's outstretched hand once more and green mist swirled around us before we popped up by a bench looking out at the sea by the Waterfront Hotel. I smiled again and didn't let go of his hand, I could feel the ocean then, feel the sun, the sea, everything that drew me to it before I died. "Some day," I murmured.

Loki gave my hand a squeeze and didn't let go as well but kissed the top of it. "I'll make sure of it. Here they come."

Right on cue, Clint followed by Nat and slightly annoyed Steve jogged over to us, all looking different shades of unhappy. We both turned and looked at them innocently while Clint breathed a sign of relief, Nat just rolled her eyes at us, but of course the do-gooder Steve looked like a father about to reprimand his child for sneaking out the window after being grounded.

"You know, while we were hunting you down, I gotta say, this place has its charms," Nat noted.

"Of course it does, can't be a witch without some," I informed her. "Who here likes seafood?"

Steve opened his mouth most likely to lecture me on staying in sight but bless Clint for thinking with his stomach after a long boring day of watching me and Loki frolic around town. His hand shot up almost as fast as his arrows shoot forward so I led the little team to the Oyster Bar by the Waterfront. "Ah food, my second favorite four letter F word."

Eventually it was time to return to homebase as the gang led us back to the jet and I found myself surprisingly worn out from the day of fun, leaning against Loki on the ride back. I found myself too tired to walk out myself when we landed and Loki immediately scooped me up and carried me out of the jet and into the main building himself. My eyes got heavier each second but somehow I could still hear what was going on.

"Clint tells me he lost sight of you two for a bit, you care to explain that?" Tony was demanding.

"Do I care to? Not really since you asked. He got distracted by one of the local performing street witches most likely, did you know theres one going around in full witch garb on rollerblades? Very amusing to say the least," Loki replied smoothly.

"Oh I'm aware Salem is full of weirdoes."

"Which is exactly why you weren't invited, you boring old fart," I muttered, burying my head against Loki's chest to try and drown out their voices only for Loki to laugh against me.

"Don't you take that tone with me, young lady," mused Tony. "I'll have you know I've been voted the world's most interesting man many times."

"And Trump's been voted for president, votes here don't mean shit so you're bragging rights right now are kinda in the crapper."

"Go back to sleep."

I turned to face him in Loki's arms just to stick my tongue out but curled back into Loki after. "Have a good night, don't let the zombies bite."

#lokifanfiction #lokifanfic #avengers #lokixoc #loki x original female character #lokixNell #nell the necromancer #necromancy #loki romance

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erintoknow · 4 years

Text

everything and nothing

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

Funding a one-woman revenge mission isn’t cheap. You might work for free but Rosie doesn’t. Or Mortum. Or Marcie. The list goes on. [Feed Me Diamonds]

[Read on AO3]

It was the incident at Joes that gave you the initial idea: you need money to fund your operation. And where is flush with – conveniently untraceable – funds, but Los Diablos’s criminal underground?

Using Jane’s luck to gamble your way through the casino circuit would be suicide. She’d end up in a ditch or worse. But you don’t need to. You’ve got a state-of-the-art power armor suit.

In a way, it’s a return to the old days, to being Sidestep. You could never manage to hold down a job back then, but the guilt over skimming kept you from being able to afford much of anything. So, you know, occasionally when busting a villain’s lair or rounding up drug dealers, maybe some of their funds were… misplaced. It was either that or starve.

Or worse, admit your situation to somebody and ask for help.

But it wasn’t really stealing, was it? The money was probably wrongfully gotten to begin with. And it’s not like the city paid vigilantes.

Whatever. You were stealing the whole time. You can admit it to yourself now. It doesn’t matter who it was from. It was still theft. You’ve always been a liar and a fraud. Those last moments before throwing yourself out a fourth-story window crystalized it for you. People lauding Sidestep as some sort of ‘hero’ when she was barely any better than the people she beat up. She just stuck to the government approved list of acceptable targets.

But if you did it before, you can do it again. You know who the real villains are, and it’s not Larry Ray selling weed at the corner of Market Street.

Once more now, with feeling.

Check the seal on your helmet. The Rat-King curls around you. Paul Howard Koch’s penthouse is in the heart of the city. Technically not inside the bounds of Los Diablos proper itself. More a richie-rich enclave. Great view, above the air pollution, slightly less likely to die in a horrific one-two earthquake/tsunami punch.

To his neighbors on the floors above and below, Mr. Koch is a reclusive retired businessman who made his fortune in the early days of the chaos following the establishment of the Free Economic Zone over southern California. Back when anything really did fly.

And maybe there’s a truth in that.

Or maybe he’s just a self-hyped boost with magnetic powers with the audacity to hide in plain sight who robbed a bunch of banks and also maybe the Rangers HQ one time and okay okay fine, maybe there’s an element of revenge to tonight, so what?

Start with the small ones.

Work your way up.

Getting inside is easy enough. It reminds you of Marconi’s mansion that way. Amazing how much security is just theatre. Wall? Climb over. Guards? Walk between the patrols. CCTV? Oh, what a shame, the woman watching fell asleep at her desk, and oh, the whole system needs to be rebooted now? Technology these days, tsk tsk.

The building doesn’t even have dampeners.

Closing the door to the camera room, you let your hand linger on the doorknob. It takes some finesse to control the Nanovores this tightly but you’re able to collapse the mechanism. They’ll have to break the door down.

You’ve got two targets today. Koch, and his fortune. You know where Koch is. He’s up in his bedroom, half-asleep watching TV. Play the right notes, and he’ll stay that way until you need him.

So, then, where’s the goods?

It’s been, what, a decade since Pennybags was active. Had a big spree robbing banks, culminating in an attack on Rangers HQ. You were – Sidestep was still pretty new to the scene, but even she knew it took some guts to pants the Rangers like that. And then he was never heard from again.

Almost have to admire the restraint of the man. To realize he peaked and it was time to get out. Can’t say it’s an example you intend to follow.

The penthouse is a split-level deal. Whole lot of empty space for a man who lives alone. The second floor and you find his office. Very fancy looking computer. And of course, there’s the password in the middle drawer. Man’s gotten lax. You plug in a USB stick as you log in. Search through the files. Records, transactions. Looks like Mr. Koch has been busy in his ‘retirement.’ Blackmail material? Not the pile of cash you were aiming for but it’s something to start with. Another crack in the city’s shell. Another point of attack.

One file name catches your attention: Regenerator sale? It’s been awhile since you’ve gotten a lead on that name, and here it is. Just waiting for you. Opening the file and it’s a text document. At first glance there doesn’t seem to be much you don’t already know. PharmaCore, shut down by the government, confiscated, then ‘vanished.’ Oh, here’s something new: an actual description of what it does…

Ugh. There’s no time to stand here and parse all this. You copy everything that looks even remotely promising and move on to the rest of the room.

An oddly spaced bookshelf, by the window, draws your attention. Push the texts away and there’s a safe. Have to smile at that. At least it’s not behind a portrait. The metal melts into dust under the Nanovores and you’re free to reach inside. A gun, some rolled up hundred dollar bills and a collection of black unmarked USB looking bits of plastic and silicon.

Jackpot.

DS Chips. Or ‘Dark Script’ if you want to be wordy. Criminal computer scientists are disappointingly lacking in imagination. Physical bills can be traced by serial number, and digital transactions through bank and credit systems. Cryptocurrencies like these DS chips are the current fashion du jour for avoiding surveillance.

The exchanges aren’t cheap, and Hollow Ground keeps a tight grip on Los Diablos’s little corner. But attach a ‘wallet’ to a specific chip and you carry thousands of dollars in a little box of plastic and silicone smaller than your palm.

That’s business sorted then.

Time for the pleasure half.

When you reach the bedroom, you don’t need to kick the door in. The hinges disintegrate into dust and it falls over, all on it’s own. The crash against the floor breaks Koch out of his stupor. With a cry of alarm he scrambles to his feet, tripping on his own night robe.

“Evening, Pennybags.”

“Who the blazes let you in here?” His heart is pounding. Scenarios running through his mind. Scrambling for an answer. Really? You’d have expected someone a little more paranoid.

You fold your hands behind your back. Nod towards the door. “I did.”

He narrows his eyes, not seeing the humor. Oh well, his loss.

You’re on him before he can even finish his thought about using his power on you. Is enough of the suit metal for it to be a problem? You’re not sure and you’d rather not find out. His head cracks against the wall as you shove him up off the ground with an arm against his neck.

You tap your head. “Don’t even think about it.”

He doesn’t stop struggling. Bare feet kicking against your armor. Up close he doesn’t look as old as you pictured. Bald, sure. But… how old is he? Maybe he just has one of those faces. “You’re–” He wheezes, “you’re going to regret this.”

He’s already plotting your death. Cute. Have to laugh. “I’ll add it to the list.”

...now what are you going to do?

Maybe you should have thought of that before barging in here.

You press against his neck a little harder. Not enough to choke him, but to give you some room to think.

“Alright… Here’s what’s going to happen,” You growl, lacing your words with a telepathic push. An urgency to be followed.

It’s not mind control, not technically.

Just a push.

You’re not even going to make him jump out a window.

–––

You don’t need to hear the stomping of boots in the hallway to know your time is almost up. You drop Koch to the floor. “Consider what we’ve talked about tonight.” Walking over to his desk, you rip off a piece of his day planner and turn it over. Write out the list of instructions.

Three simple suggestions. They’re in his own best interest, really.

You return to him, holding the paper out to take. He hesitates so you reach into his mind and give him a push before stepping away. By the time the riot police show up the scrap paper is gone, inside his pocket. You watch the police fill the other end of the room, shields up and guns drawn. The idiots. They’ll kill Koch if they shoot like this.

You don’t see or sense any of the Rangers.

That’s fine with you, if maybe a little strange. The man in charge steps forward, hand on the trigger finger. “Ghost, you’re under arrest. We have you surrounded.” You don’t need to read his mind to know from the look on his face and the way he’s holding his gun that he’s seriously regretting coming in to work tonight. What does the LDPD think they’re doing? They’re no match for you. Sure, you aren’t immune to bullets, but when has that ever stopped you?

You reach out to the captain’s mind and coax him to lower his gun before he sets off the whole room. “Ghost?” You fake a laugh, the distortion hollowing it out, then say innocently, “Don’t know anyone by that name.”

You crouch down, bracing yourself, placing a hand on the floor. You’ll only have a second before the tension of the situation wakes them up again. “More of a Banshee.” There’s a moment where it seems like nothing is going to happen and then the Nanovores eat a hole in the floor directly beneath you, dropping you down. You grunt, letting the armor absorb most of the shock, though the landing still plays hell on your knees. Going to regret that in the morning.

Above you the room erupts in shouts of alarm and someone fires their gun, setting off another gunshot, then another. You grimace in frustration and, telepathically reach back up to give them a metaphorical shake of the shoulders. You can’t have them killing your new informant.

You break into a run, following your thread to the nearest elevator shaft and breaking the door open with a mixture of force and Nanovores. As you make your escape sliding down the elevator cable you can’t help humming a few bars aloud as you try to steady your nerves.

The chittering of the Rat-King creates an accompaniment in the back of your head.

It’s getting scary just how comfortable with this life you’re starting to get.

Hitting the basement level you barely manage to clear the doors when Lady Argent is on you, all knives and quicksilver. Her claws dig into your arm before you’re able to get her to back off with an uppercut to the head. Argent flexes her jaw and gives you a predatory grin. “I had a feeling I’d find you down here Ghost.”

You study her face, waiting for a sign of any sudden movement. Getting out predicted like this is embarrassing but you need to save the over-analysis for when a woman capable of opening you up like a can-opener isn’t staring you down. You’ve got to reassert control of the situation. You make sure to put an edge to your voice, “It’s Banshee now. If you’re going to play lap dog, at least remember to fill in the incident report form correctly this time.”

Her eyes widen and then Argent leans down, her grin deepening into a scowl. “Ugh. I don’t care,” and she moves in.

Can feel your heart in your throat as the two of you exchange blows. When you try to slide past her, Lady Argent is ready for you, raking claws against the side of your armor, trying to find a point of purchase to pry you apart. Grab her wrist and pull her down on top of you. It’s a stupid move, and you pay for it with razor filings running down your sides but because it’s stupid she doesn’t expect it and you’re able to knee her in the gut and kick her away.

You hate fighting Argent in enclosed spaces like this. It’ll be a game of attrition as to whether you can get away before she can land a clean hit. The two of you are back to circling each other when you bump up against a support pillar.

Maybe….? You mentally check your map.

You’ll need to stall Argent. “So, what was your plan, if I went a different route?” As you talk you rest your hand on the concrete pillar beside you, coaxing the Nanovores to get to work. “Not a good look, hiding in a basement.”

Lady Argent narrows her eyes, “The Handyman’s watching the front door.”

“He’s out of the hospital now?” You sigh. “Are you really that eager to put him back in there?”

There’s a shark-toothed grin and the distinct feeling that she’s sizing you up. “You’re awfully concerned for being the bastard that put him there.”

“Healthcare’s not cheap in this city. Should we hold a fundraiser for him?” You give a theatrical flip of your free hand. “Any suggestions?” Too flippant? You’re never really sure how to approach Argent.

There’s always the temptation; in the back of your head. Let her know who you are, what you’ve done. See if she’ll kill you. But you always end up holding back. Why is that? You don’t understand yourself.

“My only ‘suggestion’ is bringing you to justice.” She keeps her focus trained on you, ready for the moment you make a move. Part of you is surprised she’s still letting you talk. Is backup on the way? That’s not Argent’s style.

“That’s a good thought about justice.” You rap your armored fingers against the pillar, testing to see if it’s hollowed out yet. “But who gets to decide what justice is?”

Would Argent feel bad, if she did kill you? Or would it just make things worse for her? How do you atone for something like this? Is revenge justice? Is it really enough to just make someone hurt?

You used to be sure.

“I liked you better when you didn’t talk.”

You tsk. “Oh and now you’re hurting my feelings?” You can’t keep operating like this. Need to compartmentalize better. Remember the goal. Remember revenge. The damage to Argent is done. Don’t fuck this up and make it be in vain.

Argent eyes your hand, still pressed to the pillar, and growls. “What are you up to?”

“Are you talking about, in general or just right now?” You smirk under your helmet. “Care to find out?” You push hard against the concert. The stone breaks like glass and the ceiling sags from the sudden lack of support, tiles crashing down around you. You jump backwards as the ceiling starts to give in.

No time for any last-minute taunts. You book it for the sewer entrance before Argent can realize the whole building isn’t going to collapse.

In the back of your head, she's still there, watching through the dust.

Smile like a shark.

Reminding.

---

“So, this isn’t what I had planned on talking about; but you’ll never guess what happened last night.” Ortega looks at you, leaning in, an edge to her smile. The two of you are meeting for an early lunch before heading up to the Children’s Hospital again.

You’d half a mind to order something alcoholic, but resisted. Instead, you’re watching Ortega over the rim of your milkshake, straw in your mouth. “Mm?”

“You remember Pennybags?”

You drum the side of the glass with your fingers, making a show of thinking back. “The magnetic guy?”

Ortega nods. “Yeah. Big bank robber, stole a bunch of things from the old Rangers HQ too, remember?”

You nod, grimacing. “Yeah, that was a mess.” Of course you remember. One of the few times you had actually seen Julia really upset. The first time actually. Didn’t know what to do, how to handle it. Ortega was always so confident, so in control of herself and the situation all the time. And there she was, tears and snot yelling at cardboard boxes about failing and… you did the only thing you could think of to do.

“Well, did you see the news this morning?” Ortega’s excitement pulls you back to the present. She leans in further over the table.

You sit back, shaking your head. “I was a little busy last night.” You wince, “This morning. I mean. Uh.” Shit shit shit. “Well. Both? Long night. Working.” You shrug, try to keep your face blank.

Ortega tilts her head, side-eyeing you. “Yeah, I still need to ask you about that job of yours.” She waves it off with a hand. “Anyway, Banshee made a mess again. North end of Beverly Hills this time.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Was anyone hurt?” You bite your lip, looking away. “Did… um. Did anyone else…?”

You know Banshee didn’t kill anyone last night. But…

Don’t breathe, don’t relax until Ortega shakes her head, “One guy had some minor injuries, but that’s it.”

Oh thank god. “That’s a relief.” You match Ortega’s smile, swipe a fry from the basket in front of her.

“I’m more convinced than ever that Marconi’s murder was something else.”

“That’s…” You look away, watch the window, fingers worrying the fry in your hand. Shit. What do you say to that? Fuck fuck fuck. “If you say so.” You look back at her. Need to push this conversation along before she can think about that response. “So, uh, are you just this excited that no one was hurt or did the Rangers finally bring Banshee in, or – or what?”

“No, they got away. Again.” Ortega gives you a curious look, eyes flickering down to the fry in your hand and then back up to your face. With an air of deliberate purpose, you put the fry in your mouth. She politely doesn’t say anything.

“So then…?”

“You’ll never guess.”

You shrug, steal another fry. “Okay.”

She frowns. “Don’t be a spoilsport.”

You keep your face blank, only raising an eyebrow as you silently eat your ill-gotten prize.

“Fine.” She huffs. “The guy Banshee attacked, the one that had to go to the hospital… It’s Pennybags. Bastard was hiding under our noses the whole time.”

“Money’s a pretty good cover.”

“Believe me, I’m wildly aware.” The tired expression on Ortega’s face is only there for a brief second and then it’s gone. “He practically turned himself in. It was… kind of creepy, actually. Reading the report.”

You swallow, goosebumps on the back of your neck. “Creepy?”

“Like he felt… compelled.” Ortega jabs a fry in your direction. “You’re the expert, what do you think? Can telepathy force a confession like that?”

“Ortega…” You make yourself meet her eyes. “You’re as much of an expert as me, at uh, at this point. M–maybe more.”

“Maybe.” She meets your gaze. “But I want to know what you think.”

Goddamnit, why does she keep doing this?

You focus on the basket of fries instead, it’s safer. “It’s… possible.” You concede. Would it be better to lie? It already feels like you’re lying about so much. It’s better to minimize the amount of bullshit you have to keep track of. “How are you… sure it’s a confession, and not like… uh, a delusion or something? False suggestion?”

“Yeah, that’s fair. That was my first assumption but uh…” She lowers her voice. “We uh, we found some stuff when searching the apartment. The signed Marshall Hood figure Pennybags stole actually…”

“Oh.” You say. You hadn’t expected her to actually talk about this.

“I… don’t really have a lot left of him. I thought I’d lost that one for good.”

“I remember.” You remember seeing the front door of its hinges, running through wrecked room after room, finding an alarmingly sobbing Ortega.

The first time you willingly hugged someone.

“There’s maybe five people who know about that figure, Ari, and two of them are dead now.” Ortega’s voice is quiet, her hand on the table balled into a fist.

“Do…” You fish for an idea, “do you think they’re trying to send you a message?”

Ortega looks you straight in the face, half-eaten hamburger now completely forgotten. You wish she wouldn’t. “A message? For what?”

You look back, willing yourself not to look away, not to look guilty. “I don’t know… I mean, it’s no secret you and Hood were close, is it?”

The look on Ortega’s face only intensifies. “You think maybe it was a threat?”

Your face blanches, and you shake your head. This is not at all going how you thought it would. “I’m not in this game anymore, remember?” You shrug your shoulders theatrically, “for all I know it could be a love letter.” You freeze. Face threatening warmth. Oh god. What the fuck, Ariadne?

The absurdity of the idea gets a laugh out of Ortega and you both relax. “Mierda,” she shakes her head. “That’s a hell of a way to send a letter.”

You steal another fry. She lets you.

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero fanfic #fanfiction #fhr/Ariadne

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 4 years

Text

A Family of Five- Part 3: Sick Day

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

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

Enjoy my masterlist | Series Masterlist

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

_____________________

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

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

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

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

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

She shrugs. “Still hurt a little.”

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

“Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

Esha nods. “Love you, Daddy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course. It’s your favorite.”

“Can I have some water?”

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

“Hey, baby. How you feeling?”

“Why you not at school?”

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

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

“You’re definitely feeling better,” Harlowe laughs. “I know Papa Bear can. Momma’s just a worrier, you know.”

“Love you,” she whispers as her mom wraps her up in a hug.

“Love you too. I’ve got a meeting, so I should probably get back soon.” Harlowe turns to Calum, sliding her hands around his waist. “Want me to pick something up for dinner?”

“I’ll cook. Don’t worry.”

With a nod, she slides away, but not before lightly patting his butt through the sweatpants. “Gross, Momma!” Esha huffs, noting the contact.

“Do you call Papa Bear out like this?” Harlowe teases, waving as she exits the house.

“Yes, I do!” the little girl calls to her mother’s back, laughing. These are his two girls, constantly teasing each other.

Soup finally warmed, Esha sits at the table, taking small spoonfuls to her mouth. Her little legs dangle high above the floor. She crosses her eyes, sucking on a noddle in response to Calum’s face. He laughs, eyes closing, the skin around them crinkling too. Esha beams at the sound; she puffs out her chest a little. The laughter is because of her doing.

“Do you want to take your hair down?” he asks, after calming from his laugh spell.

“No.”

Calum waits until she finishes all the bits of her soup, before they start racing to see who can drink the broth down the fastest. Esha winds up getting more on her pj’s than actually in her stomach. “Look at this mess,” Calum tsks, helping her down at of the chair. “Messy little one, aren’t you?”

“You were beating me. I had to win!”

He nods, waving her towards the stairs, a smile tugging on his lips. “Clearly winning involves dumping half the broth down your shirt.”

“Uh huh, it does.” He cleans her off, sliding her into clean pj’s. She climbs onto the sofa, while Calum cleans the dishes. She’s clutches the DVD cover for Moana, waiting. Calum’s not sure how she hasn’t grown sick of the movie yet. But she watches it with the same eager and awe as the first time she’s laid eyes on it. Calum pulls the plug on the drain, washing his hands off again.

Esha climbs into his lap right at the start of the movie, she holds a juice pack in her hands, eyes glued to the screen. “You gotta do the singing parts, Daddy,” she states.

“I know,” he nods, chuckling, “I know.” The singing parts also include the choreography too. During ‘You’re Welcome’, Esha joins her father, dancing around the living room. Both of them know it so well, they barely pay attention to the screen.

When Harlowe returns that afternoon with Koha, she can hear singing before she fully crosses the threshold. Her first guess is Moana, but the further they get into the house, it’s not. It’s Princess and the Frog. Calum’s dancing around during The Shadow Man’s man song. Koha drops his backpack in the foyer, running to join in. Normally, they would try to keep the kids separate if they’re sick. Clearly it is not going to work this time.

Everyone settles in to finish the rest of the movie before Calum stands to start dinner. Esha watches from the bar counter, also scribbling over copy paper. Koha chats about his day, going over his homework with Harlowe. The house slowly fills with a white noise of sizzling, laughter and paws clicking.

#calum hood #calum hood fanfic #calum hood fic #calum hood imagine #calum hood x black OC #dad!cal #dad!cal series #dad!calum #5sos #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #5sos imagine #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer fic #5 seconds of summer imagine #h writes

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klenvs3000 · 3 years

Text

Camera

Preface:

Throughout this course we have discussed differences in learning, risk, privilege, preparedness, introspection, motivation, art, history, music, science, and technology among other themes. We have covered a whole lot. I have learned that nature interpretation is a hard thing to define as there are diverse ways to “interpret nature” and diverse audiences and approaches required to effectively communicate information in an engaging way. This course has expanded my personal definition of what is considered nature interpretation and the lenses that I have that affect how I see nature and how I may interpret it.

Chapter 1: Click

I am a professional camera. Through me, people can see the world, experience nature and view things that they cannot see with their own eyes. *Click* I choose on what to focus on within the image, the foreground, background, the giant tree, or the tiny ant climbing the bark. *Click* My flash can illuminate darkness and allow people to engage in subjects they cannot access by themselves. *Click* Where their eyes fail, I can show them. *Click* I can show them the night sky passing over while they sleep or go places they cannot travel to, places they will never know without me. *Click*

“I can show [them] the world, shining shimmering, splendid” – Aladdin

Grasshopper photographed last summer where you can see the patterns and details better than with your eyes. Photo taken by me.

Chapter 2: Lenses

But do I fully control my focus, the lighting, my settings? The society I grew up emersed in assembled my pieces and gave me the features, abilities, and limitations I have. Just because I have limitations does not mean I cannot excel or show nature to people, but there are confines to what I am and what I can do. They are also the photographer that decides the lenses that will be placed on me. Will I be able to focus on the tiny ant if the lens in front of me is a long-range telescoping lens? Each lens attached to me covers my built-in lenses and affects and changes how I view and experience the world. The place I was assembled, and the amount of money put into buying all my pieces affects my ability to take a good picture. The number and quality of the lenses used with me affects the outcome. I am also enabled by the same society, without which I would just be metal, glass and plastic.

Every camera is different and every lens changes the camera.

Chapter 3: Shutter

If my shutter is closed when pointed at the sky will I photograph the stars? If the power button is never pushed can I still capture images? There are times where the lenses cause me to not focus and completely miss important views full of meaning and needing to be captured and shared with my audience but there are other times where the shutter is closed and I am completely blind to the scene around me. It continues also after the photo is taken, just because I am turned off or my shutter is over my lens does not mean the world stop perceiving my work. My work continues past the people I directly engage and will exist longer than I will be used. When I turn off, the world’s view of me does not.

Without context you don’t know this rhino is at the Toronto Zoo, how old it is, why it is there, what species it might be etc. Photo taken by me.

Chapter 4: Use

My work will be viewed out of its original context and I must be careful. A picture is worth 1000 words they say, but it cannot say them all. My photos may be edited after I create them, they may be used by others and they may be used to tell a story I never intended, or they may still depict the original story but be viewed the wrong way. I cannot control how my photos are viewed but I can control what my photos show. I must choose the stories to tell and the images to capture, I must pick my moments and choose my battles because one camera cannot display the world.

The baby beaver my friends and I found in the Arboretum on campus last weekend on our picnic. It is important to keep areas like the Arboretum to preserve habitats and allow humans to interact and view nature. Photo taken by me.

Chapter 5: Explanation

So, I hope that some of that made sense but if it didn’t, here is where I clarify some things. First, I would like to start by saying that cameras are often a tool I use to engage with and share my passion for nature. Photography is ironically, one of my lenses. Some of my lenses I can change or have chosen, other I cannot. Opening my camera bag, here are the lenses you will see: White:Female:Striaght:Christian:Short:Middle-Class:Canadian:Mississauga:Urban:Family:Vacation:Ocean:Animals:Zoo:Cat:Guelph:Arboretum:Marine&Freshwater-Biology:Ecology:Photography:Two-Year-Relationship:Student-Counsil:Figure-Skater:Gymnast:Coach:Huntsman:Bronte:Pasta:Marvel. Some are descriptors, others are passions, yet others are roles or places that had an impact on who I am. Some will be easy to understand and others are things important for me to include but less obvious unless you know me personally. From my blog, I hope the past posts have given you insight on at least a few of these things as every interpreter brings a little of themselves when displaying their passions. Chapter 3 tried to express my new awareness for how the way I have been raised, what I have been exposed to and my experiences can affect the way I interpret nature as there are some situations that I might walk right past and never notice. For instance I have lived in Canada all my life so to me snow is pretty and there are some times that I stop and appreciate it, but I much rather chat your ear off about liquid water than frozen and I will never have the same experience as someone experiencing snow for the first time. As a nature interpreter, not all of your messages will get across to your audience. I personally like sharing facts when interpreting nature, but there is a good chance my audience will not remember many if any of them. What they will take away is perhaps excitement or new interests to learn more about the topic going forward or maybe one key thing that I said.

This is me. A collection of photos taken by me or my mom. My backyard tree, church retreat center, Kouchibouguac Park, my boyfriend and I in the preservation park, me at the zoo, my spinning wheel basket and Bronte Creek, me skating, and a mushroom foray we did in first year as part of class.

Chapter 6: Beliefs and Responsibilities

With all the lenses I carry, I now recognize that this impacts me as a nature interpreter. Being equipped with the tools, knowledge, and experience from this course, I do feel a responsibility to use these ideas and interpret nature to the people around me and take this into my future career in some way. Combining my science knowledge from my major, and my knowledge from this course can show me what important messages I can share.

Chapter 7: My blog

Overall in this blog, I haven’t always followed what I think the prompts were getting at. I know this is for a class and marks come from specific places, but sometimes I like sticking to my own photos because I love any opportunity to share them with people or because I know the photos that will help me tell the story I want to tell. Other times, there may have been ways to change a sentence to include more external ideas from the course, but sometimes I think I am able to talk better if I am reacting to what I read instead of incorporating it into my words even if that wasn’t necessarily intended. I hope you enjoyed my style in this blog as it was what felt authentic to me. I am not entirely sure if this blog will continue or not, so maybe see you in the next chapter or maybe we will have another class together in the future or some other reason to interact.

~Thanks for coming to my TED talk (I couldn’t help it).

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boku-no-loveletters · 4 years

Note

Hello!! Could I get a match up with the league villains?🥺 I’m 170cm tall, I’m skinny (sadly I’m shaped like the letter I and rll self conscious ab it) I have shoulder length brown hair with two blonde stripes in the front, grey eyes. I’m a mix of a calm and logical person and a childish person with dumb jokes who can’t even sit still. I luv playing video games, reading, drawing. I usually wear dark oversized clothes or baggy pants with small tops. I’m european so my accent is rll thicc.Thank u!

Hey, what’s up? Hope you enjoy your match-up!

I matched you up with…

Shigaraki!

He's feral but I loved him since the beginning

-Now there are actually multiple reasons as to why I matched you up with Shigaraki, one of them being the fact that you are calm and logical but still allowing yourself to be loose and crack a few jokes sometimes. I think Shigaraki would respect that and probably admire your humor.

-Being calm and logical around Shigaraki is important, because he has very heavy mood-swings and being able to keep your composure if he switches dispositions will earn his approval. And while that is important, Shigaraki would probably also enjoy a carefree soul, so if you have the tendency to slip a dirty joke in on a conversation and make him crack a smile then you’re on the right path.

-The chances of you and him running into each other would either be by pure chance or an unintended every day occurrence. He could be a casual looking citizen who you have no idea is walking around in the streets with other people or he could be the one who was responsible for holding you captive. In an accident.

Well shit.

This is how it ends, huh? Being restrained in a villain warehouse where nobody will find you after they strip you of your skin and throw you out the door faster than you could say ‘sorry’?

Not to mention, earlier you kept thinking that nothing bad was going to happen today. That everything was going to be sugar and rainbows, that it was all going to be fine. But you were oh, so wrong.

"You fucking jinxed it, you idiot," you growled to yourself before attempting to slam the large and heavy cuffs on your wrist down on the metal chains dangling from your ankle.

But it didn’t budge, you reeled back the both of your wrists and tried again, still to no avail.

To be honest, you had absolutely no idea as to why you were being held here in this crappy makeshift hideout against your will. One minute, you were simply walking out of your apartment going to get some much-needed groceries from the store, and the next thing you know, you're being stabbed with a needle in your neck before blacking out completely.

Snarling in disappointment, you took a deep breath and then slumped down to your knees with your back facing the wall. After your little endeavor at trying to break free, your body temperature flared up and made you more heated up than normal. You must be getting sick or something because it was either you or the bands on your wrist making you burn up!

But the metal of the room surrounding you was unusually cold and so you used that to your advantage and turned gently, making sure to press as much skin to the wall as you could. The chilled and smooth surface helped immensely as you felt the searing hot sensation fade away.

You sat for a moment, feeling a wave of drowsiness hit your senses as you continued to be still.

How long have you been out? Would it be appropriate if you were to fall asleep again? Well, it's not like you were going anywhere soon and it certainly didn't feel like it was going to harm you if you got any sleep.

So you did. You closed your eyes deliberately before shifting into a more comfortable position and getting some well-earned sleep, hoping to have some sort of good dream before dwelling into your death.

But unfortunately, your time had come sooner than expected. Because as immediately as you tried to gain some repose, a soft click could be heard echoing across the room as the door unlocked to reveal a pale hand lightly opening the large ingot door leading to the entrance.

The pale hand followed up to unveil the shape of a man dressed in a plain black trench coat and tacky dress pants with multiple detached hands on different parts of his clothed limbs. Three were seated on each arm and his shoulders had one individually while his neck and the back of his head had one apiece. The most interesting one, however, was the single hand obscuring his identity from your view.

You could see he was dangerous. Not just because of the limbs, but rather the ominous demeanor he held over his presence and the fact that he seems fully aware of your current situation.

Not long after he had walked in was he followed by two other figures. One was a male with jet-black hair in another simple black jacket and matching pants with various amounts of marks and staples decorating his scarred body and the other was a shorter female. Her ash-blonde hair was loosely wrapped in twin buns, strands of wild stray hairs centering in different angles as two fringes on each side of her face framed her oddly innocent looking appearance as she donned a plain seifuku with a regular Kansai collar.

The greyish-blueish haired male mentioned beforehand was staged in the center of the room and the two other people, which you assumed to be his associates, positioned themselves each on one side of him.

Silence enveloped the room, the heavy steps of their shoes coming to a stop as they gained sight of your poor, slightly hunched figure.

He then clasped his hands behind his back before turning, what you thought to be, his gaze to the other walls. His back faced you as his accomplices kept their eyes fixed on you, watching your every movement so that you didn’t aim to escape.

“So, ” he began, “Do you know why you were brought here for?”

You shook your head no as you tried to keep your cool, already feeling the tension in the room rise by the minute. The burning sensation from a while ago returned and grew from warm to nauseating as it quickly surrounded your senses. Sweat began dripping down your forehead as your stomach did reoccurring backflips.

You could almost feel the other two burn their eyes into your torso, internally gnawing at your emotions despite their placid expressions.

He simply hummed before returning his sight on you, his hands still not leaving their positions as he took a few strides in your direction and stopped a couple of centimeters away from your feet.

You lifted your head to gape directly at the hand covering his face and from the side of your perception, you could make out a pair of piercing blood-red orbs. The wicked glint in his eyes threatening to make you lose your composure, as he then backed away to give you some space. Much to your relief as you released a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

You internally quivered as you let your gaze drop to the floor before hearing a heavy sigh of what appeared to be..frustration?

"There has appeared to have been a mistake made. You are not whom I intended to be after." he finally spoke, the stillness after was deafening.

"The idiots out there must have grabbed the wrong woman," he emphasized, " A woman with brunette hair, just like you."

You raised your head and suddenly put up the largest grin you could muster at the moment. Your whole dampened attitude instantly lighting up at the possibility to live another day and forget all about this encounter.

"But, another problem strikes the current situation at hand. We simply can't let you free and go off telling another hero about our location, " he defined as your smile began to falter.

"So we'll give you three options. We'll let you go scot-free and you keep your mouth shut while my subordinates check in on you from time to time, you join the league free of surveillance and a life free of heroes, or you die at the hands of my comrades?"

"Wait...You're giving me a choice? For real?" you questioned, "You're not just going to kill me?

"No, I am not, " he answered, "Why would I? It'd be a waste and sweeping up the ashes of another dead person and concealing the evidence is enough work already."

You shivered in fear but still hummed in agreement, yet slightly suspicious of this man's intentions but not willing or bold enough to question his motives. So you went with the safest alternative, they let you go and kept an eye on you while you continued to live out your daily life in semi-peace.

"The first choice," you replied confidently. "I don't want to be involved in you guy's problem and I'm sure the other option is self-explanatory, Mr. Handyman."

He simply chuckled dryly in response to your joke before looking at you once more and snapping his fingers, then everything went black.

-You were knocked out, again. Though the next time you woke up, you found yourself in your living room laying on the couch unharmed. You checked you wrists to find that the cuffs of your restraints left a mark deep in your skin as it burned a bright sweltering red. You didn’t notice a bright piece of yellow paper sticking to your chest until you brushed your fingers over your collarbone. A neon lemon sticky note was attached to your shirt, you ripped it off and examined it closely. It said…

-Keep your mouth shut and your eyes open, we’ll be watching you.

-And so you didn’t really sleep that night because of both the LOV and the fact that you had taken more than the usual amounts of naps you were prone to take during your free time. But other than that you continued on with your life and moved on, almost forgetting your previous encounter with the S rank villain.

-The next time you had met him was when he arrived about a month later and by that time you had nearly forgotten all about what happened back there. So when he came to check up on your status and making sure you weren’t attempting to leave the country, he was surprised to find you living comfortably with no sign of your apartment faltering and in poor conditions.

-He knocked and waited patiently, his casual black hood and oddly bright red sneakers helped concealed his identity as he stood still. He had imagined that you thought that you were being left along, that you would trembled beneath his gaze again. But when you opened the door to reveal yourself, you just stared at him.

-You stood there trying to remember who this man was, but he didn’t say anything and instead pushed you aside and made himself at home. He walked to your living room and plopped himself on the couch before removing the hood from his head.

- “Oh, yeah Mr.Handyman”

-You didn’t say anything and instead switched the TV on. You sat down next to him as you felt his eyes burn holes into your back.

-And that’s how it went on for weeks, Shigaraki would always come up to your place to ‘Check and make sure you’re not alerting anyone’ and basically just hang out. The probability of him actually getting comfortable would take somewhere around 2-3 months once he realizes you’re not a threat.

-He won’t even do that much except lounge around and play video games with you, it’s not that villainous except for when he threatens you.

-I think that Shigaraki would enjoy playing video games with you as long as you let him win sometimes. He’s extremely petty so if you won three times in a row and haven't let him get in on a victory , he’ll probably make a fuss about it and not play for awhile. If you’re drawing or reading and not paying attention to him, that’ll probably get on his nerves a little bit too.

-He’s a dick. And yes, that’s something to worry about.

-Love…what is that? Sounds disgusting. Shigaraki is not that emotionally intelligent due to the fact that he had been deprived of tenderness the majority of his childhood so having someone act normal around him and unintentionally be kind to him makes him feel…weird. He doesn’t understand what the warm feeling in his chest is and why it makes him stir.

-You can make him crack a smile. You can make him laugh with your corny jokes and lift up his spirit after a bad day. He doesn’t know what it is, but he likes it and wants all of it.

-So the next time he had come in, he had told you about what kind of odd effect you had on him as he described it in the most surreal way he could say it. When you explained the feelings to him, you had also suggested dating to which he agreed after he had a proper grip on what he had just been told.

-Now Shigaraki has not received a lot of affection from his family during his childhood, only his mother and sister has provided him with physical endearment so that will obviously have an impact on his behavior now that he realizes how touch-starved he’s been.

-He will not however, under no circumstances, put his hands on you unless the situation calls for it or you gave him permission to. He does not want the same incident to happen to his significant other as it did his family. That’s the reason why he starts slightly trembling, which could be indicating a panic attack (as I imagined him to have a handful of episodes already.

-So If that happens, then you’d have to use your rationality and be careful. Get his special gloves and calm him down through the emotional episodes.

-I don't think the rest of LOV would mind you, Dabi wouldn't care about you at all but would still keep an eye on you while Toga and Twice ;-; would make small talk with you.

-So Shigaraki and you are more than a perfect fit, your personality traits don’t exactly clash but instead pick up where another one falls down! Your decisiveness and rationality along with your humor and liveliness helps balance you on the scale whereas Shigaraki’s standoffish and aloof position keep you both on your feet.

So I hope you liked this match-up! Writing the clip for this one was fun!

@idontknowuwu3

#Shigaraki Tomura #Tomura Shigaraki #bnha #mha #mha match-ups

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thorin-is-a-cuddler · 5 years

Text

With all I have

A/N: So, BLACK WIDOW TRAILER made me go write this, yayy. 7500 words. I called the blonde woman from the trailer Yelena, because I believe there was a Yelena in the Black Widow comics working for the Red Room. This is my imaginative idea of how Clint recruited Natasha. So enjoy reading and if you want let me know what you think. :)

“Who is he?” Yelena asked, her russian accent making Natasha twitch unvoluntarily. This accent had the tendency to make the Black Widow feel threatened. Also she might have reacted to Yelena mentioning him. The man on the video footage they were watching just now. He was wearing a mask, but Natasha had already seen him without it. On their first encounter, when he had been bleeding...

“Er,” She shook her head slightly to wash away the picture of his reddened teeth, “This. Is Clint Barton, Hawkeye. SHIELD agent since six years. He ran away from some circus. Lost his brother. The usual. Oh, and he’s absolutely perfect with the bow, as you can see.”

He hit his mark. He had hit his mark. Natasha still felt somewhat stiff in her shoulder where he had gotten her about a year ago.

“Perfect is subjective,” yawned Yelena, not at all impressed by Hawkeye’s athletic shooting from rooftops. She didn’t yet know what it was like to meet him personally. The hardness, the force, the ... dumb jokes. He could fool you, confuse you. Natasha had already understood that he acted dumb to strike even harder. He wasn’t dumb at all. Not the slightest bit.

“You shouldn’t underestimate him. He’s been chasing me for months.”

Yelena snorted. “How’s that anything triumphal? He hasn’t caught you yet.”

“No.” Natasha mumbled, staring at the frozen frame of Clint Barton’s masked face. “But he’s only ever one step behind me.”

------------------------

“Phil... yeah... uh huh... can we- ... no, I know. ... Would you please- ... okay, okay. OKAY. ... I’m not! ... Yeah, sure. I’ll call you then. ... No, I do not find this amusing. ... She’s good, what did you expect? ... Other villains, other agents. I have my villain to take care of. ... I told you she’s good. This is why I won’t stop. ... When will you eventually resist the urge to make circus references? ... It’s not. ... Fine. ... Yep. ... I’ll hear you tomorrow then.”

Hawkeye made a face as if he were screaming, but no sound exited his lungs. He merely huffed frustrated at his phone and tried not to crunch it. Phil didn’t understand this mission he was on. Fury didn’t necessarily care. Or at least that’s what it seemed like to him.

He couldn’t resist throwing the phone rather forcefully on the table he had his equipment laid out on, ripped the sweat stained shirt from his body and walked to the tiny balcony he had on this floor. It was a military hostel. For people with equipment and fake passports like him.

Cold air washed against his chest. He looked at his scarred body and smirked when his fingertips grazed the new grown skin on his hip. Where Natasha Romanoff’s bullets had hit him twice.

For a moment he let himself go, relishing the memory of stripping off his mask and congratulating her on her good aim, while he had been sure he would bleed out. What a meeting that had been. Her standing in the shadow of the room, not moving, not talking. Him in the other shadow, opposite to her, trying to hold himself up against a wall, talking nonstop.

“You know, it almost feels peaceful. Almost. I’m also a little turned on. Not necessarily by the blood. Though that is some people’s thing or so I heard. Are you turned on by blood? Is that why you shot me? Come on, admit it, I’m fanciful am I not? Oh well. Are you okay? I mean, aside from sadistically watching me die. That is really not okay, you know. You should talk to someone about this. Even though I gotta say, if you left me now, I would feel way WAY worse.”

“Do you ever shut up?” She had stepped into the light and for the first time he had seen the softness in her eyes. It had actually made him shut up for about five seconds. Then he had almost winced at the pain in his hip and so he had continued talking, just to distract himself.

In all those years of working for SHIELD Clint had rarely felt fear. He had seen too much in his life to experience that feeling anymore. But in this situation, bleeding in front of Natasha Romanoff, he had been the furthest away from fear he had ever been. Dying there in front of her feet had seemed ... good.

What he had not expected was her saving him.

What he had not expected was her kneeling before him, kicking his bow out of reach and searching him for other weapons.

“Careful, I’m ticklish.”

What he had not expected was her holding his sweaty face in her hands and whispering to him. “Shut the fuck up already.”

What he had not expected was falling unconscious and waking up patched up on a hotel bed late the next morning.

Why had she done that? They had been chasing each other for months. Shooting, firing, kicking, biting, laughing, okay yeah lauging at each other. Sure, you could grow fond of an enemy. But more in the “Awe, how sad, he’s dead now” sense. She could have felt that the night before. But she had saved him.

Sure, she had broken into the hotel and sure, the next guests had been sent to this specific room, finding him and alarming the security. But, what is a little bit of swinging out of windows and hiding behind chimneys against being saved from bleeding out?

Clint stared into the starless night, running his fingers across the scars on his hip and realized he was smiling. Widely.

----------------------

“How do you know he’s in Russia? Did you see him?”

Natasha tilted her head in a way that allowed less sunshine into her blinded eyes. She squinted at Yelena. “I just ... know.” They were sitting on the balcony of their old hide out which was now only Yelena’s hide out anymore. They had shared many bottles of liquor up here, many smokes and many bandages.

The blonde woman narrowed her eyes at her. “You know.”

Natasha sipped at her pitch black coffee, avoiding eye contact with her “sister”. Back in the Red Room, they had all been sisters. A ridiculous idea that was supposed to make them less traitorous. Many sisters had been killed by their own kin. No family word could change that.

The silence of the beautiful November morning stretched out and Natasha dwelled in it, the warm mug between her palms and the hot steam in her face. Then Yelena was done with waiting for an explanation.

“Why is he not dead yet, Natalia?” The sharpness of Yelena’s words rang in Natasha’s ears. Not Natalia, not anymore, never again. Her jaws wanted to clench, her heart wanted to race, her stomach wanted to tremble. Unimportant. She had all that under control. She had trained her body to this state of absolute stillness over years. Yet her voice sounded cold when she spoke.

“What do you mean?”

Yelena’s suspicion annoyed her. They had nothing to share apart from a hide out and the circumstances. Why did Yelena keep pushing her business around as if it were a dead animal and her suspicion a stick of wood? Wow. Had she really just thought that? Bad metaphor. Clint Barton’s dirty laughter rang at the back of her mind. He was rubbing off on her.

“I mean, Natalia, that people who hunt you down don’t tend to live that long. What did you say how long you have been playing cat and dog? Ten months?”

“It’s cat and mouse!”

Angrily Natasha pushed away from the table and marched over to the old, out-of-tune piano that had stood in this moldy room for as long as they had known it. Years. She started playing and it sounded horrible which is just what she had intended.

Yelena groaned and fell back in her chair, staring up at the clear blue sky with eyes of fury. Natasha knew what she was thinking. That they had been trained not to show mercy, not to anyone or anything. That they had been trained to kill. Efficiently, effortlessly, neither cheerfully nor angrily. There was no rest for them. Not along their path.

But they had gotten off of it. The Red Room was no longer paying for their weapons, their kills, their deals. Yelena was a fear-inducing jewelry thief. And Natasha was hunting down the big bosses she’d suffered under. Whatever that made her, whatever attention it had gained her from SHIELD, from her old enemies, from new enemies, she didn’t care. She was on the run and as long as she could say that about herself, she was not a lost soul with nowhere to go and nowhere to stay.

So yes, Clint Barton had been chasing her for ten months.

In her life, he was the only reliable person. He would follow her wherever. He had to be in Russia as surely as she had to get this piano tuned. Whatever Mozart had composed on the yellow sheets that were crumbling under Natasha’s fingers as she turned them, he hadn’t composed it for dead pianos. Or for dead people.

And that is what she was.

Because Clint Barton, the only reliable person in her life, was on his mission to kill her.

------------------------

Clint waited patiently.

Ten months of chasing could bring a certain ease with them. He splashed around in his coffee with a tiny metal spoon and tried to move a sugar cube with the force of his mind only. He had never quite given up the hope of possessing certain supernatural powers. He was seconds away from a nosebleed when the little bell at the door rang.

In the mirror opposite to the entrance Clint recognized her immediately. His heart took a short flight through his left ribcage before settling again. Huh, if those weren’t supernatural powers he didn’t know what was.

She walked to the cashier with her hood over he red hair and her hands in the bag that was attached to her black sweater. She looked just as plain as he did that day. They were both trying, but the mere fact that he had recognized her with one glance made him hunch over his coffee more and try to disappear more into the shadows of the café.

Natasha bought some bread, coffee to go and two little bagels filled with cream. Then she headed his way.

He kicked out in surprise, pushed over his cup of coffee and actually fucking blushed. Well, hell to that. The people at the other tables looked at him shortly, figuring he had fallen asleep and then startled awake or something like that, before ignoring him again, the way everyone always ignored everyone.

Everyone except Natasha Romanoff who had walked over to his table with her food and coffee and now pulled out a few napkins to throw on the big black stain Clint’s coffee had produced on the tablecloth.

“Whoopsie, I guess.” She actually grinned at him from under her hood and held one of the two to go cups she was somehow juggling in her hands in his direction. “I figured you’d need a new one.”

“How did you know I would push over-”

“You’re very predictable.”

They stared at each other for a second, before Clint took the cup out of her hand and grumbled about his choices self-pityingly.

Natasha poked him in the shoulder, making him feel her fingernail, his nose scrunching up reproachfully.

“Hey!”

“Come on. We go for a walk.”

There was another moment of trust-questioning, but it was even shorter than the first one. Clint put on his leather jacket and followed her easy steps. The hairs on his neck were up, alarmingly. He wanted to nod to them and tell them he’d be careful, but he didn’t want to say that out loud in front of Natasha.

Out on the street she handed him a bagel. Clint burned his tongue on the steaming hot coffee and hissed.

“It says “Careful, contents hot” on the lid.” Natasha said nonchalanty and sipped on her own coffee without showing any signs of discomfort.

“You playing tough now?” Clint asked disgruntled, pushing his poor tongue against the cold whipped cream.

“Don’t need to.” Natasha was quick to answer, pulling his awful Adidas cap off. “This is actually an insult to me.” She threw it in the mudd and stepped on it. “We go this way.”

Clint looked at her as she gracefully walked away on the pavement and waited for her to notice that he so wasn’t following. He couldn’t help but giggle when she said something to the total stranger hurrying to walk past her, mistaking him for Clint. He looked at her in shock and she stopped walking immediately, leaving the poor confused man whom she had probably just threatened right where he was to threaten the perfectly right target that was actually quick to get away.

Clint sneaked into the next alley, making sure Natasha was following him this time. Her face was less soft and less mocking than it had still been at the café. Two could play a game of prediction and surprise. And Clint wasn’t walking into her trap, that was for sure.

He turned around and nodded to the tiny, dark court at the end of the alley. She didn’t react much, merely glared at him. But she followed, when he started walking anew.

In the middle of the court Clint turned around again and took a quick step back when he realized how close she had gotten during that short time. She was in punching range so that’s what she did.

Her fist hit him right in the stomach and he dropped and spilled the second coffee that day, as he bent over in pain. “DAMN it.” He wheezed and then started laughing. “You don’t got much of a sense for waste, do you?”

Natasha grabbed his chin and pushed him up against the red brick wall. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh, here? In this specific spot? I don’t know. I can’t even read the street signs, russian letters, ya know, I just wanted to get on your n-”

“Stop the act. I know that you can read the street signs perfectly well.”

Clint’s shoulders sagged a little. His chin felt heavier in her palm now. His stubble felt nice against her fingers. Not that it mattered...

“Does this mean you know I’m not dumb?” Clint shook his head slightly, his voice getting a teasing tone. “And I thought I had you fooled.”

“Stop it.” Natasha wasn’t in the mood for his jokes. Yelena had succeeded in making her feel wary about herself, her own intentions in this game of cat and mouse. What were they doing? This endless road trip, this constant making and following of hints, it was leading nowhere but on. They could keep dancing around each other for another ten months. Maybe hurt each other again, so SHIELD wouldn’t suspect too much. Suspect what they both already knew: they couldn’t kill each other. They were way too curious about the other, way too pulled in by the other.

Natasha didn’t know how it had happened, how it had come to this. But she was a hundred percent certain that she was fond of Clint Barton and that she was protecting him by leading him on. She always knew where he was, because he always knew where she was. She kept an eye on him, he kept an eye on her. A part of her was still careful, still suspected betrayal, even death. Still, she knew what they said about him, about Hawkeye: he never missed. And he had missed. Big time.

Her grip on his chin loosened a little and she noticed she was stroking over his cheek. The humor hadn’t left his eyes, but it had transformed. He wasn’t teasing her anymore. There was affection in his gaze.

“Natasha.”

She felt his fingers on her elbow and jerked slightly. A soft sound of surprise exited her mouth. She hadn’t noticed him reaching for her. She was letting down her guard, his stupid blue eyes were bewitching her.

“Stop!” She pulled back suddenly, pushing her hand against his chest and grabbing for her gun which was hidden in her waistband. The weapon she had suspected to be in his free hand was invisible. Meaning there was no weapon in his free hand. He was holding up his arms gently, showing them to convince her he wouldn’t hurt her. She swallowed.

“Natasha Romanoff, I was sent as an agent of SHIELD to exterminate you, as they put it. You know that. We have been putting up quite a show, the two of us. I got into a lot of trouble for that. Barton, you’re wasting our time. Shit like that. I wasted their time, because...” Clint took a deep breath and chuckled insecurely. He scratched the back of his head and one could have almost forgotten that he was as cute as he was deadly. Natasha quit hunching, hadn’t even noticed that she was doing it. Her face felt frozen. Her eyes were fixed on Clint’s face. The face she’d been looking at again and again for the past months. Hidden by a mask or uncovered, at daylight, at nighttime. She felt like she knew him.

“I wanted to ask you, you know, under my protection and all, I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, that has to be clear. If there are any doubts from you or or ... from my side I won’t even sleep, make sure nobody even thinks about-”

“You know, you annoyed me enough with letting me walk down the street alone and talk to some complete weirdo, so... get to the point.” She tried to keep up their banter, she had grown fond of it over the time they had been following one another from country to country, but at that specific moment her eyes were too dry and her throat was too cold for herself to be easy about the situation.

What was he proposing? She could feel hope flare up inside her chest like a magic trick. She couldn’t quite believe it, but she also couldn’t understand how it worked.

Clint chuckled, but choked on it like he was shivering on the inside. She knew that he was 26 years old, just like her. They were so young. Wasn’t it good and human to still hope?

Something hit Clint so quietly that only his stung reaction proved the collision. He grabbed his neck with wide eyes and Natasha could see blood between his fingers. His cheeks turned pale. With a piously untroubled expression Clint pulled a tiny bolt out of his delicate flesh. It was red. Darker than his own blood. Natasha knew that signature. The Red Room.

A poisoned arrow.

Her head whipped around and she saw Yelena’s blonde locks disappear inside a window up on the fifth floor.

Forget about hope, she thought. We need an antidote.

--------------------------

“The good news is I can still feel my legs. The bad news: I’m sweating on your pretty sweater.”

Natasha stumbled down the street, her right arm wrapped around Clint’s shoulders to support him. He was muscley and heavy and Natasha was strong, but her resources were being strained. She had to get back to the hide out. The antidote was inside the piano. It had always been stashed away there. Multiple flasks of it.

Yes, she was running into a trap. And yes, Yelena might have already destroyed all reserves. But a part of her demanded her to keep going. She couldn’t give up on this man. This god damn nuisance.

“Seriously ‘Tasha, where’d’you get it, that sweater?” Clint wasn’t aware of the fact that his poison-induced slurry slang sparked something inside Natasha’s emotions. She had been Natalia in the Red Room, Natalia in the hide out, Natalia in the last curses of her enemies. She had chosen to be Natasha for herself. And Clint gave her Tasha.

She looked at his sweaty, grief-marked face and saw nothing but affection. It seemed so easy for him to...

Quickly she shook her head and shortly butted their foreheads together. It was supposed to be gentle and reassuring, but it whipped his head back rather harshly.

“Ow.”

“You will be okay.”

“This’ll grow blue.”

“I will ... protect you.”

Clint smiled and stumbled, almost falling to the hard ground, but she kept him up, wheezing from the effort. She groaned, her muscles were protesting, burning. She had to keep going. Just five more turns. They could make it. They had to make it.

“You hesitated.” He chuckled and Natasha couldn’t help but huff at that. Feisty, gentle, good-humored archer.

“You have to help me move, Clint. How about those useless legs of yours?”

“They feel less alive by the second.” He gritted his teeth visibly and marched on despite the lifelessness. She would have winced, but she couldn’t. She had to keep going. Stay focused. Don’t think about all the ways this could turn out. He’d make it. He’d make it.

“I got the stupid sweater at Primark.” Natasha spat out and pulled him on forward. They did get some suspicious looks from the pedestrians around them. Since they weren’t calling for help though, or breaking down in a pile of death, nobody seemed to care enough to ask or even offer help. Good.

“Primark.” Clint’s voice sounded hoarse. He was hobbling slightly. Natasha knew that his incessant talking distracted him from pain and unconsciousness. Therefore she kept it up.

“Got it for five dollars. I’m a horrible person.”

“Yes. You- you should be ashamed of yourself. I’ll get you a better sweater. It’ll say: “Don’t buy five dollar sweaters at Primark.”” Clint’s face turned even paler than it had been before. Natasha noticed her lip was bleeding. She had bitten it too harshly.

“Good. Yes. Where will you get that sweater?” Natasha asked, carrying him across the street and futher down the darker part of the district. There was a lot of garbage on the pavement. She could see the broken window in the first floor of the building across the street. The broken window that raised some feeling of home inside her. A home she despised. But at least a place she could go.

“Primark, of course.” Clint was powerless. He fainted.

--------------------------

Natasha could hear herself. Her breathing was hysterical. Her body was at its limit. She pulled Hawkeye up the stairs, cursing his name, his weight, the shards on the steps that threatened to hurt the man even further. She gathered him in her arms and activated her last energy to pull him through the door to the hide out, to the tiny, moldy apartment with the piano in the middle. The door broke, she stumbled over it and the next thing she felt was a numb pain on the back of her head.

The next thing she realized was that she was on her hands and tried to blink herself back into her body, because it felt like she had exited it. Yelena walked into view, a blurry view, but a view. In her right hand she was swinging a baseball bat. I mean really? A baseball bat? How original. Natasha almost laughed at that. Clint Barton’s voice had really found a way into her head.

“I’m sorry, Natalia. I couldn’t risk you trying anything.”

Yeah, sure, like this was totally going to stop her. Her hand was fumbling across the floor that felt less real under her callous fingers. Damn baseball bats. She found Clint’s hand, pulled at it. His head met her thigh. She searched his pulse, fingers fumbling around at his collar. She found it, found something else as her fingers brushed against metal. A spark of relief washed through Natasha’s chest. Wonderful genius nuisance archer.

“I don’t understand you, Natalia.” Yelena sat down on a wooden stool. Natasha wished it to break apart. It would have been a fun story to tell Clint when he’d be awake again. She felt tears fill her eyes. God damn heads and their fragility. She had to get that antidote, she couldn’t suffer a concussion. Not now. “What is it about this man that could possibly be more intriguing than your old career? You were glorious, back in the day.”

Natasha held on tightly to Clint’s little gift, her hand hidden inside his horrible sweater. His heartbeat was weak against her knuckles.

“I suppose you have already guessed it.” Yelena sat back and put the baseball bat over her lap.

“What? That you never stopped working for the Red Room? Yeah... I figured.” Natasha blinked, tried to get her brain into a normal position in her head. Where was it swimming?

“Hmm. Sorry about that. They kind of want you delivered. This is why I can’t, you know, let you go with him.” Yelena got on her feet again. “It’s tragic. I’ve never seen you like this before. It could have been a happy end for you. He’s pretty.”

Natasha wasn’t even mad at Yelena. For any of it. She knew what the Red Room could be like. They had probably tortured the blonde mercenary. Unfortunately, in their line of work, nobody was trustworthy. Unfortunately for Yelena. She was getting closer.

“Maybe they won’t kill you. You were one of their best killers. It is possible that they take you back. After a certain... ordeal of course.” Yelena kneeled down before her, her foot kicking against Clint’s shoulder. Natasha bit on her bloody lip again. Her hand tightened around Clint’s necklace.

“What did they do to you, Yelena?” Natasha looked up, trying to focus on the slightly widening eyes of the poor lost soul and then, when she was certain the other woman was distracted, she hit her mark.

---------------------------

The arrow stuck out of Yelena’s eye like a candle out of a birthday cupcake. It wasn’t a nice death, but a fast one. As long as you hit the brain.

Natasha puked on the blonde strands of hair. Then she scrambled to her feet, fell down again, hit Clint’s head with her elbow. The man weakly awoke. A huff of air coming from his lips. They were turning blue.

“Don’t you” Natasha got on her knees.

“fucking” She hobbled over to the black instrument in the middle of the damn room.

“die” Her hand slipped between the backside and inside of the thing.

“on me!” She hauled herself up by the side of it, looked inside and saw nothing but broken vials.

A wail was about to break out of her. Long, loud and desperate. Instead, she dipped her head down until her lips met the wet bottom of the wood. Her brain was not happy about this change of positions. She ignored the nausea that started to build up. Tiny evil shards grazed her lips and tongue. And they would graze Clint’s iips and tongue as well. But that’s the way life goes sometimes.

When Natasha’s mouth had gathered up as much of the life-saving liquid as it could have from the godless puddle at the bottom of a really old piano she fell on her butt and moved herself back to the pretty lifeless Hawkeye on the floor. Her calm hands grabbed his jaw and opened his mouth. Then she bent down. The idea of her basically spitting into his mouth wasn’t a nice one. It certainly didn’t help her nausea. But he was a courageous little dying man and swallowed all of it, the antidote, the shards and her spit.

Natasha put her palm on his cold forehead and looked at his very still face. She started laughing like a crazy person. Then she cried a little, but shh, that’s between us. She concluded her hysterical session with a loud intake of breath and slumped in on herself.

-----------------------------

Later on, she wondered how long she had remained in her hunched sitting position. While doing it, it didn’t seem like much of an effort. Clint was either asleep or dead. And she wasn’t willing to find out which option applied.

As long as she could just sit here, all was possible. All was undecided.

The night was cold, but short. The morning was cruel with its ever growing light. More and more did Clint’s face reveal itself to her. And she couldn’t make out entirely what it indicated.

She must have waited about thirteen hours. Maybe a little less, maybe a ittle more. But it took many hours for Clint to wake.

He stirred on the floor and Natasha’s dry, dry eyes enjoyed a nice little shower.

“’Tasha?”

“I’m here.”

“Crazy.”

“Yeah.”

That was all he could muster. Then his head rolled back to the floor and he fell unconscious again.

It was more than enough for Natasha. She wiped away her tears, laughed about herself, got to her numb feet and rolled Yelena under the out-of-tune piano. Her head was better. Way better. She realized there was dried blood sticking to her hair. But she didn’t worry much about it.

She took up the baseball bat, walked to the fucked up instrument and destroyed it.

---------------------------------

Two hours later Clint woke to the steam of coffee being basically held in his face. He instinctively pushed the white, hot object in front of his nose away and shrieked when hot driplets of coffee splashed on his cheeks.

“Hellfire and endless agony!” He yelled as he sat up and wiped at his wet skin.

Natasha was sitting next to him, with a smirk on her face. Playfully she shook the cup in her hand around and leaned in as if to tell him a secret. “Just coffee actually.”

Clint looked at her as if he had never seen her before and for a moment the Black Widow felt uneasy. What if the poison had deleted Clint’s memory?

But then Clint cocked his head and asked “Gary?” with so much conviction that Natasha couldn’t decide which wish to give in to first: laughing or punching him. Which is why she did both.

“Ooooww.” Clint chuckled and dramatically leaned to the side of his hurt arm.

“That’s what you get for... for... “ Natasha was lost for words as she remembered the agony and hellfire she had spent the night with. Her face turned serious.

Clint sat up straight again and looked at her with his tilted head. His eyes were so soft. They always had been. Every damn time they had met along the way.

“What you did yesterday must have been incredible.” Hawkeye bent over and obviously wanted to grab something hidden inside his sweater. He was surprised not to find it.

Natasha watched him. “It probably was.” After a while, she added: “I had to use that necklace of yours.”

Clint slumped down a little. “Oh.” He only took a second to recover from that loss, but the fact that he had needed it showed Natasha how meaningful the jewelry must have been to Clint. He was back to his grinning self in no time. “What, did you put it in somebody’s eye or...?”

It was supposed to be a joke, but Natasha’s expression must have given the truth away. Clint’s eyebrows rose an inch. He saw the remaints of the piano and pieced the puzzle together. “You have been efficient.”

“I tend to be.”

With a nonchalance Natasha immediately liked about him Clint looked at his watch. “Oh well. We gotta go. Let’s burn this place down.”

He was about to get up, but fell on his backside again rather elegantless. He furrowed his brows and looked at his slightly trembling hands. “Huh.”

“Take it slow maybe.” Natasha advised, her hand extended to him to offer help.

“I’ve never been poisoned before. I can’t say it’s for me.” Clint took her hand with an adorably crooked smile and additionally grabbed for her shoulder when he was standing on his feet. Sweat broke out on his forehead, but he did his best to breathe it away. His stomach grumbled. “Oh, would you look at that. Being hungry is a good sign, right?”

Natasha patted his hand and blinked ironically. “I’m sure it is.”

The archer took another few breaths to steady himself, holding on to Natasha all throughout it. What a weird pair they were. Natasha watched him calm down his shivers, watched his knuckles grow less and less white on her shoulder and on her hand. He wasn’t acting tough - well, he definitely was to a certain degree, but not in that specific moment - and he allowed her to see that he was weak. She pushed the backside of her left hand to his nice and stubly cheek, the way she had done it the day before. The stuble had grown over night.

Clint’s blue eyes focused on Natasha’s green ones. His breathing was getting more steady and his shivers disappeared. He smiled ever so lightly.

“Please don’t hit me now. I don’t think I could ever get over that.”

Natasha smiled back at him, the skin on her almost healed bottom lip breaking again and leaking some blood. She didn’t mind it.

“Do you ever shut up?”

“Nope.” He grabbed her hand from his cheek, kissed her fingers too quickly for her to pull back and turned around to bend down and search through the jacket she had taken off of him.

Unimpressed Natasha raised her eyebrows and looked at her fingers. She couldn’t hold back the tiniest smile. She cleared her throat. “Bet you’re so nice to all your missions.”

Clint made a noise that could have meant so much as “I beg to differ” or “God, I really need to pee”. Probably a bit of both. The archer slid inside his jacket and extracted a hand to her. “Not a mission anymore. Partners.”

Natasha blinked at him. What did he mean by partners?

“Well, before you ask any rude questions. Let’s really burn this place down!” Clint concluded and pulled a lighter out of his jacket pocket. He grinned so dumbly, Natasha had to cross her arms to keep from mirroring him.

“You don’t got any gasoline nearby, do you?”

------------------------------

They sat in the cafe again, when the firefighters rushed past them with sirens whailing.The coffee-stained tabelcloth had been badly washed. There was a big brown spot on it where Clint had been so graceful to cover it with the hot liquid a day before.Natasha poked her smashed potatoes around like someone had hidden a fly in them and she had yet to find it. She didn’t like flies. Clint’s stomach continued to rumble, but he didn’t touch his food. It was unusual for him to be this serious. But the situation called for it.

“Like I said I would protect you. At all costs. Nobody will be able to hurt you.”

“I don’t need your protection.” Natasha hissed reflexively and felt bad for it immediately. Felt.. bad for it? Seriously? Gosh, this man was annoying. Natasha dropped her spoon and rested her head in her palms.

To her surprise Clint looked down quickly, badly hiding his sudden smirk.

She kicked him under the table. He hid his wince with a chuckle. “You are responsible for so many bruises on this shin, you got no idea.” Natasha ignored that. “What are you grinning about?”

Clint shook his head and smiled openly now. “You... you pout.”

The reaction from the Black Widow must have been an even more indignant pout, because Clint’s grin widened. She kicked him again, but this time he pushed his leg out of reach fast enough. His left eye-brow raised triumphantly. Natasha narrowed her eyes at him. So many thoughts and doubts and hopes were flaring through her slightly concussed head, she could barely focus on one at a time. Still. This smirk. This softness. This almost playful side of him - or well, definitely playful side - she was pulled in by it.

“I... “ She started, then looked away, bit her scabby lip and started again. “I don’t want to say yes because of you. But I would have to say yes because of you.”

Clint’s smirk vanished, making room for a very sympathetic expression. Worry. He was just as worried as she was. This is why he kept on promising her protection. To calm his own mind.

“If it helps you,” Clint stated with a self-ironic chuckle, “I am offering it because of you. And you alone.”

Natasha tilted her head questioningly.

“Well,” Cint started to explain, “I have been working for SHIELD for six years now. They pay well. And I’m good at the whole bow and arrow thing-”

“The best, I heard.” Natasha interrupted, looking not the least impressed.

Clint grinned and pointed at her face teasingly. “Pouting again!” He sing-songed. She blushed - actually blushed for God’s sake - and slapped his hand away. He chuckled and continued his monologue.

“It’s just... I don’t recruit people. Obviously. That’s Phil’s job and Nick Fury’s. I get my missions and I finish them. And now there’s you. Natasha, you are the first mission I didn’t finish. I won’t finish. Because you are impressive. And there’s good in you, intelligence, so much will. You saved me so many times. It’s kind of twisted, isn’t it? My mission was to kill you, so you would stop killing. Now we are here, you saved my life more times than I can count and I want you to-”

He looked at her almost desperately and Natasha felt that she was looking at him the same way. What he was proposing there was a future. It was a job, it was redemption, it was forgiveness, it was friendship and more than that. In front of all, it was a risk. He was taking a huge risk. For her.

Clint took a deep breath and closed his cold fingers around her hand on the table. “I want you to be my partner. I want you to work with me.”

You could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall above them. You could hear more sirens blaring outside, more firefighter, maybe the police. You could hear Clint holding his breath and Natasha’s voice stuck inside her throat.

Then Clint’s phone started to ring. He squeezed his eyes shut in discomfort and grabbed it out of his pocket, not letting go of Natasha’s hand on the table. She believed, it was an unconscious thing from him and it endeared her. With his eyes he conveyed her the message that he had to take this call. She nodded with a patient smile.

“Eyyyyyy Phillie, Phil’oh’boy, how’s it gooooing?... Yeah, I didn’t, that’s right. ... Oh why, you ask? Why I didn’t call? I was poisoned, almost dying. ... Busy night, yeah. ... I know. ... Yep, I know that’s what was our deal. ... Sure. ...”

Clint furrowed his brows when he saw Natasha taking out a pen and writing something on a napkin. He realized he was still holding her hand. A slight blush colored his cheeks. But he didn’t let go. Partly because he didn’t want to, partly because she was smiling while writing.

“The meetup is in an hour already? ... Huh. ... Yep, I think we can make it. ... Yes, we. ... Well, I’m a hopeful person. ... Love you too, Phillie. ... That’s just rude.” Clint ended the call and slid his phone back inside his pocket.

Natasha watched him with attentive eyes.

Clint smiled crookedly again and scratched the back of his head. “We uhm... we gotta be at the airport in an hour. If that’s where you want to be.”

The Black Widow had banned all emotions from her face and merely looked at him. Then she raised the napkin from the table top and held it in front of her sweater. It said “Don’t buy 5$ sweaters at Primark.”

Clint closed his eyes and hummed with a smile that was banning all worries and pains he had ever suffered from. When he looked at her again, his blue eyes were shimmering.

“Is that a yes?”

--------------------------

Phil stood in the opening of the helicopter, sunglasses on, in a suit as usual, and shook his head so obviously dismissive that Natasha’s stomach rebelled worriedly.

Clint held her hand and he didn’t let go, even when she made an effort to slip out of his grip.

“With all I have.” Hawkeye reminded her loud enough to hear over the noise of the helicopter and squeezed her hand reassuringly. She stared into his soft blue eyes and couldn’t help but smile.

Phil Coulson helped them into the helicopter, closed the door and gave the SHIELD pilot the sign to take off. He looked pissed. Even with his sunglasses on. Even with this face of a passionless fish. So the first thing that Natasha could think off was smile.

“You must be Bill.”

The poor archer next to her had to turn around and act like he was searching for something to cover up his shaking shoulders. She grinned. Making Hawkeye laugh would be one of her favorite new hobbies.

“Natalia Alianovna Romanova.” Phil Coulson answered coldly, hitting a sore spot, just as he had probably wanted to.

Natasha bit on the inside of her cheek and gave a quick response. “Or just Tasha... though I haven’t yet decided who is allowed to call me that.” Her newly gained partner settled in more comfortably and pushed her thigh with his knuckles to remind her of putting on her seatbelt. She nodded and did so.

“This is adorable.” Phil said, looking not at all charmed by their silent conversation. “Hawkeye brings in a new recruit. A deadly new recruit who has been filed as one of the Top 20 most wanted assassins by SHIELD. The organization you work for, Clint.”

“Top 20?” Natasha asked, a little disappointed. “That could mean anything. It could mean that I am the eleventh most wanted or the nineteenth. That’s a huge difference. Could you be a little more precise?”

Clint had to bite his quivering lip and stepped on her foot gently but firmly.

“Ahh.” Coulson made. “I see. She amuses you. Wonderful. Just perfect. Can’t wait to see what Fury has to say to this.”

That was all Phil Coulson said for the remaining long journey back to America. It didn’t matter much. Natasha got used to him staring at her rather quickly and managed to ignore it.

Why? Because Clint was shielding her. Not with his body. But with his presence. Sure, she didn’t need his protection. She had had her own for years, Ever since she could remember actually. Yet, it was the nicest, most comfortable feeling Natasha had ever experienced. Sitting here, in a helicopter of an organization that had her on a list of most wanted assassins, next to a mercenary who had spent months hunting her down, opposite a man whose hidden stare alone made her see his wish she’d drop down dead immediately.

It was in the touch of his elbow against her arm, in his foot stepping on hers repeatedly to annoy her, in his head leaning in close to hers to whisper mean things about Coulson in her ear. It was in his soft blue eyes and in his little smiles. It was in the echo in her head, the echo of his words.

With all I have.

That is where her hope sat. Her safety. Her trust and ... affection.

Because, and she had thought it before and she would think it again, with every touch he gave so freely to her, with every laugh he spilled due to her, with every word he directed at her and every hug he embraced her in, it seemed so easy for him to love her.

#clintasha #clint x natasha #avengers #preavengers #fanfiction #black widow #hawkeye #phil coulson #shield #budapest #yelena #oc #with all i have

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1989dreamer · 4 years

Text

Full Offense (no offense)

Cross-posted at my AO3

Summary: Stiles lives in an apartment below the worst neighbor in the world. Derek always submits false complaints about Stiles and his roommates to the front office. Well, tables are turning. Derek is hosting a party this Saturday, and Stiles fully intends to crash it and confront Derek over his asshole-ish-ness.

Main Relationship: Sterek

Rating: T

Tags: Angry Stiles, Human AU, drunk characters, Derek cooks, dub/non-con drugging, attempted assault mentioned, over-protective Laura, enemies to lovers, asshole Jackson

~ * ~

“I’m offended,” Stiles announces to the room in general. No one looks up, too used to his outbursts by now to pay much attention. The fools.

He marches up to Scott sitting at the breakfast nook, a large bowl of Fruity Pebbles in front of him. He stares him down while Scott keeps shoveling cereal into his mouth.

Finally, after about five minutes, once his bowl is empty, he looks up as if just noticing Stiles for the first time. “Sorry,” he says laconically. “You’re offended?”

“Yeah, and you wanna know why?”

“Not really.”

Stiles ignores Scott and forges ahead. “That bastard in 3A wrote another complaint about us.”

“Really?” Now Scott looks interested. “What’d he say we did this time?”

“Something about an over-loud party last weekend.”

“But we weren’t even here last weekend,” Scott protests. He shoots a look at their roommates, Boyd and Jackson, sitting on the couch and playing a first person shooter game. They both shrug. Boyd had been at his girlfriend’s. Jackson had been who knows the hell where. Stiles doesn’t keep track of him. As long as he pays his rent, they are cool.

“So I’m thinking he’s targeting us,” Stiles says. “Why, I don’t know. That is something I intend to find out.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” Scott asks.

“A little bird told me that 3A is planning to host his own bash this weekend. So guess who wrangled an invite?”

“You’re going to crash 3A’s fancy shindig?” Jackson snorts. “In what outfit?”

“In this one?” Stiles points down at his button down, left open over a graphic t-shirt and baggy khaki pants. The only thing he might change is his shoes. He’s got a fresh pair of sneakers just waiting for a spin out in the world. Might as well break them in at 3A’s party.

Jackson snorts again, but he’ll be waiting a long time if he thinks Stiles either wants or needs his fashion advice.

“And how exactly did you get an invitation?”

“The front desk clerk gave it to me.” Stiles pulls out the blue paper and waves it in Jackson’s general direction. “Look, ‘Derek Hale formally invites you to Apartment 3A to partake in games and alcohol from the hours of 6:00 pm to 10:00 pm. Cabs will be called for all attendees who do not wish to stay overnight.’”

“Wow,” Scott says, “this Derek fellow sounds awfully polite on paper.”

“Yeah,” Stiles admits. “It’s probably to disguise how much of a shithead he really is.”

“Well, have fun,” Scott says. “I will be at Allison’s this weekend.”

“I’m heading back to Erica’s,” Boyd adds.

Jackson rolls his shoulders. “Any chance that invite has a plus-one on it?”

“Fuck off,” Stiles says, but he checks anyway. “Nope, sorry. Nothing about that. Seemed pretty exclusive from what the front desk clerk said.”

“Well I guess I’ll just have to get my own then,” Jackson says with too much nonchalance. He’s a bad liar. Stiles knows his tells. When he’s this relaxed, he’s worried.

“What? You think I’m going to his party to hobnob?” Stiles forces out a laugh. “Buddy, I’m going to confront the bastard and see what his fucking problem with us is.”

“Oh of course,” Jackson snipes back. “Couldn’t be that you’re finally fucking picking up culture.”

Stiles snorts. “If you consider going to Derek Hale’s wine-and-game-night culture.”

“Well,” Scott says, “it is more cultured than beer and C.O.D.”

“Hey, don’t shit on C.O.D. nights. That’s culture too.”

Boyd gives Stiles an air-five.

“Anyway. It’s just a party. If I can get Derek Hale off our backs, isn’t that a good thing?”

The others agree, and Boyd and Jackson go back to their game and Scott gets up to wash his bowl and spoon.

Stiles goes to his room to plot his speech for this Saturday. Derek Hale won’t know what hits him when Stiles walks into his apartment. It just might be the last thing Stiles ever does, but by God, he’s taking that asshole with him.

~ * ~

The rest of the week passes so uneventfully that Stiles is scared that things are going too well.

The day of Derek’s party dawns bright and beautiful and quiet.

Boyd left last night to Erica’s, and Scott didn’t even come home before he headed out to Allison’s.

Jackson is still around, but Stiles is ignoring him. As far as he knows, Jackson never managed to get an invite to the party, so he’s hoping to sneak out before Jackson can attach himself like a barnacle and slip into the party as a plus-one even though it really isn’t that kind of party.

Stiles spends most of the day in his room, on his computer practicing his speech until he can recite it without notes. If he was being graded on it, he’d accept nothing less than an A+. It’s that good.

Stiles has his outfit picked out already. Despite what he told his roommates earlier, he’s actually going to be wearing a fitted gray blazer over a buttoned down blue shirt and pressed khakis. He also managed to find his dress shoes from graduation. So, he’ll be decently dressed and can pass for one of Derek’s swanky friends.

At least, Stiles assumes they’re swanky. Derek dresses nicely all the time—at least whenever Stiles runs into him in the hallways.

About an hour before the party, he dresses in complete silence and then uses the fire escape outside his window to get down street side, and then he just chills at a small park about five blocks away.

Once 5:45 pm arrives, Stiles heads back and jogs up to Derek Hale’s door. The front desk clerk who’d given him the invite is nowhere to be seen. Instead, it’s an older, lecherous man that Stiles calls Uncle Bad Touch in his head. UBT waves at him as he hurries past.

Thankfully, UBT only works once in a long while. Usually it’s one of two clerks who look remarkably the same aside from different hairstyles. Stiles likes Cora best. She is abrasive in a good way, and she gives things to Stiles, like extra soap when he forgets to buy some or the invite to Derek’s party.

Despite all his careful planning, Jackson is waiting in front of Derek’s door, dressed even more smartly than Stiles. Hell, that might even be Jackson’s high school prom tux, and it really isn’t fair that he still fits in it, even if the shoulders look a little tight.

“Ready?” Jackson cocks an eyebrow at Stiles. He knocks before Stiles can answer.

The door immediately swings open, and Derek stands before them. Stiles can’t help fist-pumping a little when he notices that Derek is dressed in slacks and a button up shirt instead of a suit or tux like Jackson. He does bite back the “Culture,” that wants to come out, though.

“Welcome,” Derek says, looking from one to the other, a frown of confusion pulling his brows low over his eyes.

Stiles clears his throat and shoves the invite from Cora at Derek. He takes it, tucks it into his back pocket and then steps back to allow them in.

“Drinks are in the kitchen. Thanks for coming.”

He leaves them standing just inside the door as he makes his way to what must be the kitchen. The layout is similar to their apartment just downstairs, and Stiles heads for a couch in much nicer condition than theirs. Jackson follows him, perching on a loveseat across from him, a sturdy metal coffee table between the two sitting areas, and clutching at his knees. He seems far more nervous than Stiles feels.

There aren’t any other people here, and for a moment Stiles thinks he might have arrived too early, and then Derek reappears with a tray of finger foods just as the door slams open.

“What’s up, asshole!” the not-Cora front desk clerk yells, bouncing into the room, closely followed by a guy dressed identical to Jackson.

Jackson doesn’t look any relieved to see that.

“Hey, Laura, hey, Jordan.” Derek gives them an awkward sort of wave. “This is Cora and her fiancé.”

“Really now?” Laura peers at Stiles and Jackson with pretend interest. “Coulda swore those are your downstairs neighbors.”

“All right, you got me. Cora and Lydia were busy tonight so they gave their invite to Stiles and Jackson.”

Jackson shoots a sort of smug look at Stiles, completely ruined by the fact that he also looks like he wants to throw up. Stiles refuses to react, but he is a little bummed that it actually was a plus-one invite.

“Cool.” Laura looks marginally more interested. “Are they any good at Risk?”

Derek rolls his eyes so hard that Stiles waits for them to pop out and bounce along the floor. “We’re not playing Risk. I donated the game after last time.”

Laura turns a funny shade of red while Derek all but runs to where the door is being timidly knocked upon.

All told, five more people show up; a vivacious blonde couple, Rachel and Sean, who seem more interested in flanking Jackson and making him blush hotly before Derek makes them move; Kira with cat-headphones and a shy smile when she catches Stiles admiring the many fandom pins on her bag; permanent-frat-boy Sammy, with a backwards cap and saggy basketball shorts; and thin, elegant brunette, Abigail, who has an aloofness to rival a freezer. Derek keeps running back and forth from the kitchen until his tasteful coffee table is loaded down with cups and food. He encourages everyone to eat, and it’s delicious. Stiles eats way too much and drinks only enough to wash it down. He manages to put away two loaded potatoes, too many breaded mozzarella sticks, fried mushrooms, jalapeño poppers to count, and half of a small cheesecake. Only Abigail eats more than him. Derek is a fucking fantastic cook (even if most of the foods are pop and bake) and bartender. He’s also the quintessential host, and Stiles really feels bad about what he’s going to do.

He decides to wait until everyone else is too drunk to stop him before he confronts Derek about his well-hidden asshole-side.

~ * ~

About three hours later, the food is gone, drinks are back in the kitchen, and Laura is drunkenly trying to set up Jackson with Jordan. Despite wearing matching clothes and red faces, neither seems to actually mind her meddling.

And Derek keeps staring at Stiles with a heated gaze that is definitely not helping the stomachache from too much food.

Stiles wins every game they even try playing because everyone else, including Jackson, is smashed. Then, once they’ve settled into just conversation, he begins putting away the games. Derek tries to help, and Stiles has to bite back a fond smile as Derek rests his head on his shoulder while he tries and fails to sort the Monopoly money.

“So, how’d you get an invite?” Derek slurs against his ear when Stiles takes the money from him.

“You said it earlier: Cora gave it to me,” Stiles says honestly. “She also told me that you filed another complaint against us.”

“What?” Derek hiccups on the word, pulling back and staring wide-eyed and innocent at Stiles. He isn’t buying it.

Not at all.

Derek hiccups again, and then lets out a low burp. He blushes, covering his mouth. “Sorry. But I didn’t file any complaints against you. You’re great neighbors. You haven’t done anything at all. Even your get-togethers are quiet and respectful. Why would I complain about you?”

“If it isn’t you, then who…?” Stiles looks away from Derek. For some reason, he finds his gaze locked onto Jackson. Who is staring back at him with a kind of terrified look on his face.

“Jackson?” Stiles asks.

“Yeah?” His roommate swallows hard.

“Why has Derek been filing complaints about us at the front office?”

“He hasn’t,” Jackson whispers. “I have.”

“Why?” Derek asks. “You guys are perfect! My parents love you.”

“It’s stupid,” Jackson mutters. “I’m sorry. I’ll stop. I’ll move out too. I’m sorry, Stiles.”

“What did you hope to accomplish by filing complaints against us? You realize you would be kicked out too, right?”

“Yeah, but…” he pauses to blow out a breath that he doesn’t seem like he can spare. “I just. It’s just so stupid. I’m so sorry, Stiles. I just wanted to get you evicted. I knew the rest of us could play off as quiet and nice tenants while you’d probably have a loud reaction and get kicked out. I’m sorry.”

Hurt, Stiles leans back like that can even begin to give him the distance he needs right now. Jackson does look reproached but sorry doesn’t make up for the fact that his roommate, someone he thought was his friend, filed three noise complaints against him. One more and the landlords would have no choice but to investigate and possibly kick him out.

Derek pats at Stiles’ arm. “I’m sorry you have such a shitty friend,” he says.

Stiles nods. “Me too.” He stands up. “I’m sorry, Derek. I came here to yell at you for unfairly complaining about us, and you’ve been nothing but awesome. I hope I get to see you again someday. Right now, I just need to go. I need to find a place to stay for tonight.” He looks back at Jackson and then away just as quickly. “I can’t stay at our apartment right now.”

“Everyone was just leaving, right?”

“Fuck no,” Laura says. “We’re stealing your bed, Derek. You can sleep on the couch.”

Derek frowns at her. “Okay, so we’re all a little too drunk for this. Stiles, why don’t you stay here tonight and Jackson will go back to the apartment. We’ll sort it all out tomorrow when we’re not drunk anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” Jackson says again. “Really, Stiles. I am.”

“I get it,” Stiles tells him, “but right now, I don’t care.”

“Jordan, walk Jackson back to his apartment,” Laura orders. “My buzz is fading and that’s not what Saturday night’s all about.”

It’s definitely an awkward end to what had been a fun and kind of sweet night.

Stiles sits back down on the sofa as the door closes behind Jackson and Jordan. Derek watches him, eyes soft with concern. Stiles isn’t sure that he wants whatever sympathy Derek has for him, but he’s glad at least someone seems to realize how hurt he is by Jackson’s betrayal.

Laura grouses a bit and then stumbles to the bedroom, half the rest of the party following her while the other half goes to the other bedroom.

Derek sighs, leaning against Stiles. “Are you okay?”

“Not really, but I guess I will be. Anyway, I better call our other roommates and let them know that I’ll be moving out.”

“You can stay on my couch tonight, and if you need a place to crash, I’ve got a spare bed.” He glances at the second door. “I’ll clean the bed and put out fresh sheets tomorrow,” he promises.

“Why would you do that for me?” Stiles asks. “I’m practically a stranger to you.”

“Well, my sisters like you. Cora especially. So,” Derek shrugs, “I like you too.”

“That is, ostensibly, the worst reason I have ever heard to like someone,” Stiles says.

Derek rolls his shoulders in a lazy shrug. “It’s worked out so far,” he replies. “Anyway. I should let you get settled.” He pauses, studying Stiles with a serious, contemplative expression, lip between his teeth. Honestly, it’s a little adorable.

Stiles sighs and shakes his head. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, Derek, you’re being a real friend, unlike Jackson.”

It’s Derek’s turn to sigh. “I’ve had my share of bad friends,” he admits. “I do my best to not make anyone feel like they’re unwelcome even if I don’t know them. I guess it makes people think I’m soft or something, so I try to keep my true emotions hidden when I’m out in public…” he trails off, blinking. “I don’t remember where I was going with that, but yeah, I really just want you to know that you’re welcome here as long as you need it.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says sincerely. “That really means a lot to me. Thank you, Derek.”

“No problems.” Derek does a two finger wave as he stumbles to a trunk set between the bedroom doors. He returns with a couple of blankets and pillows, thumping one set into Stiles’ chest. “You take the couch. I’ll sleep in the kitchen. Wake me up if I’m not already up when you get up.”

“Okay.” Stiles refuses to believe it’s a promise, but the hopeful look Derek gives him before he disappears into the kitchen makes him think that whether he meant it or not, Derek definitely took it as a promise.

Could be worse, he decides, dropping the pillow onto the couch and following it down.

His brain, usually wired too fast to get much sleep must be as exhausted as he is because almost as soon as he buries his face in his borrowed pillow, he’s out.

~ * ~

Stiles wakes up when one of the guests trips on their way to the bathroom, and because it’s daylight outside, he decides it’s not worth chasing that last minute of sleep, so he gets up and goes to find Derek in the kitchen.

Derek is rolled into his blanket, face smushed into his pillow. He’s adorable, and Stiles is struck by the sudden realization that someone needs to be kissing and loving up on him, and that maybe it should be him.

The floor creaks a little as Stiles moves closer, and Derek snuffles a bit and then sits bolt upright, bleary-eyed and yawning.

“Wha’ time’s it?” he mumbles, a hand flopping out of his blanket wrap to scratch at his beard.

Stiles pulls out his phone. “It’s almost 6:30,” he says. “Are you okay from sleeping on the floor?”

“’m fine,” Derek says around another yawn. He scrambles up and stretches until his back pops. “So, do you want something to eat? If I know Laura and her hangover, she’ll want the greasiest thing I can make. I’ve got three types of bacon—regular, thick, and turkey. I have eggs, cheese, hash browns, biscuits, and gravy.”

Stiles laughs in disbelief at the size of the menu. “Just how many guests do you have?” he asks. “Jordan’s still with Jackson. That means there’s eight of us left, including you. Do you really thing we can eat all that?”

Derek grins at him. “You don’t know hungover Laura. She’ll put it all away if we don’t stop her.”

Stiles rolls his shoulders. He’s not inclined to stop Derek if he’s planning on cooking again. Besides, it’s not like he has anywhere he has to be. Not until Jackson is out of the apartment because even though he’s the one moving out, he doesn’t want to be in the same room as his former friend.

Instead, he sits at the little table tucked under the window and watches Derek dig out everything he talked about and more. He tosses an orange at Stiles and then hums under his breath as he heats up a skillet and begins cracking eggs into a bowl. He pops what look like homemade biscuits on a baking sheet and starts a pot of country gravy.

“You know,” Stiles says, contemplative, “you’re handsome, can cook, and are so sweet. Why don’t you have a significant other?”

Derek’s shoulders tense for a brief moment before he continues, using a fork to beat the eggs. “I’m un-datable,” he says easily. Certainly far more easily than Stiles could have in his position.

“And why is that?” Stiles digs a thumb into a groove of the table while he waits for Derek’s response.

“Because he’s a fucking martyr,” Laura says from the doorway. She saunters in and sits down in the chair across from Stiles, wincing as her chair scrapes the floor. “Way back in high school, he wasn’t always so reserved and cool. He was dorky as shit. There were a few girls—popular bitches. You know the type, rich, never had to work for the things they had. Anyway, some of them targeted him because while Derek was never ugly, he wasn’t the cutest boy in school.” Laura pauses to rub her temples. “We have money. Obviously. Our parents own this apartment complex. So they just wanted to fuck with him. The last one was the worst.”

Derek’s shoulders are shaking, and Stiles stops Laura. She looks over at her brother and swears colorfully.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I’ll stop talking. We won’t say anything more. I promise.”

“It’s okay,” Derek says, calmly sliding several slices of the turkey bacon into the pan. “It’s been years. It’s not like she’s out yet.”

Stiles startles, a soft, “What?” slipping out.

Derek sighs heavily, reaching for a spatula. “My last girlfriend drugged me. She was trying to record something incriminating and ended up getting busted by a chaperone.”

“It was junior prom,” Laura fills in.

Derek nods. “She got five years. It was extended after she fought her cellmate and almost killed her. So, she’s got another five years. She’ll be released in two years.”

Stiles quickly counts up on his fingers. “So that makes you, what, twenty-five?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Twenty-three.”

“I’m thirty,” Laura interjects, shrugging when both her brother and Stiles look at her. “Yeah. I had an outside perspective.” She goes quiet. “I was the chaperone.”

“That’s some heavy stuff,” Stiles says. “No wonder you don’t date anymore.”

“Anyway. Breakfast is about halfway done. You should call the others.”

Derek moves onto the potatoes next. Laura leaves, probably to rouse the other guests. Stiles sits back at the table, rolling the orange one way and then the other.

After a few minutes of nothing but the sizzling of potatoes, Stiles clears his throat. “So,” he says softly. “Are you ready to date again or still…?”

“Probably ready,” Derek answers, so low that Stiles has to strain to hear him. “Been ready for a while, but Laura feels so guilty that she kind of sabotages my relationships.”

“If it were me, I wouldn’t let her push me away.”

“Are you insinuating that you’d date me?” Derek turns just to raise an eyebrow at him.

Stiles waits until he turns back to stove before saying, “Maybe more than insinuating.”

Derek doesn’t respond, so Stiles assumes he hasn’t heard him. That’s okay. Stiles can just sit here and enjoy the view. Maybe after breakfast he’ll bring up the insinuation again. He doesn’t want it to be awkward if he’s going to crash with Derek before finding his own place.

But if it goes well, aside from Laura, then maybe they can move in right away. Derek has two bedrooms. It’s not like they’ll jump right into bed. Stiles is still virginal and a bit self-conscious about it. And besides, Derek might be ready for dating but dating is miles from having sex. At least, Stiles thinks it is. It’s not like he has experience there.

He finally peels the orange to give his hands something to do and then Derek clears his throat. Stiles looks up.

“So, uh, about what you said, about it not being an insinuation. Did you mean that?” Derek sets a plate of the fresh biscuits onto the table and then grabs the pot of gravy too.

“Yes?” Stiles coughs, feeling the flush rising in his cheeks. “I mean, yeah, yes. Definitely. I definitely would like to date you. I mean, technically, we’re already on our second date.”

“True. So, formally, Stiles-I-don’t-know-your-last-name, would you like to go on a date with me?”

“Stilinski,” Stiles says, “and yes, Derek Hale, I’d love to go on a date with you. Formally.”

Derek makes a face. “Your name is Stiles Stilinski? Who named you?”

“Excuse you, I did.” Stiles makes a face back at him. “It’s a nickname, duh.”

“So what’s your real name?”

“Ah,” Stiles waggles a finger at him, “that’s a third date kind of question, don’t you think?”

“Are we going on a date tonight?”

“Probably,” Stiles says, and then realizes what Derek is getting at. “Cheeky,” he says. “Maybe I’ll never tell you until the day we get married, and then you’ll be like, ‘What happened to Stiles?’ and ‘How the fuck do you even say that?’”

“Wrong.”

“How so?”

“I’d never be so crude as to swear on our wedding day. That’s for the honeymoon.”

“Oh yeah, and what’ll you be saying then?”

Derek blushes and doesn’t answer, but Stiles can guess and it makes him blush too.

“Oh isn’t this cozy?” Abigail says as she drops into the chair next to Stiles. The rest of the guests file in, grab food and file out, all shuffling in some kind of zombie-walk. Only Laura joins them at the table. Abigail adds, slyly eying Laura, who has piled a plate high with a lot off food, immediately stabbing a fork into the mess and shoveling it into her face, “Are you finally going to admit your big, fat crush on little old Stiles here, eh, Derek?”

“Yeah, actually, we’re way past that,” Derek says. “We’re on our second date.”

Laura chokes on her eggs. “What?” she demands, glaring at Stiles. “When did this happen?”

“Um, well, the party last night was the first date,” Stiles says. He holds her gaze, giving as good as he gets. “Breakfast this morning is date number two.”

“And we’re going on a third date tonight,” Derek announces. He stares down Laura, almost daring her to challenge him. Instead, and Stiles gets the distinct feeling that this is rare, Laura sinks back in her chair and digs back into her eggs.

Briefly, Stiles thinks he made a mistake agreeing to date Derek so easily, but the first moment Derek looks up from his plate and grins at Stiles as he reaches for more food, he knows he was gone the moment he sat on Derek’s couch and listened to him make his friends leave Jackson alone, the way he let them in at all. The way he’s been nothing but gracious despite his semi-drunken confession to purposefully putting on a grumpy air in the hallways. Derek Hale is a sweetheart and Stiles realizes that he wants to date Derek in all the ways. He wants to learn his favorite color, which movies he loves, what he reads, why he gives up his bed to his friends and his couch to a stranger. He wants to know Derek, and Derek’s gentle smile lets him know that Derek wants to know him too.

So maybe Jackson deserves a little credit for this, but Stiles is still mad at him. Even if it’s the best thing that’s happened to Stiles in a long while.

“Mieczysław,” he says suddenly, aware that he’s interrupting some weird bantering between Abigail and Laura.

“What?” Laura asks.

Derek just grins wider. “Mieczysław,” he repeats and he doesn’t completely butcher it, but it could use some work.

“Yeah,” Stiles says.

And that’s how he knows they’ll work out, eating breakfast foods at a table with Derek’s older sister and special friend, on their second date, Derek’s blanket and pillow still shoved into a corner of the room, the sound of the rest of Derek’s friends chattering in the living room.

Derek and Mieczysław sitting at the table, making eyes at each other over eggs and bacon, gonna get married and say bad words on their honeymoon.

Yeah, it kinda sounds perfect.

~ The End ~

#Teen Wolf Fanfiction #Stiles Stilinski #Derek Hale #Enemies to Friends to Lovers #Fullmoon Ficlet Prompt 373 #My Story/My Writing

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