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marveldc-imagines-hub · 4 years ago

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The Vision, The Witch, and the Baby Wizard (Captions)

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A/N: Okay, well, two anons had very similar "Subtitles WandaVision taking care of recovering Reader" requests but for some reason when I made this post, those asks disappeared from my drafts, so... Thanks for the requests, anons, and sorry Tumblr wouldn't let me respond to your asks. >:T Also, thank you for being patient with meeee...

Word count: 4,188

Warnings: Reader suffering from a concussion, broken nose, and other mild injuries after eating concrete at the end of Episode 3. Crying babies and baby babble. Fluff.

Taglist: @madamevirgo @cyanide-mustard @badasspolygenderfriend @maceidelic @alexpress @angelvinella

Ko-Fi Shoppe

~~~

Under any other circumstances, you would have loved to be spending the day at the Maximoff home, relaxing and spending time with Wanda until Vision got home from a night watch meeting. The two of you could cuddle and chat, you could help Wanda cook; you imagined that there would be lots of kissing and teasing either way. You could play with the babies while Wanda took a break and maybe a nap or, more likely, you could at least watch over them while Wanda busied herself with errands and other chores.

But no. Instead, you were laying on the couch in the living room with an ice pack covering your entire face—which you’d just accidentally dropped on your head after falling asleep—and bandages wrapped around scraped-up limbs. You were nursing a broken nose and mild concussion, the dull throb pulsing from your aching head and bruises lulling you in and out of restless sleep, and Wanda was, unfortunately, taking care of three babies for the time being.

Speaking of babies, while you groaned and checked your nose to make sure you hadn’t made it bleed, the oh-so melodic sounds of the crying twins grew louder as Wanda made her way down the hall with them.

“Hey, baby, how are you feeling?” the woman said as she finally appeared in your field of vision. She held a crying Tommy in the crook of one arm and a sobbing Billy in the other, and exhaustion was written across her face and in the frizz of her hair. Instead of the comfortable dresses she often opted for, Wanda was wearing a pair of shiny, dark green palazzo pants with flared legs and a simple white peasant blouse, perhaps to prevent any dresses from getting snotted or spit up on. Her hair, once cheerfully curled but now flat, was held out of her face and babies’ pulling reach by a scarf of a lighter shade of green and she wore a pair of what were clearly Vision’s house slippers.

You stopped gently pressing at your nose after confirming that it hadn’t been injured further from you dropping an ice pack on it. You readjusted the ice pack that was slumping over one eye back to its spot on your nose and attempted to squirm into a sitting position before dizziness had you slumped back down again. You groaned again at the weird, nauseating feeling of every organ in your body writhing around inside your torso like a bag filled with angry snakes.

Once your insides settled and the only thing keeping you from opening your eyes was the same baby cries that have been present for the past three days, you answered Wanda with a whine, “Please don’t pair me with them, I already feel awful having you take care of me too.”

You thought you heard Wanda snort, then you felt a light tap on one of your feet. Moving very slowly, you shifted to curl up on one side of the couch so she could sit as well.

Wanda said, “You know that’s not what I meant. It was an endearment. Besides, it’s not your fault that you fell in the driveway a few days ago.”

You sent a close-eyed scowl in what you hoped in her general direction. You opened your mouth to respond to what sounded like a quip to your ears only to feel something soft press against your lips. Your brows furrowed and you opened your eyes, then flailed away sputtering; Wanda had stuck out a leg to cover your mouth with the sole of a slippered foot to keep you from talking.

Over your distraught mouth sounds, scrubbing your lips with a hand, and another wave of nausea caused by sudden movement, you heard Wanda struggling to keep her snickers to herself. After a few more moments of you making sure fuzz wasn’t stuck to your mouth and that your lips didn’t taste like dirty shoe—whatever that tasted like—you received a light kick to your hip.

“Wow, Wand, way to kick me when I’m down—literally,” you grumbled. You grabbed the ice pack, which had once again slid out of place and fell into your lap instead, and looked over at Wanda again while pressing it to the side of your face that felt the most out of shape.

Wanda was stuck in a wacky position and staring at you with wide eyes. One leg was still outstretched from lovingly muzzling and then kicking you, and the other was bent into a half cross-legged position with a peacefully swaddled Tommy nestled in the crook it made. The arm that used to be holding Tommy now had a hand clasped over Wanda’s mouth while the other still held a cozy Billy.

You said, “You look insane.” When your partner didn’t respond or even move aside from her eyes glancing wildly from baby to baby, you gave her an incredulous look and followed her gaze as it bounced around. “What? What? I’m missing something—” Your sentence broke off into a silent gasp. After a third glance at the twins��the quiet and peaceful and not crying twins—you finally figured out why Wanda was refusing to move a muscle.

You mouthed at her, They’re sleeping!

Wanda gave you the slightest of nods. After a long moment of all four of you frozen in place and silent, she very slowly dropped her hand from her mouth to mouth back, The first time in almost forty-eight hours.

Thirty-six, you corrected. You grinned at Billy and Tommy in turn and then moved in a sloth-like fashion to give them both a couple of silent claps. Tommy seemed to be dozing finally but Billy, who had been staring at you since you’d opened your eyes, responded with a baby grin and a kick of his little blanketed feet. Since he hadn’t seemed to mind you talking a minute ago you decided to risk a whisper, “Unreal job, you groovy little badasses!”

“[Y/N]!” Wanda whisper-yelled and gave you another gentle kick.

You returned her glare with a cheeky grin before looking back at Billy who managed to free an arm from his blanket cocoon. “It was a compliment, and he doesn’t seem to mind! Do you, Bill? Little Billy-Boy. The Billiest. Magical, partially synthezoid little boy. You know you’re a little troublemaker, huh? Or maybe you just got tired like the rest of us.”

You leaned over, careful of your swimming skull and the awkward entanglement of your and Wanda’s legs, and took Billy’s tiny hand to give it a gentle squeeze. The tiny hand squeezed back in response, which paired with a big-eyed, wondering baby stare was enough to make you break into another aching grin. You kept your personal discomfort at bay long enough to give Billy’s hand a peck before tucking his arm back into his swaddle, then turned your attention to Tommy who received a light head pat.

It was then that you felt Wanda’s gaze following you. You tried to focus on Tommy for a bit longer but your cheeks grew warm when you felt your partner still intently watching you as you finally relaxed back onto your side of the couch. Once you sunk back into the pillows underneath you, you heaved out an exhausted breath as dull aches began resurfacing from your various minor wounds. Just moving around slightly and mumbling to the babies had been enough to drain you of almost all of your energy.

“They haven’t been this quiet since the day they were born,” Wand murmured, and you lolled your head to rest on the beck of the couch so you could still look at her without using any more muscles than you had to. “Now they’re as exhausted as you are.”

“Well, what can I say,” you tiredly mumbled back, “I’m quite the trendsetter.”

Wanda snorted and looked down at the twins, her unkempt hair falling out of its loose scarf and over all three of them like a curtain. Now that the excitement of your sons no longer crying had slipped away, you could see, like before, that Wanda was just as exhausted as the rest of you. Her whole body seemed to sag with the weight of her head and shoulders and her clothes were rumpled. When she sighed, it was heavy, and when she looked back up at you, you saw the tired lines of her face and dark circles under her eyes.

Still, the smile she gave you, albeit strained at the corners, was radiant enough to light up the entire room, to the point where you almost felt like you had to squint, although maybe that was just the concussion-induced migraine. The brightness of it paired with the delighted sparkle of an excited new mother that danced in her eyes were enough to tell you that regardless of what she had to suffer through, screaming babies or whatever else, living in Westview with her husband and babies and—hopefully—you was worth it.

You didn’t realize you were stuck in a lovestruck daze until Wanda saying your name snapped you out of it.

“[Y/N]?” Wanda said suddenly; her cheeks were tinted pink. “Did you hear me?”

You blinked and heat rushed to your own face. “Hm? Sorry, what?”

“I said they look up to you in some capacity,” Wanda repeated. “The twins. Vis and I can’t get them to stop crying for the life of us. I sit down next to you? Not a tear.”

You stared at her.

Wanda snorted and broke into a half-laugh before quickly quieting herself again. “What?”

Trying to hold back a grin, you whispered, “They look up to me because they’re tiny. They have no choice.”

Wanda gave you a shove with her foot and rolled her eyes so hard that, if you hadn’t broken into a giggle fit at your own joke, you would have been worried that they’d roll right out of her head.

“Shh!” Wanda whisper-yelled, only to snicker a bit herself, “And if that’s the case, would you tell them that we’re both taller than you are?”

“Hah! And lose the only power I have? Never. Now c’mere.”

Wanda raised an eyebrow.

You gave her a beckoning nod of your head, then groaned because you moved your head, then weakly reached your arms out towards her. “Gimme babies. Come lay with me for a bit.”

Wanda pursed her lips in thought but ultimately shook her head. “I shouldn’t. I’ve got some cleaning to do, cooking before Vis gets home. I should put them down and get some housework done while I can.”

She picked up Tommy and moved to swing her legs off the couch but you hooked one of yours around hers before you could. When she scowled at you, you arched your eyebrows and made grabby hands at the babies.

“What if they start crying as soon as you get up?” you questioned, “We’ll all be miserable all over again. Don’t forget, I’m the baby wizard. You’ve got magic, Vis is… well Vision. And I’m the wizard of babysitting.”

“Is it babysitting if they’re your babies?”

“Don’t change the subject! I may not be of much use right now but the least I can do is take care of them while you rest and then go back to your Super-Mom duties.”

Wanda chuckled and watched you continue your grabby hands and soft chant of “Ba-by wiz-ard, ba-by wiz-ard.” The chuckle turned into another brief laugh and she finally caved, scooting closer to pass off the babies to you. You happily took them and nestled one each in the crooks of your arms, then snuggled farther down into the couch as Wanda disentangled your legs and crawled over you.

“One hour,” Wanda said. She jabbed a finger at you then settled between your legs, wrapping her arms around your torso and resting her head on your chest.

“One hour,” you grumbled back. You gave each twin a light kiss on your forehead, then nuzzled your face into Wanda’s citrus-scented hair. Now all cozy and warm and snuggled up, sleep had an easy time persuading you. Still keeping a solid hold on your babies, your eyes fluttered shut as you slowly sank into a doze.

You weren’t sure how long it was until Wanda’s sleepy voice caught your barely conscious attention again.

“What do you see when you stare at me like that, [Y/N]?” she asked. You felt her readjust her position a bit so that her head was nuzzled under your chin.

You hummed until you could get your mouth back in order enough to properly talk. Hopefully, the little words you managed to get out before falling asleep managed to get your point across. “You. Happy.”

===

You were awoken by the savory smell of food that had your mouth watering before you were fully conscious. It took you a second to remember where you were or what decade it was but two little bundles in your arms and the lack of weight on your torso quickly brought you back. You blinked your eyes a few times to get the sleep out of them, then took a quick look around. Tommy and Billy were still safe and sound in your arms, breathing softly with not a tear in sight, and as you expected, Wanda was no longer laying on the couch with you.

“How long did you end up sleeping?” you asked through a yawn. You gingerly shifted into a more comfortable sitting position and looked around again; this time you noticed that the living area’s coffee table had been dressed up like the dinner table, with a makeshift tablecloth and a few sets of dinnerware. You quirked a curious eyebrow and looked towards the kitchen, where Wanda was busy preparing food.

“Like I said,” she replied, “one hour. You were still knocked out, so I let you and the twins sleep.”

“One hour exactly?”

Wanda looked over at you and gave you a pleased nod. “Yup.”

You hummed, then gingerly tilted your head towards the coffee table. “What’s with the coffee-slash-dinner table?”

Wanda set a couple of small dishes on a table tray and made her way over to you with it in hand. Setting the tray on the table—you caught a glimpse of several small portions of what she had been cooking and your stomach growled—Wanda squatted down next to it and picked up a spoon. “You haven’t been able to move much, so I figured we’d eat out here tonight.”

“What, are you and Vis gonna sit on the floor?”

“When he gets home, he’ll help you take the babies to bed to prevent any outbursts,” Wanda said, then grinned as she pulled a couple of large cushions out from under the coffee table, “and I snagged a couple of Agnes’s meditation cushions earlier today. Apparently, they’re also good for your posture!”

“Great,” you said, “I’m useless and I get to take up all the sitting space.”

Wanda scoffed and lightly swatted your arm with the spoon she was holding, then used the spoon to scoop up a spoonful of what appeared to be a thicker, more seasoned chicken soup. “You can’t help being injured, [Y/N]. You’re just as bad as me when it comes to taking care of yourself sometimes, I swear.”

“That’s why we look so good together,” you grumbled, “Everyone in this household is a mess in one way or another.”

Wanda ignored you and raised the spoon to your mouth. “All you have to do is let us take care of you for a while. Now, try. Chicken stew. One of my mother’s recipes.”

The smell of the stew made you want to drool. It was your turn to give in this time, so you let Wanda feed you the spoonful. “Holy fu— I mean holy heck. Sorry, babies. Wherever you are, Mama Maximoff, thank you.”

There was a tinge of sadness in Wanda’s next smile but then she perked up as she reached for a spoonful of another dish. “It wasn’t something we had often but it was always something magical. Get-well food.”

“Dear, food,” you prayed aloud, “please send help, I want to die.”

Wanda snickered and held up a spoon of the second taster dish, this one having a spicy aroma that stung your eyes and made your stomach growl again. “Good then? Let me know if I should change anything.”

“Perfection and also I want so much food.” You paused, then added, “Actually, I don’t know if I’ve eaten today.”

“You tried breakfast this morning and almost got sick. The fact that you can eat this time must be a good sign.”

You ate the second spoonful, then said, “Yay, good sign. Healing food help.”

You and Wanda chatted a bit longer as she had you taste-test the last of her dishes, then she carried the tray back to the kitchen to finish up cooking. You asked what time it was and found out you had slept significantly longer than one hour and that Vision would be getting some quite soon. Eventually, the two of you settled into a comfortable silence and you listened to Wanda casually hum as you gently bounced the babies in your arms and, when you were feeling somewhat emboldened, tested how much you could move without getting winded or nauseous. Then, at some point, Tommy decided to wake up have a very important discussion about taxes in baby babble.

“I do agree,” you replied as Tommy wriggled in your arm and cooed at you, “tax fraud is a reasonable crime.”

“[Y/N],” Wanda said, “stop teaching the children about breaking the law.”

“He started it,” you said, only to get angrily goo’d at. “Well, you did! I wanted to talk about why paisley is the worst fabric pattern.”

Wanda’s laugh was drowned out by the front door unlocking and Vision making his way inside.

“Hello, family!” Vision from behind you. You heard the door close and some light thuds as the man kicked off his shoes. “Oh, where my house shoes?”

“Sorry dear,” Wanda said and briefly stuck one leg out from behind the counter, “Borrowed ‘em.”

You gasped at Tommy and bounced him in your arm. “Daddy’s home, Daddy’s home. Look who it is, even though neither of us can see him because we’re facing the opposite direction. It’s Mr. Dad!”

Tommy cooed.

You scoffed back. “Always taxes with you.”

“Who’s talking about taxes?” Vision sounded much closer now and luckily, you didn’t have to twist your head around to see him. Instead, he moved around the side of the side and into your field of vision, then knelt next to you and gave Tommy a grin and a little wave.

You nodded your head at the talkative twin. “This one. He wants to be an accountant.”

“Oh?” Vision reached over and took one of Tommy’s waving hands to hold. “Is that so?”

Tommy kicked his tiny legs in protest.

“My mistake,” you said, “he wants to fight an accountant.”

Vision laughed softly at your nonsense. He gave Tommy’s hand a shake before releasing it, then used the same hand to ruffle what little hair Billy had. Finally, he smiled at you, which you returned, and leaned over to give you a gentle kiss. When he pulled back, he carefully ran his fingers through your hair and lightly massaged your skull and neck. “How’s the head and nose and everything else, my love?”

You groaned happily and leaned into his hand, especially when he found a particularly tight spot in your neck. Your eyes fluttered shut as you responded, “I can manage three positions thus far. Slumpy because I can’t lay down all the away, partially sitting, and almost completely upright sitting.”

“Almost completely upright sitting,” Vision exclaimed, “That’s almost sitting. Congrats!”

“Oh, I so do miss the days where I could sit completely upright without feeling like my head was going to pop off my body and fly around the room like a deflating balloon,” you said, opening your eyes again and gazing wistfully into space.

“Very visual,” Vision commented. His eyes drifted towards Billy and you followed his gaze to find that the second twin had now also woken up and was staring at his dad with bewildered eyes.

“Who’s that?” you crooned at the baby, “Hm? Who is that, little man? It’s your dad! Oh, by the way—” You turned back to Vision and switched back to your normal voice “—you’re supposed to help me maneuver them to the bedroom so we can have floor-dinner.”

“Floor-dinner,” Wanda reprimanded from the kitchen and you could easily visualize the roll of her eyes happening. “[Y/N]!”

“Sorry, dinner on the floor,” you corrected and directed the confused Vision’s attention towards the dressed-up coffee table. “You know, because of the whole not sitting completely upright thing. Wanda made healing food.”

“I’m going to assume that’s also an exaggeration on your part,” Vision said as he got back to his feet.

“It’s stew,” Wanda explained. “Mom’s old recipe.”

“Magic stew,” you agreed.

“Just stew.”

“Well it’s nice to see you feeling better again,” Vision said as you cackled. He offered his arms and you handed Billy and Tommy off to him, then attempted to move into a better position to put your feet on the ground.

“Why can’t I just put the babies away?” Vision questioned as he watched you carefully move to your feet.

“Because,” you started, then paused to steady yourself as your stomach suddenly started to churn. You flinched and held onto Vision’s arm and took a few more moments to collect yourself before trying again. “Because if they get even a couple of feet out of my presence, we suspect that they will cry and then, naturally, unleash the apocalypse.”

“Ah.” Vision nodded. “Completely understandable. Shall we shuffle at a slow and steady pace to the nursery then?”

“I think we shall.”

As you and Vision did just that, half-clinging to each other as you slowly shimmied your way across the floor and towards the hallway, you felt Wanda’s gaze trail after you. Not long after you and Vision turned the corner down the hall, you heard Wanda burst into giggles. You grinned and glanced at Vision, who was smiling as well.

“We must look like quite the pair, eh?” your sythezoid partner asked. “Two people, two babies—”

“And a whole lot of pain and nausea,” you finished with a somewhat strained laugh.

You saw Vision’s expression soften a bit as the two of you entered the twins’ bedroom. Vision helped you settle into the nearby rocking chair while he placed Tommy and Billy in their crib. After placing them down, Vision froze in place to see whether or not they would react to being without a parent holding them. When he didn’t he very carefully backed away from the crib and backtracked to where you sat.

Both of you stayed silent for a bit longer, then Vision asked in a voice barely above a whisper, “Do you think we’re safe?”

You didn’t respond right away and instead eyed the crib. You made a few random movements, like tapping your feet and waving an arm in the air, and when no babies burst into tears. You gave him a nod. “Think we’re alright.”

“Fantastic, let’s beat feet then.” Vision moved to help you stand but you suddenly stopped him. Thinking you saw the babies beginning to stir, he froze again, and you took the opportunity to sling your arms around his neck.

“Carry me,” you said with the sweetest smile that you could muster.

“Why, you…” He broke off into a chuckle and easily hauled you into his arms, careful to not jostle you too much in the process. Then he carefully made his way out of the nursery, tugging the bedroom door closed with his foot.

“My hero,” you sang at normal volume when the two of were free and batted your eyelashes at him.

“I think I would make quite a good hero,” Vision responded. “Quite a dashing one, don’t you think? In fact, I think I was one in a past life.”

He gave you a cheeky smirk and little eyebrow wriggle, which you responded to by grabbing his face and squishing it in your hands. You slowly leaned up and kissed his forehead, quickly replied with “The most dashing,” and then gave him another full kiss on the lips.

He paused his walk to the living room to briefly kiss you back, then gave you your own kiss on the forehead, and walked over to where Wanda was finishing up serving dinner at the coffee table.

“We’ve returned!” Vision chirped. He helped you sit back on the couch and get comfortable again, then moved to one end on the table.

“The boys?” Wanda asked as she gestured for Vision to sit on the nearest meditation cushion.

“Safe,” Vision answered, sitting.

“And sound,” you added.

Wanda lightly clapped and sat as well. “Great! Mealtime then. Here we have the chicken stew and…”

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hargrove-mayfields · 4 years ago

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A Password And A Promise

💕 Happy Valentine's Day!!! You guys are all my Valentines, thank you, thank you, thank you so much for all the positive reception! 💕

It’s day five of the week of love and today’s prompt that I chose was Snuggling for Warmth!! Read here or on ao3 at ej_writer !

Word Count: 3,649

Rating: T

First winter in the Midwest, and Billy’s been out in the snow for hours on end.

He’d like to say that he has no idea why he’s doing this, but he does. Chief Hopper asked him to.

As if his record wasn’t already bad enough, with the fights and the vandalism and all the other bad things he’d done since his arrival in Hawkins, he just had to go and get himself a DUI charge.

He’d been speeding off to some middle schoolers house, schnockered after a party to pick his sister up when he got pulled over. He’d begged the chief to let him off easy, promised he’d never pick up another bottle if it meant that the DUI didn’t make it on file.

And the chief, he understood that. He’d been the one to ask Billy a few questions when he was admitted to the hospital in mid-November and a nurse, recognizing the signs of abuse, asked him to come check it out. Despite Billy’s best efforts, the Hopper’d wormed it out of him that his father had been the one to land him there.

So when he made his plea, it didn’t take much convincing to get him to help him out.

Still, he couldn’t justifiably let Billy walk away unpunished for driving drunk, especially being that, with the new legislation Indiana was rolling out, he was now way under the age limit. To compromise, he opted to make him do community service instead.

Had Billy known how that would turn out for him, he might’ve rather just taken the beating for the DUI than doing three hours of shoveling sidewalks. A kick to the ribs or a punch to the jaw probably would’ve hurt less than the ache in his bones, feeling more and more like they were made out of heavy lead, or the sting of the cold air on his fingers and on his face.

For as many years as he had lived in California, he’d never seen snow stick to the ground for more than a few minutes, if at all, and he’d definitely never had to wear more than a jacket to protect himself from cold weather.

Now, having underestimated just how cold snow could actually get, he was freezing his ass off. He didn’t even have a stupid pair of gloves or anything, mouthing but a layer of thin denim to protect him from the record low temperatures.

Just because the universe hated him, the beating down snow wouldn’t slow down either. Not only were his clothes getting soaked completely through, his jacket a sopping mess and his boots more like rain barrels than shoes, but basically every time he cleared a sidewalk off, it'd be covered again before he reached the end.

Under all that snow, it was icy as all hell too, getting more so by the minute. Biker boots weren’t designed to walk on ice, and apparently nobody around these parts was decent enough to even sprinkle out a little ice melt before a storm, so more than a few times, he’d hit an icy patch and wipe the hell out. Thanks to a combination of the sun going down so early and the bitter freezing temperatures, there was nobody around to watch his feet go out from under him, but it still hurt like a son of a bitch.

He was worn down the bone by the time he finally reached Loch Nora, the first place where he could catch a damn break. Everyone up in that little neighborhood was rich enough to pay their lawn boys to scrape and salt the sidewalks for them, and didn't need some scraggly teenager avoiding a criminal record to do it for them.

Without doing any work it got even colder, and he was pretty sure he was going to get hypothermia and keel over in some hoity-toity’s lawn. His hair was frozen, his lungs burned from the cold air leaving him unable to catch his breath, and his teeth were chattering. He thought that shit only happened in the cartoons.

Billy's starting to realize that when Hopper had told him five hours, he probably hadn’t meant all at once. But nobody told him that the weather could be like this, he thought he would just be able to get it all out of the way now, when he could be certain there even was snow to shovel and no Boy Scouts giving him a run for his money.

Too bad he’d probably freeze to death before he finished.

But before that can happen, he’s intercepted by the double doors at 8253 swinging open, nearly jumping out of his skin when the wind catches it and hits it off the side of the house.

Were it literally anybody else shouting to him from their stoop, he’d have just kept walking. But the boy who lived in the mansion at 8253 was none other than Steve Harrington, who called out to him over the wind, “Billy? What the shit are you doin’ out here, man?”

Steve Harrington, who had apologized first for Billy kicking his ass, and started hanging out with him before the scars even healed. He apparently had the superpower to make friends with absolutely anybody, even difficult bullies who made every effort to keep him from doing exactly that.

Don’t get him wrong, being buddy-buddy with Steve Harrington was definitely something he was interested in, but he wasn’t a fan of the way he pretended absolutely nothing was wrong after they fought. He’d concussed him, had to be drugged before he’d stop beating him, and Steve still was the first to reach out.

There had to be some sort of a catch to that kindness, and Billy just wasn’t looking to get too attached.

And yet, Billy stopped for him, when he called out, so maybe it wouldn’t have been entirely truthful to say that he was particularly bothered by Steve’s persistence. If you pressed him hard enough, he might even admit he thought it was kind of endearing.

“Just doing my civic duty, Harrington.” He could kick himself for how weak his voice sounds.

“It’s below zero, Billy. Why don’t you come in?” There’s something like concern in the way he says it, and it makes Billy want to walk away.

“I’ll pass.”

But Steve’s not having it, puts a hand on his hip. “I think the fuck you won’t. Get in here man.”

Billy might be stubborn, but Steve won’t take no for an answer. He knows when he’s lost, so he shoves the handle of the snow shovel towards Steve, who rolls his eyes and takes it, leaves it lean beside the door, and shoulders past Steve into his mansion, instantly feeling like he was melting in the dry warmth that radiated from the house.

Steve shuts the door behind them and hangs his scarf on a coat rack by the door. His boots and coat follow, and he makes Billy do the same. They both grimace at the puddle of water that spills out of Billy’s boot when it tips over.

“Jesus dude, how long were you out there?”

Billy shrugs, winces at the movement of sore shoulders, and lies. He wouldn’t want Steve to make a fuss if he knew. “Dunno. Lost track of the time.”

“Wait here, I’ll be right back.” Steve plods up carpeted steps, leaving Billy to stand awkwardly on the door mat so he doesn’t drip all over the hardwood floors.

He takes the moment alone to take in his surroundings.

The Harringtons were more than well off, everybody knew that, but being inside of their house, their goddamned mansion, is nothing like Billy expected.

Just from where he’s standing at the door, he can see a living room furnished with big plush couches and a TV in an entertainment center the size of the whole wall. Across from it is the entrance to a dining room with more chairs than a family of three needed at a long table, chandelier overhead.

There were potted plants in every corner and paintings and family photos hung on every wall. Knick-knacks, probably all ordered from some magazine like his own step mom would day dream about shopping from, adorned every last unaided surface, from the huge console record player to every side table and wall shelf.

The longer he looked though, the more Billy noticed all the little things, like cobwebs in the high corners, and dust built up on the wax fruit, the 1979 time stamp on the most recent of their family photos. It wasn’t hard to piece together that this place was just a set.

Suddenly the obnoxiously high ceilings and the fancy decorations felt a lot less like grandeur, and a lot more suffocating. Billy felt bad knowing Steve was here all the time by himself, the sole pretender playing this part of the perfect family.

But then he’s brought out of his reflections by Steve hurrying back down the steps with a neatly folded stack of clothes in hand that he’s shoving towards him.

“The hell are these?”

“A change of clothes.” Billy just looks at him, scrunching his nose at the suggestion, and still won’t take them. “Dude you’re soaked to the bone, you’ll never get warm if you don’t get outta those clothes.”

Billy smirks, raises an eyebrow, but he takes the clothes.

Steve, realizing he could’ve worded that a little better blushes, just the faintest dusting of pink on his pale cheeks. “Shut up man. Bathroom’s down the hall to the right.”

Even the Harrington’s bathroom is the pinnacle of wealthy interior design. Not only is the room as big as Billy’s entire living room, but it’s just as overly designed as the rest of the house.

The walls are black and gold, marbled in the most gaudy flaunting of money Billy’d ever seen. A huge clawfoot tub was settled in the counter, framed by beige tile counters. There was a mirror surrounded by lights right above the sink that spanned almost the entire wall. It felt like something straight out of a magazine. Hell, it probably was.

Even the bathroom in this place makes Billy feel out of place, the luxury of it all so much unlike what he was used to.

It’s warm in the bathroom, the shut door and the smaller space collecting keeping the heat in, and it makes his clothes start to feel gross on his skin, way too cold in contrast. He swallows his pride and looks at what Steve gave him to change into.

There’s two shirts, a henley and a drug rug, a pair of fleece pajama pants, and some fuzzy hospital socks with the grips on the bottom.

Before he puts his shirt on, he notices there’s bruises on his shoulders, on his back and his elbows, from the many times the ice had sent his feet out from under him, but honestly, it gives him this strange sense of pride, knowing he put them there himself.

He was more than used to marks on his skin, put there by an angry father and his rage, so it was a welcome change to know he’d just gotten these ones just from being clumsy. He almost didn’t want to cover them up, but another shiver ran up his spine, causing goose pimples to pop up all over his body, and he elected to slip the two shirts Steve had picked for him over his head, just to keep himself from freezing.

Wearing Steve’s clothes makes him look soft in every way that was not like him. Without his usual denim and leather, he just looked like the boring version of himself. No longer the stereotypical image of high school bad boy he tries so hard for, he just plain old Billy.

He likes it. A lot. Stares at himself in that huge mirror for longer than is probably considered normal before deciding he should leave the bathroom.

Back in the living room, there’s a huge glass protected fireplace on the far wall, in front of which Steve’s on his knees currently trying, and failing, to start a fire up in. At home, all Billy had was a dinky plug in fireplace that stank like hot dust, but he knew how to start a fire regardless.

He’d been there when his father burnt all of his mother’s things she’d left behind.

“You need a starter.”

Steve jumps, apparently having not noticed Billy coming into the room. “What, like gas?”

“Jesus Christ, no, not like gas. We're inside, doofus.” He has to laugh at Steve’s incompetence, but he offers his help. “You have any of those bricks?”

“These?” Steve opens a drawer beside the fireplace full of fire starters, and Billy realizes this is just another piece of the set. He’d be the first person to actually use this fireplace in years, if anyone even ever had before him.

“Yeah, those.” He confirms, but Steve just sits there, doesn’t know what to do with it. “Just put it under the wood and light it.”

“Huh.” Steve looks at the fire he made, seemingly a little surprised that it worked, brushes his hands on his pants and turns to Billy. He looks him up and down, taking in how he looked in the change of clothes and grins as he says, “You look cozy.”

Billy, trying to make up for the way his heart starts pounding from the observation, bites back, “And you look like a gracious host who’s going to make me a hot coffee.”

Steve looks like he thinks for a second before he asks, “Would you settle for hot cocoa?”

“I don’t care, long as it’s warm.”

Billy waits until Steve disappears around the corner into the kitchen before he sits down cross legged on the floor in front of the fire place.

The warmth of the fire radiates over him in a way that brings feeling back to his body, is almost soothing.

When he was little, he could remember having bonfires on cool summer nights out back of their first house in California. The lick of the flames against wood, the way the bright tendrils of fire would dance used to be so calming. He’d always fall asleep outside in a canvas lawn chair, and wake up the next morning tucked into his bed.

But the heat is too much, makes his skin itch, burning from the inside out in a way that wasn’t so pleasant.

He remembers his father, drunk off his ass, dragging him out to that same fire pit by his arm, leaving welts on soft skin, forcing him to watch as he burned every memory they had of his mother. Every picture, every possession, every shred of clothing, burnt to ash until there was nothing left but her voice on the other end of a telephone, and even that stopped after a little while.

He doesn’t notice Steve come back from the kitchen, he’s too caught up in the flames, curling up around the wood and leaving burnt destruction in its wake.

Too entranced by the fire warming him up and freezing him over at the same time. The brightness of it leaves black and pink spots on his vision from how intensely he’d been staring.

“I didn’t have any marshmallows so I-” Steve stops talking when he sees Billy, sees that he’s crying, sitting stock still and just, staring into the fire place. “Oh.”

Billy startles from the sound of his voice, blinks too fast, trying to chase away the splotches of light burnt into his eyes. The action forces him to realize there are tears wetting cheeks, which he wipes at a little too aggressive with his sleeve, hoping Steve won’t say anything.

And he doesn’t, he just reaches down and hands him a mug, not letting go until Billy's got both hands on it and he’s sure he won’t drop it. Billy hadn’t noticed himself shaking until he saw the way the cocoa rippled in the red mug.

Steve clears his throat, trying to think of the right thing to say. “You still cold?”

“No shit. I was out there for three hours.” It’s harsh, overcompensating for sure.

Steve nods, but points out his inconsistency. “I thought you lost track of time?”

“My brain thawed out and I remembered.” He mumbles. It makes Steve laughs, and Billy’s heart feels like it could burst.

“Well, I have some extra blankets and stuff, if you’re still cold.” Steve offers, and Billy nods in response, as if to say that that sounded nice without out actually having to admit anything.

But Steve doesn’t make any moves to go get it, just stands there shuffling his feet and looking down into his cocoa. Billy can already tell he’s going to say something that he doesn’t want to hear.

Before Steve can embarrass him, Billy asks impatient, “You gonna go get it or you gonna let me freeze?”

“Right. Yeah.” Steve bends down and sets his mug down on the lip of the fireplace and pads off to some storage closet somewhere in the mansion. Billy rolls his eyes and promptly moves it to the coffee table to keep the ceramic from heating up and burning him when he picked it up next.

Initially, Billy thinks nothing of it when Steve comes back with only one blanket. It seems perfectly reasonable to him that Steve, who had been in this well heated house presumably all day, just isn’t cold.

But when he sits back down he’s close enough that their knees bump where they’re crossed, and he spreads just the one blanket out across the both of them.

Thank god for the fact that there was already a flush on his cheeks from the fire, because Billy definitely would’ve been blushing like a little schoolgirl at that.

They don’t talk about anything, because there’s nothing too talk about. It’s a comfortable silence that settles between them, broken up only by the crackling and popping of the fire.

But after a while with nothing to distract him, to keep him aware that this was Steve’s house, Steve’s Persian rug underneath him, Steve himself sitting next to him, Billy drifts back to smoke filled lungs straining with the effort of screaming for his mom, to the fist in his hair forcing him to watch.

Steve notices in an instant, those blue eyes going dull, his nostrils flaring and his jaw clenching, and the way his nails dig into his palms.

He sets his mug back down on the coffee table behind them, and gets up on his knees. He wraps the blanket they’d been sharing around Billy’s shoulders, and then his arms, linking his fingers together so he’s hugging Billy.

Except the slightest fluttering of his eyelashes, Billy shows no signs of a reaction. Steve takes that as his motivation to keep trying, and puts a hand on the back of his neck, says, “Hey, Billy.”

It makes his breath hitch, coming out in a cut off sigh. Billy asks, a little monotonous, “What’re you doin’?”

“Keeping you warm.”

Billy appreciates him not bringing up what’s obviously happening, but his head’s only partly coming back to him, and all he has the capacity to come up with as a response is, “Oh.”

Steve squeezes him a little tighter, his face pressing against his shoulder, to get him through the rest of it, to bring him back to earth.

It’s a while before he gets anything else from Billy. Long enough that he has to move so he doesn’t kill his knees sitting up on them, and he ends up with them thrown over top of Billy’s, so they can be as close as possible.

Because Billy wasn’t exactly back there anymore, but he wasn’t quite here either. He could hear Steve, feel his arm around his shoulders, his knuckles rubbing absently up his arm, he just couldn’t reach him yet.

When he gets back in his own head, he takes a moment to figure out where he is, and once he’s got it, he hooks his hands under Steve’s thighs, pulls him the rest of the way into his lap.

He doesn’t think about boundaries, about the fact that he should be more cautious, he just leans forward, presses their foreheads together and says, barely above a whisper, “Thank you.”

“Yeah. Anything for you.” Steve’s got a smile on his face, warm and genuine and blissful, and Billy can’t help the one that forms on his to match.

That’s where they stay until morning comes around. Billy just didn’t have the energy to get up and go home so late, and Steve didn’t have the heart to make him.

He got the throw pillows down off the couch, and they went to sleep the way they were, wrapped up in each other by the fire, well after it burns out and the last of the wood is gone.

Billy wakes up stiff from sleeping on the floor, but he couldn’t have been in any place more comfortable than Steve’s arms.

What Steve had done for him was practically unheard of. It was everything he was supposed to do, inviting someone in when they were cold, helping them out when they were feeling bad, but he’d never had that before. Not from anyone.

He’d hold the memory of Steve, holding him by the fire, equal parts concerned about getting him warm and getting him out of his head, in his heart forever.

That’s what he’s thinking about when he falls back asleep with a smile on his face, how this was just the start of making so many more memories to chase out the old.

Maybe Hawkins and it’s shitty winters wouldn’t be so bad, if he could spend them all like this.

#harringrove week of love #harringrove #billy x steve #billy hargrove #steve harrington #ej writer #story by ej!#this is kinda barely snuggling for warmth but it’s in my own little way that it is

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buttterknifeee · 4 years ago

Note

on yet another ordinary, quiet night in Gotham, a villain's henchmen are in a shootout with police, so the villain is suddenly pulled into an alley and sees a young girl talking "hey what were you doing there? this city is dangerous, are you okay?"

she clearly doesn't know that the person she is helping is a villain

can I know which villains would like her concern, or at least wouldn't kill her because of it?

YOOOO OK SO some of the villains I think this would happen to is the Riddler, Harley, and Ivy. I think Im going to go with harley on this one, but if yall wanna see more let me know!!! Also the harley im thinking of for this is the one from “The New Batman Adventures”

Harley was grinning. She was perched on top of an awning of a building, watching a bunch of goons march back and forth from a bank like a line of ants. It was so easy robbing banks in gotham: as long as there was a solid 4 other people with you and at least one of you were holding a gun, you could rob a bank anytime of the day and you wouldn’t get caught! I guess Harley overestimated the “you wouldn’t get caught” part, as 5 police cars were sounding off in the distance.

Shit, she thought, as she jumped on the awning and began yelling orders to the goons, who began to pick up the pace of their labor. Then she realized that 1. she didn’t have a gun on her and 2. When there’s police, there’s most likely a vigilante nearby, waiting to strike when necessary. She didn’t feel like going to Arkham today so she started to walk behind the goons, who pulled out their guns and barricades, as the police pull out theirs.

Luckily, she decided to wear a tank top and shorts under her costume today so she began to wiggle out of her outfit while trudging along the moonlit sidewalk. As she wiggled the last part of her outfit off, a bullet was fired in the distance.

Then another, then another.

Bullets were coming right after her! She ran down the street, almost attempting to outrace all the bullets barreling towards her. The nearly grazed her as she threw off her jester cap, her mask, and smeared her white makeup off.

A bullet hit the sole of her shoe and she fell to the ground. But before she could get up, an arm reached out and grabbed her ankle, pulling her into the alleyway.

Before she could say anything, an unknown finger was shoved into her face and the mysterious figure shushed her. She watched in shock as the figure peeked around the corner of the alleyway, carefully observing the shootout between harley’s goons and the police.

The figure quickly moved back towards harley carefully inspecting her. At first she couldn’t make out who she was looking at due to being in the shadows, but as the moon rays shifted onto her, she began to understand who she was looking at. A young girl, no older than 14, with large sparkly eyes, hair that glowed under the moon, and frowning pursed lips.

"hey what were you doing there? this city is dangerous, are you okay?"

Harley almost laughed. A kid, asking her, the partner (both in a business and romantic manner of course) of the most infamous villain in gotham, if she’s ok? She could kill the child in about 2 seconds if she wanted to (not that she did want to...)

Thats a kid Harley, she chided to herself. Remember when you were a kid? You were a bitch and would have spit on someone already if you were in her position.

She look up at the kid, who she noticed was looking at the villain’s scraped knees. She usually has a bit of padding under her suit, so things like this wouldn’t usually happen.

Ok. I’ll let this kid do whatever the hell she’s gotta do and as soon as she’s done I’ll get back to Mister J. I’m sure he misses me already, she swooned in her head as she got ready to put on her best “Im am a mentally sane person” voice.

“Yeah, I’m alright for the most part. Just a few scrapes.” she fake winced at her injuries as the girl furrowed her eyebrows.

“That’s nothing a bandaid can’t fix!” she determined, smiling cheerfully at the villain. “You can stay in my house so I can fix you up!”

“A-Are you sure? I’ve got someone waiting for me at home”

“No I insist!!!” the girl said, pulling Harley up with impressive strength. “And you have to meet my dog coco-” the girl rambled on, pulling Harley deeper into the alleyway, as gunshots filled the night sky.

The girls house was barely a house: It was a slimy two bedroom apartment with peeling wallpapers and a rotting stench. There was a woman laying on the couch, beer in hand, that the girl seemed to not notice.

“who’s that lady over there?”

“Oh that’s my nana! Shes just taking a nap” the girl said, happily bringing a first aid kit to where Harley was sitting.

As the young girl carefully dressed the villain’s wounds, Harley analyzed her, with the little psychology experience she actually uses. This girl literally lives in a pile of shit and still took the time to bring her here and talk about her life and but a bandage on her knee?

She literally rots of goodness, Harley concluded, scrunching her nose up at the thought. gross. But this kid supposedly saved her life, so she decided to cut her some slack. Besides, this kid bringing her up to her apartment was really also a good way to hide from the police, so really harley should be thanking her. But thanking her would also mean that shes being helped by a little kid and-

“All done!” The girl’s exclamation snapped Harley out of her thought, and she decided to smile at the kid.

“Thanks, you’re a good kid, you know that?”

“Thank you. Someday I’m gonna change the world!”

“Attagirl”

The kid hero waved the villain goodbye as she disappeared into the night. What an interesting kid.

#batman #batfam #bat man #harley quinn #fanfic #writing #dc comics #dc universe #incorrect dc quotes #headcanon #dc headcanon #robin #fanfiction #gotham #poison ivy #the riddler #riddler #villain

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welllpthisishappening · 4 years ago

Text

Catching the Highlights

It wasn’t like she was nervous, not really. Or jealous, even. Honestly, the entire story was more than a little hysterical and very nearly distracted Belle from the obviously frustrated way Will kept moving his hands at the end of the second period. Still, there was something about sitting in the stands that felt different and maybe hearing about how her maybe-boyfriend made out with Anna Vankald one time was just the push she needed. To make things a bit more real.

———

Word Count: Nearly 4.5K AN: This is a thing I do now, apparently. Write Blue Line! Will and Belle. And poorly photoshop eights into sixes on jerseys. Although I draw the line at making the girl that same photo wear a skirt. Anyway, this continues to be real fun, I hope the five people enjoying it continue to enjoy it and I think I’ve got at least one more idea for these dweebs. So, that’ll probably happen sooner rather than later. Possibly with more badly executed photoshops.

———

It had something to do with his eyes.

With the way they narrowed ever so slightly, able to thin without causing any sort of furrow between his brow or lines of frustration on his forehead. They’d pinch. His eyes, that was. Make it so it was difficult for Belle to see the brown there or the bits of gold that she was at least ninety-six percent positive she wasn’t imagining and only slightly less confident had something to do with her.

She’d never really been one for details, like that.

Strange as it might have been.

Details were the lifeblood of research. Tiny bits of information that could sway a doctoral defense or prove an argument, but Belle had always been far more interested in the sweeping potential of a very good story, and research had that too, she supposed. To some degree, at least. Although, that was getting existential. Her work was good. She was good. Fine, even. Definitely fine. Nothing to see here. Nothing to worry about. No reason to compare the strange and not entirely unfamiliar sensation of fluttering in the pit of her stomach whenever Will glanced her way to the decidedly still nature of all her internal organs while she spent eight to ten hours uptown five days a week.

Sitting at her desk, she regularly tried to fit into the mold, everything everyone expected her to be with the title she had, and that required her to think less about the bigger picture. That sounded negative. It wasn’t. Probably. Hopefully. Just required further research. More details and specific examples.

All of them regarding the nature of Will’s eyes.

Even so, she—

Part of her missed it. The sweep. The really good stories. Ones that were less clinical and more fantastical. And the deep breath that always came just seconds before being overwhelmed. By the current and the wave and those were rather similar, as far as analogies went, but all the best stories always left her a little overwhelmed, and Belle’s cheeks were starting to ache as something bubbled out of her. Laughter, in its purest form. Bouncing and bounding and echoing off otherwise abandoned walls, the pair of them tucked into a corner of the Garden concourse because they hadn’t actually decided this was a secret, but Anna Vankald was apparently living her life under some sort of blood oath, all sworn secrecy, and poorly executed winks in the second period.

Like this was hidden. A tiny detail tucked away. Never debated. Never highlighted in the opening paragraphs of a twenty-six-page dissertation. With Chicago-style formatting.

No one ever knew how to property do Chicago-style formatting.

Belle might have hated Chicago-style formatting.

She’d never been to Chicago.

Had never been—

Will’s eyes were barely slits on his face.

Twisted lips loomed above her, not quite frustration, but inching closer the longer she kept laughing, and she refused to linger on what that meant. The laughing. The happiness. Joy, maybe. She looked up, instead. Let her head bump the wall her shoulders already had, appreciating the soft scrape of what might have been concrete against her hair, like that would ground her or slow her overactive imagination, and his hair was still wet.

“She wasn’t supposed to tell you that.” Belle bit the side of her tongue. Didn’t help, really. With her laughter problem. “Keeping state secrets?” “It happened once.” “Yes, she mentioned that, too.” He might have growled. Some strange part of her wanted him to, relished whatever the technical term was for the sound that eked out between his bared teeth, rolling his whole head in the process. Their noses nearly collided.

Belle pushed up on her toes.

To kiss the tip of Will’s nose.

“That’s distracting,” he grumbled, but his hand had inched under the hem of her shirt, and that meant he’d managed to get the hem of her shirt out of the skirt she was wearing.

“Should I have worn your jersey or something?”

His eyes snapped. Open. Brown and gold, and that wasn’t a particularly swoon-like combination in any of the stories Belle had memorized while she was growing up. Heroes with royal titles and broadswords quite literally made to challenge dragons and hordes of villains always came with blonde hair and a slight curl, flashing blue eyes that twinkled in sunlight and starlight, and Belle’s hand didn’t shake. When she brushed the few drops of water clinging to Will’s temple away.

Her calves were starting to ache, too. Made sense. She was still pushed up on her toes.

And the Rangers had lost. Not—well, not badly. By two goals, and one of those was an empty-net goal, which was a term Belle figured out all on her own. Well before Anna mumbled explanations under her breath, glaring daggers any time the Islanders fan two rows in front of them dared to open his mouth.

Honestly, that was part of the problem. He kept yelling, and Anna looked dangerously close to staging some sort of public execution in section 204 and Belle had asked. For details. Wanted a good story, or possibly a distraction because she’d noticed the way Will’s hands moved at the end of the second period, staging a rather enthusiastic conversation with a man she’d never met, but his jersey said LOCKSLEY, and she didn’t think the jersey would lie to her.

She was going to blame the Islanders fan.

“If you did that,” Will mumbled, in response to a question she’d legitimately almost forgotten about, “I’m not sure I would have been able to get out on the ice.” “Oh, compliment or—” “Definite compliment. Was that not obvious?” “Well, you’re making out with so many other girls.”

Her laugh clung to the letters, pulling her lips behind her teeth to keep from smiling like a total idiot. Something was happening. With the flutters and the overall ability of her nasal passages to get oxygen back to her lungs, and it must have been a trick of the light. The way Will’s eyes flashed, gaze flicking up beneath eyelashes and just above the half curve of his mouth, and Belle’s knees felt a little unsteady beneath her. Fighting against the force of a wholly imaginary, even more staggering wave.

“One time,” he said, straining on every letter, “it happened one time, and—seriously, why was she talking about this with you?” “Asked for a fun and interesting story about her.” Will’s eyes bugged, another shift in his voice that was much more like a crack as he nearly shouted, “And that’s what she came up with?”

“Said anything she had to tell me about her childhood was boring. Mostly because a lot of it would focus on KJ, because—”

“That’s Cap.” Belle clicked her tongue. “Wow, thank you for that. What would I do without you?” “If you wore my jersey, I think my head would explode.” “Not the compliment you think it is, either. That’d be a lot of blood. Who would even clean that up? Couldn’t make someone here do it; that’d be mean. Cruel and unusual, probably.” “I like your skirt.” “Better,” Belle laughed, in spite of her best efforts. Which were really lackluster, quite frankly. “Anyway, the childhood was apparently super boring, and there were shenanigans of rookie season to discuss.”

“She grew up in a mansion!” “Yeah, we got to that part eventually, although technically, I think it was just a brownstone.” “Rich kid description.” “You can tell her that if you want, I’m sure,” Belle reasoned, but his lips were back to twisted, and she was already on her toes. Made sense to use that to her advantage. Pressing kisses against the edges of his mouth, alternating back and forth until it felt a little like a rhythm she could time the rest of her vaguely unsteady breathing to, and she certainly did try. Didn’t work, but something about effort and attempts and those were—

Details, really.

“I like her,” Belle added lightly, mouth moving across a stubble-covered cheek. Part of her felt ridiculous. Always did with things like this. She wasn’t the story. Will wasn’t the hero. He and his teammate had gotten into a fight at the end of the second period, for God’s sake. And this wasn’t—well, it wasn’t a fairy tale. No matter how much sweeping there might have been. With its butterfly wings and salt-filled waves, all of which existed solely in Belle’s subconscious.

But there was this other part.

Part of her that didn’t always linger behind her desk. Flitted through imaginary scenarios and stories stored in the back corner of her brain, the same one that could still smell salt air with startling clarity, and remembered the precise taste of freshly-made taffy from that one restaurant on the beach. Details. She remembered those details. Held them fast, afraid they’d disappear otherwise, and made sure they played prominent roles in every daydream.

For fear of what would happen if she didn’t.

How they’d fade. Grow grey and thin, and it was a contradiction. Right in the middle of her. And that scared her just a little bit, because whatever was happening now, right at that moment, with a hand flat on the curve of her hip and her heart doing its abject best to beat its way out of her chest, she felt the same exact way. Sweeping and detailed and not the least bit jealous.

There was no need to be, really. Not when she was fairly certain she could drown in the golden flecks of Will’s eyes. Constantly staring at her as they were apt to do.

“Do you want to hear the gist of the story?”

Will’s lips pursed. Stayed that way even as Belle’s lips continued their path across his face, spending at least two seconds at the side of his left eye and the still slightly damp area surrounding his right temple. She started picking up speed. Quick kisses that she could only hope felt as strongly as the prickle of her lips suggested. But then Will’s fingers tightened. Not much. Just enough to be obvious, and Belle grinned against his cheek.

“I lived it,” Will argued, but there wasn’t much fight in it. He’d done that already, anyway. They’d get to that part, eventually.

“As the story goes, though, there was some less than savory libations involved, and—” “I’m still not convinced that vodka was legal in the continental United States.” “Suggests it’d be fair game in Hawaii and Alaska, though. Possibly Puerto Rico. I’m not sure what the rules on that are. Maybe the US Virgin Islands. What about Guam? You think your alcohol would be fair game in Guam?” “I’d have to check the label.” “You still have it?” Belle balked, almost fully and entirely prepared for the flash of amusement and the precise angle of eyebrow jump. Almost being the key word, there. Another burst of laughter tumbled out of her, lips on her cheeks that time, all blazing and prickling, and that one wasn’t inherently positive, but she was slightly worried her hair was going to get caught in the concrete of the wall and she could not possibly be expected to think when Will’s hand kept doing whatever it was it was doing.

“No, no, we did a very good job of drinking that entire thing, but I’d know that bottle anywhere.” “Where were you buying illegal alcohol? Also, how did you not die drinking hundred-proof vodka?” “Pure force of will.”

“And bad hockey games.” “Those too,” Will admitted grudgingly. An edge crept into his voice. Likely born in the second period of this game. She kissed the bridge of his nose. The tip. Between his eyebrows. Waiting for some of the tension to leave his shoulder blades, and that was all she got. Some. It was enough, for now.

“You want to talk about that?” “Losing a playoff game my rookie season? That happened a bunch of times, babe, this was just—” “Don’t be an idiot,” Belle interrupted.

He grinned. Tension kept pulling taut between his shoulders and the slope of his cheekbones, the second of which was really starting to offend Belle on an almost fundamental level, but his smile looked legitimate, and that was enough.

“Should I go defend your honor in the locker room, darling?” The grin widened. “Trying to get a rise out of me, but gender is a social construct, so I don’t think it affects nicknames, and I’m a real big fan of that one, actually.” “No rise,” Belle promised, fingers hovering above his shoulders, and they both flinched when he winced. “Going to be honest, the hitting sort of freaked me out.” “Locksley wasn’t going to hit me.” “Well, yeah, then I’d have to punch him in the locker room.” “Keep your thumb inside your fist,” Will suggested, “that way you won’t break it.” “Right, right, naturally,” Belle mumbled, and she didn’t know how they managed it. Stayed upright while his hand shifted further up the back of her shirt and her teeth grazed the curve of his jaw. She was on something of a mission, now. To cover every inch of his face. With her lips. “Anyway, as Anna told this wholly fascinating story, there was a lot of vodka involved, a very bad loss, some card game—” “—Kings.” “That’s a drinking game.” “Well, now you’re getting into unnecessary specifics.” Her body shook. Against Will’s. Who almost immediately groaned. Presumably at the location and exact angle of her hips. “Ok, so there were cards involved in your drinking game. Pizza was eaten, alcohol was downed in alarmingly large gulps.” “Editorializing a bit, mon bonheur.”

“What’s that one?” “Happiness.” “Oh, that one’s nice.” Will huffed. “They’re all super nice; I have a very large crush on you; I don’t want to talk about making out with Anna Vanklad anymore.”

He said it quickly, rushing over the words. Some might even say sweepingly. Where Belle was the some. In that instance, specifically. Someone, more like. She didn’t care. Was not spending even a second on proper sentence structure or appropriate internal grammar, was far too preoccupied with the circumference of Will’s eyes. And that one muscle in his jaw. Jumping with startling regularity, really. Totally different from her heart and her pulse and it was difficult to catch her breath.

Felt a bit like she’d played a hockey game.

A walking contradiction.

Where she also wasn’t walking anywhere. At all. Had absolutely no intention of walking away. From this.

“Was it not a good make-out?” “I honestly don’t remember a lot of it,” Will sighed, another roll of his neck. Something cracked. “That’s not game-related,” he added, and she could only imagine it had to do with the look on her face, “anyway, it was just...there was that vodka involved, and Vankald spent a ton of time at our apartment. She wasn’t Cap’s sister-in-law yet, but they’d grown up together, was my friend, and he’d fallen asleep, so…” “Figured you just make out?” “Not a lot of thought involved in it. She was a fixture, y’know? Shit, that sounds shitty. Does that sound super shitty?

“Drifting toward shitty, yeah.”

“Anna came to visit a lot because no matter what she may claim, she worries about Cap as much as anyone. Even El and Leader, and that’s—” “Wait, you have an Alien Leader you all report to?” “You’re ruining this story.” Her laugh got caught. Directly between them, all mouths and that goddamn hand, Belle’s neck tilting back on what might have been instinct and need, and she’d gasped more in the last four hours than she had in her entire life. “Tell me more about your Alien Leader, please.” “He only acts like an alien.” “Huh, that cleared up absolutely nothing.” “You should keep kissing me.” “Compare and contrast, huh?” Will groaned. Again. Part two. Let his mouth drag down the side of her throat, and Belle couldn’t stop laughing. Happiness poured out of her, new and a little strange in its quantity. As if she was made of the stuff, even worried as she was through all three periods. She’d kept wringing her fingers together. At one point, Anna had to hold her hand.

“Ruining,” another kiss, “this,” teeth on her collar bone, “baby girl.”

Suggesting that she lit up in a way that reminded her of a Christmas tree was—

Farcical, maybe.

Nothing inhuman happened. There were no bells. No whistles. No flashing neon lights suggesting this was the moment and a conversation regarding the man with his hand currently inching towards her right boob drunkenly making out with someone who wasn’t Belle should not have been so—

Fun.

God, it was fun. She was having fun. With him and because of him. Hockey nonsense aside.

Because, since coming to New York with her invisible tail tucked between her legs and the near-desperate desire to get away from that seaside town with its ghosts and its demands and its plan for a future that simply did not fit her anymore, Belle had tried. Really. To shed that persona. To be someone new. Hard as she tried, though, there were ties. Those lingering memories. Ones that dug in their heels, while she gripped others with both hands. She was, and she wasn’t. Small town and big town, a librarian who couldn’t care less about details while focusing on specifics with everything in her.

And none of it ever really made much sense.

Hurt her head to think about, everything she tried to contain and the worry that ate away at her sometimes. That she’d messed up, ruined all of it and—

She didn’t kiss Will’s mouth.

Peppered his face, instead. With her lips and the feelings behind them, mapping the space until she was certain she knew it as well as her own, and she wanted to. Wanted to learn everything about this guy who felt as jagged as she did, made up of right and wrong and mistakes and possibility and she knew it was only a matter of time before he got impatient.

She liked that about him.

That he didn’t always wait for her to catch up. Just knew that she would.

Plus, his tongue in her mouth was really something Belle was starting to appreciate. In an obsessive sort of way.

She might have groaned that time.

Fingers scrambled against the front of his shirt — team-branded, again, and that shouldn’t have been charming, but it was and likely would continue to be, and there were goosebumps on her skin. They were really very good at kissing. Each other, specifically.

“I like you, too,” Belle said, and it was a strange thing not to be embarrassed by the breathless nature of her voice.

Will’s chest was practically heaving, though. So that put them on even ground. Common ground, at least.

“You’re not mad?” “Give me some credit, sweetheart.” He chuckled, warm air against the top of her shoulder. “Was a very long time ago, for whatever that might be worth.” “Twelve galleons.” “I don’t know the conversion rate of that.” “No one does, so I think we’re all in the same boat.” “You don’t think Jo knows the conversion rate of her own fictional monetary system?” Belle shook her head. “I absolutely do not, because she was a shit world-builder and also a fairly terrible person now, so—” She shrugged. Will beamed. Some joke about a Christmas tree.

“So,” he echoed, “the thought of making out with Little Vankald has never once again crossed my mind.”

Someone scoffed. With entirely false indignation.

Using Will’s shoulder as leverage — the non-bruised one, naturally — Belle got enough height beneath her toes to see Anna cross her arms. And scowl at the pair of them. Badly. The scowl lasted all of five seconds before it evolved into its own rather uproarious laughter, another echo that filled the empty space of a concourse Belle could not imagine they were supposed to be standing on. Only a matter of time until someone else found them.

She wasn’t sure that was a bad thing, actually.

“That’s super rude, Scarlet,” Anna hissed, muffled footsteps that only lost their volume because of the overall status of Belle’s heart. Still trying to fly out of her. “But I want it noted, for the record and all that, that I don’t want to make out with you ever again, either.”

“Do you remember it being way wetter than it should have been?” “You problem, absolutely.” “I haven’t had that issue,” Belle argued, mostly to guarantee the quirk of Will’s lips. Worked like a charm. Or something less lame sounding. In her head. Most of this commentary was in her head.

“Lucky you,” Anna drawled.

“C’mon,” Will whined, “no one told you to start with this story.” “Start with, huh?” His eyes. Were becoming a serious problem and a growing majority in the basis for most of Belle’s heart-related issues, but she forced herself to meet his gaze and tilt her chin up and she didn’t think she imagined the way his tongue pushed against the inside of his cheek. In an appraising sort of way.

“I really would have told you. Eventually” “I know.” “I’m serious.” “I know,” Belle repeated, “and I’m really not threatened by someone who you still regularly refer to as Little Vankald.” Anna flipped him off. Or them, maybe. As a collective unit. Belle wanted them to be a collective unit. “I could order a jersey online, right?” “Nah, I know people, don’t waste your money.” “Could probably get Kris to help,” Anna added, “as the physical form of my apology.” Belle waved her off. “It was a good story. Highs, lows, drama, does your—do we call him your brother-in-law? He’s not the Alien Leader, right?” “You mean Liam?” Will’s laugh was more like a barely-contained snort of humor and shoulders that were tight for a reason that did not involve pessimistic emotions. Belle’s lips twitched. “Just knew that off the top of your head, did you?” she asked.

“If you knew Liam, you’d understand. Was Scarlet suggesting we’re all aliens?” “Nah, just him.” “I did no such thing,” Will objected, another glance in Anna’s direction, “Cap looking for us?” She nodded. “Locksley too. Should I be worried Mom and Dad are getting a divorce?” “You’re the most dramatic person alive.” “Lots of hand moving between the two of you, your girlfriend was worried.”

It was Belle’s turn to tense. With what, she wasn’t entirely sure. Some sort of emotion, she assumed. Adrenaline, maybe. Hope, possibly. And it wasn’t like she was waiting for labels, but she’d come to pretty good terms with her ability to counter herself in the midst of her own silent monologue, and Will was staring again. Straight through her, it seemed.

Or maybe directly into her.

That was sentimental, though.

“Does Killian know that you two made out once?” Anna hissed. “If you tell KJ about this, I will actually have to strangle you, no matter how much I like you and how much Scarlet wants to date you.” “Aren’t we dating already?” Anna opened her mouth, what Belle knew would be more sarcasm and the teasing nature of her and Will’s relationship, but she had more pressing issues, and he answered, anyway. “Yeah, we totally are, plus I like you way more than I hate Ariel’s inevitable victory lap, so I mean, that’s—” Cutting him off was rude. Not nice. Inevitable.

Based solely on the size of his eyes and their gold-like nature.

“I, uh—” Belle started, “I know we’re not supposed to accept the set-up, and Ariel’s going to be so annoying, but maybe we could…” She shrugged. Tried to stay focused. And upright. Continued standing seemed important in a moment like this. “We’re both kinda messed up, don’t you think?” “Little,” Will murmured.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, and I know that we’re...I mean, this is good, and I’m mostly good with it, but also, I was super nervous during the game, and what were you guys fighting about?” “Fighting is a strong word. More like discussing how Locksley should learn to keep his stick on the ice so he can get that tip from my slap.” “Weird turn of phrase.” “Slap shot.” “No time for full terminology, huh?” “How goes the understanding icing battle?” She was going to sprain her cheeks. Maybe Ariel could help with that. After gloating. Ariel was absolutely going to gloat. “Getting there,” Belle promised, and it was not about hockey, “don’t you think?” “Mmhm.” “So, uh—I don’t know what you do after games, but…” “Little Vankald is totally here to drag us uptown because Cap regularly challenges her in the dramatics, and I bet he’s hungry.” “You eat after games?” “Ariel’s husband owns that restaurant.” “Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, that’s how I met her actually. Good onion rings. Weird we didn’t ever see each other there at the same time, though.” Will hummed. Stuck out his lower lip. Challenged her without saying anything, and Anna was still standing there, and security had to be aware of them, but Belle was in the middle of something, and it was good and great and made absolutely no sense because she was not a pro sports girlfriend, but the labels really weren’t important, and it was all—

She gasped. For, like, the four-thousandth time that night.

Saved the best for last, though.

Will’s mouth found hers in a crashing sort of way that altered the cosmos, or at least Belle’s perception of the world around her. Particularly when her hands were suddenly more like barnacles, gripping his shirt as if she was afraid he’d disappear otherwise. Knuckles cracked and breath caught, everything spinning and staying frustratingly still, and one of her heels popped out of her shoe. Pressing back up on her toes didn’t do her calves any favors, but she wasn’t bruised and they were both a disaster, and the tongue thing really was pretty fantastic.

Tracing the inside of her mouth and the seam of her lips, Will’s rumble of pleasure echoed between her ribs, enough to spur Belle’s arm up as she slung it around his neck. Her fingers found skin and short hair, nails scratching so she could hear that sound again.

She closed her eyes.

Let the details seep in, and settle into her soul.

Until Anna coughed, and there was a security guard standing next to her, and Will’s head dropped to Belle’s collar bone again. He kissed there, too. Before spinning on his sandals, all confidence, and bravado, a reasonable excuse that someone, somewhere, would probably believe. Not this security guard, but that probably wasn’t important, and Belle had helped Will make an Instagram account.

So, something about a cat and a bag and—

His fingers laced through hers.

“Wanna challenge Locksley to a fight for my honor?” She scrunched her nose. Pretended to grimace when his lips pressed against her cheek. Anna gagged. “Yeah,” Belle said, “that’s exactly what I want to do.”

#scarlet beauty #scarlet beauty ff #scarlet beauty fic #blue line one shots #defensive!blue line #i don't know guys—these have just taken on a life of their own #will i put them on ao3? maybe who can say #i mean i can #but...they're still kind of short i think #for ao3 #if any of the five you reading this want specific scenes let me know #i've got time between waiting on people to make their deadlines

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anthropwashere · 4 years ago

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our indestructible days ch 5

ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 3 | ch 4

All Ed can hear is screaming—hundreds of souls all tangled together in a deafening, incomprehensible choir. He's got no idea how Ling dealt with this shit for so long without totally cracking up. Either he and Greed get along a lot better than it shows, or Ling was just that crazy from the start. Never mind. Now's not the time to theorize. He's gotta get in the fight. They have to stop Father now or not at all.

He claps, intending to transmute the cracked and scorched concrete into spikes aimed for that weird energy shield, but freezes at the first glimpse of alchemical discharge around his hands. Red. Right. Better to hold off transmuting until he figures out if there's a way to avoid using Pride's goddamn Stone. Instead he shakes his hands free of any tingling and closes the gap to hurl his automail fist at the shield as hard as he can. The impact nearly winds him, as it nearly does anytime he puts that much effort into through the automail around. It sure as hell feels like he did more damage to his arm than to the shield, but whatever. Better he pay out the nose for a new arm when they all survive this rather than risk using the Stone. Winry'll understand.

[What are you doing?!]

The razor edge of Pride's—self? awareness? what do you call the part of a homunculus that would be called a soul in a human?—batters at his mind like gale force winds. It's a headache and heartburn and something so much worse than either. He trips over his own feet, or maybe his feet trip over him? He's not the swirl of shadow and gnashing teeth catching at his heels but it's still a part of him somehow. He doesn't know how the transference from Pride's Stone to outside his body happens but he can feel the ground beneath their shadow and he can feel the shadow pooling in his chest. He's got a fucking Philosopher's Stone grafted to his heart and a homunculus oozing around his cardiovascular system. No wonder Greed calls Pride a monster. The Ultimate Shield's a goddamn party trick compared to this.

He shakes his head, squinting through pain that's migraine-adjacent. Not now. He's got bigger things to worry about.

"Forcing you to pick a side!" He hollers, pummeling at the shield again and again, and once more for good measure. Some piece of his hand goes flying. Something grinds in his elbow; scarcely heard, felt through his port like an electric shock of warning. Too bad. He rears back and punches that scrabbling inch harder that really does wind him, at least for a moment.

[You're insane!]

Ed's grin is all teeth. Like he hasn't heard that one a hundred times before?

Teacher swings in startlingly close, bloodied but focused and furious and sprinting faster than he's ever seen her move. Blue light arcs between her hands, stone twisting like clay with a thought into a pair of swords. Ed has to push down a stupid twinge of jealousy at the display. Her eyes meet his as the light dies. "It's about time you showed up, Ed!"

Ed tries to warn her but Pride steals back control before he can do more than inhale. "Not quite," Pride calls out in an absurd, echoing sing-song. The shadow at his feet arcs out and up, a jagged wing that slams between the bristling shield and Teacher's blades before she can land a hit. She barely skids to a halt in time, spinning on her heel to gawk outrage at him. Ed feels his face twist in a crazed grin, then his vision goes stupid as even more eyes fan out across the shadow.

She's gonna kill him if they survive this.

Ed wrestles back enough control to stagger back, dragging the shadow like so much dead weight with him. "Damn it, don't do that!"

Pride doesn't answer but most of the eyes wink out. He trips over his feet-shadow-something again as his own watering eyes struggle to focus while five other eyes he can see through roam every which way but where he's trying to look. He blinks and finds himself on his hands and knees with no memory of falling down. Eyes meet eyes and there's no his-versus-Pride's, it's just their perspective. If he moves he will puke, and he has no idea if it'll be the meager breakfast he had at dawn or chunks of the soldiers Pride's shadows minced that'll come up. He really doesn't want to find out.

Major Armstrong and Teacher are doing their utmost to beat through Father's shield. Reactionary light from their every attack stabs his vision, damningly red. He swallows, and swallows again. He's gotta get up. One of them's gotta get up. They're sitting ducks right now. If Father takes an opening he'll definitely try to take Pride's Stone again, and he has no idea what that'd do to him, and there's no way in hell he's gonna leave Al in a million pieces let alone still stuck to that stupid fucking suit of armor—

Greedling jumps in out of nowhere, throwing a carbon-coated punch that lands a neat blow not against the shield but against Father's suddenly raised forearm—and sticks. Ed thinks Hohenheim shouts something but can't make it out over the screaming in his head-heart-Stone. Instead he just kneels there, dumbstruck, as Greedling is almost literally absorbed by Father and then subsequently knocked aside when Lan Fan leaps in to raise some hell. Something about that brief connection—conflict?—seems to have hurt Father in a way all the other attacks haven't yet, because right after that he curls in on himself like a dying spider with no sign of recreating that shield of his.

Pride hisses. [Oh no.]

Father screams, a guttural and senseless bellow of pain that rings throughout the parade field. More red alchemical light lashes out of him, a blinding burst of humming energy that chews through their shadow before the backlash bowls Ed over. He musters half a scream before he's—they're—sent flying. He knows there's pain, more than the there-and-gone scrape and bruise of his body as it's rolled and dragged along bare concrete and sharp-edged rubble. He feels their shadow burn in the light of this strange explosion. His skin burns too, maybe. His arm makes a splintered squeal that feels like a knitting needle's been jammed deep into his port which means something crucial just broke. He hears the souls of who knows how many dead Xerxesians groaning and crying and screaming, and Pride's screaming too, and maybe that's Kimblee laughing? What about Major Armstrong? And Teacher? What about Al and Mei? Donkey Kong and Piggy? Lieutenant Hawkeye and Mustang? All those Briggs soldiers? He doesn't know if they're okay. For all these fucking eyes he's got now he can't see.

Please, don't let it be only him that survives this. Please, don't let anybody else die because he fucked up.

His Stone, despite having been reduced to a handful of guttering embers, can still muster up the power to heal this body's broken ribs and myriad contusions. Edward has fled, intentionally or otherwise, into his Stone and so this body is his to do as he pleases for the moment, and for the particular moment he has no intention of doing anything more than staying prone and catching his breath. His true self had burned to ash in the wake of Father's startling loss of control, and so he's reduced to viewing the battlefield through this body's stinging eyes alone. He can't see. He doesn't know where Father's gone. He doesn't know who will attempt to attack Father next. He doesn't know if he has the speed or strength left in him to protect Father even if he did.

Even if he did. Even if he did, it's clear to him now—Father is losing control.

Father is losing.

Without the souls of all of Amestris to power his Stone and with all these living Amestrians doing their damnedest to wear him, Father's had no choice but to waste his own Stone on protecting his new body rather than make any progress toward regaining what power Van Hohenheim had dared steal from him.

How strange it is, to see how little it's taken to wear Father down to desperate measures.

Edward demanded he choose a side. Fight with Father, or against. What can he do? He must choose, and now, before either side recovers. The meanest glimpse of the battlefield is enough to determine who the victor will inevitably be. Still, Pride is nothing if not cunning. He has spent centuries in the shadows, calculating odds, gambling on the corruption inherent in all mortal men. A glimpse is all he needs.

If Father wins this battle, killing or absorbing every last human soul, he's already shown his true colors. He'll take Pride's Stone to save his own skin, never mind centuries of loyalty. It wouldn't be a true death, but it would be a death of the self all the same.

If Father fails today, then Pride and Greed will be the last of the homunculi. They've survived this long solely thanks to the human bodies they've bound their Stones to. Greed, the humans might well deign to spare; he's been a coward and a turncoat since the day Father excised him. But him? Pride has been nothing but faithful. If Father fails today then so too will Pride. If he runs then the humans will hunt him down purely for Edward's sake. They'll kill him truly, burn him out of this flesh as Edward has tried to do already. They've already killed most of his siblings. True deaths. Final deaths.

What kind of choice is he left with?

When the dust settles and Pride's Stone has finished healing Edward's body, Pride dares to grow tendrils of himself again. He strains in every direction, disoriented and unwilling to trust this body's senses any more than he must. His nose finds Father before his eyes, and when his eyes hone in on the still-strange shape he stills. Father is staring right at him. Not at Edward's body but at him. Father knows, somehow, that he's taken Edward's body for his own, and knows too that he would benefit from killing them both. He watches Father lurch toward them, black smoke dribbling from his slack mouth. Not smoke. Himself. He's clinging to control of God's power, and he's slipping.

"A Stone!" Father groans, wide-eyed and staggering. "A Stone! A Philosopher's Stone!"

He's become a shadow of himself; a pitiable shell of a god, hollowed out and scoured raw. Pride stares, unable to discern whether this turmoil knotting his new organs is pity or disdain.

"Edward!" Van Hohenheim shouts across some great distance. "Get out! Now!"

Easy enough for the old fool to say. He's not the one Father's after anymore.

He feels the rebar pierced neatly through their left arm, his Stone healing the wound just so it can open again with his every twitch. It hurts. It hurts. His Selim container could feel echoes of sensations, enough to cheat convincingly, and human adults always made presumptions when it came to children's feelings anyway. This body has startled him with its capacity for pain at every turn. Even with the rest of its injuries healed he feels—echoes. Phantom sensations. Nerves throbbing with the memory of hurt. His skin itches; from sweat and dirt, yes, but from something more than that too. Their lungs are strong, their ribs healed, and still Pride chooses to sit where the crooked rebar has pinned their arm. He shies away from further pain even as their cardiovascular system throbs concern.

He hears Alphonse Elric shout, though the boy's shrill voice is snatched away on a gust of wind. He hears panic, not the individual words. Whatever he's saying hardly matters. It's some familial concern, as if one explosion could possibly be enough to kill Edward anymore. Disregard the other boy; he'll only matter if they survive this damned day.

Pride shifts, wincing when he feels the rebar tug in their arm. Their automail arm is limp at their side. Not in pieces, but broken enough that even the minute responses he's managed before this would be a welcome change of pace. He doubts Edward would have much better luck manipulating it. At a glance he sees less a mechanical prosthetic and more an arm-shaped heap of scrap metal. He feels too, Edward stirring in his Stone, consciousness not so much fumbled for as bullied. He concedes control mostly so to avoid this strange burning-tingling sensation in their shoulder.

Edward groans, shaking their head and blinking rapidly, squinting further when Pride inches out a coil of shadow to gain a better angle on the state of the automail. Edward seems sluggish, disoriented, and so Pride ignores him for the few seconds he can spare. The arm is what's important. If Edward—if they—are to fight Father, then Greed has already proven how dangerous direct physical contact is. The automail seems exempt from that and Edward has proven infuriatingly reluctant to transmute anything at the risk of their Stone. The arm's their one sure weapon, and it's so much limp metal grafted to their shoulder now.

Edward shifts, trying to force the arm to cooperate. The shoulder twitches, and creaks for its effort. The sound it makes is strangely muted; a dulled clunk that nevertheless seems startlingly loud in the silence after Father's inadvertent explosion. The fingers attempt a fist well enough and the shoulder hunches when he tells it to do so, but everything in-between remains frustratingly, terrifyingly inert.

Pride peels himself off the ground, curling serpentine to better direct his glare. "How did it break?!" He demands through a mouth in his shadow alone despite knowing the answer. Steel alloys are strong, but Father has dragged God Himself down from his lofty perch; even his defenses are sturdy enough to tear metal asunder. Never mind the how, they're running out of time. He has three eyes watching Father's approach. He wishes it were more, too used to working with and from a dozen different angles at a minimum, but for the sake of urgency he's conceding to this body's infuriating nausea and minimizing where he can. As if the boy will ever thank him.

Edward's physical eyes are riveted on Father too. "Rebound off his little meltdown," he says, matter of fact. "I'm surprised the whole thing didn't shatter."

Down an arm then, and Father's only yards away. "Get up! Run!"

Edward proves how insane he is once more by laughing, then jerking hard on their left arm. Red light crackles, hair raising along their skin. "Can't."

"My Stone can heal that easily. Get up!"

Edward does try, in his insipid, human flailing way. All he earns them is a hot rush of pain that leaves even their shadow gasping for breath. Metal scraping against bone is a uniquely awful experience Pride dearly wishes he had no context for, but here he is and here they are, and Father has now lurched that much closer. Pride spasms, growing teeth. "We don't have time for this. I'll cut the automail off—"

"Don't you dare."

Alphonse is still screaming, high and desperate, but the words aren't worth attending to. Pride sinks some, eyes on Father who is so, so close. Still croaking his desperation for another Stone. There's no trace of the cunning creature he's deferred to all these years. This thing is scrabbling and stupid. This thing is shameful. He averts their eyes, focusing wholly on Edward. "We'll die otherwise," he says.

Edward, stubborn as he is, grits his teeth and yanks on his left arm harder. Pain lances through the port and deep into their chest. They gasp equally, fingers and toes curling. "You do that, I'll hand us over to him," he says.

Pride gawks. They're running out of time but he has no choice but to gawk. "You wouldn't."

As answer Edward only throws him a crooked grin. Try me.

Fuck.

Fucking goddamn motherfucking shit.

Kimblee laughs. It's good to know somebody's enjoying all of this.

"Don't fight me this time!" Pride takes control before Edward can waste time with stupid questions. He grits their teeth, tensing despite knowing tension will make this all the more painful. Coward, Kimblee called him. That inaccuracy, his derision, chafes. Pride has no capacity for fear. He is, and has always been, pragmatic above all else. He tenses and strains and rips their left arm free. Steel dragged against bone and muscle and veins that scarcely bleed before healing perfectly. In his head-Stone Edward screams; he ignores it and runs.

Father must die today. This is a fact that chafes despite its logic. Centuries of loyalty—well. It's only right that it chafes now. But Pride is a pragmatic creature, and Edward has always put Alphonse's safety above his own. They can at least agree that dying now would be an infuriating waste of time. Father must die, and here Pride must aid that sentence. Fine. Fine. It's only fair. One good turn deserves another, doesn't it?

He'll worry himself with what might come after if they make it that far. Until then, it's time to take the offensive.

#fma #my writing

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sdottkrames · 4 years ago

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I Was Aiming For the Sky (I know, I Know)

@comfortember prompt 10: Crying

Summary: Peter can’t save everyone. MJ picks up the pieces.

Inspired by this post. I literally cried when I saw this and was so inspired I decided to write a fic on it. So, thanks for the inspiration!

Trigger Warnings: Fire. A little girl loses her dad in said fire, so minor character death. Be safe, lovelies!

Read on AO3: here

Peter was a procrastinator. His aunt has been getting on him for months about being better at finding gifts, and he’d been trying to listen to her. Holidays had a way of sneaking up on him. He always debated on gifts, going back and forth, never feeling like anything was good enough. And then it was too late.

So, Peter had been paying attention. He’d been watching his aunt for months to get some ideas on what to get her for Christmas, and he noticed that she always sighed dreamily whenever she saw Pandora jewelry. He saved up enough to get his aunt something from the overly expensive store, and walked in on a mission. He’d even left his suit at home to keep it from tempting him to patrol. Getting his aunt a gift was the sole purpose of his visit that day.

He looked around at the various necklaces and bracelets, the bright lights under the counter giving him a headache.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” A kind woman asked from behind the counter. She was around his age, and Peter was pretty sure every single piece of jewelry she was wearing was from the store. He wondered if the store loaned them to her or if she really made that much money to spend it all on jewelry. Or maybe they had killer employee discounts?

He shook off his train of thought and answered her. “Uh, yeah. I’m looking for a Christmas present for my aunt. She loves the jewelry but-” he stopped himself from saying we couldn’t ever afford it. “She never buys that kind of stuff for herself.”

The lady smiled kindly. “Well, is she a necklace kind of person? Or would you want to look at the bracelets?”

Upon seeing the bracelets and charms were sold separately, too expensive to buy both, he decided to look at the necklaces. A delicate silver chain with a sparkly daisy charm caught his eye. May loved daisies.

“This one! This is perfect,” he said.

The lady rang him up, and Peter headed out the door, the tingle of the bell announcing his departure.

He was feeling so good about the day's adventure, he decided to look for other Christmas presents. Mentally calculating each stop to determine the shortest course, he decided to go to the toy store first. Morgan would love the new LEGO Spider-Man set.

The LEGO store near Rockefeller Center may have been out of his way, but Peter really liked that particular one. The dragon made of legos that spanned the whole store never ceased to amaze him, even if he was a teenager. He walked in, all wide eyed with wonder, and determined to bring Ned back here. It’d been awhile since they’d gone together. Peter refrained from his desire to buy the entire store (with the credit card Tony had given to him, he probably could), and found the perfect set for Morgan.

He walked out of that store practically glowing. Something about getting all this done just made him feel great. And he’d gotten all his homework done in homeroom, so he was scotch free to enjoy his day. He decided to get one more present, this one for MJ. It required two stops.

The first one was the Lindt truffle store. There was one close by, one of the only ones that he knew of anywhere, and he nearly moaned when he walked in and was washed over with the sweet, delicious, take-your-worries-away scent of chocolate. He ate the free sample they gave him, then walked around the small, fairly crowded store until he found just the right truffles for MJ (and a few for himself, of course).

He should’ve known the amazing mood wouldn’t last long. After all, Parker luck was practically the story of Peter’s life.

He was walking down Broadway, eating a Hazelnut truffle and savoring every bite, when a scream caught his attention. He cursed his former self for stupidly leaving his suit at home.

It didn’t take long for him to find the source of the commotion. An apartment building was on fire, a young woman screaming for her husband and little girl who were evidently still inside. The firemen were busy getting other people out.

Without really stopping to think (the women reminded him of May and it clouded his thinking), Peter snuck behind the reporters and fire engines. It was distracting enough to let him hide his purchases in a bush and slip into the building’s open back door unnoticed. He wished he’d brought his suit to help with the smoke inhalation and the lack of ability to see, but his super hearing was there, at least. He could hear someone calling for help.

Peter knew it was stupid of him to barge in with no protection. He was superhuman, but still human. However, he didn’t care. He just wanted to help the woman and her family.

Coughing with every step, his lungs burning, he pressed on. The little girl and her dad were counting on him. He just had to get to them.

A board fell down somewhere close by, Peter’s sixth sense helping him flip out of the way just in time. He didn’t need to be a genius to know the building was close to collapsing. He had to get to the people and get out of there quick.

Hearing the cries for help get louder, Peter moved a little quicker.

He wasn’t prepared for the sight that met his eyes when he could finally see the two.

The little girl was crying, calling for her father who had collapsed on the ground. Peter only heard one heartbeat.

Forcing back the memories of Ben and Tony (Tony had survived, but him nearly dying had been enough) and tried to focus on the little girl.

“Hey, sweetheart. Let’s get out of here, huh?”

She recoiled at the sight of him. “I want my daddy and my mommy!” She yelled.

Peter spoke as gently as he could, though his heart was pounding and he couldn’t keep all the desperation and urgency out of his voice. “I know. Your mommy’s outside, and I’ll carry your daddy out, okay?” The little girl nodded, and a wave of relief washed over peter. “You’re gonna have to be very brave, okay. Think you can hold onto my shirt and follow me out?” The girl nodded again, and Peter picked up the body of her father as the girl twisted his shirt into a knot.

Peter had nightmares of having to carry Ben’s body back to May. Or Tony’s back to Pepper. They hadn’t been very heavy thanks to his super strength, but they had seemed to weigh a ton. Maybe that had just been the weight in his heart.

This felt like living that nightmare.

Sure, he didn’t know this man or the little girl, but Peter has failed. He’d failed Ben and he’d failed this man. He tried to keep his sobs quiet and kept talking to the little girl, Maya, she told him her name was, as they slowly made their way to the window.

They were on the second story. It didn’t take much for Peter to break the glass, gulping air greedily and helping Maya get some too. The firefighters quickly jumped into action, using the ladder to reach them.

Maya went first, Peter insisted, then her dad’s body. Peter waited for his turn, watching the fire carefully as it got closer and closer. He seriously thought about jumping. He wouldn’t get seriously hurt, but it would definitely expose his superhero identity.

Suddenly, a shock went down his spine, and then the world exploded.

Peter was thrown backwards by the force of the blast. His shoulder seared with pain as he hit the side of the wall, which was quickly joined by the pain in his side as it scraped against the broken glass of the window. And then he was falling. He tried to use his webs to catch his fall, forget about secret identity, but there wasn’t anything there. He closed his eyes and braces to hit the concrete.

Instead, his stomach jolted as he landed on a well-placed trampoline and bounced once, then twice before coming to a stop.

Gulping in breaths, trying to reconcile the last 15 minutes that had seemed like 15 lifetimes, Peter sat there. He was numb, unable to move or think or do anything but answer quietly when emergency responders asked him his name and other basic questions as they bandaged his arm, side, face.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there. Once he’d been patched up and determined to have no concussion, he was left alone in favor of other more pressing matters, his only company the images of Maya’s dead Father, whose face morphed back and forth between his own and Ben’s and Tony’s.

Suddenly, a voice caught his attention and broke through the macabre thoughts.

“Peter!”

It was MJ. Her eyes were wide as she approached him. She slowly, carefully wrapped her arms around Peter, seeming to understand without words what he needed.

And that was all it took for the dam to break.

MJ didn’t shy away from his tears. She held him as he sobbed, broken words breaking through.

“Fire...little girl...couldn’t save...widow...Ben, Tony...failed.”

MJ just tightened her hold, patient and unmoving as stone, and moved her hand from its tight, grounding grip on his back to his curls to rub his soothing circles into his scalp.

“I was trying...and I couldn’t-“

“I know, I know,” she soothed, her heart aching for him. “I came because I saw an alert on my phone about the fire, and I just knew that you would be brave and stupid enough to run in. Even though you told me you didn’t have your suit today.”

Peter gave a small, watery chuckle that tickled her shoulder.

“You are not responsible to save everyone, Peter. It is not your fault. Don’t beat yourself up for this.”

Peter nodded, and MJ kissed his forehead.

“I’ll be back,” she whispered. She walked over to the fire fighters. “Listen, I'm going to take him to his doctor. He has some...specific medical needs that he needs to see a specialist for. Is he free to go?” They reluctantly agreed, and MJ thanked them before pulling out her phone and making a call. “Happy? Yeah, code red. Can you come get us?”

She’d made Peter give her the driver’s phone number after her boyfriend had showed up covered in blood and freaked her out. He’d called Happy, and she’d gotten his number in case anything like that happened again.

MJ held him all the way to the compound after they retrieved his stuff, all the way to the medbay and through getting checked up by Dr. Cho (with Tony hovering like a worried mother hen), and the entire time as they watched a movie, cuddled together in a pile of love and support with Tony and May.

She knew the emotional scars took longer to heal than the physical ones, and there would be rough times as they dealt with those. But she was happy to hold him through it all; she wasn’t letting go any time soon.

#comfortember 2020 #comfortember #mine #spideychelle #minor character death

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sierraraeck · 4 years ago

Text

Xena (Pt.2)

Aundreya Chambers

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Summary: Her attempt to fix things leads Aundreya directly to one of her greatest enemies, and to some of her greatest friends. Story nineteen.

Category: Angst, but it’s basically just like Aundreya working a “case.”

Warnings: Cussing. There is a knife fight and someone gets stabbed.

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: I know this one is a little Aundreya-centric, but we will get back to the whole squad in a moment. Also, if this means something to you, I want you to think Dauntless from Divergent as far as building and overall vibe.

Everyone was in position.

Niko and one of the next in line, JT, were already inside as my back up. Deen had been giving us updates through ear pieces, and Roman, along with a team of trackers, was waiting outside of FBI headquarters for the jet to land. I was hopeful that we’d be done before they got back. Mateo was waiting outside of the building, watching the entrances. I didn’t want him inside, for fear he’d be too impulsive, plus he’d do a good job up against DeLeon if he happened to show up. I was waiting with him, both of us leaning up against the brick behind us waiting to get the call that Xena had shown up and it was time for me to go in.

“Would you come back?”

It was out of the blue, and I wasn’t sure what he was referencing. “What?”

“Would you come back?” he repeated. “After this is all over. Xena and DeLeon taken care of, the FBI safe, you and me and the rest of the team safe. Would you come back to us?”

I knew the other question hanging in the balance so I didn’t want to answer. Would you come back to me?

“I don’t know,” I replied, “I haven’t gotten that far.”

“Yes you have,” he said, finally glancing over at me, “You plan way too far ahead to not have an answer to that. Don’t lie to me.”

“Mateo, I-”

“Sounds like a no, then,” he bitterly threw at me, turning away.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. What do you expect us to do without you?”

“I didn’t say I was leaving,” I tried to circle back.

“Is there someone else?” he asked. The question shocked me. He wasn’t usually like this, but I guess a lot had changed since the last time I saw him.

“Uh, I mean, no.”

“Convincing,” he pressed his lips together.

Very nice, Aundreya. Just keep wrecking your relationships. It’s working really well for you.

I sighed, then stepped in front of him, making him look up at me. “There is no one else.”

It was barely a whisper when he asked, “An agent? Really?”

“Exactly,” I pointed out. “That’s why it doesn’t matter. It’s never going to work, so no. No one else.”

“Of course it matters, Alionth.” And he was right. It did matter, I just wanted it not to.

“No, it doesn’t,” I pleaded. “I haven’t seen you in three years, and yes, I made connections or whatever while I was away, but that’s all they were. Connections to get to the end goal, like I told you before I left. I was in a dark space for a while and one of them helped me out and that was it. End of connection. Plus, they’ve got someone, so like I told you earlier, it doesn’t matter. Mateo, I still lo-”

He cut me off, smashing his lips into mine. He pulled me closer and I kissed him harder, hands moving to his hair.

“She’s here,” Niko’s voice whispered in both our ears. He pulled away, drawing another small sigh from my lips as I looked into his eyes. It was almost like they represented the two different sides of him. Maybe the two different sides of me.

Mateo brushed his thumb over my jaw and softly said, “Don’t say that until you mean it.”

All I could do was nod and turn toward the door. “Be safe.”

“You too,” and then the room enveloped me in darkness.

There were a couple of dim, flickering lights that buzzed when the lightswitch was on, and I saw the outline of a woman about 30 paces from me.

“You know, it’s rude to keep your clients waiting,” her sing-songy voice rang across the room. “It’s a wonder you still have some coming to you.”

“Well, it’s also rude to frame someone for murder, so I guess we’re even,” I deadpanned. I heard her steps echo through the room as she approached me. I decided to meet her in the middle so I could see her better. No need to be surprised if I could help it.

When she entered the light, I saw that she had her long, wavy blonde hair back in a slick ponytail, and was wearing a long black trench coat with combat boots. Her hands were in her pockets.

“Still sour about that?”

“Still sour about the gang?” I fired back. It landed, like I knew it would. If I had to guess, she spent most days trying to push those thoughts back down. “I mean, that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“If you want to phrase it that way, sure,” she plastered on a fake smile.

“Open your jacket,” I commanded.

“Excuse me?” she sounded offended, but I just stared at her. She relended with a sigh and opened it. There were two guns and an entire knife set in there.

“On the ground.” She dropped all three on the cement in between us. “And your boots.”

“So you haven’t forgotten everything,” she sneered, removing both of her boots. She flipped them upside down and shook, but nothing fell out.

“I haven’t forgotten anything.” I motioned for her to hand me her shoes. When she did, I ran my hand through both of them, finding a small blade taped to the sole. “Clever, but that has to be uncomfortable to walk on.” I tossed it in the center with the rest of her stuff.

“I’ll take the liberty on this one,” Xena said, ignoring me, turning both of her pockets inside out. “Your turn.”

I did a spin, showing her I had no pockets and I was wearing a short sleeved shirt with no place to hide things. Even though I was wearing tennis shoes, she still wanted me to empty them, so I did anyway.

“Well, now that that’s over,” I huffed, putting my shoes back on, “Why don’t we get to why you’re really here.” I walked over to a dark corner of the room where I’d been storing her grandfather’s ‘letter.’ I snached it off a small table and walked back over to her. She reached for it, but I pulled it away before she could grab it.

“What now?”

“So you and DeLeon are working together?” I asked.

“How does that have anything to do with you and I’s business?”

It was a valid question, but she already knew the answer. “Xena, I know you and DeLeon have been behind everything. You’re working together and now you’ve been talking with Agent Archer.”

“And?”

“And, you know how things with DeLeon end. He will take over any agenda you have. Whatever you want, you won’t get, because we both know DeLeon is a lying, impulsive, control freak. It’s only a matter of time before you get into an argument, and I don’t think that will end well for you,” I aimed to rattle her, but she seemed pretty stable.

“Who’s to say it won’t end well for him?”

“You. You literally told me that the first time I met him. ‘Be careful with that one, Aundreya. He has an unfortunate habit of always getting what he wants. No matter what.’ And you know what, you were right. I can attest to that,” I said, my voice getting quieter at the end.

“This is different,” she insisted.

“You can try to fool yourself, but you can’t fool me. I know things aren’t going well. Your progress has slowed down, and I’d guess it’s because you’re trying to plan things out, and he’s not listening to you.”

Xena shook her head. “You’re wrong.”

“What’s keeping you with him? You know you could just let him self destruct and come work with someone who actually thinks like you. Who could actually help you get stuff done,” I offered.

She immediately caught my drift, “Really? You want me to come work with you?”

I nodded.

“Why in the hell would I do that? You took everything from me! You took my position, my grandfather, my gang, even my love-”

“Your love?” Is she seriously saying that DeLeon is her ‘love?’

“Yes! You were the shiny new toy to play with and I was old news. It seemed like anything I was good at and loved, you were better at and took from me. You took my entire home, Aundreya, and fucking Rafael let you! There’s no coming back from that! There’s no forgiveness in order,” she shouted, then took a deep breath, and finished with, “Let alone a partnership.”

“Xena, you don’t understand. Your grandfather did those things because he wanted to keep you safe.”

“His name is Rafael, and I doubt that,” she snapped.

“I have his letter, his dying words to you. He wasn’t thinking of me, or DeLeon, or the gang in his last moments. He was thinking of you. That tells you something,” I softened my voice, and cautiously took a step toward her. If I could sway her to work with us, we might actually have a chance of taking down both Archer and DeLeon, and get out alive. If not…

“That he had regrets? Yeah, does me a lot of good now,” she hissed.

“But it might help ease some of those thoughts that have been nagging at you for years, give you some sort of closure. It might help you put it all aside and move on. Don’t you want that?” I asked. Her lack of response was enough for me to continue, “Come back to headquarters with me.”

“So you can ambush me? No thanks.”

“Come on. We can sit down and read this letter together. Plus, I have the little box he left it in with a variety of other stuff in it,” I offered.

“Why would you have held onto it this long?” her voice was incredulous and her face matched it.

“He was my mentor and at the time, my best friend’s family,” I gave her a pointed look, “And I know I don’t seem like it, but sometimes, I can be sentimental.” And the future possibility of leverage isn’t bad either.

I cautiously turned to head toward the door, my back facing her. Normally I would have faced her head on the entire way there, but I wanted to see if, and how quickly, she’d betray me. I heard a very soft scraping sound on the concrete, which could only mean one thing. I whipped around and caught her raised wrist, knife in hand.

“Wrong choice,” I muttered. I tweaked her wrist, causing her to drop the knife with a clatter, and I kicked her back the way she came. For the few moments she was winded, I looked upward toward the rafters and shook my head. I hoped Niko and JT understood that I didn’t need their help just yet. I was hoping to deal with her all on my own.

I sauntered toward her and leaned down in her face, wrapping a hand around her throat. Before I could do anything else though, she grabbed one of the guns behind her and hit me in the forehead with the butt. I stumbled back and placed my hand over the spot she hit, blood already streaming down the side of my face.

Bringing nothing to a gun fight hadn’t really been my intention, so I was just going to have to improvise. Instead of waiting around for her to shoot me, which she would, I rushed toward her as she attempted to get to her feet. I kicked her knee in with the heel of my foot, then stepped on her hand that held the gun. She held on, so I had no choice but to reach down and try to take it from her grasp. In the process, it went off, echoing through the walls with ear splitting volume. I didn’t know where it hit, and I didn’t really care as long as it wasn’t me or my boys. I finally yanked it from her hand and threw it across the room.

Xena scrambled to reach the pile of weapons we’d created earlier, but I lunged over her to get there first. I was about to grab hold of the second gun when she grabbed me by the ankles and pulled me back. I started thrashing, kicking my feet in whatever direction, hoping to hit her somewhere that would hurt. I heard her moan, so something worked, but I didn’t take the time to figure out what did. I reached for the other gun and threw it in the same direction as the first one. When it came down to it, I could beat Xena in a knife fight. Guns were too unpredictable.

In a flash, I saw a figure land in the darkness of the corner, pick up both guns, and disappear again. God I love them.

I grabbed the second largest knife, and the closest one to me, refocusing my attention on Xena. I turned on my back for a better angle, but when I did, she was on top of me. She grabbed hold of my wrist and brought the knife to my throat, barely grazing it. I brought my other hand up to try and force the blade back her way. She brought her knees down with all of her body weight on my chest, over and over and over again, beating the breath out of me, and in turn, forcing the blade closer to my throat.

“How does it feel?” she bit through clenched teeth. “How does it feel to know that you’re going to lose to me?”

I brought my knee up between her legs, and struck her across the face. I shoved the blade upward, hearing a crack as blood rushed down her nose, dripping onto my cheek. I used the strength I had left to force her on her back, effectively switching our positions.

“It feels great,” I growled, taking back control over the knife. I brought it down across her shoulder, a screech escaping her lips. I stood up and kicked her in the side before opening a gash across her abdomen. Blood was spilling onto the floor, and I moved toward the pile of knives to collect them before turning back to her. When I did, she had a stained piece of paper in her hands.

The letter. I must’ve dropped it during the fight.

I opened my mouth to make a comment about it, but instead got cut off by hysterical laughter. In her dying moments, Xena was laughing like a wild hyena. “Of course. That bastard would never. I should have known,” she croaked out between broken breaths.

The letter was empty, just a blank sheet of paper I’d shoved in an envelope. I never actually planned on giving it to her, at least, not that one, and honestly didn’t even believe our encounter would end any differently than it had. “The real one is back at the ring,” I nonchalantly informed her.

“It doesn’t exist,” she shook her head profusely.

“I guess we’ll never know.” I did, in fact, have a letter with writing on it back at headquarters in the off chance she agreed to help me. It was fake, I’d written it myself, but had she come back, she would have never known the difference.

I was about to leave her for dead when she called out, “You were right.”

“What?” I was so shocked by the words coming out of her mouth, that I walked over to make sure they actually were hers.

“The only reason I was looking into you, using Corbyn, was to get answers about Rafael and you. And why you were working with the same FBI team that closed in on the gang. Your gang. I wanted all the info I could get so I could hurt you, like you hurt me,” she finished with a chuckle, but immediately clutched her side, coughing.

“Why are you telling me this?” My voice was cold and demanding.

“To let you know that my intentions seem innocent compared to DeLeon’s.” The craze in her eyes was enough to make me take her seriously. “When he finds out that I’m dead, he’s gonna come for you.”

I didn’t let her rickety breaths and threatening words shake me. I wanted her last memory to be of her ultimate enemy standing over her, so I composed myself before leaning down to her ear and whispering, “I hope so.” I pulled away to see her wicked smile, one that you’d only see in horror movies or nightmares. My voice sounded chilling, even to me, as I mirrored her smile, announcing, “This is for Sydney.” Then I plunged the knife right through her heart, her crazed eyes turning dull, but that curled smile plastered on her face for death.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

“I’m fine, really,” I tried to convince the growing circle around me as we made our way to the infirmary. We’d hired a doctor that broke the law in order to save a patient’s life, costing her her license. She could no longer work at hospitals, but we paid her well and she could still do what she loved.

“You’re not. You can barely walk,” Deen was saying, his arm wrapped tight around me as we hobbled up the lavish staircase to her mansion. She did get to keep that though, and decided to run her little infirmary out of the unnecessarily big basement. Deen with his bad knee, and me clutching my ribs and stained with blood were probably quite a sight making our way up the stairs to her front door.

“Jesus, I didn’t realize it was this bad,” I heard Mateo’s voice declare from behind us. I’d sent him to make sure that everyone else was okay, and get a report from Roman and her people about the BAU. “Let me help.”

“Good luck with that one, bud,” Deen rolled his eyes, “You know how she is about help when she’s obviously the picture of health.”

“Let me,” Mateo offered.

“I’m fine you guys,” I insisted again.

“Alright,” Deen said, shrugging his shoulders and letting go of me. I nearly collapsed without his support, and I would have if Mateo hadn’t been there. He caught me and scooped me up bridal style.

“Deen, you are the worst best friend I’ve ever had. And the meanest,” I deadpanned.

He smiled brightly, “Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

“I will hit you.”

“I look forward to that, in, what?” he gestured to my broken and bloodied state, pretending to look at a watch, “Three months?”

I basically growled at him, to which Mateo chuckled and said, “Down girl.”

I turned my fiery eyes on him, which only made him laugh harder. “Could you have said that any louder?”

Mateo opened his mouth and started yelling, “DOW-” before I slapped my hand over his mouth. He kissed it, which made me smile, and I moved it to his cheek which he leaned into. I curled a little farther into his strong chest as he turned sideways so we could pass through the door. Niko was waiting for us at the top of the stairs to the basement, and followed us down. Mateo sat me gingerly on one of the beds, and stood back as the doctor, Doctor Madden, started getting to work on me.

She started with the gash on my forehead and worked her way down. She patched up the small cut on my neck, then had to pull my shirt off me to see what was happening on my side. She informed me that I had reopened the stitches from when I got shot, and most likely refractured the ribs that had been healing, or potentially broke them in new areas. She examined the rest of me, and besides a sprained ankle (I don’t know when or how that happened), everything else was just a bruise.

Long story short, I’d be hella-sore in the morning. Pure adrenaline was making up for it now.

I thanked Doctor Madden, and so did the twins as they entered the room. “Can you make sure that Deen-” I started.

“Deen has everything under control?” Deen finished my question as he waltzed into the room. “Yeah, he does.”

“Thank you,” I croaked. The exhaustion, physical and mental, was hitting me all at once.

“How long are you supposed to be like this?” he asked.

“She said over six months,” I said, raising my eyebrows, “But I’m hoping we can cut that at least in half. We don’t exactly have that kind of time.”

Mateo spoke up, “But hey, we can call this one a success. Mostly.”

I laughed, knowing the ‘mostly’ was directed at my four injuries. “Mostly,” I repeated.

“The Lions have done it again,” Mateo smiled.

“You’re still trying to make that work?” Niko and I asked at the same time.

“Yes. It’s perfect. Alionth. We can’t just keep calling it ‘the ring,’” Mateo mocked.

“We have for nearly ten years,” I pointed out.

“And, it’s more inconspicuous to say in public,” Niko acknowledged. I nodded and pointed at him to show my agreement.

“Lame. The Lions,” Mateo insisted.

“Alright,” I said, rubbing my eyes, “I’ll think about it?”

“You won’t, but I appreciate you saying that,” Mateo smiled. The light in his eyes seemed to warm me from the inside out, ans I bet someone could scientifically prove that his smiles healed. I felt just a little bit better whenever he did.

“I guess we’ll leave you to it,” Deen said, ushering Mateo and himself out of the room.

Niko started to follow, but hung back. “You know, Mateo-”

“I know,” I cut him off, “It was unfair of me to lean on him like I did and let us get that close before leaving. Once on my own accord and the other not.”

“True, but that wasn’t what I was going to say.” I looked up at him confused, but he answered my unasked question with, “I was going to say that Mateo isn’t the only one that wants you to stay. Sure, he’s got different and, one might even say bigger, reasons, and you know, he does still have feelings for you, but there are plenty of others of us that are hoping we can do enough to convince you to stay.” I opened my mouth to respond, but he kept talking. “You don’t have to answer right now, just promise me you’ll think about it.”

“Of course,” I promised, “And thanks again for, well, everything.” I gave him a quick, tight-lipped smile. He nodded at me, and then left, following his brother and friend out the door.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

I was doing everything I could to recover as quickly as possible. Doctor Madden said that if I continued on this course, I might be ready to ‘lightly return’ after four to four and a half months.

I didn’t even make it halfway there.

I was falling asleep in the infirmary bed like I had every night for the past two months. I still had people tracking the BAU, and Archer who I was told was properly freaked out, telling me that they were all safe and that the only creepy people around were them. That brought me some sort of relief, yet I was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Nothing Xena says can be taken too seriously. She religiously lied, and constantly tried to freak people out. Especially us, me in particular. But there was just something about her eyes and the way she told me about DeLeon that compelled me to believe her.

And I guess we all should have taken her more seriously.

Because that night after two months of recovery, I woke up to the sounds of scraping on the ceiling. It sounded like someone was rearranging the furniture. It wasn’t my place to judge what Doctor Madden did at 1am, but this had never happened before. I tried to ignore it. I mean, it wasn’t too loud and it stopped after a minute or two. Then I got this gut wrenching feeling. Call it instinct, call it the wind, but something was wrong and I knew it. I opened my eyes and made a move to get out of bed, but it was too late. I could smell the chloroform all around me.

I tried to get out of bed, but all my injuries were delicate and I couldn’t move very fast. I tried to identify where the smell was coming from so I could get rid of it. It was a small rag trapped in the railing on the underside of the bed, near my pillow. Once I found it, the only thing I remember is a panicked, peaceful darkness.

Series Taglist (open)

@justanothetfangirl @kris-stuff @blameitonthenight21 @wooya1224 @unded-bride @swiftingday @dezzxmx

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kirishwima · 5 years ago

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If requests are still open, could I ask for how the RFA+V and Saeran act with a clumsy S/O? Like they trip over nothing and always run into stuff. Thank you!

oh, hello fellow clumsy person!! i can absoloutely relate to this lol, this should be fun~

YOOSUNG:

*He’s...he’s also SO freaking clumsy

*Both of them just fall flat on their faces with nothing to have tripped over-and no, as much as Seven insists, it’s not because of invisible aliens

*He never worries over himself and his own clumsiness-induced injuries however-instead he’s always looking out for MC, running after them with bandaids and antiseptic to treat their wounds whenever they fall.

*For this silly couple, holding hands when walking down the street isn’t just something done out of affection-no, it’s a necessity so neither of them can wander off and hit their face on a lamp post or anything like that

* When preparing for the RFA party, their friends all know not to have either Yoosung or MC carry anything fragile or do any detail-focused work-the last time MC held scissors they snapped a clunk of their finger right off, and surprisingly, it was Yoosung that was the calmest at the sight of all that blood-he took a towel, pressed it down onto their finger and called an ambulance like a pro.

* And yet that very same person tripped when climbing into the back of the ambulance to take MC to the hospital, effectively falling down and breaking his nose on the stepping step of the ambulance

* (Well at least the two clumsy love-birds could share a hospital room for a while)

*Jaehee unironically calls them both a hazard to society-she’d love to put each of them in bubble foil so they can at least stop bruising over everytime they hit onto something lol

* It’s fine with them though-Yoosung likes to tease MC about it, and they often compare scars and bruises, comparing who has the silliest story behind it

ZEN:

*He’s honestly really shocked at MC’s clumsiness, and panics everytime they trip or hit their hip onto a hard corner-this poor boy’s heart can’t take another one of MC’s stunts really

*He’s now learnt to always carry bandaids with him, and to hold MC by the waist when they’re out together, fearing for their safety. No beloved of his will be hurt today, no sir!

*If MC receives an injury due to their clumsiness, he’ll always without fail kiss it to make it better, tending to their wounds with the utmost of care, like a prince to his royalty.

* That being said, he often forgets...just how clumsy MC is. He once left them alone while cooking to put some ravioli in the pot of boiling water, just for a few minutes-only to run back to the kitchen when he heard them hiss in pain; they’d managed to splash the hot water onto their hand and clutched to it as it reddened.

* Zen froze for a moment before diving into action, pulling MC by the wrist and brinigng their hand under the faucet, turning it to freezing cold water before grabbing an ice pack from the freezer and placing it atop their injury.

* “Baby please..please, for my heart’s sake, try and be more careful? I can’t stand to see you hurt this often” he asks one day with a pout, his bottom lip trembling. MC can do little else but nod and promise, even though they aren’t sure how to be more careful per say. It’s worth it though to see Zen’s relieved smile.

JAEHEE:

* I already picture her as the kind of mom-person who always has every necessary thing in her bag, so MC is more than lucky to have a capable girlfriend like her.

* MC tripped and scraped her knee? Baehee’s already pulling out antiseptic wipes and a mini gauze. MC bumped her shoulder onto the door and now it’s sore? Baehee’s got muscle relaxing cream ready to rub onto their sore muscles. Whatever you want, Baehee’s got.

*That being said, it doesn’t make her feel any less worried whenever she sees MC trip or hurt themselves due to their clumsiness. She begs them to be more careful, but knows it’s not something they can really help. So instead she always has a watchful eye on them, trying to prevent danger from coming their way.

* Their clumsiness is a big issue in the coffee shop, even though Jaehee’s never made a fuss about it-they kept dropping cups and plates, burning themselves with warm espresso, accidentantly pouring the beans out of the grinder...eventually Jaehee asked them to work more on the front desk, and let her prepare and serve the drinks, for both their safeties.

* She’ll never be mad at MC for their clumsiness though-she finds it endearing in a way, and she loves all of MC, the good and the bad. She’ll just have to be twice as careful for the both of them.

JUMIN:

* He seems like such a poised and elegant man..but he can, in fact, also be very clumsy.

* It’s not often that he is-the man has an impeccably steady hand, and he’s always aware of his surroundings, but when he gets flustered or tired-hoo boy.

* Once he saw MC wearing a gorgeous new outfit and he tripped whilst walking down the stairs towards them and sprained his ankle-Zen refuses to let him live it down to this day.

* That being said though, after taking note of how clumsy MC is, he makes sure to always be doubly aware of his surroundings, and asks their bodyguards to always have one person walk a little further ahead than MC, so they can redirect them if there’s any cracks in the pavement or lamposts ahead as they walk, especially when Jumin isn’t around to hold them near him and watch out for these himself.

* MC’s always worried at fancy dinner parties, which actually...makes them clumsier. The amount of times they’ve nearly tripped while walking on those marble floors is remarkable, but Jumin has been there every single time to wrap his arms around their middle and hoist them up before they could fall, and will make sure to have his arms around them for the rest of the night.

* Once however, MC was talking with some of Jumin’s colleagues, when a waiter passed by offering glasses of champagne. MC took one, but with slippery hands, it slid from their hands and fell right onto their foot where it shattered, shards getting stuck onto their skin and some even sliding under their shoe, so every step would cause more of them to push into the soles of their feet, blood pooling in their shoe.

* Jumin was there in an instant-across the room he saw the incident and ran over, pulling MC up in a princess carry so they wouldn’t apply any pressure to their injured leg. He turned and left with MC in tow without a word, only telling driver Kim to take them to the nearest hospital.

* MC was worried as he silently brooded, thinking he was mad at them...he wasn’t.

* He turned to them, helping them hoist their legs onto his lap as he gently took off their shoes, looking them over for any visible shards he could help remove. “You’re not mad?” MC asked, and Jumin sighed, leaning his head to rest on their knees.

* “No darling, I could never be mad at you. I was just...seeing you injured terrifies me.”

* From then on MC vowed to be as careful as possible! ....whatever that meant. Either way they’d try to, for Jumin!!

SEVEN:

* As clumsy as he seems he might be, he’s absoloutely not-he’s a trained spy, he’s always aware of his surroundings, and he’s learnt to mind his every step, being able to walk as silently as a cat in the night as to not alert any enemies of his presence.

* So to meet the clumsiest person of all, MC, was...quite funny to him really, and a refreshing breath of fresh air-finally, someone he doesn’t have to walk on eggshells with.

* He’s the kind of jerk that would absoloutely make fun of MC everytime they hit their hip on the counter or slide or trip over nothing-but he’d still be there every time to hoist them back up, quickly looking them over for any injuries whilst trying to play it cool.

* He actually thought of baby-proofing the house for their sake; but MC quickly shot down that idea, saying they’d be fine and there’s no need for him to worry (because yes, he actually was serious-a trickster as he might be, he worries over MC constantly lol)

* Once though, once MC’s clumsiness really made him terrified, made him fall to his knees and cry.

* They were on a date, the first proper date in quite some time, walking down the streets on a quiet evening.

* They were about to cross the street, though the light hadn’t yet turned green for pedestrians-but it was about to, they could see the road traffic light already turning orange, so MC nonchalantly laughed as they made to walk across-only a car had been dashing to pass before the light turned red.

* MC saw it coming, but as they made to turn and run back, they tripped, falling in the middle of the street.

* Seven didn’t, couldn’t think at that moment-he dashed into the street, grabbing MC and literally pulling them like a dragged doll out of the way.

* The car had screeched to a stop regardless when they saw the two pedestrians, even rolling down the window to ask if they were okay. Seven had already helped MC stand up on shaky legs, holding them close by the waist, their head resting in the crook of his neck.

* He nodded to the driver and watched him drive off, his hands holding MC bruisingly tight.

* He couldn’t control his emotions, couldn’t think-he pushed them away from him, but still held their shoulders tight, his fingers digging into their muscles.

* “You-how could you fucking-be more careful! Just look around you, look at your freaking surroundings just-” his eyes filled with tears as he leaned his head down, hiding onto MC’s shoulder, leaving wet puffs of air on their skin.

* “Just-don’t let me lose you, not you, please...”

* They stood there, holding one another for a long time. “You won’t. I’ll be careful, I promise. I’m sorry” they whispered into his ear, and it was true. They’d always be as careful as possible, Seven’s scared expression always snapping them back to reality without fail.

V/JIHYUN:

* Look...before he gets his eye surgery....he’ll also be extremely freaking clumsy lol

* After getting the surgery, his eyesight would never be 100% the same again-so it’d still take some getting used to before his perception returned to a normal healthy state.

* He’ll always try and watch out for MC, fearing their clumsiness and fussing over their injuries, but him worrying over MC only did more harm than good, for both of them.

* Cue the two walking down the street, when MC trips. In an attempt to help them, V reaches out for them...but he also just stumbles down and falls with them, a bruised but laughing heap on cement floor.

* They always tend to each other’s injuries, and at least one of them has to carry band-aids at all times. It’s like an inside joke, how they bump over every stool and every table corner, their hips eternally a purple blue bruise. V loves to lay his head on MC’s lap, oftentimes turning to give a smooch to their bruises when they’re visible.

* He actually feels responsible sometimes, thinks of how if he could protect MC more he’d be a better boyfriend. One time, whilst MC was changing into pyjamas, he saw a nasty scar on their thigh, remembering the incident that caused it-they were both together in the kitchen, talking about one thing or another, boiling some water for tea; only when MC tried to hold the kettle, it fell right into their lap, hot water falling across their thigh before V could rush over to them to grab it and put it back on the counter.

* He remembers grabbing MC by the wrist and rushing them to the shower where he set the water to the coldest it could get, tripping over his feet and falling to his knees as he pulled both MC and himself into the shower, taking the shower head and holding it over MC’s burnt thigh; he remembers them crying and it still makes his heart ache, and that scar is a reminder of that.

* MC could see the frown on V’s face, and approached him as he sat on the bed, placing themselves between his thights as they tilted his chin up to look to them. “What’s wrong?”

* V bit his lip, wondering if he should say anything at all. “Just-I’m sorry. I’m never able to protect you where it matters.”

* MC frowned too at that. It’s been so long and V had gotten so much more confident, why was he bringing himself down now? They kissed his forehead before leaning away to continue getting dressed.

* “I’m not dating you to protect me, I’m dating you because I love you. And besides-I’m the clumsiest person there is. I should be trying to protect myself instead!” MC laughed.

* They did however promise to try and be more careful-both for their sake, but for V’s too.

-Send me mysme headcanons/scenarios for characters reactions!-

#asks #anon #mysme #mystic messenger #mysme prompts #mystic messenger prompts #i went overboard with V and Seven didnt i lmao #i cant help it they're my favorites TuT #and im replaying Seven's route right now sooo aye #mysme headcanons #mystic messenger headcanons #Anonymous

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lonelypond · 5 years ago

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Nico Attacks: A Campfire Tale, Ch. 2

LL, NicoMaki, KotoUmi, 1.5K, 2/4

And Then There Were Two

Umi examined the ground where the path opened, her keychain flashlight still working, “Definitely more sets of feet than just Eli and Nico, one of them smaller.”

“So one of the children?”

Umi shrugged, “It doesn’t look like anyone got dragged off so Eli must have gone...willingly?”

Maki was only half listening to Umi. The music had been gone for awhile now, but now a more insistent, probably artificial, wind noise started to rise.

“Something’s going to happen.” Maki hissed.

“Sprint across or move along the trees?”

“If that’s a portable lantern, we should grab it. And I’m going to head for the house. I think it’s that way.” Maki pointed to the right.

“So would that be a predictable choice?”

Maki huffed, “Probably.”

Umi unbelted her hatchet.

“This isn’t war.”

Umi’s face, in the LED bright of the keychain flashlight, was Honoka choosing bread serious, “you know Nico better than I do, what do you think is going to happen?”

Maki deflated, “Yeah, you might have to cut us out of netting.”

“Is everything between you two a duel?”

“Maybe.” Unexpectedly, Maki grinned, “Nico never backs down, never stops pushing. It’s always an adventure.”

“She could decide to call it a night and I would be thrilled.”

Maki chuckled, “Won’t happen.”

“Whose side are you on?”

Maki sprinted for the lantern but as she grabbed it, a howl started, one voice joined by another then another. Maki headed for what she thought was the path to the house but before she took more than two steps, the scarecrow started to move. Umi saw it grab her by the throat.

“Maki!”

It seemed like an hour, but it was probably only nine seconds before Umi moved, sprinting to where Maki was struggling and cursing. As Umi was realizing Maki was in no real danger, Maki threw the camping lantern away, and the scarecrow was dragged forward by the wires attaching it, just far enough that Umi’s legs were entangled as she approached. Umi pitched toward Maki, twisting so the hatchet threatened no one. Maki grumped, skipping to the side.

“Keep that away from me. Nico forgot you’re always armed.”

“I am always prepared.” Umi sheathed her hatchet again.

Maki kicked the scarecrow, then decided to stomp on it for more catharsis.

“That’s Eli’s jacket.”

“I don’t care.”

The howls were picking up, and music was back.

“Really, Nico, can’t you come up with anything other than Bach?” Maki shouted into the night.

“It is a classic horror mood.”

Maki rolled her eyes, “She could have at least thrown in Saint-Saëns Danse Macabre. Or something modern.” Another shout into the night. “It’s not like she doesn’t know death metal exists.”

The sounds started changing, a shift from organ to a screech of metal crashing in a guitar riff.

“Thank you!” Maki shouted.

“Let’s not help the people attempting to terrify us.” Umi was taking cautious steps toward the tree line as branches shook menacingly. Suddenly, a spotlight glared directly in their eyes, and after it dimmed, black spots swimming in their vision, howls and guitars speeding up, gritty voices grinding out indecipherable lyrics, at least three songs shoved into a sonic blender, with that cacophony as a backdrop, the shifting shadows ahead turned animal. And started to growl.

###

When Eli saw the light, it triggered a rushing need to get closer. She couldn’t see anything ahead of her, barely felt anything as she pushed between Maki and Umi, her feet speeding her through the cloying darkness, even though part of her mind was screaming “That’s how the flame gets the moth,” it was not screaming loud enough to silence the terror of DARK.

As soon as there were no tree branches for Eli to thrash through, she felt hands pulling her to the side.

“HE…” She yelled but a grimy, sweaty hand clamped over her mouth and two people wrestled her forward. A child stood, shadowed by the camping lantern that was her current obsession, one of the twins.

Eli relaxed slightly when she heard Vik’s bright voice whispering “We’re saving you, Mom.”

Nico and Rin had Eli in a fairly tight grip, Nico hissing, “You say anything or run, I kill the light.”

Vik was smiling up at Eli, in a gray hoodie with adorable wolf ears. Rin and Nico were also wearing them.

“I’m going to sit,” Eli whispered softly, her legs too shaky to do anything.

Nico sighed, but nodded. “Gimme your shirt?”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

Vik stood next to Eli, blue eyes wide, “Are Auntie Umi and Maki scared? Dia said her Mama was so grumpy about the pumpkin guts. How come we never have fun like this?”

Because Nozomi doesn’t enjoy terrifying me when small children are awake, Eli answered in her head, but she hugged Vik, “Every family has their own traditions.”

“This is so cool.” Vik was literally bouncing, spinning around the tilting pole while Nico was attaching wires to the scarecrow, while Vik was putting their ballet warm up exercises to good use. “Auntie Nico is the best.”

Eli shook her head, amused, happy that a Vik she was getting too used to seeing sullen and withdrawn was giving every sign they were having a great time. For that, she would forgive Nico many things.

Vik handed Eli a gray hoodie, “Help us howl, Mom.”

Eli thought about the DARK and then she looked at the brilliant smile on her child’s face. This was a crossroad and she knew which path to pick.

“Your mother always says I’d look cute with a tail.”

###

Maki and Umi backed up, instinctively.

“You know that’s probably just Nico and Rin, right?” Umi hissed.

“My feet won’t move forward.”

The shadows pushed closer, the forest was moving forward as metal guitar strings shrieked ‘til they shredded and clanks and chalkboard scratches answered growls. It was amazingly effective,

Umi recovered first. Which Maki only realized when she backed into something solid.

“Nico doesn’t scare me.” Umi stated, with zero conviction.

“Liar.”

And then three running, hunched ‘creatures’ rushed toward them, circling them, growling, laughing, unrecognizable, faces smeared with dark makeup. Umi braced herself, Maki went for the treeline, but the middle ‘creature’, rolled in front, so Maki stumbled forward over them, grabbing at them but only pulling off their hoodie.

Someone pulled Maki up and as she turned, she screamed at a looming HUGE inflatable glow in the dark skeleton bobbing behind Umi. Throwing the hoodie in frustration at Umi, Maki leaned over, hands on knees to catch her breath. “Dammit, Nico.”

And then Umi said something unexpected. “I apologize.”

“For what?”

“This is not solely your fault.”

Umi got weirdly formal at the strangest times. Maki raised her head and waited for the full explanation as Umi examined the hoodie.

“Nico is not working alone. Kotori made these. I recognize them.”

“So what did you do?” Maki snapped.

“Nothing.”

Silence. Bordering on angry silence. Maki never liked teasing. Umi sighed.

“Kotori might have remembered that after the Halloween Hell Cruise, I wrote Aizuwakamatsu no Yurei.”

Her award winning play. Maki knew Umi hadn’t been writing. So Kotori was worried. Ha. Everyone has interfering wives. And the Halloween Hell Cruise had been a Nico Nightmare. Maki shuddered at the memory.

“So if my wife is devious and diabolical, what’s yours?"

“Crafty.” Umi said proudly. “And caring.”

Maki stomped into the darkness, muttering something that rhymed with “tripped.”

Umi stood, watching the bobbing, grinning, glowing skeleton. Then she reached into a pocket, pulled out her clasp knife, opened the blade, and punctured Mx. Bones with one swift motion. Air escaped with a whispering scream. Umi nodded her head, satisfied.

“Hey, that looked fun.” Maki grumped.

"Maybe you shouldn’t have stomped off.”

“Show off.”

Umi grinned.

“So how many more of these do you think Nico has planned?”

Maki shrugged, “She still seems to have infinite energy.”

“So not maturing?”

“Ha ha.”

“You’re enjoying this.”

“Aren’t you? It’s” Maki paused, “invigorating.” Maki and the lantern did a circle of the clearing, to check for clues, “Why’d you stop writing?”

“Exhausted. Kaito is a fine, intelligent child, but it’s exhausting.”

“I know.” Maki shot a glare back at Umi, “And Dia’s picked up some very judgy habits from a certain babysitter.”

“Your daughter’s manners are impeccable. She’s nothing like Nico.”

“You’re wrong there.” Maki pulled on a wire but it didn’t seem to connect to anything. “‘S funny, when I was younger I would have imagined me at a fancy black tie Halloween charity event with my supportive spouse who did most of the childcare while I lived at the hospital and then I met Nico and here we are.”

Umi considered that, “What else do you do when you fall in love with a brilliant, hard working career woman who wants a family and for you to keep being yourself? Support them like they support you.”

“Yeah.” Maki got to spend every day with music and people she loved. Because of Muse. And Nico. Other generations of Nishikinos had paintings, portraits stiff in oil to hang on walls, but for her family, it was a quick watercolor sketch Hanayo had made while Maki and Nico were having an impromptu concert with their daughters. It was Maki’s favorite piece of art, quick, lively, bright, made with love.

Maki found another wire and pulled. Netting crashed down around here, leaves scraping her cheeks. Nico wasn’t done yet.

A/N: Hey.

#NicoMaki #KotoUmi #Love Live #Nishikino Maki #Yazawa Nico #Sonoda Umi #Ayase Eli #October #pranks #Nico Attacks #October ficlets

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anubislover · 5 years ago

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Welcome to the Heart Pirates, Nami-ya chapter 10: Heated Discussions

Nami wasn’t sure how long or how far she’d run through the winding backstreets of Grimm, but she didn’t stop until her legs literally gave out from under her, forcing her down onto the hard pavement of a dark alley.

Panic gripped her vital organs like a meaty fist. Her body was on fire, sweat dripped down her spine, and every inhalation was agony as her lungs struggled to draw in the barest amount of oxygen needed to keep up with the blood rushing through her veins. The Heart Pirate jumpsuit was suffocating her, holding in the unbearable heat and chafing her hyper-sensitive skin, but she was too weak and exhausted to take it off, forced to broil alive in the heavy canvas.

For a few minutes she just lay there, her sole thought a silent plea for her heart to stop trying to beating against her ribcage like Luffy’s angry punches. Orange hair darkened with sweat, tears streaked down her face, and the only sounds she could make were ragged sobs.

“Miss? Are you alright?” came a deep, authoritative voice from above her, and she trembled. Was it Arlong? Had he found her? Was he going to beat her for running away? Kill Nojiko and Mr. Genzo? Destroy some innocent villager’s house as a display of his “superior” species’ power?

Please, please don’t hurt them! I’ll be good, I swear! Nami thought, squeezing her eyes closed and drawing her legs against her torso to protect herself. It would hurt, but if she had to choose between getting hit and seeing the people she loved suffer, she’d take the blows every time.

“Miss, speak to me—are you hurt? Were you attacked? Do you need a doctor?”

Did she need a doctor? Dr. Nako had fixed up fevers, scraped knees, and stomach aches since she was a child. But no, Arlong would find out and make an example of him. Nami managed the barest shake of her head, curling even more tightly into a ball, mentally begging the stranger to just leave her alone before he got himself killed. People who tried to help her always died the most horrible deaths. Memories of Bellemere’s final moments, of blood and skull fragments splattering as Arlong shot her point-blank, made Nami start hyperventilating. She couldn’t see that again, not even to a stranger, no no no no nononononononono…

Large, strong hands rested on her back and legs, gently straightening her out. “I know you’re scared, but you need to stop pressing your knees into your stomach—it’s keeping your lungs from expanding fully, so you’re not getting the air you need.”

The voice was steady and knowing, at just the right octave to cut through the heavy pounding of blood in her ears. Unconsciously she obeyed, knees lowering, and her lungs swelled as she took several deep breaths.

“There you go. Just focus on breathing. In. Out. Here.” Nami flinched as she heard fabric rustling, trying to draw into herself again as she imagined her mystery man drawing a weapon, but she immediately relaxed as her nose was greeted by the clean, familiar aroma of oranges and mikans. “Breathe this in. Citrus scents reduce stress and anxiety.”

Like an ocean wave, the thought of Bellemere’s grove washed over her. She remembered the safety of her mother’s arms, how her hands always smelled like mikans no matter how many times she washed them. She remembered Nojiko making mikan shampoo for the first time, giving her a bottle before going off to rob more pirates. She remembered the delicious fruit dishes Sanji would make her, the times she’d find Zoro napping under the trees, the iced tea she’d share with Robin, watching Chopper try a fresh mikan for the first time, and knocking Luffy over the head when she caught him pilfering her fruit.

The smell made her feel safe. Like she was home, with her family and nakama.

After a few minutes her heart rate began to slow, aided by the hand on her back rubbing deliberate, soothing circles between her shoulder blades. “That’s better. Miss, can you sit up? I want to make sure you’re not injured.”

Nodding mutely, she allowed the man to help her sit upright and lean against the hard brick wall. She could breathe again, but she was still miserably hot. Lethargic fingers clumsily tried to unzip the top of her jumpsuit, desperate to vent the heat that had built up inside the thick fabric. Her hands were halted by a larger pair quickly grabbing them, however, as the voice shouted, “Whoa, whoa! Miss! There’s no need to get undressed!”

Her eyes finally opened enough to see a blushing, wide-eyed man around thirty years old staring down at her in shock and embarrassment.

“Please,” she whimpered, struggling weakly against his grip. “I’m burning up.”

His cheeks turned a dangerous shade of scarlet at her needy tone, and he looked away, clearly uncomfortable. “Are you at least wearing something underneath?” he choked out.

A tiny smile lifted the corner of her lips. It seemed her savior was either a gentleman or just incredibly shy. Good thing she’d had the foresight to wear a sports bra and shorts under the jumpsuit. “Uh huh. Please, I just…I need it off.”

“Ok. I’ll…help you undress, then.”

She audibly moaned in relief when the cool air touched her sweaty skin. Invigorated, she managed to peel the whole uniform off, a satisfied smile coming to her face as her temperature finally dropped. It was like jumping into a cool lagoon on the hottest day of the year, banishing the wretched layer of stifling humidity that had trapped her.

No longer panicking or burning up, Nami’s mind at last cleared enough to realize what she’d done. She’d managed to disobey every order Law’d given her—she ran off on her own, ditched her companions, and removed the uniform. She was in so much trouble when he found her.

She didn’t disillusion herself with the idea that he wouldn’t. Law’s abilities could let him scan the whole island and teleport her back to his ship in an instant if he wanted. It’s not like she could escape Grimm, either—she had no boat, no crew, and no real idea where to go, and she was smart enough to know he’d still probably spend his days searching for her, if for no other reason than she’d attacked his crew.

Oh, damn, I hope they’re alright, she thought, burying her face in her hands. Her wind attacks weren’t deadly, but accidents happened, and she really couldn’t remember exactly what she’d done in her panic. What if it had been strong enough to trip Ikkaku and crack her skull open on the street? What if it knocked Shachi over and re-broke his arm? What if it sent Bepo stumbling back into a stray, sharp piece of wood, impaling a vital organ? Nami might have been scared, but she’d never forgive herself if she’d brought any harm to them.

An awkward cough caught her attention, and forcing the dark possibilities that she’d killed her friends from her mind, Nami distracted herself by finally giving her savior a proper look.

Even sitting down, the man was large. About Bepo’s height by her estimate and as muscular as Smoker, he had a hooked nose, X-shaped scar across his chin, and blue eyes that stood out starkly against the black domino mask and the shadow cast by his pointed, plumed hat. His ginger hair was a few shades darker than hers, with thick sideburns framing his chiseled, lantern jaw. Nearly his entire outfit was made of midnight blue leather, from his gloves to his thigh-high boots to his bolero. Clipped to his broad shoulders was a long cape, also blue but lined with burgundy red on the inside. His chest was exposed, showcasing the enormous X tattoo adorning his torso, and at his side were two massive weapons—a saber and what appeared to be the lovechild of a mace and an axe.

That’s “Red Flag” X Drake, Nami realized, the Supernova’s wanted poster instantly popping into her head. He wasn’t quite as notoriously sadistic or infamously violent as Law or Eustass Kid, but it was easy to remember a pirate who’d defected from the Marines. She’d assumed he’d headed off to the New World like the others, but perhaps he was like Law and thought it better to wait things out?

“Are you feeling better?” he asked, deliberately keeping his eyes on her face.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine. Th-thanks for the h-help,” she replied with a stammer, desperately trying to convince her heart there was no need to panic again. Of course, her instincts knew better; X Drake was a pirate on the Grand Line and a Supernova at that. His bounty was even higher than Law’s, and probably for good reason. She was alone with him in a back alley with no crew to back her up, whether Straw Hat or Heart Pirate. A woman with her limited combat prowess stood a snowball’s chance in hell against him in a fight, and he was big enough to crush her throat with one hand if he wanted to.

Yet…he seemed nervous. The redness had faded from his face, but there was still a slight tinge of pink on his cheeks. His posture seemed casual at first glance, but she could see the subtle tension in his neck and shoulders. Most noticeably, he was doing his damnedest not to look anywhere below her chin, even though his greater height gave him an excellent view of her exposed cleavage.

Drake was a rival pirate and former rear-admiral of the Navy, but she got the feeling that if she really needed to, she could easily escape by flashing him.

“Good to hear, though I really don’t think you should be stripping around here, and especially not asking strange men to help you. Most might consider it an…invitation,” he said, awkwardly scratching his jaw as he glanced away, blushing harder at the thought.

A small smile curved her lips. Yup, he was definitely trying not to stare at her half-naked body. Who would have thought a man as infamous as X Drake would be so bashful? “But not you?”

“I prefer my invitations to be enthusiastic and explicit,” was his stiff reply as he leaned against the wall beside her. Nami didn’t miss the brief, almost guilty glances he stole at her from the corner of his eye, though. “And certainly not from a woman in the midst of a panic attack.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said with a wink. She was feeling much more clear-headed and like her normal self now that her brain wasn’t being cooked, and the knowledge that X Drake had such an easily exploited weakness to her body made her relax. “Why do you carry around mikan perfume, anyway?”

The pink tips of his ears deepened. “It’s not perfume; it’s orange extract. During my time in the Marines, I had many comrades who suffered PTSD or panic attacks, and aromatherapy has been proven to be good for reducing anxiety—particularly citrus scents. I rarely experience them myself anymore, but it’s still useful during periods of extreme stress. Seemed to be rather effective on you,” he said with a raised eyebrow before quickly glancing away.

Taking pity on him, Nami drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them so he wasn’t given such a shameless view of her bountiful chest. “I grew up in a mikan grove. The smell reminds me of home.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, a look of understanding softening his stern features. “Does it? No wonder, then.” He handed her the bottle. “Dab a little under your nose and rub some on your hands—better safe than sorry.”

Gratefully she did so, relishing the refreshing, familiar scent of her favorite fruit. “Thanks. Guess I’m lucky you’re the one who stumbled across me, huh?”

“I’ll say. I was passing by when I saw you running like the Devil himself was after you. Piqued my curiosity, and I suppose not all of my Marine training has left me; simply had to help a damsel in distress.”

She chuckled, though it turned into a soft moan of relief as the bare skin of her back pressed against the cool brick behind her.

Drake’s brow furrowed as he looked her over critically. “You really shouldn’t sit around half-dressed out here, you know.”

“Because of men without invitations?”

“Because it’s far too cold to be walking around in so little, and with the sheen of sweat on your skin, you’re at a high risk of getting hypothermia.”

Nami stubbornly shook her head, though she frowned at the feeling of the damp ends of her hair against her bare shoulders. “Honestly, that damn jumpsuit was so hot, freezing to death sounds like a dream come true right now.”

“Yes, but I’m sure your crew would be quite distraught to find out you’d died in such an ignoble way.”

She stiffened at the mention of her crew. Was he talking about the Heart Pirates or Straw Hats? “Yeah, fair enough. I just really don’t want to get back in that thing,” she replied, toe nudging the boiler suit disdainfully.

Drake scoffed in agreement. “Considering whose emblem is on it, I don’t blame you.” Standing, he hoisted her to her feet as if she weighed nothing. Now Nami could see just how tall he was, completely towering over her. She thought he might get all flustered again as her cleavage was once more on display, but his intense blue eyes were fixed upon the swirling tattoo on her shoulder. “I must say, I’m surprised—I didn’t believe the outlandish rumors that Cat Thief Nami had joined the Heart Pirates, even after Jinzo started babbling about why he didn’t have my money. I figured he was just making excuses. And yet, here you are.”

She stiffened. Well, now she knew who the broker’s next appointment was supposed to have been. “Ah. I’m guessing he was mad?”

A red eyebrow quirked, and his lips twitched upwards in amusement. “He was quite vocal about what he hoped to do to you for costing him so much belli. You’re lucky I found you instead of any of his men. A woman by herself is already taking a great risk wandering around in these back alleys—even more so when she’s made an enemy of the island’s most unscrupulous black market broker.”

She gulped at the implication. Damn, Law really was right, wasn’t he? If someone other than Drake had come across her while she was helpless on the ground…

“Well, I appreciate the rescue,” she squeaked, deciding it was time to head back to the Polar Tang. Glancing up and down the alley, she tried to recall her steps. She’d pretty much run blindly through the alleyways, but she was certain her natural sense of direction could get her back to the docks. Sure, Law would be mad at her for running off, but he was a hell of a lot safer than Jinzo. She shivered at the memory of the man’s hateful stare as Law had led her away, certain she’d be in a hell of a lot of trouble if she ran into him in the grungy alley.

Mistaking her shiver for the cold finally getting to her, Drake unclipped his cape, wrapping it around her shoulders with a flourish, bundling her in tightly. “There. It would be a shame for you to die of exposure before I got you back to the ship.”

A small whine escaped the back of her throat as she was engulfed by the thick fabric, once more feeling stifled and too hot. She struggled to escape the long cloak, but he only wrapped her up tighter.

“Let me go,” so moaned pathetically, face once more flushing as her heart sped up. The material was softer than the boiler suit, but it was still heavy and suffocating, and Drake’s lingering body heat in the fibers made it worse. “It’s too hot!”

“Miss Nami, unless you’ve recently eaten some sort of fire-based Devil Fruit, I can’t imagine how you could be anything but freezing,” he said with a stern frown. “I understand you’re afraid of me, and with good reason, but I won’t hurt you if you come quietly. I’m not in the business of harming hostages unless absolutely necessary.”

“Hostages?”

A hint of a sly smirk tugged at his lips. “I confess, I am a bit miffed at you for causing Jinzo to reschedule on me—he owes me a lot of belli, and I was hoping to be off this damn island by now. Kidnapping you is not only cathartic, but profitable; your bounty’s hardly worth turning you in for, but perhaps Jinzo might make me a better offer. Or I could put your skills to use in exchange for your eventual freedom. After all, your thieving skills are quite notorious, and Trafalgar must have recruited you for a reason.”

Oh no. The last thing she needed was to be the slave of another pirate captain. “Um, how about you ransom me to Law?” she suggested hopefully. “I’m sure he could pay whatever you were going to ask Jinzo, and then some!” Angry as the Surgeon of Death might be about her running off and getting kidnapped, surely he’d be able to rescue her if he knew X Drake had her, right? It’d be easy with his powers, and there’d be no need to buy her back when he could snatch her away with a flick of his fingers.

There was a brief, angry flash of sharp fangs as he growled, “Because the less I have to interact with that smarmy bastard, the happier I’ll be. Don’t think I don’t see through your little scheme; why would he pay when his powers can easily steal you back? Besides that, I’ll be damned if I let that ingrate gain an extra advantage by poaching Straw Hat’s thief.”

“Let me go!” she cried. Drake’s sudden switch from surprisingly helpful to a legitimate threat to her well-being demanded she pull together what little energy she had and escape. The problem was she was running on fumes and in the clutches of an eight-foot-tall former Marine whose bicep was thicker than her waist and could probably crush her skull with one hand like a rotten apple if he desired. Fighting was definitely out, and with the way he’d swaddled her in his cloak, she couldn’t even flash him like she’d planned.

Desperate, Nami attempted to wiggle out of the heavy fabric, but he grabbed the collar and tugged her close, looming over her threateningly.

“Don’t bother trying to run—even if you did somehow get away, you’re covered in both my scent and the citrus oil.” For a moment, his eyes shifted, harsh, reptilian yellow overtaking the blue, and he took a deep breath through his nose. “In a rancid cesspool like this, I’d hunt you down easily. If you come quietly, I promise you will be treated well; perhaps even invited to join my crew, if you play your cards right. If you resist, I’ll have to switch the orange extract for chloroform, and the next time you wake up, you’ll be in Jinzo’s possession.”

Once more, her heart began to race, but thankfully her mind wasn’t overcome yet with memories and panic. “Look, I��I’m sorry if I accidentally caused you trouble, but Jinzo’s a cheapskate who’d rather kill you to get me than actually pay. And if what you’re worried about is my alliance with Law, it’s just a temporary partnership! I don’t even like the guy!”

“Nobody likes Trafalgar; he’s a sadistic asshole.” A massive arm wrapped around her tiny waist and he hoisted her up so her feet dangled above the ground, pressing her against his scorching chest. “And if that’s truly the case, then you have even less reason to resist—think of it as a rescue.”

“From the way things look, the only one she needs to be saved from is you, Drake-ya.”

A blue aura surrounded them, and in an instant Nami was out of Drake’s grasp and firmly in Law’s, one tattooed arm wrapping possessively around her bare midriff while the other leaned Kikoku casually on his shoulder. Hard plains of muscle pressed against her back, and she could feel his sharp chin rest on the top of her head.

Nami’s body was tense, but not as much as it had been with Drake. Some of it had to do with the essential oil keeping her calm and the cool air once more regulating her temperature, but it was mostly because, dangerous as he was, Law was the devil she knew. No matter how pissed he might be at her disobedience, he would protect her; she was his property, right? Arlong had certainly punished her for her misdeeds against him, but he’d never allowed anyone not on his crew lay so much as a hand on her.

Pirates didn’t like other people touching their things, after all.

“Been a while, Drake-ya,” Law’s smooth voice caressed her ears. “Making a move on my Cat Thief, I see. How’s that going so far? Have you told her how many people you’ve killed? I’m sure that always impresses the ladies.”

“Trafalgar,” Drake spat, glaring disdainfully between the empty cape in his hand and the man standing ten feet away. “I’m quite certain the woman belongs to Straw Hat, not you.”

“Hmmm, normally, but since I was nice enough to save his life, I thought it was only fair that he let me borrow her while he trains.” Law chuckled and Nami felt his nose playfully nuzzle her temple as his hand slid up to splay just beneath her breast. “You know I’ve got a thing for feisty gingers.”

The former Marine snorted in response as he donned his cloak. “Well, since she’s apparently the reason Jinzo had to reschedule our appointment, I think it’s only fair that I ‘borrow’ her for a while as recompense.”

“Sorry, she and I have dinner plans tonight. Besides, I did you a favor—he’s not as good as Kimo when it comes to honoring deals. Had the nerve to try and give me less than a third of our agreed-on price. If it hadn’t been for my little kitten here, you’d be trying to negotiate with a corpse.”

Hearing Law call her “kitten” made Nami shudder, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on why. It felt disturbingly familiar somehow and made the hairs on the back of her neck rise as goosebumps rippled across her skin.

Drake crossed his arms, unimpressed. “Jinzo’s unscrupulous scum, but he owes me money. Money that your ‘little kitten’ managed to swindle from him, the way he tells it.”

“If he’d brought the amount Kimo had agreed to pay me, I wouldn’t have needed her uncanny haggling skills.” Law cocked his head to the side. “Out of curiosity, how much does he owe you?”

“600 million belli.”

“He only had 725 million on him for his four scheduled deals, and he only planned to pay me 200 million. So even if his other clients were working for free, he had no intention of paying your asking price.” He let out a wry chuckle. “The man must have a death wish, looking to cheat two Supernovas in one day.”

Drake swore under his breath. “Fine. If he won’t pay me properly, I’ll just have to wring his neck and take the money from him. But considering how you still ruined my plans to leave this wretched place on schedule, I’m ruining your dinner plans. Now hand the Cat Thief over,” he growled, gripping the hilt of his saber. “I have a greater need for her than you.”

The nodachi on Law’s shoulder shifted in response. “Look, not that I’m opposed to you getting laid—anything to get the stick out of your ass—but Nami-ya’s mine.” The woman in question could practically hear Law’s smirk as he continued, “Why don’t you try the brothel the next street over? I’m sure the lovely ladies there will be happy to service your ‘needs’ for the right price.”

Drake gaped for a moment before sputtering, “I’m not looking to sleep with her!”

“Now don’t be bashful, Drake-ya! Sexual urges are completely healthy and natural, and I certainly don’t blame you for wanting a sexy redhead. Hell, maybe she can finally help you ditch your V-card.”

“You know I’m not a virgin!” he snapped, face flushing dark red in humiliation a second later as he realized precisely what he’d said.

Law’s grin widened, more than happy to take advantage of the slip. “Oh yeah—I do, don’t I? Never imagined I’d get to tame a dinosaur, but anything’s possible on the Grand Line, right?”

Nami’s jaw dropped as her cheeks heated. Holy crap, Law and Drake? Together?! She had so many questions.

“You didn’t ‘tame’ me,” Drake growled as he forced himself to calm down, though his ears still burned to match his ginger hair.

“Oh? So you’d let any man ride you? Slut.”

Maybe it was her imagination, but Nami swore she could feel Law’s erection against her lower back. Was he seriously getting turned on by this? She began to feel warm again as her own arousal spiked, much to her irritation. Could anyone blame her, though? Drake was not an unattractive man, and the mental image of him and Law battling for dominance in the bedroom was certainly titillating.

“Trafalgar,” he snarled, eyes morphing into their yellow, reptilian state, “either you hand over the woman right now or—”

“Or what? You’ll take her from me? Sorry, Drake-ya, but you know what a possessive bastard I am. I found her first, so she’s mine.”

“I don’t see your name on her,” he said petulantly.

Law spared the woman in his arms a small glare. “She’s a crafty kitten that likes to slip her leash sometimes, but I’m happy to stake my claim here and now.” A tattooed hand cupped her breast as her rolled his hips against her ass. There was no mistake what he had in mind. “Feel free to watch—you might learn something.”

There he went calling her “kitten” again, and his shameless groping nearly made Nami choke. She’d grown used to his flirting and suggestive touches, but he’d never been this blatant! Hell, compared to this, he’d been downright chaste when they’d made out in the mansion hall and when he’d given her that hickey! Was it his weird form of punishing her for running off? Or was it just to mess with Drake? Law certainly seemed to enjoy riling the other pirate up, but did he need to go so far as to threaten to fuck her in front of him to scare Drake away?

More importantly, would that even work? Law’d basically been putting her scantily clad figure on display for him throughout the entire conversation, but Drake didn’t seem nearly as flustered as he’d been when it had just been the two of them. Maybe Law’s insults and innuendos had distracted him enough to look past Nami’s full breasts and sensual curves before, but the way he was looking at her now…

It was similar to the hungry gaze Law sometimes gave her, only more feral. Animalistic. And she wasn’t fully sure if it was directed at her, the Surgeon of Death, or both.

Whichever it was, Law was playing a dangerous game of chicken, and if Drake snapped, she was the one caught in the middle.

The idea that the argument might morph into a violent, sexual brawl made Nami renew her struggles. “Will you both quit fucking talking about me like I’m some stupid toy you’re fighting over?!” she snapped, twisting and writhing in Law’s arms. “If you want to measure dicks, go ahead; just leave me out of it!”

Both men seemed momentarily taken aback by her outburst, though Law recovered quickly enough to tighten his arm around her waist. The sheathed nodachi pressed threateningly to her bare throat, saying without words that she was dancing on thin ice, and Nami reluctantly stilled. Out of the corner of her eye she saw gold eyes narrow at her defiance before his expression morphed back into a cocky smirk. “See, Drake-ya? This little kitten’s way too feisty for you to handle.”

“I only hope she scratches your eyes out,” he countered, though he did back off slightly, his eyes returning to normal. Ignoring his rival, he addressed the Cat Thief directly, though it was obvious her bare skin distracted him. “Miss Nami, I’m sure with Straw Hat missing you’re only associating yourself with Trafalgar out of desperation. However, I can assure you that you can do far better than this psychopath.”

Before she could answer, the alley was once more engulfed in blue, and Nami groaned as she found herself redressed in the Heart Pirate uniform. Behind her, Law sneered, “Maybe she can, but she’s paying off Straw Hat’s life debt to me, so she’s mine until her contract is up. I might be willing to lend her to you in exchange for a few favors, but that’s something you negotiate with me—not her.”

The jumpsuit was hot, uncomfortably damp with sweat, and combined with Law’s arms wrapped tightly around her, even more suffocating than before. Nami’s heart was once more beginning to race, chest rising and falling hard as she fought to draw breath. It wasn’t as bad as before due to the essential oil still lingering under her nose, but her body was slowly reverting back into fight or flight mode.

Tension rose as the two pirates glared at each other, neither noticing nor caring about the woman’s distress.

Pulling off a leather glove, Drake’s hand shifted into a reptilian claw before their eyes. Flexing his talons menacingly, he growled, “A debt, huh? Well, if I kill you right now, that should clear any debt away and she’ll be free to do as she pleases. How about it, Miss Nami? Agree to help me strip Jinzo of every last belli he’s ever earned, and I’ll be happy to tear Trafalgar’s head off.”

“You threaten that every time, Drake-ya, and yet the only ‘head’ you’ve ever gotten—”

“Law, please, let me go,” Nami cut in, desperate to gain some breathing space and shed the jumpsuit like a snake would its skin. His body heat made it even worse, managing to seep through the dense canvas into her back, and his hot breath at her ear sizzled the damp skin. Despite the lingering smell of citrus, her pulse fluttered, anxiety strumming her veins like guitar strings.

“Stay right there,” the dark doctor rasped, Kikoku dropping to press against her waist while his free hand slid up to wrap threateningly around her throat, “or I really will put a collar on you.” Glancing back up at the former Marine, Law flashed a dangerous smile. “You know, Drake-ya, there’s no reason we can’t all get along. Hell, why don’t you join my crew? The pay’s good, and I wouldn’t mind my very own pet Allosaurus.”

Drake’s mouth twisted in a deep scowl, though Nami didn’t miss the way his eyes briefly dropped to Law’s hand as it trailed down to trace the Heart Pirate logo on her chest. “I’m no one’s pet, least of all yours.”

“You say that now, but I think you’d enjoy it—I know I would. Two sexy, fiery redheads, naked in my bed is pretty much my ultimate fantasy. I’d even let you help me train Nami-ya—she needs to learn obedience, but I know you’ve got no trouble following orders, eh, Navy-boy?”

For a moment, Drake’s eyes lingered on them, and she swore it looked like he was considering it, especially when Law nipped her ear, making her gasp, her chest expanding upwards as her cheeks deepened to an obscene shade of scarlet. She could imagine she looked like a wet dream; sweaty hair tousled, face flushed, cleavage peeking out of the jumpsuit’s opening, lips parted as she panted lightly. Law probably looked just as tempting, with his inviting golden stare, dexterous fingers, and wicked smirk.

Law was absolutely giving an enthusiastic and explicit invitation, and both pirates had shown that Nami’s opinion on the matter was a mere afterthought.

The man behind her shifted, and this time she was positive she could feel the Dark Doctor’s cock straining against her. “Law, please,” she whimpered, sweat breaking out across her brow.

“Mmm, much as I love hearing you beg, Nami-ya, you’re just going to have to be patient. Unless you want to put on a show for Drake-ya?” Long fingers pinched the tab of her zipper, slowly pulling it down to expose more of her cleavage. “Give him a taste of what he could have if he joins us?”

That seemed to snap Drake out of whatever lustful trance Law had lured him into, as his face went bright red and his scowl returned. “Ugh, you’re a disgusting cretin, Trafalgar. I’m not subjecting myself to your presence any longer.” Tipping his plumed hat, he spun on his heel. “If you ever come to your senses and decide to ditch this sadistic bastard, Miss Nami, feel free to seek me out.”

“Damn. I was hoping he’d try to call my bluff,” Law chuckled as the tall redhead disappeared down an alley. “I’d love to show him how I discipline disobedient kittens when they run off.”

“You’ve got the weirdest kinks!” she snapped, struggling desperately in his arms. The moist jumpsuit rubbed unpleasantly against her bare skin like wet sandpaper. The sensation finally brought to light why Law’s new nickname made her so uncomfortable—Arlong had often referred to her as a kitten. Usually as a term of affection, but also a way to further show how little he thought of her species, that he regarded animals typically kept as pets as more worthy of his respect than humans. “Let me go—I’m not your kitten!”

Law released her long enough to spin her around and start walking her backwards with slow, sure strides, gold eyes drilling into hers. “And yet it’s the most accurate description I can think of—you’re a clueless little kitten who has no self-preservation skills likely to get ripped apart by wild dogs!” With a thump her back hit the rough brick wall, but any relief the cool stone might have provided was short-lived as Law pressed his entire body against her front to trap her. “Ditching the uniform was bad enough, but running off on your own? Making a scene in public and attacking your crew? If you were even half as smart as you claim to be, you never would have taken such a stupid risk.”

“I wasn’t thinking—”

“Damn right you weren’t thinking!” he snapped. “I don’t care if you think the uniform’s ugly or uncomfortable, when I give you an order, you obey it!”

“It’s just clothes!”

“If it were just clothes, you wouldn’t have been the one to make it such a huge fucking deal! The fact that you couldn’t follow such a basic order proves you can’t be trusted.” Without breaking eye contact, he reached down, dragging the zipper up to her neck and buttoning the collar so not an inch of flesh south of her chin was exposed. “Now, unless you want me to make good on my threat to discipline you, you’re going to leave that as it is. You managed to punt any leniency I had for your bratty antics right out the window. We’re going back to the ship, where you will be confined for the foreseeable future. If I have to, I’ll chain you to a desk where you’ll spend the rest of the year drawing maps and sea charts for me.”

Her eyes widened at the threat. It was far too much like her dream; like what she’d gone through with Arlong. Panic made her adrenalin spike, and with ever less ventilation than before, the temperature inside the suit rose further. “Please, Law, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t—”

Furious that she was still trying to argue, his voice was as hard and biting as ice as he said, “I’m not interested in excuses, Nami-ya. You disobeyed me, and even more damning, you attacked my crew. I told you when we first met that I’d make you suffer if you brought any harm to them, and I intend to keep that promise.”

“I didn’t mean to! They were threatening me!” she simpered, trying to pull away, but like the man pressed to her front, the wall at her back wasn’t going to relent for the sake of a small, terrified woman.

“Threatening you? Ikkaku, Bepo, and Shachi? If you’re going to lie, at least make it believable,” he snorted, grabbing her left arm in a bruising grip when she tried to unzip the uniform.

“They wanted to tattoo me! To brand me as your property!” Unconsciously she clutched her shoulder, fingers digging into the scars left by her old tattoo. “I couldn’t let them do that to me. Not again.”

“And why would they want to do that?” he asked sarcastically. “Convince me before I cut out your slanderous tongue.”

“So that I couldn’t escape. So that no matter where I went or how I tried to hide, everyone would see that I’m yours,” she whispered, eyes dulling as she recalled the judgmental glares the villagers would give her every time they saw Arlong’s tattoo. Even if it had all been an act, they had cut deeply at the time, and even now she felt overwhelming shame.

Tsking in irritation, he finally gave her a few inches of space. “You make it sound like I’ve enslaved you—you’re the one who came to me, demanding the I let you settle Mugiwara’s debt. What we have is a deal; join my crew until it’s paid off. But it’s pretty hard to do that if Drake-ya or others make off with you, isn’t it? So if I have to make you wear a uniform or even tattoo my mark onto you, so be it.”

Nami’s mind clouded, fear firmly taking hold. She and Arlong had had a deal, too, and he’d used every dirty trick imaginable to deny his cartographer her freedom. What made Law any different? How did she know he’d keep his word and let her leave at the end of the year? What was stopping him from chaining her up and keeping her as a pet, from basically enslaving her even as he called her a valued shipmate?

It was too hot, her flesh felt like it was melting off her bones, blood was pounding in her ears, her scars throbbed, and her vision grew hazy as she began to hyperventilate. In her mind, Law and Arlong shifted and blended together, and trapped and scared against her monstrous captain, panic finally overwhelmed her.

“I’m not your fucking property!” she screeched, slamming her fists against his chest, nails attempting to claw at his face like a caged animal. Unwilling to let her gouge his eyes out, he grabbed her by the wrists, pinning her to the wall with his full body weight. “Get off of me! I’m not your fucking shipmate, or your kitten, or anything! I’d sooner die than let you use me again! I hate you!”

“Will you calm the fuck down?! What is your problem—” Law snapped, but his anger shifted to concern as he felt just how sweltering her skin had become and how erratic her pulse was. The last dregs of irritation vanished as he finally allowed himself to carefully study her, taking in her flushed and sweaty face, unfocused gaze, and shallow wheezes.

His brow furrowed as he stepped back, surrounding her with his Room and quickly Scanning her.

“Fuck,” her bit out under his breath. “So that’s your problem. Nami-ya, close your eyes.”

“Why the fuck should I do that?!” she screamed, attempting to dart to the side, but her escape route was swiftly blocked.

“Because this’ll be a lot less traumatizing if you don’t watch what I’m about to do.” When her eyes widened further, he smacked his forehead, annoyed at himself for his poor wording. “It’s the birth control medication I injected you with—you’re having a bad reaction to it. The chemical imbalance is giving you a massive panic attack, and the stress is causing you to overheat, which is slowly frying your brain. I need to remove the drug from your system, and considering how squeamish you are, I can promise, you’re not going to want to see how.”

“I…”

His expression turned desperate as he beseeched, “Nami-ya, please, I know it goes against your every instinct right now, but I need you to trust me.”

Swallowing hard, she nodded, forcing herself to close her eyes as tightly as possible and hold still despite her legs trembling with the urge to run. He was right; she needed to trust him. Law wasn’t asking as her captain, but as her doctor. He wouldn’t hurt her any more than Chopper would. He was trying to save her, and she needed to have faith that anything he did was for her own good.

“Room. Shambles.”

A strange sensation overcame her. It was almost like she was floating, and while she could still feel her individual body parts, it was…dull and disjointed, almost numbed, like when your foot falls asleep and you wiggle your toes.

Then came another odd feeling. The closest she could compare it to was what she imagined it would feel like to be a sugar cube slowly dissolving in a glass of water, but the heat and adrenaline slowly vanished, and bit by bit, her heart began to slow to a normal pace.

When she opened her eyes, she was sitting on the ground, the sweaty uniform in a neat pile by her leg. Law knelt before her, studying her face and body intently. His mouth was a hard line and his gold eyes cautious as he asked, “How are you feeling?”

“…cold.”

With a relieved chuckle, he pulled off his hoodie and carefully slipped it over her head. “Well, better than heat stroke and cardiac arrest.” He sighed, giving an apologetic frown. “I’m sorry the drug fucked you up so badly. I must have gotten the ratio off. I can’t even remember if I’d informed you of the potential side effects. At the very least, I shouldn’t have administered it when I was functioning on so little sleep—it was irresponsible of me as a doctor.”

Gratefully, Nami slipped her arms into the long sleeves, soaking in the residual body heat in the soft fabric. The sweatshirt was long enough to be a mini-dress on her, and she very nearly tucked her legs inside to block out the chilly air. Her skin was slick with sweat, and the cold air and stone beneath her was leeching the heat from her body. Now she understood why Drake had been so concerned about her lack of clothes. “It’s my own fault. I should have told you I was feeling weird. I just figured it was my body needing time to adapt and me being stressed about…stuff.”

The skin beneath the DEATH tattoos went white as Law gripped Kikoku harder. “No, it isn’t alright—I should have demanded a follow-up appointment to check how you were doing instead of putting my focus on fucking fertilizer. And I definitely should have noticed there was something wrong with you—you were literally having a panic attack in front of me, but I was too stubborn to acknowledge it.”

“Law, I know my body—I should have realized there was something wrong with me. And you were a little…distracted.”

“So, we’re both idiots, then?”

Nami couldn’t help the wry smile that tugged at her lips. “Guess so.” She glanced over at the jumpsuit. Part of her was nearly tempted to put it on due to how cold she suddenly felt, but one touch of the sweat-sodden fabric quickly changed her mind. “Look, I get that I don’t have much of a right to ask, but do I still have to wear this?”

Law frowned at the damp uniform. “Not until it’s been laundered and properly dried, at least. I’m taking you back to the ship regardless—I want to run some tests to be sure the birth control is completely out of your system, and you’re staying in the infirmary overnight for observation.”

“Yeah, makes sense,” she said sadly as the familiar blue aura overtook them. In a blink they were in the Polar Tang’s infirmary, their sudden appearance making Penguin jump from his place at the desk.

“Law! You found her!”

He tossed Kikoku to the first mate before hoisting Nami onto the examination table. “Yeah, but I’m going to need you to run some blood tests for me and fetch some clothes and toiletries from her room—she’s sleeping in here tonight for observation.”

Penguin nodded before rushing out the door, barely giving the navigator’s lack of uniform a second glance. Meanwhile, Law strode over to the cabinets, pulling out blankets, pillows, and towels. “What other symptoms have you been having?”

Rubbing her arms, Nami replied, “Nightmares and trouble sleeping, but that’s it.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep tonight?”

“I should.”

“Good, then I won’t give you a sedative. I’m not risking putting anything else in your bloodstream until I’m 100% sure what caused your reaction.”

“Thank you,” she said softly, “for removing the drug. And…not making me watch how you did it.” Law was sadistic and cruel, but that moment of compassion spoke volumes of how much he cared about a patient’s well-being. It was a fascinating juxtaposition—the doctor and the pirate. One that made her respect for him rise a little.

“You’re welcome. Thank you for trusting me.” He gave a small smirk as he handed her the supplies. “Assuming there are no lingering side effects I should be able to declare you well enough to go to dinner with me tomorrow night.”

Her head shot up in surprise. “You still want to do that? Even after I attacked your crew? After I tried to claw your eyes out?” Good God, she expected Luffy to be that forgiving, not the Surgeon of Death!

“You did it under the effects of a drug that I improperly administered—I have no one to blame but myself. Plus, I already made reservations.” At her disbelieving expression, he shrugged. “Honestly, Ikkaku, Shachi, and Bepo weren’t even mad; they were more scared something would happen to you.”

“Really?”

“Really. I was the one who was pissed.”

Draping a blanket over her cold legs, she snorted. “Clearly. Would you have really made good on your threat?”

“Which one?”

Unconsciously, her hand fisted the blanket. “Chaining me to a desk and forcing me to make maps for you.”

“That’s the one you’re most worried about?” he asked, bewildered.

“Let’s just say it’s something that would have happened to me if Luffy hadn’t intervened.”

Law’s brow furrowed when she didn’t elaborate, and he crossed his arms in irritation. “You’re welcome to your secrets and privacy, Nami-ya, but considering how you very nearly clawed my eyes out over it, you’re going to have to give a better answer than that. I can’t know what will trigger you if you don’t tell me.”

“Maybe I’m not comfortable with someone like you knowing my weaknesses.” She shot him a glare. “You seemed to take a lot of creepy pleasure in threatening to put a collar on me, among other things.”

The brim of his hat cast a shadow across his eyes as he scowled. “I’m a sadistic bastard—I’ve never hidden this. But I was trying to scare you into compliance, not give you a panic attack.”

“Either way, it doesn’t exactly inspire me to trust you.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. In the harsh light of the infirmary, the circles under his eyes seemed even more pronounced. “Nami-ya, I’m sorry I went too far. I was angry and keyed up from dealing with Drake-ya.”

A scoff and a roll of her eyes was Nami’s immediate response. “Yeah, sure, ‘keyed up’. Personally, I would have gone with ‘horny as hell’.” She blushed slightly at the thought. Looking back on it, that moment had felt like something from one of her raunchier novels. And she really needed to not imagine what the two Supernovas would be like together. Who would top? Drake was certainly the larger man, but she had a hard time picturing Law being submissive, control freak that he was….

She shook herself from her musings as Law responded, removing his hat to run a hand through his dark hair, “We have…history. Generally when we meet, we either try to kill each other or fuck. In such close quarters and with you as a liability, I didn’t trust my chances if it came to a fight, so yeah, I fully leaned into the sexual tension.”

After the day she’d had, Nami should have been immune, but she couldn’t help but appreciate how hot he looked when he mussed his hair like that. Her blush deepened as she glanced away. “Well, you should have left me out of it.”

“Drake-ya’s shy with women. I knew he’d turn tail and run if I got you involved.”

Much as she wanted to, she couldn’t quite argue his logic, mostly because it was completely fucked up. “Bullshit; you were totally hoping for a threesome. You are seriously such a freak. Next time, just teleport us out of there.”

“He was talking about kidnapping you,” Law countered, leaning in and resting his hands on either side of her thighs. His breath tickled her face as he continued, “I needed to make sure he knew you were completely off-limits.”

Her eyes narrowed as she leaned back slightly. “I thought we established that I’m not your property?”

“Nami-ya, that’s the way it is—if you’re not strong enough to protect yourself, you’re the property of someone who was strong enough to claim you.” For a brief moment, his eyes softened, getting a faraway look as he lifted his hand to gently brush his knuckles across her jaw. “I know you hate it, but for now, accept that it’s the only way to protect you from the monsters of the world. Because believe me; there are men far worse than me who’d love to get their hands on you. Men who don’t have my limits.”

Her breath caught at his gentle action, and Law seemed to snap out of his reverie, quickly pulling away to grab her chart from the filing cabinet. “Penguin should be back soon to draw some blood and examine you. I need to tell the rest of the crew you’re back, safe and sound. You’re still confined to the ship until dinner tomorrow as punishment for worrying everyone.” Without looking at her, he tossed her chart on the desk and left, all but slamming the door behind him.

Wide, brown eyes stared at the metal barricade in shock. What was that about? Where had that flash of softness come from? Was he seriously running off because of a moment of…what? Kindness? Affection? Concern?

It seemed like every time she thought she had Trafalgar Law figured out, he had to do something to completely throw her.

Her thoughts were disturbed by a brisk knock on the door.

“Come in,” she called hesitantly.

Penguin stuck his head inside, little stuffed bird on his hat bobbing slightly. “You ok?”

Tugging at the black sleeves of Law’s sweatshirt, she sighed. “Fine, I guess. Managed to not get kidnapped by X Drake, thanks to your captain.”

“You ran into Drake? My condolences.”

“He was actually pretty nice up until he decided to take me hostage.”

Penguin chuckled as he tugged on a pair of latex gloves, grabbing her chart and the medical supplies he needed. “No, the condolences are for having to watch him and Law interact. It’s been going on since we were terrorizing the North Blue, back when Drake was tasked with bringing us down. The boss is not subtle when he hits on him, and Drake’s usually a coin flip between trying to kill him and pinning him against a wall. Makes things super uncomfortable for the rest of us.”

His look of exasperation drew an easy laugh from the redhead. “Yeah, you could cut the sexual tension with a knife. Law all but proposed a threesome.”

“Unfortunately, I believe it,” he groused as he rolled up the sleeve of the hoodie to expose Nami’s arm. Swabbing a patch of skin with a sterilized cotton ball, he continued, “I’m not sure if Drake brings out his kinky side or if he just did it to mess with you two. Probably both. Boss has a thing for gingers.”

“Then why doesn’t he hit on Shachi?”

“Oh, he did, briefly, when we were teens, but once he realized Shachi wasn’t into dudes, he backed off.”

“Dare I ask how Law found out Drake was interested?”

Penguin threw her a teasing wink. “You’re gonna have to get me seriously drunk to tell that story; I’ve worked damn hard to repress it.”

Nami had to laugh. Though he could be an awkward flirt and sometimes a bit too hard on his crewmates, Penguin was an easy guy to like. He was definitely the big brother of the ship, bullying Shachi and Bepo during downtime but quickly stepping up and making sure they were alright when things got serious.

His mouth turned down in a reluctant frown. “Look, I hate to bring down the mood, but as first mate, I have to know; why’d you run off?”

Averting her eyes, she nervously twisted the blanket in her hands. “What, Shachi didn’t tell you?”

Carefully inserting the syringe into her vein, he began drawing blood. “Figured I’d hear your side of the story before I made my judgement. Law gave me a quick run-down on how the medication gave you a panic attack, but something had to trigger it.”

“You mean besides nearly being cooked to death in that hideous jumpsuit?”

As he removed the needle and taped some gauze to her arm, he gave her a serious, but not unsympathetic, look. “Heat stroke can certainly cause a person to be unreasonable, but Bepo said you were yelling about not being ‘that monster’s property’. I know Law’s not the nicest guy around, especially when compared to Straw Hat, but he hasn’t done anything that would warrant that kind of reaction from you, has he?” he asked, eyebrows furrowing with genuine concern.

Blunt white teeth worried her lower lip. Part of her wanted to say he had—killing Harpin, threatening her, all the things he’d done to earn his reputation—but in reality, she’d seen much worse from other pirates, and he’d done enough halfway decent things—giving money to the jewelry seller, saving her from the Baron, his kindness towards his crew—that she couldn’t even bring herself to lie. “Well, no…”

“You don’t have to spill your life story, Nami; everybody has baggage and things that set them off. Everyone on board cares about you enough that we want you to feel happy and safe, but you need to trust us enough to tell us if we’ve done something to make you uncomfortable.”

She sighed. She may have been able to avoid this talk with Law, but it was clear Penguin wouldn’t be distracted by snarky jabs or petty fights. It was hard to argue with him, too, when it came from a genuine place of concern. And someone should know, right? At least a little bit? Enough to set some boundaries between her and the rest of the Heart Pirates. “Look, I admit, I was being a brat about the uniform, and Law’s stupid medication made things a hundred times worse, but when they started talking about tattooing your Jolly Roger on me…I snapped, ok?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not one of you. You guys aren’t bad—better than most pirates, at least—but you’re not my crew.”

“What’s wrong with getting along with your allies?” he asked as he labeled the vial of blood and jotted a few things onto her chart. Most might think he wasn’t really paying attention to her, but Nami knew by now it was his way of giving her a small bit of space; putting her at ease by not making her feel like she was being scrutinized and judged.

Smoothing the blanket over her legs, she replied, “Nothing. The problem is when they refer to Luffy as my ‘old captain’ and act like I defected from the Straw Hats. I’m here for Luffy’s sake, and in two years, I’m going to be his navigator in the New World. Nothing is going to change that.”

“You’re pretty loyal to him, huh?”

She caught his eye, and with a look that left no room for argument, stated, “If it weren’t for him, my entire village would be dead and I’d still be forced to work for my mother’s murderer. I owe him everything, Penguin. He didn’t recruit me—he freed me.”

The first mate nodded in understanding. “Kind of like how Law freed Jean Bart?”

“You could say that.” She rubbed the spot where Arlong’s mark once lay, fingers absently tracing the scars. “Look, I’m sorry I ran off and worried everyone. I’m really sorry I attacked them. But—I was forced to join a pirate crew when I was ten. They pinned me down and branded me with their Jolly Roger so the whole world would know who I belonged to. I can’t…”

He held up his hand to cut her off. “I get it. Even if it was just a joke, they triggered some bad memories. I’ll tell the crew to ease up on calling you a Heart Pirate, and absolutely no talk of tattooing against your will. But it’s still ok to consider you our shipmate, right? At least for now?”

She gave a watery smile, using Law’s sleeve to wipe moisture from her eyes. Funny, she hadn’t even realized tears had formed. “Yeah. I can live with that.”

Jotting a few more things on her chart, he handed her the fresh set of pajamas and one of the towels. “Good. I’ve gotta go run these tests; go grab a shower in the meantime. I’ll be back in an hour with dinner and to take your vitals, and then you’re going to get a good night’s sleep. Those circles under your eyes don’t make you any less hot, but this ship isn’t big enough for two sleep-deprived, stubborn pirates.”

Despite his light tone, Nami frowned. “You’re going to tell everyone about my past, aren’t you?”

A warm, gentle hand rested on her shoulder, covering up Arlong’s scar. “Not if you don’t want me to; it’s not my place. What you went through…I’m not gonna lie and say I don’t want to murder the bastards who did that to you.” Nami could feel the tension in his fingers and heard his teeth grit in anger. It was clear he’d connected the dots between the scars and her story. “I mean, to brand a fucking child…”

“I’m ok,” she said softly, as much to herself as Penguin. “Luffy freed me. It’ll never happen again.”

“Damn right it won’t.” Taking a deep breath, he pulled away, once more composing himself. “I’ll just tell the crew that you’ve been through some shit in your life, and because of it, you wouldn’t leave Straw Hat any more than we’d leave Law, so we should ease up. They’ll understand.”

“Thank you.”

He gave her hand a quick, comforting squeeze. “You really should tell Law all this, though. You’ve seen how intense he gets, but if he knows he’s opening old wounds, he’ll back off. Guy’s got demons even I’m not privy to, so he’ll respect there are certain lines he shouldn’t cross.”

With a smile, Nami returned the gesture. “You’re probably right. You really are everyone’s big brother around here, huh?”

“I’m the first mate; it’s my job to keep things running smoothly and take care of disputes between shipmates.”

“In that case, could you do me a favor?”

XXX

The next morning Nami was rested, physically feeling better than she had all week, but worried about facing the crew. Despite the affirmations that nobody was upset that she had run off, at least not once they learned it was in response to improperly administered medication, she still felt nervous. Penguin had told them to ease up on treating her like she was part of the crew, but was that a good thing? Would they now treat her like an enemy, or hold her at arm’s length? Was the easy camaraderie she’d started to share with them over, sacrificed for the sake of maintaining her status as a Straw Hat?

However, despite her nerves, she had no reason to skip out on breakfast in the galley. Law had stopped by the infirmary long enough to Scan her and give her a clean bill of health (and also steal back his sweatshirt) while Penguin had come through with her request.

“Think these’ll smooth things over?” she asked the first mate, holding up three wrapped gifts.

Penguin shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t think you even needed to go this far—none of them were really angry, and you didn’t injure anybody. But it can’t hurt…though I can’t promise Ikkaku won’t still make you suffer just a little bit; in a way, it shows she cares. It’s when she goes completely cold with a person that you know you’ve fucked up.”

“You know this from experience?”

“When we went to Amazon Lily and most of us went gaga over the women there. I think the fact that we acted like we’d never even seen a woman before really hurt her pride. She’s a tomboy, but she’s still a girl, you know? Probably sucks when every guy on board forgets that. Flat-out wouldn’t talk to anyone but Bepo for a week—hell, the silent treatment ended only a day before you got here!”

The mention of Amazon Lily piqued her interest. Hadn’t Law mentioned they’d been there once? And apparently, it hadn’t been too long before she’d arrived. “Wait, Bepo was the only one she’d talk to? Did Law act like a lovesick idiot, too?” It was hard to imagine, but if the women of the island were as beautiful as stories said, anything was possible.

“No, but he made a pretty stupid comment that rubbed salt in the wound.”

Though Nami was curious as to what Law could have possibly said to piss off Ikkaku, she was forced to push that mystery aside as they’d arrived at the galley.

“Ready?” Penguin asked, watching for any sign of distress from the navigator out of the corner of his eye. Though he honestly felt she had no reason to worry about his crew’s reaction, he wouldn’t force her to confront them if she wasn’t ready.

Taking a deep breath and adjusting the packages in her arms, she nodded. “As I’ll ever be.”

The door opened to reveal the rest of the crew sitting at the various tables, sipping coffee and chatting quietly, a few catching up on what they’d missed over the past few weeks from the pile of newspapers. Several of them looked up and greeted her with sleepy hellos, and Nami nodded in acknowledgement, though her attention was mostly focused on the fact that, though there was bacon and eggs and a few rolls, breakfast seemed to mostly consist of assorted fruits.

From his spot at the table Law glanced over his shoulder at her and chuckled at bemused expression. “Morning, Nami-ya. Care for an apple? Winter melon? Kiwi? Apricot? Pomegranate?”

Her brow furrowed at his casual greeting. After he’d disappeared last night, she’d assumed things would be awkward between them. His brisk visit that morning had only reinforced that belief, but here he was, making cheeky comments with that smug grin of his.

Before she could question him, or the fruit, Penguin lightly nudged her shoulder. “You didn’t hurt anybody, but that gust of yours did upend a few fruit stands, so Ikkaku had to buy it all to keep the vendors from causing a scene. You never know who might be a spy for Jinzo in this town, and from what I heard, you earned yourself a place on his shit list.”

“Which is another reason you’re not to leave the sub until dinner tonight,” Law added as he took a bite of a bright red apple. He met her gaze as he chewed before saying with a smirk, “That’s an order, by the way. One you won’t have a problem following, right?”

Swallowing down her instinct to argue with him, she nodded stiffly. “Right.” Taking a deep breath, she walked over to the table, bowing deeply as she held two of her packages out to Shachi and Bepo. “I’m sorry for all the trouble I caused you yesterday. Please take these as a sign of my sincerity.”

“You didn’t have to, Nami,” the bear said, twiddling his claws. Despite his fur, one could almost see a pink blush on his cheeks. “Penguin explained what we did to set you off, and we weren’t upset at you.”

“Did Law get mad at you for losing me, though?”

His ears drooped. “Well, a little, at least at first—”

“Then I owe you an apology. I promised wouldn’t do anything to get Law mad at you, and I broke that within four hours of making it. You’re getting an apology gift.”

“Well, to be fair, you said you’d never intentionally get me in trouble…”

“Just take it, Bepo,” Law said, taking another bite of his apple. “You managed to get the greediest pirate on the Grand Line to willingly spend money on you; if you keep arguing, she’ll change her mind and charge you double for it.”

Nami glared at him, though it faltered when he threw her a conspiratorial wink.

“Well, ok,” the Mink agreed, taking the parcel at his captain’s encouraging nod. Shachi followed suit, though he appeared more suspicious than apprehensive.

“When exactly did you have time to get these?” he asked, eyes narrowing behind his sunglasses, “Because I sure didn’t see you buy anything that could be for us yesterday.”

Nami pointed at the first mate. “I made Penguin do the actual purchasing, but I told him what to get and it was my money he used to buy them. I never left the ship.”

Mollified, Shachi ripped off the wrapping paper, laughing heartily at the orca-shaped hat. “Oh, this is fucking perfect!”

“She asked me to get the ugliest, dumbest hat I could find,” Penguin said with a snort. “The local hat shop practically paid me take it of their hands. It’s like it was made for you.”

“Yup, and now you have to suffer for it!” he crowed, tossing away the green and pink and pink hat and replacing it with the killer whale.

Meanwhile, Bepo happily tucked into the enormous salmon, fresh from the Grimm fish market. He spared a thumbs-up, declaring his approval of the gift, and Nami giggled. He was like Luffy, in a way; buy him lunch, and you were friends for life.

“Take it easy, Bepo; you’ll choke on a bone,” Ikkaku said from behind her. Nami turned to find the older woman shaking her head. “You really don’t have to do this; we’re all just glad that you’re safe. Honestly, I’d settle for an explanation,” she said with a meaningful frown, “but I also get opening up isn’t easy, especially to people who aren’t your crew.”

“Yeah, but given time, I might be willing to open up to a friend.” With a nervous smile, Nami held out a box. “I kind of owe you this anyway, so you’re taking it whether you like it or not.”

Without a word the engineer opened the box, eyes widening at the slinky, silver dress that glimmered back at her.

“Thanks, Nami,” Ikkaku said with a small smile. “This’ll be perfect for when we go out tonight.”

“You still wanna go?” Nami gave Law a sideways glance. “Assuming I’m even allowed.”

Ikkaku scoffed. “You’re my only female friend on this ship; like hell I’m giving that up over a little freak-out. And of course the captain’ll let you join me for Ladies Night,” she said, raising an eyebrow at the Dark Doctor in challenge. “Right, Boss?”

Law held up his hands in surrender. “So long as she stays with you and you’re both on your best behavior, I’ll allow it. After she has dinner with me.”

Beaming in triumph, Ikkaku bumped her hip into Nami’s. “See? We can do each other’s hair, and you can complain about whatever stupid thing Law says or does tonight over drinks.”

A bright grin lit up the redhead’s face. Penguin had been right—they really weren’t mad. “Sounds perfect. And I’ll pay you back for the fruit, too, since that was my fault.” Whatever the cost had been, it was well worth keeping Ikkaku’s friendship.

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Just meant we got our produce shopping done a little early. But if you’re that worried,” she said as she strolled over to her table, grabbed a plain white box, and sauntered back, handing it over to Nami with a grin, “here. A peace offering of my own.”

Brow furrowing in confusion, Nami peeked in the box, only to immediately slam the lid back down, face a brilliant scarlet.

“You. Bitch,” she ground out. Ikkaku was so lucky she hadn’t really opened it in front of everyone—what was she thinking? Dear God, what if Law had seen what was inside?!

“Just a little something to help you out when those trashy novels can’t get the job done,” Ikkaku cackled, ducking away as the blushing thief attempted to smack her over the head. “And now we’re even!”

“What’s in it, Nami?” Shachi asked, shit-eating grin telling her he already knew. “What’s in the box?”

“A severed head,” she lied, glaring at him, white-knuckled grip crushing the corners of the package.

“Is it one of mine? I think I misplaced one,” Law chuckled from his seat. He reached for the box, grin stretching his face. “Let me check.”

“Hands off!” she snapped, yanking it away. “It’s none of your damn business!”

“Room.”

“Fuck you, Trafalgar!” she shrieked as the box vanished and reappeared on Law’s lap, replacing the apple he’d been munching on. Her attempt to retrieve the damming parcel was thwarted by Ikkaku grabbing her around the waist and spinning her around, laughing as she shrieked indignantly.

Opening the box, Law pulled out a pair of fuzzy black handcuffs. “Strangest looking head I’ve ever seen,” he said, twirling them around on one long finger. “Though full marks to whoever sculpted the dildo. Even got the veins right.”

The whole galley cackled as the blushing navigator buried her face in her hands, mortified. Part of her wanted to rip their tongues out, but another part accepted that she deserved this. Penguin hadn’t been kidding when he said she’d suffer, but she could also feel the mood lighten significantly.

“So, still up for Ladies Night after your dinner with the captain?” Ikkaku asked as she set her down, grin wide and unrelentingly smug as she threw an arm around her shoulders, playfully mussing her hair. “Or would Miss Straw Hat rather stay in and play with her new toys?”

Despite her humiliation, Nami felt a smile pull at her lips. “You’re an absolute bitch, Miss Heart Pirate, but yeah, I’m in. And for what you just put me through, you’re buying the first round.”

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