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n0wornever · 4 years ago

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Meet Cute (pt. 2) - Luke Patterson x Reader

Read Part 1 here

So....I got a little carried away with this. If you don’t like it, pls don’t ever tell me lolol (also, yes, the lyrics included are Miss Taylor Swift’s)

Y/N placed her bag down at her usual table. She took a look around the room, trying to draw as little attention as she could as she looked around the room for those hazel eyes. Unsatisfied with her assessment, she sits down at the table and opens her book.

Within a second, a soft voice tickled her ear. “Looking for someone in particular?” She felt her ears burn as he giggled softly close to her face.

She turned to be met by the smiling barista, coffee splattered all over his apron and flour attached to the sides of his arms. She tried her best not to smile too quickly back at him, tucking a piece of her falling hair behind her ear.

“Nope.” She stated, scrunching her nose up at him. He rolled his eyes, leaning on the table in front of her.

“Well are you going to order something or do you plan on freeloading all afternoon?” She popped her jaw as his eyes bulged, raising his eyebrows at her.

She set down her book and placed her hand on her chest, mouth ajar in his direction “Not with this kind of customer service.”

His smile grew even wider as he shooed her gaze off of him with the towel in his hand. He slid the open chair toward her, sitting down and leaning his elbow on the granite below.

Can I at least get a chai ready for you, miss comedian?”

She brought her finger up to her face, tapping her cheek a few times before nodding. She moved to grab her wallet out of her bag, but by the time she did, he was out of sight.

She leaned over to look at the bar, where she saw him running quickly to the machine, booting his coworker off of it with a push of his hip. She smiled dreamily as he worked quickly, steaming milk, and then flipping over to the other side to start steeping the tea. He eventually poured something into an orange mug with a smile on his face. She watched him carefully sprinkle cinnamon on top of it, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he did. As his eyes moved away from the cup, she leaned back over to face forward at the table and lifted her book to her face again.

It took a few seconds for him to walk over to her table. She forced herself to keep her eyes on the words in front of her until the glass actually hit the table. She lifted her eyes to meet it with a small smile. She looked up to see him beaming down at it with his hands out.

“Ba daaaa…” He said with jazz hands shaking at his creation.

“Thank you,” She said simply, picking her card up from the table next to her “How much do I owe you?”

He shook his head “I get a free drink a day, this one is yours.”

She frowned at him, pushing the debit out toward him. “No, Luke come on…” He rose his hands, refusing to take the card from her once again. She moved her feet, preparing to get out of her chair but Luke took off on foot back toward the bar.

She looked down at the ground, shaking her head before rotating back to her book. She leaned over to her bag, pulling out her pencil and tucking it behind her hair. She had created a habit of spinning her shoulder-length hair around writing utensils to make a makeshift ponytail. She pressed down on the middle of her bun to make sure it was secured before bringing her hands back down to the table. She chewed on the middle of her lip as she finally dove into her first poem of the evening.

A moment passes before her phone buzzes against the table. She finishes the line she’s on before picking it up. She looks at the message from an unknown number with furrowed brows. She swipes it open, eyes falling on the word “purple.”

Unknown: “Hey purple, it’s your favorite barista.”

She smirks down at the device, quickly typing her response. “Shouldn’t my favorite barista be working and not texting customers?”

Unknown: “Yeah well...we’re dead and I want to talk to you without being whipped by my boss again.”

She giggled, her mind falling back to the sound of the towel slapping back and forth on the barista’s back. “You are making it quite difficult for me to focus on my reading….”

Unknown: “So studious. I guess we can talk later. :(“

She rolled her eyes, not responding to his pouting. She placed her phone face down on the table and gripped the book in her hands once again.

Y/N eventually finished the book in one sitting, with extra time she planned to spare. She pulled out her notebook from her bag and flipped to a fresh page. She leaned over to rummage through her bag for another pencil. She felt her hair collapse around her face and sat up straight, she turned to see Luke holding up the purple mechanical pencil in his hand as he hovered over her.

“Need this?” He winked in her direction, his eyes drawing over her features. “I think I like your hair better down anyway,”

She pulled her curls behind her ears and shook her head up at him as she reached for the writing utensil.

“Unbelievable,” She muttered.

A smirk reappeared on his face as he held out the pencil, shaking it between his fingers. She reached over and he caught her wrist with his free hand. She tried and failed to hold back the audible gasp that came with his sudden touch. He flipped her hand over, place the pencil in it before closing her hand around the small object. He placed his hand on top of hers for a moment before letting her go.

She turned back to face forward, hoping the growing redness on her face and ears weren’t as apparent as it felt. He slid into the chair in front of her, catching her eyes again. He set his elbows on the table and leaned his chin in his palms.

“So you’re actually writing tonight?”

“Are you on break?” She rose an eyebrow at him.

He shrugged “Kind of?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. He was unbelievably determined. She watched as his eyes fell to her open notebook and back to her eyes.

“What are you writing.”

She sighed, tapping her pencil on the table. “That’s the problem, I’m not sure yet.”

He nodded, propping his hand under his chin as he looked over in the distance. Almost as if a lightbulb turned on in his brain, his expression changed to one of excitement. “How about I help you?”

She shook her head “You’re going to get yourself fired if you just sit here and try to help me brainstorm…”

He laughed again, digging into his pocket “I’m not going to just sit here….I have…” He pulled out a square piece of paper and pushed it over toward her. She stared at it for a moment before looking up at Luke in confusion. He lifted the paper into his hands and unraveled it, pressing the open paper to the table before pushing it over to her once more. She read through the chicken scratched lines as he spoke to her.

“These are lyrics I started writing last night. Maybe you could respond to them?”

She rose an eyebrow “I don’t write music.”

Luke scoffed, rolling his eyes at her “I meant write-in in your medium of choice. Write a poem or just a few statements in the way that someone may respond to what’s being sung.”

She moved the paper back toward him “Luke I can’t just take your work like that.” His hand moved to cover hers as his smile grew.

“I want you to take it, use it if you can. I’ll be waiting…” He stood up from the table, running over to his very unenthusiastic coworker.

She held the paper in both hands as she started to read the lyrics. She felt her heart pick up even staring at the writing, feeling like she was reading directly into someone’s diary.

“And you stood there in front of me just, Close enough to touch, close enough to hope you couldn't see what I was thinking of. Drop everything now, meet me in the pouring rain, kiss me on the sidewalk, take away the pain 'Cause I see, sparks fly, whenever you smile.”

There was a large space between paragraphs. He must have pieces missing still, she thought. She let her eyes fall to the next line, a small smile forming on her lips.

“I run my fingers through your hair and watch the lights go wild. Just keep on keeping your eyes on me, its just wrong enough to make it feel right. And lead me up the staircase, won't you whisper soft and slow? And I'm captivated by you baby, like a fireworks show.”

Y/N sat there in awe as she read through the short lines over and over. Whoever Luke was talking to, he was really in deep. His cool demeanor didn’t give away this kind, vulnerable sound that came through his lyrics. She tapped her pencil as she began to think thoroughly about these short lines.

Luke has to be extremely infatuated with this love interest he’s writing to, she decided. So she decided to write from the perspective of the girl, who is hesitant to be as confident about the possibility of a relationship budding between them. Her hand wrote frantically across the page as her mind ran wild.

“The way you move is like a full-on rainstorm, and I'm a house of cards. You're the kind of reckless that should send me running, but I know that I won't get far.”

She thought these lines might sound a little corny, but she loved it already. She sat and gazed over at Luke at the counter. He was already leaning over the ice cream area, smiling in her direction. She shot him a quick smile, looking into his brown-green eyes before looking back at the table and putting the pen to paper again.

“Get me with those green eyes, baby as the lights go down, give something that'll haunt me whenever you're not around, 'cause I see, sparks fly, when you smile.”

She wanted to go a bit deeper than the fluff, so she concentrated on the next part being the girl’s nerves. She’d never felt like writing had ever come this simply to her, practically overflowing in her mind before she’s able to capture it in words.

“My mind forgets to remind me, you’re a bad idea, You touch me once and it's really something, you find I'm even better than you, imagined I would be. I'm on my guard for the rest of the world, but with you, I know its no good. And I could wait patiently, but I really wish you would.”

She decided to end it with a call and response to Luke’s initial lyrics, rewriting “Drop everything now, meet me in the pouring rain, kiss me on the sidewalk take away the pain 'Cause I see, sparks fly, whenever you smile.”

Y/N put down her pencil and read it back a couple of times and she couldn’t help but beam at the paper below her.

“Is it going well?” A voice boomed over her shoulder, causing her to jump up in her seat, hearing a familiar laugh behind her.

She turned to him with wide eyes “Do you ever like to enter a room quietly?” He shook his head at her, the two laughing together as Luke took a seat at the table. He put his hand out toward her notebook.

“Let me see what ya got, Y/N.”

She hesitated, playing with the red ribbon that sat in the middle of the page. Luke’s face softened as he noticed her anxious tick. “I promise I won’t judge, and if I do...you have every right to never speak to me again.” She sighed, meeting his eyes, Luke’s teeth atop of his bottom lip. “Y/N, I understand how vulnerable creative work can be, I promise you...it’s between you and me.” his finger pointing back and forth between the two.

Y/N gave in, sliding the notebook his way and bringing her eyes to the ceiling. She didn’t want to see his reactions quite yet to her quick writing. She’d had only an hour to start scribbling, so she wasn’t convinced that it would drop jaws. Her internal monologue was stopped by her eyes when they looked over and saw Luke’s wide smile as he ran his eyes down the paper. She let them linger there for a while, taking in his animated expression. He looked up at her for a moment, the smile staying put before he darted back down to her words. He pointed to a specific spot on the page and brought his gaze back up to her again.

“I'm on my guard for the rest of the world, But with you, I know its no good.” He sang quietly, his eyes fixated on her face. He spun around in his chair before he opened his mouth again.

“Y/N, this is so good. This...is music. At least to me. I can hear this.”

She knew her face was a perfect shade of pink by now, but she tried to ignore her elevated heart rate as she asked him a question. “You, you mean that?”

He nodded “You have to sing this with me.”

She shook her head profusely “Luke, oh no, absolutely not.”

He giggled, touching her hand again. “Come on Y/N. My house isn’t far from here and I’m off in 10 minutes. It could be as private as you need it to be.”

She thought about her former voice lessons, her years of choir and her short time in the drama department. She wasn’t a terrible singer. For some reason, the mixture of her finally being able to put something on paper and the way Luke was looking at her right now made her want to say yes, so she did.

She finally nodded his way, whispering a quick “....okay.”

Luke’s smile grew as he stood from the table, “Wait for me here, I’ll be done in a few.”

She spent the last 10 minutes painstakingly over-analyzing every single possible situation that may come from this encounter. She was about to be alone, with a boy she’s met all of two times, giving one of the most vulnerable parts of her to him. What if he hated it and never wanted to see her again. Did she want to see him again?

What was happening to her? She tried to focus on the lyrics/poem or whatever she’d written. She started to hum along to a line to calm herself down as she waited for Luke to finish. As soon as she’d hit her second stanza, a hand touched her shoulder.

“Let’s get out of here.” He said, pulling on his coat.

She got up out of her seat, placing her notebook in her bag and throwing her coat over her body. She followed him out the door into the cold autumnal air. He turned to her, pointing to the left side of the lot.

“Ride with me? I’ll bring you back to your car later.” She nodded at him, following him across the street.

As she got into the passenger side seat, the smell that wrapped around her felt familiar. It smelled like him, like dark woods and coffee mixed together. She took a silent breath in, exhaling as he got in next to her.

“You okay?” He asked, putting on his seatbelt.

“Just preparing for my 9 p.m. news abduction story.” She said, grabbing onto the handle near her chair.

He pursed his lips together, obviously holding in laughter as he put the car in drive. He pulled out of the lot and onto the road quickly. As they moved past homes and office buildings, Y/N brought her attention out toward the window. She listened to Luke’s light humming as she took in what passed them by.

He turned onto a street lined in trees that were shedding their summer green. She almost wanted to take a shot of the leaves, but she didn’t want to feel invasive. Instead, she mentally took note of their beauty, something she’d hope to at least get to write about later.

Luke hopped out of the car quickly, lightly jogging her side to open the door. “Ma lady,” he slightly bowed at her and she rolled her eyes, stepping out of the car.

He walked next to her toward the wooden door with a large wreath hanging upon it. Shades of yellow and orange and green sprinkled around it. He put the key in the door and guided her inside. The place was quiet. Table set, rooms clean but no sight of anyone around the first floor.

“Where’s your family?” She asked.

He held his hand out to take her coat. “Dunno, probably at one of our relative’s houses. It’s poker night.” She shrugged off her jacket, placing it in his palm.

He pointed at the stairs “Let’s go to my room.” She followed his lead up the winding stairs. He moved toward the door straight in front of them and spun the handle open. He gestured her in first, and her eyes met walls of musical artists and ticket stubs. She turned in a circle, taking all of it in.

“Pretty sweet, huh?”

She smiled at him “Quite a collection you’ve got.” He held her gaze for a moment before walking over to his guitar stand.

“Here’s my baby, let’s get to singing!” He ran his fingers down the strings once before sitting back on his bed, tapping the spot next to him for her.

She moved slowly, sliding next to him and leaning back on the wall. She handed him her notebook and he strummed away as he looked at their combined words. Y/N watched him in awe as he combined words and melody in front of her. Her eyes fixed on his closed expression, shaking his head enthusiastically to the notes he played.

He smiled back at her, laying out some poorly drawn notes on paper in front of them. “Okay, so I already had something in mind for this piece. Let me know if you need any help as we go through this.”

He started to play the opening notes, leading up to the first verse she came up with. He hummed his thoughts on the first stanza, and then looked at her, nodded her along. She tried to avoid looking at her shaking hands as she quietly repeated that first line. His warm grin boosted her confidence, next coming in stronger and the following even brighter than before.

As they hit the chorus he counted down from three for her and then they sang together. “ Drop everything now, meet me in the pouring rain, kiss me on the sidewalk take away the pain 'Cause I see, sparks fly, whenever you smile.” His velvet voice eased her worries as they continued down the page, eye contact staying consistent.

By the time they got to the end, Y/N and Luke were simply looking at each other as his playing faded out into the background. His gaze always made her a bit on edge, but the way he looked at her right now, with that dreamlike trance, was enough to make her feel like the room was spinning. She finally diverted her gaze from his to look out his window and she heard him exhale.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” She said lazily, letting her eyes slowly migrate back to the bedframe he laid against. He set his guitar to the side and moved over to the edge of the bed near her. She watched as he slid his hand closer to her, inching it toward her own. When he finally closed in, his grip was soft and gentle, bringing his fingers between hers. She looked up to meet his eyes, trying to dissect what he was doing.

She watched as his body leaned in toward hers. She felt her breath hitch at the proximity. Finally letting her gaze meet his. She watched as his gaze moved from her lips to her eyes a few times before he closed the distance, hand reaching for her neck. She shut her eyes, leaning into him as their lips moved together. As they pulled away, his dark eyes glistened at her.

“Like music.” He repeated, touching her cheek gently.

Tag list: @xplrreylo @lovesanimals, @anythingandeverythingfandom, @crybabyddl, @oswin05, @themaddies-obx, @lukeys-giggle, @bumbleberry-pie @kiss-themoongoodbye @marinettepotterandplagg, @lolychu, @bathtimejish, @dasexydevitt13 @musicconversedance, @txrii @bestdressedandstressed @daisiesforlacey @epikskool @bookfrog247 @carleywhittaker @princessvader15 @rudysbay @spooky-season-bitch @kcd15 @whatever-happens-imma-stand-tall

#luke patterson #luke patterson x reader #luke patterson fanfiction #luke patterson imagine #jatp #julie and the phantoms #julie and the phantoms fanfiction

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taeyohonic · 4 years ago

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stolen dances | chap. VI

summary: sometimes supporting the person you love is the hardest challenge you’ll ever face.

pairing: jeon jungkook x fem!reader

rating: m

warning: two swearwords

additional tags: f2l, ceo!jungkook, bestfriend!jungkook, shrink!yoongi, my best friend’s wedding meets 27 dresses (if the boss/secretary couple had happened), angst-y

words: 2000

links: prev. | next [masterlist]

note: lower case letters intended

chapter summary: there are too many zeros for namjoon to decline

“yoongi warned me about this”, namjoon says while drawing lines across his coffee mug. you roll your eyes, clearly annoyed by your therapist. of course, he connected the dots as soon as you asked for his friend’s number.

“he warned you of getting a hefty tip? maybe even playing your own mixtapes in front of the music elite? in front of the kim seokjin?”, you answer with a sarcastic bite in your voice.

now namjoon is staring at you, calculating silently in his head. after a second to think, he responds.

“no, he warned me about dj-ing at your crush’s wedding while you’re coping with your shrink on the dancefloor… slowly moving your arms in chicken wing motions.”

you laugh at his description, surprised by the accuracy.

“don’t laugh… he had a whole diorama about this.”

your laughter is growing in volume as you try to imagine how yoongi glued wings onto a paper version of you.

“so… these few zeros won’t change your mind?”, you say and slide one of jungkook’s business cards across the table. your new barista friend takes the high-quality paper with caution. but then his eyes widen at the five numbers scribbled across your best friend’s name.

“no way”, he breathes, “this could finance my whole audition tape.”

you smirk at him, glad that taehyung didn’t lie to you when you asked him about the needed budget to audition. there is some pride in your posture, pleased at your wit.

“so, i can set up a meeting?”, you wonder out loud. the mocha in front of you is getting cold and your time is running away from you by the minute.

namjoon keeps staring at his payment, not fully grasping the reality of your offer.

“turn it around, joon”, you whisper. it’s the final blow as the barista sees the phone number on the other side. seokjin’s name is scribbled underneath with a winking smiley.

you’ve got yourself a wedding dj.

“i don’t know why we have to get another dj. what’s wrong with jae?”, jungkook mutters as he helps you out of your jacket. the candlelight inside this restaurant is warming your skin, a much-needed warmth because of the missing sleeves of your black dress.

you can hear your best friend sucking in a deep breath, his eyes burning holes into your bare shoulders. but when you turn around to catch his eyes, jungkook is looking at the tip of your nose.

“you look beautiful, _____”, he says in a distant tone. there is no emphasis in his words, but still jungkook doesn’t lie. maybe he forgets stuff, maybe he hides some information. but jungkook never lies. he didn’t say he baked the muffins – you just… assumed.

“really, ____”, your best friend repeats and hands your jacket to the waiter next to you. you smile at him in thanks.

“right back at you, handsome”, you say cheekily and pat his suit jacket. the dark green velvet looks painted on his toned arms and you can’t help the blush coloring your face.

there is a beat of silence before a cleared throat makes you flinch.

“your second party is already here, mr. jeon.” your waiter looks at you apologetic and you try to send him a reassuring smile in return.

“lead the way, then.” jungkook’s hand rests on your lower back as he pushes you in the dining room. his fingers press against your spine and you catch yourself leaning into his touch. it’s a maddening feeling, really. you try to collect your thoughts before spotting namjoon across the room.

“because taehyung slept with them", you whisper. jungkook snorts at your confession.

“who do you mean with them?”, he asks.

“both jae and the two follow-up candidates. he just… slept through the whole list of djs”, you explain. there is the tiniest part of you that is proud of taehyung for silently sneaking behind your back.

“why would he do that?”, jungkook whines into your ear and you snort at his pained expression.

“it was some kind of test. he listened to their playlists… one thing lead to another… it wasn’t pretty.”

“how ugly was it?”, he asks.

“you don’t wanne know… one of them cried on my voice mail two nights ago. like…ugly cried.”

“i should have been more help in the last months, _____. i’m sorry.”, jungkook confesses, recognizing what you had to deal with in the last months.

you squeeze his biceps, feeling the soft velvet under your fingertips.

“nah, you’ve got a company to run, jungkook. and you’re here now.”

“_______”, namjoon greats you warmly as you stop in front of the table. the barista looks so different not surrounded by the hefty smell of coffee. his green apron is gone – now he’s dressed in a beige colored cashmere sweater and some black pants. his hair his combed neatly and the dimples flashing you are making you smile softly at him. without missing a step, you hug him. the sweater smells faintly of vanilla and you feel yourself sniffing against his chest.

“glad you could make it, namjoon.” the musician and part time barista smirks down at you. why are all men around you that much taller? you need more yoongis in your life.

“yeah… kind of afraid to get another powerpoint in my inbox.” you snort. nobody values your powerpoint skills enough.

“i adore her slides a lot”, your best friend offers from behind you. you flinch at his cold tone, not surprised to see his face matching his voice. jungkook always wears his emotions on his sleeves.

still, to see him this tense when meeting a new person worries you. taking a step away from namjoon you move closer to your past idol. jungkook takes your elbow and pushes you against his side instantly.

“why don’t you introduce us, _____?”, he orders while looking at your barista with distrust.

“of course”, you start and try to escape namjoon’s raised eyebrow at jungkook’s hands on you.

“jeon jungkook, meet kim namjoon, your newest wedding dj", you say with faked enthusiasm. only your recent therapy helps you suppress the jazz fingers you want to make as an ice breaker.

both men stare at each other in silence. you feel some curious glances at your back while your group just stands in the middle of an overpriced restaurant.

“nice to meet you, mr. jeon. congrats on your engagement”, namjoon says and bows to your friend. jungkook takes a second too long to respond, just letting the man bow in front of him. it’s a power move you don’t care for, so you use your elbow to poke him.

“ouch, ____”, he whines lowly, but bows as soon as he sees your hostile eyes.

“thank you, mr. kim.”

again, there is a tensed silence you do not understand. soon, the waiter saves the moment.

“why don’t we get you seated and then i can bring you a bottle of your favorite chardonnay on the house?”

you could kiss him right now, because both men sit down instantly as the waiter moves your seat for you.

“thank you”, you whisper and feel him smile at you reassuringly. then he is rushing away to get enough alcohol for this table.

“i didn’t know you two know each other”, jungkook says. there is accusation behind his words and you feel yourself shift on your seat. did you have plenty of times to tell him in the last two days that the newest candidate is a friend of yours? sure. did you take the easy way out and just… emailed him the info? maybe.

“it was in the folder i sent you yesterday”, you mutter. namjoon watches the two of you with interest just as jungkook nudges your shoulder.

“would have been nice for you to tell me in person, ____”, he says softly, no longer mad at you. he sees how tensed your shoulders are. jungkook doesn’t want you to feel uncomfortable. this joined wedding planning should be fun.

“how did you two meet?”, he asks, directed at the other male across from you.

“she went to one of my gigs”, namjoon explains and smiles at jungkook. you silently applaud his professionalism. first, he congratulated jungkook on his engagement, then the second comment leads straight to his musical work. and not a word about your shared friend, yoongi.

“you do music?”, jungkook asks, now more interested.

“remember the playlist from last weekend?”, you say and smile at the waiter filling your wine glass.

“the one during our movie night?”, jungkook asks and takes two ice cubes from the wine cooler to wordlessly mix them into your glass. he knows how much you like your white wine iced and watered. for the first few months of your friendship, you felt so out of place in jungkook’s world that you didn’t voice your preferences. then, during an outing with jimin at a grungy bar downtown, you shyly asked for extra ice. he still smiles at the memory.

“don’t call it a movie night. i haven’t seen us watch one movie in the last year”, you snort. most of the times seokjin makes a mean meal and your friends stuff themselves full of carbs. then you are all talking with rounded bellies, maybe someone demands a rematch on jungkook’s playstation.

“so, you played some of his songs last saturday?”, jungkook asks.

you nod at the memory. “yeah, it was the one where seokjin slutdropped in front of me.”

namjoon snorts at your words. “kim seokjin slutdropped to one of my songs? can i get that framed?”

now even jungkook smiles kindly at your barista. “i don’t think you need to. you’ll be able to see it with your own eyes at the wedding.”

after that the dinner is more enjoyable. you are gobbling at a hot cheese string of your lasagna when it happens:

jungkook is talking to namjoon, eyes gleaming as he tells him about the first dance.

“i really want it to be a remixed version of spring day”, he explains. “it was the first song i co-wrote for my group.” namjoon nods and scribbles a few words on his ipad.

“the remix from your third album?”, the dj asks. you are impressed by namjoon’s knowledge of bangtan. there is a fangirling part of you still feeling very protective of your favorite idols.

jungkook shakes his head. “nah man, it’s way too outdated. it was like… seven years ago. why don’t you play a bit with the sound?”

you have never seen a kid in your class as excited as namjoon right now. the barista looks like jungkook just gave him a disney all exclusive ticket. and maybe it is on the same level when a highly awarded idol lets you remix one of their song.

“you’d trust me with that?”, namjoon whispers. you munch on your cheesy treat as jungkook nods.

“obviously i’d check it out beforehand… but, your mixture sounds cool. it’s fresh. maybe you can even add some rap parts yourself?”

you push another spoonful of lasagna in your mouth while namjoon stutters in front of you. it’s like cinema without the popcorn.

“you want me to… add to your award-winning record?”, he whispers in awe at the former idol.

“why not? just try your best; if it’s not working out, we can just switch to an acoustic performance from the other members. maybe jimin can cover my high notes”, jungkook muses and looks at your full cheeks with a smile. you grin back at him, clearly happy with his trust in your friend.

“may i have yoongi help me with that?”, namjoon asks in excitement. your greasy smile drops from your lips as jungkook’s head moves back to namjoon, not noticing the dread in your face.

“huh?”

“you know, most of the times the two of us work on music together. yoongi is really, really good with lyrics.”

it’s like seeing an accident happening in slow motion. there is nothing you can do other than chew as fast as you can.

“yoongi?”, jungkook asks and the hot tomato sauce burns your throat as you swallow your food.

“yoongi, you know? _______'s plus one?”

______

ahhh! i wanted to do some more barista joon as well as give you some more… jk x reader action! i hope you all enjoyed this update! let me know what you think… it really helps with my motivation. thanks to everyone who supports me with a like, reblog, comment, message… it’s really instant serotonin. on another note: the horse has to leave the hospital!! all the best! stay safe, happy and hopeful! love, dana

taglist: @livewittykid @thequeen-kat @kagami-s-void @goldenclosethobi @youwannabelostandnotbefound @jinsalpaca @bishuthot @laabellaavitaa21 @baekstans @jalexad @kimluvwoo

#btswriterscollective #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #idol!jungkook #ceo!jungkook #bts angst #bts scenarios #barista!joon #jeon jungkook #best friend junkook

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cole-grey-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Brown Hair Braided

Universe: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Timeline: Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier

Character(s): Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes

Pairing(s): Stucky x Male Reader

Warning(s): tooth rotting fluff

Request: Hi king!! Your writing is amazing! I’d love to request a cuddly stucky x boyfriend reader. Bonus points for extra snuggly long haired Bucky and Steve and the reader playing with his hair.

A/n: WOW so sorry this took me a while to get up. I was busy with online classes and homework, all that shit. and if anyone is interested to know, i finished applying to my first college (yeah cutting it suuuper short but fuck im a procrastinator). I really hope you enjoy this fic. Keep sending in your requests, i really like writing for you guys!

You sit at the desk that sits in your bedroom, doing some last minute paperwork before the weekend. You’re startled from your focus and analytical thoughts when you get a frantic text from one of your boyfriends, Steve. You smile.

It's been a couple years since you had started going out with Steve but it still feels like you two were in the honeymoon phase. Steve brings a smile to your face at even the slightest mention of him. Although, you’re a little confused as to why Steve didn’t just call you. It’s what he usually prefers to converse with you while you are away from each other, Steve having told you it had something to do with liking to hear your voice. You chose not to dig further to spare Steve’s already tomato red face from exploding.

You turn away from your computer and small stack of papers, picking up your phone just as the screen lights up with another text.

Steve [5:23 p.m.] Y/N Y/N Y/N

Steve [5:23 p.m.] HEY

Steve [5:24 p.m.] ANSWER

You snort, wondering what Steve seems so excited about.

You [5:24 p.m.] what

Steve [5:23 p.m.] BUCK IS COMING HOME

You’re immediately sitting up straight, smile spreading even wider. You now understand why Steve had chosen to text you, probably embarrassed to start loudly squealing over their boyfriend coming home while in his place of work.

Bucky was your other boyfriend, something you wouldn’t have believed if you were to bring it up with your past self. This is mostly due to the almost palpable tension between the two of you when you and Bucky officially met about a year prior.

You, Steve, Sam, and occasionally Natasha, had been trailing after Bucky all over Europe for a few months. Bucky must have been slowly rebuilding himself during that time because he had suddenly stopped running right before you were going to hit the four (4) month mark.

You didn’t understand where all the awkwardness had been coming from. For all you knew, you were just looking for Steve’s childhood best friend, one of the only people to still remain from Steve’s old life. That was, until Sam and Natasha started making offhand comments about how deep Steve and Bucky’s friendship seemed to run (you honestly didn’t and don’t blame either of them for the new wave of insecurities that flooded your mind, you and Steve having agreed to keep the relationship, which you started only a few weeks before the reveal of HYDRA’s secret operations inside SHIELD, you started a secret until you two became more comfortable).

Everything made sense after that. It was understandable that you and Bucky had a fragile relationship in the beginning. And it really was only in the beginning. It didn’t take long before you and Bucky started bonding over your shared love for Steve and it didn’t take long after that before something started forming between the three of.

You [5:25 p.m.] !!!!!

You [5:26 p.m.] OMG

You [5:26 p.m.] REALLY?!?

Steve [5:26 p.m.] YES!

Steve [5:26 p.m.] we need to hurry he’s on the way home rn

You [5:26 p.m.] oH UM

You [5:27 p.m.] i’m home rn

You [5:27 p.m.] i can set up everything here

Steve [5:27 p.m.] good!!

Steve [5:27 p.m.] i can get dinner and dessert on my way home

You [5:27 p.m.] perfect

Steve [5:28 p.m.] ok 123 brEAK

You snort at Steve’s comedic antics as you push yourself away from your desk and away from your work. You know that you'll have to finish those at some point before monday. You’ll most likely be doing it late sunday night due to the fact that you’re going to be completely preoccupied with your boyfriends all weekend because it's been a few weeks since all three of you have been together.

This is obviously due to your hectic work schedules, Steve stuck with what was left of SHIELD, unofficially of course, doing top secret secret agent missions. Bucky had joined him in that soon after he was cleared for it. You, on the other hand, have a very typical and boring office job, a job that has become very demanding as of late with your boss giving out extra paperwork around your floor.

But, you don’t have to worry about that at the moment, you remind yourself. That thought spurs you into moving around your apartment, an apartment that you’ve been sharing with your boyfriends for a couple of months now. You note this fact with a small surge of glee inside your head as you rush to your closet where you keep all your blankets at.

You pull out the blankets you have, which is quite a lot, a fact you’re slightly embarrassed to admit. You’ve accumulated a bunch of them throughout your entire life, some as gifts from your friends and family and others from your lack of self control during the fall and winter time of the blatant holiday themes are anything to go by. You’re pretty sure your old baby blankets are boxed up somewhere, likely under your bed.

You pile the load of blankets high in your arms, so much so that you can’t see where you’re going if you don’t walk sideways as you make your way towards the living room. The living room where everything is going to happen.

Dropping the mountain of blankets on the couch unceremoniously, you immediately start to arrange them all around the couch. You bunch and ball the blankets around the back of the couch, trying to form a cocoon out of them so that you, Steve, and Bucky can remain warm no matter where or how any of you sit while you watch movie after movie throughout the rest of the night.

Which reminds you, it’s not possible to have a movie night without any movies.

turning to the small movie rack that sits next to the TV, you waste no time at all in picking out any movies that catch your eye which are quite a few movies, a good number of which are Steve and Bucky’s favorites. You set the, rather large, stack of movies next to the couch blanket fort so they’re out and ready to pick through whenever.

You’re left with a small clean up after that. You clear off the coffee table for when Steve gets home with the food, picking up leftover coffee mugs (courtesy of Steve) and rinsing them before sticking them in the dishwasher for you to deal with later. Then, you move the books lying around the living room to the miniature bookshelf in your bedroom before gathering all the drawing paper and well used pencils (also courtesy of Steve) and placing those on the left bedside table, the side Steve likes to sleep on when he’s not in the middle.

You wander around the apartment after that, looking for anything else to clean while you wait for Steve to arrive. It takes less time than you think it should have, which is surprising, so surprising that you almost think someone is politely breaking in when you hear the sound of the door clicking open and closed.

You head out of your bedroom where you were perusing a book, something you could distract yourself with, when you heard. You walk into the kitchen to see Steve already unpacking the food, clearly having rushed home.

You’re not able to hold back your smile upon seeing your boyfriend for the first time in weeks. “Need any help?” you wonder, your appearance catching Steve’s attention. He turns towards you, it being quite obvious that Steve is as excited to see you as you are to see him if the wide smile that spreads across his face in seconds is anything to go by.

Steve pauses in his unpacking to lean towards as you approach him swiftly, so he can pull you into a warm kiss. You and Steve feel each other smile during the kiss, making you two smile even harder. “Help would be great,” Steve tells you after you separate. He resumes unpacking the food from the plastic bag it was put into.

You identify the logo on the bag now that you’re so close and it’s clear that the food is from Bucky’s favorite burger place. You take note of the food as you help Steve set everything out on the counter. There’s three (3) different to-go boxes, no doubt filled with favorite menu items. You also spot three (3) medium sized milkshakes sitting in the cup container.

“Dessert?”

“It’s in the fridge,” Steve informs you.

Making a sound of interest and curiosity, you ask, “What is it?”

Steve smirks and raises his eyebrows. “Went to the store and got one of those ice cream cakes Buck likes.”

“Well,” you start, “that will certainly be a nice treat for later.”

You and Steve share a smile as you both grab the food and milkshakes so you can bring it to the living room. The living room where you plan to have dinner and a show with your two wonderful super-soldier boyfriends.

Afterwards, you and Steve resign yourselves to standing around the kitchen, catching up on the last few weeks. You and Steve are ready to happily greet Bucky once the time comes that he opens the door.

It feels like time drags on and on while you two are waiting so you’re very much thankful when you finally hear the turning of the doorknob. You and Steve separate from where you had been wrapped around each other, turning and shouting Bucky’s name in excitement. Just as he walks through the door, Bucky is all bashful as soon as he sees his two boyfriends greet him with spread arms and wide smiles.

You look him up and down for the first time in quite awhile, Bucky just as gorgeous as he always was. He clearly showered and changed beforehand if the damp hair and sweatpants are anything to go by.

Bucky drops the gym bag, obviously filled with his dirty and possibly damaged suit, on the floor. He stretches his arms out, resting each hand on the back of your and Steve’s necks so he can pull you both in close to give each of you a kiss on the lips.

“Welcome home.”

“Welcome home indeed,” Bucky rumbles back, a heart-eye look sweeping across his face. You’re one of the two people on earth that gets to receive that look, not that you mean to brag or anything.

“I’ll take your bag and put it in our room,” Steve tells Bucky. Bucky thanks him before he pulls Steve into another kiss. It’s something you feel there’s going to be a lot of for the rest of the evening, which you look forward to.

Steve takes Bucky’s gym bag from him before walking off so he can do exactly as he said, leaving you and your other boyfriend by yourselves in the kitchen. Once Steve is out of reach, you feel Bucky’s hand move from the back of your neck to your waist, which allows him to pull you in close. He presses you against his chest so he can engage in a deep reunion kiss. It’s been a long time since you’ve last felt his lips against yours which is why you allow yourself to indulge.

You have to force yourself to take a step back. “Not that I'm not enjoying this, because I 100 percent am, but…” you trail off as you take Bucky’s hand in yours, ”we should go to the living room for your first surprise.”

“First surprise?” Bucky’s tone lilts in clear interest, eyebrows raising. It’s almost as if he’s joking but you’re able to tell that Bucky’s genuinely looking forward to what you and Steve have prepared for him.

“We haven’t seen each other properly in weeks. There’s a lot to catch up on.”

“Well, I am definitely looking forward to it. Lead the way, doll,” Bucky instructs you, causing you to chuckle before you turn away from him in order for him to lead him into the living room.

You present the done up living room with wide open arms and an enthusiastic ‘ta-da’ and it seems that if Bucky’s smile could get bigger, it probably would. He surveys your and Steve’s work before he turns back towards you and also Steve, who has just rejoined you and Bucky. “What do you think, Buck?”

“You know what I think, Stevie baby,” Bucky tells him, grabbing one of each of your and Steve’s hands. “I absolutely love it.”

Changing the subject a little, you say, “Well, pick a seat because none of us are moving for anything other than changing the movie and getting dessert.”

Bucky hums, his voice lifting up high at the end. “Dessert, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve dismisses before his boyfriend could get any ideas. “You have to finish your dinner first.”

Bucky nods eagerly, not in any way bothered by being withheld dessert, before he takes his seat in the middle of the couch. He clearly wants to have his boyfriends cuddled up on either side of him.

“So, what do you want to watch first?” you question while you scoot the pile of movies closer to Bucky, who doesn’t take any time at all to begin picking out the movie he wants. And as it turns out, it’s a horror movie called The Apparition.

While he takes it from the pile, Bucky comments, “Been awhile since I’ve seen one fo these.”

“Horror movie, huh?” Steve jokes. “Trying to be our knight in shining armor while we cower behind you in fear?” you laugh alongside your boyfriends.

You settle back on the couch once you’ve taken the movie from Bucky and put it in the DVD player, which begins to play shortly after. You and your boyfriends snuggle into each other’s sides, feet pulled close to your bodies as you all munch on your food.

Well, it’s more like Steve and Bucky are eating their food. At the moment, you were less interested in your food and more interested in Bucky. Your boyfriend was distracting in general, both of them were. But it’s the smooth brown waves of Bucky’s hair that’s distracting you specifically. It looks so soft, especially so after Bucky’s washed it, and you just want to run your fingers through it, play with it for hours.

Your eyes wander down to your wrist as you continue to think about your boyfriend’s long hair, eyes catching on the little black band around your wrist. It’s a hair tie, one that you and Steve always have wrapped around your wrists for this precise reason. For tying up Bucky’s hair when he needs or wants to. It’s a habit to keep hair ties on your person constantly, originating right around the time Bucky was cleared to go on missions. He had decided that he wanted to keep his hair long, at least for the time being, so as the length of Bucky’s hair grew larger so did the need for hair ties at any given time.

You glance between Bucky’s hair and the hair tie, your self control wearing thin. After only a few seconds, you’re not able to help yourself from reaching your hand out to your boyfriend’s beautiful brown hair. You weave your fingers through a few strands is all it takes for your desire to skyrocket.

Tangling both of your hands to Bucky’s hair, you feel him pause in his eating but you pay it no mind as you begin to languidly braid his hair. It’s not long before another pair of hands join yours. Looking over, you spot a giddy Steve on the other side of Bucky. It appears as if your thoughts have rubbed off on him because he grabs the other half of Bucky’s hair so he can braid it alongside you.

Bucky chuckles, clearly amused. “You two are ridiculous.” Although, you wonder if Bucky can really blame you.

“Your hair is really beautiful, though,” Steve adds. Bucky doesn’t say anything in response, not that it matters. The blush that highlights his cheeks for the next five minutes is telling enough.

You and Steve share knowing looks as you both continue to braid your boyfriend’s hair, permanent smiles stretching across your faces.

(NOT MY GIF)

Main Blog // Other Side Blog

((NO ONE HAS MY PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WORK ANYWHERE EVEN WITH CREDIT))

#stucky x male reader #stuck x reader #reader insert #marvel cinematic universe

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maybedefinitely404 · 4 years ago

Text

Day 1: Logince

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 1: Your soulmate’s name is on your wrist.

Content: Flower/Tattoo Shop AU, background character death (unspecified cause, none of the sides), that’s pretty much it, it’s just soft Logince.

Word count: 2.7k

A small ding from the store entrance pulled Roman out of his thoughts, and he groaned softly. It was nearing the end of his shift, almost closing time, and another customer at this time would probably mean he was staying after hours again. All he wanted to do was go home and watch cheap reality TV in his sweatpants while shoveling handfuls of hot cheetos into his mouth. So sue him, it had been a long day. But nooo. Someone else had just walked in, probably someone with a very specific style that was out of season and they would argue for half an hour, no matter how many times he explained that tulips aren’t blooming right now, Vanessa!

Sure, usually his customers were great. Nervous first anniversaries, eccentric brides, all that romance stuff. He loved it. And they were usually all too willing to give him a budget and a color scheme and let him go wild, which was the best part about his job. He was good at it, too. His boss had seen his eye for style and almost immediately gave him solo shifts, which meant decently good pay and hours alone to belt out songs amongst the flowers and daydream to his heart’s content. It was a small enough business that the only mandatory part of his outfit was a green apron, so he could wear whatever he wanted, and he didn’t need a pesky nametag. Those had always weirded him out just a bit. So yeah, he loved his job, but right now, he knew himself too well. He had awful luck.

With a forced customer service grin, he poked out of the backroom and began his usual spiel of, “Thanks for coming to The Rainbow Bouquet, what can I get started…”

His words died in his throat at the mere sight of the man before him. Never had he been so equally attracted and frightened at the same time.

He was tall, probably just taller than him, but he held himself in a way that made Roman feel miniscule. Both arms were covered in tattoo sleeves, the left one a flurried mix of black and white and color, beautiful strips of pink and blue galaxies blending with grayscale skulls and clocks. The other had more order; shadows of a forest growing from around his wrist, shimmering mist curling up over his bicep and ending with a full moon stamped on his shoulder like a crest. A corner of something peaked up around the collar of his torn vest, and if Roman had to guess, there were most likely plenty more tattoos that were covered by his ripped black jeans and blue Nasa shirt. Not that his mind was going there at all, no siree.

Once Roman’s brain had screeched to a halt back in his body, he spoke again.

“What can I get started for you today?”

The man swallowed with difficulty, taking in the rows and rows of flowers surrounding him. He definitely didn’t look in his element.

“I need an arrangement for my mother. She’s in the hospital.”

Ah, the part of the job that Roman didn’t enjoy. Probably half the orders that came in were for sick people or funerals, and those were always a lot harder to arrange. It was always hard to find joy in creating for something so dismal.

“I’m sorry to hear. Did you have anything specific in mind? Does she have a favorite flower?”

“Daisies. She likes Daisies,” He murmured, still admiring the space around him. Roman couldn’t help but smile at the man’s expression. It was just a little awe inspired, a little bit of childish wonder, under that rough exterior. It was a gorgeous shop, that’s one of the reasons Roman had started working there.

“That’s good, it makes it a little easier for me to design something when I have that to go off of. Do you have a budget, or…”

He shook his head weakly, finally turning to look at Roman. “Price isn’t an issue. This is one of the last things I’m going to be able to give her.”

“Oh,” Roman whispered, slowly putting down the pen he’d been writing with, “I’m so sorry.”

“It can’t be changed. There’s no point in losing sleep over it.”

“Just because it’s going to happen doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck. You’re allowed to be sad about it.”

The man narrowed his eyes, giving Roman a once over before lifting his chin slightly. “I don’t need advice from a stranger.”

“Of course you don’t,” Roman quickly corrected, remembering he was still at work, “My apologies. When did you want to pick it up?”

“I’m visiting her tomorrow at noon. Could it be ready by then?”

“You bet. Can I have a name for the pick up?”

“Logan.” Roman’s pen skittered over his notepad, almost falling through his fingers.

Having a common name on your wrist was a curse in and of itself. And poor him, the hopeless romantic that he was, had met countless “Logan’s” in his day, and consequently fallen for most of them at first introduction, only to figure out quickly that they weren’t destined for a “Roman”. As inconspicuously as possible, he tried to glance down at Logan’s wrist, only finding a mass of swirling tattoos covering his skin. Dammit. There were some people born without soulmates, or had their soulmark fade to nothingness when their person passed away, and he tried not to think too terribly hard on which one Logan was. He tampered his rush of excitement as quickly as it had arisen and turned back to his notes, ignoring Logan’s raised eyebrow at his sudden stop.

Roman scribbled down the name and phone number as it was given, setting down the notepad with a customer service smile. The man spent no time dawdling, immediately starting towards the door, only to hesitate before walking out.

“Her favorite color is yellow.”

Roman nodded, the fake smile slowly morphing into an authentic one. “I can work with that.”

It was now a week after Logan had picked up the bouquet, a somewhat awkward interaction filled with small compliments towards the arrangement and Roman nearly dropping the flowers as their fingers touched while passing it over. As he was ringing up the total, he’d been able to uphold a brief conversation where Logan revealed he was a tattoo artist (no shock, considering he showed more inked skin than plain), and Roman showed off his rose tattoo on his upper arm. It would have been fine if the conversation ended there, but no, Logan had to reach up tentatively to brush his finger along the edge of the piece, commenting off handedly about how the color had started to fade.

“How long ago did you get this done?”

“Probably ten years, give or take.”

“You’re what, mid twenties? There’s no way you were legal ten years ago.”

“Who said I was?” It was said with a small wink that made Logan pull his hand away, an action that immediately dampened Roman’s mood.

“If you ever want it touched up, come by the shop. It’s just down the road.”

Roman had promised to consider, pulling the collar of his long sleeve shirt back up over the rose and bidding the man a good visit to his mother. Even now, a full week later, he couldn’t help his thoughts that were so centered around the tattoo artist. So maybe that was why Logan walked back into the shop the following Wednesday. I simped so hard I summoned him, Roman thought weakly as the gorgeous man strode straight up to the counter, leaning on it like he owned it.

“I have a question.”

“What’s your question?

“A client asked me yesterday to design a tattoo for her. A bouquet, seen from the top, and all she specified was it should feature hydrangeas, and she asked me to, quote, ‘go nuts’.”

“This isn’t sounding like a question so far.”

Logan sighed apprehensively, adjusting his glasses, “I was hoping you could give me some ideas on how to start. All the tips I found online contradicted each other in some way or another, and the arrangement you created for my mother was so well done…”

He trailed off, giving Roman a look that clearly said I need your help but don’t make me ask for it. Chuckling slightly, he leaned onto the counter as well, his face inches away from Logan’s. For the first time, he could see the small piercing on the man’s tongue as he sighed again. God, that’s hot.

“I’ll help you. On one condition.”

“Being?”

“Help me design my next tattoo.” In full honesty, he hadn’t even considered a second tattoo until that second.

“Deal.” There was no hesitation in his answer, and he took Roman’s offered hand, barely shaking it in the small space between them.

“Alright!” Roman pulled back, satisfied but disappointed as their hands separated, “Let’s talk flowers!”

And talk they did. For hours, in fact. It started with Logan’s tattoo dilemma, and Roman’s skillful eye and creative mind solved that problem in a flash, crudely drawing out a bouquet idea that fit all the criteria. The tattoo artist took it from there, using the notepad paper and Roman’s sketch, along with a quick round of the shop to see what the recommended flowers, fillers, and greens would all look like, and drew out a detailed piece that put Roman’s own art talent to shame. After explaining that his shift was done at the parlor and he had the rest of the afternoon free, Roman invited Logan to stay for a while longer, seeing as his day had dragged on customer-less so far, and he was bored. Plus, now was as good a time as any to pay back the favor. Two mugs of breakroom coffee later, the two were huddled around the counter, Roman describing his ideas and Logan sketching them like there was no tomorrow. Maybe half way through the brainstorm, the conversation switched to Logan’s mother (which he talked about hesitantly), then to Roman’s family, slowly changing to the absurdity of satin couch cushions, then to their favorite foods, and finally ending with a loud debate on whether pineapple deserved to be on pizza.

“It’s a fruit, Logan! Why the hell would you put fruit on a pizza?!”

“All I’m saying is that the sweet flavor of the pineapple balances out the tanginess of the marinara sauce, and adds more to the plain crust!”

“That doesn’t make it right!”

Logan had to go soon after that, wanting to visit his mom before visiting hours ended. He left with a begrudging smile on his face and a promise to come back another day, drawing an ear to ear grin from Roman. He’s just a friend, he reprimanded himself sternly, all the while sliding the drawing of his next possible tattoo into his phone case with startling reverence. No use getting attached to some who wasn’t his soulmate.

Yet, he still couldn’t help but feel saddened as a week passed again, then two, then a month. His job had returned to it’s boring normalcy, with only the flowers and no cute boy to keep him company. Even when he sat at his little desk next to the counter, hands working effortlessly to string together order after order, he couldn’t help the occasional glance at the door. The hope that his prince charming would waltz back in, piercings and ripped clothing galore, never faded.

A month and a half later, the little chime above the door dinged, and Roman glanced up from his handful of Baby’s Breath (seriously people, there are other fillers). Immediately a huge smile pulled at his lips and he dropped the half finished bouquet onto his table.

“Logan! What took you so… long…” His expression morphed into one of worry as he took in the other’s appearance. Gone was the usual grunge attire he was so prone to wearing, replaced with a black hoodie and beaten up Vans. His eyes no longer held that dangerous glimmer that had intimidated Roman so much when they first met. He just looked… small. Logan had never looked small before.

“My mom died last month,” He whispered.

Roman was over the desk in a second, pulling the man into his arms before he could protest. It took Logan a second, a long, awkward, stiff second, before he let his arms wrap around his waist, allowing his forehead to rest on the florist’s shoulder.

“I thought I’d be okay when she died… it was inevitable. It was her time… so why does it still hurt so bad?” The desperate whisper shattered Roman’s heart.

“You’re allowed to feel sad, Logan.” He felt him merely shake his head in response, but he said nothing to push the topic further.

Logan didn’t cry as they stood there, though he clung to Roman almost desperately. If he had to guess, the poor man was probably already cried out. He looked exhausted, and his unusually slumped posture only weakened more when Roman tightened his arms ever so slightly.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. You were probably waiting.”

“Hey, no apologizing.”

“I just… didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“So what changed your mind?”

Logan shrugged, still not pulling away, “I couldn’t seem to snap myself out of it. And I needed someone who wouldn’t laugh at me. If our few interactions were anything to go by, you were that person.”

Roman decided to ignore the blatant implication that Logan didn’t have anyone except a practical stranger to go to. They could talk about that later, if he decided to stay for a while. Roman really hoped he did.

When the tattoo artist finally pulled out of the hug, many minutes later, he pushed his sweater paws under his glasses to scrub at his eyes. Maybe he hadn’t cried, but he sure was close to it.

“I’m sorry-”

“Stop apologizing.”

“I don’t even know your name, and I-”

“It’s okay, stop-” Roman reeled back slightly, eyebrows shooting into his hairline, “Oh… sweet Zac Efron. I never told you my name! Why didn’t you say anything?!”

“It felt too late to ask,” Logan smirked subtly despite himself, letting his hands fall back to his side.

“Oh, my sweet summer child.”

“I am none of those things.”

Roman sighed in soft exasperation, smiling at the barely perceivable glimmer in the other’s eyes. Ah, there it is. “My name’s Roman. I can’t believe I forgot to tell you.”

He was instantly concerned with the way Logan’s face fell into one of total shock. Shit, what did he do wrong? The fear was quickly replaced with understanding, however, as the artist’s hand drifted to his right wrist.

“What are the chances that your wrist says my name on it?” Logan said it like he was scared to be hopeful, like a happy ending was just not imaginable for him. Roman couldn’t comprehend all the emotions he felt at one time; elation, shock, fear. He answered in a choked voice, smiling all the while.

“One hundred percent.”

The both upturned their arms in near harmony, Roman pulling his gardening glove down to reveal the name. He squinted at Logan’s wrist, finally noticing the small writing that just barely stood out underneath a grayscale (anatomically correct) heart. No wonder he missed it before, it almost blended in with the outline.

And then Logan did cry, but so did Roman, so it was a little more okay. He seemed more confused than anything as Roman pulled him back in, holding him even tighter than before.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

“I’m so unused to… well, feeling. I’m not usually like this, I believe I’m just sleep deprived and worn out from-”

“You never, ever need to be guilty for feeling, you absolute punk stereotype.” Roman pressed a long kiss to the other’s temple, letting him unwind in his arms. “We’ll work on that together. I promise.”

A muffled affirmative hum was all he got in response. He pressed another kiss to the top of Logan’s head as his crying slowed, breathing out heavily into the man’s hair. Together. That’s all that mattered.

Peep this gorgeous art piece for this fic

#lywrites #tsshipmonth2020 #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #logince #logan sanders #roman sanders #ts soulmate au

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janekfan · 4 years ago

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Chronic

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27802141

Thank you @taylortut for helping me!!!

Jon looked at the clock.

537.

The glowing numbers burned themselves into his retinas. How had it been less than an hour since last he’d checked? No use for it. Better to get himself up and ready for work. But he’d closed his eyes against the headache blaring like a klaxon and he’d have to open them again at some point.

Taking advantage of his lonely flat, Jon allowed himself to indulge the noise pushing its way through grit teeth as he maneuvered his sore legs from under the quilt. He sat a moment, pressing the bare soles of his feet on the cold floor and levering his heavy body upright with a shaking arm.

Exhausted.

And it’s only--a quick glance.

544.

The hell was wrong with him?

Since just before accepting the position as Head Archivist, and rightly pissing off both Sasha and Tim on her behalf, Jon felt like he’d been constantly coming down with something. Dizzy and nauseous and unable to eat, he was chronically exhausted and while he’d never slept well at the best of times, it was evading him more than ever.

And there were his mornings. Struggling to motivate himself out of bed, brushing his teeth with his eyes closed and leaning against the wall. Deciding he could forgo a shower just once more and choosing instead to make breakfast. Forcing himself to eat a piece of dry toast with his heart hammering away in his throat and half laying on the table, panting through his tea. Mentally, Jon prepared himself for the walk to the train, automatically going for his cane because lord knew he needed the support.

He’d get to the Institute hours early.

At least that made him look good?

Taking advantage of being a cane user, Jon opted for a reserved seat, the guilt at truly needing one eating away at his insides. But there were black spots at the corners of his vision and he had to sit down before he fell down and the guilt is a far sight better than causing a scene. The trip was too short. His chest ached from the constant pounding and he pressed the hand not holding his cane for dear life against his breastbone. It didn’t help but the pressure and touch grounded him enough to stand up. To head to the cross street. To wait for the lights to change. To stagger down the stairs and into his office, to drop into his desk chair and focus on every breath of air moving into his body and back out of it.

Jon put his head down. There was no one here. Wouldn’t be for a couple hours yet and he was exhausted, shaking from it. Nauseated. There wasn’t a fever. He’d gone as far as to purchase a thermometer to be certain when the strange symptoms refused to abate no matter how often he let himself rest, no matter the meals he tried his damndest to eat, the water he drank down. He was trying. Jon couldn’t remember ever taking such good care of himself and of course it refused to pay off. In Uni, he’d driven himself into the ground with little consequence. He’d maintained those habits until a few months ago and now--

Muffled voices drifted through his door, the rise and fall of easy conversation. The kind he’d once been allowed to partake in. Laughter filled the air and while Jon wished to join them he knew he wasn’t welcome.

Why had he done it?

Why hadn’t he refused Elias?

Because you’re selfish. You’ve always been selfish. Needy. Greedy, grasping, always striving to know answers and never satisfied with what you're given. You take what you don’t deserve.

Reluctantly, Jon stood, slowly, because doing anything quickly these days has him ducking his head between his legs or waking up on the floor without any recollection of how he came to be there. He could at least collect their research in person, greet them. Try to be the boss they deserved.

Sasha was the boss they deserved.

“Ah, g’good morning.”

“Jon!” Martin, smiling shyly. “You’re here so early!” He began to stammer and Jon’s legs began to ache. This wasn’t a good day. They seldom were anymore. “I m’mean, of course y’you are, you work very hard!” Martin was saved by Tim swinging an arm around his shoulders.

“You’ve broken ‘im, boss.” A flush rose in Jon’s cheeks. He could feel it. “No worries, Marto. He’s always been an early riser.” While it was said in jest, the tone settled heavy in Jon’s chest, directly beside the pain blossoming like a thorny rose. Luckily, he was rescued by Rosie, standing halfway down the stairs and informing him that Elias requested him in his office. Jon didn’t relish the climb, no matter how grateful he was to escape out from underneath Sash’s heavy gaze. She had every right and he would bear his punishment in silence until she chose, if she ever did, to forgive him.

An indeterminate amount of time later, Jon limped out of Elias’ office without any recollection of what they’d spoken about or if he’d even spoken at all. Thumping pain and panic and he knew he was rude to ignore Rosie at her desk but he wasn’t in any shape to hold a conversation, fairly certain that he wasn’t able to currently speak, far too focused on trying to hide how ill he was. But every sound was magnified tenfold in his ears and he could barely remember where the door to the archives was with the way his head reeled and spun. Jon wanted to sink to the ground once he had the door between himself and the lobby but he’d never make it to his feet again after that. Push through, he told himself. Get to your desk. He allowed himself a moment, two, just to put his head to rights, to try and breathe through the battering of his pulse.

And oh god he wasn’t going to make it and he wondered if somehow Elias knew. It was as though he’d kept him standing there talking about nothing until Jon hit his limit, knowing he wouldn’t have the strength to get back to his office.

But he had to try and he’d almost gotten down the ridiculously narrow stairwell before he forgot nearly entirely why he was there in the first place. Was he going up? Down? Meeting with someone? Just arriving? He could barely breathe and the panic welling in his throat was choking and the black was crawling over his eyes and the dizziness only increased and he needed...needed…

For a moment, Jon didn’t recognize where he was, the migraine, the fuzziness, conspiring against memory and reason. But he knew this color, the hideous lick of paint some contractor had splashed over the walls a lifetime ago.

Breakroom?

Wha--

“Jon!” He winced, his own name like broken glass shredding every sense to ribbons. “Christ, are you alright?” Martin, the sounds he made were shrill, grating, and if he’d been able to tell him to be silent, he would have. “We heard the noise--you’d, you fainted! On the stairs! Luckily it was only the last few.” Jon blinked, dull and dumb, forcing himself up, up, up, and through heavy mist and fog in his search for words. Weary to the marrow of his aching bones, Jon slumped on the cushions and tried to think of a way to stop Martin’s incessant chattering. Tim and Sasha, alerted most likely by all the commotion, stood over him and he craned his neck up to look at them. Tim especially looked furious.

“You could have been seriously hurt!”

“S’sorry…” And he was, between his rabbiting heartbeat, throbbing migraine, and difficulty drawing breath into his exhausted lungs, he wanted to cry with how sorry he was.

“This is ridiculous. You need to take better care of yourself.” Jon wasn’t sure why the sting from Tim’s accusation cut so deep and he hung his head, biting trembling lips to prevent the tears threatening to spring free.

It wasn’t fair.

By all accounts he was taking care of himself. More than ever!

“Did you even eat today? Drink anything?” He nodded, miserable, unwell, and equipped with no better answers than the truth.

“Tim. He’s just come to.” The understanding was the final straw, and Jon’s sight blurred with salt damp. “I’ll make sure he eats something before going back to work.”

“Alright, Martin. If he gives you any trouble, call.” At Jon, he pointed. “And you, no trouble.” And he nodded miserably.

“Okay, they’ve gone.” The familiar sounds of the kettle heating filled the room, the clink of a pair of ceramic mugs, the rustling of the tea bags, Martin’s distracted murmuring, all combined to calm him. “How long have you been feeling this way?” Jon looked up, surprised, and shrugged one shoulder, accepting the small plate of biscuits and nibbling slowly and when he finished those, Martin offered up the tea. Sitting with him in companionable quiet, he sipped on his own cup. Nothing more was exchanged and when Jon finished he thanked Martin for the company and locked himself away.

Jon was at wit’s end. Nothing he tried seemed to improve anything and the few times he did speak with a doctor, he was sent away with the same, useless advice, or worse, told he was imagining things, making it up, having panic attacks even though he was familiar with those and this was not that.

Work was a nightmare made even more miserable with the overwhelming amount of paperwork, statements, boxes, misfiled folders and envelopes and items and Jon missed the easy camaraderie and understanding he’d had with Sasha and Tim. Maybe he should resign, try and salvage what little of the relationship they still had, or, or invite them out for dinner, his treat, but Elias would never let him quit and the very idea of entertaining exhausted him. A cuppa appeared at his elbow filled with something new, something floral and slightly sweet, accompanied, as always, by a few biscuits.

“That’s a lot of work, Jon.” He sipped, grateful, lifting an eyebrow in response.

“I knew it would be when I accepted this position.” Undeterred, Martin stumbled forward.

“Y’yeah, I mean, you would have. Of course. I just--” A breath. “I’ve finished with my other assignments, ready for round, uh. Well, another round!”

“Ah. Alright, I’ll bring something over when I pick up your translations.” Martin took back the cup, nodding enthusiastically, and Jon appreciated that it was business as usual, selecting a few he’d been putting off and making his way toward his assistants ignoring inquiring looks in favor of taking the chair Martin offered up to go over his expectations. Short, succinct. A few notes on one translation, advice to remember for next time, and Jon felt reasonably confident Martin could handle himself. It wasn’t until he’d gotten back to his office that Jon realized that was the first time he’d been offered a chair. It was becoming apparent that Martin was good at noticing the little things about them. A blush heated his cheeks and he tried to rub it away, feeling ridiculous that such a small act of kindness made him feel so seen.

Jon pushed forward, ignoring the warnings his body was trying to give him in favor of plowing through his work like he’d always done, and by the time he made it home, was on the verge of collapse. Hot tears of frustration stung at the corners of his eyes, spilling over when Jon allowed himself to feel it. More than anything, he was used to having control over himself, working when he wanted, burying himself in the research, devouring knowledge. Now he was at the whim of his physical form. Paying more attention to it than ever before and never knowing if he was going to wake up and have a good day or a bad day and it was maddening. Managing whatever it was without knowing what it was, was impossible with no rhyme or reason he could discern.

So in the absence of both, Jon kept shoving his way through how difficult it was because if he could just be normal through pretending everything was normal, then it would be.

Jon knew Tim was cross with him and managed to avoid him for most of the day, taking breaks here and there like he’d promised Martin he would do. But his luck, while it had been holding steady, had just run out and he found himself cornered in the breakroom.

“What do you think you’re on about?” Frustration had long since turned to outrage, boiling over.

“Tim, I. I’m not sure what you mean--”

“Damn it, Jon! You’ve already taken on a job you aren’t fit for! You can’t keep heaping your work onto Martin and then swanning off!”

“That’s.” He balled his hands into fists, nails biting crescent moons into his palms. How could he explain when even the doctors thought he was making it all up? Heat rushed through him, top to toe, flushing his face and he wavered, legs threatening to buckle, vision threatening to go dark. He was going to pass out a second time today if he didn’t sit down. But that would mean walking away from Tim, and he didn’t think the man would let him. At least not until he was done telling him off. Better to be silent. Try not to pay attention to how erratic the persistent beating caged behind fragile ribs had become.

“Why didn’t you say no?” Because he wanted to be useful. Because Elias made him feel like he was capable even if he wasn’t. “Why didn’t you just let Sasha have this?” Because he was an awful, selfish person. “God, Jon. Why did you drag us all down here with you?”

Because he was lonely.

Because they’d been friends. Once.

Rather than remind Tim that he was free to go at any time, that he and Sash hadn’t been forced or coerced into accepting positions here in the archives, Jon pressed his lips into a thin line.

“Well?!” Sharp, strident, Tim’s shout echoed around in the space between his own hurting, agonal breaths in his ears.

“I. I, I need to si’down…” wanted to lay down. Wanted to sleep, trembling with exhaustion, about to go down.

“What?” Lashes fluttering as he gripped the thread of consciousness with both hands, he barely registered Tim’s hands around his shoulders, guiding him into a chair and pushing his head down between his knees. “Jon?”

“M’okay…”

“You are clearly not.” A wide palm settled on his back, keeping him folded over. It was helping.

“S’mm...been. S’fine.” The floor came back into focus, all the little cracks and imperfections and Jon counted the streaks in the pattern in an attempt to ground himself but kept losing track of the number. Neither moved until Jon attempted to sit up, slowly, accepting Tim’s help.

“Jon?” He looked spooked, pale. “Please, what’s going on?” His hand settled in the crux of shoulder and neck, thumb ghosting along his clammy skin, and Jon allowed himself to find a morsel of comfort in the familiar gesture, the threat of tears closer than ever. So he reached for him.

“I don’t know.” And Tim pulled away as if burned, the frustration and anger rising in his face again, and Jon was bereft. “T’truly! I--”

“Why won’t you be honest with me? Don’t you trust me?” Standing, he took a step backwards, away from him, the hurt in him a palpable thing. “We’re supposed to be friends!”

Yes. They were friends. It was most likely why for the first time in a long while, the pain in his chest wasn’t a physical ache.

“Tim, I.” Fingers folded to fists to rest on his knees. But he was already gone.

“Jon!” Tentative, Martin lifted his chin. “Oh, oh.” Having been crying, Jon figured his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy and he didn’t bother attempting to hide the evidence. “Alright.” Martin went about making tea, chamomile, herbal and calming, placing it before him on the table with a chocolate digestive. “Drink this down and then go home. It’s half six.”

“Mm.”

“Sleep will help.”

“Mm.”

“I could speak to them for you. If--”

“No!” All but shouted. “No. That won’t be necessary, Martin.” Carefully he stood, paused. “Thank you.” And left.

Jon called off.

Called off again.

Again.

Apologized to Elias in a curt email requesting leave and was granted it.

He ignored his phone. His texts. The knock at the door and Martin’s voice behind it. He slept when he was tired and he was tired often and it was easier besides, to finally listen to the screaming of his body. It was after hours on his fifth day gone when Tim let himself in with the spare key to Jon’s flat.

“Hey.” Sheepish, he held up his hands in surrender, a bag of takeaway from Jon’s favorite place dangling from one. “Martin said you wouldn’t let him in.” Dressed in the most comfortable clothes he had, which were also the shabbiest, Jon glared at him from where he laid on the couch. “I was an arse.” Slowly, he sat up, making Tim wait on purpose, a powerful frown still aimed in his direction.

“You were.” He was aware he looked a mess, greasy hair pulled back in a sloppy bun, but he felt a sight better for the rest he’d gotten.

“Would you accept an apology?” Folding his arms, Jon leaned back into the cushions and fixed his stare at whatever rubbish was on the telly.

“Might do.” Silently, Tim scurried into the tiny kitchen and Jon listened to the familiar sounds of him rooting around for cutlery. It smelled delicious and comforting, a reminder of nights spent together laughing at nothing on this same couch and despite himself, Jon began to relax.

“I’m sorry.”

“Alright.” Tim’s face split in a wide, relieved grin, and he flopped down next to him, planting a loud kiss to his temple before urging him to eat. “Martin sent you here.”

“An angry Marto is not to be trifled with.” Through a mouthful of noodles, Tim chuffed in laughter. “Wouldn’t tell me anything, other than to stop being a prick.”

“He did not.”

“He did not. But it was more than implied!” He put his bowl on the low table in front of them, sitting forward with his hands dangling between his knees. “And he was right. I didn’t give you a fair shake and accused you of awful things. And I know you’re doing your best at this job.”

“Gertrude isn’t making it easy.”

“Neither is your health, I take it.” Jon set his own meal aside, curling into the padded arm.

“No. It isn’t.”

“And you don’t know what’s causing it?”

“I know some things that help. M’Martin has been invaluable.”

“Has he, now?”

“Leave off!”

“Okay, okay.” But he continued giggling as Jon felt his face go hot, muttering.

“He really has.” This time Tim pulled him gently into an embrace.

“Then Sash and I will just have to catch up.”

#tma #the magnus archives #jon sims #tim stoker #martin blackwood #sasha james #cane user jon sims #archivist with a cane #chronic illness #undiagnosed #pots #fainting #exhaustion #anxiety #hurt/comfort #internalized ableism

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sometimesiwrite · 4 years ago

Text

Sick of This

A/N: Modern AU inspired by a random piece of dialogue from TW2 (Roche’s Path) in Vergen when Geralt and Zoltan speak with Yarpen and Burdon (I think). We hear a story about how Geralt took care of Triss while they were travelling together and she had a horrendous illness. I’m working with hybrids of these characters, but primarily drawing on game dynamics with a bit of book influence for Yennefer and some Netflix influence for Triss.

Summary: Geralt and Yennefer are in town for a an important political dinner when Geralt learns that their friend, Triss is down for the count with a terrible stomach flu. With some time to spare, he visits her, intending to stay a short while, but her condition worsens to the point where Geralt feels he can’t leave. Internal and inter-personal conflict arises as Geralt vies to skip dinner in favour of caring for a friend in need. tl;dr: Going through a relationship rough-patch (again) and realizing you might have feelings for a close friend makes for a difficult night.

Characters/pairings: Geralt x Triss; Geralt x Yennefer; Yennefer x Istrid; Jaskier

Warnings: Infidelity, verbal abuse/toxic partnership, detailed descriptions of vomiting/severe nausea/stomach pain.

MASTERLIST

Triss looked down at the illuminated screen of her phone: “In town for a few days,” the text read. “Long story. Yen has a work thing. Anyway, let me know if you want to grab a drink.” The number didn’t belong to a name in her contacts—but then again, Geralt’s number never did. Every few months, he’d get a new pay-as-you-go so that old clients wouldn’t try to contract him under the table. It only took two calls from the same tight-assed, penny-pinching hypocrites who’d tried to low-ball him on his first case to make him realize an ever-changing phone number was a good idea. So: burner phones. As a nice added bonus, it made it harder for the Redanian Secret Service to keep tabs on him which meant a little more… investigative freedom when push came to shove. The few people he ever contacted regularly—Triss, Yennefer, Eskel, Lambert, Jaskier (Vesemir didn’t text)—never bothered putting his number in their contacts. By the time they got around to updating his number, he was changing it within a few weeks anyway. Besides, he insisted it was safer for all of them if they didn’t have his name in their phones in the first place. By now, everyone knew that if they got a text from an unknown number, there was a 99.9% chance it was Geralt.

The toilet gurgled as Triss returned to the sofa with a groan, scrunching her knees up against the pain in her stomach. She checked her phone again: “Only if you’re free, I know Foltest keeps you pretty busy…” She rolled her eyes and replied, “Thanks, Ger. Ordinarily, I could use one right about now, but I’m feeling pretty sick. Think I should stay home </3” She smiled weakly as the text fwiipped its way up the screen. Too bad she was laid up. Would’ve been nice to see him. Her friends always said he was too grumpy and moody to be any fun, but Triss always thought of him as being quite mellow and calming to be around. He never imposed expectations on their time together, unlike her other friends who were always scheming, gossiping, or bitching about their bosses. Just easy conversation and a few good laughs as they caught up on the past few months or years or however long it had been since they last saw each other.

She checked her phone again and fired off a few brief “not today, babes, sorry, I’m just so sick” texts before her mouth started watering again and she headed into the bathroom: a routine by this point. A few girlfriends had offered to keep her company with rom coms and ginger tea, but she was already feeling so exhausted and it was only 1pm. Besides, Triss wasn’t sure she was prepared for anyone other than her cat (who was hiding under the bed) to see her like this: tawny cheeks flushed with fever, tight brown curls haphazardly bunned on top of her head in a pragmatic attempt to keep them out of the toilet and away from her face, frizzy ringlets falling loose down the back of her neck… and she was acutely aware that she smelled of sickness. Her body’s best attempt to rebalance itself meant that her underarms would overpower even her best deodorant. IF, that is, she cared enough to put any on which she Did Not. She was also, like any sensible woman in her current state, not wearing a bra.

Nope. Today was a day of horrendousness. Her phone pinged. “You need anything?”

“A new body might be nice. If you happen to see one that would suit me… 😝”

The fwoop! came in before her screen went dark: “LOL, I’ll see what I can find. Any preferences?”

Triss smiled despite the pain in her stomach. “Hmmm I did always want to be a physiotherapist. Oooh! Or a gymnast!” Fwiip!

Fwoop! “Still at your same place? I can send it by courrier. Should get there before 3:00”

Triss was trying hard to come up with a witty enough comeback, but her head was starting to ache. Hmmm. Yes, body, I would love to hydrate you, but you keep rejecting everything I put inside you. “Ugh,” she groaned again and made her way to the toilet. When she got back a few fruitless minutes later, she checked her phone again. Nothing. She just replied, “Thanks, Ger. BRB, going to go die now. When the courier gets here, just tell him to transfer my soul into the new body. I’ll leave it under the Welcome mat.” The TV flipped on as its owner began the endless Netflix Scroll of Indecision. She finally settled on Blue Planet for the 50th time hoping that slow-moving sea blobs would be soothing in some way.

It didn’t. Another excruciating hour of bathroom visits every ten-to-fifteen-minutes had her googling ‘pressure points to relieve nausea’ by 2:30. She had just pinched a spot on her wrist between her thumb and forefinger when she heard a soft knock on her door. “Ugh, no, GO AWAY! LEAVE ME TO DIE IN PEACE!” she called out from her nest on the sofa. It was too late. The she heard the door brush against the spongy beige carpet as someone poked their head inside, “Triss?” It was Geralt.

“Oh gods, no, Geralt, stay back, save yourself!”

He gave a low chuckle and Triss already felt a little better. How does he always manage to do that? “I don’t have a new body for you, but I might have the next best thing. Permission to enter?”

Triss let out a rueful groan, “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She heard him step in quietly and toe off his shoes as the door closed. A second later, he came around the corner with a Rexall bag in hand. He’d been to a barber recently, and his silvery hair was looking more stylish than usual—cut shorter on the sides and stylishly swept back from his face. Paired with his dark-teal flannel shirt and grey denim jeans, Triss thought he looked unusually striking.

Geralt tilted his head sympathetically at the sight before him. Triss was bundled on the sofa in an oversized sleep shirt and sweatpants, fuzzy socks bunched around her ankles, and what looked like any and all home remedies gathered around her: hot water bottle, cold pack, three mugs of tea (ginger, peppermint, and chamomile by the smell of them), a glass of ice water, a barely-touched bowl of chicken broth, a mangled bag of oyster crackers, and a thermometer.

“You’re really down for the count, huh? Got a fever?” before she could object, the back of Geralt’s hand was on her forehead. It felt cool and refreshing against the dry heat of her face as he assessed her condition. “Meh. Could be better, could be worse.”

“I could’ve told you that,” Triss retorted with a halfhearted smile. “Ugh… sorry, um, I have to…” she pointed towards the bathroom and Geralt raised his hands (‘say no more’) as his friend scuttled exhaustedly around the corner. He busied himself with watching manta rays gliding through the open ocean until he heard the toilet flush and Triss emerged again, looking ragged and a little sheepish. “Sorry,” she said, pouring herself back onto her nest of blankets and stuffed animals.

Geralt shrugged, “No need to be, you’re sick. Here,” he reached into the pharmacy bag and brought out a box of ginger Gravol tablets and a medium-sized bottle of Cherry Punch Pedialyte—she was allergic to most over-the-counter cold and flu medication.

“Geralt, you didn’t have to do all this for me. How did you even know I had the stomach flu?”

He looked over her shoulder at her laptop which was still open to the page of various nausea-relieving pressure points, “Hm. You should have this stuff around anyway,” he paused as Triss swallowed heavily and went to the bathroom again. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how to take care of herself, her mother had been a nurse practitioner for heaven’s sake. Still, Geralt was never one to leave a friend in need if there was something he could do about it. A particularly visceral sound drew him from where he was perched on the arm of the sofa. Triss was crouched on the bathroom floor, shivering with her forehead resting on her elbows over the toilet bowl. She spat. Geralt sat on the edge of the bathtub. “How long has it been like this?”

“Since about... 10am,” she managed to get out before her entire body heaved. Geralt instinctively reached out to place a hand on her back. She didn’t object. She never objected to these little shows of affection from Geralt. There was always something reassuring about them, and it felt particularly nice to be reminded that she wasn’t alone just now.

Geralt rubbed slow circles across her back as he coaxed her through retching and dry heaves. “You know you could've just asked.”

“I know but—”

“Stubborn?”

“Uh-huh,” Triss admitted, sitting back on her heels and flushing the mostly-empty toilet. “Besides, the last thing you need is to be taking care of a gross friend right before getting ready for a fancy business gala.

“You clearly don’t know just how little I’m looking forward to this evening,” Geralt grumbled, passing Triss a cool glass of water to rinse with.

“Not looking forward to talking the talk, Mr. Slick P.I.?” Triss’s eyes gave a twinkle as her freckled cheeks pulled into a cheeky smirk.

Even when she’s a mess she still finds a way to light up. Geralt furrowed his brow at his own thoughts. Where did that come from? “You know how it is, all this high-society stuff, rubbing elbows, laughing at tasteless jokes. It’s just not me. But Yen—well…” he sighed heavily, “I dunno. She’s right in that it’s a good way to get the information we need, stay visible to the right people but… I shouldn’t be talking to you about this. I know she’s your friend.”

Triss raised an eyebrow, “Oh, go on. Trust me, there’s nothing you can say about Yennefer of Vengerberg that will surprise me. Besides, you’re my friend, too.”

“Hm.” Geralt stared down and fiddled with his crossed thumbs. “Lately I can’t get anything right. I’m always asking the wrong questions, or I’ll try and talk to her about something I want us to work on and it’s never worded the right way and then it just turns into a fight which is what I want to stop doing in the first place. And then I’m either too sensitive or not sensitive enough and… it’s like she has a set of rules inside her head she won’t tell me about. Feels like it’s harder than it should be. But who am I to know?”

“I’m sorry, Geralt. Yennefer can be so unfair sometimes. I don’t think she understands how much she can push against the people she cares about. It’s one thing to be a friend, at least I can take a breather every now and then if I need to. But it’s different for you. You don’t like taking time apart.” Triss offered an apologetic smile before groaning and leaning back over the toilet and Geralt’s hand took up its place on her back again as he worked her through another round.

Geralt’s phone rang as Triss flushed the toilet. “Sorry, it’s Yen. I should take this. Be right back. Yen? Yeah, I’m with Triss, got a stomach thing, I stopped by to bring her some...” his voice disappeared around the corner as he went into the bedroom. Triss couldn’t make out their whole conversation, but it sounded tense. The phrase, “...just trust me to dress myself, I’m not a—,” came through the drywall. Triss sighed sympathetically. It certainly hadn’t been smooth sailing for the two of them. Geralt had his own flaws and foibles in the romance department—he could be callous and insensitive in favour of honesty at times, and never shied away from pushing buttons—but Yennefer was mercurial, brazen, rash, and brutal; all excellent qualities for a powerful and influential chief advisor. But as much as Geralt was his own handful, she’d never known him to willfully hurt someone he cared about, and was quick to apologize when he did.

When Geralt came back, Triss was trying to push herself to standing. He caught her as she swayed on her unsteady legs. “Whoa, whoa, Triss, easy. Here, sit back down, wait here for a second.” Triss did as she was told and settled miserably back onto the bathroom floor. Geralt immediately returned with two blankets before disappearing again. A few minutes later, he returned once more with a tea tray on which was balanced Triss’s laptop, a small glass of Pedialyte on the rocks, the pack of gravol, and the box of oyster crackers.

Triss let out a soft giggle, “What is this?”

“You need to try and get something in you. Might not be pretty at first, but if you don’t get some fluids soon, you’re going to be in bigger trouble.”

“Really. I had no idea. I can take care of myself, you know… sorry that was,” Triss sighed. “It’s been a long day

Geralt hunkered down next to her on the floor on top of a throw pillow, “Hey, I get it. But that’s not why I’m here. Just because you can doesn’t mean you have to. So take this, with a sip of this,” he handed her a blister pack of the Gravol and the glass of Pedialyte, “and let’s see if you can keep it down.”

“Cherry Punch. How did you know this was my favourite?” Triss could no longer hide the fondness that was welling up despite her unrelenting discomfort and growing exhaustion. Geralt gave a muted smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “How’s Yennefer?”

The lines on Geralt’s face became more pronounced, “She’s… fine.” Triss tilted her head (‘really?’) and Geralt relented, “There’s a chance Istrid will be there tonight.”

“The head of the Archeological Association? I don’t get it, what’s he got to do with you and Yennefer?”

Triss could guess the answer from Geralt’s pause. His words merely confirmed it, “They have history.”

“You don’t think that Yennefer will—I mean, she wouldn’t—”

“She has. She doesn’t know that I know, but…” Triss’s heart sank. “I don’t know why I’m waiting for her to tell me. Guess I don’t want her to feel like I went out of my way to find her at fault—which I didn’t, by the way. I found out by accident.”

“I’m sorry, Ger.” The weight of Triss’s head against his shoulder brought Geralt out of his daze and he looked down at the messy updo of mahogany hair. He smiled again, a delicate, private, unconscious thing that sparked from an unconscious uplifting somewhere in the middle of him and pulled the corners of his eyes. He thought about ignoring it, not wanting to have to go digging inside himself for what it meant. Instead he wrapped an arm around Triss’s shoulder and pecked a chaste kiss to the top of her head.

“How’re you feeling?”

The answer to that question proved complicated. Triss’s spirits were a bit better thanks to Geralt’s stubborn-yet-easygoing caretaking. But the introduction of contents into her contrary stomach was yielding less-than-desirable consequences. Painful cramps persisted between more frequent bouts of vomiting—which by this point was mostly dry-heaves followed by the occasional expulsion of bile. Meanwhile it was 5:30 and Geralt’s phone beeped a notification. He checkecked the screen with one hand while he soothed Triss with the other: Where are you??? Yen. Who else could it be? He’d have to call her.

“Geralt, go! Really, I’ll be fine I promise. You’ve got to rub elbows and laugh at bad jokes, remember?” Triss propped herself up on wobbly elbows over the toilet bowl, not trusting the wave to be over.

Geralt was already dialling. Triss heard the faint echo of her friend’s voice on the other line as she answered with, ‘Where the HELL are you?’

“I’m still with Triss, Yen. Things aren’t looking good here, she’s just gotten worse. If I can’t—Yen, listen if she doesn’t—if she doesn’t get any fluids in her I’ll need to take her to the hospital.” Geralt pulled an apologetic face and Triss gave him a reassuring wave that she’d be fine if he stepped out for a minute. “Yen, please, I thought we talked about this, please don’t use that tone, it makes me feel…” The conversation continued, though this time in the living room: “I know this is an important night for us to both be there, Yen, you’ve been reminding me for the last month, but I can’t just leave until… what’s that supposed to mean? That’s not—no, hang on, that’s not fair, Yen… Well if you already don’t believe me I don’t—Okay, then you tell me what I’m supposed to say! I’m tired of this, Yennefer, I am so. Exhausted trying to figure out exactly what to say in order for you to not react like this every time I… can I finish?...”

Geralt was pacing back-and-forth now, and Triss could tell from the tone on the other end of the line that Yennefer wasn’t backing down anytime soon, “Geralt, if you don’t leave Triss’s apartment and come back here and get dressed this instant, I swear I will—”

Geralt paused outside the bathroom door for Triss to flash a wilted thumbs-up as she tried to drink more Cherry Punch Pedialyte, “Or you’ll what, Yen? Count to ten and then chuck me in the coi pond? I—you know what?” he moved back into the living room, “No, you know what? How ‘bout this: I’m staying here with our friend who needs help, and you can go to this big event, embarrassment free, and do what you do best without the big idiot holding you back. Whatever needs to get done at this dinner tonight, I bet you’ll do better on your own than worrying about me screwing something up.”

Triss heard his phone flip shut followed by a heavy sigh before his sock feet padded back into the bathroom. Unfortunately, just then, her suspicions about not being finished proved correct as her mouth, once again, began to water. Thankfully Cherry punch wasn’t nearly as bad coming back up as other flavors were known to be. In less than a second, Geralt was there with a warm hand and a blanket around her shoulders. They didn’t talk much over the next little while as Geralt continued his attempts to soothe Triss’s stomach enough to hold something down. After an hour, Triss finally was able to rest a little, albeit still in quite a bit of pain. But with the toilet no longer an ongoing necessity, the sofa once again became a viable option. Geralt scooped up the blanketed bundle and carried her back into the living room to continue their journey under the sea, complete with cold compress and bendy straw.

By 7:30 Triss hadn’t needed the toilet at all in the last hour, and some of her stomach pain was starting to diminish. However, she was still shivering and achy, and not interested in food. She kept insisting that Geralt had time to meet Yennefer at the gala, that she would be perfectly fine on her own, but Geralt wasn’t convinced. Showing up now would not only put Yennefer in the awkward position of having to save face by not murdering him in cold blood in front of a dozen or more foreign dignitaries, but it would also mean having to face Istrid who, if he wasn’t already, would doubtlessly be very interested to hear Yennefer’s thoughts on a great number of things before the night was over. Geralt didn’t trust himself not to do something he’d regret—or at least that Yennefer would regret.

Another hour in and Triss was starting to perk up: minimal stomach pain, and she was making a decent dent in her Cherry Punch. Geralt decided it was time for a little chicken soup. He made a freezer pizza for himself and cracked a beer while he warmed up a can of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle, ladelling out all the broth into a mug for Triss so she wouldn’t be tempted to eat more than she could handle. Geralt had only one goal for her tonight: keep everything down. If she could do that, then he had at least been able to do something for her. If not… Geralt tried very hard not to listen to the voice that said, ‘then you’re no use for anyone’ in the back of his mind. Thankfully, Triss finished her broth without concern and he didn’t have to worry about that voice for the time being. Instead, he settled a little deeper into the sofa cushions as Triss resumed a comfortable spot against his shoulder.

After another little while, a miracle happened: Triss started to have fun. That characteristic sparkle came back to her eyes, and the two friends quickly began to actively enjoy their evening. They watched The Fellowship of the Ring and took a drink of beer or Pedialyte every time Frodo had a dramatic closeup, was stabbed, or rolled his eyes for dramatic effect. Geralt microwaved a bag of popcorn, and Triss cautiously had a few oyster crackers as they laughed and caught up. Finally. It may not have been the original vision for what drinks and casual hangs would look like, but it was good. It was nice. Relaxed, and pleasant. Easy. Geralt’s mind wandered as the Fellowship fled the Balrog, and he didn’t notice the little line his thumb was leaving on Triss’s blanket as it traced up and down her shoulder. He also didn’t think twice when she shifted, half-asleep, to lie her head in his lap and his hand moved to the curve of her waist. It wasn’t until he looked down in the direction of soft snoring that he was reminded exactly who was lying in his lap.

His initial thought was, ‘shit,’ as he slowly removed his hand from her waist, not wanting to wake her, but also not knowing what to do. It was suddenly all so intimate, though he didn’t quite know why. As he watched her, peacefully asleep in his lap, he realized he didn’t want to break away. Didn’t want to wake her to adjust to a more ‘appropriate’ orientation. He touched her shoulder again. That was nice. That felt… nice. She stirred, and Geralt wondered if she was comfortable as he brushed a tight ringlet behind her ear. She smiled in semi-consciousness and his heart sang. This was bad. This was very very bad. He reached for the remote and flicked the tv off. It was after midnight, and high time everyone went to bed. Alone.

That was the only option. Right? In theory, no. There was another option, and a significant part of Geralt wanted to go with that one, stay in this soft warm place where everything felt easier… where he felt happy. But a louder part of him knew that wasn’t right, wasn’t fair; that even if he was unhappy—even if Yennefer had spent the night with Istrid (Geralt tried not to think about that). The bottom line was Triss felt well enough that he no longer needed to stay with her to make sure she was alright. That was why he’d come. If he stayed for other reasons, it wouldn’t be fair to anyone. End of discussion.

“Triss,” Geralt murmured, rousing her as gently as he could.

“Hmm?” Her eyes fluttered open to see Geralt staring down at her. She didn’t remember lying down in his lap, but she must have just before she fell asleep. “Did I fall asleep on you?”

Geralt’s eyes crinkled, “Hm. Yeah. You were pretty out of it.”

“Ah, shit, I’m so sorry!”

“You needed the rest. Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s passed out on me, and you’re significantly easier to deal with than Lambert.”

Triss bunched her blankets around her shoulders and shivered sleepily, “You should go. Yennefer’s probably waiting for you.”

“Hm. Yeah, probably,” Geralt heaved himself off the sofa as Triss released her hair and gathered her nest to head to the bedroom. Geralt waited until she was bundled in bed. “All set?”

A little smile peeked over the tops of the covers, “Mmmhmm, thanks.”

“Need anything else?”

“No, I’m good. Goodnight, Ger.”

“Goodnight, Triss,” Geralt flicked off the light. In the entranceway, he paused with his hand on the doorknob, took a deep breath, and left, locking the door behind him and putting the key back in its usual hiding place. Enough now. Done. He was determined that whatever he had felt, whatever warm, unexpected thing had bubbled to the surface, would forever exist behind that locked door, frozen in time. A blip. The important thing was nothing was acted on. Not really. At worst, they wandered into a grey area by accident. These things happen. The key now was not to dwell on it, to move forward.

Geralt’s stomach soured as he slid his keycard into the slot of room 622. The lock clicked open as the little light on top flashed green and Geralt turned the handle, closing the door behind him as quietly as he could. He toggled the dimmer switch next to the door; the lowest setting would give him enough light to get changed without waking up—Yen? The bed was empty, still freshly turned-down, with his pre-approved evening attire laid out as he had suspected. He fucking hated that tie. He put the suit back in the garment bag from whence it came and checked his phone. Nothing. No texts, no missed calls. Might still be out. It wasn’t unusual for these events to turn into afterparties which was where most of the juicy information was gathered. He hit speed-dial.

“Hi, Jaskier? It’s—yeah, hi. Listen. Are things still going over there? I just—hm? Yeah, she’s doing okay now. Took awhile for me to get anything in her, but no hospital visit so… yeah, she finally got to sleep just as I was heading out, made sure she was hydrated and had a little something… I’m sure she’d appreciate that… Actually, that’s why I’m calling, I just got back and she’s not in, I was wondering if you knew where she…When?…Okay…No, archeology… Mmm no, they’re very different fields. Nevermind, thanks, Jas…Yeah, no it’s, um, I just wanted to make sure that she was okay. Didn’t want to bug her in case she was in the middle of—something. Yeah… Well don’t let me interrupt that. Okay, all the best. Go get ‘em tiger. ‘Night.”

Geralt tossed his phone on the bed and flopped heavily on top of the duvet and rubbed a hand over his face.

“Goddamnit, Yen.”

__________________

@the-space-between-heartbeats

@just-a-sad-donut

@oxenfurt-archives

@thirstyforred

@titaniafire

@belalugosisdead

@lonelygayz

@awkward-turtles-world

@iloveyouyen

@criminaly-supernatural

@friendlybelladonna

@enkelikauneus

#geralt x triss #witcher au #Modern AU Witcher #Takin' care of Triss-ness #morethangeraskier #rarepairs #off-canon #tw partner abuse #tw2 #tw3 wild hunt

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malecsecretsanta · 4 years ago

Text

Merry Christmas, notquiteascrazy!

For @notquiteascrazy. I hope you'll enjoy it Lex, I tried to stick to your likes as much as I could!!! Merry Xmas, darling!

Read On AO3

*****

The air was thick with snow and the smell of roasted chestnuts and marshmallows, and Alec was staring out from the window of the subway that was taking him home.

He sighed in relief thinking about the fact that at least for the Christmas week, he had a job. At least he wouldn't be forced to stay home alone, drinking a beer and eating a microwave heated pizza, and thinking.

He couldn't go home, not this festivities, not after having left his family business shoving his car and house keys on his father’s desk, shouting that the price was too high for his mental health, seeing all his family's eyes widen in disbelief, because Alec had never said no to anything. Never a quarrel, never an argument, never a sign of disappointment. Anything.

He had endured through high school and university, studying something that made his stomach twitch in disgust still he brought home the best grades, the best results, the best graduation a parent could have ever asked for.

But working more than twelve hours per day for it? It soon became too much to bear.

After two years of sleepless nights, pills, too much coffee, and the beginning of panic attacks, he'd decided to quit and leave that horrible life he crazily had thought he could force himself into.

Sometimes he would say to himself that maybe he hadn't tried hard enough, that maybe if he'd resisted a couple of months more, it would have become a routine, but he was aware that that could have never happened.

Alec hated numbers with all his heart, since he was a kid and that really wouldn't do in his family. For centuries, the Lightwoods held a huge business accountant studio that worked with the most outstanding industries, firms of the country, and even some others abroad. He was the eldest, he was supposed to be the heir. But he wasn't. He'd never been, and he never would be.

Izzy, she was the right one. Strong, sharp, determined, assertive and good enough to bring the best out for the family business. She was, and Alec loved her so much. He loved her fierce steps along the corridor when she was angry at someone, the way her voice turned sharp and hard on the phone when she discovered something she didn't like, the way her decisions were quick and always right.

He, instead, had always loved crayons and pencils. He loved the feeling of wood between his fingers, the smell of paper whenever he bought a new sketchbook, the rustling sound of his sleeve or his arm when it slid on the paper, and the brush of the pencil lead as it traced lines that gave life to the images that filled his head.

He wanted to become an artist, to go to an art school and then to an academy of arts, but he never had the courage to ask, never dared to hope, Alec ended up letting the days flow by until it was too late.

So there he was now, living alone in a one-room apartment in the outskirts, shifting from one temporary job to another. Apparently, he was "too much" for every position he applied for.

Too qualified, too experienced, too well paid, too grown up, too tall, too clumsy, too smart, too handsome, too… everything.

Izzy and Jace promised him they would come to visit during the holidays, but Alec knew that his family’s Christmas celebrations were something that they couldn't escape from that easily, with relatives, colleagues and business partners coming from all over the place and staying there until the late hours.

He dropped off the subway and walked home, grabbing a kebab along the way.

He switched on the kettle and slumped on the small couch he opened to sleep in at night, covering his legs with a blanket, patiently waiting for the little electric stove to heat the small room, picking up his phone and texting his siblings he had found a job for the Christmas’ month.

He stood and grabbed the kettle, pouring the boiling water into a mug filled with tea leaves, letting the steam soothe his icy red nose and warm him up. He looked outside the small window at the snow silently falling on the buildings.

He opened the bed and threw himself on it, still clothed. He took his sketchbook and started drawing, staring at his hand gently swaying on it, until he fell asleep, his head dropped on one side of the pillow, his hand clutching the pencil, as the Christmas lights and decorations glimmered on his black locks.

Magnus strolled into his office, his eyes shadowed, his beard a little longer than usual, his tie hanging loose around his neck, as if he hadn't the time to fix it properly.

"Are you ok?" Raphael asked him, a worried look on his face.

"Yes. No. I'm definitely not. It's been the worst night I had in years. Max has thrown up six times to the point his face turned green and I spent the night on the phone with Cat trying to figure out how to stop it and making him drink small sips of water, so he wouldn’t be dehydrated. I'm... fuck , I need another coffee, Raphael," he stopped and crashed on the huge armchair behind his long desk.

Raphael went to the coffee pot and filled a cup, putting some cream in it.

"You could have taken the day off you know? You're the boss here. No one is checking if you come to work or not."

"Are you insane?" Magnus glared at him as he sipped his coffee, it's December, the mall is going to be full and I have to check everything and I … I…"

"You don't want to be alone, I know."

Magnus' expression turned sad and distant. He sighed deeply, staring into the void.

"Probably not," he added, "Anyway, let's get back to work, is everything fixed? The extra decorations, the elves, the little presents for the kids coming and...oh my god, Santa? Have you found him?"

Raphael nodded smiling.

"Your kind of guy to be honest, dark, tall and handsome."

"Ah, stop this Raphael. He's gonna be dressed in a Santa costume, a huge pillow on his belly and a white long beard. Also…you should know that Mr. no one has become my favourite kind of guy."

"If you say so," he smirked.

Magnus stood up and left the cup on his desk, waving his hands in the air, dismissing whatever Raphael wanted to argue back.

"Anyway, let's go and see the elves, I'm curious," and he opened the door, gesturing to Raphael to follow him.

Alec woke up earlier than usual, waiting like twenty minutes for the water to warm and finally shower.

He knotted the towel low on his waist, cursing the cold wind that crawled from underneath the gaps in the window’s frames and went to the sink, grabbing his razor to shave. He stared at his image in the mirror. Why was he even shaving? He was about to wear a long white beard for a week. He brushed his knuckles on his stubble and smiled. It looked good on him. His father never wanted him to grow a beard. He used to say it made him look scruffy and that wouldn't go over well with their clients and partners. But now, who cared anymore? He put the razor back in the drawer and went to the stove to make some coffee. He dressed up slowly, and ate some toast, while chatting with Jace.

The subway was full of people going to work, some of them dressed in their grey and black suits and he felt relieved; he didn't miss that life at all. He took his sketchbook from his backpack and started portraying their faces, the worried and the sad ones, the abandoned lover and the happy newly wedded one. All of them in their morning run to face the day.

The receptionist stopped him as soon as he entered.

"I'm Alec Lightwood, ehm, Santa Claus…"

"Oh, yes Mr. Lightwood, you're a little early, but since you are already here you can go to the locker room and change. Here's your costume."

She was staring at him, a goofy smile on her face. As he walked away he heard her murmur to the other lady next to her that it was a pity to cover all that glory with a Santa's costume.

He chuckled and took the elevator.

The pillow on his belly was soft but huge and it made him uncomfortably hot, and the faint beard itched a bit on his neck. He wore the heavy boots and realized he was already covered in sweat. It was going to be a very long month.

He entered the Children's Land and spotted the man who interviewed him last week. He was standing next to the most enchanting creature Alec had ever laid his eyes on. He stood frozen in the middle of the large hall of the toy shop, just staring, until Raphael noticed him.

"Oh, there you are! Magnus, he's our Santa Claus," he said and pulled Magnus from his wrist toward the tall red and white figure.

"Alec? Oh, can I call you Alec, right? This is Magnus, the real boss here."

Alec was glad to be disguised when Magnus fully turned to look at him. The man was strikingly beautiful, probably just a little older than he was.

He extended his hand and Magnus mirrored him, shaking it for a split second that to Alec seemed like an eternity.

"Strong grip," Magnus said smiling, "perfect for Santa. Also, your height is just perfect. Let me hear your voice, have you practiced lowering it a bit?"

Alec nodded and was about to let him hear his best Ho Ho Ho , when Magnus' phone rang.

"Cat? How is Max feeling? Better? Oh, thank god, he needed some good sleep. Any fever? No? That's good."

Alec knew he shouldn't have been listening, but he just couldn't help it.

Of course he was married. Of course he had a kid and a beautiful wife waiting for him at home.

He was jolted out of his thoughts when Raphael suddenly asked him to follow him toward the big wooden sleigh they had put on the right end corner of the shop.

"This will be your place. You will have a big jute sack behind where you’ll put the letters and a basket full of candies and lollipops for the kids after they have told you their wishes."

Alec listened and nodded.

"Can I make a little drawing for them? Just a sketch of their name or favourite hero?" he asked.

Raphael looked at him amused.

"You can draw?"

"Yes, I'll be quick, I promise."

"Of course you can Alec. It will be an amazing surprise for all of them."

Alec turned and saw Magnus talking to his kid on the phone. His face was soft and he was smiling as if the child could see him. His mind went back to an image of a younger Robert smiling at him. He felt a rush of longing for those days when he was exactly the son their parents had dreamed of. Responsible, always on track, confident, always in the right place at the right moment.

While they were happy, he was overwhelmed. The more they grew proud, the more he was ashamed of himself. The longer they seemed sure of who he was, the further he didn't even know where to begin.

He spun and found Raphael looking at him, brows up to his forehead.

Fuck! He realized he had been staring at what was technically his boss.

He scratched his fingers on the back of his neck trying to think about something good to say and justify his weird behaviour.

"Ahm… he's good with children...not many men are … ehm… it's kinda rare I mean…"

Raphael delighted in the embarrassment he glimpsed in the young man in front of him, and waited amused until Alec fell silent with a frustrated grunt.

Raphael took pity on him and finally laughed, wholeheartedly.

"Yeah, he is. They love him before he even starts to speak and he can convince them to do whatever he asks. They're kinda spellbound ."

"Yeah I know the feeling."

Alec’s cheeks reddened a bit and he closed his eyes cursing himself for talking without filters, realizing what comment had just left his mouth.

"I mean," he tried, "I know the feeling of being spellbound."

Raphael turned around a little smirking, “Yeah, he has this effect on everyone he meets."

Alec walked toward the sleigh, checked the basket filled with sweets and sat down, adjusting the pillow on his belly and stretching his legs. He knew they would be bent until late that afternoon. He was glad he hadn’t shaved that morning, otherwise, his pale and delicate skin would have been scratchy in the evening.

He took his sketchbook from his backpack and the crayons, the beautiful watercolour ones that he received on his last birthday from Izzy and Jace, and set them on his left side.

Raphael instructed a couple of photographers where to position the cameras and searched for Magnus again, leaving the last decision up to him. He was the best organizer but he really lacked any sense of aesthetics, which, instead, Magnus was overflowing with. The man was fixing the red berry and frosted pine cone garland on the railing of the stairs, fully concentrated on the task.

"Magnus? Have a look here," he said, "our Santa's sleigh is ready. Just waiting for your last touch.”

Magnus revolved toward the voice and stared for a moment at Alec and the setting, his gaze so intense that Alec felt the urge to divert his eyes. Magnus moved slowly toward the sleigh, bending near the footboards to fix the fake snowflakes and the pine branches.

His movements were slow and graceful, the back of his neck was flexing sinuously following the motion of his hands and fingers, and Alec couldn't keep from staring. His nails were painted in a dark green polish, matching the colour of the spikes in his faux hawk. He was elegant and extremely professional, but there was something sensual too in his overall outfit.

His eyes were stuck to Magnus' fingers that were now fixing the red velvet cloth and cushions on the sled.

"You like the color of the polish or my rings?" Magnus asked abruptly without turning his head and Alec rolled his eyes, because of course he wasn’t able to do anything without being noticed.

He didn't know what to say because, honestly, he liked them both, a lot.

Magnus must have realized his embarrassment because he resumed his talk without even looking at him.

"I picked the dark green this morning because it matches the beautiful colour of the pine needles and also because it matches perfectly with the burgundy red suit I am wearing. The rings...well, they are just a sort of second skin, I never remove them, not even when I sleep or shower."

Alec remained still and silent, lost in Magnus' voice.

"I don't bite, you know. You're allowed to answer or say something," Magnus added seriously, just before bursting into the softest laughter Alec had ever heard, "I'm just teasing you, I was joking."

Alec smiled behind the white soft beard, "Both, I like them both," he whispered.

Magnus stopped his movements and finally raised his head to look at him. He was kneeled on one leg, looking at those hazel big eyes standing out from the furry grey brows. They shined like two emerald gems.

Magnus then stood up and leaned toward Alec, grabbing his white fluffy collar and adjusting it around his neck, next his palms swept over his shoulders and tugged at the fabric a little, to make it adhere to Alec's shoulders. They were broad and straight. The last touch was reserved for his hat. He fixed the pom-pom and then his fingers curled up the mustaches above Alec's lips.

He cocked his head and took a moment to check what he had just done, "Now you're perfect, the perfect Santa. Raphael is the best at making real what I have in mind."

"Raphael knows so well what the boss likes," a voice replied.

"He's right," Magnus said to Alec smirking, "he knows me so well. Ok now. I know he already told you what this whole Santa's thing is about, but I will remind you anyway. Kids will queue here, you will take them on your lap and have a little chat, then ask them for a wish, pick up a candy, and offer them to take a picture with you. Remember the pictures are for free, it's just for the joy of the kids, and…"

"And while they are waiting for the print I will make them a little sketch."

Magnus frowned.

"Raphael told me I could. I'll be quick, I promise."

"You draw?" Magnus asked.

"Yes."

"As long as you don't make the people wait too long, I think it's a wonderful idea. Keep the last one for me, ok?"

Magnus turned to Raphael.

"Let the kids come. We're ready for the magic to happen."

Alec's first week flew by quicker than he had imagined. He enjoyed talking to the kids and smiled at the incredible, sweet, improbable desires they shared with him. He gave them the sweets and a quick sketch; an animal, a toy, a star, a word, something he made just for them.

Raphael was amazed by how quickly Alec actually sketched. The queue was flowing regularly and no clients complained about waiting too long. Their Santa smiled and laughed with the kids and he didn't seem to become annoyed or bored.

Alec always listened with the same attention, always gave the children space and time to talk, enjoyed their sense of wonder, comforted the sad ones, knew how to deal with tantrums and tears, and never missed to give an encouraging smile to the parents waiting.

In that week, he fell asleep happily after such a long time.

Working at the mall turned out to be very exciting and interesting. Alec had always been fond of people, even if he wasn't very talkative and extroverted. He mostly loved to observe them, the quick glances between the ones in love, the farewell and welcome embraces, the arguments and the tears, the gazes lost in nowhere, the grandparents holding the hands of the kids, and of course, the kisses.

In the days he spent there, especially at the times his shift started and finished, when the mall was emptying, he loved watching Magnus interact with his employees. He was struck by how different Magnus was from his father.

Magnus was always the first to arrive and the last one to leave, he always had a smile for everyone, he paid attention to all their needs, and always found the right words to say, supportive, encouraging, and caring. He brought coffee and sweets, he offered them lunch and then sat eating with them, laughing and having fun, and whenever he could, he would help them.

There was something in that man that had Alec yearning for his presence whenever he wasn’t around, that had him staring at him when Magnus wasn’t noticing, admiring him. He was beautiful inside and out.

"His wife must be so happy," he absentmindedly said to a cleaner one night as he was helping him pull up all the trash bags. Wei was the oldest one at the mall, and Alec had become his friend. He loved to listen to his stories and his memories, and got his fill of wisdom every day. Alec opened up to him like a father, sharing his personal life, his dreams and his sorrows. He remained with him long after his Santa’s duty was over, listened and helped along the way.

"Who?" said the man.

"Mr. Bane."

Wei stopped moving and cleaning, putting his mop on the floor, smiling at Alec.

"Magnus?"

Alec looked at the old man and smiled, hoisting up two other bags.

"Yes, Magnus."

The man looked back at him, pensively, and then talked.

"Magnus isn't married, and never has been. If you are referring to the fact that he has a child, I will tell you a story worthy of this time of the year. Tea first," and he went to the counter of the locker room and poured some in two cups, handing one to Alec.

"Three years ago, Anne, a young girl that worked at the bookstore, died unexpectedly in a car accident. She was the mother of a two-year-old boy, named Max. When Magnus heard that the social services were searching for a place for Max to stay for the night, he offered to take him home with him, and never left him since then. He applied for adoption, since he was the closest thing to family for that girl and her boy and since he was raised in foster care…"

The man looked at Alec, an unreadable expression on his face, something between awe and seriousness.

"I hope you'll have the chance to know him better, Alec. Magnus is one of the kindest souls that tread on this earth. He's caring, gentle, soft, selfless, he holds a special place in his heart for each of us. He knows all our histories, he never misses a birthday or an anniversary, he covers our shifts when we need a day off and no one can replace us. He's so incredible, that he's almost unreal."

He stood up and took the mop again, "I have noticed the way you look at him."

Alec swallowed, his cheeks getting crimson, "I… I don't…"

"There's nothing to be ashamed of, he doesn't deserve to be alone," and he bent to grab some empty bottles.

"Leave that to me," Alec said and was quickly on his knees to collect them.

"You're just as kind as he is," Wei said and threw some paper cups in the bin.

Alec remained with him, and they talked until Wei had finished cleaning.

"Your dad will understand sooner or later," he said putting his coat and scarf on.

"He might, but he'll never forgive me," Alec sighed.

"He will understand one day that there's nothing to forgive Alec, you don't have to apologize to anyone for giving voice to your true self, he will understand, believe me. Just give him time."

Alec nodded as they went outside and decided to take a walk. He looked up at the grey thick sky, thinking about Magnus.

He opened his drawing book and checked all the sketches and portraits he'd made of Magnus while he wasn't watching. It would have been really nice to know him better, but December was almost over and he did not even have the chance to present himself.

He exhaled. In another life, maybe.

On his part, Magnus realized he was always finding an excuse to go to the children's store. There was something in that Santa that drew him closer, even if he had never seen his face. The way he moved, his soft, tender voice, the way he got lost in his drawing, and the way he answered the kids. Raphael always made jokes about the fact that he should go to the locker room and have a closer look at the man, but Magnus always dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

As Christmas approached, Alec noticed that Magnus was often around and he never missed the chance to draw him on many different occasions.

“You should show him," he heard Raphael say behind his back as he peeked at the sketch Alec had just made of Magnus standing beside one of the Xmas trees of the mall, sipping from a coffee cup, absorbed in reading, his brows furrowed, his lips curled in concentration.

Alec suddenly felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him.

"Magnus loves beautiful things, and your portrait is amazing, you really should," Raphael stated as he walked away.

Alec closed his sketchbook when a loud thud tore him out of his thoughts. He rushed and found a crying kid on the floor, his knees up to his chin, a thin rivulet of blood on his wrist.

Alec knelt beside him, his voice soft and tender, "Hey, it's all right, I'm here. Can I have a look at your wrist?"

The boy raised his head and found Santa Claus kneeling beside him, asking him to have a look at his injury. He looked around confused, not really knowing what to do, until his eyes rested on another man standing behind his back.

"I'd let him if I were you, his touch might be magical."

Alec looked up and saw Magnus looking at him, gently nodding, encouraging him to go on. So he took the boy's hand and lifted his wrist to have a look at it; then he took out two small packages from his right pocket. He showed them to the kid.

"What's your name?" he asked softly.

"Tom," the boy whispered.

"Okay, Tom. Now I will wipe your wound and disinfect it, it won't burn or hurt, I promise. Then I am going to put a magical Santa patch on it, how does this sound? Will you pick up the drawing while I clean it?"

"Mr. Bane…" Alec started only to stop when Magnus stepped in.

"Magnus." Magnus corrected.

"Magnus can help you pick one, if that's all right?"

The boy smiled and nodded.

Alec passed the small box to Magnus and for a moment their eyes locked. Magnus smiled at him, wide and open, and his gaze softened as their fingers softly brushed, and Alec felt something cracking inside of him, like an egg breaking to let a new life peek through.

He made quick work of the little wound, covering it with a candy cane-shaped patch.

"Now,” he added, “since you have been really brave, why don’t you follow me to pick some candies out from my basket near the sleigh?"

"And I will go and search for your parents," Magnus added, "remain here with Santa."

Later that evening, he was putting his black coat on ready to go home when he heard someone coming.

"Who are you?" Magnus asked, looking surprised at the handsome man standing outside the locker room.

Alec turned and saw him, he seemed almost in a rush. He was about to answer, but he realized he couldn't breathe.

“You don’t look like a thief, so, care to tell me who you are?”

"I’m Santa. I mean, the guy dressed as Santa. My name is Alec," his voice came out barely a whisper.

"Pardon?" Magnus asked him, almost not believing he had heard well.

Alec swallowed as he felt those chocolate eyes scanning him from his feet to the last of his black locks.

Magnus blinked as his heart skipped a beat. Damn Raphael, he was right.

They both remained silent as the veil was raised, staring at each other as their hearts were fluttering.

Finally, Magnus extended his hand to him, "Actually I was searching just for you."

Alec grabbed his hand and squeezed it, his grip strong and certain, "Why?"

"I wanted to thank you for today. The way you acted with that boy…,"

"It was nothing...”

"You turned a bad event into an amazing one, one he will remember for all his life. Plus, you didn't have to, and you did anyway. This says a lot about the kind of person you are, and I never take such things for granted."

Alec was still holding his hand, stuck in a sort of trance. When he realized that, he retracted his palm, "I'm sorry, I need to go…, my sister is waiting for me outside…,"

Magnus nodded.

Alec adjusted the scarf around his neck and moved toward the exit.

"Ah, Alec? We are having a small Christmas party on the 24th, after the mall closes for the clients, why don't you come? It's an open party, we all bring families or partners…," he stopped, waiting for Alec to say something.

"I'd love to, yes, thank you. See you tomorrow," he left and headed to Izzy's car, his heart racing, his head a bit spinning.

Izzy needed just a glance to understand, "Are you ok?"

Alec looked at her and licked his lips, twice, "I don't really think so."

"What's wrong?"

He pressed his fingers at the corner of his eyes, exhaling, "Fuck, Izzy, I think I've fallen in love."

"And what's so terrible about it?"

Alec looked back at her, almost desperate, "He's the owner of the mall, beautiful and sexy as fuck, smart, and kind, and...what do I have to offer him?"

"Yourself, Alec. And believe me, it's not something you easily find around nowadays." She turned the engine on and drove him away.

After the last bowl of popcorn was over, Max was almost asleep against Magnus' chest.

"Dad?"

"Mm?"

"You were happy tonight when you came back from work, did something happen?"

Magnus kissed him on his head, gently, "Maybe, yes. I was thinking...We have a special Santa this year, do you want to come and make your wish?"

"You'd let me again?”

Magnus nodded and heard Max hum happily.

In that last week, Magnus found every excuse to be around Alec, and Alec always welcomed him with his bright eyes and his soft smile. The more Magnus stayed with him, the more he felt the desire to know him better. Magnus found himself thinking about which books Alec liked reading, what kind of movies did he watch, or what was the food he wanted to eat on a snowy night.

Magnus really wanted to invite him for a drink, but it was Christmas week and Max was at home with Cat the whole day, waiting for him to come home. That was what being a father was about. Putting Max first, every time, and Magnus knew not many would want a committed relationship with a lone parent.

Christmas Eve was really busy. Alec was searching for Magnus, but he never showed up. He wanted to see him one last time, since he’d decided not to show up to the party. He wanted to thank him for having made this month the best he had in years. All the customers had almost left when he spotted him at the end of the queue, holding a little boy in his arms, and chatting with him.

Max was the last kid of the day. Magnus knelt, putting him down and letting him walk toward Alec, to make his wish for this Christmas.

He knew that Max always asked for one thing, no matter if it was Christmas or if he was blowing his birthday candle, or watching a shooting star. All the others Santa had always given him silly answers, -- this is not a thing you can ask Santa, or this is a thing you should ask in your bedtime prayers, or Santa brings only toys-- , leaving Max always sad and deluded.

Why was he expecting Alec to give a different answer, he didn’t know.

As Max came closer, Alec opened his arms and pulled him up on his thighs, looking at him.

“And you are?”

“Max. Dad said you are a special Santa, so maybe you are the one who can finally help me with my wish?”

“I’ll do my best. What is it?”

"Can you bring my mum back?"

Alec felt like he had been slapped by a cold hand right on his face, as his eyes filled with tears.

He raised a hand and caressed Max’s cheek, staying silent as some seconds passed by, conscious of the other pair of eyes that were staring at him, aside from Max’s.

Alec thought carefully about the answer and then he started talking, “I wish I could, Max, but I can't. There are many things that happen in life that we can’t turn back or change, no matter how much we’d want or try to. Your mum has passed now and this means she can't come back, but there is something you can do about this. You can find her in the small things of your life, in the scents that remind you of her, in the melody she used to sing when she lulled you to sleep, in the words of a story she used to tell you at bedtime, in the way your smile probably looks like hers, and…,” he raised his gaze to look at Magnus who seemed visibly touched by his words, "... in the love your dad is giving you. In this way, it will be as if she never really left you. I know you miss her presence, her touch, and her voice, but if you close your eyes and search into your heart, you will find her there.”

Max looked intensely at the man in front of him, processing the words, serious and concentrated, then his face brightened in a sunny smile.

“Dad was right, you’re the best Santa I have ever met.” Max replied as he looked between his dad and Santa. He may not have his mom’s warm hugs anymore but Max did have his Dad’s embrace and bedtime stories. “Thank you Santa. I think you’re right.”

Alec let out a startled laugh as he held the candy basket out for Max, “Now, any other wish I can help you with?”

“Is there something you wish to have back and can’t, just like me?” Max finally asked, picking up a candy cane.

Alec inhaled a sharp breath, “Of course there is.”

Max smiled and looked up at Alec, “Then come and spend Christmas with us, so you can tell me.”

Alec cleared his throat, “Leave a plate with cookies and a mug of hot chocolate, and I’ll see what I can do, ok?”

Then he kissed Max on his head, picked his sketchbook and drew a big comet on it. Giving it to the kid he told him, “Never stop believing Max, the best things come to us when we less expect them. Merry Christmas.”

He stood up, tearing another sheet from it, walked toward Magnus who was still kneeling and staring at him, handing him the drawing, “This is for you.”

Magnus looked at his portrait on the paper. He wanted to say something, but voices and laughters were coming from the hall of the mall, signalling that the Christmas party was about to begin.

“Magnus, Max?” they heard Raphael call.

Alec stepped back, grabbed his pencils and went to change his clothes, leaving Magnus and Max there.

He felt his heart aching at the idea of leaving without a word, but he knew that going to the party would have only meant to feel even worse when he had to say goodbye. He dressed up and before leaving he put a drawing next to the locker of each of the persons he had met and worked with, in those days.

“So you’re not coming,” he heard Wei say.

He turned, his eyes were red with unshed tears, that he wasn’t ashamed to show. “It would only be worse later. I’m already lost. I don’t want this to be out in the open, and if I ever get in there, with him, with them, I won’t be able to disguise it. Thank you for being my friend and confidant while I was here,” he told Wei as he hugged him, “Watch over him and make sure he’ll give his heart to someone worthy. Say goodbye to everyone, it’s been an honour working here.”

He patted the man on his back one more time, and then made his way out, deciding to walk home and let the snowflakes wash away the tears that were streaming down his face.

At the party, Magnus was trying to get distracted, but his mind was fixed on Alec, on the way he answered Max, and on the way the boy had seemed to want Alec in their lives.

Maybe he was the right one.

He would have asked him out, if only the man would show up, but he didn't, and Magnus had lost his hopes.

He was standing next to the bar, drinking and staring into the void.

"Drinking to celebrate or to forget?" Wei asked him.

"Neither of these, just drinking and enjoying the two days of rest we have ahead of us."

The old man hummed and took a glass himself.

"It seemed you were searching and waiting for someone who didn't come," he said, “Alec went away."

Magnus frowned and then exhaled, his voice turning sharp and bitter, "Ah yes, I call it the lone parent effect. It never fails to strike."

Wei looked at him, savouring his cocktail. The man looked to be weighing something in his mind before he spoke.

"He went away because he has feelings, and feared that these weren't reciprocated."

Magnus put down his glass on the counter.

"Who told you?"

"He did, just before leaving. And that's not the only thing I know about him."

Magnus shook his head, smiling, feeling his heart expand.

"Sit here with me and let's have a talk, Magnus."

The morning sun hit Alec right in the eyes and he cursed himself for not closing the curtains enough last night when he’d come home. He remembered feeling sad and being a bit tipsy, after stopping along the way to have a couple of beers.

He wasn't really used to drinking, so he always ended up confused and hobbling, until there was a couch or a bed to fall into.

Alec got up and stretched his arms and legs, staring at the thick snow already covering the roofs, and still falling from the pearly grey sky.

Jace and Izzy were out of reach for a couple of days, trapped in all those pompous meetings his parents always held at their place.

He put the coffee pot on the stove and took a pan, opened the fridge and looked at the watch. Nine o'clock. It was going to be a very long day.

He toasted some bread and cooked two sunny side up eggs, and put the plate on the table. He was scrolling his phone while eating, chuckling at the secret pics his siblings were sending him, before taking the still fuming cup of coffee, and going back to the couch, opening a book.

After a while he went to take a shower and then warmed some other coffee before getting dressed.

That's when he heard the doorbell ring.

He quickly put on a thorn old sweater he used at home and a pair of loose sweatpants. It must have been the old lady on the first floor, she knew he was alone.

He opened the door, threading his hand through his already ruffled hair and lost all his capacity to think and speak when he saw Magnus and Max, hand in hand, standing on the threshold of his small apartment, on that Christmas morning.

He wanted to say something, but didn't know where to start from. Magnus was looking at him, a shy smile on his face, a doubtful look in his eyes, as if he was sorry for showing up without calling him first.

Luckily Max was there too.

"So your real name is Alec?" the boy asked him.

Alec looked at Magnus, asking for silent permission, before nodding back.

"Me and dad had a talk about Santa," Max giggled, "he says that mall Santas are only interns right now. Like high ranking elves! Now I know why no one could help me, but at least, your words were honest, and we are here for a reason," and he elbowed his father on his leg.

Magnus seemed lost for a moment, trying to find the right words, then looked at Alec and said, "We were wondering if you would come and spend these two Holiday days with us. Our home is big enough and we have a spare room."

Alec looked at him and shrugged, incredulous.

"I want you to come, Santa Alec, please."

"And you?" Alec asked Magnus.

"I would love to. I would love to know you better, if you'd let me."

Alec smiled and it felt as if the sun had ripped through the clouds, even if it was still snowing, "I would love that too."

Magnus winked at him, "So that's settled. We will wait for you in the car while…"

Alec grabbed his wrist, pulling him inside.

"I'm sorry I didn't invite you in, I was… distracted. If you both don't mind the small place, I have some warm coffee and I can make you a hot chocolate Max."

As they sat on the couch, Alec warmed the coffee and prepared the chocolate.

The radio was playing in the background -- It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas --, Alec looked at Magnus intensely as he handed him the cup, and maybe, from now on, life was really beginning to look a lot like something they had been waiting for, for a long time.

#notquiteascrazy #malecsanta20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

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llodblinky · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 6:

After touching down on the landing pad. Cirina and Perimu head swiftly to the Rogue’s Guild hideout. Along the way Jacke finds them and tells them to hurry, urgent news awaits them. Once they’re settled in, Jacke begins.

“Well shit is about to hit the fan soon, from what we’ve heard Maelstrom command has received an anonymous letter stating that the ‘true leaders will rise from the remains of Limsa and create a truly free sea.’”

Everyone is quiet, aware of the means to accomplish this. They all look around the room, Jacke breaks the silence.

“Alright, I’m sure Maelstrom and the Yellow Jackets have it covered, but just in case we’re gonna have eyes and ears all around and be ready to help stop. This is our home after all.”

Everyone cheers and claps. Cirina stands up, and begins to speak.

“I can take the sector near the smithys’ guilds. Nearby open area and not a bad place to set up to sink a large portion of Limsa.”

Jacke nods in agreement, Perimu raises his hand to join Cirina on watch there. V’kebbe volunteers to take a 3 man team to watch around the Aetheryte. Jacke says he’ll keep an eye near the aft castle. Once the teams are set and everyone picks a sector they all part and go on lookout for the renegade pirates.

All set, the rogues lie in wait for this group to reveal themselves.

Cirina is chatting with Perimu when they notice a couple of people lugging a large chest in the alleys opposite of their position.

"Perimu, look." Cirina slyly moves her eyes towards the men to signal her compatriot of their movements. He glances and nods in affirmation, the two move gradually, tailing the suspicious group. They are lead to an alley that leads to the plaza, Maelstrom HQ, and the docks. A staging area perhaps?

After a few moments, others appear and share details of the plan. It is revealed that the large chest is indeed the bomb, and they’re planning on leveling Limsa and throwing the city into chaos. The Black Sarcophagus from a month ago is the bomb!? Back when she, X, and Llod fought those men. It's them again, The Reformists. She thinks to herself.

From behind, three men discover them. Outnumbered if the rest are to surround them they deploy smoke bombs and retreat so they can inform Jacke. The duo barely escape their clutches..

After rendezvousing with Jacke, he directs Cirina to go get V'kebbe and the others. Perimu to observe the Aftcastle area and stay hidden.

“We'll need everyone if we're to come out on top. Everyone know their roles?"

They nod and move in the defense of Limsa.

After arriving at V'kebbe's post Cirina realizes she is nowhere in sight. Nor the team she had brought with her. A commotion takes Cirina's notice and she rushes toward it, the markets. She wonders if V'kebbe's team had made a move. Upon arriving, Cirina sees some of The Reformists holding a couple hostage, and making a rather large commotion of it at that.

Could this be a diversion for their boss and the rest?

As she finishes her thought, two rogues drop from above and seperate the hostages from their captors.

"Oi, what're you stupid blokes doin? Git em!"

At the command, the two are surrounded, but the odds are again turned as V'kebbe and the other two of her team attack from behind, neutralizing a few of the goons.

"Thank goodness." Cirina remarks to herself.

The two sides break out into a scuffle, the civilians start to move away from the scene and the Yellow Jackets move in.

"Rogues!? What's goin on ere?"

"Long story short, these guys are with The Reformists, and are planning on blowing Limsa up. So, lend a girl a hand would ye?" V'kebbe responds.

Finally noticing Cirina, V'kebbe shouts toward her.

"Oi fledgling, find Jacke and tell em that they're aiming for the Aftcastle, got it!?" V’kebbe yells.

Cirina nods and goes to run, but is met with a few more of the Reformist goons. They swing at her, but she is able to gracefully avoid them while jumping overhead and landing behind them. With no time to lose she opts to keep running to find Jacke with no time to lose. Luckily she isn't followed as more Yellow Jackets arrive on the scene.

Once she catches up to Jacke, who is now surrounded by three more goons, she takes one out swiftly and relays the news to Jacke.

"Aftcastle eh? Figured as much. Perimu should still be in the area. Be a dear and back him up alright? I can handle these two with both me arms tied." Jacke jests.

"Ok Jacke, best of luck." She says.

“Ah who needs luck when you make your own?” Jacke responds

Cirina disengages and rushes toward the Aftcastle. Both of the goons lunge for Jacke, but he simply sidesteps them and gives them both a swift kick to their asses.

"Really, that's the best you lot got?" He snickers. “Well at least you’ll be a decent challenge.”

After arriving, Cirina takes cover, scanning the area for Perimu. She spots him and V’kebbe attempting to fight The Reformists and their leader Aisibhir who are setting up the Black Sarcophagus. They are unfortunately outmatched in number and pushed back. Aisibhir laughs and snorts as he knows that nothing can stop them from realizing their goal of a ‘free’ Limsa for pirates.

“Pathetic whelps, you can’t stop us from freeing the masses of Limsa, and bringing back the days where pirates could do as they please. No more restriction or damnation from Merlwyb and her Maelstrom nancies!” Aisibhir lectures.

As he gloats, Cirina’s gaze is taken away from the sun in her eyes. A reflection from glass being used by Jacke to get her attention. He gestures to the fellow rogues behind both him and her, ready to take down The Reformists. In one hand motion, they move in to confront this threat to Limsa’s safety.

“You two ok?” Jacke asks V’kebbe and Perimu.

“Aye boss, we ain’t hurtin nothin bad.” V’kebbe assures.

“And look here, your goals and ideals end here. You’re a threat to the stability of life and here and I’m sick of lookin at yer ugly mug on top of things.” Jacke remarks.

Aisibhir’s smile turns into a scowl, and he waves his hand.

“Get them you maggots! Tear them apart!” He roars.

The Rogues engage with The Reformists over the fate of Limsa, both sides give and take, neither willing to give. The clashing of their ideals and ways of life. Jacke is locked in intense combat with Aisibhir, a slight miscalculation would mean the end for either as they ferociously battle. V’kebbe and Perimu are holding their own despite their wounds, whilst the greener rogues are fighting their best but it isn’t going to be enough. Cirina aids the ones she can, suddenly a constant beeping noise is heard coming from the aftcastle.

“Yarharhar, that’s it mateys, The Black Sarcophagus is now armed! Soon, soon we shall open Limsa’s eyes!” He Aisibhir brags while swinging his axe at Jacke.

“Gods dammit, at this rate it’ll go off before the fighting is over. Cirina! Break off and disarm that bomb, we’ll handle the rest.” Jacke commands.

Cirina takes a swift look towards Jacke and the others and heads off, breaking through the Reformist’s line sprinting past them for the detonators.

Three. I can hear three beeps distinctly. So there’s three detonators. Gotta find them all and break them good.

She approaches the first one and scuffles with its two guards, the archer misses gravely and Cirina knocks her out with no issues. The swordsman lunges for her as her back is turned, but she spins around and parries as she does. Driving her daggers into his feet, then swiftly standing up as her head finds his face knocking him out cold as well. Retrieving her weapons she continues on.

The second one is better guarded with two archers, a swordsman and an axeman. The man with the axe charges her first, his first mistake, as he misses. Cirina uses his own weapon as a jumping point towards the wall, pushes off the wall toward him again and swiftly spin kicks him in the back of the head. He’s out cold, now only three left, she throws a smoke bomb at the archers to keep them occupied while she handles the swordsman. He takes two swings, advancing as he does and positions her between him and the wall. Delivering a swift kick to her abdomen, she is sent into the wall and reels from the pain.

Getting back to her feet, Cirina is able to dispatch him with ease afterwards, but a narrow miss from an arrow brings her attention back to the two archers. They proceed to unleash a volley aimed at her but her quick footwork allows her to dance around the barrage. She takes one down, but is knocked by an arrow from the other, proceeding to dispatch him as well. The wound is mild on her left arm and she continues to the last device, time waning.

She reaches the last one with little time to spare, guarded by two swordsmen. Not wanting to waste time she deploys another smoke bomb and runs past them. The two men taking a swing at the shadow wind up bonking each other on their helmets and knocking each other out. She disables the last device with less than a second left on the clock. Cirina races back to the main battle the rogues and yellowjackets are having with Aisibhir’s crew.

Once she reaches the battleground, she is relieved to see it is over. The Yellowjackets taking him and his crew to prison. She strolls over to her mates clutching her wound, one of the captured pirates attempting to mock her. She ignores him, paying him no mind whatsoever which infuriates him. He gets out of his binds to her surprise, blindsiding her, and pulling a hidden dagger slices at her abdomen. It cuts deep, and an unfamiliar surge of energy engulfs her, moving for her. As she draws her own dagger and slices the cur clean through his neck, killing him. Everyone turns to see the commotion. The other rogues are stunned but before they can say anything Cirina collapses from blood loss the purple and red aura dissipating. Jacke and Perimu rush her to any nearby conjurers for fear of her bleeding out.

Cirina...Kharlau…..release me from my chains…..Cirina...Kharlau...release me…

...Who are you…?

I am you…..and you are me…

I...k-killed someone today...was that..because of you!?

We...are one….I am naught...but your own volition….

What!?

You were hurt...weak….I gave you strength…..release me...and it shall be yours...forevermore….

N-no! I don’t want strength like that. It’s twisted....horrendous!!

Tis but arrogance...in time…..you and I...shall truly...become whole...

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years ago

Text

Best Part of Me -Chapter 22

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @alievans007

She stands at the kitchen sink, watching through the window as they sit side by side at the patio table. Millie already in her pajamas, hair still damp from a bath, Tyler in a pair of weathered old sweatpants and tattered t-shirt. Their resemblance striking; same color and texture of hair, same ears and profile, even the same shaped lips and those brilliant blue eyes framed by impossibly long and dark lashes. She’s her father’s child; even more so than the boys; sharing not only physical appearance, but facial expressions and body language. Even now their faces mirror each other: eyes narrowed, and brows pinched together, mouth set in a thin, stern line. A staring contest and a battle of wills that’s lasted for more than a minute with no sign of either weakening or wavering. Millie strict and demanding over how she wants things done when it comes to her birthday invitations, her father wondering just how the hell he’d managed to get himself into such a mess in the first place. They're both ferociously stubborn; Millie even more so. And she always wins; no one is immune to that mop of hair and those eyes and that little voice.

Her father is especially weak when it comes to her. An almost six-year-old able to bring a man that size, and who possesses so much strength and power, to his knees. She’s his number one weakness; always balking at scolding her even when she deserves it, succumbing to all the begging and pleading for ‘one more’ bedtime story even though it always turns into five, finding it incredibly hard to say no and very rarely doing so. While his bond with all the kids is strong, the one with Millie is even more so. Perhaps because she’s the first after Austin’s death; a rainbow baby of sorts. Or maybe because she represents the start of his new life; his second chance. A man that had so little to live for suddenly being given everything to live for. She had been conceived in the most unconventional of place during the most unconventional of times. A little blue-eyed miracle that reminds him every day of just how lucky he is to be on this side of the ground.

“Daddy....I am telling you...” Millie finally speaks, her facial expression never changing and her eyes never wavering from his. “...you HAVE to use the glitter.”

“But I don’t want to use it. That shit gets everywhere. You do it the way you want. Then your mom can bitch at you for getting it all over the place.”

“She’ll bitch at you for letting me use glitter without supervision.”

“I am sitting right here. I am supervising.”

“But you gotta use it too,” she insists. “Or the cards won’t match.”

“They don’t have to, Martha Stewart. Relax.”

“Yes. They do have to match. Why are you being so difficult?”

“Amelia...”

She giggles. “Daddy...”

“You’re not the boss.”

“Neither are you. You just think you are. Mommy’s the boss. Your boss.”

Tyler frowns. “Is that what she said?”

“She doesn’t need to say it. It’s just the way it is. And mommy would tell you to use the glitter too.”

“You and I both know that’s bullshit. She’d never say that. She hates glitter.”

“She hates play-doh and slime,” Millie argues.

“And glitter.”

“She never said that!”

“Excuse me? Yes, she did. After your brother got mad at you and dumped a whole container of it in your backpack. Remember? When we still lived at the old house?”

“Oh yeah,” Millie scowls, then pulls her top lip between her teeth and then releases it with an audible ‘pop’. “...well I guess that means you should be really, really careful with it then.”

“I guess that means you should get someone else to help. A glitter bitch.”

“Daddy! That’s a bad word! Why do you have to give me such a hard time? Don’t be like all the other boys in the house. Please don’t.”

“How would like another brother?” Tyler counters.

She gives a dramatic gasp. “Why would you do me like that? Isn’t three enough? Why so many boys? Boys are dumb. And annoying. Except you of course.”

Grinning, he lays a hand on the top of her head and presses a noisy kiss to her temple. “You are so lucky you added that last part.”

“Why? What would you do? Nothing. Because you love me too much.”

“You know what?” His voice and face are stern at first, but then a slow grins spreads from ear to ear and he scoops her up and places her in his lap; pressing kisses against her cheeks and rubbing his beard against her skin until she’s giggling and squirming in a half assed attempt to escape; little hands on his cheeks trying to push him away, the squeals becoming even louder when his fingers dig into her stomach and start tickling.

“What?” Millie asks, when the playful assault ends, and she kneels in his lap facing him; hands delicately cradling his face, a look of pure adoration on her face as she regards him. “What daddy?”

“Get back in your seat and hand me the goddamn glitter.”

Esme laughs and then turns away from the window, busying herself with making a tea and a coffee and tidying the kitchen. The house is eerily quiet for only nine at night; both Declan and Addie fast asleep upstairs, Mac curled up under her crib, snoring lightly. Normally the twins are still tearing around. Either tormenting one another or their older sister or burning off the last of their energy in the pool or down on the beach. She misses them; the dirty handprints that she is constantly wiping off every surface, the sand that they track through every inch of the house, those little voices –and even their squabbling- and the way they eventually fall asleep either spread out on the couch with the tops of their heads touching, or on the bottom bunk pressed back to back.

They’re a handful and have been since day one; a pregnancy filled with complications and scares. But they’re a joy. Rambunctious and mischievous. Fearless to a fault. Always willing to try new adventures, as long as they’re together for them.

The sun is beginning to set as she steps out onto the patio, and the strings of solar powered white lights wrapped around the patio railings springing to life, bathing the area in a soft, almost soothing glow. And she places the steaming mug of coffee on the table in front of her husband, then lays a hand on the back of his neck and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Despite the outwardly display of confidence and the rare genuine smile that crosses his face, he’s struggling. The last couple of days have been especially rough; medications not enough to take away that edge and that sense of impending doom she knows he’s feeling. It’s so many things: TJ’s troubles, Millie’s rapidly approaching sixth birthday, the situation with Ovi and the very real possibility of having to get back in the game. But he gives her an appreciative smile and lays a hand on her hip; gently squeezing before allowing his hand to lightly slide over her ass.

“Just what are you guys doing?” she inquires and slips into the chair at the head of the table; a foot on the seat, bottom of her hoodie pulled over her knee.

“I don’t even know anymore,” Tyler admits. “I just do what I’m told.”

“We’re making birthday invitations,” Millie says. “Glittery ones.”

“Yeah...I see that...” Esme frowns, then moves her seat back from the table to avoid any wayward sparkles. “You know that crap is going to be everywhere for weeks, right?”

“Daddy already has it in his hair,” Millie giggles. “And in his beard.”

“Because you thought it would be hilarious to dump glitter in your hands and rub them all over my head,” he complains.

“It was funny!” she exclaims. “You’re going to be sparkly forever now. A sparkly daddy.”

“Like one of those vampires in Twilight,” Esme muses, and he gives her a dirty look. “Just much more handsome.”

“I have vampires,” Millie announces. “Daddy could kick their asses.”

“Damn right,” he agrees.

“Daddy would kick all the monsters’ asses, right daddy? Like you kicked all the bad guys asses. Do you miss kicking bad guys’ asses?”

“You know what I miss? I miss when you didn’t say ass every five seconds.”

“Better than the s word or the f word,” she reasons, and kneels in her chair to reach for plastic container full of pencil crayons sitting in the middle of the table. “Do you? Miss kicking the bad guys’ asses?”

“Nope,” he quickly replies. “I don’t.”

Esme knows it isn’t the entire truth; someone just doesn’t give up a job...a life...like the one he’d been leading and not experience some fall out. It’s fast paced and generous; living life constantly on edge and waiting for the other shoe to drop. Days and sometimes weeks of putting your ass on the line to help a stranger; shedding a lot of blood, sweat, and tears for that pay out in the end. The job is exhilarating; every mercenary will admit to that. That there’s a certain rush that comes with the intensity. And most won’t say it out loud, but there’s a feeling of satisfaction you get when you witness revenge and karma up close; even if it means you’re delivering them yourself with your bare hands.

His entire adult has been that existence. First the military, then the job. And there’s no way he doesn’t miss. It’s quite the change; going from that life to one of routine and domesticity.

“I bet the bad guys don’t miss you,” Millie muses. “They were tired of getting their asses kicked. But who does it now that you don’t? Who goes after the bad people?”

“Other guys,” Tyler responds.

“What other guys?”

“Guys like me. Who do that sort of thing. There’s lots of guys like that out there.”

“And girls too?”

“I guess. I suppose there’s girls out there that do that kind of thing. Mommy did.”

Esme directs a kick to his shin under the table, then shakes her head when he gives her a quizzical look.

“Mommy sort of did that job,” he quickly adds. “She helped guys like me out. She helped track down the bad people and then told guys like me where we could find them.”

“Mmmm...” Millie considers this, head cocked to the side, eyes focused on the drawing she’s creating. “....is that how you met?”

“Yup. When I used to live here before I had you or your sister or your brothers.”

“In this house?”

“Not in THIS house. In my old house. Well it wasn’t really a house. It was more like a shack. But there’s where I met mommy. A long time ago. Auntie Nik brought her there and introduced us.”

“We should go there sometime,” Millie suggests. “To your old place. To see it. Who lives there now?”

“A friend of mine. You met him a few times when you were a baby.”

“I want to go there,” she decides. “To your old place. I want to see where you met mommy. Is that where you helped put me in her tummy?”

“No. That happened somewhere else,” Esme speaks up. “In an entirely different country. In Bangladesh. A place called Dhaka. Daddy and I were working there. That’s where you were made.”

“We should go there too,” Millie concludes.

“Yeah, that’s a no from me,” Tyler says. “That’s not a place I want to go back to.”

“Is that where you almost died?”

Esme watches her husband’s face; mug pressed against her lips as she waits for his reaction. Noticing the small intake of breath and the slow, steady way he releases it. The way his shoulders tense and his leg begins to shake back and forth underneath the table.

“Yeah...” he finally speaks, then turns his attention towards the craft in front of him. His eyes are dark and that vein in his neck...the one that had to be surgically repaired after being blown out by Farhad- begins to pulsate. “...that’s where I almost died.”

“How?” Millie asks.

“You know what,” Esme comes to his aid. “This isn’t a good time to talk about these kinds of things. Not so close to bedtime, okay Millie? It will give you nightmares and as much as we love you, we don’t want you sleeping with us until you’re eighteen.”

“It won’t give me nightmares,” she argues. “I’m fine.”

“Amelia...” Her tone and her face are stern; the warning in her voice noticeable enough that her daughter looks up at her. “Not right now. Thank you.”

Silence falls on the table, no further conversation for several minutes. Nothing but the sound of the waves rolling onto the shore, the slight rustle of the trees, and the soft scrape of pencil crayons against paper. And Tyler reaches under the table to lay a hand on Esme’s thigh, squeezing lightly and giving her a small, grateful smile. There are days when he can talk openly and honestly about what happened in Dhaka. He was able to tell the therapist the whole story without even breaking a nervous sweat. But there’s other times where it’s unbearable; the memories too strong and too painful. The mental wounds still too fresh and feeling still too raw.

“Look at you,” Esme laughs, and the lays a hand on the side of his face and turns his head towards her. “You have glitter everywhere. It’s all in your beard. It looks like you went down on a stripper. I hope you don’t think you’re coming near my bits looking like that.”

He grins. “Oh, I so am.”

“Like hell you are. Last thing I need is being sparkly down there. I don’t know how you’re going to get all that out of there,” she vigorously rubs her palms against her beard, then frowns as she studies the purple and silver flecks left behind on her skin. “It couldn’t at least be a good color that brings out your eyes?”

“Might have to just shave the whole thing off,” he says.

“Like hell you will. We’ve talked about this. Do you want a divorce? Because that’s how you get a divorce.”

“You don’t even know what I look like clean shaven.”

“You’re not Tyler without a beard. Your kids won’t even recognize you. That's how they know you. That’s how I know you.”

“Don’t do it, daddy,” Millie implores. “You’ll look totally different. Like a stranger. I want you to look like daddy.”

“Two against one,” Esme says. “The beard stays.”

“You only look like the beard because when we do...well when I do...you know... you like the way it feels.”

“I’ll give you that. But it’s also because it’s rugged and manly and you look so freaking sexy with it. Even with silver and purple glitter in it. Speaking of glitter....” she stands up and picks up on of the finished creations. “...I take it she mentioned her party and you went along with it.”

“Come on, you knew I wouldn’t say no.”

“I did,” she admits. “But that doesn’t mean I want you to be completely uncomfortable and miserable, either. That’s a lot of people. Here. In your space. I know how much you value your space. So, if you think it’s too much to deal with...”

“I’ll be okay,” he says. “I’ll deal.”

She stares at him pointedly, brows arches.

“I’ll be fine, babe,” he assures her, and reaches out to lay a hand on the small of her back. “It’ll be okay. I’ll be okay.”

“Daddy’s tough,” Millie declares. “Super tough.”

“Yes,” her mother agrees. “The toughest guy I’ve ever known, that’s for sure.”

“Is that why you fell in love with him?” Millie inquires. “Because he’s tough?”

“There’s a lot of reasons why I fell with him,” Esme replies, as she sits back down in her seat and places her feet in her husband’s lap. “I guess being tough was once of them. Because I knew that I’d always be safe, and I’d have nothing to be scared of when he’s around. That he'd always be willing to protect me and be able to physically do it.”

Tyler smiles and gives her a wink, his hand giving her foot a squeeze.

“He also had really cool hair and crazy beautiful eyes,” she continues. “And big arms. Not to mention that face. Pretty damn handsome, I think. He was kind of mean though. When we first met.”

Millie’s eyes widen as she looks towards her father. “You were mean? To mommy?! Did you make her cry?”

“I did not make her cry and I was not mean.”

“Not right away,” Esme says. “But he got really mean and really bossy when we got to Dhaka.”

“Listen, your mom’s not telling you the truth,” Tyler address his little girl. “I got a little mean, yeah. You want to know why? Because even then your mommy didn’t like to listen to a word I say. And I was in charge and she did something I told her not to and she got in trouble and I got mad.”

“I just put him in his place though,” Esme says with a shrug as she sips her tea. “That just made him even more mad and even meaner. Deep down though, I think he liked it. A woman being all assertive and aggressive with him.”

“I’m not afraid to admit that I liked it. I liked it a lot.”

“That was obvious,” Esme grins, and presses her toes into his crotch.

“You think I’m tough, Millie? Your mom’s even tougher than I am. Hands down the toughest woman...person...I’ve ever met. She’s little, but she’s bad ass.”

“Like me!” Millie cheerfully exclaims.

“You’re exactly like her in a lot of ways. You know how tough someone has to be to trick the bad guys into telling her secrets and letting her know where they are? Crazy tough. When you get older, I’ll tell you a story about how she handled things in Ireland against some pretty scary people. She went in there and talked them all by herself. She wasn’t even scared. Not for a second. I was proud of her. Insanely proud.”

“Don’t make me cry,” Esme pleads, and gives him a brilliant smile. “Because my hormones are all over the place since having your daughter and I’m liable to bawl at anything.”

“Mommy’s the most amazing person I’ve ever known,” he continues. “Not a lot of people would do what she did. When she stuck around to help me in Dhaka. No one else was going to do it. I would have died if she hadn’t had been there.”

“But you didn’t,” Esme says. “And that’s all that matters.”

She hates being praised for it; truly believing that she’d done what anyone with a conscience and an ounce of compassion would have done in that situation. Ovi had been too young; there’s no way he should have had to spring into action and shoulder that kind of responsibility. But there’d been no excuse for Nik. There were other team members there; they could have easily kept the situation under control while she held; at least lending a hand to control the bleeding long enough to get him into the chopper and get both Ovi AND him out of there.

And she’ll hold that grudge for the rest of her life; every time the subject of Dhaka comes up or she looks at the scar on her husband’s neck.

****

Ovi arrives just as darkness fully sets in, standing on the bottom step of the patio; cautiously watching them for several minutes, hands shoved in his pockets, nervously rocking back and forth on his heels.

“You don’t have to just stand there, mate,” Tyler speaks up. “You can join us, you know.”

The younger man breathes a sigh of relief as he climbs the steps, giving Esme a small, apologetic smile which she returns with a curt one of her own before looking away. Their talk the night before had left a bitter taste in both of their mouths; she’d been harsh and brutally honest and refuses to make any apologies for it. She doesn’t understand how, despite all of the things he’s seen and heard in Dhaka and the years following it, that he can be so steadfast about diving headfirst into such a dangerous life. She’d laid out the hardest of truths she possibly could; the long-lasting effects on Tyler’s mental and physical health, the demons and the monsters that prey on every day, the trickle-down effects and impacts the entire family. Yet he remains determined. Either too stubborn to face the truth, or too just immature and ignorant.

“Millie, why don’t we go inside and get a bedtime snack,” Esme suggests, when Ovi steps up onto the patio, finishing the last of her tea and pushing her chair away from the table. “You can finish these tomorrow, okay? I think daddy’s had just about as much glitter and coloring he can take.”

“Okay,” she willingly –and surprisingly- agrees. “You’ll still tuck me in right, daddy?”

“You know it. Just come and get me when you’re ready, yeah?”

Nodding, she curls an arm around his neck and sweetly pecks his lips. Then scurries over to Ovi and wraps her arms around his, tightly squeezing.

“I can’t deal with this tonight,” Esme says, when Tyler catches her by the wrist before she can leave, a concerned and almost puzzled look on his face. “I don’t want to deal with it all. You do what you have to do. I don’t want to hear any more about it.”

He nods in understanding, and she leans down to press a soft, quick kiss to his lips before ushering Millie into the house.

“I think she’s still mad,” Ovi comments, as he drops into a chair at the end of the table.

“Really?” Tyler scoffs. “What gave you that impression?”

Standing, he begins tidying up the table, stuffing pencil crayons, glue sticks, and tubes of sparkles into small plastic storage containers. A far cry from when his hands used to inflict pain and even death on others; glitter caked under his nails and stuck to his fingers as opposed to blood and dirt. And it horrifies him how disappointed he feels over the thought; how blood seemed so much better and easy to accept than a child’s craft supplies. It’s not the first time in six months he’s missed what things were like before, and he knows it won’t be the last. That it will always be there; that side of him that had actually enjoyed the job and the payday that came with.

And it fucking disgusts him.

“I understand why she’s upset,” Ovi says.

Tyler regards him, eyebrow arched. “Do you? ‘Cause I don’t think you do.”

“She doesn’t want you getting back into this. Into that job. Into the job. Because if what happened in New Zealand.”

“Do you even understand what went on there? Why I left? Why I called it quits and came home? Because something tells me you don’t.”

“Mental health issues.”

“That’s part of it. I came home because I couldn’t fucking do it anymore. I’d had enough. Of that life and all the bullshit that came with it. Fucking death and blood and gore and everything that came with it. Helping people that don’t give a shit if I’m alive or dead at the end.”

“I gave a shit,” Ovi reminds him.

“You know how long I’d be doing the job? Almost sixteen years. That’s a fucking lifetime for guys like me.”

“Guys like us,” the younger man stresses.

“You’re not there yet. You might not even get there. You might not even get past what I have in store for you. You want to think it’s all a big game and that it’s something you ‘just want to try out’? Well you’re going to see just how fucking fun it is when I get a hold of you. So if you’re having any second thoughts, I’d back out now before it’s too late and I have you curled up in a ball of your own puke and piss.”

Ovi blinks at the harshness in his voice.

“You wonder why she’s upset? Why she’s pissed off with you? With the whole fucking world right now? Do you know how many promises I’ve made to her that I’ve broken? So many that she doesn’t even believe me when I make promises anymore. That’s fucking sad. It’s pathetic. And here I am, breaking another one.”

“You’re not exactly...”

“You know what? You don’t get to talk. You're just going to sit there and listen to what I have to say. You want to be a man and make these kinds of decisions? Then you sit there and let another man tell you the way things are. I’m not just random off the street that doesn’t know what he’s talking about. The job was my life. It’s who I was. And when I walked away, I thought I left it behind. And then you come along with this bullshit...”

“Tyler...I...”

“Just shut the fuck up and listen,” he growls. “I’m not fucking around here, Ovi. I’m not pulling any punches. It wasn’t just the job that screwed with my head. There was a lot of things that fucked me up. Things you don’t even know about. All the way back to when I was a kid. But the job? The job fucked me in more ways than you can even begin to imagine. You think it’s fun killing people? That I actually enjoyed it? I took pride in it?”

Ovi shakes his head.

“I did it for the money. That’s it. I didn’t do it to help people. I didn’t give a shit about myself, why would I give a shit about them? And then you came along, and Dhaka happened, and that was my one chance to make things right. For redemption. To prove I wasn’t a shit human being. And part of me was ready to die that day. More than ready. And another part of me wanted to stay alive because I thought maybe...just maybe...I’d met someone that could teach me how to give a shit again. That would actually give a shit about me.”

“She obviously did. And still does. Or she wouldn’t be here.”

“She stayed behind on that bridge. Knowing there was a chance that Asif would get a hold of her. Do you know what would have happened to her if he had? What he would have done to her? Way worse than he would have done to you. He would have killed you quickly. He would have waited days with her. Weeks. Until he was bored with her; tired of doing all kinds of sick and twisted shit to her.”

Ovi swallows heavily, tears welling in his eyes.

“And she still stayed. Knowing what would happen if she got caught there. Fucking Nik took off. She wasn’t even going to come back for us. Everything should have told Esme to leave me there and she didn’t. So don’t come here...to my house...and even think about disrespecting my wife.”

“I wasn’t going to. I...”

“You didn’t even give a shit about what she had to say last night. She’s trying to save your life and you didn’t even care. She doesn’t want you ending up like me, don’t you fucking get that? You think I want to be like this? Fucked in the head? Having to take medication every morning to just goddamn function like somewhat of a human being? You think I want my wife and my kids to see me like this? What the hell is wrong with you that you can’t see what the job does? It hasn’t just fucked me up, it’s fucked all of them up. My wife, my kids. Why can’t you see that?”

“I don’t expect you to get back into the job. Just to help me. And you said you would. With the training. You said...”

“You think it’s really going to stop there? That that’s going to be enough? I’m going to get dragged back into this shit. You know it, I know it. Esme knows it. And it’s fucking killing her inside. Because I told her that this time I was done for good. And now look. Look at the goddamn mess you’ve gotten me into.”

“I never meant to...”

“Never meant to what? Bring me back into it? Bullshit. It’s what you wanted right from the get-go. You never wanted to do this alone. You wanted me with you right from the start. Well now you got what you want. You’ve got me right back into this crap. Whether I want to be in it or not. You know I wouldn’t let you do it alone. You damn well knew from the start I’d never let that happen, didn’t you.”

Ovi reluctantly nods.

“Well I hope you’re prepared then. Because I’m not going to make this easy on you. You want me to drag me off to some shit hole and get me killed, I get to do things my way. And I swear to Christ, if my marriage falls apart because of this and I lose my kids....”

“You won’t. That won’t happen. She’d never leave. You know she wouldn’t.”

“I know she WOULD. Don’t tempt it. I break one more promise to her and it’s done. She’ll take off and I’ll never see my kids again. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making yours miserable because of it. Understand me?”

“I don’t understand why you’re both so worried. Why you’re both so upset. I don’t...”

“What if I don’t come back?” Tyler angrily interjects. “What if this is the one time no one is around to save me? What if it’s the one time a sniper puts a bullet in my head instead of my chest? Do you know what I leave behind? Five kids. Five little kids that deserve so much better than this. Does that even matter to you? Do they even matter to you?”

“Of course they do!” Ovi exclaims. “I love those kids! They’re my brothers and sisters! How could you even ask me that? How could you...?”

“You love them but you’re willing to take their dad away from them? It’s okay that I go in there to rescue your ass, but I get killed for it? I leave them behind; I leave Esme behind. Do you know what that would do to her? Me not coming back? Like what the fuck?” He angrily tosses the craft supplies into a storage container on the edge of the patio and slams the lid closed. “Do you not realize everything I stand to lose?”

“I do. I do realize that. You have a life. A wife and kids and...:”

“And you’re still going to do it. You’re still going to go ahead with this bullshit.”

Ovi sighs.

“We start the day after Millie’s birthday. I don’t want to hear anything more about it until then. You know you’re more than welcome to keep coming over here, just don’t talk about this again. Not in front of my wife. And especially not in front of my kids. Understand me?”

“I understand.”

“We’re finished here. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. It’s been a long fucking day and I’m done with it. With everything. I’m going into Port Douglas tomorrow to take Millie to see my dad. You can come along if you don’t mention a word of this around her.”

“Okay. I’d like that. To see him again. And I’m sorry. I really am. For all the problems. For all the bullshit. I never meant to cause issues. Especially for you and Esme. I never meant...”

“You come between us and fuck things up, I will make your life hell,” Tyler vows, as he gathers up the dirty coffee mug and steps towards the entrance to the house. “I lose my family because of all this, it won’t end well for you.”

“Tyler, I...”

“We’re done with this,” he says, and then slams the door closed behind him.

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction #extraction #best part of me #chris hemsworth character

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youarejesting · 5 years ago

Text

Femme: 12

[MASTERLIST]

Summary: The year is now 3019. Women were going extinct, cryogenics was the only hope for society. Now Femme Industries is the provider of Females, they use computer analysis and algorithms to match a femme to her male applicants. It is common for femme’s to match with multiple applicants. When you match with seven handsome young men, it is a challenge. But you love a challenge.

Pairing: BTS - OT7 x Reader,

Starring: Big Bang, GOT7, TXT, BlackPink, NCT127 and Twice are going to be introduced and explored fully in later chapters.

Rating: Fluff so far

Warnings: Embezzlement and emergency pet care

Length: 1.2k words

The shower was quickly becoming a place for contemplation, you felt your body getting tired. Drying yourself and wrapping your hair into a towel you stepped out, placing the red robe over your form. You were too tired from your big day out to get dressed. Cleansing, an exfoliating mask, a soft milk wash, toning, two serums, eye cream and then a moisturizer you were done for the night.

You went to leave pulling the towel off your head, throwing it into the towel hamper. Your house slippers slid across the floor with ease, Hoseok smiled at you from the couch. He held his arms out and you slowly sat on his lap hugging him, "I'm tired, it was a big day?"

"Mm you did good Jagiya, you look so happy riding bikeu" He turned you in his lap so your back was against his chest, holding your arms out like you were riding the bike. Making noises and pretending to swerve with even more exaggerating noises.

"It was very fun, where is Chimmy?" You asked Hoseok wrapped his arms around your waist and spoke quietly beside your ear. Your fingers tracing patterns up and down his forearms.

"He went to his room" he gently tickled your side and you squirmed.

"No Hobi, I'm too tired just hug me" He laughed and you lent around Hoseok grab in the fabric bag and pulled out the box that held your phone. He smiled watching you set it up, helping with things you didn't understand, you had set it to English.

Hoseok picked up his phone and placed his on top of mine touching a button and his face popped up smiling cutely and his phone number email address and more. "My first contact" he beamed at your comment and buried his head in your hair.

You then added your boss’ number from the piece of paper in the bag. Smiling while you set his name as 'harabeoji'. Sending him a message for him to see in the morning. Surprisingly he replied telling you were to go to get a uniform and that he had already spoke to the owner.

Hoseok got a call, the tune was a catchy hip hop beat. He answered very professionally which made you lose your breath. His tone was no nonsense and you couldn’t help the feeling that washed over you. This wasn’t your sunshine Hobi boy this was Jay oppa. He gently tapped your leg signalling he wanted you to stand. You slid off his lap and he went to his room. When he stepped back out he had changed grabbed his bag he was pulling on his shoes at the door when you walked over.

You whispered to him asking where he was going, Covering the speaker, "there is an emergency at work I have to perform a quick surgery" he smiled, you ran to the fridge and grabbed some left overs and raced to the elevator, it hadn't arrived yet thankfully.

"Wait Hoseok, I don't know how long you will be out, but you might be hungry, be safe" he turned concerned you handed him the leftovers from last night’s dinner. Giving him a peck on the lips, it was for good luck. He surprised you by grabbing your waist and pulling you in for another kiss.

This one was a closed mouth kiss and a few seconds longer. You were breathless and he smirked as the elevator doors opened. He stepped back into the elevator and chuckled at your flushed face. He tapped your nose with a small boop sound effect. "Don't wait up Jagiya"

"What are you doing outside in a robe?" Namjoon said you looked like you had seen a ghost. Blinking you noticed Namjoon and Seokjin were at the table with some papers between them and tea, you didn't think you had been gone that long. But your mind wasn’t really focused on the time once Hoseok had kissed you.

"I was saying goodbye to Hoseok, he was called in to work, one of the animals needs surgery, I quickly chased him to give him some left overs if he got hungry" You walked over and looked at the papers between them, Seokjin looked stressed and Namjoon was trying his best to help. Realizing this was more important than the cinematic replays of all the kisses you had shared, you took a file labelled monthly expenses.

Comparing the months with each other and then the years, you noticed the increase in expenses began two years ago. You noticed something peculiar. There was two duplicate accounts on the monthly report but only one on the annual. Taking the report from two years ago you noticed that the duplicate had definitely been added at this date. Maybe it was a mistake.

Calculating with your right hand on your new phone, you grabbed a clear folder with your left. It was filled with receipts and you went through each and found the two duplicate receipt you were looking for. They had different information. Someone in the company was embezzling funds from Seokjin’s Hotel.

Looking at the information clearly and pulling out the comparison fund of another Hotel franchise outside of Seoul you matched the correct account and the fraud. "Who is lee Shinho?"

"He is one of the council members trying to get me fired for losing profits, he brags about his new car and yacht and mansion" Seokjin growled you laughed.

"So, why is he stealing money from the company?" The two launched over the table to look at your set up as you explained. Someone was mimicking the exact same account and you were paying twice. Namjoon smiled and began tapping away on his computer, you finished the calculations and turned your phone to them. “He has stolen 2.2 million from your hotel in two years”

Jin was pissed yelling in exasperation about being played. "I will have the warrant in about an hour, to further follow the account trails" Namjoon reassured him scanning documents into the computer and filling out the case report "by morning you can present this to the board of directors"

Seokjin was sent to have a shower to cool off. Preparing lunches you tried to make more elaborate things for them to enjoy. Yoongi walked into the kitchen and grabbed your waist gently pulling you into him. He opened the draw in front of you and grabbed a spoon. He then placed his hand on your head resting it on his shoulder as he swung open a cupboard that would have hit you and removed a mug.

Giggling at yourself for thinking he was being romantic. Technically it was sweet gestures but he was just trying to push you out of the way to make coffee. He turned you in, so you were now facing his chest and neck and his face over your shoulder he boiled the kettle and made a strong coffee. "That was smooth"

He raised an eyebrow down at your smaller form. Grabbing his shoulders for balance you pressed up onto your toes and gave him a peck on the lips. He seemed unaffected giving you a single nod, taking his coffee and heading back to his studio. Did he not like kisses? Pushing the feeling aside you sat back down with the boys and Namjoon grinned "we got the warrant time to begin"

Femme Media 12

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canid-slashclaw · 4 years ago

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The Outliers - A Guild Wars Love Story

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapters 10 and 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16 , Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24, Chapter 25, Chapter 26 Chapter 27

The weekend had come and Kaleb was getting ready to see many of his comrades-in-arms once more. As he was helping Ulfgar with some of the preparations for the upcoming party, he remembered asking his old friend if he had taken Amalthia's ring size measurement.

"Hey Ulf. Have you, by any chance, had time to find out how big a ring will Amalthia need?"

The old norn stopped his work, smiled at his friend then waved for him to come forward. "Come, lad. I've something to show you."

The massive norn took Kaleb to the upstairs room he resided in during his off hours. When he saw the decorations in Ulfgar's sleeping quarters, he was amazed at the number of sculptures and paintings.

Ulfgar opened an ornate wooden chest then pulled out a small wooden box and handed it to Kaleb.

"Open it, lad."

When Kaleb did, he could hardly believe what he saw. Tucked inside the mahogany box was a large diamond ring with a solitaire, brilliant-cut gem.

"My gods, where did you get this? It's…" Kaleb was at a loss for words.

"Beautiful, yes? It was crafted from dwarven gold filigree and the stone was set by one of the finest jewelers in Lion's Arch. Take it, lad. It's yours to give to your love."

"I... I don't know what to say, Ulf. All I wanted was a measurement. I would have eventually found a ring."

"No, lad. The both of yas are like me own adopted kids. I want you to have it, and I won't take no for an answer." The old norn handed him the box.

Kaleb examined the diamond and marveled at its brilliance. "Where did you get this rock?"

Ulfgar walked over to his late wife's dresser and pulled out the tiara. Kaleb could clearly see that the largest stone was missing.

"Ulf. No. I can't accept this."

"Like I said, lad. It's yours. My dear Glorina would be smiling from the Mists right now if she saw a part of her go to you and your mate."

Kaleb bowed in respect to his long time friend then pulled out a bag of gold coins and handed them over. The old norn refused the offer.

"This is a gift, friend. Use the gold elsewhere, perhaps to buy Amalthia a fancy wedding gown," Ulfgar said with a warm smile.

"This is such an honor, Ulf. I'll never forget this. Thank you!"

"No, boy. The honor is all mine."

***

Evening came and several of Kaleb's Seraph army buddies arrived at the Jotun's Corpse to reunite with their comrades-in-arms once more. He had not seen his two closest friends in several months and having them visit their old haunt felt like old times.

"So you're a Lieutenant in the army now, right?" Kaleb asked his friend Cynthia.

"Yes, indeed. Made rank just a couple of weeks ago. So where's the misses?"

Kaleb looked at the front door and pondered. "She went on a few errands. She should be back at any moment."

Brad walked through the door as he held it open for someone else who was entering. It was Amalthia.

"Look who followed me in," Brad said as he turned to help her with some items she was carrying.

Kaleb and Cynthia immediately leapt off their barstools to help her out. Almost immediately, Amalthia was greeted by hugs from both Brad and Cynthia. Kaleb gave her a kiss then carried the items she had bought to their upstairs room.

"It's so good to see you, Ama. How've you been?" Cynthia asked.

Amalthia twitched her ears and smiled. "Just great! Kal and I have been crazy busy with expanding our little business venture."

"Yeah, I heard. Our folks heard about the way the two of you cleaned out that pack of undead over in Seaside Village. Nice piece of work there." Brad complimented her.

"Thanks. He and I work so well together. The coin we earn is just a nice perk."

Ulfgar walked up and boldly gave both Cynthia and Brad a big hug. "So good to see the two of yas again. No worries, all drinks are on the house."

"Ulfgar!" Both of them said in unison as they returned his hug.

"So you're Kaleb's new landlord? I knew that slob could never afford a place on his own," Brad said in jest.

"I heard that, bro. And who says I can't afford it... huh?" Kaleb returned the jab and laughed.

Ulfgar passed out the drinks as Kaleb and Amalthia snuggled close together and Brad and Cynthia did the same.

"I heard you guys have been knee-deep fighting the undead up in Sparkfly. Making any headway?" Kaleb asked.

Brad took a draught and shook his head. "It's a stalemate right now. Those Orrians are endless. It seems like every time we de-animate a bunch, at least two dozen more crop up."

A small, skinny, shaggy-haired young man came running into the bar shouting to the top of his lungs in a panic.

"A bunch of charr are heading this way. They've got weapons galore."

Amalthia looked up and cheered. "It's my warband!"

Kaleb looked at the young man. "It's okay, Flipper. They're Ama's friends... I least I hope they are."

She pointed towards the door and nodded with a smile as she waved to them once they entered. "Hey guys, over here!"

One by one, members of the Blade warband stepped though as humans in the tavern backed away in fear. The leader of the group, Krenesh, seemed to relish in their fear and made every effort to accentuate his menacing facial expression. Navina followed, acting indifferent to the people around her. Bogo and Tovu, on the other hand, made it a point to wave at everyone in the establishment.

"Greetings members of the mighty Blade warband. As owner and proprietor of the Jotun's Corpse, I bid you a warm welcome," Ulfgar said as he waved them over and offered them a selection of drinks.

Amalthia leaped off her seat and gave each member of her warband a traditional charr style handshake by grasping at the base of the forearm. She started with her leader; Krenesh then did the same for each one until she worked her way to Tovu.

"Hey. How did you make it into our warband?"

Tovu said sheepishly. "Nice to see you Amalthia. All of my bandmates were killed in a separatist attack. I was the only survivor. Thus, I became a gladium. If it weren't for Bogo, here, I would still be one too."

Kaleb, meanwhile, reached out his hand to Krenesh. "It's good to see you again, sir. I hope all is well with the Blades."

Remembering their last odd encounter, Krenesh only returned a half-hearted handshake. "Yeah. Couldn't be better. Is the beer around here any good?"

Navina shook her head. "Is that always the first thing you've gotta ask whenever you go someplace new?"

"Oh. Good to see you too, Navina." Kaleb saluted her as well.

She held up her stein returning the gesture. "Same goes for you, loverboy."

"Navi, I missed you!" Amalthia said as she gave her warband sister another hug and clanked her stein in toast.

"Missed you too, cub. So now you and this human are a permanent pair, right?"

"For as long as the other draws breath. Yup!"

As Krenesh began drinking from his mug, Brad approached him from the side.

"So you're the leader of Ama's warband? Name's Brad Pendragon - second in command and best friend to that joker over there," he said as he pointed in Kaleb's direction.

"Damn straight. Mine's Krenesh Howlingblade, but everyone calls me Kren. I heard you're pretty mean with a shortbow. Ranger, I take it?"

Brad smiled as he pointed to himself with pride. "Yup! Mid ranged is my specialty. In fact, I've got a whole team under me who covers that element of the battlefield. Most attackers are caught completely off guard by our strong midline defense."

"Don't listen to this guy. If given the chance, he will brag you ear off all day," Cynthia said as she reached out to the warband leader for a handshake. "Lieutenant Cynthia Waterstone, Thirty First Platoon - I'm in command of this loser here."

Brad looked at her in surprise. "Loser? Wasn't I your fiancé just a few days ago?"

"Like I said, loser." She had to rub it in further.

Kaleb overheard the conversation. "Woah. So you finally worked up the nerve and proposed to her?"

Cynthia laughed.

"Forget it. It was I who proposed to him!"

Brad tilted up his mug and swallowed. "That's what I like, a woman who is aggressive."

"She's your mate, then?" Krenesh asked.

Brad laughed. "I guess you could call her that. She's more like my boss."

Krenesh looked at him straight in the eyes and said in a much more serious tone. "Never let her out of your sight when in battle. I can tell you this from experience, there's nothing worse then... seeing something bad happen to someone you care about."

The charr staggered off with the mug in his hand. Amalthia noticed then walked up to Brad to fill him in on the details.

"Kren lost his closest mate in battle. He still gets worked up anytime subjects like this come up."

Brad bowed his head. "I'm so sorry, Ama. I didn't know. Please give him my condolences."

"It's okay. Navi just told me that Mia was expecting cubs when she was killed."

Navina rapidly gulped down a tall mug of ale while sitting alone at the edge of the bar. As she did so, a scrawny unkempt human approached her from the left side and asked in a leering voice; "um, what kind of drink do ya have there?"

The big female charr took another swig then glanced down at the strange looking little man.

"Alcohol."

"Um. What kind, exactly?" He asked in a sheepish voice.

Her gazed pierced his beady little eyes. "Who wants to know?"

"Lager?"

She shook her head.

"Mead?"

She growled.

"Um... Ale! That must be it!"

"You guessed right after your third try. That must make you pretty smart... for a human."

Flipper smiled upon hearing those words. "May I buy you a drink?"

Her gaze turned to a scowl. "Are you trying to hit on me?"

"Well, I uhh..."

"Cause if you were, I would claw your damn eyes out. Just because my warband sister is into your kind doesn't mean the rest of us are," Navina snarled as she took another draught of ale.

Kaleb saw what was transpiring and rushed in to intervene. "Flipper! What's up, my man!"

"Ohh. Hi, Kal. I was just offering this lovely lady a round of ale," the scrawny kid said nervously.

Kaleb put his hand on the boy's back and laughed. "Look, Flip. She's really not your type. Trust me on this. How about you run to the back and fetch us some fresh casks. Okay?"

"Wait, I was just..."

He was interrupted. "No buts... just go. After all, a thirsty charr is a cranky charr. Now run along."

Reluctantly, Flipper yielded to Kaleb's demands and headed towards the cellar.

Navina looked at Kaleb and commented. "You just saved that meat's life. Any longer and I would have had to wipe his remains off from under my boot."

"Flipper's not a bad kid. He just wants to screw anything that's got a hole somewhere between the legs. I've had to chase him out of the sheep pen on more than one occasion." Kaleb chuckled.

"What's with you male humans and sheep?" Navina shook her head in utter revulsion.

The two male charrs, Bogo and Tovu, noticed a large rectangular object hanging above the bar. Realizing what it was, Tovu asked in an enthusiastic tone, "I wonder what time it is?"

Bogo looked at a nearby cogwheel clock. "Oooo. It's almost time!"

"Hey. Bartender - anyway you can turn that thing on? Project Transmog is about to come on."

Ulfgar shook his head.

Why in the Great Bear Spirit's name did I allow that asuran to talk me into purchasing one of these things?

"Hold on. Let me find the control."

The two charrs looked at each other and grinned ear-to-ear.

Ulfgar found the remote and flipped on the device. Within seconds, the once blank rectangle was now filled with an image of a female sylvari preparing various vegetarian cuisines.

A human patron shouted out loud. "Put it on the Arena Channel. There's supposed to be a tar pit death match between the Twin Sons of Destruction and the Annihilators."

Ulfgar grumbled as he started flipping through the channels.

"Hello ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the Bernie Lomax show. I am your host, Bernie Lomax. Today's topic - gods, do they or don't they actually exist?"

He flipped through to another channel.

This channel depicted a large male charr holding a blowtorch as he began welding together a part to a massive war tank. "Today on Heavy Thunder, we are gonna soup this baby up with five turrets and twenty..."

Ulfgar flipped the channel once more. Krenesh called out. "Hey! Leave it there! I wanted to watch that!"

Bogo and Tovu said in unison. "We called it first!"

Flipping the channel once more to a garden show then to a travel program, Ulfgar finally commented. "Y'know. It is this thing that will truly be the doom of Tyria."

The revelries continued into the early morning hours as Kaleb's and Amalthia's friends had become more acquainted with each other. By this time, Krenesh discovered that he had much in common with Brad and the two of them shared war stories until both were passed out from too much drink. Likewise, Cynthia and Navina found common ground in discussions involving the male species. Bogo and Tovu were beside themselves when Amalthia showed them the outfits that Ariyana had designed. Each of them gave their opinion on the style and composition of the garments as well as which one looked the best on whom.

Once the festivities had ended, both Amalthia and Kaleb were exhausted - not to mention, quite inebriated. Kaleb found enough strength in his body to hoist his passed out mate into his arms and lay her out onto their bed. As she lay prostrate across the sheets, snoring with drool dripping from the side of her muzzle, Kaleb couldn't help but smile. His mind, however, was clear enough to plan what he wanted to do the following day. He clutched the boxed ring in his hands for a moment then carefully slid it beneath the bed, safely out of her sight.

Tomorrow was going to be the big day.

(All chapters have been posted to AO3. Chapter 27 is posted here.)

#gw2 fanfic #guildwars fanfiction #tyrias-library #the outliers #kaleb and amalthia #charr #gw2 human

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barnesthesarge · 5 years ago

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Lost Puppy

Bucky X Reader

IF YOU ENJOYED READING PLEASE CONSIDER SUPPORTING ME AND MY WRITING! MY KO-FI IS IN MY BIO! THANKS!! (:

Summary: You finally get your dream dog, the sweetest puppy ever, one trip to the dog park proves the scariest moment as a dog parent.

Warnings: Swearing, sexual innuendos

The sweet golden fluff jumped into a heap on your lap, actively spilling your mug of coffee all over you in the process. You only sighed and giggled, moving the ball on the cushion beside you and standing up to get paper towels.

“Oh Cap, what am I going to do with you?” As if replying, the small golden retriever sneezed and raced to nip at your ankles. “I have an idea, maybe we can go to that new dog park, you can make some friends, burn some energy, and for once I can relax, who knows brag about you to the other moms.”

Captain jumped back into your lap and began licking every inch of skin he could find, those dark eyes holding so much excitement, yet he knew nothing of what was in store for him today.

Your shower was quick, with the door left open of course, Captain’s little body could only hold so much anticipation away from you. By the time you left the house, it was nine am on a nice chilly Saturday morning. You were almost worried no one would be at the dog park, but pleasantly surprised to see it packed.

Once you opened the gate and shut it behind you, you found a nice bench with a good view of the whole park, “Alright Cap, I’ll be right here, go make some friends.” You took him off his leash and watched him trot to a group of dogs for butt sniffs. A mother and daughter sat down beside you and let their husky off its leash.

“Is this your first time here?” The mom asked.

“Yes, is it that obvious?” You grinned at her, “Mine is the lil'golden puppy over there.”

“Aww he’s a doll! I bet he’s going to fit in pretty good.” Before you could reply, your phone began to ring.

“Oh shoot, I have to take this, can you watch my dog? His name is Captain.” The woman nodded at you and you walked away to answer. “Hello?”

Unfortunately it was your boss, complaining that the woman you were training had been playing on her phone while doing paperwork, and because of that there was plenty of errors. “I need you to come in.” He stated flatly.

“Uhh, sure, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” You hung up with a frown, you’d only been there for--at most--ten minutes. You walked back to the bench to see the woman and her daughter gone, but their husky still running around. You shrugged and looked amongst groups, none of them containing Captain.

You felt your heart stop, so you began walking around and calling his name, tears pooling in your eyes. It was such a stupid idea to have someone you didn’t know keep an eye on your dog, and now you couldn’t find him. Your phone rang again and you groaned, answering the unknown number.

“Hi, is this Captain’s owner?” A low voice asked, almost nervously.

“Yes! Oh my gosh, do you have him?” The voice on the other end chuckled.

“More like he has me, this little sucker really likes chewing on stuff.” The voice paused to scold Captain for chewing on his drawstring, “I’m at the Starbucks near the dog park, I’m assuming that’s where he escaped?”

“Y-yes, I’ll be there in a second, thank you so much.” You hung up and began the slow jog just a block down the street.

You were met with the weirdest sight you’d seen in a while, the famous Winter Soldier sitting on the pavement playing with Captain, a cup of water beside him. You blushed when he looked up at you like he got caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing.

“You must be--I didn’t get your name..” He stood up, holding Captain in his arm while Captain assaulted his face with licks, you were in awe at how handsome he looked.

A black bomber jacket with a blue sweater shirt beneath, and you could see exactly where Captain had been chewing on his sweat shirt string. His cheeks were red from the cold, stubble covering his jawline. He wore a baseball cap over his chocolate-colored locks.

“I’m Y/N.” You grinned as he handed you Captain, he smiled watching Captain turn and cover you with kisses.

“Bucky. He’s very lovely.” He bit his bottom lip, “They have a small hole in their fence. I’m sure this bugger found his way out and down the street. He’s a bit friendly, people only stopped trying to pet him when they realized who had him.”

You looked up at him expectantly, “People fear the Avengers?” You scoffed, “I guess you hear stupid things every day..”

“Normally people don’t fear them, its just me..” He sipped his coffee shamefully.

“Hmm, don’t think I can bring it in me to fear you, especially after seeing you play with Cap in front of a Starbucks.” You grinned teasingly, “I don’t even think I’d see the real Captain America doing that.”

“You named him after..” He trailed off and chuckled, “His name makes sense, Steve.. He was always getting into trouble, seems like this little guy got the same gene.”

You shrugged, “I’m hoping he’ll grow out of it, I figure his little body can only hold so much trouble that he has to let some of it out before he overflows.”

“Oh it’ll only get worse.” Bucky laughed beautifully and you couldn’t help but share his smile.

“Anyways, thank you for rescuing Captain America, I owe you a big one, but unfortunately I have to take this trouble maker home before I’m late to work.” You held out your hand for him to shake and he shook it.

“It was nice meeting you, both of you.” He saluted Cap and you giggled as you put him back on his leash and walked him home.

»»——⍟——««

Next week you found yourself back at the same dog park, this time never taking your eyes off Captain as he played with the other dogs. You watched him so closely you didn’t even notice the person who sat down on the bench beside you.

“Thought I might find you here.” You jumped and he chuckled, “Sorry I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Hey Bucky, how are you?” You smiled, wondering if he had been thinking about you as much as you’d been thinking about him.

“Better now, I find being in the presence of many, many dogs to be comforting.” He looked at you and then looking at Cap playing tug’of’war with a corgi. “How’re you?”

“Well so far I’ve been here for half an hour, and I haven’t gotten called in to work, and Cap hasn’t escaped. I’d say pretty good.” Bucky leaned closer to you.

“If I’m being honest with you Y/N, you owe me another big one. I went and patched up the hole in the fence after we met.” He winked at you and you realized he was flirting with you.

“Y-you didn’t have to do that..” You blushed nervously.

“But I did.” He shrugged, “Maybe to only owe me one again, you and Captain can come grab coffee with me?” His long hair was pulled into a bun on the base of his neck, he wore a leather jacket with a Captain America shirt, black skinny jeans and combat boots.

“Yeah, sure, I don’t want to be in debt to you forever.” As if on cue, Captain trotted over and starting chewing on Bucky’s shoelaces. “I think he wants that coffee Bucky.” You reattached the leash and walked beside Bucky to the Starbucks you first met at.

»»——⍟——««

One coffee date turned into two, and then dinner together, and then seeing movies, reading together, coming over to dance, meeting the rest of the Avengers, and then celebrating Captain’s second birthday.

Now as you laid in bed together, lazily drawing circles on Bucky’s chest, Captain jumped onto the bed and took to Bucky’s other side, getting comfy and laying his head next to yours.

“See? Cap has good taste too babe.” Bucky huffed a laugh and started running his fingers through your hair.

“Hmm, is that the actual reason you weren’t scared when we first met?” He kissed the top of your head and Cap huffed in annoyance, wanting to be pet too.

“Part of the reason, yes, but I wasn’t scared of you in the first place because there isn’t much reason to, forget the fact I didn’t know you had a metal arm, you were wearing gloves you ass.” He laughed loudly, the sound echoing in his chest.

“You’re telling me that you named your dog after Captain America, and didn’t even know his best friend had a metal arm? I mean, I was also all over the news when I was framed for the Vienna bombing.” Cap moved so Bucky would be scratching his chin.

“Okay listen, just because I work for the news paper doesn’t mean I know anything Buck, now shut up or I’ll actually get unengaged from you.” Bucky gasped loud enough to upset Cap, who started licking his face.

“Stop it!” He giggled, “Y/N you and Cap love me too much, you couldn’t live without me!”

“Fine fine! I’m sorry I wasn’t scared of you when we first met, and I’m also sorry that your metal arm is kinda hot and gives good massages.” You moved and reached up to plant a firm kiss on his lips, effectively making Cap jump off the bed to go eat.

“I think my metal arm does a lot more than give good massages doll.” He flipped you over and got on top of you, kissing you again, “It’s also good at picking heavy stuff up.” He said innocently.

“Fucking hell Barnes, there’s no way I’ll willingly become Mrs. Barnes if you don’t finish what you meant.” You growled and he only kissed you again.

“Why don’t I show you instead?” He winked.

»»——⍟——««

Fin!!

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed this as much as I did!! Please consider donating to my Ko-Fi in my bio, I’m about to start college so anything helps! (:

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iffeelscouldkill · 5 years ago

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Adjusting [Part 2: Park]

A/N: Here’s Part 2! Many thanks to @dragonsthough101 for beta reading this and for the lovely, encouraging feedback💖💖💖

If you haven’t read it or want to re-read, here’s a link to Part 1!

Summary: It turns out that there isn’t a blueprint for quitting your job, turning your back on the organisation that you’d built your life around, committing treason and abandoning your friends and family to go travel across the galaxy with a band of wanted criminals. Fortunately, RJ now knows some people who have been there.

Or: Five times that RJ McCabe shares a late-night drink with someone on the Iris 2.

Read on AO3

About a week later, RJ is feeling slightly more at home on the Iris. It helps that it’s a new ship for the rest of the crew, too, and so everyone’s a bit at sea, missing things they used to take for granted and sometimes finding themselves unexpectedly at a loose end.

One of the things that RJ finds hard to get used to is how chatty the crew of the Rumor is. They knew about this from listening to the recordings, but knowing about something and being on the receiving end of it are two very different things. In the IGR, supervisors tended to frown on idle chatter (everything was about maximising productivity, after all) and people were cautious about volunteering details of their personal lives, never quite sure who might be trying to inform on them or get them written up for having a hobby that wasn’t quite above-board. You couldn’t exactly enjoy a conversation with someone when you were constantly watching your words.

But here on the Iris, everyone talks so much, about anything and everything. RJ isn’t used to people honestly trying to get to know them, or to the level of genuine interest that many of the crew have taken in their past, their hobbies, their thoughts, and their likes and dislikes.

RJ knows that Krejjh and Brian mean well, and that Sana cares about every member of her crew (the idea that RJ is included in that category already is still hard to wrap their head around), but it can still be a little much sometimes. They prefer to spend time around Violet, who is more tactful; Park, who is familiar; or Arkady, who is mostly silent except when she’s cracking some honestly hilarious sarcastic jokes.

Nights are still hard, and RJ has more or less become used to taking hours to get to sleep, or waking up in the middle of the night from confused and anxious dreams, but they’re finding things to do with the extra time. Park, who is an incurable bookworm, gifted RJ with a truly staggering number of audiobook files that he’s been keeping on a jailbroken telecomm (a sort of souped-up comm device that Republic employees are issued as standard). RJ has learned things about their former boss’s tastes that they never expected.

(“Park! You know a jailbroken telecomm is considered a Class E banned item, right?” RJ says when Park shows it to them.

“Oh no,” Park replies, deadpan. “Do you think I’ll get in trouble for it?”)

Even more unexpected, though, are the downloads that RJ was given by Krejjh and Brian after they expressed curiosity towards something called ‘Sh’th Hremreh’ that the two were always discussing. Krejjh’s eyes lit up and they immediately began to wax lyrical about the plot and the acting, Brian chipping in with relevant details. Before they knew what was happening, RJ found themself in possession of two whole seasons of a Dwarnian soap opera.

(RJ doesn’t speak Dwarnian, of course, but Brian has a solution for that. “I’ve created my own fansubs,” he says happily. “It’s been a good exercise for my translation skills – don’t want them to get rusty – and it helped Krejjh with their English, back when they were still learning. I upload them to a Dwarnian video site under a pseudonym.”

“They’re very popular!” Krejjh adds proudly.)

So, between audiobooks and Dwarnian soap opera episodes – which are oddly engrossing – RJ has a few ways to take their mind off things, but sometimes it still isn’t enough. On nights like these, RJ makes their way to the kitchen. The crew had made a brief stop-off at an extremely sketchy and borderline lawless moon where a heavily disguised Sana and Arkady did a run for basic supplies, so the tea stocks are replenished – although it’s not great tea. (Apparently, one night of quality herbal tea was enough to turn RJ into a bit of a tea snob).

What they don’t expect is to run into Park, sitting in the darkened kitchen at two o’clock in the morning. The lights flicker on as RJ enters, which means that Park must have been sitting still long enough for the motion sensors to deactivate.

“Oh – McCabe,” he says, looking up. “I mean… RJ, sorry.”

“You can still call me McCabe,” RJ tells him as they pull out the stepping stool, carry it over to the cupboard, and climb up to reach the highest shelf. Park watches in bemusement. “I mean, I still call you Park, unless you’d prefer-”

“No, just Park is fine,” Park assures them. “What are you doing?”

“You’ll see.”

RJ pulls down the little cardboard box, sets it on the table, and opens it to reveal an orderly collection of teabags in rows. “We’re running low on camomile, but I think the peppermint is caffeine-free.”

“What if I want caffeine?” Park asks, eyeing the collection of teabags warily. He looks terrible, with dishevelled hair and dark circles under his eyes.

“That’s too bad, because you’re not getting any,” RJ tells him primly, and takes a bag of peppermint tea out of the box. Park laughs as though it’s been startled out of him.

“Fine.”

As they wait for the water to boil, RJ surveys Park out of the corner of their eye. They realise that they’d subconsciously been thinking of Park as ‘further ahead’ than they were with adjusting to life as an outlaw, given that he’d turned against the Republic first, and actively worked with the crew of the Rumor to carry out the plan on New Jupiter. During the day, he puts up a good front, but RJ can see now how much of that is a front. This hasn’t been easy for Park either.

RJ pours out the tea into two dinged-up tin mugs and hands one to Park. For a while, neither of them says anything.

RJ and Park haven’t talked about the Republic much since leaving New Jupiter. RJ has made the odd quip about working with Agent Goodman, or referenced things that happened in their shared office, and both of them have been providing intel that Sana relays to the resistance movement via the other Violet Liu, but they haven’t had a real conversation about what – and who – both of them left behind. Park seems disinclined to talk about his time in Zone Z, and RJ had convinced themself that the best way to adjust to their new life on the Iris was to draw a line under everything that came before it. There was no point in bringing up old memories.

Except that now, they’re struck by how much they want to talk about it.

“Park,” RJ says in a rush. “Do you… ever miss… being back on New Jupiter? I-I don’t mean the last… part of your time on New Jupiter,” they add hurriedly when Park looks at them. “But… is there anything that you miss about… before?”

Park frowns in consideration. “I miss the amenities, for sure,” he says slowly. “I don’t care what Sana says – the water pressure is not the same in vacuum.” RJ snorts in amusement at that. “And the food was better down there.

“Maybe I miss being on the right side of the law, or thinking I was on the right side of the law – being able to safely move across IGR territory, being able to use my real name and identity. The kinds of things you just take for granted until you can’t do them anymore.” Park pauses, seeming to weigh his next words.

“But the thing is… I never felt safe under the IGR either. You remember what it was like.” Park looks at RJ, and there’s a darkness in his eyes that RJ has only seen there once before: shortly after Park’s return from Zone Z, when they had asked about what happened to his eye. At the time, it had been quickly suppressed, leaving RJ with a vaguely unsettled feeling that they couldn’t pinpoint the source of.

“Everyone constantly trying to inform on everyone else. People disappearing one day without a trace. Wondering if it would be you next. Constantly watching what you said, analysing what you did, looking over your shoulder.” Park gazes off into the middle distance, remembering things that RJ can only guess at. They unconsciously hold their breath, afraid to do or say anything to break Park’s reverie.

“When Major General Frederick came to take me away… there was a part of me that wasn’t surprised. I think I’d almost been waiting for it. The investigation wasn’t going well, and they were looking for someone to scapegoat. It was only a matter of time. Under a regime like the IGR-”

RJ manages to suppress their instinctive flinch at hearing Park describe the Republic in those terms, but only just. In spite of everything they now know to be true about the IGR, it isn’t easy to alter a lifetime of thinking a certain way. Or of not being allowed to think a certain way.

“-you never know when the ground is going to shift beneath your feet. You might cross the wrong person, or do something that you know to be the right thing, and still wind up ‘disappearing’.” Park pronounces the last word with an uncharacteristic bitterness. “So no, I don’t really miss how things were on New Jupiter.”

“Yeah,” RJ says shakily. “You, uh, you make some good points. Hadn’t… hadn’t thought of that.”

Park blinks, and immediately looks stricken. “McCabe– I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t have – I don’t know why I said all of that. I know it wasn’t what you were asking. I’ve just been carrying a lot of-”

“Park, it’s fine. You don’t need to apologise,” RJ says over him. “And you don’t need to try and sugarcoat anything for me. I was a naïve kid when I joined the investigation, but I’m not now. I saw you get taken away, and other people as well. I was terrified. But I found ways to justify it in my head, because I didn’t know what else to do.”

They say this last part, quietly, to the tabletop.

Park rubs his good eye. “I never wanted you to have to go through that.”

“But that wasn’t your fault,” RJ tells him. “It was theirs.”

Silence descends for a few moments, and RJ casts about for a change of subject. “So, uh, have you… heard from Shelley?”

Park shakes his head. “I asked the other Violet to get a message to her, because I wanted her to hear the truth from me and not whatever lies the Regime has decided to put out, but she warned me that it could take a while. I’m not sure if or how Shelley will be able to reply.”

RJ nods, their mouth twisting in sympathy. Shelley is Park’s twin sister, and the two are extremely close. Park hasn’t shared many details about his family life, but RJ has inferred that their parents aren’t around anymore, and that Park and Shelley are each the only family the other has left. It must be incredibly hard for him to be away from her – maybe the hardest thing of all.

“What about, uh… Have you thought of getting in touch with yours?” Park asks, his voice rough. RJ shakes their head.

“No. It would just be…”

RJ hunts for the right words for a long moment, and finally says, “It wouldn’t make much of a difference. To them, the truth would be just as bad.”

Park looks troubled, but he nods. “Okay.” He drains the last of the peppermint tea and smiles a little. “All right, I’ll admit it – the tea has helped. I didn’t even know there was a stash in here.”

“I split the cost with Violet and Arkady,” says RJ. “But it’s meant to be for emergencies only.” When Park quirks an eyebrow, RJ adds, “Insomnia counts as an emergency.”

Park gives that small smile again. “Fair enough. I appreciate it, anyway. You using up your emergency tea on me.”

RJ considers pointing out that they’d been going to make a cup anyway, but decides not to ruin the sentiment. “You’re welcome.”

“I guess I should head back to…” Park plants his hands on the table and levers himself up, wincing like he’s aggravating old injuries. Maybe he is. RJ still has no idea what the IGR did to him in Zone Z, besides the… eyeball thing.

“Park,” they blurt out, and Park looks at them, his face open and concerned. There are a lot of things that RJ didn’t realise were unique about Park until he was gone. The fact that he genuinely cared about RJ, and looked out for them, was one of those.

In many ways, Park is a different man since he came back from Zone Z. But that much hasn’t changed.

“Is…” RJ hesitates, not wanting to give voice to the nagging fear that lurks at the back of their mind – and increasingly, at the front.

“Is there going to be another war?”

Park hesitates, but he doesn’t try to offer up platitudes or empty reassurances. “Not if we can help it,” he tells them.

#TSCOSI #The Strange Case of Starship Iris #fic #post-episode 10 #RJ McCabe #Agent Park #late night tea drinking #RJ McCabe's home for disaffected IGR agents #I love these guys #and their friendship #the conversations in this were hard to write #I mean Park definitely has some kind of PTSD from Zone Z but I am in no way equipped to Go There #on a lighter note though I am particularly fond of RJ bossing Park around for his own good #in some ways although Park is The Adult and more emotionally mature #deep down I think he's more of a disaster #he just hides it well #I can imagine RJ trying hard to add 'self-care' to Park's vocabulary

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puffbts · 6 years ago

Text

Secret of the past

So… As I got quite a number of reactions on this post, I thought I'd actually write that Prinxiety AU.

I should add that Deceit's name in this is Ethan, because I had to choose and I like it.

It's my first one shot on tumblr, I have no idea if you'll like it, but I liked writing it! Enjoy!

Virgil breathed in the fresh April air as he left the litterature building. He was glad that his afternoon classes were finally over because it meant he could at last meet his boyfriend in that new coffee shop he'd heard about. He'd had a free morning, exceptionally, which meant that he hadn't gotten to see him like he would normally have, and that made him miss him even more.

As he walked down the street, he thought of how lucky he was to be dating someone like Roman. He had never imagined that he would love to spend his evenings debating over the hidden meanings of Disney movies, making up theories about alternate endings for tragedies or cuddling in front of the TV, singing along to Dear Evan Hansen for the billionth time. Well, he loved doing that, but having Roman by his side made it ten times better.

Virgil soon reached the coffee shop where he knew Roman already was, since he finished his classes one period earlier than him. Upon entering the shop, he heard the loud, familiar laugh of his boyfriend, which was the most pleasant sound he'd heard all day. It put a smile on his lips, which soon faded when he began wondering what he could be laughing so hard about.

And that's when it all came into view.

There was Roman, sat on a bar stool. There was a barista, leaned against the counter in front of him. Virgil's heart stopped when he immediately recognized the barista's face.

Virgil became conscious that neither of them had noticed his presence when he heard the barista speak as he took a deep breath.

"Oh Roman, do you know you're the best thing that happened to me today?"

The bartender opened his eyes, which instantly devoured Virgil's boyfriend, and put a hand on Roman's, which was resting on the counter.

"I love your laugh. It sounds like one of a knight."

At that, Virgil snapped and rushed over to them.

"Hey Princey." he said, sliding his arms around his boyfriend's waist and planting a kiss on his lips.

He wouldn't normally act like that when someone he didn't know was so close, but this time he had good reasons to.

Using Ro's favorite nickname showed that barista that he was a prince, not a knight, in his mind. And he needed to show him that his handsome man was taken.

And let's be fair, it wasn't like Virgil didn't know the guy.

He smirked at the look on his face, clearly expressing his shock upon seeing him and the realization of what he'd been doing.

Roman throwed an arm around Virgil's shoulders.

"Hi Virge. Here's your americano. Oh, and this is Ethan."

"I know." Virgil drew a breath as he realized his mistake and added, "It's written on his badge."

A glance at Ethan formed a lump in his throat, because his smugness meant nothing good.

We should go, he meant to say.

"Why don't we take a walk around the lake?" he said instead, turning to his boyfriend with a smile.

"Sure! Can you make these to go?" Roman gestured to the mugs.

"I can do anything for you."

Virgil stared in shock, his eyes wide. How could he dare continue to flirt with him when he'd made it clear they were a couple?

"How was your- Virge, are you okay?"

It was the second time Roman called him by that nickname, and he knew what it meant. He was slightly concerned about him. Roman had a talent for inventing the best-suited nicknames, and only resolved to use first names when he was sad, angry or worried.

However, Virgil didn't have time to respond because Ethan pushed two cups towards them, along with a receipt.

As Roman took out his wallet to pay, Virgil's eyes were drawned to the Bottom of the note, where there was a small handwritten message. It was hardly readable, but thanks to the number of hours spent correcting essays in that particular handwriting, Virgil had no trouble deceiphering it.

Here's my number, in case you're interested in more debates about Star Wars. Ps. I love how your face brightens when you laugh ;)

Enough was enough. Virgil snatched the receipt and crumpled it in his hand before taking the steaming cups, pushing his boyfriend towards the exit.

"What's happening, love?" asked a distressed Roman once they were outside.

This was even worse. Roman was so proud of his own nicknames that he never used "traditional" pet names, unless he knew he needed to know something.

Virgil let out a sigh. "I'll explain everything, but we need to find a bench or something."

They walked to the lake, nervousness welling up inside him, and sat down on rocks that were bording the water. Virgil took a sip of his drink and breathed in and out before talking.

"I know Ethan. I met him in high school. He- he was first and only boyfriend before you."

Virgil felt heat in his cheeks, his heart beating faster and his breathing becoming uneven.

"Hey, it's okay, don't panic." Roman quickly said, putting a hand over his forearm.

The contact and the sweetness in his voice were soothing, and after a few seconds, Virgil managed to look his boyfriend in the eyes.

"I understand that you know him, but why did you act like that? I mean, I love PDA but I know that's not your case, and it became very suspicious when you just rushed out of that coffee shop."

Virgil's eyes widened and he took his arm out of Roman's grip.

"Ro, please tell me you're not that oblivious! Not with your knowledge in tragedy!"

"I mean, I know he was flirting with me, but a lot of people do that, and you know it."

Virgil breathed out. Good, Roman hadn't lost his mind. Yes, he knew that.

"No I- I know, but… Ethan is- he's a bad person."

"He seemed pretty nice."

"Yeah, at first. It's his way of obtaining your trust. What do you know about him? What did he tell you?"

"Not much…" Roman looked away as if to think about it. "He said he quit college after two months because he wasn't fit for it, and began working in a self-service restaurant. But he got kicked out after a year because his boss had found out he let all the hard work to his colleagues and didn't do much, based on what said colleagues had reported. He claimed it wasn't true and left, and that's how he ended up here."

"Okay, not much but everything you need." Virgil muttered.

He was not surprised to hear that Ethan had failed college after two months, and he knew for sure his previous boss' accusations were true.

"It sounds like him." He continued after having taken another sip of his coffee. "He loves manipulating people. We met in our Junior Year, when we had to work together for a History project. I quickly found out he didn't know anything and I took my time explaining stuff. Well, you know how I am…"

Roman smiled, because he knew exactly how he was. Virgil had a serviable nature, and that was even why the two had met.

"So... We got a B+ on the project, which was a good thing for Ethan, and he decided to reward our work with a kiss."

"Wow..." Roman laughed. "The guy might not have known shit about History, but he sure knew how to woo a man!"

Virgil frowned and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, that's his problem. The thing is, at the time, I'd known I was gay for a while but I'd never had a boyfriend and it stressed me out."

"No wonder, Sir Stressed-a-lot."

Virgil pushed Roman, but the nickname brought a smile back to his lips.

"Anyway, I told him that, and he promised we didn't have to rush it, so I agreed to date him. And the more time passed, the more I felt at ease and started to grow feelings for him. But the more time passed, the more he was using me."

Roman frowned. "Using you?"

"Yeah, I told you he liked manipulating people. As it had started, he used me to do his homework for the classes we shared. At first it was a collaboration, but before I noticed, I did everything for him. And he used me with his parents too. They wanted someone perfect for him, and he asked me to pretend to like everything he liked, even though it clearly wasn't the case, so I could have that nice image when I'd meet them for the first time. But that wasn't the worst…"

As Virgil took a deep breath, Roman scooted closer to him and put a hand on his thigh to show his support.

"One time we had to write an English essay. When mine was ready, Ethan asked if he could read it, for inspiration. It was close to the due date and I never got to read what he'd written. Unfortunately, I found out quite soon. He just changed the name on the essay and the teacher confronted him about our copies, which were identical. He pretended that I had copied him. I wasn't able to convince him otherwise and was expelled for a week."

Virgil breathed in, trying not to let the tears brought back by this memory fall down, and Roman pulled him into a hug.

"What a traitor…"

"He was worse than that. After a long debate with him, full of anger and tears, I broke up with him. From that day on, I decided that I never would open up to boys ever again."

"But clearly you didn't."

Virgil pulled away from his boyfriend and looked at him, his mouth twitching into a smile.

"Wow, you never told me you actually were Sherlock Holmes."

They laughed, and Virgil found that it was doing him a lot of good.

"My plan was carrying out well. I finished high school and moved away for college. I stayed discreet in order not to draw attention from anyone. Until one day, six months into college, when someone plastered the walls with posters asking for someone to read over his play."

Roman laughed. "Oh, what did you do, my Chemically Imbalanced Romance?"

"Well, after an internal fight, I called the guy and met him in a coffee shop on a Saturday morning."

"And let me guess, the guy showed up with a fifty-page, handwritten script and you fell in love with his play."

Virgil looked away, blushing a little because he was about to share with his boyfriend exactly how he fell in love with him, which was something they had never talked about in detail in the two years they'd been together. Regaining confidence, he smirked at Roman with a small laugh.

"Well, the play wasn't really what made me fall in love with him."

Roman put a hand to his chest with an offended noise.

"But... I did fall in love with his gorgeous face, which immediately took my breath away. At the time I wanted to curse myself for breaking my rule, until we got started on the play. It was a great afternoon."

Roman placed a hand on Virgil's cheek at his honest smile and couldn't fight the urge to kiss him. After a while, they pulled away and the litterature student rested his head against the taller man's chest.

"You know what surprised me most about you?"

"My creative brain hidden behind all that beauty?" Roman said with a deep, playful voice that always managed to give Virgil chills.

"No... It was when you told me that you knew who I was. I had started college the way I ended high school, discreet and hiding. If I'd known that was what you noticed in people, I'd have changed tactics."

Roman slightly pushed Virgil away from him and place a hand under his chin.

"Yeah well… Talent shouldn't be going to waste, and I knew you were the best in your year, even though college had just started. That's why I was so glad when you said you wanted to help with my play."

Virgil smiled. Roman had told him at the time that he loved giving opportunities to people who thought they didn't deserve it, mentionning his best friend Patton as an example. He had discovered when they were in High School that Pat could draw incredible landscapes with a unique style. That was how he got him on board of the set team in their school's theater club, and how their friendship was born.

"When you said you had an eye for noticing students who didn't want to stand out when they should, it made my heart melt, because no one had ever said anything like that about me."

Roman frowned. "Even Ethan? I mean, if he needed you to have his work done, he must have complimented you or your work."

Virgil pressed his lips together. "I don't think he complimented that. He did tell me that what he liked about me was that I had taken the time to explain things to him, but he never praised my work."

"I hate him even more."

Virgil giggled and went back to the story of his meeting with Roman.

"Anyway... I wasn't even surprised when you fought your way through the lunch room the next Monday, just to ask me out on a date."

"And why's that, Emonescence?"

"Well, you weren't exactly hiding your interest. I mean, offering to walk back to the dorm together after having spent an entire day together, and texting the whole Sunday?"

Roman smiled and Virgil thought he saw his cheeks turn pink.

"Yeah well… I had to take my chance. I immediately understood that we shared an interest in tragi-comedy and Disney movies, so I wanted to know what else we had in common. But you know that."

"I do. And I guess now you understand better why I wanted to take things slow even though I accepted the date."

Roman tilted his head to the side and passed a hand through his boyfriend's hair.

"Yeah, I guess I do. But you know, even at the time, I knew you needed to be the one to make the first move, and I was ready to wait until you were in the right place."

"And I'm glad you did." Virgil smiled as he placed his hands around Roman's back to pull him closer. "But I'm even more glad to have kissed you when I did."

With that, they shared a long, intense and delicate kiss.

"I love you, Virgil, and I won't let Ethan near either of us. I'll make sure you know how I feel about you."

"Thank you, Ro. And I love you too."

I guess you'll know that I'm not that good with endings... Hope you liked that :)

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #roman sanders #prinxiety #deceit sanders #i made a thing #sanders sides au

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