#things like that/has trouble forming emotional attachments so her words are all empty | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

queenofspades6 · 4 years ago

Text

More than Partners- The Mandalorian x reader

Not a Jedi Anymore

Chapter 12 of More than Partners

———

Summary: Ahsoka Tano is scared that you’ll fall to the Dark Side by loving the Mandalorian. You are trying to find who you are without the Force, and especially who you want to be?

Warnings: Spoilers of episode 5 season 2 of the Mandalorian. Mentions of clone wars. Anakin Skywalker And Darth Vader

AN: Heyyy! I am very early but I really wanted to post it early for you guys!! I’ll definitely be back every Monday to post another chapter! I have so many ideas for this fanfic. It’s gonna be wonderfullll! I love seeing how reader has changed over the chapters and how independent she tries to become, Jedi or not. I also want to focus on Mando, to see how all along the chapters, he cares more, and more and becomes all caring and protective. Tell me if you want to be tagged in the comments and don’t forget to like, share, and comment, helps me stay motivated for you guys!

A NEW CHAPTER IS OUT EVERY MONDAY

———

———

You spent the night away from the Mandalorian, Ahsoka and the Child. You couldn’t face them yet, you wished to wait until the morning to show up when Ahsoka Tano would test Grogu.

When you woke up, and came to see the Child, Mando was already awake, Grogu in his arms cooing when he saw you and stretching his arms towards you.

You smiled to him, and without a word, the Mandalorian gave you the Child in your arms. You patted Grogu’s head and murmured:

“I missed you, little guy.”

Mando was watching you all along. He didn’t really understand your sudden change of behavior. You were usually the one cheering people up and hating avoidance. And to say he was terrified was an understatement. The Mandalorian removed his helmet in front you, yes it was dark and yes you couldn’t decipher his traits, but he had removed it in front of someone, he had broken his Creed in more than a way. He wasn’t regretting that night he had with you, it was something he cherished more than life itself. It was probably the best night of his life, and knowing after all he gave you, all he sacrificed, you were slowly going away from him. The bounty hunter didn’t show it, and he was grateful for his helmet, but it hurt, watching you indifferent, like nothing happened between both of you. He thought after that night you spent in Sorgan together, everything would be easier, but definitely not, it was worst. You only remained cordial with him, as if that night was only a mean to satisfy your common needs.

“Y/N.”He whispered, an ounce of despair in his voice.

“Mando.”

“Ahsoka told me Grogu is the same species as someone named Yodu.”

You giggled awkwardly, putting a hand on your mouth and holding the Child in your other hand.

“It’s not “Yodu”, Mando, it’s Yoda.”You replied, a small smirk drawing on your lips.

“Yodu, Yoda, that’s the same.”

You laughed again. It made you feel a bit more relaxed. You felt your anxiety slowly fading in presence of the Mandalorian.

“The Jedi told me the Child was trying to be trained and they hid him when the Jedi Temple was destroyed in Coruscant.”He stated, trying to make you talk to him.

“She is no Jedi.”

“What?”He questioned, eyebrows raised in wonder behind his heavy helmet.

“Ahsoka Tano is not a Jedi. She uses the Force, that’s all.”You answered harshly slowly putting the Child on a rock, and turning your back to Mando.

“But she is a Jedi. She has lightsabers and she uses the thing called the Force.”

“She is not! Not every person that uses the Force is a Jedi.”

The Mandalorian sighed and tilted his head.

“What?”You interrogated, hands on your hips and clenching your teeth.

“What are you then?”

You felt the tears rushing to your eyes, and you did your best to hold them. What were you? That was a simple question, and yet, you couldn’t reply.

“I don’t know anymore!”You spitted, water flowing in your eyes.”Now let me alone, Mando!”

“Y/N! I didn’t say that to hurt you.”He declared, rushing to your sides.

“Am I interrupting something?”Ahsoka Tano asked staring at you, and then at the Mandalorian.

“No, nothing.”You answered.

“Then, I am going to test the Child.”

Mando acquiesced, and you did the same, taking some steps back.

Ahsoka Tano closed her eyes, focused on the feeling of power and balance in her body. She put her arm in front of her, a stone resting in the palm of her hand, and then, using the Force, she twirled the stone in a stable and slow line to Grogu’s hands.

“Now, return the stone to me, Grogu.”Ahsoka asked in a reassuring tone.

“He doesn’t understand.”Mando replied immediately.

“He does.”You answered harshly.

Ahsoka tries to reassure the Child with a soft and slow tone, but he whined and looked at you and the Mandalorian. The bounty hunter did a little head nod gesturing to the Child to give back the stone to the ex-Jedi. At that moment, you felt your anger fade. It was for these little things you loved Din Djarin, and that was why it was so difficult to choose, or to make your own path. You were not Master Yoda after all. Even if your old Master had adviced you to follow your heart, how could you be sure you didn’t imagine him saying that to comfort you and make your decision right?

The Child let the stone clatter on the ground, avoiding both your and the Mandalorian’s gaze. Ahsoka sighed, and advanced towards the Child.

“I sense much fear in you.”

You sighed and felt a bit jealous of Ahsoka’s sweetness and natural gentleness. Where she was soft and caring, you were rough and stubborn. Maybe that’s why you got along so well with Anakin Skywalker.

“Come here.”Ahsoka said in an authoritative tone.

“He’s stubborn.”Mando replied, glancing at you discreetly.

“Not him. You. I want to see if he’ll listen to you.”

“That would be a first.”

Mando took Ahsoka’s place, and stared at you, and then at the Child. The ex-Jedi was explaining to the Mandalorian what to do, while you focused on the Force, trying to empty your head of any thoughts or emotions. For an instant, you could feel Grogu’s fear for his ability with the Force, his fear to lose both you and the Mandalorian, but what you sensed trouble you. Love. The Child loved you and the Mandalorian. A lot. You were like a mother to him, and Mando was like a Father. And then your link with the Force was broken by your anger and your feelings rushing like a wave hitting you all at once.

“Alright, kid. Lift the stone.”

“Come on.”You whispered to him a shy smile on your lips.”You can do it. We believe in you, Grogu.”

The Child looked at Mando with intensity and tries to connect with him through the Force.

“Stubborn like his father.”You thought referring to the Child and Mando, and Ahsoka glanced at you, a strict look on her face. At least, the Force was still with you.

“Grogu.”Mando murmured, the small thing that had became the Child’s toy in his hands.

Again, you fell in love with the Mandalorian. Just that small gesture, him playing with the Child’s toy, he made you remember why you were here in the first place. The Child and the Mandalorian had became your home.

“Come on you can have it.”

You nodded to Grogu, an affectionate smile on your face.

The Child stared at his toy, and then, with only a little push, the toy came to his hand. He cooed and Mando congratulated him, proud of his little youngling.

“That’s really great, little one.”You declared, patting his head in reward.

“He’s formed a strong attachment to both of you.”The ex-Jedi shouted.

You nodded.

“I cannot train him.”

“What?”Mando stammered, standing up straight away.”Why not? You’ve seen what he can do.”

“His attachment to you and Y/N makes him vulnerable to his fears. His anger.”

“All the more reason to train him.”The Mandalorian exclaimed.

“No. I’ve seen what such feelings can do to a fully trained Jedi Knight. To the best of us. Ask Y/N. She knows why I can’t train him, and she understands it more than anyone else.”

“I will not start this child down that path. Better to let his abilities fade.”

“But Ahsoka, we can’t do that! The Child has an ability, we need to train him, we can’t let that go to waste!”You screamed, grabbing Ahsoka’s arm to make her listen.

“I can’t, Y/N. You are in the best position to know why. You’ve seen what a Jedi can do when his feelings take over. For all of our sakes, I can’t train him.”

“Then I’ll train him.”You declared solemnly.

“You? The Force is really strong in you, Y/N, but your feelings make you unstable. Have you told him?”Ahsoka gestured to the Mandalorian.

“Tell me what?”He asked, looking at you with sudden interest.

You looked at the ground, ashamed.

“That’s what I thought. Y/N has troubles using the Force. Her powers are fading. She can’t control her feelings, and that’s making her impotent.”

The Mandalorian peered at you. He approached you carefully and asked:

“Is it true?”

Even if he had his helmet hiding his face, you could swear his eyes were staring at your soul.

“Yes. It’s true.”

He took some small steps towards you and you can only see the beskar of his helmet in front of you.

“What did you not tell me?”

“I was afraid of how you would react! I don’t know what to do anymore, Mando. I am useless to you without the Force, I only have my lightsaber. I was a Jedi all my life, and now that I can’t control my feelings, I need to discover who I am really.”You murmured, your voice breaking a bit.

“You should have told me, Y/N. You can tell me everything.”He whispered, caressing your cheek with his gloved hand.

“I thought you would try to get rid of me.”

“It hasn’t even cross my mind. Not after what happened between us. I want you to stay.”

Ahsoka Tano cleared her throat.

“I don’t want to disturb your touching conversation, but I’ve delayed too long, I must get back to the village.”

The Mandalorian sighed. He knew you were going to tell him more about your past and Ahsoka had interrupted you.

“The Magistrate sent me to kill you. I didn’t agree with anything. And I’ll help you with your problem, if you see to it that Grogu is properly trained.”The Mandalorian uttered, willing to do whatever it would take to see Grogu be trained.

“And I’ll help.”You vociferated, your hand on your lightsaber.”I may have troubles using the Force, but I do know how to fight.”

*****

You, Ahsoka, and Mando were ready to free the villagers and make Morgan Elsbeth pay for what she made these people endured. Maybe you weren’t a Jedi anymore, but you knew you wanted to fight for freedom, and peace, even if it was the greatest lie of the Universe.

You heard an alarm ringing. You and Mando exchanged a look.

Ahsoka Tano had arrived.

You and the Mandalorian were waiting for the proper moment to free the prisoners while the ex-Jedi would take care of that Morgan Elsbeth. Even if the Force wasn’t as strong as before within you, it hadn’t betrayed you when it came to that woman. She was a monster, and, on that point, the Force wasn’t wrong.

A guard was going to kill a prisoner. Mando was going to take care of him, but with a small nod, he understood you wanted to take care of him. You rushed to the guard’s sides who startled discovering you. You initiated your lightsaber in a rapid motion and your saber went through the guard’s stomach. The guard collapsed on the ground.

Mando surprised a villager who was going to try to save the prisoners’lives. You, the Mandalorian and the villager freed the prisonners, and tried to shelter as many people as possible.

The captain was here, admiring Mando with a threatening gaze. You rushed to his sides and initiated your lightsaber again. You really wanted to slice that guy.

“So you threw in with the Jedi?”The captain asked, surprised to see Ahsoka behind the Mandalorian.

“Looks that way.”

“Who do you think’s gonna win. Could be your side… Could be my side…”The captain declared, a sadistic smile appearing on his thin lips.

“Can I kill him, please?”You asked Mando.”I can’t bear his little smile.”

“I got no quarrel with you and your whore, Mandalorian.”

“Mando, please? Can I show him whose the whore?”You whispered.

“Wait. Don’t rush things, Y/N.”

“You and I are a lot alike. Willing to lay our lives down for the right cause. Which this is not. Sounds like you win.”

The captain put his weapon on the ground, and Mando removed his hand from his blaster. You saw the captain pulling a blaster out of his pocket quickly. Instinctively, you threw your lightsaber and pierced the captain’s stomach with the blade, returning after in your hand like nothing happened.

“Good job, Y/N.”

The same villager who wanted to save the prisoners came out of his hiding place to thank you and the Mandalorian, and then he screamed:

“Behind you, Jedi!”

Mando unsheathed his blaster and fired without even looking up.

“Thanks Mando. Looks like we’re even.”

“Hmm. You still owe me explanations, Y/N.”

“You’re right. All in due time.”

You waited for the bounty hunter at the ship. You were cuddling with the Child. You couldn’t say goodbye to him. He was family. How could you even say goodbye to someone you loved.

“I am gonna miss you, little guy. So much.”

The Child cooed in reply.

“I am back. It’s time.”Mando announced himself, taking the Child in his arms and talking to him softly.

“What will we do after, Mando? Without him?”

“I- I didn’t think of that.”

You both remained silent for an instant, trying to consider life without the Child, just both of you. A Mandalorian and an ex-Jedi.

“Mandalorian, you’re like a father to him. And Y/N, you’re like a mother to him. I cannot train him.”Ahsoka Tano stated waiting fro both of you in front of the Razor Crest.

“You made me a promise, and I held up my end.”

“There is one possibility.”Ahsoka began to say, not leaving your gaze.”Go to the planet Tython. You will find the ancient ruins of a temple that has a strong connection to the Force. Place Grogu on the seeing stone at the top of the mountain.”

“Then what?”Mando asked, holding softly the Child.

“Then Grogu may choose his path. If he reaches out through the Force, there’s a chance a Jedi may sense his presence and come searching for him. Then again, there aren’t many Jedi left.”

“Thank you.”The bounty hunter replied.

“May I have a word with Y/N before you go?”

The Mandalorian nodded, and let you talk with Ahsoka, your old friend.

“I suppose you don’t want to stay.”

“I have found a home, Ahsoka.”

“You are right. You’ve grown, Y/N. Master Yoda would be proud. He always expected a lot from you. He trusted you with his life.”

“I don’t deserve his recognition. Not yet.”You murmured to Ahsoka, as to yourself.

“I’ll miss you, Y/N, but you’ve found your own path. All I can say now is be careful with your feelings, don’t fall to the Dark Side. Don’t become like Anakin. Please.”

Listening to Ahsoka talking, you noticed at that moment she was vulnerable. She lost her old master. Anakin Skywalker who became Darth Vader. And in Ahsoka’s heart, that was something that made an indelible scar. She didn’t want to lose another friend to the Dark Side. Not again.

“I’ve succumbed to my feelings, but I realized that isn’t something necessarily bad. But I can promise you one thing, Ahsoka, I won’t fall to the Dark Side.”

Ahsoka fell into your arms, her arms embracing your smaller body. She had grown a lot since you’d last seen her. She wasn’t that reckless Padawan anymore, she was a woman. Not a Jedi, but she chose to do what was best for everyone.

“Thank you Ahsoka.”

“For what, Y/N?”

“You made me realize I am not a Jedi anymore. I am more than that. More than that title. I’ll be better than the Jedi where they failed before; Better than the Siths. What made Anakin fall to the Dark Side wasn’t love, it was the Jedi Code, if love had been allowed, he wouldn’t have turned to the Dark Side. I know what to do now. The Jedi Order isn’t anymore, and so is their Code. And you know what, I’ll love, I’ll let myself feel while using the Force. It’s who I am, Ahsoka. I don’t know what’ll happen, but I’ll make my own way. I’ll bring my guilt and shame along with me on that path, but I’ll be better than the Jedi and the Siths. That’s my promise to you.”

“I believe you. Take care of Grogu for me, and don’t give up on the Mandalorian. He seems stubborn, deadly and reckless, but he cares for you. He even threatens to kill me if I hurt you.”She admitted, a genuine smile appearing on her lips.

You giggled, and smirked. It was definitely your Mandalorian.

“I’ll try, Ahsoka. But I can’t promise I won’t slice him in two.”You laughed.

“Goodbye my friend.”

Walking towards the Razor Crest, you waved to Ahsoka Tano, your old friend you would probably never see again.

“Y/N. We were waiting for you.”Mando stated, gesturing to your seat near his on the ship.

“I need to tell you, Mando.”

He tilted his helmet in wonder, waiting for your answer.

“I am not a Jedi anymore.”

———

Taglist: @lol-who-am-i @kiaralein @kryttlebee @hoodedbirdie @heaven77 @eyeliveinabook @horsesandwolvesaremyanimals @mitamixer @fleurdemiel145 @kneeldowntoyouralpha @pinkninja190 @esoltis280 @over300books @lover1307 @sad-anxious-girl @jedi-dreea @katialvi

Tell me if you want to be tagged or if you want me to remove you from the taglist!

———

⬇️ Chapter 13 ⬇️

197 notes · View notes

natrogersfics · 4 years ago

Text

After All - Chapter 5/5

Cover art by @faith2nyc Read on AO3

Natasha’s always prided herself in being a master at regulating her emotions. Years of field experience as a journalist has allowed her to hone the skill of taking a step back, drawing in a deep breath, and powering through the job. For regardless of how she personally felt about the matter at hand or how much she despised the person she was interviewing, the objective was to report the unadulterated facts. Right now, though, as she stands in Isabel’s room watching as Loki finishes suturing Isabel’s brow while Steve – who had to step in her place as Loki injected the anesthetic – holds her still, it’s as if her training cannot meet the moment.

Motherhood has transformed her in many ways, but one of the most notable changes is that she’s become a constant worrier. Some days the worry is dull, manageable – propelled by something as simple as whether or not Isabel’s had enough water to drink for the day. Nevertheless, the feeling is always underlying. But there are moments where such is its intensity that breathing becomes arduous, and in spite of the fact that Isabel’s cries have since tapered, she finds that this is one of those times.

“Okay,” Loki says in that saccharine tone she only ever hears him use when addressing Isabel. “That’s a wrap on these pesky needles.” He leans forward, tapping Isabel on the nose and eliciting a tired smile from the little girl. “Good job, Miss Isabel. My best patient without question.”

“She’s going to be okay, right?” Steve asks before she can, and she notes how tight his voice sounds as Isabel turns in his arms and snuggles into the crook of his neck.

“Yes, she will be,” Loki says without a hint of reluctance as he nods at Steve before turning to where she’s standing by the door. “Her reflexes are fine, and she isn’t exhibiting any signs of a concussion. Battle wound notwithstanding, she’s alright.”

The sigh she lets out at Loki’s words is loaded with relief. But the sensation is fleeting, replaced quickly by surprise when she hears Steve speak again. “Thank you, Loki.”

Loki nods once more, a little smile on his face as he balls up the remaining gauze and sutures and throws it into the bin. “The little one should get some rest, so I’ll see myself out,” he says, rising from his seat with his kit in his hands. “I’ll check up on her again in the morning.”

“I’ll walk you out,” she says, stealing a glance to where Steve is rocking Isabel to sleep before stepping out into the hall.

The living room is empty as they make it out, and as she and Loki silently walk towards the direction of her foyer, she catches sight of the note on her dining table with T’Challa’s familiar handwriting. While she feels terribly about having ruined their Christmas Eve, a part of her is glad that she does not have to face them too right at this moment. She lets out a sigh for what seems to be the millionth time in the last hour, turning back to Loki just as they reach her front door.

“Quite an evening, huh?” Loki says, smirking.

In spite of his attempt at humor, she finds that she can only look down. “Loki…” she says. “I-”

“She’s going to be okay, Nat,” Loki says, placing a hand on her arm.

“No, I know.” She looks up at him to find his eyebrows knitted together in question. “I trust you,” she says in clarification. “I trust your assessment. What I meant to say is I’m sorry. I’m sorry for tonight and for how Steve acted when you were just trying to help. I don’t know what happened.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

Loki chuckles quietly, a soft smile forming on his lips when she only stares blankly at him in response. “Is this love, Miss Romanoff?” he asks. “Because it sure looks a lot like it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says, practically scoffing. Loki arches a brow at her, and she sighs. “If tonight's any indication-”

“If tonight's any indication, it’s that there’s obviously a lot that’s been left unsaid,” Loki finishes, shaking his head. “Natasha, my darling, forgive me if I sound like a broken record at this point. But you’re truly one of the brightest people I have had the pleasure of knowing, rivaling perhaps only my own mother for the top spot, so I know it’s only a matter of time.” He reaches to cup her face, running his thumb along her cheekbone. “Open your eyes and listen. For all our sakes.”

“Loki…” she whispers, holding his gaze.

With a smile, Loki leans down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Merry Christmas, Nat.”

“Merry Christmas,” she repeats, mustering a smile as he turns and leaves.

As the door closes behind him, she pads back to the living room, making it as far as the couch until her legs feel too heavy to make it a step further. She sits down, putting her head in her hands as her shoulders sag with fatigue from the last few days. How a night that started out on such a high note devolved so quickly, she can’t begin to process. But if she knows one thing, it’s that she can’t take much more of this.

“Natasha.”

She looks up at the sound of her name to see Steve standing where the hallway and the living room meet. “Is she asleep?”

“Yes,” he says, moving closer to her. “Nat-”

“Do you know that Izzie has trouble sleeping?” she interrupts, rising to her feet to see him stopped in his tracks. He blinks in surprise, and she nods. “Yeah, there are nights when she’s practically inconsolable… That is until I play her a video with the two of you.” She chuckles humorlessly. “At first I thought it was just a coincidence. And admittedly, there’s a tiny part of me that was wishing that maybe by the time I cave and reach for my phone, that she’s already tired herself out enough to go to sleep. But then I realized that she hasn’t had an episode since you arrived.” She sighs, looking him right in the eyes. “She’s your daughter. I know that. God, if I don’t see that in every little thing she does, every single day. And if there’s ever a time that I made you feel like that wasn’t the case, I am so deeply sorry. That was never my intention. But this?” She shakes her head. “I’m incredibly exhausted, Steve. And not just from tonight. All these years, all I’ve been doing is adjusting to what you want-”

“Excuse me?” he practically spits out, his eyes wide. “What I want?”

“Yes, what you want!” she volleys back bitterly. “You wanted a no-strings-attached arrangement, you got it. Wanted in on our daughter’s life? Check. You wanted to come here for Christmas? I said fine.” She straightens her shoulders, raising her chin. “So, tell me, Steve. What exactly is your problem this time? Because I want this to work, but I am at the end of my rope here.” She sighs, her voice falling to a whisper. “I have nothing left to give you.”

“Nothing left to give me,” he mouths the words, incredulous. “Natasha, all I’ve ever wanted was for you to give me a chance!”

She scoffs. “You’ve had several years’ worth of chances to take, Steve, and I’ve been waiting just as long for even the faintest sign that you wanted one!”

“How was I supposed to know that when all you do is walk away?” he challenges. His words bring her to a pause, and as she stands frozen in place, all she can do is blink. He sighs. “Natasha, I thought everything was going well until that morning in my apartment-”

“Don’t you dare!” she says, throwing her hands out in frustration as she cuts him off. “I woke up to find your ex-fiancée thanking you for selling her back the house you bought together. The very same house that you told me you saw yourself raising a family in. What did you want me to do? Wait around for you to break the news to me when it was clearly standing right at your front door?”

“I wanted you to let me explain!” he says. “Because if you did, then I would have told you that I didn’t sell the house back to Sharon because I didn’t love you and didn’t see a life with you. I did it because I did!” He pauses, sucking in a breath to compose himself. “I didn’t want us to start a life together in a place that I wanted for all the wrong reasons.” He shrugs, defeated. “But then you were serving me a custody agreement so fast my head spun, and then there you were taking the job here before I even had time to recover.”

“I asked you if I had a reason to stay,” she says quietly.

“You did,” he concedes with a nod. “And I should have been brave enough to tell you that you did.” He sighs. “But that doesn’t matter anymore, does it? Because you’ve moved on.”

Her eyebrows furrow. “Moved on?”

“Yeah, Nat,” he says. “And you’re damn good at it, too. All you keep doing is moving on, it seems. You’re over me, over us, over New York. And then you’re here, moving on with him-”

“Wait, what?” she interjects.

“Loki,” he says simply, exasperation seeping into his tone. “Look, I’m sorry about how I’ve been acting, but- are you laughing?” His head tilts to the side, and as her laughter escalates, he looks at her like she’s lost her mind. “You’re laughing right now?”

“That’s what this is about?” she says, nearly breathless. “That’s the reason you’ve been acting like a crazy person these last two days?”

“I…” he trails, his forehead wrinkling. “Nat, he has a key to your flat, he’s in your kitchen... He calls you darling.” He scoffs. “I mean, Izzie practically rushes into his arms every time she sees him! And I don’t know how far into your relationship you two are- I mean, I can assume, I suppose. But even if he hasn’t told you, as the world’s leading expert on what it’s like to be in love with you, I’m telling you right now that he is.” His eyes are full of sincerity as he looks at her. “You’re you, Nat. It’s outrageously hard not to love you. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

The fog clears, taking with it all the questions and the doubt that’s plagued her in the last couple of years almost instantly as she stares at him and takes in his words. “Okay,” she says, chuckling as she rubs the back of her neck. “Steve, I’m alone. A lot. Yes, I have Izzie. But after a while, there’s only so much you can talk to a toddler about.” She pauses, and he nods silently in agreement. “And quite frankly, between parenting and working, I don’t get around much, so I don’t have that many friends here. T’Challa? Nakia? They’re out of town, travelling for the paper, as they should be. I see Pepper, what? Once a month if we’re lucky?” She sighs. “Loki’s the only person I can talk to these days because he lives next door and works weird hours. Heck, the only reason we even started talking was because I saw that he liked the same wine and I found out that we agree that men can be the absolute worst-”

“Natasha, I get it,” he interrupts, shaking his head. “And I’m so glad you’ve had someone to talk to. That you’ve found a confidante-”

“Yeah…” she says, raising a brow. “Because it really gets rough out here when men only seem to break our” – she makes sure to emphasize the last word, watching his reaction carefully – “hearts.”

“Right, I know,” he says. “He put you back together when all I did was hurt you. And while I’m devastated to have missed out on the chance to be with you, because I am still, and have always been insanely in love with you, I really do get it. I do. Loki’s a great guy. He’s dreamy, and for crying out loud, he saves babies! And fig loves him. I know that. I’ve accepted it. And the accent…”

“For God’s sake, Rogers,” she mutters, crossing the distance between them. He’s still ranting when she makes it to him, cupping his face in her hands as she pulls him down to her. He groans in surprise when her lips meet his, but just as he begins to respond to her kiss, she pulls away. “Loki’s gay, Steve.”

For a moment, he only stares at her, lust and confusion swirling in his blue orbs all at once. “Oh…” he says, blinking. His brows furrow as he parts his lips as if to say something, only to press them back into a line. “Oh.”

She bites back a smile. “Yeah… the guy he was seeing broke up with him around the same time Izzie and I moved here.”

“Well, that guy’s dumb…” he mumbles, cringing as he adds, “not unlike me.” His eyes are wide as he turns to her, his expression sheepish. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

“Because that’s not really my information to share,” she points out, to which he nods in concession. “Plus, how was I supposed to know that you wanted to be together too?”

“Too?” he clarifies. “So, I’m not too late?”

“Oh, my God,” she says indignantly. She steps closer to him once more, clutching the collar of his sweater in her hands as she looks right into his eyes. “I am still, and have always been, insanely in love with you too, you big oaf! I-”

Her words are cut off when he lowers his head to slant his lips over hers, his hands falling to her hips to pull her flush to him. Whereas their first kiss had been chaste, this one is hungry, needy – quickly growing teeth and making her head spin in no time at all when she tastes the combination of wine and something wholly and distinctly Steve. She snakes her arms around his neck, rising onto the tips of her toes to card her fingers through his hair, tugging at the ends. He moans her name longingly at that, and she smiles at the way his lips chase hers when she pulls away momentarily, a teasing comment already making its way to the tip of her tongue. But before she can say it, he bends at the knees, scooping her into his arms as he captures her lips in another searing kiss. Then like a practiced dance, she wraps her legs around his waist, letting him walk them down the hall and into her bedroom.

The second he walks in, she sets her feet down, placing her hands flat on his chest and pushing him towards the bed. He falls back onto it, a laugh escaping him as he bounces slightly, but it lasts but a second as she straddles his lap and her lips find his again.

“Natasha,” he says breathlessly between kisses, his hands covering hers as they find their way under his sweater. “Nat, wait-”

“It’s fine,” she says, guiding his hand up her arm and pressing down to let him feel where her implant is as she continues to kiss a trail down his jaw and to his neck. “I’m safe, and there hasn’t been anyone since you.”

The groan he lets out in response is almost pained, and she gasps in surprise when he flips them over, his pupils blown wide as he stares down at her. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Me?” she asks, flummoxed. “You’re the one flying here, showing up in your stupid leather jacket and then parading around my flat without a shirt on!” Her eyes narrow. “Do you have any idea how many cold showers I’ve taken in the last few days?”

His mouth twists into an amused grin. “I told you, Izzie ruined my shirt,” he says, reaching up to brush the hair out of her eyes. “And for the record, there hasn’t been anyone since you, either.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” she asks, desperation slipping into her tone as she squirms underneath him. “Less talking, more stripping!”

He chuckles, and in spite of her patience waning, she finds herself grinning at the sound. “You, Natasha Romanoff, would test the patience of a saint.”

“Did you get canonized recently or something?” she asks, huffing out a breath when he rolls his eyes at her. “Don’t you think we’ve waited long enough?”

“I know, baby,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss her again. “And you have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” He shakes his head. “How much I want you.” Even as his eyes have grown dark and stormy, the pining in them is as clear as day, making the blood sing in her veins. “But I don’t want to rush this, Nat. I want to start over. I want-” He pauses, taking in a deep breath. “I need to get this right.”

“But it is right.” She moves to sit up, prompting him to sit back on his knees. “Steve, I thought that everything that happened between us was proof that we were a mistake, that everything I’ve been holding onto was a lie.” He looks down at his lap, his expression twisting as if he’s reliving the pain of the last couple of years all over again. “Hey, look at me,” she says, reaching over to hook a finger under his chin, tilting his head up. “I was wrong.” She shakes her head. “The last twenty-four hours notwithstanding, I haven’t been as happy as I’ve been these last few days in a long, long time. I won’t speak for you, but-”

“It’s the same for me,” he interrupts without a trace of hesitation in his voice, holding her gaze. “Exactly the same, Nat.”

She smiles. “Then if there’s something I know for sure now, it’s that you, me… fig. It’s right. It’s always been right.” She sighs, running her thumb over his jawline. “I love you, Steve. I want to be with you. So please, no more waiting. No more wasting time.”

It takes a beat, but then he’s surging forward to kiss her, pushing her onto her back once more as her arms wrap around his neck. “I love you,” he whispers against her lips. “I love you so damn much.”

“Then show me,” she says, smiling when with a groan, he pulls away and lets his hands trail to the hem of her blouse, pulling it up and off of her. She leans up on her elbows as he sits back again, letting her gaze trail hungrily down his chest and to the smooth planes of his stomach as he reaches behind him to rid himself of his sweater.

“See something you like?” he asks, smirking when he catches her staring.

She peers up at him from underneath her lashes. “More like something I need.”

“Good,” he says, causing the breath to get caught in her throat at the way his eyes flash. “So do I.”

He brings his lips back to hers, reaching behind her to undo the clasp of her bra, and she slides it off her arms when it comes loose around her before throwing it unceremoniously to the floor. Gently, he pushes her shoulder, guiding her back down as he peppers kisses down the column of her throat and lets his hands wander over her torso. He cups the swell of her breast, ghosting a thumb over her nipple, and she feels him smile against her skin at the gasp that slips from her lips.

“Steve.” She sighs his name brokenly when his mouth moves from her neck to her sternum, worshipping every inch of skin it finds in its trail. It’s when his lips hover past her navel, his fingers hooking into the waistband of her leggings that she places her hands over his, keeping them in place.

He moves back up her body to look her in the eyes. “Let me,” he says the same time she tells him he does not have to, and as she blinks up at him, chest heaving, he smiles softly. “Can I, Nat?”

There’s an undercurrent of desperation in the way he asks the question, as if he needs this – craves this – and despite how much she aches to feel him against her, to have his skin against hers, when she takes in the unadulterated desire in his eyes, she finds herself powerless to do anything but nod. She lets go of his hands, biting her lip in anticipation as he moves back down her body. Cool air skims over her newly exposed skin as he pulls her leggings down along with her panties, making her shiver as her heart picks up in her chest, and she gasps when he presses a kiss to the inside of her thigh, propping one of her legs over his shoulder.

“Steve,” she moans loudly – wantonly – into the darkness of the room when he licks up her center. Her head falls to the side, her hands scrambling for purchase on the duvet as a litany of curses slip from her lips, and that’s all he needs to hear to bring his hands to her waist, holding her still as he flicks his tongue against her bundle of nerves. The sensation that pulses through her is almost too much too fast, but her body craves it all the same, and she bites her lip to keep from laughing out. It’s pathetic that he has her teetering off the edge this quickly, this suddenly, but at the same time, she’s not surprised. He learned her body long ago, and she’s infinitely glad that in spite of the time that’s passed since they’ve last been together like this, he still knows it like the back of his hand. It’s when he pushes two fingers into her, curling them as they work in tandem with his tongue that she finally keens, her vision a white-hot blur as she calls out his name.

“Hi,” he whispers when she finally opens her eyes moments later, her heart still ringing in her ears. “You still with me?” His lips turn up in a boyish smile when she nods. “Good.”

He pulls away from her, and despite her first orgasm still coursing hotly through her veins, she whines at the loss of contact. “Steve.”

“I’m here, Nat,” he says, returning to bracket her body with his own after making short work of his pants. When she attempts to pull him down to her, he chuckles. “Remind me again where Izzie got her impatience from?”

“Want you,” she says, ignoring his quip and not caring one bit about how desperate her tone has gotten. “Want you now.” He smiles, but it’s quickly replaced by a groan when she reaches between them, wrapping a hand around his length.

“Fuck,” he all but growls, his eyes slamming shut as she begins to pump her hand up and then down. “Natasha.”

“Please,” she says, her breath hot against his ear, and that’s all she has to say to make him shift his weight onto his forearms as she guides him to her entrance, hissing when he brushes up against her. A gasp falls from her lips, her toes curling into the sheets as he begins to sink into her, inch by inch, and it isn’t until he’s bottomed out that she realizes how much she’s missed this feeling – how much she’s missed him. He leans down, brushing her lips with his own, and making her crave the friction that much more. “Steve,” she calls out, digging her nails into his back. He looks down at her, his jaw clenched, and only then does it dawn on her that he’s stilled for her benefit. “It’s okay,” she promises as his eyes search hers for affirmation. She smiles. “Move, baby.”

With a nod, he begins to roll his hips, drawing out a mewl from her as his lips find her collarbone. She knows there’ll be marks tomorrow, but she can’t bring herself to care. The lazy snap of his hips coupled with the warmth of his mouth on her skin as he nips and teases is addictive, dizzying, and she wants more. She needs more. With that, she wraps her legs around his waist, pushing the heels of her feet into his lower back, encouraging him to go deeper, faster. He groans, the last of his restraint seemingly crumbling when he intertwines their fingers and pins their hands above her head, picking up the pace and making her gasp at the delicious shift in angle.

Pleasure curls in her gut in no time at all, coiling tightly, and it isn’t until he’s shushing her gently that she realizes her moans have grown louder. “I’ve got you,” he says, whispering the words and other sweet nothings into her lips again and again. “I’ve got you, Nat. With me, okay?”

She manages a nod, catching the smile that forms on his lips. And then he’s slipping a hand down between them, making her back bow off the mattress as he thumbs at her bundle of nerves. Her belly clenches as pleasure pulses rapidly through every synapse, every nerve, and though she could feel it coming, a surprised gasp still slips from her lips when her orgasm washes over her, stealing the air right out of her lungs. He kisses her as she tumbles over the edge, pushing into her once, twice, and then with a grunt, he goes still, following her right into the abyss.

Quiet settles over them, their labored breathing the only sound as they come down from their highs. Her body hasn’t completely stopped trembling when he pulls out of her, eliciting a whimper from her as he brushes against her still sensitive flesh, and he kisses her temple consolingly as he shifts onto his back and pulls her to him.

“I’m sorry,” he says later on when their breathing comes back to normal. She lifts her head off his chest to look at him, her eyebrows knitting when she finds his eyes filled with contrition. He sighs. “I’m sorry for not fighting for you… for us, sooner.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “We’ve both made mistakes.” She reaches up to push the hair out of his forehead. “I’m sorry for assuming… well, everything. And for not giving you a chance to explain.”

He takes her hand, bringing it up to his lips to kiss the inside of her wrist. “Any chance there’s still one in those years’ worth of chances that’s still up for grabs?”

She smiles. “I think so.”

She’s warm. That’s the first thing that comes to Natasha’s mind when she stirs awake, her eyes blinking as they adjust to the pale morning light. But as her vision focuses, she realizes the warmth she’s feeling has less to do with the comforter she’s cocooned in and more with the arm draped over her waist. She turns to her other side to see Steve, his outrageously long lashes fanned out against his cheeks as he sleeps, and as memories of the last few hours come flooding back to her, she smiles.

It was past midnight when they finally found the wherewithal to clean the remnants of the feast she prepared, sharing a plate of leftovers and a few glasses of wine as they transferred the food into containers and loaded the dishwasher. They’d even gotten around to wrapping the last of Isabel’s Christmas presents, laying them neatly under the tree before finding themselves a tangled mess of limbs on her bed again, taking their sweet time this time around to get reacquainted with one another. After, they’d spent the rest of the night talking, laughing, and though they’d spent many nights like this in the past, this time felt significantly different. They still had so much to discuss, but with all their cards on the table, it’s as if their conversations – their plans – finally had a shot at permanence, a chance to become reality, and it would be a lie to say that the idea didn’t make her heart absolutely sing.

“You’re staring.”

Steve’s voice interrupts her musing, and she chuckles when she looks to find his eyes already open. “Some people find that romantic, you know.”

“In movies, maybe,” he says through a yawn. “But in real life, it’s just creepy.” She glares at him, giving his chest a shove, and he grins sleepily as he pulls her in for a kiss. “Merry Christmas, Natasha Romanoff.”

“Merry Christmas,” she whispers back, beaming.

He brings a hand to her hip, rubbing circles into her skin with his thumb. “You okay?”

The question causes her to bite her lip, stifling a smirk. It’s not as if last night was their first time – one need not look further than their daughter sleeping down the hall for proof – and yet, it was such a Steve thing to ask. She smiles. “Never better.”

Had it been any other morning, she might have called him out on the smug smile that crosses his lips, but she decides that today, she’ll let him have it. “So, tell me,” he says. “At what point in the last six months did you become a morning person?”

“It’s cute that you think your daughter let me have a say in the matter,” she deadpans, reaching up to cup his face and letting out a contented sigh. “And I’m just happy.”

“Yeah?” he asks, pulling her over him until she’s straddling his hips. “How happy?”

“I think…” she says, biting her lip as she leans down to whisper in his ear, “I’d rather show you than tell you.” He raises a curious brow at her as she pulls away, watching her carefully as she kisses her way down his neck, and she smiles when she feels his skin prickle under her lips.

“Hi!”

They both freeze at the greeting, sharing a wide-eyed stare with each other before turning to see Isabel watching them by the doorway, her stuffed Corgi in hand. “Oh, my God, Izzie,” she says, quickly grabbing her robe that’s dangling on the bedpost and wrapping it around herself. She hops off the bed, managing to throw Steve his boxers before she makes it to Isabel, bending down to pick her up. “How did you get out of your crib, babe?”

Isabel’s only response is to laugh, waving over her shoulder. “Hi, Dada!”

She turns just as Steve emerges from under the comforter. “Hi, fig.”

“You good over there?” she asks, biting back a smile.

He shoots her a withering look as she makes her way back to the bed. “Come here, you little escape artist,” he says, reaching for Isabel and making her giggle as he smothers her with kisses. “What did we say about climbing things?”

“Pwe-sents!” Isabel says, smiling widely.

He chuckles, turning to her just as she settles down next to him, leaning back against the headboard. “Do you want to have breakfast first?”

“No,” Isabel answers before she can get a word in, prompting them both to shake their head in amusement.

“In case you haven’t noticed, she’s kind of the boss around here” she says, smirking.

He laughs. “Presents it is.”

The floor of her living room is a sea of torn up wrapper and discarded ribbon, but as she brings her mug of hot chocolate to her lips, she finds that she couldn’t care less about the sprawling mess as she watches Steve help Isabel rip open her presents. For her part, she’s dutifully played photographer, cataloguing Isabel’s reaction to each gift – as requested by the competitive bunch of aunts, uncles, and grandparents all hellbent on one-upping each other.

“Last one, Iz,” Steve says, handing her a rectangular box.

“What is it?” she prompts excitedly as she puts her mug down to hold the camera back up, capturing the moment Isabel gets the last of the wrapper off and pulls the item out.

“Hat!” Isabel says, turning in Steve’s lap to show him.

“Close,” Steve says, nearly chuckling at the way Isabel’s brows furrow in dismay at his response. “It’s called a beanie. Though it’s just not any other beanie.” He looks her way as he adds, “It’s a beanie uncle Buck chose.”

The laugh slips freely from her lips. “Oh no!”

“Oh yes,” he confirms, his fingers feeling for something in the fabric. “Tada!”

“Wow!” Isabel exclaims, her big blue eyes filling with elation as the antlers on the Reindeer beanie light up, the array of colorful lights twinkling brightly. “Am-a-zing!”

“You hear that?” Steve asks, shooting her a smile. “It’s am-a-zing!” He turns to Isabel, pointing at the camera. “Say, thank you, Uncle Buck.”

“Thanks Buck!” Isabel says.

She chuckles as she cuts the video and rises to her feet. “I hope you still think it’s am-a-zing when she wants to go out in public with that thing,” she tells him in a sing-song voice as she opens up a trash bag and begins to collect the discarded wrapper.

“You mock the beanie now,” he says, standing when Isabel runs off to play with her new mountain of toys. “But when she runs off and the lights make her easy to spot, you might be singing a different tune.”

“The faith you have in our daughter keeping something on her head for more than five minutes is inspirational,” she says, turning to see him grab more wrapper off the floor. “Truly, it is.” She laughs as he rolls his eyes, slipping the bunch he has in his hand into the bag she’s holding as he comes to stand in front of her. “Is that everything?”

“As far as the wrapper’s concerned, yes,” he says, smiling as he produces a folded piece of paper from his back pocket. “But you still haven’t opened this.”

Her eyebrows furrow as she takes the paper from him. “Who’s this from?”

“Me,” he says simply.

“Steve.” His name falls from her lips like a chastisement, and she can only sigh when his response is to encourage her to open it. “Well, now I feel bad,” she says as her fingers work to unfold the paper. “I got you that gift from the aquarium to be funny and then you got me that book, and now…” Her words trail off as she opens the paper all the way, her eyes scanning over what’s scrawled out on it:

Will you go out on a date with me?

“I meant what I said about starting over,” he says when she looks up. “Or, at least, doing the parts we skipped.” His lips twist into a smile. “And I figured since contracts seem to be our thing, maybe you’d say yes if I asked you in writing.”

“You’re kidding, right?” she asks even as her lips turn up in amusement.

“I’m completely serious,” he says, shrugging at the incredulous stare she sends his way. “We could get dressed up, go to dinner and a movie…” He wiggles his eyebrows as he adds, “maybe even make out in the back of the theater.” She snorts at that last bit, and he smiles. “What do you say?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, okay?” she says, her expression growing serious. “But Steve, usually, a guy asks a girl out before she has his baby.”

When she smiles, he throws his head back, laughing. “Okay, well, usually a girl agrees to go out with a guy before she asks him to have a baby with her, so I guess we’re not really into chronology here.” He smirks as she narrows his eyes playfully at him. “Besides, your manufactured indignation would be a lot more convincing if you didn’t practically jump my bones last night.”

She gasps at that, stealing a quick glance over at Isabel to make sure she’s not listening before looking back at him, lowering her voice. “Oh, fuck you.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, a glint in his eyes as he pulls her to him. “Is that not what you were doing last night?”

“Whatever,” she says, unable to keep a smile from forming on her lips. “Fine. Yes, I will go out on a date with you.” His eyes light up at that, and she holds a finger up. “But if you give me another note at the end asking me to go steady, I’m leaving.”

He beams. “Yes, ma’am.”

She rises to the tips of her toes, wrapping her arms around his neck as his mouth finds hers for what feels like the millionth time this morning. The taste of his lips mingled with the hot chocolate they were sipping on is a heavy combination, and she lets out a happy sigh into their kiss when his hands curl around her waist, his thumb brushing against the patch of skin left exposed between her shirt and her pajamas. She nips at his bottom lip, making him groan, and it’s only when they hear someone clearing their throat that they pull away and she moves to look behind Steve.

“Sorry,” Loki says from where he leans by the doorway of her living room, his arms crossed over his chest as he grins from ear to ear. “I only came to check on the little one. I swear I knocked, but um…”

She bites her bottom lip just as Steve turns as well, but before she can say anything, Isabel is already up and running. “Yo-ki!”

“Well, hello there,” Loki says, picking Isabel up. “Someone’s chipper on this Christmas morning, I see. I’ve come to check on your stitches, which I tried to tell your Mum and Dad” – he turns back to them, smirking – “but they were busy.”

“Stitches, right,” she says a little too loudly, pointing towards the couch to hide her blush. “After you, Doc.”

Loki asks them a few of routine questions about Isabel as he sets his medical kit down on the coffee table, and as she and Steve take turns answering them and sharing their observations, she realizes that it’s nice to know that someone else was quietly sharing her worries throughout the night, picking up on the little things she was finding as well. They go silent as Loki begins to examine Isabel, checking her reflexes and changing the bandage covering her stitches.

“Okay,” Loki says, finally breaking the tense silence that had fallen over them. “This sweetheart is free to play with all her Christmas goodies.”

“Yeah?” she says. “Everything looks good?”

“Everything’s just splendid,” Loki says, turning to her and Steve as he helps Isabel off the couch. He drops the flashlight into his kit, zipping it up. “She’s not exhibiting any signs of a concussion and her stitches are healing up well and should dissolve on their own fairly soon.”

“Thank God,” Steve says, relief thick in his voice, and she finds herself nodding along to the sentiment.

“Thank you for coming to check on her,” she tells Loki, who only smiles in return. “I owe you one.”

“As do I,” Steve adds. “Any chance we could start the repayment with some breakfast?”

“I appreciate the offer, but actually the reason I came by early is because I’m on my way to my mother’s,” Loki says, smiling as he nods towards the both of them. “It’s nice to see you two have patched things up, though.”

“Yeah, about that,” Steve says. “Loki, I’m sorry for my behavior last night. There’s no excuse. I was an ass.”

“Oh, that’s quite alright,” Loki says, waving off his apology.

Steve shakes his head. “It’s not. I-”

“He thought you and I were together,” she blurts out suddenly, smiling when Steve’s eyes widen, a sheepish expression breaking out on his face.

“Well, that explains a lot,” Loki says, grinning graciously as his gaze goes from her to Steve. “In any case, I’m flattered that you’d consider me a worthy adversary.”

She smirks. “He also thinks you’re dreamy.”

“Does he now?” Loki asks, clearly amused.

“And on that note,” Steve says, turning to glare at her. “I think I hear our daughter calling.”

She and Loki snicker as Steve, ears red, walks away. “You sure you can’t stay?” she asks. “It won’t even take ten minutes to get the waffles going.”

“I’m sorry, darling,” Loki says as they begin to make their way towards her front door. “I don’t want to hit traffic and you know my mother will kill me if I so much as have a bite before I come to her home.”

“Tell Frigga I said hello then,” she says as she opens the door, leaning against it.

“Oh, believe me, that’s not the only thing I’ll be telling her,” he says, smirking as he gestures to her collarbone. She looks down, and he laughs as she adjusts the collar of her shirt to hide the mark still there. “Long night, was it?” She shoots him a withering look as he leans down to kiss her cheek, cocking a brow up at her. “I fully expect a detailed play by play when I get back.”

She chuckles, shoving him away playfully. “Get out of here!”

Loki smiles. “I’m happy for you, Nat.”

“Thank you,” she says with a nod. “Merry Christmas.”

With a wink, Loki waves goodbye, and she waits for him to make it down the stairs before shutting the door. She walks back to the living room, stopping just by the threshold to see Steve carrying Isabel as they both peer out the window. She smiles. “What are you two goofs up to?”

“Is ’nowing!” Isabel says, pointing out the window as Steve turns.

“Is it?” she asks as she pads to them, making a show of checking out the window. “It is! Maybe if there’s enough later, we can go outside and try to make Olaf.”

Steve’s brow rises in question. “Who’s Olaf?”

“Glad you asked,” she says at the same time Isabel utters snowman. Steve only stares blankly at them, making her laugh. “Don’t worry, you’ll get acquainted with him, Elsa, and Anna... Probably three times before this morning is over, if you’re lucky.”

“Still don’t know who those people are,” he says, pulling her in with his other hand until she’s pressed up against his side. “But I’ll gladly find out if you two introduce me.”

“What’s the saying again?” she muses, looking up teasingly at him. “Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it?”

He grins. “I think I may already have.”

The affection that fills his eyes is so remarkably perspicuous that she wonders how she’s missed it all these years, and as her lips turn up to mirror his smile, she makes a silent vow to never doubt its existence ever again. He leans down, but before his lips can meet hers, Isabel turns in his arms, effectively wedging herself between them.

“Mish-tow!” Isabel says, pointing above them.

They both laugh as they look up, and sure enough, the bundle of mistletoe she had put up yesterday looms above them. She smirks. “You know what that means, right?”

“I think I do,” he says, nodding knowingly as they both turn to Isabel, who’s watching them curiously.

“Fig sandwich!” they both yell as they lean in, pressing a kiss to Isabel’s cheeks and delighting in the way their daughter’s joyous laughter echoes throughout the room.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

#Romanogers #After All #A Little Favor #Steve Rogers #Natasha Romanoff #natrogers #fanfic #AU

59 notes · View notes

hops-hunny · 4 years ago

Text

Felix Felicis

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff! Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Request: “Can you do Draco x Hufflepuff reader fluff where they’re cuddling together and all he wants to do is make her laugh because she failed an exam earlier that day so he’s trying to do everything he can to cheer her up and overall it’s just super fluffy? Thank you have a great day❤️❤️”

Summary: After (Y/N) has a rather unfortunate week, Draco does everything in his power to change that. In a way, he was (Y/n)’s own little Felix Felicis.

A/N: This was my first request so I was a bit nervous writing it! I enjoyed every bit though, this was a very cute request. I hope it was everything you wanted and more anon <3

If (Y/n) didn't know any better, she would've claimed that the world had it out for her. And after the week she had, who would have blamed her? On Monday in potions, she had stirred the wrong way causing a reaction that made her eyebrows disappear(thank god for makeup). On Tuesday, she had slipped and fallen in the great hall which caused a chorus of laughter from every house, including her fellow Hufflepuffs. Wednesday, well, nothing happened. She felt relieved. She had answered a question correctly in DADA, had a free period that overlapped with her friends, and had taken an exam in potions which in her opinion was very easy! Her stroke of bad luck was no more! She was ecstatic...until Thursday came around. If she had thought the rest of the week was bad, then Thursday was absolutely fucking dreadful. Her day started off fine, she woke up, got dressed, and put on her favorite perfume. She didn’t use it often, only when she expected the day to be amazing

That hopeful feeling of luck was short lived and ended by the time she got to the great hall. The Weasley twins had rigged a prank on the wrong person which resulted in her face being stained blue, when she got to her first class her seat was taken by someone else which she didn’t have a problem with. That was until she noticed the only seat left was near Fletcher Digby, who was known for his noticeable...odor that was...to put it nicely, absolutely putrid. By the end of her day, she had gathered up a broken shoe, a run in her stockings, a rip in her blouse, and the blue tint to her face had somehow gotten worse - which she later found out was sweat activated. (Y/n) was usually very optimistic. Even during the cloudiest of days or saddest of times she was always there to offer encouraging words and a smile. If a fellow Hufflepuff was sick, she’d often bake them something with the house elves or give them the last of her sweets from Honeydukes. She even did this for people in other houses as well, a ‘Get Well Soon!’ card attached along with it. That’s what her boyfriend, Draco, loved about her.

She was his light in all the darkness, the candle to his flame. When she came into his life, she taught him many things. His love for her was deep and pure and anyone would be a fool not to notice. That’s why Draco was concerned when he started to see her throughout the week less and less. During the school day, they didn’t have any classes together but even then he’d always wave or smile to her during hallpassing. He’d leave a kiss on her forehead in the great hall before heading to his own table and waited for her after her last class of the day on Friday. So when Draco found himself waiting a lot longer than usual outside of the potion’s room he grew concerned. He pushed past a few students entering the room. His smile dropped when there was no one left in the room but Fletcher Digby. Come to think of it, had he seen her at all today? He assumed she came to the great hall late but now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen her leave with her friends. There were no quick pecks during hallpassing, winks when they saw each other. He quickly strode the halls, looking for her. He was worried, it wasn’t like (y/n) to just miss a day of class with no warning or explanation prior.

“Hannah, have you seen (Y/n)? I haven’t seen her all day and I'm growing quite worried.” He said pulling the Hufflepuff off to the side. If anyone were to know where she was, surely her roommate would. The girl took a moment to think.

“Hm, no. I haven’t seen her since this morning. Before I left the dorm, she was still sleeping. She was really distraught last night so I’m not surprised she decided to stay in. However, I do admit that is completely unlike her.” She offered him a sympathetic smile as he thanked her before heading in the direction of the girls dormitory.

He knocked on the door, finding it to not be locked as it popped open. He walked in only to find that her bed was empty. The only person to be found was Luna, who was holding (Y/n)’s favorite stuffed giraffe (one he had given to her as a present once). She hadn’t noticed him yet but wasn’t phased when he let out a sharp, “What are you doing with that?” she simply turned around and offered him a soft grin.

“Hello Draco, (Y/n) asked me to bring this to her. She was having a terribly bad case of wrackspurts today. One of the worst cases I’ve seen really. So she went where she usually does when she has a bad day although, I think you should bring it to her now that you’re here. Also give her this, it’s a good luck charm I made for her. It should get rid of the wrackspurts and bring luck along with it.” She spoke, handing him the stuffed giraffe and a necklace with a peculiar charm made of tiger’s eye. He looked at it for a sec before taking it, offering her a nod before heading off where he knew you’d be.

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

You sat cross legged on the old, comfy couch, drinking the cup of chamomile and lavender tea Hagrid had brought to you. You had grown quite close to the gentle giant throughout your years at Hogwarts. During your first year, you were having an awful day, not as bad as the week you were currently going through but still quite a bad one. You were homesick and missed your family dearly. Your housemates tried to cheer you up with treats and kind words and although you appreciated them dearly, nothing could stop the tears from flowing. That’s when Luna came in, she brought you straight to Hagrid’s hut and explained your dilemma. He welcomed you both in, brewing you tea and offering whatever treats he had. Soon enough, your tears stopped. Hagrid’s hut slowly started to become your home away from home as he offered it to you whenever you liked without asking any questions if you weren’t willing to talk.

Usually, you’d slowly start to tell him what was wrong but today was one of those silent days. Many would expect Hagrid to be absolutely horrid with emotions but, he had like a 6th sense when it came to them. He decided to leave you alone for a few hours, tending to his duties. When he came back, he had gotten you your favorite dessert from the house elves. They were always more than willing to send and make you things because of how kind and helpful you were to them. You sipped at your tea as you softly pet Fang’s head which was resting in your lap. You and Fang’s heads both perked up as you heard a knock at the door. Hagrid walked to the door to see who it was.

“Ah, I figured I would see ya sometime soon.” he said, stepping to the side to let whoever it was in. Draco stepped into the small hut, closing the door as he came to sit near you on the couch. You instantly threw yourself into his arms which in turn, caused him to wrap his arms around you tightly, placing a kiss on the top of your head as he stroked your back. Hagrid took that as his sign to leave, taking the large dog with him. Draco let you cry a bit, his heart breaking at the noises.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere, love. Are you alright? Luna told me to give you these.” He said as he handed the girl her giraffe. She hugged it tightly as he put the charm around her neck. She sat between her lover’s legs sighing. He held her close as she described her day, his heart aching from all that she had to deal with and his mind cursing him for not realizing sooner.

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

“And on top of all of that, I failed my potions exam! That wouldn’t have been bad if I hadn’t gone on blabbing to all my friends how well I thought I did on the bloody thing. I just feel like the world has it out for me.” She said looking up at him. He nodded in understanding. He had stayed quiet as she had vent to him, just providing the listening ear she needed. That’s when he got a few ideas. He smiled before standing up, stretching his hand out for the girl to grab.

“Come with me. I’ve got an idea! Quickly, we mustn’t be caught.” He said eagerly as he stared at her. She hesitantly grabbed his hand, setting Georgie, her giraffe, on the couch before she was swiftly dragged out of the hut. Draco pulled his girlfriend along, running as she tried to keep up due to the fact her legs were much shorter.

“Where are we going, Dray?” She asked which prompted a quick “shhh!!” from Draco. They both ran across the grounds of the school, hand in hand as to not be caught. (Y/n) had no idea where he was taking her but she thought anything would be better than moping around the rest of the day. They both tried to contain the wild giggles coming from their mouths as they headed in the direction of Hogsmeade.

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

As they finally made it, they both still had smiles on their faces at the rush they had gotten from sneaking off. Draco had tied his tie around the girl’s eyes leading her in the way of whatever wild idea it was that he had. “What if we get caught? Someone is bound to see us.” she said, her face forming a frown at the thought of being caught.

“Oh hush darling, we’ll be fine. Besides if we do happen to get caught in some trouble, I’m sure my father won’t mind bailing us out.” He said, finally removing her blindfold. She opened her eyes to see...Madam Puddifoots? She gave him a strange look. “We’re here to get a laugh out of the things that happen in here, sweets. Trust me, you’ll see. Act natural.” He took her hand, leading her to a small booth.

Soon enough, she saw and heard what he meant. The sight of all the couples with their peculiar behaviors was quite a laugh. They saw one couple come in with matching crochet sweaters with each others faces on it, another referred to each other as each others “snuggle-boop-kitty-fuzy-wuzzykins”and only that each time they spoke to each other. But along with the odd, mushy, and gushy couples came a few odd breakups too. One man tried to propose by reciting an “original poem” which turned out to be stolen, causing his boyfriend to dump scalding hot tea on his head. Another guy forgot he scheduled dates with 4 different girls at the same spot, on the same day..didn’t end well for him. A few employees had to carry him out on a stretcher as the girls all exchanged numbers.

By the time they were back on their way to the castle, (Y/n) was already in a better mood. She held an ice cream cone in one hand, and Draco’s hand in her other. They both paused coming to the same realization. Although it was easy to sneak out, how would they sneak back in? The couple locked eyes at the same time before Draco picked her up, tossing her over his shoulder. (Y/n) made sure her ice cream didn’t fall as her boyfriend sprinted in the shadows, using a passageway she had never seen before to get back into the castle. Once inside, they both held in their giggles, quieting their breathing from the run back to the castle as they made their way to his dorm. By then she had long finished her ice cream as he tossed her on his bed, throwing himself down next to her shortly after. (Y/n) rolled over towards Draco to find him already facing her. The pair sat in silence for a moment before both losing composure. They began to laugh hysterically, to the point where a tear or two was shed. After their little laughing fit, Draco sat up, pulling his girlfriend on top of him. She turned, straddling him as she placed a soft kiss on his lips before resting her head on his shoulder.

“I just wanted to say thank you Draco. Not even just for today but for being there whenever I need you. This was honestly one of the worst weeks of my life but if I’m honest, I’d go through it all again to have another evening like the one we just had.” She said as she nuzzled in deeper, taking in the scent of expensive cologne and cinnamon. Her lover was taken back by her words. She was the only one who made him feel like that. Her words meant more to him than anything in the world. He tightened his grip on her, holding her close to him.

“I’d do it all again and more just to see you happy. Why don’t we make this a regular thing of ours, hm? Every friday, we’ll sneak outside the castle and do whatever we want, indulging to our hearts can’t handle it anymore? Even if not, everyday with you is an adventure, sneaky trips or not.” He said. Draco meant what he said full heartedly, everyday she managed to make his life an adventure, learning new things about himself that he didn’t know were there. It was like he was a canvas and she was the painter, each day, each moment, a different stroke of color on his heart.

Perhaps it was Luna’s good luck charm or perhaps it was them, but from then on out each day seemed luckier than the last when he had his girl on his arm.

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x reader #draco x you #draco #luna lovegood #luna lovegood x you #luna lovegood x reader #harry potter imagines #harry potter #harry potter x reader

99 notes · View notes

angeli-marco-writes · 5 years ago

Text

Steve Rogers - Promise

A/N - So, this is my first marvel imagine? I haven’t watched all the films yet, I’m halfway through and watching them all in chronological order, but I couldn’t resist because I love Steve Rogers. So much. Once I’ve finished watching, I'll probably realise a shit tonne of mistakes in this, but please don’t judge. Apologies for any typos and incorrect information. GIF credits to owner.

Warnings - angst, smut so 18+ please; fingering, unprotected sex (don’t do it), borderline ‘captain’ kink, 5k.

Summary - you’re an admin worker in stark tower, an average working girl except for one thing, you have a superior memory, one that has aided you many a time. But when you’re leading Cap on a mission and it gets cut off, is it because of your memory, or are you just letting your crush on Steve cloud any reasonable thinking?

YOU LOVE YOUR JOB, there’s no denying it. You’re young, a Brit in America, just working to help with your future, but after how well it’s been going recently? You don’t think you’ll want to leave.

You’re an admin at Stark Tower. Not that one is really needed with all of Tony’s tech, and the fact that everyone is more than capable of sorting themselves out, it’s just fun to be around. Not only do you complete all the stenography and spreadsheets that don’t necessarily have to do with anyone specific, but you also do many of the more artistic plans and are everyone’s personal therapist. You probably don’t help your own cause - leaving your door propped open with a book to let anyone drift in and out of their own accord at any given time, unless you’re properly working, and then they know to find you in your office. Yes, your very own office.

Recently, with you becoming more and more familiar with the workings of all the residents, growing more knowledgeable of their work lives, picking up the lingo and everyone’s gladness at your perfect, imperturbable memory, you’re slowly being given more tasks. This could be anything from mission reassignment to looking through months old footage, but you’ve been helping out over the system on a couple of missions. You really feel like one of the team even though you know you’re far from it. Sleeping in the tower helps, as well as being welcomed by everyone every meal time that you sit together, especially the way they test your memory trick and always seem completely amazed at how you remember the most obscure details. Anything from the exact positioning of a birth mark on someone that Natasha took down the first week you began working, to the precise measurement of metal that Tony needed to complete a new project, to the freckle on Steve’s bare ass that one time he had to use your shower-

That escalated quickly.

Currently, you’re in your office, daydreaming and completely wistfully thinking. You have no trouble remembering every conversation you and Steve have ever had, not that many admittedly, but he’s always been so kind to you. He was the first one to truly make you feel part of the team, welcoming you with a hug before holding you at arms length and brushing a crease from the arm of your blouse. You’re not really sure if he’d seen anyone dress that way, since all the girls he was around were always in their kick ass clothes, gym shorts or comfies, so you wandering around day in day out and wearing frilly Victorian-era blouses paired with short, tight pencil skirts and Louboutin stilettos may have been a shock to his system. It wasn’t with any agenda in mind that you did this, merely a mix of modesty and business woman style. Every word Cap has ever said flies through your mind, the impeccable memory of the way his exquisite nylon suit clings to him in all the right places...

Steve is the only guy you’ve fancied for a while, the only person you’ve ever really gone for emotionally, and all of that is because he’s such a cute human being; so genuine, so upbeat around you, so supportive, and his smile. Goddamn his smile. He’s just too cute for life, which is also why you should really be concentrating, considering you’re supposed to be monitoring his mission.

“Y/N, are you there? I think somethings happening, someone’s here that we didn’t know about, where do I go?”

His usually soft voice is frantic, and you can tell he’s a little scared, since this was supposed to be a simple solo mission, in and out, but now you’re having to recite an escape route.

“Turn left at the end of that corridor, half way down there’s a grate on the wall. Pull it off, climb inside.” You tell him as calmly as you can, but even your heart is beating out of your chest, breathing laboured and a slight sweat forming on your forehead.

“I’m in, sweetheart. What next?” Not the right time for your heart to flutter at his words, especially not the time to imagine the way his raspy morning voice would curl around those very same Few words...

“Follow the route, it’ll bring you out in a downstairs kitchen area that was empty last time I checked, I’ll look again...” you trail off, clicking off the one screen with the dot of his whereabouts to check the surveillance, and he seems to be safe.

You hear his breathing calm down as he crawls through the ventilation system, but even as you flick through every camera that you’ve been able to access in the building he’s in and the surrounding area, nothing seems to be out of the ordinary apart from a couple of unconscious, probably dead blokes scattered across stone floors.

“I’m in the kitchen, but there’s no doors in here, no way out.” He says.

Fuck.

Your heart sinks to your feet.

“Yes there is Steve, it’s on the north wall beside a faux, oversized spice rack. It has a silver handle and it’s an oak door, exactly like my bedroom door.”

He pauses, his heart rate thrumming heavily, “sweetheart there’s no door here, there’s no spice rack, just old built in cabinets and flat walls. You must have misremembered.”

“Shut the fuck op Steve, I’m doing what I can,”

Your usual eloquence is out the window along with all of your chill, sounding mildly like a road man as you frantically tap between the screens. He’s right though, his only way out is to climb back in the vent and hope to god, well, or Thor, that no one finds him there, but that may be too late.

“Try the cold tap on the sink, I don’t know exactly what was said but I distinctly remember someone talking about it. Stay calm for me Cap, please.” You want to beg for him to be ok, to come back in one piece, because this isn’t a normal mission, you’re emotionally attached.

He takes a deep breath and walks over to the tap, but as soon as he touches it, all surveillance is cut off, your computer goes black, and you can’t even hear his breathing anymore.

“Steve? Cap, come back to me, can you hear me? Steve?” With each call of his name to which he doesn’t respond, you grow more frantic. The lights are still on so you know that it’s not the mains, but you’re not educated with circuits, so you do what you can to reboot your computer, only for it to show up with your bland screen of spreadsheets, sans anything about the mission or Steve.

Your hands start shaking, lip quivering and mind overwhelmed with stress. It’s over, you’ve lost Steve, fucked up the mission, you’ll be out of a job, and the worst part? You broke a promise.

“Promise you’ll keep me safe out there Y/N?” Steve asked, his cute little smile twinkling in his eyes and making your whole body go giddy.

“I promise, but you have to promise that you’ll come back in one piece.”

“That I can do, for you.” He murmured, wrapping his arms around your body and placing a kiss to your hairline.

You haven’t been at the compound long enough to know whether this is normal for Steve, or for anyone, or if he’s just a natural flirt. Whatever it is, you feel too guilty to face him again if he even comes back alive.

Slowly, soft sobs start to escape your lips without you noticing, tears slipping down your cheeks and dampening the neck of your blouse. You can’t help the guilt that overtakes you, the fear that you can’t even reason, and that’s when you hear a soft knock on your door.

“Can I come in?”

It’s Natasha. You nod gently as she takes a seat in the corner of your room, throwing her feet up on your coffee table so nonchalantly that it’s almost not a challenge of authority.

“What’s up? Didn’t you have to radio for Cap?” Once again you nod, hastily wiping the tears from your face and smoothing your skirt out. “So, why are you crying?”

You like Natasha, of course you do, but you have normal people emotions and a little more conscience, unable to stand the thought of anyone even getting a papercut on your watch.

“He went off, the computers crashed, and it’s all my fault.” You say, standing up and moving to shut your office door, locking it for safekeeping, because if Bucky finds out then you’re dead.

Natasha grabs a lollipop from your sweet bowl and sticks it in her mouth, swirling her tongue around it, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think she’s flirting. She’s not, that’s just Natasha. “Care to elaborate?”

You take a sharp breath, “someone was there that we didn’t calculate, I had to get him through the ventilation system to an abandoned kitchen that I KNOW had a door, my memory doesn’t glitch, so in the time it took for Steve to get through the vents, someone must’ve closed off the door, but I’m not sure how. Then he just went when he touched the only possible thing that could be an escape route. Fuck, what if he’s dead?”

You feel tears bubbling up in your eyes again, blinking harshly to keep them away.

“So what if he is? You’re smart, you’re panicking, so you’ve obviously done everything. It sounds harsh but you can’t get too attached. Just listen out and he’ll come back of his own accord, but if he doesn’t then we’ll have to deal with that later.” She says, grasping a hand around your shoulder before stepping over the threshold to the main compound, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Maybe she thought tough love would work, but she has a point. You’ve done everything you can, so now it’s just a waiting game.

You keep an ear piece on you but shut your office for the night, heading out to the bar to pour yourself a more than healthy sized glass of wine. You unbutton your shirt a little and slide down the wall to your favourite reading spot, in one far corner, you set up some cushions and bedding. You’re the only one that uses it, but you could swear that you’ve seen Steve eyeing it up before. So you sit, tears streaming down your cheeks and leaving you with mascara-stained tear tracks, the first few buttons of your shirt recklessly undone, and your heels flung elsewhere. You bring the bottle over with your glass, and you pick up a book to keep you distracted.

You’re not sure how long you sit there, guilt slowly building, occasionally calling Steve’s name to check if he’s come back on the system, but there’s nothing. Nothing until the lift doors open, and out walks a very bloody Cap with his suit half on and a skin tight white t-shirt clinging to his upper body.

The tears don’t stop falling from your eyes, but you close your book anyway. You would stand up, run to hug him, but your legs can’t hold you up, so you stay seated, all your words caught in your throat as Steve edges further across the common area towards you.

He offers you a shy smile, virtually collapsing into the carpet only metres from you. Slowly his head lifts, hair falling into his eyes, and he holds his arms out.

“Oh god Steve,” it’s him. Really him. You feared he’d be a hologram or something, your eyes deceiving you from their soreness post crying. But he’s here, you can tell from the overly memorised display of veins in his bicep when he offers you his arm.

“It’s me,” he nods, edging a little further towards you as you crawl closer and settle into his grip.

Your tears flow freely, dampening his shirt. Neither of you says a word, he just grips you closer to him, cuddling your legs into his lap to soothe you.

After a while, Steve fidgets, and you find your eyes dry.

You angle your head upwards, your well kept chignon completely haywire. Steve’s face is covered in bruises and dried blood, but his eyes don’t look at all worried.

“What happened?” You whisper, words vibrating through his chest.

“The tap was a trick, or maybe I twisted the wrong one, but all the lights went out and I was shocked, I had to attack a few guys but I made it out, albeit bruised.” He swallows, running a shy finger over the curves of your face. “Were you worried about me?”

You nod, clutching him close. He chuckles and draws circles on your back through your shirt, just his soft touch more comforting than anything else.

“I’m fine, sweetheart, is my nose broken though?”

You look at his nose, softly smoothing over a hell of a bruise, before placing a gentle kiss to the bridge.

“No, trust me. In British comps, fights happen daily, and my ex was in with a bad crowd, always in fights. I had to deal with all kinds of injuries, and your nose is not broken. Be grateful because it hurts to sort it out.”

He laughs and brings you in.

“You deserve so much better than someone like that. I was worried about you when I was out there you know...” he says.

A strange conversation transition, but who are you to judge.

“I was so scared, I thought you’d died,” ah shit, here come the tears again, “Natasha told me to just wait it out like I wasn’t completely emotionally attached to you. Bloody hell, Steve, I’d be responsible if you died.”

He cooes sweet reassurances in your ear, wrapping his arms entirely around your torso while the join between his neck and shoulder becomes your sanctuary.

“I’m emotionally attached to you too if that helps,” he whispers in your ear, so quietly that he hopes you didn’t hear, instantly regretting it. But with the soft kiss you place on the sweet spot just below his ear, he brings up all his courage to angle his head just right, capturing your lips in his in the sweetest of kisses.

You gasp into the kiss, your reaction giving Steve means to believe you didn’t like it, instantly pulling away and dropping his hands from around your body.

“I-I’m sorry, you’re upset and I took advantage of that, and I haven’t really been with anyone since, well...”

“Shut up and kiss me, Steve.” You command, cutting off his rambling, your hand cupping his cheek.

His hands slowly make their way around your body, fumbling for the bottom of your blouse and subsequently unable to find where your shirt ends and your skirt starts. You giggle a little into the kiss, taking the opportunity to deepen the kiss by delving his tongue into your mouth. You place your hands over his and guide them to your chest. For a second, he seems confused, his lips halting their massaging movements on your own, until he finds the open buttons at the top of your blouse. He pulls his lips away for a moment, breath mingling together in the air. His smells of strawberries, you note. He glances at you for reassurance, something which you eagerly give, so he begins. His hands slowly work their way over your chest, fingers fiddling with your buttons as you wait patiently, completely submissive for Steve to do whatever he wants to you.

He pushes the material from your shoulders, and you untuck the back of it from your skirt, allowing it to fall to the floor, revealing your bra. Though now you see Steve eyeing it up, you realise it’s not really a bra at all, rather two triangles of flimsy fabric with some bands and strings attached, one of your only bras that doesn’t show through a sheer blouse. The way his eyes are boggling at your tits though, you guess he likes it.

An unwitting blush creeps up your neck and cheeks, suddenly feeling cold under his scrutiny.

“You can touch them if you want,” you chuckle lightly, fearing that you’ll sound like an inexperienced teenager if you say more.

Steve blushes as crimson as you, his large hands leaping at the opportunity to feel you. You throw your head back in pleasure as his cold thumb rubs over your nipples, making them hard to the touch, and the rest of his hands get to work massaging and kneading your boobs, pulling down the fabric to softly kiss your bare skin.

Although he hasn’t done this in a while, well, a lifetime, he still knows how to do it realllly well.

Your hands fly to his heart, keeping him there, his lips switching between your breasts until you grow a little more needy, grinding down on his bulge.

“You wanna do this?” He asks, voice a little hoarse but still silky.

“Yes, Steve. Fuck, just take me.”

“Language,” he chides jokingly, but despite that, he agrees.

Clearly he doesn’t need to be asked twice, because he has you flipped beneath him with your back on your cushions in your reading corner, his lips attaching your neck.

You fumble with the bottom of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head between kisses and suckles to a sensitive spot on your neck. He’s carved like a Greek god, abs toned to perfection, his tanned skin rippling with any given movement. He feels so soft too, skin tender beneath your fingers, trailing them gently across his back and torso to simply feel him. The contrary of gentle skin and solid muscles is one that makes your mouth water with desire, bringing Cap’s lips back to your own, palms pressed firmly against his back. You go in deep this time, licking his mouth and devouring his taste. To your surprise, he kisses you back with even more fervour, so passionate that you lose track of any thought swirling in your mind.

“Suit off, now.” You call breathlessly, watching on as Steve clumsily tries to peel off his trousers by using the sleeve of his suit. He’s moving so recklessly that with an abrupt movement he’ll snag the fabric, ripping the suit that makes him look heaven sent.

“Here,” you giggle, offering a hand out which he gladly takes, letting you shimmy the tough material down his legs, only blocked by his clunky boots which he kicks off at the same time as the suit, haphazardly leaving them wherever they fall in the lounge. “Fuck.” Is all you can choke out. The serum worked on everything. Even with his briefs still on, you can see his cock twitching within its confines.

“You’re wearing too many clothes now,” he faux scolds, leaping atop you again, kissing your collarbone as his hands work their way down your body.

First he unhooks your bra properly, throwing it off and you both hear it land on the glass coffee table from the way your clasp knocks the glass. Next he moves onto your skirt, unzipping it, your hips raising of their own accord to accommodate his actions, slipping it off alongside your tights, revealing your bare legs to him for the first time. He doesn’t care about any of the natural marks that grace your skin, merely that you’re sitting in just your panties and only for him.

“God you’re so beautiful,” he says.

He runs his palms over your thighs, just feeling your skin beneath his. His touch is soothing, as is his presence, allowing you to feel open towards him. You tilt your legs a little more open, revealing to him the small wet latch that graces your not-so-sexy work underwear.

“All for me?” Steve asks, eyes innocent and doe like.

If he’s really this sweet and naive then you’re gonna fucking ruin him. Sweet Jesus what you wouldn’t do to that man, starting with your incredibly well hidden Captain kink, though it may not be hidden much longer.

He brings a finger up to your core, pushing your panties to the side to run a finger up and down your slit. He audibly moans while collecting your slick from between your folds, fingers rough in contrast to the part of his body that you’re gripping onto, though you’re not sure quite where from your eyes fluttering closed.

“Ready?”

You nod, bracing yourself as he rips your panties off and pushes one finger inside you. He feels brilliant, his fingers so much longer and better than your own, already bringing you jolts of pleasure from its presence.

He draws it out before pumping back in again, continuing his movements. Your forehead falls against his bare shoulder, small gasps of pleasure escaping your open mouth.

“More,” you pant, ready to feel more of his intoxicating ministrations.

He nods obligingly, slowly adding a second finger, continuing his gentle assault on your pussy. God, it’s been so long since you’ve had sex, just his two fingers pumping in and out of you brings you more pleasure than you’d care to admit.

“S-stop,”

He looks up at you, immediately withdrawing his fingers, covered in your juices and glistening in the moonlight. You flush far too deeply at such a simple thing.

“I need to feel you already, please.”

You sensually drag your finger all over his bare chest, hearing his breath hitch in his throat. He nods vigorously, hair falling in his line of vision, but scrambles to be on top of you properly, hands either side of your head on your array of cushions and his legs steady, trapping you completely beneath him.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna take advantage of you, y/n. You’re so beautiful and perfect and I want your first time with me to be something you’ll remember forever.” He says sweetly, but despite his kind words, you can’t help but chuckle for a solid few seconds before he realises what he’s said.

“Ok, but are you sure you wanna do it here rather than my room? Yours is out of the option, everyone will assume you’re dead if your book isn’t there anymore...”

once more you chuckle, as does he, bringing your hand up to cup his jaw.

“I’m sure, Steve, now get inside me before I change my mind and wake Bucky up,” you quip.

He knows you’re joking but gets to work anyway, swiftly getting rid of his brokers and ungracefully kicking them off as you watch him. He may be hot but even Loki’s magic may not be able to make him elegant.

As soon as he’s back in his previous position and you see is dick slapping against his stomach, hard and already a little red, you can’t help but gape. His too-tight boxers didn’t do him justice because now you’re worried he won’t even fit.

He sees your worried face and panics, “We can go back if you want, we don’t have to do this.”

“I want this Steve, shitting hell-“

“Language,” he chides, interrupting you, allowing you to cock your eyebrows at him, a look to say ‘is this really the time?’

“I’ve never wanted anything more in my life, just go slow because you’re huge.” You finish, smiling at his dorky smile and flushed cheeks.

Of all the things he could blush at, he chooses a compliment. Such a dork, you think to yourself, unable to stop the contagious smile creeping onto your face.

“I’ll be careful with you, I promise.”

And that he is.

“Oh, and call me captain.”

That’s something you knew he’d have a kink for, making you smirk a little too.

He runs the head of his cock through your folds to father a little lubrication before pushing in, very slightly and very gently. He bends his arms and kisses all over your face with the new leverage, feather light kisses of pure affection before you give him a breathy whisper, resembling of a ‘more’, so he pushes in a bit more again, repeating the process until he’s buried to the hilt inside your aching core, clenching around him without Steve even needing to do anything.

“Can I start moving?” He asks, awkwardly shifting his weight above you, but you nod vigorously, kissing him urgently as his lips begin to move.

He starts off slow, gradual thrusts, ensuring that he finds every weak spot inside or you, making your toes curl already and your legs knot around his waist, his tongue still dancing with yours.

He increases his pace after a while, bucking into you faster, making you moan out his name and clutch onto his wonderfully broad shoulders.

You pull your lips away for a moment, “more Captain,” you ask, nothing more than a breathy sound, but Steve obliges.

He breaks the kiss as he begins snapping his hips into yours with fervour and purpose. His balls are hitting your bare ass, his cock stuffed inside you and making the most delectable sounds from how wet you are, all for Steve. He looks down, tearing his gaze away from your pretty little face with your die eyes and parted lips, only to watch as he sinks into you again and again, blurring the lines of where he ends and you begin.

“Steve, Captain, please, talk to me,”

Your words come out as a strangled cry, a beg mixing with his moan at the name, oxygen lessening as your eyes flutter shut, too engrossed in the pleasure to even care that your voice has gone up in pitch while his has gone down.

“You’re such a tease, walking around in that tight skirt all day, those long legs always crossed. All I want is to pull them apart and go down on you, under your desk, in the kitchen, just anywhere that I can have you for my own.”

His voice is low, raspy and needy as he trails his tongue along your collarbone filthily, forcing your eyes open with some unearthly force he must possess simply so that he can meet your gaze as he bites your nipples, his cock continually hitting that sweet spot inside you.

“It’s not just that though,” he continues, resuming his dirty talk between caresses of his lips all over you, “you’re so perfect. So stunning, so intelligent, the reason I wake up every day just for the hope that one of these days I’d be able to kiss you.”

his hips halt just for a moment, long enough to unwrap your legs from his back and throw them over his shoulders, lust filled eyes boring into your own with an uncharacteristically devilish smirk.

He kisses you again, fleeting but passionate before he nibbles your earlobe and purrs,

“And now I get to have you at my mercy, and believe me, that desk fantasy is gonna come true every day.”

With that sentiment, he starts ploughing into you even more ferociously than before, making you scream his name, a lot of murmured ‘Captain!’s and curses mingling with the cries.

The new angle hits spots you forgot even existed. Your nails take his back, tugging in and clinging on for mercy, the burn of your legs in such a contorted position only adding to your pleasure.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” you shout breathlessly, chest heaving, your boobs moving up and down of their own accord and Steve is unable to take his eyes off them.

You feel the coil ready to spring in your stomach, a climax that’s been steadily building since he first kissed you.

“Tell me what you’re gonna do with me tomorrow, and then you can come.”

His words are something forbidden, coaxing you off the edge, daring you to hit that wave of pleasure. Just the thought of your past daydreams make your walls clench around him.

“I’ll wake you up by sucking your magnificent cock, then I’ll ride you harder than anyone has ever before, and then I’ll ride your face before we have intermittent sex in my office, at least twice.”

You don’t even know what you’re saying, your imagination running winks with the thought of Steve having you in his lap in your desk chair, pressed up against the glass of your office for everyone to see as he fucks you senseless. You’re insatiable. The thought of his dick twitching in your mouth is too much to handle, especially as he brings his thumb down and presses on your clit, moaning unintelligibly at your apparently sexy words, and you feel it.

Your orgasm crashes over you so hard that you feel it on your bones, thrashing around beneath Steve, screaming out his name as he dudes your high out only seconds before coming too, his muffled cries of your name drowned out as he bites onto the juncture of your neck, bruising it and rendering you unable to wear anything other than polo necks for a good few days. The pleasure he’s given you is unrivalled, and you can’t waist for more.

His body collapses onto yours inelegantly, wrapping you unto his body warmth in your cosy little corner, both forgetting that you’re completely naked in the common area after having rather loud sex.

“Was that good?” Steve asks sheepishly, fingers running through your tangled hair.

“Yes, incredible. And for you?”

He thinks for a moment before answering, “exquisite, sweetheart.”

Your heart glows a little at his sleepy voice. You run your thumb over the bump of his nose and the blood residue still on his face, but you think you may like Steve a little roughed up. You stay close to each other, breathing together and sharing kisses in the night time, so absorbed in your own bubble that you don’t hear someone come in.

“The fuck is this, Steve?”

Fuck, Bucky.

“Couldn’t you have been a little better at aiming your clothes? We’re all glad you’re finally together, but loud and untidy as well as sex in the common area? Come on.”

You can hear the humour in his words, but they do hold some sincerity, making you blush and chuckle. Next thing you know, your bra is being thrown at the pair of you, landing in Steve’s messed up hair.

“Thanks buck...” you say with a meek giggle, kissing Steve and removing your bra from his face.

“Round two? My room?” He suggests, eyebrows wiggling.

“Promise you’ll let me clean you up first?!” You insist, kissing his shoulder and beaming at him.

“Promise.”

#steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #captain america #captain america imagine #avengers smut #avengers imagine #captain america smut #steve rogers smut

510 notes · View notes

starswornoaths · 4 years ago

Text

A Little Fall of Rain - Commission!

A commission for the always lovely @anorptron, featuring an equally lovely Sage! Thank you so much for your support! \o/

Commission info!

cw: mentions of injury, mentions of death

5.0 spoilers ahead! Emet/WoL

After the sin eater attack on Lakeland, the Scions are at an all time low. Their morale is shattered, the high of their emotional and personal victories stolen from them by Vauthry’s cruelty.

And Emet-Selch should have been happy about that, so why wasn’t he?

After raising up and guiding both the Allag and Garlean Empires with his own hands, after dedicating multiple lifetimes to serving as both the Architect that built such civilizations to soaring heights, and the Harbinger of their downfall, Emet-Selch was more than aware of the delicate balance one had to strike between benevolence and wrath. When the time was right to be gentle and nurturing to a fledgling civilization, and when to bring his might as a sorcerer of eld to bear in order to tear it down at its zenith.

Despite being one of his more resounding successes in sowing those seeds of chaos, Vauthry had no such natural affinity for wielding his authoritarian power with any semblance of grace or dexterity. Even in victory, Vauthry couldn’t help but act as a gloating child, jeering from an overhead loud speaker attached to his personal airship.

It didn’t even matter that they were on the same side, technically: the sound of it alone was enough to grate on Emet-Selch’s patience.

Vauthry’s bellowing, made tinny through the speaker he was projected through, rang sharply in his ears even now, after those gaudy Eulmoran airships had long since taken off for brighter skies. Even with the heaviness of the rainfall that had happened during the battle, and the fat droplets that yet stubbornly continued to fall in the ensuing stillness, were nowhere near as weighty as the defeat they suffered, nor the weight of the insult that Vauthry heaped upon them, on top of it all.

Emet-Selch should be happy. He should be pleased with the progress that his plans have made, now that the final pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fall into place. He should have taken this victory and rode its high as long as he could and just basked in it. The sin eaters besieging the already beleaguered people of the Crystarium— at the height of their hope, no less! — should have been the definitive moment of triumph that he had always thought it would be, his just reward for having played his part so perfectly.

So why did it all ring so hollow?

The wounded and dying soldiers, battered in both body and pride, barely paid him notice as he drifted about Fort Jobb as a wraith: silent, looming, practically gliding around the writhing and the eerily still alike. It was hardly a new experience, all but floating among the dead and the dying, and he paid it no mind.

“The tragedy that has befallen you is of your own making. Divine retribution for your defiance.” He distinctly recalled Vauthry taunting.

Cruel for both the callousness of the words and the lack of truth to them; those who dwelled on the First were hardly responsible for the circumstances that led them to this point— in particular when it was the Ancients that guided them to their fate, even before the Ancients themselves fully understood how they had arbitrated over their now fractured world.

They weren’t even people, these frail, fading fragments. It wasn’t their fault they couldn’t stand up to destiny. Not even the Ancients could, once.

They weren’t his concern, besides. Hawkish gold eyes scanned the crumpled forms in search of someone familiar. In search of one soul in particular, though if any of those other miscreants were scuttling about, they would do: they would all lead him back to Sage.

It was ultimately the mistrustful gunblade wielder that Emet-Selch found first. Just as well; judging by the purposeful strides he was taking, he was going somewhere in a hurry. Keen on tracking down the Warrior of Light amid the aftermath of such a struggle but not wanting to have to subject himself to this particular buffoon’s empty words and threats, the Ascian hung back and observed from the shadows, as he did best.

A ponderous frown marred his face when he realized that Thancred was not, in fact, approaching the Warrior of Light, but instead speaking with one of the less wounded Crystarium guards. What benefit of the doubt he might have been inclined to give the Scion was promptly dashed when he then moved on to checking in on that discarded little shard of Hydaelyn’s voice— she had a new name, he vaguely recalled with disinterest. With a huff of frustration, he moved on to the next Scion.

That sorceress provided more promising results, for a blessing, as she did not tarry in tracking Sage down— but then, she’d admittedly not had to look far, as he was helping one of the wounded to her for healing just as she had begun her search for him. Feeling charitable— or perhaps, pitying them when they were at their lowest, Emet-Selch silently decided that this would make them even for him ripping her out of the lifestream.

Sage himself was unsurprisingly nondescript as he helped that granddaughter of the Exarch’s into one of the cots that had been haphazardly set up for triage of the battered battalion.

Y’Shtola clicked her tongue in admonishment, even as she helped ease Captain Lyna down with him. The moment Lyna was settled, Sage withdrew and awkwardly straightened— awkwardly, because of the way it seemed like he couldn’t quite straighten himself to his full height. As if he were too injured to do so.

“Get yourself situated in one of the empty cots, Sage. I’ll be with you as soon as—”

“I’m not wounded.” Sage lied, hands attempting to be subtle as they cradled his side.

“Sage. I’m not completely blind. Nor a fool besides.” Y’Shtola pursed her lips, displeased, even as she had already begun to examine Lyna more meticulously. “You need tending to.”

The Raen’s face crinkled in an almost endearing way. “It’s nothing that can’t wait.” He insisted, unmoving and uncompromising as ever.

After a moment of scrutiny from the corner of her eye, Y’Shtola’s shoulders slumped, ever so slightly, as if in defeat.

“I will not beg you to lean on me, Sage. If you say you are well enough, so be it.”

Even Sage seemed surprised at her words, gaze flitting to the other Scions scattered about the triage center. The young boy twin in the blue coat, he seemed the most fretful, even as he continued to weave healing magicks on a soldier lying on the cot before him, with the assistance of his carbuncle. His sister winced as she looked away. That card flinging fae lover was nowhere to be found. If Emet-Selch had cared to guess beyond his indignation, he might have conceded that the man was simply using his healing magic elsewhere. The gunblade wielder sat on one of the cots, under the watchful eye of that little Oracle girl, both of them strangely silent.

When it was clear no one was going to truly argue with him, Sage took his leave and scurried off with a relieved expression on his face. Curiously, the Scions only looked all the more troubled for his leaving, even as they made no move to go to him.

He said nothing, and for a moment longer, observed from a distance. It was a curiosity, wanting to know how the Scions took Sage so obviously wounded and limping off, even as he felt a low roiling anger in the depths of his belly at how none of them even spared him a second glance as he left.

“I can’t heal stubbornness.” Y’Shtola all but growled, as if to herself, her focus on the injured Captain.

It surprised him to hear that frustration in her voice almost as much as her dismissal of Sage had been to begin with.

“Sage doesn’t like relying on us, you know that.” Thancred spoke, his voice oddly soft for how brusque the man had been in all the time Emet-Selch had known him.

They must not have realized he was standing there yet, still so caught up in attending to the wounded and shoring up what tattered defenses they had.

“But we are not leaving him to suffer.” Alphinaud piped up firmly, even as he didn’t look away from his task. “Once we’ve tended to the more immediate cases, he is getting healed.”

“As if that were in doubt.” Alisaie snorted, almost indignant.

Emet-Selch’s frown deepened. They might have thought that was truly good enough, but the thought of Sage being left in obvious agony for any length of time, even for reasons like this, sat poorly with him. Even disregarding what physical wounds he had, it was clear that Sage was already in obvious agony from the light that he had already absorbed.

And his task was not yet done! None of them were! Even as wounded and bleached out beyond all recognition as Sage was, those who purported themselves to be his dearest friends would leave him languish because he’s stubborn? Unacceptable.

“Let this be a lesson to all those who would walk the path of sin— the wicked shall not inherit this world!” Vauthry’s words again echoed in his mind. On that one point, they both agreed.

The writing was on the wall: things were looking grim for the Warrior of Darkness and his cohorts. If there was ever a moment for him to determine that Sage’s cause was unworthy, his abilities lacking, it would, sensibly, be here.

And Emet-Selch should have been happy about it, Zodiark take him. This should have been a moment to gloat.

If the Scions had at all noticed him at any point before, during, or after that, he didn’t stick around long enough to find out for himself. He had already melted into the dark, already uninterested in their petty meandering and their simpering, hand wringing uncertainty . Now that he knew where Sage was, and understood that he would not be able to well and truly enjoy this victory without knowing that his enemy was alright, there was nothing else for him to do but try to make sure Sage was hale and whole.

A complication in his plan, the Warrior of Light. Emet-Selch wasn’t supposed to care.

That fact didn’t stop him from easily catching up to Sage, didn’t stop him from emerging into the moonlight and making the effort to appear as though his arrival was entirely coincidental— or at least, antagonistic.

He had a reputation to uphold, after all.

“Well, well. What do we have here?” He purred as though he happened upon Sage by complete accident.

The Raen met his gaze evenly; it would seem that there was no patience between either of them for ruses and games. Just this once, given the circumstances, Emet-Selch couldn’t find it in him to be bothered by Sage’s stoicism. It shocked them both when he reached for the Bard and caught his chin in his hand. Even as his own actions startled him, Emet-Selch refused to show it, tipping his own chin up to pointedly stare down his nose at the Warrior of Light.

“You can’t just flit to and fro with such injuries.” He clucked his tongue in admonishment, and he felt his nose wrinkle in displeasure of its own accord when Sage winced.

“...Yeah.” Sage agreed quietly. “Didn’t want to worry them, but...I’ve been better.”

That admission was enough to shock Emet-Selch down to his bones. Sage couldn’t say that to the Scions, but he could admit it to his enemy? For what? To what end? He scrambled to make sense of it— what angle was Sage trying to play, what advantage—

Sage flinched again when he tried to move, and practically bit his tongue when he jolted out of Emet-Selch’s grip to curl into himself, as if to try and shield his body from the pain. It was such a reactionary, in-the-moment movement that it would have been almost impossible to fake.

He wouldn’t anyway, the thought occurred to him, even as he did not want it to.

Something akin to understanding, bone deep and centuries old, awakened in his chest when realization settled over him: like himself, Sage felt more comfortable being weak with someone who was an active threat to him than let himself be vulnerable in the company of his comrades.

After a long moment where neither of them dared to move, Sage deflated around a sigh, and stole the breath from the Architect’s lungs altogether when he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the shoulder padding of his coat.

The contact made him seize up bodily in spite of himself. The two of them had always, always had distance between them, physically. It had been a safety precaution— on both their parts, he imagined— and it had been preferred. To have that line crossed, not with violence but with vulnerability, was a situation that he had never thought would come to pass. Most of all, because he never believed either of them would ever allow for such vulnerability to exist in the first place.

Most worrying of all, in particular for him, was that he was not repulsed by this new nearness, but instead bent his head down and curled, ever so slightly, into that horrifying new lack of space between them.

“...Sage?” Emet-Selch called his name quietly. He wasn’t sure whether he should be upset or not that his name felt natural to say, despite having never said it once before as anything but a curse, what few times he had said it at all.

He wasn’t even sure how that name felt on his tongue, when not wielded as a weapon to be brandished at the hero.

“Sorry.” The Bard mumbled, and swayed dangerously on his feet. “...Sorry—”

At the buckle of Sage’s knees, Emet-Selch’s arms were wrapped around him to keep him from collapsing onto himself in a heap, and though the motion made the Warrior of Light gasp in pain and clutch and claw at the back of the Ascian’s coat, Emet-Selch remained gentle, shushing him as he carefully knelt with Sage in his arms.

Every tender feeling he had buried since he had lost his first Imperial son rose to the surface, burning the otherwise numb and bitter bones of him. Even as he winced at the way it made the hollow of his chest ache, he held on just as tenderly to Sage, with no less care. In that moment, something inexplicable and undefinable had gripped his very soul, and something about the predicament they now found themselves in made Emet-Selch feel as though all he had in the world who might understand him was the man in his arms.

“Stubborn fool, playing at normalcy while you’re falling apart,” said the Architect, fond even in his insults. His voice was strangely thick with emotions he couldn’t name and daren’t examine. “What ever am I to do with you?”

Any response that Sage might have given him was cut off when he choked back a noise of pain again. He shifted, just barely, in Emet-Selch’s arms to ease the pressure off of his wounds, inadvertently pressing himself deeper in his enemy’s arms.

“Need to be strong for them.” Sage ground out, as if to chastise himself, through his clenched teeth.

The words were half grumbled into the front of Emet-Selch’s coat, almost inaudible for what trickle of raindrops still pattered against their coats. Sage’s broad hands clutched at the back of his coat with such a desperation that he heard the thick cloth creak under the strain of his grip. He felt his heart squeeze in his throat. Even now, even beaten down so low, Sage would still wrestle with himself and rally every bit of strength he had in himself to fight. And for what? A group of ingrates that didn’t understand how much Sage mattered? Or if they saw, they did next to nothing to show it?

“No, you don’t.” He said darkly before he could stop himself.

Sage looked up at him, but Emet-Selch was already overwhelmed, and avoided his gaze as he took a moment to swallow his heart. It still pressed hard against his throat when he spoke again, voice thick with everything he denied feeling.

“Do you not understand how tales work, hero?” He asked. Without waiting for an answer, he continued, “I didn’t spend entire lifetimes as Emperors that built the arts just for story structure to be ignored.”

“This isn’t a fairytale, Emet-Selch.” Sage shook his head, still trying— and failing— to keep himself from grimacing.

“Isn’t it?” He challenged. “Or have you already forgotten your role, hero? This is your low point. Your rock bottom before the triumphant rise. This is no time for you to hide your wounds away and act tough, or else you won’t be ready for the finale.”

The silence that Sage answered him with stretched on, marked only by the faint pitter patter of raindrops trickling down from the heavens again, inconsistent and faint as they were. It barely registered to the two men huddled around one another. Almost nothing else mattered but them in that moment.

At that point, there wasn’t much left to matter outside of them, for how thoroughly beaten down and all but decimated the Crystarium’s resistance was.

Sage looked up at him, and it was so, so hard to hold that piercing gaze when he was looking up at him so imploringly. Those eyes were too familiar for him to dismiss as a stranger’s gaze, but too different to let himself believe that he was fine with settling for this shard of his former friend.

Too enchanting to pull away from.

“If you keep staring at me so, hero...I might think you are expecting something.” Emet-Selch managed around the lump in his throat.

With the ongoing history of Sage flustering at such ribbing, he’d been all but praying to Zodiark that another such instance would be enough to snap the Warrior of Light out of such a state. Anything to bring back that tinge of strangeness with this new-old friend of his.

“A kiss, maybe.”

Sage’s lips had barely wrapped around the last of his words before the look on his face told Emet-Selch all he needed to know: he had not meant to say that. The slack, shocked expression, the way his body tensed impossibly more, even through the agony and the injury, was enough for Emet-Selch to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that this was no ploy, no feint to try and catch his enemy on the back foot; in truth, Emet-Selch wasn’t even sure there was anything Sage could do in his condition, even if the doubt had been given any chance to take proper root in his mind.

Sage truly meant it. He wanted to kiss him. He might have laughed had he not been sent reeling by the revelation.

“And why would you want that, exactly? From me, no less?” He snorted before he could stop himself. When Sage tried to duck his head, Emet-Selch’s gloved hand shot out to hold his face there by the chin to force him to maintain their eye contact; if he couldn’t look away, then neither could Sage. “Ah, ah, ah, honesty is preferable among allies, is it not?”

“‘M no fool, Emet-Selch. I know this means all bets are off between us.” Sage ground out around another wince of pain. “Is it so awful to want a soft goodbye?”

Somehow, despite how adept he was at laying out blueprints for a plan aeons in advance, the thought hadn’t even occurred to the Architect, to end their alliance here. After one loss, even one as catastrophic as this? Even as Sage’s purported enemy, that struck him as grossly uncharitable, even were he to not account for the victories that had led the Scions here.

“Were you not listening, hero?” He sneered down his nose at the battered Bard. “I told you. This is your low point. Your rock bottom before the triumphant rise.”

When Sage opened his mouth— to retort, to gawk, it didn’t matter— Emet-Selch sealed it with his own.

Despite the man asking for it, Emet-Selch expected some level of resistance, some sort of tension, something to imply that Sage had some sort of misgiving. Something to tell him that this was wrong, that they were wrong for bridging that divide between enemies in search of something softer.

There was no sign to be found, and its absence doomed them both.

Sage all but melted into him, those large hands of his moving in the scant space between them to clutch and claw at his robes, to pull him closer, as if breathing him in would be enough to mend the wounds and the light that have ravaged his body. His grip was so strong, Emet-Selch could hear the leather and the dense fabric of his coat creak between his fingertips. For a moment, it felt as though it were his heart that Sage was squeezing for the rush of endearment that hit him. It was enough for him to cup Sage’s face in his gloved hand, enough to inspire gentleness in him that he had long forgotten.

When had he last kissed someone, and so earnestly? His last wife, when he was the young Garlean Emperor, perhaps, but even then, his attachments to mortals were typically ephemeral, fleeting. He had made the mistake of loving the families he had helped to build, only for them to be lost to him all over again. As if Zodiark himself punished him for straying, for forgetting his first family, from an all but forgotten time when he didn’t know the fear of losing those he loved.

Sage should have been no different. He should have been a passing curiosity, a flickering comet streaking across the night sky, momentary and easily forgotten. Not this...this aching, raw reminder of the person he used to be, even as every detail that did not match the friend he remembered was as a knife to his heart.

There was a passing temptation, an itch, beneath Emet-Selch’s skin to rip his gloves off, to feel the Warrior of Light’s skin and scales beneath his fingertips— but that would require him letting go of Sage. The thought of it rankled something dark and possessive, awakened that long slumbering want to covet and keep.

That wriggling want nestled itself beside that longstanding ache for the one that came before, the one that had shattered into so many fragments and scattered them among the stars. That this fragment was warm and familiar and solid was enough to stir Zodiark into pulling hard at the back of his mind— remember. Remember who you have lost. Remember who I can yet save.

Emet-Selch buried all of it— the whispers of his Lord, the almost-familiarity, the passing impulse, and his fingers, all in Sage’s hair when he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. It was hard to block out all of those warring thoughts, the thundering of his own heart, all of it, but the taste of Sage on his tongue made that struggle worthwhile.

In truth, it was harder for either of them to know where one ended and the other began anymore— or what any of this meant for them going forward.

It startled him, how reluctant he was to pull away from Sage. By all rights, it should have been nothing but a performative gesture, a hollow token of false affection. It should have made him feel nothing. As it stood, it felt like he were drowning, it felt like he could not breathe for fear of letting even more of Sage into his very being, but he couldn’t help but gasp deeper between kisses. Intoxicated, he could only let Sage rest his weight bodily against him and hold him as tightly as he dared for Sage’s injuries.

With some paltry space between them, Emet-Selch thought, however foolishly, however desperately, that he might regain some of his good sense. But then Sage took longer than him to open his eyes, and oh, but that dreamy, dazed expression and the slow blink at him was almost enough to inspire further foolishness and kiss him again. He was fearful that he would never stop, and they would never get anywhere.

The expression on Sage’s face made it plain that there was something he wanted to say, but a worrying pop from somewhere around his hanging ribs sent him flinching as far away as the circle of Emet-Selch’s arms allowed him with a gasp of pain. It was enough to remind Emet-Selch that he was in desperate need of care. Care that he had run from when it was offered— the sweet fool. Such a pitiful state didn’t suit him.

When Emet-Selch tutted in gentle admonishment, Sage stilled, and again, those eyes captivated him, even wide and gawking as they were. Even the facade of irritability couldn’t withstand such an earnest expression, and he gentled, the hand that had held Sage’s face close once more bridging the distance between them, molding to his cheek. Even as he couldn’t feel much through his glove, he smoothed his thumb back and forth across Sage’s cheekbone.

“Mark me, hero,” Emet-Selch said softly, in the most authoritative tone he could muster, even knowing that he couldn’t muster much in the wake of the tumultuous tides of his heart. “This maudlin pall ill suits you. This is not the end— not of your struggles, and thus, not of our truce.”

Sage’s expression twisted into one of pain again— emotional and physical both— and a part of Emet-Selch hated that he had to put such a weighty mantle on his shoulders again. Even on opposing sides of the conflict, it was undeniable that the both of them were the Scions of their people. The last bastion of hope and love and grief, meant to stem the tide of the other.

Despite the inevitability of their fate, Sage was brilliant enough to make Emet-Selch dare to hope, even through the tempering and his own resignation at their destined clash.

And the Warrior of Light needed that hope to be rekindled in him, to spur him to go on, Emet-Selch realized, and made a point to look down his nose at Sage as he gripped his chin to force his gaze to stay on him.

“If you’re so desperate to beg your enemy for a kiss, then let me promise you another, when you can show me the night sky in Kholusia.”

Sage’s eyes widened impossibly further. His mouth opened to try and speak, but even through feeling the muscle of his jaw as he tried to work out what words to say, Emet-Selch didn’t let go of his chin.

“Sage!” Another voice called out breathlessly, shattering whatever spell they had cast on one another.

It was enough to get Sage to wrench his head free of Emet-Selch’s grasp. He snapped his focus to his approaching comrade— the astrologian one, for the life of him, Emet-Selch couldn’t find it in him to care enough to remember his name.

“Urianger—” Sage gasped.

Ahh, that had been his name, then. Or perhaps a choked back sneeze. Emet-Selch didn’t particularly care one way or the other in that moment.

Though a part of Emet-Selch was relieved to have the trance they had fallen into broken, it still startled him how much of himself was so reluctant to extricate himself from Sage; he had thought that the moment he remembered himself, it would be repulsed by his own behavior, his own fondness— weakness— for Sage, but even in that moment as he saw the elezen approach, he could only mourn the end of this moment for what it was.

Still, it wouldn’t do to let that weakness be visible— as the Ascian Architect, Emet-Selch had a reputation to uphold, after all. Though he, too, had turned his head in the direction of the approaching Scion, he glanced back at Sage, still loosely in his grip, from the corner of his eye. Half out of habit, and half out of fondness, the corner of his lips curled into a grin on its own.

“Best get to it, then, hero.” He said. “I’m an impatient paramour. Tick tock.”

Sage couldn’t stop himself from tightening his hold on the front of Emet-Selch’s coat in a desperate bid to keep him there, even as he knew better than to hope that the Architect wouldn’t fade into the shadows, out of his reach.

Again.

All the same, he clung to that comforting, somehow familiar presence until it literally slipped through his fingers, wisps of smoke and shadow and not of this world. A grim reminder of their differences— and of what fate will have in store for them, should Sage fail to hold up his end of their agreement.

He opened his hand, staring down at his empty palm, and tried not to contemplate such grim thoughts.

When Sage tried to stand on his own, he was reminded of the other wounds he bore that forced him to his knees in the first place. For a blessing, rather than having to brace for crashing back to earth after barely managing more than a crouch, it was Urianger’s arm looped through his arms, around his back, that kept him from that jarring impact.

“Be at ease— I have thee.” Urianger reassured, the arm not holding him upright as he straightened glimmering with starlight and gently laid over Sage’s chest. “Thou mayest seek the comfort of the Architect, as is thy prerogative, I wouldst only beg thee to not do so to escape relying on thy friends.”

“Uri—” Sage winced, tempted to avert his eyes.

“I beseech thee, hark to mine words: we art here for thou, as comrades and family alike. We always have been, even as we hath failed to support thee as we should have.”

Maybe it was Urianger’s healing magic, but even his words acted as a balm on Sage’s battered soul. Reluctant as he might be to believe it, he could only look at the evidence— and when he forced his head up at the sound of more approaching footsteps to see Y’Shtola, Alphinaud, and Thancred in tow, he couldn’t help but believe that they truly wanted to bridge that gap that had always been there, between them.

“Forgive our delay— we only waited so long as we did for the Crystarium healers to arrive.” Y’Shtola spoke, her voice much gentler than it had been when Sage left them at the triage tents. “Alisaie is preparing a bed for you with Chessamile as we speak. Come, let us help you.”

“No need for the fuss—” Sage tried to insist, when Thancred, swift as the wind itself, swooped in— quite literally— to lift Sage’s legs so he was suspended between himself and Urianger’s efforts.

“Sage, you might not open up to us as much as we might hope, but we’re not stupid. There is absolutely a need for the fuss. Now let us fuss.”

Alphinaud nodded in agreement, but his efforts were focused on joining his healing magic to Urianger’s. Even just the immediate relief of not feeling any of the pain from his wounds was enough to flood Sage’s every sense with contentment, though that feeling was immediately chased with the sheer exhaustion he hadn’t been able to feel through the pain and the stubbornness and his own aching heart, twisted and conflicted and longing as it was for a living shadow now beyond his reach.

“All will be well, Sage. Thou needs but have faith.” Urianger promised him, as he had done for Ryne before him.

As he faded off, rocked to sleep by the gentle swaying of Urianger’s and Thancred’s coordinated footfalls, Sage made a desperate wish: let me one day believe that, even as he had just enough faith to fall asleep in their company and know that he was safe and taken care of. Between the healing magic and the calm that swept through him, it was easy to drift away to slumber, even as he could feel the little pinpricks of raindrops tapping at his skin and scales.

He paid it no mind. What was a little fall of rain, after all?

#injury cw #death mention cw #ffxiv #writing commissions #anorptron #Sage Bradley #Emet-Selch #5.0 spoilers #shadowbringers spoilers #thank you again for the commission!!!#this was so fun to work on and your boy is such a joy to write!#poor sage ;m; plz let people love youuuuu.......

10 notes · View notes

tryingtodescribe · 4 years ago

Text

The Color Black

Colors were always associated with feelings since a young age. Yellow indicated happiness was surrounding me, red was what clouded my eyes when all I felt was anger, blue danced across my vision when the world seemed to crumble at my feet, the only color I never had the pleasure of meeting was black. It had no meaning in my world, I always felt like there was no reason for me to ever try to understand the color that was commonly attached to the feelings of darkness, emptiness, and a broken spirit.

That was till I actually had the chance to sit within myself and understand the depth of those feelings and that the meaning was just the peak of it’s understanding. That even beauty grows out of the darkest of nights, no matter how much surrounds you and how crushed you feel, there is always a small chance that something can grow from that feeling and turn into a new chapter.

The night it happened was one I will never forget. It made me remember all the times that the color black had lingered on the edge of my life, how it stayed a good distance as if telling me “now is not the time my child, soon I will introduce myself, but now is another’s time to shine” as she stepped back just out of reach to let another color take her spot. Those times when I thought it was black, were actually blue, red, and sometimes a mix of the two whom I associate with purple. Because even during those hard times, black knew that she wasn’t the color I needed to see.

She didn’t fight for control over me like the other colors did, nor did she show herself in all her glory when I first met her. Black waited for her time to control, she spoke comforting words and listened as my heart sank to the floor. She reminded me of a friend, someone I could turn to when nothing seemed right, it felt like she had known me for so long and could understand everything before I even told her what transgressions I faced. Black gripped my hand and raised me from the ground after blue stomped on my heart, and left me a crying mess on the floor. She brought ointment after red’s fiery grasp held me by my throat for so long that I swore it left a handprint. She sat in the shade when yellow danced me across the days of my life when things were great, and not once did she complain, and not once did I know that she was the color black.

But when she introduced herself, it was the most freeing time I had in a while. It wasn’t like how blue would crash down on me like the waves of an ocean looking to drown every ship in its waters, or like the rolling clouds of a terrible red storm looking to leave destruction after it’s end. No... black was a comforting color: when her silk like voice whispered to me guiding me through the darkness, how her cold hand reached across the veil to show she had no ill intentions, she beckoned me closer just on the brink of her edges before engulfing me completely.

When her cold hands slipped across my eyes, I felt like I could truly see. She showed all the wrongs that I had endured, all the times I let things slip past for the sake of keeping a calming atmosphere, and all the times others transgressions had cracked my barriers. She reintroduced me to those memories, saying how she had tried to heal what she could and left a temporary fix on those that she couldn’t heal just right. Like a fairy godmother that appeared when I needed her most, she showed me that she was always there watching over me and helping me remain sane through the most troubling of times. I never associated those times with black, I always thought they were assigned to another color due to the feelings I had during those moments. And black reassured me, that I was in fact right of those feelings because they didn’t break me the way that this time did.

The night my face illuminated from the artificial light of a cell phone. Black arose from her seat behind the curtains, gesturing to the other colors to sit down, because she knew from the sigh that escaped my lips that this was when I needed her most. Even when red stormed my mind, sinking his fangs into my throat to spit venom so acidic that it left craters in my opponent. When blue crashed into my heart and lungs like a freight train, demolishing any lingering feelings I had for you or any air that held onto hope that those messages didn’t mean what I knew they meant. Black stood right on the edge of the water, hand extended out to me who still stood on the sandy beach, looking for a glimpse of yellow in the storm that surrounded me. With tears in my eyes I leapt into her comforting arms hoping that it would bring me some type of relief.

She turned into the night sky as we traveled through the dim lit streets as you attempted to find a solution. Comforting me with just her presence as you screamed harsh nothings, cried fake sorrows, and stumbled across an explanation that I never wanted. Hearing those things only made my colors grow stronger, and like the night sky the color black just awoke with every lie that snaked its way out of your mouth and into my mind. How beautiful she looked as her sharp claws picked up the broken feelings that tore through me from the crumpling world that was once filled with pink love. She picked up those broken pieces dusting them with a starry black night before building her empire, to sit and bask in while the world I built with you continued to concave on itself from the words you spoke.

I never felt the way I felt that night. No memory even came close to the swirl of emotions going through my body, and every time I saw you it was like looking at the shadowy form of a person I once thought I knew every color to. When blue begged for me to go home and was met with shouting, red took over and matched your energy. Not once caring about the way our colors clashed and mixed, how those mixing colors were affecting the new canvas that was our son who I prayed would never have to hear these colorful conversations. How your red held me in the car every time I tried to get out, or how you fought me to keep my seat belt on when I tried to take it off in order to escape the cramped feeling of that car that night.

When I finally was able to get out of that car, blue swarmed my eyes. Spilling through my tears as she washed my face clean of all the kisses and touches you left on my skin over the years. Red roared in my mind as I cursed you a fate worse than the torment that you put me through all of these years. But black, oh how black escaped my body, she stood side by side with me and lifted my head reminding myself that there was no reason to hang my head as if I was the one in the wrong in this situation. She squared my shoulders, helped me put one foot in front of the other, and gave me the final push it took to finally walk away from the loving feeling I once fought so hard to protect. She freed me from the armor I had set myself up in, replaced the shield I used to defend a dying love, with a dagger to kill off any lingering feelings I might still have for you. She freed me from a prison I didn’t even know I was in.

Even when you stood in front of me with tears in your eyes, and pink on your tongue I knew that those colors weren’t going to trap me again. I watched as you pushed our floating ships further and further away from each other with all the nonsense you spoke. The color black set her clawed hands on my back, strengthening my spine so that I would not bow to your power any longer. She kept my head held high, sharpening my gaze to show me that I was and will always be above you because even though we had different lives there was no reason for you to turn out as colorless as you did. The power I had when the stubborn green vines broke free from the ground, and wrapped around my feet and legs, grounding me to my spot proving that I would not move one step from the boundary that I had finally created for myself.

The color black united all my colors, as she stood side by side with me, did I realize there was no reason for me to understand the depth that is the feeling associated with her color. There was no reason because I had always known the color black, because she always stood behind me never too far from reach. She was the color of my shadow, the shade I hid in when the day was a little too yellow, the piece of rock I managed to grasp on when blue felt like drowning me, and the cave I hid in when the red storms wreaked havoc in my mind. The color black needed no introduction because she was with me since the beginning, and only she knew how to help me escape from the color pink that had led my life for several years.

The color black had no meaning in my world, but meant the world to me. She showed me that true colors, even the most alluring of them were associated with her in some way, shape, or form. Now no matter what I feel I always know that somewhere in the background the color black is pulling some strings for me. And even though she is still attached to the feelings of darkness, emptiness, and a broken spirit. I also learned that she has some powerful beauty to her as well. And because of that awakening I am no longer worried about the days that might seem a little gray or if I see black lingering just out of my reach. Because I know that when she does decide to stretch her arms out to me I will always welcome her with a warm hug, the color black to me will always be a sign of a new beginning and the end of a rough path.

#thecolorblack #describingmyfeelings #writing #creativewriting

4 notes · View notes

jedi-archivist · 4 years ago

Text

Path of The Dai Bendu Part 1: Initiate Chapter 1: Meditate

Summary: You are a youngling, learning the ways of the Jedi. Right now life is simple as you learn and grow. But something dark lurks in the future. A shadow in the Force.

You open your eyes and see the invisible paths. Your steps disturb that path like steps in shallow water, echoing beyond your sight or comprehension. Yet the ground is solid and cool beneath bare feet.

All around you, above and below you, you see galaxy's dance. Their cosmic waltz so timed and so long that it does not affect the path in a way that something as small as you could sense.

Still you walk and your path leads you to the galaxy you know to be home. As you walk, you see planets and stars and feel the lives on each one, like radiant auras in which every atom is an existence, an expression, a thought, and so on. Still, you walk. While the beauty of the Living Force is awe inspiring, it is not what has called you.

Soon you find the edge of what calls you. The path continues, but a wall of dark orbs the size of suns block the way. Their dark hungry orbits lightly pull on you from where you have stopped, but the pull of what lays beyond pulls more persistently. Still you stay your ground.

It whispers of loneliness and emptiness that resonates with the hollow of your heart. Yet it is a hollow not yet made. It whispers of being the only thing, the only one that can heal your broken heart. But your heart is not yet broken. It whispers a soothing sound of belonging, of no more pain, of love that only it can give. Yet this is not full truth.

You feel it reach, to offer a hand. To offer a hug you crave, affection you yearn for. Your hand reaches out to meet it, the hum of power growing with each movement toward convergence.

You pause.

It makes a comforting cooing sound like a mother gently urging its child to her.

You pull your hand back and take a step back.

It's sounds become more frantic and desperate, unable to move but begging you to come closer.

Once again you step back and this time it screams it's frustrations.

You feel yourself shaking. No, not the you that is here. Not the spirit, but the body. The body is being shaken.

You feel yourself fall as you hear a voice.

"Come on Shirilla, it's time to get up! We're going to be late!"

Your eyes flutter open and you see Duzadi Bon. His face markings are twisted with a nervous worry- as he so often felt- that always made you want to help the young togruta smile more.

"Oh shoot!" You jump up from the bed, slipping on your shoes and outer tunic. You rush past a few bunks before turning back to Duzadi, dream mostly forgotten.

"Come on Duz! We're going to be late!" You say as if you were the one waking him up. Duzadi makes a face that makes you laugh and Duz can't help but laugh with you as both race from the youngling quarters to your morning class.

You run past temple guards, now yelling not to run in the temple! You dodge to the side as you pass a group of Jedi knights - discussing something - in the hall, now jumping out of the way as Duzadi catches up to you. You see a group of younger younglings (you are 5 now and they looked between 2 and 3), from a different clan ahead of you. Master Thez's look of horror meets your own as you both realize you don't have enough time to stop and will soon be running into much smaller children!

Master Threz begins to lift a warding hand, and you soon find yourself pulled in a different direction. Duz has pulled you into a new path before the Master acts, his hand dragging you by the arm. Disaster avoided and still time to spare. At least you think there is. You can hear Master Threz yelling to stop running as you continue to run.

Finally you see your classroom and begin to slow down, forcing heavy breaths into calmer ones. You wipe at the sweat on your brow and try to quiet your steps. Duz gives you a look you know means if-we're-in-trouble-again-that's-on-you.

Without a sound you both slip into the room. All eyes are closed as the morning meditation is well into session.

"Duzadi, Shirilla. You are late again." Master Zepcira's soft voice chimed sternly. Yet her Ryloth accented voice hides a hint of amusement.

"I'm sorry Master. I had trouble getting up again and Duzadi tried really hard to get me up in time." You and Duz take your positions among the clan. Some are peeking between squinted eyes, and some stifle giggles. Duz does his best to ignore them and start meditating but you can see it annoy him.

"It is not Duzadi's responsibility to make sure you wake and arrive in a timely manner Shirilla." Master Zepcira's eyes open and focus on you.

"Yes Master." Master Zepcira studies you, her mind gently brushing yours. And then it slips away.

"Very well. Let us continue our meditation, younglings. Recall that we are focusing on Empty Meditation. When we practice this form, our goal is clarity and self control. By emptying yourselves of negative emotion and stepping away from attachments you will find yourselves. In finding yourself you will find the Force. In finding the Force, you will find the Will of the Force ready to guide you. Feel the Force within you. The Force is with you and you are one with the Force…."

Immediately the atmosphere of the room changes. You can feel your clan mates focus, their awareness looking within and yet without as well. Just as yours does. You feel the connections between them and yourself and your Master.

"There is no emotion; There is peace."

You feel Duzadi's anxiety and annoyance melt away as he surrenders these feelings.

"There is no ignorance; There is knowledge."

You feel the younglings you ran by this morning as the Rodian Master Threz teaches the history of the temple, of the ground they walk every day.

"There is no passion; There is serenity."

You feel the temple guards patrolling, ever watchful, ever ready to protect or attack as needed. Yet there was no anger or malice or hubris.

"There is no chaos; There is harmony."

You feel the Jedi knights in the hall, discussing the balance between the physical and the immaterial. The Living and the Cosmic Force.

"There is no death; There is the Force."

Your focus pulls inward and you find yourself reviewing yourself, where you are, and where you will grow, and what you hope to become. You feel the remnants of your dream pass by. Of the path that echoed with your steps. And the lonely presence…

"Hey, Shirilla," Duz whispers. "You ok?"

You blink open your eyes as you break away from the meditation and realize your clan is also in the process of doing the same.

"Hmm? Yeah, why?" You ask. Duz seems uncertain before he finally decides his next words.

"It seems like you've been sleeping and meditating really deeply the last few days." Duz says slowly. Master Zepcira is going around the room sharing advice based on this morning's meditation.

"Yeah… sorry about that." You feel Duz reach out through the Force, as though to reassure himself you are still there and ok. Out of all your clan mates, you and Duz were the closest. Though your clan was like family, Duz had always felt like a true brother.

"I'll talk to one of the masters later." You reassure him. You send calming thoughts through the Force and feel him relax. In truth you were just as uneasy, but Duz really didn't need that on him.

Master Zepcira made her way to you and Duz, greeting you both before advising.

"Duzadi, you did a wonderful job with your meditation. Keep in mind that the calm you create is able to be carried out of the meditation into your normal activities." Duzadi nods awkwardly as a slight embarrassed blush touches his face.

"Ah, yes Master."

"Shirilla, you also did well, however, I noticed you became distracted. Keep in mind that while our connections to others can teach us much, we must also be willing to let go. By letting go, we free ourselves and others to walk the path the Force wills us to take."

"Yes Master." You consider her words as you think back on your meditation. Master Zepcira lingers a moment, allowing you a moment of thought and time to ask questions. But you don't feel ready to ask anything. Master Zepcira continues around the room.

Next Chapter

#star wars #jedi reader #fanfic #youngling #jedi code #i dont even know

17 notes · View notes

heartofsnark · 4 years ago

Text

This Is Love (Chapter Three): The Art of Haunting

Notes: Once again I’m late to posting this, though can you be late to posting something when you make your own schedule? Its time to finally see Dahlia at work and her getting to know her new partner as well as some of the citizens in Hope County.

Word Count: 12866

Chapter Warnings: Cursing, Anxiety Attacks, Ms Mable’s problem with Italians, Slut Shaming, Sexism (thanks, Hurk Sr.)

For chapter one and the warnings about this fics overarching themes, please click here!

For the previous chapter; click here!

Dahlia huffs out a little breath of air as she looks at herself in the mirror. Trying to look professional and put together, she’s lightened up her eyeliner a little. But it’s the shirt that’s killing her. She doesn’t mind the dark army green and likes it as an overshirt but buttoning it up just feels too put together for her. Dahlia thinks of how she saw Hudson wearing hers, tucked in and half buttoned on, she starts to try it, but just the act of tucking her shirt in feels completely unnatural.

She settles for just leaving it open over a black tank top and rolling her sleeves up to her elbow. If Whitehorse has a problem with it, he’ll call her out on it. Her shirt doesn’t have any messages or graphics on it, which is something. If he knew her better, he’d know that’s reason enough to celebrate. Dahlia ties her hair back in a small ponytail, the most her short hair can manage, with strands still falling out. But, it’s a bit more out of her face.

A deep breath to ease her nerves.

She’s been a cop for around two years, jumped at the chance to join the Academy not long after Lloyd and Caroline took her in, but at the Reinette station she had Lloyd practically holding her hand every time she was unsure of something. Not to mention, there wasn’t much to do as a cop in Reinette. She probably spent the majority of those two years in the station pelting Chase with spitballs. If Hope County is minor league, Reinette was playing catch in the backyard.

Throwing on her leather jacket, she goes out to the shed and gets her bike out, throwing on her helmet before starting it up.

There’s a flutter of anxiety in her stomach as she walks into the station. A mixture of excitement and fear, she’s not sure which emotion is winning out at the moment.

“Good morning, Junior Deputy,” Nancy greets her with a smile as Dahlia hangs her jacket on a nearby hook.

“Morning.”

“Earl wants to see you in the bullpen office, through that door right there.”

In the open office with collections of desks, she sees a few random officers, and the two deputies from her interview. Dahlia’s heart picks up spend when Hudson looks over towards her, flashing a grin.

“There’s the Rookie.”

“About time, probie.”

“Hey…”

“Not for nothing, you might wanna fix your uniform before the sheriff sees.”

“Stickler?”

“Rookie!” The sharp bark of a yell rings out, Whitehorse coming out of his office and making Dahlia snap to attention, “what the hell, sort your uniform out, this is a police station, not high school.”

“On it,” she responds, buttoning up the shirt to just beneath the neckline of her tank top.

“Tuck it in too.”

“Yes, sir,” she grumbles, following orders. Ironically, she feels more like she’s in high school now. Getting barked at about dress code violations.

“With that settled,” Whitehorse knocks his knuckles against the only desk without anything on it, “this is gonna be your desk, feel free to settle into it when you get a chance. Come back to my office, we got some paperwork and details to take care of, then you’ll be out on patrol with Pratt.”

Pratt grumbles something she can’t quite hear, and she rolls her eyes, following Whitehorse back into his office. There are a few forms he places before her and she gives her half assed signature on them. Then he starts rummaging through storage in his office, getting a belt out with holsters and pouches. Empty and then he starts to lay out what’s to fill those, each items she recognizes well from her job in Reinette.

Handcuffs, standard steel and gleaming under the lights of the office. A baton, pepper spray, a walkie talkie style radio, a taser, a flashlight, and a black Glock 22 sidearm.

“I’m sure you heard all of this back in Louisiana, but the weight of a loaded gun is a heavy one. It’s a lot of responsibility, it should only be used when absolutely necessary.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Alright then, gear up and get ready for patrol.”

She nods and loops the utility belt, fastening the buckle then attaching each thing she needs, the weight of it all hanging around her waist as she goes back to the bullpen to meet with Pratt.

She can’t help but let out a huffy sigh when she sees Pratt standing beside his desk and drinking coffee, chatting with Hudson. Her eyes instinctively drawn to the female deputy, remembering that conversation she had with Whitehorse. A crush. Her heart hurts. How can she have a crush, she knows nothing about Hudson, are they meant to be this superficial? Hudson is beautiful; no one with functioning eyes could debate that fact. Long dark hair and olive-green eyes, there’s a tattoo on her forearm that Dahlia never noticed before. Some sort of eagle with an American flag, maybe she has military in her family? Not that this fact means anything to Dahlia, why would she care about that?

“Looks like I’m stuck on babysitting duty.” Pratt’s voice cuts through her thoughts like ice water being splashed in her face. She flushes red, realizing how stupid she must have looked just gawking for a moment at a pretty girl.

“If anyone’s stuck babysitting it’s gonna be Rook,” Hudson tells him, rolling her eyes and flashing another big smile at Dahlia. Everything about her is so warm and comforting. Crushes suck, she’s finally in control of her life and her body decides she can’t control it. Instead of responding or communicating like a functional human being, Dahlia scratches at the back of her neck and avoids eye contact.

“Whatever, c’mon, probie I ain’t got all day.”

Dahlia reluctantly follows after Pratt, out to one of the parked patrol cars. He climbs into the driver’s seat and she plops herself in the passenger side. Sheriff gone, she immediately starts to undo the buttons on her uniform shirt.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m not wearing my uniform like this, not if I don’t have to.”

“Well, you have to.”

“Whitehorse isn’t here.” She shrugs and untucks her shirt.

“I have seniority over you, Rookie. If I say you need to have your uniform on properly, you have to.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“You need to respect your higher ups.”

“You wanna lecture me about respect and my uniform, or do you wanna go do our jobs?”

“Fine, but you better lose the attitude.”

“I’ll get right on that.” She rolls her eyes, looking out the window of the patrol car as Pratt starts up the engine. This is going to be a less than fun probationary hire, hopefully it won’t be long until she’s able to patrol on her own.

The morning rolls by slowly, no calls in or anything needing attention. Dahlia is comfortable in silence for the most part, content to just watch the environment as they drive around. Forcing conversation or small talk isn’t appealing. If she grows close and gets to know people, she’d rather it happen naturally than just desperately trying to fill silence.

Pratt is less comfortable with silence, she learns quickly. As much as he talked crap about not wanting her to annoy him or be a problem, he’s far more concerned with getting her attention than she is his.

“So, you came here from Louisiana?”

“Mmhm.”

“What made you wanna become a cop?’

“…”

She already passed her interview, she doesn’t want to spend her time rambling to someone else about her situation; he just wants to do her job.

“Not much of a talker, huh?”

“…”

It isn’t until around noon that something finally happens. It’s nothing major, a red ford driving through a stop sign. No crashes or accidents, but illegal, nonetheless. Pratt flicks on the lights and the siren, rushing after the traffic violator. The truck pulls off on the side of the road and Dahlia goes to unbuckle her seat belt.

“What are you doing?” Pratt asks, looking at her like she’s lost her damn mind.

“Getting out to give this guy a ticket.”

“You’re not going anywhere, you stay right there.”

“What?”

“You heard me, I don’t want you getting out of this car,” he tells her one more time as he steps out. She groans, it’s just a ticket, but at least it was something. It’d give her an excuse to stretch her legs. Does he seriously think she can’t handle writing a ticket? She glares as Pratt talks to the man and writes up the ticket, returning to the patrol car without any trouble.

“I call the next ticket, at least.”

“Doesn’t work like that.”

“What do you mean it doesn’t work like that? You have to let me get out of the car at some point.”

“You’re gonna sit and learn by observing.”

“Observing what?! You walking to a car? I know how to write tickets, that’s basic, you can at least let me do that much.”

“Don’t ask questions, alright?”

“I will ask any and every question that I damn well please.”

Pratt scoffs at her before starting the car back up, the day continues much the same to Dahlia’s absolute chagrin.

Someone speeds, she’s told to just stay in the car. Someone makes an illegal turn; she’s told to stay in the car. They’ve pulled over the fourth person of the day, someone they caught on their phone driving. Once again, Pratt tells her to sit still as he goes and takes care of it, coming back afterwards.

“I swear to god if you don’t let me do something, I’m gonna scream.”

“Don’t be a brat, there’s no need to send you out for traffic violations.”

“It’s better than just sitting here, my legs are falling asleep.”

“Deputy Pratt, Hale, this is dispatch,” Nancy’s voice drifts through the radio in the middle of the car.

“Pratt responding.”

“We have a call from Ms. Mable, Peaches got out again, you’re our nearest unit.”

“Ugh, can that old b-,” he pauses for a moment and a grin comes across his face, looking over at Dahlia, “you know what, I think this is perfect for the probie’s first call. Tell her we’re headed that way.”

“You sure that’s a great idea, Pratt?”

“Already on our way, over.”

“Peaches?” Dahlia asks as they start to head up to the northern part of the Henbane River area.

“It’s Ms. Mable’s cat, she’s always escaping and gets into all kinds of trouble. The F.A.N.G center is the closest thing we have to animal control, but we don’t ask for their help unless absolutely necessary.”

It makes sense, she guesses, not much is needed to tame a cat.

“If it means I can get out of the car, I’ll take it.”

She yawns and leans back in her seat as Pratt starts to take her up a mountain slope, signs for Peaches Taxidermy catching her eye. There are two buildings when they park as well as a large caged in enclosure, with a box. Seems like a lot of space for a cat, maybe she has big dogs as well, though the enclosure appears empty. An older woman with short dark hair is standing nearby, a little toy mouse in her hand. The deputies get out to greet her and when the woman sees them, her expression goes sour.

“It’s about damn time.”

“Got here as soon as we could, Ms. Mable.”

“Well, it wasn’t soon enough and who the hell is this?” The woman’s eyes narrow at Dahlia.

“I’m Deputy-”

“Junior Deputy,” Pratt cuts her off and she scoffs. He can’t at least give her the deputy title.

“Are you Italian?” Ms. Mable asks instead, and Dahlia can’t help but give a look of disbelief, what does that matter?

“Uh, like, half, yeah.”

“Oh, just what I need for my jewelry to go missing.”

“Okay…. not even gonna tell you what the other half is…”

“Do you have any idea where Peaches might have gone?” Pratt steers the conversation back, thankfully saving Dahlia from anymore conversation about her heritage.

“Sometimes she goes down to the little camp south of here.”

“Alright, we’ll get it taken care of. Probie, go grab that bag of treats.”

Dahlia nods and grabs the bag of treats, chicken livers, because animal treats are all weird and gross. She carries it with her as she follows Pratt down the rural little path, over a little bridge that crosses a stream. The woods clears out to a small campsite with tents and an extinguished campfire.

“Not to be a buzzkill, but isn’t this a little below our paygrade? I mean Mable isn’t decrepit, surely she can get her own cat back.”

“Don’t worry about it, just get the treats out, Peaches will come running to you.” Pratt is leaning back against a towering tree, arms crossed, relaxed like he’s on vacation.

“Okie doke…”

Dahlia rifles through the bag and gets out a treat, squishy and weird under her fingers. Her hands are going to reek like cat food for the rest of the day. She crouches down and holds the treat out; looking around the area, trying to find the housecat, but she can’t see anything.

“Here Peaches,” she calls out, hoping to entice the cat out.

Then she’s on her back.

The wind has gone out of her lungs, heavy paws pin her shoulders down as a mass of golden fur lands on her. She blinks for a minute, stars dazing her vision as shock overwhelms her. Then she takes it in. Sharp feline eyes glaring down at her, one gold and the other blue.

A cougar.

She clenches her jaw; she’s pinned and can’t reach her weapons. She’s at the mercy of the animal. Its lips pull back and white fangs shine in the daylight, the sun illuminating the golden cat on top of her. Beautiful, she can’t help but think as she waits for those fangs to sink into the tender flesh of her throat.

It pushes it maw into her open hand, where the chicken liver is and gobbles it up. She’s next, isn’t she? But once the treat is gone, the cougar licks at her hand, collecting any leftover flavor. Then it turns back to her, the main dish after an appetizer.

A sandpaper rough tongue rubs over Dahlia’s face. Something is revving like an engine on top of her…the cougar is purring. Pressing and nuzzling its fluffy face against Dahlia before giving another lick. No hint of bite or teeth mingling in the affectionate gesture. What is…

Pratt is laughing, she realizes.

The cougar’s paws shift so she can lift her arms and she reaches to pet the seemingly docile mountain lion. That’s when she feels, a collar, the creature’s face was too close, and she was unable to see it. As she shifts the collar, she hears a bell jingle.

“Peaches, meet Rook. Rook, Peaches,” Pratt manages to say through his hyena cackling.

“Peaches!? Holy shit…holy shit!”

Dahlia is able to move out from under the cougar, Peaches shifting her weight enough to allow the young deputy to stand up. The big cat watches as Dahlia moves, tail delicately flicking back and forth, mismatching eyes gleaming. A thunderous purr lets out as Dahlia scoops up the bag of treats that fell in the pounce of Peaches landing on her. She offers another and the cat greedily eats it from her hand. Dahlia’s cheeks ache from the big smile stretched across her face, this is incredible. She’s feeding a mountain lion, domesticated mountain lion.

“You know…” Pratt draws out, laughter having died out as he watches them, “I kinda expected you to freak out.”

“This is so cool. She just…domesticated a cougar?”

“Yeah, from what I heard this ain’t the first one either, technically this is Peaches two.”

“No points for creativity, but fuck, this is, holy shit.” She scratches beneath Peaches’ ear and she leans into it, purring with every rub of Dahlia’s blunt nails.

“You like animals?”

“Don’t you?”

“They’re okay,” Pratt walks over and pets Peaches head, “I’ll take you to the F.A.N.G Center, we ever catch a day off.”

“Yeah,” she catches what he just said and raises an eyebrow at him, “you wanna spend your days off with me?”

“C’mon we gotta get Peaches back to Ms. Mable.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Use the treats to lure her back, toss ‘em and she’ll run after them.”

“That seems tedious…”

“Nothing else we can do; you can’t pack her.”

“I mean, I could,” Dahlia says with a shrug, Peaches is big, but she’s strong. Wouldn’t be easy, per say; but she could manage it.

“You can’t lift a cougar, Thumbelina,” Pratt tells her again, ruffling her hair as if to emphasize her diminutive size. She pouts and glares at him. Dahlia digs out a treat and lifts it up.

“Peachy up,” she says and pats her shoulder.

To her surprise, the cougar jumps right up. Front paws on Dahlia’s shoulder and hind legs on her stomach. The deputy uses her free hand to wrap around the cougar, feeding her the treat before moving to use both hands to support the cat’s weight. Her legs and arms strain with the strength to lift her, but she doesn’t buckle.

Pratt scoffs as Peaches nuzzles against Dahlia, sandpaper rough kisses. With a roll of his eyes; the older deputy leads the way back up to Peaches Taxidermy. Dahlia’s trying not to laugh as she carries the cougar, licks and nuzzles that leave her hair sticking up at odd angles, irritating red raised spots on her skin. Peaches might actually be more affectionate than most housecats Dahlia’s been around.

The walk uphill nearly sends her tumbling, making Pratt snicker as she gets her bearings back. Finally, they return to the cleaning, Ms. Mable seeming to perk up, if only a small amount, at the sight of her cat.

“There she is, gracing us with her presence,” her tone is meant to be sarcastic, but there’s no genuine malice as Dahlia takes the time to carry Peaches to her enclosure.

The big cat takes her time getting the message to jump down, but after a moment she leaps off onto the big rubber tire in her enclosure. Dahlia gives her one more scratch behind her ears before stepping out of the enclosure, locking the little latch.

“How’d she get out?” Dahlia asks, looking for tears in the caging, if need be she can mend it for Ms. Mable.

“I was feeding her and she went rushing out.”

Dahlia nods in understanding, at least there’s no more efforts that need to be made. She tries to fiddle with and fix her cat drool covered hair, but without a mirror she gives up. Pratt snickering against the back of his hand as she makes her was back over from the cage.

“Try to keep a better eye on her, have a great day.”

“Eh, get out of here, shoo!”

Her and Pratt go back to the patrol car, Dahlia plopping down into the passenger side with a huff. Pratt turns to look at her, a stupid grin pulling at his lips. Her cheek is irritated, no doubt bright red from Peaches’ scratchy tongue and her hair is falling out of it’s tie, as well as sticking up at weird angles. Little golden hairs are clinging to her clothes. But, she’s grinning.

The laughter erupts, her cheeks ache and her stomach twinges as she can’t contain it. She holds her sides, cackling at the ridiculousness of the entire situation. She just carried a cougar. She’s covered in kitty slobber.

“You look like you’ve been through a tornado!”

“I just carried a cougar,” she says amazed, “ there’s nothing you can say to ruin this day!”

He just rolls his eyes as the laughter dies down; Dahlia pulling down the mirror to fix her hair. After a few moments of her taming slobber coded flyaway hairs the radio crackles to life from the car console.

“Units, there’s been a call in from Audrey, she said Aaron is back behind her diner and rummaging through trash.”

“Pratt, responding, we’ll be there shortly,” he starts the car engine back up, “fuckin’ Tweak.”

“Tweak?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow as she fastens her seatbelt.

“He’s one of the local methheads, most of ‘em hang out in the abandoned train cars. But not ole Tweak, he’s a big fan of digging through dumpsters and shit.”

“Is he dangerous?”

“Nah, just a pain in the ass. We’ll pat him down, if he’s got any of the shit on him, we take him in for a while. If not, all we can do is tell him to scram.”

She nods in understanding and pulls out her phone, searching for drug treatment facilities in the area that offer affordable or pro-bono help. It’s a long shot. She knows that. But she knows that treatment does more good than locking them away does. The nearest place is in Missoula; not exactly ideal, but it’s an option.

Dahlia digs a scrap piece of paper out of the glove department and scribbles down the number, name, and address. If Pratt notices, he says nothing. She settles back in her seat, watching the world pass by as they make their way south bound through the region.

The lake calm around the island in the middle of the whole county, splashing peacefully against the shores. A deer and it’s baby grazing near the woods. She remembers what she’s been told, about the hiking trails in the mountains. Dahlia has always loved animals and nature, memories of hiding in the woods for days at a time, warming snakes under her jacket or trudging through swamp lands in search of alligators. Then she remembers Pratt mentioning the F.A.N.G Center. She’s read a bit about it, like an animal sanctuary that allows public access. They have some famous bear there.

“What days do we get off?”

“Jesus, didn’t you bother talking to the sheriff about that shit?”

“No.”

“Fuckin’ Christ…,” he shakes his head, “Deputies get the best shifts, with weekends off.”

“So, you wanna go to the F.A.N.G center, Saturday or Sunday?”

“Oh, um, uh…” He scratches at the stubble on his chin, his posture stiffening somewhat.

“You said, you’d take me, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll take you there… Around like noon, Saturday, good?

“Sure.”

Maybe Lloyd was right; Pratt might not be as big of an asshole as she thought. It’s nice of him to offer to show her around places; maybe they can become friends. Even if she’s not the most talkative and he’s not the nicest, who knows, might balance out somehow.

They pull up to the diner, the same one Whitehorse treated her to the other day. But sure enough in the dumpsters behind the building she can see a man digging through the trash. Pratt parks and shuts off the engine, apparently, he’s okay with her doing this because he doesn’t stop Dahlia from stepping out of the car. Why he’d be more concerned with her at traffic stops than dealing with a drug addict, she wouldn’t know, but she has no intentions of looking a gift horse in the mouth.

“Hey, officers can you help me?” A voice asks, stopping them before they get to the dumpsters. The voice is noticeably a bit different from what she’s become used to hearing here, it’s a man with a map in his hand, maybe he’s not a local?

“What can we help you with, sir?”

“I’m trying to find my way to Rock Bass Lake, but I’m having trouble, finding my way.”

“It’s far east of here, you have to,” Pratt starts to help, being the one of the two who could actually give directions. Dahlia decides she might as well take care of the Tweak issue while he does that.

His hooded back continues to dig through the trash; muttering things she doesn’t quite catch. The stranger’s foot slips out under him where he’s climbing up to get in the dumpster and Dahlia lurches forward, catching him before he can fall.

“Oh fuck, uh thanks, man,” he stutters out as she gets him back on his feet, he’s wearing a backwards cap under his hood, tattoos up on his neck and what may be a tattoo or a smudge of dirt by his eye.

“No problem, you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” his eyes land on the sheriff department patch on her shirt, “oh shit, uh, officer.”

“Hey,...?” She tries to prompt him for his name, even if she already knows it.

“Uh, Tweak, well my name Aaron, but call me Tweak, please.” He shuffles his feet and awkwardly scratches at his face, stumbling over every word.

“You know you can’t be doing this, right?”

“I, uh, well I know that legally, I like can’t. But, I gotta, like, uh, prepare and shit, man.”

“Prepare?”

“Shit’s about to hit the fan and I gotta be ready to try to help, ya know?” He scratches at the back of his neck, hard enough for smears of red to stain his fingers.

“That’s a nice thought, but I think the diner owners would prefer to find other ways to prepare…” she chews her lip, knowing what she needs to check, “do you have anything on you, right now, like substance wise?”

“Um, oh, uhh, well, I, no, definitely not, I’m clean, m-man, I promise.”

“You know I gotta check, right?”

“Yeah…”

With the ease of someone completely use to pat downs, he place his hands on the dumpster. She sighs; drug cases just aren’t fun, especially when it’s just possession cases, not sellers. It’s one thing to arrest someone for doing something awful and ruining someone’s life. But, when you know what they need more than anything is help, it bugs her to treat them like criminals. She pats him down with a heavy heart, her jaw clenching when she finds a baggie of crystal meth in his pocket. Enough that could warrant at least three years in prison.

“I swear, I uh, I really don’t know how that got there, I-“ He stutters to explain it away as he turns to face her.

“Look, dude,” she speaks low, double checking that Pratt is still talking to the non-local, “I know this is rich coming from someone who just met you, but I don’t wanna see you die from this shit. Legal, illegal is whatever, I don’t want someone getting the call and finding you dead in your own sick.”

“I, uh, I, appreciate that, it’s just, ya know...”

“It ain’t easy, I get that. I don’t know if you can read this,” she pulls out what she wrote down, then realizes how that might have sounded, “not like I don’t know if you can read, but ‘cause my handwriting is shit, I, you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, yeah, I uh, can see the number clear, yeah.”

“But, it’s a place in Missoula that offers treatment and they work with your income, so you can afford it. You agree to call this place and try to get clean and I’ll ‘accidentally’ flush this stuff and forget I found it on you, sound fair?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s yeah, absolutely, fuck, yeah,” He’s nodding his head furiously to agree. She wants to hope it’s excitement for treatment and not just getting by with having meth on him.

“Now, if I find out you didn’t, and you get busted again. I will arrest you. And, uh, if you have any trouble getting to Missoula for treatment, you just call down to the station, ask for me and I’ll try to get you taken care of, alright?”

“That’s yeah, thank you so much, I, thank you,” he gushes and takes the little card from her hand, while she tucks the baggie discreetly into her pocket.

“Okay, now get out of here and leave their dumpster alone.”

Tweak goes running off; no doubt eager to take his victory and consider it done. Conveniently, right as Pratt manages to break away from the man asking directions.

“Swear to fuck, that dude didn’t understand a damn thing I said,” he raises an eyebrow, “Tweak didn’t have anything on him?”

“Nah, he must have smoked the last of it.”

“Eh, well, you got him to buzz off. All we can do.”

“Yeah, but, I gotta go to the bathroom, real quick.”

“Gotcha, we’ll grab a bite to eat while we’re here too.”

She nods in understanding, the two of them heading into the diner. Cassie the waitress from yesterday is nowhere to be found today, she notes before she heads to the bathroom. Guilt that what she’s doing is indeed illegal and could get her fired eats at the back of her head, but she flushes the drugs away anyway. In a couple weeks, she’ll call the treatment facility and see if he's called in. As she’s buttoning the uniform shirt up, she notices something she hasn’t seen before. What appears to be a helicopter parked at a clearing behind the station, a helipad is the word she thinks?

“The station has helicopters?”

“Yeah, there’s a lot of woods and fields here, so when we have missing people…helps to get a bird’s eye view.

“That’s really cool,” she admits as they step out of the patrol car.

“Yeah, I’m our station’s pilot,” Pratt tells her with an arrogant smirk that makes her immediately regret deciding to bring it up. She gives a nod in response, not wanting this to drag on into an excuse for Pratt to stroke his own ego.

Pratt and Hale make their way back into the station bullpen, Hudson is at her desk and working over some paperwork. Little pieces of dark hair falling into her face, the strands that can’t be pulled back into her braid. Dahlia’s heart picks up a strange pace at the way the light catches in Hudson’s green eyes. Ignoring it and swallowing the lump in her throat, Dahlia sits down at her own, bare desk, still needing her to add her own touches.

“Heard you guys had to get Peaches back for Ms Mable,” Hudson comments as Hale and Pratt settle in.

“Yeah, the big old cat got out again. Probie packed her all the way back from that campsite.”

Hudson lets out a breathy little laugh and heat shoots up Dahlia’s face, she leans back as far as she can in her chair without toppling over, nearly upside down and staring at the wall so the other two deputies won’t see what she’s sure is a beet red face. She’s not sure if it’s the sound of Hudson’s laugh or possibility of embarrassment. Carrying a cougar seemed really cool to her, but what if Hudson thinks it’s stupid?

“You seriously carried that giant cougar?”

“I mean, we had to get it back,” Dahlia says, doing her best to shrug nonchalantly as she leans so far back. At least when she sits back up, she can blame the red color on blood rushing to her head.

“Rookie, you’re gonna fall and split your head open.” Whitehorse yells out, making Dahlia jump and nearly make his prediction a reality. She didn’t even hear his office door open, she slides back into place, glaring in his direction as she sinks almost all the way down out of spite.

Another rustle catches her attention and she realizes the two senior deputies are packing up, the shift coming to a close.

“Well, we’re headed to the Spread Eagle for a drink,” Pratt says. She remembers the image of Whitehorse and Lloyd blowing off steam at the bar after a shift, how good of friends they must be. Seems, Hudson and Pratt are that good of friends as well. Then she remembers the F.A.N.G Center invitation.

“Oh, uh, Hudson?”

“Yeah?”

“Pratt offered to take me to the F.A.N.G Center Saturday, you wanna come along?”

Pratt’s jaw clenches and she sees what looks like a faint red color brushing over the apples of his cheeks. Hudson is grinning a bright smile though.

“Did he?” she raises an eyebrow at him and Pratt avoids eye contact, “sure, that sounds fun.”

“Yeah...fun,” Pratt grumbles as the pair leave the station, saying goodbyes to Dahlia and Whitehorse.

“So, how was the first day, Rookie?” Whitehorse asks her once the other deputies have left.

“Decent, Peaches was cool, but…”

“But?”

“Pratt wouldn’t let me hand out any tickets or citations, up until Peaches, he was making me sit in the car.”

“Yeah, that figures,” Whitehorse says in a low voice, as if that makes complete sense and maybe to him it does.

“It figures?”

“That what happened to Danny hit him harder than he lets on, Hudson’s been taking it the worst, but it hurt everyone.”

“Danny?”

Whitehorse pulls up a chair to her desk, sitting himself down and taking a sigh as he pulls his hat off his head. There’s a far off look in his blue gray eyes as he collects himself. She moves herself up properly to sit, clenching her jaw as the mood shifts in the office.

“He was the deputy here before you, he was here longer than Hudson or Pratt.”

She nods, not wanting to interrupt, just letting him know she’s listening. He takes another sighing breath, voice rasping from the difficulty of talking about this.

“He was Hudson’s partner, during a routine traffic stop, he was shot and died on the scene. He was a good man and his death has...left an impact on us all.”

“I’m sure, thanks for telling me.” She’s not sure how she’d feel about it, having never lost a coworker in the line of duty.

“No problem,” he rises from his chair and plops his hat back on his head.

A warm heavy hand lands on the top of her hair and he ruffles it, she laughs. The little gesture makes warmth flood her heart, he really does remind her so much of Lloyd every now and again. It helps make this entire thing a bit easier and maybe that’s part of why he wanted her to take this job so bad, maybe he knew his old friend would make this process a less painful one.

She grabs her jacket from the little hook, throwing it on as she follows the sheriff out of the station. The cool night air chills her skin, a breeze blowing her hair back. There’s a beautiful night sky hanging overhead, the stars are brilliant and vibrant. Nothing blocking out their radiance. A soft gasp escapes her lips.

“You won’t see a night sky like that anywhere else,” Whitehorse tells her, squeezing her shoulder; warmth seeping into her bones even as the night tries to chill her.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Do you know any constellations, Rookie?”

She shakes her head no, feeling Whitehorse squeezing her shoulder, the warmth and kindness of it grounding in a way.

“That one right there is Andromeda,” he points out a collection of stars that are meant to create some image, not that she can see it, “you know her story?”

“No.”

“Her mother, Cassiopeia, pissed off a bunch of nymphs and when they sent monsters after them. She chained Andromeda up and offered her as a sacrifice to save herself.”

Dahlia clenches her jaw; a mother offering her child up to a monster. She wishes that didn’t resonate so deeply in her heart. Constellations have never been something that interested her, she thinks stars are beautiful, but every time someone tries to show her a constellation she can’t seem to see the picture in her head. They’re just specks of light, pinpricks of vibrancy in a black void. But… she makes a note of these ones, hoping she can find them again later.

The rumble of an engine and tires screeching ends the peaceful moment, a white truck coming to a rubber burning. She tenses, the frantic driving setting her on edge immediately. A man jumps out of the driver seat, about six feet tall with a beard and snakes tattooed down his forearms. The word WRATH tattooed and crossed out on his chest; she immediately is reminded of the worker at the hotel. She was told it was now in Eden’s Gates hands, those sins seem to be standard within the religion.

“Lonny, was expecting to see you sooner,” Whitehorse greets him.

“Just now got word, you had some of our men locked up.”

“Your men?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow, the wording throwing her off. His narrowed eyes land on her and he smiles. It doesn’t reach her eyes and images of wolves baring their teeth flash through her mind.

“Members of the Father’s flock; Nathaniel and Theodore. You wouldn’t happen to be the new deputy who arrested them, would you?”

“You already know about me?”

“Well, when brother Theodore called he mentioned a little girl trying to play cop.” The man inches closer, into her personal space.

“I’m not playing anything and your ‘brothers’ were robbing the bar.”

“Confiscating deputy, cleaning up filth within the county, you should be thankful we’re trying to do your job for you and actually help the people here.”

“Your ‘help’-”

“We’re clocking out for the night Lonny, our night shift officers have all reported in, you can talk to the dispatch about bailing them out.” Whitehorse interjects, sticking a hand between them.

“Will do… that your bike?” He asks, nodding towards her motorcycle, barely acknowledging Whitehorse.

“Yeah, what’s it to you?”

“Just making small talk. You two have a good night, I’ll be seeing you around deputy.” Lonny tells her as he starts to walk back into the station, giving her a clap on the back that’s meant to look friendly, but there is nothing gentle in the harsh smack.

Once he’s out of earshot, Dahlia turns to look at Whitehorse, her expression must be making it clear what’s on her mind.

“You don’t wanna be making enemies your first day on the job.”

“I wasn’t doing anything, you saw the way he acted.”

“Just try to place nice, Rookie.”

“I do play nice, but I’m not taking anyone’s crap. He wants to pick a fight with me, I’ll pick one right back.”

“Try to stay on Eden’s Gate’s good side, they’re not dangerous, but they’re not people to be fucked with.”

“I’m not fucking with anyone, but if they break the law, I will arrest them same as I would anyone.”

“I’m not saying not to,” he puts a hand on her shoulder and looks into her eyes, trying to calm her, “I’m just saying try not to fuel any fires.”

“I ain’t fueling shit,” she grumbles, fingers clenching around her helmet.

“Stop pouting.”

“I’m not pouting...I’m scowling.”

“Well stop that too, head your ass home and stay safe, Rook.”

“Okay, dad,” she says with a roll of her eyes, earning another hair ruffle from Whitehorse. She waves a quick bye and pulls on her helmet before heading home.

The alarm clock buzzes her awake the next morning and she groans, half dressed, and her blanket tossed across the room. Sweat has built on her skin over the night. Reinette was worse with heat, but it’s hot enough to annoy. Then again, maybe she’s just being a baby. She’s always been finicky with temperatures.

Fresh from the shower, she’s trying to figure out what to do about her uniform. She knows already she’s going to blatantly disobey uniform policies when Whitehorse isn’t around. But she can’t exactly get away with wearing shorts. Ripped jeans and a cropped top are all she can manage, buttoning the green shirt up before going into the station.

“What are you wearing?” Pratt asks when she starts unbuttoning her uniform shirt in the patrol car.

“Clothes.”

“Barely. No ones going to take you seriously dressed like that.”

She shakes her head, it’s not that bad. Black velvet and lace, with a laced up ribbon tie. There’s some stomach showing where it cuts off, peeks of it through the lacey section of the fabric, and maybe through where it’s laced together.

“Skin is skin, everyone has it, who cares?”

“People around here will care.”

“Oh please, no one worries about shit like that anymore.”

Pratt rolls his eyes before he starts up the patrol car engine. They’re barely thirty minutes into patrolling the Holland Valley when dispatch comes through the radio.

“We got a call from Hurk Drubman Sr., says someone’s messing with his campaign again,” the dispatcher Nancy tells them.

“This should be interesting,” Pratt murmurs under his breath before picking up the radio to answer, “Pratt and Hale, responding.”

Dahlia can’t help but let out a little sigh, only a day in and she’s caught on that ‘interesting’ to Pratt more than likely means it will be something meant to annoy or embarass her. But then again last time, he thought introducing her to Peaches would scare her and that was just plain cool. As soon as she talks to Lloyd and Caroline she just knows ‘I cuddled a cougar’ is going to be the first thing she tells them. So, what’s truly the worst that could happen?

They travel through the Henbane River region and around; Drubman Sr.’s home is apparently not far from where the Whitetail Mountain area meets Henbane, north of the entire county. It’s a nice area, with a large house, a giant garage with a Jeep parked inside of it, and it’s right on the water; white steps leading to a dock. It’s beautiful place to live, that’s for sure. As they pull in, she sees an older man with a dark mustache and a cap pulled over his head, he sits in a chair on the porch with a shotgun in his lap.

She shoots a glance over to Pratt, the sight of a weapon setting a bit on edge, but he seems unaffected. Guns weren’t uncommon in Louisiana, southern state and all. But, the people in Reinette tended to be less…blasé about their gun ownership she supposes. Only using them for farming purposes; dealing with pests, wild animals, and on one of two sorrowful occasions having to put down a beloved animal who had no hope of recovering. She can’t say she knew anyone who’d just have it out like a lap puppy.

Dahlia follows Pratt out of the car and she immediately feels the old man’s eyes land on her, her skin crawls, he doesn’t like her. She knows what it’s like for someone to despise her and this man is already about there.

“About damn time!” He immediately bellows out as they come up to the porch.

“Is every old person in this county an ungrateful dick?” Dahlia grumbles under her breath, earning an elbow in her ribs from Pratt that almost hurts, she sticks her tongue out at him.

“And who the hell is this? Bad enough you even let women on the force, but now they’re dressing up like whores!”

“Rude.”

“Don’t worry about her, why did you call?”

“Some liberal fuckhead broke onto my damn property and vandalized my signs!”

Dahlia cranes her neck a bit, there’s a stack of signs just behind the old jackass, red and white Vote Drubman signs that have been covered in various curse words, all written in dark black marker. Apparently, someone doesn’t like him, she can’t possibly imagine why.

“Alright, we’ll file a report for vandalism and see what we can do.”

“Which is code for doing a fat load of nothing, that’s the problem with cops nowadays, too scared to take any action. Too pussified to put a bullet in anyone anymore.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s actually the exact opposite, but go off, I guess.”

“Probie, get the report forms from the car.”

She groans and makes her walk back to the patrol car, digging out the forms to file a report before bringing them back. Pratt is asking questions and jotting things down as the old man prattles them off. Despite never seeing who did it, he’s convinced it must be some ‘libtard’ and probably a ‘minority’, desperate to sink his campaign. She leans against one of the pillars of the house, staring off into space as Pratt starts filling out the small detail crap.

“You a registered voter?” Hurk Sr. suddenly asks her.

“You called me a whore, five seconds ago.”

“I said you were dressed like one, get it right.”

“Jesus fucking christ.”

“Hey, daddy!” A masculine voice suddenly calls out, there’s a man walking onto the property. Portly and tall with short dark hair.

“Oh god, he’s back.” Hurk Sr. grumbles, rolling his eyes.

“Now, I’m not gonna lie, I’m a little sad you couldn’t come get me from the airport and made me walk all the way out here. But no hard feelings between family, and,” his blue eyes land on Dahlia and she raises an eyebrow at him, “oh, you didn’t have to hire a stripper just to welcome me home, not that I mind.”

“Excuse you?” Dahlia says low and stern, indignation making heat floods up her cheeks, what is wrong with him? It’s a crop top and jeans, not pasties and a g-string, who the hell would even look at her and think stripper? How desperate do you have to be? Her hand is hovering over her taser as the man comes closer, if he does anything weird, he’s getting it.

Pratt sputters and bursts into laughter, holding his stomach as he cracks up. She kicks him firmly in the shin and again when he just laughs louder. This isn’t funny, she’s about to murder every man here.

“God damn it Junior, I am in the middle of discussing a serious matter, I told you not to come back here!”

“Oh, don’t be like that daddy. You know mama doesn’t want me at the Marina since she had Xander move in, says she can’t have too much stupid in one place, same reason she doesn’t like when Sharky visits.”

“So why the hell should I have to put up with it?!”

“Ah, come on.”

“Hey, if we’re done with the report can we go?’ She looks over at Pratt, between stripper comments and family bickering, she’d rather be elsewhere.

“I don’t know I’m having fun,” he says pressing a hand to his mouth, nearly out of breath from laughing.

“You left the keys in the car and I will leave your ass out here.”

“Well, we’ll be going now.”

“Oh, you’re already leaving,” Junior as his dad called him, starts to say, looking directly at her chest and the meager amount of cleavage she’s showing. Her fingers wrap around her taser.

“You can’t tase him for that.”

“Bullshit,” she grumbles as she yanks open the car door.

Dahlia plops down into the passenger side with a heavy sigh, disgusted by the interaction. Why would anyone ever look at her sexually? She doesn’t like that; she has the sex appeal of a twig and she likes it that way. It’s ridiculous. She hears Pratt start snickering again as she starts to button up her uniform shirt, even when she glares, he just keeps laughing, each cackle earning a strong “Fuck off,” from her.

“You should let me drive,” Dahlia says after boring hours of traffic stops pass by, landing themselves back in the valley.

“What?”

“If you’re not going to let me hand out tickets, at least let me drive so I don’t go crazy from boredom.”

“You need to find a hobby or something, you’re bored every second.”

“I’d be less bored if you let me drive.”

“I’ve seen how you ride your motorcycle.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“How you haven’t been pulled over, you drive like a maniac.”

“I don’t go that fast and I’m smart about it.”

“You aren’t smart about anything.”

“I’m smart about noticing the people trying to steal copper from the railyard,” she comments as she spots three men grabbing copper in broad daylight to shove in duffle bags so they can sell it.

“God damn it,” Pratt grumbles and flashes on the sirens, she grabs the spare set of cuffs, they skid to a stop in the railyard.. The three men scramble to escape, but Pratt and Hale are already out of the patrol car and nearly on top of them.

Dahlia manages to grab the back of two of their shirts, pulling them back towards her before they can get to the woods. Judging by the groan, Pratt nabbed the other guy.

“You’re under arrest for trespassing and theft, you have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you. You have the right to an attorney if you do not have one will be appointed to you, do you understand?” She reads them their rights as she quickly manages to slap handcuffs on them both before either can run away.

When she turns to get a good look at their face, she recognizes them. Two young boys she’s seen around the trailer park, probably around her age, from what she’s seen they still live with their parents and seem to have no plans of working or going to school.

“Aren’t you kinda old to be helping kids steal shit, Boshaw?” Pratt asks as she’s putting the two younger boys into the back of the car. They’ll be a little jammed in, but not her problem.

“C’mon man, this shit is just left out here, no one does nothing with it,” he grumbles, she recognizes him as the guy from the trailer park who technically doesn’t live there, Sharky, at least she thinks that’s his name.

“Doesn’t mean you can just take it, dumbass,” she says, rolling her eyes. He can’t be this dumb. It’s not like any of them are going hungry or don’t have the necessities.

“Who the hell are you?”

“The deputy currently arresting you.”

“Junior Deputy,” Pratt corrects in his never-ending quest to be an asshole.

“Junior deputy, like the cop crap they tried to make us do in high school?” Sharky says, raising an eyebrow at Dahlia.

“I’m twenty.”

“Jesus, I thought I was dumb, shouldn’t you have graduated by now?”

“Get in the car, now”

They put the cuffed Sharky in the backseat of the cruiser along with his two partners in literal crime. Dahlia wonders for a moment if this will make things worse in the trailer park, they’re already not fantastic. But things haven’t gotten worse after that initial night, a beer can being thrown at her head is still the worst thing to happen. No one is friendly with her, but nothing has escalated. A part of her worries if arresting three trailer park residents, well two residents and one trailer park adjacent will make things escalate. Though, Boshaw didn’t seem to even recognize her. So, she’ll take that as her saving grace.

There’s a large jail in the Hebane river area but she’s learned quickly that it’s no longer functional. Offenders now held in the small collection of cells in the back of the station and if the crime is bad enough, they’re shipped off out of county to the nearest big city prison. Apparently, there just wasn’t enough criminals getting caught to justify the cost of maintenance for the huge building.

They pull into the station parking lot, dragging the three offenders out from the back of the cruiser. They start the booking process, filing the paperwork as the three stooges sit handcuffed on a bench. She catches them making faces a few times before they’re being taken back to the cells.

“You son of a bitch!” A sharp gruff yell comes barreling through the front of the station. The sheriff holding back a man’s cuffed hands as he twists and tries to evade him. It’s an older man, maybe older than Whitehorse, with a bald head and glasses.

“Screaming at me won’t help you, Dutch.”

“Fuck off, I didn’t do nothing wrong.”

“You can’t trespass.”

“Those peggies have trespassed and taken everything from us, yet I don’t see any of them here.”

“We literally had two Eden’s Gate members here, yesterday,” Dahlia answers with a roll of her eyes. Some people try to act like things are unfair just because they’ve been caught. She’s not ignorant to flaws or failures in the law, police brutality against black people, profiling, and the like. But this isn’t that type of situation. A peggie breaks the law, they get arrested, a non-peggie breaks the law, they get arrested. Plain and simple.

“Who the fuck asked you!?”

“Enough,” Whitehorse says as he makes his way towards where Dahlia is, voice lowering so the man can’t hear him, “it’s not worth the fight, Rook.”

She rolls her eyes; nothing is ever worth the fight it seems. First it was that Lonny guy and now this guy. Maybe she’s too quick to argue, but that’s the reason she wanted to be a cop. Fighting for justice and all that, doing what’s right and not letting people push her around. When the hell is, she going to find a fight that’s worth it?

The older man, Dutch, gets settled away in his jail. Whitehorse walking back from the cells once he’s secured it.

“That guy had an attitude problem,” Dahlia grumbles.

“That’s Dutch, one of our prepper doomsday guys, anti-government, anti-law, he’s a regular at this point.”

“He doesn’t think very highly of Eden’s Gate.”

“Not many do,” Pratt tells her.

“Dutch is the kind to assume the worst of, well, anyone. You’d be smart to avoid him, Rook.” A warm hand on her head, ruffling her hair punctuates that sentence.

The day drags on calmly and boringly after that, the end of the shift once again ending with Hudson and Pratt going to the Spread Eagle. And she goes home alone to her empty trailer...to eat dinner from a tupperware container.

And the next day isn’t much different; a report filled out for some petty theft from the Golden Valley Gas Station, more patrol of her begging Pratt to just let her drive, let her write a ticket, anything. By noon she was just adjusting her seat up and down to keep herself moderately entertained. Pratt was far from amused, but he only has himself to blame. And that evening, Pratt and Hudson go to the Spread Eagle to relax after work. She goes home alone, trying to ignore the melancholic ache when her footsteps echo in the empty trailer; the only sound that greets her.

Thursday, nearly the end of the work week, she gets a break in the form of cows busting through the fences of the Davenport farm. Sun high in the sky, she and Pratt led them back home, with her patching the fence once all was taken care of. A cow licked her, and Pratt stepped in shit, the ideal day. Then the end of the day rolls around and she finds herself watching the two older deputies leave for drinks again.

She’d be lying if she said the end of each workday doesn’t leave her a little melancholy. Watching Pratt and Hudson go hang out, while she makes the trip back to her sparsely decorated trailer surrounded by people who hate her.

Asking to come along would be pointless. She’s not old enough to drink and wouldn’t want to make anyone feel awkward about it, or at least would feel awkward herself. It’s just one of those things where trying to be included would make it that much more apparent how she doesn’t fit in.

It’s not Pratt or Hudson’s job to include her, to make her feel better. She can’t be upset with them because she feels out of place no matter where she goes.

And when the end of Friday comes along and she’s watching them go off to have fun without her, the way longtime friends only can. She reminds herself of the planned trip to the F.A.N.G Center, holding out hope that it will be a positive step to feeling a little less like a fish out of water.

Dahlia has survived her first week of work;. she hasn’t been fired and she hasn’t been maimed at this point. There’s a long way to go in terms of, well, everything. But she has yet to fail spectacularly. Small blessings, she supposes.

The sun is out bright and shining Saturday, and she wonders if her good mood shows on her face. She’s waiting a distance from the trailer park entrance, not wanting him to have to deal with the residents who may not be a big fan of cops. Which is all of them from the looks of it. Dirty looks thrown her way only increasing since the railyard arrest, one of the younger boy’s mom muttering something that rhymes with witch, when Dahlia walked past.

She takes a deep inhale of fresh air, feeling the early day sun warming her skin where her tank top doesn’t cover. A breeze blowing by through the field of white blossoms, the faint scent tickling her nose. The young deputy only knows a bit about the F.A.N.G Center it’s like a mixture of a zoo and an animal sanctuary; with a super domesticated bear as their mascot. She has three goals going into today; become better friends with her fellow deputies, not make an idiot of herself in front of Hudson, and pet a bear.

A small black car comes pulling up; it seems as if trucks are much more common in Hope County, Pratt is driving, and Hudson is in the passenger seat. Bugs are crawling in her stomach, butterflies or whatever, just at seeing Hudson through the windshield; her hair is out of its usual braid, long dark hair brushing just above her chest. Getting worked up over seeing loose hair, what is wrong with her? Hudson is just a person, an unbelievably attractive and seemingly really cool person, but a person. The car comes to a stop as Dahlia berates herself internally.

Dahlia stretches her arms out, listening to the pop of her joints before she pulls open the backseat door behind Hudson; her desire for leg room outweighs her desire to have a better view of the older deputy. Besides, knowing her luck she’d have a heart attack at the sight.

“Joey,” Pratt says, looking at Hudson, “switch seats with Rook.”

The sound of him using Hudson’s first name just sounds strange to Dahlia’s ears, but she supposes they’re close while she’s still just the rookie.

“And why would I do that?” There’s a hint of mischief in Hudson’s voice as she asks and Dahlia catches her cheeky smile in the rearview mirror, heat pricking up under her skin at the sight.

“Because…,” Pratt chews on his lip, stumped to find one, “shut up.”

“I’m fine in the backseat,” Dahlia says, shrugging, she’s not so immature that she’d fight over who rides shotgun. Okay, maybe if it was Pratt or Chase, she’d be that immature. But, not with Hudson.

One issue with getting closer to her coworkers that becomes glaringly obvious during the drive is that developing friendships requires talking. Dahlia isn’t great, good, or even okay at talking. She has the verbal skills of a cavewoman raised by wolves. Everytime she strings together a complete sentence, she’s impressed. Bonus points if it actually makes sense.

As Pratt drives them through the area, idly chatting with Hudson as the radio plays, she finds herself constantly wanting to talk. But it never happens. The words constantly stuck in her throat, bubbling beneath the surface, but never escaping her mouth. It always feels wrong. The subject changes before she has a chance to chime in, the conversation about things and places she knows nothing about, and each time Hudson so much as glances her way it feels like her entire body is shutting down.

She ends up just settling back into her seat, gazing out the window as the scenery passes by. Maybe it will be easier at the F.A.N.G Center, animals and stimuli all around; things they can all talk about.

That hope shifts into dread when she sees the busy parking lot outside of the center. Families carrying around kids into the small zoo. She doesn’t hate crowds, per say. She’s been to dance clubs and stuff; traveling up to the bigger city in Louisiana to dance and blow off steam. But, she doesn’t like certain crowds. There's a difference when music is pumping into the room; a different energy to everything. But, maybe it won’t be that bad. It's realistically probably not that many people, the place isn’t a huge zoo, so it likely looks more packed than it actually is. Maybe it won’t be as bad inside.

Pratt finds a parking spot, relatively far out, unable to get anything closer. Dahlia steps out of his car, kicking up dirt as the two other deputies get out. She gets the best look at Hudson she’s gotten since the day started. Hudson’s hair is out of it’s usual plait, blowing around in the breeze. The pale yellow of her top contrasts beautifully against her dark skin; the tank top also allows Dahlia to get a better look at Hudson’s tattoo. As she suspected an eagle design with the American flag that makes Dahlia suspect some sort of military background in at least Hudson’s family.

“Come on.” Pratt slaps a friendly hand on Dahlia’s back, making her jump, how long has she been staring at Hudson? Oh god, she’s already made an idiot out of herself. She lets him usher her a bit towards the entrance, trailing after the pair of older deputies after a second.

“There’s a lot of people,” she comments when they step into a long line, filled predominantly with families and kids.

“Yeah, there’s not much to do in the county, so this is where almost everyone goes.”

“Options around here are basically; drinking, hunting, fishing, the F.A.N.G center and the arcade.”

“I saw stuff about uhhh, god, Clutch something? Looks fun…”” Little memorial spots for some stunt guy who’s from Hope County. Maybe she’ll take her motorcycle through one of the little stunts. Some seem fine, probably avoid the planes and she thinks there's one where the guy just set himself on fire and called it a stunt. She’s reckless, but even that seems dumb and also she can’t fly.

“I don’t even know why they still have that shit up; no one is dumb enough to try that crap,” Hudson says, rolling her eyes.

“Its an old daredevil guy; someone thought it’d be a smart idea to mark his stunts for other people to try, all its done is lead to lots of drunk idiots crashing and getting themselves hurt.”

“Yeah...dumb.” Dahlia shoves her hands in her pockets, staring at her feet, now she looks stupid. So, that’s fun.

“Huha, you smell...like a cheeseburger!” A loud goofy voice comes from the giant waving version of their famous bear; a statue perched high in the air that greets you when you come in. That’s a voice that will...get old quickly.

They get inside and Dahlia immediately realizes that no, it does feel just as packed inside as it does outside. In fact, it feels worse. The small zoo, sort of animal sanctuary, is largely composed of it’s animal enclosures. Wolves, cougars, bears an eagle sanctuary, and she sees some skunk and wolverine enclosures. This leaves less area for the visitors to wander around and given how many people are here; that’s not pleasant.

People move, bump, and shuffle around; someone nearly sending Dahlia directly into Pratt’s back. Kids shriek and yell, excitedly running to look at each and every animal, not caring when they slam against someone on their way through. The heat of the day isn’t bad, but when packed in with every family in the county it feels unbearable, people brush past her and she feels their body heat.

“Everyones crowding around Cheeseburger; wanna go see the other bears?” Pratt offers, looking back at Dahlia for confirmation.

“Yeah, sounds good.” Maybe that means it will be a little less packed over there. They shuffle through the area, some kid running by and smearing sticky cotton candy fingers over her jeans. She keeps hearing the annoying cartoon voice; both from the overhead statue and people packing around little bobbleheads that say the same lines over and over again.

She’s not a germaphobe, she’s not claustrophobic, she doesn’t have misophonia, or any of those things; at least she’s never considered herself any of those things. But she doesn’t like this. It’s too much. When she’s gone places to dance; it’s one overwhelming stimulus. The music is so loud it overwhelms everything else. The closeness to people not bothering her because she’s preoccupied with the energy of it all. This...is clumsy, gross. Instead of one overwhelming stimulus it’s several stimuli all clashing about and banging together. Instead of losing herself in fun and feeling a part of something; she feels awkward, clunky, out of place. Happy families, messy children, the two older deputies talking breezily as they weave through it all; occasionally stopped by someone who knows them.

“Oh Joey, I haven’t seen you in so long-”

“Hey, Pratt, how have you been?”

And Dahlia stands, pressing herself as close to the nearest wall as she can, so people can push past her with the littlest chance of touching her. She curses under her breath when a kid steps on her toe and their mother glares at her. Everyone in this county seems to glare at her, it seems like. Her toes and head are throbbing when she hears the statue tell people they smell like a cheeseburger for the billionth time.

The bears are beautiful; two large black bears playing within their pen. Both having been injured in some way, one has it’s leg bandaged, and in the process of rehabilitation. But Dahlia can’t see much more of the bears, before someone shoves past her to get a better look, immediately blocking her view.

She shouldn’t be here, she doesn’t belong here, she wants to leave, but she doesn’t want to be a buzzkill since neither Hudson or Pratt seem to mind any of this. But her head hurts, her toe hurts, everything is too much and it’s getting hard to breathe.

“After we grab something to eat, I wanna look at the eagles,” Hudson says, and Dahlia sees her chance.

“I’m gonna smoke real quick, I’ll be right behind ya,” Dahlia tells them with a wave before she makes a beeline towards the exit. She nearly barrels through a few people as she moves, her throat getting tighter and tighter with every step; heart pounding to escape her ribcage. She needs out, she needs to get away.

She breaks through the crowd and into the parking lot; jogging past the people just pulling into the parking lot. Dahlia finds herself in the woods around the center, far enough out that she can no longer hear that insipid statue and she sits down in the grass. She curls up for a moment, knees to her chest as she takes some deep breaths. Slowly feeling her body start to calm down; her heart rate slowing and each breath coming a little easier. It’s been a while since she had a moment like that; though last time it was much worse, and she understood why it happened. This time the cause is a little less certain.

Maybe it was too much going on, maybe it was stares and odd looks, maybe she put too much emphasis and pressure on this day going well. Maybe she’s just a mess.

She scrambles her brain to make sense of it; she vaguely remembers a school trip to an amusement park that didn’t go well. But, she’s not sure if that’s enough to warrant this kind of reaction. Hell, if she had this strong a reaction to something that ended badly for her; she wouldn’t be functional.

The young deputy stands to her feet, lighting a cigarette and letting the nicotine flood her lungs, easing her nerves for a moment before she breathes the smoke back out into the air. She has no intentions of heading back to the center. All that’d happen is her having another freakout, maybe she can revisit the F.A.N.G Center during a weekday after work when it’d be less crowded or once she’s on permanently take a day off for it.

She doesn’t imagine it matters much; she’s an adult and if she wants to leave she can. But, she doesn’t want Pratt or Hudson looking all over for her when they’re getting ready to leave. During the week, she had managed to exchange numbers with Hudson and Pratt. The exchange with Hudson involved her flushing red and nearly having an aneurysm, but it occured. She sends Pratt a quick text

i left sorry

Hopefully, he won’t be too aggravated with her and Hudson won’t think she’s a total loser. Dahlia slips in earbuds; time to find out how to get home. She heads south, she’ll head that way, then go through the valley. It shouldn’t take more than a couple...hours...she’ll be home by morning...at least.

She weaves and walks through the woods, following along the side of the road as much as she can. Large wooden homes occasionally spring up, residents in their yards talking with friends. Trucks and car passing by on the road.

A restaurant called The Grill Steak with a brightly lit sign catches her eye as she walks past, family at picnic tables eating burgers and laughing. The smell of the cooking deer and bison making her stomach growl; if she did not have such a long walk home, she would stop to eat.

She’s tip toeing her way around shallow divots of water, jumping over stumps and fallen trees; crushing grass and plants beneath her feet as she goes. Elks and deer occasionally catching her eye as they wander through; darting away when they see her. Little pronghorns snorting somewhere in the distance.

Dahlia isn’t sure where she is, as the moon starts to shine bright and luminescent in the sky. But she’s following along the side of a road and will eventually see something that she recognizes, probably. The activity of the day has seemed to die down, no longer a steady thrum of people and animals milling about as she moves. All of Hope County must be asleep it seems, no cars are even coming down the road. The moon and stars the only light to guide her; music from her phone the only sound to comfort her.

I’ve been ghosting...I’ve been ghosting along….

Her eyes scan the night scan; taking in the bright pinpricks of light that break through the black void, trying to find Andromeda. She’s scared for a moment that she’s lost the pattern; unable to track it down and decipher it from every other star. Then she finds it, she believes she has at least; the collection of stars meant to show the woman chained in place, sacrificed by her own mother.

Ghost in the world...Ghost with no home…

Bright headlights flash up, a car coming over the hill behind her, light pollution drowning out the stars; followed by sharp honking of the horn. The car; a familiar small black vehicle pulls off to the side of the road, just near her. She turns off the music on her phone, eye widening at the amount of notifications that came in while she was walking. Around eight missed calls between Pratt and Hudson. Text after text from Pratt; a few from Hudson. He’s the majority of the calls as well. Is something wrong?

Pratt swings the driver side door open, slamming it shut as he climbs out. She can practically see the car shaking from the force of it. The passenger side window rolls down; Hudson popping her face out.

“What the fuck, Rookie!” She yells out.

“Hi…?”

“Hi, what the fuck?!” Pratt’s face is tense, his eyes angry as he storms towards her.

“What?”

“What, what? You just vanished!”

“I texted you.”

“Barely and then what, you threw your phone in the god damn lake?”

“I have my ringtone and message crap turned off.”

“Why?!”

“I don’t like when it rings.”

“Do, do you even know where you are right now?!”

“...Montana…”

“Get in the car.”

He grabs her up by the back of the shirt; dragging her towards the car. She lets him; as much as she wants to wrestle herself away if only to prove a point, her feet hurt and she wouldn’t mind a car ride. She slides into the backseat, Pratt taking his place behind the wheel and Hudson looks back at her. The intensity of the green gaze, or perhaps just the person it’s coming from, makes Dahlia shrink back against the leather.

“Not cool, Rook.”

“I...don’t see the big deal…” Dahlia grumbles under her breath, feeling like a child scolded on a family trip.

“The big deal is you, you had no way to get home, no idea w-where you were going, and god knows what could have happened to you!?” Pratt is stuttering and stumbling over his words, as he rushes to yell at her.

“I don’t get why you’re so angry, I’m a grown adult, if I wanna leave I can leave.”

“It would, would have taken you five minutes to just find us and we could have all left.”

“I didn’t wanna ruin everyone else’s fun.”

“Well, you did.”

Dahlia sighs and flops back against the seat; tension leaving her as her heart sinks. The one thing she didn’t want to do. What was she supposed to do? She ruined their day this way, she would have ruined it by demanding they take her home. Was she supposed to sit and suffer? Maybe just be normal and not freak out, but that’s kind of a lost cause at this point, isn’t it?

“Pratt was scared,” Hudson tells her, making eye contact through the rearview window, as the car starts up.

“Shut up,” Pratt tells her.

“Why would he be scared?”

“Yeah, Pratt, why would you be scared?”

“Everybody is shutting up, now.”

“…,” Dahlia pouts, chewing on her lip, before looking towards Hudson, “did you get to see the eagles?”

“Yeah.”

“Good…” The younger deputy darts her eyes out towards the window, cheeks puffing out and staining red; why does Hudson do this to her?

The car ride back is awkward, to say the least. Music drifting through the radio is the only sound to disrupt the silence. Dahlia stares out the window and fiddles with the hem of her shirt; wanting to sink into the seat.

Each second drags on agonizingly long, each moment filled with fidgeting and shame, wishing more than anything she hadn’t asked to do this.

Before she decides to fling herself out of the car, they manage to make it back to just outside of the trailer park. The moment the car comes to a stop she’s wrenching the door open and climbing out.

“Wait a second, I’ll walk you to your trailer,” Pratt offers and the idea of spending anymore time with someone who kinda wants to strangle her at the moment.

“I’m good, see ya, Monday.”

“Just-“

She’s gone, out of earshot before Pratt finishes his sentence; nearly tripping over herself to avoid the awkward situation. Why he’d want to walk her to her trailer is beyond her, maybe he just wanted more chances to be angry, who knows…. She just wants to go to sleep and forget this day happened, she kicks up some dirt and head hanging low, she makes her way through the trailer park.

“Deputy…been waiting for you.”

#far cry 5 #fc5 #dahlia hale #staci pratt #joey hudson #earl whitehorse #this is love

13 notes · View notes

starscheme · 5 years ago

Text

With All My Heart

Chapter Five: Good intentions gone wrong

In the last couple of days, Spinel had been trying to keep herself busy. Her space in the temple was pink of course. The room used to be like a playground, but after Rose vanished to give birth to Steven and Spinel changed, she smashed most everything and Pearl had long since cleared the mangled things from her room. Now, her space was mostly empty save for a large wooden chest. Spinel never felt the need to add much to her room. After all, she preferred to spend her time in the main house with Steven now.

The empty room didn't really matter to her until now. For the past two days, she was left alone there, having nothing but time to think about what happened. Spinel was simply sitting on the floor, her back against the wooden chest as she stared up at the ceiling. How long was this going to go on? Surely Garnet wouldn't punish her for too long, right?

Still, even if it had only been a couple of days, it felt like torture. All she could think about was how much she missed Steven. She was stuck in here while he was out there and able to have fun without her. With Connie.

Spinel shook her head, trying to get the image of the two out of her head. Nothing could make this punishment worse than thinking of Connie taking her place. It made her think of that terrible dream. The longer she was in here, maybe the more Steven would realize he didn't need her.

"He wouldn't do that..." spinel whispered into the empty room, trying to convince herself that her fears wouldn't come to pass.

As Spinel sat in thought, a door appeared at the far end of her room and Pearl stepped in. With a smile, Spinel leapt to her feet to greet her friend.

"Pearl," she exclaimed, rushing over to her. "I didn't think I was allowed to see anyone."

Pearl had stopped by just as she told Steven she would, but it wasn't just for his sake. Besides, Pearl was the only one that could enter Spinels room without permission since their spaces were connected. Something Pearl had made sure of when the temple was created. Mostly to keep an eye on Spinel and to make sure she had a way to come and get Rose if they had lost track of time playing around. Pink said it was Pearls job to keep Spinel responsible after all.

"I wanted to talk...and see how you're doing," Pearl greeted, glancing around at the empty space.

"You still haven't done anything in here? ...what happened to all the furniture I brought you?"

Spinel thought for a moment, "oh, you mean the tea table and stuff? I put them in the closet."

"That's not a closet," Pearl groaned, walking to the wall and pressing her hand to it. A door appeared and slid open, revealing a room packed with loose furniture, armor and weapons.

"...why do you keep everything from the war as if it were junk?" Sighed Pearl as she began to pull some rather elegant looking wooden chairs from the pile.

"...I don't like remembering the war." Spinel answered, sitting down on the wooden chest now, her smile gone.

Pearl had already taken out a table and two chairs, solid wood and carved meticulously with roses and vines around the legs. No doubt something Pearl had picked out for Spinel.

"Well...be that as it may, those weapons and your old things are a part of history and should be kept in better shape. Certainly not treated like a mere closet," lectured Pearl as she sat down in one of the chairs and gesturing for Spinel to take the other.

"...then why don't you just keep them...?" Muttered Spinel irately before she sat down across from her guest.

Pearl didn't reply, but instead her gem began to glow and out came the bag of marshmallows that Steven was hoping to give Spinel.

The pinks Gems eyes brightened and she leaned up in her seat. "Ah! Did Steven tell you to—"

Pearl looked a bit nervous now, but she smiled and shook her head.

"N-no, no," she insisted, cutting Spinel off before she got any further.

"I just thought you would like a snack. As a...reward for taking your punishment so well," Pearl lied.

Sinking back into her seat, Spinel held out her hand for a treat. She had hoped that Steven was thinking about her. It would have made her feel better.

"...so...what is Steven up to?"

"Spinel..." Pearl began, almost as if to warn her about the topic. "...you and Steven are not supposed to see one another. I think it's better we don't talk about him either."

"That's not fair!" Snapped Spinel. "I've been in here all alone! I haven't tried to escape or anything!"

"Calm down," said Pearl sternly. "This is exactly why we're doing this."

"...what do you mean?"

Pearl took a breath and placed the bag of sweets on the table.

"Spinel...when Rose...gave up her form for Steven...you changed. Not just your appearance...but your personality. It alarmed all of us. I'd never heard of anything like that happening to a Spinel. Or any Gem for that matter."

"...yeah. So...?" This was not a topic that Spinel liked. She was rather self conscious about her transformation. The only reason she didn't worry about it where Steven was concerned, was because he hadn't known her any other way. Still, she knew that Pearl saw her as...broken somehow. "We waited all that time to see if something was wrong with my gem...and it wasn't cracked or noth'n."

"I know, but Spinel...after talking with Garnet yesterday...I think we have more reason to be concerned. ...I blame myself mostly...for not noticing all this sooner."

"Noticing what? I haven't hurt humans before. Well...unless you count that time on Halloween when Steven was little, but how was I supposed to know that humans dressed as monsters for candy at the time?"

"...I mean, I didn't notice how attached you had become to Steven. I was so lost in my own grief and regret, that I didn't see how losing Rose affected you. I'm sorry."

Spinel was getting confused. Why was it a bad thing to be attached to Steven. Weren't they all attached to him? Didn't that just mean that they loved him? "I don't get it. Is there a problem with me being around Steven?"

"When he was little...it was fine, but I think something has changed. Garnet noticed it of course...but I guess I just wasn't paying close enough attention. You've become overly possessive and with how emotional you can be...it may lead to more problems like this. ...mostly with Connie."

The mention of Connie soured Spinels mood once again. "I'm gonna apologize when I see her..."

"But what about next time?" Insisted Pearl, reaching over to place her hand over Spinels. "You have never liked it when she is around Steven and it's gotten so much worse. This time, you just pushed her, but what happens if next time you do something you cant take back? We are so much stronger than humans, you could end up really hurting her."

"I won't. I promise. She's important to Steven and I'm Stevens friend. It's my job to keep him happy and be happy for him. I-I don't know what happened before, but I'll do better next time. I'll be better."

"...that's the problem Spinel. You keep saying it's your job. After everything that's changed here...I think you're the only one that's stuck. ...you still think your only purpose is to be Stevens friend and I think...that's what's going to make trouble later on. I mean, what are you going to do when if you see Steven hold Connie or kiss h—mph!"

Spinel had covered pearls mouth with her hand, staring down at the table to hide her face. "Y-you don't have to say that stuff..."

Pearl steeled herself and pulled Spinels hand away. "Yes I do. You need to understand that even though you're his friend, you might not be the most important person to him. You have to learn to accept that Connie might be that person. After all, Steven is most likely going to be with a human and no matter how you feel about it, it's better if he lives a normal life with a human."

"You don't know how I feel!" Spinel shouted now, slamming her fist against the table.

"Yes I do! I know exactly how you feel because I've felt it too!" Pearl shouted back, rising from her seat.

Spinel stopped and stared up at Pearl, surprised by her outburst. What was she trying to say?

"You may not even really see it yourself yet, but I know you feel exactly what I felt back then! It's better for you to let this go now, before you get hurt! I don't want you to break even further! Please Spinel, we've been together for more than six thousand years. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you too. If you keep acting like this...if you don't realize it...or even if you do and try to pursue it...you'll only get hurt. Steven is going to choose Connie in the end. She's human. Isn't that the natural way of things here on earth? We have to accept that. ...I don't want you to go through something painful again! Who knows what it will do to you this time! What if...what if it really breaks you...to where I won't be able to help you anymore?"

As Pearl ranted, tears began to pool at the edge of her eyes. "...this is my fault! I should have noticed how things were going and stopped it sooner. So now...please Spinel...I can help you fix things. Everything can go back to the way it was and I'm sure you'll get along with Connie after that. ...I'll be there for you every step of the way."

Spinel stared in stunned silence, taking in every word Pearl was saying. The more she listened, the more she thought on what Pearl was trying to convey, the dots began to connect and Spinel felt the walls close in around her. Was Pearl trying to say that Spinels feelings for Steven had changed beyond friendship? Is that why they think she attacked Connie? That couldn't be possible.

"N...no," Spinel started quietly, standing from her seat as well, staring at the floor as she desperately tried to find an argument for what Pearl was saying. "Y-you're wrong! I can't...be in love with Steven," Spinel demanded, meeting Pearls gaze now. "I'm his friend! I'm supposed to be his friend! ...loving him...like that...that's not what I was made for. If he finds out that I—-if I really—-it would would ruin everything!" Spinel cried, tears flowing down her cheeks as she shook her head, unsure how to process all this.

Pearl could tell that Spinel didn't really understand and she was still talking about her purpose as if that was all that was important. However, Pearls goal was to get Spinel to let go of her feelings for Steven. It was probably the wrong way to go about this, but she was so desperate to keep Spinel from anything else that might change her again, she would do anything to make sure it didn't get that far.

"It's okay," Pearl started, wiping her own eyes before she stepped towards Spinel and grabbed her shoulders to get her attention.

"We are going to get through this. This...maybe this is just because of the change you went through when your Gem turned around. You can easily go back to being just friends with Steven. ...but this is why I think some time apart is the best option right now. I'll visit you everyday and we can talk this out. We'll sort out your feelings so that we can make everything go back to normal. You'll go back to being Stevens best friend...and You'll finally get along with Connie. That will make Steven happy...and everything will be okay again."

Being away from Steven even longer? Spinel hated the thought, but if it meant that she could fix this, maybe it was a good idea. She trusted Pearl. Besides, if she really was feeling something more than friendship for Steven, there must have been something wrong with her. She was made to be a friend, nothing more. All she wanted was to see Steven again. To be his friend again. She had to fix herself.

"...okay Pearl. ...I'll do whatever you think is best..." agreed Spinel with a forced smile. There was a terrible pain in her chest, but once this was over, all that aching would go away, right?

#steven universe #su #su fanfic #stevinel #stevinel fanfic #with all my heart #chapter five #steven and spinel #pearl #spinel #cg spinel #my story #fanfiction

102 notes · View notes

sellyripley · 5 years ago

Text

Layover in Paradise (Fan Fic)

Title: Layover in Paradise

Fandom: Robot Trains (no crossovers)

Word Count: 1,857

Summary: After his self sacrificing effort to save Train World by helping Kay reach the Alpha Train’s cargo, Duke awakens in an empty white space and meets a mysterious stranger.

Warnings: Near death experience, reincarnation, existential stuff.

Characters: Duke, a mysterious stranger, (also minor appearances by Kay, Selly, Alf, Moss and Das)

Pairings: None

Author’s Note: This fic is basically meant to bridge the first and second season. I was disappointed with how the second season retconned all of Duke's great character development and made him into the bad guy. This story is meant to put a better spin on Duke's plight. This is probably the only non-horror/non-tragic thing I’ve written since the fourth grade. I’ve done it out of my great love for Duke because honestly enough horrifying and tragic things have happened to him.

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

Duke could feel his engine dangerously overheating as he pushed Kay towards the Alpha Train’s cargo.

Duke knew he could not survive absorbing any more of the Alpha Train’s energy, but Kay would be able to use that energy to defeat the virus clone invasion threatening Train World’s demise.

Right, wrong, or otherwise, Duke couldn’t help feeling responsible for the calamity that had befallen Train World since he’d been infected with the virus.

Maybe it wasn’t his fault. But maybe… maybe he could have done something differently. Maybe if he’d just allowed himself to go into sleep mode when his platform first warned him of a virus. Or if he’d never felt jealous of Kay in the first place, maybe the virus wouldn’t have been able to turn him against Kay the way it did. Or maybe…if he’d just resisted the virus a little harder, somehow.

But dwelling on self-blame was no use at this point. All he knew was that he had to do whatever it took to put things right. He couldn’t fail this time. Even if that meant sacrificing himself.

Besides, no one would miss him. Except maybe Becky. Everyone else had been willing to evacuate to safety leaving him locked up in his base as the virus clones drained all remaining energy from Fountain Plaza…

He engaged his boosters and struggled to overcome the repelling force emanating from the Alpha Train’s cargo as he continued to push forward, disregarding all warnings from his platform and confident that – this time – it was the right decision.

Finally, Kay made contact with the cargo. Time seemed to slow down as Duke was thrown backwards. He shut his eyes, thankful that he’d succeeded in this final mission and hopeful that, though he wouldn’t be there to see it, peace could finally be restored to Train World.

There was nothing but black and silence for a moment.

Then Duke opened his eyes. He was in his train form, he felt almost as though he’d been sleeping and was awakening from a dream.

Duke looked around in surprise, and inched forward.

He found himself in a seemingly infinite white space.

“Hm. Looks like some kind of training simulation.” He said

Another train suddenly approached. She was lavender colored with silver accent and dark eyes. Duke did not recognize her but she did not appear imposing nor particularly remarkable.

He wondered if she was as surprised to find herself here as he was.

“Hey.” Said Duke “What is this place?”

“Paradise.” Said the stranger in a decisive but genial tone.

“Hmph. Well, it doesn’t look like much to me.” Replied Duke a little bemused and questioning whether this stranger would be of any help.

Duke transformed into his robot form and took stock of his surroundings, casting about for some clue as to what was going on. Nothing. Nothing at all in any direction. Just this stranger.

“That’s because,” replied the stranger “There are no solutions here.”

Now that cryptic remark got Duke’s attention.

“What do you mean by that?” Asked Duke intrigued.

“There are no solutions here because there are no problems. But, you’re not ready for a place with no problems. It takes a long time to be ready for a place with no problems and no solutions.

Everyone thinks they’re ready, but almost no one is. People want to feel helpful. And to feel helped. And with no problems, that isn’t possible. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Duke wasn’t sure how to answer that. Considering the magnitude of the problems he’d faced of late, it felt like a trick question. Duke just stared at the stranger, suspiciously.

Duke wasn’t sure if she was a robot train or just a normal train. There were no tracks here, but she remained in train form. As though she was on invisible tracks in this land of nothingness. She did not seem bothered either by the surreal surroundings nor by his presence.

She continued “I think you are, however, ready for some simpler problems. Problems that are not so serious and are easy to resolve. You and your friends have overcome a lot of difficult tests lately. And it’s time for you all to get a break.”

“Tests?” Asked Duke.

“Yes.” Said the stranger “Even though you have no memory of it, everyone lives life after life. Each life you live is like a training exercise that you’re meant to overcome before you can move on to the next level.

You and everyone in Train World is now ready to move on to your next lives. And, this time, you’ll all be going to the same place. It actually won’t be too different from Train World. But things will be easier. Simpler. More joyful.”

“Who are you?” Duke asked.

The stranger gave a small laugh “That question isn’t easy to answer since when you’re ready to understand it, you won’t need to ask. I’m different things to different individuals. You perceive me as a train, but I think you know that perception has more to do with you than with me.

But right now, most importantly, I’m someone with a mission for you, if you choose to accept it.”

Duke replied “What kind of…mission…could you possibly need performed in this ‘new, easier, more joyful’ world you’re talking about?”

“Well, I wanted to ask you to go on a mission…to cause trouble. You’ve earned quite a lot of experience at it by now you see.”

“But,” protested Duke “I didn’t want to cause trouble. I didn’t want to do any of those things.”

“I know,” replied the stranger. “But, surely you must realize that the problems you caused in your most recent life strengthened everyone else and helped them overcome their challenges and pass their tests!”

Duke understood now. This was going to be an easier, happier, better life…for everyone else. As for him, he was still going to be mistrusted and alone.”

“I know what you’re thinking!” said the stranger with a wink.

“But you won’t have to be alone this time. You’re going to have a family to make mischief with. And, the trouble you cause this time isn’t going to do any real harm to anyone. This isn’t going to be the sort of world where anyone gets truly hurt. Your trouble making will be more like…friendly rivalry.

And this time I’m giving you the option of remembering! Remembering your previous life and remembering this conversation so that you can keep the perspective that what you’re doing is actually for everyone’s benefit!

Honestly, I think you’ll have fun.”

Duke thought about it for a moment a family… Duke had never really been one for social niceties and decorum anyway. If he could enrich other’s lives by stirring up a little harmless trouble maybe this mission would be a good fit for him after all. Especially if it meant that he’d finally fit in somewhere. That he’d finally have a family.

As he considered this prospect a concerning thought occurred to him.

“Wait.” Said Duke, with growing concern. “So, we’re all about to start our new lives? Everyone in Train World? So then that means… We lose? We lose the fight with the virus clones!?”

The stranger, perhaps being too far removed from the nature of worldly attachments to relate, seemed surprised by Duke’s apparent distress.

“Well… You’re all going to a better place afterwards so what’s the difference? Defeating the virus clones wasn’t the test. You were each facing tests of character, which you’ve all passed with flying colors. The test is over, so now you’re all ready to move on.”

Duke was not consoled. He thought back to everything he’d done to try to right his missteps. Anger and regret tinged his voice

“So then I failed!? Everyone dies?”

“Well…that is usually how one life ends and another begins. A new life just suddenly…starting without any sort of conclusion to the previous one would be a bit of a non sequitur, wouldn’t it?”

“So what!?” Replied Duke

The stranger seemed caught off guard by Duke’s reply, and more than a little amused. “So what…?” She considered for a moment

“So what indeed!” She laughed “Ok, Duke, I admire your faith in the seemingly impossible. Well…then, if it were up to you, what would you want to accomplish before you all start your next lives?”

Duke thought for a moment.

“I need to help Kay finish the intercontinental rail road construction. I’ve got to do it right this time, the way I was going to…the way it should have been.”

The stranger laughed. “Ok Duke, if that’s what you want you’ve got it. As I said, you’ve earned a break. And this test is essentially over so you can have a little fun with the remaining time.

But remember, just this one last thing and then your new lives will just…start.

No deaths, just…a new life in a simpler, happier place. And no one will remember any of this except for you. Remember your mission!”

“Agreed!” Said Duke.

The stranger and the white room suddenly disappeared. Now there was nothing but blackness and silence. Distantly, Duke heard his name being called.

“Duke?” “Duke, can you hear us?”

Duke opened his eyes to see that he was in Selly’s base, tools strewn about the floor. Selly and Alf were standing in front of him.

“Yay! He’s awake!” Said Selly.

“Duke, you saved us all! You saved Train World!” Shouted Alf, a slight hitch in his voice as he choked back emotion, relieved and overjoyed at Duke’s revival.

Before Duke knew it, it was time again for the opening ceremony of the intercontinental railroad. As he linked up to Kay, he tried to put the disturbing memories of the previous attempt’s events out of his mind.

This time things went perfectly. Flying through space with Kay’s magnetic levitation wheels felt exhilarating. Duke felt happy and helpful. Finally he was able to put right what had gone wrong.

As Kay constructed the connecting tracks a brilliant blue light filled Duke’s field of vision. It got brighter and brighter like a brightening blue sky peeking in through the window at dawn.

Duke heard his name being called. He opened his eyes to see two robot trains standing in front of him, one blue and one green.

“Come on Duke, we’ve got to go steal those energy balls!”

Duke felt dazed for a moment. “Steal energy balls!?”

He thought back on Kay and the Fountain Plaza and the intercontinental rail road construction.

Then he regarded these two funny looking trains in front of him. He felt as though he recognized them.

Slowly, a lifetime’s worth of memories flooded him. Memories of a lifetime spent in this silly but cheerful world.

Suddenly he burst out laughing.

“Hahaha! Steal energy balls!” He playfully pulled each of his brothers into an embrace and said “Ok boys, this is very important work. Let’s go steal those energy balls!” then ran off. Moss and Das looked at each other and shrugged then followed after Duke.

Duke had a feeling he would enjoy playing this new role in this new life.

#Robot Trains #Fan Fiction #Duke #Fan Fic

19 notes · View notes

atlas-of-a-human-soul · 5 years ago

Text

Αιώνια αγάπη (DT AU), pt. 9*

09: Double trouble

Summary: Y/N finally learns the truth.

Warnings: angst, death, violence, SMUT (unprotected sex, always use condoms kids!!), swearing??

Word count: 7100

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Αιώνια αγάπη (DT Modern Greek god/frat! AU) MASTERLIST

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Y/N wasted no time, running forward and into the open arms of her mother as the twins tried to pick up their jaws of the floor. They watched their love embrace her dead mother, both women crying, inconsolable.

"What just happened?" Apollo's voice cracked, his shock evidently on display as he too fought to remain sane with the image before him playing games with his head. It felt like his brain stuttered, unable to contemplate the sight.

"Hecate." Hermes' jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing and his eyebrows furrowing. His forehead wrinkled, a single line foiling his smooth skin across the middle, another forming between his eyebrows - anger, frustration, and the slightest bit of fear taking over him.

"This is a cruel trick. One I have no doubt she created to break Y/N. Once broken, she'll have free reign." His lips set in a thin line, feeling his brother's hand brush his own.

"She feeds off her emotions. Whenever the emotion is too great, Hecate takes over." Apollo realizes, eyes widening when his girl detaches from her mother and turns to face them.

She's completely flushed in the face, her eyes brimming with overflowing tears, red as well. She crinkles her nose, brushing the back of her hand under it to gather the tears that stained her face, her lips parted enough for her front teeth to be seen.

"Guys, this is my mum." She giggles, still attached to her mother's hip and ecstatic like a child. Almost like she doesn't realize the insanity of the situation.

"As in your late mother?" Apollo says carefully, trying to be considerate, but he can't let her be oblivious to what is happening. A part of him is screaming to take her in his arms and whisk her away because the dead never return as they were - there is always a catch. And considering Hecate is the one who made it happen, he's sure the catch is much more dangerous than it usually is. The other part of him wants to tell her all of that, admit to his heritage, his love, the entire truth and just hope she'll still have him.

But how can he?

How can he dim the light in her eyes, despite the tears that cloud them? How can he take away what may very well be her last chance to say goodbye? How can he be the one to break her heart?

"I, uh..." The smile on her face falls, her eyes flickering to her mother who looks at her in confusion, like she had no clue what they're talking about.

"Can I talk to you?" Hermes pipes in, hoping she'll want to speak to him, even if it's just to scream at him.

"Alone, please?" He adds, looking at the way her mother's lips twitched between a smile and a sneer once he asked, feeling something is wrong in the pit of his stomach.

"I'll be right back." She excuses herself, kindly smiling up at her mother and back at Grayson before following Ethan out of the room. The very moment those doors close behind them is the moment his mouth moves.

"Babe, I want this to be all that you think it is, but I can't let you believe this is real." Ethan spoke in rushed, slightly hushed voices, his eyes flickering to the closed door as she dropped her gaze to the floor.

"You see her too, right? I'm not entirely mad, am I?" She whispers, her chest trembling with a heavy, shaky sigh.

Unable to watch her crumble, Ethan quickly pushed her into his chest, his arms wrapping around her frame, overlapping in the middle of her back. He pushed her into him so suddenly that her breath left her, so strongly that she swore her ribs cracked, so lovingly her heart skipped a beat. His chin atop her head as he stared up at the ceiling, thinking how lost he's felt his entire life, and how he finally found himself in her embrace. He always thought he was past saving, long lost in the eternal damnation his life became, but she gave him a chance...she saw him as Ethan, a good guy who she safely tucked herself in and refused to let go. He had to reassure her.

"I do. I see her. But we both know she isn't really here. Not to stay. Not for the right reasons. It's Hecate." Ethan takes a whiff of her hair, slowly unwrapping himself from her.

"You believe Hecate is real too?" She breathes out, happy she's no longer alone in this mess. She has Ethan and possibly even Grayson, both of whom she finds have taken root in her heart.

"I always did." He smiles slightly, watching her press her lips together.

"I'm still pissed about the fire, but I forgive you for it." She taps her hand on his chest lightly, but their moment is cut short once Grayson screams for help.

"GUYS?!"

Y/N was the first one inside, opening the door wide with her eyes darting toward a struggling Grayson and...

"MUM?" Y/N screamed, horrified at the sight. She laid atop of Grayson who was pinned to the floor, inhuman sounds filling the room, mixing with Grayson's grunts. However, the simple call of her daughter reeled the woman back in, her aggressiveness and jaw snapping stopping for a moment, long enough for her to turn to Y/N with her cold, dirty yellow eyes staring at her, so empty and void of life. Her mother's skin was like old crinkled paper and her lips the color of rusted iron. Her jaw, which was open too wide, displayed a set of rotting yellow teeth. The veins were about to burst from her forehead and blood was splattered like red paint all over her face and hands. And her hands, once so soft and loving, were like sticks with their flesh almost falling off.

"Oh, God." Y/N stumbled backwards as Ethan stepped before her, his arms open wide, pushing her behind his body as he glanced at his brother who kept the zombified woman at arms length.

"Grayson, I suggest you go for the head." Ethan said calmly, but his heart felt like it would burst with the speed it took on. While he wasn't frightened of the sight, he was sure as hell afraid his brother and Y/N would never recover from it. He's seen far worse in the Underworld, but they haven't. And this... this was personal.

In moments, Grayson grabbed onto her head and rolled over her, slamming her skull into the floor until her brain splattered on the boards and the body mystically disappeared.

Y/N could hear the cracks, the grunts and the sound of blood and tissue splashing around, crying openly and without reserve. Brick by brick, her walls came tumbling down. The screaming had stopped so very suddenly. One minute her mother was right in her embrace, more alive than Y/N ever thought she could ever be, and the next she was meat on the floor.

Ethan wrapped his arms around her instantly, pulling her up into his chest and into the bed where she could rest. Stealing a glance, she found there was no body on the floor after all. She didn't see any blood, any indication of what happened in the room nor on Grayson, only messing with her head further.

Thanks to Ethan and Grayson...and the magical disappearance of evidence.

Hecate at least granted them that courtesy.

Grayson appeared by her side out of thin air, pushing back her hair to see her face properly. She's got red patches of skin, tears running in every direction, her nose joining in. Her mouth is open and her wails echo the room and his heart, breaking him to pieces.

They held her until she could no longer weep, tucked in between them like a precious pearl within a clam, protected and loved...loved beyond belief.

And she fell asleep, the warm bodies around her serving as comfort for her to get through it all.

However, the moment she slipped away into dreamland, she woke with her mother before her. And it wasn't the zombie version of her mother that Grayson had to kill, but the woman who wore a gentle smile and always had something wise to say.

"I am sorry you had to see that." Her mother said, tilting her head ever so slightly, her lips curling into a small smile.

"What is dead cannot remain undead for long. Your friend did the right thing." The woman's smile spread, her hand reaching out for Y/N's. "Thank him for me."

"I don't understand." Y/N shakes her head lightly, eyebrows furrowing as she clasps her mothers hand tighter.

"I have been given a rare chance to let my daughter know how much I love her. But to let her know she has to move on from this pain. Stop holding onto it and let love in." Placing her palm on Y/N's cheek, she continues.

"You have two men falling at your feet. And they might not be what you think, but they have good intentions in mind." And that's when Y/N understood. Her mother wanted her to let them in. But how could she? How could she ever choose one and not hurt the other?

"I can't. If I let one in, the other will suffer and I can't do that. I can't bear it."

"Why choose? Just feel. If they care for you, they will learn to respect that."

While Y/N said goodbye to her mother, the brother's had other things on mind.

"We have to tell her." Grayson whispers, his eyes falling to his brother who seemed to be lost in thought. He knew it would be a hard sell, but he needed to try and convince Ethan to cooperate. Whether he agrees or not, he had every intention on telling her everything. Keeping the truth from her only put her in danger.

"I know. Just as much as I have to deal with Hecate." Ethan sighs, running his knuckle down her cheek gently, so softly she could barely feel it. But he felt it, needed it - the touch, the softness, all of it.

"When?" Grayson bit his lower lip, taking in a shuddered breath as she shuffled in her sleep and moved closer to him. Her fingers wrapped around his shirt, pulling it slightly toward her.

"Now. You tell her and I'll go tell Hecate to fuck off already." Ethan stood, the bed instantly colder for Y/N, but while she does frown in her sleep, she doesn't wake.

"We always told them together in the past." Grayson hissed, trying not to move too much in order to not wake her. It didn't feel right to leave him out of such an important conversation.

"And when did that ever work in our favor? Time to change things up, brother." And Apollo knew that before him stood Hermes, not Ethan. He wasn't just a man, but a god in love...and a god in love will do whatever he has to in order to secure safety for the one he cares for. His love knows no bounds, and Apollo knows that. Because he feels the same way.

Nodding, he bites his lip once more as Hermes leaves, leaning down so the tip of his nose brushed her cheek.

"Y/N, love." Grayson swallows, realizing he can no longer hold off on being honest with her. He has to let her know the truth before she goes mad. He has to give her all the information and let her choose what to do with it.

But instead of speaking, the moment her eyes open, her lips close in on his. It felt like she had been made anew.

His arms locked around her; unyielding, they tightened, impressing her soft flesh with the male hardness of his. A pleasant sensation streaked through her; her skin tingled. Still she held him firmly, so closely to her - almost desperate for his touch.

He tilted his head, his lips moved on hers, a powerful, elemental call to her senses. It woke her up, enough to pause their kiss for a single moment, her labored breathing matching his. She pressed herself into him, until she could feel his hardness pressing back.

"What are you doing?" Grayson asks, pained and needy, frustrated and completely confused.

"A girl is offering herself to you and you're blind to it? I don't buy it." She smiled against his lips, her tone unusually cheerful, far too calm for a girl who just lost her mother for the second time. Pulling back, Grayson cups her face, observing her carefully for signs of Hecate. He could tell who it is just by looking into her eyes, however, he is surprised when he finds it's Y/N who is gazing back at him.

"You should know who I am before giving yourself to me." Grayson leans in, his forehead resting atop hers, his lips brushing hers just for a moment before he utters the truth finally.

"Ethan and I aren't human." He closed his eyes, unable to look at her at all. He didn't want to see her when she rejects him, enjoying the last moments he can have her all to himself. He felt her body stiffen, her lips quiver as they brushed his once more, her forehead wrinkling despite the weight of his head on it.

"Okay." She whispers, swallowing thickly as his eyes snap open, confused and a little happy she's not running for the hills. But she wanted to honor what her mother told her. Be open and listen...feel, don't think.

"I'm sure there's more to the story." She continues, her right hand hovering above his right cheek before she sets her palm on it, her thumb tracing half circles on his skin.

"My name is Apollo and he is Hermes. We've been cursed to walk the Earth to atone for our sins against mankind. Doomed to do so until a descendant of the old gods falls in love with one of us, allowing the chosen one to return home while dooming the other one." Apollo tried to pull back, the silence and the stare too intimate, too heavy for him to take, but she doesn't let him. Instead, she hooks her leg around his waist, her other hand joining the task of cupping his face.

"And Hecate is my bloodline?" She asks, but it's obvious she knows the truth. Taking in a shaky breath, she tracks her right hand to his jaw and further back until it settles on his neck, slowly sliding to his shoulder.

"What happens when the descendant loves you both equally? So much so she feels her heart is comprised of two pieces and each piece has your names written on them." Y/N lifts her head up, chin first until their foreheads part and she tastes his lips languidly. Only to break the kiss a moment after.

"But do you love me?" She adds, kissing the left corner of his lips as her entire body trembles in need. In pure need of his body on hers.

"With all my heart." And that is all the confirmation she needs.

His lips parted, she slid her tongue between to tangle challengingly with his. He tasted powerful, so wonderfully, a mind-whirling sensation gripping her. He hadn't moved, instinctively she deepens the caress, angling her lips against his.

Passion. It burst upon her mind, heart, upon her senses like a hurricane. It rose from within him, from between them, pouring through her, deep, swirling emotion, a soul-stealing compulsion.

On one heartbeat, she was the leader, on the next, he resumed command; his lips hard, his body a steel cage surrounding her. A cage she never wished to escape. She surrendered, gladly yielding; ravenous, he stole her very breath. Breasts aching, heart thundering, Y/N stole it back.

A part of her wondered about Ethan, no, Hermes, and where he may be for she remembered him being on her other side, but she couldn't stop. Another part of her, one she never knew existed, wished for him to be there, right by her and his arms on her. She was never a dirty mind kind of a girl, nor would she ever think she'd be one to wish for a threesome with twins...brothers, gods, inhuman beings...but she did. It was more than physical, her need stemming from deep within.

She does love them both, choosing in this moment is impossible. But only one of them told her he loves her back. Only one of them remained by her side. Only one of them pressed himself against her when she felt she would die if she remains untouched. His lids slowly rose; she met his gaze unflinchingly.

"Are you sure, love?"

"With all my heart." She mimicked his words from earlier, her fingers sliding into his thick hair.

Apollo nodded, smiling as he pulled back much to her dismay. He slid further down, freeing her of her shoes, socks and then pants - slowly, almost painfully. Like he didn't care if Hermes came back and stumbled upon them. Like he had all of eternity to make love to her. To make love with a mortal, no reason but the way she makes him feel as if he is someone worthy of her heart. Not just for the fun, nor hope of ruin...just love he feels.

He let his hands fall, tracing her sleek thighs before closing one hand above each knee. Slowly, he slid his fingers upward, his thumbs drawing lazy circles along her inner thighs. Higher and higher, inch by inch, he raised his hands - the muscles of her thighs tensed, then locked, then quivered.

He stopped with his thumbs just below her panties, placing his fingers on the soft cotton. While he let his hands roam her body, his lips savored the taste of hers. Drawing back from their kiss, he watched her and waited for her lids to rise. When they did, he trapped her gaze with his and drew two more circles. She shivered.

One hand slid around to spread across her bottom; her skin turned feverish at his touch. He caressed her in slow circles, her senses followed, distracted by the cotton shifting between hand and naked skin.

Then his fingers fanned, cupping her bottom and in the same instant, she felt his other hand slide between her parted thighs. His head angled over hers; his kiss became more demanding. He stroked her through the cotton panties, stroked and caressed and teased until the cotton clung, a second skin, muting his touch, tantalizing her senses. Y/N tensed, fingertips sinking into the muscles of his back, pulling his shirt up and breaking the kiss just to pull it over his head. She felt his hand shift; one long finger sliding into her, probing gently, then more deliberately. Suddenly, she couldn't breathe. She pulled back with a gasp and he let her go, his hands leaving her. He tore his clothes off, watching her through hooded lids while she did the same, revealing her beautifully curvaceous body. She was far from perfect, a million reasons why she could never be a model obvious to anyone, but Apollo didn't care. Grasping her waist, he toppled over her entirely and they sank into the bed.

With a valiantly smothered shriek, she rolled into him, into his arms, unable to gain any ground on the slippery sheets. He lifted her over him, her legs tangling with his, her hair fanning over his naked chest.

He expected her to be shocked, expected her to hesitate, believing she had never touched a naked man. The shock was certainly there, he saw it in her stunned expression; hesitation followed but it lasted a split second. In the next, their lips met and there was no longer any distinction between him kissing her and her kissing him. He felt her hands on his chest, greedily exploring; he ravaged her mouth and felt her fingers sink deep. He spread his hands over her back and held her against him, easing the throbbing ache of his erection against her soft belly. She writhed, heated and eager. Some women were catlike, elusively seductive but she was demanding, aggressive, intent on not just fraying his reins, but shredding them. Deliberately invoking his desire, all the possessiveness in his soul. Which, given she was a virgin from what he could tell, qualified as abject madness. Breathing raggedly, he pulled back from their kiss.

"For Zeus' sake, slow down!"

Engrossed in caressing his chest, Y/N didn't even look up.

"I'm nineteen. I've wasted enough time." She wriggled while Apollo gritted his teeth. Out of all the things he expected when he finally came clean, for her to throw herself at him was the last one. He even felt guilty for stealing this moment from Hermes, because touching her felt better than anything Mount Olympus had to offer. But another part of his was struggling to keep himself in check, realizing he didn't want to destroy her the first time she gets a taste of what sex feels like. And she's made that job incredibly difficult.

"You're nineteen and you should know better. You should at least have some measure of self-preservation." Intent on rushing toward her fate, she seemed to have no concept of how much he could hurt her, of how much his strength overshadowed hers, of how much harder than her he was. She was intent on learning, her hands reached lower, exploring the ridges of his lower chest.

Apollo felt his desire rise, full-blown, ravenous, too strong for her to handle. Releasing her buttocks, he grasped her upper arms. Just as she grasped him. The shock that rushed through him nearly shattered his control.

He froze. So did Y/N.

She looked into his face, his eyes were shut, his expression graven. Carefully, she curled her fingers again, utterly fascinated by her discovery.

How could something so hard, so rigid, so ridged, so blatantly male, be so silky smooth, so soft?

Again, she touched the smoothly rounded head, akin to stroking hot steel through the finest silk. Apollo groaned; he reached down and closed his hand over hers, not to pull it away but to curl her fingers more tightly. Eagerly, she followed his unspoken instructions, obviously much more to her taste than slowing down. He let her caress him until he thought his jaw would break - he had to pull her hand away.

She fought him, squirming all over him, soft, hot flesh writhing over his by-now-painful erection. With a curse under his breath, he caught her hands, one in each of his, and rolled, trapping her beneath him. He anchored her hands to the bed and kissed her, deeply and more deeply, letting his weight sink fully onto her until she had no breath left to fight him, no strength to defy him.

They both stilled; in that instant, she was open to him, heated, her thighs spread, soft and welcoming, her hips baiting him to move. All he needed to do was reach down then sink his throbbing erection into her softness and claim her.

Simple.

Gritting his teeth, Apollo let go of her hands and lifted away. He moved back. Knees spread, he sat back on his ankles in the middle of the bed. Locking his eyes on hers, he beckoned with both hands.

"Come here."

Her eyes widened; they searched his, then fell - jaw locked, he suffered her scrutiny, saw the age-old question form in her eyes. Giddy, not only from breathlessness, Y/N slowly blinked, then raised her eyes to his face. He looked exactly like a god, seated in the remains of sunlight coming through his window, his maleness so flagrantly displayed. The soft light gilded the muscles of his arms, his chest—and the rest of him. She drew in a deep breath; her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Slowly, she rose on one elbow and came up on her knees, facing him. He took her hands in his and drew her closer, then closed his hands about her waist and lifted her. As he set her down astride his thighs, Y/N frowned into his eyes.

"If you tell me we have to wait, I'll scream." The planes of his face looked harder than granite.

"You'll scream anyway." She frowned harder and saw his lips twitch. "With pleasure."

The idea was new to her. She was still thinking as Apollo...well, Grayson still in her mind, drew her closer. High on her knees as she was, her hips grazed his lower chest.

"Kiss me." He didn't need to ask twice; willingly, she twined her arms about his neck and set her lips to his. One hand at her back holding her upright, he deepened the kiss, skimming his other hand upward, over her abdomen, before closing it about her breast. The already heated flesh swelled and firmed, hearing her moan as he tweaked her nipple. He drew back from the kiss; she let her head fall back, the exposed curve of her throat an offering he didn't refuse. He trailed hot kisses down the pulsing vein; she inched closer, pressing her breast to his palm. Bending her back, he lowered his head. She stilled, her breathing quickened. One long lick dampened one nipple. She gasped as his lips touched the peak, sucking lightly as he felt her melt in his arms.

He couldn't even remember the last time he'd bedded a virgin, even then, whoever she was, she hadn't been someone he loved. He harboured no illusions over how difficult the next half hour would be; for the first time in his lengthy career, he prayed he'd be strong enough to manage her and the passion she unleashed in him.

Head bent, he tortured one tightly budded nipple, then turned his attention to its mate. Sinking her fingers into his upper arms, Y/N gasped and swayed. With her bones transmuted to warm chocolate, her weak grip, his hand at her back and the tantalizing tug of his lips were all that was keeping her upright. Hot and wet, his lips, his mouth, moved over her breasts, teasing first one aching bud, then the other until both were swollen tight. She ached to touch him, to send her hands searching, but didn't dare let go. His lips left her; a second later, his teeth grazed one crinkled nipple. She gave a muted cry.

His lips returned, soothing her flesh, then he suckled hard. With a long-drawn moan, she swayed forward, into his kiss. It caught her, anchored her, as his hands roved her body, heated palms burning. Every curve she possessed, he traced; every square inch of her skin tingled, then ached for more. Her back, her sides, the curve of her stomach, the long muscles of her thighs, her arms, her bottom - none escaped his attention. The shiver that racked her came from deep within, a final farewell to the virgin she was but would be no more.

His hands rose and he released her lips. Splaying her fingers, she sank the tips into his chest and felt his muscles lock. She kissed him with a fervour to match his own, revelling in the urgency building between them. Excitement whirled as their lips melded, each breath the other's, tongues entwined. His hands roamed, as urgently demanding as his lips, hard palms sculpting, fingers flexing, possessing.

Still on her knees, her thighs locked on either side of his, her hips pressed to his abdomen, she felt his hands curve and cup her bottom. One remained, holding her high, the other slid lower, long fingers questing. They found her heat and slid further, pressing between her thighs, probing the hot, slick folds, caressing, then pressing deeper and deeper as she ached and burned. His only response was to deepen their kiss, holding her captive and to his mercy.

His fingers stroked slowly, deliberately. Abruptly, Apollo drew back from their kiss. His fingers left her; he cupped her bottom with both hands.

"Slide down." Y/N couldn't believe the strength of the compulsion that gripped her, but she knew she needed him inside her more than she needed to breathe. Even so, just looking at his hardened length, she shook her head.

"You're never going to fit."

His hands firmed about her hips. "Just slide."

She did, sinking lower, his hands guiding her. She felt the first touch of his cock, hot and hard, and stopped. He slipped his fingers between her thighs and opened her; she felt the first intimate intrusion of his body into hers. Catching her breath on a strangled gasp, she sank lower, and felt his head slip inside.

He felt large, much larger than she'd expected. She sucked in a breath; under the weight of his hands, she sank still lower. Hard as forged iron, hot as unquenched steel, he pressed into her.

She shook her head again. "This is not going to work."

"It will." She felt his words within her; he was, if anything, even tenser than she, rock-hard muscles flickering.

"You'll stretch to take me. Every inch. It's the way your body is built." He was the expert. Through the storm of emotions inside her; uncertainty, desire, and giddy need, laced with distant remnants of shyness, all gave into the most desperate longing she'd ever known.

Stubborn as always and determined to be brave, she sank down. And stopped. Immediately, Grayson lifted her, not quite losing her clinging heat.

"Sink down again." She did, until her hymen again impeded their progress. Under his hands, she repeated the maneuver again and again. She was hot, slick and very tight; once she was moving freely, he brushed his lips against her temple.

"Kiss me." She lifted her head immediately, swollen lips parted, eager for more. He took her mouth vigorously, struggling to harness the wild passion that drove him, battling to remain in control long enough to avoid unnecessarily hurting her. He was going to hurt her enough as it was.

One, powerful upward thrust, timed to meet her downward slide, enforced by the pressure of his hands on her hips, and it was done. He breached her in that single movement, forging deep into her body, filling her, stretching her.

She screamed, the sound smothered by their kiss. Her body tensed; so did his. Focusing completely on her, waiting for her softening, the first sign of acceptance that he knew would come, Grayson grimly denied the primal urge to lose himself in her heat, to pound into her mindlessly like he would if it was any other girl.

Their lips had parted; they were both breathing raggedly. From under his lashes, he watched as she moistened her lips with her tongue.

"Was that the scream you were talking about?"

"No." He touched his lips to the corner of hers.

"There'll be no more pain from now on, you'll only scream with pleasure." Y/N could only hope. The memory of the sharp agony that had seared into her was so intense she could still feel it. Yet with every breath, with every heartbeat, the heat of him eased the ache. She tried to shift; his hands firmed, holding her still.

"Wait." She had to obey. Until that moment, she hadn't appreciated how completely in his control she was. The hard, throbbing reality that had invaded her, intimately filling her, impinged fully on her mind. Vulnerability swept her, rippling through her.

She heard Grayson groan. Blinking, she looked up; his eyes were shut, his features like stone. Under her hands, the muscles of his shoulders were locked in some phantom battle. Inside her, the steady throb of him radiated heat and a sense of barely reined urgency. Her pain had gone. On the thought, the last of her tension ebbed; the last vestiges of resistance fell away. Tentatively, her gaze on his face, she eased from his hold, and rose slowly on her knees.

"Please." The single word was heavy with encouragement. He stopped her at the precise point beyond which their contact would break. She sensed his eagerness, the same compelling urgency that welled within her; she needed no direction to sink slowly down, enthralled by the feel of his steely hardness sliding, slick and hot, deep into her. She did it again, and again, head falling back as she slid down, opening her senses completely, savoring every drawn-out second. Their guidance no longer required, his hands roved, reclaiming her breasts, the full curves of her bottom, the sensitive backs of her thighs.

Lifting her head, Y/N draped her arms around his neck and sought his lips with hers. The glide of their bodies, uniting in a rhythm as old as the moon, felt exquisitely right. She gave him her mouth; as he claimed it, she tightened her arms, pressing herself to him, drawn to the promise contained within his powerful body, demanding more.

He drew back from the kiss; under his lashes, she saw his eyes gleam.

"Are you all right?" His hands traced mesmerizing circles on her lower back. At the peak of her rise, she held his gaze and slowly, concentrating on the rigid hardness invading her, sank down. She felt his rippling shudder and saw his jaw firm. His eyes flashed. Greatly daring, she licked the vein pulsing at the base of his throat.

"Actually, I find this quite..." She was so far past breathless her words shook.

"Surprising?" His voice was a rumble almost too low to be heard. Catching a desperate breath, Y/N closed her eyes and offered a different word.

"Unearthly." His laugh was so deep she felt it in her marrow.

"Trust me." His lips traced the curve of her ear. "There's a great deal more pleasure to come."

"Ah, yes," Y/N murmured, trying desperately to cling to sanity. "I believe you to be a past master at this exercise." Dragging in a tight breath, she rose upon him.

"Does that make me your maiden, worshiper?"

"No." Apollo held his breath as she sank, excruciatingly slowly, down.

"That makes you the love of my life. My pupil. My world." It would make her his consort had he any power over her, but he wasn't about to tell her that.

On her next downward slide, she pressed lower; he nudged deeper. Her breath hitched; instinctively, she tightened about him. Grayson set his teeth against a groan. Eyes wide, she looked up at him, her breathing shallow and fast.

Breasts rising and falling, brushing his chest, she moistened her lips. "I really didn't think you'd fit."

Apollo clenched his jaw along with every other muscle he possessed. After a moment of fraught silence, he managed to say: "I'll fit—eventually."

"Eventually?" Her eyes grew round, but he didn't wait for more. He caught her lips in a ravishing kiss and, anchoring her hips against him, tumbled her back onto the pillows. He'd chosen their earlier position to break her hymen, placing a limit on how deep he could go, helpful given the force of his instincts. But the time for limits had passed; his swift rearrangement landed her on her back among the pillows, his hips between her thighs, his cock still buried deep within her.

She tensed as his weight trapped her; instantly, he lifted his chest and shoulders from her, straightening his arms, his hands sinking into the mattress on either side. Their kiss broken, her eyes flew open. He trapped her gaze in his. Slowly, deliberately, he withdrew from her, then, fluidly flexing his spine, he entered her.

Inch by inch, he claimed her; heated and slick, her body welcomed him, stretching to take him in. He watched her eyes widen, his hazel eyes with golden specks now a deep brow, almost black as he surged deeper. He sheathed himself in her softness, sinking into her to the hilt, coming to a rest as his forehead leaned on hers. Gazes locked, they both held still.

Y/N couldn't breathe, he filled her so completely; she could feel the steady beat of him at the base of her throat. Staring up at his face, she saw the hard planes shift, sharp-edged with reined passion. A conqueror looked down on her, eyes dark, ringed with green, a god she'd given herself to. A sense of possession swamped her; her heart swelled, then soared.

He was waiting, but for what? Some sign of surrender?

She smiled—slowly, fully. Her hands had come to rest on his forearms; lifting them, she reached up and drew his lips to hers. She heard him groan in the instant their lips met. He came down on his elbows, his hands flicking her hair aside, then framing her face. He deepened their kiss and her senses went spinning; his body moved on her, within her, and pleasure grew.

She caught the rhythm and matched him, letting her body welcome him, holding him tight for a heartbeat before reluctantly releasing him. Again and again they formed that intimate embrace; each time, each devastatingly thorough thrust pushed her higher, further, toward something she couldn't even imagine. Her mind and senses merged, then soared, driving her to the brink of madness.

Fed by their striving bodies, by each panting breath, by each soft moan, each guttural groan, the pleasure intensified, growing larger until it exploded between them and Y/N lost herself in the glorious, heart-stopping sensation. Blind, she couldn't see; deaf, she couldn't hear. All she could do was feel him under her hands and know he was with her, feel the warmth that filled her and know she was his, feel the emotion that held them, forged strong in the fire and know nothing on earth could ever change it.

Neither of them gave a second though to the god who ventured into the basement and drew a pentagram in the concrete.

Setting a candle at each peak of the star, he set them aflame and swallowed thickly. A golden chalice in his hand, Hermes brought a knife to his palm and drew blood, filling the chalice.

Adding saffron, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was time to finish this.

''Hecate, ισχυρή θεά της διασταύρωσης, το σκοτάδι, ο θάνατος, η σοφία, και το φεγγάρι, παρακαλώ έρχονται σε μένα. Παρακαλώ εκδιώξτε, προστατέψτε με και βοηθήστε μου όταν είμαι σε κίνδυνο. Φροντίστε με το δικό σας και δώστε μου όλα όσα χρειάζεστε. Εκατέ, περιπλανηθείτε στο σκοτάδι σας για να μπορώ να φέρω το φως μου " (''Hecate, mighty Goddess of crossroads, darkness, death, wisdom, and the moon, please come to me. Please Hecate, protect me and help me when I am in danger. Treat me as one of your own and give me all that is needed. Hecate, surround me in your darkness so that I can bring forth my light.") The moment he opens his eyes, he find his consort before him in the pentagram. "Isn't this a surprise? My husband coming to me after all these centuries passed." Hecate stepped forward, looking down on the tightly drawn-on pentagram meant to keep her in. "I need you to leave Y/N alone. Whatever you want in return..."Hermes pauses, knowing he is making a deal with someone much worse than the devil. "Whatever you want in return is yours." He repeats, finishing his original statement as she tilted her head, studying him with her unforgiving gaze. "Had you come to me all those centuries ago, I'd have turned every reality there is to bring you and your brother home. But you failed me - as a friend, as a lover, as a consort. I will never help you for I live to destroy your happiness. And she is a part of that, is she not?" A viciously poisonous smile crept up her lips as she giggled to herself, only for her smile to disappear in moments like it never happened and her face takes on an innocent look. Hermes knew she wanted to hurt him. "But does she want you? That is the question only I can answer for you...because I am her. Inside her mind, inside her heart." She spoke languidly, baiting him to come closer and make her stop talking for his clenched jaw nearly shattered his teeth and his eyes turned into fire as he glared at her.

"Maybe you can ask your brother? After all, he is currently buried inside her to the hilt. Tasting her warmth, every inch of her skin as she unravels in his arms, moaning his name." She chuckled, enjoying the hurt flashing on his face and in his eyes more even she expected.

"So how does it feel when the one you love decides to fuck someone else?" She raises her right eyebrow, her voice displaying just how happy she is, enthusiastic even.

"Do you really hate me that much?" Hermes sighed, watching Hecate tilt her head ever so slightly, enough to glare at him with those emerald daggers she calls eyes.

"More than you'll ever know." She responds, her voice oddly calm but filled with emotion. He can tell she is still very much hurt, but her anger toward him outweighs her love.

"Even so, I am not lying about your brother fucking her senseless as we speak. I'm sure you could hear them if you just walked up a couple of stairs." She pointed to the stairs, looking above her at the ceiling with her amused madness returning.

Enraged, Hermes stumbled forward, the knife he used to bleed now pointed at Hecate, the tip pressing just under her ribs, enough to kill her if he likes.

"Should I be scared?" She smirked. "Oh, if only the blade wasn't human." She licked her lips, leaning in for a kiss. But before she can connect their lips, Hermes drives the knife into her rib cage and through her heart, sneering at her with amusement taking over his eyes now. She gasped, holding onto his shoulders for dear life as her eyes widened in shock of the pain he caused. Digging her nails into his skin, she drew blood but to no avail, her croaks now coming out with ragged breaths.

"It isn't." He smirks.

And with that, Hermes pulled the blade out to make sure she bleeds out, tossing her onto the ground before walking out. He believed her to disappear as mombie dearest did, seeing her fade as he glanced at her while he cleaned the knife.

Despite wanting to watch the life fade out her eyes and her body return to Underworld, Hermes' rage simmered and grew.

Satisfied with a job well done, Hermes set his sights on a different task now.

Trying not to kill his brother.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Tags: @mutuallynotmutual @lanadeldolans @xalayx @accalialionheart @gia-kerks @historyheart @heyits-claire @daddygraysonsbitch @fallinginlove-16 @lanadeldolans @beautifulfound @thearachna-kid @dinnerwiththedolans @graydolan12 @justanotherfangurl272 @dxlansfxck @godlydolans @flowery-dolan @dominatedolans @buckysjuicyplums @ethanhes @dolandolll @dolanstwintuesday

If I forgot someone, let me know!

#ethan dolan #grayson dolan #dolan twins #ethan dolan x reader #grayson dolan x reader #dolan twins greek god au #dolan twins au #GREEK GOD AU #Greek Mythology #hermes #apollo #ethan dolan series #grayson dolan series #dolan twins fanfic

103 notes · View notes

maladaptive-ninja-returns · 5 years ago

Text

Kira (15)

CHAPTER 15: NFWMB

Loki x fem!Reader (Kira)

Series: Will contain fluff, smut, bloodshed, violence, anxiety, tears and the cries of my wilted soul.

Chapter content: It’s the end. ....or is it?

Warnings: that’s it. That...is it.

Word count: There are very few times when once I have a story in mind I have found the perfect soundtrack to go with it. I didn’t think I could have ever found any lyrics close to what I wanted to protray in this chapter but damn! Hozier outdid himself!!

And I need to eat more vegetables somebody help me

MASTERLIST & Taglist in bio, my love

Fenrir's chin rests on the edge of the bed on the footboard, still as a ghost in a silent moonless night. His eyes do not stir. His breaths are steady. His hind legs have settled with the decision of taking in the long shift while his front paws support the self-proclaimed weight on his shoulders of looking after your well-being as your comatose figure lies in your room over his favourite bed, surrounded by wires and pipes and beeping mechanic monsters this wolf does not understand, neither does he like them very much- because twice has his sharp ears caught your heart flutter and then both times heard those machine monsters beep at him like senseless maniacs till the strange men in white clothing have touched you (without your or his permission) to get the hysterical sounds to calm down but not stop.

It's better this way. He did not like having to worry about you from outside your room, looking in through the glass, trying to gnaw his way inside when he wasn't able to figure out if you are all right or not. He likes sitting by your feet, keeping an eye on your steady breaths, growling at unfamiliar footsteps- loud enough to make anyone from the help that isn't Ygritte stop and think if they should go against his wishes but not too loud to disturb you. He knows what he is doing. He has done it before. He will do it again if he has to.

He knows Loki sits right behind him on the teal coloured sofa, his face resting on his hands, his eyes frozen just like his wolf's, his body still like his son's. Both Heimdall and Ygritte cannot help but stare in invisible spectrums of wonderment at the father-son duo not leaving the side of the one thing they have attached themselves to in a matter of days, sitting there, watching every single breath you take, praying to- some entity that they believe would hear them- make you better, as soon as possible. Till then, they will do whatever is in their power to make you better. And often even our most seems nothing when someone we love more than ourselves suffers and we cannot take their pain even if we want to.

Ygritte brings in breakfast for Loki and Fenrir, requesting them both to have something. She smiles at them, kindly asking to have at least enough for their bodies to have the energy to sit there by your side. It's just some juice and milk that Loki and Fenrir agree to; that too only because they can feel their mental exhaustion depleting their will to sit there with eyes open. The liquid going inside them does the trick to bring that fleeting will back by its neck, satiating the worry in Ygritte' heart.

She herself carries bags under her eyes. Those sleep-deprived eyes have cried alone in the kitchen when she saw Heimdall bringing in your bloodied figure. The sight of you- the most prominent splash of innocence she has seen after a very long time- half-dead and unrecognisable under all that blood and open wounds, your arm dangling lifelessly whilst the Watcher carried you to your room (as doctors and nurses followed the procedures they were supposed to in such situations) almost made her heart break into two, violently. The image of your clothes ripped, your nails broken and your face bruised heavily just does not leave her mind till she finally breaks down in the one place she finds comfort.

She had made sure the sniffles were silent; that only hot tears flowed freely and lightened up her grieving heart. She had been really cautious and yet Loki found her- when he'd been forced out by the doctors in charge. She'd tried her best to compose herself but those forsaken tears just would not stop, making Loki slowly soothe her till he was hugging her to comfort her shaking form. "She'll be fine," he’d whispered, more for himself than for her, letting his words become an affirmation in the heavy air around them. "She'll be fine."

She'll be fine.

The silence surrounding your room is unlawfully eerie, like the shadowy emptiness that rises like heavy smoke during a funeral. And neither of the people present in the room want to feel anything close to a funeral.

The vibration of Loki's phone breaks the horrid silence, that grim expression on his face turning into a splash of surprise before he picks up the call and presses the device to his ear.

"Robert?"

The name brings around the attention of all the ears present in the room save for yourself. Heimdall, Ygritte and Zair- your assistant who had been taking care of everything for you at the office front- shift their weight on hearing Robert's name.

"Is she okay?"

Loki nearly feels his heart being squeezed by a concoction of emotions for this man, taking him back to the day when he first found him. Or rather, he found Loki. This son of a bitch is not going to die that soon.

"She's...out of danger. The doctor said she has two broken ribs, a broken arm, internal bleeding and concussion. No signs of...no signs of any sexual assault. Ahem..."

"Loki..."

Loki closes his eyes at that familiar tone. Robert knows. He knows. But he cannot think about it. Right now there is no place for rational thought inside him.

"The doctor here says I cannot move from the bed for about another day."

"...Robert."

"So, I won't be able to hold my promise to you right now."

"Remember that time when we had to take our men over to Vanaheim in the summer to prepare for Odin's arrival to bless the wedding of Thor's cousin?"

Heimdall looks over at Loki from where he sits. His eyes dart to some invisible void behind Loki for a few seconds till the strain in his brows is relieved. "During the time his grace was supposed to present the infamous sword to the couple as a wedding gift?"

Loki barely stops himself from rolling his eyes but the feeling isn't lost on Heimdall. "My error," the Watcher confesses, "your sword."

"Thank you," Loki stresses with just a hint of sarcasm.

"You swapped the sword for a stuffed adder, clearly giving the bride and groom something to reminisce about for the rest of their lives."

Loki presses his lips, trying to suppress the smile that is rising up at the crystal clear memory. "I never liked Fruth. But I never realised my plan would have exposed his ill intentions with a devastating flight response."

Heimdall chuckles lightly. "Yeah. Even though I was supposed to be standing by your father's side I was impressed by your out of the box strategies. And your will to smash his face when he spoke ill of your mother."

Loki smiles, his eyes turning to look at you, the bruise on the side of your face hurting his chest every time he sees it. "Would have been nice to know that when I needed to hear it," he mutters, bringing his eyes back to Heimdall before looking down at the ground.

Heimdall does not know how to respond to that. He wants to speak well for him but no words come out for his heart too knows where it lay all those times. All the times Loki's mischief had been a cause for trouble both inside and outside the home, Heimdall was by Thor's side, mute at the words that got harsher with time for his sibling. Even when his unusual ways had brought success in times of trouble against the crown, there had been no sentences of appreciation. Just a look of abrogation at any method Loki used.

"You made me give you my word at the end of that day."

Loki's words bring Heimdall out of the sour memories. "You made me promise to never use my strength against another person. Even though they spoke poison about the people I used to care about."

Heimdall's brows are trying to adjust to this old promise being taken out of the dusty chest of forgotten memories and placed in front of him to analyse. He can feel a foreign emotion emanating from Loki where he sits in that teal sofa, still as a rock.

"I remember vividly," Heimdall responds, waiting to see where Loki was taking him on this ride.

"I want you to take back your word, Heimdall."

There is a tilt in the gravity present in the room once the words have been spoken. Fenrir shifts where he sits, turning to look around at Loki. Heimdall too is watching him intently. Both of them can feel something really dark exuding from inside the man, burning and crackling inside those green eyes laden with a sinful weight. Something ominous brews inside him, fuelling a boundless rage, so intense that Fenrir feels a need to shuffle where he sits, not looking at his father in the eye. Heimdall too feels the need to question this darkness but is made to stop short when those green eyes land their dark gaze upon him.

"I need you to take them back."

A farm rests on the outskirts of the city with a mansion mostly made of glass sitting in the middle of the land that has recently been made barren after the clearing of harvest from the fields all around. The path leading from the road to the gigantic house is lined up with black SUVs in a perfect caterpillar-like way to have them in and out in one smooth trail. Armed men dressed in black camo stand guard at the entrance of the gate, down the path to the door and inside the hall. The hall that welcomes its visitors has a skylight to let uninterrupted October sun warm up the white walls and white furniture all around. By the end of the hall where a spotless glass wall stands between the house and the little rocky hill it stands upon, Billy stands to look at the horizon of the city that is fogged up by its own relentless will to make money at the cost of everything else. He feels proud at the fact that the all-white suit he wears reflects more sun than that tallest building- which belongs to Sun Corp- he can see.

"So much for an empire to watch it crumble within seconds."

The smile on his lips just doesn't feel like fading away any time soon.

"You lookin' at this?" He gestures the guard standing closest to him, "those tallest buildings over there? They belong to the business that runs this country. Soon I will be running that place. And then this country."

He cannot help but chuckle at the thought of it.

Sun Corp. Anvil Corp.

If only that son of a bitch who mocked me could see me now, he thinks to himself. Loki never had a chance. The ones with humans as their weakness never do.

A shuffle at the main door perks his ears, denting his jovial mood a bit. There seems to be some petty commotion outside that has had the audacity to reach him all the way.

"What is going on?" He asks the guard standing next to him.

"I don't know, sir."

Billy looks at him with the will to smack his face into this very glass in front of him.

"Then go out there and look you cunt!"

The guard scuttles away scared, leaving Billy to contemplate how many more idiots like him did he have in his company.

A few seconds pass by whilst Billy revels in the concrete beauty in front of him before he feels a sudden change in the air, raising the hairs on his back with a subtle chill.

He turns around to watch Loki standing ten feet apart near a sofa, watching Billy with an unreadable gaze.

Billy cannot bring to admit to himself that he feels tiny specks of jolts go down his spine on watching Loki standing here after all of this. But then again, for what he's done to the man, it is all the more reason for him to be here looking for answers perhaps.

"Loki," Billy announces, his hands in his pant pockets still, his figure stoic as ever, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

The smirk growing on Loki's face sends such dangerously mixed signals. What is going on in this man's mind? Billy is internally frustrated within seconds of not being able to read him.

"It should be me asking you that, Mr Russo," Loki answers, running the hand that doesn't rest in his pocket over the expensive white fabric of that sofa that reflects the sun from a particular angle. "To what do I owe the pleasure of having you in my city?"

"Your city!" Billy cocks a brow at him before taking a step down the one stair and coming to the nearest sofa. "How awfully cheeky of you! I'm here on business."

"Oh," Loki's raised brows show genuine surprise before coming and sitting down on the sofa he has been observing, "I thought that was concluded last night."

Billy licks his lips at the surprising turn of events, a broad smile erupting at the thought of never having anyone be this blatantly forward with him. "Oh no, that was just the...uh...what do you call it...the linchpin needed to start with the overtake. Wasn't easy, I must admit."

Loki lets the luxurious armrest and back give him some relief, much against Billy's wishes. "What wasn't easy? Finding out that not everyone is moved by your charms?"

"Wasn't easy to hold down Kira. She is one hell of a biter."

Billy cannot help himself. He wants to see where this goes. He is loving every single moment of this. "Gave me quite the bruises, that little whore."

Loki sits there, not giving away anything to Billy, which entices the latter to reach further. "You should've seen how quickly she got wet on my fingers, Loki. Before either of us could tell, she was crying ou-"

"Five minutes."

Billy tilts his head and narrows his eyes. "Sorry?"

"Five minutes," Loki repeats, "I'll give you five and no more to leave the city, get on your jet and outside this continent. That is what I am offering you to walk away from all of this right now. One time offer. You won't be getting it again."

Laughter breaks out of Billy to echo through the naked walls around him. "Right. And what happens if I don't? Do I get dragged to hell? Does someone shoot me from outside the window? Or do you take me by my collar and try to threaten the shit outta me?"

Not a single nerve in Loki budges- not even when he looks down at his wristwatch- and the laughter dies down just as it came.

Billy feels an itch on his neck. "Will you kill me, Loki?"

Loki's smaragdines rise to face his dark ones. "I will hurt you enough that you'd wish you were dead, William. I promise you that."

The softness in his voice carries a soothing touch that hides the threat as an aftertaste, leaving undesirable convulsions in Billy's stomach, forcing him to stand and tower over Loki.

"What makes you think you can touch me and walk away, Odinson? I run a fucking army for business."

"And where is that army now?"

Billy feels the confusion hit his head for a split second before he notices not a single soul around them. The silence both inside and around the house is deafening, to say the least.

"You may run an army, Billy," Loki mentions as soothingly as the threat he just gave, getting up and removing his suit jacket, "but you clearly do not know what the army longs for the most apart from a little bit of money."

Billy is still trying to figure out where everyone went.

"Home and dignity," Loki continues, smoothing out the creases on his jacket before planting it on the headrest of the sofa. "Speaking of which, I have to say your mother is a darling."

Something inside Billy cracks and he whips his head towards Loki, the rage that was initially hidden now a full-blown volcano in his eyes.

"I'd suggest you stop right there-"

"Oh shush, little William," Loki cuts him short, removing his watch and throwing it on the sofa, "your five minutes are over."

The tie is loosened next and thrown next to the watch.

"It's time for you to pay for making the mistake of thinking you'd get away with this. Even your mother is looking forward to this, I can assure you."

Billy hisses, his eyes throwing daggers at Loki before his fingers are curling into a fist to find that jaw and smash it into pieces. "You son of a-"

The fist stops midway right where Loki's hand wants it to, bringing a halt to that blind rage for enough moment to make Billy realise the strength he never thought Loki could possibly have.

"You had your chance," Loki whispers close to his face, "you missed it."

Heimdall knows Loki has had something to do with the silence in this location but he still cannot make out the how what and when of the situation; something that keeps bugging him even when his car stops in the driveway right at the footsteps of the doorway into the house.

Take care of him.

That's the last thing he has said and then let silence reign over him all the way to The Hidden Gram. His arms hurt but the turn is made without so much as a squeak as the car comes to a halt at the door in the driveway. This time, instead of Fenrir, Loki sees Robert with an arm in a sling and a worried smile standing by the doorway.

The crunch under his shoes brings Heimdall's attention to the fact that he has actually walked in through a broken window that has been shattered to such an extent that the glass pieces have gone all the way to the back. Every step he takes away from the entrance towards the house, some invisible and some glittering pieces crunch under his shoes making him curse out loud till he starts seeing them creating a trail on the white floor with smears of red.

Loki turns off the engine and gets out of a vehicle with a limp. Robert cannot help but raise his brows in light surprise at the blood and bruises that mark Loki's clothes and any exposed body part, while Loki cannot help but be amused to watch that man in a white shirt and khaki trousers, nothing like the man he is used to seeing.

"You were supposed to be in the hospital," Loki states with a hint of betrayal and disgust, trying to keep the pain as much hidden as possible.

"You were supposed to wait for me," Robert spews back.

"Wait for you to attack that scum with your sling?"

"Shut up. You look like a battered mess."

"I'm better than your puny ass," Loki nearly spits the words before rolling his eyes and deciding to walk inside only to smile when Robert cannot see him.

Robert does the same.

The blood trail goes all the way to the other hall next to this one, with it a scene of pure chaos on the way- sofas turned upside down, wall hanging lying broken on the floor, vases smashed, their remnants being puddles with flowers and scattered pieces, lamps thrown across the room, wooden and paper partitions smashed to the point of no return. The trail goes till the three steps at the end of this hall where Heimdall can a figure writhing in pain trying to crawl up the steps.

The pain in his leg comes back every time he puts pressure on it. But Loki ignores it, having more important things on his mind than one fractured bone. In the back of his mind, he knows there is more than one, but that can be dealt with later.

Ygritte watches Loki limp his way to his room, letting a little gasp escape her lips on seeing the drops of blood he leaves behind, running away to get medical supplies and call the doctor, all before she gets her mop out to bring the floors back to their original beauty.

Heimdall is careful when he starts walking towards the figure, who can clearly hear the footsteps behind him to stop the agonising efforts of crawling up the steps and turn around to face the Watcher.

It should not be a shock to Heimdall to see this sight after all that went down but he admits he never thought Frigga's raven-haired boy had it in him to sabotage the face of his enemy beyond recognition. He cannot even recognise the man lying in front of him, blood being the only distinct feature over that face. Heimdall nearly starts feeling guilty for having thought Loki might not make it out alive.

"Just kill me already."

A tired sigh leaves Heimdall and he comes down to sit beside Billy's figure, still seemingly towering over him. "I'm not here to kill you, Billy Russo. I'm here to take care of you."

The blood is washed thoroughly by the hot water and the strain in aching muscles is relieved. Loki is careful with the cut on his lips but that doesn't stop him from desensitising all the wounds before drying himself and taking out a white cotton shirt and white trousers lying in the back of his closet. After much hisses and groans, while putting the clothes on, he is satisfied with the outcome in the mirror in front of him. With a lungful of breath, he walks out.

"You have no idea what's coming for him. For all of you."

"For someone broken and near death you sure talk a lot."

"I'm gonna kill him for this."

Heimdall cannot help but rub his palms on his face.

"You have no idea, do you?"

Billy is far from being sane in this hell that Loki has left him in to know what Heimdall is referring to.

"The man who did this to you was not known for his physical prowess, Russo. He was more of a black sheep of the family. I don't know what happened in all those years he had disappeared but something clearly changed in him. I'm guessing you had the same thought too when you went after the one thing he had started to care about after a really long time. The only thing you didn't expect was him tearing you down while destroying your own empire at the same time."

Billy's eyes go wide, not knowing what to think through the humming ache. Heimdall bends down a little towards him, making him jolt a little.

"Anvil Corp is in pieces, William Russo. Your assets have been liquidated and your name no longer carries the dignity it once did. All because you wanted power. All of this...because you chose the worst path you could. You just opened a can of worms that none of us was ready for, Billy. And now the world knows that Loki is not someone to be messed with."

Billy can feel the rage poisoning his blood, increasing the pain tenfold.

Heimdall gets up and smoothens his jacket, looking down at the excuse of a man with no ounce of sympathy.

"And neither is Kira."

One hand resting on the door frame of the room, Loki has to take deep breaths before he can prepare himself to enter your room again. And still, the sight of you creates ripples in his chest that send the ache thumping wherever he feels hurt.

Fenrir watches Loki stand by the door, taking your visage in. That wolf has not budged from where Loki left him, neither has he touched any morsel left in his bowl.

The side of your bed on which you lay now has a recliner placed next to it, making Loki switch his gaze from the recliner to you and then back before limping his way to it, settling down in it while stifling his groans and crack of bones.

Once settled, he takes an easy breath and closes his eyes, letting his ears find the rhythm of your breaths under that respiratory mask. It takes him a while but he finds the cadence and soon enough is syncing himself to you.

A few moments more pass and Fenrir can see both you and Loki in a slumber-like trance. The wolf, which had been using your bed as his chin rest, suddenly raises his head when he sees Loki's hand move. The pale fingers- bruised red and green- travel over the bedsheet to find your hand, grazing those long fingers against yours before finding the strength in themselves to go around the wrist and find your palm to be embraced by his.

Fenrir smells the change in Loki's scent the moment he does this, like a dark stench giving way to something light and sweet.

He lays there for a few moments like this. His heart at peace. His mind at peace. He knows you are there next to him. He can feel you in his hand. That's it. That's all he wants right now. You. safe. That's all he wishes.

And he doesn't realise the gravity of the universe that is you when he feels your fingers curling back into his and pulling him closer to you till his eyes are getting blurry and washing away the fear of losing you.

...

End of Volume One

42 notes · View notes

starrystellars · 6 years ago

Text

even the spiders dance | one-shot

a/n: hello!! i decided to write something for my baby natasha since no one ever really looks back at her and whatever she has been thru. i felt like i needed to study her a little bit more and do justice for her since mcu is unable to fucking do so. i didnt proof-read bc english aint my first language so there's no point anyway hhhh i’ll might make a part two but i’ll see how well this is received. anyways!! hopefully yall like this and drop a like and comment if u please

synopsis: natasha tries to get rid of her traumatic past by making something sad into something beautiful. she ends up falling in love with a hip hop dance teacher instead. | fem! reader

warnings: mentions of past trauma (ptsd), overly cheesy writing

word count: 4,7100

New York’s hazy morning breeze was a welcomed refresher against Natasha’s pale skin, slowly peeling off the worries of the past couple of nights. The early morning sun was almost blinding to a naked eye, especially after a long night spent indoors with the lights off, loud bird chirping ticking her off more than usual. Spring was physically knocking on the city’s doorsteps, but unlike every other person in the Big Apple, the redhead didn’t seem to be ready to give up on the winter’s presence just yet. To someone who was raised in the middle of a cold Russia, warmth was something that felt incredibly unfamiliar, and even after years living in a bustling city, she really never felt at home with the sun tickling the tip of her pointy nose.

Natasha had always been a pretty private person, and even after moving into the tower with the rest of the Avengers, she hadn’t seemed to give up on her habits. As someone who was raised to become a fearless killer, she couldn’t just slip up and let her guard down, even when she did consider the people around her to be more or less a family. Kind smiles and banter with the people she lived with was indeed like a soothing balm over her past traumas, but healing was a marathon, not a spurt, which she knew better than one could think of. The assassin was somewhat in peace with her journey, but those past days she had been getting the short end of the stick; dwelling in screeching nightmares that left her sheets sticky, and occasional moments of anxiety that seemed to attack her out of blue. She, like most of her teammates, was haunted by the things she had seen, but other than the people around her, Natasha was the best at hiding it. Red Room training was brutal, but it was something that was almost impossible to shake off. If you learn something by birth, you don’t know any better — at least that’s what she tried to tell herself over and over again, to justify the fact that she couldn’t just let other people in. Even with her unavailability of trusting others, she had slowly tried to take part of the team, even when they were baby steps. After releasing SHIELD’s intel online, she had found herself hanging out more with the people she shared her living quarters with. Wilson and Rogers were one of the people she was tied to the most, leading up to her going all the way to her sparring with those hunky boys every once in a while. For her, training had always been a private moment of the day, but Natasha couldn’t help but to notice how she had grown to love early morning jogs around the closest park to the Avengers tower with the bunch. They made her feel whole and in peace with herself, even when it was almost impossible to keep up with the serum-infused Captain, who left Sam and her bite dust every single time.

"Romanoff, you good?" The Falcon was trying to catch his breath, after both of them had finished up those ten laps around the greenery. Steve, who looked like he didn't even break a sweat during training, perked up his head upon hearing the pair, cocking eyebrows questioningly. The redhead wasn't sure how the Sam had noticed her changed behavior, but at the end of the day, they spent a good amount of time with each other. "Yeah, just a little rusty, I guess," a little smirk grew on her lips, as she shook her head ever so slightly, while trying to calm down the rapid breathing that was caught in her throat. A highly skilled spy or not, even she had hard times catching up after running like a headless chicken. "Black Widow? Rusty? Unheard of," Sam laughed while showing off a perfect row of pearly white teeth, leaning forward to place his hands on those thick thighs of his, still pretty much out of breath. It was a funny sight to see the taller man drenched in sweat, grey sweatshirt looking like it had just came out of the wash, as he tried his best not to fall on the ground thanks to his shaking legs. "It's true. I haven't seen you like this since the day you spilled all of your secrets to the world," Steve finally spoke up, as he took a couple of steps forward towards the two. His laid back attitude was a refreshing look, since the super soldier was known for being pretty uptight at times. "What's wrong?" Natasha let out a deep sigh, placing hands on her hips, as she looked at both of the men in front of her with blank eyes. Over the years, she had learned how to disguise emotions pretty well, and this time it was no exception. For her, there was nothing more scarier than let others know how she really felt like, and being cornered like that wasn't ideal. Her walls were high and mighty, however, they were on a shaky ground. "Let's just say that avenging has been a pain in the ass lately," Natasha gave an empty smirk at both of them, not even trying bothering to explain. If the two would be smart, they'd leave her alone. "If that's the case, why don't you just do something else for change? Like, I don't know, learn how to cook or something?" The Falcon finally stretched to his full height, shrugging his shoulders, after letting out the words flow into the thin air. "You think I don't know how to cook? How cute of you, Wilson," Natasha flashed a sassy smile towards the soldier, who didn't seem to be bothered by the cocky attitude. Their banter had always been like that, acting out as a competition who could jab at the other one the hardest, and it seemed to work better than well. "I'm not just a pretty face." "Sam has a point. Maybe there is something that you like to do?" Steve butted into the conversation, getting both of their attentions quite fast. "The world has been actually quite a decent place for a change; perhaps you can take a day or two off. Just saying." Natasha was about to let out a snarky comment towards the Captain, who definitely didn't seem to take a day off, but decided to keep her mouth shut for once in her life. There was a moment where she was seriously considering to mention how her life revolved around work, just to keep them off her back, but something she had tried to keep away from her, struck her like a lightning. Maybe there was something that could help her, after all. **** The music was booming behind closed doors, multiple different sounds overlapping with each other, creating a wave of mess that was hard to listen. A faint sound of an overly positive voice was bouncing off the walls, making all the ears ring in the near mile radius, and Natasha couldn't help but to cringe as she got closer to the wooden front desk of a sleek entrance hall. All the noise in the room was overpowering, and the redhead was highly considering turning around on her heels, and walking away. Yes, she had listened to the only people she was close with, only to realise, that maybe it wasn't such a good idea after all. The morning Sam had gave her the idea, it had sounded like a good plan, but at that point, she wasn't so sure anymore.

Dancing. Red Room was known for its brutal training programme that was dedicated to shape young minds to become trainwrecks. It was all about discipline and rules, brutal force and violence, but somehow it felt like a distant home for her. Ignoring all the grim details, it was a place where she grew up to become her, even when the rest of the world would see her as a monster. One of the main programmes was dancing, which was no surprise; it was highly believed in Russia, that this form of art was one of the top levels of strong individualism, since the training was more than physically damaging. Red Room or not, most of the girls in normal dancing schools were emotionally fucked up and dropped out after a couple of years. Natasha had witnessed some of that treatment around her childhood, but nothing could ever top the way she was brought up. Regardless, she found peace in dancing. Before she had joined the Avengers team, it was the only way for her to let out some steam, alongside of fighting, to take away all the stress that was pending up deep inside of her. She loved the way her body would effortlessly find its way to form a perfect attitude terriére, or how the music would flow through her body like it was taking over every cell of her firm form. There was no pain nor suffering, just a calm mindset and happiness within. However, she wasn't sure was singing up to a dancing school actually worth it. Yes, she could've easily used the Avengers gym to train her 'rusty' moves. She was also completely aware of the fact that she indeed could've asked Tony to make her a completely space, just for the matter, but somehow she needed to feel normal. Even when she had deep scars running down her soul, especially ones that were attached to the act of art, she couldn't help but to crave normal human functions, even when pretty much the whole world knew she was nothing more than trouble. Being around other people was also a good way for her to separate her old dance training from her future; she truly hoped to get rid of all the flashbacks that were bothering her daily. The cold walls of the Avengers tower barely resembled the peeling wallpaper and the poking foundations of the place she used to call home, but the empty atmosphere was enough to send her on the edge during the darkest of hours. If she could just move on amongst everyone else, she could probably get her privacy back. "Hi, how can I help ya, miss?" The cheery voice of a service desk person was purely artificial, and Natasha wanted to scoff at the smile that was almost as tight as the girl's ponytail. However, she forced a mirroring smile on her painted lips, fingers automatically reaching for the strap of her gym bag as a habit. "I called in a couple of days before for the dance studio rental; it was supposed to be at three today. The name is Natasha," the redhead followed closely as the service person went through a thick calendar that looked like it was about to fall apart any second, thanks to all the added post-it notes and clips. It didn't take a too long for her to find the booking amongst all the mess, and Natasha was soon met with another blinding smile. "Oh, yeah! For an hour, right? Just go to the end of that hallway. Your room is number eight and the room door should be unlocked," the woman said, before continuing. "If you need any help with the audio equipment, just come here and I'll be happy to assist you!" Without saying anything further, Natasha turned around to face the corridor that service lady had pointed at, heading down the brightly lit hallway with a curious look on her face. She tried her best to map out the building, just in case of an emergency. It had became a habit for her, and no wonder, taking mind her profession. Better to be safe than sound, right? The short corridor was filled with room after another, each one having a small window to peek in, and the woman couldn't help but to curiously take a look inside of each and every one of them, while she kept her steady pace forward. It wasn't a long trip behind the door that had a big "8" painted on it, and Natasha automatically rested her hand on the handle, as her green eyes found their way to look inside of the window that was radiating with yellow light. Someone was in there. Natasha pulled out her phone with a confused look painted on her features, as she checked the clock on the bright screen. It was already past the time she was supposed to be there, and she couldn't help but to double check the number on the door -- not that it was hard to miss, anyway. Fixing her gaze back up, she tried to see anyone inside. The window was small, and it pretty much covered most of the area, so it was almost impossible to see more than just a small strip of the room. So far, no one had entered her field of vision, so she wasn't sure was it a good idea to just burst in there if someone was still finishing up their workout. Natasha herself hated to be surprised like that, and she surely wasn't going to do that to another person, at least not in a situation where that kind of an element wasn't needed. She was about to give up and go back to the reception, before something, or more likely, someone, entered her view. The urban music, that was barely audible through the door, matched her sharp and clear moves, and the flow of her body was almost intoxicating to look at. How the person carried herself exuded confidence, and there was not a single flaw in her performance. The girl on the other side of the door was skilled, and Natasha couldn't help but to feel extremely fascinated. It was a new feeling; something that she hadn't been thinking about so much before, but she couldn't help but to dwell in it. The whole situation was so weird to her, and she wasn't sure how to act. On top of her confused feelings, the redhead had no interest in the hip hop culture, not even when Sam tried his hardest to get her hyped to some old classics, but seeing the girl dance to the beat of the music that she couldn't really figure out, she regretted her past actions and kicked herself mentally. Her hand was hovering over the handle, like she wasn't sure what to do. Of course, she could've went in and mentioned how the time other girl's time was up; it would've been a completely normal thing. She had been fighting against criminals of different kinds, so acting up wasn't completely out of character for her. However somehow, entering the room seemed like a bigger task than hunting down the whole HYDRA -- but something was supposed to be done. Yes, she was an agent, but goddamn, hanging out in a corridor just staring at an unknown person was way too much, even for her. That's why she had to make a decision to push the handle down and enter the room. There was an instant welcome of heavy urban music, which made Natasha's ears ring. The heavy air, that was caused by a lot of movement was almost choking, but the redhead didn't seem to mind. Her twinkling green eyes were fixed to the person, whose back was towards the door, unaware of the situation that was unraveling behind her thanks to the loud music. She was clearly packing her stuff into a black duffle bag, almost identical to Natasha's own, and the infamous Black Widow couldn't help but to let a slight smirk rise on her lips. Suddenly the whole room went silent, as the unfamiliar person stretched to her full height, and finally turned around to face Natasha. "Shit!" You let a loud yell escape between your lips to the sight of an unfamiliar figure at the door. The jumpscare made you almost drop everything that you were holding in your hands, including the phone you had just pulled out to check the notifications. The woman at the door could do nothing else than smirk at you, and to be honest, it would've been an understatement to say that you were embarrassed. "Sorry about that," the husky voice of the newcomer sent shivers down your spine, and you really weren't sure should you be afraid or not. There was something eerily familiar with the figure and the outline of that woman's face, but you just couldn't point out who she was. "The door was unlocked, and I thought it was good to let you know the time's up." You were hyper-aware that you were late; you kind of always were. It was a bad habit, and not something you were really proud of - especially since you had classes to teach and you really didn't want to take the minutes away from your students. Time flies when you're focused, and that truly was the case that day too. On top of that, no one really tended to rent that part of the studio anyway, so you were pretty much safe being tardy for a couple of minutes. "It's okay, it's my fault anyways," you let out a huff, and even when you felt a slight heat rising on your cheeks, little did you know how that small gesture almost melted the person that was standing on the other side of the room. If there was a word for Natasha's feelings, it would've been whipped. "I probably should start carrying a watch or something," you added, shrugging your shoulders as you took a step closer to the woman, whose delicate features made you easily swoon. There was a certain cold look on her pale face, but you could see clearly how soft her gaze was, and you swore there was more to her than just the front she put. "Are you new here? I haven't seen you before, and I pretty much know everyone who hangs around the studio," there was a slight giggle that escaped between your lips, as you studied the woman, whose expression clearly didn't even flinch. You got lost in those big, emerald green, eyes that seemed to be alert in a way, but you insisted to yourself that it was a good idea to poke the sleeping bear bit more. "None of my students sneak around to scare me, so I thought I should ask." "Yeah, I've started to rent this studio for now," Natasha wasn't sure how much to reveal to the girl, but since the other person sounded eager enough, it was her time to open up a bit. For her, it almost felt like a breath of fresh air to chat normally, without having to stay on her toes, but it did take a toll on her in a way. Old habits stuck hard, and past Natasha wasn't about chatting and being fun. She meant business, but she desperately wanted to let her go, and maybe meeting new people was a good way to at least try. There was no way a stranger could be dangerous to her, especially in a place like this. Especially a girl like her. "My skills are a little rusty, so I thought about getting my game back on. It's been a while I've put on my pointe shoes," a slight smile rose on her painted lips, as she cocked her head to the side, ever so slightly. The assassin couldn't help but to keep her eyes fixed directly to the girl, taking in her beautiful features that kept on mesmerizing her. Just right before, she had been fierce and strong, but the version that was standing right in front of her at that moment was even more breathtaking. "Wait, you're a ballet dancer?" The girl questioned, raising her eyebrows so high they could've easily creeped up to her hairline. That got a giggle out of Natasha, who couldn't help but to find the gesture adorable. "I guess I am," she answered to the girl, who took a couple of quick steps, right to her face, toes close, barely touching Natasha's. The redhead almost flinched by default, ready for an attack, but she kept her cool better than expected. "You need to teach me! Most of the people in here only know modern or hip hop, and I'm so happy to find someone who is good on the classical side!" You couldn't help but to squeal, smiling so bright that you were afraid you'd look crazy in front of her. Somehow, the woman nodded collectively, a smirk on her full lips, and you felt like you had made a friend after all. "Or if you'd like, just drop by my class someday! I know, I know, hip hop dancing is mainstream and everyone does it, but if you're interested, there's always space for a one more person," the girl looked more than happy to share the invitation with Natasha, and the redhead couldn't do anything else than adore her pure intent. It had been such a long time since the assassin had witnessed anyone be so lighthearted and gleeful, that she had to wonder was it all just a good dream. Maybe she was still in her bed, dreaming about a future she couldn't have, but after considering pinching herself, she got to understand it was truly a reality for her. "I'd love to," the words escaped between Natasha's lips before she was able to catch them, and before she could even regret what she had done, the sparkling eyes of the girl caught her off guard. It was almost like a magical moment, them looking at each other, and Natasha couldn't shake off the warmth in her chest that was gradually growing and spreading across her body. Finally, after years, she felt like warmth was home. "That's glad to hear! I'll be here every day in the class next door, so pop in whenever you want to. I better get running now, so I hope to see you someday!" You felt awful having to part with your newly found relationship, but you were running late once again, and couldn't risk getting kicked out of the dancing school. It was bittersweet, but there was a hope growing inside of you that you'd meet her again. **** It took a five-day wait to meet up with the woman you had seen in your usual training hall. Yes, you clearly counted, and wished every single day that she would pop into your class to even say a simple 'hey'. Maybe it was too much from you, to act like you had actually bonded with the woman in a short span of a couple of minutes, but something inside of you told that you'd most likely would see her again. Everytime the class door would open, your eyes would shoot up to see if she would strut inside, wearing those gorgeous black training clothes she was wearing the last time you saw her, but that never happened- until one beautiful Wednesday day. She was standing in the middle of the empty training studio, hands loosely resting on her hips, green eyes searching the room like it was the eighth wonder of the world. Soft sunrays that were peeking through the light curtains bounced on her skin, making it seem like she was glowing like an angel. She was not facing you, but you could study her side profile like one would do in a museum, mapping out the details of her features. The all-black attire complimented her shape perfectly, and you couldn't help but to catch yourself staring at her with a big smile on your lips. "This room is so much better than the one that I'm using," there was a soft smirk lingering on her lips as you took a step closer, as you lowered the duffel bag on your shoulder to the ground. The redhead took a peek at you over her shoulder, finally facing you fully. There was a moment of silence, as you both just looked at each other, but to your surprise, it was comfortable and understanding. Just like it was meant to be. "Thanks. I mean, bad for you, but it's nice to hear that," you started blabbering, but the blessing laugh that was let out by the other woman was so intoxicating, that you forgot how awkward you must have looked like. "So you finally decided to pop in to learn some moves?" "No, unfortunately I have a job to do. I just thought that I should drop by to give you these headphones that I found from the corner of the room after you left last Friday," the woman said sheepishly, and you couldn't help but to feel a little disappointed. You truly had too high hopes for seeing her again, especially in your own class, but you managed to let a smile crown your lips. The woman took a step closer to you, pulling out neatly wrapped headphones from her black gym jacket, holding them out towards you. "I kind of figured they're yours. If not, then enjoy a free pair," the redhead grinned, tilting her head in an adorable manner. You grabbed them from her small hands, brushing over the soft skin, trying your hardest not to seem like a creep. She just gently smiled at you, piercing green eyes soft as ever, and you swore you could have melted right then and there under her gaze. The slight moment in between the both of you was soon to be broken by the heavy door opening right behind you. Both of you turned to look at the person who entered, who was one of your best students, whose face clearly flashed to deep red as she laid her gaze on both of you. She was seemingly confused, pacing back and forth at the door, before leaving without saying a word. The redhead gave out a slight chuckle, as she turned to look at you the last time. "I guess it's my time to go. Duty calls," those spoken words were soft, almost like a whisper in your ears, and you wanted to savor them until the end. The woman took a couple of steps closer to the door, smoothly passing you by as she went on with her saying. "Your students are starting to come in anyways." "Will I see you again?" Maybe the words you spoke out were desperate at best, and maybe you shouldn't have said them at the end of the day. However, you saw the mysterious woman hovering her hand over the handle of the door, like thinking about something, and you could feel the heartbeat in your chest grow rapidly. A moment of silence, before there was another line let out in the heavy air of the room. "Maybe." The one word was more than enough to give you hope for the upcoming. It was like a bright light that kept on giving you energy on a dark day. Maybe you were being a little way too melodramatic, but you just knew, she was going to turn your life upside down; no matter good or bad. There was no promise made, no nothing, but you felt like that one word itself was a silent way of saying how she would come around- and you were ready to give her all the time she needed. With silent smiles, you finally parted ways, and as the redhead merely had escaped the room, couple of your students bursted into your class. The whole situation was so chaotic; people talking over each other, no one making any sense whatsoever. A confused look was present on your face, as you tried to make everyone calm down and get some sense out of the people that had entered the room. It took a good while to get the people simmer down, as you turned to look at one of your students with a gaze that was more weirded out than ever. "What is going on?" A huff escaped between your lips, as you shook your head to the chaos that had already passed on. You could clearly see the teenagers in front of you looking at each other with big, almost plate-like eyes, just like they wouldn't believe what you had just said. "What?" The pressuring voice that you let out truly got their attention, and finally one of them turned to face you fully, with admiration in her voice. "Was that the Black Widow?" Oh shit.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #avengers imagines #black widow imagine #black widow x reader #mcu imagine #mcu reader insert #mcu imagines #black widow #natasha romanoff imagine #jennie writes

212 notes · View notes