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vesuviancourtthirst · 5 years ago

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Hello there! Can we get a Valdemar x an innocent nurse female reader NSFW Fanfic? I have this innocence kink that i need to feed, pretty please? 😢💕

Yesssss the sin has begun

i'm going with a scenario here, hope you'll like it ! It'll be my first fanfiction in english !

edit : I didnt see the rest of the ask lmao tumblr is awful

Working in the dungeons wasn't part of your job. You were simply a palace nurse, here to help the doctors take care of the sick and the wounded.

Most of the time, it was nothing hard, nothing tragic. You only had to pat a few nobles' backs to help them cough out the food they almost choked on, maybe offer a drink to guests who fainted after one of Lucio's dramatic parties.

But you wouldn't complain, you always did your job with a smile, happy to be able to help, feeling rewarded that you were useful. In the doctors' minds you were literal sunshine. Some nurses would always be grumpy and snap at patients. But not you. You truly loved to take care of them, and of course, everyone was grateful for your enthusiasm.

You loved to watch patients get out of the doctors' office, safe and feeling better. After all, you chose this job to help, and to save people's lives, eventually.

You always feared the possibility of one of your patient dying, but you'd reassure yourself by thinking that it was fine, Vesuvia was not a diseased city.

And then came the Red Plague. Thousands of Vesuvians were dying at its hands and you could do nothing. You were scared, you didn't want to let all of these people die without helping but at the same time you feared to watch them die. But when Count Lucio himself caught the plague, you had no choice. All of the medical personnel of the palace was required to work, to find a cure for him. Surgeons, doctors, apprentices... and nurses.

That is when you found yourself in the dungeons, long gloves on your arms, an apron tied to your waist and a mask to hide the putrid air of the dungeons. The smell was like Death itself was working with you. You were given the number of nurse 27. You've been told that it was because there were so many people that it was easier to use numbers. You didn't care about this, the only thing you cared about was seeing the patients, your patients, die.

But at the same time, this is where you met them. Quaestor Valdemar,your boss. You knew everyone was scared of them. Their green skin, their big, unblinking, red eyes and their razor-sharp teeth. And their headpiece. You once heard a doctor say she was sure they were hiding horns underneath. It seemed quite unprobable but the thought amused you.

You soon found yourself very intrigued by the Quaestor. You first thought that it was curiosity but you soon discovered that you were... quite attracted to them. They had nice, soft features, their skin seemed smooth and you had noticed the faint freckles on their cheeks. If it weren't for your dear patients ( who wouldn't stop screaming ) you wouldn't be able to unglue your eyes from their face. They were so pretty, always gleefully working. You wondered if it was because they were happy to know that they'd be able to find a cure to the plague. You never really noticed how their smile would grow wider when their patients' screaming increased in volume or when blood splattered a bit too much.

You thought you were subtle with your looks, but you really were not and soon, everyone knew you had a special interest in the feared Quaestor. They were all scared for you. You were way too cute and innocent ! Oh, what would they do to you if they noticed ? So, they tried to play as if they weren't aware of your little crush, hoping that Valdemar was to busy with their experiments to pay attention to you.

But they were not. And they had noticed you. You, and your loving looks. Oh, it has been so long since someone looked at them like that. They barely remembered it but people grew scared of them as soon as they became a demon. Which meant... roughly a thousand years ago.

Your affections amused them and they soon decided to try and test and a few things on you, simply to see how you'd react. They'd put their hand on you hip as they had to walk past you, they'd touch your shoulder, let their hand slide on the small of your back and sometimes they'd even wipe the blood off your face.

And you always reacted oh so lovingly. You'd squeak, blush, shiver, bite your lip, or you'd shoot them a look of embarrassment, cheeks red and heart beating wildly.

They loved this more than they cared to admit. It wasn't unusual for the people around them to have a quick pulse, but it was usually because of terror more than because of... love ?

Valdemar wasn't exactly sure if you loved them. They often wondered to themselves, how would it be if you actually did ? Would you confess your feelings to them ? You were the only one who didn't jerk away when they touched you with their cold hands. Had you thought about holding them ? Would you-

Valdemar stopped. They were thinking about you. More then they were thinking about their experiments, and more than they were thinking about the plague.

They realized they were pacing in their office, as they stared into the small mirror behind their desk, they saw that their pupils were dilated. They weren't stupid, they knew what this meant. They were obsessed with you, they cared about you and what you thought of them. It annoyed them but at the same time it made them feel... warm. Well, as warm as their cold body allowed them anyway.

They blinked. Once. They had thought of a plan. The next day, you'd be theirs . They busied themselves in their work, waiting for everything to fall into place.

The next morning came fast, you opened the door to the dungeons and walked down the stairs to the elevator. Your heart was already beating fast, you were excited to see the Quaestor. You sighed, feeling like a lovestruck highschooler.

You put the key into the door, and stepped into the small, creaking elevator when you heard a voice behind you.

" Would you mind if I got in with you? It is unfortunate, but it seems that I forgot my key. How careless of me, isn't it ? "

You whirled around, your cheeks bright red. In front of you stood Valdemar, their cat-like grin bigger than ever. You assured them that it was okay ( more than okay, you loved the idea ) and made as much room as you could so they'd fit in the elevator with you.

They walked in unbothered, as if everything was normal. In the small elevator, you were pressed against their chest, you could feel the cold from their body and you could feel them stare at you with their unblinking eyes. They soon reached behind you to push a button and the door shut itself while the metal device went down. You expected them to take their arm back but instead they allowed it to rest around you, their hand on your back. Surprised, you lifted you head to look at them, and before you even had the opportunity to open your mouth to ask what they were doing, they brought their hand to your face, their thumb brushing your lips. You froze, your heart hammering in you chest and your cheeks burning . What were they going to do ?

They chuckled, amused by your reaction and they leaned down to murmur your name to your ear. Oh, how sweet it sounded on their tongue. But, how did they know it ? Weren't you supposed to be just a number ?

" Congratulations, sweet nurse. You seem to have caught my... interest. Don't you think you should be rewarded for such an exploit ? " They said, as they took off their mask.

You blinked at them. Rewarded ? How ? What were they going to do ? Wait, had they just called you sweet ? And did the just said you had caught their interest ? Did they like you back ? You were starting to feel overwhelmed when you felt cool lips against yours.

Quaestor Valdemar was kissing you. After a second a frozen shock, you kissed them back, and they deepened the kiss, slipping their cold tongue in your mouth. You let out a small moan and pressed against them even more, if that was possible in the cramped elevator.

You felt their grin against your lips, pointy teeth stinging your bottom lip. You felt warm blood flood your mouth as they bit you. Their tongues lapped at it and you let out another moan. You felt their hand slowly leave your cheek and slide to your chest. They quickly slipped your top off and they roughly grabbed one of your breasts. You squealed, the contact cold and harsh. You weren't sure if you were ready yet for this. You never did something like that before and you never thought your first time would be in a small elevator with your boss in such conditions ! They took their mouth out of you, maybe to let you breath, and they laughed.

" Don't worry, little nurse. Today I will just make sure you're ready for what is about to come."

You blinked, not understanding and you squealed once again when their mouth found your nipple. They licked with their cold tongue and bit. Hard. You didn't have time to feel the blood drip down your chest, they were already licking it off as if it was some kind of sweet.

They swiftly slipped their hands under your skirts and in your panties, as if it was nothing. Your face felt like it was on fire, you opened you mouth to protest when you were cut off by a moan. Their gloved hand had found your clit and they started rubbing you in circle motions.

They grinned, showing their needle-like teeth .

" Well, sweet nurse, for someone so innocent you sure are wet, aren't you ? "

You gasped, half-offended, half out of pleasure. They dropped to their knees and they started licking. You never felt something like that before. It was... intense. They grabbed one of your thighs,for better access, and they squeezed it. Soon, you were nothing but a moaning mess. Begging for them To go faster, harder, to do more. You wanted nothing more than to feel them. They chuckled again, and they used their free hand to slip a finger inside of you. They crooked it like a vice and started rubbing against your sweet spot like an expert. It made sense, they were a doctor after all. In less than a minute, you threw your head back, letting out a way-too-loud moan and coming on their finger as they kept licking.

They slipped their finger out of you and stood up, kissing you and giving you a taste of yourself while rubbing your thigh. You were somewhat shocked at their display of affection. Maybe they weren't as cold as they were said to be. They quickly pulled your panties back up and pressed another kiss to your mouth. They pulled back, and as you were about to reach for them once more, you heard the 'ding' of the elevator. They swiftly put their mask on you and went into the dungeons as if nothing had happened, leaving you bright red with a dreamy look on your face and drenched panties. And probably a bite on the lip, from the sore feeling.

You reached for their mask and inhaled. It smelled like them.

Just as you were about to get out of the elevator you stopped,remembering what they said . Making sure you were ready for what was about to come ? What did it mea- Oh. There will be more.

#the courtiers #valdemar #the arcana valdemar #quaestor valdemar #queastor valdemar #valdemar the arcana #valdemae x reader #quastor valdemar x reader #valdemar x mc #plague #the arcana #fanfiction #valdemar scenario #the arcana scenario #valdemar x nurse reader

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cyn-00 · 5 years ago

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Moreid one shot, 13 - "the person I come home to"

Season 12, episode 6 "Elliott's pond" (the one where it's officially announced that Hotch is not part of the BAU anymore because Mr. Scratch - aka Peter Lewis - is stalking him and Jack, so Emily’s gonna be the new head of the team)

Reminder that in my fics based off of episodes from s. 11 ep. 18 on, I stick with Morgan leaving the bau which is canon in the show, BUT ofc Morgan and Reid are a couple and they live together at Reid's place because why not :)

I MANAGED TO PUT THE “keep reading” THINGIE! Albeit 6 months after I first started writing fics... better late than never, right?

Read it on AO3

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Morgan opened the door of Reid's - and his - place. It was around 10 pm, so he wasn't 100% sure that Spencer would be home yet. But the small light on the dresser of the living room was on.

"Kid?" he called him, not seeing him around, while dropping his heavy bag on the floor.

"Here." he heard his gentle voice, coming from the kitchen.

He entered the small kitchen, only lit by the soft, warm light coming from the living room, and the street lights outside. Spencer was sitting at the table, looking out of the window like he was lost in his own head - it happened quite often. It wasn't always a bad symptom, though.

He was holding an almost full bottle of beer in his hand, placed on the table, his shirt was slightly unbuttoned: Derek guessed he'd come home not long before him.

Spencer wasn't a huge alcohol fan: beer was his only "comfort drink" when his mind was running too fast and he needed to slow it down a little bit. So that was the clue that made Derek understand something was kinda...off.

"Hey" he greeted Reid gently, approaching him and sitting on the chair right beside him.

Even though he could - barely - see only his face and the sparkle of the lampposts outside reflected on the glass bottle, he didn't turn the light on: it bothered Spencer's eyes when he was tired.

He didn't greet him back, neither move.

"Everything alright?" Morgan asked.

Spencer sighed and finally shifted his eyes to look at the bottle in his hand, his thumb toying with the corner of the half-unglued label.

"I don't know. Lot of stuff happened." he answered vaguely and with the least number of words possible - which was quite the unusual event.

Derek reached his hand forward to tuck behind Spencer's ear a lock of hair that was covering his eye, in order to see his face better.

"I'm listening." he simply said.

Silence.

Spencer rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers, closing his eyes like he had to funnel all of his concentration into choosing the right words.

"Hotch left."

Derek's heart sank deep into his chest. It was hard for Spencer to let go of the ones close to him - the team had had evidence of this many times over the years. In fact, to be fair, he was surprised that his only reaction to something like that was to casually grab a beer and sit in the dark. And Derek didn't feel quite sure that it was a good sign.

All of a sudden, he put 2 and 2 together.

"Let me guess..." Derek paused. "Peter Lewis?"

Spencer nodded, finally meeting his eyes for the first time since he came home.

"He's been stalking him and Jack for some time. So he decided it was best to go on Witness Protection." he explained further.

Derek nodded, remaining silent for a while to let Spencer feel free to get off his chest whatever he needed to, without interrupting his train of thought.

But Spencer never continued.

"...so...Rossi's the head of the team now?" he asked in the end, genuinely curious but at the same time almost certain he was right.

"No" Spencer shook his head, slightly smiling. "Emily is."

Derek's brows shot up in surprise. Knowing Emily, he wouldn't have expected her to take on such an important role - not that she didn't have the skills to do it, on the contrary, everyone thought very highly of her. Yes, she'd known the team for a long time and both Reid and JJ trusted her profoundly; but there was no denying that, in the past, everyone had seen her being kinda on and off the team, hesitant to stay in one place for long periods of time.

Morgan didn't blame her for it - not anymore: she was "wired" like that. It took him some time, but most of all it took getting over some grudges he used to hold on her, to understand this particular feature of her personality and be at peace with it. It was nothing personal.

Derek's faint smile faded away when he saw Spencer shifting his eyes to look outside again, taking a sip from his beer.

"Is- isn't it a good thing?" he asked apprehensively. There HAD to be something else: he was sure that Spencer was over the moon at the idea of Emily being head of their team. That couldn't be the problem.

Seeing that he wasn't about to answer any time soon, Derek inched closer to lean his elbows on his knees and placed his broad, warm hand on Spencer's leg, stroking his inner thigh with a thumb.

"Spencer. Look at me, please." he pleaded, his voice deep but gentle. He HATED seeing him like that. It made him go crazy.

Spencer finally looked straight into his eyes, like his touch had awakened him, and now he could hear him clearly.

"Tell me what's on your mind, kid." Derek subtly commanded, almost whispering at that point.

Spencer swallowed nervously, clenching his jaw.

"This job...it's continuously taking people away. And each time, it feels like...like it's taking away pieces of- of me... you know?" he paused, letting out a trembly sigh. "Elle, Gideon, Hotch, even Emily in some way... you"

Derek felt a lump in his throat. He didn't know what to answer. He couldn't guarantee that the job wouldn't take people away again - on the opposite, he could guarantee that it would. And he knew that Spencer knew it. There was nothing he could say that would make either of them less convinced of it.

He drew his chair as close as possible to Spencer's and took his hand, entwining his fingers with his. After a long, thoughtful silence, he spoke up.

"I can't promise you that the people around you won't keep coming and going. You know what happened with Elle, and I can't speak for Gideon, but I...I think I can safely say that Hotch wouldn't have left if it wasn't a matter of life or death...honestly after what happened with Haley I'm still surprised he didn't leave before. C'mon, he couldn't risk his son too." he gazed attentively at him. "But I think you know all this already."

Derek paused, leaning forward till their noses were 6 inches apart.

"As for me, I-" he sighed and shook his head: neither of them had the strength to fight about why Morgan had to leave anymore. "you know how things went for me but, kid..." Derek raised Spencer's chin with his index to make sure he was looking at him before going on to say what he wanted to say. "you are my family. And before you say what I know you wanna say: yes, there's my mom and my sisters but- I don't want you to think about it as blood. You are the person I come home to, and if you're not already here, I wait for you. I'm not going anywhere."

When Derek didn't receive an immediate answer, he thought he'd said something wrong, as though he had made him uncomfortable because maybe he didn't feel the same way. And, if that were the case, he couldn't blame him after all: it was STILL hard for Spencer to trust him fully, let alone considering him like family.

He had come to terms with the fact that it wasn't a symptom that Spencer didn't love him. On the contrary: Derek had understood years before, when they were still friends, that the reason why he hesitated to tell him some things, was because he was afraid of losing him - which was absolute nonsense, anyway.

He saw Spencer finally shifting in his seat, breaking those few seconds of complete stillness during which he didn't even blink.

He leaned closer to the edge of the chair and cupped Derek's face in his hands, sending shivers down his spine because one palm was freezing from holding the cold bottle of beer, while the other was now warm from keeping it squeezed into Derek's until just a second before.

Spencer pushed his lips softly against his, laying a single, slow kiss, realizing how much Derek had craved for it by how he immediately placed his hand on the back of his neck to draw him deeper. He didn't even know why Spencer had decided to bless him like that, out of the blue, but sure as hell he wasn't complaining.

Derek gasped into the kiss as soon as Spencer's wet and silky tongue slided into his dry mouth, spreading a faint but piercing taste of beer that made his cheeks slightly ache, akin to when you first bite into a too sour orange.

He gradually slowed down when he noticed that Spencer was struggling not to smile against his lips, and he was kissing nothing but his teeth.

"What?" Derek asked, laying one last peck at the corner of his boyfriend's mouth before pulling further to look at him; unable to avoid smiling back even though he didn't even know yet what the man was giggling about. He was so fucking pretty, Derek thought. As simple as that. Pretty.

Spencer rested his hand on Derek's bicep, stroking his smooth skin with his thumb from underneath the hem of his t-shirt. Derek secretly bit his bottom lip: he was more ticklish than one would think, in general, but God did he wish he had an answer for WHY Spencer's soft touch always did him dirty like that.

"I was- uhm..." he cleared his voice while simultaneously furrowing his eyebrows - as per usual. "My intent was to tell you the exact same thing as soon as you came home. It's- it's like you read my mind - even though, you know, I don't believe in these kind of things..." Spencer replied, stuttering in a timid way.

Derek felt his heart burst out of his chest. They'd been together for years, but hearing Spencer say things like that, made him feel like when he was a teenager acting awkward - and pathetically confident - with "chicks" every time. Crazy, he thought: it never happened with the other people he dated before, men or women.

"...yeah?" he asked, incredulous.

Spencer nodded before elaborating.

"You know, it was Rossi, he said something about our team, but actually it got me thinking about this...about us." he paused, swallowing. "he said: it's what happens when we're not on a case that has defined who we are. We stand beside one another, through good, through bad...because we're family" Spencer quoted David word for word - he didn't know any better - staring deep into Derek's eyes.

"It got me thinking that it doesn't matter if you're not on the team anymore, after all. It never mattered that much, to be honest- with you it's always been like, something more than just protecting each other from getting shot or...or kidnapped, I- I don't know how to explain it..." Spencer continued, getting stuck with his words so much that Derek had to try and hide his smile at how amusingly adorable he was.

"Well, for being a genius you gotta admit that it took you a hell of a long time to realize that we're 'something more', am I right?" Derek replied mockingly, air-quoting those two words. He always liked playing dumb, because Spencer's cute-annoyed reaction was priceless; however 9 times out of 10 he actually understood exactly what the other meant. It was just that he had this way of trying to give scientific-like explanations to things that maybe simply happen without us wanting to, or knowing how - namely: falling in love. "But love IS a 'scientific thing', Derek"; Morgan lost count of how many times he had replied to such comments with an eye-roll.

Spencer chuckled and shook his head. "Yeah, I know, but- you know, it just came to my mind that, if I think about it, it wasn't exclusively on the job that I...fell in love with you." he got more serious while saying that last bit.

Derek blushed a little - even though it was impossible for Spencer to see because of his dark complexion. Plus, SSA Derek Morgan NEVER blushed, so the thought didn't even cross Spencer's mind.

"So, let me get this straight," Derek started his teasing, looking at him with arched eyebrows and a mischievous grin "I spent years kicking down doors to impress you with muscles and stuff, and now you tell me giving you rides home or taking you to crappy diners after hard cases was what got you all adorable and flustered all along? That what you're telling me??" he asked mockingly. He loved to put him in difficult situations and see the tips of his ears flush.

Spencer shook his head and chuckled. "Ok, ok, fine, MAYBE both."

Derek leaned back in his chair and stared outside, completely lost in a specific thought that popped into his head, as he mentally replayed those words.

"But the job made us meet." he said righteously, after a long-ish silence.

He slightly tilted his head and shifted his eyes to glimpse at Spencer's beer - that he had clearly forgotten about - as the cold condense coating the glass bottle melted down, dripping on the table in a small puddle.

"I can't think that we wouldn't even ever have met if it wasn't for this job." he added shaking his head in disbelief, lowering his voice like he was speaking to himself more than to Spencer.

The other raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"We wouldn't?" he asked ingenuously. Like he didn't know that two completely opposite people like them would've never met, in normal conditions. Not in a lifetime. Not even in a million years.

Derek laughed good-heartedly at him, face-palming. "We would? Where? At a chess tournament? Or maybe at a baseball game??" he said smirking.

Spencer tried to hide his smile, lightly kicking Derek's calf with his ankle and pretending to be offended.

"Don't make me smack you in front of all these people" Derek jokingly quoted himself with his finger pointed at him, trusting that Spencer would recall that "threat" from years and years before. Surprisingly, Derek remembered A LOT of those comments he was so used to tease him with when they were not together yet, because it was funny to him how he fooled around trying to hint that he was into Spencer, while the genius was COMPLETELY oblivious - he wasn't even pretending not to see it. He just, didn't see it.

Spencer looked at him with his mouth hanging open, impressed. "How-"

"You're not the only one who remembers stuff, you know?" Derek interrupted him immediately before he could ask him how he remembered it. He leaned forward and took Spencer's jaw in one hand to place a quick kiss on his lips, before standing up from the chair.

Derek checked his watch. "I'm starving. I'm gonna order some pizza." he stated, heading to the living room to get his phone that he had absent-mindedly left over the dresser.

He froze in spot right on the doorway and turned around, with a frown on his face.

"Wait, have you eaten?"

Spencer shook his head and bit the inside of his cheek, well aware that Derek was kind of a pain in the ass with that. It kinda bothered him, how at times he obsessively made sure he'd eaten - only when he was in an "off" period; though he couldn't say he was wrong: during those kind of periods, Spencer really forgot to eat, or simply couldn't bring himself to. Which was worrisome.

In the attempt to stop thinking about all that matter, he took another sip from his beer, not nearly as ice-cold as he had planned on drinking it, at that point.

Derek sighed heavily as he turned on his heels again, disappearing into the other room. A few seconds later he replied, raising his voice enough so that Spencer could hear him from the kitchen.

"If only your mom knew that I starve her boy. She wouldn't have no problem smacking me in front of a bunch of people, now would she?"

Spencer choked on a laugh, risking to spit out his beer.

#criminal minds #derek morgan #spencer reid #moreid #shematthew #cmtag #sperek #criminal minds season 12 #criminal minds 12x6 #moreid one shot #moreid one shot 13 #moreid fanfiction #m/m #spencer reid x derek morgan #bau #behavioral analysis unit #dr reid #criminal minds elliott's pond

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lonestarbabe · 5 years ago

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The T-Shirt

(AO3)

Carlos finds an old t-shirt, and it brings back some old, painful memories for T.K.

You do not have to read Running Towards the Tide to understand this. Running Towards the Tide is a more general story that shows different vignettes of T.K.'s life while this describes a particular scenario mentioned in the first story of this series.

Carlos was staying over for the night, and T.K. had told him to feel free to grab some clothes to change into, and if it wasn’t a bit chilly, Carlos might’ve just stripped down and have called it a day, but the temperature had dipped down a little, or at least, T.K., still a New York boy at heart, had turned the air conditioning down lower than Carlos was used to.

He rifled through T.K.’s t-shirts, looking for one that wouldn’t be too tight on his biceps, which was difficult considering T.K. liked his t-shirts to be tight and Carlos’ arms were slightly more toned. Finally, after digging through the shirts and trying to not make a mess of them, Carlos pulled out an old NYU shirt from the drawer, which looked roomy enough and comfortable for sleeping. He looked at it a bit puzzled. “You didn’t go to NYU.” Maybe it was just a New Yorker thing.

“Don’t touch that.” T.K. ripped the shirt from Carlos’ hands, clutching it in his own. “Why do you care anyway? It’s just a shirt.” Carlos was used to T.K.’s tendency to run hot and cold, but he’d been better since they started dating, and when it came to most things, like borrowing a t-shirt, T.K. was laidback, but T.K.’s green eyes now had a gray cast over them. Normally clear, bright eyes were now murky.

Carlos couldn’t help but the surge of defensiveness that came through him. “It was just a comment. No need to get pissy.” His voice came off harsh, and he knew that it still worried Carlos that T.K. could storm off any minute, but it wasn’t worth spending all that time wondering if T.K. was a flight risk. T.K. wasn’t going anywhere this day. In fact, he was unusually glued in place. Normally, he would at least pace if he was upset or fidget, but he looked lost until he realized that Carlos had spoken and processed the words.

T.K. rolled his eyes, his go to asshole response. “I’m not. You’re just nosey.” It made T.K. feel naked and itchy when Carlos tried figure him out like he was a Sudoku puzzle.

Carlos wanted T.K. to open up, but he wasn’t going to pull teeth to do it. That would only make T.K. clam up. “You could’ve just said you didn’t want to talk about it.” T.K. knew that Carlos wasn’t going to make him say anything, but the guilt at not talking about it gnawed at his stomach anyways because he knew that Carlos thought that T.K. was to secretive. It’d been a fight they’d had before and would probably have again, but today, Carlos knew well enough to leave it alone. “I just think it’s a little weird how you reacted.”

T.K. unglued his feet and walked over to the bed to sit down. A few moments later he felt the mattress dip as Carlos sat beside him. “I knew someone who went there is all,” T.K. explained, hoping to appease Carlos. He knew more than just one person who went to NYU, but of course, the owner of the shirt always would hold a special place in T.K.’s mind. He was the one T.K. could never scrub from his mind.

“I’m guessing you knew him pretty well if you kept this shirt after all this time,” Carlos commented, and it wasn’t prodding. He was willing to leave it there if that’s what T.K. wanted.

“It’s silly that I even kept it. He’s someone more important than I would want him to be.”

“A lover?” Carlos asked, and then took it immediately back, “No, you don’t have to answer. I know you have a past, but it’s your business.”

“A hookup.” T.K. looked down at his hands, looking shamed. T.K., who loved telling Carlos his favorite sex positions and talking about his sexual escapades never looked ashamed of sex before. “It was just sex.”

“Pretty sentimental, aren’t you?” Carlos smiled at him, trying to lighten the situation, but his voice sounded hollow.

“It was my first time,” T.K. admitted. He tried not to think of everything that had entailed, but he couldn’t help the thoughts that came when he felt the soft, worn fabric under his fingertips.

“Oh,” Carlos said, realization dawning on his face. “That makes sense then.” A faint smile came upon his face. “My first time with a guy was with a classmate. Ronnie. I was eighteen, and we were sort of seeing each other. As much as we could’ve been given the circumstances. I thought we’d somehow last forever, but I wasn’t even out. Not sure he ever came out, actually. I loved him, but love only gets you so far.”

“At least he was someone you loved.” T.K.’s first time had been humiliating, which he blamed himself for.

“You didn’t love him?” Carlos asked. “Not even in a puppy love way?”

T.K. shook his head. He hadn’t even learned Alan’s last name. “The owner of that shirt… he was the first person I found who wanted me in that way, and so I thought that I might as well get it over with. I didn’t care about making it special. I mean, it’s stupid to believe that sex at that age will be that great. I half hoped I’d fall in love, that he would love me, but that didn’t happen.”

Carlos nodded in understanding. “It was awkward with Ronnie. We didn’t really know what we were doing, but I’m glad I did it. I still look back on it and get good feelings. It can be technically bad while still feeling very good.”

“With Alan, it was the opposite. He was good at sex, but it still felt awful.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah, so this shirt is just a bad memento of that time in my life.”

“So why do you keep it if it’s so bad?”

T.K. wasn’t so sure of this answer himself. It seemed harmful to let it linger in his dresser with all the important clothes he actually loved, but he doubted he’d ever get rid of it. “My dad keeps a piece of one of the towers from 9/11.” Carlos nodded. “It’s kind of like that. It’s different than with Dad, but it’s still a reminder.”

“A reminder of what?” Carlos looked apprehensive but generally interested.

“That the worst day of your life won’t always be the worst day of your life.”

Carlos put a hand on T.K. back, leaning his head down and kissing T.K.’s shoulder. “It was that bad?”

“I was sixteen, so everything kind of seems worse at that age. I met this guy at a bar I’d go to to drink and look at pretty boys. I’d never done anything with anyone at that point, so I thought it’d be a good time. There, I met Alan. He was twenty-two, so it was stupid to think that it would mean anything, but I thought it would feel good. I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing, but he was older, so I trusted that he’d make it okay for me.”

Carlos’ eyebrows were scrunched as were his lips, a good indicator that he was upset. “Don’t be upset, Carlos.”

“He shouldn’t have been messing with a kid in the first place,” Carlos said through gritted teeth.

“I told him I was older.” T.K. was almost positive that Alan had known he was younger, but he wasn’t going to tell Carlos that. He couldn’t even trust his own memory; it been so long since he had thought about it. He used to think about it all the time. At first, it had been every minute, then every hour, every week, and every month. It’s amazing how wounds fade so even the worst moments don’t carry the same kind of agony forever.

Carlos wasn’t appeased, but he let it go for now. “He’s still a creep.”

“It doesn’t end there,” T.K. said, and it sounded like a warning. Carlos gave T.K.’s thigh a reassuring squeeze.

“I went home with him, and on the way there, I was nervous but also excited. He seemed super nice, and I guess that’s why I trusted him in the first place. When we got to his apartment, I realized that we weren’t alone.”

“Married?”

“I don’t know what he and Adrian were, but when I got there, Alan asked me if it was alright if his friend joined in.” T.K. looked at the ground. “I didn’t really want to do it, but he kept telling me how fun it would be and that I might as well do it since I was already there. I didn’t know how to say no, so I told him yes.” T.K. laughed bitterly. “My first time was threesome. How slutty is that?”

“Oh god, T.K., that’s awful,” Carlos said, not sure how to respond to someone he loved talking about a traumatic, non-consensual sexual encounter.

“It was just uncomfortable and awkward.” T.K. wasn’t sure why he felt the need to minimize it, make it sound less traumatic than it was. There were times he still protected Alan’s memory and put up a little wall around it. Adrian had always been an accessory in T.K.’s head while Alan was the source of all the confliction. T.K. liked to think that Alan didn’t mean to hurt him, but whenever he thought of that night, a quiet rage filled the hollow of his stomach, making T.K. want to protect Alan and destroy him all at once. Mostly, he wanted to go back in time and protect his younger self, make little T.K. feel safe and loved and worth more than a threesome with two guys who only wanted to use him to get off.

“Seems like more than that to me.”

T.K. shrugged. “Maybe, but I guess good came out of it. It made me come out to my dad. After it happened, I couldn’t stop crying, and I couldn’t tell him the truth, so I just told him I was gay when he asked what was wrong. It made us closer, actually.”

“Good things happening as a result doesn’t make what they did to you less painful or wrong of them.”

“It’s fine, really. It was my own stupid fault. I should have used my brain for once instead of just jumping into a situation I clearly wasn’t ready for.”

“It’s not your fault, okay? You weren’t old enough to make that decision, and even if you were, it sounds like he and that other guy coerced you into doing it, which is…” Carlos trailed off wanting to word this very careful as to not to spook T.K., but there was only one way he could think to say it. “It wasn’t consensual.”

“I said yes, Carlos.” T.K. took a deep breath. “I used to think that maybe they were in the wrong, but I think that was just wishful thinking.”

“What do you mean?”

“I always thought I was lying to myself about that night, warping the things that happened to make myself feel better. Like, I got the impression Alan knew I was underage, but maybe I’m just trying to make him the bad guy. Maybe the reason I keep blaming Alan and Adrian is because I don’t want to take responsibility for my own mistakes. It’s easier to tell myself that they hurt me, even though deep down, I’ve always known I hurt myself. I put myself in a bad situation because I was desperate for my dad’s attention.”

Carlos didn’t want to put words in T.K.’s mouth, but he also wanted to assure him that he wasn’t making a big deal out of nothing. “From what you’ve told me, they manipulated you. You were sixteen, you had been drinking, and you felt pressured because they put you in an unfair situation. Any one of those things should’ve equated to saying no. One of those two men should’ve seen that.”

“Maybe,” T.K. didn’t sound so sure. He’d spent years debating who was really to blame, but nothing good had ever come of it. At the end of the day, it still always seemed like his own stupid fault.

Carlos put a hand over T.K.’s which was still holding the t-shirt. “These situations can be difficult for people to process.” He avoided the use of the word victim. He’d encountered cases like T.K.’s before at work. He knew how psychologically confusing and traumatic seemingly-consensual, non-consensual sexual encounters could be. The police usually couldn’t do much about them by the time victims came forward, and society wasn’t always sympathetic. “Because sometimes even those who experience them don’t realize they’re wrong.”

“Maybe that’s why I kept the shirt.” T.K. clutched the stretched cotton in his hands, and he had a sudden urge to rip it apart and throw it in a fire, but it would feel like tearing and burning a part of himself. As much as he wanted to put in the garbage, he wasn’t ready to let it go. “Why I may always keep it.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve gone through what happened that day a million times, and even now, I keep thinking that I don’t deserve to feel sorry for myself,” He looked down at the logo that had faded against the fabric. “But whenever I look at this shirt, I can’t help feeling sympathy for young me. It’s stupid, but it reminds me that for all the mistakes I made that night, I was still just a kid sent home in shirt a few sizes too big.”

Carlos put his arms around T.K., resting his chin on T.K.’s shoulder. He didn’t say anything, just felt the rise and fall of T.K.’s chest, being there for whatever emotion T.K. need to get through. After several minutes of sitting there, T.K. rose to his feet, leaning in to give Carlos a kiss and walking over to the dress.

With care, T.K. folded the shirt and slid it back in the drawer, beneath all the other shirts. It would always be there, but he didn’t always have to see it. He sat on Carlos’ lap and looped his arms around Carlos’ neck. “I think I’ve thought enough about that tonight. Why don’t you remind me how good being with another person can feel.”

And with T.K. wrapped around him, Carlos didn’t need to worry about finding another shirt. He was warm, and T.K. was safe.

#My Stuff #911 Lone Star #911 Lone Star Fics #my writing #Elise writes #fics

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lilhemmo · 5 years ago

Note

35 and 96 AU for sweet pea

send me two au’s from THIS list + a ship/character

a/n: this one ended up being pretty long so read more under the cut!

It’s not unusual for you to come home bloody and battered.

You spend your nights at the Southside boxing rink, racking up a reputation and moving your way to the top. You end the night with a busted lip and some bloody knuckles, but it’s worth it.

The cash that lines your pocket makes the bruised ribs and split cheek much easier to handle.

“I can’t believe you won’t just friggin’ listen to me,” he grumbles, tossing some epsom salt into the warm bath water to help dull the ache. He made you a glass of water as well, a few ibuprofen on the counter to accompany the drink. You try not to laugh; it’ll make your ribs hurt.

Sweet Pea has been your only constant in life ever since you’ve been in the Southside. He lives in the trailer next to yours, so he always offers to drive you to and from the gym because you’re never in any shape to drive yourself home when the match is over. Pea also is the one to take care of you because your parents couldn’t be bothered to stick around after your teen years.

“Can we skip the parental speech tonight, Sweets?” you ask through breathless pants. You wince as you try and get into the tub without reopening every wound on your body.

He glances over at you once you’ve tapped on the edge of the tub to let him know you’re in, “But that’s my favorite part - I love how you don’t ever listen to me.”

“Save the self-righteous, hypocritical bull crap, Pea,” you scoff, tilting your head back. “You and Fangs are out at night, beating up Ghoulies and protecting your own. Don’t act like I don’t hear your motorcycle rev up at night when you leave.”

Sweet Pea licks his lips and rubs his hands over his face in exasperation. You don’t ever let him get away with anything, that’s for sure.

You wave your hand, “I can take care of myself, Pea. If it bothers you this much, then just go home.”

“I can’t leave you,” he says quickly, grabbing the first aid kit and a couple of rags out of the drawers. Pea gets down on his knees beside the tub and gets to work on scrubbing the crusted blood from your wounds.

“How’s things going with Jos?” you ask, looking over your shoulder as he cleans the split skin on your shoulder. “You sleeping together yet?”

You’re sure that when he runs the sponge over the cut that he’s being extra thorough. You wince, but he speaks, “I saw Josie and Archie making out in the music room the other day. It’s pretty clear how she feels - or doesn’t.”

“Pea,” you turn to face him, your wet hand cupping his cheek. You feel your eyes soften the longer you look at him, “She didn’t deserve you. She made that abundantly clear the second she called you a fling.”

“That’s all it was,” SP shrugs, a mundane look on his face. “Maybe Andrews can help her out, he likes music and all that. I’m just a Serpent.”

You grab him by the jaw and force him to look you in the eyes, “Don’t you ever let someone else define you. Not anyone, and especially not Josie. You’re so much more than just a Serpent, Sweets.”

His eyes dart downward but you don’t make it out to be anything special. You release him and let your hand fall back into the bubbly water. You sigh, “I don’t know how people can treat one another like that, Pea. I’m sorry you had to be on the receiving end of it all.”

“It’s okay,” Sweet Pea shrugs nonchalantly. He doesn’t look you in the eyes as he cleans the wound on your cheekbone. It’s leaking crimson and he winces as he rolls the rag against the open cut.

“If this is about money, I-”

“This ain’t about anything, Pea. This is about me. It’s what I want.”

“You and Andrews make quite the pair,” he scoffs, replacing the bloody rag for a clean one.

You choose not to respond, and he finishes mopping up your blood, cleaning it out and watching as the water slowly turns red.

“Time for stitches.”

He walks out of the bathroom long enough to let you drain the water and dry yourself off. Pea even laid out fresh clothes for you on the counter. How he has time to do these things for you, you’ll never know. What you do know is that all you have in this life is each other now. Toni has run off to be with Cheryl, to partner with the Pretty Poisons to clean up the Southside. Fangs has been missing for years, ever since the Farm chose their ascension night. FP and Jughead moved to the Northside years ago, and Pea can’t fault them for trying to give Jellybean a better life.

The thin t-shirt you’re sporting was Sweet Pea’s at some point in life. It’s threadbare, but it’s perfect to wear after a match because it doesn’t suffocate you in your sleep. The arms are cut out, so it makes it easy for the both of you to apply bandages and wraps to the various parts of your body that usually end up battered and bruised. The neck is wide, stretched from use, and it’s fraying at the edges.

SP unloads a decent amount of the medical supplies, ready to get to work on the cuts on your face first. He takes a q-tip with ointment laden on it and starts to smear it onto every inch of broken skin that mars your face and neck.

“Sooner or later you’re going to have too many scars to count,” he mutters, cinching together a butterfly stitch on your forehead. Sweet Pea brushes your hair away from your face, his fingertips lingering on your jaw and neck.

“Scars are cool,” you shrug, dismissing his worried tone. “All the Serpents have them.”

Sweet Pea shakes his head, “You don’t have to do this, you can make more of yourself in better ways. You don’t have to just punch your way out.”

“S’the only thing I’m good at, Sweets.” You look up at him through your lashes. His brown eyes are warm, asking you silent questions just with the colors swirling around in his irises.

His thumb brushes over a bruise on your jaw, “I can’t watch you kill yourself for the rest of your life.”

“Then don’t watch,” you snap, your voice steely and quiet.

Sweet Pea’s teeth wrap around his bottom lip, trying hard to keep his commentary to himself. Instead, he moves on to wrapping up your knuckles in gauze, taping them at the wrists.

He puts away the supplies in your cabinet and then turns to walk out the bathroom door, but you limp towards him to grab his wrist.

“Pea?” You cough at the exertion. “You don’t wanna stay and watch a movie like always?”

The last person you have in this world licks his lips and shrugs his shoulders, “You told me not to watch anymore. I’m just listening to your advice.”

And then he leaves without another word.

Weeks pass, and you throw yourself into your boxing matches. You fight opponents much stronger than you, you take hits harder than you ever should have. You don’t care because you don’t feel anything until you land inside that ring.

“Come at me, c’mon!” you scream, slapping your gloves together and bearing your teeth. “Is that all you got?!”

She rages at you and manages to get a good uppercut in before you slam into her chest and throw her onto the mat. Her back cracks and your body heaves in exhaustion.

“Yeah, that’s right! Stay down!” You seethe between your mouthguard, stalking her in circles, praying that she gets up so you can lay into her again.

Moments pass, and the referee declares you the winner.

The crowd goes wild, you receive your wad of cash, and then you trudge home.

It’s harder to ride your motorcycle with your injuries, but you manage. There are nights that you want to miss Sweet Pea’s truck, but you force yourself to wince and bear it.

That’s how your days replay. You have nothing but your fists, absolutely nothing, but you have to be okay with that because it’s your own fault.

It takes another two weeks for a fight to get too violent.

The girl has you against the ropes, her fists drilling into your abdomen. You can hear your ribs crunching as she piles into you. The crowd is so loud that it hurts your ears, but the throbbing in your head drowns most of the sound into a blur of screams. You shout in pain and double over, giving her a clean shot at your head.

Your body flounders to the ground and the ref pushes her off to the other end of the ring so he can count you down. With every number that he rattles off, you feel a piece of your soul die. Tears are streaming down your face as you force yourself to slam your fists into the mat and push your body upright.

“You can fight?” the referee asks you.

“I’m good.”

He doesn’t look like he believes you, so you scream at him, “I’m good, ref! Now let me go!”

The referee claps his hands together and you’re back at one another’s throats. You get a string of punches in, surely she’s hurting, but it does not stop her from slamming her knee into your gut.

You hear someone scream out in the crowd, but you barely have time to take notice of it as she grabs you around the waist and throws you down onto the mat.

“Get up!” she screams in your face, spit and blood flying all over you. You wince at the contact, but she screams at you again.

Her foot connects with your ribs, again and again, but you can’t find it in you to tap out, to tell everyone that you’re finished.

“Stop the fight!” you hear from the stands. It gets closer as it repeats itself, “Stop the damn fight!”

You reach up to try and punch her in the face, but instead she is straddling you and pinning your arms above your head with one hand and continuously punching you with the other.

“Get off her!”

You recognize the voice, turning your face just enough to catch a glimpse of his brown eyes. A tear drips down your cheek and the final punch lands across your face.

All you see is darkness.

When you wake, your whole body is weighted, tied down to a bed that you cannot escape from. Your eyelids are heavy, your breath is short. You want to sit up, but find that you aren’t in control of your own limbs.

You push yourself until finally your eyes are unglued and you can blearily glance around the room you’re in.

It’s very bland.

The room is painted white, the curtains made of fabric that looks like it is from decades past, and the scent of antiseptic fills your nostrils until they burn. There is a blanket covering your body, a machine beeping in your ear as it tracks your vitals. You’re not sure how you got here or how long you’ve been out, but as soon as your eyes focus, you zero in on the figure sleeping on the couch next to your bed.

You want to laugh, but your chest is in catastrophic pain. Instead, you focus on examining your roommate as he sleeps curled in on himself, a blanket laid over the top of him but still unable to cover his tall form.

His hair is a mess, covering his forehead and falling in his eyes. His cheek is pressed into the pillow, lips full and parted as he breathes steadily through them. The tattoo on his neck draws your attention and you find your eyes drawn to it like never before.

He is dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, the sleeves cut off to expose his tan skin and cut muscles. You wish that he were closer, but you’re glad that he’s not as the tears begin to leak from the corners of your eyes.

As if he has some sort of super power to sense whenever you’re in pain, Sweet Pea stirs from his sleep and sits up on the couch. He grunts as he stretches out his limbs, pops echoing in the room.

You sniffle against your will, the movement making you cry out in pain, and in a flash, Sweet Pea is by your side.

“Hey,” he reaches out and grabs your hand. “Hey, you’re okay now. We got you here in time.”

Sweet’s gentle fingers brush over your cheeks and he wipes the tears away. He smiles but you can tell he’s in pain himself, “Don’t cry.”

The doctors separate you as they flood the room, rattling off medical terms to one another so much that they make your head spin. Sweet Pea is constant, holding your hand tightly in his own no matter how inconvenient it may be for the nurses who are hovering by your bedside.

They leave, eventually, and the two of you settle into an uncomfortable silence. His thumb brushes over the back of your hand and it makes you tear up all over again. All of the nightmares and the anger come rushing back at once, overwhelming your soul and forcing a bubble of fear through your throat.

“I’m so s-sorry, Pea.”

You break down into tears, your shoulders shaking despite the pain. Your sobs echo in the hospital room, the walls doing little to dim the noise. You sniffle, shaking your head, “I should have never said that to you. I-It was stupid and it was selfish and I was angry.”

“I know,” he brings your knuckles to his lips. “I forgive you, okay? It’s okay, just-”

“No, it’s not okay! It isn’t okay. I pushed away the only person who cared for me, who put me back together after I was done tearing myself apart. I-I can’t believe,” your voice falters and you fear it may break. “I just want to go home.”

Sweet Pea nods, chewing on his lower lip. “I know. Just give it some time.”

You throw your head back and stare up at the ceiling, wonder just how much longer that may be.

You’re tucked away in your bed when you hear him pacing in the living room. You sit up, your sleeveless shirt pooling at your waist. You stand, holding onto your side as you make your way to where Sweet Pea is mumbling to himself the next room over.

“Hey,” you murmur, leaning into the doorway.

He looks up from his pacing, his hand covering his face. His eyes wander over your frame and you try your hardest not to blush. He’s seen you practically naked before as he washes your wounds and stitches you back to your whole self. How is this any different?

“Hey,” Pea echoes. He takes a few steps towards you, “Why aren’t you in bed?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Heard you in here, figured I’d give you some company.”

Sweet Pea reaches out and runs his thumb over the scar on your cheek bone. You watch as his eyes soften the longer his touch lingers. You lean into his fingers and he catches you with his hand.

“I’m sorry I left that night,” he whispers as if afraid of breaking the atmosphere. “I should’ve stayed.”

“I should have never told you to leave,” you admit, turning to kiss his wrist. You take a deep breath, “I-I was scared, and I didn’t like what you were saying and so I pushed you away. That’s not how you treat people - definitely not the people you love.”

His eyes connect with yours, a certain electricity running through them now. The touch of his hand expands to your neck, the base of your hair, and your fingers tremble as you press your palms to his chest. He smiles, a rare sight, and he cups your cheeks in his hands as he brings his lips down on yours.

Sweet Pea’s mouth is warm, his touch gentle, and he captivates you in a way that you know you’ll never find in anyone else. Your body aches as you sway in his arms, but you disregard the strain as you push yourself onto your toes to kiss him harder.

Your hands travel to his shoulders, fingernails digging into his back as you desperately try to convey your feelings through your lips. You can’t help but gasp as his teeth sink into your lower lip. Your fingernails bite further into his shoulder blades at the action and then it is his turn to wince into your touch.

“I missed you,” he breathes against your neck. His lips trail over your jugular and you find yourself ready to fly. Your back is pressed to the wall as his confessions fall over you, “I thought that you were dead that night, that I would never see you again. I thought I would never get the chance-”

His tongue presses flat against your collarbone and you press yourself closer to him. You drop your forehead to his chest in just enough time to hear him say, “I love you.”

As soon as the words are free, it’s like the two of you cannot get enough of one another. His hands travel your body like his kisses, unable to be satiated as they map out the contours and edges of your bones and skin and muscle. Your lips tangle together and your teeth clack against one another. You do not care how sloppy this is because this is all you’ve ever wanted.

Sweet Pea maneuvers the two of you back towards your bedroom, hoisting you up onto the bed as he runs his hands over your thighs. He hooks his hands under your knees and pushes you back so your head is close to the headboard. The look he sends you makes your blood boil and your cheeks burn.

“Wait,” you grab him by the nape of his neck, “I-I love you too.”

His index finger travels over the scars on your chest. He stops at a few, investigating them further. His thumbnail trails along hairline scars, his pinky finger dipping over deeper cuts. The pads of his fingers dance across the bruises on your ribs, staining them purple and yellow.

You reach up and cup his cheek in your hand, your own thumb brushing over the scar that mars his lip. He catches your finger between the bite of his teeth and playfully smirks down at you as you try to force him to release it. You burst into laughter and tuck your head under his chin, feeling him pull your body closer.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” he whispers into your hair. He kisses the top of your head and burrows his nose into the crown of your head. “I’ve wanted to, for years, but I never could force myself to do it.”

“It’s okay, it’s my own fault for being so stubborn.” You look up at him and he steals a kiss from your lips. His palms are flat against your back, fingerprints finding the scars on your back as he continues his exploration.

“I love you,” he smiles as he looks down at you. The expression lightens his eyes, darkens his cheeks. He kisses your lips and murmurs the words again and again, “I love you, I love you, I love you-”

You laugh against his mouth and he does not relent as he slips his tongue between your teeth. Your bodies are flush against one another under the sheets and you’re not sure why you ever put this off.

Sweet Pea kisses his way down your jaw to your throat, “I love you.”

“I-I love yo-you too,” you manage, your eyes shuttering closed as his lips make swift work of your body. His hands are all over you and suddenly you’re drowning in him and you don’t want to come up for air.

#sweet pea x reader #sweet pea imagine #sweet pea one shot #sweet pea fanfic #sweet pea fanfiction #riverdale x reader #riverdale #riverdale imagine #riverdale one shot #riverdale fanfic #riverdale fanfiction #riverdale blurb #sweet pea blurb #my writing

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day-en-las-nubes · 6 years ago

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“The most unusual gift” Part III

I opened my eyes slowly, the morning light was seeping through the blinds of my bedroom window. I rubbed my eyes and his distinguished presence startled me. He was sitting on my old recliner, from the corner of my bedroom he waited, legs crossed, still wearing nothing more than his black boxers.

I thought that I was dreaming, but remembered Tess’s outburst the day before.

“I hope you like your eggs over-easy and your toast crispy” He said gesturing to my end table, where my steaming breakfast had been laid out. “I couldn’t find any juice in the fridge so I took the liberty of pouring you some milk.”

“Thank you Bill” I sat up overtaken by his kind gesture. I realized I was famished so I dug in without delay. ”This is delicious, my compliments to the chef!” I lifted my glass of milk. My internal turmoil with his presence seemed to be easing up and in its place I began to feel this inexplicable joy growing inside me.

“You are welcome” He muttered and as I took my last bite of toast it just hit me…I loved waking up to this. To having him. The food having been merely an unexpected bonus.

Later, as I headed to work I couldn’t stop grinning. I spent most of my shift reading Bill’s instruction manual. I discovered that he recharged wirelessly while “sleeping” kind of like we humans do in a way. He was highly adaptable and very receptive to his owner. My coworker had noticed my mood change and my total absorption with the little book.

“You seem so…. Radiant today” She had commented on our way to our cars after a long eight hours at the library where we worked. ”Let me guess, it’s that new book you’ve been carrying around all day?” She shook her index finger at me.

“I’m seeing somebody actually” I revealed to her, unashamed.

“That’s great! I will need details tomorrow!” She playfully demanded as she waved goodbye from the side of her car.

I rushed home, my heart overflowing, my cheeks flushed.

Bill stood up as I opened the door. He was wearing my dark red robe over his black boxers. A chuckle erupted from me when I saw him.

“What?” He giggled. ”Don’t you like it?” He twirled around.

“I wasn’t expecting it, looks good!” I told him.

“You mentioned you wanted me to wear more clothing yesterday. I figured I was making you uncomfortable walking around in my underwear.” He walked over to me and kissed my cheek, the contact of his lips against my cheek making my skin tingle.

“You could never make me feel uncomfortable” I corrected. Bill grabbed my chin and lifted it to his thick lips. He brushed them on mine, sending my heart into a beating frenzy. It felt deliciously real. Too real. ”Le-lets go to the store, yes?” Bill nodded, his face only about two inches from mine.

I let him borrow a pair of oversized pajama pants I kept as back up on the top of my closet. Even though they came to a few inches from his calves, at least we didn’t run the risk of getting arrested for public indecency.

“Are you worried they’ll notice?” He said as I parked the car in front of a very small and discreet local clothing store.

“They won’t, and even if they do…I don’t really care.” I squeezed his hand and we both got out and into the store.

To our good fortune it was completely empty, except for the teenage girl working the register. She seemed too busy on her cellphone to really notice us all that much.

I didn’t exactly know his size so I dumped several different shirts, jeans and some shoes on his arms.

We walked over to the fitting rooms, the cashier lifted her head as we walked by and threw us an inquisitive look.

“Evening!” I greeted her slightly anxious but she didn’t respond, instead she stared at Bill all the way to the fitting room. The multicolored hair girl shrugged and continued focusing on her mobile device.

Bill tried on several of the outfits I had picked for him, he looked spectacular in all of them. He had called me inside the fitting room to help him rolling up the sleeves of a beautiful blue shirt when the intimacy between us made me quiver with sudden excitement.

I was busying myself on his sleeve when he placed his hand on mine stopping me in my tracks. His other arm circling my waist.

He pulled me to him, his mouth melding with mine ardently. He tugged and nibbled on my lips, while his huge hand made its way inside my blouse. He pressed softly on my nipple with his thumb and I was not able to control the moan that escaped from my throat.

“Do you need help finding anything?” The cashier inquired from the other side of the curtain.

Now she tries to help!

It took everything within me to unglue myself from his grasp, but I was able to get out of the curtain, fixing my top as I got out.

“We are fine, thank you!” I told her, horrified at noticing my untidy appearance in a mirror nearby.

Bill followed behind and we headed to the register. As she rung up our items, she kept an impish grin on her face.

“Come see us again” She said sarcastically when we were about to exit the store.

As we sat inside my car, I just busted out laughing about it all and so did Bill.

#bill skarsgard #bill skasgård #bill skarsgård imagine #bill skarsgard fandom #bill skarsgard fanfiction #bills skarsgard #bill skarsgård fanfiction #bill skarsgard fan #bill skarsgard smut

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countessofbiscuit · 6 years ago

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Of Guts & Garbage

A sequel to Of Nerve & Nerf, written for Rexsoka Week 2018′s prompt “A Different Point of View...” (also on Ao3)

The aesthetics of war were one thing. But the exigencies meant everything from transit tickets and newstacks, to hovercarts and Class-5 droids were heavily taxed. So it’d fallen to Hermione to pick up the slack when the sanitation droid fried itself and Dex opted not to replace it.

(“Sorry ‘Min, FLO’s not programmed for that sort of thing. I can’t pay overtime, but hey, you wanted extra hours, right?”)

No such thing as a free lunch in this economy.

“Unless you’re a kriffing Jedi,” Hermione huffed as she dragged two stuffed trashbags towards the closest compactor on this block.

It’d been a long shift. Made longer by the squished mess of beebleberries a Dug toddler spent an hour dropping onto the floor, and Flo’s worsening flirtation with the dishwasher unit, which had rendered them both idle and unhelpful.

Hermione turned into the alley, some distance behind the diner. Inconveniently, it was also a blackout night; only the very dim glow of a repurposed holo-billboard reminding citizens to go home—and not to use appliances when they got there—allowed her to see much of anything. She willed herself to remain alert, though fatigue blanketed her senses. The power companies had taken the CSF’s advice, at least, and now operated the blackouts on a random schedule to throw off the more organised criminals, but opportunists were everywhere, even in CoCo Town. You could see the sky, but people forgot there might still be scum sticking to your feet.

At her approach, scavenging nuna scurried away from sacks that had been dumped in front of the overflowing compactor. Everything nowadays was someone else’s problem. Hermione decided to test the chute on the far end, trusting in people’s laziness if nothing else—especially the laziness of the new juice joint employees next door. This looked like their recycling, all tidily collected by their fancy sanitation droid, only to be tossed here instead of sent to the plant. The hypocrites.

She dropped her own sacks and walked a couple meters into the gloom. Reaching for the chute hatch, she noticed a pale glow in the space between the compactor and the alley wall. A tilt of her head and Hermione found herself staring at the broad, plated back of a clone soldier. He was pressed up against the wall. Two skinny legs were hitched up and crossed at the ankles around his waist.

Shock rooted Hermione to the spot; it was embarrassment that sent her retreating behind the corner of the compactor. It was dark, but that hair … as blonde as her own. Unmistakable. And the horns just peeking out above the soldier’s head confirmed everything.

It was the unusual couple from table six.

They’d been the last ones out. The Togruta had fallen asleep on Blondie—Rex, his name was Rex—while he slurped a shake, trying and failing to blend in with the regular crowd of transient families and freighter pilots. He stuck out like a beldon in a skylane. Hermione had cleaned around them, not wishing to disturb. He took the hint eventually, but not before she’d wondered if he even understood the delicate etiquette of shift work. He’d nudged his companion awake with such tenderness, almost regretfully, like this was the first good snooze she’d had in weeks. Like waking her up might break something besides the tender moment. The more Hermione had glanced at them, the younger he certainly looked. Wide-eyed, awkward, uncertain. Definitely not a droid and definitely not programmed to be a danger to anything but some Separatist scrap. Or a milkshake.

Now that she’d calmed down and the wails of a passing siren had died away, Hermione could make it out: the breathy, sloppy noises of two people kissing like they wanted to do more—much more—but didn’t know what or how.

Was this … allowed? She didn’t think Jedi could be romantic. Dex always said that was for the best, joking obliquely that the Duke of Mandalore would never take a seat at his counter, and his life and pockets would be poorer for it. The clones didn’t have arcane precepts, as far as Hermione knew, and the other soldiers’ surprise at finding these two sharing a booth had been short-lived ... though there had been bets won and credits to be quickly spent. Their lives seemed very regimented. Necking in a dark alley at this hour was probably breaking a dozen rules. But these two were officers, however young they appeared; maybe they knew exactly what they were doing?

Hermione almost shot out of her skin when the clone spoke, giving a low voice to her thoughts.

“What are we doing, Ahsoka?”

Or maybe not.

“Really? You want to do this now? Next to the trash compactor?”

Oh great. A lovers’ quarrel on her time—but not on Dex’s dime, because she’d punched out like an idiot.

“We're having our first kiss next to the trash compactor!”

The girl huffed as if hearing something ridiculous. “This isn't our first kiss.”

“What—the—the game? That doesn't count, you were wasted.”

“Well. I thought it counted. What do you know about first kisses anyway?”

“Enough...” came Rex’s reply, hesitant, lilting up into a question left hanging in the air.

“But not enough that you’d be satisfied if we stopped. Really.”

“... No.”

They fell silent again—or rather, nonverbal, returning to their first-maybe-second kiss. Everything about it seemed so illicit, and yet so mundane: two kids making out in a rare moment of privacy, before the adults found them and forced them to … to go fight a war, in this case. Like something out of a fekked up holodrama.

Hermione really didn’t want to be the adult in this situation. She needed to leave. But the trash...

“No. Stop,” came Rex’s voice again, slurred through a kiss. “We should stop.”

Some shuffling, followed by the dull thud of boots hitting permacrete. “We’re not gonna get in trouble, Rex,” said Ahsoka, with brazen certainty. “So what’s eating you?”

Hermione’s palms started to sweat. She was nervous for the girl, oddly sad for the boy, and embarrassed for herself.

“Your mouth.”

“Hey!”

Rex reversed thrusters. Wisely. “No! No. I like it. It’s just…”

“What?”

“It tastes like meiloo-salsa.”

“Oh,” came the deflated reply.

Did clones have a really sensitive palette? He had ordered the saddest thing on the menu.

Ahsoka wasn’t convinced. “No, there’s something else. Please tell me.”

“My stomach hurts.”

“You shouldn’t have had that shake. Bantha-milk—if that’s even what it was—will mess you up.”

“I should get back to base then. Barricade myself in the freshers.”

Ahsoka mimicked a loudhailer. “Biohazard in dorn block. Bring in the chemfantry!”

“Might bust out an old reg manual to pass the time. Since we’re talking about how much shit I’m going to be in.”

“Ugh!” Ahsoka groaned. “Whose business is this but ours? Who’s gonna know?”

“Your bosses. I don’t have a magna lock on my head like you.”

“You worry too much about that,” said Ahsoka, though Hermione had to side with Rex on that one. Would the girl know she’d been listening in? “Look, if they give us any grief, I’ll … I’ll say I ordered you to kiss me or something.”

A pause. “That makes it sound worse.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Forget I said anything.”

The alley fell quiet and intimate again, as the couple forgot everything except each other. There was nothing for it: Hermione would have to interrupt. She was exhausted, and she couldn’t just leave the trash. It might attract something worse than nunas, and if any police droids rumbled by during the night and scanned the sacks, they’d issue fines, mandatory power outages or no. The juice people could live with that—she suspected they were a subsidiary of TaggeCo, and such companies had entire budgets set aside for environmental penalties—but Dex would dock it straight from her pay.

Hermione crept, quietly and absurdly, back towards the sacks, took them in hand, and shuffled her soles across the permacrete. For good measure, she punted a bottle into the alley. If the couple unglued themselves, hopefully they’d recognize a beleaguered fast food employee, with no reason to suspect any eavesdropping.

It was only when two blades of green light shot up along the alley wall that Hermione remembered the obvious. These two lovebirds, startled out of a compromising position in the dark, were armed and beyond dangerous.

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” she squealed, blinded by a sudden flash and ducking down. As if supersoldier would miss.

“Oh kriff!” said the girl, somewhere above her head. “It’s fine, Rex. It’s just a woman.”

Uncurling a little, Hermione found the helmeted clone looking down at her. He’d dimmed his lights, but she couldn’t make out much besides the distinctive black visor.

“Let me take those, ma’am,” he said, all politeness behind the artificial mouth, severe and downcast.

He had a rich voice—strangely disembodied by the helmet—and that same clipped, offworld accent as the Guardsman who collected what was left of the morning’s caf af half-ten each day. Or was it a different soldier each time? She’d never asked his name, and swore she’d start tomorrow.

“It’s fine—” she began, as one of the sacks was gently tugged from her hand.

“You’re from Dex’s,” observed Ahsoka, jumping down from the compactor as Rex tested the hatches for an empty chute. “I hope we didn’t keep you late?”

With a glance, she directed the question at Rex. He didn’t answer, stuffing the silence and the compactor with a shove of the trashbag.

The awkwardness weighed on Hermione, so she lied. “No, um, a toddler made a mess.”

Rex returned with an outstretched hand for the other sack, but when Hermione lifted it for him, the bottom fell right out. A quarter-shift’s worth of garbage decanted itself onto the ground.

“Fek!” she cursed, bending down to gather the cleanest pieces first. Plasto: another casualty of war, now that the best of it was being used in clone armor. Then she silently cursed herself for the unkind thought.

A cool hand touched Hermione’s shoulder, lightly, and the sensation of standing too close to the edge of something vast sliced through her. For a moment, she feared the Jedi had read her mind.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got this,” said Ahsoka. She motioned for Hermione to step back.

Hermione did so, glad for Rex’s helmet lights now as she watched napkins, sauce tubes, meat wrappers, and all manner of diner detritus wobble and float upwards into the air. With a clap! of the Jedi’s outstretched hands, the pieces smashed together, crunching in on themselves like a super dense star. This ball of trash Ahsoka then sent flying into the compactor, with enough capital-F Force in its wake to slam the hatch closed behind it.

Hermione blinked a couple times. Few people actually witnessed a Jedi in action, and here she was, treated to a practical, yet magical, post-shift demonstration behind the diner.

Next to her, Rex gave a loud buzz from behind his helmet and signalled for a halt like a bolo-ball official. “Endex. Inappropriate use of the Force, Padawan Tano.”

Ahsoka made a gesture that would’ve stopped speeders, had any been around. “I’ll show you ‘inappropriate,’” she leered at Rex, then, recalling that they weren’t still alone, softened her features. “We can’t let you go home by yourself, Miss … ?”

“It’s Hermione. But really, I’m fine. The station is only a few blocks away.” She didn’t say it would be an hour or more before the next train. The place would still be half-lit, and she didn’t relish holding the oxygen between these two all the way home.

Ahsoka shook her head. “No way. Not in a blackout. Rex can escort you home.” She turned to the clone. “You take the bike. I’ll, uh, hop back to the Temple.”

Now Rex’s helmet really looked like it was frowning. To go from an intruder in their little rendezvous to a bogwing in the nest made Hermione want to sink into the ground. He stood there, askew and a little artificial, a plain white sign to indecision. He so palpably wanted to object, but if he wouldn’t—couldn’t?—counteract his superior girlfriend giving a strong suggestion, she’d do it for him.

“No. I wouldn’t dream of—”

“Soter,” Rex said suddenly, poking at his wristcomm.

“What about him?” asked Ahsoka.

“He’ll be out.”

“Oh, good idea,” Ahsoka nodded, turning to Hermione, while Rex’s helmet bobbed in some silent conversation. “You’ll like Sergeant Soter, he’s very genteel. Not sure about his passengers though.”

“He’s on his way.” Rex extended his arm in an after-you fashion, ready to get going. “Soter will see you home safely, ma’am. Wants to be a designated driver when he grows up.”

It sounded like she was about to be thrown into a cab full of drunk clones. That too seemed unlikely ten minutes ago. Genteel or no, her parents would be shocked.

“That’s ... very generous, thank you.”

“I’m Ahsoka, by the way,” the girl said as they walked towards the front of the diner. “I’ve been coming to Dex’s for years, but it’s been a while since was on Coruscant.”

“It’s a long way from the Jedi Temple to come for a meal.” That sounded accusatory, in the circumstances. “I mean, it’s so beautiful up there, I’d never leave.”

Ahsoka shrugged. “I’ve been on dry rats—sorry, army rations for what feels like half a cycle. And no one makes a nerf burger like you guys.”

Probably because no other establishment cared less for its food-safety rating and served up raw meat slapped between a bun with a shrug. “Dex will appreciate that.”

The pavement in front of the diner still pulsed with speeders and groundcars, but it wasn’t heaving, and Hermione was belatedly glad for the company. She had neither Togruta vision nor headlamps to slice through the enforced darkness, just puny human eyes that wouldn’t see anyone till they were right on top of her.

“Do you live far?” Ahsoka asked, weaving some more small talk as they waited.

Deep enough that her neighbors would probably shed tears of joy for some Jedi street-sweeping. “Thirty-two levels down, just off the Endion Tunnel,” she said, as if talking to a local, and Ahsoka nodded like one.

“It’s very kind of your sergeant to drive me,” Hermione repeated, as Rex ambled up with the idling speederbike. She couldn’t shake the odd feeling of being a massive inconvenience, when any other couple’s dilatory antics would’ve just made her cross.

“Our pleasure, ma’am. We like to do a good turn by civilians. Show the Guard we don’t just infil every now and then to organize piss-ups in their cantinas.” Rex dipped his helmet sideways, maybe in an exaggerated wink. Then he seemed to spot something on Ahsoka’s back. With a hesitant hand, he reached under the girl’s headtail and when Hermione saw it—a dress clasp, undone—she flushed and looked away. Stars, what had she interrupted?

Staring pointedly at tendrils of speeder lights, Hermione tried to absent herself from their moment. At last, a blinker indicated in their direction. The vehicle that pulled up was army, the Galactic Roundel and blue decals illuminated by Rex’s headlamps. Another fully-armored clone, presumably Sergeant Soter, jumped out, threw a brief salute at the two officers standing next to her—“Sirs”—and trotted around to the other side.

“Soter, ma’m,” he said, by way of introduction, before opening the passenger door expectantly. “I’m afraid you’ll have to sit up front with me.”

Rex stepped forward to peer into the speeder. “Zip. The di’kut,” he said, shaking his head at one of the two armored figures passed out in the backseat.

“And who’s this?” Ahsoka asked, pointing to the one missing his helmet, his face almost completely obscured by silver glitter and—Hermione’s eyes strained in the dark—blood?

“One Trooper Xero of the 327th, Moon Company,” said Soter. “Didn’t think they were still on Corrie.”

“They aren’t,” Rex sighed. “Clean him up, throw him to Sticky, and if he remembers how to count and stack blocks like a good cadet, he might not get slapped with an AWOL.”

Rex thumped the back of the speeder and turned to Ahsoka, who was already astride the bike, adjusting her goggles. With a dashing flick of his skirt-thing, Rex settled in behind her.

“Happy to take over PT tomorrow, sir. If required,” Soter said, all innocence, as Hermione buckled up.

“That won’t be necessary, sergeant,” said Rex. He gripped Ahsoka’s waist primly, like one might hold a teacup with lifted pinkies. “Carry on.”

“Sir.”

Ahsoka revved the bike’s engine. “Nice to meet you,” she said to Hermione with a bright smile.

“You too.” Some platitude about “coming back soon” tugged at the tip of Hermione’s tongue, but her mother’s old Corellian proverb about not speaking of the voyage home rang in her ears. So she just returned Ahsoka’s wave and watched the unusual couple drift into traffic, wishing them a more private conclusion to their evening.

Soter turned towards her, dimming the lights on his helmet, which bore the same blue accents as Rex’s, minus the tooka ears. “Now, ma’am, you could make me the luckiest man in the galaxy tonight—”

Hermione braced herself. These accelerated soldiers certainly lived in the fast lane. Maybe gentility in the Grand Army meant proposing to a girl before propositioning her.

“—if you tell me everything those two got up to.”

#rexsoka #rexsoka week #captain rex #ahsoka tano #clone troopers #age appropriate clone shenanigans #biscuit fic #sw ficlet

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geminicblue · 6 years ago

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20 Galaxies: Legend in the Sky Chapter 9

My usual note about this chapter:

For those of you who are not familiar with American football, Quarterhill is a fictional town that would be located in the Chicago metropolitan area. The Green Bay Packers and Chicago Bears are rival football teams.

For those of you that ARE familiar and are doing a double-take at Favre being mentioned, reminder that this story takes place in 1998.

The Ferrari exploded out of the tunnel and whipped sideways, skidded across a road striped with wide arrows, inches away from hurtling through a guardrail and off a cliff. Beyond, the blinding sun blazed over the ocean. The water glinted as it dropped out of sight, hundreds of yellow eyes melting in the incredible heat.

"Hurry up," Jayson said. "We gotta get home."

"Hold on," Randy barked. He threw the wheel to his left and pitched in his seat. He stretched to reach the gas pedal. "One more lap and Randy Fresnel is the winner of the Quarterhill 500!"

There was a squeal and a loud crunch from the game. Jayson groaned and smirked. "You'll have to sew Randy's hand back on before he can hold that trophy."

Randy yelled in frustration, startling a little girl playing Skee-ball behind him. "Vince!"

A broad hand appeared around the corner of the cabinet. "What?"

Randy stormed to the other side, where the opposing driver sat. Vince Tesla leaned casually against the backrest of his seat. His height and build made him look like a junior in high school, rather than the thirteen-year-old he was. His keen eyes gleamed mischievously in the dim arcade light. "I can't just let you take my high score."

"You only have so many high scores 'cause you cheat!" Randy jabbed a finger in Vince's face. "And you get to play free games!"

Vince brushed his hand away and jumped out of the chair. "That's loser talk. You gotta earn that place, short stack. Besides, my name looks nicer up there than yours." He tapped the screen, which was showing the high scores. "See it there? Doesn't it look great?"

"It'd be better without the Packer tribute," Randy growled.

Jayson laughed quietly. Vince was always looking for a reason to mention he was named after Vince Lombardi, for once, Randy had beat him to it. Vince, however, merely grinned.

Though this arcade was on Main Street, right in the middle of the tourist trap, and it was the high season, it was unusually crowded. Even more perplexing, Jayson noticed much of the crowd wore logos from Lakeside University, the community college in Vireo City. The majority of them were gathered around an old shooting game with a For Sale sign taped to the corner. The crowd was so thick Jayson couldn't tell who was playing. "What's going on?" he asked Vince.

"New game?" Randy said eagerly.

"No, we're trying to sell that one." Vince looked as perplexed as Jayson felt. He walked to the prize counter. "Hey Dad, what's going on?"

All the kids like Alan Tesla. The burly, deep-voiced owner of the Alley Arcade was rarely in a bad mood, and gave ticket and food discounts to the locals. A smile curved under his dusty mustache, he looked uncertain, but happy that a few more coins might go into the machines. He had a heavy Wisconsin accent that Vince only echoed in part. "Not sure. I asked around. They said that guy's the lead singer of some band."

"Who?" Vince pressed. "What's his name?"

"Shawn something. He's from Vireo City. I guess the band's getting real popular. I heard they were on Channel 6 the other day."

"Shawn Lanius?" Jayson and Vince exclaimed in unison.

Without waiting for a reply, the two rushed to the fringes of the crowd and tried to push their way through. "Wait, who?" Randy called. Despite not recognizing the name, he pushed as hard as either of them.

"Haven't you ever heard of the Shaddow Puppets?" Vince said.

Randy's expression soured. "Isn't that one of those sissy boy bands?"

"Not even close," Jayson said.

"They played at the big festival last year, remember?" Vince added. "Oh wait, sorry, your parents probably didn't let you stay up late enough to see them."

Randy shook a fist at him. Vince yawned. "Didn't you get beat up by Misty Elesti at recess?"

There was little room around Shawn himself, but Jayson picked him out of the crowd easily. He was on par in age with the crowd, with slick black hair and tan skin. He was taller than Jayson thought, and built in a way that was more imposing than his razor-thin figure should have allowed. He wore neat black jeans and a black collared shirt with a silver image of barbed wire across the chest. Jayson didn't know the game he was playing well enough to tell how he was doing, but Vince was nodding his head approvingly. Eventually the screen went red and the crowd groaned. "Continue?" popped up above a counter.

"You're pretty good at that game," Vince called. "It's for sale, you wanna buy it?"

Shawn barely glanced at him, but gave a lopsided grin as he put the light gun back in its holster. "You must be the owner's son."

If Vince was shocked about being recognized, he didn't show it. He merely gave a confident nod. Shawn answered the question before Jayson could ask. "They warned me about you. I see your name all over these machines. You taking over the arcade when your dad retires?"

Shawn had a slight accent Jayson couldn't recognize. He'd never noticed it when he'd heard Shaddow Puppets' music, and he'd heard it often. Ru had bought their CD at the festival, and their mother had gotten it signed once she learned Shawn and Jeremy Shaddow, the band's founder and lead guitar, were being interviewed at her station. It was one of the few bands he and Ru could agree on. Ru liked hard rock, which made up a good portion of Shaddow Puppets' songs, while Jayson normally liked hip-hop and rap.

"If I don't get into the NFL, I'll think about it," Vince said.

"Oh, so you're a football player, too?"

Jayson didn't like Shawn's tone. He spoke as if Vince was five years old. Randy butted in before Vince could reply, though. "Yeah, but get this. He doesn't even want to play for the right team. He's from Green Bay."

Some of the others in the crowd booed playfully. Jayson was not a football fan, but he recognized the logos. He picked out a few Chicago Bears decals amongst them. One of the girls near the back cheered. As usual, Vince was rather alone in this debate, and as usual, he showed no signs of intimidation. "Uh yeah, who was in the Super Bowl last year?" He cupped a hand to his ear. "How'd the Pack do this week? Oh yeah, Favre got those five measly touchdown passes. Just a team record. Guess that can't compare to the Bears getting stomped by Minnesota."

A pair of quarters glinted between Shawn's fingers. He gestured towards NFL Blitz, over by the wall. "C'mon, kid, let's see how good Green Bay is."

"All right!" Vince's eyes lit up. "It's about time I got a real challenge around here."

"Whatdya mean, a real challenge?" Randy shouted as Jayson dragged him outside.

The door squeaked shut. Randy pressed his face on the glass to get one more glare in at Vince. "Your mom's going to throw a fit if she finds out you were here," Jayson warned. "You're grounded, remember?"

"Who's gonna tell her, you?" Randy said.

"Mr. Tesla might -"

Jayson cut off as he nearly ran into someone standing at the mouth of the alley, fearful that it might be Mrs. Fresnel looking for her son. Mrs. Fresnel was wide, but not nearly as tall as the stranger in front of him, and Jayson was sure she didn't own a bright red hooded raincoat. The sun was perched behind the stranger's head, casting deep shadows into the void where their face would be.

The stranger suddenly spoke, what Jayson thought was one word. They pronounced it in a fluid, piercing way, as if it was an old outcast of the English language. Skaeya

"Did you say 'stay here'?" Randy asked, backing away. "I don't think so, dude."

The stranger's movements were completely soundless. Their coat didn't rustle, the one step they took towards the boys never shuffled or tapped against the concrete. The hair on the back of Jayson's neck bristled. This was what his mother always warned him about, those vague, dangerous strangers that he was supposed to take care around and never talk to. He wanted to go right back into the arcade, but he was frozen, his feet melded to the sidewalk. He sought the stranger's eyes in the darkness.

He found them and lost all thought. There was no fear left, just an inexplicable sense of awe.

The stranger turned and left.

Jayson's feet came unglued from the concrete. He immediately backed away from Main Street. "Who?" Randy started, stunned. "Who was that? My dad's right, this town is full of weirdos."

A glint caught Jayson's eye. He saw loops of thin silver chains near the foot of the garbage can by the arcade door. He went back and scooped the chains up, drawing out two pendants attached. The pendants glimmered so brightly in the evening haze they looked to have a light of their own. A ruby wolf and an emerald dragonfly.

"What's that?" Randy asked.

"Jewelry. They look like the stuff that comes out of Carmody's store." Jayson held the wolf up by the chain. There was something pleasant about the way the light struck it. "That guy might have been looking for them. We should go get him."

"Forget it!" Randy shuddered. "First of all, I say finders keepers. Second, I'm pretty sure that guy was serial killer or something."

"What, are you scared?" Jayson asked with a smirk.

Randy turned red. "No!" he barked, marching to the mouth of the alley. There was considerable relief in his voice when he said, "He's gone, anyway."

"It is kind of weird he had his hood up like that," Jayson said. "Let's ask Mr. Tesla if he knows who it is."

Mr. Tesla did not know. He seemed concerned, and offered to call their parents for a ride home, which Randy refused immediately and loudly. Mr. Tesla took the pendants and said he'd ask Carmody if they were his. The two boys left the alley in a hurry, more alert than they had ever been. Even so, neither one caught sight of Shawn as they left. His depthless eyes, sharp and icy, remained on the boys until they were out of sight.

First Chapter || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

#20 galaxies

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thong-in-the-twist · 7 years ago

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Uptown Girl 2/3

Summary: you are an uptown girl living in white bread world, while Jongdae is downtown man, sure that he is exactly what you are looking for, and he might be quite right.

1/3 2/3 3/3

“Lads.” Called Baekhyun as they walked down the street. They didn’t have anything to do so they strolled down the streets of Hollow – they were slowly moving away from simplest pick-pocketing. They grew up, younger boys took their place near markets and street vendors. Those young crafty fellows learned through trial and error, just like boys once used to.

Now Jongdae’s bunch was working – both legally and illegally, and if they were stealing – they did it with more benefits in mind. Shops, basements, apartments. Of course not in the Hollow, that was against their rules – schnook was a target, not a local lad. So they started taking the tram number two the other way as well. They took more jobs as blue collar workers in the Little City, half to earn money, half to do reconnaissance work.

But they couldn’t refrain from quick, small jobs like illegal fruit picking.

Just like now: Baekhyun was pointing to small apple tree, it’s branches hanging low, heavy with all the fruits. Boys didn’t need any other invitation. Minseok took few steps forward, while Junmyeon turned around and took few steps back. While boys were on the lookout, Baekhyun helped Jongdae jump over the face. Not like Jongdae needed that help, but it was a notch faster. Jongdae landed softly on the grass, squatting down – both to cushion his jump, and to give him a moment to look around. No one was in sight, so he straightened quickly and jogged over to the tree, hearing Baekhyun go on the other side behind him. Jongdae took of his duffel bag (the same one in which he brought oranges home those few years ago) and started stuffing it with apples. Baekhyun did the same on the other side of the tree.

The moment Jongdae’s bag was filled with fruits, he went to help Baekhyun. They were in no hurry, since they didn’t feel threatened. They made their way back to the fence leisurely, once again Baekhyun helping Jongdae over the fence. Jongdae dragged him in turn, and as Baekhyun’s feet touched the ground, Junmyeon joined them, and they continued walking down the street.

“Look at me, ma! Oi’m bonny, eh?” That was the first thing Jongdae heard when he entered the flat. He was bringing back apples and two bottles of milk, which he stole – more because he could than because he had to. Granny was sitting at the table in the kitchen, glasses which Jongdae got for her few year ago teetering on the very tip of her nose as she tried to mend Hyejin’s socks.

Or maybe Hyemi’s? Jongdae couldn’t keep up anymore.

“’owaya, granny?” Jongdae greeted her, leaving the bag on the table and kissing the top of grandma’s head. “Ma is in?” He asked, and not waiting for the answer, and he walked over to see his mother sitting on the old sunken couch. It was an unusual sight, Jongdae’s mother was always out and working, till her fingers were sore and bleeding.

That’s why girls were so excited.

Jongdae leaned against the doorframe (which didn’t have doors as long as Jongdae could remember). Girls were dancing in front of mom, showing off and trying to display all the things that changed during the time they couldn’t spend time with mother.

It was a heartwarming scene, and it brought smile to Jongdae’s face. His mother spotted him, and smiled at him, and he unglued his back from the wall, and walked over to kiss his mother on the cheek.

Only then did he realize that Hyemi was wearing blue ribbon on her head, and that was why she was trying to show it off to mother. Anger filled his gut immediately, because that was his ribbon.

“’emi! Where ye fend it!” He asked, turning to his younger singer. Hyejin immediately ran over to sit next to their mother. She was this shy, easily scared child. But Hyemi… Was definitely not.

She pursed her lips together, puffing her cheeks, already ready to pout.

“Waaat?” She asked, shaking her head, trying to look cute. Which usually worked on Jongdae. Usually.

“Where ye fend de ribbon?!” She blinked and she rose her hand to her head, where blue ribbon was tied in a small bow.

“In yer drawer.” She answered quietly.

“In me drawer!” Repeated Jongdae, stressing me. He outstretched his hand in clear demand. “Give it ter me!”

“Why! Yer don’t need it!” She countered, protectively taking step back.

“’tis me ting!”He stressed, not bucking, with his hand outstretched. He could see how Hyemi’s face was getting red, but he wouldn’t step down – not for that thing.

“Ma!” Blurted out Hyemi, running to mother, tears in the corners of her eyes.

“’tis only a ribbon, Jon’de.” Mother said in the soothing voice, bringing Hyemi closer. Girl looked at him, under mother’s arm – and in few hours it would make him laugh – the obvious manipulation on girl’s part, but now it annoyed him.

“Not for the fella!” Granny walked into the room, and she walked over to Hyemi, and outstretched her hand. Girl pouted, but she took it off, and handed to grandma without any word. She in turn passed it to Jongdae, who straightened it out, and folded neatly, and walked over to his drawer, feeling stares on his back. But he didn’t flinch and opened the drawer, and put the ribbon back on the handkerchief.

His heart swelled, but there was something bitter in the back of his throat. The day she gave him the handkerchief was the last time he saw her. Days turned into weeks, and those in months, and no matter how often he went back, she didn’t go out.

He could hear his mother murmur to his grandmother, asking what was the deal with the ribbon.

“Ask de fella.” Answered granny, and he never loved her more than in that moment.

“Jon’de.” He was about to call it a day, when his mother called him to the kitchen. He no longer slept with the girls in the same room. He left the small room for the girls, and he slept on the couch, while his mother and grandmother occupied the other small room.

He obediently went to the kitchen. His mother looked old and weary, and he wanted to ease her sufferings. She was rubbing her hands together, knuckles red and swollen.

“’oweya?” She asked, when he sat down. He shrugged and she smiled at him, raising her hand to pat his cheek. “Yer are a good fella. A good fella.”

Mother was rarely this sappy. It certainly made Jongdae nervous.

“Ma, everythin’ al’right?” He asked, and she bit her lip.

“Oi was fired, Jon’de.”

It shouldn’t be that surprising. And it really wasn’t. It didn’t change much, either. Either way for the last 7 years Jongdae was family’s main breadwinner. Mother’s salary was a nice addition, but they could do without it.

What changed was Jongdae’s take on his family’s situation. He made do with stealing and odd jobs, but granny was old, and ma wasn’t getting younger either. He didn’t want girls to go through what he had in order to survive.

And in his current situation he could only dream about supporting another person and hopefully the family of his own.

The solution was simple in its construction, but harder to pull-off. He needed a stable job. A career other than theft.

“Lads.” Spoke up Jongdae, while they rested on the wooden deck. They were sitting in the park, with legs in the pond. Baekhyun brought fishing rod with him, but they all knew it was more a prop than anything more. “If yer ‘ad to fend a job, what would it be?”

“Oi don’t nu.” Shrugged Minseok, but before Jongdae could snort at them he added. “Maybe musician?”

“Musician?” Repeated Baekhyun.

“Aye. Oi sometimes play me father accordion.” Baekhyun raised his eyebrows at him half mocking, half disbelieving. Minseok shrugged again, face redder than a moment ago.

“Soldier.” Mused Junmyeon, and Jongdae turned his head to the side.

“Wat?” He asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“Yer asked what job would Oi fend.” Answered Junmyeon defensively. “And Oi says soldier.”

As it turned out, Junmyeon’s answer was a very thoughtful one. Soldier was a career anyone could go for, even without higher education or particular skills. It paid well and it paid on time, and it was a stable job.

It was a good job.

It didn’t take Jongdae long before he found himself in front of the building where drafting board had its office. For the first time in years he didn’t notify his friends about this particular plan of his.

Truth be told he was both scared and embarrassed. He was a common petty thief, a Hollow boy, who didn’t attend any real school. Won’t they turn him away? And if they won’t – how he’ll manage?

But if meeting her again meant becoming an honest man first – Jongdae was up for it.

And that was the truth – of course he did think about supporting his family, but it was always backed up by the idea of one day supporting one more person and hopefully some more.

***

“Mommy, could I go with girls to see ballet tonight? They are playing Giselle and you know how I loved Kang Sujin in Le Corsaire.”

Your life did change. For better, that was sure. After you were formally introduced to the society during your Debutante Ball (where Jongin took you to) you found yourself in much warmer relations with your mother, and less strict than it used to be. Now you could leave house with a proper supervision (at least one male and female companion). What also changed was a number of suitors coming to see you, which your mother was delighted to see.

Much less delighted were your father and brother.

Speaking of Chanyeol, he went right into your father footsteps, as he started officer’s training school few months ago, and he started coming home proudly wearing nicely fitted military uniform.

Mother gushed over him to all her friends.

“And who would be accompanying you?” Asks your mother, looking up from the letter she is writing. “That lovely boy?”

You don’t bat an eye. You know who is she referring to. Out of the all your suitor she likes one best – Chanyeol’s friend, unnecessarily handsome Kim Jongin.

“Oh, no, Zhang Yixing.” You answer, and soft oh is your answer, which is quite improper – they way your mother shows her disappointment.

“Very well, you may go, but you’ll have to come back by dinner, your father is coming back home tonight, and he’ll be bringing general Choi and general Kim with him.”

“Yes, mommy.” You answer and leave the room, because you’ve got what you wanted. Your steps are light, now that you have something to wait for. In your room Boonyi has already left you proper clothes – dotted green circle dress with boat neck, petticoat, stockings and accessories like pearls and gloves.

You sit in front of your dressing table (the one your father presented you with after your Debutante Ball), and you check your face. You really don’t need any make-up, but you vainly want to look even better. You grab pencil to line your eye line and to darken your eyebrows a little bit.

Satisfied with the result you dress up, and now you can only wait, with your clutch already in your hand.

Finally you can hear the bell, and you hurry downstairs – so when butler turns around to call for you, you are already passing him to greet Yixing and girls: Yeri, Sodam and Yeram.

There is no denying Kang Sujin is best of the best. No one can match her grace and her emotions flowing through her gestures and her dance, and you do feel blessed for being able to witness that.

From the moment the spectacle ends, through your wait at the tram stop, and even in the tram itself you gush about her with your friends. Yixing is politely quiet, but when asked about his opinion he answers that he would not be able to call himself a man if he didn’t enjoy that.

You finally settle down a little when your tram reaches the bridge. Most of the cultural buildings in the city are located in Little City, so every time you go to theatre or opera you get to ride across the river, which is a feast in itself.

Much less so when you arrive in Hollow.

It’s another dimension. Buildings aren’t new and clean, and aren’t that pleasant to look at. It reminds you of times of war, and it’s a horrifying reminder. Also people look different – dirtier, with way worse quality of fabrics, colors more dull and dark, but also they look wearier.

But at the same time, you can see what you don’t have – freedom. You can see barefoot children running noisily on the street, playing in something you can’t grasp. You see teenagers under walls with their colorful bandannas and flatcaps and suspenders looking at the tram. They don’t look hurried or preoccupied with anything.

You have to admit that they look kind of cute, in this disheveled kind of way.

The journey through Hollow is lazy, but without any stops. Tram is going a little slower than usually, but it doesn’t stop, and you lazily look out the window, eyes jumping from one group of Hollow hooligans to another.

You won’t admit it, but you are looking for somebody.

You saw him few more times under your fence, but you couldn’t go out to him. And lately he stopped coming – which hurt you quite a lot.

You gave him a handkerchief!

You are subconsciously keeping other suitors at the distance, because of the boy you spoke once with. It is weird, and you understand it, but you cannot deny that it’s exactly what you are doing.

On the street you catch different outfit that you are accustomed to. You see a boy who instead of bandanna, flatcap and suspenders is wearing military uniform. It’s not the one your brother wears. Chanyeol wears clean, elegant uniform of an officer. This boy is wearing the simplest, but comfortable uniform of a private.

You smile. You’ve heard so many stories of horrors of living in Hollows, of hunger and poverty, and seeing one of these young boys seeking a better life for himself is heartwarming. You turn around to mention that to Yeri sitting next to you, when the boy on the street laughs, and turns his head to look at the tram, and you recognize that face.

Hair is different. Shorter. But it’s your paper boy, and you act without a single thought – just like you did those few months ago. You grab your clutch, and you stand up, pushing past girls and Yixing, who ask you alarmed what you are doing. You don’t answer, and you reach the open doors of the tram, and you grab the metal rod – which is there for that exact reason.

You can hear the murmur of the tram’s passengers, as they realize that uptown girl is about to get off in the Hollow. Adrenaline surges through your veins – mostly because you realize that the tram is not going to halt, as it usually does, and it’s slowly rolling away from the boy, and if you don’t act now, you will lose your chance.

So you jump.

The moment in the air is terrifying, and you lose your steps, and you have to trot forward until your minute heels grab the firm footing. You calm yourself down and straighten, fixing your gloves. You look around noticing that you are in the centre of attention of nearby Hollow boys.

It raises your adrenaline levels once more, and you turn back to where you last saw your paper boy.

“Oy! Lassy, lookin’ for some ‘andsum lad?” Calls one of them, and you localize him in the group. He winks at you, and your eyes flutter. That is… unusual.

“No, thank you.” You answer properly and they burst in laughter, which you leave without comment, deciding that you’d better find the boy quickly.

You turn around and walk back on tram’s tracks, realizing after few steps that Hollow boys are following you. Suddenly you regret your harsh decision, and you bring your clutch closer to you, and you speed up a little, your minute heels clicking on uneven pavement.

You see the military uniform, and your heart speeds up as well. The boy has his back to you, walking away with three other boys, and you feel how excitement comes back to you.

“Excuse me!” You call out, but they don’t react (but the group following you certainly does), so you try again, louder, while raising your hand. “Excuse me!”

One of the tree boys hears you, and curiously looks around. Seeing you he pats the boy next to him and points at you, which is rude. The other boy looks at you as well, eyebrows raised high, and he in turn pats military boy, as they finally stop.

The paper boy looks at his friend, and then around, and he recognizes you as soon as he sees you – which shows in his eyes. He immediately turns around and walks over to you, looking not at you, but at the boys following you.

“Lookin’ for trouble, lads?” He asks, and it sounds like a warning. You glance over your shoulder to see that they have backed off, which makes you see the military boy in quite different light. “Why are ye at ‘ere, lass?”

His hair might be shorter, but his eyes are shining, and his smile is rakish, and his speech as foreign as ever. But you decide that you should explain how comes you found yourself in the Hollow.

“I went to see ballet in Little City, and as I was traveling back, I saw you on the street, and I figured that it’s only right to greet you.” You say, smiling to the three boys that was accompanying the military boy, since you see them looking at you curiously. “Good afternoon.”

“’noon.” Answers one of them awkwardly, but they come closer.”Jon’de, ‘tis de uptown lass?”

“Jon’de?” You repeat quietly, pondering on how weird the name is, until you realize that’s probably Hollow’s pronunciation of Jongdae.”Jongdae. It’s a nice name.”

You are met with blank stares. Maybe they didn’t understand you?

“Aye,” says Jongdae, speaking to his friends. “’tis de uptown lass…”

He makes a pause and looks at you expectantly. Your etiquette is good enough to realize that it’s a moment, when you should supply your name. So you do, and you curtsy to the boys, realizing that there is no point in outstretching your hand to greet them.

They look at you blankly again, and you start to wonder, how they greet ladies in Hollow, when you hear your name.

It’s distressed Yixing, running down the street. You wave at him, and his relief is palpable, as he pushes past the boys who were standing at the distance since Jongdae warned them off. Yixing stops in front of you, coattails flapping at his legs as he does so. He looks really out of place with his ballet-worthy suit, and his neatly brushed hair, which he brushs back in place as soon as he stops.

“You shouldn’t have left the tram like that.” He scolds you softly, and you smile apologetically, acknowledging your fault. Yixing exhales, and finally looks around.

He notices Jongdae and boys staring at him.

“Oh, it’s your paper boy!” He exclaims suddenly, outstretching his arm to Jongdae, who reluctantly shakes it. “Nice to meet you, I’m Zhang Yixing.”

“Same.” Answers military boy.” Kim Jon’de.”

“Thank you for taking care of our miss, girls were worried sick.” Continues Yixing, completely disregarding weird looks he is getting. “Oh, and I see, you found a better job? Good for you, my friend.”

“Oh, yes!” You join in, when boy next to Jongdae snickers. “Congratulations on your signing up!”

Although when Yixing speaks to him, Jongdae seems gloomy, the moment he turns to you, you can see his eyes shining, and his lips pulling into a shy smile.

“Tanks.” He says, and in this moment some Hollow boy blindsides Yixing, and Jongdae immediately grabs fellow’s wrist. You jump back surprised, only to see Jongdae take out of boy’s fingers Yixing’s pocket watch. “Lad, yer shouldn’t knuck from me friend.”

When saying friend Jongdae’s eyes flash to you and to Yixing. The would-be thief yanks his hand back, looking sullen. He spits under Jongdae’s feet, which you find extremely disgusting.

“Oi sees no friends, only schnooks.” Counters boy, and one of Jongdae’s friends hits him in the back of his head, with an open hand. You freeze.

“Watch it, lad.” Warns him Jongdae’s friend, and you realize that both you and Yixing are watching the situation in disbelief. Jongdae just caught a boy trying to steal from Yixing, and yet they all behave as if they were just scolding younger brother, instead of calling for police.

“We– we should go.” Yixing’s voice is weak. Jongdae nods and hands him his watch.

“Aye. ‘tis a fierce place for someone loike yer lots.” He says and points to railroads with his chin.

“Thank you,” says Yixing, offering you his arm, and you take it, although you are still looking at Jongdae.

“Naw menshun it.” Jongdae shrugs, and you smile, remembering how you said that when you first talked. You pat Yixing’s arm, quite proud that you are able to translate.

“Jongdae says not to mention it.” Yixing laughs, patting your fingers on his arm.

“Ah, look at you, translating Hollow’s speech.”

***

Jongdae walked them back to the corner of the street. He explained that on the corners tram has to slower down even more, so it would be the easiest place for the girl to get on it. He wasn’t sure if they understood him, because whenever he spoke they were both looking at him with blank faces.

He waited with them till tram came, for two different reasons. One was because he was asked to. The fellow, Zhang Yixing said that it would be improper for him to be alone with the girl, which was just nuts. The second reason – he was simply unable to leave her side.

Even with her hand on Yixing’s arm (oh how much Jongdae wished it was his arm), she focused on him, chatting excitedly. He understood the words she was using, but stringed together they had no meaning in his mind, but nonetheless he enjoyed listening to her.

And he quickly found out how annoyed he was when Yixing spoke something from the side, and she would turn around and answer it and laugh. He couldn’t stand the moments she wasn’t focusing on him.

But the most furious he was, when Yixing notified her of her smudged makeup, at which she gasped and fished for little hand mirror hidden in her clutch, and Yixing offered her his handkerchief. It was done so effortlessly, that Jongdae nearly ripped the thing out of her hand. He wished again for it to be his handkerchief, the one she decorated herself.

When the tram came, once again he was left at the sidelines, when Yixing grabbed her sides giving her a leg-up. She giggled as she found herself in the air, grabbing the awaiting rod, and she quickly made room for Yixing to follow her. Jongdae stood on the pavement, hoping to at least once get his hands on her waist as effortlessly as Yixing did.

It just looked manly. And caring. It was something he never saw here. Of course, they were really protective of Hollow girls, of their sisters and mothers – but their care wasn’t as gentleman-like.

But he met her, and she congratulated him on becoming a soldier – and although it was hard, suddenly his heart was full of ardor. And he got her name, and he got to hear her say his name, sounding so differently in her mouth. In her mouth the name belonged to a gallant hero, not a common chap.

And of course he got to show off, how quick and dexterous he was by catching the thief, and how soft-hearted he was for not harming the boy, which he should have done. Which he would have done if she wasn’t looking at him.

And finally – his friends saw her, and saw that she came to him herself. Finally his one-side interest didn’t look as one-sided anymore.

It was a good day.

Although the thought of Yixing was making him uneasy. Who he was for her?

***

When you come back home you are late. Few minutes tops, but butler leads you straight to the official dining room, where your parents and brother are already seated, with general Choi and Kim, with their families: wifes, and sons – Choi Siwon, Choi Minho, and Kim Jongin.

You couldn’t be less surprised to see Jongin standing up to help you sit down – of course Jongin is your companion for the dinner, your mother wouldn’t want it any other way. On your other side Siwon is seated and although he is also a handsome bachelor, he is a few years too old for you. Minho is in the right age, that’s why he wouldn’t sit next to you. Not with Jongin around.

You sit down elegantly, wondering if Jongdae would help you with your chair if it came to that. Hollow culture is as foreign as its language.

But you certainly enjoyed how he looked in his uniform. And how he made those boys following you go away. There is something undeniably manly about Jongdae, and you really fancy that.

Dinner is going just like those engagement usually go. Your family cook is excellent, so food is exquisite, which guests don’t really stop commenting about. Your father talks with other two generals, while your mother entertains their wives. Jongin is entertaining you, although it should be the other way around. But since he is the suitor, no one makes note of that transgression. He is excited to hear about the play you saw, and he goes into deep discussion about ballet schools in the city, which is enjoyable albeit quite… usual. The same with his invitation to see horse races.

“You should take her to see the base and not horses!” Calls general Choi, when he hears Jongin’s invitation. It’s joke that is meant as a jab – directed at general Kim, who furrows his eyebrows. Jongin is his only son, among 3 daughters, an only son who refuses to sign up for the army. On the other hand general Choi has two sons, both in military, which is the only career admired in your circles.

But you are the root of his bitterness. It’s not modest to phrase it like that, but it’s truth no one can deny. It’s not even about your looks, but being pretty is not a disadvantage either. You are the only daughter to four star general – the highest military rank in times of peace, and during war your father was the last general field marshal, the highest rank in the military in times of war.

It was under your father’s orders that the enemy was brought down, and peace was brought back to your nation. Which means you are the greatest prize young man could wish for.

And in mind of many, that honor should be reserved only for an heir of noble military tradition (so only for a fellow who served in military like did both of general Choi’ sons).

But your mother likes Jongin, and that is the end of the story.

Your father laughs, his eyes glancing at you with love from under his bushy eyebrows.

“Oh, my daughter is not particularly fond of men in uniforms. Her poor father included.” The sentence is followed with theatrical sigh and you exhale through your nose, amused.

“It’s not true, papa!”

“Is it, now? Does it mean that you’ll greet me even if I was wearing my uniform?”

You scrunch your nose.

“But, papa, you are wearing your uniform even now!”

“And you did greeted me!” The exclamation is greeted with scattered laughs, and you shake your head at your father. Your relationship is better with father than with mother (while for Chanyeol is the other way around). You are sometimes tired of him treating you like a little girl, but when you told him that, he just exhaled wearily, and asked you to just let him. That it was calming him, and it served him as a reminder why had he done all the things he had to do during the war.

It was your nan, who explained you that even now, eight years after the war, your father was working everyday to keep your country and you safe. That he had to shoulder the burden of the crimes against humanity he committed while at war. You sputtered back then – your father did not commit any crimes! He was a hero!

But now you understood that he committed the greatest sin of them all – he played God. He decided who was to live and who was to die, as easily as one is sacrificing pawns on the chess board. That is the price of officer rank.

“But, to tell you the truth papa, I’m finding myself getting quite fond of military uniforms.” You don’t know why you decide to say that. The words just leave your mouth, without any conscious thought. The effect the words have on the company is significant. General Choi straightens up, while general Kim sends his son a gloomy glance. Your mother is also not pleased (so is Jongin), while both Chanyeol and your father are simply thrilled.

“Is that so?” Asks your father, clasping his hands with a loud clap. “Son, you should take my lovely daughter to visit the base! We should show her the finest of our force!”

You find yourself laughing at Chanyeols enthusiastic agreement.

What they don’t know is that your change of heart can be attributed to one Hollow hooligan.

***

“Ma! Ma! Jon’de’s back!” It was the best greeting Jongdae could be wishing for. Hyejin was the first to see him in the front doors and she started calling for mother. Now that he lived in the army barracks he actually got to see his girls (so twins, mother and grandmother) only once a month for few days.

The same with his bunch. Both his family and his friends took it hard in the beginning, but they grew accustomed. In the beginning they couldn’t understand – what was wrong with petty criminal lifestyle? Why work so hard for so little?

But when Jongdae came back home after the first month, exhausted to the bone, but with more bills in his pocket than he ever legally obtained, mocking voices lost their strength. Along with wages, he brought back some of the rations he got in the army. Cigarettes he presented to his friends, and fabrics he gave to his mother so she could sew new clothes for girls.

It was ajob way harder than stealing or odd-jobs. It wasn’t as exciting and he really missed the thrill of action, but he knew that every month he was bringing back enough money to support his family (and he could even save some – little but still), and if something were to happen to him, the army would take care of his family.

That’s how military took care of their own.

He wasn’t regretting his decision, not one bit.

But after hearing her congratulate him – he started feeling glad he signed up for it.

***

“Miss, your father is expecting you for lunch at the base today.” You don’t react even though you heard Boonyi’s reminder. You know mother had sent her to do so. It is a blunt sign of her not being happy. She always sends servants as messengers when she is displeased with the recipient of the message.

And the very content of the message is a root of her mood – she doesn’t want you to go to the base. In her own words: nothing good dwelled there, place filled to the brim with uncivilized privates. To which your father softly replied that he also dwelled there.

The stare he got in return was ice cold.

“Call the car.” You think about adding please at the end – but it would only make Boonyi uncomfortable so you don’t. Because you are going to the base, you got a special permit to go by car, which excited you nearly as much as your visit. Your father had one car, your brother had one, and your family owned one more, the limo type car, for when your mother wanted to travel somewhere or when whole family was expected to travel together.

Which meant you’ll be riding the burgundy limo, which you simply loved. You were sometimes embarrassed about how proud you are of that car, but it is the newest, the most luxurious car that you saw in your life, with its suede seats and metallic lights.

Chauffer opens the doors for you, and you feel fancy with your navy pencil dress and white blouse fitted at the waist, and new pill box hat matching the skirt with nylon net that you bought for this exact occasion. Neckerchief complements the outfit.

The base is this enormous plot of land north from the Hollow, but just like it, trapped between Uptown and river. It looks quite menacing from the outside, with its barbed fence and lookout post, from which you can see barrels.

The car comes to the stop in front of barrier, and chauffer presents his papers, to which reading them soldier, jumps to salute.

You ignored him, because the barrier is opening, and before your eyes you can see the base.

It is vast. You see training grounds, and military vehicles, and barracks, and soldiers. Running in synch or marching, or whatever else they sre doing. It seems like they all had their purpose, and no one is walking alone.

At the end of the driveway Chanyeol awaits you, and he is the one to open the doors for you. He offers you hand, and you take it, because your heels might be a little higher than usual.

“Welcome to Camp Hollow!” He greets you brightly, moving your hand to his arm. “I was ordered by four-star general Park to be miss’ guide today, as he is still engaged elsewhere.”

“And shouldn’t my brother be also engaged somewhere else?” You tease softly, and Chanyeol just smiles, to whisper conspiratorially:

“I do it only to be seen with beautiful girl at my side.”

“I’m your sister.” You say with a disgusted note in your voice, and Chanyeol only laughs.

“It will still bring me jealousy and respect.”

You shake your head, and you don’t press further. Chanyeol leads you slowly through the buildings, explaining what you see, and often joking that he cannot tell you more, because it’s a military secret.

Which, you suspect, is more often true than not.

Most of the passing soldiers stop to salute Chanyeol, who only nods, as he is not wearing his hat, and you are still at his arm. You can see curious and appreciative stares being send your way, and suddenly you understand what your brother meant earlier.

And the vain beast in you is purring at every single stare.

“Would you like to see the training grounds? It seems like father is still at the meeting.” You’ve reached your father’s office, and through glass you can see silhouettes of people inside. You shrug, but you are not delighted with the idea. Sun is high on the sky, and it’s hot, and from what you saw a moment earlier there is not a lot of shadow.

But Chanyeol is not as clueless as one might think, and while walking out of the building he grabs big black umbrella. It’s not perfect, but that’ll do. At least you’ll be protected from heat and sunburn.

Outside you can see working out soldiers – always in groups. If you see one running, you can be sure at least 20 will follow. Chanyeol shows you section after section, but you realize that you are as interesting to all the men as the training grounds are for you. Probably even more.

On your way back, you see another group of soldiers, doing push-ups. You don’t really focus on them, only looking over when you are less than ten meters away. They have just finished, and they stand up, and you gasp, immediately turning away, blushing.

There may be thirty of them, more-or-less, but what you didn’t see from the distance was the fact that they are all shirtless. You are quite sure you’ve never seen naked chest of a man before. And if you did, it wasn’t as impressive as those you saw here – muscled and shining with sweat and dirt in strong sunlight.

“Boys! Will you dress up – you’ve just shocked the young miss over there!” You hear behind your back, and there is manly laughter behind you.

“But serge! Lass seems ter be enjoyin’ it!” The speech is so familiar that you instinctively look back, which is immediately noted and greeted with jolly laughter of the privates. But sure enough, you see Jongdae with cheeky half-smile, chest still naked, using the top of his uniform to wipe the sweat of his nape.

The blush you produced a second ago is nothing compared with raging red that appears on your face now.

Jongdae winks at you.

“Private!” The sudden yell surprises you – it’s Chanyeol, who pushes the handle of the umbrella into your hand, and walks over to Jongdae, who immediately stands at attention.

“Aye, Lieutenant Pa’k, sir!” You bite your lip, torn. You want to smile, because even if the form is correct, the thick accent makes Jongdae sound like a pirate. And while at attention he is straightened, and looks good, but it’s not proper to look. And you feel like Chanyeol is going to scold him pretty badly.

“Chanyeol…” You call quietly, embarrassed. But he ignores you.

“Did you just wink at general’s Park daughter?”

“Oi think ‘tis exactly what Oi jist did, lieutenant Pa’k, sir!” You can feel the laughter bubbling in your gut, and although Jongdae is looking straight ahead as he should, you can feel how amused he is.

“And what gives you a right to do that, private?!” Chanyeol is fuming, and you shuffle on your legs, feeling guilty.

“Lass was starin’ at me muscles, lieutenant Pa’k, sir!” He answers properly, and then his eyes slide to you for a moment. “So Oi thought Oi would give ‘er a bonus.”

You snort.

Audibly.

Chanyeol looks around his shoulder at you, furious, and you school your face, for the first time in your life seeing him this irked.

“You think it’s funny?” Growls Chanyeol, turning back slowly. “Give me fifty!”

There is a small smile dancing on Jongdae’s lips, as he slowly goes down on all four, making a show of it. You cannot look away, feeling how your cheeks burn. Chanyeol is muttering something about bloody Hollowers not knowing their place, as Jongdae does his fifty push-ups, counting them out loud.

By the time he’s finished the veins on his arms and neck pop-out, and although he tried to look unfazed, you can see how red his face is, and how his chest heaves when he stands up again (you are, but you shouldn’t be, swooning).

Chanyeol gives him a second before he comes closer, grabbing his neck, and slurring just in front of his face.

“I dare you, you filthy brethren, to even look at my sister, just look at her and I will make your life a living hell, do you understand me, private?”

“Aye, lieutenant Pa’k, sir!” Calls properly Jongdae, spitting in Chanyeol’s face in the process. You have to stifle a gasp, because that it’s just a deathwish.

Which also sees the drill sergeant, who immediately sends the group to do laps.

Chanyeol is shaking with fury when he walks back to you, and he jumps away, when you try to soothe him with your hand on his back.

Even though Chanyeol has higher rank, you cannot help, but think that Hollow boy outranked him there.

***

For this little spectacle Jongdae got his unit additional thirty laps, but he didn’t care. Of course soldiers were disgruntled, but they admired the balls Jongdae had to had to pull off such a stunt. But considering his thieving career (about which no one had no idea), that was really nothing.

He only made one mistake – he miscalculated his words. His adrenaline jumped when he saw her in the base, because what were the chances? And, on top of that, he saw her with another man, this time with lieutenant Park Chanyeol, and he wanted to embarrass the man, to look better in her eyes.

Which seemed like a great idea at the time – because how could he know that lieutenant is her brother? But now not only did he made an enemy out of her brother, there was also a chance that his father (her father!) would follow the suit.

Which, he had to admit, scared him to the bone.

But the red tint on her cheeks, and face brightening with laughter because of something he did, was worth every enemy in the world.

So was her silhouette in that skirt.

As they ran for their laps, he kept looking over his shoulder on her slowly walking away, with fuming lieutenant at her side, and he saw that she kept looking back as well.

The private that was running next to him, looked back as well.

“Bloody hell, is she really general’s daughter?” Asked the fellow, and Jongdae smiled at him.

“Naw, dat, me fella, is me future lass.”

#jongdae imagine #jongdae scenarios #jongdae imagines #jongdae scenario #Jongdae #chen scenario #chen scenarios #chen imagine #chen imagines #chen #exo scenarios #exo scenario #exo imagine #exo imagines #exo

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granddaughterogg · 5 years ago

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Hey not sure if you did this before but... How would the horsemen react to their s/o having the flu. (I'm sick and crave affection) 🤒🤒🤒

Sorry that answering to this one took me so long! You’re probably all better by now.

But anyway:

You woke up one grey autumn morning and even before you’ve unglued your eyelids - everything was terrible. Your head was throbbing with a dull ache. Your bones felt as if filled with lead. You opened your eyes, made the heroic attempt to sit up - and groaned when your whole body spasmed with a violent shiver.

“Oh, for fucks’ sake”, you mumbled and then called out…

1. “War!…”

Your voice sounded ridiculous - nasal, scratchy and weak, as if someone has stuffed damp cotton wool inside your sinuses. That confirmed your grim suspicions.

But he heard you anyway. The whole house trembled with the reverb of the Red Rider’s heavy steps. He stomped into your shared bedroom, filling it completely with that transatlantic frame of his. You noticed that War had already put on his battle gear. It made him even chunkier.

“What’s wrong?” He fell close to you, his body taut, his head low, lightning blue eyes scanning the room. Always on the lookout for enemies, that one. Always ready to protect you.

But this enemy has attacked from the inside.

“War…” you groaned, putting one hand on his iron arm. It was pleasantly cold to the touch. And you were burning.

“No one’s here, baby. I’m just sick.”

“Oh.” The Big Guy relaxed from his battle stance and looked you in the eyes, those wide silver eyebrows scrunching in worry. “Is it…your monthly affliction?”

This guy grew up with a sister, yet he was still such a Victorian when it came to phrasing those things. You would probably laugh if you didn’t feel so weak.

“No, War. But I’m hurting all over and I’m pretty sure I have a fever. I feel bad asking you this since you’re all dressed up for work already…but could you be a darling and get me some Tylenol? And maybe Vitamin C as well?

“My mission can wait”, War stated, making your heart aflutter. “Are you sure that those concoctions will suffice though? What else do you require?”

You scratched your head.

“Hot tea, I guess? A whole jug of it would be nice. Squeeze a lemon in it, will you? Just leave the peel outside…if you can.”

“I shall do my utmost”, said your boyfriend solemnly (you fought the urge to giggle again) and left the room.

2. “Strife!”

It was a weak cry. He obviously didn’t hear it. So you tried again.

“Strife!”

Still nothing. What was that giant doofus doing at such an ungodly hour anyway? He should be lying next to you, snoring like a woolly mammoth.

“STRIFE!!! GET YER ASS HERE, PRONTO!”

That worked. You’ve hear some penetrating, metallic noise coming from inside the house. What followed was a yelp, than a shuffle of feet - and some muffled curses.

He stuck his bed head through the doorframe.Technically speaking, it’s always been a bed head. Gravity happened to other heads of hair. Strife’s was just…defiantly spiky.

“You awake, babe?”

“Nope. I’m hollering your name in my sleep”, you snorted.

He flashed you a toothy grin. “Aww. How romantic!”

“Please come back to the trite reality, Strife. I really need you to.”

“No worries, pumpkin. Your screaming made me drop Redemption on my foot! And I was really getting somewhere with that improvement, too - “

“Earth to the Horseman”, you sighed. “I am ill, Strife. And I feel like shit.”

His whole face changed in a heartbeat.

“Oh, babe.” Suddenly Strife was all up in your grill, the revolver forgotten on the floor behind him, wide black eyebrows pulled together, his large fingers framing your face. Which was hot.

“Oh, bubbles. You’re burnin’.” Strife’s touched your forehead a few times, just to be sure - and left a generous amount of gun grease behind. “You’re burnin’! Is this something humans do?”

“Well, we’re not supposed to…” you murmured.

His yellow eyes went round with panic. “Will you die?”

“What?”

“Please don’t die on me!”

You stifled a long, hearty sigh.

“I won’t kick the bucket that easily. But I need you to bring me tea and some meds. And stop being such a drama llama. It’s not helping.”

He did. And after that he went under the duvet and enclosed you in a firm embrace, refusing to let go until you get better. The fever made your head swirl; you were sleepy. Your consciousness drifted away. The whole world was just Strife’s earthy smell, mixed with the tinge of gun oil and then nothingness.

3. “Death!…”

“There’s no need for making noise”, a gravelly voice observed. “I am right here.”

“Death…” Your head snapped to the left and indeed, there he was. Sat cross-legged on the floor next to the window. A streak of dim morning light glimmered in his tar black hair, bringing out the purple undertones. He was sharpening one of his smaller scythes. His large hand swiftly moved up and down its blade, producing a tiny, piercing grind. You’d probably hear it earlier if your ears weren’t so clogged.

“Yes?” His voice was as level as his movements. It soothed you, this steadiness.

Death can take care of this. Take care of you.

“I am sick, D. Down with some bloody flu. My whole body aches.”

His face darted upwards; two blazing eyes met yours and then slid along your whole frame. There was nothing lecherous about it. Not this time. He simply assessed your state. Took it all in; the bleary gaze, the dark circles under your eyes, your unnatural paleness.

He silently put the weapon away. Stood up, leaned over you and cautiously swiped one damp streak of hair away from your sweaty face.

If two years ago someone told you that you’ll consider the literal Grim Reaper a comfort-inducing sight, you’d ask them if they’ve hit their heads.

But so much has happened during those two years. Like the whole Apocalypse.

“So it seems”, he said. “Which is unfortunate. What do you need me to do?”

You told him. You swallowed some pills (unlike Strife, D didn’t need to be instructed twice about where they’re kept), you had a cup of intensely lemony tea with ginger and some acacia honey, which he threw in in for good measure - and then you flopped onto the bedsheets.

“Imma gonna lie back down now…” you mumbled, your eyes already closing on their own.

Death sat close, his broad back pressed into the side of the bed, and reached for his scythe.

“Rest as long as you need to. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Death?…”

“Yes?”

“Could you…read me aloud for a while, maybe? I really like listening to your voice, you know…” Your own was hoarse, girly and helpless. Pathetic. It’s hard to sound like a sultry vixen when your nose is full. But your Horseman didn’t seem to care.

His siblings went back home some time later and were taken aback by this unusual sight. You lying flat, transformed into an ailing burrito - and the Reaper on the floor with a small, old, worn-out book in his hand. His deep, raspy timbre sounded loud and clear, weaving the tale.

“One morning - it was the morning that Moomintroll’s pappa finished building a bridge over the river - the little animal Sniff made a discovery. (There were still plenty of things left to discover for them in the valley. he was wondering in the forest when he suddenly noticed a path he had never seen before winding mysteriously into the green shadows. Sniff was spellbound and stood gazing at it for several minutes. It’s funny about paths and rivers, he mused. You see them go by, and suddenly you feel upset and want to be somewhere else - wherever the path or the river is going, perhaps.”

War was the first to put a finger on his lips and stalk closer, but his siblings followed suit. They all sat around, enthralled by the voice.

#ask answered #darksiders #darksiders war #darksiders strife #darksiders death #couldn't be bothered to write one for fury tbh #i like her #but I'm just really straight y'all LOL #ask me anything!

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bloomsoftly · 7 years ago

Text

can’t get you (out of my head)

a thank you/birthday fic for @phoenix-173. happy birthday, lady! ❤️❤️❤️

pairing: darcy/bucky (wintershock) rating: g (mild cursing) word count: 6041

(a million thanks to @ragwitch for her mad beta skills. xoxo)

The twins met her at the front door, which wasn’t particularly unusual. When she peered closer at their little faces, however, she could see that Wanda’s eyes were still red from her tears, and her cheeks were all ruddy. She clung to Darcy’s legs, not even waiting for her to drop her backpack by the door. Pietro was hugging himself, eyes on the floor. “Hi, guys,” she greeted, reaching out to Pietro with a cautious hand. Most of the time he loved to cuddle with her, but on bad days he tended to need a little extra space. When he folded himself along her hip without hesitation, she breathed a silent sigh of relief. “Is everything okay?” Pietro nodded against her hip, but didn’t speak. For once, it was Wanda who took the lead. She pressed herself along Darcy’s other side and mumbled into her hip, “Can we go to the park, Darce?” Above their heads, face tilted to the ceiling so they couldn’t see her, Darcy closed her eyes in worry. She hummed noncommittally. “Where’s Miss Ella?” Their foster mom should know what was going on, at the very least. At her question, both grips tightened against her clothes, and she had to gently pry them loose. That was one question answered. They stayed behind as she walked down the entryway, two tiny, forlorn figures in the cold light of a fall afternoon. Ellen was bracing her cell phone between her shoulder and her cheek when Darcy walked into the kitchen. She turned slightly at the sound of shoes scuffing against the tile, smiling absently in Darcy’s general direction. “Hold on a second, Marsha.” Cupping her hand over the receiver, she said, “Hey, Darce. Can you take the twins to the park or something? They've been driving me crazy ever since they got home.” She didn't wait for an answer before turning back around. “Sorry, girl. No, not the little ones. That was the teenager. No, I know, the joys of parenting—” On that note, Darcy decided it was best if she went ahead and left. Sighing a little, she turned back the way she’d come. “Sure. I'll take the kids to the park.” She didn’t wait for the older woman to respond; it would be a waste of effort, anyway. Luckily, the kids lost some of their anxiety as they walked down the quiet streets. Wanda even skipped a little as she tried to keep up with Darcy’s stride. Her brother was still a little clingier than usual, although there was a faint smile on his face by the time they actually got to the park. As was their routine, they headed straight for the swings. She'd come here often enough with them that they'd all worked out a system. They might only be seven years old, but the twins had a very keen eye for equality and proportions, and wouldn't hesitate to let Darcy know if she was pushing one of them a little too often. Pietro got bored faster than his sister, and pretty soon he was zipping around the perimeter of the playground, arms stretched wide and making zooming airplane noises. Darcy watched him from the corner of one eye as she pushed Wanda on the swing. Checking to make sure the little girl was still entertained, she tried to broach the sore subject from earlier. “Wanda…do you wanna tell me what happened earlier that upset Piet and made you cry?” A faint sniffle drifted up from the little girl’s general direction, but she didn't look up at Darcy. “Not really.” Which meant that there was no way she was going to tell her anything. If Pietro was the daring, reckless twin, Wanda made up for it with her stubbornness.

“Alright.” She huffed a resigned laugh and decided to try again—with the other twin—later. Speaking of which, Pietro zoomed past them, deeper into the park. “What's that?” he yelled, taking off at a sprint. Muffling a curse, Darcy plucked Wanda from the swing and they took off after him. The little girl giggled as they ran, laughter echoing through the empty air. “Piet, what are you doing? You're not supposed to run off like that! Oh—” She came to a screeching halt, realizing exactly what her little brother had gotten himself into. He was staring up at the bemused, sweaty form of Bucky Barnes, the running back on her school’s football team. He was breathing hard, propped up against a tire— the kind that professional football players used in the movies. She stared like an idiot, completely dumbstruck. Bucky stared back, equally silent. A soft clearing of the throat had Darcy turning around. “Hey, Darcy.” “Steve!” She spun with a relieved smile, glad that her tongue had finally come unglued from the roof of her mouth. “How are you?” “I'm good,” he replied with a gently mocking grin. “Those are odd clothes to be wearing for a run through the park.” Looking down at her skinny jeans and chunky sweater, Darcy huffed. At the reminder, she turned to her little brother. “Piet, you know you can't go running off like that.” The boy scuffed his shoe against the grass and scowled. Sensing an oncoming tantrum, Wanda abandoned ship and headed straight for Steve, climbing up onto the bench next to him to peer over his shoulder. Bemused, he tilted his notebook so that she could see whatever he'd been drawing before they’d rudely interrupted. The sweet, considerate action earned him a grin and a pat on the cheek from Wanda, and Darcy had to stifle a smile. She turned back to Pietro and Bucky, only to find them in a strange kind of standoff. Bucky looked amused, thankfully, while Pietro stared up at him with a strange mix of defiance and awe. As Darcy stepped closer, Bucky’s eyes darted to her. “I'm sorry we interrupted your workout, Bucky,” she said, ignoring the way his eyes widened at her use of his name. Had he thought that she didn't know who he was? Because if so, that was ridiculous.

(read more link here)

“No, that’s okay,” he replied with a grin. It was a little dorky, and she was embarrassed that her heart raced at the sight of it. After a year and a half, she was supposed to be over this stupid crush—she’d never even talked to him before. He glanced away before she could figure out what to say next, back toward Pietro. With a friendly smile, he leaned down so that he was closer to the little boy’s level. “Hi, there. I’m Bucky.” Pietro’s frown was mulish, and again Darcy wondered what had happened at school. He wasn’t usually this hostile, not even to strangers. Huffing, he rolled his eyes. “I know. Darcy said your name like five seconds ago. Are you deaf or something?” “Pietro!” Darcy stared at him, aghast. He flinched away from her angry stare, but Bucky drew the boy’s attention back to him with a mild laugh. “Yeah, I guess she did, didn’t she? I was just trying to be polite. Your name is Pietro?” Ducking his chin, the little boy nodded cautiously. The older boy squatted down to bring himself to Pietro’s level. Worried that another rude comment was about to be made, Darcy hovered close by. She tried not to get distracted by the way the dry, cool sweat was causing goosebumps to break out over Bucky’s naked torso, but it was tough.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Pietro.” He stuck out a hand between them, waiting patiently as the younger boy eyed him up and down. Eventually, Pietro stuck his hand out to shake.

“Maybe we should let Bucky get back to his—” she trailed off, not sure what to call it, but the boy in question shot her a quick grin and shook his head immediately. “No, it’s okay. I needed a break anyway.” His attention immediately drifted back to Pietro, leaving her to awkwardly stand there. Deciding that she didn’t need to referee their bonding time, Darcy turned to head toward Wanda and Steve. The little girl was watching him as he sketched, tongue stuck out in concentration as if she was the one with the pencil pressed to the page. Other than a glance in her direction every now and then, Steve ignored the intrusion. A slight grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, though, so at least she wasn’t being a total nuisance. As Darcy plopped down on the bench, Wanda abandoned her observation post and came around to sit next to her. Steve’s eyes darted up from his drawing, but the little girl was completely focused on Bucky and her brother. Trust gained, Pietro had moved on to quizzing Bucky about his exercises, while the teenager bore his curiosity with grace.

“He got his name right,” Wanda said, glancing up at Darcy to make sure she'd heard.

She had, although she had no idea why that was important.

“What?” With a tiny huff, Wanda slid across the bench until she was halfway in the older girl’s lap. Rolling her eyes, Darcy heaved her up until Wanda was fully settled across her legs; even after several years with her; the twins had trouble asking for what they wanted outright. Leaning against her older sister, content to settle in one place for the moment, Wanda repeated her simple statement.

“He got Pietro’s name right.” There was a weight of importance to her words that Darcy didn't understand—until all of a sudden the lightbulb went off and she understood what Wanda was trying to tell her. Squeezing the young girl gently, she murmured, “Have the other kids been giving Piet a hard time?” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Steve's head shoot up from his drawing, but she ignored it. At Wanda’s nod, she sighed.

“I'll talk to him, sestrica.” Her horrible accent made Wanda giggle, as she'd intended. “But the kids who make fun of your names or your accents are just mean, scared bullies. Okay? There's nothing wrong with you. It's them who are the problem.” Wanda shifted, hiding her face against Darcy’s neck. Across the field, Bucky looked over at them in concern. Darcy met his eyes over Wanda’s back and smiled. After a moment of hesitation, gaze darting between her expression and the defensive posture of the girl, Bucky tentatively smiled back. Pietro followed his gaze and immediately stopped working on the exercises Bucky had been teaching him.

“But it's not fair, Darce.” Her voice hit a high wine, and Pietro’s eyebrows furrowed when he heard it. Darcy’s heart clenched, and she could only whisper a soft, “I know.” Not for the first time, Darcy wished that Ellen was more interested in being an actual mom to the kids. Instead, soothing the distraught child would fall to her. She was supposed to be a child herself, she thought with a healthy dose of self-pity. Not that she'd had the opportunity to be one for many years. They said their goodbyes quickly; both Pietro and Darcy could feel a full-on Wanda meltdown coming, and it was always best to be home for that. Steve, having overheard the quiet conversation between the two girls, let them leave with nothing more than a commiserating smile and a soft wave—which Darcy was pleased to note that Wanda returned. But as they turned to go, Bucky deliberately stepped into their path. Not threatening, but enough to draw her attention. “Everything good, Darce?” Stubbornly suppressing a shudder at the way the nickname rolled off his tongue, she nodded and hummed. “Mhmm. It's just time to get these little munchkins home before they get too tired.” “I'm not a munchkin,” Pietro grumbled as he took her hand. Wanda didn't say anything at all, which only served to prove Darcy’s point. Darcy ruffled her brother’s hair but didn't say anything. Bucky shifted uneasily in front of her, and she curiously glanced back up to catch his eye. “We were—are, uh—are gonna do something later. Maybe grab dinner or something? If you want to come.” It took her a second to realize he was inviting her to hang out with them some more, and the question made Darcy’s heart soar. When she didn't respond right away, Bucky added, “Stevie’s gonna be there, too, of course. It'd be the three of us. If you want.” She opened her mouth to say yes—don’t shout, Darce, act cool, oh my god this is the best thing that has ever happened to you—and then Pietro shifted against her hip. Realization swept over her, and she had to close her eyes for a second to hide the tears of frustration that were gathering at the corners of her eyelids.

“I’d love to—but,” she sputtered, coughed, then tried again, staring at the ground. “I wish I could. But I can’t. I’m sorry.” With her eyes lowered, she didn’t see Bucky’s reaction to her words. His face was frozen when she dared to look up; the silence had stretched too long. “Right. Right, of course,” he finally said. She wanted to explain, to spill everything about Ellen and Wanda and Pietro, but she couldn’t. She refused to hurt the twins’ feelings or make them feel like a burden, not even to save her social life. “See you later,” she murmured, stepping around him. He didn’t say anything at all. The trip home was quiet, the silence heavy. Instead of going out to dinner with Steve and the boy she’d been crushing on for almost two years, she made dinner for Pietro and Wanda and made sure to sit down with them afterward. In a soft tone, she talked to them about the bullies at school; as gently as she could, she repeated what she’d said to Wanda to her brother (and resolved to put a thought or two into Ellen’s head—something that would get the woman over to their school to do something about it). They cuddled for hours afterward, until the twins dropped off to sleep curled around her. As she stared down at their peaceful faces, Darcy couldn’t bring herself to regret her choice. Still, she couldn’t hold back a lonely tear or two as she drifted off to sleep in her own bed, several doors down from the kids who relied on her so much. -:- Unsurprisingly, after their fun afternoon with Steve and Bucky, the twins pestered her to take them to the park almost every day. Every time she caved, the teenage boys were there: Bucky working up a sweat with his conditioning workouts (that, Pietro had informed her haughtily after several more visits to the park, was the proper term for it) and Steve sketching away at his bench. Honestly, Darcy didn't even time their playtime at the park to match the boys’; well, at least not after their first return visit. She might've lingered a little too long on her hair and her clothes as she faced the prospect of seeing Bucky again. When they got there, though, he barely spared her a second glance. Oh, he did the polite hello and the wave, even offering up a tight-lipped grin, but he turned away to Pietro immediately. She was left to trek over to slouch next to Steve, who was staring at his friend with something akin to exasperation. Steve was sweet, though. He put up with her novice questions about drawing and showed her some of his work. Over time, she lost herself in the conversation, no longer quite so focused on ignoring the fact that Bucky was ignoring her. She was so immersed in it, in fact, that she jumped in surprise when Bucky plunked his workout gear on the table with a loud thump. “It's time to go, Stevie.” From her position at his shoulder, Darcy could see the tips of Steve's ears burn red with anger. Deciding it would be smart to head home before she and the twins got caught in the middle of an argument between the friends, she stood up and checked the time on her phone. “Oh wow, you're right. Wanda, Piet, it's time for us to go home. Thanks for putting up with me, Steve.” Ignoring the tension between the friends, she smiled and clapped him on the shoulder as she passed. “It's no problem, Darce. I like hanging out with you.” As she passed, Darcy offered a slight head nod to Bucky, her feelings still hurt from his brush off. “See you around, Bucky.” “See ya,” was his gruff response. Then, before she was even out of earshot, “Really, Stevie? ‘Darce’?”

Humiliation and anger mingled in her chest at his tone, and she resolved to get over the last holdout of her crush as quickly as possible. It wasn’t supposed to hurt like this. -:- The next four or five times they ran into the boys weren't much better. Bucky ignored her very existence while Steve went out of his way to make her feel welcome. The combination was more than enough to give a girl whiplash, and more than once she wished she could've fallen for Steve instead of his best friend. The last straw, though, was when Bucky started talking about another girl at their school. “Peggy? Now that’s a girl worth talking to. Hot as hell, and one of the smartest women I know. If you’re not gonna ask her out, Stevie, I might. Just imagine—” “On that note, we’re going to go.” Maybe she should apologize for cutting him off, but Darcy’d had quite enough. She stood up abruptly, packing the twins’ snacks back into her backpack. They stared at her in confusion, then slowly followed suit. Bucky fell silent for half a second, staring at her with a strange mix of anger and satisfaction. “What, Lewis? Don’t have the balls to hear nice things about another girl? That’s not very feminist of you, is it?” She whirled on him, leaning into his space with a seething anger so potent he jerked backward. Another time she might’ve laughed or crowed with triumph (she wasn’t some timid little girl, she knew how to spit fire). Instead, she met his eyes squarely and let him see her disgust. He swallowed heavily in the face of it. “The twins are seven. Seven. And forgive me for assuming that you were about to start talking about Peggy Carter’s assets and what you might do to them, if you got the chance. Which, by the way, would never happen. She’d never give an asshole like you the time of day—not with the way you talk about girls. So, yeah. I’m leaving. I don’t want to risk the chance that Pietro will turn out like you.” Her voice was low and icy, soft enough that she knew the twins wouldn’t overhear. A myriad of emotions flitted across Bucky’s face—shame was a predominant one, she noted with satisfaction—but Darcy didn’t stick around to hear what he’d say next. With a final parting glance at Steve, who was staring between them with horrified fascination, she took the kids’ hands and walked away. “Let me know if you want to hang out sometime, Steve.” The implication was clear—they wouldn’t be coming back. -:- Once her initial anger had faded, Darcy’s biggest worry was having to explain to the twins that they wouldn’t be going back to the park for a while. Help came from an unexpected corner, however; Ellen fell into one of her great-mom phases, where she was one hundred percent dedicated to meeting all of the kids’ needs. Even Darcy’s, which the teenager generally tried to avoid at all costs. In this case, though, it was a good distraction for Wanda and Pietro. By the time they even thought to ask about the park again, a month had gone by. Their renewed interest in Steve and Bucky was brought about by the Queen of Meddling herself, Natasha. Nat was a little older than Darcy—another foster kid who’d been in the system, though she’d since turned eighteen and transitioned to adulthood as flawlessly as she did everything else—but they’d been best friends as long as Darcy could remember. Wanda and Pietro loved her, and she had a knack for showing up exactly when Darcy needed her the most. When she rang the doorbell on a blustery day in October, mischievous smirk firmly in place and Clint shaking his head frantically over her shoulder, Darcy wanted to slam the door in her face. It was too late; the twins had already spotted their beloved Auntie Nat. In less than ten minutes, she was leading a mutiny. “Steve says you’re avoiding him.” “What? No, of course I’m not.”

The twins glanced back and forth between them, like they were watching a tennis match. “Oh, really? According to him, you talked about hanging out with him but now avoid him everytime he tries to say hello.” “I do not!” Nat’s expression was flat and disbelieving, and she slowly quirked an eyebrow. “I don't…always?” Catching on to the game, Wanda blinked innocently. “Are we going to the park today to see Steve?” On cue, Pietro perked up. “And Bucky, too?” Clint shot Darcy a commiserating look but shrugged, pulling his best ‘I tried to warn you’ face. Half an hour later, they were at the park. She'd dragged her feet as best she could, but there was no stopping Nat—especially when she had Wanda and Piet on her side. Darcy's last hope was that in the month or so that she hadn't been to the park, Steve and Bucky’s routine had changed and they magically wouldn't be there. Things always seemed to work out in Natasha's favor, though, and Darcy had learned long ago never to bet against her. Sure enough, the boys were at the park. They turned in the direction of the noisy group as soon as they rounded the curve of the path. Steve's face split into an immediate welcome, and he dropped his charcoal to the paper and stood to say hello. Bucky, oddly, looked a little shy. He met Darcy's gaze for the briefest of moments before glancing away. She ignored it; having spent the last month forcing herself to get over her crush, Darcy wasn't interested in analyzing Bucky's every move. Instead, she moved toward Steve. “Hey, Steve. I'm sorry for, uh, everything.” She waved her hand in a vague motion through the air, hoping he'd understand what she meant. “Things have been a little…busy…lately.” “Uh-uh. Really busy.” His flat look could rival Natasha’s. Seriously, they were both that talented. “It had absolutely nothing to do with my best friend being a royal jackass the last time you guys came out to the park.” She floundered for something to say—anything, really, that wasn't an outright lie or a confirmation of how badly Bucky had hurt her feelings. Help came from an unexpected quarter: Darcy was saved from having to answer by Wanda, who was clearly anxious to go through all of Steve's drawings. “Stevie, what new drawings do you have? I want to see everything.” With the loss of a couple teeth, Wanda had recently developed a slight lisp. It was adorable, and Steve absolutely melted when he heard it. Sensing an opportunity to sneak away, Darcy made her way over to Clint. Nat’s boyfriend was a bit dorky, but an easy guy to be around. She especially liked that he didn't feel the need to fill the silence; they sat together on the bench without a word, watching the others. Pietro had joined his sister in examining Steve's art (they were oohing and ahhing over the drawings, and Darcy even thought she heard a critique or two thrown in there), abandoning Bucky to an intense conversation with Natasha. They sat quietly for a long time, a silent oasis between the cheerful noises of Steve entertaining the twins and Bucky and Nat’s quiet bickering. Darcy and Clint were sat on the opposite side of the bench, so she couldn’t hear what Nat was saying to Bucky. Neither of them looked happy, although they were standing awfully close. Shooting a curious glance at Clint to see if he was bothered by his girlfriend’s proximity to the other guy, Darcy discovered that he was already looking at her with wry amusement. “Careful there, Darce. Your jealous face is showing,” he said, voice low enough that no one would overhear. He knocked his shoulder into hers gently. “I’d almost think you like Barnes, after all.” She sputtered and stuck her nose in the air. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Mhmm.” He rolled his eyes, laughing outright as her eyes drifted back to the other pair. It was ridiculous—and jealous, he was right—but she couldn’t seem to help it. This time, it wasn’t just Clint who saw her. Bucky was already looking in her direction, and his eyes widened as Darcy’s gaze met his. He took a faltering step in her direction, and she immediately looked away. When she snuck another look, she caught sight of Natasha’s expression.

Her friend looked irritated at Bucky’s lack of attention, until she followed his gaze to Darcy. Behind his back, her face adopted a smug look. Clint saw it, too.

“You’re in for it, now,” he murmured. He opened his mouth to say more, but fell silent as a shadow crept over them. “Heya, Darce.” Bucky plopped down in the seat next to her with an easy confidence that was belied by his uneasy expression. “Bucky.” She turned back to Clint after offering her terse greeting, but he was already moving away. “Sorry, Darce. Nat wants to talk to me about something. Hey, Barnes. Don’t be a dick.” And with that warning, he sauntered off in the general direction of his girlfriend. Thanks, Clint. Darcy snuck a glance at Bucky and was surprised to find that a dull flush was creeping across his cheekbones. “So, uhh—hey.” He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, no longer the cool, arrogant boy he’d been the last time she saw him. It was a nice change, quite frankly. “Hey.” Her wariness was clear, she knew, because his face fell as she uttered the single word. “Listen, I’m—I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Darcy. You were right and I was rude last time you were here. And, uhh—I had no right to take my bad mood out on you that day.” He fell silent, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt as he waited for her to respond. “Yeah, you were a dick.” He sucked in a breath, but she wasn’t done. “But we all have those days. We’re cool, Bucky.” “Yeah?” His smile could serve as a backup type of solar power, she thought. Which was a dumb thing to think, but she couldn’t seem to help it. She lost all chill when he looked at her like that. “Yeah.” “So, uhh—” Whatever he was going to say was cut off by the sudden arrival of Natasha, who plopped down in Clint’s recently-vacated spot. “Darcy.” Bucky rolled his eyes as Nat claimed her attention, but didn’t say anything against it. “Yes, Nat?” “Clint and I are gonna grab dinner later. You in?” “I can’t,” she replied slowly, narrowing her eyes at her friend. Nat knew exactly what Darcy was doing after the park, because she had been responsible for taking care of the twins almost as long as they’d been living with Ellen. Even when their foster mom was in her super-mom moods, Darcy was responsible for making sure Pietro and Wanda had dinner almost every night. Natasha even helped out every now and then, which was why she was suspicious. So, unless her friend had suddenly developed amnesia… Nat stared at her, assessing, then rolled her eyes in realization. “Ellen still won’t spring for an actual babysitter, huh?” It was an act, that much was clear. But why was Natasha acting? With her back to him, Darcy didn’t see Bucky stiffen and close his eyes in pained realization. She did spot Wanda and Pietro, though, as they tuned in to Nat’s question. She hadn’t bothered to lower her voice, too caught up in whatever point she’d been trying to make. “I happen to like making dinner for Wanda and Piet, Natasha.” Nat’s gaze shot back to her—she’d been staring over Darcy's shoulder—at the use of her full name. She blinked in the face of Darcy’s palpable anger; it clearly wasn’t part of whatever plan she’d concocted. The twins’ feelings were more important than figuring Nat out, though, so Darcy stood up from the bench without another word to her. “Speaking of which, it’s probably time for us to head back, kiddos. Dinner won’t cook itself.” The twins were quiet in their goodbyes, and Nat finally understood what she’d inadvertently done. As a former foster kid, she knew how sensitive the children could be. She murmured a quiet, but sincere, apology in Darcy’s ear and gripped her shoulder lightly. Darcy squeezed back: it was a mistake, but an honest one. Luckily, it wasn’t anything that couldn’t be fixed with a home-cooked dinner and some cuddles before bedtime. She said goodbye to Bucky and Steve, too, though she hardly noticed. Her full attention was on her munchkins and their needs.

-:- After that trip to the park, Darcy’s routine shifted again. The tentative truce with Bucky bloomed into a true friendship, until they spent most of the time at the park talking and laughing with each other. When Piet wasn’t convincing Bucky to help him with his ‘conditioning,’ of course. Steve watched the pair of them with amusement but never accused her of stealing his best friend, so Darcy figured he was alright with the new development. If anything, he seemed to encourage it. Darcy found herself with new lunch companions at school—the three of them piled into Bucky’s car to snag some food during their lunch breaks. From there, it seemed natural for Bucky to offer to drive her home from school. It wasn’t very fun to ride the bus as a senior, so she agreed immediately. And although the trips to the park continued without a hitch—Steve, Bucky, Darcy, the twins, and sometimes Nat and Clint—Steve started riding home with a friend more and more often. She pulled him aside one day, wanting to make sure she wasn’t intruding, but he’d only waved her off. Apparently, Sam and Bucky were frenemies and Sam got a little jealous if he didn’t get to spend enough time with Steve. Which was a little strange for a platonic friendship, she thought, but didn’t say anything. And then one day Darcy overheard people gossiping about her relationship with Bucky. They weren’t even being mean—the girls were talking about what a cute couple they made, and had no idea Darcy was in one of the bathroom stalls—but it completely threw her for a loop. She hadn’t realized—hadn’t even allowed herself to hope. She was still thinking about it as she walked out of her classroom to find that Bucky had been waiting for her to get out of Physics. It had become routine, now, for him to fall into step beside her and her lab partner. Normally she only half-noticed his presence as she and Jane dissected the major points of Mr. Selvig’s lesson. Today, though, all she could think about was the rumors, about the way they looked to everyone else in school. Jane squeezed her arm and offered a commiserating grin, then drifted off down the hallway to meet her boyfriend. She and Thor were sickeningly cute, and he drove her home from school every day. “Hey, Bucky,” she said belatedly, tucking a curl behind her ear. “Hey, Darce. How was physics?” With a quiet chuckle, she told him about her teacher’s latest absentminded silliness—Mr. Selvig was a genius but very loopy, and a great favorite amongst the students—and asked about his day. They chattered about little things, nothing important, as they made their way to the parking lot. Darcy felt as though every eye was on them, even though they weren’t doing anything different from any other day, and chastised herself for being skittish. The drive home was easier. When it was just the two of them, she felt more comfortable basking in his easy affection and good humor. As they pulled up to her house, though, the air got awkward and heavy. “Wait.” She paused in the act of unbuckling her seatbelt, staring down at his hand on her arm, before looking up at him curiously. He pulled it back immediately, reaching up to rake a hand through his hair nervously. Running his tongue over his bottom lip—do not get distracted, Darcy, now is not the time—he opened and shut his mouth a couple of times, working his jaw in frustration. “Bucky? Are you okay?” He nodded, then coughed. Then licked his lips again. “Yeah.” Wincing a little as his voice cracked, he shook his head and tried again. “Yeah. Umm. Umm—what are you doing for dinner?” “Making it for the twins, as always. Did you want to come in?” Bucky and Steve had done that a couple of times, joined them for dinner, though Ellen’s over-the-top flirting had made them unbearably uncomfortable. “No, uh, that’s okay. Thanks. What about Saturday?” “You mean, what am I doing for dinner on Saturday?” He nodded, but didn’t speak. She was starting to get a little concerned at the look on his face. Her heart thumped erratically in her chest, but she was afraid to hope. “Well, I guess the same thing. The twins have to eat, and I can’t count on Ellen to feed them.” “You could count on Steve,” he blurted. “Yeah, I could. But I don’t have plans, so…” “But if you did have plans. You could count on Steve.” “I could,” she agreed, examining his face. “I’m making a mess of this, aren’t I?” He sighed, scrubbing a slightly-shaking hand over his face. “A little.” Darcy took his hand, prying it away from his face so that she could see his expression clearly. He twisted it mid-motion, so that his palm slid against hers and their fingers tangled together. Her breath caught in her throat, and she could barely hear his next words over the blood rushing to her head. Hope beat its battered wings against her lungs. “Darcy. Would you like to go out with me on Saturday? I’ve been wanting to ask you for months. Since before my stupid punk ass comments in the park.” Before she could even respond, he blurted, “I’ve had a crush on your for years, and I just—I just—yeah.” It felt better than she could’ve imagined. A grin split across her face, and it found its mirror in his. They smiled at each other like complete idiots, holding hands across the console, before she remembered that he was still waiting on an answer. Hunting for courage, she leaned across to place a lingering kiss against his cheek. His eyes tracked her movements, and he froze at the contact. She didn’t even think he was breathing, and she nudged his ribs lightly as a reminder. “I would love that, Bucky. See you tomorrow.” He finally sucked in a breath as she unbuckled and slid out of the car. The window squeaked as it rolled down. She grinned and turned back. A guarded happiness shone in his expression, as if he was afraid to hope. What a pair they were. “You mean it, Darce?” “Yeah, dude. I’ve had a crush on you, too. A couple of years, in fact. So let’s not screw it up, okay?” Blowing him a kiss, she turned back around. She couldn’t help but add an extra sway to her hips as she walked, not that she thought he’d mind. “We won’t!” It was the last thing he said before the door to her house open and the twins spilled out to greet her. Pietro and Wanda had been watching for her arrival, and they tumbled out the door with excitement, all bundled up and wanting to go to the park to see their Steve and Bucky. Well, their Steve. Her Bucky.

#wintershock #darcy x bucky #darcyland #thank you fic #happy birthday nix!

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