#we have to have teeth somewhere we have to be petty eventually about some things | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nightowlwriting · 3 years ago

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summary: steve is acting weird. avoiding you, being snippy and mean, leaving the room when you enter. all you want is your boyfriend back, but all he wants is to pretend you don't exist. when he's almost hurt on a mission, you do what you're made to do.

word count: 11k

reader specifics: no race/gender/sexuality/body type mentioned, no pronouns for reader used, powered!reader, insecure!reader

warnings: steve is mean to the reader in the beginning, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, canon-level violence, brief ptsd symptoms, slight description of blood, brief mention of racism in the '30s & '40s

brief mentions of: reader's parents being toxic, homelessness, past accidents, ableism in the past & present

note: this one hurt me lmfao. idk why this went the way it did but i'm not mad at it // also i am a queer, trans, disabled american. i have fundamental disagreements with things that marvel/the mcu as it stands for and some of the more nuanced things that you might not notice unless you're looking for it. this will take place in my writing because i cannot separate myself from the lens in which i consume/create content.

title credit: lil nas x

mobile masterlist - request - support my work? - ao3

Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his. Sure - he’s clever, righteous, courteous… You can’t forget he’s also drop-dead gorgeous because every trashy gossip magazine in a three-state radius of New York doesn’t let you forget. Neither does the sight of him waking up in your bed every morning. (Well, actually, maybe that would remind you if he was still fucking doing that.)

But lately, you’ve had to rely on the fucking tabloids to catch a glimpse of your super-hero boyfriend. The university class you had picked up on a whim at the end of the summer - Life & Times of the ‘30s and ‘40s - avoids any mention of Steve Rogers and the Howling Commandos. Not that your classmates do because, Christ on a bike, those magazines manage to catch pictures of you and Steve in moments that you don’t even remember. Plus, you’re an Avenger too. It’s bound to catch some attention when you waltz into a college classroom.

You’re sure if you were an undergrad trying to fill a gen-ed requirement and were sitting next to someone who could kill you without blinking but also dating Captain Rogers you’d be a little distracted too. You try not to blame your classmates too much, but they do make it hard to concentrate with their -really dating Captain America?- and -wonder if I could get an autograph- whispers. None of that matters because you’re learning, really studying, in between missions and missing Steve and believing that maybe the gossip reporters are right.

Maybe he’s forgotten about you.

You grit your teeth and push the thought away. It does you no good right now, while you’re training with Peter. He’s working his way up to bona fide missions and, because you’re the only one on the team who has experience with real-life teenagers outside of saving their lives, it’s up to you to get him to the level that he needs to be. Plus, the mission where he’s going to get his gills wet is just you, Tony, Steve, Nat, and Bucky. You’d much rather be the one to train him because you won’t traumatize him.

Right now, though, you’re just kicking his ass to try and get rid of some of the tension in your body. You feel a little bad about it, but when you started as his mentor you told him point-blank that you’d never go easy on him. That meant if you were having a bad day he either needed to up his game or he’d have a bad day too. It appears he’s taken that to heart as he struggles to dodge the hits you’re throwing his way. He lunges out of the way when you try to land a right hook but practically walks into the leg sweep that sends him crashing to the ground.

“Awe,” Peter groans, letting his guard down. You take the momentary lapse of focus to grab him by the collar of the hoodie he’s wearing and haul him to his feet, jerking one fist back to cold-clock him but he beats you to it. You hear the sound of your nose cracking before you feel it but then the pain rushes you all at once. You’ve had worse but coming from Peter, the move surprises you. You don’t yell out but he does when you push him away from you and call the fight off. Peter practically yelps your name, hands up by his head as he watches you bend at the waist, both hands over where your nose is absolutely gushing blood. “I am so sorry, I just reacted-!”

“It’s fine, Pete,” You shake your head and stand straight again, the blood beginning to leak through your fingers, “Just go get me a towel, okay?” Peter practically trips over his feet to get something for your nose and as you track him on his way into the locker rooms, you see Steve, Bucky, and Nat. The latter are looking your way, eyebrows raised like they’re asking you if you’re okay. Steve hasn’t even broken stride in his conversation so you wave them off with a bloody hand. Peter’s back in a flash, pressing a wet towel into your grasp and snapping you out of your self-pity party. “It was a good hit,” You compliment as you wipe your face off, “I just wasn’t expecting it. Prob’ly wouldn't have landed it if I had.”

He wrings his hands, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m sorry-”

“It’s a good thing, Peter, means you’re getting better.” You deadpan, checking to see if your nose has stopped bleeding yet, “I don’t think you actually broke it, but I’ll go down to medical to check later.” You do your best to clean up your hands with the wet towel, but it’s so soaked with your blood that it mostly just smears it around. You grimace and shake your head. “Well, I should go now before our sparring match ends up looking like I murdered you.”

“I’ll go with,” He offers, “I’m the one who broke your nose.” You let Peter walk you down to medical even though you were originally going to refuse. Perhaps petty, but it was the way that Steve didn’t even look your way as you left that made you let the teenager walk you the two floors to where you’d be able to clean yourself up. He hums in the elevator and you know that he wants to ask you something - it’s the way he holds his mouth when he’s prying for information or keeping a secret that tips you off. Finally, just before the elevator opens, you sigh and turn to him.

“What, Peter?” He grins but then it falls when he has to skitter after you down the hall. Maybe that’s why it falls - the question he asks next nearly sends you to your ass.

“Is everything okay with you and Captain Rogers?” He easily catches up to you when you stop in your tracks, ignoring that you’re still bleeding a little bit down your face and you might be dripping blood everywhere from where it’s run down your arms.

“What?” You do your best to look confused like everything is fine, but Peter is perceptive. He may fumble around and be pretty awkward, but those are really just teenager things that he’ll hopefully outgrow. You should have known that when someone caught onto how bad things are on your end, it would be Peter. (You wonder if Nat or Bucky has brought it up with Steve, considering he’s spent more time with them in the past week than he’s seen you in the past month.) “We’re fine.” Your words are stilted as you begin walking to the medical wing much faster than before.

“I just thought I’d ask, well, because I’ve sort of noticed… Something just seems off, you know? Like, you two used to spend a lot of time together, and maybe it’s the recon mission coming up, but I was just thinking that you two really barely look at each other even when you’re in the same -”

“Peter!” You say his name much louder than either of you expected and both of you jump. “Peter,” You say softer, looking at the glass door to the medical wing instead of him, “Just leave it, okay? It’s nothing you have to worry about, kid.” Peter ducks around to open the door, forcing you to look at him. “He’s just focused on his stuff and I’m focused on getting you whipped into shape for this mission. We only have two days.” Once you’re inside and surrounded by the medical crew Tony keeps on staff, he thankfully drops it. You love Peter, you do, but it’s a lot like having a little brother. You can only love them so much before you want to fucking strangle them. Eventually, as the doctor checks to make sure he hasn’t broken your nose, you have to order him away to go study or something. “I’ll join you later,” You promise him as the doctor prods at your tender flesh, “I have an essay due soon.”

That’s another thing that’s been bugging you that Peter surely picked up on. Nearly everybody knew you were taking a course at the local community college, but nobody knew what it was about. You’d wanted to keep it a secret until you told Steve, but the day you had registered he’d flown out for a two-week mission without telling you or saying goodbye. After that, you decided it didn’t really matter if anyone knew what class you were taking, and keeping it a secret sort of spiraled from there. If they wanted to know they could look it up. Maybe it was petty, but you just wanted the class to be over and done with so you could forget that you really only picked it up so you relate to your boyfriend more.

If you can even call Steve your boyfriend anymore. You’re not so sure where you stand and, honestly, you’re really close to giving up on the relationship as a whole but you can’t do that. Before you were dating, you were friends, and Steve… He never gave up on you. Not once. How could you repay him by giving up on your relationship? The one that you thought was The One? Even if it hurts, even if you’re unsure more than sure these days, how could you? Somewhere, though, you know you deserve better. You don’t deserve the sinking, dark feeling that lingers in your gut for most of your days now or the way that you second-guess every move you make - even in the field. It’s dangerous but you can’t do anything to fix it.

You’re too scared. You know that eventually, it will happen, he’ll break up with you, but you’d like to put that day off for as long as possible. To relish in the love he once had for you, how pure and powerful it was. You’re sure that you’ll never experience anything like that again.

Hell, you might never fall in love again.

Those thoughts don’t do anything to help you, though, so you try not to have them. You get clearance from the doctor and get cleaned up as much as you can without taking a full body shower. The idea to go back to your room and take one crosses your mind but you know that Steve’s probably done training, probably heading back for his own shower, and you don’t want to open that can of worms. Instead, you go to the common room and drop into the couch between Peter and Tony. They’re talking about something something science something something, but you pull your stack of books and notebooks out from the shelf underneath the coffee table and continue outlining your essay from where you left off. The assignment was focused on how the end of WW1 changed American life and then how life changed leading up to and during WW2 but that had hit a little too close to home for you, so you’re writing about the racial tension and overall racism of the times. Tony and Peter keep talking over your back and then you hear footsteps heading toward the common room.

You barely look up when they enter - Nat and Bucky - because it’s fine. It’s normal. They’re just two of Steve’s best friends, that’s all, nothing to be jumpy about. You don’t even register that emotional pain that hits when you realize that, yeah, you’re not one of his best friends anymore. You doubt you’re even considered a friend in his book.

You groan and lean back into the couch, bringing your study materials with you. Peter glances over, skimming over your page and a half of shorthand, and gags. “Jesus, can you write like a normal person?”

“Oh, sorry,” You say lazily, not looking up as you continue to scribble in your incomprehensible code, “I do forget that some of us had privacy at home.” You lift your lips just a little bit to let Peter know you’re kidding, looking up at him through your lashes as you slouch next to him. He looks red in the face. “Besides, once you have to start doing mission reports you’ll be begging me to learn my shorthand and use my stenography machine.”

“I keep telling you that I can update that ol’ thing,” Tony draws your attention. For the first time, you realize that Nat and Bucky are on the loveseat looking at you expectantly. Steve is standing in the corner over their shoulder reading a book from the bookshelf in front of him. His back is tense and he looks like he’s not reading, just listening. You force your eyes back to Tony on your right and shake your head.

“No, because then you’d know my shorthand and it makes me too happy to see you spend hours trying to decipher it.” His eyes wander to your essay again, trying to find any patterns that he can use to figure out what the hell you’re writing on anything ever. He’s opening his mouth to make a smart-ass remark that will no doubt lift some of the weight off of your shoulders when another voice speaks up.

“Wow,” Steve doesn’t even look at you even as he says your name sardonically, “Way to be a team player.” Your mind comes to a screeching halt, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s playing at. Even Bucky and Nat look surprised at the cold way he spoke to you, Tony and Peter both gasping from your side. You can’t say anything, throat tight and burning with tears as you stare at your boyfriend with raised eyebrows. What do you say to that? How do you respond? You know it wasn’t a joke because he’s not laughing, not smiling, not even looking up from that fucking book in his hands. You can’t tell if you’re more hurt or embarrassed, but either way, you don’t want to stick around for someone to get the nerve to say something.

Instead of replying, you slam your textbooks shut and bundle everything into your arms. You doubt Steve even notices that you’re making such a hasty retreat but if he does, he doesn’t say a fucking thing. You feel like you’re in high school - practically running through an empty hallway with your notebooks and textbooks pressed to your chest, trying not to cry. It’s ridiculous. You’re a trained assassin, you’re an Avenger, you are strong and powerful and yet… And yet. You’ve given so much of your heart and soul to Steve Rogers that he can knock you down eight pegs without even trying. Without even looking at you. You can’t wait to go on this fucking recon mission, where you can put all of your focus on making sure Peter is doing okay and gathering the intel. Where you can stop thinking about how easily Steve Rogers seems to be pushing you to the side.

You spend the next two days writing your essay, ignoring almost everyone, and working on your essay. On the day of the recon mission, you’re running out the door for your eight a.m lecture, printed essay in hand, and reminding Tony that he promised to pick you up on campus after class for the mission.

You’re lucky that you went, too. You hadn’t counted on the professor making everyone stand up and tell the class the subject of their essays - didn’t realize that it would be twenty-five percent of the grade on the paper. You’ll never understand college professors and the weird shit they do, but the class is informative and entertaining. He goes around the room, starting on the opposite side of you, so you’ll be last. Great.

Several students did their papers on the propaganda of the time, one student was brave and did her essay on the ethical dilemma of the super-soldier serum and eugenics, and most of the other students focused on pop culture and how it changed. When your professor looks at you it’s almost like he’s expecting you to have done nothing but fawn over Steve and Bucky, considering you know them personally. He looks surprised when you clear your throat, stand and say: “I focused on the casual and institutional racism that faced non-white Americans at the time.” You almost preen when he looks impressed and then the shame fills you. It’s just… You want Steve to be proud of you. You want him to congratulate you on going back to school, even if it’s just for one class. You want him to be happy and surprised that he was the inspiration for taking the class.

Though, lately, the class has been more for you than for him. You like learning new things, pushing the boundaries of assignments, making people uncomfortable with the truth of the times you’re studying as told to you by two people who lived it. It’s nice. Normal.

Everyone needs a little bit of normal.

But, honestly, normal is fucking boring. By the time your class is over and you’re handing in your essay it’s like ants are crawling over your skin. A combination of nerves from the upcoming mission, a head full of fog from whatever is happening with Steve, and a little bit of fear at the thought of taking Peter into the field has you bolting for the door the moment your essay is taken from you. You’d worn your tac-suit underneath a pair of baggy sweats and a loose hoodie, so you don’t even bother slowing down as you head toward the car that Tony has waiting for you. He’s in the front seat, grinning at you from underneath his aviators and Peter is driving.

You slip into the backseat without thinking or looking at who’s there, tossing your bag in the back and peeling your hoodie off. “God, Tone, we’re goin’ to die before we even get to the mission with Petey driving.” You toss your hoodie back to join your bag and finally see who’s sitting next to you.

Of course, it’s Steve. He’s looking at you - but not really. He’s looking through you, like he can’t stand that you’re both crammed in the backseat of Tony’s electric car. His gaze catches you and holds you in place. Everything around you goes cold and fuzzy, making you miss Peter’s indignant complaining that he has his license so he should be able to drive… And then Steve scoffs and looks out his window, ignoring you. It stings but you have a job to do. You make some witty retort back to Peter, but it falls flat as you struggle out of your sweats. This is what life is, you think. Relationships aren’t meant to be forever - you learned that at a young age.

Until your accident at fifteen, you had watched your parents run out of helium, their relationship expanding and cooling in arguments, in days spent not talking, in trips to your grandparents without the other, in passive-aggressive computer searches for divorce attorneys left open for anyone to see. Then, after you were trapped between those machines - after you spent hour after agonizing hour with electricity pressing between your atoms, being torn apart and rebuilt as a young god - after that day you watched them expand against each other before the neutron core of their relationship collapsed on itself and the resulting supernova sent you to the streets. But then Fury found you. Then Tony, then Nat, then Steve.

Your parents exploded out from each other and the shockwaves ruined your life. At least now, your relationship with Steve is ending silently. There’s no explosion, no collapse, no rapid expansion to take over your cosmos. Your relationship with Steve is simply approaching the event horizon, where it will hang in the air until one of you takes the final step and you both become frozen, two collapsing objects on opposite sides of the universe. Maybe that’s what you already are. You feel so far away from him in the back of Tony’s car - like he’s eons and light-years away from you - and you feel so cold. Frozen, down to the bone. It makes you stiff in your replies to Tony and Peter, slow on the uptake when the car pulls up to the quinjet, nearing stasis and unable to respond when Nat asks if you’re okay.

Finally, you turn to look at her, nodding. “Fine,” You clear your throat, “Been a rough day.” You do your best to smile at her, but your face feels heavy. Your chest feels cold and tight, making you worry about your performance on the upcoming mission. When Peter shakes his head next to you, discreetly telling Nat not to press, you’re focused on Steve and the electricity humming in the most base part of your body.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. You turn away and force yourself to smile, throwing a weak and numb arm over Peter’s shoulders. “Are you ready for this, Pete?” You jostle him back and forth, leading him toward the sitting area behind the cockpit. “Gonna get your ass kicked?”

“Please,” He shoves you off, nervously laughing, “Not with the skills you’ve taught me.” He mimics throwing webs, making hissing noises under his breath, and you bark out a laugh, shaking your head.

“You’re payin’ my medical bills when I have to save your ass, Spidey.” You shake your head and strap in next to the wall, Peter taking the seat to your right. Tony, from the aisle across from you, points a thick finger your way.

“You don’t pay medical bills anymore,” He waggles his finger, “So you’ll just have to make him do your homework for a week.”

“Mister Stark!”

“He’ll have to earn shorthand to do your essays,” Nat chimes in from between Bucky and Steve, who are both doing their best to not look at you - or anyone really. “You willing to share that with him?”

You lean back in your seat and jab at Peter with your elbow. “Hell no, so I guess Spider-Boy better do his best.” The arachnid in question grumbles, crossing his arms and slouching in his seat.

“No pressure, right?” He complains, “Not like I’m already nervous or anything.”

“You’ll do fine, kid,” Bucky pipes up, drawing your eyes back to Steve, “It’s goin’ to be a cakewalk.”

“Don’t jinx it, Barnes,” You warn half-heartedly, tucking in on yourself, “We need this to be easy.” From the look on his face - everyone’s face, really - you know that they heard you loud and clear when you were really saying I need this to be easy.

After an uneasy laugh from Bucky, a claustrophobic silence settles over you all as the jet begins to take off. You’re in for an hour ride and plan to spend it going over battle plans with Peter when harsh whispering catches your ear. It’s Bucky and Steve nearly crushing Nat between them until she gets up and sits across from Peter, rolling her eyes. Still, you try your best to run him through the actions you both had planned - the names, the setups you needed to execute them, everything. If something happens to Peter, you’ll never forgive yourself.

And then, cutting through your soft promptings to Peter and his equally soft replies, Bucky’s voice. “Leave it, Steve. Until after this mission.” Even Tony looks up from his tablet, curiosity piqued. Their faces are both red, set hard and angry at each other and your stomach drops. What the hell is going on that Steve ‘Till The End Of The Line Rogers is fighting with Bucky You And Me, Pal Barnes? You must shift, or lean too far into Steve’s eyesight, because for the first time in what feels like years he is looking directly at you - and seeing you, too. It makes your pulse jump and, almost instinctively, you want to reach out and ground yourself on the rubber of the seat underneath you.

You don’t get the chance, though, because Steve speaks. “No, why should I? This is clearly affecting the team.” He’s still looking - glaring - at you like you’ve done something wrong. “What’s the point of waiting? I’ve been waiting to talk about this.”

“Bo, I don’t think this is the time,” Bucky looks over his shoulder at you, then, and you know what’s coming. You know that it’s time, that Steve is about to break up with you in front of your teammates. Your friends. Your family. You steel yourself for the anguish you’re about to feel and then jerk your chin out, hardening your resolve.

“Buck, it’s fine. If Steve wants to address something, he can.”

Natasha says your name, a low warning over the hum of the quinjet. “I think he should wait.”

“Well, I’m not goin’ to wait!” Steve unbuckles himself and stands, “I have tried waiting, and look at where that has gotten me.” He puts his hands on his hips and puffs out a breath. You unbuckle and stand, too, unsure of where this is going. “You need to,” He holds one hand out, pointing at you while his voice shakes. You notice his hand is shaking, too, but fractionally. If you didn’t know Steve as well as you do you may have never noticed it. “You need to get it together.”

“I need to get it together?” You question, eyebrows nearly hitting the ceiling with how fast they shoot up. You’re not totally sure you’ve heard him right because what do you have to get together? The broken shards of your relationship? The information and research for your final paper? The awful way you’ve let yourself be treated for what seems like forever?

“You heard me,” Steve says, at the same time Bucky leans his head back and groans deep in his chest. “What? Someone had to say it.”

“We should wait for this,” Nat speaks up again, but lifelessly. She knows now that you and Steve are both on the warpath, neither of you are going to stop. (That’s also why the two of you work together as a couple so well. Very rarely are you both so worked up about something that you can’t back down, so the other is always there to meet you halfway and get you back to earth.)

“No, no, no,” You say, near hysterically, “No, he wants to do this now? Before a mission? Instead of the fuckin’ weeks we had to hash whatever crawled up his ass and died out? Be my guest. He’s already dragged everyone into this by treating me like a pariah.” You’re not sneering, but your teeth are gritted so tightly together you can hear them scraping and feel a tension headache beginning to bloom in your temples. Bucky looks… Almost incredulous at your statement. Like putting the blame on Steve is a dick move or something.

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy here?” Steve is curling his lip, glaring at you. There’s something behind his eyes, but he’s buried it so deep that you can’t reach it and figure out what it is. “I’m the bad guy, right. Right, right, right.” He scoffs, shakes his head, and then he’s running his fingers through his hair like he really can’t believe what you’re saying to him.

“Well, what else am I supposed to think?” You throw your hands out to the side and let them slap back down on your thighs. “You ignore me, you make me feel like shit, you talk down to me like I’m some insignificant foot soldier. How else am I supposed to take that, Steve?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe ask me what’s wrong? Maybe ask me why I’m acting like this, instead of ignoring all of your problems like a child?” He mirrors your moments, but the sound his hands make when they hit the outside of his suit is more powerful than yours. Fueled by anger, you think. Anger and whatever the hell was in the serum Erskine pumped into Steve.

“Ask you?” You repeat, near-hysterical, “Ask you? Oh yeah, let me get right on that. Hey, Mister Rogers? Mister Captain America? Mister Ignores-His-Partner-For-God-Knows-Why? Hey, just why are you doin’ that?” You’re surprised that you’ve said something so snotty, but you don’t back down. (Steve looks surprised, too, and Bucky has stood up next to his friend like he’s about to start berating you as well. At least he looks more cautious about it, like he’s not totally sure that this fight should be happening.)

The more surprising part of your fight is how fast it’s shut down. Tony and Nat stand at the same time and exchange a glance like they’ve surprised each other. “That’s enough,” Tony starts.

Nat cuts him off. “I don’t care if you fight this one out instead of talking, but if you do it before this recon mission you two are going to blow it. Do you understand me?” She looks dangerous, the sharp edge of a knife spiraling through the air. You force yourself to look away from her, from Tony, from Bucky, from Steve. She’s right. You know she’s right - especially on this mission. Peter is there, going to be in real danger even though there’s not supposed to be one Hydra agent in a four-mile radius. You have to clear your mind and focus on protecting him.

Steve seems to think the same thing because he stands down. When you watch him collapse in on himself, Bucky’s arms around his shoulders, into the little quinjet seats your everything aches. Heart, lungs, eyes - everything. Even though you don’t know what’s going on, what could have possibly happened to make your relationship sink this quickly and out of the blue, you still love him. He’s still The One for you. You still want to be the one to comfort him and make him feel whole when he’s struggling.

But you can’t. You can’t and it kills you.

The heat of battle makes a lot of things fade into the background. Important things like why the fuck are there Hydra agents here? and Steve is going to break up with you when you get back on the jet and Tony swore on the fucking limited edition AC/DC vintage tour poster he has in his office that this would be an easy in/easy out information mission. None of that matters, though, because you’re in deep shit. There are seventeen of them, all primed to the teeth with weapons made to take your team down permanently.

You’re practically glued to Peter, calling out commands and plans for him to initiate. It’s when all of your plans fall through that you take a hit from a heavy fist on purpose, hitting the ground hard. “Plan F, Spidey, Plan F!” You cover the instruction with a groan and then you’re back on your feet, working your way toward him.

“Plan F?” Tony says, somewhere above you in his suit. Your comms crackle ominously as another heat-seeking grenade is launched, interfering with the radio waves your tech relies on. You don’t worry about it, because you know Tony is on it. He’s your eyes in the sky.

Peter is the one who answers his question, watching your close hand-to-hand tilt out of your favor briefly. “Plan Fuck It, Mister Stark.” He grunts as he webs up a Hydra agent, jerking him away from where he was about to slip a knife up and under Natasha’s kevlar. You finally drop the guy in front of you, ignoring Steve’s disappointed Language! and toss one of your knives toward Nat for her to use. Tony is still laughing in your ear, wheezing as he drops down and snags the rifle from one of the snipers and then takes back off.

What your little protégé failed to mention about Plan F is that it’s not just chaos, but controlled chaos. You let loose, letting a soft current cover every inch of your skin as Peter switches to his conductive webbing and takes special care to not web any of his allies. Except for you - if you’re in the way and he catches you in a web it doesn’t matter because you’re you, alive with electricity that drops the men that get caught in the web, too. You rip out of the webs and turn the current off when one of your teammates gets too close.

More Hydra agents are pouring out of the woods, topping out their numbers around twenty-five. That’s twenty-five too many in your opinion, especially when you can see Peter getting tired, his anxiety spiking, his moves having more and more hesitation behind them. You need to get this over with quickly, but you don’t have the options to do that. Steve, Bucky, and Nat are really the heavy-hitters - you, Pete, and Tony are the only ones without serums despite all of your individual abilities. Desperately you reach out for a web that’s still connected to Peter’s arms, pulling him out of the way of a baton that’s about to come down on the back of his neck.

The baton the agent is wielding glints in the coming dusk, freezing you as Peter scrambles past you with a quick apology. You’ve seen that before - seen it, felt it, know it like the back of your hand. There’s no way that you could ever forget that weapon. The man stumbles when his hit doesn’t connect but then rights himself and searches for a new target.

A long, black baton that splits into two prongs at the end is heavy in his hand. Electricity crackles between the bulbs at the end, flashing in the setting sun and your memories. The man only has one, but if it was hooked up to a machine, spinning. If there were four, five, six. If you were pinned between them, screaming in the pain as they rewrote your DNA… You’ve only felt it once, but you’ll never forget it.

And now, you’ll taste it again. On purpose this time. The man holding the stun baton is going for Steve’s back - his strong back, the one that protects people, the one that holds the weight of the world, the one that lays in your bed, the one you see whipping out of rooms as you’re entering just so that he doesn’t have to look at you - and you can’t let that happen. It only takes ten amps to kill a regular human, but you know those things are cranked up to twenty minimum. You don’t want to see how many amps of current it will take to stop Steve’s heart. You’re between the baton and Steve before you can think about what you’re doing or what comes next, the hard bulbs settling unyielding into your side and cranking out maximum power for maximum damage as soon as the current is connected and able to flow from one bulb to the other.

The pain hits you and your throat catches on it. It burns through your body, setting everything on fire - your chest hurts as your heart protests the electrons and then your powers kick in, sweeping them into your very atoms and cells. You’re a live wire now, ears humming and body thrumming with power you’ve only dreamed of. It hurts, and it burns, and you feel tears rising in your eyes because you’re back there - back begging for death or for life or for God and god at the same time - but then it’s over. The man sees that you’re not seizing up, not dropping dead in front of him, and he takes three steps back.

It’s not far enough.

You’ve only felt like this once before - right after you were unhooked from the machine that changed your life and brought you to your new family. You remember how you looked when you were put in front of a mirror with all of the pent up electricity circling your body - how your eyes were filled to the brim and dripping with bright and blue electricity, the way it was jumping across your body, how you didn’t need to breathe because your body was fully saturated with pure, unadulterated power. You wonder if you look like that now and assume you do because you can see the bright blue reflecting in the terrified eyes of the Hydra agent.

Your suit, unlike everyone else’s, is not grounded. It’s metal, metal, metal. You’re made to conduct, born for it, and the earth beneath you comes alive with bright white as you release all of the energy, the power, surges down and out. You’re practiced. You can reach out and feel the synapses and neurons of every human being in the clearing, know exactly where your teammates are standing, and know exactly how to target everything but them and the pitiful amount of electricity their brains carry. You grin, something truly feral and unhinged, and you can see the fear in the Hydra agent. Then, you let go.

You know that everyone is going to be pissed. (Maybe not everyone.) You’re not built for this, not made to take down nearly twenty fucking people at once. As you let go, you feel what they feel. The seizing muscles, the stopping of their hearts, the inside of their bodies crisping against their bones. At that moment, that delicious moment, you see the universe.

You become God. You become everything - your mother and your father and God and god and anyone else who’s watching your life from the ether. You become the judge, jury, and executioner of souls that you don’t know from Adam. You become lightning, and thunder, and exposed nerves of the cosmos at the same time. The world bends to your will and you relish in it, taking that power in your fist and wielding it to protect the man you’ll love for the rest of your life and the family that you’ve made. You will stop at nothing to end this, even if it means turning yourself inside out to do it.

You damn near do turn yourself inside out too, but that doesn’t matter, does it? The blood spilling from your ears, nose, and eyes feels like heaven. It’s hot, and thick, and it’s proof of the power that your body holds. You’re a temple and a sanctuary, a war-room and a bunker, a field of flowers and a sun-dry desert. It does not matter if Steve doesn’t love you at that moment, because you are love and hate wrapped into one package. You are everything and nothing, spread thin at the beginning and the end of time.

And then none of that is true. You are just… You. Standing in a clearing, surrounded by twenty-something dead Hydra agents and your terrified, terrified family. It hurts to breathe and you can taste blood in your mouth, but that’s an afterthought. Steve is still standing behind you, but he is alive. That is what matters.

This is what love is, you think.

Pain and pleasure.

Even if he leaves you, you will always love him.

Pain and pleasure.

You’re weak at the knees when he finally turns to see you - and you’re a sight. Struggling to stand, fingertips blackened with soot but not burnt, blood pouring from your nose, ears, eyes… You look like death, but you feel like life. Someone says something behind you - Peter, maybe? Or maybe Tony, in your comms? - but you don’t hear it. Everything tunnels out, your weak knees finally collapsing as you keel backward.

Steve bears down upon you almost immediately. You’re halfway to unconsciousness when he wraps you up in his arms, keeping you from falling in with the pile of bodies around you. He’s saying your name, harsh and soft and then in a voice like he’s ordering you to wake up. You loll about as he drops you down onto a patch of clear grass, hands searching your body for wounds. When he skims over your side, where the baton has burnt through your suit and your flesh, you surge back toward being able to have cohesive thoughts. The pain brings you back, hands wrapping around Steve’s arm and calling out his name. “Steve! Fuck, that hurts!”

“Honey,” He breathes, “Fuck, we have to get you back to the jet.” His jaw ticks, hair dirty and loose from its normal style. “Why’d you do that?” Steve doesn’t wait for an answer from you, ordering Peter to web something up to carry you over your protests.

“I’m fine,” You argue, only slurring slightly, “I feel fine.” But you’re going to let Nat and Bucky load you up on the webbed stretcher anyway because it’s the first time Steve has cared for you in a long time. You want to relish in this moment, the way that he didn't say your name but called you honey.

Well, and because Natasha slides a thumb across her neck over Steve’s shoulder in a silent threat.

You groan when Bucky accidentally grabs your calf where there is an absolutely awful stab wound, but you wave off his apology. “How could you have known?” To be honest, you hadn’t even known it was there until his Vibranium hand was slipping against it and sending shockwaves of pain through you. Peter is next to you the whole time that you’re being carried back to the jet - Tony staying back to begin scanning the bodies of the Hydra agents for the information you need and any other information they may be carrying. The poor kid is nearly at a breakdown, so you reach out to him and shake his arm when his fingers twine with yours. “Chill out, kid, I don’t know how you got it into your head that this is your fault, but it sure isn’t.” He sniffles, but hands back with Steve as Bucky and Nat get you situated in the small medical room of the jet. They transfer you and then make to leave, only Bucky hesitating near the door.

“Stevie’s goin’ to be here soon and… I don’t know what made you do what you did but you have’t explain it to him. He’s bendin’ over backwards to figure it out, and we don’t have’a clue. Came out’a nowhere.” He looks at you for another moment before shaking his head and stepping out of the room. Your head is spinning, partially from what Bucky just said and partially from the pain and stimulus of electricity. You wait there, then, because this is it. This is the event horizon. You wait there, eyes closed, until you hear footsteps approach the med room, and then the door slowly opens. Steve says your name, holding all the finality and weight of an atomic bomb. You don’t open your eyes until he swings a chair next to the stretcher and lays a hand on your calf.

“You don’t have to do this,” You finally say, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to watch him. “I know that you don’t want to.” Steve only scoffs and begins to wash the stab wound using a packet of soap and a water bottle. You say his name twice before he looks at you, something between hate and hurt curdling into a glaze over his eyes that stops you in your tracks.

“Just let me do this. It is the least that you can do.” His words are painful and stilted, like it’s taking force to push them past his teeth. You lay back down and close your eyes, content to just feel the pain of Steve beginning to stitch you up and then dress the wound before you feel the pain of Steve leaving you like you knew he always would. (Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his.)

When he’s done he sits back and puts his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He heaves a heavy sigh and then shakes it off, “I’ll dress your burn, and then we’ll talk.” And normally, yes, you would agree but this is too important. You want to get it over with so you can lick your wounds metaphorically and dress them literally - and then you want to go home, you want to pack your bags, and you want to disappear and remake your life somewhere else.

Some far-off place where everyone you know won’t take one look at your face and know that you’re still painfully, deeply in love with Steve Rogers, end of your semester be damned. Family you’ve made be damned. You can’t sit around and be in love with him like a neon sign on a dark highway while it’s painfully clear that he hasn’t had a sign on his highway in a long time.

So instead of agreeing, you swing your legs over the stretcher and swallow your flinch when the burn pulls tight. Steve opens his mouth to argue but you give him a tight-lipped shake of your head and his jaw snaps shut. “No,” You say, voice not giving in to the emotion swirling in your chest. “I have let this go on long enough.”

It’s the wrong thing to say because Steve fucking scoffs again and looks away from you. “One day was long enough.” He says, cutting straight to your core. Okay, ouch. You take a deep breath and shake your head to try and bite back the tears that are inevitably rising in your eyes. If one day was long enough for him to realize he doesn’t want to be with you, why did he let it go on for nearly a full year? Why did he spend so long leading you on, pulling you by a thread before garroting your heart with it? What was the point?

“If you want to leave me, just say that,” You reply harshly, standing and wobbling away from him. He just watches you go, watches the way you struggle past the lead weights your muscles have become, the way you’re starting to feel the stab wound on your leg, the way the skin on your burn is beginning to blister and only just now losing its heat. He just watches you, where the Steve that loved you once upon a time might have helped. You turn your back on him, hands on your hips so that you can hide the way that you’re crying and your hands are shaking.

“If I want to leave you? If?” He says. You hear the scrape of his chair as he stands, “I think after what you’ve done, it’s not an if, sweetheart.” The way he says it tastes like iron. Steve never calls you sweetheart like he never calls you by your name. It’s always honey, lover, dovie. You don’t turn to face him because you’re struggling to keep yourself above water. “I spent so long thinkin’, wonderin’, askin’ myself - God damnit, will you look at me?” You turn slowly, not because you’ve never heard Steve speak like that but because his voice is desperate and raw. When you turn, you’re not sure what to expect. Maybe him, standing in front of you, broad-shouldered and disappointed like in those PSA’s he had to film once. Maybe he’d be angry, hands clenched at his sides and eyes narrowed like he gets in meetings when he doesn’t agree with something but he’s out-voted. But you never expect to see him crying, lip wobbling, folded in on himself like a young boy instead of the strong, invincible man you’ve come to love.

He looks so different.

It hits you, then, that you’re not looking at Steve Rogers. Not really. He's not Steve Rogers, not Captain America, not even Captain Rogers. You see him as he was - before America spat it’s untruths all over him and injected him with a serum that changed who he was, is, will be. He’s not the able-bodied man that you know, not strong and unreachable, not the heartthrob that overshadows the team during press events. He’s not America’s Darling, not really. Not where it counts.

You’re looking at Stevie Rogers. Stevie Rogers who, for all intents and purposes, was supposed to die before he made it out of toddlerhood or soon thereafter. Stevie Rogers who the doctors said wasn’t supposed to survive. Stevie Rogers who grew up sickly, rattling painful breaths and never playing ball with the neighborhood boys. Who couldn’t walk until middle school when he got his braces off. Who never had a partner because Bucky, strong and handsome and tall Bucky, was always deemed the better option. Who believed in his country so much that he tried to sneak into the second world war, subjected himself to a painful medical procedure so that he could change his very DNA to be what the world wanted him to be.

Captain Steve Rogers. Captain America. Strong, blond, patriotic, resilient.

You’re sure that if men don’t want to go to therapy now, in the modern age, they certainly didn’t want to go in the ‘40s. So where did that leave Steve, your Steve, standing in front of you and looking small, and broken, and sad, and alone? Did they expect him to take his new, taller, working body and run with it? Did they not think about how he would lose a part of himself in the process? How did they expect him to go from disabled to abled without some disconnect?

You think about the You That You Were Before and the You That You Are Now, and how you lost a part of yourself when the accident gave you your powers and how you’d lose yourself if someone figured out a way to take them away. You Before formed your identity around being normal - living in a shitty home with shitty parents, sure, but normal - and You Now form your identity around your powers, your team, your job, your love. If you lost those things, what did you have left? Who would you be?

When Steve lost his identity and became everything that America wanted everyone to think that America was, what did he have left? Sure, he could tell himself that he represents America - strong and patriotic and just - but it must have conflicted with everything he knew about himself before that. You know that disabled people now know that American society is unjust, unfit for them with abled people not willing to make room to allow them to thrive. You can only imagine what it was really like for Steve in the ‘20s and ‘30s and ‘40s. What he had to do just to survive. (Medical experimentation, you remind yourself. Did they know it wouldn’t kill him? Did they know his body wouldn’t rip itself apart with the new sinewy muscle they were packing on? Did they care? Or was he just a body they saw as broken? A project to fix? To turn him into something more like them and call it patriotism?)

You shake your head at him, still filled with despair, and try to figure out what he’s talking about. “Stevie,” You start, pet name easily replacing what you had been calling him because it’s not fair to shoe-horn him into a body that doesn’t feel like his own. You wonder if he still expects the bone-grinding pain that he used to tell you would happen when it rains. He raises a hand, a strong and family hand, shaking his head.

“I just need to know why I wasn’t enough for you,” Steve looks sad, slouching in on himself like he’s expecting to get his ass handed to him in another alleyway and hope Bucky is there to save him. “I need to know why you wouldn’t just break up with me if you wanted to see other people so badly.” You suck in a shocked breath because, okay, that’s not what you were expecting. Between that and the paradigm shift you’ve had on how Steve must view his identity, body, and self, you’re stunned. Steve continues like he doesn’t even register that you look shocked and pale and now you’re crying because he thinks you’re cheating on him? “And I get it. I get it. You have no idea how much I understand. If I were you, I wouldn’t want me either, okay?”

You cut him off there because what the actual God damn fuck is he talking about? “No, Stevie, I’m not cheating on you.” You shake your head again and this, your statement, lights a fire in him. He still looks like Stevie rather than Steve, but there’s anger there. You imagine that’s what it might have looked like moments before he got himself in trouble back before he was serumed. “I’m not.”

“Oh, yeah?” He challenges, jaw ticking and chin jerking up, “Oh, yeah? You can’t lie to me. I know, okay? The act is up, it’s over, I know, okay? You can stop pretending.”

“Steve, I do not fucking know what you’re talking about but I”m not cheating on you!” You raise your voice, not really angry but more out of necessity. You need to get it out of his head that he is anything less than everything you want - that you could possibly love anyone more than you love him.

“I wanted to clarify something for you,” Steve says like he’s reading an old script from when he was just a beefy, red/white/blue stage prop for the American military, “I am excited to meet with you, but there are some rules. Do not talk about Captain Steve Rogers. I don’t want to hear about him,” As he continues to recite something that has clearly hurt him, you go lax. You know exactly what’s happened - your fists unclench, your jaw drops a little bit, and it feels like someone has gutted you, “I think it is wise to keep work and pleasure separate, and it’s a rule I will enforce heavily. I look forward to seeing you again.” He’s sneering at the end, tears falling down his ruddy cheeks.

“Steve,” You try again, but he cuts you off.

“Am I just work for you?” His voice is shaking more than you thought possible, and so are his hands. You’ve never seen Steve so off-kilter, so thrown, and it breaks your heart that yes, technically, you’re the cause of this. Before this, before this horrible misunderstanding, your relationship with Steve was the paragon of trust so neither of you cared if the other read emails or texts. You remember the email - the email from your fucking college professor - because it had made you so angry that he’d referred to your relationship with Steve as something as simple and base as just pleasure - like you could even put words to the galaxy of a relationship you had with Steve - that you’d gone to the gym to work off some of that irritation. You hadn’t wanted to take it out on anyone accidentally. When you came back from the gym, Steve was gone on that two-week mission that he’d left on without saying goodbye.

Oh, God. You feel sick to your stomach as the paradigm of the way that Steve’s been treating you shifts violently to the left. You have to physically hold yourself up and try to speak past the lump in your throat. Steve looks… Brokenly smug. Like he knows he’s right, but he’d rather gnaw his own legs off than be right.

“No,” You croak, “No, Steve, you’ve got it all wrong.” You want to reach for him, but it feels like the room is closing in on you. You’re second-guessing everything now - especially what you’ve just said. How many people said the exact same thing to him pre-serum because they said something meant for Bucky to him? How many times did he hear that when he was getting a new diagnosis, hoping for the best? How many times had his own mother said it to him when he told her something someone had said, fresh-faced and not yet used to the way that abled people sometimes treated disabled people? You think you might be sick. “That email was from my professor, Steve. I’m not cheating on you, I’d never.” He laughs darkly and sits back down in his chair, head in his hands again. You try to gather the strength to move toward him when you see his shoulders shaking, a telltale sign that he’s crying.

“A professor,” He says with a watery laugh, “Right.”

Finally, you realize that he needs you, needs to know you love him, that you’d do anything for him. You can iron out the kinks later - figure out why he didn’t want to come to talk to you past the original hurt, why he treated you so coldly, why he didn’t trust that you wouldn’t do this to him - but now, you need to show him that you’re here. That you choose him. That you’ll always choose him.

You make your way to him and set a shaking hand on his shoulder. For a brief second you think he’s going to shake you off but then Steve’s hand shoots up and latches onto where your hand is resting, dipping his head to press against your arm. “Stevie, please,” You say, unsure of what you’re asking him to do, “I picked up a class, just one, and it’s… I picked it up for you, it’s about the ‘30s and ‘40s and…” He looks up at you and he looks so broken - face ruddy and wet with tears, lip wobbling, chest heaving as he tries to not sob. His brows are knit and he looks confused, “I just wanted to be able to understand you better. You had to leave so much of yourself at the door when you joined the Avengers, had to leave so much of yourself in the ice… In Erskine’s lab… Stevie, I just wanted you to be able to be you when you’re with me. I wanted to know the you that you were before you became Captain America.” Your voice is shaking, knees knocking together, and honestly? You feel like you might blackout.

“What?” He rasps, “What?”

“He sent that email because too many kids signed up for his class thinking that they’d be able to look at pictures of you and Buck for a semester. Emailed me directly because he knows we’re…” You choke on your words, shaking your head because you’re not even sure there’s a we anymore, “Because he knows I’m on the team. Didn’t want me walking in and making his class about just a few years in the ‘30s and ‘40s rather than the culture of the time.” You don’t know how else to explain it to him, but Steve isn’t saying anything - practically isn’t moving or breathing- so you continue to try and explain what’s really happening as best as you can, “And - and that email made me so angry because he singled me out, didn’t email anyone else about it, and I left to try and work some of that out; I didn’t want to take it out on you, or let it spoil - let it spoil… But when I came back from the gym, you were gone. You were gone for two weeks and I didn’t know why.” You’re crying harder now and pretty sure that within the next sixty seconds you’re going to collapse if you don’t sit down.

Steve shakes his head, still looking like he doesn’t understand. “What?” He says for a third time, “A class? A college class?”

“I just wanted to feel closer to you,” You confess, “Just wanted to understand a fraction of your life without making you do the heavy liftin’ and teachin’ me. Shouldn’t have’t do that,” You’re sobbing, barely biting out your words as you realize that something you’ve done to strengthen your relationship with Steve has destroyed it, “Shouldn’t have to explain a whole different time just to feel loved, Stevie. Should be able to be with someone who understands without you havin’ to explain.” You’re not sure you can say Peggy’s name out loud, and you hope he understands what you’re saying without making you actually say it, “Should’a been able to have love with someone who knew, and I know I’m nothin’ compared to what you should’a had, but I want to be. I want to be in the same ballpark instead’a watchin’ from the stands.” You wipe your face with your free hand and look away from Steve when he stands in front of you. You don’t want to see the look on his face - what he’s thinking about what you’ve said.

He says your name and you glance at him, but his expression stops him in your tracks. Where Steve looked broken and hurt and fuming with anger to hide the anguish, now he looks stricken. You shake your head, “No, no. I didn’t say that to make you feel guilty-”

“You think that I care about whether or not you can understand the ‘40s?” He cuts you off, hands moving to curl around your biceps, “You think that I care whether or not you can relate to a time in history when you weren’t even thought of?”

“Of course I love you. I love you more than anything in this world, but you shouldn’t have to not care, Steve,” You argue, shaking your head, “That’s what I’m trying to say. You should be with someone who understands without explanation. I just wanted to give that to you - didn’t know that this would happen.”

“I should be with someone who loves me,” He argues back, “If you love me, that’s all that matters. My past be damned.”

“But your past is you!” You try to pull away from Steve, but he anchors you there. You’re dizzy from being so close to him after this long, but also because of how many different twists this situation has taken. You can barely keep up with how bad your communication with Steve has become - barely keep up with how you need to fix it, or how to fix it. “Your past is you,” You repeat when you realize that Steve isn’t going to let you go. “And you shouldn’t have to give that up so that someone will love you.”

“But you love me,” He says desperately, ducking his head so that he’s nearly nose to nose with you, “You love me, right?”

“More than anything,” You say, closing your eyes and relishing in the feeling of being so close to Steve, “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. I don’t care about what anyone else thinks, or anyone else. I’ll even stop goin’ to class if you want me to - Steve, I just can’t do this anymore. Can’t do this thing where you don’t talk to me about what’s botherin’ you.” You’re choking up, barely whispering, but you know he hears you. YOu can feel his warm breath on your face, “Nearly fuckin’ killed me.”

“I thought it was goin’ to be easier,” He breathes, nose bumping yours, “When you eventually decided to leave me for him. Thought I was savin’ myself some trouble.” You can practically taste his tears as they fall again, “Buck and Nat tried to tell me that you weren’t - that you wouldn’t - but I just couldn’t believe them.”

When you open your eyes, his are closed. This close to him you can see the soft freckles that are blooming over his eyelids, his soft eyelashes kissing his cheekbones. You can feel him breathing, feel him nearly pressed against you in a way that feels hauntingly nostalgic and terrifyingly fleeting; like you’ll be able to feel his warmth for years to come, but he’s about to disappear. “That’s okay,” You finally whisper, “It’s okay that you didn’t believe them. That you thought what you thought. It’s okay.” He shakes his head against yours, opening his mouth to protest, but you refuse to let him feel guilty about feeling this way - you have plenty of time to sit him down and talk to him candidly about the way he acted because of these feelings, anyway. “If I would have been in your place I’m not sure I would have believed them.”

“I treated you so badly…” He shifts and wraps his arms around you. It’s almost immediate - you relax into his arms and wind yours around his waist, keeping him pulled against you as he presses his face into your neck and you press your cheek against his chest. “So awfully.”

“We’ll talk about that, okay? But later. Right now you just need to know that I love you, Steve. I love you more than I can tell you - more than I can express.” You want to kiss him, but you can’t. Can’t kiss him, you need to wait for him to kiss you, for him to close that gap and show you that he still loves you like you love him. “We’ll have to have a talk, a long and hard conversation about this, Stevie, but for now… For now, I’m just content to be with you, okay? MIssed you so much.”

He sighs, nose pressing against yours again. “Missed you too, dovie. Missed you more than I can even say,” His voice breaks as his lips brush yours. Your relationship is not without its flaws and problems - Steve’s actions when he thought you were cheating on him are proof of that and, well, the fact that you didn’t realize what was happening, why it was happening, or a large part of your boyfriend’s psychological makeup having an impact on your relationship while it went unknown by you… There is a lot of work for the two of you to do, a lot of work to do, a lot of communication to be done… But you’d do it all for Steve, over and over again.

When he presses forward and presses his lips gently to yours, you know that he’ll do it all for you, over and over again, too.

#steve rogers imagine #steve rogers/reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel imagine #mcu imagine

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years ago

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Title: A Hoarding Problem.

Pairing: Pro-Hero!Yandere!Touya/Reader (Boku No Hero Academia).

Word Count: 2.5k

Synopsis: Todoroki Touya has a problem, and he’s not sure he wants to fix it.

TW: Hero AU, Minor Spoilers, Kidnapping, Mutual Extortion, Emotional Manipulation, Slight Gaslighting, Bondage, Implied Infantilization, Mention of Sedatives (No Actual Use), and Themes of Poverty.

Todoroki Touya had a problem.

He had a lot of problems, technically. His secretary always managed to schedule the most important meetings at the least convenient times, his coffee never seemed hot enough but always burnt his tongue, and despite his fame and wealth and strange, cult-like popularity, the only thing journalists ever seemed to want to talk about was his father, why Touya didn’t inherit the ‘Endeavour’ title, how long it’d take him to live up to all those stacking, swelling expectations. He had a lot of problems, dozens, hundreds. He had a lot. Everyone did, but Touya didn’t have to deal with everyone else’s.

He just had to deal with you.

You were one of those concentrated types, your smile always a little too personal and your stare always a little too intense, like you were trying to see how much his organs would go for on the black-market before you bothered to cut him open. You were put together, too, and if he hadn’t taken the liberty of following you home so many times, he never would’ve guessed you were staying at some cheap, back-alley motel, the kind meant for people who just wanted to be anywhere but the place they used to be. A run-away, he’d guessed, at first, but you were too old for that, and you were too good at pretending you weren’t living out of the suitcase Touya was starting to get tired of rummaging through. Maybe you were a petty criminal, a villain too minor to be on his radar - he didn’t know, and he really wasn’t interested in finding out. All that mattered to him was that he’d met you, decided he liked you, and hadn’t been able to think about much else since. It was an issue, really, and it was starting to get in the way of his work. It was starting to get in the way of everything.

But, he’d had this kind of problem before. He knew what to do. He knew how to handle it.

You seemed to want to be handled, too.

You were laughing, again, but he wasn’t really sure why. It might’ve been something he said, your own little joke, but he didn’t mind the sound, all bells and wind chimes and a practiced ease that threatened to divert his focus, as he tried to keep his eyes on the road. You were slumped in the passenger seat, and if he checked, he was sure you’d be looking out the window, counting turns, memorizing street names, doing what little you could to track the convoluted, darkened route he’d been sure to plan out days ago. You’d come willingly, but you wanted to make sure you’d be able to find your way back without his help. For his own sake, Touya pretended you were just being cautious.

“I didn’t expect a Hero to live so far from the city.” Your voice was just as light, just a notch more confident than it had been at the convenience store you both frequented, the one you’d been working at when he stumbled in, closer to sunrise than sunset and ready to fall in love with the first person who smiled at him. The job hadn’t lasted, but Touya couldn’t think of a reason to mourn the loss. You wouldn’t have been desperate enough to take him up on his offer, if you still had a steady income. “Didn’t mark you down as one of those ‘cabin in the woods’ types, either. I’m not going to find, like, a box of dismembered body parts or anything, right?”

“Obviously,” He scoffed, his tone just playful enough to be disarming. “I try to keep my victims in one piece. Hackjobs aren’t as satisfying as you’d think.”

That earned a jab to his side, an offended ‘my hackjob would be’, but you lost interest in the exchange as soon as he reached the driveway, coming to a stop in front of that sprawling, climbing villa, three stories of concrete and glass, a stark contrast from the forest that surrounded it. You took a moment to take it in, scanning over the building, a predator evaluating its docile prey. When you turned towards Touya, your smile was just a little wider, your expression just a little brighter. “I really can’t thank you enough,” You went on, your tone so sentimental, Touya could almost ignore the hollowness behind it. “You sure you’re alright with this? My last place fell through, but I’m sure I’ll be able to find somewhere else to--”

“Don’t worry about that. All this is curtesy of the Hero Commission, and they don’t keep track of who comes ang goes.” Touya didn’t wait for you to finish, he didn’t have to, even if he did let himself enjoy your faux-gratitude as he undid his seatbelt. “Besides, it’s my job, right? I wouldn't want to find out you went and got yourself hurt because I couldn’t be bothered to clean out my guest room.” There was a slight pause, a short hesitation. You flinched when he raised his hand, but you didn’t pull away as he cupped your cheek, only learning into his warm palm. “Besides, I can’t say I’d mind a little company, all alone out here.”

In his defense, he wasn’t going to kiss you. Really, he wasn’t that mean, but he didn’t have a chance to refuse, not before your lips were on his, your hands in his hair, all sudden passion and over-eager excitement. He was stunned, at first, but Touya recovered quickly. Biting back a smirk, he leaned into the gesture, slinging an arm around your hip, tilting your head back and doing whatever he could to bring you close, to keep you close, just like he’d been dying to for months, now. He could feel you stifle a laugh, moving to pull away, but Touya only drifted to your neck, nipping at the edge of your jaw before he found your jugular, aiming for the sensitive area just above it. You only chuckled, blunt nails running over his scalp. “And I thought I was the needy one,” You chided, half-hearted pushing at his chest. “It’s cold out here, Todoroki. At least take me inside first.”

Right. Of course. He got carried away.

He almost forgot why you were actually here.

He didn’t let you go. He didn’t want to, so he didn’t bother trying, pulling you over the center console in one swift motion, leaving you in his lap, his face buried in the crook of your shoulder and an arm under your thighs, supporting your weight as he jerkily kicked open the door, letting you duck your head and giggle, always giggling, always trying to pretend to be meek and harmless and innocent. He wondered if you’d stop, eventually, if you’d drop the act once he decided both of you should show your true colors. He’d be lying if he said he hated the idea of choking it out of you.

The front door wasn’t locked. He didn’t bother, not with his profession, not when he knew he’d be coming home with you, tonight. If you noticed, you didn’t seem to mind, focusing on locking your ankles behind his back, on swallowing down that small, pained groan as he slammed your back into the nearest wall of his darkened villa just a little too hard, pretending not to notice as your smile wavered in the minimal light. “I don’t think this counts as protecting the--”

You were cut off by a loud thud, metallic and hollow, like someone hitting drywall with a baseball bat. You paused, for a second, your gaze flickering to the space behind him, but he was quick to kiss your cheek, to bring your attention back to where it should be, on him. “‘s just my roommate,” He mumbled, hoping you’d be too used to the excuse to linger on it. “Don’t pay it too much mind. He’s probably just fucking around.”

This time, your smile dropped completely. “The Hero Commission... lets you have a roommate?”

He caught his mistake a second too late. He opened his mouth, ready to explain, but another noise interrupted him, a rattling this time, followed by another deafening, irritating thud. He grit his teeth, but you only stiffened, your next shove to his chest a little more insistent than the last. “He might be hurt,” You started, the concern in your voice more genuine than it’d been all night. “We should check on him, that sounds--”

“It’ll be fine.” He spoke a little too quickly, a little too aggressively. Instantly, your eyes widened, your entire body going tense against his, and Touya had to fight not to lose his composure completely. It was too soon. It was too early. He wanted to be sweet. He didn’t want to be mean, not with you. “Just ignore it, sweetheart, it’s not important. You’re here for me, right? The brat shouldn’t--”

It was a slip-up. A petname so common, he hardly noticed he’d said it until you were scrambling, writhing, digging your nails into his biceps deep enough to break the skin, forcing him to let you go out reflex alone. You barely managed to catch yourself, but you stayed on your feet, shoving past Touya while he was still hissing out curses, clutching at bleeding wounds and broken scars. There was another thud, and you moved to sprint in the direction it’d come from, but he was a Hero, he was trained for this. You were on the ground before you could take a step, Touya straddling your stomach, his hands around your neck. He didn’t squeeze, though, he didn’t want to strangle you. He was going to be patient. This was going to be different. “Just behave,” He growled, fighting to hold onto the last threads of his restraint. “It’s not important. I’m important, and that’s all you have to care about. That’s all you’re ever going to care about, from now on.”

You didn’t hesitate. As soon as he finished, you were jerking forward, your forehead colliding with his and forcing a ragged scream from both of you. He’d give you credit for that. Villains and Heroes fought with quirks, specialized weapons, tactics and strategies and purpose. This was blunt. This was thoughtless. It was impulsive, and it was stupid, and it worked, letting you push him away as he recoiled, suddenly too focused on his pounding skull to care about what you might find. It wouldn’t matter, anyway. None of your little tantrums would.

He’d find you, eventually. After that, the results would be the same.

That might’ve been why Touya took his time, pushing himself to his feet slowly, following the sound of your footsteps before they abruptly stopped. He tried not to be bothered by it, even if there was a familiar pang of anxiety when he saw you, your mouth agape and your body slack, leaning against a door that should not be open. He might’ve walked a little faster, out of habit, but if you noticed him, you were too distracted to care. He couldn’t blame you. Not when he knew what you were looking at.

He got a little carried away, with the girls’ room. Pale pink paint coated on every surface, fairy-lights strung along the ceiling, and a white, circular rug, fluffy and stainless and just small enough to stop before it reached the three cots, settled along each of the walls, each with its own frilly sheets and plush mattress and bare, metallic frame, something Touya might’ve considered swapping out if their opponents were a little more grateful. Two were empty, the first a spare if he needed room for a future ‘guest’ and the second a reminder to check on the bitch in his basement, and the third was on its side. That was what you were focusing on, what he couldn’t seem to pull you away from as he slotted himself against your back, wrapping an arm loosely around your waist.

That, and the girl sitting in front of it, a ball-gag stuffed in her mouth and a collar around her neck, thick and leathery and attached to a chain, keeping her tethered to the nearest wall. There were a few noticeable dents in the plaster around her bracket, but Touya had better things to worry about.

There was a garbled scream, something that might’ve been a warning, but Touya silenced her off with a glare sharp enough cut glass. “Shut it,” He barked, all pretense of patience gone. “Shut up, or you’re going to spend the next week in a muzzle. I’ll deal with you later.”

“You kidnapped her.” At least you waited your turn, even if the delay did little too soften the disgust in your voice. “You’re a monster. You’re supposed to be--”

“A hero?” You tried to shove him away, to pry him off of you, but he only tightened his grip. “And you’re supposed to be an innocent civilian, aren’t you? Something soft and appreciative I can feel good about helping, fuck, and forget about the next day, right?”

“Don’t try to--”

“Where do you keep the bottle, sweetheart?” Now, it was your turn to go tense, to know he saw something he shouldn’t have seen. “Don’t lie to me. It won’t be pretty, if we start off this relationship on a bad foot.”

You hesitated, for a moment. He saw your swallow, watched your eyes dart towards anything that could’ve been considered a weapon, but his fingers slipped under your shirt and you bowed your head, giving in at the slightest threat of something worse. He liked that about you. Such a simple thing, too afraid of pain to take the risk. “My jacket. There are pockets on the inside - it’s on the right.”

He’d give you credit. It looked realistic, if nothing else, a translucent orange bottle with a white lid, the label scratched off in a way that could’ve been mistaken for nervous fidgeting, if Touya didn’t know better. With one hand, he popped off the lid, barely glancing at the unmarked pills inside before letting out a pleased hum.

Sedatives. Not lethal, but effective. The type you could get from any low-ranking Villain with a surplus supply and a greater need for clients than most.

The type that could be slipped into wine glasses, mixed into water. The type that’d keep your trusting, unsuspecting host nice and unconscious while you helped yourself to anything that wasn’t nailed down. While you robbed him blind, stowed yourself away in another cheap motel room two towns over, and scouted for the next poor guy who’d be too embarrassed to say anything.

Touya couldn’t help himself. He laughed, loudly and shamelessly, watching as you withered, glaring at the tiled floor. He couldn’t tell if it was fear of loathing, half-suspended terror or that deep, ingrained hatred any good predator should feel when it’s caught in a trap, but your voice couldn’t have made it more clear. “What’s your plan?” You spat, all humiliation, all spirited, adorable anger. His grin widened, the lasting tension in his shoulders dissolving, but if you noticed how much he enjoyed your little show, you didn’t bother trying to keep your mouth shut. “Arrest me? Hand me over to the police and let me tell them all about your creepy, fucked-up dollhouse?” You never looked up. You never so much as tried to meet his eyes, let alone glance at the ‘victim’ you’d been so intent on saving a few minutes ago. “Let me go. You don’t have another choice, unless you’re willing to get your hands dirty.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, I’m not gonna kill you.” It wasn’t a lie, but you didn’t seem to believe him, going rigid as his lips brushed against the nape of your neck. It was a fleeting gesture, but he didn’t let himself linger. He’d have plenty of time for that once he got you used to your new role, under his care. Once you got used to him. “I’m not gonna hand you over, either. That’d just be a waste.”

He might’ve been a little mean, after all. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have given you so much time to answer, so much time to tremble. At least you didn’t try to get away, this time. You were already learning. “I… I don’t--”

“I’m going to take care of you, angel. Just like I’m taking care of her.”

There was a moment of stillness, a small, ragged sob, but Touya couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty. He couldn’t bring himself to feel anything but satisfied.

Because Todoroki Touya had a problem. Because he was awful and hungry and greedy, and he had a problem.

And he wasn’t sure he wanted to fix it.

428 notes · View notes

imagining-in-the-margins · 4 years ago

Text

Petty Pair (Raymond/F!Reader)

Summary: Reader wants to fuck Raymond to spite his father. Raymond thinks that’s really hot, actually.

A/N: This idea came into my head and literally never left. It lives rent free in my head, and I hope you feel it now, too. Couple: Raymond/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW) Content Warning: Fingering, penetrative sex, protected sex, mild exhibitionism, getting caught Word Count: 5k

MASTERLIST

——————

There was a grand total of one functioning bar in this town at this hour of night. This drastic and unforgivable shortage of places for me to buy alcohol was also the only reason I found myself frequenting said bar.

After about an hour of swatting off a group of men that were objectively disgusting, I resigned myself to fate and the realization that the night would turn out no better than it would have if I hadn’t tried to get drunk on cheap liquor. I was ready to pack up, close out, and fuck off back home when it happened.

A familiar face walked through the door. Familiar, I suppose, was a stretch. I’d only seen his face in one picture – a picture I’m pretty sure was meant to be thrown away. It stuck out to me because it was the first indication that I got that Donald Wadsworth had a son. And a cute son, much less.

My brain scanned through buried memories to try and find the one where his recently divorced mother had told me his name. I knew the memory existed somewhere, surrounded under a mountain of bullshit, but it was so hard to focus when I was watching the poor kid shuffle over to the bar and plop himself down against the counter.

It had taken me that long to realize that he was wearing pajamas. Cute.

His fashion choices and bedhead paired nicely with the pout he wore when he shyly scanned the room. Altogether, everything about him assured me that he literally couldn’t have been less intimidating if he tried. That theory was further solidified by the way he shrunk against the counter when he saw me approach. By the time I sat down next to him, he’d all but disappeared under his jacket.

“Hey, you’re... Raymond, right?” The name came to me at the same time his eyes locked with mine. The dark hazel color shone almost gold in the orange hue of the bar.

“You’re Donald’s son?” I asked as warmly as possible while using his father’s name. Which is to say, not warm at all.

“Unfortunately,” Raymond droned with a similar disdain.

“I’ll say,” I chuckled as I leaned forward to match his slouch over the bar. “I work with your dad.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

That alone seemed to cause a shift in his entire demeanor. It didn’t surprise me. Most of the women in this town were brainwashed into thinking that if a guy didn’t outright assault you at first glance, he was probably a solid dude.

And Donald Wadsworth was not a solid dude.

“He’s like, a giant fucking asshole,” I said.

Raymond’s eyes lit up.

“Right?!” he shouted back, practically falling from his seat in his enthusiasm as he continued to yell, “I know!”

There was no keeping it together with this caricature of a man, but I didn’t really want to, either. In the few seconds I’d interacted with him, everything about him changed from defensive to relaxed. Like all he needed was someone to tell him that it wasn’t all in his head.

Unfortunately, I was going to need to ask something of him. But I figured he wouldn’t mind what I was going to request.

“But hey, that’s actually why I wanted to talk to you. I have a favor to ask you.” I kept my tone even and nonchalant, trying to avoid coming off as parental.

He eyed me as warily as I expected, tugging his drink a little bit closer as he started to shrink in on himself again.

“I’m gonna be honest,” he mumbled, “there’s not really anything I can do to hurt him that I haven’t already tried.”

There was no need for self-degradation. Raymond might have thought he tried everything, but from his body language around a woman, it was safe to assume he’d never tried my plan.

“Wanna bet?”

Raymond sighed in surrender before he shrugged, “Sure. What’s the favor?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

It wasn’t my intention to wait until the drink was in his mouth before I spoke, but it was how it ended up happening. And almost instantaneously, he spat the drink out over the bar before calmly squeaking, “I’m sorry, what?”

“I want to have sex with you,” I repeated like it was the most normal thing in the world. Then I sought confirmation that was only a little important in the grand scheme of things. “You’re staying at his place, right?”

“Just for tonight, yeah—" he started, but all I heard was the ding of a checkmark on my mental list that meant we were cleared for the next step.

“Great. We should do it there, then. Tonight.”

Raymond’s tongue stuck out from between his teeth, the visual of restraint matching his narrowed, shifty eyes and fidgety legs.

“I feel like I’m missing something...” he muttered.

I heard him, but I didn’t really care. The clock was running, and I was ready to get something good out of this night. Possibly even two good things, if he ended up being as helpful as his cute, submissive demeanor implied.

“I’ll drive. You want to go now?”

“I— I mean, sure, yeah,” he stumbled over the words and his own feet as he left the bar. “We can… go have sex.”

I laughed at how cool he tried to sound because he definitely failed. I reached past him to drop cash on the bar and grabbed his hand on the way back. The amount of warmth stormed it in was shocking, considering all the blood seemed to be in his face, ears, and the tent in his pants. But the comfort of his fingers interlocking with mine on instinct did more for me than he knew.

“Great. Let’s go.”

Raymond was silent on the way out and into the car, which was about what I expected from him. Every glance his way would show the gears slowly turning in his head, like he was still trying to grasp whether my proposition was serious. Like I was trying to murder him or something.

When the car started, so did some sliver of confidence in him, although he still cleared his throat before he asked, “Do you need directions, or…?”

“No, I’ve been to his place before.”

That caution and suspicion returned and multiplied, and before I even pulled out of the parking lot he had shrugged down in the seat and buried his face in his hands.

“Please tell me you didn’t fuck my dad,” he whined in the most dramatic manner possible.

I couldn’t blame him for the theatrics, although the implication was not at all appreciated.

“Absolutely the fuck not,” I spat, my face curling into a pure expression of disgust. At least we both felt similarly on that note.

“Thank god.” The relief flowed through him, allowing him to sit back up to his previously half-straight position. I decided that it was probably best to cut him some slack for assuming I would ever fuck that devil of a man, because I got the sinking suspicion that he might have known a couple girls his age that had done exactly that.

That thought led me back to the very reason I was there at all, and a chill ran down my spine as I muttered without thinking, “Wasn’t for a lack of his trying, though.”

The whole tone in the car shifted in seconds. One glance over at Raymond confirmed the repressed rage and sadness rolling off of him in waves that were more accurately described as a tsunami.

It was just unsettling enough that I snapped my eyes back to the road, giving a nervous chuckle to tell him that it wasn’t that serious. I didn’t need him to defend my honor, or anything. It did enough to quell most of the rage, but that self-pitying sadness was still there when he let out a shy, quiet plea.

“I don’t want to pry but… Will you tell me what this is about?”

“You really want to know?”

It was one thing to know the vague generalities of how much his father sucked, but another thing entirely to paint him a vivid depiction of what he was willing to do.

“Yeah,” he said with fiddling hands, “I think.”

I think he was trying to do me a favor. I think listening to my story was meant to be a sign to me that there were people who would care — people who would believe me. He clearly didn’t actually want to hear the story, but I appreciated his willingness to experience some discomfort to make up just a small part of his father’s misdeeds.

“So, I’m new at the school, right? It’s awkward. It’s a small town and everyone knows everyone,” I started, trying to look over at Raymond whenever I could to show him that I was doing alright. The poor thing looked like he needed the reassurance more than I did.

“Your dad very quickly tried to take me under his wing, despite my very obvious discomfort.”

“Sounds like him,” he interrupted with a pissed-off murmur.

“Yeah. I just kind of accepted his help because I was too scared to say no, but then one day he…” My voice trailed off, the words getting clogged in my throat and muddled on my tongue. It wasn’t that bad of a story; it should have been easier to explain. But something about Raymond being there, him listening to me so intently and with such a strong desire to make it better, that made it hard to speak. Eventually, I managed to start again. “He cornered me in the damn teacher’s lounge and—“

“Please don’t give me a reason to kill him. I’ve been toeing that line my whole life, and I will definitely do it.”

That time when Raymond cut me off, it was very clear to me that he was not kidding. He enunciated the words so clearly, venom dripping from his tongue and his chest heaving with a determination coming through clear, despite his best efforts to hide it.

He was a sweet kid.

“He didn’t try to touch me or anything. It wasn’t like that,” I said with an awkward smile, reaching over to pat his thigh. The action alone seemed to calm him, almost like a dog that was being told to stand down.

He was a really cute kid.

But I had to finish this stupid story. I had to give him all the information so that he would know exactly why I’d invited myself into his bed. Sex is sort of a big deal, you know? I mean, not always, but the other party in spite sex should probably know who exactly the target is.

“He just made it very clear that he felt I owed him something, and I kindly told him to fuck off,” I concluded just as we pulled up the dirt drive. The bumps in the road seemed to shake some other memories in Raymond, and he just shook his head to rid himself of those, along with the story he’d just heard.

He looked over at me with a new understanding and something else.

“So that’s what this is about?”

“Yep,” I said with a pop of my lips to match the sound of my car door opening. He clambered out of the car much less gracefully, which was funny considering he’d had significantly less to drink.

But I figured I would have the decency not to laugh, instead just joining him on the passenger side of the car to finish our conversation before we went inside. I wanted to give him the chance to change his mind. I wouldn’t have blamed him. Although I was the one who would have to deal with the brunt of the downfall, Donald wasn’t my family. Like, I wouldn’t be at his holiday dinners. Then again, I’m not sure Raymond would be, either.

When I looked up from the thought, Raymond was staring at me. It wasn’t like before, though. There was nothing suspicious or any sign of concern in his eyes. No, they were filled with a very different feeling.

“You want to fuck me just to spite my dad?” he asked with a deadly seriousness.

I thought about it for exactly one second before I shrugged at the extremely accurate summary.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“God,” Raymond practically groaned, throwing himself on me and pinning me against the car with his hips before he growled, “that’s so fucking hot.”

Those same lips that produced the words quickly covered mine with the same force he’d used to pin me against the metal. I didn’t fight him at first because, well, I didn’t want to. It was the first clear sign he’d given that he really wanted to do this, and who was I to argue with how he expressed his consent?

Also, he was like, a really, really good kisser. The desperation he felt came through in his tongue as it tangled with mine, drawing a quiet, muffled moan from me that alerted me to how quickly this would escalate if I didn’t shove the boy off me.

Which, I did.

“Raymond— inside,” I ordered with the little breath I had left.

He was confused for a second, almost like he’d blacked out in the meantime. But then his tongue swept over his lips, his hands digging through his pockets for his keys before he hastily answered, “Right. Let’s go.”

It made sense to be quiet then, as the two of us tip-toed through the much too large house. Our occasional giggles were louder than our feet, and the whole experience was seriously reminiscent of sneaking into your boyfriend’s house as a teenager. And when we walked through his bedroom door, the sight stirred up even older memories. From the UFO poster and alien sheets to the boxes filled with dinosaur toys and action figures, I felt like I’d walked straight through a time machine into Raymond’s childhood.

“Sorry about… all of this,” he said with an overly apologetic tone, like this scene didn’t perfectly suit what I was planning. Like it wouldn’t be salt in the wound for Donald to see me fucking his son in the most juvenile room I’ve ever seen in my life.

“Ugh, it’s perfect. You are literally a man-child.”

I didn’t mean it as an insult, but his nervous shifting told me he took it that way. But when I kicked off my shoes and started to disrobe my outer layers, it was becoming obvious to him again just how serious I was about this whole thing.

“Sorry, but—“

“Stop saying sorry, Raymond.”

“Sorry,” he squeaked back, doing the exact thing I’d just told him not to do. I shot him a warning glance and watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in return. Then, still worrying the hem of his pajama shirt between his fingers, he looked away as he asked, “Are you sure you actually want to have sex with me?”

I was a little too busy at first to answer him. I was already rustling through the bedside table to find a condom that I was absolutely positive would be there. When I finally found it, I turned my attention back to the blushing boy.

“Why are you asking? Do you want to have sex with me?”

“Yes!” he answered with a clear excitement, only to lose it immediately. “But I would have wanted to have sex with you even if my dad wasn’t a pervert.”

“Awww, thanks,” I cooed with feigned sincerity. Raymond was still just pouting, though. I was learning more each second just how starved of affirmation this boy had been. But it wasn’t like I could just start praising him; the poor thing would have whiplash if I wasn’t careful. There was no worse mood-killer than crying, either, so I settled for a joke.

“I’d probably have sex with you, too.”

“Probably?” he responded with a smile and a seat next to me.

“It’s pretty likely, depending on how much we talked first,” I explained as I helped him out of his coat. I even managed to start undoing his pajama top buttons before he realized it was happening.

He didn’t stop me when he did.

“I don’t know if that’s an insult or not,” he said, instead.

With a coquettish grin, I leaned in to whisper against his lips, “And you never will.”

There was absolutely no resistance from Raymond when I grabbed hold of his collar, tugging him on top of me as I laid down on the tiny twin bed. Despite all of his insecurity, he didn’t hesitate to kiss me again, either. This time it was somehow even more heated, like he was trying to pour all of his heart into it.

I almost warned him that he had better cool it if he didn’t want to risk getting me hooked, but I was too late. He was already busy undoing the buttons on my own top and gently kneading my chest through the fabric of my bra, and I was quickly losing track of which of us was more into what was happening.

It didn’t really matter, but just in case he was still worried that I might not want to be there, I snuck my hand down and under the waistband of his pajamas.

“Fuck!” he cursed in a hushed whisper, his body buckling forward far enough that he almost dropped all his weight on me. It was so damn cute that I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Don’t be too loud or we’ll never get to the fun part,” I warned, my voice barely a whisper in his ear.

His very eloquent response was a breathless, “Shit.” I couldn’t blame him, though. It was honestly more than I expected him to be able to enunciate when I grabbed hold of his dick and began making soft strokes.

It was obvious that he was trying very hard to stay quiet, but the whimpers and whines were falling from his mouth so quickly that I was forced to kiss him just to muffle the noise. Thankfully, Raymond took the hint that he needed to be quiet and decided to redirect the attention from himself back to me. He accomplished that task by pulling away from me just far enough that he could grab hold of my pants and underwear and roughly pull them down my thighs. The speed and force lit a fire deep in my gut, my whole body breaking out in goosebumps as I allowed myself to enjoy just how badly he wanted me. I’m sure the spite thing had a lot to do with it, too, but it had been a long time since a man was so clearly into me. It was an unavoidable conclusion in every touch from him.

A much-too-loud moan caught in my throat when he returned, slipping his fingers into my heat as he laid another feverish kiss against my lips. But it broke almost immediately with his own choked moan, followed by a low, breathy observation.

“You weren’t kidding about wanting this.”

“Nope,” I replied quickly, trying to control the noises coming out of my mouth by replacing them with words. It only sort of worked when I keened, “Fuck, you’re better at this than I thought.”

Raymond didn’t even stop, continuing to curl his fingers inside of me with each thrust. He did smile, though. A cheeky, borderline annoying smile that told me he knew what a bastard he was being.

“Again, I can’t tell if that is a compliment,” he said with an overwhelming amount of sarcasm as he watched me squirm under him.

I chose to ignore the taunt, opting to grab the condom from the bedside table and throw it directly at his face instead. “Put the fucking condom on, Raymond.”

There was less commentary from the peanut gallery from that point on. I did enjoy the show, though. As I removed my bra, I watched with rapt fascination as he stripped himself of his clothes. My desire grew at an exponential rate at the sight of him slipping the condom on. I’d gotten some idea of the size of him with my hand, but to see something so lewd in such an innocent room and on his shy little figure was something else.

Raymond shrunk a little under my gaze, only regaining his confidence when he saw the way my teeth dragged over my bottom lip. I ran my hands over my body that was still on display for him, thoroughly enjoying the way I could make his eyes go wherever I wanted with such a simple motion.

“Fuck me, Raymond.”

I heard his breath catch and watched the shiver flow through him at the order. Sure enough, he started to follow my instructions and lined himself up at my entrance with adorably shaky hands. But then, right before I got what I came for, he paused.

“Are you su—“

I was tired of waiting. Hooking my leg around his waist, I forced Raymond to thrust forward. My assistance didn’t take any of the pleasure out of it when he was finally, fully inside of me. I couldn’t stop the way my back arched, pressing my chest against his with a wanton cry.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mumbled into my hair, burying his face in the crook of my neck as he adjusted to the new set of sensations.

I only gave him a few seconds to get used to it, fully ready to get the release that already felt so close.

“Fuck me,” I whined, already starting to roll my hips against the boy blubbering curses into my skin.

“O-Okay,” he muttered in the most adorable fashion.

That shyness was contrasted strongly by what followed. For all his whimpers and trembling, Raymond didn’t seem to mind the way the bed would creak under us. In fact, it seemed that he was playing his own game, trying to elicit as many noises from me as he could get from the bed.

On instinct, my hands rose to try to still the headboard. But to my surprise, they never made it. The man above me had grabbed hold of one wrist, pinning it against the pillow to stop me. That simple, thoughtful act was enough to almost send me over the edge right then, but I held on for what I knew would come.

My moans were another story. They seemed so inevitable, with Raymond slamming into me with a progressively rougher force until I rode that line between pain and pleasure. I could see it on his face, too, that we were barreling full speed to the inevitable.

So, it was as good a time as any for me to set the next step in motion. With full volume and a pitch nearly an octave higher than usual, I screamed, “Yes, Raymond!”

That cheeky little bastard laughed. That noise was such music to my ears, that I couldn’t just stop there.

“God, yes! Fuck me harder!” I cried dramatically while drawing out the words. In a way, I was over exaggerating for effect, but I was also actually having a great time. In fact, it was the best sex I’d had in a long time.

Raymond, catching on to the plan that I’d never explicitly explained, joined in with his own chant of my name, mixed with deep moans rumbling in his chest. I ran my nails down his back, seeking to elicit the higher pitched sounds I knew he was capable of when I realized just how much fun I was having with him.

It was also, of course, super fucking hot. But how often do you get to have this much fun with a random one night stand you found at the bar? Not often enough, I decided.

“Please, Raymond! Harder!” I begged, both in accordance with my previous moans and also because it was what I needed.

I couldn’t decide on a word to describe that wild look on his face, but Raymond had no problem following through with my request. Releasing my wrist, he sat up on his knees, grabbing hold of my hips and lifting them so that he could come down between them at a new angle.

That angle, it seemed, left him bottoming out inside of me with each brutal thrust. My legs were actually shaking around him, my back barely touching the bed as I threw my head back on that damn alien pillowcase.

The clacking of the headboard against the plaster shook the hung UFO picture, which ended up clattering behind it with about as much grace and subtlety as Raymond and I shared in that moment.

But that crashing also masked the sound of the door slamming open, just as I’d been waiting for. And for a long moment, neither of us even looked over to the light filtering in from the hallway. Instead, we locked eyes with each other as the two of us simultaneously reached our peak.

I was so, so glad that I didn’t look away. I kept my eyes firmly on Raymond as he threw his head back, forcing himself as deep in me as he could and holding me against him as I nursed him through his orgasm with my own. His mouth, though dropped open, was curved in a satisfied smile, one last moan tearing through the two of us before he promptly collapsed on top of me.

Then, it finally came. Donald’s voice bellowing, “What the fuck is going on in here?!”

—

As Raymond and I sat in my car that night, there was a much more relaxed atmosphere. Whether the catharsis was from the sex or the big fuck you to his father, the two of us were just basking in the afterglow of the overall experience.

Of course, he was also laughing at the fact I was currently wrapped up in his alien bedsheet.

“We could’ve gotten your clothes, you know.”

“There was no way in hell I was going to drop this sheet in front of that man,” I said through my laughter, my mind replaying the chaos of the last few minutes over again in my head.

“Probably a good call,” Raymond answered.

But then another thought occurred to me, which caused my face to contort into a disgusted grimace.

“You’d better go get my underwear and bra later, though. He cannot keep those.”

“Will do. Promise,” he said with a little nod that ended with him staring at me with an absolutely smitten look plastered on his face.

“You can keep them, though,” I offered, reaching over and pretending like I could actually fix the birds nest on his head.

“Thanks. I’m flattered,” he said while chasing after my hand that eventually settled on his cheek. His face was still flushed, his eyes still only half opened as he nearly fell asleep against my palm. I wondered if it was from the orgasm, or if it was just the first time in a while he’d felt safe enough to do it. He must’ve seen the worry in my eyes, because he interrupted the thought with another question.

“Did you accomplish your goal?”

I thought about it for a second, dragging my fingers down his face before I pulled back with a sigh. “I feel satisfied,” I decided. “What about you?”

Raymond also took the chance to think about it before he nodded with more enthusiasm than before.

“I feel pretty good,” he said proudly.

“That’s all? Just pretty good?” I replied with an annoyed click of my tongue. I mean, I was wrapped in his bedsheets after just helping him achieve one of the most satisfying catharses of his life, and all he had to say was ‘pretty good?’

But then I saw it, that little sparkle in his eyes that showed me he just wanted to rile me up before he gave his real answer.

“It was fucking glorious.”

It wasn’t even the words that filled my heart with pride, but the way his whole expression softened as he said it. He obviously meant it with every fiber of his being, and I couldn’t help but fall in love a little bit at the sight.

“Sorry I got you kicked out,” I said to distract myself from that dangerous line of thought.

“Not the first time. Hopefully the last,” he nonchalantly shrugged as I turned the key in the ignition. We hadn’t actually planned on what to do from this point, but I certainly had some ideas.

“You can stay at my place,” I slurred through my exhaustion, “I have a guest bedroom if you feel weird staying in mine.”

But Raymond didn’t answer. He just laughed, shaking his head and rubbing a heavy hand over his tired eyes.

“What?” I asked, a little worried I’d made a mistake.

“Nothing,” he reassured with that stupid fucking grin that was soon aimed straight at me, “it’s just… You’re asking me if I want to sleep with you. Again.”

“Yeah, what about it?” I laughed, turning to pull out of the driveway. The bumps didn’t bother Raymond that time.

“I’d love to,” he said as we turned onto the main road, his hand finding mine on the gear shift.

“Great.” Allowing the relief to flow through his hand and into me, I realized that the reason I’d had so much fun with this random one night stand was because a large part of me knew it was never going to be just that.

“You know, my bed’s not a twin, and it doesn’t creak, so…” I trailed off, hoping that he would be clever enough to put it together.

“So what?”

He was not. But that was okay, because I realized that was exactly what I loved about him.

“Never mind,” I sighed, “I’ll show you in the morning.”

——————————————————

(Tell me what you thought of this piece here!)

#raymond wadsworth #suburban gothic #suburban gothic fanfic #mgg fanfiction #mgg fanfic #matthew gray gubler fanfic #raymond wadsworth fanfic #raymond wadsworth fanfiction

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blitzturtles · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Guilt

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Stardust Crusaders (set after Golden Wind, given Jolyne's age.)

Pairing(s): JotaKak, JoKa, (Platonic) Jotaro & Jolyne, (Platonic) Kakyoin & Jolyne

Summary: Kakyoin is in the middle of answering one of Jolyne's many questions when he feels something twist violently inside his abdomen. He tastes what he thinks might be bile at rist, but the metallic tinge registers, and,

Oh god, no. Not here. Please not here.

Notes: Involves emergency surgery, chronic pain, preteen!Jolyne, PTSD, disabled Kakyoin, and near death experiences.

Here's the thing: Jolyne hates him. It's not a secret, and it's definitely not something that she bothers to hide from him. Jotaro keeps swearing that she'll come around. Says she's just stubborn (like her father is, Kakyoin sometimes thinks with far too much affection for a man that regularly drives him up the wall). There's also the fact that she's a preteen, and kids are apparently just like that at her age.

Here's the thing: Kakyoin would hate him, too. If he were in her situation. He's petty on a good day, and a right bastard on any other. He can't imagine being in her situation. With divorced parents who, while amicable, are both ridiculously successful and constantly busy. And then waltzed in Kakyoin, right in the middle of it. Though 'waltz' is a bit of a stretch. He doesn't do anything like that with his plated spine and braced legs, but none of that matters. The real point is that he gets it.

He does his best to never push more than he has to. For the most part, he lets Jolyne do her own thing, because she's a Kujo and a Joestar. She's going to do what she wants anyways. His opinion be damned, though he does try to reason with her. Hell, he's given into bribing every once in a while. (Sometimes the means don't matter when father and daughter are both happy at the end of the day.)

In short: Jolyne hates him, and Kakyoin understands.

______

Here's the thing: Jolyne finds Kakyoin to be a nuisance. An interference. One more complication to an already complicated life, and she's only eleven. She wants her parents to get over their bullshit (language!) and figure out how to make things work. She wants Kakyoin to go away, but that doesn't mean she wants him dead. Or injured. Even if she did wish him off the end of a pier that one time. Still.

They've admittedly grown to be more friendly over time. She talks to him now, which is an improvement to the chronic cold shoulder she gave him before. Sometimes she even asks him for help, because her dad can be surprisingly useless when it comes to school work (weren't you in school when I was little?) He always seems happy to help, and he never gets as frustrated as her dad.

So maybe she doesn't hate him, but she definitely wants him to go away.

______

Kakyoin is in the middle of answering one of Jolyne's many questions when he feels something twist violently inside his abdomen. He tastes what he thinks might be bile at rist, but the metallic tinge registers, and,

Oh god, no. Not here. Please not here.

He doesn't need to know-- specifically-- what went wrong to know that he's dying. The moment the pain goes from barely tolerable to utterly agonizing is about when his brain lets him know that he's operating on borrowed time.

Kakyoin could have used that warning approximately five minutes ago. Before the pain. Before he found himself in front of Jolyne.

"I'm sorry," he tries to say, hopes the words come out audible enough for her to understand.

There are tears welling up in her eyes, and they fall soon enough. God, he's made Jolyne cry. She's so young. So unprepared. And she looks so much like Jotaro. With panic stricken eyes and fingers that grasp for something to do. Some way to fix this. It makes his chest ache beyond the twisting and shearing that his insides are already doing.

(She looks exactly like Jotaro, in the hospital after the Foundation managed to retrieve them. The way her hands fumble in the air is so much like how Jotaro had reached out desperately, trying to hold onto Kakyoin, in case those had been his last moments. Like father, like daughter, Kakyoin thinks without humor.)

His knees hit the ground first, and that shoots pain up his legs and along his hips. The rest of it ricochets and dies somewhere midway up his spine. It's a momentary distraction away from the agony that is his middle. He reaches with his fingers to press against his stomach, half expecting them to sink inward (into nothingness. There's nothing. Dio punched a hole right through him, and he's going to die.)

Jolyne is yelling. His name at first, then for her father. Again, he's reminded of the day he died. Maybe it's all been a dream. He's waking up now and the end is pressing down on him. The light will follow soon. He knows; he's seen it before.

"Please!" Jolyne begs him, "I'm sorry!"

He is, too. It's the last thing he thinks before his eyes slide shut and the darkness grabs at him greedily.

______

There's shouting and bright lights and something covering his face. He can't make out anything with his vision so blurry, but he thinks he hears Jotaro's angry voice booming what could be an entire room away.

"If you fucking put a finger on him that isn't necessary to keep him alive. I'll fuck-"

"Dad!"

Jotaro inhales sharply but nods to the surgeon one, final time, "His team is on their way. Not a goddamn finger."

______

The Speedwagon Foundation has several doctors that Kakyoin sees on a semi-regular basis. Each is a specialist in their own right, and they're the only reason Kakyoin ever made it home from Egypt. They're also the only ones that regularly work on updating all the augmented parts and maintaining the damaged remains of Kakyoin's organs. They know him inside and out. Quite literally.

The team makes it to the hospital long before Kakyoin comes out of emergency surgery, which means the whole process is extended significantly. The upside (if it could be called that) is that Kakyoin doesn't have to be put under again. The downside is that it means they'll be waiting awhile.

Jotaro does his best to be strong for Jolyne. It's his job as a parent to keep a calm façade and push his emotions to the side. She needs someone to be her reassurance.

He fails miserably.

______

The head of the Foundation team emerges some hours later, looking a little worse for wear. The stoicism past that does little for Jotaro's nerves. It tells him nothing of what to expect.

"Well?"

"He's stable," the doctor answers. "We had to take out several inches of colon this time. If I had to guess, he probably believed himself to be having a flare. He adjusted to the pain until he became necrotic." His expression shifts into an unpleased frown, "He also has two ulcers. Has he changed his diet? Or experienced any new stressors?"

Jolyne's lip quivered as she processed the doctor's words. She thought over every time she and Kakyoin had fought in recent history. Most of it being her yelling at him.

Jotaro's focus remains fixated on the doctor, "What the hell kind of pain is he still having?"

The doctor-- one Jotaro recognizes from previous visits but can't recall the name of-- sighs, "Kakyoin will only allow us to do so much to help manage his pain. I'm not his specialist in that regard, but it's at his request that he's kept on very little in terms of medication."

Jotaro knows that. He knows that Kakyoin doesn't like what stronger pain meds do to his head, but how out of control is his pain that he didn't notice that he was dying? That his body has been rotting from the inside out for an unknown amount of time?

Jolyne shifts further behind him, drawing his attention to her. It's the only thing that spares the doctor whatever response Jotaro might have otherwise formed. He turns to look at Jolyne and is startled by the tears already trailing down her round cheeks. Realization hits him then.

She's eleven, and he's an idiot.

"Hey, hey. Enough with that. He's going to be okay," Jotaro says quickly. He should have- called her mother or his mother or literally anyone. This isn't a conversation she needed to be privy to.

"It's me," Jolyne chokes the words out. Her thin arms wrap tight around her middle, and she looks close to collapsing on the ground.

Jotaro, admittedly, has no idea what she's talking about, "What's you?"

"The stress!" She practically wails.

Jotaro sighs and moves to wrap his arms around Jolyne. He tugs her in against his chest. "That- that's not the kind of stress the doctor is talking about," he glances over his shoulder to see that the man had already dismissed himself. Smart guy.

"I'm always mean to him!"

Jotaro wants to laugh. Not at all because he thinks her words-- or her suffering-- are funny, but because the whole situation feels unreal. He cards his fingers through her hair instead. It's all the comfort he feels like he can offer in a situation like this. With his own resolve teetering on the edge.

"Takes a lot more than that to take out Noriaki," he's lying through his teeth. The whole new family thing might damn well be enough stress, but he's never going to let Jolyne think this is her fault. It's not. Kakyoin is capable of making his own decisions, and being part of their family is one of them.

Jolyne crumbles against him despite the gentle words, so he scoops her up and holds her against his chest. Even at eleven, she's nothing compared to his size. He finds a nearby seat to settle into and lets her cry while he whispers promises he can't be sure he'll be able to keep. Eventually he tries distracting her with facts about dolphins, and that either has some effect, or she passes out from exhaustion. Either way, he's relieved when she snores against his neck.

______

Kakyoin comes to the waking world in a haze. His head aches and his middle feels a lot like it might have been ripped open again. He hopes that whatever happened had been a little more civil than that.

It doesn't take him long to place himself in the hospital. That's good. He isn't dead, and he's not immediately at risk of falling into enemy hands. The beeping to his left is annoying, and he can't see well enough to make anything out on the monitors around him. His vision tends to be the last thing to recover when he's been knocked out for a while. Still, he turns his head to continue to take in what he can make out.

He stops short when he sees two people in chairs on his right side, closer to the door. The familiar hat catches his attention immediately, not that he needs to be able to see at one hundred percent (or his version of it) to know that the man is none other than Jotaro. His size will always give him away before anything else.

Jotaro's head is bowed in a way that indicates he's likely asleep. He's undoubtedly been here awhile. Jolyne sits beside him with her head pressed against her father's bicep. Star Platinum is out and wrapped around both of them. He lifts his hand from Jotaro a moment to wave at him brightly, which is enough to disturb his user's sleep.

"Mm?" Jotaro grunts. He opens his eyes and sucks in a breath. He takes a moment to compose himself, which is fine. Kakyoin thinks he probably looks worse than he feels, thanks to the drugs. He would make a joke about it, but moving still hurts.

"Good to see you awake. How're you feeling?" Jotaro asks. He doesn't move from his spot, if only to avoid waking up Jolyne, but that intense gaze is evaluating all the same.

Kakyoin gives a noncommittal answer, and Jotaro snorts, "That's what I thought you'd say. Good thing we have this." He reaches for the little controller on the side of Kakyoin's bed. He presses the red button before Kakyoin can protest.

The glare he shoots Jotaro is relatively short-lived, and it's hard to be mad when Jotaro looks so damn triumphant, even if it's about something that Kakyoin has complicated feelings about. He decides to let him have this one, considering the fact that he's pretty sure he gave them all one nightmarish scare.

"I'm sorry," he says after a while, head lulling back against the pillows. His red hair spreads out all around. It's longer now than it ever has been, but he hasn't felt the need to cut it beyond a simple trim in years. It doesn't matter, but it gives himself something to focus on rather than the gnawing guilt.

"Don't be."

"I- god, I never meant-"

"Kakyoin."

"If I had known, I would have left the room or-"

"Kak-"

"She was so afraid. And she-"

"Noriaki," Jotaro snaps more than says the name, but his eyes are soft. "You aren't the only one that made her cry in the last few hours, so you're not special." That's not true. Kakyoin is incredibly special, but he needs to make some kind of light-hearted comment before he starts crying. Nobody needs to see that.

"Still," Kakyoin mumbles, but he doesn't continue.

Jotaro reaches out with Star, who clasps his large hand over one of Kakyoin's. He wants to lean forward himself, but he doesn't want to wake Jolyne up. Not yet.

Kakyoin turns his palm up to tangle his fingers together with Star's. He brushes his thumb over the stand's, knowing Jotaro can feel it reflected on his skin.

"I really thought it was a flare," he says after a while, because he feels like he owes some sort of explanation after everything.

"Nori, I really can't tell you how much I don't give a damn about that," Jotaro frowns at his own words, "No, I mean- I care, but- fuck." He scrubs his hand over his face a few times before trying again, "You don't have to feel guilty for this shit, okay? I should have noticed you were in pain."

Kakyoin shakes his head. He squeezes Star's hand to make sure Jotaro's listening when he speaks, "It's not your fault. I deal with this pain all the time. It just- at first it felt like a flare, but I guess I got used to it." And every time the pain worsened, he acclimated until it had nearly killed him.

Jotaro doesn’t get a chance to respond before Jolyne is rustling against him. She opens her eyes a crack and reaches up to wipe at them with her fists. “Dad?”

“Right here,” Jotaro grunts in response. He squeezes her shoulder gently, then retracts his arm to give her space to stretch out. “Kakyoin is awake.”

He watches the fog clear from her eyes. They widen as she processes his words, and her attention immediately turns to the redhead, who waves meekly at her.

“Jolyne, I’m- oof!”

Star quickly gets his hands around Jolyne’s waist, suspending her in the air enough to keep her weight from falling too heavily onto Kakyoin. He lets her down carefully, and the youngest Kujo looks sheepish for her overreaction.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s alright,” Kakyoin says, curling an arm around her loosely in return. He hadn’t expected to be nearly tackled upon awakening. That went doubly so when considering Jolyne as a factor. She’s never hugged him before. Trauma is funny in that way; something he knows from first hand experience.

Jotaro steps up behind her and offers a small smile to Kakyoin, “We’re glad you’re alright.”

“Yeah!” Jolyne echoes, “You scared the shit out of us!”

“Jolyne,” Jotaro’s voice is gruff. An attempt at a warning that falls short. The way his lips pull further upward is a dead giveaway that he isn’t particularly upset by her language usage.

“It’s true!”

“Good grief.”

Kakyoin snorts at the father-daughter duo, relieved to see the two smiling again. Already bickering as per usual. There’s too much snark trapped in the Joestar bloodline, and it always amplifies whenever there’s more than one of them in a room. He’d know, having been on the road with Joseph and Jotaro in the past.

Somehow the back and forth settles into Jolyne rambling about dolphins. She regurgitates facts that-- for the most part-- Kakyoin already knows, but he feigns shock and awe at all the right places to keep her spirit up. It’s more healing to watch her babble emphatically than it is lying around in a hospital bed, staring at the ceiling. It eases some of the guilt, makes him feel lighter.

Eventually, Jotaro whiskers her out the door. Kakyoin catches sight of Holly, which must mean that Marina is tied up. Holly doesn’t come in, likely at her son’s behest. The woman is a mother through and through, and she can be a bit overwhelming at times. Better to focus all that maternal energy on Jolyne for now.

“You look tired,” Jotaro says when the door clicks shut behind the two. He takes his spot back next to Kakyoin’s bed, pulling his chair as close as he can. His knees grind against the railing of the bed a bit, but the distance allows him to lean forward and get a good look at his partner.

“I could say the same about you,” Kakyoin points out with a raised brow. He still can’t pick up his head for more than a few seconds at a time, and his vision remains fuzzy around the edges; a likely side effect of being drugged to the gills, but he isn’t blind. He can see the bags collecting under Jotaro’s eyes. Exhaustion-- emotional as much as it is physical-- already weighing his shoulders down.

Jotaro snorts an unamused sound, “I’m not the one that just had emergency surgery.”

Kakyoin winces at the reminder. “I’m-”

“If you finish that statement, I’m going to give you a reason to be sorry,” he isn’t. Jotaro won’t hurt him, but the words make Kakyoin close his mouth anyways. For a second.

“Oh, and how are you going to do that?”

Jotaro stares him down for a solid thirty seconds, expecting him to back down. When he doesn’t, the man pushes himself to his feet with an exasperated sigh. “Good grief, c’mere,” his fingers hook under Kakyoin’s chin, and he leans down to press their lips together.

As far as life affirming kisses go, it’s one of Jotaro’s more gentle ones, but Kakyoin feels the thrill of it chasing down his spine anyways.

“I love you,” Kakyoin murmurs as they break apart. He wants to add an apology to the end, but he bites his lip and keeps it to himself for now. He’ll find a way to make it up to Jotaro and Jolyne later.

“Love you, too, Tenmei.”

#jotakak #jotaro kujo #kakyoin noriaki #noriaki kakyoin #jolyne kujo #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #jbba part 3 #stardust crusaders #blitzwrites #blitz

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wanderinginksplot · 4 years ago

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Nobody Listens to Kix

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Case 00864: Dogma

Warning: This chapter deals with the aftermath of the Umbara arc and touches on shock, PTSD, and related themes. Please skip this chapter if those things make you uncomfortable. (No grossness like the last chapter, though.)

For the first time in his life, Kix stood in the middle of the medbay and felt utterly lost. They had been picked up by the Resolute, pulled from Umbara's surface aboard General Skywalker's favorite ship, the Twilight. The medbay was filled with men from the 212th and the 501st alike, men mixed together more completely than they ever had been. They were united in one thing: they were clones.

Nothing else mattered right now, maybe nothing else would ever matter. They had been pitted together, forced to fight to the death against their own brothers, and for what? To help a corrupt Jedi prove that clones were defective? Nothing as petty as the colors painted on their armor could separate the troopers from their vode now.

The medbay was overflowing with troopers and Kix felt helpless. Most of the injuries were minor, easily treated, but the emotional trauma…

Everywhere he looked, Kix found brothers frowning, crying, raging at the injustice of it all, or looking just as lost as he felt. Every bed in the medbay was taken up and troopers still filed in. They leaned against the walls, sat eight to a bed, or just stood in the middle of the floor. Normally, the accepted procedure was to create temporary medbays in the Resolute's hangers, but Kix refused to do that. The bodies of his fallen brothers filled every hanger, and he would sooner be court-martialed than force injured or emotionally-vulnerable men to stare at the bodies of men who had died in transit.

And it was only those who had died on their way to the Resolute who were being recovered. The men who had fallen on Umbara's surface would be left there, left to become part of the planet's dark soil. The Republic didn't worry about burying the clones. The new teams who arrived to hold the planet would have orders to collect the numbers of fallen troopers. A full casualty report couldn't be made until then.

An envoy of Jedi healers was on the way to meet the Resolute, their needs deemed too severe to wait until they had docked at Coruscant. It was a surprise, but one that Kix wouldn't turn away. It seemed that, despite being seen as expendable by the Republic, there were some Jedi who felt the injustice of what the clones had undergone.

The generals were out and about, as well. General Skywalker had gone to console Captain Rex, who - according to clone gossip - had nearly destroyed his office after returning to the ship. General Kenobi and Commander Tano were circling the medbay comforting troopers. They did their best not to look hurt by the men who flinched away from them. They understood that such recent betrayal by a Jedi meant that they would not easily trust another.

Kix noted that every Jedi he had seen since they left Umbara was not wearing a lightsaber. Even Commander Tano's iconic dual hilts were missing from her crossed belts.

General Kenobi veered closer to Kix as he moved through the crowd and stopped to speak with him. "I offer my most sincere apologies, Kix. Please, if there is anything I can do to help-"

Kix had started shaking his head before the General had fully formed the question. His brothers wouldn't accept help from a Jedi just now, and it would just agitate them further. Between himself and the three medical droids, Kix knew he could keep the men in the medbay alive until the Jedi relief healers arrived. Just then, though, he had bigger concerns. "Are you all right, General?"

Kenobi looked surprised when Kix gestured at his face and raised a hand to touch the wet trails down his cheeks. "Oh. I hadn't… I just- There is a great deal of pain in this room," he finally explained without apology. "I despise seeing the men like this. I would do anything to remove the pain from them."

"You and I both, General," Kix agreed. He tried to move away in an effort to treat more of the men, but General Kenobi caught at his arm. Before he could fight the reaction, Kix gave a noticeable flinch.

With an apologetic grimace, Kenobi dropped his hand and said, "There's one man I worry about more than these. Dogma is in bad shape. I don't feel anything from him at all in the Force. It isn't a good sign. I know you're busy, but..."

"I'll check on him, sir," Kix assured him, moving away with a medic's clipped steps. At the moment, it still felt more fantasy than reality, but the need for a plan had helped him build concentration. The medbay was too full to be effective, and he needed to start moving troopers away from the area.

Kix easily found Fives and Jesse, sitting in silence in the back of the room. Having obviously decided that the beds were too crowded - or needed by other men - they had opted to sit on the floor with their backs firmly braced against the wall. "I need you both to direct some of the men out of here."

Fives shook his head. "You can't expect them to leave. They're scared."

"I know, but I can't save anyone if I can't move in here," Kix argued. "I know we've gone through a horrible tragedy, but I need them to find somewhere else. Take them to one of the barracks. They need space and quiet and sleep, if they can manage it. I'll even get the ship's mess to send food and drinks, but they need to be away from here."

Jesse's lips were pale. "I don't know if we can move them, Kix. I don't think I can do it."

Kix's temper sparked, but he kept his voice calm and supportive as he crouched down in front of the troopers. "You are both leaders in the 501st. Fives, you're an ARC trooper. Jesse, your actions back there have you in line for a promotion, I can guarantee it. The men look up to you. You've taken care of them this whole time and you'll keep taking care of them by making sure they get the food and rest that they need. Give me a second to get Captain Trapper from the 212th and you can start moving men to the barracks. Move them in small groups and make sure one of you stays at the barracks with them so they feel safe."

A few moments later, Kix led Trapper back to the others, having explained the plan to him as well. "Start with the men who seem most at ease. The nervous ones will follow once they see the others leaving. If any of the men start to show signs of illness or trauma, bring them back here and I'll take care of them."

Fives gave a decisive nod. "Right. Let's start with the men we know will come along. Jesse, get Tup, Gurr, and Strike. They're good at explaining things to people. I'll get Appo, Fledge, and Quasi. They can start convincing people to come with us."

Obviously catching on to Fives's plan, Jesse added, "We'll try to get as many men with us as we can on the first trip. That might get some of the nervous ones to follow along eventually."

"I'll get a few steady troopers from the 212th to help out," Captain Trapper agreed. "Kix, we'll take them to D-Barracks. In case anyone needs one of the men, that's where you'll find us."

Kix nodded his appreciation and the men started working. It was a surprisingly quick process. After the initial troopers had been informed of the plan and circulated the room for a few minutes, the first group left, leaving the medbay noticeably more quiet than it had been. It took a total of four trips to convince all the stragglers, but Kix was eventually left with only a few of the most drastically injured men, General Kenobi, and Commander Tano.

"Should we go to D-Barracks, too?" Ahsoka asked.

Kix gritted his teeth. "Sorry, Commander. Most of the men just aren't ready to be around the Jedi yet. They need a place they can see as being safe, a type of haven."

Open hurt flashed across the Togruta's face. "I just want to help."

"I know, sir, and the men know, too. Everything is just a little fresh right now," Kix assured her. "General, have you spoken to Commander Cody yet?"

General Kenobi sighed and tugged mournfully at his beard. "I tried, but I could sense that he didn't want me there. I cannot be upset that he blames me for the 212th's part in this tragedy. I blame myself, too."

"Sir, I have never known a commander to look up to their general more than Cody does to you. He needs some time, but he knows the only one to blame for this mess is Krell." He thought for a moment. "Can you find someone to relieve Admiral Yularen?"

"On the bridge?" Kenobi asked, surprised. "I likely could. May I ask why?"

"He isn't a clone, but he isn't a Jedi. He's a member of the GAR who many of the men look up to. His presence may help them heal. If he's willing, of course."

"Of course," General Kenobi agreed, leaving the medbay at a fast pace.

"Is there anything I can do?" Commander Tano asked.

"Can you order some of the food droids from the mess to deliver supplies to the men?" Kix asked. "They'll need food and water, but hot drinks like caf and tea will help with the shock. Admiral Yularen and the Jedi could help with the delivery side of things. It's a good reason to see and be seen by the men without making them feel invaded by the Jedi."

"I'll do that," Ahsoka told him, spinning decisively on her heel. "Thanks, Kix!"

Before she left the medbay, she paused by the doors to look back at him with her expressive face free of the typical Jedi mask. "I'm glad you're okay, Kix. I really am."

"Me too, Commander," he murmured, but she was long gone.

With a nearly empty medbay, Kix fixed his attention on Dogma. The trooper was huddled in the last bed, his wrists fastened together in front of him in a pair of well-used binders. He stared blankly ahead, giving no reaction even when Kix approached him. His normally intelligent face was slack and his right shoulder gave an occasional twitch.

"Dogma," he said softly. There was no response, and Kix repeated the trooper's name without hope of him answering.

He took a bioscan of Dogma's current state, unsurprised to find that his blood pressure and pulse were high. "Dogma, it's Kix. Can you hear me?"

After a long moment, Dogma repeated tonelessly, "...hear me?"

"Come on, vod," Kix cajoled. "I need you to come back here. Come back, Dogma. You're here, you're safe."

"...safe," Dogma echoed. His brows crinkled slightly, the minor shift seeming tremendously important with his lack of other response. "Not safe. Never safe."

"You are safe," Kix insisted. "You're safe, Dogma. You've made us all safe. No more Krell. You can come back now."

"Krell…" Dogma's eyes lit with recognition of the name and his entire face crumpled a moment later under the weight of the memories. "I killed him. I killed a Jedi."

"A traitor," Kix said firmly. "He wasn't a Jedi. No Jedi would have done what he did."

"He was a commanding officer," Dogma replied, sounding almost like his regulation-quoting self if not for the thickness in his voice. "I killed a commanding officer. The regs say I'll be court-martialed and found guilty. They'll either execute me or lock me away for the rest of my life. I'm not sure which is worse."

Kix rested a hand on Dogma's shoulder, unable to keep it from tightening as he felt the trembling in his brother's body. "You did what you had to do. Not only for us, but for all of the Republic. Krell was a traitor and he deserved to die. Should have died slower, if you ask me. You were too merciful."

Dogma gave a slight chuckle at that, though there was no joy in his eyes. "That's an interesting take on the situation. I don't think the GAR will follow your logic."

"I'll talk to whoever needs to hear me - anyone who will listen," Kix told him fiercely. "You took out a threat. That's what we're trained to do. You're a hero. You should be given a medal, not face a court-martial."

"Even the other men are avoiding me," Dogma said with a shake of his head.

Kix laughed. "Because you killed that ori'dush shabuir? Most of the men want to shake your hand."

Dogma laughed, but the sound quickly turned to stifled sobs and he began to tremble uncontrollably. When Kix was unable to get another response from Dogma and the trooper's blood pressure began soaring to dangerous levels, he administered a mild sedative and waited by the bedside until Dogma's scans showed normal levels once more.

After Dogma fell into a drug-assisted sleep, Kix moved quickly to his desk, opened a link to the holonet, and proceeded to abuse his medical access privileges.

"Kix?" Senator Amidala asked, her confused frown evident even through the unstable connection of the hololink. "Anakin told me what happened on Umbara. I am so sorry-"

"Sorry, ma'am, I don't have much time," Kix interrupted. Thankfully, the senator didn't seem offended. "I have the trooper here who finally put an end to General Krell. He's facing a court-martial and they'll most likely rule against him. I don't want to put you in an uncomfortable position, but is there anything you can do?"

Senator Amidala fell silent, and Kix appreciated that she was taking the time to fully consider his question. "The Senate and the Grand Army of the Republic don't operate jointly, but I think I can find a way to bring this to the Senate's attention since there are clone rights bills on the floor. I will need a few details and I'll warn you that it'll become a publicity circus. Is your trooper all right with that?"

"It's better than death, ma'am," Kix said firmly.

"That is true," she agreed softly. "Send me a file with as much information as you can and I'll put together something. The Senate won't meet tomorrow, but that should give me enough time to get something ready. When will you land on Coruscant?"

"A little less than a standard week from now."

"That should be plenty of time, then."

Senator Amidala's confidence was enough to ease the burden on Kix's shoulders. "Thank you, Senator. I can't tell you what this will mean to Dogma - to all of the men, really."

"It's the right thing to do, Kix," she said, voice filled with conviction. "You and your brothers deserve consideration as thinking beings as well as for the work you do in service of the Republic. We'll give Dogma the best possible chance that we can."

"I couldn't ask for anything more," Kix told her fervently.

---

A/N - Thank you for reading! Please reblog!

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lloydskywalkers · 5 years ago

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wishful thinking

good evening it’s missing garmadad hours again, that is all :’’) takes place somewhere after season 10, since we don’t...really know where Garmadon is at the moment.

It’s pure chance Garmadon’s at the compound in the first place.

He’s been trying to stay out of the affairs of humans, even since the girl who brought him back left him with the worst of headaches to deal with. Garmadon doesn’t understand them, humans and their petty drama, their odd phrases and the way they ask him to stay. So most of the time, he leaves them alone. It’s a generous gesture, on his part.

But every once in a while, there are humans who refuse to leave him alone, in which case he rescinds any generosity and makes an example of them. The humans in the compound he’s dealing with tonight are particularly persistent ones — they’ve been tracking him for weeks, trying to jump him when they think he’s not watching. It’s beyond irritating, and he doesn’t have much patience these days — if any at all. So tonight he’s tracked them, right back to their little hideout, and he’s been having a decently chaotic evening of carnage so far.

Garmadon’s only planned on that — walking in, leaving a message, then walking right back out. But halfway out the building he pauses, his eyes drawn toward one of the long hallways, the lights above flickering in and out as the power sputters.

He’s not sure what half-wakened sense in him pushes his feet further into the flickering hallway, but he goes. It’s mostly quiet at this point, the majority of the people having made the wise decision to flee, and apart from a few muffled shouts in the distance, the hallway appears to be empty.

Garmadon’s almost disappointed.

Shrugging the thought off, he’s about to take his leave — when a door slams open, voices echoing frantically as one of the white-coated men blabbers into his radio, followed by another man who drags a crumpled, limp figure.

Their eyes meet and both sides freeze, standing in place as the lights flash and flicker above them. The first man’s face goes white as his jacket. Garmadon’s eyes slide downward, and land on the familiar sleeve of a torn gi, bright blond hair stained red as a steady stream of blood drips down the boy’s forehead.

Garmadon’s eyes return to the first man. He looks rather green, now.

As he should be, considering it’s likely the last thing he’s going to see.

**********

In retrospect, Garmadon has no idea what he’s doing. It isn’t as if he’d planned on taking the boy with him, he’d just…ended up with the small ninja slung over his shoulder as he’d run, leaving the compound and its chaos behind. Now he’s a good several miles away from any form of civilization, in the middle of nowhere, with an unconscious Green Ninja bleeding all over his arm and no plan whatsoever for dealing with him.

At least the boy isn’t awake to start shouting at him again, he thinks. Garmadon barely knows how to deal with the boy now that he’s a silent dead weight — he’d rather not deal with him spouting self-righteous tirades at him every five minutes.

A part of him debates just leaving the boy in the woods for his team to find. His friends are probably out searching for him now, if he knows anything about them. It certainly didn’t seem like the boy was there on his own volition, so Wu’s little students are probably worried.

Garmadon’s lip curls at the reminder of his brother, and he quickly banishes the thought. No, he can’t leave the boy here. He’s wounded, blood still staining the edges of his forehead, and it’s not like he can defend himself when he’s out cold to the world. Garmadon will just have to take him along, for now.

Garmadon pauses, his steps faltering. It abruptly occurs to him that he doesn’t know why he cares what happens to the boy. All they’ve been to each other is a headache, so it doesn’t make sense that he’s suddenly concerned. And yet, there’s some dull part of his mind doesn’t question it at all.

He eventually decides he’s not going to think about it, and continues on his way.

The boy still hasn’t made so much as a sound by the time Garmadon finds them a cave, taking shelter from the misting evening rain. This is — troubling, he thinks. He can’t remember how sturdy humans are supposed to be, but the boy shares his blood. He should at least be stirring by now.

Garmadon sets him down gingerly on the ground, eyeing the gash on his forehead. It’s stopped bleeding at least, crusted over in dried blood. That’s one less thing for him to worry about.

Garmadon immediately grits his teeth, tugging at his hair in frustration. Worried. He shouldn’t be worried. He’s tried to kill this boy before, it doesn’t make any sense.

A rumble of thunder echoes in the distance, and Garmadon lets his arms hang limp, the burst of hot anger draining away. Nothing makes sense, these days. He looks back at the Green Ninja, who’s unconsciously curled in on himself against the chill. Staring at the boy’s ashen face, Garmadon realizes, once again, that he has no idea what he’s doing.

His gaze drifts downward, catching on the familiar green fabric. The boy’s gi is torn and tattered in places, and he can see the skin beneath is marred by ugly, bruising red circles. That would explain why he’s yet to wake up, Garmadon figures. If they’ve drugged him this heavily, he should be out for a while. Small mercies, he supposes. At least he’ll have quiet.

The boy shifts again, curling in on himself further as he shivers. Garmadon stares at him for a beat, before heaving a sigh. He tugs the traveling cloak he’s been using from his shoulders, and tosses it haphazardly over the boy.

There. He’s done his part.

Garmadon stares at the rain outside, fingers tapping restlessly. Maybe—

Quickly, he tugs the cloak higher, up over the boy’s shoulders. That’s all, though. Well— he could pull the edges around him tighter, too. That way the chill wouldn’t seep in as much, then maybe—

Garmadon forces himself to snatch his hands away, crossing all four of them haughtily in his lap. This is ridiculous. If the boy were awake, he’d probably be trying to lecture him about memories again, and whatever else Wu’s fed them all. He should let him freeze in his sleep, it’d be a kindness.

Instead, he pulls the edges of the cloak tighter around the boy, and immediately wants to drown himself.

Oh well. It’s quiet now. That’s enough for Garmadon.

As if the universe itself is conspiring against him, that’s exactly when the boy starts moving.

**********

At first, Garmadon thinks he’s woken up. He’s got ten different sarcastic greetings ready for him as well, since he can only imagine what the boy’s reaction will be to finding himself stranded with Garmadon. The acidic words die on his tongue as the boy whimpers, eyes still screwed shut as he curls up further into the cloak, trembling slightly.

So most likely not awake, Garmadon muses. He knows little about the Green Ninja, but he knows he’d probably rather die than show such weakness in front of him.

Then again, maybe not, Garmadon thinks. The boy does seem to like his pathetic displays of emotion, and the way his expression scrunches up in pain is a familiar one.

Curious — certainly not concerned — Garmadon places a hand over the boy’s forehead, only to jerk it back at the heat that blazes beneath his skin. He frowns, racking his memory as he tries to remember whether this kind of heat is normal for humans or not. Or human hybrids? Whatever the boy is.

Judging how th boy’s starting to shift restlessly, his breathing odd and hitching, Garmadon decides it’s probably not. That could…possibly mean trouble. In hindsight, he probably should’ve at least figured out what they drugged him with, Garmadon thinks, watching as the boy shudders in his sleep, racked by another bout of shivering.

Garmadon hesitates, caught by indecision. Really, he shouldn’t be worried. It’s not like this is his problem. It’s the boy’s fault, for getting caught in the first place. And if Wu and his friends wanted him safe, they shouldn’t have let him get caught. Complete irresponsibility all around. The Green Ninja is reaping what he sowed, and Garmadon, of all people, shouldn’t be worrying himself with it.

But as he watches the boy writhe in the grips of fever, his face flushed and his hair matted in sweat, something in Garmadon’s chest goes uncomfortably tight. He feels almost battle-ready, as if he’s caught in the middle of a dangerous fight — he feels like he needs to fight, to slash and tear at whatever’s come over him.

But there’s nothing to fight except the boy, tangled in his cloak and moaning in delirium, and Garmadon—

Garmadon doesn’t know what to do.

The boy’s breathing falters, stuttering oddly on a gasp. Garmadon’s heart stutters with it.

No, he scolds himself, furiously. He hurt the boy far worse than this himself — the muddled memories he has from when he was first awoken are clear enough for him to remember that. The ninja can take far worse, and Garmadon shouldn’t care in the first place.

And yet.

The pressure on his chest grows worse, and Garmadon recognizes the feeling as something akin to fear. It can’t possibly be fear, of course — that would be ridiculous. Again, he doesn’t fear for the boy. He hardly even knows who he is. He’s stubborn and likes to yell at Garmadon, and he likes to stare sadly at Garmadon even more then he likes to yell at him. He was an unbearable thorn in his side when Garmadon fought against him, and nearly as bad when Garmadon fought with him, and he wears green. That’s about it.

The boy gives a muffled whimper, his face contorting in pain as he curls up tighter. His chest rises and falls rapidly with how short his breathing is, and sweat beads up at the corner of his forehead. Garmadon takes a breath of his own, straining against the nameless emotion flooding through him.

Oh, yes. And he’s Garmadon’s son, as well.

Sharp teeth bite the inside of Garmadon’s cheek as he grinds them. He despises this world. He despises this boy.

He tells himself that, over and over again. He keeps repeating it like a mantra, even as he sits frozen by the boy’s side, unable to leave.

(Unwilling to leave?)

The rain outside grows worse as the night draws on, and so does the boy. His breathing grows labored, his skin still radiating an unnatural heat, and Garmadon swallows back nausea. A large part of him wants to flee. He could scout the area for an hour, perhaps, or walk aimlessly around in the storm, until the boy either gets better on his own or dies. He’s preparing to wage war against the instinct in him screaming to stay, when he catches the first slip of tears across the boy’s cheek.

Ah, Garmadon thinks. Now he’s crying in his sleep. Wonderful.

Instead of scoffing in derision at him, Garmadon hesitates. Carefully, he sets a hand on the boy’s forehead, before slowly tugging it through his hair. The boy’s breath hitches, before slowing into something easier, and he goes finally, mercifully quiet.

Garmadon raises an eyebrow. Hm. He repeats the motion, and the boy’s pained expression eases, tightly-strung limbs finally going limp. Garmadon runs his hand through the thick locks again, catching on a tangled blond curl, and the boy almost seems to lean into the touch, his breathing finally steady.

Garmadon pauses, curiously. Something flickers in the back of his mind, a dull memory in duller colors. A hand, weathered and human, gently ruffling the hair of the same boy. His hair’s cut in a different style, and he seems younger, but his laughter’s the same.

Garmadon blinks. He doesn’t recall ever having heard the boy laugh.

His hand stills. The nameless emotion is back, welling up in his chest and constricting his heart. It makes his eyes smart and burn, staring at the boy, so Garmadon tears his gaze away, shuddering as he exhales heavily.

His eyes close tightly for a beat, then open as he sighs. At least the boy’s not crying anymore.

Not that he cares.

**********

The boy’s fever breaks soon after that. He sleeps peacefully for the rest of the night, and Garmadon watches him, trying vainly to sort out the mess of tangled memories and emotions that whirl within him. He spends most of the time trying to root out the buried part of himself that’s drawn toward the boy, to track it to its source and destroy it.

He’s unsuccessful at either one.

The first pale rays of dawn are starting to reach the cave as Garmadon gives up, standing with an irritated huff. He drags a hand across his face, fighting back exhaustion, when a quiet rustling from behind snaps him around.

He meets the boy’s bleary, half-awake gaze with wide eyes. There’s a heavy moment of silence as they stare at each other, neither moving. Then the boy finally speaks up, his voice cracked and rasping.

“Dad?”

Garmadon goes still, his breath catching in his chest.

Then he latches onto the shadows, and leaves the cave before the boy can blink again. He gives a startled yelp, gasping out a “wait!” before he stumbles back to the floor, caught off-balance. Garmadon pauses just outside, gathering the shadows around him until he’s obscured from view, but still—

Still not leaving, he thinks angrily at himself, as his feet refuse to move.

The boy emerges shortly after him, immediately shutting his eyes against the brightening morning sun. He presses a hand to his temple as he shakes his head, as if clearing his ears from water. He’s blinking dizzily, and for a second Garmadon worries he’s still drugged, and he’s about to have to play babysitter even longer.

But the boy finally straightens, his head swiveling from side to side as his eyes search the forest. He’s quiet, but he doesn’t have the same fever-ridden look from earlier. He looks tired, if anything, though there’s an odd expression of tentative hope on his face.

It dies as quickly as it appears, and the boy scowls. His hands ball into fists, his jaw clenching. “Stupid,” he mutters, and for a second, Garmadon thinks he’s been found out — and called out, apparently. He continues bitterly, “Idiot, what’d you think it was, you’re so stupid—”

He kicks angrily at the ground. Garmadon realizes the boy is talking to himself, rather than having spotted him. He watches as he falls quiet again, his hand clenching and unclenching around the bruising marks on his arm with a pained expression. He doesn’t make any other move, though.

Garmadon frowns. He doesn’t understand why the boy hasn’t left yet. There’s nothing for him here, unless he’s holding onto some foolish belief that Garmadon’s coming back.

The Green Ninja finally slumps in defeat, sitting heavily on the ground and pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes as he gives a quiet, shaky shudder. He stays like that for a bit, hands pressed tightly against his eyes, before stirring again, slipping a tiny radio from his sleeve and wiping his eyes on the edge of his gi.

The radio bursts into static as the boy turns it on, and he rattles it once before speaking. “Hey, Kai?”

There’s a beat of silence, then the radio explodes into sound, loud voices crackling over each other, frantic and concerned. The boy cringes, before speaking again. “I’m fine, I’m — yeah, I got out. I — I um…I’ll explain later. Can you come pick me up?”

Garmadon frowns, straining to hear the staticky response.

“—any idea where you are? We’ve been looking since yesterday, Nya’s losing her mind—”

“I don’t…know? Um,” the boy winces, rubbing his head. “Middle of nowhere, right now. It’s…I’ll explain later, I promise.”

There’s a smattering of responses before they fall quiet, likely moving to track the location. The boy blows his breath out, pulling his knees up to his chest and letting the radio hang limply from his hand.

“Lloyd?” the radio crackles again, the voice on the other side unsure. “You sure you’re okay?”

The boy is silent, his expression working as he swallows. He fumbles with the radio again, clicking it on. “Yeah,” he croaks. “I’m okay. Just tired. I’ll see you in a bit.”

He then switches the radio off, throws it several feet away from him, and buries his face in his arms, bracing them against his knees.

Garmadon takes it as his cue to leave. There’s not much left to do but watch the boy sniffle miserably to himself, and that’s not exactly appealing. He slips quietly from the clearing, clinging to the shadows as he moves further and further from the boy.

He almost hesitates. Something stings in his chest, with every footstep he takes further away. It’s an ache that almost feels familiar, if he thinks about it enough. As if there’s something in him desperately trying to tug him back.

Then Garmadon grits his teeth, shoves the feeling down, and presses onward.

He doesn’t want to be here when the rest of Wu’s students show up, anyways.

#lego ninjago #ninjago #garmadon #lloyd garmadon #guess who listened to too much bastille and ended up Sad again #anyways idk what this is but i miss garmadad #my fic

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godkilller · 4 years ago

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@izzabizz139

I wanna hear you rant about the Gin vs Hitsugaya anime fight bc I love seeing your pov and you clearly write better than whoever extended that scene :) pretty please

out of character. DON’T ENABLE ME SO MUCH !! No but I cackled when I first saw this ask because oh my god, clearly you saw a taste of my annoyance about the anime adaptation -- no, adaptation implies it was accurate, I’ll say the anime’s take was “inspired by” the manga’s quick run-in. I’ll start by saying this moment is supposed to be a bit important considering, via the audience’s point of view, THIS IS THE FIRST WE SEE OF TWO CAPTAIN-RANKED SHINIGAMI CLASHING. The only other captain-involved fight we’ve seen thus far in the manga is Kenpachi ( who is an outlier and should not be counted... no, I joke... but, still, Ichigo was not an equal to him, his sword was sliced through like butter. ) The whole reason I enjoyed this encounter between Toshiro and Gin was simply this; it wasn’t some fancy multi-chaptered fight. IN THE MANGA, THERE ARE ONLY TWO BLOWS MADE. One, by Toshiro, to begin the fight. The second, to end it, is Gin’s strike.

I want you to know that I’ve rewatched this specifically to answer this ask, and only due to this, as I wouldn’t have ever sought it out otherwise. HONOR MY SACRIFICE.

Read more for length. I’m merciful.

In the anime, they monologue at each other, and it’s mostly a combination of Toshiro making three separate death threats ( he starts this off by saying “I’ll kill you before Hinamori arrives” and then goes on rewording it each time, and then also repeats the death-threat he gave Gin prior to this conflict about “I’ll kill you if Hinamori bleeds” ) and then also Gin and Izuru talking about how truly powerful and amazing Toshiro is -- no, this isn’t me being bitter or petty, I literally shit you not, Gin has a line that is legit “AS EXPECTED FROM HITSUGAYA TOSHIRO, CAPTAIN OF THE TENTH DIVISION, A CHILD PRODIGY OF TH' SORT THAT ONLY COMES ALONG ONLY ONCE EVERY FEW CENTURIES. HOW VEEEERY DANGEROUS. YOU’RE SERIOUS, AIN’T YA?” like don’t get me wrong, love a good sarcastic little shit comment like that, but the amount of times the anime pumps Toshiro up like he’s their shinest new cash cow ( and he is, at this point, it is not even 50 episodes into the series and they’ve realized everyone likes him and he’s jumped to high ranks in popularity polls... earning him filler spotlights, and eventually his very own non-canon movie ) so everything coming out of Gin’s mouth feels like more bullshit than necessary. Izuru’s already literally monologued, internally, how powerful and amazing Toshiro is anyways. Why this ?

Not to mention that, prior to saying that long-winded shit, Gin’s haori changed length three times ( and once it was longer than his entire body by several feet, and no not in a ‘to show motion’ way ) and most importantly Shinso was drawn, consistently, at katana-length for the duration of their little spat where the following, too, happened: Gin frog-leaps after doing a backflip, Toshiro gives Gin two (2) haircuts, Gin ruins some floorboards and gives Toshiro at least one splinter in his arm, Toshiro whilst wearing socks lands on Shinso’s blunt edge and pushes the sword down with his footsie because that’s how that works, there’s another backflip somewhere in there that Gin doesn’t need to be doing, twirl, twirl, and ballet, Gin’s face elongates until his chin is bigger than his face, Gin spends ten+ seconds purely dodging very close strikes to his face as Toshiro is the only one making breathy growly and ‘tsuuaaah’ sounds, there is a brief moment of no gravity as Toshiro keeps hacking at Gin midair and Gin blocks it over and over again but they still stay in the air but they’re not standing or jumping or using reiatsu they’re just like, momentum-locked I don’t fucking know, Gin frowny faces as he blocks because like somehow this kid who doesn’t even have more reiatsu than him, whose arm strength should not be an issue, is like. making him nervous?? as sword sparks fly. if you know me at all you know I hate when they fuckin’ firework sparkler-ify swords clashing.

Anyways, all of this happens whilst Shinso is the wrong length and Gin’s hair is getting purpler by the second and this entire thing is somehow a big jack-off to Toshiro’s immense strength even though he’s screaming and wailing at Gin like a child and Gin’s just a vessel at this point to Enhance Toshiro, which, fine, okay, but at least be more accurate with it god damn. ANYWAYS,

THEY JOUST. They literally run at each other, swords centered, and run past / to the side of one another. Jousting. “Cause that’s how that works. No slashes, no cutting motion. Just swords centered, because the animators were like “no worries guys I know swordfighting basics that’s a legit pose” yeah it is WHEN STATIONARY. Not rUNNING IT DOWN.

And then Gin’s sleeve is cut, somehow, from the Jousting, because wow Toshiro wow wow wowowowow, and then Toshiro comes back and starts wailing at Gin again and Gin blocks it, again, and it’s all very annoyingly repetitive, and Gin’s frowning and sparks are flying and Gin’s using Shinso, the katana-length wakizashi I guess, with two hands because like I said, the animators knew basics and basics are “katana are used two-handed” like. Okay, you’re not wrong, but I cannot stress this enough: SHINSO IS NOT A KATANA. It’s shorter and meant to be used single-handed!!!! sTop!!! So then Gin rips off the tattered part of his sleeve and throws it at Toshiro, who swipes it away from his face using his Zanpakuto because that’s intelligent and a piece of cloth was definitely threatening enough to use your sword to bat it away ( btw, Hitsugaya wasn’t holding his sword with two hands at this precise moment, so he could have just... used his other hand ) and then Gin goes in for the classic “stabby stabby rapidly at you while the animation gets a little breather because we repeat this cycle a few times with flashy bgs and phew money made” ... WE ARE FOUR MINUTES AND THIRTY SECONDS INTO THIS FIGHT BY THE WAY. Gin does this for seventeen (17) agonizing seconds straight. Yes, I counted. That was sixteen and a half too many seconds for me, personally.

Toshiro somehow lassos Shinso whilst Gin is stabby stabby-ing with Hyourinmaru’s chain component. I say component like it’s somehow some type of beauty guru’s lipstick holder, but really am I that wrong ? When else has he ever used this feature ? Anyways, he lassos Shinso because yeehaw I guess, god I’m falling apart at this point can y’all tell????? I need a drink.

and so, because now Toshiro has Gin’s sword somehow trapped with chain even though it’s just looped around it, he backflips over Gin for a cool trickshot, no blow issued, just vibes, and Gin uses a big brain moment to tug Shinso and the chains slide off. okay now what. We’re past five minutes into this fight, nonstop.

SOUNDS LIKE A GOOD TIME FOR GIN TO PAUSE AND APPRECIATE TOSHIRO AGAIN! “I see, I shouldn’t have underestimated you, HItsugaya Toshiro” I’m starting to have a feeling Gin’s VA was told to just wing these lines because the amount of times he fills silences / Gin’s mouth movements with Toshiro’s long-ass name is astounding, he’s definitely drawing blanks here but he sure as hell knows one thing: that damn ice-boy’s name. He continues by saying “I suppose I’ll end up regretting it afterwards.”

Toshiro says that’s not enough, and it’s really dramatic and cool. His eyes even glow all icy and blue and pretty, like his flowy reiatsu. Aesthetic points were gifted entirely to Toshiro’s animations in this scene. Gin was finished in MS Paint and each new scene they had to draw Shinso from memory and try to remember what hue of purple his hair was at gunpoint. Toshiro lets off a big wave of reiatsu and then it vanishes, and he jumps up reaaaally high. like this guy’s flying. his eyes arent glowing anymore that’s sad. Bring Back Glowing Eyes For Strong Shinigami 2k21.

Toshiro releases his Shikai, and it’s badass, the sky darkens, Izuru looks distinctly more worried than usual, and Gin’s frowning with his teeth out like Bugs Bunny’s having a bad day, all is right in the world. Toshiro and his released Shikai have a nice moment for the Pics, and a big epic freeze frame blur moment happens with it all coiled and swirling around him. Wrow! ( click the ‘wrow’ it’s a link to my exact reaction ) Izuru narrates for the third time about how powerful Toshiro is, his reiatsu, his Zanpakuto being a deity who is only unlocked every few centuries. The strongest ice-type sword. Pardon the pun, but that’s... you could say, so cool.

It can even control the weather. So hey, next time it’s rainy, cold, icy, or snowing and you’re unhappy, it’s time to direct a big fuck you at Toshiro.

Gin dodges the first dragon, and blocks the second with Shinso because blocking water and ice with a sword makes sense right? This actually takes a solid amount of seconds as Gin cuts through the entire length of this ice dragon noodle. Things dissipate, and pause, too, to really drag this out. Surprisingly, this reveals that Gin’s made a boo-boo, his left arm’s frozen, which doesn’t even mean anything because Gin is right-handed, and Toshiro teleports himself behind Gin in true fighty fashion.

We have arrived at seven minutes and just under twenty seconds of this fight, and Gin turns, DOES THE UNTHINKABLE, gasp! He opens his eyes. His red, dull, evil, gray-eyebrowed with purple hair eyes, and shoots Shinso through its hideout spot behind his haori. This nearly takes off Toshiro’s eye and upwards of his head, but the little guy dives down fast. The rest happens in slow motion, supposedly, because it takes an eternity and people talk entire full sentences in its span of time.

Gin asks Toshiro if he’s sure he’d like to dodge that ( it’s a little late for that ) and says that Momo’ll die if he does. SHINSO SCRAPING ALONG AGAINST HYOURINMARU STRANGELY MAKES NOT A SINGLE SOUND. Mute. Even though before they had no problem animating and adding sounds to them smacking blades earlier. There are soundless sparks though, so there’s that. Yay. Can you tell how exhausted this’s made me? I need a nap.

Shinso is already more than halfway towards Momo, still unconscious, she most definitely has a serious concussion via Toshiro backhanding her midair consider she’s been unconscious for longer than ten minutes. Toshiro has time to get up off the floor where he dropped to dodge, realize with a shocked gasp, turn, shout her name, and watch as Rangiku arrives in a random glow of gold which never happens ever again and blocks the attack with Haineko. Haineko almost cracks on the impact, and continues growing in damage as Rangiku holds Shinso there, implying that she’s stopped it from reaching one-hundred sword’s lengths to pierce Momo. Yes I’m including that implication / note in here because we love to see Rangiku succeeding in life and being Not-Helpless, all while potentially damaging Haineko severely if it wasn’t able to hold him off. Yikes, Gin!

Rangiku threatens to join the fight if he doesn’t withdraw his sword. Gin smiles, withdraws it, and then Shunpos away.

Whatta mess. Oh, and the anime fight was pretty fucked up, too.

This is a long post, but here’s the manga version:

Toshiro leaps into the air,

This is where the fight actually starts between them:

And end.

Five pages. Two blows. Does not equate to ten minutes of non-stop fighting and monologues. Sometimes, and I mean this in the most unbiased way possible, less is more.

#[ out of character ] masquerade; hide your face #me: i wanna reply to things!!#also me with eyes glowing red: no.#long post #LOOOONG POSTTTTT...#4 pages.#of text.#im so sorry.

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signs-of-the-moon · 4 years ago

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Moon Rise: Chapter 51

Sunhigh the following day was fast approaching. Warriors were gathered in the clearing, feasting upon freshly caught prey. Hardly a whisper was passed among them; tension heavy in the air. Swiftcloud sat between her mates Shadowfang and Mistyleaf, sharing a rabbit. To say she was nervous was an understatement. Today would be the deciding factor on who would keep the rights to the Forest Patch. A prime hunting area, especially in Leafbare, at least for Grassclan. If they were to lose today, the clan would suffer greatly. And if they were to win? Though they would gain more territory, it could potentially cost more lives. Every cat would be giving their all today, as evident of the sheer amount of cats joining the patrol. Every capable warrior was going to fight; queens, and apprentices included. How many of these cats would Swiftcloud be seeing for the last time? How many more would come home bloodied and broken over a petty feud?

She glanced over at Shadowfang. His expression was serious, gaze distance as he chewed a piece from their shared prey. Swiftcloud wondered what he might be thinking about.

Her attention shifted to her left to focus on Mistyleaf. She was pressed completely against Swiftcloud, tail-tip twitching nervously. She seemed to be mumbling herbs names and their uses under her breath. She'd barely touched any of the rabbit. Swiftcloud felt bad for her. Normally Mistyleaf would stay behind in camp during raids with Goldensong. Today though, Whitestar had ordered her to assist Snowfrost on the front lines. Swiftcloud worried most for them. Though it was against clan law to harm or kill a medicine cat, it would be easy to mistake an idle healer as an enemy warrior. In the heat of battle, a warrior doesn't usually waste time considering who's who among their opponents. They attack first, ask questions later. If Treeclan's warriors were careless, they could easily slay Mistyleaf or Snowfrost. That frightened Swiftcloud to her core. Silently she swore to herself that she would be keeping an eye on her medicine cat mate as she fought with all her might against cats who might dare threaten her life. And with Shadowfang at her side, Swiftcloud could be sure her other mate would be protected.

Whitestar called out from atop the Tall stone. At once, every cat turned their attention onto her. "Sunhigh approaches. Our greatest battle begins now. Stand strong, my warriors. Stay close to your partners, and look out for one another. We are strong. Together, we shall defeat Treeclan and claim our victory!"

"Grassclan!" Chicorynose caterwauled loudly, encouraging her clan.

"Grassclan! Grassclan! Grassclan!" Everyone cheered along, standing as one unit and walking to the bramble tunnel. One by one Grassclan's warriors and apprentices slipped out into the meadow, bounding over many hills and across the Twoleg bridge. Not a whisper passed among them, not even a whimper or a growl. Every cat remained poised and ready for a fight. Their muscles were tight, strengthened by the previous day's training. Everyone looked confident in their collective mission. Even Swiftcloud felt assured, though her usual anxiousness still hung at the back of her mind. It's an honor to serve my clan. Even if I die today, I know I'll do so aiding in our victory. Swiftcloud glanced at her clanmates surrounding her, feeling a smile pull at her lips. Despite the looming danger they were about to face, she felt safe here among the clan. Like this was where she was meant to be.

As they came upon the Forest Patch, Grassclan's movements began to slow. Cats drew closer to one another; partner finding partner. Eventually, they formed a line, standing perfectly along the border as they waited for their enemy to arrive. Most turned their sights towards the treetops. Swiftcloud, however, kept her line of sight forward. A few tense heartbeats passed before she began to hear the thudding pawsteps of many cats approaching.

"Look," she breathed, gaining the clan's attention. All eyes fell back upon the border as a row of bulky warriors approached. Swiftcloud felt herself tense in Treeclan's presence, her legs beginning to tremble from anticipation. The moment they'd all been waiting for had finally dawned upon them. The war would end today. Right here. Right now.

This is what being a warriors is about. We can do this. Grassclan is the greatest clan among the Land's Star. Today, we will prove that.

"Whitestar," Blazestar called out as he made his way out in front of his clan. "This is your last chance to surrender the Forest Patch peacefully. Admit your defeat; apologize for your clan's wrongdoings, and go home quietly. There is no need for battle this day."

Whitestar stepped up, standing face to face with her fellow leader. Their noses were only a mouse-length apart, eyes locked upon one another. There was an air of seriousness surrounding Whitestar this day; an anger the likes of which Swiftcloud had never seen the she-cat possess before.

"Normally, I would agree with you, Blazestar. But that is not the way of a warrior. Too many of my clan have died at the paws of yours unnecessarily. We've come not only for the forest, but to avenge our fallen. And to restore our honor. Grassclan is a nobel clan. We've not done the things you have accused of us for so many moons. Today, we prove that. Not with words, but with tooth and claw. After all, it seems that's all Treeclan understands anymore."

Blazestar's ears drew back, his teeth baring with a snarl. "Then suffer for your choice....Treeclan, attack!"

Treeclan's warriors launched themselves forward at the leader's call, pelts bristling, fury lighting their eyes.

"Grassclan!" Whitestar cried, flicking her tail. At once the clan surged from behind her, countering the enemy across the border. Battle cries and caterwauls rang out like thunder as claws met fur and teeth met skin.

Swiftcloud and Shadowfang joined their clanmates in the brawl, each taking on a warrior double their size. Shadowfang had himself latched to the shoulders of Galestorm, a large gray she-cat with a bad attitude. While Swiftcloud found herself coming to blows with Smokecloud. She tried her best not to harm the tom too severely--they were friends after all--but she still needed to wound him enough to send him fleeing. She threw front paw blows left and right at his face, scratching at his nose and eyes in order to make him flinch. Smokecloud yowled, raising his own paws to blindly flail at the smaller she-cat. One good smack in the jaw sent Swiftcloud reeling backwards. A metallic taste caught on her tongue as she swiped it along her lips. Smokecloud had managed to cut her good. Swiftcloud growled, throwing herself onto the bulky tom to bite at his scruff. She sunk her teeth into his thick pelt, holding until she felt them meet delicate flesh.

"Let go!" Smokecloud coughed as she pulled on him.

Swiftcloud growled at the smokey tom in response, shaking herself violently to rough him up some more until she heard him begin to whimper. Smokecloud backed away as soon as he was let go, turning tail to flee.

"Don't let him get away that easy!" Shadowfang told her. Swiftcloud gave an agreeing nod, pursuing the fluffy smoke tom through the forest. As they ran, Swiftcloud could see more and more of her clanmates driving the enemy towards the Thunder Path, where Grassclan hoped to set the new border. If we can drive Treeclan out from that point, we can solidify our claim on the Forest Patch.

Swiftcloud let out a yowl, slamming her flank into Smokecloud's to push him closer to the black stone river. Smokecloud collapsed just by the edge, his sides heaving with effort. Swiftcloud let out one last snarl before the tom rushed across to the other side, finally safe from the Grassclan warrior's wrath deep in the forest beyond the battlefield. Swiftcloud watched in his direction for a moment more before turning tail, rejoining Shadowfang as he too chased his opponent across the Thunder Path.

"How's Mistyleaf?" Swiftcloud asked as she stood beside him, taking this brief moment to catch her breath.

"She's doing good. Last I saw, she was by our border still. Frostfeather was with her," Shadowfang replied, tearing some fur out from his front claws.

"Not Snowfrost?"

"I think she might be out somewhere on the battlefield, healing wounds. I'm sure she's alright though. Don't worry. Let's get back out there, yeah?"

Swiftcloud wasn't worried about Snowfrost being hurt. What she was more concerned about was the medicine cat using this battle as an opportunity to kill again. The thought was overwhelming. But Swiftcloud forced herself to push the fear aside for the time being.

"Yeah," she agreed as she flanked her mate. The two pelted away from the Thunder Path, seeking new opponents to prey on. Around them, the battle raged on. Tensions were high and every cat was giving their all.

Slugsnout and Snailear were fighting against Treeclan senior warriors, Robinspots and Flamepath. The brothers passed their opponents off to each other, tearing their pelts before switching enemies again. Pansypaw fended off Scarletpaw, while Tulippaw cleaned a wound on her flank that had gotten dirty. The brown and white she-cat turned a heartbeat later, knocking the Treeclan apprentice onto her side to relieve Pansypaw from her fight.

A bear-length off, Tigerfang was crouched beneath Wolfheart, pressed down by the larger warrior's weight. With a hard kick of his back leg, the dark brown tabby managed to knock the Treeclan deputy off of him. Wolfheart staggered backwards, catching himself just before Tigerfang turned, lunging for his enemy. Wolfheart rose up on his hind paws to meet him, catching the Grassclan warrior as he came crashing into his body.

Swiftcloud turned her head, spotting Whitestar just a short way off. She was wrestling Blazestar on the ground, trying to get the upper paw against him. The two leaders rolled over one another, shredding fur and drawing blood. Out of the corner of her eye, Swiftcloud saw Blazestar raise a paw with claws outstretched. They glinted white in the light of the setting sun just as they swung back down, straight across Whitestar's throat.

"No!" Swiftcloud cried, wrenching herself in the direction of her leader.

Shadowfang held her back by her scruff. "Whitestar will be fine! This is what Starclan has given her nine lives for. We need to keep ourselves focused," he reasoned.

Swiftcloud trembled in place, watching her leader's still form for a heartbeat until she saw her start to breathe and move once more. Blazestar was waiting for Whitestar to revive from losing a life, but made no move to attack until he was sure she had recovered. Swiftcloud relaxed slightly, if only because she knew now that Treeclan's leader would fight fairly. She turned to Shadowfang and gave him a nod, following him once again into the throng of cats around them.

Swiftcloud spotted Sunflower in the crowd closer to the Grassclan border, thrashing the inexperienced apprentice, Lightpaw, against a tree. Though she was large for an apprentice, inheriting her size from Whitestar, it was clear she barely knew what she was doing. Lightpaw should be facing another apprentice, not a seasoned warrior. Anger surged through Swiftcloud, forcing her to pull away from Shadowfang once again. She launched herself at Sunflower blindly, swiping at his muzzle to knock him off her clanmate. Lightpaw stared at Swiftcloud in awe.

"Take her to see Mistyleaf!" Swiftcloud commanded her mate as she fended off the enemy tom. Shadowfang gave a nod, helping Lightpaw limp across the border in search of the medicine cat.

Sunflower snarled at Swiftcloud, fangs bared as he tried biting her limbs. Swiftcloud maneuvered away from the tom, arching her back, challenging him to come face a real warrior. Sunflower did not move. He merely stared, eyes dark. A smirk pulled up the corners of his mouth, leaving Swiftcloud confused.

"Watch out!" A cat yowled from behind her. Swiftcloud whipped around, ears flattening against her head as she saw the large body of Tigerlily leaping down at her from above. Rabbitstorm jumped out to intercept her midair, knocking Tigerlily onto her flank with a loud and painful thud. The large tabby and white she-cat yowled up at him wildly as Rabbitstorm reeled back a paw to strike her.

"Fox-dung!" Sunflower cursed. Swiftcloud whipped back around to face him once more. The tom hissed at her, throwing himself at her in an attempt to knock the white and black patched she-cat off her paws. Swiftcloud stumbled, finding her footing. She shook her head then stood up onto her hind paws, falling back down onto Sunflower. Sunflower squirmed beneath her weight, clawing at her flanks as he rolled beneath her belly. Swiftcloud grabbed him by the scruff, pulling him from beneath her. She threw him, slamming the ginger and white tom into the trunk of a nearby tree. Sunflower rose back onto shaky paws, his eyes wide as Swiftcloud approached again. He let out a whimper as he weakly turned, scampering off into the woods. Swiftcloud gave chase, wanting to ensure he was gone for good.

The pair quickly approached the slope which led to the Thunder Path. Sunflower turned once more, giving a last ditch effort of attack before he would surrender to his enemy. He charged at Swiftcloud, pushing her onto her back. The tom's sharp claws scraped against her delicate belly and chest, drawing blood from the wounds he made. Swiftcloud cried out in pain, but refused to admit defeat. With all her might she pulled herself upwards, locking her teeth around Sunflower's throat. She bit down, keeping a strong grip. But Swiftcloud made sure she was careful; she didn't want to kill her enemy.

Sunflower let out a strangled noise, wiggling in the Grassclan warrior's grasp. Swiftcloud whipped around, throwing the ginger tom away towards the Thunder Path. Sunflower rose to his paws, scrambling across the black stone path in a flurry of ripped fur and scarlet droplets. Swiftcloud let out a pant, licking her lips clean of the tom's blood. She nearly gagged at the amount; she wasn't at all fond of cat blood. But spilling some was necessary in battle, especially in the biggest battle of her life.

Around her, the land began to slim of cats as more were sent fleeing across the Thunder Path for good. Grassclan had the upper paw now, and as the moments passed, it became easier to spot her clanmates.

Across the way Swiftcloud caught a glimpse of a familiar fawn pelt laying on the ground unmoving. Green eyes caught onto her blues, making the young warrior's blood run cold.

"Chicorynose!" Swiftcloud scrambled to her paws, rushing to her former mentor's side; praying to Starclan that she was not too late. She came to a screeching halt by the deputy's flank, focus locking onto her face and neck.

Chicorynose had her jaws parted as she panted weakly, looking up at her former apprentice with tears. A sick gurgle came with every breath, blood dripping from the molly's mouth. Her beautiful fluffy neck fur was saturated, stained dark red. Beneath her a lake of blood had formed. Chicorynose's throat had been slit, and she was fading fast. A bubble of sadness burst in the pit of Swiftcloud stomach, forcing sobs from her throat and a tremble in her legs. No, Starclan no! Not Chicorynose. Please!

"Sw-Swift.." Chicorynose gasped out. Swiftcloud moved herself closer to the molly's face.

"I'm here, Chicorynose, I'm here! Pl-please don't die..! Please! I'll get some help. You..you're going to be just fine!"

Chicorynose forced a weak smirk to tug up the corner of her lip. Her voice was incredibly weak and raspy as she began to speak, coming out more as a gulp than a whisper. "I'm..I'm so..proud..of you. You know that...right?"

Swiftcloud nodded, tears streaming down her face. She dipped her head, pressing her nose into Chicorynose's cheek. The deputy's scent flooded her nostrils, filling Swiftcloud with warmth and comfort even in such a terrible moment.

"You are a great..cat...I am so happy to have..trained you..to have known you. To have loved you as..as if you were..my own...." Chicorynose's eyes began to dull, like a fire simmering down into embers.

Swiftcloud hiccuped, "I love you, mom...." She buried her nose that much deeper into Chicorynose's fur. "Please don't die..."

"It's my..time...Starclan calls. The Twilight Passage.. awaits me.. for judgement."

"It shouldn't have to be your time!" The wail came unexpectedly, but Swiftcloud could not help it. A fresh wave of grief crashed over her like the ocean against the shore, rough and salty. Her head shot up suddenly, taking in the bloodied sight of the cat she'd come to know as deputy, mentor, friend, and mother. "Who could have done this to you?!"

"Snow..." Chicorynose's voice was hardly above a whisper now.

"W-who..?" Swiftcloud strained to hear, breath held in anxious anticipation.

"Snow...frost."

Swiftcloud's blood turned ice cold. She stared down at Chicorynose, stiff like stone, as a new sensation came over her. Realisation. Swiftcloud had been right all along.

"Swiftcloud." Chicorynose coughed, grabbing the young cat's attention instantly. "Be good. Take..care of..the clan."

Swiftcloud whimpered, nuzzling her face against the fawn molly's muzzle.

"I will," she promised. Gradually the rise and fall of Chicorynose's chest slowed, and with one last shaky breath, the deputy was still. Swiftcloud shook violently the moment she felt her mentor slip away, her face pressing that much harder against the deputy's. She needed to take in every last flea trace of her scent before it was gone forever. Like Chicorynose was. Luckily, Swiftcloud knew exactly who to blame now. She would have justice for Chicorynose, even if it was the last she'd do.

A twig snapped a foxlength away, making Swiftcloud raise her head. The sweet and nauseating smell of lavender wafted around her as she stared ahead. Snowfrost was standing before her, head elevated, eyes narrowed to bitter icy slits. Her right paw, once silver and striped, was now stained red with blood. Her claws which were unsheathed revealing them to be painted the same.

At once, white hot fury took over Swiftcloud's vision, sending her into a frenzy. She let out a fierce cry, a wretched mix of a wail and a yowl and threw herself at Snowfrost.

"Murderer!" She caterwauled so loud her voice echoed through the trees. Snowfrost managed to dodge her, slipping from beneath the younger she-cat just as she was about to land. She let out a grotesque hiss, arching her back as Swiftcloud turned tail to face her once more. Swiftcloud rushed towards the medicine cat again, being met by claws swiping for her face. Blood welled around Swiftcloud's left eye, forcing it shut as the liquid trickled down. Pain seared her flesh, but the sensation felt dull compared to her heartbreak. She would not allow such a small wound to stop her, not now, not while Chicorynose's killer was still right here in front of her. A quick shake of her head brought Swiftcloud's senses back. "I knew you were no good," She snarled. "I'm going to make the whole clan see what a monster you are!"

At once, Snowfrost let out a viscous yowl, throwing herself at Swiftcloud, bowling her over. The mollies tussled around on the ground, biting and scratching, each trying to one up the other. Snowfrost aimed for Swiftcloud's injured eye and shoulder, trying to disable her, leave her weak. But Swiftcloud had moons of training under her pelt, giving her the strength to withstand the attack despite the pain.

"You should have died when I fed you that mouse! You should be dead just like Chicorynose, just like all the others!" Snowfrost sneeded, creating a new rush of ferocity within the warrior. Swiftcloud put all of her weight into rolling them over, forcing Snowfrost onto her back. She pinned the medicine cat down, one paw against a shoulder, another against her throat. Her back paws pressed down into Snowfrost's lower half; a paw against her exposed belly, the fourth stopping her back legs. The medicine cat was completely immobile, but Swiftcloud wasn't satisfied. Her ears drew back as she stared down at the medicine cat, teeth bared in a snarl. One of her paws lifted slowly, claws unsheathing.

"Swiftcloud!"

#warrior cats #wcs #warrior cats ocs #wcs ocs #Signs of the Moon: Moon Rise #Signs of the Moon #Moon Rise #Chapter 51

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tomtenadia · 4 years ago

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Island Dreams - Chapter 21

Chapter 21 is here. Chaol is back for a quick last scene. I swear this is the last time we see him. The reason he is still here is because i had a few things to carry over from chapter 20.

Aelin has a few interesting phone calls and in the end, well... something really great happens to her.

I hope you will love it.

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Rowan was on his way to the shop when he noticed a figure leaning against the door. His arms at his chest, clearly waiting for him. He thought he was a customer to start with but once he got closer he realised who it was: Chaol. Aelin’s ex. He already hated the man, but after the encounter the previous day he was ready to punch the guy. Rowan went to the door and ignored Chaol. “I am looking for a book, can you help me?” Rowan kept pretending he was not there. Got in the shop and shut the door in his face. Switched on everything and took his time to actually open. There were no actual customers so he could open five minutes later, just to piss him off. In the end he caved and went to the door and opened and Chaol entered the shop. “You are five minutes late, is that how you do business around here?”

Rowan went to his computer and started working and continued to ignore the man. “The customer service in this place is quite bad, I must admit.” Chaol started walking around the shop. “How can I help you, sir?” Said Rowan through gritted teeth. He had never punched anyone in his life but that morning it was about to become a first. Very quickly. “Yes you can.” Chaol turned to him “let her go.” Rowan grabbed a pencil and almost snapped it in two. “See? She is still mad at me at the moment, but she will come around eventually and realise she made a mistake.” He played with a book and put it back all squint on purpose “I have known her for ten years. You have known her for what? A few months? She will tire of this place, this life and of you. She will come back to me. So just save yourself some heartache and let her go.” “She made her choice.” Chaol kept walking the length of the shop “And she can’t be a doctor here. She has an amazing career in London. She will get bored after one day. If you really love her as you claim you will see the damage that this job will do to her. It will make her miserable.” “Yes, the amazing job in London that denied her the promotion she deserved.” Chaol looked at him stunned and Rowan’s lips curved up wickedly. “Oh so you didn’t know.” Now it was his turn to be petty “She was up for a very big promotion but she didn’t get it and it destroyed her. I guess she did not tell you because you were so busy with the night shift that she preferred not to burden you.” Chaol’s hands fisted. “And between a job delusion and an asshole of an husband she decided to pack her life and leave.” Rowan’s eyebrows lifted at the man expression. Chaol did not know any of this. Interesting. “She was quite a mess when she got here, but she is better, thanks to me. Because I look after her.” “Aelin is needy and used to a standard of life that you can’t give her. Definitely not with the money you make from a pathetic bookshop.” Rowan breathed in deeply “She seems satisfied with what I can giver her and I know needy and Aelin is definitely not that. ” He smirked, he was reaching extreme level of pettiness “And so far I have been able to satisfy her with everything I gave her. Even sex. For example last night when I took her against the wall she loves so much. More than once. The way she screamed my name…” Aelin was probably going to kill him but mean Rowan had taken over his body. “I had to show her what a fulfilled sex life looks like. Apparently something else you lacked as a husband.” “I always satisfied her.” “Sure, did you ever bother ask what she liked? Her fantasies? Go along with them? Or you just went on top like the proper alpha male you think you are, did your job and went back to sleep? Because it sounds like you were a self serving bastard in bed as well.” Chaol moved a step closer to Rowan trying to be intimidating. A useless feat when the person in front of you is twenty centimetres taller than you and almost twice your size. “What?” Asked Rowan in a flat, annoyed tone. “Did she tell about her life before me? That she was a bit of a slut—“ But Chaol did not manage to finish that sentence. A fist connected with his mouth, then Rowan’s hand was at his collar, lifted him and slammed Chaol against the wall “do not finish that sentence. Don’t you dare call her like that ever again.” His grip tightened “I swear I will file for a restraining order if you don’t leave this island as soon as possible. You have done enough damage.” He let go of Chaol and the man tried to protest but Rowan’s stare kept him in place. “Fuck her all you want. She will grow tired of you very quickly.” Rowan almost went for a second round but Chaol stopped him “She will put career before you and family. Mark my words.” And with that he left. Rowan counted till ten and walked back to the counter and grabbed the phone and dialled Aelin’s number. “Do you really can’t stay without me for a whole morning?” “I just punched your ex husband.” The line went silent for a moment and Rowan feared he was in trouble, that he had crossed a line. “Did you take a video? Why was I not there to witness such a magical moment?” Rowan was puzzled. He was expecting Aelin to shout at him . “I’ll be there in five. I want all the details.” And she hung up.

As promised five minutes later she walked to him and kissed him deeply. Definitely not the reaction he was expecting. “You are not mad.” “I was impressed that you did not thump him yesterday to be honest.” She sat in the chair beside him “What did he do? Why was he here? And why the asshole is still on the island?” “He told me to let you go. That I can’t give you the life you deserve and added that you will tire of living here, this life and of me. Oh yes, he also added that as a pathetic bookshop owner I can’t give you the life of luxury you crave.” “What a lot of pish.” Rowan laughed “You picking up Scots words is very sexy.” “Yeah, sure, now keep talking about the asshole” she jabbed his arm with a finger. “And then I turned petty.” Aelin’s mouth fell open. That was not Rowan. “I might have bragged a bit.” And she laughed at his admission. “What did you say?” “That you seemed very satisfied with what I have been giving you so far and I might have added that you were definitely happy when I took you against the wall last night while you were screaming my name. Multiple times.” Aelin noticed the top of his ears going red. “I can’t believe I missed this amazing fight.” And she kissed him. “He called you a slut” and she felt him tense. “Oh yeah. He never approved of my life before him.” “That’s when I punched him. And I threatened to file a restraining order if he didn’t leave the island as soon as possible.” Aelin pushed him against the wall and kissed him hard “Did I tell you today how much I love you?” “Not even once.” “Let me make this up to you.” She dragged him to his office. Once inside she pushed him to the table and started kissing him. His hands went on her butt and dragged her close. “I love you.” “I don’t think I heard that properly.” They made out for a good ten minutes before Rowan decided it was time to break apart and go back to work. They went back to work and Aelin kept smiling at him showing him that she definitely approved what he did.

She was busy with some work Rowan had assigned her when the door opened and Aelin squealed in delight when she noticed who had just walked in. She ran to the woman and hugged her. “Lorcan and I have checked out and we’ll be on our way soon. We just thought we had to pop in to say goodbye.” “Thank you. I am sorry for last night. It was my fault I was not feeling great.” Apologised Aelin. “No worries. The ceilidh was amazing, but we left halfway through it. We were exhausted.” “Rowan.” Called Aelin “He is somewhere in his office.” Two minutes later he emerged and he smiled when he saw the couple “Hi guys.” Lorcan nodded to him and Elide waved at Rowan quite happily. “Sorry about last night,” and his arm went around Aelin’s waist “Aelin wasn’t well.” “She told us. It’s fine.” The dark-haired woman replied “We just came here to say bye. We need to go back to Glasgow and we need to leave soon. We have to drive all the way down to Tarbert to catch the ferry to Uig on Skye.” “It was nice meeting you.” “It was,” and Elide turned to Aelin, “please keep in touch. If you guys ever come to Glasgow, let us know. We have a spare bedroom.” “I will let you know about the rugby. We can go to a Scotland home game together.” Added Lorcan. Rowan smiled widely “definitely I need some decent rugby and I would love to go back to Glasgow for a few days.” Eventually the four of them said their goodbyes and Elide and Lorcan left. “They are such a nice couple. Although Lorcan should learn to smile a bit.” Aelin commented going back to her task. Rowan hugged her tight and then he disappeared back to what he was doing beforehand. Aelin finished to prepare the orders that had come in and began sending email to the people who had ordered books. “Ro?” She called him and he came back. She showed him the computer “there are some new releases of fantasy books that are quite interesting. I think we should have them in.” Rowan quickly looked at the titles and smiled back to her “Go ahead. Let’s start with two copies each. If you think they are good let’s order them in. I trust you.” “Really?” She was beaming. So far he had been the one deciding what to order. She was very chuffed that he had let her do it for once and that he trusted her instincts. His hands grabbed her hips “You have good taste in books.” And he kissed her and moved away again. She was in the middle of the order when her phone buzzed with an unknown number. “Hello?” “I am looking for miss Aelin Galathynius.” “Speaking.” “My name is Dr McIver. You applied for a A&E job a while ago. Am I correct?” Aelin’s heart started hammering in her chest. She saw Rowan coming out of the office and she gestured to him to join to her. “Yes, I did.” He looked at her as if to say ‘what’ and she scribbled job on a piece of paper. He smiled and went behind her and held her from behind. “I am contacting you because I am very fascinated by your resume and I’d like to invite you for an interview.” She started jumping in Rowan’s arms. “I’d love to.” “I have a busy schedule tomorrow, but I can see you at 9am.” Aelin grabbed Rowan’s hand and his look was of one deep love. “That is perfect for me.” “Fantastic. Once you arrive at the hospital ask for me and I will come and get you.” “Thank you sir, I will see you tomorrow.” The man greeted her back and hung up. Aelin turned to Rowan and screamed “The job!” And she jumped. He grabbed her in his arms and lifted her up and twirled on the spot, kissing her. “I have an interview tomorrow morning for the job I applied for.” “They will love you.” He kissed her again, “I am so proud of you.” Then it hit Aelin and she froze “Oh shit.” “What?” He asked worried at the change in her expression. “I am panicking. What if I can’t do the job? What if I am aiming too high and I applied for a job that I am not qualified for? And now I am freaking out.” She started breathing hard and he brushed her back. “You can’t be afraid to be successful.” Aelin looked up at him, her eyes wide “Did you just quote Jake?” He kissed her head “I did. I love the scene where he convinces her to take the lieutenant exam.” She grinned back at him. “I can’t believe they called me.” She leaned back and sighed hard “Ro, this is big. But I need to calm down. I don’t have the job yet.” “You will.” Then her gaze turned sad “I will miss working here, though.” Rowan’s hands cupped her face “You are doing the right thing. You can come and help a bit when you have time off. This is your shop too.” His hands twined in her hair “I will miss you too, but at least I will be able to do paperwork in peace.” She jabbed her finger to his side and left him.

The next morning Aelin woke up early and was panicking. She got out of bed without waking Rowan and went to the living room and paced. A part of her was excited. The idea of being a doctor again was amazing, but a part of her was terrified and she did not know why. She had a very fitful sleep and not even Rowan’s arms had helped her in any way. She was feeling horrible and that was not the best way to face an interview. She breathed deeply and sank on the sofa. Now she felt sick. In the morning silence of the house she heard Rowan’s feet padding behind her. “Aelin…” She turned and stared at his sleepy face, and tousled hair. He only had his boxers briefs on and all of a sudden the sight of him chased away all of her fears. She stood and went to him and kissed him fiercely. His arms folded around her and lifted Aelin and together they sat down on the sofa. “What’s wrong?” He asked, pulling away from the kiss. “I was panicking,” she gave him a wanton smile “then you walked in, in such an amazing state of undress and my fear are gone.” He pulled her closer and her hand landed on his beautiful naked chest. Her mouth deposited gentle kisses on his shoulder and inhaled his scent. Pine and snow. All of a sudden her mind calmed down and the panic subsided. “I should ask Dr McIver if I can take you with me for the interview, sitting on your lap. That will help a lot.” He chuckled “I don’t think it’s doable.” His hand was on her back “But I can accompany you. I will wait outside of course, but I can be there with you.” She looked up at him and her heart melt “What about the shop?” “It will be fine for a couple of hours.” He kissed her head “you are more important.” Aelin almost cried. How on earth did she end up with such an amazing man? “I would love that very much.” “Good.” She stood “I need a shower.” And wiggled a finger to him “fancy coming?” She was ready for him to say no again, but surprise caught her when he stood up and took her hand. “But no shenanigans. It’s not our getaway and we don’t have time.” Aelin nodded and her heart raced. She walked to the bathroom and Rowan followed her. She turned to him and slowly she peeled off her t-shirt and adored the look on his face. Then she proceeded to remove her bottoms and finally stood naked in front of him and she noticed hunger and desire in his eyes. “Your turn.” She challenged him while entering the shower box and opening the water. For a moment he stood on the threshold and stared at her, water running down her naked body and he had to concentrate very hard not to take here and there. There was no time and he had other plans. Finally he moved and removed his briefs. Aelin turned and finally saw him for the first time and her breath hitched. Damn the man was perfect. Ideas started to gather in her mind but they didn’t have time for that. She looked up at him “You are still not inside the shower.” “I was just enjoying the look on your face.” He finally stepped in and joined under the water. Rowan noticed her stare and grabbed her wrists “hands on my chest, Fireheart. We don’t have time for dillydallying.” She kissed his chest and her hands roved on his muscles. Oh the things she would love to do to him. He grabbed the shampoo, then turned her and began washing her hair. Aelin ground her backside agains him. His mouth was against her ear “Very bad idea.” And he put a bit of space between them and Aelin groaned in frustration. While he was washing her hair, Aelin was now washing her body. She could not have Rowan do that. They would never leave the shower and she had an interview to go to. He turned her and she snuggled against him, his mouth pressing delicate kisses on her head “You will be wonderful.” In his arms, she relaxed. They stayed under the water for a bit longer until Rowan closed the jets and left the shower. He grabbed their towels and passed one to Aelin. She gave him one last look before he covered himself with his towel and Aelin had to press her legs tighter together. She took her towel and went for their room. At least her mind was now clear of the fear for the interview, but such thoughts had been replaced by some sexier ones. She got dressed, desperate to do something. Maybe the shower together had not been a great idea. All she could think about now was him. She breathed hard and began drying her hair. “Let me help you.” Rowan joined her and took the hairdryer from her hands and started drying it for her. “Head down.” She bent over and he continued his job. Luckily he had put some clothes on. Once her hair was dry he brushed it as well, untangling the knots that had formed. “I could have done this myself.” “I know.” Once he was done she went back to her old room looking for a decent enough outfit. She found what she was looking for and got dressed. Slowly she had moved the clothes she used the most in the side of the closet that Rowan had given her, but she had kept the stuff she used very little in her old bedroom. She had to look professional so she went for a black cigarette skirt, a light blue blouse and a black jacket. Added a pair of earrings to the ensemble and eventually she decided to put a very thin layer of makeup on. Once she reached the living room, Rowan was there waiting for her. He had jeans, a shirt and a leather jacket and he took her breath away. He finally noticed her and she realised she had the same effect on him. He moved a step closer “You are…” “It feels so weird.” “Stunning. You are stunning.” “I haven’t dressed like this in a lifetime.” She confessed while looking for her heels. Then she turned to him “Why are you all nicely dressed?” “I can’t accompany my girlfriend to her big day dressed in a t-shirt and looking like a slob when she is so gorgeous.” She looked up at him “you could get out of the house clad in a garbage bag and you would still manage to have every single woman turn their head and stare at you.” He grinned. She grabbed her purse and she was ready to go. A moment later they were in the car and Aelin’s anxiety began to come back. Rowan noticed that and his hand went on her knee squeezing it gently. His presence was a calming anchor at her side. Not long after they reached the hospital. Before getting off the car Rowan pulled her to him and kissed her deeply “I am at your side.” Aelin nodded and hand in hand they entered the A&E. As requested, Aelin asked for Dr McIver at the reception and a few minutes later she arrived. “Miss Galathynius.” He extended his hand and Aelin shook it back. “This is my partner. He drove me here.” Rowan shook his hand with the man. “Come on, both of you.” They took the lift and reached the floor where McIver’s office was. In front of the door Rowan took her hand “There’s a few chairs. I’ll wait here. I have a book.” He kissed her head “I love you.” He whispered. She nodded and followed the man in his office. “Please take a seat.” Said the man pointing at the chair in front of him “Please don’t be nervous. This is more a chat to get to know you.” He grabbed what she guessed was her resume “I must say I am impressed, miss Galathynius. You have a remarkable skillset and experience. Definitely something we need here and that we could put to really good use.” “Thank you sir.” Aelin felt her body relax a bit. “Can I ask you a question?” “Of course.” “Why did you leave London? The A&E in a place like Stornoway can get busy but cannot be compared to working in one of the best trauma hospital in London.” He stared at her “Your experience would be like a blessing for us, but we are not a trauma centre. I am not sure we can offer you the same level of challenge that a London hospital could.” Aelin took a deep breath and fisted her hands in her laps to stop them from shaking. She was expecting such a remark. It was perfectly understandable. “I know sir.” Another breath. It was time to tell the truth “I was up for a big promotion to become the head of the A&E and trauma department. Alas, that dream was stolen from me. My job was given to…” how could she put it without anger colouring her voice “let’s just say that the person who was chosen was not picked for his merits but more because of who is father was.” Tears threatened to well in her eyes but she fought them back. “The news hit me hard. I… lost interest in my job. So I took a sabbatical and then officially left about two weeks ago.” It still hurt like hell “I needed to get away for other reasons as well. And I ended up here. My life is here now, sir. I know this will not be a major trauma centre but I am not worried.” She took another breath “It will be a challenge in itself because it will be a new role for me with a new team. All I want to do is be a doctor. It does not matter if it is a big hospital or a small one, I just want to help people.” The man smiled and she relaxed hoping that her speech had gotten through him. “Our current senior emergency surgeon is retiring soon and to be honest with you, we need fresh blood. He was amazing at his job but quite set in his ways. Our A&E might not be London, but we have our set of challenges. We are the main major hospital for the entirety of the Hebrides. We get people airlifted here from the smaller islands. On a busy day our A&E needs to work efficiently. Our beds supply is not endless.” “I have spent many days and nights working in an overwhelmed A&E with probably ten times the influx of patients. I perfectly understand the challenges. I have helped train paramedics to form better triage stations at big accidents sites so that only grave patients would be sent to us. It was working before but it was not efficient enough. I spent years honing my team to run like a perfect oiled machine and deal with crisis in a way that would not endanger patients.” The man nodded and Aelin felt like things were going well. “Do you have experience in training interns?” “Yes. Being in charge of interns was another one of my roles. I did their rosters but also took one or two under my wing and taught them.” “It seems like you had your hands quite full.” Aelin’s hands fisted again. She had to hold her temper in check. “My boss, loved to… delegate.” She sighed “And that’s as nicely I can put it without being disrespectful.” The man laughed and Aelin relaxed again. It was good. It was going well. “And you have no intention of returning to London.” It was not a question. “No sir.” Of that she was positive. “My life is here. My partner is here as well. This is my home now.” And saying that out loud felt amazing. Lewis was now her home. And it had taken only a couple of months. “If you are successful when will you be ready to begin?” “Straight away. I am working at my partner’s bookshop at the moment but I can start whenever you want me to. And I have no issues with night shifts either.Also my partner and I don’t have kids at the moment so I am very flexible. We might in the future, but at the moment we are free.” “That’s good to hear.” He smiled again “You can relax now. You have done well.” Aelin breathed out and relaxed. “I have two more people to interview this afternoon. But I must say miss Galathynius that I am impressed by you. I will let you know tomorrow. I intend to make my decision tonight after the other two interviews.” The man stood and Aelin followed him. He extended his hand “it was a pleasure, Miss Galathynius.” “Thank you for the opportunity, sir.” And at that she left. As soon as she was out of the door Rowan stood and opened his arms for her and she slammed against his chest. “Are you okay?” “Yes.” She nodded “He will let me know tomorrow.” “I am pretty sure you charmed him completely and you will get the job.” Aelin pulled away and grabbed his hand “let’s get out of here.”

The next day Aelin was in the bookshop with Rowan but was having problems to concentrate. Her eyes kept flicking to her phone that was right beside the keyboard. She had no idea when Dr McIver would call and she was getting anxious. The wait was killing her. The previous night she had phoned Lysandra and she had told her about her job interview and the woman had threatened to come and inflict endless pain to the man if he didn’t give her the job. Her friend’s support has been incredible and she wished Lysandra was there. Rowan had been wonderful as well. After the interview they had gone home and changed into more comfortable clothes and gone back to the shop but at night he had taken her out on a date. They went to dinner then to An Lanntair for a movie and after had a log walk along the marina and the Lews castle grounds. That morning they had another special shower together, always with their boundaries and realised that although waiting was driving her insane, it was also deepening their bond somehow. They had spent their time talking and getting to know each other, but also got to know their bodies. Rowan had taken on him the challenge of learning what made her feel pleasure. He had started worshipping her body and leave Aelin a blubbering mess. All of that without ever doing the final deed. And she had loved it. He had allowed her to reciprocate but forbade her to use her mouth. She was dreaming about the previous night when her phone went off and her heart started racing in her heart. “Rowan.” She called for him as soon as she recognised the number. He was at her side in a second and by her stare he realised what it was. “Hello?” “Miss Galathynius? It’s Dr. McIver.” Aelin was positive she had stopped breathing. “Hello.” “So, I have news for you.” She grabbed Rowan’s hand and squeezed as tight as humanly possible. “Do you think your partner could do without you at the bookshop? Because my colleagues and I would be very pleased if you could lead our A&E.” Aelin froze for a moment. She had heard it correctly. They wanted her. “I think my partner would be very happy to get rid of me.” And she smiled at Rowan with love. “That is fantastic. I will see you at 8 tomorrow. I will send you in a moment an email with the details of your contract including as well your salary offer. If it’s all ok for you we will finalise the paperwork tomorrow morning.” “8 tomorrow sounds perfect. Thank you sir. Thank you so much for the opportunity.” “I am looking forward to have you in our team.” Then the conversation finished and Aelin turned stunned to Rowan who had the biggest smile on his face. “Told you.” “I can’t believe it.” He hands were shacking. A few minutes later her phone pinged and she noticed it was an email from Dr McIver as promised. She opened and read the detail of her contract and gasped when she noticed her salary. “Holy shit, look.” She said showing the phone to Rowan. “Guess I will be the kept man.” His hand brushed the back of his head. “Ro,” she said to him “This is friggin loads of money. I was not making this much in London.” Her head was spinning. “This is a higher position. You would have made this much or more you had gotten the job you deserved.” He told her with his usual logic. “I need to sit down.” He pushed the chair to her. She looked up at him and beamed at the pride in his eyes the she hugged him “This is amazing.” “You deserve it.” He kissed her head. Then customers came in and they broke apart and Rowan went to offer their help while Aelin was still on her chair and was busy texting Lysandra with the news.

She had spent the entire day floating on air. She was happy that she felt like in a musical and was about to burst into song. Her life was finally back on track. She and Rowan finally closed the shop and headed home together from the bookshop for the last time. All of sudden her mobile went off and she looked at it and stared at the London area code. “A London number?” Aelin accepted the call “Hello?” “Aelin?” Said the familiar voice. “Dr Thomson.” Why was her old boss calling her now? Why today of all days? “I hope I am not disturbing.” “No you are fine.” Anger started to flare up. “I have good news for you.” I highly doubt, was what Aelin thought. “We need you back.” Aelin’s heart raced. “Since when? I thought you had your perfect candidate and you did not need my skills.” She had to calm down. “Well, we had an issue with him. Kind of a sex scandal.” Aelin stopped dead. It was not a secret that Kieran, the guy they had chosen instead of her, had a penchant for bedding all the nurses and female doctors he could. Everyone knew. “Fucked the wrong person, did he?” “I can’t go into detail but rest assured he had been removed from the position and we have decided to offer it to you. You were the best candidate after all. It was just politics that stopped us.” “No, it was fucking money,” her rage burst free “His father promised you all a nice wee sum in exchange of his son to get the job. Kieran was an idiot. Now he fucked up, literally, and you think I will crawl back? Do you have an inkling of how much you insulted me? And now you phone me and tell me that you want me back? How the fuck you dare?” She was now shouting and Rowan’s hands were on her shoulder and she thanked him for his presence. “Aelin, let me explain. I voted for you. I had your back, but alas the board preferred the money. I had a fight with the board. It was not fair what they did to you. You were one of my best doctors and I need you back.” “Well, you can keep your apologies and stick them where the sun doesn’t shine. I am not coming back to London. I am in Scotland on an island and just got offered a job as senior emergency surgeon. So thank you for calling me but I respectfully decline.” “You can’t be serious. You can’t waste your skills in a small hospital. Don’t be an idiot, Aelin. Don’t waste your career in a backwater place.” Aelin was officially tired to hear people tell her that she was wasting her life. “What I do with my life is none of your business anymore. I have resigned, I am not your employee any longer.” “I’ll give you a raise on top of the salary for the post.” “Sir, you can beg all you want and try to entice me with more money. My answer will always be no. There are patients here as well. That’s all I need.” “Aelin, what can I do to convince you?” “Nothing. I actually should thank you. Here I found the life I want, with the perfect man. Not getting the job was the best thing that happened to me.” Her ex boss tried a few more tactics but Aelin was relentless. She was happy. She was home. She had all she needed right there. Once the conversation finished she looked at Rowan and her heart skipped a beat. He was her home. “Are you okay?” She sighed “I think I just reached closure.”she admitted as his arms went around her “You know the saying when a door closes another one opens?” He nodded. “Another one did open and I just realised that it was the one I needed. I hurt for a long time for not getting that job, but I just realised that without that, all of this would have never happened. I would still be in London, pining over the asshole and grieving over a job I did not get. I would still be a mess and utterly unhappy. A massive weight just lifted from my chest.” “I am a very lucky man.” He murmured against her head. “How so?” “Because you chose me.” “And I am lucky because you chose me.” She looked up at him “we chose each other.” “So, why did he phone you?” His arm went around her shoulder and they resumed their walk home. “Oh the guy they choose over me stuck his manhood where it was not meant to and apparently caused a big sex scandal. I need to phone Lysandra for more details. She will know all the gossip.” Rowan laughed. Once in front of the door Rowan kissed her deeply “I think I need a shower.” “Oh, do you?” He lifted her in his arms and they got into the house. “Do your worst, Whitethorn.”

#rowaelin #rowan x aelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin galythinius #fanfic #throneofglassseries #fluff #angst

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mewmedic · 4 years ago

Text

An Offering, Chapter 3

Read it on AO3 here.

Summary: “Never, not even a killer deserves that.” Claudette replied, with genuine disgust on her face. She may be unable to hurt a fly, but she wouldn't hurt a murderer? Meg could understand the fear of retaliation from them, but if she could get away with attacking a killer, she would totally do it. Claudette was just too sweet, and the strong must protect the sweet. Claudette’s face was wrought with worry, like she wanted to say something but was afraid. “Meg, have you ever thought that maybe they don’t want to hunt us down?”

Warnings: None.

Notes: So this Chapter is technically shorter than chapter two but it is way longer than I expected. Whoops.

Meg sat on a log, hugging her knees, while staring into the red-hot abyss that was the campfire. She couldn’t help but let her mind wonder over Claudette’s gentleness she experienced just a few hours ago. She really hoped Claudette wasn’t creeped out by all the hand holding and that hug. She didn’t want to rush Claudette into something she wasn’t comfortable with, but unfortunately speed was kind of Meg’s whole thing. Was she just being nice to her because she didn’t want to rock the boat? Claudette seemed like the type of person who would do that.

The girl was torn from her thoughts when she felt another trial was incoming so she uncurled her body. It was only a matter of minutes before the other three were present at the campfire as well. She spotted the satchel of herbs in Claudette’s palms and decided to take an initiative with the conversation. Meg figured Claudette wasn’t the best at commanding attention through dialog. There was nothing wrong with that of course, she was clearly just an introvert.

“Claudette and I found a plant called crispleaf amaranth. She thinks it might help us survive longer in a trial.” Meg tried to speak in a very series and concise tone, so the boys would take her seriously.

“Well, it’s not a bag of weed so I doubt it will do much.” Jake snorted, like he though what he said was just so clever. This fucking guy. Always had to be a contrarian. Well Meg had something coming for him.

“I saw you unhook and heal Dwight last trial. So maybe you secretly think these offerings work too! Or maybe you’re too scared to admit some flowers manipulated you into being nice for once!” Meg’s whole face had scrunched tight in frustration. With each word she said, she stepped closer to the man and then punctuated her anger with a finger pushing at his chest.

“It’s true. Even if it’s a placebo effect we still had decent results.” Dwight added to the discussion with what seemed like reluctance, his eyes shifted and he rubbed his knuckles awkwardly. Meg being an extrovert, Dwight and Claudette being introverts, and Jake being whatever the hell he was sure lead to some interesting dynamics. Jake shot his view from Dwight to Meg rapidly, looking like a cornered animal ready to bounce back. He was clearly trying to come up with something to say, but then Claudette began to speak.

“Meg told me about the trial. If Dwight had been injured when Meg was opening the gate, he wouldn’t have been able to take a hit for her. You did the right thing Jake, thank you.” Claudette’s kind tone quickly washed away the tension. Meg stepped back from Jake while he deflated his chest in embarrassment. She was dumbfounded by Claudette’s never-ending patience towards Jake’s petty quips. Meg was aware she wasn’t blameless either with her snapping at him, but goddammit, someone needs to make him be a team player. The fog began to creep in on the four survivors so Claudette quickly tossed the satchel into the flames.

***

The exit gates had been powered on and Meg was being chased by a killer they all call ‘The Wraith.’ He had been chasing her since the final generator had lit up so someone had to be close to opening a gate by now. She was injured and had been hooked twice, so she just had to find a gate and fast. Relief blessed her when she saw the three glowing red bulbs of an exit gate in the distance, with Claudette manning the switch.

“Open it, open it, open it!” Meg panicked, narrowly dodging an attack from the monster’s disgusting blade.

“It’s almost there- It’s- It’s done!” Claudette was just as stressed as Meg; she could see an injury on her arm now that she had rounded the corner of a wooden wall. The door of the gate began to move swiftly but Claudette was transfixed to the switch. “Wha-What about Dwight and Jake?!”

“They can leave through the other gate! He’s gonna have to chase us out!” Meg had finally reached Claudette and grabbed her by the hand, ushering her past the opened gate. The two ducked together as the beast swung one last time and tumbled over the threshold into the fog. They were safe, for now, all they could do now is wait for the boys. It only took about a minute for the two to emerge into the fog, both of them leaning on each other for support as they stumbled.

“Aha! Now you can’t deny that offering worked. I bet none of us can even recall the last time we all got out alive.” Meg proudly boasted.

“We won’t know for sure until we test it more.” Jake stated, trying to sound calm and collected under the pain of his bleeding. Claudette approached Jake and looked like she was going to start dressing his wounds but was stopped by Dwight.

“J-Jake and I can tend to our wounds. You two can get more off-offerings.” Dwight added, his teeth nearly clattering as he talked. Claudette curled her index finger as if to beckon Meg to her tent and the walk together. She quickly entered her tent and returned with her trowel, a satchel, and some medical supplies. The two sat down cross legged in front of each other.

“I want to show you how I heal myself without a med kit. I take this gauze out of a kit and stuff as much I can in my pockets. I also keep a wipe on me to clean the blood off wounds first. It’s not as clean a kit heal so it takes a longer.” Claudette explained matter-of-factually. Meg was dumbfounded, she had no idea Claudette even did this.

There were periods in trials where Meg wouldn’t see her, this is what she must be doing during those times. Meg was aware that Claudette could heal herself better than her own teammates could, or maybe she just didn’t want to burden them? She needed to improve her healing skills either way. Claudette cleansed the blood running across the gash on the outside of her wrist. “Okay, so after you clean the blood off your skin… You can pin the beginning of the unrolled side of gauze in place with the thumb of your injured hand, then wrap it around your arm upwards.”

As Claudette instructed, she began to cover her slashed arm in gauze. Meg’s eyes were glued to her actions. “If the gauze bleeds through on placement, you don’t want to take it off. That can do more harm than good. It’s better just to wrap around that area with another layer. After that, tie up the ends and wiggle your finger to check the circulation.” Claudette did exactly what she described and handed Meg her supplies.

Meg’s injury was also on her arm, so she was at least able to imitate the other’s actions easily. She cleaned her wound, unraveled the gauze upward, and tied it off. Claudette leaned in and inspected the bandages as Meg stretched her fingers. Meg privately enjoyed the brief moment of closeness but anxiously waited to hear the other’s judgment. “You did well.” She said kindly. Meg pumped her fist in the air victoriously.

The two girls stood and clasped each other’s hands, leaving the campsite for the fog. Meg looked over her shoulder and watched the twinkling of the fire get smaller and smaller. The only sound now was the thuds of their footsteps and their quiet breathing. The foggy expanse ahead of them eventually revealed a small array of flowers in the short distance. Meg and Claudette shot each other amused glances as they quickly approached the blooms. The petals were ruffled with pink edges that changed to a vibrant red in the center. The burst of color shocked Meg, she never imagined something so bright could be out here in the void. The primrose they originally found was quite nice, but whatever flower this was really knocked it out of the park.

“This is sweet william, it is often used a symbol for passion and courage. The Roman goddess of the hunt, Diana, once plucked out the eyes of a man who had angered her. This flower grew from the dirt where his eyes fell.” Claudette enthusiastically explained.

“Wow, she sounds like a badass. Maybe we can channel some of that boldness with these?” Meg suggested, jovially posing her free hand like a claw.

“What?! I don’t want to rip anybody’s eyes out!” Claudette gasped and winced at the gruesome thought.

“C’mon, not even a killer?” Meg tilted her head, intrigued by the other’s reaction.

“Never, not even a killer deserves that.” Claudette replied, with genuine disgust on her face. She may be unable to hurt a fly, but she wouldn't hurt a murderer? Meg could understand the fear of retaliation from them, but if she could get away with attacking a killer, she would totally do it. Claudette was just too sweet, and the strong must protect the sweet. Claudette’s face was wrought with worry, like she wanted to say something but was afraid. “Meg, have you ever thought that maybe they don’t want to hunt us down?”

“I… No, I haven’t.” Meg was aghast, she did her best to hold back a gaping jaw. She wanted to hear her out.

“It’s possible someone hurt them too. Both Trapper and Hillbilly’s are covered in scars, and Wraith… When I look at him, I see anger, but I also see fear.” Claudette just sounded so somber with her words. Meg was astounded that Claudette could notice something like that and felt ashamed that she couldn’t. “I think if something is keeping us here, it also must be have trapped them somewhere.”

Meg actually had considered there had been some sort of higher power controlling their new world. How else do could she explain the freaky claws that take them away when they die? Who teleports them to the trials? Who even brought them here in the first place? She assumed maybe this being worked for the killers or maybe were equals with them. Never could she imagine these murderers worked for whatever had abducted her. Was there truly something more dangerous than them? Her head was spinning and she need to stop thinking about this right now.

She knelt down to the flowers and the other followed suit. Claudette seemed to take the hint that Meg was overwhelmed with existential dread as she moved on to digging with her trowel. The sweet william was neatly planted in her satchel. She then plucked one of the flowers and gently placed it above Meg’s ear. She revealed a coy smile as Meg’s face turned red from the gesture. Meg was frozen for a moment; all her thoughts were gone. All she could come up with was to swiftly mirror Claudette’s actions, she ripped a flower out and awkwardly set it on her ear too.

Claudette giggled at the action and Meg just realized they were leaning towards each other gradually. They were intimately close now so she could study Claudette’s features. Her eyes were endlessly dark, she felt like she could dive into them and never return, and she would never want to either. Her brown lips looked warm and inviting, and they were getting larger as they continued to close the distance.

“Can I… Can I kiss you?” Meg quietly asked.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Claudette tenderly answered.

Their lips brushed together and embraced the softness. The quiet of the fog was disrupted by fireworks exploding in Meg’s mind. She closed her eyes and the fear of killers their cruel god evaporated like they were nothing. Even if Meg were trapped in hell, at least Claudette could be her angel in this moment. The world was just Meg Thomas and Claudette Morel now. However, this peace could never last so the two retreated their lips. Meg knew they had to return to the camp eventually, and by the way Claudette was gripping her hand tightly, she must have known too. The two stood up together and began to walk back in the direction they came from.

“So… Are we dating now?” Claudette blurted out. Meg’s breath hitched in her throat and she choked a little.

“Erm, we can be if you want.” Meg nervously scratched at her neck and glanced away.

“I do want to be dating you.” Claudette playfully declared with a bashful smile.

“You do? Cool. ‘Cause I do too.” Meg responded casually, trying to act like it was no big deal.

Dating? In this nightmare? The only thing stranger than being trapped in a realm where monsters kill you over and over again would be finding love in said realm. Love? Is that what this is? Was it too soon to tell? Meg had a habit of jumping to conclusions, after all, that was what brought her to follow Claudette into the fog in the first place. Maybe this was more of a leap of faith? Oh god, she’s letting her mind go wild again.

The obscured glow of the campfire reaching her view snapped her out of those thoughts. The light got brighter and brighter until finally they were home. She didn’t want to think of this place as her home, but with Claudette by her side, it would be okay for now. Meg didn’t want them to go back to their tents like they normally would, she wanted this date to last a little bit longer. As if Claudette could read her mind, she guided her to sit on a log near the flames. So together they sat in silence, still holding hands, under the eternal night.

#Dead by Daylight #DbD #Meg Thomas #Claudette Morel #Megdette

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angelsfalling16 · 5 years ago

Text

Criminal

Read on ao3

Tarot Card: The Lovers - my second fic for the @cotarot event!

Summary: Simon and Baz are stuck in a burning building, and they have to find a way to stop flirting arguing long enough to find a way to get out. The thing is, Simon is a superhero who seems to have lost control of his powers, and Baz is a villain, who Simon suspects set the fire.

Word Count: 5763

A/N: For the Lovers card, I wanted to play with the idea of soulmates, even though that accidentally became a secondary story line in this fic because I got a little carried away with them in the building fire. I hope you all like it!

Thank you @caitybuglove23 for beta reading and for leaving some fantastic comments that still made me laugh today when I went to go copy the fic :)

Also, this is my 100th snowbaz fic on ao3!! :D

***

Simon was certain that he had gotten everyone out of the burning building. He had checked all the floors, all the flats. There shouldn’t have been anyone left in here, but as he reaches the landing on the third floor, he sees someone halfway down the hall.

He moves towards them, trying not to inhale too much of the smoke. It isn’t until he’s just a few feet away that he is able to get a better look, and he comes up short because he knows that person. He would recognize them anywhere, even without the usual getup that they usually don.

“Baz?”

Simon’s biggest rival. The one criminal he has faced and never beaten. The one person who gets under his skin more than anyone else has ever been able to. The guy he fought with all through school.

Baz turns at the sound of his name, and he looks surprised for just a moment before he schools his features and manages to look bored.

When Simon woke with his powers and decided to use them to help protect the city, he never would have guessed that his biggest foe would be the guy who taunted him for years.

They never even really talked in school, so he has no idea why Baz hated him so much back then. He would glare at him from a distance, never saying more than a few harsh words to him from across the hall. Simon never understood it, but it eventually got to him.

Simon began to hate him back, or at least he thought he did. Things with Baz have always been a little strange. He’s sure that he’s supposed to hate Baz — especially now that people see him as a superhero and Baz as the villain – but he isn’t sure that he does.

Not that anyone knows that Simon is the face behind the mask. (Except Penny, of course.) It took Simon a while to find out that Baz was the villain behind the flames, and when he did, he became just as obsessed as he was when they were in school.

He became intent on tracking him down, figuring out what he was up to, and putting a stop to his evil plans. There were one or two times when Simon was so focused on trying to find him that he almost let a different villain slip right through the cracks.

Penny has had to pull him aside on multiple occasions and remind him that he shouldn’t let Baz consume his thoughts like that. What she doesn’t understand — and what it took Simon a long time to see — is that there is something else underlying his determination. There is a feeling of...something that is pushing him towards Baz.

He can’t explain it. All he knows is that he can’t get Baz out of his head until he catches him.

He has been searching for him for a long time. It has been a while since they last met, and Simon was beginning to worry that he had left town. It turns out that all he needed to do was run into a burning building to find Baz.

It takes Simon a minute to snap out of the daze that he’s in and speak again. He thinks Baz said something, but he doesn’t know what, so he has to try to remember why he came running back into the building.

“Have you seen a cat?”

“A cat?” Baz asks, quirking that annoying brow that has become as familiar to Simon as the suit that he wears. “Like in general or…?”

“I saved a kid, and their cat ran back in here. I have to find it.”

Baz rolls his eyes at the mention of saving a kid. “No, I haven’t seen it.”

“What are you even doing here?” Simon asks.

“I live here.”

“On this side of town? Not likely. Don’t you have like some big mansion out in the country or something?”

“That’s my family’s house. I moved out.”

Something about this doesn’t feel right. First of all, if Baz is running from the law, why is he just sitting here, living in a flat like his life is normal? Second, wouldn’t his family try to help him pay for something nicer? And keep him out of trouble? Or did they turn on him once he became a criminal? Third, this neighborhood is riddled with crime, which Simon supposes makes sense since Baz himself is a criminal.

Simon doesn’t have time to ponder any of this, though. Right now, they’re trapped in a burning building, and they need to find a way out. And he needs to find that cat because he can’t disappoint that kid.

“Okay, but surely you had plenty of time to get out of the building. Why are you still in here?”

“I was a few floors up, and I was looking for something. Then, I got trapped on this floor. The flames have blocked the path.”

“Looking for what?” Simon asks. That’s when he notices that Baz is holding something in his hand. He wants to get a closer look, but Baz quickly pockets it when he sees Simon’s interest in the item. Simon thinks it’s a scarf, which is a peculiar item to risk your life for.

“None of your business,” he says, leaning against the wall like he hasn’t got a care in the world. Like there isn’t a fire surrounding them.

Simon grits his teeth. “Whatever. Come on, let’s get out of here.

“Great, the Snow Prince is here to save me.” He says ‘snow prince’ like it’s a dirty word.

“It’s what I do.”

“Even villains?”

“I don’t care what you are, I’m not going to let you die.”

“But if I die, you won’t have to worry about chasing after me anymore. You will finally win.”

“If I let you die, I wouldn’t be a hero.”

“You should really get over the whole hero thing. One day, you’ll end up dead.”

“Is that a threat?”

Baz laughs coldly, pushing himself away from the wall to glare at Simon full-on. “I’m not a killer.”

“Right. You just commit petty crimes.”

“And I get away with it.” Simon wants to punch that irritating smirk off of his face.

“Not anymore. Once we get out of here, I’m taking you in.”

“And how exactly do you plan on getting out of here?”

“Uhh…” Right. The fire.

Simon runs through it in his mind. The fire seemed to have started somewhere above where they are now, and it spread down the side of the building, taking over the first floor. Basically, it’s surrounding them, and their hope for getting out is looking kind of bleak. There is only a matter of time before it reaches them.

“Can’t you put it out?” Baz suggests when Simon hasn’t said anything.

“Not exactly.” Simon looks down, scratching at the back of his head, seemingly nervous all of a sudden.

“Why not? You’re the bloody Snow Prince, aren’t you? Use your powers and put the fire out.”

“Uh, about that…” He peers up at Baz through his lashes, and those blue eyes behind the mask hold something strange in them.

The city is so used to seeing them full of confidence and determination. This is something else, something like doubt or maybe even a loss of belief in himself. Baz has never seen him look like that.

“What?” Baz asks, pushing him for an explanation.

“I seem to have lost control of my powers.” He murmurs it quickly and quietly, obviously ashamed.

“Can’t get it up anymore, is that what you mean?” Baz asks, smirking at him.

Simon blushes furiously, unsuccessfully attempting to hide it. “No. It works. I just—.”

“Oh, so you can get it up. You just can’t keep it up.”

“Would you please shut up?” Simon asks, but he’s fighting back a smile.

He should want to punch Baz right now. They aren’t friends. They aren’t joking around.

They are rivals, and they are very much still in the middle of a burning building.

“It’s alright, Snow. Everyone has those days. Not me, of course, because I’m perfect.”

“Oh, is that why you’re out here being a criminal, then? Because you’re so perfect?”

“What’s not perfect about that? You still haven’t managed to catch me.”

“I have you cornered now, don’t I?”

Baz laughs, and the sound echoes off the walls around them. “You think that the fact that the both of us are about to go up in flames is you catching me? That is a really low bar you’ve set for yourself, but sure, enjoy it for however long we have left.”

Simon glares at him but doesn’t say anything else because they can’t keep standing in this hall. The fire is going to reach them eventually. They need to find a way to get out of here.

“Can’t we go back the way you came?” Baz asks.

Simon shakes his head. “No, the flames swallowed up the door as I turned the corner. The whole first floor is probably in flames now.”

“So, what do we do then?”

“Jump from a window?”

“Sure. You jump first and break my fall.”

“Not likely,” Simon says with a glare. He never seems to stop glaring at Baz.

“Then, think of a better plan.”

“I don’t hear you coming up with anything.”

“I’m not the one who ran into a burning building.”

“Well, you didn’t exactly run out of it either.”

“I was working on it, but like you said, we’re trapped.”

“I don’t get why you didn’t just leave in the first place. No item is worth your life.”

“It’s not just an item.”

“Whatever. Let’s just get out of here,” Simon says, turning and beginning to look for a way out.

“Simon, look out!” Baz shouts, a moment before he crashes into Simon, knocking them both out of the way of a part of the ceiling that has just fallen. They land on the ground, Baz sprawled out on top of him.

“Is that what it feels like to save someone?” Baz groans. “Gross. I don’t want to do it again.”

“Y-you saved my life,” Simon chokes, turning to look at him, sounding breathless from the fall they just took.

“Obviously.”

“And you said Simon.”

“It’s your name isn’t it?”

“How do you know that?” Simon tries to jerk away from him, but the weight of Baz’s body prevents him from moving.

“Because I’m not an idiot,” he says before rolling off of Simon and getting back up to his feet.

“How long have you known?” Simon asks, standing up beside him.

“Long enough. It’s amazing the whole world doesn’t know. It’s rather obvious, isn’t it? I mean, your last name is Snow after all.”

Simon growls, but Baz ignores him.

What he doesn’t say is that it was Simon’s eyes that ultimately tipped him off. Those extraordinarily ordinary blue eyes. There is nothing special to them, but Baz spent years staring into them, so he would recognize them anywhere.

“That could just be a coincidence. How did you—?”

Baz cuts him, attempting to distract him. “Oh, is that a new suit? It’s looks good on you.”

“Um, yeah. It is. Thank you.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“Whatever. You and I both know that there’s a part of you that means it.”

“What would possibly make you think that that is true?”

“The fact that we’re in the middle of a burning building and you stopped to notice what I was wearing.”

“There isn’t much else to look at.”

“Just admit it. You like to look at me.”

“Quit flirting and kill me already.” Baz rolls his eyes like he’s annoyed with this whole conversation, he doesn’t quite sound as disgusted as he meant to.

“I-I wasn’t flirting,” Simon says, completely flustered.

“Mhmm. Sure. Then, why do you care whether I like to look at you?”

“I-I don’t. Y-you were the one who—.”

“It’s okay to admit it.”

“You’re the one who said I looked good.”

“Well, you are looking a little hot today. I can practically see the smoke coming off of you.”

“Fuck off.”

“Gladly.”

Baz takes a step away from him just as another part of the ceiling gives way above him.

Simon rushes forward to try to push him out of the way like Baz did for him, but he isn’t fast enough.

Luckily, it’s mostly plaster that rains down upon him.

“I just washed this!” Baz says, patting at his hair as dust and ash rains down on him.

It’s Simon’s turn to roll his eyes. “Oh, get over it.”

“Excuse you?”

He turns a glare on Simon, one hand pushing through his hair to try to clear of it dust, and Simon thinks it’s criminal how good he looks even with the plaster in his hair.

He shakes that thought from his head and tries to focus on the matter at hand.

“If you hadn’t set this fire, we wouldn’t even be in this mess.”

“I didn’t set it.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Because you’re a criminal? Because your whole MO is fire?!”

“I don’t set them. And I’d have to be a right idiot to set one with myself trapped in the building.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you are currently my number one suspect.”

Right at that moment, some more debris rains down, falling onto Simon this time. Baz laughs, and Simon is sure that he has never heard a more beautiful sound in his life. And he isn’t sure why he thinks that. He’s supposed to hate Baz, so why do these thoughts keep creeping in?

Baz is a criminal for fuck’s sake. (That doesn’t change how he looks or sounds, a voice inside Simon’s head points out, and he growls.)

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Simon says.

“A little bit.”

“And you expect me to believe that you didn’t set the fire?”

“What will it take to make you believe me?”

“Nothing! You’re a criminal and a liar.”

“I am so much more of that.”

“Really? Like what?”

“I do not have to explain myself to you.”

Simon glares quietly.

“Look, you have every right to suspect me, but can we please just get out of here?”

Simon wants to protest, but they’re quickly running out of time. “Fine,” he says begrudgingly.

“Truce?”

“Only until we get out of this.”

Baz holds out his hand, and Simon frowns at it.

“Shake on it,” Baz says.

Simon hesitates before taking his hand, shaking it once before letting it go. He’s surprised to find that even through the material of his suit, he can feel how cold Baz’s hand is.

That’s strange. Someone who can control fire is freezing.

He supposes it’s the opposite for him. He typically runs warm, but his powers are cold.

“We should move away from where I came from,” Simon says, clearing his throat. “The fire has taken over that entire side of the building.”

“Okay. Lead the way,” Baz says, and Simon does.

“So, how did you become a hero?” Baz asks conversationally as they begin moving carefully down the hall towards the stairs at the opposite side in the hopes that it hasn’t been completely taken over by flames.

“I don’t know I just woke up one day, and I had these…these powers.”

“That I get. Why did you choose to become a hero?”

“Why did you choose to become a villain?” Simon counters.

“Villains have more fun, of course. Plus, it’s a lot less stressful when you’re not trying to save the whole bloody world.”

“If I remember correctly, your family is rich. Why are you robbing banks and setting your own flat on fire?”

“For fun? And I didn’t set this fire. I told you.”

Simon decides to ignore the last bit. “Come on. I know you a bit better than that. I know you’re lying. You don’t do this for fun.”

“It’s not really important, okay?”

“It is when I have to keep coming to stop you.”

“Then, maybe you shouldn’t stop me.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

Simon doesn’t answer that because they’ve reached the stairwell. They look through the window on the door, and they can see the fire way down at the bottom. They should be able to make it most of the way down, and hopefully they will come up with something before they reach the fire.

Simon pulls open the door and starts to walk down the stairs when the flames suddenly rush up at him, building height and reaching up towards him, like they were just waiting for him.

Baz yanks him back out into the hall, pressing him up against the wall to keep him away from the fire.

“What the—?” Simon asks, wondering how many times Baz is going to save his life. Isn’t he supposed to be the villain? Maybe things aren’t quite that simple.

“Oxygen,” Baz says. “When you opened the door, you allowed more oxygen into the stairwell, feeding the fire.”

Simon is speechless, but not because he nearly just burnt to a crisp.

Baz is really close, practically keeping him against the wall with his entire body. Simon’s eyes flicker between Baz’s eyes and his mouth. He briefly wonders how soft Baz’s lips would feel against his own.

That is the last thing he should be thinking about right now, but Baz’s hands are still on his waist, holding him against the wall. He’s so close, and Simon wonders what it would be like to be even closer.

“You really should be more careful. You could have gotten yourself killed.” He’s scolding Simon, and he almost sounds like he’s really concerned about him. “What would happen to the city if that happened? They’d be lost without you. The city would collapse. You—.”

Simon cuts him off.

He leans forward and seals their lips together.

Baz’s lips really are as soft as they look, and they easily part against his. Simon is surprised when Baz doesn’t pull away, instead tightening his grip on Simon’s hips and pulling him even closer.

Simon swears he feels sparks, but that could just be because of how close they still are to the fire.

“Oh,” Simon breaths when he pulls away, something clicking in his head. “I like you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“That doesn’t change the facts.”

Simon feels something coarse through his body, and it’s more than the electricity he just felt from that kiss. It’s his powers.

Simon holds his hand out toward the stairwell and gives an experimental push. A blast of snow comes out of his hand, killing some of the flames.

He has control again.

Baz is relieved and immediately pulls away from Simon.

“Finally. Can you put out the entire fire?”

Simon nods. “I think so. It will be easier when we’re outside, so let’s just start with the stairs.

“Great. Let’s get out of here then.”

Simon follows slowly behind him, a little disappointed that that was it. They kissed, and then Baz turned away from him like nothing even happened.

He feels a bit used, like all Baz wants him for is his powers. He will probably ditch him as soon as they get out of here.

He hates how much that thought hurts. He isn’t supposed to like Baz. He’s a villain.

They carefully make their way down the singed stairs. Simon wants to stop down the stairs to release some of his feelings, but the one stomp he does nearly sends him crashing into Baz.

“Careful,” Baz says not unkindly, holding out an arm to steady him. “These steps could give out beneath us.”

Simon treads more carefully, and the walk down the steps seems endless. The silence starts to drive Simon crazy.

“What are we going to do when we get out of here?”

“I suppose I’ll be in search of a new place to live.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. What are we going to do about us when we get out?”

“There is no us.”

Simon has to pretend like that doesn’t hurt him. Like it doesn’t feel like a thousand tiny swords are being pressed into his chest, slowly puncturing his heart.

“But—.” Simon begins, but he has no idea how to finish that sentence. Did he really think that one kiss would change things?

“What, did you think I would suddenly change?”

“No, but I thought we could try to do things differently.”

“You can keep chasing me, but you’ll never catch me.” Simon isn’t sure if he’s discussing the relationship thing or the hero vs villain thing they’ve got going on. Either way, his response is the same.

“Then, maybe you should stop running.”

“Are you suggesting that I should turn myself in?”

“No, but I am saying that you should stop committing crimes. You could even come fight them with me.”

Baz scoffs. “Do you honestly believe that people won’t immediately recognize me? I would still be using fire, even if they don’t know that I am your biggest rival.”

“You can wear a mask. It’s like you said. People are idiots. They will never figure it out.”

Baz seems to think about it for a minute, and Simon starts to feel hopeful. Maybe this could work. Maybe they can actually do this.

“I will stop the crimes, but I won’t be a superhero with you.”

“Fine.”

“It can’t pay well, and I want to do something else with my life.”

“Like what?”

“I could teach like my mum or write.”

“Why not do both?”

“Hmm. I’ll have to think about it.”

“What would you even write about?” Simon asks curiously.

“A boy with powers. Superhero by day, boyfriend by night.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Yeah, well, I obviously wasn’t talking about you.”

“Oh. Right.”

“But I mean,” Baz says, his voice suddenly softer, “if you wanted to, we could…you know.”

Simon starts grinning like an idiot. “No, I don’t know. I need you to tell me.”

“Fine. Snow, if you’ll have me, I would like to be your boyfriend.”

“I would love that.”

They continue their walk down the stairs, Simon wearing a huge grin. Baz is hiding a smaller one.

Simon blasts snow every so often to fight back the fire, and by the time they reach the first floor, the fire has been put out down there. The place is effectively charred and almost unrecognizable.

Baz and Simon both seem to slow down as they grow closer to the door, unready to face everyone outside or separate. But Simon still has to put out the rest of the frie.

Baz turns to Simon, opening his mouth to say something to him.

"Meow?"

“The cat!” Simon says excitedly, startling Baz in the process. “There you are,” he coos, crouching down to hold a hand out to it.

Carefully, the cat comes closer to sniff his hand, hesitating a moment before pressing its forehead into his hand. Simon’s face breaks out into a grin as he begins to pet the cat before scooping it up and turning to Baz, who is watching him quietly from a couple of feet away.

"Let's get out of here,” Simon says.

"What? Do you plan to walk out holding hands with your biggest rival?"

"No one will know it's you. Besides, would you rather I carry you out bridal style? I'm sure it would make for a great picture, especially if you were holding the cat."

Baz rolls his eyes. "I'm not some damsel in distress I can walk."

"Good. Let's go."

Simon reaches for Baz's hand and receives a quirked brow in return.

"People will talk."

"So?"

"You're their hero. You don't want them to turn on you, do you?"

"If they can't accept me for who I am, that's their problem. I don’t want to be a hero of a city that turns on me because of who I like.”

Baz looks at him doubtfully, but he allows Simon to take his hand, and they step out of the building together.

***

Simon is feeling drained when he gets back to the flat that he shares with Penny a while later. He immediately goes to his room to change out of his suit, tossing it carelessly on the bed. Penny will yell at him for that later, but he can’t find it in himself to care right at this moment because he only has one thing on his mind right now.

He runs his fingers over his mouth, and he swears he can still feel the ghost of Baz’s lips. That kiss was so brief, yet it changed everything.

Simon smiles to himself and holds his hand palm up in front of him, wondering if it somehow changed one other thing. He closes his eyes and imagines the feeling of his power, pushing up and out through his hand. When he opens his eyes, it’s snowing in the room.

It’s not quite what he had intended, but it’s something. With a wave of his hand, he makes the snow disappear. He at least seems to have some semblance of control over his powers. He and Penny are still going to have to figure out what’s going on with it.

Speaking of Penny, Simon hears her moving around in the kitchen and decides to go join her, letting her know how it went.

She warned him not to go there, not when his powers are acting up, but he couldn’t not try to help. He couldn’t let the city down like that. Plus, what would have happened if he hadn’t gone, if he hadn’t raced in after that cat?

Would Baz have made it out, or would he have died in that fire? Would anyone have even noticed?

It hurts to think about that, so Simon pushes that thought away. All that matters is that everyone is safe.

“If your suit is thrown on the floor again, I am going to kill you,” Penny says when he steps into the kitchen.

“It’s not on the floor.” It isn’t a lie.

“Good. You need to take care of that suit. I can’t keep mending and replacing it.”

Simon nods. He’s heard this spiel a hundred times before. It’s only a matter of time before people start questioning why she keeps ordering the makings of a super suit. Someday, people will track her back to the Snow Prince, and then it will be no time at all before they figure out that he is Simon.

Simon isn’t sure what he would do if the entire city found out who he was. He likes protecting the city, but he also likes his privacy. He likes being able to walk through the city as an anonymous uni student when he’s not worried about catching criminals.

“What are you making?” Simon asks.

“Scones. I figured you’d be famished when you returned.”

“You’re amazing, Pen. Let me help.”

Simon moves to the sink to wash his hands, and he hears Penny gasp beside him.

“Simon, look at your wrist. Who did you touch? Did you take off your suit?” She sounds more worked up about the suit than his wrist.

“No, of course not.” Simon says, confused.

He looks down at his wrist, and that’s when he sees it. His soulmark.

Everyone is born with a symbol that represents their soulmate. It stays black until the first time that you have physical contact with them, then it fills with color and starts to glow faintly.

Currently, the little flame that has lived on Simon’s wrist his entire life seems to have come to life, a swirl of red and orange and yellow.

“Then, how did someone manage to touch you and activate that?” Penny is asking, and Simon feels himself blush.

It’s probably not best to admit that he was kissing his rival in the middle of a burning building.

“Umm, I actually tripped and fell on someone, and my cheek brushed their arm.”

“Oh, Simon. You have got to be more careful. You might hurt someone rather than protect them.”

“I can’t believe you actually believed that. Although, Simon is rather clumsy. I suppose that’s why he never managed to make the football team back in school.”

Simon and Penny both turn in surprise and find Baz standing in their kitchen.

“What the hell are you doing here?” She’s wielding her wooden mixing spoon like she is prepared to attack him with it, and Simon would honestly not put it past her to do so.

“How did you get in?” Simon asks. “How did you know where I live?”

“Your front door is unlocked, and I followed you.”

“Get out,” Penny demands, stepping towards him with her spoon.

“Wait,” Simon says, glancing down at Baz’s arm. He’s wearing long sleeves, but Simon thinks he see the edge of it. “He’s with me.”

“What do you mean he’s with you?”

“He’s under my protection.”

“He’s a criminal, Simon.”

“A reformed criminal actually. As of about thirty minutes ago.” Baz says it like it’s a joke, but Simon wonders if he really means that. Will he really give up crime?

Penny sighs. “I told Simon to stay away from you. I told him that it would be a bad idea to get messed up with you. He always gets so obsessed though, especially with you, and—.”

She stops when she notices that they have moved closer to each other and Simon has pushed up Baz’s sleeve to reveal his soulmark. It’s a snowflake, blue and white and silver.

“This is why I followed you,” Baz says. “I would say I’m sorry, but I’m not.”

“We’re soulmates,” Simon whispers.

“Yes.”

“I should have known,” Penny says. “It all makes a sort of sense now.”

“It does?”

“Yeah. It at least explains your total obsession with him.”

“I’m not obsessed with him.”

“It’s okay,” Baz whispers. “I’m a little obsessed with you, too.”

Simon leans up to kiss him, and Penny groans.

“Not in the kitchen please. You’ll ruin my appetite.”

Simon frowns but pulls away from him.

“I have a confession to make,” Baz says.

“What?”

“I started the fire.”

“What? Was this all a trick so that you could make me save you?”

“You would have saved me either way. And I didn’t set it on purpose.”

“How do you accidentally set a fire?”

“Uh. I was baking.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a thing people do,” he says, gesturing at where Penny has returned to making the scones.

“Obviously not you, though, because you burnt them and an entire building.”

“Fine. It was for my sister. Her birthday is coming up, and I wanted to surprise her.”

“Oh. That’s really sweet.”

“Shut up.”

“Nope. You’re stuck with me now.”

Baz smiles and leans down to quickly kiss Simon again.

“Out. Now. There will be no kissing in the kitchen. That’s my number one rule.”

“I thought your number one rule was no eating butter with a spoon.”

“I would much rather watch you do that than have to see you two make out in here.”

Simon grins at her. “Fine. We’ll go to my room. Let me know when the scones are ready please.”

“I’ll be sure to knock first.”

Simon blushes. “We won’t be doing anything.”

“Whatever. Just make sure you lock the door. And use protection.”

“Penny!” Simon hisses, but she ignores him.

Embarrassed, Simon turns back to Baz and starts leading him towards the hallway.

“Want to go to my room?”

“Maybe I should be going.”

“Where? Your flat just burnt down.”

“My family’s house. Like I said, my sister’s birthday is coming up.”

“Do you have to go now?”

“I suppose not. It can wait a couple of hours.”

“Great. Also, maybe you shouldn’t tell your sister that you burnt down an entire building because you tried to bake for her.”

“Right. I should probably pick something up from the store next time.”

“I could help you bake something. I’m pretty good at it. I don’t set the building on fire at least.”

“That is very kind of you.”

“Just trying to be helpful.”

“I appreciate that.” He smiles quietly at Simon, and Simon’s heart stutters in his chest. He swears one of these days his heart is going to stop because of the way that Baz is looking at him.

When they get to Simon’s room, he’s barely got the door shut before he’s pushing Baz up against it, reversing their earlier positions.

He pauses with his hands on Baz’s hips, keeping a few inches of space between them as he searches Baz’s eyes for something.

Simon wonders how he never saw this. How he never figured out that this feeling in his chest and his need to always know what Baz was up to might mean that he liked him. It was right there in front of him, but he couldn’t see it.

He’s glad he finally did. He’s glad that he kissed Baz in that burning building because if he hadn’t, how much longer would it have been before they figured out how they were soulmates? Would they have ever figured it out?

Maybe. Simon likes to think so. But that doesn’t matter right now.

Because they are here together, and that’s what matters, right? That they found each other and are happy.

Sure, it’s going to take a lot more than this to get through the things that they have been through – have put each other through with their fighting – but Simon is willing to put in the work. He wants to be with Baz, and he will do whatever it takes to make sure that their relationship works.

Baz is looking at him with a questioning look of adoration, and Simon smiles at him before leaning in and kissing him.

There are sparks, just like last time, but Simon is sure that this time, it’s because of how they feel and not because their lives are in danger.

Simon is still kissing him like his life depends on it, though. He’s putting his all into it because this is how he feels. He feels deeply for Baz, and nothing will ever change that. Even if Baz still decides to be a criminal.

Simon can’t help how he feels about him, and he doesn’t care what others would think. Because he likes Baz, and as long as Baz likes him back, that is the most important thing to him.

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all-things-fic · 6 years ago

Note

can you write a blurb where you're talking shit with harry and like bitching with him? i just really wanna see that one.

Just a little something I’ve put together.

Shit Talking

~*~

You closed the door, immediately resting against it as it shut to, head knocking back to lean against the glass.

With your eyes closed you took a deep breath in, smelling whatever masterpiece was being put together in the kitchen.

Heavy bags still hung to your body, thick winter coat sitting against your shoulders, shoes that were way too high on your feet.

You couldn’t help but smile as you heard him muttering something to the food he was cooking, obviously wanting to take away some of the stress that you were feeling and wanting it to be perfect in the process.

Resting your bag next to Harry’s shoes you reached down and pulled off your shoe, moaning under your breath as your feet hit the floor, toes curling to help continue to relieve the tension that you heels had brought.

As you reached for your second heel, hopping on your now bare foot, you let that one you had removed haphazardly drop to the floor slowly giving less and less of a fuck as the tension dissipated.

Walking through the house, you watched him quietly for a moment dressed in some shirt that should be worn by a convention dad but probably cost more than your most expensive designer handbag (which he had also bought you). There was the faint sound of Van Morrison coming from your lounge that he was really zoned in on as he faintly sang along with the lyrics.

Your eyes took in the kitchen once they had moved away from Harry. The mess that was left in the sink, the way whatever was on one of the hobs bubbled away. Extractor fan above the cooker turned on, two plates set out on the side ready to be plated up.

He must’ve sensed you, glancing over at you waiting in the doorway before looking back to the food. You watched him still before he looked back at you, his eyes holding yours softly.

You’d been texting him whenever you could today. The stress of work positively getting to you. A deadline that was unmeetable being handed over to you to sort out.

He’d phoned you a lunch time, a growled “again”, leaving his lips when you spoke about the boss at work that was once more making your life a living hell.

Quickly, he reacted, standing behind the island of the kitchen and grabbed the large glass of wine that sat next to the one that he had clearly been sipping while he cooked.

Walking to you, he handed over the glass which you gratefully took off him with ease. You closed your eyes as you drank, taking the largest sip you could muster. Even that seemed to take too much energy.

“Let me take your coat,” he mumbled, shifting along with you so you could place down your wine and feel him slip the heavy item off your body. “‘M making a roast.”

“Beef?” You asked, knowing that it was his favourite.

He didn’t respond straight away, quickly moving around the house to hang up your coat. He was back just moments later, “No, ‘ve done chicken.”

That was your favourite. The soft smile hit your lips involuntarily but you wouldn’t have fought it anyway.

He placed his hands on your shoulders, thumbs massaging slowly close to your neck and you turned to look at him. “Thank you.”

“S’fine, ‘s’nothing,” he responded. He squeezed lightly at your shoulder as you turned your head to slightly look at him, “Gimme a kiss.”

He puckered his lips gently in a way that always made you soft for him, eyes knocking up to look at his. With a slight nod, he was leaning in and pressing his lips to yours lightly, tasting the faint crispness of the white wine against your mouth.

“You alright?” He softly asked, cupping your face.

“‘M so fuckin’ tired, H.”

You were honest. It wasn’t like he couldn’t tell, just like you could tell how worried about you he was.

“Lay it on me,” he responded, pressing his lips to yours again before repeating his words. “Come an’ tell me, what’s going on.”

Reaching for his glass of wine, he rested against the kitchen counter opposite you, watching the way you spoke about work while you casually undressed in front of him in the middle of your kitchen.

Hands fiddled with the zip on the back of your pencil skirt, as you quickly spun it around and unzipped it from the front before you could get too irritated at a piece of clothing. It fell to your feet, revealing your nude tight covered legs to him, next to the silk blouse that had crumpled throughout the day.

He didn’t bat an eyelid in a sexual way, like he usually would. His casual grabbing at your waist with some comment that warmed your through as you would most likely laugh, tilt your head back at how he had tired to be sexy but instead sounded dorky but highly attractive with. Even more so when you considering the two of you hadn’t seen a lot of each other lately. You knew you didn’t need to worry though, that would come, now just wasn’t the right time.

“And I mean, this bitch seriously just does not have a fucking clue,” you ranted, cupping at your wine as your side rested into the kitchen counter. “I’m actually fucking sick of her and her stupid glasses-“

He snorted at that, smirking against the rim of his wine glass. Here came the pettiness to your rant.

“They’re so fucking thick and black and way too harsh on her face,” you continued, “and don’t get me started on how she has her own mugs in the kitchen and no one else is allowed to use them. I went to use one the other day and someone from HR was questioning me why I was using her mug. Like she has ownership on all the mugs!”

You flung your arms out. “No one wants your “I’d rather be sipping prosecco” mug anyways, Karen!”

He stayed silent as he watched you, arms flying everywhere before you turned your attention to the envelope that was you post from that morning as it sat against the work surface.

“You should just bin it when she’s not in the office,” he mischievously quipped. “Throw it away so when she comes back she can’t find it.”

Your eyes lit up at the thought, and he laughed - a belly laugh - probably harder than he should. “No,” he wheezed as he slowed his laughed, his hands quickly coming up in front of him. “No, don’t do that. Don’t be petty like that. Fuck her, let her get on with it.”

“I can’t,” you whineed. “She’s driving me mad with her constant switching of goal posts and changing what she requires of my team.”

“Then go above her-“

“She’s the CEO, there is no one above her,” you respond, probably a bit more harshly than you should have. You meekly looked at him but he waved you off, he’s okay to take a battering tonight, if it’s needed.

You, however, weren’t okay to deliver that battering.

Pushing yourself up onto the kitchen island, you beckoned him to you, watching as he pushed himself off the counter. He stood between your legs, wine glasses resting beside you and placed his hand against your nude tights, enjoying the smoothness beneath his hands.

“Sorry,” you mumbled with a heavy sigh.

“‘S’fine-“

“‘S’not-“ you countered.

“Let’s go back to the idea of you binning her mug,” he joked.

You looked at him, enjoying the way he was now leaning into you, hands presses heavily into the kitchen counter beside you making him all hunched but so incredibly manly.

“I’m totally going to do that, I am at that level of petty right now-“ you felt slightly sad.

“You’re worn out and need a break,” he acknowledged. Eyes meeting his, he slid his hand against your neck and into your hair at your nape. “Go in tomorrow and request some leave-“

“‘M so busy, I can’t take some leave, just like that,” you clicked your fingers.

“Can,” he argued, childishly. He saw the stress hit your face, watching worrying your bottom lip with your top teeth at the thought of leaving it all behind, probably only to come back to even more work that has mounted up while you were away. “Fuck this, I’m going to go in for you and bin that bitches mug for her-“

You stifled a laugh at that, knowing how concerned he was now that he was swinging for jokes, left and right.

“Darlin’, please,” he begged. “Book a week off, let me take you somewhere-“

You felt your lips downturn, how was this man stood in front of you even real. “Hey,” he coaxed, taking on this dreamy tone, “Back to that little private island in Amalfi.”

“That was ridiculously priced, you’re never taking me there again.“

He chuckled now because he didn’t pay for it last time, perks of being part of a fancy record label and knowing people in high places. Being gifted that is one thing but going of your own accord is completely different.

“Well, maybe not a whole week but take a couple o’days,” he started, hands moving to your outer thighs and softly rubbing. “Maybe we could drive to Soho Farmhouse and disconnect.”

You closed your eyes when you see him lean in and press a peck to your lips, dropping his head to yours. “That sounds idyllic,” you whispered.

“Maybe go to the spa, enjoy a nice facial or two,” he tried to hide the twitch of his lips, the splitter of his laughter gives him away.

You whined, “How are you still such a boy?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he raised his hands for a short amount of time.

“You are not sorry,” you whined again as pressed his forehead into your temple.

“No ‘m fuckin’ not,” he husked, nudging his nose against your cheek, trying to goad you when your stare went far away and you don’t seem to blink for a while.

“‘M worried ‘bout you,” he admitted, watching as you eventually blinked yourself out of your daze. “Gimme a long weekend. A Friday and a Monday. Think you could stretch to that?”

You hummed, scratching at his neck, as he nuzzled against your nose. “I’ll drive us down on a Thursday night, get you nice an’ relaxed.”

“How’d you on plan on doing that?”

“Know a few things, got a couple of tricks up m’sleeve.” You bit back your smile at his drawl, knowing that he wasn’t wrong about that.

#Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry blurb #sunday writing #My writing

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mymelodyheart · 4 years ago

Text

Starting Over Chapter 29 ~The Reality~

Geillis sat at her kitchen table, looking bright and chipper and way too put together at seven AM Tuesday morning. Geillis had invited herself over for breakfast and coffee before Claire started her shift at The Royal Hospital for Sick Children. It had been ages since they've seen each other, and a much-needed catch up was just what they both needed.

Before she'd started her new job, it had been a tense and hectic past few weeks. While Jamie had been away most of the time in London, Claire had been preoccupied applying for a residency program and meeting for job interviews. When the news of Gerald Forbes' arrest, Geneva Dunsany's stripping of gold medals and investigations in William Dunsany's business' dealings reached her, she'd dreaded her name would be mentioned in the newspaper and evening prime time news. To her relief, Ned Gowan had made sure that didn't happen. Only certain parts of the recording were released to the media, specifically the section where Forbes admitted to spiking Jamie's drink and accepting bribes from Dunsany. Since her voice was disguised with an audio editing application, it had been automatically assumed the sting was done by an undercover reporter; hence, no questions were further asked of the identity of the voice.

The days that followed were even made more stressful after Frank pleaded her to drop the charges against him and requested an out of court settlement, offering her monetary compensation instead. Not having the heart to see a licence stripped away from a brilliant doctor, Claire conceded under the condition he wouldn't practice medicine in Scotland for five years and that he would work for Doctors Without Borders for at least two years before returning to England. Frank agreed without contest, and a settlement was made and signed. But it was only when she had her belongings that he'd been keeping, returned and was informed he'd left Edinburgh for good, was she able to relax and concentrate on her future.

"So, Jamie is back in London again," Geillis remarked, in-between bites of her toast. "Another business trip?"

Claire filled their mugs with coffee and sat down. "I guess you can call it that. Jamie was invited by BBC to a morning show interview," she explained. "And while he's there, he's doing a few photoshoots for some razor commercial and finalising the sale of his properties. He should be back by tomorrow."

"Oh that's good but why aren't ye staying over at his place? Besides me wanting to have a nosy in his posh apartment, it's nearer to yer work and more convenient for him to see ye when he returns from London. And hello ...less carbon footprint."

She took a sip of her coffee and leaned back on her seat, twisting her head from side to side to relieve the tension in her neck. Her new job wasn't as demanding as in the Royal Infirmary; nevertheless, she felt the effects of the long hours at work. "Jamie already suggested that but he's away most of the time and I kind of like my place and ..." she trailed off, shrugging.

"Aaand ... it's a huge commitment and too soon after ye've just got yer stuff back from Frank and ye think he's more into parading himself in the public's eye than he's into ye," Geillis filled in the blanks before scooping some egg into her mouth.

Claire didn't answer, as she toyed with her fork.

"Ye miss him, aye?"

She nodded, giving her friend a wistful smile. She did miss Jamie a lot. Ever since the problems with his former agent settled, she'd seen less and less of him. She knew he was trying to put together something for the future, but at the worse of times, she felt mildly resentful not seeing him as much and hated herself for feeling that way. They've been wrapped up in their own bubble of bliss, she hadn't thought about where their relationship was heading to. Their feelings were out there, larger than life and scary as hell, and now they have to find a way to make this thing work in the real world with their conflicting schedules. But lately, with Jamie's numerous endorsements pouring in, to represent big-name companies and merchandises, she wondered if their relationship could survive and if there was even a hint of truth in what Forbes had told her that Jamie was meant for the limelight.

"Ye think Jamie is going to be lured back to his celebrity lifestyle and ye're waiting for the bomb to fall, is this what's this about?" she asked as if uncannily reading her thoughts.

Damn the girl for being so perceptive. She straightened up on her seat and smeared butter on her toast. "What makes you think that?" she asked, trying to look nonchalant, which was silly really considering Geillis could read her like a book.

Geillis rolled her eyes and sipped her coffee. "It's pretty apparent ye're not too thrilled with the load of work he's getting. But if he's going to start this rugby academy ye were talking about, all the exposures and the money he could earn from those adverts will help."

"You're beginning to sound like Forbes," Claire scoffed, pointing the butter knife at her. "And I don't like it."

"And ye're letting fear and doubt grow its ugly head," she quipped, toast shrapnel spraying out from her mouth.

"Good God, Geillis ... that's gross. Don't talk when you're mouth is full."

"Stop changing the subject," Geillis admonished. She crunched down on her toast and gave her a false smile, deliberately exhibiting bits of food between her teeth. "In a perfect world, ye could both get what ye want, dream job and time for each other. But that's no' the case, so ...if ye have issues with Jamie's work and wotnots, ye should be more proactive in addressing them instead of sulking."

"I'm not sulking ...or maybe I am a little. But here's the thing ... I've only seen Jamie for two days for the last couple of weeks. Even when he's here in Edinburgh, either he is unavailable and rushing off somewhere to meet someone important, or he's in the gym. When I'm at his place, he's either too tired to do anything, asleep already, or he has to wake up early ...so there's really no point of me staying there. It's nuts really, I'm seeing less of him now that we're together than when he was trying to pursue me. We talk and text a lot on the phone, but it doesn't make being separated any easier. This evil paranoia is constantly nagging in my head that he's bored with me and finding limelight more exciting. But then he makes up for his absence by regularly checking up on me or having food delivered either at my workplace or here at home because he knows I forget to eat sometimes. And my distrustful and illogical side creeps in and tells me he's just keeping me interested. But when he's holding me, all those whispers in my head shut up."

Geillis wiped her mouth with a napkin and reached for her hand. "Ach, hen, he loves ye. Ye ken fine I have this built-in radar inside me that can detect bullshit from miles away. That man of yers lights up like a Christmas tree whenever ye're around. Why not talk to him and tell him how ye're feeling."

"God, no. I sound already petty and clingy hearing myself talk. Not going to happen."

"Hmmm, have ye been reading things written about him in social media again?" Geillis asked, already knowing the answer and looking on disapprovingly. "Jamie already told ye not to."

Claire sighed and slumped back in her chair. "I can't help it sometimes," she reasoned. "I see something nice written about him, and that makes me happy, and I look for more, but then I end up reading gossips about him that aren't true. I'm supposed to be prepared for this. When Jamie and I first got together, I knew what I was getting into, and I knew our relationship would have some degree of disappointment and compromise. I understand Jamie's work is very important to him, and quite rightly so. But it's still difficult to accept that I'm someone whose boyfriend is lusted after by thousands of women and the way my work colleagues talk behind my back and look at me, serves as a reminder. I thought those days in the limelight would be over when he told me about the academy, but it seems the interviews and photocalls have doubled. I need to find a way to be alright with that because I know those public appearances will help promote his academy. It's just that when I rarely see him, it's so hard and I can't help but think it's the start of our end."

"Quit that rubbish talk for crying out loud! Ye just have to remind yersel' its just work," Geillis pressed in a firm tone. "Whatever is happening right now doesn't change the way he feels about ye." She got up, taking her plate and mug over to the sink to rinse them and put them into the dishwasher. "His popularity has a short lifespan, Claire, most especially now that he's turning down work left, right and centre from other networks. Once the academy is up and running and the talk about his BBC award dies down, the news will be onto something new. And as for Jamie, he will eventually fade into the background as he wouldn't have time for anything else other than building his new business venture. Nobody knows how long this ride is going to last, so he might as well take advantage and get as much exposure out of it."

"I know, I know. You're right with everything you said." Claire cleared the rest of the dishes on the table and stood up. "That's why I don't want to say anything to Jamie. You taking Jamie's side when you've always taken mine can only mean I sound really downright pathetic."

Geillis dried her hand and turned around to face her, giving her a thoughtful smile. "Not pathetic at all and I understand why ye're worried. Not everyone would have been able to handle being in a relationship with Jamie. God, if he was my boyfriend, I'd never let him out of my sight because he's too pretty for his own good. But as an objective bystander, I can hundred per cent assure ye, that man is working his arse off to get that business of his going so he can have a normal life with ye."

She packed her laptop in its case and drank the rest of her juice. "That's what I tell myself all the time. It's just hard when we hardly have a moment to ourselves and when I'm left alone with my own thoughts, that's when it becomes dangerous. All these niggling doubts surface from out of nowhere and play havoc with my logic."

"Ach, Claire. Sometimes I wish ye could see the way he looks at ye when ye're not looking. He looks at ye like ye're the sun itself and it makes me want to puke seeing all that lovefest spewing out of him."

This time Claire laughed out loud and allowed the tension and uncertainties of the future to slowly fade away. Thank God she had Geillis to talk sense into her. After everything that happened recently, she really needed to exorcise all those demons that Forbes and Frank left behind because unless she did that, they would continue to rule her waking hours, even though they were no longer in their lives,

..........

Claire stripped off her clothes and climbed into the shower. She had forty-five minutes to get ready before Jamie arrives. She'd received a text earlier while at work telling her he was in the airport in London waiting to get into the plane and he would be heading straight to her as soon as he landed and they would go out on a dinner date.

The water was hot, and it felt good just to stand there and let it run over her skin as she tried to release the tension in her muscles. It had been a long day at work running from ward to ward, and although she loved her job, working with sick children was often challenging since it affected her more on an emotional level. They were innocents and should be untouched by illness and injuries and be out there thriving and healthy instead of being in the hospital. Despite trying her hardest to remain professional, it still proved difficult to not get attached to her young patients.

Suddenly realising the water was getting colder, she quickly lathered some shower gel on her skin and shampoo on her hair. When she turned around to rinse herself, she nearly screamed when she saw Jamie on the other side of the shower stall, leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest and a lopsided grin plastered on his face.

"Jamie! Bloody hell! You shouldn't sneak in like that! Jesus! You nearly gave me a heart attack," she scolded, quickly washing the suds off her body.

Jamie chuckled, as he took a huge towel from the rail. "Ye didn't answer when I called out yer name. So I just waited for ye to finish, hoping to hear yer rendition of one of Paloma Faith's songs before ye notice I'm here."

She turned off the water and stepped out of the shower into the towel Jamie was holding. He wrapped it around her and smiled.

"Hi!" he whispered.

She tried to step back. "I'll ruin your suit. I'm all wet."

"I dinnae care." He pulled her back into his arms, and she stretched up on her toes to kiss him briefly.

When she drew away, she stared up at him. "Let me dry my hair first. I shan't be long."

"No' yet." She held her breath as Jamie leaned down and kissed her tenderly. Oh God, how I've missed him! His lips were so soft and warm, making all the air rush out of her lungs. He sucked at her bottom lip before pulling back and angling his head to kiss her again. Though his body was tensed and hard, the delicate way he moved his mouth over hers demonstrated leashed restraint like he wanted to savour the moment instead of giving in to the hormones that were raging between them. If his intention was to make her forget what she was about to say or do, he was succeeding immensely.

Gradually his kisses became more intense, and she gave up trying to think and allowed herself to just feel, letting her muscles melt against his body. He cupped her breast, and when she moaned and gripped his shoulders tightly, he grunted in frustration and gently drew away.

Glancing down at her, he tucked his tongue into his cheek and shook his head. "Ye should get dressed before I give ye a reason to go back and shower again." He took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "Christ, I've missed ye so much."

Her heart did a pirouette. It was so bloody absurd that after the all this time, Jamie could still make the air catch in her chest and her blood rush with force, just by looking at her. "I missed you too," was all she could muster, feeling the heat creep up her face.

He cleared his throat. "I brought some Thai takeaway. You get dressed, and I'll prepare the table."

"Oh! I thought we were going out," she said, unable to hide her disappointment.

He swallowed and nodded, the muscles in his jaw, working overtime as he took her hands. "I'm so sorry, Sassenach. I had a last-minute phone call from this guy who'll be rewiring the sports complex. He's coming all the way from Glasgow, and I need to show him the floor plans and the list of gadgets I need installing. I'm just as disappointed as ye are that we can't go out." He linked his fingers through hers. "The next few weeks are going to be crazy as hell, but I'm doing everything I can to make sure we'll have more time together. That's a promise."

"That's alright," she murmured, trying her best not to act like a child whose lolly had been taken off her. This was the sixth time he'd cancelled their date, and it didn't help that they hadn't been out together for weeks and that she hadn't seen the sports complex yet. Her brain concocted tons of reasons for all the cancellations, and not one of them was good, but she immediately tamped down the thoughts when she saw the worried look on his face. Sighing, she gave him a reassuring smile. "You go ahead a prepare the food. I'll just quickly dry my hair, and I will be out soon."

Before she could turn away, he hauled her back into his arms, and then cupped her face with both hands and kissed her deeply, almost making her believe everything was fine.

"I love you, Sassenach" he said against her lips. "I promise I will have more time for us soon."

He held her for a few more heartbeats, and then with an effort, he pulled away and headed out the door.

When he left, she leaned her forehead against the damp bathroom tiles. "I love you too Jamie. So much it hurts to breathe sometimes," she whispered to the wall.

..........

Another three weeks went by, and Claire was determined to ignore her growing sense of apprehension about Jamie and her inability to deal with his lack of presence in most of her everyday life. She felt like she had a countdown timer running in the backdrop, and she was just waiting for it to reach zero when it would reveal they were over for good.

She sighed and ferociously tug the weeds out of her garden bed, venting her frustration in her back garden vegetation. Her mood didn't improve when she envisioned herself becoming one of those women who obsessed about their man, fearing they wouldn't be able to cope once the relationship was over. Shut it, Beauchamp! Stop being pathetic and grow a pair!

Nearby, Geillis was collecting all the weeds she'd pulled out and placing them into containers for compost. She didn't want to heap more of her relationship worries on her friend, thinking she's beginning to sound repetitive and whiny.

Even though Jamie was away a lot, he would drop by a few times, helping her with shopping when she didn't have the time to refill her pantry and repairing things that needed fixing in her wee cottage. She tried not to pressure him about sleepovers since she'd refused a few times to stay at his place. Not that Claire didn't want to be with him, but he was hardly in his apartment, and when he was, he spent his time catching up on sleep or speaking with important people on the phone. Over time she realised, he was workaholic, mostly when it involved something he was passionate and excited about. And it made her wonder if that was the reason he never had any proper relationship during his rugby days.

Jamie had often enough apologised for not always being there for her and asked her to give him more time and trust him, and she was trying her utmost best to do just that, even though patience and trust are two things she was beginning to have a short supply of.

"It's yer day-off. Aren't ye seeing Jamie today?" Geillis asked, getting up on her feet and kicking the dirt off her boots.

"Nope. Apparently, being interviewed by some local radio station and filming for Irn-Bru commercial is more appealing than spending time with his girlfriend." She cringed inwardly the moment her pettiness came out in full force, unable to contain what she truly felt any longer.

"Ach, hen. I ken it's been a difficult time for ye both with yer long hours and his busy schedule. Surely, ye ken he'd rather spend time with ye."

"I know, Geillis. Don't mind me at all. I'm just in one of those moods. Think nothing more of it." She dusted off her hands and got up. "Anyway, I'm trying not to dwell on those things. I have to get ready and meet up with John ...you know John Grey from St Leonards', where I did my temp job?" When Geillis nodded, she continued. "He's got a day-off too, and his boyfriend is on a business trip to France. So we thought, since we're both boyfriendless today, we'd hang out together. You can join us if you wish."

Geillis waved her hand. "I'll pass. I have a gig tomorrow for a group of seven-year-olds. Need to organise their party hats and goodie bags. I'll clean up and go." Then she pulled her in for a hug. "And enjoy yersel' and try not to worry about Jamie. He's probably thinking the same of ye ...ye not having enough time for him with yer long hours at work. Just have a little faith with the man, alright?"

"I will," she smiled, kissing her on the cheek. "In case you finish early with your prep for tomorrow and change your mind about joining us, we'll be in The World's End."

Geillis pulled back and made a face. "I doubt it. It's a bath, chamomile and books for me tonight and then early to bed. Need to save my energy for those bairns tomorrow. Kids nowadays are so hyper and fueled with so much sugar, I can hardly keep up with them. But ye go enjoy yersel', and I'll stop by one of this morning for breakfast." And with that, she spun around and headed towards the house.

As she put away her hand garden tools into a bucket, she took deep calming breaths and made a decision to stop thinking so negatively. It had been ages since she'd been to the pub and maybe a change of atmosphere and a few beers with her friend John would improve her mood. She wished she could talk to Jamie right now, but she knew he was working and was probably in the middle of an interview or shoot. She would just have to wait later to send him a message once she's come back home.

As if thinking of Jamie willed him to call, her phone buzzed in her jeans, and when she looked at the screen, it lit up with his number. A wave of elation rushed through her cancelling all her earlier doubts. "Hey, I was just thinking about you and wondering when it's best to call you up. I wasn't sure if you were in the middle of something."

"I have a few minutes before I go on air." He sounded slightly hoarse if not tired, but still, she could hear a smile on his voice. "How are ye today, Sassenach?"

She reminded herself he was working hard for his sports academy, and she needed to be a more understanding girlfriend. "I'm great," she replied, trying to be more cheerful than she felt. "I'm just cleaning up after a bit of garden work, and then I'll head out for a few drinks."

"With Geillis and Joe?"

She picked up her bucket of tools and headed towards the shed. "Actually, no. I'm going out with John."

"John? Who's John?"

She thought she heard the clipped tone in his voice but shook her head, thinking she imagined things. "You know John. The head doctor of St Leonards' where I did my temp job. We both have a day-off, so we thought we'd hang out together for a couple of beers. It's been ages since I've been out and I thought it would be a nice change."

"How come Geillis or Joe is not coming with ye? Are they working?"

"Joe is away somewhere ...God knows where. And I've asked Geillis to come, but she has a gig to prepare for tomorrow." She opened the door to her shed and slid in her tools before closing it again and heading back towards the house. "It'll just be a couple of drinks, and then I'll head back home."

There was a long pause in Jamie's end. "Jamie? You still there?"

"Aye, I'm here," he sighed. "The air is getting colder, Sassenach. Make sure ye dressed up warmly when ye go out."

"It is getting a bit nippy," she admitted, looking at her watch. "Listen. Got to run. I'm running a bit late."

There was another silence for a few seconds before he spoke. "Ye ken I love ye, don't ye, Sassenach?" he asked.

She took a deep breath and smiled. "Of course, Jamie. And I love you too. But I really have to go. I'll speak to you soon ...well, as soon as I get back home. I promise." And then she turned off the phone before he could say another word since she was already running late. As she stepped into the house, she felt loads better already than she did earlier after hearing Jamie's voice. In fact, she was beginning to look forward to having a night out with John and having a refreshing pint. Maybe, later, if she's not too tired, she would pay Jamie a visit to his apartment and surprise him. With that in mind and with more lightness in her heart, she showered and got ready for her night out.

#melodyheart #startingover #Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser #outlanderfanfic

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ramblinganthropologist · 4 years ago

Text

Writober 2020 - 18 (photograph)

Extra, extra, read all about it: someone’s about to fucking die. As they should, because who the hell honestly believes that Commander Shepard and Commander Shepard are straight anyway?

(ME1)

---

“Do you think either of them know they were seen yet?”

“Doubt it. Definitely explains the last name thing, though. How long do you think it's been?”

“Can't have been more than 5 years, they both did N7...”

Alistair was starting to get tired of people whispering. Didn't they know it was rude?

Ok, maybe his nerves were still a little frayed from the whole touch the Prothean beacon, figure out Saren is trying to kill everyone, become the first human Spectre thing. Nobody could blame him that he was a little cranky that morning as he left his office to get the Normandy where it needed to go. The fact it was actually his ship definitely didn't help either. After years of being enlisted or an officer, having free reign was... deeply uncomfortable.

He'd probably get over it, but... yeah it felt weird.

Still, even in his terrible mood it was impossible to miss the stares and the whispers from the crew whenever he walked by. Part of him had wondered if it was them gossiping about how he'd gotten the Normandy off Admiral Anderson, but... it didn't feel right. Professional whispering from the ranks was one thing, but this felt... oily. Salacious, maybe. Definitely something personal, which just amped up the gossip even more.

Now, had he been in a better mood, Alistair probably would have ignored it. The thing was, he wasn't. So he would have to be forgiven if he took a right when he should've gone straight and walked straight behind the two gossiping crew-mates. Neither of them noticed him, of course. He was quiet like that.

“What was that about N7?”

He shouldn't have enjoyed just how much air the two men cleared when they jumped out of their skins, but forgive him if he wasn't feeling just a little petty that morning. They were both 3 shades lighter as they turned to face him, and the sweat was really starting to pour down their faces. On his scale, he'd call that shit terrified.

Good.

“C-Commander Shepard, sir! W-we didn't see you there!”

He smiled, but there was nothing friendly about it. “Yes, that tends to happen when someone comes up from behind you. Now, to reiterate. What was that about N7? Have either of you been asked to join the training program? My congratulations if so, it's an honor even to be asked.”

He would know – he had it tattooed above his ass. And he definitely knew nobody on his ship was in active training at the moment. It was one of the perks that came with being the Normandy's CO. The other was getting to see moment like this transpire before him.

The larger of the two was sweating bullets as he tried to figure out what to say. “N-no... nothing like that, sir.”

“Just...” the words failed the smaller one. His face screwed up as he seemingly gave up whatever he was holding back. “How long have you been married to XO Shepard?”

…

Alistair blinked slowly. “What?”

If he hadn't known better... someone had just asked if he was married to his XO. His XO, Commander Bo Peep Shepard. His XO, Commander Bo Peep Shepard, his best friend and probably the closest thing he had left to family.

What the entire fuck?

Big one rubbed the back of his neck as his face began to take color again. “It... was on the extranet a few days ago. Pictures of you two together. It implied that you two were married. We thought it would explain the shared last name and all...”

Alistair let a sigh leak from between his teeth as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “A tabloid with nothing better to do, I assume.”

He let the pinch go, shaking his head. “Mind sending that site to me? I think I need to do some correction next time we dock at the Citadel.”

The two were already racing for their omni-tools, but he could tell the question still loomed in both their eyes. After all, he could just be trying to quash the story to keep his so-called marriage quiet. These crew, lovely as they were, didn't know he or his XO well enough yet.

Maybe that was why he rolled up his sleeve to expose his tattoo. “And by the way, I think this should clarify your questions.”

He tapped the wing colored in the gay pride flag for emphasis. The other, shaded in trans pride, went without saying. Years later, he was still glad he had gotten it during pride, even if it had been somewhat of a spur of the moment choice. Ironically enough, he had gotten it with Bo – she had the lesbian colors around her ankle.

You know, because she was a fucking lesbian and he was gay as hell.

“O-oh... yeah I guess it would.” Someone's face was turning red. “Sorry, Commander...”

“Just don't spread it around anymore.” Down went his sleeve. “Now, I'm going to go see where this website is hosted...”

With that he left them, the details blooming to life on his omni-tool screen. Once they got back to the Citadel, he and Bo were going to have to take a little trip...

---

“I'm going to murder them when I get my hands on them.”

“Don't worry, I won't stop you.”

The port hissed as Bo and Alistair left the Normandy's decontamination lock and entered the Citadel docking bay. It had been a few days since the discovery on ship, and now they were at the heart of the matter. Someone was about to get their clock cleaned, and it wasn't going to be mechanically.

'Don't forget ,you two, you don't have to testify against each other in court since you're married and all~!'

Al shot a glare back at the Normandy as he pressed the communicator in his ear. “Joker-”

'Just kidding, commanders. I know what teams you two play for. I guess we'll know you found them when we see the blood spurting.'

“You better fucking believe it.” Bo's eyes were practically glowing with hostility as she stomped down the walkway that connected their ship to the dock. Around them hummed the activity of the Citadel proper. Ships sailed above their heads, people went about their business... and somewhere, a tabloid was about to get the unholy shit kicked out of it.

Alistair checked the details on his omni-tool as they began to walk. “I traced the website's ISP to a building in the Wards. Chances are, they're there.”

“If not, they're going to tell us where the fuck they are.” Her knuckles were white as she slammed them together. “Damn straights and their height kink. How the hell could anyone think I was straight?”

Yeah, that was his question – she was built like a tank and had pink hair. How the hell could anyone read that as straight?

“I mean, they thought I was straight somehow, so they don't have a great judge of character.” Alistair tapped at his omni-tool. “It would be faster if we got a taxi, but walking is an option too. Up to you honestly.”

Bo didn't answer him. He realized why once he figured out he had lost his handy patch of shade. The other Spectre had left him in order to go storm over to a nearby newsstand where people were whispering. Given a few were running...

Well, he ran over to make sure nobody died.

“I can't fucking believe this!”

She pounded her fist on the counter, and Alistair felt like doing the same once he saw it. A new story had popped up, front cover with a picture that definitely wasn't photoshopped. Bo was front and center, chatting with a rather lovely lady. Anyone who could read body language could guess the two were probably flirting, which is probably why someone had been so quick to take it. Above the photo, a bold headline proclaimed “Commander Shepard: Newlywed in Bisexual Affair?”

Oh boy... whoever took that was a dead man.

Bo rounded on him, fire in her eyes. “Taxi. Now.”

Alistair didn't need to be told twice – they were soon in the back of a cab, headed towards the Wards. To say a burning silence fell over the back was putting it mildly. Bo was gearing up to kill someone, and he... well he didn't want to be next in the tabloid.

The cab driver unfortunately didn't have the sense God gave to rocks as he surveyed the two. “Trouble in paradise, huh? Well, there's always divorce court.”

Alistair grabbed for Bo before she could crash the cab. “We're actually going to clear up we're not married!”

“Ah, that's a shame. You two make a cute couple, being the first two Spectres and all. You could've made some wicked strong biotic kids.”

“Sir when I tell you I'm the only thing keeping you alive right now, please believe me and keep driving.”

By the time they were dropped off in the Wards, Alistair was pretty sure he had lost 10 pounds keeping the cab driver alive. His arms were killing him as they stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of a nondescript office building. It had a listing on the side, telling the different businesses inside. Their next stop was on the fourth floor... so if anyone got tossed out of a window, they would probably live.

“Alright, so let's figure out what we're-”

He didn't get to finish his statement. Bo was already walking in like a woman on a mission, leaving him in the dust. All he could do was chase after her, eventually catching up on the stairs to the second floor. All the while, a receptionist chased after them.

“Excuse me, you can't just-”

Bo turned back to face her dead on. “Spectre business.”

Their tail shook a little, but... Al was pretty sure it was because she was kind of into that. She was definitely blushing a little as she backed up. “R-right... fourth floor is what you're looking for, ma'am.”

Alistair sighed as he held up his hand in an apologetic gesture. “Sorry, we'll be done quickly. Thank you for your information.”

And then he was chasing after Bo again as she took the stairs two at a time. Before long, they were standing on the fourth floor's landing. There was only one door here, labeled with a sign that called themselves Citadel Daily. They were one of many tabloids that supplied the Presidium and Wards with the lack of news people loved, and no doubt they were one of the more popular ones. After all, they were creating quite the buzz about humanity's first two Spectres.

A buzz that was about to be repaid with a lot of violence if he didn't mediate.

He managed to grab her wrist before they went in. “Let's just... try talking first.”

“It's not you they're calling a cheat, Al.” She tugged her arm away. “I'm handling this my way.”

And then she pushed the door open, probably burying the knob in the wall. All motion stopped on the other side as she stormed into the room, coming to a stop at the heart of it. All Alistair could do was enter after her pulling the door out of the wall as he did. Yep... the handle went straight through. That was going to require a patch.

Bo glared at the room filled with desks and people. Someone was reaching for a camera, a device that abruptly died as her eyes glowed red. She might not have been good with technology, but she knew how to break it just fine. No more devices came out after that – they were smart.

“I'm only going to say this one, who the fuck is John Jacobs and when are they getting the fuck out?”

Nobody moved at first. Alistair could hardly blame them as he scanned the room. Mostly, he just saw shocked wanna-be journalists and gossip columnists who had never expected this kind of treatment. After all, they weren't printing anything particularly hard hitting. Of course, their mistake had been printing about the Shepards... which was a bad idea to say the least.

He spotted someone twitching in the corner of the room. Rather than alert Bo, he began to pick his way over. Nobody would look at him, but that was fine. He had his eye on the man trying to hide behind his desktop, looking at though he might piss himself.

And as he should – from the looks of things, he was working on his latest article.

“'Commander Shepard spotted coming out of a bar with-'” He shook his head, sighing. “Mr. Jacobs, if you were even half a journalist you would know I can't drink on my medication. That's just sloppy work right there.”

The man definitely pissed himself as he backed up in his seat. “C-Commander Shepard!”

“One of them, anyway.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Bo, found him.”

Maybe that was mean, but the photoshop job on that picture had been particularly atrocious. So maybe he didn't feel bad that hell on wheels was storming over, ready to put her fist straight through this guy's head. At least he'd stop it if it came to murder...

Maybe.

Bo came to a stop in front of the desk. His desktop fizzed and died as she loomed over him. Alistair definitely smelled piss and something else as the full weight of his crimes fell upon him. And of course, nobody was dumb enough to take pictures. After all, they were Spectres and about ready to prove what happened if you tried to smear them.

Though... was it actually a smear if they did make this guy's life a living hell?

“John Jacobs?”

His answer came out shaky. “Y-Yes, that's me. I didn't expect the story to get so big, b-but-”

Too late. He was already out of his seat by the collar of his garish shirt. Bo had him at eye level, and Al was there to avoid the pants region as he watched the carnage unfold. Someone nearby had a camera up - a blue-eyed gaze quickly put a stop to that. Bo wasn't the only one who knew how to break technology.

“What the fuck was going through your demented little fucking head?” She brought him closer. “You got some kind of height kink, you nasty fuck?”

John was sweating bullets. “N-no! I just... a lot of people think you two are married! It's the same last names!”

Yeah, Alistair was doubting the lack of height kink, but at least he was trying to be honest. He was still probably going to get the shit beaten out of him, though. He kind of deserved it, what with insinuating they were not only married but... ugh... straight.

Really, how the hell did anyone think that of them?

Bo's eyes said murder and her fists were willing to comply. “Let me put it to you this way, that receptionist down there is more my type than this manlet will ever be.”

“Hey, I'm a maligned party too, don't take out your frustration on me.” Alistair rubbed the back of his neck anyway – talking about his height was a sensitive subject. “Anyway, we're very clearly not married.”

“Or straight.”

He nodded. “Or straight, yes that's kind of important. So maybe you should print a retraction on those articles and apologize so you don't get thrown out a window. You'd probably survive, but it would sure hurt a lot regardless.”

Judging by the grip on his collar, he wasn't going to get out of this without some form of damage... but maybe they could keep him from getting tossed out a window. Besides, if he pissed himself anymore he was going to start leaking on the floor. Talk about gross.

John's eyes traveled from Shepard to Shepard. “T-this is cen-”

“Oh come the fuck on, she's ready to murder you do you really wanna complain about censorship? Read the room, man.”

Normally, Alistair didn't swear. However, this man clearly didn't have sense in his head, so maybe shock methods were needed. At least he shut his mouth that time as he thought the offer over. Maybe he should think a little faster.

Bo started to move to the window. “Well, he had his chance.”

“No, wait, stop!” Both his fists couldn't fit around her wrist. “I'll print the retraction!”

She stopped a few feet from the open window. “And you'll stop writing about us. No more Shepard stories, understood?”

He started to look like he wanted to argue, but... that window was pretty damn close. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he considered his options. Then he got inched a little closer, and the decision was clearly made.

“U-Understood... I won't print anymore.”

And then he was dropped to the floor in a sad, soggy heap. Bo wheeled around and glared at the entire room. Alistair stepped forward as well, feeling much more pleasant as he surveyed the terrified reporters sitting before him.

“I hope you all understand, that goes for anyone here. Nobody gets a free pass out of defenestration, understood?”

And then his eyes glowed as another camera died. “No story about this either, by the way. I've added you guys to my omni-tool news feed, so don't think just because we're off saving people that we won't hear about it.”

Given everyone else looked like they might need a change of underwear once they left, that was another pact sealed. With any luck, they wouldn't get too stupid about their stories. Of course, if they did... it wasn't like they were going to move buildings.

“Good talk.” Bo was already throwing the door open. “Let's get the fuck out of here, it smells like piss.”

Alistair was already following her out, sighing in relief as the door shut behind them. At least nobody had died, or even been really bodily harmed in the process. As far as missions went, this was one of their more successful ones.

Then again, Bo hadn't gotten to work her frustration out, so...

“Want to hit up the Alliance training course to work out that energy before we go see Anderson?”

“Fuck yes.” Bo was already heading in that direction. “I still should've thrown him out the window. Damn your sensibilities.”

Eh he could take her being mad at him if it meant nobody died. Dissatisfaction was part of being a commanding officer.

---

Retraction on previous stories concerning Commander Bo Peep Shepard and Commander Alistair Shepard

The Citadel Daily would like to publish a retraction towards two stories it printed. Along with this, we extend a heartfelt apology to-

“Well, I guess they got the message.”

Joker was chuckling as the message read over Alistair's omni-tool. All three were gathered in the cockpit a few days later, after a successful mission on a nearby planet. The news had come in as they were on the shuttle, and he had been waiting to listen.

Bo nodded as the message finished. “They fucking better... still don't know who took those damn pictures. They're lucky I didn't find them...”

Alistair nodded as he killed the feed. “Oh, speaking of. Turns out they're a freelancer. I think I have a beat on them-”

No doubt he was starting another hunt for some poor sap, but... well, again, he didn't feel bad. After all, they had thought he was straight. Someone had to pay for that grievous misstep. And with any luck, maybe this one wouldn't wind up out a window either.

You know, maybe being the CO wasn't so bad after all. He got to schedule time for defenestration duties. Talk about a perk of running the show...

#writober2020 #ramblinganthropologist's writing #Alistair Shepard #Bo Peep Shepard #Commander Shepard #paragon shepard #renegade shepard #you can figure out who is who pretty quickly #if not they're color coded for your convenience

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