#I guess I’m just not used to shows where the smallest details are allowed to matter. are meant to mean something. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

uponrightful · 3 years

Note

So, I love possessive, jealous Crosshair 🥵 Tell me about this scene (please?):

“Trouble doesn’t suit you, doll.” He murmured lowly, soft voice contrasting the slight pressure over her pulse point and the swell of her hip. Crosshair was all-consuming and Dutch was weak to do anything but try to stay silent under his pressing weight and commanding presence at her back.

Also, I’d love to know what Echo was thinking once Cross went to the fresher after Dutch.

You’re the best! 😘

Commentary Track for Coriolis Effect

Copy 500 words -or more- of any of my fics and I'll give you my thoughts/rambles on what was going through my head -or the character's- when I wrote it!

*send one in here anytime!*

My oh my! 😍 What spicy scene we have here. I'll start with what's going on with Crosshair first, then I'll come back for Echo and the rest of the Batch. haha

***

Crosshair is fuming with rage during his conversation with Echo: It's that kind of bodily energy you get after watching a action-movie, where your whole body feels tired, but it's twitching with adrenaline that can't be spent or released. That kind of feeling you can't get rid of no matter what you do to ignore it, or work through it. Your mind feels like it working so fast that it's in slow-motion, overanalyzing the smallest details until your grinding your teeth because there's nothing else that helps relieve the pressure.

But the second he enters the refresher all of that energy snaps from anger and fear for Duchess, into dead calm. His inner voice stops screaming and evens out in tone and his hands stop shaking. His breathing slows and the second Cross sees her standing there, it's like he's been meditating deeply for hours. This kind of concentration is only present in Crosshair one other time... And you guessed it. When he's shooting.

Note: This is the epitome of Crosshair's ability to manage impulse-control in unfamiliar -and stressful- situations. Key-word here being "unfamiliar." I firmly believe that Cross is painfully terrible at monitoring and expressing his emotions. He has so many of them all the time that from a young age he had to learn how to turn them off in a moments notice, simply so he could survive. Think about it... How can a sniper worry about his brothers dying right before his eyes and still make clean shots? Not even Crosshair can do that. So the second he's certain Dutch is safe -by visually proving her health- that well-trained nature takes over to protect him like it always does.

Crosshair -at this point- isn't sure what he wants. He needs to touch her though, remind himself that she's tangible and within reach. Not that he isn't aware of his effect on her, but this moment isn't about sexual appeal or attraction. This is desperation, and Crosshair knows that; He's just banking on the hope that she'll let him, because she's always done so. He feels safe with Duchess, and even though this feels/looks sexy, Crosshair feels completely vulnerable right now.

Note: I will say it now; Once and for all. I have never subscribed to the idea that Crosshair is a typical Dominant/BDSM/Sadisim kind of guy. And the distinction is all to do with motivation. I've spent a lot of time trying to figure out why he acts the way he does, and how that manifests itself. So when I planned this scene, I wanted to focus on just how strong his desire to have security is. Not prowess, or control. It's all to do with the desperate need he has to prove how he feels about her. That kind of vulnerability just comes easier to him physically than it does emotionally. Duchess gives him a sense of stability -in and out of the sexual sense- that makes his characterization insanely complex and difficult to balance.

The moment he finds his words, it's a compulsory need to cover his own jealousy. Crosshair is undoubtedly unhappy knowing she went out with Regs... but what's really bothering him is how easy it is to feel so strongly for Duchess. Every time he speaks, it's intentionally driving attention towards someone else, and away from his own desire to be the focus of her attention. Cross uses his fear of her being unsafe to mask the jealousy that constantly compares himself to the others who can give her attention more freely than he can personally. Duchess sees his calm nature as patience and precision, but it's really Crosshair planning out what he's going to say because he knows one wrong move will reveal just how desperate he is to have her acceptance of him.

Note: I've never struggled to balance possessiveness and love like I have with Crosshair. He's so intense that if I'm not careful, he comes off like a walking red-flag. Word choice is essential when getting Cross' character and reactions right. Whether it be the way he talks to her, or the way he naturally falls into a protector role. That's why when I'm writing for him, it takes double the time it does to write anything else. Every movement, every word he says, needs to be written like he says it in the moment. That's the only way to show his softness... because the love that he gives is best felt in person. You can't describe Crosshair's love with words easily.

Now for sweet, sweet, Echo.

Let me preface this by saying: Echo is his brother's keeper. There is a relationship there that goes far deeper than the ones Crosshair holds for his other brothers. It happened slowly, but it wasn't until the two of them were too far into it that either recognized what had happened. Their personalities are something that wouldn't really mix on first glance, but for some reason or another, they just get each other. It's natural, and they gravitate towards each other.

That being said, Duchess and Echo are their own kind of dynamic. I see them as the "platonic-soulmate" kind. She has an intensity that Echo marvels at, and Dutch knows she could take any problem to him and he would do anything to help her. They both see something in the other that they wish they still had, or could develop. It's probably the purest friendship Duchess has ever had, and Echo can't help but harken back to Fives when he sees her attitude -in future chapters.

Note: From the first moment I created Duchess, I just knew in my heart she was meant to be something special to Echo. To me, it was only right that Crosshair's doll would feel strongly connected to Echo as well. Add in their common feeling of loss for brothers, and that just made their relationship that much stronger. She's such a force, and the ARC trooper can't help but find a enamorment with people who have such a strong will and fiery personality. (See Fives)

The moment Echo sees Crosshair, he's already preparing to do anything necessary to protect Duchess from incurring another possible hit to her bruised emotions. Echo trusts Crosshair, but he's highly attentive to Cross and how raw his emotions are. Their interaction is based in Echo's desire to save the couple from losing the chance to do things the right way. Intuition and experience guide Echo through the whole conversation; He really is flying by the seat of his blacks here... But he's so well-versed in reading Crosshair that none of the other Batcher's even think about offering to be the first one Crosshair faces when he comes in the bunk hall. Echo has unmatched faith in Cross, and this was something both of them knew would happen.

Note: Writing this scene was challenging for a number of reasons. For one, neither Echo or Crosshair really talk a whole lot. They say what they need to, and that's the end of it. So I spent days watching Echo and Crosshair's interactions. Trying to figure out what I could based off the -very little- examples I was given. In that, I found that the two of them hardly ever stand next to each other, but they're constantly sharing glances and looking at each other. Echo and Crosshair have silent conversations all. the. time.

Had Echo not allowed Crosshair to go and see Duchess, their sexy scene would have never happened. (And I played around with that idea very seriously...) Ultimately, Echo's intuition was the deciding factor. That conversation, and Crosshair's attempt at honesty was the reason Echo felt confident in letting him speak to her. And although Echo could sense Crosshair's patience running thin, he'd already told the rest of the Batch to be prepared for any fight. Echo wouldn't put it past Cross to stun him, but a gut-feeling kept him from mentally preparing to do the same thing.

Additionally, it was Echo who made everyone leave the bunk hall. The second Crosshair and himself reached an agreement, Echo was the first to step away. His next move was to shove the rest of the Batch out the doors and give Duchess and Crosshair the privacy needed to work through their shit. And although he expected it to end in sex, the desire to keep their business between them alone was Echo's main motivation to empty the bunk room. Neither Crosshair or Duchess really trust the Batch at this moment -in Echo's mind at least- and risking their privacy wasn't something the ARC would stand for. In the back of his mind though, Echo was terrified that Crosshair would fuck her and leave it at that. He's seen the sniper at his best and his worst, and although his best is wonderful, his worst can be miserable to endure. Echo was praying that Crosshair wouldn't be too harsh -physically and mentally- on Duchess.

When Hunter finally decided enough time had passed, Echo was on edge to see just where the two of them would be. The image of them sleeping in separate bunks: Crosshair pretending to sleep -like always- and Duchess laying quietly and pretending like nothing happened shook Echo to his core. But the second he saw her bunk in a disarray, and her not in it, Echo couldn't help but fucking grin. He was proud of his brother for doing the right thing. For doing something for himself, and not worrying about how it would make him look for once. Add in the way Crosshair reprimanded Tech, and how deathly serious he looked with her sleeping peacefully against him...?

That was the moment Echo knew for certain that Crosshair was never coming back from this. He saw a visible change in his brother, in the way his attitude changed. The way Crosshair wasn't worried about himself, or attempting to hide behind sneers and sarcastic comments. Echo noticed how attuned he was to her in that moment, putting her comfort above all else. For a man who pretended to not care about anything, Crosshair did a terrible job of hiding his true personality when Duchess was curled up into him. And Echo couldn't be happier, knowing that his trust in Crosshair hadn't been for nothing. Not only was his brother experiencing love in a way that all of them desired, but Duchess was never going to live with the question of whether or not someone truly cared for her.

***

I hope this was what you were looking for in-terms of answers 😅. I had a great time writing this for you, and I hope you'll feel comfortable doing this again whenever you feel like it! I love sharing the behind-the-scenes stuff with you! It makes the cuts and editing feel a little less sad knowing I might be able to share some of it with you anyways!

#uponrightful #uponrightfulwrites #coriolis effect #Crosshair #the bad batch crosshair #the bad batch #commentary track #saltywintersoldat

34 notes · View notes

gwynrielendgame · 3 years

Text

Gwyncien part 3

Idk if y’all will like this one as much. It’s kind of a filler but it took forever to write so I’m posting it anyways. I’ll tag people who have asked below.

Gwyn thought she might puke and it had nothing to do with Lucien's winnowing abilities. She never thought she would feel so nauseas especially after the blood rite. She supposes that the imminent fear of death had her more distracted from her typical anxieties. Now that she could focus on the fact that she was actually leaving Velaris, she felt sick. She grabbed onto Lucien harder and closed her eyes tightly. What felt like hours later, although it was truly only a minute or two, Lucien spoke.

"Welcome to the band of exiles." She opened her eyes to a surprisingly large castle. She was not sure what she expected, perhaps an abandoned cabin, but the building was spectacular and beautiful.

"Jurian and Vassa are excited to meet you." Lucien added as they continued to stand out front. It appeared that he would allow her to stand here for as long as she needed. She knew that if she demanded he take her right back he would. His words finally caught up with her brain that seemed to be running a mile a minute. Why would his closest friends be excited to meet her she thought. It made her anxious for the first time. Perhaps she mistook his friendly countenance for something less than it actually was. She would address it later. She began walking towards the door, mumbling under her breath.

"Let's get this over with."

"That's the spirit!" Lucien inserted much more enthusiasm than necessary into his tone. He grabbed her arm and laced it through his which had her feeling very grateful. Her knees were shaking as she walked and she knew he could tell. Gwyn felt the need to remind herself that he had a mate. She wondered if he would be desperate enough to make a move on her. A large, beautifully decorated foyer greeted them. Two very beautiful people stood in the middle of the white marble floor. Gwyn tightened her hold on Lucien when she saw the new male, stopping them mid-walk. She started her mind-stilling technique as the anxiety clawed at her chest and throat. She would eventually have to face men if she ever wanted to get her revenge. She could not allow a few measly physical reactions hold her back. She took one last deep breathe and then continued walking towards the couple. She spent less time analyzing the female, but from what she saw Gwyn knew she was beautiful. She also had red hair, however, Gwyn's hair was more of a copper/bronze red while Vassa had a deep maroon red. Gwyn kept her eye on Jurian though.

"You are making her nervous, standing there like two parents ready to scold their children." Lucien reprimanded his friends with a roll of his eyes. The female waved his comment off, completely ignoring him. Gwyn did not miss the look they shared, however.

"I am Vassa and this is Jurian." She gestured to the male next to her. "It is a pleasure to meet you. I have heard so much about you." It unnerved Gwyn that the few interactions that she had with Lucien warranted Vassa knowing much about her. She did not think much on it as she continued to watch the beautiful male. He had hair cropped short to his head and a deep skin tone. His looks were not what had her distracted though. It was the weapons. Gwyn found it unnecessary for him to require weapons while meeting with her. Instead of exchanging pleasantries like socially integrated Fae would, she began her questioning.

"Why so many daggers?" She gave him a scathing look while cocking her head to the side. He would not manipulate her into believing anything but the truth and she wanted that to be conveyed in her facial expression. His eyebrows shot up into his hairline as if he were surprised.

"I could ask you the same question." He threw back at her with a smirk. It only infuriated her more. He could not tell she had daggers on her. She was wearing a cloak over her priestess robes with silver majesty strapped to her thigh. There was no possible way he could see the outline through her clothes. She narrowed her eyes and waited for him to respond. The staring contest was only broken when Lucien cleared his throat and Vassa nudged him.

"Fine." Jurian conceded with a smile. "Vassa is woefully bad at handling anything sharp, so I have taken on the role of her protecter while soon-to-be high lord is out and about." Both Vassa and Lucien seemed annoyed by his explanation. The anxiety began to loosen in her chest though. He was not completely trusted, but in this moment he would not attack.

"Gwyn." Is all she managed for an introduction. It seemed good enough for Lucien because he began leading her off to the side of the room towards a grand staircase.

"I will be showing Gwyneth her room and then we can talk." He threw over his shoulder. She held onto his arm all the way up the long staircase and through an even longer hallway. She laughed internally at the size of the mansion considering only three people resided here. A thought occurred to her when they finally came to a stop at a door.

"How many people live here?" She finally let go of Lucien and took a step back.

"Just us three. And now you. Occasionally we have a guest or two, but I will give you ample warning before that time. This will be your bedroom here. Mine is right across the hall if you need anything. There is a lock on the inside, but if you would like I can show you how to set up some furniture to keep the door from opening at all." Lucien gave her a small smile. It made her soften towards him even more.

"Thank you. I appreciate that. I appreciate all that you have done for me. Truly. I cannot say thank you enough." She gave him a short hug to convey her gratefulness. He returned it, hesitantly. His touch was feather light. As though he did not want to touch her and make her uncomfortable. She stepped back towards the door once more and began to walk inside.

"I will come get you before dinner. You have a full wardrobe to pick from in there if you would like to change. If there is anything you require, just ask." Gwyn nodded and then he was gone.

The first thing Gwyn noticed was that the satchel she packed earlier before leaving was sitting on the bed. She had been so nervous about everything else that she had not even realized it was missing. Gwyn continued to survey the room. It was beautiful. The decorations reminded her of the night court. Lucien really did pay attention to the smallest details. Gwyn truly believed Elain was an idiot for not giving Lucien a chance. The bedding was all black and the drapes twinkled with specks of a shiny material. It almost made them look like stars. The bed was unnecessarily large and so was the desk that was off to the side of the room. It had been such a mentally exhausting day that Gwyn decided a nap was needed. She locked her door and stripped off her cloak. She knew the lock would do nothing against winnowing, but as far as she knew only Lucien could do that. She placed her desk chair under the doorknob anyways. She fell onto the bed without even removing her priestess robes. She did remove her dagger and place it under her pillow for protection. A small smile graced her face as she thought of a certain spymaster who also slept with a dagger under his pillow.

Soft footsteps woke Gwyn from her sleep. She had no idea how long she had slept, but knew that dinner must be approaching if it had not already passed. A light knock on the door made her jump.

"Gwyn? Dinner is almost ready if you would like to join us downstairs." Lucien yelled through the door. Gwyn's racing heart began to slow as she realized where she was and who was speaking to her.

"One moment." She decided this dinner was not worth changing her clothes so she grabbed her dagger, putting it back in its sheath, and flattened her hair down with her hands. She did not want to keep Lucien waiting after all. The second she stepped out of the room, a sly smile crossed the male's face.

"What?" Gwyn demanded a tad self-consciously. She flattened her hair once more.

"Enjoyed a nap I see?" He was teasing, but that did nothing to stop her from shoving him.

"Oh shut up and show me the dining room." A real smile graced his face as he put his arm out for her to grab. She was half tempted to shove his arm away for his teasing. Instead, she rolled her eyes and held onto his arm anyways.

"Your wish is my command."

The castle was truly beautiful. Gwyn knew she could spend hours looking at the art pieces- some of them looked familiar. She would guess those were done by Feyre. The marble flooring and intricate ceilings were only part of the beauty. It has clearly been decorated. Perhaps Vassa and Lucien bonded over similar tastes in rugs. The thought made Gwyn giggle internally. The castle was so large that it took them about five minutes before they reached the dining hall. Gwyn took her place next to Lucien across from Jurian and Vassa who were already pleasantly discussing Vassa’s doomed fate. They quickly stopped talking once she sat down and turned the conversation to her.

"So I have been dying to know," Jurian begins "is Rhysand as much of a prick as he pretends to be?" Lucien sent him a glare which only had Jurian shrugging with an innocent expression upon his face. Gwyn sighed.

"Depends on who you are. He is kind to me, but only out of pity from what he witnessed at Sangravah. I have seen him be cruel to those he purposefully does not want to understand. I am not here as your spy though. That is as much from me as you will get about Rhysand." Gwyn truly felt a level of gratefulness to the high lord, however, he often squandered any other positive feelings she had of him by constantly looking at her as if he was seeing that day in Sangravah all over again. It did nothing to help her forget. Jurian gave a contemplative look before turning his attention to his plate. Vassa decided to try her hand at conversation.

"How are the Archeron sisters? I know the death of their father was hard on all of them." Vassa took a sip of wine. Gwyn did not want to discuss this either though. Speaking of Nesta made her miss her sisters.

"They are as well as could be expected." It was generic and had the fiery red head pursing her lips in displeasure. Gwyn did not quite care.

“Gwyn is a beautiful singer.” Lucien finally changed the subject to something that she did not mind engaging in. “We will need you to sing for us sometime.” Gwyn nodded in agreement. The conversation continued on with Lucien boasting about Gwyn, talking about her training as a Valkyrie and winning the blood rite. She started feeling uncomfortable with all the compliments he was sending her way. It reminded her of a conversation she needed to have with him. Right now was as good of a time as any she supposed.

"It was extremely generous of you to offer your help, but I feel I should inform you that I am not interested in anything other than your friendship." Gwyn interrupted Lucien mid-speech to clarify. He looked startled by her statement. Jurian choked on his wine and Vassa cackled like there would be no tomorrow. It made Gwyn feel as though she was on the outside of some joke they all knew.

"Excuse me?" Lucien, for once, looked genuinely surprised. It was as if he could not quite believe she would say that and needed her to repeat it just in case he heard her wrong. Maybe Gwyn misinterpreted some of his advances.

"I know our coupling seems inevitable," Gwyn explained further a bit shyly, not quite sure of herself anymore. "But I am not interested in any one that is not Azriel." Vassa's cackles slowed down to more of a chuckle and Jurian kept sending amused looks to Lucien.

"Gwyn, I am your grandfather." Lucien approached the topic slowly. "I assumed your mother talked about me, but, and I really hope this is the case, you did not know this?" His tone lifted up at the end in questioning.

Oh, Gwyn thought. She was not easily surprised, but this topped the cake. She tried to think back to anytime her mother mentioned her grandparents, but the instances were few and far between. Gwyn realized she did not even know their names. Suddenly, every compliment and favor from Lucien no longer appeared odd. He was complimenting and bragging about his only living granddaughter. This took much longer to process than Gwyn would like to admit. Unexpectedly, she felt an unwarranted amount of anger towards Lucien.

"And you waited until this very moment to tell me? What the hell Lucien? Or should I say grandpa?" Her tone was more hostile than it had been with anyone else. The sarcastic comment at the end had the red-haired male cringing. Jurian and Vassa started laughing once more.

"I know this is not great timing to interrupt, but I, for one, will be referring to you as grandpa from here on out." Jurian inserted. Vassa gave an amused smirk, but said nothing. It earned him a glare from Gwyn and Lucien though.

"I apologize, Gwyneth, for the delayed reveal. I thought you knew that's why I offered to help you, though. I assumed your mother had spoken of Jesminda and I. She was rather young when we had to surrender her, I suppose." Lucien looked so genuine that Gwyn's anger diminished as fast as it had appeared. Gwyn's family history had always been a mystery to her. She might finally get some answers.

"Jesminda is my grandmother?" Gwyn inquired. Her own mother had never given details. This adventure was beginning to answer many questions she had always had.

"Yes." Lucien said. Gwyn was trying to understand his expression and tone. She spent another minute watching him. Their other table mates had gone quiet as well. It did not take a genius to understand the moment. Jesminda had never been mentioned before to her from anyone and she was not here right now. She was dead that much was clear. Lucien cleared his throat and for a brief second Gwyn could see the emotion he was so desperately trying to hide, guilt.

"Why did you give my mother to Sangravah?" Gwyn realized it probably had something to do with Jesminda's death. She truly wanted more details. Lucien sighed heavily, probably understanding that there were many questions in store for him.

"Beron just ordered for Jesminda to be tortured and executed in front of me. I am certain if he had known of your mother, he would have had the same future in store for her. I had kept the child a secret from everyone except a brother, who helped me hide her after Jesminda's death." It did not escape Gwyn's attention that Lucien neither referred to Beron as his high lord nor as his father. Lucien ran a hand through his hair roughly. Her hair was clearly from him, but it was his one russet eye that had her pausing. An eye that suddenly reminded her so much of Catrin.

"Why did he kill her?" She asked softly. Gwyn realized she would never be able to deny Lucien anything. One look from his russet eye and Gwyn would give in simply because of its similarity to her dead twin.

"Because he's a spiteful old man." Vassa spit out. Clearly, she was just as enraged by the situation. It made Gwyn wonder if Vassa and Lucien had ever been together. Lucien rolled his eyes at the fiery female. He seemed to roll his eyes constantly while he was here.

"Because he could," Lucien added. "Your mother, who was about six at the time, was extremely unsafe even under my brother and I's protection. Beron would put your mate to shame with all the torture tactics he uses. I dropped her off on the doorstep of that church in the middle of the night. I always planned to go back and visit, but I was nervous and I knew she was safe there. I felt it was selfish to visit her since it only put her in more danger." Gwyn felt sad for everyone involved. Sad for Lucien who watched his love be tortured and executed in front of him only for him to have to turn around and surrender his daughter to a church. Sad for Jesminda who died that day. Sad for her mother who must have lived every day wondering where her parents went and why they abandoned her. Sad for Catrin who never got to meet her grandfather.

"I had a sister." Gwyn felt the need to mention. She was unaware of how much Lucien knew, but it suddenly felt important to her that he knew of Catrin.

"I know." He responded with a sad smile. "This family is well versed in tragedy." Gwyn had so many more questions. She had time to ask though. Her questions were making Lucien relive memories that were better left untouched. Perhaps he had endured enough for one night. She looked down at her full plate. She had been so distracted that she had not touched a thing. She began to devour her food as the rest of the table engaged in a debate about seasonings and which was the best.

"Have you and Vassa..." Gwyn trailed off, leaving the innuendo open when Lucien walked her back to her room after dinner.

"She wishes." He chuckled.

"Would you be with Elain if you could?"

"I would not jump into a mating ceremony but I would like the chance to get to know her. She has not given me the opportunity." He answered practically with his arms folded behind his back. Gwyn felt the need to assure him that knowing Elain would not make any of this easier.

"Trust me, it's better this way." She did not want to leave the conversation on such a sore point. As they approached her door, Gwyn jokingly shoved him. "So this would make Elain my step-grandmother?" Lucien was quiet before speaking. It was not the reaction she hoped for.

"Elain does not know. No one knows. And no one can know, even Azriel. At least until Beron is dead. Make no mistakes if Beron were to discover you, he would torture you simply to spite my mother." His lips pursued together in displeasure.

"Azriel is very good with secrets." She felt the need to remind Lucien. He is a Shadowsinger after all.

"Not with his high lord. If Rhysand knew, he would tell Beron if he had too. If Nyx or Feyre's life were on the line, he would do anything to save them. That includes selling you out. This is very important, Gwyneth. You cannot tell anyone- promise me." His stare was so intense that she could not look away. He grabbed her hands in a tight grip to make sure she understood how serious he was. Gwyneth had never purposely kept a secret from Azriel before. Hopefully, Beron would die sooner rather than later.

"I promise."

+++

Two weeks later

"What do you mean she’s gone?" Azriel was shocked to discover that Gwyn had left two weeks ago. He thought she had been avoiding training because of the kiss they shared- not because she was gone. He had been eating dinner with Nesta and Cassian when he finally had the courage to mention the priestess and where she had gone. Now he was mad that he had not asked sooner.

“She left with Lucien on some adventure. I am not really sure. Her note was unclear.” Nesta responded solemnly. The House dropped a piece of chocolate cake in front of her which made a small smile curve at the brash female’s lips. Azriel’s stomach dropped at the mention of Lucien. Gwyn did not know him well enough to go on an adventure with him. Gwyn would not leave her sisters here and she would definitely not choose Lucien to be the first person she left Velaris with. He was certain of that. He also knew Lucien to be a spiteful person. Perhaps he was tired of watching Azriel and Elain parade their relationship around him, making a fool of the one-eyed male. He could have taken Gwyn as retribution.

“He must have kidnapped her. Gwyn would never willingly leave the House of Wind with anyone- let alone Lucien.” Azriel knew this had to be true. Gwyn would never just up and leave. Guilt started gnawing at his chest as he realize he could have prevented her from being taken. If only his shadows would work properly around her, he could have prevented Lucien’s nefarious plans from being completed. His siphons started glowing the longer he though about it. He had to clench his hands around his silverware to keep from winnowing straight to the Band of Exiles and demanding his mate be given back. Nesta gave Azriel an odd look before speaking.

“She left a note that said she was willingly leaving with him and as much as he annoys the shit out of me, I don’t think he would hurt Gwyn.” A frown marred her face now, though. As if she had not considered that her sister could be in trouble. It only annoyed Az further.

“He could have made her write the note.” He reminded in a quiet, harsh voice. Gwyn and Lucien were not friends. She would have no reason to leave with him. Cassian was cautiously glancing between his mate and Azriel. He did not know what to say that would not piss off Az, so he was choosing to let Nesta handle the situation instead.

“She is not in danger.” Nesta declared after peeking at her wrist. There was no possible way for her to know whether Gwyn was safe or not. Even Azriel could not find out given how stubborn his shadows were being. He could always take a trip to the Band of Exiles, but he had to assume Lucien would not be stupid enough to take Gwyn there.

“You do not know that.” His wings flexed in anger. The siphons atop his hands were glowing dangerously bright now. He needed to get his emotions under control.

“Yes I do.” Nesta insisted with a roll of her eyes that annoyed Azriel to no ends. “My bracelet is not glowing. They glow when any of us is in trouble. It’s how I found her in the blood rite. It has not glowed since then either.”

“Hers could have fell off.” Gwyn would not have left after the kiss they shared. It was too important of a moment between them for her to have left immediately after.

“Gwyn and Lucien are friends, Az. You know if you want someone to blame for her leaving, maybe you should look inward.” It was a sharp jab that hurt more than the Shadowsinger would ever admit.

Suddenly though, he could see the hurt on Nesta’s face. It was there for only a second, but he saw it. Nesta was just as hurt by Gwyn’s departure as he was. He finally unclenched his hands from around his silverware- his fight giving out. Nesta was right. Lucien would never kidnap Gwyn especially if he thought it might upset Elain. Azriel chose this time to leave, however. He would not stoop to Nesta’s level and trade jab after jab. He headed to the training arena. It was hours later when slight footsteps could be heard making their way over to him. He was sitting at the edge, his exhaustion forcing him to take a break. Nesta took a seat next to him, resting her head against his shoulder.

"I miss her too, Shadowsinger." He said nothing in return because there was nothing else he could say. "You are worse than I was with the mating bond." Nesta tried again with a joke this time to try and get Azriel talking. She knew he was not normally one to discuss his feelings though. He gave her a withering look at that comment. It was an ongoing joke within the inner circle that Nesta handled the mate situation particularly horrible.

“Shut up.” Was all he responded with and he only said it halfheartedly.

"I am just saying, if you ask me for advice I could save you some time and heartache." They both continued to look out at the Velaris skyline.

"And what precious advice would you bestow upon me?" The comment was dripping in sarcasm, but he decided to humor her.

"Anyone other than your mate will be a disappointment, especially to you. Just accept it and her and everything else will become background noise." She looked up at him for a second before setting her head back down. He was not one to seek out comfort through touch, but sitting here with Nesta made him feel a bit better. Maybe it was because they could both ruminate in their sadness at Gwyn’s departure.

"Ah so wise. I had not considered that." Again the sarcasm was heavy.

"Well if you have thought about it and have not done it then I would consider you an idiot. You do not strike me as an idiot, Az." She was frustrated now- throwing her arms up and crossing them over her chest. He chuckled lightly.

"I think I might be." He admitted. Everything was so confusing with Mor and Elain that he lost focus of what was truly important.

"Gwyn is the most compassionate and understanding person I know. If she can love me, she can love you too. Just be honest with her." Her voice was soft now in a way that it never was. She always seemed to push him even when it seemed the rest of his family refused. It was the thing he liked most about Nesta- she was never scared of him or his feelings.

"Thanks Nes." He settled his head on top of hers and they stayed like that for hours- reminiscing in all things Gwyn.

#gwyncien #gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #lucien vanserra #azriel #acosf #fanfic

84 notes · View notes

sableflynn · 3 years

Text

Felivy - Midnight Tea

Another piece from the felivy au with @whumpopology my love! April, thank you so so much for trusting me to write James, and thank you for your help and encouragement in finishing this 🥺

This is the Felicia timeline. She’s trying to gather all the information she remembers to help rescue Ivy, but she needs to talk it out with someone. James is there to listen. Contains vague references to past torture/captivity. Ao3 link here.

---

Felicia jolted awake with a burst of panicked energy, the terror of the nightmare still pounding in her heart. Already the details were slipping away like sand through her fingers, leaving trace memories of ropes digging into her skin, Ivy’s screams, Volkan’s eyes. She loosened fingers that gripped the bedsheets and tried to steady her breathing, eyelids fluttering.

Next to her in bed, Elyse stirred. Felicia rolled over to plant a gentle kiss on her forehead, answering her mumbled question with a soft I’m fine. Untangling herself from the mass of blankets, she rose from the bed and padded from the room, wrapping a thin robe around her as she went.

The house was still in the night, soft moonlight filtering through the window and casting the kitchen in a weak glow. Her bare feet were silent on the hardwood floors as she made herself some tea, settling in to study the mass of papers she had left spread over the table. Scribbled notes, half-illegible, and newspaper clippings, and a map marked and marked again, and she was no closer to figuring out where Volkan was keeping Ivy, where he’d kept the two of them. Felicia had been home almost a week, and every minute she sat here was another minute for Volkan to decide to slit Ivy’s throat and be done with her. They needed to find her now, but all the information and memories were swirling in a jumble in Felicia’s mind, and she couldn’t focus them long enough to write down, she couldn’t do this alone—

Rubbing at her face, she left her mug at the table, and made her way through the house. She hesitated a bare moment outside the spare bedroom before raising her fist and knocking.

The door swung open and James stood there, hair still scruffy from sleep but eyes alert as they met hers. She studied him, tracing the faint freckles on his cheeks, the slight furrow of his dark brows. He had always seemed larger than life whenever Ivy described him, a hero, an inspiration. Looking at him now, Felicia saw a person, exhausted and doing his best. She thought—she hoped—he saw the same when he looked at her.

“Can I talk to you?” She forced a casual lilt to her voice despite the tension twisting through her.

If he was bothered by being woken in the middle of the night, he didn’t show it. She wondered if he was sleeping at all. “Of course,” he said, and followed her back to the table.

He sat across from her, and as she picked up her mug of tea, regret pulled at her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t make enough for you. Do you want—?”

“I’m fine.” James cast an eye over the spread of papers before turning his gaze back on her. “What did you wanna talk about?”

She pushed a blank sheet of paper and a pen across the table at him. “I just need to...talk some things out.” The clinical nature of the pen and paper, the physical barrier of the table between them, they all paradoxically relaxed Felicia. She wasn’t baring her soul to a near-stranger. She was providing important information to someone who needed it.

“It’s things we need to know. Things I learned,” she explained, haltingly, stopping herself from rambling. “I just can’t talk to Elyse about it, because—” It was too much. Too fresh, too painful, too personal. “Because I can’t.”

James nodded. “I understand.” He blew out a shaky breath, but when he spoke again, his voice was steady. “Tell me whatever you need to.”

Felicia looked down at her hands, folded on the tabletop. Whatever I need to. One thumb rubbed against the other, the sensation grounding her. Tell him floorplans and landmarks. Tell him names and locations. Don’t tell him how small Ivy looked, bleeding out from a bullet wound. Don’t tell him how the agony of the healing tore us both apart.

“I might start crying.” The words fell from her mouth before she could catch them, and her fingers fretted the edge of a stray sheet of paper, folding and unfolding. “That’s just a thing that happens. Just ignore it.”

She didn’t look up to see how he felt about that. She pushed on before he could say anything, before her thoughts could catch up with her. “I think he’s somewhere up north.” She pulled the worn map between them, and it gave her something to focus on besides her own nervous energy. “The trees...they’re different than they are here. And any time he had his friends over, they’d always be complaining about the cold.”

“He had friends over?”

She glanced up to find him looking at her, the pen clutched tight in his hand, something that might have been horrified comprehension dawning in his eyes. Her breath froze in her chest. One comment like that shouldn’t have revealed so much—but James wasn’t an idiot, and he could read between those lines to guess at why those friends had come over.

He’s quiet, Ivy had said about James one night, while they were sharing stories, but he knows his shit. I would trust him with anything.

Looking at the man before her—young, she realized, not much older than she, why had she pictured James as so much older?—Felicia searched beneath the exhaustion and growing horror to find something of the leader Ivy described. Someone she could trust.

She just saw a man. But if Ivy trusted him, maybe that could be enough for her, too.

“He had friends over,” she repeated with more force. She clutched her now-cold mug of tea like a lifeline, breathed in the chamomile to remind herself that it wasn’t a mug of coffee, she wasn’t in his lounge, they weren’t about to touch her. She had lost count of the number of hands that touched her.

She blinked, and a few tears slid down her cheeks. James tilted his gaze back towards the paper, granting her the smallest privacy, and she couldn’t remember the last time her tears had belonged to her, hadn’t been driven from her by cruel hands and words, jeered and crooned over by Volkan and his fucking friends.

“Some of them are in the city.” James flicked a glance up at her as she spoke. This is important, she told herself. Concrete information. Facts. Something they could use. Something that could bring Ivy home.

So she spoke, and James listened, and he wrote. She was hesitant, detached, drawing from memories without truly touching them, because if she had to acknowledge what had happened she would shatter. She listed anything she could remember, names and appearances and occupations, and James took them all down in messy, haphazard print. He rarely looked directly at her, and that made it easier, somehow. She didn’t have to school her expressions, worry about how her anguish affected him. She gave information, and he received.

She allowed herself to look at him, eventually. He was diligent and thorough in his notes, briefly meeting her eyes here and there to ask a gentle guiding question, never letting his gaze linger too long. She could see the tension in him—the way his jaw worked, his grip on the pen, the hard press of his writing into the paper—yet every time he spoke to her, his voice didn’t waver, and it wasn’t cold. She watched him, and she could almost hear Ivy’s choked voice as she talked about him, and then the question left her lips before she could stop herself.

“Why did you choose me?”

James looked up at her, paling, his lips pressed tight before he finally spoke. “It—it was the hardest choice we’d ever had to make.” His eyes were on hers now, dark and conflicted, and she forced herself to hold his gaze. “It wasn’t about who was better. You’re both important. It was just...it was about who made the most sense. We—”

“Actually, I don’t need to know.” Her voice shook slightly as she cut him off. Maybe she’d hoped he’d have some pithy answer ready, some straightforward explanation that put all her doubts to rest. But she couldn’t bear to listen to him justify and explain like he was still half-trying to convince himself. She wasn’t ready to know what that conversation had looked like.

All at once, exhaustion crashed over her. How long had they sat here talking? How many hours? And how could she allow herself to feel exhausted when Ivy was still there, still with him, still in danger?

“She told me you always make the right call.” They had been talking about their teams, finding what solace they could in each other. Sometimes I hate it, Ivy had said, but he’s always right. He’s never led us wrong. And yet Felicia was here, and Ivy wasn’t. “I’m not so sure.”

James’s expression stayed steady, but a flush crept up his neck and across his cheeks. “I—” He swallowed, and a muscle twitched in his jaw. “Excuse me.” He pushed back from the table, and Felicia was silent as he grabbed his coat, stepped out the door to the front stoop. The metal spoon scraped against the ceramic of the mug as she stirred her cold tea, and she stared through the papers scattered across the table, and said nothing.

#whump #angst #my writing #my oc: felicia #felivy #whumpopology #ou content #jelicia just wouldn't leave my mind!!#writing james was so scary but april was so so kind and supportive #thank you so much april 🥺🥺

28 notes · View notes

canyouhearthelight · 3 years

Text

The Miys, Ch. 137

Trying to figure out Author’s notes is hard.... Sometimes I just don’t have anything pithy to say, or have too much to say and don’t know where to put it all.

Obviously I am an overthinker.

So, for the sake of everyone reading: Let’s cut to the Shoutouts!

The obvious first: @baelpenrose, @the-raven-fae, @anotherusrname, and @charlylimph-blog! I love all of you, you are the best.

Special mentions to: @zommbiebro bc I miss you and hope you’re okay. @nekohuntslight for being the OG person to message me about liking the story (yes, Bael, this is the dirty secret behind why I thought you lived in Australia when we first started talking.... shhhhhh). And alllllll the binge readers who blow up my inbox every day, Iloveyousomuchyoudon’tunderstand. Very much adore all of you, you have no idea how serious I am being right now. I need to go through and make one post just screaming all your names to the universe.

Tyche brought drinks and snacks from my kitchen before flopping on the couch in my quarters. The guys were at work, along with Antoine, but my office was closed down for the day. “How are you feeling about tomorrow?” she asked.

“Vati and Hannah have everything planned to the smallest detail,” I shrugged. “They’ve already coordinated with Xio and Evan for all the crowd control and monitoring shifts, and the murals are going up today.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m well aware of the logistics stuff. I literally handle all the staffing for the humans on the Ark, and Antoine was also part of the crowd control conversations.”

“Then why did you ask?” I laughed, grabbing a cracker and carefully stacking cheese and other toppings on it.

Before I could get it to my mouth, she snatched it and held it out of my reach. “Because I’m asking how you feel. You’re only attending as… well, an attendee. No monitoring, no calling the shots, no working from the floor.”

She surrendered my cracker, but I found myself setting it down, appetite gone. “I’m okay - “

“Lie.” There was suddenly a finger levelled between my eyes like a gun. Just as quickly, it was lowered, and my sister was tilting her head at me. “Come on. You know you can’t lie to me - I’ve known you longer than literally anyone on this ship except yourself.”

“Fine! It’s weird!” I admitted in frustration, standing to pace and shoving my hands through my hair. “My skin is crawling with anxiety, my hands are twitching to snatch up the files and nitpick everything to the smallest detail….”

“Except they locked you out.”

“Except they locked me out, yeah. But I’m pretty sure I could get Derek to let me in, which is why I’ve made a point to tell him not to, no matter how much I ask.” Dropping my hands, I sighed. “But if I ever want to leave this position, I have to let them do this.”

She shrugged and stole my cracker, this time chewing and swallowing before she responded. “You could have kept some involvement in it, you know.”

“Pfft, yeah right. I would have taken it over, and you know that.”

“Yep.”

“Then why even ask.” I dropped back down on the couch.

“‘Cause you needed to hear yourself say it,” she explained, nonchalant as ever, snagging an olive and watching me calmly.

I sat in silence, processing it. I hated when she outsmarted me like that, especially when she was right. “Can I at least eat first?”

She laughed and let it go, telling me how well the murals for the Festival were coming. I hadn’t even gotten to - allowed myself - to see the designs, and the more Tyche talked about them, the more I wanted to see them. By the time I finished my share of our snack, I decided to check out the progress.

We finally made our way to the decks where the Festival would take place, and I thought Tyche was going to die laughing at the way I gaped. The alcoves where the vendors would stage looked the same on first glance, but a closer look revealed very subtle shapes added that would give them a more savage, wild look in the right lighting. Metal sconces had been added to hold what looked like torches, but with special light emitters to simulate open flame. As we walked further, swirls of color revealed themselves slowly, first in light, curling tendrils, but slowly sharpening and taking on a more angular shape, twisting together into phantasmal images that vanished as soon as you tried to focus on them.

“It’s like walking through a garden, or a rainforest, but when I turn my head, I’m in a city.”

“Right?” she laughed as we came around the final corner.

At this point, we were surrounded by this mural. Just up ahead, there was a messy head of black hair tied back with a green piece of cloth. Bare feet and arms show smears of paint, and overalls covered a tank top - that, or the cloth for the hair had formerly been sleeves, I couldn’t tell. One hand propped up on hips while the other hung down, holding a very familiar paint pen.

“Christ on a triscuit, Vati, this is incredible,” I gasped softly.

She turned and smirked at me over her shoulder. “Not yet, but it will be when I finish.”

“I mean, all of it. The sconces…”

“Those were Hannah and Ivan.” Parvati walked over and touched one with her finger tip, stroking it gently.

Tyche made an impressed noise. “I’m only a little shocked that he had enough time.”

“The materials are on loan from the engineering departments, and we wanted them to be rather rough in the finishing. It helped. Sophia, no matter how curious you are, please do not lick the walls.”

A giggle bubbled up through my chest. “The thought never crossed my mind. I was trying to put together all the flavor profiles here. It’s… a lot.”

“Forgive me if I focused more on color than how the walls would taste. I don’t generally cook, remember.”

I stared down a swirl of pomegranate, popcorn, and gochujang. The colors - blue, pink, and yellow, respectively - worked well together, but the thought of the flavors made my stomach churn. “I solemnly swear not to lick the walls,” I promised. “How much of this are you expecting to still be up by the third night?”

“We have a team that will specifically come touch up the mural in specific places the morning before the second day.”

Tyche turned toward me and away from her study of the art. “Also, you would be surprised how much paint is on the walls. It will take a lot for Else to eat it all, once they are allowed in the area.”

“Before you ask,” Parvati cut me off. “We just asked them nicely. Well, Sam and Derek did. They’ve become quite the ersatz diplomats to Else.”

“Anything left?”

“Hannah is putting the final touches on the curtains for the alcoves and the seating areas. She’ll have a team installing them tonight once I finish.”

It was clever, and explained why she was only touching up part of the mural halfway between now and the closing of the event. “You two have really put your stamp on it.”

“Feel better?” She held one hand up gesturing at the entire entire project, eyebrow arched to show me that she hadn’t been fooled for a moment.

I rubbed my neck, and glanced at her from underneath my eyelashes. “Busted, I guess.”

“That would imply that anyone had believed your charade,” she smirked.

Taking a deep breath, I looked around us again. “I honestly do. I could never have done all this. Holding on would have…”

“Kept you in a position you frankly hate,” Parvati interrupted gracefully. “It’s the same reason Sebastian went back to the Undine. He’s passionate about it, and it shows in the quality of his work.” When I gaped in insult, she held up a hand. “Not everyone can succeed through fear of failing and a determination that things be done right if they must be done at all.”

“Everyone talking about me needing to retire, like I’m old or something,” I joked, throwing my hands into the air. “Physically, I’m only thirty-five.”

Tyche nodded to concede my point. “What about the food? I haven’t seen a menu come out yet.”

The change in topic made Parvati’s face collapse. “What? It should have gone out yesterday…” She flicked open her datapad, which flickered from the overspray that covered it. Frantically scrolling, she groaned. “This was scheduled, why didn’t it send?”

“Did you check the date?” I asked calmly. “Specifically the year.”

“Three times, it’s scheduled for tomorrow,” she insisted. “Right here: May seventeenth, twenty-forty aw fuck….”

“At least you got the decade right,” I pointed out. “You wouldn’t believe how many scheduled emails I’ve tried to automatically send out for ten or fifteen years ago.”

She nodded and seemed to get her bearings back. “So, protocol for this is… just send it right now and apologize for the late notification, don’t try to make excuses or explain?”

“Exactly. They won’t care why, they’ll just be excited the list is out.”

With a couple quick gestures, she sent the email and dismissed her datapad. “Okay, that was the last thing, then.” Turning back toward the wall she was working on before, she waved to us over her shoulder. “I’m not trying to be rude, but I really do need to finish this up. Thank you for coming to see everything… it was oddly reassuring to have both of you give us your stamp of approval before the Festival instead of making us wait until after.”

“For the record, you two have always had my stamp of approval, or I wouldn’t have tried so hard to keep my nose out of it.” I knew she couldn’t see me, but I still smiled. “We’ll catch up with you after the Food Festival. Remember: both of you need to plan on taking the day off afterwards. I’m serious. Have your unofficial advisors drop in and chat about everything, that’s fine. But no actual work, and I won’t let either of you see the survey results until the second day after. So rest.”

“Got it, boss lady. Have a good night!”

Tyche and I turned and headed back to my quarters. We remained silent as we took in all the preparations that had been done, waving to the handful of vendors who were bringing their supplies in already. Once we were back in normal corridors, the silence broke almost immediately.

“I think they’ve got this,” Tyche suggested nonchalantly.

“Oh, I know they do.”

<< Prev Masterlist Next >>

#the miys #found family #humans are weird #science fiction #aliens #apocalypse #humans are space orcs #humans are space fae #earth is space australia #post apocalypse #post post apocalypse #original science fiction #original sci fi #original writing

50 notes · View notes

scribblingfangirl · 3 years

Text

GLOWING IN THE DARK #2 | The Punisher - Billy Russo

.•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•.

Author’s Note: First of all: I am so sorry this part took so long (and it is very underwhelming as it’s just a few scenes of Y/N’s life on the base (all involving Billy - and I’m not sure if I got his character right in this one)). I tried to make it one longer coherent chapter, but I needed these scenes to be able to proceed to the more important parts of the story. Hope you guys don’t mind. I hope the next few installments will appear faster and will get better again. But for now, thank you for reading and enjoy!

word count: ~ 2.7k

summary: Becoming Billy’s friend is weird - if whatever relationship you have is even considered a friendship.

warnings: //

.•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•.

You felt it – whatever or whoever it was – before you even heard or saw anything.

As a Marine, you had undergone different kinds of training modules and boot camps and this wasn’t your first tour either. Your job before getting promoted to helicopter gunner had been to try and get in and out of places without raising any suspicion or getting in the way of the others that were fighting while you got the intel. Inevitably, however, sooner or later you had to fight your way out of wherever the hell you were as well.

It had heightened your senses, which made it almost impossible for you to have a good night's rest. The smallest change in the atmosphere or the slightest sound sent you straight to overdrive. No heavy eyelids, no blurry mind - just wide-awake and alert.

Of course, this wasn't the case with everyone though. After missions with the Blackbird crew, you’d seen Garth and Dane fall asleep as soon as their heads hit their pillows and nothing could wake them up after that. You even had some conversations with Frank about it whenever you stayed over at the Castles during your military leave.

You’d call the day you were able to fall asleep within the first ten minutes of getting into bed and stay asleep for the whole night a miracle. That is why your eyes opened wide and your body went rigid as you blinked desperately and tried to adapt your vision to the darkness. Or at least find the smallest shimmer of light. Obviously, you had no such luck. After all, it was somewhere around the early hours of the morning and it was pitch-black in the tent.

Your hand automatically went for the gun under your pillow, only to end up empty, and it took you a millisecond to realize that you weren’t in your cot in the tent you shared with Garth and Dane, but rather in the infirmary where weapons weren’t allowed.

You decided to do the next best thing. You used your body.

In a swift movement and without much hesitation you grabbed the thing - a person as you came to realize in that very moment - in front of you and used the momentum to turn both of you around, pinning him (as you still were the only woman on the base) down on the bed, straddling his waist and pressing your upper arm on what you expected to be his throat.

A soft chuckle resounded through the tent. In the next second, you were blinking against the white lights that illuminated the infirmary, realising that you were holding Billy in a tight grip. And worse, straddling him.

As your senses were still on a high (heart beating fast and body frozen) you were unable to do anything else other than stare shocked at Billy.

“Gotta admit Frankie boy, you trained her well,” Billy smirked up at you, his hands going to your waist to support you a little bit and take the weight of your injured foot.

“Na,” Frank shook his head, “All that was already there. I just showed her how to properly use and manage her strengths. Reminded her of who she once was.” Frank approached you both from his place beside the entrance and gently pulled you away from Billy, who started to massage his neck as he slowly stood up.

Billy chuckled at that. “A clumsy girl?”

“Hey! Watch it or I beat your ass-”

“Again… was that what you wanted to say? Do I have to remind you that you didn't beat my ass last time? That's why I told you that there are less violent ways for you to see my backside.”

You had soon realized that flirting truly was Billy’s defence mechanism, just as Frank had said. And humour. Whenever something turned uncomfortable for him he either turned on his charms or tried to alleviate the situation by making some stupid remark.

You had also realized that Billy had been right. You were terribly out of shape. Everything had hurt the day after the game, but you had guessed it might also have had something to do with the fact that two grown-up men literally tackled you to the ground the day before.

So you had gone to Frank, because, obviously, you couldn’t give Billy the satisfaction (or more time with you) and had asked him to give you some training lessons. A little refresher of your earlier days.

“Okay… What would you do if I did this to you?” Frank asked while cornering you against a wall and trapping you between it and his body, putting his hands on either side of your head.

“Really Frank. Are we really going to look at Self-Defense 101? I’m weak right now, not stupid. I remember the training.”

“Well, show me then.”

Sighing you looked him straight in the eyes as you punched your straight fingers into his ribcage under his left armpit, causing him to withdraw his left arm entirely. Then you punched your fist into his left rib cage that was now open to you, pushing him slightly away from you before punching his chin and knocking your head against his.

Tumbling a few steps back Frank caught himself quickly and grabbed you, hugging you from behind as you had already turned around to move away. “Not so quickly.”

“Do you really want me to give you a concussion?” you groaned, leaning closer into him and knocked your head back into his.

With a grunt, and while trying to regain his footing after stabilizing you due to the additional weight you put into his arms, Frank loosened his arms around you and you went for his right knee.

Ducking down fast and sliding your hands down his leg to his foot you pulled it up before Frank could regain his balance, throwing him to the ground behind you. You quickly turned around and sat triumphantly on his stomach.

“Satisfied?”

“It’s a beginning.”

“That’s enough Bill.” Frank's deep voice brought you back to the present. “She might be a little clumsy sometimes, but it’s clear that you can’t say anything against her senses.”

“Hey! Whose side are you on?”

“Kid, let’s be honest. I saw you tripping over nothing but thin air yesterday, somehow managing to injure your foot while doing that. And then you proceeded to fall face-first to the ground.” Frank said as he moved you to another unoccupied bed. Thank god you were the only one in the infirmary right now. Scoffing you rolled your eyes.

“The ground wanted a hug! Not my problem you’re a heartless guy. Ever thought about the fact that it might not want to just be trampled on? And anyway,” you added after a short pause, “you heard them yesterday after you insisted on bringing me here. I’m fine! Just a misstep, nothing a good night's rest with limited movement wouldn’t fix… which well, is kind of the opposite of what you two just did.”

“Ah well, sorry ‘bout that. Colonel Schoonover wants to go over some strategic movements first thing in the morning. Thought you might want to get caught up with the most important details first.”

“Oh. I see. And both of you were needed to bring me a, and I quote, ‘clumsy girl’ up to date?”

“Oh no. I’m sure Billy, who very enthusiastically volunteered, will do that just fine. I just followed to make sure you don't kill each other. You are welcome by the way.”

After that, you weren’t sure if you were actually becoming friends with Billy (because you didn’t actually need to ‘up your friend game’) or just accustomed to him because he was always there whenever you were doing something with Frank.

Granted, there were times when it was just you and Billy (and multiple other Marines). Like that one time when you were waiting for the showers to turn purple (a term the base had coined to show that it was your time to use the facilities without having to check your surroundings for possible men to appear and take a shower with you.... they had realized how bad it had sounded the moment they had said it to you.)

You had been waiting in front of the facility as there was still around 10 minutes before they would turn purple and Billy had decided to keep you company by starting to annoy you (you couldn't believe how incredibly childish he could be - he gave you wet willies!)

Nevertheless, you had grown close enough to him to tell him about your time as a foot soldier and how you had a knack for repairing stuff, especially cars and aeroplanes thanks to your father. That he had been a military mechanic and that, after your mother had died when you were a baby, he had taken you with him whenever he had to move or do something for the military. That you had practically grown up on military bases and that joining wasn’t even a question, it was the only valid option in your life. And that one day the Marines had asked you to join their new helicopter crew and you couldn't say no, as you had wanted to feel closer to your father who had died a few years prior.

You had also talked about how you never met in New York (or about how Frank skillfully managed to keep you both apart) and about the fact that you guys have the same call sign (well, he and your helicopter).

That was apparently enough for Frank to give you the “I know I said, I know Maria said, but do not fall in love with him”-speech one night while you were sitting on Billy’s bed, enjoying some alone time with Frank after some hectic weeks of training and strategy meetings.

“Don’t worry,” you had said and patted his back, “you know that my heart belongs to the sky. And, well, to Pete.”

Little did you know that Billy had just entered the tent when you said that.

"- hell Y/L/N!”

“It was my pleasure. But you know, maybe next time you could just thank me, one might think you don’t have any manners.”

“You could have died out there!"

"It was a test run Garth. If anything, we would have died together. Also, here I was thinking taking risks is your life motto. I mean, isn’t your name practically Gar-'With some good food I can conquer everything?'-field?"

"With good food, you can conquer everything… and everyone," he winked at you, “because even though the saying goes 'The way to a man's heart goes through his stomach' this applies to women and everybody else as well!"

You laughed and clapped his back as you pushed aside the plastic tarpaulin and let him pass you before leaving the tent as well.

"Sounds like you gotta invite me for dinner sometime, as soon as we're stateside again!"

"Sounds like it!"

Remembering that you had to get something from your cot you turned around to get it, but stopped in your movement when you caught a glimpse of Billy, his fist tightly shut and his eyes glaring after Garth. Realizing that you were watching him, he turned around and stomped over to his own tent.

This repeated itself on multiple occasions. You talking to a fellow Marine or crew member and Billy seeing it and getting angry. Sometimes you realized it, sometimes you didn’t. Like the time in front of the dining tent.

One of the Marines, you didn’t even know his name, had waved you over to give you a piece of mail that had found its way to him instead of you (apparently your names were similar enough to confuse the guy who had distributed them), apologizing for opening it already.

You had just shaken your head, saying it wasn’t his fault and had turned the envelope around, causing a beautiful ring hanging on a thin necklace to fall into your hands. Smiling at it while suppressing some tears that were threatening to leave your eyes you had looked up at him. “I doubt you would be caught wearing this anyway.”

Of course, your luck had it for Billy to see him giving you the envelope and the necklace and to disappear through another entrance into the mess hall before he was able to hear you thank the guy for bringing you the envelope.

And then there was that time when you were pretty sure that Billy had become more to you. You weren’t sure what exactly, but more.

A Skype call for you had come through during the day, which Billy who had just passed by, accepted and told the man on the other side of the screen to wait while he got you. Sticking around he had to admit that he felt a little green now that he knew that not only Frank but even you had someone waiting for them when they came back. He wasn’t near enough to hear what was being said, but near enough to see you touch the computer before the connection ended and see you starting to cry terribly after that and rushing away, making Billy think the guy just broke up with you.

Frank had found you shortly afterwards (after Billy had gone to him to tell him what had happened, not being a very touchy-feely guy but thinking you might want someone around). He had talked to you, asked what had happened and you had repeated yourself, telling him that “my heart belongs to the sky now. Everybody I ever loved has left me, even though I am the one risking my life every day.”

Frank had just hugged you closer telling you that wasn't true. That he, Maria and the kids would always be there for you, that you wouldn’t be able to get rid of them now, no matter how hard you tried.

You didn’t know how long you had been sitting there, but then Billy had entered the tent, telling Frank that Maria was asking for a Skype call and Frank requested for Billy to stay with you.

You both had stayed quiet for some time except for your sniffles and hiccups that came from you crying earlier.

“You shouldn’t be crying. You have more than enough men falling on their knees for you.”

Confused you had lifted your head to look at him through teary eyes. “What?” “You shouldn’t be crying because of Pete. I heard Garth inviting you on a dinner date as soon as you’re both on leave again and saw the Marine in Frank’s squad giving you the neck-”

You had started to laugh at that. “Wait what? Please don’t tell me that you’re jealous!”

“No! Just… just annoyed I guess. I get called ‘Billy the Beaut’ and get called out on my shit and… and then you come along and you’re allowed to dance on all of our noses?”

You had snorted, wiping your nose on your T-Shirt sleeve. “Welcome to the world of a woman. As normally it's the other way around. Doesn't feel nice, right?” You had chuckled sarcastically. “Anyway, who’s Pete?”

“Who’s… Who’s Pete? Your boy-, well, your now ex-boyfriend? The guy who just broke up with you over Skype?”

Being reminded of that Skype call had hurt you, but you had laughed anyway. His stupid conclusions and obvious obliviousness had helped you think of other things. “I might have kissed a Pete once, but I might have lost the memo that he was my boyfriend because as far as I know, I never had one.”

“But the man-”

“Was my cousin's doctor and now close friend due to the time we had to spend together.”

“But you told Frank something about your heart and Pete. Wait, was?”

Of course, he had heard that. “Pete's another name for our bird. Yes, our callsign is Blackbird, but the guys call him Pete and I guess it stuck. And yes, was. He just called me to tell me that my cousin died of cancer. No… please. I don’t need your condolences. I’ve been around death for quite a while. It feels almost normal already.”

“It shouldn’t.”

“I know… but what can I do? I cried and now I have to stand up and make sure that we don’t meet too quickly again, that's what she would want.”

After that you both had sat there, quiet again, shoulder against shoulder, staring at the green plastic of the tent. Never realising that Billy, however unpleasant that situation might've been for him, never searched for a way out of it.

•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•.

Taglist:

@blackbirddaredevil23 @runawayolives @readingslumpfanfic @broadwaybabe18 @thetallassgirl

Join my taglist!

#billy russo x reader #billy russo #the punisher x reader #the punisher #billy russo one shot #billy russo oneshot #the punisher one shot #the punisher oneshot #my writing #viascribbles

54 notes · View notes

arhvste · 4 years

Text

KOZUME KENMA - WORK OF ART

request - could it be possible to get a kenma fic/scenario where his gf or girl crush is an artist and often draws him- probably hides it n testu or someone finds it and shows him so now they go on lip dates where kenma just plays his games and she draws him just like extra fluffy if you can I love kenma so much 🥺🥺🥺 if it’s too much then just something fluffy with ken ! thank you!

warnings - none

an - thank you for the request anon i just know kuroo the little shit would show his best friend all the drawings he finds 😈

classes were boring enough as it is but learning about the history or hiragana? what was the need?

sitting by the window seat, you had the obvious choice to stare outside the glass as class dragged along but you hardly found yourself looking outside at the window. instead, you would look and admire a classmate of yours.

kozume kenma.

he was one of the prettiest boys you’d ever seen. even his actions were so delicate and gentle to which would encourage the light butteries in your stomach to flutter a little more while you watched him. it wasn’t long before you found yourself sketching the bleached haired boy.

you were an avid artist with a beautiful talent. drawing kenma seemed a little out of your comfort zone at first. when you noticed you’d been sketching him for a few weeks you tried to consciously stop yourself, you didn’t want to feel like a creep who would just stare and draw someone. these sketches captured the boy’s calmness perfectly though and you found you couldn’t help yourself but continue, even deciding to add more detail into particular pieces you liked.

you told yourself that you were just using him as inspiration. you weren't infatuated with the boy, just inspired. no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself of this though, you found yourself enjoying drawing him more than anyone or anything else bringing you to the conclusion that yes, maybe you were perhaps a little smitten with him. not that you’d ever let him find out though.

your sketch book was littered with an assortment of drawings. some finished down to the smallest detailed and others half done, lazily sketched and yet to be completed. kenma took up most of the occupation of the pages though. surrounded by statues, flowers and other pretty things you often drew kenma as the centre piece for all your pages.

the drawings you skillfully created depended on your mood and kenma’s mood on the day. some days, kenma would be struggling to keep his concentration on the lesson going on in front of him, other days he’d be almost interested and looked as if he was putting more effort into his work. your most favourite days, were ones where kenma was lazily interested in the lesson. he would often propt is chin under his hand, eyes prettily fluttering occasionally while trying to stay awake (probably sleep deprived from excessive hours of gaming) and he would sometimes even use a thin black bobby pin to pin his long hair out of his face to stop his field of vision from closing in tempting him to fall into a slumber in the midst of class. those days were your favourite. he looked extra pretty.

today just happened to be one of those days as you gazed at kenma who at this moment had his hair messily pinned out of his face, eyes drooping every so often with the setters head dropping ever so slightly every time he felt the weight of sleep too heavy to handle. one hand placed under his chin, keeping his head from completely falling onto the desk and the other weakly holding his pen as he attempted to keep up with the classes notes.

you wanted to draw him in this moment really, but you did happen to feel bad for the blonde. he was obviously struggling to keep his head clear enough to focus so you decided now was a good opportunity to step out of your comfort zone a little.

“kozume-san? you whispered ever so gently.

kenma’s eyes widened slightly at the sound of his voice being called. he tilted his head in you direction and blinked his twinkly golden eyes at you

“hm?”

“d-do you want me to uh keep up with your notes for you?”

kenma’s eyes softened at the sound of your gentle voice.

“why would you want to do that l/n?”

“i can see you’re struggling to stay focused. we sit near the back and the teacher isn't interested in looking in our direction. you can catch up on a bit of sleep - o-only if you want though you don't have to!”

you knew you were blushing now. maybe you should’ve just minded your own business but in a split second you knew it was all worth it.

kenma gave you a small but genuine smile. fuck. it was so pretty. he was so pretty. his smile wasn’t blinding no, more of a gentle angelic glowing light that warms ones heart. the rare sort of golden light that can only be captured in a small time window each day and only through clear skies. you had made kozume kenma smile and you knew you were right to have stepped out your comfort zone.

“you’re observant. its much appreciated l/n, thank you. let me know how i can repay you after.”

his soft voice heavy with sleep sent the butteries in your stomach to go off in a frenzy. his delicate hands handed you his class book and he blushed so lightly it wasn't even noticeable at the subtle contact of your fingers brushing past each other.

he gave you a gentle nod as he laid his head down gently on his desk and gave into the strong craving to fall into a sleep.

drawing and writing were two things that came naturally to you. you were able at completing both tasks at a quick speed but you did it so flawlessly. you took a shy pride in your notes and classwork as you did with your drawings. both aesthetically pleasing to look at, but full of appropriate and useful content.

writing kenma’s notes alongside yours wouldn’t be a problem to you.

however, this would cause one in the unbeknownst future to you.

class ended about 50 minutes after you had encouraged kenma to have a small sleep. classmates were closing their notebooks and packing up their things. you gently tapped the sleeping setters shoulder with notes in your hand.

after a few taps the boy slowly lifted his head and gently rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. your heart melted at the sight of his eyes flickering while adjusting to the light. the slightly darkened sun depicting his eyes as gold speckled pools of honey, his nose scrunched up as he allowed his body to wake up. was there ever a time this boy was ugly? he seemed to be attractive doing everything, it wasn’t fair.

taking the book from your hands he nodded and gave you a shy smile.

“thank you, l/n. please tell me how i can repay you”

“oh! please don't worry about it! you looked like you needed a recharge i’m just happy you were able to do just that.”

“you’re a kind person l/n. but don’t hesitate to let me know if you ever need a favour.”

and with that, the setter packed up the few papers he had been resting on and then slightly bowing at you before heading out the door most likely to get ready for practice.

you smiled to yourself and headed out your classroom to leave for home knowing you had done a good deed for the day and you had happened to have your first direct interaction with the boy you’d been delicately sketching for the past couple of months.

“kenma! you’re 2 minutes and 38 seconds later than usual! we can't afford to have the brain of the team slacking.” kuroo teased his best friend with an irritating smile.

“was talking to a classmate. she helped keep me up with the class notes.” kenma spoke boredly as he set his bag down so he could change into his gym clothes.

“notes eh? offended you wouldn't just ask me for help. this feels like betrayal.”

kenma rolled his eyes at his friend’s childish behaviour and dug through his bag to look for his clothes.

“the offer was there so i just took it. besides, l/n’s handwriting is much more eligible than yours.”

“ouch. are they as detailed though?”

“probably even more.”

“i don’t believe you.”

“look for yourself.” kenma shrugged nodding towards his schoolbag.

kuroo wandered over to kenma’s bag and pulled the classwork book out.

“uh yeah i guess these are pretty ne- oHOHO what do we have here?”

kuroos eyes danced over the pages, a shit eating grin spreading across his face.

“i hate when you pull that face what’s wrong with you?” kenma’s disgusted face looked up at kuroo who looked like he was having an internal field day.

“l/n eh? i think someones got a little crush on you kenma.”

“what?”

kuroo turned the book around to show the pages to kenma who’s eye widened.

there was the pages you had littered with beautifully depicted drawings of kenma.

both boys were silent as kenma’s eyes scanned over the pages.

“no reaction? personally i’d be flattered if someone drew me that much and with such good detail too.”

kenma was still processing all the drawings as a million possible reasons for why you’d drawn him so much ran though his head.

did you think he was attractive?

was it a crush like kuroo had teased?

did you just need a reference and he just so happened to be there?

were the drawings actually him or were they just someone scarily similar?

“sooooo... you gonna talk to her then?”

kuroo smiled teasingly at the now blushing setter.

“i’ll just give this back to her. it’s obviously personal and she might even explain herself when she sees that i have her book.”

kuroo shrugged and put the book back in kenma’s bag.

“i think it’s cute kenma, take my advice, you should take the opportunity to get to know her a little, she's obviously interested in you.”

kenma snorted at his friends words slightly as he begun to follow him out the changing rooms and into the gym to join the rest of the team.

“ironic the relationship virgin is giving me advice.”

kuroo could only roll his eyes and laugh.

“to think you’d be the one to get a girl first, in my defence i’m too busy for relationships.”

“okay mr docosahexaenoic acid, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

you had just arrived home and you felt the weight of the day lift itself off of you as you threw your shoes off and dropped your bag to the floor in your bedroom.

you bag tipped over with some of the contents spilling out causing you to huff but get up and pick it up anyway.

then you saw it.

your heart dropped.

“fuck.”

‘kozume kenma’ was written on the front of one of your classwork books. how had you been so stupid in getting them mixed up.

you began to panic and think of solutions to this fresh dilemma.

“maybe i should just tell him that i just like him nows a chance? no that's stupid why would i do that? i’ll just tell him it’s a model that just looks similar to him. no, that’s not believable is it? fuck it. i’m moving country.”

you screamed into your pillow but then stopped when you remembered something.

kenma was in practice right now. there’s no way he could’ve opened the book and bothered checking the work right? why would he bother doing that?

you checked the time on your phone. 3:28pm. you still had a while until practice was over. that would be more than enough time to go into the changing rooms and swap the books before anyone notices. and even if he had opened the book already, when he saw his book was back in his bag, you could easily play it off as if he had dreamt the drawings up as he would’ve just woken up and still been drowsy.

you wasted no time grabbing your shoes and the book to sprint out the door. school wasn’t too far from your house, a 17 minute walk to be exact. your legs started to ache at the sudden intense action of you sprinting like your life depended on it. well, your life did depend on it. if kenma saw them and thought you were weird, what were you to do then? dropping out of school seemed like the most reasonable option.

finally reaching the gates you caught your breath. getting to school was a 17 minute walk but a 9 minute run. once you gathered your thoughts you quietly approached the gym to peek inside. there the team were training and focused on the court. going in through the front of the school and walking through the halls to get to the changing rooms through the back way, you gripped the book tightly as you got to the boys changing rooms.

a quiet prayer was muttered before entering. the changing room was surprisingly clean and didn't smell like over sprayed deodorant and excessive sweat like you’d imagined. you let out a sigh of relief as you scanned the room for kenma’s stuff before noticing it at the end of the room.

“just in and out.” you muttered under your breath as you walked swiftly over to the setter’s belongings

digging through kenma’s stuff proved to be quite stressful. you were so focused on not getting caught, you failed to noticed the door separating the gym and changing rooms open.

“uh l/n?”

you jumped and turned your head to the owner of the voice.

there stood a slight sweaty and tired looking kenma who had offered to return to the changing rooms to grab one of yaku’s extra kneepads.

“uhhh i can explain.. our books got um mixed up and i uh well -”

“you’re talented you know.” kenma gave you a small almost ghost smile.

your face instantly heated up at the small praise the boy had given you.

“w-what?”

“the drawings. i must say, i was surprised when i saw them but, you have talent y/n and... i don’t mind if you keep drawing me...”

kenma’s shy persona caused the last part to come out so quietly you almost didn't hear him.

“i’ll keep that in mind.” you smiled as you approached kenma to give him his book back.

he muttered a quiet thanks and went through his own bag to fish you out your book to give back to you. the tension was awkward but not heavy enough to drive either of you away instantly. both of you holding back in anticipation waiting for one of you to talk.

“so um, do you wanna maybe go out sometime? you don’t have to.”

your eyes softened again as you shyly nodded.

“i would like that kozume-san.”

“kenma. call me kenma.”

months had passed since then. you found you had things in common with the setter and found his neutral presence calming. he wasn’t too loud or in your face but he also wasn’t completely extroverted to the point where you’d sit in awkward silence like people often assumed he was like.

you had met his team and family and they all welcomed you with open arms eager to get to know the girl who had drawn kenma not only on paper but drawn him out of his comfort zone gently.

the two of you weren’t big on going out on dates. you would both often opt to stay in and enjoy each other’s company. kenma would game and you would draw, the two of you engaging in soft and relaxing conversation. kenma would never admit it out loud, but he loved the days where you would draw him. he would act like he was too immersed in his game to notice you sketching away but he felt a sense of pride in him whenever he noticed you using him as your model.

you had grown more confident in yourself and often allowed kenma to see your drawings. you decided since you were using him as your reference, the least you could do was show him how you portrayed him and every time he would compliment and praise you for your work.

“you know i’m glad i felt extra tired that one day you offered to do my notes.”

you hummed and looked up at your boyfriend.

“yeah? i’m just gad you weren’t weirded out by my book.”

kenma offered a gentle smile at you.

“weirded out? i was taken aback but not weirded out. i was ever so slightly flattered even. thank you for seeing some sort of beauty in me.”

brushing his hair out of his face you smiled softly as you leaned closer to his face to whisper your final words before pressing a delicate kiss to his lips.

“no, thank you for being a work of art.”

#kozume kenma #kenma x reader #kenma x you #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!

234 notes · View notes

nazyalenskyism · 3 years

Text

This Love (Part 1)

This Love (This Love I Have For You) [Part 1]

Summary: A Zoyalai One For My Enemy AU. Two heirs from enemy empires find themselves in the same room for the first time in years. Is their future elastic, letting them fall back into one another or has too much happened since then, causing them to break apart forever?

Ao3: This Love

A/N: While the first chapter of this fic is a scene from one of the early chapters of the book, One For My Enemy, the second chapter will contain major spoilers for the book so please beware if you plan on reading this! cw: blood mentions (nothing more descriptive than the books though)

“Nikolai Lantsov,” her voice was still smooth, the lilt of his name off her lips used to send a shudder down his spine, maybe it still had that effect but nobody would know, not with the way he maintained his languid posture. He was born to be the second son but had quickly made it apparent to the family that he was nothing if not the one who would turn the heir apparent into the heir presumptive. Nikolai was not born to be a leader, though every moment of his life was spent proving otherwise. His curious mind wanted answers to everything, he spent hours deconstructing people’s movements to figure out how he could act to cause another to react in the way he wanted. As a consequence he learned how and when to react himself, a skill he had never been more grateful for than at this moment.

“You haven’t forgotten me, have you?” Zoya slowly slipped her coat off, taking note of how Nikolai’s gaze never wavered from her but his eyes betrayed nothing. He was every inch the stoic prince, every bit the cunning king. Vasily’s eyes slid over her in the way they always did, disdainfully, as if she was there to take what was his. He’d always been a little bit more observant than she’d ever given him credit for, but she supposed that even a broken clock was right twice a day.

“Of course I remember you, Nazyalensky. Do you still know me?”

“I thought I did.”

***

In the past ‘Lantsov’ had been for daily use; it was a name that belonged to most of the people he knew, but when she said it, it was only ever for him.

‘Nikolai’ was for when the world shrunk down to just them, the way her red lips pulled up when she whispered his name, her thumb brushing his cheek bone, a hushed reply to his calling of her name between reverent praises in the dark of the night.

‘Kolya’ was teasing, she knew he hated it so it was always uttered to seek out a reaction. “ Kolya, guess who asked for my hand in marriage? Kolya, Kirigin asked me to accompany him to the theatre again today. I think he likes me, or it seemed like it when he put his hands on my waist.” Kolya always led to consequences but it was like she always purred afterwards, ‘ you’re too predictable Lantsov.’ He knew he was, but that never stopped him, the taste of her was too sweet to turn away from.

In the past ‘ Nazyalensky’ had been for daily use; he'd called her that since they were children. One night, years later he would whisper into her hair that he had always liked the way it sounded, the gentle rise and fall of the syllables, how it demanded to be said slowly, demanded your time and respect for it could never be spoken with malice. She would smile, tracing the letters onto his chest, that’s exactly why she’d chosen it for herself.

'Zoya' was rare; she liked to think she could recount every time it had ever been uttered, though he had said it far too many times for that to be true. Her family called her Zoya, it was always said with unspoken love but she’d never know that someone could say it with the same connotations without being one of her people. In truth, Zoya was only rare when it came from his lips, he was the only one who said it like that. Zoya was used when he needed her, when he couldn’t do without her. Zoya was his, as much as Nikolai was hers… at least that’s how it’d been before.

***

In the after, Zoya lived forever in his mind, a searing image in the dawn light, the brush of icy wind against his face.

In the after, she forbade herself from thinking of Nikolai. She knew that what she’d given to him all those years ago would betray her if she did.

The after was where they existed now, a queen posed across from a king on a chessboard. She had any and every move at her disposal and all he could do was react with the smallest steps. The power was in her hands, though they were in his home, he’d never felt more like an exposed nerve before her than he did now. It didn’t help that she was wearing her signature armor tonight. After years without seeing her, the perfectly cut lines of her dress, the red curve of her lips that he knew she’d reapplied in the car, pressing them together three times to get them just right, the little details threatened to torch him, he was always too flammable when it came to her.

“Oh, Kolya ,” she sighed, crossing one leg over the other, her use of the diminutive threatened to undo him.

“Lantsov,” he corrected. “Why are you here, Nazyalensky?”

“Can’t I pop in for a visit?”

“Is it a friendly visit?” Even when they had been friends, nothing with her had ever been friendly.

“Now, that’s entirely up to you,” she cooed.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Nikolai mused, learning back in his seat. If she was going to toy with him, he may as well return the favour. She was quiet and so he continued, “how’s Kirigin?”

“Emil is as handsome, rich and satisfying as ever.” Her grin was sharp, he could almost see the challenge but he was not the boy she once knew, he would not rise to take the bait.

He pushed past the dig at him wrapped in a compliment to her husband. “Come now, Zoya. Your first visit after all these years can’t just be business related.”

She sighed, those damned red lips pulling into a slight pout. If the sound of her name coming from his mouth phased her, she would never let it show. “You’re right. Genya,” she summoned and her sister who had been standing quietly at her side handed her a small, perfectly wrapped package complete with a bow on top. Zoya’s fingers trailed the length of the package, as if she were weighing her options, deciding where the queen would land. After a brief second, she held it out to Nikolai, seemingly having made up her mind.

He heard Vasily start forward, but he held up his hand and his eyes fixed on her. Tonight was not the night to let his brother loose, everything regarding the Grisha, regarding Zoya required a knowledge of the past, which his brother did not have. Nikolai reached out, his fingers brushing over hers as he took the box from her. The Grisha were clever and Zoya had the lethal combination of being the most clever and most ruthless of her sisters. Whatever was in this box was not good news. “Why,” he murmured, “did you bring me a box of sweets, Nazyalensky?” “You know better than anyone that just because something looks sweet doesn’t mean that it is.” “Are we trading lessons now? I’m afraid I have none to share. What is this?” “It’s something we’ve been working on, a little pick me up, if you will. I won’t bore you with the intricacies, though I imagine you know the rest.” “I don’t,” Nikolai ground out, carefully unwrapping the box. Inside was a set of brightly coloured strips, they looked like pieces of translucent paper. “You know we don’t like to get involved in concoctions like the Grisha.” “That’s interesting,” Zoya hummed, tapping a perfectly manicured nail to her chin. “I’ve been hearing some disconcerting whispers about how your family is planning on changing directions, though thanks to your assurances, I now know that can’t possibly be true.” Nikolai was concerned at how much she’d improved as an actress in their time apart, though this was pure mockery. There had been a time where they had taught each other everything they learned, but she had always loathed acting. She’d considered it a waste of time, why lie when you could cut harder with the truth? They’d been opposites in that way, though that no longer seemed to be the case now. How else had she changed since then? Would she still sigh if he whispered against her neck, would she pull at his hair if he refused to move his lips further than the corner of her mouth? He’d once seen an infinite number of futures for them and this reality had never been one. Nikolai wished he had seen it, maybe it would’ve made the end easier. “Is that all then?” “Nikolai,” she chided, shaking her head. “I wanted you to be the first to try it. Are we not trusting each other with the truth today? I’m trusting that you are telling me the truth and now it’s your turn to trust me. What’s a little trust exercise between friends, we are friends, aren’t we Kolya?” “Zoya--” Her blue eyes flashed, her tone lashed at him like a whip. “Aren’t we?” She let her eyes drift lazily over his form, but he knew she was calculating again, not actually looking. “Try it, Nikolai.” Zoya’s tone was honey sweet now, it was the voice she used to use to turn nos into yeses, it allowed no room for dissent. He was a fox backed into a corner and he had no way out of this trap.

“Zoya,” Nikolai repeated, “Zoya, come on now, let’s talk about this.” He felt a prickle of fear down his spine. He did not fear her as everyone else did, he feared what she might do. The negotiator’s mein he donned did nothing, however. Her gaze was pure steel, and he felt the looks Genya and Vasily shot at him, he’ll say no. But no wasn’t an option. It never was. His hand floated over the box and he wished now more than ever that he could sense the magic that made them what they were. Would choosing one lead to a worse fate than if he’d chosen the next? Nikolai picked the indigo strip, his hand steady as he tried one last time to find a way to stop the madness. “Do it,” Zoya snapped, she’d never been the patient one. “Zoya, let me explain. After everything, at least give me the chance to explain.” “Nikolai,” it was Tolya, his voice low, urging him to reconsider. “What,” Zoya sniffed, “you’d like to get in on the fun too? There’s more than enough for all four of you to share.”

“Tamar,” he called, his eyes still trained on the woman across from him, “keep our brothers in place. None of you are to move.” “Nikolai,” Tolya tried again, “you don’t have to do this.” “Quiet,” Zoya snapped, pushing up from her chair. “Do it, Nikolai.” She perched herself on the arm of his chair, she was close enough to touch. The Saints were cruel enough to deprive him the chance to determine if this was a cunning illusion or the inarguable end to their story, if he could touch her maybe he’d glean the truth. Zoya leaned over him, picking the strip from his hands, the ends of her hair brushing his collarbone as she did. His breath had left him, he didn’t need it anymore, not when he was sure of his fate. She drew herself back up, her face mere inches away from his. “Open up,” she whispered, and Nikolai had one last second to hope that against all odds, perhaps she had not written for him to die today. If this was one of his last moments, as pathetic as he knew it was, at least he had looked into her eyes one last time. He parted his mouth slowly and she placed her index finger under his chin, her thumb running against his lower lip as she tilted his head back, coaxing him to open up wider. “Good boy,” she murmured, placing the strip on his tongue before getting up rather abruptly. Nikolai wondered why the Saints decided to take what was once the beautiful vessel for life and twist it into the beautiful vessel for death. Was everyone killed by what they loved most, or was he an exception? “The thing that makes these unique,” Zoya turned to the room at large, “is that they don’t sit peacefully on the tongues of liars and cheats. Unless one is virtuous, they’ll find themselves experiencing a different type of reaction, more like pain is being inflicted upon them rather than it being taken away.”

Nikolai blinked once, then twice, her words were muffled, the sight of her was growing fuzzy. This was it then? He felt bile rise in his chest but when he swiped his hand across his mouth, all he saw was scarlet blood smeared across his skin. “Those who deal with us in good faith,” she continued as Nikolai struggled to maintain whatever composure he could. “Know the particular spell that will protect them from the less than savoury side effects. But of course you wouldn’t know, how could you, given that you don’t deal in the business of creation like we do.” He felt a cough rise in his chest, propelling him backwards as blood began seeping from between the fingers he’d clapped over his mouth. He wanted to scream, he couldn’t breathe, but no words could be heard, only the gurgling of blood in his chest as he tried to push air in and out of his lungs. “I wonder who it was then,” Zoya said, “who has been leaking our top secret project and selling it for profit under our noses for far more than we ever planned on selling them for. I wonder who, Kolya.” Nikolai tried to speak again, tried to call her name, he needed her, he needed Zoya, not whoever was standing in front of him now though he knew they were the same woman, he just wished they weren’t, not now at least. He lurched forward in his chair as another round of coughs racked his body, collapsing to the floor, unable to cushion his fall. He felt his body shake but he was already starting to feel a sense of detachment from his body, he barely registered his head hitting the leg of his chair as he convulsed. Was this what a lack of oxygen did to the brain? Or was Zoya’s magic just toying with him, giving him a brief sort of respite before it truly killed him? He was lying in a pool of his own blood, even in his haze he knew to roll to his side so he wouldn’t choke on it as it poured from his mouth. He tried to push himself off the ground but his arms and legs felt locked in place. “This hurts me, Kolya. It truly does,” her lips pulled down at the corners. “I thought we were friends and that friends could be trusted. Unfortunately I see that much has changed over the years, you are not who you once were.” Neither are you. Nikolai wanted to shout, but he felt whatever fight was left in him pull away from the words. Instead he felt his body continue to shake, teeth piercing the flesh of his cheeks. She crouched down to his level, pushing a loose strand of hair back from his forehead. “Nikolai, I trusted you.” He hated how he wanted to lean into the action, how the touch felt familiar, how he wondered for a second if there was an ounce of affection left in those eyes.

I didn’t betray you. Why didn’t you let me explain? There were too many words he wanted to say, they were all queued up in his mouth but when her fingers continued stroking his hair back he felt her lift her magic for a second and only one word came out. “Zoya. Zoya. Zoya,” he cried out, his hand reaching out for her as she drew hers away, causing his insides to continue to crumple. He wished he could see her face one last time, wished he hadn’t listened to her all those years ago when she’d withdrawn. He wished he could call for her one last time as he felt a blinding wave of pain wash over him. Nikolai fell still on the floor, collapsing in a pool of his own blood, his arm outstretched towards Zoya Nazyalensky. “Well,” Zoya said, rubbing her palms together as if she were dusting them off, “that’s finished then.” She picked her coat up from her chair making her way towards the door with Genya at her side. Tolya dropped to the ground, seeking out Nikolai’s pulse as Tamar turned to the woman who’d rendered their golden prince powerless. “Why?” “The Grisha send their love. It’s the Lantsovs’ turn now.”

#zoyalai fic #zoyalai #nikolai lantsov #zoya nazyalensky #nikolai x zoya #kos #kos fic #zoyalai au #my writings #grishaverse asks #tgt #s&b

19 notes · View notes

maxwell-grant · 3 years

Note

Sherlock Holmes for the Listing meme?

favorite thing about them

I have some pretty mixed feelings on Holmes where I never quite got into the character as much as I could or may have liked to, but at the same time, he's been a part of my life for as long as I can remember (I grew up legitimately thinking he was a real person and only discovered otherwise in my early teens, and Conan Doyle may have been the first big-name author I remember reading).

I guess if I had to narrow down something more personal, the idea of Holmes as this really smart, incredibly knowledged person, who nevertheless could be insensitive, awkward, lonely, disinterested in relationships or social occasions, and still be a well-respected hero with strong friendships and a noble purpose, might have been more important for me to read about back then than I gave it credit for at the time.

A lot of people are very attached to the idea that Holmes is autistic or "coded" as autistic, and I have some misgivings towards that idea (mainly because often times it seems to me like "coded" is just a replacement word for stereotype), but in retrospect, it kinda was important for me to read about a character who was a little more like, well, like me basically, than the usual adventure hero. I guess it's kinda why I distinctly remember being sad upon learning that Holmes wasn't a real person, even though by that point I really should have known better.

And to an extent I think that's also part of why Sherlock managed to effectively sustain the kind of popularity he had, that he felt "real" to begin with. That he appealed to audiences worldwide in ways even they didn't quite understand at the time. He was not the most published character worldwide, possibly not even the most popular one in his time, but he was modern and vivid to an extent that's allowed him to outlast the Nick Carters and Sexton Blakes and Nat Pinkertons of his time, and become not just THE touchstone of 19th century detective fiction, but also a popular and modern character today. Holmes appeals a lot to people who can't quite see themselves as an outgoing action hero, but who can use their intelligence and reasoning to improve conditions for others, and I definitely think he owes at least some of his iconic popularity to that thoughtfulness.

least favorite thing about them

Definitely when adaptations have him be rude or belittling or dismissive to Watson, that's easily the fastest way to get me to dislike a Sherlock adaptation, and sadly that's been a trend even in the earliest days of Sherlock adaptations or fanfic (which, back in the day, were basically the same thing). I'm also really not a fan of the more asshole takes on Sherlock that comically exaggerate how rude and insensitive he is, or takes that just make him a crimefighting Sheldon Cooper, and-

Actually I'm just gonna say BBC's Sherlock and call it a day.

favorite line

My dear fellow," said Sherlock Holmes as we sat on either side of the fire in his lodgings at Baker Street, "life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent. We would not dare to conceive the things which are really mere commonplaces of existence. If we could fly out of that window hand in hand, hover over this great city, gently remove the roofs, and peep in at the queer things which are going on, the strange coincidences, the plannings, the cross-purposes, the wonderful chains of events, working through generation, and leading to the most outre results, it would make all fiction with its conventionalities and foreseen conclusions most stale and unprofitable.

brOTP

Well, duh. I'm also fond of the idea of him and Arsene Lupin having a more-friendly sort of rivalry, even if they can't quite be on the same side and I still ultimately prefer that Lupin takes the win (or at least the spiritual victory). And of course I have my pet headcanons about him and The Shadow being acquaintances.

OTP

None in particular. I like the popular headcanon that Holmes is asexual, and this doesn't exactly mean he can't have an amorous or sexual relationship with anyone, but generally I don't think of Holmes in those terms.

nOTP

Irene Adler. I think it kinda goes without saying too.

random headcanon

I'd like to play around with the idea of Sherlock often trying to find healthier outlets for his boredom and attention span, that aren't crime-solving or cocaine (largely thanks to Watson bugging him), that he spends an adventure trying to get the hang of while doing his thing, and may or may not turn out to be revelant

Like he's discussing crime scene details with Lestrade while balancing a broom on his foot El Chavo-style, and he remarks that, yes, of course this is research, the robber may have disguised himself as a janitor in order to sneak past police headquarters, and without fingerprints, he needs to try and measure the size and weight of the man by gauging the available brooms at the police station they could have used.

Lestrade doesn't question anything Sherlock does anymore, and Watson is trying very hard to keep a straight face because he knows it's not true, Holmes has been at this for over a week now at home, but it's been a slow week and he'll encourage anything if it keeps Holmes off the cocaine (can't make promises on nicotine though, but, baby steps).

unpopular opinion

I guess the closest I'd have to one would be that I actually prefer Holmes as more of a side character rather than an active protagonist and that I don't think the premise of "Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century" is the most idiotic thing ever and I am very willing to give the show a chance when I watch it.

I think maybe my real unpopular opinion as a Sherlock fan is that I don't think Arthur Conan Doyle was unjustified in his hatred of Sherlock's popularity, considering that he was dealing with an aggressive fandom long before people had an idea on how to deal with that sort of thing, and he could not have possibly predicted the sheer influence his character was going to have on fiction as a whole.

Also, he was right about some of the things he believed in. Yes, that includes the fairies. No, it doesn't make him any less gullible for having fallen for that trick.

song i associate with them

None in particular so instead I'm going to present the theme from The Great Mouse Detective, which I'm sure goes without saying is the best adaptation of Sherlock Holmes alongside those starred by Jeremy Brett, and DEFINITELY has the best version of Moriarty by a country mile.

favorite picture of them

For the moment I'm going to say this illustration by Jess Miriam. I love it's usage of shadow, it's background, the light coming off the pipe and the smoke encircling Holmes, and I love the scene it depicts from "The Man With The Twisted Lip", where Holmes at once seems to perform an act of utmost kindness but is, in reality, solving the mystery through a most unorthodox and yet ingenious method, all with the smallest of gestures. Definitely speaks a lot to what I most like about Sherlock Holmes

#replies tag #sherlock holmes #john watson #sherlock bbc

19 notes · View notes

ohpedromypedro · 4 years

Text

To The Future

A/N: This is my first Dave York fic, so I hope you all enjoy it! It does switch between present and past tenses at parts. Mainly I write in present tense, but some of the fic is needed to be in past. Thoughts are in bold italics.

word count: 7.3k+ (oops?)

characters/pairing: Dave York x f!Reader, small appearance by Resnik, minor oc characters created for this fic.

warnings: angst, stalking, hiring/plotting for a murder, the actual murder, swearing, mentions of jealousy, adultery, mentions of failed marriage, mentions of divorce, possessive!Dave, rough smut, blow job (m receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), Daddy kink, etc.

Hiring a mercenary to get rid of someone for good was never something you thought you’d put at the top of your to do list, but with the man who’s been stalking you for several months now only getting worse, you decide enough is enough.

At first it started off with random bouquets of flowers showing up on your desk at work, noted that it was from a secret admirer. You were flattered at first, thinking it was harmless, but then things started to show up outside your apartment door, and immediately you knew something wasn’t right. Your building was a secure building and somehow this person was getting inside just to leave you gifts which you just threw in the trash anyway. No one except for your family knows where you live, so you knew someone had to be following you. And how right you were.

Occasionally you’ll go on evening jogs to sweat out the day’s stress, take a few laps around the block where your apartment is located before heading back home to shower and wash it all away. This particular night you decided to take a jog, you weren’t alone. You decided this time to take a jog through the park, switch your routine up a bit, but what you didn’t know was that your stalker was in that very park and when he spotted you, he started to follow you. Closely.

You were unaware at first, completely oblivious to the fact that someone was following behind you. It really didn’t help that you were wearing headphones with music almost at high volume either, so it was partly your fault for not being on high alert, especially knowing you had someone stalking you. After a few minutes of jogging through the park you really started to feel the unease creeping up on you, the hairs at the back of your neck starting to raise. That’s when you stopped and quickly spun around, your eyes searching the area but seeing nobody. You sighed and gave your head a small shake, silently scolding yourself for getting so easily worked up. You decided to turn your music off and just jog in silence for the rest of the way.

When you reached one of the exits of the park, you smiled when you saw an older woman with a doggy stroller standing there idly. She had a look on her face you couldn’t quite read, but when she spoke to you, you realized why she had that exact look on her face.

“I’m...sorry to bother you, but I’ve been walking along the outer edges of the park for a while and...there’s been a man following you pretty much since you started your jog.”

Your face fell and once again you found yourself turning around and looking, your heart rapidly beating in your chest while your eyes scanned the area. You still didn’t see anyone, but you trusted wholeheartedly that this woman was telling you the truth.

“Thank you. I...I had suspicions that I might have a stalker. Guess I was right.” You sighed and shook your head, looking at her with hopeful eyes. “Could… Could you maybe walk me home? It’s just around the corner, but--”

“I would be glad to.” She nodded and motioned for you to the lead the way, which you did. “You should call the authorities once you get home. I’ll be happy to stay and tell them what I saw since I am witness to the young man who was following you.”

“Yeah? That would be very kind of you. Perhaps it’ll be good to report it so it’s on record in case anything else happens.”

The woman nodded and smiled, walking along the semi quiet sidewalk while you led the way toward your apartment. You exchanged names during your walk home and even shared a little bit about yourselves. Turns out Marjorie, the kind woman escorting you home, was widowed and retired from the air force. When you finally reached your apartment, you helped her to carry the dog stroller up the small steps to the front entrance of the building. When you got inside and to your apartment door, you opened it and walked inside, stepping aside to allow her entrance into your cozy abode.

“Make yourself at home. Would you like some tea or coffee?” You smiled, closing the door and locking it before walking into the small kitchen.

“Some chamomile tea would be lovely, darling. Thank you.” She took her small dog out of its stroller and moved to sit down on the love seat in the living room.

“Chamomile tea it is,” you hummed, grabbing a cup and saucer and the box of teabags from the cabinet before setting them on the counter while you got your Keurig machine turned on.

Once the Keurig was ready to brew a nice cup of hot water for the tea, you put the tea bag in the cup and placed it on the small stand, pressing the smallest button and letting the machine brew. While you let the water fill the cup, you decided to use that time to dial the police station on your cell, moving to secretly peek through your kitchen curtains while it rang.

“911, what’s your emergency?” The calm voice of a woman answered.

“Uh hi, I’m just calling to report a stalking,” you chewed your lip, moving away from the window and leaning against the counter.

“You’re the one being stalked?” She asked calmly, already pulling a report up on her computer screen to type out everything you say.

“Yes ma’am. At first it was just little things. Bouquet of flowers being delivered to my office at work almost every day, but then whoever it is started leaving things outside my apartment door and only my family knows which exact apartment I live in, so I’m a little worried.” You sighed, running your fingers through your hair. “And just a few minutes ago while I was out on my nightly jog, I was told by a nice older woman just outside the park that she saw someone following behind me while I took my jog through. She ended up walking me home because I was nervous to walk alone and she offered to wait inside with me while I called you.”

“Okay sweetheart and would you like an officer or two sent out to get some more info regarding the man stalking you?”

“Yes please. I think she did get a good look at him, at least enough to give some sort of description.”

“Okay. I’ll have a car dispatched to your location soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So what exactly can you tell me about the man you saw, ma’am?” The officer that showed up just a few minutes after you hung up with the operator asked Marjorie who was sitting on your couch sipping her tea.

“Well, he had to be at least mid 30’s, looked like he could be one of those boys who still live in their mother’s basement. Tall, Caucasian, shoulder length blond hair, large square glasses, dressed in a long black trench coat.” She speculated, nodding as she tried to remember every detail of the man that she could. “He definitely looked like your typical creep. Skinny little thing.”

The officer only nodded, scribbling in his notepad as she listed off the details. He finally looked toward you after finishing jotting things down and shoving his notepad in his pocket.

“And for you, Miss Y/N, what would you like if we do find this stalker of yours?”

“I want a restraining order against the creep, that’s what. As a female living all by herself with no one or nothing to protect her, a restraining order is at least the better first option.”

“You got it. I’m gonna send my fellow officer waiting outside to search the premises as well as the park for the described person of interest. In the meantime, I’ll be outside searching the database for men with that description.”

“Thank you, officer.” You smiled, watching as he nodded his head and gave a small tip of his hat before leaving your apartment.

You sat down on the couch with a sigh, smile tugging at your lips when Marjorie’s dog came padding over to you with a wag of her tail, looking up at you with a smile of her own. You brought your hand down to give her a few pats and scratches behind the ear.

“Daisy likes you,” Marjorie smiled, setting her empty cup and saucer down on the coffee table. “Have you considered getting a dog of your own? Perhaps a nice Pitbull or bulldog.”

“Actually,” you laughed softly at that, giving your head a nod. “That’s not a bad idea after all. I’ll have to consider it.”

“You’ll thank me later,” she winked, moving to stand up from the love seat and grabbing the cup and saucer from the table. “I won’t impose for much longer, sweetheart. I think you deserve some rest after all this.”

“Thank you,” you gave her an appreciative smile, standing and following her into the kitchen. “I’m glad you made this process a lot easier for me. I would have had no idea where to even begin with a description of my stalker.” You shook your head and smiled at Marjorie when she walked back over to you after setting the cup and saucer in the sink.

“Of course. Anything to get another creep off the streets.” She mused as she scooped Daisy up from the floor and set her back in her stroller.

“Well, I’m grateful. You live close by?”

“About a five minute walk, sweetheart. I’ll be just fine, if you’re worried.”

“A little bit. I guess my nerves are just a little heightened.” You shrugged, smiling when she put a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“We’ll be just fine.”

You could only nod, quickly saying your goodbyes to Marjorie and Daisy before letting them out of your apartment. You closed the door once they were down the hall and immediately locked it, leaning against it with an exasperated sigh. You hoped the police could find your stalker and arrest him for being a creep and that a restraining order could be put in place to keep him as far from you as possible. You didn’t think you could put up with this any longer.

Days went by and you still heard nothing, absolutely nothing from the police department regarding your stalker. Not a single follow up call, visit or any info at all for that matter about whether they found out who the guy was. Of course now the situation was only getting worse. There were nights where you swore you could hear someone trying to pick the lock to your apartment door, but since you’re smart, you locked the doorknob, deadbolt, and chain lock. And fortunately for you, it prevented whoever it was from getting in. You weren't entirely safe, though. Not only did this man know where you worked and lived, but he was somehow getting into a secure building. There wasn't a place you could go to hide yourself from him. If anything he’d just find you wherever you went and that’s what scared you most. You didn’t know what this man’s intentions were, for all you knew, they were far from harmless. No stalkers intentions are harmless in the end.

That’s what brings you to your current situation, calling your cousin Resnik who you know is a mercenary now since he was let go from his previous job with the DIA. He told you to call him for emergencies only and you figure having a stalker trying to break into your apartment multiple nights in a row is good enough a reason to call him.

“Y/N? What’s going on?” Your cousin’s voice is monotonous on the other end of the line and you sigh.

“I need a favor.”

“A mercenary one?” He asks.

“Yes.”

“I’m booked.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Res?” You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You told me to call you for emergencies and this is one.”

“Again, I have tons of jobs booked.”

“I’m family.”

“I’m aware of that,” he states. “But I really can’t. Not right now, at least.”

“Resnik, I have a fucking creep stalking me. He’s only been getting worse and I don’t know how much longer until he successfully breaks into my damn apartment.” You’re spitting your words at this point, anger boiling over the fact that your own cousin is blowing you off.

“How long has this been going on? The stalking”

“Months.”

“Has the guy actually made contact with you?”

“Clearly he’s trying to since he’s been trying to break into my apartment.”

“Do you feel safe at all?”

“No!” You snap.

“Calm down,” he grumbles. “I’ll send my buddy Dave to deal with this guy for you, okay? Just explain to him everything that’s happened and he’ll figure something out for you.”

“Alright,” you sigh, slumping onto your couch. “I trust whoever you send me.”

“Good. I’ll have him be there within the next day or so, can you handle that?”

“Yeah, yeah. I can handle another day of this fuckwad. Thanks Res.”

You hang up before he even gets the chance to respond, tossing your cell phone onto the coffee table in front of you. You rub your hands down your face and groan to yourself, hoping this Dave guy can actually rid this stalker of yours. For good.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’re in the kitchen making yourself a rum and Coke when the buzzer to your apartment goes off. Biting your lip, you shuffle over to the intercom on the wall and press the talk button.

“Yes?”

“Y/N? My name’s Dave York. Resnik sent me.”

“Thank God.” You groan, pushing the button to buzz him into the building and anxiously waiting for him to get to your apartment door.

When the knock finally sounds on the door, you bite your lip and undo the locks, hesitantly pulling it open. Your eyes are met with a middle aged man, probably early to mid forties if you had to guess, and he’s for sure a sight for sore eyes. Dark hair that you wish you could just run your fingers through, deep brown eyes to match which you know he’s been through and seen some shit in his days. When his gaze finally lands on you when your door opens, he straightens his shoulders, taking in every inch of your form as he stands just outside the threshold of your door. He thought his wife was beautiful, but you? You are absolutely stunning and just standing here in front of you is stirring up some adulterous thoughts in his mind.

“Didn’t realize anyone related to Resnik could be so breathtaking.” Dave chuckles softly, smirking at the way your cheeks go red. “You sure you’re related to him?”

“Unfortunately,” you bite your lip and sigh dramatically, stepping aside and motioning for him to come inside. “Please, come in. We’ve got a lot to discuss.”

“Quite right,” he smiles, his eyes doing one more sweep over you before he steps inside.

You’re flushed by the time you close the door and relock all the locks, giving your lip a hard bite from the way his eyes raked over you just moments prior before internally shaking your head and turning around to face him.

“Would you like something to drink, Dave? I was just making myself something when you arrived.” You muse, making your way into the kitchen where you finish pouring your drink.

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” he hums, letting his eyes linger on you longer than he would anyone else he talks to.

“Bacardi and Coke it is then,” you smile, grabbing another glass and making a drink for Dave.

“A Bacardi girl, huh? At least you’ve got taste.”

“I suppose so,” you smirk, walking over to where he’s standing and handing him the glass. “Enjoy.”

“Thank you,” he winks, taking a quick sip of his drink and letting out a satisfied hum. “Mmmm delicious. Now,” he says softly, placing his free hand at the small of your neck. “Let’s sit so you can tell me all about this stalker of yours, yeah?”

“Of course,” you smile, grabbing your rum and Coke before leading him to the living room to sit on the long couch.

When you sit, Dave sits right beside you, setting his drink on the table just as you do before facing you and giving you his full attention.

“Does your stalker have a name?” He asks, watching while you shake your head.

“Nameless and only kind of faceless?” You question, more to yourself than anything. “The older woman who saw him following me around the park during my jog a couple of nights ago said he’s a tall white male with shoulder length blond hair. He was wearing a black trench coat at the time, but who knows if he wears the thing all the time.”

“And does the description sound familiar to anyone you might know?”

“No,” you sigh. “I barely know anyone around here. I only just moved in a year ago and I’m not exactly the social type when it comes to associating with neighbors. I’m here to live, not make friends.”

“Understandable,” he chuckles, picking up his drink again. That’s when you finally spot the wedding ring on his left hand. What a shame. He takes a sip before setting the glass back down. “So tell me more. How did this whole thing start?”

“Well, at first it was just flowers showing up on my desk at work with a simple note, nothing too extreme, but then whoever the fuck this is started leaving things outside my apartment door. How he’s getting into a secure building in which you need a key or a buzz to get in, I have no idea. But I’m scared, Dave. The past few nights I could hear someone trying to pick the lock on my door to get in. I don’t know what this man’s intentions are, but clearly they aren’t good ones. Maybe in his mind they are, but not mine.”

“Do you think it could be someone living in the building? Perhaps a creepy neighbor trying too hard to get in bed with you?” You laugh at that.

“Honestly I may have considered it, but I’ve seen many of the people who live here, none of them fit the description of my little stalker friend here.” You roll your eyes, picking up your drink and taking a nice long chug. Dave watches with semi raised brows and a smirk.

“So I’m assuming you want the guy gone for good.” He states, watching you closely.

“Please,” you plead as you set your glass back down, your eyes practically begging for it when you look back over at him. Dave smiles at the sweet sound of your begging voice, slowly raising his hand to rest against your cheek while his now intent gaze is set on your pleading one.

“I will gladly rid the planet of this guy for you, Y/N. We’ll just need to figure out how to track him down or lure him out, for that matter.” His thumb grazes your cheek and you can feel your face burning up again, giving your bottom lip a small bite.

Dave notices that and it only spurs him on even more, his eyes tracing over each inch of your beautiful face before finally landing on your lips and lingering there, his thumb brushing along your bottom one. All those adulterous thoughts come swarming through his head once again and though he knows it’s wrong to be wondering what it would look and feel like to have those pretty plump lips of yours wrapped around his cock, with the fact that his wife never goes down on him, he doesn’t really care. He’s only with her still because of his daughters, things haven’t been going quite well for him and Carol for a while. Maybe you’re the change he needs, the thing that will help him out of the marriage he feels so trapped in.

“Dave?” You whisper breathlessly, not even realizing that the both of you have inched even closer to each other, too lost in the burn of his touch and the way his eyes hungrily take you in.

“Y/N...” He murmurs right back, giving his own lips a lick before bringing his eyes back up to meet your gaze.

“I-- You’re-- Fuck it,” you sigh, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him hard, allowing him to pull you onto his lap as he kisses you with as much fervor in return.

His hands rest on your ass so he can pull your hips flush against his own, eliciting a surprised gasp from you when you feel something hard pressing against your clothed core. I really make him that hard? As if he read your mind, he groans.

“Feel how hard you’ve made me? Just thinking about how good those lips would look and feel wrapped around my cock…”

“Dave,” you gasp again, instinctively rocking yourself against his rock hard cock. The action makes him growl and immediately his fingers are digging into your firm ass cheeks.

“Tell me you want this.” He states, his tone stern and bathed in seriousness.

“I want this. I want… I’ll do anything you want me to.”

His whole demeanor changes at that very statement, his hand coming down on your ass for a hard slap before he flips the two of you so that you’re now sitting on the couch in front of him and he’s standing between your legs. A quiet yelp left you at his sudden slap to your ass and when you’re finally staring up at him once he’s settled between your thighs, you give your bottom lip a bite.

“Look at you…so willing to let a struggling married man do whatever he wants to you.” He smirks, brushing his fingers through your hair before wrapping it around his fist and giving your head a tug backward. “Open your mouth.” You do as he says, letting your tongue hang out in the process. “Good girl.” He smirks, dropping his free hand to start undoing his belt.

Your walls clench around nothing at his praising words, eyes trained on the way his hand quickly gets his belt undone along with the zipper of his slacks. You bring your hand up to stop him from going any further, giving your eyelashes a few bats.

“Let me…” You murmur, moving his hand away before bringing yours back up to yank down his pants, freeing his fully erect cock. Your head spins at the sheer size of him. “Oh…” You bite your lip. Hard.

“Mouth,” he gains the attention of your gaze again, fingers tightening in your hair. “Open.”

You do as he tells you, reopening your mouth and letting your tongue hang out once more. He rubs the swollen head of his cock along your tongue and lets out a low, pleased groan at the warm feeling, his lips parting while he slowly pushes his hips forward until his cockhead just barely brushes the back of your throat. Your cheeks are hollowed out around him now, your hands giving his thighs a small squeeze as you swallow around the head of his cock.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his lust blown gaze staring down at your mouth wrapped around his length. “Haven’t felt a mouth this good since before I married my wife.” You hum around him, wondering how in the world his wife doesn’t suck this big delicious cock? “And I was right too…those lips of yours look and feel so damn good wrapped around my cock.”

“Mmmm…” You moan around him, pulling back as you give a hard suck before taking him right back down your throat, purposely gagging around him.

“Goddamn,” he groans, bringing his other hand down to hold your head in place while he starts rocking his cock in and out of your mouth, keeping aim for the back of your throat since clearly you enjoy the thrill of choking and gagging around him. “You like this, don’t you? The feeling of my cock in and down your throat.”

“Mmhmmm…” You moan, your eyes still set on his dark gaze as he fucks your mouth and throat, your hand moving to rub at your clothed cunt for some sort of relief. You can feel how wet you are just from having him in your mouth.

“What’s that sweetheart? Does that poor little cunt need relief? Is having my cock down your throat turning you on?” He growls, basking in the glory of the sight before him, his cock twitching at the feeling of your whimpery moan vibrating through his length.

“Mmm…” You nod your head as best that you can with his cock buried down your throat, your eyes starting to roll toward the back of your head.

“Yeah? You want me to fuck and fill that needy little cunt with my cock?” He smirks, yanking you off his length before pulling you up from the couch by his grip on your hair. When you only answer him with a nod of your head after he pulls you off his cock, he grabs your chin with a growl. “Use your words.”

You open your mouth to speak until you hear the sound of your doorknob being turned and fiddled with, looking toward the door with wide eyes. You look back up at Dave after a moment and he’s only smirking wider, moving his hand from your chin and down between your thighs to palm at your drenched, clothed cunt.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard, your stalker will hear how good I make you feel.” He rasps so low it makes your heart jump in your chest and your cunt clench once more. He feels the way your cunt moves beneath his hand and it only proves to him that you really really want this. “Yeah, he’s going to regret ever stalking you.”

Dave immediately rips your shorts right off of you, the quick sudden action making your eyes go wide. The strength. His hand moves to slap right against your drenched cunt, which makes you moan out and silently thank the gods for deciding to wear a g-string today.

“Fuck, you are a sexy little thing, aren’t you? So wet and ready for me.”

“Daddy, please.” The words slip from your lips before you can correct yourself, immediately flushing when realization dawns on you. The pleased look in Dave’s eyes, though, proves that perhaps maybe your mistake isn’t a mistake at all.

“Tell Daddy what you want, baby.” He hums as he gives your folds a few rubs, earning himself a few small whimpers.

“I want you to...to claim my little cunt so my stalker can hear and know he’ll never have me the way you do…” You whisper for only him to hear, your gaze set on his own.

Dave only groans, pushing you back onto the couch and moving you into a lying position, quickly yanking your g-string off and shoving them into the pocket of his button up shirt. You bite your lip at that, watching as he climbs above you with his knees resting on each side of your hips, his cockhead pressing right at your entrance. You quickly wrap your legs around him, lips parting with a long moan as he slowly pushes forward and lets your walls swallow each thick inch of his length.

“That’s it, baby…moan for Daddy... What a tight little cunt you have, fuck.” He groans, stilling once he’s buried to the hilt inside of you and allowing your tight walls to adjust to him stretching you.

“You’re--” You moan, squeezing around him like a vice. “So fucking big, Daddy.”

“Fuck, no cunt has ever squeezed me this good before.” He drops his head to bury his face against the crook of your neck, slowly pulling his hips backward before pushing right back in hard, earning himself a nice loud moan from you. “You take my cock so well, beautiful girl.”

“Oh Daddy, yes! Fuck me j-just like that.” You moan, rocking yourself against him. Dave growls and immediately sets a quick hard pace, eliciting several elongated moans from you.

“Only Daddy can fuck you this good, huh babygirl? No one could ever fill you the way I do.” He purposely speaks in a tone of voice loud enough for your little secret visitor outside the door to hear. If only you could see the rage and jealousy that takes over in your stalker’s eyes, the way his fists clench at his sides.

“O-Only you, Daddy! Only you!” You cry out the deeper he sends his cock inside of your warm cavity, your legs wrapping tighter around him.

“That’s right. Only,” hard thrust against your cervix. “I,” another hard thrust. “can,” harder thrust with loud cries of pleasure from you. “fuck,” more hard thrusts. “you.” deeper harder thrusts.

“Yes yes yes!” You practically sob out your words, your orgasm quickly building inside of you from how damn good Dave is fucking you. This was definitely not how you expected hiring a mercenary to take out your stalker to turn out, but are you complaining? Hell fucking no. “D-Don’t stop! Oh please don’t stop!”

“Who said I was going to stop?” He smirks, nipping and sucking at the pulse point of your throat while keeping the same pace and force of thrusts. “Are you going to cum, baby?”

“Mmmm yeah!” You cry out, your arms wrapping tight around his middle while your nails claw at his back through his shirt, your head tilting sideways to grant him better access to your sensitive throat. “‘m s-so close.”

“Yeah? Gonna drench every inch of Daddy’s cock?” He rubs circles as fast and hard on your clit as his thrusts into your throbbing cunt, your head flying back with a loud cry of his name at the new feeling.

“Oh yes!” You moan, giving your walls another clench around his cock as your hips now rock against his own to match his pace.

“Fuck, squeeze me just like that baby.” He groans, going right back to nipping and sucking at your throat while continuing to coax you toward your release.

“Please,” you gasp, closing your eyes tight as you try to focus all your attention and energy on his thrusts and rubs to your swollen nub. “Please fill my tight, warm little cunt with your cum.”

“Yeah?” He growls, snapping his hips with even more force now, the two of you moaning loud in unison. “Want me to really claim this cunt?”

“Yes! It’s--” your moans deepen the harder his cock hits at your cervix, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. “--yours!”

“Fuck,” he hisses, grabbing you by the throat with the hand not rubbing your clit and moving to kiss you hard, swallowing your cries and moans of pleasure the more relentless his thrusts become. “Cum for me. Now.” He orders and right on cue, you cum hard, your orgasm crashing right into you and making you writhe and tremble beneath him. Your eyes are truly rolled back now from the tightness of his hold on your throat and you’re absolutely loving it. “Fuck me, you are the most beautiful little thing when you come undone for me. Where the fuck were you before I met my wife?” He groans, kissing you hard once more.

His words make your heart leap in your chest again, wondering if he truly means them or if he’s just saying them to help get the both of you off. What’ll happen between the two of you once your stalker is ridden from your life? Will it be as if this night never happened? Will Dave look at you as nothing more than just a one time fuck and that girl he saved from a stalker?

“Y/N,” he groans deeply, snapping you from your thoughts and bringing you back to reality, pleased groan leaving your throat when you realize he’s filling you with his cum.

“Dave,” you gasp against his mouth, clenching harder and harder around him to milk his balls for all the cum in the world, your arms and legs wrapped tighter around him. “Oh yes.”

“That’s it, baby… Take all that cum. Fuck you are such a damn good girl.” He growls, continuing to fuck the both of you through your highs and his cum even deeper inside of you, going right back to kissing and nipping along your throat.

The two of you are panting by the time he finally pulls out of you, your limbs loosening from around him and falling limp to the couch you lay out on. He chuckles at how fucked out you look, but if he’s to look in a mirror at any moment, he’ll see that he himself is just as fucked out looking as you are. Your eyes are closed as the after effects of your orgasm finally pass, only opening them to look up at him when he gives your throat a firm squeeze. You moan at the feeling which only makes him smile.

“Y/N…” He murmurs quietly, moving his hand from around your throat to brush a few stray strands of hair from your face.

“Dave?” You whisper, giving your bottom lip a soft bite.

“After I rid you of your little pest,” he mumbles, obviously referring to your stalker in case he’s still out there listening. He’s not. “If I divorce my wife--”

“Yes.” You cut him off, already knowing what he’s going to ask.

“Really?” He grins, brushing the backs of his fingers against your cheekbone. “You sure you can handle this life?”

“What? Spending it with a mercenary?” You murmur, smiling up at him as he nods. “Would I have had my cousin send you if I couldn’t handle it?”

“True,” he chuckles, kissing you once more. “You truly are what I need to get out of my marriage once and for all. Don’t get me wrong, I love my daughters, but I don’t love Carol. Not anymore, at least. Not for a long time.”

“I’m sorry.” You frown. He only shakes his head, giving you a genuine smile.

“Don’t be. You’re not the reason my marriage is fucked and fallen apart. Her and I are. We just...don’t work out anymore. We’ve built up our issues with each other over the years.”

“Issues that can be fixed through divorce?” You smile.

“Precisely. We’re just...not cut out to be a couple any longer,” he sighs, kissing you once more before carefully climbing off of you and admiring the view of your mixed releases dripping from your fucked hole. “Such a beautiful sight… One I don’t get to see often.”

“Glad I can change that for you, Mister York.”

He smirks at the name, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to the side of your knee.

“Now, let’s get cleaned up and get a plan set in stone to off your stalker.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Dave asks with a concerned look in his eyes and you give him a reassuring nod.

“I’ll be fine…” You whisper, reaching up to brush your thumb against his cheek. “It’s best to use me as bait, seeing as I’m the target. We’ve got this…”

“Okay,” he nods, pulling you in for a deep kiss before slowly pulling back and pressing his forehead against yours. “I’ll be down the alleyway we discussed hiding out and waiting. You remember which one, yes?”

“Yes,” you smile, nodding your head with reassurance. “Got the whole plan right up here.” You give your head a few light taps with your pointer finger.

“Good. I’ll see you in roughly ten minutes.” He smiles. “Please, be careful and on high alert.”

“I will,” you murmur, pressing a quick, soft peck to his lips. “See you in ten.”

He nods and you let him out of your apartment, waiting at least two minutes before leaving yourself and locking up behind you. Dave figured having you go on your usual jogging route would be the best plan, since there are several dark alleyways along the way that’ll be easy to lure your stalker down. If the guy is so intent on having you, why not follow you down a dark empty alley. If only he knew the outcome.

You start your jog down your street with a quiet hum, only one of your earbuds in while you listen to music so you can keep somewhat of an ear out for anyone around you. It’s only after five minutes that you start to hear and feel someone close behind you. Swallowing your fear, you continue your walk toward your destination and when you finally reach the alleyway where Dave is hiding and waiting for your arrival, you turn down it with a soft sigh of relief, making your way down the dark, damp corridor.

You pass where Dave is hiding and when he sees someone in a long black trench coat following right behind you, his fingers tighten around the handle of his knife, ready to make his move if the guy tries anything on you. He wants to wait at least a minute to see what his intentions are, see if he’s sick enough to lay a finger on you.

You feel a hand grab you by the shoulder and immediately pin you to the stone wall of the building beside you, looking up at the dark eyes of your stalker for the first time. You swallow hard, fighting back the urge to scream since you know Dave is right there waiting for the right moment to attack. The man is definitely exactly how Marjorie described, right on the nose, really.

“Can I help you?” You finally gain the courage to ask, a bit of disgust in your tone as you look up at him. He’s too close in your personal bubble for your liking and you swear you can smell the garlic and Camel cigarettes on his breath. “Do you always push random women against walls in dark alleys?”

“I’ve been waiting for this day for so long…” He breathes, kind of a wheezy breath, clearly ignoring your question. His hand moves to gently touch your cheek and immediately you turn your face away from him, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You don’t need to deny me, Y/N...not anymore.” His other and slides along your inner thigh and you quickly slap at his hand.

“Don’t touch me.” You growl, looking back up at him with a death glare. “I don’t belong to you. I’m not your property.”

“Yes you are,” he smiles a creepy smile at you, his hand going right to grabbing your clothed core a little too roughly.

“Hey! I said don’t--”

Your words are cut off as Dave comes and yanks the guy away from you, one of his hands holding a rag and moving it to cover the guy’s mouth to muffle any screams he may make while his other hand repeatedly jabs his knife into the guy’s side and chest. You watch as his eyes widen with every stab of the knife into his torso, part of you enjoying the sight of his pain and the muffled sound of his screams. Is this too much? Killing a man for being a creep? Perhaps not too much because you already know that if you don’t kill him, there’s a possibility he’ll go and find someone else to stalk and potentially harm after Dave takes you away from this entire situation. You’re looking forward to it, really, being free from this city and it’s creeps and you’re happy to be ridding it of one.

“Sorry to say, bud, but you made the wrong life choices.” Dave growls in your stalker’s ear, giving one more hard stab into the guy’s stomach before slicing sideways to gut him, letting his body fall to the ground with a hard thud. “No one touches my girl like that.”

“Oh, Dave…” You whisper, looking from the lifeless body of your once was stalker to your new lover’s slowly diminishing murderous gaze, giving him a smile and earning yourself one right back. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, beautiful girl.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Good afternoon, miss Y/N,” the soft, sad tone of your now previous landlord’s voice meets your ears as you exit the apartment building, giving her a small frown.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Patterson. Is everything okay?” You ask her, adjusting the last box of your things from your apartment beneath your arm.

“Oh no, honey, unfortunately I can’t say it is.” She sighs, shaking her head with a lost gaze. “I lost someone close to me a few weeks ago…it still aches my heart just thinking about it. My poor nephew was mugged and left for dead in an alley a few blocks from here. I told that boy not to go messing around with the people around here since he was wired a little differently and could easily trigger the wrong group of people… I suppose I was right.”

Your blood runs cold at her words, everything now all making sense in your head about how this guy was getting into your building. Instead of saying anything at all relating to her nephew’s death you only shake your head and frown, giving her your condolences either way.

“I’m so sorry to hear that, Mrs. Patterson. I guess some people around here just can’t handle a little difference.”

“Unfortunately so,” she nods, looking up at you with a sad smile. “You take care though, okay sweetheart? And good luck on that new job opportunity you got. If you ever need anything once you get moved into your new place, don’t hesitate to give me a call.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Patterson. You take care yourself.” you smile, giving her a small hug before walking over to where Dave is parked with his trunk open and giving Mrs. Patterson a small wave goodbye, placing the box in the back of his SUV and closing the back door. You quickly climb into the passenger seat and close the door behind you, turning to look at Dave with a tight, nervous smile. “Get us the fuck out of here and I’ll explain everything on the way.”

“Okay?” He chuckles, putting the vehicle in gear before pulling away from the sidewalk and starting your several hour drive far away from here. Once you’re far from your previous apartment building you breathe out a relieved sigh, turning and looking at Dave with wide eyes.

“That woman, my previous landlord...is the aunt of my now dead stalker.”

“Get out. For real?” He asks, glancing over at you with raised brows.

“Yeah. She told me how her nephew was found mugged and murdered in an alley a few blocks away…”

“That explains how he was getting into the building and even found you to start stalking you.”

“It all makes sense now, yeah.” You sigh, reaching over to rest your hand on top of his own, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you again for everything. I truly don’t know where I’d be without your and your help…”

“How many times do I gotta tell you, baby, you don’t need to thank me anymore,” he chuckles, bringing your hand up to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “Now that my divorce is final, I’m excited to start a new life with you...a safer and more happy life.”

“Me too, Dave. Me too,” you whisper, leaning over to press a quick, firm kiss to his cheek. “To the future.”

“To the future,” he grins.

Everything taglist: @halefirewarrior @takemepedropascal @wildcard566 @readsalot73 @talesfromtheguild @msmona @oberynispunk @whiskeyxinxaxteacup @pedrosdoll @ah-callie

#dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york x y/n #dave york x f!reader #dave york fic #dave york smut #nsft #dave york #the equalizer 2 #equalizer 2 #my writing #ohpedromypedro

187 notes · View notes

queensdivas · 3 years

Text

Peonies Chapter 6

Finally getting to the good stuff because I have been waiting for these chapters!!! Like waiting for Chiara to get to this point and for the record. This chapter is very long. Freakin’ 15 pages on my google docs so just be ready for a long read.

But!

+18 and older in this chapter!!! Smut alert (cause it’s spicy)!!!!!!! Once again +18 and older in this chapter!!!

Other than that here we go!!!

Next chapter

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

HOLY FUCK FUCK FUCK!

GOD THIS IS FANTASTIC HOLY SHIT!

My fingers were yanking on his hair as I was riding him to oblivion! His nails dug into my back for the tempo to pick up even more. I could feel his teeth biting hard into my neck which made me squeeze even harder. I never thought that being bitten was such a wonderful feeling in my life! His teeth just clenching into my skin just made it so much better!

“Holy fuck Chiara!” He took in a huge breath of air as I pushed him down onto the ground.

“Scream my name!” I yelled as we were getting closer and closer to that sweet edge!

“GRIGOR AH FUCK!” My nails digging into his chest!

“Choke me.” I stopped to then looked directly into his eyes.

“Do you want me to say it in italian? Ti prego soffocami Chiara.” Holy hell. If that’s what he wants then who am to say no. Picking up my rhythm again as my hand reached down to his throat.

“That’s it...holy shit that’s it!” God I could feel him..Holy hell. My toes were curling from the pleasure as me choking him would fuck me harder! The way he’s moaning is just absolutely stunning and making it so much better! It’s so..fucking..beautiful! His moaning just sends shivers up and down my entire core!

Grigor's hands traveled up to squeeze my breast tightly for then his left hand to travel up to my neck. Oh god he’s going faster! Yes yes yes yes! I could see flowers blooming! Stars exploding before my eyes. I had to let go of my grip to collapse on his chest as he pounded into me.

God I want to stick my tongue down his throat fuck! Turning my head for me to start kissing the fuck out of him. Our tongues slithered around with one another till he basically took over for a few moments. Stopping the tangliging as he began diving into my neck to mark the shit out of me.

“Stick your tongue down my throat.” Pulling his head from my neck to start slamming my lips against him for our tongues to start twirling around with one another. God his tongue can make me come just from this Jesus. He stopped as the final penetration was arriving and it was so beautiful! Each thrust was hitting exactly where it needed to be!

“Grigor! Grigor..” My eyes rolled in the back of my head as we looked at one another. Just watching his facial expression change was just intoxicating!

“Cumming..CUMMING!” Grigors neck leaned back as I laughed since I’ve never seen him in such selief. After a moment he looked up to see that I..I..

“Did you not?” It cued for him as he pushed me onto the ground and got on top of me.

“I may not be able to finish you with my cock. But I know your pussy loves other things besides cock. Ride my face.” My entire body turned dark red for me to slide down and positioned myself on his face.

Dear...Ah...God...I can’t even describe on how. Ahhhhh. My hands began to touch my own breast for my head to lean back to almost fall backwards onto his body. His tongue was going round and round constantly.

My hand went down to start rubbing my own clit to make the sensation feel even more exquisite. Yes..YES! While my right hand was continuing on my clit my left hand began to pull his air. His two bare hands travelled up my sides to then give my ass a wonderful smack.

“Gri..Grigor..almost..almost..” He kept smacking which was the final push over the edge. A wave of electricity streaked through my body in the final moment. Yanking his hair as hard as I could for him to moan underneath my body.

This Russian coldness couldn’t even bother us at the moment from the large amount of body heat radiating off one another. Climbing off of him to then lay down on the cool grass. My chest was rising and falling as we both were staring up into the tree. The leaves are swaying in the wind that was allowing a cool breeze to rest on our naked bodies.

“Holy fuck.” I smiled as we turned our heads to face one another.

“I don’t think I’ve ever experienced something like that…” He commented as I smiled.

“Our love making would’ve been the type you would see in great halls. The greek gods I believed experienced something like that before.” Grigor sat up to grab a glass of water. He took a large sip then for me to sit up and take a sip after him.

“Tell me my dearest do you always enjoy..” Motioning to his neck as he sighed.

“The Emperor told me once that it helps make this more pleasurable. Guess that’s the only time that he’s been right because holy fuck.” I guess so. He wasn’t wrong about that because that was fantastic. Wait..those are hand prints.

“Grigor..I left..” Oh shit. I left markings and more specifically my hand marks from too hard of choking.

“I’m so sorry oh my…” I feel horrible! My eyes drifted over to my shoulder where I had bite marks from what I could see.

“Barbarians we are.” He commented as he scooted closer to me and kissed his own bite marks. I leaned over to see that we still had some fresh bread and I am starving. Leaning over to grab a slice then spread a little jam.

“So when were you going to tell me you’ve been learning italian.” Taking a bite as he snuck in to take the next bite.

“Figured you would be more impressed. A tutor for the children was teaching them French and since French and Italian are very similar, it worked out perfectly.” He had a little jam on the corner of his mouth. Leaning in to lick it off he left a soft kiss on his lips.

“Thieves should be punished.” Laughing as I was extremely close to his face.

“Should I be?” My hand snuck up his chest

“Yes. But not at this moment.” Raising my piece of my bread to then scoot away from him. Grabbing a grape to put into my mouth to slow eat in front of him.

“You should try these grapes Grigor. They taste devine.” Taunting him with another grape as I could tell he wanted to get on top of me and ravish. But ah ah ah. He’s being punished for being such a thief. He took a grape from the vine scoot over towards me with it in his mouth.

“No reward for your Grigor. You’ve stolen from me.” Tapping the grape for him to chew it then kissing my finger.

“You’re too much for me Chiara.” Falling back onto the ground as I laughed at him for a minute. I enjoy a little torture in my life.

“When am I going to see those sketches on Grigor? You promised me.” Looking down at him as he smirked at me. Forming my puppy eyes to have him get up from the grass and onto the blanket.

Joining him on the blanket as he opened his sketching bag. He pulled out the first sketch as it..oh..why am I not surprised that it’s a naked woman. But the details are remarkable. To the smallest details on the naked bodies to small beauty marks.

“Grigor..Grigor this is scandalous.” Chuckling as I went to the next is that Svenska? Now the cold was catching up as I felt him place his coat around my shoulder. This is one of the most comfortable coats I’ve worn.

“How on earth did you persuade Svenska to get naked for you?” Asking him as he started to rub the back of his head.

“Costed a gold necklace.” Mhmmm.

“So you’ve slept with other people besides George?”

“Of course not! Before George yes but as I told you, all it costed was a gold necklace.” Well normally I’m not one for degrading fellow women in this world. But at least my nipples aren’t bigger than apples. I kept going through his artwork to see more than naked women, there was one of a wild elk with such gigantic antlers! I’ve never seen one with such large antlers and a tiger?

“That was my old tiger. His name was Maxim and was a wonderful cat till he ripped the arm off my old nanny. Other than that he was a wonderful pet.”

“You would enjoy Africa and all the wildlife there Grigor. You would be able see a herd of zebras and the elephants. Watch those wonderful Lions attack these prey and even better. Witness a cheetah running full speed at an ostrich!” Then reality kicked in. He wouldn’t come to Africa to sketch some wild animals. Truth be told I have been beginning to enjoy our time together. Even before the wild sex.

“Tell me more about Trento.” He asked for me to raise my eyebrow. It’s not like he’s ever going to visit there in his life.

“Why must I always talk about myself. I feel as if it’s all about myself without even knowing much about you. I know you obviously but I get old talking about myself.” Telling him as I handed him back his sketches.

“Rijn Van Rembrandt. My father took me to St. Petersburg for some business. When I was there I snuck off from the boring meeting to see an exhibition happening. His work Bathseba at her bath was on display and I just stood there. My father eventually found me and that is when he bought me my first sketching papers and pencils.” Kissing him softly to show a little gratitude

“Thank you for sharing with me Grigor.” Another kiss for him to place his hands on my cheeks.

“My mother surprisingly did not enjoy the idea of me drawing. Said it would lead to bad habits and wanting to seek out what is bad for me.” He took the sketches from my hands for his hands to travel up my left leg.

“You’re not imagining your mother are you? Catherine told me that the Emperor thinks about his mother when he does the deed.” I started laughing because Grigor fell back onto the blanket and laughed.

“My mother sadly loved me and always looked out for me in the end. Not to mention she treated me like a human being instead of a diseased child.” My eyes widened at his statement to pop another grape into his mouth.

“You really don’t enjoy him do you?” At this point this is starting to lay the seeds of the coup into the mind of Peter's most trustworthy associate. I’m not saying that all this time has been going towards the coup. Because I’ve enjoyed the time we’ve been spending together with one another. Trust me. But I also came here to help Catherine with the coup. Just took a little break because someone’s cock is marvelous. Oh that was too much.

“He’s a good friend to say the most. We do enjoy hunting together, drinking, and partying.” Not going to bring up George of course since it’s not my place.

“Hmmm. Must be interesting to see someone like Peter rule a country when he’s such a loose canon.”

“Well that’s where I come in my dear. I’m sort of that force that blocks those too mad for the country ideas. He’s tried to establish that the ladies of the court walk around in only robes and their hats. I then told him about the mysert that women hold and that they need to stay mysterious.” Wow. Who’d know that Grigor had such an important role. I’m not saying that he’s not important but he’s the barrier from all the bad ideas. Not all of them but tries his best I’m assuming.

Though reality striked that Grigor will be staying in Russia once I finally head back to Italy. I think that if we continue this sort of love relationship that he would want to come to Italy but I highly doubt it’s going to happen. He has grown significantly a part of my life in such an intimate way that it’s a little hard to imagine that possibly within a few weeks I’ll be going home and leaving this troublesome country.

Yet deep down in that hardened soul he wouldn’t leave his wife for some foreign Duchess because his home his here, his future children will be here, and I will be Italy. Eventually there will be a time that I will have to get married to some other Duke or Prince who the hell knows at this point. Eventually I’ll have to get married and bring some sort of child into this world and continue on the cycle of life. At Least I’m completely aware of this fact and if he wants to come to Italy he can if not then all I lose is a lover.

SHIT! I HAVE A MEETING WITH CATHERINE TO DISCUSS SPEECHES AND ABOUT WINNING OVER MORE THAN JUST THE LADIES OF THE COURT!

“Grigor I am so sorry but I completely forgot Catherine and I are supposed to have tea very soon!” Grabbing my shirt to stand up and slip it onto my body. I then grabbed my pants to practically jump into them. I finished getting dressed to see Grigor and watched me from the blanket the entire time.

“My darling. Come to my chambers tonight and we shall finish this sketch, with a lot of wine and cheese.” Ordering him but in a very seductive matter. Though this may not last forever, I might as well enjoy the time in the present.

“Add some oranges please, and peaches.” My hands moved around to then place my hand right underneath his neck.

“And make sure those peaches are extremely juicy.” Telling him as my lips hovered over his but didn’t kiss.

“Is that understood?”

“Yes m’lady.” He shivered and gave him one extremely long kis to the point I gave his bottom lip a quick suck and bite. He moaned for a moment as I got up from the ground and my boot knife since I forgot to put it in my boot.

“Ciao Grigor!” Swaying my hips a little more to know that he was staring directly at my ass. He is starting to grow on me and these unknown feelings that have entered my core are rather nice. Though this will not be a cliche story of where I just ignore my feelings and take months on them. I’m a little smarter than that.

Making it inside the palace to see Count Orlo walking up the stairs with rolled up maps tucked in his arms. Catching up to him as he turned his head to shake it at me.

“You missed the meeting.” He commented as I sighed.

“My apologies. You going to slap me on the wrist for missing?”

“No. Just you’re here to help, not sleep with the enemy.”

“Think of it as a way for me to help get closer to the enemy. What did I miss?”

“Catherine is going with Elizabeth to the front in order to bring up the moral with the soldiers. It’s a good tactic to get the military on our side and then the church afterwards.” They looked up maps underneath his arm?

“Are those maps Orlo?” He motioned me into the empty room.

We walked over to the big table for him to plop down all the rolled up papers he had tucked underneath his arms. Going through them till he found the one he was looking for. Opening it up to then place random tabletop places. The entire war map was displayed before me as I noticed that a lot of the Sweds were winning this war.

“The Swedish have taken control of Sosnovyy Bor. An important port but not as important as Vyborg where we’re keeping them completely out of.” Taking a look to see how close Sosnovyy Bor was to St. Petersburg and it’s closer than I could’ve imagined. At any time they could easily invade St. Petersburg and we lose the war. Though it would be a good way so that Peter can be bethrowned but now can head into Moscow then to us. I’m going to avoid bloodshed in this battle.

“Orlo. How much has Catherine learned from this map?”

“She told me that she would get all the information she needed when arriving at the front.” Great.

“Orlo. Let me have this map and I’ll go through my studies to see if I can find a solution.” I think I have an idea.

“What are you planning?” Rolling up the map for myself then smiling.

“Making Catherine look like a genius.” Walking away from Orlo to then head to my chambers.

This..this might work.

*The Next Morning*

Since I missed the meeting because of lust and sketches. Catherine came up with a brilliant idea (not sarcastic at all I promise) that we would go to the front to see the soldiers and how the war is going. This is a good learning chance on my military tactics that I was more than happy to accompany her to the front.

Now I understand what she’s trying to do and I’m here to help with bringing up the soldiers moral! But at such Godless hours in the morning. And macaroons? Bring them a feast with warm meat and vegetables! Not sugary sweets! Who knows maybe it will. Catherine does know what she’s doing...most of the time. Not that she isn’t smart but soldiers prefer victories over sweets, but we won’t know till we get there.

My hand was resting on Grigor's bare chest for me to open my eyes. I’m meant to go with Catherine and Elizabeth to the front for some moral and aid. On our way there I plan on slipping a little advice under Catherines greatness. Sort of passing a note in order to get the War moving on.

Scooting over to place a soft kiss on his cheek for him to still be asleep. Fernanda came into the bedroom with my clothes for the ride. She looked at Grigor then making sure that she wasn’t too loud.

“Heavy sleeper. We’ll be fine.” Telling her as I lifted the nightgown off for her to hand me my white shirt. The corset was next for me as I looked over at Grigor who was still asleep. Hopefully this doesn’t wake him up. Placing the corset on my body as I stood straight up to wait for her to start tightening it.

“Holy shit!” Whispering as she pulled a little to the tight. I think my lungs are coming out of my throat! Another quick tight pull for her to tie it up for Grigor to still be asleep. I finished getting dressed and he was still asleep.

“I’ll be going to the front of Fernanda. Let him know whenever he wakes up that I’m not sure when I’ll get back.” Telling her as she nodded. She handed me my belt and sword for me to tighten it. Then finally my boot dagger for safety measures. If I’m going to be with a bunch of men then I’m going to stay safe. I do need something to do on the ride so why not a book. The Spirit of the Laws by Montesquieu, seems fitting.

Walking back over to Grigor's bed side to place a soft kiss on his forehead. This must’ve woken him since he grabbed my arm softly. Opening his eyes slightly for him to get up from the bed and rub his eyes.

“Good morning.” Telling him as he yawned.

“Good morning. Where are you off to?”

“I’m going to the front with Catherine and Elizabeth for the day.” Kissing his lips for him to nod then widened his eyes.

“To the front? You’re not even Russian! So why do you care about the war?” Though he does have a point since they’re not my men, not even my country.

“You do remember that I’m here for Catherine. Where she goes I must go, and if she is to go to the front then I must go to the front.” Telling him yet he was still confused about my reasoning.

“I’ll be just fine. You know that I’m more than capable of handling myself.”

“Let me kiss you for a few more minutes please.” He begged to pull me on top of him and smashed his lips against mine. Sitting in his lap for him to place kisses all over my neck and face. His lips are wonderful and extremely intoxicating. But as much as I would love him to undress me and ravish me, I have to get going for our trip.

“Grigor..Grigor stop…” Laughing for him to stop and look at me.

“Must you go?”

“Yes. I promise I’ll be back this evening and you can tell me about that new trick you’ve learned.”

“Which one?”

“The seated wheelbarrow I think is what you called it.” Climbing off him to stand up next to him.

“Ciao Grigor.” He took my hand to place a soft kiss for me to walk away. I could hear Catherine coming towards the door from the other side. Opening it to see her all dolled up in her appropriate attire.

“Good morning Chiara.” Bubbly and excited in a sense for the front.

“Good morning Catherine. You are more ready than ever I see.” Telling her as we began walking down the hall.

“I’m very excited to see the front. It should be a very important learning experience for me and should help with the coup tremendously.” She told me as I nodded.

“Have you been keeping up with the war?” Asking her for us to start walking down the stairs to the carriages.

“Not really. Velementov can give me an update on arrival.” He won’t have time. He’s too busy trying to win the war!

“But you have to go in with some sort of plan Catherine. Even you would have something like that of the sorts going into it.” Telling her as she stopped walking down the stairs to turn to face me.

“This isn’t a tactic. And I imagine you are unaware of what’s going on in the war just as much as I am.” I love her confidence but this sort of idea that he’ll just tell her his plans. I think Catherine needs to understand the true situation.

“The Sweds have taken control of Sosnovyy Bor and will make their way up the coast to invade St. Petersburg. If they keep Bor they’ll use it as a city to regather supplies, the man power, and then they head to Saint Petersburg. If Velementov gets his head together he can invade Bor easily and push them all the way back to Hanko. Then from Hanko to Mariehamm, take over that group of islands and then the Sweds are back into their country. The war is over and we win. Only problem is that the Sweds have an extremely strong hold Hanko which will require even..”

“Catherine! Oh and Chiara I am delighted that both of you will be joining me on this trip. It’s quite lonely when I make this journey. Come come.” Motioning for us to follow her.

We stood next to the carriage as two servants placed two boxes inside the carriage. I’m assuming those are the macaroons. Elizabeth was first to climb in, followed by me then finally Catherine. What a weird way to bring morale up but if the boots fit then the boot fits.

“Chiara you have such a unique way of living.” Elizabeth commented for the carriage to start moving.

“Thank you?”

“I’ve heard stories like you Chiara. Women who go above the normal parts of society, always leads to such tragic deaths in the end. Poor Joan of Arc was burned at the steak, Artemisia of Caria who jumped from a tall rock in Leucas Greece.” I ummm. I don’t plan on leaping from a rock for the love of my life, and The Catholic church won’t burn me for heresy.

“No matter. Just know that it’s an exciting time to get to know you. For someone who only fucks one person you’re stronger than most.” Oh my god what is happening!?

I must say that Aunt Elizabeth is an interesting sort of woman who I think is as mad as a dog but smarter than most people realize. I believe that she uses her own sexuality to her advantage and sort of does what’s best for Peter. Which is understandable for she is his aunt. But there’s more to her than she’s letting on.

But to the front!

“It is nivering.” Elizabeth was messing with her cape as I was looking outside into the forest. Even though the Emperor is a sack of shit the landscape is gorgeous.

“A bit. But I’m glad you’ve allowed us to come with you on this experience.” I’m glad but I’m just exhausted.

“Oh I enjoy both of your company. You Catherine laugh at my jokes and you Chiara with your wit and spiteful tongue.” I wouldn’t call it spiteful. Maybe?

“Not to mention Catherines tales of German childhood are whimsical, and make me wish I knew what a kugelhopf was.” It’s a cake. Right?

“It is just a cake.” That’s what I thought. It’s a sort of cake that has raisins, fresh oranges, or lemons, and almonds. Mostly served at breakfast time if I remember correctly. They talked for a few moments till the mood changed within the carriage. Elizabeth sighed as she looked out the window.

“You should prepare yourself for a little unpleasantness on arrival.” It’s the front. I’m not exactly expecting a picnic on arrival.

“Yes. Of course.”

“So tell me then Elizabeth. What exactly is the attitude of the Russian army?” She looked at me with a small devilish smile.

“That we will not stop until every last Swedish soldier is dead. That is the attitude of the Russian army.” Leaning in closer to her as I was doubting that answer. On paper yes that would be the attitude, in the history books yes.

“Elizabeth. What is the..” The carriage stopped before I could finish asking her my question. I get that she understood what I was asking in the first place yet she has to put on a brave face to get ready for the front.

The carriage door opened for the smell of blood, vomit, gunpowder, and so much more to come swerling into the carriage. This is what war smells of. Blood and powder. I’m for certain that my great great Grandfather Sir Fabrizio would be proud of me finally experiencing some war. Even if it is just chatting with the Generals. Maybe throw in a few strategies I’ve studied through my entire life.

Catherine was the first one out as I noticed she was in a little star struck and blocking the door. Quickly moving for Elizabeth to come out and then followed by me. My boots sunk into the mud a little as it looked like a horrid place. War is horrid just remember this Chiara.

So many injured..so many dead. How can The Emperor who has been losing non stop allow this much carnage? The amount of lost lives alone, though war is war but you have to be aware when you’re on the losing side! Even I know that much! Wait Chiara. This is war and these men know that they might do for their country, for war is unavoidable.

“Ladies!” We turned our heads to see Velementov and his aids coming out of his tents.

“Empresses and Duchess. How wonderful that you’ve come. You are an inspiration to us all.” Diamonds in the rough are exactly what I would call us at this moment.

“Would you care for a macaroon? We’ve brought 300 for the men.” Ah yes. The Macaroons in order to bring up the moral of war.

“Do you mind if I take a couple?” He shoved two into his mouth and then a few into his pockets. Even I must say when I get back I’m going to stuff my face with panettones and delicious pastas.

“Please. Follow me.” Velementov instructed with his mouth full of food. Catherine looked absolutely disgusted and almost green before my eyes.

“What is that smell?”

“Bodies, mud, horse shit, smoke of cannons. It is not a place for women.” I feel offended. Joan of Arc and Khutulun were on the battlefield fighting alongside the men. Maybe not as much of the gunpowder and cannons but definitely the smell of blood and horse shit.

“If it is a place where Russian men die, then it is a place for us.” Elizabeth responded to Velementov’s statement.

“How is the war progressing General?” Asking Velementov for him to sigh a little.

“We have received some setbacks.” Some?

“But what the peevish Swede entirely lacks is our ferocious Russian fighting spirit. That in the end, always guarantees victory.” I think the Mangolians thought of that once but they successfully invaded Russia.

“So we’re losing?” Catherine and I asked and could immediately tell Elizabeth was burnt.

“Catherine! Chiara! Focus on the men. And only victory. They need hope.” Not my men. My men are in their warm beds with their family not fighting some war in order to prove that you’re just as good as your own father. Too soon? I watched as Catherine and Elizabeth began to pass around Macaroons to the men and put on a brave face. Bread and meat would be much better than macaroons but I understand the reasoning behind it.

“I’m told you’re prepared to pose for a battle painting.” A battle painting?

“Yes indeed General. Whatever will help fire the men’s morale.” A painting? Really?

“A grand victorious painting of the two of you is sure to do just that.” A painting!? So that the men could have a little time for themselves? Never!

“Tell me Velementov. What is your strategy exactly? From what I’ve read it’s been nothing but full head on attacks.” Stating as he took a macaroon from his pocket.

“The Emperor has ordered us to keep full on head attacks to the Sweds.” Catherine and Elizabeth were getting themselves ready for the war painting for me to start thinking about the strategies that have been taught to me from past Knights of my family.

“Velementov. I assume you’re away from the Norman Conquest of England in 1066?” Asking as I motioned for his aid to pull out a map.

“Williams' army contained 2,000 cavalrymen and 5,000 infantrymen with crossbows, bows, and swords. Williams only option was for a frontal assault in order to invade. After a no so frontal assault, William personally led a cavalry charge but was turned back by the Saxon defenses and the horrible weather of England. He was then defeated. Not to mention rumors of Williams death began going around, which we all know was a lie because he was seen alive, rallied his troops and renewed the assault. He ordered his soldiers to fire at a much higher angle instead of directly into the army in order to break their defense.” He looked annoyed as the map was opened for me to look at where exactly the war was going on.

“I don’t need a lecture on past military tactics. I might be a dishonorable general but not a moron.” That’s not what I’m trying to do exactly.

“That’s not what I’m trying to do Velementov. I know that the Sweds are held up in Sosnovyy Bor and from a reliable source that they might head into St. Petersburg.” Looking at a much bigger map to see that the Sweds had locked down Sosnovyy Bor.

“If you do not take Sosnovyy Bor back from the Sweds then you loose Saint Petersburg and then you might as well wave the white flag of war.” He knows and is aware of this. I think that the Emporer is too busy making stupid ideas and jokes that he doesn’t know that the Sweds are literally at his doorstep.

“What I’m saying is that you rain in from all different angles. You block them by the sea and by land to rain down on very different angles. There is only one road that the Sweds can use in order to escape and that’s an easy blockade to form as well. Attacking your own city may not be the best idea, but you save St. Petersburg from those damn Sweds. You then push them back to Hanko to surround them there.”

“You are a rare flower..a flower that blooms in the middle of a battlefield full of dead soldiers.” Velementov commented for me nod.

“One must have an understanding of war if one is to lead. Atleast I get the chance to actually understand tactics.”

“Whenever I am back at the palace. I might call upon you for more advice on war.” Picking my hand up to kiss it. Yeah this won’t be happening in a lifetime and even if he was the last man on earth I still wouldn’t sleep with him.

The carriage ride was dead silent before me. I could tell both Catherine and Elizabeth were beside themselves on having to stand on top of dead soldiers for a portrait. While I on the other hand feel extremely successful for sort of conducting my own first military tactic. Hopefully they can take back Bor and all will be settled.

“Stop!” Elizabeth ordered to bang her cane on the top of the carriage. We stopped as I looked up from my book.

Elizabeth climbed out of the carriage to stand in the middle of the forest. She began to hollar, kick, and looking like she was going to rip her own hair out of her body. That’s one way to deal with your problems and no wonder she’s kept herself sane. We looked at each other for me to wonder what that was about. Then back out to the window for a little more screaming. Only seconds later she gathered herself back together as Catherine and I watched her climb back into the carriage and place her poker face on to us. Catherine’s mood changed from tears into anger.

“Are you alright?” Asking both of them but definitely towards Elizabeth.

“Of course. Whatever it was is floating on the wind now. Do you need to? Both of you? We can stop.” Though I do feel the pain of these men. This is not my country and hasn’t affected my day to day life when I return home to Italy. This was only meant to wager Catherine in good favor.

“I need to scream. But not into the air, but at the world for allowing this to happen.”

“War is inevitable, since cavemen smashed each other’s faces in for control of the fire stick.”

“It cannot be. It is a choice.”

“Things that are built in our nature are not choices.”

“Such as our human need to seek companionship.” Commenting to look back down into my book. A macaroon sounds delicious. If a bunch of soldiers can have a macaroon then don’t mind if I do. Opening the box to grab a pink and blue macaroon to pop the pink one in my mouth.

I’m hungry. There’s no need to think that I’m some heartless woman because that is not the case. War is inevitable such as Elizabeth stated and there is no such thing as a permanent peaceful society. Eventually that society must go through blood in order to keep that peace. Both Elizabeth and Catherine watched me eat the blue one as if it was a crime.

“Can’t decide if I can stomach a macaroon or not.” Catherine took the blue box from the ground to then chuck it directly out of the carriage into the forest. There’s no need to waste macaroons, and these were delicious.

“FUCK!” She screamed for me to close my book and place it next to me.

“There you go. Let it out.”

“We have to object to this. We cannot subject men to this nightmare, their lives and hopes extinguished. Russia cannot continue on this path.”

“We will prevail.”

“At what cost?”

“Well, that is the trick to it. Knowing when the cost is still bearable and when it has tipped too far.” Though it is a certain matter that is meant to happen, eventually there is a time to call it quits. Unless you’re the Christians and Muslims and think it’s a great idea to have a war that lasts 780 years.

“That seemed too far.”

“I’ve seen worse. But I admire your heart and fire.”

“I am scorched by that, certainly and will not forget it.”

“What?”

“I hoped it would happen. You are becoming a Russian.”

I think Catherine and I need to have a long talk on ruling an Empire. War is inevitable, war is not a one time deal that goes away after a few days. It is only the continuance of politics but not solved in the halls until it’s too late.

Taglist:

@mirkwoodshewolf @bonafiderocketqueen @johndeaconshands

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels @amethyst-serenade @radio-ha-ha @i-have-a-wonky-eye-too @deck-heart @actuallyanita @the-baby-bookworm @ewanmcgregors @panagiasikelia

52 notes · View notes

cecilysass · 3 years

Text

Jackson Van De Kamp’s Not-So-Final Repose (2/3)

Read on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter | @today-in-fic

Act Two

The FBI agent standing on the edge of the café, unlike the boy, recognizes the old man immediately.

Fox Mulder gives the man a confused look, a look that could mean anything from, huh, there is someone I haven’t seen for a long time, to huh, there is someone whom I personally know to be dead.

It makes the old man uneasy, but only for a moment.

“Mr. Bruckman,” Mulder says, conversationally, as he walks to the table, his tone cheerful. “Clyde Bruckman. It’s been a while.”

“Agent Mulder,” the old man says. He gestures with his hand towards the empty chair in front of him, the same way he had with the boy. “Iced tea?”

There are two glasses of iced tea now, and even a menu, glossy robin’s egg blue with a geometric border, sitting on the table. The details of the dream are getting more complicated, the old man notes. He wonders why. Jackson’s mind is a very thick forest.

Mulder, settling into the chair, looks down at the iced tea, scowling thoughtfully. He picks it up and takes a big gulp.

“This is a dream, I assume, Mr. Bruckman? Since you died more than twenty years ago?”

“That long, huh?” The old man gives Mulder the same enigmatic smile he previously gave the boy. “Yeah, it’s a dream. You’re very smart.”

“But it’s not my own dream, I don’t think. I’m a visitor. Am I right?”

“Right,” the old man says. “Don’t worry about whose dream it is. Not important. I have more important business.”

Mulder looks interested. “Oh yeah? Are you going to tell me about my death?”

“No, no,” the old man waves his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about that either.”

The train whistle is audible again, and Mulder looks about, his eyes very bright and alert. He twists around to try to see the train, in vain. “It’s so strange about this place. It reminds me exactly of a train station I remember in London, but little details are all … off, somehow.”

“You’ve been to London, huh?”

“I went to college in England,” Mulder says. He can’t seem to sit still; he keeps looking around at the menu, the table, the billboards. “Of course that was a long time ago now.”

The old man scratches his chin, looks at Mulder, considering him. “I’m sort of surprised by you.”

“How so?” Mulder took a big gulp of iced tea.

“Someone comes to you in a dream, it seems like they must have an important message. But you don’t seem very curious about my message for you at all.”

“Oh, I am, Mr. Bruckman. I don’t mean to be rude,” Mulder smiles. “I just am sort of fascinated by this dream environment. It raises lots of questions.”

“You mentioned the train station,” the old man says. “What else?”

“Have you looked at this menu?”

The old man picks up the menu and opens it. It is filled with text, top to bottom, and even some illustrations of sandwiches, but every bit of text is unintelligible, full of syllables with accents above them that make up no language the old man knows.

“Gibberish,” the old man says, scowling.

“Gibberish would make more sense to me,” Mulder says. “Gibberish would just be random filler text from someone’s unconscious mind. But that isn’t gibberish. I happen to know what language that is: it’s Navajo. Now why is that menu in Navajo?”

“God, I have no idea,” says the old man, staring at it in alarm.

“So this isn’t your dream?” Mulder asks, looking around.

“Dead people don’t dream,” the old man responds, as if this were obvious.

“Huh,” Mulder says. “I suppose that’s probably true.” He looks at him closer. “I have thought about your dream sometimes, Mr. Bruckman, in the years since. The dream you told me about. It left a particular impact on me due to the way you died. I am sorry, by the way, about how that unfolded. I know Scully was, too.”

The old man shifts uncomfortably, takes a sip of his iced tea.

“I don’t miss being alive,” the old man says. “Only some things. Like, uh, Hydra cookies.”

There is the smallest of pauses, the tiniest of pauses. Mulder’s eyes narrow almost imperceptibly.

“Mr. Bruckman,” Mulder says, watching him closely, “that dream you told me about. What was it, again?”

“I don’t remember,” the old man says. “Who can remember a dream from 20 years ago after being dead?”

“But you had it so many times,” Mulder says softly.

“Dying kills brain cells,” the old man says.

“Mr. Bruckman,” Mulder says, “what was your favorite Big Bopper song, again?”

The old man cradles his chin in his hands, staring at Mulder. He says nothing. He has no idea who the Big Bopper is. The name reminds him vaguely of the name of an Atlanta rapper some classmate spent a long time telling him about back in school, but he knows it is probably not the same guy.

The jig is up.

“Jackson?” Mulder says, his eyes wide.

“Dad,” the old man answers, slight sarcasm coloring his voice. “I had you going for a while there, didn’t I?”

“This is your dream, then?” Mulder’s voice is mostly calm, but Jackson can hear the slight tremor.

“Yeah,” Jackson says, as the old man.

“Can you show me your own body?”

Jackson allows himself to appear there as Jackson, still holding the glass of iced tea, facing his father with the similar hair and build.

“You’re alive,” Mulder says, his voice still not entirely steady.

“Yeah.”

“Why … why were you appearing to me as Clyde Bruckman? How do you even know about Clyde Bruckman?”

Jackson smirks a little and shifts in his seat. “I didn’t know his name until you said it, but I did meet him a few minutes ago, before you came.”

Mulder looks baffled. “Really? How? Why?”

“No idea,” Jackson says. “He said I brought him here. I don’t get how ... but he was a funny guy. He loves my mom and thinks you’re a dick. He thinks I take after you.”

“He was dead before you were even born,” Mulder says, blinking.

“I figured that much out.”

Mulder looks at his hands. “Hey, listen. Did, uh, Spender or someone tell you that …”

“That I am not your son?” Jackson says.

There is an awkward pause. Mulder clears his throat.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t think of you like my son,” Mulder adds. “I’m always going to think of you as my son. You will always be ...”

“Bruckman said that Spender lied,” Jackson interrupts. “And that’s what I see, too. In my own ... you know, visions.”

Mulder stares hard back at him. His mouth hangs open slightly.

Jackson isn’t sure what else to say. He shrugs.

“So it looks like you’re stuck with me. Genetically speaking.” He meets Mulder’s eyes. “I mean, I think we do look sort of alike, right? Our builds. And … well, Bruckman said we were both dicks. And dumb in love.”

“Dumb in love you get from your mom,” Mulder says, his voice creaky. “I am a goddamn genius in love. I punch way above my weight.”

Jackson smiles a little. “It does seem like it.”

“You have no idea,” Mulder says.

They look at each other in silence for a moment.

“So … uh … where are we?” Mulder gestures around him.

“King’s Cross station,” Jackson says, sullenly. He is ashamed of this unoriginal childish fancy of his subconscious.

“Like in London,” Mulder looks around again, intrigued. “That’s what I thought. But not exactly. It’s not right, exactly.”

Jackson regards him curiously. Is it possible his father has lived through the first decades of the twenty-first century without a passing familiarity with the Harry Potter story? But then, Jackson realizes, Mulder didn’t have a kid, and he does seem like kind of a weird, isolated guy.

“Well, I’ve never been there, to London,” Jackson says flatly. “But King’s Cross station is part of a dream heaven in a book I used to like as a kid. So I guess it looks like I used to imagine the train station from the book or the movie, not like it does in reality.”

“Wait, Harry Potter, right?” Mulder says, clearly recalling hearing something about it, and eager to demonstrate he is not such a weirdo after all.

Jackson shrugs. “I’m not into it any more. I guess it is still somewhere in my head, though.”

Mulder fingers the rim of the iced tea glass, and looks up at Jackson. “I do wish I had known you when you were a kid,” he says, his voice rough. “That’s sort of the understatement of the century.”

“Eh, I wasn’t so great,” Jackson says. “I was basically like I am now, but shorter.”

Jackson feels like he needs to make jokes to cheer the FBI agent up, to break the tension. He doesn’t always feel pressure to make others feel comfortable like this, and he wonders where it comes from.

Mulder smiles, then leans back in his café chair, swirling his iced tea glass around a little so the ice clinks. “So did you ask me here on purpose, Jackson? Or did I just show up uninvited?”

“On purpose,” Jackson says. “I made you come here on purpose.”

“Huh,” Mulder says, looking at him carefully. “Do we have something to talk about?”

“Yeah,” Jackson says. “We do.” He flips his fingers through his hair, tries to think about how to do this. He liked the idea of doing it as Bruckman better, but this is, he admits, more honest, a better start with his father.

“You’re having trouble thinking about how to say it?” Mulder says.

“I think I need to start to come back and, uh, meet with you and my mother again,” Jackson says. “Because I want to protect … her.”

Mulder looks surprised. “Protect your mother?”

“No. My mother doesn’t really need protection. She has herself — and you. I meant, you know… the baby.”

Mulder stares at him again. He opens his mouth, then closes it, then runs one hand up and down the side of his face.

“How could you possibly know…”

“She will need to be protected when she is a baby. And when she is a little girl.”

“I, uh … I just found out about the pregnancy myself,” Mulder says slowly, looking at him closely. “You seem to know … a sex.”

“She’s my sister,” Jackson tried to explain. “She’s going to be my little sister. My only sister. And that man Bruckman said she will be there for me my whole life. He said … she will be important to me. I want to protect her. I need to. Can you get that?”

Mulder’s eyes become very soft, misty.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, Jackson, I get that.”

He stares at Jackson, and takes a drink of iced tea, and Jackson realizes that Mulder’s eyes are actually spilling over with tears. Many tears.

That’s when it hits him, something from his research about the FBI agents. His father had lost a little sister, had spent years looking for her, only to find out she was long dead.

Jackson doesn’t like to be a jerk. He awkwardly reaches to touch the man’s elbow, then moves his hand away quickly. He is truly terrible at this.

“I, uh, forgot about your sister,” he says. “I’m sorry. I probably said that … in a weird way. I wasn’t trying to be weird.”

“No, it’s all right,” Mulder says, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “It’s just I am an old man now, and I have been hit with a lot in the past few days, and I wasn’t expecting the one-two emotional punch of father and brother baggage all at once there, you know?”

“Congratulations on the baby,” Jackson says dully. He is actually being bizarrely emotionally open, for him, but the FBI agent wouldn’t know that, because he doesn’t know him.

“Thank you. It’s surreal. This is all surreal. Because... a baby? For so long you’ve been the baby. In my mind. I don’t even know how to think about a new baby.”

Jackson smiles a little. It’s hard not to be touched by these parents who have held on to him for so long, even if they are strange and their motives are so hard to understand.

“Did Bruckman say anything else about your sister?” Mulder says, leaning forward. “What she’s like? Good at science? Red hair?”

Jackson shakes his head. He hadn’t thought to ask much.

“It’s good you two will be close,” Mulder says, sounding dazed. “Especially since your mom and I are no spring chickens, and we won’t be around for as long as we might want, in her life. It’s good she will have you. It’s all actually … miraculous.”

Mulder blinks, clearly still thinking about this. He wipes his eyes again, the tears still there. “Can I ask you why you brought me here for this, Jackson? Why not your mom, too?”

Jackson looks down at the pattern on the edge of the menu. “It’s not easy for me,” he said. “I am not sure why, exactly. I have to do it a step at a time. And mothers, they, uh, sort of pack the biggest emotional punch, right? No offense.”

“None taken,” Mulder says, gently. “I had a mother once. And I am ... pretty emotionally attached to yours myself.”

“Especially because it’s like I have little pieces of her life in my head, like, all the time, so I have always had some connection, but I don’t know which parts are real and which parts aren’t, and it’s … so confusing and painful. When you think something is real, and it’s not?”

Jackson stops talking, shocked he has said this much, that he has said things he didn’t even realize were true until he said them out loud.

“Yeah,” Mulder says, his hand reaching out to touch Jackson’s arm, “that does seem confusing and painful. You can take it as slow as you want to. She will get it.”

“It’s not that I don’t care,” Jackson says. “It’s sort of the opposite.”

“She will get it,” Mulder smiles. “I will tell her. Her love is … really, really big, Jackson.”

They look at each other for a moment. Jackson thinks the moment should make him uncomfortable, but it doesn’t, somehow.

Read on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

#x-files fanfic #the x files #fox mulder #dana scully #jackson van de kamp #todayinfic #msr #thank you for reading

5 notes · View notes

jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets · 3 years

Text

Sounds of Someday - CH 2

Title: Sounds of Someday

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Destiel

Rating: E (eventually)

Tags: canon typical violence, character death, kind of cuz you know, nothing really dies in Supernatural, smut, fluff, bit of angst

Summary: Sam was dead, Cas was lost forever, and Dean's entire world had been turned upside down in less than an instant. He was alone, again, a typical Winchester ending, but god damn if that was how he was going to leave it. He was going to get Sam back, he was going to get Cas back, and he was going to fix everything that had fallen apart, and now he was going to do it all with twin babies and the king of hell back on his side. Season sixteen… here we go.

MASTERLIST

AO3

*** My works are not to be posted on any sites without my permission! But comments and reblogs are love! <3 Please and thanks!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter two

Jody Mills tapped the wooden spoon in her hand on the side of the pot, splattering her famous spaghetti sauce all over the white of her stove top. The doorbell rang again, followed by a persistent knocking as she scowled into the pot of sauce, angrily dropping the spoon into the empty sauce can beside her. She swiped her half full wine glass off the counter as the knocking and ringing continued, and she stormed towards the door wondering who would have the gaul to be so arrogant on a Sunday afternoon.

"I'm coming, I'm coming, keep your pants on, yeesh!" She called out, grumbling to herself about the arrogance of some people as she finally made it to the door. She quickly swung it open, ready to give the person on the other side a huge piece of her mind, but instead she only managed a stunned, "Dean?!"

"Jody," he breathed.

"Dean Winchester! Where the hell have you been?!" Though it wasn't exactly the warm welcome Dean had been hoping for, he was still happy to have this nonetheless. "I haven't heard from you in ages, and now you just randomly show up on my doorstep, unannounced, on a Sunday afternoon? And those…" She looked down to the two car seats, one in each of his hands and pointed to them, "Are… are those babies? You have babies?!"

He just nodded and looked to her with his still red rimmed eyes and tear stained cheeks. When she was finally able to take him fully in, getting past the initial shock of seeing him after so long with no word as to why, she realized there must be more to this then at first glance and quickly ushered him inside. "Let's get you all inside, I do believe I'm entitled to a very lengthy and detailed explanation of what the hell's going on here."

~~~~~~~~~~~

"You were dead?"

Jody looked up at Dean from where she was sitting on the couch across from him, playing with the babies in the car seats where they sat on her coffee table. He just looked back at her with a solemn expression and nodded.

"Yeah, or at least I thought I was. Turns out I was just in some sort of Chuck induced fever dream for four years."

"And Sam?"

It wasn't missed on Jody the way Dean's entire being died with the question, the already dimming light completely fading from his eyes. She already had her answer.

"He's dead, he's back at Bobby’s right now," he confirmed with a nod, "and Cas is… he's gone too, the Empty took him."

"When the hell did that happen?!"

Dean just shook his head, thinking back. He wasn't sure if he should tell her, hell he wasn't even sure if he was ready to say it out loud himself. But he figured who better to bear it all to then Jody, a woman who had basically been his mom for years now.

So he nodded to himself, trying in a way to convince himself it was okay, then scrubbed a hand down his face as he looked up to her, "It, uh… it happened right after he allowed himself to be truly happy."

She gave him a questioning look and asked, "And that was how?"

"He…" He waited a beat, took a deep breath, then continued, "He told me he loved me."

Jody's eyebrows shot nearly straight into her forehead, and her bottom lip shrugged out almost in that typical Winchester way. "Well, okay, yeah, that makes sense."

"That… that makes sense?" He scrunched his face at her, "The hell is that supposed to mean?!"

"Exactly what it sounds like," she chuckled lightly, "you two were always so oblivious. Everyone knew that you were both in deep for each other, the only two who didn't know it was you. At least one of you finally said something."

"Yeah," he scrubbed his face again and sighed into his hands, "and as soon as he did, the Empty took him away. He never should have made that deal with the Empty. He let himself be happy, told me he loved me, and then to save me he let the Empty take him away from me for it. I didn't have a chance to say anything before he was gone. I just… I just stood there like an idiot."

"But you're gunna save him right?" She asked, then turned a wide smile on one of the babies as they cooed at her.

"What?”

“Oh don't you play me for a fool, Dean Winchester,” she eyed him from the side, “I know you, and I know that even if it takes everything you’ve got, you will find a way to bring back both your brother and Cas. You'll have your chance to talk to Cas about this, I'm sure of it.”

“But that's just the thing Jody, I can't do that anymore,” he gestured to the two little ones in front of him, “I have these two now, kids, I can't go running around all reckless like I used to. I have to make sure I’m there for these two, I have to be a good dad.”

“Seems you're off to a good start at least, thinking like that,” she smiled at him softly, “but I'm sure together we can find a way around this. We'll find a way to bring them back without having to go the familiar route of the typical Winchester sacrifice.”

He just nodded, thankful but not really knowing exactly how to put in words just how much that all meant to him.

“And if you decided that you wanted to keep hunting after we got them both back, then we'll find a way around that too, I know it’s important to you.”

She reached over and placed her hand on Dean's knee, giving it a little shake. He managed to give her the smallest hint of a smile, which she returned, then looked back to the two small bundles still cooing on her coffee table.

“I still can't believe that these two precious little munchkins are God and the Darkness. Two very horrible people we once tried to kill,” she looked up from the babies, “how… how do you feel about that, I mean, the last time I saw you, you were pissed at Chuck and now you're raising him.”

“It's… an interesting development,” he stood from the chair across from Jody and moved to sit beside her, looking at both the babies. Chuck was still awake, wide eyed and looking at everything, and Amara was sound asleep in the car seat beside him. He smiled a little, lifting his hand to run his finger down Chuck's little cheek, “I know who they were, but they aren't that anymore, they're just babies now, human. No power, no memories, just little Chuck and Amara Winchester. A once God turned human and his now equally human twin sister.”

“Wait, Winchester? I was wondering what you would be doing for last names.”

“I don't really have much of a choice.” He reached into the side pocket of Chuck's seat, pulling out the envelope he had found earlier and handed it to Jody.

She gave him a curious look then turned to open it, dumping the contents into her lap. She rifled through, looking at every piece, eyes widening as she went deeper.

“Did Chuck do this?!”

Dean nodded, “Just before he blew us back to reality.”

“Birth certificates,” she lifted each piece as she said it, “he made both of them Winchesters, officially. Guess he thought of everything.”

“Not everything,” Dean grumbled, “he zapped the three of us back here with no supplies for the babies, no formula, no diapers, no cribs, no place to live, and it's going to be hard to find a place by myself that's going to take an ex-hunter single dad with two kids and a dog.”

“You're not going back to the Bunker?”

“No,” he answered a bit too fast, then sighed, “no, not right now at least. I… I just can't right now after losing Sam and Cas.”

She nodded, understanding how he felt. “Well you know, i've got some extra rooms in the house since the girls left. Claire’s never here aside from a quick visit to check in for the sake of my sanity between hunts, Patience is off to college so she'll be back in the summer but that's it, and Alex is still working at the hospital in town but she's now all moved in with her boyfriend. That gives you a room for yourself, a room for the twins, and then we still have a spare room for when the girls come to visit.”

“Are you… you want me to move in here?”

“Why not?” She shrugged.

“Jody, I can't just move in with no notice like this, I don't wanna impose on you.”

“Dean, honey, you are not imposing,” she placed a hand on his knee and gave it a light squeeze, “I am happy to help. So you, the babies, and your dog are all going to be living here starting now until further notice. And as for the rest, the supplies for the babies, I can also help you with that. I don't have anything left over from when my son was little, but it's nothing a quick trip to the store can't fix.”

“Jody I can't, “ he shook his head, “I can't ask that much of you, and I've still got so much to deal with, and Sam… I’ve still got to bury Sam,” he whispered the last part, voice cracking, choking back a sob as he tried to hide it behind his hand.

“Dean, please,” she leaned forward on the couch and looked into his eyes, “I want you here, and this isn't something you should have to go through alone.

“I… I don't know what to say.”

“Don't say anything,” she smiled at him, “once we take care of Sam we’ll head to the store, grab what we need for the babies, then you can grab what you need from the Bunker and get settled in here.”

He just nodded, staring at the floor unable to actually look at jody right now, “Thanks, Jody, this really means a lot.”

“We’ll get through this, Dean, okay, one step at a time.” He just nodded again as Jody gave him one last squeeze then stood and said, “Let's get to the store so these babies have food, then we'll head over to Bobby’s… and take care of Sam.”

She left him to sit on the couch for a few minutes, to think over everything and have a little time to process, time she was sure he hadn't allowed himself to have yet, and started gathering her things to wait for him outside.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean pulled up to the all too familiar junk yard that was home for him once upon a time. Home for him and his little brother all those years ago when John was too busy hunting to be a father, too riled up in his revenge and anger to be a dad, too misguided and self centered to be a parent. But all for the better, Dean thought as he drove through the maze of piled up cars, because they found something better.

In those old worn down walls they found a man more worthy of being their father then John ever was. A man who actually cared for them not just as children, but even later in life when they showed up lost and alone on his doorstep. Even on his dying breath he loved them like the sons he considered them to be. In those old worn down walls they felt true love.

He pulled the impala to a stop outside the burned down and broken remains of Bobby's old place. He remembered how he felt the day he drove in to find the place up in flames, after the Leviathans had destroyed it, killed Bobby, ruined their lives. Dean thought they had taken everything away from them. But he realized soon after, when they buried Bobby there, that as soon as he stepped foot on the soil outside that burnt up mess, it was still home.

There may not have been much of a house left, and Bobby was gone for good, but the feeling that Dean always felt when he was there never left. It was something the Leviathans or anything else could ever take away from him. The memories, the love, that feeling of home. And in the end, Dean couldn't think of a better place to bury his brother. Sammy would want to be home.

He got out of the car, breathing in the sweet Sioux Falls air he loved so much, and walked to the back doors to start getting the babies car seats out of the back as Jody drove up and parked beside him. He got both seats out of the impala and placed them on the ground, watching as Jody pulled the new double stroller they just bought out of the back of her van, and pushed it over to Dean.

He lifted Chuck first, holding his seat over the front of the stroller, testing and turning it a few times before he asked, "How…?"

Jody just laughed and reached for the car seat, "Here, it goes facing you, and just clips in like this "

At the simple little snap Dean eyed the stroller warily and reached out to give the car seat handle a little test jiggle, "Is this safe? It doesn't seem safe at all, I mean that was too easy!"

"It's perfectly safe, Dean, you insisted we got the most top of the line everything for the babies, and according to the clerk at the store, and the seven articles you read on the way there, that's exactly what we got. And the articles said it was tested and proven the best stroller in America right?" She laughed as he just nodded sheepishly. "Don't worry so much, Dean, you're gunna be a fine daddy. Now you try clipping Amara into the bottom part of the stroller."

It took him a few tries, but eventually he had both babies clipped in and he was pushing the stroller towards the back of the house. The pire he had already set up before going to Jody was still there, Sam wrapped in a white sheet in the center. He stopped for a moment, not really able to move or breathe as he just stared at Sam. This wasn't what he wanted, this was never what he wanted, he had what he wanted and it turned out to be a stupid fake reality. Everything was falling apart at the seams.

Jody lifted her hand and squeezed his shoulder, urging him forwards. He nodded and walked closer to Sam with Jody by his side, and after making sure the babies were at a very safe distance from the pire, he pulled his lighter out of his pocket. He shifted it from hand to hand for a moment, staring at the dirt, trying to find the right words to say.

"Well, Sammy," he choked out, trying to hold back tears, "I'm sorry. I tried, I really tried, but I couldn't help you. But mark my words, I will find a way to bring you back. I promise you."

He waited another moment before he nodded to himself, then tossed the lighter and took a step back to stand with Jody. They watched as the pire lite up, standing side by side, and there was no stopping the tears now while he watched his brother burn.

"This isn't permanent, you know," she said from beside Dean, "it's only temporary. We will find a way to make this right again. We always have."

He took a deep, shuddering breath and wiped away the tears rolling down his cheeks. Jody shifted over and wrapped an arm around him, "When you're ready, we’ll head to the bunker and get what you need. Then we'll get back home, get the cribs set up in their room, and get you and the babies settled."

"Yeah," he cleared his throat and turned to look at Jody, "let's get the babies home."

~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean stood in the entryway to the Bunker, his legs unable to move. This was the last place they were all together. The last place that he, Cas, and Sam were all together. It was also the place where he lost Cas. Where he confessed his love to Dean, where he stood stock still and did nothing, said nothing as Cas was taken from his life again. It's where he spiralled after that, falling to his rage and anger, feeling the loss of Cas again though this time it weighed differently. He knew Cas loved him, had loved him all those years together when he'd been too afraid to say anything. Losing Cas always ripped his heart out, but knowing how Cas felt, that his hidden feelings for the angel were reciprocated, knowing that they had lost so many years when they could have been together, it made the pain infinitely worse. And he felt that pain renewed as he stood just before the threshold to the place that held his worst nightmares inside. And what was worse was that now he stood here alone. No brother… no Cas, just himself and the bad memories.

"You ready?"

He turned to Jody who was now standing beside him, holding both car seats. He jolted out of his flashing memories of losing Cas just beyond this door, took one of the seats from her, sighed and said, "As ready as I can be. Let's just get this over with."

~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean wanted to spend as little time in the Bunker as possible. The bad memories as of late outweighed the good and all he wanted was to get in and get out. So after putting the sleeping babies in the lounge, he rattled off a list of things for Jody to find, and the two split up to cover more ground faster. And with the promise from Jody that if ever they needed something else from the Bunker, she would come get it so that Dean never had to come back after this. She could tell it was really hurting him to even be in here for this short of a time.

After about an hour the two met back up in the map room, shoving their findings into the few duffels Dean grabbed from his old room, when a pounding at the door had them both frozen and silent. Eyes wide, Dean looked to Jody for an answer who just shook her head, as lost as he was.

The pounding came again and this time Dean's heart felt a little jolt of hope and he perked up slightly. Afterall, it had happened before so why not now? "Cas?!"

"Oi! Someone open up will ya!"

He sighed, but why would he be so lucky.

He and Jody both exchanged unimpressed glances as Dean headed up the stairs to open the door, though just enough to stick his head out.

"What do you want, Crowley?! I am not in the mood!"

"Easy, Squirrel, easy," he held both hands up, "not here to bother you, just came to find out why in the bloody hell the world suddenly jolted back to life after four years. Figured if anyone had anything to do with it, it would be one of you lot. Gunna let me in?"

Dean just rolled his eyes and backed away to let him in. "You could have just snapped your way in like you usually do."

"Didn't want to be rude now, Squirrel.". He strolled in, hands in his pockets and looked around. He eyed Jody at the bottom of the stairs and raised a brow. "Where’s Moose?"

"Dead."

"Ah," he nodded, seemingly unfazed, "and your devilishly handsome boyfriend?"

Dean shook a little at the mention of Cas, but answered through gritted teeth, "He's in the Empty, for good this time."

It didn't pass Crowley that he never even bothered to deny the boyfriend comment but he went on anyway as they headed down the stairs together. "You seem fairly untroubled by the fact that I am indeed alive. Last we saw each other I "killed myself"," he turned to use air quotes at Dean who rolled his eyes again, "back when we were fighting my old compadre in the Endverse world."

"Yeah well, after the last four or so years that I've had, nothing really phases me anymore."

"Assuming this has something to do with the world being frozen. Glad you're back by the way. The world was boring while Chucky had it frozen. No deals to be made, no fun to be had."

"Where were you all that time, huh?" He turned Crowley back to look at him, "How did you not die, what did you do?"

"Ah well, that. I had a contingency plan in place in case one of you clots should be my end."

"Of course you did, what was this brilliant plan?"

"Pulled myself a Voldemort." He smiled smugly at Dean who just furrowed his brows.

"You… what?!"

"I put a small piece of myself in some sorry sap down in New Mexico before Lucifer pulled his second tantrum of the decade, and after I killed myself I was able to use that piece of myself to be resurrected. As for where I've been, it takes time to recover from such a trauma you know, so surf, sun, and sandals."

"I, you… did you just make a Harry Potter reference?" He was still stuck on the first part of the conversation.

And though Dean was confused, Crowley looked almost impressed, "Didn't take you for a Potterhead, Squirrel."

"Of course I've watched Harry Potter," he scoffed, "Hermione kicks ass! She'll be a good role model for the kids when they watch it with me when they're older.”

"Kids..? Yours? You have kids," he turned, looking around the room for little rugrats tearing the place apart, then back to Dean, " Did I miss something?!"

"You have no idea-" Crying came from the room behind them and Dean just closed his eyes and let out a full body sigh, "Damn it, I was hoping they'd stay asleep till we got home."

He left for a moment then came back in the room bouncing a tiny baby in one arm, and carrying another car seat in his other hand.

When Dean walked up to Crowley he had to laugh a bit despite everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. He was sure he had never seen such a look of genuine confusion on his face as he darted his eyes back and forth between the babies. "Is that…?"

Dean just nodded, "Chuck and Amara."

Crowley walked over to Dean, still a little shook that he was looking at two creatures he used to fear once upon a time. When he was close enough he bent down slightly, looking into Chuck’s car seat, "Capitol G, look at you now," then up to Amara in his arms, "and the Darkness. And now you're their… father?"

"Apparently," he placed Chuck’s seat down by his feet and took the outstretched bottle from Jody as she came back from the kitchen, "they didn't give me much choice. Just fixed reality, put me back on Earth, sent Sam to Heaven, and just poofed themselves into human babies with paperwork saying they’re Winchesters."

"And how do we feel about that?" Crowley asked, "You're now father to the creature who made your life a living hell for years, who tried more than once to kill you, and attempted to destroy the Earth. Doesn't it bother you to now be caring for the little hellraiser?"

Dean shrugged. Sure, he'd thought about all that, thought about how angry Chuck had made him, the things he did near the end, and Amara was no saint in her own way. But when Dean looked down at Amara in his arms, and Chuck still sleeping soundly in the car seat at his feet, he found himself smiling as he answered Crowley's question, "It doesn't bother me. It may have bothered me for a split second when everything was being thrown in my face all at once with Sam's death, my reality, the babies. But then I realized that even though this is Chuck and Amara, God and the Darkness, in a way it's not. They have no memories of what they did before they started their lives over as humans, they're just babies, humans now. And I'm going to make sure they're loved and cared for, always, as every baby should be."

"My," Crowley raised a brow as he stared at Dean, a little mixed between impressed and speechless, "that's very noble of you. I myself don't think I’d be able to do the same."

"You couldn't even raise your own son, Crowley. What was his name… Gavin? That kid was a mess because of you," Dean rolled his eyes, "I wouldn't expect you to suddenly grow a heart."

"Glad we're on the same page then," he smirked, then walked a little closer to Dean, looking him up and down once. Dean eyed him cautiously, watching his movements, then he looked back at Dean after one last look over, "although, Dean Winchester with babies, very… dilf of you, Dean."

Dean scoffed, "In your dreams, Crowley."

He just smirked over at Dean, and said in a smooth, deep voice, just barely above a whisper, "Every night," with a wink.

Dean gaped at him, mouth opening and closing a few times, but no words came out.

Crowley then knelt down, same devilish smirk on his face as before, and looked into Chuck's car seat. "Well, now little ones, how about Uncle Crowley helps Daddy get back your other Daddy and Uncle Moose?"

"Okay, first of all, Uncle Crowley?" He just shrugged up at Dean as he continued, "And second, why do you wanna help all of a sudden? What's the catch?"

"No catch, no tricks, no deals. I just want to help that's all." Dean didn't even say anything, just stared him down until he rolled his eyes and tossed his head back, "Alright, fine. I'll admit, you're not my favourite people on Earth, but it's painfully boring up here without the Winchesters around to stir up trouble. And I figure I scratch your back…"

"Cut the crap, Crowley, what do you want?"

"I'm not asking for much here, but when I… died," he drawled, "of course all of hell assumed my throne was up for grabs and gave it to my mother of all people, and when the time comes, you could help me get it back. Besides, I think you could benefit from having friends in low places, don't you?"

Dean sighed and shook his head. He knew himself that Crowley had gotten them out of a jam more than once, and it was always helpful to have the King of Hell on their side in tough times. But he’d be the last person to ever admit that out loud. Especially in front of Crowley.

"If you can get Cas back, and Sam, I'll help you get whatever you want."

"Jolly good show. So we've got a deal then?" He stuck his hand out to Dean waiting for him to take it, but Dean just glared at him, so he pulled it back and laughed, "Joking, of course."

"Right," Dean huffed, then turned to sit in a chair while he continued feeding Amara, "where do we start?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: So there’s chapter two of my fix it fic, let me know what you guys think! And if anyone wants to be tagged for future posts or destiel fics, let me know <3

Tags: @thebridgekid @frostingsfics @frostedej @clairewinchester14 @kitsunecastiel

9 notes · View notes

unsteadygalaxy · 3 years

Text

all is soft inside chapter 12

a miragehound multichapter fanfiction

Also posted on Ao3, my username is the same there!

previous | next

12. give me a piece of your heart

A quick note: I have the Pathfinder's Quest book and I finished it today (Feb 2nd 2021)! It was mind-blowing and amazing and SO, SO GOOD. Unfortunately, this fic can no longer fit into canon because of what we find out about Bloodhound. Don't worry, I won't be spoiling! I had a story set up for them before I read the lore book, and that's the story I'll be sticking to. Maybe one day I'll write some canon things, but for now, this story is no longer canon-compliant. Part of me is sad to have all the answers, but hey! That's what makes canon-divergent fics so fun :)

Elliott practically flies down the street towards the Legends’ apartment complex, bursting with nervousness and energy as he goes. The torrential downpour of rain doesn’t even manage to dampen his mood; he’s got a heavy-duty umbrella and an upbeat attitude that could make the skies clear up in moments. Bloodhound’s proposition hangs in his head, and he clings to it with an embarrassing neediness. ‘Would you like to visit me in my apartment later this evening?’ they had asked, and he thought his heart would burst out of his chest. He feels like a dumbass for the way he had reacted- god, he was so lame. Falling over his words, making the simplest mistakes… What fourteen year old in the area had reached out and possessed him? Whoever it was, he’d have to have a strong talk with them later.

After arriving back to his apartment above the bar, he’d scrubbed himself clean and very meticulously arranged his hair. He’d eventually chosen a deep purple sweater over a light blue button down, a pair of his nicer dark jeans, a black belt, and sneakers to wear for the evening. He’d hemmed and hawed in front of the mirror for at least twenty minutes, rolling and unrolling his sleeves, second guessing each outfit choice he made until he settled. He had decided to keep the sleeves rolled up, but the easy confidence he usually has in himself has chosen to take a pointed leave of absence.

Elliott really does feel like a teenager obsessing over their first date all over again, but he has to remind himself it’s not a date, it’s just a talk. A nice evening in. A nice evening alone with Bloodhound. His cheeks blaze, and the enormity of his crush on them plummets onto his head all at once.

Ahh, shit.

He finally lets his thoughts race and wander while thinking about them. For the first time in days, he lets himself linger on his memories of their face, though the quick glimpse he had gotten had not left him with much to remember. Their gorgeous red hair, their piercing green eyes, the striking contours of their face… They are so beautiful, and he would do anything to see their face again.

A giddy smile crosses his face when he thinks of all the times they’ve touched him on the arm or on the shoulder, or held his hands so softly. They had exuded kindness and compassion in those moments, the genuineness of which Elliott has not truly felt in a while. Bloodhound’s quiet vulnerability in the bar the other night had struck him as both odd and humbling; their increasing trust in him is something he definitely doesn’t want to take for granted.

The complex comes into view and Elliott’s heart starts to pound harder in his chest. It takes a great deal of effort to not run all the way to their door… until he realizes he doesn’t know which floor is theirs, much less which door.

Bzzt! His phone vibrates in his back pocket, and he jumps a little before retrieving it. A message from an unknown number is emblazoned across the lock screen:

Second floor, number 14.

-BH

Excitement and happiness surges through his veins, and he immediately saves their contact information. God, is he really that pumped about having their number? A big stupid smile stretches across his face, and he wants to smack himself. Chill, Elliott, chill. You’ve gotta get ahold of yourself before you get up there. He takes a deep breath and sends a quick reply to Bloodhound as he continues down the sidewalk, valiantly avoiding the puddles.

Nearly there! How’d you get my number?

A reply flashes through faster than he thought it would.

Renee owed me a favor. I hope it is all right that I asked her.

Oh, yeah, that’s fine! No problem :)

He has to physically restrain himself from adding a little heart; Renee or Octavio or Makoa were used to his nonsense, but he figures Bloodhound would only find it strange for him to be adding those things to his texts right off the bat. He’s busy smiling off into space when his phone vibrates again.

I am looking forward to seeing you.

Elliott’s heart practically explodes in his chest, and he steps right into a puddle.

------

Bloodhound can’t stay still.

Ever since those traitorous words had fallen from their mouth, they’d been on red alert, their brain and body a hopeless torrent of conflicting emotions that hadn’t quite settled. They think it’s fitting that it is raining; it seems the Allfather is showing his sympathies in the smallest of ways. The rain patters against the windows in a steady rhythm, and under any other circumstance it would have been very calming. They would have shed the mask and goggles and snuggled into the couch with a book and a cup of tea, but tonight, that isn’t an option. Instead, they’re wandering aimlessly around their apartment- cleaning corners that don’t really need to be cleaned, tending to Artur, and sipping at a glass of water every time they walk by the kitchen.

They’d hopped into the shower immediately after arriving home and cleaned every inch of their skin with an annoying attention to detail. Their anxiety had mounted in their chest until they had had to sit on the cold tiles of the shower with their head between their legs. Everything is going to be fine, they’d repeated to themself over and over again. Elliott would never hurt you.

The thought is ironic because of the stubborn headache at the base of their skull- Boone’s pain medicine had done little to abate the throbbing in their neck. As they think back on their day, they feel a surge of pride for Elliott. It seems that he is finally allowing himself to succeed, instead of limiting himself like he had before. He had truly surprised them today. Where they had once seen hesitation and worry, it had been replaced with deadly precision and focus, and Bloodhound would not change the outcome of the match even if they could. Elliott had been a wonderful sight to behold.

The frantic fear is nearly gone, but it lingers just enough to make them a little self-conscious. Opting not to wear their Games attire, they’ve picked a thick turtleneck, fitted cargo pants, woolen socks, and a slimmer pair of gloves that will hide their hands but not hinder any movement. The mask is laid on the table, ready to be put on at a moment’s notice. They’re already wearing the helmet, their goggles, and the leather cap. They’ve always hated having to pile wet hair under the hood, but their plans left them no choice. Bloodhound hasn’t cared much about their physical appearance in years, but for some reason, the idea of being alone with Elliott again makes them want to hide away in embarrassment.

An eager knock at the door startles Bloodhound, and they very nearly knock over their glass.

Their heart starts pumping in their chest, and their fingers fumble a little as they clip the respirator to the cap. Immediately, their breathing comes easier, and they scold themself for going so long without it this evening. Bloodhound makes their way to the door and opens it, revealing an absolutely drenched Elliott holding a broken umbrella in one hand and a pair of sopping wet sneakers in the other.

“Hey! I, uh, definitely stepped in a ton of puddles on the way here. I usually watch where I’m going but these ones were sac- ski- scattered everywhere, so I couldn’t see them at all, and then of course the wind picked up and shredded my umbrella, so I’m totally soaked.” He shrugs helplessly and shakes the bent umbrella off a little, showering Bloodhound’s feet with droplets of water. “Ah, shit. Sorry!”

They shake their head at him and sigh, and a shiver goes through their body as they think about being drenched in this weather. “It is of no consequence, Elliott, I can very easily change socks. Please, come in,” they say, and they lead him into their apartment.

They try not to look at him as he takes in their apartment, suddenly insecure about how simple and bare it looks. The apartment had come furnished, but it is not quite to their tastes. Bloodhound prefers a more homey and warm feel, not the modern, sleek look that is so popular these days. The windows in the living room are quite large. Bloodhound had had a tinted effect added to them immediately- for their anonymity and so the light coming in would not be quite so harsh on their sensitive eyes. The furnishings are a combination of aesthetically pleasing colors and fabrics, all tones of white or grey or brown. A couple of plush blankets are draped over the back of the couch, and minimalistic frames are hung on the walls, great white voids containing typeface quotes and old cliches. The fireplace is an inordinate monolith of dark stone, and if Bloodhound had thought of it, they would have started a fire to make it seem less dull and boring. The thought occurs to them that they should have made this place more welcoming, but they are not vain enough to care in the long run. After all, will Elliott even want to return after he receives the answers to his questions? Bloodhound thinks not.

“Wow,” Elliott remarks, leaning his umbrella against the wall by the door. “It’s so clean.” He strips off his socks and rolls up his pants a little so the soggy ends aren’t rubbing around his ankles. The cuffs fit tightly around his very sculpted calves, and Bloodhound blushes before looking away pointedly.

“This space is not to my tastes,” they reply, watching him walk around. “My real home is much more notalegt- cozy- and warm. Not cold and unfeeling like this place is.”

“Your real home?” he asks, glancing at them. “You don’t live in the Legends complexes full time?”

“I stay in the buildings during the on season, but during the off season, I retreat to a modest cabin in the woods,” they explain, and they realize they’ve made their first confession of the night. That... wasn’t so bad. “There are bookshelves from floor to ceiling, a large fireplace, plenty of furs to keep warm, and a view that would take your breath away. I quite enjoy it.”

“That sounds amazing,” he grins. That smile… Bloodhound has to take a deep breath.

“Maybe I will show you one day,” they say, surprising themself with how easily they offer. “It is a beautiful place, and I think you would like it.”

“Really?” he asks, surprised. “You’d, uh… you’d let me go with you?”

“Perhaps,” they murmur, and their heart starts to beat hard in their chest again. They notice he’s still carrying his wet shoes and socks, and they move to take them from him. “Here. Let me start a fire. Your shoes and socks will be dry in no time.”

“Oh, thank you!” he replies cheerily, and the smile he gives them makes their heart skip a beat. They take the soggy items from him, cringing a bit at the questionable texture, and set them on the mantle for a moment. Overly aware of how closely he’s watching them, they kneel down, turn the gas knob, and light the fire quickly. In moments, a rosy glow emanates from the fireplace and Bloodhound pulls the screens over to eliminate any chance of Elliott’s things going up in flames. They reach up and place the shoes and socks on a small rack in front of the fire, and then they stand and retreat to their room for a moment.

Before long, they return to the living room wearing a fresh pair of socks and carrying a pair for Elliott. “Here,” they say, holding them out to him. “So your feet are not cold. It can be drafty in here when it rains.”

A pink tinge comes to his cheeks, and he accepts them hesitantly. “You’re way too nice,” he grumbles quietly as he sinks down onto the couch. He puts them on and then pushes his floppy wet hair out of his face. “Hey, can I borrow your hair dryer?” he asks, giving them a questioning glance.

“I… do not own one,” they reply, face burning. “Mine gave out a few weeks ago and I have not yet had time to buy another.”

To their surprise, he grins widely and looks away, suddenly very focused on the fire. “That’s all right,” he says, and his voice is curiously flustered. “I can just sit in front of the fireplace for a bit. You’re about to see the fluffiest hair the Outlands has to offer.” He laughs and rolls his eyes, raking his hands through his messy mop.

The thought of Elliott with an untamed mess of curly hair makes them smile like a lovesick teenager, and they’re so, so glad they’re still wearing the mask. “So your hair is not perfect all the time?” they tease, sitting down on the couch next to him. They leave a respectable distance between them, but the distance is smaller than it would have been two or three weeks ago. “Ah, so he does have a flaw. Artur, can you believe it?”

They look to Artur’s perch where the bird has been sleeping peacefully throughout all of this. The bird shakes his beak and gives a soft caw before shuffling along his branch, completely ignoring Bloodhound. They shake their head at him. Unhelpful creature, they think affectionately.

Elliott scoffs and says, “Psh, no! I’m absolutely fal- flo- fu- perfect. My hair just has a life of its own sometimes.” He flips his hair to the opposite side and gives Bloodhound a ridiculously goofy expression. It takes everything in them to not burst out laughing, and they would have given him a deadpan expression if they could.

“Like your aim with an R-99, then,” they reply, keeping their voice as even as possible.

His mouth drops open, but he’s smiling. “Wh-What? Was that a joke? Did you actually just tell a joke?” A huge, incredulous laugh escapes his throat and he grabs his chest, and Bloodhound almost loses it. “That’s a little unfair though, considering how I absolutely lasered you today.”

It’s Bloodhound’s turn to laugh, and their face hurts from how much they’ve smiled lately. “You are correct, Elliott,” they admit, holding their hands up in a placating gesture. “I was very impressed with your skill this morning. Your precision and focus made you a formidable opponent, and I was honored to fight with you.”

Instead of the cocky, arrogant response they have come to expect from him, Elliott actually blushes. It is a welcome change; his cheeks turn a lovely shade of red and he looks away, biting his lip. “Thanks,” he says simply, and his voice is… bashful?

Bloodhound does not quite know what to make of that.

------

His face burns fiercely and he can’t meet their eyes. He loves getting praise from his fans and from his friends, but getting praised by Bloodhound somehow means so much more. Maybe it’s because they’re so skilled, or maybe it’s because he respects them the most out of any other Legend, but such high compliments coming from them renders him a little speechless.

“Hey, I know this is dumb since we’re paid to kill each other, but, um… Sorry about today,” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. “Taking an entire clip of ammo to the head always gives you a nasty headache.”

Bloodhound huffs quietly, and Elliott takes that to be a soft laugh. “Do not worry, vinur minn. I am perfectly fine. It was simply the Allfather’s will for me to lose today, and I am not offended.”

Elliott lets out a small chuckle, relieved. “Well, that’s good to know. I was worried I might have broken your mask.”

They tap their mask firmly, and it makes a solid thunk sound. “You see? Perfectly fine,” they reply, and Elliott can hear the smile in their voice. “It is quite solid and substantial. Unlike much of your humor.”

Elliott stares at them open mouthed. “I’m wounded, Bloodhound, truly!” he rebutts, scandalized. He flops back against the couch dramatically, the back of his hand pressed against his forehead. Bloodhound, making multiple jokes in one night? The world must be ending, he thinks, and he doesn’t even care that the jokes are coming at his expense.

Bloodhound laughs, and God, he’s missed that sound. The gentle lilt, the soft breathiness of their voice… Elliott blushes even as he giggles, and he treasures the noise they’re making.

“I have been known to be humorous now and again,” they say, still chuckling.

Elliott can only smile and shake his head in wonder as the two of them laugh, and soon, he’s wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “Wow. Okay, out of all the things I expected tonight it definitely wasn’t that.”

“And what have you expected for this evening, Elliott?” Bloodhound cocks their head and leans back into the couch, folding their arms.

A thrill of joy runs its course throughout his body when they say his name, and he finds it strange. Bloodhound has surely said his name hundreds of times, but this feels different. Elliott is sure he’s overthinking it, but the way they had said it feels like they were humming a song.

His entire body glows with warmth. “You promised me answers,” he says carefully as the giddiness starts to drain away. “You don’t have to go into specifics but… still, you promised answers.”

Bloodhound is silent for a moment, and their hands fidget lightly in their lap. Then they nod. “Yes. I do owe you answers, so please, ask whatever you would like.” Their voice is guarded and serious, and the shift in attitude is sobering.

Elliott notices how discomfort begins to creep into their posture, and so he resolves to not push them any further than they are willing to be pushed. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, the air hissing between his teeth as he leans back and begins to think. “Okay, um… Well, I was worried about your mask breaking because I don’t know how it works or how it helps. Can I ask why you need it?”

The question only makes Bloodhound’s body language tighten up more. They are silent for several long moments, seeming to ponder and consider his question. Was that too much right out of the gate? he thinks frantically, and he’s about to redact his question when they let out a big breath and begin to speak.

“When I was a child, I was… in an accident,” they say, but something about their admission feels shallow, as if they have more to tell. “No. I made a grave mistake.”

Elliott takes a deep breath and readjusts himself on the couch. He can tell this story will be a long one, and he intends to listen to every word.

“In my culture, young warriors must endure a rite of passage that shows our strength and our transition into adulthood,” Bloodhound explains. “My test was to slátra a prowler beast. I was afraid, but... I knew the Allfather would guide me.” They pause for a moment, and Elliott hangs on to their every word. “I followed its tracks to an abandoned IMC facility deep in the woods, but what I found there was far more hryllilegur. Horrible,” they add when Elliott raises an eyebrow.

“A jötunn had made its home there. It is a terrifying beast, all horns and teeth and claws. It is as large as some of the buildings in Slum Lakes, if you can recall. I began to run away, but I found a prototype Charge Rifle and shot the beast. I thought it was dead. I collected its horn to present to my uncle, but he was... disappointed in me.” They sigh deeply as dread begins to pool in Elliott’s stomach. “I had rejected the sacred laws of the Hunt by using a gun in order to defeat this beast. Artur was steadfast, immovable in his convictions, and no matter how hard I tried to convince him of my victory, he would not validate it.

“I left in anger. I was a child, only fourteen years old, but if the other village elders knew what I had done, they would have exiled me. I was... so ashamed.” Bloodhound swallows, and it sounds like it takes a lot of effort. “I retreated to the forest to be alone, as I often did, and… the jötunn was there. It was not dead, as I had hoped. It sought revenge.

“I tried my best to fight it off. My uncle was alerted to my cries, and came to help, along with many other villagers. They fought, and…” Their voice tightens, and Elliott’s heart breaks. “Many died. Including my uncle.”

Their voice has become achingly vulnerable and soft the longer they’ve spoken, and Elliott wants nothing more than to reach out and take their hands again. He shifts closer to them on the couch, closing the gap ever so slightly. His eyes stay glued to their mask, and the lenses of their goggles reflect the flickering light of the fireplace. He’s always found the mask to be either intimidating or expressionless, but Bloodhound’s sadness speaks for them, and the mask seems to be considerably more morose than usual.

“I sought the beast out,” they continue, and Elliott is surprised by how quietly angry and low their voice is. “It had returned to the abandoned facility. The halls had been equipped with coolant lines in case of an explosion or other emergency, and I broke them in order to immobilize the beast. But I breathed too much of it in, and… it dehydrated and froze my skin and lungs, leaving me scarred. Fortunately, I was able to find an oxygen mask just before I succumbed to the cold. Once the beast was frozen, I killed it with my uncle’s axe, fulfilling my test.”

Bloodhound is quiet for some time, and it takes Elliott a moment to realize they’re done talking. He knows he’s staring, and he knows he looks like he’s pitying them, and he fights to find an adequate response. “I’m so sorry, Bloodhound,” he murmurs, and he reaches out to them hesitantly. He takes their hands ever so softly, giving them every opportunity to pull away. “I’m so sorry you had to deal with such horrible things when you were younger. That sounds really tra- tor- traumatizing.” He’s struck by an incredible urge to pull them into his arms and hold them close, and a wave of embarrassment runs through his body as he presses that urge down.

Bloodhound’s hands begin to tremble in his, and he’s alerted to their discomfort immediately. Their breathing comes quicker and shallower even through the mask, and he holds onto them tighter. “Hey, are you okay?” he asks, worried.

“I-” Their voice breaks and Elliott’s heart clenches in his chest. “I- I am sorry, Elliott, you do not want to see me like this-” Bloodhound makes an attempt to pull away and stand, but Elliott holds on tight, keeping them right where they are.

“Hey, hey,” he soothes. “It’s okay! It’s all right. I’m not bothered by you being emotional. It’s actually pretty refreshing, honestly. Makes you feel more normal, like the rest of us.”

They laugh weakly, and Elliott sighs in relief. “T-Thank you, vinur minn. I just- I am prone to anxiety attacks, and…” They suck in a huge lungful of air, but they’re still shaking. “That is why I left the other night. When you asked me about Artur, I was overcome and needed to leave as quickly as possible. Please do not take any offense- it was not your fault.”

Elliott’s chest fills with a strange sense of compassion and guilt, and he squeezes their hands comfortingly. “It’s okay, Bloodhound,” he reassures them. “I’m not mad. Just… worried.” The admission makes him feel exposed and overbearing all at once, and he really hopes he’s not making them uncomfortable.

An idea comes to his mind. “Hey,” he says quietly. “Breathe with me.”

Bloodhound stiffens, and Elliott hopes to God he hasn’t somehow offended them. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, and after a moment, he hears Bloodhound inhale greatly as well. He finds himself rubbing his thumbs back and forth across their rough gloves, just like they had done to him a few nights ago. He lets the air calm him and settle his racing heart. He still doesn’t really know what he’s doing, or if he’s even doing this right, but to his delight, Bloodhound’s breathing begins to slow and even out. They gradually stop shaking, and he smiles.

Elliott opens his eyes. “Better?” he asks, and he gives their hands a quick squeeze.

They are quiet for a moment. “Nearly,” they murmur, and they pull their hands away. Elliott’s face falls, and rejection begins to rise in him, but they take off their gloves and reach for him once more. He eagerly closes the gap between his shaking fingers and theirs. The place where they make first contact with his skin- a small place near his thumb- tingles pleasantly, and the warmth of their hand settles in his. He inhales sharply, and beams as their fingers curl into his own.

“Better.” They are so quiet and soft as they speak, and Elliott almost misses what they say. “Your kindness is a blessing to me, kæri vinur. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he smiles, trying to find their eyes beyond the lenses of their goggles. Despite his happiness, he finds himself wishing that he could search their face for meaning, for emotion, for clarity. He knows why they need and wear the mask. He knows why he will likely never see their face again. But, damn, does he desperately want to gaze upon them just one more time. He doesn’t know what kæri vinur means, but he can’t help but notice the similarities between it and what they usually call him.

He doesn’t dare to hope it means anything.

...does he?

“Do you… do you want to talk about it, or…?” he trails, attempting to do what they had done a few nights ago.

“No, Elliott,” they reply, but their voice is not unkind. Their grip on his hands tightens for a moment, then they loosen, and it sends a thrill down Elliott’s spine. “Your help was more than enough to calm me.”

He adjusts himself on the couch, and his knee brushes against theirs. The only light in the room comes from the quietly crackling fire, and it highlights Bloodhound’s features with a silhouette of warmth. His heart starts to pound in his chest once more, and every sense heightens. Elliott suddenly becomes aware of how intimate and vulnerable this little bubble of space is, and his shoulders tense in anticipation of something he knows will never come. He wants to pull them close. He wants to lace his fingers in theirs. He wants to…

“Can I trust you, Elliott?”

They sound so… exposed. So afraid. His breath catches in his throat for a moment. “O-Of course, Bloodhound. You can trust me with anything,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumbs across their knuckles reassuringly. He’s surprised by how rough their hands are, and it’s only then that he remembers the silvery spider web scars stretching across their skin.

“Then… there is something I wish to share with you,” they reply, and their hands begin to tremble in his again. They let go of him, and to his utter shock, their hands go to their helmet, edging towards the many clasps that fasten it to their goggles and respirator.

“W-Wait, hold on,” he stutters, and he reaches for their hands again. “A-Are you- hey, you really don’t have to do that if you don’t want to, I mean- I mean, are you absolutely sure?” He stares at them in confusion and worry, and his stomach is an unintelligible knot of emotion. Elliott searches their mask and their body language, trying desperately to figure out what the hell they’re thinking.

“If I was not sure I would not be doing this,” they chide gently, and they remove their hands from his grip. “Please, just let me do this. Ég er svo- I am so tired of hiding.”

Elliott can’t argue with that.

“Okay,” he says, still very unsure. His hands fall back into his lap.

------

The child inside them shakes and trembles horribly as they raise their hands to their head. Part of them screams and begs for them to stop, and it’s only in this moment that they realize that part is the terrified twenty-five year old that had had their mask shattered in front of all those people so long ago. That crowd had been so cruel, but Elliott could never share their vitriol, their hatred. Bloodhound has seen into the man’s heart more than they ever thought they would, and no trace of cruelty exists inside him.

How long has it been since they willingly showed someone else their face? Five years? Ten? Ajay seeing them had been a complete and total accident- one that they had learned not to mind. Boone had grown up with them, of course, so he does not count. But Elliott… At the beginning of this night, they never would have dreamed of doing what they’re about to do. But Elliott is so kind, so thoughtful and accepting that their heart yearns for him greatly, and they can ignore that fact no longer.

Their fingers fumble with the straps of their helmet, but something drives them forward. It drives them to be vulnerable- to be open and take a risk. Elliott has seen their face already, so why are they so nervous? He has seen the scars they bear- why are they trembling like the young one they used to be? They do not know, but they hope that the price of them being so vulnerable is a price he’s willing to pay.

There is no turning back now, they think.

With trembling hands, they remove the helmet, cap, goggles, and finally, the mask.

#apex #apex legends #miragehound #mirage #bloodhound #mirage apex #mirage apex legends #bloodhound apex #bloodhound apex legends #miragehound fanfiction #elliott witt #elliott witt apex #elliott witt apex legends #my writing

16 notes · View notes

theriverpersonshadow · 3 years

Text

Lamia Drama Part 8

WELL THAT GOT LONGER THAN I INTENDED. But I guess that’s what happens when you have a majority of the people in one place XD

I hope this chapter went well... It felt kinda rambly, but it was fun seeing people play off each other. It was hard to get the same level of depth with characters as previous chapters with so many, but hey, interactions are fun too! Hope you guys enjoy.

As always, the species of lamia in this fic belong to @vex-bittys

< PREV | BEGINNING | NEXT >

Keith and the rest found Alex pretty easily. And a few other lamia that were either allowed free roam or had just slipped out. She didn’t seem to notice the onlookers, more caught up in petting Oozy… who wasn’t technically in his hammock. Maybe it’s best he didn’t make that bet with Hux earlier. Sure, Oozy’s close to the hammock, but Hux would absolutely rules lawyer him and demand snacks because he’s not in the hammock. Hux was a rule stickler… when and only when it helped him in some way. Eh, Keith could roll with it though (even if his dice sometimes couldn’t, but that’s what a DM screen is for).

Keith was hesitant to break up the cute moment between the two – Oozy was apparently having the time of his life, and Alex seemed pretty wrapped up in it herself, humming some tune or another while stroking him. Keith listened, trying to place it, but…

She was repeating it, huh? Was that the only part of the song she knew? Then again, it seemed like the good part, whatever it was. Easy enough to pick up too. Keith started humming along.

Hux rolled his eyes, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like “great, two of them” and slithered over, “Yo. Girl person. Ya coming or what?”

Alex looked up, “I mean, yeah, I think? Coming where?”

“nooooooooo…” Oozy said, taking her hand and putting it back on his head. “Sorry guys. I’m stealing her. She’s my personal petter now. That’s the rules.”

“Since when?!” Hux said.

Oozy looked a moment, then licked her hand. “I licked her, she’s mine.”

Keith stared at him in shock, not sure whether to laugh or slap him. “Dude.”

Nikolai gave a heavy sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “Don’t lick party members. Or people in general.”

“How does that work anyways? You’re a skeleton,” Alex said.

“Maaaagic,” Keith said, wiggling his fingers in emphasis. “In other words, uh… Monster biology is weird. Or half monster biology. Whatever the fuck we are.”

Nikolai nodded, “More or less, yes. I can explain it in more detail later, if you’d prefer.” He started coming forward and Alex inched away. Keith hissed before he could catch himself, but Nikolai didn’t seem offended. Instead, he lowered himself in a bow, “And I’d like to apologize for how I acted earlier… I’ll admit I, erm… Overreacted. But we’ve had issues in the past of people coming in to steal babies or eggs, one of the fools tried to snag a mamba egg and got himself killed. I just get a bit jumpy about strangers around them.”

Alex nodded, relaxing a little, but still staring off at a clock instead of Nikolai. Her hand continued to run across Oozy as she said, “I get it. They’re just little dudes, too freaking small. And some are venomous. Not like you knew me.”

“Still, I should’ve given you more of a chance or at least asked you politely to leave before turning to threat displays,” Nikolai said.

“Eh… It was my fault,” Keith said. “I should’ve warned ya I was bringing someone in. Anyways, let’s try this again. Alex, this is Nikolai. He could probably fuck you up, but he’s everyone’s mom.”

Nikolai made no move to deny it.

“Hux here is the grumpy snake. He’ll warm up to ya.”

“No I won’t.”

Keith rolled his eyes, “He’s just a grump.”

Hux mumbled to himself.

“I think you’ve met Oozy pretty well by now.”

“Sup,” Oozy said, making absolutely zero movement.

“And, erm… Nikolai, you’ve got Trousle, right.”

“Hello human! I’m Trousle! Please let me say hi.” Said Trousle’s little speaker. He was poking out from Nikolai’s sleeve, apparently wrapped around his arm.

“He’s mute, but he’s pretty fast at typing. Got his own phone and everything,” Keith said, watching this girl intently. Apparent soulmate or not, if she was dick about Trousle, she was out of here. She might’ve earned Oozy’s enthusiastic (well… enthusiastic by his standards, dude looked like a kid in a candy store, but the world’s laziest kid) approval, but he wasn’t going to let an asshole mess with the little dude. Hux would warm up, that was more him being a bit of an ass than her, but he’d get over it… probably.

“Oh that’s cool! Do you have a phone number? Honestly I think my fingers work better than my mouth sometimes, but I guess talking out loud doesn’t really have a backspace key? But yeah! C’mere… Wait, I can hold him, right? Snakes are just, like, noodle puppies.” She paused, looking at everyone in the room. “I’d offer to hold you guys, but I am literally the second smallest person in here. I mean, guess we can try, but I don’t think it’ll go well?”

Keith snorted. Gosh, she was something, huh? A little awkward, but who wouldn’t be super awkward in this situation?

Nikolai brought Trousle over and she draped him around her neck. He nuzzled her cheek, giving her little scratches behind the ear.

… should someone tell him that she’s not a dog?

…

Naaaaaaaaaah. She didn’t seem to mind anyways,

Hux made a fake-gagging gesture at the two and Keith rolled his eyes, whispering at them, “Oh let’em have this. It’s cute.”

“I’m getting diabetes. Like, right now. They’re just beaming diabetes across the room.”

“Be nice,” Nikolai said, “It’s not going to kill you to have to actually smile at a human once in a while.”

“Yes it will. It’s, like, a terminal thing. If I smile at a human, I will instantly turn to dust.”

No such condition had ever existed and likely never would.

Keith’s first instinct was to back up Nikolai, but it was almost an in-joke that he’d at least try to defend Hux no matter how clearly in the wrong the guy was. Admittedly, it was as often as not either due to boredom or just feeling bad for the guy…

It’s not like Hux didn’t have a point – a point that he had iterated in frustrated, sometimes tear-filled tirades at least a few dozen times. He didn’t want to be treated like a pet, he’s allowed to not want to be a pet. Sure, not every adopter is like that. Some might’ve been looking for pets, yeah, but just as many want a kid or a friend, especially with full sized lamia. It could be more or less just like adopting any other monster, save for needing a good deal more raw meat. But Hux didn’t see it that way… Not that Keith ever blamed him. There wasn’t a huge market for full-sized Corals, their reputation as being stubborn, a bit lazy, and tsundere as hell was cute in something you could pick up and snuggle as it chirped indignantly and secretly enjoyed it – like an extra intelligent, reptilian cat – but less so when it was just as big as you and probably stronger. Everyone wanted a housecat, no one wanted a mountain lion. Or those that did need something to growl and hiss would probably pick Kings or Mambas.

Nikolai gave a long-suffering sigh, “You will not turn to dust if you’re forced to be nice every now and then.”

“Yeah I will. It’ll, like, strangle my soul or some shit. Keith, back me up here. Tell ‘im.”

Nikolai had the distinct impression of a haggard mom trying to reason with an unruly kid. He just looked so done. Dude could handle customers, angry mamba moms, being a jungle gym for babies, and training employees who may or may not have believed he knew he what he was doing, but Hux was his breaking point.

Keith stifled a chuckle, stuffing his hands in his pockets as his mind worked over what to do… He didn’t want to just abandon Hux – Nikolai would know it was just him being a loyal bro – but Alex wouldn’t. She might not’ve been looking at them, but he caught the way she kept glancing over…

“Welp, ya heard him. He’s sick. I prescribe ten CC’s of coffee with extra sugar and bribery with shiny objects.”

Hux’s head popped up, body at attention. “I’m listening… How many shiny objects are we talking.”

“… we’re not bribing him.”

“I’ve got extra dice?” Alex said hesitantly. Trousle was looking at her in concern, patting her face. She said, “I mean, I kinda like having all my dice, but I guess I don’t need seven sets… I’m keeping the black ones though, they’re good for fight scenes. And the orange ones, they were my first set ever and are not for sale. Also, the green and purple ones are just a fae vibe, I’m keeping them. They’re just average, but I like them.” Pause. “And the lesbian dice are mine. They won’t like you anyways, you’re a boy.”

All of them nodded understandingly. You could only play DnD so long and not get irrationally attached to the colorful little click clack rocks of fate.

“That counts as one shiny object,” Hux said.

“There are seven in each set!” Pause. “Well, more or less. I’ve lost some over the years.”

“You’ve got a point… More dice for the dice dragon! Mwahahahah!” Hux said, hamming it up.

Keith’s mouth twitched into a grin as he shook his head at the goof. How was he this cute? Just… goober. His friend is a total goof sometimes.

“Can I try the lesbian dice?” Trousle asked, holding himself at an awkward position to type.

“I… I guess? Just give them back after…” Alex said. She ran a finger across Trousle’s head, smiling as he let out little breathy attempts to “Nyeh.”

“Why are they lesbians anyways? Do they only work for girls?” Nikolai said.

“Here, lemme show you.” She unzipped one of the pouches on her bag and brought out a baggy full of dice that were lesbian flag colored. “My friend got them for me for Christmas.”

“That’s amazing. I want twelve,” Keith said.

“You’re not a lesbian… or a girl! I think… I mean, if there’s something you want to tell us, that’s fine, but I was under the impression you weren’t even interested in relationships,” Nikolai said.

“Maybe I could get, like… Dice that are for people who are just no.”

“Ace and aro. Probably,” Alex said.

“Oh cool. Words for it. Nice!”

“Give me words for friends with everyone! I want a flag too!”

“I… I don’t know if there’s a flag for that? Maybe we could put a dog on a flag? It’d be hard to make dice with dogs on them though,” Alex said.

“Ya could put a little dog face on every side and interpret the roll based on how much they’re a Good Boy,” Keith said.

“That would only roll Nat 20’s,” Alex said, deadpan.

“… good point. It could be the luckiest dice,” Keith said, grinning.

“I AM THE GOODEST BOY. Give me dog dice.” Trousle said, tucking the phone away to throw his little fists in the air, a gleam in his eye as he sat on Alex’s head.

Keith laughed. “Oh my gosh. I mean, that sounds adorable, but, uh… I think that miiiiight be a little too game breaking, even for me.”

“Give me dog dice.” He slithered back down to around Alex’s neck, holding himself out towards Keith the best he could and giving some mix between a glare and a pout.

“Trousle no.”

“Trousle YES,” Alex said.

Troulse nodded enthusiastically, bouncing in place so hard that he fell off and Alex yelped as she caught him.

“Are you alright?!”

Trousle gave a thumbs up, coiling around her arm.

Oozy had apparently fallen asleep on the floor, so Hux poked him with a stick, making Oozy whine. “Soooooo… Are we gonna get Glitterass, or are we just shadow banning him from this? I mean, I wouldn’t say no if we are…”

“We should probably go get him, yeah,” Keith said. “Ya ready Alex? Liam’s a mamba, and one of his eyes don’t work. Try to stay on his good side, literally. Metaphorically too if you want, but he doesn’t like having people where he can’t see or hear them well.” Not that anyone would like that, just courtesy really, but maybe not something you’d think of immediately.

Alex nodded, “Alright, let’s go!”

#Lamia Drama #Lamia Drama Part 8 #Keith #Hux #Nikolai #Oozy #Trousle #Keith the Chain #Hux the Coral #Nikolai the King #Oozy the Corny #Trousle the Papython #Bittybones #Lamia Bitties #Vex-Bitties #Longass chapter #I meant to have liam here too but guess not #Kinda rambly

7 notes · View notes