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nebulablakemurphy · 3 years

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Miss American Pie

Chapter Five: This Will Be The Day (Finale)

Warning: this series features a romantic Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader pairing.

Summary: Everyone has returned but the battle for humanity against Thanos wages on.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

You wake in a coughing fit, the rubble surrounding you sears your lungs. “Natasha.” You call into the rocks and flickering lights. Clearing your throat, you try again. “Natasha!”

“Here, I’m here.” Her voice is rough, pained.

You push yourself toward the sound, through the dust you can make out her hair. “You ok?”

“Mostly.” She’s laying face up, a few scratches visible.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I can’t move.” She nods at the piece of collapsed cement. “My leg is broken, you should go.” Nat says, staring up at the sky.

“I should’ve never let you go to Vormir. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.” You try uselessly to budge the blockage over her leg.

“What is Vormir?” She asks.

“Doesn’t matter.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “How much do you remember?”

“The red room.”

“Do you remember getting out?”

“No one gets out.” She shakes her head.

“We did.” You inform her. “Yelena did.”

“Yelena?” Her gaze finds yours. “You know Yelena? Is she here?”

“Yes, I know her.” You press your lips together. “She’s not here though.”

“The rest of this building is coming down. If you were really trained in the red room you have to know that.” Natasha frowns. “You need to leave.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Don’t be a hero.” She whispers. “Let me go, it’s ok.”

“No, it’s not.” You argue. “I won’t do it again.”

“What about Yelena?” Natasha gives you a pointed look.

“She’ll understand.” This is what she would do.

“Hey,” Natasha pushes herself up on her elbows. “Would it be a good thing or a bad thing if a giant man in a metal suit carrying a smaller man and a raccoon appeared behind your head?”

You turn toward the man in question. Scott Lang. “It would be a good thing.”

———————————————————————

Natasha is taken somewhere safe. She can’t fight.

As the strange doctor and his disciples start opening portals you see that you’re not alone. Through one comes Alexei, Melina and Yelena.

Her white suit is pristine, dirty blonde hair held away from her face in ponytails.

On shaky legs you move toward her, taking your rightful place at her side. Facing what lies ahead together.

Yelena catches your hand, “this isn’t much of a welcome home.”

You can’t help but laugh, “pretty cool way to die though.”

“Very,” she agrees. “Natasha?”

“She is a little worse for wear.” You warn her, “but alive…and safe.”

Yelena gives you a watery smile, squeezing your fingers. “And you?”

“A tower fell on me.”

“Of course it did.”

Thanos’ army is nothing to scoff at. Giant airborne creatures hover over his troops. Larger monsters stand in their ranks, space ship overhead ready to destroy.

Steve is almost unrecognizable, covered in dirt, his shield battered and broken. But you know it is time when he gives the order. “Avengers, assemble.”

Fighting is easy, it’s what you know. What you were trained to do. Fight to stay alive, fight for what you believe in, fight with Yelena; for Yelena.

The two of you move together like a well oiled machine. Like riding a bike, even after all this time you could never forget.

“We’ve got company to the left.” Yelena says through gritted teeth, kicking at the alien creature beside her. Dropping an empty cartridge to the ground and reloading her gun seamlessly, firing several shots.

Despite everyone’s best efforts they just keep coming. “Do we have a plan here?”

“Getting there,” Steve replies. “Anybody have eyes on the gauntlet?”

“Yeah!” Clint rushes past you with the glove in hand. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Get it out of here!” Tony insists.

“What’s happening?” Alexei shouts over the chaos. “I still don’t have ear piece.”

“Just keep their army away from that guy in the tank top.” You grunt, falling backwards from the force of one of Thanos’ soldiers colliding with you.

“We have to get the stones back where they came from.” Rhodey reminds everyone.

“The time space tunnel is completely collapsed.” Tony points out.

“That isn’t our only time machine.” Lang cuts in.

“Does anyone see an ugly brown van out there?” Captain America’s voice hums through the ear bud.

“I do,” a female voice chimes in. “But you’re not going to like where it’s parked.”

After grappling for far too long, you manage to knock the creature from you. Using your knife to dismember it.

“Next time, we get the cool laser guns.” Yelena yells loud enough to be heard by everyone on the network, as she hauls you to your feet.

“Friday, please add laser guns for the ballerinas to my grocery list.” Stark gives his smart ass remark.

“What’s the word on the van?” Rhodey wonders.

“Working on it now.”

The ship at Thanos’ disposal begins raining fire, no regard for their own troops.

“We’ve got people going down!” Rocket hollers.

“Clint,” you call into the microphone. “How’s that gauntlet?”

“Moving down the field.” The archer replies, “I’m alright too, thanks for asking.”

“Good.” You bite back a smile.

Hell continues breaking loose around you. Glowing circular orbs unfold in the air above, providing coverage from the missiles. You’re not sure if this is winning or losing. It feels like a bit of both.

———————————————————————- Thanos and his army are dusted away. Leaving you surprised and still swinging as the shock wears off.

You won. You. Won.

And you lost.

You lost Tony Stark. The man you’d barely known, but offered you clarity that will stay with you forever.

You lost the Natasha you’d come to know over the five years that Yelena was gone. Some parts of the redhead stripped away for the price of the stone.

But she’s still here. Waiting in the wings to be greeted by Yelena and their little makeshift family. You share a look of understanding when your eyes meet over the blonde’s shoulder.

Others come, Banner refuses to leave her side. Despite the fact that Natasha doesn’t remember him.

Clint falls to the ground at her feet. Breaking down at the sight of his friend, his family alive and well. She doesn’t remember him either, but welcomes him into her arms somewhat awkwardly.

Her expressions flicker from happy to overwhelmed. Hesitant to open herself up to the possibility that she is wanted, needed and loved.

Too confusing for the girl who only remembers the red room. Adjusting to this life will take time.

Everyone begins clearing out, their jobs finished. Rushing home to reunite with their loved ones. Tomorrow will bring about new challenges. The world is in shambles, and so are you.

Steve decides that he should be the one to return the stones. His goodbye tells you that he has a bit more in mind. But this is his life. His choices, not yours.

“Well, I guess we should head out too.” You say after a while. Your car is gone, lost in the wreckage from the explosion.

The setting sun is eclipsed, causing all of you to turn your gaze upwards just in time to see the ship’s door open.

“Is that a raccoon?” Melina asks, pointing toward Rocket.

“Do you want a ride or not?” Rocket shoots back.

“Not the avenger’s super jet, but it will do huh?” Alexei smiles, this is his dream.

“This is better!” A man’s voice carries down from the interior.

“Well,” Yelena shrugs, “if you say so.” She leads the pack up the ramp and onto the ship.

“Fanny and the pigs will be expecting dinner soon.”

“How are they?” Melina asks, “have you been taking care of them.”

“That was me!” Alexei says proudly, bending at the waist to gather Natasha into his arms. “Aye honey,” he grunts, hoisting her up. “You are only little girl in my heart.”

Nat pushes against his chest in retaliation.

“Do you mind if I hitch a ride too?” Clint asks.

“The extra stop will cost you,” Nebula stares blankly at him from her seat.

“They always do.” He remarks, trotting up the ramp.

Bruce paces at the foot of the metal grate, watching the rest of you load up. “I gotta hang back, make sure Steve gets there in one piece.”

“After what happened with Scott the first time I’d say that’s probably the best bet.” You agree, standing near the entrance.

“Yeah,” he smiles, kindly. “Keep me posted on Nat, will ya?”

“I will,” you return the smile.

“I’ll see you around.”

You nod, “I’ll see you.”

The captain of the ship introduces himself as Star-lord, and after a moment without response, Quill.

“Any requests?” He asks, finger hovering over the control panel.

Alexei creeps over to the younger man, quietly relaying a message.

“Alright,” Quill nods. Stroking the keys until a familiar set of notes ring out.

“A long, long time ago-“ The singer croons.

You let out a chuckle.

“I can still remember how that music used to make me smile. And I knew if I had my chance, that I could make those people dance. And maybe they'd be happy for a while.”

“We’re really doing this?” Yelena puts a hand to her head, the corners of her mouth turning upward.

“But February made me shiver, with every paper I'd deliver. Bad news on the doorstep, I couldn't take one more step.” The melody carries on.

“It’s your song.” Natasha turns to her sister.

“I can't remember if I cried. When I read about his widowed bride.” Melina’s eyes are far away, carried back to their years in Ohio. Before the world had been so cruel.

“Something touched me deep inside, the day the music-“

“Died.” Yelena joins in, lulling her head to the side to gage your reaction.

You sigh, all of this beyond surreal. But you allow yourself to live in this moment, because you might not get another. “So bye, bye Miss American Pie…”

“Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry.” The roaring chorus of voices fills the silence you’ve grown used to. Fills the parts of you that were empty for so long. “And them good ol' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye. Singin', “this’ll be the day that I die.”

“This’ll be the day that I die.” Yelena sings, her face alight with a childlike glee.

——————————————————————-

Melina, Natasha and Alexei stay with you for a while. A few weeks as Natasha heals and becomes acclimated to her life.

She claims to hate the attention, but deep down you know she’s full of it.

The Ohio house is bursting at the seams with five adults, nine pigs and one dog.

That isn’t enough to keep visitors at bay. Namely Clint, his wife Laura and their three children.

Things feel a bit off when everyone begins moving out. Alexei, Melina, and their pigs return to the farm outside of Saint Petersburg.

Natasha finds herself drawn to New York, with Bruce and the makeshift building he’s using as a lab.

You adjust to the steady thrum that is daily life, with Fanny and Yelena.

After dinner you load the dishwasher, drying your hands on the nearby tea towel before selecting a cycle.

“So how does it feel?” Yelena asks, leaning against the doorframe.

“Hmm?” You turn to face her.

“Being a hero.” She clarifies, a smile playing at her lips.

“I’m not-“

“Oh cut the crap, Y/N. You saved the world.” Yelena narrows her eyes at you.

“I did it for you.” You say simply, because it’s true.

Yelena closes the space between you, “why?”

“You know why.” You whisper as she cups your face in her hands, gently stroking her thumb over your cheek. “It’s ok if you wouldn’t have done the same.”

“I’d do more for you, and worse.” She assures you. “But do you really want to spend the rest of your life fumbling around feelings in the dark when you could have someone who-“

“I want you. I only ever want you.” You beckon her closer. “Anyway I can have you, that will be enough for me.”

Sometimes wires get crossed and you want things you never have before. And she provides them before you have a chance to ask. You give back to her tenfold, so that neither glass is ever empty. That is love. True love, the only way you’ve ever known it.

“I am yours…in every way a person can belong to another.” Yelena breathes, “and then some.”

Series taglist: @jeyramarie @freeshavocadoooo @ilovewinter101 @3and30aresoultwins @yelenabelovv @miphas-trident @1800-fight-me

If you loved this series as much as I did, you can check out the prequel here!

#yelena belova x reader #yelena belova #marvel fanfiction #black widow fanfiction #black widow #yelena belova fanfiction #yelena belova imagine #yelena belova x y/n #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff imagine #yelena belova x you #yelena belova x female reader

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remakethestars · 3 years

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Being Damian Wayne's Twin Sister Would Include:

Headcanons.

❝Exactly. I don't ask my dog to drive, and I don't ask the Justice League to solve my problems.❞

— Damian Wayne, Adventures of the Super Sons #9: Showdown on Hexworld

TRIGGER WARNING: Cursing, (Damian’s) death. Mentions of toxic masculinity and internalized misogyny, nightmares, blood, knives.

Headcanon masterlist.

When people ask you, “So, which one of you is the evil twin?” Damian always glowers, and you always motion to him.

You look disturbingly alike when only your eyes are showing; Damian’s got long lashes. Talia taught you a good tactic for tag-teaming in combat as kids was to pull up your hinged balaclavas and make the enemy think there was only one of you, that they’re seeing double.

Or for one of you to hang back while the other attacks as a distraction before the other knocks them out from behind.

Obviously, this won’t work when the two of you start filling out, but it works when you’re kids. It’s the reason why, even off the field, the two of you usually wear a matching outfits with hoods.

You utilize the same methods when she sends you to live with Bruce.

You don the Robin costume just like he does, much to the rest of the Batfam’s confusion (both because they weren’t expecting it and because they can’t tell you apart either), but sticking with the “red” theme, you go by Redstart.

There’s a rumor on the street that Robin V. is a meta that can teleport.

The two of you are freakishly good at mimicking the other’s voice and mannerisms, which makes it even harder for your family.

Jason tells you two about April Fools Day, and you make the most of it. Of course, Damian’s a pain in the a$$ and decides to go around pretending to be you and getting into trouble. You’re banned from the mall, and you still have no idea why.

The two of you can communicate with just an impassive expression (Dick says it looks like a prime example of twin telepathy to anyone else), but anyone close to you knows sh¡t’s about to hit the fan when the two of you look at each other and smirk.

If it’s something you can’t communicate nonverbally, you use your cryptophasia.

Cryptophasia is a language developed by twins when they’re learning to talk. Most of them grow out of it, you and Damian decided to keep developing it so it became more of a conlang. No one else has been taught to speak it, and they never will be. It’s for emergencies only.

Sun Tzu’s The Art of War was your Bible growing up, and the two of you call out verses when you fight together and need the other to understand a tactic (you both inherited Bruce’s eidetic memory, so you’ve got it memorized).

When you get too big to pull off the which-is-which game, you make your own costume and become the true Redstart.

It’s basically Damian’s Robin uniform (the Super Sons’s version is the only one I’ll accept), but the boots and gloves are black, the biceps have a white stripe, the lining of the cape is white (the lining of the hood is black), the gold accents become white, it has a zipper down the front instead of clasps, and the mask becomes black (including the eyes). The waterline of the eyes is white. Like a painted redstart.

If Damian’s into animals, you’re into plants. The two of you find common ground on the fact that pollution sucks, so when you walk Titus, you take a trash bag and gloves with you to pick up litter as you go.

You did not want to go to Jon’s school.

Not because you don’t like Jon (because you do), but because you know you could run intellectual circles around every one of those snot-nosed brats.

School is stupid. Especially because the American education system is subpar; everything about it is.

You hardly pay attention in class. You do all of the homework a week ahead of time incase something comes up. Usually you’re doing next week’s homework in class. You’ve written entire papers on your phone in Google Docs in the middle of class to be printed out later.

If you’ve already done everything, Damian’s usually drawing and you’re daydreaming or you’re working on a case on your phone.

The teachers are always trying to catch you not paying attention, but you little sh¡ts can always answer their questions.

Damian’s closest with Dick, but you’re closest with Tim. You admire his ability to plan ahead (see the entirety of the Red Robin comics), and you know that he’s better than both your father and your grandfather; you want to be as good as him when you grow up.

It takes a long time to wash the toxic masculinity and internalized misogyny our of your head, to learn that your grandfather’s ideas of “strength” were wrong, that it’s okay to lean on someone besides Damian, that you can be just as strong as your brother and still be feminine, that there are acceptable emotions besides anger.

Actually, your father teaches you that anger is more likely to get you killed. He won’t let you go into the field when he knows your angry.

It’s harder to drill out of you than your instinct to kill.

There’s a Lebanese restaurant called Tarbooshes (Teen Titans Special #1) the two of you go to when you’re feeling homesick. They make ox blood soup the same way your mother did, and it’s the only non-vegetarian thing Damian will eat for that very reason.

It’s nice to have a place to go where they know you by name and know what you want when you tell them “the usual.” It’s nice to have a place where you’re not a Wayne or an Al Ghul, where you’re just [Y/N] and Damian.

You disappear for an hour on your birthday to eat there. Bruce has asked you were you go, but you kept that between the two of you.

Speaking of birthdays, you’re eleven minutes older than him. He was six pounds and ten ounces (Batman & Robin #0?), and you were a solid seven.

After Damian died, you go to Tarbooshes to feel close to him.

You were doing all right with the no-killing thing until the night Damian died.

Heretic never stood a chance.

He looked so much like Damian it gave you nightmares, though. Nightmares where you killed your twin brother and woke up sobbing.

Damian didn’t give you a speech in his last moments. He just looked over at you and said in your cryptophasia, “I’m sorry.”

Not “I love you.” Not “Take care of them for me.” You knew that; you’d do that. He didn’t have to tell you, and he didn’t have to ask.

Just “I’m sorry.” Sorry that you were the one that was left behind.

It’s one thing to lose a family member, to lose a friend, or to lose a lover. It’s another to lose half of your soul.

The two of you had always feared you would die apart. It had always been a possibility; you weren’t stupid enough to think, “It’ll never happen to me.” Because it definitely could.

And it had.

You wanted to run away from everything. Even just for a while. Go to one of your safe houses in London or France or whatever and just — you didn’t know — stare at the wall until you felt better? But you’d made that unspoken promise to Damian — “I’ll take care of them for you; don’t worry.” — to take care of Titus and Catfred and Jerry and Batcow and Goliath, to take care of Alfred and Bruce and Dick and Jason and Cassandra and Tim, to take care of Jon and Colin and Maps.

You avoided the cave. And if you had to go down there for some reason, you refused to look at the Robin suits.

Dick noticed. He asked if you wanted them taken down, even just for a while. You gave him a look like he was nuts and said, “No.”

Jon was a mess. More of a mess than you were, somehow.

You’d shown up at the Kents’s. Jon was out doing Superboy things with Clark and Conner. Lois was the only one home.

You nearly scared her out of her skin when you materialized behind her and asked, “Is Jon home? It’s important.”

He had to know first. He deserved to.

For all he put up with from you two, he deserved to be the first to know when one of you was f*cking dead.

Lois, of course, bless her heart, had the mom instincts to know that you were in no way, shape, or form okay even when you were trying so hard to hold yourself together. She asked you what’s wrong, and it’s what made you break.

Your lip trembled. “He’s gone.”

“Who’s gone?”

“Damian,” your voice broke. “He’s dead.”

Jon came home to find you in his living room in your Robin uniform, covered in Damian’s and Heretic’s blood, snot running down your lip, sobbing in his mothers arms and knew what happened without having to ask. He did anyway.

When you and Jon both finally passed out, your Uncle Clark flew you back to the Batcave. No one was in any condition — not even Alfred — so he carried you up to your room; took your boots, mask, cape, and gloves off; and tucked you in. Then he went to find Bruce because there was no doubt he was losing it too.

Bruce doesn’t tell you anything about trying to find a way to bring him back without the Lazarus pit because he doesn’t want to get your hopes up.

You walk into your room one day to find Damian sitting there reading the dissertation (the requirement was three pages, not 120, but your teacher would just have to deal with your coping mechanisms) you had been working on for your World History class and left up on your laptop while on patrol.

He said with the utmost indifference, “You’ve made some good points, Sister,” and, of course, you pulled out a knife and attacked him because this was — was — was some shapeshifting alien or hologram tech or a cruel joke — your twin was dead, this wasn’t funny, whoever did this was going to pay.

He met you blow-for-blow and flipped away from you before saying, “And here I was expecting a warm welcome,” in your cryptophasia.

“Brother?”

“Tt. Obviously.”

Yeah, a college level thesis. You’re smart. You inherited Bruce’s eidetic memory and were raised by assassins.

You learned seven languages and wrote five doctoral theses by the time your teeth came in, wrote your first letter to a newspaper editor when you were two, could’ve had a geology doctorate when you were seven (Super Sons #1), and it only took you a week to learn the language on Takron-Galtos. You’re smart.

You’re also incredibly skilled. You learned to drive when you were five (Super Sons #1), your mother trained you to go for weeks without eating (Adventures of the Super Sons #6), you can micro-sleep for days and converse with half your brain asleep, can use a muscular contraction to move your liver out of the way of a blade (Nightwing #20), and can place yourself in a deep trance to heal damages caused by a hematoma (also #20).

(My dumba$$ didn’t note what Super Sons/Adventure of the Super Sons comic I was reading when I took notes, so I don’t have all of them noted in the two above bullet points. But that’s where they’re from. If I end up rereading them, I’ll edit this and add the comic numbers.)

The first time on patrol you thought Bruce was gonna die, you called him Baba.

The next evening, when Dick came to visit the cave, he turned to you and Damian and asked, “So, which one of you called him Dad?”

“How’d you know?” you asked.

“He’s smiling the way he did the day I called him Tati.”

“He’s not smiling,” Damian pointed out.

“He is on the inside.”

Can we talk about how royally the Arkham Knights game screwed up Tim Drake? (Though, everything seems to screw up Tim one way or another, I guess.) Why does he look like a quidditch player in the gif above the cut?

Visit my headcanon masterlist.

DISCLAIMER ━━━ I’m a dumb white American, and I don’t know much about Arab or Romani culture other than what I’ve learned online. I hope I got it right?? If I didn’t, please drop a comment or P.M. me or something to let me know!

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may-fanfic · 3 years

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Hiya,may I request romanoff!reader (of course lol) like she's a civilian and no one really knows apart from a few that nat even has a daughter to keep her safe. So Nat finds out that she's started dating this amazing girl she met (maybe like a book shop) so surprise surprise the day Nat visits she finds out yn has a date and the door knocks sp Nat decides to open it, not expecting Wanda to be there, both shocked as hell till its reveled wanda is the date and nat is her mum :D please and thanku x

Broken Agreements

summary: when Natasha had you, she kept you out of the public eye but one day you go out and meet someone unbeknownst to you, your mom and wanda already know each other

warning: none, correct me if I'm wrong

paring: wanda maximoff x reader, mom!nat x reader

word count: 2,062

a/n: sorry this took so long, I wasn’t home for a couple of days but I hope you enjoy 💕

((feel free to send in any request you may have 💕))

masterlist

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when Natasha had you, she knew that it was the best bet to keep you out of the public eye. it wasn't that she wanted to keep you locked up in the house all day but she knew there were far too many risks when it came to introducing you. it was easy for her to keep you in her sight when you were younger but the older you got, you began to crave more than just visits to Clint's house. she secretly hated that you were older now because she knew you need more and when you uttered that out to her, she couldn't stand the puppy dog eyes you were giving her. "okay fine." she rolled her eyes as you squealed, relieved that she was understanding enough.

so with that, Natasha allowed occasional outings, warning you that you had a set time to be back because she couldn't stand the idea of you being alone in the middle of the night. you were understanding of that, promising that nothing would stop you from returning home before the sunset.

---

Natasha was gone for the day, leaving just after she made you breakfast and despite promising your mom that you wouldn't leave without telling her first, you had just finished your last book. you wished that you picked an extra one-up the last time you were out because now boredom struck and you had nothing else to do. you knew you could make it back before your mom ever returned home so with that you dressed, checking the time before you went. 1:22 pm. you had more than enough time you reminded yourself with a small grin.

knowing that you weren't allowed to be out, only made it more exciting. you hardly ever broke rules when it came to your mom, not only because she was intimidating but because you respected her and you knew she always had your best interest in mind. you finally reached your favorite book shop with a certain book in mind already you moved through the small shop. you browsed for a moment, not turning up with anything more interesting than the book that you saw last time. you knew exactly where it was because you knew that store like the back of your hand so you moved to the section you could find it, grinning when you saw that there was only one left. you hardly noticed the girl beside you until you reached forward to grab the book just as she did, her hand softly brushing against yours. you shyly retrieved your hand, your gaze fixed to the floor. "sorry." you uttered out causing the girl beside you to chuckle lightly.

"it's okay," she reassured, nudging you lightly with said book causing you to look up at her, only now taking note of her breathtaking features. you could feel your heart pound in your throat as you swallowed hard, she had been smiling sweetly at you, far more relaxed than you. "here, take it." she offered but you quickly shook your head. "you can have it, I'll wait for the restock," you muttered despite, really wanting to read that exact book. she shook her head, her smile growing with every passing second.

"I couldn't," she muttered, extending her hand forward for you to take the book but when you didn't move a muscle, the girl sighed, the smile still prominent on her lips. "how about this-" she paused for a moment when she noticed that she had peeped your interest. your eyebrows rose in question waiting patiently for her proposal. "I'll give you the book if you buy me a coffee," she stated, her smile growing when your cheeks seemed to flush over. "it's only fair," she stated, shrugging lightly.

you knew your mother always warned you about strangers but your interest in the young woman had been strong and you couldn't help but wanna get to know her more so with a nod, you took the book from her hand, letting her follow you through the shop and out the door.

she uttered out her coffee order to you, smiling when you moved to go to the counter. she called out that she'd find both of your seats. you could feel your heart pound as you made your way over to the table that she settled down on, placing her mug right in front of her. she had been looking through the book, setting it aside when you came to greet her. "you're gonna like the book." she whispered causing you to nod lightly.

"I hope so, I've been meaning to buy it," you stated, her expressions had been soft as she brought the hot mug to her lips, looking over at you from over the top of it. once the awkwardness of the situation died down, the conversation seemed to flow naturally and you noticed that you were losing all of yourself in the conversation, time hadn't been a thing.

realization seemed to dawn on you when the shop owner announced that they'd be closed in less than 5 minutes and then your heart sunk and you felt the nervousness eat at your once joyful mood. "I had a really good time, wanda but I gotta go," you whispered suddenly noticing that the sunset and the street were lit up by the streetlights, there hadn't been a sign of sun anywhere. "let me take you home." she offered but you knew your mom would throw even more of a cow if she knew you gave your address to a stranger. "thank you but I'm okay." before wanda could even completely process what happened, you were gone.

you looked at your watch, reading the time only made you feel so much worse. 8:56 pm. you let out a soft sigh, rushing home as quickly as possible. you were breathing heavy and hard when you finally made it to your house, hoping that the redhead was still stuck at work.

you opened the door after catching your breath, meeting the faces of every Avenger. they had all been like uncles to you but you'd never seen them all in the same room, suited up before. it made you feel guilty, you knew you had worried them before you could even talk, Natasha rushed over to you, her fear outweighed any anger she felt because you were okay and that's the most important thing to her. "oh my god! where were you? what would you thinking?" she rambled, tugging you into a tight hug that you melted into, feeling yourself relax because she wasn't as mad as you thought.

you spoke too soon because as soon as she pulled away from the hug, you could see her relieved expression turn into pure anger because how could you leave and have her worry like that?

"what were you thinking, Y/n Romanoff?" the use of your full name made your eyes widen as you stared back at the woman who gave you life. "I wanted a book." you stated softly causing a huff to slip past her lips. "you couldn't pick up your phone? that's why you have it y/n! I called at least a hundred times!"

your gaze snapped from her eyes to the floor, finding it to be the most interesting thing right about now. "I even had to call uncle tony, steve, and bruce. you know how worried you made us?" you swallowed hard, hating the feeling of disappointment. "don't you ever do that again, you hear me?" she lectured causing you to mutter out a soft 'yes ma'am'.

"go to your room." she was done as she turned away from you, you didn't think twice before speed walking up those stairs and into your room.

it only now dawned on you that you didn't get the girl's number. the only proof of your day was the book and coffee receipt. sighing softly, you set the paper aside, taking a seat on the foot of your bed, staring down at the book in disappointment. it wasn't until you flip open the book and settled on the front page did the lecture you received from your mom seem worth it because on the paper, neat handwriting could be made out. you smiled down at it, feeling your heart skipped a beat tracing the words with your pointer finger.

I still want the book, call me when you're finished - wanda

you smiled down at the number in disbelief, determined to finish the book as quickly as possible so you could call wanda.

you read the book much faster than expected, you were eager to finish it and when you finally called wanda to tell her that she could have the book, muttering about how good you thought it was, she had been grinning madly because almost every day she waited by her phone hoping and praying that it'd ring and now she could hear your voice so clearly. she didn't hesitate to cut you off about the book and ask you on a date.

-----

as much as you enjoyed having your mom around, you were glad when she told you she'd be out that day because it gave you the chance to invite wanda over for dinner. wanda happily accepted the invite, glad that she would finally spend some alone time with you.

for the past couple of months, you’ve had occasional meet-ups at coffee shops and restaurants but Wanda always wanted more and now she had been given exactly what she wanted. she couldn't be more excited.

your excitement seemed to wear off when your mom arrived home much early than expected, questioning you about the candles and seemingly put-together dinner. your eyes flushed over, stumbling over your words when you told her you had a date and thought she'd be out much longer. she wiggled her eyebrows at you, a smirk playing on her lips. she knew that you had been involved with someone because one day after returning from a date with wanda, you had been too giddy and couldn't hold back when she asked you why you were so happy.

"I can't wait to finally meet this mystery girl." she teased, smiling at the redness in your cheeks. you knew she'd met her eventually but you were still nervous, your mom had always been a hard person to please and you wanted her to like Wanda as much as you did.

when the knock at your door sounded, your mom's eyes met yours, her grin grew even more. "I got it," she spoke, her voice filled with excitement before you could even stop her from opening the door, she had already been there, turning the doorknob with ease. you took a couple of steps forward to stand behind your mom so the girl didn't feel too bombarded.

when the door was pulled open, her smile was the first thing you saw, and then it was the flowers she held, you could feel your heart swoon but then you noticed the way her smile dropped when she looked at your mom, confusion written in her expressions. "Wanda?" Natasha uttered out as she looked over the girl intensely enough to make the girl's gaze drop to the ground. "what are you doing here?" your mother questioned as she stared blankly at the youngest Avenger. "I'm here for-"

"you know each other?" you suddenly questioned, looking between wanda and your mom. you searched their faces for an answer but turned up with nothing until your mom spoke softly. "she's been recruited." that was enough for you to know exactly what your mom meant.

Natasha couldn't be upset at Wanda, there was no way she could've ever known that you were her child and if she was honest, she was glad wanda turned up instead of an unfamiliar face. "come in, wanda." your mom's voice came out gentle and almost reassuring.

"aren't you supposed to be on lockdown?" she questioned once wanda had entered and taken her coat off, holding the roses tightly in her hands.

it finally occurred to Natasha why the witch was never around. every time they had been looking for wanda, she was with you.

"cap let me out for the day." she lied causing Natasha to raise an eyebrow at the teenager but she didn't press. "lockdown for what?" you stared up at the witch, feeling like you knew absolutely nothing about her. wanda hated the way you were looking at her. she opened her mouth to talk but was quickly cut off by your mom's soft voice.

"that's not important, babes." but it felt pretty important to you and Natasha knew you wouldn't drop it. "I'm gonna head out," she spoke softly, offering the both of you a smile. she knew you'd both have a lot to talk about and she wanted nothing to do with that.

once the door closed, you turned to wanda with a wary look on your face. "I was gonna tell you." her words had been shaky, her gaze struggled to meet yours but she still did. wanda had looked beautiful that night all dressed in a flowy red dress. "why didn't you?" you questioned, a frown taking over your lips as she breathed out a sigh.

"I didn't want to ruin things. you're the only person who's ever really seen me for who I am and I was scared you wouldn't look at me the same," she confessed and you couldn't be mad at Wanda so instead you nodded, looking at the roses that she had a tight grip on.

"are those for me?" you asked softly, her usual smile tugging at her plump lips, her cheeks turning bright pink. she extended her hand, her smile only growing when you took them, along with her hand leading her through the house and to the dining room. as you did so, wanda couldn't help but swoon. she was relieved that nothing really changed and you'd still have you at the end of the day.

she didn't know what she was worried about before, it was clear that you were different.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romonova #natalie rushman #black widow #black widow x you #black widow x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x you #wandavision #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #avenger #the avengers

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creatureofmystry · 3 years

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MLB x DC Universe Headcannons

I just love the idea of MLB and DC (expecially Batfam cuz Mari is such a Wayne) being in the same universe and crossing over. So one night, I just had an idea overload of different ways the Marinette would know the batfam/be a part of the DC universe. And if any of my shitty ideas somehow inspire or prompt you, then please be my guest. 😊 _

1) “Ladybugs of Past and Present”

Hippolyta, Wonder Woman’s mother, was once a previous holder of the ladybug miraculous. When Fu activated the miraculous and put them in circulation, Hippolyta could feel its magic waking back up. Knowing there must a reason for it to be out, she sent a message to her daughter. Diana searched, finding Marinette and Adrien as the present holders of the ladybug and cat miraculous. She vouched and brought them into the Young Justice program while they also made their own team, Project: Zodiac (or something like that).

[Sometime when Diana takes Marinette to meet Hippolyta]

“Great Hera, Tikki, you have not aged a day” -Hippolyta, cause she does know how to make joke.

“And I would say the same to you” -Tikki

“Mother, you can make a laugh?” -Wonder Woman, honestly a bit confused cause her mom have never not been serious before.

And Marinette is just speechless cause she’s starstruck meeting Wonder Woman’s mom AND a previous Ladybug holder.

2) “Rockstar Niece”

Jagged Stone is Marinette’s Sweet Uncle J. During the summers, Jagged Stone would take Mari with him on tour. HIs summer tours are throughout America, so Mari gets to sightsee the country. Jagged’s first tour that he gets to take Mari on (5-ish), he’s also booked for the annual (for whatever reason) Wayne Summer Gala. When Marinette meets the Waynes, they are so enamoured (Dick and Tim couldn’t help it) that they tell Jagged he’s always invited as a guest, Mari of course being added to the permanent guest list too. About 6 years later, Mari is practically adopted, spending the first half of her summers with Jagged, going to the Wayne Gala, then spending the rest of her summer with the Waynes. Overtime, she figured out the secrets of the family and was there to welcome Jason back from the dead (when that happens). Anyways, now 11(-ish?) Mari meets Damian and the two become good friends… after an… impressionable first meeting.

“Tch, let me guess, you’re another one of father’s adopted strays” -Dami

“YOU MUST BE DAMIAN!!! DICK TOLD ME ABOUT YOU!!” -Marinette, who just ignores what he said for a hug.

“hiiiiiiiiissssssss” -Dami, touchy with touch

“...” sprays water in his face since he decided to act like a cat.

“I say, Master Bruce, the children are getting along quite well” -Alfred

3) “Pen Pals”

Jon Kent and Marinette Dupain-Cheng are part of an international pen-pal program, starting when they were very young (maybe like 4 or 5-ish, super super young) where they told each other everything (Jon can’t just say that his older bro is a clone made from Superman and Lex Luthor’s DNA, or that his dad is Superman, or that his best friend is Robin, but yea. Lois and Clark probably proofread his stuff until he’s like 9) with pictures and everything. When they’re old enough to get phones & stuff, they call, text and vid-chat along with their letters (love without blood). When Mari is maybe 9-11 (somewhere around there) she starts flying over during the summers to hangout with Jon (and his friends and big brother). While there, she meets Kon, Bat fam, and Clark (some who she already knew, some who she didn’t) & lightly hints that she knows who all they are once she figures it out (it didn’t take her long to do so).

Now whenever she visits and is at Wayne Manor (Jon likes to have sleepovers practically every weekend) while they’re on patrol, Mari subtly messes with their minds (super subtle, they’re the world’s best detectives after all) until they finally look through the cams and see Mari giving them one of those smiles (those shit-grinning cause it’s just so hilarious how it’s gone on for so long) & and a playful wink.

[5 seconds later]

“Mari!” “Pixie-pop!” “Angel!” “Teacup!”

“Seriously, am I the only one with a normal nickname for her?” -Tim

“Ms. Marinette would like to inform you that ‘it took you long enough’” -Alfred (who so knows that the girl has been playing them since the third night she stayed at the Wayne’s)

“Where are my adoption papers?” -Bruce (who is seriously adopting any talented black-haired child)

4) “Mari and Mar’i”

When Mar’i is young, Dick and Kori take her with them to see Paris (btw, this would be during the winter). They’re strolling along through a park and lose track of Mar’i who finds Marinette (9-10 ish). Marinette comforts and distracts Mar’i while noticing the young(er) girl is Tameranian (her hair is very warm and she’s wearing significantly less layers than should be worn for a human of that age during the winter, plus that sun-kissed skin tone. She’s seen Kori in her fashion magazines (and, from time to time, on the news as an ambassador) so she easily make the connections). Dick and Kori finally spot Mar’i with Mari who introduces herself to them. Mar’i asks if she can see her “Auntinette” again and Marinette just goes “if your parents are okay with it.” Dick and Kori are totally cool with it (not many are willing to watch her and have the time to do it) so they ask Marinette if she can babysit Mar’i whenever (with good pay of course) if she’s up to it (cause she’s still pretty young). Marinette can’t say no to Mar’i’s babydoll eyes (and she’s so much easier compared to Manon, who’s only 2 rn), so of course, she says yes.

Now Marinette is Mar’is official babysitter and sees Mar’i often whenever her parents drop her off (using zeta tubes to quickly get to Paris and back). Marinette gets treated like an honorary Wayne (cause she’s the most responsible) and gets invited to their family stuff (w/ travel pay taken care of, of course). It doesn’t take her long to realize the fact that she babysits Bruce Wayne’s & BATMAN’S granddaughter, but of course, being the responsible one she is, keeps the secret… while also playing with them via Mar’i.

[One Day]

After Marinette leaves for her plane…

“Uncle Dami!”

“Yes, Spawn?”

“Auntinette said to tell you after she left that Robin’s sut needs a major upgrade & that you look like a traffic light… whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

[Another Day]

“Uncle Jay!”

“What’s up kid?’

“Auntinette said that to let you know that Red Hood doesn’t make any sense ‘cause Red Hood wears a helmet. Not a hood.”

[The next time]

“Uncle Tim!”

Yawn. “yea?”

“Auntie told me to give you this” (pulls out super caffeinated coffee) “and that Red Robin’s cowl is a menace to all things fashion”

[Again…]

“Daddy!”

“Yes, Starshine?”

“Auntienette said she’s proud of Nightwing’s costume ‘cause it’s one of the only in the batfam that isn’t an astro-city to the fashion society.”

5) “Marinette, the one who’s always getting chosen”

Before Mari became (becomes(?)) LB, she comes across a different powerful piece of jewelry, from a different order of guardians where her will of mind is not only her shield from being akumatized, but it is also what drives her powers. That’s right, Mari walks past a flea market and activates a GL ring. The guardians pick up on this activity and send Hal (it is his sector) to check it out. Hal finds the ring with Mari but it still needs the light of a GL to charge and fully work.

[During the explanation]

“Look, kid-”

“Marinette.”

“Look, kid, I just need to know why you have that ring.”

“You think I know? I was just walking through the market and all of a sudden, this possessed ring, if that’s even what this is, started following me, then zipped in front of my face til i held my hand up so it can put itself on my finger.”

“Kid-”

“It’s MARINETTE. Get it wrong one more time and you’ll see why I don’t need a possessed piece of alien jewelry.” -Marinette, making sure you get her name right. “Besides, if I stole it, I would remember. I’m a klepto” -Marinette, probably holding his ring too at this point.

Hal obviously doesn’t want the wrath of the Dupain-Chengs (just the kid Marinette scares him enough), so he tells the guardians that JL will take care of most of Mari’s training (once they get her a lamp for her ring, of course) & has her take part in training at Mt. Justice with the Young Justice team and special training with the Bats. Mari does all this under the guise of an international student exchange program for Mari to stay with the Waynes (not yet knowing that it’s the bat fam) and attends G.A. Mari doesn’t do much, but it takes her 24-36 hours to know who EVERYONE is.

[the next week after settling in]

“Hey, Mars,” -Dick, in his Nightwing gear

“Hey, Di-is the GREATEST SHOW!” -Mari, changing the subject(… not really)

“How long did it take you?”

“Not as long as the Kryptonians…” -Mari, going off into a tangent (still trying to change the subject”

[When Marinette meets Tikki]

Back in Paris:

“Sooo… I’m getting powerful jewelry that gives me powers and a suit, needs to be recharged, and comes from some Order of the Guardians? What’s the difference between you and my ring?” -Marinette, who at this point is very confused as to why she keeps getting picked on for this kind of stuff.

“One’s alien, one’s magic” -Tikki, hoping Mari will end it there & lowkey hates that the GL Corp. got to her first.

“They’re both non-human made energy sources” -Mari, cause once you’ve seen it once, you’ve seen it all before.

“You can’t heal the Akuma without the miraculous, and there are more than just rings. Yours are earrings, there are hair clips, bracelets, necklaces and more” -Tikki, after having a minute to think

“Fine, only because you said they’re the only way to heal the, what was it again, akuma?”

6) “Their Unofficial Official Barista”

Part of Tim’s job as Co-CEO, is to make sure all the branches are running smoothly, sometimes that means he has to fly abroad to manually check in. Tim goes to Paris to check on the W.E. Paris branch. He goes to a nearby Patisserie (Tom and Sabine’s) to see a young Marinette (somewhere from 8-11) drawing in her sketchbook at the counter. She explains that her parents are at a catering event, but she’s there to man the little bakery. Tim asks for a super caffeinated coffee and Marinette makes it with ease, claiming it was on the house with how bad he looks (and how much sleep the man clearly needs). Tim begs for her knowledge and asks if she can teach his butler. Mari’s willing to show him the next time he comes, so he gets the whole fam to go (viz tubes so they don’t waste time) maybe a week later. Everyone gets their own drink (plus a free pastries) and Marinette teaches Alfred her coffee, but it’s just not the same so Tim, using the tubes, goes to get coffee from the girl whenever he can.

Mari is horrible at getting up on time (the life of an insomniac, never getting to sleep even if you want and then barely waking up on time) that she is up super early, makes Tim his coffee (plus a croissant) and tries to go back to sleep (making her inevitably late). Tim would walk up to the pick-up counter where his cup and to-go bag is while Marinette runs out of the house to get to school. Eventually, the rest of the Batfam (as well as the Laegue, TT, and YJ) frequent the place, slowly becoming (Dami too) Mari hides it, but she knew all the batfam the first day they came and she showed Alfred how to make the coffee. When the others start making more regular appearances, she learns the identities of YJ team, WW, GLs, and others. Obviously when LB and CN appear as heroes with HM as their villain, they immediately reach out to help. Because 1. Batfam clearly notices that it’s Mari and they sure as heck won’t let her deal with that by herself, and 2. The JL is worrying too much about their favorite barista (even though she’s not really one), especially with the Gigantitan scare. So, of course LB & CN (can’t make him bad everytime) get inducted into YJ.

[After Ladybug finishes defeating Gigantitan and detransforms]

“Bean! Are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?” -Tim, being an even more protective older brother than Dick, which shouldn’t be possible

“Yes, I promise. I’m fine” -Marinette, who just accepts the fact that she’s adopted an older brother (and his famliy)

“Tube over, we’ll have Alfred make sure” -Dick, already pulling out the medical supplies for Alfred.

“I-”

“You shouldn’t worry your brothers like that, Marinette. Now come over so Alfred can clear you,” -Bruce, who just happens to overhear the conversation

“I’m sorry, Miss Marinette, they are very adamant that you’re in pitch perfect health before going out again,” -Alfred, who’s not actually sorry

“Fine” -Marinette, accepting her fate of her adopted, protective family.

7) “Thicker Than the Blood We’ve Shed”

Why is Marinette so freakishly strong? Because she was trained to be. Before she could even talk, Mari was taught to be an assassin. She and Damian were frenemies, both competing for top spot as best in the League (of Assassins). They often spared together and became rivals who pushed each other (which sounds great in that context if you forget about the fact that they’re killing people and turning it into a competition). When Damian’s care is turned over to Batsy, Mari also comes along for the ride. She implements herself into Dami’s classes at G.A. & watches him from afar. (Damian, not being an idiot, of course knows all this and knows that it’s probably for Mari to give a report to Talia.) When he becomes Robin, Mari obviously knows, but waits to see if anything drastic would happen (his care was given to the Batfam, they had already expected this to happen.) She then heard word of the bounty Talia put on Damian’s head. Marinette knew there wouldn’t be much she could do to help, but she ave Dami a warning about the upcoming situation before fleeing the country.

From there she got to France, changed her name (it wasn’t originally Marinette, it was Shénqí, chinese for miraculous/magical (or something else if you want)), was adopted by Tom & Sabine, and left her time in the League in the past. When she received Tikki, she didn’t want to be a hero because she didn’t think she deserved it after her up-bringing. Eventually, she did become LB (being a trained assassin does help with lucky charms, considering she was taught how to kill with basically every and anything), and life was good for her. Then Rossi came.

[Gotham field trip]

While at Wayne Tower…

“How idiotic are they?” -Damian, who after reuniting with his long-lost sister-from-a-different-mister (yes, Marinette was able to convince him to say it once), can’t understand the stupidity she has to deal with.

“Are you Robin?” -Mari, who is too tired, so just goes straight into the analogy

“Yes.” -Obvious and simply is.

“Exactly” -Mari, who can’t even put a limit to the amount of thought the one brain cell the class shares doesn’t use. I mean please, the so-called “reporter” believed that the first cosplayer she saw was the actual LB when they don’t even have the same hair! And let’s not forget the origins arc, where LB’s first citizen save was Chloe.

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toosicktoocare · 3 years

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AU where the Avengers don’t know that Spider-Man is Peter Parker just cuz

inspired by a fantastic ask about concussions from @carley-carley-carley (hope it’s okay that I tagged you!)

“Young man? Young man, are you alright?”

Grunting, Peter drags his head away from the insistent tapping against his cheek, an almost rhythmic, steady pressure that jerks up his temple to spread across his forehead. The pressure isolates to the base of his skull, where the pounding seems to be at it’s worst, and it holds ground there, pulsing uncomfortably.

“Young man, you fell from a four-story apartment building.”

Peter’s brows furrow at this. He wants to object because he’s Spider-Man, and a fall like that is minor compared to the novel of inuries he’s suffered alongside the Avengers. He opens his mouth to do just that, to explain to this woman that this is nothing, that he’ll walk it off, but a pricking senstation hot against the back of his neck hotwires to his eyelids, forcing them open.

He’s aware of two things: One, the woman leaning over him is far too close, and she’s doubling and tripling before him, going in out of focus against his blurry eyes. Despite hazy around the edges, she looks concerned, if the deep-set wrinkles etched into her forehead are anything to go by. Two, there’s a small crowd surrounding him, and while Peter’s not particularly claustrophobic, right now, it feels like each body is pushing against his lungs, and his stomach. When the hell did he start feeling so nauseous?

“Young man, do you know what day it is?”

No, Peter thinks flatly to himself. He really doesn’t. He could dig through his mind, eager to push out logic, work through his mental calendar that operates soley around when homework assignments are due, but there’s a solid rock of pulsing pain blocking all normal, brain functioning. “Monday?” he tries weakly. He’s faintly aware that his own voice sounds hollow and distant, but more so, he’s distinctly aware of the saliva pooling in his mouth, a copper taste that coats against his tongue.

Peter didn’t think it was possible, but the woman somehow frowns deeper at him, and she climbs to her feet, body rigid. He supposes it’s not Monday after all.

“Call an ambulance! He’s concussed.”

Peter shoots forward into a sitting position, and the pain in his head bursts like a balloon. The redistributed pressure is blinding, and Peter drops his face into his cupped hands with a low groan that threatens to bring more than just air up his throat.

He wants to assure them that a hospital isn’t necessary, that his enhanced healing defies medical science, but when the white light coating his vision dies down to an unsteady sway of darker, blurring colors, he only sees scraped up palms before him, not gloves. He rips his hands away, and one, quick look down shows that he’s sporting a blue NASA hoodie and blue jeans and that he’s definitely not wearing his signature red and blue Spider-Man suit he thought he had on.

The hell?

He glances to see his backpack beside him, thankfully still zipped up and intact. He tries to wrack his brain, briefly craning his neck up toward the rooftop he assumes he fell from, only to quickly jerk his gaze back down when the setting sun seems to shine past his eyes to burn at his skull. He can’t remember why he was up there in the first place, especially since he’s in civilian clothing. He can’t remember much of anything, now that he dwells on it.

“Young man, by all accounts, you should be dead.”

Peter makes to reply, his clenched jaw unhinging almost painfully, but a different, probing jolt sparks up his spine to the back of his neck, and he’s climbing to his feet, pale, wobbly, just as two, new voices somehow carry over the wall of chatter around him.

“What’s going on?”

“Make way. Crowds typically mean one of two things: some weird alien contraption that equals bad news or a dead body, either of which I can’t really fit into today’s schedule.”

Even if Peter didn’t have the two voices memorized, down to the timbre, the sudden, loud squealing from the crowd of “Tony Stark!” and “Captain America!” is enough to have him eyeing for a quick exit, determining if he can duck his way through the pressing bodies.

“This young man fell from the roof!”

“So,” Tony draws out, his voice growing closer. “Dead body it...” He trails off as he nudges around a few people until he’s breaking into the center of the circle with Steve hot on his heels.

“Well, hello there, not dead person.”

Peter wants to shrink away from Tony’s gaze. He wants the ground to crumble and break and swallow him hole, to rid himself of the awkward fear and warm embarrasment that flushes his cheeks. He can feel a thick, lukewarm liquid dripping down his neck, and he doesn’t want to look down to see the concerning pool of blood at his feet.

“Son, are you alright?” Steve shoves forward, and on instinct, Peter backs away and brings a hand to the back of his neck, a nervous tick, but he pulls it back almost immediately, faintly frowning at the splattered red coloring his palm.

“You fell,” Tony starts, and Peter knows this tone well as it’s Tony’s signature speculation tone, where he dissects the situation around clipped, short sentences.

“From up there?”

Leveling his gaze, Peter huffs out a shaky sigh, wincing slightly as Steve prods lightly at the back of his head.

“Um, yeah. I guess?”

“You guess?”

“I don’t really remember,” Peter laughs awkwardly, clears his throat. He can sense the tension that builds behind him, can almost feel the way Steve’s muslces grow rigid.

“He’s concussed, Tony. Maybe save the interrogation for another time?”

“Sure,” Tony says, and he steps forward, carefully avoiding the puddle of blood. “But, you can’t blame me for finding this entire situation unsettling, Steve. This kid fell from the roof of a four-story building, landed on his back, and now he’s standing, and aside from the fact that he looks a tad worse for wear, he’s alive?”

“I’m right here,” Peter mutters under his breath, and Tony nods and crowds too close to him.

“You are. Standing. Speaking. Alive. Three things that don’t exactly pair well with falling off a roof.”

Peter’s head hurts, bad. Deflect, he thinks. But how? “I’ve always been told I come from a family of hard heads,” he mumbles around a hollow laugh, and, he thinks, it definitely sounds as stupid out loud as it did in his head.

Tony’s gaze, in response, his sharp, and narrow, and Peter unconsciously closes his eyes. He can feel the ground rippling below his feet, and he sways, steadying only when Steve wraps an arm around his shoulders.

“Enough, Tony.”

“How much would it take to get you to come back to our labs so I can run some tests-”

“-Enough, Tony.”

Steve’s voice vibrates all across Peter’s body. It’s a powerful yet familiar feeling that makes him shudder slightly.

“What’s your name, son?”

Peter contemplates lying, maybe even using Ned’s name. But, he’s been careful as Spider-Man thus far, so, he thinks, he’s not at risk by sharing his real name. Besides, it’s not like it’s uncommon. “Peter,” he says after a moment.

He could hear Steve talking beside him, but an unannounced rush of blood in his ears begisn to drown out close sounds. He grows hot suddenly, or maybe, he’s been getting steadily hotter this entire time and he couldn’t fully realize. His body’s shaking a little harder now, inconsistent trembles jerking his limbs. His throat’s tightening, and when he realizes what the hell is happening, he’s shoving away from Steve and hunching over to vomit.

He feels worse when he finishes. He’s exhausted, and his head is positively throbbing. Yet, there’s a color of clarity flicking across his mind. Through the thick pain, he can think a little clearer, see a little clearer.

“Peter?”

“Gross, kid. Time to go to the hospital.”

“No!” Peter whips around, staggers, and unconsciously reaches out to Steve’s arm for support. “I mean, that’s not necessary,” he clarifies at the two, wide expressions looking at him expectantly. “Really. I’m already feeling better.” To punctuate his point, he lets go of Steve’s arm and bends down to snag his backpack, clutching it close to his chest. “See, totally fine. No passing out or anything.”

On the back of his head, he can already feel his broken skin moving, closing torn gaps, slowing the bloodflow. He figures he’s got about an hour until it’s completely healed, and he’d rather not be around two Avengers when it happens.

“I’ll just go home and... rest! I’ll rest. Scout’s honor.” He mock salutes, and then he spins on his heel and starts pushing his way out of the crowd, missing the furrowed gaze from Tony. He swallows thickly when he hears two sets of heavy footsteps behind him.

“Peter, wait!”

“I’m with Steve on this one, kid. I can’t, in good conscience, let you disappear in this condition. I can see the headlines now. Iron Man Abandons Helpless Teen.”

“Tony...”

Peter keeps walking ahead, keeps his gaze locked to the sidewalk below him as Tony and Steve take either side of him. “My apartment’s just a few blocks from here,” he mumbles, focusing on the rhythmic pound of his shoes on concrete and not on the hot pain pushing all across his head or on the fact that he can’t shake a couple of Avengers, something he’d never consider as Spider-Man.

“Do you not like hospitals, Peter?”

Steve’s question is a gentle prod, and Peter goes with it, shrugging.

“Not really,” he offers, keeping his voice low, indicating he doesn’t want to pursue the conversation, and luckily, Steve takes the bait and drops it. At least, Peter thinks, they’ll stop insisting he seek out medical assistance now. Though, he does feel a little bad lying to Steve; he doesn’t like lying, unless it’s to egg on Tony’s nerves as Spider-Man. But to Steve? It feels morally wrong, and he thinks he should seek out a confessional for his sins later.

“Not interested in having a bunch of doctors deem you a medical miracle?”

“Definitely not,” Peter groans, finally dragging his gaze up until he’s looking forward and not at the scuff marks on his shoes. His memories, though fuzzy, are filtering through cracks in the thick mud that’s currently his mind. He can remember standing atop the roof, maybe a little too close to the edge. He was getting ready to rip open his backpack for his suit, and then he remembers losing his footing. He remembers the back of his foot hitting the edge of the roof, and everything goes dark after that.

Embarrassing, he thinks. He’s the only super hero he knows clumsier than a newborn deer. Lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t realize he’s reached his apartment until his leg muscles are dragging to a stop on habit. He looks up, craning his neck, and sighs. “Well, this is me. I appreciate the escort, but I’m good now.” He starts up the steps, sighing louder when he hears the two follow.

He makes it all the way up the steps to his apartment door and unlocks it before he spins on his heel, a second, longer sigh pushing past his lips. “Look, I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but don’t you both have... bigger things to do? Iron Man and Captain America things?”

“You busy, Steve?” Tony asks, and Steve mutely shakes his head before following Tony into the apartment.

Groaning, Peter rubs at his forehead and shuffles inside, knowing full and well that both are incredibly busy on an hour-to-hour basis. He’s quick to slip his bacpack into his bedroom and close the door before he steps back out into the living room to see Steve motioning toward the couch with a pack of frozen peas in hand.

“It’s all you had.”

Shrugging, Peter drops down flat onto the couch, sitting up briefly so Steve can slip the bag of frozen peas behind his head. He shivers on contact because shit, it’s freezing, and Steve’s reaching over him to snag the blanket draped behind the couch. He hums absently when Steve tucks it around him, and then he cracks an eye open to see Tony staring down childhood pictures with a familair set of glasses on.

“Mr. Stark?”

“Huh?” Tony whips around, already plucking the glasses from his face.

“Really, Tony? How much info is FRIDAY feeding you right now?”

“What?” Tony drags out, both hands raised in defense. “Kid fell off a roof and walked away. Sue me.”

“I promise, Mr. Stark, I’m not even remotely interesting,” Peter tries, and Tony raises a single brow his way.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Peter’s kept his identity tightly under wraps thus far, and he knows childhood pictures or pictures with May aren’t going to reveal that he’s Spider-Man. Still, it’s annoyingly intrusive, and he sits up with a groan.

“If I swear on my best friend’s lego model death star that I’ll stay put, rest, and wake up every few hours to monitor my condition, will you both please leave? You really don’t need to hang around here; I know you both have to be really busy.”

“Your best friend has a lego model death star?” Tony starts, isolating that one fact. “Is your best friend in second grade?”

Peter clambers to his feet, stalks over to his door, and yanks it open. “We’re the same age, and I happily helped him with it,” he challenges, motioning toward the doorway.

“Easy, champ,” Tony says around a laugh as he and Steve start toward the door. “If you and your friend want to play with legos, that’s none of my business. Just try not to fall off any more roofs because, unfortunately, that is my business.”

“Yes, sir,” Peter says, offering a nod as the two step out.

“Consider going to a hospital, Peter,” Steve adds. “Maybe take your friend with you for comfort.”

Yeah right, Peter thinks. Ned can’t even handle the thought of a needle without feeling faint. Still, he nods, if only to appease Steve, and then he’s closing the door and sinking against it with a low sigh. He listens for a long time until he can no longer make out their footsteps, and then he’s ignoring the pressure in his head and running to his room to don his suit.

Concussion or not, Queens still needs the friendly, neighborhood Spider-Man.

295 notes · View notes

amonrawya · 3 years

Text

The Greatest Gift of All

youtube

(Inspired by^ for the people who asked :D hope it was worth the wait!)

Long before the war, before Captain America or the Winter Soldier, there was simply Bucky and Steve. At least, that's what history says. But they missed out one very important person, a girl called Y/N.

Women in those times often found themselves with little opportunity, and only two easily attainable pathways in life: wife and mother. But Y/N carved out a life for herself that defied all expectations, and it all started in Brooklyn.

She dived headlong into scuffles, usually next to Bucky in defence of Steve. Regardless of the opponent, Y/N stood by them both, and often held her own quite impressively.

Her dress style borrowed from more masculine cuts, and Y/N was never seen without her cap. A lot of people had a problem with this, but she shut them up fairly swiftly.

Everything about this girl drew Bucky in, a battle he fought with little effort. They reveled in each other, flaunting their love at every opportunity. More than a few were jealous that the rough and tumble girl got the best looking boy in town.

In a way, before even coming of age, they started an adult life together. The three of them moved into a flat. Y/N and Bucky took hard labour jobs, or anything they could get. They had little room to be picky.

Both managed to hook steady summer jobs at the local docks. They used most of their money to keep a roof over their heads, buy food, and pay for Steve's medical needs. He attended art school, and sold his work every now and then; but physically, he was in no condition to work.

The war appeared on the horizon, just as they started to pull themselves an inch above the poverty line. Y/N saw it coming, the inevitable. She treasured every second they spent together, and dreaded the day when the draft came.

A lot of the older women she worked with were disrespectful, looking down on her pre-marital relationship with Bucky. They claimed she couldn't possibly understand their grief, despite the fact Y/N had seen Bucky off at the docks that very morning.

In truth, they already planned on being married, but at the time, they simply didn't have the funds. Bucky promised, once the war ended, that ring would be on her finger.

Except, he never came home. Not properly. The person Hydra gave back to Y/N was damaged and jaded, angry at the world, angrier than she ever saw. But still, they loved each other. Though she never forgave them for stealing away his innocence, for trying to snuff out the light in his soul. A part of him would always belong to them, and she hated it.

Refusing to stay home while they risked their lives, never knowing, Y/N trained as an army nurse, working specially with the Howling Commandos unit.

Then one day, she went out to welcome them back from a mission. Every face looked devastated, but none more so than Steve. His eyes, red-raw and streaming, seemed incapable of rising from the ground. At first, the realisation didn't process, the idea simply incomprehensible. He promised.

Dugan was the one to finally break through and catch Y/N as she fell, holding her as the tears poured. Once he shook off his daze, Steve took his place, sharing in her grief.

Her world fell apart so quickly, with no warning and no mercy. Their commanders celebrated the capture of Arnim Zola, while Y/N and Steve sat, staring at an empty place at their side.

Everyone mourned Bucky, and swiftly after, began to mourn Y/N, too. The loss took a part of her...the sparkle, the happiness, the laugh that lit up her face. It all vanished. She worked hard, looked after them all, but only Steve was able to make her smile. Even then, it looked pained.

So when Steve went down with the plane, the very last shred of Y/N died with him. No tears left her eyes, no screams ripped up her throat. A cold numbness took over, freezing the woman from the inside out.

V-Day came and went. The Commandos stood and drank to their lost comrades, and Dugan silently drank another...for the loss of a bright, fiery girl who had virtually nothing to lose, and still lost everything.

She spent her days as a robot, doing nothing but going through the motions of badly imitating life. The flat was empty and quiet, yet somehow, bursting with the ghosts of her loved ones. Nightmares plagued her, terrible images of Bucky's body, forever trapped in a freezing hell, nothing but food for the birds. And Steve, his body...was it cast adrift in the ocean? Or destroyed, burnt to ash in the belly of a metal beast.

They were simple folk before the war turned them into soldiers, into weapons. Before symbols and flags stole away their names, driving them to sacrifice their lives for a greater cause.

Y/N knew their fight against Hydra was important...knew the honour behind their sacrifice. But when it's you left sitting at an empty dinner table, it's much easier to be angry and bitter.

She never married, never settled, bouncing around countries working as an army nurse. The Commandos slowly died around her, each one fading to grey as the curtain drew the show to a close. Each death, each funeral ripped open her wounds, bigger and deeper each time. Until eventually, Y/N let the blood flow freely.

Or at least, that's what would have happened. But one choice, one decision, made by a boy she thought dead in the far future, changed it all.

Bucky Barnes struggled to find himself again. His memories were mostly all returned, if a bit hazy and fragmented. He had Steve there to right any wrong recollections, and connect with on their shared experiences. But something always seemed to be missing, a piece of the jigsaw that hadn't been found.

He remembered Y/N. He remembered her clearer than anything. She was glowing like honey in the sun when Bucky closed his eyes and brought her back to mind.

Face covered in muck, hair tousled and streaked with grease from the boats, soot on the very tip of her nose and a cap perched jauntily on her head; wearing the deepest expression of concentration as she aimed a hanful of rotten fish guts at the sleezy Connell boy from Fifth, who decided his opinion on her backside mattered. The image shone crystal clear. Her laughter, rolling out from between curved lips, beautiful and full of mischief.

It never failed to make him smile. Or cry. Or sometimes, both. He missed Y/N than he thought possible for a human being.

Bucky often wondered about her life, whether she went on to marry, or maybe even have children. Was she happy? Did she bury him and move on? If they met today, would Y/N even recognise the man he was now?

More importantly, in his mind, something he both feared and longed to know: would she still love him?

Unbeknownst to Bucky, Steve saw all this. Understood, to a degree, his pain. But he and Peggy never got the chance to bond so strongly. He knew Bucky needed him, but Steve also knew he needed Y/N more.

So once his goodbyes were said, he looked one last time at Bucky, and smiled beneath his suit as he vanished into time.

The living room looked exactly the same as he remembered. Bucky's coat, slung over the back of the chair, his sketchbooks strewn around the desk. Every rip and chip. His heart swelled with nostalgia, and pain, thinking of the life they were supposed to have.

What must have been in their heads...running off to fight, so eager to throw everything away. And who was left to stare at empty beds and eat breakfast alone every morning? Y/N.

His chest constricted, hearing the keys in the door, the lock rattling three times before letting her in. His nerve faltered for the briefest second, wondering if he was ready to see her again.

"Who the hell are you?!"

Time's up.

Slowly, he turned, and watched as Y/N's eyes widened, all the bags in her hands falling to the floor with a crash.

"...Stevie?" The name came out as a whisper, nearly inaudible.

He grinned, laughing as tears stung his eyes. "Hey, spitfire. Long time no see."

"Steve!" She launched herself at him, arms wrapping around his neck and clinging on for dear life.

Catching her by the waist, he swung Y/N around, burying his face in her hair. They held onto one another as if they might vanish if they let go. But after a minute, Steve gently pushed her back.

"How? How are you here? What are you wearing? I don't understand, Steve, they said you died! Your plane went down in the ocean," she stammered, hand on his forearm with a grip like a vice.

"I survived. The serum kept me alive in the ice for seventy years," he said, questioning his own sanity momentarily; standing in the flat again made everything that happened seem like a distant dream.

Y/N frowned, brows knitting together. "What? Did you hit your head? Steve, this is 1945."

"I know, I came from 2023. I'm alive," he said, and saw her mentally backing away, so added, "I'm alive, and so is Bucky."

Her head snapped up, eyes immediately filling with tears. A dozen emotions whizzed through them in a second; disbelief, pain, hope. It shone clearly in her face as she stepped closer.

What did you say?" She asked, voice choked as she brought her shaking hands up to her mouth.

"Bucky's alive," he repeated softly, "and I can send you to him, in the future. But we don't have a lot of time. You need to listen to me, carefully, and do what I say."

She spluttered, struggling for words. "I, but...what about you?"

"I've made my decision," Steve said, and gently took her hands in his, "now, please, listen."

Bucky watched the machine, feeling a wave of numbness wash over his insides. Nothing was a better deal than the pain, the cruel sting of betrayal fighting to be felt. But he beat it back, unable to allow those thoughts validation.

Steve gave up so much for him, he fought for years to get him here. Steve deserved this. And no matter how wrong those words sounded in his head, he resolutely stood by them.

The seconds ticked by, noted by Bruce's countdown. A flash of guilt almost made Bucky explain what was going to happen, explain that Steve left them. Left him. But he possessed no energy to speak, they'd see in a second, when no one appeared-

Zap. A blinding flash of light.

There's someone there.

Bucky frowned, hands falling from his pockets. Did Steve change his mind? Did he...

All the thoughts in his head stopped as the figure stepped down. Too small, too lithe for it to be Steve. Bucky's heart rate quickened, something in his unconscious already registering his recognition.

The suit fell away, and if he weren't frozen in place, Bucky wouldn't have been standing. A quiver shot through him, nearly buckling his knees. Shock, fear and pure disbelief all delayed his reaction.

Y/N looked around, amazed, but turned to stone as she set eyes on him. Her face went utterly blank, a strangled sound leaving her lips.

Wearing her yard slacks, with a small bag on her shoulder, her face covered in dirt, hair streaked with grease, cap perched on-top, slanted to one side...she was everything he remembered, and his heart tried to leave his chest to go to her. To be whole again.

But fear held him back. She didn't know the things he'd done, the person he became after the train accident. What if-

"Who is she?" Sam asked, glaring as he stalked towards her, an accusation rising on his lips.

Bucky answered without hesitation, or thinking; the question had been asked countless times over the years. It always recieved the same reply. "My doll."

Sam stopped short, glancing between them, the way neither took their eyes off the other. He nodded, brows still closely knit, and backed off.

Slowly, Y/N approached, encouraged by the sound of his voice. She reached out carefully, when she got close enough. Trembling fingers brushed his cheek, and a shudder ran through her.

"My Bucky..." She said quietly, eyes roaming over his face, a small smile tugging at her lips, "...you're here, in front of me. Alive."

He swallowed dryly, heart thundering away beneath his skin. "I'm different...you don't know..."

No sooner had the words left his mouth that her eyes found the cold metal where his flesh used to be. In reaching to hold it, she'd been taken by surprise.

Gently, Y/N took the hand in her own, examing the limb with a careful gaze. Moments passed, and she met his eyes again. Bucky steeled himself for rejection, for the disgust and horror.

Her hand went back to his cheek, and he involuntairly leaned into it. The warmth seeped into his blood. She stood on her tip toes, the smile on her lips blossoming into a bright beam of sunlight. "You've always been my Bucky, and always will be. Metal appendages and all."

He fell apart and dove down to capture her lips, clutching her to him with the hunger of a starving man. She pulled herself in, hands tangling in his brown locks, and both tasted salt on the others' lips.

So filled with joy his heart could burst, Bucky revelled in the feeling of holding his girl again. Laughing through the tears, he buried his face in her neck.

Thank you, Steve, for the greatest gift of all.

139 notes · View notes

ikindamissbeingphysical · 3 years

Text

5 Times Musa wore Riven’s clothes

Read here or on ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29376804

The Alfea Games is a bullshit annual tradition. It's an exam masquerading as a tournament, just a way for the teachers and high rankers of the Kingdom to see who they want to pluck out of the Academy and take for their army, or task force, or some other random position Riven could really not care less about.

Still, he's competitive, and if there's one thing he likes doing, it's beating Sky.

He slashes, a dagger in each fist, at the Burned One projection and it falls to its knees shrieking.

The stands are full of students cheering, and Riven gets a rush at their applause.

"Show off." Sky pants from beside him, as Riven's tally flicks up to 7, and Sky's stays stubbornly at 4.

"Jealous, much?" Riven grins; relieved when the half-time bell chimes because his legs are sore, and the late afternoon sun still burns as it begins to dip out of the sky. He and the other Specialists head over to the shade and he rifles through his rucksack for some water as Sky goes to kiss Bloom, who's leaning over the rail; red tresses swaying in the breeze.

"You were amazing!" Bloom gushes, and Sky beams at her, and Riven mimes throwing up.

Someone laughs.

He turns to see Musa, headphones around her neck, hair in pigtails, and-and-

In his jacket.

She's wearing his jacket. His leather jacket. It's draped over her shoulders. Her bare shoulders, because she's wearing some strapless, form-fitting purple dress, and Riven's coat, she's wearing Riven's-

"You okay, man?" Sky asks, and Riven realises they're all looking at him, and he's still looking at Musa, and her big, brown eyes are lit up a sort of hazel in the red setting sun.

He nods, waving them off, and chugs more of his water, trying to temper his heartbeat.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Musa asks, more quietly, her irises flaring purple. Her eyebrows stitch together worriedly. "You're like- really anxious. It's just a game."

"Stay out of my head." He hisses furiously, petrified that she might be able to see, might be able to tell-

She leans away from him, scowling. "Fine. Whatever."

He's grateful when the bell rings again, but his winning streak is gone. As the flood-lights turn on and the sun disappears, he misses target after target. He keeps getting pinned by fucking rookies and everyone else's tally continues to jump up as his dies on a plateau.

He can see her, in his peripheral, wearing his jacket and she probably doesn't even know it's his. She probably doesn't know how she looks in that leather swamping her frame, the collar resting at her neck, where the skin looks so soft that-

"Fuck, dude," Sky curses, hauling Riven off his ass. "Pull yourself together."

"She's wearing my jacket." He snaps, and Sky looks at him blankly for a moment, before he groans.

"Dude, I know you're like, against sharing, but she was freezing and it was just lying there. I'd have given her mine, but Bloom had already-"

"It's fine, just-" Riven tries to shake it off, "I'm focused."

He can't help a final glance over his shoulder, to see Musa leaning sleepily against the railings, headphones now secured over her ears, resting her chin on her arms. On his jacket sleeves. She's lit by the silver floodlights, and her eyes are half-closed, and he wonders what she's listening to. He wonders-

The Burned One knocks him to the ground, and the buzzer blares.

The next day, traces of her perfume linger on his jacket, swirling around him the way she does, always, in his thoughts.

It's sweet, like honey and vanilla, like home-spun sugar and toffee.

He'd found his jacket right on the bench where he'd left it after the game: the stands empty, the game over. It had been folded neatly and left just beside his things and he'd slid it on and tried not to replay their interaction in his head.

Today's a new day.

As part of Sky's new scheme to become the best boyfriend in the history of boyfriends, they've been sitting with the Winx Suite most lunch times. It's not exactly Riven's idea of a good time. He feels some horrid mix of guilt and irritation whenever he looks at Terra, and Aisha glowers at him like his very proximity will end in her getting a suspension. He spends most of the time arguing with Stella, and trying (failing) not to look at Musa while Sky and Bloom stray the line between PDA and go get a room.

When he gets to the cafeteria and heads for the table, he's surprised, and maybe a little thrilled, to see that it's just Musa at the table.

She stands up as soon as she seems him.

"Good, the others just left. They wanted to have lunch out by the lake. Bloom has apparently ‘found a place’. C'mon, we can catch up."

He has no option but to follow her, and sure enough, half-way across the field is the whole merry-fucking-gang. Riven doesn't know how to feel. Sky could've texted, if his brain was capable of fathoming anything other than Bloom when she was nearby. Were they even going to invite him? Was he going to get to the cafeteria to see an empty table? They probably wouldn't have missed him anyway, he thinks bitterly.

And yet- Musa was there. Waiting.

He looks at her thoughtfully, and her eyes flash purple when she catches him. She winces. "It wasn't like that." She says, "they were caught up in the idea of going there. They weren't purposely trying to leave you behind."

Jesus Christ, can't she just-

"I'm sorry," she barrels on, as they fall into the same steps, almost caught up to the others. "I'm trying to respect your privacy and everything, I'm working on it- my control isn't great at the moment."

"You should work on that." He mutters.

Her shoulders slump dejectedly. "I know."

Well, fuck, he didn't mean to- he swallows hard. "I'm tanking my field training." He says, trying to ignore her look of surprise at this freely-offered information. "Great at everything else, but camouflage? The element of surprise? I'm struggling. It's hard. I also fucking hate it, so there's that."

She huffs out a small laugh. "I bet you just like the thrill of attacking someone face to face. None of that 'sneaking up on you' bullshit."

He grins before he can check himself, and she catches it, and smiles too.

"There you are!" Bloom calls excitedly, "c'mon, we're gonna use Stella's ring."

Riven hates to give Bloom props for anything- and it isn't because he doesn't like her, or anything like that- he's just reluctant to acknowledge anybody's good traits since they all seem so loathe to see any in him- but the lake is nice.

Large and leafy green, surrounded by trees and over-hung by the clear blue sky. There's a sunbeaten deck strutting proudly into the middle, and Aisha strips out of her clothes to reveal a swim suit, and in three great strides, dives in like a dolphin.

The rest of them stare after her in awe.

"Are you always wearing that under your clothes?" Riven asks, toeing off his shoes, watching as Aisha tumble turns and glides through the water like a dolphin. She smiles at him from the water, and he's surprised by the look of it on her face. For the first time, she looks relaxed. Stress-free. Content.

Bloom and Stella change into their swim suits, as he and Sky just strip down to their boxers. Bloom wolf-whistles, and Sky blushes.

Riven puffs his chest out, winking at Stella who scoffs at him. He turns to find Musa. She's shrugged off her coat and shoes, and is rifling through her bag in confusion. She's too pre-occupied to notice his abs. Riven tries not to take offence.

"I can't find my- oh shit." Musa groans, thumping her head. "I left it back in the fire circle."

"Oh! Don't worry, Musa," Terra says brightly, as she sits, fully-dressed, on the mossy bank, with a stack of books beside her. "You can sit this one out with me!"

Musa turns to her with a smile (that to Riven, looks fucking forced) just as Bloom and Sky jump in. They scream, splashing Stella who cannon-balls in after them. Riven watches Musa's face, can see the hidden longing in her eyes.

A part of him wants to tease her, entice her in by saying how much he wouldn't mind if they decided to go skinny-dipping instead, but he knows it ultimately wouldn't work. Instead, he reaches for his discarded black tee, and tosses it to her.

"Should be long enough to preserve your modesty," he says, going for casual and heading for the dock. "Considering you're such a short-arse."

Musa sticks her tongue out at him, but she eagerly turns to get changed and Riven plunges into the lake to resist the urge to watch.

The water is warm and licks at his skin as the sun beats down onto his shoulders. It's deep and he can't quite graze the bottom, and he's suddenly, a little stupidly, grateful for knowing Sky. Grateful that he gets to be here. He floats on his back, staring up at the sky and letting himself just bask in the moment. As the water laps in his ears, he can hear the others laughing, Aisha swimming, Stella screaming, and the sun warms red spots onto his eye lids, marvellous colours in the dark- so he opens them.

Just in time to see Musa standing on the dock.

Suddenly, all his attention is on her. Her long, tan legs on display, his tee, his t-shirt, tickling down past her hips, and she jumps.

Okay. Turns out it's not a leather jacket thing. Anything that's his looks good on her. He could look good on her.

He watches for her when she re-surfaces, as she joins in splashing Stella, and he waits, waits, waits, until- victory.

She swims over to him. A little way away from the group, to where he's treading water alone. The t-shirt clings to her and he wants to touch her and-

"Hey," she says, with wet hair and water droplets on her eyelashes. "Thanks for the tee."

He shrugs. "I'd rather you'd jumped in without anything on."

She hits him, but finally, finally, he gets her eyes on him. They linger, as the water rivets roll down the breadth of his shoulders, his chest, down to- her eyes flicker away, cheeks red.

"Don't be shy," he purrs, "I'm hot. It's not a sin to look. You're hot too. Dancer’s body. Bet you're flexible."

"Wouldn't you like to know?" She murmurs, before her eyes flash purple. He tries not to let it irritate him. He hates the violation of his privacy, but he knows she can't control it- but she turns away from him, and he follows her gaze to Terra, sitting balefully alone. "If I do what I'm gonna do," she whispers, and his heart trips up a little, at her whispering to him over the water, pulling him in closer. A secret just for the two of them. "Promise you won't tell anyone."

Riven grins. "I'm great with secrets."

Musa takes a breath, before she stares at Terra, face tense with concentration, eyes shimmering purple.

Riven turns to look at Terra expectantly. "You're mind-controlling her?"

"No." Musa mutters, still focused, "I'm just trying to increase her confidence, trying to-"

Terra looks up suddenly, and Musa hurriedly grabs Riven's arm to move behind him.

"The water does look good!" Terra calls, "is it warm?"

"Oh, it's lovely, Terra!" Musa hollers back, "you should come in!"

"Yes! Join us!" Bloom sings, from her position perched on Sky's shoulders.

Terra wavers. Riven can feel Musa's hand curled around his arm, her body against his back. "I don't have my costume!" She yells.

"You're wearing like five layers," Stella calls, "you can spare one."

Terra chews on her bottom lip, and Riven turns his head to whisper: "can't you boost it anymore?"

"I'm trying." Musa insists quietly, "I can't manufacture it. I can only enhance what's already there."

"Terra," Riven yells, startling her, "if you come in, I'll let you dunk me."

Sky bursts out laughing, and Terra giggles.

"Well, I can't resist that!" She says, getting to her feet. Riven turns away, looking down at Musa who's beaming up at him.

"Wow." She says, pressing her lips together to hide the glee in her tone. "That was very sweet."

"Fuck off." Riven mutters, but his eyes are on the collar of his wet tee as it clings to her skin. "I only did it because that was bloody painful to watch. By the way, is there anything else you can do with your powers that I should watch out for?"

Musa tips her head contemplatively. "Actually, yes." She lifts her hands and cups his face. He startles a little, at her fingertips against his jaw, before he sees her eyes purple and shimmer, and then suddenly, a weird emotion clouds into his head. It's familiar yet foreign, it's-

gratitude?

"It's meant to be gratitude." Musa says, when her eyes are back to normal and she's panting a little, "I'm not great at-"

"I got it." He reassures her, “I felt it."

She smiles, pleased, pushing away from him to swim further to the centre of the lake.

He watches her go, mind reeling. More powerful than he thought, though he's not sure why he's surprised. He can still feel her hands on his face. He wants to swim after her, but Terra and Sky corner him, eager to see him dunked.

It marks a turning point for the group as a whole.

The afternoon at the lake has softened grudges, strengthened bonds, and Terra talks to him more over lunch. Aisha doesn't bore him so much, not now he can see her for more than a stuck-up rule-follower. He and Stella get along as well as they usually do, but their barbs seem less sharp than before. Bloom has always been pretty accepting, and Musa-

Well, she's Musa.

She's making him lose all sense of normalcy, of sanity, because that's the only reason he'd agree to this fucking slumber party.

"No, I think it was better over there." Sky says, changing his mind for the fourth time, as Riven struggles under the weight of the mattress. The entire floor is covered with pillows and cushions and Sky needs to make up his mind before Riven kills him. "No, no, you were right- put it back."

"Jesus," Riven groans, setting it down and spotting the stack of Disney Princess movies. "We're two guys about to sleep with five girls, and you're suggesting we watch Pocahontas?"

"They won the coin toss," Sky shrugs, "besides, I always liked the little hummingbird."

The girls arrive after Laurie, the RI for the floor, has done her final rounds. They shuffle into the room on tiptoes, and Riven closes it behind them, meeting Musa's eyes. Her hair's down and loose around her shoulders, and he's never seen it like that before. In her soft looking, cotton pyjamas, some rainbow sweater, she's more enticing than usual so he busies himself with the popcorn as Sky sets out the rest of the snacks.

"This is a nice set-up, guys," Bloom grins, getting comfy right in the middle. Sky joins her, and soon, the lights are off- bar Stella's glowing little ball- and everyone's shuffling into place.

Bloom and Sky are cosied up to one another, and Aisha and Terra are tucked neatly into one corner. Stella fancies herself above the ground, and lies on Sky's bed, half her attention on her phone.

Musa settles in the other corner, leaning against a mountain of cushions, and Riven debates for about half a second before he joins her.

"Hi," she whispers, sounding pleased, "wanna hear a sad story?"

Their thighs are touching. Her fleece pants are warm against his bare leg, and the cushions are ridiculously comfortable, and she looks so different with her hair down, her face almost obscured from him. "Sure," he whispers back.

She points are her bare feet. "I forgot my socks."

He snorts. "If that's your idea of a sad story-" he breaks off into a hiss when she cruelly presses her toes onto his shin. "Jesus, they're fucking ice." He complains, and she laughs, tossing a kernel of popcorn into the air and catching it perfectly between her teeth.

He reaches over her, feels her entire body stiffen and does his best to ignore it, opening one of his drawers and pulling out a pair of mis-matched socks.

She takes them gleefully, leaning down to pull them on. Her shirt rides up and he catches a glimpse of her lower back, and when she sits up- she catches him. Their eyes dart away from each other, and the first hour of Pocahontas is a stiff, awkward affair. The darkness seems to electrify the space between them and Riven's too afraid to move. Musa seems to be feeling the same way, but then Terra starts singing along with the song, and the the air relaxes a little.

Then, somehow, in Little Mermaid 2, Riven's oddly invested in Melody and her pull to the sea, when Musa sighs, sinking back further into the cushions, resting her body weight on Riven, looking completely content.

"You comfortable?" He teases, and she smiles lazily up at him, wiggling her toes in his socks.

"Very comfortable." She says, and he isn't thinking when he says:

"You're insufferably cute, you know that?"

He regrets it immediately, but it's slipped out, and Musa barely seems to notice his panic. She just yawns, and then she- she- rests her head on his shoulder, and her hair fans down over him, and tickles his arm.

He feels, suddenly, the rather vicious urge to protect her. He's on high-alert, for some reason, for any intruder, because she's here, half-asleep, resting against him. So trusting. So vulnerable, and-

The DVD menu chimes on repeat, and when Riven looks up he realises that everyone else is asleep, and Stella's orb of light has vanished into darkness, and that it's well past midnight.

Slowly, gently, he rests his cheek on Musa's head, feels the way they're tucked in together, and he closes his eyes.

He's not sure how it happened.

How they can go one minute from a group of friends binging Disney movies, to out here, in the woods, watching Bloom's fucking fire wings and surrounded on all sides by Burned Ones. Real ones. Not projections.

The girls are all glowing, eyes burning, and there's splashes of water, tangling ivy, shooting flames, blinding light and Musa: shouting locations as she tracks them.

"Try to project lethargy!" Aisha screams, clutching one arm, as Sky slashes a Burned One along the chest.

Riven jams two sharp jabs into the torso of another, and growls over his shoulder. "She's already fucking tracking them, Aisha! Why don't you just water-board them some more?"

Musa doesn't mediate their bickering, just whirls and points and says "Another three over there, I can sense them. They want Bloom!"

Sky and Terra immediately run over to Bloom, who has fire burning along her shoulders, and it's so arresting a sight that Riven doesn't even notice when the Burned One crumbles into ash beneath him.

He doesn't notice when another hisses just to his left. He can't get his blade out in time, and it has one deformed hand around his throat, claws pricking into his skin when Musa's suddenly shoving him away, taking his place, and he just has time to notice, to scream- when she lunges forward, and stabs the monster in the chest. It howls, and she yells out in unison, her voice shaking with agony, a sound that'll haunt him.

The Burned One crumples, and Musa with it.

"Musa!" Stella cries, racing over, trying to get closer, but Riven blocks her, taking Musa's chin in his hands, tilting her face up. There are tears stained along her cheeks, and her eyes are still rimmed purple.

"I felt it," she gasps, clutching Riven's arms, still shaking, "I felt it die, I felt it-"

"It's okay." Stella insists, voice shaky, rubbing Musa's back. "You did amazing, you did so great."

Musa clenches her eyes shut. "I've gotta- I can feel more of them."

"Take a minute." Riven pleads, trying to catch his breath, feeling blood move sluggishly down his own neck. "Take a minute, you just fucking saved my life, you're allowed a goddamn minute."

His entire being seems to light up at the small, strained smile she gives him. Stella sees the smile too, so she shoots Riven a look that says keep going, moron.

He doesn't need her prompting. "And what a sexy knife move. Where'd you get that blade?"

This earns more of a laugh from her. Relieved and a little hysterical sounding, but a laugh nonetheless. She holds the blade up, and its blue handle glints in the moonlight. "Stole it from you." She says, and he wants to tell her it isn't the only thing she's stolen from him. She has everything he is in the palm of her hand, and she saved his life. She hands the dagger back to him, and he shakes his head.

"Keep it. You look hot with a knife in your hand."

Musa laughs again, still a little choked up, and the two of them help her to her feet. He doesn't want to let go for her, but she sniffles, nodding, so Riven just sticks close by the rest of the night.

They defeat the burned ones with minimal injuries. Aisha's leg is broken, and Terra's bandaged it as best she can, as they limp back to the school. Dowling and Silva meet them half way, overflowing with worry and gratitude, and at their insistence, Riven collapses into a bed in the infirmary as they tend to his neck.

They put Musa in the bed beside him, and he sees claw marks on her ribs, and it's a good thing the Burned Ones are dead, because it's the only thing stopping him from marching right out into that forest to have their heads.

He's on his way back from the drinks table, two glasses in his hands, when he notices that Musa isn't there anymore.

Terra points to the back door. "She needed to step out. Mind fairy thing."

Riven nods, setting down the drinks and heading for the exit.

It's a warm summer night, and the air is humid, and Musa's standing out on the grass, gazing up at the stars.

She must feel his mental presence, because she turns and smiles.

He heads over to her, and she steps easily into the circle of his arms, and he holds her tightly.

Here they are. At the Alfea Ball, dating. Their three month anniversary is coming up soon, and Riven has something in mind. He's excited to see her reaction. But right now, he just basks in having her in his arms. She's a vision, in a lace-sleeved, indigo dress, her hair up the way he likes, and heels that mean she doesn't need to tiptoe to kiss him.

"Sorry," she murmurs, "got a little loud in there."

"I don't mind," he reassures, dropping a kiss onto her head. He feels her shiver, so he shrugs out of his tux jacket and drapes it over her shoulders. As pulls it around her, she looks up at him, soft and smiling, and his throat goes a little dry. "What?"

"Nothing," she shrugs, "you just look very dapper in your tux. I'm feeling it." Her hands slide up onto the plane of his chest, and he grins, nipping at her nose.

"Shall we get out of here, then?"

She hums in agreement, but tangles her fingers into his hair to pull him down for a kiss. As usual, the heat flares down to his stomach, and he pulls her tighter to his body.

"We should get out of here," he insists, kissing at her jaw, "or we'll definitely get suspended."

Musa laughs, and she leads the way back to the dorms.

Once there, he whispers, low and greedy into her ear, to take off everything but his jacket.

"Is this some sort of kink?" She asks delightedly, once his tux suit is the only thing on her gorgeous body, and she's straddling him, thighs spread over his, her fingers dragging through his hair.

"I don't know," he admits, even though he knows it's only a thing for him when she's involved. "I think I just look really good on you."

She bites his neck and scratches his down his back, and it hurts and he loves it, and she looks down at the marks like a satisfied kitten with tiger claws. "I look good on you too." She whispers, and he kisses her again.

And again.

#rivusa #riven x musa #fate: the winx saga #mutual pining #fic

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movedyourchair505 · 3 years

Text

Chiaro di luna

More honeymoon smut x

- chapter navigation -

“Fookin'ell... this heat...” He took a final drag from his cigarette, the light of it a fiery contrast in the darkness before he flicked it to the ground, crushing it with the bottom of his shoe while he blew the smoke to the side, his hand searching for Jade's again.

She intertwined her fingers instantly with his, already walking closer to his side again. She could still feel a remaining tingle of the whisky they'd had with dinner on her tongue, a pleasant sense of lightheadedness on her mind. As they slowly left the intensity of cigarette smoke behind, she was enshrouded in the cloud of his cologne's spice again, as well as a hint of the rich coconut and hibiscus sun cream she'd convinced him to wear earlier, had massaged into his arms before exiting the hotel. She leaned her head against his shoulder, steadier now on her bare feet in the warm sand. “What did you expect, Alexander?” she hummed.

He chuckled, eased when her other hand wrapped around his bicep and she shifted closer to his side, could smell the rose of her hair. A remark about how close she was halted on the tip of his tongue and he changed his mind, couldn't deny how much he loved her hands on him, her open eagerness to display her devotion to him. “Tha' whiskeh were gorgeous, eh?” He licked his lips. “And them syrup pastrehs?”

Jade laughed quietly at his excitement, shifting to reach his bare skin under his short sleeve of his shirt, pressing a kiss to the flower-embellished cross tattoo. “They were lovely,” she agreed. She adored the way he was finally relaxing, though it had taken a few days for him to fully settle into a temporary routine of no responsibilities. In the distance, she heard the occasional shuffle, though other than that felt like she was really alone with him, not just without Helders following to ensure their safety, but on the entirety of the dark beach, maybe even all of Athens. “You should add them to the Venere menu.”

Alexander hummed in contemplation, turning his head to shift closer to hers. “Would yeh like tha'?”

The instant urge to fulfil something she could possibly want had her press closer to his side almost automatically. “I would. And so would you. I know it.”

“Ah, guilteh,” he chuckled. “I'll 'ave t'remember tha', doll.” He leaned absently to press a kiss to the top of her head, growing increasingly aware of the sticky feeling were their palms were pressed together. He felt even where the late night breeze danced over his skin occasionally, there was a thin layer of sweat, occasional droplets from his hairline. “Fookin'ell...”

Jade sighed. “What?” she asked, worried momentarily that something would disturb the peace that had settled on his mind all day, the pleasant awareness that he was finally allowing himself to enjoy himself as much as he wanted her to.

“So fookin' warm...” he complained. “'s the middle of the night...”

“Baby...” She lifted her head from his bicep, without her heels he held in his other hand not quite reaching his shoulder. Her eyes wandered to the water, the ocean rushing mere metres away from them, the moonlight reflective on the surface. “I mean...”

The suggestive tone in her voice made him turn to her, though found himself quickly distracted by the way the glow of the moon illuminated her face, highlighted the smoothness of her skin, the sparkle of her eyes. “Yes, doll?”

She smiled, turning to meet his gaze fearlessly. “We could always go for a swim, Alexander.”

She was met with a slow blink, his nose twitching. “Can't be gettin' this ensemble wet,” he said decisively, shaking his head as he gestured vaguely to his baby blue linen suit. “No way.”

Jade rolled her eyes. “Not what I was suggesting.”

He pursed his lips as she continued to hold his gaze. “Y'kno' yeh can get meh naked back at the 'otel, Jade...” He swallowed. “Dun't wanna get wet in general...”

“You're already sweating,” she sighed in disbelief. “You've been complaining about the heat, you refused to get in the water this morning...” She shook her head. “Nobody's here.”

His eyes widened when she let go of his hand to step back and move slowly towards the water, walking backwards, the straps of her dress moved off her shoulders to shimmy out of the flimsy plum-coloured dress, within the blink of his eyes it was at her feet and she stood completely naked in front of him, in front of the ocean, drawing the tie from her hair, the triumphant smile on her face irresistible.

“It's up to you.”

Alexander pressed his lips together, motionless as he watched her turn slowly, the curve of her ass, the way she swayed until she was too far away in the darkness to see and when he followed a few steps, the water was concealing his view. “Jade...”

“Come on,” coaxed her voice, then only gentle rapture in the water audible before a sigh of relief floated to him from the dark, almost like a moan that triggered a different image in his head entirely.

Before he knew, he'd dropped her shoes, his fingers were unbuttoning the remaining buttons of his shirt, he shrugged out of it, then discarded of his trousers, had stepped out of his shoes and was following her blindly with need. “C'mere,” he demanded.

The squeal of delight he elicited from her when she realised he was right behind her made his decision instantly worth it and before he could reach out his hands, she was there, her hands slowly moving up his arms before she'd cupped his face and pulled him down in a sinfully consuming kiss, the moan that fell from his lips too instinctive to suppress, his self-control faltering as she pressed herself close and he could feel her hard nipples against his chest, her scent everywhere.

She wrapped her arms around him, her fingers wound into his hair and though she was already stood right there, his skin warm against hers, the water pleasantly cool around them, she knew she truly had him when he relaxed into her palm, his fingers closing around the side of her neck, angling her head to kiss her deeper, slowly taking control of her, his other hand squeezing her ass, drawing her in.

He could sense the way she submitted to him instantly as soon as he took control of her, the moment his fingertips wandered lower, her legs parted, it required more strength of him to hold her against him and she broke the kiss with a shaky gasp when he eased two fingers inside her without warning, humming with satisfaction at the way her body did exactly what he asked. “Yeh been this wet all evenin', Jade?”

He was speaking into her hair, her head now fallen against his chest, her hips in motion to meet his touch. She whined needily.

“Jade.”

His fingers filled her up with a simple shift of his wrist, had her tightening, gushing around him, the way she mewled against his skin beyond her control.

“Oh, 'ere's me good girl,” he drawled, his hand cupping the back of her head possessively to hold her against him, keep her in his arms, keep her close protectively. Her breath was shaky against his chest, the movement of his fingers eased by the water, he was desperate to have her shake against him, feel the power he had over her. “Starved yeh a bit today, eh?”

Her nails were digging into his back, her whimpers desperate. The way his fingers were curling inside her, stretching, demanding, she could hardly control her breathing. The depth of his voice had her without a doubt that begging him would do her no good.

“Ask meh teh let yeh cum, sweet'eart...”

Her moan came out strangled, completely at the mercy of his fingers that slowly closed around her throat, cutting her off the moment she wanted to follow his command.

“Jade,” he warned. “Do as yeh're told.”

Her body was tense, he held her on the very edge of oblivion, she knew that either he would choke her as soon as she'd try to speak again and push her over the edge against his warning, or he would allow her to beg only to deny her until he was satisfied.

“This wha' yeh wanted, eh?” he taunted as she remained quiet, his fingertips stroking over her throat. “Walk by the water, then get fooked a lil'...” His fingertips inside her were stroking at her sensitive walls, sore from that morning.

“A-Alexander,” she choked out, knew she had no choice but to play along.

His fingers tightened around her throat, for a split second while he spoke. “Si, cara mia?”

“Please...” She could barely hold on.

“Tha's better,” he hummed. “Tell meh wha' I want t'ear...”

“Please, am I allowed t-...” She was once again interrupted by a lazy squeeze of his fingers, could have composed herself and waited for his response had he not chosen to draw his fingers from her, dragging along her walls he'd left sore and unattended to all day after taking her in the shower that morning.

She shook in his arms and he held her, knew it was exactly the right thing to do to get her at her absolute weakest for him, could tell from the way she cried out in frustration that she was letting go with nothing filling her up and he could not wait to feel the gratitude she'd have once he would give her what she wanted, his own impatience and desperation fuelling him more than the punishment he knew she'd expect.

“I-I'm sorry,” she cried into his chest. “I tried...”

He angled her head back slightly, leaning to look at her, the way her chest and cheeks were flushed, her lips pouting, pillowy. “I kno', doll,” he assured her, his hand pressed flat to the small of her back. “But y'kno' I luv playin' wif yeh.”

“I'll do anything you want, Alexander...” She was desperate for him to have mercy on her, the darkness in his gaze wild, drunk on lust.

He chuckled, his eyes locked on hers, the desperation in her gaze exactly what he'd hoped for. “I kno' yeh will, pupa...” He licked his lips, smoothing her hair back. “Me pretteh girl.”

She waited, hung on to his every word, ready to do whatever he asked.

“So obedient,” he sighed, pleased with himself and he gave a slow nod. “Turn 'round for meh 'n I'll take care of yeh, doll.”

She trusted him fully to hold her as she followed his command, turned around despite how weak her knees felt, reassured when his arm remained around her to steady her, tightened instantly to pull her against him, the other hand once again loosely cupping her throat, a demonstration of effortless power. Despite his promise, she was on edge, could not predict how he would make her pay for defying him. “I didn't mean t-...”

He pushed his fingers into her mouth before she could finish, her lips tight around him, her fingers wrapped around his forearm tightly. “I know, angel,” he rasped into her hair. “'s all good, joost be'ave for meh now...”

The way she relaxed into his arms instantly when she heard his reassurance weakened him almost beyond his control, her submission delicious. “Lift yehr hips a bit,” he demanded. “Can yeh do tha' for meh?” He was hard, throbbing against her, held her in place as she tried to angle herself weakly to line his tip up with her entrance. “Tha's it, doll...” His hand was between her thighs then, attempting to lift her, his own hips angled perfectly to fill her up with one swift movement.

Her moan was muffled by his fingers as her walls struggled to take him, but he demanded for her to take it all after depriving her before, her nails digging into his arm, her lips sucking greedily on his fingers.

“Shh, shh...” he warned, reveling in the way she squeezed him, squirming to adjust to him and he bucked his hips up again, her whimpers around his fingers uncontrollable. “Jade, I need yeh teh beh quiet for meh...”

Though his lips were against her neck, his chest pressed to her back, he knew exactly what her face looked like, her lips wrapped tightly around his fingers, her eyes teary, rolling back into her head. “Feel fookin' luvleh,” he told her. “Can't wait t'cum 'round me cock now, can yeh?”

His words were overwhelming her, the intensity of his voice so close to her ear, but he knew exactly what she needed, after making her let go around nothing, she was salivating at the thought of her sore walls squeezing around him, falling apart and letting go around him.

“Jade...”

She did her best to nod, her voice muffled by his fingers. “Mmm-y-yes...”

“Won't take mooch...”

He would be the end of her, teasing her out of her mind and she tried to speak again. “Mmf...mm-ple-...”

He chuckled darkly, drawing his fingers from her mouth, taking a hold of her chin instead. “Scusi?”

“Fuck me, please, Alexander...” she whispered. “Please.”

He hummed, pleased. “Wif pleasure, principessa.”

He allowed no slow building of the pace, once he'd taken a steady hold on her again, he lost control of himself instantly, fuelled by her lustful moans and desperate pleas to take her harder, faster, to ruin her as much as he liked, to do whatever he wanted and he couldn't get enough, adored the way she welcomed the way he took charge of her, wanted more and more as he fucked her mercilessly with them concealed by the water up to their chests, her hair shiny in the low glow of the moon, unaware of and indifferent to who would hear her cries of bliss and devotion.

Her heart sank when she felt him slow, hold her tighter, pressed his lips to the side of her neck. “N-No...” she whined, her voice weak. “Please...”

“I kno' yeh're close, doll...” he drawled. “I know... I joost want yeh teh fank meh when yeh let go...”

“I will,” she panted breathlessly. “I promise...”

He groaned as she rolled her hips back greedily into his. “Fookin'ell...” His muscles were tense, but he maintained his grip on her, made sure to hold her upright against him so she could relax into him and with another buck of his hips, he felt her walls trembling, shaking around him, twitching inside her to follow suit, filling her up as she cried out and fell apart in his arms.

“Thank you,” she choked out. “Thank you, Alexander...”

“Fook, Jade...” he groaned, the way she kept squeezing him overwhelming, sore and tight and exactly what he'd craved from her. “Fooook...”

Her breathing was heavy, he could feel her heart pounding, stroking his fingers through her hair as he held her safely so she could catch her breath, compose herself. “I've got yeh.”

Despite the heat that had risen in her body, the cool water was a welcome contrast, relaxing her as much as Alexander's reassurance, as well as the awareness that he would hold her, soothe her until she had gathered herself. “Thank you,” she whispered shakily.

His lips pressed absent kisses to her neck, her shoulder. “Yeh're vereh welcome, me darlin'.”

He remained as he was, held her with nothing but devotion, unshakable patience until she intertwined her fingers with his and attempted to turn around slowly, whimpering when he slipped out of her. His heart skipped a beat as she smiled back at him, looking up to him. “There sheh is,” he rasped softly, his hands on her hips.

She laughed, shaking her head at cheek in his gaze, the smugness despite his inability to keep a straight face. His unfiltered smile would never fail to draw her in and fall in love with him all over again.

“Shall weh go back teh the 'otel?” he asked softly.

“I'm not sure I can walk that whole way...” she confessed.

He chuckled, waving it off. “I'll carry yeh, principessa.”

#alex turner #alex turner smut #alex turner fanfic #alex turner fanfiction #alex turner fic #arctic monkeys #last shadow puppets #adt #writing #chaptered fic #alex turner/oc #alex/jade #napule nights #nn #honeymoon drabbles #mafia au #mafia alex

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hockeyboysimagines · 3 years

Text

Guess I always knew

Prequel to Say it to me Softly.

Pairing:Nolan Patrick x Sawyer Grey(OC fem)

Warnings: swearing, mentions of death, parties, alcohol, sexual situations, fluff, angst, harassment, fighting.

Hi all! This is really long, but it had to be done! Just some fun Nolan and Sawyer moments through the years until he asks her to move with him. Hopefully it can give you some background on them and you enjoy it!

-💕

Toast popped up just as Delaney wrapped the hair tie around the bottom of Sawyers braid

“Viola.” She said smiling and pulling it tight. Sawyer smiled at her sister as her mother pulled the toast up and put butter on it. It was a warm early summer morning and a cool breeze was drifting through the open screen door in the kitchen. The radio was on, Sawyer’s mother, Anna humming along with the radio as she moved about the kitchen making breakfast. Mason was in his high chair eating cereal, and she could hear Liv making her way downstairs. Kellan was seated at the island reading the sports section of the paper.

“ Alright.” Delaney said, finishing her orange juice and placing her plate and cup in the dishwasher “I’m out.”

“Where you off to today?” He mom asked as she stirred pancake batter, bowl perched on her hip.

“Heading to the lake with some friends, shouldn’t be home too late.”

Her mom smiled, as Delaney dropped a kiss in Mason’s head and slugged kellan in the side. She waved to the girls and her mom.

“Del?” She turned hoisting her bag over her shoulder, hand braced on the door frame.

“Be careful. “

She smiled “Always am mom.” She breezed out the door, the sound of her flip flops on the gravel growing faint until she reached her car and pulled out of the driveway.

“How bout you?” Her mom said turning to Kellan. He stood drinking the last of his coffee, and stretched setting the paper down.

“I’m heading out to pick up some bait, then I’m gonna meet dad out at the mill and we’re gonna go fishing and then we’ll be home with dinner.” She smiled and wiped her hands on her apron, accepting a kiss on the cheek as he walked to put his boots on.

“And you?” Sawyer smiled and before she could say anything she heard her name being called from the driveway.

“Why do I even ask?” He mother chuckled and opened the window.

“Good morning Nolan honey! Are you hungry?”

“Good morning Mrs.Grey! No thanks my mom wouldn’t let me leave without eating. She said she has flowers to drop off for you later today!” Sawyer shoved her feet in her sneakers and put her plate and cup in the dishwasher before giving her mom a quick hug and waving to her siblings.

Nolan was sitting on his bike at the bottom of the driveway, backpack strapped on his shoulders. Sawyer heaved her own bike up, throwing a leg over it and hoisting herself up on the seat.

“So what do you want to do today?” Nolan asked as they began pedaling down the gravel road.

Summer had just started, and they had 3 whole months of free time with no school, no teachers and no responsibility.

“ I don’t know. It’s not warm enough to go swimming.”

He shook his head as they continued down the road waving to various neighbors and classmates. The sun was out now, high in the sky beating down and burning their shoulders. They ended up pedaling out of the neighborhood and dropped their bikes at the end of a hill and hiked to the top. They could see almost the whole town from there. Nolan was stretched out laying on his back eyes closed. Even at 12 Nolan was all legs and arms, hair shaggy that he refused cut. His mom had given up chasing him around with scissors and threatening bodily harm if he didn’t keep it short.

“I’m so glad schools over.”

“Yeah me too. No more homework, no more class, no more hockey.”

“You love hockey.”

“ Well yeah I do but I like a good break now and again you know.”

They sat for a while talking about the important stuff all 12 year olds talk about until it got too hot. They trekked back down the hill and decided to go to Nolan’s. The sun was shining and the air was warm and what should have been the start of a fun filled summer was the day their lives were about to change. Nolan’s mom had come frantically running from the front door when she saw them coming up the front walk and ushered them both into the car.

Delaney Grey was gone, her car abandoned, and no one knew where she was. Sawyer watched the following days destroy her parents, and turn her world upside down. The discovery of her car and her body later on would change the course of Sawyers entire life. She would forever be known as the girl who’s sister was murdered. Nolan was more important to her than ever. His mom took her in, keeping her shielded and protected from things she didn’t need to see, and stepped in when her mom couldn’t.

Time passed, the wounds healed but her parents were never the same and never okay. A lot of it passed so quickly she woke some days and didn’t remember. But the time they turned 15 rumors and stares mostly died down, until the anniversary. It would always be a part of her, and something that would always affect her. But she had Nolan. So she would fine.

******

“Gosh it’s so hot.” Jessi was sitting on a lawn chair in Sawyers backyard, sunglasses perched on her nose. Jessie had become an unexpected and close friend over the school year. They had met in English class, and paired together in a project. Jessie had a purple streak in her long dark hair, and a nose ring but she was funny and the only person who she could spend long amounts of time with besides Nolan. He even liked her, and the two of them got along well. The girls had been laying out in their bathing suits for almost 45 minutes and the most color they had gotten was sunburn. Sawyer closed her eyes and tipped her head back. It was rare to have peaceful moments like this so she was going to cherish it.

“Speaking of hot-“Jessi lowered her glasses and nudged her chin forward. Nolan and Chase, along with some other guys she didn’t know had just pulled into her driveway.

“Are you sure you never hit that?” Jessi was talking about Nolan, as always. She didn’t understand how ‘two people so attractive could exist as just friends without sex’.

“No Jess, I have not.”

“Are you sure you don’t wanna now? I mean damn.”

“If you think he’s so hot why don’t you-“

“He’s way out of my league babe. I wouldn’t even try it. But you should.”

Nolan had immediately tried to get them to leave her driveway the minute they pulled up and he saw she was wearing a bikini.

“Oh hell no.” Chase said practically jumping out of the car. “Sorry Pat. You said I couldn’t touch, but you said nothing about looking.”

Nolan mumbled something and followed his friends into her backyard, already regretting not calling. Why couldn’t she be wearing clothing?

*******

Sawyer closed her locker, balancing her books in one arm as she clicked the lock shut. It was raining but it was Friday and school was halfway over. As she turned she bumped into a chest. She looked up, about to scold Nolan for sneaking up on her when she was greeted by Kyle Welch. Kyle was the captain of the football team and a pretty well known colossal dick, but all the same he was popular and someone she had never even spoken to. Her eyebrows shot up on her forehead and she took a step back.

Hi. Your Sawyer right?”

“I-Uh yeah?”

“Your in my English class right? We should study sometime.” He was smiling at her, all teeth like a fucking dragon. He was looking at her with the strangest of looks, one that made her very very uncomfortable. Like she was a piece of meat, a toy for him to play with.

“Uhm. Sure. I guess.”

He gave her another smile and a nod before walking down the hallway and disappearing.

She shook her head, still confused but began her walk to the cafeteria. She found Nolan and the rest of her friends seated at the usual table. She sat between Nolan and Chase, across from Jessie, still bothered by the exchange at her locker.

“Your never going to believe who asked me to study today.” She said as she bit into an apple slice from her spot between them.

“Who?” Chase asked turning to her, mouth full of sandwich.

“Kyle Welch.”

Nolan’s bottle of water banged loudly off the table as he dropped it and his head whipped towards her.

“He what?”

She nodded and as she went to speak Kyle himself passed by their table sending her a smile. Nolan was glaring at him so severely, if looks could kill Kyle would be dead and the football team would be out a captain.

“No fucking way are you helping that guy study.” Nolan said, face set in stone.

“Yeah I’m gonna have to second this one.” Chase said from her other side.

“I wasn’t going to anyways, I think he just did it to be a dick.” She could feel heat and tension radiating off of Nolan, though she wasn’t sure why. As far as she knew they had never had any interaction, and ran in separate circles. But he was still glaring at him all the same.

“I heard some pretty messed up shit about that guy.” Chase said, eyeing Kyle from across the room.

“Like what?” Jessie asked. She was staring at Nolan who was still visibly angry, eyebrows furrowed. She glanced at Sawyer, who shrugged and turned her attention to Chase.

“ I mean it’s just a rumor but someone said that spiked some girls drink at Jenny Miller’s party last year. And I guess she isn’t the only one. Apparently he’s done it before. Like I said, just what I heard but still alarming eh?”

“Just stay clear of him.” Nolan snapped. He was quiet for the rest of lunch till the bell rang. He gave her a long look as he stood, and then turned abruptly and left the cafeteria without another word.

“What’s his deal?” Jessi asked, making Chase roll his eyes.

“You know Nolan. Come on.” He said nudging Sawyer “We’re gonna be late.”

She had always tried to keep her distance from Kyle and his group of friends in general. Nolan had an issue with him that she never truly understood but because it was Nolan she trusted it was for a good reason. She was following behind Chase on the way to history, but as he rounded the corner Kyle reappeared in front of her separating them. Chase kept walking unaware that she was no longer behind him.

“Oh hi.” She said taking a step away from him. The hallway was mostly empty and he was way too close to her.

“So about studying. How about later?”

“Oh I Uhm. I don’t know.”

“Come on. My parents are gone for the weekend so we’ll have the place to ourselves.” He reached forward, and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. She froze. Nolan had a habit of tucking her hair behind her ear, but it felt all wrong when Kyle did it, and she didn’t like it one bit.

“I can drive you to my house. It’ll be fun.”

“I usually drive home with-“

“Me.” She jumped and turned to find Nolan coming up behind her. He was glowering at Kyle over her shoulder, who looked at him unfazed.

“Is this your boyfriend or something?”

“Yeah I am. Let’s go.” He steered her away by the waist, and down the hall away from him.

“What the fuck was that about?” He stopped suddenly and spun to face her.

“He wanted me to come home with him after school. I said no.”

He rubbed his forehead eyes closed “Go to History. And wait for me after school. “

He left, storming down the hall leaving her standing in front of her classroom. After class she said goodbye to Chase and stuffed her books into her locker before walking out the back entrance of school. The rain had stopped but it was damp and chilly as she walked, avoiding puddles on the sidewalk. She rubbed her arms through her sweater, and as she turned the corner to the back of the building she stopped.

Kyle and a few of on his football buddies were hanging around, and turned to face her. Kyle smiled slowly, and gave her a once over, making her feel like she needed a shower. She felt trapped for a moment when she realized she was alone, the closest person being way ahead of her in the parking lot.

“Hey. Decided to take me up in my offer eh?” She was still glued to the spot.

“I was actually heading to meet Nolan. Excuse me.” She tried to brush past him but he grabbed her arm.

“Hey where you going?” He pulled her closer, fingers gripping her skin painfully. The other guys had wandered over, circling around laughing. She broke from his grasp only to have him catch both of her wrists and pull him to her.

“You should be thankful I’m even giving you the time of day.” He said coolly “Now how about you come get in my car and we’ll go to my house and you can get on your-“

“What is this?” Nolan had turned to corner with Rhett and Chase. Kyle released her and held his hands up. She bolted to Nolan, falling into his arms holding back tears. Had he not turned the corner she had no idea what would have happened. Kyle and his friends turned to leave, and he yelled over his shoulder.

“Have fun slumming Patrick.”

“I’ll kill him.”

“Whoa buddy. Calm down.” Chase said peering around him to look at her.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah I’m fine I just really wanna go home.” She swiped at a tear, as more came rolling down her cheeks, she heaved in a ragged breath. He had scared her, and made her feel small. She wondered if this was how her sister felt when she knew she was in trouble that day. Small and scared. And alone. Nolan ducked his head down to look at her.

“Hey. Hey. It’s okay let’s just go.” She walked with them to the car, several student noticing her red eyes and tears. She got in quickly, while Nolan said goodbye to the guys. The ride home was quiet. Too quiet. She felt disgusting, and every time she closed her eyes she could feel his breath on her face and his hands on her skin. Nolan was gripping the steering wheel, knuckles white face unreadable. When he pulled up to her house, he parked and sighed. No one was home, and though normally he would drop her off, he got out.

“I’m not leaving you here alone.”

She nodded and he followed her up the front steps and in the front door. She was still crying as she dropped her backpack by the door.

“Sawyer.” He said softly. She turned, head bowed and he very gently wrapped her in a hug, sobs wracking her body. They stayed like that for a while, till she was all cried out.

******

Nolan had completely forgotten that he promised Bo he would do an “interview” the best day. While he was annoyed, he was also relieved. They had been friends for a long time, and Bo took his mind off getting in his car and driving to Kyle’s house to murder him. Sawyer was going to come over afterwards. She was still upset, but was doing her best to mask it. He felt guilty for letting her walk out of school alone that day, when he would typically meet her by the entrance.

After the whole thing was over and Bo ended the interview, miffed that Nolan had answered the phone before he was done speaking, Nolan hung up and turned back to Bo who was smiling mischievously.

“ So?”

“What?”

Bo rolled his eyes “We all know who your best friend is Pat and we both know it’s neither one of those guys.”

Nolan rolled his eyes and scowled “ Leave her out of this.”

“I would but she’s just so hot-“

Before Bo could say anything else Nolan had pulled the back of his shirt over his head and had him in a tight neck lock. The other guys laughed immediately trying to turn the camera back on.

“Alright Jesus let go Pat! I was joking!”

He released him and pointed a finger threateningly at him as Bo straightened his shirt and started giggling.

“I’m serious-“

“I know Pat I would never do that. I thought you knew me better than that.”

That was Nolan’s worst fear. Most of his friends knew better than to even think about asking Sawyer out but it didn’t stop them from looking and making comments. The speculation that surrounded them had grown huge by the time they were in high school, and while it was exhausting to have to answer the same questions over and over again Nolan found that he didn’t really mind that people thought there was some attachment between them. It kept guys away from her and while he knew it was selfish he couldn’t help it. He just didn’t think anyone was good enough for her. He had purposely said someone else’s name when Bo asked so that they would leave him alone about her and it had backfired anyways.

It was frustrating for Nolan to know that given the opportunity all his friends would make some type of move on her, and he would break both his legs before that happened. He tried to keep a barrier between her and them but most of the time it didn’t work. She was just so damn friendly and approachable, her big smile pulled people in like a magnet.

“ I thought she’d be around, where is she anyway?”

“None of your business.”

Bo held his hands up, and as if on cue Sawyers car pulled into his driveway. Nolan had tried to hurry the process of the ‘interview’ hoping they would be gone before she got there but Bo had spent so much time goofing around they were behind schedule.

Great.

She stepped out, closed the door and made her way to Nolan’s back yard. Her hair was curly today, falling down her back to her waist. She had on a pair of jeans and a long sleeve grey shirt. Even completely covered the other guys had already given her a thorough once over and continued to stare as she came to stand next to him. Nolan gave Bo one last glare

“Hi.” Nolan wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. For whatever the reason Nolan got slightly possessive over her in situations like this, which didn’t make sense because he wasn’t her boyfriend. But the arm that he wrapped around her shoulders stayed there, keeping her pulled flush to his side.

“Hi Bo.” She smiled at him, practically making the other guys flood Nolan’s yard with drool.

“Hey. Your boy here just hit me with a plastic ball right in the junk.”

“Well you probably deserved it.”

Nolan laughed and bid Bo and the others goodbye, as they filed out of his yard, and Sawyer followed him up the steps to his room and threw herself down on his bed. He pulled open a drawer and pulled his shirt off to put on a new one. Sawyer turned and felt a blush creep up her neck while he changed. She had seen him shirtless plenty of times but he had obviously been spending extra time in the gym and his long lanky frame was beginning to change.

What the hell am I saying? She shook her head and turned her attention to the tv instead, trying to ignore shirtless Nolan on the other side of the room. He pulled another shirt over his head and came to sit next to her.

“Tired?” He asked. She was curled in a ball, head on his pillow. She nodded and closed her eyes.

“I couldn’t sleep last night after you know-.”

He nodded “I’m still mad about it. But that’s never gonna happen again.”

He laid down next to her, settling in and flipped the tv on and she inches closer resting her head on his shoulder. She had an angry purple bruise on her wrist, another on her upper arm. He was pissed just looking at it. It was a reminder that he hadn’t been there to protect her.

Her eyes had slid closed. He was so warm and inviting and she felt safe and relaxed for the first time in 24 hours, as she felt his arm wrap around her shoulders. He felt her body grow heavy, and her breathing even out and grow slow. They were alone in his house, his parents and sisters were gone and would be for several hours. He reached a hand up and ran it tentatively through her hair. He always had his hands in her hair. It was thick and soft and caught the light just right when she moved. She stirred slightly, and wrapped an arm around his midsection, sighing. Her eyes opened and she tipped her head back to look up at him.

Nolan suddenly felt an extreme urge to kiss her. His eyes moved to her mouth, which was less than 6 inches from his own, and then back up to her eyes again. They stayed that way for a few moments before Nolan leaned forward slightly hand coming up to her face. Her heart rate increased as his nose brushed against hers. Their lips had just touched when the sound of a slamming door from downstairs made them jump apart and Sawyer moved clear across the bed away from him before standing up quickly. Nolan was alarmed at what had almost just happened and was rooted to the spot. She was backed up against the wall like a animal cornered in a cage, eyes large.

“Sawyer I-“

She hurried from the room, the sound of her feet carrying down the stairs, out his front door and into her car. He threw himself backwards and sighed.

Fuck.

******

Sawyer was standing with Jessie drink in hand when Bo came up behind her and bumped her shoulder.

“Your boy is here.” He motioned behind him with his head, and Sawyer rolled her eyes.

“He’s not my boy.” She looked over Bo’s shoulder and felt a twinge of annoyance. Nolan was standing with Rhett and Chase surrounded by a group of girls all giggling and twirling their hair around their fingers, giving them their best doe eyes. One girl in particular had Nolan’s attention, as he leaned against the wall hands in his pockets smiling as she spoke to him. The twinge of annoyance became anger. What the hell was he doing? He had nearly kissed her earlier that afternoon and now he was flirting with someone else?

“Kaylee Smith eh?” Jessie shook her head and took a sip out of her solo cup “Is anyone gonna tell him it’s supposedly like a cave down there?”

Bo stifled a laugh and looked at Sawyer. She was gripping her cup, other arm folded across her midsection.

“Well isn’t that just fucking cozy.”

She downed the rest of her drink and pushed through the crowd to get another one. Bo and Jessie watched her go before turning back to each other.

“This isn’t going to end well.”

“Maybe I should go warn Pat.”

Bo turned and weaved through the crowd of people, and gave Nolan a punch when he reached him. He turned pausing his conversation with Kaylee, and gave Bo a small smile.

“What’s up?”

“Can I talk to you?…. Alone?” Kaylee reached forward and gave Nolan’s hand a small squeeze before she turned to walk away.

“I’ll talk to you later.” She gave him a smile over the shoulder which he returned, and turned to leave with her friends.

“Are you a moron?” Bo asked arms folded. Nolan frowned, and Rhett and Chase both let out a chuckle.

“What?”

“Your about to cause a serious cat fight my guy.”

“Cat fight? I’m down for a cat fight.” Chase was snickering over the top of his solo cup, as he surveyed the girls in the living room.

“Who?” Nolan was confused. He had been talking to Kaylee since he had arrived and she was definitely flirting with him. He didn’t really have any interest in her, but he also didn’t have a girlfriend so he let her continue. And then it hit him. Sawyer had to be around here somewhere and no doubt it looked from the outside that he was going to take Kaylee home.

“Where is she?” Bo was frowning at him, and shook his head.

“What is up with you two? Your friends but I don’t think your really just friends-“

“Please dude we’ve had this conversation with him a million times and he refuses to budge.”

“Where is she?” Nolan repeated more forcefully this time. After what had happened earlier he had to at least explain himself. He couldn’t see her but he did see Jessie making her way through the crowd. He pushed in between them and caught her by the elbow.

“Nolan hi.” She knew what he wanted, but Sawyer had asked her to cover so she was going to.

“Where is she Jessie?”

“I don’t know honestly. I lost her a little bit ago. Check the bathroom maybe?”

Jessie’s face was solid as steel. She wasn’t going to tell him anything.

Sawyer in the mean time was in the kitchen pouring alcohol into a cup when she felt a presence behind her. Kaylee smith was leaning against the counter behind her, arms crossed. She had never spoken a word to her before so she wasn’t sure why she was in her space now.

“Sorry do you need something?” She wasn’t usually this snippy but she was already annoyed and the source of her annoyance was way too close for her liking.

“What’s with you and Nolan?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going home with him, and I just want to make sure you aren’t together.”

Sawyer giggled into her cup, before sipping off the top of it and shook her head as it burned all the way down her throat. “Your awfully sure of yourself huh?”

She pursed her lips in a tight smile, head turning to the side “Honey, I always get what I want. So you can find your own way home tonight. Kay?” She gave a wide nasty smile and Sawyer saw red.

“You really think he’s taking you home? Then you don’t really know Nolan at all. And don’t ever think he’ll take you home over me. Ever.”

At that moment Nolan himself entered the kitchen looking relieved to find her and then awkward when he realized she wasn’t alone. Kaylee smiled at him but he brushed past her and stood between them.

“Can I talk to you.” He gently grabbed Sawyers elbow and pulled her out of the kitchen. She sent a small smile at Kaylee over her shoulder as he steered her away, and left her standing in the kitchen mouth open. Once out of sight she pulled her arm from his grip and nearly stumbled, catching herself on the wall.

“Are you drunk?”

“Not enough.” She took another sip of her drink and ran her fingers through her hair before she turned on him.

“You and Kaylee smith huh?” She was squinting at him, cheeks red, hand on her hip. She looked angry, but Nolan wasn’t sure why because he hadn’t done anything.

“What? No.”

“Oh please.” She jabbed a finger into his chest, and stumbled back from the force of it “I saw her all googledneyes-gogole eyeed” Nolan was almost tempted to laugh as she stumbled over her words eyebrows furrowed as she struggled to say what she was trying to.

“Okay. I think it’s time to take you home.”

“She said you were taking her home.”

“God no. I’m taking you home. Now let’s go.”

He said goodbye to his friends and put her in the car. Her house was dark which meant no one was home. He had a hell of a time getting her out and up the stairs. He had just gotten her in the door when he felt her start to shake. At first he thought she was going to puke and immediately held her out at arms length, and rubbed against the wall near the light switch trying to turn it on with no hands. But when she let out a whimper he realized she wasn’t about to get sick.

“Are you crying?”

“No.” She choked out, bracing a hand on his arm as she almost fell in the doorway.

“What’s wrong?”

“She’s gonna take you away.”

“What? Who?”

“Kaylee what’s her name? Girlfriends never let guys have girl beat friends.”

“Oh my god are you-stop.” He heaved her up the stairs as tear flowed down her face. He turned her around so her arms were around his neck, face tucked into his shoulder. She had herself pulled so tightly against him he was struggling to get up the stairs. He had one hand firmly on her lower back, the other one he was using to pull himself up the stairs by the railing. She let out a particular loud sob, and Nolan tired to pull her off of him to look at him, but she just held him tighter.

“Im not even into her like that.”

“Her. Someone else. Doesn’t matter. They’ll take you from me.” She whispered against his neck. Her words touched Nolan’s heart.

“That’s never gonna happen okay?” He opened her bedroom door and walked her forward to her bed losing his footing and falling down into bed with her. They landed, bed springs squeaking with a small ‘oof’. Her tears had subsided and she was laying with her eyes closed on her pillow as he untangled himself from her.

“ Nolan?” Sawyer asked face against the pillow

“ Hmmmmm?”

“ Do you still love me?” He chuckled and pulled the covers up over her, pushing her hair from her face. She was flushed and her eyeliner was smudged around the eyes from her crying, but she opened them and stared at him waiting for his answer.

“ Of course I do. Why?”

She sat up suddenly, getting right up in his face. He was frozen as she stared at him, lips pushing up against his, arm wrapping around his neck. It was chaste at first but then she pressed harder and pulled herself flush to him. Like his body was on autopilot he let his tongue trace across her lower lip, and she opened her mouth allowing him to push it inside. Her heart was beating hard in her chest as one of his hands tangled in her hair and gripped the back of her neck. They carried on a few more moments till he felt her tug at the bottom of his shirt.

“No Sawyer.”

She looked shocked, and then angry as she backed up against her headboard.

“Did you say no? “

“Yes I did.”

She sputtered for a moment, genuine hurt clouding her face. Nolan felt bad but he had to put his foot down.

“ What? Not pretty enough?”

“No that has nothing to do with it. I’m not gonna let you do this when your drunk. Now go to bed. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.” She blinked sadly and laid down facing away from him. She was out within seconds and Nolan sighed looking down at her. He laid down on the sofa at the opposite end of her room, and folded his arm beneath his head as stared at the ceiling.

What the hell was going on?

Sawyer woke up with a raging headache the next morning. Her whole body hurt, and her mouth tasted like booze. She blinked a few times before she lifted her head and immediately put it back on her pillow. Her clothing from the night before was still on and as she curled up to snuggle deeper under the blankets her foot hit something. She froze and turned slowly to find Nolan was sitting up next to her on her bed, doing something on his phone. Her curtains were drawn shut and the room was still dark, but the the tv was on. She could hear the putter patter of rain on her window and could see the dark clouds through a sliver of window not covered by the curtain. He looked down when she stirred and smiled.

“Hey. How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a train. She rolled over to face him, head still on her pillow.

“Go back to sleep. I’ll stay for a while.”

She nodded and yawned snuggling in closer to him. He reached a tentative hand up and let his fingers run through her hair. She was asleep within a few minutes, her head resting on her pillow by his hip. She didn’t remember last night and he wouldn’t tell her about it. It was a secret he would keep, and kiss he would try to forget.

Nolan never spoke of it to anyone, not his friends, family no one. It was a secret he would take with him not only for his own sake but for hers as well. He didn’t know what she was going through but what had happened last night could have changed everything. He had thankfully not been drinking at that point, because if he had he wasn’t so sure he would have stopped her. The way she had kissed him had sent a chill up his spine. He buried it, and things between them went back to normal, but sometimes late at night when he couldn’t sleep it floated into his mind, and though he would never admit it to anyone but his own conscience, he wanted to do it again.

*******

“Nolan James you are cutting this hair whether you like it or not.” His mom said as she shoved him out the door and into the car. Sawyer was chuckling as she buckled herself in the backseat. He threw his head against the passenger seat. He had worked so hard to grow it out.

“I will not have you looking like a homeless child when you get drafted.”

“Everyone wears it this way now mom-“

“Well you don’t.” Nolan grumbled, and bitched and moaned through the whole thing. His mom made him take it short, shorter than it had been in a long time. He looked clean cut and presentable, but she liked it long.

“You look SO handsome.” She said smiling at him through the mirror. He looked sadly at the long pieces that littered the floor.

“I better get drafted really high for this.”

*******

“Philadelphia selects from the Western Hockey League’s Brandon Wheat Kings, Nolan Patrick.”

Sawyer covered her mouth, blinking away the tears in her eyes. She watched as Nolan stood, and hugged his parents and sisters before turning to her and pulling her into a very long hug.

“I couldn’t have made it this far without you.” He whispered, before releasing her and walked up to the stage, and pulled on the orange sweater.

He had made it. And she was so proud of him. His mom gave her a squeeze and a kiss on the cheek.

“It’s so important to him that your here.”

“I wouldn’t miss it.” She swiped at a tear, and clapped along with the rest of the crowd as Nolan stood on the stage and officially became a Philadelphia Flyer. She knew this meant she was going to lose him, that he would be far away and make new friends, and maybe even meet the girl he would spend the rest of his life with. But he had made it and that was all that mattered. When everything was all said and done, interviews completed and photos taken, it was just them alone in her hotel room. They had broken into the mini bar, and were laying on their back in the bed. The orange jersey hung on the back of a chair, and her black dress was hung on a hanger, shoes on the floor.

“How does it feel?” She asked quietly. The sun had just started to go down, the tv was on and she was sleepy from the long day and the alcohol. He shrugged.

“Nols you got drafted today. That’s a big thing.”

“Yeah. But it means I’m going to have to leave you.”

He turned his head to look at her. He was happy about the draft, but his whole life was in Winnipeg, with his family, his friends, and her. And he would leave all that at the end of the summer.

“I’m not going anywhere Nols. I’ll be here when you leave, and I’ll be here when you get back.”

There wasn’t much talking the rest of the night. They chose to sit in comfortable silence till they both fell asleep. They spent as much time together that summer as they could, clinging on to the last moments together for dear life. They were both absolutely terrified of being without each other for the first time in almost 19 years. She would have to re adjust her life at home without him, and he would have to start over somewhere new without her.

The night before he was due to leave they hiked up to the top of that hill they had sat on the day her sister disappeared. It was dark by the time they reached the top, the sounds of nightfall echoing through the trees. The moon was high in the sky, casting a pale milky glow over the trees and hills. The light sod town seemed so far away as they sat neither one saying a word.

“Will you come visit?” He asked quietly. She nodded.

“Of course. As soon as I can. Your gonna have so much fun in Philly Nolan.”

“I guess.”

It was quiet for a while before Nolan couldn’t take it anymore. He had been dying the last few months, each day getting shorter and shorter as it passed. His time with her seemed like it was being robbed from him. He went over it a million times in his head. And he always came back to the night she kissed him. A night she didn’t even remember and he would never forget.

“Sawyer.” He said suddenly, startling her. She was so used to him mumbling his way through life it took her aback how deep his voice was when he spoke clearly.

“What?”

“Can I- I just. Maybe this is just me being…whatever about leaving tomorrow but, can I…can I kiss you?”

She sucked in a breath, feeling like her chest was constricting. They had not spoken of their almost kiss the day he took her home when she was drunk, and she had pushed it out of her mind as a pity kiss for what had happened at the school the day prior. She didn’t remember the other one, and here he was asking her to do it again. He stared at her for a long time waiting for an answer. She didn’t know why she did it, she couldn’t think of a reason, she could barely even formulate words, but somehow she managed to say.

“Yes.”

He rose to his feet and extended a hand pulling her up with him. Her heart was clocking around in her chest, as she watched his hand moved forward and came to rest on her cheek. He stepped forward, pulling her against him very gently before he leaned down and brushed her nose with his own, before he pressed his lips to hers.

It wasn’t a heavy make out like in a movie. It was soft and slow, and shorter than she wanted it to be. When they broke apart, he sighed and let his forehead fall against her own.

“I don’t want to leave tomorrow.”

******

She watched with tears in her eyes as Nolan hugged his parents, various aunts uncles and friends at the airport. There had been no more talking, or kissing the night before. She didn’t know why he had done it, but it felt like it was okay. He finally turned to her, eyes sad and took a deep breath.

“Don’t cry.” He said as she fell slowly into him, arms coming around his midsection. A series of silent tears fell from her eyes as he rubbed a hand up her back. She knew this moment was coming, but she wasn’t ready for it. He pulled back to look at her, hands resting on her shoulders. She had her head bowed, two fistfuls of the material of his sweatshirt. His mom motioned for the rest of the group to turn around, and give them some privacy.

“Nolan.” Her voice caught in her throat. He reached forward and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear for what felt like the last time.

“I’ll see you soon.” He gave her a small smile, and let go of her still grasping her hand as he walked away towards the gate until they both let go. She wrapped her arms around her middle. She watched until he disappeared through security before she let out a choked sob. Bo, Jessi, And Chase immediately pulled her into a three way hug, and allowed her to cry on their shoulders right there in the airport.

*******

I hope you like this! It was both funny and sad and special to write! Let me know what you think💕

#nhl x reader #nolan patrick imagine #nolan patrick #nhl blurb #nhl fanfiction #nhl writing #nhl fic #hockey fanfiction #hockey fandom #hockey writing #hockey tumblr #hockey fic #philadephia flyers #brandon wheat kings #nolpat #nhl hockey #nolan patrick fic

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fascination-street-writing · 3 years

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Somewhere to Begin | Pannacotta Fugo x Ghirga!Reader

He has always adored you, like the sun and the moon and more - but he had a brilliant way of convincing you otherwise.

- 200 Follower Giveaway Piece iii for @idontlikerisottounlessitsnero -

Content Warnings: Not SFW Content, Post Break-Up, Emotional Hurt & Comfort, Regret, & Explicit Sexual Content (Aged-Up Characters)

You had promised your brother Narancia to never involve yourself directly with Passione; even the occasional stay for a meal at Il Libeccio made him antsy, yet you failed to see the harm in sharing a plate of bruschetta with Fugo, or a pot of hot tea with Abbacchio – two of his closest companions. It was only fair that you ought to spend time with the men who gave you unbridled protection at the behest of nothing more than goodwill and magnanimity. Not that you needed such security, but it kept street thieves from picking your pockets, at least.

You had promised him indeed, and now that he lies in the casket before you – clad in the suit from your mother’s funeral that you never thought to see him wear again – you intend to keep it. Giorno had offered to have an outfit tailored for your brother, but you refused him with consternation that your he would not be buried in something from the boy responsible for his death.

“No,” you had told him, cold as the wall of ice that has crept around your heart, while clutching the woolly material to your chest. “This one will do nicely.”

And so, the mortician severed the seam along the back of the jacket and draped a silk sheet over Narancia’s legs so that no one would be wiser to fact that his ankles stick out past the bottom hem of his trousers. It was bad enough that you could not afford the casket on your own. You knew better than to believe it when Mista told you that it and the headstone were paid for with the money yielded from the liquidation of Bucciarati’s assets. If that were true, then why not pay for a new suit, too?

Trish snatches a single white lily from the memorial wreath and tucks it between your brother’s still, clasped fingers. She hides her grief behind a pair of sunglasses that do not match the overcast weather that looms above your heads. You had not wanted to wait so long for the funeral – for two months, Narancia’s body had been left in the morgue to chill on ice, par Giorno’s insistence that the service must wait until his transfer of power over Passione has finished.

Thus, for two months, you had lain awake at night, shuddering at the melancholy and its melody that reminds you how you your brother died without saying farewell – his platonic little soulmate. Giorno may have his victories and suffer for them, but you would not let him entomb Narancia in the mausoleum with Bucciarati and Abbacchio.

“He’ll be buried next to our mother,” you said to the new Don with indignancy. “After everything you’ve taken from me, let me have this. Lascia che mio fratello torni a casa – let my brother come home.”

Your wish was granted, though you suspect it only so because he was growing tired of fighting with you over burial rights and passages. The congregation is kept small, consisting only of yourself, Mista, Trish, a tortoise named Jean-Pierre Polnareff, regrettably Giorno, and a handful of bodyguards, though the latter kept their distance from the immediate service; it would not come as a surprise to you, should you learn that the men in black suits were employed to protect their Don from the mournful sister of the deceased.

The handkerchief clutched in your grasp is damp with past tears. Not even your father had come, despite your pleading that he ought to pay his respects to his only son. Too preoccupied with his floozy of a new wife and her children from two previous marriages than to love his own – you never needed him in your life anyways, because you had Bucciarati. Now, you suppose that you must be a proper orphan.

You do not weep when the casket seals and cleaves the line of sight betwixt you and your brother forever. You do not weep when the mechanical apparatus lowers the coffer made of Osage orange wood into the steel vault that already holds your mother in oak. You do not weep when the gravediggers shovel the dirt mound back over the crest of opened earth.

You do not weep until Mista clasps your trembling hand, pulls you to his chest, and embraces you amidst the anguish that burns you alive. His is the consolation that you needed, but never thought to ask for, though it is not his touch that you long for. One by one, the attendees disperse for the train of luxury cars and you remain alone with the gunslinger who had been courteous enough to come without his oddly patterned beanie hat.

“Why don’t we get going?” Mista urges to coax you away from the gravesite – away from yourself and the suffocating agony. “Giorno’s having dinner for us all, back at the estate.”

You pull away. Rivets of mascara stain his white dress-shirt. “You can go on ahead,” you tell him, not quite liking the way your voice strains in your throat. “I’m not hungry.”

“Then, let’s go grab some coffee or something –”

“I’m fine, Mista.” He frowns and averts his gaze. “I have some things I need to take care of.”

“Oh?”

You tug your cardigan closer to your chest. “I’m going to collect Narancia’s belongings from our dad’s house. Not sure what I’ll do with it all, but I know it can’t stay there.”

Mementos of life, from when things were far simpler and your brother far more alive. Family photographs with tattered edges and holes of where your father should have been, wedged between unread and abused schoolbooks. Worn out blue jeans with patches of fabric scraps from your mother’s old dresses that you had sewn on for him. A collection of empty glass soda bottles. CDs and cassette tapes of Snoop Dog, Tupac, and whatever other American rappers had appealed to his tastes.

“Alright, I guess. Promise me you’ll call when you get there.”

Soon to be packed away in cardboard boxes and to be stacked precariously in the living room of your studio apartment – another gift from Bucciarati – with nowhere else to go. You simply cannot afford to rent a storage unit downtown.

“I will.”

Mista does not offer to help, because he knows you will refuse it. With that, he takes his leave of you in the cemetery. Left to your solitary devices, you clench your fists and stew on hatred and loathing for none other than Giorno Giovanna. You do not blame Narancia for his eagerness to trust the boy so quickly; his charisma, as appealing as it entreats to the willing, is an infectious disease.

If not for Giorno, your brother would have been buried two months ago. If not for Giorno, your brother might still be alive. And perhaps you must resent Fugo too, for what he has done – or rather, the lack thereof of doing; yet for everything, you are incapable of such feelings, as you have always been fond of each other. The optimistic heart within you stands that he has saved you from suffering more – that in his choice to stay behind in Venezia, it only meant you would not have to bury him, too.

Because surely, his unrestrained anger would have gotten him killed – if not before, then certainly after Narancia’s death.

With a quivering sigh, you turn from this dreary place and meet his illegible violet stare. A row of crackling headstones separates you from the boy whom you love more than life itself. Fugo clutches a pretty bouquet of daffodils wrapped with parchment paper and a white-string bow – your favorite flowers, though you wonder whether they are meant for you or your brother’s fresh grave.

You do not know, nor will you ever, as he sets the flowers atop the nearest monument and makes off, as if on sabbatical to you.

And it fills you with nothing more than bitterness.

“Everyone misses you,” Mista confesses between a sip of tea and a bite of strawberry cake. “You should come around sometime soon.”

Nearly a year has passed since the funeral, and you have yet grace anyone from Passione with your presence, with the exception of Mista for weekly sojourns to Il Libeccio to catch up on life – because, as you have learned, much can happen in seven days’ time. With each occasion of crossing the archway’s threshold into the private dining room at the back of the restaurant, you find yourself preening for two heads of black hair – one neatly combed and clipped, the other a sprawl held in place with an orange headband –, taut lips painted in black, and Fugo. And every time, you are left with the kind of disappointment that curdles your soul like sour milk.

“Who misses me, Mista?” you reprimand, pointing your icing-lacquered fork in his direction. “I barely even know Trish, and I have no interest in ever speaking with Don Giovanna again.”

You wish Giorno would call off the bodyguard who trails you every waking hour of the day; it makes you feel like a child who has proven herself untrustworthy to her parent. But you have done nothing deserving of such punishment. You suspect that his intent is an extension of the olive branch treaty that does not exist between you two – a reiteration of Bucciarati’s protection that should not have to be reiterated, because he should not be dead, either.

Or, alternatively, he wants to irk you so far that you might barge into his office one day – fuming with unspent determination to admonish him regarding his dominion over your life – just to trap you in a conversation wherein he might attempt to suspend your animosity towards him. Alas, you are simply not interested; you will scorn him, because it is all you can do.

“Forget I asked . . .” Mista trails off, swirling a dollop of whipped cream with his knife. “So uh, by the way, have you seen Fugo lately?”

Just the utterance of his name has you perking in your seat.

“No.”

“Hm, well, rumor has it, he’s working at the public library. Shaking people down for late fees or something like that.” It is not implausible to imagine Fugo in the position of extorting old ladies and young children for overdue fines – but, you know that it is only a jest. Regardless, he has always been the type of boy to surround himself with books instead of people. “Why not visit him sometime? He’s not affiliated with Passione anymore. Or, not now, at least.”

You stab at a strawberry. It bleeds beneath the weight of your fork.

“I mean, what’s the worst that can happen?”

Mista’s question is one that you ought to be asking yourself, as you sit here at the scratched pine desk of the library – pretending to study for an upcoming exam on the history of art in Pompeii – though you look up from your scrawl of notes every few minutes to see if Fugo should pass you by; perhaps pushing a cart of books to be put away, or branding return cards with a plush red stamp to mark the date in two weeks’ time.

You have seen him only once more since his implied attempt of reconciliation at your brother’s funeral. It was by chance that you should wander into the same café as him that day; and by extended odds that – while you stood over his table with a sad smile and a cup of coffee – he stood abruptly and left without finishing his own drink. He had not even bothered to wish you well.

Today, you catch him on your way to the reference section. The look of hurt in his eyes – like salt instead of sugar on the tongue – brings a scowl to your face. “Please, Panni,” you plead, and though your fingers ache to catch his hand with your own, you refrain for you know the gesture is a crossing of the line between you two. “Can’t we just talk?”

“No,” he says, so dry and unrecognizable. “I’m not getting paid to do that. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Panni, I – Please, don’t do this. I already lost my brother: don’t make me lose you, too.”

A fuse switches in his head, and you have been the one to flip it. He clutches the encyclopedia in his hands with such fervor that his knuckles pale, and for a moment, you wonder if he means to hit you with it. And maybe he thinks it too, but he drops it atop the ground as soon as the thought crosses his mind. He takes a step back, as if you have scorned him – maybe, after all, you have.

The cover spills open, and the pages bend against the hardwood floor. You wish he would do the same to you – to disclose his grievances and let you in. Instead, it is the toxicity of acrimony “Don’t ever come near me again,” Fugo warns. “Haven’t you realized by now that I never want to see you again? Get out of my life – get out of my dreams – and leave me alone.”

You will save the tears for when you stand in front of the bathroom mirror tonight before bed to wash away your makeup from the day, amongst other regrets. But you will never understand the guilt that suffocates him – a noose that is just taut enough to keep him breathing – each time he looks at you, and even when he does not. You are everything he has ever wanted and more.

And you are the emblem of everything he has ever done wrong.

“I still care about you,” you tell him with an affirmation that will not fix the desolation. “Doesn’t that mean anything?”

He bites his lip and looks away.

“I know you’re hurting. I am too. So, can’t we heal together?”

“Are you stupid?” You grimace at his words. “I told you to go.”

There is no chance to dispute it, nor to bid him an aggrieved adieu, because he is gone again. Burying him might have been easier, after all; a corpse cannot remind you of what a fool you have become.

And so it seems to you that dying dreams are the best ones.

Adulthood is – as you have found in your years of treading its waters – a dreadful inevitability. You and your brother’s boxes have outgrown that compact studio apartment, though for years, you had made it work perfectly fine. When Giorno pulled the strings to terminate your lease and forcefully relocate you into a sizeable townhouse in the Chiaia district, you wanted to hate him for it – for his reminder that you cannot sever your connection to Passione. Yet, boggled down with university loans, you were in no position to turn down his assistance.

And he knew it, well.

A pretty townhouse located in one of the nicest regions of Napoli cannot bring Narancia back, nor can it attune for every bit of suffering incurred since his death; but if it is a strain upon the aging Don’s wallet, then it is all the better.

On the day of your fourth birthday spent in solitude, you treat yourself to a tub of gelato and a dress from the costly boutique across the street that you will never wear because you have no need to. It will hang in your closest amongst other unworn gowns, still pinched with price tags, that you have impulsively accumulated over the years – a hereditary habit of your mother’s that had caused more than a few spats between she and your father. You know your vice, but there is something so gratifying about it.

You sink into the tweed couch that does not quite match the architect’s vision for the living room – with its crown-mould white walls and hardwood floors the color of wenge; too clean and proper for what furniture you have kept from your former residence. Silver spoon clenched between your teeth as you page through television channel after channel, you balance that melting gelato on your lap. Perhaps you should have grabbed a straw from the kitchen as well.

The evening passes by, uneventfully so. You have spent it spoiling yourself and replying with fabricated enthusiasm to incoming text messages from study mates, who wish you well on this happy day – as if you have a reason to remember your twenty-first beyond the accomplishment of finishing the entire tub of would-be-frozen lemon curd without incurring a single regret or twinge a of brain-freeze. You have gotten rather good at knocking back shots without needing to stop for breaths, too.

At the ringing of the doorbell, you are torn from the real estate program that you have invested so much time these past few hours. Mista, no doubt – come to deliver a gift and takeout because he knows you have not eaten properly tonight. You have no room left in your belly, but whatever he brings will make for a decent meal tomorrow.

You do not bother to tidy up, and when you open the door, you wish you had. Illuminated only by the balcony light stands Fugo with a bouquet of daffodils, a bottle of sauvignon blanc, and a remorseful, sheepish smile upon his handsome face.

Get out of my life – get out of my dreams – and leave me alone.

“Uh . . . “ He trails off before he has even begun, perhaps taken aback by the widening of your eyes and the disheveled appearance that, despite your own judgement, he thinks to be the most beautiful vulnerability in life. He speaks your name with the kind of tenderness that you have not felt since you were teenagers. “Buon compleanno.”

You need not ask how he found you, because you know without question that either Mista or Giorno had told him. “Why are you here?” you ask.

He clutches the flowers a bit tighter. You do not move to take them; however, you have already decided on which vase you will place them in. “I wanted to wish you a happy birthday. And give you these.”

The bottle of wine feels far too heavy in your arms – and the daffodils, as if they might float off in an unforeseen gust of wind. “And, to apologize. For too many things that I can’t ever make right; although, if you’ll let me, I’d like to try.”

“Fugo, I . . . I don’t know.”

“Please, [Y/N]. That day in the library, all those years ago . . . I never stop thinking about the horrible things I said to you. It killed me – it ate me alive; I thought for all this time and before that you hated me, because of what happened to Narancia. Because I wasn’t there to save him.”

“It hurt when you told me to get out of your life, but I listened, and I did it.”

He brings the heel of his hand to swipe at the tears in his eyes. The curling of his other fist is a gesture that terrifies you – although, not for your own sake. “I couldn’t face you. I was scared to look you in the eye, because I thought you hated me,” he mutters like a broken record as his voice cracks with agony. “I thought you hated me, because of him.”

He stops, throwing his head back with a groan. The apple of his throat bobs up and down as he chokes down a sob. He refuses to look at you when he speaks again – too afraid to come undone before he has made his peace with you, his greatest loss. “We were young. Probably too young to even understand what love really meant. But, dio dannazione, you were the most important thing to me, and I understood that more than love.”

His words have always held the capacity for swaying you, as if they replenish the empty spaces within. It is why, as you open the door wider, you let him fill you once again. Fugo contemplates the crannies of your living room, hovering above the couch that you insisted he take a seat upon – he remembers when you bought it, because you had dragged him to the furniture outlet that day. He pretended to be annoyed, though in truth, he was beyond elated that you had chosen him over Mista, or even your brother.

“I guess I should put these in a vase,” you say about the bouquet of flowers. “They’re beautiful, Fugo. Thank you.”

He nods, suddenly entranced by a photograph of Narancia that sits atop the fireplace mantel. You do not notice his unease.

“I’ll grab us some glasses, too.”

You find your vase in the kitchen cabinet niched into the alcove above the refrigerator. Its emerald swirls glisten under the twine of the recessed lights that add no character to the room. So much for a birthday spent in reclusion, you chide alone. Deep within you sits a fire that longs to ignite – to send Fugo away in some thwarted act of retribution for the very loneliness he inflicted upon you years ago; as if to say that the rejection suits you well.

Of course, you cannot deny that your heart leapt into your throat when you saw him standing before the front door, a vision of a man who still held those inklings of boyish charm that you fell for in your adolescence. They say you should not dote over the first person beyond your mother and father to call you pretty; it is weakness to complacency. Your life has never been one of convention – and so by that right, who there is to insist that you must abide?

Bearing a content grin, you trim the stems one-by-one to better fit the vase. In synchronous rhythm to the next, the green stalks bounce from the cluttered countertop to the floor. You have only just stuffed the flowers back into the vase when the shattering of glass resonates its way into the kitchen.

The photograph of Narancia lies amongst bits of broken frame and wreckage. Face buried in his palms, Fugo crumples until his knees meet the ground; he shakes, as if smothered by a chill. When his hands fall to smack the coffee table – baring his grief, in all its pandemonium – you catch them and force his arms around your waist instead; his fingers lock together, holding you in place. He whimpers against your stomach. Already, you can feel the wetness of tears through the fabric of your overstretched shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry, [Y/N]. I’m sorry.”

Your own fingers curl through his strawberry blonde hair – a means of stability as you too have begun to cry. “It’s just a picture frame,” you promise, and it is the grandest thing he has ever heard. But it is more than a box made of wood and glass – it is an impossible longing. “I’m not upset at you.”

“I . . . Okay.”

Mindful of the mess, you rock him backwards until he is lying down. You join at his side, take his hand into your own, and wait in silence for the moment when his misery will dissipate for clarity. Regardless of the circumstances that have brought him here tonight, you are grateful for it – even if your birthday is spent wallowing in irrevocable regret.

Above all else, you know that he has always adored you, like the sun and moon and more – but he had a brilliant way of convincing you otherwise.

Your thumb coaxes over the back of his knuckles. “There’s a crack in your ceiling,” Fugo announces, nonchalant and monotone.

“Where? I don’t see one.”

He raises an unoccupied finger, and you follow its gesture to the corner of the ceiling, just above where the moulding meets. It is no longer than the length of hair from his head, and quite honestly, not an underlying issue of foundational complications. Still, you indulge him. “Oh, wow. I never noticed.”

In this hasty repertoire of patterns, you fall into stillness again. “Panni,” you whisper with the utterance of his endearing name. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He squeezes your hand.

“But it’s getting late. Why don’t you stay the night?”

Truthfully so, you cannot send him on his way in such a state of disarray.

“I can make up the couch for you, if you’d like.”

“Yes, please,” he murmurs.

However, you do not make it far because he has – inspired by a need to express his devotion and apologia – pulled you atop himself, hands braced on your hips as you balance on bent knees and grasp his shoulders. Tenderness is becoming of the boy – no, the man – who looks up at you as if you are the embodiment of everything good that exists in one life to the next. It is a side that he has never shown to anyone other than you.

You covet it like a piece of cherry-flavored candy, even when you lean down to capture his lips and nip at his tongue that likewise explores the long-forgotten caverns of your mouth. It is a distraction of meaning and not; from the broken frame, loss, and perhaps everything in between. Every attempt to catch a breath of air is met with resilient protests of needier touches and not before long, you lie on the couch – shedding your clothing like the skin of the woman you no longer wish to be – and let him in.

Bare chest to bare chest, you cup his hardness as he places his fingers to your untouched folds. You mean to tell him that you love him, but the penetration of unpracticed digits to your core stifles the very thought from your scattering mind. In dark closets and empty rooms, you two have had your share of imprudent experimentation with one another’s bodies in the past – and nothing more than warm, tentative touches that lead to girlish giggles and boyish huffs.

Fugo pinches your nipple, drawing a plush gasp from you; it urges him to do it again until at last you are throbbing with need from your lower half, your pelvis jerking upwards to meet his for the stimulation of wanting. His breath ghosts your face, and you think you smell wine – a drink for good luck, you think, because despite the distress manifesting in his soul, his mannerisms are otherwise as habitual as you might recall from moments of normalcy.

It feels wrong – to be filled with such wanton, salacious desire within the very hour that you have both spent in mourning of your brother and everything else that has been discarded to the wind, to be picked up by someone else. Yet tonight, you will not sleep with Fugo to forget your blue heart, nor for celebration’s sake as you embark upon another year of being – you will sleep with him, because you have grown tired of learning how to end your days without him.

“I haven’t . . .” You trail off, mesmerized by the way his violet eyes look at you; though puffy and stained red from crying, you take them in as he cocks a brow, imploring you to finish your thought. “I haven’t been with anyone else since you.”

“Good,” he sighs, and you think he is trying to hide a smile. “Me neither.”

Braced by his arms, you are flipped onto your stomach. The tweed upholstery bites into the soft flesh of your breasts with each jostle elicited by the curling of a finger within you. You push backwards until you swear you can feel his fingers against your cervix.

“Oh my god,” he groans, flexing out as if to move deeper. “Ti senti così bene.”

“If it feels good, then do something,” you whine, hands dug between the cushions for support.

But, to your chagrin, he takes his time to admire the way your folds pulsate around just two fingers. You glisten like a gem – his gem. Indignant with petty annoyance, you pull away and straddle the lithe, albeit toned, legs that dangle off the edge of the couch. Arms thrown around his neck, you sink down until you have reached your fill of his manhood.

“I did tell you to do something,” you sigh at Fugo’s displeasure, biting your lip as you adjust to the size of his shaft. “Didn’t I?”

He kisses you once and moves grasp your backend. You savor the feeling of him ingulfing you. “I was distracted.”

You would laugh if not for the anticipated bulging inside you as Fugo buckles into your heat. The sight of your jostling breasts with each bounce of you on his cock is a page of some heavenly doctrine – one that he should study and commit to forever. He moves with strength that he reserves for moments of rage, and even his fingers dig into your skin hard enough to leave bruises for the days to come. You do not mind; they will help you to remember the best night you have had in years.

With a cry that blossoms into a moan that tells him that he has treated you well, you ride out your orgasm and slump against his chest in your own exhaustion. When he reaches his peak, he slides out; you reach for him – dampened with your slick – and finish him until white pearls bead at the tip and trickle over your working fingers.

Foreheads pressed together, you flash tired grins before settling against the cushions, your head pressed to his chest and his arm braced around the small of your back while his fingers trace shapes against your perspired skin.

Panting, his heart skips every few beats – like a song, sung only for you. Content with that which has returned itself to you, you fall asleep to the sound of this lovely little love affair.

| 4966 Words |

#pannacotta fugo x reader #fugo x reader #pannacotta fugo #jjba reader insert #jjba x reader

155 notes · View notes

watermelonlipstick · 3 years

Text

Losing

This was written as a request for the eternally lovely @samwisethegr8. Hope you like it, baby! Idk where the chipmunk stuff came in, I must’ve had forests on the brain or something. As always, I’d love any advice or critiques!!

Title: Losing

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 3283

Summary: Losing her hair following a spell makes it challenging for the reader to feel like herself.

Warnings: swearing, fluff, hair loss

Dean knows better, by now, than to say anything about the beanie you straighten as you get into the backseat, giving you some soft eyebrows in the rearview mirror that are maybe worse than if he’d kept joking about it. Typical, for the spell making your hair shed like some cartoon pulling out fists in a temper tantrum to be one of the few you’d seen hang on after the casting witch died. You’d been doing research for weeks now on ways to get it back with nothing to show for your efforts except a few stomachaches from attempted potions (and one influencer-inspired collagen and ACV concoction you’d dumped out after feeling ridiculous). Sam had convinced you that getting back into the swing of things might make you feel better, and was trying a little too hard to be cheerful next to his brother in the front seat.

“The weather’s so nice today—sometimes you forget how good the sun feels, being in the bunker for a while.” He flashes a smile over to Dean expectantly, willing him to say something encouraging too. Dean looks exasperated for a fleeting second before relenting.

“Yeah, uh, great day for a drive.” You catch the tail end of his tiny eye roll in the rearview mirror.

“If you guys are going to treat me like an invalid I’m out of here.”

“Invalid? I just think it’s a nice day out,” Sam says, trying for indignancy through his put-on ignorance and not quite hitting it. Looking back at you over his shoulder, he’s able to hold onto it for about 2 seconds of eye contact before his face relaxes into more familiar kindness. “Okay, fine, sorry. I’m just happy you’re coming.”

He’s unphased by your glare back at him, keeps up the sympathetic puppy dog eyes because he knows your snark is coming from a pit of frustration and self-consciousness. Just like Dean’s tenderness of omission in not saying anything about it today, it’s simultaneously comforting and annoying. You feel a lump forming in your throat. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” Sam seems a little hurt.

“Like I’m dying or something. Both of you. I’m serious, you’re making it so much worse.”

Dean catches your eyes in the reflection. “Kid, you just seem so fuckin’ bummed. It’s only hair, it’s probably even going to grow back.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re not going fucking bald! So, are we going or are we doing group therapy in the driveway all day?” You can hear that you’re being too harsh but can’t muster up the energy to stop, flopping into the seatback with your jacket balled in your lap. Sam and Dean exchange a look and Dean turns the key in the ignition.

It really is a nice day, sun streaming through the windows of the Impala and cutting the still-slightly-chilly spring air just enough to be pleasant. You make a conscious effort to let go of your indignation, counting farm houses on the way out of town as a sort of meditation. Dean starts singing along to the Deep Purple tape playing, and when he catches a glimpse of your smirk he really hams it up, banging out the drum line on the steering wheel and pulling faces that would make Billy Idol jealous. After a few bars you can’t help yourself and start to laugh, the excited accomplishment that breaks through Dean’s act to light up his eyes sending a pang right to your heart. He holds his fist up in a facsimile of an invisible microphone to Sam, who plays along. By the end of the next song the Impala is rocking like Madison Square Garden, radio up so loud you can barely hear your own thoughts as you scream-sing until you’re laughing so hard you can barely catch your breath. The music changes over the next few hours, the volume turned down for snippets of conversation or debriefing about the upcoming case from Sam then back up for one of Dean’s favorite B-sides, and by the time the sun is going down you’re genuinely only thinking of how hungry you are while Dean turns into a diner that stands alone sharing a parking lot with a strip mall.

Dean’s two steps toward the restaurant by the time Sam has the back door opened to offer his hand to you. He looks surprised when you don’t take it right away, standing there awkwardly for an extended beat with his palm outstretched and his head tilted like a curious dog.

“I’m not going in.”

Through the windshield you can see Dean stop and turn back toward the car, jamming his hands in his jacket pockets like he thinks he’ll be waiting in the chilly evening for a while. Sam wraps his fingers around the top of the door and runs his other hand through his hair. “Babe, come on, it’s just some stupid diner. No one will even notice.”

“Sam, I’ll notice. Forget it. I’ll wait here, you guys go—grab me a sandwich or something.”

His lips tighten into a sympathetic but frustrated line and he looks over the car to his brother, who shrugs without taking his hands out of his pockets. Loud enough that you can hear him through the windows and around the car, Dean calls out, “How’re you planning on talking to the sheriff if you won’t even walk into a diner, hot shot?”

You match his volume. “Good point—I’m not planning on talking to the sheriff, I’m staying in the motel.”

Sam takes a deep breath and winces. “You don’t know anyone here and we’ll never see them again. You’ve gotta eat something. Please?”

“You’re not the fuckin’ Elephant Man, you’re a chick wearing a hat,” Dean offers loudly, absolutely not helping. Sam shoots him a look that says as much and clenches his jaw. Dean shrugs and opens his jacket with pocketed hands as if to say ‘what?’ Sam jerks his chin toward the diner and Dean nods, spinning lazily on his heel to walk in alone. When Sam moves forward, you slide over on the bench seat to allow him to sit next to you in the backseat.

“It’s just hair.” He says, low and soothing, just above a whisper. “You’re still the same person.”

You let your head roll back onto the seat behind you. “You don’t get it—my hair was the only pretty thing about me.”

Sam’s face contorts in disbelief like you’ve just told him not only are unicorns real, but you have one in your duffel bag. “What?”

“You heard me,” you repeat, training your eyes Dean through the diner window, winking at a woman in her mid-twenties whose cheeks are full and cherubic under bright, friendly eyes. You can see even from here that she bites the inside of her lip to keep from beaming back at him, holding onto his gaze for a beat longer than necessary before taking her tiny notepad back to the kitchen.

Sam shifts to put himself more directly in your line of sight. “Baby, the pretty thing about you is you. These hands are beautiful because they’re yours, because they, I don’t know, put an extra dryer sheet in with the laundry so it smells amazing, scratch Dean’s back when he can’t fall asleep. Your eyes are the first ones I want to see every day, not only because they’re beautiful—and don’t argue with me about this for once, please—but because they’re the same ones that always seem to notice that last symbol we’re looking for after I’ve read a stupid book of runes 400 times. Your lips—” he pauses, touching your lower lip with his thumb so light it could be a feather, “—are beautiful because they’re the only ones that I can hear your voice through. Was your hair beautiful? Of course. And it’ll be beautiful again.”

“You don’t kno—”

He rolls his eyes. “I do know, but even if it isn’t, you’ll still be you. You can borrow mine if you want.” Sam’s eyes are so earnest, so sweet as a tiny smile tugs at his mouth, that you can’t help yourself as you lean forward and press your lips to his. The way he kisses you back is such naked affection and relief, slipping a hand around the side of your neck to cradle your jaw, that it’s hard not to believe it’s how he really feels.

The moment is broken when Dean opens the driver’s side, startling you enough to take a sharp intake of breath against Sam’s cheek. “Quit sucking face and look alive,” he says, nonplussed as he hooks an arm over the front seat to hand you a paper bag filled with Styrofoam boxes.

“That was, ah, fast,” Sam replies, and it’s almost steady enough to hide the stammer.

“3 BLTs, not like they fucking built the Great Wall. Waitress in there said there’s a motel in the next town over, 10 minute drive.” He waits until you have the bag supported with a hand on the bottom and one taking the handle from him. Sam squeezes your thigh once before slinking back into the front seat, but Dean’s eyes stay trained on you. “Touch my fries and die.”

You manage to keep your mitts off everyone’s fries until you pull into Walnut Suites a few minutes later, thinking to yourself it sounds like some kind of hotel for squirrels and hope sort of absentmindedly it’s one of the kinds of motels that decorates to a theme; even when they’re stupid—maybe especially when they’re stupid—anything to break up the monotony of thousands of motel rooms over the years is welcome in your book. Sam coming out of the office dangling a room key attached to a plastic walnut is evidence that you might be in luck, and you grab the food as you get out of the backseat.

Dean already has your duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “This feels light; you bring your gun?”

You wait a second to see if he’ll figure it out himself, but Dean only raises his eyebrows and juts his chin out like you haven’t heard him. “Hardly need a blow dryer now, do I?”

If there was more light in the parking lot you’d probably have been able to see Dean’s cheeks flush as he cleared his throat to cover. “Uh, right. Do still need a gun though, so as long as you’ve got that.” He offers Sam his bag and shuts the trunk as his little brother reaches the parked car.

“Apparently we’re in the chipmunk room.” Sam’s going for above-it-all but he knows you secretly like this kind of shit and drops the key into your palm with a wink. “It’s the only one with queens instead of fulls.”

“Whatever,” Dean grumbles. “I’m hungry enough I’d eat a damn chipmunk.”

“What does that even mean?” Sam asked, annoyed in a way only a sibling can be as the brothers trail after you to the room.

“That I’m fucking hungry, what do you think?”

“A chipmunk is like, the smallest animal you could possibly say. It doesn’t make any sense; anyone could eat a chipmunk.”

“You trying to chow down on a chipmunk kabob, Sammy? Aren’t you like 99% vegan now? It’s the principle of the thing.”

Sam rolls his eyes in over the top sarcasm. “Yeah, I’m vegan now, that’s why I’m about to eat a BLT with mayo, dumbass.”

“Bacon doesn’t count. And it’s about timing; you said chipmunk room, I said I could eat a chi—you know what, I’m not explaining this to you. You either understand comedy or you don’t.”

As you open the door, the light from the room illuminates Sam’s bitch face kicking back on his neck. Winchester bickering had already put a smirk on your lips but the décor was everything chintzy you could’ve hoped for; forest embroidered quilts on the beds and a chain of hand-holding chipmunks that appeared to be hand painted in a waist-high border around the walls. The bed frames were made of those stripped logs that could look very chic in otherwise minimalistic Scandinavian architecture, but here they looked impossibly cute and dorky with chipmunk stuffed perched on each bedpost. Dean seems not to notice any of it at all, throwing his duffel on the bed closest to the door and snatching the bag of food out of your hand.

The three of you eat watching Alf while sprawled on various furniture. When the half-hour flips the programming over to Mork and Mindy, you offer Dean the rest of your fries and get up to stretch your back. “Either of you dying to use the bathroom? I want a shower.”

Both shake their heads so you grab your ditty bag and head to the reasonably sized bathroom, trying not to be startled at the large Chip and Dale portrait painted onto the back of the door that reveals itself in the mirror when you go to set your things down. It’s clean and the water pressure is good, which is far more than you can say for many similar places you’ve stayed in, and you linger in the shower longer than you need to, shaving your legs twice for an excuse to stay under the water and out from under the oppressive weight of your self-consciousness here where the boys can’t see you. Washing your remaining hair as quickly as possible and chuckling once, mirthlessly, at the lingering reflex to squirt the amount you used to need into your palm, you finally leave the shower with only momentary nausea at the amount of hair you have to grab from the drain to let the water empty. For the ever-growing list of pros and cons for shaving your head you’d been building in your head: no more shucking these sopping hairballs into tacky little wastebins across America. You wrap a towel into a turban around your head more as a reflex of propriety than anything, marveling again at the amount of rituals there are—were—around hair. Maybe being unburdened by that would be freeing. And it feels sentimental in an annoying pseudo-useless way staying attached to the hair that remains, like lingering in the victimization of this stupid spell when you could just as easily shave your head and be done with it, become some kind of Tank Girl badass version of yourself and pretend you’re too cool and tough to care about girly shit like ponytails and the way Sam held his nose to the crown of your head sometimes, took a deep inhale of you and smiled so you could feel it laid on top of your hair like a tiara more precious than any you could imagine. In any case it won’t be right now, so you throw the loose t-shirt you’d gotten from your bag over the towel on your head and slip on some athletic shorts before heading out to the room.

You were in the shower for even longer than you thought because Dean is in his standard “just-before-sleeping-on-the-road” outfit, having lost the flannel he wore that day as well as his belt. The jeans will come off just before he gets in bed, pooled on the floor with neatly set boots beside the mattress so he can jump into them like a firefighter if he needs to, an old habit that you’d stopped making fun of the Winchesters for when it actually had come in handy a few times. Sam usually folds the jeans and sets them on top of his boots next to your bed. Dean grabs one of your hands and flips it over for inspection as you walk by. “Surprised you’re not a raisin. Going to send this county into a drought.”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly and toss your toiletries on your bag as you head to your bed, watching Sam brush his teeth in the kitchenette sink. Dean follows with a tight handful of clean tee and boxers as Sam comes back to you, the younger Winchester grabbing the back of his collar to tug off his t-shirt and toss it on top of his bag in one fluid motion before folding back the sheets and getting in. Over your shoulder, the shower turns on and you can hear Dean humming through the door. The beanie you’d taken off was exactly where you’d left it, and you flipped your head over to take off the towel on your head and replace it with the hat as inconspicuously as possible.

“Babe, you don’t—” Sam starts softly, stopping when he sees you turn back to him with your jaw set.

“Can we just go to sleep?” you reply, almost succeeding at keeping the sting out of your voice. He bites his lip and nods mostly to himself, flicking the covers on your side back in invitation. You crawl in, turning your back to him partly to be wrapped up by the warm shell of his body and partly so he can’t see your face. A large hand covers your hand where it lays on your sternum, intertwining your fingers in his and pulling you back into him a touch. After a long minute of listening to the shower-dampened noise of Dean going through Skynyrd’s greatest hits, you feel Sam’s voice through the knit on your head.

“I feel like we’re camping.”

“What?” you ask, genuinely confused.

“You wearing a hat to bed, you only do that when it’s freezing.”

“I really don’t want to tal—”

“I know you don’t, but I just…you’ve been boxing me out for weeks now. Listen, I know I don’t get it, I know it’s not the same as if it had happened to me, and I’m so sorry you’re dealing with this, but I don’t care about your hair. I mean—fuck—not like that, I care about it because I care that it’s affecting you, but I just wish I could get you to understand that nothing about the way I think of you has changed. You’re always going to be the sweet, funny, badass girl I’m beyond lucky lets me hang around. It’s like this spell took your hair but the real punishment is putting this wall up around you.”

You take a deep breath to steady your voice and realize there’s no way you’re going to be able to talk without it cracking, instead just yanking the hat off your head and letting it fall to the ground beside Sam’s jeans. He hesitates for a second before pressing his face to you, and you can feel the smile against your scalp. It’s a struggle, but you manage not to wince when he kisses a spot you know is effectively completely bald.

“You smell good,” he murmurs against you, and you don’t know why it’s that simple statement, after all the flowery poetic things he’s said for weeks and especially today, but there’s something about the total acceptance, no hint of the disgust you thought was inevitable no matter how hard he tried to insist wasn’t there, that melts you. It’s enough to unwrap some of the defensive prickliness you’ve built up, and the amount of emotional energy you’ve been putting into keeping it there dissolves the way it sometimes does the second your body realizes the adrenaline of a hunt is no longer needed and you crash in the backseat of the Impala. The heat from Sam’s body and the delicate sound of his heavy breathing on your neck puts you to sleep before Dean’s out of the shower.

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noladyme · 3 years

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La Cuervo - Chapter 1

She is used to the biker-life, having grown into a woman in the familiar embrace of SAMCRO. A bad decision and a gun-shot later, she gets whisked off to Santo Padre, and put under the protection of another club. What is supposed to be a short stint in the Mayan headquarters just north of the border to Mexico, turns into something more; when la quervo begins to develop feelings for el angel - and he seems to return them in kind...

TW: violence, blood, drug use, alcohol, assault, smut, fluff, angst

In the spirit of "The Crown Princess of Charming" - though in a different universe (I couldn't screw with Jax and Cat's happy ever after) - this is a story about O.C. Nina and Angel Reyes. It is obviously non-canon, as characters who have passed on on Mayans M.C. are present in it, and others have been excluded completely. Nina is written as a cis-female, but I have tried to keep her race and looks as ambigous as possible. Should you find any of this story offensive.

It was an especially hot day for a bike-ride. The man in front of her on the bike might have been used to these trips, doing them often and in leather no less; but Nina was beginning to feel like a rotisserie chicken under the scorching sun. She was wearing jeans and a jacket over a tank top, knowing from experience that road-rash was especially shitty, when you went down without anything covering your skin. She sighed heavily, and tried to shift in her seat. “We’re almost there, luv’”, Filip called out over his shoulder, his voice barely audible over the roars of the engines behind them. “Uh huh…”, Nina replied, and couldn’t help but dream of air-condition and shade. Her backpack was heavy on her shoulders, in spite of the fact that she hadn’t brought much with her; just clothes, and a book or three. Filip patted her thigh comfortingly and sped up, probably as eager as she was to get this ride over with; though she knew that neither of them were looking forward to reaching their end destination.

She hadn’t gone on this trip willingly, but there had been no other option. Her chosen family had made it clear; she needed to disappear, and keep her head down. Going south was the best option for now, as she’d be out of Charming, but not so far away that they wouldn’t be able to reach her if needed. They were trying to keep her safe, even if safety currently meant being roasted alive on the back of a motorcycle, by the southern California sun. Looking back at their companions, both Happy, Tig and T.O. smiled at her. She forced herself to smile back, and was happy she was wearing sunglasses, as she knew the smile didn’t reach her eyes. She was feeling quite a bit overwhelmed by the situation.

Nina used to love riding on the back of Jackson's bike when she was younger, would squeal in excitement when he made sharp turns, and went over bumps. He’d given her the first helmet she’d ever owned. Now, she wore his own helmet. The one he’d not put on, on his last ride. After what had happened – the choices Jax made that had led him to colliding with that truck, and killing himself, on the same highway his father had died on years earlier – bikes were merely a means of transport, and the thrill of rushing down a road on one, was gone. She wasn’t afraid of them by any means, she just didn’t get any joy from them anymore.

Just as she had convinced herself she was literally about to melt together with the seat, Filip finally turned down a gravelly road, and slowed down to a halt. In the distance she saw a group of men on bikes, driving towards the murder of crows she’d travelling with up until now. “You remember what we talked about?”, Filip said. “Yeah, but I don’t get it. Don’t you trust these people?”, Nina asked, and pulled down the scarf she’d used to cover her mouth and nose from road-dust. “We do, and you can as well; but this thing you’ve got yourself caught up in, is complicated”, he replied. “Alvarez, the president and his VP knows everything, but they don’t want to get tangled up in it more than necessary. If you find yourself talking to anyone else, all you say is…”. “I’m in need of a fresh start after a bad break-up”, Nina sneered. “I know. Fucking damsel in distress…”. Filip squeezed her knee. “We’ll be in touch, luv’. Promise… You’ll be back home in Charming before you know it”. “Yeah… home”, Nina muttered, and used his shoulders as support, as she got off the Harley.

Stretching her back, she felt a tap on her butt from a familiar hand. “How are you feeling, princess?”, Happy asked. ”I feel like I did, after that time I won the mechanical bull-riding competition, at Tig’s birthday party”, Nina chuckled, and pulled at her jeans, to get them in place between her thighs. The curly-haired biker in question joined them, with a grin on his face. “Yeah, that was a beautiful!”, he exclaimed. “Well worth the 500 bucks I spent on renting that thing”. “You didn’t pay for that shit”, Filip said. “Screw you, Chibs”, Tig said, with jest in his voice.

Nina took off her sunglasses and helmet; and looked towards the arriving bikers. Two men on road kings – handlebars as high as the sky – led the incoming group. Nina recognized Alvarez right away, having seen him a few times at club parties. The other man she figured was the president of the South California Mayans. Behind them, came a group of bikers, in a caravan formed much like the one she’d ridden in with; arranged by status. She made short eye-contact with a bearded biker somewhere in the middle of the group. He had dark and intense eyes, and his lips twitched into a smile, just before she looked down at the ground. “Stay by the bikes”, Filip said, and squeezed her hand. The gravity of the situation and the dust from the road was beginning to get to her, so she grabbed her inhaler, and took a discrete hit from it; before putting it back in her pocket.

Alvarez and Bishop got off their own bikes, and the bikers behind them halted as well. Filip spread out his arms congenially. “Hola, señors!”, he hollered, and walked up to the other group. Nina cringed at his exclamation. T.O. came up behind her, and patted her shoulder. “Some things never change in this world, kid”, he muttered. “You’d think people would learn… evolve”, she replied. “You think letting brothers in to the club was just gonna magically make Scottie and the rest of them stop being idiot white-boys?”, T.O. chuckled. “Nah. This is as good as it gets. Let’s just hope the next generation does better”. He raised an eyebrow meaningfully at Nina. “You’ll let me know if Wendy is in touch, right?”, she asked. “You know we will”. “Thank you…”, she whispered. T.O. nodded solemnly.

“Englishman…”, Alvarez smirked, and reached out his hand to the SAMCRO-president. “Like a bullet to my Scottish heart”, Filip said, and took his hand; pulling him in for a friendly hug. He greeted Bishop in the same manner, and Happy, Tig and T.O. followed suit. “You have our merchandise?”, Bishop said. He was a short and serious looking man, but he didn’t seem as menacing as she’d expect a Mayan president to be. “Straight to the point, then…”, Filip said. “Yes, we brought your merchandise; as much as we could carry. The rest will be here in a van in two days. You get your discount as promised, as payment; and in return…” Bishop glanced towards Nina. “We got you”, he muttered, and patted Filip’s shoulder.

Nina swallowed thickly as the Mayan president approached her. “Obispo Losa. Bishop”, he said, and reached out his hand. “You must be Nina…”. “Just Nina”, she replied quickly, and shook his hand. Bishop nodded. “You’re going with us to Santo Padre. We have a trailer set up at our compound. My prospect uses it normally, but we’ll kick him out for the time being… Just until we figure something else out for you”. Nina felt her cheeks burning. “You don’t need to do that. I don’t want anyone on the street on my account”. “He’ll be fine”, Bishop said quietly. Nina shuddered suddenly, feeling the weight of the situation wash over her. Seeing her expression, Bishop put a hand on her shoulder. “You’ll be safe with us”. “Ok”, Nina muttered. “Thank you”. A smile ghosted the man’s face, and he nodded towards Filip.

The two groups of bikers finally merged, and greetings were shared, before some bedrolls were spread out on the ground. Guns of different types were hidden in pockets of the fabric, and Nina sighed deeply; looking away, as if doing so would protect her from the truth of what was going on. The bearded biker walked up to Bishop. No longer on his bike, he was strikingly tall, and admittedly handsome as hell. A shorter Mayan, slim and looking a little jumpy; and a friendly looking prospect joined them. “Should the girl be seeing this?”, the tall one muttered to Bishop. “The lady is as trustworthy as they come, amigo”, Filip said. The biker raised a brow at him. “Well, okey dokey, Robert the Bruce”, he said. “You know who Robert the Bruce is?”, the prospect asked. “I got my GED, bro”, the tall one replied. The prospect chuckled quietly. “Cool it, Angel”, Bishop said. “She’s coming with”. “What, she’s like part of the merchandise? Since when do we deal in trafficking?”, the slim one asked, and gave her a confused once over. Nina drew her lips back in a sneer. “Fuck you, asshole!”, she hissed. The biker frowned at her. “That’s Coco to you, ma’”, he grunted. “Who are you?”.

Bishop went to stand next to her, and nodded at Filip once again; as if saying it’s ok, I got this. “This is Nina. Just Nina. She’s the package we’re taking care of for a while”. “La cuervo is the package?”, the biker he’d called Angel said, letting his eyes trace her form with a pleased expression. “Not the kind of package I’d expected”. “Crow or not, we’re setting her up in the trailer at the yard”, Bishop said. “Prospect, you gotta take a hike for a bit”. The prospect sighed, and nodded; making Nina feel guilty beyond belief. “Really, I can…”. “You’re safer at the compound”, Filip muttered quietly.

“Time to say goodbye, man”, Alvarez said. “We saw cops a few miles out. Need to move”. Nina instantly felt her heart fall to her stomach, as the bikers rolled up the bedrolls, and began reloading the bikes, with the Mayans taking over the guns; and from now on, her. She turned to face the men she’d arrived with. “Fuck…”, she sighed. Filip pulled her in for a tight hug. “You’ll be fine, luv’. It’s just until this thing blows over, to keep you out of sight. Treat it like a holiday; enjoy the desert sun, relax…”. He looked towards the Mayans observing them. “And try not to end up losing your panties at another biker-party”. Nina pulled back, and punched his shoulder. “That happened one time!”, she muttered. She noticed Angel and the shorter biker, Coco, smirking at each other, from the corner of her eye. “And we had to kick that prospect’s ass for it. He was never the same”, Tig said, pulling at her arm, to take over from Filip, and give her a hug. “Don’t offer to cook. They might think we sent you to poison them”. “Kiss my ass, Trager”, Nina scowled, and kissed his cheek. “I love you too, kid”. Squeezing Tig tightly, Nina then let herself get enveloped in Happy’s arms. “You got your .38?”, he asked. “In my jacket pocket”, she sighed. “And your inhaler?”, Happy added. “The other pocket. With my cigarettes”, Nina muttered. “Good girl”, Tig said from behind Happy. “Maybe take the time to quit smoking as well; huh, sweetheart?”. She gave him a crooked smile, as he lit up a cigarette himself. “Anyone messes with you, call us. I’ll carve their eyes out”, Happy said, and kissed the top of her head. She noticed a stray tear in his left eye. “Allergies…”, he grunted, and wiped it away quickly. T.O. gave her a quick squeeze as well.

She turned towards Filip again. “I love you, little sister. Say hi to Chucky from us, ok?”, he said. She nodded, and her mood brightened slightly when she was reminded of the fact that there would be at least one person that she knew, where she was going. Even if he was a weird, chronic masturbator, without fingers. Filip kissed the corner of her lips. “Now go… We’ll be in touch if anything comes up, yeah?”. Nina nodded. Filip looked towards Bishop again. “I’m trusting you with someone very special, here”, he said. “You have my word. She’ll be treated like family”, Bishop assured him.

SAMCRO got back on their bikes, after Bishop had handed them an envelope with a wad of cash inside. “Do not let this woman near any tequila, fellas”, Filip said as a parting comment. “Not unless she’s got her underwear superglued on”. “Fuck you, Filip”, Nina smiled embarrassedly. With a final wave at her, they started their engines, and rode off, leaving her behind with a group of strangers she was supposed to trust with her life and secret from now on. She forced her mind to go blank, to avoid tears, and to be able to focus on the ride ahead.

“You ride with the prospect”, Bishop said. “I’d offer you the ride myself, but Marcus and I have another meeting, so we’ll be splitting up about 20 miles from here. Taza will lead the group taking you back to the compound”. He gestured towards a long haired, serious looking biker, with a Vice President patch on his cut. The prospect walked over to her, and reached out his hand. “EZ…”, he said, and smiled congenially. Nina took his hand, and shook it. Angel eyed her with an undefinable expression; when he called out to Bishop. “Yo, jefe. The prospect is a shit driver with a passenger. Maybe she should ride with someone else”. EZ scoffed at him. Bishop narrowed his eyes at Angel, before replying. “Yeah, ok. Nina, go with Coco”. Angel looked disgruntled, but didn’t say anything. Nina put her backpack on, and was about to walk over to Coco, when Bishop grabbed her arm to halt her; giving Angel a look out the corner of his eye. “I’d rethink that superglue, sweetheart”, he said, a slight smile ghosting his face. “I’ll be fine. Word around Charming is I got mace spraying out of my nipples, when my bra comes off”, Nina replied. A murmur of laughter went through the group, and she put on her helmet again, before walking over to her new chauffeur.

Scooting forwards a bit, Coco let her use his shoulders for support, as she got on his bike behind him. “Hold on tight, niña”, he said. “It’s Nina. And I’ll be fine”, she replied, and put her hands on his waist. He grabbed her hands, and pulled her arms all the way around him. “These ain’t no sports bikes”, Angel said, and Coco started up the bike. The roar of the engine made Nina jump slightly, and she noticed Angel had a gleeful smirk on his face. “Told you”, Coco laughed triumphantly.

The bike didn’t have an actual pillion-seat, so to sit comfortably, Nina had to sit closer to Coco than what she was used to with other riders. Angel drove along-side them. The exhaust of the bikes in front of them and the dust from the road hit her nose, and she was about to let go of Coco with one hand, to lift the scarf over her mouth and nose again. He slowed down, and grabbed her wrist. “Told you to hold on!”, he exclaimed. “I know how to ride bitch”, she replied. “Is that what SOA calls it?”, Angel asked, his voice barely audible over the sound of the engines. “I prefer the term riding queen”. “Bullshit”, Coco cried out with a grin on his face. Angel shook his head, and laughed. “Yo, who’s crow you got, ma?”. “I don’t know what you’re talking about”, Nina said. “Which SAMCRO-member is your old man?”, Angel reiterated, making clear his Coco’s meaning. She shook her head, and didn’t reply. “Just trying to figure out how precious the cargo is", Angel said, and sped up the bike again, letting Coco and her pull in behind him.

Bishop, Alvarez, and a few of the Mayans Nina hadn’t been introduced to yet, pulled off the highway after a few more miles; and Taza took the lead of their caravan. They were silent for the rest of the ride.

---

Santo Padre seemed like worlds away from home. The smells and sounds were so different from what she was used to. Charming was full of middle-class, small-town people who all looked reverently at the patches usually going through town; and everyone knew everyone. Nina noticed some of the residents of Santo Padre nodding at them as they passed; but theirs weren’t the same respectful gazes. The Mayans didn’t have the same history with the area, as SOA had in Charming; and were still building their reputation here. She felt like an alien in a strange world.

They pulled down a smaller road, just outside town, and were met by a large gate; which – after a holler from Taza – was opened by a pretty teenage girl. Coco slowed down to almost a halt, and looked at her. “You’re supposed to be at school, mija”, he said. “Gym-class… But I got cramps”, she replied. “That’s a bad excuse”, Angel said, having pulled up next to them. “What do you know about that? You got a uterus?”, Nina said. Angel frowned at her, but the girl smiled slyly, and waved at her, as Coco continued onto the lot. “That’s my kid”, he said over his shoulder. His voice had a hint of pride to it, and she noticed his back straightened.

They went through a scrapyard, and pulled up at a wooden building – the Mayan clubhouse. Nina got off the bike, and took a second to stretch her legs. She took off her helmet, and looked around; feeling very out of place. Suddenly, a familiar voice caught her attention. “There was a beer-delivery while you were away; but the man was very rude. He says he wants payment up front from now on, and he didn’t even say goodbye”. Nina turned towards the voice, and a smile spread on her face. “Chucky!”, she called out. The balding man lit up, and walked towards her. “Miss…”, he began. “Nina… just Nina. You know that, Chucky!”, she said, and patted his shoulder. “Chibs says hi”. “He’s not here?”, Chucky asked. Nina shook her head. “Then why are you…?”. “It’s a long story. I’m going to hang out here for a while”. EZ gestured for her to follow, and with a final smile at Chucky, she followed the prospect towards a trailer outside the clubhouse. Angel was about to trail behind them, when Taza patted his shoulder; to talk to him.

The trailer was small, and clothes cluttered the table and cot inside. EZ scrambled to pick up his stuff. There was a pile of old novels strewn on the counter. “Sorry…”, he muttered. “If I’d known…”. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you out”, Nina said apologetically. “I’m just a prospect. I do what my president tells me”, EZ smiled crookedly. “It’s fine, really. I’ll stay at our pap’s place while you’re here”. “Your?”, she asked, questioning the plurality in his words. “Yeah. Me and Angel’s. He’s my brother”, EZ replied. Nina dropped her backpack and helmet on the cot. “Is it ok if I leave some of my books here, though?”, he asked, and gestured towards the stack of books on the counter. “Absolutely, as long as you don’t mind me reading some of them”, Nina replied. EZ raised his brows, and seemed pleased at her response.

He found Nina some clean sheets from somewhere, as well as a blanket. “It can get cold out here during the nights”, he said, as she took it with it a thankful smile, and placed it on the cot in the trailer. “This far south?”, she asked. “Yeah, it varies. Some nights I have to wear two sweaters and socks; other nights, it’s like sleeping in an aluminum can over a lit stove”. He knocked the roof slightly, letting the sound of metal fill the tiny space.

There was a roar of laughter from outside, as Angel and Coco shared some inside joke. “So, is your brother your sponsor?”. “He was. Took care of me, and got me in to the club, after I got out of jail. I was having kind of a hard time, and he helped me out… But Bishop took over, after some statute changes…”, he said, before halting himself. “… Which is stuff you shouldn’t even know about. Does SOA let their old ladies in on club business in Charming?”. She chuckled and shook her head. “I wouldn’t know".

“You just a croweater then?”. Angel had appeared in the door, and Nina jolted at the sudden interruption. “Sorry… Bishop is back. He wants to talk to you in his office”. “What does he need me for?”, EZ asked. “Not you. Her”, Angel said. He stepped inside the trailer, his head almost hitting the ceiling of it; and picked up the helmet on the cot. “Your helmet looks worn… Doesn’t fit your head either. It’s not safe”. Nina felt bile rise in her throat, and yanked it out of his hands. “Don’t touch it”, she hissed. She held the helmet protectively in her arms. Angel furrowed his brows at her, and licked his lips, as if he was about to say something. “Sorry… It’s an heirloom”. “Ok…”, Angel said. “Didn’t mean to overstep”. EZ cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable at the tension of the situation. “Don’t want to keep the prez waiting”, he said.

All three of them stepped out of the trailer, and EZ went ahead of Angel and her, as they walked towards the clubhouse. “How do you know about the way a club runs? Your old man lets you in on stuff like that?”, Angel asked. “Why do you keep asking about my old man?”, Nina said. Angel smirked. “So, you do have an old man”. Nina took a second to think. She wasn’t in Santo Padre for a long time; but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have a good time. Besides, Angel didn’t seem like a long-time kind of guy. “No”, she said, and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. His smile widened. “Good to know”.

---

The Mayan clubhouse had similar decorations to the ones in SAMCRO’s clubhouse; though clearly inspired by their proud Mexican and latinx roots. Nina instantly felt at home there, surrounded by leather-clad men, and inhaling the scent of motor-oil and beer.

Bishop was seated by a table, and spread out his arms to greet her, as she entered with Angel. “Step into my office”, he said, and gestured towards a chair opposite him. Nina sat down, and Chucky appeared from somewhere, planting a mug of coffee in front of her. “Black as sin…”, he smiled. “Just the way I like it. Thanks, Chuck”, she said. Chucky scuttered off, leaving them to it. Alvarez hadn’t come back with Bishop, but Nina knew not to comment on it.

Bishop took a sip of his beer, while Angel settled on a bar-stool, taking the cold one EZ handed him from behind the counter. Most of the charter seemed to be scattered throughout the room. “I’m sure you understand why we’re not having this conversation in templo. We don’t allow women at the table, and even if you weren’t one, you’re not wearing a patch”. Nina nodded solemnly. “I understand”, she said. Bishop gave her a short smile. “Here’s the deal. SAMCRO is paying us to look after you, while you stay in Santo Padre for a while”. “She’s the package we’re guarding?”, a bald Mayan asked. “Not what I expected”. He leered at her. Bishop sent him a hard look. “Nina left Charming to… start new”, he said, and looked meaningfully at her. “Right?”. “Yeah… I won’t be staying long”, she said. Angel chewed his lip, and looked quizzically at her. “Why does she need us, though?”. “She is used to an MC having her back. It’s just for comfort and peace of mind for SOA”, Bishop said.

Taza sat down next to Bishop. “You’re not familiar with the area, so you should stay on the lot. Only leave if you have someone with you”, he said. Nina knew what he was really saying; that she was more or less on lockdown, and if she did leave the compound, it needed to be with a patch. It wasn’t anything new. She’d gone into lockdown with SAMCRO before; though on a club-wide basis. “It’s your house… Your rules”, she said. “Good”, Bishop said. “You’re welcome to the facilities here, and if there’s anything you need, you let us know”. “The prospect is used to going on tampon-runs”, Coco grinned from his own stool by the bar. His daughter, who was standing behind him, hit him over the shoulder. “Let me know if you need anything you can’t trust these idiots with. I’m Letty… Leticia”, she said. “Control your kid, Coco”, Bishop said, but smiled at the teenager none the less. “We expect you to pull your weight around here. Chibs tells me you have experience behind a bar, and that you would sometimes help Chucky out in the office, back when their auto-shop was still running. You can do the same with the scrapyard. I trust I don’t need to tell you about keeping your nose out of our other business”. Nina eyed the pack of smokes on the table, and Bishop pushed it towards her. “Anything you need”, she replied, and took a cigarette. “Anything?”, the bald biker neck smirked. Angel got on his feet, and smacked him over the head. “Stop being a creep, Creeper”, he said, and walked over to light her cigarette. He kept eye-contact with her, while she took in her first lungful of smoke, and let a smile ghost his face, before stepping back again. Nina stifled a smile, and felt a rush of blood to her head; as well as other parts of her, that were even more intriguing.

Bishop got on his feet. “Templo. We got some shit to talk about”, he said. “How did things go with Palo? He know who did in his cousin yet?”, Creeper asked. Taza stared daggers at him. “At the table, fuckhead”. The Mayans all went towards a beautifully ornate door, leaving Nina with EZ, Letty, and Chucky. Angel sent her a final look, and shot her a sly smile before closing the door behind him.

---

While EZ helped out Letty with what looked like some homework, Chucky was running in and out of the clubhouse, lugging cases of beer and soda. Nina slipped behind the bar to help him fill the fridges. “You don’t have to do that”, Chucky said. “I need to do something to pass the time”, she replied.

As they worked in silence, she noticed Chucky looking at her occasionally, as if wanting to say something, but not quite having the courage. “Ask…”, she said. “It’s not my place”, he said. “Why not? We’re friends, right?”, Nina smiled. “I’m happy you’re here, Chucky. It would have sucked not having even one familiar face around”. Chucky lit up. “We’re friends?”. “Of course we are. In spite of the fact that you used to tell Jax on me, whenever I was doing anything he might not like”. Chuck blushed. “He asked me to keep an eye on you when he wasn’t around”. “Yeah… Just keeping you safe, darlin’”, Nina imitated the former president of SAMCRO. Chucky smiled. “He was a good man”, he said. “I wish he’d believed that about himself”, she sighed. “So… ask”. Closing the fridge, Chucky looked at her hesitantly. “Why did they bring you here? Did they lose you in a bet, like me?”. “No… nothing like that”. “Then why?”. Struggling with opening a bottle of soda for Letty, who’d stepped over to the bar with EZ. Nina took it from him, and opened it, before giving it to the girl. “I know Chibs took over from Jax, both as president, but also as your…”. “Yeah…”, Nina sighed. “Why would he let you out of his sight?”.

EZ accepted a bottle himself, and was unsuccessful in pretending like he wasn’t listening in on the conversation. “I needed a fresh start. Wanted to get out of Charming for a while”, Nina said. Her cheeks were beginning to burn. “Why? Did something happen?”. Nina’s eyes travelled the room, finding it hard to reply. “Bad breakup…”, she said, almost like a line from a manuscript. “Chibs lets you date?”, Chucky said. “Happy lets you date?”. She wasn’t surprised he hadn’t mentioned Tig. The man had gifted her a 6-pack and a case of condoms for every birthday, since the day she turned 18. “I’m a grown ass woman, Chuck”, she almost giggled. “Yeah, but Jax…”, Chucky began. “Isn’t around anymore”, she replied shortly, feeling immediately guilty. “I’m sorry… It’s still a sore subject”. “I accept that”, Chuck said, his eyes letting her know she was forgiven for her tone.

Nina smiled softly, and went to open another box of beer.

---

#angel reyes #angel reyes x oc #ez reyes #coco cruz #bishop losa #mayans mc #angel reyes fic #mayans mc fic

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mochegato · 4 years

Text

Pixie Spy

Chapter 4

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Marinette’s eyes fluttered open after only a few hours of sleep. It wasn’t enough, but she hadn’t gotten enough sleep in years. At this point, she didn’t think her body would let her sleep a healthy amount, it was too programmed to go without. One day, after they defeated Hawkmoth and she had moved away from Paris, she was going to sleep for a week… after she cried for two weeks straight, or maybe she would alternate the two. She was going to buy the plushest bed she could afford, or likely Adrien could afford since she barely had enough money to cover groceries, and sleep in every single day in that bed.

Until then, rest was minimal and often, like last night, fitful to say the least. She had tried to calm down enough to sleep comfortably, but calming down actually seemed to be part of the problem. To make up for the adrenaline of the night before wearing off and her body calming, her mind started racing. With no immediate threats to deal with, anxiety was setting in and taking over, coming up with new and better things to worry about because fuck you, that’s why. Anxiety needs no reason. It certainly never had for her.

She quietly slid out of bed careful not to move too quickly and accidentally wake up Adrien or the kwamis. She walked out onto the balcony seeking the morning sun on her face, hoping the new day’s light might bring her some peace. She stared out at the morning colors blending from pink to orange to yellow to varying variants of blue. She scanned over the gorgeous colors until her mind caught on one particular shade of blue, reminding her of bright blue eyes filled with concern and determination.

She twisted to face away from the sky and lean against the balcony grabbing it tightly and relaxing her grip over and over again. He said he wanted to help and she wanted to let him, which was ridiculous because he was Red Hood. He was the most violent of Gotham’s vigilantes. She didn’t know too much about the bats, that was Alya’s area, but she knew at least that much. He was the last one they should trust to help. So why was she still questioning it? Why did she feel like she could trust him? Her instincts on people were usually good, but he made her mind go haywire and she didn’t trust herself to be impartial when it came to him.

“Argggg” she groaned running her hands over her face and fisting her hands in her hair. Everything felt wrong. She needed something to distract her anxiety so it wouldn’t take over completely and drag her down into a never-ending cycle of could-have and should-have and why-didn’t-I’s. More accurately, she needed to hit something, a lot and hard. She quietly changed into workout gear and quickly wrapped up her hands and feet before padding over to the sparring area. She stalked over to the dummy glaring at it like it was the cause of all of her problems. She started practicing as she ran through the prominent events from her previous night.

“You don’t seem excited to be here.” Jab.

“Well aren’t you a ray of sunshine.” Jab. Jab.

“I’m Jason.” Jab. Hook.

“Wanna Dance?” Jab. Cross. Hook.

“Was the occasion to look stunning?” Jab. Jab. Palm strike. Knee.

“You’re Jason Todd.” Hook. Punch. Jab. Punch. Uppercut.

“I have to go.” Jab. Elbow strike. Palm strike.

“Are you okay?” Double side punch. Elbow strike.

“I can help.” Kick. Knee. Kick.

“You left some valuable details out.” Side kick. Straight cross. Jab. Jab. Jab.

“You wanted me to meet the Waynes.” Jab. Jab. Right hook.

“You’re still a kid, you should have fun.” Double side punch. Crescent kick.

“I don’t enjoy Hell. DO NOT make me go back.” Jab. Hook kick. Straight cross.

“Change your mind?” Jab. Left hook. Crescent kick.

“Your life is supposed to be more than the fucking suit.” Palm strike. Elbow strike. Hook kick.

“Dramatic much?” Punch. Punch. Front kick leading to a back flip.

“That rule needs to be finessed.” Uppercut. Uppercut. Jab. Right hook.

“He can help.” Side kick. Elbow strike. Crescent kick. Jab.

“You kids really do need help.” Double side punch. Uppercut. Left hook.

“You won’t be able to move on.” Elbow strike. Jab. Uppercut.

“Think about what I said.” Knee. Palm strike. Jab.

“I can help.” Uppercut. Uppercut. Left hook. Right hook.

“I can help.” Hammer fist. Side kick. Knife hands. Back kick.

“I can help.” Roundhouse Kick. Jumping downward punch.

She let the velocity of the punch to carry her to the floor. She landed in a crouch and collapsed to her hands and knees panting for breath, sweat dripping on the floor pads. Instead of helping clear her head, the practice had just made everything worse. God, she was too tired to deal with this. She was too tired to think and this anxiety induced doubt was giving her a headache. She needed to think clearly, but she was too tired to think clearly, and until they defeated Hawkmoth she wouldn’t be able to get the sleep she so desperately needed, so… round and round she’d go, where she’d stop not even Hawkmoth knew.

She fought the flinch that wanted appear when she heard shuffling near her and glanced up just enough to notice bare feet and the bottoms of Adrien’s pajamas as he crouched next to her. He had turned sneaking up on her into a game and despite knowing he wasn’t trying to do that this time, she refused to give him that win. “Hey Marinette, you okay?” Adrien asked gently, his voice laced with concern as he laid a hand on her shoulder.

Marinette nodded but continued looking down at the mat instead of at him, avoiding his eyes. She didn’t want to talk about the doubts her anxiety was pushing. The logical part of her brain knew that talking about her doubts would help her figure out what was really a concern and what was just the anxiety, which is exactly what she needed. But the illogical part of her brain, the part that anxiety had dominion over, thought that if she didn’t talk about it, she would be able to pretend like it never existed, that it would all dissolve like one of Alya’s illusions. And the illogical side knew that if she spoke her feelings out loud, that would speak them into existence, making them impossible to box up and bury somewhere until she was better equipped to ignore it, like after she died. And the illogical part knew if she had to confront all her doubts right now she would die.

As is often the case, the illogical part of her brain was far more persuasive than the logical part, offering the comfort of avoidance rather than the terror of confrontation the logical part was pushing. But then again, Adrien always had a way of quieting the illogical part without even trying. All of her friends did.

“You want to talk about it? Or just want to keep imagining the dummy is Constantine and continue to beat the shit out of it?” Adrien prompted her with a gentle smile. She looked up at him as she stood back up on shaky legs.

She shook her head, “I’m wasn’t. I’m still deciding how upset I am with Constantine. I mean, we knew it was coming. I wasn’t expecting him to make us waste two weeks so he could do it though.” She growled bitterly as she grabbed a water bottle from the refrigerator and walked over to bench next to the sparring mat. She sat and let her breathing slow for a moment before continuing on.

“Don’t get me wrong. I was FURIOUS when I thought he did it to avoid an ex… and fuck, I might still be. I’m too tired to tell anymore.” She gave a tired sigh and ran her hand through her hair that was now plastered to her face. “But that’s not why he did it. He saw where we were going to end up and the asshole wanted to redirect us. He did it to protect us. And I… I would have done the same so… I don’t know. It seems like that should make a difference.”

“We are not fucking children. We don’t need that motherfucker protecting us. We know what we are doing and we are handling it just fine. There is no immediate threat that warranted that.” Adrien growled. He gave her a wicked smile, “And I am never too tired to be a vindictive dick.”

She rolled her eyes, “You’ve been spending too much time with Felix.” She looked away and gave a humorless chuckle. “Honestly? I expected it to be worse. I prepared for so much worse. I’m relieved this is all it was. I expected him to go directly to the Justice League or one of the other groups he works with and say something like ‘Hey, don’t go to Paris for… reasons. And don’t bring your full armory.’ Get them all involved. And that was if he didn’t just straight out tell them about what is going on.”

Adrien glared at her, “Seriously? He knew we didn’t want them involved and he did it anyway. He got them involved. We trusted him and he broke his promise to us. I don’t care why he did it or if it could have been worse, he did it.”

“But he didn’t break his promise,” she noted tiredly. “He orchestrated all of that for us so he wouldn’t break it… He bent his word just enough to keep from breaking it and making it unforgivable. But he still left us in control and is letting us make the decision for what happens next. He didn’t completely fuck us over and he easily could have.”

“We,” he motioned between them to indicate the two of them, “have very different definitions of unforgivable. He didn’t keep his word. He did betray us. He manipulated us and the situation to bring in the Justice League. He did exactly what we told him not to do. He ignored our decision so he could take away control. We don’t control this, he caused it. And on top of everything else, we wasted two weeks so he could betray us. He could have at least had the decency to betray us without wasting our time.”

She shook her head, “No, he moved one piece in the sequence. One piece that allows the option to follow our current path OR choose a new one. We define the new path. It is up to us to decide if we will redirect the pieces back to the original path or let the new sequence take effect.”

“This is not dominoes.”

“It is. Dominoes, the butterfly effect, whatever you want to call it, that’s life. That’s everything that happens in our lives, everyone’s lives. One change now changes what happens in the future. You know that. And if you need a reminder, I’m sure Alix would be more than willing to go over it with you, how one decision changes everything. It is her job to identify the piece that will make the sequence turn out ideally.” Adrien growled at that but glanced away. She continued, “But he’s letting us decide to accept the help or not. He’s letting us decide the next move. He made his move, now it’s our turn.”

“So you’re just going to forgive him? Let him off for lying to us, manipulating us, allowing Paris to suffer while he played his little game of dominoes?” Adrien accused, voice rising as he did.

Marinette sighed deeply, looking down at nothing in particular, “No, I just… I guess I’m too tired to fight this particular fight. You are welcome to though. I won’t stop you from hanging him over the side of the building for a while. But, yeah… the time. The lost time. And the last few weeks were…” she paused letting out another long sigh, looking up to the ceiling and hitting her head gently on the wall as she remembered the events of the last few weeks, “well they would have happened regardless, but…” she tapered off, not sure how to finish the sentence.

“But the oncoming ones might not have to happen and you know with the way akumas and amoks have been going lately, they will probably be just as bad.” Adrien fumed.

He looked over to her as he vented and finally noticed how tired she looked. He studied her closely. She looked like she had relaxed but he knew her well enough to know her tells, the slight tension in her shoulders, the minute tightening around her eyes, the slightly strained smile that nobody who didn’t know her would think was anything less than sincere.

He was still upset with Constantine and he was definitely going to have a discussion with him next time he saw him, a discussion that involved a few of the moves Marinette had demonstrated on the dummy earlier. But his anger wasn’t helping Marinette and that was the primary focus for him. “But until then, we need to focus on preparing for the aftermath of Constantine’s intervention.”

“I’m not worried, it’s just Batman. We can handle him,” she gave him a smile that was meant to reassure but didn’t have the emotion behind it. “Thank God it isn’t the rest of them. Honestly, this is the best case scenario. It’s just the bats and now we know their real identities. That is going to massively enhance our intel on them. We can discover Bruce Wayne’s pressure points as well as Batman’s, and use them to get him to back off.”

Adrien nodded, “A project for Alya and Chloe. We can let them know when they come over later.” He noted she still hadn’t really relaxed. Her shoulders and smile still tense, so the Constantine issue wasn’t what was causing her to feel so distressed. “So, if this impromptu session isn’t about Constantine… Did something else happen last night? Was it that bad?”

She suddenly looked far more tired than she was a few moments before, her shoulders lowering into a slump. “No, the night was amazing actually,” she said quietly.

“So what's the problem? Why were you in here working out your frustrations instead of sleeping?”

“Because it was so amazing,” she sighed defeated. Logical finally defeated illogical as she started dumping everything she was feeling onto Adrien. “Because it was great. I was having fun and I really wanted to stay there. It made me want to have more. But I can't have that. We can't have that,” she motioned between the two of them. “We can't even leave Paris,” she chuckled bitterly. “It was just a reminder that we’re stuck.”

“You know, we had the horse miraculous. You could go someplace else for school and then come back when you need to.” Adrien offered halfheartedly. He knew this argument. They’d had it enough to know she was right. She wouldn’t give in and neither would he. Neither of them would abandon the other to escape alone. They were both stuck. They didn’t really have any options until they defeated Hawkmoth. But it still felt good to say it out loud, pretend like they did. Sometimes it was her offering the escape options, sometimes it was him. But they both knew that neither of them would accept it.

“But then only one of us gets to escape and I’m not leaving you behind,” she looked him in the eye with a determined look to make sure he understood how serious he was. When he nodded at her letting her know he understood, she looked away to look at nothing. “I just, I feel like I can't move. Every move I make is wrong. I’m confined. I can’t do anything. Neither one of us can do anything. I can’t study fashion, you can’t study teaching. We can’t start our future. Hawkmoth won't let us. He’s keeping us right here, in this moment in time and we can’t break out of it.” She said tugging gently on her hair as she spoke. “And last night just reminded me of that. That I’m stuck here, that my priority isn’t me, can’t be me or my future… my happiness.”

He ran his hands over her shoulders and upper arms trying to bring her focus back to him, speaking in calm tones to ground her, “That’s what this whole thing was about though, wasn’t it? Why we let the bastard help in the first place… to tip the balance, to end this, to break out.” He smiled gently at her again continuing with the well-established script of this conversation.

“You know, if you can’t study fashion right now, maybe you can delay it. You can keep doing commissions and bulking up your portfolio,” she opened her mouth to object but he beat her to it, already knowing her response. “I could help you financially until this all is over. You could move in with me so you don’t have to pay rent. I can get an apartment with an extra room and an office you can use… and I can buy the groceries. You wouldn’t have to pay for anything. And when we defeat him, then you can go to school.”

“I’m not taking your money, Kitty. And your father would blow a gasket and probably cut you off unless you kicked me out.”

“I have money saved and I don't want to work there anyway. It's not my legacy. And we could get married, like I said before. Then he couldn’t object. And that way you’re not taking my money, you’re sharing it with me and you’d be my next of kin and have full access to my money whenever you needed it instead of having to ask me for everything. And yeah, we would kill each other after a few months, but it would be a lot of fun to pretend for a while.” He waggled his eyebrows at her making her laugh. “I could support you. We could be happy… you know, for a while.”

“You think getting married would make your dad less likely to lash out and destroy both your happiness and my future?” She chuckled at him and looked off through the balcony doors, voice becoming wistful, “Even if he wasn’t an obstacle, you deserve to find someone that will make you really happy. Longer than I would. Someone you truly love. Someone that will make you feel safe and loved and valued with just a look. Someone that looks at you like you’re the most important person in the world. Someone who’s world lights up just by being near you. Someone who lights up your world. Someone who makes you feel like they would walk happily to the ends this world and the next to keep you safe,” she gave a small grin, “you know, someone who looks at you like Plagg looks at cheese.”

He watched her as she studied something in the sky, eyes glassy with unshed tears, hands twisting around each other, and regret lacing her expression. “That guy really got to you didn’t he?”

She looked back at him surprised. “Yeah,” she breathed out, looking back at the sky, “which is stupid because I only knew him for like an hour and I won’t ever see him again, except to kick him out of Paris whenever they come here. I should just move on but… everything is stupid. I’m stupid.”

He nodded, “Maybe,” he started until he felt the punch to his shoulder.

“The fuck Chaton!” Marinette exclaimed. “This is your pep talk? You need to work on your motivation thing. Triangle, bitch, study.”

He doubled over laughing when she stuck her tongue out at him. It took a few minutes before he could calm down and his expression turned soft again. “I meant maybe you should move on because you barely know him, BUT I think sometimes you just know that someone is going to have a huge impact on your life. We knew it when we met. You knew it when you met Alya. I knew it when I met Nino. Maybe your instincts are telling you something your anxiety doesn’t want to hear. Your instincts have always been right and they’ve only gotten stronger. I trust them.” He paused to give her the most sincere look he could, “I trust you. You should, too.”

Marinette smiled at him eyes shining with gratitude, “I love you, you goofball.”

“I know. I love you too,” he said with a smug smile. “Is that a yes to getting married?”

“You know, there is absolutely no reason we would have to get married. We could just be roommates.”

“Yeah, but I really, really want to see the look on my Dad’s face if we did. Do you think he would have an aneurism?” she rolled her eyes and shoved him away.

“Oh my god, what ancient, vindictive god did I piss off to end up with you in my life?”

“Plagg, it had to be Plagg” Adrien said giggling.

He pulled her in for a tight hug but jumped back from her. “Oh ew gross. You’re still sweaty. Go take a shower and then take a nap. The others won’t be here for a few hours. You have time,” he shoved her away to get cleaned up before the rest of their team appeared for a debriefing on the mission. “Also, I am absolutely telling Chloe and Alya about the boy if you don’t.”

She glared at him “You wouldn’t” she hissed at him.

“Oh I would and will. I’m not dealing with either of them if they find out I knew and didn’t tell them.”

“You better watch it, Kitty. I’ll take you up on that marriage offer and make your life absolutely fucking miserable.” She lobbed her water bottle at him, getting up to take a shower.

<><><><><>

A few hours later after a peaceful but still too short nap, Alya and Nino joined Marinette and Adrien in the Base to hang out and do a post mortem on the night before. They were snacking and chatting idly about the week to come, enjoying the kind of relaxed atmosphere they hadn’t been allowed for the past few weeks while they had planned for the gala mission, the discussion of which they were intentionally avoiding until Chloe could get there. They were in the middle of discussing Nino’s upcoming nightclub gig when Marinette’s phone started ringing. Seeing Chloe’s name pop up on the screen, Marinette answered and put the phone on speaker, “Hey Chlo, what’s up? You on your way up.”

Marinette jerked back and nearly dropped the phone at Chloe’s shriek, “What the hell did you do at that gala, Dupain-Cheng?”

Adrien’s face split into a giddy grin and he yelled back from his spot in a nearby chair, “No one yet, but give her and that Wayne kid a few days and that may change.” Marinette spluttered before glaring at him.

“Chaton…” she gritted out threateningly.

“Dupain-Cheng bagged a Wayne?” Chloe shrieked even louder, making Marinette bring her hands up to plug her ears and wiggle them around trying to get the sudden ringing to stop.

“Wait what?! Why aren’t we talking about this already?” Alya gasped offended that she didn’t already know all the details.

“No I haven't... we didn’t… I didn’t bag anything.” Marinette corrected with a glare to Adrien.

“Don’t worry Dudette, I have faith in you,” Nino offered with both finger guns and a sarcastic grin. “You will.” Marinette stuck her tongue out and threw a handful of chips at him in retaliation.

“Bitch, I TOLD you what would happen if you wore that dress and those shoes. Do not EVER doubt me again. I am a goddamned Godsend to you people. You don’t deserve my presence let alone my guidance in your lives.” Chloe sneered haughtily.

Marinette rolled her eyes trying to keep a straight face as Alya silently mocked Chloe. Nino was having a significantly less successful time, his muffled giggles bubbling out from behind the pillow he was holding over his face. “Okay, you’re a gift from the gods, now what happened?” Marinette inquired.

“The manager just told me the Waynes called this morning to book the rest of the penthouse suites on our floor for a week starting tomorrow.” Chloe hissed. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with your illicit activities last night would it?” Marinette could feel Chloe’s raised eyebrow and the hand on her cocked hip through the phone. “Or I guess maybe it was your more licit activities that got their interest.”

“Fuuuuuck, we have until tomorrow then,” she groaned and looked over to Adrien with a cringe.

“We have until tomorrow for what? What the hell happened? What did you do? Wait, did Lady Luck get lucky?” Alya asked grinning at the impending chaos.

Marinette huffed and threw chips at her too, “Back off, Als. Your Trixx is showing.” Trixx floated up next to her chosen and smiled, patting her on the head. “And proud of you, Kit.” Alya grinned from the praise as though it didn’t prove Marinette’s point.

“See, I knew my faith in you was justified,” Nino grinned at Marinette.

“Nino, I have more chips and I’m not afraid to use them,” Marinette threatened.

“Whatever, I’m coming right up. Don’t you dare tell that story until I get there. And pick up any chips you threw Dupain-Cheng!” Chloe ordered, hanging up before Marinette could respond.

As soon as the call ended, Alya turned to Marinette eagerly, “Okay, she’s off the phone, now spill.”

“I’m not spilling anything until Chloe gets here. I’m not dealing with Pissed Off Chloe,” Marinette deferred. It was a convenient excuse and gave her time she needed to figure out how to phrase things so she didn’t have to admit more than they absolutely needed to know. And absolutely NOT discuss Jason. There were far more significant issues to discuss, less handsome, but more significant.

“Okay, while we wait for her to get here, tell me one thing,” Alya interrupted her plotting to stare her down, “did you or did you not have to enact the Escape Plan version of your dress?”

Marinette groaned and rubbed her hands over her face. She had a feeling she was going to be doing that a lot during the upcoming conversation. “Do we have alcohol? Is it too early to start drinking?” she gave Adrien a pleading look.

“Yes it is and yes she did,” Adrien interjected.

“Shit,” Nino whispered. “That can’t be good. Maybe you should rethink that alcohol ban, dude.” He patted Marinette’s knee comfortingly. “Did you at least get the files we were hoping for?”

“Yeah. We at least got that out of last night,” Marinette said with a tired smile. “I’ll start working on the translation today, see how worth it the mission was.”

Before anyone could respond, the suite door slammed open and shut again as Chloe stormed in. “What the fuck, Dupain-Cheng?”

“Oh good, she’s here,” Alya jumped in. “Chloe sit your prissy ass down so we can start.”

“Excuse you, I believe you meant sit my amazingly toned, prissy ass down, thank you very much.” Chloe huffed, plopping down on top of Alya.

“Clearly what I meant, sweet cheeks,” she waggled her eyebrows at Chloe who rolled her eyes in response. “Now get if off me. I’m not a chair,” Alya complained, unceremoniously dumping Chloe on the floor and completely ignoring her offended squawk before she moved to sprawl across an arm chair instead. “Okay Chloe’s here, now spill.”

“I will,” not if she could help it she wouldn’t, “but first we need to brace for Batman and the batfamily to arrive in Paris.” Marinette warned them, not at all trying to deflect the conversation.

“What do you mean Batman? How did he find out?” Nino asked confused.

Marinette huffed out a sigh, looking up to the ceiling for inspiration. With Alya’s interruption she hadn’t had time to think of what to say. What was the least incriminating way to say what happened without flat out lying? “They saw us in the cave, or rather there was surveillance which I’m sure they were monitoring. They had to have heard Constantine talking to me. He didn’t say anything specific, but enough. Enough for them to know something is happening here.” Adrien gave her a deadpan look and raised an unamused eyebrow at her. She narrowed her eyes back at him and wrinkled her nose in defiance. She wasn’t going there unless she had to and so far, she didn’t have to. They were going to have to drag her into that conversation kicking and screaming.

“What does that have to do with Bruce Wayne?” Chloe asked annoyed by the seeming non-sequitur.

“Bruce Wayne is Batman.” Adrien said.

“Fuck! NO WAY! Really?” Nino yelled excitedly, “Dude, that is so cool!”

“No wonder Batman has so many gadgets, he has his company and billions of dollars make them.” Alya reasoned. “God, how did nobody figure that out before? Of course he is, where else would he get all those vehicles and gadgets?”

“Right,” Adrien said nodding solemnly to them, “so, we’re going to need you two,” he said indicating Alya and Chloe, “to do a workup on them, both sides of the mask. I know you already know everything there is to know about the Bats, Alya, but now we know their real identities which means you can do the same for the Waynes, or at least you and Chloe can. The rest of us don’t need to know the details, at least not yet. Right now, we just need to know what their pressure points are, their weaknesses, what makes them tick, what drives them, what scares them, and what makes them go haywire. They’re coming here for a confrontation. We want to make this a onetime thing and we need to know the buttons to push to make that happen.”

“On it. I’ll start compiling information and get the start of it to you tonight so you can start the profile,” she nodded toward Chloe giving her a sly wink before she turned back to Adrien with an exaggerated innocent expression, “… but I have a ton of calculus I need to get done for school tomorrow, too. I’ll need your help for that, Sunshine.”

Adrien rolled his eyes. “That worked out conveniently for you. Were you hoping something would come up and that’s why you waited to do it?”

She shrugged, the mask of false innocence starting to falter as she struggled to contain a smug grin, “Maybe. And the fact that something always comes up when you two are involved has absolutely no bearing on this conversation.”

“Are you going to make me do your physics homework too?” he snarked back at her.

“…physics homework?” Nino exclaimed.

“Oooh, yeah, what did you get for number 13 on that? I spent an hour and couldn’t figure it out.” Chloe asked. “Got the criminal psych homework done though if anyone needs it.”

“Don’t need that but I will take you up on that physics homework offer, Sunshine. Thanks for volunteering.” Alya responded with a smirk.

Marinette rubbed her temples, “It’s like herding cats,” she muttered to herself.

“Want me to try the same thing with them that Tikki and I did to the cat?” Trixx asked with a grin, suddenly appearing at her shoulder, munching on a piece of fruit as they did lazy summersaults in the air.

“No, that would just distract them more. Plus if they aren’t pursuing the Jason thing, I’m not going to push it.” She sighed at the kwami before closing her eyes and resting her head on the back of the couch, making her miss the kwami smirking and floating over to whisper something in Alya’s ear.

“Yes, let’s get back to the immanent bat invasion,” Alya fixed Marinette with a wicked grin. “Let’s start with you bagging a bat. Does that have anything to do with them coming?”

Marinette groaned and hit her head on the back of the couch. She glanced over at Alya to find both her and Trixx looking at her with matching devious expressions. She glowered at Trixx and muttered “Traitor” none too quietly, which only made Trixx’s grin widen. She tried to come up with a way to redirect them to something else. Anything else at this point. “Not the part I wanted to focus on…” she started only to be interrupted by Chloe.

“Oh, I’m sure. But it’s definitely what we want more details on Dupain-Cheng. Because as I recall, your goal was to NOT get noticed. And yet, a few hours later, here we are with reservations for an entire floor… almost, by the very people who were not supposed to notice you. Not that we don’t appreciate the revenue,” Chloe admonished with no heat behind it.

“They deserve to hear the rest.” Adrien shrugged at her, a smug smile pulling at his lips.

“Nothing happened,” Marinette exclaimed.

“But she wanted it to,” Adrien singsonged with a smile. Marinette threw the rest of her bowl of chips at him. “Not helping, Chaton.” She growled at him.

“Depends on which side you’re on,” he smirked.

“Bitch, I did not let you borrow my Jimmy Choo’s to NOT hear details,” Chloe demanded. “You somehow ended up with a Wayne, and you got their attention enough for the entire family to drop everything and come running. I want to know every sordid detail. If there aren’t any make them up. I want dirty!”

Alya shot her a concerned look, “You okay fam?”

Chloe huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, “No, but whatever. I’ll deal with that later myself.”

“Oh god, Chloe. Could you not! I already had to listen to Constantine. I don’t need you adding to my nightmares tonight.” Adrien objected.

“You couldn’t handle me, sweetie,” she sneered at him. “But, let’s focus on Marinette honeypotting a Wayne.”

She sputtered, “I did not honeypot him. I… I have no idea what that is, but that is NOT what I did,” she defended herself before giving into her curiosity, “What is honey potting?”

“It’s when… Holy shit, Chloe,” Adrien realized, shocked. He started laughing loudly. “You’re a genius. You don’t even know anything that happened and you still figured out that’s exactly what Constantine did.”

“Don’t sound so surprised, Adrikins. I have skills.” Chloe boasted confidently. “Marinette?”

“Are you interested in the honeypot thing or me almost breaking a man’s wrist for trying to stick it up my skirt?” Marinette offered instead.

“… uh, yeah that one. I want to hear about that.” Nino answered, suddenly much more concerned about the night.

“So…” Marinette started. But before she could get more than that out Chloe interrupted her, “Those skills include noting when a conversation has been redirected. You were about to discuss your honeypotting experience, Marinette.”

Marinette groaned. She was so close to getting away with it. So very close. Damn Chloe. “I want it noted for the record that I still don’t know what that word means. And the wrist thing really did happen.” She eyed Chloe and Adrien before continuing, “I needed cover to get into a better position to watch the Waynes…” she glared at a cackling Adrien who was being spurred on by Plagg grumbling “needed” while Tikki tried to shush them. “SO,” she announced over them, “I danced with someone who was definitely not one of the people we went over in our meetings. There was no briefing on him and I know because I sure as fuck would have remembered. I mentioned a supervillain to him because I was stupid and not thinking and commiserating about living in a city with supervillains. I didn’t think it would get back to Batman. I didn’t think there was any way it could. What are the odds? But I forgot my luck outside of the suit.” She glared at Tikki who winced.

“Luck doesn’t always give you what you think you need. It is about the right person getting the right thing at the exact right time.” Tikki said carefully. Marinette rolled her eyes.

“It never gives me what I think I need. Never, not once have I actually gotten like, a hammer when I needed to break something open to get to an akuma. Noooo, I get a leaf of lettuce that I have to use in addition to 19 more steps in order to get to the akumatized item. Meanwhile, this asshole,” she indicated Adrien who gave an offended scoff, “gets a screwdriver when we need to unscrew something. What is that about?”

“The path to your destiny is sometimes complicated,” Tikki offered weakly floating back slightly so she was behind Plagg and Wayzz. The latter of whom decided to risk his immortality by adding, “And often the trials on the journey to your destiny teach you exactly what you need in order to achieve it.” Marinette fixed him with a glare so potent the mini god slunk away, hiding behind Nino.

“Anyway,” Marinette turned her glare from Wayzz to look back at the humans in the room. “Turns out the dead Wayne son isn’t so dead. He’s very much alive and dancing at galas with women who were supposed to go undetected by the Waynes. AND he’s one of the bats. So the man I was commiserating with, the one I let my guard down for one moment to, was a bat. So now Bruce Wayne, Batman knows. Because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut for one fucking night.”

“Marinette, you okay? It doesn’t sound like nothing happened.” Nino asked gently moving to next to her and wrap an arm around her.

“Nothing happened and nothing is going to happen because he's an American vigilante, a bat, and a violent one who can't be allowed to stay here and I can't leave. So it doesn't matter if I had fun with him. It doesn't matter if we danced and flirted. It doesn't matter if he was handsome and charming and sweet and protective with a soft spot for kids. It doesn't matter if the way he looked at me made me feel happy and protected and lighter. Because I have to be here and he can't be.” Well shit she groaned to herself. That was significantly more than she meant to say. As it turns out, they didn’t have to drag her kicking and screaming into the conversation. They just had to give her room to saunter her own ass into it.

Alya scooted over to the other side of her and hugged her, “Oh, Marinette.”

“Until we take down Hawkmoth,” Nino nodded solemnly.

“Well that’s ridiculous, utterly ridiculous. We make an exception and let the one she wants to bang into the country.” Chloe scoffed as though it were the most obvious solution.

Marinette looked up at her in shock and chuckled lightly, “if that’s the requirement, we’ll have to let the oldest son into the country too so Adrien can get a shot at him.”

“No, you need it more than him. He can wait until we kick Hawkmoth’s ass.” She looked over at Adrien with only the slightest hint of sympathy “sorry Adrikins.”

“You only say that because you haven’t seen the oldest.”

“No, I have. He’ll still be there after we win. You can embarrass yourself in front of him then.”

Adrien pouted at her. “I could bag him. I have skills, too.”

“Sure you could Romeo,” Nino said getting up and patting Adrien on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s move this party to Chloe’s room. We can order lunch and start on the homework for Alya and Marinette.” Nino ushered them towards the door.

“Why the hell am I doing homework for Marinette?” Chloe groused.

“Oh right you weren’t here yet, Dudette. Marinette needs to start translating the files.” Nino explained, swinging an arm around Chloe’s shoulders.

“You guys go ahead, we’ll be right there,” Alya called out to them, reaching out to hold Marinette back.

Alya waited until they were gone before moving to sit on the armrest on the couch. She stared at Marinette seriously, “So, spill girl.”

“I already told you about the night. What more do you want?” Marinette asked defeated.

“No, you told them. Now tell me. There is speaking with friend honesty and then there is best friend honesty. I want the best friend honesty. What was your boy like?” she prompted Marinette. Marinette looked so defeated. She needed Marinette to remember the more fun parts of the night, the parts that reminded them that they were still teenagers under their suits and responsibilities. She wanted to get Marinette’s mind off of the negative and what was to come, to focus on being happy for once, and tease out what impact this boy had on her best friend. Which, knowing her best friend, she was going to try to suppress for the safety of Paris. God, she hated Hawkmoth for so very many things but this was at the top of the list, the impact he had on everyone’s mentality, especially Marinette’s.

“Alya,” Marinette sighed, “I haven’t assessed him yet.”

“No! I want Marinette’s reaction not Ladybug’s.” Alya chided her.

“We’re the same person, Alya.” Marinette rolled her eyes.

“Yes but with different priorities and insights. I want Marinette’s insights. No guilt, no responsibilities, no angst, not what went wrong, not what you could have done better. Just the fun part, the teenage girl perspective. What. Was. He. Like?” she poked Marinette with her foot after each word to accentuate the question.

Marinette sighed again but Alya could see the glint of a smile on her lips as she thought through the night with him. The prominent details flashing in Marinette’s mind. “He was sweet. He was clever. Kind. Mischievous. He doesn’t like pretense. He likes blunt, honest. Knows how to handle himself. He stopped to help a kid, Alya, a kid. Really protective of kids. Respectful. Gentle. He has the most brilliant eyes and heartwarming smile and he focused on me the entire time, like nothing else mattered.” She looked off at nothing and cocked her head to the side. A sad expression suddenly appeared on her face. “He’s Red Hood, you know the scary one. But he was so gentle and sweet. How do I reconcile that?”

“No, I said no angst. We’re not reconciling anything right now. We’re not going to discuss that he stopped killing a while ago and that is why he is working with Batman.” She snuck into the conversation. As the group’s expert on superheroes, she could give Marinette a lengthy, highly detailed essay on each of the Bats, their history, and speculations about them, but she wasn’t ready to discuss Red Hood’s history with Marinette and Marinette wasn’t ready to hear it yet. She would go over it with Chloe later and they would distill it to the bare basics Marinette needed to know before facing them tomorrow. Today, they focus on the good. Tomorrow they focus on Paris. “Instead, we’re going to focus on the fact that he’s a good guy now who made you very happy for a while last night. So, what does this good guy look like?”

Marinette paused to consider what Alya had said. “Nope,” Alya threw a nearby pillow at her head, “not now. There will be plenty of time for that later, after you’ve gotten your work for tomorrow done, eaten something other than chips, and slept a human amount of time. Now. What. Does. He. Look. Like?” She poked Marinette with her foot after each word again to push her into answering.

Marinette grabbed her foot on the last word and glared at her. “God, why are you such a bitch?”

“You love me and if I don’t worry about you doing those things, you won’t do them. Now answer before I have to kick you again. I’ll do it.” Alya threatened with a mock glare, her foot raised slightly, ready to kick.

Marinette rolled her eyes and shoved her best friend’s foot back at her. She knew exactly what Alya was doing, it’s the same thing she does for her when Alya gets too caught up in a self-deprecating spiral, but she needed something to smile about so she went with it. She looked to the side, focusing on nothing while she tried to think of how to describe his looks. “Tall,” she nodded absentmindedly as she continued, “He was very tall with dark hair and blue eyes, a sharp jaw and broad shoulders. He had a shock of white hair at the front that was begging to be touched.” She absentmindedly touched her bangs in the same place his streak was and stared off into space with a dreamy look on her face. “He had this smile that made you weak in the knees. His eyes sparkled when he was talking to me until he discovered why I was there and then they were filled with such sincere concern that took your breath away.”

“He was that good looking, huh?” Alya asked with an amused raised brow.

“Come on Alya, it wasn't just the looks, the personality too,” Marinette admonished her.

“Right, right. Of course...” Alya nodded seriously, “but...” she prompted Marinette to continue.

“He was sexier than Adonis and Henry Cavill’s lovechild, with a personality to match.” Marinette said with a deadly serious expression.

Alya stared at her amused and opened her mouth to speak but Marinette continued, “One look melted ice the next town over.” Alya beamed at her excitement. “He is the sexiest thing I think I’ve ever seen, and one of my best friends is an actual supermodel who hangs out with other supermodels. And this ice meltingly sexy Advill lovechild looked at me like I made his life complete.”

“So you wanted to kiss him?” she teased her friend with a knowing glint in her eyes.

“I wanted to rip his clothes off with my teeth,” Marinette corrected.

Alya balked at the unexpected admission before doubling over with raucous laughter. Her laughter got louder as Marinette joined her. Alya gasped for air but she couldn’t catch her breath which made her laugh harder until she was laughing so hard she fell backwards off the armrest landing on the floor with a resounding thump, causing them both to laugh even harder.

Chapter 5

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As always, if I forgot you please, please let me know. I’m a bit scatterbrained lately.

Note: was one of those sequences stolen directly from Big Hero 6? Yes, yes it was.

And the triangle comment is absolutely from Suicide Squad. I was going to have Adrien comment about the movie but then I realized that is a DC movie so it probably doesn’t exist in this universe.

Also, I am letting everyone keep their original miraculouses just with a redesign because you know they will find a way to do it in the show so let’s pretend I’m following the same premise that they use to allow it.

#maribat #jasonette #Pixie Spy

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