#and it breaks his heart and it takes him another decade to gather intel and the nerve to ask julian again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kookiecrumb · 2 years

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I accidentally posted it like a dumbass so sorry anon you're not getting tagged but,, ye

warnings: fingering, handjob, brat!reader, soft hate sex, some pining, breastplay, name-calling, choking kink, hand kink, office sex, mentions of tae quitting smoking,

KTH || Inside Job

Kim Taehyung had a personal vendetta against you. His dick didn't agree.

A spy is a diplomat, in any sense. They negotiate, inconspicuously, with foreign peoples in order to gather intel on the agendas and intentions of the enemy.

They're untraceable, and they're designed to be, even to the trained eye. This is your mission, to be nobody and everybody.

Of course you can spot one from a mile away, but that's only because you are one. It's an almost impossible feat, but you've managed well for the past decade.

During that time, you've gathered enemies.

The only reason you haven't reported Kim Taehyung to your higher ups is because he hasn't given you a reason to, legally.

He's been completely in compliance with the ordinance between your two agencies that you should be completely devoid of interaction on the field. He isn't to touch you. He isn't to interrupt during operations. He's not supposed to break cover around you, but you know him.

Oh God, do you know him. Inside and out.

He's a Korean special operations manager for the Bureacratic Agency of Special Relations in Seoul. It's basically a Nationalist agency born from the resistance against American occupation of Korea in the sixties.

Recently he's been promoted to a field position due to graduating from training, which means that you now are obligated to deal with his ass every waking moment of your undercover life.

The both of you attended the same highschool, as ridiculous as it may seem. He was vice president of the debate team, and you were president. All that good lawyers are, really, are good actors. They're performers.

Ironically, neither of you were into theater or drama.

One thing remained clear, however. You were not partners. You were enemies. Ever since you overtook him as president in your freshman year of highschool.

Now, you might be thinking to yourself, "isn't it kind of childish to hold a grudge against one another from highschool?" And to that, I say no. Absolutely not, because there's so much more than that.

During competitions, you'd always take first place. He'd come in second, despite a perfect argument and officer positions.

He didn't lose to the school of the arts. He didn't lose to the up-and-coming public school. He lost to his teammate, Y/N, as a junior in highschool.

The first couple times, it was friendly. It was laughable, even, that he'd lost to his younger. The problem arose when you began consistently trumping him in every aspect of his academic career...

Even then, it was just a rivalry.

Then, you entered the same field as him. Special operations. You studied at the same academy as him, for basics.

You excelled. He followed.

When it came time to graduate, you both applied to the same program with nearly identical applications. They chose you.

From then on, it was personal.

You had a job to do at the Korean embassy in Washington D.C.

So did he. So, for the time being, you would cosmetically be on good terms. He'd only recognize you as his coworker, smiles and all.

The professionalism came first. The professionalism always came first.

Behind the shallow nods, behind your shared facade of your double lives, and even behind your rivalry lied something neither of you knew you felt for each other.

For Taehyung, it started when he was engaged in another screaming match with you in the middle of afterschool debate class.

"Well, the department of education should then take the appropriate action of adopting a new plan..." His heart was racing, and he didn't know where to put his eyes, so naturally, they fell upon your breasts.

He choked on his own spit, then and there.

"What plan," you challenge, illegally.

"Ummm," Taehyung hums. "Uh,"

"You can't even remember your argument," you scoff. "The competition is in two weeks, Taehyung. If you can't get this right, then we risk regionals. We cannot go through that again, as a team," you say, firmly.

That night he spent the whole bus ride daydreaming about you. How pretty you looked in the afternoon light. How you fiddled with your hair during the rare occurrence that you're shy. It was unavoidable, and it's been in the back of his mind ever since.

Today, he's gotten better at hiding his thoughts. He certainly doesn't stutter when he's distracted anymore. He's grown to be assertive and has grown into his own body. He looks good.

Sometimes you wonder if beneath everything you're pretending to be, there's a shared attraction. Very soon, you won't have to wonder.

You're sitting at a desk in your very own office at the embassy. It's a slow day, so you have nothing but a bit of paperwork to do.

That is, until Taehyung comes barging into your office demanding that it be locked and shuttered. He's got a sucker in his mouth because he's trying to quit his smoking habit.

He impatiently stands around, waiting for you to push the button under your desk that locks the doors and windows and closes the blinds.

Out of your own stupid curiosity, you comply.

He stumbles into a seat and plays with his fingers.

"You come in here, now you tell me what you want, Agent Kim," you say, sternly.

He falls silent for a moment and then says, "Fuck, I never thought you'd say my name again."

"I know it. You're breaking protocol right now," you warn, a smirk pulling at your lips. "I have every reason to get on your ass about this secret little meeting of ours."

"You won't do that," he says, raising his voice.

"Oh, but I will. Unless you tell me what you want, right now." Seduction is ridden in your words, your tone is smooth and sexy. "Or you're going to keep on being a pussy, just like you have been since grade school,"

Taehyung leans back into his chair and shakes his head. "It's not that at all, it's--"

"It's what?"

Silence.

"Is it because I'm a woman? Does your dick get hard every time you see a woman in power? I'll show you a woman in power."

You break out into an astounded smile.

"That's it, isn't it? Put me in my place, then."

Taehyung turns red, his intentions exposed.

You kneel on your desk and crawl to the edge before spreading your legs across it so that your underwear is fully on display under your pencil skirt. It faces Taehyung.

His face contorts at the sight, a mix of alarm and utter arousal overcoming him. He's entirely focused on you.

"And you've been wanting this pussy forever," you laugh, teasing him. "I dare you," you whisper.

His eyes travel down to your thighs and then between them as he spreads his legs to accentuate his buldge.

"You dare me?" He raises an eyebrow.

"...coward."

Taehyung rises from his seat in an instant and stands over you, his hands clinging to your throat. "Call me that again."

You smile, innocently, keeping your eyes up at him. "I said, coward."

"If you weren't, you'd fuck me like you hate me."

"Oh, but I do hate you," his thumb reaches for your lips and presses in. "So...very much," he rasps. You suck on it softly.

"I hate you more," you whisper.

That went straight to his dick.

He lets out a small gasp and presses his veiny cock against you, protesting the pathetic fabric preventing him from sinking into your cunt.

He adjusts his hips so that you can feel every rush.

You shove your tongue into his mouth and put his free hand to your breast. Your eyes roll as his dick strains against the thin cloth of your panties, your skirt riding up you grind.

He lets out a growling groan, shaking you to your core and making your knees weak. He meticulously unbuttons your dress shirt to roll his thumb over the bud. They're so perfect.

"Mmh," you breathe, both of your hands propped up on your mahogany desk.

You're careful not to knock down any stacks of paper, but you fail when he takes a hold of your hips and force them down on his dick.

"I should shut you up, you know?" He tightens his grasp on your throat. "I should shove my cock down your smart mouth. Then will you shut the fuck up?" You let his hands push you down and reposition you so that your eyes lie beneath his belt, fixated on his long fingers pulling at the leather restraining him.

It falls on your tongue with a thick slap. You flinch in surprise at its girth.

Taehyung's fingers lift your face up to watch him as your lips kiss and suck at the tip. "Don't be intimidated by it," he slurs, "Surely, you can take it all in one go, right, madam president?"

"Mhh," You flatten your tongue out and guide it down your throat, hollowing your cheeks. His face twists in pleasure, finding it impossible not to fuck into your heat immediately. Your hands rest on his thighs, assuring him to keep steady.

He's heavy and fills out your throat well, and his taste is pleasant and naturally a bit salty. He's gushing at the warm feeling of your tongue against his underside, barely keeping his hips from bucking.

Carefully, you draw it out with your saliva connected to the crown. You kitten lick his slit, innocently.

His eyes narrow, his hands shaking. You caress his forearm and tug him down to your level.

He kneels, leaning back on his hands. You lay across your desk and wrap your fingers around it and take into your mouth again, swallowing him. He coos quietly, cussing under his breath with every fluid stroke.

Deep, baritone noises rip through him as you manage every inch of his massive dick in your throat. "Aaahh," he hums, his breath stuttering. Fuck, he's gonna cum hard. Fuck.

He pulls out in a panic, drenched in your saliva. He's panting hard, pulling his hair back in amazement. "Who the fuck are you?" He asks, in disbelief.

He laughs, out of breath. "What the fuck, y/n?"

You pout. "It took you long enough to realize, you know. I've been needing your dick for years. Your cum. Look how sticky I am..."

You carefully position yourself over his thighs and pull your panties to the side for him to touch you. He places two fingers below you, allowing you to ride them wantonly.

"You're this wet from sucking my dick..." he realizes, rocking you softly against his digits. "Your cunt is so cute..."

You scoot up and bite your lip, swirling your hips as you fuck yourself on him. He diligently watches your delicate reactions to his touch.

Your hand snakes to his needy cock and jerks him off simultaneously, keeping a consistent pressure. His chest rises and falls, his eyes fixated on your face as he languidly fucks your fist.

Who knew a surrender could feel so sweet?

You mewl, sensing your pending orgasm spike.

He glances up, sharing a look of determination with you. He keeps his pace, fingering you in long, drawn out strokes while stimulating you slightly over your clitorial hood.

He leans forward and kisses you deeply, sucking on your bottom lip, lewdly.

"You’ve only been waiting this long huh? To feel my fingers in your tight cunt?” he speaks against your pliant lips as he snaps his his up against your palm. "Cum all over them."

A surge of euphoric pleasure ripples through your body. You pulse around him, lathering his hand in your juices. His thrusts grow stagnant as he reaches his peak, tensing headily.

...

"We tell nobody in the agency," he breathes out. "Nobody, do you understand?" Taehyung warns, still throbbing in your palm.

You nod, absent-mindedly. "Not a soul."

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lostlitany · 2 years

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Master List

Ao3 | Instagram | Main Account

Bad Things Happen Bingo!

Updated on: June 9th, 2022

Hey! Please mind the tags on any of my fics! I enjoy writing angsty and dark themes quite often. Don't Like; Don't read. Stay Safe!

Multi Chapters

Love Like You Incomplete - Teen - 24k - 4/6 Chapters Kiribaku 5+1 5 times Kirishima showed Bakugou how to love others + 1 time Bakugou showed Kirishima how to love himself

Damn Straight Gay Complete - Teen - 36k - 10 Chapters Kiribaku Break-up/Make-up Bakugou takes Kirishima's advice and moves to America for a huge hero work opportunity. After four years of waiting, Kirishima can't handle life without the blond. How is Bakugou supposed to cope once Kirishima gets a new girlfriend?

The Exception Complete - Teen - 50k - 11 Chapters Kiribaku Slow-Burn College-AU When Bakugou gets stuck attending the local community college, he's forced to take a step back and recenter his life. Unfortunately now his future isn't as clear as he thought it was, that is, until he let's it completely change when a certain red-headed beam of sunshine steps into his life and changes him for the better

Irreplaceable Incomplete - Mature - 30k - 3/? Chapters Dadzawa as seen through the eyes of 1-A Aizawa ends up in the hospital after yet another villain attack, and class 2-A is left to fend for themselves while the adults start doing more harm than good

When Light Breaks Through The Rain Complete - Teen - 15k - 5 Chapters Baku-Centric LGBTQIA fic When Bakugou accidentally comes out to his mom, he finds himself on the street. So... He calls the only person he can really ask for help

Silent Gossip Complete - Mature - 56k - 13 Chapters Bakusquad self-therapy Once the class moves into the dorms, Mina is determined to provide some kind of stability to her friends. No matter who you are, or what you need; Mina's door is always open.

Series

The Fox Prince - Incomplete Kiribaku Swan Princess AU

Not My Idea Complete - Teen - 17k - 4 Chapters When you're forced to spend summer after summer together for over a decade, some kind of relationship is bound to form, right? Far Longer Than Forever Incomplete - Mature - 13k - 3/? Chapters When things go wrong, things go wrong. Left in the wilderness to fend for himself Bakugou has to navigate back to his home while under a curse. Kirishima is bound and determined to figure out how his new powers work so he can help rescue the missing prince.

One Shots

Unconditional Teen - 10k - Mitsuki's Parenting Mitsuki hasn't always been the best parent, but Bakugou knows her heart's in the right place. It's her head that needs help-

Unrequited Teen - 650 - Kiribaku How do you feel around someone you love when you know there's no way they'll ever love you back?

Dance Like You Don't Know Someone's Watching General - 340 - Shinkami He couldn't be blamed for this. It wasn't his fault. It was a sick combination of ADHD and unfortunate timing.

Eye Contact Teen - 1k - Baku-Centric Of course, he always wanted to be the center of attention… just, not like this.

Left Out Teen - 4k - Baku-Centric When months go by and he doesn't get to spend any quality time with his friends, Bakugou begins to doubt that he even has friends.

Try Me Teen - 4.5k - Kami-Centric / Baku-Centric The girls just always look really pretty. They look so delicate and pretty when they get to dress up in their skirts and dresses on Saturdays at the dorms. Maybe it was weird, but he wanted to look delicate and pretty too.

Unlisted // (BTHB) Mature - 7.3k - Aizawa-Centric Fresh out of school, Aizawa's ready for his first big undercover assignment. The mission? Infiltrate a villain organization and get on their good side to gather intel for the heroes. The only problem… apparently nobody told the police Aizawa was supposed to be there.

Original Work

Purple Perseverance Complete - Teen - 12.5k - 1 Chapter Cecil Emil Minett A story about growing up, discovering your identity, and the consequences that come with just being yourself.

#my writing #fanfic #fic rec #fic list #mha #bnha #mha fanfic #bnha fanfic #mha fanfic recs #bnha fanfic recs

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gloriainalbis · 4 years

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Half a Person

Klaus Hargreeves x Reader Words: 7.8k Warnings: Drugs, smoking, and alcohol, mentions of ODing and death, swearing Summary: It’s difficult watching the person you care about most in the world barreling towards rock bottom, and it’s even more difficult when you only find out after. Ao3

For what felt like the hundredth time, you were waiting outside a formidably bland concrete building, leaning against your car and staring up at a sign that read ‘Something-Something Clinic’ or ‘The-Such-And-Such Center.’ Today it was Lakeshore Hills Rehabilitation. You’d gotten the all too familiar call only a week ago, and it was the first time you’d heard anything from Klaus in almost a month. Seeing Lakeshore’s name pop up, you’d answered immediately. You had the main number for close to every rehab center in the city saved in your phone for precisely this eventuality.

“Klaus?!” you answered expectantly. “y/n! Oh, how I’ve missed your voice!” You ignored him and got right to the point. “Where have you been?” “Oh, here and there. Rehab, mostly.” Well, that explained his absence, but not the lack of calls. “Why haven’t I heard from you? I was worried.” You still were, honestly, but decided to leave that part out. “Oh, you know, reasons.” It was painfully apparent that he was leaving something out. “Anyways! Got any plans for next Friday?” “Do you need someone to pick you up?” “Excellent deduction skills, y/n.” “Thank you. What time?” “Noon, Lakeshore Hills. Be there or be square!” You grinned, grateful that he couldn’t see you smiling at his joke. “Okay, Klaus.” “Great, thank you. Goodbye!” “Wait!-” the line clicked and went dead, leaving you with some answers and even more questions.

You still hadn’t heard from Klaus in the past week, but you tried not to hold that against him. Someone from the rehab center had called you a few days ago to confirm that you were Klaus’s designated pick-up, which was one of many hints that something wasn’t right. You were often there to pick him up, but it was seldom that it was required. The front doors burst open. “y/n!” Klaus was beaming as he jumped over the front steps. “Hey, Klaus.” You had planned on scolding him and asking questions but forgot as soon as you saw him. “It’s so good to see you!” He pulled you into a giant hug, and the feathery trim of his coat tickled your cheek. “Mr. Hargreeves!” you heard from the door, “Mr. Hargeeves, wait! We still need you and your escort to sign discharge papers.” He pulled away and cocked an eyebrow at you, “Oooh, escort…” he purred. “How scandalous,” you joked before turning to the nurse. “Forgive him.” You walked with Klaus back to the building, signed the papers, and then left, for real this time. When you finally got back to the car, he seemed to sink into the passenger’s seat, slumping into it and propping his feet up on the dashboard in front of him, plastic hospital bracelet dangling from his wrist. You tried to keep your eyes on the road, but couldn’t help sneaking a glance at him. The lines of exhaustion were written clearly all over his face. “So,” you started. “You look… unwell.” “I have my reasons.” He shot you a nonchalant grin that didn’t seem to fit the mood, but oh well. You turned off the main road and were only a few streets away from Klaus’s apartment when he stopped you. “Ooooh, wait, I have a huge favor to ask of you.” He sat up a little straighter. “Okay? Shoot.” “Well, I got evicted, so-” “You what?!” Well, that was quite the bombshell. “I was kicked out! My lease is no more, it’s passed on, gone to meet its maker, it’s an ex-lease, whatever.” He gestured dramatically into thin air. You persisted, “When did this happen?” “While I was in rehab,” he admitted quietly. He still seemed to be hiding something, though, which worried you. “Is that even legal? Can they do that?” “Uuuuhhhh....” he tried to stall, but you shot him an incredibly motivating glare. “Alright, fine. I may or may not have neglected to pay my rent, and upon further inquiry was found severely passed out.” Excuse you? What was that supposed to mean? If you weren’t worried before (which you had been), you were now. “What? Did you-” “On the upside, it was the closest I’ve been to actually seeing Ben in years!” He brushed you off with an even more cryptic admission. “Oh my god, Klaus, what do you mean?” You could feel your heart sinking lower and lower in your chest as he continued to ignore your questions. “That I definitely need a place to stay.” You had already turned around and started driving back to your place. “No, I meant-“ “Do you mind, (Y/N), if I used your couch for a while, pretty pleaaaase?” That exhaustion from earlier was peeking through his resolve, and you could see how much he just needed to sleep, to rest. Maybe he would talk about it later. “Fine,” you acquiesced, hoping this wouldn’t bite you in the ass later. “Yay! Thank you, y/n!” He clapped his hands triumphantly and blew joyful kisses at you until you finally smiled.

The rest of the car ride involved minimal chatter as you tried to process what he had told you. It was incredibly serious. From what you could tell, going over his words again and again in your head, ‘severely passed out,’ ‘closest to actually seeing Ben in years,’ he had OD’d, and not in his typical wake-up-in-the-ambulance fashion. You knew that he could see and talk to Ben, at least when he was mostly sober, so being closer to him than he had been in years meant something different. How were you only hearing about this now? Since he had just gotten out of rehab, this had to have been at the very least a month ago. Klaus could have realistically, actually died. Your mind raced with possibilities and questions, but most of all, you just wanted to make sure he would be okay. He had to be. You made an odd pair, you being a somewhat put together, mostly functioning adult, and him being a clingy junkie whose life was perpetually in shambles. Still, you couldn’t imagine your world without him in it. He was your best friend, the person you cared about more than your self-preservation instincts wanted to allow. You saw so much more in him than he could ever imagine. Without him… you didn’t even want to entertain the notion. You were all about being prepared, but this was too real. You couldn’t think those thoughts and imagine that you could very well go through them all again in not too long, for real.

You got back to your apartment finally, telling Klaus you’d make space on the couch for him before going off to find pillows and blankets. He started walking backward hastily in the direction of your bathroom. “I gotta go- in the other room- to the bathroom- for a sec…” “Okay, Klaus…” It was strange, but Klaus himself was strange, and it wasn’t the weirdest thing you’d heard from him today. Klaus made sure he saw you leave the room before walking into the bathroom and locking the door behind him. As an addict and junkie, he’d hidden stashes everywhere. Honestly, the Hargreeves mansion would probably be worth considerably more if all the drugs hidden there were taken into account, and those stashing instincts extended to your apartment as well. Klaus stared intently at the tile walls of your bathroom, looking for the one that was slightly out of place. He found it above the toilet, a few tiles down from the ceiling.

You returned to the living room, placing down your gathered things before sitting beside them, melting into the couch, exhausted, as Klaus had done in your car. With him momentarily gone, you had some space to think- and break down. You let out a quiet sob. And then another. You had been so close to losing Klaus and knew that it would, in all likelihood, only happen again. And again. And again. You needed to be there for him and make him see how much he meant to you, but he was once more approaching rock bottom, and you didn’t know if you could take it this time. A painful tension built in your chest as you tried to keep some semblance of composure, but sobs kept bubbling up and the hurt kept ripping through you. So, head in hands, you curled up, pulling yourself closer and closer inward.

Klaus was standing on your toilet, carefully and quietly removing a loose wall tile. “Bingooo!” he whispered with levity. “This is a bad idea,” Ben spoke, suddenly appearing in your bathroom. “Oh, Ben, lovely to see you. Bye now!” Ben glared indignantly as Klaus wiggled his fingers and un-summoned him. “Wha- Klaus!” “Toodles!” And with that, Ben disappeared. He was replacing the tile, pill bottle in hand, when he heard a sound coming from the living room. He froze, listening. He had learned many things during the decade and a half he spent under the instruction of Reginald Hargreeves, one being the importance of gathering intel. When faced with an unfamiliar environment or sound, listen, stay still, and wait. Figure out what it is before proceeding. But, being perfectly honest, Klaus wasn’t thinking about his childhood superhero training at that moment, he was far more concerned with being caught. Nevertheless, the sound became clearer as he focused on it, and he could eventually make out sniffling and- crying? Shoving the pills into his coat pocket, he leaned down and steadied himself on the counter before slowly stepping off the toilet, being careful to ensure that the rubber soles of his shoes didn’t squeak. He unlocked the bathroom as quietly as possible and crept into the doorway to see what was wrong. Something in his heart broke. The crying slowed to fitful sniffles, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the tears still shining in your red eyes and on your cheeks. The pill bottle felt unrealistically heavy in his pocket as his stomach dropped right down to his feet, leaving only sickening embarrassment and shame. He felt like a complete and utter piece of shit. He tried to let it pass, but it just kept washing over him in waves. It was difficult, but even more so was trying to keep that fear and guilt from showing in his voice as he spoke up. “y/n?” Surprised and a little startled by his sudden appearance, you turned around and made attempts to wipe your eyes dry, but it was too late. And you both knew it. You tried not to look at him as he crossed the room and sat beside you, very contained and un-Klaus-like. By contrast, he couldn’t tear his eyes from you and couldn’t stop feeling like shit. Then you turned to him, perking up and putting on a thinly veiled smile, the tone of your voice too cheery to be sincere. “Hey, Klaus, what’s up?” The furious drying had only worsened the redness of your eyes as you continued to look like a vision of sorrow. “Well, I saw you crying. So that’s something.” You should’ve known that he understood you too well to be fooled that easily. And he was right. Your smile broke, eyebrows furrowing into a painful look of grief. “Are you alright?” he knew his words were hollow. It was more than obvious that you weren’t alright, but he didn’t want to point out or confirm why. You slumped back into the couch, looking defeated. This was difficult to say. “It’s… hard. To see you so determined to destroy yourself.” You stopped there, wanting to be strong, unwaveringly stable, worried that Klaus would lose all motivation if your faith in him wasn’t absolute. But feelings and emotions aren’t that simple. Klaus relied strongly on you to ground him, to provide a baseline and a home, but he was well aware of his failure to maintain any and all relationships and didn’t expect much beyond that. And besides, he was used to letting people down and had been able to see your weariness with him grow considerably over the past few months. And you- you were tired. The fuel of your optimism and hope had gone completely dry, and you were running on empty. You wanted to believe he could and would stay sober but you just didn’t anymore. There was the occasional good day or two, but they never lasted. He didn’t know what to do, what he could say, to make it better. So he went with the next best thing, sincerity. He reached out for your hand, both to steady himself and to let you know how much he meant what he was about to say. “I’m sorry,” he whispered through a broken voice. It was small and nearly silent, but you appreciated it far more than any speech or string of excuses. It was real and genuine. Letting go of your hand, he reached an arm out to bring you close, and you understood. He nestled his head into the crook of your shoulder as you wrapped your arms around his waist. You spoke no words. You didn’t need to. Sincerity was a lot more difficult for Klaus than his usual flippancy and nonchalance, and you were both too drained to continue talking anyway. You just held onto each other.

That night, you went to your room while Klaus tried to settle into the couch. He lay there, unable to fall asleep. Time ticked on, and he could do nothing but stay awake. He was on his back, one hand resting on his stomach and the other behind the pillow under his head. He was lucky that your apartment wasn’t as haunted as it could be. But time is long, and the dead are plenty, so Klaus was never without his demons. They whispered in the back of his mind, very quietly, barely there. But it was hard not to hear them, and it was worse when he closed his eyes. The long-gone and less unsettled spirits that he had a harder time conjuring visually had almost no trouble simply projecting their likenesses into his mind. They called for him, reaching out through him, into him, all around him. He could almost feel their clammy hands plastered all over his skin, suffocating him, dragging him back down with them. Breathless, utterly exhausted, and entirely unable to sleep, Klaus sat up and walked to your room. He didn’t quite know what he was doing and, feeling odd just standing in the doorway, crept closer to you and whispered your name. “Klaus?” You were groggy and confused but awake. “Wakey wakey,” he joked, trying to keep the mood light. “What is it? Is something wrong?” He didn’t look great, his mussed up hair flying off in countless directions. Dark circles loomed under his wide, fearful eyes. “I was wondering if I could… uh… maybe stay with you?” “Of course,” you patted the space next to you, and he climbed into bed gratefully. At first, you were just lying next to each other, but as he got more comfortable and you settled down again, his hand naturally found yours. Once you were holding hands, it only made sense to scooch closer to each other. You were both tired and needed comforting. Consequences be damned. Before long, he was on his side, arms wrapped around you while you lay against him, nestled into his chest. He placed a small kiss on your forehead, and you smiled lazily, knowing that he was doing the same. You couldn’t help but love the feeling of his skin against yours, his body beside you, solid and warm and wholesome.

He was still there, still entangled, when you awoke the next morning. You let yourself enjoy his peaceful expression for a few moments. Time didn’t seem to pass as you lay there with him. As far as you were concerned, you had always been here, sleepy and happy in the soft morning light, and always would be. Eventually, you couldn’t help yourself, and you reached up a hand to touch his cheek. His eyes opened, greeting you with tender green, and he smiled. “What a beautiful way to wake up.” You refrained from giggling but definitely felt like it. “Hello to you, too.” You dropped your hand from his face, letting it fall into the small space between you. “How about we do all this again in, hmmm, ten minutes.” He pulled you closer. “You didn’t get any sleep at all on the couch, did you?” You wondered with some concern He closed his eyes, “Nope.” “I’ll make us breakfast,” you decided, trying to sit up but finding his arms inextricably wrapped around your waist. “Hmmph,” he groaned in protest. “I’ll make coffee, too,” you reasoned, leaning down to place a kiss on his forehead, which seemed to placate him. His grip slackened, and you untangled yourself. You got up, put on some more appropriate clothes than your grungy pajamas, and took one last look at him before leaving the room. Klaus appeared to belong there, in your bed, curled up under your comforter and looking more serene than you could ever recall having seen him before.

Breakfast smelled delicious, but what actually got Klaus to leave the perfect comfort of your bed was the wafting scent of coffee. Uppers had always been his drug of choice, so anything energizing was always a must when attempting sobriety. He wandered into the kitchen, still in the shorts and small tee he’d slept in. “Good morning, Klaus.” “Good morning, coffee,” he joked, pretending to ignore you while pouring himself a cup. You raised your spatula in warning, and he chuckled nervously. “Haha, just kidding, good morning to you, too.” He set down the coffee slowly, and you returned to the breakfast still in progress. “Did you finally get to sleep?” Klaus wrapped his arms around your shoulders from behind, “Yes, thank you.” He placed a kiss on your cheek before grabbing his coffee and sitting down at your small table. It was the largest one you could find to fit in your tiny apartment, and yet still only seated two. You joined him a few minutes later with two plates of food. You ate in silence. The morning had gone well so far, blissfully, even, but your short conversation and crying session from yesterday still loomed large. You just wanted to forget about it and move on. But Klaus, in that moment, was acutely aware of the pills still tucked into his coat pocket across the room. “Listen, about my breakdown yesterday-” you began. Klaus perked up at the mention of it, “Oh, yes, we really should talk about that.” “What? No-” now it was your turn to chuckle nervously, “just forget about it, really.” “We both know that’s not how this works.” He looked at you pleadingly, and it didn’t take much for you to give in. If Klaus wanted to talk seriously, then you wanted to let him. “Fine,” your voice became softer. “I understand if you don’t want to share details, but from what I can piece together, something dangerously serious happened a month ago, and you didn’t tell me until yesterday.” He set down his empty coffee cup. “Not my finest moment.” You could tell that he was still avoiding talking about it directly. “I don’t want to lose you, Klaus, I can’t lose you, can’t you see that?” He nodded solemnly. “And to think that it could just happen, that I could just wake up one morning and you’d be-” you couldn’t say it, but you knew he understood. “That’s terrifying.” “I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t know how to make you stay after I told you,” he admitted. It hurt knowing you had to tell him how exhausted you were. “I really do want to…” You didn’t even have to say it, the ‘but’ hung in the air between you, bounding back and forth like a toxic little ping pong ball of doubt. “You know, the very first time I went to rehab, all of my siblings were there to pick me up. Even Ben, spectrally. It didn’t take long for me to relapse, and it didn’t take much longer for them to stop coming. You’re the only one who’s still here.” “It's so hard, Klaus, and I’m so tired.” You were trying not to cry at this point. “I know.” You could hear his voice break. Was this conversation hurting him as much as it hurt you? “I care so much, and I don’t know how to make you see that, or protect your, or- or do anything at all. I don’t know what to do!” You felt like crap for lashing out, for blaming him when he seemed almost as powerless as you. “No one’s perfect, y/n.” His eyes began to water, too, threatening to turn into tears. “I know it’s not easy, and I’m so sorry.” It was incredibly painful for him to imagine you leaving. He wanted to stand up and scream, to yell, do something, anything, to make you understand that you were all he needed, but he didn’t have the words for it. He couldn’t bring himself to say it. You were still trying to process what he had said about his siblings. You knew all of them and their contentious relationships pretty well, so it didn’t surprise you that they seldom turned up in his hour of need, but it hadn’t yet occurred to you that they should. When you realized how much it would mean to him if even one of them was there just to pick him up, you realized how little he expected the people around him to do, and how significant your presence alone must have been. You had wanted to be strong for him, to be as good as possible, and as supportive as possible, whatever he needed. But all he needed was you. You smiled at him gently as you realized this. “If all you need is for me to be there, then I will always be there.” Relief flooded him, and in a heated moment, he lunged forward and pulled you into a kiss. It took you by surprise, your heart practically bursting out of your chest, but you quickly melted into him. Klaus had cursed himself for his impulsiveness at first, but all that drifted away when you kissed back. The feeling of your lips on his, the way you seemed to meld into him, readily greeting his fervor ardently and earnestly. Your hands found their way to his chest as he cupped your face. It was intoxicating, and you were both out of breath when you finally pulled away, still so close that you might as well be touching. “Thank you,” he breathed. You could tell that he meant it for your comfort and support, as well as the kiss. You laughed, breathlessly, as the pressure and tension left you, leaning down to rest your head on his chest. He joined you, grinning and giggling in relief and wrapping his arms around your shoulders. Kisses between you and Klaus weren’t typical, but they had happened before. It was something you didn’t speak about, but that added a whole other layer of complexity to your relationship. You cared about Klaus, more profoundly than you’d ever cared about another person. You shared something. Whether that practically soul-binding connection was platonic or romantic had yet to be fully decided. But you knew two things, and they kept you going. You loved him, and he cared deeply for you. What you lacked the emotional intelligence to realize, of course, was that while close friends could indeed enjoy the occasional platonic kiss, emotionally charged near-makeout sessions typically signified, you know, romantic feelings. “I’m going to go have a smoke, wanna join me?” He asked once you had both settled down. “Sure.” You couldn’t say that you supported his smoking habit, but you far preferred it to drugs or drinking, so you had no objections. You cleared the dishes as Klaus gathered his things. Putting on his coat, he stuck his hand into his pocket and remembered the pills he retrieved yesterday. Ben noticed. “In the spirit of being honest, you know, now would be a great time to tell her about the pills you still have.” He didn’t want to lose your trust (or, secondarily, his sobriety), but also couldn’t quite bring himself to get rid of them. He knew this was a dangerous game, but recovery is supposed to be a process, right? Right? “Recovery is not short and sweet. It is a lifelong process,” Klaus quoted. “That’s what the poster says, at least.” “It would probably be easier if you didn’t keep pills in your pocket.” “Shut up, Ben!” He hissed, trying not to catch your attention.

You followed him outside, sitting next to him on the stairs out front of your apartment as he pulled out a lighter and cigarette. He sighed after taking the first drag, grateful for the rush of nicotine. Wonderful nicotine. It would have to take the place of other inebriants for the time being, so he tried to savor it. “Feel good?” you asked, mocking him slightly. “Oooooh yeah,” he smiled, putting an arm around your shoulder. You leaned into it instinctively, letting your head rest against his shoulder. You enjoyed Klaus’s little moments. He may have a tendency to hurt you and push away the people around him, but he did care. He cared deeply, and you loved when he showed it. Then he decided to break the silence. “Hey, did I ever tell you about the time I waxed my ass with chocolate pudding?” He sounded serious, genuinely concerned as to whether or not you had heard the sordid tale. “No, EW!” “It was painful,” he continued, taking another drag from his cigarette. “Klaus, what?!” He chuckled quietly to himself at your exasperation.

The pill bottle remained in his left coat pocket for the next week. Life with you was practically blissful, he wished it would last forever- and wondered why he hadn’t yet had the guts to make whatever you had official. It turns out leaving things abstract and unlabeled is a lot more complicated in practice. But it was Klaus’s feelings towards relationships that were complicated, not his feelings towards you. Committed relationships were honestly terrifying to him, unsurprising for someone who grew up steeped in what could essentially be called a non-committal home life where traditional familial relationships were simultaneously enforced, through the very conventional loving-wife-and-mother Mombot and disallowing of inter-sibling romantic pursuits, like with Allison and Luther, but also condemned through a dehumanizing number system to replace names, traumatic isolation during training, and the calculated creation of a team dynamic to replace the fractured sibling bonds. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. But you- he knew how he felt about you. He loved you and had very recently come to the realization that he had for years. But even that was yet another reason to not commit. He felt incredibly guilty as it was, factoring in an actual relationship where you would feel obligated to stay with him was a whole new order of magnitude. But he was even more worried that if your relationship became more concrete, his inability to handle commitment would jeopardize everything.

You endeavored to clean up one morning. The blanket and pillow from Klaus’s first night here remained on the couch, though he had only used them once. It was while moving his coat out of the way that you heard an all too familiar rattle. You froze and hoped against all hope that it wasn’t what you thought it was. You stood up slowly, trying to put off the inevitable, before reaching your hand into the pocket and pulling out a bottle of immediately recognizable small, colorful pills. You felt angry, wretched, and wracked your brain to try and retroactively see the warning signs. A small yet venomous voice blamed you for not noticing sooner, for becoming complacent. You tried not to listen. It was difficult. The front door opened while you were still standing there. It was Klaus, back from a quick trip to the nearest convenience store for a pack of cigarettes, which he had been smoking more and more of lately in an attempt to quell the urges of addiction. “Darling, I’m hoooome!” he purred, closing the door. “I got-” he saw you holding his coat and the bottle of pills and stopped dead in his tracks, one hand still on the doorknob. He glanced up at your face for one horrible moment before turning away and biting his lip, waiting for you to say something. “You left your coat,” you pointed out as explanation. “Oh. I see.” You knew Klaus so well, but it was impossible to guess what he was thinking when the entire past week of what you had believed to be sincerity was called into question. “How could you?” You whispered, wanting an explanation but feeling woefully unprepared to hear it. You were hurt, horribly. Your chest burned with pain, your mind raced with barely comprehensible thoughts, mostly vague emotions, sinking feelings, and hurt. A lot of hurt. He looked pained and defeated, stepping forward tentatively and holding his hands out. “Please, y/n, I can explain.” “Klaus…” you whimpered, tearing up despite your best efforts. “Just listen to me, please, just listen!” “Don’t.” you pleaded. It was agonizing to watch him try and reason again and again. You’d heard everything a thousand times before. “Please! Please, I’m sober, I swear!” you looked at him incredulously and his tone softened. “I’m telling you the truth.” You told yourself that you wanted to believe him, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to. You sighed and glanced away. “Y/n, I’m sober! I’m not lying to you, please!” “I don’t know how to believe you,” you admitted. It was difficult to say, so difficult. But it was the truth. Klaus was quiet, not offended, really, just disappointed- in himself. What was he supposed to expect? Only a week out of rehab and already caught keeping a bottle of pills in his pocket, even if he hadn’t used them. He wanted to make you understand, but he didn’t have the words to tell the truth without making it sound like he was lying. “You reeeaaally should have thrown those out,” Ben chimed. “Please trust me, (y/n), there’s a perfectly semi-reasonable explanation.” You raised an eyebrow. “Sure, they’ve been in my pocket for a week, but-” “A week?! You’ve only been out of rehab for a week!” It didn’t stop hurting. The thing that felt like a hole in your chest just kept growing and growing as you watched him struggle over your words and wince at your reactions. “Oh, no. No no no, it’s not what you think.” He was bewildered. “This whole time? You’ve had these this whole time?!” You couldn’t stop yourself as your thoughts spiraled. He grimaced and squirmed a little, not wanting to answer. “Well…” “Really, Klaus?! Really?” How much of this past week had been a lie, you wondered, how much of it had been sincere? Was he more comfortable with you because you were making progress, or was he just high? Your head spun and it hurt to think about. He couldn’t do anything but watch, horrified as you dropped the coat, grabbed your phone, and strode out of the apartment, still holding the pills. He couldn’t summon up the right words or actions to make you stop and listen. It felt like his mind was disassembling, falling apart. As soon as you closed the door, he broke down, holding the sides of his head and screaming. “Fuck, fuck, fuckity FUCK!” You could hear him through the door, and it tore at you. “Damn it, NO! No no no nononono! FUCK!” You wanted to think that this was warranted, that it made sense to be angry, but you couldn’t shake the immense guilt, the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. You tore yourself away and started walking. You decided to call Diego, whom you knew was also pretty used to Klaus’s antics. “C’mon, Diego. Please pick up…” He did. “Y/n! Hey, what’s up?” You hadn’t spoken to Diego in a while. He sounded good. “It’s-” you hesitated, finding it hard to say and unaware of how much he knew. Most likely, nothing. “It’s about Klaus.” “Oh.” It was a loaded explanation. Diego sighed. “What is it this time?” “Where do I even begin?” You asked, realizing you probably should have thought this through more. “At the beginning,” he responded. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself and figure out what to say. “So, twelve years ago, you met Klaus-” You surprised yourself by laughing. “Okay, not that beginning,” he conceded. It was calming to hear from someone who wasn’t actively freaking out. “It was two weeks ago. I got a call from Lakeshore. It was Klaus, in rehab again and getting out in a week.” “Surprise, surprise,” he interjected sarcastically. “No, just- listen.” You tried to impress on Diego the gravity of what you were telling him, what was so different about this time. “So I went to pick him up last week, and on the drive back to his place he tells me that he got evicted and needed somewhere to stay.” “Also not really a surprise-” “Diego!” You insisted. “Sorry, sorry, I’ll shut up.” You continued, “The way he explained it, he was a few months behind on rent and when his landlord came to collect, they found him quote-unquote ‘severely passed out’.” Diego was silent, which you were grateful for. “So he OD’d a month ago and I only found out about it last week. “I’m sorry, (y/n), but you know him.” He probably believed you were just venting, but this was so much more than that. “He said it was the closest he’s been to seeing Ben in years.” “Woah.” He finally understood. “I’m so tired, Diego. So tired.” You were near defeat. “I know. You’re the only one left still putting up with his shit.” You chose to ignore that. “So we talked, and he apologized. It seemed sincere. We talked again the next day, and then it was honestly kind of wonderful. He was back to his old self. He has been all week.” The line went quiet for a few moments. “What happened?” There was no judgment in Diego’s tone. Just sympathy. You stopped walking, and, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, your voice began to crack. “I found a bottle of pills in his pocket today,” you could hear Diego sigh on the other end, “and he’s apparently had them this entire week.” “Oh my god, that little SHIT!” You heard the telltale whoosh and thunk of Diego throwing a knife in some instinctive burst of anger. “He insists that he’s sober, but I have no idea if I can believe him.” You looked around for a bench or some stairs. Your feet ached, your head ached, your soul ached. You needed to sit down. “Where are you? I am coming over there right the fuck now and dealing with this.” “No, Diego, please. I’m not at the apartment. I had to get out of there.” You understood why he felt protective, but it wasn’t what you needed right now. You needed everything to be okay, even though it wasn’t. Diego’s more aggressive tactics weren’t going to fix anything. “Well then, where are you?” He had started to sound worried. “I’m just walking. I left Klaus at my place. I don’t know if he’s still there or not.” You spotted a bench outside of a park just down the street and made a beeline for it. “Tell me the street. I can be there in four minutes and fifty-three seconds.” His determination was sweet. “Please don’t. I just- I need to figure this out.” You finally sat down, cross-legged because you honestly felt like curling into a ball right about now. Diego thought for a moment, ultimately deciding that it was better to let you talk to him than to intervene on your behalf. “Fine. What makes you believe him?” This was something you and Diego did fairly often, your very own twisted pro and con lists, stacking up the evidence for Klaus versus the evidence against Klaus. “Well, he didn’t try to stop me or make a grab for the dope when I left, he didn’t plead or beg, he just tried to get me to listen to him, which I now realize I utterly failed to do. And the bottle’s pretty full, so I doubt he could have had this for a whole week already. The label’s also from a while ago, but who knows if that actually means anything. And Diego, I have to believe he was being sincere when we talked. I have to.” Diego was silent for a while. “And the evidence against him?” You took another deep breath. “The pills I found in his pocket, the fact that he’s had them this entire time, and- ohmygod, I just remembered something.” A memory flashed into your mind, feeding the sinking feeling that pervaded your senses. “What?” Diego’s tone betrayed his concern. “He hasn’t been acting shifty or running off without explanation. He’s barely been out of my sight this whole week, but after I picked him up, the second we got back to my place, he made some lame excuse about having to do something in another room or go to the bathroom. I just remembered it now. It’s the kind of shit he says when he’s getting high or stashing stuff.” It was true and only served to fuel the nervousness that made you want to scream. You sniffled, trying to ignore the passing glances of strangers. “When was this?” He still sounded sympathetic. “Right when we got home.” When we got home. It’s funny what you say when you’re not thinking about it. Diego was silent for a long time. “Diego? Are you still there?” “Talk to him.” He spoke finally. “See what he has to say for himself.” It was a surprise to hear Diego even remotely on Klaus’ side, but you were grateful. “Okay. Thank you.” You said your goodbyes. Diego reminded you that he could be anywhere in the city in under five minutes and told you to call him back later. You sat there for a few moments, alone, with just your phone in hand and endless thoughts in your mind. You felt wrong for having left Klaus to his own horrible devices while he was clearly falling to pieces, but simultaneously angry at him for doing this to you and for seemingly disregarding everything you had been trying to tell him for the past week. Above all, you just felt pain, and you knew Klaus was the reason why, even if he didn’t want to be. You got up and started to walk back. Passing a trash can by an intersection, you made a split-second decision to throw out the pills.

Finally back at the apartment, you stopped before your front door, scared to open it. You took a deep, though shaky, breath to steady and brace yourself. You’d had versions of this conversation countless times, and you knew it was more than likely that you would again in the future. You assured yourself that even if he wasn’t sober, he would be okay. You just needed to stay with him, to let him know you were there, and hope it would be enough. You opened the door. Klaus was pacing circles around the room with a lit cigarette smoldering between his fingers. A window was cracked open, which you knew was as far as it would go. The bag he brought back from the convenience store sat on the table with the contents, two boxes of cigarettes, dumped out next to an ashtray. One box lay open, and several cigarettes were missing. The open window was a nice touch. “y/n.” He noticed you immediately and stopped pacing. “Hey.” You smiled softly. “I’m sorry I walked out, I shouldn’t have.” Klaus hadn’t moved yet. He stood still, his eyes following you with restless longing. He finally reached down and snuffed out the cigarette, leaving the rest of it in the ashtray. “Did you call Diego?” he asked, trying to piece together why you left. “Yes,” you responded. Klaus looked a little scared and started to reach for his coat, “but he told me to listen to you, which I’m going to do.” “Oh! That’s a surprise!” Klaus looked pleased. He also looked much more contained than you’d ever seen him before, but the red eyes and disheveled hair told a different story. He sat down on the couch, and you sat beside him. “You had an explanation?” “Yes,” he nodded, fidgeting before working up the nerve to speak. “Well… a long while ago, which was not that long ago, I may have- well, I did- hide some drugs here, in your apartment.” Your eyes widened, and he winced. “Specifically, behind a loose tile in the bathroom.” You knew where he was going with that, “The pills that were in your pocket.” “Bingo!” He flashed a small, somber smile. “This doesn’t paint me in the most flattering light, but I had no intention of staying sober when you picked me up last week. Then I… heard you. I felt like a real piece of shit.” “Oh.” It was a lot to process. He was starting to fidget more, and you could see his eyes watering, threatening tears. “I am so sorry, y/n.” He was starting to break down. “But I didn’t take any, I swear!” “Why did you still have them?” You asked, earnestly trying to maintain composure. He ran his hands through his hair. “I couldn’t-” Klaus looked tortured. He was terrified you wouldn’t believe him. “I couldn’t bring myself to toss them.” It came out as a whisper. “Klaus…” “I know it was shitty, and Ben’s been harping at me to do it all week-” “I threw them out,” you admitted, and watched for his reaction. He breathed out a massive sigh of relief. “Oh, thank god.” You put a hand to your mouth as you realized he was telling the truth. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you,” you choked, trying not to let your voice break. “Hey hey hey, no hard feelings!” He reached out and wrapped his arms around you, and you placed your head on his chest. “You’re here, that’s all that matters.” “She really cares about you, Klaus, maybe you should stop hurting her,” Ben said. Klaus glared at him, but the words did have an effect. “I’m really proud of you, Klaus,” you whispered. That seemed to give him the impetus he needed. You were confused for a moment as he pulled away from you, but then he tilted his head down and kissed you. You froze briefly, because this already felt different than the other times you had kissed. Then you accepted it, hanging your arms around his shoulders. He leaned in closer to you and placed a hand on your cheek, stroking softly back and forth with his thumb. You tried to deepen the kiss, running your hand through his soft curls, and he let you. He let you. Your heart was beating a mile a minute. This was love. Chaotic and confused and messy, but love. He pulled away, arms still around you as you stared past him in disbelief. “Oh my god,” you whispered breathlessly. You noticed, then, that one of his hands had wandered to your waist and, having hiked up your shirt slightly, was pressed against the small of your back. The warmth of his hand on your skin, the feeling of him touching you, was euphoric. “You felt something, too, right?” He asked in a dazed tone, somehow sounding both soft and desperate at the same time. You looked up at him, into his eyes, and found something reflected back at you that was remarkably familiar. It was a feeling. “Yes.” You almost laughed, almost cried. You felt like bursting. Leaning, almost lunging, forward, you kissed him once again, crashing and falling back into him. His lips on yours, your hands on him, his arms around you, his breath on your skin. You were intoxicated, you were engulfed, you were in love.

You weren’t sure how, but when you finally looked up from each other to notice your surroundings, it was night. Holding onto one another, you made it across the dark and quiet apartment and found your way back to your bed together. You found yourself pulled into his embrace, and you also found yourself accepting it willingly. You were facing him, head resting on his arm and nestled against him. His chest was so close to you, so warm under your fingers. It was a familiar warmth to be close to him, the same smells, of eyeliner and cigarettes, the same steady sound of his breathing, the same sparks every time his skin brushed against yours. You couldn’t possibly dream of falling asleep now. “y/n?” he spoke in barely more than a whisper. “Hmm?” you hummed in response. “I’m sorry.” It was a small few words, but you knew how intently he meant it. Tilting your head up to find him just as wide-eyed and awake as you were, you knew that it was now or never. “You should know something, Klaus.” You looked away from him again, knowing that what you were about to say would be difficult. “What?” He began tracing small circles in your shoulder. You breathed, in and out, and began. “I didn’t want to think that you’d been numb all week, that everything you said had been a lie, that you cared that little. But even then, I couldn’t imagine not staying to help you, because I had to know that you would be okay because I-” You stopped, words caught in your throat. “Because you what?” He already knew what you were about to say. “Because I love you,” you admitted, heart pounding and thoughts raw with vulnerability. You felt a hand on your cheek, tilting your face upwards and tugging you back into the reality you had to face. You didn’t want to look up or see him until you felt his lips brush softly against yours. Your heart skipped a beat as he did it again, kissing you gently and earnestly. “I love you, too,” he mumbled into the kiss. Your heart flipped and soared. You pulled away for just a moment. “Say it again.” He did, immediately, with an easy smile, “I love you.” You began kissing again, and he whispered, “Your turn.” “I love you, Klaus.” You could feel him smiling as he tugged you closer. It was wonderful, it was perfect.

#My first tua fanfiction!#It felt nice to finally be writing again #and to try out some new characters #tua #the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy fanfiction #tua fanfiction #klaus fanfiction #klaus x reader #klaus #klaus hargreeves #klaus hargreeves x reader #klaus imagines #klaus hargreeves imagines #the umbrella academy imagines #tua imagines

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boogiewrites · 3 years

Text

Never Break the Chain Pt. 2

Part 2 of 5

Characters: Javier Peña x OFC

Summary: Javier and Esme's first time seeing each other in almost twenty years. A photograph leads to an obsessive hunt for the woman he thought was dead. They both find they got where they wanted. But is it what they want now?

Warnings/Tags: Tension. Big reunited kiss.

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.) Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

Time passes, as it always has and always will. It stopped for no man, not even Javier. Seeing his first love fade into nothing had left him a different man. Walls came up, barriers were built that his enemies would even be impressed by. She’d done him a favor, snapping him out of the young man’s dream, but he felt he had nothing left but trying to help once she was gone. So he threw himself into his work.

Sure there were other women. He thought he loved some, but would always leave them. He always hurt them and that wasn’t his intention precisely but they would thank him years later. He was what they would refer to in close company as “a dodged bullet”. He’d been called far worse.

He despised his cliche reactions to his trauma sometimes. Drinking, smoking, being a general pain in the ass, renowned and proud asshole was easier. Burying yourself in prostitutes and let them take away the thoughts for a little while was the easiest. He would fantasize he could help them, even save some of them. He surely wasn’t getting his hero complex stroked when it came to his work. He had a soft spot for women, he had learned the hard way the shit deal they’d landed when they were born. He couldn’t do much...but he could try to help. So he did. Loss after loss he kept trying. This was that bit of good Esme had always believed in. He wasn’t sure how much longer he would have it so he made the best of it while he could.

The night before was nothing knew, an old habit at this point for him. He went out and got a woman, he’d pour every bit of good in him into her, convincing himself he still had it. He’d make them feel good, listen to them, things that were in short supply in their lives from men. He could be that good guy exception, if only for a short while. It felt nice to not be looked at with disgust or fear. The slivers of affection kept him going after dark. He’d leave them breathless, moans turning to laughs as they dressed, joking they might not make him pay. But they always took the money. And he offered it with no judgment, pulling his jeans on and halfway through a highball glass as his lean outstretched arm offer up their compensation for making him feel something good and push out the bad thoughts for a short while. He could be making worse decisions.

He rubs his temple, suppressing a groan as he slid his way into the uncomfortable chair at the beaten-up metal table. The chatter of his coworkers all making their way into the room was grating but nothing he couldn’t ignore. Morning debriefing, something he gave a shit about. Well, work was the one thing he gave a shit about right now, hyper-focused on the clock and trying to drown out the obsession off the clock. It was a dynamic that he was still trying to perfect. He downs the hot black coffee in his hand and nods at the secretary just outside the doorway, “Get me another, sugar. No sugar.” he winks and sends her off. She side-eyed him and went on her way, that was just Pena to her, horny but harmless. He cracks his back, a grunt before landing his elbows on the table to focus, the overblown commander coming in with a handful of photos, spreading them on the table as they talked about what they always did, the cartel.

Pena tries to approach everything individually, but there was only so much range these guys had, and not seeing them all as one giant collection of piss ants with assault rifles was something getting harder and harder to do. So as new and old names were said, he watched the board fill out, the line attaching known connections and new ones. There had been a new wave of intel, something Pena and his partner Murphy were used to being the ones doing, but he wouldn’t complain if someone else finally wanted to sack up and their fucking job like they were supposed to.

“So we have our old friends,” a slap of photos to the board. “Then there’s a new round of boys coming in.” he taps the newest addition to the board. “Seems we’re getting inbred with the other families, the jewel smugglers, the miners...seems we’re trying to venture out and expand our already impressive portfolio.” he snorts.

“They can never just be fucking satisfied with their millions.” someone groans and complains.

“It’s a good chance try to take them down too.” Murphy shrugs.

“Eyes on the prize, kiss ass,” Pena says quietly, accepting his coffee without a second glance. “Do we know these women?” he asks with a nod in the direction.

“Typical.” Murphy rolls his eyes.

“No. Our assumption is prostitutes. Nothing new there.” the commander goes on, but he quickly becomes background noise as Pena stands and moves toward the board. He stood, hips jutted forward, eyes scanning, hand over his mouth in thought. Once he saw the new pictures he hadn’t heard another word the men had said. “PENA!” barked his way grabs his attention as he casually shifts his attention.

“Mmmph. Yeah.” he mutters, eyes moving back to the board.

“I was informing you, you’d be doing street intel on these newcomers.”

“Yeah,” he says disinterested, thumbing his lip before placing his hands on his hips. “Do we have these photos in color?”

The question catches the room off guard. “Why?” he’s met with annoyed opposition.

“This woman…” he taps the photo of a woman with a sly smile on the arm of a very powerful man. Dark waves teased and a heart-shaped face buried in a fur coat collar worth more than he made in a year. He clears his throat. “I’ve seen her before…”

“They’re whores Javi, of course, you have.” Murphy leads the room in a wave of amused hums and chuckles.

“No I’m serious,” he says with no inflection, catching his partner’s attention. “Do we have a location on them if there’s no color?”

“Why’s color important?”

He’s quiet for a moment, jaw tense and eyes blinking, baffled at what he was allowing himself to think. “Her eyes… were green.” MUrphy readjusts himself in his seat, watching Pena’s eyes carefully. He could swear they looked sad.

“What information we’ve got is here.” the commander points at the table with its thick manilla envelopes.

Javier nods with no spoken response, staying in place until the room is empty except for a hesitant Murphy who approaches him. “Who is she?” he asks quietly.

He shakes his head in response. “It can’t be her,” there’s a heavy pause, “But it...fuck it looks like her…” his voice trails off and Murphy is left with more questions.

“Well, are you gonna answer me or just write poetry about her Javi?”

“She’s…” he sighs and sucks his teeth. “She’s supposed to be dead.”

“Did you-?”

“No… no… nothing like that.” his voice still quiet. “I knew her… fuck...over a decade ago now.”

“So we can add hunting ghosts to our agenda now too. Great.” Murphy takes it lightly and presses his lips together. He stares at Javi, his eyes dark and focused. He was left with more questions than answers. His money was still on it being a hooker. It’s not as if Pena had even talked about Esme since the investigation when he was young. His partner may have his back in life or death situations, and they may have been close, but no one knew about her. Pena had hoped to keep it that way. He hoped he was wrong. He hoped it wasn’t her. Because if it was… well he didn’t know what he’d do.

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

Esme didn’t know it but with every minute that passed, she was being proven right about her belief in her first love, that if he knew she was alive, that he would find her.

Esme had ran, a bug out bag down the river and no trace left behind. She made her way south over the years, learning her craft and making friends in the right places. She’d started with rich men, especially rich white men trying to make a living off exploiting her fellow man in Mexico. It had been almost too easy. They thought nothing of her and wore her as if she were a watch; on their arm and shiny and proof of their wealth. She would gain access, gather intel and then sweep in and take the goods and ghost out.

Esme had been legally declared dead and was now living as Estelle. She had so many names over the years but her current incarnation was Estelle. And she was a star. She’d become what she wanted, she was rich and self-reliant. She needed no one and had her fun as she craved it. There were men and women and drugs and jewels and for so long it had been a pleasant hazy dream. But the novelty of it wore off, she grew bored, a witness to her hypocrisy, growing soft and lazy with her indulgence. When she emerged from her haze and saw the state of the world around her she knew things had changed. Narcos now ruled the world. The government bowed to them, the poor worshipped them. She saw they were the future, the new leaders. And for her, that meant that’s where she had to be.

She found herself once again sharp and full of adrenaline. Her new role took real savvy and cunning. Otherwise, she’d end up dead for real. She cozied up, working for Narcos to steal for them. It wasn’t hard in skill, but it was in the amount of sexist shit she had to deal with. She’d killed men for laying hands on her, and worse. She’d pulled knives and guns and made frown men piss themselves as she threatened them with words they’d never heard women utter up to that point. Most of the leaders would laugh until they cried after the fact, seeing a woman act in such away. She entertained them. They underestimated her, saw her as some novelty pet that fetched things and entertained them. She could handle that. As long as she got paid.

Following the groups, making her way around it made sense she found herself in Columbia. She knew it was dangerous, but she was addicted to it. It filled the void of sex and drugs for her for the most part, although she did partake among her peers from time to time. She thought it made her admirable, independent, and a shining example of what a woman could be if she had the nerve to do it. She was, to a degree, but she was also wrong. She lacked the softness in her life anyone, not just a woman needed. A void where no love or trust or intimacy was in her life she filled with material things and lists of her accomplishments. if she kept busy and looking ahead she wouldn’t be still king enough to face her demons.

Except she was about to come face to face with her biggest one.

—

As was his way, Javier had become a bit obsessed. He had to know if this woman was Esme. He’d been tracking her and was able to have DEA level observation to do it. It was a personal mission he’d been able to spin to look like a cartel one. There was a connection, she was seen with them, but little was known outside of that. After he’d put the word out for the beautiful woman with green eyes it hadn't taken long before someone scorned by her leaked information on her next job. The informant knew what his boss wanted to be stolen and when she’d be there. Normally no agent or cop would care to pay attention to her, or some jewels being stolen, she was just some woman to them. But serendipitous timing made sure she became THE woman for one of them.

She practically waltzed into the store. She scaled a fence, a wall and came through a window but for her, that was practically begging her to steal from them. The rooms were dark, silent except for the sounds of her feet as she made her way into the back, unseen and unbothered. It wasn’t until she’d stopped to admire her score before snatching it they the clicking of a gun behind her caught her attention.

He’d waited in the shadows, and none too patiently. With the aim set to intimidate, not kill, he Easter no more time. “Who are you?” It came out as an order.

Her head snapped up, back still to the faceless voice she felt was all too familiar. She blinks, the former goal now removed and replaced with a flood of emotion. She remains silent, her turn to be shocked like he was when he saw her face in the photos.

“Turn around.” Another order. The voice was deeper, darker now but still made her feel the same way.

She turns, and painfully slow. She doesn’t meet his intense gaze immediately, reading his body language first and calming her racing mind. There’s no way it was him.

There’s no way it’s her, his mind reassures him. But as soon as her eyes raise to meet his his stomach drops. He was right.

“Javi?” It was almost a whisper, for the first time in she couldn’t remember when she didn’t hide her emotions in her face.

The gun falls first, his sense falling to the wayside as it slipped into its place in the back waist of his jeans. His frame was broader, still lean moves towards her with an earned confidence now. He doesn’t speak, staring at her as if she might not be real. She gives him his time. He’d earned it. “It really is you.” It was his turn to let the veil fall, dark eyes shining in the low, cool light.

She nods. “Javi I can explain.” She begins, prepared to apologize and ask forgiveness before asking him why the hell he was there at all. They were a long way from home.

“You’re alive.” A rather obvious statement that made her smile. It was all he could handle.

“I can explai-“ a quick burst of words before they’re cut off by his mouth landing against hers. She hadn’t expected this. She was prepared for many things last but not this, at least not for him to be kissing her. “Javi my-“ she tries to get out but his hands are already on her cheeks, hot and damp and certain. She lets her concern fade for a moment, it would all be fine. She gives in to it, lets him take the lead, and pull her against him roughly. The anger and hurt coming through in his grip on her back and face as they kissed breathlessly. He stole her focus without trying, there was the signature huff from his nose, the nuzzle into her between separating to catch his breath but he felt different. But so did she.

Where they once held differences in certainty they now held the opposite. He kissed her like he just found out his first love was alive after decades of vices to cover the loss. Because he had. Every woman and experience he’d had between her and now, every skill and thus gained confidence was clear and apparent. This was not a boy handling a girl. He was a man handling his woman.

And there she was, blindsided and touch starved, passion and intimacy starved being devoured by the only man she’d ever truly loved. The only man she’d ever let in and see her for what she was. The only man that knew Esmeralda. It was a raw and painful ache that emanated from her chest as she clutched her hand around his wrist and the other gripped his shirt in her hand. She gave in because she knew it wouldn’t last long, and after it was over she’d miss it.

With eyes squeezed shut, his forehead pressed to hers, his statuesque nose gently rubbing against hers he exhales hot against her face. “Esme…” he pulls back and holds her face, demanding her focus.

“It’s been so very long since someone’s called me that.” she sighs and puts her hands on his forearms.

“Since I called you that?”

She nods and smiles, face pressed into his hand.

“Maybe it’s about time people called you that again.” he pauses and looks her over with a hard brow, he couldn't hide his simmering anger underneath the confusion, relief, and affection. “Where the fuck have you been?” She sighs in response. “Why the hell are you HERE?”

“Same as you. Work.”

“Why are you with those men? Don’t you know who they are? What they do?”

“Why do you ask questions you already know the answer to?”

“Why Esme?” his eyes water and his hands squeeze her face a bit too tightly before a wave of dizziness hit him.

“Same reason now as then,” she whispers, his grip loosening and not hearing her response, she slicks his dark hair back as his eyes start to roll around in their sockets. “You're fine, Javi. Seems you fell for my defense mechanism.” she smiles and he looks at her, starting to slump. “To be fair I didn’t know to expect you. You’ll wake up soon enough. It’s only temporary.” she wipes the culprit of the sudden wave of forced unconsciousness he was going through, her lipstick off his mouth. He was out quickly, and she spent some long moments exploring the now aged face of her once wide-eyed companion. “You are even more handsome than I thought you’d be.” she coos and kisses him after dragging him into a chair and pushing it into a corner so he wouldn’t fall. “It now inevitable we’ll meet again. My old hound dog.” She chuckles, a kiss to take in the scent of his hair before she parted ways. “See you later, mi amor.”

-----------

Peña awoke to a boot knocking against his knee and an odd headache. It was pitch black outside by now, people on the streets outside none the wiser to the life-altering experience he’d just had.

“Are we blacking out in stores now?” Murphy snarks and shakes his head, leaning against a door frame.

“That’s not...I’m not…” Javier shakes his head, rubbing and tapping at the pulse in his skull.

“Then what the hell is it?” He can hear the judgment in his partner's voice.

“If I told you you would think I was crazy.” he groans and sits up with his back straight in the chair, one cocked brow looking over to the man staring him down.

“And I don’t now?”

Peña huffs out a laugh. That was a fair assessment. He’d think the same thing. He looked across the room, the glass case he’d found her standing in front of now empty. “She took the jewels.” he switches the subject, an arm raised lazily and collapsing against his lap after.

“Were they made of cocaine? Why do we give a shit?”

“It’s not the jewels that are important. It’s the woman that did it.”

“A woman? Huh. That’s something you don’t see every day. That is… a little bit crazy I guess.”

“That’s not what’s crazy.”

“Am I gonna have to fuckin’ waterboard you man, just tell me.” he groans.

“That woman I told you about... that stole those... she's been declared legally dead for almost twenty years.” he finally says with a defensive tone and a face that said don’t fucking try me to the man still assessing his sanity with no attempt at hiding his negative prognosis.

“Oh.” Murphy contemplates looking away to the empty case. “That... yeah okay that is crazy.”

@jaegeeeeer @likedovesinthewnd @inkededucatednnerdy @biharryjames @ladamari68 @past-romantic @weliketomoveit

#javier pena #Javier Pena Fanfic #javier pena fic #javier pena fan fic #javier pena x reader

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litwitlady · 4 years

Text

the devil in you

In celebration of angst day, I am getting over myself and posting by far the angstiest fic I have ever, ever written. This is the follow up to a previous fic - the new part starts at the read more. Lost Decade fic. Warnings include - mentions and discussion of combat trauma and PTSD. Descriptions of blood and death. A reference to Jesse’s abuse. Graphic depictions of very unhealthy, painful sex - at one point Alex will ask Michael to do something to him that Michael never 100% feels comfortable with. So, please read with caution. This is my own take on how Michael and Alex leave each other before he goes to Iraq the final time.

The airstream is warm to the touch. Summer announcing her arrival early. Alex raps his knuckles on the metal door and steps back to wait. He hears the generator purring and assumes Michael must be home.

Alex and Michael have not seen each other for two years, six months, and three days. Three days exactly. From one noon to another noon. All that time a gaping distance that Alex has drowned in since he’d last crawled from Michael’s cramped bunk bed.

When the door swings open, Michael blinks rapidly into the sun like he’s just woken up. He’s shirtless with jeans slung low on his hips – curls bed-tousled. And Alex’s whole heart even if neither one says that part out loud.

‘Did you get my letter?’ A simple question. Anything but a simple question.

Michael moves his lips to talk – pushes his tongue up to the roof of his mouth searching for words he can’t find. He looks back over his shoulder to give himself some time.

Alex reads that the wrong way and immediately begins shuffling backwards. ‘Sorry. I didn’t know you weren’t alone.’ He turns and flees back to the truck that he’s borrowed. Cursing at himself silently.

A hand wraps around his bicep and he stops moving. Michael steps around him and they again face each other. Truth-to-truth. ‘There’s no one else here. Just didn’t know what to say.’ He drops Alex’s arm. ‘I got your letter. I didn’t read it.’

The way Alex’s heart breaks at those words. Someone else in his bed would hurt less.

‘Okay. Sorry to bother you.’ Alex begins the short trek to the truck again. Determined to make it this time. Michael beats him to the door. Plasters his body over the handle.

‘I wanted to read it. Tore the envelope open as soon as I read your name.’ He licks his lips and takes a moment to search Alex’s tear glazed eyes. Noticing his wind-burned cheeks and newly freckled temples. He wants to take him to bed and explore all these new details long into the night. But first he must find the right words.

Alex pulls the keys from his pocket. ‘It’s fine, Guerin. Really. I don’t know what I expected.’ He looks at Michael anxiously – waiting for him to move. Jingles the keys in his nervous fingers. Digs the toe of his boot into the junkyard dirt.

Michael ignores him. ‘Will you read it to me? Maybe stay awhile?’

Alex shakes his head and starts to say something, but Michael takes a step forward and cups his jaw with both his hands. ‘Please.’ That first touch is always so electric. And after over two years they both feel like someone has lit them on fire. Michael doesn’t care if he’s begging. He’ll beg until he’s hoarse if he has to.

Reaching up, Alex closes his fingers around Michael’s wrists. ‘Do you really want me to stay?’ His voice so soft the spring breeze almost steals it away.

The doubt in Alex’s question undoes something in Michael and he drops to his knees. Forehead pressing into Alex’s stomach, desperately palming at his hips. ‘Please.’

Alex’s fingers stroke through Michael’s hair. ‘Okay.’ Neither of them moves. Eventually, Alex slides down onto his knees as well and they wrap their arms around each other. Holding on to one another until that gaping distance disappears.

Inside the airstream at least the temperature is more bearable. Michael tugs off his boots and Alex toes off his sneakers. They both climb into Michael’s tiny bed – leaning back against opposite sides. A wide berth between them.

Michael moves first. Stretching out his long legs towards Alex. Nudging at him with his foot. That too tender smile touching the corners of his lips. And then Alex. Slow and more deliberate. Their legs pressing together as Michael wraps his fingers around Alex’s ankle. Not moving – just touching. Holding on just in case. Letting their skin meld together until neither one knows where they begin and the other ends.

With his free hand, Michael reaches into his pillowcase and removes Alex’s letter. It has been opened – sliced through the top. He pushes it towards Alex. ‘Read it to me. Please.’

Alex unfolds the torn scrap of notebook paper and reads through the words silently. That day in the desert rushing back. He swallows, clears his throat, and begins.

‘Michael.’ Alex pauses because Michael’s fingers have tightened around his ankle. His eyes dart up – a wordless question.

‘I just really love hearing you say my name. Not Guerin – Michael.’ His thumb starts a slow dance up Alex’s leg. ‘You never say it.’

‘Just habit, I guess.’ He half-shrugs and returns to the letter. ‘Yesterday, I was with my unit on a reconnaissance mission. Nothing too serious, too dangerous. Our intel seemed airtight. My friend, Sean, was beside me on the rooftop. And then, I was drenched in his blood. A bullet through his carotid. He died with my fingers pressed against his neck.’

Michael notices the way Alex’s hands have begun to tremble. The way he suddenly can’t sit still, squirming from side to side. He leans over and takes the piece of paper from Alex. ‘I shouldn’t have asked.’

‘It’s okay.’ But the quiver in his voice is anything but okay.

The letter disappears and Michael no longer cares to keep his distance. ‘Come here.’ Less a question, more a request. And Alex doesn’t hesitate to push into his arms.

Michael spreads his legs, inviting Alex inside. Shifting him so that Alex’s back is folded warmly against his chest. Michael’s arms wrapped tightly around his waist. With Alex protected between his thighs, Michael rests his chin on his shoulder and closes his eyes. But all he sees is blood – Alex’s blood – and he shivers.

‘I don’t want to go back.’ And that’s when Alex breaks. Gasping, heaving sobs rack his body. And there’s nothing Michael can do but hold on. Alex turns onto his side, curling into him. Grabbing desperate fistfuls of Michael’s worn t-shirt, tearing the already there holes even wider.

It may as well be Michael’s skin. Riddled with bullet holes, collecting Alex’s burning tears.

Alex cries himself to sleep and Michael follows soon after. The sun crosses the sky and the moon begins to rise. Clouds gather in from the west. Rain threatens. At the first clap of thunder, Alex startles awake. His breathing rapidly increases, and he flounders around in the near dark. Searching for something familiar to ground himself. It’s Michael his hands find first. Warm, awake, and staring up at him with wide, concerned eyes.

Lightning flashes through the narrow trailer. Illuminating Alex’s swollen cheeks, rough with dried tears. He sinks back into Michael as the next boom of thunder rattles the thin, metal walls.

Michael can feel the way he still shakes. Reaches above his head and pulls down the thickest blanket he owns – covers them. Alex’s fingertips dancing lightly back and forth across Michael’s collarbone as he shifts further into Michael’s neck.

For the next hour, they continue to drift in and out of sleep. Michael entranced by the heavy rise and fall of Alex’s chest against his own. Proof that he is alive and safe. Proof that he is home. He works his fingers through the stubby, shorn hair at the nape of Alex’s neck, massaging all his fears away. And Alex slides deeper and deeper into the first peaceful sleep he’s had in over two years.

The storm fades for a while and then rages back to life. But Alex no longer hears the thunder. Or maybe he does but the beat of Michael’s heart keeps his anxiety at bay. All his muscles loose and relaxed.

At some point, Michael feels Alex yawn against him. But it’s all a blur now. The way Alex stretches and presses his hips into Michael’s. Not asking for anything. Not at first. Just a muscle memory reflex.

But they are who they are.

Without warning, Alex tosses the wool blanket aside and pulls his t-shirt over his head. ‘It’s hot.’ Such an uncomplicated problem with the most complicated solution. His hair is a mess, and Michael can just barely make out the shape of his jaw in the faint glow of the occasional streak of lightning.

Alex settles back between Michael’s thighs and lays his head in the soft dip between his sternum and his stomach. Michael tightens his abs, a little unsure of what they are starting. He can feel Alex’s hot breath through his t-shirt, and he begins to sweat.

‘You’re right. It is hot.’ He tosses his shirt alongside Alex’s. And now they are skin to skin. Breathing heavy with possibility.

Alex flattens his palm into Michael’s belly. It’s nothing and too much all at once. Michael wills himself to sit still. Sit still and wait. Tonight, he will be what Alex needs – whatever Alex needs.

No one moves again until Alex curls his fingers, dragging his jagged nails down Michael’s abs. Someone’s sharp inhale cuts through the silence. And suddenly, Alex is sitting back on his heels. ‘Can we turn on a light? Nothing too bright. I just want to see you. And I want you to see me.’

Michael scrambles off the bed and flips on the camping lantern he keeps nearby. The bulb flickers – mimicking a burning flame. Shadows dance awakened in the moonless night. Resurrected and free.

That’s when Alex begins to touch himself.

He shuts his eyes and starts at his neck, throwing his head back to expose the raw curve of his throat. His hands crawl down to his chest so gradually that Michael can barely see them move. But he feels them against his own skin. Like they are connected through some otherworldly invisible energy. And he has to clench his fists to keep himself from reaching out.

Reminding himself that tonight Alex is in charge. So, Michael just keeps watching.

He pauses at his nipples, thumbing over them until they are blood-flushed and taut with want. Opens his eyes to find Michael. A small smile tugging at his lips. But the way it doesn’t reach his eyes gives Michael pause.

‘We don’t have to do this, Alex. If you don’t want to.’

Alex continues to work his nipples. Pinching hard enough that his cheeks flinch at the sting. A little gasp of air and the beginnings of a low moan. ‘It’s all I want, Michael. Please.’

Something in his eyes falters the slightest bit. But he recovers quickly. Smiling brighter now. But neither of them is fooled. And neither of them is going to stop. Not tonight. Not tomorrow night. Not a million nights from now.

Michael nods and Alex picks up the pace. Unbuttons his pants, sliding the zipper down achingly slow. Hand disappearing inside. Stroking at his cock still tucked away in his jeans. Michael watches through heavy lidded eyes as the denim flexes around Alex’s pumping fist.

‘I want to touch you.’ Michael’s hands hurt where his fingernails cut deep half-moons into his palms.

Alex darts his tongue out to lick his lips. ‘I know. But not yet. Not until I say so.’ He shifts positions, lying on his back and shimmying his jeans down his thighs. Kicking them off. His cock fully erect, the tip already glistening with precum.

Michael imagines dropping to his knees and sucking him off. Imagines the way his hips would writhe against his face. The way he would taste against his tongue – hot and salty and so fucking bittersweet. And he very nearly moans at the way his own jeans grow tight as he lengthens with need.

Shadows startle and stir around them. Taunting and mocking. Alex’s hips begin to roll – sinister and seductive – as he returns his attention to his nipples. Lost in his own shadow dance.

‘Do you still have that dildo? The one from last time?’ The question surprises Michael from his daze. Alex’s voice low and smokey with lust. He sits up and grabs Michael’s hips, pleading with his eyes. ‘That’s what I need tonight.’

Michael shakes his head trying to clear his thoughts. ‘It’s…um…somewhere. Let me look.’ He opens a cabinet and pulls out the exact box he knows the silky purple dildo is buried inside. For a moment, he pretends to search through the rest of the cabinet – not wanting to tip his hand. But the excitement pooling in his belly doesn’t allow him to pretend long.

Literally on hands and knees, Michael crawls back to Alex. Grabbing a bottle of lube on his way. Alex grinning at him, hand once again fisting his dick. Legs spread filthy over the side of the narrow bunk bed. Michael slots himself between Alex’s thighs and holds up his prize. ‘This one?’

A murmured yes as he scoots forward. Cock so close Michael’s tongue could lick out and lap up the bead of moisture on the tip. But with Alex in charge, he doesn’t dare. Flicks his eyes up to stare at his lips instead. A slightly safer option.

‘Fuck me hard, Guerin. Do you understand?’ His eyes are so dark now Michael can barely make them out even in the glowing amber light. Michael nods but Alex shakes his head. ‘No. You don’t understand.’ He cups Michael’s jaw and strokes lightly across his cheekbones, barely touching the edges of his lips. ‘No stretching me out first. Just the dildo. I want it to hurt.’ A dreadful sort of husk bleeding into his voice.

Michael blinks rapidly. Running Alex’s request over and over in his mind. ‘Alex, no.’ The dildo is large – long and thick. Too thick to skip opening him up first. Michael shakes his head firmly. ‘I will not hurt you like that.’

Alex smiles so softly down at him that he almost immediately caves. ‘For too long now, I’ve felt nothing inside.’ His fingers still lovingly stroke Michael’s cheeks. ‘To survive in that place, I had to shut everything off. Just like with my father.’ He kisses Michael’s forehead – just a dusting of his lips. ‘And you have always been the one to turn me back on. That’s what I need again tonight. Please, baby, please.’ His voice breaks, chin trembling. ‘I only trust you.’

It’s manipulative. And Michael wants to call him out on his bullshit. But there’s a nagging little want whispering from the nastiest, blackest depth of his heart that thinks hurting Alex just a little is exactly what he needs, too.

It’s fucked up. But it’s the truth. This cat and mouse game they’ve been playing at for years.

Michael uncaps the lube and squeezes a generous amount into his palm. ‘Slow and easy, Alex. Slow and very fucking easy.’ It’s almost a threat.

In answer, Alex falls back and lifts his legs, grabbing behind his knees and spreading himself for Michael. Their chests begin to heave with the anticipation of what comes next. Every beat of their hearts like another clap of thunder from outside. Michael strokes the lube along the length of the toy and Alex watches from between his thighs, eyes hungry and mouth parted. The wind howls, knocking at the trailer as the storm continues to gust around them.

Alex’s hips start to squirm as Michael takes his time lubing the dildo. Knowing he’s putting off the inevitable. ‘Please, Michael. It’s what I need.’ He runs a hand up the back of Alex’s right thigh and presses the tip of the toy against the tight ring of muscle at his opening. A sharp intake of breath. ‘It’s cold.’ A manic little laugh. Alex widens his legs even further. ‘Please, Michael. You are always so good to me. So, fucking good to me.’

Michael swallows. He’s not used to hearing Alex beg. ‘Take a deep breath.’ Alex complies and, on his exhale, Michael slips the first half-inch inside him. He has to fight against the pressure as Alex cries out, wincing at the sharp pain. The look on his face, however, one of relief. A tiny piece of Michael’s heart chips away.

‘More, Michael. I need more.’ He’s frantically flexing the muscles in his ass as he tries to swallow more of the thick toy. Michael pushes harder, shoving another inch past his rim and watches as Alex begins to tremble. Breathing shallow and desperate. Legs falling from his hands as he fists at Michael’s sheets.

For several long minutes, Michael fucks the tip of the dildo in and out of Alex until he’s bucking his hips so ferociously that Michael has to pin them down. His head is thrown back and little mewling noises escape from between his lips. He begins to chant hoarsely. ‘More, more, more.’ Until Michael drives two more inches inside of him. Alex groans and loses his words entirely, tears streaming down his cheeks and disappearing into his ears.

Michael lets the toy cock rest inside of Alex, allowing him a moment to adjust. He’s flushed from neck to chest. Sweat beading along his skin. His dick straining and leaking against his stomach, balls tight and begging for release. Alex is always beautiful, but never so much as when he’s like this. Body wrecked and wanting.

Alex looks down at him. ‘All the way this time.’ Then his head falls back into the blankets and he reaches above his head to grab hold of the mattress. He splays his legs open and loose as Michael begins to fuck him again. Slow and easy. Slow and easy. Again and again. Until Alex is writhing and whimpering. Slow and easy. Slow and easy. And then fast and filthy, burying the dildo deep in his ass without warning.

His hips come off the bed as his orgasm spills hot and heavy across his chest. The sounds he’s making are chocked and feral. And Michael has never seen him like this – lost in pain, adrift in pleasure. Sobbing and laughing at the same time. A devil and an angel at battle for his very soul. Michael loves him. Loves him so much. He gasps at the realization and pulls the toy from Alex, hearing him hiss at the loss. Shoves him back on the bed and crawls between his legs. Throwing one of his knees over his shoulder and yanking his own jeans down with his free hand.

Not two seconds later Michael is pounding into him. Every stroke beating against his prostate. Both their chests are heaving, gasping for oxygen as Michael fucks Alex’s cock hard again. His own orgasm threatening with every thrust. Alex winces with each stroke – ass sore and burning with overuse. But his hands clutch at Michael’s thighs – pulling at him, imploring him to move faster. Fingernails drawing blood as their rhythm breaks down. Michael coming first and then Alex quickly following.

For a long time, all Michael sees is black as his cock pumps out his orgasm. Blood pulses through his veins, drowning out the storm outside and Alex’s strangled cries. He collapses. Alex’s come slick and wet between them. The beat of his heart slowly bringing Michael back to reality.

They have had sex many times over the years. Dirty, tired, boring, fast, easy, loud, loving sex. But they have never had sex like this. Sex to sever, sex to heal. Fucked up and tender. Ugly and full of love. Trauma fully on display. Trauma fully in play. They have never hurt each other like this. They have never loved each other like this. And maybe they never will again.

But tonight, they needed to break. Each other and themselves.

Their own war, their own peace. And a love for each other that will never cease.

When Michael wakes the next morning, the storm is gone and so is Alex. They won’t see each other again for over two years. And Alex will never send Michael another letter.

#malex #malex fic #lost decade fic #please mind the note at the top #lots of warnings #angst and no happy ending #be gentle with me lol

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evabellasworld · 3 years

Text

By the Stream

March Madness Challenge for @starwarsfandomfests

What happened, what’s wrong?

You’re sitting alone by the stream

The green grass is sprouting up

And the water splashes with the spring wind

I’m sure there was a promise

That even if you go, you won’t be gone forever

But every day you come to the stream

What are you thinking about?

Even if you go, you won’t be gone forever

Is that asking me not to forget you?

——————————————————————————————

Summary: Obi-Wan and Vanya were sitting beside the stream, not knowing what will become of the long-standing friendship that they built together.

——————————————————————————————

AO3 Link

Staring at the crystal-clear stream in front of her, Vanya was seated on a large rock, with stalks of yellow-orange daisies in her hands, with a smile on her face. Her surroundings were filled with wildflowers and polka-dotted mushrooms grown across the emerald field, along with the refreshing breeze in the air. The sun was shining on the blue sky as the puffy cloud above her glided, giving a sense of serenity inside her.

For months, the battles across the Outer Rims were bloodthirsty. Many of her troops were sacrificed in the battlefield as a price to pay for the Republic's victory. The fields that she was admiring were once soaked in blood and rotting corpses that painted across the bare valleys.

Trenches were dug deep and barbed wires were set up, marking each territory for both the Republic and the Separatists forces. Anyone who trespasses was either shot on sight or disappeared, never to be seen again. Vanya recalled assigning 35 clone troopers to gather intel from their enemies and so far, only 5 had survived.

Her heart aches as she laid on her bunk every single night, wondering whether the rest of her soldiers were still out there. It would be easier to think that the remaining 28 men and women were all dead, probably buried somewhere in the area. On the other hand, Vanya could not help but think that maybe, just maybe, they would return home to their brother’s and sister’s embrace.

Why did I even bother fighting this war in the first place? she thought, sniffing through the sweet scent of the flower. It’s not like we were protecting innocent people of the Republic in the first place.

She glanced at the stream again, only to notice the fishes that were swimming along together. For three years, she had been fighting a war that doesn’t seem to end anytime soon. Though her friends informed her that the Separatist were losing their grip on the Outer Rim, Vanya cannot be too sure about their statement.

In truth, nobody, including herself, had any idea when the Clone Wars would end. She was sure that the war would be over in a few months, but that few months became a year, before it turned into three excruciating years. If another year has passed, then she would be a forty-year-old woman, along with her longtime friends, Cinta Kaarim and Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Her former apprentice, on the other hand, would be a fourteen-year-old girl, the same age that Ahsoka became a commander of the 501st Legion. How time flies so fast, she laughed to herself. Just yesterday, Lira was the little girl who was always asking a lot of questions and talking endlessly and now, she’s blossoming into a teenager and soon, she’ll grow into a strong and brave woman.

The thought of her Padawan growing up made her shiver, realising the uncertain future for her and her twin sister, Eva. Will the girls have to grow up to finish the war for us? Vanya bit her fingernails. Will they survive, or will they die young?

That was the question that bounced around her head the moment they were assigned as Jedi Generals for the 101st Battalion, much to both her and Obi-Wan’s distress. As she watches an Eden green butterfly land on top of the flower, her lips curve downwards when it flees in fright, prompting her to turn around and figure out what startled the fragile creature.

Rather, she found Obi-Wan pacing towards her the entire time, making her cross her arms and gave him an icy glare. “You know, your tactics of scaring other people is starting to bore me,” Vanya remarked, as he let out an amusing chuckle.

“Well, in that case, I’ll have to find another way to grab your attention,” he teased, as he sat beside her and grinned, hoping to crack his stone-faced friend. “Besides, you seem to always be in your head all the time. Should I be worried or should I stay out of your internal conflicts?”

“What do you want?” she breathed, her lips stiffened.

“Well, you’ve been sitting alone by the stream,” he answered, his voice laced with concern. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing really,” Vanya shook her head. “It’s just the thought of us not seeing each other again just pains me too much.”

“But even if you go, you won’t be gone forever,” Obi-Wan assured, placing his hands on her shoulder. “Besides, we promised that we would always have each other’s back, no matter what.”

“But what if I didn’t make it alive?” she pined. “The Outer Rim is currently in siege and right now, I can’t even guarantee if I’m able to make it back to the Jedi Temple.”

“Vanya, don’t say that. You will come back to the Temple once everything is over, and you will see Lira and Eva again, I promise.”

“How can you even be optimistic right now, when you’ve been seeing your own men die under your command? You’ve even lost Satine on Mandalore, and you lose sleep worrying about Anakin and Eva’s strained relationship with each other.”

Obi-Wan bobbed his head, his eyebrows drooped. “You’re right. It’s difficult to think positively, especially when both your apprentices are fighting with each other too frequently. It’s hard when Eva kept crying on how Anakin was saying nasty things to her and how he felt unfair when I called him out on his behaviour. But what can I do? Eva has been depressed for years, and I have to stay strong just for her sake. I can’t afford to break down in front of her, since she’s already been through a lot.”

“I’m sorry, Obi-Wan,” Vanya apologised profusely, her head hung low. “I didn’t mean to provoke you like that.”

“No, Vanya, there’s nothing to apologise for,” he let out a weak smile. “It’s just that I’ve been keeping to myself for too long, and I thought that it would be better if I just let it all out, you know.”

She nodded as she squeezed her nose and wiped her hands on her dress, shifting her focus to the gentle stream. “So, how’s Anakin?”

“The usual,” shrugged Obi-Wan. “You know, flying recklessly, almost getting himself for a billion times, yeah, those are the things that I have to deal with for more than ten years.”

“That bad, eh?” her nose crinkled.

“Well, he had a rough upbringing when he was around Eva’s age. He was enslaved until my master, Eva’s father, rescued him and made me his master as his death wish. Then, he had to watch his own mother die a decade later, and even till today, he blamed himself for not being able to save her from those Tusken Raiders.”

“That was sad,” Vanya sympathised. “But that doesn’t excuse him for hurting other people’s feelings, especially Eva. The girl’s only thirteen, and she’s already in a fragile state of mind.”

“That is true,” he acknowledged. “Ever since Ahsoka left, Anakin is back to his destructive behaviour. His possessiveness towards Padmé, his anger issues, says it all. I’ve tried talking to him, but you know him. He’s as stubborn as a mule.”

“The apple doesn’t seem to fall far from the tree,” she commented. “You were just as stubborn as him when you were still an apprentice to Master Qui-Gon Jinn.”

He snorted, before clearing his throat. “I could say the same for you and Master Plo Koon. You always insisted on flying, even if it was too dangerous.”

“Yup, and now, the cycle repeats with Lira. I have to admit, as jumpy as Lira is, she is one hell of a pilot.”

“It’s like you said, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Obi-Wan repeated her words. “Master Plo was a pilot, you are a pilot, and now, Lira is following your footsteps into becoming a star pilot like the both of you.”

“And Anakin and Eva also have your piloting skills, though you hated flying so much.”

“Yeah, I had a bad experience with them,” he rubbed behind his neck, plucking a small, white daisy beside him. “You know the incident on Pijal. Even to this day, it still haunts me in my dreams.”

“I know, and I’m sorry that you had to go through that, really. No child should experience these kinds of horrors.”

“And we let a fourteen-year-old and two 10-year-olds fight in a barbaric war,” he exhaled. “I just hope that this war will end sooner. I miss the days when the only thing we had to worry about was maintaining peace in the Galactic Republic.”

She groaned in frustration. “God, I hate politics so much. It’s just too many red strings that prevent us from taking further action, you know. I don’t even know why the Jedi Council had to get involved in the first place.”

“I see where you’re coming from. Too many politicians, with a few exceptions, are corrupted. They would rather fill their pockets with credits than caring about the citizens instead. Honestly, I have a feeling that the Republic will crumble eventually. It’s too fragile to maintain its pillars.”

“True,” she relented as she got up from her seat, holding a bouquet with both hands. “Well, I should get going. The Council assigned me to another battle and I have to depart as soon as possible.”

He nodded and bowed. “Is that asking me not to forget you?”

“I guess so,” Vanya lifted her shoulders. “But like you said, I won’t be gone forever, and so will you.”

“Goodbye Vanya,” Obi-Wan gave his last wave at her. “I hope we’ll see each other again once the war is over.”

“I will, Obi-Wan,” she promised, before leaving him by the stream, where the grasses were sprouting up and the water splashes with the spring wind. Little did they know, this was their last conversation with each other before the end of the era.

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sleepyfan-blog · 5 years

Note

*Tired nyoom* I'm tired, stressed, and requesting some angsty Angel's Flower with that thing we discussed in Discord with Ink trying to basically get rid of Venus and take Heelies back home

fandom: Undertale AU

characters and pairing: Ink, Heliotrope, Venus - ocs by @izzy-the-bizzy Angel’s Flower

warnings: attempted murder, kidnapping

word count: 2,116

Summary: Ink is determined to save his poor, brainwashed son from the seductive clutches of Evil. Even if he has to kill to do it.

tagslist: @anxiety-is-married-to-depression @angelofthehalfmoon @trainwreck-of-skeletons @hisame-amadashi @therandomskelekey @capisnotonfire

Ink was pacing back and forth, the more that he thought about the argument that he had with Heelies, the more upset that he got.

“You do realize that Venus is Nightmare’s top spy! They are trying to turn you to his side, so that you will fight against us and spread evil!” Ink had pointed out with a growl, not wanting his precious son to be tainted by Nightmare’s darkness.

“Yes, I know that they work for Nightmare! But they would never hurt me, and I love them. They love me.” Heelies snapped back, his generally laid back and easy going demeanor having changed completely. The younger skeleton is glaring at his dad and his fists are balled at his sides.

Ink has never seen his son so aggressive before - further proof that Nightmare and this Venus have been trying and are succeeding in twisting his gentle, naive baby boy into someone dangerous and deadly. “Nightmare is an expert in breaking minds and twisting people to suit his will. I don’t want him to break you and turn you into a parody of who you are, Heelies. I love you dearly, and I want you to be safe.”

“I am safe! And you say that Nightmare is evil and wants to destroy the multiverse. He doesn’t - I’ve seen how he deals with some of the worst timelines I’ve ever seen. He negotiates with their leaders - the human and monster - in exchange for resources or space. Yes, he is interfering with the stories that the timelines are supposed to take… But he seems to be trying to interfere for the better.” Heelies huffed, glaring more at his papa, shaking with anger.

Ink’s eye lights widen, and he whispers just loud enough for his son to hear “By the creators… I was worried that things were bad, but I… I hadn’t thought that Nightmare and that seductive spy of his had twisted your mind so far…” He reached out to his son, but Heelies darted back, the scowl on his face darker than Ink had ever seen it.

“Ven hasn’t twisted my mind, and neither has Mr. Nightmare. Both of them are very different hen who you believe them to be, dad. I… This was exactly the reason why I never wanted to tell you that I was dating someone. I knew that you’d freak out about it, especially since Ven isn’t the sort of person you’d approve of me dating.” Heelies had hissed, hurt and frustrated and unwilling to let Ink reach out and hug the other close, to help him calm down.

“Heelies, please be reasonable. Don’t-” Ink began, trying to placate his son, but the other cut him off abruptly.

“I am being reasonable! You’re the one who won’t listen! I’m leaving and you can’t stop me!” Heliotrope had yelled, teleporting away and though Ink tried to teleport after the other, Heelies had used several portals through a half-dozen AUs, and Ink couldn’t track the other.

Ink had managed to find his wayward, manipulated son. Heliotrope was, of course, in the timeline that Nightmare had set up his main base - or at least one of them. It was the base that Nightmare held Dream hostage on numerous occasions, and trying to get into that timeline was always a pain, as the very magic of the AU seemed to resist his presence entering it. Ink was fairly sure that NIghtmare had somehow woven spells into the base code of the timeline itself so that he couldn’t enter timelines with liquids in them somehow.

But for now, the creative guardian wasn’t wondering how that was fucking possible. He had decided on a course of action. Venus was the one who had stolen his precious’ son’s heart, and as long as they were alive, they would have a pull on his heart, as Heelies was an intensely loyal and caring person (much like his papa, Blue)… So Ink was going to kill Venus and take his son back. He was well aware of the fact that killing them would hurt Heelies, but it would be for the best. Heelies would eventually forgive him, especially after the other forgot about Venus - as Heelies did have some of Ink’s own forgetfulness tendencies, needing to keep a pad of paper and something to write with in his inventory to keep track of important things.

He and Blue had argued about what to do for months and months. But Ink was certain that the longer that they hesitated and delayed, the more deeply brainwashed and darker Heelies would become, and the longer it would take for his son to recover from the awful misery that Nightmare was doubtlessly putting their son through. He wrote a note to Blue and Dream - in case either one of them stopped by the house before he was back.

I’m going to go get Heelies back! And make sure that the one who took him from us is permanently dealt with. See you later! ~Ink

With a roll of his shoulders, Ink concentrated hard on Nightmare’s castle, intending to appear on the roof, rather than inside one of the rooms, where someone could be in and then alert the rest of the castle to his presence. It took a solid ten minutes of focusing, but Ink felt his magic shift and twist.

He activated his eye lights and sure enough, the rust-red sky was overhead, the miserable bare dirt fields that extended in rolling waves all around the spikey, intimidating looking castle. Ink closed his eyes, a small smirk playing on his lips as he sensed Venus’s magic. They were alone from what he could tell. Good, that would make things easier. He teleported directly outside of the younger skeleton’s room, broom in hand. He activated a bit of his magic, the magical paint beginning to drip from the tip of broomy’s brush as he walked in.

Venus turned towards him, the smile on their face falling somewhat as they recognized him “I… Oh… Hello?” They looked a little cautious but confused. “Uhm… Why are you here?”

“To see you and Heelies, of course. It’s been months since I’ve seen my son, and I’m worried about him… You are in possession of his heart. He’s’ a gentle soul. Sweet, cheerful… Oh, he can pretend to be scary and bluster all he likes… But you and I both know that he couldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Haha… Yeah. Heelies is such a pacifist. It’s really endearing to see him try to spar against a couple of the others though. He tries really hard. He just… He’s wonderful.” The vile villain hummed, an amused smirk playing on their lips, a cruel parody of a loving tone in their voice. “He misses you and Blue. He won’t admit it easily, but I can sense that he does. He’d be so happy to hear that you’re in the castle ‘cause you want to talk to him.”

“Actually, I wanted to speak to you, first. As I previously stated, you hold my son’s rather fragile soul in your hands… And I just…” Ink sighs, shaking his head as he takes his brush from behind his back, beginning to lean on it, faux-casually “I’m just not convinced that you’re the right person for him. How many have you killed? How many AUs have fallen into NIghtmare’s control because of the intel that you gather? Dozens? Hundreds? I know that your LV is comparable to Dust or Killers, and they’ve both slaughtered their entire timeline - and that was before Nightmare got his hands on them.”

Venus flinched, looking away from him, shifting uncomfortably, their wings partially wrapping around themself in a gesture that would be a subconscious attempt at soothing themself if Ink didn’t know that they were a master manipulator - just like their boss, Nightmare. “I… I’d rather not think about how many people I’ve killed. I-I’ve killed many of them in s-self defense. Besides we’ve… We’ve been doing things differently in the past decade or two. Less murder and more negotiation. It helps that Papa and Sat drop by and visit. Their nagging helps Dad think things through a bit more logically. I… I know that I have blood and dust on my hands… But… Mr. Ink, sir. I… I really, truly love Heelies. He’s the light of my life, and I… I’ve never realized what it was like to be in love until Heelies came crashing into my life. I… I know that I’m not what you’d hope for in a partner for Heelies, but I try to be worthy of him. I… I know that I’ve become a better person, since I’ve gotten to know him.”

Hmmm… Venus had definitely been taught how to persuade others by Nightmare - that same silver tongue… Wait - dad. Papa. Whoever the fuck Sat was. Ink’s eye lights swirl in a chaotic swirl of colors and shapes as something that he’d been just about to connect for a while now finally slid into place “Wait… You’re Nightmare’s child? Not someone who he picked up in a timeline because he found you to be useful?”

“Yes. I’m his oldest child. Saturn is my younger brother… Did you not know that?” Venus responded, a startled frown appearing on their face.

By the creators, that added another layer of twistedness to all of this! It also explained why Dream was so… Strange when it came to Venus. He had a tangled past with Nightmare, and would of course be aware of Venus’s parentage. Why Dream knew so much about Nightmare, the positive guardian never said. But this… Perhaps with Venus’s death, it would give the dark and destructive lord of negativity a bit of pause to grieve, and give him and the other Star Sanses time to breathe and plan how to deal with the other’s charm offensive. “No, I did not. Is Saturn in the castle as well?” Killing both of Nightmare’s children would surely be a benefit to the multiverse - but he’d settle for the one who had stolen his son’s soul for now.

“No, Sat is usually with papa, or hidden away in some timeline that dad and I can’t get to, due to being negative beings. But papa’s gotten better about that as dad’s calmed down and the two of them have started talking instead of just fighting.” Venus responded.

Ink squinted at the other for a moment, before deciding that they were telling him the truth. He knew that Nightmare didn’t lie with every breath, though the creative guardian didn’t trust the bastard at all. He sent the other a warm smile “Well, this has been a very enlightening talk. It’s just… It’s a pity that you are Nightmare’s child, haha. I was almost convinced that you actually love my son. Goodbye.” He struck as confusion filled the younger being, their movements slowed to the point where Ink was able to strike them down.

Venus had managed to dodge just enough to avoid a completely fatal blow, and the other screamed, their magic reverberating around the castle as a wave of pure negativity hit Ink hard, sending the creative guardian staggering backwards and falling to his knees.

Nightmare himself teleported in, confusion and fear on the other’s face at the gaping, paint-splattered wound, hissing as a couple of tentacles wrapped protectively around his child. “Ink-” The other growled, lunging for the creative guardian.

“Pfhaha… Good luck keeping your child from dusting, Nightmare. Perhaps now you will know the pain that you have inflicted on countless others. Ciao~!” Ink purred, a feral grin on his face as he teleported out of the room, reappearing next to Heelies - who was running towards the dying Venus. “Heeelies, my darling son! Time to come home!” Ink ordered, flicking his magic over his son, even as the other tried and failed to dodge, the other’s form losing cohesion as he turned into a purple puddle, the other’s soul floating on top. He scooped the other up and gently put him in a magically protected mason jar. “You be a good boy now and try not to reform. Papa’s got you. I’ll make sure that you’ll be all better. Besides, the wicked creature who stole your heart won’t be distracting you any more. Papa made sure of that.” With that, he teleported out of the AU, dodging several different bone and blaster attacks from Nightmare’s furious lieutenants.

Heelies was safely ensconced in his arms, bubbling and shifting in the jar in great distress, but the other would settle down soon enough. Ink was sure of that “Shhh… It’s okay… Papa’s got you… Shhh… Things will get better, I promise…”

#my writing #ink sans #venus #heelies #nightmare sans #tw attempted murder #tw kidnapping

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dontfeedthebabytigers · 6 years

Text

You’ve Got So Much Heart: Chapter 7

ao3 link (x)

last chapter (x)

first chapter (x)

Thursday was a quiet day. The halls in Wayne manor held a fragile calm that had been unseen by the scratched hardwood since before Damian’s arrival many years ago. The only commotion came from the den as Bruce and Dick raced to see who could discover the Scooby Doo culprit first. Dick won every time, even if only because Bruce let him. Dick’s prize was sneaking desert in before dinner--- a risky move in a house where Alfred seemed to lurk behind every corner. They made ice cream sundaes with chocolate sauce, bananas, and rainbow sprinkles. If Alfred had found them out from the depleted ice cream supply, he didn’t say anything. Just this once.

Bruce posited the idea of Cass coming over the next day and possibly bringing along Barbara. Dick beamed at the idea and Bruce almost had to resort to bribing to get the boy asleep. Barbara was Dick’s only friend both his age and outside of the family. Out of everyone in the family, Dick had always been the people person, and Bruce knew that being stuck inside with only three other people had been starting to get to the boy. He almost broke Bruce’s ribs when he told Dick that he was ready for a friend. Did the fact that she also had a cape make Bruce feel more secure about introducing Dick to a social life, without a doubt. He also knew how suffocating the family could be--- himself especially. Having a fresh face that Dick could relax around had been a necessity.

They arrived at noon, right on schedule. Dick hated it when people arrived earlier than expected, got anxious when they were late.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Cain, Ms. Gordon.” Alfred couldn’t contain his glee at seeing Cass and Barbara. “Lunch will be ready within the hour. Master Wayne is waiting for you in the study, Ms. Cain. He looks forward to hearing about your latest trip abroad.”

Cass nodded her thanks and left to find her father.

“Do you know where Dick is, Alfie?” Barbara asked looking around the large lobby. He usually met her when she arrived, usually couldn’t wait to see her.

Alfred smiled down at young Barbara, only a few years older than Dick and with all the intelligence that Jim Gordon bragged about every time he passed by. “I believe Master Dick is in the room with us, Ms. Gordon, or maybe above us.” They both looked up to the beams that cross the high ceiling.

Alfred gave a merry laugh. “Good luck on this round, Ms. Gordon. Do try not to break anything from the fifteen century or earlier this time.”

“No fair,” Barbara said, arms crossed with a wicked grin on her face. “Those are all the most breakable antiques.”

“How will you ever survive,” Alfred said as he made his way back to the kitchen to finish their meal. He seldom got the opportunity to prepare a meal for so many people these days, the food had to be perfect.

Barbara surveyed the room for any sign of her friend, but, of course, Dick left no clues.

“You heard Alfred, Boy Wonder, no breaking the really old stuff. Now, we know that is going to happen if I have to start chasing after you.”

A soft footfall announced Dick as he dropped behind her. First thing Barbara noticed when she turned around was his comfy clothing--- a baggy sweatshirt over a leotard. He must have been working out, Barbara thought. Then she noticed that Dick smiled at her, but not a happy Dick Grayson smile. Just as Dick had many names--- Richard, Dick, Robin, Talon, the Gray Son--- he had many smiles that he put on like a show. Right now, Dick’s smile seemed stretched, taut with an inner turmoil.

“I knew where you were.” She joked, trying to see where his level of humor fell today.

“No, you didn’t” A subdued glint in his eyes, usually he enjoyed sneaking up on people. He made a game out of it, and he always loved surprising people. Right now, he didn’t look like he had won another game. Dick looked like he had already lost but didn’t want anyone to know.

“Try and prove that I didn’t.” Barbara gave him an easy smile to help him unwind. She could read Dick Grayson like computer code. His mind was a puzzle, and Barbara loved puzzles. “I’ve missed you. How have you been?”

Dick looked torn; he glanced down the empty halls for any prying family members. “Not good.”

“What happened?” Barbara asked.

Dick looked at her. His hands tapped out nervous energy in the only way his training knew how. “Let’s go upstairs.”

“Come in,” Bruce called when a firm, yet polite, know resonated through the study. That was Cass’s knock. When Dick did actually knock it was hesitant and soft, afraid to ask. Jason was firm, confident, and a little too loud. Damian didn’t knock.

Cass entered with a smile and a wave, and Bruce’s heart soared to see his daughter again.

“Cass, it’s been too long.” Bruce used his most Brucie voice and crossed the room to give his daughter a hug. “How was Bruges?”

“Educational.” Was her response. She pulled a vinyl a bag she carried on her shoulder and handed it to her father. “For you.”

“Brahms,” Bruce remarked. “A good choice. Why don’t we give this a listen?” Bruce went over to the turntable and set up the record. Once the music began playing, Bruce’s façade faded with the lost silence. “What did you find out?”

Cass handed him a USB drive which he plugged into the computer. There were notes and documents, including blurred pictures of Talons dating back decades. Even more, evidence that the Court had influence spreading further than the borders of Gotham could contain.

“Your writing keeps getting better.” He noted as he read the notes that she had written to connect pieces of evidence. “

“I had a great teacher.” She smiled at him before pointing at a single file marked HC. “You need to see this.”

Bruce clicked the file open and was met with an old photograph taken in Bruges almost a century ago. In the photo, there was a man in his twenties shaking hands with a well-dressed older man with a boy standing at his side. A striped circus tent was in the background. The twenty-year-old looked familiar, so Bruce pulled open a file that contained a sketch of William Cobb that Damian had made with Dick’s help. There was an irrefutable resemblance.

“You found him.” A few years of searching and they finally found evidence that William Cobb existed before the Court. His indoctrination couldn’t have been long after the photo had been taken. However, Bruce’s joy at their first lead was sucked away when he remembered the backdrop of the photo.

“He’s at the circus.” Bruce didn’t believe in coincidence, but he wished that he did.

Cass nodded, grief in her heart. She took the mouse and zoomed in on the young boy standing next to the ringmaster. “He is Mr. Haly.”

Bruce had to pace around his study to avoid throwing the computer against the wall. When Dick had first moved in, all he could talk about was the circus and Mr. Haly. Dick saw that man as a grandfather like he saw Alfred. Dick loved that circus, and if they were working with the Court this whole time, well, Bruce didn’t know what that would do to Dick. Even now, the circus was his life.

“You know what this means,” Cass asked, but it wasn’t really a question.

“It means that the Court didn’t pick him at random. They were grooming him, probably from birth.” Bruce had planned to take Dick to the circus when it came back to town later that week. Would they take him back to the Court if they saw him? “What I want to know is why they chose Dick.”

Cass nodded, she had her next mission.

Bruce ejected the USB after making an encrypted copy for his own records. “I assume that I don’t need to tell you that not a word of this leaves the room until we have indisputable proof that Haly’s Circus was working for the Court.”

Cass agreed. She knew Dick, saw herself in him. This news would only bring him pain, and even if there were no collusion he would never feel safe around the circus again. She turned away to leave but stopped when her father spoke again.

“Can I expect you at the Gala next week. I know Dick would love you there.” He could never just ask someone to stay.

She knew this, and she nodded before she left him standing alone with the music.

“Have you talked to Bruce about this?”

Did shook his head. “Bruce doesn’t like talking about Tim.”

Barbara didn’t blame Bruce for that one, at least not completely. She had been there when they found Tim, saw the crazed look in his eyes and heard the sickening laugh play like her dreams original soundtrack. Then with everything that happened after, Tim had always been one of those untouchable subjects within the manor walls. Barbara didn’t even think Bruce had referred to Tim as anything other than Red Hood in years.

“You miss him, don’t you?” Barbara asked the question that everyone knew the answer to because they all had the same one.

“When I came back,” Dick paused to gather his thoughts as he often did when he spoke in longer phrases. “When I came back, Tim was gone. No one would tell me why. Until you. I never got to say sorry, or goodbye.”

She never got to say goodbye either, none of them did. Tim was a dead man that still walked around a Gotham as broken as himself all because she couldn’t get the intel fast enough. Bruce said he didn’t blame her, that the Joker was a madman and a genius, but Barbara couldn’t see how that was supposed to matter. Not when Tim could have been saved from that.

“Hey Dick, can I ask you something?” She waited until he nodded, and her throat almost closed up. “Did he look okay? Healthy?”

Dick observed her like he always did when he couldn’t understand the message behind someone’s words. His gaze passed over her fists and her down-turned eyes. “He looked good.”

Barbara let out a breath and smiled. “Good,” She said. “That’s good.”

#dick grayson #you've got so much heart #miranda writes

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velvetchen · 7 years

Text

Dynamic | pt. iv

[ back to masterlist ]

Scenario: Superhero AU Pairing: Chen/Reader Word Count: 4485 Rating: T (warning for language)

Summary: You’re the leading superhero of the city, and you’ve fought Dynamo for years. It’s the way it should be - good vs. evil, hero vs. villain. But what happens when a bigger evil threatens everything?

<< previous part x first part x next part >>

You’re all clustered around the command center of the NSN, called in for an emergency briefing after your showdown with the giant robot. The thing had somehow cut off all the NSN’s communications, so they hadn’t been able to give you any intel until you were already finished with the fight.

But the minute you’d all got back down to the ground after checking out its head, it had completely vanished without a trace.

“We’re calling him the Dragon,” the Director says. “Since he hasn’t announced himself to the public yet.”

“He? You’re sure it's a he?” Whirlwind asks, his face twisted skeptically.

“Yes,” the Director says, pulling up a grainy image of a black-clad figure leaving a building. “That’s him. We’ve been hearing reports of a very talented hero around town, long before today. We only just managed to figure he and the Dragon are one and the same.”

“Well, what's his power?” you ask impatiently.

“Metallokinesis. One of the strongest we’ve seen in decades.” He paused for effect. “He’s stronger than you three combined.”

You swallow. Dynamo had been right. This city needed everything it had to fight this new threat off.

The Director pulls up another image, this one of a face half cast in shadow. It's blurry too, like someone zoomed in from far away to take it. “This photo was taken by assets of the Villains Association,” he says. You can’t make out much other than a hooked nose and heavy eyebrows.

“This is all the information we have?” Seism asks, looking thoughtful.

“As of now, yes. Our spies are working round the clock. We’ve even got hackers tracking bank accounts, camera feeds, everything within a hundred mile radius. He’s got to have got the materials for that thing from somewhere.” The Director pulls up a hologram of the giant Dragon and rotates it with a flick of his wrist. “From your fight yesterday, we gathered that hitting the face didn’t disable it at all. It’s not electronic, it’s being controlled by him. He must have been somewhere nearby, hiding out and watching.”

That thought was scarier than it sounded - this Dragon guy had been watching you the whole time from afar, and nobody had known.

The Director continues. “We’ve decided on a mission to break in and look for possible hideout spots. Rush, you’ll be leading.”

You’re not surprised they pick you - you knew your way out of a fight, and if you needed to get out of there, they wouldn’t need to send backup. “When?”

“The minute we get intel, you’re up.” You nod.

“But what if he attacks again in the meantime?” Seism asks, and the rest of you chorus an agreement.

“We don’t think he will. Since he hasn’t announced himself - or what side he’s on - we guessed he’s just trying to spread rampant terror. He won’t attack until this hype dies down. Then, when everyone thinks they’re safe again, he’ll strike. So,” finishes the Director, “we have a good window in which to do our reconnaissance.”

As the discussion continues, you turn to your own thoughts, which are loud inside your head. That afternoon’s events. Dynamo, catching you from falling to your death. Dynamo, suddenly serious. There’s no one I’d rather work with than you. This wasn’t your relationship. Sure, you flirted all the time, but that was when he was trying to destroy something and you were trying to thwart him. When you think about Dynamo, it’s without fondness. He’s just there, that’s it. Your antithesis. The bad to your good. The yin to your yang.

This new development confuses you more than anything else.

“Rush?” You snap your attention back to the discussion. “Patrol tonight, don’t forget.”

You groan internally. “Yes, sir.”

When you finally leave the headquarters, it’s night. Nearly time for your patrol to start. You don’t even bother changing out of your suit, strolling into the nearest fast-food joint and ordering the greasiest, most unhealthy thing on the menu, with a large soda on top of that. The sugar and caffeine would hopefully kickstart you enough to stay awake for a few hours, at least. Then you could get a coffee and that would last you the rest of the way.

Tomorrow was a Monday, and you didn’t have any morning classes, so you’d be able to sleep in comfortably. Thank God for small mercies.

Everyone in the store stares at you point blank as you sit down with your tray, unwrap your burrito, and bite off a very unladylike portion. You ignore them. Your head pounds with the aftereffects of using your ability under pressure, and your feet are sore as hell from the three-inch heels on your boots.

Oh, only women knew the pain of looking good while you kicked ass. Something you and Glamour Girl had bonded over plenty of times.

You finish eating and walk back out, soda in hand, sipping casually as you pull out your phone to text Jennie.

You: hey babe im not coming home 2night Jen: oh yeah? are u with brunch boy Jen: cause if u are, GO GIRL You: nope but i have another date w him on tuesday. ahhh You: im at another friend’s place. studying for that test in gov u know Jen: got it got it You: have breakfast ready for me pls i’m pulling an all nighter Jen: sure babe Jen: love u Jen: ace that test ok You: love u too

You sigh and tuck your phone away. It was going to be a long night.

You almost drag yourself down the street at 5 am the next day. You’re sure you must look like death, even with the mask on. You’d been hoping it would be a quiet night, but you just stopped four muggings, a drug overdose, a date gone awry, and a man from pulling a gun on his family. Then you’d been called in for an emergency and hurried to the scene - all the way across town from where you were - only to have a kid ask you to get his cat out of a tree.

Still, you have one more stop before you get home. You make your way to the end of the street, where the warehouse looms, dingy and small. You swear it’s much bigger on the inside. When you push the loose window in the front wall open, the dark interior stares back at you. Empty.

You’re almost disappointed he’s not here.

You get a notepad and pen out of your backpack - both of them predictably fuschia, obviously you - and scrawl out a note quickly.

Meet me at the Spire, midnight. We’re discussing battle tactics.

♡ Rush

Pausing, you squint at your writing. Then you scratch out the heart, a habit from the hundreds of autographs you’ve signed.

You take advantage of the emptiness of the warehouse to quickly strip out of your costume and into your clothes from yesterday, one of your nicer blouses and a pleated skirt. Then you trudge out, look from side to side to make sure no one’s watching, then start the walk home.

The Spire isn’t it’s official name, but that’s what it’s called in the super world - the tallest building in the city, one hundred fifty floors, a perfect vantage point to watch the downtown area. And a place where no one would question your presence.

You wait, legs dangling off the edge precariously, chin in the cradle of your hands as you watch the cars a thousand feet below zip past like ants. As much as you care for them, as much as you love them - the people of this city are just as insignificant to you as they look from this height. All of them, spread out below you - yet you know nothing. There’s this huge barrier between you and everyone else. Because you’re a super. Because you’re idolized, you’re put on a pedestal. They probably forget you’re a person under that mask, a person with a real life who goes to school and works and goes out with friends and does all the other normal people things they do.

With the exception of being super, of course.

Sighing, you shift your gaze from the ground to the sky. It’s cloudy, overcast, and you can feel your hair frizzing up. Maybe it was a bad idea to pick the tallest building around for miles as your meeting place.

“Hey.” You don’t turn around as Dynamo appears, floating down to sit next to you. Thankfully, he keeps his distance, staying a good foot away from you. Any further and you wouldn’t be able to hear each other over the lashing of the wind. “What’d you want to discuss?”

You finally move to face him, pulling your legs up onto the roof and sitting with your elbows over your knees. “We know a little more about the Dragon now. He’s-”

“I know,” Dynamo cuts you off. “Metallokinesis. Super ultra powerful. A recluse, showed up out of nowhere. That’s what they briefed me at the V.A.” He sighs. “Depressing, huh? And I thought I was the most powerful super in the city.”

“Second only to me,” you cut in, grinning. “But seriously, they didn’t tell you anything else? No secret villain-only info?”

“Nope,” he says. “Half of the villains want to side with him, anyway. They’re suck-ups. So it’s a need-to-know basis. We’re mostly just supposed to stay out of the way.”

“You don’t plan on doing that, do you?” You watch him carefully.

He doesn’t waver. “I teamed up with you for a reason, partner.”

For once, you wish you could see his face. Then you push the thought away, shocked. It was better you kept your lives secret. Even within the heroes, none of you revealed your identity - not even to the NSN. It always got too messy.

You don’t reply to his statement. “They want me to raid his possible hideouts.” He opens his mouth to continue but you keep going. “No intel yet. Apparently he was remotely controlling that thing.”

“I figured as much. Metallokinesis, right? It’s got range.”

“Yeah, so they want me to find him out.” You swallow. “I want you with me.”

His response is instant. “Okay. I’m with you.”

“Not just this one,” you say. “All my missions. We’re a team now, we have to fight together. I’ll talk to my superiors.”

“I...okay.” Now he looks taken aback.

You stand up, brushing off your suit, bracing yourself against the wind. You reach your hand out to help him up. “Please don’t shock me this time.”

He takes it, and the tingles of electricity that shoot up your arm are warm and pleasant, like laughter. When he stands to face you, you notice that he’s actually not that much taller than you. Nor is he particularly bulky or intimidating. He actually has a lean, average physique, fit from the years of supervillain-y activities. Huh. Perception really changed things.

“When do you want to meet next?”

You look away, thinking. “Not tomorrow. Besides, I don’t yet have any info from the NSN,” you say. “We could do a little spying of our own, if you want.”

“Wednesday?”

“Yeah, sounds good.” You move toward the edge of the roof. “Bye, Dynamo.”

Just as you’re about to go, he calls after you. “Rush?”

“Yeah?”

“You can actually call me Chen. If you want.”

Your lips quirk into a small smile - at the same time your heart rate picks up. “That isn’t your real name, is it?”

He laughs. “No. But it’s the name I picked for myself when I first decided I wanted to be a supervillain. I like it better than Dynamo.”

Your smile widens. “It suits you. See you on Wednesday, Chen.” Then with a running start, you dive off the edge of the roof, plummeting down, the wind on your face like a thousand tons of force. With a loud whoop, you fall faster and faster, until you’re almost all the way down and then suddenly you blink - and you’re safely on the ground.

Sometimes, having an ability was seriously great.

Paragon was a borderline indie bar/club/thing that you’d gone to often, but not often enough to be familiar with. Today it’s packed. For a Tuesday, that’s pretty incredible. The tables are all crowded, the floor in between filled with people talking to each other and dancing in the music that plays lightly over the speakers. The stage, however, is still empty.

You pull out your phone.

You: im so anxious. there’s so many people here Jen: on a tuesday??? wowwww You: yeah i wonder if they’re all here for him though You: because if they are??? You: i literally will not be able to handle it Jen: ;) You: jennnnnnn come on

When she doesn’t reply, you sigh and put your phone away. Just in time, too. The whole crowd goes strangely quiet as a light flicks on stage, and then a figure is walking out and standing at the single mic. He takes a minute to fix it up, tapping and mouthing something to someone backstage, who finally gives a thumbs-up.

“How’s everyone doing tonight?” he says. A cheer goes up and you’re surprised when you even hear a couple I-love-yous screamed out. “I’m Jongdae and I’ll be your entertainment. Have a wonderful evening.”

Music starts up immediately, a strong electronic and jazz sort of fusion that has everyone drawn in by the energy. And then he starts singing and holy shit, you’ve never heard anything like it before. His is the most lively voice, warm in timbre and perfect in pitch. You know enough about music to tell his vocal technique is near perfect.

It’s obvious why the crowd’s so huge. He’s something else.

You spend the whole one hour show with your mouth slightly open, as he goes from song to song and shows off his amazing repertoire. From ballads to 80’s pop hits to electronic, he can pretty much sing anything. Near the end of the show you realize you’ve somehow made it to the front of the crowd. Here the press of people cheering and dancing is more than ever, and you just stand there, entranced.

It’s more than disappointing when he finishes up for the night and thanks everyone, waving enthusiastically as he disappears backstage. From there the people start to disperse, but there’s still a lot of people in the building for a Tuesday.

You decide to go looking for him.

Winding through the crowd, you skirt along the far wall and towards the door you saw him go through earlier. “Excuse me,” you mutter, nearly crashing into someone with a tray of drinks. Finally you make it, and even though the door is closed, you hold your breath and knock, thrice.

When no one opens up, you figure they must not hear you above the blaring music and knock again, harder this time.

The door swings open to reveal a scary-looking bouncer. You’re thrown off for a minute, but regain your confidence. “Uh, I’m Y/N,” you nearly yell. “Jongdae invited me.”

The bouncer guy eyes you up and down, then closes the door. You hear someone - Jongdae? - yell loudly from inside, then the door opens again and you’re ushered in quickly.

“Y/N,” Jongdae says, arms outstretched from his perch on a retro orange sofa. “You made it! I didn’t think you would.”

You shift on your feet, suddenly awkward. “Well, I did promise.”

He chuckles and pats the seat next to him. “Sit down. Want a drink?” You look at the table next to him, with a half empty bottle of wine, and realize he’s probably had a few drinks already. Unsure, you sit next to him on the sofa and take the glass he hands you.

“So, how’d you like it?” he wiggles his brows. The polite, simple Jongdae from your previous meetings seems to be gone; tipsy from alcohol and the high of his performance, he’s a lot more bold. A sheen of sweat still shines on his forehead, and his eyes spark as he looks at you.

“I loved it,” you try not to gush, but he must see it. “It was - incredible. You’re incredible.” Despite yourself, you blush.

“Thanks,” he says, a self-satisfied grin on his face as he leans back. “It means a lot more coming from you.” He winks. Your cheeks grow even hotter.

“Are you flirting with me?”

He takes a sip of his drink. “Only if you want me to be.”

You smirk back, feeling a little shot of confidence, your alter ego, come seeping in. “Well, in that case-” you reach out and put your hand on his arm “-please continue.”

He raises his eyebrow, obviously pleasantly surprised by your change in personality, but the drink is starting to hit your nerves and you only feel your adrenaline go up. “And what if I skip the flirting and go straight to propositioning you?”

“Try and see.”

His voice is close to your ear, breath warm on your skin. “How about we don’t go for dinner and you come over instead.”

“I don't know, don't you think it's a little soon for that?” Are you just imagining it, or are his lips on your neck? Blushing again, you feel your confidence waver for a minute. But then he’s really kissing you, and you're the one pulling him up from the sofa and towards the door.

He’s laughing as you drag him along. “Demanding, aren't we?” He still comes with you though, stepping out of the back of the building into a small alley.

“Which way?” you ask, looking left and right.

He just grins and pulls you down the alley, stopping in front of a monstrous-looking motorbike with yellow lightning bolt accents.

“Wow, I didn't peg you for a motorbike guy,” you say, a little anxious, but you take the helmet he gives you nevertheless. You climb on behind him, grasping around him loosely as the engine comes to life, and then fear overtakes your uncertainty and you’re clinging on to him for dear life, burying your face in his jacketed shoulder. He smells like standard men’s shower gel and vanilla and slightly like sweat - a scent that’s both comforting and exciting. Eventually, you gain the courage to watch your surroundings as you pass the downtown area and into an area with numerous apartment buildings.

“Wait, I thought you-”

“That’s my brother's place,” he cuts in. “I have my own.” You're both relieved and newly anxious that there won't be anyone else at his place.

Not that you were going to do anything. It would just complicate things. You’d had one-night-stands before - and they were one night stands because you snuck away right after. Usually your partner was too drunk to remember you and probably passed you off as a dream or someone else.

But it was different now, because you liked Jongdae. You knew him. Even with your limited time together, you could feel the beginnings of a bad crush, and even though you were willing to see where it went, the thought of a relationship still scared the crap out of you.

You had second thoughts suddenly. How would you explain it if you needed to leave this time? What if he asked too many questions, or rummaged in your bag, or you got too drunk and spilled your biggest secret? You almost grip his shoulders and ask him to turn around - just as you pull up in front of a fancy looking apartment building.

He parks. There’s no turning back now. “This is the place?”

“This is the place.” He hops off and then holds out his hand for you to take. As always, there are those familiar tingles dancing up and down your skin. You pull back your hand quickly, hoping it didn't look like you were being rude. Thankfully he doesn't seem to think so, and puts his hands in his pockets, humming a song from earlier that night as you begin to walk.

The door unlocks smoothly. He switches on the lights and you look around. Jongdae’s apartment is less personal than you expected it to be. It's also a lot more expensive than you expected it to be - everything is clean and modern, with decorative touches that have the hand of a professional and not a twenty-something guy who sings at bars. There are pictures of him and his family, but strategically arranged across the wall. His fridge has touristy-looking magnets that hold up printed out recipes and some scrawled notes.

He locks the door behind you. “I haven’t been spending much time here, so don't be surprised if you see dust or a stray sock or something,” he says, scratching the back of his head. Like he's nervous. You find it oddly cute. “Um, make yourself at home. I’ll see if I have anything to eat.”

You wander into his living room, which is more of the same. There are a few more photos of people who must be his parents and brother, a signed photo of him singing at another club, skin turned blue by the lights. You pick it up and look at it - study the electricity in his eyes and how alive he seems. So this is who he is.

“Is ramen okay?” he calls from the kitchen.

“I don't mind,” you call back as you put the photo back. There are some knickknacks: several small cat plushies, a jar full of coins and a handwritten note from someone named Kim Minseok, whom you guessed was Jongdae’s brother.

Jongdae enters the kitchen, two cups of ramen in both hands and a wine bottle tucked under his arm. He sets them down on the coffee table and doubles back for a couple of glasses. “Ramen and wine,” he says. “I know, I'm the epitome of hospitality.”

You giggle and take your share. “Thanks.” It's the instant stuff, but you're hungry and it tastes good.

Your teasing mood from earlier is gone, worn away by the ride here and the calm aura of his apartment. Right now, you just want to talk, lulled by the wine and the comfortable silence in between you as you eat.

You fumble for a place to start, going for an easy opening. “So, besides singing and eating brunch, what do you like to do?”

“Well, considering you just summed up my life in two activities, I’d say not much else,” he grins. “But Y/N, I barely know about you. What do you like to do?”

Usually you have a basic answer about your job ready to go, but this time you feel like you should be honest. Well, as honest as you can. “I’m actually a bit of a thrill-seeker,” you say tentatively. “I trained in mixed martial arts for a long time, actually. I like heights and horror movies and I have three tattoos.”

Jongdae actually looks impressed. “I would not have guessed that about you. I’m kind of proud I managed to scare you with my motorbike.”

“Surprisingly I've never been on one before,” you say. “But I really liked it. I’d love to go again.”

“Anything else you haven't done?” His eyebrows rose. “I’m not asking for the sake of future dates.”

“I’ve never been skydiving, for all my love of heights. You?”

“I’ve never actually sung in front of my parents. I think about that a lot.”

“Oh?” you finish up your noodles. “Why not?”

“Well, we're not really on good terms,” he says, looking down at his bowl. “I moved out early, because they didn’t approve of me trying to drop out of school. I started singing when I was sixteen, a few months after I moved in with my brother. So yeah. I haven't talked to them since then.”

“That’s kind of sad,” you say quietly. Your free hand inches across the space between you. “Why did you want to drop out of school, though?”

He shrugs. “I thought I had better things to do. Turns out they were just big dreams. I went back to school and graduated a year late.”

“What kind of things?” Against your will, your fingers have twined with his.

He smiles softly. “That’s a story for another time,” he says. “If you stick around long enough.”

“I plan on it.”

His grin widens. “Can I kiss you?”

“You already did.”

“Yes, but I didn't ask first that time.”

The corners of your mouth turn up. “Okay.”

He leans forward, excruciatingly slow. You close your eyes and swallow. It's not your second kiss, not even your twentieth, but it feels intimate and vulnerable in a completely different way. You actually care what he thinks, what he sees when he looks at you.

His lips touch yours, and you forget about the liabilities.

You wake, unsteady, in a room that's not your own. The covers are kicked off halfway and the other side of the bed is cold. You catch your reflection in the mirror across from you. You look exhausted, and there are a couple of wine-purple marks on your neck. Panic hits, sudden and familiar.

Shit. Did I -

You tiptoe out of the room cautiously. Jongdae is awake; you can hear him humming as he shuffles around the kitchen. Wary, you keep moving forward until he sees you and his face lights up.

“Good morning, Y/N. I wasn’t expecting you to wake up anytime soon. You sleep like the dead.”

“Good morning,” you return, uncertainly. “Jongdae, did we, you know…I don't remember.”

“Don't worry, nothing happened,” he says, grabbing eggs out of the fridge. “Do you like them scrambled or fried?”

“Fried, please,” you say, leaning hesitantly on the counter.

“Right. We were talking and you fell asleep on me a couple times. You looked pretty tired, so I carried you to the bed.” He looks up at you, a reassuring smile on his face. “So yeah, nothing happened.”

Relief spills through you, evident on your face. “Good,” you say, and then quickly rectify, “I mean - I was drunk-”

“No offense taken,” he laughs. You’re quiet as he cracks the eggs into a pan, working a little clumsily, but singing absently as he does so. You close your eyes and listen to the honeyed sound of his voice, a song you’ve never heard before but one that still feels familiar nevertheless.

With a pang, you realize that you could get used to this.

And that terrifies you.

All of a sudden you want to get out of here. You clam up again, looking for an opening to leave - but he’s turning to you with a plate in either hand and the most blinding smile on his face, and you can’t help but stay a little longer.

a/n this is p long compared to what i usually write i’m actually surprised ? also is anyone else swooning over jongdae bc i am wow falling for your own character why dont you get an actual life mer

136 notes · View notes

scribomaniac · 7 years

Text

One Step Ahead, Chapter 7: Border Edges Pt 2

“We should stop here for the night,” Celaena said, pulling into an empty rest stop parking lot.

Rowan startled, he’d just closed his eyes for a second before Celaena’s voice broke through his small moment of peace. Frowning, he looked around, “What? Here?” There was nothing here. It was just a parking lot, a large plot of land decorated with picnic tables, and a small restroom shack that was poorly lit. From the looks of it, it didn’t even have a vending machine.

Celaena had been driving since the diner, and that had been over five hours ago. Since then they’d stopped twice, once for a bathroom break, and once more to to grab dinner at a McDonald’s and stretch their legs. So it was understandable, really, that Celaena was tired and would like to stop for the night. Rest up for another full day of driving, no doubt, but here?

“Yes, here,” she looked at him with raised brows, You got a problem with that? She silently asked.

Why here? His eyes asked in return. There was nothing here, after all. He couldn’t find the reasoning behind it. “Why not stop at that Holiday Inn a few miles back?”

“A few miles back?” Celaena repeated, a brow quirking in amusement. “Rowan, that was over two hours ago. You fell asleep, remember?”

“I fell asleep?” His brows shot up and his green eyes darted to the clock on the dashboard. She wasn’t lying. “What the–” he muttered, dumbfounded. It wasn’t like him to let his guard down like that, to allow himself to be so vulnerable, especially in front of someone as lethal as Celaena Sardothien. Still, he realized as he took an internal inventory of himself, he felt refreshed. He didn’t think that was possible, not from a two hour car nap.

Looking back at Celaena, he saw the look she was giving him, You gonna repeat everything I say?

Unable to help the grin forming on his lips, his eyes flashed with a challenge, Maybe . What’re you gonna do about it?

Verbally, he asked again, “Why here?”

“We passed the border into Terrasen a few miles back. We’re in Oakwald right now,” she shrugged, turning the car off, “no hotels in sight.”

“So, what,” Rowan asked suspiciously. “We’re camping?” Celaena, from the intel he’d gathered, didn’t seem like the camping type. Not the woods type, anyway. Maybe she’d go to a spa in the middle of a mountain range, but roughing it on the cold, hard ground? Seemed unlikely.

“Mhm,” she hummed, unclipping her seatbelt and opening her door, “Tent and stuff’s in the trunk.”

And stuff was right. In the trunk was a tent, two camping lanterns, three quilts, two blankets, a queen sized inflatable air mattress, and a few other odds and ends. Whistling lowly, the white haired man asked, “Where’d you get all this?”

“Walmart,” she crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. With the sun down it was getting a little chilly out. She opened her mouth, then paused, contemplating if she wanted to continue. Then, “My parents and I used to come here, when I was little, actually. This was our camping spot.”

Rowan tried not to stare. Really, he did, but that was the first piece of personal information she’d given him. It felt … important. Like the puzzle that was Celaena was starting to come together, like Rowan had received a precious border piece.

“Now come on,” she said, grabbing a lamp and turning it on, “we gotta get this set up. Preferably before sunrise.” She grabbed the tent before smiling up at him, “I do need my beauty sleep after all.”

Rowan laughed and shook his head before grabbing the second lamp, the air mattress, and some blankets. They spent the next half hour setting up the campsite, trying to make it as comfortable as possible for the night. About halfway through the setup, Rowan realized there was only one tent, and only one air mattress, so, the avoid any possible awkwardness, offered, “I’ll take first watch. Since I had the nap.”

Celaena shot him a wry look, but turned away before he was able to decipher what she was saying behind her gaze. “Sounds good,” she said, then continued on with her work.

Once everything was set up, Celaena went inside the bathroom shack to attempt to freshen up. Rowan stayed behind to look after everything and was laying down on his back, looking up at the night sky–he could even make out the Lord of the North–when his phone began to buzz. Pulling it out from his pocket, Rowan accepted the call, “Vaughan,” he greeted.

“Rowan,” the other man answered. Vaughan was a straightforward man, a business man through and through, and never liked to waste words. So Rowan wasn’t surprised when he got straight to the point, “Orlon Galathynius, born in Orynth, Terrasen in 1940. Occupation: Owner and CEO of Galathynius Inc., a business conglomerate that included, but was not limited to, shipping services, construction work, and steel manufacturing. Married Weylan Darrow in 1963 and was widowed in 2001. He was murdered in his estate in Orynth in 2006, and, with no living heir, his business and all his assets passed to his only living relative: Maeve.

“Rhoe Galathynius, Orlon’s only son, was born in Orynth in 1965 through an unnamed surrogate. He was raised to inherit the Galathynius business, and specialized in revitalization projects; most notably, restoring the Library of Orynth. In 1987 he married Evalin Ashryver, and in 1995 they had their first, and only child, Aelin.

“As with Orlon, both Rhoe and Evalin were killed in 2006 while visiting the family estate. All three persons had their throats slit in their sleep, and it was deemed a cold case by the police after three months of investigation. There were no leads, and no suspects, save for Adarlan’s Assassin, but that was never substantiated.”

Rowan nodded to himself. That was everything he’d discovered on his own. Still, something was missing. Thinking back to his conversation with Celaena back in that bakery, he asked, “And the granddaughter? Aelin?”

A beat, and then, “That’s where things get … weird.” Rowan sat up, intrigued. “Her body was never found at the crime scene, and at first the police believed it to be a kidnapping; a ransom. But after a week with no call, they categorized her as a missing person and …” he drifted off.

“And?” Rowan prompted, confused by his colleagues hesitation.

“And,” Vaughan continued with a sigh, “that’s it. Officially. There’s no more police reports about her. They just … stopped looking. Usually, when it comes to little white girl with blonde hair and blue eyes, the entire country puts out a man hunt, but for Aelin … there was one media blast with her picture and some other details, but that’s it.

“There were rumors, of course,” he added, hesitantly. Rowan didn’t think he’d ever talked so much in one go. “Rumors that whoever killed the Galathynius’s took Aelin and chopped her up into tiny pieces,” Rowan hummed. He’d heard that one before. “That she got away from the attackers and has been living on the run ever since. That whoever killed her family raised her as their own. It’s all bull shit.”

Licking his lips, Rowan asked, “Did you find a picture of Aelin?” He hadn’t thought to look for it earlier. He hadn’t looked for any pictures besides the crime scene ones, truthfully. But something wrinkled in the back of his mind. Vaughan hummed an affirmative. “Send it to me.” He paused, then asked, “Was there anything else?”

“No.” And then the line went dead.

Rowan shook his head and chuckled under his breath. Celaena walked up behind him and asked, “What’s so funny?” Her eyes said, What’d you do?

Shaking his head, he responded, “Nothing, it’s nothing.”

Raising a brow, but not pushing it, Celaena headed for the tent, “Okay, wake me up in, what? Four hours?”

“Sure.” He fiddled with his phone, setting a timer, when a text from Vaughan came in. Opening it, Rowan’s brows furrowed as he registered what he was looking at. It was a picture of Aelin Galathynius, he knew that. He’d asked for it. But she looked just like … green eyes snapping over to Celaena’s form, lying on the air mattress, Rowan felt something shudder in his psyche. Suddenly, with blinding clarity, he had all his border pieces.

“Aelin,” he called out quietly, a test. He knew he was right, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to be. Celaena didn’t move, and Rowan’s heart thundered in his chest. He realized he’d been too quiet, so he tried again, “Aelin?”

“Hmm?” She cracked an eye open to look at him. It only took a moment, just enough time for her to blink at him, for her to realize her mistake. Eyes wide, she shot up in the tent, a Swiss Army Knife at the ready in her hand. So many things, so many words, emotions, scenarios flashed behind her blue eyes.

Not moving, Rowan tried to come off as non-threatening as possible, I’m sorry , his eyes said. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry . But with his voice, he said, “You can put the knife down, Aelin. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Adarlan’s Assassin barred her teeth at him, “As if you could.”

Raising his hands, Rowan tried again, “Aelin–”

“ Don’t call me that! ”

“–what happened to you?” She was a child, Rowan thought, just a child when her family was stolen from her in the dead of night. When she lost her childhood. If Rowan had one rule, if anyone in the Underworld had one rule, it was to never harm a child. Aelin was only nine when the assassin came for her family, only nine when–

“ Maeve happened to me,” she snarled, her blue eyes shining with golden fire. Her knuckles, still clutching the knife, though it was no longer pointed at him, had turned white.

Rowan blinked, his brows furrowing as he stared uncomprehendingly. That didn’t make any sense, Maeve wouldn’t have done this. Rowan knew Maeve, had been in her service for almost a decade now. She was the one who made the rules–who enforced them–she was Aelin’s family. There was some miscommunication somewhere, Rowan knew it. He just had to get Aelin talking, get her talking and then he could sort this all out. He could sort everything out. He was a Cleaner for rutting sake, he could fix this–

Bright lights flared up in the distance, blinding Rowan and making Aelin flinch. The sound of engines revving thundering as a horde of motorcycles pulled into the parking lot. “Shit,” he heard Aelin curse behind him.

“You know them?” Rowan asked, his gut already telling him the answer. He wished he had his gun on him, but the daggers strapped to his ankles would have to do.

“It’s The Bane,” Aelin told him.

The Bane. A Terrasen based gang whose sole purpose was to wreak havoc for the crime bosses of Rifthold. What the rutting hell were they doing here? Now? What were the odds? Narrowing his eyes, he glared at Aelin, You knew they were coming, didn’t you?

Aelin wasn’t looking at him, though. She was looking straight ahead, at the leader of The Bane who was dismounting his bike. Pulling his helmet off, the gang leader’s long, golden blond hair fell around his shoulders in waves. Pushing it out of his face, he walked towards them with a cocky smirk adorning his face.

As he came closer, Rowan realized with a start that he was looking at the male version of Aelin. They were almost identical.

The gang leader had eyes only for Aelin, and walked straight up to her. Aelin, for her part, scowled at him and looked ready to throw a punch. Maybe Rowan was wrong, maybe she didn’t know they were coming.

“You’re early,” Aelin said, crossing her arms over her chest. So she did know. Rowan could throttle her for this. He barred his teeth at her, but she steadfastly ignored her.

Shrugging, the gang leader’s smirk widened, “Patience was never my virtue, cousin.” Cousin? Well, that cleared up their resemblance. But, Rowan thought indignantly, cousins ?

Finally, Aelin’s stony expression relented and she smiled softly up at the gang leader. Reaching up to pull him in close for an embrace, she whispered, so low only Rowan who was so close could hear, “I missed you, Aedion.”

#rowaelin #tog #rowan whitethorn #Aelin galathynius #aedion ashryver #hey looke whos not dead #its me

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iishipallthethings · 6 years

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Three is (Not) a crowd

Story Summary: Two months after Kuvira was defeated, things have finally settled down in Republic City. For better or for worse, Avatar Korra is ready to talk to Asami about the Unspoken Thing between them, however there's something Asami had been hiding from her friends. And that something is Lin Beifong.

Chapter 7: A Day in the Park

“Korra! Hey, Korra!” Bolin yelled out, waving at the Avatar from under the statue of said woman.

Korra made a face at the statue but she walked over to meet her friend. She smiled cheerfully and let herself be pulled into a massive bearhug. She returned it with her own strength. “Hi, Bolin.” Korra looked at the empty space next to her friend. “Where’s Mako?”

The Avatar was supposed to meet the brothers on their break at her park. The morning after ‘The Incident’ as Korra began to call it, she washed her sheets and everything. She felt shameful of how easily she gave into her body and vowed not to do it again. But it did happen the next night and the night after that. But Korra was able to restrain herself last night and not give into her body’s urges. Barely. Still, the Avatar was quite proud of herself and wanted to spend the day away from her bed lest she be tempted. So she invited Bolin to spend his hour break with her at Avatar Korra Park. She assumed he would bring along Mako as well.

“Mako’s on a mission,” Bolin whispered, glancing around the two to see if anyone was listening in. “It’s secret.”

So Lin had already dispatched the teams to investigate the locations of the research facilities Kuvira gave them. She sure didn’t waste any time but Korra was glad to hear it. The sooner they round up all the spirit vines and properly dispose of them, the better.

“That’s too bad,” Korra said, pretending that she didn’t know what Mako was doing on his ‘secret mission.’ “I guess it’s just us then.”

“Asami’s not coming?”

Korra shrugged. “No, I didn’t invite her.”

“Seriously?” Bolin tried to hide his shock but even though he mastered lavabending, hiding his emotions would never be his strong suit. He pushed his pointer fingers together and Korra knew he was debating whether to say something or not. His green eyes went up to meet Korra’s and then they went back to his fingers. “Are you two okay?”

Korra narrowed her eyes in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Boin squirmed and his fingers were pushing at each other more. “It's just that, well you two are always together and um,” he began to blush, “you two are always together,” he repeated.

Korra understood what Bolin was saying in his Bolin-y way and it warmed her heart but it caused it give a pang as well. “We’re okay and no, we’re not together.” Now Bolin looked confused and Korra was reminded of a child who didn’t understand something. “We’re just friends.”

“But the way you two looked at each other after the race.”

Her eyes widened. So it wasn’t just them. Bolin and probably Mako saw it too. “That wasn’t,” Korra began, “we weren’t-” She sighed in defeat, her shoulders slumping. “It’s really complicated right now, okay?”

Bolin balled his hands up and pouted. Now he really looked like a child. It made Korra smile. “No, it’s not. You like Asami, right?”

“More than you know,” Korra whispered. It felt good to admit her feelings for the duchess to someone. The only being that she could talk to was Naga but the polerbeardog couldn’t give her advice. She knew she was desperate to turn to Bolin for some solace but Mako was gone and she couldn’t go to Asami for obvious reasons.

“Okay, and Asami likes you.”

“How do you know?” Korra asked, cautious of the hope rising in her chest.

Bolin took his time to think out an answer. He would open his mouth like he had thought of one but closed it again. “The way she looks at you,” he finally said. Bolin gave Korra a small smile. “It’s how I look at Opal.” He gestured to a elderly couple walking together a few yards away from the two. “See how they keep glancing at each other? That’s what Asami does to you.” Bolin looked back at Korra and there was something much more mature in his eyes. “Love is different to each person. Opal makes me happy. She sees my faults like my clinginess and poor impulse control but she loves me anyway.”

“Do you love her faults too?” Korra asked.

“Of course not!” Bolin exclaimed, sounding a little offended at the question. “Opal doesn’t have any faults. She’s perfect in every way.” Bolin began to drone on about how amazing Opal was and Korra tuned him out.

How did she feel about Asami and Lin? Korra tackled the more confusing woman first. She’s always been attracted to Lin, especially those scars, but like liking her was a whole other level. Lin could be stubborn and overbearing. She definitely could hold a grudge that would make her mother proud, as long as it wasn’t against her. But Korra couldn’t deny that she was there for Korra and was dedicated to her work to the point of self-sacrificing to make Republic City as safe as it could be. Korra had no doubt that if Lin wasn’t running the show, the gangs like the Triple Triad would have overrun the city decades ago. Lin was a true ally to Korra and wasn’t afraid to call her out when she was about to do something reckless, even if Korra didn’t listen to the older woman in the end. There’s definitely physical attraction to the older woman and maybe some emotional as well. Korra moved on to Asami. She was a stable in Korra’s life and she couldn’t imagine her life without the beautiful duchess. Asami was always there for Korra, even during the mess with Mako. She never took her anger out on Korra and was willing to put everything on hold to join Team Avatar and make sure Korra was safe, much like Lin. The duchess was the only one Korra wrote back to during her three year absence and when they finally met, they just hit it off again like it was the most natural thing in the world, after their initial spat of course. Korra’s hand reached up to pull at the ends of her hair lightly. She accepted Korra no matter what and always had her back. She was able to make Korra smile and laugh without trying and she held so much of her heart already.

Her eyes refocused on the couple walking. She pictured Asami on her arm like that and it made her want to grin. The image blurred and then it was Korra with her arm thread through Lin’s and that made her want to chuckle. Her vision blurred once again and the three women were strolling the park together and she could have sworn her heart skipped a beat.

“Are you sad? You look sad.”

Korra jumped at the question and quickly smiled reassuringly at her friend. Bolin looked relieved but there was some concern in his eyes still. “I’m fine,” Korra said. “You helped me a lot.” Korra pulled Bolin into a hug that was returned at once. “Opal is lucky to have you.”

Bolin gave the Avatar a cocky grin but there was some insecurity hidden behind the expression. “Yeah, she is.” He looked at his watch and frowned. “I should head back to work. My break is almost up.”

The two started for the Police Department. They spent the time talking about their adventures during the three years they didn’t see each other. Korra focused on the times that she traveled the world in search of herself, however she omitted her visions of her Avatar state stalking her. She wasn’t sure if even being the Avatar would allow her to see such vivid hallucinations without being labeled as insane. Bolin talked about his time working for Kuvira and many times he would trail off and look down at his feet. Korra knew that he did mean well when he worked for the woman and that everything she did was over Bolin’s head but he still carried around the guilt like he was the one who made the townspeople they ‘saved’ into slave workers.

It was a relief to both of them when they stopped in front of the old building. They said their goodbyes quickly and Korra watched Bolin run up the steps, eager to get back to work. Korra turned to head back to the Air Temple Island but something caught her eye.

Lin Beifong was sitting at one the benches situated in front of the Police Department building, a cigar held protectively in her fingers. She took a long drag from the cigar and held it in her mouth for a few moments before letting the smoke curl out of her mouth. She blew the rest out and repeated the process a few times as Korra debated whether to go to the older woman or not. Seeing the older woman like this made Korra want to ask what was wrong and bring whatever comfort she could to Lin but she was so confused about what she felt for her.

Taking a deep breath and gathering her courage, Korra walked over to Lin and sat down next to her without any invitation. Lin glared at Korra for a second before even that was too much work. She stared out in front of her and Korra noticed the haggard expression on her face. The Avatar never assigned the term old to Lin but looking at her now, Korra could only think of Lin as tired.

Korra opened her mouth to ask what was up but Lin beat her to the punch. “If you’re going to lecture me on how terrible smoking is for me, save it,” Lin growled, taking another drag from her cigar. “I already got an earfull from Tenzin when we were dating and even after.”

“Oh, no it’s not that,” Korra said with a friendly smile. “It’s your body, you do you.” Lin had something almost like gratitude on her face but it was snuffed out before Korra could be sure she saw it. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Lin sighed and tapped off the bit of ash at the end of her cigar. “Kuvira’s intell was sound,” she said, her eyes void of emotion.

“But isn’t that a good thing?”

A sarcastic bark of laughter erupted from Lin and the Chief stifled it with a drag. She let the smoke curl out of her mouth a bit before blowing the rest out. Lin watched the cloud rise and be carried off by the wind. “The team I sent found the researchers right when they were screwing around with the spirit vine. Rather than be arrested, the basterds intentionally set off an explosion. They’re all dead, along with twelve civilians,” Lin sighed again and took a long drag. “I just got the call and I needed the fresh air.”

Korra was quiet for a minute as she tried to come up with something inspiring to say. She was the Avatar afterall, it was her job to help people. But her mind only came up blank as she watched Lin smoke her cigar. “Do you want to talk about it?” she offered.

“What’s there to talk about?” Lin bit back. “I get intell from Kuvira, I send a team of two of my officers to check it out, it turns out to be true, and they get blown up.” Lin leaned into the bench and looked at the remainder of the cigar. There was only a fourth of the cigar left. “Maybe I’m getting too old for this shit,” she mused, more to herself than to anyone.

“What!?” Korra exclaimed, unable to believe that what she just heard came out of Lin. She could never imagine Republic City without its grouchy but hardworking Chief of Police. “You’re the best chief that ever existed. You can’t leave the force!”

The words did seem to lighten Lin’s spirits because she chuckled, even if it was a bit weak. “The only other chiefs that you can compare me to are my mother and that jelly-spined Saikhan. My mother allowed my sister to escape when she was caught up with the Triple Triads and gave me this.” Lin pointed to the scars on her face and had to bite back another bark of sarcastic laughter at the shock on Korra’s face. “What? Su never told you? Well, I suppose that makes five people in the world that know the truth now.”

“Five?” Korra repeated. Counting herself, Lin, Su, and Toph, four people knew where the scars came from. But who could be-

“Asami,” Lin said before Korra could ask. “I got drunk and began to wallow in my past regrets. I don’t know why I told her, it doesn’t make these scars less hideous.”

“They’re not hideous,” Korra immediately protested. “They’re you.”

Lin shrugged away the compliment and took another drag from her cigar but found that as they were talking, the cigar had gone out. “I don’t know why I’m telling you either,” she said. She patted down her side and took out a box of matches. Lin opened it but found it empty. “Perfect,” she growled.

Korra held up her hand. “Here, let me.” She snapped her fingers and a small flame came out. She could have fire bend without the theatrics but where was the fun in that?

“Thanks,” Lin grunted and grabbed Korra’s wrist. She didn’t exactly trust the Avatar to light her cigar for her without getting burnt. Lin brought the hand closer to the cigar and relit it with a few puffs. Once she let go, the flame Korra was creating sputtered out.

“You shouldn’t resign over this. Those two officers knew and understood the risks,” Korra said gently. Lin didn’t say anything, she only took another drag. Korra took that as a good sign to continue. “They were trying to protect the people they love and stranger alike when they went to investigate the research facility. We should honor them for that.”

Lin glanced at Korra and looked back at the world playing out in front of her. People were walking about, blissfully unaware of the tragedy that occurred less than an hour ago. They don’t even know their way of life was being threatened at that very moment by people who still held Kuvira on a pedestal. They believed they were safe and protected and because of that belief, they were able to lead happy lives. It was her job to keep that belief intact. “Fine, I won’t give up my badge just yet. But once this mess with the spirit vines is cleaned up, I’m retiring.” Lin gave a thoughtful sigh. “Maybe I’ll join my mother at the swamp or find my own little secluded piece of paradise.”

“Asami won’t like that,” Korra joked. Lin said nothing and took another drag, the cigar almost at the end of its life. “Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.”

Korra rolled her eyes but knew they were on thin ice in the middle of a blizzard. “Is it different?” Lin turned her head to look at Korra so the younger woman tried again. “Is you being with Asami different than when you were with Tenzin?”

Lin’s eyes were guarded like she thought Korra was trying to trick her but she answered nonetheless. “It’s as different as a lion turtle is to a koala sheep.” Lin took the last drag from her cigar and dropped it to the ground. She smooshed the remains of her cigar with the bottom of her metal shoe and bent down to grab the ruined remains. “Thinking about it, I only really dated Tenzin because I thought it was expected of me. I mean, Aang and my mother were best friends so they just assumed we would end up together.” Lin’s face twisted with repulsion. “It was like I was following my duty instead of my heart. With Asami though,” a small smile crept on her face like Lin wasn’t aware of it herself. Korra was glad Lin’s feet were covered because she would probably feel her heart pound through the earth. “It’s so easy and fulfilling. She’s full of passion and life. Asami dedicates herself to the thing she loves most and she chose her path, unlike Tenzin who was just doing what his father expected him to do.”

“Yeah,” Korra agreed, “but he ended up loving his job. Kind of like you.” She bumped her shoulders with Lin and was somewhat surprised the older woman responded with a roll of her eyes instead of a threat. “Better?”

The Chief of Police nodded with a grunt. “I should check on the buffoons before one of them breaks something,” she said as she got up. “About a couple days ago, when I left with Asami.” Her cheeks were slightly flushed with embarrassment. “I shouldn’t have done that in front of you.”

Korra couldn’t help it. She laughed so hard she snorted. “No way! Asami” she had to take a moment to catch her breath as her sides began to hurt, “Asami put you in the polarbeardog house!” She wiped away the tears of mirth from her eyes as she grinned cockily at Lin. “Did she make you write an apology note to me?” Korra knew she had absolutely no room to talk. She spent that night masturbating to the two women but Lin didn’t know that.

Anything resembling companionability was wiped from Lin’s face as she gave Korra a forceful, “Have a good day, Avatar.” The Chief marched back to the building, chucking the dead cigar into the trash. She slammed the door shut when she entered the building which caused a poor recruit to cry out in alarm and drop his stack of paperwork.

Korra chuckled to herself but the laughter was quickly dying out. She looked at the door that Lin had marched through and sighed. “Good luck,” she said to the closed door. Korra got up from the bench and made her way to Air Temple Island, wondering if Lin really was better after their impromptu talk. It certainly did wonders to her confusion about what she felt towards Lin.

#lok #legend of korra #korra #avatar korra #lin #lin beifong #bolin #korrasami #linorra #linsami #linorrasami #three is (not) a crowd

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darklorddiscourse · 7 years

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The Bird, the Snake, and the Panther 4

@riddlemostpowerful @tolcveistodestrcy

Before we start, I have a small disclaimer. There will be a lot of headcanons and parts of Ava’s story that are unspoken, or at least not published or out in the open yet. Most of what I will be drawing on here are the implications of the nature of Ava’s relationship with Riddle, most starting from the Horcrux AU. Specifically the thread where Riddle first has her dress in Victorian clothing. The other thing I will be talking about is Ava’s magic. Also, I am expanding beyond just Horcrux AU, some headcanons and such will be drawing more on my historical verses (1920, 1940/50).

Right, so, let’s get started. From the top, everyone!

Meeting the Master

“Gellert knew that Todd was someone, who had it in his guts to disrespect authority and enjoy a good laugh every now and then. He even dared to prank Grindelwald himself. And still Gellert kept him around. He did not mind him too much. He needed his connections. And he had put Todd in his place. Anderson knew not to cross the line.” (Gellert Grindelwald) This is the first parallel that falls outside of the Dark Lords. In this instance, she parallels Todd. Ava is, has been, and always will be cheeky. She has a tendency to be disrespectful to those with power and loves to mess with them (for example, calling Tom “Mrs. Grimmwood”). And yet, they seem to keep her around, as with the Horcrux AU and now Dark Lords Ascending. Perhaps it is because of her disrespect that they find her interesting, as it certainly poses a challenge in trying to break and/or tame her and her acid tongue.

And then there’s the idea of aliases. “It was funny how much on a jump the boy was. All because of a glamour. Grindelwald enjoyed this game of cards, this game of masks. It had a certain entertainment to itself.” (Gellert Grindelwald) Like Gellert, Ava enjoys people’s reactions to her own aliases and glamours. The main one she uses, Lydia Cromwell, draws on her power and what she’s learned from observing pureblood society, leading people to treat her differently than they would if they knew she was, in fact, a muggleborn. (I promise you that you will be seeing more of this alias in the future.) She does have another less common alias, but it is one that is a bit more interesting to her in people’s reactions. Where Lydia is the more high society, English alias, Ava has an alias for her Asian side. When she is under this glamor, she chooses to speak little English, causing interesting dynamics between her and others. She finds it amusing how people treat her differently when they assume she knows no English. In fact, this is one of her favorite ways to gather intel, as people talk freely when they think you don’t understand. “Though he always made sure that ‘Grimmwood’ played down his magical talent. Being labelled a servant brought this clear advantage. People assumed you had lesser power.” (Gellert Grindelwald)

“’Sir, my life up until this point has almost entirely consisted of constant study. I’m fascinated by magic, obsessed by it, even.’ Tom admitted readily, hoping that Grindelwald didn’t wish for him to delve too deeply into his childhood. The last thing he wanted to divulge was his poor upbringing, the orphanage, the war with Germany, the shortages of food…there was an entire host of reasons he would need to keep his past a secret.” (Tom Riddle) And here we go back to paralleling Ava’s favorite person. Since the moment she found out about magic, and later her magical inheritance, she has devoted herself to studying it as much as she can, given her limited resources. One of the first things ever written for her states, “Ever since she was little, she had been intrigued by dark magic and, giving into the temptation, began to study it closely.” (Ava Davenport) It should also be mentioned, or at least I feel that it’s worth mentioning that her devoted study to magic with limited resources is the reason that in her main verses she does not possess or use a wand. All her magic is done wandless and much of it is wordless (see paragraph below). The parallel of this passage goes further in the idea of Ava not wanting to bring up her past to anyone. “’I don’t want to talk about it.’ It wasn’t a lie. She didn’t. She never did. It was something she would keep locked up in the deepest depths of her being.” (Ava Davenport, on her time in the institution)

“Gellert answered: ‘I see. I can understand where your talent comes from. Being fascinated by magic can often lead you down surprising and intriguing paths. Though few people would dare it. They are scared. Scared of anormalities. I speak of experience.’” (Gellert Grindelwald) This is something I have found that seems to tie all three of them together; the idea of a fascination of magic and being feared because of it. For Ava, the fear came from someone she should have been able to trust: her mother. “Scattered all over the room, books on myths and magic and things whose existence was denied. And with them were papers, written in the clumsy writing of a child. When Ava’s mother tried to take them away, she was hit with a gust of wind too strong to have come from the windows. Ava stood in the middle, scowling. Her mother was terrified. There had been stories about people like this, rumors passed down through the decades. Tales of ‘gifted’ children whisked away to another world, and the wars that had occurred because of them. Ava would never forget the look of horror on her mother’s face, as it twisted into rage.” (Ava Davenport) “You see, fear is a funny thing. Especially fear of your own child. It can drive you to things you would never do otherwise. To her mother, Ava was a ticking time bomb of unpredictability. She was a wildlife, powerful and strong, but nearly impossible to contain. As she grew, so did her mother’s fear. It became so consuming that it turned into almost a pure hatred for her daughter.” (Ava Davenport) However, despite her mother’s hatred, actions, and eventual disinheritance, Ava never stopped studying. But because she had to hide everything, she ended up teaching herself how to perform magic not only without a wand, but also without words, as any verbal spells would alert her mother to her continued studies.

“Could two different people share the same signature? Perhaps those who are trained by the same individual can have similar patterns for magic. Maybe they were…lovers? Gabriel was quite young and becoming, after all. Perhaps he was somewhat of a ‘trophy’ for Grindelwald?” (Tom Riddle) For Ava, this goes back to the lovers parallel with Riddle, but also goes a bit further, as their signatures are somewhat similar. As Gellert describes, “I can feel yours as well. It’s fiery, energetic, wild and impulsive. But there is also a certain sweetness in it. Like candy or something.” (Gellert Grindelwald on Tom) and “It was innocent but also wild and free, a crazy tangle of dark and fair magic. The taste was rich and pure. But also a bit messed up. As if the aura could not decide what to do.” (Gellert Grindelwald on Ava) For the record, no, I did not plan to make her aura parallel his. I merely went with what I thought it would be like and this was the result.

“Gellert let his eyes lock with Tom’s and answered: ‘I am a revolutionary and a visionary. However I also am a man, who does not wear his heart on his sleeves. I am a man of mysterys and a man of secrets. I am more then what people see.’” (Gellert Grindelwald) “This was a man that knew his limits, a man that was familiar with that magic he possessed and intended on using every bit of it to his benefit and the benefit of mankind…To consider one’s self a revolutionary meant that he had plans for this world, plans for humanity that he needed to put into action.” (Tom Riddle) While it’s not 100% fully developed (as I’m still figuring out her role as a dark witch), Ava has dreams and plans of changing the world both muggle and wizarding and will do anything to accomplish it. In fact, it’s been mentioned multiple times by now that her own ambitions are not too far off from her dark wizard counterparts. Not exactly the same, but close enough to be potentially considered a successor of theirs. But as usual, she holds her cards and heart close to herself. To this day, no one knows everything about her. Not even those who believe they have her pinned down. There’s always something that she conceals from them, such as her relationship with someone (as with Grindelwald), her intentions and source of knowledge (as with DLA Tom), or her magic (as with Horcrux Riddle). The main difference between her and those she is following in the footsteps of is that Ava never has been and never will be a villain. She is an anti-hero at best. There is a reason her alignment is chaotic good. Her intentions, while misguided at times, are generally to help rather than harm. She just doesn’t choose to play it safe and lawful in the way she goes about achieving her goals.

#get that girl a muzzle (personal thoughts)#bane of my existence (tom riddle)#Scheiss drauf ich hol’ die Bullen (Gellert Grindelwald)#muggle trash (stuff about ava)

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