#and it felt right; i like sun's character and her story echoes a lot with my childhood (not exactly but there's similarities) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nightingale-ghost-writer · 1 year

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Convallaria Majalis [Alex Keller x Fem!Reader]

Summary: Trusting people is hard, especially when they’ve let you down so horribly before. But you trust Kate, and Kate trusts Alex. And trusting Alex? Well that might just change your entire life.

Author’s Notes: I put a lot of thought and time into the title of this one, and finally settled on Convallaria Majalis- Lily of the Valley. In the language of flowers, they mean “the return of happiness”. The plants themselves have extensive underground root systems that spread quickly, unnoticed, and can easily overtake a large area and other plants with little to no indication it’s happening until it’s happened. That also happened with this story. What I’d planned on being a ~10K fic has become a whopping 19.2 words… I can’t say I’m sorry. I hope that theme carries through what I’ve written, and I hope all of you who read it enjoy the reading as much as I enjoyed the writing. Lastly, a big shout to @chaoskrakenuwu for proofreading this for me, and the whole Uselss discord for your anticipation and encouragement. Love you all. ❤️

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from Modern Warfare

Warnings: language, canon-typical violence, suggestive content, drug usage, attempted date-rape (NOTHING graphic or explicit, implied more than stated)

It was a beautiful, sunny, colorful Virginia afternoon, just like every other you’d had so far this week. The weather was just warm enough to heat your skin in the sun, just cool enough to feel chilly in the shade. You’d brought a smart-looking blazer along that morning, just in case, but it was slung across your messenger bag, unneeded in the balmy weather. You’d stopped by your favorite coffee stand on your lunch break, let yourself be flirted with by the teenaged barista, and now walked briskly into Langley, swirling your iced espresso as you went. Your heels clicked on the tiled floor, echoing through the near-sterile hallway. You smiled and nodded at your colleagues as you went, stopping just short of the elevators when you heard your name.

You turned to see Kate Laswell half jogging down the hall to catch you up. “What are you working on right now?”

All traces of your smile dropped at her serious tone. “Coding. Why do you ask?”

“Hand it off, you’re coming with me. I need you on the ground.” She flashed you an apologetic look. “I need someone I can trust.”

Your spine straightened, field training falling over you like a sheet. “Yes ma’am.”

Kate had already hustled past you, but threw a smirk over her shoulder. “None of that ��ma’am’ shit, Trip. You know my name.” She waved a hand over her head, calling back “Twenty minutes to brief!”

You didn’t bother answering her, punching the button for the fifteenth floor. You rolled your shoulders back, taking in a deep breath. You’d been off the field for nearly a year, after almost losing an arm in a firefight. Physical therapy had lasted for months, and trauma therapy for months after that. You’d been working out of the main Langley offices, mostly programming, while you healed. You couldn’t deny that you were itching to be back on the ground. But you hadn’t been expecting to be pulled by Kate Laswell of all people.

The elevator couldn’t move fast enough, your tapping foot the only evidence of your growing impatience. When you reached your floor, your director met you at the elevator.

“Kate find you yet?” You nodded. He grunted irritably. “Why on Earth she felt she needed you specifically is beyond me, but I wish she could’ve found someone else.” Harsh as he sounded, you took his words for what they were- disappointment at losing one of his best assets.

“Don’t worry, sir. I’ll be back before you know it.” A look passed over his face that you couldn’t quite name. Wariness? Resignation?

After a moment, he shook his head. “I hope so,” he muttered. Then he turned his back to you, stalking down the hall to his office. Something about this whole thing seemed off, but you couldn’t focus on that right now. You watched him go for a moment before shrugging the whole odd encounter off and making a beeline for your desk.

There, you logged into your desktop to forward the files you’d been working on and to set an automatic response on your emails before pulling your locker out from its place beneath your desk. The tiny key felt both foreign and familiar as you turned it for the first time since your injury.

You took a deep breath, then swung open the locker. In it were all of the pieces of your old life, your real life; your tactical vest and black fatigues, a black bodysuit, wigs, changes of clothes, a duffle, and, nestled into the side pouch, your beloved Sig Sauer P228.

You yanked the duffel out and open, shoving most of the clothes into it along with your tac vest. Then you pulled out the black leather shoulder holster you’d worn every day for four years, stroking the pliable material fondly. You donned it, tightened the straps, and pulled your blazer over it before holstering your gun. You hefted your duffel and took one last look around the office, wondering absentmindedly when, if, you’d be back. Then you marched for the elevator, scanning your badge to access the basement level where Kate set up shop when she worked out of Langley.

Ten minutes ago, when you’d spoken with her, you didn’t have access. Now you did. She worked fast, you’d give her that.

The doors slid open, silent as ever, and you clicked into Kate’s lair.

The room was dark, cold, and quiet. Servers and bookshelves lined the walkway, directing you to a large table scattered with documents and folders. A single laptop cast a soft glow on the corkboard behind it. Just as you reached the table, a low voice startled you out of your focus.

“Who are you?” You whipped around, coming nose to… well, chin, with someone. You tilted your head, looking up to meet a pair of cold, grey-blue eyes. The man glaring down at you had a handsome, chiseled face, visible even under his overgrown goatee and beard. In the low light, you couldn’t quite tell what color his tousled hair was- blond, maybe? Or a light brown?

He shifted, leaning back on his heels and crossing his heavily tattooed arms across his broad chest as he towered over you. He tilted his head, sizing you up, just as you were him. He’d sure be pretty, if not for that scowl.

Before you could answer him, Kate’s voice cut in. “She’s your new partner, Alex. Introduce yourself, and play nice.”

Alex’s brows shot up, stance relaxing immediately. He looked back to you, curiosity replacing the mistrust in his eyes. You reached toward him and offered your name. When his hand clasped yours, it dwarfed you- his fingers nearly touched his palm.

“Alex Keller,” he replied. You could tell he was deliberately keeping a looser grip than he would normally use, and you squeezed hard once. That made him grin, and he tightened his grip incrementally before releasing you to turn toward Kate. “Now Kate, what’s all this about? You know I was this close to finding those guns.” He held his thumb and forefinger together in front of him, making Kate roll her eyes.

“Yes, well, Trip was busy too. But I have a delicate assignment and I need people I can trust.” She leveled you both with a look. “This is highly sensitive, top secret, all that bullshit. Do you both understand?”

You nodded, standing up straighter, and saw Alex do the same in your peripheral vision.

“Station Chief Harding has come under recent suspicion for drug trafficking.” You and Alex shared a startled glance. A CIA station chief? “We believe he’s using a club in Amsterdam as his cover. As I’m sure you both know, if Dutch officials were to find him in possession, it could jeopardize our operations there.”

“Ma’am, I don’t mean to question orders,” said Alex. He paused, only continuing when Kate nodded to him. “Shouldn’t the teams in Amsterdam be the ones looking into this?”

“No. I need people that Harding won’t recognize. I hand picked both of you for this one. I trust in your abilities to work without supervision, and to be discreet.” Kate held Alex’s gaze, nodding toward you. “And I’m trusting you to protect her.” Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Alex bend in your direction. He was still facing Kate, but he seemed to lean involuntarily toward you. Your own posture shifted, your hands coming up to rest on your elbows as you shuffled your feet.

“Protect me?”

When Kate looked toward you, she didn’t look happy. “You’re going in as one of the… workers at the club.” She paused, letting her words sink in. Your heartbeat slowed before kicking back into gear at twice the pace. Alex was watching you carefully, brow furrowed. He hadn’t put it together yet. But Kate had read the look on your face before you had even realized it was there. She reached out, laying one hand on your forearm and one on Alex’s bicep. “I wouldn’t send you in if I didn’t think you could do it. And Alex is the best man for this job. He will not let anything happen to you, okay?”

“Kate?” Alex’s open face had closed off somewhat, suspicion lacing his lips and his words. “What am I protecting her from? What’s going on?”

“I’m going in as a waitress in a strip club.” Kate shook her head, looking ready to protest. “Dance club. Whatever.” Alex’s head snapped in your direction, mouth falling open in silent protest. You spoke again before he could interject. “And you’re going to make sure Harding and his men don’t kill me if he finds out.”

There was an awful beat of silence before Alex wrenched his arm out from under from Kate’s touch, sputtering in indignance. “Now hold on-” he began. But you couldn’t hear him. A cacophonous tunnel of white noise had enveloped you while he argued with Kate; all you could hear were the voices of the last pair of agents who had been assigned guard duty for a mission like this, back when it had been a strip club.

“We could do better without her,”, “It’s not like she’s in any real danger,”, “You really expect us to babysit a girl in a strip club when we could be accomplishing something real?” You’d heard it all before, the night you’d returned to base with your arm limp and nearly detached at your side. Those two had blown into the back room, overconfident and uncaring. The target had pulled out a knife that “miraculously” made it past the club’s security and nearly cut your arm off before your partners killed him.

It hadn’t been Kate’s mission. When she’d found out, she’d summarily fired both of the agents and the special agent in charge. That knowledge did little to ease your anxiety. You trust her you told yourself.

You vaguely heard her, calmly explaining that Harding was well known for surrounding himself with scantily clad young women, both on and off duty. “It’s the easiest thing to exploit!” Everything sounded muffled, as though you were underwater.

“You can’t put her in a direct line of fire just because it’s easy! We have to figure something else out!” Alex’s roaring yanked you back to reality. You turned to look at him, then- to really look at him. His chest rose and fell quickly, eyes glinting and jaw set. One hand reached protectively out and back toward you. Somehow in the midst of the conversation, he’d angled himself between you and Kate. You wondered if he’d even noticed. And in that moment, that singular subconscious gesture, and his vehement opposition to the plan, you saw why Kate had chosen you both, why she felt confident enough to ask you to walk back into the fire. A seed burrowed under your skin, into your chest, latching onto the side of your heart.

Gently, you laid a hand on his shoulder. He seemed to unwind beneath your fingertips, tension sapping out of his muscles. He turned his head, pursing his lips as though about to speak. “I’ll do it,” you said. He froze, eyes scanning your features. Whatever he was looking for, he found. He nodded once, sharply, and lowered his hand as he turned away from you both.

“Fine.” There was a resignation in his voice that made your heart clench. Kate let out a silent sigh of relief, meeting your gaze. You nodded at her. She turned to the table behind her, picking up two case files and extending one to each of you.

“Your flight leaves in two hours.” With two quick “yes ma’am”s, you and Alex moved for the door. He darted forward, holding it open for you and not quite meeting your eyes. You murmured a quiet thanks and scurried through, turning to hold the elevator door open for him when you stepped in. He ducked his head in thanks, pressing the button for the ground floor and retreating to the far side of the elevator.

Neither of you spoke a word, not even looking at each other until the door opened and he waved a hand for you to go first. You did, exchanging small smiles, and then went your separate ways. You turned as you reached the front doors, catching just a glimpse of his puzzled face as he examined you from the garage before disappearing into it.

There was a certain disappointment in leaving behind your duffel. You laid it reverently on the shelf in your closet, stroking the side of it and tucking your handgun back inside. You felt vulnerable, leaving it all at home. But there was no place for anything in it on this mission.

In the two hours you’d been given, you managed to walk home and pack a different suitcase with a wide variety of clothes, get a cab, and make it through airport security. You arrived at the gate just as they announced early boarding, catching a glimpse of a tall head of ashy hair stepping through the bridge. You walked to the counter, scanned your ticket, and smiled at the girl who thanked you for your service. You kept your eyes down as you walked, shuffling through the narrow space. You only raised them when someone stood from their seat, dark boots blocking your way.

You’d changed into sneakers and without your heels, your eyes barely came to Alex’s shoulders. He smiled lopsidedly, offering you a hand. “Take your bag?” he asked. His voice was low and smooth, just a hint of gravel in it. You unslung your backpack, handing it to him with a grateful smile. He reached up to stow it in the overhead compartment and your eyes fixed on the rippling muscles of his arms. Pretty, indeed. “You can take the window seat if you want,” he said.

You slid between his lithe body and the seat, not giving him any opportunity to rescind his offer. He chuckled as he lowered himself into the aisle seat, giving you an amused look.

You shrugged. “You offered.”

“I did.” His eyes sparkled as he quickly looked you up and down. You allowed yourself a glance over him, as well. In the brightly lit airplane, you could see him much more clearly. His hair was an ashy brown, just as mussed as when you’d first seen him, with a wavy pair of cuts in the side you weren’t sure were intentional. His skin was tan, even under the line work covering his arms from the wrists up, and his face was lightly freckled. And his eyes, locked on you, were the stormy, slate grey of the roiling ocean, just a hint of blue in their depths.

You’d also looked him up, in your brief trip home.

His entire file had been redacted. So, you dug deeper as quickly as you could to find his file from before. Most of that file had been redacted, too. There had been single visible words scattered throughout the pages you skimmed. Efficient. Intentional. Empathetic. Cautious. And beneath his file photo, taken with the same ridiculous houndstooth scarf he’d worn both when you met him and now, a lone, lonely squad designation. Delta.

You blinked back to the present, zeroing in on his raised eyebrows. You blushed, having been caught staring, and turned to face the window. “So how long have you been doing this?” you asked. Alex took so long to answer that you looked up, only to find him turning his head away. Almost as though he’d been staring, too.

He cleared his throat. “‘Bout ten years now. What about you?”

“Depends.” He cocked his head, studying you. “I worked in the field for four years before they made me a desk jockey. And I was in the Navy for a couple of years before that.”

A look of pride crossed Alex’s face. “No kidding. Army. Six years.”

You smiled wide, turning to better face him in the narrow seat. “I have a feeling we’ll get along just fine.

A quiet dinging noise roused you from your dozing. You shuffled a bit, turning into your pillow, until it moved.

Your eyes flew open, head snapping up.

Your cheeks burned when you realized you must have fallen asleep on Alex’s shoulder. You’d both talked about your time with the military, being snatched up by the CIA, and what you did now- all in hushed tones, of course. You’d leaned together, foreheads nearly touching, and whispered stories to each other for several hours until you’d convinced him to try to sleep. He’d spent the last 24 hours flying to DC from the Middle East, and now he was back on a plane to Europe.

You registered mild surprise that you’d fallen asleep, yourself. You’d been tired, but sleeping on planes had never come easy to you. Not to mention your trust issues. You seldom so much as rested your eyes around new people.

He was still sleeping now, head angled toward you and arms crossed over his chest. The dark circles you’d noticed under his eyes hadn’t lightened yet, but you knew they would take time to fade. His chest rose and fell slowly, lips twitching slightly under the curled ends of his comically large mustache. You heaved a sigh, looking up to see what had woken you. As you did, the pilot announced your descent into Amsterdam. The glowing seatbelt sign accounted for the sound you’d heard. You fastened your seatbelt, then glanced at Alex’s lap, hoping his would be on, too.

It wasn’t.

Gingerly, you reached around him, lifting the fallen belt from the side of his seat. Just as you clicked the two pieces into place, Alex’s hands shot out and gripped your wrists like vices. You froze, looking up at him as he stared through you in a haze. His eyes darted across your face before he seemed to recognize his surroundings, recognize you, and his hold loosened.

His eyes flicked down to his hands on you and he recoiled, horror sweeping over his handsome face. “‘M sorry,” he breathed. He sat up straight, wriggling away from you, hands suspended halfway between you both where they seemed to reach for you, but clasped nothing. “Did I hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” you said quickly. Panic laced his voice in equal parts with the rasp of sleep, and his eyes flew over your arms as though he didn’t believe you. Cautiously, you reached for him, laying a hand on his forearm. You lowered your head, barely succeeding in catching his frantic gaze. “You didn’t hurt me.” He swallowed hard, nodded, and scrubbed his hands down his face slowly.

“We’re landing?” he asked.

“Mhmm.” You turned your back, leaning toward the window to give Alex a moment to collect himself. It didn’t take long for him to lean forward in an attempt to see around you. You glanced at him, offering a smile that he returned tiredly. “I always love looking at the lights. They’re so pretty.”

He said nothing, but you could feel his stare heavy on your face. You said nothing else to each other as the plane landed. Alex stood as soon as the seatbelt light flashed off, reaching up to pull down his duffel and your backpack. Rather than hand it to you, though, he slung it over his own shoulder, holding a hand out to gesture you forward.

“After you,” he said.

You arched an eyebrow as you passed. “Such a gentleman.” The only response you got to that was a low chuckle.

You were able to get your bags, a cab, and to the safehouse within the next hour, punching in the door code and flipping on the lights. The house was narrow, but far deeper than you’d expected. The kitchen was stocked with various MREs and canned goods, a large office tucked behind it. When you both trudged up the stairs, you found a library and a fully stocked weapons room.

You squealed about the Dutch classics you found, while Alex lamented his general illiteracy of the language. When you offered to read to him, he gave you the softest look you thought you might have ever seen. You moved to the weapons room, taking your time admiring the stash, murmuring to each other about your favorite guns and attachments, before moving up to the third story in search of bedrooms. There were two, side by side with a bathroom and tiny loft on the other side of the long hall.

“I’ll take this one,” said Alex, moving to the first door. He shrugged at your curious look. “Closer to the stairs.”

You gawked, moved by his thoughtfulness. That seed burst, spreading roots in your veins and the cavity between your ribs. Alex shifted uncomfortably under your stare, mumbling that you could have that room if you really wanted it. You shook your head.

“I see why Laswell likes you,” you said. A brief shock flashed in his eyes before he carefully schooled his face, shrugging again.

“I like to think I’m alright,” he quipped.

Acting on a rush of boldness you’d later explain away as getting into character, you deliberately looked him up and down, basking in the blush you could see rising on his cheeks. “More than alright.”

You sauntered into your room, withholding a giggle at the choked noise Alex made as you went.

“You go ahead and shower. I’ll get started on our case file,” you called. If Alex answered, you didn’t hear. But when you finished unpacking and walked into the hall, the shower was running and the bathroom door was shut.

You walked downstairs, pausing in the kitchen and debating on dinner. You weren’t really hungry, but was Alex? You’d find out when he came down. You stepped into the office, planting yourself in the desk chair and booting up the computer. Once you had it open, you considered trying to dig a little deeper into your teammate. You strained your ears; you could still hear the water running. You had at least a couple of minutes, more time than you’d need.

But something stopped you. You weren’t sure if it was a sense of owing him, or general guilt for snooping. Or maybe the hope that he’d tell you himself, someday. Either way, you opted to open the encrypted files Kate had sent instead. You were scanning everything she had on Harding when you heard Alex come down the stairs. For such a large man, he walked remarkably quietly. However, the floorboards’ soft squeaking gave him away as he stepped into the doorway.

“Looks like the club manager is one of Kate’s contacts,” you mumbled. Your chin rested in your hand, muffling your speech. “Though how, I’m not-” You turned then and promptly lost your train of thought.

Alex stood in the doorway in a grey t-shirt and a dark pair of sweats, barefoot and still damp. His hair shone, sticking up at odd angles, and the t-shirt stuck to his sculpted chest in all the most delicious places. If he noticed that you hadn’t finished your sentence, he gave no indication. He was squinting at the computer screen, leaned slightly forward.

“Hmm, seems like your run of the mill manager at least.” You were grateful that he didn’t seem to notice your fixation on his muscles, his own eyes fixed on the screen. He’d taken the few steps into the office in order to lean over your shoulder, one hand resting on the desk. You could feel the heat radiating from his chest to your back, and you took a shaky breath. You watched him scan the file out of the corner of your eye, then a grimace crossed his face. He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest, and you felt suddenly freezing from the loss.

“You sure you’re okay with this?”

You turned the chair, pulling your feet up and wrapping your arms around your knees. Alex was studying you, scowling as he did. He seemed to zero in on the scars beneath the sleeve of your t-shirt. You pulled on it reflexively, regardless of the fact that the sleeve wouldn’t cover anything, and watched as a guilty look crossed his face.

“I’m okay with it.”

“What happened to your arm?”

“The last guys who ran an op like this with me didn’t take it as seriously as you seem to.” Alex flinched, arms falling to his sides. His expressive eyebrows shot up, then lowered again. That adorable little furrow between them surfaced while his lips worked silently, seeming not to find the words he wanted. “I got caught because they didn’t stick to the plan. They thought they knew better. I nearly had my arm cut off.” You lifted it, showing him the straight, vertical incision scar that ran from elbow to bicep from the surgery to repair the breaks in the bone. A patch of raised, much more ragged scarring ran horizontally on the outside where the knife had torn through your flesh.

Alex’s expression was pained as he examined it, eyes finally lifting to yours. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” His voice was low and determined. He was still frowning, but there was a softness to it. “Okay?”

You nodded, lowering your arm to wrap around your legs again. “Okay.” You watched each other for a long time, tilting heads one way and the other as you took each other in. Finally, Alex cocked his head over his shoulder.

“C’mon, let’s get something to eat.”

You were woken the next morning by a gentle rapping on your door. When you opened it, bleary-eyed and somewhat unsteady, you found an equally groggy Alex on the other side.

“‘M gonna take a run, wanna come with?”

You nodded, yawning. “Give me five?”

He nodded, shuffling to the loft and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

You brushed your teeth and picked up a light sweater, pulling a baseball cap over your hair, and slouched into the hall. There was a murmured agreement to find coffee as you locked the safehouse, and then you were off.

The run was mostly quiet, silence broken only by the sounds of your breaths in the crisp morning air and birds twittering from the tree lines. It was comfortable. By the time you found a nice coffeehouse, taking cups out to sit at a little table on the sidewalk, you both seemed to have woken up.

“I was thinking,” began Alex.

“Sounds dangerous,” you quipped. His answering playful glare made your heart skip a beat.

“How early do you have to get to the club?” he asked.

“Eight o’clock.” When you’d opened the wardrobe in your room the night before, you’d found several “uniforms”, complete with weaponized jewelry and heels, and a slip of paper with a time and door codes. You’d glared at the outfits, hummed appreciatively at the cleverly hidden blades and USB drive, and memorized the door codes before tearing up the paper and flushing it down the toilet.

Alex hesitated. He watched his coffee as he swirled it slowly.

“You need to show up separately from me,” you said. He breathed out, nodding. “I’ll be fine.”

He looked up, unconvinced. “I have done this before, you know,” you teased. His gaze flicked quickly to and from your arm as he forced a smile.

“I know. I just don’t like the idea of letting you out of my sight.”

Your heart warmed at that, and you reached out to lay your hand on his. “It’ll be okay.”

There was some more quiet discussion about how you’d both get in and what exactly you had planned once you infiltrated Harding’s space, and then it was back to the safehouse. You both poured over all of the files Kate had sent, studying the blueprints and quizzing each other on them, and then walked to the market for lunch.

You’d found familiar foods- potatoes, hearty vegetables, and a roast small enough for two- and made your way back to the safehouse to cook. Alex had cut the vegetables while you’d seasoned the roast, finally putting it all together in a large pyrex pan to bake. As you straightened up from closing the oven, Alex asked “So how’d you get your name? ‘Trip’?”

And as though the fates had written it, you’d turned to answer him only to slip on the water you’d dripped just before when you’d washed your hands. Your arms windmilled out as you tilted backward. Before you could fall, Alex’s strong hands gripped you, one wrapping around your waist and one sliding up your spine to rest on the back of your head. He’d leapt forward, feet planted firmly on either side of you as he pulled you forward. When your chest bumped his, you looked up at him breathlessly. He hadn’t let go of you yet.

“Pretty much just like that.”

He barked a laugh, releasing his hold on you almost reluctantly. “Just like that?” “Well, no. I fell the first time.” He laughed again while you regaled him with tales of your legendary clumsiness, embellishing anything you could to make the stories even funnier than they already were.

You retreated to the library, making good on your promise to read the Dutch classics aloud as Alex listened with rapt attention. After several chapters, you paused and turned to him. He’d stretched out along the coach by the window, head pillowed on his arm. The midday sun filtered through the warped panes, casting him in a soft glow that turned his hair to honey and his eyes to the clear blue of a still lake. His eyes were fixed on you. They had been since you’d started reading and, even as the sunlight and his exhausted body tried to pull him away to sleep, they kept him tethered to wakefulness.

“Do you understand any of what I’m reading?”

“Not a word.” Your giggle made him smile.

“Why don’t you take a nap? I’ll wake you when the food’s done.” When he looked like he might protest, you tilted your head at him. “Can you honestly tell me jet lag isn’t kicking your ass right now?”

“No,” he grumbled, relenting and turning onto his back. He raised his free arm, draping it across his eyes. “What about you?”

“I’m not tired. I’m going to read.” He lowered his arm, just a bit, giving you a sidelong glance. “I haven’t flown halfway around the world and back this week,” you singsonged. Alex grunted before lowering his arm across his eyes again.

“Just… don’t let me sleep too long,” he murmured. You hummed in acknowledgement, turning your attention back to your book. You read for some time before standing, stretching, and padding up the stairs to the bathroom. You had just enough time to do your makeup before the timer in the kitchen pinged. When you peeked into the library, Alex had turned in his sleep to face the doorway. The arm that had lay across his eyes now draped across his body, nearly hanging over the side of the couch.

You called his name softly. He stirred, but didn’t open his eyes. You called him again, and he turned his face.

“Alex.” The third time you called him, his eyes snapped open. He turned his head, eyebrows raising as he took in your heavy makeup. You’d lined your eyes with black kohl, brushed on a smoky eye and three layers of mascara, and filled in your brows. You were sure you looked like a different person altogether.

He sat up, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You look great,” he rasped.

“Thanks. Dinner’s ready, you coming down?” He nodded, stretching and yawning.

“Be right there.”

You walked downstairs and were halfway through plating the food when Alex shuffled into the kitchen. You handed him a plate and gestured toward the small table in the corner. The calm quiet of the afternoon had turned foreboding and you both ate in silence. Alex offered to clean up when you were done, so you went back upstairs to get dressed. You felt tense as you did, apprehension tightening your muscles and lungs.

The “uniform” was a black fishnet body suit, skin-tight black minidress, and a pair of pumps with a two-inch platform and a six-inch heel. The only part you didn’t mind was the jewelry- a glittering silver spiked necklace and matching bracelet that you could pull pins out of as weapons if you needed to. The finishing touch was a silver ring housing a miniscule USB drive that you’d programmed yourself; once plugged in, it would copy an entire hard drive in less than five minutes. You were proud of that one.

You pulled it all on, glared at your reflection in the mirror, and applied a coat of cherry red lipstick before stalking out of your room and down the stairs. Alex stood in the entryway, fastening cufflinks in a smart black button down.

It would seem that the man’s back side was just as attractive as his front.

As he heard you come down, he looked up, body going completely still as he looked you slowly head to toe. You felt suddenly self-conscious under his scrutiny. The dress sported a plunging neckline, putting your cleavage on full display, and barely covered your ass. You were grateful that the fishnet bodysuit was solid black around your hips, offering you some tiny slip of modesty.

Alex looked incredibly handsome, himself. He wore a fitted black shirt, complete with a matching tie and vest. It all strained across the hard muscles of his upper body, matching the black slacks that hugged his thighs and a rounded, firm-looking ass. The jacket hung on a peg by the door, ready for him at a moment’s notice. His unruly hair looked as though he might have tried to style it, but it had sprung back to its tousled state of being. His mustache, however, had been waxed into perfect curls at the ends.

He swallowed, hard, and let out a low whistle. His pupils had blown wide, nearly eclipsing the darkened blue of his irises. “You look…” He gestured up and down, clearly coming up empty on compliments.

“Like a cheap whore?”

“No,” he snapped. His lip twitched, mustache trembling with the movement. He reached a hand forward, which you took gratefully as you descended the final few steps. The outrageous heels brought you nearly eye to eye with him, though still not quite. He looked directly at you. “You look stunning. Harding’s a madman if he doesn’t want you as soon as he lays eyes on you.”

The statement sent a shiver through you. It simultaneously ignited a fire low in your belly and a chill at the base of your spine. Alex felt it, and squeezed your hand. “But he can’t have you,” he said lowly. “I won’t let him touch you.” You offered him a shaky smile, trying to control your breathing. You considered asking whether that meant he was a madman, or that he wanted you. But there was no need for that. The heat from that particular question would keep you warm all night.

“So,” you started instead. “I look like an overpriced whore, then?”

Alex groaned, rolling his eyes and shaking you gently. “No, you do not look like a… a…” The blush that flamed up over his cheeks was so endearing that you couldn’t help reaching out to touch his cheek as you chuckled. “You just look gorgeous,” he said softly. The roots between your ribs spread out, twining more tightly into your bones and reaching toward the flesh of your chest.

You smiled. “Thank you.” Your smile faltered as you reached forward, straightening his perfectly straight collar nervously. “You sure you’re going to be able to do this?”

Alex blinked in surprise. “Me? Shouldn’t I be asking you?”

You shook your head, still looking down. “No, you. I know you don’t like the plan, but… it’s a good plan. Are you going to be able to go along with it?” Alex made a confused sound. You looked up at him. “Are you going to be able to you fit in with the men there? Act like you own me, if I need you to get me out?”

Anger churned in his eyes at that. “If it’s going to keep you safe, then… yes.”

“It will,” you whispered.

As you dropped your hands, Alex’s surged up to clasp them. “Just… so long as you know that… that’s not me.”

“I know,” you said, and you were startled by how much you meant it. A sharp honk let you know that your taxi had arrived. You squeezed his hands. “I’ll see you soon?”

“One more thing.” Alex turned to the side table in the entryway, sliding open the drawer and pulling out what looked like a glittering, silver spiked ear cuff. He turned it so that you could see a cleverly concealed earpiece on the back side. He reached up, hesitating with his hands near your ear as though asking permission. You didn’t move and, ever so gently, he reached up and brushed a lock of hair away from your ear. He fiddled with the cuff until the earpiece sat just behind your earlobe. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” Your throat felt suddenly dry, voice coming out in a whisper. He was close enough to touch, close enough to kiss if you wanted to. And you wanted to. But you pulled back, smiling a fake-bright smile, and backed toward the door. “I’ll see you soon!”

Alex leapt forward, opening the door for you. “See you soon,” he echoed. You made your way down the stairs, only turning to look back at the door when you lowered yourself into the cab and murmured the club’s address to the cabbie. Alex stood in the doorway, silhouetted in the light of the hall, until the house’s facade was no longer visible. You let out a long breath, wondering what might happen if circumstances were different.

But there was no time for that. The club was only a few minutes away from the safehouse. You made some final adjustments to your dress, trying in vain to pull it down, before resigning yourself to the lamentable length. Or lack thereof. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself as the cab pulled to the curb. You thanked the cabbie, tipped him, and lifted yourself out of the back seat.

You knew there was a door set into the side of the building that led into the bar storeroom and prep kitchen. Laswell had gotten pictures of you and Alex to your contact, Luca; he knew to expect you, and what you were doing. Much to everyone’s chagrin, though, he had stressed to Kate that he would not and could not afford to acknowledge either of you. Whatever you did, it had to fly under his security’s radar. If you were to be caught, he’d have no link to you, or the CIA.

Typical.

You punched in the door code you’d memorized, holding your breath for the second it took to beep and open. When it did, you slid into the building, the clicking of your heels buried under the pounding bass as you made your way through the prep kitchen. You could hear a young man jabbering away in Dutch as you approached, critiquing the presentation of charcuterie boards and drink trays. He looked up as you approached, eyes roving over you.

“Ah, you’ve finally arrived! Good, good. Mr. Harding and his guests will be here any minute. Let me show you to his preferred room.”

“Bedankt,” you said, and Luca beamed.

“Ah, you know some of our fine language!” he crowed gleefully. He began chattering again, speaking intermittently in Dutch and English as he led you through the private rooms to one at the end of the hall. He opened the door, ushered you in, and then glanced quickly around the room.

“All of Meneer Harding’s business, he conducts from his personal laptop. He will set it there.” He pointed to a narrow shelf that jutted from the wall to cross the wraparound seating built into the sides of the room. “He demands no surveillance in this room and pays handsomely for it. He is very strict.” Luca turned to face you with a deadly serious expression.

“I strongly recommend that you do not try to plant any equipment now. He has a man who will sweep the room prior to his arrival. He is quite thorough.”

“Bedankt, Luca. We appreciate your help.”

He nodded sharply, opening the door and ushering you out with another conspicuous look at your figure as you passed him. “You will bring champagne, charcuterie, and anything else Meneer Harding requests. And if they request nothing, you dance,” he muttered. “Good luck, and Godzijdank.”

While you made your way to the bar, Luca broke off to go to his office. He must have told the bartender to expect you, because he gave you a wary look when you leaned on the bar before handing over what looked like a wristwatch. When you turned it over in your hands, you realized it was a pager. You looked up as you fastened it and the bartender pointed to a tray filled with drinks.

“Booth twelve,” he shouted. You nodded, picking up the tray and turning toward the club. Colorful lights flashed and swept across the floor in time with the throbbing bass pumping through the speakers. Bodies swayed and bounced along, packed together tightly between you and the booths across the dance floor. You straightened your shoulders, lifted the tray above your head, and set off through the throng.

You’d just broken through the bulk of dancers when the door swung wide to reveal Alex, feet planted firmly shoulder-width apart. Your breath stuttered in your lungs. He looked like he belonged here; since you’d left the safehouse, he’d managed to tame his hair. Mostly, at least. It was swept back, but not slicked to his scalp, and several carefully chosen pieces still stood upright. He’d forgone the jacket, and his all-black ensemble helped to blend his broad frame with the surrounding party-goers. His piercing gaze swept the room, landing on you for only a split second before he stalked into the room, heading for the bar.

You managed to keep your feet moving, arriving at the booth and leaning too-far forward with your chest out as you lowered the tray and passed out drinks. The men at the booth whooped, eyeing you appreciatively, but thankfully keeping their hands to themselves as you turned to go back to the bar. Alex stood at the end when you arrived, facing the dance floor. You could feel his gaze heavy on you, but each time you glanced over, he appeared for all the world to be observing the room, bobbing his head lightly along to the music.

Your pager buzzed, the number “06” flashing across the screen, and you picked up another tray of drinks. You delivered them to a table of squealing young girls who shouted that you looked good enough to eat, batted your eyelashes, and sauntered away. You didn’t see any trays when you got back to the bar, and when you looked up at the bartender, he motioned to the floor. “Dance,” he mouthed.

Before you could turn, you felt a warm body press itself to your back. “May I have this dance?” rumbled Alex. His lips brushed your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine as he laid his hands on your hips. You smiled, a wide and savage smile, turning to take hold of his tie and walk backward toward the dancers, pulling him along as you went. He came willingly, swaying along with you until you were pressed together by the people around you.

You raised your hands to the back of his neck, stroking gently as his hands pulled your hips toward him. He leaned forward, pressing his lips just behind your ear. Any onlooker would think he was whispering sweet nothings or dirty secrets. Instead, he was asking “Any word on Harding?”

You turned your own head, pulling him down just enough that you could say “no” into his ear. His hands tightened involuntarily as you did, and you wondered at the goosebumps you could feel under your fingertips. Had those been there before?

After a too-brief time of dancing, your pager buzzed, flashing a bright “03”, and you grudgingly pulled free of Alex’s hold. He reached out a hand after you, and you let your fingers trail down his arm as you backed away. He watched you go, half amused and half like a lost puppy. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he wanted to keep you there.

You picked up a tray of drinks, made your way to the booth, delivered while your pager buzzed again, and cycled back. Half an hour of this later, with momentary excursions into the crowd to dance, and your pager flared up again. This time, the screen only flashed light at you. You looked to the door, and there was Harding. He was flanked by two burly men nearly Alex’s height, and easily just as broad. The three of them pushed through the crowds toward the private rooms, and you rushed to the bar. The bartender had already placed a bottle of champagne on a tray, complete with two crystal flutes, and bustled you off the moment you arrived.

You picked up the tray and hurried down the short hall, pausing with your hand on the doorknob before opening it and walking in. Harding looked up, eyes widening almost imperceptibly as you let your hips sway for the three steps it took to get to the low table. You smiled up through your lashes, crouching to set the tray down on the table.

“May I serve your champagne?” you asked in a low, sultry voice.

Harding leaned back, spreading his arms across the back of his seat. “You may.” He watched your every movement as you opened the bottle, giggling as the foam gushed up and over your fingers. You expertly poured a flute, extending it to him as you leaned across the table. As you did, you rested your free hand next to his laptop in an imitation of maintaining balance. You thumbed your ring, working the USB drive free and sliding it into a port on Harding’s laptop surreptitiously.

“May I bring you anything else?” You pulled your shoulders back, exposing more cleavage in a bid to hold his attention long enough that he would miss the popup on his screen. His eyes never left you, traveling slowly down your body before raising themselves back up to your face. You could barely suppress a shudder of disgust. He cocked his head slightly, leaning further back and taking his time to contemplate.

“No,” he finally said. “Not now.”

You nodded, fluttering your eyelashes, and let your hips sway provocatively as you stepped out. When you turned back to the main club, you saw Alex leaning against the bar nearest the door. The moment he saw you, he ran his tongue along his teeth and grinned wolfishly at you. You wondered what he would taste like if it was your tongue instead. You quickly shook the thought free, striding toward him. You murmured out of the corner of your mouth, hoping you could be heard by your earpiece without being seen. “Putting on a show now, are you?”

He unabashedly let his eyes roam down your frame, and you couldn’t stop the shudder you felt now. But there was no disgust in it. You barely caught his tiny nod, but you scanned the room until your attention caught on a man watching you from a booth nearby. He was young, traditionally handsome with tan skin and sun-kissed blonde hair, and well-dressed. His suit probably cost more than your entire wardrobe, and you didn’t even want to know the brand of the gold watch on his wrist. He watched you as you walked, predatory as he sipped some dark liquor from a cut glass tumbler.

Alex reached out as you passed him, standing and pulling you to his chest in one fluid motion. “I’ll put on any show I need to, I don’t like the way that guy’s looking at you.” You let him pull you into the throng, giggling loudly for effect as you pasted a smile on your face.

“My hero,” you whispered. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the man drain his glass and stalk toward the private rooms. Into your earpiece, you murmured “Can you see which room he’s going to?”

Alex took your hand, pulling back to blatantly admire you in what was probably meant to be a salacious observation on full display for anyone watching the two of you. He lifted your hand, spinning you and then pulling your back to his chest, deftly wrapping a hand around to rest on your abdomen while turning to face the doorway. You just caught sight of the door to Harding’s room swinging shut behind someone. Likely your admirer. You leaned back against Alex’s chest, lacing your fingers behind his neck and tilting your head back to look up at him. He was already looking down at you, the leaden blue of his irises eclipsed by his pupils. Desire. You were seeing your own desire reflected on his face.

You swallowed hard, and then your pager buzzed. Show time.

You peeled yourself from Alex’s body, tracing his reaching arm with a light fingertip and smiling coyly at him through your lashes. You picked up a tray of bottles of expensive, dark liquors- some in crystal decanters to match the cut glass tumblers- and sauntered to the private rooms.

Harding and your admirer were deep in heated conversation when you stepped through the door. Your heart sank when you realized that they weren’t speaking Dutch, but Russian. Your Russian was mediocre at best, and you just hoped Alex’s was a little less rusty. You caught stray words as you sat on your heels to pour drinks, but nothing cohesive passed your ears. All the same, your skin crawled. What little you could make out seemed heavy with slurs and threats, and neither man had become any less angry than they were when you’d arrived. You stood, reaching out to offer a glass to each of them with a wide smile pinned over your rising discomfort.

“Gentlemen,” you purred. “May I bring you anything else?”

The younger man’s hand shot out, wrapping around your wrist lightning fast and dragging you down into his lap. The shriek you let out was real, too real, as your heart stopped. You forced out a slightly manic giggle, trying to play off your anxiety. After all, regardless of circumstance, the action warranted some level of surprise. You just hoped he took it as nothing more than that.

He gripped your chin and turned your head, studying you. You could see him undressing you with his eyes. You were going to be sick.

“I think I have everything I want,” he drawled. You felt a sharp pinch in your arm, looking down in horror to see a needle withdrawing from the crook of your elbow. “Let’s just test this out first. See if it works like you say.” He turned back to Harding as you wrenched your arm, but he only tightened his grip. “Give me the girl for the night and you have a deal.”

“Hey,” you began, and hated how your voice shook. “What the hell was that?”

Your heart leapt into your throat before sinking to your knees. You felt a cold sweat break as white noise overtook every other sound in the room. You snapped back to yourself just as quickly, realizing that you could hear Alex whispering. “I’ve got you. Just hold on, I’ve got you.”

Harding was studying the man who’d dragged you down, cocking his head back and forth. Both men ignored you as you looked between them frantically. “You know that this isn’t a strip club, Sasha. The girls here aren’t under my… jurisdiction.” His face betrayed nothing, as though he hadn’t just watched a man drug some girl in some club. You were definitely going to be sick. “You’d have to talk to the owner.”

Sasha’s lip was curling up in a sneer when a loud crash echoed through the room. You looked up to see Alex lurch in, careening with his hands held out to the sides. You could smell alcohol on him, from all the way across the room. Your heart sank and you squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself not to cry. You’d let yourself trust him. You thought he’d be different. You hadn’t pictured him getting drunk at all, let alone like this. All your hope oozed out as he swung in a haphazard circle, briefly resting his hand near the laptop before looking blearily around the small room. When his eyes landed on you, a slow grin stretched across his mouth as he raised his hands lazily.

“There she is!” he slurred, stumbling in your direction and wrapping large, warm hands gently around your wrists. He unceremoniously dragged you up, forcing Sasha to let go, and pulled you straight to his chest.

And then he kissed you. Soundly.

Whatever you’d expected, it wasn’t this.

But he didn’t taste like alcohol. Through the haze of confusion and terror and shock, you felt an overwhelming sweep of relief. Your hands involuntarily shot up to cradle his jaw as he attacked your mouth, like a parched man who’d just found water. His hands clutched at your waist, pulling your body to his tightly as he leaned toward you. The kiss was sloppy, far overdone for your audience, a tangle of tongues and teeth, but still it took your breath away. You ran a hand down the side of his neck as you tilted your head, pressing yourself further forward into the safety of his arms. His tie and the collar of his shirt were soaked under your hand. He must have poured a drink on himself to seem more drunk. You gasped, and Alex swallowed it, offering up the tiniest moan in return. The roots shot through the surface of your skin.

You felt tears burn the back of your eyes, hope swell in your lungs. You didn’t know which of you had slowed down first, but the kiss had become tender. With every brush of his lips, you could feel as much as you could hear “I’ve got you I’ve got you I’ve got you”. The flower buds tickled at your chest, begging to push through the soil of your skin into the sunlight that was this man. The inexplicable draw you’d felt to him since that first meeting at Langley, the safety, the trust, it all came flooding up. It wasn’t enough to drown the abject fear you felt in the moment, but it met it head on, keeping it from suffocating you. Holding it at bay.

You heard Harding clear his throat impatiently, and pulled back, giggling. Alex chased you, placing two more feather light kisses at the corner of your mouth. Suddenly, whatever you’d been injected with hit you like a train. The room seemed blurry, and kept spinning even once you knew your head had stopped moving. And your head. It felt so, so heavy. You couldn’t focus, could barely keep your feet under you. You clutched at Alex’s shirt front, willing your body to cooperate. It took you too long to realize that he was speaking, and you knew it more from the rumble under your palm than the sound of his voice. He sounded underwater. Other people were speaking, too. And they sounded underwater.

Then you were moving, half walking and half being carried out of the room and down a hall. It was bright. Too bright. And so loud. You looked at Alex, who was now watching you with a wildness that took you a moment to place. Raw, helpless panic. “Sweetheart?” he was saying, but the word sounded funny. Sweet as molasses and just as thick in the distorted realm you walked.

“Drugged,” you managed, a strangled croak pushing through your throat. “He drugged… me.” You thought you heard cursing, and then your feet weren’t holding you up any more. Your body floated into a place not so loud, not so hot- quite chilly, actually- and when you turned your head, you weren’t floating. Your cheek rested over Alex’s thundering heart as he ran. You reached up a limp hand, barely managing to stroke it down his temple. “Y’re so… pretty.”

You closed your eyes and slipped into blackness.

You came back slowly, wading through a haze of voices and beeping and clattering. When you managed to peel open your eyes, you saw a dark room and a man half sitting, half laying across your bed. There was a moment of near-violent alarm before you recognized Alex’s unruly head of hair. He was sleeping, face turned away from you on the edge of the bed, and one arm lay draped over your waist. The other was tucked to his chest, and you noticed with a jolt that he was holding your hand, his thumb resting lightly over your pulse.

You took a moment to inventory your feelings. Your blood still sang with a vicious flight response, but you’d managed to compartmentalize for the mission. You had no idea how Alex had gotten you both out of there, but you didn’t care. You were grateful. The kiss. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to memorize all the best parts of how that kiss had felt. In the moment, it had grounded you. Surprised you enough that you could tamp down your feelings.

Alex’s file flashed across your minds’ eye. Intentional. Disappointment bubbled up in your throat before being swept over with thankfulness. He’d kissed you as a distraction, to both you and the room. To get you out of a bad situation. Nothing more.

You didn’t even know why you were wishing it was more. You’d known this man for only days. Yet something in you reached out for him. You wanted to know him more. You’d built more trust in him in these days than in anyone else in the years since that fateful mission. Well, more than anyone except Kate. Maybe. You smiled to yourself as it dawned on you that Kate knew exactly what she was doing, putting the two of you together. She knew you needed him. Unbidden, Alex’s file leapt back into your mind. Delta.

What happened to you, sweet boy? Could you need me, too?

Unconsciously, you reached across your body to thread your fingers through Alex’s hair. The moment you made contact, his body went rigid. That split second stretched into a lifetime as you remembered the way he’d snapped awake in the plane, and again from the safehouse couch. You froze, but there was no fear. When time came back to itself, within the same second you’d touched him, he relaxed. His grip on your wrist tightened, just a bit, thumb pressing down on your pulse. He sucked in a breath and slowly, carefully, turned his head to look at you.

His eyes scanned over your face, and you weren’t sure if you imagined that they lingered just a bit longer on your lips before meeting your gaze. You quirked up one corner of your mouth in a tiny smile and it was like a dam broke.

The breath Alex had taken in came shuddering out as he raised his hand from your waist to your cheek. He half stood, hovering and squeezing the hand he still held. His thumb trembled as it skimmed across your skin and you recognized that he was shaking.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed. He leaned further forward, pressing his lips to your forehead. You squeezed his hand.

“It’s okay,” you started, but he’d pulled back and was shaking his head. He sank to his knees at the side of the bed, clasping your hand in both of his and drawing it to his lips.

“I failed you,” he said simply. You couldn’t picture the look on your face in that moment. You just knew you must look like something out of a cartoon with the way you felt your mouth and eyebrows twist in disbelief.

“And how do you suppose…?”

Alex’s eyes flashed. “You were hurt because of me. I should have pushed back about this whole plan, I should have figured something else out. It should have been me.”

Your heart clenched. With a pang, you recognized something for which you had no proof but the undeniable comprehension that filled you. Survivor’s guilt.

“Almost,” you whispered. Alex’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching up to smooth your thumb over the skin. It disappeared the moment your fingertips brushed against it, and Alex leaned into your touch. “I almost got hurt. You stopped that from happening.”

He didn’t look convinced. You both watched each other for several long minutes. His eyes kept skimming your lips, and you were sure yours did the same. “I had no right to kiss you,” he finally murmured, and you blinked in surprise. He’d dropped his gaze, looking away as his cheeks burned with shame. You raised a hand, turning his face back toward you. He looked up reluctantly when you held him there.

“That kiss saved me from… from…” You gulped, suddenly trembling all over again. Alex made gentle hushing sounds, raising himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. He reached for both of your shoulders, rubbing them lightly. You debated with yourself for only a moment before launching up to hug him. He let out a grunt at the force of your contact, but his arms came up around you, cradling you to his chest as sobs wracked your body.

You’d managed to put it from your mind, mostly. Now terror and revulsion and dread and fear and fear and fear crashed down, rattling through your lungs and threading through your veins like ice. You sobbed, and Alex rocked you, humming and hushing and holding as you broke down, kept together only by his firm grip on you. You weren’t sure how long you stayed that way, clutching him as though for dear life, but when you opened your eyes again, the sun was blazing on the horizon.

You squeezed his broad shoulders, and he squeezed your waist. You took a moment, finally calm, to run your hands over the planes of his back. Hard muscle clenched under your touch before your hands settled on his shoulders, still wrapped under his arms. You weren’t ready to let go quite yet.

“How’d you do it, anyway?”

You felt, more than heard, his answering hum. You turned your head, tucking your nose under his jaw. He inhaled sharply and you traced a line to the back of his ear, speaking with your lips at the place the two met. “How’d you get me out?”

“I,” he said, and his voice came out somewhat strangled. His arms pulled you the tiniest bit closer as he cleared his throat. “I may have, um. Told them that, uh, that I’d already paid for you for the night.”

You pulled back, blinking at him. His hold on you loosened, but his hands still rested between your shoulder blades. He seemed nervous. You smiled at him, hoping to ease his nerves. “And they accepted that?”

He scoffed. “Almost didn’t. Harding didn’t seem to care, but the asshole who had his filthy hands on you,” his own hands tightened here “said he’d buy me out.”

You raised an eyebrow in a silent question. Alex’s eyes softened considerably, and he raised one hand to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. “I told him I’d made up my mind about you and no amount of money could change it.” You smiled at each other then, and your eyes dropped to his lips. When you looked back up, he was watching you intently. “He wasn’t too pleased with that, but… Harding, actually told him to cool it. No weapons in the club, don’t jeopardize the operation over…” here he stopped, looking away in obvious disgust. “I knew something was wrong when I tried to take you out, but I didn’t know what.”

You took in a deep breath, looking down. “What was it?” Your voice sounded small to your own ears. Alex didn’t answer right away. When you looked up, he seemed fixed on a point on the wall.

“Ketamine,” he said softly. Your body convulsed then, a fresh wave of icy terror sweeping over you. Alex hauled you forward until you were practically in his lap, rocking you again and stroking your hair. I’ve got you I’ve got you I’ve got you.

“Tell me you got the USB,” you said through clenched teeth.

“I got it,” he answered. “Harding, that scumbag, the whole operation- it was all on that file. The Amsterdam team already locked up the asshole who had you. Harding’s next. You did so good, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”

You cried again, crawling as far into him as you could. You tried to silence your mind. Nothing happened, you reminded yourself. Nothing happened.

You cried until a nurse came to release you, then managed to pull yourself together enough to get dressed with Alex watching the door, close enough to touch through the thin material of the curtain that separated you. The hospital had given you a plain grey sweatsuit, which you’d gratefully donned without bothering to put on your underwear. You’d put the jewelry in a bag to go back to Langley, but the mini dress and fishnet body suit and everything underneath had been bundled up and handed to Alex to be thrown away. He’d done it for you gladly.

You gripped his hand the whole taxi ride back, and he’d wrapped an arm around your shoulders protectively. He’d carried the jewelry bag, stuffing it into the entry table drawer in passing. Halfway up the stairs, when you stumbled from a wave of nausea you’d half been expecting, he swept you up as though it was a perfectly natural occurrence and carried you to the bathroom. When you’d collected sleep clothes and makeup remover, he turned to leave. When your hand shot out to grab his, he nodded and perched himself on the toilet to watch you take off your makeup.

You didn’t have to say a word.

When your hand shook so badly that you had to stop, leaning against the sink, he stood, silently taking the makeup wipe from your hands. With the softest touch you’d ever felt, he tiled your chin up and wiped at your eyes, intermittently stopping to re-fold the wipe in search of a patch not streaked with black.

“Where do you want me?” he asked when he was done.

You glanced around the small room, grasping your elbow. “You can go, I’ll be okay.” He watched you, giving you time to change your mind, and then nodded, stepping into the hall and closing the door behind him. You stood for several moments before turning on the shower, anxious all over again. The steaming water did little to calm your nerves, and you scrubbed yourself raw in an effort to wash away the dread that had woven into your skin.

When you’d finally stepped out, opening the door to let steam pour into the hall, there was Alex. He sat against the opposite wall, head in his hands, and looked up when you stepped out. He offered a weak smile in your direction. “Feel any better?” You shrugged, but nodded. He looked down at where you still held your elbows and pushed himself to his feet. You abruptly felt horribly selfish. The circles under his eyes had darkened again and he looked pale. His tie was loose, askew, and he still wore the vest, although the buttons were all undone. His shirt had come partially untucked and you were certain the dress pants and shoes were less than comfortable. How long had he stayed up with you? You’d been hospitalized overnight, sleeping off the effects of the drug. Had he eaten anything since your dinner together the day before?

“Are you hungry?” you blurted out. His mustache twitched, betraying the amusement he felt.

“Not really. Are you?”

You shook your head. You noticed the clean clothes in his hands for the first time, and that wave of selfishness passed over you again. “You should shower.”

“You can come, if you want.” Your head snapped up, but there was nothing teasing in his tone or gaze. He seemed to think you weren’t pleased by this, because he rushed to say “I just mean if you don’t want to be alone.”

You looked down. “I don’t,” you said quietly.

Alex reached a hand toward you. “Then c’mere.” He pulled you into the bathroom, leaving the hall door open, and lifted you by your waist onto the countertop. He opened your toiletry bag, rifling through until he found what he was looking for. He turned on the tap, running your toothbrush under the stream of water, and then squeezed out a perfect stripe of toothpaste. Your eyes filled with tears when he presented it to you.

“Thank you,” you whispered as you took it. He smiled, squeezed your shoulder, and turned to undress. You looked out into the hall, allowing yourself just one glance as he pulled the dress shirt off and dropped it to the sides. The muscles in his arms rippled under the dark lines of his tattoos, and you found yourself surprised that he didn’t have more covering his torso. His shoulders were a wide, blank canvas marked only by faded white scars.

You turned quickly away, cheeks heating with guilt. He’d let you in here to calm yourself, not to ogle him. He showered much more quickly than you had, turning off the faucet as you spat your toothpaste into the sink. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his arm as he reached for his towel, pulling it back behind the curtain.

“I’ll let you get dressed,” you said, stepping into the hall. You left the door cracked, pressing your back against the wall beside it and tilting your head back as you waited. You counted the seconds to keep your mind calm, and Alex emerged at 104. Like that first night in the safehouse, his hair was wild and his t-shirt clung to his damp skin. White this time, revealing a single tattoo on his chest above his heart. You couldn’t see clearly what it was, but you thought you saw something vaguely triangular. He smiled when his eyes rested on you and you offered a shaky smile back. “You look tired.”

He stretched his neck, reaching up to run a hand down his face. “Yeah.” He said simply. “Are you?” You nodded. He tilted his head toward your rooms, stepping forward. “C’mon, then.”

Your hand shot out before you could stop it, fingers wrapping around his bicep. Alex looked down sharply, concern etching his features.

You found that you didn’t know what to say. His face softened as he watched you, patiently waiting for you to find the words you wanted. “Can I stay with you tonight?”

He visibly melted, nodding. “Of course.” Blooms burst from the stems that rose from your skin, turning toward him like sunflowers to the sun. When you didn’t move, he offered you his hand. You took it, reveling in the warmth of his palm as he led you to his bed. You crawled across the narrow space, pressing yourself as close to the wall as you could.

Nerves sprung up as Alex deposited his clothes on the floor before sitting. He was a large man, and this bed was only meant for one person. He was already so tired, you couldn’t possibly keep him from sleeping well again, you had to tell him you’d be okay on your own, you had to-

“Stop thinking so loud.” Alex had stretched out, turning to you and waiting for you to lift your head so that he could rest his arm there. You did, and he scooted closer once you rested your cheek on his bicep. You didn’t move for a moment, too ashamed for taking even more than what he’d already given you. He reached around you, tugging you forward until your body was flush with his and your legs tangled together. You were so close that your nose rested on top of his, and one hand lay against his chest while the other toyed with the hem of his shirt.

“Thank you,” you whispered. In the darkness, you could only see a slight shine where his eyes were.

“Of course,” he murmured. His lips brushed yours as they formed the vowels. Your heart skipped a beat. He closed his eyes, and after a time, his breathing evened out and you thought he’d fallen asleep. Then he whispered, so softly that you almost thought you’d imagined it, “I want you here.”

You opened your eyes to see a pale sliver of moonlight illuminating a strip of his face. His eyes were on your lips, but they flicked up when yours opened.

You hardly even had to tilt your head, more leaning than actual movement. You pressed your lips to his, and the instant they touched he whimpered softly. Slowly, carefully, you slid your lips against his. You let your fingertips slide under the hem of his t-shirt, smiling against his mouth at the goosebumps that broke out across his skin. You traced the taut muscles of his abdomen as your tongue slid into his mouth, tracing patterns against his in a slow dance.

Alex was perfectly still, save for kissing you back. His hands hadn’t moved, one flat against the small of your back and one on the pillow somewhere behind your head, and suddenly you worried that you had overstepped. You flinched back, Alex involuntarily following you forward as his eyes snapped open.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed.

He was panting lightly, clearly trying to hide it. He licked his lips. “For what?”

“Kissing you, I don’t… I don’t want you to feel used.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a wry smile. Finally, the hand on your waist lifted to cup your cheek. “You don’t ever have to apologize to me. For anything.” His expression turned serious and he cleared his throat. “Besides, I’ve… I’ve been used for much worse. This is… this is a nice change.”

Delta flashed through your mind, but you kept your mouth shut. His thumb skimmed your lips, your nose, and the apple of your cheek. You closed your eyes, leaning forward to press one last kiss to his soft lips. He sighed into it, hand sliding down your side to your waist once more. He tugged you ever so slightly closer as you tucked your nose under his, lips still a hairs’ breadth apart. You slept soundly that night.

Two years later

You stood at the airport terminal, tapping your foot in excitement and anticipation.

Alex was coming home.

Amsterdam had been the start of a new routine for you both. He’d had to fly straight back to his post in Bahrain, but he hadn’t left without your number. You’d scribbled it in a tiny space of blank skin on his wrist, just below a line of barbed wire. You’d nearly added a heart, but worried at the last moment that it would be too intimate and instead settled on a poorly drawn shoelace, haphazardly tied around the barbed wire.

Alex had come back from that assignment with an addition to his sleeve that no one else was likely to notice. But you noticed.

You had picked him up from the airport then, too, and you’d stayed up all night, talking about everything from Alex‘s assignment that he was able to share and everything you had done in the time since. It hadn’t been much. Despite therapy, a strict gym routine, and a full plate at work (your director was thrilled to have you back), you’d been having nightmares. And early the next morning when you’d woken up on the couch where you'd fallen asleep, gasping for air and desperately trying to blink away the image of Sasha your subconscious had dredged up, Alex had pulled you into his lap and hushed you, stroking your hair and rocking gently.

“He’ll never hurt anyone again, angel. None of them are ever getting out, and it’s all because of you. You were so brave.”

You’d made each other house keys later that day. You’d joked weeks later that he should give up his apartment, seeing as he spent most nights at your townhouse anyway. He didn’t, and the change of scenery when you both stayed there was nice. You were particularly grateful when he was gone- staying there, surrounded by him, helped ease his absence- but you still felt just a bit of disappointment. You’d been joking, but you would have let him move in without a moment’s hesitation if he’d said yes.

Since the first time you’d picked him up, there hadn’t been a day that Alex was stateside that you hadn’t seen each other. This assignment had been the longest, and with the least contact. He’d been gone for nearly three months and you’d only heard from him twice- once to tell you he’d landed and once to tell you his flight information to come home.

You’d arrived at the airport half an hour before the time he’d given you, too impatient to spend the time flitting uselessly around your townhouse. Dinner was in the oven, the pantry was overfilled with snacks, and you’d made gallons of the sweet tea Alex was so fond of. Your spare room was ready with clean sheets and a lavender oil diffuser, and you’d laid out his favorite plaid pajama pants on the bathroom counter. You’d smiled to yourself as you fingered the soft material. Sometime in the early weeks of staying together, Alex had emerged from his room wearing them with one of the tank tops he usually wore to the gym.

“Oh, so we’re working out now?” you’d teased. You were curled up on the couch, flipping through channels in search of a good movie. Alex hadn’t answered right away, and you looked up to see him rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“I, uh. I don’t really have too many t-shirts,” he’d mumbled. He shrugged at your incredulous look. “I’ve been on my own for a long time. Never really worn a shirt around here.”

You’d felt the heat rising in your cheeks as you cocked an eyebrow at him. “So then take it off.” Flustering Alex never ceased to amuse you, and didn’t fail now as his cheeks flushed red.

“You’re… you’d be okay with that?” You leveled a stare at him as if to ask “seriously?” and he shifted his weight, debating. After a few seconds, he reached for the back of the shirt and tugged it off. You stared openly at him. You’d assumed he’d be gorgeous, had imagined it, but your fantasies couldn’t compare to reality. Your eyes had gone first to the solitary tattoo on his chest- a dagger through the center of an open triangle with a lightning bolt on one end. Then they’d followed the trail of hair that led down and fastened on the lines of muscles along his hips. Your mouth watered. You wanted to touch them, run your tongue along them. They clenched as Alex shifted again, clearing his throat, and you looked up to see him looking, of all things, self-conscious. You let out a low, long wolf-whistle and he huffed lightly. “Hush up with all that,” he grumbled good-naturedly, dropping onto the couch and pulling you into his side. “Although I suppose I should expect it. You did call me pretty once, after all.” Your cheeks had flamed, but the outcome had been more than worth the momentary embarrassment. He’d slowly stopped wearing shirts to bed, in either of your homes, and you’d done your level best to keep your ogling to a minimum.

The tram slid into the station and you held your breath, as you’d been doing every time it arrived.

Your eyes landed on a tall head of messy brown hair, just over the top of the crowd. Your grin widened until you were sure it would split your face. You watched Alex step onto the escalator, searching the crowd for you.

You held up the houndstooth scarf he’d given you before he left for his first new assignment after Amsterdam. “Something to remember me by,” he’d said, fingers catching on the tassels even as he pressed it into your hands. As if you could ever forget him.

You caught sight of the matching scarf he wore, the one you’d given him at the airport when he’d come back from that assignment. Then his eyes met yours and he lifted his hand, offering a weak attempt to meet your smile. Your heart sank. He looked haunted, and exhausted. The circles under his eyes were far, far worse than any you’d seen before. He looked thinner, and there was a vacancy in his eyes that hurt your soul to see.

You pushed through the crowd when you saw him tap the shoulder of the man in front of him, making his way down as fast as he could. You broke through the last line of people just as his boots hit the floor and you sprinted the two steps between you to launch yourself into his arms. He wrapped you up like you weighed nothing, lifting you off your feet in a bone-crushing hug. You lifted one hand to run through the hair at the back of his head as he held you.

As if they were miles away, you heard passers-by coo. You paid them no mind but the common courtesy to not wrap your legs around Alex’s waist in such a public place, instead dangling from his hold by your arms around his neck. You asked nothing, and he offered nothing. When he put you down, he smiled. It wasn’t his usual mirthful, bright, Alex smile. But it was better.

“Can I stay with you for a couple of days?” he murmured.

“Silly man. Of course you can.” You trailed one hand to his cheek. He leaned in, then turned his head to kiss your palm. Goosebumps broke out over your skin. “You know you don’t have to ask.”

He was quiet for the drive, only clasping your free hand in both of his lightly. At home, you ushered him off to shower while you finished dinner. When he stepped into the kitchen, still damp the way you hated to be, you dropped the spoon in your hand.

“Alex,” you choked out. He had lost a notable amount of weight, but that wasn’t what held your focus. Angry marks ran down his torso, ranging in severity from scrapes and bruises of varying colors to a deep gash across his lower abdomen that wrapped around his side. You stumbled toward him, nearly losing your footing in your rush, and he sprang forward to catch you. Your fingertips ran gently over the gash across in his side and he hissed quietly, muscles tensing. “Sorry,” you whispered, still surveying the damage. He’d been wearing a long-sleeved shirt when you picked him up, but now you could see more cuts and bruises on his arms, even beneath the heavy line work of his tattoos.

Tears filled your eyes as your hands hovered just over his skin, afraid to touch him lest he break.

“I’m okay,” he said. He didn’t reach for you, allowing you to inventory his wounds. “It’ll heal.”

You shook your head, reaching for his hand. “Come on,” you said softly. You led him to the bathroom, sat him down on the toilet, and collected your first aid kit. You perched on his knee, trying to keep the majority of your weight off of him. He chuckled as you wavered, struggling to keep your balance.

“You won’t break me.” He rested a hand on your hip as you relaxed your stance. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall, only occasionally flinching as you applied salve and bandages to the worst of the cuts.

After dinner, you turned on reruns of an old sitcom with the volume low and dozed on the couch. At some point, you roused when you felt Alex lift you up.

“You shouldn’t be carrying me,” you said sleepily. Alex made a dismissive noise, nudging open your bedroom door and crawling into your bed with you still in his arms. You fell asleep that night laying on his chest with his heartbeat in your ear.

It was weeks later that you jumped awake when you heard Alex yelling, flying up and down the hall to his room. You could see him thrashing in the moonlight that shone through the window. You called his name, but to no avail- he couldn’t hear you through whatever he heard in his nightmare. You turned on the light and then knelt on the bed to grab his wrist. Instantly, he flew forward. He had you pinned to the foot of the bed before you could blink, one arm holding down your midsection while the other hand wrapped around your throat.

You froze, banishing the fear that pricked the back of your mind. You took a deep breath as the wildess in his eyes faded, making way for horror. He scrambled backward until his back forcibly hit the headboard, eyes fixed on you as he whispered your name.

“Did I hurt you? Oh, God, if I hurt you…” His voice and body shook violently, and he scrabbled at the sheets in a full-blown panic. You’d sprung up as soon as he’d let you go, crawling toward him and reaching out.

“You didn’t hurt me. I’m okay, Alex. You’re okay. Come here.”

“No!” he shouted. He seemed to shrink even further back against the headboard, shaking his head frantically. You paused. “No,” he whispered. “I- I didn’t mean- I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I-”

You crawled the rest of the way to him, still with one hand outstretched. You laid it on his cheek as you crept toward him until your knees straddled his hips. You pressed as close as you could, wrapping your arms around him. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, desperate to reach up. To take the comfort you offered. To touch you. But he wouldn’t.

“You didn’t hurt me,” you repeated. You took one of his shaking hands in yours, raising it to your throat where it had been a moment before. Alex shuddered violently. “Look.” Gently, you pried open his fingers until they lay flat against your skin, and you dragged them down to rest over your heart. “I’m right here, and I’m okay. Okay? You didn’t hurt me. It’s my own fault, I know better. I shouldn’t have touched you.”

He was shaking his head, nearly incoherent in anguish. “No, no, it’s not your fault, it’s my fault, it’s my fault.”

You grasped his head firmly. “Stop,” you whispered. “It’s no one’s fault, then. Okay? Everything is okay.”

Alex sobbed, finally leaning up to tug you closer, tucking his face into your neck. “You would never hurt me,” you repeated. You lifted your hands to his head and scratched lightly at his scalp. “My sweet Alex, you could never hurt me.”

For all the post-assignment nights you’d both had, you’d never seen Alex cry. It was a strange experience, and it broke your heart. He made practically no sound, but the force with which his body shook made the whole bed vibrate. You tightened your grip on him, tilting his head up to yours. He wouldn’t meet your gaze; his eyes were half-lidded, red-rimmed, and fixed on your mouth. You leaned down and he sucked in a breath. Just before your lips touched his, he whispered in a strangled voice. “Don’t.” You froze. “You can’t kiss me.” The roots beneath your skin splintered, breaking apart from each other.

There hadn’t been any more kisses, or discussions of kisses past, since Amsterdam. You’d tried to bury the attraction you felt, the longing to be near him, but you’d come to hope that it was returned. You knew, at least, that your presence was equally wanted. But in this moment, Alex was uncommonly still, eyes closed. Your heart had stopped beating. You leaned back, watching his face for any hint as to what he was feeling. Anything that might lessen the shock. You saw only pain there.

You had horribly misjudged his feelings, horribly misjudged the situation. You wanted to bring him comfort, of course, but you also wanted to show him your heart. To know his heart for you. You’d been selfish. Bile raced up the back of your throat, threatening to come out as you began to raise yourself up on your knees. The moment your hands left his head, though, Alex’s eyes snapped open.

“Wait,” he breathed. He lurched forward, clumsily grabbing at the backs of your thighs.

You could feel tears stinging your eyes. Shame and rejection and despair pumped themselves through your veins with every hard thump of your heart. “I’m sorry-” you began.

Alex had drawn in a deep breath. Now, he cut you off. “You can’t kiss me because I want to kiss you,” he blurted out. That stopped you dead in your tracks. He had looked back to your mouth now. One thumb stroked along your bottom lip as he swallowed, hard. “I want to kiss you so badly it hurts.”

Intentional flashed through your mind in a whole new light, this time.

A breathless laugh escaped you at that. “Well I want to kiss you, too. So why can’t I?”

Alex tore his eyes up with a visible effort. He cleared his throat. “I’ve wanted to kiss you every day since Amsterdam,” he said solemnly. You felt your heart soar up, up, and away from you. “I didn’t want to stop kissing you in Amsterdam.”

You lowered yourself back to his lap, stroking his hair and the cuts in it. On a balmy night that you’d slept on your balcony, when his head had been in your lap and you’d traced the scars, he’d told you he’d gotten them when he nearly died. “Explosion launched a piece of metal straight at me. Cut right down to the skull. They didn’t think I was going to wake up.” You shook the memory away.

“Then why did you?” you whispered.

Alex was watching your mouth again. “I didn’t want you to think I wanted you just because of the outfit, or that… that I’d kissed you in the club just to kiss you, just because I could.” His voice dropped as his eyes fluttered closed. “But God, did I want to. I didn’t want to stop.” Chills broke out over your skin. His eyes snapped open, blazing with resolve. “I wanted you to want to kiss me. I need you to want me.”

You lowered yourself further, stroking your thumbs up from the tips of his mustache to the tops of his cheekbones. “You didn’t think I wanted to kiss you when I kissed you that night? Didn’t think I’ve wanted you all this time since?”

“I… I thought you just wanted comfort. I didn’t think it had anything to do with me.” The hurt must have flashed across your face, because Alex leaned forward, cupping your cheek and pulling you closer to him by your waist. “I didn’t care. If all you ever wanted from me was comfort, I’d give it gladly without expecting anything in return. And… I had hoped. Since then.” A blush had risen in his cheeks then. “That what I was feeling wasn’t one-sided. I thought maybe, but…”

“I do want to kiss you,” you murmured. “And what you’re feeling is definitely not one-sided.”

He made a pained sound, leaning up seemingly against his own will until his lips barely brushed yours. “Don’t just tell me what you think I want to hear.”

“I’m not.”

There was a beat of stillness before he closed the distance, sealing your mouths together. His tongue seared a trail along the seam of your lips until you parted them for him, and it was like a switch flipped. His body came alive; hands roamed along your back as he alternately gripped your sides and pulled you closer; his chest heaved under your touch. He finally settled on squeezing the tops of your thighs while you tugged at his hair and moved against him, eliciting soft gasps and moans from both of you. The marks across his body had healed, leaving new scars in their places. You danced your fingertips along his bare collarbones, across the Delta team tattoo over his heart, over the scars and down his sculpted pecs and toned abs, drawing out a groan from him when you met the waistband of his pajamas.

“Wait,” he rasped. You waited, stroking the soft trail of hair beneath his belly button. He shuddered under your touch, cursed, and reached down to still your hand as he exerted visible self-control to look up at you. You blinked innocently at him. “You make it so hard to concentrate,” he said mildly, though his pupils were blown wide as his eyes roamed over your face. You giggled at that, which drew out a smile. He met your gaze briefly before looking away and clearing his throat again.

“I love you.” Every root in your body, every space along the stems along your skin and wrapped around your bones, burst forth in uncontrollable buds. You held your breath. “And I don’t expect… nothing has to change. If you don’t, that’s okay. I’ll still give you whatever you want-”

Your heart constricted painfully. You laid a gentle finger against his lips, drawing his attention from the floor. “I would never use you like that,” you said softly. You took in a deep breath. “I’ve loved you for a long time. Since Amsterdam, at least.” Breath had rushed out of him. His face glowed as he looked up at you in adoration.

“At least?” he breathed, teasing even in his disbelief. You shrugged.

“I don’t know. It might have been since you stepped between Kate and I.”

His eyes shone at that. A darkness descended, though, clouding his gaze. “And you’re not… I don’t…” You understood what he couldn’t say. You lifted his chin.

“You do not scare me,” you said firmly. He swallowed, looking away, and you wiggled his chin to get him to look back at you. “You would never, never hurt me, Alex. I’ve never felt as safe as I feel with you.” He nodded slowly. You leaned forward, pressing him back against the headboard to kiss him hard. You took control, and he let you. You poured all of your longing, love, desire, and reassurance into the kiss, leaning heavily against him as your mouths moved. Your hands were all over him, tracing scars and tattoos and patterns only you could see.

His hands crept under your shirt, skimming your sides until they rested between your shoulder blades. He squeezed lightly, leaning forward to deepen the kiss. He tilted his head and you let your hands brush down his ribs to trace the beginnings of the v-cut you’d always wanted to touch. You dipped your fingertips beneath the band of his pajamas and he lurched forward, breath leaving in a rush as though he’d been punched.

“Wait,” he gasped again, hands flying to your hips.

You huffed out an amused sound. “You know, if you keep stopping me like this, I’m going to worry that you don’t actually want me.”

Alex tugged your hips against his, wiping the smirk from your face as he leaned forward. His face had flushed cherry red, and the uncertainty with which he spoke was preciously endearing. “I think that you can feel perfectly well that that’s not true,” he murmured. And oh, goodness, could you.

You hummed in agreement, grinding your hips down on the proof of his desire. Alex groaned, grip tightening and face reddening even further. “I’ll never say no to you,” he ground out. That piqued your interest. You relented, sitting back to look at him curiously. “But I just… I didn’t want our first time to be… I’d never imagined…” His voice softened as he trailed off, eyes flitting to the foot of the bed. He didn’t want it to happen in the wake of his remorse, weighed by his inner turmoil.

You felt your heart melt. You’ve imagined this?

Your hand flew to your mouth when Alex’s darkening gaze told you you’d spoken aloud. His voice was gravel when he spoke. “Yes.” One hand stroked the scars on your arm, the other the side of your throat. “There’s a reason I usually get up before you.”

“Oh,” you said. And you realized, with a start, that he usually did. Ohhh. He was looking down now, shame coloring his cheeks. Anticipation lit beneath your skin, tempered only by the exhaustion evident on his face. You tilted his chin up. “I’ve imagined it, too.” He twitched beneath you, face a display of utter shock. You traced the shadows beneath his eyes tenderly.

“Take me to bed,” you whispered. “We’ll sleep tonight. Our first time can be any time you want, however you’ve imagined it.” A slow smile spread over Alex’s face.

“Yes ma’am,” he said. Then he abruptly stood with you still in his lap, wrapped your legs around him, and carried you shrieking down the hall to your bed.

The first time was the next morning, slow and soft as the sun breaking on the horizon. It was just as gentle, adoring, and attentive as you’d come to expect from Alex. Lush, languid, loving.

“Just like you’ve imagined?”

“Mhmm. And so much better.”

The next time was at Alex’s apartment as you packed his things the morning after that, half on the couch and eventually on the floor. Giggling, silly, and so natural. Just like you’d imagined.

Then there were the gym showers after he’d benched nearly his body weight. You’d teased him for too long, straddling him and giggling as you leaned down to whisper filthy things in his ear. He’d given up halfway through his set after nearly dropping the bar on his face, hauling you furtively to the locker rooms. Neither of you had quite imagined that.

The week Alex let his apartment go, you literally ran into Kate in the Langley halls, nearly spilling both of your coffees and successfully scattering the files she’d been holding.

“Trip,” she greeted warmly. “Living up to your name, I see.” She waved off your profuse apologies, walking with you and asking about how you’d been since you last spoke some weeks ago. “I see Alex changed his mailing address,” she said with a sly smile.

You raised your eyebrows, faux innocence dripping from your voice. “Oh? Was it unexpected?”

“No. In fact, it was quite expected.” She was beyond pleased, barely containing her smile before walking into her briefing. She took your hand just before you turned toward the elevators. “You’re so good for each other.” You’d smiled for the rest of the day, thrilled to have been right about her intentions. You couldn’t wait to tell Alex.

When you got home that afternoon, he wasn’t there, but there was a note on the island. “Gonna be late, dinner at 7?” There was an address for a fancy restaurant just a few blocks away that you’d mentioned wanting to try. You smiled, walked into your bedroom, and smiled even wider when you saw the dress and heels he’d set out for you. The dress was a rich, sapphire blue satin you’d bought some months back for a wedding that was unexpectedly canceled. You’d whined to Alex that you’d have to return it without ever having worn it and he’d insisted you keep it. “I promise you I can find some occasion for you to wear it,” he’d said.

You showered, re-did your makeup, and then slid the dress on. The sleeves fit tightly to your elbows, covering your scars, before flaring into bells that draped past your knees. The back was open all the way down, and a provocative slit up the side showed off most of your thigh. Alex hadn’t seen it on you yet, and you were eager to see his reaction. You’d learned since that first morning that he loved your thighs, something that was particularly delightful to you. You pulled on the silver pumps, considered a wrap, and decided against it. The weather report showed a warm evening with only a slight breeze.

You thought about taking your car, but decided not to when you saw that Alex’s was gone. It wasn’t so warm that you’d be sweaty by the time you got there, and it wasn’t so far that your feet would hurt, even in your heels. You fixed your hair, took one last look in the mirror, and set off.

The streets of D.C. were as lively as ever; people bustled up and down the sidewalk, taxis honked at each other, birds chirped, and you could hear children laughing from the park across the street. You smiled to yourself, grateful that you loved your city. When you reached the restaurant, you paused to admire the plate glass windows and gothic architecture before walking in.

Your eyebrows shot up when a doorman swung the door open, bowing slightly as you walked past. You murmured your thanks before approaching the maître d', an elderly gentleman in a tux who greeted you with a stiff bow and a warm smile.

“Good evening, my dear. Do you have a reservation?”

“I believe so,” you said, sure that Alex had thought this far ahead. “Seven o’clock for Alex Keller?” The maître d's face lit up and he extended his arm to you.

“Ah, yes! Mr. Keller. He asked me to seat you upon arrival and extend his deepest apologies for his tardiness; he shall arrive presently.”

You pursed your lips, trying to hide your smile. “Thank you so much.”

“But of course! May I interest you in anything to drink while you wait? A glass of wine, perhaps?”

“Um,” you began, and it was the maître d's turn to hide a smile at your ineloquence. “Could I just have a glass of water, please?”

You’d reached a table at the far side of the restaurant, just against a wall filled with expensive-looking, tasteful art. The maître d’ pulled out your chair, lowering you into it and nodding emphatically. “One glass of water, in just one moment.”

“Thank you,” you smiled. You took the opportunity to peer around the restaurant, noting the chandeliers and formally dressed staff. You wondered, vaguely, whether Alex had something up his sleeve or whether he’d just picked the place because you’d been interested. Or whether he’d picked it for an excuse to get you into, and later out of, that dress.

A waiter brought your water. You thanked him and, just as you picked it up, you heard Alex.

“She didn’t go falling on you, now did she?”

“No, sir, not at all!” replied the maître d’. You turned, gaping at your- boyfriend? Partner? There didn’t seem to be a good term for you two, and you hadn’t discussed any labels. You settled on person in your mind. And your person was beaming, eyes sparkling in mirth as he walked to the table. He held out a hand to you as he arrived.

“You expect me to kiss you after that?”

The maître d’ laughed sharply, quickly covering his mouth and excusing himself with a bow.

“I do,” said Alex smoothly. You grudgingly rose to your feet for a chaste kiss, eyeing him appreciatively as you did. He’d picked a black suit and tie with a silk shirt that matched your sapphire dress. His hair was, as always, out of place and wild. It just added to his charm. He looked devastatingly handsome. He seemed to think the same as you, holding you out in front of him and whistling low. He spun you around and was shaking his head when you faced him again. His eyes had darkened nearly to match his shirt.

“You look ravishing,” he said solemnly.

You felt a flash of shyness before the lust in his gaze caught up with your own, and then you felt just as ravishing as you were sure he thought you were.

“Business go well?” you asked as you slid back into the chair Alex had pulled out for you.

He unbuttoned his suit jacket as he sat. “Extremely.” There was a twinkle in his eye that made you squint at him, but he waved a hand. “Later. Have you looked at the menu yet? Pick something and tell me about your day.”

So you did. Your department had just begun using a new program and the legwork associated with updating all of your files was extensive. You’d been tasked with sorting and fixing error codes, and the list was thousands of lines long. It was tedious work. You paused to order when a waiter arrived, then regaled Alex with overly dramatic tales of your boredom, making him laugh loudly enough to look around the otherwise quiet room sheepishly.

“I think this place is juuust a little too fancy for us.” He’d lifted his fingers, holding them close together as he smiled, and suddenly you were back in the basement where you’d met. Your waiter delivered two plates of delectable looking food, then. You both thanked him, studied your plates, and dug in. Your food tasted even better than it smelled, and you assumed Alex felt the same as he chewed slowly with a blissful glaze over his eyes.

“Did you ever get those guns?” He blinked at you, snapping out of whatever higher plane he’d been transported to, utterly lost. “Right before Amsterdam. You said you were this close to getting those guns.” You mimed his pinched fingers, covering your mouth with your other hand. Alex reached up to cover his mouth, too. His shoulders were shaking and he shook his head, swallowing the food he’d been chewing.

“Where did that come from?” he chuckled. You made a face at him and reached across the table to pinch his nose, which only earned you an undignified snort.

“This!” You tapped your fingers together in a hyperbolic imitation of the gesture. Alex was full-blown laughing now, covering his mouth with a linen napkin and trying to quiet himself. He nodded, snickering into his wrist as he lowered his hand

“Yes, angel, I got the guns.”

You grinned at him. “See? How hard was that? Now your turn, tell me about your day.”

He shook his head, still smiling, and held up a finger for you to wait while he finished the last of his meal. You took advantage of the pause in conversation to finish your own food, leaning slightly back in your chair as you pushed your plate away.

“Good?” He asked. You nodded, patting your belly.

“So good.”

“Dessert?”

“Gosh, no,” you chuckled. “I don’t think I could even split something with you right now.”

“Good, neither could I.” He made a little cutting gesture across his throat to someone over your shoulder, and you turned to see the maître d’ nod in your direction. “Business was good,” Alex began. He’d taken the day off in order to sort through the last of the details of moving in with you. “Got all my paperwork done with my leasing office, got my address changed for all of my bills, canceled the internet, hit the DMV, all of that.” Alex stood as your waiter approached, pulling his wallet and an envelope out of his pocket.

He set the envelope on the table while he fished out his card for the waiter, exchanging it for a bottle of champagne with two flutes.

Your heartbeat sped.

“Are we celebrating something?” you asked, barely concealing the quaver in your voice.

Alex flashed a grin at you as he opened the bottle, pouring you a flute. “Gosh, I hope so,” he mumbled. Before you could question it, he handed you a flute and the envelope. “Open it,” he said softly.

Your heartbeat had slowed considerably. Whatever this was, it wasn’t what you’d expected from that opening. You squashed the pang of disappointment you felt. It’s too early for that you told yourself. You didn’t believe it.

Regardless, this had to be something huge. Alex didn’t make a big deal out of nothing. Whatever was inside, he’d already seen. The envelope had been opened. You pulled out a bundle of papers, unfolded them, and promptly dropped them to cover your mouth with both hands.

“Alex?” you whispered. Tears were already filling your eyes. He nodded.

“Laswell approved it. It’s conditional upon my acceptance, though. I told her I’d have to talk to you first. Comes with a bit of a paycut.”

You were shaking your head violently, already moving toward him with arms outstretched. “Oh, Alex,” you sobbed. “Alex, my Alex, I don’t care. It doesn’t matter, you’re going to be home. Oh, Alex.” You were weeping now, waves of relief and gratitude coursing through your veins.

He chuckled low, pressing his lips to your ear. “You’re saying my name so much it’s almost like we’re in bed,” he whispered. You hit his shoulder, face flushing as you sputtered. He laughed deep in his chest, squeezing you a little tighter.

You hadn’t even known Alex had filed for a departmental transfer. You hadn’t even looked yet at what it was. You let go of him with one hand to scrabble for the paper, lifting it to eye-level.

Language officer, operating out of Langley in Washington D.C.

Alex breathed a laugh as you held onto him for dear life. “You know, I was hoping you’d be a little happier,” he teased. You smacked his shoulder lightly again, laughing a watery laugh and fumbling for a napkin to wipe your face. He let you go and picked one up, turning back to you and suddenly looking quite nervous.

“But,” he said shakily. He wiped his hands down the front of his slacks. “It does make me feel a little more confident doing this.” He reached into his jacket.

And he dropped to one knee, withdrawing a black velvet box.

Your heart stopped.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Alex had squeezed his eyes shut, taking in a deep breath. He opened his eyes and breathed out your name.

“I never imagined myself falling in love. I thought I was going to be on my own for my whole life, and I was okay with that. Until I met you.” He opened the box and you let out a sob, covering your mouth again. The ring was two slim, twined bands- a black gold string of barbed wire and a white gold shoelace- with a sparkling diamond nestled between them. Alex looked down at it. His voice was low, solemn. “You wrapped me around you so fast it made my head spin. Now, I can’t imagine life without you.” He leveled you with an intense look. “I don’t want to imagine life without you.

You were nodding vigorously, and he chuckled softly, eyes shining. “What are you saying yes for? You have no idea what I’m about to ask, I could want you to join a cult. Just calm down.”

You laughed, all progress toward putting yourself together hopelessly lost. You were a blubbering mess; shaky, tear streaked, the whole nine yards.

Alex’s face softened as he looked up at you with such adoration that it might break your heart. The roots beneath your skin had overgrown your whole skeleton, every organ. There were nothing but blooms in your body, now- bright, white, sweet flowers.

“There’s nothing I could ever do to earn your love. But if you let me, I will dedicate my life to just that. Will you make me the absolute happiest, luckiest man in the world and be my wife?” You hadn’t stopped nodding, and you whispered “yesyesyesyesyes” as you launched yourself forward. True to form, you stumbled along the way. Alex, being Alex, was ready for you, anticipating your clumsiness. He laughed, the best laugh you’d ever heard from him and suddenly you realized that the whole restaurant was cheering and clapping and calling out encouragement as he lifted you off the floor and spun you around.

You kissed him, and felt him smile against your lips. He set you down just long enough to pull the ring from the box, sliding it onto your finger with ease.

“How did you know...?”

“I… may have taken the USB ring from Amsterdam.”

You looked at him incredulously. He gave a rueful smile.

“Call me a dreamer,” he murmured. Just a trace of nerves tinging his voice. You took his hand in yours, raising it to your lips.

“I’ll call you anything you want, so long as I can call you mine.”

The grin that split his face was instant and wide. “That was so, so cheesy.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, leaning up toward him. “You love it.”

“I love you,” he whispered. He pulled you close, kissing you breathless, people be damned.

The lilies that had grown to cover your skin all reached up for him as he did.

#nightingale writes #cod #cod mw19 #alex keller #alex keller x reader #alex keller cod

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ofliterarynature · 7 months

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AUGUST 2023 WRAP UP

[ loved liked okay no thanks DNF (reread) bookclub*]

I’m late I’m late I’m late! Oops

It’s only a month late, right? ‘Only’ lol, work has been exhausting! Anyways:

At this point I wonder if Ann Leckie can ever do wrong, Translation State was good! I was completely enthralled, which is all I ask, even if I don’t get as passionate about it as the main trilogy.

I continued the KJ Charles reading, with these supposed stand alones that are also kind of related? Honestly it’s no less of a stretch than Society of Gentlemen to Lilywhite Boys, so I don’t know why she can’t officially list them together. Anyways, mostly fine, and Band Sinister is still a delight!

Camp Damascus…I’m thrilled for Chuck, really, and I think he’s a delight to follow, but this one wasn’t for me. Religious trauma is turning out to be a hard no.

Ocean’s Echo was good! In some ways I definitely thought it was better than Winter’s Orbit - miscommunication is the worst I’m sorry, this story was more consistently engaging! I just like the characters from WO a bit more.

Chrestomanci! I’ve been going by the suggested reading order on Goodreads, and while I wasn’t particularly enthused by Charmed Life, once I had a grasp on the world the other books have been fun! Im very sad this might be my last DWJ, as I seem to have exhausted my library’s collection of her audiobooks :(

Grimoire of Grave Fates had a really interesting premise that lured me in, despite my reservations - an anthology where all the stories work together to solve the mystery of a murder at a magic boarding school? I thought it worked fairly well (and could definitely spin itself out into a series of novels), but just ok for me. Maybe one day I’ll finally concede I can’t read YA or boarding school books anymore.

Q’s Legacy was the last (I think) of the 84 Charing Cross Road books, and honestly the worst. It had its interesting moments, but it lacked the cohesion of the other two, speed,-running the before and during of those stories, to then spend the second half on the adaptations. It was not at all what the descriptions led me to expect. Maybe worth a single read but not a revisit.

I will also be honest, I didn’t really like the first Veronica Speedwell! The plot felt a bit contrived, and Veronica was so blunt as to almost read as rude or mean. Also very unexpectedly…clinically horny? Does that make sense? I’m not quite sure what prompted me to continue, but I’m now several books in and enjoying it! To be blunt myself, the historic setting is just set dressing, the plots can feel contrived, the mysteries are mediocre, but the real draw is the Veronica and Stoker show once they get themselves settled in and comfortable with each other. It’s a hoot.

I’d heard good things about The Art of Prophecy, but I still didn’t know quite what to expect going in. It was wonderful. Maybe a little long, but if you’re looking for a fantastic fantasy with lots of fight sequences, no romance, and some fascinating characters, this is a great read. The sequel comes out soon and I can only hope it doesn’t take as long for my library to get the audiobook as it did for this one.

I don’t know where I first found An Enchanted April, but it’s been on my TBR for a little bit, and I thought it would be the perfect fit for my classics challenge I gave myself this year! It wasn’t what I expected at all - it’s entirely character driven and very focused on their flaws, and the entire first half I thought I was going to hate it. But the second half, there’s a twist, almost, born of some very naïve optimism that nonetheless works out. Very improbably, but I was happy for them, you funky little weirdos.

What can I say about The Angel of the Crows except that it is still very good! It’s maybe lost a little of the shine it held when I got obsessed with it for a few months last year, but it is definitely now one of my comfort books. I really ought to read more canon Holmes though lol.

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo was, to be fair, one of my suggestions for book club. It was OK, but there were definitely parts that really did not work for me, the frame narrative in particular. The other members of the club really liked it but I don’t have any plans to read more of the authors work.

I’m almost tempted to put The Last Sun last just so I can yell more. I’d heard such good things about this series, but turns out my expectations were a bit skewed - it is not historical or secondary fantasy world, oops. So we got off to a bit of a rough start, not to mention all of the Capital Words. Not usually a good sign. And while I still wouldn’t say I love the worldbuilding necessarily, or that these are the next great work of fantasy, the action is really great, and the characters are flipping fantastic. You’ve got a pair of 30 year olds who are bad ass fighters, have a traumatic past, are immature assholes, can be so so kind, and accidentally adopt a posse of troubled teenagers? Sign me up, I love them, this reminds me so much of my days reading tons of Teen Wolf fanfic AUs.

My history with 2 AM At the Cat's Pajamas is that they cannot stop recommending this thing on the Book Riot podcasts. When I found a copy at Goodwill, I thought surely it’s meant to be! Well. It was not bad, but it was not great. I don’t know. It just wasn’t for me and I will not be keeping my copy. I probably should have DNF’d it, but I continued in hope.

Only one actual DNF this month though, The Mistress of Bhatia House - the newest Perveen Mistri book. I was actually fairly excited for it despite my reservations about the earlier books, but I hit a mental roadblock with this one. There was some contrived feeling tension with her sister-in-law, but really, I realized that one of my main problems with this series is that, despite being in a very precarious social position, Perveen is just incredibly reckless - usually in the name of doing good! - but it just hit all the wrong nerves at the moment. I’m hoping there will be a better time to read this, but not right now.

#bec posts #2023 #book log #wrap up 2023 #translation state #kj Charles #camp Damascus #oceans echo #chrestomanci #diana wynne jones #the grimoire of grave fates #helene hanff #Veronica speedwell #the art of prophecy #the enchanted April #the seven husbands of evelyn hugo #tarot sequence #the last sun #2 am at the cats pajamas

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hiraethblack22 · 1 year

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Fire and Ice. (Bucky x ofc)

Here I am with the continuation of the story Breathe Underwater. Your responses have inspired me to write a mini-series called "Fire and Ice". However, we begin the story at the moment when our characters meet.

MASTERLIST of FIRE AND ICE: HERE!

IMPORTANT: I won't use Y\n but the lead character will be given a name and will be a fully formed character. Set in a time where everyone is still alive and Bucky is free of the hydra.

Warnings: violence, blood, torture, and manipulation. Vulgar language. The story will contain adult content. Probably a whole lot of Smut.

Summary: Thirteen is a HYDRA pawn, a soldier, a spy and an assassin. A wraith. Chosen because of her powers and transformed into the perfect weapon. (enchanted!reader) What happens when her mission becomes locating and eliminating The Winter Soldier?

-> CHAPTER TWO <-

CHAPTER ONE: Exit Music (for a film)

“What do you think happens now?”

A voice broke through the fog of images that were plaguing my mind.

We had sat in silence, my feet naked in the lake's cold water, as the house slowly emptied behind our backs. I had walked away absent-mindedly, unseen by the procession of family members within the old family home, dropping onto the dirt as soon as I reached it, my black funeral clothes still on, staring at the sun slowly sinking into the water.

My brother crouched beside me—hands on his knees, head bowed down. The familiar colour of his blond hair stung painfully in my chest—the same shade as our mother's. It was a weird feeling seeing him like that; Michael was always composed, elegant, and kept himself as a royal would. As I watched him, I couldn't help but wonder what was going through his mind. Seeing him vulnerable, without the usual stubbornness that bore his eyebrows and his chin always high and spoiled look in his eyes, it was like seeing him without a mask, seeing him through different eyes, and made me feel closer to him. As we sat there together, I felt a sense of unity between us that I hadn't felt in years, and for the first time, it felt like our relationship could only get better.

My brother was a copy of her. Our father used to joke about it before he died, saying that Michael had been too busy growing up clinging to our mother’s skirt, which had shielded me from her, preventing me from taking after her even a little bit. I resembled my father with my brown hair and eyes and the slight nose hump beneath the freckles. As a child, it was hard to witness— confining me to watching their love from the corners of the rooms and behind impenetrable doorways. It was as if a trench had been built between us, and thus I had grown up with my father and with his interests in horses and golf, yet part of me did wonder whether he did it out of pity or out of guilt, the fault of having a spouse who preferred the male heir. Then, as the years passed, I discovered I could occupy a different space in the lives of our family. And that was it.

“When we die,” Michael followed, his eyes never leaving his hands, “where do you think we go?”

I shrugged. I had no energy left in me to speak or even think. But I also didn't want to drop into the catatonic state I was in last time. “Our father would say that when a person dies, they go to a beautiful place.”

“Do you believe it?”

I nodded, taking his rough hands in mine. "He’d tell us to stick together."

“My beautiful place is here. With you.” Michael stared into my eyes, and I had never seen a more resolute look on his face. I felt my heart swell with love and gratitude. His words echoed in my mind, and I couldn't help but smile. I knew that no matter what happened, we would always have each other's backs. And in that moment, I knew that there was nowhere else I'd rather be than right there with him. "We will be together forever, sister. Trust me.” He kissed my hand, and we went back to watching the sunset. A soft smile curled my lips. We were going to be fine.

***

“Thirteen!”

A blow to my stomach made me jump, desperately gasping for air. My eyes shot open just in time to see the tip of the boot flashing straight towards my nose. I raised my arms, barely blocking the blow to my face. The force of the impact knocked me backward, slamming my back against the bars of the prison cell. Gasping for air, I struggled to calm my pounding heart and better acknowledge my surroundings. The stale, musty smell of the cell filled my nostrils. I tried to stand up, but my legs felt weak and unsteady. I stumbled to my knees, supporting myself with my hands against the filthy floor.

And there it was—the sad, cruel, bitchy reality.

The man laughed viciously, clapping a hand on his chest—right over the symbol engraved in his dark uniform. Hydra. The cureless poison, the undetectable illness you couldn't feel, until it killed you.

“Your time has come.”

The sweet haze of the dream vanished in a blink, drained by the cruel truth of life. The man in uniform fisted a hand around my hair, hauling me to my feet.

“You’re such a delicious thing, I almost feel sorry for you,” he said, closing the distance between us. The liquor on his breath made my empty stomach clench in disgust. He passed his tongue on his lips like an animal trying to seize its prey-his eyes dark and cruel. I struggled against his grip, but he was too strong. I felt sick with fear and revulsion. “Almost.”

He yanked my hair, dragging me behind him like a broken doll. Like every week, the time had arrived. I tried to steel myself for the inevitable, but my body trembled with dread. I felt a scream building in my throat, but it died before it could escape. This was my life now—a never-ending cycle of pain and misery at the hands of monsters who took pleasure in my suffering.

I gazed at the cell beside mine. Inside, the woman huddled on herself, her eyes wide with terror. I knew what was coming. The man would take her next when they had finished with me, just as it had happened so many times before.

She was grasping the bars, tears streaming down her dirty cheeks. The terror in her eyes mirrored my own. Her lips trembled, trying a few times before the words broke free from her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she hissed, her voice broken and rough.

Before I could even think about whispering back that everything would be fine, we were in the corridor, walking fast towards the stairs. The darkness was the sole thing I had known down in the cells of Hydra, except for the only occasion when they sent me out there for a mission; but, even if I was outside, breathing fresh air, watching the blue sky, or feeling the comforting warmth of the sun on my skin, I yearned for the darkness of the cells once more, where I knew it was me suffering and not the people I was sent after. It was a familiar feeling, one that I had grown accustomed to over the years. The cries and pleas of the people I was sent after were too much to bear. In the cells, it was just me and my nightmares.

One after the other, the cells held men, women, and children. All of them were scared and huddled together for warmth and comfort, clinging to each other to survive. Victims of a fucked-up system.

As I passed by each cell, I couldn't help but wonder how many more innocent lives would be lost before someone would come and save us. Even when the cruel voice in my head screamed that nobody would come for us, the world had forgotten us. I remembered the day a mother was taken away from her daughter, dragged to one of these rooms, and never came out. Her screams echoed through the halls as she was dragged away. The girl clung to me, begging me to save her mommy. It broke my heart to know there was nothing I could do but offer comfort and promises of a better tomorrow. They were lies; they came for her some days later, and I'd never seen her again.

Some soldiers had tried to escape and revolt against the captors, but it was all pointless. They were made an example of; I still heard their screams, their prayers, and their cries in the silence of the night.

I was hauled into a room. The lights were so bright that I shielded my watering eyes, but the unforgiving strength in my hair didn't pay any attention to my pain, especially not when he was going to inflict much, much, more.

“Place it on the chair and power up the machine.”

I cried out, trying to plant my feet firmly against the ground, trying to claw the hand that was dragging me to the chair. He simply laughed, handling me like a temperamental child. I could feel the fear rising in my chest, making my heart hammer in my ears. I knew what was coming next—the machine, the cold metal in my neck, and the head splitting ache. The thought of it made me shudder. But there was no escape.

“Come on, don’t be difficult.” The man threw me onto the chair. Still laughing as he fastened my wrists to the chair's armrests and wrapped the belt around my head. Another pair of hands tied my legs to the chair. The man pressed his fingertips on my face, stretching the corners of my lips. “Give me a smile.”

I was trapped, bound to the chair, and not even allowed to close my eyes in defeat. I couldn’t fight; I couldn’t speak, but they laughed as I cried and screamed, praying in my mind that someone would come and rescue me.

The science team tortured me with the promise to murder my brother if I fought back. Treating my sorrow as their own private, amusing show. The experiments were never ending. I didn’t know what they were looking for or what they were trying to shape my mind into. The only things I knew since they had captured me were hunger, pain, and regret, as they had dressed me in their uniform and forced me to commit atrocities.

“You are a special one, Thirteen.” A woman appeared before me, holding a syringe. The liquid in it was shining brightly, its warmth moving and waving around the syringe like flames. “We gave you this power, and you have tamed it. The previous twelve could not endure its existence in their organisms, not even for a single moment, but you..." She smiled as if fascinated—her eyes shone in a weird light; was it excitement? Or was it the familiar grip of a delusional mind? "You have hosted the flames for years, gracing the world with their wonder.” I watched the syringe come closer and closer, until I felt the familiar pinching of the needle. As the liquid coursed through my veins, I felt a sudden rush of energy and clarity. The world around me seemed to come alive in a way that I had never experienced before.

The world grew louder; I could now hear the buzzing noise of the computers, the soft breathing of the guards standing all around the room, the stable heartbeat of the science woman before me, and the scent of the food she had eaten. My mind raced, and I struggled to keep my thoughts in order. “Bending the world under the fist of Hydra.”

They made me steal, and lie, destroy governments, cancelling entire cities from the maps. Kill and slaughter. Whatever was that they injected in my veins, it turned me into their puppet. They pointed and I attacked, without whispering, without questions. Relapsing my life into a routine of lessons that made me more lethal—Magic and dancing alternating with combat, weaponry, poisons, and construction of explosives. And yet, all of that was pointless when it all came down to them. I became clay in their hands, to be shaped according to their sick desires. They had beaten me until I couldn't move, broke my bones until I was nothing more than a pile of shattered flesh and bones. And then they implanted thing thing inside of me, something dark and foreign that filled me with bloodlust.

The pain was excruciating; every inch of my body felt like it was on fire. If I tried to fight them, it could mean the end for the only person left in this world who meant anything to me. So I lay there, broken and defeated, as the pain threatened to swallow me whole.

Michael’s safety had given me the strength to stare quietly as they beat, broke, and shattered my body and mind. Letting them put this thing inside of me. I had no chance of escaping—not when it could risk the life of the last remaining person I had loved.

I felt reality shift. The world spun faster. The uncomfortable sensation of my body turning inside out. The woman before me—whose name I’d never had the privilege to acknowledge—she split into two before becoming one again, swaying to the left and then to the right in a constant waltz that made me want to claw my eyes out of my head. She smiled and turned serious a couple of times, watching my trembling body with fascination. “You made me a monster.”

“No, thirteen.” She pinched my chin. Her eyes shone in a red light, piercing into my soul, before returning to their usual blue shade. I tried to speak, but my throat felt tight and dry. I couldn't find the words to express the fear and confusion that consumed me. The woman's grip on my chin tightened, and I winced in pain. “I made you into an asset.”

My mouth parted, quivering over the frantic breathing pattern that possessed my body. My thoughts ran feverishly in my head, confusing words and sounds rooted in my soul, speaking cruel words in dozens of different languages.

“Thirteen?”

The voice echoed in my head, clinging to the roots of my being.

"Ready to comply."

Gloved hands emerged before me, so white that they seemed to shimmer in the neon lights. I was freed from the restraint that kept me confined to the chair, allowing me to rise to my feet. I rolled my shoulders, stretching my neck—not because I felt any pain; I felt nothing at all—but in preparation for the mission.

“New mission. Locate and kill,” she said, presenting a photograph before me. “The Winter Soldier.”

I need to thank everyone who commented and liked the previous part and the ones who asked to be tagged in this next part.

It's certainly not what you expected to read, but we'll get to that specific passage in a couple of chapters. I wished to give you a deeper insight into the characters and the plot. @thefandomplace @bonkyandsteebluver @billihill - let me know if you still wish to be tagged to the next parts!

This is a test chapter, to see how readers react to the story and to allow me to figure out in which direction to proceed. Let me know what you think and if you would like to be tagged in later parts!

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levi-ish · 1 year

Text

The Passenger | Prologue

A life of pure adrenaline wears out pretty quickly when thrown into a place where the high doesn't belong in the chronogram.

Pairing: Eren x reader

Genre: [+18] Rockstar!Eren, Rehab, Recovery

Warnings: explicit, mentions of drugs, addiction.

A/N: Hello again, I haven't finished most of my work and quite frankly, I lost a lot of my motivation, but I'm still trying, my plans are still up and I hope soon I can finish them! But for this story, it's mostly me writing from experience, and trying to cope with my own traumas in a way that I feel comfortable doing so. This is a raw story, there's trauma and things that might be triggering, but mostly what we choose not to see in society. Drug abuse is a real thing and too romanticized nowadays, I hope I can bring some awareness through this piece of fiction.

This is also a safe space, feel free to share thoughts. I wanted the characters to look as human as possible, so I made them pretty much flawed, just as we are. It's a new thing for me to give up the idealization. Hope I can do it!

HOTLINES

Anyways, enjoy the story.

AO3

Masterlist

It was such a weird pace. He would watch people laying under the sun and singing songs from the 70’s to people running around because they ran out of cigarettes and now their tongues felt chewable or something.

He hated those cream-colored walls. It all screamed in the echoes of irony that filled the void of space where this fucking clinic was placed. He knew they probably decided on a round metal table that painting it in White Fawn would calm the whackos residing in.

A quick glance to the end of the corridor, he could catch the sigh of some old people playing cards, two girls sitting in front of the TV as if they were children before Thanksgiving and a few nurses with much-too-fake smiles plastered on their faces.

“Mr. Jaeger?” a voice came from his right, just when he was lighting his cigarette, and he quickly turned around, scraping the bottoms of his boots on the cleanest floor on earth.

Mr. Jaeger for some, the Eren Jaeger for the billboards.

“’s me.”

The voice came from a small woman with glasses too big for her eyes. She was dressed in all white, including her Keds.

“Allow me to take you to Mr. Ackerman’s office” her expression was neutral, a different sight from her colleagues. Eren extended his hand with his travel bag, and she looked up and down quickly, disapproving of his actions. “This isn’t a hotel, sir. We do our things ourselves around here. And put that out.”

He scoffed at her tone and retracted the hand as she turned around and started to guide him down the corridors, he threw his still-new cigarette inside a trashcan he found in that reception. They passed through a few windows where a few people seemed to reside in, it went from rooms with lots of posters and plants, as if they were trying to make it look homey to places where the only sign of someone living there was the wrinkle on the covers.

The nurse stopped in front of a simple door with the small letters on a silver plaque stood alone, in big and opaque letters — seeming to be there for a long while — it read Levi Ackerman, Director.

She knocked twice and heard a voice from the inside calling in, opening the silver handle to reveal a spacious room with lots of sunlight. As soon as Eren stepped in, the woman nodded to her superior and left, closing the door behind her.

In the corners, big wooden bookshelves were placed with meticulous knickknacks sitting pretty in front of the oceans of thick leather covered pages. To the other wall, he could see a lot of certificates placed proudly and in a square pattern that kind of annoyed him. To the center of the oddly clean carpet, a mahogany table sat with very few things on top, only a cupholder, two pens and a lamp. The air smelled like cleaning products with a hint of pine.

“Please, sit.” The man behind the table solicited and Eren let go of his bag with a dull sound on the floor from the fall, earning a stern look.

He directed himself to the leather seats and fell on the seat, his own leather jacket making rubbing noises in contact with the same fabric.

“I understand you’re here because of a court order” the man lowered the files in his hands, looking from behind the glasses.

Levi Ackerman didn’t look like a man who joked around. He instead looked like someone who drank straight black coffee with no sugar in it, who ate salads with croutons and parmesan cheese and went for walks on parks. His parted hair was gelled in place, which meant that he actually put effort to look like an asshole who wore suit pants to work in a rehab center.

“The judge was too harsh” Eren leaned back, sprawled across the leather chair as if he owned that piece of furniture.

“I thought he was too easy on you” Levi took off his simple square glasses and placed them in front of the organized pens. “You were very lucky your father had the connections he has. It isn’t easy to have me owing someone a favor.”

Eren heard that over and over at the hospital, right after the crash, his head pounding and eyes focusing on the New York view outside the building, wishing for an airplane to crash onto him and end his misery right that instant. His father kept yelling how hard it was to get the judge who owed him a favor and the guy that owed the judge a favor to agree for a rehab settlement. He should be grateful. He doesn’t know how lucky he is.

Hah. Lucky.

“We have schedules around here. Following the steps is a way to recovery” Levi grabbed a paper from inside the files and placed it in front of him, pointing at the meticulously written chronogram.

“Seems like you’re just dumping shit for me to do around here” his emerald eyes looked up in a frown.

“Addicted people need their organization. If you’re busy all day long, you won’t have time to think about getting high” the man in front of him offered a pen. “I’ll need your signature here.”

“I’m not addicted” Eren straightened his back, the frown growing deeper and deeper by the second.

“Sure, and I’m 6’1.” Levi stood from his swiveling chair and went to his bookshelf, not even searching before pulling out a thin book with a bright yellow cover, which he put in front of the other man, right beside the pen. He surely wasn’t even 5’5.

That struck badly inside Eren’s mind. He wasn’t an addicted.

“I’m not.” He snapped, feet planting on the ground with a thump and he leaned forwards, hands fumbling inside his jacket to find his cigarettes, struggling to take one out. “I don’t need these things to survive or something. I get high sometimes but because I want to, because I like it. Not because I need—”

“’—not because I need it, I’m not like these people in here, I’m different. I could stop if I wanted to, I don’t want to.’ I’ve heard it countless times.” Levi Ackerman grabbed the cigarette from the boy’s fingers and threw it out of the window, earning a disdained gaze as he sat down again, turning the book to reveal its front. ‘Accepting Addiction’. “Take this one, you’ll enjoy it. Do you want to take your tour now or later?”

“Why would I need a—”

“Let’s go then.”

It didn’t take long for Eren to learn that Levi didn’t care about who he was before he came to Stohess Rehabilitation Center. Levi Ackerman didn’t actually give two shits about anything else but his job there. He was also so frustratingly difficult to read, it made Eren feel annoyed to even try. It wasn’t like he would have to get along with the older man, his sentence was set for three months there, and he could get out earlier if he showed signs of personal growth and a good mental state. Shouldn’t be hard to pretend, put on his least favorite mask — the one with the large smile that made just about anyone fall to his feet at his disposal. The same mask he wore on a daily basis.

Levi took him to the cafeteria first. It wasn’t that big, but the tables were placed in line and they were shining as if they were just cleaned. Eren took notice of a few of the patients that were scrubbing the floor in a corner and it made the hairs in his body stood up, having quickly read the chronogram and learning that most of the cleaning duty was supposed to be their duty, not the hired staff.

Next were the sports court — a simple place that was located outside, and Levi told him that sports were required at least four times a week, but you were allowed to have lunch under the sunlight if you felt like it. Something about how nature was healing and some hippie bullshit that not even the director himself seemed to believe in. Then he was introduced to the psych ward, where Levi only gave him a short glance.

“Don’t do anything stupid. You won’t like it here.”

A few more places were shown, like the swimming pool, the running tracks that surrounded a small lake and the gardening site, and all Eren could think was how much of that bullshit he was supposed to pretend to like until he snapped. Their last stop was his room, a simple cubicle with a small window that had bars on it and two already made-up bed with a small dresser on either side.

“The bed on the right is your roommate’s, the bathroom is communal and right down the corridor, sleep early, breakfast’s at 8.”

“What do you mean roommate?” But before Eren could even turn, Levi had already left.

He sighed and placed his duffel bag on top of his dresser, sitting on his bed and feeling the springs in the old mattress. He took a cigarette from the pack inside his jacket and lit it up, leaning onto the windowsill, enjoying a slow drag. Everything smelled like mothballs and bleach, just like Eren remembered his grandma’s house to be, specially her wool quilt that Mikasa always dug from the top of the wardrobe and threw on Armin’s head, where they would make a big pillow fortress that they knew would be destroyed the next day, so they enjoyed to the last second.

“Hi, sorry, didn’t know you were already here” Eren opened his eyes only to realize he had fallen into a nap.

At the door stood a lean and tall guy with freckles spread across his nose. His middle-parted hair stood wet on his forehead and he had a towel thrown over his shoulders.

“I’m Marco, Levi told me about you earlier, sorry I wasn’t around” he said, eyeing the smoke, but not daring to say anything, and Eren could sense the innocence coming from his pores. He looked to be around his age, but something about him made him look way younger.

“’S okay” Eren shrug his shoulders and stood from the bed, throwing the cigarette bud outside before opening his travel bag and placing a few of his things inside the dresser. “I’m Eren, by the way.

The guy nodded with a gentle smile placed on his lips.

“I’ll be going down to get some food, wanna come?” Marco placed his towel on a small drying rack that sat under the window and rushed to grab a hoodie. Mitras University, class of 92.

That’s where Eren’s father graduated from. It was a privileged place to study.

“Is the food any good here?” He asked with a smirk, to which Marco mimicked.

“Only if you like wet cement.”

[…]

The cafeteria was fuller than before. All the tables were occupied and you could find just any kind of people there. Addiction doesn’t discriminate, I guess.

Eren followed Marco that was humming to the rhythm of Don’t Stop Believing that played in the background. They went straight to the serving tables and grabbed their trays, being blessed with the choice between a caesar salad or fish fillets. There was no escaping the monstrosity that was that chocolate pudding though.

Content with his fish fillet, Eren finally joined Marco at the end of the line to follow him to his choice of table, one that was occupied by a very buff guy, a tired looking girl, a shy looking guy, an old man who wore a fedora and another old man who seemed way too interested in his salad dressing.

“Got us some new meat, Marco?” The fedora guy leaned into the table, as if to inspect Eren.

“This is Eren, he just came today” Marco sat by the buff guy’s side and Eren took the other empty seat.

As he made himself comfortable in his seat, he took the chance to look around once more, now noticing a few of the other people, the ones who were actually sick and needed to be there. He noticed how most of them had problems to eat and some even needed the help of the nurses, who kept on helping them with sweet-filled smiles on their faces. As if it makes it any better.

But something caught his attention, someone sitting at the back with a bandana that covered her face from the nose down. An old woman who ate without taking it off.

“What’s your poison, Aron?” Asked the old man.

“Eren” he corrected the other guy before taking out his plastic cutlery.

“Okay, Eren. What’s your poison?”

“C’mon, Kenny, not even gonna buy him dinner? Warm him up with some wine?” The buff guy joked as he extended his arm over everyone’s trays to offer his hand, not knowing how much space he took. “I’m Reiner.”

A little startled, Eren shook his hand to end everyone’s suffering quickly. He took the chance to look anywhere else, his eyes falling on the same woman with the red bandana.

“These are Pieck and Colt” Marco introduced the younger ones that just smiled and kept on eating and then pointed at the older two “that’s Theo and Kenny, as you already heard.”

Anxiety seemed to be taking over him, he could feel the trembling forming on his ankle as his leg kept on bouncing, a habit he had for long now and couldn’t quite figure out how to stop.

“Hey” Eren tightened his lips and started to shred his fish, not that interested in actually eating it.

“There’s only five croutons.” Theo rose his head from his salad and everyone looked a little surprised. “That’s not right. There’s usually six croutons.”

“You must’ve eaten one without noticing, Mr. Magath” Colt said in a soothing tone and Pieck nodded along.

“No.” The man sounded aggravated by the situation as he kept on going. His neck had a vein that looked like it could pop at any moment. “I need a new salad.”

Eren noticed how his tone grew louder each word he spoke, but something about the situation told him that it wasn’t that unusual of a sight to see around there. The woman with the bandana didn’t seem to mind the situation.

“You can have my croutons, weirdo” Kenny slid his tray to the side, but that seemed to startle Theo even more.

“I need a new fucking salad with six fucking croutons in it” with that, Theo threw both his and Kenny’s tray on the floor and then left stomping.

The cafeteria fell silent for a short second, but as soon as the silence came, it sneaked out by the backdoor, not leaving any traces but the food on the floor that it was there.

“He developed severe OCD because of his addiction” Pieck said, grabbing Eren’s attention. She smelled like soap and her eyes were droopy, but expressive. “Most of us need a way to keep in control of our bodies, some go to that point. He’s a nice man, just don’t fuck with his routine.”

“Yada, yada, the old geezer threw a tantrum over a crouton and you’re saying the dude’s nice?” Kenny rolled his eyes and grabbed a crouton that fell to the table, popping it into his mouth.

“It’s punishment enough that he might actually end up at Hange’s office tomorrow” Pieck placed a baby carrot between her teeth with a mischievous smile.

“Hange’s the psychiatrist” Marco added so Eren would understand better. “They’re a little… off.”

What does that even mean?

Eren took another look around. Behind his table, he found a group of young girls, that didn’t look like they were older than 17, one had an IV connected to her veins. To his right, a table full of old people that looked the most beat down, and he actually caught the sight of an old lady that poked her head under the surface every once in a while, but looking closer, Eren could see that she was throwing up. To his left, he saw a group of people in their 30s, but there was this one man who wore a low ponytail of his greyish hair that had most of his lower mouth covered in burns, and he struggled to eat, every bit of food that he got on his tongue fell to his lap, and then he noticed; he had no tongue.

But what shock him the most, what actually sent chills down his spine, was the sight of the woman with the red bandana, as his eyes fell back on her as she finally took it off, only to reveal a hole where her nose was supposed to be, and she cleaned it with a napkin as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

“That’s the third meltdown this week” Reiner looked up, deep in thought. “I guess if we count the grape jelly fiasco, then it’s the fourth.”

It’s Monday, Eren thought to himself.

“Does that happen often around here?” He asked and they all just nodded.

“Welcome to recovery, buddy” Kenny pat his back and left the table.

[…]

“This place isn’t for me.” Eren paced around the office, hands running up and down his long locks as he spoke, a weird trembling forming in his legs. “The people in here are actually sick, that fucking woman had no nose! And that guy freaked out because of a fucking crouton and—how the fuck am I supposed to be in the same place as these people?!”

Levi had his hands interlaced in front of his mouth, sitting stoically, grey hues following each step the boy took.

“How the fuck am I the same as that un-nosed woman?” Eren slumped down the leather chair. After dinner, he rushed to Levi’s office, not even bothering to say anything to Marco, who was left surprised by how fast the guy left. “That’s… look, I got money. I don’t have access over my accounts at the moment but my lawyers can fix that. I can’t stay here. I got places to be, things to do—”

Eren fiddled with his pockets, trying to reach for his cigarettes but failing to find them, and a small thump echoed in the room when his lighter fell. His hands trembled, and so did his legs, resembling a chihuahua.

“When was the last time you used?” Levi simply asked. Voice stable and sharp, matching his eyes and his whole posture. His entirety.

Yesterday. “Last week” he gave up trying to find the cigarettes, his head fell low and his chocolate locks formed a curtain around his face.

“Your veins aren’t popping and your pupils are still dilated. You haven’t broken down in a cold sweat and you don’t seem like you’ll throw up anytime soon” Levi pointed out, unfazed. “It’s cute how you think you can fool me.”

“What the fuck do you even—”

Levi quickly opened a drawer and grabbed something from the inside, standing up and going around the desk until he was right in front of the trembling mess that was Eren. He opened his palm and showed him a bronze chip, earning a confused look from the boy, so he encouraged him with a nod to look at it.

6 years.

Eren shifted his gaze from the chip to Levi a few times, still confused.

“I know how addiction looks like” he simply stated, grabbing the bronze chip between his fingers and staring at it intently, as if it was the most precious thing in the room. “I know you also used recently, and I also know that it won’t be fun staying here, but it will give you a shitload of insight about yourself.”

The boy kept staring, annoyance invaded his veins and he felt like scoffing. Something told him not to.

“These people you say that you are nothing alike, they said the exact same things you did a thousand times before. I can’t make you stop using or whatever bullshit you feel like doing, I’m not your dad, you’ll have to realize yourself why you shouldn’t do that.”

Eren glared, trembling fingers sneaked in his pockets and he found his cigarettes, grabbing one and getting slapped on the hand before he could even think of lighting it.

“And for fucks sake, don’t smoke inside the facility. We have the fucking outdoors.” Levi signaled the door, making sure he made it visible that that conversation was over.

Snorting, Eren took his leave, heading to his room, deciding the day was over and that he didn’t want to make it any longer.

However, a quick break for a cigarette felt just too sweet to decline, so he took the exit to his left and sneaked out, making sure that the receptionist couldn’t see him. The clocks already marked 9PM and he remembered that the chronogram made it very specific that skipping the curfew lead to cleaning duty.

But his mind emptied the second he leaned his back against the concrete wall. His boots made soothing noises on the grass, playing with the dry leaves that were scattered around, and the fresh scent of eucalyptus mixed with wet soil brought him back to when he was fifteen and decided that camping was a must-have experience for a teenager, so he brought Mikasa and Armin along. They made a poor version of s’mores and Armin sneaked some wine from his grandpa’s cabinet that got them going for the night.

He even remember that they tried to scare each other pretending they were bears, even though it was impossible, being it small park near his father’s house. Armin fell asleep like a baby by the sunrise and Mikasa decided to run a few laps around the lake, Eren just laid under the sky covered by the tall trees.

“Need a light?” A voice came from his side, and Eren could swear that all the cold sweating that Levi was so persistent about came all at once.

Pretty much scared shitless, Eren’s eyes followed the direction from the sound, and he noticed that another figure sat under the shadows, too dark to see, but too easy to recognize that it was a female figure.

“Are you deaf?” The same voice snapped and he clicked his tongue, not noticing how long he had been holding a cigarette without a lighter. He quickly pat his pockets only to remember that he dropped it in Levi’s office.

“Yea, thanks” the girl tossed to him and he grabbed it mid-air.

He quickly lit a cigarette and took a long drag before noticing the lighter itself. It was a small pocket lighter with a simple eagle shape printed. Next to its wings were the letters D and Y engraved, it looked old, but Eren kind of liked the vibe of it.

“Give it back when you’re finished” she simply said, taking a drag out of her own stick.

She was too hidden for him to figure out her features and he wasn’t going to ask her to reveal herself. They were both on the same boat, sneaking out and doing what they weren’t supposed to, but it felt just right to be there.

“I know you” her voice startled him again. As if he was a scaredy little dog.

“You do?” He asked. ‘You do?’ Where the fuck did your confidence go?

“Yup. My friend is a fan of your band” he could almost hear the smirk in her tone.

“What about you?” He asked, shifting his weight to his other leg, a little jittery in his own skin.

“Not me” she simply said. “Too noisy.”

Eren had heard a lot about his music before, nothing short of critics, but ‘noisy’ was a first.

“I guess we are” he licked his lips before taking another drag. Noisy.

Taking another drag of the cigarette, he noticed that she had been staring back, so he tossed the lighter back, which she caught quickly and stood from where she was seated. Each step she took towards the lamppost by his side, a part of her features was revealed to him, and the first thing he noticed was how red her eyes looked. If it wasn’t for the tobacco in the air, he might have suspected she caught her hands on something else.

She wore a long-sleeved grey shirt with black pants, simple clothing but she made they look too comfortable, as if she’d been hanging around for a while. He felt his leg starting to tremble once again and his heart rushed inside his ribcage when she snuck her nose way too inside his personal space, almost as if she was trying to smell him…?

“Thanks for the lighter” Eren blurted out of pure panic.

“If I hear a single note from any guitar, I’ll rip your throat” she said under an unfazed gaze before shaking her own lighter in front of his eyes and leaving.

Oh, Eren couldn't wait to see what rehab had in store for him.

#eren x reader #rehab #trigger warnings #drug abuse #addiction #smut #eren jeager

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talesfromthecriss · 1 year

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Jordan’s Fate - Book 1: Chapter 1

[A/N]: This is a sequel to a story I wrote when I was in middle school. It was called Scarlet’s Destiny, it used to be on deviantart but I think my account got taken down. It wasn’t well-written and you don’t need to read it to understand this story. All you need to know is it was about Jordan’s first relationship with a girl named Xia, which ended badly. They were able to patch things up as friends before middle school was over, and that’s how the story ended.

Hope you enjoy!

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. All of the characters and events in this story are completely made up.

Trigger Warnings: None for this chapter, but other chapters may have some.

Chapter 1 - The Kids Aren’t Alright

Jordan fidgeted in the back seat of the car, trying to distract herself from the sickening knot in her stomach. She had stayed silent for the whole drive, not wanting to let her mom know how scared she was. It was becoming embarrassing to admit her fears, considering how old she was getting. That past summer she had turned 15 but she felt like she hadn’t grown up at all in the past five years. She was still just that same terrified kid.

Her mom pulled the car into the school parking lot and drove around to the front doors. She stopped the car right next to the concrete stairs and turned around in her seat to look back at Jordan.

“Can I just drop you off here?”

Jordan gulped nervously but nodded her head, trying to put on a brave face. Her mom sighed, seeing through the facade.

“You’ll be fine, Jordan. Just go find your friends,” she reassured. Her words didn’t help at all but Jordan took a deep breath and opened the car door.

The sun hit her face as she stepped outside, providing some form of comfort. The weather in Canada could be cruel during September, so at least it was a nice day.

Before her stood Saint Otterburn High School, the school she would be attending for the next three years. It was both the oldest and largest school in the city, and it looked like it too. The bricks that lined the walls were washed out and the metal doors had marks all over them from wear. The building had definitely seen better days.

Hands trembling, Jordan opened the front doors and walked into the foyer. To her dismay, the entire area was filled with new students, most standing in groups talking to each other. There was no way she could find her friends in this. Staying close to the doors, Jordan pulled out her cellphone from her back pocket and sent texts to both Zoe and Ruby.

[Image ID: Text conversation with Zoe at 8:45am. The texts read as follows.

From Jordan: Hey, where are you guys? /.End ID]

[Image ID: Text conversation with Ruby at 8:45am. The texts read as follows.

From Jordan: Hey, are you at school yet? /.End ID]

It wasn’t long before Zoe replied.

[Image ID: Text conversation with Zoe at 8:46am. The texts read as follows.

From Jordan: Hey, where are you guys?

From Zoe: We’re in the cafeteria! /.End ID]

Jordan immediately put her phone away and headed straight for the cafeteria. She remembered where it was from the week prior when she had to pick up her class schedule. The doors to the area were open and it was crowded in there too. Trying not to panic, Jordan scanned the room, searching for her friends. A sense of relief washed over her when she spotted Zoe and Alice waving at her. They were standing next to one of the tables near the middle of the room. Ruby was with them too, looking down at the floor.

Jordan rushed over to meet her friends, feeling somewhat better as she approached them.

“You made it!” Zoe said cheerfully. Alice gave Jordan a friendly smile and Ruby waved at her and then went back to staring at the ground. Jordan could sense that they were all a bit stressed, but Ruby seemed to be on a different level. She must have been just as anxious as Jordan was, if not more.

“I made it,” Jordan echoed. She set her bag on the dark brown, plastic table. It was a single-strap bag meant to be worn on one arm so Jordan could easily set it down. “How long have you guys been here?” she asked.

“Not that long,” Alice answered.

“Have you figured out where your classes are?” Zoe inquired. Jordan shook her head in response. She unzipped her bag and rummaged through it for her schedule. When she found it, she handed the flimsy piece of paper to Zoe. Both Zoe and Alice looked at it intently, Zoe adjusting her glasses to read it.

[Image ID: Jordan’s class schedule. Each class block lists the class, the start and end time, and the room number.

The Monday through Thursday schedule reads as follows. IT, 9:00 to 10:25, Room 265. Phys Ed, 10:30 to 11:55, Gym. Lunch, 11:55 to 12:30. English, 12:30 to 1:55, Room 205. Math, 2:00 to 3:25, Room 240.

The Friday schedule reads as follows. Homeroom, 9:00 to 9:15, Room 223. IT, 9:20 to 10:20, Room 265. Phys Ed, 10:25 to 11:25, Gym. Break, 11:25 to 11:40. English, 11:40 to 12:40, Room 205. Math, 12:45 to 1:45, Room 240. /.End ID]

“Apparently we have to go to homeroom first to get a locker and stuff,” Zoe explained. “It says yours is in room 223, which is probably next to mine since mine is room 224, so we can go look for it together.” Jordan smiled and nodded at her helpful friend.

Zoe and Jordan ventured into the hallways together. The new school felt like a maze. The halls all looked the same, making the high school confusing to navigate through. It didn’t help that the room numbers didn’t make much sense either. They seemed to change randomly from hallway to hallway and some numbers were even skipped entirely.

“Look, there’s room 221, I bet our classes are this way,” Zoe said triumphantly.

“I sure hope so,” Jordan remarked. She timidly followed Zoe down the hall as her friend searched for the room.

“Aha!” Zoe exclaimed. She pointed at a door that had the number 223 above it. “There’s yours, mine is probably the one next to it so I’m gonna go. See you later!”

“Oh okay.” Jordan wished she would stay with her longer but she understood that her friend didn’t want to be late.

Walking into the classroom full of strangers was nerve-wracking. Jordan recognized a couple people from her middle school but they weren’t anyone she was friends with. She sat down at the first available desk that was closest to the door.

She tried to console herself. It was just homeroom, she would be fine once she got to her regular classes because she was bound to know more people there. During the high school application process, Jordan made sure to apply to be in the arts program because almost everyone she knew from middle school was going to apply for it. That way she could get through high school without having to meet all new people. It wasn’t the best plan but it was all Jordan could really do for herself.

Looking around the room, she noticed other people had notebooks and pencils out on their desks. Following their lead, Jordan opened her bag and took out a blue three ring binder. Earlier, she had put her schedule in the binder’s clear front pocket so she could easily see it during class.

Next she reached for her pencil case and… Panic. There was no pencil case in her bag. Jordan froze. How could she forget something so obvious? She thought she had put it in her bag the previous night but apparently not. Still panicking, Jordan tried to think of what to do. She couldn’t just go to the rest of her classes without a pencil. She looked around the room but there was nothing. The worst had happened, she would have to ask someone else for a pencil.

Weighing her options, she decided that a blond boy who was sitting in front of her would be good to ask. He wasn’t talking to anyone and he didn’t look intimidating either.

Anxiously, Jordan reached out and tapped the boy’s shoulder. He looked back at her, seeming annoyed.

“Um.. do you have an extra pencil?”

The boy reached into his pencil case. He handed Jordan a pencil without saying a word.

“Thank you,” Jordan whispered, taking the pencil. She laid her head down on the desk and squeezed her eyes shut. This day was already awful and it hadn’t even started yet.

After homeroom, Jordan waited outside of the class, binder in one arm and bag hanging on the other, to see if she could find Zoe again. She looked down at her schedule to see how much time she had before her next class. Her eyes widened, realizing the timetable only gave her five minutes between classes. She didn’t have time to wait for Zoe, her next class could be on the other side of the school for all she knew.

Clutching the binder, Jordan bravely joined the traffic of students in search of her next classroom. She randomly chose a hallway at the intersection and just hoped that she guessed right.

Luckily for her, she spotted the room number almost right away. It was above two open doors at the end of the short hall. Entering the classroom revealed rows of desks with computers on them.

It was an IT class that was mandatory for some reason. At least it would be easy since Jordan spent a lot of her free time at home using a computer.

The teacher greeted her with a friendly wave and told her to grab a seat anywhere. He was a skinny, nerdy-looking man, probably in his late thirties. Your average IT guy.

Jordan nodded at him and slowly walked around the room. Most of the seats were taken already, and Jordan didn’t recognize a single person there. She quickly searched for an open seat beside a girl. She spotted one right at the end of a row. Perfect. The girl sitting next to it seemed like she might be friendly. She looked sporty and Jordan could tell she was tall even though she was sitting down. She was pretty too.

Jordan rolled the cushioned chair back a bit and quietly sat down at the desk, giving a polite smile to the sporty girl. She returned a tired half-smile.

The class seemed to go on forever. Jordan wasn’t used to having classes that went on this long. At her middle school they had six classes a day but here they only had four, so these were an hour and a half long as opposed to one hour.

They did basic computer stuff during the class, like creating a Word document and using calendar apps. All were things that Jordan, and probably most of her classmates, already knew how to do. It felt a bit pointless.

The next class before lunch was gym, located down a set of hallways next to the main foyer. The area had two gymnasiums, change rooms and showers, a couple offices, and even a hallway that led to a pool and rec center which was attached to the school. It was nothing like Jordan’s middle school, which only had one gym and a small side room that you maybe could call an auxiliary gym.

Jordan only recognized one person in her class, a girl from her middle school who she never really talked to.. She tried to work up the courage to talk to her a couple times but to no avail. Her social battery was clearly running out already.

Thankfully the class was huge, with more than forty students, so Jordan mostly got away with doing nothing. She spent the majority of the class standing off to the side near the bleachers, blending into the background, something she had gotten comfortable doing. It helped her deal with that mysterious feeling of being watched, a feeling that seemed to keep getting worse as she got older.

At lunch, Jordan rushed to find her friends. Zoe had texted her that they had no luck finding a table so they were going to meet by the front doors instead. When Jordan arrived, she found them all sitting on the tiled floor with their lunches. They were all in a row against the wall so they could lean back on it.

“This is even worse than at Willow Creek,” Jordan joked.

“Yeah, at least we had a table there,” Zoe replied, referring to their middle school lunch table that was in a terrible spot. They really thought they had it bad back then.

“Did you guys have any classes together?” Jordan asked. She sat down next to Ruby and searched her bag for her packed lunch.

“Ruby and I had science together,” Zoe said. Ruby nodded in agreement, sipping on a juicebox.

“Guess what, Jordy?” Alice chimed in. “I have art class with Elliot.”

“Cool.”

“Just thought you’d like to know.”

Jordan gave Alice a confused look but her friend just shrugged coyly. Shaking her head, Jordan grabbed her binder to look at her schedule.

“I don’t know anyone from my classes so far,” she complained. “Well, except Ashton is in my gym class.”

Zoe furrowed her brow, trying to put a face to the name. “Is that the girl who’s dating Clay?” Clay was another person from their middle school. He was in the same class as Jordan, Zoe, and Ruby in the 8th grade. He was disliked by quite a few people but Jordan didn’t know the details of why.

Jordan nodded in response.

“Oh,” Zoe said plainly.

“Here, give me your schedule,” Alice said, reaching her hand out. Jordan passed the binder to her and Alice examined the timetable carefully.

“Huh, that’s weird,” she said, half to herself.

“What?” Jordan asked.

“None of your classes say ACL on them, look,” Alice reached into her bag to pull out of her own schedule. She held it out to Jordan and pointed at one of her class blocks. The class name had “-ACL” written at the end of it.

“What does that mean?” Jordan inquired.

“It means the class is part of the arts program,” Zoe explained.

“Oh no,” Ruby said, sounding worried.

Jordan suddenly realized what they meant. The worst had happened, she hadn’t been put into the arts program. Trying not to panic, Jordan thought back to the month prior. She definitely got an acceptance letter that said she would be in the art program, she remembered it so vividly. There had to be a mistake.

“Maybe you should go to the office and ask them about it,” Zoe suggested. She was right, the office would probably be able to help her.

Jordan quickly put her lunch back into her bag, giving up on the meal altogether. She was too anxious to eat anyway. She promptly got up and made her way to the main office.

The office was a little busy so Jordan had to wait in a line to talk to someone. Once she got to the desk she showed the lady her schedule and explained what was going on. The lady behind the desk was empathetic and looked into it right away. She typed Jordan’s information into the computer and confirmed that she was accepted into the arts program. She seemed just as confused by this as Jordan was.

“I’m not sure why they gave you the wrong schedule but I’ll send in a request for class changes,” said the lady. She explained that a lot of students were requesting class changes since it was the first day so Jordan probably wouldn’t get her new schedule until the next week. She was to attend her current classes until then.

Jordan thanked the lady and left the office feeling defeated. This was the worst. Not only did she have to keep going to classes with strangers for the rest of the week, but the next week was going to be like the first day of school all over again with all new classes. She started tearing up. She had been trying not to cry all day but it was getting more difficult as her anxiety built up. What an awful way to start high school.

The rest of the school day felt like a blur. Jordan sat quietly through her two remaining classes. She was too scared to even look at anyone, staring at the ground instead. She just wanted to disappear.

Finally the bell rang, mercifully signaling the end of the day. Jordan packed up her things and checked her phone.

[Image ID: Text conversation with Zoe at 3:30pm. The texts read as follows.

From Zoe: Are we still going to the mall? /.End ID]

Oh, right. Her friends had made plans to go to the mall together after school that day. Jordan had completely forgotten about it. Oh well, she might as well just go. She knew she was running out of energy, but maybe spending time with her friends would give her a boost.

[Image ID: Text conversation with Zoe at 3:30pm. The texts read as follows.

From Zoe: Are we still going to the mall?

From Jordan: Yeah let’s meet by the doors again.

From Zoe: Okay! /.End ID]

Zoe and Ruby were already waiting together when Jordan arrived at the doors. Zoe was typing on her phone and Ruby seemed slightly more upbeat now.

“Is Alice still coming?” Jordan asked.

“Yeah, I just texted her,” Zoe replied. “She’ll be here soon.”

The girls chatted about their day while they waited for Alice. Jordan explained what was going on with her schedule and her friends offered their sympathies. Ruby seemed especially concerned about her. She probably knew how Jordan felt better than anyone else since the two were so similar. They were both the type to be quiet around anyone who wasn’t a friend and they shared an intense fear of public speaking. Their similarities made Jordan feel a little less alone.

Eventually Alice showed up and the four of them took the next bus to the mall. They shopped around for a bit and then went to the food court. They all got food and sat down at a table together. The food court was crowded and noisy, filled with groups of teenagers. It seemed like everyone had the same idea to come to the mall after school. A mix of smells from all the different kinds of fast food filled the dry air.

The busy environment was making Jordan uncomfortable and she noticed that Ruby was also starting to look stressed again.

“Did I tell you guys I got a job at Dairy Queen?” Ruby said out of the blue.

“What? No way!” Zoe exclaimed.

“That’s great, Ruby,” Alice congratulated.

Jordan suddenly felt her stomach turn. She was also supposed to get a job over the summer but she didn’t. She was too scared.

“Yeah, I’m really nervous about it though,” Ruby went on.

“I’m sure you’ll get used to it in no time,” encouraged Zoe. Alice reached over and gave Ruby a pat on the back.

“Our little Ruby is growing up so fast,” she teased. Ruby smiled and shook her head in response.

“I’ve been applying for jobs too but no place has called me back yet,” Zoe added.

“Same here,” said Alice.

“What about you, Jordy?” Zoe asked politely. Jordan gulped nervously, not expecting to be questioned.

“I’ve been looking around but-” she stopped mid-sentence as her voice broke. The tears were coming back. She needed to leave quickly, not wanting her friends to see her cry. She hastily stood up and grabbed her bag.

“Are you okay?” Alice asked, concerned.

“Um, I have to go to the bathroom,” Jordan said. She started walking away before her friends could say anything. She wasn’t expecting everything to come crashing down right then and there, but it was. At the most inconvenient and embarrassing time.

Jordan made her way to an elevated walkway near the bathrooms. It was behind a wall that blocked it off from most of the food court, so it made for a good place to hide. She leaned against the wall, pulled out her phone and called her mom. Tears were already running down her face when her mom answered.

“Hello?”

“Can you pick me up at the mall?” Jordan asked, voice shaking. Her mom sighed.

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Jordan hung up and rested her head against the wall, trying to calm herself down. The entire day had just been too much for her to handle and she needed to go home and rest. She had no idea how she was going to make it through the rest of the week.

“Hey,” Ruby’s voice, although quiet, startled Jordan a little.

“Oh, hey,” Jordan responded, wiping the tears off her cheeks. It was so embarrassing to cry in front of her friends, even though Jordan knew they would never judge her.

“Are you alright?” Ruby asked.

“Um, yeah, I’ll be fine, thanks,” Jordan said. “I just… need to go home.”

“Do you have a ride?”

“Yeah, my mom is coming to pick me up,” Jordan explained.

“Okay,” Ruby said softly. “I’ll tell Zoe and Alice that you left.”

Jordan sniffled and smiled at her friend. Ruby was so kind and she understood exactly what Jordan was going through.

“Thanks,” Jordan said.

Jordan’s mom arrived soon and drove her straight home. When they got home, she asked Jordan if she wanted to talk about what happened but Jordan just shook her head and went up to her room. She spent most of the night in her bed, hiding under the covers. All she could think about was how much she missed her friends from Willow Creek. All the friends who went to different high schools than her. She missed Hillary. She really missed Xia.

Jordan hadn’t spoken to her since her birthday in July. The two tried to rekindle their friendship after grade 9 graduation, but they ended up having to do so in secret after Jordan’s mom found out and forbade them from speaking to each other. Eventually it became too difficult to stay in contact and they fell off again.

The following August was rough. Jordan only really talked to Hillary over text and she was usually too busy with her new boyfriend(s) to actually hang out in person. She would occasionally text Ruby but she didn’t like to text all that much. Her neighborhood friends still came over sometimes but Jordan felt like they didn’t understand her. Despite being in the same neighborhood, their families led completely different lives. So it was only natural that they would drift apart as they grew older, but knowing it was going to happen didn’t make it any easier.

Jordan was distracted from her thoughts when her phone buzzed. She poked her head out from under the blanket to check who it was.

[Image ID: Text conversation with Hillary at 7:23pm. The texts read as follows.

From Hillary: Hey Jordy.

From Hillary: How was your first day? /.End ID]

Jordan smiled and wiped the tears from her eyes. At least she had friends who genuinely cared about her. Life wasn’t so bad.

#jordans fate #creative writing #chapter #queer story #idk what to tag this

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dizzydennis · 3 years

Photo

Sonic x Cream & Cheese Cover Story - English Translation

Translator note: I am not fluent in Japanese. I did my best to bring these translations for Sonic fans to enjoy. Constructive criticism is absolutely welcomed, but please be kind. I hope you enjoy this sweet little story!

It’s the popping and colorful, “Music Plant.”

Tubes of brass instruments weave and wind around the bouncing path of a piano keyboard. This area is entertaining to anybody who listens to the music within it and it’s become somewhat of a famous attraction for some animals.

In such a cheerful place like the Music Plant, you can see two energetic shadows chasing after something. The blue hedgehog, "Sonic" was ahead of the other two with a large gap between them.

Just behind was the little rabbit girl, "Cream" and her chao friend, "Cheese.” Due to the Music Plant being full of various musical instruments and gadgets, even if they thought they had caught up, they'd be pulled elsewhere soon again. The race between these characters allowed the scales of music to play beautifully like a duet.

Looking back, Sonic couldn't see Cream. Sonic tried slowing to walk to assess the situation, but... Cream then came down softly from the sky and blocked his way.

“Mr. Sonic! Please let us go on an adventure together!”

Cream can fly through the sky by flopping her big ears. She could never beat Sonic in terms of foot speed, but she was always able to catch up with some clever shortcuts. Sonic smiled and sighed.

“Like I said, ‘that’s no good!’ The place I’m heading towards is pretty dangerous.”

Sonic carefully chose his words. As he continued on forward he gave a wink to express an all-too-simple: “I’m sorry.”

Sonic then slipped and said “...for a kid.”

Upon hearing this, Cream puffed out her cheeks in frustration and clenched her fists.

“Urgh, Mr. Sonic! Don’t treat me like a little kid! Hmph!”

“It’s not like that, Cream! It’s not that at all. It’s just a bit...”

-ZUUUUUUUUUN-

Just as Sonic tried to find the right words, a terrifying rumbling sound was heard from a distance that shook the Earth. Sonic gave a serious look. Apparently he had a bit of an idea of what that sound was.

“I gotta go fast! Cream, you get home safely, OK?”

“Ah, Mr. Sonic! Please wait!”

Sonic, who flew off at full speed this time, disappeared from Cream’s view as he ran towards the horizon.

For a few seconds, Cream stared at where Sonic had ran with a frazzled expression, but she soon got blown forward... or rather, she started walking again with a much more excited expression.

“Teehee, we should probably go check out that loud noise. It’ll surely shock Mr. Sonic!”

“Chao, chao?”

Cheese seemed to be questioning why Cream wants to keep up with Sonic so badly.

“Is it alright, Cheese? Wherever Sonic goes, there’s bound to be lots of fun adventures! Of course, there are times when our adventures get tough, but Sonic is strong, kind, and knows all about how to adventure. Everything will be just fine!”

“Chao! Chao, chao!”

Cheese seemed to agree and the two went off!

-BANG!!!-

The air shook from far away, and suddenly a loud roar broke through the air. A very large clump of iron flew towards them while it emitted a thick black smoke. It quickly slammed downwards.

CRASH! CRASH! The keyboard bridge and instruments around it were totaled and collapsed.

“Th-Thi- This is bad!”

It must have come from that dangerous place Sonic mentioned just before. Cream, who had fallen over due to the first impact had gotten up in the chaos of everything and saw the miserable, destroyed surroundings. She tried to dust herself off.

Crumbling bridges, animals fleeing for their lives... is this what constitutes as an adventure?

Meanwhile... on the other side of the Music Plant.

“You wanna play me a number? Heh, this is just a robot from Eggman’s Incredible Interstellar Amusement Park; I guess he won’t play.”

A mass-produced Death Egg Robot about the size of a small mountain had stopped moving and was leaning against a trumpet-like facility. It stopped with black smoke shooting out all over the place.

Through it all, Sonic was making a fool of himself while gleefully playing the trumpets.

The truth is, Sonic came here to take down this mass-produced Death Egg Robot when he had heard it was attacking here. The owner, Dr. Eggman, was nowhere to be seen as this seemed to be a “stray robot” that rampaged at complete random. Even so, it was still strong and dangerous. Sonic had to be careful getting Cream involved.

The robot was defeated without much trouble. Sonic was in a good mood because he had made sure the collateral damage was minimal. With this, fixing things back to normal would be fairly easy. The beautiful scenery of the Music Plant and the beautiful sounds that people loved would soon be restored.

Suddenly...

Sonic noticed black smoke rising from the overpass which was only a short distance away. It seemed like the last explosion from the destroyed Death Egg Robot may have caused a huge clump of debris to fly off. It must have flown far and struck that bridge.

“Oh no!”

There were probably many tourists there and Sonic felt it was the exact area where he split up from Cream. He ran with all of his might and had an absolutely serious look on his face.

Sonic traveled at the speed of sound as he overcame colorful hills, spin dashed through a tunnel of brass instruments, and more to arrive at the scene.

A group of animals seemed to be relaxing after having safely evacuated the dangerous bridge area. Cream and Cheese flew down as she flapped her ears.

“Cream!”

“Mr. Sonic!?”

Cream made an expression that shined brightly as she flew to Sonic. But in the shadows of her shining smile, she was tired... but still happy. She went to rescue the many animals and others who were too slow and left behind on the bridge. She took care of the children who had been separated from their parents.

Sonic talked for a while and noticed that Cream was safe, the damage to the surroundings was not as catastrophic as it first seemed, and there were no major injuries. Cream felt relieved and put her hand to her chest. However, Cream’s expression seemed off.

She then said, “I’m so glad that everybody is safe.”

Cream looked downward and continued to speak in a sweet voice.

“I really wanted to defeat that bad robot and go on an adventure with Sonic.”

Just then, Cream stomped on some pebbles at her feet and turned away from Sonic. She continued to look down at the ground. Sonic spoke softly to Cream with a gentle smile.

“That’s not it at all, Cream.”

Sonic stroke the back of Cream’s head and she slowly looked up. Sonic then took to one knee to be at Cream’s eye level.

“An adventure like today... well, it requires both ‘strength’ and ‘kindness.’ We gotta make sure we have both of them.”

“...?”

“Today, you helped me out entirely with your kindness. It was honestly a huge help if I do say so myself!”

“!?”

“Sure! I defeated the robot that was attacking the Music Plant, but half of this adventure was entirely you, Cream!”

“!!”

Like a soft breeze floating by, Cream’s heart shined.

There are times when things get really tough, but if you have strength and kindness, it will be okay. Isn't that the ideal form of an "adventure" for Cream? Today she had an adventure with Sonic!

For Cream, today’s excitement, her hard work, and the way things turned out are all a shining part of her adventures.

Happiness and pride filled Cream’s heart.

“I... really had an adventure?”

“Yeah!”

“I really used my kindness well?”

“Sure!”

“So... will you... take me on more adventures?”

Of course! Sonic gave a thumbs up as a promise, but as the sun started setting, he thought for a moment and answered:

“That’s fine by me, but... it’s getting late. Isn’t it time to go home? Your Mom must be worried. So, how’s tomorrow sound?”

“Hmph! Please don’t treat me like a kid again.”

Sonic ran off with an expression that showed he knew he hit a nerve. Cream and Cheese gave chase.

Music scales filled the air as they ran through the Music Plant; their performance echoing through the sky.

#Sonic the Hedgehog #Cream the Rabbit #Sonic Advance 2 #Sonic Heroes #Sonic Forces

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pynkhues · 3 years

Note

Please recommend some of your fav Rio fics!

Of course, anon! Since you asked for Rio fics, I'm going to guess you meant Rio POV fics? If not, I'm sorry, haha, because that's what I've collated, but I hope you give these a shot regardless! They're all fics I think are pretty great. ;-)

Below a cut, because this got long.

But when he does reappear at the store—she still doesn't hear him coming, she needs to work on that—she's wearing a fuckin' dress, and he's glad she hasn't seen him yet because he can't stop himself from grinning.

Maybe it ain't for him, but given the fact that he doesn't think he's seen her legs since he came back—aside from that one night at the bar when she was definitely feeling herself—it seems like this is an intentional break in the pattern. Either way, he fuckin' loves the idea that she's been dressing up all week, not sure if he's coming but wanting to be ready if he does.

Now Use Both Hands by ms_scarlet / @mego42 6k words. Explicit. Beth x Rio. S3 canon divergence.

Ooooof, this fic causes me physical pain, but I love it a whole lot. Meg really captures Beth and Rio at their most acidic, their most sharp edged, while also managing to balance that with the feelings they desperately don’t want to have. It’s a bit magic, and the fact that she follows this up with another fave, Listening Through the Air Shaft is *chef’s kiss*.

- - - -

When he wakes, he's in a hospital bed, mouth dry as bone and he can taste blood, stale and metallic, on his tongue. The pain in his chest has been dulled by the drugs, but it still lingers, a persistent ache that spikes with every breath.

By all rights, he's a dead man walking.

Ten hours, they had him in surgery. From the look of his chart, he'd flatlined twice, and he can feel the consequences of that, see it in the bruises on his chest, the exhaustion lining the faces of his family. He'd woken to a little hand in his, Pop's cheeks damp with tears, and shit, it'd been close. Too close.

Bury a Friend by @ejunkiet >1k words. Mature. Beth x Rio S3 canon divergence.

Pivoting from 3.01, this fic is a wonderful, quiet character study that looks at Rio in the aftermath of the shooting before he explodes back into Beth’s life. It pulses with emotion and with the promise of catharsis, and it’s just a really special little fic. The Rio voice is terrific too.

- - - -

He finally gets what he needs one day when Elizabeth’s wearing this tight black sweater with a keyhole that shows off just enough to make Rio’s jaw rock. It’s so out of the ordinary, so unlike her ugly li’l sweaters or her surburban mama button-ups, he does a double take, head whippin’ around so fast that she catches it immediately. Then she catches where his gaze lands, where it keeps landin’ through their whole stilted, irritated conversation, and he sees her chest pinken til he can count her freckles. He sucks his lower lip into his mouth, and her lips fall open just the smallest bit, and then she looks up at him.

Eyes locked on each other, Rio takes a step closer. Elizabeth doesn’t back away.

I Will Collect You and Capture You by @foxmagpie 17k words. Explicit. Beth x Rio S3 canon divergence.

I feel like I've recced this fic 1,200 times at this point, haha, but it really is one of my favourite fics in the fandom. It has this sort of grip on you as a reader that almost embodies Beth's grip on Rio in the story, and the way it builds and builds and releases only to build and build again is really delicious, affecting writing.

- - - -

“Com’n her and her lady friends were shakin’”

“Shakin’ about the lemon on the fuckin’ granite, sure.”

They chuckled as the car rolled on, the suburbs slipping away with the sun.

“Think they’ll pay up?”

There was a groan as Rio shifted in his seat, flexing his fingers along the dash.

“Neighborhood like this? Everybody knows someone who knows someone with a trust fund.”

Mick’s lighter flickered, followed by long, rasping inhale. “And a boat.”

Smoke swirled lazily through the open window up into the purple sky.

“And a boat.” Echoed Rio.

Drivin' through the Suburbs by gangfriend / @00gangfriend00 5k words. Teen+. Mick + Rio friendship, Beth x Rio. Canon compliant.

It takes a lot to make me laugh out loud in a fic, but this one does multiple times. It's just insanely fun, and captures Rio and Mick at their most boyish in a way I find utterly charming. It's really, really delightful.

- - - -

She’s got her crimes wrapped up and categorized in folders with labels and post-its. Wrapped up in gift paper with a big blue bow on it. And she’ll probably ask Turner do you want freshly baked cookies or some shit when they go raiding her kitchen.

Rio should really get it under control. Her, get her under control.

She opens the door and slumps onto the front seat, her eyes set angrily on him. Nineteen voicemails and she’s still got things to say: he sees it in the twitch of her hand, the restless, frustrated pattern. Any minute now she’s going to settle on new words to voice her complaints like he’s here to listen. Like he’s got the time— like he cares. Like he’d better.

It’s a Work Thing by isoldewas >1k words. Mature. Beth x Rio. 2.12 canon divergent.

I'm a bit of a sucker for a good canon divergent fic, and this one pivots the car break up in 2.12 in a smutty way that just works unfairly well. It's such a great little fic that really settles well into Rio's headspace during the messiness of s2, and I love it.

- - - -

They settle in their respective places and Rio takes the opportunity to give Elizabeth the same once over that asshole did. Her ass really does look great in those pants and she could fill out any shirt. Her eyes linger over him too, tracing his skin, the bar tattoos peeking out from under his t-shirt that she’s seen a million times but she devours at every opportunity. Then her eyes meet his and she gives him that small, crooked lil’ smile.

He’s not one for religion, but every so often he takes his mom to Spanish mass. All the viejitos and pious Catholic types think he’s a banger but his ma’s still excited to show him off. He sits with her in the pew and when the priest asks for the congregation to give thanks to God, he says a prayer for the riches that have come to him, the health and brilliance of his son, the vitality of the other little ones in his life now, and Elizabeth. And when he thinks of her in those moments, he sees her in his mind’s eye with this exact look on her face.

A Bit of a Stretch by @septiembrre 5k words. Teen+. Beth x Rio. Established relationship.

Beth and Rio do a yoga class together! There’s such a lived-in feel to this fic that it feels impossible not to fall a bit in love with it – their relationship is explored in a way that feels true to who the characters are, while sanding down the edges to create something that feels sweet in the way they usually aren’t in canon. It's a great fic, but more than that, it really just works in a way that's a lot more complicated than it looks, and it’s all the more charming for it.

- - - -

He’s happy to keep kissing her like this. To savour it. Realises she’s undone the last few buttons of his shirt at some point as she shoves it down his shoulders. Doesn’t have a second to think about his ugly scars pressed to her skin. Can just feel her little hot palms snaking up his back and grippin’ him tight. Refusing to let any light between them as they kiss for what feels like hours.

He realises these are the lips he’s been tasting. Searching for in other women when his night’s got too unbearably quiet, hunting for an echo of the thing he really wanted. Comin’ up short every damn time. Sweet and soft and lethal. Unique to her.

It’s longing in a way he’s never felt. This is the taste of it.

As Good as This by @riosnecktattoo 5k words. Explicit. Beth x Rio. 4.05 canon divergence.

Okay, I know I just said how much I loved canon divergence fics, but it bears repeating – I love canon divergence fics, haha. This is such a great alternate take on how the wire scene in 4.05 goes down, and it simmers with tension from the opening line. The way it escalates as Rio navigates this newest betrayal works really well too, and it results in a pretty sexy and surprisingly emotional sequence. Magic!

- - - -

“Do we have a deal?” She asks.

When he turns to look at her she’s smiling, and that’s when he realizes he’s absolutely fucked. He’d just fucked himself out of almost a quarter of a million dollars. He lets his eyes drop down her body, licks his lips and nods.

“I choose the place,” he says and turns on his side to face her. “You owe me half - with interest,” he says and slides a hand into her hair. She’s damp, the sweat slowly cooling.

“That’s not what - “ she opens her mouth to protest and he takes that opportunity to slide his mouth across hers and lick into her mouth.

Long Nights by zetuslapetus / @querenaxx 2k words. Explicit. Beth x Rio. S3 canon divergence.

Rio and Beth bone while negotiating a deal! What's not to love, haha. This has such a fun checks and balances feel to it which just makes me want to peel my skin off, it's so good. It's exactly the way I like my Beth and Rio - hot and snarky and constantly trying to get a leg over the other, literally and figuratively. It's the best.

- - - -

He should go out and find someone to fuck. Maybe text one of his hookups. See if Jen’s working. He has options.

He knows what he should do.

But it turns out fucking other people is a worse hell than the one they create when they’re together.

And now that he’s yielded to this wicked ecstasy, he knows he’ll do anything to keep sitting in the fire with her.

To Sit in Hell with You by @daydreamstew 2k words. Beth x Rio. Explicit. s4 canon divergence.

Canon-divergent from 4.06 – Beth and Rio keep hooking up after the time at his grandma’s place. It’s fun and sexy while also keeping the complicated push-pull and lack of communication at the heart of them. Deeelightful.

- - - -

“Does it make it easier?” Maddie asks him once they’re spent, maybe emboldened because he has already brought her into their bed. Which may be unfair, because Lee had been in their bed from the beginning.

“What?” He seems lost in his thoughts, his arm behind his head. In a few minutes he’ll get up and get ready to get back to the factory. Like always, she’ll be looking for her keys so she won’t be late for work.

“Getting it out of your system before you see her.”

Rio glances at her. “I don’t always see you when I see her.”

It’s so rare for him to explicitly mention this woman, however tenuously, and Maddie waits for more. Rio’s gotten like this about a few women in his life but it doesn’t happen often.

Sure am Using You by aniara 2k words. Explicit. Rio x OC, Rio x Beth.

It's not for everyone, but I absolutely love fics that feature characters with other people in ways that tell you something about the characters' feelings about somebody else. In this fic, Rio's fucking one of his childhood friends, but it's all about Beth really, and the way both Rio and the OC negotiate that is really compelling writing, and feels so in character for Rio. I really love it.

- - - -

Rio dreams of her that night, again. It’s irritatingly pedestrian – Elizabeth’s kissing him deep and then, ah, suddenly his gun’s in her hand and she shoots him, with a double encore. It’s always variations on the same futile theme. When he wakes it’s not that he’s freaked, unaware of reality or his whereabouts. But he’s been soaked in anger for so long. He can’t think straight, not on her. It’s honestly terrifying. Cos stubbornly keeping his head on right is – that’s him. Maybe her entire raison d’etre is destroying every single one of his attributes though.

He ain’t sure if his subconscious is desperately screaming that he’s made the wrong move, letting her live. Or if it’s the total opposite. Could be fucking neither. It’s not – it’s not getting any easier. And that main reason for not biting the bullet, that he’d be mad as hell for being mad as hell at himself over killing her, it's not smelling any less idiotic.

Climbing up the Walls by s_t_c_s / @sothischickshe 8k words. Explicit. Beth x Rio. S3 canon divergence.

Another canon divergence from 2.13 and an interpretation of how s3 could've gone, and another one I really love. There's a throughline of chaotic frustration to this fic that rings true to Rio's character for me, and the way that that reverberates through his moments not just with Beth, but alone and with other women, feels really textured and interesting and real. It's pretty great.

#this was fun to put together #so many good fiicccss #truly a blessed fandom #beth x rio #beth boland #rio #nbc good girls #gg fic #fic recs #welcome to my ama

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demonslayedher · 3 years

Text

Ramble on the Limitations of Looking for KnY Interpretation based on Japanese Mythology

One thing I notice a lot in the Japanese side of KnY fandom theories is a lot of deep dives into religious and mythological reasons behind Gotouge's creative choices. It is super interesting stuff, and Gotouge borrows enough and does homage to enough that there is a clearly a solid knowledge base there. While I find historical details handy for interpreting the characters, ultimately, I find that the canon of demons and Breaths can be interpreted in a vacuum without relying too heavily on the uncanny coincidences lurking in deep dives. This isn't going to be a well-supported essay, this is going to be a ramble that may include a bunch of interesting nuggets. (And then she went on to ramble for 3249 unedited words...)

First things first: I'm a nerd. I like to say I broke the weeb scale a long time ago, but I'm not exactly a university professor or anything like that. That said, I do read a lot of stuff from experts who have jumped on the KnY trends to talk about how elements in KnY are taken from, say, the sword making traditions of the Okuizumo region that results in black swords or simply making comparisons to famous swords, or local legends of supernatural encounters that resulted in split rocks, or comparing specific oni with and the heroes who slayed them or at least comparing elements of specific characters to other famous oni legends, or that Hinokami Kagura is based on a specific Shinto legend and has 12 forms based on existing Kagura traditions, etc. And I love reading this stuff, because I wouldn't had learned about some of it without my interest in KnY leading me to those articles, or as I read it I cheer because they're making references to things I already (as a nerd) really enjoy and therefore it strokes my inner echo chamber bias, or I nod along and think, "oh, yes, why of course, that makes total sense, Hinokami Kagura must be based on the dance Amenouzume performed to enticed the Sun Goddess Amaterasu out of the cave, how silly to think it could be based on anything else" but I then also take a step back to think, "...but it also doesn't have to be." For as many similarities as there to existing legends, it feels to me that Gotouge made it a point not to make specific reference to any particular mythological or religious elements. As an example, Gotouge considered titles with reference to a Shinto fire god named "Kagutsuchi" but never made actual reference to any fire god (or sun god) by name in the finalized direction canon took. Granted, a lot of fan theorists have read into that, going so far as to say because Nezuko's fire powers she represents Kagutsuchi, Yoriichi represents Amaterasu, etc., but while I find the idea of borrowed elements makes for highly interested interpretation of canon, one-to-one comparisons really don't work for this series. By not invoking a name like Kagutsuchi in the title or otherwise, Gotouge succeeded in not being boxed in by the canon of any particular deity. (Granted, "canon" for mythology can vary significantly by whatever historical writings you're looking at, with standard interpretations going through many big changes throughout the centuries. It can be as loose as it is limiting, depending on what sort of historical/mythological/religious figure you're talking about.) I feel there's more evidence of this avoidance by never invoking Amaterasu as a deity, despite the emphasis on the power of the sun in slaying demons. Even looking back and trying to figure out who Akeno placed so much faith, it was only called a "god of sunlight" as opposed to a "sun god." It's as though KnY works with a generic approach to religion. Even if the use of Buddhist element, the Nenbutsu prayer is called such, and Himejima's repeated phrases are legit Buddhist practice, but there is a huge variety of Buddhist sects and practices and theologies, and throughout history, many of them didn't get along. Going back to Akeno and wondering if she might had been Buddhist, I went so far as to suspect she was influenced by Nichirin sect philosophy based on its emphasis on the "Nichi" (sun) representing Japan and incorporating Shinto gods into its philosophy, and for its likely influence in the Kanto area in Akeno's time period, and for its encouragement for the salvation of women and therefore popularity among women. I felt pretty satisfied that it was all lining up, but also, none of this is necessary for a quality interpretation of canon. If Gotouge wanted to say specifically what informed her religious conviction, then it would had been said. But that's not what was important, was it? What was important, and therefore focused on, was Akeno's feelings toward her son and wishes for his sake.

While KnY's worldbuilding feels richer with all the clear religious influence, the details are not actually important. If anything, I feel like Gotouge dove into the heart of the elements of, say, Shinto mythology, and played those core elements up. It's different, yet still familiar, to take sun-associated elements and used them in a way that serves the story without being boxed into existing traditions. The sun is clearly important, and once you start looking for it, you find subtle recurring references to it. Like, Akeno's name? The "Ake" is one way of writing "red," and there are all sorts of uses of other ways of writing "red" throughout the series, in everything from the sand used for making Nichirin blades to the way that Haganezuka calls Tanjiro an auspicious "red" child with a very rarely used kanji. Our commoner main characters, though, just use regular old ways of saying "red" when referencing Tanjiro's appearance without thinking deeply into it, like there's something special right in front of them but they don't recognize it. Similar to how something as special as Sun Breathing was hidden right in front of them in Hinokami Kagura, with a name so generic and simple that it's entirely unsurprising that the Taisho era Kamado family would interpret it as "fire god." The very lack of limiting real-life details is what allows Gotouge to sprinkle these deep touches around, cover them up with branches and leaves, and then sit back and wait for readers to stroll through and invitingly pleasant looking field and then trip and fall down a rabbit hole. This is also what I think gives Gotouge the freedom and malleability to work with the sun in a way that serves the story, especially in ways that tie it to fire. While I don't think there's strong ties for this is general Japanese culture, the way canon is written implies a close tie between fire and the sun as being a very closely related element, hence the influence on the Kamado family, Tanjiro's appearance, his suitability for Sun Breathing based on a history of tending fire for careful charcoal burning, and Tanjiro and Nezuko capability as demons to overcome the sun. Here is where I go into a bit of a tangent about the purification element. This, again, is not strictly tied to any particular Shinto canon (and Shinto does place heavy emphasis on purification), but instead is an example of Gotouge getting to the underlying heart of a lot of common religious elements. Fire is associated with spiritual purification in everything from Buddhism to Catholicism, it's very easy to apply Nezuko's fire abilities as something which burns away something evil (demon poison) so as to purify something good (human flesh, or even other physical substances). Maybe lesser known, but very deeply entrenched in Japanese culture, is the purification element of charcoal. While it may be known around the world for soaking up undesirable elements and therefore used in everything from fish tank filters to treating food poisoning, in Japan, there's a bit of a spiritual side to it as well. For something so closely tied to the way of life for citizens throughout hundreds of years of history for everything from cooking to heating the home, it's unsurprising that quality charcoal would receive as much emphasis as good water and rice. Japanese charcoal is especially known for not producing undesirable smoke or odor, making it appropriate for use in a lot of settings. Charcoal farmers have often not just been that; they've been caretakers of the forest. Keeping the right trees, at the right sizes (both for use as charcoal and for how you pack it together when making charcoal), and in the right numbers to ensure you have stock for coming years, requires management of the forest. (Other tangent side note: many of the other names in the Kamado family are references to plants. Sumire both has the "sumi" sound of charcoal and is the word for violet, Kie is in reference to hollyhock, Nezuko is in reference to red beans (and the asanoha pattern of her kimono is in reference to hemp leaf, an

auspicious symbol of strong and quick growth), Takeo is in reference to bamboo (ironically bamboo can be a problematic plant for charcoal farmers, because it may spread too fast and take resources from other trees--stop stealing all the takuan pickles, Takeo!), Hanako is in general reference to flowers, Shigeru is in general reference to (plants) flourishing, and maybe by the time they got to Rokuta they gave up and said "he's our sixth child, let's just call him 'Six-Boy', lolz." BUT I DIGRESS.) That means the Kamado family not only had careful management of fire in the actual days of charcoal production, but of a wide variety of natural resources to ensure the trees were healthy. Natural weather phenomena, clean water, pest control, minerals from rocks getting into the soil, hmm, so many elements to pay attention to. Hmm. These sure sound a lot like other Breaths. And Breaths all stem from Sun Breathing. That means there may be certain elements of Sun Breathing that have been emphasized in each of them, but none of them encompass so many qualities of the natural world. The natural world which Yoriichi saw with such clarity than nature accepted him with open arms, practically, in how well animals took to him. Sun Breathing, while especially using that all-important purification aspect of sunlight which burns evil demons, is like an all encompassing embrace of nature. While being closely tied with fire is hugely important, there's more to it than just flames. While Shinto is very much so closely tied with nature (the extent to which this is emphasized may vary from shrine to shrine, scholar to scholar), what I see in KnY is a clever use of emphasis on spirituality in nature as opposed to emphasis on Shinto mythology. And I think that was a smart move. While stories based more directly on various theologies, mythologies, and religious ideologies often use those building blocks often wind up having very creative takes on them (even and especially with the confines of them), ultimately, the story of KnY is whatever Gotouge wants to do with it, and it does not seem guided by the specific conventions of more specific religious elements. But again, those deeper elements are still everywhere. You know what color Japanese charcoal burns? It's a gorgeous jewel tone red, spanning many of those rare shades of red Gotouge make reference to. And, in wider Japanese culture, red is the color of the sun (as opposed to how other cultures may represent it as yellow or orange or white or so on). (Not as exactly a KnY tangent, just personal: Japanese charcoal is so freaking pretty, I had no idea until I saw it used in the tea ceremony at parts when guests crowd around to enjoy the sight of it as the host prepares it for boiling the water. I can stare and stare and stare, it is so so so so so pretty, but also this element of the ceremony has gotten rarer both as many places have made a more practical switch to electricity, and tea ceremony quality has gotten more rare both due to fewer producers and due to beetle-related damages to the trees used, and I will always state HOW DISAPPOINTED I am that Kanata and Sumihiko are not out there raising charcoal, because charcoal is precious and I'm always so terrified of wasting charcoal in my practices because its so precious, but seeing the amazingly beautiful burn of the charcoal is absolutely one of my favorite elements of the ceremony and this of course gives me an extra soft spot for Kamado Tanjiro BUT I DIGRESS AGAIN, I TOLD you this was going to be a ramble, but SERIOUSLY IT IS SUCH A GORGEOUS RED).

So anyway. My point is, as interesting as incorporating outside elements may be, I don't find them necessary in interpreting KnY's canon. Even if it takes tons of Taisho Secrets to do so, Gotouge presents the details necessary, and that's more than enough to work with. After all, despite all the care taken in historical details in building the setting, KnY takes place in a fictional universe, it can make its own rules when it comes to things that don't actually exist in our universe. Demons, for example, follow a chronology and power system with sources and limits that is unique to a this universe, as tempting as it is due to general cultural familiarity, it does not call for a one-to-one comparison with existing demon legends. Breath as well, as a power system, is very interesting. Again, this is because it has a lot of basis in core concepts of real life physical and spiritual training. It's presented as a method available to anyone who can pick it up, not drawing on a mystical outside power or summoning the actual superhuman elements of nature. Other stories that present their power systems like that are well and fine, but when it comes down to it, this is a story about mere humans doing everything in their limited power to wave swords around and defeat creatures that seem so likely to outpower them. This is a common, relatable basis of stories throughout history, and a lot of analysis I've heard of KnY's success says that it shows how classic this story structure is. Many Japanese demon stories have their origin in epidemics, and some people suggest that the world looks for hope in stories like KnY in times of seemingly insurmountable crises like coronavirus. I think that's an oversimplification of KnY's success, but again, because of Gotouge's use of core cultural elements, it can be applied easily. OKAY BUT ON THAT NOTE we can do some really interesting digging if we want. : D Gotouge does make some highly specific references, included religious ones (granted, not in ways that impact the plot). The example coming to mind is the Seventh Form of Thunder Breathing, the "Flaming Thunder God." In Japanese, this is "Honoikazuchi-no-Kami," the name of a lightning deity who had a very, very brief mention in the Kojiki and who appeared among a handful of other lightning deities named in reference to other aspects/phenomena of lightning, like the sound or the rumble through the ground. Honoikazuchi is not so much the lightning itself, but the fires started by lightning. Stick with me a bit longer, I'm building up to something here. You've probably heard of the twelve animals of the Chinese (poorly translated as) Zodiac, right? Well, the system is way more complex than that, and really, if you want complexity, skip Japan and go dive straight into ancient China. I laugh and cry at myself for having a graduate degree in Chinese studies, the extent of my knowledge is is pitifully small, I know nothing, nothing. Suffice to say, China has its own five element system of water/wood/metal/fire/earth, it's more a philosophical application than a more physicality-based four element system popular in the west (fire/water/air/earth, why hello there, Avatar), with attributes of these elements assigned to every about anything through Chinese culture, from medicine to, you guessed it, the Zodiac animals. Japan saw all this and said "cool, we'll do that too" albeit their sort of mixed and matched a bit and made their own take on it in Onmyodo. An Onmyoji, who keeps track of, like, really any other-worldly matter you might have on your hands as a Heian noble, is someone who is paid to know all this stuff (it was very likely an Onmyoji who told the Ubuyashiki clan, "yeah, you got an evil family member to blame for your curse, squash him"). Yours Truly is not an Onmyoji and therefore will not attempt to go into more detail, save the one that a handful of Japanese theorists in the KnY fandom love to bring up: The Boar is a water sign. This means that, especially in Shinto practice, boars are considered an animal that protects against

fire, hence, a lot of practices to protect against fires were done on days of the Boar, in the month of the Boar, etc. So? So-o-o-o-o-o? You see it? You see it??? Boar = Water, Honoikazuchi = Fire, Inosuke and Zenitsu are basically foils to Tanjiro? Yes, yes, see it, yessss??? Deep dive Kamaboko theory, yes?????? Hahahaha. Naw. It's just a fun coincidence. ^_^ Again, I find these details completely unnecessary, for we are already given so many details in canon to work with on its own, and I think Inosuke and Zenitsu as foils to Tanjiro works entirely well simply based on their personalities, not because of any supernatural elements that require a high level of nerdery to have any hope of appreciating. Besides, once you start reaching too hard for cultural details Gotouge might have used and clinging too tightly to those ideas, there's likely something in canon to make it doubtful. For instance, Inosuke more widely presented as a king of the forest who wears deer and bear hide as well, and the fanbook state that Beast Breath is considered a likely offshoot of Wind Breathing. Even if we rely more strictly on historical detail, there's still the question of, say, what one of the basic Breaths, Thunder Breathing, even was when it was but a thunder inspired sword form not necessarily powered by Breath, you know, back when swords were longer and it would have been harder to make the fast draws katana would later be better suited for. Maybe they called it Thunder because it was practiced by swordsmen who stomped around really hard, and then when they added Breath technique, they figured out "oh dude, we can use our strong legs to go fast"??

Those are the kinds of things I find more fun to play around with in interpreting canon by bringing in little outside details, because as a work of fiction, there are already so many fun details to work with already even when treating it in a vacuum. But, giving Gotouge extensive and subtle use of cultural elements, especially core elements, it sure makes a lot of outside details applicable. Which is all to say, it's all super interesting, and I think the more people realize these things, the deeper they read into it, to an extent more than canon calls for. As much as I like it, and as much as I've enjoyed pulling outside elements in to fanfiction (like Kagutsuchi and lightning god tidbits), ultimately, if Gotouge thought these things were necessary, they'd have been included. Since they are not, I try to stick to canon details and Word of God-touge in answering Asks (lolz, I didn't plan on becoming a meta blog, it just kinda happened). BUT ALSO, JEEZ, I AM SO EXCITED IF PEOPLE TAKE A DEEPER INTEREST IN JAPANESE CULTURE BECAUSE THEY LIKE KIMETSU NO YAIBA, YOU CAN HAVE SO-O-O-O-O-O MUCH FUN PLANNING A TRIP TO JAPAN AROUND KNY THEMES, DO IT DO IT DO IT, GO TO YAGYU AND POSE IN A TANJIRO HAORI AND STICK YOUR SWORD IN A SPLIT ROCK, THE LOCALS THERE LOVE IT, DO IT but also like maybe learn about the tea ceremony and appreciate how beautiful the charcoal is with me k thx bye

#kny fandom theories and meta #sooooorta #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #am I a Pillar or a Demon?#neither #I am but a nerd

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eideticmemory · 3 years

Text

TWO GHOSTS | MATTHEW G. GUBLER

It’s been 15 years. 15 years has to be long enough . . . right?

Set 15 years after the end of Ever Since New York, so give that a read first!

Word Count: 3.1k.

Warning: Usual angst, porn, and poor communication amongst characters.

SOUNDTRACK:

Maps - Yeah Yeah Yeahs

Stop the World, I Wanna . . . - Artic Monkeys

Space Song - Beach House

May 16, 2002.

New York City, New York.

“[y/n] . . .” Claire whispered. “Honey, c’mon . . . just, try to sit up.”

You couldn’t. You just, couldn’t. It was as if your entire body was filled to the brink with sand — coarse, wet, heavy sand — and it was weighing you down, keeping you anchored to Claire’s bed. Your head rested in her lap, and your fist gripped, tightly, onto the fabric of her jeans — which were stained with your tears. Her hand ran along your spine, and her arm wrapped around you, protectively. She wanted to shield you, she wanted to keep you safe, happy. She wanted to distract you from your luggage laid out on the floor.

But, the pressure of her body, coddling you, God, it just hurt. Everything hurt, and you couldn’t get it to stop, and you couldn’t stop sobbing, ugly sobbing, snot running down your lips.

“Cl—Claire . . .” you whined. “I . . . I . . .” your hand flew to your mouth, muffling a loud and painful sob that echoed throughout the room.

“I know, I know . . .” she cooed, kissed the top of your head, and ran her hand over your hair. “It’s okay, don’t try to talk, just rest.”

Claire held you, all day and all night on May 16, 2002. She held you until you lost your voice, until you cried yourself to sleep, and after that, she still held you.

Because it was May 16, 2002.

And May 16, 2002 was day one without Matthew Gubler.

After crying yourself to sleep that morning, you awoke alone in Claire’s bedroom that night. You rubbed your tired and sore eyes, and sat up, surprised to see the sun had gone down. Your mouth felt dry, and your throat was sore. Claire had left you a bottle of water, and you chugged it in one gulp. You stood from the bed, slowly and groggily, stumbling your way through the boxes of clothes, and decorations that Claire hadn’t even put up yet.

You wandered aimlessly into the bathroom, and switched on the light. You didn’t recognize yourself in the mirror. Only a faint resemblance of what you looked like that morning, before the airport, before the tears.

You had dressed up. Did your makeup. And now, your clothes were wrinkled, and your face was smeared with mascara. You looked miserable, you felt miserable, you were miserable.

Claire walked in just as another tear rolled down your cheek. You looked at her reflection, and saw she was eyeing you, sadly.

“Hey,” she attempted to smile. She stepped over to you and held onto your shoulders, catching you as you fell back, dramatically, into her arms.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” she whispered. You hiccuped as you looked in the mirror, making eye contact with her. “It’s just day one . . .” she said. “It’s just . . . day one.”

And it’s true, what everyone says: one day turns into one month, and one month turns into one year.

And one year turns into one decade.

October 13, 2017.

New York City, New York.

Today, is Friday the thirteenth.

Day 5,629 without Matthew Gubler.

And somehow, someway, you feel just as stuck, and frozen, and scared shitless as you did on day one.

You haven’t felt this way in a very long time, though. And of all the days, of all the nights, to feel like this, to be stuck and frozen and scared . . . tonight is not the night.

A knock rings at the dressing room door, startling you from your thoughts. You cleared your throat, and found yourself, once again, focused on your reflection.

You know this person. You’ve spent 5,629 days growing into this person. And y’know what? She’s fucking hot.

“[y/n]!” Another knock follows.

“I’m coming!”

“When?”

“Ramona, I will fire you, and trust me, I really need an assistant!” You shout, fixing your dress in the mirror once again.

“Oh, yeah, right. Then who would make your coffee and make sure you’re on time?” she replied. “. . . You’re late!”

“Okay!” You stumbled to the door in your heels, flung it open, putting your hand on your hip.

“Wow . . .” Ramona said, nearly speechless. “You look . . . hot.”

“That is not how you speak to your boss, dude,” you laughed. “You really think I look hot?”

“Marshmallows on an open fire, smoking, kind of hot.” She winks.

You chuckle, “Thanks, I needed that. Walk with me.”

“Okay, um,” she starts, walking beside you as you strut down the hall. “Hair and makeup are gonna take care of you in no less than thirty minutes, that gives you, approximately, two minutes to get into the studio.”

“Two minutes?” You stop in your tracks. “That’s it?”

She can’t help but grin, just a little, “Told you you were late.”

You scoffed, “Okay, so are we shooting when I step into the studio?”

“Yep!”

“Great . . .” you sigh, walking over to the cosmetic chair.

“But, hey, you’re the big boss, they can’t film without you.”

“Yeah, except big boss told everyone we’re filming at seven sharp, and big boss probably won’t even be ready at seven sharp!” You ramble.

“Okay . . .” Ramona nods, slowly. “Are ever gonna tell me why you’re so nervous about tonight, or . . ?”

“Uh, why am I nervous about a major, televised, celebrity event that I not only put together myself, but choreographed?” You rambled. “I don’t know, pick a reason!”

“Wow . . .” She says. “As valid as all those reasons are, I think something else is going on and I will find out, so you might as well spill.”

“Can’t talk!” You pip. “Getting my makeup done! Tell them I’ll be in at seven.”

You exhaled deeply the minute Ramona stepped away, closing your eyes. Not opening them until your hair was done perfectly, and the makeup artist added her final touches.

You, once again, came face to face with your reflection.

“[y/n]!”

But you didn’t have time to process it.

“[y/n], cameras are rolling, thirty seconds to seven.”

Of all the days, of all the nights, you tell yourself, looking into the mirror, to feel like this, to be stuck and frozen and scared . . . tonight is not the night.

“[y/n]!”

Because you are the big boss now.

Your purple dress — perfectly matched to the NYU logo — hugs your body tightly as you walk across the floor, the hem splayed over feet, which are covered in tall, silver heels. The clack of your shoes silences everyone as you walk by. Everyone, except for Ramona, who steps in before you can enter the studio.

She clips an NYU pin to your dress, “For good luck,” she smiles.

“3, 2, 1 . . . rolling.”

You enter the studio, and the room fills with a flood of “oooooh!” from each and every one of your students. The camera pans over their faces as you walk across the hardwood floor, smiling at them, laughing at their expressions. Their jaws are dropped, hands clutched over their chests.

“[y/n]! Holy shit!”

“Hey!” You laugh. “Language! We’re rolling!”

“You look great!”

“Thank you, how are you all?” You ask.

“Nervous, thanks for asking.” They all laugh.

“You guys will be fine, I’m an excellent teacher,” you giggle.

“Damn right, but are you sure you can’t hold our hands while we’re on stage? Just for a little bit?”

“Big babies!” You shake your head. “You’re ready. Signals from off camera indicated a time crunch, and you quickly brought the group together for a big hug.

It’s been a long time coming. Tonight. Or, as printed on all invitations and promotional materials:

New York University’s 2017 Celebrity Alumni Event: In Support of the Ballet class of 2017.

Coordinated and Choreographed by [y/n] [y/l/n], executive producer and star of the hit reality show, New York Best and Ballet.

Big boss.

The camera follows you as you exit the studio, walk down the hall, “They’re gonna kill it,” you smile into the lense. “I know it.”

All you can think about is the blatant, gross hypocrisy. The way you’re completely, beyond a shadow of doubt, confident in your students and their ability to pull this off.

And you can’t even say the same thing about yourself.

With the cameras off of you, you put your hand against the wall, and steady yourself. Ramona walks up to you, walking along your side. “Got you a water, you should stay hydrated tonight.”

You give her an appreciative look, taking the bottle of water and standing up straight, “Is it too early to start drinking?”

“I guess not, guests are starting to arrive.”

“Holy shit, already?” You gasp.

“You did plan this thing, right?”

“Ugh,” you huff, dramatically rolling your eyes.

“You’re expected in the ballroom, a margarita will be waiting for you at the bar.” Ramona grins.

You continue down the hallway, as she watches you walk away, a crew of people following behind you.

“[y/n]!” Ramona calls.

You turn to her, stopping in your steps.

“Marshmallows on an open fire, smoking, kinda hot,” she smiles.

You laugh, out loud, and give her a nod. Then, you continue on your way downstairs.

More people had already arrived than you thought. The ballroom was packed, covered by a sea of people, tables, cameras and crew meandering through the crowd to catch every ounce of footage they could. You were filmed as you walked down the steps, passing the stage and stepping onto the floor with a grand smile.

“Pretty good turn out, huh?” You chuckled, beaming at the camera as you branch out to greet your guests.

This helps.

The smiles, the laughs, the presence of people that support you and your program enough to show up, pay a lot of money, and witness the magic of NYU ballet in all its glory. The light highlights the brightness of your smile, the glow around you in your element. Your chuckle echoing around the room, as you coasted from table to table, person to person, thanking them for coming.

Reconnections were made, stories were told, and retold, and thoughts of college had you blushing on the spot. You’re so lost in the whirlwind of energy, of being the proper hostess, and managing everything in sight, you didn’t notice that an hour had passed.

Until a crew member taps you on the shoulder, and tells you it’s five minutes to show time.

“Excuse me,” you nod, removing yourself from your current conversation and heading backstage.

You blow kisses to the band of nervous students, give them two thumbs up as cameras trailed behind you. “And . . . you’re on, [y/n].”

You stand up straight, hand your margarita off to a crew member, take in a deep breath. And walk. You march up to the podium, the bright lights beating down on you as you stand in front of the large crowd.

“Hello, everybody, welcome!” You announce, bringing the room to a gentle silence. “Thank you all so much for being here. I’m [y/n] [y/l/n], director and head of the ballet department here at New York University.”

You become flustered at the wave of applause, cheering the crowd and backstage. “Thank you, thank you so much. As a NYU alumni, there is truly nothing that makes me happier than to teach this extraordinary class of students. They’re focused, they’re determined, incredibly talented, and the best of the best. So, without further ado, I present to you the NYU ballet class of 2017, presenting a remastered rendition of their first performance in 2014.”

You exited the stage, the curtain behind you shielding the students that were already positioned in place. You stood backstage, watching them on screen, with your hands bound against your chest. The curtain was drawn, the music kicked up, and they went.

They move effortlessly, dare you say it . . . perfectly. In sync, and with a wide range of motion that rolled without a hitch. The crowd watched in awe, and you were right there along with them. Cameras focus on your face as you’re entranced by the class, and so immensely proud.

“They’re incredible,” you beam. “Aren’t they amazing?”

The full set took about half an hour, and when the curtain flies down, closing dramatically, you jump up and down, and run over to the group of kids who couldn’t wait to see you. The joy can be felt through the lense of every camera trained on you.

Their energy and excitement is putting you on cloud nine. Your own adrenaline is rushing, and pumping in your ears.

You let your guard down. You hand out kisses and hugs left and right, and step back in the crowd on a high, head empty, no thoughts. No feelings except for happiness and pride.

“That was incredible, [y/n], absolutely incredible.”

“Wonderful show!”

You were saying thank you faster than you could hear the accolades, caught in a rush of people passing you by.

You turn to see your students trailing behind you, shaking hands as they’re showered in praise. You grin at them, entirely consumed with elation by their looks of satisfaction, of relief, of relaxation and accomplishment.

You let your guard down.

You got comfortable.

“[y/n]!”

You let yourself slip.

“[y/n], [y/n]!” A hand is placed on your shoulder, causing you to turn around, a smile still plastered across your face.

“You know Matthew, right?” Your co-producer asked. “You guys graduated the same year?”

You nearly collide with him. You stop on the toe of your heels, and come to a screeching halt. Your eyes connect like magnets, the pull is strong and intense. Your breath catches in your throat, you smile fading along with your breath. You instantly begin to sweat under the light of the cameras, your skin heating up, your hands shaking.

“U—u—uh,” you stutter. “Yes! Hi!”

“Hi, [y/n]!” He exclaims, happily, opening his arms to give you a hug.

“Oh!” You gasp as he pulls you into his chest.

And he smells, so good. He’s grown, and it feels different holding his tall frame in your arms. But the embrace is quick, and brief, and he holds your shoulders in his palms as he speaks to you, “The show was amazing, blew me away!”

You’re expected to talk. You’re expected to breathe. But you’re left speechless by the scruff lining his jaw, the curl atop his head, the suit shaping his body, and topped off with a jet black bow tie.

“Thank you, thank you,” you ramble. “Thanks for coming, um, let’s catch up later,” you nod, to which he politely nods back, and clears a path for you to walk on by.

You let your guard down.

And now you can’t seem to catch your breath.

Your feet were killing you by the end of the night. You didn’t get to take a proper seat — without the cameras, and the crew, and the crowd, until nearly ten o’clock at night. As you were trying to regroup, Ramona found you hiding away in your dressing room, halfway asleep.

“[y/n]?” she taps your shoulder. You groggily lift your head, and look to her, “There’s a car waiting for you out back. It can take you home or to the hotel across the street. What do you think?”

“Mm,” you hum. “Hotel. Hotel is fine.”

The Lillian Hotel had been acquired specifically for tonight’s event. A cozy room, with an even cozier bed was waiting for you, calling your name. And after tonight, after day 5,629, it’s all you can think about.

You give Ramona a quick hug, and thank her for everything before you sneak out of the building. You take the back exit, avoiding an entanglement of people and paparazzi.

The atmosphere of the elegant hotel was much calmer. You were given the key to your room, and you turned on your heels to head to the elevators. Your shoes created an echo against the tile, and the sound suddenly silenced when you saw him. Waiting for the elevator.

“Matthew?” You call, timidly. The courage comes out of nowhere, flies out of your chest before you can catch it in your throat.

He stops in his tracks, and turns to you, holding the strap of his bag. “Hey!” he grins.

You give him a shy smile, as you let out a dry laugh and step closer to him.

His eyes darken, not noticeably, but just a little. He looks down at you, and you look up at him, and all you can say is . . .

“Matthew . . .” you clear your throat. “Thank you for coming tonight, and supporting the program, and for . . . being so professional about everything, I know it . . . couldn’t have been easy, I really appreciate it.”

His eyebrows furrow, only for a second, and his face almost goes blank. He looks down at his shoes, taps his foot as his mind swirls with words to say. But all he can is chuckle. Laugh.

“I knew you were gonna do this,” he says.

You tilt your head, “Do what?”

“This . . . think . . . think that what I did today had anything to do with you.”

“I—“ you stutter. “Okay . . .”

“I came tonight to see friends, to catch up, to visit New York. And I knew I would see you, and I knew . . . I knew you’d, I don’t know, expect me to fall to my knees the second I saw you. I can’t do that . . . I, personally, see no reason to do that. I acted professional, because I am professional, not to cushion your feelings.”

And although, he’s changed, he’s grown, he’s matured, and he’s a completely different person than when you saw him last, Matthew Gubler still knows how to make a dramatic exit.

He turns away from you and continues down the hall, boarding the elevator without looking back at you. You — who’s paralyzed, stuck, scared shitless. Standing in the foyer of the hotel lobby, wondering why you’re unable to move, to breathe, to keep your eyes from misting.

And back to day zero.

You knew for sure that you’d struggle to sleep. That Matthew’s word would eat at your gut and brain like a parasite, haunting you, rattling around your head. But, the second your head hits the pillow, you were out like a light.

And you dreamt of him instead.

The way he was 15 years ago.

The way he made you feel.

Bing, bing, bing!

“Huh!” You jolt awake, spasming out of your sleep violently. Suddenly, the sun had risen again, and it was burning your eyes through the windows.

Bing, bing, bing!

“What the—“ You sit up, rub your face, and anxiously search for your phone, wondering why you were being called so early in the morning.

Ramona’s name flashed upon the screen, and you swiped to accept her call. “Hello?”

“[y/n] . . .”

“Ramona . . .” you slur.

“Have you checked twitter this morning?”

“Tw — no? No, it’s . . . seven in the morning, of course I haven’t checked Twitter.”

“Check it.”

“Ra—“

“Check it!” She shouts.

You groan, and navigate to the Twitter app. “Oh . . . oh, I’m trending . . . that’s good, right?”

“Yeah, uh-huh, check who you’re trending with . . .”

“Okay . . .”

Clicking on your name, you instantly sat forward, your eyes going wide, “NO!”

TAGLIST:

@muffin-cup

@pinkdiamond1016

@ncsls0515

@spencersbed

@safertokiss

#mine #esny #mgg #Matthew Gray Gubler #matthew gray gubler fanfiction

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duskwood-legacies · 3 years

Text

"Summer Sunsets"

•Fandom: Duskwood

•Pairing/Character: Jake x fem!MC

•Word Count: 1,5k

•Genre: Romance, Fluff

•Summary: Jake and MC share a gentle moment underneath the setting sun neither of them wanted to end.

Before I start with the one shot, I wanted to thank all of you for the massive support on my last story, it was heart-warming!🥺💕 I hope you enjoy this story as much as the last one🌿💕

As the sun dipped down behind the horizon, the sky appeared in the most beautiful shades of orange and purple. Wind was slowly howling through the trees, slowly caressing the grass with its gentle melody.

Carefully, MC guided Jake through the fields. Her hands covered his eyes from behind, both their hearts beating a tad bit faster than usual.

“Where are you taking me?” Uncertainty lined Jake’s voice.

“We’re almost there” He could hear the smile on MC’s lips. It loosened his tightened nerve endings, at least by a little. It was dangerous out in the open, especially when the afternoon hours faded into the slow evening. His pursuers were still out there.

Of course MC noticed his discomfort. She knew danger was lurking everywhere around them, but that shouldn’t stop her from doing what she wished to do for so long. Tenderly, she rubbed her thumbs along Jake’s temples, hoping to get his anxiety to simmer down.

Her small act of compassion caused fireworks to explode in his chest.

They halted.

“Tada!” MC beamed as she removed her hands from Jake’s eyes.

A blanket, thoughtfully spread out on the ground, with a bottle of champagne and two suiting glasses lied ahead. A long chain of fairy lights was placed around, illuminating the scenery with a soft and cozy glow which made the setting sun appear like a joke.

“MC…” No words matched what Jake was feeling. Emotions overwhelmed his body. Not ever has he experienced something like that in those days he could remember.

MC walked over to the blanket. Her dress was weightlessly flowing in the wind and her slightly messed up hair only made her frame so much more breathtaking to him. She sat down and met Jake’s unbelieving gaze with a smile. Regarding all their conversations, all their late-night talks and all things told in-between their moments, she expected this kind of reaction.

She patted the free spot on the blanket. Jake couldn’t bring his body to move. He was lost in feelings and sensations, the bitter thoughts of his pursuers washing down into temporary oblivion.

“Jake?” MC’s humble voice brought his attention to her. Her love-lined smile, her oh so sweet eyes filled with kindness and patience. Nothing ever felt so real, yet so much like a cursed hallucination. He glanced down to her hand, still resting on the empty spot.

Slowly but surely Jake’s body stopped betraying him. One step after another, he approached the setting. MC’s eyes were set on him, cautiously observing every move and every bit of expression with curiosity until he finally sat down.

MC could feel how her lips carved into an even larger smile.

“You’re blushing”

“How could I not?” Jake responded with a display of shyness “MC, how long did this take you?”

“Not too long” She comforted him, “I feared you wouldn’t enjoy yourself as much when you knew, or at least had the feeling, this took me longer than 5 minutes”

There it was again. The cheeky tone that made his heart skip, the sound of her voice which made breathing impossible. Even if her words were accompanied by seriousness, her features still held the gentlest expression he had ever seen.

“Hey…”

“Apologies.” Jake quickly replied, “I don’t mean to disrespect you with my silence. This is a lot to take in.”

And… and he felt validated. MC took his feelings into consideration and treated them, treated him, with respect and understanding. It was more than he’ll ever be capable of returning to her.

“I understand” MC nodded. Her eyes lingered on Jake for far more than a few seconds. He sheepishly refused to look at her. She’s never been able to shake this damned, ever-so-tiny piece of worry off. No matter how many times she reassured herself, a small part of her was afraid she was going too far with this.

With all the courage she could gather, MC’s hand reached out and covered Jake’s. Jake flinched at the sudden action, but did nothing to rid of her hand. No, instead he prayed for time to stop, freeze everything but the warmth of her loving touch.

Loving… was her touch even meant to show affectionate feelings? How high was the possibility MC was only being friendly and not displaying romantic attraction?

After all, they still were nothing more than friends.

“Jake,” Her voice cut through his thoughts once again “please talk to me. There is a lot going on in your mind, I can see it. I’m worried about you. Do you want to go home? Am I going too far?”

“No!” Jake blurted out “I want to do anything but that. I enjoy my time with you. It’s bugging me that I will never be able to pay you back.”

“You don’t have t-“

“No MC. I mean everything. You could live a life full of joy, a safe life. By having you here, by my side, I have taken so many of your opportunities. I have stolen the potential of the person you could have become. I pulled you down from the heights you could have climbed, drowned you in the ocean you could have made run dry. I am sorry, MC. So incredibly sorry.” Every word poured out of him like a tide. With every word spoken, his chest ached a little more, with every word spoken guilt came creeping back into his eyes.

MC was silent. Her heart ached as much as his. Seeing the hurt on his face, hearing the distress in his voice pained her so much more than she ever thought was possible. Her hand tightened around Jake’s, afraid he’d slip from her grasp, disappear right in front of her the moment she’d let go.

“From the day I met you, you interested me. I wanted to be the person who protected you. I wanted to be the one who kept you safe and calm. And now here you are. Running from the same people as I am, facing danger every second of your life.”

The meaning of Jake’s words weighted in on MC. She always suspected Jake may beat himself up for a decision she has made, but hearing it from his mouth hurt so much more.

She brought Jake’s hand up to her face and placed a gentle kiss on its back, closing her eyes while doing so. Blood rushed into Jake’s cheeks as well as hers. Their skin burned with the heat of a thousand suns, hearts beating rapidly and air becoming thin inside their lungs.

MC opened her eyes and gave Jake the most heart-felt smile he had ever witnessed. Her free hand found its way to cup his warm cheek, thumb gently brushing over his skin. He could feel the light shiver in her hand.

There was a tension neither of them could explain, but both so dearly wanted to follow.

“It’s okay you’re not who you thought you’d be.” MC whispered with sympathy resting every part of her voice “Sometimes things don’t work out the way we want, and that’s okay. Besides, you’re still keeping me safe, no? You’re still sheltering me from harm and making me laugh every day, don’t you?”

"You laugh a lot." Jake admitted, or more likely realized, as he attempted to fathom what she told him. She resembled so much calmness, did the fact that he endangered her not bother MC at all? Or, even more so, how could she not blame him for the danger’s she’s facing? How can a person be so gentle and understanding with him?

For a moment, silence embraced the two of them. Nothing but the soft flow of the river and echoes of each other's voices in their head surrounded them.

Their eyes were still locked onto each other, no one daring to break the trance they both sent themselves into.

The tension got stronger.

MC gulped. She lightly pulled Jake's face closer, hoping he would know what she tried to initiate. He did. He wanted nothing more than this.

Both were hesitant. They knew what this meant for their future, what complications everything would bring.

No, right this second those thoughts carried no value.

It was their time to cave in, their time to finally release what's been held back for so long. And so they did. Jake freed his hand from underneath MC's and pulled her closer. He couldn't take it anymore, neither could she.

Their lips met and veins filled with passionate fires as fierce as a raging inferno. Jake's free hand cupped MC's one still resting on his face, longing for her touch, longing for this moment to never end.

They broke apart. Both trembling softly from the adrenaline rush, both taking their time to take in the feelings engulfing their bodies with an unforgettable memory.

This moment was magical. All their wishes and desires became true. Reality has barely been so blissfully comforting, especially for Jake.

A quiet chuckle emitted from MC's mouth, grabbing Jake's attention and automatically making him join in. All dangers aside, nothing ever felt so right. So perfect.

MC was the first one to speak up again, grinning as she held up the bottle of champagne that had lied next to them, untouched.

"Champagne?"

Jake could only smile and respond with a nod.

Truth is, none of them needed the alcohol. They were wasted on their feelings for one another, wishing nothing more than for those emotions, for this summer sunset, for this serenity to last for eternity.

-----

I'm not too confident in the ending of this story, but I'm really proud of the beginning!💕🍀

#duskwood #duswood jake x mc #duskwood jake x player #duskwood fanfiction #everbyte #duskwood fandom #duskwood everbyte #duskwood mc #duskwood player #everbyte studios

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a-simple-imagine · 3 years

Text

A little bit of Devil In Her Angel Eyes

Synopsis: Your entire life changed when you met Sharon Carter in Mandripoor but one bad deal and everything comes crashing down.

Pairing: Sharon Carter x reader

Words: 3.2k

A/N - This is my first story after like a five month slump so please go easy on me. I hope its okay!! I also just reached 1.7k so thanks for that.

Warnings - swearing, mentions of blood and fighting, mentions of illegal activities.

You never lacked interest or empathy, but you'd always felt bored throughout your life. There was little excitement amongst the mundane everyday tasks. You didn't have some grand ambition to work towards; no dream job and no innate desire to settle down and have a family. You were navigating life with no direction. Never feeling like you belonged anywhere. You didn't necessarily see this as a problem but there were moments, late at night, that had you wishing for something more out of life. You just weren't quite sure what that was... until you met her.

A chance encounter in the vibrant neon lights of a dingy bar located in lowtown; a crime-ridden, impoverished district located in Mandripoor. It is the ultimate abyss of vice and degradation, where nothing was sacred and no act profane. A beautiful young woman, who so strongly contrasted her surrounding, sat at the bar sipping on a martini glass. Such a rare sight down here, it was like coming across a mythical creature. Unexpected, strange but oh so magical. One night with the woman was enough to set your senses ablaze. One night turned to two... then three... and so forth. She was the first person to ever made you feel alive; she made you feel like was worth living. It was a rollercoaster of a relationship and you never wanted to get off. And they looked to you with a look of pure admiration. She fed you sugar-coated words and tender smiles that had you on your hands and knees. You would do anything to experience the warmth of her smile or the vibrancy of her melodic laugh. And god was she the most beautiful woman you had ever laid your eyes on. An angel cast in the ethereal glow of the moon. Utterly smitten and unafraid to show it. She was softener than appearance may appear. Not always the best at expressing her feelings, you liked to think that it was evident in the little things she did. Like the cup of chamomile tea, she always offered you before bed. Or the way she always had to be touching you in some way before she could fall asleep beside you. It was clear in her overprotective nature. The way she was willing to break someone's arm just for looking at you funny. She was willing to go to war for you. The relationship worked because you were both getting high on affection; drowning in each other. However, there was a much darker side to one Miss Sharon Carter. A lot of late nights you were left wondering if she would return. She threw extravagant parties that seem innocent enough until she's sneaking off behind closed doors with shady characters. Was there ever a moment she wasn't looking over her shoulder? Rollercoasters go up and up only to fall from grace at high-velocity speeds. A smarter person may have turned and run but you never claimed to ever do what was best for yourself. You were in much too deep. Sharon Carter was a former hero turned double agent who is now one of the underworld leaders of the lawless island nation of Madripoor. Her main area of interest was selling superpowers to the highest bidder; seems there is quite the market for black market super-soldier serum. Sharon also dabbled in acquiring exquisite art pieces through less than honourable measures in order to sell. She wasn't above petty crimes and illegal substances. Quite the reputation did the woman you had found yourself utterly infatuated with. It actually made a lot of sense. And if you were being honest with yourself, you valued your relationship over any morals you may have possessed. In fact, you were actually impressed if not a little intimidated by her. The option to leave was always right there but instead, you found yourself helping her out wherever she saw fit. Why? Because there was no one you cared for more in this world than Sharon Carter.

Bright red lights had been flashing in warning since the beginning of the deal. You had been through a lot together and had watched as Sharon dealt with all kinds of messed up scenarios. You even had helped her commit atrocities but her success had begun to cloud her judgement. Blind to the inevitable. Every time you attempted to voice your concern, she brushed you aside with sweet whispers of reassurance followed by a quick peck on the cheek. Sharon could be so stubborn it was infuriating; she lived with the idea that she always knew best. That she was basically untouchable. A god. It was an attractive trait that had you weak in the knees but it also led to stupid decisions. Everything will be okay. All concern pushed to the side, you chose to believe her.

As the clock struck one, you waited patiently for your girlfriend to return. A pit deep in your stomach that kept you from even considering going to bed before she arrived home. A cold cup of tea sat on the kitchen table as you numbed your mind with the bright screen of an iPhone. The click of the front door made your ears perk up, a smile settling on your lips. Thank god she was finally home, you weren't sure you could handle it much longer. Calling out for her, you receive no response but footsteps echo through the house. Not just one though. Did she have company over? It wouldn't be the first time she turned up late with some associates on her tail. Normally you wouldn't mind but you would have at least appreciated the heads up.

"What-" Words come to an abrupt end as a gloved hand slaps over your mouth. Chair crashes to the floor, phone slams against the table as you're dragged out of your seat. Struggling against a tight grip, they drag you across the room where you notice two shadows lurking on the sidelines waiting to pounce. A punch to the stomach so beautifully engraved with your girlfriend's name has you pushing against the arms that thankfully let go; flinging you to the ground. A black toed boot slams into your stomach followed by a barrage of varying blows. As your vision begins to fade, you're reminded of the last question regarding her predicament. It had been over a very early breakfast staged before a rising sun.

"You're up early." Your girlfriend hums in your ear as arms snake around your shoulders; sleep evident in her voice.

"Couldn't sleep," A purple mug brought to your lips, you take a small sip. "I was thinking-

"How many times do we have to go over this?" Sharon interrupts. "Everything is going to be just fine- I have it handled."

You had heard that many times but it was less convincing every time it left her lips. It left a bad taste behind. As strong as she may have convinced everyone she was, this was turning into the story of Icarus and she was getting far too close to the sun.

"Do you?" Your question is quiet, unsure of how she'll take it. "because this is getting to be a little too much."

"You trust me right?" It always came down to trust. It was the end to this conversation almost every time; basically her personal way of getting you to shut up. You didn't dare express that you didn't have complete and utter faith in her.

"I do." You nod a little.

"Then trust me when I say it's all gonna work out," Voice but a whisper that tickled your ear before she plants a kiss against your shoulder. "I'm gonna make a fresh pot of coffee."

Perhaps it was naïve to think this would never happen but it had simply never occurred to you that they would target you. But of course, they would, you were a part of her life. Sharon was the big bad and who better to target than you. Someone not trained by SHIELD or the CIA. It was an easier message to send. When you finally stir awake, you find yourself staring into familiar dark brown eyes; their flicks of gold a comforting sign. You had never felt pain quite like this before in your entire life. Somehow it felt like your entire body was actively on fire while also being completely numb. You couldn't feel anything other than the pain coursing through your veins at this moment. But at least you were alive. And Sharon was okay.

"Thank god," She spoke softly.

"...h...ey." The words burn your throat as you stumble through such a simple word. Coughing a few times to try and help but it just aggravated your chest. "You're... okay."

"So are you," Sharon leans forward, her lips brushing against your forehead. "Do- Do you think you can walk?" There was urgency behind her tone and the blonde didn't even wait for an answer before she was trying to usher you to your feet. A loud groan slips through clenched teeth. It was a symphony of agony but the feeling was sharpest deep in your chest. Nausea sets in your stomach. a rich throbbing in your head made worse as you shook your head. Sharon took the hint and stopped. "...We can't stay here." You knew that. It wasn't safe here anymore. Everything just felt like too much though. Your body was in torment. You felt like dinner was about to make a reappearance at any moment. And your chest felt worse with every breathe you took. After a moment, the other tries again. Supporting you as she pulls you to your feet; the majority of the work was on her part. With an arm around her shoulders, the two of you moved very slowly towards a car.

"Where... are we... going?" You understood the need to leave but where would you even go? A strong chill rode the late night wind. It was nice out. peaceful. Slumped against the passenger seat, Sharon reached over to click in the seatbelt before shutting the door and getting in the other side. It was proving difficult to stay focused on anything. Your head felt heavy on your shoulders and a sort of cloudiness settled over you. A big sigh on her end. With a tight grip on the steering wheel, Sharon just stared ahead. Was she okay? Watching her for a moment, you lay your hand atop her thigh which seemingly brought her back to reality. Turning to you, she flashes a smile then starts the car. It sputters but comes to life. Nothing was shared as you move along quiet roads. It's always a little weird to see the roads so empty but that quickly changes as you cross over into lowtown. You kind of fade in and out but never entirely. It's rather like overwhelming drowsiness. The car comes to a stop outside an unfamiliar run-down building. A strange choice all things considered. However, it's not so bad once you step inside. The room floods with light revealing a relatively small space covered in an untouched layer of dust. An ugly brown coach sat next to a small old TV. A little dining table sat in the corner. Limping over the threshold, she lowers you to the cold laminated ground. With a little whine of help, you try to reach for her as she begins to walk away but it would take more strength than you have. A quiet exhale as your eyes flutter closed. "Try and stay awake," Her voice drags you back to reality in time to watch her disappear into another room. "Just for a little while." Left alone it takes everything in you not to fall back against the floor. On returning, Sharon takes up space right behind you. You assume she is checking you over as her hand graces the back of your head. Humming ever so softly to herself before slipping over your shoulders and pulling you flush against her. A low groan slips painfully from your throat. Finding a sense of comfort from being in her arms. Despite everything that happened, she still made you feel... unbelievable safe. The two of you just sit there together for a moment, feeling her chest rise and fall. It's hard to miss the blood now smudged across the floor. Things were really bad. "Let's get you cleaned up, okay? A quick shower and then you can go to bed."

You would have preferred to just go to bed but still, you nod against her. You were much too out of it to be making any sort of decisions right now. A disapproving hum as she releases you from her grip. You weren't quite ready for the moment to end. Once again, Sharon helps you to your feet but it's easier this time now that you know exactly what to expect. It still hurt desperately, it was just no longer a surprise when it happened. Stumbling towards the shoebox of a bathroom, the blonde woman turns the nob and water erupts from the showerhead on the wall. Every few seconds she would ask if you're still okay as she very carefully removes your clothes. Brown eyes drifting over every inch of your body and back up; her brow furrowing. Meeting your eyes, she reaches over to place her fingertips against your torso. Applying a little pressure, you grunt loudly stepping away. "Did that hurt?"

"Mhmm,"

Her head tilts a little. "It looks like you have a broken rib but can't know for sure."

Standing before her, you notice a large slash across her left cheek; dried blood leading from the wound. She also had a busted lip and a gash on her eyebrow. Some kind of altercation had clearly taken place. Sharon removed her clothes and was quick to step under the heavy flow of water. Holding out her hand for you to take, she leads you under the water. The heat feels surprisingly nice against your skin. Your eyes meet and then your lips connect in a kiss. The faint taste of copper lingers on her lips but it's washed away with the blood, sweat, and tears of the day. It's forceful and passionate; dripping with emotions. She may have been the reason this happened but you were still grateful she was here right now. "This shouldn't have happened," Sharon whispers softly against your lips. "I... I should have been there." The woman pulls you closer like she had completely forgotten that you were attacked by three people earlier that day. Her skin is colder than expected strongly contrasting the steaming water.

"You didn't know." You mumble into her shoulder. Sharon doesn't answer. Merely lifts your head so you were facing each other and places a sympathetic hand upon your cheek. Savouring the tenderness of the moment is enough to bring your emotions bubbling to the surface. As much as the two of you lived the high life, it took its own toll. This life was hard. And despite never wanting it before, you sometimes wished you lived a much more mundane life but with Sharon beside you. Your brows furrow as your lip trembles. You place your hand over hers and a few tears start to fall. "...I'm scared." There were few moments you found yourself admitting to such a thing but you'd never been attacked before. Not like this. Not because of someone else.

"I know." She replies after a moment. "I am too. I'm really fucking sorry." Leaning in again, Sharon surprises you with another kiss. It's sloppier this time. Rougher. Like she's trying to prove how sorry she is. It becomes a peppering of kisses placed carelessly across your face. You smile a little, a soft little laugh that causes you to cough. "You know I love you right?" You nod a little against her and she backs up a little. Both hands against your cheeks, she meets your gaze. "I love you so much and I am going to fix this. I will protect you."

Oh how you would like to believe those words to be true but it was a promise she could not make. It was a promise she had made many times before and look what happened today? Sharon was in the wrong business to guarantee safety. But still, you wrap your arms around her, enveloping her in a cautious hug. Letting your head fall against her shoulder. You could not possibly be more in love with this woman if you tried. You knew she would do everything in her power to keep you safe. A few minutes pass as you simply let the waterfall over you and then you actually wash up and get out. Cast in the warm glow of the bedside lamp, you're sat in the middle of a double bed with Sharon sat directly across from you. This time you allow the woman to tend to your injuries properly, dapping the back of your head with a damp cloth. "Do you think we'll be okay?"

"I do." Sharon responds sharply. "don't you?"

She drops the cloth that was now stained with spots of red to the bed. You raise your shoulders in a little shrug. Sharon was a very capable woman but it was hard not to be a little worried about the whole thing. "I don't know... I don't... exactly feel great."

"You just need to rest."

"yeah maybe," A solemn sigh slips into the air. You sit in silence as Sharon finishes up contemplating what was to come. Had this just been an attempt to scare you? Would this happen again in the future? How was Sharon even going to fix this? When she goes to close the first aid box, you stop her. Taking the lead, it was your turn to look after her and tend to her wounds. You take some cotton wool and soak it in rubbing alcohol before gently dabbing at her wounds. She doesn't quite flinch but her body tenses upon first contact suggesting it stung just a little. "I'm really sorry this happened,"

"It's fine, you should see the other guy. Besides, you look worse than I do," An attempt at humour but it doesn't land dampening your girlfriend's spirit just a little.

"I'm sorry I made you worry." Dropping the wool, you trade it for some closure strips. "I'm sorry I'm so... useless. I was caught off guard."

"You're not useless," Sharon assures you as you place one strip after the other across the injury to her cheek. "You don't have anything to apologise for. This is my fault."

You want to argue but it's too much for right now wanting nothing more than to climb under the sheets and sleep for the next week at least. "Let's just go to bed." Collecting all the items scattered across the duvet, Sharon dispossesses of the blood-soaked clothe and cotton wool before placing the bright green box on the dresser. Lingering there for a moment, you can tell something off. "You'll stay with me, right?" Turning on her heel, Sharon slides under the covers beside you. You shared a bed often but she was never one to cuddle. Tonight though, she was closer than normal. Her hand rests gently on your waist and regardless of the pain, it doesn't take long for you to drift off to sleep.

#sharon carter x reader #sharon carter #the falcon and the winter soldier #Emily VanCamp

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love4buckybarnes · 3 years

Text

BEST SLEEP

Summary: You have a not so great past. Being tortured and injected with a special serum created by a mad Scientist, you gained powers. You help Sam and Bucky one day, in return Bucky lets you stay with him. You and Bucky start developing feelings for each other. One night you have a nightmare and Bucky is there to help you.

Bucky Barnes x Ready. No warnings, some fluff. at the end. Told in 2nd POV.

A/N: This is my first story on here so hope you all enjoy. All my stories will be Bucky Barnes only, featuring some other characters. You can request stuff. I write smuts, imagines, etc. Most of my stories will take place after Endgame and TFAWS, but you may request at any point in time after Bucky is introduced.

She jolted awake in a cold sweat, gasping for air. Y/N’s eyelids peeled open to darkness. A faint blue hue gleamed from the window, illuminating the room. She shut her eyes for a second, only to have the nightmare that woke her from her slumber to flash back. Sighing, she tore the sheets from her sticky body. She tried swallowing, to dampen her parched throat only to feel a lump.

The cool water from the bathroom faucet soothed her throat. Y/N’s heart was still racing and she struggled to control her breathing. She gripped the porcelain sink in her hands tightly, her knuckles turning white. An anxious feeling boiled in her stomach. Forgetting her own strength, the sink crumbled into pieces. She cursed in frustration as she punched the wall, leaving a significant dent.

Y/N stood up and let out a surprised loud shriek, whirling around. She had not noticed the dark silhouette she knew as the Winter Soldier was standing behind her.

🔹🔹🔹🔹 backstory blurb 🔹🔹🔹🔹

Y/N has been living with Bucky Barnes for a couple of months. Before she met him, she was sold by her family for money to a scientist who performed experiments on her. He created his own serum to try to create new superheroes. She was one of many of his test subjects. Eventually, she had escaped thanks to her newfound powers. Because she had no one to go to, she was on her own.

One day, she happened to be in the wrong place at the right time. Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson were fighting a group of bad guys. One of the evil men shoved an SUV off the bridge. The poor civilian tried to jump out to avoid from drowning. He held on for dear life to the car. Not being able to stand there watching this man die and do nothing, Y/N jumped into action. Using her super strength, she pulled the automobile from falling along with the man.

It impressed Bucky and Sam. They heard Y/N’s story. In return for her help, Bucky offered her a place to stay in his spare room at his apartment here in Brooklyn, until she could get back on her feet.

Since living together, they grew close and formed a bond, hanging out and talking. They shared similar past. They both secretly had crushes on each other. Y/N couldn’t lie, she found Bucky to be attractive. And he found her attractive as well.

🔹🔹🔹🔹back to present🔹🔹🔹🔹

Concern etched on Bucky’s face as he took in the scene in front of him. “Still having a hard time, huh?” His tone is soft and velvety.

“Yeah,” she replied, not meeting his eyes. She struggled with dealing with her emotions sometimes. They would bottle up inside her and explode. Her nightmares weren’t often. When she had them, she would wake up gasping for air as if she was being choked in her sleep. Him on the other hand, she would hear his blood-curdling screams echo through the apartment. Most nights instead of sleeping, she would find him on the couch watching TV to keep himself awake.

His eyes traveled down to her legs. “You’re bleeding,” he said, a hint of worry lacing his voice. Bucky walked over to her, standing close. She could feel the heat radiating off of him, and she could smell the faint scent of the body wash he uses. His human hand took her wrist and tugged gently to signal to follow.

Bucky hoisted her on to his bathroom counter with ease. He pulled out what he needed from the cabinet. “This is gonna sting. Hold on to me. I really don’t want a broken sink too,” he joked, trying to lighten the mood. Without warning, he pressed a cotton pad soaked with rubbing alcohol on her wounds.

Y/N gritted her teeth, letting out hisses and profanities. She dug her nails into his metal arm. He mumbled apologizes. After he was done, he took a further look at the cuts, making sure she didn’t need stitches and patched them up with bandages.

“Want to tell me what happened?” he asked. His amazing blue eyes that held reassurance met hers.

“I just had a nightmare,” she admitted. “Couldn’t contain my emotions like always.”

If at all possible, his eyes softened even more. Bucky understood. He also had nightmares. He’s pretty sure she had heard him some nights.

Ever since that day they met, he felt drawn to her. A bit cliché, but it was true. He admired how courageous she was, how she’s been through a lot, but still saved the civilian from dying. She showed the world that she was brave and a hero, despite what she had endured.

Truth to be told, he also had a major crush on Y/N. He was completely smitten. Anytime she was around him, he couldn’t stop the giddy feeling. He wanted so badly to do something about it. Even though Bucky had strong feelings for her, he doubted she felt the same way.

“I know how that is. I’m right down the hall, or you can find me in the living room.” He hinted she could come to him whenever.

Y/N nodded and hopped off the counter. “Well, thanks for patching me up. I should try to sleep.” She made it to her room.

Bucky mustered up some courage. Before she could step any further, she felt a cold sensation on her shoulder.

He turned her around with his metal arm. “You can sleep on my bed. Besides, we’ll have to share a bathroom until yours gets fixed.” He guided her back to his room and grabbed a pillow.

“It’s your bed, I’ll take the floor,” she insisted.

Bucky shook his head. “Nope. You’re not sleeping on the floor, love.” The nickname of many, he called her always sends a warm feeling through her.

Y/N decided to be brave, not wanting to miss this opportunity. “Or we could share the bed.” She slides in and beckons him to join her.

He didn’t need to be told twice and followed her. Being the gentleman and didn’t want to intrude, he stayed on his side. “Sleep, doll. I’ll be right here.”

Y/N eventually fell asleep laying on her back, while Bucky laid there awake. Light snores left her mouth. Those lips that Bucky wanted to feel so badly on his own. He turned his head to watch her. Her eyes fluttered in her sleep. She then rolled over to her side suddenly and without realizing it, wrapped her arm around his waist, snuggling in close.

Bucky’s breath hitched and froze in surprise. At first he tensed up. He then relaxed under her touch, wrapping his own around her, bringing her further towards him. Without knowing it, he too was pulled into a deep slumber.

The sun blared through the window. Y/N groaned, covering her eyes. She slowly blinked them open. At first, she was confused about where she was, but heard soft snoring next to her and remembered. She realized that at some point in her sleep, she cuddled up to him. Embarrassed, she tried to sit up only for the surrounding arm to tighten, pulling her back.

She looked up at his face. He stirred in his sleep, blinking his eyes opened. “Mornin’ darling.” His voice was raspy from just waking up. “Any dreams?” He didn’t want to let go, not yet.

“No, not all. How about you?” she asked.

“I didn’t have any either. That was the best sleep I’ve ever had in a long time.” Bucky turned over to look at her. “Maybe this is the cure.” He was enjoying this, being so close to Y/N. He could get used to it. Not only that, but he wanted it to last forever.

Y/N shifted her head to peak at the clock on the nightstand. She jerked straight up, causing Bucky to jump up too. “Jeez Bucky. It’s three in the afternoon.”

“Well, it seems like we both needed the sleep,” he shrugged. “Should have sleep-overs more often.” She hummed in agreement.

“Thanks by the way.” He cocked his head to the side, silently asking why she’s thanking him. “For, you know, helping me last night.”

“No need to thank me, doll. I’m here for you anytime.” Here goes nothing, Bucky thought. “Truth is, I care a lot about you and I like you, like a lot.”

Y/N couldn’t believe her ears as she looked at him in those blue eyes. “I feel the same way, Bucky,” she confessed.

Bucky’s mouth was on hers when the words left her mouth. His lips were just like how she has imagined. Smooth with a bit of roughness. They molded against hers perfectly as she moved hers in sync. He placed his hand on both sides of her face, caressing her skin with the most gentle touch.

He can’t believe it either. Her lips are like pillows, soft and silky. He pulled away, making her whine, resting his forehead against hers. “We should get up. Don’t worry, we can do more of that later.” He looked at her, giving her a wink.

Y/N grinned like a ray of sunshine. “I’d like that.” His own grin matched hers at her words.

#Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes imagines #Bucky Barnes x reader #imagines #avengers #marvel #reader insert #winter soldier #winter solider imagine #winter soldier x reader #Sebastian Stan

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sunaswife · 3 years

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Summary: It’s been five years since you’ve seen your ex, Rin. He’s still not over you and you’re not over him. When he finds out you have children he thought he didn’t have a chance. Then he finds out they’re his? All of a sudden you’re teaching Suna how to be a single dad.

note from denise: To be added to the taglist please send an ask. Comments and dms will be unintentionally ignored/forgotten. Also if you have sent an ask to be on the taglist. I am not ignoring you I add people onto the taglist when I update a new chapter! <3 love youuu

Warnings: Fluff, angst I guess, drama, and cuteness twin overload

Previously Up Next Masterlist

Chapter six

Suna was completely in shock and he was overwhelmed. He just froze. What can a man do when his ex tells him he is a father, let alone the father of two toddlers.

He immediately thought about the trauma you must have faced, being pregnant and alone. He also thought about how much he’s missed already, he wasn’t there for their day of birth, their first steps, first words, he’s already missed so many birthdays.

All he ever wanted was to be a father, especially to be the father of the children he made with the woman he was in love with. Was it truly a blessing or a curse?

Surely you don’t want to get back together and live like a perfect family behind a white picket fence. He’d have to learn how to push his feelings aside for these kids and share custody of them somehow. Before he could even speak you were walking away and he quickly turned.

Why aren’t his legs moving? What’s pulling him back? Is he afraid of this responsibility and commitment? Of course he is. He doesn’t want to be a shitty dad, will he be able to raise them correctly? How if he’s always busy training and practicing. All his free time is dedicated to napping.

His heart truly broke the second time ever when he saw those grayish eyes looking back at him with such hurt and betrayal. They screamed that they needed him. He didn’t know how but he felt it. He decided that he was going to take a step and work things out with you. Maybe not romantically but he really wants to be in his kids life.

“After all this time and trouble I went through. You’re gonna let her walk away again?” Atsumu’s annoying voice filled the silent hallway. “Fucking bastard.” Suna seethed and turned with a glare. Osamu knew his brother fucked up and decided to be cautious in case Suna decided to land a few punches on his brother like the last time Atsumu has pissed off Suna.

But as Atsumu braced himself for a comeback or for a fist to meet his face he was met with Suna’s back as he ran to catch up with you. When Suna turned the corner he saw the staff parking lot and he began to run even faster.

If you leave it’ll be too late.

When he made it in the parking lot he stopped and used his height to his advantage and he looked around. He couldn’t see you anywhere. “Y/N!” He called outloud and his voice echoed. “Y/N!” He repeated. He was about to continue walking through when a car backed up and quickly breaked so that they wouldn’t run over the man. You looked through your mirror and saw Suna standing there and looking around like an idiot.

Your heart clenched yet you felt butterflies at the same time. He came, not for you but for the kids. You really hoped and prayed that he would come, and he did. You parked your car and you got out. He sighed in relief and neared you. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I want to be in their lives I really do.” He exclaimed.

“It’s fine, Rin. I’m glad you want that.” You smiled softly.

For a moment he got lost in your eyes, and yours in his. It probably lasted less than a minute yet it felt like a eternity. Neither of you could turn away or say something else. It was comfortable and warm.

All of a sudden your phone rang and your finally blinked and turned away to answer your phone. “Did suna find you?” Jamie immediately asked. “Uh we were talking just now....” you said awkwardly and he stood awkwardly as well. “Ok good if not I was going to give him your number.” She sighed in relief and you rolled your eyes. “Alright I got to go, the kids have school in the morning.” You said and you both hung up.

“So I would love to stay and chat..ya know about the kids but they’re asleep already and they have school.” You mumbled. “No it’s fine I completely get it. School is important...are you available tomorrow? It’s off season for me so I don’t have any rough practices, only gym. I want to talk with you before meeting the kids.” He said and you nodded. “I’ll text you when to come over when I get home.” You told him and he nodded. You both exchanged numbers but Suna didn’t really seem that satisfied.

“Be safe. Text me when you guys get home safe.” He said and his eyes widened. “Okay, I will.” You smiled softly and he saw as you entered your car. You slowly pulled out and you drove away.

“Tsumu has her social media in case you’re curious.” Osamu spoke up causing Suna to jump. “What the hell dude, don’t just scare me like that.” He placed his hand over his chest and Osamu laughed.

“Come on, let’s go.” Osamu said and Suna nodded and walked away.

“Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck.” You muttered and slapped yourself as you drove. Your kids were already asleep so they couldn’t hear you having a mental breakdown on your way home. “Mommy you said a bad word.” Akira pointed out and you glanced at the mirror. “Sorry about that. Don’t repeat it okay?” You asked and she nodded. “I know I know.” She mumbled and look at her signed volleyball with a bored expression. “Is daddy going to be in our lives, now?” She asked and you sighed softly.

“Well we talked and it sounds like he wants to be there for you and nii-chan..he’s going to come over tomorrow while you’re at school so we can talk like adults. Then when you come home he’ll be there to hang out with you guys and you guys can get to know eachother.” You said hopefully.“I don’t like him. Why couldn’t Sakusa or Atsumu be our dad. Even that guy you were with earlier with the suit is fine. But dad is a jerk. He made you cry.” Rini huffed and your eyes widened, were they awake the whole time?

“Hey, I know you don’t know him but your shouldn’t disrespect your father like that. If it wasn’t for him I wouldn’t have had you guys. You two are the best things that has ever happened to me. You’re a Suna, once you get to know your dad I know you’ll be proud that I put your last name as Suna not Kageyama.” You told him and he scowled.

“Can you tell us more about dad?” Akira asked and you nodded. “What do you wanna know?” You asked. “Why did you fall in love with him.” Rini immediately asked, “Well he was sweet and funny, he loved anime and we were in the same class. He also taught me how to love volleyball again after my grandpa died.” You said smoothly. “What position did he play? Did he go pro?” They asked. “He was a middle blocker and he was really good. He still is a middle blocker and yes he is pro.” You said and Rini gasped. He’s more of a middle blocker type of fan. And Akira prefers setters. Even when you or Tobio teach them volleyball. They choose those positions.

The whole drive they asked about him and you answered the best you could, you can’t tell them everything but they were satisfied and they had a better understanding. They did get upset with you for not telling Rin that he was a father since the beginning but they understood that he broke your heart and you didn’t really want to see him.

When you got home you texted Rin that you arrived. You quickly bathed your kids. Dressed them in their pajamas and read them a script from the new anime you’re going to be on. (They liked listening to the scripts rather than bedtime stories)

After reading three pages they were already knocked out and you gave them a kiss. You fixed Akira’s fox plush in her arms and made you way to Rini’s bed. He was hugging a green piggy with a crown from the angry birds game and the moon made his face glow. You stood there in shock and you imagined second year Rin sleeping like that with the pig plush with the crown that reminded him of you.

You quickly rubbed your eyes to see second year rin turn back into five year old Rini. “I need some wine.” You muttered and kissed his cheek and fixed his blanket. You took out the phone from your pocket as you made your way to the bathroom to take off your makeup and start your nightly routine.

You chuckled but quickly slapped your hand over your mouth. Why was it so easy to text Rin again after all this time. Isn’t it supposed to be awkward? Why are you so comfortable?

You quickly typed an awkward goodbye and he scratched his head confused but replied goodbye as well. He really wanted to continue talking to you more.

After you changed into your pajamas and finished your nighttime routine you made your way to the kitchen and you grabbed the half full wine bottle.

You held it to your chest as you made your way to your office/studio and began reading the script and answering some emails involving the character you’ll be portraying for the new anime. You celebrated a few weeks back when you got the offer and sighed thinking about this certain character.

You’ve read the manga already but it wouldn’t hurt to re read it to get a better feel of the characater right? You took a sip from the wine bottle as you found the first book of the manga. In your endless shelves of books.

“Alright Emma let’s go on an adventure.” You sighed and began to read The Promised Neverland.

Also don’t forget that I love you and you’re worth it <3 Idk who needed to hear this today :)

🏷: @therealwalmartjesus @differentballooncollection @aaesuki @atsunflower @dope-squish @prettysetterboiss @june-phantom @tomo-uwu @austriasmariazelle @xrnia @katsulia @aprettyfruit @shut-your-eyes-kiss-me-goodbye @tvbiio @sun-daddy-yoriichi @kamenoyaki @ppangiiroo @loeyprivvv @kmskj92 @lovinnoya @sarahvvictoria @tris-does-stuff @mokkeguts @sunaluvr6969 @bara-rose-would @sempiternal-amour @volleybloop @leykyuu @bokutoichigo @stfucanunot @iloveanime691 @tpwkatsumu @ohshirabu @shoutosimp @mqrinqcele @bokutosdivineass @anngelllla @toworuu @hidden-otaku-stuff @seijohiselite @caxsthetic @aquariarose @hhwanggu @bakuhoetoedoroki @yoozuku @osamus-onigiri @akaashi-todorki @donica95 @kakaokenma @airheadpillar

#haikyuu suna #suna rintarou fluff #suna rintarō #miya atsumu #suna x reader #haikyuu x you #miya osamu #suna imagines #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!! x reader #suna smau #suna au

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

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Murder, He Wrote

Part 2 Co-Written with @southerngracela

Summary: After your ordeal at the hands of Ransom, you’re not sure that things can get any worse. Famous last words….

Warnings: Bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: So this is Part 2 to our submission for @Jtargaryen18 ‘s Haunted House 2020 Challenge. Once again READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

Part 1

With his pride wounded, Ransom drank himself to sleep that night, his mind plotting and scheming of more ways to make his point clear. She was his now and nothing was going to change that. He'd decided it might be time to let her in on his secrets and breakfast seemed as good a time as any and, as such, presented her with a plate of bacon and toast along with a cup of coffee to wash it down. He didn't cook, not well anyway, his preference being diner out or order in. He supposed if this was his new normal, he'd have to learn a new skill. He cringed just slightly at the thought of such domesticity.

When you heard the locks turn, your belly dropped out. You were shocked to see him, afraid of what was coming your way. If the events from the previous night were any indication, you had to steel yourself to once again fight back. Your tired eyes took him in. A plate and mug in his hands, jeans over his long legs, boots on his feet. Broad shoulders covered by a white ribbed long sleeve thermal shirt, eyes cold and distant, arrogant smirk over his lips. A smirk of your own barely parted your lips as you took note of the now pink lines adorning his right cheek, courtesy of your nails biting at his skin in the attack. You turned away from him, your body instinctively curling in on itself, chain stopping you from balling up completely when he approached. Your mouth watered at the smell of the bacon and coffee. You were hungry but your body fought to ignore the pangs, offering him that satisfaction.

"I'm not hungry," you managed, desperately irritated at how weak you sounded.

"Starve then," he set the plate and mug on the nightstand at your bedside. He stood rooted there, arms crossed over his chest.

"People are gonna be looking for me, you know," you point out, sitting up a little more, confidence growing by the second.

“You don’t think I’ve already thought of that?” His hands moved from across his chest to his hips.

As you looked at him, that maddening smug look present on his face it suddenly dawned on you that he might have been more calculating than you’d imagined. And then you understood. You figured out what the connection between him and the actor you’d been supposedly meeting was. None. None whatsoever, except that Lucas Lee had been easy, collateral damage. "You set him up," your brow rose and shock filled your voice. "Lucas Lee... You set him up. What the hell did you do?"

"Sweetheart, the guy's a complete tool, he walked right into it and he'll walk right out. Just a couple of hours of questioning and he'll be let go," Ransom shrugged as if this were nothing.

"You're disgusting," you seethe. This arrogant asshole used someone just to get to you and he was PROUD of it. You didn't know what you expected, but the notion of the reality was appalling.

"You don't know the half of it," he winked.

"You're never going to get away with this," you managed to threaten. The look in his eyes caught your breath as he leaned in close, hands on the mattress on either side of your hips.

"I killed Fran, got away with that. I nearly killed Marta, same story," he said, popping a shoulder up. "The point is, Sweetheart, I'm that good, they'll never find you."

"My family, my friends…they'll go to the police. Mick, my boss, he'll want to know where I am after not showing up today. You can't possibly have thought of everything," you shook your head as you wondered just how long he'd been plotting this. You’d only met the asshole a few months ago, interviewed him for a couple of hours max and then released the article days later. How on earth had that transpired into this utter shirt-show? The thoughts were spiraling so fast in your mind, it was dizzying.

"Your boss got an email this morning saying you no longer wanted to work for him, and as for your family and friends, well let’s just say I know where they are. I know your little sister's routine. I know the time your mom walks your dog, and that she does it alone.” Ransom continued and you felt the cold course through your body “You do as I say, and they're safe. If not, well, I can pick them off, one, by one, without even getting my hands dirty," he pulled back, standing over you. "So many criminal junkies in Boston, Sweetheart. Plenty who will take the fall for a little hit,” and with that he turned on his heel and walked to the door.

The true reality of your situation set in and you felt sick to your stomach, despite your hunger. You felt clammy and overwhelmingly dizzy. He had you. If he'd gone this far, followed your family, set up a well-known actor, plotted this entire plan down to how to convince Mick you quit, in a scary short amount of time, just to get to you, you were fully trapped.

"What happens if you lock me down here...and something happens to you?” Worry laced your words.

He turned over his shoulder, "I don't give a fuck." And he slammed the door, the sound of the locks echoing in your room.

In a gut reaction you grabbed the plate of food at threw it at the door where it shattered into pieces, the bacon and toast falling to the floor with it. You screamed as you threw it, for if you hadn't you'd have vomited where you led.

**** Ransom heard the scream and the smash of the plate and paused half way up the stairs. He took a deep breath, contemplating going back down and teaching Y/N some damned manners before he decided to leave it. He’d given her enough to think about for the time being, and besides, he didn’t want to lower himself to delivering another slap to her face like he had done last night. In all honesty, he hadn’t been expecting the site of the bruise on her right cheek to unsettle him as much as it had done. Her pretty face shouldn’t be marked in anyway, and looking at it had simply reminded him how he’d lost control. Of all the things he’d done, he’d never hit a woman before, despite murder and attempted murder. It left a bad taste in his mouth all things considered and a nasty twist in his gut that felt almost like guilt. But it wasn’t guilt, that wasn’t something he did either…no, it was the fact that in all of his actions, even the diabolical ones, he’d remained calm and in control. Until last night. He’d been feral, wild even, and it wasn’t a feeling he relished. But she’d pushed him to it, provoked him. It was her fault, not his.

He shrugged on his coat and grabbed his keys, before he headed out, locking the door and climbing into his black Mercedes SUV. God he missed his beamer, but this was a lot less conspicuous, just as he needed at the moment. He slipped his sunglasses on to shield his eyes against the bright fall sun and set off towards the City.

His mother was already seated and waiting for him when he arrived at the Harbor. He walked over to her table, pulling off his sunglasses and sliding them into the pocket of his camel coat, removing his trademark silk scarf as he went. He handed them off to the help showing him to his seat, asking him to bring him a beer, and sat across from Linda, who was watching him carefully as she lounged back in her seat, properly dressed as ever in a crisp pair of black trousers and a white long sleeved silk blouse. With her legs crossed, she cut quite the imposing figure, but not to him.

Ransom greeted her with a stiff nod and she frowned and gestured to his face.

“What on earth have you done to your cheek?” she questioned, clearly noticing the scratch marks. Ransom hesitated for a second, “Things got a little rough last night, ” he shrugged but his smirk didn't quite reach his eyes. Linda let out a slight groan as she grimaced “Jesus Ransom, I don’t want to know about your sordid little bedroom antics,” she scalded. “Then don’t ask, Mother,” He drawled, not missing a beat.

“Oh believe me, I wish I hadn't.” Linda rolled her eyes.

Ransom looked down at the menu that was on the table in front of him, giving it a cursory glance already knowing what he was ordering, the same as he always did when he was here, before he took a deep breath and raised his eyes to his mother. She wasn’t one for small talk, and neither was he, so he decided to get straight to the point.

“Why are we here?” he demanded “I mean, aside from the obvious guilt driven task of having lunch with your son.” “If you're going to be a spoiled brat why did you even agree to meet me?” Linda shot back and Ransom smirked.

“What was it you always told me mom? No matter how rich you are, never turn down a free meal.”

“Snarky smart ass” Linda retorted and it was his turn to snort as her brow furrowed.

“Now, now Mother. Those frown lines are getting worse” he arched an eyebrow and she glared at him before she sighed.

“I wanted to see how you were, is that so hard to believe.” “In a word, yes.” He shrugged.

“Well, it’s true.” She reached for her glass of wine and took a sip. “I've not seen you since you moved house.”

Ransom rolled his eyes, Jesus he didn’t have time for this shit. He took a deep breath and looked at her as she eyed him expectantly, waiting for his answer “Just fine. I'm enjoying my new place.”

“So, you like it then?” Linda set her glass down and leaned back once more. “I must admit when it came on our books I thought it would suit you.”

“It's different than Kenoak, less modern, but it does the job” he said vaguely and saw her body language stiffen.

“If you don’t like it why did you buy it Ransom?” her tone was exasperated and he had to fight back the grin that was threatening to spread across his face at the fact he was riling her. It was always so damned easy.

“Well, my last place had kinda turned into a bit of a media circus.”

“Yeah, I expect that’s what happens when you're involved in a homicide” she snapped back.

“Say it a bit louder.” Ransom deadpanned “I don’t think they heard you over by the bar.”

“Believe me, that wasn’t intentional.” she held his gaze “Your Granddad’s death isn't something I find funny, Ransom. Not that it ever occurred to you."

Ransom sighed. He was starting to get annoyed under her scrutiny and really wasn’t in the mood for a deep dive into the events of the past year.

“Not of sound mind, Mother.” He said, his voice a little softer as he reminded her of the argument his brief had made which had ensured his acquittal from his crimes, hoping it would shut her up. “Remember?”

“I know son, I know.” Linda leaned over and gently lay her hand on his where it rested on the table. Ransom took a deep breath and shifted in his seat. Physical affection from her always made him uncomfortable as he wasn’t used to it, but for some reason it was heightened in that moment. He sat and pondered for a second on what he had just said. His brief had spun the line about him being under emotional duress due to his granddad cutting him out of his will and whilst there was an element of truth in it, he’d been of perfect mental capacity when he’d enacted his plan. But, if it helped his mother believe that her only son isn’t a monster then…whatever. He pulled his hand back from her and she sighed, clearly mistaking his discomfort for guilt.

“You know, you used to be such an affectionate little boy, Ransom.” Linda looked at her hand as if his rebuttal had burned her before she shook her head and reached once more for her drink. “I often wonder where your dad and I went wrong.”

Ok, so this he could deal with. The reminder that he was a constant disappointment.

“Hard to say.” He snarked “Somewhere between boarding school and Harvard maybe?”

She rolled her eyes “We did what we thought was best.” She set her now empty glass down. “Clearly in hindsight...”

Ransom was saved from her self-indulgent moment of soul searching by the waiter who set his beer down in front of him and asked if they were ready to order. Ransom gestured to his mother who asked for the house salad with a side of tempura prawns whilst he went for his usual, fillet steak with all the trimmings. It was obnoxiously expensive but what the hell, like he cared. Especially not when his Mother was paying...

He took a long pull from his beer as the waiter topped his mother’s glass up from the bottle that stood in the ice bucket next to their table before she thanked him and he disappeared.

“You’ve not asked me how your father is.” Linda looked at Ransom who narrowed his eyes. Why does she care about that? But, deciding it was as good a conversation change as any he shrugged.

“How's Richard?”

Linda rolled her eyes but for the first time since he arrived he noticed a little smirk flicker on her lips before she looked at him. “He’s still your dad Ransom" she reminded.

“Ok, how is my dearest dad? Still fucking the 30 year old au-pair?”

“Yes, apparently, he's taking her to the villa.”

Now that did make him frown. The Villa that they owned in Lake Gada was his mother’s pride and joy.

“Seriously? You're just gonna let him do that?” Ransom’s tone was surprised.

“I have no choice.” Linda took a deep breath “Our divorce isn't final and he's contesting me keeping the property. It's not as cut and dry as one would assume despite his infidelity, numerous infidelities even.”

“He signed a pre-nup, Mom.” Ransom reminded her and Linda nodded.

“I know, but the Villa wasn't part of it. It's the one thing he can hold over me and he's doing just that.” She took a sip of her drink and snorted “Dumb bastard has nothing so he figures why not try his luck here. Fact is, he gets nothing else.”

“Good.” Ransom retorted, a little viciously and Linda eyed himself shrewdly.

“Careful Ransom, you almost sound like you care.” She smirked and he rolled his eyes, not gracing her with an answer. “Anyway, what are you doing with yourself these days?” she moved the conversation on “And I don't mean with women as we've already established when you sat down. Any hobbies or God forbid a job prospect I should know about?” “Aside from my love life, I’m actually writing mother, believe it or not.” He responded, amused at the visible look of shock that crossed her face.

“You're....writing?” her mouth dropped open before she hastily shut it.

“Don't sound too surprised, Linda,” Ransom let out a low chuckle as his mother rolled her eyes at his use of her name. “Granddad always said I had a flare for it. Just-” he paused for a moment before he shrugged “-well, I guess I never really used it much.”

Linda cocked her head to the side as she considered him for a moment before her face softened and once more Ransom felt uncomfortable at her change in demeanour. “He'd be proud of you. I suppose it's what he's always wanted for you, to find something for yourself.”

And there it was. The reminder that he was nothing but a trust fund prick, with no future and nothing of his own to live off. He took a deep breath, gritting his teeth slightly before he responded with a false air of nonchalance.

“I see that now.”

“Good. I'm pleased you do Son.” Linda nodded. “I'm not glad about how it all went down but...well, as dad used to say, things have a strange way of working out in the end.” It was a funny choice of words, Ransom thought, but before he had chance to dwell on it anymore their food arrived. The conversation slowed a little as they both ate, growing a little stilted in places as he told her vaguely what his writing project was about- a private detective- go figure. Linda moaned about more about his father, and then she dropped something casually into the conversation that really did surprise him, that they were planning a memorial for Harlan.

"When?" he frowned, swallowing a mouthful of potato.

“The end of this month, possibly the first week in December. It'll be after Thanksgiving.” Linda waved her hand before she paused, hesitating a little as if she was deliberating whether or not to tell him this next bit. And when she did, he fully realised why. “It was Marta’s idea.” The mere mention of that name was enough to get his hackles up and he took a deep breath, the nerve in his jaw twitching. He looked at his mother as she watched him carefully before he looked away and took a drink of his beer. “Hmmm” was all he could muster.

“Hmmm? What's Hmm, Ransom?” Linda looked at him.

“I figured with Harlan gone she'd be out of our lives.” He shrugged, feeling his neck grow hot. That bitch was responsible for all of this in the first place, the reason he was done out of his inheritance. If she hadn’t got her claws into him none of his would have happened.

“Yes, well, as much as it sticks in my throat that she got everything maybe if we play ball she'll come round to actually giving us all what we're owed.” Linda shrugged “And that aside...it will be nice to remember him.”

The rest of the lunch passed with simple conversation, Ransom steering it well away from the subject of his family. When they’d finished his mother, as predicted, picked up the tab and together they headed outside to wait for the Valet to fetch their vehicles. His mother’s arrived first and she turned to him, the pair of them engaging in the awkward, stilted kissing of the cheeks before she promised him his quarterly check from his shares in her company should land next week. With a nod and a thanks he bid her good bye and a few moments later climbed into his own car and set off back home.

***** With a yell you sat bolt upright, taking a moment to get your bearings as you emerged from the troubled sleep you had fallen back into. Yes, you were still here, in Drysdale’s fucking basement. The tears stung your eyes as you lay back, taking some deep breaths as you attempted to ebb the panic which was setting in. Your situation was disgusting and dire, you were trapped and therefore, you knew you needed to ask for the things you needed, not wanted, just simply needed, or in time, Hugh could add you to his notch post of growing murder victims. The question was, exactly how far could you push him for anything? One wrong move, as you'd learned last night, and you'd be regretting ever uttering a syllable. But you refused to go quietly, you'd be further letting yourself down if you did. You didn't have it in you. However, just how dangerous he was or could be now was no longer lost on you, you had the physical reminder in the biting sting of your cheek, throbbing and tenderness you felt between your legs, and the slight bruising around your wrists where he had pinned them above your head. You hadn’t examined the rest of your body to see what damage he’d done, you didn’t want to.

You ached all over from being led or sat on this damned bed since you’d arrived. The chain attaching you to the bed post wasn’t long enough to allow you to stand up and stretch our your aching limbs so for now you had to settle for attempting to massage some feeling back into your calves, your eyes casting over the various tears and ladders in your thick tights which you’d pulled back up last night with trembling hands after he had violated you.

The door clicked open and your head jerked towards the door as you scrambled higher up the bed, pressing your back into the headboard. You watched as your captor strode in, a packet of Biscoff in his hand pausing as his foot crunched over the shattered remnants of the plate that you’d hurled at the door. He looked up at you, raising an eyebrow, as if he'd forgotten he'd heard you throw it this morning.

“I don’t like cleaning up messes” He said simply as he stepped over it, shutting the door with his foot.

“Pity you killed the house keeper then” you glared at him as he shoved another cookie into his mouth.

“Who, Fran?” he asked with a scoff, his voice muffled by his food.

“How many other house keepers have you killed?” you shot back and he gave a snort.

“None.” Ransom shrugged nonchalantly “But for your information, Fran was a useless dimwit. She only cared about two things. Drugs and getting paid.”

You frowned, was that supposed to justify his actions in some way? He too only cared about getting paid and what money could do for him. “And you care about what exactly other than yourself?” you shot back. He looked at you, a smirk crossing his handsome face as she shoved yet another cookie into his mouth, chewing slowly.

At that point your stomach growled with hunger, just another way your body had betrayed since you since you had arrived and you tore your face from his, turning it to the side.

“Now are you hungry?” he asked as you realised that was probably the bastard’s plan all along. With a deep sigh you looked back at him.

“Can I have one?” you asked meekly.

Ransom studied you for a moment, tongue poking at his cheek, before he strode towards the bed and offered you the packet. You took one and stuffed it straight into your mouth.

“No thank you?”

“Piss off.” You shot back automatically, swallowing your cookie.

His good demeanour ebbed slightly as an irritated look flashed across his face. “Don’t push me, Sweetheart.” his voice was low as he sank onto the side of the bed, looking at you “I think your situation is precarious enough as it is, don’t you?”

You merely glared at him, you had no comeback. There was no comeback. He was right.

“Now if I make you something proper to eat are you gonna take it or throw it at the door again?” he raised his eyebrows “Because, frankly, you starving yourself is of no real concern to me except I kinda think you’re gonna need to keep your strength up.”

It didn’t take a genius to work out exactly what for. But you were so hungry, and the battle inside you raged on before your self-preservation mode won out and you hung your head slightly, looking at the comforter you were led on. “I’ll eat.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard was it?” Ransom smirked again.

“No.” you replied, your voice devoid of emotion. “Can I have some water too?”

“As long as you don’t throw the glass.”

“I’m thirsty.” You replied simply “I won’t.”

He nodded and stood up, offering you the packet of cookies “Have those for now.”

“Thank you.” You took them from him, your tone a little sarcastic, your eyes rolling as you spoke. He looked at you and for a moment you were worried he was about to do something about your response but he simply gave a huff of laughter and turned to leave.

“I’ll be back shortly.” He said, closing the door behind him.

You could no longer bite back the sigh of delight as you took another of the buttery spiced cookies into your mouth. It was rich on your tongue but it was food and you were so hungry. What you wouldn't do for a cup of coffee to go with. You surveyed the room as you chewed the Biscoff thoughtfully. The earlier despair you’d felt upon waking just before he had re-appeared was slowly giving way to determination as you realised that for now practicality had to win you over. Not only did you need sustenance and water, which you knew was on the way, you also needed clothing and access to the bathroom, which you now realized you were desperate for.

So now what, you thought to yourself. The fact that he was willing to feed you despite the fact you’d launched your morning’s meal against the door meant he didn't want you dead. Mind you, if he did you wouldn’t have made it out of that fucking dilapidated house so, just what kind of a game was he playing at here? You weren't sure what his end game was if it didn't mean your certain death. You just didn't understand and felt the struggle of thoughts seep into your mind as you contemplated each step. He doesn't want you dead, but you're locked up, chained up and he's obliterated your body by force. And that was only the first round. So far he's voiced his hell bent plan on keeping you here and making you suffer. And he's done a right job at it after just the first night. He couldn't keep this up for the rest of your life, could he? No, you didn't think, but he's gone as far as to know your every day, your family's every day, detail for detail. It couldn't possibly be for ironically a ransom, no, he had plenty of money still and if you were certain, his mother was still finding ways to slip him allowances and he'd managed to get a small chunk under the table and off the record from your publishers on your behalf. So no, it wasn't for money. Did he expect a better and firm, more sincere apology? Well he sure as shit wasn't going to get one now. Stupid, spoiled fuck. You outwardly scoff at the thought. What does he want that you have? The endgame is unknown but you were in the long game now, that much was apparent. You just had to not walk into verbal traps and wait for him to reveal his hand. But you guessed just by the times you've previously had with Hugh Ransom Drysdale that his hand wouldn't be revealed until he held the right cards.

True to his word Ransom came back what couldn't have been more than 15 minutes later. He handed you a plate containing a simple turkey sandwich, a bag of chips and a plastic bottle of water. “Just in case you get any ideas about smashing it and doing me in…” he said, placing it down.

“Murder is your speciality, not mine” you snarked back biting into your sandwich as the hunger you felt won out over the need to pee that you’d felt before. It was actually pretty good. The bread was fresh, the meat succulent, both more than likely from a deli and not a bog standard store. You ate eagerly, Ransom settled in the arm chair in the corner of the room by the low coffee table, his eyes watching you. You ignored him, concentrating on your food.

“So…” you said as you stuffed the last of your sandwich into your mouth “Are you gonna keep me down here?”

“Yup” he said simply, popping the P.

You swallowed and grabbed the water, cracking the top open and draining half of it in one, your hand trembling slightly. Thankfully you avoided spilling any. You screwed the top on and placed it back on the night stand and watched with horror as he rose from his seat and crossed towards you, sitting on the side of the bed

“So, because I don’t want anything to fuck up what we got here, sweetheart, I have a simple question which you’re gonna answer.” Ransom said, looking at you “Are you on birth-control?”

Your mouth dropped open as you glared at him.

“What the fuck?” you stuttered

“It’s a simple question that requires a yes or no answer.” His expression hadn’t changed, not one bit. Cool, calm and collected, like this was something he would simply ask anyone. As you stared at his smug face, your puzzlement at the seemingly straight outta left field question gave way to anger. He was asking you this, like it was his damned right to know, like he was your fucking boyfriend by choice.

“You tell me, I mean you thought of everything or so you took great pleasure in telling me last night.” You spat. Quick as a flash his hand grabbed your face, his fingers gripping your chin painfully and you let out a little whimper.

“Answer the question.” He said simply

And then you realised, it wasn’t really that out of left field at all was it? It was clear following last night what his intention for you was and like he’d want the added complication of any little surprises turning up in around 9 months. You swallowed, your eyes looked down

“Yes” you whispered, and he released your face.

“Good.” Ransom nodded “Makes things a lot easier.” “I’m not a sex toy, Hugh.” You glared at him and he looked back at you, giving a snort.

“You’ll be whatever I want you to be.” “You’re an asshole.”

“So it’s been said.” He shrugged simply, like he didn’t give a shit. Which, as you realised, he probably didn’t. People like him never did care what they came across like, arrogant trust fund prick.

With a sigh you pinched the bridge of your nose and glanced around the room you were in, as if you really hadn't paid much attention to it's details before. Ironically, if you weren’t here under duress it would actually be quite nice. The bed was large and comfy, there was a reasonably big bathroom attached which from what you could make out contained a fairly nice sized bath tub and a separate walk in shower cubicle. There was what looked like a built in closet next to the bathroom door, a night stand which contained a reading lamp to your right and on the opposite wall to the bed in front of you there was a dresser and a small shelf fixed to the wall a little higher, which was empty. To the left of the room was a large, plush armchair behind which another lamp was fixed to the wall and a fancy oak coffee table which matched the rest of the furniture. Above the chair, was a porthole like window, hexagonal in shape, but high enough to not allow for escape but for the warmth of daylight to seep into the space.

A fucking studio apartment, that half of Boston would probably kill to own…and you were trapped in it. Well, certainly until you could think of a way to un-trap yourself so to speak.

You looked back at him and decided to keep pressing your luck a little. There were things you needed, starting with the bathroom, and you were damned if you were going to let him degrade you even more than he already had by letting you piss yourself.

“There are things I’m going to need.” You spoke, taking care to keep your voice neutral, attempting to avoid outwardly displaying the desperation you were feeling “A pee and a shower for one” you gestured with your head to the small bathroom.

“Well if you’re gonna behave, I’ll undo this.” He reached down and jangled the chain that was attached to the shackle round your ankle.

“Clothes too…”

“The closet is full.” He said simply “But you have to behave, Sweetheart, or you go right back on the chain.

You grit your teeth. Sweetheart, you were no more his sweetheart than he was Harlan’s favorite grandchild. “Like I have a choice.”

“You do.” He said simply “Behave or not.”

You let out a frustrated growl “I told you I was gonna, now just undo the fucking dog collar on my ankle.”

“Ooh, so feisty.” Ransom mocked and you glared at him.

With a chuckle he stood up and pulled the key out of his pocket, undoing the shackle round your ankle and stood back slightly. You moved and shuffled to the edge of the bed where he watched as you rose to your legs. However, after the ordeal you’d been through the night before, plus your no doubt whacky blood sugar level, your head span a little and you staggered forward. Ransom caught you, both his hands hooking under your arms as he helped you steady yourself, his touch surprisingly gentle as his hands slid down to your ribs, thumbs brushing underneath your breasts and you looked at him, blinking. His action had caught you off guard and if the look on his face was anything to go by it had caught him off guard too. There was a moment where you stood still before you remembered exactly what was going on and with an angry scoff you raised both your hands, palms flat on his chest and shoved him as hard as you could.

It didn’t move him much, a half a step back or so, but it was enough to make a point. The unexpected softness on his face turned to anger and a split second later his right hand was round your throat.

“I'm warning you…” he snarled, his large fingers flexing causing his grip to tighten, around your throat. He gave a sharp squeeze, not enough to cut off your airway, instead serving as a threat, telling you he could if he wanted to. He released his grip as the tears stung your eyes and he moved aside to allow you to move to the bathroom. You went as quickly as you could and once you were there you made to shut the door.

Only there wasn’t one. “Why the fuck is there no door?” you turned and faced him.

“Because I won’t clean up a dead body.” He shrugged “So before you get any dumb ideas, anything that could make you think about a means to an end isn’t in this room either.”

You looked at him, frowning before you realised what he meant and you shook your head. “Oh trust me, I’m not about to kill myself over you.”

“Good.” He said simply, “You have 10 minutes” he said, leaning on the frame where the door should have been.

“You’re not watching me pee, Hugh!”

At that his face darkened “Call me Hugh one more time, I dare you, Sweetheart.” His voice was laced with venom as his eyes flashed dangerously, but despite all that you couldn’t help yourself. It was the only weapon you had in your arsenal to deploy.

“Hugh.” you spat, raising an eyebrow.

His jaw clenched and in two large strides he was on you, his hand grabbing your forearm as he yanked you across the bathroom, your feet skidding on the tiles as you struggled for traction on the floor. You yelled out at the pain of his grip but no sooner had it started it stopped as he flung you unceremoniously into the shower cubicle. Your knees and hip collided painfully with the tray and you gave a scream as a torrent of freezing cold water hit you, soaking your sweater dress. You gasped and spluttered, struggling to your feet, the cold making your chest contract and he looked at you, his face back to its stony calm expression.

“10 minutes” he repeated.

He turned to go and in a fit of rage you peeled the icy, sodden jersey dress off and flung it at him. It hit him square in the back before it slid to the floor, splattering on the tiles in a sopping mess. You saw him take a deep breath, his broad shoulders rippling under his thermal ribbed top as he stood up square and turned to face you as you stood, teeth chattering in the still cold spray in nothing but your bra and laddered thermal tights.

“You’re really testing my patience, Sweetheart.” He intoned darkly, before he cocked an eyebrow “9 and a half minutes.” He left the bathroom and headed into the main room, and you turned away instantly cranking up the heat on the shower. As it warmed you through, the water beating down on you, you reached for the shower gel which was on a small shelf in the corner of the cubicle. You scrubbed and scrubbed, not caring how much you used, attempting to rid yourself of the dirty feeling of him as you recalled his hands all over you, his cock violating you in the way it had. You didn’t stop the tears falling, your resolve breaking, as you turned your face into the spray, allowing it to hide your tears, before you washed your hair in the shampoo and conditioner. Eventually, when you’d done everything you could, you turned off the water, took a deep breath and squeezed your hair out before stepping out of the shower. Your eyes instinctively went to the doorway and you were relieved. You couldn’t see Ransom, which meant he didn’t have an eye-line directly into the shower, awarding you some level of privacy at least.

You grabbed a towel which you wrapped around yourself, before you took another and used it to squeeze your hair before you pulled it back into a messy bun out of the way, and stepped out of the bathroom.

“That was 11 minutes.” Ransom said simply as you emerged into the main area of the basement “I’ll let the 90 seconds slide.”

You glared at him as he sat in the armchair, his broad frame filling it, right leg crossed over his left, an I don't give a fuck look about his face, and you knew at that moment you had never hated anyone more in your life than you hated him right then. You turned towards the closet and began to route through, the tears filling your eyes again as you concentrated on finding something to wear. You pulled a few things out, checking the tags. Not only did the prices shock you (it was all high end, designer stuff- what else would the spoilt, trust fund prick buy) but it was all your size. Which unnerved you no end. Pushing that to the back of your mind, as after all in the situation you were in it was the least of your worries, eventually you settled on a simple pale blue cashmere sweater, and a pair of jeans.

“Underwear?” you turned and looked at him. He nodded to the drawers built into the bottom of the closet and you opened it, taking a breath. Of course it would all be lace, sexy. You picked the most modest pair of black, lace French-style briefs you could find and the matching bra, tossing the lot onto the bed. You looked at him, cocking your eyebrow and he mimicked the action, gesturing with his hand.

“Don’t mind me.” The dismay washed over you as you realised what he meant and you took a deep breath “You’re gonna sit there and watch?”

“Yup.” He replied simply, popping the p loudly.

You bowed your head, knowing there was no point turning your back on him, he’d just force you to turn round. As you stared to pat yourself dry though your towel, you blinked back the tears as for some reason this felt far more humiliating and degrading that what he’d done to you last night.

****

Ransom wasn’t sure he’d ever exercised self-control like this, he normally just bought (or took) what he wanted, and before he’d wanted nothing more than to trace the beads of water which moved down her neck and back, collecting in the towel as she rifled through the closet. She reached for the panties first, and attempted to shimmy them on under the towel and he gave a click of his tongue.

“Oh no doll.” He smirked, “lose it.”

She glared at him, and he simply held her gaze, not looking away and eventually he saw her shoulder sag as she reached up with a shaking hand and unhooked the edge of the towel which was tucked in on itself and let it fall to the floor. He gave a loud hum of approval as he took her in, her long-lithe legs up to her hips, the curve of her waist, pert breasts and delicate shoulders and collar bone. She swallowed on air and he watched her throat bob, and he instantly found himself thinking how good she’d look swallowing something else. He shifted slightly in his seat, the crotch of his jeans now feeling a little tight thanks to his semi-hard cock, and she reached for the lace briefs stepping into them. As she shimmied them up, her breasts jiggled a little and he gave an inward groan. For a second he thought about stopping her, taking her there and then but now wasn’t the time. They had things to discuss, certain rules she needed to understand.

Plus, the waiting and the anticipation would simply heighten the pleasure later when he finally did fuck her again.

He remained still as she pulled on the rest of the clothes before she turned to him, her cheeks adorably flushed.

“Hairbrush?” she asked.

Ransom nodded to the dresser opposite the bed and she moved over towards it, opening one of the drawers. She reached in and pulled the item out, dragging it through her hair before she braided it quickly and then turned to him expectantly.

“Sit.” He said, gesturing to the bed. She did as she was told, sinking down onto the edge of it, her hands clasped in her laps, fingers of her right hand pulling at the ones in her left nervously.

“Ok…” he leaned forward, his hands resting on his knees as he looked at her “Here’s how it’s gonna work.”

At his words Y/N looked at him, and then her hands released each other and she folded her arms, crossing her legs on the bed, chewing on her cheek with a sullen look on her face. The look of someone that really didn’t want to listen but had no option.

Such a petulant brat.

“You’re gonna do what I tell you, when I tell you.” Ransom spoke calmly and authoritatively “If I want you, I’m gonna have you.” At that she took a shaky breath but her eyes remained on his as he continued “You behave, you’ll get rewarded. If you don’t, you’ll be punished.”

“Punished?” she sputtered. “What could possibly be a worse punishment than this?” she waved her hand and Ransom allowed himself a chuckle.

Oh, Doll, you have no idea…

“Do you really want to know?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow up.

“No.” she said, hanging her head slightly.

“Smart move.” He nodded.

“Anything else?” she looked back at him, the defiance once more filling her features.

“Yes, don’t call me Hugh.”

At that she smirked and he felt a flash of annoyance “Sorry, am I amusing you?”

“Nope.” She shook her head quickly, the smirk fading as quick as it had appeared.

“Good.” He said, his palms slapping his thighs as he stood up.

“Is that it?”

“For now.” He nodded.

“Do I get to make any rules?”

Ransom hesitated, and looked at her. He had to hand it to her, she was gutsy but that was part of the reason she was hear after all. He shook his head, chuckling slightly “This isn’t a negotiation.”

“Can I ask you for things?”

“I just said, this isn’t a negotiation.” He started to get a little bit irked at her attitude now, “You behave, you get things.”

“So you’re gonna leave me down here with nothing? No TV, no books, no stereo?”

“Behave and I’ll think about it.” He replied simply and when she sighed he knew she understood that arguing and bargaining with him was futile.

Ransom Drysdale bargained with no one.

“You know…” he said, stepping towards the bed and she instantly took a deep breath, shying away a little. The fact he had so much power over her was exhilarating and he smiled, stopping a foot or so away from the edge of the bed, his large frame towering over her. “I should shackle you again, for your back chatting and slapping me in the back with your wet clothes but I’m fair. I’ll let that go. I hadn’t explained my rules.”

She blinked up at him and he nodded towards the bathroom. “Put your dirty stuff in the hamper. I’ll be back later.”

As he strode towards the door he could have sworn he heard her mumble something, something that sounded suspiciously like she’d called him a prick. He stopped, smirking, before he fixed a hard look on his face and turned round.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” She said quickly

“Thought not.” He nodded, and with that he turned and left, locking the numerous bolts on the door behind him.

**** With a lack of anything else to do you cleaned up the water from the bathroom floor and tossed everything into the hamper like you’d been told to do and then, taking advantage of your new found “freedom” so to speak you set about exploring every single nook and cranny of your ‘cell’. You found the bathroom was fully stocked with all sorts of toiletries, sanitary products (fuck, you didn’t even want to think about what he was going to do to get his sordid little kicks when Aunt Flow came to visit in 3 weeks or so), there was a little make up as well in the drawer in the vanity unit that you’d spotted before and you pulled it out to examine it, once again finding it to be not your usual brand but high end all the same. Finding all this was only compounding your confusion as to what the hell his goal was in all this, but as you had realised before until he decided to show you those cards, you would simply be playing a guessing game.

In the drawers under your bed you found a few different sets of linen which was a relief as it meant you weren’t going to be at his mercy as to when you could change your bedding. Given what had happened the night before, you were half tempted to change them again but you hesitated and decided to wait until later, because you had a sinking feeling he was going to take you again, especially given his declaration earlier.

“If I want you, I’m gonna have you.”

If that was how your life was going to go for the foreseeable, you’d be going through a hell of a lot of bedding if you changed it every time he fucked you. Much more than was contained in the drawers anyway.

Pushing that horrible thought from your head, you took a deep breath, focussing on staying calm, staying collected, staying alive. She needed her wits, her strength, her continued ability of self preservation. And, given the fact that he's murdered before, you weren't entirely trusting his word of not wanting to kill you. You closed the drawers and then settled yourself down on the floor at the side of the bed nearest the arm chair and low coffee table indulging in a few yoga stretches and the like in an attempt to ease out your still aching muscles. You were sat on the floor, with your legs extended, reaching for your toes when he came back and with a little smirk on his face handed you a book.

“For the boredom.”

You blinked and then took it from him, shaking your head as you realised it was one of his granddads, most likely his idea of a joke. And what was more it was one you’d already read.

Nevertheless, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, you thanked him and then stood up and dropped into the chair, opening the cover. How long had passed you had no idea, but you were a good few chapters on when the trust fund ass wipe re-emerged, and the smell of food wafted across the room. He set a tray down on the bed and jerked his head towards it, in a silent instruction for you to vacate the seat. With a roll of your eyes you tried to get comfortable on the bed to eat with said tray balanced on your knee and with an exasperated groan you looked at him.

“Is there any chance of getting some form of table and chair so I can eat off it and not where I’m expected to sleep?”

He looked at you for a second, before he shrugged “I’ll think about it, depending on how you behave.”

The chicken was dry, but you ate it anyway, remembering your earlier thoughts about staying strong. As you chewed you watched him where he sat in the chair in the corner of the room, looking at something on his phone. Having had time to think things over even more, you knew you needed to play this clever, get him on your side, let him believe that you could be trusted if you wanted to stand any chance of getting out of here. With a deep breath you supressed the desire you had to simply remain silent, sullen even and spoke.

“Are you not eating?” you asked him and he looked at you, surprise on his face.

“I had a big lunch.” He responded simply.

“Well I hope it was better than this.” You arranged your face into the best playful look you could muster “Because, no offence, it sucks.”

Ransom looked at you, before he snorted “Yeah, cooking isn’t my forte.”

“Maybe I could do it.” You offered “I’m not a bad chef.”

His eyes locked on yours and you concentrated on keeping the look on your face innocent as he studied you. Eventually he spoke again “Maybe. If you behave.”

Again, the focus on your behaviour. He clearly wanted you to be good, compliant maybe. Bolstered by the slight progress you were making into maybe understanding what you needed to do you continued. “So, did you go anywhere nice? For lunch I mean.”

“The Harbor.” He responded “Food was good, company was slightly irritating.”

“Company?” the surprise in your tone was genuine

“I met my mother.”

“Oh.” You replied, looking back down at the plate as you blinked back the tears, the thought of your own mother filling your head. She would be beside herself now. You took a deep breath, you might be able to be compliant but you were damned if you were going to show him any weakness, that’s what he wanted. Instead, you took another bite of your meal and looked up at him. “That must have been nice for you.”

“Is that sarcasm?” Ransom asked in an amused tone and you rolled your eyes.

“No, I was being serious. Mind you, you don’t strike me as being close to your family so…” you shrugged and shovelled a soggy piece of broccoli into your mouth.

“You’re smart, we're not.” He shrugged “But she wanted to know how I was getting on.”

“Bet that conversation was positively riveting.” You smirked “And that was sarcasm by the way.”

Ransom scoffed “It wasn’t bad to be honest, that was until she steered it around to Marta.”

“Marta?” you frowned, pondering what on earth could have brought their conversation around to that. “Why did you talk about her?”

“What is this Jeopardy?” he arched an eyebrow at you and you rolled your eyes. “Why not, I'll take Drysdale family politics for my share of the inheritance, Alec…”

“Watch your mouth, Sweetheart.” His tone was warning and his face stony. You swallowed and looked down at the plate.

“Sorry.” You said, keeping up your act. Silence fell again and you finished the last of your dinner and set the tray on the nightstand.

Ransom took a deep breath “Seeing as you’re so interested, Marta has approached my mother and the family about holding a memorial for Harlan.” You looked at him, and his eyebrows raised. “Ironic huh, the bitch who stole what was mine is planning a memorial for my grandad when she’s responsible for his death.”

At that you scoffed, he really was unbelievable and just like that your resolve to be nice started to ebb away at his utter narcissism “Are you for real? You’re responsible for Harlan’s death, and as for taking what was yours, you never had anything, none of you did! It was Harlan’s, you didn’t earn it.” Ransom glowered at you but you continued, shaking your head with a derisive laugh. “You know, the fact he would rather leave it to his nurse than his own family says more about you all than it does about her."

“What did you just say?” His voice was low, and there was an unmistakable flash of anger on his face.

“You heard me. Not that I expect any of that to bother you, Hugh, you do and take what you want anyway and fuck whoever gets hurt in the crossfire…” at that you gestured around the room, “prime example…”

There was a pause and in an instance you realised your mistake. You’d called him inadequate and worse, had broken one of those fucking rules, called him Hugh. His whole demeanour had changed, he was pissed. His jaw was set, his eyes dark, his entire body rigid.

Shit.

In a flash he was off the chair. You reacted equally as quick, jumping off the bed in an attempt to put some distance in between you. Why, you had no idea, it wasn’t like you were going to stop him, but maybe if you could buy some time you could talk him down as you backed toward the door. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” but your apology was cut off as he rounded the bed, grabbing your hair painfully, yanking your braid down so your head was tilted back, looking at him. You let out a scream of pain and moved your hands to grab at his wrists “Oww, shit…you’re hurting me!”

“Like I care.” He snarled “Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

That predatory look was back on his face and you knew you were in for it again, and your apologetic front flew completely from your mind. Like hell you were doing this without a fight.

“Fuck you.” You spat back.

“Hard way it is.” He shrugged.

His hand tightening around your hair, he manhandled you into the middle of the bed easily. You yelled, bucked, lashed out but as with the previous night you were simply no match for him. He easily pinned you down with his knees clamped either side of your hips, holding you in place as he yanked your sweater over your head, pulling it down your arms so they were pinned behind you back. It was uncomfortable but did the job perfectly you realised to your horror, because you couldn’t move your arms at all.

Ransom then moved, his large hands grabbing at the button on your waistband and you continued to struggle, trying to buck your hips but once more to no avail. He had your jeans and panties down to your knees easily, before he flipped you over so your face was pushed into the pillow where it muffled your screams slightly.

One hand reached up, sliding round the front of your neck and he squeezed. This time it was harder than he had done earlier that day, and the pressure increased and increased, slowly shutting off your airway. You gasped, tears stinging in your eye as you desperately tried to move but it was pointless. Then, suddenly he eased off, and you drew in a harsh gasp of air, coughing and spluttering, still conscious that his fingers remained around your throat.

“Stop fighting it.” He instructed, his other hand sliding over your entrance, making you pull away from his touch, but to no avail as the hand that was on your throat slid down your spine and twisted the sweater, tightening your make shift restraints, jerking your arms even further behind your back. Your upper arms and shoulders screamed in protest and you let out a little sob of pain as he moved both his hands to your hips, tugging them up slightly. One hand trailed over your ass before he plunged two fingers into you and you jerked forward at the intrusion. Ransom groaned before he leaned over, his lips brushing your ear. “I can feel you. Your body doesn’t lie, Sweetheart.”

You turned your head away, pressing your cheek into the pillow and Ransom uncurled himself from over you and you felt him shift behind you. The tell-tale clanking of a belt buckle, followed by a zip and the rustling of fabric told you exactly what was coming. Despite your resolve to give him nothing, a choked whimper escaped your mouth and you turned you face, pressing it further into the pillow in an attempt to stifle your sobs.

“Oh no…” he said, one hand curling into your braid, yanking hard and jerking your head back. You cried out, your body was contorted in such an unnatural shape, back arched, arms pinned behind your spine, head jerked back. “I wanna hear you.”

He shuffled a little, and you felt the top of his cock teasing your entrance and then without warning he powered forward, stuffing you full, letting out a rumble of a growl as he did so.

“So fucking tight…” he grit out as he withdrew, then plunged straight back in, jerking your body as he did so. He took a few more deep, slow thrusts before he picked up the pace and began to piston into you, relentlessly. You felt each thrust, the slap of his balls slamming towards your clit. It hurt, just as it had done last time. He had zero self-control, grunting and growling as he bottomed out with every motion. The hand that was gripping your hip went beyond bruising, his dull nails biting at your skin as the other wound tighter around your braid, the odd angle of your body gritting at your joints. You were fighting tears and sobs as your body continued to betray you, soaking your walls, allowing his cock to slide in and out effortlessly. The hand against your hip glided along your side as a deep thrust came and you could feel it grip your breast between the mattress. His thumb brushing against your nipple through your bra. The friction of his piston thrusts, his hand forcing your bralete against your nipples and the yank of your hair was driving your body into sensory overload and filled you with burning sensations that verged on painful. The tip of his cock scrapped at your insides, no doubt bruising you. Your tears burned and your throat begged with dry thirst.

“Can feel you, Sweetheart…” he groaned, as he bottomed out, rotating his hips slightly making you cry out involuntarily “You feel close…you sound close…such a needy little slut.”

“I’m not a slut…” you sob, the feeble protest sounding as pathetic as you felt.

"Fucking look like one to me..." he growled, his hips rotating again, the burn in your stomach was now getting to hard to ignore. “Please…” you begged, “Just….stop…”

He answered your plea by driving deeper into you, picking up his pace once more and you felt yourself beginning to tumble.

"Oh God," the words flew from your mouth as your body shook violently and you took on your overload of orgasm and sensory extremes. You sobbed as your body betrayed you again with this man. Your mind screaming for understanding, your insides begging for more.

“Fuck…Sweetheart…” Ransom let out a groan as he picked up the pace, before after a few more deep thrusts, the hand that was holding your hair let go. Your head fell forward as you felt the warm ribbons of his come streak up your back before he released his hold on your hip and you collapsed onto the bed, your heart and self-respect shattered.

Every inch of your body ached thanks to the way you’d been contorted and as you lay still, trying to regain some control of your limbs you felt his hands press either side of your head and gave a sob as he leaned lean over your body, his ears brushing your lips.

“I'll take you like that every fucking day if I have to until you give in. Because you will.”

At that the feel of his chest that had been pressing into your back was gone and you heard a rustle of clothing and then footsteps across the floor before the door opened and his deep baritone filled the room once more.

“I would shackle you but I don’t think we need that anymore. You’re not going anywhere.” His tone was almost playful, like he was toying with you, teasing you. “I suggest you take a bath, you’re gonna be sore. That is, once you manage to work your way out of that sweater.”

And with a click followed by the familiar sliding of bolts you were sealed in your prison and you finally gave in to your tears as the sheer helplessness of your situation crashed over you in waves.

****

Part 3

#murder he wrote #js haunted house 2020 #dark ransom drysdale #dark ransom drysdale x reader #dark ransom x reader #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale fic #chris evans #chris evans characters

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amintyworld · 3 years

Text

The Return - Dream SMP 12 Years AU

A/N: Hey guys! Welcome to another introduction to a AU idea I had with a lotta fluff and angst. May write more with this AU because I have a lot of ideas for it. Hope you enjoy and as always, if you have any questions about this AU at all, my ask box is always open, I'd love to talk about this.

By the way, for the enderman text I used this translator that my friend @griffintail uses in her work as well. It was really helpful and you guys should totally check out her work on her blog, she's awesome. - Minty

Summary: 12 years after the Bench Trio, Wilbur, Sam and Sapnap kill Dream for good and burn the revive book, the masked man returns on a plan for revenge.

TW: Blood/gore, kidnapping, torture, attempted murder, murder, implied character death, running away, denial, cursing, sympathetic dream? (He's a ghost). (Tell me if I need to tag anything else!) (Also, shippers get off my lawn please and thank you.)

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Michael’s eyes narrowed as someone, a stranger he couldn’t recognize slowly approached the house. That bright green hoodie and weird mask made his instincts flare, sensing danger. He jumped down, getting out his sword as he slowly walked to greet the intruder. His Dads and Uncle Technoblade trained him well enough that a plan was already forming in his head, going over the stock he had on him in his mind, prepared for whatever the stranger was planning to do.

A golden ax hung from the masked man’s back, a smile peeking out from under that smooth porcelain-like surface that the zombie piglin couldn’t tell if it was friendly or sinister. Finally, they were about five feet apart, facing each other. Michael pulled the cloak around him slightly more as a cold wind blew through the field. “Who are you? What are you doing on Snowchester Property?”

The man just stared at him, looking at him up and down.

“Answer me, dammit!”

“Michael, right?” The masked man walked toward him casually. “I don’t believe we’ve formally met.”

“Not another step!” Michael shouted, pointing his enchanted netherite sword threateningly at the stranger, who looked almost amused at this action, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “How do you know my name?!”

“Oh, your parents didn’t tell you? We’re family.”

“...family?”

“Not by blood, of course. I’m more like... a friend. A family friend. Your parents and I were very close back in the day, I just came by for a visit.”

“A visit…? If you’re so close with my parents how come you haven’t visited before?”

“You know how adventuring can be - it takes up a lot of time, you know.” The masked man smiled and made Michael’s gut churn uncomfortably. “I’ve heard so much about you, Michael.” The stranger kept walking towards the teenager, his hands up casually. “It’s been so long, we should really spend some time and catch up-”

“NO! No. Stay… stay right there. Don’t… don’t you dare fucking move, you got that?!” The man stopped around three feet away from him now. “Now you either tell me your name or I’m putting this blade through your teeth.”

The man sighed. “Pity. I was really hoping to get to talk with you peacefully, Michael. You seem like a nice kid.”

“What?”

Quickly and flawlessly, the masked intruder pulled out his ax and Michael quickly readied his sword, ready for a fight. What he didn’t expect was for the intruder to get some air and run up the wall of the mansion, landing down the blow with a lot more force than the zombie piglin expected, and he dug his hooves into the snow, somehow keeping himself from getting knocked over completely. Using all of his strength he pushed the intruder off, scrambling for a strength potion as the man tackled him to the ground. “Nuh-uh, that’s cheating.” Michael was quick to grab his sword and defend, moving to strike against his neck. The masked man moved to dodge, the black string of his mask getting nicked by Michael’s blade, making it begin to fall to start to reveal blonde hair and cold green eyes that were somewhat familiar to Michael, though he couldn’t figure out from where. As he hesitated, the man’s eyes flared with anger. Within seconds he’d pulled Michael’s arm against his back toward his shoulder blade, making the piglin feel like his arm was going to snap. He grunted in pain, reaching to grab his sword that got knocked into the snow when he felt the press of an ax against his neck, enough pressure to feel the sharpness of the blade. The zombie piglin could hear his heartbeat in his ears, swallowing his fear.

“I’m Dream, though I think you already know who I am.” Dream huffed against the piglin’s desperate struggle, the familiar adrenaline rushing through his veins from a victory. Of course, Michael knew the stories - his Dads and Uncle Tommy defeated that psychopath 12 years ago. They killed him, how the fuck was he alive?! The blade pressed harder against Michael’s neck as it began to draw a bit of blood. “Stop struggling.” Dream relished how much he’d missed all this, how much he’d missed being in control. “You and I are gonna have a little chat.”

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Ranboo hauled his basket of carrots and potatoes beside him as he reached down to grab some of the new harvests. A snowstorm was coming in soon, and they needed to stock up for the coming colder months. Their farms grew so big that a few of them set up shop in front of the old decommissioned prison, Pandora’s Box. Twelve years ago Ranboo, Tubbo, and Tommy had faced that prison head-on, fighting their old allies turned foes, death at nearly every turn they took. They succeeded with a little help, burying the body a little outside of the prison walls and never looking back. The three of them faced many more trials after that, growing close as years passed and the server became peaceful as it used to be back in the beginning. The children grew up, their parents giving them the world and more, protecting them from harm, and making sure they had better than their parents ever did. Now, throwing another bright orange carrot in his basket, Ranboo couldn’t help but smile across the way at his husband, teetering up the ladder in a straw sun hat, gathering honey from their bee farm. He’d gifted the ladder a few years prior - “A little short help for my shortie”. Tubbo threatened a villain arc at the note, making everyone around the table laugh as Ranboo walked over to embrace him, his chin resting on Tubbo’s head gently as the shorter had crossed his arms with a huff. Ranboo’s heart warmed at the fond memory.

He felt happy.

FoolishG whispered to you: Ranboo he’s back.

You whisper to FoolishG: What do you mean?

You whisper to FoolishG: Who?

FoolishG whispered to you: He’s going after you first.

FoolishG whispered to you: Is Michael with you?

You whisper to FoolishG: No.

You whisper to FoolishG: You didn’t answer my question, Foolish.

FoolishG whispered to you: Michael’s in danger, you need to get to him now.

FoolishG whispered to you: Dream’s alive, Ranboo.

You whisper to FoolishG: If this is some kind of joke this isn’t funny.

You whisper to FoolishG: This isn’t funny

You whisper to FoolishG: You know how he messed with me, stop it

You whisper to FoolishG: Don’t joke about that, Foolish.

You whisper to FoolishG: Foolish answer me

You whisper to FoolishG: Foolish?

Ranboo dropped his messenger in fear as the reality of the situation began to set in, his breaths beginning to panic. No, no no no no… they killed him. They killed him, they got rid of him for good. He’s supposed to be dead, he’s supposed to be gone-!

“Ranboo?” Tubbo looked over at him with concern as he packed up the jars of honey from their bee farm. Ranboo’s silence did not help his unease. “Ranboo, what’s wrong?”

FoolishG whispered to you: Hurry, Ranboo. I don’t know how long he’ll last.

Tubbo was kneeling in front of him now, grounding him with his hands on his husband’s shoulders. “Breathe. Breathe, Ranboo. Deep breaths, you’ve got it…”

As Ranboo tried in vain to even his breaths, he held Tubbo’s hand in fear. “Dream’s back... He’s...he… he’s alive and he has Michael.”

“What?” Tubbo’s eyebrows furrowed. “But… but we burned the revive book. We killed him, I saw his body-!”

“Michael… fuck, he has Michael…” Ranboo cursed on his breath. “This is all my fault, I should’ve known-!”

“No. None of that. You can’t blame yourself for this.” Tubbo dismissed, getting up and holding his hand out toward the enderman. “We’ve killed him before, we’ll just kill him again, right? We’ll save Michael and put a stop to this for good.” As Tubbo helped Ranboo back to his feet, he moved under a tree to place the purple glowing black box that greeted the two like an old friend. An enderchest. They hadn’t needed to use it for so long. They hadn’t needed what was inside. Tubbo pulled out a familiar enchanted sword that used to plague Ranboo’s dreams. His sword. The goat hybrid took off his straw hat and with one last glance placed it inside the enderchest, his eyes focused and thinking. He felt the new weight of the sword in his hand, getting used to the weapon again. “It’ll work this time. It has to.”

“It will.” Ranboo echoed.

Will it?

Tubbo’s eyebrows furrowed in thought, looking somber, numb. When they finally killed Dream they thought it would be the last time, the last war to fight. All three of them strived and hoped for peace, for all of it to be over, to get their own happy endings. He moved to the side, pulling out his communicator from his pocket. “Grab your stuff. I’ve got to warn Tommy.”

As Ranboo grabbed his own enchanted sword and his old armor from the chest, he couldn’t help but wonder, a single thought that nagged him and wouldn’t seem to leave his mind, making his stomach sink to the floor in dread…

...What if they never killed him in the first place?

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Phil closed his eyes as he sat in his chair, feeling something wrong, off in the air, something he couldn’t quite place. The room around him is silent but Phil can feel the world yelling for him, screaming for him. It’s trying to tell him something. Phil’s been alive for a long time. He’s seen the earth burst with new life, and slaughtered bodies fall to the floor, smelling nothing but the cold press of death. He’s seen it, heard it, felt it so many times it was a familiar, somewhat comforting feeling for him. It was calming, it was constant, it was natural.

So why did it…?

Phil’s eyes opened slowly, looking out the window in thought as Technoblade walked in from the snowstorm outside, a chill running through the cabin. The piglin dropped his bag of loot on the floor and began to shoulder off his snow gear to hang by the fire to dry. As Techno walked past him, moving in front of the fire to undo his braids, damp from the snow.

“Techno, something’s happening.”

“Heh?” The piglin’s ears perked up from the break in the somewhat comfortable silence they usually shared. “What… what do you mean?”

“Something’s wrong. It feels… unnatural.” Phil said, closing his eyes briefly again to focus on the feeling. “Did you see anything off while you were out?”

“Not really, the snow’s coming down so hard you can barely see a thing out there.” The piglin shrugged, the concern on his friend’s face only making a pit form in his stomach he tried to ignore. “...what’s wrong?”

“Something’s moving… breathing… it shouldn’t be.”

“Zombies, maybe?” Techno suggested. “I did see a few while I was out.”

“Maybe.” Phil agreed. “Part of me feels like something’s off, something dangerous. Like when you… you were almost…” Phil sighed. “I guess I’m just worrying over nothing again.”

“I wouldn’t say nothing - you have good instincts, Phil.”

“Battle instincts. Instincts I don’t need anymore. And here I thought you’d have a harder time adjusting to all this.” Phil scoffed.

“A lot’s been changing. With everything that happened, I don’t blame you for being a little tense, Phil. I am too.” Technoblade admitted. “Just to be safe, we can double-check when the storm passes, that way we won’t get any interference with the communicators.”

“I’d like that.” Phil smiled, moving to sit next to his friend by the fireplace. “Thanks, Techno.”

Technoblade scoffed, his mouth breaking into a smile. “Hey, don’t mention it.” The piglin ran his hands through his hair, going through a few knots before grabbing a brush. Taking a deep breath to calm the knots in his stomach, Phil moved to set the kettle on the furnace, grabbing a match to light it.

Miles away from the icy tundra, Foolish walked through the Temple of the Undying, a small teenager in their arms. He was silent as he marched, tears going down his cheeks full of emotion the god held back. His arm gently cradled the child’s head close to his chest. His heart weighed heavy with guilt, words and memories echoing in his mind of failure, of how he failed his son.

Foolish could feel presences, he could feel others watching from the shadows and corners. Every single statue and totem memorial against the wall seemed to have their gazes fixed on him as if waiting for what the god would do next. For once, Foolish didn’t know what to do.

He hadn’t even told anyone the news yet. How could he? His son was dead and it was all his fault. All because he wasn’t careful. Dream was back, he was standing there next to his son and for once he couldn’t control his anger, his panic. He tried to strike him down, but…

He still remembered every detail, how Dream had just… smiled. He wasn’t afraid. He was staring down a god, and he wasn’t afraid. Somehow, he was always one step ahead.

Lightening still sparked and clung to Foolish Jr.’s body. Foolish couldn’t help but think about how much pain he must’ve been in, how much pain he must’ve put him through. He fell to his knees in the center of the temple, gently laying his son on the floor, the beacon lighting him in a bright glow. His hands shaking, Foolish brushed a bit of hair out of Junior’s eyes, bowing his head toward the ground.

“I’m sorry…” His soft whispers echoed through the temple. “I’m so so sorry, Ra forgive me for what I’ve done…” Tears dripped down to the floor. “My little totemling…” Foolish’s eyes snapped toward the walls as the totem statue’s eyes began to softly glow, bathing the two in green light. The totem god’s eyes still wet with tears as he looked into the green eyes, a silent question on his mind. Whispers filled his ears that he couldn’t quite decipher. Suddenly, he felt it.

A pinprick in the middle of his chest, expanding throughout his body, the pain pulsing like a heartbeat. His breath hitched as drowsiness overtook him, making him feel dizzy. An essence was being slowly pulled from his body, glowing like some kind of enchantment on a weapon. Sweat built on Foolish’s brow as he struggled to keep his breaths even. Then… a stinging slice across his middle left him in a silent scream. His hand slowly reached up toward his chest, his eyes widening when he found it covered in crimson. The pain was overwhelming - it felt as if his body was torn apart and stitched back together in a matter of seconds. He scrambled to grab a health potion, downing it all and wincing at the terrible aftertaste but thankfully finally getting some relief. His eyes focused on the essence as it hung up into the air above the two, and slowly was lowered, expanding around Foolish Junior’s body.

As the green light faded, Foolish heard faint chanting, looking around for where it was coming from, trying desperately to piece together what was happening. Before Foolish had time to figure out exactly what the chanting was saying, the body shooting upwards from the ground, gasping for breath quickly grabbed his attention.

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

Michael didn’t know how long it was. How many hours had passed since he’d been tied to the chair? He didn’t even know if it was night or day. He sat in the middle of his parent’s bedroom, feet and hands tied expertly - he was completely and utterly trapped. With every time he struggled and strained against the bonds they cut against his skin and irritated it enough to make them bleed, almost training the piglin to try to stay as still as possible, to avoid any pain.

Dream stalked around the bedroom like a thief, searching through the closet and drawers for something or other. He’d pick up a potion, a diamond, even an ingot or two, holding them up toward the light as if to inspect them before dropping them in his bag. His gaze fell upon a picture of the family from their beach vacation a few years ago - Ranboo fell asleep with a seagull perched on his stomach. Michael remembered how much he and his father had tried to hold back their laughter enough for a selfie, only for Ranboo to wake up and scare the seagull away halfway through taking the picture. They looked so happy together.

Dream seemed unfazed by the photo, almost studying it in a sense. The gaze seemed oddly calculated, making the teen feel uneasy.

“Michael you’re a good kid, you know.” Michael’s glare bore into Dream’s mask as sticky drips of crimson spilled over his hands. “You always want to do the right thing, want to protect everyone. You shouldn’t have to be the one to fight your parent’s battles, should you?”

Michael remained silent.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Michael. I really don’t. Despite what your parents might have told you, I’m not a monster. It brings me no satisfaction to bring you pain. After all, you’ve done nothing to me.”

“So?”

“So I’m giving you some free advice - take the easy way out, for both of us. All you need to do is tell me where that armor is hidden, and I’ll let you go.”

“Bullshit.” Michael spat. “I know that’s not what you want, my parents told me more than that you’re just some scary monster. You’re a power hungry lunatic.”

A smile spread across Dream’s face at Michael’s words. “A lunatic, huh?”

“You manipulated Uncle Wilbur, you tortured Uncle Tommy… you betrayed my father all because you want power! You want control over people, freeing me would have you lose the only shred of control you have left on this server, so why would you?”

“You’re a smart kid, you know that?” Dream said casually, rolling up his sleeves. “So smart…” He reached into his bag, grabbing a pair of shears that looked worn. There were initials on the leather cover that Michael couldn’t strain his eyes to see. Dream uncovered the shears, walking over toward the piglin and resting an arm on the teenager’s right side, trapping him.

Something churned in the piglin’s stomach. “What… what are you…?”

“Tell me, smart kid, do you know what it feels like to die? To feel nothing but neverending agony? To choke on your own blood as you beg for relief and warmth only to find yourself becoming colder and colder, not being able to move or even scream?”

Michael couldn’t help the fear that traveled up his spine. “I…I-”

“I wonder… would you like to find out?” The sharp end of the scissors was quickly set near the bottom of the piglin’s neck. It freaked Michael out - how calm Dream was about it all, how serious he sounded. Was he really going to kill him? The question sent his mind racing, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he felt like a trapped sheep in a wolf’s grasp. He wanted to run but he couldn’t.

“I...I just-”

“Do you know what canon lives are, Michael?” Dream asked smoothly, as if he was telling the teenager about the terrible weather. The words seemed familiar to the piglin but for some reason he was so stressed it was hard to remember anything specific. His parents never really talked about it much and usually tried to avoid the topic.

Michael thickly swallowed, acutely aware of the sharp blade against his skin. “No… no I don’t think-”

Of all the things he expected to happen in his situation, he certainly didn’t expect for the masked man to go into a small laughing fit over his answer. Michael struggled to find what exactly was funny, and a small pit of rage began to boil in his stomach, temporarily distracting the zombie piglin from the fear that the green blob seemed to pull out of him. So what if he didn’t know what those are?! Why does he care?! “Oh, I knew they couldn’t have told you everything…”

“What… what do you mean?”

“You see Michael, when someone dies they use up a canon life and respawn, until… well… they can’t anymore. Everyone has three, but a few have been used up over the years, at least when I was around.” Michael could see the beginnings of a smirk poke out from underneath Dream’s mask. “You’ve never respawned, have you?! All three lives, no deaths… oh, this could be fun…”

What… what the fuck was he suggesting?!

“Your choice - Tell me where the armor is now, or I’m going to kill you.”

The zombie piglin nervously looked around for any kind of out, something to stall. He couldn’t give up the location - Dad told him explicitly that he couldn’t reveal the location to anyone, no matter the circumstances.

Tubbo held Michael’s hands firmly in his own. “It’s evil, Michael. It used to belong to a very bad person, and he hurt a lot of people. We have to contain that evil here, for everyone’s sake. If this got into the wrong hands…” His father trailed off, not bothering to finish.

“I promise, Dad. I won’t let you down.”

Tubbo looked up at his son proudly, moving to cup his cheek with his hand fondly. “I know you won’t. You’re old enough and you’ve trained enough, you’ve earned my trust.”

He couldn’t let his father down, but…

“Five… four… three…” Dream huffed, getting impatient.

“You… you can’t just-!”

“Wrong answer.”

Michael’s memory was fuzzy after that - maybe it was because of the pain, or maybe it because he didn’t want to remember. He remembered… he remembered how his body trembled as Dream swiftly stabbed him in the chest with the shears, he remembered the tears going down his face as Dream tried to wedge the weapon deeper in the wound. And the pain… the pain was indescribable. Of course Michael had gotten hurt before - but arrows and zombie bites and broken bones could never compare to this, not by a long shot. Words left his lips so freely that he forgot exactly what he said, but when Dream twisted the scissors he whimpered.

He was mad at himself for crying and losing himself in front of his tormentor - he was giving him exactly what he wanted! Why did he just cry so easily?! Why was he being so… so weak?! He didn’t know exactly how or when the chair he was tied to flipped over, but he did remember shouting that seemed distant. He hit his head when he fell, adding to the throbbing dizziness in his skull. The pain hurt so much he wanted it to stop, please just let it stop...

He hadn’t even noticed the masked green blob left the room until a pair of dark purple eyes stared at him from the doorway. He felt himself tremble as the figure moved closer, and Michael squeezed his eyes shut, not willing to watch whatever that thing wanted to do to him next. After a tense moment of silence the piglin felt arms wrapped around him, pulling him close and his body relaxed into the touch, the familiar hum radiating throughout the stranger’s chest that always helped calm him. A hand reached up to scratch at his ears fondly, and Michael worked up the courage to open his eyes.

Two purple glowing eyes looked down at him, smiling and purring. The hair, the clothes… “Dad…?” Michael weakly croaked. The purple-eyed Ranboo smiled at him as he fondly patted his head. A loud noise erupted from his mouth, making Michael tense up in fear.

“⏚⏃⏚⊬.”

Upon seeing Michael’s distress, purple-eyed Ranboo quickly went back to sending calming purrs, holding his son’s head in his hands. Michael was so confused - what was that noise? More importantly, was his Dad okay? Ranboo’s hands drifted above the zombie piglin’s chest wound, a slight noise of discomfort coming from the back of his throat. He grit his teeth through the pain as he struggled to speak. “Dad, look, you… you gotta listen - Dream’s here, he’s gonna be back any second…”

The Ranboo-not-Ranboo’s head whipped toward the doorway at a loud crash, his grip increasing on the teenager slightly. Had his Dad even heard him? More strange noise erupted from his mouth, only increasing Michael’s concern. What was going on?

“⎅⏃⋏☌⟒⍀.”

Before Michael could ask what exactly that meant, with a ‘vwoop’ the purple-eyed Ranboo disappeared. Though Michael missed the warm comfort for his pulsing pain, part of him was glad. That means his Dad must’ve heard him, he was gonna warn the others and Dream wouldn’t hurt him, that was all that mattered. The other part felt like he was six years old again trapped in his own personal nightmare, begging for his father to come back and save him and hold him and tell him everything was going to be alright. Static began to fill his ears as a slow deep sleepiness began to take over. Tears pricked at the edges of Michael’s eyes, the pulsing, burning pain becoming too much.

Just let me rest...

The door slammed open. A scream echoed.

“MICHAEL!”

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

Foolish had never seen his son so scared in his entire life. He shot up, grasping for some kind of lifeline, and Foolish didn’t hesitate to pull him close. “Dad…”

“Shh, it’s okay little totemling. Dad’s right here.” His heart felt full as he hugged his son tightly, afraid that if he let go it would all just be a dream. His son, his son was alive and breathing, his son was right here in his arms, he was okay, it was all okay-! Wet tears slipped down his face before he had the time to notice them. The totem god’s gaze shifted up towards the totem statue. The statue glared down at him, expressionless, as if nothing else needed to be said.

Thank you. Thank you so much.

“There was… there were shadows everywhere,” Junior sobbed. “It was cold and so, so scary and I didn’t know where you were, and-!”

“I’m right here, Foolish. I’m right here. It…” Foolish hesitated. How could he explain this to him? How could he tell his son that he failed him? How could he face his son and tell him the truth, that his own father had killed him? Maybe some things were better left unsaid, some truths untold. Foolish couldn’t tell you whether he avoided it to spare his son’s emotions or his own, simply that he found that he just couldn’t. “It was all just a bad dream, don’t worry. I was just waiting for you to respawn.”

Maybe he was a coward. Maybe he’d tell him the truth later, but he couldn’t face it right now. He just couldn’t. Either way, what did it matter? He got a second chance, and this time he wasn’t going to mess up. Not again.

“Wait, where’s Dream?”

Foolish couldn’t help but tense hearing those words. “...What?”

“Where’s Dream? He just came back, I can’t leave him. He’s probably somewhere scared and alone, he probably thinks I died! I’m his only friend, I gotta-!” Junior shifted, moving to get out of his father’s grip.

“Foolish. Foolish, no.” The totem god said firmly. “Dream’s dangerous. He’s done horrible things, he’s hurt so many people back when he was alive, and I won’t have you be next.” Not again.

“But… but it’s been so long, maybe he’s changed! Maybe…”

“Foolish.”

“When Wilbur came back he changed, he became a good guy again! Dream’s been dead longer than him, he’s my friend he can’t… he’s not…”

“Dream used you against me when you stepped in front to protect him. Maybe his ghost was different, but… but he’s not a ghost anymore.”

Junior pulled away from his father’s embrace. “No, no that’s not true! You were the first one to attack him, he was just standing there, Dad! He just came back, he hadn’t done anything wrong, you assumed he did. You attacked for no reason.”

“Foolish you don’t understand, the things Dream’s done-”

“He’s been dead for 12 years, Dad! 12 years, and you don’t think he’s changed?! I thought you always believed in second chances, that everyone deserves a chance to do the right thing.” Junior stated. “You didn’t even give him a chance.”

“He’s killed countless people in cold blood-”

“Haven’t you?!”

Foolish’s face fell as he looked over his hands. Static filled his ears as his mind remembered every single detail, and for a moment he swore he could feel the warm, thick blood coating his hands. No, no no no… not now… He quickly clenched his hands tightly into fists, closing his eyes, trying to block it out before it flooded back, before…

He felt arms around his neck, a warm embrace. “It’s okay, it’s okay… I’m so sorry, I’m sorry-!”

As the feeling slowly faded, he opened his eyes, finding his son’s face red and puffy from crying. He mustered a small smile, both their anger long forgotten. “Hey, hey it’s okay… I told you I’m not going anywhere, right?”

“You were… you were turning into the… I’m so sorry…” Junior’s voice was soft and quiet.

“You don’t need to be, it’s not your fault…” Foolish reassured. “You’re right. You’re right, I’ve… I’ve done horrible things too. I just don’t want him to hurt you. I want to protect you, you know that right?”

“I know.”

Junior yawned, and Foolish smiled warmly.

“Come, my little totemling. You look tired.” Foolish said, scooping up the young teenager in his arms and walking toward his son’s room. Junior tiredly smiled.

“I love you, Dad.”

Foolish leaned down and gave his son a small forehead kiss. “I love you too, Foolish. No matter what.”

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

“Shit, shit shit shit shit…” Tubbo mumbled, his hands shaking as he rushed over to his son, noticing the large gash in his chest. He fumbled for his bag, desperately trying to find a potion of harming.

Regen, healing, strength, swiftness…

“Fuck.” Tubbo cursed under his breath, throwing aside his satchel and rushing over toward the drawers, pulling them open, throwing things to the ground in reckless abandon. What happened to the potions?! They always had extra, then extra for the extra! He and Ranboo were always prepared, they knew how hard harming potions were to make, so where was it?!

A loud crash ripped through the halls as Enderwalk Ranboo crashed through the wooden wall of the room, wooden splinters flying everywhere. Enderwalk huffed as he staggered trying to get to his feet, letting out a loud hiss as Dream walked through the new hole in the wall, his sword out, red staining his green hoodie. He looked over the scene, catching his breath.

“Oh, you guys wanted to pull one over on me, huh?! Throw the enderman freak on me, grab Michael and leave?”

Tubbo moved to be closer to Michael, pulling out his own sword protectively as Enderwalk moved in front of both, ignoring his own slashes and blood dripping to the floor. Enderwalk Ranboo screeched, almost daring the masked man to come toward his family. Tubbo’s gaze was focused on Dream, looking him over. “Yeah, something like that. Great plan, isn’t it?”

“Actually,” Dream let out a small cough, smirking. “Actually it’s pretty stupid.”

“I’d disagree, since we have Michael, and from the looks of it, you don’t have your precious armor.”

“Oh Tubbo, all these years and you’ve learned nothing… I always have other plans.”

Tubbo’s eyes narrowed. “What do you-?”

“Looking for this?” Dream smiled, holding up a glimmering potion of harming. Enderwalk was ready to pounce, looking over at Tubbo who stood up, sword raised. “Nuh-uh-uh. Try to take it from me and I’ll smash it on the floor. All of them.” Dream moved to open the flap of his bag slightly to reveal more potions of harming. Tubbo’s face fell - all the extras, everything…

Enderwalk looked back at Tubbo, head tilted in confusion as Tubbo signaled for him to stand down. Tubbo took a deep breath - he hated this. He hated that once again, he hadn’t thought everything through, he hated that once again he failed, and most of all he hated that fact that as of this moment, his son’s life was in that green psycho's hands. Enderwalk turned to hold Michael close once again, nuzzling him and getting worried and sad when he didn’t respond. “What do you want for it?”

“You know what I want.” Dream said coldly. “I’d hurry if I were you, or it’ll be Michael’s first cannon life.”

Tubbo promised himself he wouldn’t ever subject his son to that kind of pain, that he’d protect him no matter what. He let out a defeated sigh. “Second portrait on the left in the entryway. It’s behind the painting.” Tubbo held out his hand. “Now give me the potion.”

“Tubbo, Tubbo, Tubbo… never change. Once an idiot, always an idiot, isn’t it?” Dream tossed the potion bottle over, which Tubbo quickly caught as the masked man turned and walked out of the room. Tubbo quickly rushed over toward his son, putting the potion bottle to his lips. They didn’t have much time.

Of course, it wouldn’t heal much, but it certainly was better than nothing. He looked over toward Enderwalk, gears turning in his head trying to make sure he spoke clearly enough to be understood. “⟒⋏⎅⟒⍀, ☌⟒⏁ ⏚⏃⋏⎅⏃☌⟒⌇.”

Enderwalk nodded, rushing over toward the drawers, grabbing some bandages and handing them over to Tubbo, who set down the empty potion bottle. Enderwalk looked down at Michael as Tubbo worked, focused. “⏚⏃⏚⊬ ⏃⌇⌰⟒⟒⌿. ⏚⏃⏚⊬ ⍜☍⏃⊬?”

“⌿⏃⟟⋏ ⊑⎍⍀⏁ ⏁⍜⍜ ⋔⎍☊⊑. ⌿⍜⏁⟟⍜⋏ ⊑⟒⌰⌿⟒⎅.”

Enderwalk reached to scratch and pat behind Michael’s ears. Tubbo tightened the bandages as Michael stirred. “...Dad…?”

“Michael, thank gods you’re alright!” Tubbo moved to hug his son, Enderwalk joining in, purring happily at the reunion.

“What… what happened? Where’s Dream?”

No time. “Busy. Michael, can you move..?”

Michael shifted to sit, feeling sore, tired. Small pulses of pain still wracked his body that he ignored. He moved his leg slightly, testing the waters. “I… I think so…?”

“Good. Okay.” Tubbo got up, holding out his hand and helping his son stand on shaky hooves. “I need you to run. Run toward Uncle Tommy’s.”

“Wait, what? N-no, I’m not leaving you!”

“This isn’t a choice, Michael. You have to go. Now. Before he comes back.”

“But-”

Tubbo’s hands gently squeezed his son’s. “No matter what you hear or what happens, don’t stop. Don’t stop until you’re at Uncle Tommy’s and you’re safe, okay?”

“But what about you and Dad? What about Dream?”

“Don’t worry, we’ve held our own this long. We’ll meet you at Uncle Tommy’s soon, but you have to get there and get safe, okay? Don’t look back, just get there. You can do that for me, right?” Tubbo’s forehead gently bonked Michael’s. “Remember the time we got caught in the forest just as the sun was coming down?”

“Yeah. I was so scared I couldn’t move. It was my first time out at night.”

“Remember, I took your hand like this…” Tubbo slowly rubbed circles into the back of Michael’s palm. “And told you that you didn’t have to be scared, that I was gonna be right there with you. All the scary monsters, you didn’t need to be afraid because as long as you kept running, nothing could get you.”

“Dad, I don’t know if I-”

“Yes you can. I know you can, Michael. Run as fast as your hooves can carry you, I know you can do it. I know you can be brave.” Tubbo encouraged. “Get there, your father and I will be right behind you. I promise.”

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, Michael.”

“⏚⏃⏚⊬ ⍜☍⏃⊬! ⍙⊑⊬ ⏚⏃⏚⊬ ⌇⏃⎅?”

Enderwalk nuzzled with Michael as a few tears spilled down the piglin’s cheeks, and he laughed, smiling. “I love you too, Dad!”

Quickly, giving his parents one last look, Michael dashed into the hallway, heading toward the balcony and jumping down into the courtyard, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he ran through the trees toward the icy tundra. Tubbo wiped away his tears as he looked over toward his purple-eyed husband.

“⏚⏃⏚⊬...?”

Tubbo cupped Enderwalk’s cheek as the enderman snuggled into the embrace. “⋔⟟☊⊑⏃⟒⌰ ⋏⍜⏁ ⌇⏃⎎⟒ ⊑⟒⍀⟒. ☌⍜⟟⋏☌ ⏁⍜ ⌇⏃⎎⟒ ⌿⌰⏃☊⟒.”

Enderwalk looked into Tubbo’s eyes and nodded in understanding. He moved to hold Tubbo’s face in his hands as Tubbo stilled, confused for a moment before Enderwalk pulled him down to the floor in a tight hug. Surprised at first, Tubbo returned the gesture. A loud crash erupted from below the two, followed by loud angry yells that sent shivers up Enderwalk’s spine and made him tense up.

“WHERE IS IT?!”

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

“The flowers are really pretty today.” Ghostie smiled as he kneeled down in the daisy flower field, callused and rough hands moving to gently caress a flower.

“Yeah, spring’s coming.” Junior smiled, sitting down next to his friend.

“Spring…?”

“You… wait a minute, you’ve never seen spring before?!”

The ghost considered his friend's words for a moment, searching his own memory. “No, I… I don’t think I remember spring.” He smiled excitedly, a childlike curiosity in his eyes. “What’s it like?”

Junior settled down next to his friend, moving to pluck a flower. “Well, it’s warm, like… like hot chocolate, and flowers come back… it’s like the entire world comes alive again.” As Junior spoke, Ghostie pushed his green hood back and looked up towards the bright blue sky, noticing a small butterfly float past. His heart felt light, it was perfectly warm and bright, and something about everything around him made a smile appear on his face. “It’s perfect.”

“Oh, by the way, I’ve got something for you.” Foolish Junior smiled, reaching into his bag and pulling out a small piece of different colors of braided thread - a lime green and two different shades of blue with a small white shell at the bottom. He held it out to Ghostie. “Now we’re officially best friends!”

“What is it…?” Ghostie asked, staring down at the foreign object laid in his palm.

“It’s a friendship bracelet!” Junior beamed, pulling out a similar yellow with the same two shades of blue. When his ghost friend didn’t respond or understand when he pointed it out, just staring up at him confused, he moved to explain. “You wear it on your wrist to show that we’re friends. See? It matches mine.” The twelve year old held up his own bracelet to show his ghost friend.

“Were… were we not friends before…?”

“Of course we were, Ghostie!” Foolish Junior exclaimed. “You’re my best ghost friend in the world, after all.” He reassured his friend. “I just wanted to make it for you because I thought you’d like it. Tubbo was telling me this story the other day about these special compasses, and… and I wanted to make sure that even if we’re not always together, we’ll still have a part of each other, you know?”

“It’s pretty. Like the flowers.” Ghostie smiled. “I love it.”

“Here, let me show you how to put it on…”

Foolish Junior heard talking just beyond his room as he packed, hearing his Uncle Eret downstairs. For a second, his mind wandered to what they could possibly be talking about. After all, it was just a simple respawn. He wasn’t that hurt, Ghostie got brought back… everything was perfect! Everything was supposed to be absolutely perfect.

So why wasn’t it? The whispers and hushed tones, the way his father looked at him, clung to him in a vice grip… it wasn’t right. He wasn’t right. He knew his father wasn’t right about Ghostie, or… or was he Dream now…? Dream. It didn’t sound right, it didn’t fit him as well as ‘Ghostie’ did. The name felt so foreign on his tongue. But, if that’s what his friend wanted…

The teenager stilled as his gaze settled on the abandoned green and blue friendship bracelet left on his nightstand. He remembered how Ghostie held it with the utmost care when he handed it to him to take - “Make sure to give it back once the ritual’s all done. I don’t wanna get it dirty.” Junior remembered so clearly how Ghostie looked at him when he wasn’t transparent anymore.he called out for him with a smile, and his best friend simply turned around without saying a single word, looking around the forest.

After a moment of hesitation, he slid on Ghostie’s bracelet next to his own. He’ll give it back, he’ll reunite with Ghostie and introduce him to everyone and they’d understand. Then, they’d finally get to go swimming together like they always wanted to. They’d be together again.

All he had to do was find him.

You whisper to Dream: Meet me by the flower field tonight once the sun goes down. Be safe. We’ve gotta talk.

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

As his husband held his head in agony, Tubbo was quick to steady him, resting his head against his shoulder. He gently held him, adapting as he shifted every now and then. Worried thoughts filled Tubbo's head as he couldn’t help but think of the worst - it had after all been years since Ranboo had forced himself to go into that state. He was the one who pushed him, all for his plan, his 'big' plan. Eventually, Tubbo found the voice to speak. “You there, Boo?”

“I... forgot how dizzying it is…” Ranboo let out a pained chuckle against his husband’s shoulder. “How’d I do?”

“Amazing,” Tubbo smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. A few tears slid down his cheeks as he softly laughed. “Absolutely amazing.”

“Michael okay?”

“Dream roughed him up a little badly,” Tubbo sniffed, moving his hand up to wipe away his tears. “I patched him up, gave him a potion and sent him on his way toward Tommy’s.”

“That’s good.” Ranboo moved to sit up fully, holding Tubbo’s hand in his to comfort him. His smile never left his face. “So, what’s the plan now?”

“Well, Dream always told us what would happen if we crossed him.” Tubbo looked up at Ranboo. “Do you wanna come with me and find out?”

The enderman smirked playfully. “Aw, don’t tell me you tricked the poor thing…?”

“I do learn from the best.” Tubbo smiled. The door slammed open once more to reveal a very angry and pissed off Dream. Slowly, he walked over toward the couple, a golden axe drawn.

“Tubbo.” He growled.

"Dream." Tubbo smiled. "Did you find the armor?" A pair of netherite boots fell to the floor with a 'clang', the noise like thunder in the silent tense room.

“Where’s the rest of it?!”

“What, don't you like the boots?”

Dream pounced, tackling Tubbo to the ground and slowly pushing the axe blade up toward Tubbo’s neck. “Start talking you little shit.”

“Did you honestly think we’d hide all your precious armor and weapons in one spot?! Do you think after twelve years we’d still be that stupid?!” With Tubbo’s words, Dream looked like he was slapped, anger only building and rising the more he thought it over, the more he realized his mistake.

A mistake. He didn't make mistakes.

“We’ve buried them and hid the locations all around the SMP, just in case someone like you ever showed up again and tried to take us down.” Tubbo explained. “Good luck on finding the others, going through everyone on the SMP, digging through all that dirt… not to mention that as we speak Michael’s running to warn the others about you.” Tubbo’s eyes narrowed. “You’re trapped.”

He didn't make mistakes. He didn't get trapped. He was always smarter, always faster, always in control. Why wasn't he in control?!

“Checkmate, Dream.” Tubbo spat.

The words sparked a flame within Dream’s stomach, igniting his anger and destructive spirit. Choked breathing filled the room as Dream wrapped his hands around Tubbo’s throat and squeezed. How dare he… HOW DARE HE TRICK HIM?! He saw red as he slammed Tubbo’s head back down against the wooden floor, staining it crimson. Ranboo yelled and screamed in the background until Tubbo was still as a stone, unconscious.

“Get away from him!” Ranboo yelled, grabbing his sword and moving to strike. A quick slash of Dream’s yellow axe sent him to the floor as well. Struggling to keep awake, Ranboo crawled, each movement feeling like fire as it combined with his older injuries, his blood dripping to the floor. Dream watched Ranboo a moment, relishing in his struggle, the blood bringing him a deep satisfaction. Slowly, ever so slowly, he begins to walk over toward the enderman, his golden axe dripping with blood.

“I’ll admit, I didn’t expect you guys to be so sharp after all these years… but you’re still making the same mistakes.” Dream said with an oddly calm and cold tone. “You three always underestimate me. You underestimated me then, and you’re still doing it now to make yourselves feel better, to feel like you’ve won. But you haven’t.” Dream kneeled down in front of the enderman, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling his face to look at his. “I’m going to win eventually. After all, I waited a hundred and forty-four years to get out of that hell hole you three put me in. If you think a small slip up is all it takes to stop me and the plans I have…" The last thing that rang in Ranboo's head before he passed out was Dream's crazed laughter.

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

General Writing Taglist (Tell me if you'd like to be added or removed):

@bonesposts

(Also, I believe @yellowhearthero wanted some protective enderboo, so here you go! :D)

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