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nctsjiho · 3 years

Text

Your Fault

warnings: strong language, consumption of alchol, mention of death without actual death, very much angst

era: July 7th 2021

❀ NCT 127's 5th anniversary isn't a day to celebrate and be happy for everyone

To Doyoung:

“Happy 5th anniversary oppa!”

“I hope you and the boys are having a great time <3”

JiHo stared at her phone intently waiting for the “sent” at the bottom of her screen to turn into “read”. She had been staring at her phone like that for nearly an hour, yet nothing changed. The girl knew that the boys were busy, but somewhere she hoped that she’d hear from them. Besides the short “wished you could be with us” message she had received the evening before from Taeyong she hadn’t heard from anyone else. Of course JiHo was aware that the boys were busy, but was it a crime to feel left out and maybe want a phone call or something more than a “wished you could be with us” from anyone?

And so JiHo continued to stare at her phone, everything on the small screen getting progressively more blurry as time went on. Her eyes were straining, one almost pressed shut, the other slowly going cross-side. Her right hand, which wasn’t holding the phone, reached out to the glass bottle on her desk. A quick shake letting her know it was empty. So she reached for the other one, opening it skilfully with one hand – like she did with the other two bottles now empty on her desk – and bringing it up to her lips. “Must be nice hm~ Being an idol or whatever…”

“I’m glad you came over.” Sihyun, JiHo’s Esteem manager that lives with her, said as she grabbed the boy’s coat off his shoulders. The piece of clothing, along with his hair, slightly damp caused by the light drizzle outside. “JiHo’s been a bit sensitive and doesn’t let me in her room. She doesn’t want to talk to me at all.” Jaemin watched the woman’s face full of worry. He gave her a small reassuring smile and then glanced at the door leading to JiHo’s room. “I’ll try to talk to her.” Thanking Jaemin, Sihyun then excused herself, telling him she had to run some late night errands.

Not knowing what was happening behind the closed door of the bedroom, Jaemin knocked a few times. “Unnie~ Just leave me- leave me alone.” JiHo hiccupped between her words, her speech sounding a bit slurred. She had been drinking? JiHo?

Without a second thought Jaemin pushed the door open. A jumbled mess of protests escaped JiHo’s lips, but she froze in her chair as soon as her eyes locked with Jaemin. “What… are you doing here?” She muttered to the best of her abilities. “Coming to check up on you.” He neared the girl and poked at the bottles and the mess on her desk. “Clearly you need it.” His tone sounded very much disappointed and for a split second JiHo felt her heart ache, but she quickly turned defensive. “I do not!”

A sigh escaped deep from Jaemin’s chest and he pulled JiHo to sit on the edge of her bed next to him. “Since when do you drink?” It was quiet for a bit. JiHo looked at the bottle of the alcoholic beverage in her hand, swirling it around by circling her wrist and then started to giggle to herself. “A new hobby?” She turned to Jaemin, a big smile on her lips – however Jaemin could see the sadness behind it easily. “It’s fun. Feeling… Nothing! I can barely feel my… my lips.” Her body swayed from side to side prompting Jaemin to grab her by her shoulders and hold her in place. “It’s fun until you wake up with a hangover tomorrow.” He scoffed. “Can’t get a hangover if I don’t sleep.” She said, before turning to her desk. She then pointed at the box of another 9 bottles of alcohol next to it on the floor. “Or if I don’t stop drinking.” She grinned.

“Yah! What’s wrong with you?” Jaemin’s patience ran dry quickly. He just felt so furious seeing how badly JiHo was treating her own body. She never drank and now she was planning to drink 12 bottles of alcohol? Drinking herself straight into the hospital, and if it weren’t for Jaemin being here, maybe straight into her own grave. “This is strong alcohol! For all I know you can’t even handle it, so what made you decide to drink now huh?” He yelled, anger only rising watching the girl just stare at him with wide, innocent eyes.

Those same eyes turned to look at her laptop, located on the desk she sat at earlier. The NCT 127 online fanmeeting being streamed, muted.

Of course Jaemin knew it was NCT 127’s 5th anniversary, he knew it must’ve affected JiHo in some way, even if she kept insisting she was going to be fine and was happy for the boys. She even said that she wasn’t “part of the group since debut, so it wouldn’t even be my 5th anniversary” and everyone just had to nod and smile.

“Is that a reason to potentially drink yourself to death?” Jaemin poked her side – maybe a bit too harsh – to gain her attention again; she seemed to be zoning out every few seconds. “What else was I supposed to do? I’m tired of keeping things in.” She sneered at him and it was almost as if she didn’t drink anything. She sounded much more coherent than just a minute earlier. “Aren’t you doing just that though? Drinking on your own. Not letting Sihyun noona in? We keep telling you to talk to us, yet all you do is keep things in. The hyungs even took you out to do stuff and get your mind off things yet you get home and do the thing you always do.”

JiHo felt every drop of alcohol leave her system as she heard the somewhat condescending tone in her friend’s voice. “What the fuck? So this is my fault-“ “Kinda, yes! You just sit here feeling sorry for yourself while everyone is worried over you! We’re your friends for a reason JiHo. There are so many people who care for you, just start fucking talking when you feel down like this.”

The blood inside of JiHo’s veins started to boil and at the same time she felt tears pricking behind her eyes. “You think it’s that easy? What am I supposed to say? That I feel upset that I can’t be with 127 now? Okay. Then what about it? Me telling you this won’t change shit!” “At least you should stop lying and stop telling everyone you’re fine when you’re not! Why do you continue keeping things a secret from everyone?” Both JiHo and Jaemin’s chest rose and fell at a rapid pace. “But I guess you’re good at that anyway.” He added in a mumble.

Once the words registered in JiHo’s mind, the bottle that started to hover towards her lips was quickly forgotten. “What do you mean by that?” Jaemin just shrugged his shoulders and turned his gaze away from JiHo. “Jaemin? What do-“ “You were supposed to debut in 2016 with NCT U?” JiHo’s eyes widened and she pushed herself to stand up. “How’d you know-“ “Then they asked you to debut in 127? Also with us… In Dream?” “How do you know?” Was the only thing JiHo could say.

“Does it matter?” Jaemin yelled, standing up as well. “Why do you continue to keep secrets from us? Do you not trust us? Is that why you sit here alone? Drinking and crying alone.” The boy watched as JiHo stood in front of him wordlessly. He could see how his words were affecting her, but he wanted to be selfish for once. He wanted to let JiHo know how frustrating things were for him and his friends. He was well aware of how JiHo had her own worries and hardships, but if she never wanted to confide in anyone, then he was allowed to be mad right?

The only sound filling the room was both of their ragged breathing and the occasional shift from one foot to the other. The silence was almost deafening, a ringing shooting up JiHo’s clouded mind making her feel like she was going to lose it any second now. Her friend sending hurtful glares her way didn’t help ease the growing pain either.

“You’re right. I could’ve debuted in 2016, what about it?” JiHo whispered, afraid that her talking too loud would send surges of pain into her brain. “Why did you hide it from us? Why didn’t you say yes back then?” Jaemin interrogated her. “There was no reason to tell you if it didn’t happen. I didn’t debut so telling you I could’ve wouldn’t change a thing. I’m not in Dream, I didn’t debut in U and clearly now, I’m not in 127 either. Jaemin… It doesn’t matter anymore…” JiHo’s voice stayed as calm as possible.

“How long have you known Jaemin?” JiHo spoke up again as Jaemin didn’t say anything. She felt the tension grow exponentially, the pressure on her body and more noticeably her head increasing and bothering her more as well. “I heard it during that last meeting you had with Yebin noona and Mister Lee Soo Man…” JiHo let out a small chuckle, shaking her head in disbelief. “I guess we’re eavesdropping and keeping secrets from me as well.”

She brought the glass bottle still in her hands to her lips, throwing her head back, to down as much of the liquid as possible. Before she could finish it all in one go, Jaemin gripped the bottle and pulled it away from her. “It’s not the same, JiHo!”

The liquid rushed from between JiHo’s lips, making a wet patch on her grey sweatpants. She could feel her throat and lungs burning as she coughed, caused by the alcohol going down her windpipe instead.

Jaemin watched her with concern painting his features, his hand slowly caressing her back hoping it would ease her violent coughs. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?” He whispered and JiHo gave him a small nod as her body calmed down.

The two 00 liners stayed like that for a while, with Jaemin’s eyes burning at the back of JiHo’s downturned head. Even after JiHo’s body stopped shaking violently, Jaemin’s concern continued to grow. It was only when he noticed the drops, which only could be tears, fall onto her sweatpants and create even more wet spots, that he decided to step in.

Jaemin’s hand securely gripped JiHo’s shoulder and he pulled her up to face him. A gasp left the boy’s mouth as he watched large tears spill from his friend’s eyes. “Ji…” It proved incredibly difficult to speak when he was faced with a situation he wasn’t ready to deal with. Maybe Jaemin shouldn’t have confronted her the way he did. Maybe acting like everything was fine wouldn’t have caused him to witness JiHo at possibly the worst she has felt.

It became a full minute of Jaemin staring into JiHo’s pain- and tear-filled eyes, feeling like he could drown in them himself, before a loud pained sob brought him to reality. The sudden jolt of JiHo’s body forward made Jaemin act quickly and pulled the girl into his chest. His hand, just as quickly, found its way into JiHo’s slightly tangled hair.

“I’m… sor- so sorry.” JiHo sobbed into his chest, tears soaking through even the thicker material of the boy’s jumper. Jaemin could feel his sweater start to stick against his chest, yet what felt more uncomfortable than the damp piece of clothing was the feeling of JiHo’s body shaking in his hold.

As best as he could, Jaemin tried to soothe JiHo. Almost like taking care of a crying toddler, he swayed the girl from side to side. His lips were pressed against the shell of JiHo’s ear as Jaemin whispered affirmations into her skin. “Don’t apologise... Stop apologising.”

“I’m only bringing the team down-” “Shh JiHo. Stop that.” He told her, as his fingers continued to comb through her hair, slowly and carefully detangling it along the way. JiHo pressed her eyes tighter as even more tears spilled from her cheeks and pushed herself closer into Jaemin’s grasp.

Mouth agape, a sob that was building up in his own chest was threatening to fall from Jaemin’s own lips. “You don’t deserve any of this JiHo, you only deserve the best.” JiHo only shook her head, but didn’t dare to speak again. “You do... You really do.”

The night in the capital of South-Korea was never really that dark. Lights always seemed to find their way past the pulled back blinds of any building that wasn’t directly blocked by another one due to bad city planning. So even during the darkest time of day, even when all the lights inside have been dimmed, somehow, it was still light enough to see inside.

So when Jaemin pulled back to look at JiHo’s face, her eyes still tightly pressed shut - which pained him immensely - Jaemin could see the light reflecting off of her wet cheeks.

Feeling two hands being placed on her burning cheeks, JiHo finally decided to open her eyes again. A few more tears rolled over her cheeks onto Jaemin’s thumbs, but luckily no new ones seemed to form. “I’m sorry for everything, all this drama. It’s my fault.” Jaemin shook his head and pulled the girl back, this time to hide his own tears that were starting to form. “Please stop apologising, it’s not your fault.”

“But-” JiHo sighed, her arms found their way around Jaemin’s small waist. “I hate that it’s always about me. I don’t want to be this cliche ‘emotional girl with so many problems and everyone has to pay attention to her problems’. I don’t want that. I don’t want to burden you guys with that, but I also don’t want that kind of attention. I know people already hate me for being in a boy’s group. I don’t want my stupid problems to be the only thing that people assiociate me with NCT.”

“Your problems are not stupid JiHo. And though I understand what you’re saying, I think it’s worse to keep it in. If anything, keeping it in just makes us worry about you more and may get you more attention. JiHo I know things suck right now, and I can’t imagine how you’re feeling with everything going on right now, but… Please just talk to us when things are bothering you. We all love you.”

At those last words JiHo loudly sniffled back some stray tears. She pressed herself into Jaemin’s warm embrace and softly nodded her head. “From now on I will. I promise. And…” JiHo looked up at Jaemin, sending him a small smile that he gratefully reciprocated. “I love you guys too. You’re all I have here and that’s enough to make me stay.”

Jaemin’s hand resumed with his previous ministrations. A deep sigh left his lips as he rested his head atop of JiHo’s. “Everything will be just fine.” Jaemin pressed a kiss against JiHo’s hair. “As long as we stay together everything will be just fine.”

#jiho.writings #nct 24th member #nct addition #nct female member #nct imagines #nct angst #nct jaemin angst #nct extra member #nct additional member #nct female addition #kpop!addition #kpop!oc

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levi-my-beloved · 3 years

Text

Birds of a Feather

Chapter 3

Pairings: Canon!Levi x F!Reader

Content warnings: Violence, implied torture, two pining idiots being two pining idiots, probably ooc Levi cuz oof i suck

Word count: 8.2K

Summary: You were the most notorious criminal in the Underground City. With your organisation of highly skilled professionals, only one man could take you down. He also happened to be Humanity’s Strongest… and your ex.

Previous Chapter

First Chapter

A/N: y’all these chapters are getting real long now… and they only get longer as i keep writing. just wanted to a say a quick and huge thank you for the amazing support i’ve had so far. i honestly didn’t think anyone would read this little story and it’s so heartwarming to see people enjoying it

i love every one of y’all so much 🥺

𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔

If your hands were free, you would have shielded your eyes as the blinding sun greeted you. You weren’t quite expecting it to be so bright. You knew the overhead world was nowhere near as dark as it was in the Underground City, you’d seen the rays of light spilling down from the toll gate but never in your life had you expected life to seem so..,

Vibrant.

Blinking a few times, you almost had to force yourself to remember your circumstances, gently pulling against your chains. The look of awe on your face was unmistakable.

“Holy shit…” you breathed, eyes now wide as you took in your surroundings. It was warm up here. Really warm. The sun gently beating down on the busy streets. Levi appeared next to you, pushing you forward to continue up the stairs.

“Don’t get used to it, you’ll be in a cell before long,” you were expecting to catch some satisfaction in his tone, but there was nothing other than contempt. You took a breath, managing to resist attempting to kick his shin as you kept climbing the stairs, now fully embraced in the sun’s light. Though it didn’t last as long as you would have liked. Sooner than you deemed necessary, if you were honest, a carriage clattered up in front of you. It was surprisingly lavish considering you were a criminal. Squinting in suspicion, your hesitation only earned a rough push against the back of your head.

“Get in.”

“You never were one for manners were you?” you drawled after stumbling clumsily into the carriage. The plush leather seats squeaking against your own getup, leather on leather disagreeing with each other.

“Not when it comes to people like you, no,” the raven haired man took up a seat opposite you, immediately folding his arms as staring out the small, curtained window. A muscle in your jaw flickered in irritation.

“People like me? You mean people like you? Or have you really forgotten where you came from? Did you lose brain cells as well as your sense of self?” god you just wouldn’t let up, would you? Levi rolled his eyes, successfully masking how much he hated the way you spoke to him. Like nothing ever happened between you. He understood. Of course he did. He knew why you were so upset. Why you were trying so hard to hurt him. He knew you wanted him to hurt the same way you did, but knowing what you were doing wasn’t going to stop the spear you kept repeatedly driving into his heart.

You attempted to shift ever so slightly, just so your hands weren’t painfully crushed against your back. Once again the thought of kicking him crossed your mind, but the situation wasn’t exactly in your favour right now.

It was only a few moments of awkward, deafening silence before you two were joined by both Erwin and Hange, the latter opting to sit next to you, seemingly not worried about whether or not you could still skin her alive even with your wrists bound. Erwin sat a respectable distance from you, despite the size of the carriage. The man barely fit, it was only because of your own size and the size of Levi did you assume you were all able to travel together. That still didn’t stop the man opposite you from throwing you a disgusted look as your knee grazed his. Just to piss him off, you did it again.

“SO! Raven, you’re joining the Scouts?” Hange blurted out, earning her a glare from Levi, a sigh from Erwin and a baffled scoff from you.

“Yeeeaaah… no. That’s not happening.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice in the matter,” Erwin chimed in, almost defeatedly.

“Why don’t you just do what you usually do with criminals? Hang me as some sick entertainment for the public.”

“That can be arranged.”

“Levi…” Erwin warned lowly, to which Levi simply clicked his tongue in response.

Shit, that one hurt. He really didn’t care for you anymore, did he?

Once again, if you had your hands free, you would have run them through your hair. Joining the Scouts? That was never really something that ever crossed your mind. It didn’t seem to make sense. Why on earth would they want to draft you in? The question was swiftly pushed from your mind, replaced by another. Something you’d been burning to know ever since you realised the Scouts knew your location.

“Who was it?” you asked quietly, staring at your feet. Levi stiffened, shifting his eyes from the window back to you. Your demeanor struck a chord with him. You looked defeated, shoulders hunched over. “Who betrayed us? I just want to know.”

A heavy silence settled over the trio, none of them wanting to be the one who broke the news. The bond and connection between you and your Nest was strong. Trust ran through your veins, so to have it broken by any one of them was already shattering your very being.

“A woman. Brown hair, blue eyes. Scarlett, I think her name was,” at that moment, everything seemed to stop. Your world froze. It was Scarlett. Your own lover. Your wife. The woman you trusted more than any of them. She had betrayed you. Betrayed all of you. She was the one who put Una’s life in danger. The one who was responsible for the scar across her neck she would carry forever.

The three Scouts looked at each other, each not really knowing how you would react. Not even you knew how you were going to react. You were stuck in limbo. Everything and nothing was going through your mind. You didn’t know how long you’d sat there staring at nothing, simply trying to process this information, but it must have been an uncomfortably long time, if Erwin’s awkward throat clearing was any indication, gently bringing you back from your thought spiral.

“Oh.” was all you could manage, still not able to raise your head. Your eyes started to burn after not blinking for seemingly too long. How could she? How could she betray you? To the Military Police, of all people. You hadn’t cried for a very, very long time, but damn you were close.

Shit this entire ordeal had been difficult, but seeing you so defeated was next level. Levi dug his fingernails into his palm to stop himself from holding you. From comforting you. He still knew you well enough to tell when something was wrong. Very wrong. And although his stomach twisted slightly with the ideas of who this woman was running through his head, it was all he could do to tear his eyes from your hunched shoulders, returning his gaze to the window as the world passed him by.

“Did you know her?”

“Why would I tell you?” you tilt your head, glaring at Hange next to you, your jaw clenched. You may have just felt the last remaining fragment of your heart shatter, but that didn’t mean you would give them any more information than you had to.

“Raven, I give you my word, we will leave The Nest be,” Erwin tried his hand at reassuring you. None of this made any sense. Why were they being nice? Don’t they know how many soldiers you and your people had slaughtered? How much you had stolen from their warehouses?

You raised your eyes, seeing Levi glancing at you cautiously. Silver hues flicking over your defeated form with that same, cemented expression of boredom, before slowly looking back to the window. You spent the rest of the journey in silence, going over all the events that had led to this moment. How you could have possibly let this happen.

You trusted Prongs. You knew he would take care of your family. But Scarlett…

The bony claws of betrayal grasped your throat, gently squeezing until it became difficult to breathe. The walls of the carriage started closing in around you. Helplessness tainting the corners of your mind. You were stranded. Captured and soon to be forced into the military. To face those titans you’d heard so many people talk about.

You’d found the first man to ever hold your heart. You’d lost him, and then you’d found him again. And you could almost feel his hatred for you.

And though you put on a brave face. Though you put on an act to convince him you felt the same…

You couldn’t find it in your fractured heart to return his hatred.

The gentle, rhythmic clopping of hooves came to a slow stop, the door opening outwards to let the four of you out. Hange hopped down the step with seemingly boundless energy, before immediately engaging in conversation with a taller, worried looking man. Erwin stepped down, but once again you refused to move. If you could make their lives as difficult as possible, you would. Pure spite was fueling you now, your only current reason to carry on.

“Oi, move,” it was a blunt command, and one you paid no mind to. Not even raising your head to acknowledge Levi had said anything. “Hey. Did you lose your hearing on the way here? I said move,” a sharp kick to your shin prompted you to tilt your chin just enough to shoot another one of your glares in his direction. He too had to keep up his charade until he could get you alone and finally have a proper conversation.

“Go to hell,” was your only response, heavily debating spitting in his face as his hands once again grasped your arm. You flinched ever so slightly at the contact, something that didn’t go unnoticed, but it appeared Levi didn’t care.

Levi did care. Holy shit did Levi care. What the hell had happened to you to prompt you to flinch in such a way? Who the fuck had laid their hands on you? Who the fuck had hurt you like that? He allowed the rage to course through his veins, before letting it simmer down. He would deal with that later.

You stumbled as you were almost thrown from the carriage, knees colliding with the stone beneath you before you were dragged back to your feet

That fucking hurt. You started to think that maybe you could return his hatred. The next chance you got, you were driving you knee into his fucking gut. But for now, you decided to settle your glare on Erwin as he was talking to a darker haired man who kept glancing in your direction. It’s only now you realised your condition. You were filthy, mud and grime greasing your hair, blood and small cuts littering your face and knuckles, a dark bruise blossoming on the underside of your chin. Levi’s hand still held you firm, preventing you from even attempting to escape. Not that you would. You really couldn’t see the point, other than running into titan territory yourself. You tensed as the tall, haggard looking man approached you, apprehension mixed with disgust clouded his eyes, but it was an expression you refused to flinch away from.

“The Raven?” you couldn’t help raising a brow.

“Stupid fucking question. No, I'm just an innocent bystander dressed like The Raven for a costume party. I just so happened to think a pair of manacles clasped around my wrists completed the look,” you hissed sarcastically, and you could have sworn you heard something that could resemble a laugh from behind you, but it was so miniscule it was difficult to tell. If only this had been ten years ago.

You watched with satisfaction as a muscle twitched in his jaw, before the man managed to compose himself.

“My name is Niles Dok, Commander of the Military Police soldiers you seem to have so much fun slaughtering,” he introduced himself in a way that made it seem like the last thing he wanted to be doing was introducing himself to you right now.

“So? Do you want a written apology or something? Have to take these chains off me first,” you spat, with the innocent smile of an adder. This seemed to rile the man up more, to the point where he fisted your hair painfully, yanking your head up. His voice lowered to a dangerous murmur.

“Listen you little whore, I don’t know which door to hell you crawled out of, but I have men specially trained to deal with rats like you. They take pleasure in every agonised scream they can rip from your filthy mouth,” you refused to let your panicked, racing heart rule your mind, using every ounce of mental strength to hold his stare, firing back with a nasty glare of your own. And it took all of Levi’s willpower not to launch himself at the MP Commander.

“Go fuck yourself,” the retort came so naturally as you actually spat in his face. It gained you a much more satisfying reaction than you imagined you would get from Levi.

Swiftly removing his hand from your hair, you slumped back, staring up at the man between the now dishevelled strands. Wiping your saliva from his eye. You flinched as the back of his hand came up to strike you. Quicker than you would have expected, Levi was immediately by your side, eyes glinting with murderous intent. But before anything could happen, Niles’ hand was caught by Erwin behind him.

“Now, now Niles. Don’t go harming my soldiers,” his voice was borderline condescending as the MP Commander turned to look back to Erwin with an expression of disbelief.

“You can’t be serious? Erwin, this wasn’t part of the deal. You said—”

“I said we would aid you in capturing her. What happens to her after, is up to us. Think of it as collateral,” he reminded Niles of the deal they had struck before their meeting earlier.

“I didn’t think you would force her to join the Scouts. Are you insane?” It was a question Erwin had heard many times before.

“She’s just another calculated risk,” —he explained, before turning to his Captain— “Levi, take her to where she’ll be staying for the next week,” you had absolutely no idea what the hell was going on, but honestly, you were just glad Erwin stepped in when he did. You didn’t fancy whatever strike was about to land on you, and didn’t want to deal with whatever trauma it would drag up from your less than agreeable past. You didn’t have nearly enough time to unpack Levi’s own movements.

“Tch, why me? Why not Four Eyes?” his eyes slid to the scientist, who seemed to be engaged in an increasingly elaborate conversation with that poor, poor soldier. Even you felt a pang of pity for him.

“Because I’m afraid if I let Hange take her, she’ll end up in her lab rather than the cell,” Erwin sighed tiredly, looking at Levi with almost pleading eyes as the conversation behind him got louder and louder.

“Fine. But you owe me,” he responded, before tugging you away with him. You were almost sorry when you no longer felt the warmth of the sun on your back as he led you inside.

It was a walk full of disgusted glares and crude remarks. Clearly everyone had heard who you were by now, if that wasn’t evident by the snarls of “Bitch” and “Underground rat.” It didn’t really phase you. What these people thought about you was their issue, not yours. Though, you wouldn’t mind beating every single one of them within an inch of their lives given half the chance.

You failed to notice Levi’s ever darkening expression behind you. The glares promising a painful death thrown in every direction. The way a muscle flickered in his jaw at every passing comment. It was only until the hallway was empty did he feel that tension ease a little.

“Down here,” Levi instructed, leading you down a narrow staircase. As if you could go anywhere else.

“Yeah, no shit,” you snapped, earning you a harsh shoved down a few stairs.

“Don’t get smart with me.”

“Why? Afraid you won’t understand me?” that feigned sweetness to your tone was one you had perfected over the years he was gone, and was possibly your favourite form of sarcasm. He clearly didn’t dain your retort worthy of a response, the only sound to be heard being the echoing of your boots against the stone. It reeked of damp and rust, a different stench to the filth of the Underground. Speaking of which…

“You’re disgusting,” a flatly delivered insult was thrown your way as Levi guided you into one of the cells.

“I’m so sorry, I forgot to have a shower before you ambushed us. I’ll be sure to remember next time so I can smell like a fresh forest. I’m sure it would be a more homely smell for you,” you couldn’t help the sarcastic remarks that flew from your mouth. But you fell silent as he began removing your manacles. Instantly a plan formulated in your head. This could be your only chance at escaping. You just had to wait for the right moment.

As soon as the chains were removed from your wrists, you thrust your head backwards, in hope of catching his face. But you were met with nothing but air, and the sounds of quick footsteps behind you.

“You’re even easier to predict now you’re in a cell. Don’t try stupid shit like that,” did he forget how to change the emotion in his voice? He was never the most emotional person you’d met, but he would at least sometimes change his voice from ‘bored’ to ‘slightly irritated’. You were starting to wonder what else he had forgotten during his time here when the iron bar door to your cell was slammed shut, the key clicking in the lock. Now you were certain you couldn’t escape, you took in your living space for the next week. The bare minimum had been provided. A bed with no bed clothes, a rustic sink you weren’t even sure worked, and a broken mirror. Great.

The scraping of a chair behind you piqued your curiosity, turning you head to see Levi had taken a seat in front of your cell door, elbows resting on his knees.

“The fuck are you doing?” you asked, rising from your knees to turn and lean against the wall, arms folded.

“Waiting,” god damn his single word responses. You huff in frustration.

“Waiting for what?”

“You.”

“I could strangle you with my bare hands and feel absolutely nothing right now.”

“You’d have to escape first.”

“What makes you think I can’t?”

“What makes you think you can?”

As much as you hated to admit it, he was right. There didn’t seem to be any way you could escape these walls, you’d already done a quick run down. Threading your hands through your hair in irritation, you cross to sit on the pathetic material they thought was a bed.

“So?” you ask, still no closing to knowing what the hell he wanted. Once again, he didn’t deem your question worthy of a vocal response, opting instead to raise a thin eyebrow. You briefly fantasise about driving one of your long lost daggers into his goddamn eye, before simply brushing it off with a roll of your eyes. “Fine. Stay there and stare at me. It’s your time you're wasting,” you shrugged, flopping back onto the bed, arms thrown out either side of you.

“What have you been up to?” you couldn’t help the bark of sour laughter at the question.

“Seriously?”

“What?”

“After all this time, the first thing you ask me is what I’ve been up to?”

“Would you prefer me to ask you something else?”

“What’s on the menu?”

For a moment, it almost felt like no time had passed since you’d last seen each other. It felt like only yesterday did he have you in his arms, curled up in his bed, gently running his hands over your exposed waist, revelling in how soft your skin was against his.

Running a hand through his dark locks to bring himself out of his thoughts, he changed the trajectory of his questioning.

“Who taught you to fight like that?

“Self-taught.”

“Bullshit,” you winced at his response, raising your head slightly to stare at him, wondering who gave him the audacity to doubt you.

“Oh yeah? Not all of us had the advantage of stupidly strong genes, shortstuff,” shit, you hadn’t said that nickname in a long, long time. Clearly he hadn’t heard it for a long time either, judging by the way his eyes widened his body stilled. Neither of you were able to comment on the irony of the name, considering you were just as vertically challenged. Managing to shake yourself from your daze first, you realised that was a lot for both of you. “Sorry,” you murmured, averting your gaze.

“No, it’s… fine,” there was no malice in his voice. No hatred, a surprise that caused you to turn your head back to face him. Levi cleared his throat before continuing. “How’d you get that scar?” the second question caught you off guard, not expecting anything so personal so quickly. Naturally, you responded with something sarcastic.

“Tea party gone wrong,” an irritated sigh echoed off the dank walls, clearly not satisfied with your answer.

“What happened to you, Raven...?” if it wasn’t for the acoustics of the room, you would have missed the comment, but your heart clenched painfully as the third question reached your ears.

“You left, so I moved on,” you didn’t mean to sound so small or vulnerable. You didn’t mean to drag your knees up to your chest and clasp your arms around them. You didn’t mean to turn your head again, avoiding his gaze.

Levi mentally begged you not to look that way. He’d never seen you so insecure. And that itself broke his resolve.

Standing from his chair, Levi crossed the small space to the barred doors, not thinking twice about unlocking it and leaving the key in the lock. His body was almost acting on a it’s own. Years of taking you into his arms and holding you suddenly came back to him and he wanted nothing more than to take you in his arms once again.

But he hesitated.

You both did.

After raising your head to look at him, you watched as he stopped in the centre of your cell. Almost as if he was silently asking for some sort of permission to just do something.

You shifted slightly so you were leaning against the iron bars rather than the stone wall to the back, Levi taking this as the silent permission he needed to take a seat next to you.

Shit, the instinct to throw yourself into his arms was almost overwhelming, but you refrained, not wanting that kernel of hope to smoulder into nothing when he rejected you.

Levi was the first to break the silence.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you responded, looking up to him between the loose, mangled strands of hair now obscuring your face just a bit. Age had been kind to him. His features, now much more defined. He was still the same man you knew back then, but this one was more chiseled. You looked away when his eyes found yours.

“You look like shit.”

“I feel like shit.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

It wasn’t the exchange you were expecting, this quick back and forth, but you wouldn’t say it was unwelcome. A familiar warmth started to spread in your chest.

“How’s the jaw?” you asked, eyes wandering to the now hefty bruise against his pale, soft skin. You remembered when you used to leave marks of similar colour all over his body. His neck, collarbones, abdomen, thighs…

“‘S’fine. How’s the chin?” his own eyes slid back to you, silver irises scanning your face briefly.

“Yeah. Fine,” you let the silence settle for a moment, before breaking it again. “Sorry I kicked you,” Levi grunted in quiet amusement.

“It was a damn good plan. Sorry I knee’d you,” it was only when he heard your gentle chuckle did he realise just how much he’d missed you. Every fibre in his body was begging him to roughly tug you into his body. To cup your face in his hands and seal your lips with a burning kiss. But all that changed when he shifted slightly and you flinched at the sudden movement. He stilled, waiting for you to relax again before he too settled back down.

“You knew her, didn’t you?” it was a rhetorical question. Your reaction after the reveal told him everything. Not only did you know her, but she was somebody close to you.

You stayed silent for a couple moments, not really knowing how to respond to his shift in conversation. You decided to match it.

“Yeah. I did,” you wouldn’t tell him. Not unless he asked. You wouldn’t tell him who she was to you. What she was to you. That still fucking hurt like hell.

“‘M’sorry.”

“You say that a lot,”

“You’re one to talk,”

You didn’t even try to quell your small laugh, letting it echo off the stone walls. Even Levi couldn’t stop a small chuckle at your amusement, feeling himself completely at ease in your presence.

“Did you really move on?” it was his turn to feel small. His turn to feel a little vulnerable. He couldn’t bear the thought of you just moving on from what the two of you had. Just throwing it all in the past and leaving it there.

“Yes and no.”

“The hell does that mean?”

You sighed, tightening your grip around your knees. You hoped this wouldn’t be as painful for him to hear as it would be for you to say, but you didn’t hold out much hope.

“Yes, I moved on. I’m not the same girl I was. Trust me on that. I’m not the same girl you fell in love with, nor the girl who fell in love with you,” you had to take a breath, suddenly finding the air down here far too thick. “She wouldn’t have survived down there. That girl would have been killed by some pig the moment you left. So... I killed her myself. You already know I’ve been part of The Nest for a while, but I wasn’t really one of them, if you get what I mean. I didn’t stay with them, I didn’t eat with them. Sure, Viper took me in after my—“ you stopped, burying that can of worms before you even opened it. That wasn’t something you wanted to bring up right now. “Viper took me in, taught me a few things, but I stayed with you. I didn’t have to be one of them when I was with you. But when you left… I didn’t exactly have a choice. I couldn’t be so naive anymore. I couldn’t be so hopeful. I had to be realistic, and to be realistic, I had to hurt a lot of people. I had to see a lot of things,” you allowed the weight of your words to settle before you continued. “But that girl. That girl you knew. She never stopped loving you. Up til the moment she drew her last breath and I took over. She loved you. But I moved on,” you fell silent, realising that yes, this had been just as painful for him to hear as it was for you to say.

It was a long while before Levi spoke again, nowhere near as confident as he was.

“That’s who she was to you,” just as he thought seeing you again couldn’t get anymore painful. Just as he thought your words couldn’t get anymore painful. “You loved her?”

“Yes, but not completely. Part of me was still devoted to you. I think that’s why she did what she did. Scarlett was never a spiteful person, but she did hold one hell of a grudge against you. And I suppose, in a way, me,” the silence was so thick you thought you could cut it with one of your blades.

“She’s still there.”

“Hm?”

“That girl. She’s still there. You’re still in there.”

“Now look who’s being naïve,”

“You’re trying to tell me this new, supposedly ruthless killer would kick the shit out of some soldiers for hurting a kid. You’re trying to tell me this new cold hearted thief would bring medicine to an elderly woman and her son?”

“I—”

“You’re telling me this new, heartless little dealer would earn the respect and thanks of thousands of Underground rats? Because to me, that sounds like bullshit… (Y/N),” he wouldn’t accept it. You weren’t gone, he could see it in your actions. You were still there. His (Y/N) was still in there.

Hearing your name in his low, warm tone after all this time sent a jolt through your system. And when he turned to look at you, he could see silver lining your eyes. It took everything in him not to reach up and gently wipe them away.

“I’m not going to stop until you see what I see. I’m not going to let you think you’ve become this heartless, mindless killer just because you had to adapt. Because you had to survive. I’ve finally found you again. Do you know how long I searched for you? How many hours I spent tracing every single path I knew you would take. Asking every filthy mongrel I could find. Most of them said you were dead. Some of them said you were missing and hadn’t been seen in months. Years, even. But until I found a body, or some kind of proof you were dead, I couldn’t accept it,” well this certainly caught you off guard. Levi was never one for long, heartfelt speeches, or verbal communication at all, actually. So this was a little overwhelming. Two tears slipped down your cheeks, sliding through the sudden cracks in your defenses and leaving a trail through the thin layer of grime and dirt.

Levi kept his eyes trained ahead, knowing that if he saw you crying, his restraint would break and he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from holding you. But he knew he couldn’t. From the way you’d reacted to his small movements, he knew suddenly tugging you into him would scare you.

“I’m sorry,” your small voice wrapped around his fragile heart, both settling it and cracking it. He went to extend his hand towards you with the intention of smoothing down your hair, but the way you winced, almost anticipating something much more intense, made him stop. Shit, you really did look like a husk of your former self. He remembered the way your eyes used to glint even in the low lighting of the Underground.

“You should rest,” it was an appealing enough suggestion. Enough to draw a barely concealed yawn from you. Leaning your head against the iron bars behind you, you swore you could have fallen asleep there and then. Comforted by his presence.

You immediately missed his presence as soon as he stood, tempted to reach out for his hand but not wanting to push him away.

As if he felt your confliction, Levi stopped to turn back to you.

“I’ll be back in the morning. Rest, (Y/N),” it wasn’t like you could disobey when your mind and body was so eager to sleep.

“Fuck…” you muttered, running a hand down the side of your face, exhaustion hitting you like a punch to the gut. This wasn’t exactly how you saw your day going today, but you couldn’t exactly say you weren’t thankful. You didn’t know what you were, honestly. So much had happened, you knew you would need time to process everything.

The screech of metal against metal alerted you to the key once again locking you within the cell. Dipping your head, you watched the dark haired man return the keychain to a small nail in the wall.

“Hey…” Levi turned to you as you called out, his expression as soft as it was a few moments ago. “It’s really good to see you again,” a thousand butterflies suddenly exploded in his stomach. How long had he been waiting to hear those words? And suddenly, he found himself unable to reply.

“Tch, go to sleep, Raven,” he reveled in your amused hum as he turned on his heel, leaving you to recover after today.

꧁ꨄ꧂

Levi ran a hand through his hair. Sitting at his desk in his orderly kept office, he could barely focus on the reports in front of him. That haunted look in your eyes had left a significant mark on him. The way you now spoke was so different to the bubbly younger girl he knew.

With a shake of his head, he attempted to divert his attention back to the account of the mission today. You’d taken down a few of his men yourself, he recalled watching your blades find purchase in his makeshift squad. A few others hadn’t returned from where they’d chased your Shadows. Actually, most others didn’t return.

As predicted, it was a bloodbath.

Leaning forward, he reached for his tea, continuing to scan over the document until his eyes settled on your alias, and he couldn’t help but wonder why you hadn’t told anyone your name. It prompted a memory he wasn’t expecting. He’d tried so many times to bury his past. Thinking about it saved him from thinking about his lost friends. But it was unavoidable.

“Hey! ‘Re’ya gonna buy anything? Or you just gonna keep staring?” Levi peaked out from behind the legs of a taller man, peering at the young girl who seemed to be giving his father figure sass. He couldn’t understand it. Didn’t she know who he was? She didn’t look much older than him. Maybe eight? Nine even?

“Listen little missy, I don’t think you wan’ to rush me,” the southern lilt of Kenny’s dangerously low voice didn’t seem to deter the little merchant. Levi’s eyes widened as she folded her arms, her grubby face creasing as she frowned. For someone so young, she certainly had an impressive glare.

“Or what? You gonna kill me? I sell to the whole street, mister. You kill me, they starve,” Wow, she really seemed to have this whole thing going for her. Levi looked up at Kenny, able to just make out the subtle smile under the shadow of his hat.

“What’s your name, little girl?

“Hmph. What’s it to you?” she retorted, stepping closer. It was only then she seemed to notice his presence. Her glare seemed to soften almost instantly, head tilting in sheer curiosity. Her sparkling, (E/C) eyes widened upon seeing him there. He only occupied a fraction of her attention, before it returned to Kenny, that scowl also returning.

“You’ve got guts kid, I’ll give you that. But maybe that’s simply cuz you don’t know who I am,” he mused, picking up one of the loaves of bread you were currently selling. They weren’t fresh. Nothing ever was. But it was the best your family had to offer.

“Kenny the Ripper, right? Yeah, I’ve heard of you. Seen your ugly face in the newspaper when those shits up top toss their trash through the grates. And you better buy that now your filthy hands have been all over it,” Levi couldn’t tell if this girl was brave or stupid. He’d never heard anyone speak to Kenny like that and actually get away with it.

“(Y/N) (L/N)! Watch your language young lady! And what have I told you about mouthing off to customers?!” her face quickly morphed from a glare to something he could only describe as sheepish. An older woman leaning out from the door behind you. Her hair colour was different to yours, but those eyes… they were your eyes.

“But Maaaaa, I was just—“

“No buts. Inside, now,” her voice was stern, but Levi was perceptive from a young age. He could see the softness in her eyes as the girl pouted. Turning back, he watched her send a cheery wave goodbye in his direction, pausing slightly as it wasn’t returned. Her brows furrowed, before she darted inside.

“Quite the brat you got there,” Kenny remarked, handing over a coin in payment for the bread he’d picked up.

“Yeah, sorry about her. Pain in my ass but her heart’s in the right place. I hope,” Levi wasn’t really paying attention to the conversation, too distracted by watching the same girl clamber out the open window and onto the ledge above. Only using her right hand to climb, she paused, as if calculating something before shimmying along the wall, round the corner and out of sight. Before Levi even had time to question what the hell he’d just witnessed, her head popped round the corner, eyes searching for him. He raised his brows in question when she gestured for him, whipping back round the corner. Seeing Kenny still caught up in conversation, he quietly left the two adults, heading for the narrow alleyway she’d just ducked into.

“Hey,” the whisper made him whirl, stopping to see her cautiously step from the shadows near the wall. “You looked hungry, so I stole this from our stocks,” it became apparent as to why she was only using one hand to climb when she presented another, slightly smaller loaf of bread. It wasn’t as stale as the ones on the stall. “We got fresh ingredients yesterday. My father’s a baker but we only sell the stale ones because we wouldn’t be able to keep up with the demand for fresh bread,” she explained quietly, her eyes wide in earnest. If it wasn’t for his ravenous hunger, Levi would have declined the offer. However, the smell was too good to pass up on. Slowly, he reached for it, half expecting her to snatch it back. But her honest expression remained, only retracting her hand after he’d taken a bite. “Don’t talk much, do you? That’s okay, I get a lot of people who are shy.”

Crossing her legs, she lowered herself to the floor, resting her back against the wall to what he could only assume was her house. He followed suit, sitting opposite her in the damp alleyway.

“Your dad’s an asshole, by the way. Very obkonshus,” Levi assumed she was trying to say obnoxious, but didn’t correct her. He almost found it endearing.

“He’s not my dad,” his blunt response had her head whipping back to look at him, almost in disbelief that he had actually spoken. A small blush blossomed across her cheeks at her mistake.

“O-oh. Sorry. I didn’t know,” an awkward silence settled over them, before she spoke up again. “Your not-dad’s an asshole,” Levi glanced at her, noting her cheeky smirk. His own lips twitched in amusement. She wasn’t wrong. Kenny was an asshole.

They stayed there until he’d finished his bread, (Y/N) simply talking about everything and nothing.

“Where’d that little rat scurry away to?” Kenny’s drawl interrupted your little conversation, prompting the both of you to shoot to your feet. The girl shot him a worried look, not knowing how this was going to play out. Levi was never one to offer reassurance, never really needing to, until now. He tried his hand at a reassuring expression, before stepping out the alleyway a little.

“Here, I was just—” he looked back to the narrow street where she just was, only to find she’d completely disappeared. His eyes widened ever so slightly, attempting to peer further down the alley. How had she done that? She was right there. Maybe you’d already started your climb? His eyes travelled up the side of the wall, but found nothing.

“The fuck are you lookin’ at brat? C’mon, we’re leavin’,'' Kenny strode past him, roughly tugging him along. But Levi wasn’t looking where he was going, silver eyes still glued to that alley, waiting for her to emerge. But she never did.

A harsh knock on his door snapped him out of his memory spiral. How long had he been sitting here? Usually he had a good grasp on time but right now it could have been four in the morning or two in the afternoon. Running a hand down the side of his face, he went to sip his tea, grimacing as the now cold liquid graced his tongue. Setting it down almost immediately, he would have forgotten anyone knocked on his door in the first place had they not knocked again.

“Levi? Are you in there?” Erwin. Great.

“The fuck do you want Eyebrows?” Erwin clearly took that as permission to enter. Not that he needed permission.

Levi raised his eyes as his Commander strode in, pushing the door closed behind him.

“I was wondering if you managed to get information out of our little criminal.”

Levi’s jaw flexed.

“No.”

“Nothing?” Erwin seemed a little surprised and Levi couldn’t for the life of him think why. He didn’t know about your relationship, and it wasn’t like he was well practiced in his social skills.

“Nothing. She’s refusing to say anything other than annoying, sarcastic quips.”

“You two aren’t so different then.”

“Oi,” Erwin chuckled at Levi’s low warning, holding up an apologetic hand.

“Apologies, forgive me. It was just a joke,” Levi rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue as Erwin took a seat on the leather sofa, crossing an ankle over his knee. “I’m surprised. I thought you two may get along. Considering your shared upbringing,” if he wasn’t talking to Levi, anyone else would have thought it was an innocent enough assumption. But over the years, Levi had learned Erwin’s tells, and knew when there was something deeper going on. But still, there was no way he could know about your literal shared past.

“She’s abrasive, rude, cocky and thoroughly unpleasant. Why on earth would we get along?” Levi knew he was lying through his teeth. Whilst yes, you were in fact abrasive, cocky and rude, you were far from unpleasant. He wouldn’t have shared his heart with you if you were.

Erwin pinched the bridge of his nose. Suddenly he looked incredibly tired, like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

“Did you know her? From your time down there. Did you two ever run into each other?” straight to the point, it seemed. Erwin hadn’t missed the Captain’s flash of recognition back when you’d taken your mask off. He hadn’t missed the way he froze to the spot.

But Levi wasn’t about to open up to anyone, especially not the same Commander that had dragged him kicking and screaming into the Scouts.

Truth be told, after that first interaction, Levi had tried his damndest to see you again at every opportunity. He’d never been shown that sort of kindness since his mother died, and he didn’t want your little spark to be snuffed out by the Underground. He didn’t speak to you very often, only silently offering to walk you home at night, warding off any unwanted attention a young woman would draw.

He offered to share his small home with you when you were both around fourteen. It had been two years since Kenny abandoned him, and he noticed you looked directionless, and though it had taken a while for you to open up, he was happy for you to stay with him until you found somewhere else.

He just never expected to fall in love with you, or for you to fall in love with him.

“No. I’ve never seen her before,” Levi lied, keeping his eyes trained on the same document he must have been staring at for the last god knows how long, too lost in his own mind to concentrate.

Erwin wasn’t quite as good at reading Levi, and so accepted that as his truthful answer.

“Very well, I bid you a good night, Captain,” ah. So it was nighttime. Noted.

“Yeah yeah, see you tomorrow,” Levi waved his hand dismissively, once again earning another chuckle from Erwin as the door was pulled shut.

Levi almost instinctively reached for his tea again, only just remembering it was stone cold. He sighed in irritation, rising from his chair. He didn’t think there was enough tea in the world to help him sort through his thoughts. But damn if it didn’t make it easier.

Rolling his now stiff shoulders, he picked up the cold brew and headed to the kitchen. It was going to be a long night.

꧁ꨄ꧂

Sleeping in the Underground City was a luxury. Despite your exhaustion, sleep didn’t come easily. You assumed you must have dozed off for an hour at least before the faint sound of multiple footsteps had you sitting bolt upright, your muscles barking in protest. You were always aware of your surroundings. Always ready, even when you may look like you were resting.

You didn’t quite know what to expect, quickly running through several scenarios and possibilities in your head. One of those possibilities rounded the corner from the stairs. Four MP soldiers now stood outside your cell, one jiggling the keys into the lock. Immediately you stood, not going down without a fight. Though it wasn’t much of one. Before you had even landed a proper blow on any of them, you were harshly kicked to the floor. Your body having not woken up properly yet, you were easy enough to subdue as they clasped your wrists together in front of you with rope. Not what you were expecting but it was more comfortable than behind your back.

You stayed silent as they dragged you further deeper into the complex of jails and cells. You didn’t imagine they would span this far beneath what you assumed was the headquarters, but nonetheless you kept walking until you were faced with a wooden door. The same soldier fiddled with the lock until it swung open and you were kicked inside.

Raising your head, you saw the room wasn’t exactly empty. An array of bats and blunt trauma objects rested against the far side of the wall, but that wasn’t what threw the spear of terror into your heart.

A single, iron hook extended down from the ceiling. It looked like it would be used for bleeding or drying meat, but you could think of several other uses for it. For example, your current situation.

The door locking behind you had your head whirling, eyes darting from the man with the key to the wood that now trapped you inside.

“Ah, Raven. I’m sure our commander forewarned you about this, I don’t really know why you look so surprised,” you shivered at the fake pleasant tone, a stark contrast to the way you were now being tugged to your feet, arms thrown up above you. You realise now why they used rope instead of chains, your wrists being hooked up above you. Your feet now only just grazing the floor, head falling between your shoulders with your loose thin shirt riding up your stomach. You suddenly regretted shedding your leather jacket earlier, wanting to be a little more comfortable as you attempted to sleep.

“We have strict instructions not to permanently damage you, however we have various other methods,” one of your torturers stalked behind you, reaching up to twist the hook so you spun with him, now facing the wall of weaponry. The other three who had accompanied you all leant against the wall to you right, as if waiting for their turn. “I thought I would be kind enough to let you choose which we start with. Since you’d be the one on the receiving end,” the sick fuck. He was really enjoying this wasn’t he?

“At least tell me what you fucking want,” you spat, thrashing slightly in your bonds. The man simply laughed, crossing to the selection.

“Oh, we don’t want information. Just for you to suffer as much pain as we did when you killed our comrades,” ah, so they had personal connections. Understood.

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat,” your crooked, satisfied grin faltered as his expression darkened, crossing the room towards you in a few strides. Roughly grabbing your chin, he forced your head up to meet his gaze as you writhed in his tight grip.

“You know, you were quite the formidable criminal down there. Slaughtering and murdering whoever you pleased. Harming those who had done nothing to you. But look at you now, strung up like a squealing pig. Fuck, if it isn’t satisfying to see,” he threw your head back down before driving his foot into your gut. The impact sent you swinging backwards, saliva flying from your mouth.

Raising your eyes, you shot him a visceral glare as he browsed his collection of weapons as if he was picking out a pastry at a bakery. Opting for the classic wooden bat, you braced yourself for the night to come, knowing it was going to be a long one.

129 notes · View notes

cuttinqlines · 3 years

Text

IN THE MIDNIGHT HOUR

IN THE MIDNIGHT HOUR I

(richard ramirez [ahs 1984] x reader | mainly implied xavier plympton x reader)

trigger warning; drug use, toxic relationships, mentions of abuse, toxic characters, xavier is portrayed as a major piece of shit for the first few installments, glorification of a serial killer, knives, etc.

disclaimer: i do not support the real richard ramirez in any way, shape, or form. this is simply based on the fictional version from ahs 1984. no disrespect is intended in any way. please, feel free to click off of the fic if you don’t enjoy this type of content. any hate will be ignored.

word count: ?

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BILLY IDOL blared softly out of the large window, casting an eerie echo out onto the empty street below. The street lights cast a soft glow into the otherwise dark apartment, illuminating your face. You sat alone on your bed clad only in the white lingerie you hadn’t bothered to strip out of. The dark silk sheets of your bed were lazily draped over you, your comforter discarded on the ground beside the bed. You stared up at the ceiling blankly. Your thoughts were racing, a mixture of deep-seated rage and numbness eating at you. The day had been shit to say the very least, with a certain blonde wanna-be actor to blame.

“Fuck,” you muttered out loud, rubbing both of your temples lightly, “I need a bump.”

Slowly sliding your legs out from under your sheets, you stepped down onto the floor. The cold air hit your legs, causing you to let out a barely audible hiss. You could hardly see in the darkness, only making out the faint outline of your vanity that was placed adjacent to the large window. The thought of turning on the light briefly crossed your mind, but you hardly wanted to see yourself in the mirror.

A soft sigh escaped your lips. Your hands fumbled around in the top draw of the vanity, searching for the mirrored tray that was tucked just out of sight. Through the noise of the shifting of the contents of the drawer, a soft thud of shoes against the marble tile sounded. You hardly would’ve noticed it if it had been any other day. You rarely paid attention to the little things going on around you, living only in your own little world. It was harder to get attached that way- harder to get attached to things, to people.

Tonight, though, you were on high alert. All of the hairs on the back of your neck seemed to stand up. You took a step back from the vanity, cringing as the wood floor beneath you seemed to creak. You heard the thud of shoes again, but it was louder. Closer. “Xavier-” you called out, your voice wavering slightly. “If that’s you, get the fuck out of my apartment.”

The sound of a deep laugh filled your ears. It was unfamiliar. You had definitely given away your location, that much was clear. There was a stranger, a criminal, in your home and you had lost the one advantage you might have had. “Guess again, baby girl.”

Chills ran down your spine. The intruder’s voice was sinister. Yet, you found yourself being drawn to it, despite every fiber of your being urging you to hide. It was as if the devil himself had crept in and came to collect your soul. A shiver ran through you. You needed to get it together. More importantly, you needed a weapon. Luckily, your vanity seemed to be full of them. Well, it was full of blunt objects and that was more than good enough for you. Dying was not on your agenda, especially not today.

You took a tentative step forward, careful not to step on the same creaky floorboard from a few moments ago. Spotting a lamp to the side of the vanity top, you reached for it with one hand while the other flicked the lights attached to the gaudy mirror. Most of the bulbs had burnt out previously, you not having been bothered enough to change them. You were rarely home most nights anyways. With three of the bulbs still burning, you would at least be able to see the guy coming, instead of continuing to stumble through the dark.

The sudden light seemed to attract the intruder, like a moth drawn to a lamp. You could see the tops of his shoes stop in front of the door. Nervousness flooded your veins, though you didn’t have it in you to be completely afraid. All of the fear that your body could have possibly held had been taken from you by someone else. Pushing the nervousness now, you took a silent step back towards the wall.

The door swung open quietly, your eyes quickly moved towards the dark figure who had just burst in. His dark eyes scoured your scantily clad body, stopping at the base of the lamp you had an iron grip on. His facial expression flickered from one predator eyeing his prey to amused. He let out another laugh. It seemed to make his face light up. In any other circumstances, you would be enchanted by his handsome features. “Is that seriously all you got? I hate to break it to you, but that won’t be enough to stop the Night Stalker.”

He grinned sinisterly. “You’ll be famous, though. I’m going down in history. Doing the master’s work always gets the headlin-” He stopped mid-sentence, his gaze meeting your face. He studied it for a moment, his eyes feeling as if they were burning holes into your skin. “What happened to your face? Did somebody else get you?”

You couldn’t help but narrow your eyes suspiciously. Was this his version of playing with his food before eating it? Why would it possibly matter enough for him to stop his clearly well-rehearsed speech? Still, at the mention of your face, your free hand carefully went to the deep bruise that had blossomed underneath your left eye. “‘Did somebody else get me?’” You couldn’t help but mock. However, your tune quickly changed when his hand seemed to grip his blade a little tighter and his feet took him a step closer.

“Somebody else got me, yeah. They always do. You’re about to, too. A robbery gone wrong, am I right?” your voice had gone soft, bitterness etched into every word. You knew that you should be afraid and you were extremely prepared to knock him over the head with your lamp, but at least he was someone to talk to. Something that had become scarce in your daily life.

The man took a few more steps forward until he was face to face with you. His eyes met yours more intently than before as if they were searching for something. He shifted his blade to his left hand, slamming his right hand into the wall directly beside your face. He had you boxed in, the smell of cigarettes and cinnamon filling your nose. Your breath caught in your throat. He brought the blade up to your face, dragging his thumb ever so lightly across the bruise under your eye. He brought his hand down to softly caress your face, the blade scraping your skin too lightly to leave a mark. “You know,” he said after what felt like decades, “you look like a fallen angel. Like a flesh for fantasy.”

Your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might escape your chest. Every word he spoke caused your heart to skip a beat. He had an intensity about him. It seemed to add gasoline to the fire that was already burning around you. “And you look like the devil.”

“I could never live up to that, but fuck I am trying- It’s the ones like you that make it difficult. There’s so much untapped potential that I can taste it. I can feel your rage, little mama. And it burns. Give it to us.” His voice was hardly more than a whisper now. He brought the blade down until it was caressing your throat.

You dropped the lamp. It landed on the floor with a dull thud and surprisingly didn’t shatter. You couldn’t move now. You didn’t want to. So many feelings were overwhelming you. You weren’t exactly sure what he meant when he said ‘Give it to us’, but you wanted to give it to him. The rage, the numbness, the evil, the ‘perfect’ life that had been eating you alive. You would have thrown it in the fire right then and there, but you held yourself back. “I can’t.”

Annoyance and anger shifted across his face and his right hand slammed into the wall harder. He pushed back, pulling the blade back from off of your throat. He tilted his head towards you, moving to whisper in your ear. His lips grazed against them slightly as he spoke. “Giving in to the rage isn’t so bad. You just don’t know how to be free. I can teach you. ”

He moved away from you, his eyes flickering over to the vanity. The tray of white powder and wads of cash caught his eyes. He took a step towards the vanity slowly. “You can think about it. I’ll find you soon. Satan will show me the way. Tonight though, the devil is owed his dues. I’m taking the coke and cash. Next time, I’m taking you. You know you want to dance with the devil, baby girl.”

Before you could let out another word, he was out the window and off into the night.

#ahs 1984 #ahs imagine #richard ramirez #x reader #zach villa #ahs fanfiction

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bookishofalder · 3 years

Text

Joke of a Batman

Spencer Reid x Male!Reader

Request: @meowiemari Okie dokie!!! So Spencer x male reader where the reader is the driver for the robbers. They arrested him after finding him in a gas station getting snacks. While driving in his car with Morgan, Reid, and Hotch, the reader is in the passenger seat telling them the location because he was just there for the money. Hotch and Morgan went while Spencer stays to keep an eye on him. Reader’s playlist in his car plays old Justin Bieber songs and it’s gonna be me by NSYNC. Spencer sees his embarrassment and awkwardly sings a bit so he doesn’t feel shame. Later in absolute a few minuets the two started singing and as soon as Morgan comes back with Hotch, they both quickly turn off the playlist and exchange numbers. :)

Warnings: Swearing, implied SMUT (super brief)

A/N: Thank you so much for the request! I loved writing this, and hope I you enjoy. This was my first time writing the reader as male-so please tell me if I can improve! Tried to keep reader description as vague as possible. Thank you to @mermaidxatxheart for encouraging me to get writing :)

“That’ll be $11.75, please.” The bored gas station attendant droned, staring at you expectantly. You began to pull out a few bills from your wallet, ready to get home and eat your pint of ice cream in peace, but before you could count out what you needed, a voice behind you cut in.

“He’s no longer going to be making a purchase today, actually,” Spinning around in alarm, you find yourself face to face with two imposing men, one with a deep frown and overall authoritative air with his crisp suit, the other a handsome but tall and physically intimidating specimen.

With a gulp, you stuff the cash in your wallet. Who were these guys?

“Y/F/N?”

You nod as heat creeps up your neck, burning your face. Fucking Peter Robbins, you always knew, was going to be the death of you. And now it looked like your latest foray into his questionable life was going to land you in jail. These had to be cops.

You knew you should have ignored his call. You’d been telling yourself for years not to help him, he was just going to get himself in trouble again and call again, and you got nothing out of it. He used you because he knew you liked him. The two of you had been friends for years, and it didn’t take him long to realize the ways he could manipulate you because of how you felt.

It took you a lot longer to catch on to what he was doing.

But fuck, you still came running when he called, didn’t you? Like you were some joke of a Batman and he was shining his light into the sky calling for you. If only.

“That’s, yeah, that’s me.” You replied, slowly shoving your wallet into your front pocket before holding your hands in front of you in surrender. Whatever happened, you decide at this moment that you never want to see Peter again. Because giving that man a ride in hopes he’d one day say he was interested was not worth this.

“Mr. (Y/L/N), we’re placing you under arrest,” The frowning man held out his badge, showing you he was one Agent Hotchner from the fucking FBI. You tuned him out, your ears suddenly ringing, alarm shooting through you. Getting arrested was one thing, but the FBI? What in the living hell had Peter gotten into? Got you into?

He called you for a ride. It was just supposed to be a ride.

You were surprised when they didn’t cuff you, but you weren’t stupid enough to question them. They led you outside, where the gas station was quiet, only their large black SUV and your Honda Civic parked out front. You kept your eyes down, a sting threatening the corners but you were not going to cry. You needed to take this one step at a time, and not overreact. You surely didn’t fuck up that badly, did you? They’d said ‘suspicion of aiding a crime’, only suspicion.

“Listen, kid,” The bald Agent whose name you learned was Morgan turned and faced you, his expression serious. You bristled slightly at him calling you ‘kid’, but based on the crows' feet around his eyes, maybe he was older than he let on. “We know that you were just the driver today, and that you’d probably have no clue what’s going on right now.”

You raised your eyes to meet his, “Peter Robbins has ensured I fuck up my life at least once a year for nearly a decade. This is just...a new level for me.” You shrug, trying not to think of what your family was going to say when they found out. Would you lose your job?

“We’ve been watching Peter and his associates for a while now,” Agent Hotchner replied, and your brows raised in surprise. “Yes, he’s escalated from petty crimes that upset the local sheriff to armed robbery. Unfortunately, one of his partners happens to enjoy killing. Which is why we were called in.” He stops speaking abruptly when another Agent, you assume from the gun on his belt, steps around the SUV and up to your group.

For a moment, you’re caught off guard. This Agent is stunningly handsome, much younger than the other two. His eyes, which met yours for only a moment before flitting away, were a soft honey brown that sucked you right in. He had a bit of a shadow along his jaw, his wavy brown hair unkempt in the best kind of way, as though he’d just rolled out of bed looking that perfect. And you could tell he didn’t even realize the power he had. Standing next to two burly, thick muscled Agents, you could understand why. But in your brief assessment of this new man, you could see the lean strength of him, the muscles of his lower arms, veins in his hands. He was tall, too, taller than either of the other men, which was saying something.

“What’s up, Reid?” Morgan asked, and the new arrival-Reid-held up his phone.

“Garcia can’t pull anything from the Honda, it’s, her words, an ancient species.” He spoke quickly, almost as though the words couldn’t find their way off of his tongue quickly enough. You tried not to fixate on his mouth, because damn it, his lips were perfect.

Absentmindedly, you crossed your arms across your chest, feeling tense and tired. When Reid’s eyes followed the movement, you felt frozen under his gaze, watching with your breath held as it dragged slowly up to your face. His expression was unreadable, yet you still felt your cheeks grow warmer.

“Listen, (Y/N), we know you don’t have any real part in Peter’s crimes. We intercepted his calls and texts, we know he asked you to pick him up today, last minute.” Agent Hotchner said, his eyes burning into yours.

You looked away from the other men, shame flooding through you. “Peter always calls, and I always answer. But I really don’t know anything about what he does, I didn't know he was even with anyone else today. He asked me to pick him up right out front of the pharmacy, that’s all.” You couldn’t help the edge to your voice, the wordless plea that they understand you had no clue what was going on. And if innocent people were dying, you would do anything you could to help them put a stop to it.

Reid tilted his head slightly as he watched you, “We’ve seen the messages, (Y/N), we know how he treats you, giving you a little, yet taking a lot,” The tears almost threaten now, so you glance away, looking at the ground as you nod, “And he doesn’t even tell you what he’s taking, the danger he’s putting you in. He’s going to go away for a long time, but you don’t have to.”

At this, your head snaps up and you look between the three men, expecting them to laugh and finally cuff you. But they all wear the same neutral expression, all watching you.

“Like I said, I don’t know much abou-“

Reid shook his head, politely interjecting, “We understand. But you know where you took him today, right?” At your nod, Reid stepped a little closer, peering down at you, “We need you to take us to him. And tell us any other addresses you can remember picking him up from or taking him to in the last year. Can you help us? You won’t be under arrest if you can give us what we need to stop Peter and the men he’s working with.”

You almost wanted to laugh. Of course, you would help, regardless of whether you were still under arrest; you had no loyalty whatsoever to Peter. You only ever showed up for him because you hoped, each time, that it would be the time he would go beyond flirting. That the feelings were mutual. But if he was committing crimes-fuck, robbing people, working with a murderer, then you were done with him.

“I can tell you addresses, and I can show where he is now, I just,” You paused, closing your eyes briefly to pull in a breath, steadying yourself, “Please, don’t hurt him, if you don’t need to, I mean.”

Reid’s eyes, which you found the moment you opened yours, visibly softened at your words. He seemed a little surprised, you thought, though it was hard to tell. He was difficult to read, and you’d only just met him. He nodded reassuringly before looking to Agent Hotchner expectantly while you waited, your insides in knots.

“(Y/N), Spencer is going to go with you in your vehicle, and we’ll be following behind. Take us as close as you can without being obvious. Reid,” He turned to the handsome agent, “We’re going to check the car first, can you-“ He gestured wordlessly in your direction, which made you frown in confusion.

Reid nodded, and you watched as the two other agents moved to search your car, while he moved toward you. “I’m going to search you for weapons, okay?” He explained, holding his hands out as if waiting for your permission.

You stared, perhaps a beat too long, at his long-fingered hands. With a shy bob of your head, you looked to Reid, “Of course, I understand.” And the agent began to pat you down as you stood awkwardly.

It wasn’t as though the action was intimate or affectionate, but for whatever reason, you did feel his touch was hesitant. He was gentle, considerate...it surprised you. And then his hands slid up your back as he stood in front of you, and you became acutely aware of the thin cotton t-shirt your wore, instantly becoming self-conscious. You wondered what he thought of you, of your body.

Mind out of the gutter, you told yourself.

It was then, when Reid leaned back, his hands sliding from your back to your chest, that time seemed to stand still, just for a moment. They moved across your stomach briefly, and as they began to pull away, the search complete, you looked up. Reid was staring at you, his cheeks flushed, eyes heavy. You caught your breath, his gaze was so intense, but before you could even try to think of what to say, he was swiftly stepping back, breaking eye contact with a heavy swallow.

You were kind of relieved. That had been almost too intense, whatever that was. The relief lasted only moments until Agent Hotchner called out that your car was good to go, and you remembered you had a twenty-minute car ride alone with the Reid.

Fuck.

The first few minutes of the drive are bearable enough, Spencer takes the wheel as you give him directions to the subdivision where you had dropped Peter off. It’s when the silence starts to press in, and you don’t know what to say to fill it, that things swiftly change.

Sensing the tension, no doubt, Reid reaches out to the audio power button and hits your stereo on. With an internal groan, you suddenly wish you could just jump out of the moving vehicle when the song you’d been listening to picks back up.

'Cause I've had everything But no one's listening And that's just fucking lonely I'm so lonely Lonely

You had put on a playlist you considered your ‘sad songs’ compilation for whenever you were let down by Peter or any other man. You enjoyed wallowing in self-pity for just a little while after each encounter. But now, as Justin Bieber crooned sadly, you didn't feel sad, just humiliated. You were in your car with a fiercely hot FBI agent who had given you some kind of fucking bedroom eyes just minutes ago as he pats you down, and this song plays.

Your expression must have been obvious, as you saw Reid look at you a few times out of the corner of your eye, frowning somewhat. When the song ended, you didn’t get a chance to be relieved before ‘Somebody to Love” began playing. This time, you sighed aloud, sinking somewhat into your seat and wishing you could dissolve into a pile of goo like the Wicked Witch.

Until that is, you glanced up and saw Reid’s fingers tapping gently on the steering wheel to the beat. Surprised, you looked around to the agent and he was mouthing the words, singing along with the chorus. Stunned, you just watched him for a moment, quickly finding yourself enraptured by the way his plump lips moved around the words, how his tongue would wet them between lines, how his eyes-

Fuck, he was looking right at you. You smiled quickly but looked away, your hands fidgeting in your lap. You really had much bigger, more important shit to be concerned with right now, yet here you were wondering what the hell this perfect man, this FBI agent that was far too handsome for his own good, was doing singing along with the silly song, and why the look he gave you had butterflies erupting in your stomach.

Not to mention, the guilt that accompanied those thoughts, brief as they were, of what the lips would feel like on yours. What they would feel like on your body. Wrapped around your cock. Fuck.

He hadn’t said anything, but his fingers continued to tap along with the beat with ease. Eventually, when you directed him to the final turn, you chanced another glance at him. As if expecting your gaze, he turned his head and smiled at you, “I’m Spencer, by the way, Dr. Spencer Reid.” You blinked. Doctor?

“Oh, uh. Wow. Nice to meet you, Dr-“

“You can call me Spencer,” He cut in, his expression somewhat amused.

You nodded, “Nice to meet you, Spencer. Though I wish it were under different circumstances, perhaps where I wasn’t a criminal piece of shit.”

He pulled the car over, stopped at the community mailbox you had described as the perfect place to park. Once he’d turned the engine off, he turned to face you, those warm eyes giving you a gentle look. “You aren’t a criminal piece of shit, (Y/N),” Oh, you loved the way your name sounded coming from him. “I’d go as far as to say you’re a victim in all of this.”

You scoffed, waving a hand in protest, “No, I really should have known better than to help Peter.”

But Spencer shook his head, “As I said earlier, we saw the messages. He manipulates you, and he doesn’t ever tell you what he’s actually doing. He just gets you to give him rides, acts like it’s a way to hang out when really he’s using you as a cover because, in reality, you’re a law-abiding, hardworking, kind man. Men like him don’t deserve to breathe the same air as you, (Y/N).”

Letting out a breath, your mind went blank at Spencer’s words, failing you entirely. You believed every word he’d said, and you felt warm all over at the intense way he watched you, it was almost...protective.

Before your mind could reboot and you could trust yourself to open your mouth and not simply drool, a tap on the window drew your eyes beyond Spencer. Agent Hotchner stood there, waiting patiently with his arms crossed.

Spencer climbed out of your car, but you stayed put, glad for a moment to close your eyes and try to steady your beating heart. After this was over, you were climbing into your bathtub and staying there for the rest of the week. Maybe the rest of the month.

“Prentiss and JJ are parked at the North end, they’re going to come with us. Can you wait here, with (Y/N), and call Garcia and have him give her the other locations?”

You heard Spencer agree and bid his fellow agents goodbye before climbing back into your car. He smiled warmly at you, and you couldn’t help but return it, your own shy and uncertain. “You heard what our task is?” He asked you, his head tilted again, watching you curiously.

“Yes.”

“Okay, good. But first, can you give me your phone, please?” He held his hand out expectantly. You handed it over, first pointing it towards your face to unlock it. His fingers brushed yours when he took the phone from you, and if you hadn’t been looking at him already, you wouldn’t have believed it was intentional. But it was because at the slight contact, your eyes had widened and Spencer...Spencer had smirked.

He clicked around on your phone for a moment, hit one final button and then passed it back to you, looking satisfied. When you took it back, his phone chimed in his pocket. Confused, you peered down at your screen to see he’d added his name to your contacts and sent himself a text from your phone. Well fuck.

He was watching you with an amused expression, “Once this case is over, (Y/N), I’d love it if you would allow me to take you to dinner.”

“I, wow,” You stammered, nervously running your hair through your hair. His eyes followed your movement, and you saw a glint behind the warmth, of desire. Hunger. You didn’t think twice. “I’d love to, Spencer.” He grinned at you.

And surprising even yourself, you reached out and squeezed his hand. And when he returned the pressure and ran his thumb softly across the back of your hand, all thoughts of Peter left your mind as *NSYNC played in the background and you didn’t feel lonely anymore.

Did you enjoy this story? Please consider reblogging or commenting to ease my inner turmoil as a writer. Likes are basically just a bookmark!

✨Taglist: @mermaidxatxheart @paintballkid711 @snitchthewitch

#reader insert #fanfic #fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x male reader #male reader #male reader insert #bau x reader #bau fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #fic request #reid x reader #feedback appreciated

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restlessfandoming · 3 years

Text

“the president and the troublemaker” (part 3) (chilumi fic)

“Lumine is the student council president and Childe is the school’s number one troublemaker. They cross paths more than they’d like. Especially when Childe finds out Lumine’s big secret. Highschool AU à la Kaichou wa Maid-sama.”

[part 1] [part 2]

hello sorry for the wait my brain just be straight up farting sometimes

[Fic Masterlist] // [AO3 Link]

the president and the troublemaker (part 3)

When Lumine woke up, she was back in her bed at home, with Aether taking a damp towel off her head. The morning sunlight shined in through the window.

“Did I sleep through the entire night?” Lumine asked, her voice hoarse.

Aether hummed out a ‘yes.’ “I think your body was absolutely exhausted.” He sighed sitting down next to the bed. “Sis, you have to stop overworking yourself; I worry��we all worry.”

She gave a small nod. “I know. And I’m sorry.”

“Just take the day off to relax, okay? I promise the whole world isn’t going to blow up.” He stood up. “Also, mind telling me why Childe of all people brought you back here?” he asked, eyeing Lumine’s hands.

She hadn’t even realized it; her hands were set atop a red scarf—Childe’s red scarf—and only then did she vaguely remember him wrapping it around her as he carried her home. Clutching it, she answered, “About that...he may or may not have found out I’m Outlander.”

Aether’s eyes widened. “He found out? And he didn’t tell the whole school?”

“I’m surprised as well. He actually seems...nicer ever since he found out.”

“Maybe he’s trying to mooch off your earnings. Or blackmail you.”

“See, I thought that too, but he hasn’t done any of those things.” She gripped the scarf again. “In fact, he offered to be my coach.”

“Your coach? What, he does the underground fighting too?”

Lumine shrugged. “I don’t know. Apparently he has ‘connections.’”

“Are you going to accept?”

She looked out the window. “I told him, ‘no.’”

Aether silently regarded her, looking like he wanted to say something, but then shook his head. “Well, remember to relax today. Your work has been taken care of, so just take it easy, okay?”

He left the room, and Lumine turned onto her side, eyes cast out the window. Without thinking, she brought Childe’s scarf up to her nose, breathing in. She was caught off guard as the scent of salty beach shores filled her senses.

Her face flushed and she thought, How do I even pay him back?

* * *

Lumine pushed open the door to the school’s rooftop, taking in a breath of the gentle breeze floating by. Sitting near the edge of the roof was Childe, his orange hair ruffling slightly in the wind. Lumine took a moment to observe him; he looked so serene, and suddenly Xiangling’s words intruded into her mind: He’s so handsome.

“So, Pres, did you call me up here just to stare at me, or did you actually want something?” he asked, not even turning towards her.

Lumine felt a vein pop out on her forehead, and she proceeded to stomp towards him. “I was not staring,” she argued. “Here.” She harshly held out a little paper bag which contained Childe’s red scarf.

His eyebrow raised an inch, and he took the bag. “You could have just left this in my locker, you know?”

“Why do you have to make everything I do so difficult?”

A chuckle. “I’m just teasing you, Pres. Thank you for returning it.”

She gave him a stiff nod, then sat down next to him. “I...I also wanted to say thank you. For helping me.”

Childe tilted his head, regarding her curiously.

Before he could say anything, she continued, gazing out at the city. “And thank you for not telling anyone. I don’t know why, but really—thank you for not saying anything.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw his lips turn upwards in a small smile. “Of course. Wouldn’t want anyone else enjoying our little secret, now would I?”

“This is fun to you?” she grumbled.

“Very much so.”

Lumine sighed. “Anyways, I don’t like to be indebted to people, and I couldn’t think of a way to pay you back—so please think of something.”

“In that case…,” he said almost instantaneously.

“You already have something in mind?”

He leaned towards her. “Let me be your coach.”

...

...Of course he would say that.

* * *

“And you’re sure Childe is trustworthy?” Aether asked Lumine as they walked through the bustling city of Snezhnaya, located in the next city over from their hometown of Mondstadt.

Lumine readjusted the strap of her gym bag on her shoulder. “I mean...he hasn’t said anything yet, right? And anyways,” she muttered, “I owe him for saving me.”

Aether frowned, crossing his arms. “I guess you’re right…It’s just...He’s been a constant pain in your ass for the better part of your council career, and now he just suddenly wants to be your best friend?”

“He’s not going to be my best friend. Maybe he just felt sorry that I have to do all this for the sake of money, so he’s helping us out,” Lumine tried to reason. “If he’s my coach, we’ll get better conditions and pay.”

Her twin nodded, looking around at the modern, high-rise buildings surrounding them. “Snezhnaya is really a rich city, isn’t it?”

“I guess that’s a good sign.” Lumine stopped in front of a building labeled “Zapolyarny Palace.” She glanced down at the business card Childe had given her. “I think this is it: the gym he told me to go to.”

The two of them took in the building before them: a gym with large windows through which they could see many members training intensely within. The building itself was made of sleek, silver materials, making the gym look like a glittering gem in the sunlight. Definitely an upgrade from the concrete basement of Kaeya’s establishment.

Lumine was first to climb the steps, Aether following closely behind her. She pushed open the heavy glass doors, and immediately noticed everyone inside watching her from the corner of their eyes.

“Lumi, these are some real scary looking people,” her twin whispered.

She nodded, but continued walking forward to the front desk. The receptionist looked up at her; her name tag read Ekaterina.

“How can I help you?” she asked. Her tone wasn’t friendly, but Lumine suspected that was the nicest the woman would sound.

“I was told to come here by a friend,” Lumine answered. “By, uhm, Tartaglia?”

Ekaterina looked her up and down, then stood. “Follow me.”

The three of them walked through the gym, heels clicking against the dark slate flooring. The gym was huge, all of the high-tech equipment greatly spaced out, machines Lumine hadn’t ever seen before.

The group made their way towards a boxing ring, elevated off the ground, and even from far away, Lumine could tell it was made from very expensive materials.

“Tartaglia is up ahead,” Ekaterina said, gesturing towards the boxing ring, then went back to her desk.

Currently, there were two people sparring in the ring. To her surprise, Lumine recognized them both.

“Is that...Kaeya? And Childe?” Aether asked.

Lumine didn’t even answer, finding herself speeding up to get closer and watch the fight.

She had only heard of Kaeya fighting from others in his arena, and that he was a fierce opponent due to his training in the military where he had actually been a high ranking captain. Childe, on the other hand, she had only seen in schoolyard scuffles, and never as an actual fighter in the ring. She was mesmerized by the two.

Kaeya’s moves were very sharp and sneaky, while Childe’s style was lighter and much faster—until he struck, which he did so with great force, like the sudden crashing of a powerful ocean wave. Despite the huge gap in years of experience, it seemed like Childe actually had the upper hand in the fight.

Childe threw a jab at Kaeya’s face, which the captain easily blocked. But then, Childe quickly switched his footing, twisting his body around to prep for a spinning heel kick to Kaeya’s unprotected side. As he turned, Lumine made eye contact with him for a split second.

His foot would have slammed into Kaeya’s face, but suddenly, Childe stopped short, his leg still in the air, foot hovering right by Kaeya’s face, who regarded the near hit with wide eyes. Stopping a powerful kick like that took a lot of strength, Lumine knew, and she could see it in the way the muscles were flexed in Childe’s leg.

“It was fun, captain, but it seems our guest is here,” Childe said, relaxing his leg and setting it down.

Kaeya let out a shaky laugh. “It was indeed fun. Though, it seems like I need to get back into proper shape; it’s been a while.”

Childe ducked under the ropes, sliding out onto the ground. “I look forward to that rematch then.” He picked up his water bottle and looked at Lumine. “You made it! Good job not getting lost.”

As he drank his water, Lumine couldn’t help but look him over, at his exceptionally well-toned body. Usually his long limbs were covered by their school uniforms, but now he wore a gray tank top with gray sports shorts. It didn’t help that he was practically glistening in sweat.

She cleared her throat. “So can you tell me why Kaeya is here?”

Her manager walked up to them, offering his signature smile. “Why wouldn’t I follow my dear Lumine to the next step in her career?”

“I invited him,” Childe said. “I figured you’d want to keep him around.”

He wasn’t wrong; it was nice that Kaeya was there as another familiar face. She wasn’t really sure what to expect from Childe now.

“I see you brought a guest as well,” Childe noted, his blue eyes on Aether.

Aether subtly put his hands on his hips, defensively. “I’m Aether. Her twin.”

The ginger tilted his head. “Ah, the Vice-President. How cute.”

“Okay, so you’re my coach,” Lumine said. “Now what?”

He held out his hand. “Where’s your Outlander mask?”

Lumine blinked at him, but then pulled the mask out, handing it over. He flipped it over in his hands, then chucked it behind him. Both her and Aether gasped.

“You won’t need it anymore,” Childe said.

Lumine glared at him. “What do you mean, I won’t need it anymore?”

“Are you trying to get her arrested?” Aether spat.

Childe held up his hands. “Relax. The reason I wanted you to join me is because we’re no longer going to have you fighting illegally. So no need for the mask.”

Kaeya nodded. “Yup. We’re bringing you into the world of legitimacy.”

Lumine crossed her arms. “Kaeya, you know the reason I came to you in the first place. You get me way more money, much faster, than any legitimate competition. Especially at the beginner levels.”

“And that’s why you’re here now,” Childe interjected. “Fighting here will give you even more money without having to worry about the cops busting in and arresting you one day.”

“What if people from school find out?”

“No one from our school is going to come here to Snezhaya, much less to a gym.”

Lumine and Childe stared at each other, unyielding.

“Excuse us,” Kaeya said, pulling Lumine and Aether away from Childe.

“Kaeya, you know it’s dangerous for her not to be in a disguise,” Aether hissed.

“It was dangerous when she was fighting in my arena,” Kaeya said. He put a hand on Lumine’s shoulder. “Look, Childe is trying to help you, not hurt you. He knows you need that money, and that you’re good at this. He, like the rest of us, doesn’t want to see you get arrested for just trying to help your family out.”

Lumine bit her lip. “What makes him so qualified though?” She turned towards Kaeya. “You guys are always talking about his ‘connections,’ but you haven’t really talked about who he is in this community.”

“All you have to know is that, despite you guys being close in age, he is a known professional in this field. He’s fought and won many competitions.” He sighed. “I mean you saw him earlier: he almost handed my ass to me in that little spar. And I was a captain in the military.”

Aether sighed as well. “Lumi...as much as I dislike Childe...I think they’re right. I’ve always worried about you in those illegal fights. You’ll be safer here.”

As scary as it was that she was no longer concealing her identity, a part of her relished at the freedom. And they were all right. It was safer here, down this road.

Lumine nodded before leading them back to Childe. She stood in front of him, arms crossed. “When do we start?”

* * *

[part 4]

#genshin impact #genshin tartaglia #genshin childe #genshin lumine #lumine #childe #Tartaglia #childe x lumine #lumine x childe #chilumi #lumichilde #genshin impact fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #me

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mggpleasedontlookhere · 4 years

Text

afterhours

request: Spencer x reader where the reader is apart of the bau and has a huge crush on Spencer. The first time she invites him to her apartment he notices she has a guitar. He asks her to play something and she plays “after hours” by the velvet underground. She finishes singing/playing and they kiss?

for: @thatsonezesty13

word count: 1,847 reading time: 7 mins

masterlist

Within the last month, the BAU has received nothing less of unpalatable and bestial cases that comprised of multiple homicides, kidnappings, and dead children. It was safe to say that the entire team was mentally and physically drained from all the tragedies we’ve encountered. So with the approval of Hotch, the rest of the team gathered together for their monthly bar get together, leaving only me and Spencer to our own.

Alcohol was never my vice when it came to downtime; music was. No matter how gruesome a case would be, it was always the calming sensation of the strings hitting my fingers that solaced my mind.

Since the team had already left, I was left to drive Spencer home considering his license had gotten suspended from him speeding to get to a physics and engineering convention, also known to me as the nerd convention.

We were walking to my car in the parking lot when the sky began to weep, completely drenching the both of us in cold water. The crisp air of the night didn’t ease the incommodious feeling in the slightest as the material of my blouse glued onto the surface of my skin.

“Shit” I cursed, looking over to Spencer as he reciprocated the same harsh and fatigued expression I wore on my face. He nodded in agreement lifting his satchel above his head while the both of us practically bolted to sides of my car.

We chuckled as we stared at one another, our hair slicked back and tousled at different angles. “Hey, do you mind if I stay at yours tonight?” Spencer asked, narrowing his eyes at me in reluctance. “I wouldn’t want to intrude, it’s just that the drive is farther away and I wouldn’t want to be a burden a-” He rambled.

“That’s- you’re okay Spence, of course you can” I reassured, reaching over my shoulder to attach my seat belt. But truth be told, anxiety ran through my veins like cold blood. It would be the first time Spencer would be stepping into my apartment despite him being one of my closest friends.

I sucked in a breath as I turned the engine on, hoping that I remembered to clean up before I left.

The drive home was comprised of listening to Broadway musicals while belting our voices until our esophagus’ burned like a shot of liquor. Any time I spent with Spencer felt like an all time high, even when working burdensome cases, if Spencer was beside me, everything felt like things were in place.

As we climbed up the few flights of stairs to my apartment, I fumbled around in my bag searching for the keys to the front door. Although that was quite a difficult task to complete, thanks to the sweat that had accumulated on my palms.

“You alright Y/L/N?”

“I’m okay Spence, I just-” I picked through the pockets of my jacket, desperately wanting to feel metal. “Just- can’t seem to find- there we go”. Fortunately the keys were located in the back pocket of my pants and I was able to let the both of us in. “I’m sorry about that” I apologized, brushing the hair out of my face in embarrassment.

Spencer nodded in assurance, swinging me a soft smile as he ventured throughout my apartment. “Great place you got here Y/N” He complimented, running his hands through the books I had stocked on my bookshelves.

“Thank you” I chuckled, a blush forming on my cheeks as I felt him judge the selection of genres I had displayed. “I know it’s not your usual science fiction, but-” I explained.

“No, it’s fine Y/N. I find it kinda cute actually” He laughed, picking up my copy Pride and Prejudice. “It’s actually better than Morgans, but to be fair he doesn’t even remotely have anything indicating a book” He teased, sifting through more of my collection.

I chuckled at his comment while hiding the blush that resurfaced on my cheeks as he complimented my taste. “You can make yourself at home, I’ll go see if there’s anything that fits you” I gestured to the whole of my apartment, making my way to my bedroom in a hurry to catch my composure.

As I arrived, I practically jumped out of my damp clothes and changed into my pjs. I then combed through my drawers to find anything large enough for Spencer until landing on a large over sized shirt I used to wear when I was in college. Fixing myself up, I walked back into the living room. “Hey Spence, it may be a little small but-” I was cut off by the sight of Spencer holding my guitar between his hands.

“I’m sorry, I-i just didn’t know you played” Spencer explained, keeping the guitar close to his chest. Despite his apprehension, it was quite an unforgettable sight seeing Spencer’s long fingers stretched out along the neck of the guitar as his fingertips strummed the strings lightly. Warmth radiated in my chest as I thought of unspeakable things; things that an individual shouldn’t think about their best friend. “I-it’s fine, I j-just. I don’t know, I play here and there” I confessed, rubbing my elbow as I stepped closer to him.

“You should play me something?” He suggested, pushing the guitar in my directions. Although I immediately declined, feeling nausea run up my throat at the idea of embarrassing myself in front of Spencer.

“I-i don’t know Spence, I’m not even that good” I shook my head in disagreement, hoping he’d drop the subject.

“Come on Y/N, I’m sure you’re amazing” He consoled, gently wrapping his hand around my wrist, pulling me towards him and the instrument. I shook my head once again, pulling against his grip in deviance.

“Pleaseee Y/N?” He begged, looking at me with soft eyes. I finally gave in as he peered into me. The softness of his skin and the warmth of his eyes pushing me to admit defeat.

With a groan, I settled next to Spencer, witnessing him cross his legs in a childlike matter as he faced me with excitement. I giggled at his antics, smiling at him as I laid the guitar between my hands.

With a calming breath, I steadied myself in my seat and began to strum the chords to one of my favorite songs. The melody of ‘Afterhours’ by the Velvet Ground permeated both mine and Spencer’s ears. I carefully observed the changes in Spencer’s macro-expressions, hoping to not identify any signals of disgust, considering that the first verse was up ahead.

I got a hold of my composure and let the lyrics flow out of my lips as if it was natural. The entire time as I sang, I felt the intensity of Spencer’s scrutiny, afraid that he was going to run away and never talk to me again. But he did the opposite, he sat beside me as if he was invested in my performance wearing a cheeky grin.

With every phrase that transpired out of my mouth that pertained to affection, I knew that a small part of myself sang it soulfully to Spencer. Although another part told myself of the reality of the situation; that Spencer might not even acknowledge my exponentially growing attraction towards him.

After feigning some confidence, I looked straight into his eyes as I sang, watching the hazel hue shift from light to dark as the moonlight reflected off of them. Throughout the entire event, he wore the same giddy expression, smiling at me as if I were the love of his life.

Or so I wished I was

With the song coming to an end, I strummed the last few chords prolonging the whole thing to provide myself time to prepare for Spencer’s judgement. Finally, I halted, placing the guitar next to me awaiting Spencer’s reaction.

To my surprise, nothing was said or done from his part. I sighed, running my hand through my hair, “You hated it, I told you” I groaned, hiding my face in my hands. I refused to look at him now, knowing the shame I’ve brought onto myself.

Suddenly, I felt two warm hands plant themselves on my wrists, wrapping around them tenderly. Spencer placed himself between my legs as he pulled me close to him. I could feel his breath fanning over my cheeks as he kneeled in front of me.

My heart began to race at the speed of a NASCAR race, my hands began to twitch and shake while my throat became as dry as a desert. I licked my lips as a habit, taking notice of the supple skin that covered Spencer’s lips.

Oh how I would love to know how those would feel against mine

“Y/N that- that was amazing” He professed, staring into my eyes.

I shook my head in denial, not believing a single word that came out of his mouth regardless of the lack of distance between us. “You’re only saying that because you’re my friend” I countered, feeling my throat tighten up. “I’m probably as bad as my choice in genres” I joked in attempt to lighten up the air and escape from the event that was taking place.

“No Y/N, I’m serious” Spencer retorted, his tone filled with nothing but encouragement and praise. “You have a real talent there Y/L/N” He whispered, glancing down at my lips in the process.

I reciprocated his actions, feeling the butterflies erupt in my stomach with how his eyes gazed into my own. Slowly we moved closer towards each other, his hand reaching up to comb my hair to the side.

“Spence-” I interrupted shyly, my words faltering as the distance between us began to diminish. The objects in the room also became nonexistent to me, feeling the weight of the presence of only me and Spencer in the room.

“Ca-can I?” Spencer asked, flashing me a loving look. I nodded in affirmation, not being able to form proper words.

With that Spencer caressed the side of my cheek as he pulled me into him. Our lips collided, moving in careful unison as we studied each other’s movements. We both pulled away, our cheeks tinted red, but our eyes were still interlocked with one another. With a boost of confidence, I grabbed his face and pulled him in for another kiss, this time, lingering slightly longer than the kiss we previously shared.

Pulling away, I giggled in disbelief. My mind had a difficult time processing what had occurred. Smiles crept up on both of our lips as Spencer wrapped an affectionate arm around my waist. “I-i, um” I staggered over my words. “I don’t know what to do now” I laughed nervously, causing Spencer to lean over and place a chaste kiss on my nose.

“How about you let me take you out on date?” Spencer suggested, pressing another kiss to my forehead. I closed my eyes feeling his skin touch mine as ardor coursed through my entire body.

“I think that’s a great idea” I agreed, pulling him close to me.

A/N:

and writing It ‘Should’ve Been You Pt. 2′ commences ;)

#spencer reid imagines #spencerreid #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid icons #spencer x reader #spencer x you #spencer x oc #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler imagines #matthew gray gubler imagine

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kneipho · 3 years

Text

Hope Springs Eternal Part 1

I shivered

palpably in response to the stimulus of this auspicious winter morning as though I were a nervous acolyte on his first day of probation.

It was that benchmark event called my Birthday.

Like Christmas and Easter they have this annular ring in every sense.

Dates and their import. I was raised to have the healthiest respect for them.

A rendezvous of another kind awaited me later in the day that was seasonal in another sense.

But that just added a certain spring to my step.

Entering my eight decade on earth I dragged that motley crew of bones about me.

Like a hod carrier carting clusters of smokeless polish coal for some imperious client.

But the mind has immense powers waiting to be tapped.

A mineral rich load, a vein of resources with targeted thoughts that were the match for any prescription medicine.

Age is but a number and they can be sung in harmony with one’s universe or jarringly and at odds.

I’m a late in life poet with lines very gingerly crafted at this point in time.

My aunt Virginia who raised me when my mother died started the revolution in my thinking.

“Your mind should be a diary.

Always take note of what’s happening around you and when it happened.

Time, dates, everything.

It always comes in useful.”

She said in that nuanced tonic sol fa accent of hers.

Virginia instilled in me this most functional regard for which I am eternally grateful.

Her words about dates and time echoed continually through the recesses of mind to my ultimate benefit.

I had the required notepad and pen at hand to record anything I could sculpt into a creative ode.

As of yet

a title eluded me but maybe something lustrous, radiant romantic would be apt.

Quite a lot has been composed already much to my surprise.

Virginia’s advice and the embryonic epic planted fertile shoots in my head as I entered the kitchen.

I called it my domain.

Structured in an algebraic fashion with proximity dovetailing elegance it resembled a gallery.

The sink and shrouded tap heads my first port of call.

Stooping over archly I filled a gleaming white plastic jug kettle for that morale boosting first cup of tea.

As I sipped my tea the insights Virginia kindly bequeathed started flooding back.

Those condensed pearls of wisdom regarding time and it’s ambience.

Optimism and cheer were her other passions.

As well as paying attention.

“Focus on your environment. There is joy in abundance.” Virginia opined.

“A treasure trove awaits for those who concentrate.” She said.

“Where there is joy there’s hope.

Time and hope are intertwined.”

Never losing a chance to stress matters time-related.

Typical Virginia logic.

I’m taking it more seriously now as my respect for that statute of limitations called life expectancy approaches.

This lady’s pointers were manfully ingested as my tea stained cup wobbled in my right hand with it’s rivulet of veins.

The tea leaves scattered wildly in that microcosm of a drinking vessel had a fleeting fascination for me.

But as I scanned my surroundings with the eye of a keyhole surgeon I couldn’t help but notice something else.

The kaleidoscope of colour filling the french panel window in front of the kitchen sink.

Window drabness red carded with the zeal of a strict umpire dismissing an offending player.

My intuition told me to brace myself for events both surprising and anticipated .

This afternoon’s engagement is to the forefront of my mind and for good reason.

Think I’ll leave the cell phone behind.

Or did I hear it go off?

My device was of the more crowded cumbersome type with stubborn square buttons that even the more dexterous hand would find difficult to navigate.

The fingers slipped involuntarily like I sometimes did on those treacherous black ice patches.

“It’ll wait. Can’t really be that important.” I said to myself.

It was one of those phones that emitted this discordant buzz when some arrant nuisance rings at the most inopportune time which is often.

“No … face the morning and it’s canvas of brittle prospect.” Speaking with eloquent pride to myself, Hamilton Lake.

Walking outside on this my 78th birthday could be seen as an obstacle course.

I’ve always had a thing about posture.

The feet must be properly positioned and ready for anything unexpected.

The steps from my house could be awkward and angular with hidden crevices.

Those rugged pockmarks gouged out by the chisel of that tyrant called the elements.

The inherent beauty of garden plants, on the other hand,

purged whatever sluggishness there was in my frame.

Their spectral tint and gravity defying droop gave my eyes an optic fillip.

Green border shrubs and yellow rose petals bore a magic that defied description.

Albeit with telltale winter stains.

But the mindfulness of gait and knowing that slippage could be fatal moderated my enthusiasm about my settings.

Onto the yard and then the slope towards town with a propensity for the occasional wobble notwithstanding.

A downward denouement laced with grit and optimism.

The verges on the fringe of each footpath were covered with tufts of flickering grass cavorting about in a light south east breeze.

Haywire brambles whose overlapping tentacles were embedded in every mound or patch.

Star shaped brown leaves as veiled cover for those sharp spines sticking out.

The bane of every bulging blood vessel.

An ice clad descent that can either capsize or upend even the most determined stride.

Ice that most deceptive gloss that far too easily masks it’s latent perils.

Irrespective I continued unabashed.

The heart, portent of fragility, bruising barometer of one’s twilight moment can be an ally.

A motivator of noble human impulse.

My rainbow tipped walking stick was my elder compass.

A bearing locator for crazy paving pavement slabs.

Those structures fractured by peculiarities of sudden temperature with their plummets and summits!

But focus though impaired was motivated by a stoic forbearance imbued with fire in the soul.

Virginia’s velvet toned voice enjoined on us at home to watch the clouds.

The wispy contours, greyed over forms, wooly frills and outlines drifting overhead.

She also warned of their penchant for unleashing torrents which could spoil the daily strolls of even the most ernest of ramblers.

Today the clouds weaved their way across that azure blue path called the sky.

Curiously enough the self same clouds added to their repertoire by the graceful skirting of rooftops and faraway rock formations on the outskirts of town.

“Clouds are a heavenly canvas. A floating exhibit of the firmament.

They inspire poets, works of art.” Virginia said.

They were doing just that in my case with aplomb.

The planned mysterious link up was never lost sight of amid Virginia’s majestic musings.

“Use your imagination or your imagination will use you. The borders between make belief and the real world must always be maintained.

Imaginings of every kind can be triggered by just about anything familiar.

They can assume a life of their own.”

Wonderful counsel from a wonderful woman.

Virginia, however, unlike some philosophers had a marvelous sense of humor but abhorred the canned, corny variety.

Although such humor couldn’t always be avoided I was mindful of her sensitivity on the subject.

Meticulously taking out that pad again I scribbled a few more lines.

It’s beginning to fill up.

The only thing that remains is to have someone to dedicate it to.

The human eye, a person’s best camera turned to the leach like ivy carpet which clung with tenacity to the grey grained stone wall narrowly to my right.

Preserving their corporeal integrity and playing their part while going largely unobserved.

Fir trees, enclosed by pavement railings and gardens had an overwhelming stillness about them.

An unyielding rooted presence.

They too are age defiant when cultivated and getting the right supports.

These trees act as filters for the dust, smoke and fumed manifestations of the modern manufacturer.

Urban heat island effect offset and mitigated.

All these details forensically noted.

A sudden wakening ensued.

“Hi there, Hamilton. Lovely morning for a stroll.”

My inner space rightly interrupted for a different reality.

“Maybe we’ll meet later at one of your favourite spots or a coffee shop.”

Local teens, Sonia and Winfred with whom I regularly crossed paths and swopped pleasantries of a deeper heartfelt kind.

They alighted from their bicycles

“It’s your birthday today isn’t it?

You’d put people half your age and mine to shame.” The young lady Sonia said.

Winfred her boyfriend agreed.

“Such generosity I rarely encountered from my own group.” I thought to myself.

Sonia, a vibrant vivacious youth whose tactful airborne words shone as brightly as her arched angelic face.

Winfred, her boyfriend had a slightly bulging chin and matted haired that looked as if it had been constantly drenched.

His was a handsomeness harrowed out by high jinx and crack of dawn capers.

After a friendly departure this couple dashed off with a daring and delight so dirigere of the young.

As well as the young at heart.

–

Sunday Submission: @mantrabay

Photograph and short story by mantrabay copyright protected.

Part two will be submitted next week with your kind permission.

#mantrabay #submission sunday #submission #writers on tumblr #short story #written word #fiction #photographers on tumblr #photography #original photography #other #Hope Springs Eternal Part 1

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silence-burns · 4 years

Text

Please Hate Me //part 42

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on: “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine Who would have thought that babysitting a god could be so much fun?

Genre: slow-burn, enemies to lovers, banter

"Dude, you live like this?"

Loki moved past where you stood frozen to the spot.

"Technically, not anymore.” He shrugged and walked into the sleeping chambers to the left.

The rooms Loki used to live in were bathed in the rays of the setting sun, coming through large windows and the balcony overlooking the golden city. Everything was grand and coated in riches, whether it be the plush cushions laid on the floor, or the masterfully woven rugs, so soft they felt like walking on clouds.

Stumbling further inside, you walked past a large sofa. You brushed the fabric with your hand, reveling in the silkiness. There were a few carved chairs and a small coffee table on the balcony. You wanted to sit out there and watch the view. Loki's rooms were located high up over the city, and allowed you to marvel over everything laid down below. You'd spend hours there, unable to tear your eyes away if only it was you who'd been born to all this wealth and grandeur.

Standing there, careful not to be noticed from far below, you wondered how different your life would have been then. How different would it have been to have all those rooms in a completely separate section of the palace all for yourself, and getting tired just from walking from one end to another. To have shelves so packed with books that they almost sagged, and so many places obviously created for reading them in mind. To have staff clean the impossibly high windows and the plush carpet, so delicate it felt like murder to dirty it up. Or to have a dressing room overflowing with jewels and clothing so fine it made you realise how many official meetings must've required their use.

Closing your eyes, you smelled the soft fragrance hanging in the air.

It would be a life of wearing too-stiff, formally pressed jackets and boots always shining as if new. A life in rooms too big and too empty, no matter how many things you packed them with. A life that would make you discover all the secret passages through the palace and outside of it. A life that would make you learn tricks and magic just to entertain yourself even in solitude. One that would make you enjoy visiting other worlds, and learning their history just for the fake sense of belonging somewhere.

You walked over to where Loki disappeared some time ago.

The bedroom was large and dressed in easy, pastel colors with a few darker patches of green. The enchanted bag you brought with you was laying next to the perfectly made bed. Only two familiar legs were sticking from where Loki dived underneath it.

You jumped onto the mattress and felt it bounce with wonderful softness. Rolling over the covers, you delighted in their flowery scent.

"I'm no longer mad about why no room in the Tower suited you," you said.

"I'm delighted to hear that."

Cuddling a pillow, you wormed your way to the other end of the bed, curious about Loki's whereabouts. For all the noises and curses coming from underneath the bed, it seemed as if he were struggling.

"You okay there?"

"Reaching into my spatial storage used to be easier when I was the size of an underfed pigeon. Can you get me out?"

Standing behind him, you caught Loki by the feet and dragged him out. The box he was clutching to his chest didn't look remarkable, but neither did his bottomless bag, so you refrained from judging it just yet.

You plopped onto the floor next to him, watching the magic open the locks. "It’s still there after all this time?"

"I hid it in a pocket dimension," Loki said proudly. "A similar one to what my bag uses. Now, behold…"

The box unclasped the last of the clips. There was a golden sheer to the surface of the box, shining through the curved, strange symbols along its edges.

Loki raised the lid, and took out… a stone.

"I'm not gonna lie, I expected something more dramatic," you said, weighing the stone in your hand. You could easily hide it in your palm. It had a nice texture, something between polished and rough, and was not as cold as a stone ought to be on its own.

"Not everything about me has to be dramatic."

You looked around, to the grand chandeliers hanging overhead. And to the minute details carved upon the furniture. And to the tiles laid in intricate, deliberate patterns that must've taken weeks to plan and execute.

"...yeah, right."

You gladly gave it back to him. There was something about the stone that just made you uneasy.

The box it was hidden in landed in the bag, just in case it was needed. Watching it disappear in the void gave you an idea that made a wicked smile blossom on your face.

"Hey, Loki…"

Holding his gaze, you slipped your jacket off your shoulders.

Loki froze.

"How much time do you think we have before anyone finds us here…?"

He watched your jacket drop to the floor.

"...a while, I'd wager," the words came out breathlessly.

Blood was thrumming in his veins as you crossed the short distance between you.

A shiver he couldn't quite control run down Loki's back as you leaned in.

"Make me a pocket dimension - in my pocket, actually."

Loki blinked. There were quite a lot of thoughts rushing through his head that made it difficult to focus on the jacket you held out to him with a hopeful expression.

You saw his confusion. "It honestly never occurred to me how useful it would be, but being here, in this place, seems like a perfect opportunity. You said your magic gets weird on the Edge, but here it's free of its influence."

"That's true," Loki admitted carefully, taking the piece of clothing, still warm with life. "May I inquire what you plan on keeping in here?"

"A sword."

"What."

"I want a sword. We've been sneaking around all these guards here, and they always have those really cool swords, and until today I wasn't even aware that I wanted a sword but I do. Really do. Please."

Loki chuckled. He'd agree even if you weren't making such huge, pleading eyes to him, but it was not something he'd ever admit.

"How do you feel about paying a little visit to the royal treasure of Asgard, then? I've heard a rumor about a few ancient swords laying there, gathering dust."

The sheer joy that sparkled in your eyes might've been enough to stop his heart completely, were it not for the bone-crushing hug you closed him in.

This was something he could definitely get used to, Loki thought, having his cheek kissed. Something definitely worth coming all the way back here, to this place of times long gone, despite the risk. Loki had no doubt that his life would become much more complicated were he to be discovered on palace grounds despite his exile. He could save you, probably, if he convinced everyone he had you under a spell, and had enough time to think of a good reason for that. A few guards wouldn't pose a problem, though - he only worried if they managed to set off the alarm before he knocked them out and-

A pointed cough interrupted his plans just as Loki was finishing the spell off.

Loki looked at you. You looked at him.

There was someone standing at the entrance to the room, poised in the final rays of sun breaking through the thin curtains. Someone with a love for dramatics.

"I see you brought a friend, dear."

The shiver ran down Loki's back, but for vastly different reasons this time. There were plans against the guards he could use to outsmart them. There were secret passages he might use to sneak through the palace grounds. There were excuses, lies, and half-truths that served him well enough in various instances.

But none to be used in this one.

"Hello, mother."

Loki was not entirely certain why his voice came out so quiet. He was not in a very favorable position, still kneeling on the floor with you and weaving a spell over your pocket. There was little denying to be done about the fact he was supposed to be worlds away, on the very edge of the known universe and not in his old bedroom. Even if he tried, he doubted it would work.

"It's been a while," he added firmly, with a tight-lipped smile only present for a moment.

Queen Frigga wore a smile of her own, tugged into the corners of her rose-colored lips. It spoke of things she knew and things she could see, regardless of how hidden they were meant to be. It was not malicious, though - far from it, if one knew how to interpret it.

She remained poised by the door, in a dress of soft pastel pink. There was little surprise on her face, despite how unusual it must've been to find her own exiled son back without any warning. She radiated calm, commandeered without a hint of doubt. Loki missed her warmth.

"Mother, there is someone I'd like to introduce to you," Loki helped you up. "This is my-"

"Oh, finally. If you waited any longer, I'd pay you a visit myself," Frigga cut him off lightly, embracing you gently. She smelled of roses and pine.

Loki caught your petrified gaze, but wasn't sure what to do either. Being hugged was a better alternative to having the guards called, though. You could take it.

"As delighted as I am to see you," Loki interrupted the moment carefully, "how did you know where to find us?"

"Palace has eyes everywhere," the queen shrugged, looking you up and down. "Thankfully, your father only has one."

Loki connected the dots.

"Heimdall it is then, after all. I knew that bastard would have a sudden change of heart just like that."

Frigga sighed. Her hands were gentle and soft on your face. "Welcome to the family, love."

"...um, thank you?"

Loki masked his laugh with a cough. It was truly a refreshing sight, to have you rendered speechless within moments. He'd cherish that sight for a long time.

"What about some tea?" the queen asked as if things were already settled. There was very little you would deny her, but Loki did anyway.

"Time is not on our side, mother. We were only able to sneak out for a few hours, but every moment we risk having our little trip discovered by the Edge. The tension there is… growing."

"Dear, that place was always full of trouble. Do you have a plan?"

She switched her focus in an instant, with a frown set between her brows.

"We do."

There was pride she was not afraid to show when she stroked Loki's cheek. "I can't wait to hear about your success, then."

Loki took a deep breath. "Well, there's a tiny problem we have to solve before we go back there. There's something we need from the royal treasure…"

Your eyes lit up.

Frigga smirked knowingly.

"I suppose with your current status, it might be difficult to get you anywhere close to it," she admitted, already thinking about a way in.

You nudged Loki in the ribs. "What about your bag?"

"What?"

"Get in the bag, and I'll get you through," you explained, sweating profusely under the queen's keen eyes. "No one knows me here."

"That's a stupid idea."

"I love it, though," Frigga clasped her hands. "Get in."

"But we don't even know if-"

"Loki."

"...yes, mother."

As much as you were proud of your idea, there was one thing that didn't occur to you. Once Loki was gone, the rooms became much more quiet.

Holding the queen's stare didn't seem like a good idea. Avoiding it didn't either, though.

The tension made your skin itch, prodding you to move, to do anything, and most likely something stupid. Thankfully, the woman was first to break it.

"Shall we go?" she asked, stepping towards the door with a gentle smile.

You didn't want to. You had no idea you'd feel this awkward, even when she was giving you no reason to. Taking the bag, you followed her near-silent steps.

"I'm afraid we'll have to put you in some less flashy clothes," Frigga mentioned off-hand, walking through a luminous hallway. "Your face might not be recognized, but you might still stand out like this."

Watching her flowing gown, you were inclined to agree. The palace was no place for jeans.

Your body was no place for the strange fashion of Asgard either, or at least according to your body itself. Walking in clothes cut to a different fashion was only saved by how soft their fabric felt against your skin. Still, you followed the queen to the treasury, faithfully staying a step behind as any proper servant would, or so she claimed.

There was no hesitation in her steps as she led you through hallways with high ceilings supported by thin, ornate columns. The stained glass of the widows refracted the sun into an artfully intricate mess of colors. The guards and members of palace staff passed you on your way, but they only bowed deeply to the queen, sharing very little of their attention with you.

"How do you like it?" Frigga asked casually when you were out of anyone's earshot.

"I mean, this whole place is… wow. Amazing. I wish I had more time to check everything out," you answered honestly, unsure of what the right thing was to say.

"Would you like to stay?"

It was an innocent question, or at least it would be under different circumstances. Here, in the middle of a palace, stranded on your own without Loki by your side, it was a question asked precisely because of those circumstances.

"I'm afraid my schedule is quite busy right now. I've got a war to stop and a murderer to find - you know, just a casual Tuesday evening."

"And what happens afterwards?"

She didn't seem angry, and yet there must've been a reason for her curiosity. You looked down to the bag you were still holding. "That doesn't depend solely on me."

Frigga didn't smile, but you couldn't feel any hostility from her. If anything, she seemed quite at peace.

The double set of high, elaborately carved doors at the end of the corridor were undoubtedly a work of art and also heavy pieces of metal, magic and gold. It took the guards a few moments of strained breathing and groans to open them for you, but any thoughts about their job vanished as you followed the queen inside.

Rows upon rows of shining crystals of all shapes and colors crowded one of the walls. Opposite it stood the mannequins in proud poses and heavy sets of armor. High as you could see, weapons of all sorts hanged from the hooks, capable of supporting a small army. Daggers and curved swords you could recognize, as well as the lances and halberds that made you wonder what kind of monsters had they been used against in the past.

The huge battle axes caught your eye, but there was no way for you to even lift the ones almost your own height. Beyond them, on the long tables, laid gauntlets and helmets both winged and horned or with steel fangs like a beast's, and further in - even capes made of what looked like scales or monster hide. This was a place of legends you'd never heard.

"See anything you like?"

Lost in your thoughts, the queen's pleasant voice startled you and brought you back to reality.

"Everything and I'm not even exaggerating. I could live in here."

Frigga walked by the neat rows of weaponry. "It's mostly family heirlooms and loot from all the great and shameful wars of the past. There are countless stories behind every one of them, but I don't think we came here for stories. What are you looking for?"

"A sword. Loki said we could get one from here."

"What kind of sword?"

"...a sharp one?"

"I take it you don't have much experience with them, then?" she chuckled.

"My world favors guns."

Frigga passed the first row and walked further into the treasury. The grandeur of large pieces changed into the showcase of precision and stealth as you looked at the countless thin blades, hooks and things you couldn't really name, let alone use. You considered letting Loki out of the bag, both to have him steer his mother back to the weapons you recognized, and to check on him. Making a spatial storage was a tricky thing, he had claimed after wondering if the air would still work normally inside of it.

Before you got the chance to do that, the queen stopped in front of a plain gray case and opened it.

"It's a shame so many of those have to spend centuries out of use," she blew the dust off a middle length sword with a slightly curved edge. "I hope this one will serve you well."

The blade was tinted with gray, as if melted with ash. It didn't shine, which could come in handy during sneaking around. The handle laid in your hand as if it was always meant for you.

"Once upon a time, it was called Windcleaver," Frigga looked at you with melancholy. "It'll never dull and never break."

"Thank you," you breathed out. Tearing your eyes off the blade felt impossible. "It's marvelous. I only hope I won't cut my fingers off before I learn how to properly use it. Are you sure I can take it?"

"What use does it have here?" the queen shrugged, gesturing to the immeasurable numbers in the treasury. "Besides, I've heard my son promised you one."

You carefully put the sword into your magically imbued pocket.

"Thank you, seriously," you said again. "For everything. We knew about the risk of coming here, so… thank you for not ratting us out? And, you know, giving me this cool sword. You're awesome. I'd vote for you."

Although voting for anyone was not a practice often used on Asgard, queen Frigga appreciated the implied meaning anyway.

"That's lovely to hear," she said as you left the treasury and headed wherever she wanted you to go. "Especially since, as far as I could see, you plan on staying with my son, correct?"

"I mean, I literally crossed the universe with him, twice, so I guess I do? Look, sorry if I'm not precisely who you'd prefer for your son, but I like him, and I'm not going to pretend I don't."

You left the palace grounds through what looked like one of the main gates. The road was a wide path with olive trees growing by the sides. There was an embarrassing amount of relief you felt noticing the Bifrost getting closer instead of the dungeons.

"Asgard is a beautiful place in many ways," Frigga broke the silence after a while. "People are happy and live in prosperity, especially on the palace grounds. But life, even here, is far from perfect. Things happen, and we can do little to control the damage they wreak upon us," she looked at you. In the dimming sun and the lanterns slowly coming back to life as you followed the road, the queen looked every bit the royal she was. "I'm glad that my son won't have to go through whatever happens alone anymore."

Speechless, you followed her over the bridge and to the round observatory at its very end. Frigga approached Heimdall, speaking in hushed voices, meanwhile you watched Loki crawl out of the bag. With a groan, he slumped to the floor, mostly unharmed, if only a little yellow on the face.

You patted his cheek, waiting for a reaction. "You good? How was it?"

"...I'm never doing that again."

"What if I pay you? I've got like—" you fished in your pocket. "Three dollars, a stick of gum, and a sword."

"You got a sword?" that seemed to raise his attention as he pushed himself on the elbows.

"Your mom found me one. She's really cool."

Loki looked over to the queen conversing quietly with Heimdall. She looked the same as the day he'd been exiled. "She is."

As Heimdall moved to ready the Bifrost, Frigga approached the two of you, embracing Loki tightly. You were aware of what happened in the past in general, but seeing the consequences of it from up so close put a weight on your chest. Switching worlds for the sake of a mission was a very different thing from being completely banned from your own home planet and leaving it for the final time knowing that you won't be able to see your family of any of your friends and places you grew up in ever again, and even you were slowly growing homesick already. Watching Loki say his final goodbye reminded you of how strong that feeling must be in him.

"Thank you for helping us." He stepped away. "We were lucky to be found by you."

"Actually…," you hated to step in the moment, "we kind of need to push on that luck a bit more. I really don't want to come off as ungrateful, but we really need a tiny, little visit to Earth too."

"Just for a minute. Maybe two," Loki solemnly swore, remembering your completely-not-sketchy plan.

"We just need to grab some-… thing," you added to the rising suspicion of Heimdall. "Stopping a war is not an easy thing, you know."

With a heavy sigh of the queen, a nauseating trip across the universe and back, a tiny case of abduction, Loki and you finally found yourselves back in the familiar mud of the Edge, its stars shining just as bright as when you left it. So much has happened since you were last in the obscure forest of gnarled trees, that it felt like weeks instead of hours. You could say that thankfully, nothing seemed to have changed during your absence, but that would be a lie.

The two of you stared at the Rift. It was still a seething wound in the fabric of the universe, and just as awfully wrong as you remembered, but also - significantly smaller.

"Do you think it's because of the Bifrost?" you voiced Loki's thoughts.

"The amount of energy released by the bridge shouldn't be enough to make such a change, but… I can't see how it can be anything else?"

"So we just ignore it and pretend we haven't been even close to it?"

"Yup."

"I like that plan."

"How about we walk a little away from this floating rip of void while we're at it? I think it would be the wisest if the boy didn't see it just yet. We don't have the time to explain everything to him," Loki gestured to the bag.

You followed him deeper into the woods, grateful to finally reach the part where life was growing back. It was a relief to leave the muddy, dusty circle of death and despair the Rift created around itself as it sucked all the energy from whatever dared to live nearby. Further away, the Edge showed off its true colors, with wild flowers blooming in tangled masses hanging overhead from the winding branches of trees that had no names. Butterflies with three sets of feathery wings crossed your path in a shimmering cloud.

"This should be far enough," Loki judged, finally putting the bag on the moss. "I still can't believe that Heimdall agreed to this."

"I can't believe your mother agreed to this."

"If you lived in the palace, you'd know first-hand what ideas she's capable of on her own…"

Loki knelt next to the bag and reached down into its depths to bring out a boy.

The boy was no ordinary thing, both by his clothing and his abilities you were greatly interested in. The bright blue-and-red costume hid very little of how deeply in shock he was over his sudden change of settings, world, and, apparently, plans for the evening.

He rubbed the yellow and green moss and stared at the feathery butterflies circling overhead.

"Have I- Have I just been abducted?" Peter voiced his confusion in a dangerously high voice.

"I'd say so, and since he's technically an alien," you pointed at Loki, "you've got the full pack."

"This is awesome!"

Peter springed to his feet and proceeded to jump around and touch every single thing around him, startling even more butterflies into hurried flight.

"I told you he'd love it here."

"I never doubted it. My only concern remains over his discretion, though," Loki smiled gently, looking at the boy freaking out over the flowers, moss, ground, trees and everything alive and currently running away from him.

"He'll do well. Hey, Peter," you said louder, "we kinda need your assistance."

He was at your side in a flash, with hands shaking and eyes wild. "Of course! I knew you'd come back for me, guys, thank you so much, I'll do whatever I have to!"

Explaining your half-made plan to the boy constantly jumping between hugging both of you and getting distracted by literally everything around him took you a moment. You only hoped he'd remember your words.

In the end, Loki took the runestone out of his pocket and handed it to Peter.

"Ten minutes ago I was eating a kebab on a rooftop and now I'm doing magic," the boy cheered. "This is great."

"Now, focus," Loki snapped his fingers, grabbing a churned, black stone he found in the corpse of the monstrous spider that attacked you.

Loki gently pressed the stones together and watched them start to glow.

"You'll have to follow the light and not be noticed," he said, pocketing the spider's remains again. "It should take you straight to the person who wanted us dead enough to cast the curse. Once you find them, you get back straight to us, do you understand? There's a castle behind you and our rooms are right there, over those roses blooming-"

"There's even a castle? I'm not leaving this place," Peter jumped on a nearby tree to see the palace better.

Loki sighed, appreciating the hand you rubbed his arm with.

"I'm having second thoughts if this actually is a good plan," he admitted, too quietly for the boy to hear.

"We don't really have a choice. You said it yourself, that we'll be closely guarded. After that fight yesterday, they won't let us just roam the palace freely. And we need to know who's working against us."

Loki nodded, painfully aware of all that. Still, it didn't sit well with him to have the boy involved in such danger. The Edge had always been a violent place, and with the recent events, that tendency only deepened.

"Be careful, boy," he said, once Peter was calm enough to listen. "I know we haven't explained this plan with you, but… We really need you."

Anyone who didn’t know Peter well would think that there were tears of joy running down his face as he put on his mask and disappeared among the trees heading to the palace. Anyone who knew him well would know it was true.

"Stop worrying," you nudged Loki. "Even if someone catches him, they won't hurt him. Besides, look at him go. He's got it. This is the perfect ground for someone with his abilities."

"I'm not worried," Loki scoffed and crossed his arms in a very unconvincing gesture. "I just can't wait to find out who's our enemy. And if the court will side with us."

"Heimdall would see it, right? He'd help us if things go very south very fast?"

"I'd like to think so, but the only thing he can do is to inform the guards and leave the decision to my fa-... the king. I'm not sure what he'll do. This whole mission was supposed to let Asgard avoid getting any further involvement with the Edge."

So encouraging.

"I see. So how about we sneak back into our rooms before Faroq and his guards notice we're gone? Or even better - find Peter in our place, already having found that nasty spellcaster."

Loki let his imagination run wild. "...let us go indeed."

It was a good not-exactly-a-plan. Sure, it was a hasty job, written almost entirely on the go and with little thought of alternatives, had the things not worked out. But since it had taken you both to the ends of the universe and back (even with a quick stop midway for a tiny little child abduction), you wouldn't be so ungrateful as to say your not-a-plan sucked.

A few minutes later, you were sadly forced to change your mind, as you were met with drawn out swords and even sharper stares aimed at you. The guards were posted right on the edge of the forest, where it turned into a little more tamed part of the gardens, and shedding any cover it might've granted you.

A woman in a blood red uniform stepped towards you with a scowl. "You're both under arrest. Do not move."

"That sounds a little harsh for breaking a house arrest," Loki calmly observed, moving to stand slightly between you and her.

Your hand slipped towards your pocket and a certain gift it held.

The guard spit on the ground. "Not enough for the murderers, though."

Loki and you froze. That was new.

"Could we get some more details about what that guy just said or...?"

The woman looked at you suspiciously. She did not lower her sword, nor did she order the other guards to stand down.

"Don't act like you haven't murdered them," she only barked out.

"As much as you don't believe us, we have no idea what you-"

"Bodies have been found a few hours ago," she cut Loki off. "A few families, living on the other side of the river. Their lives have already fed the nearby Rifts. Are you happy now?"

Far from it, you wanted to tell her and all the guards nervously waiting for the orders. If need be, they'd cut you down without a hint of regret - you could see it on their faces, in the stern looks and tense shoulders. It wasn't a question of what was the truth behind the murders. The only thing that mattered now was how well you had just been framed.

#please hate me #loki x reader #loki x you #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x you #loki #loki imagine #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson imagine #loki marvel #loki mcu #loki series #loki fanfiction #i love loki

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jessicajonesrp · 4 years

Text

He’s backkkk

It took some careful planning, but eventually, Rikarah had what she needed to be able to bring Kilgrave back to life.

She already had a safe and secure location where she would be uninterrupted during times of needed concentration- her open rented home, just outside of Manhattan. She had never bothered to inform Phillip that she had a rental house; it seemed a better bet to keep the information of her multiple living quarters, unused for most of the year, to herself, just in case. Phillip had been far from discreet, and there was a reason Rikarah had chosen a secondary lodging outside of the business of cities such as NYC, Hell’s Kitchen, Harlem, or Manhattan itself. She was a loner at heart, but her interest and her focus tended to be on others, and it was necessary to spend most of her time among them in order to know them and their lives. This distant secondary home was to be used only when necessary, to recharge, or for specific situations such as this.

It hadn’t been difficult to obtain a picture of Kilgrave. After the incident on the dock, he and Jessica and Patricia Walker had been all over the covers of newspapers everywhere, so it was a simple matter of a few clicks on a smart phone to find and save a picture of the man in question. It had taken more time to obtain something with Kilgrave’s DNA. Rikarah had attempted to trace the location of his body- somehow she suspected he had been neither traditionally buried nor cremated, and it was her guess that he was likely being used for scientific experimentation or study, legally or otherwise, within the government or whoever else had been the highest bidder of access.

With some creative thought, she had been able to trace back several of Kilgrave’s last known addresses, including the childhood home of Jessica Jones, which was unfortunately no longer standing after its bombing. Nevertheless, Rikarah had discovered that the “Kilgrave survivors” group Jessica had formed over a year ago, with the intention of drawing out Kilgrave and gaining information on him, was still active and meeting regularly.

It hadn’t been difficult to insinuate herself into the group for a few weeks as a new member, pretending to be one of the traumatized survivors of the incident of Kilgrave-directed violence on the dock the evening he himself had died. Rikarah had enough research information to be able to nod along and briefly and tearfully provide her own version of events. Meanwhile she took note of the people who had spent prolonged time with Kilgrave- being his driver for a week, forced to let him live in their home for longer, or forced to wait on him as a cook, bartender, or masseuse.

Those were the ones that may possess something that would carry Kilgrave’s DNA, even now. Those were the ones that she made the effort to befriend, to offer a shoulder and a listening ear. And a few episodes of feigned attraction and friendship had been enough for one clearly still traumatized older man to allow her into his home and his bed, and with minimal encouragement from Rikarah, to lead her in a tour of the house Kilgrave had made his lodging for a time- the house the man still lived in.

“It was terrible,” the man told her, actually tearful as he shook his head, eyes cloudy as though reliving what he spoke of. “I couldn’t leave the house, I couldn’t speak or even move without him giving me the okay to. He used my house as though it were his, and then one day he just left and didn’t come back. I was terrified that he might return, any moment, and I couldn’t predict when or do anything to stop him. He didn’t even take all of his things with him, and I was afraid to do anything to get rid of them, or even move them, in case it made him angry if he did come back. I know he’s dead now, but even now I’m afraid to touch his things. That’s pathetic, I know, but it’s the truth.”

It was pathetic, in Rikarah’s view, but it was also fortunate for her. Because among Kilgrave’s “left behind things” were a comb, toothbrush, and some clothing including socks and underwear. All certain to contain Kilgrave’s DNA.

She had charmed the man with sympathetic words and touches, assuring him of his bravery, lying without a flicker of remorse about her own supposed fear. It hadn’t taken more than twenty minutes for him to be convinced that he was now strong and brave enough to let some of those items go, “just a few to start with, the ones most associated with him personally”- and that she, Rikarah, in spite of her own fear, cared enough about his healing to be the one to take them away to make sure they were disposed of.

She still couldn’t believe the man was gullible enough to fall for such nonsense. But he had actually leaked tears and hugged her, thanking her for her empathy and giving him the chance to start a new life.

Ironic, and amusing, really, that in all actuality, she was bringing back what he feared the very most, all in the name of helping him put it behind him.

So armed in her remote rented home with the personal objects of Kilgrave’s and a clear picture of his face, Rikarah sat cross legged on her bed and emptied her mind of all thoughts but those of her intention. She stared at Kilgrave’s picture, her hands stroking over each object containing his DNA, and pictured him awake, alive, and whole before her. She imagined the beating of his heart, the rhythm of his breathing, every synapse and nerve once more sharp with activity and use. She envisioned the blood running through his veins, and as her own small body grew taut and gave off fevered heat with the effort of her actions, she reached out for the knife beside her knee. Grasping it in her left hand, she slashed a shallow x over each of her palms, and then at the surface of each of her feet. Hands shaking slightly, she smeared the blood over the comb, the toothbrush, and the clothing, combining their DNA.

With a final shudder of effortful focus, Rikarah spoke aloud Kilgrave’s name. She could feel the air grow thick and strained, as though holding something moving and living and shifting in shape, and she slumped back, exhausted, against the bed, watching with satisfaction as a human form began to slowly knit itself into view in front of her.

It wasn’t a pretty sight. The revived bodies started first with skeletons, then filled up with internal organs and muscles and sinew, before finally being knit over with skin and hair and the other details normally seen on the outside. It was no different with Kilgrave, and eventually, there he stood, naked, panting, and wide-eyed at her bedside.

Rikarah smiled, more in self-satisfaction at the accomplished task than at the sight of the man’s naked body. She didn’t consider him overly impressive in his physique, but he would do. It was the man and his mind, not his body, that mattered. She more than anyone knew it was a mistake to overlook people for their physicality.

“Where the bloody hell am I?” Kilgrave sputtered, disoriented, seeming to struggle to draw in breaths. His lungs, being new again, were likely still adjusting to breathing. “What’s the matter with me? And who the fuck are you?”

When Rikarah didn’t immediately answer, too tired to bother, Kilgrave straightened, pointing a finger at her, and took a menacing step forward, raising his voice. “I asked you a question, are you deaf? Answer me!”

“I’m sorry, Kevin, but I don’t take orders from anyone if it doesn’t suit me, and certainly not from you,” Rikarah said coolly, lifting an eyebrow from her supine position on the bed. “As you quite literally owe your life to me, I would expect a little more respect and gratitude, but I’m a patient woman. I’ll assume you’re rather in shock at the moment, given you’ve just gone from bones and brain mush to a living body again, and let the rudeness slide.”

Kilgrave’s eyes bulged, and he recoiled, alarmed as much by the nonchalant response he had just received as the strange situation he had found himself in. To speak an order and have it not obeyed immediately was beyond his comprehension.

“But I told you to do it!” he almost whined, staring down at the small and clearly unintimidated woman resting on her side in the bed. “I told you to, and you just- the only person who could ignore me was Jessica, and-“

He stiffened, his face paling, as he pointed an accusing finger at Rikarah again.

“Jessica did this, Jessica used that sedative thing on me, didn’t she?! You’re with her, you’re one of her people!”

“Certainly not,” Rikarah corrected him, exhaling with a weary and somewhat impatient sigh. “Jessica knows nothing of this- yet. As far as she believes, you are long dead, and she is glad of it. After all, she was the cause.”

She sat up, watching wryly as the realization and the memory of his own last few moments of life, just before Jessica snapped his neck, came back into the forefront of his thoughts. Rikarah gave him a few more moments to process this against the obvious reality of his current status of being alive before addressing him again.

“Yes, Kevin, you were dead, and for over a year now, too. You would have stayed that way, if not for myself and my own unique abilities. Some gratitude and a certain level of loyalty is not unwarranted.”

“I was dead,” Kilgrave repeated, the words stunned, almost disbelieving. “And you’re saying- what, that you resurrected me? You?” He snorted, looking Rikarah up and down dismissively. “No offense, love, but you hardly look the type to have that sort of power.”

“And Jessica does?” Rikarah countered. “I’ll grant you that she has the advantage in height, but she’s of a smaller frame even than myself, and what she may have over me in physical strength, I can outdo in the sheer enormity of my ability. She may be able to kill someone with a punch, but I’m the one who can bring them back from the dead. If you ask me, I have the greater power, and therefore, the greater true strength.”

Kilgrave looked her over again, more carefully this time, assessing rather than dismissing her. He took a step closer, still seeming not to care for his nakedness as he narrowed his eyes at Rikarah, anger losing out to eagerness in his eyes.

“You know Jessica,” he asserted. “Where is she?”

Rikarah wagged a finger at him playfully, a small smile curving her lips.

“Am I really so uninteresting, that I bring you out of death, and you would forgo all details to chase after another woman? Perhaps I was wrong in my interest in you. Perhaps someone else is more deserving, and you can simply go back to where you were before.”

“Wait, no, that isn’t it, love,” Kilgrave backpedaled, his smile at Rikarah forced at first as he raked a hand through his hair, then more genuine. “Of course I want to know how you managed this, and of course I’m glad for it. And I certainly want to know how it is you don’t listen to a thing I tell you to do,” he muttered, more to himself than to Rikarah, before addressing her again. “But if you know Jessica, then you must know something of our history, and why I would want to know where she is. She’s the one who killed me, you know. She’s the one-“

“That,” Rikarah interrupted, to Kilgrave’s barely contained outrage, “is in the past. The present is right here, with me, in this moment. Choose wisely, Kevin Kilgrave, and choose now, while you still have the choice before you. You can realize that I am no ordinary woman you’re dealing with here, that you owe me your life and your loyalty, and I owe you nothing and cannot be ordered into anything you may want from me. Believe me, I hold no liking for Jessica Jones, and as long as I am the woman who comes first and foremost in your world, I care little for how you choose to play with her. And I am certainly not opposed to letting you know every detail of what you have missed knowing of her life over the past year that you’ve been dust and bones.”

She paused, tilting her head, and gave him a moment to consider, before concluding, “Or you can choose to be foolish, ungrateful, and quite frankly, a bumbling, pathetic corpse, stumbling off on your own in a world that has moved on without you. You would have none of my help or my connections, none of my knowledge, and you would displease me greatly. When and if Jessica Jones kills you again- and she would, you know, if you just pop up on her in her new life without my assistance- then you can be certain I would not lift a finger to bring you back. So, then. What shall it be? I would think the decision obvious, but perhaps you’re not as intelligent as I believed.”

For a moment Kilgrave stood there, motionless, perhaps still in shock, or perhaps genuinely weighing out his obsession with Jessica and his desire for revenge against the logical reasoning of Rikarah’s words. But then he nodded slowly, reaching forward to take hold of Rikarah’s hand in his.

“Well, it would indeed be a fool’s errand to let a woman like you slip out of my grasp. Why don’t we start over with introductions, and perhaps something in the way of an explanation.”

And as Rikarah began to speak, giving Kilgrave some if not all of the answers he craved, she noticed his body relax further, his expression growing more and more fascinated as he came to understand more of the extent of her actions and her power. It wasn’t quite the way, she was sure, that he had looked at Jessica, but for now, it was enough.

It was enough, in fact, that after he had dressed in some of his old clothing and taken time to familiarize himself with Rikarah and her home, that Rikarah was willing to give him the phone number, if not the address, of Jessica’s new workplace, Heroes for Hire. And she sat back, interested and indulgent, as he placed a call, from a cheap prepaid phone she had bought in anticipation of his need for one.

It was Trish who answered, her voice bright and cheerful as the company’s head. “Heroes for Hire, we provide help, heroism, and honorable services for those in need in a time where true heroism is more needed than ever. How can we help you today?”

“Ah, Patsy,” Kilgrave purred, snickering to himself when he heard Trish suck in a sharp breath, immediately recognizing his British accent and self-satisfied tone. “So good to hear a familiar voice, but unfortunately, yours has never been the one I wanted to hear, and you prattle on enough as it is on that bloody talk show of yours. Give the phone to Jessica. Tell her she has a message from an old friend, would you?”

“This isn’t funny,” Trish said tightly, her voice controlled but barely keeping back anger. “Whoever you are, pretending to be that man is not a joke, it’s cruel, and-“

“Ah, but this is no joke, Patsy, can’t you recognize your own would be lover?” Kilgrave asked rhetorically. “Have you had so many men now you can’t remember the voice of all the ones whose throat you stuck your tongue inside of? Let me help you out, then. I’m the one who told you to put a bullet in your head. Fortunately enough for you, that doesn’t appear to have worked out, I never did find out why. Care to explain it to me, Patsy?”

He and Rikarah both heard Trish suck in her breath on the other side of the line. He doubted that this incident in the bunker was something anyone but she, Kilgrave, Simpson, and Jessica were aware of- and out of the four of them, both men were dead. Or supposed to be.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice softer than before. “What do you want?”

“Unfortunately, Patsy, for me to really make you do what I’d like to make you do, you’d have to be a good bit closer to me than a phone call, something about pheromones,” Kilgrave said casually. “But I do have other ways of making you do as I’d like you to. Put Jessica on the phone, or I will have six people show up at her doorstep and cut your name into their own foreheads. If she tries to stop them, they will cut her as well. Is that something you want to have on your conscience, Patsy? For a simple conversation?”

The line went silent for a few moments. When Jessica came onto the line, her voice was hard and cold as steel.

“Who the fuck are you, and just what the fuck do you think you’re doing, playing this kind of sick joke?”

“And hello to you too, Jessie,” Kilgrave exclaimed, putting an exaggerated bounce to his voice. “No joke, you never did have much of a sense of humor to waste any on. I won’t say it’s good to hear from you, since I had to get murdered, raised from the dead, and then still call your sister first and threaten her for you to speak to me, and I must say that hurts a man’s feelings.”

“You’re not him. You can’t be, you’re just some sick asshole who needs to fucking go put his dick in a-“

“Oh, Jessie, I can see your language is as filthy as ever, every bit as appalling as your fashion sense. Let’s cut off all the protests of my supposed death and just check your office email, shall we?”

Five minutes before the phone call, Rikarah had shot a quick video of him smiling and waving into the camera, with the date and time of the video clearly time stamped at its bottom. With a few clicks, he sent the video to the public Heroes for Hire email address, cutting off the call.

“But don’t worry, sweetheart, you’ll hear from me again soon. If you miss me before we meet again, you have the video for comfort’s sake.”

As Kilgrave hung up, glowing with renewed feelings of power over the fear, rage, and helplessness he had stirred anew in the two women he had just spoken to, he sent a genuine smile in Rikarah’s direction, who returned it in kind.

“You know what, I like you, Rikarah Pallaton. I think we’ll get along just fine after all.”

#jessica jones roleplay #Jessica Jones #luke cage roleplay #Luke Cage #trish walker #trish walker roleplay #kilgrave #kilgrave roleplay

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basicjetsetter · 3 years

Text

Part IV

♡ Pairing: Peter Parker x Black!FemaleReader

▹ Warnings: Little angst, Lot of anxiety, Fluff if you squint

▹ Words: 2.8k

▹ A/N: This chapter’s a bit on the short side, but it establishes a lot. Happy reading!

You’re not exactly sure how you pull it off, but you somehow manage to elude Peter for five straight days.

Playing the impromptu game of hide-and-not-be-seen was touch and go for the first two days, mainly because you weren’t sure what time you’d see Peter in the diner’s entrance. All you knew was that he’d show up early, whatever that meant. Almost every chiming bell sent your heart into overdrive, and whenever you thought you saw him, your stomach performed painful somersaults as you mapped out all likely escape routes.

No place in the diner was safe. Hal’s has a pretty simple layout: front entrance, booths to the immediate right, and bar with barstools to the immediate left, all in a shotgun fashion. If one were to try looking for someone, especially from the front entrance, all they’d have to do is marginally widen their field of vision, which is why the first two days were tricky.

The next day after the first run-in, about three hours earlier than his initial arrival, Peter came in through the front door, buddying up with Chris and asking for you.

You were clearing off an unoccupied table, piling dirty plates, when Chris called out, “Hey! How’s it hanging, Peter?” With the stack of dishes still clenched in your hands, you dropped down and crawled under the booth, coming face to face with an unsavory assortment of chewed-up gum underneath the table, holding your breath for dear life. Peter stayed for about ten agonizingly treacherous minutes as Chris failed to locate you.

On the second day, a sluggish Tuesday morning with only four regular patrons at the bar and no one in the booths, Peter had just walked through the entrance as you were coming out of the back, hand-carrying three of Hal’s famous Thin Mint Milkshakes. Without a thought, you spun right around and dashed in the opposite direction, busting through the employee door and colliding straight into Wendy. You’d never seen someone throw such a fit, but then again, you’d be pretty pissed too if someone coated you head-to-toe in milkshake.

That day was… eventful, to say the least, but it gifted you with the best estimate for Peter’s arrivals. Early meant 11:30 a.m. on the dot. Lunch. You tested out the time the next day, waiting behind the employee door and peering out the medium-sized port window. At 11:30 a.m., right on cue, was Peter, dapping Chris and ordering a slice of Banana Cream Pie to-go while also asking for your whereabouts, staying for only half an hour.

He left you a note each time he departed.

Can’t seem to catch you. I’ll try again tomorrow :) – Peter

Is this not a good time for you? I’ll stop by later if you want – Peter

Is everything alright? Text or call anytime you need me. I’ll be there – Peter

From the second note on, you found yourself captivated by his neat little scrawl and the way he always signed his name at the end, as if you’d forget it was him. You’d read them on your way home and right before falling asleep, trying and failing not to picture him smiling at you while you absent-mindedly smiled at his words.

Your friendly boy-next-door is so easy to fall for, but you just can’t do it. You can’t allow yourself to fall. Nobody would be there to pick you back up.

Some nights, you lied awake drafting a message that would effectively convince Peter that things wouldn’t work between you, that you’re a lost cause, and he should probably find some other connection if such a thing exists. But then, unfailingly, you’d think about his concerned little notes and sadly acknowledge that he deserves more than a measly text. After showing up to Hal’s for almost a whole week just to get to know you, Peter deserves the truth.

Your heart is not ready for a Soulmate, and it might not ever be.

By the fifth day, you spend a good chunk of time pondering over the right words to say to Peter while simultaneously hiding in the kitchen, pretending to prepare more fries. You never looked forward to hiding from him, but what other option did you have? Going out there and letting your coworkers and boss know he’s your Soulmate? They wouldn’t shut up about it, especially not Chris, the open romantic.

When your shift ended that day, and you walked up to Chris so he could hand you Peter’s fifth note, he emphatically shook his head.

“On behalf of my new friend, Peter, I can’t in good faith give this to you,” he stated, tucking the folded paper into his back pocket and crossing his arms. “Not until you tell me why you’re dodging him.”

You frowned, crossing your arms too. “It’s really none of your business, Chris.”

“True, but it’s his.” The little dig got to you, making you wince. Chris continued softly, “Look, he won’t tell me what’s up with you two, either. And, trust me, I've asked. It's just... I’m kinda involved now, being the messenger and all, so shouldn’t I know some of the situation?”

“No…?” you hedged.

Chris didn’t budge.

You couldn’t think of a lie on the spot, and a half-truth would only further complicate things. Treading the fine line of what’s too much information and what’s not enough left you frustratingly tongue-tied. What’s specific enough to still be vague? Chris stared at you expectantly with a petulant little lift in his brow, ignoring a customer’s disgruntled calls for a refill in the napkin dispenser.

In the end, you huffed out a resigned breath and hesitantly admitted, “Peter's someone I knew from high school—a really nice guy.” For Chris’s benefit, you added, “He just likes to check up on me every now and then. You know how I don’t get out that much…”

And in a heartbeat, Chris morphed from a tough enquirer to a softened pile of dough, sagely nodding his head as if he knew all too well how reserved you are and how much of a losing battle it is persuading you to venture out. Or maybe it was because he understood how difficult it is to reconnect with people you unwilfully lost touch with for five years.

How everything and everyone fell right back into step with everyday life, like five years was just five minutes, continues to boggle your mind. It’s not normal. You won’t ever pretend that it is.

The disgruntled man shouted, “Can I get any damn service around here?”

Chris immediately broke from the conversation and left you behind the bar, off to go charm the customer’s socks off and earn a nice $10 tip even though he clocked out ten minutes ago.

You went on your way home, the ever-present anxiety of confronting Peter growing by the second.

Hours later, dressed down to your pajamas and reading his words over again, you’re still thinking about it, dread now gnawing on your insides.

You couldn’t even enjoy your newfound peace of mind. Ever since the voice stopped, Peter twined into all of your thoughts: his notes, his visits, his smile, your connection to him. There had to be a reason why destiny paired you. Besides being your Soulmate, what is he to you? What are you to him?

Unrest barred you from sleep for most of the night, and when you woke up the next morning, showered and ready to tackle another day, it hit you.

It’s Saturday—your day off this week—and you’re not scheduled to go back to work until Monday.

You could put off telling him… but what would be the point? It’d only prolong the inevitable. You needed to come clean today.

Picking up your phone, you steadily tap in his memorized cell number, then type:

-Hey Peter, it’s Y/N. Can you come by my place? We need to talk.

Three minutes later, he texts back.

-On my way.

✦ ✧✦ ✧

A nice, early summer breeze billows around you, doing its best to calm down your erratic nerves as you wait for Peter on the roof.

Are you doing the right thing?

Will Peter be okay with this?

What if he isn’t?

You jump out of your skin at the muffled Thwip and sudden appearance of Peter standing a few feet away.

His chestnut hair is windswept, and he’s wearing regular clothes, a faded blue Midtown High hoodie and denim jeans. You weren’t sure why you expected him to come dressed in his suit. It could be because you heard the sound of his web-slinger first and immediately thought of Spider-Man, but it’s more likely that your brain hasn’t connected that they are one and the same. You don’t see Spider-Man when you see him. All you see is Peter.

He’s tense, not moving an inch closer and keeping his shoulders pinched up like he’s on the defense. You can’t guess why he would be.

Gulping down a hard lump lodged in your throat, you stutter, “H-hi.”

He gives you a polite smile that doesn’t reach his sullen eyes. “Hey”

You both begin at the same time.

“Peter, I—”

“Look, Y/N—”

Ice floods your stomach, freezing your veins and squeezing your pounding heart. He has something to say to you? About what? You subtly jerk your head up, signaling for him to speak first.

Peter clears his throat, looks down at his shoes, then back up at you. “I know you’ve been hiding from me.”

“You do?” you squeak, eyes wide.

“Yeah, and it’s okay.”

Your voice hikes an octave. “It is?”

He nods. “Yeah. It’s fine. I get it.” He stops to scratch the back of his neck and dejectedly rambles on, “I’m not the safest person to be around, and it’s all super weird and a lot to take in. Like, a lot. My Aunt May freaked out too when she found out. Anyway, I… I get it if you don’t, y’know, don’t want me.”

“Wait, hold on,” you interrupt, trying to wrap your head around what he said. “You think… you think I don’t want you because you’re Spider-Man?”

“Well, yeah.” He says it like there couldn’t be any other possible reason.

You lower your gaze to the ground, unable to meet his curious gaze. “No, Peter, that’s not it.” Tears prick your eyes, but you fight like hell to keep them from falling. Steeling yourself, you quietly confess, “It’s me. I can’t be your Soulmate because…” A rebellious tear rolls down your cheek. “Because I’m not ready.”

As soon as you spoke the truth out loud, laying yourself and your broken soul bare, you dimly sense the previously severed string quiver deep down inside your chest. It’s the first time you felt it in five years, and it’s not how you remember it. It’s not severed, but it’s not whole either. Its presence only reminds you of what you can’t have, what you aren’t ready for.

In the ensuing quiet, you swipe the tear off your cheek and look at everything except Peter. Yellow tulips are blooming on someone’s balcony in the neighboring apartment building. A handful of fluffy clouds float in the piercing blue sky. An orange tabby cat is sun-bathing in a window.

It’s such a beautiful day. Yet, here you are, struggling not to cry on a roof.

Peter breaks through the silence, murmuring, “To be honest, I’m not ready either.”

“Really?” You ask, a little too hopeful, bringing your eyes back to his. They look so weary yet resolute.

“Yeah. I was actually freaking out that night we met.” He timidly grins, and your heart flips. “I didn’t know what to say, then I screwed up and forgot to ask if you were okay after I had literally just saved you from falling. Not really a glowing first impression.”

Astonishing yourself, you laugh. You couldn’t help it. There was absolutely nothing remotely hilarious about that night, but the way Peter described it, as if it were a blunder solely on his part, was so ridiculous that it was funny. Peter joins in, too, his laugh coming out airy and wondrously addictive. That smile you couldn’t stop thinking about for a whole week brightens his face.

When the laughs fade, Peter soberly says, “Even if we aren’t ready, maybe we can try being friends, just to see where things go? I mean, we were meant to be together for a reason, right? This could be it.”

You unconsciously nibble on your lower lip, considering his proposal. It hadn’t occurred to you that he might want to be friends. Would you want to do that? These days, you aren’t really open to platonic relationships, and Soulmate or not, being in a friendship would require some sort of connection. You don’t like those much.

Be that as it may, Peter seems like the type to respect your many boundaries, and that’s exactly what you would prefer in a friend at the moment. Someone who doesn’t pry. Someone who doesn’t uphold generic expectations. You could go for a diner talk every once in a while.

Besides, it’s just a little friendship. Most are surface level, and some don’t even last a year. What’s the worst that could happen?

You sincerely smile at Peter, wondering about the last time your smiles were sincere, and say, “Okay. Let’s be friends.”

His face radiates joy. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, I think we can do that. But I have a few terms.”

Peter eagerly nods, waiting.

You try not to focus on how his happiness thrills you. “One, don’t tell anyone we’re Soulmates. I don’t really want any of my coworkers to know.”

His smile drops into a sheepish wince. “I kinda already told Ned. But he won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

“That’s okay. It’s mostly my coworkers I’m worried about,” you reassure. You weren’t going to berate him for telling his best friend. If things were different, you’d have done the same. “Two, don’t ask me to hang out with your other friends. I don’t do big friend circles.”

“Got it,” he militantly nods again. “It’s mostly just Ned and me anyway.”

“And three,” your grin broadens. “If Chris asks you what’s going on between us, be super vague.”

“Done.” He smirks back at you, then extends his hand. “Friends?”

When your hand touches his, and you shake on it, the warmth of his palm thaws out all your remaining anxiety. “Friends.”

✦ ✧✦ ✧

When Monday rolls around, a tiny ball of doubt weighs you down.

It’s not that you were afraid of talking to Peter. You were actually looking forward to getting to know him now that you officially became friends. It’s the future you’re stuck on. What happens if you get too attached to this friendship and want more? What if friendship is all he wants? What if it’s the other way around?

If you were honest with yourself, you’d know which way the gage is leaning, and it’s not in your favor.

You’re cleaning off the bar top when Peter comes in, doing his usual greeting with Chris before settling down on a barstool in front of you. He’s a little high strung, leaning his chin on his hand, then thinking against it, only to do it again. It was oddly comforting to know that he was overthinking too.

The corners of your lips tug up in a soft smile. “Hi, Peter.”

Your face warms as he smiles back. “Hey, Y/N.”

Chris barges in, leaning his elbows on the bar top and gaping incredulously at you and Peter. “Woah, woah, woah! Did I miss something? Since when are you two speaking in public?”

Peter checks his watch. “About thirty-seven seconds ago.”

“Oh, come on, dude. At least tell me what happened.”

You and Peter share a knowing look like two conniving co-conspirators sharing an inside joke, and you giggle as Chris huffs in annoyance. He glumly storms off when you two stay hushed, muttering, “Fine, next time you need a middle-man, count me out.”

“Does he hold grudges?” Peter asks after Chris walks out of earshot.

You’re still shaking with giggles. “Not at all. He’ll be back to his happy self in less than an hour.”

Peter only stays at Hal’s for twenty-five minutes, but they were the funniest and most intriguing twenty-five minutes you ever worked.

The conversation began slowly at first, but each question loosened the formalities. Peter asked about easy things: when did you get into art, when did you start working at Hal’s, and when was your birthday, all while digging into his slice of pie. He caught on fast enough to know the topic of parents was off-limits, and he thankfully chose to stay away from any talk of the blip.

When you asked him questions, he was open and responsive, jumping at the chance to talk about his passion for bio-sciences and Star Wars, sometimes covertly mentioning some of the duties he has a Spider-Man. Not a minute was wasted. You talked while serving customers and cleaning tables, keeping up the joke of staying quiet when Chris tried to meddle.

It all turned out smoother than you expected. Almost too smooth, and you’re not sure if that’s good or bad.

You are sure about one thing, though. You like having Peter as a friend.

...

Part V

#peter parker #peter parker x black!reader #peter parker x reader #spider-man x black!reader #spider-man x reader #soulmate au #post endgame #pre far from home #peter parker soulmate au #peter parker angst #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fanfic #marvel fanfic #black!reader #slow burn #how to trust a heart #peter parker fluff

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 3 years

Text

Resol’nare - Part Seven

A/N: This part has a lot of bits that I have been excited to share. There are a lot of pieces of my own HCs in here, as well as a few plot hint crumbs that I’ve had fun developing, so I hope you guys enjoy this one! (Also sorry it was late- we got power back late last night and I was too lazy to post after making dinner. oops. Don’t worry, I already formatted eight so this won’t happen again next week) Also, also... Fennec and Boba are fun to write :)

*this story will regularly be using words in Mando’a. for a good list of references click here.*

Summary: The Mandalorian makes the journey back to Tatooine to take care of some things back at the covert after his run in with Navina on Nevarro. More is revealed about the goings on in the upper levels of Boba Fett’s complex, we learn what he and Fennec are up to, as well as a little more about how things are run below. And we finally hear what Bo-Katan has been itching to tell him.

Warnings: descriptions of violence, death, talk of manipulating kids (if you’re unsure feel free to ask)

Word Count: 5.6k

Tatooine.

The suns were sinking into the Dune Sea by the time he pulled Peli’s rental speeder into one of the hidden bays at the rocky base of Fett’s palace complex. There were three other occupied spaces, leaving just the one to his left empty. A quick scan of the vehicles that were there told him immediately who wasn’t. Fennec. Hers was the easiest to recognize. She had painted it a heavy matte black, accented with a weblike design of crisscrossing red lines. It wasn’t inconspicuous but she didn’t want or need it to be. If one of her targets saw her speeder and made the connection, it was already too late for them to turn and run. She liked knowing that they felt some modicum of fear or at the very least panic in the seconds before she struck, and he couldn’t blame her. They had it coming.

For too long the scum that she and Boba were after had run nefarious crime rings that preyed on scared, young kids with nowhere else in the galaxy to turn. It was how they’d both ended up in their line of work, Boba swept into a life of violent instability in the aftermath of his father’s death, and Fennec developing a kind of admiration and a misplaced feeling of owing her employers for rescuing her from being sold to a brothel as a child. The slime had wasted no time in manipulating her, taking that gratitude and twisting it into something ugly and sinister, crafting her into a sniper, a trained, leashed killer, trading one horrible outcome for another. By the time she realized how trapped she truly was, the price on her own head had climbed so high it had very nearly gotten her killed.

He winced thinking back to when he’d found her crumpled form in the sand. His thoughts had flashed so quickly to Grogu, to getting back to where he was and ensuring his safety, that he had only given Fennec a cursory check for any signs of life. Had Fett not been tracking the Mandalorian in search of his father’s armor, the woman would have died there in the desert. But the grizzled wanderer had found her, and saving the assassin from the brink of oblivion had given both of them a second chance. Fennec had been freed from the things that held her feet to the flames, and Boba had been given a reason to care for someone other than himself. He may have never been in any real peril on Tatooine- Not even in that pit if how I’ve seen him fight is any indication of how he handled that Sarlacc- but two souls were saved that day regardless. Though they worked as a pair and while Fennec deferred to Fett at first, she gave him her loyalty because she chose to, not because she was made to, and he gave her his respect because she had proven herself to be just as resilient as he was.

Now, having taken the palace from the Hutt crime family and rooted out their presence on the planet, the two child killers turned vigilantes had started working on the galaxy’s other crime rings. Their sights were currently set on the Black Sun syndicate, and they had been working on picking away at one of their strongholds in Ord Mantell City, dispatching those who gave them no new information immediately, and freezing and bringing anyone who might have something useful to share back to the complex on Tatooine. Karga and the Bounty Hunter’s Guild on Nevarro had even been helping them, and more than a handful of the Mandalorians from the new covert had offered their assistance as a way to repay Boba and Fennec for providing them the space. Yes, they were taking the law into their own hands, but he had seen time and again how easily the New Republic could be made to look the other way, so he had no personal or moral objections to what they were doing.

And so far they had brought three children under the age of thirteen back to the covert. The kids were being held captive as leverage so that the Black Sun leaders could keep control over their parents, often threatening them with things unspeakable should they refuse to do what their bosses required of them. The youngest was no more than five. After they’d been fed and tended to by the Healer and given a place to rest in the tunnels below, Woves one of the Mandalorians he’d first met on Trask, had set out to get in touch with the guardians of the rescued children. Since joining the cause to unite the clans, Axe had become increasingly interested in participating in educating and caring for the covert’s children, even assisting the Instructor in teaching new sparring techniques or sharing the perspective of someone who had grown up on Mandalore when it came to more cultural or historical lessons. Though he’d tried to make contact multiple times using the information that he had on the children- only their names and home planets- just the two older boys had been claimed by living relatives.

The smallest, a girl barely reaching the top of Woves’ boot, didn’t seem to have anyone anywhere. Though he continued to try to locate the child’s kin, everyone knew it was only a matter of time before the Armorer was presiding over the gai bal manda, the man who had once been one of Bo-Katan’s most feared fighters kneeling in front of the entire Tribe and swearing to protect and raise the child as a warrior, as a member of his clan. As his own.

Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad. I know your name as my child. Grogu.

He felt a tug in his chest, just behind his rib cage as he dismounted the speeder, those big round eyes blinking at him from beneath that wrinkled green forehead and those over large ears filling his thoughts before he could guard himself. With a sigh, he wished for what could have been the hundredth time that he had been given the chance to take that vow, swear those words… Raise my son.

Slinging his bag across his body and ensuring that the Darksaber’s hilt was clipped firmly to his belt with one hand, the other went to one of the leather pouches at his waist. Without needing to look, he pulled the small silver ball from its designated spot, spinning it twice between his thumb, index and middle fingers. We’ll see each other again. I promise. The metal sphere slipped smoothly in his gloved grasp, the object giving him comfort. It was something tangible, a link to the thing he carried in his heart for the child that had upended his entire world. Bo-Katan might understand Woves’ choice if she… He let out another breath and tucked the ball away. But all she can see is Mandalore.

The sharp-eyed, orange- haired heiress was not too keen on her former companion’s sudden calling towards child rearing, but swearing an adoption vow, promising to care for a foundling, was such an integral part of Mandalorian beliefs, of The Way, that she knew better than to try to talk him out of it. She would lose any credibility that she had as a leader if any of the others caught wind of that. She still had Reeves, and Hast, one of the few that had made it off of Nevarro, had also volunteered to help her search for other hidden coverts and lone stragglers in the far reaches of the Outer Rim, on the quiet, often overlooked planets in the Mid Rim, in the corrupt and crowded cities of the Core Worlds. And if she wanted more help I’m sure there are others who would go.

He cringed, tilting his chin down to glance at the innocuous looking object knocking against the beskar tasset covering his left thigh with every step towards the tunnels he took. If she wanted, I could… He reached across his body to wrap his hand around the sword's grip. It still felt strange. Unnatural. I could order others to join her mission. Dropping it as soon as the thought crossed his mind, it hit the beskar beneath it with a loud clang that echoed in the dark passages that connected the speeder bay to the main hall. Leadership in a fight, in a battle, in negotiations, while all still outside of what he would have chosen for himself, were things that he could get his head around. But making demands? Setting punishments and enforcing laws? It was the things that ran in that vein of what it meant to be the Mand’alor that gave him the most pause now that the Armorer had assuaged some of his other doubts regarding the title that had been thrust upon him, unwanted.

Thing after thing. Loss after loss. Responsibility after responsibility. That had been his life for nearly four decades, and it didn’t seem like his burdens would be getting lighter any time soon. For the first time since he left Nevarro two days before, he thought of the woman he’d run into there, whose stolen vambraces he was bringing back to be reforged. Navina. Though he’d only spent a few hours with her he had picked up the impression that difficult trials and heavy hardships followed her wherever she went, too. He wondered if that was uniquely Mandalorian, or if there were others who understood the same level of loneliness that sometimes came when such strength was constantly required of a being. She had spoken of her clan; of losing her mother and being separated from her father and the foundling that her family had taken in, not knowing after all that time if they were still alive. He knew the odds and she seemed clever enough to know them, too, and though he had sympathy for her, it also made him feel less like he was alone in struggling to carry an ungainly load. I have to remember to ask the others about her father… Harsa. That was the name.

There were several things he had to do on this trip, asking about Navina’s family name just the latest addition to the list. After promising the Armorer on his last visit that he would begin training with the Darksaber, he knew that he would be spending at least two sessions with the Weapons Master, learning how to wield the legendary black blade. We’ll start with the beskad, though. He was firm in that and he knew that no one would argue with him. He wanted to check in with Fett, make sure that the arrangement was still working and that the man didn’t need anything from him. He had no doubt though, that if the man running things topside had any issues, he wouldn’t hold them back, not hesitating to contact the Mandalorian directly to launch his complaints. His directness was one of the things that he liked most about Boba, and one of the reasons that he had been so quick to trust him. I hope he’s free now. I’d rather start there then…

The last thing that he absolutely could not leave the planet without doing, was meeting with Bo-Katan for a debrief on the recruiting efforts and to begin discussing tactics for reclaiming their ancestral homeland. Hers, anyway. She wasn’t happy that he had put it off for as long as he had, but again, he knew that she wouldn’t voice her displeasure for fear of the optics of disagreeing with the Mand’alor. Politics. His top lip curled at the thought that he would have to get good at knowing how to keep people on his side, even when he knew that their endgames were slightly out of alignment with his. Maybe she’s in the sparring hall now. He knew that she spent hours training with Reeves and Hast whenever she came back to the covert, and he hoped that was where she was now.

If he was being entirely honest, something about her still didn’t sit well with him, but he knew that he didn’t have to like everyone to work with them.

Striding the last few steps through the winding passage, he finally reached the plain stone archway, a circular splotch of light from one of the torches visible on the other side of it. Two helmeted Mandalorians stood guard, but moved aside as soon as they saw the signet on his shoulder and the Darksaber on his belt.

“Olarom yaim, Mand’alor.” The shorter of the two spoke with a nod, welcoming him home in a voice that cracked too adolescently for the modulator in the newly sworn fighter’s helmet to hide. A kid. He recalled the first few years after he’d finished his required training in the Fighting Corps, the cockiness, the harsh lessons that no amount of studying or practicing in the sparring hall could prepare him for. He’s just a kid.

It was different though, the way that Mandalorians allowed Tribe members to swear additional oaths inducting them into the elite group of warriors at seventeen, than what the syndicates did, how they inducted their young members. We learn and train our whole lives for it. Understand what we’re agreeing to. Not like… He swallowed a sudden spike of rage at the thought that the quiet, innocent child that was likely still latched to Woves’ right leg would have otherwise ended up raised to be a mercenary -or worse- for the Black Sun. But she won’t now.

“Thank you,” he responded to the young guard cursing himself for forgetting the Mando’a translation. I need to do better with that. Again he felt his thoughts backtracking to Navina and the way that he’d heard several Mando’a words roll easily off of her tongue. Maybe she can… when we meet again in a few weeks, maybe she can help me with… He sighed. There was a long list of things he needed to talk to her about when he saw her next, just like the list of things that awaited him at the top of the staircase he was currently climbing. He wanted to know more about her pendant, about the seam they had found in the metal that hinted at a modification that was made well after the piece had been crafted that would allow the Mythosaur to hold the peculiar stone that shone purple. He wanted to know more about what had prompted her family to leave Concordia, why they were running and why they’d had to separate. He wanted to know anything that he could from her and any other Mandalorians he encountered that might help him be the Mand’alor that the young guardsman and everyone else in the covert seemed to think that he was.

As soon as he ascended the last few steps though, his thoughts were interrupted by a heavy arm falling around his shoulder. “Still in one piece then, Mand’alor?”

Boba Fett’s gruff, gravely voice was oddly comforting, and he knew that he was likely one of maybe two people who thought that. He returned the one armed thunk that he supposed the other man took for a hug. “Seems that way.” The man’s heavily scarred face pulled up into a jagged looking grin, the expression almost jarring on such a serious visage, but then a rumbling chuckle came out and took the smile with it, leaving his features in their natural scowl. “Everything alright here?”

The Mandalorian followed Fett through the large main hall, past the stone slab throne that he only occupied when passing judgement on those that he and Fennec brought back once any useful information could be wrung from them, and through to the long table that had been brought in for strategy meetings and sharing information with the Bounty Hunter’s Guild and others who agreed to offer help. “Everything’s fine,” he said with a grunt, gesturing flippantly with one hand, pulling a chair out from the table with the other. “The Princess wasn’t too thrilled when she found out she’d have to wait for you, but tell me, Mandalorian, is that woman ever truly happy about anything?”

He had never so much as seen her smile. Pulling out a chair of his own, he simply shrugged. It seemed unlikely. “I’ll meet with her as soon as we’re through here.” Fett nodded. “I had… urgent business on Nevarro.”

“Urgent?” One eyebrow rose on the man’s forehead.

“Yes, I met another Mandalorian, only she was,” he tilted his head to the side as the image of Navina’s silver-gray eyes staring at him through her shattered visor flashed in his mind. “Different.”

Boba answered with another gruff chuckle as he reached for the jug of spotchka that was never too far away. “Different, was she?” He took a long pull, the remnants of his teasing laugh still there when he lowered the jug and swiped the back of his free hand across his mouth.

What? No, that’s- He leaned forward, elbows on the stone surface as he made a quick slicing motion with one hand. “No. That’s not what I meant.”

It wasn’t. But as he dropped his palms back to the tabletop, he could recall the way it felt when he’d gripped her biceps, shaking her from her dreams. He had been concerned that she would hurt herself or more inconveniently, break one of the controls in the cockpit with the way she was thrashing in her sleep. But what he remembered now, hands flat before him, was how it felt to make contact with her skin, even if it was just through the thick padding of his gloves. He pressed his thumb down hard on the table like he had pressed it into the crease of her bent arm, squeezing the muscle there to get her attention. She felt strong and warm and solid and he almost held onto her for too long, caught up in the feel of another body beneath his hands. That isn’t what I meant.

He cleared his throat and went on. “She hasn’t sworn the Creed, but she carries out the traditions, she can fight, knows things about Mandalorian history-“ he looked up at the man across from him, Fett abandoning his ribbing to regard the Mandalorian seriously. “She had a helmet and a dagger made of pure beskar.”

“And you’re sure she’s not a thief?”

Technically she is. But she didn’t steal the helmet or the kal. She didn’t steal the pendant. “They belonged to her parents.” He explained what the woman had told him about how her family had been split up- how she had known for a fact that her mother had been killed, but that since it had been years since she’d seen her father or the other child in her family, she had no way of knowing if they were still alive. “She… she asked me to spread word here at the covert, in case anyone knows where to find her father. Harsa. His name is Gavil Harsa.”

Boba shrugged. “Don’t know any Harsa. But then, I’m no Mandalorian either. Your different girl and I have that in common.”

She’s not my-

But before he could protest what had just been said, voices from the same entrance he had come through caught his and Boba’s attention, the other man standing as Fennec’s dry, smirking tone could be heard greeting the guard at the door. “You’re back.” He stated, opening his arms wide, his voice booming across the otherwise empty space. “What took so long?” He dropped his arms as Fennec maneuvered a carbonite block through the doorway.

She cocked her head in the direction of the hardened, frozen slab containing what could have been any number of humanoid species, their features completely indiscernible but clearly contorted in terror. “Ixon here didn’t want to come quietly.” She turned to pull the block the rest of the way through, the unit hovering weightless and only needing her guidance for direction. “It was actually quite a workout.” She grinned. “For him.” Fett let out another gravelly laugh as Fennec turned her attention to the Mandalorian. “Mando,” she smiled and used one hand to push her long black braid behind her. “Good to see you.”

“Fennec,” he nodded a greeting. “You’ve been busy, I see.”

“Nothing for the Mand’alor to worry about,” she winked, shoving the block containing Ixon more roughly than necessary. “Just dealing with the trash.” She winked as she walked through, waving off Boba when he tried to assist her. “I’ll handle this one on my own.” She patted the side of the unit with an almost malicious gleam in her dark eyes. “It’s personal.”

“I’d pity him if he weren’t walking slime,” Boba offered her the spotchka jug but she declined with a flick of her wrist.

“He might not be walking when I’m done.” She gave the block another shove towards a door on the other side of the large room, her lips lifting in a quick snarl. “See you around, Mando,” she called over her shoulder, disappearing with Ixon, not waiting for a response.

“They say if you love your job you never work a day in your life,” he clapped a large meaty palm on the Mandalorian’s arm. “And Shand loves her new job.” That much is obvious. “Speaking of jobs, Mand’alor,” he gestured with his jug towards another set of stairs that led to the tunnels that the covert was using, the blue liquid sloshing gently as he did. “I’m sure yours is calling.”

He stiffened. “Yes.”

The man, gnarled by life and the things that had tried to drag him from it, set the jug down then. “Taking that planet back… well, you know what I think there.” I do. From first mention, he had not held back his opinion of the mission. “But bringing this many Mandalorians together under one roof? And they haven’t killed each other yet? I know you didn’t ask for this but,” he narrowed his eyes. “That’s no small feat.”

It was as close to true praise as Boba Fett had likely ever bestowed upon anyone, and he knew that. It was also the truth. He thanked the man and crossed the room to yet another doorway that led to a different set of stairs. This time though, as he shifted the bag on his shoulder, the metal pieces inside clanging together, he did not stop on the landing and wait to pass off the reclaimed beskar to a middleman. This time, he continued down the second set that brought him to the forge.

It was quiet, the Armorer taking a rare break from her unending task of providing the best protection and defenses that she could for her people. As a child it was easy for him to forget that there was a human beneath that pointed gold helmet. Her understated power, the sparks that flew frantically from her hammer, the ability she possessed to craft such stunning objects all contributed to the almost mythological status that he and the other small children regarded her with. He still admired and respected her and held her in higher esteem than anyone else in the covert, he knew that even the Armorer needed to eat, needed rest, needed to give her own ears a reprieve from the ringing of her tools battering hot metal.

Entering the room for the first time since the covert relocated to Tatooine, he gave himself time to take the space in. Slowly turning his head he scanned over the work table, all of the tools neatly arrayed, each one clean and sharp and shining, each one a weapon in its own right. The forge itself was unlit, the mouth that usually spat fire simply open in a gaping yawn, but as he ran his hand over it he felt the residual heat that never completely faded. He wondered if what was left of the forge back on Nevarro still retained any warmth.

Drawing his hand back, he stepped over to the small table that the Armorer used for meeting with the recipients of her work. Reaching into his bag, he took the vambraces that Navina had surrendered and set them on the surface between the two empty stools, leaving them for when the Armorer returned to her duty. She’ll know what to do. And where they came from. He would return to the forge the next morning to speak with her in more detail about the items’ provenance, and also to spread Navina’s family name to the member of the Tribe who was most likely to know it. He gave the room one last scan, slowly turning his head so that he could see it all through the eyeline of his visor, then left, continuing on with his own list of responsibilities.

A handful of the covert’s children, some in the second hand helmets of the older ones, others belonging to clans that didn’t cover their faces at all times displaying smudges of dirt across round cheeks, were gathered in the widest portion of the hall. Engaged in some game that he likely played himself at that age, they shrieked and laughed and jumped. The kid would love it here. He could easily picture Grogu waddling into the group of young Mandalorians and fitting in without a problem, and he hoped that he had other children to be a child with while he underwent his Jedi training.

Continuing on and following the fork to the left, he headed next for the sparring hall. Unlike the forge, it was not empty. He could already hear the sound of practice staffs clashing, and the Instructor’s voice calling out advice to his trainees. One of the fighters grunted as they lunged or swung, and he knew right away from the sound that it was Bo-Katan, the heavy footsteps he heard suggesting that she was training with Hast.

Since she was occupied at present, he stopped at the door beside the entrance to the sparring hall to arrange sessions with the Weapons Master. The man seemed pleased that the Mand’alor was ready to start working with the beskad in preparation for the Darksaber, and gave him his choice of available times for one on one training. Slating himself for three instead of the two he had planned on, he thanked the man and, with nothing left to do to push it off any longer, he entered the sparring hall and prepared to speak with Bo-Katan.

She was still locked in a battle with Hast, the hulking man nearly twice her size but incredibly nimble for his weight and width. Blocking a swing of her opponent’s staff, the helmetless woman gritted her teeth and gripped her own weapon, holding it horizontally in front of her chest to take the force of the blow. Her feet slid back but she dug them in and gave a strong shove. Staffs still connected, the push set Hast off his balance just enough for her to turn the staff and whip it down and behind the man as he tried to regain his footing. In a sweeping blur she used it to take his legs out from under him, and he fell hard to the ground. Following all the way through to the finishing position, Bo-Katan flipped her staff around, jabbing it a few inches from Hast’s helmet, signifying her victory.

It was impressive, but the Mandalorian knew that she was a skilled fighter, having seen her in live battle. She extended a hand to help Hast up, then turned towards the entrance. “You’re here.” It sounded almost skeptical, and he noticed the tiny twitch of her brow, hardly any sweat beading there after her workout. “Back from your,” she passed the staff behind her to Hast who took both of them back to the wall, the Instructor stowing them on their pegs. “From your urgent business?”

He’d been expecting her to be upset, so the bite in her tone wasn’t a shock. “Yes.” He answered simply, not willing to allow her annoyance to spark his own. “I’m ready to discuss plans with you.”

Her eyes narrowed, lips pressed together in a thin line as though that was the only thing keeping her frustration in. She swallowed, then let out a short breath and gestured toward the door. “Shall we, then?”

The Mandalorian nodded and once she’d thanked the Instructor and Hast for the session, she followed him out into the hallway, the two heading for one of the smaller halls that had been designated for closed door meetings. “Thank you, for your patience.” He knew that she hadn’t been patient, but that she wanted it to seem like she had. “I had things to tend to, but I’ll be here for about two weeks, and I,” he opened the door to the room, letting her in before him and then closing it after he entered. Letting out a small sigh that he knew she wouldn’t be able to hear, he continued. “Aside from training with the Weapons Master I can spend as much time as necessary working with you.”

Her cheek jumped as she gave a quick smile that was more of a forced smirk. “Well, that’s great news.” Pulling out a chair, she gestured for him to do the same, which he did. “Because we have a lot to discuss.”

She went on to tell him that she, Hast and Koska Reeves had come back with ten adult Mandalorians from a covert located in the Mid Rim, and four children that had been part of their clans. There were a few that had chosen not to come back to Tatooine, but he and the others had all agreed that no one would be forced into joining them, that it was a decision only they could make for themselves. Still, adding fourteen to the Tribe in just one trip was something of note. For most of his life he had thought that his kind were far closer to extinction than they were. It was encouraging to see their numbers grow after so much time spent thinking that they were alone, and he hoped it gave the others that joined them there that same feeling of hope. That even if the quest to take back Mandalore were to fail, they would still have a safe place there where they didn’t have to hide in the shadows and only gather in groups of twenty or fewer. At least they were united now. At least they had a home.

She went on to tell him about the old rebel base they had heard about on the remains of Concord Dawn, a planet in the Mandalore System that had all but been destroyed in the centuries of warfare that plagued that portion of the galaxy. Largely uninhabitable, and missing nearly a third of its mass, the planet had been abandoned ages ago. But it’s proximity to Mandalore made it a good candidate to set up a base of their own once the battle for their planet began. She outlined what would be needed in terms of weapons, fortifications and troops, and stated that once they had acquired and allotted the required supplies, she would like to accompany him on a trip to Concord Dawn so that he could see it for himself before the base was established.

Agreeing to all of this, he listened as she laid out her plans for obtaining what was needed, giving her another two hours of his time before exhaustion started setting in so heavily that he wouldn’t have been able to listen to much more even if it was the most interesting topic in the universe. Assuring her that they could pick up where they left off the next morning, he excused himself from the small room and headed for the chamber that he always slept in when he was at the covert.

He didn’t know why, but as he removed his helmet he thought again of the woman he met on Nevarro, and how he was about to begin a war to take back her home planet. Unbuckling the rest of his armor piece by piece and laying it out to be polished and cleaned, he wondered if she would ever go back to the place she was born once they had won it back, or if their own traditions would make her feel unwelcome there. Frowning, he hoped that wouldn’t be the case, that he would help build the kind of society that welcomed anyone who was an ally, whether or not they swore an oath. Would she take the creed? Pulling the breastplate cuirass over his head, he wondered if it was even something she would want to do. She said she wasn’t given the chance… what if she was?

Shaking his head to clear her from his thoughts, he finished taking care of his armor for the evening, focusing on the lightness in his limbs that came from removing all that weight, and sunk into the mattress, finding sleep as soon as his eyes closed.

But the head shake hadn’t cleared her completely, his dreams tinged with purple light and the echo of her name.

Thank you for reading! Please feel free to let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the tags! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor @alraedesigns @pheedraws @valkblue @malionnes @gollyderek

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imaginedhaven · 4 years

Text

Rules of Engagement: Chapter Fourteen

Link to Masterpost

Another day, another chapter! These words have been fighting to get onto the page for so long they’re just flying by now that it’s their time. I hope you enjoy.

~*~*~

“So, let me get this straight,” Aedion drawled as he watched Whitethorn pace around the room.

He had to fight a grin as the warrior growled. “What could possibly be so difficult for you to comprehend?”

“Well, let’s start with the fact that you visited my cousin in the night, knowing full well she had already promised herself to someone else.” He knew, of course, that Aelin had ended things with Dorian weeks ago, but watching the color leave Whitethorn’s face was well worth the lie of omission. Before the warrior could say anything in his defense, Aedion carried on. “You have some sort of interaction with her you won’t discuss further. You leave in a hurry, but return to her room later, and she and her belongings have mysteriously vanished.”

“Yes,” Whitethorn snarled.

Aedion bit back a laugh as he watched Whitethorn resume his pacing. “And what, precisely, do you intend for me to do about it? Sounds to me like you’ve created this situation yourself.”

“You’re being too hard on him,” Lysandra called from the next room.

“Am I? He’s admitted to having some sort of late night encounter with my dear cousin, and botching it to the point that she runs away. I don’t think I’m being too hard at all.”

Whitethorn growled at him, exposing elongated canines before opening his mouth to speak, but Aedion simply lifted a hand to demand his silence. “Luckily for you,” he continued, “I have information that you don’t.”

He finally laughed as he watched the warrior freeze. “What information?”

“It doesn’t feel nearly as good to be the one without all the details, does it?” Aedion grinned.

“Play nicely!” called Lysandra.

Aedion sighed and shook his head. “First of all,” he revealed, “I know that Aelin ended things with Dorian almost three weeks ago now. The prince is due to make it public today.”

Whitethorn’s eyes widened. “She did?”

“She did. I’m not certain why she didn’t see fit to tell you, other than the fact that she’s been complaining to my mate about you avoiding her.” A pointed accusation to be sure, but Aedion had to admit he wasn’t feeling especially generous. They had bonded to an extent, certainly, but the male in front of him had just admitted to hurting his beloved cousin. He wasn’t going to make it easy for him to win back her affections.

The guilt that crossed Whitethorn’s face brought him some satisfaction in that regard. “I had orders, though that isn’t much of an excuse.”

“The second thing I know,” Aedion said instead of directly addressing the remark, “is that Aelin never intended to marry Dorian in the first place, nor he her.”

That particular fact wasn’t especially relevant to the current situation, but Aedion had to admit he was reveling in seeing such shock on Whitethorn’s face. It wasn’t every day that someone got to surprise a centuries-old blood-sworn fighter of Queen Maeve’s, after all.

Whitethorn’s shock faded to a contemplative frown, and Aedion knew the warrior would be piecing together any evidence he happened to have witnessed. Before he could get too far, though, Aedion had one final piece of information to reveal. “The final piece of information I have and you don’t is Aelin’s current location.”

Green eyes turned to him in a fierce glare. “You’ve known where she was this entire time,” he growled.

“Yes,” he admitted. “And my task was to stall you long enough that you couldn’t stop her, which I’ve done splendidly.”

“Stop her from what, exactly?” A part of Aedion noted Whitethorn’s obvious anger with a thrill of fear; the male was a highly capable warrior, after all, and with his magic as well Aedion wasn’t confident he could actually win a serious fight between them.

That being said, another part of him was delighted that he currently held power in the form of information, and that he had the ability to rile someone so famed for his foul but consistent disposition. With that in mind, Aedion launched one final barb. “I’m certain you could figure it out, if you took your time. Unless, of course, there’s more than one thing you know she could do that you would feel… compelled… to stop her from doing.”

The word was a hint that was far from subtle, and Rowan Whitethorn was no fool. As Aedion watched, he sat down hard in a nearby chair, eyes wide. “She’s going to Maeve.”

It wasn’t a question, but he responded regardless. “She is. Lysandra is to go back to Orynth in her place, disguising herself as Aelin until she reaches the border. I’ve sent letters ahead of us to Terrasen, to let the regent know of Aelin’s side trip. I am to follow behind her, now that it won’t raise suspicion and now that we’re unlikely to catch her before she reaches Doranelle.”

“And you let her?” Whitethorn demanded, incredulous. “Are you insane? Nothing good can come of the two of them meeting.”

“Yes to your first question, the second is debatable. And Aelin seems to think something good can come of it.” Aedion finally relented, letting his own expression soften. “But she can’t do it alone. I’m to follow her on the next ship to Wendlyn. Are you coming with me?”

“Of course I’m coming with you,” Whitethorn replied, no hesitation in his voice. “But before we do this, there’s something you should know. I don’t want your surprise to be a hindrance should a certain situation arise.”

“What is it that you think I should know?”

Aedion frowned as he caught a glimmer of regret in Whitethorn’s eyes. “I know who your father is, and we may come across him on our way to Maeve.”

Aedion’s world came to a grinding halt.

~*~*~

Aelin slipped off of the ship and into Wendlyn with a sigh of relief. She hadn’t been overly seasick on the journey, which she supposed was a relief, but she had kept to her cabin regardless out of a desire to remain as anonymous as possible. After all, Aelin Galathynius, Crown Princess of Terrasen, would attract undue attention.

Celaena Sardothien, the eccentric assassin, however, was someone from whom everyone kept their distance.

It was just as well, really. Aelin didn’t particularly want to talk to anyone on the voyage anyway. She had to maintain her focus on her plan. Instead, she had focused on the physical fitness drills Aedion had taught her so long ago and on sharpening the knives she had brought. If the other passengers thought her distant and cold, well, that was so much the better. The wildfire running through her veins was not intended for them.

Varese was several days’ travel from the port at which she’d landed, but some quick negotiations bought her a horse and food enough for the journey. She kept the hood of her cloak up for the entirety of the trip, both to maintain relative anonymity and to keep the hot rays of the sun away from her face.

She had heard that this land, the land of her mother’s family, was far warmer than the mountains to which she was accustomed. She had presumed it would be roughly equivalent to the summer days of Rifthold, if she gave the matter any thought at all. She had been terribly mistaken; the heat and humidity threatened to overwhelm her at the height of each day, forcing her to veer away from the road and seek shade and water for herself and for her mount.

It might have been easier to simply turn south and ride for Doranelle directly. It certainly would have taken less time. However, she had a favor to ask and a message to ensure the royal family of Wendlyn received, and so to Varese she went.

As she neared the city walls, she took a deep breath to steel her nerves. My name is Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, she reminded herself, and I will not be afraid.

She reminded herself of this again as guards surrounded her at the city gate.

For all her nerves, though, the Ashryver line was well-loved in their own capital city. One look at her face and at her eyes, the turquoise-and-gold shared across most of her maternal line, and she was quickly ushered into a side room. “You’ve been expected,” a guard told her as she was left in a room with wine and some sort of flatbread.

Several minutes later, the door opened, and Aelin turned her attention to the room’s newest entrant.

But for their eyes, it would have been nearly impossible to tell that Galan Ashryver was of any relation to her. His dark hair and olive skin were far better suited to the climate of his homeland, whereas her pale complexion and golden hair fit her mountain home. But the Ashryver line produced turquoise eyes ringed with gold in most of its heirs, and when her gaze met his she saw the shared heritage.

Aelin stood and bowed slightly, wishing she had thought to bring finer clothes than her riding leathers. “Cousin, it is a great pleasure to meet at long last.”

Rather than stand on formalities, Galan pulled her into an embrace. “Well met, cousin, though I wish you had better news to bring me.”

Aelin smiled thinly. “There is hope yet,” she said. “I bring the proof I mentioned, along with confirmation that the Havilliards stand behind my actions thus far as well as those yet to come. I did not have time to hear from the Queen of the Wastes or the royal family of Eyllwe before my journey to you began, though I am certain that if you were to converse with Prince Dorian Havilliard he will have confirmation soon.”

As she watched, Galan skimmed through the papers she produced, brow furrowed in thought. “This certainly does seem compelling,” he murmured. “Though it concerns me that this was forgotten so long ago, if it is indeed true.”

“My greatest wish is that I am proven incorrect about the worst of my suspicions, though there is certainly much that needs to be answered regardless. I ride south to speak to our dear aunt, as quickly as possible.”

“You plan to ask her directly?”

“I do. If she can answer to my satisfaction, there need not be further action. And if our worst fears are realized…” She called one of her flames to appear in her hand, twining around her wrist like a bracelet before disappearing. She grinned up at her cousin. “I can take care of myself.”

Galan’s eyes widened. “So the reports of you inheriting Brannon’s power are true,” he remarked, “though your control is far better than reported.”

“I’ve spent a great deal of the past months improving my control,” she replied. “I’ve ignored my heritage for far too long, it would seem.”

Her cousin sighed and set the papers aside. “As you certainly know, I cannot give you the full approval of the crown of Wendlyn. That honor resides with my father still.”

Aelin nodded; she had suspected as much.

“However,” he continued, “I have full command of Wendlyn’s armies. I hope they will not be needed in this situation, but if the need arises I will aid you however I can.”

She smiled and stood. “Then you have my thanks, my dear cousin.”

“Will you need rooms here, to rest before carrying on with your journey?”

“You’re too kind,” she replied. “But no, I’m afraid I cannot delay. One of her blood-sworn warriors follows me, and I have already lingered too long.”

“The one you mentioned in your letter? I believed you to be friendly, from the way you spoke of him.”

“A blood oath does not recognize friendship beyond that of the sworn to his keeper. If she commands him to prevent me from arriving, he will be unable to do anything but comply. I wish to avoid placing him into such a situation if at all possible.”

“I understand,” Galan replied. “Do you wish me to attempt to detain him?”

“You will not be able to, though I appreciate your offer. No, it is best if Wendlyn remain neutral until it is absolutely necessary. Though with all luck, we may yet be able to avoid an incident we would all come to regret.”

“I certainly hope so. Go, then, cousin. Go with our blessing, and with our hopes for as peaceful an end as may be achieved.”

Aelin smiled and embraced him once more before they went their separate ways, him to report to his parents and her to continue her journey.

~*~*~

Aelin rode for Doranelle as quickly as she could, and soon she was once more within a forest. It was both hotter and more humid than those she called home, but it was still at least somewhat familiar.

Slightly less familiar and more unnerving was the continuous sensation that she was being watched. Obstacles she had spied along the path seemed to clear themselves before she could reach them, and occasionally she could swear she saw eyes peeking out from behind branches.

It wasn’t until the night before she reached her aunt’s borders that she finally faced some of the creatures that had been watching her, and she wasn’t certain whether to find it relieving or unnerving to discover that it had been the Little Folk watching her all along.

She had encountered their kindred in Terrasen, living quietly in the Oakwald Forest and preferring to remain largely unseen. If she lingered in the forest they had a tendency to leave small gifts along her path, little trinkets or particularly beautiful flowers.

These faeries had done more than leave an individual flower, though, for as she watched several of them placed a crown of beautiful red blossoms on a stone before her.

She could not name the flowers they had chosen. They appeared to be similar to the kingsflame that graced Terrasen during times of peace, but the blossoms were slightly larger and a different shade. Still, it was a crown that was all too appropriate for the Heir of Fire, and it both warmed her heart and made her nervous to realize that these faeries recognized her heritage just as readily as those who lived in the land she called home.

Deciding that politeness was the best way to proceed, she lifted the crown with a smile. “You have my thanks,” she murmured to the few who lingered. “This is a beautiful gift indeed, and I will treasure it as long as it lasts.”

The remaining Little Folk fled; either because of some noise in the forest she had not heard, or because she had called attention to them, she couldn’t be certain. She placed the crown of flowers atop her head regardless; it would be rude to thank them for their gift and then proceed to cast it aside.

The sun finally rose enough for her to see the path once more, and Aelin continued onward, wishing for the hundredth time that her secondary form was something more useful than a human shape. If she had been a bird like Rowan, she could have already completed her journey.

Aelin frowned. Perhaps it was best not to think of Rowan. Not now, when she was so close to her aunt’s territory and she needed to keep her wits about her. It was difficult to avoid thinking of him, however. How much had Aedion revealed to him by now? Had he followed at all? If he had, was it to fulfill his blood oath to her aunt and stop her, or was he going to attempt to help her however he could?

With a sigh, she realized that she had far too little information to speculate on his future actions. The only thing she could be reasonably certain of was that he would not directly harm her unless he was specifically ordered by Maeve to do so.

Depending on when exactly he caught up to her, the likelihood of her giving such an order was relatively high. Her aunt was known for many things, but her kindness and forgiving nature were not among them.

Perhaps it was for the best if he didn’t follow. She would have to alter significant portions of her plan, but he would be kept safe. Even as she thought it, though, she knew he would never be content to remain safe while others endangered themselves. No, he would come, to whatever end. All she could do was hope that she could make that a happier end than it would’ve otherwise become.

Resolve strengthened, she carried on along her path, and soon she was met by the calling of wolves.

These wolves, she knew, would be no ordinary creatures. No, these were sentinels for Maeve herself, loyal only to her. If her aunt wished it, these wolves would turn her away. If she pressed onward regardless, they would tear her apart if Maeve gave the order. No one outside of Doranelle was certain of the exact means of her control over these creatures, or even if they truly were wolves. Aelin supposed it didn’t truly matter. All that mattered was that they allow her to pass.

As two of the wolves approached her, she dismounted from her horse and walked out to meet them. It wouldn’t do to spook her mount unnecessarily, and it seemed wise to be as respectful as she could manage. “Greetings,” she called, and the wolves inclined their heads toward her.

She allowed some of her fire to manifest in the palm of her hand, twisting it around her fingers and wrist as she had done for Galan several days prior. “I am Aelin Ashryver Galathynius,” she said, “Princess of Terrasen. Heir of Brannon and of Mala Fire-bringer. You may know me as Aelin Fireheart, or perhaps Aelin of the Wildfire. I have come to meet with my aunt, Queen Maeve of the Fae of Doranelle.”

As the wolves looked on, she allowed her eyes to glow with the wildfire of her determination. She would not be stopped. She would see her aunt, and make her answer for all Aelin had learned.

Finally, the wolves moved to either side of the path, bowing their heads. Aelin simply walked back to her horse and swung herself into the saddle once more. She would be allowed to pass, and the wolves knew it.

Aelin smirked as she rode on, knowing the wolves were following her every movement now that she was truly within Maeve’s territory. It wouldn’t be long now. She would have her answers, and Rowan’s freedom, and perhaps even her own happiness.

All she had to do was fight for it with every ounce of strength she had within her.

~*~*~

“We’re less than a day behind her,” Rowan relayed to Aedion after meeting with the wolves that guarded the edge of Maeve’s territory.

The other warrior only nodded in reply. He had been remarkably quiet throughout the journey, and Rowan wasn’t certain whether it was the absence of his mate or the revelation of his heritage that had given him so much to think about. Perhaps it was both.

The male was taking it remarkably well, all things considered. He had occasionally asked quiet questions about what Gavriel was like, and Rowan had volunteered stories of his mentor and friend well into the night. He had been avoiding one question in particular, though, and it was this question that came forward as they began to move again. “Does he even know I exist?”

Rowan sighed. “I’m not certain. If he knows, he hasn’t told any of us. And that is certainly the correct decision if he does know; none of us would have been able to hide your existence if asked.”

“Because of the blood oath you all swore.”

It wasn’t a question, but Rowan nodded regardless. “She would use you against him at the slightest opportunity, as she uses anyone and everyone one of her blood-sworn holds dear.”

He had known, of course, what manner of female Maeve had been when he had sworn himself into her service. He’d known that she could be cruel, and merciless, and vindictive. He hadn’t cared, then; he’d welcomed it, even. Some part of him, the part that cried out for a mate that was no longer there, had relished it. It was, after all, no worse than what he deserved.

Doubt had begun to enter his mind when she had recruited Connall and then Fenrys, the Black Wolf and White Wolf. The way she had gone about it, and the way Fenrys in particular struggled against the oath constantly thereafter, were further indications of Maeve’s unique cruelty for anyone who cared to look. Rowan hadn’t, then, still convinced it was what he deserved. They had made their choice as much as he had; perhaps they’d had their reasons as well.

His doubts hadn’t truly manifested until he had explained his story to Aelin, and felt nothing but relief as she accepted all of him. He still believed that he deserved his fate; however, she deserved far better than to be entangled with such a dark court. If all had gone according to Maeve’s plan, he would have reported everything to her and Aelin would never have been safe again.

Rowan shook his head. It was pointless to think about; if there was a way to break a blood oath that didn’t result in death, he wasn’t aware of it. This was to be his fate, and he only hoped that Aelin could win her freedom from this life.

If she managed to free him as well, somehow, he would savor every moment of it and follow her to whatever end.

A ray of warm sunlight pierced through the clouds and he felt a strange sense of comfort, as though the goddess that had so blessed Aelin with her gift of fire had heard his thoughts and deigned to answer. Almost involuntarily, his eyes slid closed as he enjoyed the moment of warmth and peace. Too soon, however, the ray of sunlight passed on, and Rowan was left with only his divided thoughts once more.

Aedion was evidently only too happy to add to those doubts. “Did you know, when you swore to her, that she was like this? Did he?”

“We all did,” he said wearily. “We all had our own reasons for swearing the oath. What Gavriel’s were, I do not know. But we were under no illusions, if that’s what you ask. Every one of us knows what Maeve is capable of doing to those who cross her, as well as the rewards she bestows on those she grants her favor.” Both, of course, were twisted in their own way, but he wasn’t attempting to draw this conversation out any longer than he had to. If Aedion wanted answers to the questions he was actually asking, he would need to confront his father. “We should keep moving,” he said to cut off yet another question. “We don’t have long, if Aelin’s plan is truly for us to catch up to her as Maeve welcomes her.”

The journey into Doranelle was thankfully swift and free of obstacles, and soon they stood before the stone walls of the city that he called home but that felt like a cage. A tugging sensation near his heart, one that had been present since he had learned of Aelin’s departure, strengthened as they passed through the gates. It seemed that, though she had given no further explicit instructions, the blood oath demanded that Rowan act regardless.

Perhaps it had been a mistake to come.

It was too late to turn back now, though, and so instead he quietly led Aedion through the streets of the city, drawing ever closer to a palace made of stone at the center of the city built on the rivers. With each step, he thought another silent plea to whatever god or goddess may have cared to listen. For Aelin. For himself. For the warrior beside him. For the father who had never known his son. For the twins who had ensnared each other in Maeve’s grasp. If he was going to entertain desperate prayers that were unlikely to be realized, he might as well include Vaughan and Lorcan as well, though if Lorcan was somehow set free he was as likely to curse his liberator as he was to thank them.

He slipped them through a side door into the palace, down familiar halls and up familiar staircases. All the while, he was trying to mentally prepare himself for what they would face when they reached the room Maeve preferred for audiences. He realized quickly that it was futile, however; he couldn’t predict what Aelin would do, or how Maeve would react to an unknown force.

He especially couldn’t predict the words that froze him where he stood as they reached the door to Maeve’s audience chamber.

“So tell me,” Aelin was drawling, “how long have you known that you held the mate of the future Queen of Terrasen in a blood oath?”

~*~*~

Tagging:

@ireallyshouldsleeprn @queen-of-glass @fangirlprincess09 @sassys-world @morganofthewildfire @superspiritfestival @perseusannabeth @sis-it-dont-add-up @jlinez @julemmaes @emilyoftheshadows @thegoddessofyou

#haven writes #rules of engagement #rowaelin

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yeet-me-dad-dy · 4 years

Text

Dark Dealings

Warnings: Brief suicidal thoughts.

Summary: Arthur time is nearing its end, but perhaps he can buy himself some more time by making a deal.

Characters: Arthur Morgan

Words: 2,108

Arthur’s campfire glowed brightly in the darkness, illuminating his small camp nestled deep in the woods. He coughed and pulled his thin, ratty blanket tighter around his shoulders in an attempt to keep the cold off of his back. The night was warm and the fire was warmer, but Arthur was sick, and a chill had settled itself deep in the cowboy’s bones.

The wind shifted and he was left sitting in the midst of a smoke cloud from the fire for only a brief moment. The cough that followed was ragged and harsh and left Arthur gasping for breath. He tried to ignore the splatters of crimson that soaked into the wool of his blanket. As he sat huddled on the cold ground, Arthur thought back on the past few months and how he ended up in this situation. He supposed he deserved it. He got sick from beating up an innocent man, after all.

When he first found out he was sick and had started to feel the effects of Tuberculosis, he had gone to the doctor to try and get help. Unfortunately, there was nothing to be done. Time went on and his illness progressed, and he found himself sharing words with a nun in Saint Denis. She offered a moment of peace and comfort, and Arthur left her presence feeling more at peace with his fate. He was going to die soon, and that was okay. He was ready for it. And then he met someone else, and it seemed that perhaps life wasn’t done with him just yet.

He was enjoying fishing a river north of Saint Denis, past the swamp, when a man about Dutch’s age wandered over. He himself had a fishing pole and asked Arthur if they could fish together. The cowboy agreed and the man cast his line. It wasn’t long before Arthur began to cough and the man turned to him, clearly concerned. He tried to play it down, but it was more than obvious that he was sick and not doing too well. Bloodshot eyes, a pallid complexion, and thin frame were all evidence enough.

“It’s just a little cold,” he tried to assure the man. “I’ll be right as rain in-” He didn’t get to finish his sentence as another fit took over and he doubled over, hacking and coughing up blood.

“You’re badly ill…” the man observed.

Arthur couldn’t respond, he was too busy gasping for air.

“You know…” the man continued, kneeling down next to Arthur, who had given up trying to stand and now sat, defeated, on the riverbank, his fishing pole forgotten.

“There’s a man. A sort of… miracle worker,” the stranger told Arthur. “You know, I used to be paralyzed from the waist down. Had no feeling or movement in my legs, and look at me now. Riding, fishing, hunting. This man is a gift from god, I tell you. He healed me with a snap of his fingers.”

“Really…” Arthur regarded the man, incredulous.

“Yes, really,” the stranger confirmed. “Look, I have, uh…” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black card. “This!” He handed the card to Arthur. “He told me to give it to anyone who looked in need of his services.”

Arthur studied the card. It was made of sturdy black paper and written in shimmering crimson ink was an intricate rune of curved lines and strange symbols.

After considering for a moment, he asked his new friend, “Where exactly can I find this miracle worker?”

The man nodded. “He’s all over the place, really. Saint Denis one day, Strawberry the next. I found him in a saloon in Valentine. Or… he found me. His schedule seems to take him everywhere, so… you might have to ask around a bit to try and see where you can catch him.”

Arthur chuckled dryly. “I aint sure I’ve got the time or the energy to be running around trying to find some mystery miracle worker.”

The cowboy’s reverie broke and he found himself back in front of his fire, shivering, a black card clutched tightly between his cold fingers. He regarded it once more, disappointment at the forefront of his mind. He wasn’t long for this world now… and he hadn’t been able to locate the man. He supposed this was how it was supposed to go. At least he would die in peace.

“You can be a very difficult man to find, Mister Morgan.”

Arthur turned as best he could to locate the owner of the deep voice that had sounded behind him. A man in a black shirt with sleeves rolled up and a rich-looking crimson vest stepped out of the darkness and strode up to Arthur, then settled himself on the ground to the cowboy’s left, in front of the fire. He outstretched his hands to warm them, not looking Arthur’s way.

“Can I help you?” Arthur asked hoarsely, though he had a sinking feeling in his stomach that he already knew who this man was.

“I hear you’ve been looking for me.”

Finally, he turned to regard Arthur. Whether it was the fever coursing through his veins, or a trick of the night shadows coupled with the roaring fire, Arthur didn’t know, but the man’s eyes were… strange. It was like blood swirling around in black ink, or perhaps red smoke in a dark void.

The man studied him with these otherworldly eyes and the chill that was already present in Arthur’s bones intensified tenfold. He shivered violently and turned his attention to the fire. He couldn’t stare into those eyes… he couldn’t hold that gaze that peered into his very soul.

“You, uh…” Arthur cleared his throat and tried to steady his nerves. “I was told that you could help me.”

From out of the corner of his eye, he could see the man nod.

“You have Tuberculosis,” the man stated plainly. “And you want me to heal you.”

Arthur shifted uncomfortably. “I was under the impression that you were a… a doctor… or somethin’.”

The stranger warmed his hands again. “Not a doctor no, but I can heal you. For a price.”

Of course there was a price. Arthur knew there would be.

“I have money,” he offered.

The man chuckled dryly. There was no humor behind that sound. No friendliness. It was cold.

“Your money means nothing to me. Normally, I would take your soul, but yours isn’t worth much to me.”

“My soul?” Arthur asked, taken aback.

“Yes, your soul.”

“What on earth would you want with my soul?”

“I don’t want your soul,” the man scoffed, and ran a hand through his black hair. “You see, I’m only interested in souls that can offer me something. Souls that have some benefit. Artists paint for me, musicians sing, chefs make me food, etcetera. You’re not particularly talented. All you’re good at is killing people and I can do that just fine on my own.”

Arthur gazed into the dancing orange flames, a heavy weight on his heart and disappointment more prominent in the forefront of his mind than before. He should have accepted by now that he was going to die, and perhaps to an extent he had, but there was still a pesky little flicker of hope urging him to hold on, begging him to keep trying. That flicker died as he sat here, talking to this “miracle worker”. He had nothing to offer this stranger, nothing to trade for his life.

“Perhaps…” the man’s voice brought him out of his jumbled thoughts, and Arthur spared a glance over to see him gazing into the same flames that he had found himself lost in.

“Would you consider yourself a good talker, Mister Morgan?” he asked, and Arthur found himself being drawn into the depths of those blood red eyes when the man’s gaze met his again.

He forced himself to look away, which was easy enough as a coughing fit hit and he curled in on himself, hacking up blood onto the dirt at his feet.

“Yes, you are a good talker, aren’t you?” the man continued. “You’re charming. People like you.”

There was a beat of silence where all that could be heard was the crackling of the fire and Arthur’s ragged breathing. He was tired… so tired. If he closed his eyes for just a moment…

“No drifting off just yet.”

It was as if the man’s voice was in both ears and the back of his mind. His eyes flew open and he blinked a few times, then cleared his throat and dared to speak. His voice was quiet and hoarse, but he managed.

“I suppose I’m good at gettin’ people to trust me.”

“You are,” the man confirmed. Arthur didn’t know how he knew, but at this point he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask. Everything about this strange man screamed danger.

“I think perhaps you do have something to offer me after all.”

That annoying little flicker of hope rekindled then, but Arthur didn’t have the energy to pay it much mind. He chuckled dryly, which led to another coughing fit that left him clutching his ribs and gasping for even the tiniest shred of air that his ruined lungs could manage. He wasn't able to answer this time. He couldn’t. The stranger pushed himself to his feet and brushed his expensive-looking black jeans off, then turned to Arthur. The cowboy managed a glance up, and the angle with which the man was standing over him, uplit by the flickering fire, screamed PREDATOR. RUN. Arthur’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest, afraid that perhaps this man had decided to be “merciful” and tear him apart piece by piece instead of letting the sickness take him slowly. Instead, he crossed his arms.

“This is the deal, Mister Morgan, so pay attention. I heal you from any and all ailments, you’ll feel better than you ever have before, you’ll never get sick again, and all your wounds will heal, no matter how fatal. In return, anyone you find in your travels that looks like they could use my help, you send my way, just like that man sent you to me. You will do this until you eventually die. Understood?”

Arthur nodded.

“Do we have a deal?”

The cowboy sighed, as deeply as he could without causing himself too much pain. This man was after souls. Arthur didn’t know if he even believed in souls, but sending innocent people to this stranger to have god-knows-what happen to them wasn’t exactly his idea of a fun time. He wasn’t a good man, sure, but he did his best not to be too horrible. He helped where he could and didn’t steal or murder unless he absolutely had to. Was damning people really worth his life? Did he want that on his conscience?

Still, despite all this doubt and the tightness around his heart, Arthur found himself nodding. The stranger offered his hand, and the cowboy managed to reach over to shake it, albeit slowly. A stinging pain in the back of his hand made Arthur jerk away with a hiss.

“It’s been a pleasure, Mister Morgan. We’ll meet again.”

Before Arthur could ask how exactly he was going to be healed, the man vanished. The ground was undisturbed where he sat, the chill that came with him had gone, and the sounds of the night animals returned. It was as if he had never been there in the first place, and Arthur may have thought that his illness-addled mind had just played a cruel trick on him if not for the burning on the back of his right hand and the black card still grasped in the other.

Another coughing attack doubled him over and his world spun, black around the edges, as he nearly hacked up both of his lungs. He found himself lying on the hard dirt ground, in pain and unable to breathe, and he tossed the black card into the fire. He wanted to cry, but he didn’t even have the energy for that. At this point, he wished he was already dead. How much longer would he have to wait to finally be able to rest? How much longer would this misery drag out. He was of half a mind to end it right now, but his gun was just ever so slightly out of reach and he couldn’t bring himself to crawl over to grab it. Instead, he pulled his ratty blanket more tightly around him, closed his eyes, and fell into the black nothingness that was sleep.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan fanfiction #red dead redemption 2 #rdr 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader

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anika-ann · 4 years

Text

Errare Humanum Est - Pt.10

...and Drink It with Gusto

Type: series, soulmate AU series (part 1, part 2) x Supernatural

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader (past?) Word count: 3400

Summary: Steve’s a bit difficult (poor baby), not that anyone blames him. Sam Wilson makes a confession – sort of.

Warnings: mentions of violence, blood and death, alcohol, unhealthy coping mechanism, sad sad Steeb

A/N: dropping the chapter early, because I won’t have time to post for a bit

Story masterlist

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

The mission hadn’t been a shitshow, surprisingly enough, but the reports to Fury had been. Natasha had spent the rest of the day, whole night and a better portion of the next day at the SHIELD HQ, having to deal with everything, because Stark had quite literally fled. To be fair, he had at least taken care of Steve’s still unconscious and very much muscular (read ‘really fucking heavy’) form.

Tired and annoyed, Natasha finally landed with small jet at the Tower, making her way to her room, wishing nothing more but to shower and get some fucking sleep.

Of course, walking through the common room, she should have known she wouldn’t be that lucky.

She heard his icy yet somewhat cheery voice before she even saw him and it made her stop in her tracks, dreading facing him. She was too tired for his reproaches now.

“AH! There she is!”

Natasha took a deep breath, closing her eyes and mentally counting to three.

“Here’s ‘ur soulmate ex-pert!” Steve howled again, making her heart clench.

Black Widow was not a coward, but neither her nor Natasha liked dealing with feelings too directly – the jet was enough to get her fill for several years prior. She scanned the room before she would settle on him – and sure enough, she and Steve weren’t alone.

Bruce was standing indecisively by the door, torn and helpless expression on his face, his eyes one big question mark, asking Natasha how the hell he was supposed to deal with that.

Good question, Bruce, good question.

The smell of booze and Steve’s demeanour were unmistakable, but she silently asked anyway.

“Is he…?”

“Yeah. He… uhm… he found Thor’s stash,” the scientist answered her in equally hushed voice, inconspicuously pointing towards the counter where three flasks lay, emptied. Jesus.

Steve apparently heard and saw them anyway, because his voice bellowed again in reaction to their conversation. His words were slurred.

“Goooood friend Thor. Thou’ he t’ied to take my g’l. Nooot a g’d friend. Baaaad, bad friend.”

“Oh bozhe moy…” Natasha whispered under her breath and Steve turned to her, looking almost excited to see her.

Which didn’t mean he didn’t look like absolute shit. He had a t-shirt stained with the alcohol, his eyes red-rimmed, bruise-like dark circles under them as if he hadn’t slept for a year.

She hadn’t thought he could get worse than in the quinjet. Clearly, she was wrong.

“’tasha! Greeeeat ‘dvice you gave me,” he exclaimed, trying to rise from his spot on the couch where he had been half-lying like a dead fish casted ashore.

Natasha resisted the urge to massage her temples as the headache started to build. She tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach at the audible edge to his voice, the accusation glaring at her from his eyes.

“Steve…”

He finally stumbled to his feet and she noticed another flask secured in his right hand. He held it out as if he was pointing at her.

“Tried wat’ you s-said. Hurts,” he hiccupped, the sound blending with a sob. He cleaned his nose with the back of his hand hastily. “S-saw her grave. Fuck it hurts… ‘dis thing’s good ‘ough.”

Natasha bit the inside of her cheek, her mind racing. She didn’t need to call anyone for advice now. Her friend was shitfaced. The only thing she could do was to get him to bed and try not to antagonize him or trigger something worse than… whatever this was. She wasn’t sure if moving on from being snowed under work – voluntarily – was more or less healthy than drinking himself into oblivion. But she counted any change that wasn’t a step towards a suicide (possibly assisted by the last of Hydra goons) like a progress.

“Is he drunk?” Tony’s incredulous voice ringed from the doorway and Natasha didn’t even bother spinning on her heels to him, hearing him enter and close the distance between them as he stopped at her side. “Cap?”

Blood froze in Natasha’s veins and she was swift to call out, but it was too late. “No- don’t call-!”

So much for not triggering him and making it worse. She could see how he suddenly stood straighter as if he swallowed a wooden ruler, and an indefinable expression appeared on his face.

She gulped in anticipation of a storm.

“Cap!” he called out, mimicking Tony and the billionaire realized his mistake, judging by the silent dammit that left his lips. Steve raised the flask in a mock toast, turning around and nearly tipping over his feet. “Captain ‘merica! What a heeero! Cheers to him!” He took a long sip before continuing, his gestures animated. “Swin’ in, safe th’m all! Kill his g’l, why ‘ven care… hero, murd’r, potato, tomatho…” his voice slurred into a murmur, until he spotted a newcomer and came to life again. “Ah! Hey, Clint!”

Clint was quick to understand the situation and it took one glance at Natasha for them to agree what needed to be done. He approached Steve cautiously with his features emotionless.

“We should get you to bed-“

“Nope! No!” Steve howled instantly, taking several steps backwards to get out of Clint’s reach. His expression was dark, tears welling in his eyes. “Smell like h’r. Not ‘nymore. Hurts!” he sobbed, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead, his figure swaying dangerously as he closed his eyes and lost the visual control of his balance. “Hurts!”

“Come on, Steve…” Clint coaxed him gently, attempting to close the distance between them again. His gaze flickered to Bruce and Tony and they took few steps towards Steve as well.

“Nope! Gotta-ta sssay sm’thin’!” Christ, Natasha had never seen him like this and she wanted to bleach both her eyes and ears. He pointed the flask at Clint resolutely. “You knew. You warn h’r. Fuck-fuck up. Shouldva told- I ain’t gettin’ killed. I kill h’r.”

“Steve…” Natasha approached him as well, grimacing when she saw the flash of emotion on Clint’s face.

Steve spun to her immediately, this time accusing her. “And you! Gooood job. Pushin’ us togthe’. You kill h’r too.”

“Hey! Watch it!” Tony snapped at him, running out of patience, but Natasha knew Steve didn’t quite mean it. Pushing them together wasn’t her fault – the fact she had tranquilized him was her sin and she was aware he had the right to be mad at her.

“Your friggin’ ‘stem! You too- n’t fly fast ’nough!“

“Steve, you’re wasted. You’re going to bed before you say more things you regret,” Bruce said calmly after Steve managed to finish his roll and blame another person.

Bruce speaking up gave the captain a pause and he looked like his brain froze. His brows knitted together and he nodded, another sob erupting from his throat, his inhale shaking his whole being as he crossed the distance to Bruce, murmuring.

“Regert. Her. My folt, no yours. Kill h’r. Miss her. Shouldva s-s-saved her. Pick h’r… love h’r. Hurts. Hurts s’much…”

Steve’s large frame enveloped Bruce, resting his whole impressive weight on him. The scientist was nearly tripped over – except a hint of green flushed his neck, Hulk coming to rescue before the other men and Natasha rushed to help. Steve went completely limp, the flask falling to the ground, the little liquid remaining in it spilling and staining the carpet. No one cared as they tried to support the supersoldier’s goo-like body, exchanging desperate glances.

“Well, that was… enlightening,” Tony summarized, his poor attempt at joke that not even he apparently believed in barely gaining any reaction.

Clint sighed. “Please, this is hardly any news. We knew he blamed himself.” He readjusted Steve’s arm he had slung around his shoulders and Tony’s right side of suit came to the rescue, taking most of the weight off from the billionaire. “I hate this, but I think he needs this.”

Natasha wasn’t so sure about that, but yeah, Steve definitely needed to start accepting the reality. It was probably a natural reaction to want to dull the pain with something else when work was off limits. She pressed her lips together as their whole grouped slowly made their way to Steve’s room.

“Let’s just get him to bed.”

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Not many people could probably brag they had Black Widow’s number. Well, probably no one could, because if they told a living soul, they’d meet their end. So Sam Wilson didn’t brag. And he sure as hell didn’t call her first.

That said, he did not hesitate when she called him with location and time to meet, no greeting, no goodbye. Rude, but he’d take it. He had more than one reason, not that he would advertise it.

So there he was, sipping coffee from a take-away cup as he sat in Central Park with Black Widow, both of them having the best super-spy disguise; sunglasses and baseball caps.

The silence between them was getting awkward and Sam couldn’t take the tension anymore.

“Well, this is much more… civil than our last meeting,” he noted casually, hating to admit he was… nervous.

“I’m not gonna say sorry,” Ms.Romanoff hummed back, sipping her latté.

“Guess I wouldn’t expect that…”

He didn’t expect her to face him either but she did, a reminiscence of a sad smile gracing her lips. The warmth around his heart was familiar and not entirely unwelcomed. He found himself longing after seeing her whole face.

“I’m saying thank you, though.”

Huh.

“Didn’t expect that either,” he admitted and one corner of her lips rose higher in a smirk. Sam had a hunch she loved surprising people – or rather shocking them. “How did it go?”

She huffed out a sound that could only mean frustration and Sam grimaced. Confrontation usually didn’t go very good, but this sounded awful.

“That well, huh?”

“No, no…” she shook her head, red curls swaying around her head elegantly. “He’s… an asshole. He fell asleep on a mission. In a cockpit. When he was piloting. Can’t believe I’m saying this, but God bless Stark’s inventions and auto-piloting,” she grunted and removed the cap of her cup before taking a long sip of her coffee.

She seemed to be gathering thoughts. Sam might not be able to see her eyes, but he did learn to read people. She didn’t like talking about feelings, but she was making an exception. Whether it was because of him, because of his job or because she wished to help her friend so badly, that remained a mystery. Either was pleasing though, the action itself intriguing Sam.

He had given her a lot of thought after their first unconventional meeting. He could not get her out of his head and for a good reason, of course.

He came to a conclusion that… despite her manners, she probably wasn’t a bad person. There were rumours about her past, but everyone had one. She was with the Avengers now, getting clean and the present and willingness to fix mistakes often mattered more than what had been done – especially when it came to a past like her own. Sam had made living by helping people dealing with their past actions and failures; judging her would be a hypocrisy and as far as he knew, he was a killer too. And if it came to it, he would punch, sliced or shot his way out again.

“It’s just… he’s… he’s really at the bottom,” she Natasha spoke softly, emotions lacing her voice. Regret. Compassion. Helplessness. Sam knew all those too well. “Seeing him going from one mission to another just to pass out in exhaustion was bad enough, because I knew it was wrong, but… seeing him drink himself into oblivion? One time only, but it was a nightmare. And seeing Steve doing nothing? Struggling to find a purpose, himself… that’s just…”

“It sucks. But he has a good friend in you. He needs time.”

“I know that, it’s… I wish there was someone hurting him so I could just punch them in their face and call it a day. But that one guy blew himself to hell and the others just… don’t really matter, getting them doesn’t do much help to Steve.”

Sam couldn’t help but smile softly as she said Captain’s name. It held a meaning – he was clearly dear to her and it went way beyond professional relationship. Not that the fact alone that she had shown up at Sam’s apartment the way she had wasn’t enough of an evidence. Not to mention her surprising openness.

“It’s a long way to recovery, Natasha.”

Her first name just slipped past his lips unwittingly, but he didn’t feel like apologizing. The informal space they found themselves in, the honest open conversation… first names suited it better. He was aware he sounded like he was speaking from experience on top of that, but it wasn’t like she didn’t know. She had done a thorough research on him.

As if she agreed with him feeling his surroundings and the atmosphere, she put away her glasses, her green eyes burning with honesty when she met his – he automatically lost the barrier too, because it felt unjust for her to be left… vulnerable like that.

“I’m truly sorry about poking at your past, Sam,”

Sam felt the last remains of hostility towards her resolve. That apology meant more than he had realized it would.

“Thanks. I get it, you know. Being worried for someone so much… he’s gonna be okay, eventually. Scarred, but okay.”

“He could be better than that…” she sighed, leaning onto the backrest of the bench tiredly.

“What was that?”

“When I confronted him on the plane… he told me he had another words,” she revealed hesitantly as if she wasn’t sure if it was her secret to tell.

Sam’s heart positively stopped. Was she telling the truth or was this a game? Did she know about his own too? He swallowed the panic when he saw her resigned gaze.

She wasn’t playing no game.

“Two soulmates. That’s rare,” he remarked, a lump growing in his throat. His palms started sweating and he hated it. Fortunately, Natasha didn’t seem to notice – or she politely ignored it, her voice dry and laced with a bit of irritation.

“He never wants to meet her.”

“That’s not rare.”

Sam would know. He had struggled with the same feeling, after all. He wanted to forget the world existed. He wanted to live peacefully and alone. It was probably no coincidence fate sent him Black freaking Widow as the one – if she was willing, Sam would not be alone. And definitely wouldn’t get ‘peace’.

If he was being truly honest with himself, he wouldn’t be able to say he minded.

“He thinks… he thinks he doesn’t deserve her or something.”

Sam sighed, mentally chuckling at the irony of fate once more. The Universe did have a messed up sense of humour, didn’t it?

“Because he thinks he blew his chance. Because he thinks that he will mess it up again and fail her. And it feels like being unfaithful,” he offered, venting his own feelings for the first time.

He had never told that to anyone, ashamed of the set of words sitting on his other collarbone, appearing shortly after Riley’s death. Why did he tell her of all people? He wanted to question his own actions, he barely knew the woman, but… there was a significant but, wasn’t there?

Her emerald eyes were searching on his face, recognition lighting them up. She fidgeted, something he hadn’t seen her do before and he was sure not many people had either. It was a privilege and while his heart started racing, seeing her nervous eased his own nerves the tinniest bit.

“…yeah. I guess. You… uhm, you dealt with someone like that too?” she asked, looking away, seemingly intrigued by something in the distance.

Sam didn’t buy it and swallowed loudly.

“Just one case in my whole carrier.”

“What did you tell them?” she queried gently, her shoulders tense.

Sam shrugged. He told himself a lot of things, but he wasn’t certain they were all presentable.

“Never figured it out. First, the meeting with his other soulmate was a bit unconventional. He kinda hated her,” he admitted, glancing at her with the corner of his eye. She gave almost an inconspicuous nod, her gaze casted down. She took it as a rejection, he realized. “Then he started thinking and realized she wasn’t too bad. He’s still struggling to make up his mind – whether he should try. Whether she would want to. She would be a catch though, no doubt,” he lighted it up, biting the inside of his cheek right after.

Was he really trying to flirt now?

One corner of her lips rose in a smirk. “Somehow I doubt that. Sounds like a bitch.”

Sam wanted to chuckle at the joke, but then her eyes lifted to him and his heart just… stopped, the amused sound stuck in his throat. He had to clear it to be able to speak up, but it did nothing under the intensity of her gaze.

“Not to me. Not anymore.”

Natasha licked her lips – and Sam would lie if he claimed he did not mirror the motion instinctively – and finished her drink.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you, huh? That must have been a pleasant surprise when it appeared,” she stated, a hint of amusement along with relief that the secret, the whatever that had been hanging between them, was finally addressed.

Sam snorted, not necessarily because he found his next statement funny.

“Yeah and I bet growing up in Russia and have an English soulmark must have been walk in a park.”

Good, there was so much sarcasm in his voice he might even feel ashamed. But the redhead – his second soulmate, holy shit, it really happened – didn’t seem to be offended.

“Wow, this almost beats the way Steve met his and that was some story….”

“Yeah, I bet.”

Silence fell on them then, both of them unsure how to continue and where to go from here. They found each other – their other half, supposedly, but no one could tell the outcome.

She was an Avenger. Sam was a therapist, a veteran at ridiculously young age, because he had lost his partner. They had a perfect example of how wrong it could go, served on silver plate – it was how they had met for God’s sake. But once again – Sam would lie when saying he didn’t miss some of the adrenalin. He did. A lot, actually.

The reason he had left the field was his soulmate. Was there any better reason to get back in when the need would rise, than another soulmate?

“Do you want to explore this?” Sam broke the uncomfortable silence, lacking the courage to look at her expression. The tension in her shoulders he could almost feel told him enough. He didn’t want to see her rejection. Did he want to see her agreement though?

“Do you?” she hummed back, staring ahead just like him.

“That’s the million dollar question.”

Riley had been… his everything. But could he ignore something like this? Could he ignore the opportunity, a woman who was no doubt fabulous and he was already finding interesting and that apparently was matching his sense of humour? Did he believe in fate? Did he have the right to try again?

Deep down, Sam knew he had already made his mind about it. Now it only depended on her.

“But I keep telling everyone to move on,” he mused out loud, catching her gaze. “Try to live. Some do. Neither of them had the… advantage of having another soulmate if we can call it that.”

Small smile appeared on Natasha’s lips, new twinkle lighting up her eyes and Sam knew he had made the right decision, no matter the outcome.

He didn’t complain when she rose to her feet to clearly leave though – they had enough to deal with today, they needed more time to think of how to approach this.

“Okay. Okay then… You have my number. Call me,” she offered simply, saying goodbye only with a nod and spun on her heels.

“Oh, I will!”

She casted a flirty grin over her shoulder and Sam found himself smiling.

“Hey, you bowl?” he blurted out the first idea that came to his mind and this time she stopped in her tracks, her smile turning almost wolfish. It might have done a thing to his crotch.

“I do, but you can’t run crying when I beat you!” she smirked and gave him a wink, hips swaying as she left him behind.

His laughter sounded like a soundtrack to her catwalk.

Cheeky lady. Sam kinda liked her.

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Part 11

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Thank you for reading!

We’ll be leaving Stevie next time, coming back to our wayward sons and daughter (...that’s a spn reference, if any non-fan is confused). We’re getting closer, y’all!

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