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prettynxsty · 3 years

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Stirring the Hooch 🍷

Domme!Reader x Sub!Jin

Warnings: Morning sex, jin has a pussy, consumption of booze and drunkenness, graphic mentions of vomiting, appearance of ot7, dirty talk, jin is a little bossy, y/n has a big ass dick, use of noona/hyung in a non sexual way, a little bit of cum play, creampie, partially clothed sex.

A/N: Vacation sex with just a liiiiittle bit of plot lmfao. There’s no facefucking because i was worried that it was getting too long. Anyway, enjoy.

You all but crashed out of bed this morning, landing on your hands and knees with a muted thump. You would’ve patted yourself on the back for even managing to strip and change your clothes for bed last night, but you felt like you were still drunk.

You should have regretted everything that happened, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. You plant your palms on the floor, rocking yourself forward and will yourself to start crawling. You knock your yoga mat away from your bags, watching the little purple tube bounce until it goes still.

You slap your hand over it, messily swatting it open. You crawl over it with a sigh and position yourself over the mat. It should have been a bad memory.

The table was 3 rounds of shots in before the waitress kindly reminded you that bottomless mimosas were only 5 dollars. Eyebrows rose around in a wave, sharing a devilish look of agreement. It was vacation, wasn’t it?

Something crazy began to leak out of your ears when you decided to cash in.

Namjoon was the first to throw himself to his feet, climb on the booth and begin dancing. Jimin whoops to the beat in encouragement, clumsily scrambling up on his chair to join his hyung.

Yoongi gets this strange look in his eye, dumping himself over Hoseok’s shoulder. They howled in laughter until Yoongi was crying. Actually crying.

What pleasantly surprised you the most is when Yoongi kneeled on the booth, facing away from the other side of the table, and began to shake his ass in a way that you wouldn’t have expected from him.

Jungkook’s faith was tested today, usually as the one who finishes everyone else's food, he decided to polish off the rest of everyone’s glasses.

Your sight of the world is stilted, moving in colored frames. You hear the noise of a bit of crashing and chair shifting, turning to see Jin. His sandals slap noisily against the floor as he barrels onto the dance floor, into the middle of the crowd.

Taehyung is bouncing up and down in his seat, shouting adlibs to the sound, pumping his hand in the air. You allow your head to fall forward, shoulders bouncing with a slow bout of laughter that makes your whole body bounce.

You slide your hands backward until they reach your knees, flipping your palms. You take a slow breath in, resting your forehead against the floor. You feel a dancing in your spine, your body so desperately wants to sway to sound that is not heard. The spirits must dance amongst themselves, you must return to yourself, to the terran world.

The same translucent lasso wraps around your arms and squeezes them to your sides. A burning call. You’re apt to rise when you’re full of this feeling, the pull is something indescribable. It crawls from the soles of your feet, causing them to tap. It races through you, your shoulders are swaying like a pendulum.

Deny yourself, you will not. You flew, tripping over the flat of the ground and blitz into the crowd to dance.

You breathe out slowly, flipping your palms and walking them forward. Your torso follows until your hips carefully nestle on the mat. Like sizzling wisps of smoke, the tightness knotted in you began to dissipate. You stretch your shoulders backward, gentle snaps and pops bursting in the air due to the tension knotted into your limbs like loops pulled too tight.

You’re screaming to every second beat, the world below is more than a reach away. Your legs are swinging through the gap between Namjoon and Jungkook’s shoulders. It feels as if the whole building is bouncing with you, your sanity went back to the home to rest.

You tilt your hips forward, leaning your weight onto the balls of your feet before rising into downward dog. Your lower back clicks, a rattling groan of relief shivers its way out of your mouth. You were finally beginning to feel your clothes against your body.

Your cock hangs limply out of one of the leg holes of your tiny shorts, scrunched up to your inner thighs. Your breasts sway gently, peering their way through the large holes of your oversized tank top. There was no reason that you wore that thing to bed, you usually woke up with a breast hanging out somehow.

It was a wonder you weren’t kicked out. You had no idea who paid for dinner, the amount would feel exorbitant. Nonetheless, a vacation should be indulgent.

Despite everyone being so ridiculously inebriated, you managed to concur that taking a taxi would be more trouble than it was worth since nobody was sober enough.

The villa was only a few blocks away anyway.

You hardly made it two block away from the place before everything seemed to fall into itself. Jimin dumped himself on the curb to take off his shoes even though he was only wearing sandals. Jungkook tripped his way over to the trash can on the corner as quickly as he could for someone who was plastered.

He grips handfuls of his shirt to hold it out of the way, even when drunk he was still meticulous. He retches weakly.

Risotto wasn’t nearly was beautiful or decadent when it came back out. Twenty-plus dollars directly into the bin on the city street. He gags so forcefully that he misses for a split second, a bit of cream colored mush dripping over the side before wetly splashing over the rest of the discarded garbage inside.

“Oh gawd- let’s go get him something.” Hoseok misses at patting your shoulder, but grabs your hand to drag you across the empty street to the convenience store on the other side.

You tried to straighten up when the cooler air washes over you, but your eyes were still very bleary. You stop by the baked goods and grab him a delicious yeasty smelling twisted donut and a ginger ale.

Hoseok stumbles up to the counter beside you, plopping a few bags of chips on it. “The salt will settle his tummy,” he explains quickly.

You give him a goofy smile, shaking your head and hand the cashier a little over exact change in cash. You gently push their hand away when they offer back the remaining coins, scooping up your items and head on your way.

You return across the street to Jimin struggling to stay awake from where he sat on the curb, Yoongi and Taehyung quietly hugging, Jin staring into the void of stars, and Namjoon showering kisses over Jungkook’s forehead.

“My poor Googoo,” he wails dramatically. Jungkook puckers his lips, prompting a raspy shriek from the older as he stumbles away. Jungkook chuckles, spreading his arms wide in request of an embrace.

You cringe, holding out the donut and drink with an awkward smile. It wasn’t as if he reeked of vomit, you just preferred for him to settle his stomach first.

“Googieeee~!” Hoseok shrieks, nearly tripping over the curb before hugging the younger man.

“Thank you Noona.” Jungkook pouts from over Hoseok’s shoulder, clumsily taking the items from your hand.

You turn your torso to the side, shifting your left foot forward into a lunge. You raise your arm with a slow breath inward, shifting your weight accordingly.

Jin was beautiful even when he snored all night, he was propped against the pillows like Snow White in her glass case. He’d opened his eyes quite a bit ago, silently watching you stretch yourself out.

“You look really tempting when you do that, babe.” He rasps.

Your impenetrable focus is shattered, causing you to cover your face with an incredulous laugh. “Before breakfast?”

“Hell yeah before breakfast, I don’t just wanna look, I wanna touch. Come here.”

“You’re still drunk too, huh?”

“There are a lot of times that I’m insatiable, but I want it right now.”

His assertiveness always sends a funny little churn through your belly.

You slowly shift the weight of your body onto your feet and stand. Not as heavy or dizzy as before, but a different tingling began to set inside of you. Your glance down, reaching to unfurl your shorts.

“Uh-uh, leave them like that.” He gives you a smile that’s absolutely devilish, shoving the sheets away from his lap. “Come to mama.”

It dawns on you as you approach the bed that he must’ve snatched up your shirt to sleep. It rode up his belly just a little, leading way to his light blue slip.

You plant your hands on the mattress, crawling in between his thighs. He leans forward, placing his hands on your hips and gently rubbing your sides. You cup his face, gently combing through his messy black tufts with your fingers.

His eyes scrunch up with a giddy chuckle, his neck was still flushed. Not quite as much as dark juice that leaks from berries gnashed between teeth. But rather the breath of age that colored ripened flesh of fruit from taught and pale shells surrounding infant seeds.

You imagined him as your first cabernet.

You were home alone. There was never any alcohol in the cabinets, not within your reach. However there was one bottle that sat on the highest shelf that’d begun to haunt your mind.

You thought about him day and night, wondering if you should be so daring as to wrap your fingers around the cork and pluck it out.

The bottle was dark, not so much as black, but an impenetrable brown of iodine or creamless coffee.

You stood in the pantry, door closed behind you as if there would be a soul to see. You rise with the aid of a little black stool, carefully grabbing the ruby red scarf wrapped around the bottle’s neck.

The pop of the remaining forth of the cork causes your breathing to break away. Dare it be said this noise was foreign, not yet attributed to merriment and celebration for you.

You raise the bottle to your lips and pour it in. The mouth feel is heavier than water, nothing unsettling.

Your tongue begins to glitter in a way you cannot determine if it’s unpleasant or lovely. Effervescence. Armoracia assaults your tongue, strangling with a fruitiness.

Your brows furrow, trampled all is with acridity. Your throat seems to close, denying entry to such drink, warming the back of your nostrils. With a thick noise, you manage to swallow it. A strange trail of fire roasts a trail over the back of your esophagus before heating the pool of your stomach.

Your adolescent tongue was unable to accord with this experience. Turned away, you squeeze the cork back in the bottle and return it to where it rest before and exit the pantry.

He, before you, a taste of wine that prompted you to have another sip. You couldn’t help but polish him off over and over again. His well never ran dry.

You kiss him with a soft hum. You imagine the taste of mature grapes. His lips push against yours hungrily, flexing and relaxing like the yielding of fruit under your teeth.

From the spring, you made him feel refreshed and clear. God himself ran your droplets from the glacier and straight into his cup.

He drank from many places, many streams. You were of the first, the only to cleanse and wash his palate.

Your depth, your minerals, mellowed his harshness, his sting. No longer rousing spirits, he bestows joy amongst all.

Your hand slips from his hair, landing gently on his shoulder. Your fingertips roll into the thick of his shoulder, squeezing it as he slips his tongue through your lips.

He reaches up the leg of your shorts, wrapping his hand around your warm shaft. He’s priming you to fuck him, to use him like some breeding buck.

He jerks his hand slowly but firmly. You groan into his mouth, nearly squirming at the sensation of your foreskin rolling and stretching over the tip of your cock.

Your hand drops from his shoulder, fingers dipping their way under his panties. His croon tingles the seam of your mouth as you slip your fingers in between his outer lips and spread them apart.

It was as if he shocked you, you pull from his lips with a wet smack to catch your breath. He always made you feel so crazy. Jin smiles, slowly thumbing at your tip.

The tip of your tongue heavily slips from your gums to sweep away the deeper notes on your bottom lip.

He hesitates not to drink of your spring, leaning in and draws your tongue between his mouth with a greedy swallow. Flushing and blooming, your belly burns just as your first taste did.

His lengthy fingers slip under your night shirt, curling around the heft of your breast. He releases your mouth with a full sigh of satisfaction.

You lift your fingers to your mouth, sweeping away his pussy juice with your tongue. You hum from the pit of your gut, you could taste the fruit of the land already. The musky aroma of papaya and melon, added tang of pineapple, the earthy, milkiness of coconut.

“I wanna do it raw,” he breathes as his knuckles gently close around and twist your nipple. You glance up at him, slipping your slick fingers out of your mouth and dig them back under the hem of his undergarments.

You never did it with condoms anyway, but he never failed to grasp his chance to set your blood asunder. You drag the tips of your fingers over his inner lips, stretching and spreading them. You drag your middle finger along the seam of his petals, swirling it around his hole and gently digging it against his clit.

He hisses, rolling his hips in hopes you’d give him more.

“Did you hear me?”

He releases his grip on your breast, cupping your chin and guiding you to meet his eyes.

“I want you to fuck me raw, that means I want you to cum inside of me.” His following moan is a beautiful titter as he drags the thick of his tongue over your lips, kissing you noisily. He releases the grip of your cock, wiggling forward to lay back against the bed.

He was only ever so demanding when he was itching for you to make a mess of him. As he moves to make simple work of his panties, you take note to do the same and rid yourself of your own bottoms.

You wiggle off of the bed, wiggling your shorts down to your ankles.

“You’re so bossy today. You’re gonna need to slobber on it first, Jinnie.”

His heart seizes, bursting into a shower of pretty pink butterflies. His cunt flutters immediately at the sonority that coats your voice in viscous amber.

He quickly walks his hands forward, shifting toward the end of the bed and rolling onto his tummy. He needlessly pretties himself for you, combing his hair away from his forehead. His eyes are positively twinkling as he rests his chin on the mattress.

“It’d be quite the inconvenience if one of the others were to come in and see me cramming my dick into your mouth,” you click your tongue. You place your hand on his head, lovingly stroking his cheek with your thumb. “Maybe I should use this mouth more often, it’s much quieter.”

He furrows his brows, inhaling quickly to fix you with a response.

Your resolve crumbles with your face scrunching up in amusement. “Okay! Okay! Don’t say anything, open your mouth.”

He makes a face, cutting his eyes at you as you grab ahold of your shaft and position it at his mouth.

“Fuck, fuck.. Turn around, let me see your pussy.” You step backward to free yourself from his mouth, trying to catch your breath.

He licks his swollen, slobbery lips with a smile and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Jin turns slowly, propping himself up on his knees. You took an unsteady breath inward to ask about his well being, but when he presented himself, you understood immediately.

His cunt was fully in bloom between his thighs, fatter, puffier. Healthily flushed and glistening, you clap your hand over his ass.

He whines, couldn’t you see the syrupy drips and trails clinging to his inner thighs?

You push his ass up with your palm, admiring how his pussy stretched and trembled. You decidedly slip your thumb just barely in between his lips and swirl your finger through his arousal.

You grip the base of your cock with your other hand and press it up against his hole. The upper half of his body relaxes instantly, slumping against the bed with a croon that sends chills spidering over your heated flesh.

You rock forward gently, pushing your way inside of him. Jin takes to you without hesitation, pulsing and squeezing around you.

“This fucking-” you clap your hand over his ass with more force “-cunt is always so good to me,” you growl.

He mewls when you bottom out, rolling your hips forward to push deeper into him.

You rear back, easily building your pace inside of him. You move your grip to taking tight handfuls of the shirt that rolled up his back, yanking him back against you with each thrust inward.

Each moan of his began long and drawn out like the soft calls of the loon under nightfall. You prop your foot up on the bed frame, planting yourself more firmly to set a stronger pace.

The noise of your skin clapping together began to bounce off of the walls, rocking to bed to which he gripped so dearly.

You allow yourself to fall astray of control, pounding into him with deep, sharp strikes. His moans quickly evolve into frantic wails, his voice catches in his throat each time you drag him away from squirming into the escape.

You cease only for a moment to allow him to catch his breath, to which his forehead drops against the sheets with a muted rustle.

A second was efficient enough, you shift your foot and plant it more firmly before you continue your assault on his poor pussy.

He whines something at you, muffled.

“What was that?” You purr, continuing to jerk your hips shamelessly. Your moans rise and flow from your lips like a steady spring.

He manages to lift his head, thrashing it with a keen when you plunge in just a bit harder than before. It was so hard to speak when you kept knocking the breath out of his lungs. “You’re too deep inside,” he whines, unable to control the moans squeezing through his noisy panting.

“It’s too deep?” You coo, feeling your lips curl in a slight smile when you watch his messy head of black hair bob up and down.

“Roll over so I can play with your pussy,” you slow your relentless thrusts and gently move back until your cock flops wetly out of his hole.

He slumps almost completely when you pull out of him, weakly propping his palms up and laying down. Use of his legs was reasonably impossible as of now, which you quickly noted. “Move back a little,” he scoots himself backward almost pitifully.

If you weren’t almost painfully hard, you’d be more willing to let him take a break. You climb onto the bed and straddle his right thigh, propping the left over your shoulder.

You nudge yourself in between his lips, guiding your shaft until it catches against his sloppy hole. He whimpers, dropping his head back when you push your way in. His pussy accommodates you with an indecent squish.

You wrap your arm around the leg thrown over your shoulder, rocking into him. You peer down at him, his eyes were still glassy from your abuse of his throat. Your breath hitches in your throat as you jerk your hips forward, the clap of your balls against the back of his ass echoes louder.

“I wish you knew what you do to me,” you sigh hotly through teeth clenched. Your molars grind together as you return to pistoning inside of him, mashing your pelvis into his.

He was foolish enough to tilt his hips forward, the entire bed rocks pitifully as a testament to its modern craftsmanship.

Jin was flushed down to his chest, puckered lips flapping with each noisy gasp. He felt so light, he couldn’t tell if he were near fainting.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” he yelps. He is barely able to lift his hands and shove his shirt around to play with his nipples.

You gently stretch his mound toward him, stroking your thumb around the spongy flesh near his clit. His shriek catches on the back of his tongue, you feel yourself begin to burn and melt.

Ruby red drips of wax cooling against a marble counter.

You nearly pull out of him on instinct, gripping the base of your dick with an ugly whimper. Your body seizes, rigid as you begin to cum.

You can hardly hear his breath in your ears over the sound of your heartbeat, your own moans are high and shaking.

You pull away from him with a rattling breath, unleashing a few final weak spurts against his folds.

You struggle to regulate your own rhythm, clumsily slipping your fingers in his sloppy cunt to spread your cum around. He whines, swatting at your hand.

“Heh,” your chest bounces weakly, “we were probably so loud.”

“I’m too tired to nag you, but I could’ve died.”

“Oh hush, we need to get ready soon.”

He gives you a crazy look before dropping his head back down and motioning you toward the door. “It’s not like you broke my legs or anything.”

“When do we get our turn?” Jimin calls from the dining room with a telling smile.

You stop cold in the entryway of the hall, turning to see the table full of your friends. They erupt in whooping laughter that causes you to continue hurrying on your way to run the bath. None of them should have even been alive at that hour, not with how they were last night.

“Nah, come back! I didn’t know Seokjin-Hyung could hit those kinds of notes!” Namjoon calls after you, cackling.

#sub!bts x reader #sub!jin #sub bts #domme reader #sub! jin x reader #sub jin x reader #sub!jin x reader

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thepandamightwrite · 3 years

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Chapter 1: The Poisoning

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Alcohol mention, poison, indirect death mention, attempted murder

Age group: Young adult

Whole Story Blurb: When Amira Bashir almost dies from hydrogen peroxide poisoning, PI Anjali Dayal must figure out who wants the president dead. Only 6 people could've spiked the glass, and with all of them having strong motives and shaky alibis, the case proves quite difficult to crack.

Notes: I’m so excited to share part one of my WIP with you guys! This idea has been nagging at me for a little while and I finally got around to writing it. Constructive criticism is always appreciated! Hope you enjoy it!

~†~

The elaborate diamond chandelier tosses tiny rainbows around the ballroom packed with drunk ambassadors. Isabella Garcia wishes she could stop working for a little bit and admire the splendor, maybe take a few pictures as well. But alas, she's still on duty and Luke will throw a fit if she stops for even a moment. As she makes her way back to the White House kitchens, she can't help but feel the familiar stab of envy at her extravagant surroundings. The people that claimed to be working for common citizens were the ones spending $50,000 on a glass of champagne.

Normally, Isabella would be able to put it out of her mind and do her job properly, but the imbalance irks her more than usual today. She throws open the doors of the kitchen and within a couple seconds, a tray full of drinks is thrust in her arms and she's shuttled back to the cursed ballroom. "Stupid ambassadors. Being treated like kings and queens instead of the entitled scums they are," Isabella grumbles as she trudges down the plush, carpeted hallways. On her way, Isabella glances at the note on her tray that guides her to the drinks' final destination, and she almost drops the glasses in surprise.

40 y/o Macallan Whiskey ---------------------------------- Ambassador William Burton

Dom Perignon --------------------------------------------------- Ambassador Irina Petrov

Orange Juice ------------------------------------------------- First Husband Aariz Bashir

Sparkling Water --------------------------------------------------- President Amira Bashir

Isabella stands in the middle of the deserted hallway, her jaw on the floor, stomach turning, and her sweaty palms struggle to grip the tray that's slowly sliding out of her grasp. Get ahold of yourself Garcia. Don't screw this up. She straightens her tie, runs her fingers through her hair, and pats the vial in her pocket. Considering her clientele, she'd need it later.

~†~

Secret Service Agent Miyoko Mori glances down at her watch, whose hands aren't moving any faster, despite her staring at it incessantly for the last few hours. 2 minutes and 30 seconds left. She drums her restless fingers against the table with the poison testing materials. No one's ever dared to spike anyone's glass, after all, there wasn't exactly a way to get anything dangerous into the White House in the first place. But still, out of a ridiculous abundance of caution, Miyoko had to test every single glass entering the ballroom for traces of toxins. Where is she?

Suddenly, Isabella turns the corner, balancing a tray of drinks and donning an endearing smile. "Agent Mori! I'm baaaack!" she calls in a singsong voice. "It's about time," Miyoko retorts. "I've been waiting for you to show up for the last 5 minutes! It's so dull here and I missed talking to you." "Aww, can't live without me can you," Isabelle teases with a flirty grin. "I mean I could, but it'd be rather boring, especially considering the only other person here is Agent Carter," Miyoko responds, gesturing at the burly man a few feet away. "That does sound rough," agrees Isabella. "But try serving drinks to drunk, pompous officers, and you'll be begging for your boring job in a few minutes." Agent Mori shakes her head disapprovingly as she places the poison testing strips inside each drink.

Then, she notices the label on the tray revealing that one of these drinks will reach the president herself. Well, the universe is certainly kind to me today, she thinks to herself. I'd be a fool not to take the opportunity that's fallen so perfectly into my lap. Once the tests come back negative, she takes the strips out of the glasses, lingering for just a second longer than she needs to in order to get the job done. "You're all good to go," Miyoko says, lying through her teeth.

~†~

Why didn't I wear heels, laments Russian Ambassador Irina Petrov as she waits for her drink. Most people would be glad to don comfortable flats instead of piercing stilettos, but the cursed shoes give her the 2 inches of height she so desperately needs. Especially considering her peers are at least a foot taller than her, Irina could use the heels to make people take her seriously. Sometimes, she wished Ambassador Burton wouldn't be listened to either, after all, he did spout nonsense most of the time. At the moment, he was debating the president and her husband about some stupid topic Irina couldn't bring herself to care about.

In that respect, Amira is commendable to say the least. Even though she's only a couple inches taller than Irina, Amira Bashir has a certain air of power and influence that makes even the most stubborn man pay attention. If only circumstances were different, I could actually learn a thing or two from her.

The British Ambassador, William Burton, starts yapping about drug prices and Aariz Bashir looks like he'd rather be anywhere else. Or maybe he was babbling about the military. Irina had already consumed a few too many drinks. She would look better with pale skin and glassy eyes. She shakes her head vehemently in an attempt to banish the distasteful thoughts from her mind. "Really Ambassador Burton? I would've thought you of all people would be in support of the Bashir Trade Deal. After all, the trade routes it proposes would make it far easier to distribute goods all over Russia," challenges the president. Oh no. Irina stammers an excuse for her absentmindedness, hoping that it could all be blamed on the 4 glasses of champagne she'd consumed earlier in the evening. One glance at Amira told her that wasn't the case and her stomach churned in apprehension.

The president was intimidating on a regular day, but seeing her angry was even worse. Ambassador Petrov could never forget that fateful day when she'd been more terrified of Amira than her, or probably anyone, had been in their lives. If the president could hold a grudge just like she did her secret, Irina was in big trouble. Amira's strategy was to let the information fester until it drove everyone to insanity. Not for much longer. Right on cue, the waitress arrives with the drinks and after William takes his whisky, Irene reaches for her champagne with shaking hands, hesitating longer than necessary.

~†~

Amira eyelids feel like they are 250 pound weights, as though she would fall asleep any minute. Although she's never consumed any alcohol, she still felt rather hungover from all the useless conversation. Back when Amira first ran for president, she hadn't realized how many meaningless balls and galas she'd be subject to. Naively, she'd taken the job thinking she'd be transparent about everything and only do things that would help regular, working class people. Unfortunately, that childish dream had been extinguished after a few months, when the AI war took place. The casualties still weighed heavily on Amira's conscience, but if she could go back and make those difficult decisions again, she probably wouldn't change anything. That truly scared her.

"President Bashir, you have a meeting with the Secretary of State in 15 minutes," chirps Alyssa Miller, her personal assistant. "Very well. If you could get the necessary technology ready, I'll meet you in the Oval Office in 10 minutes." "Absolutely," Alyssa replies as she scurries off, leaving 3 broken vases and multiple squashed toes in her wake. President Bashir shakes her head, but laughs to herself as the waitress brings their drinks.

"Here you are, dear," says Aariz as he hands Amira her sparkling water. The president knows her husband is quiet to begin with, but this was the first sentence he'd spoken for the whole evening. Something was off, and Amira intended to find out, right after this stupid gala was over. As she reaches for her glass, Agent Brown swats her hand out of the way and takes it for himself. "Lucas!" "Sorry ma'am, it's protocol," he responds with an apologetic expression on his face. President Bashir rolls her eyes at the unnecessary precautions, but waits for the glass to be tested for poison. She looks around the room, noticing the nervous, distracted, apprehensive expressions of the people closest to her. Something seems a little off about everyone, but before Amira can think about it too much, Lucas yells the fateful words that sends her life spiralling. "There's poison!"

~†~

#a presidential poisoning #anika actually writes #anika writes #my writing #my WIP #chapter 1

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impalaimagining · 4 years

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Fire & Rescue [2]

EMT!Jensen, Fireman!Jared, Reader

1,796 words

Warnings: angst, attempted assault, protective!J2

Written for Lindsey Wilburn as the first part of her second Shotgun Rider series on Patreon!

Series Masterlist - Masterlist

You got the rundown of the situation, found the locker with your first initial and last name on it, and stuffed your bag into it before you heard someone huff behind you.

“Wha-” You spun and found yourself face to face with four guys, a little older than you.

“Oh, don’t mind us.” One of them smirked and raked his eyes up and down your body. “We’re just,” he licked his lips and finally met your eyes again, “lookin’ around.”

You shuddered under his gaze and stepped back. “I’m, uh - I’m gonna go find Jensen.”

He caged you in, leaning his arms against the locker beside yours. “I think you should spend some time with us other first-dayers.”

“I - I’m good.” You forced a tight smile and attempted to push past him. “Thanks.” Your opportunity to side-step him was lost as he blocked you in, stepping into your path.

“I said, you’re going to spend some time with us.” He reached up and pushed you back against the lockers, your back bouncing off of them with a shaky metallic clang. His hand moved from your shoulder where he’d shoved you, across your collarbone. His hand stretched until the space between his thumb and index finger was big enough to wrap around your neck.

Before he could close his fingers around your throat, you screamed.

“Son of a bitch.” He clamped his hand over your mouth instead, muffling the sound falling from your lips.

But not before Jared heard it. He was sitting in the lounge, feet kicked up onto the coffee table in front of the black leather couch. When he heard your screech, he straightened up, then sprang from his seat when he caught the way it became almost instantly muffled. Jared darted for the kitchen first, where there were the most outside doors, the most room for access for an intruder, but the kitchen was empty, save for the head of the women’s auxiliary committee cooking for the upcoming bingo night.

He painted on a smile in her direction and flew out of the room. Jared ran into the locker room and saw them, a group of four out of the other six first-dayers surrounding you in a semicircle.

“Back up.” His voice boomed, echoing off of the lockers and empty walls. Their heads turned, whipping around as Jared came closer, towering over most of them. “I said back up.” He seethed, jaw clenched around his words.

The man who seemed to lead the newbie “pack,” whose name you’d later find out was Cory, withdrew his hand, allowing you to gasp in a breath. Tears filled your eyes and you clamped them shut before disappearing into one of the lockable changing stalls. The doors weren’t solid from floor to ceiling, so you could hear every word Jared was saying.

“Don’t ever let me catch any of you near her like this again.” He poked his finger into Cory’s chest. “You hear me?” Cory nodded dumbly, unsure of what he could even say to alleviate the tension. “If I find out any of you touch her, unless you’re doing man-to-man training, you’ll be reported and immediately suspended from the program. Do you understand?” Cory nodded again, and the others mirrored the movement. “Get your bags and get out of here. Consider this the end of your first day.”

After they scurried to collect their things and leave, Jared knocked with a single knuckle on the thin wooden door to the changing room. “Hey, you still in there or did you manage to sneak away while I was kickin’ their asses?” He teased.

You slowly cracked the door and peeked out, making sure it was just him in the room with you. “Thank you.” You spoke softly, unable to look at him. “I can’t believe they-”

“Don’t worry about it. They won’t be bothering you again. And if they do, you come to me.” He pulled the door the rest of the way open and ushered you out, then held the door as you walked back into the lounge with him following close behind. Jared pulled out a chair for you around the huge wooden table in the center of the room, then sat beside you. “You okay?”

You nodded, but Jared raised a brow and you quickly switched to shaking your head. “I don’t want to deal with that for the rest of training.”

“I don’t blame you.” Jared nodded in agreement. “But trust me, you won’t have to deal with it. As soon as I tell Jensen-”

“No!” You reached out and grabbed Jared’s forearm. “No, no, you can’t tell Jensen.”

Jared looked down, seeing your knuckles white with how tightly you were holding onto him. “Why wouldn’t I tell Jensen? He’s the one working with you every day. He’s the one who will see them around you and know if something’s up. He should know.”

“Please don’t tell him.” You pleaded, releasing Jared’s arm. “I don’t want him to think I’m - I can’t stand up for myself and I needed you to swoop in and save me.”

Jared smirked. “To be fair, I did kind of come in like a knight in shining armor.”

With a roll of your eyes, you shoved away from him. “Shut the hell up.”

Jared chuckled, but quickly turned serious. “Jensen should know.” He repeated. “He’s going to be in the field with all of you. He can keep you safe.”

You furrowed your brows. “I don’t need him to keep me safe. I can handle them if they start their shit again. I just - they just caught me off guard in there.”

“They’re lucky you weren’t in the middle of changing or something. I would’ve had them suspended on the spot if you were any kind of indecent in there.” Jared patted your knee and offered you a warm smile. “I’m gonna go see if Janice needs any help in the kitchen, but you just stay in here and take it easy, okay? For as long as you need.”

“Thank you.” You looked up at him as he stood, and he just brushed off the thanks. “No, Jared.” You reached out and caught his wrist in your hand. “Thank you.” You didn’t need to say it, he knew he’d done more than you were letting on.

Jared flipped his wrist and captured your hand, squeezing it gently. “Whatever you need, you just let me know.” He smiled and tightened his grasp on your hand again before letting go and walking into the kitchen.

You spent the better part of your first week riding in the front of the ambulance with Jensen when calls came in. Nothing too serious, just the lower-profile, embarrassing cases that would never see the front page of even a local paper. When you were back at the station, the two of you hung around Jared, mostly, but the other fire guys flitted in and out of the conversations as well.

Friday afternoon, after all of the trainees packed up for the day and headed home, Jared pulled you aside. “How’ve they been?” He asked quietly and nodded in the direction of the guys you’d started with.

“Haven’t even looked at me since Monday.” You shrugged. “I knew I’d be the odd man out because I’m… not a man, but damn.”

“I’m sorry if me stepping in made things worse.” Jared pulled his lips to the side and chewed the inside of his cheek.

You shook your head. “Like I said, I came in expecting being the only not-dude in the program. Not sure I expected all the current EMTs to also be dudes but…”

Jensen made his way over to you and Jared, frowning as he noticed the uncertainty on your face. “Everything okay? Did something happen? Something I should know about?”

Mild panic washed over your features. “Nope, all good.” You blurted before you could quell the anxiousness in your voice.

Jensen raised his brows. “If this doesn’t work out for you, you might want to give acting a shot. That was very convincing.” He licked his lips. “Wanna try again?”

Your eyes darted to Jared. You were certain he would’ve told Jensen, regardless of what you said. “I, um - the other day - Monday, the day we started, the - the guys kind of - um, they trapped me in the locker room and-”

“They what?” His eyes grew wide.

“They - they cornered me and - and Cory pushed me against the locker. He put his hand around my throat and I screamed. I don’t - I don’t know what his plan was, but Jared stepped in and stopped them.” You looked at your feet.

“I… what?” Jensen pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ll have them suspended. I’ll go to the-”

“No.” You reached out your hands in front of you, waving them frantically. “No, it’s okay. They’ve been… handled.”

“Warned.” Jared clarified with a sly grin. “I took care of it.”

“Thanks.” Jensen gave him a tight smile and a knowing look, and you realized you’d be the topic of their conversation later. “Are you okay? Really? Being around him after all that.”

You gave a single nod. “Gotta be. I can’t let them think they got to me.”

Jensen drew his lips into a thin line and nodded again. “I’ll make sure you don’t have to work with him one-on-one, okay?”

“You don’t have to do that.” You insisted. “I gotta,” you scoffed a laugh, “man up if I’m gonna be around all you guys, right?”

Jensen rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. So if you don’t want to work with Cory, you don’t work with Cory. It’s simple. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen.”

“Yeah.” You gave a small smile. “Sure, thank you.”

“If you need anything else, let me know, okay? When it happens, not four days after the fact.” He raised a stern brow as his hand fell to the ball of your shoulder, and you nodded your understanding.

“Thanks.” You repeated and glanced to the side, watching his fingers tighten around your shoulder. “Thank you.”

Jensen removed his hand from your arm and nodded his head in the direction of your car. “Go ‘head and get out of here. Have a good weekend.”

You stepped back and took a single step in the direction of your car. “Don’t work too much this weekend, yeah?” You threw him a grin over your shoulder. “Gonna need you in tip-top training shape on Monday.”

The corners of Jensen’s mouth perked up in a tiny smile. “That so?”

“Yeah, if you plan on keeping me as safe as you think you’re going to.” You teased with a wink before turning and disappearing to your car.

Part 3

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lumau · 3 years

Link

Chapters: 3/7 Fandom: The Invisible Library - Genevieve Cogman Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Irene (The Invisible Library), Kai (The Invisible Library), Peregrine Vale, catherine (the invisible library), Lord Silver (The Invisible Library), Li Ming (Invisible Library), Ao Shun (Invisible Library) Additional Tags: ilcharacterweek, Angst, Some Humor, Some Romance, all a bit trippy, but it'll make sense, potentially additional tags per chapter, minor spoilers for the dark archive and all other books Summary: 7 chapters, each focussing on one of the main / favorite characters (written for 2021 Invisible Library Character Appreciation Week)

Chapter 3 - Vale

additional safety notes for this chapter: contains reference to death / suicidal thoughts

╳

Vale’s cane tapped on the dark, polished floor as he strode briskly down the corridor.

This, he could feel it. This was it.

His usual instinct that helped him to meet the right people at the right time had never failed him, and he would trust it also in this case. While his whole system was on full alert, there was the smallest twitch in the corner of his lips. He quietly muttered to himself, as he briefly bent down to check the floor, before continuing onwards with even more determination.

“If my record were closed tonight I could still survey it with equanimity. Today I crown my career by the capture or extinction of the most dangerous and capable criminal in Europe.”

He cast a quick glance over his shoulder, but, as expected, the hall was empty. Very well. He had sent Strongrock to meet up with Winters, which should distract both of them sufficiently. This was one matter he had to face alone.

In front of him the corridor ended and opened into a vast space. Not only the ceiling lay hidden in complete darkness, but also the other sides of the wide room. It was impossible to make out how far the room stretched in any direction.

Vale stopped in his tracks and stood completely still, listening intently. He could not hear any noise by another living thing, but found that he could make out a vague rushing sound, like water running down a stream in the far distance. And still, he knew that he was not alone.

Ahead of him a narrow bridge stretched out over the darkness that lay below. There was only one way onwards.

Vale was perfectly calm when he pulled a notebook and pen from his pocket. He set down his cane, leaning it against the wall of the corridor, and in his usual firm and clear manner, he wrote out a few lines, before cleanly ripping the sheet from the book and sticking it behind the cane’s handle.

My dear Winters, my dear Strongrock! I write these few lines through the courtesy of my adversary, who awaits my convenience for the final discussion of those questions which lie between us. I am pleased to think that I shall be able to free society from any further effects of his presence, though I fear that it is at a cost which will give pain to my friends, and especially to you.

However, my career had in any case reached its crisis, and no possible conclusion to it could be more congenial to me than this. I made every disposition of my property before leaving London, and handed it to my sister Columbine. Pray give my greetings to Inspector Singh, and believe me to be, my dear fellows,

Very sincerely yours, Vale

With one deep breath and not a moment's hesitation, Vale turned to face towards the narrow plank across the unfathomable chasm. As he began to walk, he could make out a shadow opposite him, the dark figure of a man, walking towards him at the same, steady pace.

Vale felt his heart pounding fast in his chest, but no sign of the thrill of anticipation passed through to the outside. There was the familiar weight of his revolver against the side of his leg. Without his cane it did give him something to focus on, a target for his senses, to keep them alert and focussed. He knew that if he only slipped for a second, it would be a lost game. Only fools underestimated their enemies, and while Vale was prepared to die, he would not do so without taking his with him.

The light was so low that he could still not make out more than the outlines of the man opposite him. The bridge was so narrow that neither of them would be able to evade the other.

"It is a dangerous habit to finger loaded firearms in the pocket of one's coat."

Vale startled for a second, as the voice rang out ahead of him, loud and clear, an echo in the vast chamber. He drew to a halt, the figure opposite mirroring his step. Vale smiled, and pulled out his revolver.

"You evidently don't know me," snarled the voice.

“On the contrary," Vale answered in a light tone, that gave none of his tension away. "I think it is fairly evident that I do. Pray, spare me the chatter. If you have anything to say, then do it now."

"All that I have to say has already crossed your mind."

“Then possibly my answer has crossed yours," Vale replied.

“You stand fast?”

“Absolutely."

The silence was cut by the faintest rustle of fabric, and with one swift motion, Vale raised his pistol, just as the other moved in the same manner, and pulled the trigger.

The shot was an explosion in the vast, empty room. Within the same moment Vale knew that something had gone wrong, even while the sudden, blinding light made it impossible for him to see. Then the fragments of broken glass came hurling towards him and he understood.

It was an instinctual move to dodge the bullet that had ricocheted from the mirror that sent his foot over the edge of the bridge. His weight tipped with nothing to grasp for, and he fell.

╳

“Strongrock?”

Vale stepped into the room, carefully avoiding the shattered glass and fragments of what looked like it had once been a chair that were strewn all across the floor. The figure kneeling crouched over in the middle of it all had nothing of the poise and energy he knew his friend to hold in almost any situation, but it was clearly him. With a critical glance around Vale quickly took in the scene. Just a moment ago he had woken slouched in a dark corridor without any recollection of how he got there. But as he followed the faint noises around the corner and was faced with this scenery, all his senses immediately sprang to high alert. He itched to investigate the rubble and this odd place. Yet, the dragon’s state seemed the most pressing issue for now.

“My dear fellow, are you alright?”

He went down on one knee next to him and touched a hand to his shaking shoulder. Kai flinched and looked up at him. His face was streaked with tears and ashen. Tiny cuts stood out dark against his deadly pale skin. Kai stared at him in shock with the expression of someone who had just seen a ghost, or believed he had. Vale frowned, clearly something had shaked his friend to the bones, and he knew this was not easily done.

“Vale? You… are you real?” His voice was hoarse and small, and Vale could hear the desperation in it. It met some part inside his chest with a stinging pain.

Vale swallowed down a lump in his throat, and gave the dragon’s arm a sympathetic squeeze.

“Quite, for all I can account for, I am very real.”

“I thought I had lost you,” Kai slumped forwards in a shudder of sobbs, clasping onto Vale’s arm.

Vale was taken aback by the outburst, wondering what might have inspired it. He put his hand on Kai’s heaving back. This was a moment where Winters would say something sympathetic and yet constructive, witty but kind. He on the other hand was rather out of his depth, and while he had faced many distraught clients and victims, they weren’t generally his friends as well.

It took him a moment to regain his composure. As Kai sat up, he looked more miserable than Vale had ever seen him, but his eyes had regained some of their sharpness now. He focussed on Vale, and there was something in his look that he had not seen there before.

“Vale, please forgive me. I don’t even know what I can say to express how sorry I am.”

“I can’t see what you should apologize for and what has upset you that much. Won’t you explain to me?” Vale asked softly.

Kai took a deep breath to steady himself and told Vale what had happened. His face drew into a pained expression as he told him of his struggle to free them, and his desparation as he simply couldn’t do anything. He averted his eyes, clearly fighting to find the words.

“I just had to do something. It was not as if I would not have tried to help you and Catherine as well. Please, Vale, you must believe me,” he pleaded.

Vale paused, thinking rapidly. This was all very curious. “You might have fallen victim to some sort of wicked illusion. Surely you must see that this is so, as I am right here, unharmed?”

Kai swallowed, then shook his head decisively. “But that is not the point,” his voice rose to an urgent tone that Vale had rarely heard from him, at least not directed at himself, “I betrayed you. How can you be so dismissive about this?”

Vale took a moment to consider.

“My dear Strongrock, had I been there, I would have implored you to save Winters. And it would have been the sensible thing, too, as her abilities might have enabled further action," he said calmly. "I would have expected nothing less of you. There is nothing to forgive.”

Kai stared at him, aghast, and Vale could see a whole array of emotions pass over his face. He was so obvious, still, and it was one of the things that made him such a fine person.

“Why do you have to be so utterly noble?” Kai grunted, but the strained expression on his face had softened somewhat. In a spontaneous gesture, Vale held his hand out for him. Kai took it, and then leaned forward to pull him into an embrace.

Vale was startled, but forced himself to not just hang in his arms boardlike. That was usually not an appropriate reaction. Instead he settled on returning the embrace, and for a moment, he thought he shared the others relief and allowed himself to relax a bit.

And then, the screams started outside.

╳

(with abbreviated quotes from The Adventure of the Final Problem by Arthur Conan Doyle)

#the invisible library #ilcharacterweek #peregrine vale #the angst prevails #theres finally some comfort too though #tw: suicidal thoughts #tw: suicide

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dwaynepride · 4 years

Text

the unfortunate case of nonchalance

PART III - WE CAN ESCAPE SOMETIME

summary: jethro gives the reader shooting lessons to avoid another incident in the saloon.

words: 3,163

warnings: female reader

tags: @fairytale07 @jrenn10 @f4nboi @purplestarsr5 @ladyzombiielove @littlemiss3ma @minikate--24-05 @consultingdoctorwholock @dressed-up-just-like-z1ggy @ms-allenbrown @ikbenplant @dylpickles1267 @diaryofafan17 @specialagentlokitty @pageofultron @stanathanxoox @kittenlittle24

author’s note: part 3 of the cowboy!au series. this is a part of meg’s 11k challenge. the prompts are cowboy au and secret relationship trope.

part II | part IV

February 29th, 1889

I’ve spent the last week instructing the heiress on how to shoot. It seems as if she’s never held a gun in her entire life, which I’m not too surprised about. It took a whole day to teach her how to hold my revolver properly. Another day to get her to shoot without letting it fly out of her hands.

But I think she’s getting the hang of it. Not too bad, but not too good. Hasn’t been able to hit three bottles in a row, yet. But she’s getting there.

She’s determined as hell, I will grant her that.

But even in my frequent absence, I’ve noticed Anthony’s change in behavior. It ain’t hard to miss. He’s quieter, somehow. Less annoying. And as much as I should be joyful over this change, it concerns me. Perhaps he’s only in a mood about my saying no to his foolish bank robbery plan.

Or I fear he may be up to not good. That’s nothing new, though.

I can’t sit around speculating. I have another target practice appointment to get to.

The wind carried the light scent of wildflowers. If one were quiet enough, they’d catch the faint chirping of songbirds in the trees. Jethro was pleased that, for all the civilization out here in the East, at least there were some silent spaces left. A peace he’s sorely missed.

And he regrets having to ruin such peacefulness.

Gunshots ring out into the air at random times, one after another. Sometimes accompanied by the sound of shattered glass - but most times not. Jethro watches with serious eyes and a furrowed brow as bullets are fired into the old wooden wall of the abandoned church. When one of the bullets hits a bottle, he gives a light nod.

But it doesn’t happen all too often.

He expects more shots to be fired, but instead hears you give a heavy huff and your arms fall to your sides. Jethro’s eyes shift to where you stand, and you’re just looking at him with an exasperated look. “Mr. Gibbs, I don’t believe I’m capable of being a gunslinger,” you tell him in a flat voice.

“You don’t gotta be a gunslinger, ma’am,” he replies. “You only gotta hit those bottles.”

You sigh again. Eye him with a disbelieving expression, but you turn back to the glass bottles. His old revolver is raised, you aim carefully, and fire.

No shattered glass follows the echo of the gunshot.

Jethro smirks when you stomp your foot in frustration, and he pushes himself off the tree he’s been leaning up against. “This is impossible, I tell you.” Jethro shakes his head at your words. “I believe I may be unteachable.”

“No one’s unteachable, ma’am.” Jethro stops behind you. His eyes run over your back and shoulders, and he quickly notices the likely reason for your missing the bottles. “You ain’t standing right,” he continues. Carefully, his hands come up to square your shoulders. As they slide down to straighten your back, Jethro’s careful to keep his touch light and gentle. Only the tips of his fingers touch your back, but he’s firm in his movements. And you give no objection.

“Make yourself solid. Unmovable when you pull that trigger,” Jethro instructs. His tone is low. Concentrated. Once your back is sufficiently straight and solid, he steps forward. His front almost pressed against your back in order for his hand to reach your arm. Jethro guides it to aim at the next bottle.

And he’s very aware that his heartbeat has gotten faster. Feeling like the tremble of horse hooves in his chest - he’s never gotten so close during any of the other lessons. And Jethro hadn’t planned on the close proximity - it just happened.

He feels you’re tense. And he’s unsure if it’s because of him or the shooting lesson.

You breathe in, and then exhale slowly. And this time, when you fire, it hits the bottle dead on. Tiny shards of glass explode off the church wall. You move the gun, focusing on the second bottle. And again, when you fire, it hits square in the center. Jethro sees your hands tighten around the handle - you’re getting nervous.

But he doesn’t speak. He lets you aim on the third bottle. A heartbeat goes by, and then a second. After the third, you fire again. And just like the others before, the bottle shatters with the impact of the bullet.

Three in a row.

Instantly, you let out an excited whoop. Bouncing up and twirling around to face Jethro with a large grin. And he can’t help but reflect the smile right back at you - what can he say, it was damn contagious. “I got it! I hit three in a row!” You exclaim.

And in the moment of pure excitement, your arms loop around his neck. Jethro can still hear your joyful laughter, but with you hugging him like so, he feels it, too. It shocks him. Surprises him thoroughly, but Jethro still wraps his arms around your middle and returns the hug. He was proud, truly. But he hadn’t expected to feel this sort of softness again.

Being held, gingerly, by someone he cares about.

Jethro’s the one who pulls out of the hug. His eyes are pointed down - not so much avoiding your gaze, but more hiding his own. Guilt pricks at him sharply; he can nearly feel your surprise that he broke the hug so quick. But he merely motions to the broken bottles. “Congratulations. May not be a gunslinger, but I’d be glad to ride with you anytime,” Jethro says lightly.

And when he finally glances up, you look pleased; wearing a proud smile on your face while examining the bottles you shot. “Perhaps I will, one day.”

You turn the revolver around in your hands for a moment. Jethro watches your fingers run over the cool metal slowly; almost a caress. So he’s surprised when you suddenly hold out the revolver to him, intending to give it back. But he shakes his head. “No, you keep it. For your own protection.”

You scoff at that, as if Jethro had told a joke. “Oh, my father would never allow me to have a gun,” you tell him, glancing back down to the revolver. “If he even knew you taught me to shoot, he’d be furious.”

“Well, a lady as pretty as yourself really should know how to protect herself.” At that, Jethro reaches out. His hand covers yours, and he gently pushes the revolver away from himself with a slight smirk. “Just keep it, and make sure he doesn’t find it.”

You’re reluctant, he can tell. But eventually, you give in and tuck the small gun into your waistband with a meek smile. It can’t really be seen, unless someone specifically searches for it. And already, Jethro feels much better that you’re walking around town with some sort of protection.

And then there’s silence - neither of you speaking up or knowing what to say next. This was usually the time when you part ways. Returning tomorrow for another lesson. That was the sole reason for their secret visits, and now that you know how to shoot, there’s no good reason to keep on. The celebration of hitting three bottles was bittersweet, in hindsight. Jethro’s boot kicks up some dirt, and he takes a breath to excuse himself. Perhaps for the last time.

But you’re quicker than him. Stepping closer, and when he glances up, your eyes are both excited and nervous. “I’ve been meaning to ask, Mr. Gibbs, but would you like to take a walk with me? There’s a spot by the river that’s my favorite, and I think you’d very much enjoy it.”

The question gives him pause. Jethro almost declines your offer because he knows what it sounds like and what it might mean and he’s not confident he can simply walk away if nothing comes out of it. Not confident that he can go back to camp without that mooning cloud over his head that Dr. Mallard would sniff out easily.

Because, try as he might to reject the notion, Jethro knows he’s grown a fond affection for the only kind aristocrat in this hellhole of a town.

He’s aware that you can do better than him. You can find a nice, rich man who would pay for your every wish and whim and the only thing Jethro can offer is a life of living in the dirt and blood. But as you stand there, watching him with those soft eyes, Jethro knows you’ll make a fool of him yet.

“Sure, alright.”

Your smile, even temporarily, relieves Jethro of his harsh thoughts. He smiles back, motions for you to take the lead, and then falls into step beside you away from the old church.

There’s silence, for a time. You both listening to the songbirds that have returned since the ruckus of gunfire. The breeze still smells of wildflowers, and ruffles your hair in a way that Jethro can’t look away from. And you catch him in his ogling, to which he quickly recovers from. “By the way, you don’t need to call me Mr. Gibbs,” he says lightly. “I gotta first name.”

“Well, Mr. Gibbs, you never told me your first name,” is your sarcastic response. “I was beginning to think your momma didn’t give you one.”

He huffs in laughter, head shaking. “It’s Jethro, ma’am. Most folk call me Jethro.”

“Most folk? So are there other folk who call you by a different name?”

“Only certain folk.”

You let out a slow, thoughtful hum, and Jethro can feel your eyes against the side of his face. Though, when he looks over, your light smile quickly starts to fade and your eyes flicker to the left side of his face. “How are your battle wounds holding up? I hope you haven’t been in too much pain, on my account,” you tell him.

But Jethro just shakes his head. “Ah, they stopped hurting long ago. ‘Round the time we started meeting up for target practice.”

The scoff you let out pulls a smirk to Jethro’s face - even if it did pull on his bruised cheek unpleasantly. “Mr. Gib- Jethro- that was only a day after the saloon fight,” you point out to him. And he reckons you were trying to trip him up.

So he only shrugs, and you say nothing.

Upon reaching the river, Jethro quickly decides you were right to love it. Green grass lining each side of the clear river. Colorful wildflowers seeming like freckles on fair skin with how they pop. And if Jethro cocks his head, he can spot a doe and her foal drinking from the river a little ways down. Even when the doe lifts her head and spots them, she doesn’t run off. It’s much too peaceful to feel any sort of danger.

Peaceful, and very beautiful. Much like you, in fact.

You pad up to the river’s side, wearing a smile as you look out on the water. “By the way,” you speak up, drawing Jethro’s attention over. “I never really understood why you were so adamant on teaching me to shoot. Any other gentleman would have just defended my honor and been on his way. But you? You’ve done much more than that.” Your voice is soft. So sweet.

It makes Jethro look out across the river again. Damn, he’d hoped you wouldn’t think too hard on his actions. Even worse that you’re questioning him, because Jethro himself had trouble understanding why he was drawn to teaching you.

But one thing was clear: the thought of you being in any sort of danger without him to protect you made him feel sick.

“I suppose I just didn’t want to see a lady be unable to keep herself safe.”

“Well, I doubt you tutor all unmarried women in the art of gunslinging,” you reply in amusement before lifting your eyes up to watch a butterfly as it flutters by. You’re being light-hearted; not pushing the subject much further than he wants to talk about.

And yet, Jethro can’t stop his thoughts from drifting. Drifting back to years prior, to what soured this cowboy life of his so irreparably. The heartache he felt akin to a stab in the chest. The waning sense of uselessness that turned him so hard and cold over the years.

But maybe not so cold anymore. Being here with you, by the river, warmed him more than the sun itself.

Jethro takes a breath, his cobalt eyes fixed on the slow-moving river. He wished moving on was as easy as water to the sea. “I had a wife, long ago.” Your head instantly snaps back to look at him, but he keeps his gaze steady. “Married young, and I loved her very much. But I wasn’t there to keep her safe, like I outta been.”

His words are short and straightforward. Jethro doesn’t watch your smile falter, nor the heartbreak clear in your gaze. He’d rather not see such a sorry sight, and prefers watching the fish swim by - somehow unable to hear his heart beating as hard as it was.

And....you’re still so quiet. Probably not knowing how to reply in the least, and Jethro scolds himself for dumping such a thing on you unprompted. It just came out so easy - he can’t really explain it. But then you move closer to him, just the tiniest step. And Jethro finds himself holding his breath. “I can’t pretend to know what you’ve been through,” you say softly. “I’ve never been married; though, if my father had it his way, I would marry his associate.”

A bit of humor edges on your tone - you’re trying to lighten his mood. But when Jethro looks over with a flat look hidden beneath the brim of his hat, you step closer. Reaching out and putting a hand on his arm, squeezing lightly. “But I think it’s very honorable to want to protect the people you care about. Or even just....silly girls who need an entire week to learn to shoot bottles,” you say with a smirk.

He mimics your smile, just slightly. But it emboldens you. Softly, your thumb rubs back and forth on his arm. “If I may ask, what was your wife’s name?”

Her name. It’s always been stuck in his throat, choking him for years. A slow death.

But now, it comes easy. “Shannon,” he says.

“A very beautiful name,” you lament. “I bet you miss her very much.”

“....I do.”

The yawning pit in his heart that Shannon’s death left behind, it’s always been so painful. Too agonizing to ignore and it just made him angry when he tried. And right now, the pit is still there. But it doesn’t hurt too bad - doesn’t turn him mad with grief. Jethro can breathe, at least. That’s gotta be something. And when he breathes, he smells those wildflowers.

He turns from the river to face you fully. “I have a confession to make, ma’am. And you gotta promise something.”

You’re curious, he can tell. That little light in your eyes has returned as you nod enthusiastically. “Anything, Mr. Gibbs,” you reply quickly.

“Promise you won’t run off and tell your little friends about it. I know you women love to gossip, but this is just between us.”

You snort, close to laughing but you nod anyway. “Cross my heart - no gossip.”

Jethro hesitates, despite the promise. Almost spills his heart to this woman who has somehow been able to hold the pieces of it in her delicate hands. He nearly makes a fool of himself again, but regains his willpower and offers a half-smirk. “Jethro’s actually my middle name,” he relents. “My first is Leroy. That is why I introduce myself as Jethro Gibbs.”

He watches your eyes widen, and then you’re laughing. Not the malicious type of laughter - your hand covers your mouth to silence the outburst, but Jethro finds himself chuckling, as well. The laughter persists, and then dies down, and he finds your eyes watching him with a warm softness. “Well, despite your grievances, I think it’s a handsome name. A handsome name for a handsome man.”

Jethro’s ready to shrug off the compliment. Tease you for even saying such a thing, but your hand is still on his arm. It squeezes, harder than last time, and Jethro knows that you’re foolishly serious. So he doesn’t lean in so much as he’s pulled in - the thought of kissing you does too much to him to ignore. When your hand comes up, he half-expects a slap to the face for being so bold.

But you just tip his hat up, curl your hand around the back of his neck, and pull him in the rest of the way.

Jethro hasn’t kissed another woman since Shannon. He thought it would hurt too much - he’d be betraying her, somehow. It would be wrong. But when his lips touch yours, wrong isn’t even in his vocabulary.

You feel good. You taste good. Your lips are soft and warm and the skin of your cheek beneath his hand feels like silk and when your hands clutch his coat, Jethro can’t hardly breathe, let alone think. His other hand comes to grip your arm, keeping you in place - perhaps a little too hard, but he can’t help it. He wants to keep you here, pressed against him, forever. With nobody but the doe and her foal to bother them.

And by the way you gasp against his lips, he expects you feel the same.

Despite this, you’re the one to break the kiss. When he feels your breath on his lips, Jethro dips his head in for another. But you back your head away with a soft smile. “I must leave,” you breathe out. “My father will be wondering where I am.”

Your words make Jethro sigh. And he feels the shivers it gives you. “Your father really should mind his own life, instead of yours.”

“Perhaps, but that doesn’t change the fact that I need to be home,” you reply softly.

Reluctantly, Jethro releases you. His hands linger on your body, as does yours with his. But eventually, you turn away from him. Walking off toward the direction of town, and Jethro just watches you leave.

So when you stop and turn back to him, you’ve already got his attention. “Meet me in front of the bank in two days. I have to assist my father with something, but afterward, we can go back to the church.” Your smile is wide. Mischievous. So bright, it can be mistaken for the sun. “Perhaps I can hit four bottles in a row.”

He scoffs, shaking his head with a smirk. “Don’t push your luck, sweetheart.”

#ncis imagine #ncis reader insert #leroy jethro gibbs x reader #leroy jethro gibbs imagine #ncis x reader

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buck-nialled · 4 years

Text

Two Million Minutes (7) - N. Horan

NOTE: your wishes are my commands, anons! its also worth mentioning that ofc Jake would not take this persona in his real life, I just needed a good antagonist for the story and to add the love!triangle trope into the mix. And in case any returning readers were wondering, this is the last SUPER angsty part of the story i’m pretty sure <3 enjoy!

PLAYLIST // PART ONE // PART TWO // PART THREE // PART FOUR // PART FIVE // PART SIX

Niall’s response to Jake’s unexpected leave in the Skype call was only slightly bothersome. He had much bigger things to wrap his head around, like why Veronica would not give him the full story of the two as a couple. While his angry stomps probably left his footprints sunken into the floors, Niall could not care less. He was much more occupied with his current emotions: confusion, betrayal, hurt. And of course, through this sinkhole of thoughts he had fallen into, anger reached him again.

Anger for Veronica? A little. But the feud he built by and with himself far exceeded it. He failed to admit to himself amidst his resentment that, despite what Jake communicated, something was pulling him toward the woman. Each memory Niall recollected over the past month, even the anguishing regrets and failures he faced, were worth living through again to see her face in just one. Whether that be something his mind constructed in the fantasy-like state of his unconscious, or something real that she had buried in order not to tell him.

Niall wants to believe Jake’s side, with every part of his heart because he knows choosing one wrong step could lead to losing one of his closest friends. He needed Veronica, though, never mind the small crush she might have had on one of his mates. Jake and Y/N would never work out, they were total opposites and always butting heads with one another over trivial matters. Maybe that was why she never started anything with him, Niall concludes. It is possible the woman could have come to realize how mismatched the pair would have been.

Or, maybe she held Niall to that of one she respected. Niall knows he does and did. That was why they still lived together; it has to be. There would be no other reason for exes to be roommates other than the fact that they care too deeply about one another. So, to an extent, the feeling was still mutual. How Niall’s mind went from absolute rage to lovestruck within minutes was disregarded by him. He glanced over to the pile of freshly folded clothes Y/N cleaned the other day, and his eyes halted at the vanilla hoodie beaming back at him from the stack.

Upon unfolding it, and throwing it over his topless frame, another flash of a memory stunned him and left him entranced for a few moments.

“They’re here! Baby, come here!” Niall cheers, throwing the large box of the final prototypes of his merchandise. Flicker was soon to be released, alongside a few tee-shirts, a hoodie, and some smaller items. Niall had been in and out of the studio those last few weeks, putting the finishing touches on all of his work, but feeling less than satisfied come sundown. It was difficult being a musician and not having anything physical to prove your triumph other than the occasional sore throat and calloused fingers from guitar strings. But after ripping the tape from the boxes lid and throwing the flaps open, he felt a surge of satisfaction like no other run through him.

“What’s here?” Veronica enters the room, bouncing in her steps with excitement. It made another surge go through the man’s body, but this one seized his heart. He grinned at his girlfriend’s buoyant presence, which never failed to make an entrance and leave him with a smile drawn onto his lips. “Final prototypes for the merch! Wanna model em’ for me?” Niall offered with a wiggle of his eyebrows. Veronica only giggles, placing her hands against her chest.

“I’d be delighted.” She replies, snatching the first article of clothing her eyes could catch in the box and scurrying off to the bathroom.

“I’ve already seen everything, baby, there’s no need t’ hide!” Niall’s teasing calls from the kitchen are barely picked up from the woman casually undressing in the bathroom.

“Have to make it professional! This is Niall Horan’s merchandise, for crying out loud!” She exclaims. To play along with the charade, Niall whips out his phone from his back pocket, and begins playing one of his newly released singles for the album, “Slow Hands”.

“Ready when you a—” Niall’s voice abruptly concludes when the door in the middle of the hall opens, revealing the sexiest model you could have laid eyes on. She strutted right to him, donned in cotton shorts and a hoodie with his name on it while the devious song reverberated along the house’s walls. When she gets close enough to lay a hand against his chest, she does so without hesitation. Her eyes dart to his Adam’s apple, which bobs up and down as he swallows thickly.

“What do you think?” She inquires with a sly bite of her lips. Niall groans through his answer, letting his rough hands fly to her hips and sneak their way under the hoodie.

“I think…” He picks her up suddenly, spinning her about and setting her squealing figure down onto the counter with a smirk playing on his lips. “I’m never letting you take this off.” He whispers against her lips, before pressing his body to fit in between her legs and sealing the promise with a kiss.

Niall blinks suddenly, finding himself back in his bedroom with his fists clenching the hoodie tight in his grip. He needed to talk to her, and he needed to do it now.

When Veronica suggested she and Jake meet up to discuss things, his apartment was not what she had in mind. It farther away from her house and work than she usually tolerated driving. But he somehow won her over by sharing the name of one of her favorite wines and takeout, which led her to his doorstep as she tapped her foot impatiently. All-day—no, all week Niall never seemed to leave her mind once. The way he was presenting himself around her seemed oddly familiar with those that took place during the beginning of their friendship. Of course, she was thrilled seeing him slowly becoming wrapped around her finger, especially since she never managed to unravel from his through the entire process. Last night, though, the doubts began to creep in.

How was she going to break the news that they already dated—or were dating before he suffered his concussion? Professing your undying love was not something you threw in over a few drinks and small talk. While he seemed more reserved about the issue, Veronica knew he must have remembered some things from the last five years. Maybe some consisted of them together, maybe it did not. All Veronica knew, though, was that she was clueless on how to break the news if, a couple of months down the line, Niall asks why she’s calling it their fifth anniversary when they have just started dating.

Not to mention all of the photos of the two of them, kissing and cuddling and being obvious, established couple. She is still surprised by Niall’s lack of questions if he did happen to scour through his camera roll.

“You look like you need a drink,” Jake states, facing her from the other side of the door. Veronica only scoffs, rolling her eyes.

“What gave that away?”

“The sudden need to talk…and that crazy look in yer beautiful eyes.” Her friend remarks with a small smile. He steps aside to let her enter, and Veronica does so apprehensively.

She was aware that Jake may have fancied her years back. She was also clear to him many times over the phone she did not feel the same way, and that the glances across the dinner tables when she did swing by the pub to join Niall and his mates were as unappreciated as they were unreciprocated. While she figures—or more so hopes—his feelings died out, the comment made her feel regretful for accepting his invitation over. She ignores the compliment and slumps down against his couch, while Jake takes the advantage to eye her cleavage through her white, ruffled button up as Veronica scrubs her hands over her face.

“It’s about Niall.” She sighs out, sitting up properly. Jake strolls into the kitchen, pulling two recently purchased wine glasses out from the cupboard, along with the recently purchased bottle of dark red to fill them.

“I figured.” He says bluntly, digging through his cabinets for a corkscrew.

“Has he talked to you at all, lately?” Jake keeps his lips firm as he concludes his hunt for the tool and digs the end into the bottle’s cork. He starts twisting.

“A little.”

“Really? Did he—I mean…has he mentioned me at all?” The girl’s eyebrows raise. Jake twists the screw further.

“Here and there.” The man shrugs it off as nothing, but all Veronica could picture was the tiny progress bar growing a little greener. That does not mean Niall has been completely ignorant of her existence.

“What’s he been saying?”

“He said you two butt heads a bit,” Jake recalls the Skype call earlier before a familiar pop is resounding from the kitchen.

“Yeah, at the start. There were a few things for him that were difficult to remember and relive, emotionally.” Veronica clarifies, a look of pity in her eyes as she thinks back to the day Niall’s voice reached an entirely new level of volume, his tone a wave of fierce anger she never wanted to be a victim to again.

“The lad didn’t get mad at you, did he?” Jake asks, a shadow glooming his tone. Veronica stayed silent, looking down and picking at the skin beside her fingernails. “Did he?” Jake repeats, voice layered with gravity. Veronica merely shrugs and waves her hand.

“He just yelled a little. But he apologized later, it was understandable.” Two clinks were heard and Y/N cranes her neck up to the sight of two wine glasses being set carefully on the coffee table. Jake takes a spot less than a foot away from the woman on the couch, who was doing her best to avoid his judgmental eyes.

“It’s not understandable. He overreacted and took his anger out on you when you were trying to help him. And you don’t deserve that, Vee.” She does not know what left her stunned for a few seconds after his words. If it was the nickname or the casual hand he felt necessary to place high on her leg.

“Well, he apologized anyway.” She murmurs, leaning forward to take a sip of the dark, bitter liquid. “I never took you for a wine drinker.” She muses with a small turn of her lips, trying to dissolve the uneasiness eating away at her insides.

“Well,” his other hand comes out to pick his glass up. He inches forward, closer to Veronica who visibly gulps, before clinking her glass with hers, “you’ll find me to be full of surprises.”

A smooth saxophone wails in the air and enters Veronica’s ears, an impetus for the blood pumping through her body to swarm her freckled cheeks. Jake retreats from the record player and takes a seat on the couch again, closer to Veronica than he was before. Or ever, for that matter.

“So, did Niall mention anything else? About us?” Specifically, at the term ‘us’ is when Jake’s hold slightly tightened around the neck of his glass.

“No.” He states flatly and restrains his tight-lipped smile from turning into a snarl. Veronica’s head shakes as she elicits a soft “oh”. Jake swallows, picturing her mouth in that same shape below him, naked and whimpering. Biting his lip, he studies her disappointed figure in silence for a moment.

“Was there anything else you wanted to discuss? How was work?” Jake offers a new topic, but Y/N is sighing and tossing her head back before he could even finish the question.

“It’s just that Niall’s been acting odd lately. He’s getting all fidgety and nervous when he’s around me like when we first met and started dating and I just…I don’t know if he feels what he thinks he does for me now. I hope he does, but how could I tell him?” Her eyes meet Jake’s in desperation for her problem to be fixed. Jake only shrugs and allows another tense silence to fall in between them.

“You know what? This is stupid, I-I should just go talk to him about it.” She slides the strap of her purse on her shoulder and is about to push herself off of the couch when Jake’s hand flies to rest on her leg again.

“No. You can’t leave yet, we’ve barely talked. And the food is almost here, please.”

“I think it’d be best to go to Niall. He knows his feelings best.” Veronica, of course, was not sure about the validity of her statement. It was more so an excuse to leave Jake’s presence. “I can come for food another time. My treat.” She offers, gesturing to herself.

“No, please!” Jake begins begging. “Vee—“

“Please don’t call me that.” The girl’s voice breaks in, barely a whisper.

“Sorry, it’s just that this is hard for me too. Seeing someone I know as a brother suffer like this, it just kills me inside. Believe it or not, I need this more than you do. Just talking to you is easing the situation and it’s been hard as hell to find somebody who understands me as you do. Please.” And with his eyes bulging as she pleaded, Veronica could not verbally give assent. She mustered a small nod, her figure sinking back into the couch.

“Thank you, Ve-Veronica. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” His hand snakes down to take her own, lacing their fingers. Veronica’s heartbeat quickens in panic at the intimate moment she stumbled into without motive. Fortunately, his dry, cracked hands were not embracing hers for long. The doorbell ringing drew his eyes away from her and to the front of the house.

“Must be the food. I got Thai…your favorite.” He reminds had, before standing up to fetch the delivery. As he does this, she digs frantically through her bag, and upon retrieving her phone, spots a few missed calls and a text from Niall.

Where are you?

Glancing up at the door, she sees the muscles in Jake’s back flexing behind his shirt as he stood before the talkative delivery worker. Quickly, Veronica’s fingers mash against her phone’s screen as she hears the sound of Jake’s front door clicking shut.

At Jake’s apt, you should come! Right now!

At Jake’s return to the couch, she is stuffing her phone back into her purse. When she turns her attention back to him, a to-go box full of Thai is being shoved into her face. Being fearful of another outburst from her friend, she took the food from his hands with a grateful smile.

“So, how have you been doing…with everything happening?” The woman inquires, fork picking lazily at the plate of noodles.

“Honestly, better than I’d thought I’d be.” He grins.

“Yeah, that’s good.” She replies flatly with a small nod. Jake takes notice of her fork twirling in the pile of noodles but never picking them up. Did she not like it? He could have sworn he got her usual order.

“Is there something wrong with the food?” He asks in a stern voice, lifting his eyebrows in question. Glancing down at her plate, yet to be digested, she frantically shakes her head.

“No, no it’s fine! And it was kind of you to invite me over and buy dinner, I’m just…lost in my thoughts.” She rambles, placing a hand at the front of her cranium to ease the pounding which had begun not too long ago. His hand is back on her leg a moment later and is gliding up and down her thigh. Jake thought the motion was soothing and would bring relaxation, but she felt anything but relaxed. His touch made her skin begin to crawl and goosebumps rise hastily along her arms and legs.

“I can think of a few ways to distract you...” Jake whispers lowly, bringing his hand up to caress Veronica’s inner thigh, and eager lips to meet her plump ones. A gasp leaves her mouth, and her arms stretch outward to brace herself and jostle the man backward.

Jake stares blankly for a moment at the carpet, before his eyes turn up to look back at her. “What was that for?” He barks. Veronica was appalled by his reaction as if he was expecting her to reciprocate the affection.

“What was that fo—that was for you! What the hell do you think you were doing?” She cries, standing up from her spot on his couch. This elicits a string of demeaning chuckles from the man’s lips before he is standing in front of her nearly-eye level.

“Please, Vee. You’ve wanted me from the moment we met.” She almost wasted her snarky come back to tell him not to call her that, and nearly missed his last few words.

“Excuse me?” Her eyebrows barely grazed her hairline by how high they rose. She crosses her arms, staring Jake up and down.

“C’mon, it was obvious! We were always sendin’ each other looks, we always clicked—”

“We never clicked, Jake! Never, not once! The only thing we have in common is—”

“Don’t say his name,” Jake demands through gritted teeth. Veronica’s eyes narrow.

“I was going to say that we drink the same wine, but clearly that was part of your ridiculous ploy. Anyways, Niall is your best friend…”

“Please,” he only scoffs, “some best friend he is to flaunt you right in front of me.” He spits, giving no input on his wine drinking.

“It’s not like he knew you felt this way! And I’m sure if he did, he would flip his shit, you’re lucky that I don’t…” Veronica pauses with her chest heaving from all the exclamatory remarks which had resided between Jake’s apartment walls.

“Don’t what…”

“Niall…” she breathes out. Did he even get my text, she thinks? While she stood expecting Jake to lose his mind in her enigma of breathing Niall’s name, it only earns her more chuckles.

“I see what you’re doing, pulling this whole charade to try and act like you don’t love me for the sake of Niall’s feelings—”

“Love you?! Oh my god, have you lost your mind?”

“I’m only stating the obvious! Think of how perfect we’d be together, Vee. Our families would get along so well, date nights every night. I’d spoil you, I’d treat you the right way.”

“I don’t need to be spoiled to be treated right. Dating you would make me into a brat.” She speaks through clenched teeth and visibly sees Jake’s eyes darken before her. He takes a step forward, continuing his mindless persuasions.

“We could run away together, elope, and be away from all the media and press. Is that what it is? Are you scared about the attention?” He brings his hand up to delicately tuck a loose strand of her hair away, but Veronica traps his wrist like a fly and shoves it away from her in a harsh motion.

“There’s never gonna be a story to write.” He ignores her refutes and resumes his fantasy.

“Our children would be gorgeous because they’d look just like us.”

“Jake, stop…” She begs in a whisper, shaking her head in disdain at the man before her.

“Can’t you see it? You can, you can! That’s why you’re scared because you don’t know how to tell Niall. Well, if it makes you feel better, I’ll happily inform him of our engagement.” Jake is grinning wildly now, an entirely new level of insanity dances behind his eyes.

“Our wh—” The woman’s heart stops, and her body freezes like time was paused. She felt paralyzed on every part of her body but her lips. Jake’s sloppy mouth pressing against hers in a frenzy has painful contractions of nausea rolling like hills through her stomach, and her fourth finger nearly breaks when Jake tries forcing the ring onto it. It was a whole new mixture of being petrified and pitiful for the situation that had her practically living out of her body.

It seemed like she could only re-enter it at the worst possible time to bring her arms up and give Jake a shove back. The sound of his grunt from the brute force Veronica scraped up was simultaneous with the apartment door slamming shut. Both Jake and Veronica snap their heads at the sound.

Niall stood, dumbstruck look overcoming his features. His lips curve and jut to say a few words, but he was completely mute from the sight before him.

“I—I can’t believe you. Either of you, I can’t…what the fuck?” Niall murmurs, casting a hand through his locks which, from the looks of it, have been tugged excessively these last few hours.

“Ni, I can explain.”

“No need.” He mutters, eyes hardening as he focuses his pupils on the other man in the room. “This fucker already told me enough.” He points his chin out to motion to Jake, who still had a proud smirk planted on his lips.

“Niall, just listen—”

“Me, listen?” A bitter laugh escapes him. “No, no, I think you’ve done enough talking, roommate. Family friend, my ass.” Niall snaps. “When were you going to tell me, huh? Were you just doing it for shits and giggles? Toying with my feelings just to break my heart again?” He mocks, making Veronica’s eyebrows furrow.

“What?”

“If you liked him all along you should have just said so. There was no need to string me along just to get close to him. It seems like you two do just fine alone.” His hard stare scans the two people up and down, the judgment in his voice palpable.

“Ni—”

“Ya know what, Veronica? Maybe forgetting about you was a sign.” He states, hand meeting the cold knob to twist and open the door. “Makes me wish I never knew you t’ begin with.” He seethes, eyes flicking between the two of them before the sound of his front door slamming is heard once more. In only mere minutes, the pounding in Veronica’s head increased drastically. Her heart was pounding because of Niall, but not the way it used to be, not the way she wanted it to rattle inside of her or the situation she found the off-beat cadence to be appropriate.

Red overtook her face and vision. She turned to Jake whilst grinding her teeth in order to wall the sobs away in her throat. Those were for her pillow, later.

“You asshole!” She screeches, the loud slap she gave Jake not too long after reverberating in the vicinity. It stung longer than a normal slap would have, and that was when he observed the glinting diamond, still present on her finger. He wondered how long it would take Veronica to notice as he watched her figure vanishing from the vicinity with a hand over her mouth.

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dragonstoravens · 4 years

Text

Babylon Vol. 1: Ask Nothing, The Power of a Smile, Angel On Your Shoulder

[ID: a blue patterned banner with text reading “BABYLON.” End ID.]

(3 short and sweet chapters for you today before we get back into a little bit heavier stuff! I hope you enjoy seeing these two dweebs get to know each other and watching their friendship grow.)

Taglist (ask to be added or removed!): @charlottedotexe @glitterandstarshine @rainbowcoloreddays @the-starlight-chills @erased-in-stone

General: @elywritesbydarkness @residentofthedisc @humour-and-hyperfocus @skyfirewrites @viawrites-andacts

11. Ask nothing

Azzy’s finger hovered over the send button, something in the depths of her core churning. Was she terrible for this? For not wanting to think about it? She had already thought about it so much before she did it, she didn’t really want to think about it any more, it felt terrible. She hit send. It couldn’t make anything worse, at least.

[Azure] Hey, I’m really sorry to bother you, please let me know if you’re busy or something.

Trinity blinked as the message popped up on his screen, a frown creasing his forehead. That was a weird way to start, at least for Azure. She never apologized for anything. He couldn’t help but wonder if something was wrong.

[Hotshot] I’m not busy

[Hotshot] What is it?

There was a long pause.

[Azure] I was just hoping for a distraction, if you had the time. I just broke it off with someone and I don’t really want to talk about it.

She hoped it wasn’t too much. She’d seen him have a panic attack, and it seemed fair to her that he saw her be vulnerable too. On the other hand, she’d said she’d ignore the fact that had happened. This might just be a little too much for whatever weird dynamic they’d built for themselves. It occurred to her that maybe she should soften how serious it sounded.

[Azure] It’s really no big deal either way.

Trinity frowned at her attempt to downplay the issue. It certainly seemed like a big deal to him, if the chronically blunt Azure could be driven to such lengths. An unpleasant thought occurred to him. He didn’t think Azure would’ve been… well, essentially cheating, even if it was fake dating. He would hope that whoever this new ex was had known about the situation, but he couldn’t completely ignore the possibility that they hadn’t.

[Hotshot] Ok. But before we don’t talk about it, I have to ask. It wasn’t because of us, was it?

She couldn’t blame him for checking, though she doubted he’d feel any sympathy for her if she hadn’t told Turq. At least she hadn’t caused that deep an ache.

[Azure] What? No, he knew, he was fine with that. It’s helping a friend, he understood. It’s unrelated.

[Azure] Can we get to the not talking about it?

She shoved away the couple of things Trinity had done that had stuck with her in the back of her head that had been the precursor to her thinking a little too hard about her real relationship. The pulling out chairs and the protective arm over her shoulder when someone got a little too close and she got uncomfortable. Her hands shook a little and she tried not to cry as she heard Turq’s workshop doors slide open.

[Azure] Like right now?

Trinity gave a tiny sigh of relief. He was always somewhat glad when Azure showed herself to be a genuinely decent person. She did it often enough, but part of him did worry that someday she’d turn out to be like almost everyone else he knew. The longer he knew her, though, the less worried he was about that being the case.

[Hotshot] Of course. Here, let me show you some of the prototypes I’ve been working on, they’re due to send to production soon but I was just doing a run through for improvements. What do you think?

Azzy sighed in relief herself as the files came through. Say what you wanted about Jericho, he really knew how to make a person forget things were horrible. Between this and somehow managing to get her to be something akin to comfortable in a crowd, it was nice to have him around. He somehow knew exactly what she needed to get her mind off things.

[Azure] Over on the third one, the dimensions aren’t going to fit in a standard issue cartridge.

It wasn’t the conversation itself that mattered of course, but it was something. And true to his word, he didn’t ask her for anything more than that.

12. The Power of a Smile

Trinity gave a perfectly timed laugh-- not his real laugh, but damned close-- and once again Azure wondered how exactly he knew when to do that as a chorus of reflexive laughter rose around him. She’d been to a few of these high society gatherings by now, primarily to feed Trinity information and be placeholder arm candy to keep the vultures away. When she wasn’t letting her brain wander to cybernetic innovations or small robots with no function she’d like to create, she was watching Trinity talk his way through the night with ease. He seemed to know and be known by everyone, and what’s more is that the vast majority seemed to respect him to boot.

She listened to the questions asked and tried to guess at his answers like a game. Questions that were too direct or too personal he’d deflect with a wave of the hand and a question of his own in response. It was a tennis match he never seemed to lose and as she watched him, talking circles around their fellow partygoers, the look of admiration she fixed him with became more and more genuine. He would smile, and others would smile back even if they were upset. He would say something ought to be done, and most people would comply. He would thank them, and make it believable.

All while making some very good jokes in the back of his head for Azzy to enjoy.

He was quick witted and sure, and she marveled at how on earth anyone got to be even close to this comfortable looking with this many people around. She knew now that the crowds bothered him, giving him the same choked feeling she got. Honestly, his was probably worse. She still wasn’t used to it, still couldn’t quite get the hang of the way he wove his way in and out of conversations, water running through the fingers of people who tried desperately to vy for his attentions. She followed at his heels, trying to smile when he did, laugh on his cue. She felt so mechanical next to him, her mind all cogs and mathematics. He led her, night after night, through a social dance she might never really understand. Always laughed with, never laughed at. Always steering conversation, never caught off guard.

Another glass of wine and a small exchange of glances. She smiled and gestured to him to lead the way, ready to be impressed again. He never disappointed.

13. Angel On Your Shoulder

It was sort of incredible, Trinity reflected, how much easier it was to get through a night when you weren’t alone.

It probably helped even more that his particular companion had a mental link with him, absolutely no sense of society, and a propensity for memes. In front of him was a middle aged woman talking loudly about her children-- ostensibly to Trinity, but really to about half the room with the volume she was using to extoll their many virtues. Normally in this situation, Trinity’s eyes would be aching from forcing himself not to roll them. However, with Azzy here he now had two very good strategies to keep from wanting to drown himself in the punch bowl. The first was to pull her in a little closer to his side just as Mrs. Probably-Catholic (with the amount of children she had, it only made sense) began yet another anecdote, this one about her third-oldest son and the great assets he was forming in the accounting industry and also how handsome he was and how he’d just had his 23rd birthday and was still single, could you believe it? Apparently she’d given up on daughters, since Trinity had no reaction to those so far. Trinity just smiled, shifting his hand just a hint further down on Azzy’s hip.

“Well, that really is a shame. I really did think I might be in the same boat, spending my 23rd alone, before I met Camilla. Isn’t that right, dear?”

“Camilla,” who was currently deep in thought about cybernetics and dogs and dogs with cybernetics, nodded absently, but that was all Trinity needed. She did the rest without even thinking about it. Her hand draped over his shoulder shot off tiny sparks at random intervals, and while he recognized her expression as her resting state of thoughtfulness, he knew what it said to most other people that saw it-- “don’t even think about it.” All he had to do was call the overeager woman’s attention to it, look back up, and smile.

His conversation partner’s smile faltered slightly under the weight of his own as she registered the very stubborn, very dangerous, and very pretty barnacle on his arm, and Trinity took it as an opportunity to politely excuse himself.

The second strategy Trinity could use now that Azzy was here was more for his own sake than anything else. Alone in a crowd, he was constantly stressed at worst and unfathomably bored at best. Now, a conversation with a business partner that would have been, frankly, mind numbing left him struggling not to laugh aloud. He’d always thought this particular man looked a bit like he was constantly holding a frog in his mouth, and every time he spoke he barely opened his lips, like he had to keep it from escaping. The man would not find this fact at all amusing, nor would most other people in this room, and even if they did social graces would absolutely demand they never show it. Luckily, the little voice in the back of Trinity’s head belonged to the person currently draped across his shoulders like she belonged there, and she couldn’t care less about social graces. She was much more interested in shooting back images of the man running across the ballroom, chasing down the frog as it leapt from his mouth into a stack of champagne glasses.

Yes, everything was just a little better when you had someone to share it with.

#wip: babylon #writeblr #writers on tumblr #spilled ink #chapter update

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itsyourgirljewls · 3 years

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Not the Right One

Chapter 1

I press the palms of my hands against the cold countertops and breathe in slowly. My heart rate speeds as I take a second breath. Weren’t these breathing exercises supposed to help? I check the time on my phone and notice it is 2:44 pm. I told my teacher I was running to the bathroom. That was four minutes ago. I’ve been here for four minutes. Shit.

I slide my phone in my back denim jean pockets, pick up my purple backpack and exit the bathroom. I reach my hands into my front pockets and pull out my Airpods. I take one of them out, stick it in my left ear and allow my short brown hair to fall over my ear as I make my way down the tiny hallway. I glance around the school building, making sure no one is around me and pull out my phone again, this time opening up the iTunes app and finding Panic! At the Disco.

Brendon Urie’s voice floods through my eardrum and I release a long breath, shoulders relaxing. This is Gospel pops on as I near room 113, which is the first room on the left. I peek inside and see Mr. Taylor pointing to the white board as he is talking about the symbolism of Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card. I bite down on my bottom lip and enter the classroom.

The class of twelve students turn their heads towards me and my heart freezes. Mr. Taylor barely stops his lecture as I make my way to the last table and sit down in a seat by myself. Everyone else is sitting next to their cliques. Sarah and Olivia are next to each other in the front along with the newest member of the class Dianna who has fallen for the trap.

I pull out my notebook and open to where I left off when I asked to use the restroom. The class’s attention has now moved towards Mr. Taylor as he tells us the homework assignment. I yawn and drum my fingers against the table when a new Panic! At the Disco song comes on.

Mr. Taylor clears his throat when it becomes 3:00 pm and says, “Alright. You all have a paper and presentation due next Thursday. Make sure to have three sources cited and have the paper be in correct format.”

He eyes me as the class groans and my cheeks grow warm. He and I both know I am no good with essays. Essays reveal all of my flaws, especially when it comes to format.

The class gets up and leaves the classroom in a hurry, wanting so badly to get out of class. I hurry out of the classroom before Mr. Taylor can say anything and go to the main school entrance. I look around the area for a bit trying to find Martha, Emery and Allison. Even though they are younger than me, usually everyone gets out at the same time, unless their teachers are being assholes and holding them for longer.

“Hey Jay!”

I turn around and see Martha waving at me. Only… she’s not alone. I look over at the short four foot seven inch girl who is walking next to her. My hands shake a little as I grab the straps of my bag and squeeze them so tightly to the point where my fingernails are digging into my skin like needles.

I walk slowly over to them and say, “Martha.” I flick my eyes worriedly at the girl with very curly red hair.

Martha glances at the girl, then at me and says, “Oh this is Malia. Do you mind if you drive her over to our house?”

My mouth opens and then closes as I try to figure out an answer. I look over Martha’s shoulder and see that Emery and Allison are making their way over to us. I will have a full car. Mom won’t be able to pick us up as she has a night shift at Amazon and dad well… he’s dad.

“I… I… I don’t know Martha. Um… I’ve only ever driven you guys and…”

Martha scoffs and crosses her arms over her chest. “Come on Jay! Please? I’ll even get you coffee later.” Ugh she just bribed me with coffee. How dare she.

Emery and Allison have both arrived now. Emery jumps on Allison, wrapping her arms around her shoulders and giving Allison a big kiss on the cheek. Allison laughs and shoves Emery off. If they were boys, I’m sure they’d be a lot worse.

“Ugh fine!” I say throwing my hands up in the air, surrendering.

Emery looks over at Malia with her wide hazel cow eyes and says, “Who’s that?”

Emery is only six so she’s very blunt. That’s the problem with little kids. They’re always so honest with everyone, they don’t know when to shut up.

Martha gestures towards Malia and says, “This is Malia. She’s in my Bible studies class.”

Since we are forced to go to a private Christian school, everyone is required to take a bible class before they reach high school. I took mine in seventh grade here so thankfully, I didn’t have to endure it during my sophomore year.

“Hi. What’s your name?” Malia asks.

“Emery,” she says.

Emery is not looking at Malia in the eyes, rather her gorgeous red curly hair. There are only three red heads in the whole school. A boy in my class named Tyler, Malia and Principal Terry. Well, she’s more of a strawberry blond if anything.

We walk out of the school building and head to the parking lot. My silver golf Volkwaggen is at the far right end of the parking lot where nobody parks. Malia and Martha have fallen behind everyone and begin having their own private conversation.

Emery and Allison are rough housing and climbing on top of each other as I pull out my car keys, attached to a Gravity Falls themed keychain. I suck in my breath and unlock the car.

I pull out my cell phone and when I see that I still have Panic! music playing, I turn it off and put my Airpod back in its case. When we are at the car, I open the front driver’s seat door and get in. Martha shouts, “I call shotgun!”

“What no! I call shotgun!” Allison argues.

“You can have it next time,” Martha says running to the front.

“That’s what you say every time!” Allison wines.

Emery sits in the back behind the front passenger seat while Malia climbs into the middle and Allison sits next to her. My hands begin to shake as I struggle getting the seat belt on and plugging the key into the ignition. Martha growns in annoyance and reaches for the AUX cord.

I glare at her and say, “Why do you always control the music?”

“Because I’m the passenger,” Martha says, adding a smirk.

I roll my eyes and say, “It’s my car.”

“So?’

She continues to search through her music and eventually she plays August Alsina. Despite almost all of my sisters being musical, we all have hugely different music tastes. You can definitely tell what kind of people we are based on our music selection and it is kind of embarrassing.

Martha is about to crank up the volume, until I wack her hand away and say, “I can’t focus if the music is too loud!”

“You’re no fun!” Martha says, sitting back and folding her arms over her chest.

I slowly begin to reverse and look over my shoulder, so I don’t hit anyone and as I get out of the parking space, I say to Malia, “I’m still new to my license so… I apologize in advance.”

“Oh it’s okay. You’re totally fine,” Malia says with a smile.

I smile hesitantly and my cheeks grow warm. I am finally out of the parking space though and we drive forward. Emery is still staring at Malia while she’s on her phone and Allison has her earbuds in like always. Sometimes I wonder what's going on inside her head.

It’s only a five minute drive from Living Christian Academy, but it feels like eternity. At least with my driving. There are about three stops and a right turn and I’ve managed to hit all red lights. Traffic is awful in the Aloha area, especially when school is out. Though our school seems to get out of school before everyone else does.

Martha turns to Malia and says, “Have you started your paper on Exodus yet?”

Malia laughs and shakes her head. “No I haven’t yet. I plan to do that tonight.”

“I really don’t wanna do it! I could care less.”

“How can you say that?” Malia asks. Her blond see through eyebrows raise up and her eyes grow wide. Martha and I look at each other, roll our eyes and shake our heads.

At last, we arrive at our house. It’s a blue two story house and it’s at the far end of the neighborhood. There are typically two ways to get into the neighborhood. I take the closest entrance and pull up into our house driveway, sighing in relief when I am able to park.

Emery and Allison get out of the car and then Malia and Martha get out. I get out last, grab my backpack and lock the car door. I suck in a breath and head inside. I absolutely hate it whenever my sister does this. She’ll always bring a friend over to me last minute and ask if I can drive them. Like bruh, I’m a bad enough driver as it is! I can’t be having more people witnessing that.

I toss my bag on the ground near the consul table by the front door and throw the keys into the keybowl. I run my hands through my hair and open up iTunes on my phone. I turn on Panic! At the Disco and allow it to be on shuffle.

There are only a few songs I dislike. Most being on their first album, A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out. To be honest, gotta give the man some credit though because he was in his late teens and barely in his twenties when the album was released.

As I walk into the dining room, which is ahead of the front door, I shout, “Hi dad!”

Dad has always had odd jobs with odd schedules but after Allison was born, he escaped retail and moved on to teaching. I cannot wait for the day I get out of fucking retail. It is the most annoying kind of job in the world.

“Hi honey! How was school?”

I spin around on my heels and see dad walking down the stairs. He smiles and when he nears me, he reaches his arms out for a hug and I welcome it. He squeezes me tight and I say, “School was fine. Boring though as always.”

He laughs and says, “College is a lot better. Trust me.”

I nod and dad heads upstairs while I head into the kitchen, which is on the right side of the fake dining room. Our layout of the house is strange. There is a second floor with three bedrooms and a mini study room but it’s not even in a proper room. Downstairs has the dining room and living room connected and then there’s the tiny kitchen with the fridge/freezer taking up most of the space.

I suck in my breath and look at the time. Mom won’t be home till 8:00 tonight. So that means I have time to make whatever the hell I want. I decide to grab some chips and make a cheese sandwich. But what I really want right now, is a good old Red Robin guacamole bacon burger. My stomach growls at the thought and I lick my lips.

There’s laughing from upstairs and I turn on Panic! At the Disco. The song Don’t Threaten Me with a Good Time comes on and I bob my head to the music while singing the first few lyrics of the song. I crank up the volume of the music so I can hear the bassline. It’s one of my favorites.

I remember listening to Panic! At the Disco’s Pray for the Wicked album a year after it came out. Honestly, I wish I had listened to them from the beginning but at least now I am. They only have six albums and I’m hoping they come out with a seventh one soon.

Once I am finished with my sandwich, One of the Drunks comes on and I head up the stairs with my plate and chips and take a right. As I head to my room, I pass Martha’s room on the right. The door is open and she is sitting on the ground with papers and computers laid out on the floor and Malia sitting across from her.

“Good god I can’t believe I have to write this stupid paper!” Martha complains.

She’s always hated bible class. To be fair, it is pretty boring and laughable really. The bible should be rated R with all the gore and murders going on. I don’t understand why they make children read it. If they really have to teach the bible in middle school, start off with Genesis and how God made the world. That probably would be a PG rating.

I take a deep breath in and head to my room. On the left side side of my room is an old olive green sofa underneath the one window, looking out to the backyard. Next to the sofa against the wall, is my bed with orange flowery bedding. I have posters of my favorite bands and old bands that I don’t listen to anymore but can’t get rid of the posters such as One Direction, Skillet, Chasen and Sixteen Cities.

I set my plate down on my desk, which is across from the couch and open my laptop to begin my History assignment. Microsoft Word is already open with a story that I have been working on seventh grade and my eyes are drawn to the words. I know I should be doing my essay right now, but… I’d rather work on my story. I take a deep breath in, shake my head and go back to my paper.

***

It’s around 7:45 pm now and Martha and Malia have just finished their homework and exited Martha’s room. I look out my room and see Martha and Malia head down the stairs. Malia has her bag packed and Martha is following behind her. Martha opens the front door and waves goodbye to Malia and then closes the door.

I close my laptop, which has YouTube open and exit my room. Martha is heading up the stairs and I stop in front of Martha and say, “Who the hell was that?”

Martha raises her blond eyebrows and points over her shoulder as she says, “That was Malia. She’s in my Bible and History class.”

“Oh…” I look at the front door and through the side window. A car has pulled up into the driveway and Malia steps inside it and it drives away.

Martha clears her throat and says, “Anyway I’m getting food before mom comes home.”

“Okay,” I say.

Martha gives me a weird look and heads down the stairs. I hate meeting new people. I always get so nervous around them! Ugh! Why did this have to happen last minute?

#asexual #pansexual #lgbtqia+#youngadult #novel writing #author #asexual awareness

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svtegg · 4 years

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ready, set, go (SVT apocalypse!au)

♡ wordcount: 2,5k ♡ chapter 15/?

(ch.1, ch.2, ch.3, ch.4, ch.5, ch.6, ch.7, ch.8 ch.9 ch.10 ch.11 ch.12 ch.13 ch.14)

♡ this won’t make any sense if you haven’t read the last part so make sure to catch up on those before reading! they’re all linked above!

♡ rating: PG-13 death/violence, language, gore themes, mentions of murder, mentions of pregnancy

♡ pairing: svt (soonyoung) x reader

Seungcheol, Joshua and Soonyoung had been inside Seokmins room for a few hours. I had managed to get a hold of Joshua as he came out for some fresh air and he told me theyre drawing up a map of where in Gimpo airport the group is located. Seokmin was stressed and they didn’t want him shutting down so they had only let Minghao in to fix the radio connection and make sure we knew how to contact the Gimpo group from a different radio if we needed to. Joshua had looked anxious, his voice low and very concerned. “We are gonna have to take a huge risk with this, the raiders are notorious and if they get us, we are dead.” he had said, his eyes trained on the closed gates protecting the camp. A moment later he had disappeared back into the room and I had been left on the porch alone again, and the overwhelming sound of silence took over again.

The birds had started to gather in big flocks in the treetops and the choir of chirping was especially loud today. It was only when Chan exited the detached kitchen building with Sun by his side that the birds seemed to let up on their song. The younger boy seemed exited, despite the circumstances. He was almost galloping over to where I was stood, leaning on the railing of the porch. “Y/n! I have good news!” he called, the dog beside him just as exited as him. He took a few shallow breaths as he stopped in front of me, Sun going over to an overgrown brush to pee on it.

“Or at least I think this is good news.” Chan panted out before he looked up at me, his face cracked into a wide smile. “What?” I inquired, and I couldn’t help myself as I let myself mirror his contagious smile. “I think Sun is pregnant!” Chan laughed, looking like a child on Christmas day. I could feel my face flashing with surprise, happiness and a tiny bit of apprehensiveness. This wasn’t the best timing, but at the same time having a bunch of mini Sun’s running around wasn’t the worst thing that could happen. “What? Really! Are you sure?” I ask Chan as he lets out an exited giggle accompanied by a nod. “She’s maybe a month along, which means there’s about a month left. I think.” The younger man smiled before he continued, his eyes fastened on the dog happily sniffing a patch of dry grass. “I read a book that was meant for veterinary students once. It was about the anatomy of the most common house pets. I actually learned that hamsters have complex emotional lives and that they can have days where they’re extra grumpy.” I let out an amused breath as I followed Chan’s gaze onto the dog who was now looking back at me with her tongue sideways out her mouth, oblivious to the circumstances.

“We should try to look for more food to give her, she’s gonna be needing a lot more as time goes to keep her puppies fed as well.” He continued, crossing his arms over his chest. I didn’t answer as I lifted my head to see who the figure moving closer was. Sun jumped over to the man, and as I squinted against the sun I could recognize the raspy and slightly congested voice belonging to Kim Mingyu. “Hiii Sunnie!” The tall man chirped and squatted down to give her some pets. The dog was unusually fond of Mingyu and always stuck around him when he was in close proximity to her, which I found endearing, seeing as Mingyu’s entire personality kind of reminded me of a puppy as well. “Hey guys!” He called over to Chan and I, as he glanced our way. I gave him an affirming nod and tried to stifle the smile I felt coming as I took in the scene in front of me. The tall, handsome and smart man with the raspy and deep voice sat there on the middle of the huge gravel lot talking to a dog with a high-pitched baby voice. I heard Chan snort from his position, and I looked over at him and gave him a knowing smile. As the older male finished doting on the dog he moved over towards Chan and I. “How’s the big boys club coming along?” He asked, slightly jerking his head in the direction of Seokmin’s room. Chan shrugged his shoulders as he looked over at me. I shook my head as I looked between the two males. “I haven’t heard anything, but I’m afraid we might have to do something pretty soon. Like today soon.” I sighed as I stretched my left arm out to Mingyu for him to help me up from my sitting position. The wooden floorboards of the porch under me creaked as I stood up beside the men. “I don’t think you two are in danger though, I think Seungcheol would rather sacrifice me or Jihoon over loosing his resident surgeons.” I tried, only half joking which both the boys in front of me caught onto. Chan let out a slightly forced laugh as he scratched his neck while Mingyu cleared his throat slightly. “But on a brighter side, we might be getting some new company soon!” I smiled, giving a meaningful look to Chan as I turned to leave. “Wait, what?” Mingyu quickly continued, looking between me and the younger male. I was already climbing the first set of stairs up to my room as I heard Chan start to explain that Sun was most likely pregnant.

The door to my room creaked open, a wall of hot stuffy air meeting me as I stepped inside the familiar space again. I knew we most likely would go out to help Seokmin’s group before it got dark and I wanted to go. I wanted to make sure we got that kid back safe. So as soon as the lock on the door clicked shut, I grabbed my backpack that had been sitting on the same spot against the wall for a month and opened the second last drawer on the old worn out dresser I had my belongings stashed in. The old but sturdy thigh strap I had worn every day before I came here was laying on top of all the things placed in the drawer. I took it out, along with a neck knife that Wonwoo had handed me one day with a quick “don’t tell anyone” as he passed me in the hallway leading from the dining hall to the entrance room. I never knew why he did that, but I had took it as a sign of trust and hidden it in this drawer in case I would ever need it. Which seemed to be the case now. I quickly gathered up some extra clothes and a pair of gloves before I grabbed my water bottle of the nightstand and shoved it into the bag.

I had thrown the bag into the room we usually used to plan in before trips, before making my way over to the A framed building to find Jihoon. I found him sitting in the ugly green couch situated in the entrance room of the kitchen building, reading through a book I didn’t recognize. I slumped down in the couch opposite to him, and he only looked up for a second before lowering his eyes to the pages again. “You’re gonna go too?” He asked, his voice only a mumble as I shifted my attention onto the floor to ceiling window. There were only yellowing trees outside, but my eyes quickly fastened onto the different colored leaves outside the glass. “Mmm. They’re gonna have to bring me. I want that child safe and no fucking way I’m gonna let a gang of grown men go alone to save a pregnant woman and a child.” I mused, subconsciously running my finger along the taped parts of the material now clasped around my right thigh. Jihoon let out an amused sound, something that sounded like a mix of a breath and a snort. Silence once again filled the room and I had no idea how long the two of us had been sitting there when a whistle ripped through the still air.

Seungcheol, Soonyoung and Wonwoo had gathered on the porch outside Seokmin’s room, and as both Jihoon and I emerged from the separate building we could see Joshua disappearing between the huge spruces that shielded the cars from the changing weather. “We’re going in 15 minutes.” Seungcheol said, his eyes fastened on the watch around his wrist. He looked stern like he always does, but his hair was ruffled and messy, like he had been running his hands through it. “Wonwoo, you take Jihoon and Y/n to get some supplies from the storage, one firearm and one combat weapon each. Soonyoung and I will be helping Joshua ready the cars. We’re going in two groups. Group one is Soonyoung, Jihoon and Minghao and group two is me, Joshua and you.” He continued as he made eyecontact with everyone on turn. Chan and Mingyu where stood on the same place they had been when I left them, Sun stuck to Mingyu’s leg. I could barely make out Junhui’s face popping out of the doorframe to the room Seokmin was probably trying his best to rest in. There was a moment of silent agreement before everyone went to their respective places to finish getting ready.

Wonwoo wordlessly unlocked the tiny shed behind the garage where I had been once before and motioned for Jihoon and I to go inside. “Pick something you have used before, we won’t have time for any demonstrations.” He spoke darkly as he held the door open for the two of us. I took a quick look around the room before picking a Smith & Wesson semiautomatic pistol of the desk. It was a 9 mm and so I quickly gathered the right ammunition and snatched the first boot knife I saw before making my way back over to the clearing in front of the buildings. I had fastened the weapon to the waistband of my jeans and was holding the sheathed knife in my hand I made my way over to get my backpack. I opened the strat room, the table covered with maps and different notepads of addresses sitting untouched as I ventured inside to find my belongings. The room smelled like most of the other rooms, dust and warm boxed in air. The lock clicked softly behind me and I spun around in surprise, wondering who would come in here when we where all supposed to get ready, only to be met by Soonyoungs grinning face. “Hi.” he murmured as he looked me up and down. I sighed, letting out a shaky breath as I felt the tiny bit of adrenaline surge through my body from the unexpected surprise. The male opposite of me just laughed, his mouth closed in a cocky smirk and his eyes upturned into cresent shapes.

“What?” I playfully snapped as I felt my shoulders relax a little. He moved closer, his left arm coming out to touch my hip lightly as he cocked his head back to look at me again. “Nothing.” He breathed, slowly spinning me around so my back was against him. “You just look a little uptight.” He said, his breath fanning over my right ear as he leaned against me. His hands came up to lightly massage my shoulders and I let myself lean into him slightly. Silence filled the room as I closed my eyes to enjoy the feeling of my taught muscles being worked on. “Be careful on this mission, okay?” Soonyoung whispered as he started working his hands down my back. “This is gonna be dangerous, more dangerous than anything we’ve ever done before.” He continued, his face coming dangerously close to my neck as he moved his thumbs against my lower back. “We can’t afford to lose the only one who smells good around here. That’s gonna stink.” the male joked, leaning his chin onto my shoulder as I let out a sound that sounded dangerously close to a moan. I took a deep breath as Soonyoung’s hands fell from my back and two seconds later took a soft hold on my hips to turn me back around to face him. “You be careful too, because you’re gonna do that again once we’re back.” I teased, stepping closer to the smiling male to wrap my hands around his midsection. I leaned into his chest, giving him a hug that should have been a few seconds shorter because just as we separated the door flew open and a quizzical Minghao stared between me and the man beside me. “We’re going.” The younger one stated before disappearing just as fast as he appeared.

I had grabbed my backpack quickly and as Soonyoung and I made it onto the parking lot we separated with a meaningful glance and seconds later the two cars where rolling silently down towards the city.

a/n: i totally forgot i HADNT uploaded this....im so sorry!!!! i had promised to upload it during christmas but so much happened i just didnt end up having time for it!!!! i feel so guilty, sorry :(( ill try to keep my promises from now on! thank you all for waiting and being so patient! also thank you all for 500 followers! i hit that sometime before christmas and i never said thank you so here i am, a month late giving my thanks through this way too late update! ily thank you for supporting and reading my work uwu

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redstarwriting · 5 years

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Two Of Us [Part 1]

Tony Stark x Daughter!Reader

Request: Nope

Word Count: 2,012

Genre: Angst that turns into straight badassery, but mostly angst

Warnings: End Game spoilers!!, death, mourning, language (?) I don’t remember, Sadness

A/N: Okay so like I don’t know if this was done already but I was listening to Two of Us by Louis Tomlinson and this whole ass concept flowed into my brain and I haven’t stopped thinking about it and I’ve decided I just HAD to write it so here we go. I’ll get back to writing requests, don’t worry, but I just HAD to write this one. I hope you enjoy it even though it’s kind of angsty.

───────────────────────────────────

“Remember, don’t give up. You can take this journey day by day, easily. After all, I raised you. You’re easily the smartest kid in your high school, and if anyone has anything to say about that, just show them the entire Iron Man suit you designed when you were twelve years old. You’re even smarter than I am, and that’s not an easy task, young lady!…I wish I could be there at your graduation, but, if you’re watching this, I’m afraid the universe had… other plans for me. I’m so proud of you, (Y/N). No matter what, don’t give up. Make me even prouder than I already am. I love you 3000.”

You see your dad smile at you, then disappear. The lights in the eyes of his Iron Man helmet fade, his projected body going with them. “I love you 3000,” you whisper, pulling your knees to your chest. It’s been a week since the battle that took your dad’s life occurred, but you miss him even more every day. Peter has been texting and hanging out with you constantly, knowing that you must be even sadder than he is, and while it’s comforting, you’re still hurting. You wipe a tear that made its way down your cheek, getting up from the couch to go watch his message to you again. He made personalized messages to you, Morgan, and your mom, and all three of you watch them every day. You can always tell when your mom watches hers, because she actually has a genuine smile on her face afterwards, even if it only for a few minutes. Morgan watches hers right before bed every night, and you? You watch yours late at night, around 2 to 3 in the morning when you can’t sleep. Hearing his voice soothes you, and it reminds you of the countless times the two of you would stay up all night, talking and inventing something. The message starts playing again but starts in the middle. “Remember, don’t give up…”

You stare at it confused, but just let it play til the end. “I love you 3000.” You get up to replay it again, but to your surprise it plays again. From the same spot. And it does it again. And again. The same words resinating in your mind, over and over. “Don’t give up,” “You can take this journey day by day,” “I’m so proud of you, (Y/N),” “Make me even prouder than I already am.” You get up, and turn the helmet off, panicking for a second, thinking you’ve lost the first half of his message, but when you play it again, everything is back to normal. It starts from the beginning. “Hey, tiny Stark.”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, and you turn the helmet off again, sitting in silence. “Don’t give up, huh, dad?” you mumble to yourself. You glance over at the table he used to invent with where you would you assist him for years. You walk over to it, powering it on, the plans for time travel still shining bright. You stare at it for a second, then begin designing your own Iron suit. You’ve done this countless of times, but only for fun. However, this time, you were determined to actually make it. While you were deciding just what colors the suit would be, you hear a small voice. “You look like daddy.”

You jump from surprise, glancing over to see your little sister sitting on the stairs. “You look like you should be asleep,” you say, turning away from the suit you’re creating. “I want an ice pop,” she says, a small mischievous smile appearing on her face. You raise your eyebrow at her, half in disbelief, half amused. “Morgi, it’s 4 in the morning.”

“Ice pop!”

You scoff, grabbing her hand and leading her to the kitchen. You get her her favorite flavor, grabbing one for yourself as well. She happily starts eating hers, and you look over at the hologram of an iron suit you’ve created. It’s very similar to your dads except you added a feature where you can shoot claws out of your fingers, much like the King of Wakanda’s suit does, but you can also fire tony rockets out of them. It’s also a little more aerodynamic, thanks to a few adjustments you made to it. “It’s ugly,” Morgan blurts out, and you notice she’s looking at the suit as well. You grin to yourself, and nod. “Yeah, it is. I’m trying to decide what colors I want.”

“What about the colors daddy used?”

“I was thinking that. I’m also thinking its time for you to actually go to sleep. Come on.”

You lead your sister back up to her room, tucking her in and playing your dad’s message for her. “Goodnight, Morgi. I love you 3000.”

You slip out of her room, and head back downstairs. You sigh, staring at the plain suit in front of you again. “Maybe this…”

You color in the majority of the suit red, just like your dad’s but instead of making the rest of the accents gold, you make them black. “Black for mourning, because that’s all I do now,” you mumble, and then make the tiny details and accents on the suit gold. “There… that’s it.”

With your idea fresh in your mind, you quickly go to the garage, gazing at all of your dad’s suits. Your eyes land on the beaten up and broken one, right side completely burnt. You tear your eyes away from it, beginning to design your own. You work away, completely disregarding the need for sleep. This is more important than sleep. You know exactly how to do this. You’ve been helping your dad with it since you were about Morgan’s age. You started showing the Stark intelligence at a young age, and ever since then you’ve been obsessed with everything your dad was obsessed with. Needless to say, you’re speeding through making this suit, and you finish by noon the next day. “You know, you really are the spitting imagine of your dad, (Y/N),” you hear your mom say, and you turn around to face her. “Oh. Hey, mom,” you say, and she sighs. “Didn’t sleep?”

“…No.”

She nods, walking over to you. “You really are just like him,” she says, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. You give her a small, sad smile. “I’m not just like him.”

“No… you’re exactly like him.”

“Mom-”

“(Y/N). I of all people would know. I also know you aren’t just designing that suit for the hell of it. This is exactly what your father did the first time he ever designed one of these suits. Sure, he wanted to stop the bad guys who held him captive, but the thing that drove him to make the suits? The other man he was captive with told him to not waste his life before he died. Those were his last words to him.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying that those words drove him to make his first suit. Just like your dad’s words are driving you to make your first suit. You and Tony really are remarkably similar. I’m going to make lunch, and you’re going to eat it then take a well-deserved nap.” She kisses your forehead, walking back to the house. You look at the suit, in pieces and scattered throughout the garage. You leave, ready for lunch and a much needed sleep. Over the next few days, after you get home from school you work on the suit, constantly. You need to get this done as soon as possible. Your mother frequently comes out to the garage carrying Morgan so she can see her big sister at work. A couple days after you first start the suit, she walks out with Morgan in her arms, expecting to see you hammering away at some metal or programming something new into the suit, only to be met you standing on top of a platform, suit on, getting it painted by machinery. She gets tears in her eyes, seeing the colors you chose. The resemblance to Tony’s suit with the hint of something else makes the two suits all the more similar, but still have a distinct difference. She is then horrified when the painting is finished and you shoot a repulsor beam from your hand, exploding some glass on the other side of the garage. “(Y/N)!”

“Sorry, mom!”

After that, you decide it’s time to test it out. You do everything your father did. You shoot beams, you fly around in the sky. After a few test runs, you decide the suit is functioning perfectly. Your suit is similar to your dad’s in the way that all you have to do is hold out your hand, and it comes to you. You’ve finished the suit, but it still feels like it’s missing something. You’re sitting in the silent garage when you sigh. “Friday, play my dad’s playlist, please.” Iron Man by Black Sabbath starts blaring all around you, and you smile. This was your dad’s favorite song. Then, it hits you. You take the arc reactor that you’re using for your suit, and place it in a metal case, engraving the words “I AM IRON MAN” on it. Your dad’s last words, and the words to his favorite song. You then place the reactor on your chest, smiling to yourself. “Well, as cheesy as this is, you’ll always be with me. right next to my heart dad. I think it’s time we pay Uncle Rhodey a visit.”

You pull up to the compound in the car your dad got you for your birthday when you were 16, stepping out and walking inside. “(Y/N)! What are you doing here?” Rhodey asks you but giving you a bone crushing hug. The rest of the Avengers at the compound come to see you, all of them giving you a hug. They do this because they can’t imagine what you’re going through, but it’s also comforting to them being able to interact with the closest thing next to Tony there is. “I’m here to join the team.”

They then all look at you before Rhodey speaks up again. “(Y/N)… I know you miss your dad, we all do, but you can’t just… join the team. You don’t have any superpowers or–”

“Rhodey the blood flowing through my veins is that of the Stark family. That’s a superpower in and of itself.”

“I mean, you’re right, but–”

“Besides, I don’t need superpowers. I have something a little more… metal? Just, come outside for a second, yeah?”

The Avengers look at you quizzically as you grin and excitedly walk out of the building. They follow, but their confusion only worsens when they see you standing outside with your hand out. “What are you– “

Rhodey is cut off in the middle of his sentence when a metal glove flies its way onto your hand. Then the other hand, and the leg, and the other leg, until a whole iron suit is on you. They all stare in disbelief, this suit isn’t one of Tony’s. It’s brand new. You begin speaking to them while the rest is flying in. “Since he isn’t here anymore, I’ve decided I’m living my life for not just me, but also him. I’ll do whatever it takes if it means he lives on. Not just him, not just me. It’s the two of us. I’m making him proud. I know I’m not a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist… well actually I am a genius, but I digress. Sure, I may not be Tony Stark, but I am (Y/N) Stark. Oh, and…” The helmet is coming in at a weird angle, causing you to have to run and flip to make sure it goes on your face. You land with a punch to the ground, your arc reactor and the eyes on your helmet lighting up as you look directly at the shocked Avengers.

“I Am Iron Woman.”

#iron man x reader #avengers x reader #tony stark x reader #avengers reader #iron man #tony stark #avengers

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lilyvandersteen · 4 years

Text

Out of the Blue: Chapter 3

Cover art: @redheadgleek

Beta extraordinaire: @hkvoyage

Author’s Note:

I'm in a terrible mood whenever I haven't slept enough, and Blaine in this story is just as moody and irritable when sleep-deprived :-) You have been warned!

Chapter 3: Mr. Grumps Down in the Dumps

Mr. Bingley had soon made himself acquainted with all the principal people in the room; he was lively and unreserved, danced every dance, was angry that the ball closed so early, and talked of giving one himself at Netherfield. Such amiable qualities must speak for themselves. What a contrast between him and his friend! Mr. Darcy danced only once with Mrs. Hurst and once with Miss Bingley, declined being introduced to any other lady, and spent the rest of the evening in walking about the room, speaking occasionally to one of his own party. His character was decided. He was the proudest, most disagreeable man in the world, and everybody hoped that he would never come there again. Amongst the most violent against him was Mrs. Bennet, whose dislike of his general behaviour was sharpened into particular resentment by his having slighted one of her daughters.

(An excerpt from Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen)

That Saturday, Blaine was in a horrible mood. He’d been woken in the middle of the night by loud squeals. Cooper’s latest conquest was a screamer, it seemed. What’s more, she hadn’t left discreetly after the hook-up. Instead, she stayed for breakfast, never noticing how her shrill peppiness made both Anderson brothers wince, and she addressed Blaine like he was a child. Now, he’d be the first to admit that he wasn’t too tall and that he looked young, but he looked teenager young, not toddler young.

When she exclaimed over his ‘cute curls’, and threaded her fingers through them, he gritted through his teeth, “Don’t touch me!” and stomped away, his stomach growling in protest when he left his breakfast half finished.

He was working on an essay for school when Cooper came in and flung himself onto Blaine’s bed. “She’s gone, squirt.”

“Don’t call me squirt,” Blaine snapped. “And good riddance. You sure know how to pick them, ugh.”

“She had great boobs.”

“That must have been the only great thing about her.”

Cooper tilted his head to the side, conceding the point.

“And now I’m starving because she chased me away from breakfast!”

Cooper chuckled. “Aw, Blainey, you didn’t like having your curls played with by a beautiful lady?”

Blaine shot him a dark glare, but it only made Coop laugh out loud.

“If you’re only coming here to laugh at me, you can clear out. I have work to do, and I don’t need any distractions.”

Coop rolled onto his stomach. “I came here to touch base about our plans this evening.”

“Plans?”

“The wedding! It starts at 6.30 PM, it says on the invitation. And it’s in Brooklyn, so we should probably leave by 5.30.”

Blaine groaned. He’d forgotten all about the wedding.

“I got you your guitar!” Cooper said, dashing out of the room, and coming back with a gleaming guitar case. “Here you go!”

Blaine’s fingers itched to open the case and try out the guitar, but he had school work to do, so with another groan, he turned away from Cooper and his bribe and focused on his research.

“And I’ll bring you a sandwich. And coffee. Okay?”

True to his word, Cooper brought Blaine food and coffee five minutes later. Blaine grabbed the sandwich right away, bit into it and mumbled a fervent thanks.

“5.30, squirt, don’t forget!”

Blaine, his mouth full to bursting, just nodded, letting the ‘squirt’ slide for now. Getting food in his system was more important. Ah, but he was hungry!

K&B

At four o’clock that afternoon, Cooper bounded back into Blaine’s room.

“Blainey… Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the wedding? I know how long it takes for you to fix your curls and make yourself pretty!”

Blaine let out a deep sigh. “All right, all right, I’ll stop working and hop into the shower.”

Cooper beamed. “I’ll be in the living room.”

“Oh, Coop? What did you buy them as a wedding present?”

“The pet pavilion, of course! They’re going to be so pleased!”

Blaine rolled his eyes. “If you want me to tag along, buy a NORMAL present in my name, please. You can waste your money on this ridiculous overpriced cat stuff, but I want to give the brides something useful.”

“Like what?” Cooper asked.

“Like a nice duvet. Or a set of bath-towels. Or some top-of-the-range kitchen stuff. Let me see the invitation, please?”

Cooper went to fetch it, and handed it to Blaine, who looked up the wedding registry. He was pleased to see that the brides had, in the meantime, added regular stuff like pots and pans and a clothes hamper.

“Get me that set of fruit bowls. That’s a nice gift.”

Cooper saluted. “Consider it done. A fabulous gift from me and a boring one from you.”

By the time Blaine was showered and groomed and suited up, Cooper had bought a beautiful bouquet of flowers with a congratulations card for the brides as well, and handed it to him with a wide smile. “All set now! Let’s go!”

When the town car came to a halt at the address mentioned on the invitation, Blaine frowned as he got out. The neighborhood looked derelict. And the people hanging around seemed a little too interested in Cooper’s gleaming car, which stood out like a sore thumb.

Blaine shivered and hoped they wouldn’t get mugged. That was all he needed to ruin the day further.

Cooper seemed to get the same vibe, and said to their chauffeur, “Best not stay here, Bill. I’ll call you when I need you to come pick us up.”

“Right, sir. Good evening, sir.”

And the car drove off. At once, Blaine felt very vulnerable. Holding the bouquet, he wouldn’t be able to fight if someone were to attack him.

“Let’s go inside,” he urged Cooper.

The building looked just as run-down on the inside. There was no elevator, and the stairs were worn and creaky.

The apartment numbers weren’t clearly indicated, but there was music floating down, so they only had to follow the sound to find the right place.

When Cooper knocked, nobody seemed to hear him. Not the first time, not the second, nor the third. After five tries, Blaine huffed, shoved the flowers at his brother, and tried to open the door. It slid open easily to reveal a loud and colorful chaos. All the guests were clapping and dancing, and in the middle were two gorgeous women in white dresses, singing Valerie and dancing with each other and giggling.

“Well, nothing like jumping straight into the party,” Cooper said. He put the flowers and the card on the nearest table and joined the dancers.

Blaine stayed where he was, looking at the brides and their guests and feeling very much out of place.

“Ooooh,” the brunette bride sighed as she sank onto the sofa after the song. “You know, Britts, that was the first time. That I felt like… I wanted to be with you forever. You were dancing with Mike, and I came to dance next to you, and you smiled. And I just knew. That you were the one.”

“Awwww,” Cooper cooed loudly, and more than just the brides’ heads snapped up.

“Oh, the last guests have arrived!” said a clear, high voice. “Welcome, welcome!”

The voice belonged to a tall man with blue eyes, a high coif and a clear complexion. He was dressed in a velvet burgundy three-piece suit that hugged him in all the right places.

Blaine felt attraction flare up bright and wild, but squashed it quickly when he saw that Mr. Gorgeous only had eyes for Cooper. Figures. Who’d see me next to Coop?

He wished he could just disappear. Nobody wanted him here anyway, not even Cooper, who was charming everyone already and having a splendid time, so it seemed.

But he felt himself grabbed by the arm as Coop loudly proclaimed, “And this is my younger brother Blaine. He was in show choir too!”

Blaine, taken off-guard, could do no more than say, “Uh, hi!”

Coop whispered in Blaine’s ear, “Smile! I saw you looking at the fashionable guy. If you want him, hit him with that Anderson charm!”

Blaine did as he was told, but he might as well have been invisible for all the reaction he got - a few polite nods and a once-over from a few of the girls. Mr. Gorgeous didn’t even spare him a glance. He was too busy sucking up to Coop, and mentioning emphatically that he was single, and hadn’t had much luck in love so far. Unlike Ohio, where he was from, New York City had plenty of gay men, but none that wanted to commit, it seemed.

Coop nodded. “I know what you mean. I’m not ready to settle down yet, but my brother is, and he tells me the same as you.”

Coop helpfully pointed to Blaine again, but Mr. Gorgeous didn’t look his way.

Blaine sank deeper into his sulk, scowling when Mr. Gorgeous urged everyone to head up the fire escape to the roof for the ceremony and then went up the stairs right in front of him, flaunting his endless legs and perfect ass in pants that seemed painted on.

He paid little attention to the ceremony, though he noticed that the man officiating was delectable too, tall, dark and handsome, and with a smile that rivalled Cooper’s in charm and intensity.

After the ceremony, Mr. Gorgeous and a tiny loud brunette went around with sparkling wine and platters of hors d’oeuvres. There was a wide assortment of finger food, all of it delicious, and for dessert a cake that was light and fluffy and so scrumptious that Blaine indulged in it until his stomach hurt, and then he felt disgusted with himself and even grumpier than before. He sat down on the nearest chair, feeling queasy, and hoping that Coop wouldn’t stay too long.

The brides’ first dance was beautiful. Even in the midst of his sulk, he had to admit that. Their faces were radiant, their moves were flawless, and they were perfectly in sync at all times. After the dance was over, they stayed put for another while, holding on to each other and whispering in low voices, punctuating each sentence with a kiss.

It wasn’t until the others joined them on the makeshift dance floor that it dawned on Blaine he had seen hide nor hair of the brides’ parents. Wasn’t it customary to have a father-daughter dance? And where were the drunk uncles and the loud aunts? Come to think of it, Blaine hadn’t seen anyone around from another age bracket than his own. Well, except for Cooper.

Even the officiant looked student-aged. Hmm…

Blaine looked around at the terrace. Tastefully decorated, yes, but it had clearly been done on a shoestring budget.

The food, too, however stellar, had all been clearly home-made, including the wedding cake. The sparkling wine had tasted great, but it had definitely not been champagne.

When he heard police sirens cut through the music for a moment, all his misgivings about the neighborhood came back with a vengeance, and he wondered who on earth would want to get married in a place like that.

It was nice enough for a party, he had to give them that. Lots of room, good acoustics. But it had more of a party vibe than it screamed wedding.

He headed to the table that held the presents from people who hadn’t bought something from the wedding registry, and got even more suspicious. The only decent gift on the table was a set of crystal champagne glasses in a silver bucket, donated by someone who called herself Sugar. The rest was a mishmash of cheap kitchen accessories and low-quality booze. How anyone could think a six-pack of Budweiser constituted a proper wedding gift, Blaine couldn’t fathom.

Nearby stood a tray with wedding favors. Blaine raised his eyebrows at the tulle bags holding a few tea lights. It was elegantly done, yes, calligraphed with the brides’ names and a romantic quotation, but again, they had kept their expenses as low as possible.

If they were all this poor, how on earth had they gotten acquainted with Cooper? The Andersons were an old money family, and Cooper had struck out on his own and become richer still. He hung out with celebrities and other billionaires all the time. When and where would he have met the brides? Did they actually know him at all? Or did they just send the invite to angle for a handsome gift? That was it, wasn’t it? Cooper had been duped into spending a fortune on that stupid pet mansion, or whatever it was! And they probably weren’t even getting married for real, and this was all a sham for Coop’s benefit!

Blaine was livid in Cooper’s stead, and stewed in silence until the brunette bride tapped on the bedazzled pink microphone they were now using for karaoke, shushed everyone and thanked all the guests for coming, and in particular Kurt (pointing to Mr. Gorgeous), who was the best friend anyone had ever had, and who had planned the whole wedding, apparently.

Cooper whooped and clapped, and Blaine couldn’t keep it to himself any longer, so he let it all out.

“Okay, this charade stops NOW! Maybe you fooled Cooper, but I can see right through you. This whole party is as fake as all get out! If it were real, you’d be getting married with your family surrounding you, not with just a handful of friends! If it were real, you’d have chosen an actual wedding venue, instead of this… this dump in the middle of nowhere! If it were real, you’d have had everything handled by professionals, instead of taking advantage of your friend to whip something up on the cheap for you. And all that for what? For that ridiculous pet pavilion that Cooper shelled out good money for? Is that really worth all this deception? You disgust me! You’re awful to take advantage of my brother this way, and I won’t stand for it!”

As soon as Blaine had gotten it all off his chest, he looked at everyone’s shocked faces and felt awful. Had he misjudged? The brides seemed aghast at his accusations, the guests looked at him like he was a train wreck happening, and Kurt… Gorgeous Kurt glared at him as if he wanted to tear Blaine limb from limb.

#bbb2020 #blaine big bang 2020 #klaine fanfiction #my fic #out of the blue

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dolantmego · 5 years

Text

The Fallout 2

Summary: You’ve got the chance of a lifetime. Directing the Broadway premiere of an original script. But your two lead actors throw you for a loop. Especially when Ethan Dolan shows up and just about makes your knees go weak. Professional integrity and family drama? What could go wrong?

Warnings: None really. Mention of an impure thought and some family trauma. Not graphic!

A/N: Okay so! Part two! Sorry it took so long. My personal/professional life got a bit hectic this past week! I hope you enjoy it. As always thank you so much for reading!

Part one

Lunch with the Dolan crew was every bit as stressful as you expected it to be. Edith and Parker insist upon sandwiches from the shop down the street; much to Ethan’s dismay, who not so subtly hints on several occasions that pizza sounds good. He asks you what your favorite place to eat around here is, which makes you cringe. You usually didn’t leave the theatre for lunch. It gets so busy and everyone has questions to ask you. By the time you finish notes and the first round of actors and designers with questions back off, the ones that had gone to lunch and then come back early to talk to you are already arriving. On a typical day your assistant picks you something up from wherever. If you even ate lunch that day. So going out with the two youngest in your show was refreshing, not to mention getting to spend time with their extremely good looking uncle who had allowed you along for the ride. Ethan had declared a ‘no work garble,’ rule, mainly so the kids and yourself actually had a break.

Parker had tried to ask you a question about what you were doing for the rest of the day. Which in retrospect you didn’t mind answering--even though he’d asked 3 different crew members already. Ethan shook his finger at the small boy and tisks.

“If you’re going to talk about work then I’ll be forced to talk about work. Beep boop expenditures. Bop boop beep meetings. Bop bop changes in expectations for the next quarter.” He mimes a robot walk and both of the kids break into a fit of giggles, begging for him to end the ‘torture.’ He throws a wink at you when they both turn around and start chatting amongst themselves and you grin back. Women thought men with babies were hot? Ethan is shaking you up from just these small interactions with Edith and Parker. You’ll combust if he’s ever holding a baby in your presence. You’re sure of it.

Ethan insists upon buying your lunch, despite your protests, and the four of you settle at a small round table by a window looking out on the busy streets of New York City. His interactions with the kids are heartfelt and adorable. It’s even more striking that he looks like he could be their father. The way they move around each other even looks like he’s their father and it makes you wonder how ofter the other Mr. Dolan is around. They’d been elated to talk to him on the phone earlier, but this looks more like the natural groove for the children. You have the sudden urge to reach over and comfort the man next to you, even though you’ve only known this man for what? Maybe 5 hours?

“Eadie Beanie you need to be careful, I don’t know how to get ketchup out of clothes okay? And your nana just bought you that sweater.” Ethan reaches over to wipe off the little girl’s face, smiling despite the interruption of your conversation. Not that you two had reached any interesting subject with the kids listening in. Edith squirms away from his wiping and pouts. The two have a small stare down before she huffs and takes another reluctant bite of her sandwich. Ethan laughs and ruffles Parker’s hair--who has been absorbed in the small handheld game he whipped out of his pocket as soon as you sat down.

“Ms. Y/L/N are you married?” You choke on your drink and Ethan lets out a small nervous laugh. You swear you notice Edith’s eyes sparkle a bit when he question affects you so. But she smiles a sweet smile and looks at you expectantly.

“Edith lets not ask such personal questions okay?” Ethan raises an eyebrow at the little girl and she makes another pout face.

“Why? You’re not asking the questions. You guys talk about boring stuff! Somebody has make this less blech!” Edith smirks knowingly at her uncle and tugs on Parker’s arm for attention. She seems to be a pretty observant kid for her age. Both of them are smart, you already knew that, they are homeschooled because of their rehearsal schedule. Parker has proudly announced to the cast that he’s on a 10th grade reading level. Loudly. Many times.

Edith tugs on her brother again and Parker hmms without looking up from his game, “Parker I’m sure if you ask E-Tee to give us money he’ll let us go buy cake.” Parker’s head whips up at that and both the kids look expectantly over at Ethan, whose head is in his hands shaking back and forth. You laugh at the family’s interaction and wonder how often it’s like this. You quickly pull $5 out of your purse to hand to the kids before Ethan can stop you, he didn’t let you buy lunch so you’ll treat the kids.

A chorus of thank you’s breakout and they both hop off to the long line at the counter, no doubt to order a bunch of sugar they don’t need. You realize that you’re going to have to get them to focus later and that you REALLY didn’t think that through. Ethan looks up from his hands and dead pans at you.

“You really didn’t have to and definitely should not have done that.” You laugh at his mock broken tone and he cracks a smile at your giggle, “Guys! Dairy free!” He calls out across the restaurant, pointing at them with a mock angry face. They both fall into a fit of giggles and nod before turning back to the menu.

“I think I definitely just saw Edith point at the cheesecake.” You joke, and Ethan whips around pretending to get ready to go after the two kids. You both laugh again, before leaning forward to be comfortably closer to one another.

“So. Thanks to the kids I have learned,” Ethan counts each tid bit off on his fingers, mock seriously. “Your favorite color. What you want to be when you grow up. Your favorite Disney movie. What your middle name is. What your least favorite vegetable is. And finally the kicker that you did not get to answer.” You raise an eyebrow at the last one and pretend to think very hard.

“Oh yes? And what was that?” You grin slyly and play with the straw in your drink. Ethan wiggles his eyebrows suggestively to make you laugh again. He really was something else. Funny. Attentive. Great with the kids. Why the hell wasn’t he married? That last thought strikes you as a tad ominous. Darker thoughts threaten to board the ever moving train in your mind and you make an effort to push it out of your head for the moment. You had plenty of time to worry about that later.

“Well Eadie seems to be worried that you’re married.” You widen your eyes, pretending to be shocked, “But I’m a smart man. I can see you aren’t wearing a ring.” His eyes drift to your bare ring finger, and you nod.

“Great observation Mr. Holmes. Anything else?” You inquire with a squinted eye. This little game the two of you were playing was so refreshing. Both of you were just having fun being a little goofy together. Ethan nods and pretends to sit back and smoke from a pipe. You loved that he would be silly and mess around with you, but it wasn’t a crazy ordeal that took everyone in the restaurant’s attention. This is just a fun moment being shared between the two of you.

“Well then I can make the deduction that you aren’t married.” He shoots forward in a flash and you let out a squeak. “BUT!” His voice is loud and then gets very quiet, “I must inquire further for my next deduction.” You laugh and try to hold a serious face while nodding for him to continue. This man is really bringing out a different side of you. Doing the job that you do requires such a high level of seriousness in order for you to gain respect, that you forget to have fun a lot. Not that you are unhappy or don’t feel creative in your work, that isn't the case at all. But you do find yourself missing moments like these. Most of your interactions with your crew and cast are light hearted, but you have to hold yourself back for the sake of professionality. There is a tinge of loneliness that comes with being the director. The only person who is close to your level is LJ, and she has to hold just as much of a professional air as you do. If not more.

You justify it by coming to the conclusion that Ethan isn’t involved in this part of your life at all. Sure he is close to two of your actors, but an uncle is far less of an entanglement than an actual parent right? Though Ethan really did look like more than just an uncle. The kids are already cast, though. The show is in tech now, your role is truly almost over. Is there any harm that could be done? Again, that tiny dark feeling you can’t place washes over you. Guilt? Fear? You aren’t sure. Pushing the questions away is harder this time. This time, the escape is narrow.

Ethan must notice the change in your demeanor even though you try to brush past it. What is with you today and the overthinking? It really has been to long since you’ve been out with a man. Or gone out in general really. Ouch. Stopping yourself from thinking about that number really is all too easy.

He drops the character entirely and a shy boy peeks out from under his layers. One that looks as if he genuinely wants to know the answer to his next question. Your heart melts further when he glances at the children by the counter before looking back to you.

“Are you? Dating anybody?”

________________________________________________________________

Ethan had no idea if this was going well or not. Y/N is laughing and the kids are being their normal selves, but he wonders if you think his family is crazy. They are. But he loves them with everything he has. Which, considering the last few years isn’t very much, his family took up so much space in his heart, he really didn’t leave much else for anyone else. Not that he had--or made--the time for that.

Ethan is extremely well off, Dolan Productions continues to grow everyday. He could probably stop working today and lead a stable life. Sure, they have the property in New Jersey. The one in LA. Grayson still owned his old family home and Ethan may or may not have a cottage in Europe somewhere that he never discloses the location to. And both boys have plenty in the bank. But Ethan enjoys working, he likes the sense of purpose and accomplishment it provides. With an added bonus of proving everyone who ever said he and Grayson were crazy or worse, wrong. Oh so very wrong.

Gray had married first and created his settled life with his kids, and then Ethan had become the weird one. First he and Gray were crazy. Then they were ‘young and ambitious businessmen.’ Then Gray became super dad and Ethan was just ‘ambitious and possibly lonely,’ according to his mother. Then the scandal hit and both boys ducked as far under the radar as they could. Now the ‘Dolan Twins’ were no longer the face of their own company. Both were still in charge and worked, but they’d let their lives get more quiet. Somebody else did most of the PR now. After seeing how the media could ruin something already so broken, neither of the boys ever wanted to be the talk of the town again. And they definitely never, ever, wanted that for Parker and Edith. Convincing Gray to let them be in a Broadway show took weeks. Their mother ended up pulling Grayson by the ear into her bedroom and they didn’t come out for a good 45 minutes.

Though right now Ethan had no idea why he’d stuck his neck out for these heathens in the first place. Parks was hunched over in a game and barely speaking, it wasn’t the most polite move in the world, but Ethan preferred his nephew about 10 times more than his niece right now. She was a lot like her aunt Cam and a lot like her grandmother. Always talking, noticing everything, and being too smart for her own good. Including right now, where she was practically grilling Y/N, and making not-so-subtle-9-year-old-pointed glances at Ethan. ‘Oh that’s E-Tee’s favorite color too!’ Even though Ethan was sure the little girl had no idea what his favorite color was.

Not that it mattered nor did Edith probably care.

“Ms. Y/L/N are you married?” Edith’s face looks innocent when she poses the question, but Ethan can see the mischief in her eyes. It was the same look she had before she’d run and tell her daddy about the cookie Ethan had given her after bedtime when he wouldn’t supply her with another one. He lets out a small passive chuckle and squints throws a dirty look to the little girl. Evil genius child.

“Edith lets not ask such personal questions okay?” He raises an eyebrow and silently begs the universe to just do him this one solid and have the little girl just go with it.

Of course she doesn’t and Ethan ends up with his head in his hands in embarrassment, again. But you don’t miss a beat, and boy does he notice. You were always so collected around other people, which of course was part of your job, but Ethan is an awe at how smooth you are. He’s seen people blow up at these two kids and blow up at him, but you’re laughing and taking it in stride. Which encourages his confidence back up enough to get the courage to go for the same question he’d been wanting to ask you.

Why aren’t you married? Could you possibly be single? How? With those eyes? Your passion? And your hair? Your very beautiful and, well, pullable hair?

There’s gotta be something wrong with this chick.

And there it was. There’s the thought he’d been fearing would pop up. The inevitable, well there-has-to-be-something-wrong-here-and-if-there-isn’t-then-you-sure-will-cause-it thought. Dammit. Ethan really didn’t want his mother to be right when she talks about how emotionally stunted her boys have become, but here he was. Wondering if the nice, beautiful woman in front of him could be some sort of secret psychopath. He’d seen it before. Or if maybe Ethan was the secret psychopath who didn’t really want somebody to love him, or somebody for him to love. He’d seen that all go wrong before too. Ethan looks at Edith and Parker trying to buy cake at the counter, he’d seen the damage all of the fallout could really cause.

But he has to know, all jokes aside. Something in him has to know.

“Are you? Dating anyone?” He watches your eyes for your response, hoping the answer would be no. It had to be. You wouldn’t be out for lunch with him if you had someone else would you?

“Ah. No, no I’m not.” Ethan swears, but never admits that his heart skips a beat at your answer. He grins widely, not trying to hide it, and your grin matches his.

“Would you consider going out with me sometime?” Ethan’s mind and stomach feel like static waiting for your answer, which doesn’t come as soon as he’d like, due to the untimely return of his crew. Edith hops up with Parker in tow, who has his face screwed up in disgust.

“Finally!” Edith cries excitedly, looking between the two of you.

“Thats gross.” Parker mumbles, before shoving a bite of cake into his mouth. Edith frowns deeply at him and looks at you expectantly. Ethan groans again, of course. Of course Edith had to hear that. Now Grayson will hear and so will his mother and probably Cam. Great.

“Well since we know you’ll say yes, you should come on monday cause thats when theres no rehearsal. And we can make cake and you can meet Nana!” Edith’s eye shine brightly and she grins, “Nana gets upset cause E-tee-wee-tee doesn’t bring home girls. But now you’ll come!” She smiles proudly at Ethan and he’s got a deadpan face on, directed right at her. Why did she always feel the need to get involved in everything? And now Y/N knows his stupid nickname he’d been trying to be rid of ever since Grayson plastered it on their old YouTube Channel.

Ethan puts his chin in his hand and huffs, might as well let the little girl talk. This was her date anyway. He holds back a wince, is he really jealous of a seven-year-old? Ethan looks over to you at the same time you glance at him and a smile forms on his face. You didn’t look annoyed at all. In fact you looked like you were still having a great time. Yup, definitely jealous of anybody who could make you smile like that. He winks at you and it makes you laugh, which prompts Edith to stop talking about whatever she decided to ramble about--her room maybe?

“Excuse me!” Edith harps, but Ethan is too wrapped up in staring at you, and you’re too wrapped up in staring back. “Fine. As we say in theater, silence means argument!” That statement breaks the semi staring contest the two of you entered and Ethan draws his eyebrows together.

“Agreement. Silence means agreement Edith.” Y/N winks at the little girl, who nods. You turn to Ethan and he shifts nervously under your gaze. “But I think your uncle and I can probably work something out.”

“Yes! Yeah. Um absolutely.” Ethan quips almost too quickly. He pauses for a moment and makes a mental note to drop the weirdo excitement and speak like a normal person and not like his brother. But where to take you? Dinner? A movie? Neither sounded special, and a movie was definitely out. You weren’t 15-year-olds on a first date. Ethan is fumbling and he knows it. He hasn’t taken a girl out on a date in years. He splutters for a moment and his brain has a small meltdown. You live in the city. He lives an hour away, was there a place in the middle? He had no idea. There was a gas station off the interstate on one of the exits, but that definitely wouldn’t work.

Well fuck. Should he entertain Edith’s idea? He imagines you in New Jersey for a moment. Would you like it? The land? His home? You’d have to meet his mom. Though he was pretty sure Lisa had picked up the kids at least once or twice. And you could handle Eadie and Parks like a champ. But take you to his home on a first date? People didn’t do that, did they? He didn’t think so. But. That meant it was original. Which kinda made it special. Right?

Dammit. New Jersey it is.

“If you’d like to come out to the farm, I think that would be great?”

#oof this took too long #I hate that for yall I'm so sorry #anyway #dolantmego #ethan dolan #ethan x reader #ethan dolan imagine #ethans lane #ethan dolan x reader #ethan dolan blurb #grayson dolan x reader #grayson dolan #grayson dolan imagine

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welcometophu · 5 years

Text

Into the Split: Avalanche 3

Twinned Book 3: Into the Split

Avalanche 3

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“Come on.” Nikita grabs Nikolai’s hand, tugs him a few steps away from Seth.

He doesn’t reach out to grab onto his boyfriend, but it’s close. Seth’s his anchor, and he knows that he’s the same for Seth. If Nikolai feels at sea in this crowd, Seth must feel worse.

Seth glances over, nudges his glasses up his nose. “It’s okay. I’m going to go….” His voice trails off before he actually says where, but he gestures past the house, into an area of the festival they haven’t explored yet. It’s in the opposite direction from where Nikita seems to be dragging Nikolai.

“You sure?”

Seth grins, nodding. “I’m sure. It’ll be quieter over there. Fewer people, more animals from what I’ve heard. Unless some of the animals are actually people, which around here might be a possibility.”

It feels wrong to just walk away. Nikolai shakes off Nikita’s hand so he can approach Seth, frame his face with his hands and kiss him slowly. “I’ll see you back at the house later.”

Seth tilts his head into Nikolai’s touch. “Be safe,” he responds.

It’s almost as if there’s a string stretching out as they head in opposite directions, Seth walking with Alaric, Ethan, and Marybelle, while Nikolai follows Nikita. He feels the tug in his heart and his gut, and he does his best to shove down the way it twists inside of him.

“You two are a little co-dependent, aren’t you.” Nikita doesn’t say it like a question. “We’re all still here, right? He’ll be fine and you’ll be fine. No one’s going to let anyone get in trouble here, and it’s way too light for Shadows.”

“It’s not that.” Nikolai’s not worried about trouble. He places a hand flat on his chest, then draws it out slowly to point at Seth. “For the past two years—since my parents died, and we thought my brothers died, we’ve been stuck together like glue. We did everything together, because we were all we had. And we’re bonded, and you know what that’s like.”

“Not exactly the same,” Nikita points out.

“I think it’s more the same than you think,” Nikolai counters. He ticks points off on his fingers as he speaks, matching her pace while they walk. “You can’t sleep easily without her, right? You’re more comfortable when you know where she is. If you’re in the same room, you end up sitting together and touching. She settles you just by being there, and if she and Seth are both doing something Empathic, you can probably tell which one is Heather.” Nikita nods along with every statement, so Nikolai spreads his hands. “You see my point. You’re just new to each other. We’ve been just him and me—the only other people we’ve seen along the way have wanted to kill us—for years. Our bond isn’t just obvious to both of us, it’s the biggest thing we’ve got. I can’t remember him being that far out of my sight since… since before the fire. Even when we weren’t in sight, we knew where each other were. It was never far. We need to….” He stumbles, and admits, “We’re probably co-dependent, yes, and we need to learn how to be independent again. But it’s not going to be easy. It’ll take some time.”

“Well, where I’m taking you might help with that.” Nikita stops, and Nikolai stops right behind her. She points to the space where Carolyn is set up, her deck of cards on the table in front of her. She has no one with her at the moment, and she sits there, idly shuffling her cards while looking through a journal she has in front of her. “I think you should get a reading from Carolyn.”

Nikolai has no idea what that means.

“She’s Predictive. She’ll—” Nikita cuts off, her head tilted. “It’s not telling your future, or fortunes. It’s like, she’ll give you a reading about what your life is, and what some of your possible paths are. Where the world sees you going at this point in the right now. Tomorrow might be a completely different reading, so this is a thing that basically gives you something to think about about your choices in life in this exact moment. Okay?”

Nikolai’s never met someone who is Predictive, and to him it sounds more like storybook magic than Talent. Still, what has he got to lose? “Sure. Okay.”

He lets Nikita drag him over to Carolyn’s table, and goes when she nudges him into the seat waiting there. Carolyn stops shuffling and looks up, blinking at Nikolai.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Nikolai looks at the cards under her hand, then the closed notebook. “Nikita says—”

“You should give him a reading.” Nikita sits on the grass with her knees bent and arms around her legs. “It’d be interesting to see what comes up, given everything.”

“Is this reading for him or for you?” Carolyn mutters dryly. She pushes the notebook to the side and shuffles the deck a few more times before handing it to Nikolai. “Go ahead and shuffle it, then cut it and give it back to me.”

“Him,” Nikita says. She holds one hand up, scrubs the air in front of her. “This has nothing to do with me.”

Nikolai thinks that’s a lie. They’re entangled in ways they don’t understand. They have to be, if they’re the same person from different worlds. He gets the feeling their futures are entangled as well, even if he doesn’t know how yet.

The cards feel large to his hands. It’s been years since he last played cards, but he remembers those being smaller. And fewer. These are awkward, and he drops them twice, needing to scoop them up and pat them back into a neat pile before he can try to shuffle them again. The motion comes back to him, something he learned as a child before everything went wrong, and after a while he realizes he’s still shuffling just because of that. Because it feels like a tiny hint to the past that he’s just reclaimed.

He sets the deck down, cuts it in the middle, and pushes the stack toward Carolyn.

She lays down cards on the table: two crossed cards, then four cards around those, then another four to their right, in a column from Nikolai to Carolyn. Nikita comes to her knees and leans up to look at them curiously.

The pictures are interesting, but they don’t mean anything to Nikolai.

Carolyn looks at the cards closely, running her fingers over them in the same order that she laid them down. She pauses occasionally and backtracks before moving forward. Her lips move, but there’s no sound.

Nikolai sits back and waits, not sure what to do next.

“Okay. So. These two cards are basically your current situation right now, and something that goes against that situation. Usually these two cards are in opposition, but not always.” Carolyn taps the first card, a picture with six glasses on it, upside down. “You’re in this space where you have all these pent up emotions about the past, but you’re starting to move past that. You’ve got a chance to start all over again, and you’re trying to pay attention to the future rather than lingering over what’s already happened.”

Her fingers move to the card that lies across it, an image of a man walking from one circle to another. “The thing is, life isn’t as settled as you want it to be. There are complications, and magical changes because of—” She stops abruptly, frowning. “Okay, usually I don’t try to actually match a reading to life, but this one is just so obvious to me, I have to say something. This is a card about balancing two things that are in flux, and I think the big interruption is Nikita and our world impinging on your getting settled here in Havenhill.”

It’s funny how the card almost looks like he’s moving from one world to another. “You could say it means anything, though,” Nikolai says quietly.

“That’s why I usually don’t try to make it real,” Carolyn says. “I’ll tell the story the cards tell, and leave the rest of it up to you to figure out what you get from it. If we stick with that, you’re settled and moving on, and because of something twinned—some kind of balancing two objects in flux thing—you’re being pushed out of sync.” She inhales roughly, shakes her head and moves her finger to the next card. “Right. Moving on.”

The card is upside-down again, showing a man and woman standing in a cage made of swords thrust into the ground. “This is usually a dark card,” Carolyn says, “but because it’s reversed, it’s actually positive in this case. You’ve been in a kind of mental prison, maybe, which goes with the moving on from the first card. But if you focus on inner dialog, and listen to yourself, you can take steps to move beyond any fears you have. And beneath that, you have the Moon, which is your toolbox to be able to escape whatever mental block might have you trapped. That’s all instinct and intuition. It’s love and being able to lose yourself and be emotional. So trust those instincts and move beyond your fear.”

She touches the next two cards, surrounding the crossed cards to the left and right. “These are your recent past and near future. Behind you is Justice, reversed. You were in a place of chaos and prejudice, which, from what you’ve told us about this world, is pretty accurate. Ahead of you is the ten of swords, also reversed. And this is another one of those bad cards, but because it’s reversed, it’s actually positive. It means you’re going to hit rock bottom and start going back up. It addresses fears again, and trusting yourself that you can move beyond those fears. Just take things one step at a time and move forward. Even if you’re at the lowest point you think you could ever go, it’s not that bad, because moving forward means you’re climbing back up. It’ll get better.”

That’s positive? Nikolai supposes maybe it is, in that the message is about being able to get better. But the idea of hitting rock bottom doesn’t sound good, especially when she refers to it in the future, not the past.

He bites his tongue rather than put voice to any of that.

Carolyn moves on to the four cards in a neat line off to the right. “This is you. You’re balanced right now, right there on your toe, balanced neatly on those six swords. You’ve found your path, the way through. You think you’re all set and going in the right direction. And your family and friends are positive, too. The Ace of cups is a great card, all about joy and fulfillment and being able to relax into a safety net of having those you love around you.”

Right. That one is absolutely obvious.

“The thing to remember about this one is that having your anchor and being stable emotionally means you can have new beginnings in other directions, too,” Carolyn continues. The next to last card, when she touches it, doesn’t seem to mean anything to Nikolai. A woman stares out at him, yin and yang on her forehead, alpha and omega written before her.

“Balance,” he says, pointing to the symbols. “Are all your cards about that? It seems like your cards are encouraging it.”

Carolyn’s smile is slightly. “No, not all of my cards. Just the ones in your reading. Almost every card that talks about balance is on the table right now.”

Oh.

“That’s actually kind of chilling.” By randomness, Nikolai doesn’t think that should happen.

“I’m Predictive.” Carolyn taps the woman’s face. “And yes, this card is about balance again, in a way. She represents your hopes and fears in this reading. She’s a reminder to rely on your instinct and intuition to be able to use your Talent effectively. Your heart knows more than your mind, which ties back to your romantic and emotional connections.” There’s a faint flush in her cheeks. “Where the High Priestess is concerned, she also refers back to your sexual connections.”

Nikita snickers.

“Seth has my heart and my body,” Nikolai says dryly. “Are you trying to tell me that sex is a part of our Talent?”

Carolyn shrugs, the color high on her cheeks. “It could be, but I’m not going to get into that with you. Not my area of expertise. Maybe you just hope it is, or maybe you even fear it is, I don’t know. This is something for you to think about.”

“We were talking about that aspect of Dreamwalkers and Empaths,” Nikita reminds him, and Nikolai does remember that. “It’s possible having that connection on all levels—physical, emotional, and the dreaming—helps us stabilize and anchor each other.”

“What about this one?” Nikolai tries to redirect the conversation by tapping the last card. It shows a man wielding a wand and fighting of other wands, again upside down.

“That’s the final outcome,” Carolyn says. She rubs at one cheek, like she can erase the flush. “It’s a warning in this case, I think. It’s about being able to be a role model, but you’re resisting doing just that. It’s telling you to be careful and guard against being indecisive. Do the thing, don’t let yourself rest and be unmotivated just because things are easy finally. It’s all in your hands, and you can either fight the battle or let them win.”

When Nikolai sits back and looks at everything she said, it seems to come together well enough. He’s here in Havenhill. His life was shit, and it got better. He’s got his emotional anchor in Seth, and he’s got his family, and then he’s also got Nikita, barging in to disrupt everything. And he has a choice of just sinking into the safety of living here in Havenhill, or he can figure out how everything that’s safe helps him figure out all the things that aren’t safe at all.

He’s tempted to say he’s been set up, but the way Carolyn’s lips purse, her brow furrowed deeply as she runs her fingers over the card, makes him think this is all just happenstance.

“Carolyn’s really good at this,” Nikita says quietly. “I didn’t bring you over because I thought she’d be like listen to Nik, she knows what she’s doing or something, because I don’t actually know what I’m doing at all. But I thought the cards might say something interesting to you.”

Nikolai huffs, crossing his arms. “I don’t have to like what they said,” he grumbles. He’ll talk to Seth about this tonight, because he doesn’t want to think that anything is pushing them into doing something they don’t want. But at the same time, this implies that they might end up shoved out of their comfort zone whether they want to go there or not.

He’s not sure what to believe right now, but yeah. He’s definitely got something to think about.

Carolyn sweeps the cards back into a stack, shuffling them roughly. “I’m going to write that down,” she says. “Go get ice cream. Pretty sure this is one of those times.”

“What?” Nikolai barely manages to speak before Nikita is on her feet, dragging Nikolai with her.

“Ice cream! I forgot, they said they were making it, and it’ll be brilliant. Fresh milk, the winter preserves, such good flavors.” Nikita pulls, and Nikolai loses his balance, forced to follow after. “It’s the perfect thing after being dragged over the emotional coals, right?”

“I haven’t had ice cream since I was ten,” Nikolai says. “Maybe younger.”

Nikita grins, and yeah. She has definitely barged into his life and upset the careful balance that he’s been building. He just managed to get it all properly put together and here’s this person from another world, knocking everything over.

He doesn’t like to think about dead on that reading was.

“Then it’s time for you to have it again,” she says, and it takes a moment to remember that she’s talking about ice cream. “Come on, let’s go find Seth and Heather, then we’ll get ice cream together. Like the cards said—it’s time to move ahead and move on.”

Trying new things, rediscovering old things. Recreating his life, and trying to find balance. Stepping from one life to another. Yeah. Nikolai can do that. No fears involved at all.

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#welcome to phu #welcometophu #into the split #phu twinned #twinned #its avalanche

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leilani-lily · 5 years

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Lost and Found (ToothxPitch)

.:For @heypapergirl:.

“London, sector 3, bottom left second molar! Sydney, sector 5, top first incisor!”

The sun was slowly descending on the Tooth Palace, indicating the end of a perfect day. The fading light sparkled against the tiles of pillars hanging high in the mountaintops, the colours reflecting off, creating tiny light rainbows all over the walls. The gold decorations sparkling and giving off a warm glow. Tiny, iridescent fairies were busy at work as always, flitting with either tiny tooth treasures or shiny coins. Thousands flew in and out of the every busy palace, the hustle and bustle never ending.

In the middle of it all was the Mother herself; the Tooth Fairy. She darted here and there from each fairy, giving commands, gushing over specific teeth or silently scolding certain children for not brushing properly. However, her eyes were bright and alert; feeling completely in her element as new memories flowed into her Kingdom and were safely stored in sparkling cylindrical cases. Toothania couldn’t be more at peace.

A soft yawn escaped her lips as she rubbed her eyes, not realizing how weary she was from such a long day. Baby Tooth instantly noticed her Mother’s sudden fatigue, and zipped up to her right away, chirping like a bird in her ear. Tooth giggled to herself.

“Baby Tooth, I’m honestly ok. I don’t need to rest.” she smiled sweetly to her companion, but the little fairy was having none of it. She gave her a glare as she angrily chirped again, using her tiny hands to try and push Tooth away. As if that would do anything. Tooth openly laughed.

“Alright! Alright!” Tooth snickered, turning towards the tiny fairy, “I’ll just have a quick nap. You’re in charge while I’m gone. And make sure the daytime workers switch with the nighttime ones! If I’m having a break, I want to make sure everyone else gets one too.”

Baby Tooth gave a small salute, making Toothania beam at her little prodigy.

“What would I do without you?” Tooth smiled, kissing one of her fingers and lightly tapping Baby Tooth’s feathered head. Baby Tooth chittered happily, nuzzling into her finger for a moment before zooming off, determined to make her Mother proud. Tooth sighed happily and fluttered up into the palace towards her room, feeling absolutely high on life and love for her little baby fairies.

Her mind was in a daze as she entered her room, joy filling her heart, but drowsiness clouding her eyes. It was no wonder she had a near heart attack when she realized she was not alone in the room.

“I must say Toothiana, these are really the most luxurious pillows I have ever laid on. You must tell me where you got them.”

Tooth’s tired body instantly snapped awake as she turned to her bed, seeing a long, dark figure casually sprawled on her mattress, surrounded by cushy pillows and blankets. Pitch Black had made himself at home as he admired the patterns on the pillows, not seeming to care at how shell-shocked Tooth was.

“Persian? Very nice; though I shouldn’t be surprised. You always did seem to like this style, just like your mother-!”

Pitch didn’t even get a chance to finish as Tooth suddenly bolted towards him, screaming a warrior cry as she raised a clenched fist. Pitch practically fell off the bed, getting tangled in the sheets as he narrowly escaped a swing from the fairy. He quickly ducked and dodged each of her blows as she advanced towards him, a yelp of fright occasionally escaping his lips.

“Tooth! Toothania stop this! Too-! Moon above! Would you- Ach! Would you stop this?!”

Feeling his blood begin to boil, he quickly grabbed onto Tooth’s wrists and pushed her backwards until she was on the bed, him pinning her down beneath him. Tooth struggled and squirmed beneath him, grunting and angrily crying out. Pitch rolled his eyes as a wave of black sand shimmered over her mouth, silencing her growls. She continued to squirm, trying to escape his clutches, making him all the more irritated.

“For Moon’s sake Tooth! Will you just stop for a moment and listen to me??”

The look of shock and angered bewilderment on Tooth’s face was almost priceless, but given the certain circumstances, this was no time to laugh. Pitch could tell Tooth had something to say, so he hesitantly commanded the sand away, allowing her to speak.

“And why on Earth would I ever listen to you??” she roared, causing even Pitch to flinch ever so slightly, “After everything you’ve done to me?? My fairies?! What more could you want Pitch?!?”

Pitch’s grip on her wrists tightened, feeling his anger begin to grow. But he knew very bloody well that she spoke nothing but the truth. Eventually, his grip on her weakened ever so slightly. He sighed heavily, finally looking her in the eyes again. Tooth was shocked to see such a serious look on his face.

“…. I need your help. Please.”

Now Tooth knew for sure something was seriously wrong. Pitch never said please. Ever. She momentarily lost herself in his eyes as they looked so solemnly into hers. She never realized how fascinating his eyes were: golden rimmed with a cool gray, almost like a solar eclipse. She had never seen eyes so intriguing. She quickly shook her head, focusing back to the matter on hand.

“You can’t be serious. Why in Manny’s name would I ever help you? I should tie you up right now and throw you to my fairies. They would be more than happy to have their revenge on you.”

A smirk slowly grew on Pitch’s face as his eyelids lowered.

“Hmmm. Yes. You would like to see me tied up now, wouldn’t you~?”

Tooth’s face suddenly erupted in heat, her cheeks turning bright red against her pale skin. Suddenly realizing the position she was in, she felt her face grow even hotter and all the more embarrassed. She began to squirm again under his clutches, not noticing the smile of amusement growing on Pitch’s face.

“Toothania! You’re so flushed! My my, are you thinking naughty thoughts?”

Tooth’s heart kept into her throat at those words as she struggled more. She looked up angrily at the shadowed man, trying to keep her composure but finding it rather difficult.

“Get off of me.”

“Hmmmm. No, I think not. This is far too amusing to pass up.” Pitch was practically giddy as he leaned in closer, making her even more shy. Her eyes flashed with anger.

“Pitch-!”

“Fine, fine, I’ll get up.” Pitch finally drawled, making Tooth breath a sigh of relief. But Pitch’s grip tightened, his face suddenly growing very serious once again. “But only if you promise to help me.”

Tooth groaned in irritation. How could she possibly help him? What could he possibly want from her? She continued to struggle, but she found herself trapped underneath him. It seemed she didn’t have much choice. She gave him a sideways glance, still not trusting him.

“If this effects the children in any way, or harms anyone I love-!”

“No. Nothing like that. I promise no harm will come to you, or your precious fairies or Guardians, or, heaven forbid, the children.” Pitch almost gagged on that last point, but made sure to keep his composure.

“Once this is over, I’ll leave you alone. I promise…. I would cross my heart or even go as low as to pinky swear if it made you feel any better, but, as you can see…” His eyes flickered to his hands holding onto Tooth’s wrists, then back to her eyes, “My hands are a little full at the moment.”

Tooth gave him a long, hard stare. She had gotten very good at being able to tell whether someone was lying or not. Children often lied about whether they had brushed or flossed their teeth, and after centuries of being occasionally lied to, as innocent of a lie it was, she had gotten rather good at revealing the truth from someone. Pitch was still staring at her, the smallest of playful smirks on his face. But as she continued her glare, his smile slowly fell, and a look of pain replaced it.

“Tooth…” he almost whispered, making Tooth’s eyes widen in surprise, “… You’re the only one who can help me… Please.”

The sorrow in his eyes baffled Tooth completely. She had never expected to actually feel… sorry for Pitch. Whatever this request was; it certainly meant a lot to him, more than his lifelong goal of creating a new Dark Age. Something personal. And she knew, without a doubt, he was not lying.

After a long hard stare, Tooth finally gave a sigh of defeat and nodded her head. Pitch seemed surprised she said yes, because a look shock and hope suddenly filled his face; a look Tooth wasn’t used to seeing on the dark man. Pitch, realizing he was showing his emotions, quickly shook his head and grunted in irritation, finally removing himself from the feathered female. Tooth immediately jumped to her feet, feeling relieved from finally being freed and out of that embarrassing situation. After quickly composing herself and smoothing down her feathers, she turned to the Boogeyman.

“Alright Pitch,” she stated, “What is it you so desperately need help with?”

Pitch slipped a hand into his dark robe, making Tooth realize there was a hidden pocket in his clothing. Curiosity was getting the better of her. When he pulled it out, he opened his hand and looked at it, and a tiny, fond smile spread on his face. Finally looking at Tooth once again, an amused smirk rose.

“I believe you might remember this little souvenir.”

Laying in the palm of his hand was a white, pearly molar. Of all the things Tooth was expecting, it certainly wasn’t this.

“That morning… on the lake…” She whispered, remembering that fateful battle years ago. When she had decked him right on the jaw before he disappeared in the night. The tooth that she knocked out of him…

She snorted.

Pitch looked on unamusingly as she tried to cover her laughter. She couldn’t help but snicker a little bit; it was one of her most fulfilling memories. She had never been so satisfied. And the look on his face was just the icing on the cake.

“Alright yes yes, laugh it up.” Pitch sighed, “Please, do continue to laugh at one of the most humiliating moments of my life. It doesn’t hurt me at all, I swear.”

Tooth’s giggles simmered down as she wiped an eye, clearing her throat as she collected herself. Finally taking a breath, she fluttered closer to him to look at the tooth in more detail.

It was his bottom, second molar to the left, and Tooth was surprised to see how clean it was. Not a cavity or chip in sight. Not only that, but it seemed polished; as if it was a rare jewel. No dust nor dirt to be seen. It seemed like Pitch had taken good care of it. Tooth wondered how many night’s he spent studying the molar, keeping it close to him almost like a sacred treasure.

… But why?

“You’re probably wondering why I still have this,” Pitch began, jolting Tooth out of her deep thoughts. After a solemn pause, the dark man continued.

“… I wasn’t joking when I said Frost and I had a lot in common. Being all alone, not being believed in by anyone… and not knowing who we used to be.” Tooth found her heart sinking as the spirit spoke, guilt seeping into her bones. She thought about Jack, about how tortured the poor boy was and how awful she felt for him after hearing his story. She never fully realized that, in another life, Pitch was just like him; young, alone, confused, and afraid.

“… I don’t remember the man I used to be… Whether I had a life before this or not, if maybe I was a better man than I am now… I have no idea where my baby teeth have gone; probably turned to dust at this point.” Pitch paused, looking down at the little bone in his hand, “But this… This could be the key to something. A memory locked away in my mind that can only be opened with your help.”

Pitch looked up at Toothania once again, and she had to catch her breath at the look on his face. So full of sorrow, yet the spark of hope that shone in his eyes made her stop breathing for a moment.

“I don’t know whether this will work or not… but if there’s a chance, I want to know. Toothiana… Help me to remember who I used to be.”

A shiver ran down Tooth’s feathered body as the dark figure; the man she had fought for centuries and hated all her life, was basically pleading on his knees for her help. It was such a strange situation to be in. Her mind was screaming for her to refuse; to yell and scream and hurt him, especially after everything he had done to her. She should be furious.

And yet…

Her kind, giving heart. A heart that would leap at the chance to help someone remember precious memories. A heart so motherly, loving, and protective over anyone who seems to be suffering. A heart that, no matter what, would do anything for the sake of others… even if they had wronged her.

Silence hung in the air as the two figures stood still, each looking at the little pearl in Pitch’s palm. Finally, Tooth reached out and gently took the molar, inspecting it more up close before finally looking at Pitch. He straightened up and looked at her, determination in his eyes.

“… Are you ready?” she spoke. Sometimes seeing the memories tied to a tooth wasn’t always easy. Most were good, some not so much. She had to make sure he was prepared for whatever the outcome.

Without even a second thought, Pitch gave a quick nod of his head, as if he had rehearsed it. It seemed like he had preparing for this moment for a long time, and Tooth knew that he was going to go through with it. That being said, she reached out her free hand and slipped it into Pitch’s long, cold palm. Too busy concentrating on the task ahead, she didn’t notice the startled look on Pitch’s face or the embarrassed grunt as he averted his now slightly flushed face. She closed her eyes and relaxed her body, focusing all of her energy on the tooth and Pitch’s hand.

“Let your mind relax,” Toothania breathed, bringing the loose molar up to Pitch’s forehead and pressing the tiny bone up to his head, “Try to think back on the past, as far as you can remember. Delve deep into you subconscious, let memories of the past flow forward.”

A blinding light started to shimmer from the tooth, growing brighter and brighter with each passing second. In a moment, all was white around them, and Pitch found himself scrunching his eyes closed tight against the intense light. Finally adjusting to the new brightness, the Boogeyman slowly opened his eyes and gasped softly as colourful images played before him. Tooth, still holding his hand and holding the tooth to his head, looked around the white abyss as well, watching reels of Pitch’s past float around them, like little bubbles floating by on a summer’s breeze.

A royal family of Lunar people. Pitch smiling in a general’s outfit covered with shining medallions. A woman with long, dark hair and a kind smile. A little girl with that same smile and Pitch’s eyes. Darkling’s surrounding them both, but the little girl barely escaping. Pitch trying to save them, but then being surrounded and consumed by the darkness…

… A little girl, alone and crying on a shooting star.

Tooth watched each memory come and go, amazed by such a story. It was like nothing she had ever seen. She knew Pitch spoke of having a dark past, but this? This was much worse than what she could have ever expected. No wonder he was the way he was…

Pitch could hardly breath as these memories flashed before him, like tiny pieces of a puzzle slowly fitting together into a tragic backstory. He felt his lungs squeeze in on himself as he remembered, tears falling freely as he remembered everything that had happened. He couldn’t breathe, it was like he was drowning, deeper and deeper into the blue. He thought he was ready for whatever may come his way. But not this.

“S-Stop it.” He barely whispered, making Tooth quickly turn back to him, “P-please… make it stop.”

Tooth didn’t need to be told twice. In an instant, she removed the molar from Pitch’s forehead, making the white room and memories softly melt and fade away, eventually leaving the pair back in Tooth’s bedroom. A heavy silence hung in the air, both too afraid to even move or speak.

Finally, Pitch felt his legs give out beneath him as he fell to his knees, the tears never seeming to stop from pouring down his face. He made no sounds, no cries or moans of anguish. He simply knelt there, the tears flowing like a never-ending waterfall. Tooth stood looking over him a moment, still shocked at what she saw, and not sure what to even say to him.

“I… I had a family.”

It was barely a whisper, but as soon as she heard those words, Tooth immediately stooped down to his level, safely placing a reassuring hand on Pitch’s shoulder. He flinched at the contact at first, but relaxed under her warm hand. He didn’t look at her; he simply stared ahead; his mind clearly in another world. She kept his eyes locked on him.

“I… was a warrior hero… I…. I had a wife and-!” Pitch’s voice broke, “My beautiful daughter…”

This was too much, even for Tooth. She knew what it was like to lose someone special. Her own parents were taken from her far too quickly. She knew exactly what Pitch was feeling. Boogeyman or not, she knew what she had to do. She did to him what she had needed all those years ago when she found out of her parent’s passing.

She leaned forward and brought Pitch into a hug.

Pitch’s lean body was extremely stiff against her own soft curves; he clearly wasn’t use to this kind of affection, which made Tooth’s heart break even more. But finally, the man’s long back finally curled up unto her, loosening with each passing second. He never lifted his own hands to reciprocate the hug, but he pressed his head against her shoulder, leaning against her so much she was afraid she would topple over. She felt her heart rate quicken as he melted into her touch, but she immediately pushed it away, trying to soothe the pained creature before her.

Minutes passed between the two until finally, Pitch lifted himself until his back was straight again. His eyes were still damp, and slightly red, but he seemed to have calmed a little as he finally looked at Toothania straight in the eye. His eye’s were still like a solar solstice, but Tooth could have sworn the gold hidden between the grey was slightly brighter; more coloured.

“My daughter…” Pitch finally breathed, “My sweet Emily Jane… She’s still alive…” A broken, single laugh escaped his mouth, which he quickly covered with his hand, but the smallest of smiles still remained on his lips. Tooth gave a sympathetic smile and nodded, trying to encourage the shadowed man. The two sat in silence again as both thought to themselves, reflecting on the night and its events.

Finally, Pitch rose to his feet, making Tooth look up curiously at him and his sudden change of behaviour. Mere minutes ago he looked like the most broken man she had ever seen. But now. Now there was a glimmer in his eye, his mouth set in a determined line as he took a deep breath and stood tall.

“I have to find her. I have to know what happened to her.”

He continued to look forward for a moment before looking down at Tooth. The sudden head swivel made Tooth jump ever so slightly, but she looked up at him awestruck. Suddenly, a small, peaceful smile grew on Pitch’s face as he offered her his hand. Her fluttery heart once again leapt into her chest as she accepted his assistance, placing her tiny bird hand into his own strong one. In one fowl swoop, he gently helped lift her to her feet, both eyes locked on each other.

“Tooth, I-!” Pitch hesitated for a moment, “I never thought I had a real purpose in this world. But you just helped me realize that there’s still something out there for me. That I’m…” not completely alone? “That I’m still around for a reason… And it’s all thanks to you.” Pitch’s free now rested on top of Tooth’s hand, now sandwiched between both of his grey ones. Tooth’s eyes flickered from his hands to his face, feeling some heat beginning to warm her cheeks.

“… Thank you, Toothiana, Queen of Flight. You have my deepest gratitude.”

And with that, the shadowed man sunk to the floor, a mass of black sand shifting and swerving along the floor, up the wall, and flying out into the setting sun, leaving Tooth completely alone, as if it had never even happened.

Tooth stood, dumbfound, trying to wrap her head around everything that had happened. As her mind finally processed everything, the smallest of smiles crept up her face, her eyelids finally relaxing and drawing heavy. What an eventful night it had been; so many different emotions skirting here and there. From anger to peace to sorrow to hopeful. At least it had a somewhat happy ending. Or at least, Tooth thought so.

She still couldn’t believe Pitch had such a past. She still despised everything that he had done to her friends and fairies, but now… not everything seemed so black and white. Some of it was beginning to meld into different shades of grey; just like the shadowed man himself. Maybe he wasn’t so black and white. Maybe he was just a shade of grey himself; maybe Tooth needed to look him over once again before finally deciding who he truly was. An enemy? A loving father? A good man?

A small smile crept up her mouth as she shook her head. She was too tired to think of this any further. She was tired even before all of this craziness had happened; now she was utterly exhausted. Finally beat from such a day, she fluttered to her bed and flopped on her many pillows, sighing happily as she snuggled into the comfort of her sacred haven. She couldn’t help but giggle tiredly to herself as she felt her eyelids grow heavy.

They really were the most luxurious pillows ever.

HELLO HI I’M SORRY THIS IS LATE BUT @heypapergirl SURPRISE I’M YOUR SANTA BEOTCH

I hope this is what you were looking for!! I had so much fun with this prompt ^^ Sorry its long? I got carried away?? And sorry if there’s any spelling errors, didn’t have time to edit ;A; Anyways, I hope you enjoy!! Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!! :D @rotgsecretsanta

#heypapergirl #rotgsecretsanta #rotgsecretsanta2018 #toothania #pitch black #tooth #toothxpitch #pitchxtooth #fanfiction #cavity #rise of the guardians #rotg #leilani lily #im fanfic shipping trash #and i love it

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almostafantasia · 6 years

Text

Lancelot (3/14)

Lexa Woods, an impeccably dressed British secret agent for the covert Kingsman organisation, whose latest mission sees her sneaking through the corridors of the White House in the middle of the night, finds herself having to seduce the daughter of the newly elected President of the United States in a bid to save the world. It’s a surprise to Lexa when she ends up falling for her target as fast as she does, meanwhile Clarke doesn’t expect her gorgeous date for an international political gala dinner to drag her into a world of thrill and danger where one wrong move could cause a global disaster.

a clexa kingsman au | chapter 3/14 read on ao3

“So what’s the plan?”

Having finally made it to their hotel room in Washington D.C., Lexa asks the question as she unpacks her suitcase, so casually that she might as well be asking what their lunch plans are, not how they’re intending to break into the White House.

“Well I thought I’d send you in and I’ll provide support from the outside,” replies Anya, who sits cross-legged on Lexa’s bed.

“Wait, what?” asks Lexa.

It’s not the answer she’s expecting to receive, and Lexa’s head snaps up, momentarily distracted from hanging up her clothes. At first she thinks that it must be a joke, that this is just another one of Anya’s ways of playfully keeping Lexa on her toes, but Anya’s expression betrays no sign of teasing. She appears to be deadly serious.

“You go in and I’ll provide supp-”

“I heard you,” Lexa says with a frown, turning her attention back to the wardrobe as she hangs up one of her shirts next to the suit that she’s already put onto clothes hangers. The shirt will need ironing before she’s able to wear it, having been folded up inside her suitcase, but she’d rather hang it up with a small crease than to leave it to become a crumpled mess in the bottom of her case. “Why am I the one going in?”

“Well if two of us go in we’re more likely to get caught,” shrugs Anya, who has decided to take a less urgent approach to unpacking her own suitcase - meaning that she dumped her case in the adjacent room before following Lexa into this one and taking up residence on Lexa’s bed.

“So I’m risking my life by breaking into the White House while you sit right outside and provide ‘moral support’?” asks Lexa, arching an eyebrow in Anya’s direction and using two fingers on each hand to make air quotes as she says the last two words.

“Don’t be so melodramatic,” says Anya, rolling her eyes in response. “At worst you’ll get imprisoned and tried for treason. Wait, does D.C. still have the death penalty?”

Anya takes a moment to search up the answer on her phone, a moment in which Lexa actually panics that failing this mission could cost her her life in the most undignified way imaginable.

“Nope, you’re good,” Anya eventually tells her. “Just imprisonment.” She glances up at Lexa, then asks, “But you’re not planning to get caught, are you?”

There’s a hint of a challenge in her voice, like she’s taunting Lexa, and it wouldn’t be quite so bad if it hadn’t been only a couple of days since Anya beat Lexa in a training exercise that involved breaking into a building and remaining undetected - the exact thing that Anya is asking her to do again now, only for real this time.

“Nope,” answers Lexa, trying to come across as cool and unaffected. “Just another day at work.”

“You sure you can handle breaking into the White House?” smirks Anya.

“Of course I can,” answers Lexa, pretending that the very thought of what she has to do doesn’t set her heart racing with trepidation. “I’m Kingsman’s best agent for a reason.”

“Oh, that’s cute,” grins Anya. “You’re not Kingsman’s best agent but it’s adorable you think that.”

“Do you want to break into the White House?” Lexa challenges Anya.

Anya’s eyebrows furrow into a little frown, before she shakes her head and replies, “I think I’m okay.”

Lexa finishes hanging up the last of her shirts, then takes the much smaller pile of neatly folded casualwear and splits it between two drawers in the dresser opposite the bed. When all of her clothes have been put away, she closes the lid of her now empty suitcase and then takes a seat on the very end of her bed.

“So, the plan,” she says again.

Anya leans down off the side of Lexa’s bed and reaches for her carry-on bag from their flight, pulling out her laptop. She opens up the lid and taps away at the keyboard, and then turns it around to show Lexa the annotated floor plan of the White House on the screen.

“You want to make it to here,” says Anya, pointing at one of the rooms. “That’s the main security office. I don’t think it’s always manned but if there’s somebody in there I’m sure you can come up with a distraction. You know, as Kingsman’s best agent.”

Anya’s dark eyes flick up to look at Lexa’s face, with the hint of a mocking smile gracing the curve of her lips.

“So I’m bugging their security office?” Lexa asks for clarification, ignoring the bait that Anya is giving her. “Do you want me to hack their systems too?”

“Just don’t risk getting caught,” Anya tells her, the amusement dropping off her face and replaced by a serious frown. “We can always hack into their security externally. It’s a little less subtle, but…”

“Less subtle than breaking into the White House?” interrupts Lexa, both eyebrows raised in incredulity.

“Okay, point taken,” agrees Anya with a tiny shrug. “Just plant a couple of bugs and get the hell out of there.”

They might tease each other and joke around about which of them is the better agent, a silly sibling-like rivalry that brings out the competitive edge in them both, but at the end of the day they’re always going to be on the same side. Anya might take an inordinate amount of pleasure in beating Lexa in training exercises, but when it comes down to missions in the field, Lexa knows that Anya doesn’t want her to be caught any more than Lexa does.

“How am I going to get in?” asks Lexa, because they can discuss the fine details of what she needs to do once inside for hours but it will mean nothing if she can’t actually make it inside the White House in the first place. “Security has to be tight. Like, snipers on the roof, patrols in the garden tight.”

“I … I don’t know,” admits Anya, appearing unsure for the first time since they started planning the heist. “I hadn’t thought about that yet.”

Lexa gets up off the bed and walks over to the recently organised wardrobe. She slides open the door and rummages around inside, looking through the clothes that she’s brought with her to the States, and slowly but surely a plan starts to form in her mind.

“I have an idea,” Lexa says to Anya, even as the cogs continue to turn inside her brain. “It’s crazy, but it might just work.”

“Crazy but it might just work?” repeats Anya. A slow smile passes across her lips and she says, “Damn, I love this job.”

“Can you hear me?” asks Anya.

Lexa reaches up to the small earpiece and adjusts its position in her ear so that it’s more comfortable, before she answers, “Loud and clear.”

As she walks along the sidewalk outside the tall fence that surrounds the White House, Lexa tries to act like she belongs - her disguise won’t work if her shifty behaviour gives her away and makes it obvious that she’s an intruder.

“I’m having second thoughts,” she murmurs aloud for Anya’s benefit. “This is never going to work.”

“Not with that attitude,” Anya chides her, the voice in her ear sounding a lot like a tiny conscience in her brain rather than that of a remote colleague. “Remember, the hardest part will be getting over the fence. Once you’re inside the grounds, just act like you belong.”

Lexa pulls her jacket a little tighter around her, attempting to ward off the cool night air, though she isn’t entirely certain that the chill that has every hair on her body standing to attention isn’t a result of nerves and not the cold March night.

Exactly where Anya managed to acquire a black windbreaker emblazoned with the words Secret Service, Lexa isn’t entirely sure she wants to know. But whether the jacket is genuine or just a good replica, it does the job of letting her blend in. Paired with Lexa’s own black slacks, a white shirt, and a plain black tie, Lexa looks like she could be one of the many guards that stand on watch outside the White House. Though her costume probably won’t stand up to close scrutiny, at a glance she looks like a member of the Secret Service and that’s what matters.

Lexa just has to hope that the disguise is good enough to get her inside the White House.

Lexa has only ever seen the building in pictures before but now that she’s close enough to see it in person, it’s a lot more overbearing than she might have expected - or perhaps that’s just the knowledge of what she’s about to do that makes the White House seem like an impenetrable fortress.

Lexa lurks just outside the railing that protects the grounds from the public area beyond. Her disguise won’t hold up if anybody inside sees her vault the fence and she has to wait for the right moment. She spent part of her afternoon memorising patrol routes and they are burned into the front of her mind, and with the lenses of her glasses currently working as infrared cameras, she can see the outlines of two snipers on the roof in the distance, as well as two pairs of patrolling guards in the grounds.

“It’s your call, Lexa,” Anya’s voice comes through the earpiece. “I can tell you when to go but only you can see if it’s actually safe.”

Lexa remains silent, watching as the sniper nearest to her turns his back to look the other way. This could be her chance, and she feels her heart beat ever more rapidly in her chest as she waits for the patrols to move far enough away from her position to allow her time for a clean jump over the fence. With each second that passes, with each erratic thump of Lexa’s heart against her ribcage, the window of opportunity gets smaller and Lexa knows that the sniper could turn back this way at any moment and spot her vaulting the fence.

“I’m doing it,” Lexa says to warn Anya of her actions, doing a quick double-check of her surroundings on this side of the fence before she reaches up and wraps her fingers around the cold metal railings.

Hoisting herself up is easy, a brief strain on her biceps as she pulls her weight up and clambers onto the top of the fence, avoiding the spikes spaced out at regular intervals. Lexa glances up once more at the roof before she jumps, checking the sniper’s position, then drops down onto the soft grass with a gentle thud.

“I’m over,” says Lexa.

“Good girl,” comes Anya’s response. “Now you just need to act like you’re supposed to be there.”

Lexa straightens up, brushing down her clothes so that her trousers hang smoothly, then adjusts the knot of her tie so that it sits perfectly at her collar. Even in an extremely pressurised situation, she’s still a stickler for looking the part. In fact, the very act of straightening out her clothing soothes Lexa, and she feels slightly less like she’s about to have a panic attack less than a hundred feet from where the President of the United States sleeps soundly in her bed.

Lexa tries to follow Anya’s instructions and strolls through the garden like she’s patrolling it. The sniper on the roof looks back in Lexa’s direction and she turns her head away from him, an extra precaution in case he looks closely and realises that he doesn’t recognise her.

“There are guards outside the front door,” Lexa tells Anya. “I expect it’ll be the same around the back.”

“And the ground floor windows?” comes Anya’s response.

Lexa risks the sniper seeing her face by turning back to the house, scanning the windows along the wall of the house facing her.

“I can’t see any that are open.”

“You need to find a way inside, Lexa,” Anya tells her, a sense of urgency to her voice. “You’ve already made it this far.”

Lexa squints at the two guards standing at the front doors, then reaches a hand into the zipped pocket in the lining, fingers closing around a slender object. She takes it out of the pocket and slides it up her sleeve, a plan formulating in her mind. A plan so crazy that it will either work spectacularly or get her caught.

“I have an idea,” Lexa tells Anya, as she starts striding purposefully towards the front door.

Her heart is racing, but Lexa ignores it and remains focused, knowing that her plan is so bold that it will only work if she oozes confidence. Even an inkling of nerves could betray her and Lexa is nothing if not determined to tackle every mission to her very best.

Predictably, the guards on the door notice Lexa as she approaches, and Lexa makes to walk straight past them, like she has the authority to enter through the front door of the White House without being questioned.

Of course, it doesn’t quite work that simply, but Lexa thinks that her confidence has given her the upper hand as the two guards stop her outside the front door.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“Bathroom,” answers Lexa.

Lexa puts on an American accent and limits her answer to one word so as to not give herself away, but the result comes across like her answer should be obvious, which perhaps works even better because Lexa can see the doubt in the guard’s eyes as he considers her answer.

“You’re on duty,” he reminds her.

Well at least Lexa knows that her costume passes off as authentic.

“Sorry, dude,” says Lexa. “When a girl needs to go, you don’t ask questions.”

And then, in a move that she tries to pass off as an accident but is actually very deliberate, Lexa lets the tampon she removed from the pocket of her jacket earlier drop from her sleeve and onto the floor.

“Shit,” mumbles Lexa, bending down quickly to pick up the tampon, pretending that she doesn’t want either of the guards to see it but knowing full well that they both know exactly what has just fallen from her sleeve.

And, just as Lexa expected, when she stands up straight and looks at them with a pleading expression, they’ve both turned beet red and can barely make eye contact with her.

“Oh,” says the one on the left. “My bad. Of course.”

They step aside to let her through, too flustered to consider doing otherwise, and Lexa nods a thanks that masks the exhilaration that courses through her veins as she walks through the front door and enters the White House.

“Did you just walk through the front door?” asks Anya, her voice full of a mixture of awe and incredulity.

“Men are weak,” answers Lexa, rolling her eyes despite the fact that Anya can’t see her, though she’s pretty sure that the sentiment gets across through her words. “One flash of a tampon and they can’t even look you in the eye.”

“I never would have thought of that,” says Anya, and the hint of pride that Lexa hears in Anya’s voice makes Lexa’s chest swell with delight.

“Kingsman’s best agent,” she quips, ignoring the snort that Anya gives her in response.

“You can brag all you like, but only after you’ve planted those bugs,” Anya reminds her.

Lexa tucks the tampon back into the pocket of her jacket, leaving it there for easy access in case she needs to deceive more security guards.

“Right,” says Lexa. “Security office. I want to go upstairs, don’t I?”

“Yes,” answers Anya. “But I wouldn’t suggest taking the main stairs. There’s a smaller staircase off to the side that you can use. You’re less likely to meet somebody.”

Lexa tries to recall the floor plan that she studied in the hotel room earlier while Anya was sourcing the jacket for Lexa’s disguise, closing her eyes for a few seconds. The image swims to the front of her mind like it’s been branded there with a hot iron, and Lexa’s eyes snap open again. She knows where she has to go.

Once up the stairs, Lexa knows that the danger may only just be beginning. It’s a straightforward plan on paper - plant a couple of bugs in the main security office so that Kingsman will know as much as the Secret Service do about any breaches past or future, and maybe even try to hack into the security itself, remotely cloning the entire system onto Anya’s laptop so that they can comb through it later - but the risk of getting caught is probably at its highest. The office is likely to be manned, and Lexa doesn’t know if her disguise will be good enough to waltz straight in like she did with the guards at the front door.

“Excuse me?”

Lexa is so caught up in her own mind as she silently stalks down the upper hallway of the White House, the cogs inside her brain whirring and formulating an infinite number of possible plans depending on the situation, that when a voice speaks up behind her, she startles and almost trips over her own feet.

This is it, she thinks to herself. This is the moment that she gets caught.

Lexa tries to keep her cool, reminding herself that she’s dressed the part and that she might still be able to bluff her way through another encounter. But when Lexa turns on the spot to face the other person, every inch of her training flies straight from the bank of resourcefulness in her mind when she sees the owner of the voice.

Wearing a navy dressing gown over plaid pyjama pants, the girl’s blonde hair is tousled and sticks out at weird angles like she’s just woken up, but she’s still extraordinarily beautiful. She pads barefoot towards Lexa and her face comes into the light, questioning blue eyes watching Lexa from beneath a slightly furrowed brow.

Lexa recognises her immediately, but even if she didn’t, the facial recognition software in the lenses of her glasses does a quick scan and a name pops up for Lexa to read.

Clarke Griffin. First daughter of the United States.

#clexa #clexa fanfic #clexa fic #kingsman au #clarke griffin #commander lexa #it's nearly midnight and my essay isn't finished but if i promise you a chapter on a sunday then you're getting a chapter on a sunday #please pray for me and my unfinished essay #or send me nice messages about this fic #either one is fine

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