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Legend of Lightning Chapter 32: The Power Guard Factory

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43208574/chapters/110730967

Two days later

Vajra and his friends entered the SIS base around midmorning. They had received a call from Chief Rieekan fifteen minutes ago, urgently summoning them to the bureau.

The employees at the store greeted him with the same courteous energy as before, and neither was there any change in the tension, nor activities.

“I see you’re not on the verge of an evacuation,” Vajra commented as he reached the Bureau chief, who laughed.

“All of our agents reported in, including the ones who had gone radio silent. See, Tander? No trouble at all!”

The Twi’lek scowled. “Yes, sir.”

“Now, let’s get to business, shall we?” The human asked. “I’ve got our first lead for you. Here, let’s play it back for you.” He guided the Jedi to a conference room and closed the door behind him. He didn’t bid them sit, so hopefully this was a small briefing.

He hit a button, which turned the windows opaque, then started the projector.

Agent Galen appeared on screen, much like Vajra remembered him, but cloaked and hooded.

“I’m having no luck finding Agent Ogten. But I did see evidence that he was ambushed, but escaped. His neighbors heard sounds of a fight last night, but swear that he escaped. I checked the cams, and found that a Nikto did leave the building around the time of the attack, but no other cams found him. He’s gone underground, possibly literally. I hope I don’t have to search the sewers. This sector is bad enough up here. But there are other places he can go to. There’s a small gap in the positions the cameras cover. He could have scaled the building, and found shelter in one of the vacant houses. I’m leaving copies of the recordings, as well as more detailed notes, just in case it’s needed.”

There was a flicker as the next log was loaded. “I found the room he took shelter in. It was right next to his own room. He left a sheaf of notes behind, encrypted. Since he’s not left any clue about the key, I’m just gonna have to use trial and error. Hopefully, I won’t be too long. There’s only so many codes an agent can think up in a tough spot. Unfortunately, I have no other lead on where he went. No cams, no witnesses. Even the door to this apartment wasn’t unlocked. Here are the stills of the message and the apartment.”

“It took me nearly two days, but I decoded his message. The man really wanted his tracks covered! ‘They came last night, and had the right codes and procedures… but something was off. After ten years in the field, your gut gets sensitive to anything funny. I was able to trick one into proving he was an Imp spy, and ran for it. I don’t know who you are; I’d like to think you’re SIS, or Republic Military in general, but I can’t take that chance. I wish I could take refuge in the suave man’s operation, but that would just expose him too. No, I’m going to monitor everyone who entered these rooms—my home, and this hideout—and see if there’s any I can trust. If worst comes to worst, I’ll have to ask General Var Suthra for an extraction.”

Galen looked different. His calm was broken, replaced by a tension. “Ogten missed his chance. He should have called for help days ago. Coruscant’s on lockdown now. Only communications going in will be on frequencies that can penetrate the shield.” He shivered. “A red alert. It really happened! I hope… I hope I’m not seeing the end of the Republic. Not like this.” He sighed heavily. “I found someone who looked like he was watching me… but he was a bluff. The Imps caught him, and will hopefully be distracted for the next coupled of days. Meanwhile, I’ll try to find the one who was watching the decoy. I only barely saw him. I get the feeling that he let me.”

“Looks like the Imps noticed Ogten as well. They got to him before I could. I followed them to their hideout, but it was weeks before I could get to him. His torture had been brutal. All he managed to tell me before begging me to end his suffering was that his station had been at a recruitment center nearby. On the plus side, Tarnis’ plot was foiled. I hope he died screaming! Stupid Sith!” He controlled himself with obvious effort. “He also told me a little about the Power Guard Project itself. Apparently, it’s using refugees as test subjects. This recruitment center is my best shot at finding the facility. I’m going in… and hoping that the people there were able to clear out when Ogten stopped showing up to work.”

“I was dismayed when I first heard this,” Rieekan admitted. “I don’t know what’s worse; the Sith having all the data on our weapons projects, or us experimenting on refugees.”

“I… I… I’m shocked Var Suthra permitted this,” Vajra said in horror.

“With all the layers of secrecy, he probably didn’t know.”

Vajra thought about the disgust and shame he’d seen on the Mon Cala’s face during the briefing. “He knew some, at least. But we can debate that later.”

“Right. The trail runs cold at the recruitment center. I suggest you head there pronto.”

“Back to the Nikto Sector, I guess,” Kira sighed. “Hey, Chief? Mind lending us some clothes? We’ve already had to throw away some perfectly good outfits.”

“We have spare uniforms for surveillance and deep cover ops. Take what you need.”

Back in the Nikto Sector

Vajra’s heart sank as they entered the building. There were corpses all over the lobby. Most of them were in civilian clothing, but there were a few wearing nondescript breastplates which made Vajra certain they were Imperials.

“Blasters are definitely not what the cartel uses,” Kira commented. “Standard models.”

“I Sense no danger,” Vajra whispered. “But I can Feel some life in here.”

They went to the basement, where several people had been placed inside containment field. The humans had long since died of thirst, but some of the hardier ones, like the Nikto, Zabraks, and Anomids, were still barely alive. The smell of decay and waste filled the air, giving it an even worse scent than the rest of the sector. Kira looked green, but didn’t throw up. Vajra felt as if the hiccups would start again.

As T7 worked to unlock the cages, Vajra called Rieekan. “The Imps left days ago, but I’ve found some refugees. But they’re in bad shape. They need immediate aid, now!”

“Already on its way,” Rieekan said. “I alerted the embassy.”

“They-they’re not refugees,” an Anomid said. “They’re heroes. They gave up everything for a chance to fight the Empire. Name’s Vell Narocc. I’ve been working here since the beginning.”

“They asked to be here?” Rieekan asked incredulously. “To become test subjects?”

“The Empire has destroyed a great many lives,” Narocc replied. His voice was going faint.

“Easy there, friend,” Kira said. “He really needs fluids, but I didn’t think to carry any!”

“I’ll go search the building,” Vajra said. “There have to be some supplies here, right?”

T7 whistled. “Republic soldiers = approaching. Entering the building = now.”

“Thank the Force,”

“Look after the recruits first,” Narocc said. “They’re my charge. They’re heroes, all of them. They volunteered… they were willing to fight while others gave up. Or tried to pretend nothing was wrong. Or accept the new status quo.”

“How many are there,” Vajra asked, as troops began piling in.

“Medics!” a soldier called. “We need medics here!”

People began pouring in, going over the survivors.

Narocc took a moment to laugh wryly. “Way above my clearance level. I’ve heard they’re amazing. Even stronger than a Jedi.”

Vajra fought the urge to scoff.

“I don’t know how the Empire found us. But they control the whole project now.”

“We need to find the main facility.”

“It’s in the Red-Light Sector. That’s all I know about it. The project had its own, dedicated shuttles and transports.”

“That’s the busiest sector in Nar Shaddaa!” Rieekan exclaimed. “How in blazes are we going to find it?”

“I’m sorry, but that’s all I know.”

“I also happen to be searching for an SIS agent named Galen,” Vajra said hopefully. Perhaps he might have some insight.

“The dark-skinned human? Yes, he arrived moments before they did. He was taken in alive.”

“We’re out of luck here.”

“Contact Var Suthra, see if he has anything that can help,” Vajra ordered. “Any clues in the updates which might give a hint of that factory’s whereabouts.”

“I’ll get on it.”

“In the meantime, I think I’ll consult another friend.” Kira nodded firmly, clearly grasping at the same straw he was.

Once all the refugees were safely carried away, Vajra and his friends found their way out of the sector. They looked around several times to check that the coast was clear. Neither Jedi had a feeling like they were being watched, but they still took some measures to avoid being seen. They also found a place which catered specifically to people coming out of the Nikto sector; it let them wash up and rent new clothes.

In the meantime, they received a preliminary report from Var Suthra’s office, which didn’t have much except for the things the factory requisitioned in order to produce fifty units a day.

With no other options, they headed back to Balkar’s.

Luckily, the shop was still ‘closed for renovation,’ and Balkar wasn’t too busy today.

“Welcome back, Jedi!” Balkar said. “How can lil ole me help you today?”

“We’ve hit another snag,” Vajra said, and explained everything to the SIS agent. “So, we’re up a creek without a boat at the moment.”

Balkar rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “A factory in the red-light sector… that’s a good choice, since that place has the most foot traffic on the entire planet. Tens of thousands pass through every three hours, during the day. Every forty minutes, at night. If you want to hide a place where tons of people go in and out, that place is it. Unless you know whom you’re looking for, and have a ton of manpower to see weeks’ worth of footage, you’re not going to be able to trace the refugees.”

Vajra sighed and sagged, feeling besieged.

“However… any idea how much power the project needs?”

Vajra glanced at T7, who whistled out an estimated figure that Vajra relayed to the SIS agent. “Like I thought. That sector isn’t built for factories. And that’s especially true for something like power. It’s the most basic necessity for any enterprise, but the red-light sector’s power grid won’t be able to handle it, so they’d have to find it elsewhere. And a reliable source of it, too. No power, no lights, no cameras, no action!”

“So…?” Vajra asked, feeling confused, but hopeful.

“So, this factory will have its own dedicated generator. A big one, but one that isn’t easily spotted on scanners. How does that help you? Well. This kind of place will not lose power when the rest of the sector does. So, if someone were to introduce a temporary problem into the power grid, cause a ten-second blackout, we’ll be able to tell exactly which buildings use their own generators. Hopefully, we can narrow it down further from there. For instance, it will require a cargo lift, and/or a landing pad. Quite a few brothels have those, but none have a private power generator.”

Vajra looked at T7. “Can we do it from here?”

“No,” Balkar replied. “You’d have to go into the sector itself.”

“Alright. I just… feel uncomfortable,” Vajra admitted with a blush.

“Glad to see you’re not too precocious,” Balkar laughed. “Don’t worry, if you head on over now, the activities will be mostly indoors. It’s only after 22:00 that it spills out onto the streets.”

“Right,” Vajra felt relieved to have an actionable plan, even if it wasn’t the most solid of leads. “I’m heading over right now.”

“However, it’s best if I handle this. I know what to look for, and how to do it. Mind letting your T7 tag along?”

“What? But we can come too—”

“It’s like you said, I’d rather not let an underaged youth enter the red-light district. Besides, I’ve been trained to do this kind of thing quietly.”

“I’m not very good at covert, am I?”

“Yeah, that first day you were in the Nikto sector? Stuck out like a sore thumb. I suppose you can do just fine stalking the shadows rather than blending into a crowd… but this kind of place… trust me. You’re better off letting me go in.”

“Thank you, Agent Balkar.”

Balkar told them that it would take five hours for him to finish his task, so Vajra and Kira accompanied him until the fringe of the red-light sector, then snuck into a nearby abandoned warehouse to wait on standby.

“Hey, boss?” Kira whispered as she snuck in before him. “I’d like to continue our lesson. I’ve had some time to practice, but I want to get good enough to fight on your left as soon as I can.”

“A good idea,” Vajra whispered back. “Why don’t you show me where you’re at, first, and we’ll go ahead from there?”

Kira nodded. Once the door was shut behind them, she took out her Lightsaber and took some calming breaths. She ignited a single blade, then took the time to focus on the Lightsaber; on the crystal that powered it.

Once she was ready, she nodded again. “I’m ready, Master.”

Vajra nodded back. He raised his own blade and attacked thrice; once to her cheek, once each to her left shoulder and right hip.

She parried each thrust before activating her second blade, which she spun to attack his flank.

He took a step back to avoid the arc, then stepped back in with a downward swing. Her block was clumsy, but serviceable. Still, clumsy was bad in battle. It meant her balance was poor at the moment.

Vajra demonstrated this by launching a flurry of attacks from all sides. With each block, Kira was thrown just a bit more off-balance, until she tripped and fell. Vajra caught her before she hit the ground.

“Sorry, Master,” she smiled guiltily.

“Don’t be. This is only our second class together, isn’t it? I’ll make a terror out of you yet!”

She chuckled.

“This is something we can practice whenever you find a few minutes to spare: learn to hear the song at a moment’s notice. And I’m guessing a little pressure was enough to take it right out of your ears? Well, that’s to be expected. Simply seek it out again when that happens.”

“Okay…”

“But as time passes, you might want to train so that only the most intense strain on your focus can make you lose it.”

“So, I guess that’s what we’re working on now?”

“No. Now we’re working on the Forms. We’ll spar again, but slowly. Get used to your blocks and parries. Master the footwork at a slow pace before we speed it up. I want your muscles to remember the moves for you. Perhaps this can also serve in focus training.”

She jumped on the balls of her feet enthusiastically. “Yesss!”

He ran her through the drills for the Lightsaber form Master Kiwiiks had picked for her. She was practiced enough to manage the various moves of the most balanced of the Lightsaber Forms. He saw at once that it was the perfect form for her; she was an opportunist at heart, undoubtedly a relic of her days on the streets. She preferred to defend herself until she saw an opportunity to strike, and Niman allowed her to do this without having to switch forms.

But her proficiency was poor, so Vajra found himself making plenty of corrections to her form. Thankfully, Kira was eager to learn. She did not get discouraged, and took all of his lessons to heart.

“I’ve decided I’m okay being a frontliner,” she told him when he asked. “After Tarnis, and after I got taken so easily… besides. In fact, I want to have your back. If Master Kiwiiks is alright with it, I’d like to make this arrangement permanent. What do you think?”

“I would absolutely love that!” he cried. “I’ll be the best Master I can! I’ll let you stay up late, make the lewdest jokes, dress in whatever clothes you fancy—”

“You don’t have to bribe me, I’m already in your corner,” Kira laughed.

“Right, right,” he beamed at her. “I think the three of us would be an amazing team. Both on and off duty.”

“Exactly!” she nodded vigorously. “And let’s be honest, you’re cool, but you need a witty femme fatale at your side! Because, left to yourself, you’re a quiet introvert. It’s only when you have a good friend at your side that you become your very true self!”

Vajra laughed again, feeling an indescribable joy. He knew Kira loved Master Kiwiiks—perhaps some might raise eyebrows if they knew how deeply—so her offer delighted him.

“Besides, when I got captured by Angral…” she squirmed, then exhaled forcefully. “I admit, I’ve been trying to lay low. Not an option anymore. I promise I’ll tell you about it soon.”

Vajra was puzzled, but accepted her wishes.

“Back to the lesson now,” he said. “Let’s go faster. Better switch Lightsabers to training mode, just in case.”

Vajra and Kira stuck to the rooftops as they approached the first of four sites Agent Balkar had marked as a location of interest. This was combination of reasons; the desire to move faster than a walk, but in order to get some more training done.

“I need another breather, boss,” she gasped after a thirty-minute run. “Phew! I’m in bad shape, aren’t I?”

“Only by frontline Jedi standards,” Vajra said placatingly. “Don’t worry, you’re doing fine. But, it’s probably better if you do some freerunning from now on. Maybe thirty or forty minutes each day.”

“Right. I kinda resent you for doing this to me, but I also get why we did it.” Sweat poured down her face in rivulets. She tried to blow away the red hair plastered to her face, but it was too damp. She glared at Vajra, who was only sweating lightly and far from winded.

“I’m going to train, and train, and train,” she growled. “And leave you in my dust someday!”

Chuckling, he patted her back. “I’m sure you will. I’m serious!” he added after she glared at him again. “Your progress is promising! It won’t be long before you’re one of the Order’s finest. Probably, not long after that till you surpass me.”

She sighed. “No, no… I don’t think so. You’re superhuman. But I damned well am going to try!” She blew out hair from her face again and straightened. She pulled a band from her pouch and used it to firmly secure her hair so that it no longer fell onto her face. “I’m ready,” she sighed before adding. “Shoulda done this in the first place!”

It turned out that the second warehouse was the correct one. They knew, the second they entered through the top floor window; Imperial regulars prowled the building. And by their side were large cyborgs with assault cannons. Some hefted the heaviest model of vibrosword that was available, a six-foot long beast which was nearly as thick as his forearm.

“Are those Power Guards?” Kira asked, though Vajra knew she was thinking the same thing he was.

“I think so.”

“But why are they working with the Imps?”

Vajra zeroed in on a group of techs and scientists. “They’ll know. We need to question them.”

“How do you want to do this?”

He pulled a blaster from a nearby armory. “Set for stun. I can Sense a Force wielder nearby; it’s best we don’t alert them until we know what’s going on here.”

“Right. Umm. Do you know how to use that sucker?” she asked as she picked out a blaster for herself.

“Master Orgus insisted on it. Honestly, I can shoot a target from about fifty meters away with a pistol. With a rifle, I hit one at three hundred with about a sixty percent accuracy. I’m far from good.”

“Not bad,” Kira nodded. “Better than most Jedi.”

“Yes. It’s obviously meant for times when there’s a lot of ground to protect. I’ve not needed to use it yet, however, so it’s just an extra skill at the moment.”

“How’s this?” Kira smiled. “Dual-wield. Or, quad-wield. It might come in handy if you need to stun someone.”

Vajra almost tripped. “That’s a good idea! It might work with these Power Guards, if what we’re afraid of really has happened.”

They snuck up on the techs, who were on the same level as they were. They were gathered around a computer, which seemed to be the only one left in this place. After looking around to confirm there were no droids guarding them—they could, of course, Sense life forms even if they hid inside the walls—they started shooting at the targets. Seven of the eight were down in the blink of an eye, and the fourth found a dagger at her throat.

She squeaked. “Don’t kill me!”

“I won’t,” Vajra promised. “Answer my questions, or I’ll be forced to give you to the SIS. You won’t like that.”

She nodded fervently, and Vajra drew the blade back slightly.

“What is your name?”

“Lisbet,” she whimpered. “Lisbet Elimon.”

“Alright, Lisbet. Please don’t cry. I don’t hurt people without cause.”

“I understand.”

“Do you need something to drink?”

She shook her head.

“Good, coz all I have is water.”

She laughed at the unexpected joke.

“Those cyborgs down there—” he gestured. “What are they?”

“I don’t know,” she replied. “I wasn’t told much. I do know that they were Republic soldiers. But… they’re more machine than people. Lord Sadic was able to reprogram these to serve the Empire.”

“So… he didn’t reprogram all of them?”

She shook her head again, her dark hair whipping her cheeks. “No, Sir. I believe there’s no way to do so. At the moment, anyway. He claimed that he’d be able to, given enough time.”

“Where are the others? There should be at least a thousand of these soldiers.”

“That’s right. Most of them were carted off, still in their pods.”

“Pods?”

“Yes. They were kept in pods, like medical capsules. I believe they’re not ready to be awakened yet.”

“What else has Sadic taken?”

“There was a lot more equipment. Most of it was needed to create these monstrosities, others to monitor them. Several had a lot of research notes. This one is the Master computer. It has everything. We were in the process of looking through it all. Nothing’s been tampered with yet,” she added.

“Good,” Vajra sighed. “That might help us find other factories. Or personnel records.”

“Personnel recor—” the tech snorted. “Not worried about the Top Secret weapons project, sir?”

“You’ve seen these people. You called them ‘monstrosities.’ You know damn well what I feel about them.”

She smiled. “Yes. But the process isn’t reversible. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said that they’re more machine than people. A lot of their muscle has been replaced. Their bones, too. Even their brains haven’t escaped modification. And the drugs and chemicals…” she shivered. “Left to me, I’d put these poor souls out of their misery.”

“How much modification?” Vajra asked. “Are they resilient to weapons?”

“Yes. The Mark I’s, not so much. Those are the ones down there,” she nodded. “They were the easiest to reprogram. There’s about fifty of them. I believe those go down to heavy fire, though a blaster pistol won’t be enough.”

“So, stun shots are definitely out of the picture.”

“That’s right. But if it was me, I’d be grateful for the release of death.”

That shook Vajra. He descended into a moody silence, so Kira took up the questioning for him.

“What about the Mark 2s?”

“I don’t know their capabilities,” Lisbet apologized. “Nor the Mark 3s or 4s. I do know that 5s are very difficult to stop. Even a Lightsaber takes several swings to get them. And they have a clever kolto rig which lets them heal rapidly. There’s no way to take them down without killing them. And they can pack quite a punch too.”

“Do you know where they were taken?” Kira asked, but Vajra already knew the answer.

“No. They kept us in the dark. Somewhere in the Industrial sector. The Sith might know. Lord Sadic’s apprentice, Teeyel. He should be here somewhere.”

“I can Sense him,” Vajra replied. “I know where he is. I’m sorry, but we need to put you to sleep.” She nodded, and he stunned her.

“What’s the plan now?” Kira asked as he eased the tech’s prone body onto the floor.

“I want you to tie up the techs and check the computer for any charges. I’ll attack this ‘Teeyel,’ and we can clear out the guards later.”

“You sure you don’t want to just sneak out with our prisoners?”

“We can’t. We need this thing,” Vajra pointed at the master computer. “We can’t give them a chance to destroy it, or steal it.”

“Oh. Right.”

Lord Teeyel turned around as he descended the stairs. He sighed, wishing he’d been able to stun her.

“INTRUDER!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, then activated her Lightsaber. Or rather, her Light whip. It was a variant that Vajra hadn’t encountered before, but all he felt was derision.

“Only people who use this kind of trick are those who lack the confidence to,” he chuckled. “Are you a weakling?”

She snarled and struck out. He slapped the whip aside, but she pirouetted elegantly in the same direction, and brought the whip back on him. This time, it wrapped itself around his blade.

“What do you say now, Jedi?” she grinned in triumph, and tried to pull the blade out of his hand.

“I say, ‘This is what I wanted, Sith!’” He added his own momentum to her pull and launched himself at her. She yelped and tried to leap out of the way, but her whip-blade was caught. Vajra’s charge got him in her face before she could think up her next move, and he slammed his shoulders into her. She sailed into the air, her light whip falling from her numb fingers, and crashed into the crates she’d been looking over.

One broke beneath her, to reveal parts probably needed to build Power Guards. Vajra holstered his Lightsaber and raised the pistol. “I’ve changed my mind,” he told her. “Using a light whip clearly requires some elegance and practice. Shame I didn’t have the chance to test you out.” He shot her thrice. She was able to resist the first shot—Force users could, if they knew it was coming—but the second and third were enough to knock her out.

He turned to face the guards who had started to reach the level, and turned their blaster fire aside on his blade. These guys didn’t seem to know how their way around a real fight; when they saw their comrades killed by their own reflected bolts, their response wasn’t to either run or switch tactics, but to shoot even more frantically. Then the Mark I’s entered the stage. They were slowed down by their heavy equipment, so they arrived just as the last soldier went down.

Vajra tensed in preparation, as miniguns were much harder to deflect than regular blasters. Even so, he was surprised by the force packed in each shot. The Lightsaber was almost knocked out of his hand, but he kept his grip and began the grim task of fighting the Mark I’s.

Blaster fire poured down on him like a storm of hail, but he stood firm and deflected it. In the back of his mind, he knew that miniguns generated a lot of heat when fired so recklessly, especially with such a high-power setting.

Two minutes. The guns lasted two minutes before turning into expensive slag in their hands. But still the Power Guards did not put the guns down, their fingers pressed still on their triggers.

Others realized that the weapons were done, so they switched to their backups. They pulled out those heavy swords he had noticed earlier, and loomed down upon him like an avalanche, their footfalls heavy and loud.

Vajra flourished his Lightsaber in order to loosen up his shoulders before going on the attack.

He expected the vibroswords to have durasteel, cortosis, or similar coatings to defend against Lightsabers—that’s what these guys were designed for after all, fighting Sith. But the first blade was sliced in half upon connecting with his blade, which then sliced into the Power Guard’s neck, ending her life instantly.

Vajra bit back a scream of horror. The second Power Guard’s swing was heavy, so he forced himself to shake off his weakness. He ducked right on time, and the blow cut through midair. He swung his blade down on his opponents and cut it off at the hilt. The Guard did not notice the loss of his blade, and continued swinging powerfully.

The next two Power Guards reared up and smashed their weapons into the ground, trying in vain to hit Vajra, but like their comrade, they were soon swinging around useless, bladeless lumps.

Behind them, the remaining seven or so Guards still pressed their triggers futilely, as though they thought they were raining down fire on their enemies.

Vajra sighed. Sadic’s reprogramming had been crude, at best. These people might be tough, but not flexible enough to fight even regular soldiers, much less a Jedi. Not yet.

As a test, he aimed his blaster at one and fired repeatedly, counting twenty stun bolts before it went down. Soon after, Kira came barrelling down the stairs. “Sorry I’m late,” she apologized. “I called in support. Balkar too, since he’s been such a big help.”

“Put these guys in Stasis, would you?” Vajra requested. “I’m not good with that kind of thing.”

She didn’t comment on that, merely carried out his request. Once they were immobilized, she and Vajra began looking for a way to deactivate them. Eventually, Vajra worked out which wires on their backs to cut in order to remove power from all their cybernetic limbs.

Balkar arrived himself, at the head of a Special Forces division. Vajra waved at him from the balcony, and he began looking around for an elevator.

“What’s the word, Jedi?” he asked, but his words trailed off as he saw the unmoving Power Guard.

“They’re the first-gen Power Guards, apparently.”

“Shit.”

“The Imps have stripped this place of almost everything, but there’s a master computer on the level above.”

“I’ll have a team secure it.”

“Make sure no one sees it, who doesn’t have Var Suthra’s clearance,” Vajra reminded him.

“Of course, Jedi. But I fear most of us will get some idea when we see… this.”

“Right. In addition, we have a prisoner.” Vajra pointed at the unconscious Sith. “She’s the best lead we have on where Sadic took his spoils. Can I leave her to you?”

“She’s Sith, isn’t she?” Balkar said eagerly. “Gladly. I’ll have her singing whatever we need to know in seven different languages.”

“T7, download the summaries from the Master Computer,” Vajra said, turning his attention to his buddy. “And any relevant details about the Power Guard that you think we need to hear. We need to see if there’s a way to stop them…”

His stomach did a flop as his eyes fell again on the one Guard he’d accidentally killed.

What a stupid, stupid mistake, he lamented. He’d made the mistake of assuming that her blade could withstand a Lightsaber, and he’d killed an innocent woman. He stared into her frozen, blue eyes. Her features burned themselves into his brain; her slightly wrinkled face, her strong jaw, her cropped brown hair, and her small nose.

Kira came and planted herself between him and his kill. “I’m sorry, Master,” she said. “This isn’t on you.”

“It is!” he whispered furiously. “Why didn’t I test the blade before just assuming that—”

“Master…” she said forcefully. “This. Isn’t. Your. Fault. Now come on. Balkar brought extra speeders. We need to rest.”

He nodded mutely, and allowed Kira to drag him to the elevator.

#star wars #star wars the old republic #swtor #the old republic #fanfic #fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #jedi knight #hero of tython

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worstloki · 3 years

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feel like part of the reason loki doesn't use his powers (apart from the writers ignorance) could possibly be because he was brought up being constantly told that it was too 'feminine' and he needed to focus on 'proper fighting skills', so hes learned to only use it when he desperately needs it, n to rely on hand to hand instead of his magic

which is fine, and i get that that idea carries over from the myths and comics and i know if they stopped nerfing him he'd be a bit too OP, but that doesn't mean have him use the bare minimum at all times!

so far all strong magic use has been implied and off-screen and 90% of it has been in outfit-changes while he loses fights he shouldn't want to get thrown around in!

#at this point he's used such little magic that i worry the blast he does in the trailer will actually end up being a single instance #marvel introduced him as a strong character and then promptly somewhere around ragnarok i think that changed #because he ended Thor 2 having gotten rid of the AllFather who is one of the strongest beings in the nine realms or whatever #so that was fine and cool right #plus he survived a blackhole and resurrections so you go ''ah yeah he's just doing stuff off-screen it's all good''#just like with the gap year of torture which was off-screen #and because Loki grew up in Asgard he KNOWS how to fight hand to hand #we've seen him match up to Thor on multiple occasions and he was absolutely thrashing Steve in AVengers 1 #he goes to physical fighting first and uses magic to assist #but he DOES have the abilities to fight with magic #he has a HUGE skillset in the MCU and that's ignoring the comic counterpart's abilities #so it's a tad bit frustrating to watch him slide across the floor of a roxxcart #even if he isn't trying to hurt the opponent #then there was whatever sloppy thing the vacuum was supposed to be #he......has knives.........doesn't he #he most definitely has shielding abilities #bro bro just put up a shield oh no he cant hear us he's too busy flipping his hair 😩#okay im done complaining #the Loki show #loki spoilers #loki show spoilers #but am also completely convinced that the MCU accidentally made Loki too overpowered #i mean he's got physical fighting AND magic covered PLUS master tactician and street smarts #what else is left?????#he weighs 525 pounds he could just put a Nani (lilo and stitch) on every human opponent he comes across

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ikeromantic · 3 years

Text

Bonding

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfic, approx. 1800 words. This scene takes place well after the events of the Romantic Epilogue as part of my post-route headcanon storyline.

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: In the Spotlight

Mitsuhide sat on the edge of a stuffed chair, a ‘sofa’, across from his little one’s father. Minoru, for his part, didn’t look any more comfortable with the company. Neither of them said anything. Mitsuhide found that his usual silver tongue had run out of witticisms when faced with the twin challenge of a world 500 years in the future and the need to impress the father of his beloved.

In the kitchen, the chatelaine and her mother Youko were making dinner. Their lively chatter was the only sound as the two men studied each other.

Finally, Minoru cleared his throat. “So. How did you two meet?”

“The answer to that would require additional explanation. Suffice it to say, I met her in the course of my work. Initially, she was a responsibility of mine. To train her so that she knew enough to stay ali- ah, safe.” Mitsuhide smiled. “She was quite a handful.”

Minoru frowned. “Safe? Safe from what? What kind of business are you in?” He leaned forward.

“Intelligence and information gathering.” He silently thanked Sarutobi for the modern words to describe being a spy and torturer.

“You work for a government?”

Mitsuhide nodded. “That is a good way to put it. Yes. For a government.”

His little mouse poked her head through the door. “Everything going ok, you two?”

Both men cleared their expressions and smiled over at her. “Yes,” they replied, almost in unison.

Her bright smile lit up the room. “I’m so glad. I wanted you two to get along. Anyway, dinner is almost ready!” She disappeared again and the smiles the two men wore faded like snow under a noon-day sun.

Minoru turned back to Mitsuhide. “How did my daughter get tangled up with some government agent? She designs clothes. She left for a job in fashion.” His voice is strained, half a year’s worth of worry and frustration pushing at the seams of his soul.

Mitsuhide nodded. “She is amazing at making clothing. That is a career she continues to pursue. But I met her the night she pulled my superior from a burning building. Had she not arrived when she did, he would have died.”

“My baby girl . . . pulled a man from a burning building?” Minoru’s eyebrows shot up, his expression one of incredulous disbelief.

“Yes, and after, he thought she should stay with our forces. For her protection and because he believed there was something special about her.” Mitsuhide’s thin smile reappeared. “He wasn’t wrong. She is very special. A wonder.”

Minoru coughed. “Well, yes, but . . . a burning building? She isn’t, that is, she wouldn’t just -”

Mitsuhide leaned forward. “You know her from her childhood. If she knew someone was going to burn to death and she had a chance to save them, would she leave them to die? Is it so unbelievable?”

He shook his head slowly. He knew his daughter was exactly the kind of girl to put herself at risk for another. “I should not be surprised. When she was five, she ran out into the street to stop traffic for a kitten. Almost got hit by a car. And it wasn’t until after the cat was safe that she even realized how close she came to dying.”

Both men chuckled.

“That sounds exactly like something my little mouse would do.”

Minoru scowled. “Your what?”

“A nickname,” Mitsuhide waved the comment off.

And then the call came for dinner. They all sat down around the table. A spread of familiar and strange foods that piqued Mitsuhide’s curiosity. He wondered which of these his beloved had made, and which her mother. To be safe, he thought, it would be wise to compliment every dish.

“So,” her mother began after everyone was served. “My daughter tells me you’re a warlord working for Oda Nobunaga?”

Mitsuhide choked in surprise, the bite of food sticking in his throat. He glanced at his little mouse for confirmation.

“It just sort of popped out while we were talking.”

With effort and a glass of water, Mitsuhide swallowed and cleared his throat. “I didn’t expect to bring this up until after dinner, but yes.”

Minoru scowled. “You’re telling me you work for a man 500 years dead?”

“I don’t know, he seemed pretty lively last time I saw him,” Mitsuhide quipped.

His little mouse grinned. “Papa, be nice! I told you, we will tell you everything.” She took a deep breath. “It started the day I arrived in Kyoto. I went sightseeing . . .”

Mitsuhide listened as attentively as her parents, this version of the tale filling in gaps and details he hadn’t known. Her timely rescue of Sasuke Sarutobi, her run-in with the forces from Kasugayama. It appeared his little one was better at keeping secrets that he’d credited.

Through the story, her mother made little sounds of agreement or surprise, but Minoru was deathly silent. His expression turned darker at every part until he couldn’t hold back anymore. “This sounds like some ridiculous cartoon! You can’t expect your mother and I to buy this. Tell the truth! What is he, some mafia? A gambler? What?”

Youko frowned at him from across the table. “Now you just hush and eat your food. If our little girl says this is what happened, I believe her. She has no reason to lie. She knows we support her no matter what. Don’t we, dear?”

Minoru’s brows lowered. “You can’t be serious. This, this man shows up with our daughter after months with no word! Not a letter! Not a post card! With this crazy story and we’re supposed to just -”

“Accept it. You know as well as I do that if our girl didn’t write or call, it’s because she couldn’t. When you think of it that way, it makes perfect sense.” Youko nodded to emphasize her point. “Besides, when have you ever known her to lie.”

“She’s terrible at that,” Mitsuhide added drily.

Minoru’s scowl deepened. “Don’t talk like you know her. Maybe you drugged her or something, and now she thinks all that is true.”

Mitsuhide sighed. He’d expected this kind of reaction after Sasuke and his little one explained what ‘meeting the parents’ entailed. He was beginning to wish he could have simply sent some gifts and a contract, or better yet, left that to Nobunaga and simply married the girl. “We did bring some proof with us today, and we have friends tomorrow who can vouch for everything.”

Youko gave Mitsuhide an encouraging smile. “Why don’t you go get it? I’m sure it will make Mino a little less grouchy.”

“I’m not grouchy,” Minoru grumbled.

“You are, papa. But it’s ok. This is really all my fault. I wish I’d been able to call you both. I missed you so much.”

Her father swallowed whatever he’d planned to say, touched by his daughter’s affection.

Mitsuhide went to their bags and grabbed his sword and the clothes he’d arrived in. He carried them back to the dining area. These were unlikely to be enough, he thought, but it wasn’t as if they’d planned to be swept to this time that night.

“Our clothes -” he set them down, “and my sword.”

Minoru poked at the clothing, unimpressed. The sword, however, got his attention. “This . . . it isn’t just some decorative piece . . .” The words were quiet, said more to himself than anyone.

Still, Mitsuhide answered. “No. That blade has taken many lives.”

“And saved some too,” his little mouse added. “Mine included.”

Minoru looked between the two of them. “Maybe you’ve both lost your minds. This thing -” He pointed at the sword, “is clearly an antique, but that proves nothing.”

“You are so stubborn,” Youko huffed.

Mitsuhide was beginning to see where his little one got that quality. Sweetness from her mother, stubbornness from her father. It made him smile.

***

Miyake and Sasuke sat at a nearby bar, drinks in hand.

“So this is called karaoke?” Miyake eyed the screen with words that moved and then emptied his sake cup. “And I can sing whatever I want?”

“Not whatever. I doubt they have any songs you know on file. But I think the enjoyment quotient will still be high.” Sasuke began tapping through the song selection, his expression focused. He stopped when he came across one with the image of a pink-faced girl. “This one.”

Miyake shrugged. “Alright.”

The music started. It sounded nothing like the instruments Miyake knew, or the rhythms and beats that were familiar to him. Still, he could pick out the melody, and it was nice - if strange.

The first word on the screen lit up and Sasuke started singing. His voice was surprisingly pleasant, even though the lyrics were senseless.

Miyake joined him on the next verse, nodding to the beat. It was a cheerful tune, he thought. Perfect to drink to. He poured another glass for himself and the ninja.

They emptied that and another as the song ended. The next pick was Miyake’s. He chose one based on the picture, a cute girl in a ridiculously short skirt.

“This is the theme song for my favorite anime,” Sasuke grinned.

“Then I picked a good one?”

Sasuke patted his arm. “A great one.”

Two hours later, both of them were too drunk to walk straight. Their singing got louder as their ability to pronounce the lyrics dwindled.

“Todokete atsuku naru omi . . .” The song dissolved into drunken laughter.

Miyake threw an arm around Sasuke. “Y-you’re my besht - besht fren.”

Sasuke leaned into the hug. “N-now I have two! Two besht frienz - friends.” He grinned but the expression slid into a sad frown.

“Wha - what ish it?” Miyake peered at the ninja’s face. “Need more sake?”

“I - I wish my other fren wash here,” Sasuke hiccuped. “An Shingen. I wash goin- going to take him to a hoshpital.”

Miyake nodded, though he didn’t understand. “Maybe nexsht time?”

“If he livesh,” Sasuke sighed.

“To Shingen,” Miyake poured them another round of sake. “And nexsht time!”

They drank to the toast.

Sasuke poured another. “And to friendsh we lef-left behind.”

They drank to that too.

After several more toasts that grew further away from the original point - to short skirts and lady’s stockings, to coffee, to the karaoke bar - the two men finally paid their tab and stumbled to the hotel.

Miyake nearly puked on the elevator, as the movement made his stomach flip. He would have taken the stairs, if he thought he could find the steps. He leaned on Sasuke as they walked down the hall. It felt like their room was miles away.

Sarutobi fumbled with the lock, and when the door opened, they fell inside.

Between leaning on each other and the walls, they managed to stand again.

“I’m go-gonna shower,” Miyake mumbled.

“Me nexsht,” Sasuke agreed. He tripped toward the beds and fell into the nearest one, face first.

Miyake made it to the shower, but didn’t manage to turn it on. He slumped to the floor and leaned his head back on the cool tiles, falling into a deep sleep.

Next: Middle Ground

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen mitsuhide #mitsuhide akechi #ikesen sasuke #otome guys #otome #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff

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a-edgar-allan-hoe · 3 years

Text

The Last Chthonian

Bucky x Reader, Sam x Reader, Zemo x Reader

Part 16

A/N: Y’all chapter 16 IS HERE!!!!! Well this was a difficult chapter to write but it includes a fluffy ending! 🙂 I hope you lovelies enjoy it and feedback is greatly appreciated! And as always, have a beautiful day and let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list! ☺️ 💕💕💕💕

Summary: Imagine being Hekate, the Greek goddess of magic and witchcraft, the night and the moon, doorways and crossroads, creatures of the night, and ghosts and necromancy. You stumbled upon Earth many centuries ago and since then have resided on the foreign planet. During the recent years you created an alias for yourself to hide your true identity, and after the war against Thanos you chose to live out your days in the Scottish countryside, until a certain trio appear at your doorstep one day.

Warnings: language, mentions of past trauma and abuse, blood and gore, mentions of past torture, scars

There was still daylight outside when you had roused from your nap, the sunshine emerging through the gap in the tall closed curtains just enough to provide the living room with some light and warmth. Yet another nightmare terrorized your dreams in the few hours of your slumber, the very same one that haunted you the night before in regards to the scars on your back. Whenever will these night terrors cease to exist? Shall you ever hope to one day have the fortuity of being able to rest your head and not have to wake up in absolute terror and dread.

You laid there on the couch, hands resting on your stomach as you stared up at the coffered ceiling, your eyes tracing the grooves along the panels as you reflected on what had occurred not very long ago. Which reminded you, you would have to check on your wound soon, hoping that your Olympian genes had at least allowed it to heal. And while you were at it, you could really use a bath. Sam was disappointedly no longer nestled next to you, leaving you in an empty coldness even though a blanket had been thrown over your sleeping form. Thoughts of divulging the story behind your scars invaded your mind like a dark stormy cloud hovering above your head, ready to rain down with feelings of fear, guilt, and shame. Sam had warned you about the dangers of keeping yourself in a dark hole. How shutting yourself off from the rest of the world and leaving your mind to the negative thoughts that ate at you like a blood-sucking parasite would slowly devour every last ounce of you that made you alive. It was no different than jumping into piranha infested waters. You had to tell them the truth about you soon, even if it was piece by piece, like putting together a puzzle to reveal the whole picture. However, you felt a sense of foreboding deep within your spine upon when the time would come. Seeing the whole picture only meant seeing the real you. And you couldn’t help but feel they’d look at you with the utmost horror indescribable to mortals, like the monster you were. You couldn’t blame them if they never wished to see you again. You’d run from that part of you if you could.

You got up with a soft groan, your hair was disarray and your body was stiff and sore as you looked around the dim room to see Sam sat on a stool by the kitchen area staring down at his laptop, the light from the screen Illuminating the blank expression on his face that masked a layer of concern behind it. Sam’s heart was torn from the moment he laid his eyes on your back, he could still feel the way his heart skipped a beat when he caught sight of those jagged lines. The picture was imbedded in his mind like the first time you witness something upsetting. Sam could almost count the scars and map it out. This explained why you never wore a tank top and stuck with t-shirts. You had hid this from everyone since the beginning.

Bucky stood off to the other side of the room with his hands in his pockets. You noticed how his brows were knitted together, his eyes which were usually bright, now held a shadow over them as stared off into the distance. Little did you know, he hadn’t stopped thinking about you. The image still haunted his thoughts like a demonic spirit. Bucky had felt this malevolent and nefarious atmosphere surround him in that moment he first saw the slashes that lined your back, like a dense fog concealing something evil lurking behind the mist. In the days that he had known you, he believed you to be one of the most caring souls he had the luck of coming across in all his years, you reminded him of Steve in some ways. Who could have done this to you? Whatever did you do to deserve such cruelty?

“Y/n?” Bucky’s face lightened up as he walked over to you to see how you were holding up once he saw you sitting up on the couch. “How are you feeling?” He crouched down next to you, laying his hand on top of your bare foreman. He couldn’t stop thinking about how much pain you must have been in, to get shot and walk it off as if nothing had happened. He wished you had told him, instead of trying to hide it. It ended up doing you more harm than good.

“Better. Still a bit weak, but I think I’m gaining my strength back.” You smiled at him, squeezing his hand as you lost yourself in his eyes, blushing under his gaze from how close he was to you and to the way his hand was on the bare skin of your arm. They had been the first thing you noticed about him, those bright steel blue orbs contrasted against his dark lashes that seemed to pierce right through you like icy daggers. You found them to be striking, as if you were staring into the skies of an oncoming storm. However, that was until you saw the curl of his lips and the crinkles at the outer corners of his eyes, it was then his boyish smile that completely transcended his appearance. And when he smiled at you, you could never seem to pull yourself away. It was that same charming smile that captivated you since 1942.

“That’s good to hear.” Sam spoke up after hearing your answer, looking up at you with a warm smile. “I knew you’d pull through.”

“You have too much faith in me Sam.” You shook your head with a soft chuckle. Your ears perked up at the sound of the bathroom doors opening, and when you turned towards it, your eyes nearly widened at the sight before you. There in the vicinity of the entrance to the bathroom stood Zemo fresh out of the shower wearing a bathrobe, his bare chest visible from under the collar where a thin gold chain hung loosely around his neck. His skin glistened from the water droplets that still clung to him, like the dew that formed on blades of grass and the surrounding plant-life the morning after a cold and misty night. He carried with him a small towel, using it to dry his damp hair, the loose strands falling over the side of his face. Your breath was caught in your throat as you watched him go over to the kitchen area, leaving behind a trail of his cologne as he went. The scent was much sharper now from being just recently applied and caused the hairs on your arms to stand up, encompassing you in a haze of this medley of fragrances. Your nose vivified from your sense of smell that picked up on the hints of cedar, fig, grapefruit, orange, pepper, vetiver and ylang-ylang. He smelled incredible.

In this very moment, you were beyond thankful you were the only one with telepathic abilities, due to certain uninhibited images that played within the walls of your mind. Your eyes flickered down to the belt of the robe that was tied around his torso, your fingers itching to untie the one sole thing that with a single tug, would leave him for you to behold and admire. You turned your gaze to the floor, your face burning along with your thoughts that seemed to swallow you whole. By the gods and the pits of Tartarus, were you really lusting after that man? If you had went back in time and told yourself that you would one day be infatuated with and dare say even be consumed with desire for none other than Helmut Zemo himself, you would have stabbed yourself and thrown your body into Tartarus with your own two hands to prevent such a thing from happening. You needed a shower, a cold one at that.

“Well, I probably should have said this in the beginning.” Bucky cleared his throat as he had now sat next to you on the couch, you didn’t even notice his hand leave yours and you prayed he didn’t see the way you were drinking in Zemo. Fortune was in your favor, owing to the fact that Bucky had not noticed at all. “But the Wakandans are here. They want Zemo. Bought us some more time.”

You snapped your head towards Bucky upon hearing him say what you were ashamed to have felt a bit of dismay towards. You would be a fool to admit you didn’t see it coming. You had known the Wakandans were after him since the beginning, you said so yourself when you first saw him at your front door that day, hidden behind Bucky and Sam. Who would have known those words would eventually leave a bitter taste in your mouth.

“Were you followed?” Sam asked, his head shooting up from his phone after he heard what Bucky had announced.

“No.” Bucky shook his head.

“How can you be so sure?” Zemo questioned with a look of doubt.

“‘Cause I know when I’m being followed.”

“It was sweet of you to defend me at least.”

“Hey, you shut it.” Sam snapped at Zemo. “No one’s defending you. You killed Nagel.”

“Do we really have to litigate what may or may not have happened?” Zemo retaliated as he went behind the table, opening up the cupboards and peering at the items inside.

“There’s nothing to litigate. You straight shot the man.” Sam expressed as he followed Zemo with his head.

“Sam.” Bucky spoke up as he stared at an article on his phone, making you look at him in curiosity.

“What?”

“Karli bombed a GRC supply depot.”

Your brows furrowed when you heard what happened. What in the realms was this girl doing? Did she just cross the line?

“What? What’s the damage?” Sam looked stunned upon hearing the news.

“Eleven injured, three dead. They have a list of demands and are promising more attacks if those demands aren’t met.”

You sighed, shaking your head from what you heard. “This isn’t good.”

“She’s getting worse. I have the will to complete this mission. Do the two of you?” Zemo turned to the two of them.

“She’s just a kid.” Sam defended, none of this was sitting right with him.

“You’re seeing something in her that isn’t there.” Zemo tried to point out. “You’re clouded by it. She’s a supremacist. The very concept of a Super Soldier will always trouble people. It’s that warped aspiration that led to Nazis, to Ultron, to the Avengers.”

“You’re talking about our friends.” Sam glared.

“The Avengers, not the Nazis.” Bucky corrected Sam’s statement.

“So, Karli is radicalized, but there has to be a peaceful way to stop her.”

“The desire to become a superhuman cannot be separated from supremacist ideals. Anyone with that serum is inherently on that path. She will not stop. She will escalate until you kill her. Or she kills you.”

“Maybe you’re wrong, Zemo.” Bucky mentioned. “The serum never corrupted Steve.”

“Touché.” Zemo pointed with a cookie on his finger from the jar he pulled out. “But there has never been another Steve Rogers, has there?”

“Well, maybe we should give him to the Wakandans right now.” Bucky rolled his eyes.

“And you’ll give up your tour guide?” Zemo went back to open up another cupboard.

“Yes.”

“You guys.” You groaned, making them turn their attention on you as you leaned back into the couch, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I hope you know that arguing isn’t going to help the situation at all. I agree with Sam, we should try to convince her to see the wrong in her ways first, try to get her to back down. Hopefully she’ll change her mind. But......if she doesn’t........”

“No.” Sam shook his head. “You’re not going to stab her.”

“You didn’t let me finish.” You stuck your hand out. “I was going to say throw her ass in jail if she persists. She’s already killed three and injured seven.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“You’re acting like I’ve never signed peace treaties before Sam. My sister Athena and I used to be diplomats, ambassadors for our planet. Our father would send us off to other worlds to build alliances. Let me tell you from my personal experience from the people I have dealt with. Someone who is so dead set in their ways and begins to see themselves as a form of liberator or savior on the right path, you gotta do a hell lot of convincing to get them to see clearly.”

“Karli may be different.” Sam looked at you.

“Yes, she may or may not be. It’s a 50/50 chance. But when you live as long as me you start to see similarities, patterns. History tends to repeat itself.”

“So what do we do?” Sam crossed his arms over his chest.

“Well. We take this with a diplomatic approach. I think you should go talk to her. You’re good at that.”

Sam nodded his head at your words, his eyes deep in thought.

“If you guys will excuse me.” You stood up from the couch. “I’m going to go check on my wound and wash up.”

“There should be some spare towels and robes.” Zemo gestured towards the bathroom, to which you thanked him with a nod.

You closed the bathroom doors behind you, locking it with a click before removing your articles of clothing and the gauze that was wrapped around your midsection. The wound had already healed, leaving behind a raised scar in its place, another mark to add to your collection. You shivered against the chilly air of the bathroom, your toes curled against the tile floors that were cool to the touch as you rubbed your arms. You went over to turn on the shower, running your hand under the water to check on the temperature before stepping in, closing your eyes and letting out a sigh the moment the warm water touched your skin.

Memories of your planet occupied your mind, filling you with a sense of solace as you remembered the beautiful lush land and the magnificent creatures that roamed them, scattered with tall mountains and waterfalls, lakes and streams, and the exquisite flowers that smelled absolutely heavenly whenever you passed them. You missed the Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian architecture of the towering buildings and the tents that lined the local markets that you used to stroll through wearing a chiton and a pair of sandals, the markets always bustling with merchants, philosophers, painters, sculptors, and craftsmen of almost every kind. You missed the different smells of the food and spices that revitalized your senses and made your mouth water. And you missed the local hot springs, especially the secluded one you discovered on one of your walks. It was the perfect place for you to unwind, especially after a hard day of training where your muscles ached. The area was surrounded by plant life which offered you privacy, allowing you to immerse yourself in the waters in solitude and peace with a view that overlooked the ancient cities below you. When the sun went to rest over the horizon and the moon took command over the skies, the water itself became luminescent under the stars, as if someone had thrown handfuls of aquamarine jewels into it, which was stunning when complemented with the starry night sky. Gods, you missed your home, you missed the past. Apart from all those wonders that brightened up your eyes whenever you beheld them, you missed the familiar faces of the people you have come to know there. You missed the locals, and you missed your family. Your heart ached, it felt as if your soul was grappling with a pervasive emptiness that lurked in its dark and unexplored corners. An intense yearning overwhelmed you, a sentimental longing for the past and the things that were.

You sighed, shutting off the water and wiping away the tear that had managed to escape before stepping out of the shower, grabbing a towel to dry yourself off before slipping on a clean pair of clothes. Your hair was still damp as you wrapped a towel around it, opening the bathroom doors back up to see Bucky, Zemo, and Sam in a conversation.

“From my understanding, Donya is like a pillar of the community, right? So, when I was a kid, my TT passed away.” Sam elaborated.

You stopped, furrowing your brows at Sam, only managing to catch a snippet of the sentence. “Why are you talking about tits?”

“What?” Sam looked at you. “No not tits, my TT.”

“What about your tiddies?” You quirked.

“No my TT. TEE-TEE.”

“Your TT?” Bucky squinted at him.

“Yeah, my TT, yeah.” Sam rolled his eyes, annoyed that no one got what he was saying.

“Who is your TT?”

“Fine.” Sam sighed. “When I was a kid, my aunt passed away and the entire neighborhood got together for a ceremony. It was like a week long. Maybe they’re doing the same thing for Donya.”

“Sounds plausible.” You nodded, heading over to the kitchen to grab yourself a cold glass of water.

“Worth a shot.” Bucky noted.

“Your TT would be proud of you.” Zemo accentuated before tossing the three of you some candy. “Turkish delight. Irresistible.”

You caught the one Zemo tossed over to you, staring at the cubed piece of paper wrapped candy in your hands before looking up at Zemo with a raised brow. “Uh.....thanks.” You walked over to the couch where Bucky sat, sitting down next to him and popping the candy in your mouth after removing the wrapper.

“How’s the bullet wound?” Sam nodded towards you.

“It’s healed, thanks for asking.”

It was now or never.

“So uh......guys.” You cleared your throat, your nerves causing you torment like tiny little pinpricks over your skin. “About the uh............about the scars you saw on my back.”

“You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to.” Bucky spoke softly after noticing how your voice shook, your eyes were glued to your hands as you picked at the skin on your fingers and palms.

“No.” You shook your head. “I can’t keep this hidden forever.” You sighed, taking in a deep breath to prepare yourself as the men watched you, silent as the grave as they listened attentively to what you had to say. “Long ago, back in Olympus when I had just reached adulthood, I used to be a diplomat for my father, as you already know. Well, that wasn’t my only duty. I was also an assassin, his.........personal executioner. I would be sent on missions to other worlds to take out tyrants, oppressors, the absolute heinous of society. In the beginning, it was for the health of the innocent, to unshackle the chains of injustice and cruelty. But then one day, Zeus wanted me to assassinate a king who had done no harm towards his people. At first, I couldn’t understand his reasoning on having me complete this mission, until it all clicked. I started to see the truth behind Zeus’s aspirations, his....ulterior motive. I had been completely oblivious to his twisted ambition and lust for power. I had never been so vexed with anyone and myself. I felt ridden with guilt, telling myself I should have caught on to his true intentions far earlier. So I confronted him about it and laid down the sword he gave me, not wanting anything to do with it. I told him what he was doing was wrong, and that I did not want to be a part of his path to reign of terror. Zeus became furious and tried to accuse me of treason before locking me up in the dungeons. I had never seen him with that kind of rage before. I was terrified to see my father act that way and hadn’t slept a wink that night in the cell. The very next day was my public punishment, one that Hera herself picked out. So his guards dragged me out to the stands that afternoon, the place where they held public shaming and punishments.”

You stopped, gathering yourself as you wiped away at the tears that fell down your cheeks. You could feel Bucky reach his hand out towards you so you grabbed it in return, clutching it with dear life as if it was the only thing that reminded you that you were here, not back in that traumatic moment, but here on earth with 3 men that would do absolutely anything for your safety and happiness. You choked back a sob as you continued. “They tore open the back of my dress, leaving me bare from the waist up for all to see before tying my wrists to the wooden post. I had never felt so humiliated and frightened my entire life. And then they whipped me, over and over again to the point I could no longer stand, the only thing keeping me up was the rope. My dress became soaked with the blood from my wounds and so did the wooden floorboards beneath me. I eventually fell unconscious from the pain, it was too much for me to bear. I was left there for the remainder of the day, left as an example of what happens to those who betray Zeus. When my uncle Hades, Athena, Artemis and some of my other siblings heard what had happened, they rushed to my aid, enraged at what was done to me. Athena and Artemis took me in to their home and tried to tend to my wounds there, but they had already festered. I came to find out later that the rope they whipped me with was laced with a poison so that my wounds wouldn’t heal properly, so that they’d remain to be a constant reminder of my actions.”

The men were silent as you finished telling your story, their faces only fitting the description of horror as they tried to process the inhumanity that was inflicted on you by the very people you trusted. They couldn’t bring themselves to give you words of comfort. No amount of words and speeches could help you or undo what was done. The men’s hearts wrenched as they could almost share the pain you had felt. If your father wasn’t already dead, they would have killed the scumbag himself. Bucky had hugged you in that moment, letting you cry into his shoulder as Sam had come over to you as well, wrapping his arms around you as he hugged you from behind. You sat there engulfed between Sam and Bucky as you cried, your tears and your confession representing the weight that was now lifted off your shoulders. You no longer had to hide the scars, your story was told. Zemo still stood by the kitchen, his knuckles white from gripping the counter, his face turned in the opposite direction. One look at you would tear him apart, he would drop everything and rush over to you this instant to be able to hold you in his arms. He’d let you cry onto him forever if need be. You didn’t deserve that, you didn’t deserve any of it.

You went for a stroll that night after the sun had set. Bucky and Sam offered to accompany you due to the state you were in but you declined. You needed to be alone for a while. Retelling your story still rattled you as if you had relived that moment once more. You headed off to the nearest park, laying down on the grass as you stared up at the night sky. The cool wind brushed against your cheeks like an icy caress as you closed your eyes, the blades of grass tickling the sides of your face, losing yourself in your surroundings before the faint sound of footsteps against the soft grass interrupted you. You sat up, turning your head to see Zemo standing behind you.

“Zemo? What are you doing here?”

“Thought I might join you, if you’d allow me.”

“...............sure.” You watched him from the corner of your eye as he sat down beside you, wearing that fur collared coat of his. You pulled your knees up to your chest, clasping your hands together at the front before staring off into the distance.

Zemo’s eyes flickered over to your profile, studying your facial expressions and the hollowness that was held in your eyes. He still could not get your narrative out of his head, wincing at the image of the excruciating pain and anguish you must have felt at the time. He could not imagine what your back must of resembled in that moment. He wished he was there, so that he may have rescued you and went after those who ever dared to do you harm. “So, what brings you out here?”

“I wanted to see the stars. I heard there might be a meteor shower tonight.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Better, surprisingly. Still a bit unnerved, but I’m think I’m doing better.”

“I’m terribly sorry about what happened to you. It should never have occurred in the first place.”

“Don’t apologize, you had nothing to do with it.” You sighed, shivering as a strong breeze passed through you.

Zemo noticed your movement and turned in your direction. “Do you need my coat?”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine.”

You watched as Zemo slipped off his coat before leaning over to drape it around your shoulders. You averted your eyes from him and turned your head away from how close he was. You shivered once more, but this time from his warm breath that grazed across your cheek as he adjusted the fur collar so that it fit snug around your neck and head to provide you with as much comfort as he could. The way he handled you so tenderly made you blush, as if you were a delicate rose, a precious gem that if held incorrectly would be considered a crime, a disgrace to your existence. Then there it was again, that cologne of his that had you feeling a certain way. You could still smell it off him, and now that you wore his coat, the sharp citrusy and spicy scent completely engulfed you as if you had been transported back to the markets of the ancient empires. Zemo gazed down at you from where he was seated, you didn’t even have to look up at him to feel your face heat up, that’s how much of an effect he had over you. The way he looked at you made you feel vulnerable and small. You were the goddess of witchcraft, and yet, here you were, completely bewitched and transfixed by him as if he had cast an enchantment over you.

“Schatzi.” Zemo whispered as he gently laid a finger under your chin to bring your face to him.

You stared at him with wide eyes, hidden behind a veil of sorrow and regret along with your aching and yearning heart. The Wakandans would have him soon, then you might not ever have the chance of seeing him again. It was now or never. “Zemo I.......I want to apologize for that night. I’m sorry if I offended you. I didn’t-“

“Schatzi.” Zemo held your face with both of his surprisingly soft pampered hands as he caressed your cheek. “There’s no need to apologize. I would never wish for you to be uncomfortable.”

“Why? Why are you so kind towards me? Don’t you hate the avengers, people with unordinary abilities?” You questioned, desperately wanting to know why he treated you with respect, despite his moral compass in regards to super soldiers and such. You would’ve conjectured that you would be on his list of people to eliminate.

“Because.” Zemo stopped to push a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “You have shown nothing but kindness to those around you and to my people. When I first saw you, you struck me as the silent and menacing one, you spoke very little and I thought you to be dangerous. But then I saw what you did after the attack from Ultron, how you stayed behind to help clean up what was left and find any remaining survivors. Your efforts towards my country will not be forgotten. You have a beautiful and caring soul y/n, one that shines brighter than any I’ve seen. After all that you’ve been through and all that you have done, you too deserve kindness in return.”

You smiled at his words, placing your hands on top of Zemo’s as he still cradled your face. You turned your head slightly to place a soft kiss to his wrist, eliciting a small gasp from his lips. The two of you had been touch deprived for so long, without a single soul to hold and kiss, that a small action such as this was enough to send you both over the edge. You gazed into his eyes once more as you placed your hand against the side of his neck, your eyes trailing down to his lips as you traced the smooth shaven skin of his jaw with your thumb. Zemo felt his heart stop in his chest from your gesture and the way you looked at him. You looked absolutely ethereal, wearing his coat and sitting in close proximity of him under the stars, the moonlight making you radiant in parallel to the the silver orb itself. Your heart palpitated in your chest, nearly breaking out of your rib cage and becoming the only thing you could hear as you finally mustered up the courage to do what you have longed to do.

Your eyes fluttered closed as you leaned in with your lips slightly parted as Zemo did the same, your noses grazing against each together like the fallen leaves caught in the winds of autumn as you rested your foreheads together. Your breathing quivered, your body trembling from the sudden forethought of what was to come as the two of you hovered not even a centimeter apart, your lips brushing against his as your faltering breaths fanned each other’s faces, both of you too tense to make the first move. Zemo pulled away unexpectedly, causing your heart to drop and leaving your face to the coldness of the night air, which made you knit your brows together. Zemo chuckled softly at the disheartened expression that marked your features before tilting his head towards you once again, his hands never leaving the sides of your face as he pressed a feathery kiss to your forehead and each of your closed eyelids, placing another to the rounds of your cheeks, and lastly the tip of your nose as if he was mapping out what he found beautiful about you, before pressing his lips to the area you most desired them to be.

You gasped at the touch, both of you equally startled from the intimate gesture and your bodies rigid before melting in the kiss you shared. The kiss was innocent and sweet, bringing about a warmth that flowed through your veins like the rays of the sun on a warm summer day. Your hands rested on his chest, feeling the beating of his heart beneath your palm through the fabric of his turtleneck. His lips were firm, yet soft and warm and the taste of expensive wine, cherry blossom tea, and Turkish delights still lingered on them. Zemo barely moved against the chaste kiss, luxuriating in the taste of your lips, the traces of coffee, caramel, dark chocolate, and pomegranates left him fully succumbed to your touch, not wanting to overstep your boundaries and allowing you to be the one to made the decision. The two of you remained motionless, frozen in time, resembling baroque marble statues sculpted by the hands of Gian Lorenzo Bernini. You compelled yourself to separate from his lips after what gave the impression of being an entirety of lifetimes, but, be that as it may, it had only been a matter of seconds. A soft smile formed on the curves of your lips as you gazed up at him with flushed cheeks, releasing the breath you had caged in this entire time before reconnecting your lips to his once more.

Your hands made their way up to wrap around the back of his neck, softly grazing the hairs on the back of his head while his slipped down to the curve of your back, pulling you gingerly to him as your chest was pressed flush against his. The smell of Zemo’s fresh citrusy cologne and your warmer, darker perfume reminiscent of castles, vampires and the Victorian era, merged together to create an aroma one would only describe as intoxicating. The kiss became more passionate, more ardent as you molded into each other like melted candle wax, as if you had been designed specially for each other as would a lock and key, it was absolutely breathtaking. You couldn’t resist the soft, sighing moan that escaped your lips from the feeling of serenity that washed over you, a sensation similar to that numbness that swept over your body right before you entered a deep state of sleep. The way your lips moved against one other and the way you held on to one another as if you’d wake up the moment you let go, wasn’t so much provoked by a desire for lust, but rather a cavernous desperation for the ability to feel, a craving for sentiment, to be able to find worth and significance buried in your souls within the walls of this hollow world. But more than any of these, this kiss was your way of professing the deep affection you held for each other, a testament to the sparking of the forging of your souls.

You broke the kiss after what felt like an eternity of euphoria, pressing your forehead against Zemo’s as you caressed the line of his jaw, a soft smile formed on your lips as your hearts now drummed in sync. You thought you could never feel such a thing again, that to be able to hold and kiss someone again would be impossible, you were incredibly wrong, and you had never been more happy about it. Zemo was left breathless, scrambling to put his mind together since he couldn’t process a single thought after what he experienced. Kissing you was unlike anything he had ever felt, he could only describe it as otherworldly, transcendent. How someone like you, a goddess, a princess, could ever manage to return his feelings, he would never know. But there was one thing Zemo was sure of, he could never grow tired of the moments spent with you. Truth be told, it only left him yearning for more. Zemo pressed a delicate kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment before pulling you down to the grass with him. You let out a quiet giggle from his actions, pulling Zemo’s coat closer to you and interlacing your fingers with his as you laid your head on his chest, your ear pressed up to where his heart was. Zemo’s arm was wrapped around you, his fingers brushing your back tenderly, feeling the ridges of your scars as he traced them with his fingers through the fabric of your sweater while you listened to the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat. The two of you stared up at the stars and constellations, watching how the night sky lit up with the meteoroids that entered the earth’s atmosphere, leaving behind trails of white and painting the skies in streaks of a celestial waterfall. You hadn’t spoken a word to each other yet, you didn’t need to. Being in each other’s presence was enough. Your gestures of affection that you had just shared with each other, already voiced whatever words you had been meaning to say.

Tag List: @Little-baby-vixen @girl-obsessed-with-things @aerynchromie @sunshinepower17 @viviace @kakimakiloh @awhorewithissues @thehornyles @gambitsqueen @spookycereal-s @lulu-yuming @mochminnie @Gabitanaka47 @s00nhi @vanteguccir @tomhollandsslilslut @dracoxxyoflam @suchababie @uhhhcrypticbastard @on-my-way-to-erebor @thewinterrbucky @mylifeispainandiloveit @fillechatoyante @padmoonyfeorge @montypythonsholysnail @pollynx @aziraslowlylosestheirshit @roundbrownlover @awesomeowlbook @bookloverfilmoholic @hargreevesd @death-is-beautiful

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speechlessxx · 3 years

Text

I Can Keep A Secret. - 4 (Steve Rogers x Reader)

Chapter Summary: In a jealous rage, Steve accidentally says something he doesn’t mean as he discovers something personal about the reader.

Warnings: no Clark in this chapter, slight fingering (18+ Minors DNI), nudity but not really, lots of cussing, angsty, make-out scene, shitty writing (it’s been a while i’m sorry!), AGE GAP (reader is stated to be 21 but age is just a number. call her wtv age you want).

Word Count: ~2.7k

again... i apologize this sucks. i haven’t written anything since like august.

Buy me a Ko-Fi (not necessary but i’m broke, yo)

<- Last Part -=+=- Next Part ->

Steve never considered himself a jealous man. When he was involved with Sharon Carter, he never paid any mind to the revolving door of “friends” she entertained. Truthfully, throughout the numerous relationships he’s had in his life, Steve Rogers had never been the one to be jealous.

How could he?

Steve didn’t think he was an egomaniac nor narcissistic – not in the way that Tony Stark was, at least. But he knew he was charming. He knew he was wealthy – the black cards in his Burberry wallet reminded him of that. He knew he was handsome. He knew his worth – hell, even Forbes did.

His thoughts had never been infiltrated by the ugly, green rage monster that filled his head with insecurities. That is… Until the headlines and photographs of (Y/N) Barnes’s dinner date with “America’s richest and handsomest” bachelor, Clark Kent, had made its rounds.

It was a form of self-torture as he scrolled furiously through the many posts about the two.

Dynasties Colliding!

Clark Kent off the Market?

Everything you need to know about (Y/N) Barnes, Clark Kent’s new girlfriend.

He clicked his tongue in disgust at that last article as he skimmed through it. It was obvious that the writer had a biased opinion – one so clearly against (Y/N) – as it pointed out her “college dropout” status and her “naivete” to be involved with a man ten years her senior.

He scoffed… If only they knew.

Though, Steve couldn’t help but compare himself to the younger man. Sure, Clark was richer than he was with a booming business and a company created generations before Steve was even born. His net worth pushed him much higher than Steve and Bucky on the Forbes’s listings. But surely, he didn’t have the same chemistry as he and (Y/N) did… Surely.

As if to mock him, a photo of Clark kissing her knuckles appeared on his monitor. He glared at it, fuming with hot jealousy. He hated that feeling bubbling inside as he stared at her flustered face digitally immortalized by paparazzi and fan photos.

His phone buzzed to life as the screen displayed her name… And he did what he had been doing for the past few days following the polo match, he sent it straight to voicemail, spiteful that she even entertained Clark’s request to go on a date.

Had he misread the signs? Had there been any signs to begin with? Had she played him? Was he just her happy distraction until she could find her bearings in New York?

A sharp knock interrupted him from his thoughts as Bucky’s broad shoulders filled his open office door. He had a wide smile on his face as he entered the room, closing the door.

“You read the gossip?” Bucky chuckled. A sly smirk on his face as he sat himself in the seat across Steve’s desk. Steve quickly clicked out of his tabs and raised his brows at Bucky. “With (Y/N) getting Clark interested, other investors are looking at us, too. It’s great.”

“So, you’re really using your daughter to lure business opportunities?” Steve snorted. Considering how enchanting she was, it wasn’t a terrible strategy. If Steve hadn’t gotten so attached so quickly, he’d even advise Bucky to have her stalk the airport terminals, too.

“It’s working, man. He’s interested in the company. He wants a tour. He’s talking big money. We can scrap any deals with Stark. He’s our top priority now.”

“Buck,” Steve laughed so dryly it became a scoff. “He’s not interested in the company. He’s clearly interested in her – and only her. As soon as you give the green light and she rips the cord with him, he’s gonna back out. He’s got the lawyers to make sure that any contract he signs will get voided, too.”

His tone had been hopeful although Bucky didn’t pick up on it. Bucky had just waved it off as Steve being cautious – not Steve hoping that his daughter would dump Clark and focus all her attention back on him.

“No, no.” Bucky shook his head, waving his hand, too. “She’s equally into him. Piqued her interest more than Peter did, for sure.” Steve stopped himself from rolling his eyes, knowing damn well that she was never interested in the Stark boy. “He dropped her off and she was blushing like crazy. Ran to her room and practically screamed her head off with that Wanda girl on the phone.”

Steve pressed his lips into a straight line. He didn’t trust himself enough to respond, knowing any sarcastic remark would land him in the hot seat, with Bucky asking questions he wasn’t ready to answer… or rather, didn’t have the answers to.

“Besides… y’know one contract that’s incredibly difficult to get out of?” Steve hummed. “A marriage.”

Steve choked. “Marriage? Buck, c’mon, she’s twenty-one.” Bucky nodded, taking his daughter’s age into consideration. “Marriages are definitely the easiest to get out of. Must I remind you the reason why you haven’t seen her since she was a baby?”

“Hey!”

“Besides, isn’t he too old for her?” Steve internally cringed. Suddenly, wishing he could take it back, afraid of what Bucky would say. Like you aren’t thirty-nine, dumbass?

“He’s thirty-three. She’s twenty-one. She can date whoever she wants. She’s an adult.”

“That’s dangerously permissive.” Stop talking.

“Why’re you acting like her father, Steve?” Bucky asked, raising his brows inquisitively.

“I’m just saying, Clark’s closer in age with us than with (Y/N).” Steve shrugged. “I’m just looking out for her.”

I just want her to myself.

“Well, since you’re oh-so invested in looking out for her, I’m gonna need a favor.”

»————-　♡　————-««

Out of the many things to do on a Friday night in the big city, Steve found himself walking through the threshold of the Barnes’s penthouse. He silent cursed at Bucky, who asked him to look after his daughter for the weekend. The same daughter he had been avoiding for the past week, blowing off her calls and leaving her texts unread.

Steve found Bucky’s favor to be a direct contradiction to the statement he made prior. She’s twenty-one. She’s an adult. An adult who needed another adult’s supervision as it seemed.

However, Steve understood. She was relatively new to the city, only being here for a little over a month and a half, and known for her reckless behavior back in Los Angeles – the reason why she was in New York to begin with. Although Bucky didn’t quite keep her on a tight leash, he kept on a leash, nevertheless.

Bucky had already left that afternoon, leaving the penthouse somewhat quiet save for the music coming from the hallway that led into (Y/N)’s bedroom. He cracked a smile as he approached the hall. He could hear her obnoxiously singing along to the provocative lyrics of that one song – WAP, was it?

His hand absentmindedly found its way to her doorknob, twisting the metal and pushing the door open. She shrieked as her phone fell from her hands with a thud against the floor. She scrambled for her towel that lay haphazardly on her bed, messily wrapping it around her naked body.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” She screamed over the music.

Steve stared at her with wide eyes like a deer in headlights. Her hair was still damp, knotting and begging to be combed out. Her chest heaved as she breathed heavily. The towel did little to hide her from his hungry eyes as he fought to keep his stare at her face and only her face. She called for the Alexa to stop playing the music before running a hand through her knotted hair.

“Steve, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Your – your dad asked me to – uh – “he was losing the battle as his eyes gave her a look over, feeling the heat rise to his face. It was not the only thing that has risen. He tore his stare away from her, scanning the room instead. “He asked me to watch over you.” Steve explained, finally finding the words.

“Like a babysitter?” She scoffed. She had been itching to see Steve, hating him just a bit for ghosting her, but looking like that? She was willing to forgive.

“Yeah…” Steve nodded.

“Well,” she smirked playfully, “since you’re baby-sitting… Why don’t you let your baby sit on your lap, huh, daddy?” She batted her lashes at him, and he instantly melted, forgetting his jealousy and spite for just a second. She reached out for him and had him sit at the edge of her bed, straddling his thick thighs. “Excited to see me?”

His resolve and pent-up angst disappeared. “You’re damn right.” Steve muttered, hand fisting her knotted hair and smashing his lips onto hers. The kiss was every bit hungry and desperate as it was passionate – like two star crossed lovers finally catching a moment alone.

She moaned into his mouth as his free hand slipped beneath her towel, which was loosening as she grinded against his strained pants. His fingers explored her slit, fumbling as he tried to find her bundle of nerves.

“I missed you,” she gasped as he found it within seconds, rubbing tight circles around her clit.

His lips left a trail of kisses along her jaw and sucked the sensitive skin under her ear, eliciting long moan from her as he played with her, relishing in her responsiveness. He felt her juices coat his fingers as he teased her hole, but the moment suddenly cut short when her phone dinged.

Once. And then a second, then a third.

She looked over her shoulder and glanced down at the screen. Steve pinched her, causing her to gasp again. “Don’t.” He warned her, his voice a deep growl.

It dinged again. “I’m gonna silent it,” she promised, pecking his lips as she hopped off his lap. “Oh,” she frowned. She ran a hand through her knotted hair before glancing at him, then typing.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked her as he stood from her bed and walked over to her. He wrapped his arms around her waist as he pulled her into him.

“I… Uh… Clark wants to hang out again.” She told him.

Steve rolled his eyes though she didn’t see. “Blow him off.” He told her, leaving a trail of kisses on her shoulders, leading back up to that sweet spot beneath her ear. Her eyes rolled back before she pushed away from him. “We haven’t seen each other in days – “

“Because someone kept sending me to voicemail,” she rebutted. “I-I have to go see him, Steve. If my dad found out – “

“Then tell him you’re not into him.” Steve insisted. She remained silent as she tucked a stray hair behind her ear. Steve frowned. “Wait, are you – are you into him?”

“I dunno…”

“You don’t know?” He asked her. “If you’re into him, the hell are you sitting on top of me naked for?”

“Steve – “

“God, it’s like you like making yourself easy to guys.” The envy – the green, little monster that tore at his ego and his heart – suddenly rose. No thoughts were running through his head – just angry words from his mouth.

“Excuse me?” An enraged look splayed across her face. Brows furrowed and arms crossed defensively.

“Well, considering you sold pictures of yourself to total strangers – “he stopped himself before the rest of the sentence. The self-control had finally resurfaced, but the damage had been done as fury in her features mellowed and turned into hurt.

“Is that… Is that what you think of me?” She asked him, willing her voice not to crack but the tears had already begun to form. She furiously blinked them away before huffing. “Well, it doesn’t matter what you think anyway ‘cause I’m not with you.”

“And what you’re with Clark Kent?” He seethed his name.

“At least he doesn’t call me easy.”

Steve chuckled, dryly. “Bar’s set low then, huh? Says the girl who sucked me off on the airplane when we knew each other less than two hours. Wonder the things you’d do for him.” It was spite. His words were pure spite and jealousy. They held no meaning but they sure had weight.

“What’s your problem?” She snapped. “Damn it, Steve! I like you. I really do, genuinely, but y’know it fucking sucks when the guy you like suddenly ghosts you.”

“And it fucking sucks when the girl you’re actually interested in goes on a date with some hot shot, pretty, rich boy. Probably fucks him in the back of his limo, too.”

She stomped over to Steve, shoving him with one hand while the other kept her towel from slipping off. “Get. Out!”

“No, no,” Steve argued, grabbing her arm easily overpowering her to stop pushing him. “You’re gonna answer.” She raised her brows at him. “Are you fucking him in the back of his limo? Are you that easy?”

Her jaw dropped as she stared at him in disbelief. “You’re not my dad, so that’s none of your concern.” She began to push him towards her door, and he let her this time. “And…” Her fingers tapped against the wooden door as she stared back at him.

“It’s none of your business, but for your information, I’m a virgin.” She clicked her tongue as a smirk splayed across her face. “Won’t be for long, though. ‘Cause Mr. Kent is inviting back to one of his many lavish, expensive homes in New York.”

And with that she slammed the door shut, locking it with the new lock her father had installed.

»————-　♡　————-««

“(Y/N)…” He called out to her, knocking on her door. “C’mon, sweetheart.” It had been half an hour since their fight, and she had yet to come out of her room.

“Go away!” She called out from the other side of the wooden pane as if she were a child.

“I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t mean it. I was just jealous – “

“I don’t care, Steve!”

He sighed. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s go out for dinner, yeah? Just me and you. Whatever you want. You wanna embarrass me by making me use chopsticks? Let’s go. You wanna hit me with a bottle of champagne? Take your pick. I’m down.”

“Fuck off, asshole!”

You deserve that. He agreed.

Steve suddenly heard a click of the lock before she pulled the door open, pushing past him and he let her. She had a duffle in one hand and her phone in the other, typing away. “Where are you going?”

“Away from you,” she spat. She didn’t even spare him a second look.

“You going with Clark?”

“None of your business, dick.”

He called her full name and she stopped in her tracks, spinning on her heel to look at him with her brows raised. Steve had his hands on his hips as he stared at the floor before looking down at her. “You are not leaving and that’s final.”

“Oh, yeah?” She challenged, taking a step towards him. Her heel clicking against the ground. She crossed her arms across her chest as she tilted her head. “And what? You’re gonna stop me?”

“Don’t make me, sweetheart.”

“Well,” she smirked. “Take it up with my dad… because unlike you, he actually approves of my blossoming relationship with Clark Kent. I swear he’s already planning the wedding … while I, on the other hand, all I care about is the honeymoon… And I think we’re gonna get a head start to it, actually.”

Steve took a step towards her as she took a step back. “Stop being a little brat and just – “

“No, Steve,” she corrected. “I’m being easy. And you’re completely right… Sometimes being easy is just fun.”

He grabbed her arm before she could turn around and pulled her towards him. She bit her lip as she stared up at him with faux innocence. Her lips glistened with whatever gloss it was she used to make her lips plump as she challenged every bit of authority Steve had.

He wanted nothing more than to kiss that bratty attitude right out of her. He leaned in as her eyes fluttered close and he knew he had her. Then, suddenly, the elevator doors dinged and opened, ruining the moment. Both their heads snapped towards the guest.

“What the hell?”

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batarella · 3 years

Text

3 birds 1 stone - YELLOW

To reach such a high, if it were in any way something he could touch, it was her many kisses, her soft touches, her smiles and her laughs and the little details he’d never miss.

WORDS: 7539 WARNINGS: Sexual Content, Mentions of blood

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST | RED | BLUE

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You:

First love never dies.

For so many, it simply remains this fantastical dream. Of monsters and ghouls, fairies and witches. And perhaps, those people are right. In ways not everyone can imagine, most of the time, the realists and those grounded with what cruelties are out to get you, it isn’t always so healthy constantly hoping that the first one you give your heart to will ultimately be the last. Always, one’s immediate thought when they hold a hand or kiss another’s lips was that frivolous hoping and imaginative discourse that somehow, this is what it’ll be for the rest of your life. With that very person you chose to give your heart to and this illusion that you’ve given it enough thought, whether you actually had or hadn’t.

And those realists, those who are constantly out to get other’s hopes and irrational dreams, you never thought they’d speak to you that way until that first crack in your beating heart, the first gap made by the quakes of reality. Your first heartbreak.

And perhaps maybe the worst one, out of all the many heartbreaks you’ve gone through in your eventful young life. The ghosts of your past, the ones that never leave you alone and go on to haunt you for so long as you held onto some kind of hope, torturously holding onto that love and hurt all the same, you just let them exist. You tried to fight them, tried to move on. And for many years, you hadn’t. You failed and it brought you even more of this turmoil.

But had you really come to doubt that theory, the one that disproved that famous claim that first love, in fact, does not diminish, no matter the years and the people and the places you’ve gone through and met? Even with it so obvious that your first love came to such a disastrous, albeit expected end out of two teenagers hopelessly in love, did that love actually die?

Not when after all those years, everything you did and didn’t do out of love always ended up boiling down to him.

The time you shared, that fairytale of a story, one you were fortunate enough to live through and live by for all the years that came after, it wasn’t even because he was the safest bet, which he wasn’t. And it was unfair to call him that at all. It had its own risks, its own trials of hurt, but the triumphs you reaped, the light you’d inevitably saw at the end of that seemingly endless darkness, you never could doubt that it was there at all.

Perhaps that delusion of a fairytale was what brought you down in the first place. Perhaps all this was because you thought he, of all people, could never hurt you at the least, and he ended up hurting you the most. It was this illusion of some fantasy, one you wanted so badly to believe, that this wonderful story of how you came to be will continue for the rest of your life. That this contentment, this fruitful, carefree relationship will last and that troubles aren’t ones to worry about at all. This lie you told yourself that he could never hurt you, it was that very thought that did instead.

So perhaps it were true. Maybe first love never does die. What dies instead was that very mirage, this belief that it’ll continue to be a fantasy just as how it started. Because love never was a fantasy to begin with. It wasn’t how you came to be, or how magical it seems to someone who hears your story. It was how you hold on, how you never take your hands off theirs no matter how much the winds pull you apart. For so long as it continues to bring out the most beautiful version of yourself, love was holding on.

And for those years after your relationship, you did hold on. Both of you. With strengths unmatched by another. You held on.

You realized all that, this decision you ultimately made, a few months ago one night when you got a call from Steph when it should have been a call from Tim. But it wasn’t like you expected that latter at all. This happened one too many times than you would have hoped. But they said he was okay, just a little beaten up. He wouldn’t let the others touch him, however. That was when they called you.

You took a cab from your apartment, even when it costed a small fortune. You were worried, of course, but your hands weren’t shaking, your mind wasn’t a mess you no longer understood, your thoughts were coherent and still you could trail behind them with a red string attached to the back of your mind. All else was calm, as was the falling snow out the car window. You let that calmness get to you. You had to. Panicking wouldn’t do anyone any good. Especially not him.

You got to the manor with no one around to welcome you in save for the butler, which forced you to go straight up to Tim’s room, leave your coat by the rack. It was too early for the sun to be up, too late for it to stay that way for long. You hurried, stayed quiet, then you reached his room. You knocked no more than three times and opened the door without waiting for him to let you in.

They said he had been this way since the first incident, the one almost a year ago when he collapsed and ended up at the hospital. That at rough nights, times when his sharp eye wasn’t as sharp and movements not as quick, he refused to let anyone in for help. Maybe it was this denial that he was in need of any, denial that his lack of sleep and caffeine dependency was still a problem, or maybe he just didn’t want to trouble anyone. Though the same could be said for literally everyone else in the team. A lot of them get shot three times and brush it off just to save theatrics.

And maybe Tim was alright, better than the others let on, and it was because of that incident why they worry about him a lot more. Maybe this was just annoyance of that matter, his locking himself in his room even when a bullet wound over his shoulder so large was making his lips awfully pale and his skin an unnatural shade of white. Even when he didn’t need help, and in this case, he probably did, it didn’t mean you were going to leave him alone.

He was at the foot of his bed, back against the bed frame with a laptop in front of him, legs spread out relaxed and unbothered. Too relaxed, however, almost weak. And his eyes were droopy and low. He looked at you like he’d expected you to come, maybe even wanted to ask why it took you so long. But he didn’t say much. Nothing more than a faint hi spurred out his mouth.

You shut the door behind you and took off your shoes and your last layer of your sweater. When you stood close enough to see that the red stain on the bandage he put on himself wasn’t going to do him any good, you went straight to his bathroom, took out whatever kit he had lying around and settled on the floor right by his side.

“I’m fine, you know.”

“Shut up.”

You tried reaching for his bandage but he ended up grabbing your wrist to stop you.

“I said I’m fine.”

“You’re still bleeding.”

“It’ll stop.”

“It won't if you don’t let me take care of it.”

Still, he held onto your hand, didn’t let it go even when it loosened, and you didn’t pull away either. Instead, you inched closer, tangled your fingers together so yours would rub calmingly against the back of his palm the way he often liked.

You didn’t know what movie he had on his laptop right then, and frankly you didn’t care much. When he’d loosened his hold on you just enough to let go and reach for a clean rag in his kit, his eye trailed back to the screen. His hand, however, stayed on your lap, lightly resting on your thigh.

His way of giving in. It was one of those days, as obvious as it was. Didn’t mean you weren’t there to annoy the hell out of him until it inevitably changes, or not. You just liked being around to make sure he’ll be okay. Often, he is.

You pulled on the hem of his shirt, and reluctantly, slowly, he sat up, didn’t take his eyes off his laptop and grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled it off. You ignored that itch in your neck when he sat back down, lean abs rippling with his back crouched over.

You worked painfully slow, painful for you just as it was for him. His blood was everywhere, spilling out the bandage that had absorbed more of it than it should. You took it off, praising yourself for not taking another five minutes back at home doing whatever when it was apparent you should have gotten here two hours ago.

Like he expected some nagging remark out of you, he still couldn’t look you in the eye. And you, as frustrated as you were with him, opted not to say anything at all. You just took the rag and went to work, brushing it on the skin surrounding the wound red with the stains.

Nothing too lethal, though nothing you should ignore. You cleaned the rag and carefully, with the gentleness on your fingers you found to be present when you touched the most sensitive spots on him, you dabbed the cloth onto the wound, and with that, you found yourself sitting so close to his body, enough to smell the remnants of smoke from an exhaust pipe, probably from his bike, stained onto his bare neck.

No longer could you hear the movie that went on behind you, No matter how much noise there could have been, there was only silence, and with that silence there was that pull on your throat, one not too easily ignored unlike everything else you pushed to neglect.

Tim’s eyes were no longer on the screen, as it seemed when you glanced up to his face. There were on your hands, mesmerized by how soft you were touching him. Even with it just being a graze of your finger against his skin outside the wound, still it was this feathery touch, enough to have drowned him within a cloud’s misty bed.

It was, against your wishes, the kind of silence you wished wasn’t so deadly. Deathly silence, as you’ve come to learn, draws out the loudest voices in your head, thoughts in volumes you never would have otherwise comprehended. And there would be no ignoring them, not at that moment. And those thoughts lingered on the taste of his breath against your lips, his fingers that had went up from your clothed thigh to your cheek, brushing strands of your hair away even when they weren’t much a bother. They were on his hair, damp from sweat falling to his eyes. The smell of him, that mentioned smoke, the cologne he put on earlier that day, the natural musk of his scalp you once loved to revel in. It was the feel of his skin that seemingly grew warmer each second that passed.

You went on to clean the wound, even when your mind had long left that issue, though you convinced yourself it was reason enough for you to draw your head even closer. To have a better look at the wound. And at that, his face was close enough for you to hear the counts of his breaths.

Tim didn’t back away. He let you work, do whatever you wished with his chest without an ounce of protest.

Your other hand, the one without a rag to hide behind, finally found its way on his bare shoulder to hold onto when that hitch of your breath almost knocked you out cold, when at the faintest hover of his warm lips against your neck, the little trails of him cold on your skin.

You tried not to stop with the rag, but even that was hard to do. With your eyes closed shut, hands clenching to a fist just to have some kind of composure. Tim wasn’t pressing his lips against your skin enough to kiss it, to feel his tongue around it and send you to some heavenly descent. It was just there, barely even touching it, hovering so close enough to feel the chap of his dried lips but just not enough.

You almost clenched hard onto his shoulder when he breathed, hot against your skin, and continued to for so many more seconds.

Leaning into him would have been the easiest thing to do, to let his lips press hard onto your neck to leave marks, hand on your head tight enough to hold you in place.

But it was that knock on the door that pulled you both into the realities of what it was, or rather, what you weren’t. You didn’t kiss him that night, and since then, you never failed to ponder constantly on how you should have

That night was months ago.

Tonight, you hoped, that with every well-wishing angels and spirits there were, that with your hand on the doorknob, heart in your pocket, and breath held back for as long as it needed to be, that all this would only go as well as you’d hoped.

Tim:

He could smell the trouble he was in the moment she walked into his room unannounced. And only with her would it not bother him in the slightest, when if it were anyone else, he’d have sent them out his room three seconds after they’d barge in like that. She only knocked twice, just before she opened the door and walked in, thereby catching him in the middle of the untimely act of staying up past two in the morning, crouched over his desk so unhealthily bad for his spine that instinct screamed at him to sit up just to mellow down the eventual nagging.

But there wasn’t any of that, at least. “Hey,” she said, and she settled down with her jacket hung up on his door.

“You’re here late.”

“Figured you’d be up.”

“How’d you know?”

“I just did.”

Then he turned to his laptop, realized she knew because she saw his status was online, and that it didn’t have to take a detective or a best friend to figure that out. Tim stretched out his neck went back to focus on the screen. Thankfully, he wasn’t as bad as he used to, having a cup of freshly brewed coffee waiting for him at the side of his desk. Then, he’d never hear the end of it.

It was that kind of comfort, the same as having a hand to hold as you stared right into the eyes of an apocalypse or a face so beautiful to look at when all else around the world just seemed so wretchedly ugly, having her company even when it wasn’t to some necessary resort. She was just there, and her presence meant so much more than it should.

But he stayed calm, went on with his work, while she went over to his side looking over at the screen like it were any interesting. It wasn’t. Not for anyone who looked at excel files and felt the need to throw up.

A hand on top of his shoulder, however, loosened some tight knots on his arm, tensions he didn’t even know was there. He didn’t flinch nor move, though his fingers at the keys stopped for a moment, especially when she rubbed her palm over his clothes to ease even more of the tensions within him until he felt nothing less than jelly.

“What are you doing here?”

A snicker out of her proved she didn’t take that as much offence.

“Is it so hard to believe I just wanted to visit?”

“At this time of night?”

“Not like it’s any trouble, or the first time.”

“Last time, it was an emergency. I told you not to take cabs this late.”

“Tim, I’m fine. I just wanted to stay over.”

“And you’re welcome to, but you should have called. I’d have picked you up.”

Even if she called at five am asking him to take her out of town to pick up some paint or whatever just five minutes after his head would have hit a pillow, he’d do just that. She knew that right?

“You want me to come here less often?”

“No.” He leaned back on his chair, tipped his head up so he was seeing her face so gracefully smiling down at him. Immediately the sting on his eyelids that have long pained him since midnight have gone out the window. And with a smile, all else was as soft as the cloud at the end of some metaphorical window. “Stay. But come over when it’s still early.”

“Fine,” Y/N said. “I will.”

As if she heard his wishes for her to never take her hand off his shoulder, she listened. And she just stood there, silently at his side watching him go on about things she didn’t even understand. Or perhaps he wasn’t giving her enough credit. Either way, it was boring as hell.

Her finger tightened.

“What are you doing?”

“Just…” he shrugged. “You know. Work. You wouldn’t be wanna hear about any of this.”

“You’re right. I don’t.”

Just as he began to internally whine when she finally let go of her hold, to say he was soothed enough to close his eyes and just feel how wonderful her fingers felt, tangling themselves into the mess of his hair and drawing it to the back of his head, he didn’t want to be so obvious with his shivers, which were definitely there.

“But whatever that is,” she continued. “I promise you it’s nothing worth losing hours of sleep over.”

“I know I should listen to you more often, but trust me, I really have to get this done.”

“Really” she sneered. “Tonight, tonight?”

“Three hours ago, in fact.”

Telling her all this would be as useless as outrightly pleading that she leave him alone, which he definitely won't do, and she definitely won't listen to.

“Are you just gonna stand there and watch me work?”

“If it puts any pressure on you to just leave it and come to bed, then yes. I will.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Want me to get a chair?”

“Don’t. Stand there. I dare you.”

“Watch me.”

Another run of her fingers through his hair and already he lost his streak of thought.

And it would have been all too painful if he went on to fight back that sneer, which he hadn’t realized had been there at all until he had to. Leaning towards his screen, fingers on the keys, he tried, with all his might, to just get this all done. Then he can stop dragging her along this nocturnal hell she’d come to adapt from him.

He kept working, and for a few minutes, he actually did get lost in it, even when he felt the back of his head being toyed around with her tying little braids over his neck, his bangs, the strands of hair that had grown too long. Hand over his mouth, he just glanced up through his side eye, and with her too engrossed on the braids she didn’t see him stop tapping altogether and watch her move.

Something he hadn’t expected, his whole body didn’t expect, or at all foresee even with the kind of intimacy he was used to, was when her hands that touched his neck, first with her measly tips of her fingers and eventually with her hands, had trailed down his broad shoulders, squeezing at the muscle and bone.

And her gentleness, the same that catered to wounds and held him like a faint, thin blanket would fall onto his skin, every hair on him raised, every part of him stiffened.

Every part of him stiffened. Not one left out.

She just went on. And on and on and on. Fingers down the sides of his neck, leaving faint white trails and nail marks down his shoulders and all the way back up his ears. His breath caught so short, every muscle in him so tense at the same time so awfully relaxed he might as well have fallen to the ground.

The thought of work didn’t dare cross his mind for a second after that. So what if he loses half a million tomorrow?

Those same hands, now squeezing the sides of his arms, were reeling him in like a caught salmon. Nothing else would have drawn him in so much, not even the devil himself. His fingers left the keyboard.

And just as he leaned back enough to startle her, Tim grabbed her wrists, pulled them across his neck so she was embracing him. Her stomach against the back of his head, and her face, like a bright yellow star smiling down at him from miles above, was looking directly below. Her smile was incomparable, even more so when she drew her hair back and the light allowed him more of her he never would have forgotten about anyway.

And he smiled back, made sure she couldn’t draw her arms away, then when she dipped down, his mouth met her cheek. She wasn’t bothered at the slightest. It only made the stretch on her cheeks from her smile more apparent.

Her hair, the sweet strands of daisies and lemon, pressed up against his skin as she leaned down, her face almost all the way down his shoulder. He held onto her arm as if to urge her to stay, to go further against him, to stand even closer so he could have even more of her than he already has, than he possibly can.

Tim stuck his nose against her scalp, just beside her ear, and breathed in. It tickled her enough to flinch, but not enough to let go of his tight hold.

It was mistake enough for him to open his eyes and repress all the other senses he had, the senses that mattered if he wanted to have her even more, he had to look onto the screen that had gone black, where it was no more than a dark mirror, one that stared back at him so painfully haunting.

He stared at her, holding him so intimately close, face stuck to his cheek and her lips leaving trails of her gentleness against his flushed skin. He stared at himself, and how he could just allow her to do all that and more, and not move so much as a finger, how he’d let her do anything to him, hurt him even, so long as she wanted him to.

How cruel she was, and how cruel he was to himself, to let her kiss and hold him like this, when they were supposed to be just friends, best friends, knowing how he felt, knowing how she affects him. How cruel of this world, and how he let those cruelties allow to consume him too much, rid him of any rational thought that when he wakes up that very morning and have to face the world again, she might end up choosing one of his brothers. How cruel it all was, for the world to let his hopes up, and for him to just let it. Allowing himself, and all others, to haul him straight to an inevitable world of hurt, and how for a few minutes of consuming bliss, having her so close to him that he could smell her hair and taste her skin, he was heading straight for that hurt himself.

Best friends don’t have boundaries, or lack of there is, like theirs. Which made all this even more painful. Best friends don’t hug and kiss and squeeze each other’s shoulders the way she just did. He should push her away, go back to work, let her sleep on his bed while he works away the night, and all this would be gone.

But all he did, regretfully, was close his eyes, eased into her like she were a bed of daisies and tulips and lilies, flowers without thorns to possibly stab him. Her lips, so gentle and soft, pressed themselves against the tip of his forehead and he felt her smile.

He kissed her wrist. Maybe it was a step too close, but that didn’t matter. He didn’t care. He’d get lost in her and tomorrow he’ll never find a way out of it, out of all this mess, but he’d have brought it to himself. For these slow-moving minutes, it might not even be worth it. But he could convince himself that it was.

“Go to bed,” he whispered, far too intimately against her ear. He felt her stiffen. Did he have to whisper? No. Was it intentional? Perhaps.

He got a giggle out of her, a tug on his hair, and even more squeezes on the spaces between his shoulder and neck. This was getting way too touchy. Even for them. She hasn’t touched him like this in years.

And still, he allowed her to.

“Don’t stay up too late.”

“I won't.”

The way her arms slid off him, even that felt so wonderful, against the clothes on his chest and the skin that seeped out his collar. His hands were reluctant to let her go, even to his own subconscious, and he only knew because the air never felt colder than when she’d fully withdrawn and no longer could he feel the heat of her chest pressed against his back.

He didn’t look up from his screen, but the work had long passed his head. He stared at it, everything this blank that couldn’t even be drawn, and let the silence overtake all thought.

You:

It was greatly inappropriate in just about every way imaginable.

Was it wrong to hold him like that, when not even you could talk yourself out of your own tempting voice and letting your nails dig into his shoulder, and lean in so your lips would reach his skin? Was it so over the line, a line you drew yourself that had long been vulnerable to a few slip ups?

Perhaps it was. Perhaps you were wrong that he might still want you the way you wanted him right then. Perhaps he did just want to stay friends, forever, and what you did might have been the end of all that. Start another fight, ignore each other for another few weeks.

You won't allow that. Not after your last fight, when you finally had it in you to tell him about Jason and it turns out, he already knew, the days and weeks of silence that followed after might have been the hardest to climb out of. For both of you.

But as it always has, it all fell right back into place. This place. This comfort not even the fuzz of a carpet laid in front of a nipping fireplace could give you. This place in his bed, and how you could just lay on it without a single shift in the air. How easily you just took off your prosthetic and showed him the worst parts of you, the worst parts you thought of yourself, and how he didn’t see them as the worst at all.

You truly did not deserve this kind of forgiveness, this kind of place with him, when you’ve had your share of mistakes just as much as he did. That silence that followed after reassured you that you cannot, even if you desperately tried to, live without Tim.

You laid on his bed, stripped to the thinnest clothing you had on and settled under the sheets. It wasn’t long before you heard him shut off his laptop, push back his seat. And with you facing away to the other side of the bed, you saw the lights turn off, then he got into bed beside you.

Then your eyes were on the ceiling, for you just couldn’t have the strength to face him, not when he was that close, and not when you, of all times, had doubts to go through with what you truly wanted. And what you wanted was him. After all that chaos, all that betrayal and hurt, was it right to give this one last try?

Tim was looking up at the ceiling as well, hands over his stomach. He was just as stiff as you.

But as easy as it was to forgive each other, it all molded back into this state of rightness, like this was exactly how things were supposed to be. Nothing to change. Nothing was supposed to change.

“Tim?”

“Yeah?”

His voice, even as a whisper, sounded a lot clearer with the lights off somehow. All you could see was the ceiling. You couldn’t even see his face.

“I’m sorry about everything…”

Some kind of click, but not even that could be heard. You just felt it. Somewhere. There was something about the air that was this sudden gust against your skin, up your face to let you know, much like a slap would remind you, of where you were.

“I’m sorry about… everything else...” he said.

Why wasn’t he turning over his stomach, falling asleep just as soon as his head hit the pillow just like he always does? Why was he still talking? Why was he still wide awake?

“You should sleep.”

“I’m not tired.”

That was, in all honesty, the first time you’ve ever heard him say that and sound like he genuinely meant it.

“I’m not, either,” you said. “What do you wanna talk about?”

“Maybe we should at least try to sleep.”

“That’s big of you to tell me that.”

“You’re the one who came all the way here,” he scowled.

“Fine, then if you don’t want me around-“

“Dude, come on

The snort that came out of your nose was not pretty at all, but neither was his own laugh that followed, one made even more resonant and mesmerizing to listen to with the darkness and the silence and how the only thing you could feel was how your toes were touching under the sheets.

That pulled you on your side, facing away from the boring ceiling and at the beauty that was Tim, how at the same time, he turned to face you as well. Hands tucked under your head, and his grabbing hold of the sheets, you were looking at him too obviously engrossed with that mistiness of how undeniably in love you were with him, even without so much as a touch out of your finger. You let your eyes do the touching. And with the way he looked back at you, you’d never seen a sight as perfect as his eyes. Even without much light, even with the details barely seen. You just knew he looked beautiful.

“So now you want me to come over at night and bug you at the expense of the company.”

“The company can afford the expenses,” he shrugged.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Kind of unfair how I’m the only one to visit.”

“Your studio doesn’t exactly scream office workplace environment.”

You shoved his shoulder, right where the healing bullet wound was, and you heard him hiss. “Ass.”

“You're an ass.”

His laughter again. It was so easy to fall into and keep your silence just so you’d hear more of it each time.

He was closer to you. Somehow. Between his exchanges and the distraction of his own voice, he’d inched himself even closer. Near enough now that you could see his lips and how his breath tasted.

You just kept smiling, like it just couldn’t wear off even if you tried, and slowly you reached for the collar of his shirt, thin against his hot skin. And with that you found him staring down at your hand, watching you do just that.

“I’ll go to your place,” he sighed. “Take the work home. I’m sure they won't miss me.”

“Tim, I was kidding.”

“I’m not.”

You laughed and pushed your face against the pillow, which grazed his nose against your ear.

“Would you like that?”

“Hmm?”

A strand of your hair had fallen over your cheek. He brushed it back before you even had time to notice it was there.

“Me? Coming over to your place a lot to work?”

Your lips were dry. Your fists were not. You shouldn’t be nearly as relaxed as you are right then.

“Of course…”

“No, I mean…”

He moved, so much closer to you, then his hand was on your arm. The one right above your waist.

“I mean everyday… or at least, a lot of the time.”

His thumb, brushing over your skin. You never knew a sensation could be so addicting.

And your voice, snatched out of your throat. You never knew such a thing could happen after just a sentence.

“All those nights at the office, when I should have spent all that time with you, or even just answer your calls…”

Your own hand was against his chest now. It wasn’t pushing him away. It was just there, touching him. And you wouldn’t let it slip.

“None of it was worth it…” Again, his fingers brushed back your hair, but even after he did, he went on to hover them over your cheek. “And I was stupid enough to choose something else. But I should have chosen you. Always. Just like you’ve always chosen me.”

You swallowed and hoped it worked for the tears as well. “Tim, that was a long time ago-“

“I’ve never regretted anything more…”

Everything had stopped, even your own breath. You never thought so much could be caught at your through, especially all coherent thought. This cycle of a life, how it had all boiled down to one mistake. Finally, it came to a full circle.

“Are you okay with that?”

To have you all day? The way it was supposed to years ago? So I never would have had to lose you in the first place?

With the whole of my heart, definitely.

“I’d like that…” you said. “Very much.”

You didn’t even care if he felt you cry, with his hand over your face. This sense of security that wasn’t false in the least, this curtain you can always hide behind and fall back to when the world constantly would pull you down. It was his touch, like that very moment, that held you so gently not even a kiss from the kindest butterfly, trusting you with its fragility as it lands onto your skin could possibly compare.

You love him.

You cupped his face, just as his other arm snaked below your head so he was pulling you so deathly close. His strong arms now around you, encasing you in him, the way you always sought out to be held. Only with him did it feel so right. To move closer, to have your limbs tangled, to exchange breaths and look into each other’s eyes and see everything there was about him.

It took too long, possibly because all this had come too much to process, even with it so long overdue.

The harps that played beyond the sky and resonated only to you and your ears alone, it was all the more apparent, all the more did the songs of angels sing to every sense they could possibly pick up. It took too long, just staring into each other’s eyes in such darkness when you weren’t supposed to see anything at all, when your lips met.

The softness. The crashing waves. The sweet, serenity of silk. And the blow of the strongest gust of wind. It was all that at once.

Tim:

This was everything his dreams have come to remember and continue to remind him every time he allows himself to sleep. Her lips, her soft, perfect lips. None of what he said was a lie. None of it was worth losing this. Losing her.

Everything, the whole room, the ceiling, the sky outside his window, the floor under the bedframe, the winds even with the still air. Everything. Everything moved. Everything was spinning. Everything was revolving around them. Everything moved but time, the only one that wasn’t frantic enough to keep moving, perhaps even move faster. He could hear the seconds tick away but none of that even made it past his ear drums.

Finally. Finally.

One hand on her face, the other on her waist, Tim pulled her even closer so he’d feel her heart beat, the only thing he wanted to listen to from then on. Everything was spinning but he couldn’t care less if it was a quake in the fault lines. He was there. She was there.

Their lips moved like two petals of a single flower, moving to the wind’s blow and so delicately touching, not enough to hurt but enough to show the sheer amount of want that had long been held off.

Like everything, the whole world, no matter how much his mistakes had sought out to destroy it, to destroy everything he’s ever wanted, it was all kind enough to forgive him, to forgive both of them. Even with a world so seemingly irreparable, they were back in each other’s arms, in a hold tighter than ever before. And he wasn’t about to let go for as long he was strong enough to keep holding on.

He gently pulled away, just to look at her in the eye.

Because maybe, this was all just for the moment. Maybe this was just the world’s way of letting him know what he’ll ultimately lose and miss out on. Maybe, all this was just to last for the night, and nothing more.

But that look in her eye was unmistakable. So was the way she tugged on his hair. I love you. I want you. I’m yours. That’s what she was telling him. And it was everything he ever wanted to hear.

He kissed her again and rolled her to her back, lips pressing harder, fingers digging deeper.

This. He had her. She’d chosen him. Always and always and always. She chose him.

That spinning went on, everything around them, until the world was a blur not one of them could care less about. Everything his eyes set out to see that wasn’t her body, he ignored. The sound of her breathing and whispering against his ear, the feel of her hands roaming all over his chest. Nothing else but her and her alone. He pulled his shirt off, just as her teeth dug deep into his collarbone. Her. Her. Her.

All her clothes were on the floor. Her breathing turned to moans, which turned to screams when his hand reached down between her legs and drew the sounds out of her. Then it was his own sounds, sounds he never even heard out of himself until right then, at the sharp pain just as he was inside her. It was all too slow, rolling his hips in this pace he wanted to go faster and faster but even then, he took his time.

You:

In every way was it the most beautiful thing to have. To be one with him. You were one. You were beautiful. You were this infinite, untouchable being.

His teeth on your neck, biting down just to hold himself up from his own thrusts. Euphoric. Lights that flickered like strings and series. Then you tried to repress all that by kissing him. It only did so much.

You were lost, so deep into corners of rooms and halls not even the sharpest eye could find you in. This galaxy you could swim into, without a tie to confine you or a cage to hold you back. Your deepest, most carnal desires all bundled into this moment of want and eventual, satisfying end, which could only be such an end if you wanted it to be. And you didn’t want it to end. Even as you screamed his name like nothing could ever hear you. Everything in you tightened. Everything letting go of what so long was held back. All the while, your arms were around him, lips against his. He let go as well. Inside you.

Until the sun came to greet you, that night went on like it was otherwise endless. That night didn’t end the moment it was day. It ended when you say it ended.

A beginning and an ending, and only good things, as you hoped, would come after it.

And in between those wonderful sessions of love, you asked him to be yours. Forever. And a promise to no longer let go.

Lucky for you, he said yes.

Epilogue

Tim:

“Yeah. We can get rid of the couch. No one sits there anyway. Yes, everything goes on that side of the room.”

There were three men handling the couch. The other two were busy cleaning what used to be a cement wall and was now a glass sliding door that parted two rooms. The new tiles had just been set up, and all that was needed was furniture. Which wasn’t even much.

It was hard enough trying to ward her off with the dumbest excuses he could think of, but it wouldn’t have lasted longer than a week. Today, she comes over, with it being barely presentable. But he was too excited to hold it off even longer.

Y/N stepped into his office and almost broke the knob off after seeing the unfinished construction site of what used to be just his office.

‘What’s going on?’ She mouthed at him. He waved her to come over, and after carefully making her way across the dusty tiles, she kissed the corner of his mouth.

“You’re looking good,” he smiled.

“What’s all this?”

“Something that was supposed to be all done by today, but with the wiring problem, this is all the surprise will have to suffice.”

“Surprise?”

“Come on.”

Hand on her back, he led her to the glass door and stepped into the newly renovated room, one so bare and so empty, without a desk or a love seat in sight, she marveled all the way up to the ceiling.

“This,” he said. “Is your new studio.”

He should have pulled out his phone at the way her jaw dropped.

“My what?”

“I know what I said about working over at your place.” He held her waist, pulled her close enough so she wouldn’t shake. “But I wanted to do something for you. We can go both ways. Some days we work here and some, we go over to your house.”

“Tim, this is twice the size of my apartment.”

She probably hadn’t listened to a word he said, with her still stuck up on how high the ceiling was.

“Check out the best part.”

From his pocket, he pulled out a small remote.

What was just a wall, which led to the outside, parted into two, separate doors, and it opened into a window looking down from so immensely high up the city, with the cars below the size of matchboxes and people of ants.

“I think I just pissed myself.”

Tim laughed, again, then pulled her waist once more so she could only look at his eyes.

“I just want to be around you. Every day. I’m not letting you out of my sight anymore.”

“You’re sexy when you show off how rich you are.”

“If you said that any sooner, I’d have bought you a whole island.”

Arms encasing him close, she kissed him so perfectly like those very same petals that would have wilted without their eternal companion.

“Now come on,” she pulled away too soon and he mewled. “You promised me a ride.”

All the way to the elevator, and even within, she never loosened her hold on his hand. And she led him up the rooftop like it was her who owned the place. And that smile was palpable, the one that beamed when he watched her pull him to wherever she wanted to take him. As they opened the doors up the rooftop, already the helicopter’s propellers were whirring. She’d call them before she arrived, of course. She was too excited to waste any more time.

To reach such a high, if it were in any way something he could touch, it was her many kisses, her soft touches, her smiles and her laughs and the little details he’d never miss.

Then they soared, to such heights unexplainable.

-----

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST | RED | BLUE

-----

MAIN TAGLIST:

@idkmanicantenglish, @wunderstell, @birdy-bat-writes, @multifandomgirl-us, @icequeen208, @offendedfishnoises, @arkhamtoddler, @elsenthal, @lucy-roo, @loxbbg, @reclusive-chicken-nugget, @l-inkage, @http-cherries, @river9noble@zphilophobiaz, @annoylinglyaries, @knightfall05x, @hyp-oh-critical, @satan-s-ass, @1-800-starmora, @flowersgirl02, @nahcho, @thatonecroc, @trixie-bb, @daddyissuesmademe, jasonsbitch, @shadowsndaisies @jaybirdbooty @writing2sirvive

SERIES TAGLIST:

@spaceservicestation, @thedeadlythoughts, @vanessafabricius, @pinkforest05

#tim drake #tim drake x reader #tim drake smut #dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #jason todd #jason todd x reader #batboys #batboys x reader #batfam #batfamily #3 birds 1 stone #3 birds 1 stone series #batarella #batarella series

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zimms · 3 years

Note

do you know that reddit post that's like "i'm in quarantine with my roommate (we're both dudes) and we've been cuddling together a lot. am i gay?" because at least to me it has big olliewicks vibes

hey dude! i’m sorry this is so late, but hopefully you’ll like it!

Ollie groggily awakens to the feeling of two strong arms wrapped around his stomach, holding him close and grounding him. He lets out a sigh of contentment before squeezing his eyes shut and burrowing his head slightly further into the tangle of bodies, pursuing the warm heat of the other person. The body beneath him shifts slightly, emitting a slight groan and disturbing Ollie’s brief peace. That’s when he realises three things.

They’re in the middle of a pandemic.

His only human contact in the past two months, other than cashiers at their local grocery store, has been Wicky.

The person beneath him is definitely Wicky. Ollie can feel it in every plane, every angle, every curve of the body he’s laying on top of. It’s in the way that Wicky’s breathing slightly stutters after every inhale. He knows it’s Wicky because every inch of Wicky’s body is unique and Ollie’s memorised all of them. So yeah, definitely Wicky.

Ollie takes a moment to just breathe and catalogue the situation. He cracks an eye open and he immediately heaves a sigh of relief; they’re both wearing clothes, which means that they didn’t do anything that either of them might regret. Well, or at least, nothing that Ollie might regret; he can’t speak for whether or not Wicky might regret even cuddling him, let alone anything else.

He cranes his neck slightly to catch sight of the TV, where the Netflix Are you still watching? screen stares back at him. Oh yeah, they’d been watching Tiger King together on the couch before they’d fallen asleep on top of each other.

Ollie braces his hands on either side of Wicky and slowly rolls off of his best friend, careful not to land on the squeaky couch spring and wake him up. He slides slowly to the floor and places his head in his hands.

Fuck.

He squeezes his eyes shut and groans as quietly as he can into his palms. He’s been doing so well at tamping down his crush on Wicky up until now, but something inside of Ollie has ignited after spending the night in such close proximity to him. He’s not sure if he’ll be able to pretend when Wicky wakes up that he didn’t savour every moment that his skin was pressed against Wicky’s, that he doesn’t know exactly what Wicky looks like when he’s sound asleep, that he hasn’t memorised the way their chests rose and fell against each other in perfect synchrony.

Ollie shakes his head before pushing himself to his feet and padding into the kitchen to get breakfast. That’s enough thinking for today.

----

Ollie shifts his weight from side to side as he leans outside of George’s office and listens to the sound of chairs scraping behind the door. Thank fuck, they’re almost done; he’s been leaning against this wall for twenty goddamn minutes and his feet are aching. He straightens up as the door swings open and he plasters a grin on his face; no matter how annoying a long wait is, scowling probably isn’t the best first impression when you’re meeting your new employer.

However, Ollie’s grin disintegrates when he sees the guy that comes out of the office and instead his mouth drops open.

Holy fuck.

Ollie unashamedly stares at the guy as he ambles down the corridor. God, every inch of him is pure perfection. From cheekbones that could cut glass, to wide brown eyes that seem to reflect and emit light until the whole corridor illuminates with this guy’s presence. From the lopsided grin that plays across his face, to the biceps that are way too big for the sleeves of his Falcs t-shirt. Ollie lets his eye’s slide to the guy’s ass; yeah, that’s definitely a hockey player.

He’s stunning.

And, the little voice in the back of Ollie’s mind pipes up, a teammate.

Ollie slumps down the wall again and groans. He’s so fucked.

----

Ollie had hoped that he’d be able to avoid all thoughts of his crush on Wicky for a while, well, preferably forever. He’s always been so careful to never let their cellies on the ice go too far, never letting Wicky kiss him on the helmet like he does every other player, never letting their hugs last for too long, never actively seeking out physical affection from him other than quick bro hugs and a slap on the back.

The universe has other plans for him apparently.

That one night of couch cuddling seems to have opened the floodgates, because all of a sudden Ollie’s inundated by a tidal wave of physical affection from Wicky and it’s just becoming too difficult. Too difficult to ignore the onslaught of butterflies in his stomach when their hands brush slightly when they’re reaching for the salt at the dinner table. Too difficult not to stare at him when they’re watching a movie next to each other on the couch and he shifts over slightly so that their legs are touching. Too difficult to even begin to process and cope with the fact that Wicky has started coming into Ollie’s room to fucking cuddle with him. It’s too difficult because Ollie is finally allowing himself to hope and he doesn’t even fucking know if Pacer, Wicky, Pace, is anything other than straight.

It’s just too goddamn difficult to be around his best friend.

Ollie smiles down at where Pacer has tucked himself underneath his right arm, eyes softly shut and a peaceful smile playing across his face, and he feels his heart breaking. If he wants to preserve their friendship beyond this quarantine in any way shape or form, he needs to stop indulging himself like this. What if Pacer’s angry because Ollie’s taken advantage of him because Ollie’s using this- this thing between them to selfishly fulfill his own wants? What if Pacer’s only comfortable doing this because he thinks Ollie’s straight? What if-

Ollie squeezes his eyes shut and curls his hand into the sleeve of Pacer’s shirt, forcing that line of thought to come screeching to a halt before it becomes a trainwreck. He needs to stop thinking like that; Pacer’s not gonna abandon him after three years of friendship and being lineys because of some no homo, bro bullshit. Or at least, Ollie hopes he wouldn’t. Pacer’s not that kind of person.

(Aww, fuck. He also needs to stop referring to him as Pacer in his head. He needs to distance himself from Wicky somehow, and he’s definitely not going to pull away from him physically, especially as they’re each the other’s only source of human contact for the next month or nine, so emotional distancing will have to do.)

He heaves a sigh and lets himself slump against the headboard, careful to make sure that Wicky’s head doesn’t fall too quickly from where it’s leant against Ollie’s shoulder. Wicky stirs at the sudden movement and his eyes slowly open, a sleepy beam playing across his face and chestnut eyes staring intently at Ollie like he’s the moon gazing upon the sun.

Ollie muffles a groan. He just doesn’t know what to think anymore.

----

The second that Ollie and Pacer Wicks step onto the ice together for the first time it feels electric. They complement each other in every way; Pacer skates slightly faster than Ollie does, whilst Ollie has a slightly more accurate pass that finds Pacer every single time. It’s like they were made for each other.

It’s fantastic.

(It’s torturous.)

Ollie finds himself spending even more time with Wicky than he originally planned for, and things just keep going from good to great.

(They go from bad to worse)

They have the same taste in films to the extent that they now have a monthly The Princess Bride rewatch. They’re both cat people and it’s slipped into their pre-game routine to go for a walk together, looking for the neighbourhood cats and calling pspspspsp to them in the hopes that they’ll come running and grant them good luck before the game. They’ve won every game that they’ve stroked a cat before, so Ollie isn’t really inclined to let go of the superstition, and, judging by the way Wicky grins at the little fuzzballs, Wicky is equally reluctant to stop their pre-game walks. The best thing they have in common is that both of their leases are up at the end of this month; who’s Ollie to pass up the opportunity to live with the guy that’s rapidly becoming the most important person in his life?

(Ollie’s an absolute fool. Living with Wicky is going to kill him very slowly and definitely isn’t the way to rid himself of a crush that’s quickly morphing into something even more serious.

Ollie is, once again, fucked.)

----

Ollie tries to pull away slowly rather than withdrawing all physical affection at once. It’s painful, but if it keeps Wicky from hating him, Ollie will gladly do it. Heck, if it was to protect Wicky, Ollie would do anything.

He starts slowly. He shifts over a bit on the couch, leaving a deliberate gap between them on the couch, so that no wandering limbs can reach out for each other. He makes sure to hold out the condiments at dinner, so that there’s no way for either of them to find an excuse for their fingers to touch, no matter how much Ollie hungers for it. He starts spending more time in his room, doing his online college courses there, rather than in the living room like he usually does. He goes to bed earlier, hoping, wishing, praying that Wicks doesn’t try to join him for a cuddle.

(Ollie ignores the little voice in the back of his mind that’s screaming to feel the press of Wicky’s warm body against his again. He ignores the wounded glances that he receives from Wicky every time he avoids eye contact. He ignores the aching pangs inside of his chest that appear whenever he spends too long gazing at Ollie.)

----

Moving in together is the best idea and the worst idea that Ollie’s ever gone along with.

Pros: He gets to spend every day with Wicky.

Cons: Spending every day with Wicky might actually kill him soon. RIP Oliver O’Meara. Cause of Death: Walking into the kitchen and seeing Wicky topless and sleep rumpled, muscles rippling as he reaches for the coffee.

Pros: He knows Wicky almost as well as he knows himself.

Cons: He now knows that Wicky is hung up on someone after one particularly drunken ramble.

(Fuck.)

----

It’s a week after the first cuddling incident that Wicky pulls open the door to Ollie’s room and marches in, eyebrows lowered and eyebags darker than ever. Ollie immediately slams the lid of his laptop shut, straightening up from where he’s slumped against the headboard of his bed. He frowns. ��What’s up, Wicky?”

Wicky freezes on the other side of the room. “What’s up?” he says, voice cracking and strangled. Yikes, this must be worse than Ollie thought it was. “You’re asking me what’s up?” He drops onto the bed, like a stone sinking to the bottom of a river. “You’re the one that’s disappeared recently.” He pushes the heels of hands into his eyes. “We used to do everything together and now whenever I look for you, you’re in here.” He tears his hands away from his face, to gesture frantically around the room. Wicky appears to be manic; his hair’s all ruffled and there’s this slightly crazed look in his eyes. “What did I do, Ol?”

Ollie scrambles out of bed to come and sit next to Wicky. He stretches out a hand to comfort Wicky, but withdraws it as he fumbles for what to do or say. “You didn’t do anything, Pace,” he says softly, resisting the urge to reach out and swipe away the tears that are trickling intermittently down his cheeks. “It’s me that’s the problem.”

Wicky raises an eyebrow at him, stare stern in spite of the crying. “Really? So you’re completely fine with me cuddling you? And definitely didn’t start shutting down any of my attempts to spend time with you?” Ollie flinches and Wicky scoffs. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“I-” Ollie trails off, eyes wandering until his gaze meets Wicky’s. The look in Wicky’s eyes isn’t scornful, no matter how much it deserves to be, instead his eyes are calm and fathomless like the earth after a long-anticipated rain. “I didn’t want to hurt you, though I clearly failed in that respect. I’m just so worried that you’re going to think less of me, especially once I tell you that-” Ollie clamps his mouth shut, as words he’s barely even thought to himself start to tumble out into the open.

“Tell me that..?” If Ollie didn’t know any better, he’d think that there was a trace of hope in Wicky’s voice. “C’mon, Ol, I’m not gonna leave you, no matter what you say.”

Ollie rubs his hand across his eyelids before stuttering out, “I’m in love with you.” Shit, that is not what he meant to say. “Fuck, I mean, I like you. Romantically.” He hides his face in his hands. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, so I figured going cold turkey for a couple of days might do me some good.” He pulls his hands from his face suddenly and lets them drop to his knees. “Is that what you wanted to hear? That I like you? That I might be, fuck it, I am in love with you?”

The silence in the room answers that question for him and Ollie feels a tear roll down his face and a gutteral sob tear its way from his throat.

“Fuck, Ol,” Pacer says, scrubbing a weary hand across his face, and that’s when Ollie knows that it’s all over, that he’s going to be rejected by the most important person in his life. “That’s definitely not what I was expecting, but it’s not unwelcome by any means.”

It’s not?

Ollie suppresses a sniffle as he voices this sentiment aloud.

Pacer laughs, honest to God, laughs. “It’s actually very welcome, considering the fact that I’ve been pining for you since long before you got traded to Providence.”

He’s what-?

“I-” Ollie stumbles over the words, cheeks heating, “but you’re straight? And you’re hung up on someone?”

Pacer swipes a thumb across Ollie’s cheek, tracing the trail of his blush. “Ol, when did I ever say I was straight?” he asks, his gaze intently focused on Ollie. “Anyway, it’s always been you.” He leans in closer, breathing out one final word before sealing their lips together. “Always.”

#purple-is-great #my writing #ollie and wicks #olliewicks #omgcp

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esmealux · 3 years

Note

I'll bite. 13 and 35 look like they might be fun together. 😈

Thank you so much for this fun prompt, Shelly ❤ The opportunities seemed endless, but in the end I went with this. I hope you like it.

Once again, I screwed up at brevity, so this is 1.9K (:

13. Someone does something stupid + 35. 'You wanna bet?' 'Care to wager?'

Never make a bet with the Devil.

A deal, if you must. But do not bet against him.

Not because he’ll take your soul or anything; he won’t even necessarily take your money.

But because he can’t handle it. He can’t. He’ll stop at nothing to win, and when he doesn’t—when he can’t shoot down a bottle of vodka with a slingshot from 400 feet away, or blow a soap bubble with his nose, or fly to Sweden and back in under thirty minutes (the latter he did do, but a drug test showed he’d taken EPO)—he’ll walk around in a pathetic cloud of self-pity, sulking and pouting to an unbearable degree for days on end.

So if you care about the Devil, don’t bet with him. It’s for his own good.

It really is.

And yet-

Chloe picks up the dirty plates from the coffee table as gunshots fire around her. It makes her a little uneasy, how real it sounds through their newly installed surround sound system. One so expensive she doesn’t even want to know.

Their just as overpriced (and unnecessarily big) TV is bathing Lucifer in white-blue light as he stares at the screen intently. He did want to watch the movie with her, but she’s not much of a Weaponizer fan, and she’d like to clean up before she snuggles up next to him on the couch and inevitably falls asleep. As she’s gathered all the dishes in her arms, however, she can’t help but pause and glance at the film for just a second.

‘Yeah, like that could actually happen,’ she snorts, watching the car jump across a considerable gap in a bridge, flip mid-air, and land on all four wheels on the other side. ‘I mean, no one’s ever done that.’

As soon as the words leave her mouth Chloe knows she’s made a mistake.

Lucifer pauses the movie—because God forbid he misses five seconds of a film he’s watched thirty times—before he looks up at her with a lifted eyebrow and a devilish grin.

‘Is that a challenge, Detective?’

Chloe glares at him, her jaw clenching. ‘It’s not possible,’ she states firmly, which is even worse, because now he can only reply with-

‘Care to wager?’

Chloe wants to kick herself.

‘There’s no way in Hell you’re doing that,’ she tells him, nodding towards the paused screen before she heads for the kitchen to start the dishwasher.

‘Why? Because my worried girlfriend won’t let me?’ he calls after her. ‘I’m invulnerable, remember?’

Chloe refills her wine glass, generously, and returns to the living room.

‘No,’ she objects, careful not to spill Pinot Noir on the couch as she settles against Lucifer’s warm, silk-clad side. ‘I just know you’ll never forgive yourself when your beloved Corvette rams into a cliff.’

Lucifer gasps and scoffs. ‘As if I’d ever risk such a sweet beauty like that!’ He plucks the glass out of her hand and takes a sip. ‘And even if I did, she would not, because I would succeed, first try.’

‘First try? Really?’

Chloe grabs the remote and replays the last fifteen seconds. Looking at it a second time, it’s even more ridiculous. The background is so obviously a green screen it’s not even funny, the flip is clearly made using some sort of outdated CGI, and they haven’t even bothered making it look like there’s a real person in the car. Also—Chloe doesn’t remember much from school, but she’s pretty sure the entire stunt defies physics as the car leaps, practically flies over the 150 feet gap, all the while rotating 360 degrees sideways.

‘Maybe third,’ Lucifer admits.

Chloe shakes her head and sighs.

‘I can do it, Detective.’ He looks at her like it’s a threat. ‘And I will.’

Oh, he will definitely try. The determination in his eyes leave no doubt about that. But he can’t possibly copy that stunt with an actual car and an actual gap. There’s just no way. And she shouldn’t spur him on. She really shouldn’t. But the idiot’s gotta learn at some point, and if she’s gonna have to deal with his childish disappointment (and she will), she might as well get something out of it.

‘Fine,’ she shrugs. ‘What are we betting?’

He grins at her, brown eyes twinkling with excitement.

‘If—nay, when I win,’ he answers promptly, and Chloe rolls her eyes, ‘I’ll finally get that thing I’ve always wanted.’

Chloe stares at him, comepletely clueless. If his tone and stupid smirk are anything to go by, it’s not a pet shark he’s talking about.

‘One... re-enactment for another,’ he clarifies slowly, his dark gaze gliding over her body before his eyes flicker to the glass doors leading to their terrace—and their outdoor hot tub.

Chloe fights the urge to roll her eyes again.

‘Okay,’ she agrees, internally reminding herself it doesn’t really matter. She gives him a cocky smile. ‘And when I win?’

Lucifer chuckles as if he finds her adorably naïve. Asshat. Still, he says, ‘You’ll get anything you desire.’

Chloe thinks. There’s not much she desires he wouldn’t give her anyway. She could have him do paperwork for a month, but he’d just mess it up, and she’d have to listen to his complaints about ‘torturous boredom’ and ‘purgatory’. She could also go for something funnier, like have him wear t-shirt and sweats to work for a week. But that would just be cruel, wouldn’t it?

‘I don’t know,’ she tells him, but the words are barely out of her mouth before Trixie’s enthusiastic voice sounds behind them.

‘I might have an idea!’

Lucifer sighs and gives Chloe an unimpressed look before he shifts slightly in his seat to look at her daughter.

‘Alright, but only because your mum lacks creativity like a sober Faulkner.’

Trixie walks around the couch and comes to stand in front of them, a mischievous smile on her face.

‘Please don’t tell me it’s a unicorn on the cheek,’ Lucifer huffs, taking another gulp of Chloe’s wine.

‘It’s not,’ she assures him and holds out her iPad for him to see. It’s a doodle of a small, fluffy goat with pink fur. ‘I was thinking something more… permanent.’ With the hand that’s not holding her tablet, Trixie pats a spot on the left side of her upper chest.

Lucifer slowly removes the wine glass from his lips, and the sheer horror on his face makes Chloe snort with laughter.

He stares at the small, inarguably adorable drawing like it’s a personal insult, glances down at his chest with dread, and looks back to Trixie.

‘You little Devil,’ Lucifer grumbles, but there’s no trace of hostility in his voice. If anything, he sounds a little impressed. He grabs Trixie’s iPad from her outstretched hand and studies the pink kawaii buck for a second, as if he’s seriously considering saying yes to the deal.

Eventually, he sighs. ‘I’m in.’

‘Lucifer-’ Chloe immediately begins to protest. He’s not gonna win this bet, and she knows how downright intolerable he’ll be when he’ll have to get a cute, chubby animal—one that, to him, represents mockery and misconception—tattooed onto his skin. She's tired already, just thinking about all the whining she'd have to deal with.

But it’s too late. Her boyfriend and daughter shake hands, and the deal is settled.

Chloe palms her face.

‘Wait, what do you get if you actually manage to… whatever it is this time?’ Trixie asks, her small hand still clasped in Lucifer’s.

Chloe looks up at him, heat creeping up her cheeks. Their eyes meet shortly before he looks back to her daughter, visibly conflicted.

‘Eh…’

It’s not so much a word as it is a breathy, high-pitched sound, partly stuck in his throat. But it’s answer enough for Trixie.

‘Forget I asked,’ she quickly says, her face scrunched up in disgust. ‘I’ll be in my room.’

She takes her iPad back and leaves them alone on the couch.

‘So, I guess it’s tit or tat, then,’ Lucifer remarks with a chuckle, glancing down at Chloe’s chest.

She snorts and smiles, despite herself.

‘But, I mean-’ He grabs the remote and plays the scene a third time.

He must not see the same utterly absurd and almost comically impossible stunt she (still) sees, because he leans down and whispers in her ear, ‘Better start rehearsing your lines, Detective.’

Chloe shakes her head at him and snuggles closer to his body.

‘You’re lucky I like your mother,’ Lucifer mumbles as the needle pinches ink into his chest.

He’d driven off in a ‘cheap’ Porsche this morning and returned eight hours later, looking like he’d literally been fed to the wolves and with no Porsche.

‘Hey honey,’ she’d greeted him, hiding her smirk behind her cup of tea. ‘How’d it go?’

He’d answered with a grunt, blamed the Germans for making their cars too ‘praktisch’ and the Italians for not making theirs fast enough (he’d controlled for variables) and finally concluded it was all his dad’s fault because He ‘created that pesky gravity’.

Then he’d handed her an ornate, black business card and looked at her as if he’d picked his own casket.

Chloe had bit her cheek and hugged him before driving all three of them to the high-end tattoo parlour he’d requested.

‘You okay there?’ she asks him, letting him grip her hand tighter. The fact that he isn’t feeling any actual pain—‘any physical pain, Detective!’—makes his wincing all the more pathetic. Still, she feels a little bad for him.

‘No.’ He bends his neck to peer down at his chest, and pouts. ‘I’m not.’

Trixie grins beside him. ‘I think it looks cool!’

‘Of course, you do. You’re a twelve-year-old girl.’

The smile on Trix’ face turns into a smirk. ‘A twelve-year-old who girl you lost a bet to.’

Sighing deeply, Lucifer turns his head to scowl at her like she’s his annoying little sister and not the stepdaughter he’d go to the ends of the universe for.

‘It’ll be gone in a few months,’ Chloe reminds him, earning her a funny look from the tattoo artist.

The muscle in Lucifer’s jaw ticks. ‘It’s not even finished yet and I already hate it more than I ever did my bloody wings! How am I supposed to endure this… horned cotton candy for months?’

Chloe takes a deep breath. She brought this on herself. She knew she shouldn’t have made that bet with him. She knew he’d be an insufferable drama queen.

She also knows, after hours of hearing him moan, that he’s not gonna shut up about ‘deceitful special effects’ and ‘useless laws of physics’, much less the ‘vile, little creature marring his muscled chest’. Not unless she does something.

So Chloe does something.

For the second time in her life, she gets naked in—and out of a hot tub.

‘No moaning, then,’ she tells him, giving him a stern look.

Lucifer looks her up and down in awe and hunger, dark eyes lingering on the tiny red bikini he knows she’ll take off in a matter of seconds. ‘Now, there’s a promise I can’t keep.’

‘About the wager,’ she clarifies, but he’s not listening.

With a sigh, Chloe sinks into the hot, bubbling water, loosens her bikini top, and gets into character.

She is never, ever betting with the Devil again.

#deckerstar fanfiction #two part drabble game #writing #lucifer x chloe #chloe x lucifer #lucifer morningstar #chloe decker #established deckerstar #lucifer fanfiction #lucifer on netflix #some point in the future #deckerstar fluff #fluff

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charmingly-evil · 3 years

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Set after 1x04 "The Stuff that Dreams are Made of".

Olivia goes to visit Elliot after his public disclosure of love and learns just how Elliot feels towards her, in more ways than one. Elliot learns that Olivia's scars run deeper than he thought after being away for so long. Elliot sees just how much he hurt her. He's willing to do anything to make things right again and bridge that gap to get back to her.

Finding my way back to you

Olivia can’t sleep.

She has been tossing and turning all night since Elliot called her, the memory of tonight’s intervention playing in her mind. It was only three words. Three words powerful enough to knock the air from her body, paralysing her with shock and leaving her speechless.

I love you.

Twelve years. Twelve years she spent loving that man in silence, accepting that she would always love him, alone. Never did Olivia expect Elliot to ever return her feelings, let alone confess them in front of his family.

I love you.

His public confession happened hours ago. Amid her anxiety and exhaustion, Olivia is sure she must have dreamt it, the illusion of his love a result of too many early mornings starts and overnights at the office. Then she remembers the way her heart accelerated when the words slipped from his lips, like gentle wings fluttering in her chest.

I love you.

Suddenly, the blanket feels too hot and heavy, the gravity of Elliot’s confession and what it means weighing down on her chest like mountains of sand, suffocating. Olivia inhales sharply. Breathe.

Her phone buzzes, grabbing her attention. Elliot’s name flashes on her screen.

You awake?

Olivia rolls over and reaches for her phone, leaning on her shoulder. She goes to type, then hesitates. She ignored his earlier call for a reason. She isn’t sure if tonight actually happened, or a misperception on her part, exhaustion and desperation distorting her memory to make her believe what she wants to be true. Olivia isn’t sure which option she is more scared of. All she knows is that she isn’t ready to face this now.

Olivia is just about to chuck her phone aside and roll back over when it buzzes again.

Please Liv…I need to see you.

Olivia swallows, her heart thudding in her chest and drumming in her ears. She stares at the message until her phone dims black. Olivia takes a steady breath, then,

I’m here Elliot. Where do you want to meet?

Images flash through her mind. The Café house. The bottom of the steps outside her apartment building. Elliot’s car. Places where they were most intimate. Her phone buzzes again.

Can you come to mine?

Olivia knows this is a bad idea. A chill runs through her body as she slowly sits up, her gut telling her that this will only lead to pain. Yet her heart aches for him, yearning pulling her out of her bed, into her clothes and out the door.

…

His apartment is cold and damp when she steps inside. Olivia surveys the wide-open spaces and tile floors, most of which is bathed in darkness, except for the kitchen bar where his laptop sits open under the dim lights. Olivia eyes the dirty coffee mug and half eaten sandwich and knows he hasn’t slept a wink tonight.

It feels wrong to be in Elliot’s apartment in the middle of the night, alone with him. He’s invited her into his private space, and it feels too intimate. Olivia shivers and folds her arms, hugging herself protectively. She isn’t sure if she is guarding herself from the chill in the air or the chill in her heart, pulsing anxiety throughout her body.

To her surprise, Elliot speaks first. “I’m sorry Liv.”

Olivia startles, whirling around to face her former partner. She isn’t sure what to say.

“With how I responded tonight,” Elliot continues after her silence, his voice deep with emotion. “I shouldn’t have walked out on you and the family like that, after everything Kathleen did to organise this. I know you were all trying to help-”

“Elliot, it’s fine.” Olivia cuts him off, shaking her head to the side to dismiss his concerns. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it. I was worried when Kathleen spoke to me. But maybe it wasn’t my place to intervene. You were right, you didn’t ask for me to come-”

“You’re wrong Liv. I didn’t ask for you. But I…I needed to see you anyway.”

Olivia’s breath stops sort. Her eyes bloom with surprise, sure that she had misheard him. She sees his eyes softening with sincerity.

Elliot watches the shock wash over Olivia’s features, stunning her into silence. He feels the tension start to thicken between them with all that is unsaid, just like it did earlier tonight when he confessed what had been sitting on his chest and burning at the front of his mind for the past twenty-two years.

I love you…

Elliot remembers how he felt tonight when he was with Liv, caught in her presence, sucking him in completely. The steady tone and compassion in her words had grounded him for a moment, haltering the storm inside him.

Elliot, what do you need from us?

In that moment, he had forgotten where they were and who he was. It was like they were sitting in the car back in the days, talking like they used to. In that moment, he believed he could come through.

Suddenly, Elliot thinks of Kathy buried six feet under. The weight of his guilt almost crushes his chest.

It’s all too much.

Elliot draws in a long breath and blows it out slowly, trying to release some of the tension and weight. His jaw tenses and Olivia’s eyes immediately jump to his, concern softening her features.

She murmurs, “Elliot…”

He follows her gaze and can see her eyeing his clenched fist, his fingernails digging prints into his palm. He releases his hands and meets her eyes, her steady gaze anchoring him to the ground, dissolving the tension.

She’s silent, but he reads the concern in her eyes and hears her message.

Elliot, talk to me.

“I know you’re worried and you have every right to be. I know you want me to talk to you. But …I-I can’t.” Elliot’s voice breaks.

How can he begin to tell her how he feels, when he can barely hold it all together in his head, let alone put it into words?

Elliot lifts his head up and sees that she has stepped towards him, her eyes deepening with compassion. Her look shifts something within him, touching his heart.

“Elliot, you watched your wife die. You are traumatised. Now you’re trying to find her killer. No one would expect you to be fine.”

“You’re right. I’m not fine.” Elliot breaths out an incredulous laugh, the emotions building up in his voice. “It’s been weeks since I started tracking down Richard and we are no closer to finding out who murdered Kathy.”

“Elliot-”

“Her body is lying cold in the ground while her murders are out there-”

“Elliot, stop it. Stop torturing yourself.”

Elliot lifted his eyes, grief crumpling his features and breaking in his voice. “I have spent nights going over every detail of that night, trying to find out what I missed. This grief…this-this guilt…I’m drowning Liv. I don’t know what to do.”

Olivia closes the space between them and embraces him tightly, just as a sob rumbles in his throat. Olivia senses him freezing for a moment, then softening into her embrace, his arms wrapping around her frame. She closes her eyes, feeling the gentle thud of his heart against her chest.

The pain in his voice breaks her heart.

“Elliot, this is not your fault,” Olivia says softly into his neck.

Elliot breathes into her scent, laundry powder and a hint of vanilla. His breathing steadies as his body warms to her familiar touch.

Elliot lifts his head up when he speaks. “I wasn’t the target. Kathy was.”

Olivia pulls back, her eyes blooming with shock. “What?”

“I tracked down a bystander who was there that night and took a photo of the scene. Someone was watching Kathy from the window, possibly her murder, waiting for the bomb to detonate.”

Olivia shakes her head slowly, her brows knitting into a frown. “I don’t understand…why would anyone want to kill Kathy?”

“That’s what I’m still trying to figure out. It feels like whenever I’m one step closer to finding her killer, I get more questions.”

Olivia nods slowly, letting the information sink in. Then she takes in the tense lines on his forehead and dark shadows weighing under his eyes. She can almost feel the frustration, rage, grief and sleep deprivation vibrating from his body.

“Elliot, when was the last time you slept?”

Surprise briefly flickers past his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, how long have you been up tonight, trying to find these answers? You have been pushing yourself non-stop. When was the last time you slept?”

Elliot is still taken back at her question. He shakes his head to the side as he tosses the question over in his mind, thinking. “I don’t know…I get a few hours a night. Liv, that’s not what matters here.”

“You hit a car today. You could have died; you could have killed Eli. And that doesn’t matter?”

The raw emotion in her voice throws him off. Elliot swallows, the gravity of her words sinking in. He says quietly, “you’re right. Okay.”

Olivia blinks. She was expecting a fight. “Okay? That’s it?”

“You seem surprised.”

Olivia raises her eyebrows. “Well, I just…you’re usually more stubborn than this.”

Elliot’s cheeks lifting slightly, and he shrugs. “Well, you’re right. And I’m too tired tonight. I’ll let you have this one.”

Olivia’s lips tug into an amused smile. Their eyes connect for a moment, something deeper passing between them.

Something stirs within Elliot’s chest, fluttering throughout his body. He can tell she feels it too. He sees it in the tenderness in her eyes and the way her gaze holds his, as if she like him, is taking a mental picture, hoping to hold this moment so she can go back to it during the darker times.

She holds this moment with him as if she too, can hear tonight’s disclosure hanging in the air between them, waiting to be acknowledged.

Elliot, tell us what you need.

I love you.

Then Elliot sees her lower her eyes and immediately, the moment shatters. He sees her walls go up with the fold of her arms, guarding her heart once more. Elliot used to witness the moments when his partner would turn her defences on. He remembers her commanding stance and tone, the fearlessness in her eyes when she interrogated perpetrators and the distance she would maintain with those who she was still getting know, even if they were new romantic partners.

Elliot remembers the rare moments when she would bare her heart to him, even if they were only glimpses of Olivia Benson. In the car when she was disclosing the news about her brother, outside the elevator when she shared that she cannot have children and when she was sobbing and pouring her grief into his arms at the hospital, after Sonya Paxton died.

In that moment, Elliot realises just how much he took for granted. The trust she had for him and her unwavering support. The lengths she would go to and the sacrifices she would make for him.

Once again, Elliot hates himself for all the pain he put her through. He wonders if he will ever earn her trust back again.

He watches Olivia reach for her keys in her jacket pocket, preparing to leave.

It would be easy to let her leave. To pretend that his public disclosure of love never happened and act as if it was just a slip of the tongue, while his intentions were to communicate his love for his family.

It would be too easy to brush this under the rug like they had brushed every lingering stare and intimate moment they spent overnights at the office together.

Olivia is offering him that choice with her silence. But he knows she deserves more. She deserves the truth. More than that, Elliot knows that he would do anything to bridge the gap between them and get to her again. He can’t let this moment slip away.

Olivia speaks, shattering his thoughts. “Well then, I might leave you to it for tonight.”

Elliot hesitates as she goes to turn around. Then, “Liv, wait.”

Olivia turns back around and tilts her head to the side.

“I have something-” Elliot stops, losing his words. He takes a steady breath and exhales slowly, squeezing his eyes shut for a brief moment.

Olivia takes a step forward, her voice tender. “Elliot, what is it?”

Elliot meets her gaze. Instantly, the knots in his stomach loosen, reaffirming his decision. “I…I didn’t just call you over to talk about Kathy. I wanted to talk about tonight.”

Shock blooms in her eyes, realisation gradually washing over her and softening her features. She exhales slowly, letting out a soft “oh.”

Hesitation creases Elliot’s features, but he pushes on. “Liv, about what I said earlier…when I said I lo-”

“Elliot, you don’t have to explain,” Olivia cuts him off quickly. She thinks through her words as she speaks. “I understand that we put you on the spot and you’re under a lot of stress and still grieving. Nobody thought anything more of what you said.”

Elliot is confused for a moment, then he realises. She doesn’t believe him. She’s not letting herself believe him. She’s protecting her heart.

Elliot’s voice is tender when he speaks softly. “Liv, I meant what I said.”

His words take her breath away. Her eyes are wide, shock stilling her features and silencing her. Elliot steps closer, searching her gaze.

“Liv?”

“Don’t.” Olivia steps back. She raises her hands then curls her fingers, placing more distance between them.

This isn’t what Elliot was expecting. “Liv…I didn’t mean to-”

“Elliot, stop.” Olivia cuts him off firmly, but he hears a sob shattering in her chest and catching in her throat. “You can’t say that.” Olivia closes her eyes. “I can’t hear this now. Not after all those years.” She doesn’t say what’s hanging in the air.

Not after all those years I spent loving you.

“You became the most important person to me. Then you left without a goodbye. Do you realise what that was like for me, for any of us?”

Elliot is speechless.

Emotions roll through Olivia as she continues, grief trembling in her voice. “All those years you were gone, and I didn’t even know if you were alive or dead. I didn’t even know if our friendship meant anything to you.” She pauses for a moment, the past ten years coming to her mind. Then she says, “You know, you weren’t the only one that loss someone they love.”

Her last words hit him in the chest, knocking the wind from his body. How could he be so ignorant? Her name falls from his lips, heavy with remorse. “Liv…I had no idea…”

“No, you didn’t.” Olivia says softy, tears pooling in her eyes. “You missed a lot during those ten years.” Olivia squeezes her eyes tight, a few tears trickling down her cheeks.

It all flashes in her mind.

Lewis. Tucker. Simon.

“I needed you. And you left.”

She doesn’t say it, but they both hear it echoing, hanging thick between the two of them.

You broke my heart.

Olivia takes a steady breath, brushing away her tears. “So please…don’t say anything you don’t mean. Because I…I don’t think I can take that again.”

She finishes, a deafening silence hanging in the air.

Elliot is overwhelmed with guilt. He feels like an idiot. How could he not have known? He didn’t just break her heart that day he left. He shattered her trust in him and everything their relationship had meant to the two of them. Of course she could not let heart believe him and open herself up to him. She doesn’t want to get hurt again.

Elliot’s voice is raw with remorse when he finally speaks. “Liv…I am so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. You have to believe me, every day since I left, I picked up at that phone, wanting to call you, wanting to explain. Yet every time I knew I couldn’t…I knew if I heard your voice, I…I wouldn’t be strong enough to keep it together. I didn’t want you to see that.”

Olivia lifts her eyes. “See what?”

“See how lost I was without you.”

Olivia’s eyes widen, barely believing what she heard.

Elliot can see the impact his words are having on her. Her breaths are shallow and slow as she absorbs his words silently. Elliot can see her holding her walls firmly, her eyes glassy with tears but her features strong, trying not to give away her feelings. She’s avoiding his gaze.

“Olivia, please,” Elliot whispers, wanting more than anything to break down her walls. “Talk to me.”

Olivia lowers her eyes and shakes her head to the side, as if struggling to find the words. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Tell me I can make this right,” he says firmly. “Tell me what you need from me.”

Olivia takes a steady breath as she meets his eyes. “That’s the thing…for now I-I don’t know.”

Her uncertainty cuts deep into his heart.

It is as if Elliot can see her pushing him further away with every passing breath.

He can’t bear to lose her again.

Elliot reaches for her hands, stirring a startled gasp from her that jumps in her chest. Her hands are cold in his hold. “Liv please…I can’t lose you too.”

Olivia’s heart flutters under his touch, like a leaf caught in a storm. She doesn’t know what to say. She searches his eyes, curious, trying to work out his intentions.

Elliot saves her the time.

He closes the space between them and brushes his lips against hers. The kiss is chaste and gentle. It barely lasts a few seconds, but long enough for his lips to part hers, drawing in her kiss. His kiss is strong enough to take her breath away.

When Elliot pulls back, he sees that her eyes are closed, her chest rising and falling with her heavy breaths. A hint of a flush creeps up her cheeks.

Olivia’s eyes flutter open, trying to catch her breath and gather her thoughts. She’s almost breathless when she speaks. “What was that?”

“I’m scared of losing you Liv. I didn’t know how else to get to you.”

To his surprise, her lips tug into a small smile, warming her entire features.

Then she brings her mouth back up to his. Elliot responds instantly and Olivia angles her head to the side, deepening the kiss. She can feel his hands releasing hers to skim towards the curve of her waist, igniting a trail of heat wherever they touch. Olivia’s hands skim up his arms, one going to cup his cheek, drawing him closer to her.

She drinks him in like she’s a parched sailor, starved of water for ten years. She drinks him in like she can get high from his kisses alone, savouring every sensation from the push and pull of his lips, every taste. She can feel his fingers curling into her waist, drawing her body closer to his.

It’s twenty-three degrees outside, yet she feels her body radiating with heat. The heat begins to melt down her walls and thaws the frost shielding her heart, drawing her closer to him.

Olivia pulls back suddenly, breathless. She’s shocked at her audaciousness. Yet she can’t stop the smile playing across her features.

He raises his eyebrows at her, questioning, equally surprised. Olivia lifts a shoulder in a small shrug. “I guess I don’t want to lose you either.”

His cheeks lift into a smile that reaches his eyes. It melts warm into her heart.

They’re silent for a moment. Olivia wonders if he like her, wants to hold onto this moment for what it is, before they must unpack what this means for them and Elliot’s family.

Olivia bows her head down, feeling the heat of his eyes on her. She knows they will need to talk about it but isn’t sure if she can bring herself to do this tonight, not when the memory is still searing in her mind and on her lips.

Olivia can feel him waiting for her, patient, giving her that space to process and allowing her to make the call. Unconsciously, she goes to reach for the keys in her jacket pocket, fiddling with him.

“Elliot, you know we’re going to have to talk about this. But…I-I just don’t think I can tonight.”

Elliot nods, understanding. “You know none of this has to change anything if you don’t want it to, right? I know I hurt you. I know I broke your trust.” Elliot swallows, guilt flooding his chest once more. I know I don’t deserve you. “But I meant what I said about wanting to make this right again.”

Olivia nods as she toys with her keys, letting his words skin in. “I know Elliot. I just need time to think about this. Look…I should probably head back now…” Olivia hesitates as she goes to turn towards the door, mentally weighing the decision in her mind. She turns back around and asks, “do you want to walk me out?”

She doesn’t miss the smile that cracks across his features.

…

They’re silent as they walk out, the chilly air lifting her hair in a flutter and stirring goosebumps across her skin. Olivia shivers into her jacket coat, struggling with the overwhelming urge to want to lean into Elliot to soak up his warmth.

They shared two kisses tonight. He confirmed how he feels towards her. Yet she’s still not sure where they stand. Olivia feels like she never will until they properly talk this out.

For the second time tonight, Olivia feels his fingers gently graze hers as he walks by her side. He’s inviting her in, equally wanting her touch, but giving her space. Testing the waters. Olivia hooks her fingers around his for a moment, savouring the warmth she feels from his hand. Then she releases him.

They’re getting closer to where she parked when Elliot speaks.

“So, who’s looking after Noah tonight?”

“He’s at a sleep over. Second one this month.” Olivia pauses for a moment, then says “I hate it.” She glances at him and sees him raise his eyebrows. She continues, “he’s growing up too fast. It’s like…every time I blink, he’s hit another milestone. Soon he won’t need me anymore….”

Elliot shakes his head, staring at her with new fondness. “You know that’s not true Liv. He’ll always need you, even if he doesn’t know it himself.”

Their eyes connect for a moment and they share a small smile.

They reach her car shortly later, parked along the side of the pavement. Olivia turns around and leans against her door so she’s facing Elliot, toying with her keys. Once again, she feels the pressure of tonight weighing on her. Olivia thinks about how she felt when she kissed Elliot. How high she felt, as if he was breathing life into her.

Then she thinks about Kathy, lying cold six feet under. She wants to ask Elliot if they’re doing the right thing. She wants to ask him what Kathy would think. But it’s not a conversation she can bring herself to have tonight.

“Elliot, I’m going to need time before we talk about this…us. I’ll need to talk to Noah too.”

Elliot’s heart jumps when she says ‘us,’ as if she’s already thinking about their relationship. Her desires to speak to her son first before bringing another man into his life makes him love her more.

“Of course,” Elliot responds. “I’ll need to talk to Eli, Kathleen and the kids too. Take all the time you need Liv”

Elliot wonders what the rest of his family would think about the two of them seeing each other romantically. Deep down, he wonders if they would be surprised, or perhaps they knew all along.

Olivia suddenly reaches for his hand, passing him a small smile. “Hey, I’m glad you told me tonight.”

Elliot’s cheeks lift into a small smile and he squeezes her hand. “Yeah?”

Olivia nods. She takes a steady breath and draws in the courage to share what’s beating in her chest. “Yeah. I needed to know what you meant. And it’s not like I never felt the same way.”

Elliot’s heart swells at her words, almost bursting with elation. He cans see the impact his reaction and clear smile is having on her as she ducks her head once more.

One question still runs through his mind…felt or feel? He wants to clarify how she feels but knows it will have to wait.

Elliot’s thumb ghosts over her knuckles, savouring her touch. Then he runs his hand up her arm and towards her face, until he’s cupping her cheek. He feels her leaning into his touch, her eyes closing for a moment.

Olivia opens her eyes and Elliot’s eyes find hers, seeking her permission. Olivia’s heart skips a beat with anticipation. She tips her chin to her chest in a slight nod.

Elliot leans down, catching her waiting mouth in his.

The kiss is more heated than before. He kisses her like it might be their last. He kisses her like a man who has been loving and waiting for too long, as if he can show her just how much he loves her in that one kiss.

Olivia’s mouth responds instantly to the push and pull of his lips. His kiss isn’t like the others…it awakens something deep within her, burning through to her core despite the evening chill. She wraps her arms around his neck to hold herself steady as she feels his fingers tangling through her hair. She feels his tongue part her lips to dance with hers, stirring a moan from the base of her throat. Elliot swallows it whole.

Olivia savours every sensation. The way his mouth feels on hers, hot and heavy, flooding her with desire and the overwhelming need to wrap her legs around his and have him buried deep within her. The searing heat radiating from the touch of his fingers to her waist. The firm yet secure weight of his chest, pressing up against hers, filling her senses with his scent, musk and leather. It awakens her body to what she has missed for ten years.

Suddenly, he pulls back. Before Olivia can process the loss of contact, his mouth is on her jaw and then her neck. He trails torturously slow kisses down her neck and to her collarbone, as if his lips are imprinting every inch of her skin into his mind. Olivia tilts her head back when she feels him sucking at the hollow of her neck.

“El…”

“God Olivia…” Elliot finally stops, his nose brushing her neck, breathing in her scent. His breathing is just as ragged as hers. His voice is thick with desire when he whispers into her collarbone, “I don’t know how long I can wait.”

He can’t see her but imagines her amused smile. He feels her fingers trace a path from his jaw and down to the back of his neck, encouraging him to lift his head up.

“Hey, we waited twenty-two years. What’s a bit more time?”

Elliot meets her smile with one of his own. He kisses her cheek once more before stepping back to let her leave.

Elliot watches her drive away, her words lingering in his mind.

We waited twenty-two years. What’s a bit more time?

He prays they won’t have to wait too long.

#bensler #olivia benson #elliot stabler #law and order svu #svu #i finally wrote the fic!#post i love you episode #charmingly-evil writes fanfiction

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goodlucktkachuk · 4 years

Text

Frantic -- Matthew Tkachuk (Pt.1)

a/n: I’ve spent the past 48 hours reading fanfiction for this man, it is time I write something

Summary: Growing up around the game y/n has met too many hockey players to name but one of her brothers old team mates always held a special place in her mind. Running into Matthew wasn’t what she had in mind but maybe it was a good thing.

Word Count: 1.5K

Warnings: age gap

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

Frantic was the only way to describe you on this cold February morning. Overtired from a frustrating night of painting, annoyed at your roommate and already stressed about tonight's game. As you manover your body through the streets of Toronto the air was almost too cold to handle. Not remembering a jacket or boots, it was just you, your coveralls over an old sweater and beat up vans dredging through the snow to the coffee shop around the corner. Your head was throbbing as you were walking but the streets were quiet for 7am and that was the only thing you appreciate about the day so far.

“Stupid pregame rituals, stupid Nick, stupid Emily reminding me I made a promise.” You grumbling as you throw yourself into the store, shuffling to the side knowing your mobile order would be up soon. Closing your eyes you bring your hands up to your face to relieve some of the from tension from your eyes you're met with the cold feeling of wet paint on your skin. This morning just kept getting better.

“Mobile order for Y/N!” The barista yells, snapping you out of your bitter attitude. You say a soft thank you as you turn on your heels, suddenly being met with the hard chest of the man standing behind you. As you pull away your face drops as you see blobs of black and blue paint where your face hit is white hoodie.

“Oh my god! I am so so sorry. Game day turns me into a mess, at least let me--” He cuts you off before you offer to pay for his drink. Looking up, you’re thrown off when you meet his eye. You haven’t seen Matthew in probably four years. He’s filled out, the curls on his head suit him and his blue eyes are still the same. A blush creeps over your cheeks of as memories of watching him practice and endless team dinners filled your mind. You wonder if he recognizes you but his words confirm that you are in fact a stranger to him.

His first statement is extreamly blunt for how early it is “You’re too much of a mess to work for either organization.”

You were a little thrown off. He scans you up and down before he continues. “Guessing by how young you look you’re probably a girlfriend so…” He drags the o-sound out for far too long making you giggle slightly then he keeps going “Which leaf will be paying for my hoodie in punches tonight?” His face twists into a wicked smile as he waits for a response.

Taking a deep breath you reply. “Technically, Nick Robertson… BUT I’m not his girlfriend nor is it his fault that your clothes are ruined. Plus I think my roommate would prefer I wasn’t the reason her boyfriend loses some of his teeth.” You voice trailed off near the end because the thought of that happening made your head hurt even more.

He stands there as you watch the gears turn in his head. In a moment of quick thinking you blurt out, “I’m a flames fan! If that makes this situation better.” Smiling slightly as he rolls his eyes.

Quietly he says, “Fine, I’ll let it slide… but I better see you in the stands in red tonight sweetheart.” He flashes you a wink as he reaches past you to grab his coffee and he quickly leaves you standing in the empty shop once again.

Dumbfounded, your phone begins to buzz in your pocket seeing your moms name flash across your screen. You groan internally and talk to her the whole walk back to the apartment as you replay your meeting with Matt.

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

“Y/N are you ready yet!! We’re going to be late!” Emily screams from the living room as she adjusts her beanie for the millionth time and looks at Nick’s last in the mirror with a goofy smile.

You were standing in your room with two jerseys staring back at you. You couldn’t make up your mind between the blue and white #16 and the red and black #19. You knew the consequences of both choices and decide you could deal with Tkachuk’s bad attitude. Slipping the leaf jersey over your shoulders it swallows you whole but the hoodie you have on underneath makes up for that a bit. You pull on a black Nike ballcap, grab your bag and meet Emily in the living room. As she goes to ask you what the hell you are wearing you just shake your head and start for the door.

The guys are doing their big entrance into the arena as you and Emily make your way to your seats next to the penalty box. She’s scolding you the whole time about missing warmups and how she’ll be getting an earful from Nick later about being late. You zone out as you scan the ice for Matt. Unfortunately, he finds you before you can find him and a frown is glued to his face. Like you decided earlier, you will deal with him later.

The game was actually pretty good with the Flames winning in overtime. Matt shooting you dirty looks every time he was sent to the box which kinda made you laugh. Standing in the family and friends area, Nick is one of the first out, pulling Em aside to ask where you guys were and probably looking for support after the game. Leaving you fend for yourself. A few minutes pass and Matty is out now along with a few other leaf players who were hanging close by, you instantly catch his eye. Making his way over to you he puts his hand over your head and uses two fingers to lift your chin so you meet his eye.

“I thought I asked you to wear red tonight princess, you’re breaking my poor little heart.” He slides his tongue over his bottom lip, cocky grin never faltering.

Returning his energy you push up on your toes as you breathe on his neck “You haven’t seen what I’m wearing underneath this yet, handsome.”

Surprise covers his face and quickly turns into lust again. Before he can say anything you duck under his arm, running full force towards Mitch as he approaches. Opening his arms for a hug, you hurl yourself at him and he spins you around. As Matthew watches, jealousy burns in his chest as he approaches you to chirp Marner.

Before he has a chance to bite, Mitch starts laughing.

“I can’t believe you actually wore it, must been torture for you.” He ruffles your hair and you scoff at his antics.

“I swear you told her about the bet just so you could watch me in pain.” Your smile was so radiant as you laughed Matthew couldn’t help but smile too.

“I swear I didn’t! I just knew mom would want to know how your midterm piece went more than how I was feeling about a game.” Matthew was a few feet away still pretending to play on his phone as he listened to the two of you so he wasn’t sure if he heard Mitch right.

“Matty! I didn’t see you there, bring it in buddy!” Mitch called him over, bringing him into a tight hug. You stood there awkwardly watching the two old friends catch up when Mitch finally remembers you’re there.

“Oh hey, you remember my little sister Y/N from when you lived in London right.” The second the words left your brother's mouth, a look of horror crosses Matthew’s face. The last time he had seen you, you were fourteen years old. The Y/N he remembered was quiet and collected. Always had her head buried in a book at games and never really gave the boys the time of day because you were never interested in hockey when you were a young girl. But now you stood before him, a woman. You had dyed your hair, lost your baby face, got glasses and your style had done a 180. Standing in front of the two of you now, he didn’t realize how he could’ve missed the obvious resemblance between you and your brother.

Shyly you smile and say “It’s nice to see you again, Matthew.”

Still in shock he nods and says. “Still the same mini marnie for sure.”

After a bit more chatting Mitch decides it’s time for you guys to get dinner so you part Matthew with heartfelt goodbyes and ‘until we see each other again’.

Once you guys leave Matthew stays in place ordering himself an uber, thinking about what just happened. He feels a slight tap on his shoulder. Turing meets a not too happy Auston and he knows he’s in trouble. Going to apologize for stealing Austons stick he’s met with a very different topic.

“I’m just letting you know that Jake and I heard what you said to Y/N earlier and I want to remind you that she’s like a sister to all of us so you better watch yourself Tkachuk.” Matthew says nothing and simply nods because chirping Aus was dangerous territory especially when it involved family.

You were back at Mitche’s apartment after dinner to spend some time together. Or so he says, you knew he was just lonely because Steph was out of town. When he gets up to call her in between episodes of Brooklyn Nine Nine it gives you a chance to check your phone. There were a few tags on instagram and a handful of snapchats you’d answer in the morning but one notification stood out against the rest.

Follower Request: matthew_tkachuk

Part Two

#matthew tkachuk #matty tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #calgary flames #flames imagine #nhl #nhl imagine #hockey #mitch marner #nick robertson #toronto maple leafs #auston matthews

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spritewrites · 3 years

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Breakfast Threats (Squealing Santa 2k20)

Fandom: Haikyuu

Characters: Kozume Kenma & Kuroo Tetsurou (Kuroken)

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: This is my submission for Squealing Santa 2020, organized by @ticklygiggles!! My assignment was @secretleeblogging, who requested lee!Kenma wake up tickles. I LOVED doing this assignment, Kenma’s my favorite character and especially soft sleepy Kenma is everything to me. Happy holidays, hope you enjoy!!

Kozume Kenma was absolutely, 100 percent certain that the sun was a malicious force of nature specifically designed to ruin his day. No benevolent fire orb could ever be so rude as to burn into his retinas with that much intensity. It had to be the work of some evil spirit; maybe a demon, maybe a homophobic ancestor, who could say? Definitely something out for vengeance, because whatever was coercing the cosmos to shine all their light directly through his window at all hours surely sought his demise.

He scrunched his nose, wincing, and tried to explain this phenomenon to the lanky lump of messy black hair and volleyball muscle beside him. Tetsurou would understand.

Unfortunately, between the sun and the pillow and the muscle, the best language he could manage was “Time s’it?”

Beside him, the lump moved. A long arm reached over Kenma, fumbled, and grabbed a phone. Kuroo Tetsurou, in all his bedhead glory, blinked blearily at the screen. “Eight.”

Kenma groaned, turning onto his stomach and burying his face in his pillow. “S’too bright.” He heard Tetsurou yawn, and selfishly peeked one eye open to catch a glimpse. His boyfriend was sitting up, shirtless and glowing in the early morning light, all tousled hair and red lips. Kenma hid his smile in the pillow.

“Need coffee,” Tetsurou grumbled. “Want any?”

Kenma shook his head, pulling the blankets further up around his shoulders. Artificial energy was the last thing he needed; what he really wanted was more sleep. He was dimly aware of the weight next to him on the bed disappearing and soft footsteps making their way out the bedroom door, accompanied by mumbled words that sounded suspiciously like “More for me.”

With a sigh, Kenma relaxed into the plush sheets. Mornings, especially mornings after he’d been up late playing games, were never his thing. Bright mornings like this one were extra trying on his vision, which was nearly nocturnal after years of gaming. Still, the prospect of being able to fall back asleep and wake up later to a hot breakfast from Tetsurou was too delicious to resist. Already he could feel himself drifting off, slipping back out of consciousness and into the soft embrace of sleep.

It didn’t feel like a moment had passed when something was shaking his leg. Somebody was speaking, but it didn’t really matter who, not when his bed was as warm as it was. Just a few more minutes, he thought to himself.

“C’mon, kitten,” Tetsurou insisted, sounding equal parts annoyed and fond. “You got an extra two hours, it’s time to get up.”

“Mmf,” Kenma grunted eloquently, shoving his face deeper into the pillow. Another shake of his leg made him squirm, irritated. “Little longer.”

“You’ve had long enough; our breakfast is cold.”

There was a brief pause as Kenma formulated and internally executed an elaborate multi-pronged argument, which ended up finally exiting his mouth as “Microwave.”

“Okay, fair,” Tetsurou replied, and damn him, Kenma could hear his smile. How dare he tease when the stakes were this high? Extra sleep was pretty much a matter of life and death. “Guess I’ll have to make you.”

Kenma still wasn’t entirely conscious, but some tiny alarm went off in his sleep-addled brain. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make him furrow his brow and curl his toes beneath the sheets. “…Can’t make me.”

“Oh?” There was something in Tetsurou’s tone that Kenma couldn’t put his finger on. Amusement, maybe? Mischief?

Suddenly, he felt the warmth of the blankets tugged away, leaving only Kenma in his pajamas on the bare mattress. He curled in on himself, whining in protest. “Hey!”

“See?” Tetsurou teased, holding the bedding teasingly out of reach. “This is how your breakfast feels. Cold, sad…”

“Give em back,” Kenma groaned, aware of how petulant he sounded but too exhausted to care. “Lemme sleep!”

“Sleep is for the weak.” The mattress creaked, and Kenma felt a soft weight settle on his legs. “And you’re strong, aren’t you, kitten?”

Before he could reply, Kenma felt Tetsu’s presence on his legs shift and move closer to the head of the bed. Cold fingers snuck under his hoodie and waltzed up his spine, sending goosebumps racing to follow. He tensed, clutching the pillow. Oh.

“Tetsu—”

“Mm?” Tetsurou replied, all innocence. His strong body slid up Kenma’s, easily slotting into place on top of him and letting the weight of his body drape over his boyfriend. Kenma twitched as Tetsurou’s strong legs straddled his hips – soothing as the feeling was, he was also hyper-aware that he couldn’t squirm away. The fingers on his back spidered back down, effortlessly light in their touch.

Kenma took a shaky breath. “W-what’re you—”

“Told you I’d make you.” Tetsurou’s smirk pressed up between his shoulder blades, and Kenma had to stifle a gasp. “You’re not ticklish, are you, sweetheart?”

“I—” The fingertips changed direction again, trailing back up his back, but skating dangerously close to his sides this time. Kenma gritted his teeth, fighting an inevitable smile. “You – you know the answer! Tetsu—”

This time, when the touch on his spine reached the nape of his neck, it stayed there, circling the soft part of his back where his neck met his shoulders. With a squeak, Kenma’s shoulders hitched up by his ears.

“Don’t you dare,” he hissed.

Tetsurou’s reply was so close to his ear that it was barely a whisper, ruffling his hair and making Kenma absolutely shiver. “You brought this on yourself, kitten.”

With that, Tetsurou’s fingertips curled, prodding carefully into the sides of his ribcage, and he began to press smiling kisses all over the back of Kenma’s neck. Kenma, for his part, did not fall into laughter immediately; rather, he let out what could only be described as a squeal and began kicking wildly. Fortunately, his ribs weren’t so bad that he couldn’t hide the laughter building in his chest. Unfortunately, the sleepiness that still clouded his mind had left him weak, soft, and seemingly even more ticklish than usual. Still, it wasn’t until the kisses migrated north to his ears, nosing into the gaps in his hair, that his squeaks turned into real giggles, high-pitched and sweet and absolutely delightful to Tetsurou.

“You’re so cute when you laugh!”

“Please, please, I – enough with the ears!”

“You have the cutest ears; I can’t not kiss—”

“You—” Kenma snorted into the pillow— “you obsess over ears?”

“Hmmm…” The kiss that Tetsurou pressed into the nape of his neck was whisper-soft. “Only yours.”

Kenma could feel his face burning, but didn’t dare lift his head lest Tetsurou see the redness on his cheeks and tease him about that, too. His concern didn’t last long, though, as the tickling in between his ribs moved to become squeezing at his sides, and he nearly gave then and there.

“Monster,” he gasped through his laughter, trying to kick. “Absolute menace, truly–”

“Now, Kenma,” Tetsurou chided, giving Kenma’s hipbones a squeeze and relishing the cackles that the action produced. “I don’t think you’re really in a position to be throwing around insults, are you?”

While his point certainly held up, Kenma wasn’t exactly in a rational place mentally. He was lost in laughter, hardly able to think through a haze of ticklishness, and his usual line of defense against attacks such as these (wild thrashing) was being significantly hindered by Tetsurou’s presence on his back. He tried kicking once more, but it was more of a flailing than anything else, and his boyfriend’s strong legs easily countered the attack.

“Careful,” Tetsurou teased, reaching back to give one of his knees a quick squeeze (and producing a delicious howl).

“I cahahan’t,” Kenma wailed, burying his face once more in a pillow that was now wet with tears of laughter. “Please, Tetsu, please–”

“Are you going to get up?” asked Tetsurou, who had just found a wonderful spot on Kenma’s waist that made him hiccup.

“I—I—” Kenma giggled helplessly. He could feel his cheeks started to ache from smiling, but something in his pride kept him from giving in. “You’re teasing, I—Oh, not there, Tetsu, plehehease!”

“Please what?” came the reply, but Kenma was laughing too hard to answer. “Please tickle you more?”

“Wahahait, I can’t—”

“Can’t what?”

Kenma snorted, twitching under his boyfriend as a rogue fingernail found its way into his underarm. As merciless as the tickling was, the relentless teasing was almost infinitely worse.

“You’re—that tickles, Tetsu—”

“Does it?” asked Tetsurou, amused. “Almost enough to make you come have breakfast with me?”

“I—ugh, fine, yes!” Kenma finally shouted between bouts of giggles.

Grinning triumphantly, Tetsurou pressed one last ticklish kiss to his boyfriend’s ear and rolled off him. Finally, Kenma turned over, blinking in the morning sun, face flushed and streaked with tears of laughter. His ribs heaved with the effort of replacing the lost oxygen, but he couldn’t seem to wipe the smile off his face.

“That… that was rude.”

Tetsurou reached over to boop his nose, earning a swat and a weak chuckle. “Just be glad you surrendered when you did, kitten. Your toes were next.”

Kenma tried his best not to curl his toes at the thought, but Tetsurou’s knowing look told him that he’d failed. “You can’t—stop making fun of me, alright, I was asleep and you practically tortured me.”

Tetsurou hummed thoughtfully at that, brushing some of Kenma’s hair out of his face. “Never told me to stop, though, did you?”

Crap. Kenma froze, face burning. Tetsurou, on the other hand, burst into laughter.

“Aww, does my little kitten like being tickled?”

“Shut up,” Kenma hissed, but Tetsurou was practically rolling with giggles.

“That’s so adorable—”

“Enough teasing!”

“Oh, come on,” Tetsurou smiled, giving his boyfriend’s forehead a quick kiss. “You’re just bitter that I won.”

“M’gonna get you back, you know,” Kenma grumbled, rubbing the last of the sleep from his eyes and revealing a competitive shine. “Except a billion times worse.”

Tetsurou snorted derisively, but Kenma would have to be blind to miss the way his eyes widened. “I’d like to see you try – hey!”

The finger that had wedged itself just south of Tetsurou’s ribcage gave an experimental wiggle, and Kenma’s lips quirked at the sound his boyfriend made. Flushing, Tetsurou wrapped a hand around the intruding touch and pushed it away, playing up his puppy eyes to his full ability.

“Can it at least wait till after breakfast?”

Kenma raised an eyebrow. “You have two minutes.”

“Two?!”

“Better be quick, sweetheart. One Mississippi… two Mississippi…”

Tetsurou was out of the room in a second, socks slipping on the hardwood and leaving Kenma snickering into his hoodie. After a moment, he plucked a blanket from where it had been discarded at the end of the bed and pulled it up over him, sighing and wiggling his toes in the warmth. Hmm.

Maybe three minutes.

#squealing santa 2k20 #tickling #tickle fic #haikyuu #kozume kenma #kuroo tetsurou #my fics #secretleeblogging #hope you like it!!!

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heinzpilsnergonewild · 3 years

Text

Vegeta’s Character Analysis Looooooooooong Read

Oh my, what can I say? I just really love to write long essays in a language that isn’t even native to me, lol.

Well, nobody’s perfect, I guess. ... Were you expecting a Cell joke here? I may not be perfect, but that doesn't mean I have to be that predictable.

Ahem, anyway.

This isn't exactly a psychological analysis of the character - more like, hmm, a storytelling analysis. Or something in between, really.

You may not find anything fundamentally new in this text, but I definitely had fun writing it, haha.

It's mostly amateur. I have a useless psychology degree, but not a literature one.

My classic rant about vegebul fics is included, of course.

Summary: proper psychological analysis requires a single continuous personality, which Vegeta simply doesn’t have.

The more I think about Vegeta, the more I come to the conclusion that he is only pretending to be a consistently evolving character.

In fact, he's a bit like 10 different characters in one, which abruptly replace each other (and that's without considering the difference caused by the voice actors’ approach and the changes in his looks). Essentially, Vegeta's a collection of disparate images, arbitrarily lined up by Toriyama and hastily glued together. And the beginning of this line is so far from the end of it that these two extreme images cannot be perceived as belonging to the same person. Well, because human psychology just doesn't work that way.

(Not that Vegeta is unique in this respect – it’s a common feature of characters in long stories that authors compose as they write. Still, his case is quite extreme and interesting as example.)

I mean, take Vegeta in the Saiyan or the Namek arc. He's a complete psychopath. He clearly doesn’t suffer at heart from the unnecessary violence (as, for example, Guts from Berserk). His behavior looks like something natural for him, not an unhealthy defensive reaction. He enjoys it, he smiles happily, killing and torturing weak innocent people. And such a degree of psychopathy is not something that can be healed by a couple of deep personality crises or years of peaceful family life. Vegeta's redemption arc works through strong emotional impact and forgetfulness of the audience, but makes very little sense when viewed in retrospect.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Perhaps the biggest, hmm, splitting of the personality occurred with Vegeta right after the Namek arc. Toriyama had already made a small retcon of the character’s motives before (to include Vegeta in the context of the Freeza army after the Saiyan arc), but it didn't feel that drastic.

You see, until Vegeta was invited to Bulma’s house…..

(Gosh, Toriyama, you could’ve done it more subtly, really. Vegeta killed Yamcha, threatened to kill Bulma, gutted Zarbon in front of her eyes, slaughtered an entire Namekian village... Oh well.)

…Ahem, anyway, right up to Bulma's invitation, Vegeta looked to me like a character who, hmm, has a life of his own? I mean, you have always felt that his motives and behavior were generated by the bizarre social system, not related to the little world of Goku and his friends. Simply put, Vegeta was a natural product of the big space civilization, an organic part of it. His whole personality was formed by it, all his plans, motivation and ambitions were associated with it. And although in the Saiyan arc, he gave the impression of an independent entrepreneurial chief at the head of a small hierarchy, in the Namek arc it was revealed that Vegeta is actually far from independent. He lost his throne and his people, he was in slavery to the tyrant all his life, and wants to take power for himself. So, his social background and the motives caused by it post factum get much more complex. But in short, Vegeta wanted a highest possible position in the hierarchy he knew. In this way, he was… social? His belonging to the Saiyan race was only a small (although important) part of the overall picture. Because the Saiyans were dead, but the Freeza Empire was alive.

But when Toriyama realized Vegeta's popularity and decided to keep him in the story after Namek, it came as a blow to the character's personality. Apparently, the author simply couldn't come up with an elegant way that could keep the character in all its complexity around, and therefore did a very clumsy thing. He roughly cut Vegeta out of his social context and almost forcibly glued him to the main character group like a poorly done appliqué. But although you see rough edges and glue drips, the story moves on rapidly, distracting you with Freeza and Future Trunks, and you don't stop to think about what happened. This is how, almost imperceptibly, Toriyama changed Vegeta's motives (and, consequently, the basis of his personality). Yes, Vegeta's saiyan pride was also significant part of his character previously, but when it became his sole and central motivation after Namek, you feel like a very big and important piece of him has been arbitrarily cut off. This wouldn't have happened if Toriyama had followed the logic of previously established social motives, rather than his desire to make Vegeta a convenient figure. Now, bound hand and foot by the author, the character is forced to behave as the plot requires.

Still, all this can be justified by the fact that Vegeta experienced a deep emotional shock as a result of death, which forced him to rethink his life priorities and wait for Goku (especially in the manga, where he just lived with Bulma for a whole year after Namek, without even trying to use dragonballs) ... And then he waited for the androids (despite the final death of Freeza and his father, which was an excellent chance to try to take over the decapitated empire). Anyway, this rationalization doesn't negate the fact that the character, as a result, has lost a significant part of the fire that he demonstrated in the Namek arc. His new energy, the energy of obsession with surpassing Goku, turns him into a new character – bitter, marginalized and focused on training.

(Ironically, the very splitting that made him a less attractive character in my eyes allowed vegebul to take place. After all, imagining the romantic relationship of the nice Bulma and Vegeta at the height of his villainous ambition is really difficult. That just would be a psychologically implausible story.)

In the Android and Cell arcs, after brief glimpses of the SSJ superiority, Toriyama turned Vegeta into a plot tool, whose personality flaws he could use to spoil the situation favorable for the heroes. As a result, Vegeta continued to be an angry and unhappy character who has lost most of his charisma, but on top of that, he also started to be really annoying. ... Still, also kinda amusing thanks to his truly impressive inability to draw obvious conclusions from the ego bruises he gets.

(If you ask me, the character's biggest contribution to the Cell arc was to ignore the existence of condoms, lol. Although strictly speaking even it was an achievement of Future Vegeta (RIP). But seriously, Vegeta's relationship with Trunks turned out to be one of the few things that I was really interested in about this part of the story.)

And then there was Goku’s death and the 7-year-gap. ... At the end of which Vegeta still didn't look like a happy man who has found his place in the world. Even though he had seven whole years (and a spaceship) to change something. I mean, this is the case when it'd be logical to expect changes in the character, but for some reason they didn't really happen (or they did, but veeery quietly and unstable). I mean, Vegeta trains with Trunks, yes. And he's married to Bulma now, apparently (which we learn only at the end of the arc though). And he hasn’t killed himself yet, which means that he sees some meaning in his existence. Hurray, I guess?.. The problem is that when we first see Vegeta after the timeskip, he keeps walking around with such a sullen expression, as if Goku had died just yesterday. (Remember Vegeta in the Saiyan arc? He smiled quite often. For the wrong reasons, but hey.) Basically, Toriyama tried to sit on two chairs at the same time here - 1) keep Vegeta as recognizable as possible (because he hasn't decided what to do with him yet) and 2) keep him around (which doesn't make sense for the character if he hasn't undergone significant changes during the timeskip). And the result of this hesitant approach is an undesirable effect - it feels as if Vegeta hasn't built a new life for himself all these years, but only waited for Goku to return.

As if the man is unable to evolve without Goku's influence. Until Kakarot does or says something, or is just around, everyone else in Vegeta's life and his own reflection has little or no meaning. Old social ambitions? His wife and child? New insights gained from life on Earth? Pffft. Goku is able to destroy the seven years’ worth progress (no matter how small it may seem) in one day, and at the same time, one fight with him is enough for Vegeta's character development to jump forward explosively. It sounds like a solid ground for shipping, but In fact it’s just a direct consequence of the author's poorly chosen narrative structure.

The thing is, Toriyama tend to avoid romance and slices of life, and shows Vegeta's personality mainly through fights and their consequences. And at the time Goku just turned out to be the only significant character for Vegeta, the fight against whom could be used as an excuse to develop the character in front of the audience. Well, Toriyama couldn't get Vegeta to fight Bulma or himself, you know.

I believe that the plot structure chosen by the author (rapidly changing action events immediately after a long timeskip) is not a very good basis for a redemption arc. For a good redemption, a character had to have screen time during which small changes accumulate gradually, between the big points. And Vegeta simply didn't have it. Besides, the scheme by which Vegeta develops is really messy. Because at first, Toriyama kinda froze his development at the neutral point (thereby partially devaluing the influence of Vegeta's family on him). Then in one moment, the author abruptly reversed even this the-end-of-the-Cell-arc development with Majin Vegeta (this time completely devaluing the family factor, because the betrayal was Vegeta’s conscious decision). God, how I hated the Majin Vegeta idea. And in the next scene, the author made a quick retcon, which gave the family’s influence the status of a ground for Vegeta’s personal growth again for no apparent reason. It's as if a huge bundle of family values was post factum squeezed into the character in defiance of everything that we just saw with our own eyes. This is a complete narrative mess.

But... oddly enough, Vegeta's redemption still manages to work, and work spectacularly. My guess is that it's because by that time the audience is already SO sick of Vegeta, frozen in his bitter anti-heroism, that it desperately wants the author to finally do something new with the miserable guy. Well, at least get him out of his misery. So people are willing to accept it in any possible form.

... And the author chose the form of a powerful emotional catharsis. The explosion was legendary, haha.

I don't even know if this is a good reason to call Toriyama a genius (after all, he found a very clever way out of a difficult situation, in which he found himself thanks to his own bad decisions.)

The only thing I'm sure of is that despite everything I was very sad because of Vegeta's death. I didn't even realize that I had become emotionally attached to this asshole until he made such a spectacular exit, lol. As if something had broken inside of me, and all the analyticity of my mind couldn’t prevent it. I was surprised when I found myself crying really hard - usually my emotions don't reach this level due to fictional stories. (Well, maybe it was due to the fact that my own father was dying of cancer at that time, and the moment just triggered my emotions. ... Oops, it seems a little too personal, doesn't it? Well, at the end of the day, this fact is an integral part of my unique dbz experience. Come to think of it, in dbz, fathers die regularly).

But while this scene greatly affects emotions and forces a new viewer (or reader) to truly reconsider their attitude towards the character for the first time, the absence of a neat gradual movement towards this moment weakens its influence somewhat.

At this point, Vegeta’s character splits once again (perhaps the last time within DBZ). You simply cease to understand who this man really is and who he was before.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now, when I look at all the images of Vegeta in general, I come to the conclusion that I like this character the most in the first two arcs and in the end of the last arc. Two directly opposite moral poles.

(Funny enough, because my initial reaction to Vegeta and Nappa was annoyance: "Well hello, the next stereotypical villains who like to chat and laugh maliciously instead of simply killing their victims." (Still, against the background of Freeza, Vegeta turned out to be a much lesser evil in every sense, haha). You see, usually I'm not a person who likes villains. Basically, I only distinguish such characters from others as a result of romance or redemption. It’s only after that I begin to see aesthetics in their villainous charisma as well.)

And now, in retrospective, I believe that at the beginning of the story Vegeta is at the maximum of his vitality and charisma. Especially compared to his ever-crisis moody version (who supposedly lives happily with a loving family). In the Saiyan arc, he's objectively the most powerful character (Freeza didn’t even exist in Toriyama's head at the time). Vegeta is domineering, playful and unpredictable, but most importantly - his self-confidence is fully justified. Oh well, it was good while it lasted. He's really in control. These are, if I may say so, quite exciting qualities in a man, haha. Even if he looks like an evil dwarf in stupid armor and bullies some weaklings. I'd even say his demeanor in the Saiyan arc (especially with the voice of early Horikawa) is suspiciously easy to translate into a sexual context (well, until he loses control and gets hysterical, lol).

The Namek arc, placing Vegeta in a broader context, somewhat spoiled his original image (after all the big words, it turned out that he was running errands for Freeza all this time), but gave him a more interesting background and a strong drive. He had ambitions and a socially significant goal, and he actively and passionately fought for them against a clearly superior enemy. In addition, his inability to defeat Freeza by brute force forced him to use his brains from time to time, and not just pull another power up out of his ass, as is now traditionally done in DragonBall. (Needless to say, I consider high intelligence to be one of the most attractive traits). All this made his position in the plot as interesting as possible. He literally sparkled with energy.

Well, we know what happened next. Brain Death, an eternal chase after Goku, and an off-screen family life on a backwater planet that Vegeta is supposedly happy with. Until he suddenly became a really beautiful character without a proper justification for this (well, at least the explosion was spectacular). Really, I like the general concept of redemption, and yet... the way Toriyama portrays it in the story just doesn't work convincingly enough for me.

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Another point I’d like to cover in this already too long essay ahhh I'm a monster is Vegeta’s personality in fanfiction.

Reproducing (?) Vegeta is a bit like playing with a lego set - his personality and behavior is always the result of a conscious reconstruction, which is based around a specific point on the long contradictory line. Depending on which end of the spectrum the chosen point is, the author is forced to shade facts related to the opposite end, or to give new context to Vegeta's past (or future) actions. It's always noticeable when the author extends the later, sympathetic Vegeta's image to an earlier segment of the story. Apparently, it's possible to kill the person who raised you (with an evil smile on your face) just because the situation was too stressful lol. Likewise, when the authors allow Vegeta to remain a charismatic psychopath, the story wouldn't work without ignoring some parts of the later canon.

(And, of course, there is always a "medium" type of Vegeta - Vegeta from the 3-year-gap, whose personality is almost entirely based on anime fillers. Yay, here comes the promised vegebul rant

Honestly, I'm pretty tired of this "gravity room exploded again woman grrr" type of Vegeta.

Because if you take the manga, we have no idea how Vegeta actually behaved with Bulma and her parents, what his training regimen was, and what he did in his free time besides unprotected sex. People elevate his rudeness and irrational self-torturing to the absolute because of all these filler patterns, but this is just one of the possible versions of the events and the character's behavior during this time (albeit partly canonical). But... there are also alternatives. There are smart Vegeta, curious Vegeta, civilized Vegeta. Honestly - I don't think Bulma would've married him later if there was nothing in his personality that’d make communication with him enjoyable. I mean, she's a rich modern woman, she doesn't need a husband just for convenience and Vegeta is a marginal freeloader anyway. And if we subtract good looks (which people often attribute to Vegeta) from the equation, then the idea that he has no interest in anything other than training and cannot maintain an interesting conversation becomes completely unconvincing. Toriyama clearly didn't attach much importance to the fact of their marriage, and generally avoided romantic scenes as if they were on fire (and, perhaps, did the right thing), but these two just had to be capable of adequate and mutually pleasant personal interaction in order to take this step.

In general, Toriyama's lack of attention to most aspects of the characters' lives other than fighting and training, on the one hand, can be considered a drawback of DBZ, but on the other, it creates a lot of room for fans' imagination. But not everyone uses it. Most authors generally repeat the same tropes over and over again and don't try to look at the three-year-gap from a new angle, although the canon provides all the possibilities for this. Because of this, fics in this genre often seem boring. But in fact, it's not the setting itself that is boring, but only dusty formulas in the heads of the authors.)

Ahem, so where were we?.. Oh yes.

Actually, Vegeta's inconsistency is a very handy character trait for the authors, as it minimizes the chance of accidental OOC. Indeed, it's quite difficult to make someone to behave out of character if he has many different canon versions of himself, lol. On the other hand, this leads to the fact that the character seems to... kinda disintegrate. You never see his whole face, because he simply doesn't have it. As a result, Vegeta turns into a mosaic that must be reassembled each time. And I keep staring at this crazy kaleidoscope like an idiot.

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Well, that's... quite a lot of contradictions in my relationship to Vegeta, haha. Still, life without contradictions would be somewhat boring, I guess.

Thanks for your attention I suppose?..... lol, as if someone really got to this point

The End.

P.S. 1: The antisocial version of Vegeta who doesn't understand stupid human rituals and hates crowds, but puts up with it for the sake of his family is my spirit animal, haha. This is just so damn relatable to my autistic personality. Maybe I'm an alien myself.

P.S. 2: Actually, my favorite dbz character is Piccolo. Yep.

#vegeta #it's really long #3260 words kind of long

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