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rodolfoparras · 1 year

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Remedial Work

Pairing: Leon S. Kennedy x Trans Male Reader

Wc: Ca 2k

Synopsis: There seems to be a consensus among your classmates at the police academy that you and Leon don’t get along. However, they couldn’t be more wrong.

Content warning: 18+, MINORS DNI, depiction of unhealthy relationships (Leon’s a bit of a bully), ooc, non canon compliant (ish?), oral fixation, overstimulation, multiple orgasms (implied) dacryphilia, boot grinding kink, degradation, sub! Leon, hard dom!reader (ish?), use of strap on, blow job, deep throating, no aftercare

A/N: The usual disclaimer: English isn’t my first language so excuse any grammatically incorrect sentences, spelling mistakes, ooc, plot holes… heads up for long sentences as well, who needs proper structure anyway.

Drabble/ one shot/ part of a series:

Failure was a part of life, especially when attending the police academy. One was bound to fail something while attending the academy and remedial work was always around the corner for those who wanted and needed it. That’s at least what you tried to tell yourself but unfortunately not everyone shared the sentiment.

You along with your team at the police academy had failed an assignment and had therefore been encouraged to do remedial work in the upcoming week. And although your classmates had done their fair share of whining and complaining, no one seemed to be as frustrated as Leon Kennedy.

You’ve long been dismissed and you just wanted to go to your dorm and forget about this disastrous assignment but Leon wasn’t having any of it.

“Three times! Three times in one fucking day!” Leon hisses through gritted teeth, three fingers waving around in the air furiously.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean to do it, Leon” One of your classmates say and puts a hand on Leon’s shoulder, only to have him jerk away.

“Doesn’t matter now does it?” Leon says as he gets all up in your face, hands pushing relentlessly at your chest until you end up with your back pressed up against a wall, and with no way to escape his seething rage.

All of a sudden his hands grab onto the collar of your shirt, pulling you so far up, you end up on your tiptoes “Maybe you shouldn’t be here if you don’t think you can handle it”

“That’s enough, Leon!” says another classmate, and grabs at his shoulder to pull him away but Leon doesn’t budge an inch.

“You’re so fucking lucky we get to do remedial work on this” he says, letting go off your collar with a harsh shove before leaving for his dorm.

He stands at your door with his arms crossed, gaze locked on the bedroom floor as he says his apologies and reasonings for his behavior.

You however don’t acknowledge him, acting as if he isn’t even here as you continue to work on the report you have to hand in (an unfortunate outcome from the failed assignment).

Apologies and reasonings are soon replaced with sniffles and whimpers as Leon’s looming form goes down on his hands and knees, landing with a soft thud to the floor before crawling over to your feet

Once again, you don’t acknowledge him, even with him at your feet, hands hovering over your thighs and his hot breath hitting your knees.

He doesn’t dare do anything at first knowing he has to get your permission first. You just sigh heavily as if annoyed with him, but drop the pen you were holding and sneak a hand under your desk to grab at the curls that had formed at the back of Leon's neck before pulling his mouth onto your dick.

He lands face first, hands crawling at your thighs as mutters of “thank you sir “ falls from his lips. He unbuckles your belt before taking your cock out of your boxers and wraps his lips around the tip.

Soon enough another round of apologies along with reasonings can be heard from the man below your feet, as he pathetically suckles on your dick.

“I didn’t mean it” he says with his lips wrapped around your dick, obscene squelching sounds coming through his mouth as he tries to speak.

Of course he didn’t. Leon Kennedy never means what he says. He speaks before he thinks and in very rare cases - regrets it later.

“You know how I get” he spurts out, head thinking much more clearer now with the familiar weight of your cock resting atop of his tongue and the tangy plastic taste dancing across his taste buds.

And of course you do. You know who Leon Scott Kennedy is and you know how he can get. He is the most prestigious student at the police academy. You know the reputation surrounding him, and you know what he has to do to uphold it and sometimes the pressure gets the best of him.

“ I shouldn’t have acted that way” he manages to say with drool running down his chin, mouth getting exhausted from trying to speak while having his lips wrapped around your dick.

Of course he knows he shouldn’t have acted that way. Your Leon knows he shouldn’t because such behavior comes with a certain punishment. Yet that’s what your relationship is all about; Leon testing your limits and you punishing him for it, a sort of push and pull you’ve had going on since you met him.

You stay silent for the whole entirety of his apology, making it clear you were still ignoring him. And every time he realizes that he is being ignored, a fresh wave of tears makes its way down his cheeks. His sniffles along with the squelching sound from his mouth echos throughout the room as he suckles harder on your dick, searching for both comfort and attention from the one person who won’t give it to him.

It’s clear that you won’t accept his apology so easily.

Leon had been out of line today, worried a bit too much about his name, reputation and place in the academy, lashed out in such a way you have to remind him who’s in charge here. Drooling on your dick and muttering a couple of apologies won’t make up for the tantrum he’d thrown earlier today. That’s why you suggest to him “How about this, you get through this report without cumming and I might just accept your apology”

Leon is unable to contain his excitement as he mutters a response with his lips still wrapped around your cock “yes sir, yes please”

Leon allows you to to shove your dick down his throat and put your boot on his cock as he attempts not to blow his load.

He does well the first couple of minutes, never giving into his high even though his hips continuously buck and he gets lost in the feeling of having a cock in his mouth.

However his punishment has just begun and you make it clear with a harsh thrust of your hips and a cruel twist of your boot on his dick.

Eventually things start to go downhill…

“What was that?” You ask as you roll your chair back a bit to get a better look at him.

What you see when you look down is Leon Kennedy on his hands and knees, tears running down his cheeks and lips wrapped around your dick like it’s his last meal with your boot pressed against his own dick.

“Did you say something Kennedy?” You ask faux sympathy dripping from your lips, like he hadn’t been talking ever since he got here. Your hand falls to his head, fingers sinking into his hair as if to pet it but turning up to yank the curls at the back of his neck to have a better look at his face.

His eyes are half lidded, fat tears clinging onto long lashes and running down flushed cheeks. His lips are red and puffy, drool’s running at the corners of his mouth while he does his best to keep his lips wrapped around your dick.

His usual pristine police uniform is disheveled- unbuttoned at the collar and hanging loose at the side of his shoulder. His belt is unbuckled, pants unbuttoned and cock heavily pressing up against the soiled fabric of his pants.

He sniffles sadly, hand coming up to rub away his tears and he manages out a nod before he goes to respond “Are we almost done with the report, sir?”

Instead of responding to him, you release the grip on his hair and roll your chair back in place. You hear the man beneath you squeak at the pushing movement, nails crawling at your legs and gagging at the forceful intrusion.

When you go to speak, it’s not to respond to him but rather to raise attention to something else.

“You can still talk?” You ask, faux disappointment dripping from your voice, “should’ve picked a bigger one” You say, as you buck your hips again and press your boot down on his dick only to be met with the sound of gagging mixing with the sound of whimpers. And you can’t help but chuckle to yourself as you skim over the next part of the report.

“Oh well then. Help me answer this, yeah?” You say before reading the question to him, never once letting up the pace you’ve created between your foot and hips.

He gasps and his body jerks in response.

You know he can back away any time if it gets too much for him, tap twice on your thigh or even use his safe word if he wants to. But he doesn’t, he never asks you too stop. He’s too busy filling that gaping hole he calls mouth, and too busy with relieving his little dick.

You feel his blunt nails claw at the fabric of your pant leg, desperately holding onto it so that your boot never leaves his dick. And despite the gagging noises he makes, he never lets go off your dick, deepthroating it like his life depends on it, “Gnnnh,”

“I can’t hear you big boy you got a whole cock shoved down your throat “ you chuckle, dropping the report for one second to give your undivided attention to the man underneath your desk.

“ gonna gonna-“ is all he manages to say, nails sinking deeper into your skin as you hear something akin to a cry make its way past his lips.

A moment of silence falls over you as you feel his mouth release your cock and body slump onto your leg, face pressed into the material, his hot breath hitting your pant leg.

You roll back your chair and look down at him to see him twitching in place, body now dealing with the aftershock of his orgasm.

“Did you just cum?” You ask with a sneer but your pupils are blown wide, desire clearly swirling in your iris.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry sir” he blabbers, hands fisting the material of your pants as he rubs his cheek against it and you feel the wet sensation from his tears along with his spit soaking through your pant leg.

You sigh, voice dripping with disappointment when you say “three times, three times in one fucking day” you’re clearly echoing back the words he’d said to you in a fit of rage. “I thought we’d manage to get through this report without you coming, looks like I was wrong”

The report is soon torn to pieces, the sound of shredding paper mixing with the sound of Leon’s sniffles.

You grab onto the collar of his shirt, much like he’d done to you before “Maybe you shouldn’t be here in the first place if you don’t think you can handle it”

He tries to respond but he’s unable to say anything. The only response you get is the furious shake off his head paired with the desperate look in his eyes telling you he wants a go at it again. His hand tugging at your leg as he blindly tries to put your dick back in between his lips.

“Let’s try this again” you sigh, rolling your chair back in place as you pick up another paper from your desk. His mouth is back on your cock within seconds and so is your boot atop of his dick.

“You’re so lucky we get to do remedial work on this “ you say with a sneer before subtly bucking your hip and twisting your foot atop of his dick. And once again the room fills with sounds of gagging along with the sounds of Leon’s whimpers.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x male reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #resident evil smut #resident evil fanfiction #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy fanfic #downsides of writing for another fandom is idk what tags work here #but I barley see fics for male readers here so #Alec writes #I wanted to play around with his character a bit so this is one of the pieces for him

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nicetrynicetry · 27 days

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174

Saturday, A announces he is finally going to learn to shoot his gun at a shooting range. He has no idea what gun owner etiquette says about transporting one’s gun between the home and the range. Is there a special case you’re supposed to put it in? Will a shoebox work? I tell him that a shoebox doesn’t seem right, that it reminds me of a dead hamster. He settles on a backpack, like a school shooter. The internet of course has a million briefcases, with pockets for ear coverings and bullets. A goes to collect his friends (both more seasoned gun owners than he) and I hear nothing from him for the next two hours, except a photo of a thick cardboard bullseye puckered and blistered with bullet holes and a text that says “I can protect us now”. The range mounts it on MDF and lets you take your bullseye home, as though you should put it on the fridge with magnets on each corner, like a child’s school art project. A call me from the Americana mall in Glendale, and I tell him he might be the only person ever to go from a shooting range to an Urban Outfitters in the same day. The sky behind him is grey, and I laugh at the temporary traffic signs erected around LA cautioning “severe weather”, which in California means overcast. In London this would be deemed a beautiful day. Perhaps we Brits are a more grateful populace for it, and that’s why LA has to have a restaurant called Cafe Gratitude to force the issue

I tell N about the gun stuff, and she chalks it up to A’s Israeli blood. She says part of her basic training for the Israeli army was learning to shoot an uzi, and I’m impressed. I tell her that A told me there’s graffiti on Sunset Boulevard that says “we survived the gas chambers, we can survive your gaslighting”. I air some of my jealousy around A getting a thoughtful gift for his female friend, a tennis skirt customised with her name on it, an homage to her mother’s professional tennis career. A touching act of friendship or creepy as hell, I can’t decide. There must always be something for me to worry about, and for some reason it will never be A’s gun

At the studio I water my plants, listen to Matt and Shane, listen to Call Her Daddy, ask V’s permission to paint over a large artwork I hated ever since I made it, checking that it’s not currently for sale or sold. It’s not, so I make a plan for its new look. I feel lucky knowing that it only took 4 or 5 days to make this hateful painting, and that in 4 or 5 days it will be brand new. Daylight savings looms, an hour less in bed, and those who observe Islam must play Ramadan on hard mode because the sun sets an hour later. I am late to bed because of A and his firearm excitement, and even later to sleep because a group of teenagers are having the time of their lives on my square. I close my eyes and hear joyous screeching and open my eyes again. I try to be evolved and convince myself want the youth to enjoy life on a bank holiday weekend, after all the world they’re coming of age in is so disastrous. At the same time, I’m also a little bitter that my teen years had so few of these fun late nights, and figure that since I pissed off so few local residents with my own partying, I should not now (karmically) be subjected to it. I worry this will only become more of a problem as summer rolls around, warmer weather and school holidays meaning more nighttime hedonism. My mortgage went up, too, and paying a small fortune to live somewhere makes one’s standards higher. As 3am nears, I consider yelling “SHUT UP” from my window, but I can’t be that girl. This is what ear plugs are for, I guess. Big Ear Plug makes a lot of money off of me

On Sunday, peak Easter, C comes over to hear me whine about finance and romance and family. I tell him about the dinner P hosted with a dozen journalists in attendance, and C rolls his eyes knowingly when I mention that “the state of journalism” was the main topic of conversation. He says when he’s in a room like that he usually says he works for British Gas, in the hope that this steers the conversation towards anything except journalistic shop talk. Does it work? I ask. He says no. We talk about handjobs and Andrew Huberman and alcohol. We laugh loudly and I get a headache from the cigarette smoke, which I take home with me. A calls and I tell him I heard a clip of Jared Kushner talking at Harvard University about the real estate opportunity that is bombed-out Gaza. He described Gaza’s coastline as “very valuable waterfront property”. I tell A it made me sick. I am normally careful not to bring up Israel / Palestine with A, since his parents are Israeli and I have yet to see a healthy discussion of the issue anywhere online or in real life. I regret bringing up Gaza as soon as I do, and we have an awkward 15 minute back and forth until, mercifully, A gets a call from a friend he has to take. We leave off just as it’s about to get nasty, and pick back up a few moments later like it never happened. “What’s your plan for today”, A asks. I tell him it’s 8pm so not a lot of plans. We hang up, I watch Poor Things. I have no business discussing cinema but I have never met a Yorgos Lanthimos film I didn’t like. Cathartic but not too violent, funny but not a comedy, the doors slightly off their hinges but never far fetched. Fantasy applied to reality like lightly buttered bread

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fonulyn · 3 years

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How about “I have had nightmares every night for the past three weeks and now they’re gone because of you, how did you do that?” with Chris/Leon :D

this ended up being for the both of these :) ( @tatsueli i have no idea what you mean by “chris being the blanket”?? but yeah) i hope you approve, both of you.

set after re6, but ...pretend the whole amnesia-thing happened within a much shorter timeframe okay :’D Chris wasn’t gone six months but like. idk. six weeks, tops. idek.

Leon doesn’t sleep well. It’s a general rule. He doesn’t. It’s been literal decades since he last had an uncomplicated relationship with sleep, so long he barely even remembers it. Ever since that disastrous night in Raccon City, he’s been startling awake bathed in cold sweat more nights than not, each subsequent mission just adding fresh material for those unwanted dreams.

There are better times. There are worse times. Sometimes he can almost pretend to be a normal functional human being, and sometimes he’s so far from it he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Chris, however, used to be a deep sleeper. It’s not that the atrocities he’s witnessed don’t get to him, because they do, and he struggles as much as Leon does. Just not in the exact same ways. And sleep has always been easy for him. So when he gets back from China, when they get back from China, and Chris doesn’t sleep for the first three weeks, Leon doesn’t really know what to do.

In the grand scheme of things, three weeks is absolutely nothing, he is aware of that. Yet it feels like during that time they’ve barely managed to scratch the surface of what has happened in these past months. Leon knows they’ll need to talk about it, knows those conversations are looming just around the corner, but he feels in no way equipped to handle all of that.

So when he finds Chris sitting on the couch in the middle of the night, all he does is wrap a blanket around Chris’ shoulders, before tentatively taking the seat next to him. “I brought you a blanket,” he says, gesturing vaguely towards it. It’s a dumb thing to say, he knows, it’s fucking apparent. And he hates that the almost a decade they’ve been together seems to count for nothing in the face of this... whatever this is.

Chris offers him a smile, though, a barely there quirk of his lips, and pulls the blanket tighter around himself with one of his large hands. “Appreciated,” he says, shortly. He seems to be gearing up for something, but then changes his mind at the last second, instead shifting so that they’re facing each other better. “I’m sorry.”

The apology takes Leon by surprise and his eyes fly wide, before he manages to somehow get a grip. “What are you talking about? There’s nothing you need to apologize for.”

Chris huffs, unamused. “I remember maybe half of whatever my life has been for the past decade. I think it counts for a good enough reason.” He reaches one hand from under the blanket, wraps his fingers around Leon’s wrist. “I don’t mean to make you worry. It’s just. I can’t.” He trails off, before sighing, and repeats, “I can’t.”

“You don’t need to sleep, if it’s too much,“ Leon says, as gently as he knows how. “But please come to bed. Just... settle down for a while. It helps, even when you don’t actually sleep.” He lets out a joyless laugh. “Trust me. Been there, done that.“

For a moment Chris considers him silently. Then he nods. “Alright.”

Leon wakes up almost too hot. For the past weeks they’ve shared the same bed, but there’s been like an invisible force field between them, something to always keep them apart ever so slightly. Whatever that was, it seems to have evaporated now, as there’s a thick arm thrown over his waist and Chris’ slow breaths are hot against his temple.

He is asleep.

Leon practically freezes, trying his best to stay as still as possible, so that he won’t accidentally wake Chris up. They’ve both been tired, both unable to sleep, but it has been considerably worse for Chris this time. He sorely needs his rest.

Only later, when Chris begins to stir on his own and finally opens his eyes, Leon offers him a smile. “Morning,” he says, voice cracking from the lack of use.

It takes a moment for Chris to land back to reality, for his brain to catch up, but when he does he mirrors the smile. He seems lighter, somehow, and although Leon isn’t naive enough to think things have been magically fixed he does know it’s a step in the right direction. “Morning,” Chris echoes, bringing his hand up to brush a strand of hair off Leon’s face. It had been tickling his nose but as he’d been committed to not moving, he hadn’t been able to do anything about it.

“Feeling any better?“ Leon asks, shifting slightly, until they’re properly facing each other. It feels somehow achingly intimate, although it’s just them lying on the bed fully clothed, facing one another.

Chris huffs a little, amused. “I’ve had enough nightmares for a lifetime, this past month,” he says, silently, as if he’s sharing a secret. “Every night. And then I thought I just should stop sleeping, but I still had them, even when I was awake.” He looks straight at Leon, pauses for emphasis. “But I didn’t... Not a trace of them tonight. How did you do that?”

"I didn’t do shit,” Leon says, but he can’t hold back the relieved laugh that escapes him. “But I’m glad. You needed that.”

Chris hums a little, agreeing without words. He shifts closer, lets his palm slide around Leon into the center of his back. Leon goes willingly, lets himself be pulled close, and settles comfortably in the shared warmth. “I could try to rest a little more,” Chris says after a while, a tentative suggestion.

It doesn’t take Leon more than a second to agree. “Sure. Let’s do that.”

#chreon #chris redfield #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #my chreon fics #my fics #tatsueli #welshbaes #ask and i shall answer #replies #chatty chat chat

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dalamjisung · 4 years

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picture it ❊ kim taehyung

word count: 4905

genre: fluff

pairing: reader x kim taehyung

description: he could practically picture your future together... and you could write it.

You write about him everyday.

Not in a creepy way, though, but in a very separated, utopian way. Idealized, if you must. The problem isn’t you, and you are sure it also isn’t him, but the conditions– the situation. Every morning, before class, and surely before work, you head to the same small coffee shop, where your best friend works and where you have an honorary table, right in the left corner, next to the big window; this way you can both do your work and get distracted as people run by you without even noticing.

You think it is about four months after your friend started that he began showing up, first as a client, then as a barista. His ascend to fame followed quickly after; the cute guy that made the disastrous latter art. You think that’s what started this thing of yours– the writing; the moment he gave you your latte, boxy smile in place, and something that resembled a dying cat on top of your coffee. You chuckle, captivated by the pride shinning in his eyes. You write about that moment, later.

“First coffee that I didn’t spill,” He says, looking a bit embarrassed still.

“Congratulations,” You tell him, and it’s sincere. He should be proud of his work, even though you are now rethinking if it ever was a dying cat or if it’s just a very deformed smiley face.

You sit on your usual table and pull out your books, ready to start studying for the upcoming biology test. But then you hear it– a symphony of crashing ceramic and startled screams coming from the back. His laugh covers the noise as best as it can, but what’s done is done, and the very next day the boy is demoted back to his position as a mere customer.

He stands in front of you, ordering his coffee, while struggling to hold all of his materials– paint, camera, computer. The heavy objects weight him down enough that he can’t really move a finger to reach for his waller, or else everything would come crashing down, much like the day before.

“Just… just a s-second,” He says grunting with tired arms. “I can’t–“

“I’ll pay for him,” You smile at your friend, giving her your card. “And my usual, please.”

“Gotcha,” She winks and quickly moves, getting better and better at her job by the day.

“Thank you,” He sighs, now using a knee to help with the wright of his things, but struggling with balance. “I just… argh!”

His camera slips and you catch it just as it is about to shatter on the floor.

“Why don’t you go and put your things down on a table?” You say, laughing a bit. “I’ll take your coffee to you.”

“Uh… about that,” He smiles again, that same boxy smile as before. “There are no tables available.”

You look around, only now noticing how full the place is. “My table is right there,” You point to your backpack. “We can share, if that’s okay with you.”

“Thanks, Y/N!” He exclaims, and you are surprised that he knows your name. “Thanks a lot!”

When you take the beverages to the table, you’ve had enough time to build up courage. “So… how’d you know my name?”

“Your friend,” He points to the counter, without raising his eyes from his computer. “Talks about you all the time. Pointed you out to me once and told me exactly how you like your coffee.”

“Ah, I see,” You nod. “And what is your name, then?”

“Ah! Sorry,” He scratches his head. “My name is Kim Taehyung. I’m in the Visual Arts department.”

“That’s why I’ve never seen you around before,” You say. “I’m in the Biology department.”

“Biology?” He frowns. “I thought you were in the Literature department… you are always writing something on your computer, or reading a new book.”

You raise your brows.

“And how would you know that?”

“I notice you,” He says with not even an ounce of shame. “You come here everyday. So do I. It’s only natural.”

“Of course,” You chuckle, opening your book. “Only natural.”

——————————

After that small interaction, given that you two didn’t talk for the rest of the day while sharing a table, it is almost like Taehyung is suddenly everywhere. So of course, it is only nature, following his train of thought, that you’d start noticing him, too.

In the bowling alley, giving people their shoes, and then a month later with his friends renting a lane.

Then the bistro nearby campus, busting tables, and then a couple of weeks later on a date with a girl.

The bookstore close to your dorm is the place place you see him working, and you think it lasts a few months, since the opportunities for weird and extreme incidents are minimum. You first find out when you have to get a new textbook for your anatomy class, and as always, the professor put some on reserve, at the bookstore.

“You again.”

You look at him, behind the counter with his black rimmed glasses and boxy smile. His hair is longer now, even darker, and the ends that meet his cheeks and neck curve upwards. You don’t even try to deny his attractiveness, but there is something about Kim Taehyung that intrigues you more than draws you to him– maybe the clumsiness, or the boxy smile, or even the alienated personality; you are not sure, but you are willing to find out.

“Me again,” You smile wide. “You work here now?”

“Yeah,” He chuckles. “After getting fired from the coffee shop, the bowling alley, and the bistro, this was pretty much the only place that would take me in. All I have to do is stand behind the counter and put the money in the register… easy enough.”

“Well, can you also help me find a book I need for class?”

“Sure,” He nods. “Biology, right?”

“Ah, you remember,” You tease.

“Hard to forget when you are everywhere,” He rolls his eyes. “Human Anatomy?”

“Yes,” You look at his computer screen, making sure it is the right one. “That one.”

“Be right back.”

Taehyung disappears in the back and you hear a few thumps here and there, and maybe even a pained moan, but you let it slide. It is better to have books falling on him than sharp shreds of glass, you think, but why do you care?

“Here you go, Y/N,” He sighs, hair messy and, surprisingly, no smile. “That’ll be $67– $67?! Holy shit! That’s so expensive! Wah… no fucking way!”

And there he is… Kim Taehyung in the flesh.

“Unfortunately textbooks are always around that price,” You groan, pulling your debit card out of your wallet. “Here you go. Take my money.”

“Now I feel bad about this…” He pouts, but charges you nonetheless. “They told me to always thanks the costumer after a sale, but wow, I don’t think I can thank you for this… I feel like I just personally bankrupted you.”

“Nah, don’t worry,” You wink, grabbing your stuff. “This textbook just means that I’ll have to cut down on the coffee for a week or so. I’ll be okay.”

Just as you are turning around to leave, he calls you back.

“Or!” He shouts, and instantly blushes as your wide eyes meet his. “Or… or, you know, I could… I c-could buy you coffee. If that’s okay with you. And you want it. Coffee, I mean.”

“Coffee,” You echo, holding in your laughter. “Sure. I’d love coffee.”

“Awesome!” Boxy smile is back. “Tomorrow, then? Let’s say around 10AM?”

“Perfect,” You wave. “See you then, Taehyung.”

“Call me Tae!”

With that, you go home happy and giggly. You were getting coffee tomorrow, and you’re writing today.

——————————

“This is not charity, Miss,” He teases, before giving the drink over to you. Looming the cup in front of you, close enough that you could smell it, he continues. “I want a favor, actually.”

“And here I thought this was out of your pure and innocent heart,” You sigh, joking along with him. “Do tell, Mister, what could a humble peasant like me offer you?”

Trying to hide his smile, Taehyung sips his drink, eyes locked on yours, and you have to cross your legs, a but uncomfortable with how quickly your body reacted under his hungry eyes.

“In case you haven’t figured out yet,” Tae says and leans forward, holding his face with his elbows on his knees. “I’m a photographer. And every photographer needs a… muse. I want you to be mine.”

Choking slightly on your drink, you look at him, alarmed. “Muse? You want me as a model?”

“Please, Y/N,” Every single ounce of his sexy, mysterious façade is gone and he pouts, lips jutting forward in the cutest way possible. Makes you want to kiss them. “I desperately need a model for my portfolio, and I’m running out of time. I don’t have the money to hire a professional model, even though I tried to get it with the jobs and all, but… it’s impossible; I’m useless and got fired from all of them.”

You notice a bit of anger in his voice and tension on his shoulders and you can’t help but wonder what this happy, giddy boy hides behind laughter and playful remarks.

“Okay,” You nod, breathless with impulsivity. “Okay. I’ll do it. I’m sorry if I suck, though, but I’ll do my best to help.”

“Really?!” He smiles to wide that you just have to smile, too. “Oh my god, thank you so much, Y/N! You won’t regret it! Coffee on me, anytime you want it during a photoshoot, okay? Anytime!”

“Sounds perfect,” You say and point at his phone. “Would you mind if I gave you my number? I think that would be the easiest way for us to schedule everything.”

“Oh, y-yeah,” He also grabs your phone. “G-good idea.”

It is settled, then. You would model for Taehyung, and he would repay you with coffee, even though later you tried to make him give up on that idea, uncomfortable to have him paying for your coffee when you can do it yourself.

“No way,” He shakes his head and as fluffy as his hair is, it doesn’t distract you from what’s important at the moment. “I’d feel terrible having you do it for free, so the least I can do it feed your caffeine addiction.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” You deadpan, stopping in front of your dorm. “Anyways, thanks for walking me back… It got pretty dark, are you sure you’ll be fine?”

“Yeah, I live just a couple of blocks from here,” He looks tired; eyes sunken, with dark circle underneath them. He still looks beautiful, though. “I’ll text you when I’m home.”

“Please do,” You wave. “Be safe!”

“Yes, mom!”

Going inside, you rethink your decision; maybe this isn’t right for you. Modeling? You have no experience, or comfort, for that matter, in front of a camera. Usually you are the one in the backstage of everything, hiding behind a computer and a username so that you can post your stories online. What if you suck at it? What if because of you his portfolio ends up incomplete and improper? Modeling is a career and you are just not fit for it… but it’s a deal. You’ll have to pull through, and you only have one shot at it– so you better give it your all.

You ignore your roommate in the kitchen, and run straight to your room, calling the only person you can think of to help you in this desperate situation.

“Mom,” You breath out, glad that she picked up. From the looks of it, she had just gotten home from work, her face still covered in professional makeup. “I need your help.”

“Hi, my love,” She smiles and you just love how different this smile looks from the ones you see in the magazines. “What’s up?”

You explain everything; from how you met Taehyung, to how you started talking, to how you ended up agreeing to be his model. Her happiness is visible, and you are sure she is extremely excited about you trying out her profession.

“Ah, I like this boy, already,” She jokes. “He sees just how beautiful you are; like a model!” “I’m not you mom,” You sigh. “I’m not an international supermodel that is natural and cheerful and good at modeling.”

“But I can teach you a few things so that the camera doesn’t scare you,” She explains. “It scares me, too, baby. It’s not that easy…”

“I know, I know,” Taking a deep breath, you focus. “Teach me what I need to know.”

For hours, you work with your mom on posing, and relaxing, and focusing. She tells you about different photo feelings, and different lightening, and how the right tilt of your head, or look in your eyes is enough to dictate the mood of the picture.

“It’s getting late, Y/N,” Your mom yawns. “You should rest. I’m sure you’ll do great when it’s time.”

“Thanks mom,” You smile, eyes dropping with tiredness. “I love you.”

“Love you, too, baby,” And then she hangs up.

I can do this. I can help him.

——————————

It is around a week later that he calls you, in the morning, on a Saturday.

“Hey!” You groan in response. “Are you ready?”

“For what?”

“Photoshoot!” He practically shouts in your ear. “Now! The sun is perfect and we’ll get an amazing natural light.”

“Tae, why didn’t you text me about this yesterday?!” You cry out, running to your closet in look of anything decent to wear. “I just woke up! I look like a zombie!”

“You look beautiful all the time,” He chuckles. “Now get dressed and come down; and don’t worry about hair and makeup, my friend will help us with that.”

You are not sure what he means with that but follows his instructions nonetheless. In five minutes, you are downstairs in sweatpants and ponytail, ready to face what you are sure will be your biggest challenge so far.

“Y/N!” Taehyung is excited when he spots you; waving frantically and smiling wide. “Right here!”

Next to him there are two guys.

“These are my friends,” He introduces. “Jin-hyung and Jimin-ah!”

You feel a bit intimidated now, staring next to three incredibly handsome men and literally looking like you just rolled out of bed.

“Nice to meet you,” You try out, smiling shyly. “I’m Y/N.”

“Wah,” Jin sighs, looking you up and down. “She really is just like you said, Taehyung-ah… beautiful. I am confident that I chose the right outfits for you.”

You blush.

“Ignore him,” Jimin rolls his eyes. “Hyung is a huge flirt. I’ll be in charge of makeup, by the way. I can run some ideas by you, if you’d like.”

You four talk all the way to the park, where Tae wanted to start the day– after some coffee, of course. You get dressed in the public bathroom nearby and your makeup is quick and natural. As Jin sets everything up and Jimin tries to find some flowers for your hair, you pull Taehyung aside.

“Why me?!” You whisper, panic in your eyes. “Tae, look at your friends! They were born models!”

“Them?” He frowns. “Yeah, they’re pretty. But you’re different.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve observed you for months, Y/N,” He chuckles, cheeks getting redder by the second. “Trust me when I say you are exactly what I need.”

“Tae–“

“Let’s go!” Jimin shouts. “Everything is ready.”

It’s time. You take a deep breath, and close your eyes, thinking about all the tips and lessons your mom gave you for the past week; mood, pose, focus. You can do this. You have to do this.

“Let’s give it a try,” You sigh. “If I do anything wrong, let me know.”

Taehyung just winks at you, and the shoot starts. More than just guiding you, his voice starts to calm you done; the low baritone of his natural tone starting to sooth your insides, and not log after you notice you are actually having fun with them. They ask you to do ridiculous poses and you follow, laughing as you can’t keep your balance, or as Jin makes another dad joke. For a second, you forget that Taehyung is behind a camera, capturing your every move, and you think that he is right next to you; hand in yours, smiling and giggling with you. You break away from your daydream soon enough, trying to memorize it all to heart– you just have to write about this after. Actually, you are pretty sure you have, and all that happiness before seeps away as you recall your words. You can just picture it…

Big hands meet small ones, swallowing them, protecting them. There is more to the boy than his hands, but these are the only thing she can feel, the only thing she can touch– they scream for reality, proving something she’s been looking for for months… sanity. He grounds her, and she allows him to fly. Seems fair.

This was the last thing you wrote about him, and you wonder why; why did you start? Continue? Would it end? Would you one day stop?

What hurts the most is not knowing that one day he’ll simply be a fictional character in your portfolio; what hurts the most is knowing that everything you wrote feels true. As you got to know Taehyung, you’ve learned that your character Taehyung and the real Taehyung are incredibly similar… but you can only have one.

“Let’s take a break!”

Jimin is the first one to disappear, talking to himself about ice cream or something of the sort. Jin is next, when he spots a group of girls by the pond looking and giggling at him. Tae, however, stays; and walks to where you sit, playing with the hem of your long dress.

“What happened?”

“What do you mean?” You mumble, feeling tired and, now, discouraged. “Did I mess up?”

“No,” He chuckles. “You are doing great, and acting borderline professionally, but then you just… got sad.”

You freeze. “I don’t–”

“Do you know why I thought you were perfect for this project?” You shake your head. “You wear your emotions on your face, Y/N. It’s been like that since I first saw you… you looked calm and relaxed and I could practically feel it, too. You are an open book, to me, at least, and I can ready you so, so easily. I wasn’t looking for shallow beauty; I was looking for emotion. Raw. And you are it.”

“Taehyung,” You gasp. “That’s–“

“What happened?” He asks again, this time turning to face you. “Why are you sad?”

“I write about you.”

It comes out like a confession and you suddenly feel guilty.

“I am taking a creative writing class and it was right when you started working at the cafe,” You hide your face in your hands. “And I saw you and you looked so happy, and so unique, and something about you just seemed surreal. So I started using you as a physical model. But then I got to know you, and oh god, Taehyung, stop laughing!”

You are stunned by the choked sound you hear coming from him and when you notice him trying to hold his laughter in, you whine, hitting him in the shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” He raises his hands, openly laughing now, and trying to stop you from hitting him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but… I kind of knew.”

“What?” You shriek, distancing yourself away from him almost as if touching him burns your skin. “How?”

“Your friend told me,” He admits sheepishly. “I had to press her for it, though, so please don’t be angry at her…”

“Press her?”

“I noticed that every time you were writing you kept looking at me,” He shrugs, with his stupid smug smile on his face. “So I had a guess. She just confirmed it for me.”

“This is so embarrassing,” You whine, getting up. “I should probably go, if we’re done here, right? Right… are we done here?”

This time, he is the one that whines. “You promised I’d get to buy you coffee! Let’s go get coffee!”

“Taehyung,” You sigh. “I am mortified right now. I think I need–“

“Coffee,” He insists. “You just need coffee. What’s so wrong about writing about me, anyways? I felt pretty good, to be honest.”

“Yeah,” You deadpan. “I’m sure you did.”

——————————

“Thanks for coming with me.”

You look at the boy sitting in front of you and you frown a bit.

“Well, you did promise me coffee,” You joke, but something in his eyes tell you that there is more to what he means. “What’s up with you, now? Don’t act all smug about it, I know there is something bothering you.”

“How?”

“Eyes,” You point at your and the his. “Your look sad. You say I wear my emotions on my face, well, you wear yours on your eyes. ‘Fess up, kiddo. What’s going on?”

“My parents think I suck,” He groans, forehead hitting the table. “At photography, I mean. They are farmers and they don’t really understand why I would study something so risky. I understand their worries, but it sucks. I just needed their support, right now…”

“Why right now?”

“I’m on a scholarship,” He sighs, finally moving to look at you. “And my final portfolio will determine if the school will offer me the scholarship again next year or if it goes to someone else.”

You almost spit your coffee all over his pretty face.

“Taehyung!” You chastise him, frowning. “You should’ve hired a professional model!”

“I told you a tried!” He defends himself, throwing his head back in frustration. “Not that you didn’t do amazing today, by the way. You should totally start charging after this.”

“I don’t think I’ll follow this line of work,” You winced. “Too tiring. My mom is a model and she is always working late.”

“Who’s your mom?” He asks.

“Y/M/N Y/L/N,” You smile, proud. “I called her for tips on how to model. She was really happy I was doing this.”

“Ah, I see,” He chuckles. “You actually look a lot like her.”

“I do?” You are surprised, to say the least.

“Definitely,” He winks. “Beautiful, too.”

You roll your eyes, but that is not enough to hide the blush blooming in your cheeks.

“Focus on you,” You say, looking at his sigh. “Do you think you have a chance?”

“After what I saw today?” He breaths out, smile back. “Totally. There’s only one part missing, anyways. We got most of it today.”

“Which part?”

“Self-portrait,” He gulps. “And I have no fucking clue how I will do this.”

“What do you mean? That should be the easiest part!”

“No, it’s always the hardest for me,” His eyes are intense on yours. “I have too many people talking in my ear… Taehyung-ie this, Taehyung-ie that, such a smart boy, making such stupid choices. Ugh! I have no clue what to do because I think I have no real clue about who I think I am.”

Well, this took a turn. You aren’t expecting him to be so open, so real, but he is and you feel it– the butterflies in your stomach. You know you’re done for when he looks at you and you have to look away. Goddammit Y/N, you think. Why’d you have to start liking him now?

“Everyone that told me their opinions of me are incredibly biased,” He squints at you, almost as if he is deep in thought. “But you know who isn’t?”

You just shrug.

“You.”

“No.”

You know what he’s about to ask you. Or at least you have a hint, and you don’t think you’d ever be able to face him if you did.

“Y/N, please!” He whines. “I’m begging you! You wrote them before you got to know me, so I’m sure that will be the most honest opinion of myself I’ll ever get.”

“It’s called self-reflection, Tae,” You chuckle. “Not Y/N-reflection. You have to figure out for yourself, love.”

“But you can help me,” He whispers, and for a second everything stops; his eyes, so lost and desperate, find yours and nothing but him seems to exist. Here is this man– this beautiful man– asking for your help to find himself. “Please Y/N… help me.”

You let your head fall on the table with a soft thud.

“When you put it like that it makes it hard to say no,” You mumble.

“That’s the point,” He laughs, and when you raise your head he’s already walking to the door. “Let’s go to your dorm.”

——————————

You pace around nervously, bitting your finger nails as Taehyung is sitting on your bed, laptop in his lap. It takes him a long time– or at least you think it does,– but when he’s finished, he has a glint in his eyes, something that looks like… is he crying?

“Tae…” You call softly. “Are you okay?”

“I just,” He sighs, rubbing his eyes and chuckling to himself. “I just never heard things like these being said about me.”

“Tae, I didn’t know you back then,” You try to explain, afraid to have hurt the sensible man. “Right now, I think you are so much more.”

“More?” He asks, and now you know what shines in his eyes. “I can be more?”

Hope.

“You can be so much more, Kim Taehyung,” You move to sit next to him, legs touching and shoulders bumping. “You can be anything you want.”

“Y/N,” He whispers, and his voice sounds strangled, contained, somehow. “Y/N, thank you.”

“For what?” His hand finds yours and you hold your breath as it swallows yours. Your mind wonders to the words on your computer and you force yourself back to reality.

“For giving me space,” His fingers dance on your palm, caressing your skin as if it is the most precious thing he’s ever seen. “For giving me hope. I’ve never felt this free before, and it’s all because of you.”

“Taehyung,” You smile, pulling him by the hand to look at you. “You’ve always been free. You just needed a push to fly.”

Nodding, your heads start to get closer and closer. With his hand in yours, warm and firm, he pulls you to him, lips finding yours with an unexpected hunger; a need beyond imagination. Beyond words. When the kiss deepens, you two are a mess of emotions; your body lays down and his follow suit, covering you and weighting you down, and you loved it. You could feel his presence, now; this is different then writing about him, then picturing him– this is real. This is warm, and desperate, and hungry, and caring. This is love at its rawest form.

This is us.

As his lips descend to your neck, you smile. Fingers in his hair and neck pull him back to you, mouth hot on yours, and you two talk without words; you see without pictures. It’s something that only you two understand, and you wouldn’t want it any other way. Both of you are free.

Falling asleep comes easily after you two settle down, whispering secrets and wishes to each other, arms and legs tangled like vines. He tells you about his family and his grandmother, and how, one day, he wants to be a professional photographer, one that tells stories of feelings and emotions and places and people. In return, he learns about your passion for writing, and how unlike him, you gave into your parents pressure and decided to study biology instead, hoping to one day be a researcher.

“It’s a form of writing,” You shrug, scooting closer to him, loving the sensation of his soft curls tickling your forehead. “And I kind of like it.”

“That’s what matters,” He kisses you again and that is the last thing you remember before falling asleep.

When you wake up, Tae is trying to balance his camera on top of your dresser, pointing at the bed.

“What on earth are you doing?” You laugh at his wide eyes and messy hair. He’s still wearing yesterdays clothes and so are you, remembering the comfort of his arms being too much to even change.

“I had an idea for my self-portrait assignment,” He smiles, boxy, true, loving. “And I want you in it.”

“Me?” You frown, confused.

He walks to you, calm and confident, and kneels down in from of you, body in between your legs, chin on your stomach. He takes a deep breath, kissing all the way up to your mouth, where he spends some time exploring, imploring.

“I’ve never felt more myself then when I’m with you, Y/N,” He pulls away. “This is the best self-portrait I can have– you and me. I can just picture it, us, two, three years from now, looking back at them, remembering the night we truly met each other…”

You just smile.

“Will you do it?” He asks, holding you r face in between his hands. “Will you help me?”

“Always.”

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

And with this fic, I officially open my multi-fandom blog to BTS fics! Wohoo! Taehyung is my favorite boxy smile, omg. I am so happy with this fic, though, and there is nothing like the accomplishment feeling that comes after finishing a story. As always, please let me know what you guys think :) Comments, likes, and reblogs fuel creators to keep going... I have also linked a Ko-Fi button on my page! Don’t feel obligated, but all donations are appreciated <3 Love you all!

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talltales · 4 years

Photo

pair: mark / reader desc: and he has never seemed more human than he does in this moment, mourning as he is released from the binds of gravity words: 1.5k+ rated: 14+ genre: romance notice: departures/bittersweet things gifted: to whoever needs it

—I'VE GOT NOTHING LEFT TO LIVE FOR, GOT NO REASON YET TO DIE BUT WHEN I'M STANDING IN THE GALLOWS, I'LL BE STARING AT THE SKY

“so… you’re going now?”

there is no need to ask, she knows. but the question drives away the quiet, just the same. like a specter, it looms above their heads and consumes all of their intangible things—

“guess so,” he glances heavenward for a minute, before releasing a heavy breath. the curling of his fingers into fists at his sides belies his indifferent tone, though she can’t look. not at him, and not right now. “we—I always knew this was coming.”

things like her hope.

things like his patience.

“lucky you.”

mark hears it, even beneath the blaring of ambulance sirens in the distance. the trader joe’s parking lot is hardly the place to have this discussion; to watch him leave at two in the morning like he’s getting into a cab after a night on the town—but there it is. this is the culmination of years spent pining after the most unattainable man she could possibly find.

‘i’m going to aim a little higher,’ she’d declared, after a disastrous summer crush when she was fifteen. it had, like most things in her life, ended in tears.

she’d really outdone herself this time.

“i’ve delayed it long enough,” he bites out, spinning on his heel again to repeat his narrow path. the parking space barely contains him and the chaos that follows his every step; beneath his boots, the remnants of a midnight rainstorm circle—drops flowing skyward in blatant disregard for the laws of physics.

he doesn’t seem to notice.

of course, mark carries a little magic everywhere because he was made that way, stern and immutable, long before she was a thought in her mother's head.

his expression softens. she watches his fingers stretch, working away the tension that seems to have taken up residence underneath her ribcage instead.

is breathing supposed to be this hard?

“i’m sorry.“

“why?” softly, she threads her fingers through the hair at her nape and forces her voice to stay even, “you were supposed to take me to the movies next week. you were supposed to be my date for that stupid graduation party, and you can’t walk me home if you’re literally millions of miles away!”

you can’t kiss me goodnight, she almost says—aware of the knot forming in her throat even as her voice echoes across the cold, empty lot. it is a small consolation that they’re alone, cloaked in the light of fluorescent lamps and the stars.

somewhere out there, he has a home.

it's not here. it's not here.

she can still taste the rain; can still feel it soaking down to her bones. the next storm is minutes away—the thunder rolls behind the clouds as if the earth itself is protesting his departure.

he deflates before her eyes, shoulders slumping in a way that would be comical if it were any other day. any other time.

it isn’t.

here they are.

“it was bound to happen,” he moves closer, letting her name fall as a sigh—an admonishment and a praise wrapped into a single sound that makes her heartbeat stutter in the most painful way, “you know this. you knew it when i told you.”

for every ounce of youth that his face holds, his eyes are as old as the moon and just as bright. he looks just the way he did when she was fourteen.

fifteen. seventeen. nineteen.

mark has always bore the weight of their world with grace, though gravity’s hold on him has always been a little tenuous. he drifts instead of walking, dances less than an inch above the ground; near but always always out of reach.

truthfully, he was never really meant for earth.

his presence on the planet, he said, was a fantastic accident; the best possible consequence of his own miscalculations.

“i wish you hadn’t told me,” she says, as if she hadn’t already known—it was impossible not to notice how time left him untouched as the years went by, or any of the other ways that he casually defied what it meant to be human.

and it was easy because he wasn’t.

“you don’t,” unapologetically, he hums. the pressure of his fingertips at her temples is the only thing that soothes her. and while he is still inept with words, the things that he wants to say come through touch—a light brush to her shoulder, well done; a squeeze of her fingers, it’s okay.

his lips follow his fingertips, kissing the corner of her brow. it isn’t clear what that means yet, but her heart clenches anyways.

“why are you crying?” he asks, as if he’s inquiring about the weather. and she rushes to wipe away the tell-tale tracks with her sleeve, ignoring the juxtaposition between his bland tone and gentle kisses.

“i won’t see you again, or hear you again.”

his fingers slowly slide through her hair, sorting the wet strands as the rain slowly begins to fall again, “wait, i have something for you.”

undeterred by the cold droplets trailing down his back, he drifts to his car—a blue honda undoubtedly older than she is—and digs around in the glove compartment for a moment before emerging with a hunk of silver plastic.

a phone.

“someone gave this to me years ago. they said that it could withstand basically anything.”

with a proud little smile, mark holds it out for her to take. even before she looks at it, it is apparent the nokia is from decades past and has the scuffs to match. still, she runs her fingers along the edges—biting back a soft, sad laugh.

“unless you know something that i don’t, there’s no reception in outer space.” her head shakes, willing away the urge to cry—in lieu of giving in, she turns the weighty device in her hand and looks back at him, “it’d be more useful for clubbing someone to death.”

his head tilts.

“but thank you.”

“you’re welcome,” his lips quirk in the most endearing way, and again she is struck by how much she’ll miss him.

there is a moment of silence between them then, punctuated only by the downpour—the water pools at their feet, touching the bottoms of his soles as he floats above the asphalt.

with each passing minute, he seems to rise a little higher.

his gaze drifts over her face, in a searching way that narrows her focus to him—has her breath catching in her throat, “what is it?”

“i think that i understand,” mark seems to be testing the words on his tongue; his lips part soundlessly once, then twice, before he speaks, “what you mean when you say you’ll miss me.”

she grips the phone tighter and feels the hard buttons digging into her palm.

“when i go,” he says, as if he’ll be back tomorrow. he's just taking a cab home. he reaches out, and his fingers slide between hers, gripping lightly, “i want to see your face.”

and for all of the years that she’s known him, she’d never expected mark to ask her this—to watch him leave her behind. but this, she realizes, is why they’re standing in a trader joe’s parking lot at two in the morning.

so he can vanish into the cosmos with just one witness to his departure.

and if mark tuan is anything, it is practical.

“i’ll watch you go.” she says, as if saying the words doesn’t split her heart into pieces. the words emerge thickly; laden with bittersweet honey. her eyes flutter closed.

“do you promise? you won’t look away?”

her teeth sink into the inside of her cheek.

“didn’t i say i would?” his hands are squeezing again, tugging until she stands in the circle of his arms. mark is warm, even as the rain pours ever harder, as cold as ice. she whispers to his collarbone, “i promise.”

because i have loved you for years.

“you always were my favorite human,” he laughs. she feels the sound move through his chest, emerge from the column of his throat—she curls her fingers into his shirt, tightening her grip until her knuckles are pale and the skin is pulled taut over her bones.

i’m yours. i’m yours. i’m yours.

“i’ll be back,” the assurance is murmured against her hair, between soft kisses that she feels to the tips of her toes when everything else is numb, “you haven’t seen the last of me.”

she shakes her head, tilting her head back to press her lips to his chin—all too aware of the way that his body feels buoyant in her grasp. he is winning his fight against gravity, at last.

his hands glide up to cup her face—his boots hover a foot off the ground now, then two. three.

“i’m not like you. i won’t live forever.”

she watches him dutifully, past the haze of rain and fog rolling in; past the blurring at the edges of her vision and the warmth spilling down her cheeks.

in this moment, when mark stares down at her with something akin to pain in his eyes—mourning—

he has never seemed more human.

{ end }

#label: ix #got7 fanfic #got7 au #mark tuan fic #mark tuan au

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hiirunakaarchive · 4 years

Text

– to act in haste (2)

↳ in an alternate universe where mc landed the fellowship, but not in the way she wanted. (pt 1), (pt 3), (pt 4)

◇ pairing: ethan ramsey x mc (haruna sakurai)

◇ genre: angst, like totally angst. through and through. not a single sentence of redeeming fluff here im so sorry

◇ song rec: comme au premier jour – andré gagnon

◇ word count: 3.2k+

◇ tags: @aworldoffandoms, @perriewinklenerdie (thank u so much for waiting)

◇ author’s note: hi all! it’s been a minute! the release of OH2 finally inspired me to continue the piece that i posted last april so after a week of writing and rewriting im finally satisfied enough to post the second part! (this series is literally my baby please dont let it flop). i decided that this story will be split into three parts so i strongly suggest reading pt1 linked above if you want to make any sense of this second part LOL. pls keep in mind that i wrote part one before OH1 finished so it’s not totally faithful to the original story and has my own little spin of drama and flair so like always, feedback is always appreciated!! ill shut up now, ENJOY!

prologue

Dr. Sakurai was his epitome of a dream. Temporary, fleeting bliss that left just as soon as it came.

The two months following their confrontation were painfully, excruciatingly silent. She avoided him like the plague and the circumstances failed to change during the nine weeks he spent in the Amazon. He departed with the intent of banishing her and whatever feelings that still lingered from his heart and mind, yet one look at her was all it took for his resolve to crack.

He still loved her.

arrival

The first night marking Dr. Ramsey’s arrival back in Boston, the view of the bustling city from his airplane window evoked a flurry of fond memories. He had missed the city more than he cared to admit, yet, he had come to hate it just the same.

As the plane landed and rolled against the tarmac, Ethan stared vacantly at the distant lights of the city and let his thoughts wander.

Has she been taking care of herself?

Is she still angry with me?

Does she look any different from when I last saw her?

He let out a huff of frustration and accepted the bitter truth. Two months of cowardice and deliberately running from the thought of her did nothing to ease the sting of reality amidst his return to America.

Leaning back against the headrest, he muttered. “I need a drink.”

The next two hours passed in a blur. The doctor disembarked the aircraft in a hurry and retrieved his luggage from the carousel just as quick. Amongst that and hopping into the first cab he could hail, Ethan was unsure whether his haste was just in desperation to get home and rest or to quench his thirst for the god damn drink that airplane liquor couldn’t satisfy.

He stumbled into his apartment and let Jenner out of the carrier, the pet becoming nothing but an obscure whiz of fur as he zipped out of the cage to celebrate the comfort and familiarity of their home.

The kitchen was still pristine, though not without a bit of dust. Looming over the marble counters and to the dining table across the room, Ethan found himself reminiscing over the last meal he had here.

“The fellowship. Why did I win?”

“Did you think it would make me happy?”

“Is that it, Ethan? Do you pity me?”

“Christ.” He cursed to himself, ripping open the cupboards.

A single bottle of red wine greeted him, still three quarters full and untouched since the last disastrous dinner he had with Dr. Sakurai. It seemed to splash delightfully against its bottle as the man rolled his eyes and filled the glass to the brim. Inhaling the aroma and swirling the liquid with a delicate motion of his wrist, he took a sip.

This tastes like shit.

Ethan poured the wine down the sink along with the remaining contents of the bottle, bidding goodbye to the last physical remnant of that tear-ridden night two months ago.

He still needed a damn drink though.

The first step he took into Donahue’s was a hopeful one, and he cursed to himself in disappointment for knowing exactly what, or more specifically, who he was hoping to see.

He quickly scanned the booths and bar, failing in the search for that recognizable head of vibrant red and black. The only vibrance he was getting was from the familiar disco ball that loomed overhead, which made him squint in distaste. Taking a seat at the bar, a voice he could only recognize as Reggie’s called to him from behind the counter, his back to him.

“Welcome, I’ll be right with you.” He said, not bothering to turn around.

“I thought I told you to get rid of that god awful toy on the ceiling.”

Reggie’s head snapped up.

“Two months of disappearing off the face of the earth did nothing to fix that attitude of yours, Ramsey.” He smiled at his regular warmly before grabbing a bottle of scotch and pouring a glass.

Reggie slid it to him across the table.

“On me. Welcome back.”

Taking it gratefully, Ethan rose it to the bartender in a toast for his generosity.

“Thank you, Reg.” He said, stepping off the stool and making his way towards his favourite spot on the patio.

Midway through the exit, the doctor’s annoyance was already stirred by the booming voices and clinking of glass from an unknown group. They were counting down, and to what, exactly? He could not, for the life of him, be bothered.

And then he heard it.

“Midnight!”

Her voice.

“To kicking ass and running Edenbrook-“

Oh God, no.

“— as second-year residents!”

Ethan stopped fully in his tracks, and the eyes that solely wandered the deck in search of a free table landed on a picnic bench where five very familiar faces smiled and laughed.

Dr. Trinh, Dr. Greene, Dr. Lahela—

He exhaled in relief as he spotted Dr. Varma.

So they’ve gone back to being friends.

And smack in the middle, Dr. Sakurai.

Haruna Sakurai.

Fairy lights that illuminated the patio in protest to the evening were strung between poles and trees erected around the terrace. Yet amongst it all, Dr. Ramsey still found her to be shining the brightest. She still had that proper and dignified air about her, and the man was relieved to see that she had begun to smile again, albeit not as merrily as she used too. He could tell that in the several months they haven’t spoken to each other that she was no longer the same wide-eyed, inquisitive doctor she once was.

I solved the case!

I figured out a way to help some people who really deserve it. It’s a good feeling.

What it means to be a doctor? It means fighting the inevitable.

During Dr. Sakurai’s first year at Edenbrook, she had admitted to Dr. Ramsey that she regarded him as her reckoning. Perhaps that was what pushed her to try harder.

“Yeah, you were definitely an asshole, but it was less you that I was scared of, and more ‘This asshole is my greatest inspiration and I can’t disappoint him’.” She rambled on their stroll back to the hospital from Derry Roasters.

He chuckled fondly as he continued to look straight ahead, the corners of his mouth curving up in a ghost of a smile.

“You could never disappoint me.”

She had learned and grown, and Dr. Ramsey was there to witness every budding moment of it. It was then that he realized that she was the one to be reckoned with.

A few tables from Edenbrook’s newest residents, he spotted the bar where he could enjoy his drink alone and in peace. He looked away from the joyous bunch and started towards the empty stools, but not without inevitably passing by the group first. Dr. Greene spotted him, his eyes lighting up in recognition and Ethan sighed in abandonment of any hope of getting to the other side of the beer garden unbothered.

“Speaking of the diagnostics team...” Elijah whispered audibly.

As the others in the group indulged in their gossip about Ethan’s heroic medical mission across the continent, Sakurai tensed visibly. He stopped in front of their table and for the first time in a very long time, she willed herself to look up and make her eyes meet his.

“Rookie...” Ethan greeted her coolly as he broke the silence.

Haruna’s jaw clenched and he questioned his audacity at still daring to call her by her nickname. Perhaps they were both thinking the same thing. How could they address each other– no, even look at each other, knowing that they were going to work together again? Above it all, how could Dr. Sakurai come to the hospital everyday; constantly, ceaselessly interacting with the living reminder that her position on the diagnostics team wasn’t even rightfully hers?

They left things on a horrifically bitter and awkward note, and Haruna’s eyes darted between her friends across the table, begging to be bailed out.

Dr. Trinh shifted uncomfortably, Dr. Lahela took a flippant sip of his beer as he eyed Haruna protectively, and Dr. Varma glared at the attending with eyes ablaze. Dr. Greene seemed to be the only one unbothered by Ethan’s presence.

Haruna breathed in once before plastering on a fake smile.

“It’s good to have you back, Dr. Ramsey.”

The fake sentiment wrenched at his chest, the gaze that once beamed at him with stars and everything bright now replaced with something hollow and resentful. He was careless enough to let the turmoil show on his face momentarily before collecting himself.

“Yeah... good to be back,” Was all he could muster.

Sensing the tension between himself and the five young doctors, Ethan nodded his head once before continuing to the main bar.

“Doctors. Enjoy your night.”

Sakurai’s eyes lingered on him as he walked away, and the holes he felt being burned into his back vanished once he took his very distant seat at the bar. Her friends continued on with their idle chitchat, and Ethan found himself listening intuitively. No amount of distance he placed between himself and that rambunctious group could keep him from overhearing bits and pieces of their conversation.

They cackled and toasted some more, and the strangers around them, be it alone or with company, indulged in their own private celebrations as well. Yet despite the boisterous nature of his surroundings, all he could hear was her.

“I’m a colossal pain in the ass! I don’t want to be responsible for another me!”

And he couldn’t help but laugh.

present

Since that fateful evening two weeks ago, Dr. Ramsey and Dr. Sakurai assumed their normal routine, save for the scowl she tried to hide every time she saw him. Despite the circumstances, he kept a close eye on her as she eased into her place on the diagnostics team, having succeeded in charming Baz with her amiable personality, and June as they made small talk in regards to their common cultural heritage. Sakurai remained quiet and unassuming during her first few days, but she had proven herself to be a quick learner.

“Female, thirty seven, Caucasian.” Ethan began as everyone took their seats.

He uncapped a black marker, scribbling across the board and throwing out answers before the other three had a chance to ask. This was their regular pace, which by now, Dr. Sakurai had grown accustomed to. She certainly looked less bewildered than she did her first day there.

“Reason for admission was pain and numbness in the extremities. Former doctors thought it was...a stroke.” Ethan grimaced and Dr. Mirani snorted.

“What turned up in her bloodwork?” Dr. Hirata asked as she shook her head ruefully. “Did she have a urinalysis done?”

The three experienced doctors proceeded with their swift exchange of ideas, their discussion riddled with numerous ifs, buts, and whys. Dr. Sakurai listened intently and remained silent with her eyes glued to her notebook, almost so silent that Ethan almost questioned if she was even wholly present.

“Negative for multiple sclerosis, but just before she was discharged presented with irritable bowel syndrome.” He continued.

“Could it be fibromyalgia then?” Dr. Sakurai finally suggested, looking up from paper ridden with chicken scratch notes scrawled in red pen.

Baz and June raised their eyebrows in delighted surprise. “Seconded,” and Ethan regarded his protege collectedly.

“I thought so as well. Excellent work, Dr. Sakurai.” To which she merely nodded in response.

Later that day, Ethan found himself strolling down the halls of Edenbrook in Dr. Baz Mirani’s company. He chatted endlessly, recalling the meeting from earlier that morning and shifted the topic of conversation to Dr. Sakurai. Ethan was never one to entertain idle gossip, but when it came to her, he couldn’t bring himself to not listen.

“Did you know that her red hair was a mistake?” Baz cackled.

“She told me that she accidentally booked her hair appointment two hours after her board and came in sleep deprived. Knocked out as she soon as she sat in that chair and woke up with Flaming Cheetos for a head!” The doctor brought a hand up to his chest to ease himself as he laughed.

Ethan stayed silent as his colleague relayed her story. Of course he knew. He knew that she hated her red hair with every fibre of her being, but still complimented the stylist’s work and tipped her generously. He knew that as soon as she got home, she locked herself in her room and cried while trying to convince herself that her new look was symbolic of her “badass-ness.” He knew that she spent the next year using aloe vera in a desperate attempt to grow it out before applying for residency. How could he forget?

“You know, I wasn’t sure what to think of her at first, knowing the whole deal about how she got into the team and all.” Baz conceded and the guilt resurfaced, threatening to swallow Ethan whole.

“Baz, if you’re going to-”

“But she’s really good. Shows a lot of promise. I understand why you did what you did, but I’d be lying if I said I completely agreed with your poor execution.” He finished, shrugging indifferently.

“Ahem.”

A woman’s voice behind them cleared her throat and Baz’s eyes widened in horror as he shot Ethan a quick glance, both men knowing just who exactly had requested their attention. They turned around, and Mirani greeted her with an almost suspicious grade of enthusiasm.

"Dr. Sakurai! You see, this- what I was saying to Eth- no, Dr. Ramsey is that-”

She smiled at him, unbothered.

“You forgot your pager again,” She teased, handing it to him gently before heading the other direction with not another word.

Ethan’s gaze followed her retreating form, pain stricken. He was almost jealous of Baz, even just for a moment. When was the last time Haruna had caught him in a moment of blundering and regarded him lovingly nonetheless? He failed to recall the last time that she flashed him the smile that no one else could bring to her face but him. The kind where the corners of her eyes crinkled and she had to bury her face in her hands because she was too embarrassed to show that face out in the open. It was one of the many things that made him fall in love with her, and continue to love her all the same.

He missed her. More than he could have ever imagined possible.

Dr. Mirani exhaled in relief as she left. “Well! That could have gone a lot worse than I- Dr. Ramsey?”

And, before he realized where his feet had begun to take him, he went after her. He couldn’t let things continue like this. He couldn’t stand it.

“Wait, Rookie-”

The large strides that Ethan took to catch up to Dr. Sakurai in the empty hall were not many. Her steps were small but filled with purpose, and her heels that clacked mercilessly against the slate floor stopped abruptly. She turned to face him, and the second Haruna’s eyes met his, he was only reminded of the newfound hatred ulcerating at her very core.

She raised an eyebrow. “Not a rookie anymore, Doctor.”

The lack of emotion in Dr. Sakurai’s voice as she addressed the man stung. He should be used to this. He should have foreseen this. But one year of knowing and loving her could never have prepared Ethan for her villainously petty demeanor finally directed at him. Two weeks since she said his name in a voice dripping with venom, and she hasn’t dared to utter it since.

Always, “Yes, Doctor,” or, “Noted, Doctor.” It was driving him insane.

“Dr. Ramsey.” He attempted, his tone dribbling with an impatience he didn’t realize had been brewing.

“Doctor.” She challenged.

He looked at her, a muscle in his jaw twitching in annoyance. She looked at him, arms crossed and adamant on winning whatever contest it was that they had engaged in. And they stayed like that, for several seconds until a group of interns passing by and regarding them with curiosity forced them to look away. Dr. Sakurai closed her eyes and exhaled once, gathering herself before maneuvering her way around the older doctor.

“Excuse me.”

He watched her as she side-stepped him, about to continue her journey to her destination if he didn’t gently take her by the wrist and pull her into the medicine supply room. The very same one they hid in when they still kept Naveen a secret.

“W-What are you– Don’t fucking touch me.” Dr. Sakurai hissed once they had entered, jerking her hand from his grip.

“Are you going to be like this every time you see me?” Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose and looked up to the ceiling.

“If we’re being honest? Yeah, yeah I am.”

“I meant it when I said I was sorry.”

“And I meant it when I said sorry wasn’t good enough.”

“Look at yourself, Sakurai.” Ethan scoffed.

“Petty like a child. Did you think your official status as a resident would suffice in masking this juvenile drivel or should I just throw you back in with this year’s batch of interns?”

Haruna stared at him blankly, and just for a moment he felt his chest tighten. Her resentful gaze made him miss the way they once were, and he ached for her to look at him the way she used to, but Ethan’s lamenting was cut short as Sakurai’s mouth twitched. A failed attempt to contain herself before she burst into bitter laughter.

“You can do that, can’t you?” She asked disdainfully.

“Give one of them my position while you’re at it. The same way you gave it to me.”

He took a step toward her and she stayed put, refusing to be intimidated by the man that stood just over six inches taller. Then they were achingly close, the distance between them so small that her shoes were flush against his own. So small that Haruna couldn’t help but inhale the scent of musk and Italian cypress from his cologne. Ethan looked down at her angrily and the younger woman looked back up at him with a fire just as intense.

“You might hate the means of how you got here, Dr. Sakurai, but the deed is done. There’s nothing you can do to change it so I strongly suggest getting over your vendetta against me and doing what you’re supposed to do.”

“Yeah? And what might that be?”

“Your damn job, for one!”

She finally stepped back, struck, and looked at him as if she was seeking clarification.

“My job? My job?!” She asked angrily, her voice raised in a crescendo.

Her jaw hung open as she stared at the floor in disbelief, scoffing as she processed Ethan’s last statement. The second seemed to last far too long before Haruna finally met his gaze. Her lip quivered as she shot him a look of pure, utter disgust.

“I took you for many things, but a hypocrite was never one of them.” She spat and Ethan felt his glare soften in realization.

You came here to fix things, and now look at what you’ve done.

“Rookie-” He began, his tone considerably weaker.

“Don’t. You don’t get to call me that. Not anymore. I’ll see you on the floor, Dr. Ramsey.”

She left, and any hidden meanings to whatever relationship they had departed with her. He was no longer an Ethan Ramsey to her, and she was no longer a Haruna Sakurai to him.

She was just a resident. He was just her boss. And this unpalatable truth broke him.

#choices #open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey fanfiction #open heart fanfiction

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asphodelroot · 3 years

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Hi Emmy. I’m your Secret Santa and I hope that this year’s Christmas are the best (or that this Saturday is if you don’t celebrate). I’m afraid that I can’t draw or make amazing edits so here’s the only thing I kinda sorta can do :D I hope you’ll enjoy this little drabble~! (and I’m sorry if the last part is a bit wonky, I was a bit tipsy when finishing this story). ENJOY

———————————————-

The first time she heard those words, it made her feel proud, excited even. Granted there wasn’t much understanding on her part, not that beyond the most basic, organic one, but what she could decipher from Severus’ sentence, she’s found to be simple.

‘You are very powerful for a Muggleborn.'

They’ve known each other for about a week at that point. And what a magical week that has been, no pun intended, filled with wonderfully intricate stories of spells and hexes, of shapeshifting abilities and wizarding schools that held secrets beyond imagination. Every morning, Lily woke up with a smile, rushing to get ready for another warm, spring day full of classes that had recently lost their appeal in lieu of the new life that she now knew was awaiting her. How could Maths or English or French even live up to the promise of wands and incantations? They couldn’t… So Lily rushed back to the playground near Spinner’s End every day after classes and met up with the most fascinating boy she could ever wish to meet in the dreary town of Cokeworth.

Severus Snape was a mystery. He appeared out of nowhere one day, and after witnessing, what he had later called, an accidental burst of magic became a guide of a hidden world that she apparently was a part of. He had shown her moving pictures and newspapers that talked about things and people she’s never heard of, tried explaining to her what it meant to be a witch or a wizard and recalled all the stories of Hogwarts he could remember hearing before. But there was one thing that he couldn’t do. And ironically it was magic.

He had tried explaining, to the best of his abilities and childish understanding, the reasons behind his inability to perform magic, said that it was almost impossible without a wand. When asked how he knew he was a wizard, he huffed angrily and puffed out his chest as if his honour had been wounded. 'It’s because my mother is a witch. She’s told me about it all. And I had my own outbursts when I was a child.’ To her own childish mind, it was all understandable. She didn’t know that Sqibbs existed, or that there was a stigma to those born outside of the Pureblood lines of the magical world. To her, she thought as she willed another flower to bloom, hoping that Sev would follow her example, being a Muggleborn meant exactly what the word suggested. She was a daughter of Muggles… And she was powerful for a Muggleborn.

Their friendship continued to grow with time. Somewhere along the way, they had grown attached to the hip while Lily and Petunia’s sisterhood started to fall apart. It was a slow process, sometimes hardly discernible to the minds of kids this young, but nothing could ever be the same after Lily learned of her abilities. After a name could finally be attached to the things she could do with her willpower alone. And maybe at 8 or 9, it wasn’t that much of a deal, but it was going to grow still, and she simply couldn’t imagine the extent of pain that it was going to give her. For as long as Lily was still living in Cokeworth the two remained family, the statuses of Muggle or Muggleborn, not all that often present in their thoughts. However, then came the moment Lily’s been waiting for. She got her letter and a visitation from an intimidating Witch wearing a stereotypical pointy hat, who explained everything that Lily apparently had to know about Hogwarts and how to get to both Diagon Alley and the hidden train platform somewhere in the far off London. Within weeks from that, she was off to a new world located for the very first few years solely in between the gates of her new school with thrilling new friendships looming on the horizon.

What she didn’t know, though she should have suspected after several particularly negative comments from Severus, was that once she had officially started her magical education, her status was going to be much more important to other people. And as it was her wake up call came as soon as the Welcoming Feast ended and the newly appointed Gryffindors followed their prefect up several staircases to a tower that was about to become their home for the next seven years.

As soon as the Portrait’s frame moved from its original place and the sea of students poured into the common area the chaos erupted. Older kids formed groups around the room, some claiming the most comfortable sitting spots by the fireplace, others still gossiped about their summers as if the train ride hadn’t been long enough to catch up. All in all, it was a beautiful gathering of people under eighteen with no adult supervision enjoying their last moments of summer holidays.

In the middle of the room stood a bunch of first years, some openly staring around at older students playing Gobstones in the corner, others muttering with each other and a few patiently waiting for more directions to come from the prefect who brought them there from the Great Hall. Lily was one of those people. After all, despite coming from an unmagical family, she has already learned so much about the school from Severus.

A tall, lean girl who stood in front of them and seemed almost as intimidating at professor McGonagall turned to face them and theatrically spread her hands to indicate the room they were all in. ’ Welcome to Gryffindor’s Common Room. It’s a place where you will spend most of your free time for the next couple of days and it’s where we cultivate our House Pride. To your left, you can see a notice board on which any and all information regarding our House will be put. Keep an eye on it.’ After that, she indicated one of the staircases behind her. 'On this side, you will find boys’ dormitories and on the other - girls’. Your trunks are already up there and waiting.’ With that, she was technically finished with all the information that she absolutely had to pass onto the first years, but there were a couple of things she wanted to add from herself. 'You see, us Gryffindors take our House Pride very seriously. Every year we make a great effort to win the House Cup or at least come up second. So try to keep up with us. Preferably by not being late tomorrow for your first classes as many often are.’ She finished with visible distaste and it was clearly their cue to leave the common room in search for their appointed sleeping quarters, but one of the girls suddenly raised her hand.

'Yes?’ The prefect girl asked with resignation. Usually, one question meant that more were about to come.

'How will we know when to wake up? I mean, are there alarm clocks or something?’

It wasn’t a stupid question per se, but technically it wasn’t a good one either, especially since the girl pretty much answered it herself. But before the prefect could say anything, some too tall, too knobbly at the joints sixth year joined in with a nasty sounding comment. 'Oho! We got ourselves another Muggleborn this year, haven’t we?’ He asked his companion loud enough for the whole room to hear and even though there was little foundation to think that he had meant something vile, Lily could swear that his intentions weren’t pure. She glanced in his direction in curiosity, but soon her attention was brought back to the prefect. 'Yes, there are alarm clocks and there are masses of students waking up at odd hours of the morning to get ready for classes. So don’t worry. Unless you actively try to lose our points by sleeping in you should be fine. Even if you are, in fact, a Muggleborn.’ With that, they were dismissed and even if no one said anything about Muggleborns being somewhat lesser, Lily went to sleep much less excited than before.

It didn’t take long for her to learn that there were, in fact, those few people who did think her kind of people to be unworthy of magic. All it took was a few weeks and one overheard conversation between purebloods to get the whole spectrum. Some people didn’t care, others cared a little bit and some were total arseholes.

Her first boyfriend was supposedly one of those precious few who didn’t care at all. He was a Ravenclaw and her partner during Herbology in the fourth year. A perfect example of his House’s stereotypes.

He was studious, even though not the smartest, and knowledgeable about so many subjects that talking with him could never be dull, he was a pureblood but came from a family of very little importance., but most importantly he was as interested in Lily as she was in him.

They started going out at the beginning of the second semester in all the school meaning of this word - Hogsmeade trips, library study sessions and an occasional stroll around the Great Lake. And it was nice, perfect, as thrilling as any first love ought to be. Sure, there were also awkward moments, natural at this stage of life when one is still learning and searching for what is what. Both had been fortunate to find the other.

However, things had to start tumbling downhill as all first loves are ought to do. In their case, it was mostly because soon after the summer Lily started to get lost in her new prefect duties. There was too much to learn, too much to perfect that the spare time she’s had wasn’t enough to keep them together. And maybe it was for the best? She’s started to have some doubts during the summer and the disastrous way in which she’s met his parents. Disastrous in her opinion, but disastrous nonetheless.

Everything happened within a span of some three minutes and yet it was enough to leave Lily uncomfortable with enough food for thought to last her for two whole months. It was the way he introduced her to his parents, something that hasn’t been planned beforehand but happened out of the blue. They should have predicted such a situation, but both were too young and too into each other to think about such details and nothing foretold how his simple, 'mum, dad this is Lily, my Muggleborn girlfriend’ would affect her. But it did. It made her blush, a sudden wave of embarrassment flooding her insides. And it made her angry, but at herself mostly, as at that point, she was already well acquainted with the notion of blood purity and had trained herself to pretend that the whole ideology didn’t affect her. Instead, she smiled through clenched teeth and shook the offered hands hoping that her redness, easily visible due to her light complexion, was being taken for a sure sign of her teenage infatuation.

Everything changed from that moment. With every received letter from him, she remembered the way he had phrased his introduction, the way his choice of words felt off (who could ever naturally say “she’d my Muggleborn girlfriend”?), the way he felt it necessary to add that bit about her. Was it such an important part of her character? Did it matter all that much to him that she wasn’t a pureblood or even a half-blood? Couldn’t he just say that she was his girlfriend, plain and simple? Did that mean he had another girlfriend, with a different blood status hidden somewhere? In the end, it was all too much for her to take in and the pair had drifted apart. She was left with all those questions, though. And she never got her answers.

Once the war had started to pose a real threat, her previous worries started to feel insignificant. Suddenly it wasn’t anymore about the way someone might find her not good enough to date her or throw a slightly thoughtless comment her way, suddenly it was starting to become life-threatening and before she knew what was going on, it had become more than serious.

On her way there were classes, exams, OWLs and NEWTS and then she was out of school, graduated, a real witch with a real wand and an apparition licence. The world was huge and scary and even though she should be caring only about getting a good job and safe place to build a home she has found herself fighting for her basic rights. Instead of going to interviews or maybe learning new things, partying with friends and going on dates with her boyfriend (or two), she was spending her evenings patrolling and going to secret meetings. Instead of taking potions to sooth her sore throat (after a whole night of club going and screaming happily with friends) she poured over books in search of long forgotten potions and spells that they could use to tip the scales in their favour. And then, just as suddenly, she was pregnant and engaged and then married and a mother and before she knew what was happening she was no more. And it was no longer her duty to make sure their baby never said to their future friend - “you are great…

…for a Muggleborn”.

#visecretsanta #from cleo #Ooooh #I love me some 'let's dig into those casual unthinking microagressions against muggleborns that happen all the time' writing :D #submission

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omgviolette12 · 5 years

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After hours- Chapter 5 A professor Loki Fanfic

Previous Chapter

Summary: Evelyn Monroe has been a TA for professor Laufeyson’s Calculus course for four months now. He was known to be quite strict, but that never deterred her from applying for the position in order to be close to the man she had been secretly pining for. One evening, she returns to his office after opening hours… and with her bountiful luck, she walks in on something not meant to be seen.

Chapters: 5/?

Words: 2100

Warnings: Explicit sexual content

Tags: @milkymaidme @dangertoozmanykids101@alexakeyloveloki @little-moonbeam-666 @marvel-ous-fics@clovermariear@lynnesm@bitchyikes@moon-child-of-a-poet, @allthecraftandthings@bubblegumspitt @shockwavee @blondekel77

If you’d like to be added, let me know. I’ve also posted this on AO3

________

“Oh lord...please say it ain’t so! Shit... shit!”

By this point, Evelyn was thoroughly convinced she was cursed with bad luck.

The night before, she made sure to set the alarm on her phone for 7 am - but upon waking up to see a glaring 9:35 on her phone, it was then that she discovered that everything had been set to silent.

The Monday lecture started promptly at 8:00 and ended at 10 am, so Evelyn jumped from her bed in a frenzy as she rushed to get ready.

Having showered late last night, all Evelyn had to do was to brush her teeth, fluff out her hair, then throw on the easiest things she could find - a sundress, jacket, and flats.

She had already painstakingly chosen an outfit before bed, but she dreaded having to wrestle on the jeans she picked out when she was already in such a rush.

Evelyn wouldn’t admit it outright, but she wanted to look nice, or substantially better than usual before she went to assist professor Laufeyson during his lecture.

She spent about half the night picking out a nice outfit she thought best suited her figure, and agonized over her hair. It was difficult to style most times because of its texture - so she washed it, then installed flexi-rods to give her curls renewed definition.

But as she rushed out the door and unto the side-walk, she realized that all of her efforts would've been laid to waste regardless as she eyed the dark clouds that loomed above her.

She had no time to run back inside for an umbrella, and she regretted her choice of wearing a dress almost immediately, especially with its short length.

Evelyn swore under her breath as she decided to just book it towards campus, hoping she could beat the rain before it started pouring.

The weather in New York had been agreeable for the most part, despite it being early April - but of all days, the spring rain decided to make its appearance.

The raindrops pelted against her skin and dress ruthlessly as she ran, and her purse provided meager protection against the droplets as she held it above her head.

By the time she finally reached the building, she was thoroughly soaked.

Not only was Evelyn disastrously late, but she looked as good as a drenched rat. Her dress clung to her form uncomfortably, hair wet and sinking to her shoulders.

Thankfully the dress was opaque in color so her panties remained unseen. However, the outlines were still plainly visible as the material stuck snug to her body...and her nipples looked as though they wanted to rob a bank with the way they shot out.

Stepping inside, she made her way to the lecture hall hurriedly, ignoring her wet appearance. Her heart hammered inside of her chest, anxious and fearful of Professor Laufeyson's reaction.

He expected her to be there to assist him. Thinking back to his email, he probably thought she no longer wanted to be his TA, when that was anything but the case.

She continued to berate herself all the way until she reached the door to his classroom, with nary a few minutes left until the lecture was over.

There were two entrances to the room, and she opted to enter through the back. She did not want to see the immediate disappointment in his eyes, so she tried to sneak in unnoticed and sulk in the corner until she could speak with him alone.

But Evelyn should've expected by now that things would never go her way, as all eyes in the room went to her direction - including the ones of her brooding professor.

At first glance, she thought she had seen disbelief, then relief fill his features, but it was quickly replaced with its usual stoic exterior.

The lecture hall was pin-drop silent as she averted her eyes from his gaze, scanning the room of its occupants as a hand clutched her jacket closed. She was surprised that mostly everyone in the room wore weary expressions - an odd sight to see whenever she helped out during his lectures in the past.

Despite it being math, and in the early hours at that, his students would still be fully engaged with the lesson from beginning to end. But now, they looked as if they were itching to leave their seats.

There was still around ten minutes left of the lecture, so Evelyn was taken aback when he decided to end it early, “I suppose everyone has done enough for today. Leave your quizzes face down on the desk, and our TA shall collect them. You may all go.”

She had never seen 50 or so students spring up so quickly from their seats at the same time.

Evelyn squished herself against the wall as a wave of students rushed past her to get to the door, leaving the room completely empty in a matter of minutes.

Woah, bad day today I guess…?

There were a few times Professor Laufeyson would get into one of his ‘moods’, and it seemed like today was one of those days. As for the cause, Evelyn was unsure.

He remained standing there at the bottom of the steps, arms crossed and leaning against the podium as he regarded her silently.

His quietness unsettled her as Evelyn awkwardly began to collect the quizzes, the patter of the rain against the windows and the squelch of her soaked flats making the majority of the noise in the room.

She slowly made her way down the steps, trembling due to both the chill in the air, and her nerves.

Evelyn did not know what to do with herself when she reached him, holding the stack of papers in an odd manner to prevent them from getting wet on her dress.

“Uhm... do you want me to just put them there, or...?” Evelyn gestured towards the desk beside the podium, cowering under his intense gaze.

He leaned off the podium to approach her quite suddenly, and Evelyn nearly fell backward in surprise as he got closer, “You are...wet.” His eyes left her own as they trailed down her figure to linger on her breasts, “No...you are positively drenched.”

Evelyn was now consciously aware of her jutting nipples through the wet fabric, and she shifted uncomfortably in a sly attempt to cover them with her jacket, “Yeah.. um- I’m... I’m sorry I’m so late, my alarm was silent, but I ran here as fast as I could… and the rain was -”

“I didn’t ask to hear an excuse, Evelyn.”

He took the papers from her fingers rather roughly, throwing them carelessly to a desk behind her.

Evelyn was startled. She knew he’d be mad, but not to this extent.

“I’m, uh… please just hear me out -”

“- I am not angry. You are here, are you not?” He slowly began to back her up against the desk, and Evelyn was thoroughly confused and concerned with the sudden turn of events.

He… he isn’t mad? And...but why the heck is he getting so close…!?

He was now so close to the point that he could wedge his legs between her own - and he did just that.

Evelyn’s eyes shot up quickly to meet his, filled with shock and disbelief. And then, her thoughts lost all comprehension when he began to idly play with a lock of her wet hair.

Ahhgkssksnhdiqfhioqgh!!!!!!

The way he looked right now...was an entirely different side of him she had yet to see. His eyes did not hold the coldness they usually carried, nor did he look kind. No...he looked as though he wanted to eat her whole. His fierce expression reminded her of that night. That predatory, animalistic look...

“I had thought.. that you no longer wanted to assist me, and that I would rarely see you, if ever,” his fingers left her hair to graze her cheek, “Yet here you are, and in this... state, no less..” His breathing picked up as he began to trace a finger down her neck, and to her collar bone, “Why must you make things so difficult for me?”

Evelyn struggled to stutter out a reply, “I.. I don’t know- I don’t mean to...to make things hard for you...I’ll try to be good for you from now on… and.. um.. uh... I’ll try to be on time...”

Perhaps it was the way she phrased her words, but it seemed to be the straw that broke the camel’s back.

The poor girl was knocked off-kilter as he pressed her body against his in a suffocating embrace; His face began to burrow into her neck to inhale, kiss, nip, and suck with such force she could only yelp in pain.

His hands then roamed across her back to grip her bum, lifting her up to roughly place her on the desk as he moved further in-between her legs.

"Holy - ow! Prof - Professor Laufeyson, what... what are you! -"

" So much better… much better than I could have ever imagined…" was all he said, his voice choked to the brim with darkness and lust. It seemed as though he was deaf to the world as he continued his rough handling of her body, groping about wherever he could. Her legs were spread quite wide as he continued to rub against her, and Evelyn began to throb painfully down below due to his rough handling.

What..what...what...what?!

She had never felt such an uncomfortable, overwhelming sensation from her privates, so she weakly began to push against him in an attempt to stop his groping.

"Wait..please just...I don't know what - oh!" His hands went underneath her dress to grip her bare hips, shoving her roughly against the hardness protruding from his pants. He grinded relentlessly against her clothed center, causing her to release an embarrassingly strangled moan.

He mumbled into her neck with harsh, breathless pants, "You have not an inkling… of how long I've staved off the temptation of having you beneath me. Across my desk, and at the mercy of my cock."

Her eyes bulged out in stunned silence, her mouth open as she gripped his shoulders for dear life. She had no idea what was happening. She was so overwhelmed, that the familiar sensation of faint began to wash over her.

It was then that Evelyn truly began to panic.

" Stop stop stop stop STOP!!! Gonna faint, gonna faint, gonna faint!"

Fortunately, her panicked pants managed to break through his trance. The predatory look disappeared from his irises in a flash as he came back to himself, and he pushed away quickly from the trembling woman beneath him.

Evelyn looked as though she had been thoroughly ravished. Her chest heaved as the jacket slipped from her shoulders, the straps of her wet dress half way down just shy of revealing her perky nipples.

Her neck was marred with bruises - and her chocolate brown legs were still spread wide as she sat on the desk, open for display to his eyes.

Apparently, her dress wasn't the only thing that was now soaked.

The sight of her debauched appearance, and by his hands especially - would forever be etched into her professor's memory.

However, panic and fear began to rush into his heart as she scrambled from on top of the desk, fixing her dress before gripping her jacket closed with both hands.

"Uh..uh....I..I-I gotta go!" Evelyn bolted towards and through the door at breakneck speed, not giving him a chance to speak.

Watching her run away from him created deep-seated despair, and he wanted to yell in frustration for scaring the poor girl. He had gotten so excited, to see that she actually showed up, that he momentarily lost control of his senses.

Loki was sure that the chances of her reappearing to continue her services as his TA, were now zero to none.

He wouldn't even be able to settle for a substitute, having now had a taste of the real thing.

Loki ran a hand through his dark hair while considering his options, until he spotted something in his periphery.

In her haste, Evelyn had forgotten to take her purse that she had settled on a desk.

Seeing it, hope rekindled in his heart. She would surely pay a visit to his office later to collect her belongings, granting him another chance to speak with her.

With that thought in mind, he retrieved her purse, taking it to his office as he anticipated her arrival.

-----

A/N: Thank you so much for reading - as always, comments/suggestions are greatly appreciated, I love reading them way too much and I look forward to them every update! Now...I have some lukewarm news regarding the camping situation. Since my twin has a position that requires more training, she left for camp yesterday and informed me of a few things regarding the wifi situation there. There is absolutely no reception within the camp, with the exception of a few spots that do have wifi - such as the camp office, dining hall, etc. However, the walk to these spots is a bit... lengthy as it's practically in the woods.

But! We do have break times and a day off, so I have time dedicated to catch up on writing/uploading chapters, as well as working on some art. Being surrounded by nature also fosters inspiration, so things won't be all that bad! There's technically a no cellphone policy, but that's only during work hours. In basic terms, there's wifi - but I can only make use of it during select times when I'm not busy with work/training. On the bright side, google docs don't require internet, so I can write during the night, then upload as soon as I get time :p I can’t upload chapters with mobile for some reason on Tumblr, so I’ll have to see if they have computers there. If not, it would be on ao3 until I get to a computer.

#loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfiction #Loki Laufeyson #tom hiddleston fic #loki odinson #loki (marvel)#loki smut #Tom Hiddleston fandom #loki fic

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ephrampettaline · 5 years

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chatzy au log with @cassiegermaine, @ephrampettaline, and @joeyvoeman

Cassie heard the gunshots as she was thrown into a nearby car and she and the Skull Boys Leader were sped away from the scene. Cassie sat almost unmoving the entire trip. She didn’t know what to expect from Petal, but a dress shop wasn’t it. Retrospectively? It was a great cover, and Cassie was grateful she wasn’t dragged into some mucky underground instead.

She was placed in a chair in the corner of the store floor, one of the burly Skull Boys tying her hands with rope. It wasn’t extra tight or elaborate, and felt more like show than anything. But Cassie was really surprised when they returned with a small plate dived with saltines and rationed out peanut butter.

“Thanks…for the hospitality?” She squinted, taking the plate and balancing it on her lap.

Petal came over – changed into a different outfit, this time a pastel pink Chanel skirt suit and matching hat – and sat across from Cassie again, hands folded on the skull head of her cane. “We’re not savages, after all,” she said, and the Skull Boy placed a second plate of peanut butter crackers on the small table next to his boss. As well as a bucket of ice and a bottle of champagne, which Petal poured for them both. “Cincin,” she said with a merry laugh, drinking and then selecting a cracker.

Ephram holstered his gun, panting, and hung his hands against his hips as he paced in thought. “There’s only a few dress shops south of the river,” he said, “and most of them let the seamstress girls sleep there. Unwieldy places for holding a captive.” He looked at Joey from below angry, tightly-drawn brows, a spur of searing satisfaction – not enough, not nearly enough – in his belly at the sight of the blood on Voeman’s face. The blow Ephram had dealt him with his gun butt hadn’t been an intense one, but it’d been hard enough to vent frustration.

Joey had taken the hit gladly, honestly feeling as if he deserved it for letting both Ephram and Cassie down. His nose was gushing blood as it sat at an odd angle, but he ignored the tear-bringing pain as he tried his best to formulate a plan with Ephram. “Should we grab backup or try stealth?” he asked. Ephram had been his superior in the war, and he always looked to him for guidance. Joey was very much a follower, and he knew his place. “And the shipment. It’s compromised.”

Ephram turned his head and spat, following it with a string of curses. “Good thing we didn’t pay for those guns, then,” he said, biting off the words. “I’m not about to have tonight be a sweep on Kingfisher losses.” He turned and started back towards Clair de Lune, telling Joey, “Get us a car. I need to make a call.”

Joey nodded, feeling like a little boy in trouble with his Pa. He rushed out of the alley and drove the car with the shipment back to the compound for safe keeping, spending a little time in the bathroom to reset his own nose and apologizing to the maid for getting blood all over the towels before heading back to Clair de Lune with another car, waiting out front for Ephram. God, he’d really fucked up this time.

He bashed his fist into the steering wheel, the release of rage feeling good for the moment. He imagined it was one of the Skull Boys. Whichever one took Cassie. He punched it more, seeing a face slowly turn to mush under his knuckles in his imagination. Then Cassie being so impressed with him she took him back. He got divorced from his bitch wife and….it was all an illusion. He knew this wouldn’t end well for him, in pretty much any capacity.

Cassie carefully balanced her glass of champagne as well, returning the toast and only taking a sip because Petal had done so before her. “If you wanted in with the Kingfisher’s – you didn’t have to orchestrate something this elaborate.” Cassie commented coolly, leaving her crackers untouched. She still hadn’t gotten a straight answer with Skull Boys, but the obvious was this, Petal wanted to lure them away from safe ground. Which could be more disastrous than Cassie initially gave them credit for.

“Where are my children Petal?” She asked, trying to remain placid and calm, but her knuckles tightened around the glass. “That’s something I’m going to have to take personal.” There were guidelines, at the very least, and the Skull Boys seemingly trampled over that one.

Ephram swung himself into the car without greeting, merely barking out, “Larkspur and Camden. There’s a Russian dress shop there."

He’d been damn lucky to get Freddie on the line at all, this random time at night; not lucky enough to avoid having to talk to Wawelski, but that was beside the point. And Freddie’d ponied up a possible location with a minimum of hornpipe dancing required, for which Ephram had the nagging feeling he’d owe his … fuck, his friend and business partner something later. "Do I need to tell you to drive up on it from the back roads, or can you figure that one out yourself?” It was an unkind and cutting comment, since Ephram well knew Joey’s capacity in a tense situation, but he didn’t feel like being kind.

Joey had thankfully gotten all his anger and frustration out before Ephram got into the car, because the last thing he need was the man thinking he’d not only lost his sister, but his own marbles. He didn’t respond to Ephram’s biting comments, simply grunting in understanding as he shifted into gear and headed off. It wasn’t too far a drive from where they were, but long enough for the tense silence to weigh down heavy on Joey’s mind and body, his shoulders hunching with every moment of Ephram’s seething sitting next to him. Finally, they made it to the dress shop, approaching inconspicuously from the back. He parked and turned to Ephram for orders.

Petal leaned forward, flashing a brilliant, pearly smile. “Oh, Cassie! I don’t have your children. I imagine they’re safe as plums in a cake, tucked away in their little cradles.” She sipped her champagne, still smiling. “That was only to get your attention and let you know we mean business. That’s what we’re all here for, right? Business.” She reached out and patted Cassie’s knee, a marquise-cut pink diamond ring sparkling on one elegant, waxen finger. “Yours, mine … ours.”

Cassie knew it could have been a ploy, but she wanted to take it more seriously than not, play on the safe side just in case The Skull Boys had reached out for her kids. They were watching them though. Close enough to be lurking around Addie’s birthday. Cassie tucked the information away for later, ego only slightly bruised that Petal could toy so easily with her. It was the cost of family. “My brother, or any of the Slap Jacks won’t take this as a business venture when they show up.” Cassie warned her. “If you have anything of real importance, you better clear it up fast.”

Petal kept on smiling at Cassie, although it curled a little more at the corners of her mouth. She toyed with the stem of her champagne glass, but then Bosco appeared looming up from the wooden stairs at the back of the room they were in, and Petal nodded. “It seems they’ve arrived,” she said, smoothing her skirt over her knees. “I think given your brother’s proclivities, I might just be able to … wriggle my way out of any sour mood he might be in, hmmmm?” Petal winked at Cassie and put her glass down so she could snug her hands under her Chanel-covered breasts and give them a primping heft.

Ephram had spent the drive sorting out the possible angles of approach, the possible outcomes, the possible pitfalls. But when the engine turned off and Joey looked at him expectantly, he found himself defaulting to what he’d always gone with when he was pressed down to the wire: what felt right in the moment. “Keep your jacket open,” Ephram said, his voice calm despite the low grate of its register. “Let them see what you’re carryin’. We’ll walk up to the back door. I’m sure they’re expecting us, anyhow."

He got out of the car, unbuttoning his own suit jacket so the leather of his shoulder holster was obvious, and waited for Joey so they could walk abreast of each other instead of Ephram in front.

Joey did as he was cold, opening his bomber jacket to show the revolver tucked in his waistband. The same revolver that had killed one of the other Skull Boys only an hour or so before. "What’s the plan if it goes sideways. Gun’s blazin’?” he asked. Usually they weren’t keen on making so much noise if it was uncalled for, but this was Cassie they were talking about. He was sure the two of them would do just about anything to make sure she came back safe.

Ephram muttered, “We don’t have a whole lot of options here, Voeman. We’ll just have to make sure it don’t go sideways."

Two block-shouldered Skull Boys eyefucked them as they approached, but once the Jacks were in hailing distance, one of them said, "Boss lady says you’re to go on up and meet her. Your sister too.” He pointed at Joey. “This hump better not go trigger-happy like he did back at Clair.”

Joey held his gaze with the Skull Boys that greeted them with a stern brow, trying his best not to clench his fists. “Don’t give me a reason and I won’t,” he said, like it was a generous offer.

Ephram let Joey go through the door first, following behind with their boots thumping thread dust from the wooden stairs as they mounted them. “Steady on, Sergeant,” Ephram said sotto voce to Joey’s broad back, once they got a glimpse of Cassie tied up to a chair and the extravagant Petal Popovitch sitting across from her for all the world like the two women had been discussing corsetry and ribbons.

Petal raked an avaricious, somewhat hungry gaze over the two men as they filled up the staircase, giving a pleased hum and folding her be-ringed hands over her knee as she crossed her legs. “Verrrrry nice,” she said. “I’ve seen you before, of course, my dear Kingfisher, but you–” Petal made a little claw gesture at Joey. “Rrrwowr.”

Joey simply glared at Petal as she lewdly ogled him. If it hadn’t been for Ephram’s quiet reminder, Joey would have been liable to pop off at any moment, seeing Cassie tied up like that. At least she didn’t look hurt in any way. “Keep your claws to yourself,” he muttered quietly.

“Ephram.” Cassie greeted the familiar face of her brother in a calm tone, her gaze falling to Joey next. The dimple in her cheek appeared as she smothered the tiniest grin. Mostly because she was laughing at herself, at the whole situation. “Joey.” She tilted her head back at Petal’s more enthusiastic greeting and added sarcastically, “Sorry about my friend. I guess not even all the meatheads on her payroll can keep her satisfied.”

Ephram scanned Cassie quickly before nodding at her, then greeting the Skull Boys boss. “Miss Popovitch,” he said. “This ain’t much of a friendly parlay, now, is it? At this hour of the night and with only crackers and champagne and ropes and abduction to smooth the way.” Very deliberately, Ephram told Joey, “Untie my sister, please, Joey.”

Joey nodded curtly, happy to stride over and do just that. He knelt down in front of Cassie, easily undoing the knot that kept her hands together. It wasn’t a very good knot at that. Joey had tied plenty of people up in his day, and this wasn’t how you did it. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?” he asked in a hushed voice, not able to help himself.

“Don’t worry about me.” Cassie shook her head, brushing off the rope and standing stiffly by her chair still. “Keep wise Joey.” She muttered even softer than before, her head only slightly tilting towards Ephram and the Skull Boy leader. “We’re not out of here yet.”

The cold shoulder from Joey and subsequent scold from Cassie brought a pout to Petal’s face, and she sniffed, rubbing some imaginary smudge from her pink diamond and holding it up to admire as it sparkled even in the low light. “Yes, fine, untie her,” Petal said, “we weren’t intending to keep her, heavens to betsy. This was only a shot across the bow, Mr. Kingfisher. After all, the Skull Boys are capable of also flying governmental colours, if we get the chance.” She kept Joey and Cassie in the periphery of her vision, but Petal’s attention was chiefly on Ephram and the look of sudden understanding that crossed his face at her comment.

Petal leaned back in her chair, settling her shoulders from side to side and causing her bosom to move in all sorts of ways. “So about that parlay, Mr. Kingfisher,” she said. “If you’ve got a moment to spare….”

Ephram met her eyes for a long beat, then turned to Joey. “Take Cassie,” he said, putting one hand on Joey’s shoulder, “and wait in the car for me. They won’t try to stop you. I’ll be along directly. Don’t come back inside, just wait till I come out.” Ephram gave Joey a searching look, willing the man to listen to him and follow his instructions, no matter what other impulses Joey might have. “You hear me? Take Cassie with you and keep her safe in the car. I’ll be along.”

Joey didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all. Leaving Ephram here by himself rubbed him the wrong way, but at least he was still trusting Joey with his sister, so that was a good sign. He just nodded at the order, guiding Cassie back to the car with no resistance from the Skull Boys, just as he’d said. “What does she want?” he asked once they were out of earshot. “What happened?”

Cassie eyes widened, “What? No!” It was the first time she’d raised her voice throughout the entire ordeal. She didn’t trust Petal, a part of her didn’t trust Ephram’s judgement which spelled nothing but a recipe for disaster. “Don’t touch me. Damn it Ephram, don’t be stupid.” She was glaring daggers at him, they were supposed to handle things jointly.

But Joey guided her out of the room. Cassie smacked him when they were back at the car, and hit his broad chest again for good measure. “Hell if I know.” She grumbled. “She seemed interested in Freddie Watts. My role with Slap Jacks. But she just did a lot of fancy blathering too.”

Joey took his licks from the other Kingfisher this time, his cheek stinging as he listened to her. “I didn’t like leaving him in there either, but what was I suppose to do, Cassie? I already killed two of their goons to find out where they took you.” He’d thought for a moment he’d lost her and his life in well fell swoop. At least he was sure one of those things was safe now. “She’s either dumb as a sack of bricks or she’s got an ace up her sleeve. Either way, I don’t trust her far as I can throw her.” He ran a hand through his short, crop of hair. “Your kids are safe, by the way. I checked on ‘em before we came over…”

Since Joey had posed it as a question, Cassie answered him unflinching, “You do as I say, no matter what.” Being taken off the streets had shaken her just a little deep down, and she was taking her frustration out on Joey, because she could. “Ephram makes the decisions but someone’s gotta be there for checks and balances. That’s me.”

She kicked the tire of the car lightly, glancing back over her shoulder to squint at the upper story window of the dress shop. “They’ve been watching the kids. Who knows how long the Skull Boys have been skulking around for a chance.”

Joey crossed his arms. “And what is it you’d have me do then?” He sighed in frustration. He knew how their partnership worked, but Ephram wasn’t really one to respect it, and it always put Joey in a hard position. He was horrified when she informed him they’d been watching the kids. “I’ll fucking kill 'em if I see them around your kids.”

Cassie huffed, knowing at this point her complaints and demands didn’t mean much of anything. They were outside on the sidewalk and Ephram was indoors with Petal doing god knows what. “I don’t know. But at least I’d get to tell Ephram he was being a fucking idiot to his face.” She grumbled again. Cassie waved Joey off, “Yeah, don’t get me wrong I appreciate the offer-“ She looked back to Joey and his busted up face again, “But let’s keep the bloodshed to a minimum for now. My brother can’t be losing a loyal Jack and starting a war all at the same time.”

“Right. I’ll keep it professional,” he said curtly, slightly mirroring their earlier conversation. He was a bit tired of being kicked around in the moment, even by Cassie, and so he just leaned against the car, striking up a cigarette as he waited for Ephram to return. He looked at his watch, ready to give it about ten more minutes before he charged in there. He tapped Cassie on the shoulder and offered her a cigarette between his fingers.

Cassie rolled her eyes slightly at him, hearing the irritation in his voice. “Take it easy.” Cassie sighed. “You know that’s not what I meant.” She started to tap her heel in an anxious manner as they stood there continuing to wait, and took the cigarette when it was offered. “If Skull Boys really wanna patch it up, Ephram’s clearly listening.” She motioned to the window, before turning so that Joey could light the cigarette for her. After a drag she added, “If it didn’t touch business? I’d let you kill Petal. And if your nose wasn’t all broken and crooked-“ Cassie smirked slightly, “I’d even give you a thank you kiss.”

“Do I?” Joey asked. Cassie, like her brother, was notoriously hard to read. But he let himself relax a bit, the tenseness in his shoulders slouching as Cassie spoke. At the mention of a kiss, he felt himself perk up on instinct, but then he smirked a smirk that didn’t quite make it up to his eyes. Sadness filled his eyes. Longing. Loss. “Don’t tease me, Cassie.”

Cassie shook her head at Joey’s puppy dog like look. Then that plea. The sad thing was, she did like Joey quite a bit. But it would never work. She could steel herself to that fact, but he just couldn’t. “I would kiss you, you lug.” Cassie insisted, taking another puff from her cigarette, “If you didn’t get lost in your fantasies. I wonder how you ever made it to work with the Slap Jacks at all aside from being war buddies with my brother.” She squinted up at him, waving some of the access smoke away, “Kingfisher’s can’t let business and love intertwine. It’s a dangerous disaster.”

“You didn’t have a problem with my fantasies when they involved you laid out under me,” Joey whispered, approaching her from behind and laying his hands on her shoulders, letting them trail down her arms slowly. But just as quickly, he pulled away, knowing what he was doing to himself. “I’m sorry. You’re right.” He took another drag from his cigarette. “You’re always right…”

Cassie scowled at the whisper. It was an overly cocky comment coming from him, but before Cassie even got the chance to retort or deflect Joey backed down again. It was only slightly pathetic. If he hadn’t gotten wrapped up with the Slap Jacks, he probably could have made something more out of himself than a trailing heavy hitter. “Well, at least someone has that figured out.”

The back door to the dress shop opened and shut with a bang that could be heard all the way to the two waiting by the car, the noise heralding the appearance of Ephram’s tall frame long-legging it towards them at a rushed clip that showed the slight limp the war had left him with. “Let’s go,” he said tightly when he reached them, his face drawn and pale, beads of sweat standing out across his brow and down the line of his nose. He huddled in his seat, arms folded tight and tucked in around himself, and when one of the Skull Boys appeared unexpectedly out of the darkness Ephram looked like he might be violently sick.

“Boss said you forgot something,” the Skull Boy said, handing Cassie a lace-edged handkerchief and sauntering off back to his post. The fine, soft cloth fell delicately open when she took it; nestled there in the pretty folds of fabric was Ephram’s neatly excised, bloodstained left ring finger.

#au:gangster #alternate ephram #cassiegermaine #joeyvoeman

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the-garris0n · 6 years

Text

barmaids don’t count - pt. 2

I changed my mind and gave the reader a name, hope u don’t mind

tommy x reader / alfie x reader

summary: working for only one of the most feared gangs in the country seemed hard enough, until you found yourself being blackmailed by Alfie Solomons

part one / part three

‘Eva, I need a favour,’ Louise hurtles towards the bar, her hair half-done and with her dress only half buttoned up. I set down the glasses I was putting away, sighing at my whirlwind of a roommate.

‘Shouldn't you be getting ready?’ I ask mildly, raising an eyebrow at her. There’s less than fifteen minutes before the doors open.

‘Mary’s not coming in, I need you to take her place.’ I scoff.

‘Absolutely not.’ Louise is supposed to be performing her own routine for the first time tonight, after begging Arthur for weeks. Our living room has been turned into a rehearsal space, the furniture draped with even more gauzy slips and glitzy brassieres than usual, and I’ve been dragged into practices every day. Still, the idea of me dancing with Louise and the other girls is so ridiculous it’s almost funny. I have none of their easy confidence, elegance or beauty.

‘There’s no one else. I know you know the routine, you’ve practised with me enough at home. And it’s not like you have to strip or anything. I’m begging you,’ she clasps her hands together, leaning towards me across the bar.

‘Who’s gonna serve drinks?’

‘Get Arthur to do it, just for twenty minutes.’

‘Or get Arthur to dance for you,’ I suggest flatly. Louise snorts. Imagining Arthur in one of her costumes isn't a pretty sight.

‘So you’ll do it?’ Louise presses, flashing a sickly-sweet smile. I huff. ‘Fine, but I better get paid extra.’

I sit in the dressing room, my heart pounding. Staring at the mirror, I barely recognise myself in the pale pink silk robe I’m using to cover the costume Louise has lent me. My hair has been tamed into neat, perfect golden waves and my eyes are lined with smoky kohl. Outside I can hear the commotion of the rowdy club, overrun with the discordant music that plays non-stop.

‘Eva?’ I turn to see Louise with two glasses in hand. ‘You alright?’ I nod, smiling tightly.

‘How long before we go on?’

‘Two minutes.’ I take a deep breath. Louise flops into the chair next to me, grinning.

‘Relax! Once you get up there you’ll love it. They’ll love the whole demure thing you do.’ I smile, wishing she was right. Every time I think about having the eyes of an actual audience on me a tight ball of panic squeezes my chest.

‘Here, drink this quick. We’re on.’ I swallow the liquor she hands me in one, grimacing as it burns my throat. Taking a deep breath, I plaster a fake smile across my face and follow her through the curtains.

I step onto the stage next to Louise, waiting until the music cue starts with baited breath. The glaring white lights burn my eyes and my exposed skin, and I smile at the audience I can barely see. The first drum beats resonate through my legs and up to my chest and I begin the first steps of the routine. The steps are burnt into my brain, making it easier to focus on them instead, and Lou’s familiar presence next to me is a small reassurance.

I remember the tips Lou gave me, making eye contact with members of the audience. Dancing for one person should be easier than dancing for all of them, at least in theory. My eyes fall on one man in particular, blue eyes watching me coolly as if I’m something mildly interesting, like a newsreel. I turn the routine up a level, needing for some reason to impress this stranger. In time with Lou I pull the tie of the robe, letting it fall open and revealing the impossibly short dress she lent me. The sequinned hem grazes the top of my thigh, sending a shiver down my spine that I try to hide with a smile and another kick of my leg. I turn my body to face him, letting the robe fall to the floor completely. The jeers and applause from the rest of the room have been drowned out. The stranger sits up slightly, his eyes dragging up and down my body. A breath catches in my throat.

The rest of the room has melted away by the time the song finishes, and as the lights go up I feel myself return to my body. The man’s eyes are still on me, but suddenly I feel all too vulnerable. I catch Lou’s eye and she gives me a reassuring smile, wiggling an eyebrow out of view. She grabs my hand, pulling me from the stage when I find that my feet are glued to the floor.

From backstage I watch the crowd, my gaze pulled again and again to the blue-eyed man. Louise joins me, tying her silk robe around her waist.

‘You know who that is right?’

‘Who?’ I reply absentmindedly.

‘You know who. I’m surprised your eyes haven't burnt any holes in him,’ she teases, elbowing me in the ribs. I yelp in pain, blushing at being caught so easily.

‘Okay, who is he?’ She smiles gleefully.

‘Arthur’s brother, Tommy,’ she tells me. I look back towards him. It’s obvious now she’s pointed it out. He has a calm authority, like he knows that everyone knows how important he is.

‘Just remember the rules, no sleeping with the patrons,’ Louise whispers before dashing away into the dressing room. I scoff to myself at her words, following her to the dressing rooms to change out of the costume.

Louise forces me to join her in waitressing for the rest of the night as Arthur is still on the bar, though what she counts as ‘waitressing’ is a loose use of the term. Mostly she sashays between the tables, still in her costume, flirting for tips and occasionally taking a drink order. I follow her example, putting on what I hope is a flirtatious smile. I try avoiding the man, embarrassment burning my throat whenever I think back to the stage, but eventually he catches my eye and signals me over.

‘What can I get for you?’ I ask. He says nothing. Just places a bank note on the table between us, the implication of it taking a second to hit me. He raises an eyebrow.

‘Follow me, Mr Shelby,’ I manage to get out, pulling myself together. I walk with him following me to one of the tables in the shadowy corner of the already-dark room. These tables are small, intimate, with round, plush benches that allow for privacy from the rest of the club. Technically the rules don't allow touching, but I’ve heard Lou’s stories about the kind of things that happen. Arthur isn't particularly strict in enforcing that one, for some reason.

Tommy sits down and I sit next to him, leaving space between us. I can only hope he's not expecting anything from me.

‘You’re new,’ he says, more of a statement than a question. I get a chance to look at him properly for the first time. There are parts of him that remind me of Arthur. His complexion, his eyes, the way he dresses, but it’s like everything has been intensified. Whereas Arthur’s eyes are grey-blue, Tommy’s are sharp and bright. His hair is darker, almost black, contrasting with his pale skin. Arthur’s face is kind, but Tommy’s is colder and calculating. I can’t stop myself from staring.

‘I’ve worked here for a few months now,’ I reply. Luckily he’s not looking back at me.

‘But not as a dancer.’ I blush, embarrassed that he could tell so easily. Hopefully no one else thought I was that disastrous.

‘You could tell?’ I ask, mortified, and a ghost of a smile flits across his lips.

‘The dancing was good,’ he pauses, his eyes flitting almost unnoticeably down to my covered body like he’s remembering the sight. ‘I’ve just seen you at the bar. And Arthur’s definitely not the one keeping those accounts,’ he raises an eyebrow with the last part and I breathe a sigh of relief. Good is enough of a compliment for me.

‘He asked me to do them. He’s always busy.’

‘That must mean he trusts you.’ He turns towards me, looking me in the eyes like he’s daring me to give him a reason not to trust me too. I have already, not that he knows it.

‘I just do my job,’ I shrug. Tommy pulls a silver cigarette case out of his suit pocket and places one between his lips. He holds the case out to me and I shake my head, already filled with enough nervous energy. He lights a match, the tiny flame illuminating his face for a second before he shakes it out.

‘You do it well,’ he says, smoke leaking from his lips in spiralling tendrils. I smile to myself, slightly embarrassed at how pleased the compliment makes me. I never got to finish school but I always dreamed of being an accountant in some chic office, earning enough to be independent.

‘Why did you bring me over here?’ I ask. He takes a long drag from the cigarette before replying, watching me thoughtfully.

‘I make it my business to know everyone who works for me. Especially those who my brother decides he can trust with confidential information.’ Something in his voice makes me think he’s caught me already and I gulp.

‘Paranoid, are you?’ I smile, trying to flirt my way away from the guilt building up, but he just holds me in a firm gaze that makes me feel like a deer trapped in the headlights.

‘Don’t give me a reason to be.’

Alfie Solomons calls me at the flat the next day, and I don’t even want to think about the fact that he somehow already has the number. Ollie arrives in the car a few minutes later to take me to the infamous bakery. He doesn't speak this time. The warehouse is different to what I expected, but really it has all the features of an illegal rum distillery; barrels fill most of the available space and huge metal distillation tanks loom out from the corners. Ollie walks me through the shop floor to Alfie’s office, knocking the door.

‘Enter,’ comes the gruff shout from inside. Ollie opens the door for me, ushering me in. Alfie is sitting at a large desk, and he raises an eyebrow when he sees me.

‘Eva! How lovely.’ I resist the urge to roll my eyes. He’s the one who called me here. Now, in daylight, I can see him properly. He’s not bad looking, under the thick beard and grizzled appearance. His eyes are blue, not as bright as Tommy’s, but they have a manic glint that stands out against his calm exterior.

‘What have you got for me?’ He asks, clasping his hands together over his chest. I dig through my bag reluctantly, pulling out the papers I’ve managed to grab from Arthur’s office. I tried not to take anything too important, maintaining an ounce of imaginary dignity. I put them onto Alfie’s desk.

‘Interesting,’ Alfie mutters as he rifles through the papers. ‘Well done, very well done.’

’I’m not doing it anymore,’ I say, trying to sound authoritative before the huge man in front of me. From behind his desk Alfie sighs and presses his hand to his face, running his fingers over his beard thoughtfully as he appraises me.

‘And why’s that, sweetheart?’

‘I don’t want a part in this business. I don’t want to pick a side,’ He chuckles quietly.

‘Well love, there comes a time when everyone has to pick a side, and your loyalties lie with me now. You’re on my payroll, and I pay you significantly more than Arthur pays his barmaids.’ He sits down in his chair, folding his hands and leaning on the desk. ‘People say you can’t buy loyalty, and those people are fucking stupid, but I do require that loyalty. Alright?’ I don’t respond, but he seems to take it as agreement, leaning back in his chair.

‘I hear Tommy Shelby’s come to town, that wouldn't have anything to do with this, would it?’

‘No.’ I want to convince myself that it’s not, but I can’t deny that it is, at least partly. He’ll be harder to dupe than Arthur, and he already seems suspicious of me.

‘Good, because I want to know what he’s up to as well, alright? Now off you go.’

‘But Mr Solomons-‘ Alfie pulls a drawer open and throws a roll of paper onto the desk. I pick it up, not bothering to count the banknotes before stuffing it into my pocket.

‘There’s your loyalty. See you next week.’ He waves vaguely with his hand, and I know I’m dismissed.

idk i’m still not happy with this but hopefully the formatting will work this time :)))

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #tommy x reader #tommy shelby x reader #alfie x reader #mine

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flightofaqrow · 3 years

Text

books and boys

qrow + Bartholomew Oobleck ( @erudite-rebel )

only Barty would ask a question and not even take a breath before launching into something entirely unrelated.

qrow cuts him off, “so much as i’d love to hear alla ‘bout it, i’ve got to-” he holds up his own book and twists it from the wrist a few times. “unless you wanna come talk about, uh… chronicled grimm attacks on the CCTs.”

Lengthy discussions were best done elsewhere, where Ms. Plum might not swoop down upon them and shoo them for making noise, so Barty makes a motion over his shoulder. “There’s a rather disused section in the back of the library I like to haunt when I want to be alone. Good for quiet… even has a window that opens if I want a smoke.”

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qrow came to the library to get a book. he doesn’t even know what it’s about yet, but it was on a list for class. he sees Oobleck sitting at one of the tables, studying probably way too hard, and gently bops his head with the flat side of said book on the way out.

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“How dare you- oh, Qrow.” The boy looks up in surprise, pushing up glasses that had been making a slow escape attempt down his nose. “Heading out? I’ve just found some fascinating information on the possible correlation of Atlas’s use of dust and unexplained disastrous weather phenomena. In fact, their remote outpost, HAARP-”

He was getting on a roll.

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the indignance makes him grin almost as much as the quickly given forgiveness and the pleased way his name falls from Barty’s lips. then a whole bunch of other stuff follows. only he would ask a question and not even take a breath before launching into something entirely unrelated.

“I am,” qrow cuts him off, “so much as i’d love to hear alla ‘bout it, i’ve got to-” he holds up his own book and twists it from the wrist a few times. “unless you wanna come talk about, uh,” he finally scans the back cover, “…chronicled grimm attacks on the CCTs”

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Barty stops his explanation of HAARP quickly enough, when Qrow stops him with that look in his eyes. Barty can’t help but smile slightly, because he knows Qrow doesn’t mean it in a way that says ‘shut up, Barty,’ the way his own teammates can.

“Ah! A class project then?” he asks, letting his book fall shut as he stands. His examination of old weather patterns is not exactly riveting stuff, though it does lend itself to a rather amusing rabbit hole. He resists the urge to bring up the rumours of mind control linked to the CCT’s, but only just. “I’d relish any company at all, truth be told.” Weekends are, generally, lonely for him if he isn’t heading down to Vale to find a show or something else to occupy his time.

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they all have so much to do in so little time, and when qrow has special lessons on top of it all just in how to be a proper person he simply can’t afford to waste time. it’s never personal. he just likes to have some left over for himself, too.

and he believes it a far more clever decision if he can both listen to Barty’s excited voice breathing life into just about anything, especially dry ink and pages, and get his work done at the same time, “somethin’ like that.” he still has to read over the rubric, too. he’d almost say he’s in luck with this agreement if the next flourish of book fondling didn’t slip from his grip and land the corner of its spine right on his toe.

qrow winces, recovers, and scoops the offending object back up. suddenly the library feels even more cramped. “great. whaddya say we get outta here and find a, uh… less crowded spot.”

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“Ouch. Are you alright?” he asks, ready to reach for the book, but Qrow’s already stooped to pick it up, and he jumps back before Qrow’s head can collide with his when he stands back up, narrowly missing it.

Barty tilts his head, then nods his agreement. Lengthy discussions were best done elsewhere, where Ms. Plum might not swoop down upon them and shoo them for making noise, so he makes a motion over his shoulder. “There’s a rather disused section in the back of the library I like to haunt when I want to be alone. Good for quiet… even has a window that opens if I want a smoke.”

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“just fine,” toes wiggle in qrow’s boot as he frowns, acknowledgement of honest concern the only thing keeping any real bite from his words, “i’d hardly make it as a huntsman if a little stub knocked me off my game.”

those recovered feet reclaim the distance that hop created, and qrow cranes his head and neck to peek around the stacks. Barty hardly seems bleak and looming enough to ‘haunt’ somewhere, but the the area motioned towards goes deep, and the idea of a window sells it. he straightens up and shrugs, “don’t think i’ve ever dug that deep in ‘ta this place. sure. lead the way.”

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Barty picks up his books, slinging them into his bag. It almost looks like he’s got every subject on them, and he’s a touch slouched by the weight once it’s over his shoulder. “This way. Sometimes people get loud and I just prefer the peace.”

The section in question is far near the back. Architecture. Hardly touched, really. He isn’t surprised, considering it’s a Huntsman academy with minimal post secondary considerations for outside subjects.

He tosses his bag down with a bang and goes to drag his usual couch over near the window. Plum doesn’t give him hell for it if it makes it back to where it belongs.

“So! Grimm attacks on CCT installations!” he says, tossing himself down and pulling his pack of smokes out of his pocket. “Is that in the curricular or did you irritate Professor Carlisle into a punishment essay?”

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sometimes qrow wonders just how many subjects Barty studies at once. also how his back muscles aren’t more defined from carrying all that weight around, but he really shouldn’t go down that path right now. he follows the route the other boy leads him instead, “i hear ya. peace is hard t’find ‘round here. i usually head to th’ roof myself.”

the spot’s nice. like a little lounge area. he never would have known. honestly, there’s a lot of things he wouldn’t know if it weren’t for Barty. he’s not sure why even his own team is so quick to dismiss him, but hell, qrow and many of the other students never did have the same tastes or goals. their loss. he crosses his legs on the floor beneath the coffee table and sets his book on it, already pushed forward to even open the damn thing thanks to his friend’s enthusiasm.

“curricular. although, i’ve done th’other before too. but nah. they want us to study so we know common approaches an’ pitfalls t’look out for i guess. …these CCT things seem pretty important to protect.” intricacies of mechanical inner workings are practically second nature to qrow, but he’s still working towards full comprehension of all this advanced tech and invisible communication. he halfway hopes to instigate a tangent on that alone to help him catch up…

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“They are indeed,” says Barty, unbothered by Qrow’s lack of knowledge on the subject. Once he’d gotten over the shock of things that Qrow wasn’t used to, or didn’t know how to do, he’d adapted. “The CCT towers provide communication to every corner of Remnant. Of course, there’s plenty of suspicion that the CCT Network covers up some sinister doings from Atlas…”

He must resist going on that tear today. Qrow had work to do. He could regale him with one of his favourite pass times later.

“Some speculate that Grimm are attracted to CCT towers because of the radiation they emit, while others believe Grimm sense the way they connect humanity and therefore wish to tear them down. Nothing is certain, of course. We have no concrete proof of the intelligence of Grimm.”

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“every corner that can afford it,” qrow mutters to himself, as more fact than malice. but to those who had scrolls and computer and stuff, that communication’s pretty vital. he gets that. he listens while also skimming pages, but that last comment has him raising an eyebrow in Barty’s direction.

he might even be interested in that one, if he thought there’s be more fact than fiction about it. he relents from making strange faces when his companion relents the reason for them.

radiation. that’s a chemistry thing. or would it be physics, if they’re talking electronics? he nods at the rest. “yeah, none’a what they’re describin’ seem like well thought-out groups or maneuvers. they jus’ swarm and try t’get the things outta their way.”

qrow pulls a little notebook with a pen shoved into the spirals from one of his shirt pockets, and starts taking a few notes of dates and grimm types. he stops writing and taps the pen against his chin, “hmm, so. if radiation is’a possibility, what part’a the tower would be puttin’ off the most?”

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Barty doesn’t notice the incredulous look at his statement over the intelligence of Grimm. He’s too busy flicking through the book, and tapping ashes into the repurposed metal pencil sharpener he keeps. He could go on about it if he wanted, but he doesn’t. He’s more thinking about what else Qrow said, which makes him wonder yet again where the other boy grew up. He seemed at odds with most things.

“I’ve heard of older Grimm that do strategize, but they also tend to avoid attacking guarded places,” he replies. “Draws too many huntsman. As for the radiation…”

He thinks about it as well. “I would suppose the transmitters near the top would be the most likely target. I’d have to read up on the inner workings of the CCT Networks specifically, and the kind of dust it uses. If you need me to it shouldn’t take me long.”

A day or two of hard reading, at most. It didn’t strike him as remotely odd to offer.

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he looks to Barty as he listens, twirling the pen between fingers during the pause, tries not to pay too much attention to how the cigarette sits between his lips or how nice they look blowing out smoke when deep in thought. gaze moves with shame to the more familiar sight of ground, and qrow shakes his head to rattle thoughts of work back into place.

“nah, i just thought that might make a likely place t’strike, but if it’s that high up… well, i figure the rest’a the assignment should make that clearer, huh? don’t want ya doin’ all the work for me.”

gentle red eyes narrow to take in a few more pages, a few more notes, a few more patterns. not the most difficult assignment, but not the most interesting either. after seeing nothing about either of their latest comments, he asks, “wait… the towers use dust?”

relevant? who knows. qrow just wants to understand.

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“We’re in the same class,” he says mildly, looking at the ground as well, for different reasons. “I don’t mind if you don’t mind help from an underclassman like me. You’re… refreshing, really.”

Barty pulls into himself as Qrow reads and writes, thinking about how nice it would be if his team was as sweet and understanding as Team STRQ, even with Raven Branwen being… Raven Branwen-y.

“Yes. Most things are powered by it. Electric dust runs the circuitry, but I’m not sure what expands the signal. Maybe I’ll have to visit the CCT Tower and take a tour or bend an ear of an employee or two.” The cigarette is stubbed out and he looks over at him. “So… I don’t recall this being assigned in class. Was this about a detention you received, or…?”

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refreshing, huh? not something qrow hears at all, if ever. tolerable, he gets from his teammates. worthy anyway; can be adapted to despite… how he is. but treated as if he actually had something to offer, especially beyond fighting?

even as he sits here asking favors of Barty; even as his pencil tip breaks in the middle of a word, and a heavy sigh passes his lips, and anger and frustration feel like all qrow branwen is good for.

he doesn’t know how to process that. how to respond. barely believes it to accept it as a real interaction, as his fist clenches around the implement and his gaze stays trained on the book.

“you too…” the best he can grunt out in a mutter.

he listens to the rest while re-sharpening wood and graphite with a pair of scissors, forgetting in the moment about all the electric machines scattered throughout the library.

looks up at the end and tilts his head, not only because going out for a personal field trip seems extreme, let alone if what he says about it not being a class-wide study is true. “dunno…” his face scrunches in thought, and he relaxes back in a lean, stretching one leg out under the table, taking a break from thinking about the book to thinking about the assignment, “Summer just came in th’dorm, handed me a …reference list…. and told me t’go start on it. huh.”

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Barty’s ears go pink at the returned sentiments, even if they are mumbled out somewhat sullenly. That Qrow likes his company is still an utter mystery to him. No one likes his company. And yet STRQ somehow does.

Barty doesn’t mention the electric machines, watching Qrow do his thing with curiosity, legs stretched out before him since there was no getting comfortable drawing them up underneath of him, not when he was meant to be sharing the space.

“Maybe I missed something,” he said, though he doubted it. Extra team assignment was the most likely. “Or it’s because I’m a singleton and got assigned something else instead of a full group project.”

Extra likely, considering his assignments generally differed.

“Too bad, I’m curious now.” He stubbed out his cigarette and stowed the butt away, sealing the ashes a moment later. Now beyond the smell, there was no evidence. “Tell me what exactly she wants done and I’ll lend a hand.” He was loathe to cut the time short, after all. He didn’t really have people to hang out with.

#* he always did have a thing for investigating the occult = erudite rebel *#* i gave you my life = past *#* we got work to do = ic *#* how do you think legends and fairy tales get started? = thread archive *

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youre-not-a-cat-youre-a-rat · 7 years

Text

Title: “The Swan” (2/?)

1 . 2 (AO3)

Rated M (for eventual smut)

Summary:

Revenge-minded, scourge of the seas Captain Hook has one comically disastrous, drunken encounter with golden knight of the realm Emma, and, whether he’d like to admit it or not, it ends up changing his life. A few years later, the knight tracks him down to enlist his help on a quest that will lead him straight toward his vengeance. But Killian turns out to be much more than Emma first assumed, and Emma proves to be just as dangerous to Killian’s heart as he suspected...

A/N: This chapter features a pre- “good kind of pirate” Killian. He might display some troubling attitudes/tendencies, just to warn you.

“Maybe it's best we find another place, Captain…”

“And why is that Smee?”

“The Swan’s in that tavern.”

Killian Jones observed his crewman. Smee was a twitchy sort, but he looked downright sick with nervousness now.

“The what?”

Smee gave him an incredulous look. “The Swan? The Swan? The king’s finest knight and heir to the throne? Trained by giants in battle? A child of true love born with the most powerful magic in the kingdom?”

Killian cocked an eyebrow. “How excessive. And how exactly does one receive training from a giant? It's not as if you can spar with them.”

“I don't think this is someone we want to run into, captain”

“You’re welcome to try your luck at finding another watering hole in this pathetic little hamlet,” Killian growled. “I’m planning on buying a bloody drink not starting a riot. We’ve had an increasingly frustrating week, and I’m not about to let some king’s spawn get between me and the rum I so deserve.”

"Captain - " Smee started, but Killian ignored him, pushing past the little man into the tavern.

The ugly mug tending bar slapped a bottle and a glass down in front of him. Killian poured himself a few fingers of rum and eyed the rabble, curious. Smee had built the knight up too well. Killian wanted to judge the paragon for himself. A few men in rusty chainmail and leather plating dotted the crowd, but they were probably just smart travellers. However, there was a silver glint of well-polished armor in one corner. Killian could make out a few men -- in very fine mail, indeed -- hunched over a table with a figure, whose armor, if Killian wasn't mistaken, sported a gilded pattern. Probably to match the sod's hair, tumbling in golden waves over his back, which was turned toward Killian. No doubt he was a pretty sod as well.

But Smee was right. It was hardly smart to court a prince's attention when you're a lawbreaker in his right mind. So Killian made sure he had made a solid run toward emptying his bottle of rum before he made his approach.

Their week had been long, the Dark One still evaded him. And he wasn't in the mood to soothe his frustration with a lover. He was in the mood for a fight. Why not a fight with the heir to a kingdom, the most feared knight in the realm?

"Well then, Sir Swan," he called over the din, sauntering over to a trio of knights. "Let's get a look at you." He rounded the table to find a pair of surprised green eyes staring back at him. Lined with rather long lashes. Killian was hardly one to deny that a man could have fine features, but he was still confident the knight he was looking at was a woman.

Her expression faded from surprise to irreverence as she took him in. "And?" she said, "You got your look."

"Aye," Killian said, shifting gears rather handily, for how many drinks he'd had. "So that's what the product of true love looks like."

The Swan’s eyebrows climbed up her forehead.

Killian glanced at her companions, who didn’t have to glare daggers at him since they were palming the real blades at their sides. Unperturbed, he swung a leg over the bench and wedged his way between two of them, concentrating to make sure his movements were smooth.

“Make yourself at home,” the Swan said flatly.

“Why, thank you. You royals are hospitable,” Killian drawled.

“Can I help you…?”

“Captain,” Killian corrected. “Hook,” he added, raising the instrument in question. “Or Jones. Whichever you prefer, love.”

The knight to his left bristled, armor clunking. “You will address the princess as --”

“Leroy, could you get me another,” the Swan said, lifting her empty tankard without drawing her eyes away from Killian.

Killian smiled sunnily in response to Leroy’s parting glare.

Once her rather short protector had disappeared into the crowd she said, “To what do I owe the pleasure, Captain?”

He grinned. “The pleasure is freely given, darling.”

She finally broke her steady gaze to roll her eyes.

“I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to share a drink with a princess, could I?”

“Didn’t you call me ‘sir’ a second ago?”

“Aye. You’re a knight too, aren’t you? Do you go by ‘lady,’ then?”

The corner of her mouth twitched and Killian felt a giddy thrill slice through his drunken haze.

“People tend to go with ‘your highness,’” she said.

“And you like it that way?” he asked.

“If I want them to call me something else, I let them know.” Her expression was rather pointed.

“Hmm, used to getting your own way, are you?”

She mirrored his arched eyebrow. “I’m used to respect.”

Her sharpness went further toward sobering Killian, unfortunately. But then something in her seemed to loosen. “I’m sure you know being in a leadership position hardly means always getting what you want, Captain.” She smiled then, and it was lovely, if rueful.

Killian blinked. “No,” he said, agreeing with her. He certainly hadn’t been getting what he wanted, lately. Though she was obviously referring to the sacrifice of putting her subjects’ interests before her own. He tried to remember the last time he’d been so concerned with those under his own command. It must have been before his return from Neverland, though he couldn’t say whether he had been more worried about his crew’s safety than getting them all home then. One worry rather fueled the other. Come to think of it, he hadn't really felt such...care for his crew since his time in the navy. Since his brother’s death. And after that, what did it matter who he was sailing with? What companion could make up for the loss of his only family?

“Oh, lass,” he groaned. “I’m hardly sober enough for such soul searching.”

She laughed, and Killian enjoyed it. She really was very attractive.

“Sorry,” she said. “It’s just, I prefer to do my soul searching as drunk as possible.”

“Aye, I can see the benefits. Perhaps I’m just not in the mood for soul searching tonight.”

She sighed. “And what are you in the mood for?”

It may have been the rum. It may have been that she was more interesting than what he had expected, whether knight or princess, and he wanted to return the favor.

Whatever it was, Killian found himself telling her the truth. “What I’m looking for, love, is a good brawl.”

It may have been the rum.

She laughed again, this time in pure disbelief. Killian heard the rattle of chainmail as the knight to his right shifted. Killian ignored him.

“I’m sorry, you walk into this pub, see me, and your first thought is ‘I want to fight her’?” she asked, when Killian did nothing to clarify his statement.

“I can’t be the first to ever have had such a thought,” Killian said, feeling his face heat. Good lord, was he blushing? At challenging a woman?

“Maybe not,” she said, eyes still wide with shock and mirth. “But you might be the first one to tell me.”

“Well, that’s a show of respect, isn’t it? I only want the truth between us, Sir Swan.”

“Oh, do you?” she murmured, chuckling, shaking her head, and the movement pulled him along toward her, grinning, saying “Aye,” just as softly in response.

“Your Highness.”

The laughing stopped. Killian glared openly at the knight next to him for ruining that delightful little instance of magic. It was the fidgety, mail-clad fellow. He was a ginger, who wore spectacles, no less. What sort of knight wore spectacles? He and the Swan seemed to share a conversation in addition to a look.

When the princess turned her gaze back on him, she was almost apologetic. Softly, but firmly, she said, “Maybe you should just stick to the rum tonight, Captain. Whatever you’re trying to distract yourself from, I’m not the one to do it with.”

Killian’s disappointment was surprisingly sharp. “The Swan turning down a challenge?” he accused. Probably too bitterly.

Her eyes hardened and her voice dropped. “Or maybe just lay off the rum and go home, Captain. You may think you want a fight, but you don’t want one with me. Trust me.”

Her grumpy little companion returned with her drink then. He took his time placing the tankard down between them so he could give Killian a menacing look.

Killian shot up, snagged his hook around the diminutive knight’s arm, and pinned it to the table. The Swan and the other knights rose immediately, drawing their weapons, but Killian had already ripped the metal glove off of Leroy’s hand. He slapped it down in front of the princess with a satisfying clang.

The pub had gone silent.

“Is it ceremony you want, Swan?” He managed to growl despite the woozy rush he was feeling from his quick movement. Hook and hand on the table, he loomed over her, heedless of her blade pointed at him. “There you are. I challenge you formally,” he sneered around the last word.

Her lovely green eyes travelled up from the gauntlet to his own gaze. She was utterly withering.

Killian watched, fascinated, as she glanced at the crowd around them, weighing the situation, no doubt. A daughter of a king at work. Finally, he saw her breast-plate shift as she heaved a deep and silent sigh.

“Take him out,” she said, curtly.

The third of her posse stepped forward. He wrapped a massive dark hand around Killian’s brace and yanked his hook from the table. A scuffle later, Killian found himself outside the tavern and on the ground, blinded by the silver of the princess’s armored feet.

“Keep them inside,” he heard her say as he struggled back up. She was handing her cloak off to the disapproving ginger knight. Behind them, the other two kept the crowd from leaking out of the tavern. The princess murmured some order or another to Sir Ginger and, after fixing her with another inscrutable look, he left them.

Finally, she turned back to Killian.

He grinned. “Alone at last.”

Green eyes flashing, moonlight glinting off her armor and the steel in her hand, she advanced.

“Draw,” she said.

Killian grabbed for his sword, a sense of unease growing in his stomach.

This was never a sound idea, but watching the Swan twirl her sword absently as she assessed him, the full impact of the situation finally seemed to land on Killian. No matter how sobering her company, he was still well-soused, and she was still the most feared knight in the bloody kingdom.

She started to circle him, and he circled her in turn, trying to keep his feet light as well as steady.

Suddenly, she lunged at him with a few blows that he managed to parry well enough.

She fell back, the movement almost lazy, it was so serene. Irked, he sneered, “Don’t tell me the great Swan is soft in battle. This isn’t a dance, it’s a duel.”

This prompted a flurry of blows that had Killian reeling back cartoonishly. She allowed him a moment to right himself. She didn’t laugh but there was a definite twitch around the corners of her mouth.

Killian scowled, irritated with her amusement. Irritated for finding her endearing. That was the wrong scene, the wrong sort of encounter. She kept distracting him from his mood.

Gods. He was frustrated, dammit. Thwarted. Enraged.

He felt the anger tighten his focus and when he moved, his attack was fluid. He saw the shift in her eyes, felt the difference in her grip on the steel under his.

Their little skirmish was growing heated, his heart pounding in his skull from the exertion, pounding in time to the clang of their weapons. He ignored it. Focused on her. Her cool expression and the calculation in her eyes, somehow firey.

It was a split second of lag, a movement too slow. Her attack came swift and merciless. He moved to parry but it was too weak, too late. The blow was so strong it laid him out flat, head snapping against the earth, vision swimming.

He fought through it, blinking furiously. In a sluggish scramble he turned to his side and realized she was walking away. Finished.

“Wait,” he rasped. “...I said wait, damn you!”

She stopped.

He managed to get one boot flat on the ground. He stabbed his cutlass into the dirt and dragged the rest of himself upright by leaning on the hilt. “I haven’t conceded defeat.”

“Jones…”

My, but his name sounded sweet in her voice.

She started toward him and he tugged the cutlass from the ground to point it at her. Her lips thinned as she raised her own weapon, obligingly. But she didn’t move.

He lunged and she blocked, as easily as if she were swatting a fly. He stumbled, but by some miracle managed not to fall again. He felt dizzy as he straightened himself and his weapon. She was watching him with something too close to concern.

“I didn’t challenge you because I wanted your pity, love,” he bit out, as he lunged again.

Her expression evaporated as she parried. “I don’t pity you, Captain. You’re just pitiful.”

He barked out a laugh, mildly hysterical.

Her attack was swift. The clang of steel rang out as she twisted his cutlass back with the weight of her broadsword. His grip fumbled and the cutlass went flying. Killian lurched after it on instinct but was stopped by the hilt of her sword, planted in his stomach with a dull thud.

He choked out an ugly gagging noise as he crumpled. He clutched his stomach and rolled onto his back, drawing in deep rasping breaths.

When his vision came back into focus, it was to find both swords in the Swan’s hands. She couldn’t even be bothered to point them at him, it seemed.

“Drinking it away wasn’t enough, was it?” she asked.

Killian wanted to laugh, but it turned into a cough.

“Forgetting something doesn’t make it go away,” she said.

“I bloody know,” Killian answered, weakly.

“Have you tried running?”

He squinted up at her, perplexed.

The rueful smile was back. “I always thought running seemed like a good way to get rid of your problems. I just never had the luxury.”

Killian gazed at her. “And where would you propose I run to, love?”

For a long moment, she stared at him, measuring him.

“You could come with us.”

Killian considered the likelihood that he was hallucinating.

She continued, her stare and her voice steady and soft. “You’d lose your title, but if you prove yourself you might get another one eventually.”

“You think I’ve the makings of a knight?”

She shrugged. The smile was back. “Maybe you just remind me of me.”

Of her? This shining paragon of nobility saw something of herself in him?

She sighed and tossed the cutlass down beside him. He eyed it.

“I concede defeat,” he said.

She laughed.

“And I think I’ll just lie here for a bit, as well,” he muttered.

She nodded. “Good plan.”

He felt his face heat again. Gods, but this had not been his finest hour.

“You don’t have to wait for me,” he said.

“I bloody know,” she answered, matter-of-fact.

And after a few more moments, he held out his hand and she hauled him to his feet, stepping under his arm to steady him when he swayed. Her hair brushed his face. It smelled of salt, probably from the coastal breeze. He wished he were in a state to appreciate it more.

She stepped away but her hand stayed at his side, gauntlet resting above his belt.

“Can I give you some advice?”

Her eyes were boring into his again.

Killian grunted his acquiescence.

“You seem like you could use...some...support...council...”

“Out with it, love.”

She sighed and gazed up at the sky. “A friend, Jones.”

“...a friend?”

She met his eyes. “What do you think of my men?”

“Uh,” Killian was at a loss.

“Lance is terrifying, but Archie and Leroy always get weird looks. But they’re my knights because they’re what I need. They’re friends to me.”

“Friends.” Killian would have laughed, but he was too struck. Too hypnotized by the gravity in her eyes. Later he might say that it had been delirium that made her words seem all-important.

“I really think what you need is a friend, Captain.”

Killian didn’t answer, and after a short silence, she picked up his sword from where she’d tossed it, placed it in his hand, and sidled away.

Killian saw that her companions had all been joined by horses during the course of their duel. Sir Ginger handed the reigns of a white steed to the Swan. Killian watched as the four knights mounted, and rode away.

Just his fucking luck, there seemed to be some sort of commotion going on when he arrived back at the Roger.

It was the girl. Somehow she’d made it out of the brig where Killian had ordered her, tired of listening to her swearing up and down that she had led them to the right place. He could hear her accent amid the shouts coming from the small crowd on deck.

The girl looked as haggard as if she’d spent a few days in the brig rather than a few hours, and it made Killian wince with a stab of guilt. Her blue eyes were wild, dark curls in disarray. She was brandishing a dagger that he guessed she must have lifted from one of the crew. She swung the blade around when a man came too close, and he jumped back. Smee was trying to approach her, licking his lips nervously, hands out as if she were a wild horse.

Killian stepped aboard.

The wood groaned under his boots, and the girl whipped around at the noise. Smee moved quickly, snaking his arms around her from behind and seizing her by the wrists.

It might have been another stab of guilt that had Killian speeding up.

But before he could reach them the girl broke away, though Smee had managed to wrestle away the dagger. The girl made a mad dash straight toward Killian, toward the boarding ramp, when one of his men stepped out of the gawking crowd.

It was Carstairs. One of the rabble he’d picked up just before Neverland. The brute’s more aggressive tendencies had come in handy on the island, but had grown increasingly tiresome after their return to this realm.

It was with an unholy glee that Carstairs stopped the girl’s flight by backhanding her hard across the face.

Killian drew in a sharp breath as she pitched to the floor, blue skirts flying up haphazardly, head making a sickening thunk against the boards.

And Killian was swamped with a sense of horror.

Not at the violence of the action, but at how easily he could picture himself doing the same thing. Just this evening, he’d been furious. He’d spent the voyage back from the Dark One’s empty castle building his frustration, nursing it into a seething rage. He’d laid into the girl for what he saw as her failure, and she’d shouted back, defending herself, unintentionally encouraging his tirade. Had they not spent the weeks beforehand together, had he not come to know her a little -- come to like her, truth be told -- would he have struck her then? Would he have let his hand fly, without a second thought, instead of just locking her away, sick of her righteous presence?

Now, battered and aching, the fight thoroughly trounced from him, the memory of his anger felt hollow. After 200 years, this thwarted vengeance was becoming tired. He was bloody tired.

Looking down at this girl, he missed Milah.

It was almost a shock. When was the last time he’d felt anything other than fury at the thought of her?

Gods, but he missed her. Missed his brother. Missed being a bloody Lieutenant, when he’d actually cared about his actions and his men in the same way the Swan seemed to care about hers. And it was all of this exhausted aching that had him forming a decision.

This was a good woman. Better than him, better than his men, certainly. No doubt she was of the mind who felt that no one deserved this sort of treatment, but the truth was she was especially undeserving of it. He should bundle her up and send her off in the direction of the princess.

But he decided to indulge his selfishness one more time. She was good. And she was clever, and he’d found himself enjoying her company on their voyage.

So he halted Carstairs’s movements. The man was crouching over the disoriented girl, no doubt to haul her back up for more of his twisted enjoyment. Killian stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and, when Carstairs straightened, smashed his hook into the man’s face. Large as he was, Carstairs didn’t fall immediately, but swayed from the blow. Killian seized the opportunity to barrel into him, using his own weight to drive the man toward the starboard side of the ship and sent him clean over the railing.

There was a yawning silence before the faint splash of Carstairs hitting the water.

Killian turned to find his crew gaping at him. The girl, crumpled as she was from her place on the deck, managed to look just as shocked. Killian approached her carefully, offering his hand. She ignored it and straightened unsteadily to her feet on her own. Her eyes were steely when they met his.

“I want to go home,” she said.

“I’ve a proposition for you, actually,” Killian said.

“Your last proposition ended with me as your prisoner, so, no, thank you,” she said. She would have come off haughty if her eyes weren’t rimmed red.

Spurred by the threat of tears, Killian soldiered on. “In case you hadn’t noticed, a position’s just opened up on my crew.”

There was a stirring among the men. Killian paid them no mind. For the moment, he focused on selling this plan to her, hang what the rest of the crew thought.

“From what you’ve told me, lass, it doesn’t sound as if you’ve a place to go, what with your father throwing you out after your time with the Dark One.”

She bristled. “That doesn’t mean --”

“I’d like to offer you a position as my navigator.”

The chatter from his men grew louder. The girl, meanwhile, was looking at him as if he’d grown a second head.

“You may not consider me the most honorable man,” Killian continued, “but I do honor my agreements.”

“You promised to let me go free if I led you to Rumple.”

“And you didn’t lead me to him.”

“But that was where --”

“Regardless,” Killian snapped, rubbing his temple. “You did do an excellent job of getting us to our destination quickly. You’re good with maps and books and the stars, and with a bit of coaching, you might even make a decent pilot.”

She blinked at Killian’s dry praise. “And where would we go?” she asked.

Killian grinned at that. “Well, you’d be a pirate, love,” he said. “We go wherever we want.”

Ah, yes, that seemed to reach her. Killian had read her right. The girl had wanderlust.

Still, she was wary, justifiably so. “Where will I sleep?”

There was only one place, but Killian paused nevertheless, anticipating the backlash.

“The same place, the smaller cabin next to my quarters would be yours permanently.”

There was a titter from Smee, to whom the cabin had belonged to originally. And from the back of the crowd, there rose a jealous roar of “Captain.”

“Stephens,” Killian roared back. “Keep questioning your captain’s orders and you’ll be joining Carstairs.”

That was enough to silence any more objections.

“Well, then, lass,” he said, eager to get this over with. “In or out?”

She was silent, thinking, and Killian watched an odd sort of light creep into her eyes. After a moment, he recognized it. The girl was hopeful.

But she still fixed him with a shrewd glare when she asked. “What happens if I’m out?”

Killian considered the question. Considered what she was really asking. It was rather frightening. Frightening to realize what he was really asking of her. Frightening to show his hand in front of the rest of his crew.

But if nothing else, he refused to let the night be a complete failure.

So he said, “If you’re out, love, you’re free to go. I won’t stop you.”

And she smiled.

#captain swan #cs #captain swan fic #cs fic #killian jones #emma swan #killian jones x emma swan #hook x emma #ouat fic #my stuff

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cosmicallybrownie · 7 years

Text

a sun swallowed by darkness

Part I (Part II, Part III)

Pairing: Natan

Warnings: blood, violence, swearing, smut in future chapters

Word Count: 5600

Summary: The king’s daughter was captured by a band of pirates hungry for ransom money and information about the kingdom. In a dark cell tinged with uncertainly and fear, Natalie’s interrogator, Lucifer, was tasked with coaxing information from her.

This fic is for @astarisms!! She won first prize in my giveaway and this fic accidentally ran away from me.

The deafening scrape of wood against wood jarred Natalie out of her thoughts, and she tried to slow her breathing when she caught the telltale sight of black colors flying above the attacking ship. Her father had assured her that the short jaunt across the wide expanse of ocean would be brief and uneventful, but the current situation was wiping away all hope of his promises.

Natalie was returning from brokering peace with a nearby kingdom that was eager to sink its claws into her father’s land, but her proposed treaties of trade that were laced with heavy generosity soothed their war hungry leaders. The politics had left the princess tired and eager to return home, and Natalie had left on the very next nondescript sailing vessel that docked bearing her father’s flag.

The small ship was no grand prize, and so far, the waters had been calm. Natalie had spent the majority of her time below decks, penning letters to the contacts she had made and noting all the tactics the nobles had bargained with. The expanse of the ocean around her made her feel lost and small, and she was eager to have her feet on the solid ground once again.

However, the present situation seemed to offer another obstacle to her journey home, this time in the form of pirates, rather than the pompous nobles she had spent weeks trying to make dealings with. She watched as ropes manned by bulks of men heaved the trading vessel closer and closer to the looming pirate ship, and for a moment Natalie forgot to feel fear.

When the first pirates threw their bodies onto the safe haven of her ship, Natalie suddenly became all too aware of her fear.

Her rough handling up the stairs had Natalie torn between shouting curses at the man, and whimpering in fear over what he would do to her. The brute that hauled her onto the deck shoved her into the lineup of the crew of the shipping vessel, or what was left of them. Several bodies littered the deck, bleeding into the bleached wood and groaning as the last minutes of life was drained from them.

With them was the ship’s captain, the gentle gray man who had helped Natalie settle in, and a choked gasp escaped her lips when she saw him, pale and dead, amongst the chaos. His thin lips were suspended open in a warning that would never come.

Then a man Natalie assumed to be the captain of the pirate ship stepped forward. He was remarkably pretty for a pirate, and his blue eyes caught the reflections of the waves that surrounded him. His dark blue coat swept behind him when he walked down the line, the movement full of deadly grace. Malice burned in his expression when he stopped in front of Natalie, ignoring the rest of the men around her.

“The king’s daughter. I heard you were far from home, princess.” He grabbed a strand of her hair, “I’ve heard talk that your red hair grants miracles.”

“N-no.” She wished she didn’t sound so weak, but Natalie didn’t dare breath for fear of invoking more anger.

“Of course not, but I’d rather be granted a ransom that wishes.” He dropped her hair and circled Natalie like a hungry predator, “A rich ransom, I’m sure, could be bartered for the king’s daughter.”

His gaze raked down her body hungrily and Natalie fought to keep still under the scrutiny. She didn’t want to appear weak by shrinking under the weight of his inspection, but the malevolent grin teasing the corners of his mouth dripped with danger.

His tongue skirted along his lower lip, and Natalie dropped her gaze from him. She could hear him click his tongue, and then his finger was under her chin, tilting Natalie’s face up towards him. A golden tooth sparkled in the sunlight, matching the hoops in his ears, and Natalie recoiled from the foul smell of him that washed over her from their proximity.

Something dark glimmered in his eyes, and he gestured vaguely over his shoulder to his crew, “Take her. Kill the rest.”

“No!” The protest was torn from Natalie’s lips as another man tossed her over his shoulder, disorientating her in the motion. She could hear steel tearing through flesh and the screams of her father’s men as their lives ran red around them. The sight of the ashen navigator’s face on the deck made Natalie’s stomach turn, but her screams were lost among the crews’ as she was hauled towards the unknown of the pirate ship.

Natalie’s voice had long since gone hoarse from unanswered screaming, and the heave of the boat below her feet had her bent over the bucket in the corner more than once. The brig was dark, and Natalie had no sunlight to gauge how long she had been in the cage. Her hands dug into the metal bars, and the slippers on her feet stuck to the floor of her cell.

She didn’t want to think about what was coating it.

The whole area smelled like the overwhelming stench of death, and she shuddered at what – or who – could be hidden in the corners of the room, obscured by the dark. With one more pitiful shake, Natalie stepped away from the bars, trying to keep her breathing shallow to avoid the smell.

The hot press of tears behind her eyes was interrupted by the sounds of boots scuffing, then the angry tilt of voices grew closer. Lanterns held up by faceless men illuminated the brig, and Natalie scrambled up from her lean against the wall just in time to meet the captain. The fire from the candles caught in his curls and he unlocked the heavy latch with practiced precision.

She wondered how many people he had held captive down here.

“Bring her to the deck,” was his simple command, and grunts of affirmation passed among the men.

She felt large hands grab her arms in bruising grips, and they shoved her gracelessly towards the stairs in the corner. Natalie drank in the expanse of sky above her when she was finally above deck again, gasping in deep breaths of fresh air. She felt like she could finally breathe again, despite the choking presence of the men.

The sunset dusted the horizon, casting its light on a tall man that stood next to the captain. He was in every way the captain’s opposite, taller and broader, with dark features that contrasted Michael’s bright ones. His whole frame radiated power, and Natalie found herself afraid of what his presence could mean.

Michael smiled down at Natalie in the dangerous way that only a cocky man was capable of, and the man beside him stood so still that Natalie might have thought he was made of stone.

“Thought I’d introduce you proper, Lucifer. This is our very own princess.” Michael made a show of shoving Natalie towards Lucifer, laughing when she flinched at his touch.

Lucifer’s expression betrayed nothing, not even curiosity as he assessed the girl, nodding, “I’m sure she’ll be easy to break, Michael.”

Michael huffed a noise of amusement but shook his head, “Now don’t be too rough on her, she’s full of all sorts of information we need.” He patted Natalie’s cheek, “Isn’t that right, princess?”

Natalie looked up at Michael with so much hatred in her expression that Lucifer was almost impressed, but he was careful to conceal it. After all, as the ship’s first mate and interrogator, it would be disastrous to show any tells.

“So I’m to prod her for information?” Lucifer already knew what his brother wanted, but it was better to receive verbalized confirmation than risk the captain’s violent disapproval when he was denied his desires.

“Prod away, first mate.”

The brothers exchanged a sharp nod and grasped each other’s forearms before turning to their own business. Lucifer took Natalie’s arm and lead her back down the stairs, back to what Natalie swore was her own Hell, and as a man named for the devil himself as her guide, it might as well be.

After letting Natalie spend a lonely night in a humid cell, Lucifer found her again in the morning. He came carrying a lantern and she had never been so thankful to see light. The flickering candle caught on every dangerous curve of Lucifer’s face, but his expression remained as emotionless as yesterday.

Before he could even ask a question, Natalie shouted, “My father will be looking for me. He has men in all corners of the ocean who are trained to find and destroy pirates.” She spat the last word like a curse, anger furrowing her brow.

“Your ship wasn’t scheduled to arrive for another fortnight.” Something like triumph curled his lips, “He cannot miss you if he doesn’t know you’re missing, and I’m sure he won’t since none of the crew harboring you survived.”

“When my father finds me, none of you shall survive.”

The shouted threat did nothing to Lucifer’s disposition, and instead he leaned closer to her, grabbing the bars on her cage, “They died because of you, you know. All those innocent men, slaughtered like sacrificial lambs for you, princess.”

Natalie matched Lucifer’s quiet, intense tone, staring into his eyes that seemed more gold than brown, “I did not kill them. Their blood is not on my hands, it’s on yours. Murderer!”

Amusement played across Lucifer’s face, and he stepped back from the bars to pull something from the bag he carried down with him, “Here is paper and charcoal. When I return, I expect the names of ships in your father’s fleet.”

And with that, he left, leaving the lantern with her.

She did not make a list as requested, and Lucifer stormed out of the brig, his silence deafening. He took the lantern, leaving her with a stale chunk of break and the hard press of loneliness.

The flash of a lantern had Natalie scrambling to her feet, and before Lucifer could even set it down, she was against the bars, her tone demanding, “I want a bucket of water and clean clothes.”

“Quite a request from a prisoner,” Lucifer said, leaning his weight against the old iron bars. They groaned under him, but he didn’t seem afraid that they would give.

“I’m a princess,” Natalie offered in way of explanation. “It’s been three days, and the smell down here is enough to drive me mad.”

After taking his time glancing around the brig, Lucifer returned his gaze to Natalie, “Have you ever considered that maybe that’s the point, princess? You aren’t supposed to be comfortable.”

“If I was more comfortable, I might be able to remember the names of the fleet.” She lifted the end of her sentence, and it was almost teasing in its lightness.

Lucifer was not entertained by her attempt at games, and looked pointedly down at her, “I’m not very inclined to believe you. You haven’t exactly been an obliging prisoner.”

“I promise.” Natalie said, almost like a plea. Her fingers brushed against his when she gripped the bars below his hands, “I’ll make you the damn list if you let me wash myself.”

He lowered his face to hers, “Promises mean nothing to pirates, princess. You need to offer me something better than words.”

“Oh, just give me the damn parchment.” Natalie conceded, pushing his hands off the bars and crossing hers over her chest.

“’Atta girl.”

Lucifer’s sudden presence caught Natalie off guard, as she was too engrossed in her sorrows to notice the lantern light the space around her. She hurried to her feet and wiped the tears from her eyes roughly, feeling the grit of sand on her skin scratch her cheeks. He had come bearing a bucket of warm water and a pile of something she assumed were clothes, and her eagerness to wash herself beat out the tears that threatened the corners of her eyes.

The leftover emotional display made Lucifer’s eyebrows draw together in a look Natalie knew couldn’t possibly be concern, and she turned away from him. When she did not acknowledge him, Lucifer fished a key from his pocket and unlocked the cell door. He left the water and the clothing on the floor and left her alone without a single word.

While she scrubbed grime and sand from her skin, she had never been so grateful for the lantern, and for silence. The linen shirt Lucifer had brought her almost stunk worse than the tattered dress Natalie had arrived in, and the breeches were hopelessly big on her, but she was grateful for them all the same. The new clothing almost felt like a layer of armor against Lucifer’s prodding questions about her father’s navy and reserves.

She watched the candle in the lantern flicker until there was nothing left of it, and its own wax was its undoing.

It seemed Natalie had just fallen asleep when she was being woken up again. Her back ached from too many nights on the hard floor, but at least now her old dress separated her from the sticky unknown of the floorboards.

Lucifer’s features were an unwelcome sight as she blinked sleep from her eyes, despite the handsomeness of his jawline and expression.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he greeted, his tone loud and uncharacteristically happy. A metal cup in his hand was filled with a brown liquid, and he banged it against the metal bars in Natalie’s face, as if he hadn’t done enough to wake her. “I see you’ve changed.”

“These clothes hardly smell better,” Natalie said, her tone groggy from sleep.

“I wouldn’t expect them to, considering the previous owner died in those rags.” Lucifer took a calm drink while Natalie gasped in indignation.

“You’re sick,” Natalie spat, and shuddered at the implication of his words. She was sure he was employing another one of his tactics to get information out of her, but the cold impression of death still weighed on her skin.

Lucifer blew out the lantern and kicked the bars by her feet, “At least my clothes are my own, princess.”

“That’s enough for tonight,” Lucifer finally grunted after what seemed like an eternity of questions. He wanted to know details of her father’s navy that Natalie had never learned, numbers that didn’t concern her, and information about names she didn’t recognize.

Once in his frustration, Lucifer had struck the bars and hissed something about a useless girl that had Natalie scampering away from his intimidating form. She had bit her lip so hard to hide her whimper that she tasted blood.

When he summoned her back into the light, his expression had softened when he handed her a handkerchief. It was the cleanest thing she had seen since being trapped on the damned ship, and she was almost afraid to dirty it with her blood.

“Tell me about your brother, princess.” Lucifer tried again, his tone so gentle she didn’t recognize it.

Natalie drew in a sharp breath when she pressed the cloth to her bleeding lip, “You first.”

Lucifer let out a bark of laughter, and complied, to Natalie’s surprise, “You’ve met him, the captain. Michael’s a real piece of work, and a right bastard in all senses of the word. Good ol’ Dad always tried to explain me and Michael’s differences away based on our mums.”

“And who were your parents?” Natalie asked, curiosity beating out her caution.

Something dark passed over his face, “Never knew me mum, probably some port lass he didn’t have the gall to pay for. And I’m sure you’ve heard of my father. Called himself Jehovah and fancied himself ordained by the divine powers to rule the seas.”

Natalie felt the blood drain from her face at the mention of Jehovah. ‘The Maker of Death,’ they called him in the ports, a name so feared it was whispered as though he might hear. He was known for his extensive reach across the blue seas, and for his extreme cruelty. No one that set foot on his ship had survived, and he killed all he came across, marking their bodies as his victims with two bloody lines carved into their necks.

“Where,” Natalie gasped, breathlessly, “Where is he now?”

Lucifer shrugged and turned away from her, snuffing out the lantern as he did, “I killed him.”

“Don’t,” Natalie practically begged, the sound of her own voice shamefully desperate in her ears.

Lucifer paused, turning towards Natalie with an eyebrow cocked high. The look was purposefully dashing, as though he’d been waiting all this time for Natalie to beg him for something besides her freedom.

“Don’t what?” He asked, like he was playing a game with a caged animal. His tone was dark and dangerous, and Natalie swallowed the fear that was threatening to rise.

“Don’t take the lantern. Please, the darkness will drive me mad.” She could no longer gauge the passing of time and days, and the deafening darkness unsettled her to the deepest points of her soul. Sometimes she swore the warm creatures running around her feet were her own imagination leeching out into the darkness, and she couldn’t stand the uncertainty.

Lucifer watched Natalie for a passive moment, searching for any insincerities hidden in her open features. She was completely at his mercy, but she could have wept when he removed the candle from the lantern and jammed it into a metal fixing in the wall.

She might be alone, but at least she had a break from the darkness.

The next morning a small candle and a few matches were delivered with Natalie’s breakfast. She burned the tapered wax until nothing remained.

Her following meal consisted of bread, and another candle.

Natalie was already anticipating Lucifer’s arrival from the sound of footsteps, but it was Michael who opened the door to the brig and stood before Natalie. His gold earrings winked at her in the candlelight, and he unlocked the door smoothly before inviting her out in a broad, sweeping motion. More men followed him in, and she could feel fear creep down her spine like cold water.

Natalie stepped forward cautiously, scanning the faces of the men Michael brought with him for Lucifer. She couldn’t identify anyone in the darkness, and the search was made useless when Michael snuffed out the candle burning on the small stool in her cell with his fingers. He tutted a reprimand when he carried it out with him, and his fingers dug into the skin of her arm harder than necessary when he shoved her up the stairs.

The aggressive rays of the sun felt like needles when Natalie squinted in the light of day. It had been far too long since her skin had known the sun, and she looked pale and sickly under its careful regard. Her vivid green eyes were hazy when she looked around, and the implications of her break from the brig were frightening.

Had her father learned of her kidnapping? Had he refused to pay the ransom? Were they leading her up to kill her after all?

The bloody scenarios blurred together in her mind and she felt a shudder of panic wash over her from being uninformed. Being left in the dark, in all manners of the expression, was wearing on Natalie, and for once since she set foot on the damned ship, she wanted to know what was happening.

A nameless man wrapped splintering ropes around Natalie’s wrists and she winced at the pain before gathering her strength to shout, “What? What do you bloody want from me?”

A wry smile curved over Michael’s lips and he strolled towards her, but his attention was drawn to a door being thrown open. The old wooden door groaned under the motion, and Lucifer stormed out, anger playing clearly on his face. A long black coat was thrown over his usual loose white shirt, and he stalked aggressively over to Michael.

Lucifer’s eyebrows were knit together violently as he stabbed a finger into his brother’s chest, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Michael?”

The captain stepped back from his brother and dusted his hand over his chest, mindful of the gold chains handing there, as if he was brushing away the memory of Lucifer’s touch. The footfalls of his boots seemed deafening when he stalked back towards Natalie to stand behind her and shove at her shoulders so hard that she fell to her knees.

“Why, Lucifer, I’m merely showing our princess the view,” Michael explained, smiling like the dashing rogue he pretended to be.

Natalie’s shoulders curved in as she tried to make her tiny frame even smaller, and Lucifer could see the redness that had already started to form around her wrists. Something red hot bloomed in Lucifer’s lungs when Michael knelt and grabbed Natalie’s face, forcing her to look at him.

“Bet you’ve never seen anything as breathtaking, have you, princess?” Michael leered, watching Natalie grow more uncomfortable.

Her words were venom when she spoke, “I’ve never seen anything uglier in my life.”

She could have offended Michael less by spitting on his shined boots, and his bruising grip on her face tightened enough to reopen an old cut on her cheek, “You insolent little –“

“Enough!” Lucifer shouted over the swell of the sea and Michael’s rage, “She’s my prisoner, and I’ll see to how she’s treated.”

Michael stood at the outburst, roughly dragging Natalie to her feet as well, “Are you forgetting who the captain is, little brother?” His tone was condescending, and Lucifer’s lip curled at the insult.

“You wear that title like you earned it.” Lucifer said, shoving Michael aside and standing between his brother and Natalie, “I haven’t forgotten who drove the blade through our father’s heart, and neither has the crew.”

Lucifer’s hands were far gentler than Michael’s when he escorted Natalie back below decks, and when he locked the door to her cell, she didn’t miss his sigh of resignation.

“Thank you,” Natalie finally said after the silence had stretched on far too long.

Lucifer sighed and leaned his back against the bars, not looking at Natalie, “You don’t owe me your thanks, princess.”

He left the lantern in place when he turned to leave, and he almost missed her soft, “I know,” amidst the squeaking floorboards of the stairs.

A broad man named Ipos informed Natalie that the ship had made port, and Lucifer had gone ashore to spend his night with brandy and women he wouldn’t remember the faces of. Her solemn nod was met with a relaxed laugh, and the man handed her a deck of cards.

“Nothing worse than an empty ship, and I doubt you’d like to be alone either.” The simple statement was almost enough to bring tears to her eyes, and Natalie nodded rapidly, not trusting her voice to speak. “Well then,” the man continued, “Shuffle those while I search for another candle or four, too bloody dark down here to tell my aces from spit.”

They passed cards between bars for what felt like hours, and for the first time Natalie had something to think about other than her mortality when she sat in her familiar cage.

Lucifer leaned his pounding head against the cool bars of the brig and groaned, leaving Natalie with a large grin on her face.

“Heard you got some use out of those land legs,” Lucifer tapped on the bars in response and Natalie continued, “Maybe a little too much.”

He let out a heavy breath and straightened, “Heard you cheated Ipos into half rations for a week, as he’ll be bringing you his bread every day.”

“I did not cheat!” Natalie practically shouted, bringing her face close to Lucifer’s, “I won fair and square. And I wouldn’t have to ask for it if you didn’t have me going hungry every day.”

“Prison isn’t pleasant, princess.” Lucifer almost sang, his face level with Natalie’s and she let out a huff at his words.

“You’ve used that line before.”

He brushed a finger along the outside of her petulantly folded arms, “And I see you’ve definitely taken it to heart.”

She hummed in response before returning to her stool in the corner, “Any time you want to send Ipos by, he would be most welcome. He was much nicer than you.”

Lucifer pushed away from the bars harshly and sent a withering glare Natalie’s way, then stomped up the steps mumbling something she didn’t catch. She frowned at the spot he had practically ran from, and wished he hadn’t left so soon.

Lucifer handed the dried meat to Natalie through the bars of the cell discreetly, and the pinched look of concentration written in his brow compelled her to silence. The gesture was not unwelcome, and Natalie feared he would take it back if she spoke.

The kindness almost made her rethink her planned course of action for the evening.

Almost.

He didn’t waste his time on questions for which she had no answers, he just leaned his shoulder against the dirty cell that had caged Natalie for too many days to count, and watched her. To Natalie’s credit, she did not shrink under the inspection. Instead, she watched the candlelight play shy on his face, lighting up his features and casting dark shadows on the sharp angles of his jaw. His eyes reflected gold in the darkness, and they read intensity in the color.

The corner of Natalie’s lips turned up, and Lucifer stood abruptly, almost upending the lantern next to him in his haste. A sharp gasp of surprise was stolen from Natalie’s throat at the motion, and he paused long enough for her to reach for him through the bars.

“Don’t go,” she begged, grabbing a handful of the loose linen shirt that Lucifer wore, like it was her only lifeline to the world.

He froze in response, his lips parting as if to speak, but he still said nothing. Instead, he settled his hand over Natalie’s, and she could have groaned at the mere warmth of him compared to the cold that had settled in her bones from the chilled cell. The contact alone could have buckled her knees, and after knowing nothing but hardness and the bite of loneliness for too long, she ached to lean into the touch.

So she did, for just a moment, Natalie let herself enjoy the quiet relief of another person. She carefully schooled away the relief after a breath, and hoped her eyes were wild and convincing enough to warrant pulling him closer. Their chests brushed through the bars and Natalie squeezed his hand while her other hand reached towards his pocket to take the key she knew would be there.

His eyes were fixed on hers when she felt the cold metal of the key against her fingertips, and with it tucked against the palm of her hand, she slid a finger up Lucifer’s firm chest. It was as if he was carved from breathing stone, but when Natalie took her bottom lip between her teeth he came back to life.

Lucifer practically threw himself away from the bars, curling his fingers into fists at his sides with a sharp exhale. “I-I’m going, princess.”

Lucifer paced the floor of his cabin that night, cursing Natalie until his fingers stopped tingling.

The key slide soundlessly into the lock, and Natalie twisted it gratefully until the latch released. She stumbled when the door swung open, her cheek still pressed up against the bars in her efforts to reach the padlock. The whine of the door opening had Natalie tensing and staring up at the darkness, waiting for Michael to come punish her, his smile as sharp as a sword.

She waited for several heartbeats, and when no one came, she crept out of the cell, following the familiar path she had seen Lucifer take countless times. The door to the deck was heavy when she swung it open, and her muscles strained in protest after their period of disuse.

The sweet nighttime air filled her lungs before she even saw the sky, but it was enough to bring hot tears to her eyes. Natalie blinked them away quickly so she could look up to the navy sky, countless stars blinking down at her, sworn to secrecy. The deck was cold under her bare feet, but she had grown accustomed to the sway of the ship below her, and she made her way to the edge carefully.

The sea was violent below her, spraying heavy gusts of salt water up at her face, but Natalie welcomed it so wholly that she had to clasp a hand over her mouth to keep her giggles from spilling out into the night air.

She hadn’t really considered what she would do when she had escaped, the darkness of the night obscured the horizon, but she doubted they were close to land. The air around her was colder than the humid brig, and the ocean spray was enough to make her shiver, so jumping overboard and swimming seemed out of the question.

Keeping her eyes on the canting waves seemed like her only option for the moment, and she almost wished for a siren to pop out of the water and sing her sage advice about escape. The tides offered no such luck, and Natalie sighed, resting her elbows on the edge and leaning against the side. Exhaustion crept up her spine like a shudder, and the sudden press of warm hands against her shoulders startled Natalie so violently that she feared she might tumble overboard.

After the initial shock, Natalie opened her mouth to protest, but she spun and looked into the wild eyes of Lucifer, who quickly pressed his fingers to her lips to silence her.

His voice was rough when he lowly said, “Watchman’s asleep in the crow’s nest, best be glad you didn’t wake him.”

After a beat, he dropped his hand from Natalie’s face, but kept the other wrapped around her waist. She told herself she would have shoved him away if not for the cold. Somehow he emitted heat, even in the cold night air with a loose shirt that exposed the languid line of his neck to his chest.

“I feel like I can breathe for the first time,” Natalie admitted, not caring that she was leaning into Lucifer once again. The night and adrenaline had collapsed on her, and his thick arm around her waist kept her grounded.

Lucifer sighed, a long sound in the empty air, “Whenever you want to come up during the night, tell me, princess. I’ll take you.”

“I’m dying to see the sun, Lucifer.” The honesty of her admission made Lucifer’s throat tight and he frowned. Of course she did, a vibrant girl like Natalie couldn’t be kept in cage. The poor girl would wither away into nothing.

“I know, but if Michael sees you…” He trailed off, unable to finish the thought, but Natalie understood the dangers in the mere implication, and all the protests turned to unshed tears she would bury later.

For now, Natalie’s focus was on the sky, drinking in the constellations like she might never see them again, “I forgot how beautiful it is.” The sight of the sky unfolding in stars like a treasure map made Natalie ache with homesickness, and she felt so small beneath its reach that she feared the vastness would swallow her whole, and there would be none left to mourn her.

A shudder tore through Natalie’s slight frame, and Lucifer wrapped his arm tighter around her. His voice was quiet when he asked, “Are you afraid of me?”

Natalie turned towards the sea, watching the waves crest quietly, and after a long moment she sighed, “No.”

“How did you get that scar?” Natalie asked, trailing her fingertips along a raised patch on Lucifer’s forearm.

“Tell you what, princess,” Lucifer said, dragging the chair over to the front of Natalie’s cell, “I’ll tell you a story, and in exchange you answer a question for me.” He sat down heavily in the chair, leaning back in a show of casualty. His knees were close enough to the iron bars that the fabric of his breeches brushed along them when he bobbed his knees.

She sat across from him, iron bars and eternity separating them, and nodded.

“This scar,” Lucifer began, leaning forward on the opposite elbow so he could display the mark clearly, “this is from my early days of swordsmanship. Michael and I would spend hours above decks, performing drill after drill, as ordered by dear old Dad.” The momentary humor in Lucifer’s face faded into something darker, something sadder. Natalie absently stroked her thumb over the white scar while he spoke, soothing a wound Lucifer forgot was still hurting.

“He would punish Michael when I bested him, telling him that he was the older son and should be able to land killing blows on me with ease. I got in one too many hits one day, and Dad dug his fingers into a cut on Michael’s shoulder and called him weak, so the next time Dad called the start, I let my form go sloppy. I let Michael dig the iron sword into my arm deep enough to make me fall to my knees, and Dad smiled.” He ended the story with a dry laugh that spoke volumes of heartbreak, and Natalie’s face was pinched with concern at the dismissal.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t –“ Natalie apologized, regret pooling at her feet for being bold enough to ask. Lucifer’s warm hand momentarily covered Natalie’s on his scar, and he met her gaze, resolution melting Natalie’s guilt.

“Now,” Lucifer sighed, reclining once again in the groaning wooden chair, “how heavily are the store rooms underneath the castle guarded?”

#satan and me #thisiskindagross #hot off the presses #natan #pirate au #i hope its everythign u want and more #blood mention #violence mention #death mention #swearing mention #emetophobia

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miitopia-adventures · 7 years

Text

The Miitopia Adventure: Paradise Lost

"'Nite Britt," Emily said as we left **Outset** Island Amusement Park, "Still up for lunch at the cafe tomorrow?"

"Yep! See ya then!" I waved as we parted ways.

The two of us had spent all day running amok, breaking our personal records for the sheer amount of rides we were able to get on in a single visit! While the day's weather had been summertime perfection, the amount of walking we did combined with the direct sunlight had taken their toll on me. Not to mention my foolish choice to run around in a full Versailles court dress, the weight of which was proving to be a nuisance. On top of this, I figured that the first 'problem' requests of the night were probably starting to roll in.

As I sluggishly made my way towards the apartment building, just the thought of making the nightly rounds was making my mind as fatigued as my legs were! There was no way I could take care of everybody in this state, so I decided to detour for a bit of rest at my house.

"Surely, they would understand if I was a bit late." I thought as I made my way up to the stoop.

"Hello sweetheart," Howl greeted as I entered, "how was your girl's day?"

"Awesome, but exhausting," I replied, getting comfortable next to him on our sofa, "How many requests have come in?"

"None. Actually, the board's been silent pretty much since you left. Wonder how often that happens..." He mused.

I glanced up at the board representing the apartments that hung on our wall. Typically it would be lit up with anything from play time requests to fights that had started, but Howl was right, not a single glowing icon was to be seen!

"I guess I'll just have to spend the night with you then!" I jokingly sighed, giving his shoulder a nudge.

"No complaints here," he smiled, "Are you hungry? I was about to make some eggs and bacon."

"That sounds perfect." I replied.

It seemed as though the universe had given me not just a break, but a surprise date night! We snuggled up with his delicious cooking while watching the evening addition of our island's news.

Tonight's broadcast brought the announcement of new (but hard to use) cellphones that were shaped like our friend Zane, which wasn't that surprising as he was a Nindroid with a healthy knowledge of technology. What did surprise us, was Dipper Pines's disastrous attempted bottle rocket launch!

In the midst of our laughter, I felt sleepiness starting to set in. I let out a huge yawn as my head found its way onto Howl's shoulder.

"Have I just become your pillow?" Howl smiled down at me.

"Mm-hm." I mumbled, nuzzling against him.

"Ok then. Sleep tight, princess." He said before pressing a kiss to my forehead. He was nice and warm, his coat scented with cinders. My heart fluttered just a bit as I nodded off. How did I ever get so lucky in regards to a husband?

~~~~~~~~~

"Ugh, that dream again..." I muttered to myself.

It was around two in the morning now and I had nearly catapulted myself off of the couch from the shock that the crazy vision brought. Howl was now fast asleep, completely undisturbed by my little freak out. I was going to get him a blanket and then head to bed in an attempt at a sound nights rest, but fate had other plans.

Just as I was getting up, a pounding knock sounded from the door! The sound jarred Howl awake with a start, while I was wondering why someone would be calling on us at this hour. I mean, the island does have a few night owls, but after a certain time of the night everyone who lives in the apartments typically stays inside the complex.

"Brittney! Are you awake!?" A frantic female voice called from outside, followed by a string of frenzied knocks.

I recognized the voice and immediately answered the door.

"Your Grace," I said, "what's going on?"

"No time for formalities, I have urgent news." Regina Mills replied as she shut the door behind her, "Mr. Gold has plans to unleash the Dark Curse upon your island!"

"Wait, WHAT?!?!?!" Was all I could blurt out in response.

"I know, it should be impossible, but he's found a way." She said, "I've sent Miss Swan to see if there's a way to stop it, but she hasn't responded for an hour now so I figured that I should come here and at least try to warn you."

Before I could respond, her cellphone rang. It was none other than Emma Swan; Regina answered the call and put it on speakerphone.

"Hello Emma," Regina said, "I'm with Brittney and Howl. What's the status of the situation?"

"Not good." Emma responded, "I found Gold and his supplies in the complex's basement, but there's some smoke already pouring out of this cauldron!"

"What color?" Regina asked tensely.

"The lightings not great, but it looks purple." Emma replied.

"Get out of there NOW," Regina ordered with urgency, "there's nothing we can do. Meet me by the fountain and we'll at least be able to ride this out together."

With that, Regina ended the call and gracefully swished the skirt of her gothic dress as she turned to leave.

"Regina," I pleaded, "is there any memory potion or something else we could use if we can't stop the curse?"

She stopped in her tracks.

"While your knowledge of what the curse does is admirable," she said, "any counter spell or memory elixir would take far too long to create, lack of ingredients not withstanding. I have no idea how Gold smuggled his stuff here in the first place."

"Are you absolutely sure there's nothing we can do to protect ourselves!?" I asked once more, still trying to process what was to come.

"Ugh, you're starting to sound like the Charmings..." She said under her breath as she turned to face us, "But it's that same annoying persistence that might just be able to save you."

"True Love saved the Charmings in the end, so if you two think you've got it; maybe giving each other a memento of strong meaning, then seeing it on the other side, could jog your memory enough to break the curse's hold." Regina explained, "It's pretty risky though, as there's no guarantee it will work."

"It's worth a shot." I said.

"Well whatever you're going to do, I suggest you do it quickly," She said as she took her leave, "by my estimate, the curse could get here any moment now."

Now it was just me and my beloved together in silence. We gave each other one look, then darted to our corners of the house to prepare our talismans. I quickly found a pen and some paper. I wrote: "Dearest Howl, In the ocean of love, you will always be my cuddle-fish. I will be with you soon, but until then, stay safe. Love, Brittney"

I figured the line I used when I confessed my feelings should be a strong enough memory as I sealed the note and grabbed a pin from my sewing supplies. The winds would get strong when the curse arrived, and this note needed to survive the trip! We met back up in our living room, notes in hand to exchange. The wind was eerily gusting outside, the threat to us now looming ever closer to our abode.

"I can't believe this is happening," I said as I prepared to pin my note to the inside of Howl's shirt, "if only I hadn't allowed him to form that secret club in the basement...!"

"It will be fine," Howl tried to reassure, "I've evaded the Witch of the Waste, practiced magic under two fake names at the same time and I live with my heart literally engulfed in flames. I think it would take a lot more than this to take me down!"

I let a small laugh, but it carried twinges of the stress we were under.

At the last moment, I decided to remove the hibiscus from my hair and pin it to him with the note, like the worlds most twisted corsage. He in turn gave me his note, a folded paper that said "Read Me" on its outside that carried his scent of roses and burning wood. Then, we joined hands, ready to face down the threat that had consumed our home.

The swirling waves of thick, dark fog made quick work of the windows; billowing in violently as glass scattered about the ground! It began to lick at our feet and cloud our view as it gusted in every which way.

The wicked tendrils then claimed Howl! He was hoisted by the fog as we desperately clinged to each other's hands. Eventually, our strength gave out, his fingers slipping through mine in what felt like slow motion!

"I will find you!" I cried out as he was taken from my line of sight. Charming had said that to Snow when they were cursed, and I needed every ounce of luck on my side I could muster!

It was just me now in the clouded over space, standing defiantly in the silence. The curse sent ripples along my skirt, its mist curled around my waist, but I refused to be taken. Not yet. I wanted to see what had caused the conflict for one of my favorite shows with my own eyes.

The winds grew ever stronger now, blowing my hair back like a hurricane. I dug my fingers into Howl's note, my knuckles white. I now had enough of this and just wanted it over with.

I closed my eyes, allowing the curse to claim me at last. I knew I'd be alright wherever I woke up, after all, this curse doesn't kill; it simply transports.

As I felt my body leave the ground, I knew one thing was certain: Everyone would be fine in the end, because I was going to avenge us!

#miitopia #miitopia casting call #tomodachi life #self insert #howl pendragon #howl's moving castle #regina mills #emma swan #mr gold #snow white #prince charming #once upon a time #zane julien #ninjago zane #ninjago #dipper pines #gravity falls

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archafic · 7 years

Text

ARCHA 7.

“A dark force is brewing just beyond humanities reach. Behind the scenes, Crowley plots something sinister, unbeknownst to the Winchester brothers. Gabriel had been in hiding, he didnt expect to believe that anyone knew he was alive, and yet, here he was, front and centre. Gabriel was now nothing more than trapped and seemingly powerless, and swept up with him was that stupid girl, who had so accidentally been thrown in his world of angelic crazy.”

Word Count: 1500+ per chapter

MASTERLIST / ABOUT

FIRST / PREVIOUS / NEXT

CHAPTER 7: STRATE

The truck smelt of campfire ash and alcohol, the seats we’re old and grimey, torn up and slightly singed. The car was very aged which was even more obvious by its interior, its windows roll down and only a cassettes player present. Though there was something homey about it, the car seemed well loved. Gabe sat in the front seat and chatted away to the strange driver, thus far he had sewn together a completely believable explanation as to why he and Wren had been wandering down an empty highway in the middle of the night. He had left little room for continuity errors, however was relying on the fact that the girl driving had not seen the imaginary car they had “abandoned” further up the road. Wren half wanted to spill everything to this stranger, to tell her “This guy might be crazy, call the police!”, yet she knew that an speaking of what occurred, with Gabe present, wouldn't be a good move. She was still ready to give Gabe a chance, but only one. He continued chatting with the driver in the front seat, Wren had guessed he was an excellent liar which made it even harder to trust him. She had her doubts about him, but when she pondered it too much, the strange “something more came whispering back.

Similarly, Gabriel too, was lost in thought; What was this new feeling? Incapability? Helplessness? Gabriel was experiencing so many new things all at once and was finding it hard not to crack under the pressure. How did he end up here? Gabriel didn't want this, not any of it. He had minded his own business for a very long time now. After his nigh escape from his brother in that last mighty battle alongside the Winchesters, he thought that was the end of his worries. He had escaped, Gabriel’s chess-piece had been taken off the board. He thought that almost anything sinister would leave him alone if he really just butted out for as long as he could. Gabriel even stopped messing with those pesky humans for a while, even the ones that deserved to suffer. He took a vacation of sorts, went even deeper into hiding. But then came the fall, his cover was nearly blown. Another nigh escape on his part, a slick pass, it wasn't easy to snap away from Metatron and the other dramas of that disaster, but somehow he managed. This time it was different however, he didn't have that handy snap of his fingers to pull him out of this mess, no, this was truly Gabriel's lowest, and he felt it too. He could feel that humany-weakness he so loathed running through his own veins. Sure, Gabriel had come to understand humanity enough to want to protect them from the literal Armageddon, but never had he wanted to join them. Now look at him? All of his mighty Archangel power sapped away leaving Gabriel with nearly nothing at all.

He may not have been able to convince people of fiction with the snap of his fingers anymore, but he could still lie through his teeth ’til the end of time, they did call him the Trickster for a reason, and that part of him didn't die when his grace was stolen. It came in handy when dealing with nosy humans like the one driving, she kept asking away about the two of them. Gabriel wished he could snap his fingers and take away her ability to speak, he wished she would just shut up. Given the situation, however, he humoured her. Oh, how easy it would have been to pull out Michaels Archangel blade from his pocket and stab the girl driving in the chest, he could have taken the car for himself and left that whiny human girl, Wren, behind. He could have gone into hiding and never be seen again. Gabriel pondered this thought for only a moment. He may have done some nasty things to humans in the past, but only to those that deserved it. Gabriel knew the consequences of leaving Wren behind would be disastrous too, Crowley would have her back in no time, and thus would have him trapped too. Though he had never dealt with him personally, Gabriel knew that Crowley was not one to make the same mistake twice.

‘So where were y’all headed before your car broke down?’ Asked the driver in a slowish manner, she was extremely composed. ‘Nowhere really, just sort of driving. A road trip, you know?’ Gabriel replied. ‘Road trip, eh?’ She spoke with suspicion ‘What are you gonna do now, since your car broke down?’ ‘Well, isn't there a mechanic in…, wait, where are you taking us?’ Replied Wren. ‘Strate, Vermont, just at the base of the Eindmont Mountain range. Little ski village town, its awful quiet during the off season. I s’pose y’all didn't plan on stopping through since ‘ya didn't know about it?’ ‘Yeah, sounds about right.’ Wren replied hesitantly, she wasn't quite as comfortable with lying as Gabe was, but that didn't mean she wasn't good at it. ‘Vermont sure is pretty, huh? We decided to, uh, road trip through here because of the national parks. The mountains sure are something else.’ ‘Were did ‘ya start yer trip from?’ The driver inquired. ‘Oregon.’ Replied Wren unthinkingly, she spoke the name of her home, not thinking much of it until the worlds had slipped from her lips. Gabe tilted his head around and made eye contact with her, making a “Why did you say that?” sort of face. Oregon was a spectacularly long drive away from Vermont, and the drivers suspicions of the two hitchhikers only heightened. ‘Oregon? That's quite a while away, I supposed you’d be suffering from tight quarters then? Sick of each other yet?’ She chuckled. Wren was thankful that she didn't think much of her “Oregon” reply, and was also relived to discover they were still in America. ‘You have no idea.’ Gabriel replied with as much sarcasm as he could muster, so much so, that it was made abundantly clear to Wren that he wanted nothing to do with her, as much as she wanted nothing to do with him. ‘What’re your names, by the way?’ Asked the driver. ‘Gabe.’ ‘ ’Names Wren.’ ‘Pleasure, I’m Vi.’ ‘Vi? Short for what?’ Gabriel cocked his eyebrow at her with that stupid token look, Wren had seen this quirk of his an abundance of times now, despite only having known him for a short time. ‘None of your business.’ Vi replied under her breath. ‘We’re nearly there.’

Turning a short corner, the wildwood they had driven alongside for many minutes now began to lessen. When they curved around yet another a corner, two giant mountain peaks came into view. Gigantic, like nothing the two had ever seen before. The scenery that surrounded captured even the imagination of Gabriel. The valley was wide and infinite in the distance, the moonlight masking each distant mountain peak in a unique way. Gabriel had traveled to places like this before, he never cared much for them, but something was different now. Before, he found that looking at the marvels of planet earth only reminded him of his father, and with that, the reason he fled his home. But right at that moment, Gabriel realised that he didn't want to think about his Father anymore. The vast endlessness of the valley before him made him feel so unimportant to the rest of the world, but in a strange, good way. In comparison to the gaping mountains and hillside that glared so triumphantly back at him, Gabriel was a tiny dot on the face of planet Earth, not the mighty, otherworldly being he had been earlier that day. Looking out to the vast valley, Gabriel was beginning to understand, that yes, the mountains really were a beautiful spectacle.

As her eyes drifted down from the mountain peaks, Wren too could see lights peppered off in the distance, a town. ‘Is that Strate?’ She asked. ‘Wow, she's a smart one, isn't she?’ Vi laughed sarcastically to Gabe. ‘It looks beautiful.’ Wren spoke, a genuine sense of wonder trickled through her words. They continued to drive on deeper into the quiet suburbia. Strate looked to be the sort of town where nothing exciting ever happened. It was serene, quite a spectacle. It seemed to posses a sort of warmth that a lot of small towns had. It didn't look extremely dull with the looming canopy of mountains on the horizon, but it was easy to understand that things could be very boring around here with such a small local populist. ‘I’ll just drop you into main street and be on my way.’ They turned another dim-lit street corner and a brightly lit main street opened up into view, bright neon lights and signs of stores lit up the sidewalk. The streets were odd compared to Wrens little home in Oregon, it looked a whole lot busier, for one. Bright yellow lights from one side of the road lit up the street, inside an old-fashioned building was a Bar. Many figures bustled around inside the windows, people standing on a make-shift stage danced around drunkly as their car passed by. ‘I thought you said it was quiet around here?’ Wren asked ‘Friday night. Must be Happy hour.’ Vi replied vacantly. Vi often visited the pub, but had obviously been preoccupied with something else earlier that night. The old truck rolled into a Motel car-park down the road from the bar. A bright pink neon sign flickered in and out outside its front, it read “VACANCIES”. ‘Hope this place’ll do.’ Said Vi, she couldn't really be bothered to drive these town stragglers any further. ‘Yeah, this is fine.’ Gabriel replied. Wren waited a moment for him to thank Vi, but nothing more was said, he just sat there smug-like. Wren went to open the back door of the truck, but found it wouldn't budge, she couldn't open the door from the inside. ‘Uh, Vi, I think the door is broken.’ ‘Oh, hold on.’ Leaving Gabe in the passengers seat, Vi opened the front door of the truck and went around the back to open the door for Wren. She yanked on the handle a little before it whirled open with a resounding CRACK! Gabe, too, got out of the front seat now, his first push on the door didn't budge it, his second however, shoved it open with yet another CRACK! ‘Thanks so much for the lift, don’t know what we would have done without you being there to pick us up.’ Said Wren in the most genuine tone she could. ‘It’s no big deal, I was passing through anyway.’ ‘Really, thank you.’ She replied sincerely. ‘Alright, I best be off. I live nearby, so, ‘dependin on how long you hang around for, I might see ‘ya again. See ‘ya later though.’ Vi returned to the drivers seat and drove off, leaving Wren and Gabe behind on the sidewalk.

As she drove away, Vi thought very hard. She had her suspicions about the two, and for good reason. Something about their story didn't sit right with her, perhaps it was something about them, or perhaps it was the blinding flash of white light she had seen blasting through the otherwise ambient wildwood just before she met the two on her night watch. Vi was sure the supernatural spectacle had something to do with the two strangers. Instead of heading straight home that night, Vi drove back up the dark highway. It winded and cut through the national park she watched over regularly, her nightly patrols over the area every night had left her knowing almost every nook and cranny. Vi backtracked, looking for any sign of the Car that the two had “abandoned” farther up the road. As she continued to drive she nearly passed the location of the spectacle she had witnessed earlier that night, the site of the white flash of light. Pulling up right by the site, Vi wandered forward into the brush. She instantly noticed that many trees had been blasted down leaving a clearing in the wildwood, a deeper crater marked the explosions centre. She turned on a very bright flashlight and searched the area. Shoving her hand in the dirt, she started at the explosions centre. Almost immediately her fingers met something metallic, she knew straight away what the object was; a mobile phone. Vi was the little towns of Strate’s protector, and she was never going to let anything or anyone threaten her town ever again. After discovering this little specimen, Vi came to realised that Gabe and Wren were certainly now very high on her threat list.

--- CHAPTER 8

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