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scathecraw · 3 years

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BBRae Week 2021 - Day 1: Unconventional Kiss

Raven had been dancing around the issue for weeks now, and both she and Gar knew it. There had been a few near misses after a date gone well, a few breathless close calls during training, and one precipitous moment in the kitchen that fell apart when the smoke detector signaled their distraction.

They had been good dates. Very good dates, to be quite honest. Raven had expected that they would go nearly that well, and that had been why she had held off for so long. With all the emotional vulnerability and insightful talks and fantastic company and so many other things that came with dating someone you had been attracted to for years, she knew that the other shoe would drop, and she would have to just plunge in headfirst. And Gar had been patient – he wasn’t one to rush, especially with her. But he wanted it. And, god help her, she wanted it, too.

A perfect first kiss. The First Kiss, for both of them, hung up on each other for so long that they had never made any real attempts to find anyone else. Kori’s magazines had promised that the first kiss was always awkward and had to be refined by, hrm,repeated practice, but that was only a small part of the fear that gripped Raven when she thought of actually, really putting lips to lips.

It wasn’t Gar. She fully expected him to be just as bad as she was for a while (and likely longer given how quick she could pick things up). It wasn’t even what might… come after. Not as such. It was just… just… it was Important. Capital “I” Important – that things go well. Despite the promise of a bad first kiss by seemingly everyone who had ever kissed, it had to go right. Too wet or too dry, wrong head tilt, wrong duration, whatever – but she wanted to kiss him and do it over and over again and what if he didn’t want to or what if there was no chemistry or what if she sneezed or got so nervous she vomited or any number of things that would, according to all her latest nightmares, put him off wanting her the way she wanted him.

And he seemed so damn blithe about it. Like he couldn’t be less worried, even though she had felt his pulse race and could practically hear his internal monologue turning into a full blown soliloquy. He had that placid smile and those sparkling eyes and smelled like warmth and pine and it was so stupid how he wouldn’t just admit how nervous he was so they could be nervous together.

No, she had to be the mature one and feel all the butterflies for them both. She could practically hear his corny joke about never getting butterflies because he was vegetarian. Stupid Gar and stupid kissing.

It would happen. She would make it happen. And it wouldn’t be perfect, or probably even a very good kiss, but it would be right. Eventually.

____

There was an awful lot of noise and fleeing civilians for an evening out, even at the pier.

Nightwing sighed from atop his favorite ride at the boardwalk, the Ferris Wheel, as he retrieved his communicator and alerted the team. “Titans, we’ve got work to do. Something big is causing trouble at the east entrance. Star and I are on our way and will meet you there.” With that, he stood up in the precariously rocking carriage and Starfire lifted him by the arms, taking off in the direction of the disturbance. Cyborg, heretofore incognito on a date, immediately excused himself and waded through the crowds, shedding his holo-disguise. He was alerted to his passing teammates by a green blur, and called out to Raven as she passed, asking for a ride on one of her ink-black levitating discs. She obliged and they took off after Changeling’s racing avian form.

Gar was the fastest one to respond in these situations. Superhuman reactions and mobility got him to the trouble faster than any of his teammates, and he was proud of it. It meant that he was the first one to engage the enemy, which was a dangerous gambit when he didn’t know what the enemy was, but someone had to be first on the line when every second was a danger to innocent people. In this case, it was more an annoyance than any real threat. Kitten was throwing a very public and destructive temper tantrum, as she tended to do within a few weeks of release/escape.

Her on-again, off-again boyfriend, Fang, was nearby and suffering the brunt of the auditory assault while a swarm of mutated grubs ate their way through stalls and prizes alike. Kitten was waving the control device as she gesticulated wildly, and the chance to end the whole debacle in one fell swoop was too tempting.

Without waiting for backup or giving away his presence, Changeling darted forward as a seagull, beak agape as he neared the remote. He had timed it perfectly, if not for Fang’s suddenly outstretched spiderleg. The blow sent him tumbling into a pile of cheap stuffed animals and he transformed back into himself. The arguing couple immediately turned their ire on him without ever stopping their argument.

“And now look what you’ve done! Your stupidity got this idiot involved! Why couldn’t you just win me a stupid teddy bear like a normal boyfriend?” Kitten raged as she hammered at the controller, causing the grubs to turn their attention towards the dazed and prone Changeling. Fang launched webbing at him, working at cross purposes as the grubs and giving Changeling just enough time to roll out of the way.

“This is not my fault. You know these games are rigged! Why would I give the money I stole to these scam artists?”

“Because you are supposed to! It’s what boyfriends do! They do stupid stuff because I want you TO!” Kitten screamed and threw her remote onto the ground where it cracked and fizzled. Instead of the expected de-metamorphosis from vicious gnawing grubs to harmless caterpillars, there was a rumbling from deep inside the snack stall and a mass exodus of larvae from the vicinity. Gar had just gotten to his feet when a much larger, toothier, and more armored wriggler burst from the shoddy wooden confines, writhing and shrieking even more shrilly than Kitten, and headed directly towards her and Fang in a headlong charge.

Apparently Kitten’s shouting was enough to distract both of them from their imminent death by squirming tank, and Changeling had to make a tough split-second decision – let them suffer the consequences of their own stupidity, or put himself in harm’s way to save them.

It wasn’t much of a choice. Leaping forward, he transformed into a rhino, a fast moving locomotive of heavy armor and muscle and slammed headfirst into the tank sized larva, diverting it and being whipped aside by the unexpected followthrough of the tail end of the grub.

Raven’s disk touched down just in time to see his head collide with a thick support post that held up the boardwalk, and the sounds of argument fell silent as Kitten and Fang wordlessly assessed the situation and fled. Cyborg called out “Get B. I’ll get the worm,” and launched after the creature.

Raven raced to Garfield’s side, seeing the heavy gash and road rash from sliding across the wood. She assessed him as quickly as possible, noting the broken ribs, bleeding, and, most concerning, the lack of breathing. She channeled her power, reaching her soulself into the unmoving shapeshifter on the ground, and urgently repaired his most vital injuries.

The head wound would wait, they always bled more and looked worse than they were. First the broken ribs, eased out and stabilized enough to hold for a little while. Then the badly punctured lung. As the trapped air was removed and the hole patched, she expected him to cough, sit up, and make a dumb joke. Instead he just lay there, silent. His pulse was fine, and there was no reason for him to be so still.

She did all the steps that the Titans’ first aid training laid out for her, making sure his airway was clear, no pressure preventing his breathing or hidden wounds that would cause more damage, then started mouth to mouth.

It only took a few breaths, as if his body had simply not realized for some seconds that he was able to breathe normally again, before the first unassisted rasps began. Raven let out a sob of relief, feeling like his breath resuming was directly connected to her own oxygen. She continued healing him, clearing his head of blood and strengthening the broken ribs before his eyes opened with a groan.

“Did ya get the license of that truck that hit me?” he said, weakly.

Raven nearly hit him. “That was by far the stupidest thing I have ever seen you do. What were you thinking, charging in like that?”

“Aww c’mon, Rae. I had ta’. And I’m sure you’ve seen me do stupider things.”

“None of them had you puncture a lung and stop breathing, you fool. You didn’t need emergency resuscitation when you tried to do a standing backflip.” A jolt of power zapped him with an icicle of cold to the chest, and he coughed.

“At least I stuck the landing this time, heh. I think I can sit up. Thanks for fixing me up, Doctor Rae.”

She glared, and kept glaring as Nightwing checked in. Fang and Kitten had been apprehended almost peacefully by him and Starfire, and Cyborg had incapacitated the grub easily. She reported the situation, not once taking her eyes off her idiot of a boyfriend.

He rolled to his feet, only a little gingerly, and retrieved the broken pieces of the remote control for Cyborg to repair and reverse the changes to the swarm.

As he stooped down to pick up the last pieces, he stopped, and a look of realization dawned on him.

“Wait, you gave me CPR? Like, mouth-to-mouth?”

“Of course. You weren’t breathing and you needed oxygen before any working brain cells died.”

“Y’know,” he said, sitting back down beside her, “I think that counts as our first kiss.”

Raven went still. It couldn’t. It wasn’t even a kiss, it was legitimate medical treatment. But then again, it wasn’t very good, it was at a weird angle, and there was even the terrible fear that she’d vomit out of worry. It checked all the boxes for the perfect terrible first kiss.

He interrupted her musing, “Too bad I don’t remember it. Maybe we could see if trying again might jog some memories.” He reached his arm across her shoulders, waggling his eyebrows.

“Oh shut up,” she said, and pulled him in for a completely butterfly-free second first kiss.

AO3 FF.net

#bbraeweek21 #bbrae #day 1 #fic

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last-operator-standing · 3 years

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Toll of the Bell

Chapter 1 - Ashes to Ashes

> Ao3

> Chapter 2 (tumblr)

Summary: What now? He could roll over and accept the fate thrust upon him and die as Adler intended. Starting a new life away from it all couldn't be that bad either. Or…

Or he could finish the mission.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Violence, blood & injuries, anxiety

Words: 2k

A/N: This follows the post-ending for my Bell. For the sake of the story, Bell saved Lazar and was forced to leave Park behind, but she still lived. Her explanation will appear in ch 2 ;u; Originally I wasn’t gonna share this but uhhhh here we are! I wasn’t overly happy with the ending of this chapter, but c’est la vie, friends. ;u;

"I'm sorry it turned out this way."

Why? When he tries to speak there's only a pathetic gurgle as the blood spills past his lips.

"I hope you understand."

I don't! Why? I told you the truth! His chest feels tight, like it's being crushed under an invisible force. Was it always this hard to breathe? To think? He can't be sure anymore. So why?! Why..? His fingers are stained in crimson when he lifts his hand from his chest. Why did you shoot me? The words won’t come out. Trembling, his arm falls back to his side, unable to hold it up any longer.

"It was never personal, Bell."

There's a pressure in Bell's right hand as Adler presses something into his palm. His fingers twitch against cool metal - his gun? - but he doesn't have the strength to lift it. He can only stare up at the soft blue sky as his chest burns and he dyes the ground red.

"It wasn't meant to be like this."

I trusted you. Then again, he also trusted Arash Kadivar. Look where that got me. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…

There's a darkness encroaching on the edges of his vision. Panic builds and it only makes the desperate burning in his lungs worse. He struggles to force air past the fluid. A terrible bubbling resonates in his chest and Bell idly wonders if he'll drown in his own blood before he bleeds out. I bet this makes you happy. Adler's face slides into view when he kneels beside Bell: His features are blurry and the colors somehow don't feel right. But he's not smiling. He almost looks.. sad.

A hand slides against Bell's cheek, pressing gently, tilting his head a bit to the right and allowing him a clearer view of his would-be murderer. It's easier now to see how Adler's face is pinched downwards in a grimace. Adler stares down at his dying protégé just as much as he stares back, once vibrant emerald eyes now dull and swimming with uncertainty and betrayal as he teeters on the edge of oblivion.

Bell wishes he had something else to dwell on in his final moments. Something that was his and not the manufactured memories pounded into his head by Adler and his trigger phrase. He tries to think back to before the CIA, before MK-Ultra, before Perseus. All he comes up with is Adler's smug smile as he wakes him in Vietnam. Fake. How Sims and he recovered the Russian comms log during Operation Fracture Jaw. Fake. Fending off the VC attack after his bird is knocked from the sky. All of it, fake.

The anguish of knowing there's nothing left of him- the real him- brings a burning to his eyes. Who am I? Bell doesn't realize he's crying until a gloved thumb brushes a tear from his cheek.

"Hey."

Bell's cold. The jacket does nothing to keep him warm. His limbs feel impossibly heavy. Any trail of thought he has slips between his fingers before he has time to complete it. No matter how much he blinks the world stays blurry and he's losing the energy to keep his eyes open. He tries to focus on Adler's face but he's nothing more than a tan smudge against a blue sky.

Bell's so, so tired...

"You did good, kid."

Deep down Bell knew it was always going to end like this. He was never truly part of the team. That was apparent in the way Sims refused to acknowledge him (didn't their time together in Vietnam mean anything?) or in the pitying look Mason would cast his way when he thought Bell wasn't looking (like he somehow understood..)

Above all he knew from the way Hudson spoke about him.

Bell? Don't get me started...

Are you taking him into the KGB with you? Are you crazy ?

If we can't control the asset, we end the asset.

Bell's eyes flutter close and they don't open again. The warmth at his side, Adler's warmth, is only there a moment longer before it pulls away and is gone, leaving Bell alone with only the abyss.

Dying isn't what Bell ever imagined it to be. He feels light, like he's floating amongst the clouds. The coldness has long since seeped away to a numbness and he forgot about the hard concrete below him. Bell can't hear anything, can't feel anything. The abyss swallows him whole. He bathes in its darkness and floats in its silence, drifting through oblivion.

Bell doesn't expect to ever open his eyes again. Without medical intervention, there was no logical way he would survive the bullet in his chest. This makes it all the more jarring when he's dragged into consciousness. He simply lays there at first, the numbness creeping back in and replacing the blissful void of nothingness he felt while unconscious.

It's dark when he finally musters the energy to squint open his eyes. Gone is the calm cliffside in which Adler shot him at. Instead, he's in an unfamiliar room with faded green walls and blankets around him that are far too stiff and cause his aching body to itch . There's railings on either side of him, the kind you'd find on a hospital bed or to prevent children from rolling off the side at night. Voices resonate just behind a closed door. They're hushed and aggressive but Bell can't make out what they're saying. When they fall silent the light beneath the door flicks off and he's left with only a digital clock for illumination.

Bell drifts in and out of awareness. He can't keep track of the passing time. On one occasion there's movement at his bedside and voices filling his ears.

"..ell? B…?"

"Is.. wake..?"

"Damn.. all, he… again.."

"Bell?"

When he looks up, their face is too blurry to make out. Someone joins them at his side, but they are too fuzzy to see as well. Their voices sound like they're speaking underwater; too far and too jumbled to make out. Moments later he's unconscious once more.

It's night again once Bell is able to stay awake properly. He feels heavy but warm and the room spins when he tries to look around. It's not until he tries to raise a hand to calm the spinning that he realizes something is wrong. He only manages to lift his arm a few inches before something stops him. Confused, he tries tugging a few times. A metallic jingle fills his ears. Looking over confirms his suspicions: He's handcuffed to the railing. Swallowing down the building panic, Bell tries the other arm only to find it just as restrained to the opposite railing.

He tries to keep calm. He really does. But it's all too much for him; he should be dead, he knows that. Not chained up inside an unfamiliar room with no idea how or when he got here, or who brought him here in the first place. A memory forces itself to the front of his mind.

Bell woke up to voices. "I gotta admit," the first voice, American, rumbled, drawing his attention. It took some effort but Bell managed to lull his head towards the speaker. Two individuals peered down at him. "I didn't expect him to recover so quickly." His limbs were restrained, preventing any movement. "He's a resilient one," the second person agreed. Bell did his best to hold back his fear and anxiety. This certainly wasn't Perseus nor the KGB, which only meant he was now in the hands of the enemy. He wouldn't let them break him.

Not again. Bell fights against his restraints as hysteria begins to take hold. I can't do this again. Losing his mind once was too much; no way he could withstand being reset a second time. A rapid beep-beep-beep fills his ears but the Russian is too fixated on freeing himself to pay it much attention. A light flips on beneath the door, encouraging him to struggle all the more.

"Bell!" The door flings open. There's hands on his shoulders. "Bell, you're safe!" He thrashes. The light flicks on. "What's going on?" The hands leave Bell's shoulders and move to the sides of his head, forcing him to turn wide-eyed toward a familiar face. "Bell, hey, calm down," Lazar sooths.

Bell falls still from exhaustion. His chest heaves with each rapid breath. Eyes wide, he stares between Lazar at his side and Park, who stands tense at the door.

"Bell-"

"Lazar, what's going on-"

"Park, not now-"

"I knew we couldn't trust him."

"Park, please! You're not helping." The MI6 agent scoffs but relents, leaving Lazar alone with Bell.

Bell trembles with a fear like he's never felt before. "Bell," Lazar tries again with a weak smile. "It's alright. You're safe. We're at an MI6 safehouse. I'm, uh… sorry. About the cuffs. It's the only way Park would agree.."

"How..?" Bell only manages a croak, throat tight.

"Call it a hunch," Lazar offered. "I knew something was off with Adler. Followed you guys. Got there after everything already went down. We tried to patch you up the best we could with the equipment we have here. You've been out for a few days." Bell calms himself and listens intently. The exhaustion is clear on the Russian's face.

"I just.. I feel like I owe you, Bell. You saved my life back in Cuba." Lazar sighs softly. "Park is.. weary. She thinks you'll turn on us now that you've, well," he motions awkward towards Bell. "Now that you've begun to break your programming."

Lazar's face turns serious when he stares into Bell's eyes. "I didn't think it was fair to cut you out of the picture before you had the choice to decide who you really are."

The choice to decide who I really am...

The distress must be noticeable on Bell's face because Lazar suddenly lightens up with a smile and gentle squeeze to his shoulder. "Hey, it's alright. It'll take time, but I'm sure you'll figure it out. You chose to tell the truth, you can't be all that bad, eh?"

Bell's head is a hurricane of emotion despite Lazar's teasing reassurance. Aside from his meeting with Perseus, the implanted memories, and everything that's happened to him in the past couple months, Bell knew nothing about himself. Am I righteous? Am I a terrorist? Just? Prejudice ? If he's honest with himself.. he was terrified of the truth. It was so much easier to be told who he was, to do what he was told, to put his trust in the team and his life in Adler's hands.

Adler.

"Get some rest." Lazar's voice shakes Bell from his thoughts. "We can talk more tomorrow, sort everything out. Don't worry about Park- she's suspicious but she wouldn't hurt you." Somehow, Bell isn't entirely convinced. He doesn't comment on it.

".. Spasiba, Lazar. For saving me."

Lazar pauses at the door and turns. His surprise turns into another small, genuine smile. "No problem, Bell."

Alone once again in the dark, Bell takes a shaky breath. He doesn't realize he's clenching his hands until he feels the ache. It takes some time but he relaxes the best he can and takes stock of his condition. Head throbbing, chest burning, mind buzzing with uncertainty and raw with emotion, but undeniable alive .

"It's always been for the greater good."

There's a feeling he can't quite shake. It brings apprehension. Bell's not sure what will happen next. Will his would-be rescuers turn him in? Will Adler come back to finish the job? Will I ever get my memory back? Many questions burn in the Russian's head and not many answers come to mind. What now? He could roll over and accept the fate thrust upon him and die as Adler intended. Starting a new life away from it all couldn't be that bad either. Or…

Or he could finish the mission.

Whoever he was before Bell may never know. It doesn't matter; that person is dead. The CIA reinvented him and gave life to 'Bell'. Now he has to live with that. Whether or not they like it they gave him a job. Find Perseus and stop him.

He found Perseus once.

He'd find him again.

#cod cold war #russell adler #cod bell #male bell #bocw #lazar azoulay #helen park #i cannot be stopped #jay if (when) you find this #im not sorry #multichapter #fanfic

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karakozakov · 4 years

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Fic Rec time!!!

Hey everyone! Since I’ve been reading fics nearly everyday and of various fandoms I’ve decided to make a fic rec list. The fics are classified by the show, and include summary and details. Enjoy!

Warning: long post

Since this post is epically long, I’ll make more posts on the fic recs. Haikyuu isn’t over and other fandoms like Kuroko no Basket and Free! are also going to have their own posts!

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Haikyuu!!

Four out of Six by sugamama_crowshi

Relationship: Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi

Words: 12,450 | Language: English | Chapters: 1/1 | Warning: Major Character Death

“I’m going to die soon.”

Daichi looked up from his reading at Suga’s sudden words.

“What?”

“I said I’m going to die soon,” he repeated calmly.

The setter, who was lying on his back on the bed, rolled over onto his side and looked down at where Daichi was sitting on the floor. Daichi set down his book beside him. Suga gave him a small smile. Daichi frowned.

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not? Because it’s true?” When Daichi didn’t reply, Suga reached out and tousled his hair. “I’m sorry. I know it’s hard for you to hear me say things like that. But it helps me come to terms with it. Do you understand?”

Daichi closed his eyes and sighed. “I do.” But that doesn’t mean I’ve come to terms with it yet.

When Suga is diagnosed with cancer, it takes everything in Daichi's power to accept that within the year his best friend would no longer be alive. But that didn't mean he'd given up hope. So when Suga presents Daichi with his bucket list, Daichi does everything in his power to make Suga's last six request come true.

Kaleidoscope by gAAmAtsU16

Relationship: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru

Words: 36,804 | Language: English | Chapters: 10/10

Iwaizumi Hajime thought moving to the countryside for a new life was the greatest mistake he could’ve done. Then he meets Oikawa Tooru, blind and sightless, and he teaches him that Love may literally be blind but is not limited to only sight.

cool teens don't wear skinny jeans by ebenroot

Relationship: Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi

Words: 31,620 | Language: English | Chapters: 5/5

'He was supposed to ask Suga for his number or ask if he was busy next Friday night and if he was interested in seeing a movie or something. Instead, he said in a slightly cracking and not at all calm voice, “I think I lost my kids.”'

that fic where babysitter no. 1 Daichi loses three kids in the city, gets into a bunch of shenanigans, and tries to ask Suga on a date.

All in the Cards by Killthespare

Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Hinata Shouyou, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi, Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi

Language: English | Words: 120,248 | Chapters: 20/20 | Warning: Mature

The Card Kingdoms Stand United.

...of course, this would be a lot easier if Hearts had their King. It's too bad that Oikawa Tooru emphatically does not want the job. Meanwhile, the threat of war looms on the horizon and Hinata Shouyou just uncovered a plot that could rock the entire kingdom to the core.

When You Wish Upon a Star by emerald1963

Relationship: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru

Language: English | Words: 31,975 | Chapters: 8/8

Hajime has no idea how this situation is even possible, but he’s one hundred percent certain that it’s all Oikawa’s fault.

Oikawa blames the aliens.

The Iwaoi body swap fic that this fandom needs, if not the one it deserves.

Fingers Crossed by SapphyreLily

Relationships: Iwaizumi & Oikawa & Matsukawa & Hanamaki

Language: English | Words: 10,608 | Chapters: 1/1

Seijou 4 Week Day 7 - Secret Agent AU

A friendly mask on, but a knife in hand, behind your back. Deception and lies. That's what it meant, to be agents.

A Twist of Faete by chatielee, crackpairingprincess

Relationship: Ushijima Wakatoshi/Oikawa Tooru

Language: English | Words: 82,983 | Chapters: 12/12

As far as birthdays go, you only get a few special ones. The first being, well, the first. Then, when you hit double digits and turn 10. At 13, you're finally a teenager. 16, you can start driving. At 18, you're considered an adult.

But being traded off to a Faerie king that wants to marry him is not what Oikawa had wanted for his birthday.

Add New Contact by booksong

Relationship: Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi

Language: English | Words: 8,556 | Chapters: 1/1

"Daichi was leaning contemplatively on the sill of his open window, waiting for the icy breeze he was letting into his room to wake him up to how utterly stupid he was being. He’d always hated stories, real or fictional, about people doing ridiculous and self-destructive things for love, but now here he was, palming his smartphone idly and wondering with complete seriousness if it would survive an eight meter drop with substantial but repairable damage."

(Or; All Daichi's electronics are endangered the moment he realizes he can't get that sweet, patient, ridiculously attractive IT tech off his mind.)

the dragon, the witch, and the mistakes we made along the way by crocustongues

Relationships: Iwaizumi & Oikawa & Matsukawa & Hanamaki

Language: English | Words: 8,021 | Chapters: 1/1

An alchemist, a djinn, a fey, a dragon made entirely out of chocolate, and a human touched by the goddess Ceres walk into a bar.

And blow it up.

(or, the true meaning of the saying, nothing adventured, nothing gained).

hang out fall in love by carafin for wafflesquire

Realtionship: Matsukawa Issei/Hanamaki Takahiro

Language: English | Words: 5,689 | Chapters: 1/1

In which Hanamaki's humble medical practice is threatened by an intractable asshole a witch doctor who's just moved into the shop down the street. Medical/Witchcraft AU.

As far as Hanamaki’s concerned, and as far as bad life decisions go, setting up your witch clinic right next to an actual, proper, medical clinic is practically akin to setting up an all-you-can-eat buffet right next to a gym. Or a sex toy shop next to a church. Or a vegetable patch next to a goat farm. Or – yeah, the point is, this Matsukawa guy has totally cornered the market in Terrible-Life-Decision-Making-Skills.

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flameo-firelord-hotman · 3 years

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Part 1

Pairing: Zuko x Fem!Reader

Genre: angst

Warnings: none

Words: 2.1

Summary: to everyone she knew, [y/n] was a peasant, destined to be a servant just like her parents. To Zuko, however, she was his best friend. After losing his agni kai and being exiled, [y/n] was devastated. She thought she would never see him again. Three years later, she almost wished he never came back.

A/N: it’s finally here! So sorry for putting it off for so long. I felt unmotivated and like this wasn’t very good? But I’m posting it now, so there’s no going back lol. Enjoy! And please give me feedback :)

Part 1 -> Part 2

Series | Masterlist

Despite being a lower class citizen, [y/n] was very familiar with the halls of the Fire Nation Royal Palace. Her parents had been working as servants for the royal family since she was a little girl. Her mom was a housemaid. Her dad was a groundskeeper. To be a servant for the royal family was an honor, and [y/n]'s parents instilled this in her. Sometimes they brought her to work to teach her the skills she would need to become one as well.

Yes, her parents fully expected her to become a servant. Doing so was typical for citizens of her status. Specifically, though, her parents expected her to follow in their path and work for the royal family. Perhaps that would change when she met Zuko.

"Hi! My name's Zuko! What's yours?" A bubbly boy asked [y/n] one day. He was eight years old, the same age as [y/n]. His dark hair was pulled back into a high ponytail and he had bright, amber eyes. Back and forth he rocked on his feet, anxiously waiting for her answer.

It was rare for [y/n] to see the royal family, and it was unheard of for one of them to speak to her…until that day.

"M-my name is [y/n]. It's an honor to meet you, Prince Zuko," [y/n] replied bashfully. She bowed carefully to show her respect for the Firelord's grandson, as her parents had taught her to do.

"You don't need to bow to me. You're my friend now!"

[Y/n] quickly straightened up. "But, but--"

"Will you play with me?" Zuko asked eagerly. [Y/n] turned to her mom, who was washing linens. She wasn't sure if she was allowed to.

Her mom quietly said to her, "if the Prince wants you to play with him, then it's okay." [Y/n] turned back to the young boy and nodded.

From that day on, they became best friends. Previously, [y/n] never looked forward to coming to work with her parents. It was boring, and the palace and everyone in it seemed so intimidating. Since meeting Zuko, it became the one thing she looked forward to.

They often played games in the palace gardens, or played hide-and-seek inside the palace with Zuko's mom, Lady Ursa. On occasion, they would play with his sister Azula and her friends Mai and Ty Lee (but only when the princess let her).

Eventually, instead of waiting for [y/n]'s parents to bring her to work, he would invite her over for playdates. Even as they approached their teen years, Zuko continued to invite [y/n] to hang out. As they matured, they grew closer. [Y/n] didn't realize it at first, but gradually she realized: she had feelings for Zuko.

Then one day, the invitations abruptly stopped. [Y/n] could never forget. The last words Zuko spoke to her on that day would echo in her mind: I'll be fine, [y/n]. Don't worry. I've been training for years. I'm sure I can take on this guy!

She didn’t get to watch the agni kai, and she was glad she didn't. She overheard all the palace staff whispering haunting rumors about it afterward. If only she could've been there for him. [Y/n] begged the guards outside of the infirmary to let her see Zuko, but they wouldn't.

Then, the next day, he was gone. And so [y/n] grieved the loss of her best friend and crush, so sure she would never see Zuko again.

"Momma! Papa! I'm home!" [Y/n] called as she walked into their apartment, returning home from a long day of work.

Three years had passed since that fateful day. During that time, [y/n] slowly adjusted to her new life: one without Zuko, as well as one as a housemaid. At thirteen, she began working for one of the Fire Nation's many rich, noble families. Soon she would gain the experience and expertise to become a servant for the royal family…though she was not fond of the idea of working for the family that Zuko was no longer a part of and in the home that Zuko no longer lived in. The thought of it was dreadful.

"Oh, [y/n]!" Her mom cheered as she jogged up to her. "You will not believe what I heard at the palace today!"

"Momma, please, you need to get a new hobby," [y/n] said.

Her mom was always eavesdropping and gossiping with the other servants about the royal family. [Y/n] couldn't blame her though; it was the only fun thing to do at work.

"Oh, this isn't a rumor, [y/n]. It's real," her dad chimed in as walked into the room.

[Y/n] chuckled. "Well, if dad says so, then I'm curious. What is it?"

Her parents looked at each other and grinned before turning back to [y/n]. "Prince Zuko is coming home!" They exclaimed.

[Y/n]'s jaw dropped. She was speechless. No way. They're not joking, right? They wouldn't. That would be a cruel prank. But still, Zuko was given an impossible task. That can only mean…

"Sweetie? Aren't you excited?" Her mom asked with concern. "Are you okay?"

[Y/n] nodded quickly. "Yeah, yeah. I just don't believe it. It's too good to be true, you know?"

Her mom clasped [y/n]'s hands in hers. "Well, sweetie, it is true. Please tell her, honey, so she believes me!" She turned to her husband and laughed.

"We had a large staff meeting about it today," her dad explained. "We were told that he and his sister, Princess Azula will be here in about three days."

"Wow…this is really happening, isn't it?" [Y/n] asked.

"Mhm. Now, your mother and I are going to be working hard to welcome them home for the next few days. Don't be surprised if we return home late, okay?"

"Okay, papa," [y/n] smiled, trying to contain her excitement.

"And don't worry, we'll make sure you get to see him when he comes home." Her mother winked, making [y/n] giggle.

Over the next few days, [y/n] prepared for her reunion with Zuko. First, she made sure to have the day off. Second, she used her savings to buy a nice outfit. Third, she gave her hair a trim. Finally, she rehearsed everything she was going to say to him: that she missed him so much, how sorry she was for not being there for him, that she wished she could've gone with him, and that she was beyond excited to be with him again…perhaps she would confess her feelings for the prince too.

And when he returned, [y/n] was ready. She wore her new outfit: a short, rose colored tunic and sash over a long, maroon skirt. Her [h/c] hair was styled half-up, half-down with a top knot. It was a simple look, but she thought her best friend would like it.

A massive crowd gathered outside of the palace. Just about everyone living in Royal Caldera City was there. [Y/n] and her parents got as close as they could, which was unfortunately quite far away. They could barely see or hear Li and Lo speaking from the balcony…something about Azula invading Ba Sing Se and taking down the Avatar with Zuko.

"Now, the heroes have returned home! Your princess, Azula," shouted the two old women. Right on cue, the princess strutted out to the edge of the balcony. [Y/n] squinted her eyes to see her. Everyone around her cheered and clapped.

"And after three long years," they continued, "your prince has returned…"

This was it. This was the moment [y/n] had been waiting for. Her heart pounded in her chest, her jaw tightened, clenching her teeth, and her palms began sweating. The anticipation was killing her.

"Zuko!" Their voices boomed over the crowd.

And there he was: the banished prince, approaching the balcony's edge. [Y/n] stared in amazement. It really was true. Zuko came home! She jumped and cheered and clapped with the rest of the crowd.

After the public announcement, [y/n]'s parents brought her into the palace "to help with housekeeping." Yes, it was lie, but the palace guards believed it. They were very familiar with [y/n] and her family after all. Quickly, she strode through the halls of the palace, going to the one place she knew she would find him.

The hall opened to a large garden behind the palace. Beautiful flowers and bushes surrounded the area. Stone steps and tōrōs led to a large weeping willow next to a pond. The willow's long branches draped over the edge of the pond, the tips of its leaves tickling the water's surface. Beneath it sat the boy she was looking for. He was feeding small chunks of bread to a family of turtleducks.

It was like a dream. For the first time in three years, [y/n] was looking at Zuko's face. A large, patch of rough, red skin covered the left side…a remnant of his agni kai. It was shocking yet saddening. However, Zuko was still very handsome. His dark hair was pulled back into a top knot and decorated with a regal hairpiece. He had grown taller, his jawline was more defined and he had become more muscular. Zuko was no longer that little boy [y/n] remembered, which begged the question: did he remember her?

As [y/n] approached the prince, Zuko noticed her and made eye contact. His body froze and eyes widened.

"Hi, Zuko," [y/n] greeted him anxiously.

He immediately stood up and dropped all the bread chunks. The turtleducks took advantage and gobbled up every last crumb. "[Y/n]? Is that you?"

"Yeah! You remembered me."

Zuko beamed and opened his arms to [y/n]. They hugged each other tightly. [Y/n] felt three years of stress and tension in her body dissipate as she relaxed into his embrace. Not only was she seeing Zuko again, she was hearing his voice (which had deepened), she was feeling his warmth, and she was remembering what he smelled like.

"Of course I remember you," Zuko said, "how could I forget my best friend?"

"It's silly, I know…but it's been so long," [y/n] replied. They separated and looked at each other. Those amber eyes still shined just as they did when she first met him. [Y/n] felt her cheeks turn rosy.

"You're right. I'm really glad to see you again. I've missed you."

[Y/n] smiled. "I've missed you too. I have the day off if you want to hang out and catch up!"

"I'd love to," Zuko started, "but I can't. I'm going out with Mai today."

[Y/n]'s smile faded. "M-Mai?"

"Yep, he's taking me on a date today," a familiar voice from behind [y/n] said.

[Y/n] turned to see Mai approaching them. She gave Zuko a sweet smile, which Zuko reciprocated. Then, she clasped her hand in his and wrapped her other hand around his bicep. She rested her head on his shoulder and looked at [y/n]. [Y/n] felt her heart drop to her stomach.

Mai was as gorgeous as ever, not to mention she was wealthy and noble. Of course, Zuko would date her. [Y/n] suddenly felt stupid for even considering telling Zuko about her feelings. Why would a prince go out with a commoner? Why would a prince fall for one in the first place? Why did she think she had a chance?

"It's about time, if you ask me," another familiar voice interrupted [y/n]'s thoughts.

Azula, someone else she hadn't seen in years, strutted into the garden with a hand on her hip. As a child she was quite bossy and intimidating. From the rumors [y/n]'s mom told her, she never grew out of that behavior. Even now, she was giving [y/n] a dirty look.

"Oh please, Azula. It's been three years, and I just got here," Zuko scowled at his sister.

The princess scoffed. "Everyone knew Mai had a crush on you. Well, everyone but my idiot brother." Mai blushed and gave Azula a look, while Zuko groaned and rolled his eyes.

[Y/n] felt very out of place and uncomfortable. She wanted to leave. She wanted to run away. She wanted to go home. She wanted to lay in her bed and curse herself for thinking this was a good idea. Sure, [y/n] was beyond happy to see Zuko again, but she was also crushed knowing that his heart belonged to someone else. Moreover, being in the presence of Azula made her feel threatened. [Y/n] knew the princess despised her.

"Well, um, I'll leave you all to it. Have fun today…" [y/n] quietly said, smiling weakly.

"Okay, it was great seeing you again, [y/n]!" He said cheerfully.

"Yeah, it was good to see you too."

No…no, it wasn't.

#zuko x reader #zuko imagine #zuko #atla #atla zuko #avatar the last airbender #atla fanfic #prince zuko #firelord zuko #zuko x you #zuko x y/n #atla x reader #atla x y/n #atla x you #my fic #ffh writes

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illfoandillfie · 3 years

Note

As I read your post about needing Benny requests, I’m listening to Ed Sheehan. So, naturally I’m gonna ask for some super fluffy stuff. I was thinking maybe they’ve been dating for a little bit but they’re only just realising they’re in love? So I guess, the first I love you or the first “oh god I love this person” moment.

ahhhhh this is so soft im gonna pass out

warnings: two very brief mentions of sex but really this is just all fluff

Advent Blurbs: Day 9

~~~

Ben first suspected he might be in love with you the day he texted you and you didn’t respond for five hours. Up to that point such a long silence from you would have made him worry and panic. Part of that was just cause he liked you and wanted to talk to you even when you weren’t there and so not getting a response made him wonder if he was more invested than you were or if you didn’t care as much. And then of course that train of thought would lead to wondering if maybe you didn’t actually like him or if you found him annoying. And then he’d remember you worked in the same building as your ex and what if he’d won you back somehow and you were off with him right now, having sex in a supply closet or something. But not this time. This time it didn’t even cross his mind to be anxious about your silence. You were at work, probably not able to look at your phone right away but you’d get back to him eventually. So when you responded all those hours later saying that yes you’d be over that night and apologising because you’d left your phone at home, Ben didn’t even bat an eye. He checked his fridge to make sure he had all the ingredients for a quick and easy dinner and then checked the freezer to make sure he had some of your favourite ice cream for dessert. And he thought about you and the late text and confidence he’d had that you would answer. Surely that was a sign he was serious about you, falling for you or maybe already in love with you. Then again, it had only been a few months and he wouldn’t want to scare you off now by even suggesting his feelings might be that deep. And maybe it wasn’t love, maybe it was just that he was maturing or something.

The love theory was confirmed just over a month later, on a cold quiet night. He’d never liked the cold much. He had a habit of closing himself off more during winter, falling into moody patches he found hard to get out of on his own. But it didn’t seem like such a problem with you around. The night he knew he loved you, he’d arrived at your place wrapped up in a scarf and a thick jacket. He’d let himself in with his key and you’d come hurrying over to greet him with a quick peck on the lips.

“I’ve already ordered dinner so I hope Chinese is okay with you. You know how busy they usually are at this time and I’m fucking starving so I wanted to get the order in.”

“Chinese is great,” he said as he hung his jacket up on the hook beside your door and followed you further into the apartment, finding a host of burning candles, some with wood wicks that crackled like a fireplace, some with soft sweet smells.

“I love that sweater,” you said offhandedly as you settled back in your spot on the couch, tucked up under a blanket large enough for Ben to join you. Of course, he knew you liked the sweater because you’d stolen it more than once. (His favourite time was when he woke up to you making breakfast in just the sweater a few weeks after you’d started going out. He’d nearly burnt himself in his rush to lift you onto the bench and have you again) and he’s almost tempted to take it off too and let you have it for the night, or longer. That way when he got it back it would smell like you. But the thought sparks other thoughts which occupy Ben even as you settle in for a quiet night, content to be doing separate things while you’re together on the couch. The TV was on and you were both half watching it as you scrolled through your phones, sometimes showing each other a meme or video that crossed your path, sometimes just bitching about a particularly hard Candy Crush level. Eventually you end up cuddled up together, Ben’s head on your chest and your fingers absentmindedly stroking his hair. And Ben is still thinking. About this, about you. The candles you lit because your apartment can be kind of drafty and you know he’s more comfortable when he’s warm. The way you ordered his favourite dish even though it’s not one you particularly like. The little things you do for him all the time. And then he thinks about what it would be like living with you, decorating your house with candles in pretty holder and indoor plants in pots you could paint together. Your regular take out menus hung on the fridge with magnets. Coming home to you in his sweater. Maybe a pet, a dog you pick out together. It’s these last ideas, the ones about a potential future with you, that make Ben sure he loves you. He lifts his head with the idea of telling you but stops when he sees how you’re fighting off sleep. Instead he kisses your temple and tells you to go to bed and he’ll be in as soon as he’s blown out the last candles. He’s not sure he would have said it anyway. Knowing it was one thing, saying it was another.

Ben did vocalise his feelings though, a few weeks later. It had been on his mind a lot since that night. Wondering if it was too early to say it, wondering if you could be in love with him too or at least getting there, in the process of falling maybe. But he wasn’t sure and he didn’t want to make you think you had to say it back if you didn’t feel it too, so he kept it to himself. Until he couldn’t anymore. It just came out. You’d popped into a grocery store on your way to his with the intention of buying biscuits to have with a coffee. But you’d got a few other items too, some to take back to your apartment, some for Ben. Chief among them was a pack of toilet paper.

“I noticed you were running low last night and wasn’t sure you’d have had time to go to the shop today so I figured I’d pick it up for you.”

“I love you.”

Ben could have kicked himself. You gave him loo roll and he went and dropped the L word? Who does that? And you looked a little shocked by the revelation. He was on the verge of taking it back, or assuring you he didn’t need to hear it in return when you smiled.

“I love you too.”

#my writing #my blurbs #blurb advent 2020 #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy imagine #Anonymous

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cheri-translates · 4 years

Text

[CN] Kiro’s Greenhouse Date (Eng Translation)

🍒Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date which has not been released in English servers!🍒

Note: This is a cancelled date which will unlikely come to EN :<

More from this Collection: Gavin // Lucien // Victor

The date begins with MC commenting on how Kiro has been extremely busy lately. He hasn’t been picking up calls, and his messages have been short. MC also notes that although he appears normal on television, his eyes have become slightly dimmer.

MC recalls how Kiro has always been giving her strength whenever she’s feeling low, so she decides to do the same for him. She sends him a message:

MC: Miss Chips’ personalized mystery surprise, only applicable to Mr Kiro. Please claim this prize within the one hour time limit, or else it will expire~

After sending the message, I continue watching the television. However, I am entirely focused on my phone and alerted to every chime it makes.

Almost an hour passes and Kiro has not replied. While I’m hesitating whether or not to call him, my phone finally vibrates.

Kiro: This is the special prize winner Mr Kiro. I wish to ask Miss Chips – what exactly is my prize?

His tone is tinged with tiredness, but he still ends his sentences with a cheery lilt.

MC: It shall remain a secret. All you have to do is give me your time this Sunday!

Kiro is stunned for a moment, then a smile seeps into his voice.

Kiro: [laughs] When did you learn this trick of mine?

MC: Heh heh, I’m not telling you. Once you have accepted the prize, there’s no backing out!

Kiro: Yes, Mr Kiro promises Miss Chips.

MC: That’s great! I was even worried… ah, nothing….

Kiro: Worried about what? Were you anxious that I almost didn’t respond in time? I guessed correctly, didn’t I?

MC: Hmph, that’s because I didn’t want to waste my surprise.

Hearing this, Kiro chuckles from the other end of the line. The tiredness that was in his voice earlier has dissipated quite a bit.

MC: So it’s settled, I’ll come find you on Sunday.

Kiro: Even though it’s your surprise, how could I let you be the one to look for me? Don’t worry, I’ll slip away secretly and pick you up!

Before I hang up, Kiro suddenly mutters apologetically.

Kiro: Actually, my phone wasn’t by my side just now. It was only after I took a call that I saw your message. Were you very anxious while waiting?

MC: It’s all right. I was thinking that if you didn’t reply, I would tell you that the time limit got extended by another hour…

Kiro: [laughs] Do you know that hearing you say that makes me really happy? Even happier than hearing about the mystery surprise!

Kiro’s tone is gentle, and I can almost see a golden retriever from the corner of my eye, wagging its tail and smiling at me.

Kiro: All right, so it’s settled.

Hanging up the phone, I find myself smiling. Kiro has always been bringing me to his secret hide-outs to recharge my batteries. This time, it’s my turn.

MC has already planned how Sunday would go. Judging from Kiro’s busy schedule, he wouldn’t have had the time to go flower viewing. He also wouldn’t be able to go to public flower viewing places, considering his celebrity status.

MC: Or else, one wouldn’t be able to tell whether the crowd is there to see the flowers or Kiro.

Sunday arrives. While waiting for Kiro, MC recalls how she asked her father’s friend, Uncle Gu, for permission to use his personal greenhouse. When she was younger, she would visit the large greenhouse and her worries would melt away when surrounded by the gorgeous flowers.

Even though she is unsure if Kiro would be interested in flower viewing, she thinks the change of scenery should allow him to relax.

While she is deep in thought, someone covers her eyes from behind.

The coolness of a ring brushes against my cheek, carrying the scent of its owner.

MC: Kiro…

?: Who is Kiro? I’m the special prize winner of your mystery surprise.

Pushing away the hands that are covering my eyes, I turn around to see Kiro wearing a pair of sunglasses.

He has deep eye bags, but his tired-looking expression has an insuppressible grin. I lean towards him.

MC: You look so fatigued. Did you not rest well?

Hearing this, Kiro furrows his eyebrows, his blinking eyes full of grievances.

Kiro: Yeah, I haven’t slept for three nights, and I feel so dizzy…

He says this slowly, and I hurriedly stand on my tiptoes, wanting to test his temperature.

MC: We shouldn’t have come out then… could it be a fever…

I look into Kiro’s clear eyes. He lets out a grin, looking a sly squirrel.

MC: You tricked me!

I purse my lips, my face flushing as I turn to the side.

Kiro hurriedly grabs on to my sleeve, a pitiful expression on his face.

Kiro: Okay okay I was wrong, don’t be angry, all right?

Kiro appears in my line of sight no matter which direction I turn my head. Looking at me with his bright eyes, my temper disappears in an instant.

MC: Fine, I’m no longer angry… Kiro is such a childish ghost.

Without a trace of anger or shock, Kiro continues smiling.

Kiro: Yes, I’m a childish ghost, and Miss Chips is the cutest~

MC: You’re shameless…

Kiro: I’m not. Isn’t it normal for a man to reveal his childish side to the person he likes? I even thought you heard about this saying before…

Kiro seems a little disappointed. He mutters, pulling me into the car.

I turn to look at him and see his side profile bathed in sunlight. The layer of gold makes his entire form look lively, fresh, and beautiful.

Now silent, Kiro’s face has a look of maturity that wasn’t there before. My heart suddenly does a flip, and I try not to think about what he said just now.

They finally reach Uncle Gu’s place, but it has been refurbished with additional features, so they have to walk through an eerie tree-lined pathway. MC gets goosebumps and nervously holds his hand.

Kiro: Eh?

MC: This is to prevent someone from running away suddenly.

Kiro: That wouldn’t happen. I’m not scared at all.

Trying to prove his point, Kiro tightens his grip on my hand, with an expression which says that he is unfazed by any circumstances.

We hold each other’s hands tight and walk forward step-by-step.

Kiro stands in front of me slightly, as though prepared to defend me at any moment.

His actions remind me of our experience at the haunted house, which he specially brought me to to prove his bravery. This time round, he doesn’t seem as afraid, though his palms are still sweating.

As we continue down the long pathway, Kiro seems to become increasingly relaxed. While he walks, he sniffs the air, just like an animal following the scent of food.

MC: What are you smelling?

Kiro: Dummy! I’m smelling the flowers of course.

MC: I don’t think I mentioned the greenhouse as being the mystery surprise. Can you really smell it?

Kiro: Of course! Also, I’ve confirmed that this place has a gigantic patch of Monet. I can already smell it!

MC: Monet? Isn’t he an artist?

Kiro: Heh heh looks like you don’t know! Here, follow me!

Saying this, Kiro pulls me into a run.

We run through the long corridor of vines, pass by a few patches of colorful flowers, and finally stand in front of a small wooden door with “Rosa chinensis” written on it.

Pointing at the sea of pink flowers beyond the wooden door, his eyes are filled with satisfaction.

Kiro: I was right! Like I said, there are Monets here.

MC: You’re saying that the Rosa chinesis is called Monet?

Kiro: Right! These pink flowers with yellow streaks are called… let me think! Yes, Claude Monet! They smell really good!

MC takes a closer look at the flowers and realizes that the flowers have a fruity smell. She can understand how Kiro could recognize them from afar.

MC: Are you very knowledgeable about the Rosa chinesis?

Kiro: Yes! When I was studying in France, I was a volunteer at the Botanic Gardens. Because some things happened, there was a period of time when I couldn’t attend school. I spent my entire day in the Botanic Gardens, and I learnt a lot about the Rosa chinesis. For example, how they differ from roses, the different parts of the Rosa chinesis, and the different types… only then did I realise that the simple-looking Rosa chinesis could also be so beautiful.

MC: It shares the same name as the prolific artist Monet though.

Kiro: Mmhmm, I originally thought that it got its name because it shared the same colours as Monet’s paintings. Later on, I discovered that it was far from that.

MC: Eh? Then what’s the reason?

Kiro: The Monet flower is extremely strong against diseases. It can’t be destroyed no matter what diseases plague it. Instead, it blooms even more beautifully. Monet was also such an artist. I saw his letter in the museum and learnt that he didn’t have a good life. He was sick and poor. Even so, he could bring people warmth. He taught me that sunlight is the most meaningful thing in the world, and that all of us have the ability to make choices.

Kiro keeps his eyes on the flowers, his expression lifting into a smile. It’s a different smile from before – a genuine smile that belongs to him, a smile stemming from his innermost heart.

I suddenly feel like I’ve been transported several years back, and I can see a younger Kiro standing amid the flowers with a brilliant smile.

When I return to my senses, Kiro’s big eyes are less than ten centimeters away from me.

I instinctively shrink backwards, but Kiro reaches out for my shoulder.

Kiro: Why are you dazing off while looking at my face? Be honest, what are you thinking about?

MC: I… I was just thinking about how you’re similar to Monet. You’re always bringing people brightness and warmth.

While saying this, Kiro continues staring at me, his pure eyes looking into my heart.

That person whose entire body exudes light, and is always giving me strength… he should have such pure eyes.

Kiro laughs, his eyes crinkling.

Kiro: Monet spent his life chasing after the light. That’s where we differ. I’m even better than him, because I have already found my light.

He blinks at me, as though he is keeping a major secret, waiting for me to probe further.

I am slightly stunned and am unsure how to respond.

Kiro: Why aren’t you asking me what my light is?

[Note: At this moment, Kiro has that “I’ve been flirting with you for the past year, thanks for noticing” face]

Looking at his expression, I laugh and play along with him.

Kiro responds with a sentence in French, and I don’t understand it.

MC: What did you say?

Kiro: I’ll tell you if you dance with me.

MC: How does that even work... you were the one who prompted me to ask that question…

Acting on his own whims, Kiro lifts up my left hand while hooking onto my right hand, pulling me into a dancing posture.

MC: …eh?

In contrast to my surprise, Kiro’s face is beaming.

His lips curve upwards, like a squirrel hugging a pinecone tightly and showing it off to its friends with pride.

His blue eyes are glimmering, as though they contain the entire galaxy.

In the center of that galaxy are two tiny faces, each of them belonging to me.

The atmosphere seems to have shifted suddenly.

MC: What did you just say?

Kiro: I said, dance with me.

MC: No, I’m referring to that thing you said in French…

Before I even finish, Kiro leans close to my ear and mutters something incredibly quickly.

Kiro: It’s too late.

MC: Huh? What do you mean by that?

Kiro: I just told you the meaning, so it’s too late to reject me now.

What…

My ears start reddening. Even though this is a private greenhouse, I’m slightly embarrassed to dance here.

MC: You-

Kiro: What about me?

MC: There isn’t any music so we can’t dance!

I instantly regret once the words slip out of my mouth.

Kiro: Music?

Kiro blinks.

With a sly grin, he starts humming a tune.

Only after five notes, I have already guessed what tune he is humming.

MC: …the doll and teddy bear dance?

[Note: I went to check and it’s an actual song bless his pure heart]

Kiro: Yep. Don’t you think it’s similar to our current situation? Miss Chips~

He stretches out the way he says “Miss Chips”, ending with a smile in his voice.

MC: Am I the teddy bear? Or the doll?

Kiro: [laughs] Of course…

Kiro purposefully drags out his answer, leading me into a slightly inaccurate rendition of ballroom dancing. He twirls me around.

Kiro: …you are my Miss Chips!

I am tickled by his words. The embarrassment I felt earlier vanishes without a trace.

MC: Fine… don’t blame me if I step on you.

Kiro: Don’t worry, it wouldn’t happen!

Where does Kiro’s confidence come from?

I understand once I cooperate and start dancing with him.

MC: Stop, stop, I’m not dancing any longer! My head’s going to explode from the twirling. How is this considered dancing?

The reason why Kiro was so sure I wouldn’t step on him is because this isn’t the ballroom dancing I envisioned at all! Most of the time I end up getting twirled around by Kiro.

Kiro: Don’t you know that this is a sort of dance too?

With a smile, he leans close to my ear, saying this clearly. Several blurry Kiros appear in my vision.

Kiro: Don’t you find this blurry feeling amazing? It’s like how people go to bars to get drunk.

MC: So you’re feeling great now?

His words seem to take on a deeper meaning, but I’m unable to grasp them in my dizzy state.

Kiro: Mm, incredibly happy!

Kiro nods his head vigorously.

MC: All right. At least all that twirling didn’t go to waste.

The main purpose of today was to help Kiro relieve stress. So as long as he’s happy, that’s fine.

My pride doesn’t matter, and the dizziness doesn’t matter!

With this thought in mind, I let out a laugh.

Kiro: What are you laughing at?

I see three sets of Kiros reaching out to me with three hands. However, I can only feel one hand on my forehead, tidying my fringe.

MC: Because I get to see you being genuinely happy.

Kiro: You’re happy when you see me happy?

Kiro’s voice is laced with anticipation.

MC: Of course I’m happy. Normally, you’re the one taking me to your secret hide-outs to recharge my batteries and relieve stress. It’s as though you hold all the sunlight in the world. But I’ve never asked whether you ever feel down. This time round, let me be your rubbish bin and get rid of your troubles. I want to peel away all the grey clouds that are blocking the sun.

While I’m saying this, Kiro stands in front of me quietly, watching me with his head slightly lowered. His expression is serious, and his eyes are focused and deep.

He looks like Kiro on the stage, yet not exactly so.

MC: Hmm… even though I don’t know what you’re troubled by, or what pressure you’re under, I can sense that it isn’t because of a creative block. If you don’t want to talk about it, or if you can’t tell me-

Before the words “it’s okay” leave my lips, I am scooped into a pair of incredibly warm arms.

Caught off guard, I fall into Kiro’s embrace.

I hear Kiro’s heartbeats, like a tiny drum, fast and without rhythm.

My heart feels ticklish, as though thousands of ants have crawled into it.

I feel sunlight on the top of my head. It’s so warm.

It’s almost noon and Kiro has to return to work. Why does time pass by so quickly?

Kiro: MC, why are you so adorable! I am really, very very very happy today!

He speaks incredibly slowly. Every “very” seems to carry with it the solemnity of experience and time.

Kiro: MC, thank you.

MC: A-are you happy today? Did you like my mystery surprise?

Kiro: Mm! I love it! Today is Kiro’s second happiest day.

MC: Which is your first happiest day then?

Kiro: Well… I will keep that a secret for now. I’ll definitely tell you in the future.

He puts a lot of weight on the word “definitely”, making me think that the day in question is somehow related to me.

MC: You still haven’t told me what you said in French…

Kiro hugs me even more tightly, and his voice travels to my ear.

Kiro: MC, you are my light.

🍯

Phone call: here

#mlqc #mlqc cn #love and producer #mlqc kiro #mlqc spoilers #a buffet of all the sugary goodness this world has to offer #this date ALWAYS brightens my day #hope it cheers you up if you’re feeling low right now <3 #cncancelled

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heyitsani · 3 years

Text

Loving You is a Losing Game Chapter 3

Word Count: 6194

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Character death (not this chapter)

Pairing: Jason Todd/Dick Grayson

Summary: Something’s there that wasn’t there before...

Notes: Okay, chapter 3 here. If you want to know what their versions of the iconic outfits are, there are links at the bottom of the AO3 post but I’ll link them here too. Just be warned, it’s technically spoilers if you clink the links.

Jace’s jacket (worn with black shirt and no tie) with a pocket square to match Dick’s jacket.

Dick’s jacket (worn with a black shirt and vest, no tie.) sans pocket square.

You can also read it on AO3 here

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Walking down the hall toward the dining room, Dick found himself actually nervous. The castle felt different after last night. After he had learned that Jace was as much of a prisoner as he was, or the others were. After Jace had saved his life. There was something about the man that seemed familiar in the same ways he found something familiar in the others.

But he couldn’t pinpoint what any of it meant. It had only been a few weeks since he had been trapped here and now he was actually viewing the situation in a positive light. He could practically see Bruce’s stoic face judging him and hear Damian telling him to stop being an idiot.

But what if he wasn’t being an idiot?

“Dick,” Wade greeted, holding the door to the dining room open for him. Dick gave his greeting before stepping inside to find Jace already seated at the table with a cup of something still steaming in one hand and a book in the other.

When he spotted Dick, Jace immediately set both items down and stood. “Dick,” the man said, clearly surprised to see him there. “Uh…good morning. Is…is everything okay?” Dick felt his nerves melt away into amusement as he watched Jace glance to Wade and then back to him, almost as if he was trying to figure out exactly what was happening.

“Well, you said I could dine with you when I first arrived,” Dick spoke hesitantly, his nerves sparking just a moment before settling again. He hadn’t really thought his actions through. He had just told Dana he planned to have breakfast with Jace when she had brought his usual tray. She had looked surprised, but immensely pleased at the idea. Jace, on the other hand, just looked completely surprised. “Does that offer still stand or…” He glanced over at Wade who had a hand over his mouth, but his shaking shoulders and eyes told of the smile he was trying to hide.

It took Jace a moment longer before he was able to shake himself out of his surprise and nodded, waving a hand at the various chairs of the long table. “Yes, of course! Please.”

Dick smiled at him before glancing at the options he had. He could sit at the opposite end, but felt like it would defeat the purpose of him coming down here at all. He wanted to get to know Jace. He wanted to know what it was that sparked so much loyalty in the people around him. And he wanted to know what it was that was just so familiar about the man.

So he passed the chair at the end and walked over to the one just to the right of the man. He paused when Jace moved over to pull out the chair for him, surprised at the act but not put off by it. “Thank you,” he said as he sat and Jace helped him scoot the chair in. Within seconds of Jace taking his seat again, Dick’s customary cup of coffee was placed in front of him and he smiled up at Dana in thanks. “Um, so what are you reading?” He asked, looking back to Jace, who was still watching him as if he thought it wasn’t real.

But the question seemed to snap him out of it. “Oh, just Pride and Prejudice,” Jace picked up the book and showed him. “Do you like reading?”

“Are you going to get mad if I say no…?” Dick gave an awkward smile, hiding behind his coffee cup. Jace looked scandalized but then let out a laugh.

“We all have our enjoyments.”

Dick hummed, amused at how much that phrase reminded him of Alfred. “I have never been very good at sitting still long enough to enjoy a good book. My interests lie with physical activity as opposed to mental activity.” Jace nodded and seemed to accept that answer as he took a drink of what Dick could now see was tea. “Is that Earl Grey?” He sniffed the air.

“Good nose,” the man nodded. “Someone important to me introduced me to it a long time ago and I never lost the taste for it.” Just like Alfred had tried with Dick but failed outside of Mint tea. But Jason…Dick quickly scrubbed that thought from his mind and focused on the here and now. Pulling up that grief wouldn’t do him any favors.

Instead, he turned his curious eyes onto Jace and studied the man for a few moments before gathering the courage to ask something he had been wondering for a while. “Can I ask you a question?” Dick asked, drawing the man’s attention back to him and away from the book he had gone back to reading. When he nodded, Dick took a deep breath. “How long have you been here?”

Jace was silent for a while, staring off in the direction of one of the many paintings adorning the walls. “Five years? But I wouldn’t know for certain without knowing the date. I lost track of some of the time. I was alone for a long while before the first person came through the wall.” Kassandra, Dick remembered from what they had told him. Wade had followed shortly. Then Dana and Ryan together. The most recent addition had been Jared, just a teenager, a few days before Bruce had come through.

“Does anyone know you are missing? Is there anyone searching for you?”

“No.”

It was said with such finality that Dick almost flinched. But he didn’t bother asking anything more about it because he could tell when someone didn’t want to talk about something. This was definitely one of those times.

“Would you give me a tour of the grounds after breakfast? Wade and Ryan gave me a tour of most of the inside, but I haven’t seen much of what else is out there,” he said, glancing toward the large windows covering one wall. They looked into the center of the castle, revealing what looked like a maintained garden. And Dick wondered who exactly was the person who took care of all the plants.

When he looked back to Jace, he found the man watching him with a curious look on his face. There was a few more moments of silence between them and Dick wondered if he would be denied the privilege of going outside after what happened yesterday.

“I can show you the grounds, sure,” Jace agreed finally. Dick smiled and nodded, looking out the window again before thanking Dana as she set a plate of food in front of him and another in front of Jace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sitting on one of the benches on the outer edge of the gardens, not far from the door that would let him back into the castle, Dick watched Jace moving around the beds of various flowers and plants. He had been surprised to learn it was Jace who was the master of the gardens and that the items needed for it just appeared.

Like everything else did apparently.

“The magic provides,” Jace had explained with a shrug when Dick had asked where the food and other items came from. The more he learned about what happened around the castle, the more confused he got. There was so much he didn’t understand, probably would never understand since he wasn’t magic and never would be.

But he didn’t mind the idea of being in a place that could sense a need and provide for it. Which was apparently what had happened in the case of the garden. Jace had wandered out there one day and wondered if he could clean up the area and the next day there were supplies available for him to use.

“You could come help,” Jace called out, smirking from his place kneeling next to a hydrangea plant that had been planted under the shade of a willow tree. He remembered Alfred saying they liked minimal sunlight, always indirect, and he wondered where Jace had learned that from.

Standing and wandering over to the man, Dick leaned against the trunk of the tree. “You don’t want me touching your plants. Unless you would like them to die. I am terrible with them. The green thumb is not something I have ever been accused of having.” Jace laughed and shook his head, leaning back over a patch of weeds he was pulling.

Dick took the moment to let his eyes drift over the shifting muscles he could see under the material of his shirt. He had been doing that a lot recently, watching Jace with eyes that spoke of more than just curiosity. Ever since the night Jace had saved him from the League assassins, he had begun to see Jace as more than just a man holding him here against his will.

And he knew Jace had been doing the same.

There were plenty of moments when he had caught the man watching him, a look he had seen in plenty of eyes in the past. But there was something much more respectful in the way Jace would look at him. Not like the cougars at Bruce’s galas or the people at the bars he would occasionally go to with a teammate or work friend. Jace looked, but he didn’t seem to lust in the way they did. In the way Dick was sure his own gaze relayed. But since Jace had yet to say anything, he figured the man either didn’t care or he didn’t notice.

“Where did you learn to garden?”

Jace froze in mid-pull of a weed before shrugging as he continued to pull the weeds. “A man I knew a long time ago. So long it often feels like it was a different lifetime.”

Dick considered his words, frowning when he realized he didn’t actually know how old Jace was. He just knew the man assumed it had been about five years since he had been brought here by the witch who had casted the magic. But that was it. Dick had assumed he was maybe a handful of years younger than him, but now he wondered if maybe Jace was closer to his age than he thought.

“Do you think you’ll ever get out of here?” The question came out before Dick had time to think about it and it surprised him just as much as it seemed to surprise Jace, given the look on his face when he sat up. “I mean, I assume you don’t want to stay here forever.”

He watched Jace sit back on his heels and look out to the distance. “I used to think about it every day, getting out of here. But it had been a few years since the thought crossed my mind. Even when each of the others arrived, I never had hope of breaking the curse.”

“And now?”

Jace shrugged and Dick felt his heart ache for the man. He had been there long enough and believed no one out in the world was looking for him, so he had resigned himself to this life. To never seeing the outside world ever again.

“I try not to live on hope,” Jace admitted. “I spent a lot of my younger years struggling just to survive and learned the hard way that trusting my fate to someone else can be deadly. I wish I could tell you what you want to hear, Dick. But I do not foresee the circumstances required to get us all out of here. Not even the great Nightwing can swing what the witch required.”

Considering the man for a moment, Dick smiled. “Well, I always live on hope. And a good friend of mine, who is very capable of magic, often tells me that there’s always a loophole.”

Jace narrowed his eyes at him and considered what he said before giving another shrug and going back to his weeds. Dick just remained against the willow tree and observed the man as he worked, silently hoping that Bruce was working on that loophole right then.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This is ridiculous, you know that right?” Dick laughed softly as Jace led him through the building, his large hands covering Dick’s eyes as they moved. But instead of answering, Jace just chuckled low in his throat and continued to lead Dick. And because Dick knew how to read a room, he stopped trying to get the man to tell him where they were going or to remove his hands from his eyes. It was obviously supposed to be a surprise and since things had been actually friendly between them the past few weeks, Dick knew he wasn’t in any danger.

There was the sound of a door sliding open, a screech of metal on metal and Dick could tell the moment the flooring beneath them changed. A deep breath also indicated a room change by smell. There was something familiar in the scent he took in, but he didn’t have time to pick it apart before Jace was removing his hands and allowing Dick to blink his eyes open.

And what he saw made his jaw drop.

“How…” He took a step forward, taking in the various gymnast equipment pieces scattered around the room. His gaze fell on the trapeze and he swore his heart stopped. He hadn’t flown in months, too busy helping the search for the missing heroes, but his body ached for the feeling. Not just a grapple across the city skyline, but something so much more familiar and freeing. “How did you know?” He turned and looked back at Jace, who had remained near the door with his hands in his pockets.

For a moment the man stood there, brows furrowed in thought and Dick felt confusion fill him. But then the man was shrugging. “One of the others mentioned it. And the magic provided.” And yeah, that made sense. He had talked about his family with a few of the others wandering around. But it didn’t sit right. There was something in the expression before Jace had answered that told Dick perhaps he had known without having to be told.

He didn’t bother pushing the subject though, opting to wander around the room instead and test out some of the equipment. He chalked his hands and pulled himself up onto the rings, testing their strength and range of motion. He could feel the familiar burn in his arms and shoulders, in his core, as he balanced himself on them and did a flip before dismounting with ease.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had taken advantage of the equipment that Bruce had spent thousands on for him when he had been taken in by the man. Or the thousands of dollars he had spent in the following years to upgrade and upkeep all of the equipment. He couldn’t remember the last time he had simply indulged in the feeling of freedom it provided him.

But he could do that now.

There wasn’t anyone expecting anything from him. He didn’t have to put on the suit each night just to fight a battle that he hadn’t started but somehow allowed himself to get sucked into. He didn’t have to set an example to younger brothers in hopes that they didn’t fall to the same fate that Jason had fallen to. He could just be Dick Grayson, the last of the Flying Graysons.

So he did just that. He pulled himself up onto the uneven bars and let his muscle memory take over, indulging in the emotion and freedom of it all.

It felt like coming home. It made this castle behind a wall of magic feel more like home than anything had in a long time. And he had Jace to thank for that. The man who he could see still watching from the entrance out of the corner of his eye.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Try this one with the gold,” Wade shoved a shirt at him, and Dick sighed with a certain fondness as he tugged it on. They had been trying on various shirts and pants for the better part of an hour and while Dick had been plenty satisfied with some of the items, the other man hadn’t been. Nothing had been the right look. But Dick knew when to pick a fight and when not to. This was one of those times it was better to just let the other person do as he saw fit. “Yes!”

Looking at himself in the mirror, Dick took in the black dress shirt he had tucked into the black slacks. It looked nice with the champagne gold jacket, fit him perfectly, but he didn’t see what had sold Wade on this particular one. It wasn’t more special than the others. Although, the jacket was beautiful with its floral embroidery and Dick could tell it was expensive just by the feel and fit. But overall, he had thought some of the other items had been more striking.

But Wade was the one making the decision here so Dick let him do his thing and he just allowed the man to dress him like a Ken doll.

“Here,” the man tugged the jacket off and offered up a black vest for Dick to pull on before putting the jacket back on as well. “Oh yes, perfect.” Glancing over at the bed, Dick felt himself smile at the familiar blue color that made up one of the silk ties that had been discarded fairly early on in the process. Nightwing blue.

A spark of sadness and longing hit his chest before he pushed it away and purposefully didn’t think about what he missed about his old life. He had made a promise and while he missed his family and friends, he was not miserable under the magic here. And Jace…had become something special to him. Dick couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something about him. Part of him wondered if the magic made him feel that way, but he also knew that the familiarity he felt couldn’t be carved from nothing. Magic didn’t work that way when it came to emotions.

“You look perfect.” Turning back to look at the mirror again, Dick had to agree. He looked like Richie Grayson. He looked like all the magazine spreads he had been forced to do over the years of being Bruce Wayne’s eldest ward. “He won’t know what hit him.”

Right, because this was a date. Jace had asked him to dinner, even if they couldn’t actually leave the castle grounds. The intention was clear. This was meant to be romantic. And the thought sent butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

“Ready?” Dick looked away from his reflection to face Wade and took a quick moment before nodding.

Without another word, Dick headed out of the room toward the staircase that would take him to where Jason was probably waiting for him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With a deep breath, Dick descended the stairs that led to the main ballroom of the castle. He had actually belly laughed when he had learned that the castle had an actual ballroom, bent over and everything. He wasn’t sure why he had found it so funny, but it had probably made Jace think he was just a bit insane. Thankfully, it hadn’t deterred the other man from whatever this was they were doing at the moment.

And when Dick had finally laid eyes on the opulent room, he had been breathless. It was like every historical film he had ever seen. Every beautiful piece of architecture in Italy that he had seen over the years. Stunning.

As was the man who was standing at the foot of the stairs talking to Ryan, waiting for Dick to arrive.

They couldn’t go out for a fancy meal and a movie or even just a walk through the city, but Jace had promised that they could still have a night that wasn’t quite like anything Dick had ever experienced. So he had agreed and accepted the invitation. Date his mind reminded him. He was on a date with a man who he was imprisoned with.

How had his life come to this?

The moment Jace spotted him, Dick felt his breath catch in his throat. The blonde locks had been side swept in an artful manner, making them look almost effortlessly windswept. And the deep blue suit coat he wore was tailored perfectly to show off broad shoulders and a trim waist. Much like his own, the fabric of the jacket wasn’t made of just a plain material, but looked to have a design on it, or perhaps pattern was a better description. Whatever the word was, it was a fine piece of clothing and Dick could easily appreciate it.

The same way he could appreciate the champagne gold pocket square the man had tucked in his breast pocket. Wade had planned this, even if he had acted like he hadn’t thought the gold was the right one. The evidence was right in front of him.

“Dick,” Jace greeted as Ryan sent Dick a nod before leaving the room. “You look…” He licked his lips and Dick found his eyes tracing the movement before shifting his gaze back up to the other man’s eyes. “You look perfect.”

Coming to a stop on the final step, setting Dick just over Jace’s own height, Dick smoothed a hand down his chest before resting it against his stomach. “I could say the same for you. That color is very much yours.”

“I find I prefer red, honestly. But blue has its merits.” There was a twinkle of amusement in the man’s eyes and Dick smile, not certain what it meant but enjoying it all the same. “Come on, Dana will have our heads if we take too long and our food goes cold.”

With ease, Dick accepted the offered arm and dropped the last step before walking next to Jace to the corner of the room where a small table had been set up for them. The table itself was decorated with various flowers and lit candlesticks, the cloth covering the table an almost pearl white. Something about it seemed to shimmer under the candlelight and lights above their heads. The plates, white trimmed in gold, were covered with silver covers and hiding whatever whispers of smells Dick was able to pick up. All in all, the set up was romantic but simple. It wasn’t nearly as lavish as he had thought it would be.

And that was just fine by him.

He had suffered through enough terrible and extravagant dates to last a lifetime. It was enough that this date was taking place in a literal castle. He didn’t need all the extra weight of expectations and fancy.

But he still appreciated when Jace led him to his chair and pulled it out for him, allowing him to sit before helping him scoot it in closer. Dick watched the man as he rounded the table and took his own seat, smiling across at Dick before looking over as Dana appeared with a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice.

Jace took the bottle from her and easily uncorked it with a pop before stand and moving over to fill Dick’s glass and then his own. Once the bottle was back in the chilling bucket and Jace had taken his seat again, Dick took up his glass and raised to toward Jace.

“To us?”

Jace let out a snort and raised his own glass. “To beginnings and possibilities.” Dick grinned and gave a nod, accepting that he had been beat. But he had never been very good with romance, despite his numerous relationships.

“I am curious what a castle thinks date-food is,” Dick commented, reaching for the cover over his food but found himself stopped when a hand appeared out of nowhere. Looking up, he found Dana giving him a stern look as she removed the cover herself and went over to take Jace’s off his plate as well. Glancing down, he had to smile at the items waiting for him. Just an appetizer then.

“A birdie told me it was your favorite,” Jace commented, smirking behind his glass as Dick looked up at him. Dick chuckled before picking up his cutlery.

Once the last of their plates had been taken away and they were left with just their champagne glasses between them, Dick took the time to glance around the room again and really take in the beauty of it. The faint music playing in the room just made it even more beautiful. A work of art.

His musings were interrupted when a hand appeared in front of his face, jerking him back into the present and pulling his attention to the fact that he had completely missed Jace getting out of his seat and walking over to him.

“Can I have this dance?” Dick raised his eyebrows in surprise. “What? I have learned a few things from the others and there isn’t much else to do for a date here. Isn’t it what would be done in the times when a place like this was alive and well?” And yeah, Jace made some good points.

So Dick accepted the offered hand and let Jace lead him to the middle of the room, watching the man curiously. There was only a moment of hesitation before Jace was slipping his hand around Dick’s waist and keeping a grip on his hand. Dick easily followed suit, placing his hand on Jace’ shoulder and looking up at the man. He sent a silent thanks to the ballroom dancing lessons Bruce had insisted on when he was younger. Definitely not the manner that the man had intended the knowledge to be put to use, but it was far more pleasurable to Dick than the stupid galas he had attended in the past.

When the chords of a new song struck, Jace swept them up into the movement. He took the lead easily and Dick found it almost effortless to follow it. It felt like breathing. Like everything seemed to feel these days now that he had accepted that Jace was just as much a prisoner as he was. If they were to be stuck here for an unknown amount of time, they might as well enjoy it together.

“You’re very good at this,” Jace commented, pulling Dick from his wandering thoughts. Smiling up at the man, Dick gave a shrug but offered no explanation as to why he knew how to hold his own. “Fine, keep your secrets,” he teased and Dick laughed.

“I need to keep some air of mystery about me, don’t I?”

Jace hummed and released Dick so he could spin him back to him and Dick found his breath stolen the moment he pressed back into the man’s solid chest. Hard lines from chest to hip pressed against each other in a way that was possibly more sensual than most sexual situations. And the look on Jace’s face told Dick all he needed to know in regard to how the other man was feeling right then.

He wasn’t alone in this feeling, whatever it was that was building between them.

It had been growing for weeks. Since that night in the woods. And it felt different than anything Dick had experienced in the past. Not with Kori or Babs. Not with any of the people he had attempted to date in the past. This was…he couldn’t quite put a word to what it was. It was strong and it was almost tangible. Like he could touch the air between them.

But really, he just wanted to touch Jace.

They took another spin around the room as the song switched to another, the piano and strings playing a beautiful tune. Dick licked his lips as he watched Jace’s face. Though the man was looking at him, Dick could tell he was well aware of where they were and what they were doing. While Dick couldn’t care less of what was happening around them in that moment.

Sliding his hand across Jace’s shoulder, Dick let his fingers dance up the back of Jace’s neck and into the small hairs on the back of his neck. He wanted to push up and close the distance between their lips, but he also didn’t want to break this moment. It felt important, it felt right. Like everything had purposefully been leading them to this exact moment and they needed to treat it with care. Dick needed to be sure that he wouldn’t ruin it the way he had ruin so many others. Because that was the only explanation, wasn’t it? He was the common denominator.

“Dick,” Jace’s soft voice called to him, once again pulling him away from his thoughts. “I need to ask you something.” Blinking, Dick refocused on Jace and gave a nod to tell the man to ask what he needed to. When Jace stopped their movement and Dick noticed they were now outside on one of the terraces, he felt a familiar sense of foreboding filling him. Whatever it was the Jace had to say, Dick wasn’t sure he was going to like it.

But he kept silent as Jace took a deep breath and led Dick to the railing, sitting on it and Dick following suit. “Are you…are you happy here?” Dick frowned. Jace hadn’t questioned his happiness in all the months he had been there. He hadn’t asked if there was anything he could do to make things better. Because he had just done them. He had just seemed to know what it was Dick needed in order to make his time there more tolerable.

“I am,” Dick answered, even though the thought of Bruce, Damian, and Tim filled his mind and made him frown.

Jace must have noticed because he leaned forward and covered Dick’s hand with his own. “Are you really? You don’t look very happy right now.”

Sighing, Dick looked out toward the wall of magic sizzling in the distance. “I miss my family, my friends,” he admitted before looking back to Jace. “I am happy with you and the others. But I can’t help but miss my life out there as well.”

Jace watched him with those penetrative green eyes for a moment before standing and tugging Dick, silently asking him to do the same. Nothing was said as Jace pulled Dick through the castle toward the familiar wing where Dick’s inability to quell his curiosity had changed everything.

“Jace?” Dick finally questioned as they entered the room that looked more destroyed than his mind remembered. He wondered if Jace had done the damage after Dick had run away from him that night. But he didn’t have time to ask as Jace led him to the table where the basin of green glowing liquid sat filling the room with its sickly glow. The watch still sitting protected in the glass case.

Jace dropped Dick’s hand and reached for the basin, picking it up carefully and turning toward Dick. “This can show you anything you wish to see. You just have to ask.”

Frowning, Dick furrowed his brows and looked down at the liquid. How could something as ominous looking as this liquid show him what he really desired to see? Looking back up at Jace, the man gave him an almost sad smile before nodding toward the basin. So Dick trusted him and took the object, careful of the liquid inside.

“I wish to see my family,” he said softly, hesitantly. What would it reveal to him? Would Bruce be with Alfred, trying to find a way through the wall? Would Damian and Tim be with the Titans on a mission like they had been when Dick had come into this world?

But as the liquid began to swirl and shift, Dick found himself looking at a scene that had his heartrate spiking. Bruce was dressed in his Batman gear, just beyond the outer edge of the wall of magic, and surrounded by the familiar footmen of the League of Assassins. Leaning forward, Dick watched with bated breath as the ninjas got in blow after blow.

“Bruce!” He gasped when one of the assassins seemed to get the upper hand and Bruce fell to his knees. Looking up at Jace with wide eyes, Dick saw the man had turned his back on him. “We need to help him! I need to help him. He can’t die! He’s the only one who could get us out of here. Please.”

He watched Jace’s back expand with a deep breath and then his shoulders droop as he released it. And when he turned to look at Dick, he knew exactly what it was Jace was feeling. Resignation. Dick had seen it in the mirror too many times to count. Had felt it far too many times and in relation to too many people.

“Then you must go,” Jace whispered, looking down at the basin. He reached out and took the basin without looking back to Dick and Dick wondered what he was supposed to do. But remembering that Bruce was out there right now, he didn’t ask the questions he wanted to ask. He didn’t question how he would be able to leave now when he hadn’t been allowed to before. Instead he moved forward and pressed his lips to Jace’s cheek before hurrying out of the room and toward his own to change into the waiting Nightwing suit.

It was only fear and experience that allowed him to work quickly in removing the dress clothes he currently wore and tug on the skin tight suit he hadn’t worn since the night he had come here. He rushed out of the room as he hooked his escrimas into their latches on his back and ran as quickly as he could toward the front door. The door where Jace stood waiting for him.

“Take this.” The man held out a vial of the green liquid and Dick knew exactly what he was offering. A way to see Jace after he had left. They couldn’t be together if Dick was in the real world, but they could see each other.

So Dick closed his hand around Jace’s and took the vial, holding on for a moment longer. “Thank you,” Dick whispered, hoping his eyes conveyed what he couldn’t say. “I’ll come back for you, all of you. I’ll find a way.” But Dick could tell Jace didn’t believe he would. He didn’t care though, Dick knew he would do whatever he could to save the man he had fallen in love with and the people he now considered to be his friends.

He would.

But right then he had a father figure and mentor to help save. So he tucked the vial in a protective pocket and gave Jace one last look before he rushed out the doors and straight toward the wall of magic. He was slightly surprised when no assassins came to try and stop him, but he didn’t think about it too much as he came into contact with the wall and began pushing his way through.

It felt just as malicious as it had the first time, cold and void of hope. It was consuming. And then it was over and Dick was left gasping on the other side of it and suddenly in the midst of chaos.

Immediately ducking out of the way of a punch, Dick grabbed his escrimas and turned them on as he leapt into the fight. “Batman!” Dick called out as he got close enough to help eliminate the assassins attacking the hero.

“Nightwing…?” The man seemed frozen, for once allowing his emotions to catch him off guard. But Dick didn’t have time for that as he worked his way through the now thinning assassins. They seemed to be backing off the closer Dick got to Bruce and Dick had to wonder what that could possibly mean. It would have to be something he figured out later though because the moment he reached Bruce, the last of the assassins had backed off and slid back into the shadows they hid in so well.

“Are you hurt?” Dick gasped, turning to help Bruce to his feet. But the man didn’t seem to have pulled himself out of his stupor just yet. “Batman!” He snapped, trying to get Bruce to come back to his senses. The tone seemed to work as Bruce shook himself and immediately looked Dick over.

“How? How did you escape?”

“I didn’t. I was allowed to leave.”

But Bruce didn’t seem to understand, looking back at the wall of magic with a frown.

“It doesn’t matter right now. Let’s get back to the cave.” With a firm nod, Bruce came back to himself and led them over to the batmobile that was hiding just out of the way. Dick gave the wall of magic one last glance, touching the spot where the vial Jace had given him was hiding, before following Bruce.

#jaydick #jason todd #dick grayson #beauty and the beast au #anikah writes

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howtowhumpyourhiccup · 4 years

Text

Whumptober Day 14: Similarly Marked

Summary: Written for Whumptober Day 14. Post-Httyd 2. Eret comes over in the evening to have his measurements taken for his dragon armor. A small misunderstanding leads to Hiccup being reminded of the scar on Eret's chest. It looks awfully familiar to him.

Rating: Mature

Characters: Hiccup, Toothless, Astrid, Eret

Pairing: Slight Hiccstrid/ Slight Eretcup

Words: 4 182

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: “Branding”

Whumpee: Hiccup (+ Eret)

Author’s Notes: That moment when you write a summary, but it's, like, for the second, much smaller, scene.

Written for the prompt: "Branding"

Kinda.

Constructive criticism is appreciated!

Enjoy!

Ao3

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It is still engraved into the front of his mind, the indescribable pain as a branding iron sears someone's mark into his flesh, the smell of his skin burning away. His throat is still raw from the screaming he's done. He's also not quite rid of the trembles he's been feeling, his body weak, hours after the fact.

Hiccup supposes that it's only natural after today's events, after what's been done to him. Honestly, the worst part was returning to the Dragon Riders and show them the mark he now bears with shame.

They reel with shock and understandably so. Their leader and friend now essentially belonged to someone and that they didn't know who only worsened the blow.

Because that mark, that wasn't the mark of the Dragon Hunters. It represents someone else entirely, someone they haven't seen before. But in order for the Hunters to be able to use this mark, they would need to be working together and close enough that the person or group this tribal symbol belongs would allow them to use it.

That means that, whoever Hiccup now belongs to, they can only be bad.

And that means they have to do something about it.

The hunters who put it there didn't manage to capture him and that means there is still a chance they can reject this claim of ownership. But with a brand, the price of freedom means suffering through even more pain than he already has.

Hiccup is sitting in the clubhouse with the other Riders and Toothless, whose head is resting on his lap. They are quiet as they let the shock of this news sink in.

The brand is there for all to see, right on the side of Hiccup's throat.

It was supposed to be on his face, that's where the hunter had originally aimed the iron at, but struggling had caused it to land on his throat instead. It didn't save him from any pain, but it did save him from having that angry red mark of ownership on his face.

Still, his armor and tunic are off. The pain has been radiating and that makes his skin in the surrounding area sensitive to the slightest of touches. He can't stand any clothing on his upper body.

They're all staring at it, at the brand seared into Hiccup's neck. They're all angry at it and they want it gone, but no amount of glaring and hating will make it go away.

But Astrid is standing before him. She cups his face and he leans into it, knowing what's about to happen next and dreading it.

They all want it gone. Not just because they don't want to look at it a second longer, but also for Hiccup's sake.

The Dragon Hunters who put it there are dead, another thing they have in their favor. But should the mark be revealed to any more Hunters, say during a battle that is very likely to happen soon, they could tell Viggo and Viggo would use this as an excuse to wage war on Berk. Because Hiccup belongs to someone and someone is being denied their property.

Clothing, while a good option to hide the mark, is painfully temporary.

But removing it entirely will be painful and nobody is looking forward to it. Not Hiccup, who will be at the receiving end of the removal, and not Astrid, who will be the one to do it.

"I'm really sorry." She tells him ahead of time, her heart breaking and her stomach dropping.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, I should've listened. I'm the one who should be sorry." Hiccup refuses her apology on the grounds of it being his own fault. Or he feels like it is.

"You being sorry should mean you're the one to blame. And I don't remember you specifically asking to be branded. Or doing anything that means you deserve to be." Snotlout growls at him, at the mark. Whenever Hiccup screws up, he'll be the first person to rub it in his face and rub it for hours. But he can't bring himself to with something like this.

Hiccup looks tired and defeated. He hates it.

"So are we going to do it or what?" Ruffnut asks the group. It's not like she wants Hiccup to be hurt, but the sooner that brand is gone, the sooner Hiccup can recover, and the sooner this looming threat has been taken care of.

It'll still be there in some way, this detailed symbol will only be replaced with a bigger and redder patch of damage, but at least Viggo can't make any claims if he can't prove that a brand used to be there.

So she's itching to have it gone. She wants to go ahead with it.

"We'll get to it, Ruff, don't worry. It's just... Are you ready?" Astrid originally addresses one of the twins, but then she turns her attention back to Hiccup. They are the closest to the fire burning calmly in the middle of the room. She tries to ignore the sword whose blade rests in the fire. During the silence, they've been letting it heat up.

"I'm not, but the sooner we get this over with..." Hiccup doesn't look at her, at his would-be brander, and that doesn't sit well with her.

The original plan was for Hiccup to do it himself as he didn't want to put his friends through this, but she'd offered to be the one to do it and she didn't take "no" for an answer. She would not let Hiccup hurt himself for pride and freedom when she could harden her heart and do it herself.

"Can-can you guys le-leave?" Hiccup stutters his request as what is about to happen sinks in and he looks at his friends. They listen as they get up to make their way out, but they're doing so reluctantly. They don't want to leave Hiccup like this, but they also understand that he doesn't want them here for it. They shouldn't see this.

Hiccup turns his attention to Toothless next, who lifts his head as he senses his Rider has something to say.

"You leave, too, Bud. I don't want you to see this." He tells him, holding his face by his jaw, but Toothless pulls away, straightens, and then puts on his angriest "human" face, an expression that is supposed to imitate how humans look angry, much different from how a dragon does it.

"Toothless, come on. Now's not the time to be stubborn." Hiccup tells him, but the dragon lifts a foot and puts it down with a yip.

"I think that's him saying he's not going anywhere. And if something like this had to be done to Stormfly, I wouldn't want to leave either." Astrid sides with Toothless on this. They can't force him to get out of the clubhouse if he doesn't want to.

Hiccup sighs in defeat and pets his best friend, his brother by heart and soul, on the head. Of course, he wouldn't leave. Hiccup wouldn't leave him either.

"It might get ugly. You know that, right?" He asks and Toothless licks his hand before he lies back down again and replaces his head on Hiccup's lap. He can't get in the way like this and he'll still get to support his human.

"I think he knows," Astrid says what Toothless is without a doubt thinking. Hiccup looks up at her, the first time he's done so since she forced her offer on him.

"Are you ready?"

"Again, no..."

"Then let me rephrase it differently. Do you want me to go ahead with it? Right now?" Astrid rephrases her question and Hiccup looks down at Toothless.

"Yeah, do it." Hiccup tells her, stroking the top of Toothless' head and letting his hands glide over his scales and spines, hoping that it will comfort him.

It doesn't. Not enough.

His eyes are starting to water in dreadful anticipation and he hopes Astrid can't see it. The sound of the sword being pulled out of the fire reaches his ears and he flinches already, too tense.

Astrid holds it and stares at the redhot blade. She's trembling now and not because the weapon is too heavy for her. Her heart is pounding in her ears. She doesn't want to do this, she really doesn't, it's wrong on so many levels.

He's her leader, her superior, but more importantly, he's her best friend. He's the one she has feelings for, but whether as a friend or something else entirely, she hasn't figured out yet.

Bottom line is, she doesn't want to do this, but she wants him to do this to himself even less.

Grabbing the sword with both hands, she takes a step closer to Hiccup and brings it even closer. Hiccup is usually good at keeping his cool, but his shaking as he can already feel the heat isn't lost on her.

She hates this. She hates this so much.

"I'll-I'll try to be quick." She tells him, but he doesn't respond. He's too busy bracing himself for what's to come.

Astrid takes the blade closer to the hottest part, to have more control.

"I'll try to leave as little damage as I can."

"Please, just do it. Before it cools too much and we have to wait again." Hiccup tells her and she does as she's being told.

Grabbing his shoulder and leaning down, she gives it a squeeze before laying her hand on the back of his head, her fingers buried in his hair. She pulls, but she doesn't have to pull hard as Hiccup follows and exposes his neck to her.

She doesn't remove her hand or even lessen her hold. In the very likely scenario that Hiccup is going to fight her the second the hot metal touches his skin, she needs some way to keep him from pulling away, as horrible as that is.

She takes a deep breath. She's not the one about to go through an excruciating removal process and still she needs a moment.

"Astrid, just do it. Now, please!" But Hiccup can't take the waiting and so she forces herself to make a move, before the metal cools too much.

Tightening her grip on his hair, she pushes the blade into his skin, ensuring that the brand is completely covered, and she holds it there.

The pain is immediate. The brand itself was already still pulling and stinging with the slightest breeze and now it burns even fiercer than it did when it was placed. The surrounding skin, sensitive as it is, swelters and melts beneath the hot blade.

Hiccup's shivering worsens instantly and the tears that have been gathering come down his face. His hands are fists and it's taking him everything not to grab hold of a fistful of Toothless in pure agony. His teeth are clenched and if he had the mind to, he would fear breaking them.

He wants to stay strong. As his skin burns and the smell of burning flesh embeds itself in his nostrils some more, he wants to stray strong. As the brand burns brightest of all...

But he can't. Failing both Toothless and Astrid, it takes him mere seconds to give in to the want to scream, though he's held out surprisingly long even then.

Astrid flinches and Toothless whines, but the former doesn't stop. She can't, she knows that if she does stop and she hasn't done a good enough job, she would need to do this a second time and she just can't do that to him.

He tries to pull away because of course, he would want this to stop, but Astrid tightens her hold some more and forces him to stay in place. It's the hardest thing she's ever had to do and she hopes nothing will ever come close.

"Stop. Stop!" His hands come up from Toothless' head, but they don't know which to grab. Go for the hand holding his head in place or the one holding the sword?

Astrid begins to cry as well and she finds herself thinking how she hasn't started crying earlier.

"Stop! Astrid, please, stop!" The others can probably hear him screaming at the top of his lungs and Astrid is certain she will be hearing them in her nightmares.

"ASTRID, STOP!" She finally lets go, but whether it's because enough time has passed or because Hiccup grabbed both of her hands and tore out of her hold, they don't know.

The chair he was sitting on is knocked over in the action and Hiccup ends up falling to the floor. Toothless is by him instantly, lying flat and placing a paw over his Rider. He purs comfortingly, nosing his hair.

Panting heavily, Astrid glances at the sword and drops it immediately, as if it's something vile now. Not the safest thing to do with a wooden floor, but she can't help herself.

"Fff-fuck. Fuck." He lets out a rare f-bomb as he lies on the floor, hands wanting to go for the injury, but not daring to actually touch it.

Forcing her heavy body to move, Astrid reaches for one of the buckets of lukewarm water they'd readied for this. Toothless pulls away to make room and she kneels and aims. Careful not to get any of that water in his mouth and nose, she pours it gently over his neck. To save as much water as she can and to make sure the stream isn't too rough on him.

The new wound is definitely bigger, but the water distorts its shape. She can see it, however, and that's more than enough.

She did that to him. It was with good intention, but she still did it. She hurt him and a sob leaves.

The bucket runs empty much quicker than she would've liked and she goes for the second one.

This isn't going to be easy. Burns are always difficult to treat properly, the chances of infection, especially with a burn so deep, is always enormous. And then there is the matter of telling Stoick and how.

The door to the clubhouse opens and the other Riders dare themselves inside. The worst part is over, now they want to help treat it.

Hiccup passes out soon after, the experience too much for him.

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When Hiccup asks him to come over in the evening, Eret is at least a little bit nervous to come by for a visit. Hiccup has that effect on him. His Chief, as he calls him, Eret has never been more comfortable with anybody else in his life but him, and yet at the same time, he feels so strangely nervous when they're alone. Nervous in a good way.

Hiccup has asked him to come over earlier that day to have his measurements taken and that's why he's here now, just shy of opening the door.

The Chief, he's quite the inventor. When he first landed on Berk, it didn't take Eret long to find that out. The troughs of water above every Viking home, the dragon wash, the strange stables, Hiccup's left his mark all over the village and it's made everyone's life easier.

He understands why Hiccup is held in such high regard. It's not just that he's their hero in trying times, but he's also the one solving all of their problems. In the last nine months, Eret's admiration and respect for him has only grown.

Blowing out a lungful of air, Eret knocks on the door and soon receives a muffled "come in!" from the other side. Opening it up, he can see Hiccup standing near a table while Toothless lies by the fire.

"Ah, Eret, there you are!" Hiccup greets him, smiling, and Toothless rumbles a hello of his own without even lifting his head, much too comfortable on the floor.

Eret nods their way, gaze falling on the measuring lint on the table.

Hiccup has had the bright idea to create armor based on their individual dragons. His Dragon Riders having such little protection during battle has bothered him more than it used to and he's finally putting an end to that. And as the plan is to use the shed scales of their dragons, chances are they might even be fireproof.

The twins only reluctantly agreed because of their armor's cool design.

According to Astrid, the passing of Late-Chief Stoick the Vast has something to do with Hiccup's want to suddenly control what his Riders wear during their battles. It's something all the Riders think and it's the biggest reason they're listening to Hiccup's wishes, stubborn as they are.

Closing the door and walking further into the room, passing Toothless, Eret reaches his Chief.

"So what do you want me to..." He asks, wondering what exactly Hiccup wants him to do.

"Well, if I want to take the correct measurements, I'm going to need you to take that off." Hiccup tells him, gesturing broadly at the furs he's wearing.

"Okay," But Eret misunderstands, believing Hiccup is asking him to take it all off instead of just his furs, and with his back then turned, Hiccup can't tell him otherwise.

By the time he turns back to Eret, measuring lint in hand, his furs are off and his tunics are nearly off as well.

"Oh Eret, I just meant the furs!" Hiccup quickly stops him, hands up, and a smile on his face.

"Oh! I see." A feeling of embarrassment wells up.

"Completely my fault, I should've been more clear." The other tells him, realizing that his instructions must've been unclear. He needs Eret to wear his tunic as the armor will be worn above at least one layer of clothing and that means Hiccup needs to measure him with his clothes on.

"Well, just so you know, I'm always ready to strip." Attempting to cure his embarrassment with some hilarity, Eret makes a joke, causing Hiccup to laugh.

"So you are!" His laughter is something the new Rider finds himself enjoying.

But then Hiccup suddenly stills, his gaze falling on the blemish on the other's chest. When Eret notices what he's looking at, he, too, grows silent.

The air in the room grows tense then. Hiccup brings a hand up to it, but he doesn't touch it. His hand simply hovers there instead.

"I bet that must've hurt a lot."

Eret looks away, hand covering the brand. Drago may be dead, but that doesn't take away any of the trauma that still clings to it.

Knowing that he's gone makes him feel only a little safer. Having Hiccup here helps as well, surprising as that may seem to those who don't know him.

Hiccup stares at Eret, seeing the broken look on his face. He understands the pain that a brand brings very well, the physical, the mental, and the emotional.

But what he can hardly imagine is carrying that brand and not being able to escape. That must've been his reality before Drago met his demise, to serve a cruel man knowing he can never escape, the threat of punishment, or even death looming above his head every day.

Hiccup's heart aches for him. He's safe now, but that doesn't erase what's been done to him.

But maybe there's something he can do about it. He might not be able to make it better, but maybe he can at least tell him that he's not alone. Or rather, show him he's not alone.

Hiccup nods to himself, reaffirming that that is what he's going to do.

"Let me show you something." Eret looks back at him when he says that.

Hiccup draws away from him and removes his armbraces, leaving both of them on the table nearby before taking off his chest piece. It'll be the first time he's seen him without his armor on and Eret feels like he needs to hold his breath.

But he quickly sees what Hiccup intends to show him. On the side of his throat, there is a nasty, nasty looking scar and he points towards it.

He's always known that there is something there, he could always see just a bit peeking out from the collar, but now he has a full view of it and it makes him cringe. That couldn't have been pleasant and it's not old either.

"This... is from a brand, too." Hiccup drags out his first word of that sentence. It is difficult for him to talk about and the only reason he's bringing it up now is for Eret.

Eret is overcome with surprise.

"Ah-Astrid removed it before anything could come of it. The person who put it there is dead and so are the people who were there to see it, so no one was alive to tell anybody about it. Which means nobody got to claim that I... belonged to someone." It is difficult, much too difficult. Hiccup is breathing hard, memories of the branding, and the removal of said brand coming back in horrible waves.

Even though it was to help him and he knows this, he didn't let Astrid touch him for weeks. It made her feel terrible and that is something he regrets enormously. Fortunately, it ended up not causing a rift between them, but it almost had.

"Do you know who it belonged to?" Eret inquires. Hiccup nods, but he needs a moment before he can say it.

"Drago." So he says and watches the new Rider's face change from horrible surprise to utter shock.

"I didn't know until we met and I saw the exact same brand on you." He hadn't thought much of it at the time either, much too focused on getting Stormfly free the four of them out of that sticky situation.

"I can't imagine how terrifying that must've been." He really can't. When he got branded, as horrible as it was, he at least knew who he belonged to. Hiccup couldn't say the same thing, not until he'd already gone through the trouble of getting rid of it before this mystery person could make their claim.

"But he's gone now. And he never got his hands on me and he can no longer get his hands on you. After everything that's happened, after all the pain this thing still causes me, I can't be more grateful than I already am." But even despite this dark conversation, this confession, and the fact that he's now shaking a little, Hiccup still smiles as he talks and Eret is stumped.

He already knew he had Hiccup all wrong. When they first met each other, Hiccup seemed like a naive boy who was much too good for this world. A heart too big for a world so small-minded. Someone who somehow saw something in the dragons that Eret previously thought wasn't there, but someone that he saw as needing to be protected from Drago's cruelty. It was why he tried to stop Astrid from talking about Hiccup in front of the madman.

Because even though they were on opposing sides, Eret didn't want him hurt. Far from that.

But then Hiccup lost his father and Eret thought for a moment that was it. Drago was a man who left his opponents destroyed. Physically, mentally, emotionally, didn't matter so long as they were defeated and couldn't oppose Drago any longer.

Eret has seen it happen too many times to not expect the same thing to happen to Hiccup. His father had been murdered trying to protect him and his best friend had been used as a weapon, anyone would've been broken by this.

But that isn't what happened. Instead, Hiccup gathered whatever strength he still had left, traveled back to Berk, and finally beat Drago, something so many before him had failed to do. That alone, that show of strength, the reassurance that Eret could count on him, his kindness, all of that was what made Eret want to come live on Berk and follow him as his Chief.

The bonus of getting to ride dragons helped, too.

And tonight, he realizes he has Hiccup wrong again. Young as he is, positive as his mindset is, he is no stranger to strive. And yet, he told him about his brand and then lightened the mood with a simple smile and a few encouraging words.

"You really aren't what I expected. I've been living on Berk for months now and you still surprise me." Eret says, leaning on a nearby chair.

"Oh, I won't stop surprising you for at least the next few years. If I haven't come up with a bunch of new surprises by then." Hiccup tells him ahead of time, nodding, and Eret chuckles.

"I look forward to every one of them."

They let it sit for a moment as it's a really nice one, but Hiccup inevitably has to decide that they better get to what Eret's come all this way for in the first place.

"Come on, let's get to measuring."

43 notes · View notes

epicstuckyficrecs · 4 years

Text

Weekly Recap | April 6-12

I went on a bit of an Evanstan (re)reading spree this week as you can see!

Complete

character bleed by luninosity/ @luninosity (Evanstan RPF): In which Chris and Sebastian are cast as the leads in a Regency-era gay romance, and Chris has difficulty with a certain emotional scene...

ecce amore by Anonymous (Evanstan RPF | 3,8K | Teen): “You weren’t filming a sex scene in there.” Chris doesn’t have it in him to protest, anymore. Chris doesn’t think he even wants to deny it. He just needs this to be done. He’s not sure he’s going to last much longer with the pressure as it mounts again. “I think,” Sebastian tilts his head. “I think you might have been trying to make love.” (Inspired by luninosity's Character Bleed)

[End Scene] by Anonymous (Evanstan RPF | 2,1K | Teen): The Death of Captain America was, from conception to publication, one of the worst ideas Marvel had ever spawned. So of course: they film it, anyway. And he should not have been surprised by the way that it hits him. Runs him over and crushes him, skull to sternum, take after take after unforgiving take. The Death of Sebastian Stan is more accurate, to his mind. Admittedly, though: it doesn’t quite have the same ring to it.

Pleased To Meet You (Hope You Guess My Name) by Brenda/ @brendaonao3 (TJ Hammond/Steve | 7K | Explicit): Or: TJ and Steve meet cute in a Starbucks and shenanigans ensue.

Seas(on) The Moment by luninosity/ @luninosity, musette22/ @musette22, paperstorm/ @paper-storm (Evanstan AU | 4,6K | Explicit): Quarantine coping mechanisms. Or: Sebastian watches Chris's internet cooking videos, and falls in love. And posts a video of his own...

Let It Be Glorious by brucespringsteen (WW2 | 8K | Explicit): The sign above the entrance to the large factory says American Army Men Who Desire Showers Are Welcome, and it is hanging haphazardly; the letters are big and blocked, and messy, and the bolts securing it over the big double doors are rusted. Steve turns to Bucky. “What do you think?”

it's this sunrise by howdoyousleep/ @howdoyousleep3 (Sugar Daddy Steve | 4K | Explicit): He knows Bucky being grumpy and sleepy shouldn’t be so goddamn cute but, fuck, it’s the most adorable thing Steve’s ever been witness to (Part 11 of Modern Daddy Steve Rogers/Young Bucky Barnes)

WIP

Paradise Lost (& Found) by JJK/ @trenchcoatsandtimetravel (Modern AU | 30/? | 67K | Mature): Meeting at a tropical resort AU where Steve is there on a 2-week honeymoon package after his fiancee left him at the altar, and Bucky is there for his sister’s destination wedding but doesn’t have a room because there was a mix up with the reservations in the system.

💙 How to Fuck With (and Feed) Your Soulmate by BlueSimplicity/ @bluesimplicity73 (Soulmate AU, Shrunkyclunks | 13/? | 73K | Explicit): It’s called the Grey Space; a patch of skin marking you as blessed and the first sign you have a soulmate. Steve Rogers didn’t have one when he crashed into the ice. But he did when he woke up in the future. The second sign is the Sense, a sharing of one the senses to help soulmates find each other. Steve’s Sense, taste, is rare, but he loves a challenge and a soulmate is a gift from the Fates. Except instead of a blessing, it’s a curse, since his soulmate is a dick. Bucky Barnes loves food and a homecooked meal is something he cherishes. When his Grey Space starts to itch, Bucky can’t help his excitement, since the Sense he and his soulmate share is taste. But not for long. Whoever he’s bound to has the blandest diet in the world, ignoring all Bucky’s messages. After weeks of putting up with tasteless food, Bucky decides to strike back.

The Mnemosyne Project by onymousann (Post-WS | 5/? | 15K | Explicit): Someone’s trying to talk to the Winter Soldier. Steve intends to find out who. (Part 2 of ocean eyes)

💙 four dreams in a row where you were burned by voxofthevoid/ @voxofthevoid (canon divergent, post-Endgame, 1945 alternate timeline | 10/? | 58K | Mature): When Steve uses the last of his Pym Particles to travel to 1944 and save his best friend, he doesn’t have a plan beyond leaving behind the battlefield and living his life alongside the people he loves. But the life that finds him is not the one he expects.

Re-read

💙 just a couple lovebirds (we got a good thing) by luninosity/ @luninosity (Evanstan AU | 55K | Explicit): Sebastian grabs his laptop, and opens a new client file, and names it Evans, Chris.

Bro by eclecticxdetour/ @eclecticxdetour (Evanstan AU, Uni AU | 3,6K | Explicit): Sebastian gets dragged to a frat party and catches the attention of an attractive fraternity brother.

💙 (baby won’t you please) run your fingers through my hair by luninosity/ @luninosity (Evanstan RPF, BDSM | 20K | Explicit): “I can’t just Google sex dungeons,” Chris says, “even if it is for a role.” Sebastian says, “I might know a place.”

Commandments by eadunne2 (Evanstan RPF | 3K | Explicit): Thou shalt not fall in love with Sebastian. He makes it a rule even though he’s already broken it. He needs a reminder that it’s his own damn fault his heart is breaking. That he knows better.

Break Your Heart And Give You Mine by coloursflyaway/ @coloursflyaway (Evanstan RPF | 8,8K | Teen): Chris and Sebastian have never really been friends, but when Chris comes back to shoot yet another movie with Sebastian, everything changes.

when i'm with you by betoning (Evanstan RPF | 6,3K | Mature): In which a lovesick Sebastian is about to leave the dinner Team Cap filmed with Chelsea Handler.

What the Fuck, Why, What -- Fuck (and Other Boston Classics) by rallyonward/ @rallyonward (Evanstan RPF | 3,7K | Teen): So it happens like this: Sebastian calls Chris on a Tuesday.

notes from the in-between by radialarch/ @radialarch (Evanstan RPF | 4,8K | Teen): At some point, he thinks, he's stopped acting.

💙 It Takes Three (To Make A Thing Go Right) by Brenda/ @brendaonao3 (Steve/Bucky/TJ Hammond | 10K | Explicit): Or: Bucky and Steve meet TJ Hammond at a fundraiser and take him home with them. It's the start of a beautiful relationship.

💙 Recipe for Demi-saster by Imagineitdear (Modern AU | 24K | Explicit): When Steve finally realizes he isn't broken, he settles in for a nice life of cookie-baking and kinky porn. Gone are the days of trying to push himself into flirting, no-strings-attached sex, or awkward dates with near-strangers. Gone is the nagging self-doubt that he should want things exactly how everyone else does. Years later, on one of his least favorite days of the year, he re-meets one of said no-strings-attached hookups from his past. Who just moved in down the street and seems to want to be friends now. After having a great time for *once* on a Fourth of July, Steve wants the same. But he’s forgotten something rather important: for demi-sexuals, there's no place more dangerous than the friend zone.

#stucky #stucky fic #stucky fanfic #stucky fanfiction #stucky fic rec #evanstan #evanstan fanfic #evanstan fic #evanstan fanfiction #weekly recap

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ill-skillsgard · 4 years

Text

Bred For Blood - Part 16 - Eye in the Sky

Title: Bred For Blood

Warning: 18+ - sex/mature language & themes/gun violence/substance abuse etc. *this part contains death, blood/injuries, drug use, mentions of sexual manipulation*

Characters: AU Axel Cluney, AU Ivar Lothbrok, AU Valter x OC

Description: A bright, young survivor meets an acid-gun slinging headhunter with a knack for melting faces and connections to a prodigal Utopia embedded in the heart of a deadly forest. Violence and passion incite a battle of fealty while betrayal nips at Zed’s heels.

Note: Over the months and months I’ve developed this story, a lot of it has changed. I’ve adhered to the same general storyline I originally came up with, but it’s taken on a different life. I’m realizing I fall under the “discovery writer” category more than ever. So, thank you for taking this fun journey with me as it unfolds! I appreciate all the comments and kind words <3 Let me know your thoughts as we travel toward the end of this funky little series I started forever ago.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

Axel gaped at his wounded palm. An uneven split forced his middle and ring finger apart at a nauseating angle. The longer he stared, the more his arms trembled from the sight of his bisected tendons. Blood cascaded down his arm in swaths, more blood than he had ever spilled, collecting in sandy globs. In his horror, he almost forgot about the man bemoaning his death several feet away. Axel tried clenching a fist, but blistering agony shot through his wrist and forearm, crackling along severed nerves and stiffening his stained fingers. Disotto had been right; he’d never use his trigger-finger again.

Acid boiled in Axel’s stomach, a mixture of anger and dread. He turned to Rex writhing on the ground, assessing his wound crusted with sand and coagulating plasma. The hunter keened over Rex’s worse condition. Again, the Zeronauts failed to kill him, though his vision grew cloudy. Axel found his knife and shifted his weight off the side of the Rover, toward the man whispering prayers through bubbles of blood. When Rex caught wind of Axel’s approach, the man cowered, shielding his face with his tarry hands.

“I’m only following orders,” the slashed man shouted. “Please! If you’re gonna kill me, just do it.”

“No, I won’t put you out of your misery. I want your death to be slow and painful. Like how you left Glott back there,” said Axel.

The hunter shimmied closer, flipping his knife in his right hand to carve off an unstained strip of Rex’s cotton jersey shirt. Rex quivered as Axel wrapped the cloth around his left hand tightly. The blue material blossomed with blood, turning a deathly shade of indigo in seconds. He went for another swath of the man’s clothing, ripping the sleeve off to fold over the hole in his hand. Axel glimpsed the open wound in Rex’s side, then looked up at his wild eyes, shifting around in their sockets like a dying animal searching for an escape.

“Tell me about this Dal guy you and your buddies were talking about. Is he your leader or something? He calls the shots?” Axel asked.

Rex spat a gob of blood, laughing as it rolled down his whiskered chin. “What do you think?”

Axel held the knife under Rex’s nose. “I think you’ll die with a few more nasty cuts on your body if you don’t tell me where I can find your leader. I’ll carve you like a turkey, my man.”

“That’s the thing about us... We don’t have leaders, just as the Unity intended. There are Brights, and there’s Uns, and it’s us against them. You kill one of us, and there’s a hundred more to take our place,” Rex claimed.

“No. It’s not you against them; It’s you against the planet. The Brights are the ones saving your sorry asses. You anarchists can’t seem to understand that we need them.”

Rex’s stone-grey eyes fluttered as he took in a trembling breath. “Why do you fucking care? The Unity wanted you dead, too.”

Axel looked down at his fake teardrop. If he hadn’t been fighting in the war, would they have considered him for immunization? It was a question Axel asked himself a thousand times, and the answer was always negative. He should have died in the storms, but he hadn’t. The spores didn’t reach the ocean, and therefore, never had the chance to infect him or the small crew of abandoned soldiers sailing home.

Axel grimaced at his stained forearm. “That doesn’t mean I want to kill every brightblood I find.”

“No. But you’ll use them to protect yourself. Just like we do,” Rex said with a sticky smile.

“Fuck you. Your little band of outlaws is exactly the people they tried to eradicate. People who only see others as slaves.”

“The Brightlings you care so much about are bred for blood. Blood that we need to survive—that you need to survive. The Unity branded them like cattle for easy picking.”

Axel rose to his knees, wincing from the slash above his ankle. “That’s the thinking that’s getting you and all your merry men killed. Rapists, slave-drivers, murderers... There's no room for you on this planet.”

“What does that make you, Mister Zee?”

“Yeah, I’m a killer. And I’ll die a killer if it means getting rid of scum like you,” Axel said, spitting on Rex’s dirtied face.

A low chuckle rumbled in Rex’s esophagus, tapering off as he shut his eyes, limbs turning limp where he lay sprawled over the sand.

Axel sat for a moment to catch his breath, then crawled from body to body, checking their pockets and patting down stiff torsos for anything useful. He found a few rounds of ammunition, a half-full pack of cigarettes, a glass pipe with a burnt and bulbous end, another butane lighter, a folded piece of paper bearing his likeness and several uncut rubies. He tossed the crack pipe and kept the rest, stuffing it all into his pockets with his left arm pressed to his side.

A dry wind swept in from the South, the direction he needed to go if he could only haul himself to a stand. He sat slumped over, unlacing his boot to get a better look at his wounded ankle. The cut was deep and gushing still. He bandaged his ankle in the same way he had his hand—with the jersey cotton stripped from Rex’s shirt. After winding the dressing around his foot, it was too bulky to stuff back into his boot, so he left it behind as he crawled toward the duffle bag of papers from Glott’s lab. He emptied his pockets into the bag, then grabbed his rifle. A grisly piece of meat from the other Zeronaut’s face still clung to the butt where Axel had cracked his mouth apart. Though he couldn’t shoot acid, the weapon doubled as a club if he encountered more bounty hunters.

Stretching his right arm behind his back, he found the mushrooms he’d tucked in his pocket. In the bright afternoon light, the brown fibres glistened, white spots speckling the meaty caps atop long, feathery stems. Axel licked his lips but refrained from ingesting the mysterious fungus he found growing inside Glott’s supply closet. The last thing he needed was to poison himself. He was already sure he would die in the desert, if not from blood-loss, then from dehydration. The mushrooms were a last resort. He pocketed them again.

Axel assessed his itinerary. Although he’d sustained severe mutilation and a punctured ankle, he came away with another gun, more cigarettes and a few hundred thousand dollars' worth of stones. Axel saw no use for the rubies, but some people still valued objects more than human blood, so he kept them. It seemed unlikely he’d cross anyone who only wanted to trade, but the stones gave him a sense of comfort in case he happened upon a post.

If he was to consider what Rex said about a hundred more Zeronauts taking his place, Axel had to assume everyone was now an enemy. How many Zeronauts were there? Had they recruited more survivors, swelling their ranks while he pissed away his time in Kinderfeld? He shook his head and wobbled from dizziness. There was no more time for contemplation. Axel had to remain present.

On foot, getting back to the domes would take days, but with two of his limbs decommissioned, it would take much longer. He took all he could carry from the Rover and packed it into the duffle bag, including his last inches of water and two mystery packs of army rations. Axel scanned the horizon, took a step and cried out from the bolt of pain in his leg. Limping without a crutch was impossible, so he lowered to his knees and crawled in the direction from which his three assailants had come. They must have had a camp or a vehicle he could raid somewhere.

In the desert heat, with the duffle bag more cumbersome than ever, Axel’s lag proved difficult. Pain blazed through his leg with every bend of his knee, and his elbows supported his entire weight plus the full bag pressing on his back. He army-crawled through the sand, stopping every few shuffles to rest.

Axel made it over a steep dune before the dryness entered his lungs and sucked the moisture from his mouth. He paused for a gulp of water and grieved over how little he had left.

When he found no traces of Zeronaut vehicles, he looked back and considered returning to the Rover. Even on deflated wheels, he might get farther than what his aching body could manage.

Turning back was suicidal. Axel couldn’t waste another hour retracing the trail he left behind. It was onward or nothing.

Exhaustion tugged at his eyelids after long. The agony of using his arms to pull himself along depleted what little energy he had. Axel retired his injured appendage and used his right arm and leg to shift himself over hills and rough patches of stone.

His muscles stretched and burned as the sun beat down on his skin. The strain on his body caught up with him quickly, and he had to rest before he passed out from weariness. Axel shifted the duffle bag over his head to shield from the sun, took another sip of water and laid in the dust with his eyes closed. Every few minutes, he snapped awake, unable to doze for more than a few minutes before panic shook him.

As the sun set, Axel ripped open a foil bag and devoured the tomatoes, slimy noodles, and bits of chewy sausage swimming inside. Any other day, Axel might complain about the meal, but in his weakened haze, it tasted better than anything he’d ever eaten. Washing down the food with his last bit of water, he tossed the package and crawled several yards before a dull pain in the back of his head dizzied him again.

Frequent breaks frustrated Axel, and the emerging fog disoriented his sense of direction. Soon the night took over, and Axel shivered from the icy touch on his inflamed skin. He was burnt and filthy, head pounding while his ankle and hand throbbed without end. Though he’d eaten and drank the last remnant of water he had, a persistent thirst scratched in his throat.

“Fuck, I’m gonna die,” Axel croaked. “This will be your fucking grave, Cluney. You’re done.”

When he imagined dying with the duffle bag full of invaluable information, Axel’s heart clattered in his chest. That discovery in the hands of those who wished slavery upon the brightbloods would be disastrous. If he couldn’t make it back to Kinderfeld, he had to make sure the secret died with him. Nobody would get their hands on Zed because of his negligence, he vowed.

He scaled the sands until his body gave out. Muscles screaming in pain, Axel rolled onto his back and looked up at the night sky through a thin veil of fog.

“I’m sorry, Lea. I’m a fucking failure. Valter... Fuck. I should have been there for you. I’m such a fuck-up. Such a selfish, stupid fuck-up.”

Axel closed his eyes and let the darkness take him under.

When the sun peeked over the hills, Axel awoke, spitting dirt from his mouth as he coughed and winced from the agony living in every atom of his body. He couldn’t believe he was still alive to see another powder blue sky. However, his shoulders had seized from over-exertion, and the only movement he made was the desperate intake of air. Anguish pinned him to the ground until he summoned the strength to unzip the duffle bag and rummage around, one-armed, for a cigarette and lighter.

Axel smoked while sprawled in the sand, watching puffy clouds sail overhead. There was only an hour of mild temperature before the sun climbed higher and burned away the moisture left from the misty night.

“Why am I not dead?” Axel asked himself.

A strong wind swept sheets of dust over his latent form, blinding him until his eyes watered. If he stayed where he was, by noon, he’d be half-buried. But he could barely move to stop this from happening. He saved his energy for rolling onto his stomach to fish the mushrooms from his pocket. It took half an hour to accomplish this, and by the time he had hold of the speckled caps, he did not argue against consuming them.

He gnashed the sponge and grainy strands to a pulp, swallowed, and hoped for the best. The woody flavour reminded him of old times taking dried psilocybin mushrooms as a teenager. What effects Glott’s fungi produced remained a mystery.

Axel sighed and tried not to think about Lea and Vee. He closed his eyes, picturing simpler times and places that brought him joy until he realized there were few scraps of memory that provided him with any relief. He had left home at a young age as his parents acknowledged his brother’s accelerated development and put their focus into nurturing his intelligence instead of disciplining a boy who laughed in the face of authority. While Axel set off to take drugs and contract sexually transmitted infections that required horse pills and multiple shots in the ass to cure, his family grew tighter without him. Vee grew into a man. Then came the army and quest for structure. But there was no structure in the military either. There were routines and discipline, but no sense of permanence. It only threw him into further chaos, showing him real horrors that made his small-time forays in local crime seem like a joke.

He remembered the boat ride home, the piercing silence of a desolate group of men who’d been long abandoned, forgotten by their superiors and the world. They were throwaways, disregarded by the country who first outfitted and weaponized them. Ivar was his only anchor to life without torment, and even he had changed from the war.

The only memory that didn’t haunt him was the recent times he’d spent with Azalea. She didn’t judge him harshly—only when he deserved it—for she didn’t understand the gravity of his past transgressions. Axel would give anything to be back in their conjoined apartment, drinking acidic wine with Vee, playing board games like they were kids again.

Behind his heavy lids, Axel saw the sun break without opening his eyes. A sliver of white light grew into a crescent, a half-moon, an eyeball with no iris. It blinked, staring at his feeble body with judgment.

What are you doing lying in the sand?

“I’m dying,” Axel answered the ominous voice overhead.

So soon?

“Maybe not soon enough,” said Axel.

How boring. Zeitgeist, the famous headhunter, reduced to dirt.

“It’s been a long time coming.”

The glowing orb sighed, giving off radiation Axel could feel. A red aura, wriggling like a crown of worms, throwing off golden hailstones that burst into a fine mist.

“When I was in the Middle East, I got the feeling I’d die like this. Maybe I’m some kind of low-level prophet.”

Predicting one’s own death is hardly a show of prophecy. You’ve spent your life doing things no regular person should survive. This death... This is a lifetime of poor decisions catching up with you.

“Am I talking to myself, or am I tripping?”

Perhaps a little of both.

“Hm... At least I’ll die high out of my mind. These scientists sure make great psychedelics.”

Axel opened his eyes and gasped at the sprawling panorama of white dollops convulsing over a roiling screen of blue. The clouds came closer, and he drew a breath in through his nose, tasting the thick air as he rose his good hand to the amoebic spectacle before him. The wind curled through, skewing the shapes into fresh forms, erasing and reforming them with every gust: flowers, sailboats, insects and gaping faces.

“Wow. That’s crazy,” Axel whispered, smirking.

The sand softened and welcomed his battered limbs into a cradle of warmth. A blissful smile unfurled on his face as the clouds continued their spastic dance across the never-ending sky, showing him dreamy visions of abstract figures.

“I wish I was home. I never took Lea out to ride dirt bikes.”

Then go home, Axel. Go back to your family. Tell them what you know. Be the hero, not just the man with the best gun and biggest balls.

“But I can’t move!” Axel whined.

The ground buzzed underneath him as though each grain sprouted legs to carry him through the desolation. Millions of tiny ants worked together to haul his body across the desert as if they understood the importance of his return to Kinderfeld. He longed to scratch the itch at his back, but his arms were leaden.

“What happens if I die and they never find out about Lea?”

Then you die, and they die not long after.

“No. Don’t say that.”

You’re the one saying it.

A sinking sensation opened in Axel’s chest as his nerves responded to the numbing effect of the mushrooms. Soon, Axel was floating on a cloud, the ants falling away as his pupils expanded, and his brain’s chemistry changed.

Take her to the Maw. That’s what Glott said. Get up and go home.

“She hates me.”

She trusts you.

“I’ll die before I get there. It’s pointless.”

If there’s no point, you might as well keep crawling.

“But I’m so comfortable. Is this what dying really feels like?”

I guess you’ll find out soon enough.

Axel sighed. “Maybe it’s not so bad... Dying.”

Sure, you can die on a cloud, smiling like an idiot, while your enemies are out there looking for a way into your home to kill your brother and rape the woman you promised to protect. Or you can keep crawling.

“Y’know, for the sun, you have a dark sense of humour.”

Better get going before someone else finds you and gets their hands on those papers.

Muddled and rash from the whiplash of the mind, Axel reached back into the duffle bag, feeling around for the hand-written documents. When his fingers skated over a smooth sheet, he crumpled it and brought the loose wad to his mouth. Axel stuffed the paper between his teeth and chewed.

Through a mouthful of paper and ink, Axel giggled and reached for another sheet but found his lighter instead.

He burned the rest, chuckling as tears poured down the sides of his head.

~*~

Zed watched Ivar’s chest expand and retract while they laid together in a nest of damp sheets. Silent, she bit down on her lip as the king turned to her, an elated smile revealing all of his teeth.

“Wow,” he whispered. “That was... Wow.”

Zed flushed from the silly look he gave her. “Stop it.”

“Lea...”

“Ivar?”

The King turned on his side and pulled her close, tucking his face under her jaw. She embraced him while staring up at the billowing ceiling. She wondered what the Chrysalis looked like stripped of all its livery. Was it still as beautiful without the ornate clothing? She shook her head and fluttered her eyes, pushing away irrelevant thoughts.

“Can I be honest with you?” Ivar asked.

“I hope so,” Zed whispered, shuffling her nose into his rose-scented hair.

“I’ve had a lot of—I mean, I’m no prude, but that was the best sex I’ve ever had in my life.”

“Oh, be quiet,” she said, rolling her eyes.

Ivar drew back to peer into her in the eyes, his playful smile replaced with palpable seriousness. “I’m telling you the truth. Your body... It’s like you were made for me. You're so beautiful, I want to drape you over me forever and wear you like ear-muffs.”

“What would you know about ear-muffs, oh king of the desert?”

“Plenty.” Ivar’s smile returned. “I hale from the North. They don’t call me Viking for nothing.”

“Right,” she said.

Ivar put a little more distance between them, sensing her discomfort.

“What’s the matter? You’re okay with what happened, right?”

Zed snapped a smile over her lips. “Yes! I don’t know how many times you asked for my permission. It was only a matter of time before we...”

“Made love?”

The thermal rush of nerves returned to her cheeks. “Yes. Made love.”

“I don’t want you to regret it because I don’t. The moment you walked into this place, I swore off all other women. I only wanted you in my life. And I’m glad you pulled off whatever mischievous thing you had to get in here. Waking up to your face was heavenly.”

Zed welcomed him back into her arms. He laid his head on her chest. "I’m glad you’re not mad at me," she said. "I worried you’d send me away. But it was worth the risk."

Ivar stroked her bare skin, sighing. “It’s only for our protection.”

“But they can’t get in here. Not unless we allow them.”

Ivar stared across the room at the curtained entrance. “I don’t know anymore, Lea.”

“What do you mean?” She whispered.

“There are many hostiles out there now. More than I ever predicted.”

“How do you know this?”

“I've seen them.”

Zed’s heart plummeted, skipping a beat as a wave of dread squeezed her throat. Ivar rolled onto his back, ready to admit things to her he had told no one. Not even Axel.

“Do you remember that night I cancelled on you?”

“Yes, we were supposed to have dinner.”

I had dinner with Axel instead.

“It wasn’t because dwellers were looking for trade and shelter. It was a group of scavs looking for Zee.”

“The Zeronauts?” Zed gasped.

Ivar nodded grimly. “There’s a bounty on him—a big one. They came looking for Zee, threatening to blow up the compound if I didn’t turn him over. I said he wasn’t inside, that he’d left a while ago. At first, they didn’t believe me, but I guess I must have convinced them.”

Zed sat up in bed, clutching the sheet to her bare chest. “What did you do?”

“I suppose my acting skills paid off. They wanted to take me up on my word, search around the village, but I refused. By then, they realized the firepower we had and backed off. I didn’t expect them to return so soon.”

“But... Axel went out there. What if they found him? What if he’s dead?”

Ivar closed his eyes before tears emerged. “I know. But what can I do? He made his own choice. He didn’t want to stay, and to be honest, Lea, I didn’t want him here either. Not after what that filthy scav said.”

Zed’s nerves flared. “Now you listen to me. What Monk said was not true! I did not have sex with Axel in that camp. And if you refuse to believe me, then... Maybe I will end up regretting what we did.”

“It’s so hard to buy that, Lea,” Ivar said.

“Why? You don’t trust me?”

He gave a discourteous snicker and rolled his eyes. “Because I know Zee. A lot better than you do.”

“You’d take the word of a total stranger over mine?”

“I wanted to reject what the scav said. But he said something that struck me. Something I couldn’t discount.”

Zed glared at him. “And what’s that?”

He scoffed, unable to produce the words until he weighed the insult on Zed’s face.

“Wanna go boing-boing on Daddy’s dick?” Ivar mocked.

The heat fizzled from her face like a hot iron in cold water. Ivar shot her a knowing glance and nodded. “See? That look tells me everything. I’ve known Zee for years. We’ve shared enough that I know all his cheeky little lines.”

“We didn’t have sex! Yes, he pretended I was his slave to protect me. We didn’t know what we were walking into. He said it was a commune, but when we arrived, the Zeronauts had already taken over. They had a dozen guns pointed at us. It scared us, Ivar. You need to trust me. If you have feelings for me, you should believe when I say I never touched Axel like that.”

“What about the night you bugged out and leapt into his arms?”

Zed lowered her voice as her heart shuddered. “He was my only friend. You and I had just met, and the stories about you... I wasn’t ready. I spent a year in the desert by myself. I’d never done drugs, never met anyone like you guys. He helped me.”

“I want to believe you, Lea.”

“Then believe me!” Her voice rang through the room. “No one ever believes me! Not you, not them, not my friends when I was taken advantage of.”

Ivar cocked his head. “What are you talking about?”

Tears flowed over Zed’s cheeks as ghosts of her past breathed vexing reminders in her ear. What she read in Axel’s journal unearthed the memory she hated most and forced her to relive it in tainted colour. Now Ivar’s incredulity brought back the sting of betrayal she wished to forget.

“The first person I ever had sex with used me as a joke! He pretended to love me, and after I gave myself to him, he told everyone disgusting lies. He conned me out of my virginity. Someone who vowed I could trust him; that would protect me and make sure I was happy. I was nothing but a conquest. Bragging rights. And the worst part is... While I was being lied to, while he took my innocence, you and Axel were overseas fucking strippers! You behaved the same way that pig did! Then I finally trusted again—after you and Axel promised to keep me safe—and both of you fucked me over! Why do men only believe each other? Does what I say hold such little meaning to you?”

Ivar’s face froze.

“You are the only other person I have ever let inside me, and you’re making me regret it just like he did,” Zed cried.

“Lea—”

“Why would I lie to you? Why would Axel lie to you? He loves you like a brother, and I’ve seen how much he values his family.”

The king took her in his arms, and she rested her damp forehead on his shoulder.

“How do you know about that stuff?”

“I read Axel’s journals from the army. Vee gave them to me. He thought they might help me stop missing him.”

“Listen, I don’t know what you read in those journals, but I promise you, I’m not that man anymore, Lea. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you to him. Everyone loves Zee. Any girl I liked always wanted him because he’s famous. Handsome. Funny. My jealousy got in the way.”

“You’re all those things too, Ivar. Everyone here loves you. They made you a king, for Christ’s sake!”

“Only because Zee didn’t want to lead. But I get it, and I’m sorry. I’m an idiot. I should have trusted you. Both of you.”

Lea sniffled, blinking against the remnants of tears, and hugged Ivar close. “We wouldn’t lie to you, Ivar.”

He smoothed his fingers down her spine, nuzzling into her braided hair and the closeness he’d almost chased away.

A quiet moment passed before Zed spoke up. “We have to search for him.”

Ivar shook his head. “No. We’re not leaving. Nobody is. Not while those scavengers are prowling. It’s too dangerous.”

“Ivar—”

“I’m serious, Lea. Nobody leaves. Zee can take care of himself.”

“It’s more than finding Axel. Everyone is scared, Ivar. We need medical equipment, doctors, something. People are dying here, too. Not just out there.”

A stubborn line appeared between Ivar’s brows. “We can hold out for a while. Supplies will come to us. There will be more dwellers at our door. We can start a trade with people who already know the outside. It’s too dangerous to send anyone, and we need all the men we can get to protect the village.”

Zed wanted to grab Ivar by the shoulders and shake and scream in his face, but they were both still too raw from the revelations they’d shared. She had to make calculated moves, one of them recognizing when to hold back. Ivar was bullheaded, but she had chipped away a layer of his mistrust. If she could convince Ivar to value her word as much as Axel’s, there was a chance of progress. Zed knew sleeping with him wouldn’t throw open the gates, but she made a bit of headway, and that was enough to settle her stomach for now.

"Fine. You're right. We should stay here and wait," Zed conceded.

The couple spent the rest of the morning tangled in the sheets. Zed did not suggest an excursion beyond the walls again, but maintained her resolve when Ivar let his feelings gush forth. He claimed to love her, but Zed suspected the king viewed his world through a romantic veil. Ivar couldn’t be in love. He didn’t know her well enough. But she let him revel in his fantasy.

She wondered if she was capable of love. With her trust in others injured and the state of the world in ruins, love seemed a burdensome child, hanging onto the ankles of a society struggling to recover. Fine to dabble in, like drink and drugs, but not a motto for advancement.

News of Axel’s bounty shocked her to the core. While Ivar pulsated between her legs, whispering words of praise and adoration against her neck, Zed stared at a distant spot on the wall, numb, hoping beyond hope her friend was still alive.

After breakfast, Ivar relinquished his grip on her, and she made her way to the lab to find Vee.

Zed entered the facility and found the gurneys empty. Confused, she searched the rest of the lab, turning up nothing, then made her way to Vee’s apartment. She rapped on the door, but nobody answered. She knocked harder, waited, then sighed and turned down the hall. The locked door to the incubation room opened, and Vee stepped out, looking surprised and relieved to see her.

“Lea! Finally. I was worrying.”

Zed noticed the whites of his eyes veined with red, the ditches beneath them dark and heavy. Light blond stubble lined his jaw and upper lip. It looked like he hadn’t slept since their last conversation.

“What’s wrong?” She asked.

He shook his head, unsure of where to begin listing off the things that had gone wrong through the night.

“It’s a long, long story. And I’m starving. Do you have time to sit down?” He asked.

“Yes, of course,” Zed replied, worry rushing her tone.

Vee led the way to his apartment and held the door open for her. She took a seat on the sofa and waited for the scientist to return with a plate of dry-fried zucchini cakes. The scent wafted toward her, making her stomach growl.

“So, our patient died of his kidney failure last night. He never woke up,” Vee said before taking a bite of a cake. “I wish we had hot sauce in this place. Or salt.”

“What? Are you serious?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “We expected it. He knew it; we saw it coming. There was nothing we could do.”

Zed stared at Vee, awe-struck by his nonchalance. “What about Serena?”

“That I’m not sure. I think Sheraya took her back to the Hives to be alone.”

“What did you do with the body?” Zed asked.

“I didn’t do a thing. I was too busy dealing with the incubators we lost,” Vee supplied. “Lora had the guards remove him. She spent all night sterilizing the lab while I cleaned up after the lost specimens.”

She gasped. "What does this mean?"

"The experiments are gone—failed."

The sleep-deprived man finished a portion of his meal and offered the rest to Zed, who held her hand up in refusal.

“My work is truly lost, and the guards had to bury six children and one adult last night.”

“I don’t understand,” Zed shook her head. “How did the incubators fail?”

“Well, it’s not that they failed per se, rather we failed them. We don’t have the emulsions left to simulate amniotic fluid. Like I’ve been saying for weeks: our supplies are bone-dry. The people who built this place did not supply it with enough to bring a fetus to term, or they banked on traditional implantation, and I, for one, have no idea how to accomplish that. I studied advanced chemistry, not how to create humans from scratch. As much as I’d like to play God, I’m just a fucking scientist making do with what I have—which is nothing.”

Tragedy after tragedy, woe after woe, Zed buckled and fell against Vee, shaking and scrabbling for comfort. He set his half-empty plate aside to hold her close. The misfortune already had its chance to wrack his body, hence the dark blue crescents masking his eyes. By then, Vee was almost catatonic. The dread of telling Zed the news was part of the reason he hadn’t slept.

“I tested them though... The specimens. The mutation carries.”

Zed rolled her face on his shoulder, sopping the tears from her eyes as she pulled back with a sniffle.

“Really?”

“Yes. So, that’s some good news, right?” Vee said, lightening his expression for her comfort.

She nodded weakly. “What about the mixed-bloods?”

“One carried and one did not. Mine carried too,” he said with a lopsided smile.

Despite a positive report, Zed still couldn’t find it in herself to smile back.

“Vee, I’m so sorry about all of this. I wish there were something I could do, but I’m afraid my efforts last night yielded no results. Ivar is dead set on keeping the gates closed. And... He told me something else. Something terrible,” Zed said, picking at a cuticle as she avoided her friend’s stare.

“What now?”

“He said there’s a huge bounty out on Axel. He knew about it this whole time, and he just let him walk right into a trap.”

Vee leaned back, a flat expression on his face. He swallowed and closed his eyes, tilting his head back to rest on the sofa.

“Of course there’s a bounty on him,” he sighed.

Zed continued picking at a hangnail. There was nothing of comfort she could offer, so she shifted closer to Vee and laid her head against his shoulder. Vee brought his arm around her and rested his head on hers. They stayed that way for a while, unsure of how to progress. In all the bleakness of recent times, Zed was thankful to have someone who understood the gravity of their worsening situation. Vee was the only person buoying her above the most profound depression she’d felt since losing herself in the desert.

Despite the barbed strikes against them, Zed couldn’t hold back another sombre dirge. Every shred of hope slipped from her grasp. She wanted her mother and father—someone to hear and share her sorrows and offer her guidance.

“He’s going to die out there, isn’t he?” Zed asked.

Vee squeezed her shoulder. “I don’t know, Lea. That might not be comforting, but it’s the truth. Who knows what will happen now?”

“And sleeping with Ivar got me nowhere. I feel so foolish,” she whispered, voice cracking. “I was stupid to think I could change anything.”

Though she couldn’t see it, Vee frowned. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have allowed that to happen. You shouldn’t have had to resort to doing something you were uncomfortable with.”

“It was fine... Ivar was more than courteous. But I don’t think I love him. Maybe before all this, I could have, but now... He won’t open his eyes. He sees what he wants to see,” she said.

“Power can do that to men. They're blind to their surroundings. But I don’t want you thinking for that any of this is your fault or that you should have done more. You’ve done what you can. We all have. There’s nothing left to do but wait. Wait for life... Or death. It’s all the same.

“Please, I need you to at least pretend to be hopeful. I’m on the verge of a breakdown. You can’t go down with me.”

As the pair sat propped against each other, sighing and fretting in silence, the door swung open quietly, and a pair of bespectacled eyes peered into the apartment.

The thrum of Vee’s heartbeat lulled Zed’s weariness, and she placed her hand on the scientist’s chest. Locked in their embrace, Vee kissed the top of her head and rubbed her shoulder.

“If there’s one thing that’s brightened my horizons these last couple of months, it’s you, Lea. I’m glad Axel brought you here. It might have been the one moral decision he’s ever made,” Vee told her.

She lifted her head and nuzzled into his shoulder, smelling the remnants of cleaning solution clinging to the fabric of his shirt. “You’re so sweet, Valter. Even though I feel positively useless—”

“You are positively useless!” A voice cried out.

They snapped glances at the door, startled, and saw Lora standing there with her fists tight at her sides, shoulders hunched to her ears.

“Are you cheating on me with this brainless twit?” Lora continued.

Vee unhanded Zed and stood up, a stony expression wiping the calmness from his face. “What the hell are you doing in here, Lora?”

“I came to tell you I finished organizing all your files, but it looks like you’re too busy with the village bicycle to care!”

“First thing’s first, Lora, you and I are not together. And even if we were, Zed’s my friend, and I don’t appreciate you insulting her! This is my goddamn apartment. You can’t walk in here whenever you please!”

“Why? Because I’ll catch you sleeping with her?”

A fiery ball burst in Zed’s gut, igniting the anger that had been accumulating little by little until it shot up her throat. “What the hell is your problem, Lora? Ever since I got here, you’ve done nothing but spurn me! What did I ever do to you?”

“Are you stupid? Everyone here knows you’ve been sleeping with any man you can get your hands on. You’ve earned nothing, yet everyone treats you like you’re some kind of deity. You promised to help in the lab, but all you did was cause a rift and chase away the only person bringing in supplies. Now we’re screwed, and it’s all your fault!”

“Lora, stop!” Vee demanded.

“No! Someone has to say it! I’m tired of everyone giving her credit when I’ve done the grunt work and get zero thanks. You’re probably not even a real scientist!”

“Enough!”

Lora turned to Vee, malice puckering her lips. “I knew it’d only be a matter of time before she infected you, too. All you men are the same. An easy lay comes by, and you forget everything.”

“You’ve got a lot of shit to say for a lab assistant,” Zed hit back.

The ball of heat in her stomach threw off flares, awakening a fit of familiar anger that stiffened her muscles and set her jaw. When she stepped forward, Lora took a step back, and a heady rush of adrenaline caused her heart to pound and lips to curl into a sly smile. It was the same aggression she’d felt when the poachers attacked her in the desert, and while killing off Zeronauts after they’d forced her to strip at gunpoint. The sensation lent her fervency. She didn’t understand why the hostility fuelled her, but she embraced the burn, let it guide her actions.

“I’ve killed men three times your size. I suggest—if you like your bones intact—you shut your mouth and go back to doing what you do best: staying quiet and minding your own fucking business.”

Both Vee and Lora drew back from the heat of Zed’s threat. Scowling, Lora backed into the hallway, then turned and started away. When her footsteps faded down the hall, Vee went to Zed and placed his hand on her shoulder. She jumped from the sudden contact, then relaxed.

“Jesus, Zed,” he scoffed. “I know she deserved it but that was harsh.”

She stared up at him, eyes wide with remorse. “I’m not sure where that came from. I’m so tired of the accusations. Everyone thinks they know me, but they don’t!”

“It’s okay,” Vee said. “I know you. And you know you. Who cares what anyone else says? Lora’s been jealous of you since the second you walked through the lab doors. She sees every other female as a threat. Her ego is fragile.”

“Seems everyone's ego is paper-thin,” Zed muttered.

“Don’t worry about her, Zed. It’s done.”

Zed looked out into the empty hallway. Something told her the tension was only just taking form. There was a change in the air, a bitterness that permeated the domes, and she shivered, wondering what new troubles might fashion themselves in the coming days.

~*~

“Son... You alive, sonny?”

A man looked down at four sunburnt limbs—two of which crudely bandaged—jutting out from beneath a half-open duffle bag. Expecting to find a corpse under the heavy canvas, he kicked it aside and found the person alive, although for how long that life had left was a cause for concern. Though the person remained unresponsive, his blacked-out eyes roamed the sky, wide as sand dollars.

His camel sputtered as if to debate their investigative stop. He turned toward the animal, shrugged, then looked back at the gangly form upon which they stumbled.

The man aired out the flaps of his stained coat, making himself presentable as best he could.

“Can you hear me, son?”

Green-rimmed pupils dithered as a faint noise squeaked from his throat. The man in the long, thin coat retrieved a skin of water from the pack on his camel, then squatted next to the barely conscious person and poured a small measure of water between his dry, cracked lips. He swallowed, and the man in the coat smiled.

“Atta boy.”

He spied the teardrop scar on the man’s forearm, squinting at the mark to analyze its edges. It was a fake. Not unusual in these parts, but interesting to come across.

“Up for some more water?”

Another small sound drew his ear closer—something between a whimper and a syllable.

“Ma... Ma.”

“Ma? Speak up, son.”

“Muh.”

The man in the sand-stained coat tapped his chin. “Not to worry, sonny. The good doctor is in! Say, how about we take a look at that hand there? See what we’re working with?”

“M-ma.”

“Plenty of time to look for your mama after we patch you up.”

The camel snorted and received a mildly threatening look from its owner.

“Enough out of you, Rudie. I’m the one with the oats, and I say we give this fellow a hand. You have nowhere to be anyhow, so cool it, you oversized donkey. Now, let’s get you up. Ol’ Rudie here will be your chariot, good sir. Assuming you don’t intend to use that rather vicious-looking gun on us when you come-to. But, judging by your state, I don’t think you’ll be doing much of anything for a while. You’re lucky we found you, son. Mighty lucky.”

@dreamtherapy @reinamysterio @skarswhat @mightbelindsey @sexual-rendezvous-blog @billskarsgardx @michaeliskindahot @tigers-pat @rainbowmoosie @tinygayfungi @pancake-blonde @bskarsgardlove92 @sarah2057 @ohcaptains @loveforbillskasgard @vikingsmania @billdreamy69 @lordeofther1ngs @theredheadsbookcorner @1-800-imagines @readsalot73 @nicolehoran-maybe @weirdlilwitch @enchantedreadersworld @allkundsofwrong @loey-bae @bill-istvan @army-crawl-andersen @sunshineandskarsgards @beyond-the-ashes @whoplansthese @evaolii @frappylou @alylanaeblack @billullabies @bohemianfortunes @moondustmemories @terry2227 @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @alltimesamantha @amelia-in-w0nderland @thestonerosas @skrsgvrd @sorryimviolet @tweakersqueaker @inforapound @eff1ngqueen @skrsgrd-my-boi @rekdreams-fandom @b-afterhours @anastasiaskarsgard @ainatirb-j @voodoo-queen @quiche-pocket @awkward-haux @thorins-queen-of-erebor @originalclodmakergarden @skrsgardspam @tumblingdwntherabbithole @xbuckxnastyx @skadithegoddess @whiskeyxinxaxteacup @calumculia0 @bethskarsgard @ohhoneyaaaaaaa @ziamhathrisen @tgrrose @didiintheblog @bitchwelcometoparadise @maggiescarborough @anacerta @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @spitch0 @grandpa-sweaters @mamaloser1 @mycrimsonsparrow

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amydancepants-peralta · 4 years

Note

37 or 64 for the prompt thing, please? :3

37: “What did you break this time?” and 64: “You know, it’s a really long story.”

@b99peraltiago Adele, I’m very sorry to be so late with this ... but I’ve combined the two into an AU that I hope you enjoy!

crash into you

Series 3 of her favourite podcast, Lingthusiasm, is playing at just the right decibel through Amy Santiago’s earphones as she diverts her Thursday afternoon walk to a soft patch of grass in order stretch out her aching muscles. According to the majority of her research, a steady pace of 3 to 4.5 mph was the optimum standard pace to maintain fitness. In order to excel, she had increased to a regulated 5.5mph over the past few days, and her body was not being subtle in its protest.

She’s not to know it yet, but in the coming days she will be grow to be beyond grateful for the existence of said earphones - as they act as a complete distraction to her surroundings - and as a result Amy does not sense any impending danger until a shrieking “EEEEEEE! WatchoutIcan’tstopIcan’tstopOHGODICAN’TSTOP!” manages to cut through the otherwise dulcet tones of the host Gretchen’s voice.

A mere second later, she finds herself falling to the ground as a confusing mixture of weight, cologne and wheels crashes into her, an unfamiliar pair of arms wrapping themselves around her middle as they attempt to absorb the brunt of their descent.

The blades of grass are cold against her bare arms as she struggles against the sudden oppressive weight, the scent of dirt mixing with this mysterious cologne as she throws her head side to side. “What the …?”

The weight is lifted as suddenly as it arrived, a steady hand planting itself into the ground next to her neck as the rest of Amy’s senses finally begin to regain control. With her sunglasses knocked off during the fray (and therefore temporarily out of reach), she squints against the bright rays of the sun, struggling to make sense of what on earth just happened.

Obviously, somebody had crashed into her. But she still wasn’t sure of the who or the how - or the why, really.

But what Amy could be sure of, as her mind slowly began to focus on what was directly in front of her, was that she was currently looking into the most expressive pair of eyes she’d ever seen in her life. Coupled with a prominent nose, strong jawline and tousled brown hair - it’s messy curls almost begging to be toyed with - the sight was distracting, to say the least.

There’s a dull sound in the back of her mind, a soft baritone that she doesn’t recognise, and as her brows knit with focus Amy realises that the beautiful stranger above her is talking. Tearing her attention away from the warm gaze in front of her, Amy shakes her head in obvious confusion. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Are you okay?”

It’s a simple question - one that should come with its own simple response. She thinks she’s okay - her breath is a little shaky from the shock, and her ankle is throbbing a little from the thwack of what she suspects might be roller skate wheels against her skin, but nothing feels broken. Her voice seems to be coming and going as it pleases, though, and Amy doesn’t quite trust herself to speak more than a few words, and so she gives a feeble nod.

With a relieved sigh the man shifts, moving to sit slightly upright on the grass next to her. “I’m so sorry about that. I called out as loudly as I could, but I don’t think you could hear me until it was too late.” Shaking his head, he gestures down towards his feet, and Amy lifts her head just a little, taking in what she had correctly suspected - a pair of roller skates, strapped to his feet with bright pink and yellow laces.

Clearing her throat, Amy slowly props herself up onto one elbow, angling herself towards her assailant. Her heart still felt like it was beating a little erratically, but no longer seemed to be lodged in her throat, and so she tries speaking something more than just a few words. “I heard …something, but you’re right. It was definitely too late. Maybe a little of ‘I can’t stop’?”

The man nods, changing the motion to a shake immediately after as he reaches down and begins yanking the laces undone. “There are literally no brakes on them. Man, I am truly terrible at this. I haven’t done it in years, and I guess some skills just don’t stay with you over time.”

“Unca Jaaake!” A tiny voice appears, seemingly from nowhere, and Amy props herself up onto both elbows to gain a better view. Skating effortlessly towards them was a young girl, no more than six years old, with soft red hair and a bright smile. Bending her toe towards the sidewalk as she nears Amy and the stranger (Unca Jake seems like a pretty good guess), she comes to a smooth stop in front of them. “You went off so fast! I couldn’t keep up. Isn’t this FUN?!”

“TOTALLY fun, Iggy! So much so that I swept this woman off her feet with all my awesomeness.” Wincing, he looks back over at Amy. “I really am sorry, Miss …?”

Smiling, Amy shifts herself into a half-sitting position before offering a hand to shake. “Santiago. Amy Santiago.”

His hand feels warm against hers, covering her palm with his gentle grip as he responds politely. “Jake Peralta. Or ‘Unca Jake’, as this one likes to call me.” Returning his attention towards the skates, he yanks each one off of his feet with a triumphant shout. “She and I thought it would be a great idea to go skating in the park. Obviously, a better decision for one more than the other.”

Looking up, Amy watches with a grin as the girl in front of them launches into a series of twirls, holding both arms out in the kind of carefree manner that only a happy child can do. “Yeah. I hate to break this to you, but I think she might be a slightly better skater than you.”

“Oh my god, what did you break this time?!” A new, definitely more mature voice cuts into their conversation, and from beside her Jake sighs.

“She didn’t break anything, Gina. This was all me.”

A tall redhead screeches to a stop in front of the two of them, one hand reaching out to adjust the strap on her elbow guard as she throws Jake a withering stare. Her eyes flit over towards Amy, her calculated glare making Amy feel oddly self-conscious, and with a roll of her eyes she returns her attention back to the man beside her. “I’m not talking about Iggy, you doofus. I know it wasn’t her - my girl can glide like an angel. Clearly, if anybody was going to break anything today, it was you.”

“Wish somebody had thought to tell me that,” Jake mutters, balling his hand into a fist and pushing it into the grass as he lifts himself up. Once standing he turns towards Amy, offering her his hand, and she accepts with a smile. His hand really did feel nice and welcoming.

“So you’re just going around knocking down strangers now, huh?”

“You know it was an accident, Gina. I’m just thankful that nobody ended up hurt. This is Amy, by the way.” He gestures towards Amy, and she waves at the redhead in response. “The lovely woman who was innocently walking through the park before I appeared out of nowhere and bowled her over.”

Reaching out her hand, Amy takes a step towards the other woman before stopping in her tracks with a sharp intake of breath. “Ouch!”

Jake is front of her in an instant, reaching out a comforting hand and resting it on her upper arm for support. “Whoa, did I hurt you after all?”

Using her free hand to shield her eyes from the sun, Amy looks at the man in front of her, once again picking up on the obvious concern in his eyes. She gives her ankle a little test wriggle, grimacing slightly as it throbs again in protest. It’s definitely angry; but she can still move her foot without impediment, and so she shakes her head, offering Jake a comforting smile. “No, I think my ankle’s just a little irritated, post-skate attack. Nothing a little ice and elevation can’t fix.”

His hand remains on her upper arm - a fact that Amy is becoming increasingly aware of - and Jake’s eyes watch her carefully as she gives him a friendly shrug. “Are you sure?”

“Moooooom … I’m bored!”

“Me too, Iggs. Me too.”

Holding back a laugh, Amy nods. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Reluctantly Jake pulls away, throwing a quick glare in his friend’s direction before returning his attention to Amy, patting the pockets of his jeans. “Okay, uh … look. I’m a doctor.” Fishing a card out of his back pocket, he smooths the worn edges before handing it to Amy. “If you start to feel worse at any point in the next 24 hours, I want you to call me, okay? Any time, day or night.”

Plucking the card from his outstretched hand, Amy reads the inscription with surprise. Jake Peralta: Oncologist. Who knew her routine walk would ever be interrupted by a roller skating oncologist? She grins, holding back a giggle as she looks back up at the man in front of her. “Okay. I’m pretty sure I’m fine, but … thank you.”

“Day or night. You could have a concussion, or bruised ribs … I’d hate to have you hurting. So, you know. Call me if you are.”

Amy nods, bidding her goodbyes as she slowly begins to step back, snatching up her sunglasses and trying her very best not to limp in any obvious way as she goes. “Will do. Thanks for the card, and … hope you get better at roller skating.”

Jake’s blindingly bright grin is the last thing Amy sees before she turns around, missing his raised hand’s departing wave as she begins to make her way home. It was ridiculous, but part of her couldn’t help but notice the tiny butterflies that began fluttering through her stomach the moment that man had smiled at her. Not to mention the way his hand had felt so perfectly warm against her own.

Or his kind eyes that seemed to absorb everything she said, when really she hadn’t had much to say at all.

Shaking her head, Amy digs her house key out from its hidden pocket in her leggings, unlocking her front door and heading straight to the kitchen for an ice pack and a glass of wine (in that order). It made absolutely zero sense, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had just developed a massive crush on an absolute stranger.

And she had no idea what she was going to do about it.

As it turns out, a few glasses of wine with your ankle propped up on the couch gives a normally shy woman a certain amount of courage; and so later that very night Amy sent a polite thank you text to the number on Jake’s business card. (She is, after all, a massive advocate for thank you notes - or any kind of well-mannered correspondence, for that matter.)

Responding within minutes, Jake is obvious in his relief: thankful that he hadn’t left her completely damaged after his horrible attempt to keep up with a six year old.

I honestly would have felt like the worst person ever, his text read, and Amy smiled at his candour. Her thumb is still hovering over the keyboard, trying to figure out a casual way to keep the conversation going (even though it has only just begun, she really doesn’t want it to end just yet) when her phone vibrates again in her hand - this time with a photo of Jake on the ground, obviously having fallen again on his way home. She’s replying with the laughing emoji before she can stop herself, and when he responds with a facepalm and a longwinded description of just how he managed to stack it on the concrete path near his house, Amy gets that warm feeling all over again - like they’ve known each other for way longer than just half a day.

Before she knows it, over half an hour has passed, and her phone has had a steady run of Dr Peralta messages the entire time. Her eyes are still sparkling from all the laughter when the texts seem to pause for a minute or two, and with her heart leaping out of her chest Amy reads his latest message - a shy fragment of sentences, asking her to dinner the following evening.

It’s all she can do not to respond with a oh gosh yes! - choosing instead to type out a less manic version of I’d love to, adding in the blushing emoji and ignoring the throb in her ankle as she begins a happy celebratory dance in her living room.

It’s hard to explain, this feeling she gets whenever they speak, but Amy has the strongest instinct that this could be the start of something amazing.

Jake sits across from her the following evening, the nerves obvious on his face as he fidgets with the napkin on the table, and Amy would like to say she’s faring a little better, but she definitely isn’t.

Smoothing her hands against the red dress she’s had hanging in her cupboard for months now - waiting for just the right occasion for it’s debut - Amy wills her legs to stop bouncing with restless energy as she waits for the waiter to finish taking their order. There’s a glass of white wine to both of their lefts, and while part of her is dying to empty the glass right away, there’s another part that wishes they had just ordered a bunch of shots instead. According to her oldest friend Kylie, her reactions seem to vary dependent on the amount she consumes, but there’s something to be said for the influx of Liquid Courage.

He’d told her she was beautiful when they’d met outside the restaurant earlier, his eyes so wide and sincere that all of the first date jitters that had been simmering in Amy’s stomach on the walk over had immediately turned into an inferno. Had held the door open for her, giving her a gentle smile as she passed him by, and when she caught a whiff of the same cologne she’d noticed the day before, her heart had skipped a tiny beat.

It was ridiculous, this pull she felt towards somebody that had literally been a stranger two days ago, but Amy wasn’t even slightly interested in stopping it.

Handing over his menu to the waiter as he departs, Jake flickers his gaze in Amy’s direction, raising his eyebrows slightly when he notices Amy is already looking his way. His hesitation is obvious as his nerves get the better of him, opening his mouth before closing it just as quickly, and Amy - the woman who has attended more Toastmaster courses than most - decides to pull him out of the deep end.

“So … you’re an oncologist?”

He nods, a tiny smile of relief growing on his face. “Yeah. I’m based at Brooklyn Methodist most of the week, and every other Friday I do a little pro-bono work for community health.”

She nods, already invested in hearing more. There was a handsome man sitting across from her in a pale grey shirt, a dark grey blazer and a smile that rivalled the lamp on every table for brightness. He could start reading from the paper, and she’d be invested. “That’s an interesting field to go into. What led you down that path?”

Amy watches as the slightest tinge of pink begins to creep over his cheeks, and damn it if it isn’t incredibly endearing. He hesitates for a moment, eventually raising his hand in a half-dismissive wave. “You know, it’s a really long story.”

She waits, cocking her head slightly to the side, and after a minute Jake breaks out into a grin.

“Okay, fine. It was just me and my Mom growing up, and she was working two or three jobs to pay bills and whatever, so a lot of the time I would stay at my Nan’s until I was old enough to stay on my own. We got really close, because my Nan was awesome, and when I was in my sophomore year of high school she got really sick.” His face falls slightly, and he reaches for the glass of wine to his right. Letting the wine trickle down his throat, Jake studies the glass a little more than necessary, and when he finally turns his attention back to Amy the look on his face makes everything else in the restaurant turn dim. “We couldn’t afford a lot, but we went to so many doctors, trying to find answers, ya know? And nobody seemed to be able to help.”

Amy’s hand seems to move of its own accord, reaching across the table to rest against Jake’s wrist before she even realises what’s happening. His eyes flickers down to her touch before returning to her eyes, and the softness of his gaze only makes her squeeze gently in silent encouragement.

“And … you know, this was a time before Google made everyone doctors, or even a reference point like WebMD, so it wasn’t too long before I found myself down at the local library - literally any chance I could get - just reading and studying and …. I dunno, trying to figure out what I could do to save her. I was just completely in the zone. Honestly, the library lady thought that I had been possessed by some other kid.” Rolling his eyes, he gives a little shrug. “They weren’t entirely wrong, if I’m being honest. I simply couldn’t bear the thought of sitting back and just … waiting for this thing to destroy somebody I loved.”

Nodding slowly, Amy leans forward and uses the leverage to start a soothing stroke up and down her date’s forearm. This is far more contact than she would normally offer on a first date - heck, maybe even more than a second date - but she cannot ignore this instinctual need she has to comfort the man across from her.

Out of the corner of her eye she notices their waiter walking towards them, bottle of wine in hand ready for the pour, and she gives him a subtle shake of her head. There was a story to tell here - she could see it in Jake’s eyes - and even though she’s fairly certain she knows where it’s going, she has no interest in rushing him through it.

Bringing his right hand up to the table, Jake fiddles with his dessert spoon, tracing the smooth outside edge with his thumb as a distraction. “Anyway. Despite all my hopes of becoming some kind of overnight Doogie Howser, things just kept getting worse for Nan, and … yeah. Too little, too late.” Scooping the arm of the utensil up with his fingers, he flips it over a few times, keeping his eyes locked on the flashes of metal against the beige tablecloth.

Taking a deep breath Amy stills her hand on Jake’s arm, waiting until he’s looking back at her before continuing. “I’m really sorry to hear that, Jake.”

He smiles, an action that barely meets his eyes, his face so soft it makes her heart ache. “Thanks, Amy.” His hand stills, foregoing the spoon to scratch an itch along his jawline. “Anyway, by the time all that happened I was like … two months away from graduating school, and medicine had pretty much become the only thing I knew. Add that to a surprisingly good SAT score, and next thing I knew I was on my way to medical school. Broke as hell, studying during the day and working through the night, but … what little inheritance we’d gotten from Nan, my mom insisted it go towards my education, and I was not going to waste that opportunity.”

Chewing slightly on her lower lip, Amy studies the man in front of her. “I think it’s amazing that you’re able to help so many people now, Jake.” He shrugs, and she continues. “No, really. It takes a special kind of soul to be able to take the pain and make it into something stronger.”

“I mean, it’s not all perfect. I’m still paying off the tuition fees, to this day. My da- someone was going to help me with it, but that’s a whole other story.” He sighs, pursing his lips slightly before continuing. “In saying that, I’ve think I’ve been able to help a decent amount of people. And Gina - the woman I was skating with yesterday? - she’s been my friend since childhood; and now she’s my administrative assistant. She has a surprisingly great way of sensing what my patients want to hear while they’re waiting for their appointment, and just provides the perfect distraction every time. So yeah, I think it’s turned out kinda okay.” The table falls silent for a moment, and just as Amy is about to break the hush, Jake blinks rapidly, shaking his head. “God, I’m sorry. I just blurted out like … half of my life story to you. I don’t even know where that came from, I’m so sorry.”

Tightening her grip on Jake’s arm, Amy shakes her head quickly. “No, please don’t apologise. I really loved hearing about it.” Slowly, she began to pull her hand away. “And for what it’s worth, I bet your Nan would have been really proud of you.”

Watching as the blush returns to his cheeks, Amy takes a deep breath in as Jake’s smile begins to return. He nods, his voice suddenly a lot softer. “Yeah, she definitely would be.”

Glancing around the room, his hand runs down the middle of his dress shirt, fingertips skimming over the pale coloured buttons as he gives Amy a sly grin. “I should probably confess something, though. I was really, really glad when you texted me to say you were feeling okay - and not just in the ‘thank god I didn’t break a stranger’s ankle’ kind of way.”

“Oh?”

Jake’s still-fidgety right hand runs through the back of his hair, his expression turning sheepish. “Yeah. I mean, obviously I would have had you come in right away, strapped up your foot or whatever, but … it also would have meant that you’d have become my patient.” He pauses to swallow, rubbing the underside of his ear. “And if you were my patient, I technically wouldn’t have been allowed to ask you out, and that’s just … I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’m really happy that we were able to do this.”

The tip of Amy’s ears begin to heat up and she ducks her head slightly, quickly tucking her hair back before looking back up at Jake with a smile. “Me too, Jake.”

Grinning, Jake’s teeth dig slightly into his bottom lip, and he nods. “Anyway. Enough about me. I’m dying to know more about you. What do you, when you’re not getting barrelled down by lunatic doctors in open fields?”

Chuckling at her date’s description of yesterday afternoon, Amy sits up slightly as she answers proudly - “I’m in the NYPD. A detective, actually.”

“No way! That’s so badass. I bet you kick butt.” Jake’s eyes light up, and he leans in closer, arms brushing against the edge of the table as they are relegated to his lap. “Die Hard was not-so-secretly my favourite movie growing up, and for the longest time I was certain I was going to be a cop just like John McClane.”

Amy nods in understanding. At least two of her brothers counted Die Hard as one of their all-time favourites, and she has spent many an evening stuck on the couch, watching the action thriller. “Ah, I see. Well … I’m sorry to tell you this, but I haven’t once jumped off the roof of a burning building. Or climbed through ventilation ducts to save a bunch of hostages from certain death.”

“Yet. You haven’t jumped off the roof of a burning building, yet.”

She laughs. “You’re right. My mistake. I’ll be sure to call you when I do.”

He beams. “I hope you do.”

To the approaching waiter they must have looked particularly odd - the two of them sitting in total silence as they smiled at each other from across the table - but Amy genuinely cannot remember ever feeling as comfortable on her first date as she does right now.

Their easy conversation rolls on throughout their meals, ranging from stories about Amy’s most memorable collars to the patients that Jake has never been able to forget, and Amy is halfway through a story about which brother gave her the scar on her right elbow when the waiter reappears, quietly letting them know that several hours have passed and the restaurant was now ready to close.

She’s still blushing slightly as Jake pays the bill, smiling apologetically at the staff as her date holds out her coat. In the blink of an eye, they had managed to spend the entire night talking, and yet somehow she still wanted to know more.

Jake’s touch feels light against the small of her back as he leads them towards the exit, and as they step out into the night Amy leans her head back to take in the peppered light of the stars above. She’s never been one to believe in fate, but maybe when it came to this, she needed to make an exception.

His hand reaches for hers after the third or fourth block, and as they walk together Amy begins to realise that of all the years she’s spent as a detective solving puzzles, she’d never actually found her own missing piece - and maybe, just maybe, the sweet and charming man beside her was going to be the perfect fit.

They walk for longer than either of them intended, the stories from earlier in the evening picking up as though they were never interrupted, and when they finally end up outside Amy’s apartment she cannot hide the sadness that begins to wash over her.

He kisses her goodnight, and it’s the kind of kiss that begins so soft and delicate, before turning into so much more … even though she knows it’s impossible, Amy swears she can hear the fireworks sparking above them. His arms keep her close to his chest as they both lean in for another, the pounding beat of both of their hearts fighting through the fabric of their coats, and when he finally bids her goodbye, Amy knows that already she is falling, falling, falling.

By the end of the following week, there have been two more dates (and perhaps one sleepover), and in a few years time Gina will tell an entirely different version of how they met to their family and friends at their wedding reception.

It will be a couple more years before their family begins to expand; but as they grow, Amy is always happy to remind their children that her knight in shining armour turned out to be a doctor with ill-fitting skates - and that sometimes, you just have to let your future crash into you.

(And when the time comes to actually teach their kids how to roller skate, maybe Amy chooses to do it on a day when her husband is already tied up with work.)

#my writing #peraltiagoau #grand plans of having this ready by your bday fell victim to Time #consider this a belated gift haha #I hope you enjoy!#b99fanfic #b99au #jake x amy fic #b99fic

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sonichkkaaascreams · 3 years

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Mountain with a Flower Crown (chapter 1)

Just a super long one shot that is broken into a bunch of parts

Zaraki Kenapchi X OC Yamase Yasu

wordcount: 3090~

this is the fist part instalation of Mountain With A Flower Crown. this was inspire by post made by @bleachhaven and @shadowsnlace who both made posts regarding Kenpachi and an S/O who is larger than him. I use their headcanons as inspirational sparks to my own greedy little imagination.

Kenpachi may seem a little off but eh, what can I do about it. it just happened. also the starting point of this oneshot came to me in a hormonal fever dream. this is gonna be a super fudging long thing. i think it may be a very well around 6 to 8 chapters knock on wood to keep up my writing mojou.

enjoy ;) and please let me know what you think. XP

Yamase Yasu prided herself on being an early riser. She had practiced the discipline of waking up before sunrise to another day of hard work no matter how tired she may be from an early age. As such, her current circumstances were less than ideal.

She was not only awake, forced to endure the bright rays of the sun right in her eyes and listen to the damned feathery monsters sing annoyingly but also she was required to stay still and not move an inch.

Unlike her, her beloved spouse was sound asleep free from all the worries of office work. She greatly envied the man’s ability to not only sleep through the annoying chirping of birds but also all the way through the morning to evening regardless of the loud ruckus his squad members made. The only thing that would make him open his eyes was if she moved about. Witch is why despite her dire need to get up, stretch, make breakfast for an entire squadron of men who can’t take care of themselves properly and go to her own squad office to work; she was laying on their futon and fighting the urge to coo at the slumbering beast.

Contrary to the common belief of those who shared a futon or a roof with Zaraki Kenpachi, he is not by any means a light sleeper. Take away the threat of the man rolling on top of his partners and smothering them to death and the man sleeps like a bear through winter. And that extra layer of peace and ease showed on his face and the way he slept.

For one, he was sprawled on top of her with no care in the world. No matter how neatly or sweetly they sleep he always finds a way to roll over her, using her chest or stomach as his pillow. And so long he didn’t drool on her she wouldn’t mind it. Another sign that he was deep asleep was the light yet deep and rattling snores. And even those were endearing and cute.

This morning however it seemed her spouse was hellbent in testing her patience – witch she was never renowned for – he was not only sleeping with a slighting parted lips, lightly snoring, and had done this absolutely cute thing where he held a fistful of her sleeping Yukata, but also his stupid and unreasonably soft hair was fanned out over her, tickling her skin.

She is only but a mere woman. She is flawed and weak to temptation. Especially one as sweet and divine as this one. Not many would describe the 11th captain of the 11th division who just happens to be the sole successor of Kenpachi Yachiru cute. But at the moment that was the only word she knew of, that could capture his peaceful slumber - And until someone made a better word her husband had to deal with being called so – as mentioned Yamase Yasu as disciplined as she claimed to be, was only a mere woman and of course, she gave in to the divine temptation and ran her fingers in her husband’s hair and feel the silky soft yet soapy dry hair – he refused to use any proper hair product and she had no right to complain since she was no better – running her fingers a little higher she reached his scalp and began to massage his head. Feeling every secret scar that charcoal black mane hid. And taking inventory of the one or two gray hair she would find.

“hmmm.” The rumbling groan of his dry throat rattled her bones and resonated in her skull. How she truly found his voice calming. “you’re awake.”

“Sorry I woke you up. I couldn’t resist.” Her voice equally cracked and dry was louder and clearer than his own. Zaraki Kenpachi refused to admit that even after 100 years of married life, her voice still made his heart race.

“I’m not complaining.”

With a grunt, he pushed himself up and pulled himself up towards her face. His unkempt mane falling around them like a curtain of privacy against the prying eyes of the sun and those birds – that Yasu, who also prided herself on being ‘peaceful’ wanted to kill one by one if they didn’t shut up and let her listen to Kenpachi’s voice and NOTHING else – it was a solid minute or two of them just staring at each other and by any bystanders, it was not only unromantic but also rather unsettling to have the beastly captain Zaraki stare at them for long periods. Usually, a glance was enough to make grown men lose control of their bladers. For this fated pair, however, this was a ritualistic habit of cataloging every scar and wrinkle the other had gained.

The small scars on her face, the slightly chipped and torn lip, the small scar and the smaller bald patch it had resulted, a barely visible scar on her eyebrow, the shallow wrinkles around her eyes resulted by squinting at the sun, and the visible laugh line, the small blue veins he could see if he paid attention and the way every muscle twitched.

“it’s a bit late for you to be still in bed.” He stated matter of factly in a way that only she would realize what it meant. It’s a bit late for you to still be in bed meant: did you sleep in again because you didn’t want to wake me up. And only she knew his matter-of-fact tone was not an observation or a statement but a self-condemnation.

“why captain Zaraki! You think me so cruel that I would up and leave my beloved husband cold in the morning to go to work? Without saying good morning?”

His grunt made evident that her teasing was effective. With a smile she continued to tease as she wrapped her iron grip around his waist and slide a finger on the arch of his back – she couldn’t bring herself to call anything on this man small even to describe the small of his back – “you’re not just a warm body my dear. I love to wake up to see you still asleep so peacefully. You look so cute I want to eat you up.” She giggled. The Mountain woman of Gotei, in all her 8’8 glory, giggled. “I love it when I get to run my hands in your soft hair and take in your scent and have your head in the crook of my ne-AAHH…” her insufferable cooing was brought to an abrupt end when the strongest Kenpachi hit her in the face with a pillow. Using her initial shock as a distraction he rolled off of her and buried his face in the pillow to cover the ever-growing deep blush that dusted his face. It wasn’t a feminine blush rather it was a dark, red almost brownish. And he was not cute. By gods, he was NoT CuTe. AT ALL. HE WAS THE CAPTAIN OF SQUAD 11 AND HE WAS NOT CUTE GODDAMIT. Well, at least he’s not cute as far as anyone else is concerned.

Laughing loudly she rolled and embraced her husband in her arms, after 100 years of marriage and 50 more years of knowing the woman beforehand, it still amazes him how easily he is held in her arms. How well fitted his face is in her neck and how safe it all feels. Like he's a scrawny child all over again back in Zaraki woods but this time he’s safe and he doesn’t have to sleep with one eye open or dig himself a hole under a tree for warmth, hell he doesn’t even need to hug his sword for safety and safekeeping. No, he can just sleep, or rest, or just lean in the warm embrace and drown himself in the scent of sea salt, peaches and ink. Completely safe and loved. He’d never tell her that, no, he’ll take it to his grave and beyond. But he doesn’t need to. She doesn’t need him to. The simple soft hum that rumbles in his chest and the long, deep exhale on her throat says more than enough.

“you’d think after this long of a time, you’d be used to my pampering chi-chi.” She cooed at him barring her nose in his hair. She loved how he always smelled so distinctly him. Just him. Nothing ever changed his scent. His sweat, his stupid cheap dry soap – that she also used because she is too busy to use the shampoo and hair conditioner and all the other dumb things lieutenant Matsumoto gives her every year for her birthday – and woods, the special pine woods only found in Zaraki. He always smells of those. And if he comes back from missions, blood. The metallic rusty smell of blood that always compelled her to ask for a full day off from her captain immediately to attend to her… private needs with her husband.

“Unfortunately, love of my life, you are awake which means I have no excuse to stay in bed any longer. And if you and the boys want breakfast I better shake a leg.” She hummed as she left chaste kisses over his face.

“Fuck them, the bastards can go eat shit for all I care.” He snarled. How dare they and their needs take his wife from his bed?

“Honey, you need breakfast as well.”

“No I don’t.” he – dare she say the word? – whined like a bratty child and gripped at her even harder. It wasn’t even a sexual groping, he just really really wanted the warm embrace to last longer. But from past experiences she knew if she catered to him any longer she would most likely not leave this room for about another years or so. And so as the sensible wife of the squad 11 she wiggled into a comfortable position and willed herself to her feet. Her 2 feet shorter husband refusing to let go, hung from her neck.

“chi-chi, light of my life please don’t swing from my neck.” She lovingly stroked his back and hair beckoning him to be a little more mature. Earning a guttural, loud, ground shaking, ear-piercing growl as he tightened his equally iron grip. “ at least wrap your legs around my waist so I wouldn’t trip and fall on you. you wouldn’t want to explain to Isane-Chan WHY you have a broken arm early in the morning again…. Right?

Given the choice of letting go of his precious peach-scented giantess and holding on to her like a monkey’s babe, you’d think the strongest Kenpachi would hold on to his dignity and let go. But no.

The man had gone nearly 800 something years of his life touch starved with no real understanding of affection, the moment his beloved Yasu had begun to shower him with it his mind was simply blown. ‘Is this why Yachiru always hung off of his shoulder everywhere? Is this why she always ran to his arms like a crazed boar?’ because that’s what he wants to do with her.

“She can keep her mouth shut.” He says taking in another breath full of sea salt and peaches. But finally, lets her go. It’s been 100 years for them and he knows she gets annoyed when she can’t go to her office on time. But he can sure make it difficult for her as he is still very much salty that she chose squad 10 over his own. “the hell you chose the Lil' brat over meh?” he had thrashed and at one point picked a fight with everyone from squad 10 – the captain in question, the Lil' brat. Refused to indulge her suiter at the time. – “you coming home earlier today? for lunch I mean.”

Home. Another thing that made her heart flutter and bounces about like a lamb, is Kenpachi referring to squad 11 barracks as home. He had only started calling the place their HOME about 30 years into their marriage and Yasu firmly believed to this day he doesn’t realize he started doing so and if she pointed it out he would instantly stop.

“Ahh, no. I promised to go to this new ramen stand that’s opened recently with Momo and others.” She smiled apologetically as she followed him to the adjoined captain’s bathroom. Kenpachi fast to strip to wash off before entering the basin of warm water and Yasu, who hated showering in the morning simply brushed her rust-colored crow’s nest, braiding the gray strands and adding her handmade decorations. Smiling at the second set of decorations that belonged to her beloved. They were much simpler and significantly less intricate than hers – just a few sharp wolf teeth and hawk feathers and one or two polished stones kept for special occasions such as date nights – which was just a stroll and wrestle in the woods and sex in the wilds night – and birthdays – the same as date nights but less walking, more sex and a lot steamier plus a gift is given as well –

“I should seriously get going love, I won't be home for lunch but I’ll try to be home for dinner earlier so we can wrestle.” She smiled her big kind stupidly beautiful smile that made Kenpachi avert his eyes to avoid another humiliating blushing event. And he would have succeeded if Yamase Yasu, the mountain of squad 10 hadn’t bent down – he still can’t wrap his braid around the fact that she has to bend down for him – and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.

He deemed himself lucky that she left and didn’t see how that simple cherishing act turned his whole being into mush. And also very unlucky because now that she had departed for the barracks kitchen, he was left alone to deal with the aftermath of looking at her swaying hips in a thin, light white Yukata. As a married man, he should not have to deal with this predicament alone, however, he realized soon after actually living with Yasu under the same roof that, being an obstacle between her and her career is a fool's errand and it’s best if she is left to manage her time and duties herself. In fact, he begrudgingly admits, their afternoon wrestling is far more enjoyable than any morning quicky he could convince her into.

On the other side of the barracks, newly dressed in formal black Shikaushou, Ymase Yasu was already in the middle of preparing breakfast for her hundreds of beloved morons. Ymichika, being an early riser himself was also present. Having retired from his morning shower he was enjoying a cup of tea as he helped Yasu warm up her habitual – albeit horrid and unsightly – blood milk. “you don’t have to help you know. I can manage myself.” She would politely say, which was her way of saying ‘please get out of my way.’ She had already stepped on his poor dainty feet and her mobility was further reduced by being careful not to barrel into the small, dainty fellow. “I know. I want to help dear. You don’t let me take care of your hair so I thought I’d do something else.”

Oh, god. Please no. “ Yumichika, dear, I already told you, I don’t care for hair. It’s fine as it is. And you don’t need to help me in the kitchen.”

“what she really means is that you’re small and get in her way. Stay around and she might accidentally step on ya like a bug.” Madarame Ikkaku, her husband's lieutenant and right-hand man – and in her personal opinion, the closest thing Kenpachi has to an actual friend. – may be rude and insufferable with absolute no table manners but she could always rely on him to tell the mean things she didn’t want to say.

“that’s one way of putting it.” She smiled, offering him a full plate of the most protein-filled breakfast a man could ever dream of. “I put extra spinach, berries, and eggs for you; I hear it’s good for hair growth.” She adoringly said as she patted the lieutenant's shoulder. Making Ikkaku break his chop-sticks. Oh, how he wished he could kick her ass. Unfortunately, his captain would kill him if he so much as looked at her with ill intent. – something about her not partaking in violence witch was dumb, he’d seen the way they ‘wrestle’ once by complete accident and the image that’s unfortunately burned in his mind is nothing if not violent and he hears things. Violent-sounding things. How is she not into violence when she married him?- he shouldn’t think about his captain’s wife that way, he tells himself. And instead says:” I’m not bald…my head is shaved.” A vein popping on his head.

“I didn’t say you were.” She deadpans causing Yumichika to snort into his tea. “just because I’ve never seen you shave your head, or your hair to grow out – even after spending time on missions or never seen you in possession of a single strand of hair – anywhere – doesn’t mean I said you’re bald.”

Ikkaku Madarame respects his captain greatly. Sometimes, however, he thinks he married a devious demon.

“you take that back you damn Yama-Oni.” He cries out attempting to draw out his sword but is held back by Yumichika who is using his mastery over his eyebrows to tell Yasu to ‘please don’t bully him.’

“mountain- demon? Now that’s a new insult. I should write this one down.” She happily sings out as she prepares the last bits of breakfast and proceeds to ring the bells of the kitchen. Informing the squad that their breakfast is now served.

Yamase Yasu is an eternal pain in Ikkaku madarame's behind, but he admits if it weren’t for her food that this squad would have A) starved to death and B) would have slept till evening. She managed to convince them to get up early and to eat a healthy diet. What was it that Yumichika had said? Something about a woman’s touch? The berries are too tasty for him to care for anything else.

And as she is about to leave to her own squad, to the one she actually works at, the members of the loudest, rudest, nastiest squad in Gotei all bow and thank Yamase-san. And the new ones who are still shy around the giantess bow and thank their ‘Oujou-sama’ which makes him want to laugh.

Yeah…a woman’s touch. Or something.

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like-the-wings-of-butterflies · 4 years

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This Moment In Time (Racetrack Higgins x Reader)

Summary: Upon moving into your first apartment with Race, you’re reminded of the moments that led you to where you are

Warnings: Some mild angst quickly followed by sweet sweet fluff because I’m an absolute sucker for it

Word Count: 2,244 (this is longer then any of my usual stuff wtf)

A/N: I KNOW I’M A QUEEN BLOG BUT I NEEDED TO WRITE THIS AND DIDN’T FEEL LIKE SETTING UP ANOTHER BLOG TO POST IT SO ENJOY SOME OF MY OTHER FANDOM NONSENSE

A.K.A - I rewatched Newsies for the upteenth time (god bless you disney +) and it sparked an idea which is only a tiny little bit self indulgent

Feedback and comments are always appreciated! ♡

“So this is it.” You breathed into the darkened room, a smile dancing on your lips.

Race placed the burning candle in the centre of the one room apartment before rising to his feet again and grasping hold of your hand. The gentle flickering glow revealed that the small apartment. It was neglected to say the least, paint peeling from the walls, dust-encased windows and the odd squeaking floorboard; certainly a step up from the lodging house however. “I know it ain’t what we were dreamin’ of, not even close, but it’s-“

“It’s got a roof and it’s got you,” You finished for him, squeezing his hand in assurance with an honest smile despite him barely being able to see through the darkness. “It’s perfect. Nothin’ a bit of cleanin’ won’t fix.”

Truly, you couldn’t help but fall for the mess that was Racetrack Higgins. When you first showed up on the doorstep of the lodging house at the age of 13, it was Race that volunteered to take you under his wing and teach you the fine art that was selling newspapers. Staying as his selling partner permanently wasn’t exactly part of the plan, either was becoming one another’s best friend, but the pair of you couldn’t imagine selling with anyone else; having grown too accustomed to each other’s company.

He’d always flirt with you - as he would with every other person who’d give him the time of day— flattering you with compliments and cheesy pick up lines at every opportunity. You’d flirt back of course, not being able to resist the handsome blonde’s charm, but at the cost of catching feelings; no matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise, a childhood crush steadily emerged, turning the heads of the other newsboys.

But as the years progressed, you both matured into young adults. Your experiences bringing you closer together as you grew fonder of one another day by day.

Never in your entire life did you think you’d be living anywhere else but the crumbling walls of the lodging house or in one of New York’s damp alleyways. Yet here you were, hand-in-hand with your fiancé, settling into your first home together. Many were shocked that you were engaged at such a young age, but neither of you could truly see yourselves without the other in your life. Now too old to live in the lodging house, Race ironically managed to find work operating printing presses, and you as a server at Jacobi’s. In a unlikely twist of fate, you managed to earn enough money to move into the small apartment and support yourselves, all while keeping a close eye on the other Newsies.

“Should we check out the penthouse?” Race grinned ear to ear, running to the window upon your nod. He wrestled with the frame for moment before it opened with a satisfying ‘crack’ that echoed through the apartment, before stepping out onto the fire escape.

“M’lady~“ Race offered his outstretched hand with a charming smile, helping you step onto the raised surface. Your breath hitched as you saw the landscape in your surrounds. You were about four floors up which made the view expansive, and you suddenly became keenly aware of how many beautiful sunrises you’d be able to watch from your current position. You’d been in Jack’s penthouse on a couple occasions, but never just to sit and admire the view.

“How the hell did we make it here Racer?” You breathed in awe as you watched lights and lampposts decorate the otherwise dull streets of New York, like little stars in a blackened sky.

Race wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into a sweet embrace, your back pressed against his chest and his head resting on your shoulder, “I was just the prettiest Newsie you’s had ever seen and you’s couldn’t help but fall for me,” He teased, pressing a long kiss against the side of your neck as he giggled lightly to himself.

“You don’t think growin’ up or working together our whole lives had anythin’ to do with it?” You jested back, reaching a hand behind you to fiddle with the curls upon his head as you closed your eyes and leaned into his embrace.

“Absolutely not. But the strike?” He mused thoughtfully, “That’s when I realised I loved you.”

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

It was no surprise waking up to Race sitting on the cold floorboards beside your bunk the night after the strike had been announced. Your beds weren’t too far from one another and Race always slept lightly, often being the call of comfort whenever anyone was having nightmares. He gently shook you awake while brushing away the tears that stained your face, smiling lightly once your eyes opened.

“What’s goin’ on Doll?,” He whispered out, careful not to wake the others, “Why you’s havin’ nightmares?”

“I’m scared what we’re doin’ is gonna get us all hurt,” You croaked out into the darkness, doing your best to hold back a sob. “That we’s gonna end up in the Refuge.” Nobody was oblivious to the chances of the strike ending in violence, the stakes were high; you were only a group of kids fighting against one of the most powerful men in New York after all.

Race’s hand stilled on the side of your face, his warm palm flat against your cheek grounding you and bringing you a sense of comfort. He could see in your eyes just how scared you were.

“I’m scared too,” He admitted before pausing, seemingly collecting his thoughts, “But we’s gonna be okay. Jack and Davey are smart, they’s know what they’re doin’.” He vowed, taking hold of one of your hands and rubbing his thumb against your knuckles.

You both sat in silence for quite some time, both too distracted by your thoughts swirling around your heads. As you felt your eyelids growing heavy, you lightly tugged on Race’s arm who brought his eyes up to meet yours.

“Stay with me?” You queried, eyes hopeful.

Without so much as a second thought, he lifted the thin sheet covering your body before sliding into the small bed, his chest pressed against your back, “Anythin’ for you (Y/N).”

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

A few days later, when the bulls attacked, you were an absolute mess; much like the others. In such a short amount of time, your entire world had flipped upside down and everything was shrouded in a new sense of seriousness.

Of the entire group, Davey, Mush, Albert and yourself had come out relatively unscathed - save for a couple bruises - meaning you’d been tasked with patching up the others who weren’t as lucky. You’d just finished tying up Les’ arm into a sling, only as a temporary measure however, just to stop the energetic boy from exercising it too much until he got home. You bargained on the fact that Mrs Jacobs would have a far better fix to his seemingly broken arm, knowing that if worst came to worst, the family could afford a doctor.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” You grinned softly as you walked towards Race in the back corner of the lodging house, shrouding himself in the shadows of the late afternoon sun.

“Ha ha.” He imitated, his usual playful attitude absent as he refused to look in your direction.

Something wasn’t right.

With your bodies facing each other, his legs hung over the edge of the table he was perched on as you remained standing. After a few moments of unmoving silence, you lightly tapped his knee, asking him to move so you could stand between his legs. He complied, but kept his eyes secured to the wall on your right. Slowly, you reached out to cup his jaw with a gentle hand, tilting his face to meet yours. You face fell the instant you saw the extent of his injuries.

His left eye was swollen shut, with hints of black already forming on the delicate skin. His chin was tinged an unforgivable red from where he’d wiped away the blood from his busted lip and damp trails ran from his watery right eye.

He’d been crying.

Your own tears welled up when he looked you in the eye, and you found yourself biting your lip to stop any from falling.

With your other hand, you grasped hold of the brim of his worn hat and placed it on the table beside him, letting the mess of curls fall lose against his face.

“Are you okay?”

He nodded solemnly, bringing a hand up to wipe away at his own tears before resting his head against your chest and wrapping his arms around your back, “You?”

“Just shaken up.” You stated, wasting no time in wrapping your arms around his shoulders and placing your chin upon his head. The pair of you stayed like that for an extended period of time, without anyone questioning you. It was a hard day for everyone, no one needed to make it any harder. After some time, the sun had set and the lodging house was quieter then ever before. You longed to sit down and fall asleep yourself, your legs sore and aching. But you couldn’t bring yourself to disturb the heavy sleeping form of your best friend. The years of denial on your behalf, stating that you hadn’t caught feeling for Race were long forgotten now.

The things you’d do to make that moment last forever.

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

A few days later, you and the other Manhattan Newsies had recovered for the most part. Physically, everyone were well on their way to healing, but emotionally there was still a fair way to go. Crutchie was still in the Refuge and Jack was still missing but everyone had managed to rest up while Davey reassessed the group’s future movements.

While the others sat glumly in Jacobi’s, you’d decided to go for a long stroll around New York to clear your head, musing the thought of visiting Crutchie in the Refuge. He was one of your closest friends, so sweet and so caring with an equally as vibrant personality, the thought of him in such a wretched place brought tears to your eyes.

You’d helped Jack smuggle food and blankets on too many occasions to count; how difficult could it be without him?

Your thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the shout of your name from a long way down the busy street. Race’s figure came into view quickly, his chest was heaving as he sprinted down the cobblestone footpath towards you. Immediately, you panicked, thinking Race had been caught stealing cigars again and the cops were on their way but much to your surprise, he slowed as he neared you. Rather then desperation being painted across his features, his face held joy. Pure, unadulterated joy.

“We’s in the papes (Y/N)!” He gasped out, bending to place his hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

“What are you talkin’ about Race?”

“Katherine got us in the paper!,” He heaved, sweat glistening on his forehead. He pulled the rolled up newspaper from underneath a strap of his suspenders, before unrolling it to the front page and holding it out to you, “Look! That’s us!” He beamed, pointing a finger at the image underneath the headline: ‘NEWSIES STOP THE WORLD’.

In your slight state of shock, you glossed over the story and mentally took note to personally thank Katherine later on.

You actually made it into the papes.

“You’s know what this means?” You queried, your smile transforming into a bright grin as you grabbed hold on Race’s hands, tucking the paper under your arm.

“We’re famous.” He finished for you, his grin matching yours.

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

“Newsies of New York City.” Jack addressed from the top of Newsies Square, Joseph Pulitzer at one side and governor Theodore Roosevelt at the other. It was nice to see him back where he truly belonged, the so-called ‘King of Manhattan’. You could feel your heart beating painfully in your ears as you awaited the news, the anticipation making every second feel longer then what it actually was. Race’s hand was tight in your grasp as you sucked in a final breath, “We won!”

The chorus of cheers that sounded was deafening. It was finally over. After two ruthless and unforgiving weeks of striking, and everything had finally come to a close.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realise you were holding and turned towards Race. Race grabbed your shoulders and pulled you into his chest, laughing and chorusing while you were grinning ear to ear yet entirely speechless.

When he pulled away, you were slightly disappointed with the loss of contact, but when his arms around your body were replaced by his lips against yours, the world melted away. Slow and soft yet fiery and passionate the same time, as unpredictable as Race himself. His hand moved to cup your jaw and draw you closer, your arms finding their way to wrap around his neck.

When you pulled apart, there was stars in both of your eyes.

“I love you (Y/N).”

“I love you too Racetrack.”

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

You sighed lightly at the fond memories, feeling incredibly grateful for all that had happened in order to bring you to where you were.

“We’s really made it huh?”

Race briefly chuckled into your shoulder, before raising his head and placing another long kiss against your neck, “We’s really made it.”

#newsies x reader #racetrack higgins x reader #race x reader #newsies race x reader #newsies #jack kelly #davey jacobs #jack kelly x reader #davey jacobs x reader #x reader #fluff #fanfiction #fanfic #writers on tumblr

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imagineclaireandjamie · 5 years

Note

Whatever happened to missclairebelle’s Queen Claire in HRH?? Will she be updating soon? 🤞🏻🤞🏻🤞🏻

Her Royal Highness (H.R.H.)Part XIX: Visitor

Between Friday night and Saturday afternoon, James Fraser missed seventeen phone calls from his sister (frantic, desperate attempts at communication in which she shouted at the unanswered line and hissed when the operator explained there had not been an answer).

During the first missed call, he was splitting a pot of yogurt in bed with Claire. They talked about this and that (anything other than a plan for going public, or what would happen if they were caught). Honey-sticky and berry-sweet, the pair shared their tastes in television (he had a soft spot for The Ed Sullivan Show; the Queen was apparently also a fan), books (her latest read was Rebecca, each page using sneakily embezzled time that formally belonged to the Queen’s official tour obligations; she had begrudgingly admitted that Frank had picked it for her; Jamie’s had been The Lord of the Rings, a choice to encourage the insatiable literary conquests of his young nephew), and food (her favorite meal was Sunday roast with ice-cold milk, which he found no small pleasure in teasing her over; his a smoky Cullen skink made by his sister using a method – “no’ a recipe, thank ye kindly” – that had been passed down through his paternal great-grandmother and the mere mention of which made his eyes go foggy).

Against the incessant trill of ringing in her ear, Jenny Murray attempted to breathe while sinking her fingernails into the soft mound of her palm.

During the second missed call, each of James Fraser’s five senses were engaged in a slow, methodical torture of the woman he loved.

Touch – fingers grazing the blushed flesh of Claire’s milk-and-honey thighs (the unrestrained electric sensation of being touched by her own small hands making him question his understanding of the concept of physical connection).

Sight -– a gateway to a memorization exercise that he had long ago completed (the uninterrupted line of her navel and sternum and throat and the underside of her chin as it tipped up up up towards the ceiling).

Hearing – the muffled, keening noise from deep in her belly, her lungs, her throat a white noise trapped in the jail of her thighs (a maestro’s score written to the ebbs and flows of the love they shared).

Scent – his nose filled with the tang of her, the sweat that gathered along her hipbone, rolled towards her thigh and coated his upper lip (her perfume had long faded, going a subdued floral along the bridge of her clavicles).

Taste – his tongue… well that was occupied (sweet cream, summer rain, and a hint of clover’s bright spring musk maybe).

Slamming the phone down with a crack that made her lift and inspect the receiver, Jenny Murray swallowed hard and dialed her husband. “Come home,” she implored him. “Straightaway. Jamie… he’s in trouble… brathair Jamie. No’ Young Jamie.”

Then, during the third missed call to his empty Edinburgh flat, Claire was tangled in the web of returning a lover’s favor. The arse that had enchanted him that first night rose over his torso as her tongue wove tales against his flesh slow, measured circles. His fingers died a slow death as he fought not to sink into her hips or thighs. (The index finger on his left hand picked up a shallow puncture from right incisor as he gnawed into his own flesh. His right hand gripped the nightstand in a way that he might have worried would crack the wood had he been capable of even mildly coherent thought.)

A short distance away, his sister and closest friend were cloistered behind a closed door. Their eldest children were on knobby, grass-stained knees outside, each with one ear pressed to the wood and with eyes as big as saucers. Their youngest was asleep on a mat in the dining room, clutching an icy teething ring.

“I canna understand where she got it,” their father said lamely.

Maggie gathered her brother’s accusatory look (the look generally reserved for tattling to mam that she’d filched the last ice lolly from the deep freezer or had run her toothbrush under the faucet without brushing her teeth). She shrugged and closed one eye in an attempt to make sense of the shapes moving across the thin beam of light under the door. The children could not see it, but their father was watching his wife frantically turn the dial on the phone.

“They think he stole it,” their mam hissed, her voice just loud enough for Maggie to hear. She covered her mouth, knowing that something about bringing that ring to show and tell had caused trouble for her Uncle Jamie. (‘What have you done?’ she thought, wishing she could pinch herself, take it all back. All of it – even the moment she had taken it into her hand, breathed ‘wow,’ and slipped it into the pocket of her summer Sunday dress.) “And I canna think of any other way it’d ‘ave come into his possession either, can ye think of one? No. Ye canna.”

Jamie’s phone rang and rang.

Jenny knew it was pointless, but she kept the receiver to her ear waiting waiting waiting.

Hoping.

Praying.

“Pick up the fuckin’ phone,” she muttered. And when it became clear that her plea would remain unanswered, she slammed the receiver down and hissed, “Ifrinn.”

Young Jamie’s eyes were as wide as saucers having heard what he knew to be a curse word from his mother (F-U-C-K – the first time he had heard her use one of the words that the older boys who smoked cigarettes after school behind the swings used like it made them more mature). Young Jamie put his hand on his younger sister’s shoulder (a gesture of his father’s, an observation from now and then when his mam was upset about something or another). Mumbling, Young Jamie urged his sister back from the door with a soft, “C’mon, Maggie. Let’s go.”

And when Jamie Fraser and his Queen were sated, they slept.

Draped against each other while the phone miles and miles away rang uselessly a fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh time.

Spent herself, Jenny Murray went to bed in silence that night.

And only when the lights were off did she find that her instinct was to curl close to her husband’s chest (a helpless, small shape in her night clothes and bare face) and cry quietly, helplessly sleepless.

When Jamie woke the next morning, Claire was gone.

Her scent lingered beneath the sun-warmed folds of the duvet, and his robe was missing from its hook on the back of the bedroom door. Tantalized by the tingling acid aroma of too-strong coffee, he took only a moment to inspect the curved indentation in the pillow next to him from where she had slept. With a smile that felt like the promise of a good day, he rose.

Standing before the mirror, his hand uselessly raking at disheveled curls, he realized something for the first time.

And it was simple: though being with her (loving her) still felt new, their relationship no longer felt like a dream.

Waking in the night with his hand splayed across the dangerous dip in her waist was something that just happened.

Feeling her lips just above his heart as she woke before silently throwing a knee on either side of him was surprising only in that she seemed insatiable (a fact she had conveyed to him with her lips close to his ear like a schoolyard secret as he fell asleep).

He realized that he could get used to a life where he woke and did not wonder if it had all been a dream.

The sun-spotted revelation of it made him lighter somehow, encouraged his smile to widen.

In the kitchen, he poured coffee from the electric pot on the counter as his fingers traced the neat script on the note tucked beneath the mug.

In your garden,

most certainly to be choked by unruly weeds should you not wake soon.

Join me (only if you dare, and bring clippers if you have them).

xx, C.

He gathered a pair of gardening shears and wandered out the front door. True to her word, she was in the garden, her form almost entirely swallowed by his robe. Barefoot and crouched low to the ground with a not insubstantial mound of weeds piled next to her, she looked like some sort of remarkably steady woodland nymph. Her fingers sank into damp black dirt and bridged the unseen barrier between human and Mother Earth again and again, as if it were her lot in life to be like this.

Elemental. Tangled. Undone.

She looked like she smelled like nature itself - dirt and herbs, sweat and sunshine.

When her fingers reemerged from the ground, wrapped around bits of unidentified and unwanted plant matter, she was a triumphant archaeologist (the career she said that the King would have chosen if given the choice, though she was unsure herself of what Just Claire would be).

Leaning against a mildly decayed post on his porch, he watched her repeatedly shove the stubbornly falling cuffs of his robe up to her elbows. He knew her well enough to know that just then (in morning sunshine, fingers coaxing life from soil), she was unencumbered by worry of any origin (save perhaps how to keep her fingers free of recalcitrant terry cloth to do some digging).

It was that moment, before Jamie called out to the woman he loved or before Claire looked over her shoulder at her Fraser, that he missed telephone calls eight, nine, and ten.

“Ye look bonny squatting in my wee garden.”

“You can hardly call this a garden, Fraser.” Claire ran a sleeve over her forehead, wiping away the light sheen of sweat and humidity that had gathered there. “It is a patch of dirt overrun by nettles and chickweed and Christ knows what else. I need gloves.”

He held up the shears, and announced, “I can arrange gloves.”

“Thank the Lord,” she breathed.

He took a long sip of coffee, watching her return her attention to the garden. She went to her knees in the dirt without even a moment’s care for said body part or his robe. “Ye’re going to get awfully dirty.”

She gave him a look over her shoulder. A smile. A wink. “I figure you can clean me up, and I want to see this garden do something this summer.”

(‘This summer,’ she said.

His heart stopped and then hammered at the promise inherent in those three syllables, her quiet understatement.

A summer in the cabin. Secluded. Growing flowers and vegetables. Falling further in love. He found a sentimental streak in himself that he had until then not realized was there.)

Claire unearthed a small gathering of dandelions and inspected them at arm’s length before creating a separate pile. “We can make these into some sort of salad.”

“The nettles’d make a good soup,” he added, taking another sip before walking out towards the garden.

“Do you know how to make nettle soup?” she asked, a marked note of incredulity creeping into her voice.

“No,” he responded, going to his knees beside her and carefully nestling his coffee mug into a small furrow in the ground. He pulled up another clump of dandelions. He did not attempt to mask the note of humor in his voice as he said, “I figured ye’d ken how to make a nettle soup. Sounds like something a royal’d ken how to do.”

She gave him a sideways glance. The kind of look that is borne of comfort with another person. She hummed, a sound that he was sure could be brutal in its dismissiveness to someone whose bed she did not share. With the back of his hand, he brushed her hair aside and kissed the side of her neck, relished her reaction (a shiver, a trail of goosebumps, a quick taste of her own lips).

She turned just enough to meet his mouth, and their lips met (chaste, gentle, only for a moment).

“Dock leaves,” she said softly, though a bit triumphantly. She reached out and lifted a great leaf with the back of her hand. “It is pure coincidence that the nettle’s sting and the dock leaves’ antidote grow so close together in your garden, Fraser.”

Her robe (his robe) gaped.

The phone inside the cabin rang.

He craned his neck, allowing his exploring mouth to find the underside of her jaw. He sucked gently there until her cheeks flushed and her mouth fell open.

The phone rang again and her fingers sank into his hair, curved along his scalp, drew him closer.

He could not stop his smile then.

Another ring and then another.

His thumb found the soft, unaroused peak of her plush, pink-brown nipple, and he set about driving her mad. She looked down and watched his other hand work its way into the tie on her robe.

“You would not in the garden,” she stated a bit matter of factly.

He kissed her chin and flattened a palm against the lowest expanse of her belly. He was mimicking her accent when he echoed her: “Would I not?”

The sound of the phone was merely background noise then.

Claire’s hands scrabbled for his waistband, watched the heavy weight of him rise from the confinement of his pants. Her breath hitched at the Gaelic that flowed from him, the tenderness with which he swept her hair behind her ear and pressed a thumb along her temple. He reached between them, slipped into her with a practiced easiness born of their hours of lovemaking. When she cried out into his mouth, he let his feet find purchase in the dirt and began to move. She grabbed for him – his buttocks, the collar of his shirt, his hips – and her fists demanded skin and contact and more.

After a morning of unanswered calls, Jenny Murray dressed for a Saturday, prepared breakfast alongside her husband (soft scramble with hunks of musty white cheese and toast), and let it cool on her plate. Appetite was a foreign concept as she pushed the bits of it into mounds, pressed the tines of her fork down into the mess.

“The cabin?” Ian suggested, helping her clear and pressing a kiss along the clean curve of her neck where a tendril of pin-straight hair rested. “He didna answer when ye called, but he was there last weekend, at least.”

“Maybe,” she began, hands slowly going paralyzed in the gray dishwater.

She had never given much thought to the Beauchamp family jewels – onyx and diamond, twisted out of their setting from one generation to the next and fabricated into various bits of royal jewelry. The jewels’ latest iteration had somehow made its way into Maggie’s knapsack, onto a school bus, and in front of a class of mostly disinterested children.

“He may have needed a break, Jen. Swing by.”

In the yard, Young Jamie and Maggie were mercilessly teasing the old tabby barn cat. Maggie yowled in a hair splitting, almost-painful tone, and Jenny closed her eyes. “He’s no’ ever gone to the cabin two weekends in a row, but… maybe.”

“And Maggie said that she just found it in the cabin?” Jenny nodded, turning to look at him, searching for reassurance. Ian obliged, resolutely adding, “He wouldna steal something like the Queen’s ring, Janet. He wouldna steal anything unless it was to save someone, someone he loves. And that ring’s no’ part of that category.”

“I dinna ken when would he have the opportunity to steal it,” she sighed, wiping her hands on the damp towel that Ian was holding and leaning against the counter.

Ian shook his head, reiterating, “If he had the opportunity, he’d no’ take it.”

Jenny wished she could muster her husband’s resolve to believe in her brother. He had an admirable, singular focus on identifying some alternative explanation for how the ring had ended up in the cabin and then in a piece of brown paper at Maggie’s school.

“You can tend to the bairns while I take a keek about the cabin then?” She dried her hands again, and reached for the keys as her husband nodded.

Jamie and Claire hatched the plan at a moment’s notice (the live wire thrill of impulse a new, intoxicating, addictive feeling for her). It was born from a wistful look (Jamie’s eyes drifting like a dinghy lost at sea) as he mentioned sleeping under the stars, splashing his cheeks with water from a spring, tucky into a sleeping bag for warmth.

“So, we should go,” she announced, cross legged on the bed (‘our bed,’ her mind added haughtily, as her fingers smoothed the sheets). The world was to be seen now. With him. His world was defined not solely by places, but by his memories. It seemed to her that anything less than giving into the urge to go would mean the walls of the palace that had confined her those past few years would be replaced by the walls of a cabin.

He paused, his hands wringing out his hair. “Go?”

She rolled her eyes, got to her knees, crawled to the edge of the bed. “Go.” She gestured broadly, as though she were talking about some great international voyage, not a short drive and a hike. “There. To that stream. Pack up some things. Rough it.”

“You…” he clarified, stepping towards her and putting careful, conciliatory hands on her bare shoulders. “Camping.”

“Are you suddenly questioning my spirit for adventure?” She turned her dainty, queenly nose up at him, and narrowed her eyes.

“I’d never dare to do such a thing.”

She hummed, kissing the narrow slit in his cheek where he’d nicked himself shaving. “Good. We should go, spend a night with the stars, and–”

“–and each other,” he interrupted. It made her face go soft.

“Oh, Fraser, never lose your sentiment.”

By the time Jenny Murray arrived at the cabin, they were gone.

Left, though, were traces.

Two coffee mugs in the kitchen, waiting to be rinsed and washed.

A blushing pink half-moon imprint of lipstick on the edge of one of her da’s best whisky glasses.

The lavender bunched in a carefully-tied bouquet in a water glass next to the bathroom sink.

The distinctly unmistakable smell of sex as she opened the door to the bedroom.

And then the exquisitely-made jacket carefully folded and draped over the ornately carved footboard of the bed.

“Ye idjit,” Jenny breathed, her fingers tracing the lapel of the jacket. Her mind worked over time, attempted to talk herself out of it. Out of what she knew to be true.

Her brother was engaged in some sort of affair with his boss.

She swallowed, rolled her eyes and pinched her forearms as she stared up at the ceiling of the bedroom.

Blinking hard, Jenny said it aloud, in an attempt to convince herself: “My little brother is fucking the Queen of England.”

______________________

Many thanks to @desperationandgin for reading through this one for me.

#Anonymous #;mod Kate #jamie x claire #HRH #ROYAL AU #Her Royal Highness AU

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althebountyhunter · 3 years

Photo

Hey everyone! I decided that it’s finally time for me to write out the post-Grogu idea floating in my head. I want to explore what Din Djarin could be like after separating from his closest companion and this is what I’ve started!

Hope you enjoy,

Alli

New Beginnings: Chapter 1, New Beginnings

Tags: Mature Audiences, Mild Injury Warning (minor blood mention), Swearing

Word Count: 2035

Mando stomps through the tall grass, heavy boots demolishing the blades dancing in the wind. His left hand has a death grip around the center bar of the cuffs holding the quarry’s hands hostage behind his back, giving Mando enough leverage to push the trudging Rodian back to the ship. The gentle breeze that flutters the edges of his cloak causes his usually menacing shadow to dance in the sunlight. There’s something about watching him shove a reluctant quarry along your path that amazes you. You know he does it for a living, but it doesn’t make his demeanor any less impressive.

You however, do not demolish grass as you trail behind the Mandalorian. In fact, you barely cause it to bend. The tall grass pops up behind you as if to taunt you, to remind you that you are not in fact a terrifying bounty hunter. Which, technically is true. You’re not a bounty hunter, at least not officially with the guild. According to their records you’re just a nuisance with a blaster and a knack for evading major bodily harm.

You pause as Mando lowers the ramp to the ship, giving the Rodian a shove into the hull just because he could. You watch them from the outside, taking one last chance to soak in the sun rays and fill your lungs with fresh air before you set off for the next planet on the list. The air is sweet and warm blowing around you and through the gaps of your fingers. It lifts strands of your hair and drops them haphazardly around your face. The grasses you fought so hard to walk through now bristle against your shins and tickle at your knee caps.

You close your eyes, trying to take this moment for everything it is. You don’t get a lot of time on nature-filled planets, or on the ground, or outside the ship come to think of it. Mando may have hired you as backup but he rarely ever needed any backup. The only reason you stepped off the ship today being a small ambush you begged to take on. At first you were told absolutely no fucking way, but after incessant pleading you were reluctantly allowed to “help.”

“Let’s go.” His modulated voice snaps you from your trance. Mando stands at the edge of the hull, a finger hovering over the ramp’s retract button. You can tell by his voice he isn’t pleased with you standing around in a field of grass, seemingly doing nothing.

“Sorry,” is all you can manage to say, hurrying up the ramp and taking a seat on one of the many cargo crates littered around the ship. The door thuds closed behind you followed only by the low ring of metal creaking under the Mandalorian’s boots.

He had already put the prisoner in carbonite while waiting for you to get your head out of the clouds. It wasn’t your fault the guy was basically a lethal tin can who couldn’t appreciate the simple moments. You sink down onto one of the many cargo crates littered around the hull and wait for what will surely be another boring jump to lightspeed. For a ship preparing to leave a planet’s orbit, it’s awfully quiet. You had spent plenty of time alone on this ship, and while that may have become the status quo, it didn’t make it any less lonely.

You prop an arm up on one knee and rest your chin in your palm debating whether or not it was worth getting thrown off the New Crest for trying to start a conversation. It wouldn’t be that bad, this planet was nice from the little you had seen and not terribly violent despite your little brawl. There was probably a village you could walk to with food and a job, so really, getting your ass left here wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to you.

“So where to next,” you quip. It’s so evident in your tone that you don’t actually care.

Mando doesn’t respond right away. Typical. He does however walk towards you, helmet tilted down to your right leg. “You’re bleeding.” The helmet makes it sound like more of a notification than a concern.

“What?” Instead of checking your leg your eyes stay locked with his visor, forehead scrunched and brows furrowed.

“You’re bleeding,” he repeats, this time more stern. Mando points to your leg, and, shit. Sure enough you’ve got a somewhat nasty cut running about four inches from just below your knee cap to your outer leg. You hadn’t felt the cut, it wasn’t all the deep. Honestly more damage had likely come to the fabric of your pant leg than anything, you try to convince yourself.

“Oh um, it’s fine, don’t worry about it.” You try to wave him off, play down the stinging setting in the longer you ignore it. As you try to stand, to step around him, he taps you on the sternum causing you to stumble back onto your make-shift chair.

“It’ll get infected. Let me treat it.” He doesn’t give you much of a choice, taking your injured leg in his hand and shoving your pant leg up just high enough to expose the full damage. You can’t hold back a wince. Okay, maybe it did hurt a little more than you were hoping. Maybe standing in knee-high grass for so long wasn’t the smartest idea you’ve had today. Mando applies bacta to your cut then wraps a few layers of gauze to stop the immediate trickle of blood.

“Some bounty hunter,” he mumbles as he finishes patching up your leg.

“Not a bounty hunter,” you stiffly remind him. This had become a regular point of contention between you. See, when Mando hired you, the interview consisted of just two questions; can you shoot and can you fly. Apparently answering yes meant “yes, I’m a bounty hunter” and not actually “yes, I can shoot and fly.” It must not have bothered him that much given your continued stay on his ship.

Mando didn’t say anything, just pulled the bottom of your scrunched pant leg down to your ankle before walking back to the cockpit. He took his place in the pilots seat before tapping in the coordinates for the next trip and initiating the lightspeed protocols.

“Um, thanks.” You aren’t sure how to respond, still baffled at how quickly Mando was able to switch from gentle and caring to cold and distant.

Sometimes it seemed like he was holding back, like he was torn between wanting to embrace having someone around or push them away. The way Mando had noticed your injury before you had made it seem like he was used to looking out for someone other than himself. And, the delicate way he handled your leg was such a sharp contrast to his usual roughness that you would almost dare to call it second nature. You were considering letting the idea go, not making much of it and moving on. But something pulled at you, this sort of nagging curiosity to understand him beyond just a mysterious man hidden in beskar. You just wanted to know why, really. Of course there were other questions you wanted to ask but in this moment you needed to know why. You stood from your crate, taking a hesitant step forward on your injured leg. It doesn’t feel great, considerably more sore than before, but certainly not the worst shape you’ve been in.

“You shouldn’t walk on it yet.” Mando’s modulated voice throws you off guard. He hadn’t been looking anywhere near you and he still knows your every move. You shouldn’t be as surprised as you currently are, he is possibly the most well known bounty hunter throughout the galaxy for a reason.

“Oh, yes, right. Well-”

“You can ask your question,” he cuts you off. It isn’t stern, just to the point. A lot like him, actually.

“Why’d you clean and bandage my leg?” You blurt out, perhaps a bit too eagerly. The inflection in your question has Mando swiveling his seat to face you. You stare blankly at the visor of his helmet, just hoping he doesn’t make your curiosity for ungratefulness.

“You were hurt,” he says calmly.

“Well yeah, but. I could've taken care of it, not like I was going to bleed out.” You cross your arms over your chest, hip popped as you shift your body weight onto your better leg, displeased with his initial response. You’re waiting for the truth, and you know that he knows you expect it.

The silence hangs in the air until Mando breaks it. He sighs, “I’ve gotten used to having a partner that needed a lot of help.” He shifts his posture to be less rigid, arms now loosely resting on the seat’s armrests and back ever so slightly hunched forward toward you.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t mean you.” Mando pauses, searching for a way to explain. “About two years ago I was hired for a difficult bounty. Pay was good so I took it. Turned out it was just a kid, they wanted me to bring in this kid, and…” His trails off, gaze now shifting from you to the floor.

“And... you didn’t bring it in, did you?”

He doesn’t look at you. “No, I couldn’t. I decided to save him, took him on the run to find more of his kind.”

“Did you?” You ask softly. Baffled to have even gotten this much out of him. You lower yourself back on to your crate, trying to make it obvious that you want to know more if he’ll share it.

“Eventually, yes. Some young kid, a um, fuck. What did he call himself? A Jedi, I think. Gave him the kid. That was almost a year ago now.” He sits quietly. Though you didn’t know it, that had been the first time he would ever tell someone about his recent history. You don’t know what to say. Is there anything you can say to someone opening up when they hardly say a word to you otherwise?

“I’m sorry,” you say meekly. “It sounds like you were really close.”

Mando doesn’t answer. He simply fixes his posture and returns his chair to it’s primary position facing the dash of flickering lights. From your angle you could see the faint reflection of the red and green flashes off his body armor. It was clear you had gotten as much of the story as you were ever going to. Honestly, you still couldn’t believe he told you anything. You suppose you may never know his reasoning, and at this point you knew it was best to refrain from prodding further.

The slight bulge of the bandage under your pant leg catches your eye, pulling you from the abstract train of thought to a new, clearer one.

Oh. It wasn't his partner. It was his kid, the bounty was like his kid. Mando didn’t just lose a partner, he gave up his family.

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks. Your chest tightened, suddenly understanding why he was so closed off but more importantly why he had asked you to join. He was lonely, and you happened to be in the right place at the right time to be someone he could simply exist around.

See, you had crossed paths in some tiny desert town, he asked a few questions about his current job and you told him what you knew in exchange for a handful of credits. At the time it was a moment in passing, until three days later you saw him walking back through town, this time quarry in tow. He had stopped long enough to thank you for your information and ask if you needed a job. A terrible, low paying job, he warned, but still a way off a desolate planet.

So of course you said yes. At the time you assumed the offer came out of gratitude, but you were starting to understand that you played a bigger role than just the occasional back-up.

You weren’t a replacement, no. You were a new beginning.

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