#we catch back up with link and his new babysitter next chapter

[attllhak]

Surface Too Soon .2

@tortilla-of-courage and also @emenerd because apparently this story is getting a proper tag list now!

So, here’s chapter 2, featuring Zelda and Fi. I’m actually pretty happy with how I managed to write Fi here. I was worried I’d have trouble with her considering how different of a character she is from any other character I’ve written before.

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Chapter 2: Chasing Fi

There was something familiar about this woman, though Zelda didn’t know what or why.

“You are not Master Link,” the woman said, meeting Zelda’s eyes, voice gentle but robotic.

“Link, he’s alive?” She asked.

The woman ignored her, looking back around the walls. “I do not sense my master here. Proceeding to search elsewhere.”

“Hey, wait!” Zelda shouted, running after the woman as she floated away. “Wait, come back! Why are you looking for Link?”

The woman ignored her, floating out through the door of the academy. Zelda nearly ran into the door, grabbing at the handles and yanking it open, running out into clear, cool night.

She scanned the area, spotting the woman floating off a ways away.

Zelda jumped from the roof, landing in a roll and keeping up her chase.

“Hey! Wait!” She shouted, finding it hard to keep pace. “Why are you looking for Link?!”

The woman disappeared into the bazaar, and Zelda ducked under the heavy fabric to follow, mentally apologizing for breaking the rules about it being closed.

The woman paused, floating in the center of the dark building. Zelda had to squint to see her in the darkness.

“Hey!” She called, and the woman finally turned to look at her.

The woman just floated there, watching her in the darkness.

“Why are you looking for Link?” Zelda asked. “What do you need from him?”

She floated there for longer, and Zelda was about to speak again when the woman finally broke the silence.

“Apologies, Your Grace, but it is not my role to speak with you. My role is to seek out your chosen hero and assist him in his role,” she said, voice devoid of emotion, and confusing Zelda a lot. Her chosen hero? “Your presence confuses me,”

“What?” Zelda asked.

“My master is not here,” the woman said instead. “Proceeding to search elsewhere,”

“Wha- hey!” Zelda gasped, nearly tripping on a stall, and most certainly bruising her hip, trying to follow as the woman started moving again. “What does any of that mean?!”

She ducked under the fabric, desperately trying not to lose this weird blue woman. Your Grace? Chosen hero? What was she talking about?

“Stop running away from me!” Zelda shouted, only able to keep up since the woman stopped to stare at every door they passed for a few moments before moving on. “I’m trying to talk to you!”

The woman never hesitated, nor turned to look despite Zelda’s repeated shouting. It was like she couldn’t even hear her, which Zelda knew for a fact was untrue.

“I know what happened to Link!” She finally tried as the woman passed over the plaza.

The woman stopped at that, finally, turning to look at her and giving her a chance to catch her breath.

“You have information pertaining to the location of my master?” The woman asked.

“Yes,” Zelda gasped, leaning her weight on her knees. This woman was fast! “Yes, I know why you can’t find him,”

“I must ask you to provide me with this information so that I may locate him,” the woman said, staring at Zelda with her expressionless face, even the eyes looking like it was part of a smooth blue mask. “It is essentially that I meet with him as soon as possible,”

“I want some answers first,” Zelda huffed, straightening up and planting her hands on her hips. “And don’t think you can find Link without my help, because you won’t,”

The woman watched her, tilting her head slightly for a long moment.

“My analysis concludes that there is an 87% chance of you being correct about needing your help. Very well, I will answer a few questions in exchange for information on the whereabouts of my master,” the woman said, floating up in front of Zelda, who stumbled back a step. “My records indicate that your culture demands I perform an introduction at this point. My designation is ‘Fi’. You may begin asking questions now.”

“Why are you looking for Link?” Zelda asked immediately. “And what’s this about him being your master? And the whole thing with the ‘chosen hero’ deal. And why were you calling me Grace?”

“I am searching for Link because he is my master, and as destiny has begun to unfold my directives demand that I seek him out,” the woman, Fi, said simply. “He has been chosen as my master since a time long before your people have recorded memory. He has been chosen for a very important role in the future of your people, and those on the Surface. I call you Your Grace because that is your respectful designation, and I do not know your mortal name,”

Zelda frowned. Destiny? The future? Her designation? And, wait…

There was something below the clouds! If Link survived his fall, then he was down there, on the Surface! Oh, she had so many questions for when he got back!

In the meantime however…

“What’s this about destiny?” Zelda asked. “And, there’s land below the clouds? What does Link have to do with any of it?  Oh, and, um, my name is Zelda,”

“Your Grace, Zelda.” Fi said. “Your preferred designation has been noted. I am not permitted to speak on your destiny, as it is not my role to help you fulfil it, nor am I permitted to speak on the nature of my master’s destiny with you. Yes, there exists a land your people call ‘The Surface’ below the cloud barrier. Your Link has been chosen to play an important role, and it is imperative that I find him quickly,”

“That is not very helpful,” Zelda frowned.

“I have answered your questions,” Fi said. “Should you have no more, I would request that you fulfil our agreement and provide me with the information you have on the location of my master,”

“Ah, right, about that,” Zelda bit her lip, looking away. “He’s, not on Skyloft,”

“I am not sure I follow, Your Grace, Zelda,”

“It’s, it’s my fault really, it’s all my fault,” she admitted, feeling about ready to burst into tears all over again, once again exhausted by the weight of her guilt and all the crying she’d already done. “I didn’t listen to him when he said he couldn’t sense his loftwing and I, I pushed him over the edge. I didn’t realize that something was wrong until it was too late and, and he’s gone now, and it’s all my fault!”

She reached up to wipe at her face, feeling somewhat embarrassed for crying in front of this strange woman but unable to stop herself.

Muffled sobs tapered off in confusion as she felt what might have been fabric woven of metal settle around her shoulders. She looked up in confusion to see Fi looking down at her with what might have been concern or sympathy.

“What are you doing?” Zelda asked through tears.

“My records indicate that this motion is used commonly among your people as an act of comfort,” Fi said. “Your distress led me to believe this would be a soothing action to take,”

Zelda nodded, sniffling. “I’m not sure anything you do or say could help, but thank you for trying,”

“My analysis concludes that this information may alter your emotional state,” Fi said, and Zelda looked up in confusion. “My master, your Link, is alive.”

Zelda froze, looking up at Fi in confusion and shock.

“How do you know that?” Zelda asked, voice shaking.

“I am somewhat connected to my master,” Fi informed her. “I also have the ability to sense and locate certain individuals, called dowsing. My dowsing would not work if he was not alive, and it does. Therefore, he is alive.”

Zelda felt like collapsing all over again. There was so much to take in there.

Link was alive. She hadn’t killed him. He was alive and on the Surface.

He must be terrified! Alone down there, no idea where he is or how to get home. He must be so scared. Not to mention hurt! It was such a long fall, even though he survived, who knew how injured he was? He could be curled up on the Surface somewhere, injured and unable to move, vulnerable to all sorts of dangers.

The relief and worry and fear that replaced the guilt was crippling, and she dropped to her knees, clutching at her hair. She didn’t even realize she was struggling to breathe until Fi told her.

“Your Grace, Zelda, your breathing has become irregular, and I can sense you are in emotional distress. I would recommend you attempt to regulate your breathing to ease your distress,” Fi said. “I am willing to provide you with a grounding point to match your breathing to if you must,”

Zelda nodded, and Fi gently began moving one of her ‘arms’ in a gentle motion. Up, in. Down, out.

Eventually she calmed down, moving her hands to fist in her dress, knuckles still white from how hard she was holding the fabric.

“I conclude that you have returned to a stable emotional state,” Fi said simply. “If my master, your Link, is on the surface, this provides a difficult problem in my location of him,”

“Take me with you!” Zelda said abruptly.

Fi paused to look at her. Zelda imagined she would have been blinking if she had eyelids to do so with.

“Take me to the Surface with you,” Zelda explained, a bit of desperation seeping into her voice. “Let me help you find Link. If you can find a way down there safely, then I’ll help you find Link. Please,”

Fi looked at her for a long moment, then floated up. “I do require a wielder to make it to the Surface. Very well, I accept your offer of assistance. Please follow me so that we may open a path to the Surface.”

Zelda had no idea what Fi meant by wielder, but stood to follow the strange woman regardless. If she could help Zelda find Link, then she’d follow her anywhere.

Fi led her to the statue of the goddess, and then into a small room under the statue that Zelda swore wasn’t there before.

Fi, it turns out, was a sword. Which, explained a lot, actually.

It didn’t explain the sense of deja vu she got when she pulled the blade.

Her father arrived as she swung the sword and activated the little thing that lifted the frame for the tablet that Fi produced.

Fi and her father went back and forth a bit about some prophecy, but Zelda was more focused on putting the tablet in the frame, and then putting the sword in a sheath on her hip.

“Your Grace, Zelda,” Fi said as she finally tuned in. “I can confirm that a beam of light has created a small rift in the cloud barrier separating your world from the one below. Using this rift, we will be able to travel to the place you call ‘The Surface’ and begin our search for my master, your Link,”

“What?” Zelda’s father gaped a bit.

“Fi is taking me to the Surface,” Zelda told him firmly. “Link is down there, and we’re going to find him. Don’t try to stop us.”

“Well, you aren’t going now,” he said. She opened her mouth to argue, but he held up a hand to pause her angry argument. “Zelda, it is nearly dawn, and I know you have not slept yet. At least take some time to prepare before you go. I know I cannot stop you, but if you at least promise to sleep first, I can find you a better outfit to wear than your current one. It’s not exactly suitable for a trip to the Surface,”

Zelda looked down, still in her outfit for the Wing Ceremony that had been cancelled.

“I’m taking the sailcloth,” she said, and when her father nodded she eventually agreed to sleep before she left.

Fi vanished into the sword, and Zelda followed her father back down to the Academy.

The green light breaking through the clouds called to her. Link was down there. He was down there, alone, and he needed her.

Just a few hours, Link, she thought, setting Fi’s blade down on her desk, eyes still drawn to her window and the light breaking through the clouds. Just a few hours to appease my father, and then I’m coming to get you. I swear it,

She only realized exactly how tired she was when she passed out the moment her head hit the pillow.

#skyward sword #zelda #legend of zelda #loz #fi #sksw #hey here's chapter 2 #which is focused entirely on zelda and fi #stubborn zelda my beloved #also should probably start tagging this as #skyward sword spoilers #since we're starting to get there #especially with the bits here about the whole zelda reveal about 2/3 of the way into the game #and hey! we have a tag list now! #if you want to be on the tag list for this fic (or any of my fics) just let me know #i'll probably make a masterpost at some point today to make that a bit easier #but for now have more of this au #we catch back up with link and his new babysitter next chapter

[amjustagirl]

Chapters: one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven. ~ eight.

Wordcount: 2.9k

Summary: Being with Miya Atsumu is like chasing a storm - equal parts exhilaration and danger. After all, it’s impossible to tame a storm

Masterlist link here 

AO3 link here 

Author’s Note: And we’re at the final chapter! Thank you so much for going on this wild ride with me, and I’m rly excited to hear what you guys think - so please, drop me an ask, a note, a comment, anything!!! 

It takes time and effort to rebuild a home wrecked by a storm, and reconstruction efforts aren’t necessarily smooth sailing, especially at the start - after all, he’s still the same Miya Atsumu, arrogant and brash and foulmouthed and hyper focused on volleyball, and they both have baggage from years of regret and pain to work through. But he has determination to spare, and she loves him too much for her own good, so they start from the very foundation and work their way up, step by step, one day at a time. 

‘I’ll kill ya if ya ever hurt her again’, Osamu threatens darkly when she and Atsumu break the news to him. 

‘Go find yer own girl and stop being sweet on my wife damn it! ’ Atsumu growls, but the kiss he presses to her forehead when she smacks the back of his head for being mean to his twin is achingly sweet. 

‘Ugh, soppy. Get yer shit outta my house!’ Osamu scrunches his face in mock disgust. 

Both brothers are surprised when she beats Atsumu at flipping Osamu off. 

Atsumu moves back home (he’s not even going to hide how happy the sound of that makes him), and they mark the occasion by slipping his wedding ring back on his finger and eating take-out pizza on the living room floor. 

Her burly brothers turn up on their doorstep with a glint in their eyes and too much teeth in their smiles, determined to drag Atsumu off for a couple of drinks and what she assumes will be a very unpleasant chat. She’d insisted on patting them down to make sure they’re not packing any knives - ‘what do you take us for, little sis’, they’d protested - but she’s not taking any chances, and begs Osamu to join them, ‘please ‘Samu, I don’t want to be a widow right after I decide not to divorce his ass’, and he agrees despite grumbling that he might as well be Atsumu’s glorified babysitter at this rate. 

She’d woken up in bed the next morning to find the space beside her empty, but the living room crammed full of those four silly men. Atsumu and Osamu share a single futon between them, snoring back to back. There are faint bruises on Atsumu’s cheekbone and telltale scrapes on her own brothers’ knuckles, but otherwise they all seem relatively unscathed. 

She bends over, tracing her thumb along the contour of Atsumu’s jaw, and he stirs, eyes half lidded with sleep. 

‘Hey darlin', I’ve come home’, he tells her, warmth flickering in his smile. 

‘Welcome home, 'Tsumu’, she says, tucking the blanket under his chin and he hums in contentment, falling back asleep. 

His nightmares of brown envelopes and harsh neon lights distorting her face slowly fade, and he dreams instead of weeknight dinners and weekend picnics at the park, relishing the quiet domesticity of grocery trips and laundry loads, and delighting in home games with her and Shino cheering him on.

Some piss poor excuse of a gossip hound corners him after a match to ask him about whether he regrets leaving for Milan since his season ended in injury - and he freezes when the reporter slyly adds ‘especially since we all knew it’s a move that required you to leave your wife and daughter behind ‘. His manager is about to intervene when she sneaks up on him to slide an arm around his waist, apologising to the reporter that ‘she’s just so excited to give her husband a congratulatory kiss!’ . 

Sakusa and Meian have to join forces to pull Atsumu back from punching the reporter when he grins shark-like, thinking he’s spotted easy prey and asks her whether she felt abandoned in Japan due to his move - ‘pardon me Miya-san for my unwieldy choice of words’. 

‘Not at all’, she says without missing a beat, and Atsumu wonders if he imagines the flash of a knife in her smile. ‘I’ve always supported my husband in all his endeavours. It was a joint decision that I should stay in Japan to ensure our daughter has some stability in her life.'

‘She’s good’, his manager tells him when the reporter slinks away with his tail between his legs. 

‘Yeah - I don’t deserve her’, he answers with a rueful smile. 

When he tries to thank her that night, she levels him with a look that could knock a grown man (i.e. him) off his feet, but her voice is gentle and her words are soft. 

‘Don’t thank me’, she says. ‘Just be a better husband and father, ok?’ 

He’s not ashamed to admit that he actually cries. 

He learns to tell her he loves her at least once a day. She starts to smile back cheekily and reply ‘of course’. 

The game is in between sets when the skin at the back of his neck crackles with nerves. From the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of Osamu sprinting right into the stands. Then his ears pick up on his little girl’s scream - ‘mama’  she cries, her shrill voice ringing above the confusion rippling through the crowd and his legs move of their own accord, leaping over the barrier into the audience, as he snarls and shoves his way to her usual spot. 

He thought he’s had his fill of nightmares to last him a lifetime. He’s evidently wrong. 

She lies crumpled on the ground, head resting on Osamu’s lap. Her lips are pale and her eyes are closed but thank god - thank whichever deity’s listening - her chest still moves with her breath. He’s not quite sure what happens next - he knows he dives to his knees and pulls her towards him but everything else is a blur until her eyes flutter open and she groans. 

‘Darlin’, can ya hear me? Can ya tell me where you are?’ he asks, forcing his voice to remain calm. 

‘Tsumu? Why are you here? Aren’t you in the middle of a game?’ she murmurs, confused. 

‘Fuck the game’, he snaps. ‘Are ya feelin' ok?’ 

‘Something hurts, Tsumu’, she rasps, eyes glazing over. He can feel the chill of ice seep into his spine. 

'Yer fine, yer fine, yer going to be fine' he mutters, over and over and over again, willing her to sit up and tell him she's fine, she's ok, she'll just shake it off - but light starts to shutter out of her eyes and frost creeps up his throat. 

‘I need a medic!’ he shouts, voice cracking on every word. ‘I need a medic, now!’

‘Tsumu’, he hears his brother interrupt urgently. ‘Tsumu, she’s bleedin’. 

He’s never been more grateful for Osamu when his twin turns to yell for an ambulance and yanks Shino away with him. The little girl is kicking and screaming for her mama but he knows she would kill him if he lets their little girl be traumatised from seeing her mama lying in a pool of blood on the floor. 

He can’t breathe - not even when the medics finally come and whisk her off to the hospital, his mind hardly able to process anything, terror still coursing through his veins when the doctors press brown envelopes full of forms into his bloodstained hands for him to sign so the relevant procedures can be carried out. 

‘Don’t!’ Osamu says sharply, when he drops his head into his hands and starts to whimper about how he’ll die if he loses her again and what the fuck is he gonna do, ‘Samu, if she doesn’t make it out alive – ‘she’s stronger than ya think, don’t ya dare give up on her like that’, and he promptly shuts up after that. Time in the waiting room passes agonizingly slow, seconds feeling like minutes, minutes stretching into hours, and he would have drowned from the weight of his despair if he weren’t anchored in place by his twin’s hand on his back.

His breath rushes back into his lungs when the doctors later tell him she’s fine,  they carried out the standard operation - but she doesn’t look fine, doesn’t seem fine, is very clearly not fine when they wheel her out, huddled into a ball with her head between her knees, like her world has just collapsed into itself. She doesn’t even look up when he sits beside her, the bed dipping under his weight. 

‘I’m sorry’, she eventually says, voice barely a whisper, and he fights the urge to break down into tears – because ‘Samu’s right, she’s so much stronger than he thinks. They'd been talking about trying for a sibling for Shino for some time now, since they've both grown up with brothers of their own and can't imagine life without them. But the doctors tell him that it’s just bad luck - the baby was never going to survive, and her collapse was probably exacerbated by stress, overwork, perhaps even fatigue from her skipping lunch for work and dinner to rush to his match.

‘Don’t be. It’s not yer fault at all’, he manages to pull himself together to reassure her, but she just stares blankly at the wall. 

His grandmother calls when they find out the baby they lost would have been a boy, and he fails her again when he’s too late to snatch the phone away before the old lady’s poison drips into her ears and traps her in a deadly fog. He’d cursed the old bitch out relentlessly, but the toxic words fester beneath her skin and she fades into a ghost before his eyes. He desperately tries to stop her spiral into frozen silence, but he’s away for games more than half the time, hands tied behind his back by the stranglehold of contracts and commitments he has no choice but to fulfil. 

He’s never been so thankful before when the season finally ends - but he is, at least this time, so he can talk her into taking two weeks off from work. They drop Shino off with her indulgent grandparents, and drift down the coast on the back of her bike. She doesn’t try breaking any speed limits - and he knows he should be happy about that, but there’s no spark in her eyes, no smile to answer the wind - there hasn’t been, not since she collapsed. 

(not since they lost their child)

He buys her mochi at every town, but she picks at it listlessly, just like she does these days when Osamu tries to tempt her with his latest creations. He insists they stay at  ryokans, traditional inns with onsens attached, hoping the heat from the water might chase the chill from her bones, but colour does not return to her cheeks. There are shadows beneath her eyes, and she seems to wilt under the vibrant red and gold of autumn leaves. 

They go for a walk after dinner one night, tracing a path along the shore. He’d been talking non-stop the entire trip to mask the gaps left by her silence, but tonight he falls quiet, allowing the hum of the waves to wash over them. Her hand is cold in his, so he wraps his jacket around her shoulders and hopes the warmth from his body bleeds into hers. 

She comes to a standstill, feet sinking in the sand, and tilts her head to face him. 

‘Tsumu?’, she breathes, a question in her eyes. 

‘I’m here’, he says, a prayer in his heart. 

There is a lighthouse on the cliff just a few miles ahead, illuminating the shadows of the waves. The faintest reflection of light pools in her eyes, and he stills as she lifts her gaze to meet his. 

‘I know’, she says, offering him the smallest of smiles. 

He interlaces their fingers together firmly, and tugs her towards shelter, as a storm brews over the horizon. 

That night she tucks her head under his chin, and he holds her until she falls asleep, cradled in his arms. He keeps slumber at bay by counting her breaths, and only falls asleep himself when the storm breaks. 

'Why did I wake up to a blonde octopus wrapped around me', she mumbles, voice heavy with sleep. 

'Nah. More like a seahorse, cos I'm not letting ya go, sweetheart', he replies, tightening his grip on her waist. 'Ya got a problem with that?' 

Her only response is to burrow herself deeper into his chest.

'Guess not', he chuckles fondly, nuzzling his nose into her hair, hope blossoming anew in his heart. 

Time turns their wounds into scars and they heal together, one breath at a time. 

She stays away from their first few matches when the season begins again. The press is coerced into passing over reports of her collapse by the dual forces of the MSBY press machine and their legal team, but they are forced to ride out the gossip generated in internet forums by a fringe group of deranged fans. His teammates treat her like she’s made of glass - even Bokuto dials himself down a notch, all save for Shoyo, who slips her his mother’s number, telling her gently that the six year gap between him and Natsu wasn’t deliberate, and that she would find a sympathetic ear in the older woman. 

He knew he was right to anoint Shoyo as his favourite wing spiker - not only does he fly high enough to answer the demand of every single one of his sets, but his sunniness drags her out of the fog into yoga classes and meditation practices, and slowly but surely he watches her bloom again. It’s a powerful combination - Shoyo-kun’s friendship and his mother’s gentle conversations, Osamu’s cooking and her love for Shino, capped with his determination to show her he loves her and prove that he’s here to stay.

‘It’s like Kintsugi’, she tells him, with a wide smile. ‘All of you poured gold into the cracks of my heart and made me whole again’. 

The years pass. 

Shino turns seven – a very respectable age for his very best girl, he tells her (I'm your only girl, Papa, Shino informs him archly), and obliges her demands of a bicycle in MSBY colours and volleyball lessons, forcing all his teammates to turn up for her birthday party, volleyball themed of course. The look of unadulterated joy on his princess’ face is worth every ounce of effort to put up with Sakusa’s complaints at having to turn up for a kiddie party full of loud noises and far too much candy, and the sweaty afternoons spent hand painting the bicycle black and gold. 

The day Atsumu discovers his first white hair makes her thank her lucky stars that she’s immune to his nonsense by now, because the wailing and gnashing of teeth she has to put up with makes ‘Samu offer her his couch as refuge. She slaps tape and salonpas on his aches and pains, and points to the deepening lines on her face when he complains about his age. 

‘Those lines aren’t wrinkles. If they’re caused by laughter, it doesn’t count’, he reasons laughingly. She’s left befuddled by his logic and shakes her head.

Meian Shugo retires, and Hinata throws a party to celebrate in his honour, cramming the entire MSBY team and assorted friends into his penthouse apartment on a rainy Saturday night. Osamu’s hired to cater the food but remains as a guest, shooting a smirk at him when Shoyo drags her off to dance during his favourite song, twin flames burning bright in the night. 

‘A hundred yen for your thoughts?’ she asks, when Shoyo returns with her breathless but wreathed with smiles. 

‘Was just wondering when you were gonna save a dance for this old man’, he teases. 

‘Oh?’ she says with a laugh. ‘Thought you said your back hurt, and you didn’t want to move?’

‘Meh - I was hoping you’d forget that’, he says airily, then frowns when he notices there’s no drink in her hand. 

‘Not drinking tonight, sweetheart?’, he asks, curling his fingers around her empty hand. 

‘The doctor warned me not too’, she answers, her smile growing impossibly wider. He blinks in confusion when she leans on to her toes to whisper into his ear - then oh. 

‘You’re pregnant?’ he repeats, unable to trust his ears, eyes filling with tears when she bites her lips and nods. 

‘Are you happy, ‘Tsumu?’, she asks, her face alight with hope. 

There is so much he wants to say to her, starting with thank you loving me enough to give me another chance all those years ago and ending with I love you, so ridiculously much – because he can never say it enough, she’s given him more than he deserves – her heart, Shino, a happy home and now the promise of another child. 

But there's salt and water welling up in his throat, and it’s all he can do to choke out a shaky ‘of course’, before gathering her in his arms, warmth pooling in his eyes, love overflowing in his heart. 

They stay that way for most of the night, entwined in each other’s arms, so drunk on happiness and love and warmth that they don’t even notice the storm clearing and the moon rising in the clear night sky. 

#haikyuu #haikyuu!! #hq #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq imagines #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu writing #hq writing #haikyuu angst #haikyuu romance #haikyuu fluff #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x y/n #atsumu x reader #miya atsumu #miya osamu #inarizaki #haikyuucreations

[the-witty-pen-name]

It Happened On Sakaar Pt. 2

Mando x F!Reader; Loki x F!Reader

Rating: M; 18+ Only

Warnings: swearing, grieving, angst, slow burn, mentions of violence (smut in later chapters)

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: The bounty hunter’s most recent puck sends him across the Galaxy to an unfamiliar and artificial planet named Sakaar- literally the galaxy’s trash can. Sakaar is a bizarre planet, but so is his most recent bounty. Din is chasing a man he only knows as The God of Mischief. The reader lives on Sakaar as a scrapper, a similar trade to that of a bounty hunter and has a tangled history with the man Mando is looking for. Will the unlikely duo team up to capture the mischievous Asgardian or will the reader fall victim to Loki’s promises?

A/N: 

IMPORTANT UPDATE

I made a Google form to be added to my taglists, so if you want to be added, the link is in my bio. I’ll only be adding people to the list if they requested to be added by filling out the form! This way all of the requests are just in one place so I don’t miss requests! Thank you!!! 

This is unedited and if I missed anything that I should include as a warning please let me know! Thank you y’all!

Part One

Tags and Requests are OPEN

You had just gotten paid another hefty sum for brining a new fighter to the Grandmaster, not as good as the supposed Lord of Thunder Scrapper 142 caught but still nonetheless, he was pleased and you were more than satisfied with your payment.  You were at a bar, feeling pretty good about yourself. You deserved it and you wanted to treat yourself to a drink. You sat on one of the barstools, nursing a drink and did your best to ignore the gladiators behind the barrier nearby. You weren’t looking forward to this upcoming fight, but then again, you didn’t particularly care about them in the first place anyways.  Scrapper 142 joined you, opting for a bottle instead of a glass.

 You understood her. It was an unspoken feeling you knew she also understood. You were similar people, and on this planet to escape your past. She had been here much longer than yourself, and you observe that nothing can penetrate her hard shell. She was invincible, and you envied her ability to keep her emotions at bay. Well, except for the drinking, but you still admired her.  At some point she went over to the barrier and actually spoke to one of the gladiators. It was odd, but you didn’t question it. When she got up, you bid your goodbyes and headed to get ready for the fight. You knew you wouldn’t see her at the arena, but you know she wouldn’t take it personally that you left without a goodbye.

Walking down the hallway towards the entrance, an arm grabbed your bicep and pulled you down an empty hallway. Without hesitation, you pulled your blaster with your free hand and pushed it to the temple of whoever grabbed you. When it made a clinking noise, you sighed, knowing exactly who it was.  “Mando,” you say curtly, yanking your arm free and turning to face him.  

“I need you to tell me about the God of Mischief,” he states plainly. 

“I thought you were a good bounty hunter,” you roll your eyes. 

“I didn’t get any information, I’m working with nothing,” he explains. You stare up at the visor, like somehow, you’d be able to study his eyes. You can feel them staring back at you though. 

“How is this my problem?” You scoff and he sighs, clearly getting frustrated.

 “You’re the only person I know on this planet that can help me,” he tries to insist, “I’ll split the reward, please.” 

“I’ll tell you what I know,” you say defeated. You felt bad for the man, and you knew it must’ve been hard for him to come to you. “But I’m not helping you hunt him down. I don’t want to be close to this.”

 “Deal,” he says, and offers out his gloved hand for you to shake.  

“We can’t talk here,” you state, “the fight is going to start soon and I need to be in attendance for a work thing.” 

“A work thing?” he taunts. You chuckle.

“Unless you want to join me,” you offer, “If you can get a babysitter.”

 “Fine,” he says, following your lead. You walk in silence to the stands, and you find your regular seat, and he takes the one next to you. You chuckle at how out of place he looks, too bulky from the armor to fit comfortably.  

“Do you always need to wear all this?” you ask him, gesturing to the armor.

 “Yes, it’s part of my code,” he replies, looking down at the arena. “Now, the bounty.” 

“He’s one of the two princes from my home planet,” you explain. “He’s actually a god, with powers.”  

“Powers?” 

“Yeah, astral projection, shape-shifting, hypnosis, telekinesis, teleportation…” 

“Are you serious?” 

 “Yeah,” you say with a chuckle at the shock in his voice.

“How the hell are you supposed to catch someone like that?” he sighs, leaning back in his seat more. 

“Outsmart him. Take advantage of the fact he probably has no idea you’re here or that anyone would be after him.” 

“Would anyone be after him?”

“Oh gods, he’s made enemies all over the galaxy,” you retort, “I have no idea how to determine who sent you. He has a laundry list of enemies.” 

“Of course,” he grumbles.  “Just in recent years, he sabotaged his own brother’s coronation by allowing the Frost Giants to attack Asgard- our planet. Then, skipping a lot of other chaos, he led an alien attack on Earth. He was supposed to face lifetime imprisonment in the Asgardian dungeons, but he was freed to help fight when Dark Elves attacked Asgard, and he faked his death. This brings us up to speed to when I left three years ago. With everyone thinking he was dead, he returned to Asgard and removed his father, Odin, from the throne and had been ruling Asgard disguised as Odin. He was doing so for several years, before Thor- that’s his brother; Thor came back and exposed him. So that’s when I left, so if he’s done something else since, I don’t know.”

“That was the summary?”  

“That was the very abridged version,” you chuckle, “but that’s sort of the relevant bit.”

“Why did you leave?” he asks curiously, “it seems like him being exposed by Thor was a good thing but you left.” 

“Because I mourned him for years,” you say spitefully. “Told me himself while disguised as Odin that Loki was dead. Lied right to me, deceived me and the entire kingdom. We built fucking statues in his honor like idiots…” 

“You loved him,” he states simply, preventing you from spiraling. You appreciated his ability to simplify the situation. It was grounding.  

“Yes,” you say simply. 

“And you’ve been here for three years and he only just shows up now?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Asshole,” he mutters, making you laugh.  

“Indeed,” you agree.  

“You deserve better,” he affirms. 

“Then a wanted war criminal? I would hope so,” you jest.  

“No, I mean, yes, but you seem- just, never mind.”  

“Thanks.” 

“Do you still have feelings for him?” he asks, after a short, uncomfortable silence.  

“I don’t think I could even if I wanted to,” you answer honestly.  

“I understand,” he says, but he sounds like he’s far away, lost in his own thoughts.  You both fall into a more comfortable silence, when the giant hologram of the Grandmaster emerges introducing the event and the fighters. You aren’t really paying attention; you have heard it all before. The Champion will come out, the crowd will go crazy, and he’ll just defeat whatever poor soul they put up against him. However, you are snapped out of your thoughts when you hear a familiar voice yell.  

“Thor?” you say in disbelief, standing up from your seat to get a closer look. His hair was shorter but without a doubt it was him. “Shit, what happened to him?”

 “Thor, like Loki’s brother?” Mando asks, staring down at the fight, both of you at the end of your seats. You look over across the stadium, and you see a familiar figure in the Grandmaster’s private box.  

“That weasel,” you say, narrowing your eyes, to try to get a better look. It’s him. Without a doubt, it’s Loki sitting on the large couch next to the Grandmaster. “He’s right there,” you point, and Mando follows your gaze.  

“He’s watching while they send his brother to slaughter,” Mando observes and you nod. 

“I thought I couldn’t be more disgusted,” you scoff. You wanted to be surprised but how could you be? This was Loki. Gods, you had been so blind for so long. 

“What can we do?” Mando asks, already trying to look around for the exit. There are way too many people. 

“Thor has powers like Loki- not the same ones, but he’s also a god,” you say, partly to explain but also in an attempt to calm your own nerves. “He can win this.” You hear Thor proclaim that he knows the Champion and that they are friends from work, and you cover your face with your hands from the secondhand embarrassment. You silently plead for Thor to stop trying to talk and just fight his way out. Mando hesitantly wraps an arm around you. He’s stiff and awkward but you appreciate it regardless. It was comforting. “I can’t watch,” you say, hiding your face in his shoulder.  

Mando had never experienced something like this, ever. He hadn’t touched someone for this long in a very, very long time. He knew the circumstances were terrible and his heart was breaking for you. But selfishly, he basked in the feeling of intimacy, even if it was strictly platonic. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if it was platonic, because that implies a friendship. His mind was racing and he tried to ignore the warm feeling spreading throughout his body at the contact. He doesn’t dare move; he was enjoying the feeling too much.  Mando was rendered speechless as he watched the man literally conjure lightning from nothing. The fight was unlike anything he had ever seen. Of course, he’d been all over the galaxy and has seen wonders, including the little baby back in his room, but never has he seen so much power yielded all at once. He gulped, thinking about what he would be up against trying to bring in Loki. Without a doubt, he’d need to use the carbonite chamber on the Crest- but would that even hold a being of this much power? He didn’t have much else of a choice.  

The crowd erupts, booing as the Grandmaster rigs the fight in the Champion’s favor, and Mando rolls his eyes under his helmet. Of course, he thinks. However, he can tell the man is still alive and is relieved to tell you, especially since you didn’t dare look at the spectacle- too afraid to watch the fate of your friend unfold.  “He made it,” Mando said gently, nudging you and you finally turned your head back to the arena. They brought out a stretcher and the floating device brought his body off of the ground. He was breathing. “We can find out where they took him soon,” he says reassuringly. He felt compelled to help you find Thor, not just because of his own needs, but he genuinely wanted to return the favor for the intel you provided- at no charge at that.  The crowds clear out in a somewhat orderly fashion, but then take to the streets to celebrate the Grandmaster’s Champion. 

You are furious that Loki would sit by and watch as Thor was sent out on that field. You had no doubt in your mind that he knew that was happening but didn’t stop it. You knew him too well to think otherwise. Part of you a very long time ago had a hope the two could actually work as a team, and you had seen Thor try- you realize that now. However, at the time, you always defended Loki. You remain seated, even after the whole section of seats has long since been cleared. You felt numb and disgusted.  

“Any way I can help you, I’ll do it,” you say finally, your eyes fixated on the crater that was formed by the fight. You were rigid, very much pissed. You had wasted a large portion of your first year here hoping he’d come after you, and as much as you’d say you wouldn’t have taken him back, you know that you three years ago would have fallen back into his arms in a heartbeat if he had tried to come find you. Skurge knew where you had been sent. Loki could have easily gotten that information and followed you if he had wanted to. He obviously didn’t. And you have already wasted more energy than you should’ve in your lifetime by his side, defending him, mourning him, loving him. You were done. If there was any doubt of that in your mind before, the display before you tonight solidified your feelings. 

You wanted to see him get what he deserved. 

“I need you to get close to him again,” Mando says hesitantly, and you can hear the reluctance. He knows he’s asking way too much from you, but he’s desperate. It’s the only way he can think of to out smart him. He cringes, not wanting to subject you to this character again, but he feels as though he doesn’t have a choice.  You were right that Mando needed to take advantage of Loki not knowing he was here. He could operate behind the scenes while you distracted him. It was a flimsy plan at best and he was sure you would say no. He wouldn’t blame you. He saw the hurt and pain on your face, just out for the world to see. You were usually much better at hiding it, he had observed, but the events of today undeniably bothered you greatly. He felt relieved to have his helmet on. He couldn’t imagine the discipline of controlling your expressions. It was something he never needed to master, and he admired your ability to do it.  

“I’ll do it,” you sniff looking back at him. Your eyes were glossed over with tears that you were not letting fall and you still held yourself with your head high. You were trying your best to not let your emotions spill over, and he marveled at your strength.   

“You sure.” 

“Positive. I can do it. Besides, I don’t know how you’d do it without me.” 

“You’re right,” he chuckles. 

“I always am,” you joke. You wipe your eyes and stand up, both of you heading out of the stadium. “It’s probably better if we try to find Thor tomorrow,” you conclude noticing how dark it is now. Mando nods in agreement.  

“Are they immortal?” he asks hesitantly, wanting to talk to you longer.  

“No but we live a long time,” you say with a sigh, “Very slow aging process as well.” 

“How old are they?” he asks, “I mean- do you not age either?” 

“Loki and I are similar in age, Thor is older,” you explain. “I mean, I don’t know an exact age in years, but at least a thousand? Thor probably about five hundred years older or so if I had to guess.”  

“Are- are you serious?” he asks in disbelief.  

“I’m an old maid,” you chuckle.  

“You look younger than me,” he says, still in shock. 

“Asgardians have a five-thousand-year lifespan roughly,” you giggle, finding it amusing you’ve made the bounty hunter speechless. “I know I look pretty good for my age,” you joke.  

“Yeah,” he says in agreement, and he doesn’t miss the way it makes you smile. There’s a tension between the two of you that becomes glaringly more obvious, and you both chose to try your best to ignore it.  

“So, what are you?” you ask. “You and your son- what species?” 

“I’m human,” he says quickly, embarrassed at what you thought he must look like under the helmet. “He’s adopted,” he explains, and you laugh at how flustered he sounds through the modulator.  

“Are you from Earth?” 

“No, I was born on Aq Vetina,” he explains and you nod. 

“I’ve never heard of Earth.” “I thought Earth was the only place humans dwelled,” you say intrigued, “Interesting.” 

“Are you royalty?” he asks, trying to change the subject from his backstory. 

“Almost was,” you admit, “but no. I was in the Einherjar army, warriors who protected the throne.” 

“Almost?” he asks, not wanting to pry but his curiosity of wanting to get to know more about you getting the better of him.  

“Loki and I at one point were engaged,” you say, facing the ground.  

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly, “I shouldn’t be asking.” 

“No, it’s okay,” you say reassuringly, “It’s nice to talk about it after all these years. I’m enjoying having someone who’s willing to listen.” He wondered if that would be something he would want as well.  “Then he faked his death, and well,” you joke, “I would say that is the most unique way I’ve heard of to break off an engagement.” 

“I don’t think that was because of you…” 

“Oh, I know,” you reassure him, “But it clearly showed me how little he actually cared for me.” 

“He’s a fool,” he said quickly.  

“I’m afraid I’m the one who deserves that title,” you jest, trying to make the atmosphere less depressing.  

“I don’t think so,” he counters, but doesn’t expand on his statement. You nod as a silent thank you. “I need to get back to the kid,” he says, “Should I meet you tomorrow?” 

“Where are you staying?” You say, “I’ll come to you. I’m too close to the Grandmaster, and then by extension Loki- me going to you keeps you off the radar longer.” 

He gives you the name of where he’s staying and his room, actually trusting you with it. You immediately know where he is staying and you assure him you won’t have any trouble finding him. You insist you want to go find Thor alone and he respects your request. You promise to go to him after. You part ways, and you return to your apartment and him to his room. 

With the secured behind him, he picks up the child and checks on him. He felt guilty for having left him so long, but the kid had only just woken up when Mando arrived back at the room. The child was babbling and happy, and Mando fed him. His mind is still racing with thoughts of you, and how much you’ve been though.  

It almost angers him, the way that you’ve been treated and discarded. Like you were just a pawn in a chess game. The pain and sadness behind your eyes said more to him than your words had, even though he hung on to every syllable. He feels ridiculous, but part of him thinks about how he can be the one to change it. He can be the one to give you justice, by catching the man as he was sent here to do. And maybe somewhere also in the back of his mind he thinks about being the one who can truly make you happy.  

The rapport between the two of you was so seamless. He never had such an easy time talking to someone before. It’s like you just showed up out of nowhere and fell into his life and he wants you to stay in it. He thinks about if you both are successful, he somehow by some miracle is able to catch this guy, would he just part ways with you and never see you again? He hates the idea already. He knows how irrational he is being, but he allows himself to indulge in the idea of sharing things with you the same way you opened up about your past to him. He thinks about your words about how good it felt to have someone to listen, and he thinks about the urge he has to tell you everything. He thinks about finishing this job and getting off this wasteland planet and taking you away with him. He knows it would never happen. You are the closest thing he could ever encounter to a deity, and there’s no reason for you to want him.  

With the child tired out yet again, Mando closes his pod when the baby is asleep and he is now free to take off his helmet. There’s a mirror on the wall and he looks at his reflection. He sees the signs of aging on his face, something you won’t experience until long after his lifetime. You’re the most beautiful being he’s ever encountered and here he is thinking you would return the affection he has begun to feel towards you. He doesn’t believe you’re someone who cares too much about appearances, but you are used to walking among ethereal beings. He knew he would not be good enough. Maybe he had been alone too long and his mind is playing tricks on him, but he can’t forget the way he made you smile. He clung onto it and took pride in it, desperately wanting to be the cause of your smile again. 

Taglist:

@msclifford @doctoreuphoria @gloryekaterina @sassy-kassaay​

#mando x reader #the mandolorian #mando smut #loki smut #mcu crossover #star wars crossover #mcu imagine #star wars imagine #mando x you #mandolorian imagine #mando x y/n #the mandolarian #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki x you #love triangle #angst #slow burn #fluff #the mandolorian x reader #pedro pascal characters #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston characters #pedro pascal imagine #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #pedro pascal x reader

[iraacundus]

Butterfly Lies - TWO

previous ✭ CHAPTER 2 ✭ next ✭ masterlist

mafialeader kun x reader

words: 4k

genre: fluff, smut (in later chapters), angst

warnings: injury, weapons, swearing

money makes people do strange things, is what people would say, it can even motivate them to murder. kun didn’t have people killed for the money, he had them killed for the power, he was a monster among men, is what people would say. in reality kun had only ever been motivated by one thing, his love for you

✭  ✭  ✭  ✭  ✭

You sat in the university lecture, not really listening, instead using all your energy to push Kun and the gun to the back of your mind. You didn’t really have to listen anyway; you had watched the lecture from last year online before you had even gotten there. You were a model student.

Your friend Yuyan nudged you, flicking her head towards a group of boys sitting in front of you.

“Is he new?” she asked, “I think I would have noticed if such a good-looking guy was on our course.”

“Which one do you mean?” you queried, no idea who she was referencing.

“There third on the left, brown hair, glasses,”

You pulled your own reading glasses down slightly so you could look over them to see who she was talking about.

You spotted him and for a moment felt slightly annoyed before a small smirk settled on your face. You had seen that guy before, standing behind Ten at the apartment, making a phone call to Kun.

“I think he has always been in our class,” you said to her, lying through your teeth. You didn’t know whether to continue to be annoyed or become reassured at the sight of Xiaojun sitting in your history of economics lecture. Either way you thought it was best to keep his identity somewhat secret.

You could have chosen to believe it was a coincidence, that Xiaojun really had just transferred to your class. Somehow you didn’t think he looked old enough to be in a final year class though. He was evidently not as old as you.

Therefore, you chose to be suspicious.

Kun had clearly sent him after your gun freak out. You were somewhat insulted that he thought you needed a babysitter, but you couldn’t be annoyed at him because you knew Kun always acted with good intentions.

As the lecturer droned on about the economic plans the Chinese government had after the war, you began to formulate your own plan.

If Kun wanted to play the game where he essentially sent someone to spy on you for what he considered your own safety, you were going to use it to your own advantage.

You hadn’t wanted to ask Kun questions because it was clearly uncomfortable for him. However, you had no qualms about trying to get the answers to those same questions out of Xiaojun. You just had to somehow befriend him first.

The difficulty of that task depended on two things. The first one being how loyal he was to Kun. You had to guess pretty loyal if Kun trusted him to make sure you didn’t get attacked or report him to the police. The second was if Kun had specifically instructed him to say nothing to you.

If that was the case, you had about zero chance of getting through to him. You had to hope the only thing Kun had banned them from was letting you into the apartment.

As soon as the lecturer began to wrap up you jumped out of your seat and half ran after Xiaojun who had left early, seemingly in the hope you wouldn’t have spotted him.

When it became very apparent you were jogging after him Xiaojun stopped and let you catch up with him. At the same time Yuyan texted you asking if you knew the cute boy and why you ran after him. A text which you sadly had to ignore.

“Hey, Xiaojun right? You were in the apartment behind Ten that day, right?” you asked, knowing the answer, but curious to see if he would try and lie.

“How did you even see me?” he asked, fixing the position of his glasses slightly.

“Good eyesight, well only the long-distance aspect of it but still,” you explained taking your own glasses off, realising you couldn’t see him properly with them on as you were no longer meant to be reading.

Xiaojun was clearly nervous, he was shifting his weight from foot to foot awkwardly, playing with the adjustment strap on his backpack.

“I didn’t know you were an economics student?” you said, smiling at him slightly deviously which only made him appear more awkward and maybe slightly fearful. Maybe he thought that friends of gang leaders were all worth fearing. You didn’t think that would have been an unfair conclusion to draw even if it didn’t apply to you.

Xiaojun looked down at his watch.

“Sorry, I’m busy right now, I have something I can’t be late for, can we chat some other time?” he said. You shook your head, linking your arm with his.

“That is not going to work as an escape ploy, instead I think we should go for coffee, any friend of Kun’s is a friend of mine.”

You began to walk him toward the nearest coffee shop to the university campus. He didn’t protest or struggle and seeing as you could tell he would have defiantly won in a fight; you took it as a sign he was willing to go along with whatever you were doing.

“How did you know I would know you?” Xiaojun asked, “Like that we knew what you looked like not just your name?”

You didn’t really know why you had assumed that. You began to laugh to yourself imagining a meeting with all these tough guys in which Kun just stood at the front with an A4 picture of your face.

Something along those lines must have occurred seeing as Xiaojun did know your face when he saw you. Still you didn’t answer his question. As you opened the door of the coffee shop and pulled him inside you changed the topic.

“What do you want? I’ll pay seeing as I dragged you here,” you said, Xiaojun didn’t bother to argue with you and just told you the one he wanted.

You paid and after an uncomfortable silence between the two of you as you waited for them to be made, the barista handed you the drinks.

You sat down in a chair opposite him and drank your coffee for a moment, waiting to see if he would say anything first, to judge how chatty he was.

Sadly, he didn’t say anything and didn’t seem like the chatty type which wasn’t the greatest start to your plan.

“What’s your job then?” you asked him, placing your drink back town on the table. Xiaojun looked in thought and for a moment you wondered if he would even answer at all, or if he just planned to sit with you silently.

“Management,” he replied, clearly deciding that was an appropriate response.

“Most managers don’t stalk their bosses’ friends at their university,” you raised one eyebrow slightly, “what’s your real job?”

When he didn’t reply and just began to fiddle nervously, you realised you were being kind of harsh on him, it must have been hard for him to work out what he could say and what he couldn’t,

“I’m just being annoying, I’m sorry.”

Xiaojun shrugged.

“I wouldn’t ‘stalk’ you as your calling it, if I had the choice, nor is it my usual job. It’s a personal favour I’m doing for your rather scary friend Kun.”

You chuckled slightly at his eventual response. You couldn’t believe that people were scared of Kun. While the situation frightened you slightly, you had never been scared of Kun, he was too sweet a person for that.

“In what way is Kun scary?” you asked, unbelievably curious about how he acted around the rest of the people in his life, the people who had the same kind of job he did.

“You are literally the only person he is actually nice to apart from Ten, well at least I assume. He is big on rules and doing well and when you fuck up, he is mad scary man. I mean he’s the boss that’s how he has to be to succeed in our business. He is a cold man with big plans, not the Easter bunny,” Xiaojun explained.

You struggled to imagine any other version of Kun than the kind-hearted one you knew who would watch cartoons with you and got sprinkles on his ice cream.

“He’s a good guy,” you said, for some reason feeling the sudden need to defend him, you for some reason wished that Xiaojun saw Kun the way you did.

“I never said I thought he wasn’t. Doesn’t make him not terrifying.”

Xiao Jun’s phone started to ring, the shrill tone cutting through the pause in conversation. You could see Kun was the caller ID.

“Sorry, I’ve got to take this,” Xiaojun said, standing up and walking a few meters away.

As soon as the call had started you could see that whatever Kun was saying wasn’t good. You heard Xiaojun swear loudly enough that other people looked around. You stood up and ushered him out the door, still on the phone, mouthing sorry to the people in the coffee shop.

“I will come right now, yes she is literally standing right behind me,” Xiaojun said, hanging up the phone by pressing the screen rather aggressively.

“What’s wrong, is Kun okay?” you asked him. He just shook his head.

“What do you mean no, is he in the hospital or something, what happened?” You started to panic for approximately the fourth time that week. Cool and collected was not your prerogative.

“In our line of work, we never go to the hospital, it’s not really an option, the hospital asks questions we cannot answer without being arrested…”

You don’t know whether he just didn’t have time to deal with your questions or if he had taken pity on the worried expression on your face, but he gave in.

“Kun has been stabbed, they’re at the office, it’s like a four-minute run from here, how good at running are you?” He said the words all seeming to explode out of his mouth at once.

Xiaojun didn’t wait for an answer, he just took off running towards the centre of town.

You were frozen for a few seconds. Kun had been stabbed and yet he wasn’t going to the hospital. If you hadn’t been so worried you really would have been inclined to kill him.

You realised that Xiaojun was fast, after only a few seconds he was already far ahead so you forced your body to run after him despite the shock.

After a few minutes you saw him run into the entrance of a building that said Qian Industries on the side. Which in itself was insane to you, but you didn’t have time to be surprised that Kun owned a building.

Thankfully Xiaojun had waited briefly for you inside so you didn’t have to guess which floor to go to in the lift. Xiaojun hurried you in and pressed the button for the fourteenth flour.

The short time in the lift gave you a second to think that you hadn’t yet had and for whatever reason tears began to well up in your eyes.

“Is he going to die?” you asked, looking up at Xiaojun, who was realising that had no idea how to comfort a crying girl in a lift.

“He will be fine, just try to look less upset, that will probably help,” he said, pushing you out of the lift when the doors opened as you hadn’t moved by yourself. He grabbed a tissue from a box that had been in the corridor and handed it to you, “just try and pull it together slightly before you come in, crying really won’t be helpful, it’s the second door on the left,” Xiaojun said, “Sorry I don’t mean to sound so harsh,” he added.

He walked away into the office where a heated argument was clearly occurring between a group of people.

You used the tissue to wipe your face. Xiaojun was right, if Kun saw you crying he would probably be concerned, and it wasn’t you he needed to be concerned about. You had to somehow convince him to go to a hospital.

You threw the tissue in the nearest bin and took a deep breath before pushing down the handle to the office and opening the door.

You were immediately met with the sight of Kun stitching up a rather large wound on his arm through gritted teeth. Luckily for you, you had never been squeamish. Next to him Ten was attempting to reset some guys nose. From the other man shouting at him you deciphered the guy with the broken nose was named Yangyang.

“Well shit,” was all you managed to say, causing them to all stop shouting at one and other and look over. Xiaojun who had just sat down on the desk could do nothing but put his head in his hands at the situation.

“y/n!” Kun said out of surprise, before groaning, his stitch had missed due to the distraction of your entrance. You walked straight over to him and crouched down in front of where he was sitting.

“You should really go to a hospital or at least get a doctor,” you said to him, struggling to see him when he was in so much pain. Kun just shook his head.

“That is not a viable option, I would die before I went to the hospital, luckily I was only stabbed in the arm, so I won’t be dying today.”

“I am so mad at you Kun,” you said, when really you were just upset that he was taking such a serious injury so nonchalantly.

“You can’t be mad at me, I’m injured,” he joked, flashing a smile at you before finishing the last stich, tying the thread and cutting it, “see… I’m fine now.”

He was right you couldn’t be mad at him.

“If I hug you in front of your associates,” you tried to think of the best way to refer to his fellow gang members, “would that be embarrassing for you,” you said, quietly enough that the associates as you were calling them, couldn’t hear over their yelling

“I’m the boss, I can do what I want,” he replied. With the go ahead, you carefully wrapped your arms around him, taking special attention not to touch his arm,

“Do you need pain killers or something, I don’t think the ibuprofen in my bag will help you much though?”

“You’re the only comfort I need,” he joked. You pulled away your lips settling into a firm line.

“While that would be a good line at any other time I admit, be serious, I’m worried about you.”

You crouched back down in front of him.

“Worry not, my work often involves illegal drugs and so always have a supply of anything I could ever need, in this case, local anaesthetic, I can barely feel my arm.”

You got up and went to the water machine you had spotted on the other side of the office and filled up a cup with water before bringing it back. Trying to do something to help.

“Drink,” you encouraged, handing the water to Kun, he smiled, taking a sip, “then talk… how the hell did you get stabbed Kun? You said there was nothing to worry about, that you could protect yourself.”

“Can we talk later?” he asked. You nodded understanding he had stuff to deal with.

“Stop shouting Lucas!” He called, focusing his attention to the chaos unfolding in the office. You stood up from where you were crouched and went to lean against the desk next to Xiaojun.

He was tapping a beat lightly on the counter, clearly not very invested in what was going on now he had ascertained that no one was going to die.

He had a wry smile on his face.

“I have never seen Kun smile, not in the three years I have known him, not before you talked to him just now,” he said, “are you magic, have you placed him under a spell or something?”

You felt like that was somehow an insult, but you laughed anyway in response.

“Not magic no, just an old friend of his.”

“So, you are seriously not dating? Like he clearly loves you, bro”

“We are not close enough friends for this conversation … bro,” you replied. Xiaojun didn’t seem to care, he just went back to tapping the table.

You turned your own attention to Kun sorting out the mess in front of him. He had managed to get them to stop arguing and listen to him straight away. Even if they found him scary you could tell they respected him more so than anything else.

You felt a weird sense of pride rise in your chest. Kun may not have been the same boy you had met at fifteen, but he had made something of his life. His line of work may have been illegal, but he had people who respected him and with a building this big, you figured he had to have been good at his job.

“If I hadn’t shown up in time, you and five other guys would have died Yangyang, you understand that.” Kun said to him. The boy named Yangyang nodded and hung his head slightly, his newly reset nose starting to bruise horribly.

So Kun had been protecting him? He had clearly gotten him out of trouble, even as a gang member he was a good guy.

“I would show up to save any of you, you all know that, but I shouldn’t have too, Yangyang you’re clearly too young for this position so you are gonna have to go back to working for Ten. I would shout at you more, but I think Lucas has done that for me, you should all just go home, get some rest. I’ll contact you sometime later this week,” he said sitting down in the chair behind the desk where you were leaning.

They all got up and walked out as soon as he asked them too. Yangyang leaving last, waiting at the door last, to personally thank Kun, who just told him to get some sleep.

You turned around moving a few items before climbing up and sitting cross legged on the desk facing Kun once again.

“So, you own a building these days Qian Kun? That’s slightly impressive I will give it too you,” you fiddled with the items on the desk, all the pens and all the paper with the name Qian Industries at the top, “yet somehow I don’t believe this is an engineering company.”

You were filled with nervous energy, unable to sit still so you began to draw a star on your hand slowly.

“We are good at forging documents what can I say,” Kun replied, eyes focused on where you were drawing on your hand, “I’m sorry I worried you,” he said, his gaze lifting up to look you in the eyes.

You stopped drawing.

“Only you are considerate enough to apologise for getting stabbed. I heard that you only were in that situation to help that kid. I might not love what you do but as I said, I won’t deny that you’re not impressive.”

Kun paused for a moment, searching through some of the papers on the desk before handing you and article he had printed out from the country’s biggest newspaper.

It referred to the unknown leader of Gang V, calling him a monster who killed people not for the money, but to make himself feel powerful. The article attributed many crimes to Kun, some that couldn’t ever have been him, as far as you knew Kun had never been to Sao Paulo.

“I’m never going to think you’re a bad person Kun, those writers don’t know anything about you, I’ve known you for over six years.”

“I am responsible for ordering most of the crimes on there to happen, apart from the ones in Sao Paulo, that makes no sense, I’ve never left the country.”

Which just confirmed that you knew him better than anyone.

“You also helped a random girl you met on the street find her way home and stood up for her against dickhead boys and watched Shrek with her more times than you can count. People aren’t just one thing.”

Kun moved his face closer to yours.

“That’s because I really, really like you, the moment I saw you I thought you were the most mesmerising girl in the world.”

You weren’t the biggest fan of when he said super cheesy things and couldn’t help making a slight face. Kun wasn’t offended by it, he knew you well enough to know it was the concept of being cheesy you objected too, not him specifically.

“You can see it from here,” he said, getting up and walking over to the floor to ceiling glass window. You followed him to see what he meant, “right there,” his finger pressed on the glass towards a street with badly working streetlamps.

“What is it?”

“The street where we first met,” he answered, before tucking a lose strand of hair behind your ear.

His eyes were fixed on yours, neither of you able to look away.

“Do I really have no chance? If it makes you uncomfortable, I will stop, we can just be best friends, I won’t flirt with you anymore. I just need you to tell me, that I have absolutely no chance of ever winning your affection.”

You paused for a second, staring back out at the street remembering the first day you met, how cute he was. The smartest choice would be to tell him to give up, but the thought of that made your heart ache. Equally you couldn’t say what he wanted to hear. You knew it was selfish of you really.

“It’s not that you have no chance,” you began, taking a moment to breath and compose yourself when you felt Kun’s fingers brush lightly against your own, his pinkie playing with yours.

His face looked so relieved when he heard your words.

“Then what, and please don’t say you won’t risk your friendship with me because I know that’s not the only reason.”

“Before… I knew what I know now, the distance between us due to what I didn’t know did mean that I thought it was best not to risk that. I could never have dated you not knowing a whole side of your life. I didn’t want to risk finding out though or asking you and you not wanting to tell me and that being an issue, its complicated, I don’t really understand myself fully my reasons.”

“And now?” he argued you to continue, you could almost hear his heart beating.

“You have turned out to be a powerful guy who most likely has powerful enemies. If you have a girlfriend then you have a weakness that those enemies will exploit, I’m not going to put either of us at risk like that.”

You could tell Kun wanted to argue with you so badly and tell you how stupid of a reason he thought that was. Poke holes in the argument you had given until you had no choice but to give in. He didn’t do that though; he was far to kind.

You were just thankful he didn’t comeback with some rather cheesy line about you being his weakness because you don’t think you could have handled that without throwing something at him.

“But I still have a chance?” he asked, his fingers still touching yours. You nodded.

“Then that’s good enough for me.”

You offered to drive him home because of his hurt arm, forgetting you didn’t have a driver’s licence or a car. When Kun reminded of that you settled on calling him a taxi instead. You wanted to go with him, to make sure he was okay, but you knew it was important for you both to have time apart, to process the nights events.

You caught the nearest bus back to your flat, drawing a star in the condensation of the window as you thought about your own words.

You were afraid to become Kun’s weakness, that’s why you somewhat distanced yourself from him by refusing to give into his charms and love him in that way.

Roads at night seem to lead to nowhere when you can’t see what comes beyond through the darkness. You were determined that you and Kun wouldn’t lead to nowhere, because the thought of him moving on from you was such a horrible one. So, you decided to do whatever you had to do, to become Kun’s strength instead of his weakness.

#wayv #wayv scenarios #kun #kun scenarios #wayv smut #kun mafia au #kun smut #nct scnearios #wayv series #kun series #nct series #wayv angst #wayv fluff #kun fluff #kun angst #nct mafia #wayv mafia au #nct mafia au #wayv mafia #kun mafia

[scapegrace74-blog]

Saorsa, Chapter 28

A/N  Here is the next installment of Saorsa.  I’m not sure how I feel about this chapter.  I knew I wanted them handfast, couldn’t work it into the modern marriage ceremony (which we don’t see anyway), but wanted there to be some acknowledgement of their deepening relationship.  In the series, that happens because Claire doesn’t go through the Stones.   This is my equivalent.

Rather than link to all previously posted chapters, I’ll just direct those of you wanting to catch up on your Saorsa-reading to my AO3 page, where the fic is posted in its entirety.

Thank you to each of you liking and reblogging!  It does my little fanfic writer’s heart good.

She wasn’t a demonstrative person by nature.  The circumstances of Claire’s childhood had seen to that.   Practical, pragmatic, emotionally cautious: the nomadic life of an orphan following her scholarly uncle about the globe had shaped her for an adulthood of no-nonsense behaviour.

Which didn’t explain why she was swallowing back tears the Monday evening after Easter.  She sat on their bed watching Jamie pack a simple change of clothes and slip a few spare coins in a hidden slit inside his tall leather riding boots.   She could blame her pregnancy, but it had been many months since her last hormonal outburst.   In truth, she was afraid for Jamie.  He was undertaking a difficult twentieth-century journey with only his eighteenth-century wits to guide him.   She was going to miss him horribly.  A nagging premonition gnawed at her, that he would leave and never come back.

“Dinna fash, Sassenach,” he said, noticing her discomposure.  “I may be new tae these times, but I ken a thing or twa about keeping safe on a long journey.  An’ Rupert will watch o’er me, leastaways as far as Edin’bra.”

“I know that, Jamie.  I just…”   She broke off, hands unconsciously cradling her swollen belly, as though comforting the child within her was the best she could hope for.

“What is it, mo chridhe?  Are ye worrit about the bairn coming early?”

“No.  Not really.  First babies are often born late.  I’m worried about…” she broke off, at a loss to articulate the swirling mix of emotions she was feeling.

Jamie must have intuited her ambivalent state of mind, for he settled next to her and enveloped her hands in his.

Still new to the art of husbanding, he had learned that the best way to induce Claire to talk was to offer her silence to fill.  He therefore sat quietly, tangling and untangling their fingers.

“I can’t help but feel…” she began hesitantly, “that once you leave Lallybroch you’ll… oh, I feel stupid saying it…”

“Out wi’ it, Sassenach.  If it’s causin’ ye tae fret sae badly that ye didna remind me tae pack spare socks, then it needs to be given voice, aye?”

She grinned ruefully, then tried to collect her scattered thoughts.

“I know you chose to stay here, in this time, rather than return to your own.  Given what you know about the aftermath of Culloden, it was a reasonable choice.  But Jamie…” He could see how dearly this was costing her.   A furrow of worry bisected her brow, and her molten eyes looked haunted.  “Jamie, you’re a Highland warrior, and I can’t help but feel that I’ve turned you into some kind of glorified field hand and future babysitter.  And that once you leave Lallybroch, you’ll not want to return.”

Having blurted out her fears, Claire’s gaze sheered away from her husband, focusing instead on the patterned wall coverings.

“Claire…” he breathed, stunned by her revelation.   “Sassenach, look at me, will ye?”

Their eyes met, and the look he was giving her was so pained that she blinked in shock.

“Have I given ye reason to doubt my commitment to ye and yer bairn?”

“No,” she answered plainly.

“And was it no’ me who asked ye, ripe wi’ another man’s child, to be marrit?” he continued.

“Yes, it was.”

“It’s true that I’m a Highlander, Sassenach, an’ a proud one a’ that.  But I was a warrior by necessity, no’ by desire.  I fought because to do ought would ha’ been craven, an’ my Da didna raise me tae be a coward.  Twas the only way I kent tae protect my family, my clan.   Now ye and this bairn are my family, an’ those who serve Lallybroch are my clan.  I may no’ ken much about yer science an’ industry, but I can provide for my own, an’ tis my great honour tae do so.  And if so doin’, I help ye raise a braw wee Scot tae be laird or lady of this home of my heart, weel, I will one day die knowin’ I was a credit tae the Fraser name.  In my time, I would be ded, or just as well.  Here, I can do wha’ I was born tae.  Now I ask ye, why would I turn from that?  Why would I turn from ye?”

It was the most he’d ever spoken about matters neither practical nor routine, and she took the words inside her heart where they lit a spark in the tinder of her newborn love.

“It does pain me, though, that ye feel I asked ye tae be my bride merely because it was prudent.  I havna done my duty as yer husband, if ye dinna ken…”

Jamie stood abruptly and held out his hand.  She grasped it gratefully to leverage herself from the bed.

“Follow me, Sassenach.  It’s high time tae address my neglect.”

***

Murtagh looked mildly perturbed to have his evening’s routine interrupted, but scarcely more so than usual.  A few murmured words in Gaelic from Jamie and he grunted in surprise, appraising Claire’s hastily donned overcoat and pale blotchy skin.

Claire was surprised to find the small croft next to the stables comfortably appointed, its solid wooden furniture decorated with heavy woolen throws and the occasional cushion.    An ornate picture frame adorned the mantlepiece, displaying a dour couple posed stiffly in outmoded wedding clothes.

Disappearing through a darkened doorway into the croft’s only other room, Murtagh returned carrying several objects: a long strip of frayed tartan, a two-handled tarnished silver cup, and a short dagger in its sheath.  Murtagh placed the items on a low table and exchanged a significant look with Jamie before returning to the adjacent room.

“Claire,” he began, and she could sense the air in the room shift with his pronouncement of her Christian name, muted but sure.  “I ken that you and I, weel, we’re still new.  But the lady I’ve come to know, she’s… weel, she’s all that I could e’er want in a wife.  Canty.  Brave.  Strong and fierce tae make me heed, but soft and gracious and sae, sae beautiful, she can make the sun shine on a cloudy day.  I could travel through the stones across the ages, and no’ find a better companion fer my heart.  So I’m asking ye, Claire Beauchamp Randall Fraser, will ye do me the ‘onour of becoming my wife?  No’ because ye’er wi’ child.  No’ because ye need me tae drove yer sheep or mend yer fences or tend yer hearth.  I want to be marrit’ to ye because ye’er the only future I wish tae know.”

He was balancing both her hands on his open palms.  She fixated on their size; broad and calloused, yet always gentle with her.  She smiled and felt him take a deep inward breath.

“Jamie… I… that… but we’re already married!” she blurted.

“Aye.  The church ‘as blessed us, and a good thing too.  I feared I would be goin’ tae ‘ell fer all the lustful thoughts I had of ye, bonnie wee thing that ye are.  Tis a relief tae be back in God’s good graces.”

His impudent smirk released the tension from the room.

“Very funny,” she retorted.  “But seriously, Jamie, why are we here?  And what is all this…” she gestured towards the table.

“Have ye ne’er heard of handfasting, my Sassenach lass?  Tis the proper Scottish way tae be marrit’.  When ye’er bound together in the auld way, they say nought can come between ye for a year an’ one day.  Sae I’ll ask ye again, Claire, will ye accept tae be my wife?”

“Of course, you ridiculous man.  Why else would I be standing in Murtagh’s croft in the dead of night, wearing nothing but an overcoat atop my nightgown and slippers?  I swear, James Fraser…”

Any further chastisement was halted by his sudden, emphatic kiss.  She nearly lost herself in his mouth before she remembered Murtagh was only a few feet away, waiting for them to finish their quiet conversation.  Jamie called him back to the room with a shrill whistle.

Standing before the fire, Murtagh first unsheathed the dagger and drew it roughly across Jamie’s outstretched palm.   Claire flinched, but only a few scarlet beads of blood rose from the shallow cut.  Understanding what was coming next, she extended her right hand and received a matching slash.  Jamie then pressed their bleeding palms together.  Murtagh quickly enveloped them in several loops of the tartan sash.

“Is that…?” she asked in wonder.

“Aye, tis a wee strip of my plaid.  Murtagh saved me a piece a’fore ye burned the rest, ye heathen,” he joked, calm now that the ceremony was underway and she hadn’t laughed in his face.

“What now?” Claire asked, feeling the slippery warmth of their co-mingled blood against the fine skin of her wrist.

“We repeat our vows.  I ken ye dinna understand the Gàidhlig, but would ye consider sayin’ the Fraser oaths?  I could translate them for ye and…”

“Jamie,” she interjected.  “Of course I want to use your family’s vows.  I am a Fraser, after all,” she asserted proudly.

Slowly, using only their free hands, Claire and Jamie each grabbed an end of cloth.  Staring at his mouth to capture the nuance of the unfamiliar sounds, Claire slowly repeated after Jamie:

‘S tu smior de mo  chnàimh , na mo chuislean ‘s tu ‘n  fhuil

Bheir mi dhut-sa mo chorp, gum  bith ‘n  dithis mar  aon

Bheir mi dhut-sa  slàn m’  anam , gus an  crìochnaich ar  saoghal

With each phrase, they clumsily tied a knot above their pressed hands, until the room was silent and their hearts were full.  Unsentimental to the last, Murtagh quickly unbound their hands and wiped the blade of his dirk on the plaid.

Jamie opened a nearby cupboard with apparent familiarity and withdrew a half-empty bottle of whiskey, pouring a generous amount in the double-handled cup. Murtagh growled something unintelligible in Gaelic.

“Tis my wedding day, ye auld coot.  Dinna be parsimonious,” Jamie replied easily.

“Tis yer handfasting day, ye muckle-sized eejit, an’ tha’s my only bottle,” Murtagh retorted with no malice.

Claire grinned at their easy banter, happy that Jamie had made a friend in the older man.  Besides her, Murtagh was the only person to know Jamie’s secret.

“Here, Sassenach.  A’fore Murtagh here drinks it himself.”

Grasping the offered cup, which Jamie informed her was called a quaich, in both hands, she took a hasty sip while looking at him over the bowl.  His blue eyes danced in merry amusement.   Receiving the quaich, Jamie finished the amber liquid, watching her all the while.   Something crackled between them, and both could feel the buzz of it in their veins, stronger than any liquor.

“Weel,” Murtagh interrupted, “if tis all the same wi’ you, I’ll be goin’ tae bed.  There’s sheep that require dipping t’morrow.   Godspeed tae ye, lad.  Dinna forget what I told ye about the roads beyond Edin’bra.”

With a polite goodnight to Claire, Murtagh fled to the other room.

“Well,” Claire began.

“Aye.”

At this rate they’d still be standing in the croft’s living area when Murtagh rose at dawn, staring at one another.

“What did you have me say, exactly?” she asked.

“You are the marrow in my bones and the blood in my veins.

I shall give you my body, that we two might be one.

I shall give you my whole soul, until our lives shall be done.”

“Until our lives shall be done?” she asked in a timorous voice.

“Aye, Sassenach.  Ye’er stuck wi’ me,” he tried to jest while they slowly made their way across the courtyard and up the stairs of the main house, leading each other through the dark towards home.

“It’s a good thing I love you then,” she confessed.

“And I you, mo nighean donn.  Come.  Let me show ye how much.”

#my writing #outlander

[bebepac]

The Pink Lady

I am participating in @wackydrabbles prompt# 42 “Let’s be honest with ourselves, we knew this was going to happen” will appear in bold

Liam, Riley, Hana, and Maxwell all belong to Pixelberry.  All other characters are my own creation to support our story.  

This is the 7th Chapter of Fast Forward To catch up on Liam and Riley’s future Life please click 

Fast Forward

I wasn’t kidding when I said this story keeps taking turns on me, and it did yet another one.  I really can’t control this one.  There are some mentions of some things if you are not following  the Life of Riley  or  some of my wacky drabbles or one shots.  Mentioned in this fic:  Riley’s horrible driving, The Pink Lady Guitar, and Riley’s Accident.  To get more back ground on them check out Ride with Me (my very first fic i posted)  and Ghost Girl from the life of Riley, and January 18th  Links are :  

Ride With Me

Ghost Girl

January 18th

Song inspiration for this chapter:  When I Was your Man by Bruno Mars.  

https://youtu.be/ekzHIouo8Q4

I don’t own rights to any of the music or lyrics displayed.  

Summary:  Von stays at the palace per Riley’s request.   Riley spends the day at the private beach with friends with Von.  Von attends his first courtly event, as Riley’s guest and gives her a very special gift from her past.

Warnings:  Profanity, depression, sadness, domestic violence,  Angry Liam.... becomes Evil Liam.  This just went dark.  Sorry guys not my intent.

Word count: 2733

Tagging:  @queenjilian @dcbbw @burnsoslow @loveellamae @lovemychoices @bbrandy2002 @nomadics-stuff @kimmiedoo5 @cordonianroyalty @cordonia-gothqueen @lodberg @aestheticartwriting @glaimtruelovealways @custaroonie @texaskitten30 @janezillow @atha68 @my0123456789universe @kaitycole @indiacater @losingbraincellseveryday @yukinagato2012 @furiousherringoperatortoad @marietrinmimi @hopefulmoonobject @sevenfuckslefttogive @ac27dj @queen-arabella-of-cordonia @mrsdrakewalkerblog @islandcrow @xpandabeardontcarex  @axwalker @sanchita012 @queenwalton @flutistbyday2020 @gabesmommie1130  @mom2000aggie @queenaaliyah @jared2612​

"Maybe you can fool her with that you are on vacation bullshit. Cut the crap. I saw your little interview. What do you really think you can accomplish by coming here now Donovan?"

"I think the real question is, why are you so insecure with your relationship, that you are coming at me like this bro?"

"Because I feel something from you; the only reason you have come here is to try to take My Queen back with you. You do realize we have a family together right? Riley loves me and our children, and I love my wife."

"Then why is she not your equal?  The way you overrule her and talk over her.  I have seen you do it millions of times in press conferences.  You even did it to her today.  I asked Riley was she pregnant. I didn't ask you.  You answered for her, like she was incapable of answering for herself.  No wonder I've been hearing from her so much lately.  I feel like all you want is a pretty faced, pretty shaped Queen to give you heirs. Riley is more than that. She is not a trophy. You treat her like she's property. Probably the only reason you want another baby is to show someone that she's yours."

"SHE IS MINE! You are sadly mistaken if you think you are gonna swoop in and …."

"Look who's up?" Riley walked back into the room holding Jaiden bouncing him on her hip. He rubbed his eyes. Liam gave him a kiss on the forehead. "My baby boy."  Ellie and Adam followed behind her, looking inquisitively at the stranger standing before them. 

Von gave them a tiny wave. Adam waved. Ellie looked right at her father. Von could have sworn he saw Liam slightly shake his head "No." Ellie did not wave back. 

"Von, I'd like you to meet our children. Ellie, and Adam say hello."

Both children holding close to Riley's hips peer around her but only Adam said hello. 

"Ellie where are your manners? Say hello to Mommy's friend."

Ellie said nothing but ran across the room to Liam. 

He picked her up holding her in his arms. 

"I'm sorry Von, she's usually not shy. I don't know what's gotten into her."

"No it's okay."  He looked at Ellie. Of course he was training her to be just like him. She was the crown princess.  They both had the same look in their eyes, staring at Von, anger. 

"And this is Jaiden."  

Von remembered everything Riley had ever told him about  Jaiden. When Riley's memories came back she had told him about what happened with him that day during the accident.

"He would be so happy you named one of your sons after him."

"I think so too." Von softly touched Jaiden's cheek and  he giggled.  He grabbed Von's fingers holding them. 

These two were definitely Riley's children, that Riley had the primary influence over them.  Not Crown Princess A-hole that was looking down at him sneering just like her father. 

"Von do you have a place to stay? We have plenty of room you could stay with us. We could get…"

Liam cut her off  yet again. "I'm sure Donovan has made his own arrangements Riley, we shouldn't interfere.  He said he is in fact on vacation, he probably has a plan."

Riley laughed out loud. 

"Actually Liam not really. Riley, you know me so well. One of the things that is my fatal flaw that Riley loathed was my lack of planning. However, bucket list item #13 stay in a palace, so there you go!"

"We can get someone to bring in your stuff. I assume you rented a vehicle?" 

"I did, my stuff is in the car. 

"We can do something fun but low-key tomorrow because I'll have the kids. You don't mind that do you Von?"

"No not at all, it will be nice to get to know your kids."

"We will have a great time, I could even drive."

"NO!" Both Liam and Von screamed in unison. 

"So she's never been able to drive, these are not recent events from just not driving much?"

"LIAM!!!!"

"And I was there when she took driver's ed….three times."

Liam laughed, shaking his head at Riley.  "You're lucky, you're beautiful and charming."

"VON!!!! You gonna tell my business out on the street like that?"

"Mommy says snitches get stitches," Adam chimed in loudly.

"That's right, baby and Mommy's always right."

Von laughed out loud, "The New Yorker is strong in this one."

Von knew right then, if Riley ever left Liam, and he got another chance with Riley, he wouldn't have a problem loving adorable Jaiden and Adam as if they were his own kids. Liam would never let Riley take Ellie. She was too important to him. She was him.

Servants helped bring his items in but one box he wouldn't let out of his sight.  He held it carefully.  "It's a surprise," he said.

"Tomorrow we are having a small get together here in the ballroom.  Please say you will attend as my guest."

He nodded to Riley.  

The next morning after breakfast Riley security team took them to the beach. He noticed right away the way Riley's guard Nico was staring at her in her bathing suit. That's why Liam wanted another child. He's staking his claim on Riley. Liam was so transparent, at least in Von's eyes. 

But how did Riley truly feel? he wondered.

“Oh my God, I’m so glad you recommended this.  I’ve never been so relaxed in my life.   Who knew the thing I was missing from my life was a private beach.”  

Riley laughed.  “I feel the same way when I come here.   I think about all the times we went to the Island to go to the beach.  Do you remember?!? Shoulder to shoulder with people.”  

Inviting her friends also built in babysitters so that he could talk to Riley.  He had already noticed some things he was worried about.

He decided to just jump into it.

“Riley, is something bothering you?”

“I’m just fine.”  She said smiling.  A smile he saw didn’t reach Riley’s eyes.  He saw sadness.  He’d seen that type of sadness in her eyes before.  Riley. Was. Not. Fine.

He watched Riley when she didn’t think she was being watched.   She took a sip of her water and put it down.  He noticed her hands were shaking.  

Riley looked deep in thought.  

**** 10 months ago *** “We’ve tried multiple times to turn the baby, but it’s just not working.  The baby is still breech. Being so close to your due date Your Majesty. I think a C-section would be best.  

“Both Ellie and Adam I had naturally.  “Will there be scars?”  

“We’ll do our best to make them as minimal as possible.”

“And there’s no chance the baby will turn so Riley can deliver naturally?”

“There’s always a chance King Liam, but it looks highly unlikely at this point.  A C-section is the safest option for both mom and baby.”

Liam gently rubbed Riley’s large rounded stomach.  “Yes, we want them both to be safe.  Is there anything else Dr. Ramirez?”  

“That’s all I can think of, we’ll have you back next week, as we’re going to start weekly visits from here on out.”  

“I just had one more thing, Go ahead Liam  I’ll be out in one second.”

He walked out the door. Riley waited until he closed it behind him.  

She chuckled at Riley, “You would think it’s your first baby how nervous you look.”  

“Well,” Riley tried to make her voice sound as nonchalant as possible,”  Since we’re doing a c-section would it be possible to perform a tubal ligation while i’m open already?”

“Queen Riley, you have plenty of child bearing years left, if we do the procedure and you change your mind, we might not be able to reverse it.”

“I won’t be changing my mind, I want the procedure.”

“King Liam hasn’t mentioned anything of the sort.”

“It’s not King Liam’s body, It’s mine.”

Dr. Ramirez gave her a knowing look.  “Is it though?  I don’t feel comfortable performing such a procedure on the Queen of Cordonia without the King’s consent or knowledge. Is there anything else?”

“No, That about covers it,” Riley commented with a stiff smile, walking out the door.  

He watched Riley looking down at herself.  Her hand still shaking touched her stomach for  a moment.  

There were sad tears in Riley’s eyes.   He remembered yesterday when he asked Riley was she pregnant and the mortified look that crossed her face for a second, that Liam didn’t even notice.

Realization hit Von like a ton of bricks.

“Riley. Two things.. First…. Why haven’t you told Liam you’re pregnant, and Second, why aren’t you happy about it?  

"It wasn't always like this. I really think somewhere he loves me. He is a good father Von, but not so great a husband. Sometimes he's sweet, but Sometimes I feel like he forgets we're supposed to be ruling together and makes decisions for all of us like I don't matter. Ellie matters more to him than I do. He wanted more children, so I've given him more children.  I've done and given him everything he asks of me, and at the end of the day, he doesn't take me seriously. I'm not enough. He's the ruling monarch with royal blood. No matter how much I give him it's never enough Von."

"You're enough for the right person Riley. You're enough for me."

Von took her hand in his. She quickly pulled away.

"Please stop. I can't take any more complications than I have right now."

On the way back they stopped with Maxwell to get Von a nice suit. Von saw immediately that Riley was his best friend by the way they talked. He liked Maxwell right away too. He reminded him a little of Daniel.

He sat at the dinner with Maxwell and Hana, they both were her best friends . They talked and laughed with him like they were old friends. He noticed Riley watching them from her dais as she sat next to Liam in their matching thrones.

She made her way over to him "Are you guys having fun?"

"Lots of fun Little Blossom, can we keep him?"

Von chuckled, "Maxwell you're hilarious. And how many stories does this guy have about peacocks?"

Riley let out a deep belly laugh, "He has millions. I've yet to hear the same peacock story twice."

"So Liam wanted me to ask you something, would you be willing to do a song for us, to open up the social part of the evening? I know you're on vacation."

Was this dude really this stupid? He was about to light a fire in this place, and in Riley.

"I'll do it for you, but I need to get something first."

He came back shortly with the same box he had been so protective over. He whispered something to Hana and she nodded.  Riley introduced him when he was ready.

He stood up. "Thank you for that lovely welcome Queen Riley. We grew up together in New York.  And she doesn't know that I spent the last 3 years looking for this, and just found it two weeks ago. This was part of the reason I'm here is to return it to its rightful owner. He opened the box revealing Riley's pink lady guitar. He walked closer so she could see it.

She jumped up out of her throne, gasping. Liam grabbed her arm. She slowly sat back down into her throne.

"I know what you're thinking. When I went to my fans to help me find it, I left one detail about The Pink Lady off the information.  After a few false alarms, Someone messaged me about this one. I just asked them one simple question, was there anything unique about it? They told me yes, on the back there initials engraved in the wood RB and DJ."  

Liam looked at the tears in her eyes in confusion.

"My Dad bought me that guitar. You know I lost almost everything I owned after the accident.  I could never find it, I looked for it, every chance I got."

When he handed it over to her she quickly checked the back.  She remembered her and Von engraving their initials after she played her first song she had ever written for him. She closed her eyes, also remembering walking around the store with her Dad, finding it for the first time.  She opened her eyes again looking at Von.

He smiled. "You'll never guess where it was.  In California. Thirty minutes from where I live."

"Hana if you would."

Hana sat at the piano playing for him. When he started the second verse, of the song,  Von's eyes met Riley's, and they never left hers.

My pride, my ego, my needs, and my selfish ways Caused a good strong woman like you to walk out my life Now I never, never get to clean up the mess I made, oh And it haunts me every time I close my eyes

It all just sounds like ooh, ooh ooh ooh ooh Mm, too young, too dumb to realize That I should have bought you flowers And held your hand Should have gave you all my hours When I had the chance Take you to every party 'cause all you wanted to do was dance

Now my baby's dancing But she's dancing with another man

Although it hurts I'll be the first to say that I was wrong Oh, I know I'm probably much too late To try and apologize for my mistakes But I just want you to know

I hope he buys you flowers I hope he holds your hand Give you all his hours When he has the chance Take you to every party 'Cause I remember how much you loved to dance Do all the things I should have done When I was your man Do all the things I should have done When I was your man

The crowd roared in applause.  

"Riley, play something for your people."

"That won't be necessary," Liam interjected.

Riley ignored him and had gotten up putting the strap over her shoulder.  

"I'm a little rusty, so hopefully it will sound okay.  This has always been my favorite song since the first time I heard it."

When Riley played the first few chords,  Von knew what she was playing.  She was playing their song. Playing it for him.

Liam recognized it right away too.  She could feel Liam's anger  radiating off him.

When the song was over everyone was cheering for Riley.  Liam excused them. Von saw how he gripped Riley's arm as they walked out the ballroom, and he didn't like it.  He followed them. As he got closer to the door. He heard Liam's voice full of anger. "HOW DARE YOU EMBARRASS ME LIKE THAT!"

Then he heard an unmistakable sound. He slapped  Riley.

Von pushed the door open seeing Riley in tears holding her face.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING MAN?!? DID YOU JUST HIT HER?!?!?"

"Von please go," Riley pleaded. "You'll  just make it worse."

"Riley you don't have to take this from him. Is this how you treat the mother of your children?!?!?"

"I will treat her however I please."

He yanked the guitar from Riley grip, holding it in the air.

"Please don't Liam. Please, I'm sorry Liam. PLEASE DON'T!!!!"

Liam ignored her. He slammed it hard to the ground, shattering it.

Riley fell to her knees bursting into tears. "This wasn't about him Liam, My father gave me this, and YOU RUINED IT!!!!!!! WHY?????"

"Maybe now you will think twice about sharing looks of lust for another man so blatantly in front of your King and His People."

He stood  towering over them. Von's grip tightened around Riley as to protect her.

"Let's be honest with ourselves, we knew this was going to happen."

He stared down at Riley on the floor crying, shaking. Von held her in his arms, her back against his chest. Von was staring at Liam in pure disgust.

"I'm sure you know you're not welcome in the royal chambers tonight, unless you're ready to do whatever your King desires you to do for you to be forgiven. Otherwise, find alternate sleeping arrangements."

Liam walked out the room, the door slamming behind him.

“

#bebepac writes #wacky drabbles #trr mc #trr mc x liam #trr fanfic #trr fandom #trh fanfic #trh fandom #riley brooks #queen riley #queen of cordonia #trr riley #trr liam #king liam #king of cordonia #tw dark fic #tw depression #tw domestic violence

[imagine-loki]

Soulbonds and Fairy Dust (Rewrite)

TITLE: Soulbonds and Fairy Dust (rewrite) CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 7/?

AUTHOR: nekoamamori ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine one of the fae has been helping the Avengers, jumping in to help them on missions and vanishing before Shield can bring her in.  Loki joins the team and convinces her to come talk to the team and consider joining before Shield takes more drastic measures. RATING: M NOTES/WARNINGS:  This is a rewrite of the original work of the same name.  Also on AO3 here

While Loki and Frigga were talking, the team had been asking Sigyn questions, mostly asking about things she’d already told Loki.  However, she’d gotten tired and annoyed after one too many snarky remarks from Stark and even more tired of being talked over.  “Hey! Listen to the fae when you ask her questions!” she snarled at him, beyond annoyed with him and wondering if defenestration was a valid option.

Stark stared at her for a moment before he burst into laughter, nearly falling out of his chair he was laughing so hard. “Whatever you say, Navi,” he teased.

She sighed heavily and glared at him.  “Of course I get nicknamed after the most annoying fairy in history…” Navi from the Zelda game was an annoying fairy.

Loki blinked a couple of times, pulling himself out of his daze.  He looked concerned at her glare.  “What?” He asked dumbly, trying to catch back up on what he’d missed while he’d been talking to his mother.

“Nope, you said the line.  You’re officially Navi!” Stark replied gleefully, grinning at Sigyn and ignoring Loki.  Of course he was stupid excited to have a stupid nickname for her.  

She huffed in reply. “Stupid shellhead,” she growled in his direction. Loki chuckled at her name for Stark, a small smile forming on his face and she gave him a conspiratorial smile at his chuckle.  

The team told stories for the rest of the meal, giving Sig a break from answering questions.  Though at the end of dinner, before the dessert was brought out to appease the Loki, Nat turned to Sigyn and addressed her again.  “I’m taking you shopping tomorrow,” she told Sigyn firmly, though her voice remained kind.  “You need clothes and Stark’s buying, so no complaints,” she added, leaving no room for arguments in her tone.

Loki raised an eyebrow at that and turned to Sigyn. /Do she wish for me to accompany she? I know you don’t feel very comfortable around many people/

/It’ll be ok/ she reassured him quickly.  She knew she needed Midgardians clothes.  And she knew men on every realm hated shopping, especially for clothes and she didn’t imagine Loki, even her genderfluid Loki, would be any exception. /Nat’s nice enough/

Loki nodded, accepting her decision.  /If you need anything, you only have to call for me. I will be there/ he promised.  

Sigyn made a mental not that she was going to have to teach him about making promises in her presence, but that was a lesson for another day. /That’s appreciated/ she replied warmly.  She had a thing about names, but there was also the thing about directly thanking someone.  Fae habits had been ingrained in her from her centuries with them.

The entire group was distracted when Clint brought over the giant chocolate cake he’d made to go with dinner and he gave Loki a tentative smile.  It seemed he may have been blatantly bribing Loki to like him by giving Loki desserts.  It was an effective strategy.  Loki’s eyes lit up in absolute delight.

Sigyn’s eyes lit up too.  “That looks delicious,” she oohed over it.  Nat cut the cake into slices and made sure Loki got the biggest one.  She shared a conspiratorial smile with him and was clearly also not above bribing the god with food to be friends as well.  Apparently it was a strategy everyone on the team used. 

“Navi, you up to showing us what you can do?” Stark asked Sigyn once she had all devoured her cake.  

She glared at him down the table.  This group somehow was already feeling like a dysfunctional family.  “I'm not Navi,” she grumbled. 

Loki glared at Stark too.  “She is not a test subject for you, Stark,”

“Why don’t we let her get settled in before we start assessing her skills for the team?” Cap suggested placatingly.  It seemed he was the peacekeeper of the group.  As well as being team mom.

“How about movie night?” Nat suggested kindly instead.  It was clear the group wanted to get to know Sig, but equally clear that Sigyn had had enough of people and being social by that point.  Loki was too.  

“Maybe another night,” she said softly, tired of dealing with so many people bothering her for information. The second the dishes were cleared, she left to head back to her room and solitude.  She changed into pajamas and unpacked her things before she got bored and decided to explore the tower and get to know her new home.  She hoped things were quieter by that point.

Loki was in his room, enjoying his own solitude and privacy and he heard her bedroom door open and close, since he lived across the hall from her. /Where are you off to, little fae?/

She stiffened a little at being spied on, tension running through her as she fought not to draw her blades. /Checking out my new home/ she replied curtly, defensively.  She wasn’t supposed to be a prisoner in the tower. They shouldn’t have sicced Loki on her as a babysitter. 

Loki felt the tension in the link. /Don’t fret, I’m not spying on you. I just heard you door open and was curious. Do you wish for company?/ his tone was kind and caring, not spying.

 She followed the link to the door across the hall and padded silently on bare feet.  Loki hadn’t told she he was across the hall from her, but someone she wasn’t surprised.  That did explain Stark’s behavior when he told Loki where she’d be living.  She cracked his bedroom door open with only a tap of a knock as warning.  “Only if you want company.  You like your solitude, right?” she asked softly from the doorway.  She’d also been working on unlocking her memories before she went wandering and remembered a bit more about him.

He gave her a bright warm smile.  “I do, but she are the exception to that rule, old friend,” 

She gave him a warm smile in return. “I know it’s probably a lot to ask, but is there anything actually worth reading in this place?”  These people all seemed like the active Thor-types who wouldn’t know a good book if they were hit in the head with it.

“I’m actually not sure. I haven’t taken the time to look, since I brought my own reading material,” he paused and summoned a book, offering it to her.  She took the invitation and entered his room properly to take the book from him.  “This is one of my favorites.  I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve read it,” he told her warmly.

She took the book from him and couldn’t help the bright smile that bloomed on her face.  “Hiccup! I haven’t seen a copy of this in-” she trailed off, settling comfortably next to him on his bed and diving straight into the rune-written tale, revisiting characters she hadn’t read about in centuries.  His smile widened at her familiar behavior and he returned to the book he’d been reading himself.  

It was hours and hours later when she finally broke her gaze from the book and realized it was the early hours of the morning. “Odin’s beard!  Sorry! I shouldn’t have infringed on you solitude so long.  You should’ve kicked me out hours ago.  I blame the book!” she told him nearly frantically at the impropriety of her actions.  She scrambled off of his bed to go find her own and let him get some sleep.

He chuckled. “Believe me, Sigyn. I very much enjoy you company,” he told her warmly.

She gave him a bright smile in return. “And I yours, Loki.  However, the hour is late and I should find my own bed,” 

Loki nodded and stood as well to open the door for her and see her out safely. “Goodnight, little fae,” he told her warmly with a kind smile. she returned the smile, cradling the book to her chest. She weren’t giving the book back until she finished reading it.

“Goodnight, prince,” she replied before she left his room.

*

Nat woke her early to take her shopping and it was a whirlwind of an adventure, but by the time they returned to the tower, they’d become friends and Sig had an entire new wardrobe.  Nat made her change out of her grungy old clothes into something new before they returned.  Nat had caught both of the Asgardian’s interest in the fae and had a feeling they’d appreciate her being dressed in flattering clothes for once.  So she were wearing an adorable purple sweater dress, black leggings, and boots when she reentered the common room just after lunch.

Thor jumped to his feet when she entered the common room and smiled appreciatively at her wearing something flattering instead of baggy second hand clothes. He took her hand to bow over it and kiss her knuckles, the actions of a polite gentlemanly prince and something she’d more expect his brother to do.  Which is when she realized he was teasing Loki by doing it before his brother could.  “You look lovely, Lady Sigyn,” he told her warmly. She saw love in his eyes, but recognized it for the brotherly love that it was.  

Loki glared at Thor before unfolding himself from his couch and joining the pair, maneuvering Thor aside gracefully. Thor stepped aside with a smirk, enjoying teasing his brother.  

Loki took Sig’s bare hand in his and bowed elegantly over it, placing his cool lips against her knuckles. “Resplendent, lady fae, as always,” he told her in a seductive purr.

The second Loki took her hand in his, the first time their bare skin actually touched, a flare of magic passed between them, etching lines of power in beautiful swirls from the backs of their hands left hands up their arms to their elbows. Purple on his arm and green on hers. 

A soulbond etched in power on their skin for all to see.

#Loki #Lover #Submitted fic #submission #soulbonds and fairy dust #rewrite #chapter 7 #nekoamamori

[suitofvibraniumarmor]

Yours Truly [Part Fifteen]

Summary: Sadie attempts to make the best of life without Chris and Layla as summer comes to a close. Pairing: Chris Pratt x OFC, Chris Evans x OFC Word Count: 1990 Warnings: Minor cursing, kinda angsty? A/N: This fic was previously posted on my multi-fandom account; in honor of OC Appreciation Day, I figured I would queue it all up for your reading pleasure throughout the day! This was a collab with @captain-s-rogers , and I will link her chapters at the end of all of my posts! Some GIFs were difficult to find again, so if there’s no credit, they’re from Google Image Search or from the original post. 

GIF Credit

July 27

Caroline,

Everything went well in Wichita, and you were right – Aunt Marie and Layla were joined at the hip while we were back home.

No, I haven’t told Chris that I love him, and it doesn’t matter anymore. Emily was waiting for Chris and Layla at the farm house when we came back from Wichita. Emily. As in Chris’s ex-wife and Layla’s mother Emily.

Maybe it was supposed to be a summer for good things, but they just weren’t meant to last.

Enough of my mopey shit. How was the fundraising event? I’ve been avoiding the news recently – I wish I could explain to you the difference I see even just on TV from when you were with Chris (okay, not WITH Chris, but you know what I mean) and when you’re with Charlie.

Feels like it wasn’t that long ago that I was all giddy over both of us finding a Chris to steal our hearts – now the thought makes me want to slap myself across the face a little bit. Or a lot.

I think we should keep writing these letters, even after the summer is over. I’ve written things and gotten things off my chest that I don’t think I would have otherwise. But another few weeks and we can nix the limited phone call rule!

Yours truly,

Sadie

After putting the last stenciled letter of her name above the dry erase board, Sadie stepped back and looked around her classroom. The decor was perfect, the organization was impeccable. Still, she felt like something was missing.

She sat at her desk and went over her class list, trying to decide how she wanted to do her seating chart to start the year. Everything was in order for the open house the next week, and once her seating chart was completed, Sadie would be ready for school to start.

Except that her excitement about a new job and a new school was overshadowed by her broken heart. Emily’s presence had put an abrupt halt to her relationship with Chris, although that was more Sadie’s decision than Chris’s.

After Emily joined them for an awkward, mostly quiet dinner, Sadie excused herself and Layla to play outside so that Chris and Emily could talk privately inside. Layla was quiet while Sadie read to her on the front porch swing, but refused to talk about what was on her mind, even when Sadie promised that she wouldn’t be upset about anything that Layla said.

“She’s asleep,” Sadie said, coming into the kitchen. “Sorry to interrupt. I’m heading home.”

Chris was right on her heels as she walked out to her car. “Sadie, wait. Talk to me.”

“She wants to come back,” Sadie stated.

“How did you know that?”

Sadie gave a sarcastic chuckle. “Because I saw the look on her face, Chris. Her sister stopped me at the elementary school the other day, and now Emily is here. Just because I come across sweet and innocent doesn’t mean I am, you know.”

“I never said –”

“I’ll ask you one thing and if you can answer it honestly, then maybe I’ll stay.” She took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. “If I wasn’t in the picture, would you even hesitate to hear Emily out? Or would you be less hesitant to see if your marriage can be reconciled?”

Chris’s mouth opened and closed a few times, but he couldn’t form words. Sadie nodded, having figured that would be the reply she received. Walking up to him, she kissed Chris on the cheek and bid him goodbye.

She had returned to the farm only once, to tell Layla that she wouldn’t be around so much now that Emily had returned. Layla had yelled at Sadie that it wasn’t fair, shut herself in her room, and refused to come out until after Sadie left.

“Ms. Coleman, I’m surprised to see you here.”

Sadie broke from her thoughts to see Libby Anderson coming into her room. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

Libby frowned. “Why do you think I would be disappointed? Sweetheart, I’m thrilled that, despite recent changes in your personal life, you’ve chosen to stay here in Lawrence. I was simply meaning that I personally wouldn’t have that fortitude. I mean, if the guy I was super into went back to his ex-wife, I’m not sure I would stick around.”

“Fortunately for me, my professional life isn’t dictated by my personal life,” Sadie said, standing up from her desk. “You know though, Libby, I’ve been thinking a lot about my personal problems recently. I’ve been thinking about what reason you could possibly have for wanting Emily to come back to Chris – which I’m assuming is what happened here due to the timing of our exchange and your sister’s return – and I’ve only come to one conclusion that makes any sort of sense: if you can’t have him, it’s better that your sister has him than someone you don’t know, right? You have no interest in spending time with your niece, so that’s not a motivator. But if your sister has him, then at least you get to be close to him on occasion. And of course Emily is a selfish bitch, so she wouldn’t want anyone else to have her family, even if she doesn’t want them.”

“How dare you!” Libby sputtered.

Sadie rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “You and your sister are cut from the same conniving cloth. You got what you wanted, Libby, so stay the hell away from me.”

She glanced at the door and waited for Libby to catch a hint. When the other woman finally stormed out of the classroom, Sadie returned to her desk. Her heart was still broken, and now a shard of anger had been added to the heavy emotions already weighing her down.

By the time the open house came around, Sadie had settled into her house, gotten her seating arrangement figured out, and was ready for inservices the next week.

She put on a yellow summer dress, the same brown sandal wedges she had worn for her first date with Chris, and added some of her favorite accessories. After fixing her hair so that she appeared to have put in some effort but hadn’t just thrown it into a ponytail, Sadie applied her usual natural looking makeup. She gathered her bag and her keys, and headed for the elementary school.

Meeting the seventeen students in her class was just the thing Sadie had needed to lift her spirits. She was immediately enamored of all of the kindergarteners, even the ones she could already tell would be ornery. Twelve of them had come through when Chris, Layla, and Emily arrived in the kindergarten hall. Sadie held her breath and turned the other way; somehow, she had thought she could avoid seeing the Pratt family.

As they walked toward her classroom to the room on the other side where Layla’s teacher could be found, Sadie casually but purposefully wandered into her own room, but it was in vain.

“Adie!” Layla cried, running up from behind and wrapping herself around Sadie’s legs. “I’m sorry I yelled, please come back! I’ll be good!”

Sadie turned carefully so that she could detach Layla from her legs and crouch down to talk to the small girl. She glanced briefly in the doorway to see Chris grab Emily’s hand to stop her from interrupting Sadie and Layla. Seeing his hand wrapped around Emily’s broke her heart even more but she maintained her focus on Layla.

“You have no idea how much I miss you, Layla. Me staying away has nothing to do with anything you’ve done, understand?” She waited for Layla to nod. “Do you remember when we talked about grown-ups need time to figure things out sometimes? And about doing what’s best for you? Your mommy and daddy need to figure out what’s best for the whole family, and that includes you. I’m staying away to give them space to do that, but also to give you space, sweetheart. It would be confusing to have me and Mommy around, don’t you think?”

Layla nodded again. “But I miss you.”

“I don’t want you to be sad, but it’s nice to know you think about me. We will still see each other. Here at school and probably in town sometimes, and I’m sure if your parents ever need a babysitter for you, they’ll give me a call.”

“What about Daddy? Don’t you love him?”

Sadie looked at Chris before whispering to Layla, “Yes, I do. But we can’t tell him that right now, okay? He and mommy —“

“Are figuring things out, I know.” She hooked her tiny pinky with Sadie’s. “I promise, I won’t tell.”

Layla hugged Sadie tight again before turning to her mother calling her name. She took Emily’s hand and glanced back at Sadie once more as they left the classroom.

Sadie waved, keeping her eyes on Layla. She could feel Chris looking at her, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of a returned gaze. She wasn’t okay, and he had made his choice. Sadie had to deal with that, and so would he.

The rest of the open house was smooth sailing. The Pratts didn’t pass by her room again that Sadie saw, and she met the rest of her students before the evening was done. Everyone had filtered out, and she was straightening up the students’ folders with the information the parents had filled out for her. Once that was all done and she made a couple of adjustments to her seating chart, Sadie could get home.

“Can I talk to you?”

Sadie’s shoulders fell as she turned to where Chris was standing near the door; she hadn’t even needed to see him to know who was there. “What could you possibly have to talk to me about?”

He let out a deep breath. “That’s the thing, I shouldn’t be here talking to you. I lied to Emily about where I was going. I don’t know what to do, Sadie, but I don’t know who else to talk to about it. I had a handle on my life before you came in but nothing really made sense. Layla and I were barely holding on, and then you came in, and everything made sense. I have no right to come to you as my friend, but I don’t know who else to talk to.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help you,” Sadie said, choking back the tears. “I want to, but Chris – do you understand what Emily coming back has done to me? You know what, it’s not even about her coming back, it’s the way you handled her coming back. I asked you, to your face, if you would have any hesitation in working things out with her if I wasn’t around, and you couldn’t give me an honest answer.” She wiped away a tear that had escaped down her cheek and shook her head. “I was worried all along that I was only filling a void for you, and when Emily came back and you couldn’t answer me, it’s like my worries were validated. So, no, I can’t help you with this one, and you’re absolutely correct – you have zero right to come here and ask me to help you make sense of your life. I will warn you of this, but it’s for Layla’s sake, not for yours: Emily only came back because Libby told her that you were with someone else. She still doesn’t care about being Layla’s mother or not. Hopefully that gives you something to think about. Good night, Mr. Pratt.”

She turned back to the student folders, hoping to God he wouldn’t say anything more. When he finally turned and left, closing the classroom door behind him, she slumped into one of the small desk chairs and cried.

Part Sixteen

#chris pratt #chris evans #fanfiction #collab #new to this blog

[raendown]

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 2375 Chapter: 2/7 Summary:  An accident at work leaves Tobirama blinded while his eyes are bandaged to heal from some rather nasty burns. Too busy with his own job to play the role of caretaker, wife too pregnant to place the burden on her, Hashirama calls upon his best friend Madara to stay with them and help Tobirama out in anyway he can. Madara isn't exactly thrilled to play babysitter but he can see an opportunity when one comes along; this may be the chance he's always waited for.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Focal Point

It took a lot of patience to ignore the way Hashirama practically danced back and forth across the living room the entire time he was waiting for Madara to pack up his things. A couple of times he tried to give the idiot something to do to keep him busy and stop the pacing but each time he would get distracted half way through and text Mito to ask whether she had heard any terrible or worrisome noises coming from Tobirama’s room yet. The answer was always no and yet he refused to calm down.

Eventually Madara figured if there was anything else he needed he could always pop home and grab it even if he did have to take a cab. It wasn’t as though he were going to another planet for a couple of weeks, just halfway across the city. Hashirama leapt an alarming number of feet in to the air upon being told they could finally go and lunged for the door without even offering to help him carry his bags. Rather unusual from such a genuinely helpful person but Madara grudgingly admitted that it was sort of understandable right now. Sort of. It was still annoying and he would definitely make sure to mention it later.

After struggling down the hall to the only working elevator in his building and waddling across the underground with several bags dangling from his arms, clothes and toiletries and everything he needed to set up his work station, Madara was in no mood to chat once he finally collapsed in the car again. He spent the ride back across town with his head turned away, huffily watching the city go by while Hashirama blathered on about all the foods Tobirama wouldn’t want to eat.  As if he cared about that. The ungrateful little shit would eat whatever Madara wanted to cook for him and he had better have a ’thank you’ ready. Just because he’d been sitting on some sort of unwanted feelings for the man for much too long now didn’t mean Madara had to be nice or anything, that wasn’t his job. At no point in his life did he remember signing anything that said he had to be nice.

They got back to Hashirama’s house in fairly good time and the first thing his friend did when they walked in was abandon Madara with his bags again to hurl himself up the stairs so he could make sure Tobirama had survived the single hour he’d spent unsupervised. Madara rolled his eyes and muttered evil things to himself as he struggled up the stairs as well, heading for what they always called a guest room despite it being specifically reserved for Madara should he ever wish to stay the night. He even had a picture of Izuna hung up on one of the walls, grinning stupidly and posing with some stupid random statue they had found in an airport just before his flight boarded.

As soon as Madara stepped back out in to the hallway with his well-worn laptop between both hands he could hear a very familiar voice growling in a tone he knew all too well; Hashirama must have just done something stupid. What else was new?

“I am fine, Anija! No! No, just go away, for the love of god! Wha- because I was sleeping! I don’t need anything if I’m sleeping so fuck off!”

“You don’t have to yell, I was just concerned!”  

“No, you were being overbearing. As usual. I know I’m not one hundred percent right now but I’m hardly going to injure myself in my sleep when I’m not even moving!”

Madara snickered openly at the offended rage in the man’s voice. As much as he wanted to agree, he wouldn’t put it past anyone bearing the name ‘Senju’ to hurt themselves in their sleep. Genius status notwithstanding, Tobirama could be just as distractible as his brother and with just as disastrous results, case in point being the time he hadn’t wanted to put his book down on the walk to work and accidentally cast himself off a twenty foot bridge in to the river below. When the voices inside the bedroom quieted to a murmur Madara assumed things to be calming down and turned for the stairs, intending to scout out the living room for the perfect place to set up his work computer and all the associated paraphernalia.

“YOU WHAT!?”

The sudden yell almost made him toss his precious laptop over the railing. Madara scrambled to catch it as the door now just behind him slammed open and Tobirama’s figure filled the doorway.

He probably would have looked much more imposing if his eyes weren’t covered in thick bandaging that ran all the way around his head or if his hair hadn’t been sticking out wildly at all angles. Still an unfairly good look on him. Despite obviously knowing that he wouldn’t see anything he still swung his face from side to side like he was looking around until Hashirama very carefully inched around him and put both hands on his shoulders in a calming manner.

“Now, now! There’s no need to be so upset. He’s here to help!”

“You called Madara here to babysit me!?” The red on his cheeks would have looked quite fetching if the rest of his features weren’t twisted with clear distaste. Madara huddled his laptop a little closer with a scowl. He wasn’t that bad to have around!

“I didn’t say babysit,” Hashirama tried to placate his brother.

“Why can’t Mito help me around?”

Just opening his mouth to defend himself, Madara shut it again and wrinkled his nose. He loved a good argument as much as the next man but he was also well aware that fighting with Tobirama when the sour puss got up to high dudgeon like this usually ended up with him looking like a fool. For once in his life he could afford to be the bigger man here and just bow out to let the two brother argue. Just once though! And these idiots better appreciate his efforts because it was taking a lot of strength right now not to reach over and tug on a chunk of that soft, white, defenseless hair. The only thing stopping him was the knowledge that Tobirama probably didn’t even realize he was standing there and startling him probably wasn’t healthy right now.

“Mito is thirty-four weeks pregnant! She can’t be running up and down the stairs all the time and the stress of being responsible for you just wouldn’t be good for the baby right now, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make it sound like you’re a burden–”

“I’m blind but I don’t know how to be blind. Right now I am a burden.” Tobirama sighed and Madara remembered Hashirama saying that this had all been caused by an accident in his lab. Hopefully this situation would finally impress upon him the importance of actually following the safety protocols he was supposed to use in his job, no matter that he was ‘just close enough to a break through to fuck science up’.

“Well Madara doesn’t think you’re a burden, do you Madara?”

Hashirama offered him a friendly smile but it was the way Tobirama’s head once again began whipping from side to side that had Madara holding in a snort of laughter. “We’ll see,” he murmured.

“Shit,” Tobirama hissed under his breath, the red in his face no longer just from anger.

“Good to know my presence is appreciated,” Madara teased.

“No one in your life has ever appreciated your company as much as you appreciate your own, I’m sure.”

“Ooh snap!” Hashirama laughed until Madara's bitchy stare made him wither and giggle nervously. “What? People still say that, right? It was really popular for a while.”

Trying not to question his choice in friends for the millionth time, Madara removed himself from the conversation and headed downstairs. If Tobirama wanted to complain about him being here then he had no desire to stand there and listen to it. His time was better spent circling the living room and sitting in every available seat one by one to figure out where he’d have the least amount of screen glare while he worked. The couch felt best since it would also be closest to the coffee table where he could spread out his notebooks and set up the external hard drives he’d brought but he had to be sure. In all the years he had spent visiting this home he’d never had to properly set himself up before. It felt weird. Eventually two other pairs of footsteps followed him down at a much slower pace and Hashirama’s voice hailed him from the kitchen, encouraging him to abandon his laptop in front of the space he’d chosen.

A quaint little scene greeted him when he entered the room. Mito seemed to have gained several inches around her waist since the last time he saw her and she wasn’t carrying it very gracefully, legs braced in an uncomfortable-looking manner while her husband used his freakish height to lean around her belly for a kiss. Behind them, Tobirama had been deposited in a chair to face the wall. He probably didn’t much care where he sat since all he needed at the moment was his ears but it was still funny to see him facing the wall like he’d suddenly taken a deep interest in the terrible paint scheme.

“Good, you heard me!” Hashirama straightened and gestured for Madara to come closer. “I thought I’d give you a little tour so you don’t have to go looking for anything later! This is the stove–”

“Fascinating,” Madara interrupted him. From over in his corner Tobirama snorted.

“I’m just being thorough! So, this is where we keep the cups and things.”

Mito patted her husband on the shoulder as she waddled laboriously towards the fridge. “He knows where things are, dear. We’ve been living here for years and he comes over all the time. It’s good of you to worry, though.”

“But what about when he has to cook? He’ll need to know where all the pots and pans and things are!”

“You idiot, I make dinner for you guys all the time when you’re all working late. I do know where all your shit is!” Madara wondered if there was some kind of medical miracle that would let Hashirama give his eyesight over to his brother for a while. Clearly he was the one that needed a two week time out.

Flustered, Hashirama stood there looking around the kitchen as though he’d just realized that was true. Then he jumped when the pager on his hip went off at full volume. After checking it he looked back up with an apologetic shrug. “Any chance you’d be alright to make dinner for tonight? I was going to start cooking but apparently I’m needed at the hospital.”

“Get going,” Madara rumbled as an agreement. He looked away from the awkwardness of Mito trying to kiss her husband without spilling her juice or squishing their poor child.

“Make something tasty for them!” Hashirama called on his way to the front door. “And leave me some leftovers!”

Since no one else was speaking and no one seemed to be trying to leave the room either, Madara supposed both of his current housemates expected him to actually get down to cooking right this second. He listened to the purr of Hashirama’s car starting up again outside the window while he pulled open the cupboards to let his eyes roam over the contents. A quick check in the small chest freezer off in one corner revealed two kinds of fish, three cuts of beef, and a small glazed ham. For the two people who lived here full time. It really was a good thing they were rich if they were going to just let so much good food go bad before they could use it.

Knowing this was probably going to end in a fight, he asked, “Any requests?”

“Salmon,” Tobirama responded immediately.

“Chicken,” Mito rebutted. “And pickles. I want chicken and pickles.”

“A disgusting combination. Unfortunately we don’t have any chicken.” Madara shrugged, putting that idea to rest in his mind. Then he froze when Mito gave him a sharp look.

Enunciating each word very precisely, she repeated herself. “I want chicken and pickles.”

“I’ll order some fast food then, shall I?”

“Acceptable.” Nodding like an appeased queen, she waddled her way over to try and fit herself in to one of the kitchen chairs.

Frowning now with disappointment, Tobirama turned his eyeless stare in Madara's general direction with a plaintively hopeful, “Salmon?”

Madara leveled him with a sharp look that went entirely unnoticed, though it took him until Mito covered her mouth to hide her amusement for him to realize that. Then he huffed to cover his misstep and crossed his arms.

“I’ll order you a fish sandwich,” he said.

“That’s not the same at all,” Tobirama complained.

“Well it’s what you’re getting. If I’m ordering food for her then I don’t see the point in going to all the trouble of cooking as well.” God only knew that with his luck he wouldn’t cook enough for Mito but the smell of their dinner would give her a new craving. That was not a headache he wanted to deal with.

Leaning back against the kitchen counter, Madara pulled out his phone and opened the app for his favorite junk food place. They had a pretty decent chicken sandwich and the fish sandwich at least looked alright, though he’d never tried it himself, so he might as well get to enjoy his favorite burger at the same time. Knowing the two assholes across the room from him they would both fall on the food like animals as soon as it arrived and leave him to pay.

With that taken care of he was free to stare at the back of Tobirama’s head and wonder just what kind of madness he’d gotten himself in to by agreeing to stay here for a couple of weeks. Hashirama owed him big time for this.

#rae writes #madatobi #madara #tobirama #hashirama #mito #fanfiction

[cottontail20]

The Domestic Life Of The Vision And His Witch, Chapter 12: Adventures In Super-Babysitting, pt 2.

Summary:  The runaway Tommy causes chaos in the Avengers Compound.

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18461504/chapters/45947113

Wanda and Vision sat in a restaurant not too far from the compound, completely unaware of the trouble that their eldest son was causing. Mostly because Vision was more worried about the younger of the twins.. Understandable, since as far as he knew, Billy was the one exhibiting more obvious powers.

He poked absentmindedly at the pasta dish that he couldn't eat (the place allowed food to-go, so he had simply ordered a favorite of Wanda's that she could eat the next day), lost in thought.

"Vision" Wanda, halfway through her own meal, chuckled at the sight of him.

"Hmm?" He looked up at her.

"You need to calm down, Vizh. Relaxa, se bucura."

"Oh, I am enjoying" Vision smiled at her. "I always enjoy time with you."

"But you are not relaxing."

"Well.. No. That I am finding a bit more difficult.

Wanda shook her head, leaning over to kiss him.

"We don't have to worry about Billy. Surely five adult superheroes can handle one baby one. And they have Nat, the picture of cool, calm, and collected.." --

"Waiting for the elevator will take too long" cried Nat, throwing open the door to the stairwell. "We should take the stairs!"

"Nat, wait!" Bruce yelled after her. "We don't even know which floor he went to!"

"Oh, right.." Natasha paused, slightly embarrassed.

"Fifth, by the look of it" Bucky checked where the elevator seemed to be heading. "That's the one you said was the Party floor, right?"

No one answered him, because they were all already heading up the stairs.

"Keep up, you old geezer!" Sam called down to him.

Bucky cursed, hurrying after them. --

It was really rather amazing how much damage one super-speedy small person could cause so much damage, so quickly. When the five Super-Babysitters reached the floor that they hoped Tommy had ended up on, things were already in chaos.

Plastic plates and cups strewn everywhere, stockpiled snacks scattered across the floor. Spreading puddles of soda.

"I sure hope he didn't drink any of that" Sam was shaking his head, as he and the other Avengers stared at the scene, mouths agape. "Kid's hyper enough already."

Even Billy seemed shocked by what his twin had caused, his little eyes wide. Seeing a small blue blur zipping around among the mess, Billy pointed.

"Ta! Baba!"

Clint looked at him, surprised.

"Yeah, there's your brother!" Of course, Billy was much too young to actually be trying to say 'brother'.. Wasn't he? Even if he was, this was really not the time to focus on it. "Good spotting, little man!"

"But how are we going to catch him?" Bruce frowned, as Tommy continued to zip around them, giggling.

"I don't know.." Natasha was beginning to get a little concerned at this point. She had promised Wanda and Vision that nothing would happen to the twins on her watch, but how the hell was she supposed to keep Tommy safe when she couldn't even see him properly?

The little blur that was Tommy disappeared from the room, and then, a few moments later, they heard the sound of music from elsewhere on the floor.

"That's the Dance Dance Revolution machine!" Yelled Sam, running, the others close behind him. "He's in the Game Room!"

"What the Hell is a Dance Dance Revolution?" cried Bucky, confused. --

Sure enough, when they reached the Game Room, Tommy was sitting on the DDR game pad, looking deceptively innocent. Clint handed Billy to Sam, slowly approaching the machine and crouching.

"Well hey there, Mr. Speed" He grinned, and Tommy giggled. "Looks like you've found one of your Mom and Dad's favorite games. If you come to Uncle Clint, maybe we can show you how to play? Can't we, Auntie Nat?" Clint looked to Natasha for support.

"Oh, yeah" Nat nodded. "We can definitely show you how to play."

Clint held his arms out hopefully. Those hopes were dashed when a devilish grin spread lover Tommy's face.. A grin that very much reminded Clint of Pietro.

"Oh crap.."

Tommy zoomed off once again, knocking Clint onto his back as he went. Bucky made a grab for him, but missed, and soon they heard the ping of the elevator once again.

"You know, in hindsight" said Sam, "Having the elevator doors open by motion sensor seems like a really crappy idea." --

"He's heading for the lab floor!" Natasha yelled as they ran up the stairs again. "We have to stop him before he gets into something dangerous!"

"How?" Bucky yelled back.

"I don't know, but we have to!"

When they finally found Tommy again, it seemed as though their greatest fear was about to be realized. Tommy had stopped, finally looking exhausted. Unfortunately, his speeding about had toppled a large, heavy shelf full of heavy objects, and it looked as though it was about to fall directly on top of him.

No one even had a chance to scream before the tiny blue blur that had been assaulting the corners of their eyes all evening was replaced with a very large green one, they heard a loud roar, and the next thing they knew, Tommy had not been crushed by a falling shelf, because he was sitting in the hand of the Hulk.

"Uh.. now what do we do?" said Bucky, a little nervous.

"You and Sam stay back" Clint instructed. "He doesn't know you.."

"But.. He's got the baby!" Sam hissed.

"It's okay.. look how he's holding him.." Nat whispered.

The Hulk was gazing at Tommy, keeping him close to his chest, protective. The baby looked tiny in Hulk's enormous palm, but Tommy wasn't afraid at all. He was giggling.

"Whoa.." Bucky gaped.

Slowly, Nat took a few steps closer.

"Hey, big guy.. Long time no see."

The Hulk seemed startled for a moment, clutching Tommy closer, but relaxed when he saw who was speaking to him.

"'Tasha.."

"Yeah.. hi" Natasha was a little thrown (Thor had told them that the Hulk's speech was much improved, but she somehow hadn't expected him to know her name), but smiled. "Got a new little friend there?"

"Tommy. Hulk save him.." Hulk glanced at the baby, surprised by his continued giggles. "Tommy.. Tommy like Hulk."

"Yeah, I think he does. Tommy's Mom and Dad are gonna be home soon, so is it okay if I take him back now? I'm sure you can come see him another day.."

The Hulk seemed to think for a moment.

"'Tasha promise?"

"Yeah" Nat nodded. "Tasha promise. And I'll make sure his Mom and Dad know who saved him."

"..Okay." The Hulk held out his large hand, and Natasha lifted Tommy down, settling him on her hip.

"Thanks, big guy."

"'Tasha welcome.." As though he knew that his job was done, the Hulk shrank back into Bruce almost as quickly as he had appeared. Bruce seemed dazed for a moment, then yelped, covering himself with the remains of his clothes. "What just happened?!"

"The Hulk saved us all from having to tell Wanda and Vision that their son got crushed by a shelf" said Sam.

"Oh.. Well, that's good."

"And also" said Nat, turning to carry Tommy to bed, now sleepy and snuggling against his favorite Auntie's chest, oblivious to the trouble he had caused, "You have to let the Hulk come out for a play date with Tommy one day."

"What?" Bruce gulped. "A play date with the Hulk? How does that even work? What the hell did you agree to? Natasha!"

"See little man?" Nat gazed at the bleary-eyed Tommy. "Auntie Nat isn't opposed to a little chaos herself now and then.."

Notes:

Translation:

Relaxa, se bucura: Relax, enjoy

#scarlet vision #ScarletVision #Scarlet Witch #wanda maximoff #Vision #The Vision #vision marvel #natasha romanoff #Bucky Barnes #clint barton #hulk #Minimoffs #Avengers #MCU

[gosecretscribbles]

Forduary 2019 Week 3 - Forgiveness

Summary:

Stan and Ford get framed for a crime using Ford's invention, they get thrown in jail, and Filbrick decides to make Ford stop inventing...

This year's Forduary fics are linked like the chapters in a book! It'll definitely help if you read the first two works first, but here's a quick recap: Ford was bullied by Crampelter, Stan rescued him, but both brothers got hurt. The next day was Saturday, and they went to go work on the Stan O' War, where Ford ends up inventing an aerial bucket lift so they could help a decapitated ghost. This story picks up on the same day, right where the previous story left off.

Trigger warning: Threatening situation in a jail cell, parent bullying, some dissociation at the end.

HERE COMES THE AAAAANGST!

First fic AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17957654

Second fic AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18000998

This fic AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18001061

The rest of the day should've gone perfectly.

They'd recovered the coin from the seagull, which Stan was sure laughed maniacally at them the whole they'd chased it. Stan wanted to hawk it immediately and do some major impulse buying, but Ford pointed out that it would price higher if it looked clean, and anyway he still wanted to test it for ectoplasmic residue.

They stopped by the drugstore, the hardware store, and then the Juke Joint, so Stan could feast on hamburgers while Ford put together the equipment he'd need to run the tests. By then the electromagnetic sensor he'd put together didn't pick up anything from the coin, but Stan just shrugged and suggested they head back to the ship.

“You can just attach your gizmo-thing to the top of your crane, right?” Stan had asked. “I mean the guy's head sat on top of the mast for like an hour, that's bound to have left some juices in the wood.”

“Of course, that's perfect!”

“Yeah! I get half-credit if you discover anything though, right?”

They paid quickly and Ford all but dragged Stan out of the diner and down the street, talking a hundred miles an hour about potential discoveries and walking so quickly Stan winced at his bruised ribs as he tried to keep up. Ford could feel it in his ankle, too, but he was so excited he found it almost impossible to slow down.

So he was first to round the corner on Ashwood Boulevard – and immediately stopped short.

There was a Thrift Store across the street, and the side of it had been covered in bright blue graffiti. The words “STAN PINES AND THE FREAK” were written over the blue in bright yellow paint, complete with caricatures of their faces. Ford's crane was sitting to one side, spray cans littered around it, a red can still pinched in its grip. The store owner and several tourists had stopped by to stare at it.

Stan came up behind him. “What're you – oh, come on! Seriously? Are you frigging kidding me?!”

“But we left the crane at the beach!” Ford protested. “It was inside the Stan O' War! How did – who was watching –”

“GOTCHA!”

Something hard slammed into Ford's back and he hit the ground, hard, a knee pressed sharply into his spine. He heard shouting and a scuffle; he craned his neck to see Crampelter's thugs pinning Stan against the nearest wall.

“HEY OFFICER!” Crampelter's voice shouted gleefully. “WE GOT 'EM, THEY'RE OVER HERE!”

A police car pulled up to the curb and two solid-looking men stepped out, their badges glinting.

“Oh this jokester,” one of them grumbled, narrowing his eyes at Stan.

“Hey, I didn't do anything!”

“Said that last time, too, and this time the writing is literally on the wall. Alright kids, step aside.”

The first officer went over to Stan, pulling out his handcuffs. The second offer did the same, approaching Ford and grabbing his arm. Crampelter rolled off him, grinning as Ford was pulled to his feet.

“Wait, wait a second!” Ford gasped, his lungs still struggling to inflate. The cop's vicelike grip was making him sweat. “We've been at the Juke Joint for the last hour, you can ask the waitress, she'll remember my hands!”

“Your – geez!” The cop caught sight of his fingers and reflexively shoved him away. The sensor fell out of Ford's vest. Before he could grab it, the officer scooped it up. “The heck is this thing, some kinda nuclear weapon? You a mad scientist, kid?”

“No, just a scientist! I build equipment to test hypotheses, not to deface buildings!”

“So you didn't build that?” He pointed to Ford's crane, which had a visual design very similar to the sensor.

“I – well I did, but –”

“Turn around, kid.”

“Wait, they stole it from the beach, I built it because our ship –”

“Turn around.”

The cop spun him around and grabbed Ford's wrists. Ford heard him suck in his breath at the sight of both six-fingered hands. Crampelter snickered and his face burned. He glanced over and saw the other cop already dragging a handcuffed Stan back to the car. The struggle must have aggravated his ribs, because Stan was hardly fighting back at all. Nausea rose in Ford's gut. He looked down and saw –

“Wait, officer, wait! His shoes, look at Crampelter's shoes! There's blue spray paint!”

“'Scuze me?”

“It's not spray paint!” Crampelter said quickly. “It's – uh – dye! From clothing! I was dying towels for orphans!”

Stan snarled at him. “You think anybody'd fall for –”

“That's enough out of you,” snapped the cop holding Stan, and he shoved him into the backseat. “You know how long I've been waiting to catch you in the act? Now shut up. I don't want to hear another word out of either of you or I'll let you keep those shiny new bracelets when I put you in your cell.”

The second cop shoved Ford in next to Stan and slammed the door.

  Ford knew Stan had gotten himself thrown in jail cells a couple of times before. Once for putting poorly-made cardboard parking meters along the sidewalk on Main Street, and once for impersonating a dentist. It hadn't gone on his record, since Stan had been so young, but each time he'd come home bragging about how he was the toughest guy in the whole place, how he'd spent his time carving cigarettes out of the soap just so he could see the look on an officer's face when Stan pretended to smoke it. It made jail sound rather dull, a bit like the adult version of high school detention.

It wasn't.

The jail cell was well-lit and cold, with cement walls and floors, a stretched steel toilet with mysterious stains in one corner, metal bunks drilled into the wall opposite the door. There was a man in the cell, a hulk of a man in a bloody jacket sitting on the bottom bunk. His nails were thick and dirty and jagged.

The cop shoved Stan and Ford inside. The door clanged shut. Ford broke out in a cold sweat.

“D-don't we get a phone call?”

“Yeah you do. I'm gonna call your parents right now. Got your number memorized, thanks to him.” The cop nodded at Stan. “So sit tight and don't bother your babysitter.”

Ford swallowed hard. Ma was on the phone all the time. Which meant the police wouldn't get through for hours.

Thick Nails glanced up at them with eyes as ruthless as a cobra's. Ford shoved his hands behind his back.

Too late.

“'Srong with you, toothpick? You a freak?”

Ford pressed back against the wall and tried very hard to turn invisible. Stan crossed his arms and leaned back casually, like he was just waiting at the bus stop to pick up a hot girl. His arm pressed against Ford's.

Thick Nails narrowed his eyes and glanced at Stan. “What, he don't talk?”

“Sometimes. But I'm the one with the sultry voice.”

The man's lip curled. “You act cute with me again, you little punk, I'll beat the living daylights outta you.” He reached for his back pocket, took out a piece of a broken plastic knife, and began slowly cleaning his nails with it. Occasionally the broken edge of the plastic drew a thin line of blood.

“Stan,” Ford whispered. His brother's arm pressed slightly harder against his, just for a moment. Ford didn't say anything else.

  They waited for hours. There was a window at the top of the cell, and Ford marked time, watching the small bars of light inch across the scratched-up floor. Eventually twilight fell, then utter darkness. Extra lights turned on in the hallway. No one came to bring them any dinner, not that Ford was hungry. Eight, nine, ten o' clock – and still their parents hadn't come. Ford tried to work on Fermat's Last Theorem, but the broken knife kept flashing in his eyes like a sliver of death.

It was four in the morning when an officer finally came to the door and opened it. Stan had slid down to the floor and fallen asleep, head tilted back; the clang of the door startled him awake.

“Whazzat?”

The officer jerked his head at them. “Moved it, Pines. Your ride's here.”

Ford glanced at Thick Nails on the way out. The broken knife had disappeared. He waved almost cheerfully as they left, but the look in Ford's eyes turned his stomach to ice. He was glad when the door locked tight behind them.

The officer led them back to the lobby. Filbrick was sitting in one of the chairs, his arms crossed.

“Took you long enough,” Stan grumbled.

“Told you to shut up,” the officer said, without heat. “Mr. Pines, your two boys here –”

“We didn't do anything!” Ford burst out. “Pops, listen, I invented a crane for the Stan O' War and Crampelter stole it there was evidence on his shoes when they arrested us Stan and I weren't anywhere near the wall when it was –”

“I know that.” Filbrick grunted.

“You – what?”

“We knew you didn't graffiti the wall,” the officer clarified. “Meathead here mostly commits crimes for profit or petty vengeance, not to improve the local aesthetics. Plus we checked Crampelter's story. There were holes in it the size of Texas. We told all this to your father over the phone.”

“When?”

“Oh...” He glanced at the clock. “'Round 5 PM?”

“Around what?!” Stan shouted, just as Ford demanded, “Why didn't you let us out of jail?!”

The officer shrugged. “We were going to. Mr. Pines asked that we hold you a little longer to teach you boys a lesson, and frankly, with Mr. Pyramid Scheme pulling pranks left and right, I thought it was a good idea. 'Sides, it wasn't a real arrest.”

“We. Were. In. Handcuffs!”

“We took 'em off.”

“Let's go,” Filbrick said, and before they could say another word he'd grabbed an arm on each of them and was dragging them out the door.

  They drove home in silence. Ma was standing on the front porch, waiting for them, holding a mug of coffee in her hands.

“You boys alright?” she asked, as they walked up.

“Fine,” Stan snapped.

Ford didn't bother answering. He just stalked right past her and into the house. He heard her whispering furiously at Filbrick behind him, but he couldn't bring himself to care. They'd still been left in that cell for hours. For no reason!

Whatever. It didn't matter. He'd read some of Sagan's early works, or maybe Tesla's published papers, that always helped him calm down.

He reached his room, stepped inside – and stopped short.

The bookshelf, the one that held all his research, the science journals, everything, was completely and totally empty.

The world turned white. His ears roared. Then suddenly he was standing in the kitchen yelling at his father.

“Give me my books back! Where did you put them?! I'm asking you where you put them!”

Filbrick's dark glasses flashed. “Watch your tone, boy.”

“I paid for every single one of those books with my own pocket money! You don't have any right to take them! Do you have any idea what those books mean to me? What it's like to be stuck in a place where people devalue and humiliate me at the slightest whim and the only shred of proof that I'm worth something is taken away while you left us to rot in jail!?”

Filbrick grabbed the front of his shirt and shoved him. Ford didn't even realize Stan was in the room until he caught him, kept him from falling. Filbrick's bulk loomed in front of them like wall.

“Your stupid brain is what got you into this mess in the first place. I told you to get your head outta those books and man up. It's past time you started acting like a real Pines man. If you can't do that, then I'll do it for you.”

Ford wasn't sure what happened immediately after that. Only that his skin was cold and clammy, and there was something hard and metallic digging into his fingers. At some point he realized he'd left the house and was outside, checking through trash cans, his own, his neighbors', anything, working his way down the street. He must've been running at some point because his ankle was throbbing again.

Something touched his shoulder and he jumped, dropping the metal lid he was holding. It hit the ground with a clang.

“Easy,” Stan said.

Ford looked around. Nothing felt real. He wasn't even sure what street they were on. At least dropping the lid hadn't disturbed anyone; all the houses remained dark. He heard waves and turned. The beach – this was Main Street, close to the Boardwalk, still along the beach. Of course he'd stay along the beach.

Stan was calling him. Ford looked without seeing at his brother's face.

“C'mon, Sixer talk to me.”

“What is there to say.” Ford's voice sounded funny, sort of rubbery. “He destroyed my books, didn't he? He wouldn't just throw them away. They're gone.”

“We can get more, alright? Grab a winter jacket, hit the bookstore, bet I could fit ten books under each arm. Alright?”

Ford didn't bother explaining that some of those texts had taken years to find, that some of the journals he'd collected were out of print. That in a town where he was devalued, ridiculed, humiliated for the very things that made him himself, those texts had been the one shred of hope he'd had that there was a community where he would one day be acknowledged. That there was a future he could envision, where likeminded people would not only recognize him, but accept him. In one night, his trust in his father and, symbolically, his own future had been ruthlessly destroyed.

“...scaring me. Say something, please.”

“I can't forgive him for this.”

Ford didn't feel like he was talking. He couldn't really feel his mouth moving. Stanley's face came in and out of focus. He couldn't feel his hands.

Stan squeezed his shoulders, looking worried. “Listen, Sixer –”

“I mean it, Stanley. I will never, ever forgive him.”

A/N: I was in a dark place when I wrote this, bet ya can’t tell ahahahaaaaaaa *dies*

#forduary 2019 #forduary 2019 week 3 #week 3 #forgiveness #filbrick pines #filbrick is a jerk #stan pines #stanley pines #ford pines #stanford pines #sixer #jail #crampelter #bully #stan and ford get framed #filbrick punishes ford #much angst

[kneworder]

chapter 2 of recompense (for all my crimes of self defense), my post season 2 stranger things fic is up now!! read it on AO3 now here, on FanFiction.Net here, or below the break on this very post!!

Chapter 1: AO3  ||  Fanfiction.net  || link to tumblr post

Chapter 2: kind hearts don’t grab any glory

Thin, watery light streams through the window, drawing creatures in shadow across the ivory carpet. The light attacks Steve’s eyes the second he opens them, like knives pushing through to his brain. “Fuck,” he croaks, and tries to bat the light away.

Nothing happens, predictably.

Sitting up is such a daunting task that he lays there with his eyes shut for another hour. It takes that long for him to remember how to close the blinds, or that there are even blinds to begin with.

Steve pushes up from the couch, but his wrecked hand crumples when he puts weight on it, and he falls back, the world upending and spinning around him. Steve tries again, pushing up from his elbow this time, and manages to force himself into a sitting position. He puts his head in his hands, breathing deeply and focusing on anything but the pain. He feels too hot and too cold at the same time, and suddenly, he’s hyperaware of his jacket, rough against his skin and radiating a sickly warmth. Frantically, he tries to escape it. One arm gets stuck in its sleeve, and he stops abruptly, exhaustion overtaking him. He sits there, trapped in his own jacket, until he regains the strength to pull it all the way off.

He’s had sports injuries before, and gotten in fights before, but this is different. This is a whole new level he never wanted to reach. Idly, he thinks, something’s wrong , and almost laughs because that’s the understatement of the year.

Steve cracks open an eye to search for the offending window that’s letting the torturous light in. Dimly, he notes the empty bottle of Jameson seated in a chair in the corner of the room, a remnant of the night Nancy told him it was all bullshit.

That’s not a memory he needs right now.

He finds the window; it’s somewhere to his left. Steve gets to his feet, and has to grab the top of the couch in order to stay that way. He stumbles forwards and ends up falling against the window. From that position, he turns and reaches for the string that controls the blinds. It refuses to stay in his hand, and he has to concentrate in order to grab it and pull it downwards.

The blinds snap shut, and he slides down to the floor, sighing in relief as the light dims to a dull gray.

He must pass out, because the next thing he knows, the doorbell is cutting through his brain like a bullet, the tone echoing around his skull. He groans.

The doorbell rings again, and he covers his ears against the noise.

One more time, and he remembers what a ringing doorbell means.

Steve pulls himself up, scrabbling for purchase at the window ledge. The room around him capsizes, and he blinks hard to bring it back to fuzzy normal. Steve starts towards the door, but runs straight into a chair instead. The empty whiskey bottle that was in it hits the hall’s wood floor and shatters on impact. The sound makes him jump, and he trips over the chair, falling into the wall and swearing a blue streak all the while.

The ordeal wakes him up enough to stagger to the door and open it.

Four kids are crowded on his doorstep.

…

They stand in the driveway for a good ten seconds, frozen. An unexpected, but unanimous hesitation grips them as they look up at the veritable mansion that is Steve Harrington’s house.

Finally, Max lets out a shaky breath and says, “Okay.”

It’s like an electric shock, spurring the four of them into motion. The boys unceremoniously drop their bikes and follow her to the door. “Okay,” Max says again, and presses the doorbell.

No one answers.

“Maybe he’s asleep,” Lucas suggests as Max presses the doorbell again.

“We should probably just…” Mike starts, nodding towards their bikes.

“No!” Dustin cries. He eyes the windows and says, “One more time.”

Max frowns deeply. “One more time,” she agrees, and jams her thumb against the doorbell.

They wait.

“You know what, we should--,” Dustin says, but stops as something inside crashes.

There’s a long string of curses and more crashing, and suddenly, the door is open. “The hell’re you doin’ here?” slurs Steve, squinting down at them.

He looks awful, the cuts and bruises of the previous night even more pronounced in the daylight; his face is a mottled painting of yellows, purples, and blues. Steve leans heavily against the doorframe, and considers the kids with unfocused eyes.

For a moment, they are stunned back into silence. “We, uh,” Max begins, “we wanted to make sure you were okay. After, um. You know…”

Steve snorts out a laugh. “Your stepbrother kicked my ass?” he asks, the words running together. He runs a hand through his uncharacteristically messy hair.

“Um. Yeah. That.” Max says in reply.

“Well, I am gr- reat ,” he answers. “So can I go back to--?”

“And also thank you!” interrupts Lucas. He seems surprised to hear himself speak, but continues nonetheless. “You, uh, stood up for us, and, um. Thank you.”

“Yeah, don’ sweat it, kid,” Steve says. He looks like he’s about to keel over, moments from sliding down the doorframe and to the floor.

Dustin says, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Steve glances at him. “I’d like to go back t’ sleep, but yeah,” he says.

“You really shouldn’t--!” Dustin begins, but gets cut off.

“We should go,” Mike says. “We’ll just…” The four begin to move backwards, nearly tripping over each other on the crowded stoop.

“Mm-hmm,” Steve says, and as soon as it had opened, the door slams shut.

They all jump at the sound.

On the way back to their respective bikes and skateboard, Max says, “That went well.”

“D’ya think he’s really okay?” asks Dustin, his expression betraying his concern. “He looked like shit.”

“I dunno,” Lucas says in response. “But it’s not like we can do anything.”

“You’re not supposed to sleep with a head injury,” Dustin whispers, to no response.

A somber quiet falls over the four.

“Okay,” breathes Max, and they wheel into the street.

…

Once the kids are gone, Steve falls against the door and tries to make his breathing normal again. It’s gone too thin, but too slow, and he has to concentrate in order to fix it. The world is spinning again; he buries his aching face in his knees.

Every second the pain seems to mount, sawing into his skull with each desperate breath. He regrets slamming the door with every fiber of his being, because now his ears are ringing with no sign of stopping.

When Steve was eleven, his parents deemed him old enough to be left home alone, and promptly took off on business trips. At first, they hired nannies, babysitters, but as time went on, they either forgot or decided he no longer needed supervision. They returned at least once a month, but that trickled down with every passing year, until he found himself celebrating Christmas alone. The last time he’s seen them was three months ago, but he’s grown used to living without them.

Right now, he misses them desperately. His father’s voice, quietly comforting. His mother’s fingers, brushing across his forehead and smoothing back his hair.

His already stuttering breath catches when he realizes both memories are from before he turned ten.

Steve wraps his arms around his knees, hugging them tight to his chest. The pain is warping time; he has no idea how long it is until a pounding at the door startles him from his position.

He’s confused – the noise came from behind him; made the wall shake. With a start, he turns to see the door, having forgotten his position.

Whatever hit the door hits it again, this time calling, “Open up, kid!”

The words are distorted; they bounce around the room without Steve registering their meaning. He pulls himself up by the doorknob, answers the door. Sunlight pours into the hall. Steve squints and manages to discern the visitor’s identity: “Chief Hopper?” he says. Or at least, he thinks he says it. He can’t be quite sure.

The chief’s face visibly changes when he catches sight of Steve, but Steve doesn’t notice, he’s too busy trying to remember where he left his bat. The chief means danger, and danger means fighting, no matter how much he’d rather just collapse on the floor.

“Yep,” says the chief, frowning at him. “It’s me.”

…

Hopper wishes he wasn’t so bent on saving everyone. If it weren’t for his damn hero complex, he’d be at the cabin, spoiling Jane rotten and making sure she was every bit as ‘okay’ as she said she was. He’d be pretending he wasn’t scared out of his mind whenever he saw blood on her face and that he didn’t still feel the fear of losing his daughter whenever he looked her way.

He’d be spending every damn minute with his girl, because hell if she didn’t deserve everything he had to give and more.

But no, the Wheeler kid and his friends just have to show up and ruin his afternoon with their story about their ill-fated journey to the Harrington house.

So instead, Hopper is standing on the stoop of said house and praying to whatever god is out there that he won’t have to make a trip out to the hospital.

Then the door swings open and Hopper decides there is no god, because shit, this kid can’t even stand on his own.

“Chief ‘opper?” croaks Steve Harrington, squinting at the watery sunlight coming through the door.

“Yep,” sighs the chief. “It’s me.”

“’S something wrong?” asks Steve. He looks behind him, his expression miserable. “I can…”

The kid starts to stumble back inside, but he barely makes it to the staircase before his knees buckle. Steve grasps the banister and sinks to the bottom step. Hopper takes this display as an invitation to come inside. “Jesus, kid. How the hell did you drive last night?”

Steve ignores his question and reaches somewhere to his right. He blinks slowly. “It’s over there.”

Hopper looks to where the teenager seems to be gesturing and sees a bat filled with nails and coated in blood, at odds with its position on the shining hardwood floor.

“Nothing’s wrong,” says Hopper, “No monsters or anything; everyone’s safe.”

The chief crouches next to the kid; ignores his screaming back and knees. Glazed brown eyes look back at him. “Safe?” asks the kid, his voice reminding Hopper of Jane whenever she encounters a new word, and damn, if that doesn’t hurt.

Hopper nods, and Steve lets out a breath. He leans against the banister in relief.

Briefly, Hopper examines his surroundings. The hall is dark; the sole source of light is the front door. An upturned chair lies on the threshold of the living room, and if Hopper isn’t mistaken, there’s broken glass around it. “Where’re your parents, kid?” he asks, almost to himself.

Steve just shuts his eyes and spits, “Gone.”

There’s a pause as the chief processes this information, and the many things that ‘gone’ could mean. Deciding he can deal with the absent Harringtons later, he says “Hey, how about we go get you cleaned up?” ‘cause if this kid isn’t concussed to hell and back, the earth is fucking flat.

Steve manages to shake his head while pressed up against the banister. “Tired,” he says.

A sudden flash of panic makes Hopper shake Steve by the shoulder. He’s no doctor, but he does know that sleeping with a head injury risks never waking up. “Hey, hey, let’s stay awake,” he says.

He receives an annoyed glare and moan in response. Hopper sets his jaw, looks Steve up and down, and scoops the kid up bridal style.

Luckily or unluckily, Steve is too confused to put up much of a fight, so getting him into Hopper’s cruiser isn’t difficult.

On the way to the hospital, Hopper growls question after question at the kid to keep him awake. He tries to be satisfied with the muffled groans he receives in response: it’s better than nothing.

It’s not until he asks, “Hey, kid. Who’s the president?” that nothing is exactly what he gets.

Hopper feels his heart skip a beat, his breath catching. “Hey. Hey, ” he says, but no response. He glances into the front mirror and sees that the kid’s skin has gone waxy pale, eyes shut. Hopper can’t tell if he’s breathing.

Hopper leans on the gas, speed limits be damned.

Steve’s loaded onto a stretcher the moment he’s dragged into the ER, nurses already swarming. Hopper watches helplessly as they strap an oxygen mask on his face and wheel him into another room, the sterile smell of the hospital already making the chief remember things he’d rather keep buried.

But then a nurse is asking him about next of kin, and shoving paperwork into his hands, and he can’t check out because there’s no one else in town over the age of fourteen who knows that Steve Harrington is just hanging on.

Fucking hero complex.

#stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington #dustin henderson #max mayfield #jim hopper #post season 2 #poor steve he's still Not Having a Good Time #probably the last update before season 3!! #so see y'all then!!! #I'm Psyched!!! #this is still too late to be relevant isn't it! #lol i'm just glad I'm finally posting it #chapter title is from kids in america by kim wilde #another 80s BOP #ev writes

[forduary]

Forduary 2019 Week 3 - Forgiveness

Summary:

Stan and Ford get framed for a crime using Ford’s invention, they get thrown in jail, and Filbrick decides to make Ford stop inventing…

This year’s Forduary fics are linked like the chapters in a book! It’ll definitely help if you read the first two works first, but here’s a quick recap: Ford was bullied by Crampelter, Stan rescued him, but both brothers got hurt. The next day was Saturday, and they went to go work on the Stan O’ War, where Ford ends up inventing an aerial bucket lift so they could help a decapitated ghost. This story picks up on the same day, right where the previous story left off.

Trigger warning: Threatening situation in a jail cell, parent bullying, some dissociation at the end.

HERE COMES THE AAAAANGST!

First fic AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17957654

Second fic AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18000998

This fic AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18001061

The rest of the day should’ve gone perfectly.

They’d recovered the coin from the seagull, which Stan was sure laughed maniacally at them the whole they’d chased it. Stan wanted to hawk it immediately and do some major impulse buying, but Ford pointed out that it would price higher if it looked clean, and anyway he still wanted to test it for ectoplasmic residue.

They stopped by the drugstore, the hardware store, and then the Juke Joint, so Stan could feast on hamburgers while Ford put together the equipment he’d need to run the tests. By then the electromagnetic sensor he’d put together didn’t pick up anything from the coin, but Stan just shrugged and suggested they head back to the ship.

“You can just attach your gizmo-thing to the top of your crane, right?” Stan had asked. “I mean the guy’s head sat on top of the mast for like an hour, that’s bound to have left some juices in the wood.”

“Of course, that’s perfect!”

“Yeah! I get half-credit if you discover anything though, right?”

They paid quickly and Ford all but dragged Stan out of the diner and down the street, talking a hundred miles an hour about potential discoveries and walking so quickly Stan winced at his bruised ribs as he tried to keep up. Ford could feel it in his ankle, too, but he was so excited he found it almost impossible to slow down.

So he was first to round the corner on Ashwood Boulevard – and immediately stopped short.

There was a Thrift Store across the street, and the side of it had been covered in bright blue graffiti. The words “STAN PINES AND THE FREAK” were written over the blue in bright yellow paint, complete with caricatures of their faces. Ford’s crane was sitting to one side, spray cans littered around it, a red can still pinched in its grip. The store owner and several tourists had stopped by to stare at it.

Stan came up behind him. “What’re you – oh, come on! Seriously? Are you frigging kidding me?!”

“But we left the crane at the beach!” Ford protested. “It was inside the Stan O’ War! How did – who was watching –”

“GOTCHA!”

Something hard slammed into Ford’s back and he hit the ground, hard, a knee pressed sharply into his spine. He heard shouting and a scuffle; he craned his neck to see Crampelter’s thugs pinning Stan against the nearest wall.

“HEY OFFICER!” Crampelter’s voice shouted gleefully. “WE GOT ‘EM, THEY’RE OVER HERE!”

A police car pulled up to the curb and two solid-looking men stepped out, their badges glinting.

“Oh this jokester,” one of them grumbled, narrowing his eyes at Stan.

“Hey, I didn’t do anything!”

“Said that last time, too, and this time the writing is literally on the wall. Alright kids, step aside.”

The first officer went over to Stan, pulling out his handcuffs. The second offer did the same, approaching Ford and grabbing his arm. Crampelter rolled off him, grinning as Ford was pulled to his feet.

“Wait, wait a second!” Ford gasped, his lungs still struggling to inflate. The cop’s vicelike grip was making him sweat. “We’ve been at the Juke Joint for the last hour, you can ask the waitress, she’ll remember my hands!”

“Your – geez!” The cop caught sight of his fingers and reflexively shoved him away. The sensor fell out of Ford’s vest. Before he could grab it, the officer scooped it up. “The heck is this thing, some kinda nuclear weapon? You a mad scientist, kid?”

“No, just a scientist! I build equipment to test hypotheses, not to deface buildings!”

“So you didn’t build that?” He pointed to Ford’s crane, which had a visual design very similar to the sensor.

“I – well I did, but –”

“Turn around, kid.”

“Wait, they stole it from the beach, I built it because our ship –”

“Turn around.”

The cop spun him around and grabbed Ford’s wrists. Ford heard him suck in his breath at the sight of both six-fingered hands. Crampelter snickered and his face burned. He glanced over and saw the other cop already dragging a handcuffed Stan back to the car. The struggle must have aggravated his ribs, because Stan was hardly fighting back at all. Nausea rose in Ford’s gut. He looked down and saw –

“Wait, officer, wait! His shoes, look at Crampelter’s shoes! There’s blue spray paint!”

“'Scuze me?”

“It’s not spray paint!” Crampelter said quickly. “It’s – uh – dye! From clothing! I was dying towels for orphans!”

Stan snarled at him. “You think anybody’d fall for –”

“That’s enough out of you,” snapped the cop holding Stan, and he shoved him into the backseat. “You know how long I’ve been waiting to catch you in the act? Now shut up. I don’t want to hear another word out of either of you or I’ll let you keep those shiny new bracelets when I put you in your cell.”

The second cop shoved Ford in next to Stan and slammed the door.

Ford knew Stan had gotten himself thrown in jail cells a couple of times before. Once for putting poorly-made cardboard parking meters along the sidewalk on Main Street, and once for impersonating a dentist. It hadn’t gone on his record, since Stan had been so young, but each time he’d come home bragging about how he was the toughest guy in the whole place, how he’d spent his time carving cigarettes out of the soap just so he could see the look on an officer’s face when Stan pretended to smoke it. It made jail sound rather dull, a bit like the adult version of high school detention.

It wasn’t.

The jail cell was well-lit and cold, with cement walls and floors, a stretched steel toilet with mysterious stains in one corner, metal bunks drilled into the wall opposite the door. There was a man in the cell, a hulk of a man in a bloody jacket sitting on the bottom bunk. His nails were thick and dirty and jagged.

The cop shoved Stan and Ford inside. The door clanged shut. Ford broke out in a cold sweat.

“D-don’t we get a phone call?”

“Yeah you do. I’m gonna call your parents right now. Got your number memorized, thanks to him.” The cop nodded at Stan. “So sit tight and don’t bother your babysitter.”

Ford swallowed hard. Ma was on the phone all the time. Which meant the police wouldn’t get through for hours.

Thick Nails glanced up at them with eyes as ruthless as a cobra’s. Ford shoved his hands behind his back.

Too late.

“'Srong with you, toothpick? You a freak?”

Ford pressed back against the wall and tried very hard to turn invisible. Stan crossed his arms and leaned back casually, like he was just waiting at the bus stop to pick up a hot girl. His arm pressed against Ford’s.

Thick Nails narrowed his eyes and glanced at Stan. “What, he don’t talk?”

“Sometimes. But I’m the one with the sultry voice.”

The man’s lip curled. “You act cute with me again, you little punk, I’ll beat the living daylights outta you.” He reached for his back pocket, took out a piece of a broken plastic knife, and began slowly cleaning his nails with it. Occasionally the broken edge of the plastic drew a thin line of blood.

“Stan,” Ford whispered. His brother’s arm pressed slightly harder against his, just for a moment. Ford didn’t say anything else.

They waited for hours. There was a window at the top of the cell, and Ford marked time, watching the small bars of light inch across the scratched-up floor. Eventually twilight fell, then utter darkness. Extra lights turned on in the hallway. No one came to bring them any dinner, not that Ford was hungry. Eight, nine, ten o’ clock – and still their parents hadn’t come. Ford tried to work on Fermat’s Last Theorem, but the broken knife kept flashing in his eyes like a sliver of death.

It was four in the morning when an officer finally came to the door and opened it. Stan had slid down to the floor and fallen asleep, head tilted back; the clang of the door startled him awake.

“Whazzat?”

The officer jerked his head at them. “Moved it, Pines. Your ride’s here.”

Ford glanced at Thick Nails on the way out. The broken knife had disappeared. He waved almost cheerfully as they left, but the look in Ford’s eyes turned his stomach to ice. He was glad when the door locked tight behind them.

The officer led them back to the lobby. Filbrick was sitting in one of the chairs, his arms crossed.

“Took you long enough,” Stan grumbled.

“Told you to shut up,” the officer said, without heat. “Mr. Pines, your two boys here –”

“We didn’t do anything!” Ford burst out. “Pops, listen, I invented a crane for the Stan O’ War and Crampelter stole it there was evidence on his shoes when they arrested us Stan and I weren’t anywhere near the wall when it was –”

“I know that.” Filbrick grunted.

“You – what?”

“We knew you didn’t graffiti the wall,” the officer clarified. “Meathead here mostly commits crimes for profit or petty vengeance, not to improve the local aesthetics. Plus we checked Crampelter’s story. There were holes in it the size of Texas. We told all this to your father over the phone.”

“When?”

“Oh…” He glanced at the clock. “'Round 5 PM?”

“Around what?!” Stan shouted, just as Ford demanded, “Why didn’t you let us out of jail?!”

The officer shrugged. “We were going to. Mr. Pines asked that we hold you a little longer to teach you boys a lesson, and frankly, with Mr. Pyramid Scheme pulling pranks left and right, I thought it was a good idea. ‘Sides, it wasn’t a real arrest.”

“We. Were. In. Handcuffs!”

“We took 'em off.”

“Let’s go,” Filbrick said, and before they could say another word he’d grabbed an arm on each of them and was dragging them out the door.

They drove home in silence. Ma was standing on the front porch, waiting for them, holding a mug of coffee in her hands.

“You boys alright?” she asked, as they walked up.

“Fine,” Stan snapped.

Ford didn’t bother answering. He just stalked right past her and into the house. He heard her whispering furiously at Filbrick behind him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. They’d still been left in that cell for hours. For no reason!

Whatever. It didn’t matter. He’d read some of Sagan’s early works, or maybe Tesla’s published papers, that always helped him calm down.

He reached his room, stepped inside – and stopped short.

The bookshelf, the one that held all his research, the science journals, everything, was completely and totally empty.

The world turned white. His ears roared. Then suddenly he was standing in the kitchen yelling at his father.

“Give me my books back! Where did you put them?! I’m asking you where you put them!”

Filbrick’s dark glasses flashed. “Watch your tone, boy.”

“I paid for every single one of those books with my own pocket money! You don’t have any right to take them! Do you have any idea what those books mean to me? What it’s like to be stuck in a place where people devalue and humiliate me at the slightest whim and the only shred of proof that I’m worth something is taken away while you left us to rot in jail!?”

Filbrick grabbed the front of his shirt and shoved him. Ford didn’t even realize Stan was in the room until he caught him, kept him from falling. Filbrick’s bulk loomed in front of them like wall.

“Your stupid brain is what got you into this mess in the first place. I told you to get your head outta those books and man up. It’s past time you started acting like a real Pines man. If you can’t do that, then I’ll do it for you.”

Ford wasn’t sure what happened immediately after that. Only that his skin was cold and clammy, and there was something hard and metallic digging into his fingers. At some point he realized he’d left the house and was outside, checking through trash cans, his own, his neighbors’, anything, working his way down the street. He must’ve been running at some point because his ankle was throbbing again.

Something touched his shoulder and he jumped, dropping the metal lid he was holding. It hit the ground with a clang.

“Easy,” Stan said.

Ford looked around. Nothing felt real. He wasn’t even sure what street they were on. At least dropping the lid hadn’t disturbed anyone; all the houses remained dark. He heard waves and turned. The beach – this was Main Street, close to the Boardwalk, still along the beach. Of course he’d stay along the beach.

Stan was calling him. Ford looked without seeing at his brother’s face.

“C'mon, Sixer talk to me.”

“What is there to say.” Ford’s voice sounded funny, sort of rubbery. “He destroyed my books, didn’t he? He wouldn’t just throw them away. They’re gone.”

“We can get more, alright? Grab a winter jacket, hit the bookstore, bet I could fit ten books under each arm. Alright?”

Ford didn’t bother explaining that some of those texts had taken years to find, that some of the journals he’d collected were out of print. That in a town where he was devalued, ridiculed, humiliated for the very things that made him himself, those texts had been the one shred of hope he’d had that there was a community where he would one day be acknowledged. That there was a future he could envision, where likeminded people would not only recognize him, but accept him. In one night, his trust in his father and, symbolically, his own future had been ruthlessly destroyed.

“…scaring me. Say something, please.”

“I can’t forgive him for this.”

Ford didn’t feel like he was talking. He couldn’t really feel his mouth moving. Stanley’s face came in and out of focus. He couldn’t feel his hands.

Stan squeezed his shoulders, looking worried. “Listen, Sixer –”

“I mean it, Stanley. I will never, ever forgive him.”

A/N: I was in a dark place when I wrote this, bet ya can’t tell ahahahaaaaaaa *dies*

#submission #week 3 #Week 3: Forgiveness #long post

[momscookingthebooks]

Chapter Reveal Title: King Series: Sinister Knights MC #2 Author: Aria Cole Genre: MC Romance Publication Date: February 15, 2018’

#ChapterReveal #KING #SinisterKnights #AriaCole #NewRelease #MCRomance 

Synopsis: King Williams has seen the other side of hell, his tortured solitude hiding pain behind the cut of his marble jaw. Stubborn fortitude has gotten him this far, but one night with Piper at a club party is all it takes to unravel the walls he's built. Now he can't get her out of his head. His obsessive need rages before he pulls her in so deep both of their lives land on the line. The only thing that matters might be the only thing he can't protect.

When Piper Parish spots King, high-ranking member of the Sinister Knights MC, nearly naked late one night, it isn't the first time he’s caught her eye. It is, however, the first time she's set eyes on the cobblestoned abs and chiseled lines etched into this bad boy's body. Like a flash of lightning in the darkness, Piper finds herself thrown into a whirlwind ride with the brooding biker...a ride he will never let her forget.

Warning: King is one sexy, moody Harley ridin' bad boy. he's Piper's idea of devilish, dark, attractive and so off-limits. Until now. He'll stop at nothing to make her his, but is she ready to buckle in for the ride of a lifetime?

Purchase Link:  Amazon: smarturl.it/KingAC

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Chapter One

ONE

Piper “I love him, Piper. I know I've said it before, but I know for sure this time. Truly,” Anna breathed at my ear, squeezing my elbow once.

“Ryker is mad about you. I can see it. Just the way the grouchy old bear as glaring at us now...” 

Ryker huffed, taking a long swallow from his beer bottle. “Despite your sunshiny disposition, I'm glad you're back.” I glanced at the man of the hour, still hovering a few feet away from his girl, just in earshot, looking as if he were ready to steal her away from me at any minute.

He probably was.

I sucked in a sigh, eyes casting not for the first time at King, scowling from across the room, a matching beer bottle in his hand. I'd been wishing lately that King would look at me the same way Ryker was looking at Anna now.

Anna deserved happiness, and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that Ryker was the man who made her happy. But that didn't mean I wasn't a tiny bit jealous of the love she'd found. I'd taken to spending so much more time at the ranch in the last few years since Ryker had gone up to County, not that Anna needed a babysitter, but Ryker being gone was tough on her.

Some nights I'd just held her in her bed and let her cry on my shoulder.

There was nothing else I could do.

Not only had Anna been recovering from an assault suffered at the hands of someone she trusted. But then Ryker, the very person who'd saved her from a far worse fate, had been stolen from her life too. Anna was never quite the same after Ryker was gone.

And now that Ryker was back and Anna's face was plastered with a radiant smile, I was left with only one person on my mind.

Someone I'd seen hovering in the shadows for years now, just out of reach, broad and brooding and smarter than any other person I'd ever known.

I'd grown up like a little sister to the Sinister Knights, but from the very beginning, I'd had an uncontrollable crush on the quietest of the crew, King Williams. Always thoughtful, respectful, with a wry sense of humor and a full beard that sent butterflies fluttering around my stomach.

“I’ll text you later, okay?” Anna grinned, Ryker's hand pulling her from me already.

“Have fun!” I waved her off, unable to help her infectious grin from covering my face too. I loved nothing more than seeing my best friend happy, even if the guy who made her feel that way was one big, tall, scary motherfucker.

To each her own, I figured.

Just as my eyes settled on the sound system set up in one corner, King came into view, head bent and eyes trained on my heavily lined ones.

He was so devastating it almost took my breath away.

He closed the distance, eyes never leaving mine, and he was suddenly in my space and draining all the oxygen from my lungs.

“H-hi,” I stuttered.

“Piper.” He nodded, pausing at my shoulder, a thousand unspoken things in his eyes.

I gnawed on my bottom lip, not able to form a single word.

King and I had had a hundred conversations about a hundred different things over the years, but now I was suddenly choking on my tongue.

“How's Anna?” King finally asked, breaking his gaze.

“Great, now that Ryker is here.”

King nodded, a sly grin cocking up one side of his mouth.

The air hung heavy between us, energy so thick and suffocating it nearly swept me under just being so close. I no longer felt like a little girl next to this man; I felt like a woman, independent and strong, worthy of his attention.

I pressed my lips together, stomach swirling to the point of dizzying irritation before the first few chords of a Tom Petty song came through the stereo.

I covered my lips, stifling a giggle as I thought of one summer night when Ryker and King had caught Anna and me out after midnight, giggling as we talked about boys we had crushes on. Even then, King had sucked me in, the dark way his energy sucked up all the air in a room. He'd been making my insides turn cartwheels since day one.

“Wanna dance?” I blurted, half regretting it.

His guarded grin turned up, eyes dancing before a palm tucked in at my waist and pulled me a few inches closer to his body.

I nearly lost my head then.

I swallowed the ball of nerves in my throat and slid my hand along the hard muscle of his bicep.

“The only person I want abusing that pretty lip is me,” King muttered, thumb catching my bottom lip and pulling it from its prison beneath my teeth.

“Oh.”

His smile deepened when he twisted our fingers together, turning me in a circle under his arm and then leaning me back into a heavy dip. The strong angle of his Roman nose trailed up the dip of my throat, lips brushing against my fiery hot skin and nearly causing me to swoon into a pool of bliss between his leather boots.

“I swear, every time I hear this song I'm with you.” He pulled my lips closer, faintly touching as we danced close. His hand was positioned at the small of my back now, melding our bodies a little more.

“Really?” I asked.

He nodded, eyes darting to the ceiling as he thought back. “When Saint, Ryker, and I taught you and Anna how to drive by using the old diesel around the pasture.”

I shook my head, laughing at the memory.

Anna had stalled the old manual transmission at least a dozen times, and just when Ryker was about to lose it, he'd gotten behind the wheel to prove a point and stalled it himself.

“That was a fun day.” I giggled.

“We've had a lot of fun days,” he said, other hand slipping over the nape of my neck, drawing me a little closer into his orbit. Making me a little more drunk on all things King. “And remember when Prez almost caught you and Anna sneaking out of her window one night?”

“Oh, yeah.” I nodded, the faint memory growing clearer as I remembered King pulling up on his bike just at the moment Prez was about to question where we were going. Instead, he thought we were only out talking to King, no harm, no foul there. “We never went out that night, got too scared and crawled back into Anna's window. We made popcorn and watched The Breakfast Club.”

“I know.” King exhaled at my neck, sending a shiver skittering down my spine. “How do you know?”

His fingers looped into the hair at my temple, his hard body pressed so closely to mine I was sure I could feel his heavy erection stretching past my navel. “Do you think I would have let you leave? I got you off the hook with Prez, but that didn't mean I didn't know what the hell you were up to. I woulda tanned your hide if you'd tried to sneak out again.”

My knees went weak, my breaths suddenly ragged as I thought about his body against mine, our clothes discarded on the floor, his lips tracing the lines of my body...

His callused palms traced down to my backside, the dress that spanned high across my thighs suddenly feeling like too much fabric separating us.

I didn't know what tomorrow might hold, but I didn't even care. Just having King's hands on me was a fantasy I'd dreamed of so many nights I couldn't even begin to count. Now here it was, so close to all falling into place.

“King!” Prez's voice boomed from across the room.

King sighed heavily, hands gripping at the flesh of my backside as his forehead landed on mine. “I wish to fuck I didn't have to answer that.”

I pushed a hand through his hair, my urge to purge the frown from his face strong. “Duty calls.”

“So it does.” His grip on my backside loosened, lips hovering just out of reach.

I swallowed, waiting, silently begging for his lips to touch mine, before Prez bellowed one last time. “King! Now!”

My handsome, thoughtful biker grunted under his breath, nodding once, eyes catching mine for one long moment before he turned, head down, and walked away from me.

Having King to myself would never be easy around the Sinister Knights. What was I thinking? That maybe now was finally our time?

I was under the influence of Anna's contagious lovey-dovey shit, Tom Petty and his Heartbreakers, and that delicious, woodsy masculine scent that seemed to follow King everywhere.

ho the hell smelled that good anyway?

About the Author:

Aria Cole is a thirty-something housewife who once felt bad for reading dirty books late at night, until she decided to write her own. Possessive alpha men and the sassy heroines who love them are common, along with a healthy dose of irresistible insta-love and happily ever afters so sweet your teeth may ache.

For a safe, off-the-charts HOT, and always HEA story that doesn't take a lifetime to read, get lost in an Aria Cole book!

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[turnsoutnoonewasexaggerating]

Part Seven of the Sam Diaries

Read on Ao3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10507836/chapters/25613832

“So let me get this straight,” Sam’s standing close enough to Neil to hear in his earpiece Andrew’s half-snort at the irony and has to fight to keep a smile off his own face, “you’re telling me that when you thought the picture was of me and Aaron, we were dating, but when you found it was Andrew we must have been wrestling?”

The reporter looks confused, as if she didn’t understand Neil’s point. Sam’s too busy trying not to think about how he’s currently on national television. He’d only come out to see Neil to give over this drawing, having to meet round the corner from Eunoia’s shop and not the café to avoid this exact situation. That was the reason Andrew was on the phone with Neil, not with him, though it looked like it hardly mattered now. Sam didn’t know if they just didn’t want to come out or there was something more sinister going on (And considering I’ve witnessed Neil stabbed and stalked by someone a lot worse than a crazed fan, I wouldn’t be surprised at this point), but he could understand the pressure behind the former. Sam’s parents had apparently written off Sam trying to explain his sexuality as a phase when he started dating Eunoia. He thought it was worse sometimes, not being believed. He thought some days he’d take his parents having some kind of extreme homophobic reaction over the realisation that they weren’t even going to try and understand him. That they thought so little of his own introspection that he must have been confused.

Other times he felt guilty. Unlike Eunoia, at least he still had his parents.

She didn’t talk about them much, and when she did it was always stilted and hard-won, though it was getting easier with time. He knew her father had loved the ice cream parlour like a second home, and often fell asleep there. He knew her mother had worked late often and as a result Eunoia had spent many nights being cared for by a babysitter instead of a parent. He knew when her parents were home they tried to make up for the distance, that they made up games with her and encouraged her imagination and her love of sport, but that they very rarely went anywhere together as a family. He knew her mother played tennis and her father smelt like smoke quite often and she never knew why seeing as he worked in an ice-cream place.

The time after their deaths was also difficult to get out of Eunoia, but Sam had worked hard to earn that trust. He knew all about that loneliness, knew the days she still woke up and it took her until breakfast to remember they were gone.

So, yeah. At least he still had his parents even if they were problematic. Though he didn’t even know if he had the right to call them that with Neil My-Mother-Was-Abusive-And-My-Father-Was-A-Serial-Killer Josten stood next to him.

He snaps back into the present in time to hear Neil finish a verbal clapback about invasion of privacy so scathing that he doubts the reporter will be showing her face around in public anytime soon. Unfortunately for both Sam and her, there’s already another reporter lined up to question Neil. He feels a bit like they’re being herded into the alleyway behind them. He wishes Neil had worn his customary trying-and-failing-to-be-invisible clothes for once; instead of his team hoodie (though Sam privately suspects, looking at the way the upper sleeves are stretched out and the torso of the hoodie doesn’t quite go down to Neil’s waistline, the hoodie might actually be Andrew’s. That and the fact that ‘MINYARD’ is written on the inside label).

“Who’s this? He’s not one of your teammates.” The second reporter asks eagerly. Sam’s trying not to let his earlier observation about Neil’s hoodie make him imagine how large Andrew’s biceps must be to stretch the material that much and failing miserably. He kind of wishes he had a pen and pencil with him. Andrew Minyard is almost as pretty as Eunoia. Neil, meanwhile, is looking at the reporter with a stone-cold glare.

“Why don’t you ask him yourself, he’s right there.” Sam can feel himself going red as the reporter flicks his attention briefly to him, hoping his thoughts about Andrew don’t show on his face. Sam has no doubt in his mind that Neil could kill him almost as easily as his boyfriend.

“Oh look at that blush! Isn’t that adorable. Someone’s camera-shy! Or maybe just shy to have been discovered on a date…” It takes both Sam and Neil too long to understand the implication even if Andrew’s saying something in Neil’s ear that Sam can no longer catch.

“We’re not on a date.” Sam says firmly, sure that Eunoia is going to piss herself laughing as soon as she sees this report. He really wants to be curled up with her on the sofa watching 27 Dresses again (Eunoia has a particular time in her monthly cycle where she loves watching rom-coms and Sam’s not about to complain even if most of the rom-coms they can find seem to focus a lot on a one-night-stand turning into something else, which Sam’s never understood. He usually leaves to get their ice-cream at that point. Sometimes, if it’s made Sam particularly uncomfortable, they’ll talk about it. It’s not all sex scenes that make Sam uncomfortable, but the less emotion and trust present, the less Sam likes them. Those films Eunoia’s learnt to avoid over time, to Sam’s endless relief. Sometime after the first time he’d revealed how unsupportive his parents had been of his sexuality, Sam asked Eunoia if she thought he was broken because he didn’t understand the appeal of a romance starting from what the characters themselves were viewing as a drunken mistake, and Eunoia had calmly talked him out of it, and when he wasn’t feeling quite so miserable, had punched a wall hard enough to crack the skin on her knuckles. When he asked, she’d only said that she imagined it was his mother’s face, and there was nothing about him that could ever be broken. On days when Sam can’t seem to get away from the sexual images in the media and his deskmates are asking him about how good of a lay Eunoia is, he remembers her words and the image of her soft skin, and tells his deskmates that she’s beautiful and it’s none of their business).

“Sam was just giving me this drawing I asked for.” Neil adds, and Andrew’s muffled input gets a little louder.

“Oh, he drew you? Do you draw for a living, Sam?” Sam didn’t understand the weird emphasis on his name.

“No I just drew something for Neil because he asked.”

“Oh my goodness that is so cute! You two are adorable together.” The reporter squeals. Sam and Neil share an equally befuddled look.

“We are?” Neil asks.

“Look I’ve got to go take my fiancée home. Come on Neil.” Sam insists, looking longingly round the corner to where Eunoia’s shop is.

“Did he just say fianCÉE?” Starts the reporter but Sam and Neil are already gone, hidden in the ice cream parlour before the reporter can say anything else. Neil starts speaking confused rapid Russian to Andrew over his sports headphones as Sam speeds behind the counter to where Eunoia’s packing up.

“Hey gorgeous. You manage to get the picture to Neil? Did he drop anymore bombs about his teammates sexualities? You know, I think Kevin and Thea are very suited to each other but he’s got some serious ‘I need to fuck a guy at least once’ vibes ya know?” Eunoia smiles at him as he gently grabs her free hand and starts playing with her fingers. “Hey.” She says more pointedly. “You only do that when you’re stressed. What’s up?” She puts the last tub of ice cream into the freezer and closes it, turning to give him her full attention. Sam keeps looking at her hand.

“Neil and I just got accosted by the press. It was very embarrassing.” Eunoia links their fingers and presses her forehead on his. It’s cool from the freezer and Sam feels the last of his nervousness melt away. Just like ice cream. I love her. I can’t believe I get to marry an actual angel.

“I’m sure you did fine gorgeous. Besides, the worst that can happen is the press start making this place more popular.” Sam smiles and kisses her, and then kisses her again because how on earth is he supposed to resist an angel?

“Um. Guys?” Comes Neil from the front room. Sam pulls himself away reluctantly but doesn’t let go of her hand as they make their way back to the front, locking doors behind them.

Neil looks very pale in the dimming light of the sun streaming through the windows as Eunoia turns the lights off in the café, almost as pale as he had the day Sam found him stabbed on that park bench.

“Neil? Are you ok?” Eunoia asks, concerned. Neil twitches and scrubs a hand through his hair anxiously.

“Do you want the bad news or the really bad news?”

“They our only options?” Sam asks, trying to keep his smile. Neil’s steely-blue eyes don’t change their intensity.

“Both.” Eunoia says eventually, squeezing Sam’s hand as they brace themselves. Neil takes a deep breath.

“Well, first of all, Andrew thinks Sam and I managed to make it sound like we’re engaged on national television.” Sam splutters indignantly.

“What?! We said we weren’t on a date.”

“And you also said ‘I’ve got to go take my fiancée home, come on Neil’.” Says Andrew, as he strolls casually into the shop, his black Maserati parked on the curb outside. Eunoia carefully doesn’t look at the car as her shoulders start shaking, and for a terrifying moment Sam thinks she’s crying and then the first of the giggles leaves her mouth and she can’t stop, even as all three men stare at her in varying stages of bemusement.

“Oh, babe, never change.” She manages through her giggles, clutching Sam’s arm for support and Sam has to smile at his fiancée’s antics. “‘Come on Neil’- oh my God.” He’s overwhelmed with fondness for her, enough that he forgets all about the other news Neil’s about to drop.

Neil and Andrew share a look and then Andrew steps closer to the two of them, putting himself slightly in front of Neil like he’s expecting the two of them to charge at the short redhead.

“Eunoia.” He says, and there’s something in his voice that Sam doesn’t recognise, probably because Andrew never sounds anything other than bored. “We know what happened to your parents.”

#Andreil #My writing #Andrew Minyard #Neil Josten #My OC Sam #My OC Eunoia #tfc #aftg #TSD