#whats your plan for when half of it slides right on down into the rift of nurz ghashu and all of That comes spilling out | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

volleychumps · 4 years

Note

hi,, i love your writing !! this is kind of odd but can i request a (slightly nsfw) morning after with fem!s/o x oikawa, kuroo, terushima, and osamu? you had a one night stand but they actually like you so they convince you to go on a date after making you breakfast or something like that? please and thank you 🥺

Thank you for 2.8k<33 I love you all.

More Than A Night. (w/ Oikawa, Kuroo, Terushima, and Osamu)

Warning(s): slight nsfw themes

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

Oikawa

“You’re up early.”

You flinch in the midst of shouldering your jacket on as you glance behind you, wondering just how rushed you looked as you blush in embarrassment, causing the brunette to grin in turn. Oikawa yawns through a playful grin with one eye closed, adorning a pair of sweatpants and nothing to cover his bare torso as he crosses his arms over his chest in amusement. You look to the cracked open door, smiling a bit sheepishly.

“I didn’t want to um, impose?” Your words come out questioning as you look away, swallowing tightly at the sight as Oikawa takes knowing steps towards you. You shudder when the setter’s hands you knew so well carefully take the jacket you were in the middle of putting on, slipping it off your shoulders slowly while humming to himself.

“Trust me, lovely- if you were bothersome I would’ve had you out of here hours ago.”

“Oh all mighty one, to what do I owe this special treatment?” You tease, remembering that before last night, Oikawa was still one of your friends, regardless of whether or not last night’s events could cause a rift in your friendship with one another.

“You really want to know?”

You blink, feeling his fingers gently touch the side of your face to get you to look at him, realizing he had been simply running his finger against the side of his jaw as he seemed to be soaking your features in the morning sun.

“In fact, what if I asked you to impose for a little longer, Y/N-chan?”

“Y-You don’t regret last night-?”

“Are you kidding me?” You feel heat swirl in your cheeks as Oikawa’s teasing tone had taken a serious edge, feeling his hand slide across your cheek to cup your face gently.

“Should I be kidding you?” A nervous chuckle slips your lips as Oikawa hangs your jacket on the hanging rack again without looking, chocolate orbs seeming to root you in place as he takes one of the few steps he can towards you.

“I’ve wanted you for years, Y/N-chan.”

“Liar.” Your voice falls to a whisper as Oikawa tilts his head in a seemingly mocking-manner, annoyance glinting in his eyes at the fact that you didn’t seem to believe him.

“Want proof?” He takes another step, voice also falling to a soft tone before taking a strand of your hair in his fingers, kissing it sweetly as you redden at the gesture.

You close your eyes, feeling Oikawa dip his head into your neck, lips smirking slightly against your skin as a newfound heat emerges in the contact as the brunette speaks, gently pressing you up the door and shutting it tightly in the movement.

“So what do you say we make my wait worth it- and make this official, already?”

Kuroo

“You are not reading through my comic books right now.”

“You’re right, I’m actually wondering how a nerd like you got laid.” You retort, flipping through the pages as you bite your lip, hiding your face in the process as you see Kuroo walk into the room from your peripheral view.

“You slept with this nerd, so I don’t think you’re one to talk, kitten.”

The events of last night had been a little fuzzy, but little details came back to you as you blush, pretending to focus on the panels of the sci-fi comic book as you hear Kuroo set something down on the bed, leaving his retort unanswered.

A bright grin crosses your features as you use the blanket to cover your chest as you sit up, seeing the simple breakfast of eggs and toast in the middle of the tray along with a cup of coffee just how you liked it. Your grin grows teasing as you lift the mug to your lips, watching your friend eat a piece of toast on the end of the bed in all his shirtless glory.

“Is this one of the perks of sleeping with the Kuroo Tetsurou?” You try to keep your voice light, and Kuroo quiets down after scoffing in response, eyes calculating and thoughtful as you withold the urge to sigh. Of course things would be different. Was it even possible going back to normal after sleeping together?

“There are a lot more perks if you stick around, trust me.” Kuroo winks, and you roll your eyes at his flirtatious nature, watching him finish off his toast before beginning to get out of bed, shuffling around to pull your shirt from yesterday overhead.

“Well, as fun as this was, I say we revert back to the day before yesterday-”

“...don’t want to.” Your ears perk up at Kuroo’s faded mumble, not hearing him properly.

“Hm? Speak up or I’ll dirty your comic books.”

“I don’t want to go back to how we were.” Kuroo’s voice seemed to be teetering on the edge of strained as you quirk a brow, feeling dissappointment dig into your stomach.

“Oh.” Your smile turns wobbly. “As in...you don’t want to be friends anymore?”

“..Exactly.”

“...Then I guess I’ll be taking my leave.” You break the tension residing in the silence, Kuroo catching your wrist before you can dash out of his bedroom with a wet heat in your eyes.

“That’s not what I meant.” Kuroo’s voice was oddly serious- a tone you didn’t hear that often- before tugging you into his chest into his sitting position so you were straddling his lap. His feral eyes raked over your half-clothed body, mouth beginning to nibble at the sensitive spot on your collarbone as an embarrassed sound slips your lips-

Kuroo smirks, hand trailing underneath your shirt as he feels your heartbeat at the slightest touch of your chest.

“I want to be able to see you like this every morning, kitten- that’s what I meant before you jumped to conclusions.”

His hand presses against the small of your back, pressing you up against him even tighter as comic books lay open and forgotten, a half-drunk coffee cup growing cooler beside them.

“I want to lose you as my friend and keep you as my everything.”

Terushima

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice that the other side of my bed was cold?”

“I’m surprised you’re capable of noticing things.” You hum in reply, smiling a little as you feel the spiker’s arms wrap around you from behind, Terushima’s chin resting on your shoulder as he examines what you’re doing. You poured the dark liquid from the coffee pot as you basked in the morning light, having left the blonde in bed with slightly wobbly legs.

“This almost feels like we’re married, no?”

“Totally.” You hadn’t meant for your words to come out that sarcastic, but you knew better. Terushima Yuuji had been a friend of yours for years, but one night of heat and mixed emotions didn’t change the fact that the spiker was the exact definition of fuckboy.

“Y/N you’re acually gonna make me cry one day! You’re so cold.” Terushima whines, feeling at complete ease at the thought of you standing in the kitchen with a brewed coffee pot for the two of you.

“And my coffee’s getting cold too, so you can start calling up another one of your girls in line to warm yourself up.” You reply without missing a beat, feeling Terushima tense up before relaxing again.

“Jealous?” Terushima smirks against your shoulder, still not letting you go as you roll your eyes, smiling nonetheless.

“To be honest you are great in bed, my friend. Kudos to the next lucky girl.” You wink, feeling Terushima’s grip on your waist loosen slightly as you finish off your coffee, the spiker spinning you around to lean into you, cornering you against the counter.

“Go on a date with me! Coffee isn’t breakfast.”

You stare at your friend for a solid second before shaking your head, laughing a little in disbelief. “Do you typically bring girls out on dates after you sleep together?”

“No, not usually.” Terushima shrugs, and you laugh again before feeling his hand snake down to your waist, his hand tracing up your bare thigh as heat floods your cheeks, the spiker before you eyeing you with an emotion you couldn’t pinpoint.

“Yuuji-”

“One date.”

You blink at the seriousness tinging his words, gasping when he lifts you up to sit you on the counter to stand between your legs, smirking when his breath hits your lips as he watches your eyes dart between his lips and his eyes.

“Give me one date, Y/N.”

“...Fine. Only because you’re acting is phenomenal at the moment.” You give in, kissing him deeply on the lips as Terushima’s grip on your waist tightens the slightest bit before you brush past him, humming as if nothing serious had happened.

Terushima sighs as he hears the shower turn on, leaning his back against the counter before pouring his own cup of dark brew into the mug you had been drinking out of, a hand running through his hair as his usual bright almond eyes seemed to have darkened.

“Acting, huh?”

Osamu

“Y/N. You’ll sleep into the afternoon.”

“Please let me?” You croak, shielding your eyes from the blinds Osamu had opened an hour before.

“Nope. I have breakfast going, I laid one of my shirts out for you.” The wing spiker leans against the doorway of his bedroom, watching you wake up in a slightly confused manner as you slowly sit up, the corner of Osamu’s lip twitching at the sight. You hug the blanket to your chest embarrasedly, smiling a little bashfully.

Osamu clears his throat, attempting to clear the awkward atmosphere. “Can you walk okay?”

“Someone’s cocky.” You comment, taking Osamu’s shirt and pulling it over your head although it engulfed your figure. “And no, by the way- I can’t.”

You yelp, feeling your friend’s arms tuck beneath your legs and back before picking you up as if you weighed nothing, causing your bare legs to thrash around slightly in complaint. Osamu remains indifferent, walking to the kitchen with ease.

“You said you couldn’t walk, and I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”

“I was actually planning to go straight home...” You trail off, sweatdropping when Osamu sits you in the chair across from his before taking his own seat.

“You have time. Your class doesn’t start for another hour.”

“...right.” You mumble, putting your hands together to begin the meal. The two of you eat in silence, Osamu not being very talkative to begin with- the friendship you two had fostered had been put into such a threatening position from last night’s slightly drunken decisions. Do you go about your day and pretend it didn’t happen? Address it and stop being friends?

“-be my girlfriend.”

You choke, the statement/question coming out of Osamu’s mouth casually muffled by his mug as the twin looks out on the morning sun as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on you.

“...are you sure you aren’t confused?” You eye him directly, all shyness and awkwardness washed away as Osamu lazily meets your eyes, forking some more food into his mouth with a nod.

“I’m sure.”

“Look, Osamu- just because we slept together doesn’t mean you’re under any obligation-”

Your eyes widen when Osamu had suddenly leaned forward, hand entangling in your hair to kiss the corner of your lips from across the spread on the table, sitting back and resuming to eat his rice with a shrug.

“There was a little rice near your mouth-”

“Are you even listening?!” You exclaim, flustered at the lazy boy’s actions as Osamu sighs before setting down his chopsticks, something he never did, before eyeing you evenly, fighting the amused smirk on his lips at how flushed you looked. He tilts his head, standing from his chair before shrugging.

“If you don’t want to go out with me, then..”

You panic, heart confused with mind in tow as you stand, catching the back of his fitted black shirt before he can walk away.

“I...we can maybe...try it?” You make out in fidgety embarrassment, Osamu releasing a deep sigh that had his shoulders lifting up and down before turning to glance at you. The gray haired boy tugs you into his chest tightly by the wrist, mumbling into your ear as he watched with a satisfied look at the pink that dusted your cheeks.

“You seriously can’t be this cute this early in the morning. I think I’m hungry for something else now.”

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

General works: @takemetovalhalla @kasandrafaye @dreebbles @savemesteeb @yams046

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu anime #haikyuu oikawa #oikawa toru #haikyuu kuroo #Kuroo Tetsurou #haikyuu terushima #terushima x y/n #haikyuu osamu #osamu miya #haikyuu reads #haikyuu requests #hq x reader #hq x y/n #hq scenarios

2K notes · View notes

ilguna · 3 years

Text

Anteric - Chapter Six (f.o)

summary: secrets have more worth than you gave them credit for.

warnings; swearing. FIGHTING, GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, GORE, BLOOD, INJURIES.

wc; 8.6k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

Finnick is still picking blue paint out of his hair this morning. Each time he goes to run a hand through it, he’ll get stuck halfway through, due to a clump of knotted blue hair. You try not to laugh, but every now and then a cough will slip out. At some point, he gives up and goes to take a shower in hopes to fix his problem.

Since you woke up fairly early again, you have enough time to get ready at a leisurely pace. Unfortunately, you're sure that the sun has already risen, so there wouldn’t be a point to go up the Pit to see. And you think that’s for the best, because it’s not safe up there anymore. Not now that Finnick knows where you’d go if you need a moment to breathe.

Well, that’s one of the places. Hopefully he won’t figure out the other.

You’ve realized that you probably need to speak to him sometime soon, considering the rift that’s continuing to grow. The only problem is that you’ve already apologized for your sudden distance. He just ignored it.

You think you’ve said this before, but Finnick will get extremely upset to the point where he’ll stop talking. He used to do that all the time to a couple of other people that you knew in Abnegation. You weren’t his only friend, just the best. There’s only been a few times where you’ve been on the receiving end of his cold behavior. And he’s always bounced back from it.

Half of the time it’s because you gave him space to think about what he wanted. He would just wander back on his own, heart in his hands to give to you. In those moments, it was always his fault. Which is why it was so easy for him to come talk to you again.

Other times, you’d persist after Finnick, trying to get him to budge and talk to you again. This is how you found out that it would be harder to talk to you again. Because you were constantly trying to get him to. It just built up annoyance more, and prolonged the silent treatment. This option is always the second choice, a last resort for dire situations.

Which is why you’re so caught right now.

Finnick could really need you to go after him, or he could really need you to stay away. And honestly, you don’t mind either of those plans, except the latter one has a problem hidden within it. Normally when you’d leave Finnick alone, it would be because he didn’t have anyone else to talk to.

If you go on and move onto Trink circle for the time being while you wait for him to come around, he won’t be alone. He won’t have time to think about why he’s angry by himself. He’ll have someone else to delay that entire process. You know Finnick like the palm of your hand, he can and will put talking to you off for as long as possible.

You thought that Thyme could be a nice addition to yours and Finnick’s friendship, but it seems like she’s going to be making things more complicated. And there’s a hot, sticky feeling in your chest that’s telling you it isn’t a coincidence. From the moment she’s gotten here, she’s been weird.

A hand slaps your foot, making the laces slip from your fingers, your foot falling to the floor. Thyme passes in front of you, and sits down on her bed. It’s only when she starts to lace her first shoe, does she look at you, “Keep your dirty shoes off my bed.”

You stare at her for a moment, and the only thought that comes to your mind is the fact that you’re too tired for her bullshit. You fix your laces before standing up, leaving her alone. You stretch your arms and legs, moving toward the middle of the room. Caspian said that training wouldn’t resume until tomorrow, but that just means you’ll be stuck shooting guns for ten hours.

Finnick comes out of the bathroom, briefly catching your eye. He’s fully dressed, a black towel hangs around the back of his neck to catch the water from his hair. You move out of his way, not thinking too much into the movement. All you know is that you don’t want to be caught in the storm that might be brewing at the moment.

Which ultimately means you just unintentionally made the decision you’ve been worrying over for the past couple of minutes. You guess that your first instinct has never been to pry. And you also guess that this is a result of the Abnegation conditioning. You’re not supposed to ask questions, especially if it might hurt the other person.

But you aren’t in Abnegation anymore, are you?

You spare a glance in Finnick’s direction, wondering if it’s too late to go back and change your mind. His back is already turned toward you, and he’s talking to Thyme. He turns his body slightly, going to sit down on his bed. The smile on his face is almost unforgivable, a light feeling arising in your stomach.

There’s a split second where you recognize that he’s going to look toward you, his head is already turning, his eyes still on Thyme. You think that you’ll be able to muster up enough courage to talk to him. But it all disappears the moment his eyes land on you. And you find yourself turning before you say to.

Trink is stretching her arms above her head, her tank top rides up slightly to reveal her belly. She lets out a slight yawn, and then she pulls her top back down and looks between you, Eytelle and Allio.

“Breakfast?” she proposes.

You wonder how far is too far with Finnick.

“Yeah.” Eytelle agrees, Allio raises to his feet.

Trink’s eyes land on you, waiting to see what you have to say.

You roll your shoulders and give her a bright smile, “Well, obviously.”

Trink leads the way out of the dormitory, with Eytelle and Allio in the middle, and you taking up the back. Up until the door slides shut smoothly behind you, your hands are balled into fists and you can’t relax your shoulders no matter how hard you try. You just feel safer now that you’re out of sight, at least their eyes won’t be on you.

For a while, you focus on Allio and Eytelle’s voice echoing off the walls, as they talk about what they think their rank might be. It’s an easy enough conversation for you to escape to. Since the answer should be pretty difficult to find, because of technicalities and all. But the mystery is solved two minutes later, and the distraction is no longer here.

You’re lucky that the walk to the dining hall is short.

“You two head inside, we’ll follow in a minute.” Trink says, giving them a polite smile.

“Do you want to sit with the Dauntless-borns?” Eytelle is walking backwards.

Trink makes a face like she’s telling them ‘obviously’, but speaks anyway, “Make sure it’s with Lennox.”

Eytelle nods, and the two of them disappear inside. Trink turns to you next, her smile fading from her face, “Why didn’t you say anything to her?”

You press your lips together for a moment, and then you speak, “I know what I’m doing with Finnick.”

“Really?” she rolls her eyes, “Come on, (Y/n).”

“I’ve been dealing with him for my entire life.” you tell her, drifting towards the doorway. You two might be friends now, but you don’t have to reveal all your secrets to her just yet. It’s been less than a day, “Thyme won’t last, trust me.”

She raises her eyebrows, “You should still talk to him.”

“I will.” you say, she’s starting to follow you now, “I’ll do it tomorrow before the final fight.”

Trink shrugs.

The two of you stand together for a while, before she’s the first to spot your group from last night. At the table, she greets Lennox and slides right in next to him. She serves herself a small portion of toast and blueberry pancakes, as always, and starts talking as if they’ve been friends for a long time.

Ameer and Mirza are sitting across from each other, a path is cleared between them to allow the arm wrestling match. It seems like they’re both struggling, since Mirza will stay on top for a while, straining. Then Ameer will get a burst of strength and push his brother’s arm down toward the table. Neither of them have won yet.

Sydney is twirling a strand of her hair around her finger, talking to Nestor and occasionally Ameer. It’s always through gritted teeth and gasps if he does respond. She doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, no one looks bothered over the twins’ shenanigans.

Claris isn’t gathered with you guys, she’s actually sitting on the far end of the table off to the left. Hallie sits beside her, the two of them talk every now and then between long stretches of silence. However, the person that is sitting here with you guys, is Blaire.

He’s got one of his black curls pulled out, talking to Lennox and Trink. When he lets go, the curl bounces back into place as if it wasn’t out in the open just seconds before.

“Four people are going to be cut after this last fight, right?” Trink says, she’s squishing a blueberry between her fork and her plate.

“Yeah,” Lennox says, “The two lowest ranking initiates from both groups.”

Trink hums, “Who’s your two?”

Blaire gives her a look, and then you, “You first.”

“Amos and Ossie.” you say, carving your fingernail into the wooden table, “No question about it.”

Trink’s face twists for a moment, eyebrows raising, and then dropping. Like she’s trying to tell you that it isn’t set in stone. Like she’s trying to tell you that you’ve lost your last two fights, technically Ossie is ranked above you at the moment, and so is Trink.

That won’t last long. You’ll be winning tomorrow’s fight, no matter who it’s against.

“That was easy.” Lennox breathes out a laugh, and then he jabs his thumb to Claris and Hallie, “They’re out. Neither of them have won. They talk shit but the rest of us are taller and stronger than they are.”

Sydney pauses what she’s saying to Nestor to lean in, “The two of them talk like they own the world. Should’ve seen their faces when they got their asses kicked on the first day. Or when they couldn’t even move the punching bag.” Nestor nods in agreement.

“Huh,” you let out.

Blaire shrugs, “Just how it is.”

Trink leans her head against her hand, pushing her plate away now, “How was it working with Finnick and Thyme?”

The question makes Mirza lose at the arm wrestling match. Blaire stares at Trink for a long moment, his eyebrows drawing in, “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious. I guess I should’ve asked if he mentioned anything about (Y/n). And what exactly did he say?”

You want to stomp on Trink’s foot beneath the table, but she’s not across from you. You wish that she wouldn’t go around asking questions like this. You don’t care what he said about you during the paintball match. In fact, you could guarantee that it’s not anything bad, because Finnick doesn’t bad-mouth until he’s absolutely certain that the other person is his enemy.

You press your lips together and scowl.

“Well,” Blaire looks uncomfortable, as he probably should be, “It’s complicated… I guess.”

“Oh, come on.” Trink waves her hand, “You can’t hurt her feelings, she’s a brick wall.”

You’re suddenly glad that she hasn’t seen you vulnerable just yet. And that you held yourself together after the incident in the Pit, hanging over the river. Otherwise she might be saying something else right now.

Blaire looks to Mirza for reassurance, but the twins are gone. The two of them have vanished without a single word. Blaire sighs, “Finnick said that the two of you had grown up together.” his eyes are on you, “And that you know everything about him, including his weaknesses. He also said that your actions are predictable which is why you aren’t threatening.”

Silence sweeps the table. You let the hotness take over your face first. Anger so rich and raw that you might as well be a reincarnated god. But there’s something bubbling in your chest, light and friendly. The exact opposite of war and bloodshed.

You try to stay straight-faced, but there’s a crack at the corner of your lips. Until you burst, tears forming in your eyes. The laugh is loud, but draws no attention from the other Dauntless around you. With the exception of the group you’re sitting with, of course. You end up covering your mouth, trying to be a bit more modest.

“Not threatening, huh?” You smile, running your finger over the divot you’ve carved into the table. Then, you look up to Blaire, “If I were you, I’d be skeptical.”

Blaire doesn’t respond right away, “What does that mean?”

“Well, for starters.” You place your palms on the table, getting ready to leave, “He doesn’t know me as well as he thinks.”

You stand up from the bench. The clock on the wall says that it’s ten minutes to eight, which means you’ll be arriving in the training room early if you leave now. It’ll give you a moment to think and reassess your next move.

You take a step forward, but then stop, “Finnick isn’t as put-together as he likes to show. It’s all a façade. I’ll be in the training room.”

You take your time leaving the dining hall, not seeing a reason to rush. You have more than enough time to get there, and you need to spend it all.

On the way out, you pass Finnick and Thyme.

You were wrong. You thought that Finnick would keep his opinions of you to himself. The two of you don’t know these people, and they weren’t in your business to begin with. So what is he doing, basically telling people that you’re weak?

A hand hooks around the inside of your elbow, keeping you from talking further.

You yank your arm out, turning to face Finnick, while putting distance between the two of you. The mere look on his face is enough for you to set your jaw, clenching your teeth together. A deer in headlights, a child acting like it doesn’t know what it did wrong, an act.

“Hey,” he says, even his voice is soft, like he’s trying to coax you, “Are you okay?”

Your first instinct is to snap and then run. Leave him blinded and shocked just like you were a couple of moments ago. But the longer you stare at him, the more you begin to realize that he’s not acting. He’s being genuine.

“I’m fine.” you force yourself to calm down, standing up so that you aren’t hunched over, “Thanks for asking, though.”

“Are you sure?” Finnick straightens out too, “Do you want to talk about it?”

You can see Thyme stalking over his shoulder, eyes boring right into yours. Watching, waiting. Probably wanting material to spread around to the others. Look at (Y/n), upset over this and not nearly as scary as she can seem at times. She’s probably the one that managed to convince Finnick that you aren’t threatening.

“Not with her around.” you snarl, looking past him, “You’re a goddamn coward, you know that? And it’s no surprise, you come from Amity.”

She backs up, face twisting when Finnick looks over his shoulder.

“Really?” you ask, moving forward. Finnick presses a hand to your chest, keeping you from going any further. You look at him dead in the eyes, “You’re stopping me? Why? She can take care of herself. If she’s going to cause problems, then she’s going to deal with the consequences.”

“You’re not thinking straight.” Finnick says, not affected by how angry you are.

You slap his hand off and shove him back in one move, “So? Does that scare you, Finnick? What happened to me not being threatening?”

Finnick’s confused for a second, but then his face smoothes over, and he’s shaking his head, “That’s what this is about?”

You grit your teeth, “Yes, Finnick, that’s why I’m upset.”

“You don’t know the context--”

“No!” your voice is loud, “Blaire told me the context. You said I wasn’t threatening because I’m so fucking predictable.” you shove him again, “If I’m so predictable to you, then why do you bother to stick around?”

Finnick doesn’t say anything, there’s an overwhelming silence that sits between you two. Thyme doesn’t even move from where she is, her hand is pressed against the wall as if she’ll fall over. What a drama queen.

It seems like you have attracted attention, though. Out of the corner of your eye, you’re able to see Damon coming your way. Why he’s still inside of the dining room when he eats earlier than everyone else, you don’t know. What you do know is that you’re about to get in trouble.

“Back up.” Damon says, motioning, “Now.”

You do, hands balling into fists. You should’ve hit him when you had the fucking chance to. Or lunged straight towards Thyme, who’s playing up the innocent act again.

“Where are you going?” he looks at you first.

“The training room.”

Then his eyes land on Finnick and Thyme. Finnick’s the one to speak, “For breakfast.”

“Go.” he tells them, not leaving from where he stands. He waits until Finnick and Thyme are clearly inside before turning to you, “I remember being told that Laurel issued a warning about fighting.”

“Yeah, I was there for it,” you say, “But I didn’t hit him, so it doesn’t count.”

“Shoving counts.” Damon says, “Don’t do it again.”

“Sure.” you say, “Sorry.”

You turn and leave before he tries to talk to you anymore. You’re already testing his patience by being short with him. You head straight into the darkness, nails digging into your palms. The walk to the training room isn’t as serene as you originally wanted it to be. With every step you take, you can only find more reason to be angry.

There’s so many things you should’ve said to him.

By the time you get to the actual room, you’re only slightly calmed down. There’s no doubt that you just made things worse between you and Finnick. But to be fair, it’s no thanks to Trink. You don’t know whether or not to be angry at her. If she hadn’t asked the questions in the first place, then you’d still be on the road to recovery with Finnick.

It all conflicts with the fact that you wouldn’t have known what Finnick said if she hadn’t asked. You didn’t know he was talking about you like that. And sometimes it’s good to be underestimated, but here it’s not. It’s the simplest way for you to end up factionless.

Laurel and Caspian are already inside when you get there. They barely look up at first, too focused on what they’re hovering over. Laurel then suddenly raises her head, a murmur sounding from her. Caspian has to turn his body to see.

You give them a gentle wave.

“Don’t touch anything just yet.” he says, motioning you to stand somewhere.

Along the wall of the entrance sits tables with knives on them. All of them black, with identical blades and sizes. On the other side of the room are targets, much like the ones you’ve used to shoot guns. It looks like you get to try your hand at something new today.

It’s hard to be excited when there’s a hateful feeling in your stomach, telling you that Finnick will have no trouble keeping his streak. He’ll nail the middle of the target and then immediately turn to Thyme to gloat. You can’t help but to wonder if he genuinely thinks he’s winning in Dauntless right now, because you wouldn’t think so. Not when your best friend is halfway out of the door.

You pick a spot on the far side, shoving your hands into your pockets while you stare at the wood. If you strain hard enough to hear, you can listen in on what Laurel and Caspian are talking about. And it honestly sounds like they’re discussing the pairs for tomorrow’s fights. You thought they would have worked this all out this morning, but you guess you were wrong.

You have to win, no matter what. Or you will end up in last place. And instead of Ossie being cut, it will be you. You and Amos.

It’s funny, really. For a second, you really thought that you were on top of the world. You didn’t know just how quickly it would all fall back down. How you wouldn’t be able to catch everything--anything. It took a week to break all that you’ve worked towards your entire life.

You still have enough time to turn it around and end up on top. All you have to do is pass this first stage, and then you could blow everyone out of the water. You have the power to. You just have to apply yourself more.

A couple of minutes later, the others begin to arrive in their own groups. The first is Ossie and Amos, the next is your three new friends, and the last is Finnick and Thyme. This time, they’re the ones keeping their distance, placing themselves firmly on the other side of the room.

If Caspian has any questions rising, he doesn’t ask them. You do catch the quick look between you and Finnick, though. As if he’s trying to decipher it for himself. His eyes find yours again, and you give him a gentle head shake, letting him know that things are not what they are anymore. You wish it weren’t this complicated.

“Tomorrow is the final fight, and it will also be the last day of stage one.” Caspian says, he stands near the chalkboard, shouting across the room. His voice carries well, you don’t have to turn your head to hear him better.

“Today, you’ll be learning how to aim.” Laurel continues for him, “Pick up three knives, and pay attention. No one will be excused from tomorrow’s fighting, so try not to hurt yourselves.”

You all begin to wander over to the knives. You pick up the first one in your hands, and you can’t help but to notice just how light it is. It’s not as heavy as the one in your aptitude test, or the one back home in Abnegation. This is as light as a feather, easily movable. It reminds you of the knife you used to cut your hand during the Choosing Ceremony.

You pick up the other two, being careful not to cut your hands.

“I’ll demonstrate, so pay attention!” Laurel shouts.

Once you’re all back in your respective places, all eyes are on her. You have to move around a little to see better, and you can’t help but to curse yourself for choosing this end of the room. But then again, you didn’t want to invade on Caspian and Laurel’s privacy, clearly it was an important conversation.

Laurel is smooth and flawless with her throws. One after the other, each one hits the dead center of the target. Once all three knives are gone, she backs away from the target. You have to move again to see that she’s thrown her knives so that they make a triangle.

“Line up!” she yells, “And get to throwing! Caspian and I will observe.”

You remember the first time you shot the gun they gave you. It’s almost hard to believe that was only five days ago. At the rate things have been moving around you, it almost feels like a year.

Automatically, you find yourself readjusting your stance to mirror what Laurel had looked like. She had her dominant forward just a little more, body turned to the side to allow her dominant arm move free range. You extend and tense your arm a couple of times, getting a feel for the throw.

You have to remember to exhale when you let go.

And make sure not to think too much or you’ll hesitate.

You draw your arm back, knife handle in your hand. Your eyes land on the red circle in the middle of the wood. You hold your breath for a moment, pausing to readjust, and then you throw.

For a second, all you can hear is the sound of knives bouncing off the wall. No one has made it even close to their target. So why are you so sure that you’re going to be different?

Well, because you are.

The knife lodges in the red circle. It’s nowhere near perfect, since it’s off center and barely hanging on. But you are the first.

“Wow!” Trink lets out, “That’s luck!”

You prepare the second knife in your hand, drawing your arm back the same way, correcting for the middle. This time, when the knife hits the wooden board, you are much closer to the center. You’re too eager for the third knife, excitement bubbling up your throat and to your cheeks. An infectious smile fills your face when the third knife is in the center.

A hand slaps on your shoulder, “You’re a natural.” Caspian’s hand slips slightly as he moves around you to take a better look. He lets out a slight whistle.

Eytelle and Allio are nodding along, looking enthusiastic.

You can’t help yourself, though. You thank Caspian, but move to look at Finnick and Thyme, to watch them throw. You catch Finnick’s eyes for a brief second, clearly he was watching you. It’s your turn to take notes now.

You felt this exact same way when you first shot the handgun. To know that you were so close to the center circle, only for Finnick to best you. Finnick moves his hand, showing you that he still has all three knives in his hands. It’s an under-the-table move, not noticeable unless you’re paying close attention. Which means that Thyme completely misses it. The blades glint in the light.

He raises his arm, Thyme pauses what she’s doing to watch him. She’s already missed her first two knives. Finnick takes in a deep breath when he throws, and this is where he goes wrong. You’ll give him credit, because the knife hits the board. But it’s a corner, and clatters to the ground without sticking.

Finnick’s face twists, and when he turns to you--

You’ve already got both hands up, formed in an ‘X’.

Figuring that you’ve reached the point of no return yesterday, you went ahead and switched beds after dinner. Originally, you’d been sleeping over Finnick. Now you’re over Trink, since she’s the one that has an open bunk. You went to bed before you got a chance to see Finnick’s reaction, but you can tell by the way he’s acting this morning, that he’s upset.

He’s normally chatty in the morning, whether it had been with you, or Thyme. But no matter how many times Thyme tries to start a conversation with him, he only lets out one word answers. Which is a telltale sign that Finnick is not as okay as he’s been projecting. Another reason why Thyme doesn’t fit the space, she thinks about herself first and not the people around her.

Abnegation-raised children have been taught to focus on others before them. Like Candor, you begin to be able to pick out the little things from others reactions and body language. You might not be able to ask about it, but you’re supposed to notice it so that it’s easier to avoid the topic.

Thyme knows nothing about this, which means she doesn’t know when to leave things be instead of trying to fill the silence.

There’s a tight feeling of smugness in your chest. Finnick is going to be the one to apologize, not you. Not like you have a reason to, anyway. You already did and he ignored you, as if it hadn’t existed at all. You weren’t bluffing, it was a genuine apology.

You start out of the bathroom, fully dressed, shoes on, minty breath. All you have to do is wait for Trink to get ready, and then the four of you can head to the dining hall so you can watch and wait for them to eat. You already decided that you shouldn’t eat this morning. With the way everyone has been going at your stomach, it’s the only real choice you have. Unless you want to puke all over the floor, of course.

Trink’s in the middle of braiding her hair, talking to Eytelle. Allio is still in the bathroom, you saw him wander into the shower area just before he shut the curtain. He said that it should only take a couple of minutes. So, you suppose that you should correct yourself. You’re waiting on Allio, not Trink.

You start toward the girls, a question to start conversation already appearing on your tongue. But it all dies when someone appears in your path, tall and towering over you, like he always does. You press your lips together and look up at Finnick. And you can’t help but to think that this scene is all too familiar.

But the last time you checked, you moved out of the way.

“We should talk.” Finnick says, his voice is gentle, face smoothed over.

“Yeah?” you ask, eyebrows raising slightly.

You will not be the one apologizing this time.

He takes his time before speaking. Letting out a small breath, sucking in one between his teeth. He does this every single time, you know what to expect. He’ll start his sentence off with the apology, and then what he did wrong.

Finnick takes in a final breath, “I need you to hear me out.”

No.

No, this is wrong.

You stare at him, almost wanting to hold your breath.

This is the second time you’ve been wrong about Finnick would or wouldn’t do.

Finnick takes your silence as a good sign to keep talking, “When I said that to my team, I was still angry at you for blowing me off.”

Now you hold your breath, teeth settling in. He’s wrong, you didn’t blow him off. You apologized, you told him why you’ve been acting this way. It’s the other way around, he’s the one that confronted you and didn’t even listen. As if he didn’t care in the first place, and just wanted to find a way to get at you.

“I should have phrased what I said differently, though.” Finnick pauses for a moment, “Your turn.”

Your turn?

“That was not an apology,” are the first words to leave your mouth, eager, slick and pissed.

Finnick stares at you, like he’s thinking it over. It’s just five words, straight-forward all by itself. But then his lips press together, and his face begins to turn red, eyebrows turning downward. He’s acting like you’re in the wrong here. You’ve apologized, you’ve expressed your dislike for Thyme, so why does he keep on pushing it? What the fuck does he want from you?

“You are brave.” Finnick’s words are low.

He doesn’t scare you.

You know him in and out.

You know his darkest secrets.

How is he going to scare you?

“I’m the brave one?” you ask him slowly, “Last time I checked, I already fucking apologized. You were the one that didn’t listen. You were the one that brushed me off. Don’t come to me acting like the victim.

“Not to mention, Finnick,” you spit his name, “You didn’t even say that you regret what you said to your team. You said that you would rephrase it. It’s a fucking excuse, and I don’t do excuses. You owe me an apology.”

“For what?” he asks.

You explode, voice loud, “What the fuck do you mean ‘for what’?” you’re shaking your head, “I just fucking told you! Do you want another reason, then? You’ve been treating Thyme, over there, like your fucking best friend as if I’m not here. She’s the devil on your shoulder, Finnick. Won’t you open your eyes?”

Finnick shoves you back, you catch your footing in time to make it look natural. You don’t see this as a good sign, though. He’s angry, “Don’t talk about her like that.”

“Why not? Don’t like facing the truth--?”

“Because she’s my fucking friend, (Y/n)!” Finnick shouts back, “You called her a bitch and you don’t have a shred of sympathy!”

He gestures over his shoulder, straight at Thyme. She’s sitting on her bed, looking like she’s enjoying herself, watching the two of you go at each other like this. You watch as she fakes a pout, bites her lip, and then turns her head away. Her shoulders shake, pretending to cry. But her giggle is unmistakable.

It takes everything in you not to lunge at her.

The oven controlling your body is only getting hotter. You can feel your fingernails digging into the skin on your palm. Your eyes flash to Finnick, “Why should I? She’s not my fucking friend, she’s yours!”

You move forward, “And I know this might be shocking to you, but I’m your friend. I’ve been your best friend for years! So why are you so hellbent on keeping her, and not me? Aren’t I more valuable than this?”

Finnick stares, no response coming from him.

Your jaw sets, “During the Choosing Ceremony, before I came to Dauntless, I thought it would be an even trade. To take you, and leave my family behind. Clearly, I was fucking wrong.”

The anger washes away from his face, his mouth opening. You can see his hand raising to grab onto you.

You jerk away, “Don’t worry Finnick, this is all fine to me.” you give him a sneer, “Just don’t forget that I know all of your secrets. And there’s nothing stopping me from using them anymore.”

Finnick doesn’t say anything, hand frozen out to grab you.

“It’s time to go to the training room.” Trink’s voice cuts the silence that deafens the room.

No one moves from where they are. Not even Ossie and Amos left early to get breakfast. They’re still near the door, hand poised on the handle, like they had been expecting the fight to only last a couple of seconds. Or for the two of you to kiss and make up and let this all be over and in the past.

You’re the first to straighten.

“Okay,” you say, still staring at Finnick, “Let’s go then.”

Ossie and Amos scoot out of the door first. Trink holds it open for you, before letting Allio take it next. She keeps to your side, glancing at your face every now and then like she expects it to change. But there’s an unmistakable anger that’s bubbling in your stomach and popping in your chest. Like lava.

She’s wise enough not to say anything.

You all arrive late to the training room. Caspian has his arms crossed over his chest, staring at the door when you walk in. He doesn’t look happy at all, and neither does Laurel. You’re guessing it’s because Mags is standing right there, hands behind her back, assessing each and every one of you as you enter.

“Where’s Finnick and Thyme?” Caspian barks.

“Oh, they’re coming.” you snarl.

Caspian’s eyes linger on you, but you’re more focused on the board behind him. To see who’s fighting who. They’re standing directly in it, purposefully blocking your view. You hope it’s Thyme. You hope it’s Thyme. You hope it’s Thyme.

You hope it’s Thyme.

After a few more beats of silence, the door to the training room opens.

Caspian tilts his head slightly, like he’s unsure what to make of today’s newfound tension.

But then he moves out of the way.

And there’s an explosion of pleasurable bliss that fills your body.

You will not be fighting Thyme.

You will be fighting the man himself.

You grin, head turning to see Finnick’s reaction. He’s stoic, staring ahead at the board, not entertaining you. It’s fine, Finnick. You already know what you need to. You saw him reach out. You saw the look of remorse. Everyone did. There’s no point in being so guarded now.

The chalkboard reads:

You and Finnick.

Trink and Thyme.

Allio and Amos.

Eytelle and Ossie.

“Oh, she’s going to get her ass demolished.” Trink cracks her knuckles.

“(Y/n) and Finnick.” Caspian calls, watching.

“Good luck.” Trink says, Eytelle and Allio echo her.

You resist the urge to skip to the circle.

When you get there, you crack and stretch every place you can think of, letting Finnick take his time. In the meantime, you go over every single detail that you’ve logged over the years and the past couple of days. Finnick has only been hit twice, both in places that are insignificant. You shouldn’t spend your time focusing on them.

You need to watch the way he moves, and predict his hits before he makes them. If you stay ahead of the game, then Finnick will have no opportunity to get at you. And if he does, it’ll be minor chances that won’t have a single affect on you.

You will come out as the winner of this fight.

Even if that means to put the remainder of your friendship on the line.

You roll your ankles in front of you, stretch your shoulders back and forth. You can feel every little ache in your body. Unfortunately, you’re going to be defensive in some areas, even if you don’t want to be. You were smart to give up during Ossie’s fight when you did. Otherwise you’d be hurting so much worse right now.

There’s a few things that Finnick’s going to want out of this fight. The first is a quick and easy win. He wins this, he keeps his perfect streak of no losses and no major injuries. He gets to impress Mags, and the fight won’t be dragged on for longer than a couple of minutes.

So you need to do the exact opposite.

You’re the first to raise your fists, he follows suit. You can’t help but to smile, “What’s the matter, Finnick? You’re looking a little blue.” his face hardens, “Something happen?”

He moves forward, “Shut up.”

You don’t move, standing your ground, “Sounds like you’re a little scared. Am I suddenly threatening to you?”

His arm twitches, you jump back, out of the way completely just to be safe. You’re not sure if he’s going to pull an Allio and swing at you with his non-dominant hand. You’ve already made that mistake, so it won’t be happening again.

“A little unpredictable?”

If Finnick is twitching, you’ve broken the mask. Finnick is supposed to have smooth movements. He’s always had smooth movements.

“Stop fucking with him and fight.” Caspian barks.

You ignore him. You have a plan, and antagonizing Finnick is on the list. You need him to stay angry, so that his actions aren’t hidden. It’s almost like what Ossie did to Allio on the first day, except you’re being verbal. It’s easier to get under Finnick’s skin this way. You need to stay one step ahead of him.

You move toward Finnick now, remembering the way that he had started all three of his fights. You need to find a way to get Finnick down. As long as he’s standing, he has an advantage on you. There’s no way you’re going to get a good hit on his face, he’ll be able to catch your arm before you’re even close.

Maybe if you get his guard down?

You’re prepared for Finnick’s swing, he likes to take the first hit, usually. You manage to lean out of the way before driving your fist into his stomach, backing off immediately after. His face is a shade of red, slightly twisted in pain. Unlike Allio, Finnick doesn’t absorb hits as well. He’s not used to being hit.

Finnick comes closer, crossing the circle straight instead of slowly shuffling to get to you. You don’t move at first, still trying to stay with the ‘keep your ground’ strategy. But the closer he draws, the more you realize that you can’t escape this. You can’t come up with a plan and stall. You need to give Mags something to make you stick out.

You head towards him too. Finnick is not the only initiate in this room who can match energy.

You jerk to the side, watching as Finnick immediately goes to correct his path so that you’re in his line of sight. You wonder if Finnick really has a need to show off and drag this fight out for Mags. He rarely switches up routine, so you’d like to say that he doesn’t. It’s the whole reason why he can be terrifying sometimes.

Everyone knows how he likes his matches by now, which is probably why Finnick has been put to fight first after the first fight. Because his is the quickest and easiest, you know what to expect to happen and how it’ll end. You can see why people would be afraid of him for this reason. If something isn’t broken, why replace it? Finnick has won all his matches in three punches or less, why try to change that?

It’s more impressive to get someone down without severely injuring them anyway, right? It’s like a demonstration of raw power. And with you being on the opposite end of the spectrum… it’s like you always have something to prove.

You can feel your face drop, eyebrows drawing in.

No, everyone in Dauntless has something to prove. If you don’t, then there’s no point in being here. If you’re not proving that you’re strong, or brave, or--for fuck’s sake--threatening, you won’t be considered an equal. And if there’s anything, anyone ever wants, it’s to be an equal or above.

This brings you to another infuriating realization. Finnick does not see you as his equal.

Without a single thought going into the move, your fist flies across Finnick’s cheek. His head turns, eyes widening. You duck, he misses, you’re back on your feet in time to slam your shoe into his ribs. When you move forward again to keep the rhythm, Finnick backs up, eyes darting across your body.

You fix your hands before he decides that’s a good place to target. You need to make sure he stays away from your nose and stomach. Everything else on your body is free reign, you could give less of a shit. But if you break your nose again, you’re not sure you’ll be able to stop the blood flow this time.

Finnick presses his hand to his ribs for a moment, his hand looks shaky. He stops backing up, now that he’s assessed the damage to his ribs and completely ignored his face. It’s a shame too, Finnick’s always been cute.

He moves towards you, you try not to back up too much. You still need a way to get him down without aiming at his face. You got lucky with the face shot, it will not happen again. Like you, Finnick tends to be more careful with spots that were just hit. If you want to try again, you’d have to find another way to wind up to get there.

Then again, you didn’t even think about it. One second you were standing there, and the next your knuckles were throbbing.

You bounce from side to side, watching him. You just barely catch the way he leans forward, throwing all of his weight into his punch. You twist your head to the side, which changes Finnick’s course of punching your nose, to your jaw instead. You recover better this way, ignoring the complaints from the nerves in your teeth.

Without much of a choice, you punch Finnick’s stomach, using the weight idea that he had originally used. The silence in the room is temporarily disturbed when he gasps, trying to suck in air to replace what you’ve stolen. You squeeze your fist tighter, bringing your arm back to do it again.

Finnick’s hand envelopes your fist, catching it before you land the hit. It isn’t until he’s twisting your arm, do you realize what he’s about to do. It’s the exact same thing he did with Eytelle. Trap her, twist her arm, two punches and she was out like a light.

You need out, right now.

You yank, ignoring the pain in your wrist. Finnick’s raising his arm, face stoic and staring into your eyes. You need to break the mask. You saw his face when you told him what happened at the Choosing Ceremony. You need to do something like that again.

You grab his wrist with your other hand, not pulling away as prominently now. You let tears flood your eyes, “Don’t, please.”

At the softness of your voice, Finnick’s arm isn’t as tensed, his face matching the emotion you’re giving him. He still plans on punching you, just not as hard. Which is good enough for you. He’s fallen for it.

Your left hand hits his chest, full-force, dead-on. He loosens his grip, but not enough for you to regain your right hand. You twist your arm until your wrist is grabbing his, before kicking his legs from underneath him.

He pulls you down with him, making you land on top. The two of you scramble to get the upper hand, but it’s easier for you. You place your hips on top of his, struggling to get your wrist free. He’s got a lock of iron, and no matter how much twisting you do, he doesn’t budge.

You lean forward for a moment, slamming your right foot on top of his wrist, keeping it from moving. This means that you have limited mobility, though. And he’s still got full use of his right hand.

Finnick knows this, his arm is already raising. All he has to do is turn his upper body and he’ll be able to hit your face. You could try to catch his wrist, but he’s got enough force to plow through whatever you’ll be able to do.

You still have access to your left foot.

Right as Finnick unwinds, you slam your foot across his jaw. You can hear his teeth snap against each other, head hitting the wooden floor. He finally releases your wrist though, which is enough for you. His hands cup his face, but it won’t last long.

The first punch is to his chest, making his body cave in temporarily. The next is to his nose, blood running down the side of his face and pooling on the floor. You aim for his nose again, and this time you’re filled with a fluttery pleasurable feeling, hearing the snap fill the air.

A pain explodes across your mouth, bringing tears to your eyes. You back off of Finnick for a moment, allowing him to shove you off of his body. You scoot back, not wanting to close your mouth. But you can’t help it anymore, gritting your teeth to combat the pain. You taste metal immediately.

And see red right after.

You lunge for Finnick, who’s trying to get on his feet. He’s moving slower than usual, which is probably because he’s rubbing the blood from his mouth to avoid the problem you’re currently facing. He doesn’t see you coming. Your body collides with his again, fist raised and slamming against his mouth this time.

Let’s see if he likes how it feels.

The two of you end up in the same position as last time, only he’s twisted at an uncomfortable angle, and you’re straddling his hip. You can’t help yourself, aiming for his cheekbone. The more injuries reside on his face, the more proof it is that you beat Finnick. The more the lesson sinks in.

You are just as good as he is. And he was stupid to think otherwise.

This is his punishment.

The tunnel vision begins as soon as you start a pattern. Each time you blink, his face gets worse. First his nose, then his swollen lips, then the red splotches across his cheekbone. Your knuckles catch his jaw, slamming his head into the ground harder. The more you lean forward, the more leverage you begin to have.

And Finnick is pushing, blocking his face while he tries to find an opening. But it’s hard to block his entire face with just a forearm. You should know, because it’s one of the flaws that he couldn’t pick at.

One hit after the other, your hands begin to coat red. Your knuckles begin to ache, arms becoming sore, too much protest because of how much force you’re using. You can’t help it, there’s no other way to keep him down. Any other place, and he would just get up again.

Your hand raises for his eye, and you get halfway through the move before there’s a pair of hands grabbing your arms, yanking you off of Finnick. You struggle for a moment, but the hands are gone as quickly as they came. The person throws you away from your former friend, and moves in.

It’s Laurel, hovering over him like she doesn’t know where to begin.

There’s throbbing in your temples, a headache beginning to form. You wonder why the room is so quiet at first, then you realize that there’s an intense ringing in your ears, taking it’s time to fade out. By the time you regain your hearing, Laurel is saying something about calling the doctor, Cleo, and having her bring an extra pair of hands to wheel Finnick out.

You can feel a dripping sensation beneath your nose. You reach up to touch the area, and come back with red. You don’t remember your nose getting hit, and you can’t tell if this is your blood or Finnick’s.

“Please.” a whisper fills the room.

Your eyes land on Finnick, who’s nothing but a mess of blood and tears. Did he call the end of the fight? You don’t remember hearing that either. In fact, you don’t think you remember anything. Only the feeling of skin-on-skin contact, over and over and over...

Laurel gently tells him that the fight is over, before she looks over her shoulder at you.

You think you can see disappointment. Or maybe it’s anger.

All you know is that you struggle to stand on your own two legs, smearing blood on the floor. You can feel your legs tremble beneath you. Your hands are the same way, not staying in the same place for longer than half a second, coated in red. Your palms, really, are the only safe place that isn’t touched by Finnick’s blood. You can feel droplets running down the back of your arms.

“Holy shit, (Y/n),”

You look over to see Caspian, drained of color. He’s surprised, why? Did he not see the way you fought Allio? Or does that not compare? Mags doesn’t look the same way, she just stares. You don’t know what to say to either of them, so you don’t. You slowly back out of the white circle.

And then the words come to mind, “I couldn’t lose,” it’s quiet, but loud enough for everyone to hear, “And he needed to.”

You’re not sure if needed is the word, you guess it doesn't really matter.

You won, Finnick lost.

And neither of you can come back from this.

Not anymore.

ANTERIC IS A SPIN-OFF DIVERGENT AU //MASTERLIST//

add yourself to the TAGLIST

@amixedwitch / @justthatfangirloverthere / @fnnshelbys / @neenieweenie / @vxntae / @liaaacantwrite / @terezasworld / @i-dumb-bitch /

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair anteric #anteric #anteric chapter six

24 notes · View notes

hockeylvr59 · 4 years

Text

Secret Love Part 15 || Cale Makar

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note: So we’re back in Calgary folks. I’m just cranking away at this story lately and all of your thoughts are so appreciated. If anyone has any predictions for things, I’d love to hear them.

Warnings: smut (oral/other foreplay/risky/semipublic), cursing

Word Count: 3,192

~~~~

Just like that, it was all over. You’d spent ten days in Iceland with Cale. Ten days that you were never going to forget. After spending your last morning visiting some lighthouses, another black sand beach, and a bridge spanning a rift valley, you were climbing back on a plane to fly to Calgary. Your little oasis with Cale was about to be broken by the harsh realities of the real world.

Your bed being cold without Cale sleeping beside you.

Your work email overflowing to the point you didn’t even know where to start.

Having five days to plan a Canada Day party which you’d forgotten you’d agreed to host.

Oh...and your parents coming to stay with you in two days.

_______

The fact that you were able to stand in your backyard surrounded by friends and family July 1st was something that would never have happened without help.

You hadn’t heard from Cale all day Saturday, but when your phone buzzed with a text on Sunday morning you couldn’t help the warm feelings that rose inside you.

Please tell me I’m not the only one sleeping like shit…

He certainly wasn’t. But at least he could nap after training...you weren’t nearly that lucky and you told him so. That led to a conversation about the million things you suddenly had to do in the next few days and how you weren’t sure you could get it all done.

And because he was legitimately the best boyfriend, item by item, Cale volunteered to help you check things off your list. He went to the grocery store with a list of all the food needed. He went to the liquor store for beer, wine, and other spirits. He and Taylor came over to do yard work so that you didn’t have to worry about it. He even picked your parents up from the airport when you had a last minute showing pop up.

Needless to say, you weren’t overstating it when you said Cale literally held your sanity in his hands.

For the first time since the plane home, you were able to steal a kiss as your parents made their way into the house after Cale dropped them off.

“Add this to the tally of things I owe you for.” You’d declared.

“I accept payment in kisses.” Cale teased. A quick glance around revealed you were alone for at least the moment, and you pressed up onto your toes letting your lips seek out his.

“That’s all I can do right now…” You murmured, looking over your shoulder again. “But I’ll make the rest up to you later I swear.”

“It’s fine, sweetheart.” Cale grinned. “I’ll see you in a couple days. Enjoy time with your parents.”

You’d given your parents the grand tour of the house, setting them up in the guest room. Your mom hadn’t even sat down before she was asking what she could do to help prepare for the party.

Yeah...you had some good helpers. As your yard started to fill up around lunchtime, you grabbed a wine cooler, starting to mingle. Your parents were there, Cale’s parents and brother were coming as were his grandparents, some of your parents’ friends were planning on stopping by, and quite a few of Cale and Taylor’s friends had also been invited. It was definitely the kind of party you had envisioned when you first stepped foot out here.

“Happy Canada Day!” Cale greeted, appearing suddenly behind you and pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head.

“You guys are here!” You exclaimed, twisting to wrap him in a quick hug, careful not to let it linger too long.

“Yep. The whole crew is here.” Cale agreed, motioning to where his mom was eagerly engaged in a hug with yours having not seen each other in quite a while. “And I see you’re trying to make me pop a boner in front of everyone.” He whispered, his eyes raking up your body quickly.

“It’s just a dress Cale.” You whispered back, eyes teasing. “Nothing special.”

“Except your legs look a mile long.” He grumbled, causing a laugh to spill from your throat.

“Oh suck it up buttercup.” You said, shaking your head.

“Suck what up?” Gary inquired, moving over to hug you, your dad right behind him.

“I told Cale he was in charge of setting up the lawn games and he’s whining about it.” You declared, excuse spilling from your lips on the fly. The look on Cale’s face was priceless and you struggled to keep your expression level as he looked at you. Gary quickly shook his head, chastising his oldest son and you mouthed the word ‘sorry’ at Cale as he shook his head and moved to grab Taylor to help him.

Playing hostess kept you quite busy and with so many people around you really couldn’t sneak much time with Cale. It had already been a couple hours and you hadn’t even spoken to him beyond the brief conversation when they arrived. Watching as he played spike ball with his brother and some friends across the yard caused that familiar ache to spread through your body telling you that you were going to combust if you couldn’t at least properly kiss him.

After a few more minutes, Cale disappeared inside and you excused yourself from conversation declaring that you needed to bring up some more drinks from the basement.

Closing the back door, you waited at the top of the basement stairs for Cale to return and when you spotted him you gently tugged him toward you.

“Come ‘ere.” You murmured quietly in case anyone else was in ear shot inside. Pulling him all the way down into the basement, you guided him around the corner before stretching to kiss him deeply. “Hi.” You greeted your forehead resting against his when you finally pulled away.

“Hey sweet girl.” Cale replied, his hands easily settling along your hips.

“Needed to kiss you.” You mused. “I miss you.”

“Miss you too...but you look like you’re enjoying yourself. This is one of the things you wanted.” Cale acknowledged.

“It is and I am.” You agreed, your fingers running down his stomach feeling his muscles constrict under your touch. “You look like you’re having fun too. You look pretty sexy out there.”

“Don’t start something we can’t finish.” Cale groaned, quickly responding to your tone of voice.

“Who said I can’t finish it?” You questioned. “We just have to be quick.” As you spoke you were already sinking to your knees, your fingers dipping down to Cale’s shorts.

“Y/N...you don’t….shit.” Cale breathed, his hips bucking as you took him into your mouth after sliding his shorts and boxer briefs down just enough. Taking everything you had learned from the last time, you bobbed your head up and down Cale’s length, your fist stroking what you couldn’t take. It was a quick and dirty blow job, Cale’s cheeks flushing a deep crimson as you ran your tongue along the veins of his cock each time you pulled off to breathe.

Sucking the tip of his cock you peeked up at him, watching as his head fell back against the wall behind him.

“Gonna cum…” Cale whispered.

“That’s what I want handsome. Cum down my throat.” You mumbled, sinking back down on his length. As you pushed the limits of your gag reflex, you felt Cale’s cock twitch before ropes of semen spilled into your mouth and throat. Swallowing as quickly as you could, you tried not to gag or choke before finally pulling off him, a mix of saliva and semen linking your lips to his dick.

Wiping your lips, you gently worked Cale back into his clothes as he stood panting above you.

“You’re insane.” Cale mumbled as he finally leaned down to kiss you. “Our parents are just outside...my grandparents are outside.”

“Like the risk of getting caught didn’t just make you cum harder than usual down my throat.” You sassed, fixing your dress to make sure it didn’t look too rumpled. Cale couldn’t fight you because he knew you were right and as you moved across the basement to grab another six pack of beer you felt his eyes linger.

“Now make yourself useful and grab that case of drinks. I bumped into you on your way back outside and made you come help me. Cover story.” You winked, biting your lip as you made your way back upstairs.

You had barely got the new beers stuck into the cooler when your mom grabbed you.

“You haven’t showed us those vacation pictures yet. Laura and I are dying to see them. Grab your computer and we’ll meet you in the living room.”

Not being given a choice, you nodded and watched as your mom crossed the yard, grabbing Laura and Cale’s grandma. Looking back toward the mixed drink station you saw Cale standing with one of his buddies pouring shots.

A few quick strides had you at his side.

“Pour me one of those?” You insisted.

“Everything okay Y/N?” Cale asked, tone neutral though his eyes showed a hint of concern.

“Just pour me a drink Cale. I’m about to go sit through the vacation slideshow with our moms…” Cale’s friend moved a few steps away but you lowered your voice further before continuing. “...And I’m not doing that with the taste of your cum in my mouth.”

Cale nearly sputtered, but quickly recovered, pouring you a shot before clinking his glass against yours as you downed them.

“Wish me luck.” You murmured, shaking your head just slightly as you moved from his side and into the house. In your bedroom, you made doubly sure you had pulled up the correct photo album before you carried your laptop into the living room, hooking it up to the tv.

For the next half hour you explained the photos when necessary and listened as all of the women in your lives raved on how beautiful they were and what a wonderful trip it must have been. While these photos stirred up so many memories, this wasn’t the album that you’d found yourself looking at repeatedly. No...it was the other album that you loved most of all. The one full of pictures of you and Cale looking so completely head over heels for each other. For now though, that album was something just for you, even if you were looking forward to the day you could print some of the pictures and hang them in your bedroom.

As you finished, your dad and Gary came barreling into the house wanting to know where everything was to start grilling up dinner. Taking your laptop back to your room, you got the guys everything they needed before leaving them to it. Meanwhile, you finished off the few remaining things that needed done to the sides, pulling those and condiments out of the fridge.

“What do you mean after everything that happened between Cale and Y/N.” You mom’s voice slowly grew louder and your stomach dropped as you brain raced to catch up with the pieces of conversation you’d missed.

“Y/N didn’t tell you about Cale’s pregnancy scare with his ex? It caused major strain on their relationship.”

“No…” You mom insisted as she stepped into the kitchen. You hadn’t mentioned it assuming Laura would and apparently Laura had expected you to and hadn’t herself.

“Can we not bring up old wounds?” You said, not realizing the snap behind your words. “She was an idiot who really hurt him and we should just be glad that it all worked out the way it did. Things are finally getting back to normal so can we please not drag this out any longer than we already have?” You were done and over with having to think about Cale’s ex… you knew it still hurt him a little even if he pretended it didn’t and you couldn’t help but be defensive and protective.

Your mom and Laura shared a look, but neither said anything in response, instead asking if there was anything they could do to help.

“No. I’ve got it. Thank you.” You assured them. You remained in the kitchen, your chest heaving until dinner was completely ready and all of your guests had been told to dig in. Then you slipped into your room, closing the door behind you as you tried to calm your raging emotions.

After a few minutes, a knock sounded and you expected it to be your mom on the other side. Instead Cale popped his head in before stepping inside and closing the door. His hands rubbed at the back of his neck and his body language drew a sigh from your lips.

“How much of that did you hear?”

“Enough.” Cale responded, sitting down next to you on your bed, his arm draping around you. “You okay?” He questioned.

“I should be asking you that.” You replied flatly. “I’m sorry.”

“I have no idea what you’re even apologizing for..so don’t.” You couldn’t help but lean into Cale’s body as his fingers traced up and down your arm. “If I kiss you will that help you calm down enough to get some dinner?” He teased, lifting your chin up so that he could ease his mouth over yours gently. Slowly your body relaxed under his kiss and when you broke apart you certainly felt a little bit better.

“That’s my girl.” Cale grinned, seeing the soft smile reappear on your face. “C’mon.” He prompted, offering a hand out to pull you up off the bed.

“Hey Cale.” You stopped him, pulling him back toward you. “I don’t think you were wearing this lip color before...probably should fix that.” You smiled, reaching out to rub the makeup off his mouth from your reapplication shortly before. “I’ll be out in a minute.” You assured him as you leaned against your bathroom door wanting to make sure that you didn’t look too out of place.

No one spoke a word of what had happened during dinner and as the sun started to set the majority of your guests left, leaving just your family and Cale’s as the guys started a small fire in the firepit. You’d stepped inside to use the bathroom and when you returned the only seat left around the fire was on the loveseat beside Cale.

Settling in beside him you smiled as he widened the spread of his legs so that his thigh was pressing against yours. It was a subtle move but the skin to skin contact was beyond welcome and you were grateful, knowing he worked the seating so the two of you could share. Having grabbed another drink, you felt the pleasant hum of alcohol starting to build after awhile. Around the same time you started to shiver as the outside temperature dropped.

“Anyone else need a refill?” Cale inquired when he moved to stand up, his own drink empty. A chorus of yeses and nos followed him and when he returned he not only had his arms full of drinks but also the blanket from the back of your couch. Draping the blanket over your lap, Cale handed you a fresh drink making you smile.

“Your son is trying to get me tipsy Laura.” You joked.

“You’re already tipsy sunshine.” Cale declared as he dropped back down beside you. “And you’re allowed to be. You worked really hard to pull this together and today’s been pretty awesome.” Cale’s praised was echoed by everyone else and you took it as best you could considering compliments weren’t your thing.

“I had some help...let’s be fair.” You shrugged.

“Oh my god. You and my brother are the two most humble people I have ever met.” Taylor groaned. “No wonder you’re best friends.”

Grinning over at Cale, you let your eyes fall shut after a moment, just enjoying the sounds of your families spending time together. Feeling Cale’s hand slide under the blanket to your inner thigh made your eye pop open and you eyed him carefully.

‘Just relax.’ He mouthed before jumping back into the conversation. As he spoke, his hands slid under your dress until his fingers were brushing against the fabric of your panties. Laura asked you a question about something, honestly you were too focused on Cale’s hand to remember your answer, but once you had finished Cale’s fingers slid under your underwear. Nimble fingers stroked over your clit and your eyes fluttered shut again.

Hopefully it just looked like you were sleepy, because you weren’t sure you could pay full attention to what was going on around you when Cale’s hand was doing things like that.

“Oh.” You gasped, drawing everyone’s attention to you. Cale’s hand stilled as your mom asked if you were okay.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” You insisted. “My ankle is still tender and I shifted it wrong.” Your excuse turned the attention to Cale’s heroics at the cave in Iceland and as your families talked about it and how they would have reacted so far from medical attention, Cale’s fingers shifted to curl inside of you.

Though he couldn’t move much, this was the first time he was touching you since he made love to you that last night of vacation. Considering you were wound tighter than a spring, Cale’s fingers curling inside you as his thumb rubbed against your clit were quickly pushing you toward an orgasm of your own.

Thankfully the darkness masked the subtle nuances of your face as Cale’s fingers made you fall apart. As you came down from your high, Cale wiping his fingers on either your dress or the blanket you weren’t quite sure, you took another long sip of your drink. Cale had just finger fucked you feet from both of your families who could both see and hear you! And to think he’d said you were insane for going down on him with your families outside!

Your brain was spinning trying to process what the fuck had just happened and how much you had enjoyed it. The two of you were seriously taking the whole ‘sneaking around like teenagers’ thing to the next level. It was a miracle you hadn’t gotten caught. Lost in thought you missed the fire starting to die out and Gary mentioning that they should probably get going. It wasn’t until Cale pulled you to your feet so his family could hug you that you caught up with reality.

“I’m gonna help this tipsy one inside real quick and then I’ll meet you at the car.” Cale insisted once hugs had been exchanged. His arm swung under your legs, picking you up bridal style and after weaving through doorways, he gently laid you down on your bed.

“We’re gonna talk about that later.” You mumbled, yawning softly.

“Whatever you say sweetheart. Get some sleep.” Cale replied, kissing your forehead as he tucked you in.

Your bedroom door creaked shut with Cale’s departure as the words fell unconsciously from your lips.

“Love you.”

Dress:

#cale makar #cale makar imagine #colorado avalanche #colorado avalanche imagine #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #hockey imagines #hockey imagine #hockey smut #nhl smut #cale makar nws #nws #lemon #cavalanche #038

134 notes · View notes

be11atrixthestrange · 3 years

Text

Step 9: Making Plans

From 12 Fail-Safe Ways To Charm Hermione Granger

Making Plans

A successful relationship means aligning your future. It's important to include one another in decisions, communicate your goals clearly, and remember your choices will affect your partner. Moving the relationship forward is a joint effort, and clear communication will make clear plans, and help manage the unexpected.

*****

If Ron could pinpoint one major difference between himself and Hermione, it would be this: Hermione was a planner, and Ron was not. During their school years, Ron frequently relied on Hermione's revising schedules before exams, or at least he tried to before inevitably entering examination rooms at least somewhat unprepared. During the horcrux hunt, he figured the best way to do something was just to do it, and he felt that Hermione's strategizing slowed them down quite a bit. They ended up going into the battle of Hogwarts without a plan, and everything (for the most part) worked out just fine— nothing that planning more would have fixed.

More recently, Hermione made an itinerary for a vacation to Italy. They managed to sync time off from their busy schedules, and Ron was ecstatic about some free time in a new country that he'd never been to before. Then he saw Hermione's hour by hour schedule for the week, and suddenly, their holiday felt like another busy week at work. She had spreadsheets— some barmy muggle organizing systems— to keep track of their shared finances and bills, and she planned each purchase before she made it. She meal-prepped, and bought groceries accordingly. She even had a system for apartment chores— the kitchen was always cleaned on Sundays and laundry was done on Saturdays, and if Ron shook it up it caused a domino effect that he couldn't even begin to predict.

He loosened her up quite a bit though. After seeing their Italy itinerary, he encouraged her to cross out half of it, and just wing it. She obliged, but not without scowling, and as a result, they discovered new corners of wizarding Italy that they would never have found in guidebooks, because Ron met the right person in a bar. When she got her end of year bonus at work, he encouraged her not to save all of it, just be a little bit irresponsible for once, and he came home to find that floor to ceiling bookshelves now lined the walls of their sunroom, filled to the brim with new, crisp, untapped stories. There were those nights when Ron convinced her to dress up and dine out with him even when she'd already made a plan for dinner. She might act inconvenienced at first, but there was always a gleam in her eye when she donned that fancy dress that never got worn, and they split not one, but two bottles of wine and ordered food they couldn't even pronounce. And of course, their home was usually spotless thanks to the chore schedule she'd made for them, but Ron liked it best when the laundry piled up a little, and dishes were left in the sink, and they distracted each other enough not to care.

Hermione begrudgingly agreed that she could let go and life happen every now and then, and Ron was quite good at adding a little bit of the unexpected into their relationship. And ultimately, Ron respected her commitment to planning, and admitted more of it would serve him well. That's why the next day would test both of them.

On their date tomorrow, Ron was going to ask her to marry him. He had it all planned out, down to every detail. The entire day was scheduled for them, just how she liked it. But the best part of the plan was that she was not expecting it at all.

They'd discussed it of course— he was quite confident she'd say yes. He wouldn't dare ask her otherwise.

Their discussions of marriage had evolved over the last few years. The first time he brought it up was after one year of living together. Ron figured that was enough time together, and engagement seemed like a logical next step for them.

He didn't propose to her, he simply asked her what she'd say if he did. It took him quite a bit of courage to ask her that, and unfortunately, her answer was not one Ron wanted, nor expected. Between "it's too soon" and "not enough time together" and "way too young" he regretted asking.

Granted, he didn't bring it up in an ideal manner. It was after a Friday night at the bar with Harry, Dean, Neville, and Seamus, and Ron hadn't exactly demonstrated the most mature version of himself. They were both drunk upon their return home, so his slurred inquiry fell upon the most stubborn, uninhibited, and emotional side of Hermione. Ron, who was slightly hurt by her response, reluctantly put the subject to rest.

He brought it up two years later at her cousin's wedding. Holly— Ellie's younger sister, who bore a striking resemblance to Hermione— wore a beautiful white dress that Ron couldn't help but picture on Hermione. He danced with her all evening, similar to the way they danced at his own brother's wedding years prior.

"Holly's dress is beautiful, isn't it?" she asked him.

Ron nodded against her head as they swayed on the dance floor. "It would look better on you." He braced himself for an unfavorable response. He was afraid she'd react the way she did that first time, but she needed to know it was on his mind. "I'd love to see you in a wedding dress someday, Hermione."

His heart was pounding, and his ears grew warmer, but he relaxed a little when she settled more heavily against him. "Someday, you will."

Not even a flock of canaries could have wiped the goofy grin from his face.

A year after that, Harry proposed to Ginny. Hermione was her maid of honor, and as expected, she jumped whole-heartedly into planning. The combination of Hermione's immaculate organization skills, Ginny's creativity, and Harry's money made their wedding one of the most fun and extravagant events Ron had ever been to.

Ron remembered waking up next to her the morning after. The periwinkle bridesmaid dress Ginny had chosen for her looked even better crumpled up on the floor beside their bed, and she'd never been more gorgeous with her matted hair and smeared makeup. They felt like hell— both had taken advantage of the open bar after fulfilling their wedding party duties, and neither could remember apparating back to their bedroom, but no one was splinched, and that's what mattered.

"Well, that was something," said Ron, recalling the blurry details of the night before. The live band, the five-course meal, the chocolate fountain, and Harry and Ginny's mystery cocktails made for the most memorable night that they couldn't recall.

"Is it bad that I'm glad it's over?" Hermione asked groggily.

Ron laughed. "No. It was a lot of work."

"Tell me about it," she said turning toward him. "When we get married, let's do something simple."

Ron was quite taken aback by how casually she mentioned this future wedding he'd heard nothing about. "When, or if?"

She smiled, as if clarifying was part of her plan. "When."

Ron beamed, and pulled her closer. "In that case, I'm going to propose to you, Hermione."

She beamed back. "Are you doing that now?"

"No," he said. "It's going to be a surprise."

"I hate surprises," she said cautiously. "So just so you're prepared, I'm going to say yes."

*****

The rest of the winter holiday break passed without many hiccups. Sure, there was a bicker every now and then, but it was nothing compared to their Hogsmeade fight, and always maintained a rather playful tone. They spent the majority of their daytime with Harry and Ginny, occasionally popping by the burrow for a meal. Molly mentioned they seemed just as comfortable with each other now than they did that summer, "as if no time had passed." Harry and Ginny's eye rolls and sarcastic comments just reassured Ron that no one had noticed the rift they had recently repaired.

Hermione seemed to be making a visible effort to show affection, and Ron appreciated her for it. Upon learning that he needed just a little more reassurance, she had buried any qualms she once had about holding his hand under the table at the burrow, or chastely kissing him in the garden when they weren't alone, or even leaning up against him on the living room sofa, and gently stroking his hair while his brothers smiled knowingly. She was even less inhibited in the bedroom. They spent their evenings thoroughly exploring each other's bodies, now that a new door had been opened. Sex quickly became Ron's new favorite activity, although he felt like a walking teenage stereotype admitting it. It wasn't just the physical pleasure— something about the new level of knowledge he now possessed about Hermione solidified his status as her partner. As if a new book in a series had just been released, he suddenly felt like his favorite fantasy world had expanded. He made it a goal to absorb this new knowledge as respectfully and with as much admiration as he possibly could, taking immense pleasure in the fact that he was even allowed to be there.

Ron had dreaded the second half of the holiday, because he had to go back to training, and she was leaving for Australia to visit her parents. Knowing Pigwidgeon would never be able to make that flight— not once, not twice, not nearly as many times as Ron would actually consider enough— he mentally prepared himself to go an entire week without hearing from Hermione. He also decided to call that progress— since two weeks ago, that would have felt like nothing.

They woke up together on the morning she had to leave. When she attempted to slide out of bed, he slipped his arm around her to prevent her.

"Don't leave," he mumbled into her hair.

"I have to," she said sadly. "I wish you could come with me."

"I can't." He tightened his arm around her and pressed his lips to her neck. "I wish I could write to you."

"Oh that reminds me," she said, wrestling out of Ron's grip. "I have another present for you." She leaned over the bed and pulled something shiny out of her bag.

"What's that?"

"Here," she said, placing one small gold coin in Ron's hand, and keeping another for herself.

"A galleon?"

"A fake one."

"Hold on, is this one of our DA galleons?"

"Yes! But I enchanted it further. Watch." She pulled out her wand and tapped the tip to the center of the coin, concentrating hard. The words "Hi Ron!" appeared. She showed him her coin, and the words had appeared on both.

Ron was dumbstruck. "We can communicate without owls?"

"Yes!" said Hermione.

"How did you think of this?"

"It's based on muggle technology, actually," she said. "My parents use pagers to communicate."

"I love muggles," said Ron, pulling her in for another hug. "And you."

"Love you too," she said, before pressing her lips to his. Her hands started to wander, and Ron forgot about the DA coins for the next few moments.

The new DA coins got quite a bit of use over the next week while Hermione was in Australia, and to Ron's excitement, when she went back to Hogwarts. It suddenly Ron felt like a wall had crumbled, and he had access to her daily life and thoughts. There was nothing better than feeling the gold coin in his pocket warm up, and seeing a short but telling message scrawled across the front. The short snippets of conversation helped him stay caught up on her thoughts.

...

Hermione: I just took a shot with my dad, what is happening?

Ron: Been there! Did he at least give you his expensive gin?

...

Ron: I'm pretty sure Harry is singing to himself in the shower. He's not bad, actually.

Hermione: You should join him!

Ron: …

...

Hermione: What are you up to?

Ron: Eating.

Hermione: Go figure

...

Ron lived for these kinds of conversations. "Don't accidentally spend it!" was what she had told him, as if anything would be remotely worth it.

Although the coins were great for constant access to communication, they were not ideal for detail. When Hermione went back to school, he continued his weekly letters, and was pleasantly surprised that she did too.

The letters picked up where the coins left off, and rather than catching each other up on their daily lives, they used them to make plans. With the letters, they could fully detail their Hogsmeade plans, provide more context for their texts, and even begin discussing their ideas for term-end. Ron used a letter to suggest that Hermione move into Grimmauld Place with him and Harry after graduation, and he was thrilled that he didn't have to wait anxiously for pig to bring back her response, which was a resounding yes.

They didn't include all plans in their letters, because Hermione still managed to surprise him for his birthday. He came home from work on March 1st to find her sitting at their kitchen table with a big smile on her face.

"How did you get here?"

"Floo!" she said as she launched into his arms. "I told McGonagall it was an emergency."

"And what was the emergency," Ron said, hugging her so tightly that he lifted her off his feet.

"Your birthday!"

"And she let you leave?" he asked incredulously. She nodded. "I thought you hated surprises," he continued.

"I do, but I know you like them."

"I love them," he told her. "But I have to work this weekend —"

"No, you don't!" she said. "Harry's covering for you."

Ron beamed. "Really? He's in on this?"

She nodded. "Least he can do, for all the years he spent, you know, getting in our way."

Harry was not there to interfere that night, and thankfully, she had even more surprises planned for him. Ron didn't wake up predicting sex that day, and he definitely hadn't expected her to be wearing lacy lingerie under her school robes. One of the best surprises was how confidently she led him to his room, and pushed him onto the bed, expertly undoing the buttons of his jeans while her mouth never left his. His attraction to her was only multiplied by how unafraid she was to tell him what she wanted, and less surprising, but still unexpected, was his discovery of how much he liked being told what to do. Auror training had given him plenty of practice in taking orders, but until that night, he'd never enjoyed being so obedient.

It was the best birthday that Ron could remember. They spent the entire weekend in bed, either making love, or not making love, and he was grateful for all of it. Only three more months until they could do this every night, which reminded Ron to continue the disjointed conversation they'd been having over enchanted galleons.

"So I know you were planning on moving in here," he started. "What if we got our own place?"

"What about Harry?"

"What about him?" asked Ron.

"Won't he be lonely without you?"

Ron snorted. "He'll have Ginny."

Hermione looked at him through narrowed eyes. "So he told you she's moving in?"

"I knew you knew!" he said playfully.

"You're ok with it?"

"No, but I don't want to live with it, I would feel better if we got our own place."

They agreed to wait until term ended to officially start apartment hunting, so that Hermione could fully focus on completing her NEWTS and job applications. When she went back to school, their communication faltered a little bit, but it didn't bother Ron as much as it did their first term, because he knew exactly why her letters were shorter, and he was thrilled she was making the effort.

Her letters were still detailed enough that he knew of each job application she submitted, and he could feel her excitement about one particular one— an entry-level position in the office of magical law. The open position specifically dealt with updating and passing laws regarding the rights of magical creatures and Ron felt that Hermione was completely mental to think she was anything but a shoe-in.

They planned to meet at the ministry for lunch before her interview, and Ron showed up expecting nothing short of panic from Hermione. He sat through lunch acting as an interviewer, and let her rehearse her answers and talking points for her entire meal. He probably asked her more questions about S.P.E.W that day than he ever did during their school years, and he was quite impressed to learn how much she knew about magical law, even though it was never a subject at Hogwarts. He might be biased, but if he were really interviewing her, he'd hire her on the spot.

"You're going to be amazing, you know that?"

"I'm going to fail."

"They'd be lucky to have you," he told her, leaning in for a kiss across the table. He truly felt that way, they'd have to be idiots not to hire her, but again, he might be biased.

She trembled the whole way into her interview. Before she entered the interview room, he stopped her, and pulled her into his arms. "Just take five deep breaths, Hermione." He held her there, syncing his breathing up with hers, just like he did when she had a nightmare. Eventually, he felt her shoulders relax, and her spine straighten. "You can do this. You're brilliant."

"Thank you." She smiled gratefully and kissed him goodbye, or at least what she thought was goodbye. What she didn't know was that Ron had taken the afternoon off, and would be taking her out for a— likely celebratory— drink when the interview was over.

He sat down on a hallway bench and waited.

Hermione was beaming when she left the room an hour later, followed by two older, official-looking ministry employees. Ron stood as they each shook Hermione's hand. He couldn't quite make out what they were saying, but they appeared to be making plans.

She bid them goodbye and turned to see Ron standing there. Ron smiled nervously— he knew she hated surprises. "You're still here?"

Ron nodded. "I figured you'd need a drink—"

He was interrupted by her flinging herself into his arms. "They hired me!"

Ron lifted her off her feet and kissed her, and in a way, it felt like their first kiss in the Room of Requirement. He didn't care that people he knew were passing them in the hallways, and some of them might be Hermione's future coworkers. He didn't care that snogging his girlfriend in a crowded ministry hallway contradicted the excuse he used to get out of work early— he wasn't coming down with anything contagious other than genuine elation.

They apparated back to Hogsmeade, and he took her out for a celebratory butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks. It wasn't a Hogsmeade weekend, so the bar was relatively empty, save for a few professors, but Ron and Hermione didn't care. They made their way to their favorite booth in the back of the bar, and toasted to Hermione's new job, because their plans were falling into place beautifully, like dominoes that had been so precariously set over the past eight years they'd known each other.

They spent that evening making plans, and all of their plans came true. Hermione aced her N.E.W.T.S. She graduated with top marks, and celebrated at the burrow with his family. She moved into Grimmauld Place temporarily, and after just two short weeks of researching and touring apartments, they moved into their very own flat. It was in a muggle neighborhood, but had a second guest room and was right on a train line so her parents could visit, but the thing that made it perfect was that she lived there. In a way, that evening at the Three Broomsticks felt like the first day of the rest of their lives— their future finally felt clear, and they could plan for it. But when she unexpectedly ordered another round, not of butterbeer— of firewhiskey, and suggested they rent a room at the Hog's head to keep celebrating, he realized some of the best parts of his future with her would be entirely unplanned.

#ROMIONE #hpromione #ronweasley #Hermione Granger #ron x hermione #ron and hermione #hp fanfic #hp ficlet #romione fanfic

28 notes · View notes

twistedsinews · 3 years

Note

Hey! You're probably tired of seeing me in your questions box but here my request anyway LOL : 193. “Come on, this doesn’t even make it into the top 10 of stupid things I’ve done. You’re completely overreacting.” mucho love <3

[nooooo, if I didn’t love prompts I wouldn’t reblog prompt lists. you’re fine! <3]

Cyberpunk 2077; Jackie/V; PG-13

It calmed him down. A little. But she was still trapped in the server room and he was still on edge and they still had a handful of minutes at best before someone came to investigate why the mainframe they'd just sabotaged was down.

"You're makin' some of these up."

"Am not."

"Alright, make it easy: give me one thing dumber'n this, since I met you."

V could name half a dozen without putting any effort into it, and she was pretty sure Jackie could, too. The plan part of the plan had gone off without a hitch. It was merely the escape part of the plan she hadn't thought fully through.

"Falling in love."

Kinda like the words that were out of her mouth before she realized it.

There was a poignant silence on the the line to tell her how badly she'd fucked up, and when Jackie did finally answer his voice was low. Flat.

"You think it's dumb, huh?"

"I didn't mean like that."

"How did you mean it?"

"I-..."

"Never mind."

"Jackie, I'm not saying-..."

"Not the time for this conversation right now, V."

And he was right.

V closed her eyes.

The security doors were linked into the mainframe. Backup power was down, but this wasn't a matter of backup power. Because linking through the mainframe would mean cutting through any time there was so much as a hiccup in the system.

Hunching down to better see, V followed the path of the lines wired into the databanks through the darkened room. Near where they disappeared into the angle of floor and wall, her fingers brushed over a smooth, seemingly out of place indented square in the steel paneling. A smaller hidden rectangle slid out easily, giving her a manual release for the hatch beneath her fingertips.

It was as good a lead as any, and she dropped through the floor into the crawlspace beneath.

"I found some kind of a maintenance duct," she told Jackie, twisting a bit under the cramped space to slide the hatch closed above her. "See if you can figure out where it comes through on the other side."

"Yeah, sure. On it."

Directly in front of her, she found a wall. It took some flailing to get herself back around, but V nevertheless managed, and started crawling down the passage.

"Got it."

There was a sound up ahead of scraping metal. Turning a corner, there was a dim flash of moving light in the distance. Once she reached the end, she found Jackie waiting for her.

"See?" she huffed, taking the hand he offered to help drag her out of the gap in the floor. "An oversight, not the end of the world."

Jackie grunted an acknowledgement, which settled poorly with the icy chill of silence in her chest. He let go only to push her right along in front of him, and she took the hint. The way out was the way they came, up a flight of stairs out of the basement, through some hallways, and out an intricate lobby.

As they made their way down the main hallway, there came the rustle of movement. Killing her light and trusting Jackie to do the same, V spun right back around, grabbing for his jacket to haul him back again and into an adjoining hall. Tension radiated off him as Jackie pressed close to the wall behind her; his arm settled on her shoulder, less for reassurance and more ready to throw her back if things lit up any more dramatically than a few heavy flashlights. They crouched in the darkness, waiting for the security detail - headed by one computer scientist, frustrated it seemed to the point of negligence in his surroundings - to pass them by; the hired corpo soldiers scurried along behind him, no doubt equally frustrated by the clip at which he was walking straight into the unknown.

And then the light was gone, and the clomp of heavy boots faded into the distance.

V inched forward to peer around the corner, then stepped out into the dark. Jackie bumped into her, and she froze, but he nudged her onward. With security now behind them, they managed a much faster pace, and escaped out of the back rooms and through the moonlit lobby without incident.

On the street again, they fell into the crowd. A couple of blocks up and one across, they caught the line with seconds to spare, paid the fare in cash, and even snagged the last empty seat in the row.

And sharing would never have been an issue, except for the stifling rift she'd caused.

Jackie made no complaint when she settled in his lap, but other than bracing her when they got underway, he kept his hands to himself. After a mile or two of distance, she got to her feet and opted to stand in the aisle instead. Gripping one of the lines overhead, she put all her weight on it and twisted in space.

A man slipped off one of the nearer seats, and didn't seem bothered when someone immediately claimed it after him. He stepped up behind her, near enough to touch but didn't, and she stood a little straighter.

"If he can't do it for you," a smooth, unfamiliar voice reasoned over her shoulder, "maybe I can."

"Yeah, maybe you could," V mumbled in vague agreement, without any of the enthusiasm she'd have found in flirting. Still, proximity and his touch on her arm at her answer gave her an excuse to fleece his pockets. She froze as her fingers found a plate of metal, and traced the bumps on its face. "And maybe again, not."

The man gave a gruff little hmmph at her drab dismissal, and drew his hand away. Keeping her hand low, V flashed the badge behind her. Under the notice of the plainclothes dick she hoped was cruising for an easy pickup and not taking note of two mercs that were hardly out of place in taking the public transit.

Regardless of which, she opted for a quick exit at the next stop, feeling her confidence ebb back when Jackie fell in behind her. He stopped her from flashing the badge again, this time at the very cop she'd stolen it from, snatching it from her before the man could see it.

Once they'd stepped off again, Jackie whipped his hand and the badge skittered away down the sidewalk.

They made it down another block and halfway through the next alley.

With a huff, V stepped in front of him, causing Jackie to stop short of walking into her, only to jostle her all the same.

He blinked down at her.

"I wasn't saying you're stupid."

"Didn't think you were."

"And I wasn't saying loving you was stupid."

Jackie didn't answer right away, which formed something of an answer all unto itself.

"It's cool, V. I'm over it."

Squaring her shoulders, V raised her chin as she studied his face.

"Liar."

Jackie hissed sharply. Clenching his jaw, he bared his teeth in a thin grimace of distaste.

"Digging yourself deeper, chica."

Brushing past her, he kept walking.

V stood rooted to the spot.

When he noticed she wasn't following him, Jackie turned back around and stalled. He sighed heavily, and came right back. His hand settled on her shoulder, warm and familiar. Some of the tension eased out of her shoulders, and V shoved her hands into her pockets.

"Mira..." Jackie said, only he didn't seem to know what else to say. Whatever was in his head, he went with, "You go home and get some rest. I'll go and collect our pay. I'll catch up with you in the morning."

Her heart sank.

"Yeah," V agreed listlessly. "Alright. Great."

He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, leaving her with only the shadow of his smile.

It helped. And... it didn't.

"Hasta mañana."

This time, Jackie didn't look back. Just disappeared into the next street.

V took one step and stopped again.

She didn't even know where the hell she was.

With a sigh, she scratched her eyebrow and pulled up her geodata. Then, once she had a read, she started on again. And each step felt heavier than the last.

***

Jackie parked his bike near as he could to V's car out of mindless habit, but it was a flash of color huddled in the backseat seized his attention.

It wasn't where he was expecting to find her, though not unheard of, and he knocked on the window anyway. She stirred, squinted up at him over her shoulder, then twisted to reach the lock, followed by the latch. Jackie stepped back as the door swung open under her weight, not anticipating for her to pour out on the floor of the parking garage like she did.

Grabbing the top of the door, two seconds too late, he winced in sympathy.

"How's that first taste of concrete, first thing in the morning, eh?"

V flipped him off.

A sign of life if ever he'd seen one.

Jackie clasped one hand firmly around her wrist. Reaching down, he got the other into a hold on her jacket to lift her entirely off the ground, and set her onto her feet.

She combed her hair out of her face with her fingers, scrubbed her sleeve across her face, and regarded him with a dull, guarded expression that slipped a little near the corner of her mouth. Her eyes remained narrow, more to do with her hangover than anything.

Jackie smiled. And he meant it.

V's expression slipped a little further. Losing ground, she turned and stalked away.

He fell in step beside her, keenly aware that it was her money sitting in his pocket.

Among other things he was feeling overly aware of.

V survived the elevator on her own two feet. She only opted to stop once, leaning over the low terrace wall in whatever solemn post-drunk contemplation it was she fancied this morning, and tolerated him rubbing a hand down her back before finally moving on.

They made it back to her apartment at last. V immediately went for the sink; the mirror flickered on, and she turned on the water to scrub her face clean.

Jackie hung back, leaning into the wall as he watched her. Trapped between feeling out the situation, and getting lost right down the subtlest play of the muscles under her skin and the patterns adorning her shoulders.

"Last night I was thinking..." V told his reflection. "How far a full tank would get me, and I thought about three hundred miles. Not very far, really."

Jackie didn't answer. He didn't know what to answer. Luckily, he apparently didn't need to answer, as she continued, "So I thought... maybe if I loaded up six or seven tanks, still have room for supplies, and I could get maybe a couple of thousand. Still not far enough to get to the East Coast."

Ah.

Words.

Something would probably have been more appropriate than nothing right about then, but he still couldn't think of any, and careless words got them here in the first place. Moreover, he was just smart enough to know better than to speak just because.

"I thought about it for maybe two minutes total," V admitted, without his input. "But it wouldn't make a difference, would it? No matter how far I could go, it doesn't change how anything feels."

Dipping her hand under the faucet, V combed the water through her hair. Droplets caught between strands, and spattered on her ink.

"How come it's so much easier being your choom than it is being your output?"

"I don't know..." Jackie had never really thought about it, certainly never saw it that way. "Maybe 'cause you're thinking of it as two separate things, when really it's somewhere in between." Her eyes narrowed as she mulled it over, and Jackie shrugged. "Just my take on it, though."

The mirror flickered off, and he pulled back out of her way as she moved to step out of the sink cubby. She breezed past him, and started picking through the cans on her desk. Several empty ones went right under it, until she found an unopened one, which she cracked open for a long drink, abandoning the rest.

"But come on, really; it's not that bad," Jackie argued. "I think... if a couple of dumb words is all that ever gets to us once in a while, we're doing okay. Better than, I'd say."

V stared at him over the rim of the sodacan.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," she stated.

Jackie blinked.

"I know."

"I'm sorry."

"I know that, too."

V sighed. Still eyeing him, she took another sip, and, wandering over to the bed, dropped down, leaning her back against the outer wall.

"It was a stupid joke at my own expense, okay? Falling in love wasn't part of my plan for when I got here."

Jackie scoffed.

"Implying you had a plan when you landed in N.C." he reminded her, easing down across from her to lean against the inner wall. "Which as I recall, was not the case. Not at all."

"Okay, but I wasn't even thinking of it as a distant possibility. I sure as fuck wasn't expecting to trip and fall into your arms and for it to be all..." She waved her drink around in a vague pattern, encompassing the all of it. "Isn't that stupid?"

"Love ain't stupid, chica. Never is."

V stared at him. Jackie stared right back, until at length he glanced off, and her gaze fell to the tab of her drink as she toyed with it.

Finally, draining the can, she set it down on the floor. She kicked off her shoes, followed by rolling off her socks, and drew her legs up loosely onto the bed in front of her.

"...if it could have been anyone," she murmured, "I'm glad it was you."

Jackie smiled. Then he chuckled.

"And you know what?" He admitted, "you weren't part of my plan, either. You fell right into my lap out of fucking nowhere, and I didn't have the first idea of what to do with that..."

As V listened quietly, her expression grew quizzical, until she shot him a very particular stare.

"...okay, you're right. You're right," Jackie amended, "I had the first idea what I wanted to do with that, but maybe not the whole thing." Sighing, he continued, "But really. I wanted to be the best out there. And I wanted to do it all alone, to prove that I could. Falling in love, tch - yeah, someday, definitely. But having a partner? Wasn't even on my mind. Not until you came along. Now I wouldn't trade it for anything."

"Not even for what you want most in the world?"

"No. Wanna know why? 'Cause you're part of everything I want most in the world."

V pressed her lips together.

Then huffed a small, shaky little breath.

She reached into her pocket to dig out her knife, opening it with a soft click. As he watched her, she wound her braid around her fingers, and pulled it taut. Closing her eyes, she cut it free in one concerted, jagged little effort.

Jackie found himself at no less of a loss when she crossed the bed and inched up to his side. Reaching for his hand, she wound the braid around his wrist and fastened the ends together under the small clasp.

He glanced from the new splash of color encircling his wrist, and back to V as she closed the knife and set it on the shelf overhead. She combed her fingers through her hair, threading out the form of another braid. Jackie brushed his fingers through the loose strands on the other side, and her movements slowed. Biting her lip, she reached for his hands, one after the other, guiding him to help her weave the braid together.

"This ain't some kind of Nomad marriage thing, is it?" Jackie teased, "'Cause I'm not sure I'm ready for that just yet."

"No... I'm making it up as I go along."

"Oh."

At length, the braid reached a point that he had to let her take care of the rest. Holding the end in her mouth, she tugged free several loose threads from a tear in her jeans to tie it off with.

Jackie grazed her cheek with his thumb, and she grabbed his hand, holding it there for several long moments. There was a sound in her throat, a softened lilt like it could have been a question that didn't quite form.

"V?"

"...are we okay?"

With a glance to the window, Jackie shrugged.

"We're fine, V. You don't have to go riding off into the desert or to the East Coast or off to Mars or someplace lookin' for some kind of absolution." After a thought, and he added, "And while we're on the subject, you don't need to go around tripping over yourself thinking how you got to make me feel better about gonk-brained shit when it happens. I'm tough. I'll survive." And after another, "Ay, I almost forgot, but I got your money."

With his free hand, he found the roll of eddies that were stuffed in his inside jacket pocket, and offered it to her. She snatched it from his hand, and it went...

...somewhere.

Flying into the laundry basket, he was pretty certain.

But he had other things to think of right then than money that wasn't his, like how soft her mouth was, and how she tasted like artificial kumquat-flavored corn syrup. How soon enough, he wouldn't be thinking of much at all, and if he played his deck right, neither would V.

#heywoodvirgin #cyberpunk 2077 #jackie welles #nomad!v #fanfiction #i have no idea where this came from or why it went in that direction #please take it from me #prompts and answers #thank! <3

9 notes · View notes

babycracker · 3 years

Text

Echoes In The Forest - Chapter 12

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Female Detective/Adam, Female Detective/Mason Word Count: ~3.5k Warnings: None

You can find this chapter on AO3 here. Start from the beginning here.

"So you're telling me it was for nothing?"

Jordan asks incredulously, her eyes darting between the four of them as though she doesn't know where to look.

"I can hear him."

"And what? Felix is gonna be your guide dog or something?"

"Hey!"

She shoots Felix a sympathetic smile at his objection but it fades quickly as she groans and runs a hand over her face.

"Well that's just fantastic."

She mutters before turning on her heel and disappearing back into the tent. That was absolutely not the news she was hoping to wake up to today. After the disaster of yesterday, she'd hoped that this morning would bring with it the news that Erlking had been captured and they could go home.

She flops backwards onto the uncomfortably thin foam mattress that's been her bed for the last week with a heavy sigh. She's tired of this stupid forest, tired of not knowing what's going to happen after she goes to sleep. But most of all she wants to get away from Adam.

He was wrong yesterday. She still feels him in her mind, in her chest, everywhere, and she doesn't want it. She'd already been starting to suspect that she had feelings for him and was trying to work through and deal with them, without his own being forced on her. There's something else hidden behind the sadness he'd left in her, something deep and forbidden and strong enough to keep relentlessly returning to the forefront of her mind no matter how hard she tries to ignore it. As though he'd unknowingly been trying to tell her without having to say the words out loud.

She knows that he feels something for her. What he'd left behind synchronises perfectly with what she feels for him, though she still can't quite put her finger on what it is. It's not love - it can't be. She couldn't possibly love somebody so closed off towards her. Longing perhaps? And wonder. It makes her desperately wish that he'd let his guard down a little and let her know him properly, beyond the stoic soldier image that he projects constantly.

His behaviour towards her since the day before makes her question it though, she has to be mistaken. How can he feel something so deeply for her and be able to act so indifferent towards her? More than indifferent. He's acting as though he despises her and it's left her more confused and mad at him than she's ever been.

Her attention is drawn to the entrance of the tent as it opens and she involuntarily holds her breath until she sees that it's Mason crawling in to join her. Good. A distraction. If anyone can get her mind off of Adam and wipe away whatever feelings she may or may not have for him, it's Mason.

He doesn’t say anything as he lays down beside her, just staring up at nothing in silence. There’s a strange, awkward tension between them and she doesn’t know where it’s come from but she knows that she hates it. She can’t handle a weird vibe being between her and Adam and between her and Mason. She can’t do anything about Adam, so she does the only thing she can think of to fix the weirdness between her and Mason.

Without saying anything she props herself up onto one elbow and leans over to kiss him, his hand moving to her waist and roughly dragging her over on top of him automatically as he returns the kiss. She shifts her knees to either side of his hips to straddle him, her hands splayed out on his chest as she tilts her head to kiss him a little harder, almost desperately. He groans at the forcefulness of her kiss and his fingers begin to creep under her shirt before he freezes, and she pulls back to look at him questioningly.

“What’s wrong?”

He frowns and gives a slight shake of his head.

“Nothing.”

He murmurs, leaning up to catch her lips with his again and sliding his tongue into her mouth. She sighs softly, out of relief more than anything, and grinds her hips down against him. It’s working, and she’s slowly forgetting about Adam, choosing to deliberately ignore the part of her mind that’s telling her this is a mistake, that she’s about to screw things up beyond repair.

Mason pulls back again suddenly, his hands abruptly pulling out of her shirt and moving to her shoulders to stop her from leaning down to kiss him again.

“We can’t do this anymore.”

He mutters and she sits up, her hands falling to her sides as she frowns down at him.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah.”

It doesn’t look like he’s going to explain any further, though she has a feeling that she knows exactly what’s come over him.

“Fine.”

She huffs, hauling herself off of him and landing heavily beside him again, arms crossed over her chest as she glares up at the roof of the tent.

“Don’t be a drama queen.”

He snaps at her, and she twists her head to the side to shift her glare to him. She’s well aware that she’s being dramatic but he doesn’t need to point it out.

“I want to go home.”

She murmurs after a moment, her glare finally fading as she looks away from him again.

“I didn’t realise me refusing to fuck you would get to you so much.”

She rolls her eyes at his comment but doesn’t bother to look back over at him.

“Get over yourself, it’s not just you.”

“I know. It’s Adam.”

He replies and now she does look over at him, half surprised and half pissed off that he’s called her out again.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He sits up and gestures to her neck and she absentmindedly lifts a hand to touch the tiny wounds Adam left there the day before.

“I don’t know what went on between you two when he did that. I have a pretty good idea but I don’t know for sure, but there’s something going on there and I’m not gonna get in the way of that.”

“There’s nothing going on there.”

She objects, knowing it’s not true even as she says it. He just raises an eyebrow at her in disbelief before looking away from her again with a slight shake of his head.

“There’s something and I’m not gonna stand in the way.”

“No need, he’s getting in the way enough for the both of you.”

“You should talk to him.”

“I did talk to him. He thinks I’m nuts.”

He smirks and side-eyes her before pulling a cigarette from his pack.

“He’s not wrong.”

“Fuck you.”

His smirk spreads into a grin and he flips her off before making to leave the tent, but he pauses halfway out and glances back over at her.

“Be patient with him. And don’t fuck it up.”

He tells her, a surprising amount of concern softening his words and she frowns up at the roof.

“Maybe you should tell him that.”

She mutters stubbornly and she can just about hear his eyes rolling as he leaves her alone again. Well so much for her plan of using Mason to distract her from Adam. She can’t ignore the tiny glimmer of hope that Mason had sparked in her though. If he can see that there’s something there - as he had put it - then maybe she’s not as wrong about Adam as she thought she was.

Mason has a feeling that speaking to Adam about Jordan isn’t going to end well. He’s just as worried that it’s going to be less of Adam being angry about his personal life being interfered with and more of an ‘I told you so’ about his and Jordan’s relationship coming to a messy end and making things awkward within the unit.

Not that it’s a particularly messy ending, it’s not as though there were ever any real feelings there and he can’t foresee that there will be any difficulties in them continuing to work together as they always have. But he knows Adam well enough to know that he will insist on the problem being between Mason and Jordan rather than Mason calling it off for Adam’s sake.

“Can I talk to you?”

He forces out as he steps up beside Adam, glancing over his shoulder quickly to make sure Jordan hasn’t come out of the tent and spotted him beelining for Adam, who just nods and turns to face Mason properly. He’s already not in the best mood, Mason can tell. Between taking so long to make any real headway on this mission and whatever’s going on between him and Jordan he knows that it would all be weighing heavily on him and he’s probably going to be even more short tempered than usual.

On top of everything else, Mason might have been playing it off as not a big deal so far but he knows that what he did yesterday can’t have been easy for Adam. Not with Jordan’s blood being as strong and as tempting as it is. He’s not sure that he would’ve been able to pull back if it were him that had done it instead and he’s grateful that at least Jordan had recognised that Adam was the best choice.

Adam’s watching him expectantly, waiting for him to say something, and he realises that he’s a little nervous and unsure how to begin what he wants to say. He doesn’t particularly care whether or not Adam and Jordan sort their shit out and end up together, but he does care about this unresolved whatever it is between them causing a slow but steady rift to open up within the team. And, he supposes he kind of cares about Jordan growing tired of it all and giving up, asking for a transfer or quitting completely. She’s been around for so long now it feels like she’s actually one of them, and Mason guesses it would kind of suck for her to not be around at all anymore.

“Yesterday-”

He barely starts his sentence before Adam is holding a hand up to silence him. A withered and pained expression crosses his face and Mason frowns at the sight of it, not having ever seen Adam looking so lost before.

“I would prefer not to discuss the events of yesterday.”

He says shortly, turning away from him again.

“Trust me, so would I but I think something needs to be said.”

“Nothing that has not already been said.”

“You know you- we could lose her over this, right?”

He tries, appealing to Adam’s desire to retain control over everything and keep them all working together efficiently. It seems to work, though Adam doesn’t seem to want to let him know that, but he sees his eyes shift sideways towards him for a split second before he removes his sunglasses from where they hang off the front of his coat and slides them over his eyes.

“I think you’re being a touch dramatic.”

“I think you’re being a touch naïve.”

He counters without thinking, and finally Adam turns to face him again.

“Excuse me, Agent?”

He’s not used to going up against Adam like this, and it’s happened far too many times than he’s comfortable with on this mission already, the last thing he wants to start another argument with him. Over a girl, no less. A human girl.

“I’m just saying. I don’t know if you did it deliberately or not, but you let her in yesterday and it’s messing with her.”

“I most certainly did not.”

Mason raises an eyebrow, knowing that Adam knows better than to question Mason’s ability to sense a struggle going on within a human.

“Like I said, maybe it wasn’t deliberate but you did and you need to deal with that because she’s starting to lose it.”

“You have spoken to her?”

“Yeah.”

“Today?”

“Just now, yeah.”

“And she still… I thought it would have faded by now.”

Adam groans, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose for a moment. Mason almost feels bad for him, but he knows there’s nothing he can do. This mess was started between Adam and Jordan, and so it’s up to Adam and Jordan to sort it out and get themselves back on track, even if only to dispel the hostility and awkwardness which has settled over the camp over the last twenty-four hours.

“Well, it hasn’t.”

He looks back over his shoulder when he hears movement coming from the tent to see Jordan emerging from it, a scowl still on her face when she looks over and sees the two of them talking. She looks as though she wants to march over to them and demand that they stop talking about her, but after staring at them for a long moment she just shakes her head and turns to walk in the other direction, disappearing behind the tent and into the woods.

Mason sighs, realising that he’s not going to get much more out of Adam now that Jordan’s up and about and makes to move back to his usual sentry post, but he pauses and turns back towards Adam once more before he goes.

“I ended it.”

“Ended what?"

“Me and Jordan, it’s done. It won’t be me standing in your way.”

He turns and leaves the team leader alone, knowing that if he sticks around he’s only going to hear Adam’s subtly nervous rambling about how their relationship ending doesn’t affect him in the slightest. He’s ended it with Jordan, he’s let Adam know, his involvement in their situation is over and now it’s all up to them.

Adam watches Mason walk away, a strange combination of annoyance, confusion and optimism bubbling away in his chest. It had been difficult to hide his expression upon learning that Mason and Jordan’s relationship is now over, even if he doesn’t know what kind of expression he would have shown. But the fact that Jordan can still feel him is troubling, and it all but proves that he had in fact let her in the day before. It was most certainly not deliberate, which just confuses him even more. How had it happened without him allowing it?

He knows that Mason’s right and he needs to talk to Jordan. Nothing will ever happen between them, he’s sure of it. She’s a member of his unit now, he is her commanding agent and nothing more, it would be highly inappropriate and somewhat dangerous for anything more to happen between them, but they do need to work out the hostility between them before she does quit or request a transfer, as Mason had suggested. The thought sticks in his mind, an unwelcome thought forcing feelings that he doesn’t want on him. He needs to put an end to it so he reluctantly makes his way over to the tent, to where he’d seen Jordan disappear to once she’d spotted him and Mason talking.

It takes him longer to find her than expected, long enough that he starts to worry that she’s ventured too far into the woods and been taken, but he finally spots her through the trees. She’s standing perfectly still, staring at something that’s blocked to him by the brush around her. He’s about to take another step towards her when he hears different footsteps, though Jordan remains fixed in place and he realises that she’s not alone. He marches hurriedly over to her, shoving foliage out of the way and then stopping just as dead still as she is, staring in shock at what she’s looking at.

It's a boy, he can't be much more than seven or eight years old. Finally Jordan moves, frowning over at Adam before turning her attention back to the boy as he stumbles clumsily on his way as though he doesn’t even notice that the two of them are there.

Adam takes another step towards him, trying to move into a position to see his face but the boy is looking down at the ground, shaggy brown curls hanging over the front of his face and blocking Adam’s view.

"Where is your family, child?"

He either doesn't hear Adam or is refusing to acknowledge him and Jordan jogs over to him before he can disappear any further into the trees.

"Hey, kid."

She rests a hand lightly on his shoulder and the boy stops walking, allowing Jordan to crouch down in front of him.

"Uh, Adam?"

Unease settles in the pit of Adam’s stomach as he marches over to take a look at the child himself, immediately understanding why Jordan appears so unsettled. Jordan pushes the boy’s hair back out of the way to offer a better view of his face. His eyes are wide open but milky white, black circles framing them against the grey shade of his skin. He’s incredibly skinny, his clothes are hanging off of him, thin arms and legs sticking out from the bottoms of his shorts and sleeves of his shirt and his face is drawn. He looks incredibly malnourished and Adam wonders how he’s even managing to stay on his feet enough to wander the woods as he is.

“I don’t think he can hear us.”

He says quietly, resting a hand on Jordan’s shoulder to get her attention as she keeps trying to talk to the boy. She glances at his hand, then up at his face with a slight scowl, obviously still mad at him despite what’s happening at the moment, but whatever conversation they need to have is going to have to wait until they’ve worked out where this child came from and what is wrong with him.

“What the hell happened to him?”

She asks finally, getting to her feet and grabbing at the boy’s arm gently as he immediately tries to keep walking again once she’s out of his way.

“I don’t know.”

He answers after a moment. He walks in a slow circle around the boy, stopping once he’s behind him and again pushing his hair out of the way to reveal a set of what look to be sharp tooth marks in a perfectly formed circle at the base of the boy’s neck.

“Look at this.”

Jordan leans over the child to inspect the marks herself, her free hand lifting to the side of her neck and Adam feels a flash of guilt as her fingertips drag over the puncture marks in her own skin.

“Vampire?”

She glances up at him, her expression softening slightly when she sees the guilt written all over him before he pulls his face back into line and shakes his head.

“Not in a circle like that. And it’s incredibly difficult to draw blood from that part of the neck.”

He answers, pushing away his thoughts about what he’d done to Jordan so as to deal with what’s presented in front of them right now.

“Erlking? Nate said he normally takes kids, right?”

Adam nods, shifting his gaze back down to the boy and letting his hair fall back down over his neck before gently pushing Jordan’s hand from his arm to take hold of it himself.

“Most likely. Go and get the others, I’ll stay with the boy. Maybe he can lead us to somewhere that will be of use in locating who did this to him.”

Jordan stares at him hesitantly for a moment, her eyes darting nervously to the woods around him before she nods slowly and turns to run back towards the camp, and he can hear her calling for the rest of Unit Bravo as she goes.

He looks back down at the boy sympathetically, still standing still with his head drooped and hands hanging lifelessly by his side. His arm feels tiny in Adam’s grip, as though he could snap it with the slightest squeeze and his skin is icy cold. His struggles are over it would seem, and Adam can only hope that he didn’t suffer too much at the hands of the Erlking, and that with his fate they might be able to locate the creature and bring him to justice.

Tags: @admdmrtn @mmerengue @adamdumorpain @masonsfangs @oxjenayxo @bravomckenzie Thanks for reading! Let me know if you wanted to be added to/removed from the tag list.

#twc fic #chapter update #echoes #adam du mortain #twc mason #detective jordan mills #unit bravo #n*fw

15 notes · View notes

serararku · 3 years

Text

A Modest Proposal

Back straight. Eyes down. Book open.

Mizuna spent the first half of her shift a hair's breadth away from the overnight beds. K'vyna was able to eat solid food despite her broken ribs and collarbone, but Mizuna didn't want her moving around until she was absolutely certain her bones were healing correctly, especially with that shattered leg; otherwise it would be up to her to break them again to start the healing process anew. Dawn could sit up and hold a conversation at least, yet getting used to her two foreign eyes will certainly be a challenge, especially with one of them with the signature Auri limbal ring. That cerulean eye staring back at her was unsettling. Mizuna felt like two strangers were looking at her when Dawn met her gaze, but she would never tell her that; she’s been through enough, and adding to her insecurities would help no one. Nijah always stayed longer than the allotted time for visits, but Mizuna always let it slide- Dawn needed someone to talk to. Speaking of which, even Osric himself checked in to pay her a visit once. With luck they could close the rift between them sooner than later.

While K’vyna was broken physically, Dawn was broken emotionally. It pained Mizuna to see them both in such shattered states… yet they remained better off than Conobharo.

The Lalafell had his arm severed right across the ball-socket joint, and it was not with him when he arrived to the clinic. The blood loss made him lethargic for the first few days, but after enough rest he could talk and move around on his own- at least until he was struck with phantom pain in his missing limb. With just a pinch of nightshade essence and a tonze of gloomroot, Mizuna had Conobharo's head swimming in anesthetics and bedridden until the agony would pass. Worse still, he was still struggling to accept the fact that he was now handicapped, and it was taking its toll on him, both physically and psychologically. She was convinced he could kiss the mercenary life behind; how could he survive out there with only one hand? Surely he couldn't swing that heavy sword now. Perhaps he could find fulfillment in helping around the clinic? Khair and Mizuna could certainly use the help, plus his sense of humor would always be a welcome diversion.

She kept a monitor on their vitals with her so she could rush to their aid at a moment's notice, even during her smoke breaks; dark circles sagged from her eyes while she read, unwilling to rest until her shift was over. Dawn, K'vyna and Conobharo were all counting on her for a safe and swift recovery… yet some would recover sooner than others. And one may never truly recover at all.

Boom!

There it was again, easily the queerest thunder she had ever heard. There were no windows in the main lobby of the clinic so looking to see the storm clouds herself required more effort than tilting her head. The weather report made no mention of a shower, but Thanalan was infamous for its sudden storms; she was almost ready to return to her book and continue reading Life as an Amputee: A Beginner’s Course before she was rudely interrupted again. Boom! “That does it.” She muttered to herself, rising to her feet. The magitek device keeping tabs on their vitals was wireless and mobile at least, allowing Mizuna to pluck it off the table and carry it with her- and carry it she did, all the way straight to the front door.

She was greeted with the blazing glare of the Thanalan midafternoon sun: no rain, clouds, or thunder. K’thalen appeared next once her eyes began to adjust, his back turned and smoke rising from the barrel of his rifle. He stood alone in the center of the courtyard, or so she first thought; S’era appeared atop the arch over the entrance to the estate with her katana drawn. “What’s going on out here?”

“Ah- heya Doc.” K’thalen turned an ear toward the woman but kept his gaze focused on S’era. “Gigglefits over yonder claimed Hadriel is the greatest swordsman in the world. So I tell’r; what good is all that skill when a drunkard with a clear shot can kill ‘im? So she says he can deflect bullets. I told her there ain’t no way he can move that fast, and even if he could, he can’t parry a barrage, yeah? So now she claims anyone with enough practice can deflect a bullet, so…” He raised his rifle and fired. BOOM! Mizuna flinched at how loud his boomstick bellowed. She glanced up frantically to see S’era wave her sword in the air, then stomp her feet and curse under her breath. “See? If I was aimin’ center mass n’not over your shoulder you’d be dead, darlin’!”

“I just need a few more bells of practice!” She insisted, preparing herself for another attempt. “Do it again!”

"This is incredibly dangerous, reckless, and irresponsible." Mizuna scowled, feeling that dreadful sound ringing in her hollow horns. "You both should stop before someone reports suspicious gunfire in the Goblet."

K'thalen couldn't argue with that; he was already on their watch list for public intoxication and disturbing the peace. "Aye, she'll never be able to deflect 'em anyroad. Come on down, Era, before you fall off n'break your ankle. Goddess knows the Doc's gotter hands full already." A groan slipped from the Samurai before she hopped down, still certain such a feat could be possible. Mizuna, content with handling this situation swiftly, checked the vitals one last time before she turned on her heel to flee this muggy heat.

She didn’t make it ten paces before S’era came trotting in behind her. “Oh Doctor Kusakari? Can I ask you something? I know this probably isn’t a good time, but I need a huge favor…”

Mizuna glanced down at the vitals again before giving the woman a warm yet faint smile. “What’s the matter?” Just as she finished speaking, K’thalen came strolling in as well, with one hand holding his rifle upright, and the other clasped around his old flask.

How could she tell her? How could she convince this woman- who on all accounts was practically a stranger- to risk her life to help people she couldn’t possibly be invested in. Risking her own life in Mor Dhona with friends willingly volunteering to help was one thing, but now she was older, fairly wiser, and far less willing to act on emotions alone. It was a big request, but it was better for Mizuna or Khair to come along than Dawn, especially in her state.

“S’era?” Mizuna repeated, snapping her out of her daze. “What’s wrong?”

“Ah… I… well you see…”

“Is this a medical question?” The Raen woman asked, glancing over at K’thalen who was busy chugging more liquor. “Should we go somewhere private to talk?”

“No, it’s not a personal-...” S’era began wringing her hands before she took in a deep breath and stood up straight. “My tribe… the Zu Tribe, needs help. I need a medical professional and I don’t know Dr. Himaa at all, so…”

At last K’thalen made a noise as he coughed and choked on his drink. “Guh-...! Huck…! What?! You wanna bring her to your tribe, S’era?! Have you gone mad?!”

“The Zu Tribe is infamous for killing anyone who enters their lands.” Mizuna calmly explained what K’thalen was alluding to. “I would love to help your people, but I don’t want to be strung up and flayed. I just don’t see how I could even get close enough to help them.”

“My Nunh has agreed to let outsiders in… on my watch.” S’era explained, ignoring his remarks. “Please, Dr. Kusakari… our kittens have some sort of disease that-”

Mizuna didn’t even flinch. “I’ll do it.”

“Huh?!” Both S’era and K’thalen exclaimed at the same time, before looking at each other.

“I’ve only seen a handful of Miqo’te children in my travels, and none that were younger than nine or ten. This is an opportunity of a lifetime.” Mizuna glanced down to check the vitals again- still safe, still stable. “If you can guarantee my safety then I’ll gladly help. And if Miqo’te kittens are as adorable as they claim… then I won’t soon regret this.”

“The mention of kittens was all she needed to change her mind?” S’era thought to herself, nodding confidently at Mizuna. “This is all going better than I originally planned!”

---

Mentions: @dawn-aethwyn @nijah-wolff-xiv @osric-slater-ffxiv @conobharo-cobharo-xiv @hadriel-ffxiv

6 notes · View notes

softbiker · 4 years

Text

Steve Rogers Oneshot

Warnings: some language and violence

Word count: 3.1k

Summary: Steve and Agent 14 work together for the first time. Best laid plans go awry.

A/N: Here’s another installment of Cap and our beloved barista agent - if you haven’t read ‘Extra Whip’ or ‘Tall Blonde’, you might want to look at those first so you’ll know what’s going on! As always, please let me know what you think! I really love these two together <3

“So…it’s a quick intel grab?”

“Yep,” Fury nods.

“And you want me on this?” She glances up from the dossier in her hands.

Another nod.

“Care to explain why? Considering you have perfectly good agents in-house who can handle this?”

Fury just shrugs. “You’ve been out of the field for quite a while on your…assignment, figured you might want the chance to stretch your legs a bit.”

Her eyes narrow at him.

“And the real reason?”

“…you were requested.”

The dossier snaps closed, dropped to his desk with a quiet thump. Agent 14 settles her hands on her hips, eyebrow lifted as she stares down her boss.

“By whom?”

With a whoosh, the automatic door slides open, and there he is, all long legs and purposeful strides and shoulders that overwhelm the doorframe. American jaw hidden under that scruffy layer of beard he seemingly refuses to shave. She wonders if anyone has even tried - stylists, publicists, all the staff in charge of their Avengers image - to get him to go back to his classic style, boyish bare cheeks and sweetly combed hair. The boy you’d take to meet your mother. But some time has passed now, since the rifts caused by the Accords were repaired and SHIELD’s prodigal son came home - rough around the edges and unapologetic.

“Oh,” he sees her, breaks the rhythm of his stride for half a beat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt-”

“Not at all, Captain,” Fury waves off his manners. “We were just discussing your upcoming mission.”

Half-turned to watch him, a look of understanding passes across her face and she crosses her arms. To his credit, Steve doesn’t shrink from her gaze, merely squares his shoulders, looping his thumbs in his belt. She’s not looking at the way the dark blue suit strains across his chest. He’s not looking at the tight white catsuit she’s wearing, nor the dagger strapped to her thigh. Sarah Rogers raised a damn gentleman, thank you.

Clearing his throat, Steve nods and takes a step forward, gesturing towards the dossier spilling onto Fury’s desk.

“May I?”

Without a word, she scoops up the file and hands it to him. It falls open to a set of blueprints - floor plans scribbled here and there with notes on suitable entry and exit points. Licking the pad of his thumb, he continues to flip through the file, scanning the provided notes on security details, including a very thorough breakdown of the guard rotation schedule.

“Impressive recon,” he comments, still reading. “Who’d you have on this?”

“Couple of my best agents,” Fury shrugged. His good eye slides over to Agent 14 and he nods graciously. “Present company excepted.”

“Please, my ego’s not that fragile, Nick,” 14 sighs, sarcastic smirk tilting up her mouth. “You don’t have to pat me on the head and give me a gold star.” Leaning her hip against his desk, she spares a glance at the Captain, bemused eyes bouncing between their exchange. “He always tells us that he doesn’t play favorites - we all annoy him equally.”

“Even Stark?” Steve quirks an eyebrow.

“He’s in a class all his own - and technically not an agent of SHIELD.” The scowl around Fury’s mouth deepens by a fraction. “Not that that’s ever stopped him.”

“If Pepper Potts can’t stop him, then it’s a lost cause.” Reeling the conversation back to business, 14 tamps down her smile. “So what’s our timeline here, boss?”

“48 hours. I want a clean extraction.” He points a finger at Steve. “No theatrics, Captain. No explosions. And for God’s sake, no toppling entire organizations without calling me first.”

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to send in the Star Spangled Man? Not exactly the best play for subtlety.” She turns her face to Steve with a placating gesture of her hands. “No offense.”

“None taken.” He rolls his shoulders, feeling the edges of the shield against his muscles. “This thing doesn’t exactly scream ‘stealth’.” The corners of her eyes wrinkle as she fights a smile, and if he seems to puff his chest a little, well, this suit is a bit tight on him now.

“I’m trusting Captain Rogers’s discretion in this case, Agent.” How does a single eyepatch manage to look so stern? “Romanoff has taught him a thing or two over the years. Should be fine. Any further questions?”

Their eyes meet over the dossier - no questions in that gaze; at least, none that Fury can answer.

“Alright, then - please see yourselves out of my office.” Nick falls into his chair, kicking his feet up on the desk. “And don’t come back without coffee.”

**********

It’s quiet in the cockpit. Autopilot holds the jet steady, somewhere over the Arctic Ocean. Starkpad in his lap, Steve runs back over their notes and schematics, holding the picture in his mind: two exit points on the south side, three on the east. Heavier security on the south side, near the main entrance; they’d have easier access to the server if they could get in that way, but it was too much of a risk. Too easy to be seen, and then they’d end up fighting their way out - which was the last thing they needed. He wanted in and out - efficient, quiet, clean.

A glance over at 14, who has her headphones in, studying her own tablet. The soft blue glow of the screen lights up her features, soft shadows cast by her lashes. It’s been quiet since they loaded up the jet, each falling into their own preparations, little habits to find their headspace. She chews on her thumbnail as her other hand flicks through pages on her screen.

Still an hour out, according to their navigation system, and Steve is certain the blueprints are tattooed on the backs of his eyelids. With a sigh, he abandons the tablet and swivels to the side to face his teammate. It takes a moment for her to notice him, pluck one of her earphones out with a sheepish little smile.

“Sorry, did you say something?”

“Not yet,” he shakes his head. Chews his lip. Cracks the knuckles of one hand.

“Did you…need something?” she laughs a little, a nervous bubble and quirk of her eyebrows.

He blows a breath past his lips and looks up.

“Honestly? I’m bored,” Steve chuckles. “And I know you don’t want to talk about you, so I thought maybe we could play a game?”

Eyebrows arching up, she sits a little straighter in her seat.

“A game?”

Turning to reach behind him, Steve digs in his duffel bag for a few moments, producing a deck of cards. The cardboard is worn down, corners practically broken through, and he waves the pack in his hand, earnest offer in his soft blue eyes.

“You like gin rummy?”

Smile growing, she pulls out the other headphone and puts her tablet to the side.

“I’m more of a Texas Hold’em girl, Cap.”

**********

“Alright - you approach to the east, as planned. I’ll follow and cover you.”

“Roger that, Captain.”

Clock counting down, they stand in the gangway of the jet, conducting a final weapons check. 14 settles a gun on her left thigh, knife on her right and in each of her boots. Extra ammo in her belt. His own guns and knives in place, Steve spins the shield in his hands, before securing it on his back - he feels practically naked without it. Flag design be damned, he’s not going into a mission without it now.

Two fingers tap at the comm device in her ear.

“Line 1, test.” Her voice comes through clear and soft in his ear.

“Line secure.”

They’re minutes away now, shuffling on their feet, prickles of adrenaline beginning to flex in their twitching fingers. It’s quiet, only the hum of the jet’s engines, the whir of the fans pressurizing the cabin. Steve’s jaw works back and forth.

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

She tilts her head to the side and lifts a brow in invitation.

Steve scratches the back of his neck. “Just, uh…don’t tell Bucky about that, okay?” His smile, an embarrassed smirk aimed at the floor, is achingly sweet, his long lashes fanning against flushed cheeks.

“Embarrassed you got cleaned out, Captain?” Oh, that grin, a cat with two paws in the cream.

“Well, he taught me to play, back when we were kids…” he huffs, rolling his eyes. “He’d never let me hear the end of it.”

It’s soft, the way she considers him then, taking in the hunched shoulders, the curious blue eyes, the hand sweeping hair back from his face. Softer than a moment between strangers has any right to be, longer than one between friends should. The jet beats it’s way through the air, bringing them closer to their objective.

She licks her lips.

“Your secret’s safe with me, Captain.”

**********

Not the plan, not the plan, not the goddamn plan.

Steve books it down the hallway, long legs and enhanced muscles letting him eat up the distance in seconds. Alarms blare at each end of the hall, echoing down the staircase as he throws the door open and leaps down one flight after another. On his left, a door slams open against the wall, kicked by a screaming guard who enters the stairwell with his gun, only to be on the receiving end of the red right hand of Steve Rogers. His feet barely slow as the unfortunate soldier slumps against the wall, taking the steps 3 at a time.

Short story is that their intel was faulty; the long story is that Steve is going to throttle whoever sent him and 14 right into the lion’s den with no backup, no heavy firepower, and no goddamn plan.

“14? 14 do you copy?” He pants into the comm, tapping the button repeatedly when he’s met with taught seconds of silence.

With a growl, he bursts through a door to his left, marked ‘G’ for what he hopes is the ground floor. The planned rendezvous point with Agent 14. But the relentless static buzzing in his ear doesn’t fill him with much confidence, and he turns about, looking for her along the corners of the room.

“14, what’s your location?” He can hear the harsh scrape in his voice, the tightness in his throat that threatens to close in his words, his commands. “Tell me where you are and I’ll find you.”

A heartbeat, two. A breath between.

“Incoming, Captain -” His shoulders sag at the sound. “Bringing a few friends with me.”

He swivels his head back and forth, scanning the room - she was late, she was without backup, she was-

- Falling from the ceiling, a cable attached to her belt barely controlling the descent as she plummets downward headfirst, her knees curling up as she aims her gun directly upward. A limp arm dangles from the hole she dropped through, masked faces appearing in the space above; panicked shouts mingle with the shrill sirens, the clipped staccato of gunfire punctuating their frantic cries.

About 10 feet above the floor, Agent 14 cuts her cable and backflips neatly to the ground, bouncing up on her toes and tensed to spring as her quick fingers change the clip in her gun. Her head whips around to find him striding over, boots stomping and tight-lipped authority.

“Where’ve you been?” Concealed by his beard, the muscle in his jaw jumps. “We were supposed to meet back at the rendezvous point the minute something went wrong.”

Her eyes narrow and he could choke on the overbearing tone in his own voice.

“The plan went south. I improvised.” The arch in her brow is imperious, immune, invulnerable. “And now I’m here.” The shouts above them grow louder, accompanied by pounding footsteps approaching from the stairwell. She runs a quick hand through her hair, pushing the sweaty loose strands away from her face.

“Would you like to save this discussion for the jet ride home?” she quips, no longer looking at him as she eyes the stairwell door.

Before he can answer, the door bursts open - guns pointed their way, a spatter of bullets erupting on sight. Twisting behind him, 14 crouches down, shoulder pressed against his back as he swings his shield in front of them just in time. In moments, there’s a phalanx of guards standing between them and their exit point, the jet, home.

“Stay back!” he yells over his shoulder, one arm reaching behind to tuck her against his back as he turns and shuffles them closer to the wall, finding marginal cover against a column rising up from the floor.

“Yeah, no shit,” she mutters back, his enhanced ears catching the sass under the chaos of their failed escape.

Pressed against the column, he edges back an inch, layering the shield and his own body against the hail of bullets volleying their way. With quickened breaths, he calculates their odds - each passing second, the number of goons standing between them and the quinjet grows. No reason to call in for support or evac; it would take too long for a SHIELD strike team to be deployed to their location, and the Avengers were otherwise occupied. 14’s fist curls against his shoulder blades, and he scans the room, maybe they could skirt the perimeter somehow…?

Her voice appears in his ear.

“I’ve got an idea.” The grip on the back of his uniform tightens by a fraction. “When I say, throw the shield on an angle, against that far wall, got it?”

With little time to debate, he nods and adjusts his feet, turning his hips in a better stance to aim for the spot she’d pointed out. He slows his breaths, counting between each beat of his heart, each pounding bullet.

“Now!”

A swing of his arm sends a bright red arc spinning across the room, the ricochet bouncing off one wall to the next at the corner, then arcs back to sweep out the legs of the front guards in the formation. On impact, it bounces away and clangs against the floor, rolling towards…Agent 14, who has already scooped up the rolling disc and is running back towards their enemies, drawing fire as she raises the shield in front of her face.

Mid-run, she dives for the floor, holding the shield overhead to catch her in a somersault and then springing up to crash the shield against the nearest guards head. She spins and whirls, using the shield to block bullets as she pistol whips another thug, then kicks out the knees of a third and knocks him out with a shield blow to the head. Over her shoulder, she sees Steve approaching; she twists, kicking her leg around high and throwing his keepsake back to him, taking out the nearest guard with her boot.

Running up on the last remaining soldier, Steve deals him a quick right cross - just like Bucky taught him - and turns to survey the damage…and his partner.

She’s wondering if she’ll have to scrape his jaw off the floor. If he’ll say something. And for that matter, she’s unsure whether to be offended or flattered by his reaction.

“Don’t tell me you thought I was a full-time barista, Rogers?” Hands on her hips, chin raised, the perfect arch of her brow daring him to open his mouth and answer at all. The corners of his mouth twitch as he raises his hands in surrender.

“In my defense, your resume is classified above top secret.”

Rolling her eyes, 14 turns away and starts jogging towards the exit. Steve watches her ponytail swing for a moment, before shaking his head and following behind.

**********

Fury doesn’t look up from his desk when the door glides open.

“You know, I’m starting to doubt you learned anything from Agent Romanoff.”

“Well you know what they say about old dogs and new tricks.” Steve tucks his thumbs in his belt, planting himself in front of the director’s desk. Fury’s good eye rolls.

“Sure, and when they get too old, we take them out of the field.” The folder in his hand snaps closed, punctuating his sentence. It slides across the table towards Steve. “Luckily for you, I trust 14’s judgment. Her report indicates there was a problem with the intel - the two of you ran into some unexpected company.”

Lips pursed, Steve nods, a stark crease forming between his dark brows.

“We were caught off guard. They backed us into a corner, too, but we made it out. No injuries, but I wouldn’t exactly call the mission a success.”

Leaning back in his chair, Fury makes a noise of protest.

“I wouldn’t exactly say that,” he shrugs, producing a shiny flash drive from his pocket. “14 always delivers.”

Steve blinks. Bullets and broken bones for this, such a little thing - the drive slides back into Fury’s pocket.

“In short, Captain, I won’t be needing a report from you, unless you have an issue with Agent 14’s.” He taps the file with a pointed finger. “Feel free to look it over, leave your John Hancock if you’ve got nothing to add.”

Mutely, Steve takes the file, his thumb flipping it open and scanning down the page with quick eyes. Speed reading was an underrated super-soldier skill, one that didn’t really make the history books, but he made use of it getting through the daily set of security briefings and news headlines and mission reports that came across his desk. A long-suffering sigh passes his lips.

“You got a pen?” He glances up at Fury, who’s sipping at a familiar paper cup, green logo bright against the cardboard sleeve. Wordlessly, he extends a black fountain pen to Steve with his unoccupied hand, the only sound in the room the quiet slurp of his mouth against the cup.

Placing the pen on top of the file, Steve returns it back to the desk and nods at the drink in Fury’s hand.

“Americano? Dark roast?” A wry quirk of his eyebrow. “Pumpkin spice latte?”

With a flat stare, Fury shakes his head.

“Black coffee with a shot of espresso.” He takes a long drink. “14 knows just how I like it.”

On his way down, Steve takes the stairs at a jog, wondering how fast he can squeeze in a coffee run before his next meeting. Through the windows, the sun is strong and high, a spring morning with summer at its heels. He’s got 20 minutes to change, grab his notes, and be back down to the 10th floor for a weekly update from the team.

Ah, what the hell. They can wait.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x agent 14 #steve rogers x y/n #agent 14 #steve rogers x reader fic

118 notes · View notes

danganronpasurvivoraskblog · 4 years

Text

An Escape.

This is...just an ordinary room?

An ordinary room with a secret door. There’s a switch around here somewhere.

500 yen says it’s the bookcase.

*Sonia heads over to the nearest bookcase.

Knew it.

I know you’re a detective and everything, but how did you know it was the bookcase?

It’s always the bookcase.

I’ve never quite used it myself but the switch should be right about...here.

*Sonia reaches to the back of the top shelf and pulls on something. When she does, the bookcase slides out of the way, revealing a secret passage.

Alright. Let’s go, and fast!

It’s dark down here...

Tread carefully everyone. Watch your step, and your head in case it gets narrow.

...

Sonia? Is everything alright?

Yes, I am fine...it is just...

If the perpetrator behind this rebellion is this Angie Yonaga you speak of, then why would she start a rebellion? I’ve never even heard of her before.

Yeah, and from what you said, it sounds like she’s from your world, meaning SHE probably doesn’t know Sonia either. So why would she attack Novoselic?

I honestly have no idea...Angie is really hard to read.

She definitely feels some complex emotions and has drive inside her, but she more often than not covers it up with a smile.

...A smile that can draw you in and let her control you...

You keep mentioning this “control” and “manipulation” stuff...but what does it all mean?

Angie religiously follows this God that originates from the island where she grew up. His name is Atua, and she acts like she’s his prophet.

After the second class trial, Angie manipulated and brainwashed half of us into joining this “Student Council” where their goal was to relieve everyone of any motivation to escape, by cutting off all access to the outside world...

But this student council was nothing more than a cult, and Angie was manipulating everyone into doing what she wanted.

Including me...

Himiko...

But...her reason was to protect you all and to stop another murder, was it not? That is why she tried to cut you off, so you wouldn’t have temptation to kill, correct?

So...is she really a bad person?

No! Sh-She isn’t!

Angie’s...not bad...I know she isn’t...!

But...that’s why it doesn’t make sense...would she really do something like this?

Hmph...knowing Angie, I wouldn’t put any maniacal scheme past her...I’m still convinced that she is secretly a male...

So YOU don’t like her?

It’s not that I don’t like her, I just...

Just what...?

I...I just think she’s dangerous, that’s all. I don’t trust Angie as far as I can throw her...

Although...I could probably throw her pretty damn far...

I’m with her on that one. Whether we want to admit it or not, Angie is our enemy in this scenario. She’s unpredictable, and we need to be careful around her.

But...

Why Novoselic!? What did we ever do to her!?

Sonia...

Sonia may have brought catastrophe to the people of this kingdom, but I went around talking to all the guards yesterday.

All of them seemed pretty set in stone that they didn’t have any lingering feelings...

So what, they just had a change of heart!?

That’s why I’m even more convinced that Angie’s the culprit behind this. She’s good at tugging at people’s heartstrings and using trauma against them.

But...what of my uncle? He did all he could to heal the rift in the kindgom. And he succeeded...so why!?

Um...S-Sonia?

Yes Mikan?

...I’m sorry...

What for?

There’s...something I found out...something you might not like...

B-But...m-m-my years as a nurse...t-taught me...t-to...to...

Oh, n-never mind...

Hey! Don’t just stop! Spit it out already!

I-I don’t think Lord Rufus died of old age!

Huh?

What do you mean...?

Th-The guards who took care of them said that in his final days...L-Lord Rufus...developed an illness where he coughed up blood...

So, he died of an illness?

N-No...I recognized the symptoms immediately...th-they’re very specific...

I...um...

Mikan. Calm down. You can do it.

I...I’m sorry...

I think...Angie Yonaga may have poisoned him...!

WHAT!?

Poisoned him!? Th-That is impossible!

Why though? A-And if that’s true then...how long has Angie been planning this...!?

There is a reason that she may have...

What’s that?

Think about it. Now that Lord Rufus is dead, Sonia has a claim to the throne, so she’d have to return for her coronation.

And that’s exactly what Angie wanted...!

You mean she killed her uncle to lure Sonia here...?

To kill her and take the throne herself?

I think so...It seems plausible when you think about it. Sonia is the last remaining obstacle between Angie and the kingdom. Her death means there won’t be any more problems.

N-No...

That settles it...

Angie’s dead when I see her...

Tenko, stop. Killing Angie won’t solve anything.

What do you mean? We can stop her before she has a chance to go through with her plan!

Tenko...surely you of all people know that we’ve all seen enough death to last us a lifetime...

...

...Sorry...you’re right...I-I take back what I said...

B-But I’m definitely still going to punch her in the face!

H-How...how could she...?

I know this must be hard Sonia...but come on. We’ve got to keep moving.

...Yes, I’m coming.

*Sonia instinctively takes Gundhams hand, and everyone keeps going in a depressed silence.

What the-?

N-No!

*The gang keep heading down the secret passage until they come to a broken bridge.

The hell is this...?

*Kaito pokes his head over the edge.

Shiiit...! That’s a LONG drop...!

Why is the bridge destroyed though? And...can we get past like this?

...!

Fiends..They knew...!

Huh?

Nyahahaha!

N-No...Th-That’s-!

*Everyone’s heads spin in the direction behind them.

Aloha! It seems we meet at last, Princess Sonia Nevermind!

My name is Angie Yonaga. And as much as it pains me to say it...

I must ask you to relinquish you life...!

#danganronpa survivor #danganronpa #danganronpa 2 #dr2 #danganronpa v3 #drv3 #sonia nevermind #ibuki mioda #shuichi saihara #maki harukawa #kaito momota #tenko chabashira #himiko yumeno #kazuichi soda #hiyoko saionji #mikan tsumiki #angie yonaga #novoselic revolution arc

9 notes · View notes

isaacmcadoo · 4 years

Text

I Know I Haven’t Been Perfect, But Give It Some Time (Not A Single Day Goes By Where You Don’t Cross My Mind)

A/N: I’ve been forgetting to post a lot of my recent fics here. But I genuinely haven’t been this pleased with one of my fics ever. This is brought to you thanks to @canary-warrior, who suggested I make a Cam/Yolanda friendship angst fic, and so this was born! Please ignore any mistakes, I’m not a great writer.

Yolanda Montez walked down the hallway arm in arm with her boyfriend, Henry King. She smiled kindly at everyone as she passed them, handing buttons to every one they walked passed. They finally stopped in front to talk to one of Henry’s football friends.

Yolanda’s smile dimmed slightly, as her boyfriend removed his arm as he began discussing their weekend plans. She let her eyes wander to the other side of the hallway, where she caught sight of Cameron Mahkent. Her wide smile returned and she gently tapped Henry’s shoulder to get his attention.

“I’ll be right back.” He nodded, kissing her quickly on the cheek as she made her way to the other side of the hall.

“Hey.” She let out a giggle as the brunette jumped, turning to look at her.

“You’re going to vote for me, right, lab partner?” She asked as she handed him one of her buttons. Cameron let out a small chuckle, reaching for it.

“Of course, lab partner,” He attached the pin to his shirt, beaming at her.

———

The first painting appeared in her locker the day after it happened. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a small square paper with a sunflower painted on it. She flipped it over to see if the artist had signed their work, they hadn’t.

Yolanda stared at the flower, slowly dragging her hand down it. She smiled. There was only one person she knew that could, or would, do something like this for her. Her eyes flickered to the opposite end of the hallway, where Cameron was in the middle of a very intense conversation with Joey Zarrick. At that moment, however, he looked up, and the pair made eye contact.

‘Thank you,’ she mouthed, clutching the painting to her heart. Cameron smiled widely, nodding. Yolanda slowly began the walk to her first class, the shame and hurt churning in her chest lessening slightly.

———

“Hey, Yolanda.” Cameron sat down next to the girl in chemistry. Yolanda looked up at him, confused.

“You know you don’t have to be my lab partner again this year? I can be the odd person out this year.” Cameron brushed her off.

“There is no way in hell. I NEED you as my lab partner, I will fail without you.”

Yolanda almost burst into tears. No one besides her brother had been so nice to her in the two and a half months since the incident.

“Oh, okay then,” Yolanda wiped her eyes quickly, praying Cameron hadn’t seen the tears.

“How was your summer?” He asked, turning to prop his head up on his fist and looking in her eyes. Yolanda looked as if she’d just sucked a whole bucket of lemons and shook her head.

“I haven’t been allowed to leave my room since it happened...” She fiddled with the end of her braid, not wanting to look him in the eye. What if he thought she was so lame for that?

“I’m sorry, your parents don’t let you leave your room?”

“Yeah, I’m allowed to go to school, and the dinner table, that’s it.”

“That’s fucked up.” Yolanda looked up at the young boy in shock.

“What did you just say?”

“I said that’s fucked up, you didn’t do anything wrong, why are you being punished?” When he looked her in the eye, she had to look away. She’d let enough people see her cry to last a lifetime. She rubbed her eyes, blinking back the tears.

“Try telling that to my parents.”

“They actually think you did something wrong?” Yolanda risked a glance at his face, he looked horrified. The thought that Cameron was upset over the way her parents were treating her made the awful feeling she’d been carrying around for months disappear, if only for a moment.

“I guess?” Yolanda shrugged.

“Mr. Mahkent, Ms. Montez,” Mr. Jones stuck his head between the pair, making Yolanda jump, “Socialize on your own time.” He scolded, looking back and forth between them, shooting daggers with his glare. Yolanda sucked her lips in as she nodded. She let out a long exhale, glancing over her shoulder at him as he walked away.

She made eye contact with Cameron after a moment, and the two began giggling.

———

On Yolanda’s 16th birthday, she opened her locker and this time, it wasn’t just a painting that fell out. She picked up the blue envelope, a small smile on her face. Her family hadn’t said anything to her that morning when she left for school. But Cameron has remembered. Cameron always remembered her.

She glanced to her left and right before pulling her nail across the top of the envelope, cutting it open. She pulled the card out reverently, tracing her fingers down the painting on the front. It was her. She marveled at the detail, he had really taken the time to get every detail just right.

For the first time in a very long time, Yolanda didn’t mind if someone saw her smile. This was the most loved she’d felt in a long time.

Finally, she gently folded the card open, scanning the neat cursive letters.

Yolanda,

I know we aren’t super close, but it would’ve felt wrong not to at least get you a card. I hope you don’t think the painting is creepy. I mean, I have sat next to you in science everyday since 7th grade, so I feel like it’s not completely weird... Anyway, I know these past few months have been hard for you, but I hope the paintings have helped, even just for a minute.

Anyway, I’m really happy we’re friends.

Happy 16th Birthday,

Cameron Mahkent

Yolanda felt the tears roll down her cheeks, but she didn’t mind. A good happy cry was exactly what she needed right now, screw the people that would make fun of her.

———

Yolanda was used to the teasing, she really was. But whenever the new girl tried to step in, it just made it so much worse. Didn’t she get that? So when the blonde tried to say something about the big white letters across her locker, Yolanda just got frustrated. Did she not understand that by speaking up she was only making things harder for the brunette? Speaking up only fueled her classmates rage. Yolanda sighed as she walked to chemistry. Cameron could make this all better. He always did.

But, when the bell finally rang, Cameron was nowhere in sight. What had happened, where was he?

Yolanda started panicking. Cameron was the person that helped make her feel normal, and if he wasn’t here, she didn’t think she could handle today. Not after that message on her locker. She put her head in her arms and tried not to let anyone see her cry.

After class, Yolanda was out of her seat in a flash. She jogged down the hall to her locker, to put her books away before lunch when she saw the words had been painted over. What had once been an ugly reminder of what she had done, was now a beautiful floral pattern, that Yolanda knew Cameron had spent a very long time on. She smiled to herself, running her fingers across the paint before slowly turning the lock. She swung the door open, and today, two paintings fell out. One of the tree on the hill from their elementary school, and the other was an artistic representation of the mess they had made in chemistry last week. Yolanda giggled, clutching the two paintings to her heart.

Cameron was so sweet. He was going to kill her with his kindness.

———

The whole school felt quiet the day of Joey Zarrick’s memorial. And Yolanda felt guilty. She loved the silence. It meant not a single person was making fun of her. Not one. And when she remembered why no one was paying any attention to her, she felt a wave of shame overtake her.

“Hey…” Cameron sat down next to Yolanda. She reached her hand up onto the table, squeezing his forearm.

“I’m so sorry.” Cameron gave her a sad smile.

“Thank you.”

———

Courtney Whitmore may have given Yolanda the means to take her life back when she asked her to be Wildcat, but Cameron’s kindness was the reason she was able to stand tall. She had needed both of them to be able to begin to heal. So when Courtney had texted her that Cameron had asked her to Homecoming, Yolanda let out a squeal of excitement.

They were going to make the cutest couple. She sank back onto her bed, opening a text for Cameron.

Cam, it’s Yolanda

You finally got your phone back!

I did!

Courtney told me you asked her to homecoming?

Yeah

She’s really nice

I kind of like her

Yolanda made a face at her phone. Of course he did. This boy was so sweet. He deserved someone as sweet as Courtney.

Yeah, she is pretty awesome.

Yolanda let her phone fall to her side as she stared up at the ceiling. She smiled. Cameron and Courtney. Her two favorite people were going to make each other so happy. She felt her phone buzzing in her hand. Was Cameron calling her? She brought the phone up to check the caller ID.

Pat Dugan flashed across the screen.

Yolanda shot up, sliding her finger across the phone to answer the call.

“What’s wrong?”

———

After Courtney got hurt, Yolanda felt a rift begin to form between her and Cameron. The fight against the ISA had gotten so serious. Henry joined them, and almost died. But then he didn’t. Then Courtney’s real father, Sam Curtis had shown up and even though Yolanda had been hurt by her actions, she had to be there for her friend.

When the ISA tried to kill Courtney and her family, they hid away in a cabin for a few hours. And then the fight had begun. So, by the time Yolanda could hang out with Cameron, she couldn’t bring herself to. After all, she had watched his father die and felt relief. How could she ever look at Cameron the same again?

The day Cameron finally returned to school after his father’s death, he dropped into the seat next to Yolanda, eyes red and puffy. He turned to her.

“Could you please come to the funeral?” Yolanda felt her heart beat increase. How could she tell him ‘No, I can’t’, when he looked like that? And he was asking so politely. Yolanda almost said yes. But then she remembered.

“Umm…” Yolanda nervously let her eyes flicker back and forth between her lab partner and the whiteboard. Somehow hoping that it would provide a way out. When it became clear she would have to get herself out of this mess she sighed, closing her eyes for a brief moment.

“I’ll have to ask my parents. You know how they are…” Cameron nodded his head slowly, turning his body to face the front of the classroom. Yolanda’s heart broke as he took detailed notes. No doodling in the corner. No leaning over to ask her what he had missed. Cameron deserved better than this.

———

When Yolanda caught sight of her friend across the room, she stopped dead in her tracks to stare. Which had been a terrible idea. It gave Sportsmaster the perfect opportunity to land a perfect shot to the middle of her back. She let out a painful cry, jumping forward. She spun to face her opponent. Snarling, she leapt for the older man, who easily sidestepped, dodging her claws. She growled in frustration, watching over her shoulder as Courtney pounced on him.

Yolanda let her eyes make their way back to Cameron. She felt her heart break as her eyes reached him just in time to see him send a gust of freezing wind in Rick’s direction, shoving him to the ground. She gritted her teeth, steeling herself for what she was about to do.

Yolanda turned to the young boy and took a running start before leaping towards him. Her claws racked across his chest, tearing the dark material of his shirt and leaving deep gashes across his icy chest.

“What are you doing, Cameron?” She seethed. He let out an audible gasp, eyes going wide at the sound of her voice.

“Yolanda?” She scrunched her nose up in response.

How had she been stupid enough to believe Cameron was a good guy? He had been the rule this whole time, not the exception. She was starting to believe there were no exceptions. At that thought tears pricked the edges of her eyes.

“Don’t act like you didn’t know.” She snarled, baring her teeth, which made Cameron shrink back.

“I-I had no idea, Yolanda, I swear!” She almost believed him. Almost. But her hurt and anger prevented it.

“Sure you didn’t. I can’t believe I ever thought we were friends. She caught sight of a look of shock and hurt cross his face at her words, so she took the opportunity to flip over the boy, grabbing the collar of his jacket as she went, flinging him into the wall. He slid to the floor, motionless.

Yolanda turned, reaching out to pull Rick up.

“Are you okay?” She asked as she threw her arm around his waist. Rick nodded, wincing in pain.

“I’ll be okay.” Yolanda gave him a skeptical look.

“We should get you out of here.” She motioned for Courtney, who blasted Sportsmaster into the ceiling. The blonde hopped onto her staff before flying over to them. The cosmic staff scooped them up before quickly flying back to the garage.

———

“Yolanda, you don’t think I’m angry too?” Courtney attempted to put a comforting hand on her best friend’s shoulder, but Yolanda’s anger was so great, she just shrugged off the affection.

“You don’t understand,” The brunette spat, “Cameron was the only person who treated me normal. The ONLY one.” Rick looked down, sadly.

“I treated you normal...” Courtney once more reached for her friend.

“You weren’t there for it, Court. Cameron was. Cameron was there, and he didn’t let that stop us from being friends.

“He went out of his way to be kind to me, and now he...” Yolanda bit her lip. This was too much.

“I need to be alone.”

“Yolanda!” She heard both Rick and Courtney call out to her, but she didn’t let it stop her.

Yolanda walked home as quickly as she could. Slamming her door closed before falling to her bed. She let out a sob, clutching her pillow. Her hand brushed against something flat and smooth as she did. She pulled away from her pillow, gently bringing the item out. It was a notebook. It was THE notebook. She couldn’t believe she forgot about it.

Gingerly, she flipped open the cover.

The tears streamed silently down her face as she began scanning each of the paintings. Her fingers lightly grazed over each of them as she turned the pages. When she made it to the card from her birthday she brought her hand back to her chest, making a disgusted face.

The cool tears of sadness quickly became hot and angry at the sight. She snatched the thick paper tearing her face down the middle. She threw the halves away from herself, taking deep breaths, trying to slow her breathing. She closed her eyes, bringing her sleeve up to wipe away the tears.

Yolanda looked back down at the notebook. It had made her so happy for so long, now, looking down at it, all she wanted to do was scream. So she did. And she chucked the book as hard as she could against the wall. She watched as most of the tape was ripped from the pages, making the paintings fluttered out.

The one person who had been there for her, and he wound up joining the ISA. How had she been so stupid? She fell face first onto her bed once more. She screamed into her bedding until she felt her throat go horse.

Finally she settled in on her knees. The tears had subsided, but now there was a hot spike of anger pushing into her chest. She want to punch Cameron in his stupid face.

“Stupid Cameron, making me think he cared. That he was a nice guy. Ha.” She muttered, stepping down to her floor. She needed to get ready for bed. When she caught sight of her ripped face on the floor, she hesitated. The spike that had been digging into her chest softened for just a moment.

He had to at least have cared a little bit, right?

Wrong.

The spike was back with renewed force as she turned and walked into her bathroom.

———

When Cameron came to, his chest was wet and warm and his head hurt. He slowly opened his eyes. Ouch. Promptly, he shut them again.

“Get up, kid.” Cameron heard Larry, but it sounded as though he were speaking through water, garbled and unclear.

“What... What happened?” Cameron slowly began sitting up, reaching to clutch the back of his head. He kept his eyes shut tight. Not willing to open them just yet.

“We got our asses handed to us, is what happened!” Issac fumed, angrily brushing his hand through his hair. Cameron blinked rapidly, allowing his eyes to adjust to the light. He looked up at the pair standing over him. Sportsmaster’s right eye was swollen shut and he was riddled with cuts and bruises. Issac didn’t look much better. His lip was split and swollen where Hourman had punched him.

Wait, if Courtney was Stargirl, and Yolanda was Wildcat, did this mean Rick Tyler was Hourman? Cameron’s head spun at the realization, he squeezed his eyes shut once more, hoping that would stop the motion. He brought a hand up to hold his chest. At the feel of rough cloth he glanced down. So that’s why his chest was wet. The four slices Yolanda had cut into his chest were now wrapped in bandages, that was oozing blood. He let out a silent prayer of thanks that his teammates had thought to dress his wounds.

“What happened?” Issac crosses his arms across his chest angrily, “I saw you freeze up when Wildcat came at you.” Cameron attempted to stammer out an answer.

What was he supposed to say? He couldn’t tell them about Yolanda. He couldn’t. She might not think that they were friends after finding out he was a part of the ISA, but Yolanda had been his only real friend. He had to keep her safe.

“They just caught me off guard. I thought Larry was getting Wildcat.” Cameron hoped that was enough for them. He let his eyes flick back and forth between their unreadable faces.

“I can’t be everywhere at once, kid, you’ve gotta be prepared!” Larry joined Issac in crossing his arms.

“I know, I’m sorry, it was my first real battle with the JSA, it won’t happen again.”

“It better not.” Larry and Issac both turned heading toward the exit. Cameron let out a sigh of relief, lying back down. He stared up at the ceiling for a few silent moments.

“What happens now?”

———

Henry was the first to catch sight of Cameron when they stormed the ISA’s new base of operation. When he saw him, the redhead ran straight for him, shoving him up against the wall.

“How dare you!” He spoke through gritted teeth, looking up at the brunette. Cameron returned the look with a sneer.

“What do you mean, Henry?” Cameron’s voice had so much venom, Henry accidentally let him drop to the floor.

“I mean you broke Yolanda’s heart, and you’re going to pay for that.” Henry clenched his fists, preparing to send the boy flying to the ceiling. Hoping to put the powerful villain out of commission. But the other boy once again took him by surprise by laughing. It was a bitter laugh that stunned Henry to his core. What part of this did Cameron find amusing?

“You are one to talk about breaking Yolanda’s heart.” Henry growled. Why did Cameron have to bring that up?

“You destroyed her, I was the only person who would even look at her! I’ve been waiting to be able to do something to you for months because of what you did!” Cameron hit the boy with a handful of ice spikes, making him go flying.

As the ginger hit the opposite wall, Cameron surveyed the room. His eyes finally caught sight of Yolanda’s figure. Trying to slice Cindy in two. Cameron felt his heart stop as he watched Cindy duck behind her, twisting around to stab the girl in the back. Her cry of pain got his heart beating again and he rushed towards them. He sent a gust of frigid air in the direction of the two girls that sent them both flying backwards.

“Yolanda!” He heard Rick shout, as he slid over to her on his knees. He laid her across his legs, the deep wound Cindy had left facing the ceiling.

“Is she breathing?” Cameron stood over the pair, heart racing as he tried to get a glimpse of her face. Rick brought her up to a sitting position as he pulled her closer.

“Get the hell away.”

Cameron took a few steps back. Terrified of the look on Rick’s face.

Cameron let his eyes fall down to his friend’s back, red blood oozing from the deep gash. What had he done? This was his fault. He shouldn’t have continued to fight. Once he realized that these were his friends he should’ve stopped.

Cameron took a step back as Rick flipped the girl over, gingerly lifting her in his arms. He rushed toward the exit.

“Call a hospital!” Rick shouts at Beth as he passes by. She nodded, speaking to that invisible voice she had been the entire fight.

Cameron watched as Courtney managed to bash Tigress in the back of the head with her staff. She then grabbed Henry’s limp body lying on the floor, struggling to get him over her shoulder. Finally, she sat on the staff and it flew away, Beth grabbing it as it flew past her.

Cameron was left standing there, unsure of what to do.

“Cameron!” Cindy snarled, kicking herself up and brushing herself off, “What the hell was that?” Cameron turned to face her, then he turned to look at Tigress, Issac and Sportsmaster. He couldn’t do this anymore. What WAS he even doing?

Then it hit him. He was doing this for his dad. Because he thought that’s what he would’ve wanted him to do. But Cameron didn’t want to. Cameron wanted to paint and go to school. And hang out with Yolanda.

Yolanda.

“I’m done,” He glared between the two older ISA members, daring them to stop him.

“You can’t just leave!” Issac shouted.

“I can, and I am, do you really want to try to stop me?” Cameron began to re-freeze himself, a cold look passing over his eyes. Issac took a step back.

“That’s what I thought,” Cameron began to thaw once more.

He tried to keep up an air of confidence as he walked out. But deep down, he was terrified Sportsmaster or Tigress would kill him. It wasn’t until he opened his front door he felt at ease.

———

Six years later...

Cameron was sitting on the quad, sketching out the scene in front of him, when his pencil was knocked out of his hand by a frisbee.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” Cameron looked up in confusion. He knew that voice.

“Yolanda?”

“Cameron?” Yolanda stopped short, hand outstretched towards the yellow disc.

“Holy shit, it is you! How have you been?” Yolanda tentatively straightened out, fiddling with her braid.

“Not too bad… You, um…” Yolanda glanced down at his sketch pad. An awkward silence passed over them for a few moments. Finally, she broke it, speaking softly.

“You never said goodbye.” Cameron’s face fell as he looked down, picking up his pencil.

“I...uh… I didn’t think you’d want to see me…” Cameron gestured up at her, “After all, I helped put you in the hospital.”

“I was going to the hospital before you blasted me anyway,” she brushed it off like it was no big deal. Even though it was. It was a huge deal, didn’t she know that?

“Yolanda…”

“Cameron…” she teased.

“One second.” She turned, throwing the frisbee towards her other friends, “I’ll be back in a minute!” She shouted before plopping onto the grass next to Cameron.

“What you did… Joining the ISA… It hurt. A lot at first.” She pulled at the grass.

“But after you left, I realized, you didn’t do it to hurt me.”

“How do you know that for certain?” Cameron bumped her shoulder, making her laugh.

“Because, I realized I knew you a lot better than I initially thought,” she stated matter of factly, “And I know that you were probably doing it through some sort of loyalty to your father. Who you didn’t owe anything to, by the way.” Cameron brought his eyes up to meet her’s.

“So…” he spoke after a few more moments of silence.

“So… Do you want to get coffee sometime?” Yolanda hugged her knees to her chest, “So we can really catch up?” Cameron offered her a wide grin.

“I would love that.”

#stargirl #stargirl fanfic #yolanda montez #cameron mahkent #friendship angst

8 notes · View notes

obscure-sentimentalist · 4 years

Note

19. tibny

Prompt from the drabble challenge list

Part of the “Take It Back Now Y’all” (TIBNY) timeline; follow-up to this

“And that’s how you ruin a life. Congratulations.”

Connor comes to with a half-snort just in time for what feels like a newspaper to smack him full in the face.

“The hell, Tommy?” he grouses, doing his best to disguise the high-pitched whine underneath a jaw-cracking yawn. He flounders with the blankets to groggily push himself up into a seated position against the wall behind the bed, before belatedly snapping, “Get out of my room, asshole” like a sullen teenager.

“Happy to oblige,” his brother replies cheerfully, yet Connor doesn’t hear any shuffling or footfalls to corroborate that statement. After a moment, he finally cracks one eye open (immediately protesting the sun’s glare through an opening in the curtains) to see Tommy standing directly in the doorway, making jazz hands.

“Threshold, it doesn’t count!” The Cheshire grin doesn’t waver—it grows, even—when Tommy contorts his body to evade the pillow that Connor subsequently lobs at him.

Not willing to try again and further feed into this childish back-and-forth, Connor lets his head fall back against the wall as he scrubs a hand over his face. “Do I want to know why you thought it was necessary to use the spare key I gave you for emergencies and come barging into my place at…” He fumbles his free hand blindly over the nightstand. “…where’s my phone…?”

The very distinctive sound of a throat clearing makes Connor pause in his poorly-planned search. “If you’d turn your attention to your morning briefing,” Tommy prompts, nodding towards the jettisoned paper now resting in Connor’s lap. He clearly means to phrase it like a joke, but there’s an undercurrent of unease in his tone.

The reason for it becomes clear once Connor’s vision defogs enough for him to make out the contents of the front page.

(It’s admittedly not very difficult to do so, not with the font choice and very recognizable subjects of the blown-up photo positioned front-and-center.)

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’,” Tommy parrots, finally sinking down to sit with his back propped against one side of the doorframe. “Just wanted to make sure you knew that this is what you signed up for and very casually accepted when we told Dad.”

“I guess I just… wasn’t quite expecting it to be on this level,” Connor confesses, a whole truth that he so rarely tells these days. He had, indeed, been ready for the Starling City media outlets catching wind of a lookalike to one of their questionably-favorite headline-makers, and whatever fallout ensued from telling their father.

(So far, it’s just been a simple press release pulled together through the preferred Merlyn Global PR channels—Malcolm forwent any sort of public address, likely so he could regroup and reexamine how being pulled into the spotlight like this might affect his plans moving forward. Neither of the twins have crossed paths with him since securing the future of the clinic, putting them into direct contrast with Malcolm’s ghostwritten wishes of “reuniting and getting to be a family with [his] two sons.”)

But this?

FROM RICHES TO RICHES: CHICAGO DEPARTMENT STORE HEIR REVEALED AS SON OF STARLING CITY BILLIONAIRE

Connor could maybe live—albeit uncomfortably—with being demoted from (up-and-coming, at this point) surgeon to just “that Rhodes.” Being called Malcolm’s son is toeing a line, but it’s an admittedly necessary evil. Even the accompanying photo—snapped by some paparazzo or another during one of Connor’s carefully-coordinated excursions through downtown Starling City—gets a pass, having captured Connor with his eyes squeezed shut in laughter and Tommy’s arm slung playfully around his neck.

No, the thing that really smacks Connor with his miscalculation is the newspaper’s logo printed across the top, and how it decidedly does not match that of any of the local publications.

“This is a big day for you,” Tommy says, falling just short of teasing as he rolls his head towards Connor and his eyebrows shoot up. “You made national news, you overnight celebrity, you.”

Connor groans, tipping to the side and unceremoniously face-planting into the mattress.

. . .

“You are seriously lucky that you told Claire that all of this was coming down before word got out,” Tommy declares around the slice of toast dangling out of his mouth when Connor steps into the kitchen, freshly showered and dressed for casual comfort.

(Evidently, he’s not going to be showing his face outside of his apartment today, so faded jeans and the first t-shirt blindly unearthed from one of the boxes yet to be unpacked it is.

…At least the sunglasses-wearing Golden Retriever screen-printed on the front is adorable.)

Cringing—both at the reminder and the ill-mannered voicing of it—Connor yanks open the refrigerator to retrieve the orange juice bottle. “I know, I know, and I should be grateful that you were the one who pushed me to do so…”

“Damn right.” Tommy takes a bite and then waves the remainder of the bread for emphasis. Miraculously, not a single glob of cherry-berry jam slips off and plops onto the kitchen island as he does so. “You almost forgot entirely.”

“I didn’t… forget entirely,” Connor counters weakly. He ignores Tommy’s displeased look in favor of grabbing a clean juice glass from the cupboard. “I was trying to handle one reveal at a time, and getting the clinic back was the higher priority.”

“Right. And that’s why you yelled, ‘Oh shit, Claire!’ and whacked your knee on the dashboard as we were about to pull out of the parking lot after dropping the bomb on Dad. Clearly a smooth transition into the next stage—I commend your planning skills.”

Connor takes a swig of orange juice rather than giving that a verbal reply, daintily lifting a finger that’s decidedly not his pinky as he does so.

“Hey, it might be made for spreading delicious jams and jellies, but I will use this knife if you keep being rude,” Tommy warns, pointing the utensil at Connor threateningly enough that the dulled edges can be excused.

Withdrawing the glass from his lips, Connor raises his hands in casual surrender before setting it down on the counter. “Alright,” he starts, blowing out a deep breath, “so maybe I had a bit of… tunnel vision about all of this.”

Really, that’s the nicest way Connor can phrase it, without exposing the full ugliness of the truths underneath. Tommy’s right—Connor owes him credit for getting that conversation with Claire in motion immediately after the realization hit. But he’s also mistaken, thinking that this was something that just slipped Connor’s mind and to-do list.

In actuality, the idea had never truly crossed his mind, not until after they’d confronted Malcolm.

It’s a cruel confession, one with many layers that drive the knife in deeper and deeper. Connor had been single-mindedly focused on saving Tommy’s life, uniquely capable of doing so due to his knowledge of the months to come—as a result, everything else took an automatic backseat. And while that alone admittedly isn’t the healthiest mindset, the situation worsens the more Connor thinks on it and can rationalize what might have been, had Tommy not intervened.

He can tell himself that things would have been fine, leaving Claire be for a while. He’s lived through this before, knows that his relationship with his sister was as simple and distant as exchanging a few texts on birthdays and major holidays at this point in the timeline. It would still be a few years yet before they’d begin to repair things, after both are in Chicago again and Russell is brought in and Claire reaches out and Connor finally breaks, one mid-May night. He has time.

That would have been justification—cold, but still reasonable—enough, had things transpired as they did before. But with Connor doing everything in his power to alter the timeline, to avert mass casualties and his own personal loss… if everything goes right, he’s never going to hit that breaking point. Never going to move back to Chicago, at least not under the same circumstances. Any time he thought he had doesn’t so much run out as become nonexistent—no progress with rebuilding their relationship, but also no further decay.

At least, that’s what would have been the case if he didn’t fix things with Claire and didn’t reveal himself to Malcolm. It was moving forward with the latter that finally sent the consequences careening into Connor’s face, and slapped a definitive countdown clock on the former.

Saving Tommy while flying under the radar like Connor’s always done would be one thing. Doing so by coming forward as a Merlyn, and leaving the Rhodes family to hear the news along with the rest of the public, though?

Banging his knee against the dash at the realization was only going to be the beginning of Connor’s pain, if he didn’t handle things right and immediately.

Sacrificing his relationship with his older sister has never been on the table, even if Connor wants nothing to do with Cornelius Rhodes ever again. Yes, they aren’t blood-related, and yes, Claire’s loyalty to Cornelius (and discrediting of Connor’s issues with him outside of genetics) was still a rift even after reconciliation the first time around, but those are, in no way, grounds for complete severance.

“You can’t risk irreparable damage with one sibling just so you can officially be recognized as a brother to the other,” Tommy sighs, dragging Connor out of his thoughts even as the sentiment grounds them. Brushing stray toast crumbs off the island and onto his plate, Tommy slides off his chair to bring the dish over to the sink. “So no more of that ‘tunnel vision’, okay? I was actually hoping to invite Claire out for a visit once things settle down, and that isn’t going to go well if the two of you aren’t talking.”

Connor’s stomach twists at Tommy’s request—it’s too easy to equate giving up that laser-focus with risking Tommy’s life—only to plummet, heavy with guilt, when the rest hits him. “You were?”

“Well, yeah.” Tommy shoots Connor a confused look over his shoulder as he turns on the faucet. “She’s your sister, and even if that doesn’t really make her mine too, I still want to get to know her. Especially since I’ve had ‘Claire for Fashion Help Only’ saved in my contacts list for years and never put two-and-two together.”

Right, that had been a surprise. Knowing that Claire and Tommy had met once before at Dolan Rhodes and that Claire remembered it enough that she kept the receipt had been one thing; finding out that she’d given Tommy a means to contact her and he held onto it even as the memory of where it came from faded was something else entirely.

It meant that, even as Tommy’s existence shattered the truths she thought she knew about her family, Claire still cared enough to quietly anchor him to the Rhodeses and ensure that he wouldn’t be lost again. It meant that, even though the encounter didn’t linger and the gravity of it was concealed, Tommy was just aware enough of that tether to keep a grip on it.

Most importantly, though, it meant that this was a link that had existed in Connor’s original timeline, and could have surfaced in a quieter and more personal way than over a hastily-placed phone call, warning Claire of the oncoming explosion of her family’s private life.

It would have been entirely possible to keep both—eventually all, with the addition of Thea—of his siblings and forge bonds between them without causing a big fuss. Claire might have balked at first over not telling Cornelius anything, but Connor has enough faith that her wishes to reconnect with one brother and accept a new one would have won out in the end. Tommy, if his latest confession says anything, would have smothered the eagerness, but still jumped at the chance to acquire a new sibling. All Connor would have had to do was give his two family ties a tug, and that thin, invisible connection between them would keep the ends close while drifting to center.

But that was a could-have-been in a timeline gone by, one that Connor had never grasped for even though it was fully in his power to do so. Any second chance he has this time around is going to come with a sea of new complications and resistance, and that’s after he almost let it slip from his fingers at the very start.

It’s a certain painful irony, Tommy salvaging Connor’s fraying family life while Connor does his damndest to ensure that Tommy remains alive in general.

“We’ll shoot for this summer to get together,” Connor finally says, throat tightening around the words as if fearful he’s promising too much. “Let the fifteen minutes run out and give the media time to go rabid over something else.”

Tommy hums in acknowledgement, setting his clean plate on the drying rack next to the sink. “We could probably make it a little earlier, really—beat out the summer heat wave, but still leave enough time for the story run its full course. She could come in mid-, late spring, maybe?”

Connor is incredibly grateful that Tommy’s back is still turned, because the agonized cringe that suggestion provokes is insuppressible.

Tommy is going to survive—Connor won’t accept any other outcome (never again). But in the event that he can’t bring an end to Malcolm’s plans ahead of time, or prevent them from being put in motion, or…

“Nah, I’m thinking July,” Connor manages after a moment, keeping his voice level and casual before he takes a final swig of orange juice. “We’ll get Claire in town for a few days, then maybe do a short road trip. Get out, see some sights—you know, family bonding stuff.”

Tommy lets out a snort of laughter at that and flicks some lingering soap suds at Connor’s face before toweling off his hands. “Long hours in an overstuffed, overheated car with your adult siblings—that sounds like the perfect set-up for a successful fratricide.”

“Come on, a little positivity here. Claire’s going to love you.”

“Oh, no, I’m not the victim here, and neither is she,” Tommy corrects. “If you pass out in the back and start saying weird shit in your sleep again, I get the feeling that she’ll be on the same page as me about booting you out of the car in the middle of nowhere.”

Connor allows himself an exaggerated eye-roll at that, but otherwise lets it slide.

Tommy shoots his balled-up paper towel into the kitchen trash can before turning his attention back to Connor, his eyes stopping pointedly on the grinning, shades-sporting Golden. “Alright, since you’re clearly not dressed to be going anywhere in broad daylight, what do you say I run you off Rainbow Road a couple times? Don’t think I didn’t notice that you prioritized hooking up the Wii over all of your other unpacking.”

“Big talk for a guy with a shell-shaped target on his back,” Connor swipes back, but he grins and heads into the living room to grab the remotes and wheel controllers.

As driven as he is to save his brother’s life, a few Mario Kart victories are a worthy-enough detour.

#obscure-sentimentalist writes sometimes #merlyn boys #connor rhodes #tommy merlyn

7 notes · View notes

fangirlingtodeath513 · 4 years

Text

Plans | a 15x09 coda

The monster isn’t exactly subtle. Dean can hear his heavy footfalls after only a few steps, and a particularly loud twig cracking as he steps on it. Still, they could use a hand finding this blossom thing, so he glances at Cas and cocks an eyebrow. Something’s following us, he prays, knowing that Castiel will pick up on it. The angel gives a subtle nod and continues walking.

They’ve found a way to communicate almost silently after all these years and all the hunts they’ve done together. It’s scary how aligned their thoughts are sometimes, but in situations like this, it sure does come in handy. Castiel’s nod here conveys both his acknowledgment of Dean’s prayer and his decision to keep walking until the monster makes its move. So they do. The wander through Purgatory for another half an hour before Dean stoops to look at a corpse and the monster—a Leviathan, they learn—makes his move. A poor move, on his part, though maybe he doesn’t know who he’s dealing with.

Trusting him is dangerous, but it’s really the only choice they have. Albeit reluctantly, he and Cas follow him. And, of course, it backfires, because that’s just their luck. Nothing can ever just be easy for them. At least, that’s what Dean thinks before he blacks out.

Seeing Dean hit the ground like that sends a wince through Castiel, even though it’s been a long time since he’s experienced human pain like that. Regardless, Dean will be fine, it’s the Leviathan and the blossoms they need to worry about. They’d tipped their hand when telling the Leviathan about their need for a blossom, so Castiel has no doubt their first move will be to destroy every blossom in sight.

He’s right. He’s rooted to the spot watching in nothing short of agony as the Leviathan smirks at him and destroys every single blossom, circling the area three times to make sure they’re all gone. There goes their last chance of bringing Chuck down.

A crowd of more Leviathans—five, at Castiel’s count—emerge from the woods and sneer at him. His eyes dart to Dean, injured and helpless where he’s sprawled on the ground, and he doesn’t even put up a fight. No matter the grudge Eve may hold against Dean, she’s far more interested in Castiel, so he goes along willingly. Maybe he’ll get lucky and find a blossom along the way, though his hopes aren’t high for that.

They walk for what feels like hours, and it may very well be hours. Purgatory is huge and dense and Castiel still has nightmares about the place, about hearing Dean’s voice in his head every night, begging to be reunited when Castiel knew the moment they were would be the moment Dean was in danger again.

He shakes those thoughts from his head as a Leviathan pushes him forward, making him stumble for a moment before he recovers. He needs to concentrate, he can’t worry about Dean right now.

He gets his opportunity a ways into their march. The Leviathan don’t have someone walking behind him, which is their first mistake. He darts off the path and plucks a blossom from the shadow of a tree, tucking it safely in a chest pocket, hidden away carefully. Then he attacks. The first two Leviathan go down easy, heads severed with the machete he’d managed to stow away when they weren’t looking. It won’t stop them, but it’ll knock them out of operation long enough for him to get away.

One of them attacks him from behind, which knocks his few precious seconds of escape down to nothing. Frustrating as it is, he still needs to find a way to escape, so he fights. He was trained for this, he knows how to fight until he gets his opportunity.

Sure enough, two of the Leviathan scamper off and he gets his chance to behead one and smash another in the nose with the butt of his machete, grabbing the small bottle of bleach from his pocket and throwing it in the face of the third. It gives him enough of a distraction to run for it, ducking behind a tree close by and holding his breath. They walk right by him and he breathes a sigh of relief before heading in the other direction.

It takes him a while to get back in the direction he needs to go, and then he lets his mind wander again. He’s got the chance, he might as well. Purgatory’s brought up a lot of feelings he’d been determined to shove down, maybe he should try to do something with them while he’s got the time.

Cas, I hope you can hear me. That wherever you are, it’s not too late.

It doesn’t register for a moment. He’d heard Dean’s voice in his head every single day he was in this place, so initially, he writes it off as a memory this godforsaken place pulled out. Except then it keeps going, and it’s not a prayer he’s heard before.

I should’ve stopped you. A pause. A shaky breath that makes Cas’s heart ache. You’re my best friend but I just let you go. Another pause, another shaky breath. Cause that was easier than admitting I was wrong. A deep breath, a wet chuckle. Then it goes quiet for longer than Castiel cares for. He wonders if Dean got ambushed. Then there’s a quiet sniff and his voice returns. I-I don’t know why I get so angry. I just, I know that it’s-it’s just always been there. A deep, shaking breath that breaks off into something that resembles a sob. It makes Castiel’s heart clench in his chest and he leans against a nearby tree to focus fully on the prayer. And when things go bad, it just, it comes out. And I-I can’t stop it. No matter how… how bad I want to, I just can’t stop it. He can practically hear the tears he instinctively knows are sliding down Dean’s cheeks right now. He’d give anything to fly to him and tell him he’s forgiven, because of course he is. And I-I forgive you, of course I forgive you. I’m sorry it took me so long to— Dean cuts himself off with a sniffle and Cas thinks he hears a twig snap nearby, but he doesn’t see anything. Still, he forces himself away from the tree and continues moving, back in the direction of the rift. I’m sorry it took me til now to say it. Cas, I’m so sorry.

A quick look over his shoulder shows him that he’s not being followed, and he’s near the portal. Dean isn’t here, he can feel that Dean’s not nearby, so he curls up against a tree and listens to the rest of Dean’s prayer. Man, I hope you can hear me. It’s more of a sob than an actual sentence and it breaks Castiel’s heart. He hopes Dean makes it here in time. He doesn’t have the countdown on his phone, so he has no idea how long they have before this rift closes and traps them in Purgatory again. I hope you can hear me. He hears a few more sniffles and a soft, okay and then Dean’s voice is gone from his head. He gives the blossom a quick check—smushed, but still intact—and leans his head back against the tree. All he can do now is wait and hope.

Watching them walk out of Purgatory is a sight to behold, without any of the fuss of last time around. He expects the portal to close behind them, but then it doesn’t. He keeps watching, mostly from a mix of curiosity and protectiveness, until he sees a group of Leviathan approaching it. No way in hell is he letting those things out into Dean’s world. He doesn’t even think twice before emerging from behind his tree and beheading the one closest to the rift. The other two stare at him in disbelief, even as their friend’s head reconnects to his body. It’s still disgusting to this day, at least in his opinion. Leviathan are truly gross.

“No,” one says, a short blond with wide eyes. “You’re dead, Eve told us.”

He smirks. Of course she’d tell them that. He’s her biggest threat and he’s closing in on her. She doesn’t have much time left. “Sounds like your dear ol’ mama lied to y’all. Now, you gonna scamper off back to whatever hole you crawled out of, or do I need to disconnect your heads? Permanently?”

All three sets of eyes dart to the portal he’s currently standing in front of. For a moment, he thinks they’re going to make a run for it, but they don’t. They give him one last look before they turn around and head back the way they came.

He guards the portal and thank god he does because apparently everyone and their mother knows about it. He fends off hordes of vampires and werewolves and even a couple of djinn.

“Well, well, well. Benny Lafitte, as I live and breathe. I thought you were dead.”

Benny rolls his eyes and rests his blade on his shoulder. “Gordon. I’d say it’s a pleasure to see ya again, but I’d be lyin’.”

Gordon smirks. “Why don’t you step aside, brother? I don’t belong here.”

Benny snorts. “Man, out of everyone here, you’re the one that deserves to be here the most. You’re gettin’ through that portal over my dead body.”

“Well, it’s your funeral.”

Gordon’s all uncoordinated rage and Benny has him on the ground in less than thirty seconds. Apparently, he ain’t keen to give up that quickly, his leg sweeping out to knock Benny on his feet. He rolls away from Gordon’s next kick, which only serves to infuriate the man further. Gordon’s on him is less than a second, knocking him backward and straight through the stupid portal. He jumps to his feet, ready to fight Gordon back into Purgatory, but he doesn’t get the chance. He watches, helpless, as the portal back to Purgatory blinks out of existence.

Great. Now he’s stuck here, the exact place he didn’t want to be. Guess not showing himself to Dean and Castiel didn’t really make a difference, he ended up here anyway.

The Empty is an infuriatingly boring realm. There’s nothing but blackness for as far as Jack’s eyes can see. He’s been so bored here ever since Billie left. He has no way to tell how much time has passed, nor a way to avoid sitting there and thinking about every bad thing he’s ever done. Is this how humans feel when they’re alone? It’s… disorienting.

Still, Billie had told him he had an important role yet to play, so he waits.

And waits.

He feels the shift in the air the moment it happens. Even in this void, he can still feel the powerful shifts in the atmosphere whenever Billie or the Shadow are around.

“It’s time.”

Jack turns to face her slowly, tilting his head. “Time for what?”

Billie smiles. “The End,” she replies simply, holding out her hand.

Jack looks at it for a moment. He’s not entirely sure where she’ll take him, but she’s assured him that she’s on the side of universal balance, which is currently against Chuck. She’s probably their best chance of saving the world from him.

Decision made, he takes a step forward and takes her hand, letting her pull him from the darkness.

#destiel #destiel fanfic #15x09 coda #15x09 #supernatural #spn spoilers #my writing

33 notes · View notes

nazariolahela · 4 years

Text

Something Domestic: Chapter 15

A/N: Hey y'all! This story is told in first-person narrative, from Riley’s (MC) POV. There will likely be smidges of canon in this, but not too much. Thanks for reading, and please leave feedback, and/or if you would like to be tagged.

Hope everyone had a safe and happy holiday season. It was a busy one for me. Hence why this chapter is a few weeks late. Anywho, here’s Part 2 of Liam’s POV. We’ll get back to Riley’s POV next chapter.

Catch up here

Series Tags: @burnsoslow @aworldoffandoms @dcbbw @ladyangel70 @texaskitten30 @sunandlemons @jlynn12273 @indiacater @jared2612 @rainbowsinthestorm @drakesensworld @badchoicesposts @msjr0119 @katurrade @blackcoffee85 @cynicalworlds-blog @hopefulmoonobject @cmestrella @sugarandspice-milkandhoney @superharrietsuper @custaroonie @lady-calypso @ritachacha @olympianpantsuit @desiree-0816 @the-soot-sprite @kate-mckenzie @narrytheworld @octobereighth @lynne1993 @queen-anastasia-universe @loveellamae @sarzkh31

Synopsis: When Riley Brooks takes a new job as a nanny for the affluent Rhys family in New York’s Upper East Side, she assumes she’s just going to care for the children of the couple who hired her. But instead of just school pick-ups and afternoon snacks, she also finds herself spending time with Liam, the handsome divorced dad. Can Riley control her feelings for Liam while still performing the job she was hired for?

All characters are the property of Pixelberry Studios. Thanks for allowing me to borrow them.

Chapter Summary: Liam helps to mend the rift between Hana and Riley.

The first thing on my agenda is to get to Mara. I know she’s been compromised by my ex-wife, so getting her to confess will be tricky. Leo and I go over how he’ll get Madeleine to spill as we ride through Manhattan in my McLaren P1. Bastien, my most loyal employee, tipped me off to where Mara and the new nanny will be with Philip today, so I took a long lunch to try and get some answers from her.

“So, where is Madeleine’s faithful lackey today?” he asks.

“Bastien said she and Belinda took Philip to the playground.”

My brother nods and taps a message on his phone. “I got ahold of your ex this morning. She wants to have dinner tonight. She’s leaving the kids with Rashad so she can meet me.” He chuckles. “Poor sucker. At least she’s not your problem anymore.”

“Except she’s my children’s mother, so she’ll always be my problem.”

“What are you going to do about her if I get her to confess?”

I shrug my shoulders. I guess I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Right now, I just want the goddamn truth so I can get my girl back. Yes, I called Riley my girl. Even though she won’t speak to me and she’s got another man, I’m not giving up.

We pull up to the park and exit the car. The weather is cooler this time of year, so I fasten the buttons of my dress coat and make my way toward the playground. Leo and I scan the area for any sign of Mara and after a few moments, he spots her standing near the slide. Belinda is sitting on the bench, rifling through her tote bag.

When I approach, Philip is the first to see me. “DADDY!” he shouts and leaps off the monkey bars, sprinting across the playground. He latches himself onto my leg. I pick up my son and toss him in the air before planting a kiss on his cheek. I look into his blue eyes and my heart bursts. To be honest, I had doubts that he was my son after I found out Madeleine cheated during our marriage. But one look at him dispelled them. I had a paternity test done to be absolutely sure, but sometimes I think about what I would have done if he wasn’t mine.

Mara sees me and her eyes bug out of her skull. She turns to Belinda and alerts her of my presence. “Sir?” she says as they approach me.

“Belinda, take Philip over to the swingset. I need to speak with Mara privately.”

The nanny nods and ushers my son away from us. I motion for Mara to take a seat on a nearby bench.

“Everything alright, sir?” she says.

“I’m just dropping in to see how things are going with the new nanny. I know there were some issues with the last one, so I want to make sure we don’t have any similar problems going forward.”

She bobs her head. “Things seem to be going well, sir. From what I’ve seen, Ms. Stewart is having no trouble carrying out her duties.”

“That’s good to hear. Any issues with the paparazzi?”

“Nothing we can’t handle, sir. Sometimes they camp out wherever we go, but they’ve left us alone for the most part.”

I nod. “That’s good. The safety of my children is very important, Mara. I want to make sure the people in charge of them are not putting them in harm’s way.”

“I agree, sir. I take my job seriously.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Because I would have a huge issue if I knew those people were deliberately putting my kids at risk.”

She visibly swallows. “Uh...sir. I-I don’t know what you mean.”

I look over at Philip as I speak and clench my fists. “Mara. I know the tabloids called you. Do you know how I know? My friend Olivia. I assume you’ve met her. Well, she knows someone at Trend. Her contact told us everything. They gave us your name. How much did they give you, Mara?”

Her eyes go wide and she fidgets with the hem of her jacket. “Sir. Please. I don’t kn…”

I hold my hand up, stopping her. “Mara. There’s no use denying it. I know my ex-wife is behind this, but I want to know how you are and you’re going to tell me.”

She bows her head and exhales. “I swear to you, sir. I didn’t know what Ms. Karlington was going to do. She told me to gather dirt on Miss Brooks. She said it was for the benefit of the kids. I didn’t know she was planning to sell the story to the tabloids. She had me plant a listening device in Miss Brooks’ phone when she wasn’t looking. That’s how I knew about you two. That you were involved.”

I cock my eyebrow. “How long did you know?”

“Not very long, sir. Ms. Karlington suspected something after the scholarship benefit. That’s when she had me bug Miss Brooks’s phone. We were able to take the recordings and sell them to the tabloids along with the details of your divorce. I’m so sorry, sir. She threatened to have me fired if I didn’t cooperate.”

Of course, she did. “Why though?”

“She said it was because of the divorce. If you would have just agreed to her arrangement, none of this would have happened.”

I drag my hand down my face. Why am I gasping? I already knew that. The so-called “arrangement” Mara is referring to is one Madeleine brought up after I filed. She suggested that we stay married for our “public image,” but that we could both have people on the side. I laughed in her face. “So, how much did they pay you?”

Mara pauses, unable to meet my eyes. “$50,000, sir.”

That’s it? That’s less than what we pay her yearly salary. I shake my head and rise from my seat. Mara stands and addresses me. “Sir? I’m genuinely sorry for any pain I may have caused you and Miss Brooks. I understand if you can no longer retain my services.” She starts to walk away when I call out to her.

“We’ll figure that out later. In the meantime, I trust you won’t tell my ex-wife about our little chat?”

“No, sir,” she says, shaking her head. She makes her way back to Philip and Belinda. I run my fingers through my hair and head back to the car, where my brother leans against the hood.

“Well? How did it go? Did she sing like a canary?”

I smirk and press the unlock button on my keyfob. “She did.”

He grins and brings his hand to his mouth, kissing his fingers. “Delicious. Now, we just need Madeleine to give us an encore.”

***

Later that afternoon, I’m back at the office, finishing up some quarterly reports when my cellphone chimes. I pull it from my suit jacket to see a text from Leo.

Perfect. Now for part two of my “master plan.” I close my laptop down and grab my coat off the back of my chair. I exit my office and head down the hall towards the elevator. As I step in and descend towards the lobby, I call up Drake.

“Hey, man. You on your way over?”

“Yep. Just leaving the office. Is she there?”

“She showed up a few minutes ago. You sure this will work?”

I sigh. “I hope so...”

He chuckles. “If not, I guess it’s back to escorts and porn for you.”

That’s my best friend for you. Always busting my balls. In all the years we’ve been friends, he’s never been one to let me sit around and feel sorry for myself. But he’ll always have my back when I need him. “Fuck you, man. I’ll see you in about half an hour.”

He laughs and I hang up the phone. I get into my car and head to my destination. When I pull up outside the building, my nerves start to get the best of me. Snap out of it, Li. You can do this. I inhale deeply and exit the car and make my way inside. I stride down the hallway and stop in front of the door. I take another deep breath and knock twice. A few moments later, it swings open.

“Hey! What are you doing here?”

“Hey, Meghan. Is Hana home?”

She eyes me incredulously. “Yeah. I’ll get her. Just a second.” She steps back and allows me to enter the apartment. I look around as Meghan retreats down the hallway. Pictures of her and Hana line the walls of the living room. I smile to myself. My eyes catch a photo of her and Riley in graduation caps and gowns. This one must have been from their college graduation.

“Liam? What are you doing here?” Hana asks as she enters the room. She’s surprised to see me, but it passes quickly and the shock is replaced with a smile. She walks up and I wrap her up in a hug.

“Hey. Nice place you got here.”

We separate and she gestures me to sit down. “What’s going on? Is everything okay? No offense, but you’re the last person I expected to show up here.”

I nod. “Yeah, everything is fine. I was hoping I could get your help.”

She cocks an eyebrow. “Uh...sure. What for?”

I rub the back of my neck. “I heard what happened between you and Riley and I’m sorry that I had a hand in it.”

“It’s not your fault. Riley’s actions were her own. No matter what happened between you and her, it had nothing to do with me.”

“I understand that, but I feel partly responsible. I just want you to know that.”

She nods. “Don’t be. Now, what can I help you with?”

“I need you to help me get Riley back.”

I hear Meghan guffaw from the kitchen. An understandable reaction. Hana looks towards her and frowns, then looks back to me. “You know she and I haven’t spoken in almost a month, right?”

“I do, but I’m hoping to help you out too. I know you guys were super close and this distance has been hard on both of you. Even if I can’t win her back, I want to help you mend your friendship.”

Hana folds her hands in her lap and stares at the floor. We sit in silence for several minutes; I don’t say anything and allow her to gather her thoughts. She finally clears her throat and looks at me. “Okay. What do you need me to do?”

Ten minutes later, Hana, Meghan and I are in my car on our way to the Double Tappe. Hana sits in the front seat, tapping on her phone. Meghan speaks up from the backseat. “Are you sure you want to do this, Hana? She owes you an apology. You don’t owe her anything,” she states, placing a hand on her girlfriend’s shoulder.

Hana covers Meghan’s hand with her own and turns to me. “She’s my best friend. I’ve been kind of stubborn as well through all of this. She’s called me several times over the last month to apologize. I haven’t answered her calls, but the truth is, I miss her. It’s been hard not speaking to her every day. If she’s willing to make up, I am too.”

I smile back at her. Hana is too pure for this world and Riley is lucky to have a friend like her. We pull up outside the Double Tappe and I see Maxwell standing outside, talking on the phone. He looks up and notices us, and a smile spreads across his face. He holds his finger up then wraps up his call.

“Hey, ladies! What brings you here on this fine evening?” he says, wrapping Hana up in a bone-crushing hug. She giggles and tries to wiggle free from his grip. After swinging her around like a ragdoll, he sets her down and grabs Meghan. She squeals as he picks her up, then releases her. I wrap my arm around Hana’s shoulder and the four of us make our way into the Double Tappe.

Drake is the first to see us. He looks up from mixing a drink and waves in our direction. His actions cause the girl at the bar to turn around. There she is. My breath catches in my throat. She looks at me, then at Hana, and her beautiful blue eyes go wide. I watch her as she takes in her best friend. She and Hana stare at each other for several seconds. Meghan gives Hana’s hand a gentle squeeze in encouragement. I can only imagine how they’re both feeling right now. Hana takes a deep breath and makes her way over to Riley. The two talk for a few moments, before making their way to the back of the bar.

I notice the tool I saw in her apartment last week sitting at the bar and my blood boils. Welp, time to audible this plan. I make my way to where he’s sitting at the bar and shake Drake’s hand.

“What can I get you?” he asks me, looking at the tool out of the corner of his eye.

“Give me the Macallan Lalique Single Malt.”

The tool turns to me, eyes bulging out of his skull. “You serve that here?”

Drake smirks. “Only for special occasions.”

The tool looks at Drake, then back at me. “That stuff is like $520 a shot”

“$525,” I reply, reaching in my wallet and tossing a handful of $100 bills on the bar. Drake takes the money and deposits it into the cash register, then hands me my change. I stuff several bills into the tip jar. The tool looks down at his drink, then looks up at me. His shocked expression amuses me.

“Dare I ask how you can afford that?”

I chuckle as I raise the glass to my lips and take a sip. Drake cocks an eyebrow at him. “You have no idea who he is, do you?”

The tool looks over at me, trying to figure out if he knows me. “You look really familiar. Like, I’ve seen you before, but I can’t place it.”

I reach into my suit jacket and retrieve one of my business cards, tossing it on the bar. He picks it up, studying the print. After a few seconds, his eyes widen and he looks back up at me.

“Wait, you’re Liam Rhys? Holy shit, man! You’re the king of this city! I’m Josh. It’s nice to meet you,” he says, extending his hand. I give it a quick shake and force a tight smile, but I cringe internally. Why am I playing nice with Riley’s new piece? He’s just going to be disappointed when I steal his girl back. He starts telling me about his job. I think he says something about being a financial intern for one of my competitors. Note to self: buy them out and fire his ass. I pretend to have an interest in what he says. Drake gives me a confused look from behind the bar, wondering where I’m going with this.

After several excruciating minutes of listening to Josh drone on about gods knows what, I pat him on the shoulder and excuse myself. I notice Hana sitting in one of the booths, with Meghan hovering over the table. I make my way over to them.

“Where’s Riley?”

Meghan nods her head towards the bathrooms. Perfect. I wink at her and make my way down the dimly lit hall. I stand outside the women’s room and wait for her to come out. After what feels like hours, the door swings open.

“Liam? What the hell?”

I stalk towards her and pin her against the back wall placing both hands on either side of her and caging her in. “You’re still with him?”

She glares at me. “Since last week, yeah. What business is it of yours?”

I lean in and inhale her scent. The mix of rose and jasmine makes me want to devour her right here. I run my nose along the base of her neck and she shudders. “You are my business, Riley. Have you slept with him yet?”

She shakes her head. “We’ve only been seeing each other for a couple of weeks.”

Oh, thank gods. “Then why was he shirtless in your apartment?”

She scoffs. “Don’t worry about that.”

“Have you thought about what I said?”

She looks up at me. “Did you figure out who framed me?”

“I did. Come home with me.”

“Liam…” she whispers as I plant soft kisses along her collarbone. She moans softly and grips the lapels of my jacket. My dick instantly hardens. Part of me is hoping the tool ...I’m sorry… Josh comes looking for her and finds us. I drag my lips up her throat and pull her bottom lip between my teeth. She inhales sharply, then pushes me away. “Tell me. Who was it?”

What were we talking about? Oh, yeah. The tabloid leak. “Who do you think it was?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know. I can’t think of anyone who would hate me enough to do that.”

“It was Madeleine. She found out about us so she had Mara sell it to the gossip mags.” I fill her in on everything Mara told me and Leo and my plans to get Madeleine to confess. Riley’s eyes glimmer with tears.

“W-Why would she do that?”

“Because she’s a hateful bitch. Why else would she try to make me miserable? This was never about you, babe. You were just collateral damage.”

She sniffles and wipes a lone tear away. “I don’t understand. Does she want you back?”

I laugh humorlessly. “No. She just wants the façade of the perfect marriage. She wants to have her cake and eat it too.”

Riley nods. “So, what are you going to do?”

“Well, as soon as I get everything I need from Leo, I’m taking her ass back to court and fighting for primary custody. I’m not letting her hurt my kids ever again. Or you.” I lean in and kiss her forehead.

She sighs. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Well, for starters, you could say, ‘I’m leaving Dickbag out there for you.’ Then, you could say, ‘Fuck me in the coat closet right now, Liam.’”

She giggles and slaps my chest. “I can’t do that to him. He deserves better.”

I capture her wrist and place a kiss on her palm. “Well, it’s going to be hard to continue dating him when you’re mine.”

She leans in and plants a chaste kiss on my lips. “Let me talk to him first. I owe him that much.”

I sigh and brush a lock of hair from her face. “Fine. But don’t take too long.” I leave her with one last kiss on the lips and stroll down the hallway back towards the bar. Josh is still there, talking Max and Drake’s ears off about something. I pass Hana’s table, where she and Meghan are snuggled inside the booth. “You guys need a ride home?”

Hana looks around then back to me. “No. I think we’re going to hang out for a little while.” Her eyes dart to the left and she rises from the booth, engulfing Riley in a hug. She looks back at me. “Thank you for everything, Liam.”

I give her a warm smile and wave goodbye to Drake and Maxwell as I make my way outside. I check my phone for an update from Leo. Nothing yet, but at least we’re heading in the right direction.

#something domestic #nanny au #trr au #liam rhys #riley brooks #choices fanfic #nazariolahela fanfic

39 notes · View notes

jacklyn-flynn · 4 years

Text

Sneak peek Sunday! Space Trash!

Sorry everyone! Yesterday was bonkers and I never got around to posting this. Here is the first ever sneak peek of my brand new project, Space Trash. It might be a little long for a WIP teaser (hence the cut), but it’s my favorite part of the first chapter I think. Hopefully you enjoy it! I’m so excited to finally be getting this out after months of obsessive planning. h

Special thanks to @sarenkascrawls, @kemvee, @ranawaytothedas, @cornfedcryptid, @faerieavalon and @kittimau for all your support and title help! For anyone else that I missed, I’m so sorry but I love you too! 💖

“How does everything look?” He asked her curiously.

“Like I worked on it all yesterday. There are no signs of neglect anywhere, let alone 60 years of it. There’s not a thing wrong with them. They’re just sleeping right now.” He was surprised at the drastic change in her confidence when she spoke of the ship. It was rather endearing, as if she spoke of a beloved pet.

The Commander nodded. “Well, that's something anyway.” He said with a slight smile.

“Did your friend depart already?” She asked, stuffing the tool into one of her jumpsuit pockets.

“Yes. She had to head down to the shuttle hanger with two others. We need to get up to the Temple and determine what happened.” He explained. “We were hoping you could help us, actually.” He broached carefully.

As if on cue, his comm chirped softly and she recognized Cassandra’s accent.

“To anybody available near the valley, we need reinforcements. Now! A rift has opened and we're under attack. Pinned down.” They could hear the sounds of battle in the background and the horrible screeching of demons.

“I need to go.” He said immediately.

“Wait. Do you have a vehicle?” He shook his head grimly. Walking, in retrospect, was a terrible idea. “How far is the valley?” She asked, walking to a large panel on the wall. It brightened at her approach and a map of the terrain around Haven appeared. He didn’t question how she got such up to date information, he just pointed to the location.

“You’ll never get there in time if you have to run back to Haven first. It’s in the opposite direction.” He was surprised to find her staring into his eyes. She’d hardly made eye contact the entire day. It was like she was trying to see something in his eyes, or perhaps his soul. Whatever she was looking for, she found. “Follow me.” She sprinted toward the engine room doors.

He found it difficult to keep up. Maker, she was quick. No wonder he and Cassandra hadn’t been able to catch up to her. She took a sharp right turn and he hesitated. “The garage is to the left!” He called after her.

She stopped and turned. “I know! Please, trust me!” Jules pleaded. She saw the hesitation in his eyes, but it was only momentary.

She led him to a large, heavy bulkhead. ARMORY was painted on it. She laid her hand on the glowing panel by the door but it made a dull thumping noise back at her, the panel dimming and then returning again.

She immediately took a few steps back down the hallway, bent and pulled a metal panel off the wall near the floor. She tossed it aside and stuck her hand inside. “Cover your ears.” She said, her voice flat and emotionless.

“Why?” He asked, though he raised his hands anyway.

“I’m going to make her think we’ve been boarded by hostiles. When her security protocols are in place I have access to more places.” She said pulling out a bundle of wires and quickly sifting them through her fingers. They were impossibly small and though there were dozens of colors and even patterns, many of them were repeated. There must have been hundreds in the wrist sized bundle. He noticed as she touched them, dim blue points of light glowed from the fingertips of her right hand.

She separated one, then after a moment of searching, two more. With a small tool from one of the pockets of her jumpsuit, she cut the two in half and cross connected them. Immediately, a klaxon blared through the hallway. She’d been right. It was incredibly loud. A red light flashed in intervals along the ceiling of the hallway. He covered his ears and watched as she ripped the other single wire out completely. It resisted at first but she wrapped it around one hand and gave it a vicious yank.

The alarm stopped but the red lights continued to strobe. She dropped the wire on the floor and sprinted back to the armory door and touched the panel. “Take what you need. Quickly!” She told him, standing aside as the door slid open with the occasional scrape of metal against metal.

He wasted no time selecting a pistol, strapping the holster around his waist and thigh. He snatched up a hydrogen blade and met her back at the door. Without word, she started sprinting toward the garage and he once again struggled to keep up. Luckily he was confident he could get back himself if she got too far ahead.

She shot through the door into the garage, grabbing the frame to swing herself around quickly. Her hand slapped on a panel and the ramp started to descend. “Take vehicle two!” She made it to the vehicle far before he did and released the cables securing it to the deck. They wound back into the floor.

He looked inside. “I don't know how to drive this.” The Commander's words made her heart sink. She stared at him, frozen. She would have to leave the ship, she realized. Then, once again, her steely determination took over.

“Fine.” She said simply, climbing behind the wheel.

He knew he was wrong to let her do this. She didn’t know him, any of them, beyond her experience in the Chantry cell. He had seen her fear, her utter terror. Worse, he knew that horror and still he got in the other side and pulled the door closed.

The vehicle seemed to respond to her thoughts alone. The engine rumbled to life and then purred contentedly while displays lit up in the cabin. Jules was pulling two straps over her shoulders, buckling them into the strap she’d secured over her lap.

“Buckle.” She reminded absently. He did so as well.

“We need to head south of Haven. There's a route through the forest.” He told her, securing his own belts. She slammed the vehicle into gear and jerked forward, shooting out of the Herald and onto the snowy terrain.

She took a sharp turn away from the town of Haven and found the path he was indicating. Cullen wished that he had something to hold onto. She seemed to be a competent driver, but the breakneck speed had him concerned.

He questioned, perhaps belatedly, how she had learned to drive so well never leaving the Herald . He glanced over but her face was determined, both hands on the wheel of the vehicle. She wasn’t paying any attention to him, her entire focus on moving forward.

The road ran along a ridge overlooking the valley. “That must be it.” Cullen said. “Outside your window.” She chanced a look and saw green crackling mass in air above the valley. It was nearly at eye level. Crystalline formations jutting out, exploding and returning into itself.

She could see the fight down below against creatures she couldn't imagine in her worst nightmares. They still had to make it to the far side of the valley and down the water-worn slope. A shift of her foot and hand pushed the vehicle even faster.

“The turn is just ahead.” Cullen said. He waited a moment and then glanced over at her. “You need to slow down, there’s a turn up ahead.” He warned, trying to hide his alarm.

Still, she didn’t respond. Not even a look in his direction. Her hand moved between them, grabbing a horizontal lever. He didn’t know what it did, but he knew he was going to wish he had something to hold onto.

“Maker’s breath.” He let out, reaching behind him to grab the headrest of his seat, his other arm bracing against the dash in front of him.

When he was sure they were going to die, she spun the wheel and a mere moment later, lifted the lever. He was thrown against the side of the vehicle and for a time, it seemed like they were going lift off the ground on the driver’s side and slam into the wall.

Cullen had always believed that if you couldn’t trust someone completely, you couldn’t trust them at all. The only thing that he trusted in that moment was that his death would be instantaneous if that happened. But if she made this turn, he would absolutely trust her with his life for however long that would be.

She slammed the lever back down and cut the wheel. Amazingly, the vehicle straightened out and regained it’s momentum. They tore down the deep embankment and she belatedly realized that the valley floor was a frozen lake when the back end started to slide to the right. She hit a button on the dash in front of her and the vehicle corrected itself with a jerk. He could hear ice crunching and grinding under the wheels now.

She slowed when she saw a bald elf with a staff. Energy just seemed to erupt from both his hand and his weapon. As they drew closer, she saw the dark-haired woman again, hydrogen blade cutting at a hunched demon that lumbered toward her, sending a screech through the air that she could hear in the cabin, even from that distance.

The vehicle skittered to a stop, throwing up ice. Cullen threw open the door and was gone. Jules gripped the steering wheel and focused on not hyperventilating. She didn’t plan on getting out of the vehicle. She just wanted him to be able to help his friends. She could feel her hands shaking so she gripped the steering wheel tighter, until her knuckles turned white.

Jules peeler her eyes from the dash and looked at the chaos in front of her. The dark haired woman she remembered as the Seeker, was facing away from her, engaging one demon. She glanced over and saw another approaching from behind. It’s odd, gangly gait made her shiver with disgust. She managed to release her iron grip on the wheel and laid on the horn.

The sound echoed through the frozen valley, but the woman wasn’t able to disengage from her current enemy. The demon drew closer and closer, the entirety of its focus on the woman. Unaware, or perhaps uncaring that the opposite door was still open, she released the clutch and slammed down the accelerator. The tire studs had a hard time finding their grip, but when they did she shot forward.

She managed to gain a considerable amount of speed and momentum in a very short distance. The Seeker dispatched her enemy and spun. She didn’t see the demon that was nearly upon her, she only saw Jules hurtling toward her. There was no time to move or react, but she didn’t have to. She wasn’t the vehicles target.

She slammed into the demon and heard it roll over the roof of the vehicle. It landed in a heap near the stunned Seeker, screeching and scrambling to stand. She finished it quickly and sprinted to the still open passenger side door.

Jules gaze was straight ahead and when the Seeker spoke, her head turned, startled. “Thank you.” The Seeker said with an appreciative nod. Her voice was grave and apologetic. There was weight behind her words and Jules was sure she meant it. She nodded in response and swallowed hard.

#cullen can't drive stick #space trash #sneak peek #Jules Trevelyan #cassandra pentaghast #solas #demons are the devil #sneaky bastards #i just hope this isn't actual trash #my new baby #what am i getting myself into

16 notes · View notes

efrmellifer · 4 years

Text

Anniversaire

Etien hadn’t been praying to Llymlaen much lately—how could she, in the land of Halone or across the rift in a land where the only divinities of any concern, it seemed, were Hydaelyn and Zodiark?—but today, she did.

Sinking to her knees at the window, she began to mouth her words as the dawning light fell into her eyes.

“O Navigator, in this thy month, I come to offer my thanks. You’ve led me so far in safety, your winds ever gentle at my back to spur me on, and your steering true. I thank thee, O Llymlaen. But also do I thank you today for the greatest gift given to me, on this his nameday.” Etien laughed a little, turning to look at him. “Right in the middle of your month, came a gift for me instead of you.” She finished her daily prayers for protection and the like, and then rose.

She got back into bed for a brief moment only, lying on her side just to steal another look at Aymeric.

He looked so peaceful when he was asleep. In the land of dreams, he had no reason to worry about the temple knights, about the Houses of Lords and Commons, about matters of the household. Not even about her.

Etien worried sometimes that while she dashed off to do anything asked of her in Eorzea or on the First, he was here fretting about her.

It wasn’t that she was ungrateful—the idea of him caring enough to even think of her in passing warmed her heart. But there were so many other things he had to worry about that she felt guilty if it was even possible that she had distracted him from those.

She didn’t like the guilt. It invaded a lot of her thoughts in moments like these. She tried to let him rest, because he deserved to rest and have a moment of relief and respite for himself, and she felt as though she were robbing Ishgard of… something. Was it selfish to want him to spend more time with her? She knew he needed to do his job—his jobs, plural—but they had been married perhaps a few complete moons and she had been gone for most of them. She ran home for Starlight, and Valentione’s, and a few times since then, ricocheting back and forth to lap up spare moments at his side to keep herself sane and focused when she went back to the First, but… she felt like a bad wife. Was it too much to want to be a better one when she could? If they never saw each other, she couldn’t be a good wife.

It didn’t matter now, she figured. She was just going to be the best thing she could be for him, and make sure he knew she loved him.

She laid a hand on Aymeric’s cheek, wincing at the feel of how warm it was, because it meant her hand was cold, and then kissed his forehead, followed by sliding from bed to get his breakfast together.

With Etien gone, Aymeric found it easier to wake, though less pleasant, and easier still to get out of bed. After all, she wasn’t there with her warmth and beckoning arms, telling him to stay in bed, stay with her, stay where nothing could break through the bliss of holding her and being held.

He wanted to stay under the covers anyway, considering the day and all, but with no excuse...

Still, the kettle was going off, so someone had to take care of it. But the sound cut off before he’d gotten even to the door.

At least Etien was still in the house, then—none of the staff would have put water on where he could hear it, at least not without asking. So he dressed, sighing into the cool air as he removed the warm pajamas and slid himself into the day’s clothing, knowing it would warm up eventually.

But it wasn’t yet. A small indignity.

He made his way to the kitchen still rubbing his eyes, and smiled when he found Etien.

“Don’t make yourself tea,” she told him, tucking herself into his side and curling her arms tight around him. “I handled it already.”

He patted her head, then smoothed her hair. “You’re not even dressed. Did you come right out of bed to do that?”

She shrugged. “I guess you could say that.”

“Well, then it must be getting cold. Where is it?” he asked, tone merely curious.

“It’s in the dining room with your breakfast.”

“You know, you do spoil me,” Aymeric said, still running his fingers through her hair.

“You’re worth spoiling.” She let him go and began to lead him from the kitchen, padding along before she turned. “Oh, before I forget to say it… Happy nameday, darling.”

He kissed Etien briefly, before passing her to go through the doorway. “Thank you. It has been made all the happier by having you here to celebrate with me.”

She stifled a squeal and hurried up to follow him into the dining room.

“Oh,” he murmured, seeing the plate of fruit and what he could only assume was an apple turnover. “It really is a special occasion, then.”

Behind him, Etien giggled. “Of course it is.”

Aymeric sat, nibbling at the pastry and sipping his tea, almost embarrassed.

Etien sat down, too, leaning on the table to get closer to him. “Something the matter?”

“It’s silly.”

“I love silly,” she cooed, leaning in a little more.

Aymeric laughed at the position she was in, then sighed. “This feels like more than I did for you.”

“Which is fine,” she assured him. “I never really got a whole lot of fanfare. I just wanted you to have a nice morning before you got going. I have a few plans for tonight, too.”

He shook his head gently. “We’re all so lucky to have you,” he said, scooping up what was left of the turnover and downing the end of his tea. “I have to leave now, but I look forward to whatever it is you have planned for tonight. See you then?”

“Absolutely,” she replied, standing up and giving him another kiss. “Try to have a good day.”

“For you, I can try,” he said before heading out.

When Aymeric arrived at the Congregation, it was to find Lucia waiting in his office.

“Is aught amiss?” He asked her, hardly putting anything down. “Are we needed on the front again? I had thought the knights we had holding the lines with the rest of the Alliance should have been sufficient.”

“Nothing like that,” Lucia assured him, almost laughing. “The thing is, we all happen to be aware what today is, and thought you might like to spend it… not at your desk?”

Aymeric blinked as he thought about where exactly they (and who “they” were) wanted him to be, until he said, almost too slowly, “So, you want me to go…?”

“Home,” Lucia said with a shrug, as though it were obvious. “Spend it with Etien.”

“What about my other responsibilities?”

“We’ve taken care of it, my lord,” she laid with a laugh. “Do you not want to go home?”

“I don’t know what I would do with an entire day,” he said softly.

“I’m sure she has ideas. Or sleep it all away. Why have a plan? Simply see where the day takes you.”

Slowly, Aymeric nodded. “All right. Then, until tomorrow.”

“Until tomorrow. Happy nameday, Aymeric.”

He laughed, just a little dryly in embarrassment, as he headed back out into the cool air.

Aymeric came home to find Etien poring over a recipe book.

“And what are you perusing a book of recipes for?” he asked, leaning in just close enough that her ears would hit the top of his head if she flicked them.

She jumped back almost a full fulm, gasping. “What are you doing here? Gods, you’re not sick, are you? Oh, darling, what a day to be sick.”

“I am not. Lucia sent me home to enjoy today with you, instead of trapped behind a desk.” He leaned in and kissed her briefly. “And I saw no reason to argue with that.”

“Oh, don’t lie,” Etien warbled. “You almost certainly hemmed and hawed about the front line and other things you’d have to handle.”

Aymeric sighed. “You really do know me too well.”

“I only pay attention. Because I love you. I want to know everything about you.”

He flushed, but only said, “well, I want to know what recipe you’re looking for, so I can help you find it.”

“A cake,” she mumbled, ears flattening, almost in embarrassment.

“A what, dearest?”

“A cake. I was going to bake you a cake.”

Gently, Aymeric took the book from Etien’s hands, and flipped through about half its pages. “Are you willing to make this?” he asked, pointing to a recipe on the right-hand side. “It’s… one of my favorites, but I know you’re not as fond of lemon…”

Etien took the book, chewing her lip as she browsed the list of ingredients. “Can I get all this in the Crozier?”

“You might have to go somewhere else for the cream, or the lemons. It can be hard to tell when they get those in stock.”

“I’m using Mun-tuy, so I can have some too,” Etien replied, heading down the hall and sliding her feet into boots. “Because anything for you,” she added, pulling him down to her level for a kiss before throwing on a coat and heading out the door.

When she came back, a little later than she had anticipated, she went right back to the kitchen, zesting the lemon, sifting flour, and getting down to the task of following the cake recipe.

She didn’t even notice that Aymeric wasn’t in any of the rooms she’d passed on her way through the house. To be fair, she hadn’t been looking, focused almost entirely on the series of steps she had waiting for her—measuring, mixing, pouring, baking.

It went off more or less without a hitch, Etien sliding the pan into the oven and setting a timer before she let herself wander the home in a search for the man of the hour.

Well, at least she found out why she couldn’t find Aymeric by listening for him.

There he lay on their bed, only half-stripped and fast asleep.

He really must have been tired, then. Etien certainly wasn’t going to stop him from indulging in a little laziness; she wouldn’t dream of waking him.

But…

She had to wait for the cake to be ready before she could do anything with it, and the drizzle over the top didn’t require the cake itself to be warm, so she’d decided, just now, that she’d wait for the cake to finish baking, take it out, and then join Aymeric.

Plus, someone had to get him out of the rest of his clothes.

She perused the recipe book a little more, making note of the more stained and well-loved pages as she flipped through. She wondered, were these Aymeric’s favorites or his mother’s? Someone else’s?

When the timer went off, she snapped from her research and reverie, pulling the pan out and setting it down to cool.

Satisfied with the fruits of her labor so far, she took off her apron and headed for the bedroom.

Etien was careful as she removed some of the remaining articles of Aymeric’s clothing, in an attempt to keep them nice and possibly make him a bit more comfortable. When she’d gotten everything—both what he’d shed before lying down and the pieces she’d taken off him—folded and placed to the side, she kicked off her slippers and settled onto the bed next to him.

Yes, it was the second time today that she was lying here, observing him in his sleep, but he was so wonderful to look at. Moreover, she had to wring everything she could out of this moment; how often were they allowed to be nothing but a young couple, madly in love and still new to married life? How many more chances would they get in the near future?

So she lay there, her other thoughts of tasks still to be completed and things she could have done instead of this smoothed over and drowned in the love welling up when she looked at him.

She would have reached out to touch him, but didn’t want to wake him, so instead she traced his features with her eyes.

Eventually, Etien closed her eyes, settling into a drowsiness of her own. It was understandable, when she had woken earlier than she intended this morning, and now she was so soothed by the sound of Aymeric breathing next to her.

Before long, she was asleep.

Aymeric woke to late afternoon sunshine and the scent of lemon cake. Etien really had meant it when she said anything for him.

Speaking of, he smelled lavender soap even more strongly than the lemon, and turned on his side to see Etien loosely curled beside him, seemingly having joined him in a nap.

He played with a loose curl of her hair, waiting to see if she would wake up, and then, he made the decision to do something he had long wanted to.

He thought back to that book of faerie tales she had been reading when she recovered from her injuries, such a long time ago, just after the end of the war, and how he’d seen the illustration of the prince waking the princess with true love’s kiss.

He’d wanted to do that with Etien ever since that day. He did a more subtle version most mornings he had to wake her, instead of the other way around, but now was his chance. Aymeric sat up, just enough that he could lean down rather than across, then shut his eyes, pressing his lips to Etien’s.

It took a second, and he backed up, giving Etien room to breathe, but her eyes did flutter open, a smile coming to her face as soon as she was fully conscious.

“And why am I being spoiled on a day about you?” she asked, grin growing slightly mischievous.

She slid from the bed and went back to the kitchen, starting to work on the drizzle for the cake, and Aymeric followed, staying out of her way but watching her as she went about her task.

“I’ve added a little something to this, I hope you don’t mind,” Etien murmured without looking up.

“I trust your judgment and your knowledge of my palate,” Aymeric replied, folding his hands. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You shouldn’t have to, but if you’re really itching to do something, you could get the cake out of the pan.”

He nodded, taking a knife and sliding it between the cake and the pan, coaxing it out and into his hand. “It smells divine, excellent work,” he praised Etien, taking a step to the side and kissing her cheek.

She smiled, turning with the drizzle and pouring it over the surface, the both of them watching it spread over the top and drip down the sides.

“Thank you. So I was thinking something somewhat simple for dinner. What would you like—salmon? Pipira? I think we have cod…”

“Well, you like salmon,” Aymeric replied, “so why not that?”

Etien laughed lightly. “I only buy fish I’d eat, darling. We can have whichever of those you want.”

“I truly do want salmon,” he told her.

“Then salmon it shall be.” She smiled, gathering more cookware and retrieving the fish from the icebox.

He watched her cook, still feeling like he ought to be helping, but not wanting to distract her (and knowing that she would tell him not to help her, especially on today of all days).

So he just observed.

Everything was plated, and Etien was carrying the plates to the dining room, in what felt like no time at all.

Aymeric grabbed goblets and a bottle of wine and followed her.

They settled into their seats and Aymeric started pouring his own drink first, only so he could ask Etien, “Will you be having some tonight?”

She shrugged, a good-natured smile coming to her lips. “Why not? It is a special occasion, after all.”

So he poured her a drink, too, hers markedly less full than his own.

“Here’s to you, darling,” she said once she had it, lifting it just a little, “that all good things be yours this year and forever.”

“With you at my side, I already have all good things.” Aymeric lifted his drink as well.

Etien giggled, then leaned in to tap her goblet against his, sipping as daintily as she could. “Anyroad, eat up before it gets cold,” she encouraged him. “I want you to enjoy it, after all. And cold fish is no good.”

“Oh it wouldn’t be so bad,” he mumbled around a mouthful.

They ate in a comfortable silence; there was little to talk about when they’d been together most of the day and asleep for a good portion of that time. Etien talked a little about how crowded the markets had been, both in Ishgard and in Gridania (where she’d gone for the Mun-tuy and the lemon), but there wasn’t much more to say about the matter.

So when their mouths were free, they descended into light chatter—things they’d heard around town, what little Etien might have heard from the Scions, things edging on gossip (even they indulged just a little).

After some time, Etien brought out the cake, cutting Aymeric a generous slice, and then one for herself.

Even with Etien’s recipe changes, it was delectable, and she was made quite aware of the fact.

When they’d finished, Aymeric pushed back from the table, extending a hand to Etien to lead her from her chair as well.

“Where are you taking me?” She asked, settling her hand in his and following his gentle shepherding to the sitting room.

“We never dance,” he replied. “Or at least, it feels like we never do.”

“Oh. Yes, I think so, too.” She settled against him, feeling his arm wrap around her back as their hands slid together. They had their moments where they could stand the ‘correct’ way, spines straight, angled limbs sharp, and form proper, but when it was just the two of them? It was nicer to sway like two tangled trees in a stiff wind.

They went back to chatting about everything and nothing like that, Aymeric talking about the evergreens cracking when the temperature had dipped especially low one night during the time Etien had been gone.

“I may have joked that half the pines surrounding Ishgard are simply me pining over you, but the trees truly were like my heart that night. Breaking, they were so frozen. I was bundled under possibly three blankets—the one you knitted for me closest to my body, of course—but I still felt frigid without you. Though I think I might be glad you were not here that night. I had the opportunity to get used to this weather when it first beset this land. You, however, have scarce had a chance to get used to it, having grown up in more temperate regions and being run off your feet to warmer climes on this world and the next.”

Etien laughed softly. “It is cold here. But you keep me warm. Followers of Llymlaen have a part of the wedding vows like that, it goes something like ‘no cold shall reach you, for now you are each other’s warmth.’ I always thought it was pretty.”

“It is lovely. But I know the cold reaches you, Etien. At least your skin. You shiver sometimes, when we go on walks. If I can ever get you to hold still long enough, I should have you measured and start having more clothes made for you. Thicker dresses, more flannel petticoats.”

“But I never wear petticoats!”

“Maybe you could pick up the habit. For me, dearest? I feel terrible seeing you shiver. And I know, I doubt Ishgard is the idyll you imagined yourself settling down in, but—”

“Aymeric, don’t be silly. Anywhere with you is more than good enough for me.” She sighed a little. “I should wear petticoats. I would be warmer, and then Estinien couldn’t tease me.”

“He teases you?”

“Well, it was once or twice. Not exactly torturous, but—”

“Did he say something about the lack of garters, too?”

Now she huffed. “Yes.”

Aymeric chuckled. “I had no hand in that; I think it was a rumor that got out of hand… and turned out to be true.”

“Oh? That’s not one of the things you told him?”

“There are quite a few things I kept secret, you know.” He slid his hand from her back so he could take both her hands. “Some things that are just between us. And I like them that way.” He ran his thumb over her knuckles, then inspected her wedding ring. “Do you not normally wear this on a chain?”

Etien shrugged. “Usually, but I’ve been home for a while, so I figured it would be safe to have it on the regular way.”

Aymeric looked at it a little more, the rich blue of the sapphire against the well-kept silver and Etien’s pale skin. “It really does look good on you. It must just suit every Borel woman who wears it. When—if, I suppose—we have a daughter, do you think it will look good on her?”

“I’m sure it will look even better on her,” Etien assured him. “But tonight we don’t need to worry about the uncertain future.” She blinked up at him, a slow squint packed with affection. Knowing what she was about to ask for, Aymeric leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.

After a moment, he guided the two of them to the loveseat, sitting so that Etien was perched in his lap. She took it as an invitation to more (and truly, he had been inviting her to do more, now that the height difference was mostly negated), lips finding their way off his and trailing down his neck, toward his collar.

Her hand was rising up his chest to join her lips at their destination, so she could pull aside his collar and lavish attention there, leaving behind light pink marks that would be gone by the morning, but for now showed her fervor and her claim on him.

He pulled her closer, grabbing her other hand and lacing his fingers with hers, until she squeezed and then let go, to cup his cheek between her hands and kiss him full on the mouth again.

“Have I told you today that I love you?” she asked, voice soft and slightly breathless.

“Not with your words,” he responded immediately, “but I’ve been made very much aware.”

“I love you, Aymeric,” she said anyway, kissing down the column of his throat.

He nearly blushed as her lips pressed just above the dip in his collarbone, where she could feel his heart pounding under her lips, under her attentions. “A-and I you, Etien.”

She sat back, her weight nearer his knees, and gave him a grin with glittering eyeteeth. “Thank the gods,” she breathed. She came close again, peppering kisses along his skin, anywhere she could reach and felt like, until she got to right below his ear. She paused.

Before she could render him speechless, Aymeric quipped, “I see the celebrating hasn’t ended.”

“Oh, not even close,” she purred, closing her lips around the cartilage of his ear and giggling at his quiet gasp.

Happy nameday, indeed.

#Aytien #fic #I'm not going to tag the slight suggestiveness because it's SO slight #also the two occasions: his nameday of course and that it was around the 15th that I started seriously looking into playing FFXIV #I wasn't ready to commit monetarily or timewise at that point (it was May 12 that I told my friend I was planning to do it soon)#...but I did start looking through his tag #cut added!

4 notes · View notes