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babydarkstar · 3 years

Text

cacoethes

part two: bring your sweet loving

rating: E (18+ ONLY) || pairing: ezra x f!reader || word count: 10.5k

chapter summary: as the night winds down and tensions simmer, we learn more about you, pieces of your past, and your relationship with ezra.

warnings: ezra’s gigantic mouth that won’t shut up (suggestive language) and two criminals not knowing how to act; caretaking, i guess? reader cleans ezra but it’s nothing erotic; SMUT; handjob and graphic depictions of a glorious dick; dirty talk; dubcon maybe bc painkillers but he’s enthusiastic abt it; praise kink; switches having a great time; ezra’s subby in this but i promise he’s a dom too just not tonight; mentions of death, killing, tattoos, scars; mention of past drug use, bad coping mechanisms; mm i hc that ezra is a tiny tattoo guy so there’s that; fluff bc im sweet; author is a southern peach, forgive her if it gets a little slow and twangy up in here

a/n: un-beta’d bc mistakes are sexy. i’ll go back later and fix whatever i find but for now. enjoy. i’m literally just making shit up about this universe as we go but it’s working out for the best so bear with me. lmk if u want me to add u to be tagged here. tagging: @pedros-mustache @jk7789

crossposted to ao3 :) || playlist || one || two || three

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“Here, Cee,” you said, adjusting the threadbare blanket over your cot and splaying a hand over it while she eyed you from across the tent, still standing amongst the carnage of a violent field surgery, “I’ll sleep on the floor tonight.”

The poor girl was scared. Well—not scared, not anymore.

Vengeful, for certain, though it seemed to dwindle with every minute she watched you interact.

Definitely wary of the two of you.

Which was appropriate, given that Ezra had killed her father and left her alone on an uninhabitable moon, only to be scooped up by his partner and deceived into thinking she was safe, and then forced to perform impromptu surgery to hack off an arm. But she appeared more wary to accept help from you than wary of you.

And honestly, if Ezra hadn’t just lost a limb and you didn’t want to hover beside him after not seeing him for a month to make sure he didn’t slip the veil in his sleep or disappear beneath your fingertips—and if you weren’t trying to earn her trust, you’d have made her take the floor.

But things were different now, they might always be. She had saved his life. You owed her your cot to sleep on.

“Wait,” Ezra said, swallowing thickly as he blinked, seeming to just process the words you had spoken, “You think so little of me that I’d let you sleep on the dirt after the day you’ve had? Now, I agree that our guest should find comfort in a cot of her own, but I will not deny you the simple respite of sleep. That would prove me an unworthy companion.”

“Ezra,” you said, giving him a look of incredulity that seeped into your tone, “You can’t be serious.”

He eyed you and clenched his jaw, still stomaching the fact that he had one less limb to worry about, and a bunch more problems to deal with. It was a look that told you he was not arguing with you, you were going to sleep on the cot. He would not be coddled like a child just because he lost an arm.

Which was, in itself, ridiculous. You didn’t plan to coddle him—you weren’t the type, not really. But. He’d lost a fucking arm. But he was also still delirious from the anesthetic, so that didn’t help his desire to prove something to the universe.

“You’re taking the cot, I’m not having this conversation,” you said, wiping his sweaty brow with your sleeve, “Tap into the ruthless outlaw inside of you and take it without regret. You know I hardly sleep anyways, I’ll live without a bed for the night.”

“Then I must insist you share it with me, precious angel,” he sighed, and you could almost see the cogs in his head turning as his distant gaze darkened into something hungry, “I’ve longed to feel your body pressed against mine since I left with Number Two. The divinity of your skin.” He hummed, eyes fluttering shut, “More…more precious than the ore we risk our lives for. Sweeter than fruit. Fresher than a rainstorm.”

“Ez,” you warned, snapping a glare at him.

“Your body…so tender, warm,” he continued, entranced in his own fantasy, not even hearing you when you warned him yet again, “All soft and pliant beneath my touch. It has been far too long since we partook in a pleasure as indulgent as one another—before our partnership with Two, if I can recall. Grant me heaven tonight. I deserve the satisfaction of watching you drip honey for me—”

“Hey! None of that,” you snapped, cocking an eyebrow—and fighting the flutter in your chest and the heat tingling down your core, “There are young ears present, Shakespeare Erotica. Not to mention young eyes.”

You would do no such thing with him as long as this teenager remained in close quarters and under your care. He turned to look at Cee, as if he’d forgotten all about her for a moment. Or maybe it was that he didn’t care. Bastard.

“I’m okay as long as you guys don’t fuck in front of me,” Cee sighed, resigned to have dealt with too much in her past to be worried about flirting—no, verbal-fucking.

“We won’t be doing any of that,” you assured her, giving Ezra another pointed look before slinging his arm around your shoulders and helping him to the cot. He grumbled incoherently, moaning and groaning the few steps it took to ease him down into the squeaky frame.

When you finally got him down—forced him to lay down—he let out another soft whimper of pain, followed by your name. “Don’t go.”

Brushing the hair off his sweaty forehead, you bent down to press a kiss there, “M’right here, Ez. Rest. I’m gonna clean you up, okay?”

It was the least you could do—and that way you could take inventory of every inch of him to ensure he didn’t have any other wounds hiding and festering and threatening his life. Just as this wouldn’t be your first time tending to him while he laid incapacitated, he’d done the same for you plenty of times. There was very little, if anything at all, the two of you hadn’t seen of each other. Vulnerability had another name here: normalcy.

“After—” he rasped up at you, coughing and then righting himself, “After we find our way off this Kevva-damned moon—which we will—I understand if you no longer deem me…worthy of your affections. It’s the only explanation I can find for your denial of my offer to dote on you. I only pray you make good on your long-standing promise to drop me where I stand should I ever disappoint you, dear heart of mine.”

Okay, you didn’t know where all the insecurity and sentiment was coming from, especially hearing it from the mouth of your dear old confident mean-streak Ezra, but he couldn’t possibly be serious. It made you ache to think that he didn’t trust you to stay with him, that he viewed himself as lesser because he lost his arm. Well, he was lesser, but only by mass.

Also, really? The only explanation he could find for you not wanting to sleep with him was that you hated him and didn’t want him because of his injury? He couldn’t think of any more glaringly obvious reasons, those of which had just been pointed out to him?

With a sigh, you brushed your thumb across the silvery scar on his cheek, “Rest now, chatterbox. I’ll be here when you wake up—and every morning after, for as long as I can. Only death could pry you from me, and me from you. You’ve got me, forever….I still see you as you are—a hundred percent you, a hundred percent mine.”

The words felt foreign on your lips, but he was bound to forget them the moment he fell asleep, so you didn’t feel as weird waxing poetic right back at him. The man had rubbed off on you in more ways than one. You normally didn’t speak to one another so frankly—at least, you didn’t, given the nature of what it meant to care out here and how you’d already unofficially established that you two were something more—but tonight you couldn’t fucking help it.

Ezra leaned into your touch, pawing at it with his hand, grabbing onto your fingers and kissing into your palm. A dull smile poked at his mouth and he let it engulf him. “Quite the charmer you are, siren.”

You didn’t respond, only half-smiled and wriggled—reluctantly—from his grasp to grab a few clean cloths and fill a bucket with water. After squirting the sanitizing solution in the water, you simmered the lights down to the lowest setting, to where your eyes had to adjust for a moment before you could make your way across the tent. His gaze bore into you—no, both Ezra and Cee watched every move you made; one in lazy admiration and the other in curiosity.

“Do you need me to put a drape over the post? I’m strippin’ him,” you asked Cee as you slung Ezra’s clean shirt from off the drying line onto your shoulder—you smiled at the floor, thanking yourself from hours ago for deciding not to burn it. You grabbed the bucket and tottered over to him, nodding at him to scoot. He obliged, giving you room to sit by his hip so you could ease his clothes off.

Cee shook her head when you looked to her for a response, opting to sit on your cot facing away from you with her nose in her book, so you shrugged and tugged the fabric off of Ezra in slow, deliberate motions, wincing every time he grunted.

As you took the time to clean off the grime and dirt and sweat of the Green, he told you about running into Cee and her father Damon; how he tried to take his entire harvest from the few cycles he’d spent with Two; about Two’s untimely, irrational outburst that cost them their life. About the Queen’s Lair and the mercs, and the plan to ravage and plunder and take it all for themselves. You thought the Queen’s Lair was a rumor. Not even a rumor—a myth, a legend, something fabricated by desperate fools with hazy minds of dust and their eyes set on fortune. But Ezra told you he’d seen part of it marked on Cee’s map, that her father was contracted to help extract the deposit. Cee even pulled her map out to point to the marked areas, albeit with clinical movements and short words.

So you made a plan to head out at first light, with the trip taking most of the daylight, and they’d be cutting it close but there was no way you’d let Ezra hike so many klicks in his state—not without a few hours’ rest first.

After you’d managed to clean his legs, his hips, his feet and get him into something more comfortable than compression pants, you moved to his torso and traced over each scar marring his skin, each jagged edge where something hadn’t healed right or wasn’t stitched properly. He’d lost some weight under the harsh conditions of the Green—you both had. But he still held onto muscle from the toil that came with survival on such harsh terrain; and he was naturally broad, he always would be, which made him sturdy.

Your fingers ghosted over a few microtattoos he’d gotten; one beneath his ribcage, one on his hipbone, and the one you’d given him yourself on his lower sternum. That one, as you brushed over it with a wet cloth, never failed to make you smile. A sad smile, but a smile nonetheless.

A tiny, unfilled heart, a mere outline, barely a centimeter in size. It was messy, simple, done in minutes. But it meant something, meant exactly what you’d never quite been able to voice.

My heart is yours. Take it.

You’d done it one night when the two of you had gone on a two spin bender, which happened more towards the end of your glory days, when the drugs came easy and heavy and the illusion of time slipped by like sand on the wind.

Any time someone hired your services as cleaners, it took a toll. They didn’t do it often because of that, but the payout was worth the work. No matter how many times you swore you would never do it again, you went back. Because it was hard to ignore the way it felt to flood a deserving someone’s mouth with the taste of their own blood, or to slip a knife in between their ribs and let it slide like butter and watch the light die. It was hard to ignore that you liked it, especially when it was so violent—one of the worst sins to commit, and you enjoyed it.

The act of killing had become cathartic for you. It made you feel more alive, reminded you that you had a beating, bloody heart, and a brain, and veins that pumped blood, and muscles that tore apart and rebuilt themselves stronger. Killing came easy when you didn’t know the target. It felt like a game.

Ezra didn’t enjoy it as much as you did—not to say he didn’t enjoy it at all, for he most certainly did. But he didn’t process it the same way you did. He saw killing as a means to survive and a means to get where he needed to go. He enjoyed turning it into a game, making fun out of whatever circumstance presented itself.

But that one—the last one—it had gone wrong. Messy, slow, noisy, choppy. There was only supposed to be one person in the house: typical target, a man who owed the wrong people a whole lot of money and refused to pay up.

One man.

One man was all you’d expected.

One man was all you’d been instructed would be in the condo.

He went down easy enough, quiet enough—Ezra snuffed him and stuffed him and you’d made to transfer his points into the right pockets.

And that was that.

They had tossed the bodybag over the high-rise balcony and into the pits of the bottomless highway next to the building, with a blinker-bomb inside just in case.

That was that.

Except it wasn’t, it was so fucking far from it.

Ezra, being himself, had wanted so bad to sneak in a quickie before heading back—an unholy, immoral ritual you two had initiated, to fuck where you killed—and who were you to protest? Who were you to say no to pretty words and soft eyes glittering with an untamed wild? To say no to the hands that already ripped at gear and pushed beneath underwear just to get a taste—you couldn’t, it was impossible.

Fresh off a high of adrenaline, pulsing with nervous energy—he was always so good, he always got you right where you needed and then that much further.

And Ezra—being himself—could not keep his fucking mouth shut. The stereotype about men holding in their moans, about them never whimpering or whining or groaning or grunting—yeah, that was a load of Bearkie-shit.

Maybe it held true for some men, but.

Not your Ezra. Not even a little bit.

He talked like heaven’s mouthpiece—or maybe the devil, given all the sinful things he’d whisper to you in the crux of any given night. He let loose whatever noise he deemed necessary to make.

They’d only just made it to the dried, bloody stain on the carpet (a bed on which to copulate), knocking over a floating hilolamp and pulling a chuckle from your paramour, when a shout rang through the apartment and shattered your moment into a thousand pieces.

It was only supposed to be one. One man.

Instead, you were met with another man who you’d later learn to be his brother, the target’s mother, and his pregnant wife.

The man held onto some type of curved sports bat, keeping it up threateningly as if warning you of something imposing. Ezra didn’t hesitate to shoot him in the head, not even bothering to get up from where he’d pressed his hips between your legs. But then you’d had to go and check the other rooms, effectively killing any mood the two of you had shared.

Because fuck, where the men had no fight in them, the women wouldn’t go down without a struggle. Or maybe it was that you pitied them, and it distracted you. They’d already peeked their heads out from behind the door of the master bedroom, worried and doe-eyed and determined.

Maybe if they hadn’t seen your faces—if they’d still been asleep while you swept for warm bodies after the first assailant—maybe they’d have gotten out with their lives. But who were you kidding? You killed without thought. You’d likely have put a pillow over their heads before aiming your thrower and firing twice for good measure, had you been sharp and not distracted by a tongue in your mouth.

Instead, Ezra had the audacity to try to bargain with them. Something about having a soft spot for mothers—his own having been a beacon in his life until she left him orphaned as a young boy. He made it a point not to kill women and children. It was one thing in which he remained unwavering. (He’d kill a grown woman if she gave him reason to, like he had on Exon-5, but that was another story for another time, and a different circumstance which called for such measures, namely that of protecting you.) But he should have known better, he should have known not to try something like that. He should’ve known that he’d have to let go of the final shred of morality he held onto.

So Ezra took down the old woman in a way you still have yet to ask about and don’t care to know; and you’d ended with the pregnant woman choking on her own blood when you twisted your knife into the dip of her throat—and you felt awful about it after watching her crumble beneath you, but she’d hit you upside the head with a thick textbook of outdated skimmer-craft modules and it made you see red among pinpricks of stars.

And that night, after all was said and done they’d spent a fortune on getting high—just to forget, just to be okay.

That night they’d locked themselves in a self-imposed prison of satin sheets and destructive tendencies. Two days buzzing with no food, little water, just him and you and needles and spoons and eyedroppers and blades and pills. Like you couldn’t breathe if he didn’t fill you with all of him, you wouldn’t be able to stand upright if he took his hands off you and stopped letting you flood your veins with a chemical glow. Heavy eyelids, messy sex, raw arms and red eyes.

It felt fucking awful, coping that way, but it felt too fucking good and it made you forget about the lives you’d taken in (somewhat) cold blood.

So after sprawling beside him on the gigantic plush bed with his hand ghosting over your spine, you’d found a part of yourself snagged at the corner of this wild-eyed man’s tar-black soul, and you had thought about what could have happened in an alternate universe.

A moment when he was the target, you were (somehow) the pregnant wife, and you watched him die before succumbing to the dark of your own soul escaping you. And it made you desperate to cling to him as he was in the moment, desperate to know that he was yours and you were his. It was then that you’d asked him if you could mark him. Claim him, to know that he wouldn’t leave you like that, and if he did, he’d have a piece of you everywhere. He’d go down with a piece of you.

Ezra had been delighted, of course, as he was always one for symbolism and deeper meaning even if he didn’t quite understand the rhetoric. And it wasn’t the first time you’d marked each other, just a different time with a different meaning. So he let you dip a sterile needle in ink and plunge it into the tender skin of his chest.

You had one too, a heart on your sternum. Nestled between your breasts, just close enough to your heart to feel like it mattered, like it meant that he felt the same. But you didn’t even let yourself go that far—you two were doped up and delirious and he enjoyed marking you in any way he could, so an opportunity to stick and poke his way further into your skin than he already had was an opportunity he could not pass up. At least, that was how you saw it. Nevertheless, it made you happy to see it there on his chest, and to have one that matched.

Ezra’s soft voice snapped you from the memory.

“What’s crossed your mind to make you so delicate in your touch, so solemn in your stare?”

You realized you had stopped your ministrations and had planted your palm on his chest, staring just over his shoulder and onto the canvas beside him. With a careful hand, you resumed gentle motion over his pecs, up his clavicle, his throat.

“Thinking about Beta-Mobilia,” you whispered, unable to meet his eye, “And after.”

“Mm,” he grunted in recognition, the vibration tickling your fingertips, “Regrettable night. Unavoidable, necessary. But I dwell in shame identical to yours.”

“I don’t deserve to be here after that. I didn’t deserve to live after the Exons, The Grime. Why am I still alive?”

“We’ve discussed this in great length by now, siren. Don’t doubt your existence. It’s beyond sense, beyond comprehension.”

You nodded, still unable to look at him. But then he latched onto your wrist, brushing his calloused thumb over the delicate skin there, and this time you couldn’t keep your gaze away from the soft smile that begged to form on his lips.

“And I appreciate your tender care, wildfire,” he hummed, eyes glittering up at you like two dark pools of amber, “Where would I be without it? Mmm…mhm. Dead, likely. Or bitter. Wicked with taciturn rage. No meaning could come from that.”

“You, bitter and unspeaking? Unthinkable, I’d sooner pronounce you dead,” you drawled, thankful for his kindness to grant distraction, and he granted you an eye-roll. But his expression softened when you sat him upright and maneuvered behind him, wiping down his back in gentle strokes. You folded the cloth over once the side turned brown with grime, and moved up to his neck, scrubbing over his shoulders and giving short strokes down his nape and behind his ears.

“So you planned to go ravage the Queen without me, huh?” you asked quietly, irked that he hadn’t even come to find you before setting out on that venture, “Planned to leave me to rot on the Green, take the money for yourself and steal away with the girl.”

Ezra sighed, and you could see from behind his shoulder how he worked his jaw, formulating what to say.

“Understand that I do nothing without you willingly. Birdie over there’s about as fleeting as a real one. But trust that I planned to come get you—I’d never leave you stranded. I just couldn’t introduce another person into the threadbare alliance I had forged until the time was right.”

“She likes me,” you countered, smiling over at Cee, who now laid with her back facing you as her ribs contracted with the first breaths of sleep. A sign of trust. You didn’t know when exactly you’d earned it, but you’d accept it nonetheless. She had also taken both of your throwers (something you protested and Ezra waved off), so maybe that helped.

“No doubt—there’s plenty to like about you.”

Ever the flatterer, even when delirious with pain.

With a coy smile, you scrubbed over his head and then his face, careful to avoid his snapping mouth that reached out ever so often to nip at your hand—there was that playfulness, the natural effervescence of his presence. When you decided your work was done, you eased him back down on the cot and he allowed it with no protest.

You fluffed his pillow and moved the book you’d stashed beside it. He turned his head and pressed his nose to the pillow, grunting in mild appreciation.

“Smells like you down here,” he remarked with a half-smile, eyes drooping, “You sleep on my cot while I was away?”

“I missed you,” you whispered, nodding, just now aware of how much his presence affected you. To think that you had resolved to try to move on without him—it seemed ridiculous now.

“I missed you,” he returned, “You haven’t the slightest idea how much I wanted you beside me. Number Two was a fond ally but not a companion. Nothing like the banter we exchange, nor the secrets we share.”

“They never talked. I imagine your time away was just as lonely as mine.”

“Absolutely. I regret agreeing to leave with Two. But you know we couldn’t have trusted them to stay at camp while we went off—not absolutely. Not when they’d never spoken a word,” he chuckled and then coughed, a quiet rumble you felt against your leg as it zigzagged through his chest.

Thank Kevva you had a plan to leave now. The spent filter had taken a toll on Ezra—and it wasn’t even his to begin with. He insisted on giving you his when the one your new suit came with was almost completely used up.

Fuck the man for caring about you; he’d gone soft during your time on the Green, and you hated how much you loved it. Hated it because he needed to focus on himself, needed to stop putting you before him. Hated it because every day it made you feel like somehow, he loved you back. That somehow, he thought of you as more than just a constant in his life, more than a body to fuck and a brain to pick.

You’d grown used to each other. But his unpredictability oozed into every aspect of himself, every nook and cranny of his life, and you were too worried about fucking up a good thing over a simple conversation. All it took was one sensitive topic breached and you’d surely find yourself shit out of luck. He was all you had left of the scraps of a fucked up life. Without him, you’d make do but not without a struggle and not without reluctance. Some part of you knew he’d be the same even if he initiated a split.

The thought had you hurrying to tug his shirt on before gathering the cloths and scurrying to place the bucket near the front of the tent.

And you shouldn’t have been so scared to be honest with him—the two of you rarely kept things to yourselves. But to love someone so fully within your heart, to never want to be away from them, to never grow tired of their presence no matter how tedious they may be or frustrating they could get, it scared you.

“A kiss for the wounded?” Ezra asked, brown eyes wide and mouth pouty enough to break you from your racing mind. You softened then, padding back over to him on tiptoe and settling back at his side for a brief moment.

With a gentle smile, you leaned down to grant him a kiss to his lips—the first one you’d shared with him in fuck knows how long. Too long, that was for sure, because when your lips notched with his chapped ones you melted, every worry and every qualm simply washed away in a swirl of pink pleasure.

You couldn’t help yourself—an indulgent, quiet moan pooled in your chest and slipped from your throat before you could stop it, and he hummed right back when his tongue pushed between your lips and you let him devour you. Always the ravager, ever a greedy bastard when it came to his pleasure, he licked up into your mouth and tangled his tongue with yours. It took very little for you to melt right into his chest, pressing your own against him and whimpering when he sneaked his hand up the hem of your shirt to rub circles over the skin of your back. You remained sloppy and almost lazy but intentional as you held either side of his nape and toyed with the strands of his still-damp hair, pouring yourself into this kiss like you’d never kiss him again.

Fuck. Fuck, you wanted him so bad. You missed this man with every vibrating inch of you. You missed his body, you missed his voice calling to you from the very depths of himself, you missed everything about him, and you needed him as close as possible. Closer than close, you needed him.

But fuck. You couldn’t. When you pulled back for air, it didn’t surprise you when he pressed his palm flat on your back to keep you from moving too far.

“Mm, baby—you’re divine. I ache for you,” he all but whimpered into your mouth, breath brutally hot and heavy as he fed you his soul, “Come sit down on me—come take what’s yours. I want to feel you strangle me, show me just how much you—”

“No, Ez,” you cut him off in a biting whisper, lips kiss-swollen, hating how, if there had been literally any other person in the tent beside you, you might’ve taken him up on the offer, “I want to, I promise you that. But she’s a kid and I have limits—one of those limits is fucking in the same room as one.” You glared at him with half a heart, then leaned down to run the tip of your nose along the curve of his ear, smiling when he shivered, “I swear, once we get out of here I’ll make it up to you so many times you’ll forget your own name. You get first choice—however you want me, I’m yours to take.”

“Fuck—alright, I apologize for my eagerness,” he smiled, tilting his head to kiss your forehead.

“But,” you whispered, your heart racing as you glanced over to be sure Cee had fallen asleep before inching up to look back into his eyes. Fuck it, he deserved it. “If you stay quiet, I’ll take care of you right now.”

His eyebrows raised in deft interest at your offer.

“Will you let me take care of you, Sailor?”

Ezra would never admit it, and you’d never tease him about it because it made you feel some kind of way—but he fucking adored when you used his callsign. You were his siren, after all. Only made sense for him to draw to you like a dying man at sea when you called for him. You used it rarely aside from in the field, opting for your preferred chatterbox—because he was more that than anything else—so it came as a treat when you decided to pull it from your bag of tricks.

“I can hardly refuse such a tempting offer.”

“Quiet, though,” you reminded him, tiptoeing your fingers across his chest and tugging the waistband of his pants and his underwear down. Just enough to spring his cock free, which was already hard and leaking for you.

Fuck, he was such a gorgeous sight, and you couldn’t help the urge to cup his balls and nudge them free too, to admire every glorious inch of him.

Spreading your fingers out over his groin through the coarse curls gone wild with mistreatment, you paid extra attention to the white patch of hair ghosting over the base of his cock and spreading out near his abdomen before stopping abruptly on the left and diverging back down into dark brown. You remember when you’d first noticed it and had all but squealed in delight.

Every bit of him was a pleasant surprise, just as you’d found yourself more than eager to let him ruin you for anybody else with the sheer size of him.

Nobody fucked you like they were dying and you were salvation; nobody but him. And shit, did he tear you open. As if he’d carved a space inside of you just for him, each time he’d leave you with a hollow ache that only he could sate.

“Baby,” you purred in a whisper, kissing his hipbone and then leaning up to wrap your hand around the girth of him, rubbing your thumb over the weeping red of the head, “You’re so pretty for me like this.” Forever a glutton for compliments, he whimpered his soft appreciation and you hushed him accordingly. He was so thick, so big that you struggled to touch the tip of your middle finger to your thumb, so long that if you had planned to swallow him down tonight, you would’ve been needing your hand to help. But tonight you could not risk the absolutely filthy noise of you gagging on him; he’d likely cum faster and in less time to worry about waking up a certain tentmate, but you wanted to watch every muscle in his face twitch, wanted to see him take his pleasure unobstructed by your tears. This way was quieter.

So with that thought in mind, you shifted to straddle one of his thighs so you could watch him without tiring your hand in an awkward position. Then you let a string of spit drool down and over him and you gave him a twist and then more, sharp and sudden and fast in your movements as opposed to the slow, appreciative way you’d unsheathed him.

Ezra hissed out a curse, bucking up into your hand, “Shit, darlin’—“

Arching an eyebrow, you halted your work on him immediately. His pulse beat through the throbbing vein jutting out

“What did I tell you?” you snapped. With your free hand you reached up and wrapped your fingers around his neck, feeling the column of his throat contracting as he swallowed. Wide brown eyes looked up at you, a tinge of amusement in their stare.

“Are you gonna be good for me?” you asked in a low rasp, tightening your grip on his neck and giving him a little shake before going slack again, “I don’t wanna hear a single word come outta that pretty-boy mouth. If I do, I’m blue-balling you. Fair?”

Ezra nodded, his gorgeous fat mouth blessedly shut for once.

“Good boy,” you cooed, kissing him before forcing his jaw open and spitting in his mouth. It would’ve been cruel but you meant it so affectionately, and his gentle moan told you he was more than willing to accept it.

You felt his cock twitch beneath your fingers and you simpered, giving a little shimmy of your shoulders in appreciation.

Controlling this stubborn man, resorting him to silence made you feel powerful. It made you feel respected, worshipped; if the man who never shut up and always called the shots would gladly take the backseat and grant you the power to take charge, that meant more than you could wish for.

So you resumed pumping his cock, working him with both hands and then switching to hold onto his throat again before going back to two hands. The act still made quite some noise—filthy and wet and sloppy—but at this point you were less concerned about it than you had been prior. When you decided, despite his tip dripping precum, to spit down onto him again for the fun of it and twist him with a gentle tug, he couldn’t stop the whine that left him even with his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. It had you darting to clamp over his mouth, shooting daggers down at him as he stared up with a silent apology in his eyes, one you might have taken as genuine if not for the way the brown of his irises had disappeared into black, blown out with lust and glassy with pleasure.

“If you’re gonna cum, let me know so you can do it in my mouth. I just cleaned you up and I’m not doing it again.”

The last bit came out harsher than you meant but he took it all the same, biting back a grunt in the form of a sharp exhale as he twitched violently in your hand. Yeah, he didn’t really need to let you know when he was about to blow; you knew him too well. At that, you took it upon yourself to remove your hand from his mouth in favor of scooting to lean down and put your mouth over his angry, swollen tip, flinching at the way the frame creaked but ignoring it and opting to swirl your tongue over him instead.

“There it is,” you whispered with an arguably evil smile—quickly, before pulling him back into the heat of your mouth, resuming your work and grunting when he bucked up into your mouth, chasing the high you were drawing out of him.

Ezra came with a muffled, broken sob, his face buried in his arm as he bit down on his bicep, flexing and squeezing his fingers. A thick stream of his cum hit the roof of your mouth and you indulged him, taking him in further so you could swallow everything he gave you. Ropes and ropes and ropes of cum, like he hadn’t let himself get off in so long, like he’d been saving all of it for you. The thought made you whine around him, and you pulled off when he finished, flashing him your dripping tongue with his spend still on it and drawing it back in before any of it could spill.

“Holy fuck, baby,” he sighed, letting out a quiet, breathy laugh as he tugged on the front of your shirt to kiss you, tasting himself on your tongue.

This time when you pulled back and smiled, you granted him a toothy grin, goofy and knowing. It took you a minute not to giggle like a little kid as you carded your fingers through his hair. He grinned right back, still catching his breath. To you, he was gorgeous, inside and out, flaws and all. You wanted to fuck him right then. You wanted to make love to him, to let him fill you entirely and to sob into his mouth, showing him everything you couldn’t tell him.

“Get some sleep,” you settled on instead, slipping off the cot with little grace after replacing the waistband of his pants, “We head out early tomorrow.”

“Hey now, what about you?” Ezra asked, brows drawn together in concern that you wouldn’t find the same enjoyment he did.

“You’ll just owe me.” You winked then, and gave him one last kiss, which he hummed into with a great appreciative rumble.

Then you pressed your forehead into his, “Mine—you’re mine. Never leave me again or I’ll hunt you down and kill you myself. You’re everything.”

Because he was.

“Nothing without you.”

That was his response, always always always. To hear it again pricked tears in your eyes, so much so you squeezed them shut.

And once again, you caught yourself wanting to say it. This time it had ghosted in your throat, almost making it into the curve of your mouth for you to hold its shape and give voice to a thought. But you stopped it before it could get far. Those three words, the same ones that now haunted you since you’d decided to indulge in every reminiscence involving them. Somehow he had come back to you, a feat which could not be commended enough, but now you ached for him—yearned for him even stronger than if he had well and truly died.

As you settled down onto the floor beside him, those three torturous words surfaced into a memory. The one that, among other fears, made you ever so hesitant to admit just how much you loved him.

————————————

“—In that vein, I don’t find myself in particular need of a great, star-shattering love story. If love is all-encompassing, I can do without the obstacle. Romanticizing my life and its quarrels is satisfaction enough.”

You didn’t know why you were still listening. You just knew that if Ezra kept it up, you’d find a way out of this cell just to break into his and strangle him. Anything to get him to shut the hell up. Banging your head methodically against the wall that separated the two of you, you didn’t even try to hold back your groan of displeasure as he rambled on.

“Now, don’t doubt my skill in worship. I have plenty of practice in the art of copulation”—you could hear the shit-eating grin on his face—“To say I haven’t affixed my interests on one soul or another at some point in time would ordain me a liar. I simply prefer to remain lovers in action…and not in name nor feeling. Companionship…yes, it’s something we all yearn for. It can’t be helped. A warm body, a brain to pick. All wonderful facets to enjoy for the sake of one’s own baser desiderata. But—“

“Shut up,” you bit out through gritted teeth, tugging at the roots of your hair when he kept going and you had to repeat yourself, “Shut up, you goddamned chatterbox. I don’t give a fuck about your love life. Why are you even talking about this?”

A brief silence occupied the space, as if he was thoroughly perplexed by your outburst. Then he let out a huffed laugh, amused.

“You inquired about the specifics of my occupation, little thorn.”

Every time he used that nickname for you—the thorn in my side—it made you bristle. Especially when he used it almost affectionately, soothingly, full of calm and charm that had you balling your fists and pricking the skin of your palms with your fingernails. You despised him, and he treated your existence as a joke, or as a little pet he would grab from its cage and admire before tossing it back and neglecting it until he deemed its presence acceptable again. Everything was funny. Everything could be laughed at. Sometimes you didn’t mind when the guards came to beat him bloody; it made him shut up, whether from pain or because he had passed out.

“Prospecting has nothing to do with love,” you snapped, shoulders tense despite the ache in your body. If these fuckers holding you captive didn’t kill you, the stress of surviving next to this fucker surely would.

“No, it doesn’t,” he agreed, suddenly serious, “Love for others, at least. Love for the dig, love for the hunt and the adventure—that’s a different narrative altogether. Which is why I deemed it appropriate to explain such measures. The lifestyle I settled for is no small undertaking. It comes with sacrifice.”

His condescension was unintentional but still stabbed and poked at you like keepers at a circus.

————————————

It comes with sacrifice. That it did.

That long-ago night haunted you to this day.

But Ezra had his mind focused on softer dreams as he broke you from your self-destruction once more.

“Nights like these make me keen to hear you sing for me again,” he lilted out through the dark, a reminiscent simper pulling at his mouth and crinkling his eyes as he shifted to look down at you, “The melody of your voice haunts the halls of my midnight reveries. But it is such a sweet possession—as though I willed a ghost to enchant me with her gift. A siren indeed. Lure me into the sea of your deception, try to pull me under like the rest of them. But not me. No…not me—I float like driftwood in the breeze…follow the tides of your affection. Somehow I remain unscathed, and you lap at me in gentle waves.”

“Such powerful words from a man who should be asleep,” you chuckled quietly, pressing your lips to the back of his hand where you held onto it now, fingers laced.

“I am but a vendor of poetry. And you, a weaver of melody. Sing for me, siren,” he murmured, his voice thick with the drowsy pull of lassitude. He hadn’t asked that of you in so long you had almost forgotten what it felt like to hear it. Almost. And you would have agreed to it, but—

“No, the girl, she—“

“I don’t mind,” Cee interrupted, quiet and soft. It surprised you; you thought she had fallen asleep—you didn’t want to wake her with your singing. And then you were—

Shit. You sincerely hoped she had just woken up due to Ezra’s long-winded soliloquy about your singing, and hadn’t heard anything else beyond that. Mm, no. You think she would’ve said something about how fucking gross it was. Or pulled a thrower on you.

“As well you shouldn’t,” Ezra chuckled, turning his head to grin at the girl where she had turned to face him on the opposite cot, “She sings like Kevva strung her throat with gold. Or the very strings of a harp.”

You blushed and ducked your head into your shoulder, embarrassed by his flattery. Looked to him and found his honey-dark eyes drinking you in from above, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he flattened his palm over your chest and rubbed it affectionately. “What would you like to hear?” you asked, running a hand over your hair and shifting on the floor to calm your nerves.

It was just Ez.

…and a girl who harbored a teen angst bigger than ten moons; fuck if you wanted her to judge you.

“Whatever tickles your fancy,” he replied, his grin wider now that you’d agreed, “You know I’m not particular to any one hymn—I find myself enraptured by it all.”

“Okay.” You pondered for a moment before settling on one of your favorites.

Then you sang.

Quietly, nervously at first in an unpracticed rasp, then growing more steady and mellow and soft.

Some swirling folk melody from your childhood in your native tongue, one you’d never forget even if someday you lost your memory. A lullaby for village children; a lilting work song for the women to hum when laundering clothes at the stream, soothing the babies strapped to their backs or their chests or both.

It told the story of a curious young girl who loved the stillness of the ocean, found peace in its silky depths. She liked the silence so much that she would spend hours beneath the water, training to hold her breath and exploring the creatures of the reef and listening to the wavering silence.

Until one humming summer night she swam so deep the water turned black. She was scared she wouldn’t be able find her way back home but she reveled in the quiet—the quiet that not even the nighttime forest could provide, nor the village when the hunters and scavengers left for work. It was then that she saw a light shining from the deep, and decided to chase it.

Down, down, down.

And down. Until the light became so bright it surrounded her, seeped into her until she did not know where she began and it ended. No pain, no fear surrounded her. Just a sense of calm, and peace.

And she became the moon, the biggest one in the sky. The silence up there was incomparable.

The song was meant as a warning to the village children not to wander too far from the town and somehow find themselves in the cove breaching the outer mountain range. A warning to stay away, else you’d become one of the many moons in the sky, never to return to your family and the life you loved.

But you’d always found it more compelling than that, more meaningful, because the story originated from a similar legend of the moon goddess your village worshipped, the deity of the biggest satellite in your skies. The minor difference came in the detail that she chose to become the Great Moon after divine conversation instead of chasing a light down into the deep on a whim. And there was a ceremony held to initiate her transition into a celestial body.

When you’d wrapped up the lullaby you found yourself more at peace than you’d felt in a long time. You didn’t like to think about your planet, nor your village, nor the tragedies that occurred there. But this memory was a happy one, filled with sleepy eyes and chubby fingers grabbing onto mothers’ cloaks, and getting tucked into warm soft blankets by a fireplace.

“Sweet siren,” Ezra whispered in a drowsy slur, giving your hand a gentle squeeze as he turned to rest on his back, “Never fail to soothe me even when ’m in utmost anguish.”

And with that, he left you in silence, and you knew he wasn’t far from sleep.

By the time his breath evened out, you felt your eyes drooping.

Fuck, you were exhausted.

This spin had been arguably more eventful than any you’d had in a long while, and it didn’t occur to you that you could be tired when you’d hardly done much until the action rolled in.

The floor was actually not half bad, given that you laid on the tarp that absorbed heat but quickly cooled when you moved. The nights here got cold, surprisingly. But Ezra’s hand hanging down and resting across your chest felt so good. The weight of him, the heat of him, it grounded you. You circled patterns into his upturned palm until you became too sleepy for that, settling on threading your fingers with his and feeling his pulse beneath your fingertips.

How dare he think you’d care for him less with only one arm? If anything, it showed his perseverance, his will to move forward and make hard decisions. Only something a man with determination could do.

He felt so warm and sure—steady. He was safe now that he had come back. You felt the inky black of sleep begin to wash over you as organized thought became jumbled feeling.

You didn’t have to worry anymore, not about his whereabouts. Everything was alright. It was as good as it had been in quite a while.

Everything would be alright, you could just…

Just…

“I wish my parents had loved each other like that,” Cee murmured in the quiet dark of the tent, rendering you wide awake with a jolt, as if someone had plunged a shot of adrenaline into your chest.

“They separate?” you managed, knowing it came out strange but not wanting to confirm or deny anything about you and Ezra. The silence that greeted you implied that she had had no intention of you hearing it. But she spoke regardless.

“No,” she scoffed, then went quiet for a moment, “My mom died when I was little. And I can’t remember what they were like together. We were always working so there wasn’t a lot of time for love between them.”

Oh. An orphan. It softened you a little more for her, made you more sympathetic to the fact that Ezra had killed her last living parent. You were an orphan too. So was he.

“We’re all missing parts of our family in some way or another. People with worldly attachments don’t usually sign up for this level of intensity. Not the strays, anyhow.”

“But you have each other,” she insisted.

“By chance alone. We didn’t start off liking each other. And we’re not…married, or anything.”

The last bit came out strangled—you’d never…said something like that aloud.

You and Ezra, married? It was odd, to say the least. You never thought of yourself as one to desire marriage in any respect—ceremonial, legal, the like. It just didn’t sit well with you. Too many complications, a lot of governing body involvement that you didn’t care for.

And Ezra…he wasn’t too fond of it either. But not because he didn’t want it, that much he’d admitted to you one night after admitting the complications of his feelings on his love life, ones that somewhat contradicted the first time he told you about it all; he couldn’t have it, he’d never let himself believe even a fraction of him deserved it. The life of a floater—and sure, just as Cee’s parents had prospected and been married (you assumed) and had a kid, many others did the same. But then you supposed it ended with kids like Cee, and she was lucky to not lay dead next to her idiot father, or trapped and sold as a body in the Dark-Spawn Trades. Lucky Ezra wasn’t filthy and depraved, lucky you were once young and scared like her and so took it upon yourself to keep her in your sights for now.

“How’d you meet?”

A chuckle bubbled out of you as you sat up and ran your fingers through Ezra’s hair, watching his chest rise and fall in even strokes, thinking back on that night so long ago.

“Stealing supplies from the same drop company. Two feral dogs fighting over who deserved it more. We bickered and threatened so much we lost track of time and made a mess and a ruckus and got caught.” A smile threatened to break your features and you let it, for just a moment. It faded as you recalled your awful encounter, “Captured, tortured for information because they thought we worked for a rival mining company. They wanted the locations of dig-sites we didn’t have, mining techniques we didn’t know. When he brought up the Wastes earlier…that’s what he meant. Surprised we didn’t die, but they really thought we were valuable or something.”

You gave yourself a minute before continuing. In a panic, you rubbed circles over the tattoo on the web of Ezra’s hand between his thumb and forefinger, trying to ground yourself as wicked, blood-specked memories flooded your head.

Deep breath. You’re safe, he’s here. This will be good to get off your chest. You’ve never spelled it out to anyone before. Nobody’s ever asked. Maybe this girl is a gift from the universe, maybe she was sent here to give you space to heal. Deep breath. You’re safe. He’s here.

You eventually pressed the back of his limp hand to your cheek, and found your voice once more. You didn’t need to worry about waking him; once he conked out into REM sleep it took a freight train to wake him up. At least, when he was with you he always slept deeper. He’d told you one night; how it helped to have you there, like you dragged all the bad memories and nightmares away, pulling them so far out of reach he only found thoughtless, worry-free sleep.

“Hearing someone’s screams from the other side of a cell wall makes you more susceptible to care about them. A bonding experience, so to speak. He’d talk to me for hours on the nights they made us sit and anticipate another session. Recited poetry, recalled stories from his time as a prospector as an escape from our reality. I would sing for him, when we knew the guards had left. It was how we got to know each other. It’s—that’s why he calls me his siren. The reason I call him a chatterbox, among other obvious explanation.”

“How’d you get out?” Cee asked, resting her cheek on her hands as she laid on her side, watching you with keen interest.

“Killed them,” you rasped, not wanting to go into the gory details, “Every single one.”

For nights you had laid awake, haunted by memories of blood staining your only pair of clothes, blood splattering into your mouth, chunks of brain matter on Ezra’s gloves as he dragged you through a maze of tents and established buildings, viscera on your recovered suit, the way you’d had to swallow bile back down your esophagus at the sight of all the lives you’d taken. But you had to do it; it’s what you told yourself when the images would replay every time you closed your eyes.

Vengeance, necessity, paired with Ezra’s seemingly insatiable bloodlust—and your own. Your own shameful desire to incite violence, one you bred in the early years of your youth and had stuffed away until needed.

But you hadn’t been able to deny that, when Ezra shot a man who’d pinned you to the ground and then finished him off with a knife spurting blood out his neck, it stirred your blood something wild. Hearing him panting through the transmitter, grunts and curses as he tore through humans and humanoids and alien creatures alike right beside you. Hearing him call out targets, watching your six, taking single-word direction from you when you did the same.

They worked like a well-oiled machine, like you two had never not known the other. And he was sloppy in his technique, grounded more in brute force than strategy—but you made up for that in quick, evasive maneuvers and stealth. Both of you had near-perfect aim and could work around the clunky gear of your suits.

Messy—pools of blood, the sickening crunch of bone and cartilage crushed beneath your hands and your feet and your knife and whatever other weapon you scavenged along the way.

It felt like a ritual. A baptism of carnage that ensured neither one of you could live without the other.

So of course, when it all was over and the last vertebra snapped—

—there had been filthy, unhinged, surely unsanitary, bio-hazardous fucking in a tent surrounded by carnage.

Fucking in way you could only describe as feral.

Unrestrained.

Hot, Kevva’s saints was it brutally hot and so needy—but also so, so tender.

Full of soft emotion. Unspoken, even for Ezra’s standards. Almost loving.

Your aching bodies, exhausted and weak and battered, dragged lazily against one another once both of you had ceased the initial writhing pace of passion and the adrenaline ebbed. It tasted tinny like blood and musky like spit and salty with sweat and tears, and if nothing more, it was real. Whispering about how fuck, they’d made it and god, they were on the same level, we made it, baby—can’t live without you, I need you I need you I need you—

That day was quite possibly your favorite memory as well as one of your darkest. The day that you knew, in the charred, most twisted part of you, that you’d follow this man to the ends of every planet, to the far reaches of the universe—and he’d very well do the same.

Of course, you shared none of that with Cee.

“We took down the main base of the entire company. They were small but well-endowed. Got to transfer points into our accounts and sort through the mining equipment and the food,” you offered instead after a long bout of silence, “And the spoils of their labor. We were rich, could have retired early.”

“Why didn’t you?”

You debated whether to lie or tell her the truth, deciding on the latter. This girl wasn’t a threat, she genuinely wanted to know. “Ezra and I have—had a certain…interest in finding thrill wherever we can.”

Cee quirked an eyebrow, and you elaborated, “It’s not something to romanticize, we certainly weren’t smart about our spending. Gambling, drugs, slingshot scooter racing, smuggled creature ring-fights. The risk makes winning worth it. It was addicting. We earned a lot. Uncountable amounts of money. But we spent it all and then spent more. Pulled stunts that not even the most daring would try. Heists, intel-theft for enemies of certain people. We got caught up in it. Eventually drowned in a swamp of debt and unrequited favors. Got put on watchlists by the head crime syndicate and peace officers alike in the Core Worlds because we got cocky. Sloppy. So many people want our heads on a stake that we’d be better off dying out here. It’d be ironic, given the executions we deserve.”

You shuddered at the thought of Karolclan and their unusual procedures for punishment. They wanted you the most—you owed them the most. Them and Omni-Five. But Karolclan was decidedly worse.

“Why are you still mining? Wouldn’t it be easier to hide somewhere less dangerous?”

“We have debts to pay, bird,” you sighed, fond of the nickname Ezra gave her as it fit her well, “It’s the only honest work we can get without a biotracker recognizing our scans or someone realizing that the burner names and scouting codes we give them are bullshit. We work alone—no drop company, no mining corps. Until we can get our names cleared and our bio-scans off the watchlist, we can’t do shit else.”

If nothing more, Karolclan did allow debt payoff. But only if you could evade their capture, and only if you had the means to satisfy compounded interest. They were brutal, ruthless.

“He said you had a crew…and a ship…before you ended up stranded.”

“We did. A group of people like us. But you can imagine that a group of outlaws don’t always see eye to eye—buncha hotheaded criminals. Fought over aurelac, argued over fair shares, resources, everything.”

That wasn’t the whole story.

It started as a dispute over aurelac, but had quickly turned into a spat against Ezra, why he had so many successful harvests and surely he was stealing or cheating, how it wasn’t fair that you two were attached at the hip and didn’t section off when you split into groups to cover more land. In the heat of argument and the desperation of man, that had morphed into threats against you—Why don’t you fucking share her, Ezra? We all have needs and she’s barely good at the dig-sites. Put her to use somewhere else or we’ll find a use for her, and that devolved into Might take her right from under you if you don’t watch yourself, don’t be surprised if you hear her struggle tonight.

You had gotten used to the crude commentary, the snickers and wolf-whistles when you bent over, and if they had tried to somehow steal you away in the night, they’d have been reminded that you slept fully armed and showed no mercy to anyone who touched you unless they knew just where to start—and only one person did.

But that…that had not gone over well with him. It ended before you even knew what he did, and pretty soon you had a dead crewmate spilling blood over your boots while the familiar sound of throwers charging up rang in your ears, all of them pointed at the man panting beside you. The only one from the group to live and remain on the Green had been Two, and honestly you were never fond of them but weren’t surprised when they helped you and Ezra take the heat off your backs—they always teamed up with you two and they were good at what they did. It was a shame they were gone—despite their silence and threatening demeanor and sometimes uncalculated moves in a plan, they never made a move to harm either of you; they just wanted to harvest and get out like you did. Better them than Ezra, though. You’d have genuinely lost your mind if they had shown up in his stead.

“Did you kill the crew too?”

“Only a few,” you said honestly, “The others left us stranded when they realized we’d kill them next. Number Two was our only ally. Now they’re dead.”

You laid back down and put Ezra’s hand across your chest again, “Get some rest now. We’ve got a long day ahead of us. And if you choose to kill him while we sleep—kill both of us.”

You didn’t know why you’d felt compelled to say that, but revealing such a dark part of yourself to her convinced you that she’d plant a bolt in you or Ezra’s head and run. Ezra was the more likely target, given his history with the girl. It was irrational, for the most part; if she truly wanted him dead she would have let his wound kill him. Or she would have shot him sooner. But you couldn’t be too sure.

And you’d sooner die than wake up to him cold next to you.

#ezra (prospect)#ezra x reader #ezra x f!reader #ezra (prospect) x reader #anya writes #ohhhh boy! a second installment #pedrostories #ezra smut #cacoethes

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fiddlepickdouglas · 3 years

Text

Viva Las Vegas, Pt. 10 - Clean This Up

Summary: Sunset Curve Alive AU, Willex, who is he really?, 2.9k

@trevor-wilson-covington is the bestie who makes these lovely edits, we stan supportive friends

WARNINGS: abuse, mild violence

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

Alex had said to check the diner, so Victoria opted to have dinner there and asked to see the owner. She was aware of the vigilante-style work she was doing, but with everything else going on in her life, this couldn’t possibly hurt any worse. Folding her hands, she breathed calmly as she peeked at the menu. It was important not to act as authoritative as she usually did, she reminded herself. A portly man with short gray hair and a mustache came over and took the seat across from her.

“Hi there,” the man said, shaking Victoria’s hand. “What can I do for you?”

“Hi, I’m Victoria Molina,” she introduced herself. “I was actually trying to find someone and I was told you could help me.”

The man raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh, alright. Who are you looking for?”

“I’m looking for a young man of about seventeen, he goes by Willie? I was told he works here. I just have some questions for him. Would he happen to be in at all today?”

“We don’t have anyone named Willie here anymore,” the man told her. “I actually just bought this establishment along with the hotel about two weeks ago and a few of the staff followed the previous owner to a different business. You might want to talk to him instead.”

“Oh,” Victoria sat back in slight disappointment. “I take it you’re not Caleb Covington?”

“No, he’s the guy I bought it from. I’m Frank Wolfe. I can give you his contact information, though.”

Nodding, she smiled politely.

“I would appreciate that. Sorry I had to come bother you, though.”

“Not at all,” he said. “I apologize that I can’t be any more useful. If you like, I can take your order.”

“Oh, thank you. I’ll actually have the carne asada.”

“Perfect,” he smiled as he took her menu away. “I’ll have that information for you in just a minute, too.”

Taking a gulp of water, Victoria sighed. It certainly felt just like any regular case. The fact the business had recently changed hands made her want to be suspicious, but she fought to remain level-headed. It was enough that she was going off the word of a teenage boy and an old poster. If it was a dud, if this trip led nowhere, she would buy Carlos a gift and head home safe and sound.

After finishing her meal, she returned to her hotel room and pulled out the business card Frank Wolfe had given her. Something about the dark purple design and the old-fashioned lettering he’d chosen made her feel like Caleb Covington was at least a little pretentious, if not flashy about his business. Picking up the phone and dialing the number, she held her breath waiting for an answer.

“Caleb Covington, who may I be speaking to?” a baritone voice chimed on the other end. The touch of sing-song in his tone was unexpected.

“Hi, my name is Victoria,” she introduced herself for the second time that night. “I was told you were the guardian of a young man named Willie?”

“Are you with social services?” he asked.

She furrowed her brow. “I’m sorry?”

“I usually only get a call when we have a hearing scheduled, but our last one was just a couple months ago.” His tone had gone from happy to serious at such a jarring speed it took Victoria a moment to process his words.

“No,” she said finally. “No, I’m not with them. I didn’t mean to confuse you. I’m actually reaching out on a personal favor. See another young man I know says they met a while back.”

“Oh, is it the band that came through a few weeks ago?” Caleb immediately picked the cheer back up.

“Yes, I’m glad you remember,” she responded, surprised.

“How are those boys doing?”

“Oh, they’re just fine. I think they’re gonna be a success.”

“Good to hear it,” he said. “Listen, no harm done. I own a swanky little club just in the south of town. I would be delighted if you gave me a visit, and I’d be happy to chat.”

“Sounds great, thank you,” Victoria smiled, unable to believe how easy that felt. “I can stop by tomorrow evening.”

“Wonderful. If it isn’t too much, I’ll make you a reservation.”

“Well, I can’t say no to such generosity!” It had been a long time since Victoria had gone on a night out. This was a much needed vacation, and if it killed two birds with one stone, all the better. She said goodbye and decided since she was practically getting everything she needed at the club, the rest of the day would be spent treating herself for once.

Willie skateboarded up the driveway and only just remembered Caleb’s rule about the pool in time to hop off before pulling off his helmet and going around the back. He took the back route into the house and dropped a number of grocery bags on the counter. One of these days he would age out of the foster system and not spend the morning being Caleb’s errand boy, but for now he just laid Caleb’s credit card on the table and went outside toward his shed.

Opening the door, he saw Caleb standing in the middle of the room, looking around at all of his drawings. Paper covered most of the walls now. Faces with no names to them, locations with no map to their destination - only snippets of a past life. Willie couldn’t stop drawing them. There still weren’t many memories returning to him, but any detail was an important one. He hadn’t drawn this much in ages, since before he found Sheldon. The backwards dream had become a recurring one by now, and there was still very little that he understood about it. Still, he had so many scenes made out of it that he could almost recreate the dream in a very rough animation.

“Hi C-Caleb,” Willie stammered. This never happened. It made him immediately nervous.

“What a collection, William,” Caleb said, not exactly sounding like an awed patron in a museum. “I mean, the sheer volume of work that went into these is absolutely mind-blowing.”

A small pebble of pride rose in Willie’s chest.

“Really?.... Um, thank you.” He couldn’t suppress his smile.

Caleb held up a hand and looked down at his well-manicured nails, and then back up.

“I just don’t understand why I look so hostile in this one,” he said, pointing to the picture in question. “And that one. And all of these in this corner.” His gaze returned to Willie with unprecedented menace.

Willie immediately shrank away, his mouth gaping open.

“Well...I..they’re from a dream.”

“A dream?” Caleb repeated, not liking what he was hearing.

“Yeah, I think it was a memory.”

Willie watched the man straighten his posture, a calculating expression on his face.

“Are these all memories?” Caleb asked after a tense moment, casting his eyes about the room.

“I think so,” Willie said hesitantly.

Caleb lifted a hand and grabbed the bottom of one. It was the first one WIllie had done of his dad sitting inside the truck and smiling at him.

“Hm,” was all that he said for a second.

And then he tore it in half.

Willie made toward the picture in alarm, feeling a part of him inside being torn just the same, but was stopped as Caleb held a hand out.

“Ah ah,” he said. “What have I told you about becoming your own person regardless of the past?” He took a handful of another drawing and ripped that one too.

Ignoring what Caleb said, Willie lunged forward to try stopping him anyway. Caleb was faster, grabbing his shirt and tossing him backward into the wall. He couldn’t help but begin crying.

“But these are my memories, why would you - ” he sputtered, lost for words.

“Because, William,” Caleb continued loudly, pulling as many as he could off the wall and shredding them into smaller pieces. “Your history? The one full of loss and being shuffled here and there? That is all that awaits you. You know it’s the truth; that’s how you ended up here. I offer you the opportunity to become a new person, and I can’t allow you to spoil yourself with reminders. And besides, those little friends you not-so-secretly made a few weeks ago have started snooping around in my business, and I can’t have that.”

He didn’t even pick anything up, he just left paper strewn all over the floor and walked all over it. As he made for the last wall, Willie made one more attempt to overpower him. He leapt onto Caleb’s shoulders and tried to pull him back with all his weight. A fist landed in his eye and he slacked his grip. Caleb wrestled him onto the bed and held him down, a crazed look in his eye that Willie swore he’d never seen no matter how familiar it felt.

“I don’t understand, what do they have to do with it? Why can’t I have friends?”

“I’m doing this for your own good,” Caleb hissed at him. “You” - he reached up and touched the scar on Willie’s head with his finger - “You got a reboot and you know how many people are lucky enough for that? You should thank me. Unfortunately, you can’t have friends when they send someone asking me questions about that little past of yours. That’s just asking for trouble.”

All Willie could do was hold his eye and lay back as Caleb tore up the last of the drawings. Once he finished, Caleb patted himself off and made his way out the door.

“Clean this up,” he told Willie. “And don’t bother doing any more art.”

As the door shut behind him, Willie scrambled onto the floor to search for just one of the drawings. Shuffling through smudged pieces of paper, he saw a few tears drop onto his ruined work. Eventually, he held the picture of his father in two pieces in his hands. Sobbing, he tried to hold them together evenly, but Caleb’s work had made that hard to do. His only hope was to try drawing it again, but he was already terrified of what Caleb’s reaction to that would be if his first one had been this.

A piece of another drawing caught Willie’s eye from underneath. He recognized Caleb’s snarling face from the dream and was surprised at how well it captured what he’d just witnessed. His mind went back to the way he knew the look in Caleb’s eyes. Suddenly, the awful realization dawned on him: he finally understood the dream.

Victoria walked into the club that evening, glad she had taken the time to look and feel fresh. This place was clearly up to snuff and then some. A live band played with dancers scattered throughout, all in bright, sparkly, feathery getup. A tall man with neatly styled dark hair was mesmerizing the crowd as he sang, keeping the energy high. As she was led to a table, Victoria simply sat and watched, greatly impressed with the talent.

Once the man’s solo finished, he bowed, gestured at the band to play on without him, and exited the stage. To Victoria’s surprise, he took the seat directly across from her.

“Ms. Victoria, you look so lovely, how are we this evening?” he asked with a charming smile. “I’m Caleb Covington.”

“Are you kidding me?” she started. “That was you up there? You’re a man of many talents; I’m already dazzled.”

“Oh, well, I hope that remains a constant while you’re here,” he said. "But you came to ask me about some other things, what were they?”

“Yes, I had some questions about Willie.”

Willie sat outside the bodega, unwilling to move for a while. He felt like everything inside of him was empty, as if Caleb had possessed claws and dug everything out until he was left hollow. The many ideas that had risen in his mind in the past few hours were all too much, all at once. If he dared, was he sure he could handle everything that might come his way? Every time he’d heard that ridiculous speech about starting over, becoming his own, yada-yada, he hadn’t considered any of the options he was now contemplating.

He’d already done some things. Already bought some things. Now he got up to collect Sheldon and held him tightly as he nodded to Escobar, who saluted him back. The man had said he didn’t want a dramatic thank you. Stuffing the items he purchased in his bag, he kept a hold of Sheldon as he skated off into the darkness.

“So, you see, Willie isn’t missing. He was abandoned,” Caleb was saying to Victoria. “Poor thing has struggled to adjust. I’ve dealt with some handfuls in the past, but I really have been doing the most for him, and he’s been with me for more than three years. I think it’s really sweet of those boys to raise a concern, and I hate to be a dead end, but that’s the truth of it.”

Victoria sat, nodding in acceptance.

“That makes a lot of sense, Mr. Covington, thank you for providing that for me.”

“Oh, call me Caleb. We’re all friends in here.”

“Okay, then, Caleb,” she corrected. “What got you into foster care?”

He put a hand over his heart and a fond look came over him.

“The youth are just full of so much magic, and I hate to see that their parents have chosen to lay it to waste. I’m the one who takes some of the tougher cases so I can bring out the best in them. You see that young man over there, Dante?” Caleb pointed at one of the dancers. “Classic rebel when he was young. You wouldn’t even know, he’s turned into such a gentleman. There’s a few more here and there in the club. I call them my graduates.”

“Well, I will tell you,” Victoria said. “When I first talked to you on the phone I wasn’t expecting you to be so generous. But now I can see that it’s just how you are.”

Caleb shot her a playful smile.

“Victoria, no need to butter me up. I do have some tight business practices to keep up.”

Fluid poured over every inch of the shed. Willie had made sure it was more than enough to get things going. He’d made sure to get the essentials: food for himself and Sheldon, a few changes of clothes, and a stash of money he’d taken from the safe in Caleb’s bedroom. The man shouldn’t have given him the combination in the first place.

Stepping out of the shed he looked at it one last time. What a sad, lousy existence. Living to perform for this man who shut him up inside this little thing and he had actually called it home? The further he was into his plan, the bolder he began to feel. He remembered when he had missed getting into the Pearl and that feeling of wrongness that had made him so frustrated. This feeling he had right now? It was so right. It was so right it drowned out anything scary about this whole idea.

He looked back at where he had put Sheldon on a small leash and tied him along the fence around Caleb’s backyard. It was definitely a safe distance. Then Willie pulled a box of matches out of his pocket, lit one, and looked at the flame for a minute. He held it just over the threshold of the doorway so it would land inside. It was so weak, like he had been ever since his accident. But he knew it was going to become so powerful, and he desperately hoped that he could retain some of that power for himself.

“Clean this up, Caleb,” he said, and he let his fingers go.

Victoria had stayed just a little longer to enjoy more food and music before standing up and heading toward the door. Caleb saw her on her way out and made her stop for a moment.

“It’s been a lovely night, and I’m grateful for everything you told me,” she said to him.

“Well I’m glad you took the opportunity to see what I have here,” he replied. “If you’re ever in the city again, please stop by. We’re always partying and putting on the best show.”

“Oh, I most certainly will,” she said, smiling as she made her way outside.

Someone tapped on Caleb’s shoulder from behind. Wordlessly, he turned to see who it was and why it was important.

“Sir,” one of his servers said. “You have a phone call. It’s the fire department.”

“What?” Caleb spat as he went to pick it up.

Willie sped along on his board the best that he could with Sheldon in his arms. He carefully made it down the ramp onto the freeway, controlling his speed as well as he could. He could picture Caleb now, just getting back to his home, eyes wide as he came upon the blaze. It was a very strange feeling, but right now Willie chose to focus on his newfound freedom. The cost wasn’t the matter right now. Freedom was all that was going to take him and his cat as far as they could go. The destination for now was Los Angeles.

#julie and the phantoms #jatp #fanfic #jatp fanfic #willex #alive au #alex mercer #willie #luke patterson #reggie peters #bobby wilson #aunt victoria #caleb covington #tw abuse #tw mild violence #viva las vegas #clean this up #fiddlepickdouglas

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javisjeanjacket · 4 years

Text

Saturated Filter - (ezra x fem!reader)

A/N: “hi and welcome back to me screaming. AHHH” this is part two of how hai is coping with the 2020 election.

I definitely cried while writing this and I’m not for sure if it’s from the tension of the election or because it just really hits but i guess we’ll see! lol

Also Zeek if you see this....I FEEL WHAT I FEEL OKAY DONT COME FOR ME

Warnings: reader has some anxiety (lol SAME) but not a full on attack or anything, just a lil fluffy angsty boy :)

Word count: 2.1K

A soft mist settled over the harsh lines of your helmet and your breath fogged up at the bottom of glass orb.

Your hands rooted around in the moist earth in front of you, your eyes scanning the soil for any hint of a rouchestone bed. Your breath was flighty, your bones felt as if they turned hollow and avian. You pushed aside a clump of foliage and you saw the tell tell waved lines of water venturing through the dirt, down towards the promise of a bed of dainty gems. You pawed at them gingerly, brushing away the earth and insects as you looked. Your heart burned just under your collarbone, scratching and clawing for her way upwards. To spill down your lips and come alive in the oxygen in your helmet.

'You be careful out there, little bird.' He had warned. He had strapped a fresh filter into your air purifier and allowed his hand to linger at your side. 'Not the friendliest of vermin out here.'

You had smiled at Ezra softly, his tenderness extracting a strange pull from your chest. Letting out a loud sigh, you swallowed and pulled a small pad of paper from your utility belt and began to jot down the coordinates of the rouchestone nest. You tried to make the earth look as undisturbed as possible so as not to alert other prospectors, and then started back again on the trail you and Ezra had mapped out the night before.

Stark mountains stood astutely over the dark treeline ahead of you, clouds and mist sojourning around the massive structure. The planet was beautiful, be it a little harsher than Lah'Mu and the planet the two of you had worked on before it.

Codes to the pod launch sequence, the smell of Ezra's sheets, the happiness of the beetle scurrying across a thick blade of grass by your knee all swirled around your mind, intertwining the drama of an aching heart with the mundane of a hike on a clear day.

'You'll need to take a sharp right here, otherwise you're going to get into a conundrum with an arianic sinking pit.' Ezra had warned you, his eyebrow quirked up and the scar on his cheek stretching to accommodate his expression.

You remembered chuckling at his seriousness, "Ezra, I know how to read a map, I'm not helpless."

The man had spread out his large hands, the tattoo by his thumb catching your eye. "I know you're not, I know..." He had trailed off and run a hand through his hair, the blonde patch near his face mixing with the deep brown strands.

It hadn't felt like falling, realizing you loved the charismatic prospector. It was more like turning on a light switch.

You had felt your hand reaching for the light and your heart dripping from your fingers as you switched it on, and then that was it.

It wasn't a falling, it was a knowing. It was a click and then everything else had become illuminated by that knowing.

You had felt the beginning and end of it at once, almost strong enough to knock you to the dirt floor below.

The lines of him, the home that housed the spirit, had become so familiar to you that you felt you could take him with you anywhere. Draw his figure when you needed it, take a brief reprieve in his presence.

And that knowing, the fact of love and it's permanence, sent a shiver down your spine.

Sure, you had been with other people before Ezra, even convinced yourself you loved some of them, but it had never been as absolute as this.

It felt as if you were made of glass, the way he could pinpoint each emotion and quirk of your lips.

He could somehow understand you better than you understood yourself.

~~~~~~

The cot had never been particularly comfortable. Granted, it was more comfortable now that Ezra had fashioned the two of yours into one larger one, but with the unsupportive bottom of the contraption, the only way you could really rest comfortably was with Ezra's outstretched arm under your neck. You laid like this now, your eyes drifting lazily from one freckle on his arm to the next one, creating a map of them in your mind. Where your breath landed on his arm, the hair on his skin laid flat, but towards his wrist they stood high, outstretched for warmth.

Ezra snored softly and you jerked when his heavy arm gently hit your back, stopping after to rest against you.

You let out a shallow breath, the air surging across his sleeping skin. Water welled in your eyes and burned in your throat.

'What will happen when he's not there to let you lay on his arm anymore?' You thought. 'How will you sleep when he leaves you?'

Air rose in your throat, heat and vigor quick to overwhelm it. A few precious tears escaped from your eye, slipping quickly down your cheek and then dripping onto Ezra's arm below.

The more breaths you took in, the less you felt like you could breathe.

Your chest thumped rapidly and the feeling was not unlike being stuck out in the Green with an over-saturated filter.

The panic rising under your cheeks, the chill creeping up the back of your neck, the forced stillness in your mind.

"Birdie, what's-" Ezra's gravelly voice whispered from behind you. He yawned and ended, "What is it?"'

‘Shit.' You thought. You quickly wiped the tears on your cheeks and sat up from the makeshift bed. "Nothing, I'm just..." You trailed off as your eyes landed on your boots by the side of the cot. "I need to go for a walk." You sniffled as you bent down to wiggle on your boots over your sleep socks.

Ezra chuckled, his hand reaching for your shoulder. "A walk? Honey, I am going to have to protest, it is not in your, or my, best interest to lose you to a free-roaming carnivore." He squeezed your shoulder tightly.

You wiped your dripping nose on your sleeve. "I need to leave, I'll be back."

"Wait, are you crying?" Ezra sat up in the cot, his hand stilled on your shoulder.

Tears construed your vision, making the sealing of your boots incredibly diffucult. You sniffled and continued.

"Sweetheart, talk to me." He whispered, his mouth pressing gentle kisses to your shoulder. One of his hands ran across your back softly, coaxing you back towards him.

Your breath caught in your chest and you looked up from your shoes, eyes fixating on a stack of Ezra's notebooks that were stuffed into a crate on top of a storage unit of rations. You took in several short, hiccuping breaths, but none of them allowed you to exhale as heavily as you needed to.

The creeping and prodding of panic settled over you, forcing you to pump air in and out of your chest rapidly.

Ezra sat up behind you fully, his strong chest pressing against your trembling body and his arms holding your shaking breaths in their embrace. His mouth moved from your shoulder, up the back of your neck and behind your ear. His mustache and patchy beard distracted the panic long enough to provide you a splitsecond's peace.

The gentleness in his touch and the care with which he held you was all together overwhelming.

You rebelled against the ledge he was pushing you towards, the loss of control required in an admittance of love for another person, grinding your heels in and gritting your teeth. "Stop, stop, Ezra, please." You whispered, pushing his arms off of you and standing from the cot. You hurriedly sealed your boots around your sock feet and walked to the other side of the tent, readying your suit.

You could feel the jagged edges of Ezra's emotions as he rose from the bed after you. "Now you have got me as up and bothered as a nest of hornets, birdie. I am missing a part of this equation and I shall be very perturbed should you continue to choose to hide it from me."

Sighing and letting your head fall backwards, you wiped away burning tears from your cheeks. "Ezra, it's not-" You let out a whimpering exhale. "It's not about you, okay. I'm just..." You shook your head.

"I do not like to see you in such pain, honeybee." Ezra said. His feet taking timid steps towards your rigid figure.

You froze, your suit in your hands, clenching and unclenching your jaw. Hot tears rebelled against your tears ducts, screaming for freedom. Two trembling breaths later, you said, "I'm...afraid." The admittance of vulnerability and the rush of a release that came with it washed over you, allowing you a heavy exhale.

Ezra took a few more steps in your direction. "About what?" He asked softly, his tone tender.

You ran a hand over your face and let out a heavy breath. "About you. About us."

You could feel his body heat behind you before he touched you, could sense his body towering over yours, could imagine how hot his hands burned for you. "What have you found to be scared about, sweetheart?" He whispered, a smirk on his face.

"I don't," You began and then turned around to face him. You looked up to his eyes and then back down to your hands fiddling with your suit. "I don't see me the way that you see me. I don't see whatever it is that you see, I just look at me and see you leaving." Your hands shook as they picked at a piece of caked on mud on the wrist seam of your suit, your chest trembling under his gaze. "I see me, alone. And I don't know if I could be alone again."

Ezra crossed the space between you, gently tugging the suit from your grasp and dropping it to the floor. He placed a gentle hand on your cheek, moving his thumb back and forth across your chin. "Sweet girl," He whispered, his voice cracked as he looked over your face. Swollen and innocent and looking at him, needing him. "I very much look forward to the splendor of your company on our expeditions and rather enjoy our banter and the warmth of you in sleep. If you were not a living, breathing, creature, I would likely keep you in my belt pocket to carry you along with me. There is no reason to prepare yourself for the end of our venture, as I could not see it ending short of a complete and total upheaval of each of our lives." His dark eyes searched your features for a response. After not finding one, he continued with a lightened tone, "That is, unless you are harboring a grievance with which you have plans to decimate my poor heart, in which case I ask, my honeybee, that you kill me slowly, so that I may look upon the contours of your face as I go."

His teasing pulled a smirk out of you, subsiding your tears for a beat. "I wish I could trust me the way that you trust me." You looked down to the space in between the two of you. You swallowed against a dry throat and added, "I'm just...terrified."

Ezra nodded and hummed, "Mmm. What's not to trust, birdie?" He flashed you a smile and ran his hand from your cheek down to your shoulder. "Just stay even though you're terrified."

You looked up at him, tears burning at the corners of your eyes. Words felt as if they were never meant to hold a feeling as overpowering as the one currently harboring itself in your chest.

"Be as scared as you need to be, just don't leave me." He said, his hands reaching to take both of yours in his grasp. He looked down to your intertwining fingers and then back up to your eyes. "Please." He breathed the word so softly it had a kind of half life, the prospector fearing it would somehow offend you.

You nodded yes, your eyebrows scrunched in adoration. "Okay."

Ezra ran a big hand over the side of your face, tucking strands of your hair in between his fingers and then placing a strong kiss to your forehead. "Would you lay down with me?" He whispered, his breath hot on your face.

You smiled softly and nodded yes.

Ezra smiled back, the meat of his lip in between his teeth, and gave your hand a squeeze as he lead you back to bed.

GENERAL TAGLIST: @mcolbz14 @softly-sad

#ezra x reader #ezra x y/n #ezra x you #ezra (prospect)#hai writes

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thejollyroger-writer · 3 years

Text

Where Your Heart Will Fly on Wings - 1/2

Part One: A Ship, A Map, and A Secret

A Neverland arc (season 3A) rewrite where the gang doesn't meet Captain Hook until they get to Neverland to rescue Henry. Most of the end of s2 ("Second Star to the Right..." "... and Straight on' Till Morning," the last two episodes of the season) are the same: Greg and Tamara kidnap Henry. With Killian not present, I imagine that David succeeds in wrestling a bean away from Greg. They go to Rumple for help, and though he refused before, Blue's potion worked in giving Belle her memories back and he changes his mind. Somewhere in his shop, there is a ship in a bottle, and he removes this ship, docks it in the harbor, and leads Emma, Regina, Mary Margaret, and David through a portal that takes them to the waters surrounding Pan's island.

Also on AO3

Special thanks to @shireness-says my forever beta who only makes my life (and my stories) better, and all the ladies on discord who answered all the little questions I struggled with while writing this. Thanks, ladies. ( @kmomof4 @hollyethecurious @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @stahlop ) Written for @neverlandnewyear. Some other interested pals: @thisonesatellite @darkcolinodonorgasm @scientificapricot @carpedzem @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @regi-writes-stuff @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @winterbaby89

The ship touches down on the waters, the portal disappearing from around them — but what they find is no better. Fat, cold rain drops pelt them from above, and below them, the waves begin to toss the dilapidated ship in every direction.

“Great job, Gold!” Regina yells, wrapping one of the ropes around her wrist. “You landed us right in the middle of a storm!”

“Believe it or not, dearie, my powers do not include the ability to control the weather, and certainly not in this realm!”

"We don't have time for this!" David chimes in, helping Mary Margaret keep her footing on the quickly-dampening deck. "If we're even going to make it onto the island, we have to get through this storm together!"

"And how do you expect we do that?" Regina chides. "This ship is barely more than a pile of old boards, it's not going to survive this storm."

"Then maybe we should work together to try to make it through this!" Mary Margaret yells.

"What do you expect us to do?”

"Well, we can start by trusting each other!"

Regina scoffs. "You think trust is going to get us through this storm? Is your trust going to keep us from taking on water?"

"No," Emma mumbles, looking down to her feet, and the water that she finds there makes her realize just how much trouble they're in.

And that's when something rams into the side of the ship. And again. And again.

"What the hell was that?"

"Sharks?"

"Afraid not," Rumple mumbles, trying to plant his feet on the slippery deck to keep control of the helm.

Regina looks over the railing, conjuring a fireball in her hand. "Mermaids."

"Mermaids?" Emma repeats. "They're real, too?"

"Does that really surprise you anymore?" Regina asks.

"We have to do something!" Mary Margaret yells over the wind.

"I am not being capsized by a fish!" David sloshes across the deck to a small cannon, which he loads a length of chain into before firing it into the water.

Mary Margaret picks a large net up off the helm, tossing half of it to Emma. “Help me get this into the water!”

“What are you going to do, catch one of them?” Regina tosses a fireball towards the surface of the water — which, surprisingly, works, and a mermaids around them back off the ship.

“Yes!" Mary Margaret stops for a moment to glance at Regina before tossing the net into the waves. "And ask her to help us.”

“Mermaids aren’t going to help you, dearies!”

“Obviously you’re also not going to help us, either!” Regina crosses the deck and throws out another fireball, clearing the starboard side just as she did the port. “There.” She wipes her hands on her soaked slacks and smiles at the fact that the storm also seems to have left with the mermaids. “They’re gone.”

“Not all of them!” Mary Margaret says, grunting as she and Emma struggle to pull their fishing net back onto the deck. “What about this one?”

With a flick of Regina's hand, the creature is out of their net and sprawled on the boards of the deck, her hands bound in front of her and her shining tail flopping into the inches of water that have settled onto the boards of the deck.

But her presence on the deck only causes an argument to break out between them, each offering their own way to deal with her — to ask for help, to kill her, to let her go. With every question they ask her, she offers them a vague but threatening answer, and the storm that Regina thought was over slowly begins to reform around them. Even after Regina turns her to wood with a whoosh of her magic, they continue to argue amongst themselves, the storm surging around them — all except Emma, who realizes the mermaid’s plan was to set them against each other to be destroyed by the storm. With no other option, she tries to get their attention, screaming across the small ship towards them, but nothing works — and she dives into the sea.

Quickly followed by a piece of metal rigging, pulled off by the winds into the water behind her and making hard contact with her head, immediately knocking her unconscious.

Without a second thought, David moves to dive in behind her, but Mary Margaret’s hand tight around his arm stops him. “No! You could get pulled under, too!”

“Not to worry!” A voice cuts through the rushing wind and water, another ship appearing out of the darkness of the storm. Within moments, it is close enough for the man to follow Emma into the water, a rope tied around his waist.

For a few long, terrifying moments, nothing happens. The storm still surging around them makes it impossible for them to see into the water, and they can only hope that the mysterious man can save her before it's too late.

After what feels like forever, a head breaks the surface of the water, Emma's bright hair a strong contrast to the dark waves, and the other man follows.

"Pull me up, Scarlett!" he calls, facing away from their small ship, and the man just visible on the deck of the nearby ship does as asked, pulling the man with Emma in tow. David wants to oppose, beg the man to bring Emma back to their ship, but just the feeling of Mary Margaret's hand on his arm keeps his mouth closed.

"Can you get us over there?" Mary Margaret asks, turning towards Rumplestiltskin. He rolls his eyes, but twirls his hand in front of him anyway, taking them all onto the other ship's deck in a wisp of smoke.

"Is she okay?" David asks as soon as he finds his footing, kneeling beside where Emma is laying on the deck — just as she spits out a mouthful of seawater and rolls onto her side. Mary Margaret drops to her knees on the deck beside her daughter, wrapping her arms around Emma's shoulders.

"Perhaps we should give the lass a moment? A bit of space?" the man who rescued her says, leaning against the bannister behind him, his arms crossed behind his back.

"Oh, come on !" Regina cuts him off, raising her hand towards the wave, moving ever-closer to their ship. "We don't have time for all this."

"Alas, she's right. I'm afraid we'll have to save the pleasantries until after the dashing rescue," he says, striding to what can only be his rightful place behind the helm and leading them quickly away from the waves, away from the storm. David helps Emma to her feet and they all watch as their old ship crumbles beneath the waves, after which the storm around them seems to disappear at an alarming rate; within mere minutes, the sun shines down from a cloudless sky and the soft wind blows lightly on the sails.

The man locks the helm into place and holds his hand out in a welcoming gesture. "This seems a much more appropriate time for introductions. Welcome aboard the Jolly Roger. "

"Okay,” David says, crossing his arms across his chest. "Who are you?"

"Captain Jones," he says, mimicking David's position -- which only draws attention to his left arm, which is blunted just shy of the elbow, replaced with a shining, metal hook. "But most people have taken to calling me by my more colorful moniker—"

Rumple laughs, cutting him off mid-sentence. "You've really owned up to your ailment, haven't you, Captain Hook ?" he says, spitting the last two words between his teeth.

The man turns around, noticing Rumple standing behind him for the first time. "Oh, now that's just my bloody luck, innit?" He pushes his dark, wet bangs off his forehead with his wrist and lets out a small laugh. "All I was expecting was a few damsels in distress," he says, turning towards Emma for a moment and waggling his eyebrows at her before returning his attention to Gold. "Yet it appears I've caught myself a crocodile."

"Like, Captain Hook Captain Hook? Waxed mustache and perm and Peter Pan?"

"Well, love, I must admit I'm uncertain about the first two, but I'm glad to hear that you know who we're going up against."

"Up against? I just want to save my son."

"Why do you think they brought him here, dearies?" Rumple asks, flourishing his hands to conjure a whisp of purple smoke, revealing a new outfit of dark pants and a black, reptilian-scaled vest. "Pan is the one behind it all, I have no doubts about that. And he is a far more powerful foe than any of you are able to go up against."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Regina bites back, but Rumple is gone in another wisp of smoke before the question even leaves her lips.

"It appears that even after all these years, he is still as helpful as he's always been," Hook says, his jaw obviously tight with tension.

Emma's head is spinning. She's spent months trying to wrap her head around everything about Storybrooke and her life, around the idea of true love and fairy tales and everyone's stories intertwining — but this, running into handsome, one-handed pirates in Neverland that have a history with Gold, goes beyond all else.

"Wait, you know Mr. Gold?" Mary Margaret asks, voicing the question they all seem to be thinking.

"Aye, " he says, wrapping his hook around one of the spokes of the helm, where his attention is also focused. "though he was not known by that name. Before he became the Dark One as well, if the rumors are to be true."

For once, Regina seems interested in what he has to say." But he's been the Dark one for —"

"Lifetimes, aye," he says, cutting her off, but turning his eyes down to where she is standing on the lower deck.

No one knows how to respond to him, so the deck stays silent. For the first time, Emma looks around, taking in the small crew that stands around them. There are five that she can see, not including the captain: another tall, dark-haired man standing against the railing, arms crossed over his chest; a stout man with a red beard and an even redder hat; a fierce-looking woman with a mess of dark hair piled high on the top of her head, her dark orange tunic and black pants having seen better days; and two dark, brooding young men, no more than twenty, on the far end of the deck.

"What brings you all to Neverland?" the woman asks. Emma is not surprised that she is the one who tries to make conversation, though she vaguely remembers something about women being bad luck on ships.

"They took my son," Emma and Regina say simultaneously, and none of the ship's crew are able to keep their immediate reactions off their face.

The dark haired man leaning against the railing behind David barks out a laugh, but when Regina turns her glare in his direction, he snaps his mouth shut.

"What could Pan want with your son?" Hook asks.

"Does it matter?" Emma spits back. "We need to get him back."

Hook holds up his hands in a gesture of reluctant surrender. "Of course, of course, you're right." He turns to the man still leaning against the railing, who pushes off to his feet when he sees the look on the captain's face. "Prepare for a return to open waters, I would like to dock at Pirate's Cove before dinner time, Mister Scarlett."

Emma expects a salute, given the rest of the captain's countenance, but the man — Scarlett — just nods and walks away.

"Dinner?" Regina asks, her voice dripping with anger. "What part of ' we don't have time for this' don't you understand, pirate?" she spits.

"Can I ask you how many times you've visited this island, your Majesty?" he asks, the same fire in his voice.

She's taken aback for a moment, but answers nonetheless: "Never."

"That's what I thought. I, however, have been here for longer than any of you can even imagine, which gives me the kind of knowledge you could use on this type of quest. Are you really going to turn that down?"

To this, Regina has no response.

"Now, the beaches at Pirate's Cove will prove much more useful to your mission here, and by sailing around the island, it will rid you of the necessity of walking either through or around the Dark Jungle, which I can assure you is something you do not want to do. So, yes, we are going to chance the few hours it will take to sail around the island to hopefully cut days off of what it would have taken you on foot, and then we will be closer to Pan's camp and it will hopefully prove easier to find your boy."

This time, it's David who is angered by his response: " We ? What do you mean 'we'?"

Captain Hook practically rolls his eyes at this, which almost pulls a laugh out of Emma. “Do you expect to navigate the island yourselves?"

Emma intervenes, trying to calm the tension while also ensuring they stay focused on rescuing Henry: "He's right, David, we could use his assistance."

He winks at Emma. "I had a feeling I was going to like you."

Though she knows she should be resting, bunking with Regina, David, and Mary Margaret belowdecks, Emma instead finds herself drawn to the crew of the Jolly Roger , and spends the next few hours chatting quietly with them as the ship makes its way across the surprisingly quiet waters surrounding Neverland.

Especially the woman — Tiger Lily, Emma learns. Something about her keeps Emma interested in their whispered conversation, and it does not take her long to learn that, like her own, the woman's background is full of sadness and sacrifice. She tells Emma how she sacrificed herself to try to stop someone from turning evil and spending the rest of her magic to get to this island after exiling herself; tells her about being found by Pan and working for him in return, only to learn how evil and twisted his ways are, stealing boys from their families and never allowing them to leave. (" And there's something deeper and darker behind it all, something that he only mutters about with his second in command, a Dark Magic that keeps the island alive — I believe with the sacrifice of the boys who decide they want to leave." ) And Captain Hook, saving her as she tried to escape Pan, though she knew it was impossible — or, well, improbable.

"And I've been in his service ever since. He was working with Pan for a while, too, and able to leave this realm. He asked every time we docked somewhere if I wanted to leave, to live a better life, but I've enjoyed the time I've spent with him as my captain. I've never known a better man."

"Oh, is that so, Lily?" the very man appears behind them, a smile covering his dark features — except his eyes, Emma realizes. His eyes are the brightest blue she has ever seen, the same color as the soft waves moving in the sunlight.

"Now, come on, Captain," she laughs, and the way she sets her hand on the captain's arm sends an unwanted shiver down Emma's back. "You and I both know you're nothing if not a man of honor."

"Yes, but you're not supposed to divulge that knowledge to our new guests just yet."

"And why not?" Emma asks, knowing that her crossing her arms over her chest is a defense mechanism, but that only makes her pull them closer to her.

He wags his eyebrows across his forehead, then winks at her once more. "Can't go around telling everyone that Captain Hook is a big softie. I have a reputation to uphold."

Emma rolls her eyes and walks away, if only to save herself from any more unwanted shivers or repressed feelings.

Their mission is to save Henry. Henry comes first and everything else has to wait.

"Well, what are we going to do once we're ashore?" David asks, hunched over the Neverland map spread across the desk in the Captain's cabin.

"Pan's camp is only a short distance from the Cove, remember?" Mary Margaret adds, the focused planner and adventurer that Emma has only seen glimpses of. "We can sneak up on him and—"

"Nope," Hook says from where he has planted himself in the corner, one boot crossed over the other and his arms crossed over his chest. "There's no way to sneak up on Pan."

Regina's eye roll is practically audible. "You keep saying that but offering no helpful advice."

"And you keep saying that but not actually listening to what I have to say."

"Hook is the one with the knowledge of the island, Regina," Emma reminds her.

"And I'm the one with the knowledge of magic, maybe we should just give that a try!"

"What are you suggesting?" Mary Margaret scoffs. " Poof ing yourself into the middle of a camp on a magic island you've never visited before?"

"What do you suggest, Hook?" David asks, if only to keep Mary Margaret and Regina from fighting. It's obvious that the last thing he wants to do is take advice from a pirate, but even David realizes that they are left with very few other options.

"There is no way to plan what is going to happen once we reach those shores. Everything we do, everywhere we go, Pan will know about it and will always be steps ahead of us."

"How have you spent all this time in this realm and not learned even a few tricks that could help us?"

"Most of my years here have been spent on this ship, provided with rations by the very demon himself. Before that, he and I had an agreement that made us more comrades than foes, and all the time I spent on the island was for his own doing."

"Oh, that's helpful," Regina mutters, leaving the cabin without another word.

"So, let me see if I understand this," Emma asks, knowing that neither David nor Mary Margaret will be able to be civil about this. "Your plan… is to not have a plan at all?"

Hook nods. "There is no other option in Neverland. It's Pan's game there, and he makes all the rules. Best we can do is be ready for whatever he throws at us."

"I don't like this," Mary Margaret mumbles, and David wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to press a kiss against the top of her head.

"It's what we have to do to get Henry back, and that's all that matters," he says, a princely tone of finality in his voice, and the room falls silent.

"Can I ask you something, love?" Hook asks, his eyes leaving the horizon for just a moment to look at her (again, though she has only noticed a few of them) where she is sitting against the railing on the starboard side of the ship.

"I'm not your love," she bites, looking up from one of Hook's maps that she's borrowed from his quarters.

"I've had my share of run-ins with the Crocodile, and I've even crossed paths with the Evil Queen once or twice. The other two, that's Snow White, the princess, right? And her husband?"

"And how do you know that?"

He pauses, trying to chose his words carefully. He knows that if he says the wrong thing, he'll lose the small amount of ground he's made with them trusting him. "I've been… through an agreement with Pan, I can leave these waters every once in a while, as long as I fulfill some of the things he asks of me."

"You work with him," she says, but her face fails to give away any of what is going through her head.

"In a way, aye. But I've been to the Enchanted Forest, and I know what happened to it. How is it that you got here?"

"Well, there was a curse."

"Aye."

"And I — I broke the curse."

" You broke the curse?"

"Yeah, I — I'm the Savior , apparently, because I — I'm their daughter."

"Snow White's?" He's not nearly taken aback enough. "And the Prince."

She nods. So does he. Somehow he is wrapping his head around all of this much easier than she did. Maybe once you're alive for a few lifetimes, things like this are a lot less surprising than they were for Emma.

"How is it that you and the Evil Queen share the same son?"

Emma can't help but laugh. Where does she even start? "No offense, Hook, but it's a very long story that we don't really have time for."

"Aye, that I can understand." He lifts his hand off the helm to scratch his beard before moving his hand behind his ear and to the base of his neck. "But do you — you know — live together?"

"No, no, it's more like… joint custody."

"Come again?"

Right. "Joint custody," she says again, even though the centuries-old pirate knows nothing about the ins and outs of child custody. "We, uh… share him, I guess. Take turns."

"And what about the boy's father? Is he a part of this taking turns ?"

His question turns her blood to ice. Neal. Where does she even begin? For a moment, she's angry — at Neal, at herself. "No." How dare he. How dare Hook to even ask about Neal, he has no right —

He has no idea. It was an innocent enough question, there's no way he knew the still-gaping wound that a question about Neal would inflame.

"He's — dead."

"Apologies, love, I didn't mean to stir up any unwanted emotions."

"Stop calling me that."

"I'm afraid it's more of a habit than anything."

She has no response to this and turns her attention back towards the map.

"Bloody hell," Hook mumbles, though Emma and Smee, his first mate, are the only ones close enough to hear him. At first, they don't see whatever the problem may be, but as the ship continues to approach the shore, Emma sees him leaning against one of the trees just on the other side of the shore.

Pan. Emma can sense it somehow — her motherly instincts, maybe, or something like that, but she can feel that the man on the shore is Peter Pan.

No. No, not man. Boy , with a pudgy teenaged face and dark hair that falls down to his eyebrows.

"That's him," Emma says. She means for it to be a question, but it does not come out that way.

"Aye." She turns to him just in time to watch the edge of his jaw tick as he grinds his back teeth together. "That's the demon Pan."

For a moment, Emma is unsure how she feels about all this. Hook's plan to take them around the island has already taken hours of their precious time, and all under the guise to keep them from Pan — only to have him waiting for them right where Hook brought them to shore. What if Hook had been playing with them the whole time? Giving Pan time to plan ahead while he wasted time sailing them all around the island?

But then she looks at him again, sees the rage obvious on his face, and she almost feels bad for questioning his motive even though she has every right to.

"Bested us again," he mutters, but then straightens his back and looks out over the ship. "Prepare for docking!"

Pan watches, unmoving, from the shore as Hook and his crew lead the Jolly Roger to the dock — and, still unmoving, as they come ashore. Finally, he speaks. "Thank you for bringing our special guests ashore, Captain," the boy leers. "Good to see you're still good for something."

"You know I can't pass up the opportunity to give assistance to a damsel in distress, nonetheless three. And Dave." There's a joking tone in his voice, but it's not present anywhere else in his body.

"Ah, yes," Pan says, pushing himself away from the tree. "Welcome, your highnesses. I hope you find Neverland as welcoming as you have spent all those years hoping your Enchanted Forest would be. And you, Regina, you and I have more in common than you may want to believe."

Regina rolls her eyes, conjuring a fireball in her left hand. "Oh, please," she spits. "Let's do this the easy way: give me my son back and I won't burn your whole island down."

Pan just laughs. "No, I’m afraid that's not going to happen. You're on my island now, and you're going to play by my rules."

"Do you think this is a game?"

"Oh, your majesty , that's exactly what this is. So, Emma, I'm going to give you a map." He pulls a folded piece of parchment out from under his tunic. "A map that will lead you straight to your son."

"If this is some kind of trap," she starts, taking a step towards him with her hand on the sword on her hip.

But Pan's soft laugh stops her. "I may not be the most well-behaved boy on the island, but I always keep my promises. The path to finding Henry is on this parchment."

"Why are you giving it to me?"

He chuckles again. "See, it's not about finding Henry. It's about how you find him. And, Emma," he says, placing his hand on her wrist as she reaches out to take the parchment. "You're the only one who can."

She takes it from him, then unfolds it — only to find it blank, save a pattern around the outside. "It's blank."

"You sound surprised," Regina bites, but no one pays attention to her. All eyes are on Pan.

"You'll only be able to read that map when you stop denying who you really are."

Emma looks down at the map once more. Everyone around her looks at it.

And when they look up, Pan is gone.

As they follow Hook's lead through the jungle, Emma's focus is on the map. She thinks of all she can: her background, everything she's learned since coming to Storybrooke. She even attempts to admit that she's the savior during a short break, but nothing works.

Regina, angry and impatient and nothing if not motivated, takes it from her, insisting on magic, despite the arguments from the rest of the group. It works — to a point, leading them not to Pan's camp, but to an ambush by a group of Lost Boys. It does not last long, the heroes quickly overpowering the boys, but David gets nicked with a Dreamshade-tipped arrow — a secret he tries to keep from the rest of the camp.

Hook sees it, though, the one in the group that really knows how deadly the poison can be, but he, too, keeps it to himself.

He leads them away from the ambush, towards a cliff that looks out over most of the island. From there, he insists, they can plan a route through the jungle and maybe even scout out Pan's camp. But by the time they get there, the sun has set, and all they can see is shadow. "Now that you've seen what Pan can do in just a few short hours, we need our strength. I suggest we make camp."

Regina, unsurprisingly, is against his idea. "You want to sleep while my son is out there suffering?"

"If you want to live long enough to save the boy, yes," he argues, and no one has a comeback for this. Regina is first to walk away, huffing knowing that Hook is right. Hook is second, closely followed by David, who barks an order about finding firewood, leaving Emma and Mary Margaret looking out over the jungle.

They are silent for a moment, Emma obviously worrying about something, but Mary Margaret has learned not to push. And after a few moments, Emma does say what's on her mind:

"Regina's right, Henry's out there somewhere."

But Mary Margaret is ready with her positive comeback. "And Hook is right. We have to survive if we're going to get him."

"I know. I just hope we're not too late."

Mary Margaret leaves her there, knowing that sometimes, her daughter just needs her space to think. She stands there as the others build their camp, her attention turned once more towards the blank parchment — the map , removed from her pocket.

Though he does not mean to, Hook startles her with his approach. "I opted for first watch so you and the others could get your rest."

Emma just shakes her head, starting towards the campfire, needing the monotony of the crackling fire to slow her mind down. "There's no way I can sleep here without solving this map."

"Then it appears you and I will be not sleeping together, love," he jokes, waggling his eyebrows at her with a smirk on his face.

Emma just rolls her eyes. "Listen, Hook. I am here to save my son. The very last thing I'm going to do is get distracted."

His smirk is gone, not even a trace of a smile left on his features. "Of course, Swan. I meant no insult."

They sit in relative silence, the rest of them falling asleep quickly — or, at least, staying quiet. The sounds of the Jungle seem to grow louder in the darkness, almost deafening. But Emma's attention is still on the map.

"Nothing I can think of is working," she groans, dropping the map to the ground beneath her feet.

"None of those are what Pan is looking for. What have you been avoiding? What have you been hiding from, love?"

She is already on edge, and his endearment only makes her angrier. "I am not your love, Hook. Why are you helping me, anyway?"

He's been wondering the same, so he's quick to answer. "I've been searching for a glimmer of hope when it comes to defeating this demon for as long as I can remember. If finding your lad and ruining his plans takes his power from him, then helping you is the very least I can do."

"But why? What did Pan ever do to you?"

He's silent for a moment, trying to decide how much he wants to divulge to her, and he maks a quick decision. "It wasn't me personally," he lies. "But it's the principle of the thing. He preys on boys who think he's taking them to a better life, but all he's doing is taking them from their families. Growing up alone is the worst thing that could happen to a boy, and Pan thrives on separating families."

"Sounds like something you know a lot about." She doesn't mean to be so forward, but once it's out, there's No taking it back.

"Pardon?"

"Only someone who grew up alone would talk like that."

Now it's his turn to get defensive. "And how would you know that? You're the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming. What can a princess know about growing up alone?"

She knows that there is no way for him to know otherwise, to know the truth about her childhood, but his assumptions about her still make her a little angry. "You have no idea what you're talking about," she grits, trying not to let her anger get the best of her. "My parents sent me through a portal when I was only a few hours old. I grew up alone , spent my whole life alone . I was an orphan, too, Hook. Or, at least, I grew up believing I was."

"I'm — I'm sorry, Swan, I shouldn't have assumed—"

"No, you shouldn't have."

"You're right though, love. I, too, spent much of my life alone. My mum was sick and passed when I was a boy, and my father took my brother and I on a ship to a far-off land. Until one day, we woke up and he was gone. He left us there to settle a debt and we never saw him again."

Silence settles between them for a moment, and then he smiles. "It seems you and I have quite a lot in common, then, love," he chides, but Emma barely hears him. She's too distracted by the parchment in her hand, which has revealed a map at some point in their conversation.

"Hook—" she tries, but he cuts her off.

"Apologies, I know, you're not my love ."

"No, Hook, that's not it."

Finally he looks at her, trying to find what she is talking about on her face, following her eyes down to the parchment in her hands. But there is something else that has changed, too, something about her . He can't quite put his finger on it, but he thinks he maybe sees a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

#csnlny #captain swan #neverland new year #my writing #cs fics #ouat #neverland rewrite #really just a bunch of headcanons in one little story

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not-close-to-straight · 4 years

Text

Lost and Found (Eight)

Slight TW for mentions of 40′s era h*mophobia and Tony’s thanks-to-Howard internalized h*mophobia but it’s over quick.

MASTERLIST HERE

*************

“I think there’s an issue with connectivity.” Tony chewed on the end of a pen as he watched James go through a series of repetitive motions with the prosthetic arm. “Which makes no sense at all, because obviously I did everything correct. Are you sure you’re doing that right?”

“Touchin’ the tips of my fingers together?” James raised his eyebrows and tried to touch the ring finger of the metal limb together with the thumb, gritting his teeth in frustration when the joints hitched and froze. “Yeah Tony, pretty sure I remember how to move my hand.”

“Okay fine, maybe I screwed up somewhere.” Tony huffed out a breath, blowing messy hair off his forehead. “Hold your breath, this will probably feel weird.”

The twist and pop of the arm disconnecting certainly did feel weird, the tug and strain at the plates in James’s chest when his shoulder weighed heavy for just a moment and then lightened in the next alien and uncomfortable. He flinched more from the awkward noise than from any actual pain though, grimaced away from a flash of nightmare that felt like being strapped down and hurt, and when Tony paused to ask, “Alright?” he simply nodded.

Sure. He was fine.

“This will only take a few minutes, hang tight.” Tony carried the arm back to another table and James reached up to feel gingerly along his shoulder, tracing the scars from the hard stump over to his collarbone.

Seeing himself reflected in the large mirror tilted above the chair was… well it was worse than James thought it would be. Tony had suggested that seeing what was happening might make the process a little easier but all James could see was damage, ruined skin and twisted muscles and a deathly pale pallor the sun never seemed to touch.

It was awful. He was awful and the situation was made all the worse for the way Tony was distant today, this morning, last night and every night since James had blundered into the not-kiss at the Expo.

The surprisingly easy laughter from just last week was gone, the quick smiles and nearly shared thoughts non existent. Tony wasn’t being cold, but he was stiff. He wasn’t avoiding spending time together, but movie nights happened with either man sat on the opposite side of the couch now, and attaching the new prosthetic arm was the closest Tony had been to James in days.

Everything was awful and James didn’t know how to fix it, didn’t know if Tony wanted to try and fix it, or if there was even something to try and fix--

--James was right back to not knowing anything at all except his name.

My name is James and he wanted to know so much more than that.

Awful.

“You asked if I watch the news.” he tried to break the silence when he just couldn’t take it anymore. “The other day, I mean. A few days ago. Before the Expo. You asked if I ever saw you on the news?”

“Yeah.” Tony looked up only briefly and went back to fine tuning the input of the arm.

“Sometimes the uh-- the counselor that came to the shelter would sit and watch with me.” James cleared his throat, discouraged by the lack of response. “I couldn’t ever watch the news, it about killed me to see some of that stuff but Sam said most of our memories are locked into references and not-- not concrete ideas. So maybe TV would help bring some of them around.”

“Sam Wilson.” Tony stated. “Pep’s mentioned him a few times, says he does good work. Did watching TV help with your memories.”

“No.” James dug his fingers into his thigh to combat the flush of failure at the back of his neck. “No it never did. Only confused me. Would watch game shows or documentaries and it wouldn’t be right. The name of countries, you know? I would see a map or something and think I knew it, then my answer would be wrong.”

Tony cocked his head, the first real sign of interest he’d shown all day. “Huh. Can you give me an example?”

“Well there’s--” James hesitated, searching his memory for one that had stood out with Sam. “--There’s a whole lotta places where the Soviet Union used to be. Names I don’t know and cities that used to be called something else.”

“Soviet Union.” Tony readjusted one more thing on the arm, then turned to face James fully. “What did Sam say about that? Anything?”

“He told me it could be something as easy as me havin’ watched a history movie or reading a book before my accident and those are the names that stuck with me afterwards.” James’s heart picked up when Tony smiled a little. Was it possible to miss a smile after a few days? “That never sounded right to me, though.”

“The Soviet Union collapsed in December of 1991.” Tony folded his arms and leaned back against the table. “I remember that entire month vividly. If you know for certain you remember it being the U.S.S.R, then you were at least high school age studying geography before it fell. Interesting.”

James wasn’t following Tony’s thought process at all but he was so happy the beautiful genius was talking to him again, he didn’t even care. “Why is that interesting?”

“Based on that fact alone, I’d suggest you were pushing thirty which means we could narrow down search parameters and maybe get a better lead on who you are.” Tony explained, his smile growing just a little bit more. “There’s other ways to figure it out too, but nothing easy or very concrete.”

James made a ‘go on’ motion and Tony scratched through his goatee as he thought it out.

“Well, I could run some tests if you’d like, but seeing as how we’re only barely managing getting the arm on in a La-Z-boy recliner cos the other chair upset you, I bet you don’t want me poking and prodding with needles and electrodes. Totally fine by the way.” he waved off James’s objection. “I don’t like it either. It’s fine. No tests, we don’t need to do that.”

“The easiest way to find you in the system is fingerprints.” he continued. “But I ran your fingerprints the first time you came through the lab as a precaution-- don’t look like that, I do it to everyone-- and yours aren’t in the system, or at least not anything recognizable. Not a big deal, fingerprinting tech is still fairly new, it wasn’t an electronic database till the 1980’s and AFIS wasn’t halfway usable till about 2000. There’s a thousand reasons why you wouldn’t be in there, even with your military service.”

“Fingerprints.” James looked down at his hand curiously. “What else?”

“We could always do DNA testing, but I wouldn’t do it without your permission. I know some people that track you down quick but DNA testing always seems a little… invasive.” Tony tapped at the reactor casing a few times. “I’m not a fan of anything invasive. And you know, finding results would hinge solely on the idea that your DNA is already registered somewhere and if your fingerprints don’t come up…”

He let the sentence trail and shrugged. “If you really want a definitive answer of who you are beyond a guess at your age based on when the Soviet fell, I’m happy to try. There isn’t a whole lot I can’t find out once I start getting nosy, but I figured if you wanted to know, you’d ask.”

Tony waited a beat, “Do you want to know?”

No.

I don’t know.

What sort of man dreams the things I do?

“I’m okay with just James for now.” is what James said instead of everything else burning on his tongue. “Maybe the memories will come back on their own.”

Tony nodded absentmindedly and turned back to the prosthesis, so James took his slightly raw feelings and tried to distract himself by picking up a nearby photo book. All the what-if’s of who he had been were colliding with all the what if’s from the Expo and circling round in his mind, round and round until he actually felt a little nauseous, so he cleared his throat and forced the thoughts away and flipped idly through the photos.

The pictures were at least twenty years old, snap shot after snap shot of a young Tony draped all over a younger James Rhodes, laughing hysterically at a joke between them, clearly wearing each other’s clothes and other costume pieces, a picture of Tony dead asleep on thick text books while Rhodey drew various genitalia on his face in marker.

Some of the photos were dated and placed at MIT, others were at what looked like the Colonel’s home, his family scattered in the background of their antics. Only one was a formal picture, Tony and Rhodey in fit suits standing solemn at the top of the stairs but in the very next frame the boys were wrestling and pulling at each others hair and then in a third picture mid-tumble down the stairs while a woman who looked remarkably like Tony threw her hands up in clear exasperation.

It was years of friendship, years of happiness and pranks and love and James found himself smiling as young Tony’s hair got higher and fluffier style changes, the clothes got more and more ridiculous, even the cap and gown graduation picture complete with fake mustaches and crossed eyes for the portrait.

There were pictures of vacation-- Tony in hilariously printed swim trunks, a floaty around his waist and over sized goggles on his face, Tony tripping over the flippers and face planting into the pool, Tony looking slightly drowned rat-ish as he struggled back onto dry land--

“Wow.” James didn’t mean to say anything out loud but the next picture of Colonel Rhodes didn’t match the silly theme of the book at all. It was an artistic shot, all pretty angles and purposeful shadows, a whole lot of skin and muscles on display and while it wasn’t obvious if Rhodey was actually sleeping or just posing, it was clearly obvious that whoever took the picture had had only one thought in mind.

Sexy.

“Didn’t realize the Colonel was so good lookin’.” He hadn’t meant to say that out loud either and after the Expo, James should have made a better effort to not blurt things out in front of Tony, but it was too late now, the words were out there and Tony was staring at him in surprise.

“What’d you say?”

“The-- the Colonel.” James put the book down and swallowed, looking away from it and from Tony. “He’s damn good looking. You and he ah-- you’re real close?”

“Rhodey is my best friend, and yes he’s a total hottie.” Tony carried the re-adjusted arm back to James and set it aside to pick up the book too, flipping through the pictures and chuckling when he got to the shirtless one. “Oh man, he hates this picture. I tried for days to convince him to submit a photo to some ‘hotties of spring break’ calendar and he refused, so I got him blasted on tequila and then took the shot while he was passed out snoring.”

“That--” James hesitated. “That seems creepy, Tony.”

“Yeah, in retrospect, one of the creepiest things ever but eh, what’s a little creep-on between besties?” Tony’s laugh was fond and maybe even a little melancholy as he set the book down again. “I labeled the picture as ‘Honeybear in the Near Nude’ and I really thought he was gonna kill me. Really did. Actually feared for my life the rest of that semester.”

“...That was the last spring break we had together before graduation.” Tony added after a minute. “Maybe the best week of my life.”

“Did he win--” Bucky stopped when an alarm chimed somewhere in the lab, and the first few lines of Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy started playing. “-- I know this song. What is this?”

“The Andrews Sisters.” Tony snapped his fingers and the music turned up a few notches. “How do you know it?”

“How do you know it?” James returned, his mind spinning with lyrics he knew and a beat he knew and holy shit he’d definitely danced to this before, suddenly James knew he loved dancing.

“It was my Auntie Peggy’s favorite song.” Tony took one of those nasty smoothies from Dum-E. “She taught me to dance to this kind of music and I set it as my alarm because it’s such an unusual sound these days that I couldn’t ever ignore it.”

“I know this song.” James said again, and it was incredible to know something beyond how much pressure it took to snap a man’s collarbone and whether or not the walls were thick enough to stop a bullet. “I love this song.”

“I don’t know if I love it-- hold still, please.” Tony set the prosthesis up to James’s shoulder and notched it in with a few clicks. “--but it makes me think of Peggy, which makes me happy and means that I’m not as cranky when I have to drink this green stuff. How does the arm feel?”

“Bout the same as last time.” James mouthed along with a few of the lines as the song played in the background. “Should I do the same sorta stuff to check it out?”

“Yeah, touch your thumb to each finger and flex your wrist as you do.” Tony instructed around a mouthful of smoothie. “If we can get past that part this time around we’ll move on to something else.”

“Sure.” James went through each motion as Tony directed, touching his finger tips together and rotating his wrist, unable to help a smile as the left hand responded perfectly to his every thought. “Feel great, Tony. This is amazing.”

“Yeah yeah, I know.” Tony’s dark eyes were glowing with excitement, and James’s concentration faltered when Tony leaned in even closer and ran his hand up the metal limb. “All the things I’ve built, and bionic man never made it to my list. I can’t believe what I was missing out on.”

Tony tried to close his hand around the bicep of the left arm and scrunched his nose in delight when his fingers didn’t come anywhere even remotely close to touching. “Alright, you can’t actually pop the knuckles on this hand but make the motion anyway, holding each finger down with your thumb like you’re trying to crack the joint. It’s a weird gesture and not one that everyone can do but it will test the dexterity of the prosthesis as well as prove how well it connects to your mind.”

James hummed along to the music as he followed the easy instruction, laughing in quiet disbelief when the new arm did everything he wanted.

I have two hands again.

I’m whole again.

I’m me again.

“All that looks good, so what we’re going to do now is--”

“Dance with me.” James interrupted and Tony stopped, mouth open. “C’mon there’s all sortsa things we can do to test this thing out but dancing would take care of most of them, right?” he glanced up at the speakers and then back down at Tony. “I love this song, Tony. Dance with me.”

“You want to dance with me?” Tony’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, expression shuttering just like it had at the Expo. “James, I don’t think--”

“I’ll go easy on you.” James tried for coaxing, for teasing, for anything besides fear of another rejection. He might not know a whole lot of anything these days but he knew this song and he knew he really really wanted another chance at whatever had almost happened at the Expo, and damn it Tony’s smile was so pretty he almost couldn’t stand it.

He felt like him all the sudden, two hands and an easy smile and even though the sight of metal gleaming along his left side triggered warning bells somewhere deep in his subconscious, James ignored them for the sake of holding out his hand and curling his fingers hopefully. “Dance with me Tony.”

Spend time with me when I feel human.

“Promise not to step on your toes?” he offered almost desperately now-- please please see me as me, I’m so close to me right now-- but his heart sank when Tony stuttered, “Uh James listen. About-- about the Expo and when we almost--I mean, that’s something we should talk about, right? Before you suggest anything like dancing?”

“Never mind.” This time it was James pulled away, who cleared his throat and blanked his expression and let his words get clipped and a little frosty, unease and insecurity warring with a little bit of self loathing for being so fucking dumb to try and fail again. “Forget I asked.”

“No wait--”

“Tony, I don’t really want to hear all the reasons why you didn’t want to kiss me.” James could almost feel himself fading away, disappearing back behind the gates in his mind as the warning bells about the metal arm started to get loud again. “Or all the ways I was misreading everything I thought I saw. Guess I’m more outta practice with this than I thought I was and I don’t want you saying yes cos you feel bad for me or anything, just leave it be.”

Silence, and James cleared his throat, tried not to let the misery and feeling of failure seep too far into his voice. “What else do I need to do to test this thing out?”

“No, don’t change the subject, we should talk about this.” Tony scrubbed his hand over his mouth and closed his eyes. “Fuck me, I’m bad at this but I’ve been working on talking things out and trying to say what I mean instead of being sarcastic all the time so here we go. James, about what happened at the Expo--”

“Tony don’t.”

“--Do you think Rhodey is hot or not?” Tony burst out and James’s mouth fell open. “Do you?”

“...He’s a good lookin’ fella, sure.”

“Okay.” Tony nodded a few times. “Okay, because I think he’s hot too but it’s taken me twenty five years to be able to say that out loud. You know what I mean?”

“I--” James hesitated. “No. Sorry. I don’t know what you mean.”

“It means I’ve been pretending for twenty five years that I don’t notice anything remotely attractive about Rhodey and this is the first time in my life I’m not lying about it.” Tony’s eyes were wide, a streak of red painted high on his cheeks. “My Dad was flat out against anything like that and I don’t know if my Ma knew or not, but it’s been twenty five years and I’m just now comfortable saying it.”

“...okay?”

“And then you went and almost kissed me at the Expo and it all sort of--” Tony made a crazy motion with his hands. “-- I didn’t handle it very well and I’m sorry, but it wasn’t you, it was me and my Dad’s voice right here--” a finger to his temple. “--saying a whole lot of things. You get it?”

James wet his lips and clenched his fists and Tony kept staring, kept hoping James understood even a little bit.

“Twenty five years.” he repeated, chewing at the inside of his cheek and pressing his palm to the reactor to ease the anxious balling up inside. “And it sucks that I made it to over forty before I managed to stop listening to all that crap about who I am and who I’m supposed to be attracted to, but it is what it is. I promise you’re not reading anything wrong on my end, but I’ve never been brave enough to do this before so I gotta know-- am I reading it all wrong on your end?”

And after a quiet, shaky breath, “Do you hear all that shit in your head saying this is wrong too, or is it just me that’s a ball of goddamn conflicted?”

“Goddamn conflicted.” James repeated, and his mind went back who knows how many years ago to all the things he used to hear when he tried to hide, when he went to church in secret and tried to confess, when he gave in a few times and quit pretending to be just like the other fellas.

C’mon now, you know better than to think like that. We like dames, don’t we? Stop starin’.

The Good Book wholly condemns those who engage in perversion, James. Ask for forgiveness and move on from such sin.

Look, what we do here at night is one thing, but don’t go talkin’ bout it in the day time, I’m not a queer, you just got a pretty mouth.

Stay away from that side of town, don’t you know that’s where the fags go?

Tony was asking for understanding and for another chance, for forgiveness because of his reaction and offering an explanation that sounded an awful lot like what James heard in his head every time he thought about how beautiful Tony was.

“I’m so bad at this.”

James must have been quiet too long, because Tony muttered a curse and sat back in his own chair. “Shit. I am so damn bad at this. You know what, maybe we should call it a day and try again tomorrow, I’m clearly not up to dancing or working or putting together sentences or making any fucking sense so--”

“Tony.” James made up his mind and held out his hand again, eyes hopeful and voice as soft as he could make it. “I love this song. Dance with me?”

“Okay.” Tony’s fingers shook just a little as he placed them in James’s palm. “I love this song too.”

*****************

Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy wasn’t a slow song by any means, and Tony was several years past his last dance lesson with Peggy, but after a few mis steps and playful arguments about who exactly was going to lead, James finally flexed his left arm and lifted Tony right off the ground to announce, “If you can lift me up, you’re welcome to lead, Tony.” and Tony laughed in surprise and kept right on laughing as JARVIS started the song over and James took him out between the desks for a dance.

“You’re doing it wrong.” James chuckled and dragged Tony forward into the right steps, left hand secure at Tony’s hip and right hand clasped around Tony’s fingers lightly. “Come on, it’s swing not a waltz. Loosen up for me.”

“You don’t remember your own last name but somehow you remember how to swing dance?” Tony was out of breath already, but game to try and keep up step for step, easing his body towards pliant so James could lead them through the familiar patterns. “How’d you get so good at this anyway?”

“I know this song.” James repeated, concentrating on the give of Tony’s waist soft beneath the hard fingers and not on the headache coming along with thoughts of dancing and maybe even watching the Andrews sisters up on stage as they sang the song which-- that didn’t make sense because the song was seventy something years old at this point wasn’t it? No way he saw them perform.

“I just know it.” he decided, and then teasing, “Or maybe I’m just a better dancer than you.”

“I could ballroom dance your socks off.” Tony announced, and barked a startled laugh when James spun him out into a quick twirl. “I didn’t take six years of lessons with Madame Laurent for nothing. Swing dancing just isn’t exactly my forte.”

“Well next time I give you a lesson, make sure you’re wearin’ a twirly skirt so I can get ya above my head and take a peek, huh?” James grinned, and there his voice went slipping soft and flirty and so damn Brooklyn Tony stumbled and nearly fell when his heart jolted in his chest.

Twenty five years it took to even admit out loud that Rhodey was a damn hottie and now Tony was faced with a soldier right out of his musical-themed day dreams who could dance and smile and talked like all his favorite characters from movies he’d watched enough times to ruin the tapes.

Twenty five years to admit something as dumb as his best friend being attractive and now James was laughing with him and teasing and the mis-step at the Expo seemed ages ago, almost impossible with the way the soldier’s pale eyes were lit up right now and the way James’s fingers held just a little tighter at Tony’s waist and pulled him in close through a turn and ohhhh their bodies brushed together and Tony closed his eyes when a bolt of heat went straight to his core.

Was he so touch starved and miserably horny that a silly dance to his Auntie’s ancient music was going to get him hard?

Another turn and another touch and James’s hand slipped lower along Tony’s waist and he nearly passed out.

Yep. Yep he really was that touch starved and miserably horny.

Except not really miserable. Tony was having the most fun in the world dodging lab tables and chairs as James got more confident with his steps and JARVIS kept the song playing around them. A few banged ankles and stepped on toes were worth feeling the heat pouring off James’s chest, the steel like security of the left arm contrasted with the drugging warmth of the right hand when James cupped the back of Tony’s head to hold him steady through a quick turn and two step.

The music went on, the dance got easier, and then their legs tangled almost to the point of catastrophe and James caught Tony laughing as they crashed together--

--and Tony bit his tongue to quiet a moan when he felt James’s body reacting against his own.

“J-James?”

“Tony.” This time James knew he wasn’t reading anything wrong, this time he wasn’t going to second guess himself and this time Tony was definitely leaning in and standing on his toes--

“Shit!” James jerked away at the last second, jerked away and recoiled when everything seized along his left side and lit up painful, sparks popping behind his eyes. “Ow! Tony help!”

“Damn it, come here and sit down so I can get it off.” Moment temporarily stalled, Tony slid right back into inventor mode and pushed James down onto the closest chair so he could get to work disconnecting the new arm. “I don’t know what’s going on with this thing, I really thought I could just connect it to your shoulder but I might have to go a little deeper into your chest to fix it, maybe even do something with adjustable plates since this piece doesn’t really move, then everything could re calibrate individually as needed….”

Tony trailed off into mumbling as James lay back and tried to breathe through the pain shooting across his chest. Everything on his left side felt like it was on fire, like it used to those first few months after waking up beneath that bridge, phantom weight dragging his shoulder down and the feeling of needles in his skin.

It hurt and he growled a rough curse when Tony pushed at his shoulder experimentally.

“Sorry.” Tony said immediately. “Sorry about that. I can fix this, I definitely can. JARVIS run some simulations on using individual pieces instead of one solid on like the armor-- the arm. Not long lines like muscles but horizontal plates instead. A hundred small calculations to adjust as he moves, not three or four major ones.”

“Yes sir.”

“One two three, off.” Tony pulled the arm off and hurried it back to the fabrication station so JARVIS could take the appropriate scans and start working on the changes. “Okay, you still with me? James?”

A bottle of water pressed into James’s hand, and Tony hesitated before resting his palms on James’s thighs. “Feeling okay?”

“Feeling like shit for ruining our dance.” James grit out, honest because there was no reason to lie to Tony, no reason to hide his disappointment when he knew Tony had been having just as much as him. “Sorry about that.”

“Rescheduled doesn’t mean ruined.” Tony said the words lightly but his heart was in his throat, waiting to see if James would acknowledge the clear invitation. “Right?”

“Right.” The corner of James’s mouth crooked up into a smile. “Rescheduled.”

A smile meant good things, the invitation to another dance meant lots of very good things so Tony gathered every bit of his courage, every bit of determination he had about completing his bucket list, all the hope he’d gotten every time James smiled at him or flirted a little and all the butterflies in his stomach from their dance and said softly, so softly,--

“James, I-- I’d like to take you to bed.”

And James’s eyes opened wide and incredulous, “...what?!”

****************

SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THE CHAPTER

****************

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#ncts fics #winteriron #tony stark #bucky barnes

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sunshinesukuna · 4 years

Text

hogwarts school of sorcery and sweethearts

✨pairing : magic!kuroo x magic!reader ✨genre: angst then fluff ✨tw: light swearing, bullying ✨ insp: night changes — 1D, 18 — 1D, Somebody to You — The Vamps, The Gifted (if y’all watch ep 5 and 7 y’all know what i’m gonna write abt) ✨ wc: 6.5k i rlly don’t know how it got to be this long it just... did. lest those plot holes come for my ass. ✨ uwu i officially graduated last week. they leech rally made us sit in front of our computers and graduate like? so damn cringy tho. but now it’s school admission season and you know what that means? a lotta stress as my grades try to get into a good school. TT

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢: 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐲 (𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧) | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐢𝐢: 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧) | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐢: 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 (𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧)

Sorceress Saeko’s Guide To Potent Potions:

The Babbling Potion is an extremely inebriating potion that, as stated in its name, causes the consumer to spout lies. Each and every statement said by the user under this potion’s effect is a complete and utter lie — according to the user’s knowledge of course. It is said that the Muggle tale of Pinnochio was inspired by a wizard who accidentally poured several drops of the potion onto an enchanted doll.

Effects last for 72 hours, or until an Antidote is administered. For safety reasons, ingredients are kept confidential unless under emergency. Recipe for the Antidote is as below:

(For one person)

5 leech stomachs

Petals of the Laughing LIly (crushed finely)

Ginger ale

Root of Bubotuber Plant

Mandrake shavings

MIx together in a cauldron for two hours until brilliant orange. Stir with your wand counterclockwise for one hour, then set to simmer. When done, it should resemble the scent and taste of Pumpkin Juice.

Kuroo always marched into the war armored to the teeth with plans. Every action he did always had a clear intention behind it and was well thought out, with all the consequences and alternatives mapped out. Even the most trivial of things. Kuroo wouldn’t argue that the situation in question was as far from trivial as it could get, but he digresses. Which is what landed Bokuto, Akaashi, and Kenma standing over a fretting Kuroo.

“If you like (Y/N) so much, just say it to (Y/N)’s face, Kuroo!” Bokuto said. Kuroo gives him a sour look. Kuroo’s normally calm and suave front was reduced to a boy fiddling with his wan with pursed lips. Occasionally, bright red sparks popped out from the end of his wand, nearly obliterating a vase on top of the fireplace.

“Heh. You go up to that pretty third-year you saw last week and tell her that you like her, go on,” Kuroo egged.

“Well now that you put it that way…” Bokuto’s hair deflated along with his ego.

“Then what’s the point of you making these…” Akaashi gestured to the wads of parchment over the covers of Kuroos’ four poster. Some of them were complete with the red circles and arrows unique to Gryffindor Quidditch captains. They flitted around the parchment, akin to the moving pictures that were the norm in the wizarding world. “Battle plans?”

Kuroo chuckled. “Battle plans,” he muttered. “You’re right there, Akaashi.”

“Bokuto has a point though, Kuroo,” Akaashi said. He looked at a piece of parchment and threw it away in disgust.

“I do?” Bokuto asked. His eyes became starry again. The hair that once laid low with shame and insecurity now promptly stood proudly again.

“No use making it long and complicated if she’s just going to reject you in the end,” Akaashi said. His tone made Kuroo’s heart clench a bit at how honest Akaashi was being.

“Well yes, but when we’re dating, I don’t want to hear (Y/N) complaining about how un-thought out it was!” Kuroo said.

“Now you’re just thinking too far,” Kenma piped up from his spot on the chair. “You’ve been friends for six months Kuroo,” he went back to his book, “stay in your lane.”

Kuroo scoffed defensively. “We’re quite good friends, I’ll say!” Bokuto stifled a laugh, while Akashi snorted openly next to Bokuto.

“Go to sleep, you all.” Kuroo swiped all of the strewn parchment from the bed and stacked it onto his nightstand. “I need to think about this by myself.”

Kuroo laid on his four poster, mind amuck with thoughts and complications. Both the dark outside and the dark in his mind left him more confused than ever. Now that he had become better friends with you, he had a slightly closer view of all your thought processes, all your likes and dislikes.

You liked Herbology and magical plants. Should he do it in the greenhouse? No, you had been there too many times for it to have any special meaning to you. Not to mention that he wouldn’t want to do it while soiled in Mandrake piss. Kuroo shuddered at the thought.

The common room? Too many people that could walk in. An empty classroom? Too suggestive.

Kuroo sat up on his bed. Everyone had fallen fast asleep, Bokuto snoring the loudest out of the four. Kuroo slumped back down on the bed before catching sight of the bulletin board in his room. Besides the parchment of Quidditch moves and formations, there was a moving photo of the four of them.

Crude mustaches were drawn over their magical lips. A magical doodle of a flying Bokuto was scribbled in the corner, flying around the photo’s sky. Even the pictures were asleep. Not Kuroo’s. His was still awake.

Kuroo’s photo looked at the real version of him. The photo couldn’t talk, but Photo Kuroo looked at real Kuroo expectantly. Kind of like he was asking ‘What are you going to do now?’

Not bearing to lock eyes with the photo, Kuroo found himself looking at the schedule he had for tomorrow. Potions first thing in the morning. Ugh, he had to deal with Snape again. After Slytherin’s defeat against Gryffindor a few days ago, their head of house would be even more bitter than he already was toward the innocent Gryffindors. There were even rumors that next morning’s pumpkin juice would be laced with Draught of the Living Death or Babbling Potion. Kuroo shuddered.

Potions was followed by History of Magic, Arithmancy, Charms, and Astronomy. His mind went silent for a little while, concocting an all-new plan.

Maybe something could be arranged.

Kuroo walked into breakfast the day after that with a spring in his step, the hair on his head finally seeming to bend to his will. The rest of the Gryffindors gagged at the 180 his appearance had taken on.. Had their mouths been anymore agape, they would have been the gargoyles that stood proudly on Hogwarts front gates.

“Top of the morning to you all, fine gentlemen,” Kuroo said. Akaashi and Kenma exchanged a look.

“Game day, huh?” Akaashi asked. Kuroo nodded, grinning from ear to ear. Kenma pursed his lips.

“Astronomy Tower, right after classes.”

“Really? Good luck, bro!” Bokuto says. He clapped Kuroo on the back.

From the tip of his wand, Kuroo conjured a sticky white liquid and proceeded to slather it all over his hair. It was hair gel, Kenma realised. The morning sunlight streaming through the windows made it shimmer in Kuroo’s onyx locks. “I look fine, right?” Kuroo asked. Kenma could only nod half-heartedly.

Kuroo tapped his fingers on the wooden tables. He gritted his teeth. “You’re going to be fine, Kuroo,” Kenma says. He smiles a little at his friend's concern over confessing.

“Yeah, I think (Y/N) has a thing for you too Kuroo,” Bokuto says. Kuroo furrowed his eyebrows.

“You sure?”

“Don’t let those battle plans go to waste, man.” Kuroo laughs at the support his friends are giving him. There’s a nagging feeling in the back of his head that something, something is just going to go wrong. Then again, he gets that feeling every time he has a game. But they’ve won a majority of those games, so he chalks it up to nerves.

Kuroo reached for a pitcher of pumpkin juice that no one had touched before. He took a sniff before furrowing his eyebrows. “Does the pumpkin juice smell a little off to you today?” Kenma shrugged. Kuroo poured some in his goblet anyways.

Kenma was the first one to see it coming. He was sitting opposite the Slytherin Quidditch team, so he had a bird’s eye view of their actions. A glint in Miya Atsumu’s eyes, Daishou’s curl of the lips, and the scent from the pitcher akin to unicorn poop; sickly sweet but could kill a man if inhaled directly.

“Don’t drink—” Kenma started, but the gulp in Kuroo’s throat makes any of his actions futile. Kenma is half-standing, one arm raised to keep the goblet from touching his lips, but it’s too late. Akaashi and Bokuto look at Kenma like he’s swallowed a hedge of Gillyweed.

“The pumpkin juice today tastes amazing, doesn’t it?” Kuroo said. He set the goblet down like nothing was wrong. “Do you guys have any plans for later? I’m free tonight, so let’s all sneak out to Hogsmeade if you—”

Kenma snatches the goblet from Kuroo and puts it to his nose. The scents of Bubotuber pus and lily roots sting his nose. A waterfall of regret and shock crashes over the rocks that are Kenma’s heart. He shoves the goblet toward Akaashi, who does the same thing. They exchange grave looks before looking at Kuroo.

“Guys?” Kuroo and Bokuto ask in unison. Kenma spots Miya Atsumu and Daishou Suguru giving each other claps on the back from his seat. ‘Slytherin’, he mouths to Akaashi. Akaashi rolls his eyes. The audacity! Akaashi takes the first plunge.

“U-um Kuroo?” Akaashi asks. Kuroo looks at his friend, the confusion on his face now replaced with blank indifference. “Don’t you have to meet (Y/N) later today?” Akaashi asks, prompting his memory.

“That ugly shrew? I’ll pass, thanks.”

There are always going to be variables that are impossible to factor in an equation. Not all equations have rational results either. That was fundamental in Arithmancy. And as a student of Advanced Arithmancy of two years, Kuroo should probably have that ingrained into his mind right now. It was something that Professor Vector always berated him on. That he never left room for unknown variables that could come up in another problem in his equations.

Kuroo would have never thought that he would encounter one in a situation like this.

“Not cool, man!” Bokuto cried. An insult to Bokuto’s friends was an insult to Bokuto himself. But when one of Bokuto’s friends insulted Bokuto’s other friends...

Kuroo shrugged and took another sip of the pumpkin juice. “Just saying.” Akaashi and Kenma were still standing agape at the words tumbling out of Kuroo’s mouth. One minute he was fawning over you, fussing over every detail. Out of everyone, how could Kuroo have the audacity to say something like that about you?

“Anyway, what are you all off to? Anyone want to join me on the pitch during Arithmancy?”

Kenma choked back a gulp of air. “You’re skipping class?”

“Yeah.” Seeing his friend's dumbstruck expressions, Kuroo threw his head back, laughing. “What’s the old hag gonna do?” He waved his fingers around his head in imitation of the innocent Professor Vector. “Oo, you have blundered in the ancient arts of the numbers! Prepare to die!” he said mockingly.

In an instant, his smile dispersed in favour of a scowl that made itself at home on Kuroo’s face like a parasite on an unsuspecting plant. “Like hell am I going to do that.”

Kuroo started packing his bags. “You guys aren’t coming with me, huh?”

“Well unlike you,” Akaashi started, “we actually care about our grades.” Kuroo raised an eyebrow.

“Suit yourself. I’ll be in the Astronomy Tower after class if you need me.”

Enter a happy you trotting over to where the quartet were sitting. It seemed like you had just come back from the greenhouses, as evident from the leaf in your hair. You brushed it away.

“Hi guys! Hi Kuroo!” you greeted. You sat yourself down next to Kuroo, but he suddenly scooted away from you like you were the plague. He grimaced before looking you up and down. He might have muttered something under his breath, but you didn’t catch a word. You could hear, however, that it was said in a venom-laced tone that could kill a bear with just a word.

“I’m off,” he said curtly. Kuroo slung his bag over the shoulder and walked out of the Great Hall. You pursed your lips as you look at his retreating form. Something was up with him today.

“What’s up with him?” you ask, taking a piece of toast from a tray.

“He’s just feeling a little under the weather today… yeah!” Bokuto answered. His eyes looked to Akaashi for help. Either Akaashi didn’t get the hint or just decided to ignore Bokuto altogether. “That’s it! Kuroo’s just a little… sick!”

“Poor him. Why isn’t he off at Madam Pomfrey’s?” You pouted. He promised to help you harvest Bubotuber Pus later today. But he could take a break from helping you all the time, you supposed.

“Well, you see—” Bokuto said. You set your food down on the plate abruptly.

“Never mind, I should stop by later to give him a healing potion or something.” At this, Akaashi and Kenma looked at one another with baffled faces and parted lips.

“We… really think you shouldn’t—” Kenma said.

“He said he would be in the Astronomy Tower later after class!” Bokuto suddenly blurted. Akaashi sighed and put his head in his hands, the cereal in front of him taking the brunt of his frustration.

“Oh, okay then. Thanks!” you said. Not having much of an appetite, you grabbed another piece of toast and pranced off to your next class.

Classes went by as usual. You didn’t catch a glimpse of a certain black-haired Keeper that day. Kuroo would have been good at this, you think, as the goblet in front of you squawks in distress. You wave your wand, reverting it back to its original form as a crow before proceeding to try again.

What do people say again? If you tell someone you can’t have it, they want it even more? Usual classroom days with Kuroo would have never left you wanting for friends or platonic affection. But now as Professor Binns drolled on, you found yourself missing the occasional paper airplanes Kuroo would send your way during times like these. Or the inside jokes you shared about Professor Trelawney, who he hated with a burning passion, even though he didn’t attend Divination.

Once classes were over, you decided to help Kuroo get a little better. Since you often stopped by the infirmary to drop off medicinal magical plants, you could say that you knew your way around here. Madam Pomfrey trusted you enough that you would mind your own business. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t pull in a few favours from time to time.

Your reflection stared back at you from the cabinet marked ‘Healing Potions.’ The frontmost bottle always freaked you out a little. Why couldn’t the makers of Skele-Gro taken a design class or two? Putting a skeleton on the cap of a medicinal potion surely couldn’t have been the best way to attract customers.

Other potions bubbled in their flasks as you shoved them away. Draught of the Living Death, was engraved on a bottle. Sleeping potion; use only in cases of extreme pain. Yikes. Was the red bottle to its side the one you were looking for? Babbling Potion Antidote. Use in large doses for immediate effect. Not this one either.

The blue bottle on the very end was probably the one. You pushed past the other bottles, some with disturbing symptoms described on them. A jolly cupid with rosy cheeks flew around the blue glass, fit as a fiddle. On the cork was engraved ‘Pepperup Potion.’ Exactly what you were looking for.

You pocketed the bottle in your bag and made your way across the hall. Classes were finally finished, judging from the sea of black robes engulfing the hall. You hopped over a trick step on the stairs and looked up. The Astronomy Tower should be empty by now. Professor Sinistra should be enjoying a hearty meal down at supper. You trudged up the winding staircases.

You opened the topmost door to be rewarded by a gust of fresh air. The balcony above was empty save for a figure sitting on the ledge. His red Gryffindor robes were draped over the stone walls. A parchment peacock preened over by the empty tables as two tabby cats chased a crumpled rat around the chairs. Monkeys slung their way around the chandelier as sparrows nested in the mahogany shelves. It was a zoo, brought alive by the lazy swishing of Kuroo’s wand.

“Kuroo,” you said. His head lolled over to where you were standing. Kuroo blinked slowly— exactly like a cat, you noted, and raised an eyebrow.

“What are you doing here?”

You shuffled around in your bag. “Bokuto told me you were up here, and I thought that...”

“Ha?” Kuroo looked at you with a gelid distaste that stopped the vocal cords in your throat from working right then and there. He never looked at you like that. Did he have a problem with you? ‘He’s always stared at you like that when you aren’t looking, you know?’ egged the voice in the back of your head. That’s why he’s called you here. He hates you and wants you to bugger off.

“What the hell would I want with someone,” his eyes looked you up and down, “like you?”

“‘Like me?” Your mind stopped all other body processes as all your energy went to processing the words you had heard just now. “Are you implying something?”

“That you’re a half-witted witch,” he snarled. Kuroo hopped off the ledge to make his way over to you, “that couldn’t survive at Hogwarts even if I shoved all the books in the library down your big pie-hole?” Each word was interpolated by a languid step in your direction, backing you down to the cold walls that held the Tower up.

“I—” Kuroo leans on the wall, supported by an arm that pins you below his glare. Your muscles are held captive by his pernicious slights and the sheer denial that someone that treats, treated, you as nicely as Kuroo did could say things like this to you.

“I don’t even know why Hogwarts let people like you in.” He wrinkled his nose. “Hell, first time I saw you I thought you came in to replace Filch, the old bugger.” Okay, now this was just getting to be too much.

“What’s gotten into you?” you ask. Your brain wants it to come out as somewhat of a polite query, but your voice betrays your brain and lets it loose with the same shrill naivety a child would scream at their mother with. It almost cracks in the middle, but you push forward.

“What’s gotten into me? Honey, that’s what McGonagall was thinking when she sent the letter of acceptance to you.” Kuroo puts his hands on his hips and leans back — as if that would let him throw more insults with better finesse.

“No one likes you, see? That’s why you only go to those plants for comfort.”

“Shut up!” you screech. How could he say that with such nonchalance? It looked like he was being possessed by Peeves. How hard the poltergeist would laugh when he caught wind of this. You put your hands on his chest and push him away with the remaining strength in your arms. Kuroo staggers back, but quickly regains his balance. Out of your peripheral vision, you spot shards of red glass from the bottle. You don’t bother to clean it up as you try to distance yourself as far away as you can from the monster in front of you.

The Astronomy Tower, true to its name, towered over the rest of Hogwarts. Everything below lay in its gargantuan shadow, being a great place for picnics on hot summer days. It was even tall enough to shield the students from the rain, if you were unlucky enough to not know a Rain-Repelling Charm. The only thing that was collectively despised from it was its long, winding stairs.

The same ones you were stooped over right now. You could feel tears making their way over your eyelids, but then again, what did you have to cry for? It wasn’t like you were exceptionally close to Kuroo like he was with Kenma or something. You deserve to cry, you thought. He said all those horrible things; it was okay for you to feel insulted. Especially coming from him.

You gulped down another lump in your throat. One of his enchanted paper animals had hung onto your robes as you were making your way down, and was now perching on your knees. The cat with scribbled on whiskers and eyes lounged on your lap, unaware of the turmoil going on inside you. You clicked your tongue. If this was how Kuroo was going to humiliate you even further...

Then he could have a taste of his own medicine! You ripped up the innocent cat, setting it aflame for good measure. The smoke drifted out the vents above. Blood trickled from a cut on your index figure onto the stone stairs.

“Look what we have here,” a scratchy voice crooned. The blood and emotions hammering in your head inhibit your senses. With the right honeyed tone, you would have thought the voice in front of you belonged to the very man who spurned you moments ago.

“Go— go away, Kuroo!” You stand up, moving to go back to the dorms when a face that fills you with dread blocks your way.

“Kuroo? Well, well, well, who would’ve thought that Princess Plant Prick would have had a…” Peeves pokes his cheek with his finger. “Boy toy?” You’re able to at least shoot him a dirty look, but you stay in place in case anything happens. Who knows what fishy pranks he has up his sleeves?

“No?” He twirls around you in a flurry of ghostly white. “I’m guessing… crush?”

Peeves’s childish insulting was almost soothing. Different from those from Kuroo, Peeves’s jabs were more like one from a little sibling to another one. Rough on the outside, but well meaning on the inside. The tears seemed to stop their torrent a little, and your knees find themselves buckling back down on the stairs.

“Neither. Please leave me alone.” You take a handkerchief from your bag and wipe the mess on your face with it.

“You sure, Princess Plant Prick? I’m not sure someone in your state is in any condition to be left alone.” The poltergeist moved to take a seat on the window ledge beside you. The previously bright corridor darkened a little bit with the new obstruction.

“Certain—certainly” you choked, “not with anyone like you.”

“Oh? And you would prefer it if I was, say…” Peeves leaned in closer to you. You could almost see the mosaic through the pale film of his skin. “Kuroo?” You rolled your eyes at the poltergeist.

“See, I even made a wig to impersonate him if the occasion called for it!” With a snap of his fingers, he conjured a mop of what seemed to be black rooster feathers. Peeves set it on his head and smiled in imitation of Kuroo. You allowed yourself a small smile.

“Could have fooled me,” you said.

“And what if I did? If you thought that it was actually Kuroo here in my place?” You turned your head away, avoiding the question. “Assuming the previous events didn’t happen,” Peeves added hastily.

“We wouldn’t do anything, if that’s what you mean.” Peeves gave you the side eye.

You pondered a bit. What would you do if Kuroo was sitting here next to you? Would you push him away in fear of him making you hurt even more? No, Kuroo was the one to talk things through whenever there was a problem. So then why would he lash out at you when you didn’t do anything (as you remembered) wrong to him?

“I’m really starting to agree with him on your…” Peeves’s eyes raked your form up and down, “astuteness.”

“You heard us back there?”

“And on the Quidditch pitch.” Peeves lifted a finger. ”And in the greenhouses. And near the Fat Lady. And near that nasty painting of the raccoons on the third floor.” He held four fingers up. “And many more too.”

You tilted your head to the side. What did eavesdropping on conversations have to do with the situation? Seeing your confused expression, Peeves rolled his eyes and clapped his hands smack dab in front of your face.

“I have a bet with the other ghosts, darling! Snape’s diary is on the line here, so you better wisen up!” Now he was just leading you even further and further on from a simple answer. Peeves stood up from where he was sitting and floated back up the stairs, stopping a flight just above you. A trail of mist followed him.

“And you know, Princess Plant Prick,” Peeves called from upstairs, “he did reek of Babbling Potion, earlier today.”

“Babbling…” You sucked in a gust of air. The haze in your head finally cleared up, allowing you to see what you were missing the entire time. You pulled your mouth closed, not even realising that it had dropped to the floor in the first place. You tapped your feet vigorously on the stairs, formulating your next plan of action.

Reinforcements were needed.

The Gryffindor common room was empty save for the trio of friends that looked a little out of place with the absence of the fourth. Three pairs of shaky eyes met yours as you stood in front of the table where they were all huddled. Kenma gulped. “You met Kuroo, didn’t you?”

You grimaced, but tried as hard as you could to look at the fireplace on the other side of the room. “I did.”

“How bad did it hurt?”Akaashi asked. The edges of your eyes stung as fresh tears pricked your eyeballs like needles on a pincushion. You wiped them away with your fingers and put your hands on your hips.

“Only a little. Now come on, Kenma.” You put a hand on Kenma’s wrist and yanked him out from his sitting position. He was the best one that could help you for a task like this. “We’re going to make him regret it.”

There was a potion supply available to students filled with harmless ingredients that wouldn’t harm a fly, but was enough for the potion you had in mind. Bokuto and Akaashi eventually started trailing behind you, and after enough explanation, they were on board with the plan that you had.

After four gruelling hours of rotating between actually making the potion and keeping guard in the boys bathroom at 12 o’clock, the finished product was finally in your hands. With a swish of your wand, all trace of the four of you was gone.

“Let’s do this again, shall we?”

The boyish flouncing of the previous day, turned into an arrogant saunter the very next. Yesterday’s naive smile had soured like spoiled milk and turned into a shit-eating smirk that was fouler than Miya Atsumu’s when Slytherin won a game. The potion still hadn’t worn off, Kenma noted. It must have been potent. Luckily, he and (Y/N) had been prepared for this, with a little help from Bokuto and Akaashi.

Kuroo gives a curt nod in Bokuto and Akaashi’s direction on the other side of the table as he moves to sit down next to Kenma. He doesn’t take his eyes off of the scrumptious feast laid in front of him.

“So,” he says as he piles eggs and toast onto his plate, “anyone finally coming to skip with me today?” No one answers at first. Then, being the brave soul he is, Bokuto replies to his friend’s question.

“I don’t know man,” Bokuto says. “You got a lot of flak from Flitwick yesterday after you skipped. You’re lucky your grades from last week saved you.”

“Did they, now?” Kuroo drawls. He swills the juice in his goblet a few times before downing it one gulp. The goblet magically refills itself as Kuroo sets it down.

His mouth moves to make another brash statement, but contorts into a fanged scowl when you walk up the halls. Kenma and Akaashi don’t even have to look at you to know that it’s you coming down to sit next to them.

“Fancy seeing you three here,” you say. Kuroo’s eyes twitch as you so blatantly ignore his presence. There are no signs of the pain he inflicted on you yesterday, and you seem as chipper as you can get. Frustration bubbles in his chest, at the thought of someone being so happy, even after he did all of those things to you. If you could just show an ounce of inconvenience at—

Something splashes in his face. The fiery undertones of fall and cinnamon tell him that it’s from his pumpkin juice. Kuroo draws his wand in reflex, but nothing else seems to be out for him. Worse still, the four people around him seem to pay him no attention. He catches Kenma giving you a short glance. Pearly droplets of orange liquid drip down your finger.

“What did you put in my drink?” Kuroo mutters. You pay him no mind and go back to your cereal with your soggy fingers.

“Hey.” Kuroo raps on the wooden table with his fist. “What did you put in my drink?” His volume has increased by now. So much so that the trio next to you has taken notice.

“Nothing,” you say.

“If she was actually trying to poison you, wouldn’t you think Dumbledore or McGonagall would have caught on sooner?” Kenma asked, trying to reason with his friend.

Kuroo deflates a bit, leaning back before looking at the goblet in his hands. He takes a long sip from it, his eyes never leaving you the entire time. Perhaps he did see the drop you put into it, but he shows no signs that he knows you know.

And then it happens. Kuroo slammed the now empty cup on the table. He clenched the golden material until his knuckles reddened, paled, and went back to his normal skin tone again. Something from the back of his throat sounded like it wanted to claw its way out of his mouth. People on each side of you were starting to look over. Any minute now, you think, biting your lip. You had read that the antidote’s effects could be a little painful, but you hadn’t prepared yourself for any of this.

Kuroo’s closing his eyes shut in pain. Every nerve in his throat has gotten ten times stronger, every breath next to him getting amplified by a hundred times. Ten thousand needles prick his throat as he gasps for air in the cramped space he is in right now. Kuroo forces an eye open to look into the eyes of his assailant: you.

“You little—” he rasps.

But just as he is about to force another curse word to come out of his mouth, all of the needles in him force their way out. His lungs suddenly fill with air as the pain in his neck and head dull to normal. His eyesight sharpens to its usual levels; which means he can feel the other eyes on him right now.

Kuroo sits straight again as four pairs of eyes take in his current condition. They all have their lips slightly parted, eyebrows furrowed. The one in front of him looks the most expectant. Kuroo closes his eyes and shakes his head. He opens them again to be greeted by a sudden rush of light in his eyes and… your hesitant form in front of him.

Orange droplets drip from your fingers, a remnant from his pumpkin juice. There is a paper cut you got from yesterday when...

“Hey, listen, I—” Kuroo starts. But your trembling lip and reddening eyes are too much for him to go on with his sentence.

Your feelings also seem to be too much for yourself. Even though you’re in the middle of the Great Hall, where anyone could pick out drama even if it ran around in an Invisibility Cloak, ‘discrete’ is not something you have apparently mastered.

“Hey!” he calls out after you. But by the time anyone can react, you’re out of the hall, face buried in your long, black, sleeve as you avoid the conflict. Kuroo is half-standing out of his seat. An arm raised that is lowered disappointedly as you make your way out.

The rest of the day goes on as usual. The sheer proximity of being in the same room with Kuroo is able to make your heart lurch in your ribcage. You want to have him so close by your side, so close that you can hear the steady thumping of one another’s hearts. So close that the very pheromones that make up his scent and self are etched into your mind as deep as they can possibly go.

But at the same time, you hate being in his presence. His observant eyes that scan the room like a predator its prey linger a little too long on your back. If you could, you would put a thousand miles of distance between you two, until the mere memory of him is a speck of sand in the vast plains of the universe. Of course it’s not his fault for anything that happened, but still...

It’s only later during lunch when everything seems to be pulled back together. For a fleeting moment, you pass Kenma. He mutters a quick, “Meet him in the greenhouses after class,” before disappearing among the sea of black robes. You think to call after him, but you realise that Kuroo would have easily been the one that had sent him. And Kuroo always had a plan.

So when you open the door to the greenhouse later, it doesn’t surprise you that there is absolutely no one there. Save for a certain Quidditch Captain.

He’s playing with the lilies. Your lilies. The same ones that had made their way around your head the first time he had really approached you in the Great Hall that time. They snap up happily at the slightest brush of his fingers that easily retract back from the lethal petals.

“You’ve made friends with the lilies,” you say. Kuroo stills in his seat on the stool. He turns to face you and blinks slowly, like a cat would.

“If you don’t want to be here right now, then… I understand. I understand.” Kuroo stands up. He holds his arms out in a show of surrender. “So will you let me take up some of your time this afternoon?”

You teeter between the balls of your feet. The words want to come out of your mouth so badly, but your heart seems to be keeping your lips shut. You count to five.

“Go on,” you say.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). I get it if you don’t forgive me, I said some really bad stuff back there. If you want to cut off all ties with me, feel free to, and—” You put a hand on one of his broad shoulders.

“Kuroo.” He stops all his rambling and looks up at your eyes. “You were under a potion, it’s alright. I… I forgive you.”

“You do?”

“I do!” Your arms find their way around his neck. His jaw tickles your shoulder as the rumble of his laugh shakes your body.

“Thanks," you catch him whispering into your ear. None of you say anything as you dangle from his neck in the bone-splitting hug you give him. You linger for a while before peeling your arms back. Kuroo wants them back in their rightful place, his neck, so bad. “So are we back to normal, now?”

“Only if you’ll let me trash-talk you as revenge.” You both laugh in unison.

“Hey, (Y/N)," Kuroo says. “Can I tell you something?”

“You can tell me anything, Kuroo. What’s up?”

He takes your fingers between his. You find yourself walking backwards and backwards in a twisted dance. And Kuroo holds the lead.

Your back makes contact with the wall behind you. Hot breath fans your neck. Kuroo holds out a hand to hold himself up, effectively trapping you between the wall and his tall body. You could just as easily whip out your wand and hex him where the sun doesn’t shine. But this was too good to be true. Didn’t all teenagers dream of someone doing this to them?

Now that someone’s finally doing it to you, you can only freeze as your brain goes haywire.

“Kuroo! What are you—”

“I like you,” he says. It’s quick and simple, but smoother than a drawn out love letter from those horrible Cupids that Gilderoy Lockhart had sent that year. It makes your blood roar in your ears, yet the only sound that comes through to your brain are the three words that just came out of Kuroo’s mouth.

“A lot.” The words come out of your mouth at the same time. Kuroo looks up, meeting a playful smile on your lips. He raises his eyebrows.

“How did you?” he asks. You cock a shoulder in his direction.

“I have my ways.”

Instead of pressing further, Kuroo just bows his head down between his arms, you may add, are still entrapping you. He laughs. “If you know only that much, then let me elaborate.” Your face suddenly feels very warm.

‘Well of course, you would, it’s a greenhouse, (Y/N)!’ says Common Sense. The giddy teenager overtakes you and plays it off as Kuroo’s hot, and extremely close, breath.

“You’re really cute when you’re embarrassed, aren’t you?” He taps your nose. You want to swat his hand away, but remember that your arms are currently trapped under his much bigger ones.

“You’re even cuter when you teach me Herbology at 3 in the morning. And way cuter when you have a milk mustache during breakfast.” Kuroo had removed his hands by now, but it still felt like there were invisible tacks pinning your arms to the wall behind you.

“Am I?” you asked.

“Nope.” His sudden statement has you furrowing your eyebrows, but he quickly follows it up with a flick to your forehead. “Silly. Do you think I like you based on physical appearance alone?”

You manage a giggle. Kuroo leans back on the wall as he observes the greenhouse around him. You scoot closer to him and take his fingers into your hand. They're calloused after years of holding brooms, but they're soft and plump. He doesn't seem to mind when you wordlessly slip your hand into his.

Kuroo turns to look at you. He smiles. "We should spend more time in the greenhouses, you know?"

“Yeah, I think dates like this would be really good for our relationship," you say.

“Our… what?”

“Our relationship.” You pull your hand away from his. “Do you not want to?”

Now the positions are switched. Your hands lock Kuroo from both sides as you pin him against the wall. His lips are inches from yours.

"Can I?" you ask. Kuroo chuckles. He pulls your jaw closer to his, pressing both of your lips together in the process.

"Well this didn't go as planned," he comments, before pulling you in for another kiss.

BONUS:

Kenma passes Kuroo in their dorms. "You're welcome," he says.

Kuroo is about to reply, but the blond Chaser has already settled into bed.

83 notes · View notes

trashyswitch · 4 years

Text

Logan’s Trip to [REDACTED]

Chapter 3: Logan's Super Eventful Visit

Logan learns about an SCP known as the Voodoo Organ Transplant by none other, than Remus. So, Logan adds that to his list of SCP's to meet and visit.

Logan's choice of SCP's leads to a lot more fun and playfulness rather than serious moments.

Happy Tickletober everyone! Technically, I might be doing the Tickletober days super out of order and...not all of them will be done. So, why not have some fun this October? We kinda deserve some fun after the roller coaster we call 2020. So, I hope you enjoy! This is Tickletober Day 09: Ganged Up On! (AND YES THIS COUNTS BECAUSE IMAGINE THAT SCP DOING THAT TO YOU!)

Logan and Remus were in the imagination, reenacting a surgery scene similar to Surgery Simulator. Only this time, they didn’t have terrible video game mechanics to deal with. Logan was covering all the tools in sterilizing formula and stirring them around to ensure they’re clean.

“Okay. Scalpel.” Remus ordered.

“Marker.” Logan said, giving him a black marker.

Remus took a double take before groaning. “Does it really matter? This is just the imagination. We don’t need to do a perfectly pristine job.” Remus reminded him.

“We can get to the ‘fun’ quicker if we open him up properly. If you show me you can follow the proper instructions for starting a surgery, then I’ll let you do whatever you want with the body.” Logan bribed him.

Upon hearing the ultimate bribe of a lifetime, Remus immediately put his game face on and threw his mask onto his face. “HAND ME THE RULER.” Remus ordered in the most down to earth, replicated lawyer voice he could muster. Logan snickered to himself as he threw a stainless steel ruler into the bowl of formula before giving it to him. Remus very carefully made a straight, dotted line with the marker and gave it back to Logan. “Scalpel...Please.” Remus ordered.

Logan nodded and handed him the very item he asked for. “Scalpel.” Logan repeated.

Remus carefully cut the incision and handed the now bloody knife back to Logan carefully. “Wonderful! You did splendidly.” Logan reacted. “Now...Let all hell break loose!” Logan declared to Remus.

Remus didn’t waste a second. The moment the word ‘Hell’ was spoken, Remus had summoned a chainsaw! Remus revved up the chainsaw, and started dramatically cutting right into the small incision location. It didn’t even take a second for the tiny incision to become overcome with blades and for the entire body to explode with blood and guts absolutely everywhere. Logan covered himself up with his surgery gown while Remus happily allowed the blood to drench his face, chest, legs, and hair. Even his mustache was partly covered in blood! The entire imagination was covered in blood and guts!

Then, Remus pulled out a stapler. “Alright! Let’s staple him up, nurse!” Remus declared. Logan snorted and bursted out laughing! It was like watching a Looney Tunes show! Only, more bloodier! Plus, the entire body was in shreds! How is one supposed to use STAPLES to get this body back together?! It’s physically impossible! That was why Logan was laughing as much as he was.

“Man, that was fun! We should do this more often!” Remus reacted happily.

Logan smiled. “I’d love to! But it might have to wait until after I get back from the SCP Foundation.” Logan told him.

Remus gasped and practically tackled Logan to the ground while the imagination cleaned itself up. “TELL ME ALL ABOUT IT! Is it real?! Are you able to see the Class Keter SCP’s?! TELL ME TELL ME TELL ME!” Remus begged.

Logan giggled awkwardly and straightened his glasses. “Well...I’ve looked at mostly Object Class Safe SCP’s so far.” Logan explained. “I’m not allowed to visit the Keter classes yet because it’s dangerous.” Logan explained.

“Right, right. That makes sense.” Remus replied. “But have you seen SCP-2295 yet?” Remus asked.

Logan nodded. “Yup! He’s incredible! I’ve even given him sewing cloth!” Logan reacted.

Remus squealed. “YAY! What about SCP-897?” Remus asked.

Logan was taken back. “SCP-897? I’ve never heard of it.” Logan replied.

“OH! It’s a person that’s capable of teleporting other people’s organs into himself! The SCP is made up of so many different genetic DNA particles, and the craziest part?” Remus explained. Logan leaned in, clearly fascinated. “He doesn’t suffer from organ rejection in any way! He doesn’t suffer any sickness from organ rejection, let alone death!” Remus reacted.

Logan’s eyes widened. “No way…” Logan reacted.

“This is the 100% honest truth!” Remus told him. “You should consider visiting him! I think recently, SCP-897 had its brain replaced by an agent’s brain. And now, they’re mentally stable and placed as Object Class Safe!” Remus explained.

Logan lifted his eyebrows as he took notes on his arm. This would be a very fascinating SCP to look at…

[AT THE SCP FOUNDATION]

Logan placed his bag inside the usual bedroom cell, and unloaded what he didn’t need from his backpack. He kept the map, his gifts to the SCP’s, a flashlight, and a notebook and pen in his bag so he could take some notes on SCP-897. One of the first things Logan wanted to do was to visit SCP-2295 and give him a few accessories to sew onto itself. Logan followed the map directions as best he could, and quickly reached SCP-2295’s room. Logan, using the correct keycard he’d been given, opened the room door and walked in to see SCP-2295...working on an organ transplant?!

Logan gasped and attempted to close the door and leave the bear alone. But Logan managed to glance at the bear’s eager face as it ran up to him.

Logan reopened the door and waved. “Sorry to interrupt. I wanted to come visit.” Logan explained. But SCP-2295 didn’t seem to care about the unsterile circumstances. SCP-2295 happily pulled Logan over to the person and continued to work on the organ. Logan tilted his head as he observed the organ SCP-2295 was working on: It looked to be a super long tube, made of multiple different fabrics! Logan also looked at the incision, which looked to be a wide H shape across the middle of the belly.

Logan’s eyes widened when he connected the dots: SCP-2295 was making a small intestine!

Logan smiled as he pulled a few more long fabric sheets out of his backpack. SCP-2295 placed the fabric intestine down and waddled itself over to the fabric with glee! Eager to get more fabric to add to its collection, SCP-2295 grabbed some scissors and decided to spread out one of the fabric sheets and use it for the patient’s new small intestine.

“I see you chose an interesting time to see SCP-2295! This researcher has been suffering from complications related to severe Celiac Disease. 2295 must’ve noticed this almost right away because the moment she walked in, 2295 laid her down and put her to sleep.” Dr. ████ explained through the Walkie-Talkie.

Logan pulled his Walkie-Talkie out of his backpack and clicked the speaking button. “That’s incredible!” Logan reacted.

“Yeah! You’re gonna be able to see this bear in action!” Dr. ████ added.

Logan smiled as he put the Walkie-Talkie into his pocket for the time being and continued to watch SCP-2295 add artificial versions of Villi (millimetre-long yarn pieces) inside the new parts of the small intestine before closing it up to make a tube. Finally, SCP-2295 finished the super long small intestine and started replacing. While Logan held the incision open, SCP-2295 cut the end of the small intestine off of the beginning of the large intestine. With the two organs separated, SCP-2295 placed the fabric small interestine end onto the Large Intestine hole and sewed it on successfully. Then, SCP-2295 removed the entire small intestine, and put the new fabric intestine into the large space in the person’s belly spot. The positioning of the intestine looked almost perfectly replicated! How did this simple teddy bear, know how to do this so perfectly?!

After sewing the beginning of the small intestine to the Duodenum, SCP-2295 closed up the incision and covered it with gauze and tape. With the surgery finished, SCP-2295 clapped its bear hands happily and smiled at Logan excitedly!

“Yay! You did it!” Logan said excitedly. SCP-2295 jumped onto Logan’s lap, and hugged Logan as well. When the bear hugged Logan, SCP-2295 started listening to Logan’s heartbeat and replicated the heart beat with its hand. Gently, the bear hand started tapping Logan’s arm to the beat of his heart. Logan smiled and gave the bear a few scratches on the ear. The bear giggled and wiggled around happily and covered its face with Logan’s chest. So, Logan stopped tickling and hugged the bear eagerly. The bear returned the hug with a big smile and even blew Logan a kiss! Logan just about melted from that one.

Logan didn’t spend much longer with it after that. He delivered the SCP a bracelet and a necklace, and enjoyed the reaction for as long as he could. But Logan had to get going. He wanted to visit more SCP’s in a day, so that he could have more SCP’s to visit within the weeks. He wanted to make his hours count, which sadly meant shorter trips with the ones he knew. So, Logan got one last hug goodbye and left the SCP alone to tend to the treated researcher.

Logan’s next trip was going to be with SCP-038. Also known as, “L’Albero Del Tutto”. Whatever that meant, Logan couldn’t tell you. Though, he could say that L’albero sounded close to “Arbre”, meaning ‘tree’ in french. So, Logan assumed it may be a tree of some kind. Logan opened the door with the keycard and smiled as he stared at the SCP: He was right! It WAS a tree!

Logan walked up to the tree and reached his hand out eagerly. But suddenly, the Walkie-Talkie started vibrating in his pocket! Logan pulled it out and clicked the call button. “Hello?” Logan asked.

“I know you weren’t aware of this procedure beforehand, but I order you to put a hazmat suit on when interacting with SCP-038.” Dr. ████ ordered. Logan lifted an eyebrow and turned around to see a yellow hazmat suit hanging on a hanger. Logan sighed. “What will the consequences be if I don’t?” Logan asked just out of curiosity as he removed the suit from the hanger.

“SCP-038 is capable of cloning anything and everything that the bark comes in contact with. It has been known to grow different fruits, as well as candy bars, TV’s, a pair of keys, DVD’s, CD’s, full wine bottles, animals, and lastly: humans.” Dr. ████ explained. Logan’s eyes widened as he looked at the tree in a brand new light. “And that isn’t even everything on the list.” Dr. ████ added. Logan’s jaw dropped before pulling the yellow gloves on. With the suit now on himself, Logan put his Walkie-Talkie onto a ledge nearby and readied himself to approach the SCP. The SCP looked like it was supposed to be a regular apple tree. But weirdly enough, there were oranges and peaches growing alongside the apples! As he walked around, a couple other fruits had shown itself to Logan: a couple vines of grapes, and even a pineapple was growing on it! Not only that, but there were branches with peonies, daffodils, and…

A cherry blossom branch?!

Logan gasped and smiled as he saw a cherry blossom blooming right in front of him for the first time in his life. Logan knelt down and studied the look of the cherry blossom for a little while. It was beautifully grown, and looked very well-kept. Logan made sure to fight his instincts to touch the cherry blossom, for fear that he may ruin it or cause the tree to clone something on top of the cherry blossom. So, Logan enjoyed the view while it was there, before resuming to look around.

It was truly a pretty tree mixed with many types of plant DNA! Who knew that a multi ethical tree like this could exist! Finally, Logan admired another flower that seemed to blooming before him: a multi-layer petaled pink flower was blooming right in front of him! It looked like it might be a Proteas flower. Weren’t those from South Africa?! How did a South African exotic flower end up in the locked up containment building that was the SCP Foundation?!

Logan decided to place the question aside and instead, focus on maybe getting himself a fruit. He walked away and grabbed his Walkie-Talkie from the ledge. “Hey Dr. ████...Would I be allowed to grab a fruit for myself?” Logan asked.

“Oh! Wait...Really? You want to try a fruit from L’Albero Del Tutto?!” Dr. ████ reacted.

“Well...Yeah! I wanna try a peach if I can.” Logan explained.

“Alright. You can grab a fruit from the tree. Just make sure you don’t touch the bark. Okay?” Dr. ████ ordered.

“Roger.” Logan replied before putting the Walkie-Talkie onto the ledge again. Logan decided to go for a plump peach that wasn’t very far down from him. Logan reached his fingers up, and gently tugged the peach off of the tree. The peach seemed to come off pretty easily, and the branch bounced back gently when the peach released from the tree branch. Logan smiled at a job well done, and walked towards the exit.

When Logan got himself out of the room with his Walkie-Talkie and his peach, Logan took off the Hazmat suit and draped it over an office chair that was nearby. “Thank you, Dr. ████. That was unbelievable! The apple tree was growing a branch of cherry blossoms!” Logan reacted.

“Yeah, I found that out myself a few days ago.” Dr. ████ told him.

“Alright. I’m off to see SCP-4743.” Logan told the Doctor.

“Haha! You’re gonna love that SCP! Though, beware if your ears are sensitive to balloon squeaking sounds.” Dr. ████ encouraged.

Logan smiled. “Roger that.” Logan replied.

Logan used his map to find his way towards the door. He had to go up a couple flights, but he did end up finding it after about 15 minutes or so. Logan let his eyes fall onto the door with the label on the top that read “SCP-4743” on the frame. The nerd smiled for a moment as he pulled out his key card, and inserted it into the card slot. When the light flashed green, the door unlocked as Logan removed his keyard and pushed it into his shirt pocket. Logan opened up the door and was introduced to thousands upon thousands of balloons all in a few different clusters. Logan’s eyes widened and a big happy smile filled his face as he let the door close behind him. They were all kinds of different colors of balloons! They were pretty colors, bright colors, darker colors, and even super light pastel colors!

Logan put his hand up and awkwardly waved. “Hi!” Logan greeted.

Suddenly, a HUGE bundle of balloons came charging at him. Logan squeaked and cowered at first, but quickly uncurled himself when he felt himself being snuggled by 50 or more balloons all at once. Logan started to giggle and push them aside playfully, only for more balloons to come snuggle him! Not only that, but a big bunch of balloons started to lift Logan up with excitement! Logan squeaked in nervousness, but bursted out laughing as Logan was both snuggled and tickled by the dozens of balloons.

“Hohohow ahare yohohohou dohohoing thihihis?! Yohohou’re bahalloohohohons!” Logan asked.

A few of the balloons started rubbing at Logan’s feet, and a couple other balloons also went for Logan’s neck! Logan bursted out laughing even more and squirmed around in the silly touches. “HAHAHAHAHA! IHIHITS SOHOHO TIHIHICKLYYHYHYHYHY!” Logan reacted.

“Yeah, they tend to do that a lot.” The Walkie-Talkie speaker spoke. Noticing the Walkie-Talkie’s sound, a couple balloons seemed to grow pseudopods and grabbed the Walkie-Talkie out of his pocket. “Uh oh! SCP-4743, let go of the Walkie-Talkie! That’s an order!” Dr. ████ ordered through the Walkie-Talkie. The balloons ended up letting go of the Walkie-Talkie as they were ordered. But, the doctor should’ve thought about what he had said because the Walkie-Talkie ended up getting caught by another collection of balloons that floated a good 3 metres away from Logan. While the Walkie-Talkie was rendered useless, Logan’s whole body ended up getting overwhelmed by ticklish sensations from balloons of all things!

“EHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHA! IHIHIT TIHIHIHICKLEHEHES! IHIHIT TIHIHIHICKLES SOHOHO MUHUHUHUHUCH!” Logan laughed his head off.

The balloons seemed to catch onto just how ticklish Logan was, because the tickling balloons quickly retreated to let the man breath. Logan’s laughter slowly turned into giggles as he curled into a little ball. With Logan all curled up and giddy, a bunch of the balloons started cuddling him. “Yohohou guys suhuhure ahare playfuhul.” Logan reacted with a bit of a giddiness still effecting him.

The balloons decided to raise Logan up more, and show him just what it’s like floating atop a bunch of balloons. Logan held onto a couple of the balloons in nervousness, but let them take him up despite the nervousness. The balloons lifted him up to the very high roof, and showed the man the look of all the colorful balloons at the bottom of the containment room. Logan smiled and allowed his legs to dangle off the edge of the balloons as he gazed upon the endless layers of colors. But quickly, Logan felt himself get pushed bit by bit off the edge of the floating balloons!

“Wait, WHAT?! NO! I DON’T WANNA JUMP! IT’S TOO FAR-” But Logan interrupted his protests with his own screams of fear. As Logan fell, the balloons blocked his falling path and caused them to collide with his middle and shoulders. Logan covered his eyes and braced for either a painful impact on the ground, or a balloon-popping tackle onto the balloon layers.

But to Logan’s surprise...there was no quick splat. There was no balloon popping sounds. All Logan could feel...was floating! Just floating! He felt light! He could even say he felt lighter than a balloon! It was nuts! Logan opened his eyes and let out a breath of relief when he realized the balloons were carrying him. It was incredible! The balloons actually managed to catch him! But HOW?! They’re regular balloons! Aren’t they?!

“Wow! That was unbelievable!” something spoke. Logan turned around, and smiled as his eyes fell upon the Walkie-Talkie that was stolen from him for that half an hour. Logan took back his Walkie-Talkie and clicked the speaking button. “That...was both breathtaking, and anxiety-inducing.” Logan told the person.

“Well, I assumed that. It was anxiety-inducing for me just WATCHING you!” Dr. ████ reacted. “But now that they’ve proved you can trust them...How do you feel?” Dr. ████ asked.

Logan looked to the security camera and gave it a big toothy smile. “I feel as light as a cloud.” Logan told him. “Look! I can kick my legs! That’s how high up I am!” Logan added, giggling as he swung his legs around underneath the heap of balloons.

The balloons must have heard Logan’s giggles in happiness, because the balloons quickly started smothering Logan’s body. Logan threw his head back and squeezed his eyes shut as more laughter left his lungs. “COHOHOME OHOHOHON! WHYYHY AHAHAGAHAHAHAHAIN?!” Logan asked, wiggling around and falling backwards. As soon as Logan took on the laying position, the balloons smothered his body more and continued to tickle attack him with their pseudopods against his ticklish spots. “IHIHIHI’M TOHOHOHOO TIHIHICKLIHIHISH FOHOHOR THIHIHIHIHIS!” Logan yelled out loud.

But the moment a balloon’s pseudopod found Logan’s belly, it was all over. Logan started kicking his legs and cackling like a maniac. If the balloons were killing him, they were certainly reaching success!

But thankfully for the nerd, the balloons were not trying to kill him. They were simply trying to make the man laugh after a somewhat unnecessary anxiety peak. It was the entire balloon squad’s way of saying “I’m sorry Mr. Stranger with glasses for scaring you. I hope you can trust us now”.

And Logan didn’t mind being scared. That was now behind him. Now, Logan can focus on being tickled and cuddled by balloons while floating on them too.

[EVENTUALLY]

Logan removed the keycard from the slot and knocked on the door before opening it.

“Come in.” The person spoke. Logan nodded and walked in with his backpack on his body and a Walkie-Talkie in his body. “Hello. My name is Logan Sanders. I’m a regular visitor in the SCP Foundation, and it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Logan greeted, holding out his hand. The SCP smiled and gave him a handshake. Logan sat down and started to unzip his backpack. “To start off, I would like to offer you a gift, if that’s okay with you.” Logan explained.

SCP-897 gasped and put their hands together. “I’d love a gift!” the SCP reacted happily. The SCP looked to have the face, voice and temperament of a woman, but Logan was not entirely sure if the SCP really was a woman, a man or non-binary.

But Logan focused on giving the SCP their gift first. Logan handed them a gift-wrapped box. The SCP happily took the wrapped box, ripped it open and opened the box’s lid. They gasped. “Awwww! It’s so CUTE!” SCP-897 reacted. Logan smiled and felt a bit of warmth in his heart from seeing such a genuine reaction. The gift was a large sized Beanie Boo penguin with big, glittery blue eyes. “I think I’m gonna name you...Tuxy!” The SCP decided eagerly. Logan giggled in genuine amusement. “What? It’s short for tuxedo. It looks like he’s wearing a tuxedo! Doesn’t it?” The SCP asked, turning the penguin to face Logan and bringing it closer so he can see.

Logan just laughed more and nodded. “Yehes! It does!” Logan replied.

The SCP smiled proudly. “Tuxy the Penguin.” The SCP announced before placing Tuxy on top of their bed. Logan smiled as she walked up to a record player. “Do you like music?” SCP-897 asked.

Logan nodded in reply. “Yes! I love music!” Logan replied. “Got any preferences?” Logan asked.

“Ooooh! How about some Frank Sinatra?” SCP-897 asked. Logan smiled and stood up as she put a record into the record player. Quickly, the song Fly Me To The Moon by Frank Sinatra started to play.

SCP-897 grabbed Logan’s hand and started swaying with the man. Logan swayed along with her, as Sinatra started to sing the lyrics. Logan and 897 spun around the room, and started dancing fast-paced as well. 897 smiled and giggled as Logan spun her around. “You’re a really good dancer! I’m impressed!” 897 told him.

“Thank you. You’re pretty good yourself.” Logan added.

The duo danced around within the containment room and showed off their swinging abilities. Logan was surprisingly really good at dancing, and even managed to dip the woman without any issue. Logan and 897 stayed like that for a moment as the song ended. Logan lifted an eyebrow as he realized something odd. “Huh...I don’t think I ever realized just how short this song is.” Logan reacted.

“You wanna move onto That’s Life?” SCP-897 asked.

Logan smiled. “I’d love to!” Logan replied.

With a switch of the record, the two were dancing yet again. Logan didn’t really get to learn about SCP-897’s ability to use transportation to transplant organs.

But, he did get to learn SCP-897’s lung capacity and their dancing abilities. And that was just as worth it.

#ticklefic #tickletober2020 #day92020 #lee!logan #ler!4743 #SCP-4743 #SCP-2295 #scp-038 #SCP-897

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the-writings-of-an-assassin · 4 years

Text

Love and Death

****Listen to Underground by Austin Wintory from the AC: Syndicate soundtrack. The lyrics in this oneshot from that song. I was listening to the song when I was writing this.****

Pairing: Jacob Frye x OC

Warnings: DEATH, drowning, ****very long****

Word Count: 4457

Clary’s POV

I took a carriage to the market. Jacob would’ve gone with me, but he was busy with helping Henry and Evie with some templar hunting, and I didn’t want to bother him. I arrived at the market and got out. I searched around the plaza until I found a flower stand. I looked through the flowers until I found white roses and purchased a bundle of them. I continued to walk through the market plaza, looking around.

“Hello, beautiful,” a voice said behind me. “Are those roses for me?”

I turned around to be faced to face with two men in red uniforms. Blighters. “No, they’re for the Queen.”

“Oh, are you going to try to compliment and give your way into the palace?”

“No. I already work there.”

The one that was speaking to me got closer to me, and I started to back up. He turned me around, pinning my arms behind my back.

I tried to wiggle out of his grasp but failed. “Unhand me! The Queen will have your heads for handling me.”

“Ooh, is that supposed to scare me? You haven’t heard a threat yet.” I stopped trying to get out of his grasp when I felt the cool metal of a blade against the skin on my neck. Fear racked through me, and a tear escaped and ran down my cheek. “Here’s what’s going to happen: you’re going to come with us, and your little boyfriend will never find out.”

He walked me over to a carriage and covered my mouth with a rag that smelt weird. Darkness consumed me, and I fell limp in the Blighter’s arms.

~~~~~

Jacob’s POV

It’s been about three hours since Clary had left, and I was starting to worry. It usually doesn’t take her long to go to the market and come back. I walked into the study, where Evie and Henry were looking at some maps, discussing something of the creed. Evie looked up, her lips pursed, as if she was angry at me for coming into the study, still looking down at the maps.

“Evie, I think Clary is in trouble,” I announced. Evie’s eyes looked up at me, her eyes searching mine.

“Well, you think she’s in trouble? Go look for her, then.”

I let out a huff, turning around and leaving the room. “Go find her yourself,” I mocked, quietly. I walked to my room, grabbed my weapons, and left the mansion. I took a carriage to the marketplace and began to look around. I didn’t see Clary, or anyone really suspicious, so I blended into a small crowd. I spotted two Blighters and made my way to them, in between the crowds of people. I lowered my head, my hood hiding my face from them.

“Barron is going to be pleased with us. We have one of the Frye twins’ lover.”

I ran at them, lodging my hidden blade into one of their backs. The other one swung at me, striking me in the mouth. I wiped the blood from my lip, grinning maniacally. I punched the man in the mouth then punched him in the head, knocking him out. I made sure I kept him alive because I beat him to a pulp, if I have to, to get him to tell me where Clary was. I slung him over my shoulder and walked over to my carriage. I laid the Blighter down in the carriage and hopped up onto the front, taking the reins. I took the Blighter to the mansion. As I walked in, with the Blighter on my shoulders, both Evie and Henry raised an eyebrow at me.

“What?” I asked. “You said to go find Clary myself, that’s what I’m doing.” I took the Blighter to an empty room and sat him in the chair. I bound his wrists to the side of the chair and his ankles to the chair of the legs, and Evie and Henry walked in.

“So you brought a Blighter here?”

I looked up at her. “Yes.” I straightened back up and turned to them. “I’m going to interrogate him until I get the information I want out of him, then I’ll put a bullet in his skull.” Once I made sure he was secured down to the chair and rid him of his weapons, I left the room. Evie and Henry followed me out into the study. “I heard him say they have Clary.”

“So what’s your plan?” Evie asked.

“I don’t know yet. I have to wait until I get the information I need.”

Evie and Henry nodded, and I walked out of the study and into the room where I was keeping the hostage. I hid in the shadows until he woke up. He started to wake up and looked around.

“Where are you, assassin?” He yelled out.

I stepped out of the shadows.

“Hmm, always hiding in the shadows like a coward.”

I cracked my knuckles, grinning maniacally. “Tell me where she is.”

“Who?”

“Clary. The girl you’ve taken.”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play bullshit with me. You know what I’m talking about. Where is she?!” I yelled this. I was getting pissed.

He just looked up at me, something laced his eyes. Amusement?

“Tell me where she is, or I’ll beat it out of you.” I clenched my hands together in a fist. When he didn’t tell me, I started to punch him in the face. I struck him in the jaw, and blood spurted out. “Tell me where she is!” I continued to beat the shit out of him.

“Wait, stop!” He yelled at me. “I know where she is.”

“So now you confess.”

“She’s in a place you’ve been before, where you liberated the first of our factories, in Lambeth. There’s a secret basement. But you might want to hurry if you want her alive.”

I pulled my revolver and loaded it. I pointed the barrel of the gun at his forehead and pulled the trigger. The echo of the gunshot rang through my ears. I walked out of the room and into the study. Evie looked up at me. “I know where she is. She’s in Lambeth, in a factory that we liberated. We need to hurry. She’s in danger. He said that I might want to hurry if I wanted her alive.” I walked out of the study and into the weapons room, and Henry and Evie followed me.

“So what’s the plan?”

“I don’t know. I’ll think of it on the way.” I made sure I had two extra revolvers and a few extra magazines of bullets. I slipped on my hidden blades and brass knuckles. Evie slipped on her hidden blades and grabbed her cane sword. Henry slid his blades into their sheaths, and we all walked out. We walked out of the mansion and took a carriage. Evie and I sat in the back, and Henry took the reigns. I started to think of a plan and told Evie as I thought of it. “There’s a secret basement. So this time, we’re going to do this stealthily. We’re going to pick off the Blighters so we won’t have to deal with them when we’re searching for the basement.”

“You’re actually doing something stealthily? Usually, you don’t.”

“I know, I know. I just want to get to Clary as fast as possible.” I looked out the window as I leaned my head against the velvet interior of the carriage as fear racked through me.

We’re coming for you, love.

Clary’s POV

When I woke up, I was chained to the stone floor, my wrists and ankles bound together by rusted, metal cuffs. The cold air brought me to my senses as I looked around. Everything was shrouded in darkness; the only light there was was the light streaming down from the metal grating above me, and the light that was illuminating the room was barely dim.

I heard a metal door squeak as it opened, and a lantern appeared. I couldn’t see the person who was holding it until he came closer to me, the glow of the lantern cast shadows across his face and the room. He was a man with a bushy mustache, wearing a Templar uniform.

He pulled a dagger out and lodged it into my side. I screamed out in pain as crimson started to stain the light blue material of my dress. “If you don’t bleed out, then you’ll succumb to an ice-cold grave. Either way, you won’t be able to see your lover again.” He left the room, the metal door squeaking shut.

“Jacob! Evie!” I yelled. “Anyone, help!” Tears threatened to fall.

There was a noise, like running water, echoing through the room. A few moments later, ice cold water hit my feet. After a few minutes, the water was up to my ankles, the water soaking into the bottom of my dress. Time went on, and I continued to scream for Evie and Jacob. The blood from my wound continued to spread until the dress material of my whole side was stained. The water has now reached up to my waist. The ice cold water was starting to numb my body.

“JACOB!” I was crying by now, tears ruining my makeup.

More time went on, and the water was now reaching up to my chin. The only way I was still standing was by the tightness of the chains that bound me to the floor. I looked up at the light, a single last tear trickling down my cheek as my body began to shut down.

Goodbye, Jacob, my love.

Jacob’s POV

We arrived at the factory in Lambeth and got out. Evie told Henry what the plan was. We found an open window on the lower level and climbed in. We hid behind a few columns. We all branched out, picking Blighters one by one. We cleared the bottom level. There was a Blighter standing near some crates, his back to me. I snuck up behind him and pinned his arms behind his back, holding a knife to his throat.

“Where is she?!” I spat.

“Who?”

“The girl. Where the hell is she?!” I was getting annoyed. “You’re not in a position to test me.”

“I know where she is. Walk down that hallway to the candle holder.” He pointed. I whistled, and Evie and Henry joined me. Evie took the man out of my hands, and I walked down the hallway at the candle holder. “Pull it down.” I did as he said, and a secret door opened. We walked down the stairs to a room that had a hole covered by metal grating. Water filled the hole. “She’s in there.”

“Oh, god.” A tear came to my eye at the thought of her being dead when I found her. Henry and I opened the metal grating. I took my weapons and overcoat off and sat them on the floor. I plunged into the murky ice water, and it felt like a thousand needles stabbing me. I swam to the bottom and searched but didn’t find her. I came back up for air.

“I can’t find her.” My voice cracked. “I can’t find her, Evie.” I was starting to panic. A tear threatened to fall, my lips trembled from the cold water.

“Keep trying,” Evie encouraged.

I took a breath and redove. I found her and kicked the cuffs on her ankles and resurfaced with my arm around her waist. I swam over to the side, and Henry lifted her up onto the stone floor.

I lifted myself up onto the floor and crawled over to her. “Clary.” I shook her. Nothing happened. “Clary, baby, you gotta wake up.” I cut the thin material of her dress open to reveal her corset. I loosened the strings to allow her to cough up any water. I started to do CPR. Nothing happened. More tears stained my cheeks. I checked her neck for a pulse and didn’t find one. The tears dripped off my cheek and splashed on her cheek. I heard Evie sniffle, and I looked up to see a single tear sliding down Evie’s cheek. My bottom lip trembled as I shook with grief. I stroked her soaking hair. “Clary,” I sobbed. I was shivering, and Evie wrapped my coat around my shoulders. I held her face in my hands.

“Jacob,” Evie started. “Come on. We need to leave.”

I got up, slipping my coat and weapons on. I picked Clary up, bridal style, and carried her out. We all walked out to the carriage. I laid Clary on the seat on the back. I stroked her cheek. “I will avenge you, love.” My anger started to flare. I clenched my jaw together as I looked at the Blighter. “Take me to your leader,” I spat at him. I walked in the front of the group, with Evie, who still had the Blighter’s arms pinned behind his back, behind me, and Henry following up on the back. He led us through the factory but stopped us halfway through it.

“Wait, I should go alone. He will suspect that something is up if you were right behind us.”

“If you screw up, I will make you suffer.” My face was inches from his. Evie shoved him forwards. “Get a move on.”

He began to walk, and Evie, Henry, and I crouched down and edged along the sides of the building. The Blighter began to run, and all three of us began to run after him. He made it to the door before we could reach him, and he burst through the door. I pulled out a knife and aimed for his head. I threw it as hard as I could, and it didn’t lodge in his head, it went through his skull, blood splattering onto the wall next to him. Evie and I walked through the room, with Henry following us. We walked through the door, and Henry slammed it shut. Evie leaned against it with her foot flat against it and her arms across her chest.

The Blighter leader was sitting at his desk. He was casually sitting there, a smirk on his face.

“You manky chav,” I spat at him. “I’ll wipe that smirk off your face before you have time to fathom what has happened, you knobhead. Are you dead from the neck up?!”

“I see you’ve found your lover.” He stood up from his desk and walked to the side of it.

“Yes, and you’re going to die for it. If I don’t kill you today, which I don’t think will happen, the Queen will have your head. Because Clary was her personal maid.”

“Do you think that I really care about that daft cow of a slag?” He spat back at me.

My blood boiled even more. I clenched my fists together. “Shut up, you arselicker.” I closed in on him. I slid my hidden blade out and pressed it against his throat. “This is for Clary.” Tears glazed my eyes as I pressed the blade further into his throat until it broke the skin, then still kept pressing until blood started to gush from the wound. My face was so close to his that when the blood gushed from his wound, it splattered onto my face. I wanted him to see the pain and anger in my eyes just as he dies. I dropped the body onto the floor and turned around, my legs suddenly feeling like they had turned to jelly. I leaned against the desk, trying to relieve the weight, tears spilling down my cheeks.

Evie walked over to me and wiped some blood away. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

I weakly nodded, and we began to walk out of the hideout. I eventually leaned against Evie, and she put her arm around me, the weight of grief becoming too unbearable. We walked out to the carriage. I got the back, and Evie and Henry sat in the front. I sat down with Clary in my lap, holding her close to me. Tears continued to fall and land on her cheeks and hair. I stroked her hair.

“Why did you have to be taken away from me so fast?” I whispered into her hair.

The carriage lurched forward.

I started to curl her hair around my fingers like I used to do. “You have to wake up, Clary. I was going to marry you one day.” it felt like it was an eternity until we reached the mansion. Once we reached our home, I gathered the strength I had and got out. I carried Clary to our room and laid her on the bed. I collapsed to the floor. I leaned against the side of the bed, sobbing. Evie walked in a few moments later and sat down next to me. She wrapped her arm around me, and I leaned into her shoulder, the tears soaking her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Jacob. I’m sorry that this had to happen to you and her.”

I was too grief stricken to speak. I continued to cry into her shoulder. Henry walked in. “We need to stitch her wound up. She’s still bleeding.”

I looked up to him, my eyes blurry from the tears.

“Henry and I can do it,” Evie said. “It’d be too much for you to have to stitch her wound.”

I nodded. They left and prepared the medical tools. In their absence, I got up and walked to our closet. I began to look through her dresses. I found one that was a light blue and white with short, white, lace sleeves. It was one of her favorite dresses. She would look so beautiful in it. I pulled it out and hung it up. I pulled out the diamond and sapphire engagement ring and sat it on the nightstand.

Evie and Henry came in with the needle, thread, and the pan of water with a rag. I sat down in a chair beside Clary. I watched as they undressed her and cleaned and stitched her wound. When they were done, Evie pulled a blanket over her up to her shoulders. They started to walk out when I spoke.

“Evie.” She turned around, and Henry took the bin of water from her and disappeared down the hall. “I want to put her in that dress. Will you help me?”

“Of course.” She walked over to the dress and took it down. We slipped her into the dress, but my fingers kept faltering with the laces of the corset, so Evie took over and laced it up. Once we were done, and Evie had left the room, I slipped the ring onto her finger. I folded her arms over her torso and clasped her hands together at her lower torso. “You need to come back. We were going to get married and have a couple of kids together. And we were supposed to grow old together.” I sat them in the chair and stared at the moon outside. I began to sing a sad song:

“Take a look round lively old London Buzzing crowds we sweat and we revel Red-cheeked shouts and songs In the flicker of the gaslight

Eager Blighty bursts from the cobblestones Racing, climbing blooming fertility Born from secret seeds That were scattered in the nighttime

London is fed upon the meat of the dead They’re one shallow inch below the town

Underground Underground Leave them underground

Them that whispered dreams that only poisoned us

Them that told us lies of their bravery Them that preached of progress, and put us in the poorhouse

Them done horrid murder on bloody stages Them that loudly crowed their humility Lords and dames that sung in the chapels on a Sunday

All quiet now. Their mouths are stopped up by mud. They lie flung in rags and make no sound.

Underground Underground Leave them underground

Those who fought for something better Those who taught by how they lived Loved ones taken long before their work was done,” I began to sob but continued to sing, the words barely audible:

“Underground Underground Leave them underground.

Underground Underground Leave them underground.”

When I was done, I was a sobbing mess. I sat down on the floor and leaned against the side of the bed, still crying.

“God, anyone, why did you have to take her from me? She was far too young. She had so much to experience. Please bring her back. I’m lost without her. She means so much to me.”

Eventually, exhaustion took over, and I slipped into the darkness.

~~~~~~~

I was laying in bed, a warm body next to me. I looked over to see Clary, laying there, watching me. Her chocolate brown eyes twinkled in the moonlight as they watched me. A smile was plastered on her perfect lips. She leaned in and kissed me. Our lips molded together as if they were shaped by destiny to be together. Her fingers traced my scars on my bare chest as I wrapped my arms around her. The gold wedding band she wore gleamed at me, and her engagement ring sparkled against our skin. We pulled back to take a breath in.

“I’m happy you were first love,” she whispered.

“I’m happy I found you before any louzy man could’ve found you.” I smiled at her. I began to draw on the skin on her waist, and she hummed.

“You know, it is our wedding night, so you know what the means…” She trailed off, and I caught onto her drift. We began to kiss again. I slipped her nightgown off.

~~~~~~

“Jacob, wake up,” a voice said in my ear. My teary eyes opened to see Evie. She had her arms around my shoulders. “You were crying in your sleep.”

I sighed. “It was our wedding night…” I looked down, the tears still falling. “I just want her back.”

“I know.” She stroked my hair. “Go get a bath. I’ve already sent Henry to get a bath ready.”

I nodded. There was knock on the door, and Henry came in. “The bath is ready.”

I nodded again. I got up and picked up the folded clothes that sat on the nightstand. I walked to the bathroom and stripped down. I slipped into the warm water.

“God, Juno, please bring her back,” I plead again. “I need her. She keeps me at bay when my stupidity gets the best of me.” More tears came to my eyes. It was impossible to think of life without her; I didn’t want a future without her.

I eventually got out, dried off, and slipped on my clothes. I walked back to the room and sat down in the chair. I watched her the whole day, not eating nor drinking when Evie or Henry brought me some food. I couldn’t think. It was around six in the evening when I think I started to go insane.

I could see a beam of light. Before me, a goddess appeared. “I am here, Jacob,” her voice was angelic.

“Why are you here?”

“I heard your pleas, and I am here to fill them. I will bring her back but hear this: this is the only time I am allowing some who died to be brought back. My reason is is that you and Evie are so close to finding the Piece of Eden, and Clarissa is an excellent asset you and your sister. If Clarissa is to die again, I will not allow her revival.”

“I will protect her with my life,” I swore.

“I certainly hope you will. You looked lost without her.” She then extended her arm out until her hand was directly over Clary’s mouth. A bright, white smoke fell from her hand and was sucked into Clary’s nose. The goddess left, and the bright light disappeared. I looked to Clary, who was still unconscious. She didn’t show any signs of life, and I was grief stricken. Maybe all of this was dream. Maybe she wasn’t going to come back. I stared out the window and started to sing my sad tune again like I had the night before.

Clary’s POV

A sudden breath of air made me lurch forward. I opened my eyes to see Jacob sitting in a chair, staring out the window. He was singing a sad tune. “Jacob-” I gasped, shaking. I couldn’t feel my limbs; they were numb.

He turned around, tears in his eyes. “I’m here, love.” He rushed to me. “Evie!” He yelled. He pulled a blanket over me just as Evie and Henry came in through the door. They both were wide eyed but soon snapped out of it when they saw me shaking.

“Evie, help me get her out of the dress,” Jacob instructed. “Henry, go get some hot pans.”

Henry left, and Evie and Jacob started to undress me.

“This is impossible,” Evie said. “How?”

I was in my favorite dress. Once they had me undressed and into a nightgown, Jacob slipped me under the covers.

“I plead to God or to Juno, to anyone really, and Juno answered my prayers,” he confessed.

They laid two more fleecy blankets over me, and Jacob slipped in next to me. He wrapped his arms around me, and his warm skin burned my ice cold skin. I curled into him, wrapping my arms around him. Henry came in with a couple of hot pans and slipped them under the covers, the heat warming up the bed sheets. I was still shaking, and Jacob was rubbing my back and arms to try to warm me up. Evie left us alone.

“What happened?” I asked through a shaky breath.

“You had drowned by a Blighter leader. You were dead for a day and a half.”

Shock wracked through me. “As long as I’m with you, I couldn’t be any happier.”

A tear trickled down his cheek. I’ve never seen him cry before. “I was so lost without you.” He started to break down. I pulled him closer, and he buried his face into my shoulder. “I didn’t want to be in this world without you.”

“Shh. It’s alright now. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” I kissed him, and he kissed me back passionately. I soothed his crying, and we eventually fell asleep, wrapped in each other’s arms, in a warm embrace.

~~~~~~

I woke up. Jacob was still asleep, so I untangled myself from him. I pulled some clothes out of my closet and was walking to the bathroom to ready a bath when I noticed an engagement ring on my finger. I heard shuffling and looked back to see Jacob getting out of bed.

I examined the ring. “Jacob, what’s this, love?”

He got up and walked to me. He was still shirtless and in his trousers. He had a smile plastered on his perfect lips. “Clarissa Olivia Kingston, will you marry me?"

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#assassin's creed syndicate #assassin's creed #jacob frye #my writing #writers on tumblr #jacob frye x oc #jacob frye x clara #jacob frye writing #death #spoilers for maybe story

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sympathyfortheblinderdevil · 6 years

Text

Serious Things

Arthur Shelby x OC

Arthur, Tommy, and their driver are on a journey to Miami to meet Al Capone. On a stop in South Carolina, Arthur meets Mollie.

Arthur was hot and thirsty. He had climbed into a 1924 Duesenberg at the harbor a week ago wearing the lightest suit that he owned and bound for Florida. He had packed only necessities knowing that there was a long car trip ahead of him. He’d even read a few pamphlets about automobile travel in the United States, but nothing could have prepared him for the surreal and unnatural experience of traveling through the coastal plains of America on the long trip to meet Al Capone. The roads, if you could call them that, were oftentimes sandy, gritty paths. They would travel for hours scarcely seeing any signs of civilization other than weather-beaten shacks or the odd general store. As they traveled, the countryside had gradually morphed from lush green forest growth to swamps and scrubs. Arthur was determined to take the unfamiliar surroundings in stride. He saw it as a chance to better understand the American associates that they now did business with, and he liked to engage the locals in conversation.

Between visits to Capone’s southern associates, he had learned about the Venus flytrap, watermelon, and cheer-wine cola, down by the coast. He went on a hunt for fool’s gold and ate pecan pie in the Piedmont of North Carolina. He had sat in rocking chairs and on stools all down the line, talking to old men in overalls. Coon dogs lazed at their feet, their tails thumping the weathered wooden boards beneath them. He had even developed a taste for sweet tea— Iced sweet tea. Now they were somewhere in between the Inner Coastal Plain and the Tidewater regions of South Carolina, and he wondered what might lie in store for him there.

Thomas, on the other hand, remained on edge. Accustomed to being in control of every aspect of his life, he found that the variances in the landscape mirrored the unpredictable nature of the whole trip. He liked to plan every detail down to the letter, so stopping at unfamiliar roadside motels and cafes made Tommy bad company for the journey. Even the friendly hostesses that Capone had arranged for them did little to assuage Tommy’s black moods. Hours had gone by with no sign of civilization, so they had both become a bit tired, grouchy, hot, and thirsty. The driver followed his map to a roadside cafe that was frequented by Capone’s associates and hoped for the best. Thomas groaned as the car pulled into yet another sandy gravel lot beside yet another old shack which served as a cafe. “Where the fook are we?” he mumbled as he took the stool next to Arthur, who was as disoriented and travel dazed as he. “Yemassee, South Carolina” Arthur drowsily replied.

“Fookin ‘ell. The place names here are as mad as the ones in Wales.” His eyes were on the swinging doors that led to the kitchen, and he was growing perturbed that no one had been out to serve him yet.

Arthur put two fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly. From the back of the house, a woman’s voice called “I’ll be there directly!” Arthur and Tommy turned to each other and shared a look of weary surrender. The Shelby boys had made the city of Birmingham, Kimber, Solomons, and the entire Changretta crime family bend to their will, but the lackadaisical pace of life in the southern US had utterly broken them. Their chauffeur for the trip, a fast-talking Capone soldier named Nino shook a toothpick from the holder on the counter and grinned “You boys are getting used to it, I see. The first time I came through this way I nearly lost my mind. These people down here, they don’t get in a hurry for nobody or nothing. It’s the fucking heat. They have to move slowly to conserve energy.” Arthur slicked his hair back and blew out a lungful of air. He spun off of his stool and began to pace. Just as he was about to shout for the waitress, she came strolling out of the kitchen, smiling at the three men and wiping her hands on her apron. His aggravation was completely forgotten as his eyes were drawn to the swing of her hips. “Sorry to keep y’all waitin’. What can I get you boys to drink? I got sweet tea, co cola, and coffee.” After a week on the road, Tommy and Arthur knew the drill. They sat quietly while Nino produced a calling card with Capone’s insignia engraved on it. Prohibition was on in America, and alcohol was only on the menu for certain trusted customers. The waitress’s eyes sparkled as if she had been waiting her whole life for a little excitement and here it was, sitting at her lunch counter on a Thursday afternoon. She grinned mischievously and said, “We’ve got rye whiskey, gin, and homebrew.” Tommy ordered rye whiskey for himself and Nino, and Arthur, in his most gentlemanly voice, asked for a beer. She walked toward the back to fetch the drinks, and Arthur rubbed his chin as he watched her go. Tommy rolled his eyes and huffed, “Could you be any more obvious, brother? We don’t need any trouble. She could be the Sheriff’s daughter. They really do shotgun weddings down here, right, Nino?” Tommy was only half teasing. Before Arthur could reply, the waitress returned carrying a bottle of whiskey and two glasses in her hands, and a bottle of homebrew in the crook of her arm. She popped the top on the beer first. Foam rose over the lip of the bottle and spilled over her hand as she held it out to Arthur. With a lascivious smirk, he watched the suds drip down her fingers. “Well, shoot. Would you look at this sticky mess? Let me get a towel,” she fussed. She wiped the bottle, the countertop, and then held eye contact with Arthur as she slowly wiped each finger of her hand before giving the bottle to him. Tommy cleared his throat and Nino chucked his hat onto the bar in an effort to get her attention. She slid the whiskey and glasses down the bar in their direction and gave them a sweet smile. “Help yourself, boys. It’s on the house.” Tommy sat with an incredulous look on his face. He was not used to being ignored or playing second fiddle to Arthur. In a bit of a snit, he took the bottle and glasses to a table, and he and Nino settled in for a drinking session. They were scheduled to stay the night in Yemassee and alcohol was definitely a requirement in this endeavor. Arthur took a sip of the watery beer and leaned up on the bar. “So what’s your name...” he searched her left hand for a wedding ring, and finding none continued, “Miss...” “Mollie,” she said, and then offered her hand to him. Arthur took her still-sticky-with-beer hand and kissed it, tickling her knuckles with his mustache. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Mollie. I’m Arthur,” he gestured toward the table and continued, “that’s my brother, Tommy, and our associate, Nino.” As he introduced each man, they smiled and nodded in her directions. “I’m pleased to meet y’all,” Mollie beamed at her guests but put most of her attention on Arthur. She leaned on the bar and raised her eyebrows, “Y’all aren’t from around here, are ya?” Arthur laughed and shook his head, “That’s an understatement. My brother and I are from Birmingham, England, and our driver is from Chicago.” “May I ask what brings you boys down here?” The second that her words hit his ears, Tommy was on his feet and moving toward them. “What brings us down here is business of a personal nature. Now, you saw the card, you’ve given us our drinks, let’s leave it at that, sweetheart. You can go back to the kitchen and we will call for you if we need anything more, eh?” For a moment, the only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock on the wall above Mollie’s left shoulder. Tommy’s cold blue eyes bored a hole into Mollie, but she put her hand on her hip and looked at Arthur, who was seething with anger. “Arthur, honey, I’m going to excuse your brother’s poor manners because he has been on the road all day.” She cut her green eyes in Tommy’s direction then back to Arthur. “Same as you no doubt, but he does not seem to be blessed with the same demeanor as you.” She shifted her eyes back and forth between the brothers, who were having some kind of psychic showdown, and sighed. “I am going to the kitchen to finish icing some cakes. If you think you’d like a piece,” she looked Arthur up and down, “come on back.” As she turned to go, Arthur touched her arm and in a low, gritty voice said, “Please excuse my brother’s rudeness. I would love to join you. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Mollie winked at him and tossed her auburn waves over her shoulder as she walked away. Tommy shoved Arthur on the shoulder. “What are you doing, eh?” “Give me some credit,” Arthur spat. “Don’t you believe that I can ‘ave a bit of fun without bringing the bloody law down on us. I wasn’t about to give anything away, but now you’ve gone and made it sound like we are up to no good. She’s seen the card. She knows who we do business with. Fookin ‘ell. Just take your bottle and you and Nino fuck off to the boardinghouse.” “Alright, brother,” Tommy spoke, barely above a whisper. “You be sure to bring us each a piece of cake when you are finished talking to Mollie.” Tommy’s words dripped with sarcasm, and Arthur wanted to knock the smirk off of Tommy’s face, but he thought the sooner he could get rid of him, the sooner he could get back to her. Three cakes on stands were cooled and ready for frosting. She had mixed powdered sugar, butter, heavy cream, and cream cheese in a batter bowl, and had just dipped a finger into the frosting and popped it in her mouth when Arthur came through the swinging doors. The sight of her sucking frosting off of her finger with her pretty red lips made him a little dizzy. “Ah, can I get another beer?” he smiled. She pulled her finger out of her mouth and walked toward the icebox. “Yes, sir.” She opened the bottle, without foam this time, handed Arthur the beer, and nodded toward a place where he could sit down. “I’m much obliged,” Arthur smiled and sat on a pickle barrel. “I really am sorry about my brother.” “It’s alright. I know what to expect when people flash that calling card in here. It’s usually some big shot from New York or Boston, making their way to Miami. Sometimes they are a little out of sorts and want to throw their weight around.” She smiled and shrugged on her way over to where Arthur sat. “But you...you’re different.” She tilted her head to the side and searched Arthur’s face. “You have kind eyes.” Arthur was dumbfounded. He was the most unpredictable and violent of the brothers. The one who was sent to injure, maim, and kill the Blinders’ enemies. Arthur’s mouth went dry and he swallowed, “You don’t know what these eyes have seen.” He held her gaze as he took another swig of his beer. “I’ve heard stories about Capone’s men, but I can’t imagine them being true.” “We’re not Capone’s men. We’re Peaky Blinders, from Birmingham, England. We do a bit of business with Capone, but we are our own men.”

“Yes. You seem like your own man,” she trailed off and her eyes swept over his hair, the creases around his eyes, and the freckles scattered across his cheekbones. Fading sunlight from the open back door danced across his knuckles and she could see the scars built up there. “You’ve not had an easy life, have you?”

“What makes you say that, love?”

“It’s okay. Neither have I.”

She stepped closer to him, and he noticed a bit of frosting on her wrist. He took her hand, pulling her closer and bent his head down to kiss it away all the while looking up with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. “Let’s not talk of serious things. I’ve had enough of that from me brother today.”

Mollie felt a tingle down her spine from the contact, and Arthur, sensing her reaction, turned her hand over and kissed her wrist. This elicited an audible sigh from her, and he chuckled low in his throat.

“And you’ve come all the way from Birmingham, England just to steal my heart?” she whispered, taking another step closer and stopping between Arthur’s legs. She ran her free hand through his long hair, brushing it back as she leaned over his face.

He could feel her warm breath and her lips were inches from his own. He looked up at her, savoring the feeling of attention from a woman who wasn’t being paid to keep him company. It was a feeling that Arthur hadn’t enjoyed for a while. Her cheeks were flushed and her soft green eyes were dilated; she was real flesh and blood, not playing a part. Arthur knew that he must tread carefully and not hurt her. “Mollie,” his gravelly voice spoke, “you know that I will be moving on tomorrow, right? Whatever happens tonight is just for tonight.” He held his breath, hoping that she would understand.

She leaned down and kissed his waiting mouth, wisps of her hair tickling his cheeks, “I know,” She smiled against his lips, “Let’s not talk of serious things.”

To be continued...maybe. Let me know what you think.

It’s Continued**** Serious Things: Chapter 2 can be found on my masterlist because Tumblr hates links.

#Peaky Blinders #Arthur Shelby #arthur shelby x oc #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders fiction #peaky blinders imagine

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tisfan · 6 years

Text

Holding out for a Hero

For @chicklette

Spring Break

“So,” Becca leaned forward, “tell me how you got together. Bucky’s been reluctant to share.”

“He was my hero,” Tony said, his broad, brilliant smile crossing his face, making his eyes crinkle up adorably.

“Tell me…”

***

Four months earlier

Thor was expounding dramatically on the most recent football practice for the benefit of Jane -- his girlfriend, a physics major who understood end-around sneaks as well as Thor understood quasars. She looked like she was listening, but Bucky suspected her brain was light years away. Thor’s brother, Loki, was absently opening packets of sugar and adding them to Thor’s mug every time his brother said the word handoff. The pile of empty packets resembled a tiny snowdrift.

Bucky was still benched because of injury; he’d sprained his wrist, and not even at football practice, which was infuriating, but because Rumlow hadn’t properly assembled the drops during stagecrafting class and the whole set of flats had come tumbling down on Bucky while he’d been crossing the stage. It made for a great story -- I was hit by a train -- but it still hurt and he was probably going to miss most of the football season this year.

He’d been at practice, especially for the boards part of it, but there was a big difference between the sketches coach drew and actually running the plays. So, Bucky was paying keen attention to Thor, so that he could go over the whole thing in his head a few times. As soon as his arm was out of the damn wrap, he wanted back on the field.

Thor picked up his mug and took a swallow of his coffee sludge.

The face he made was excellent, and they all took a few minutes to laugh about it, while Thor clapped his brother on the back hard enough to send the thinner Odinson crashing into the tabletop, and then to the floor. “A fine joke, indeed,” Thor declared.

Loki was just picking himself up and dusting himself off when someone rushed by, dropped his backpack in Loki’s chair and threw an armload of books onto the table. “Watch my stuff, would you?” He brushed a quick kiss on Bucky’s cheek and was off again before Bucky had time to be more than surprised.

“Who the hell was that?”

“Mmm,” Jane hummed. “Tony Stark. He’s the TA for my Systems Engineering seminar.”

“Isn’t that the class that’s teaching you to be an actual-facts rocket scientist?” Darcy Lewis asked. She hadn’t been participating in the football discussion at all, but instead her nose was buried in a women’s studies book and she had her beret pulled down almost to her eyebrows. She always looked like she’d be more at home at a poetry slam than in the stands for football, but wherever Jane was, there was Darcy.

“That’s the one, it’s utterly fascinating,” Jane said, and was going to launch into one of her speeches about how amazing it was when Bucky pointed to the load of stuff that Tony had left behind.

“Does he actually expect me to guard his things?” The spot where Tony’s mouth had landed on Bucky’s cheek felt overly warm and tingly.

“‘Tis a sacred duty, the guardianship of the stuff,” Thor opined. “You must battle to the death, should someone wish to make off with Tony’s possessions.”

“Yeah, that ain’t happenin’,” Bucky said.

Loki sniffed disdainfully, but pulled up yet another chair rather than reclaiming his.

“So, you do not know him?” Thor inquired.

“We ain’t met, no,” Bucky said. He was aware that he was still absently rubbing his cheek with his thumb and looking off in the direction where Tony had vanished.

“There it is!”

Someone was yelling and then someone else grabbed Tony’s bag and grabbed the strap, knocking the chair over in the process.

“Hey!” Despite saying he wasn’t going to battle to the death, Bucky was up in the guy’s face as soon as he realized what was going on. “That’s not yours.”

“Stay out of it, man,” the blond shoved him back, and Bucky almost fell before regaining his footing.

Bucky snatched the backpack and jerked it toward him. “Let go,” Bucky snarled. He recognized the guy, Ty Stone, majoring in asshole. He was going to graduate with honors, at least in the asshole field.

Ty just laughed, kept his hand on the strap. “Or you’re going to do what, exactly?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky could see Loki standing up, hands cupped delicately near his face. He gave Bucky an emerald wink and mouthed ready? at him.

Bucky tightened his grip on the backpack and Loki spread his fingers, blowing out a puff of air like he was putting out candles on a cake. A cloud of white powder rushed directly into Ty’s face, causing him to cough and splutter and then lick his lips, confused. Bucky took advantage of the distraction to yank the bag free.

“What the fuck?” Ty was rubbing frantically at his eyes, which were watering profusely.

Loki made a magician’s flourish, and came up with several empty packets of splenda.

“I oughta break your arm for that, you little weasel,” Ty threatened.

“Ty, it’s over.” Tony was back, looking smug. “Leave them alone, they didn’t have anything to do with it.” He glanced from Ty’s face, furious and red-eyed, to Bucky, where he was still holding onto the backpack. “It’s okay. Give it to him, there’s nothing in there.” He sneered at Ty. “Did you really think I would take your lab papers and put them in a backpack? Don’t be stupid. I have all the evidence I need, and I’ve already emailed it to Doctor Fury. You’re done. It’s over.”

“What?” Bucky let go of the strap and Ty tore it open, dumping what looked like nothing more than a few newspapers and a bunch of flyers for the GSA ball.

“He’s been falsifying his research data for his doctoral thesis,” Tony said. “Switching our samples. He was responsible for the lab accident two weeks ago that cost me most of my raw materials, because he knew that if I got my hands on his samples in my incubator…”

“You’re a kid,” Ty accused. “You’re a petulant little brat and who the fuck is going to believe you?”

“I’m legally of age, now Ty, even if I was the youngest student ever accepted to MIT,” Tony said. “And I have all the proof I need. You’ll go up before the council for an honor code violation. Your dad’s money might be able to buy your way out of it. Give up gracefully now. This villain vengeance thing isn't a good look.”

Ty dropped the bag, his fists came up and he lunged at Tony.

“Thor, buttonhook blitz,” Bucky snapped, and he kicked the chair directly into Ty’s path. Thor was already out of his chair, moving rapidly away -- everyone else would assume to find campus security. But he hooked back in, just before Ty got there.

Thor wrapped a massive arm around Tony’s chest and lifted, turning to protect the smaller man with his entire broad back.

Ty tripped over the chair, stumbled, and faceplanted in Thor’s shoulder.

People really didn’t realize how terrifying Thor was until they were facing him on the football field. Or when he was frowning with all the seriousness of a vengeful god.

“You haven’t heard the last of this, Tony,” Ty snapped, and stalked off. A smear of artificial sweetener dusted the back of his jeans.

“I tremble with fear,” Tony said, all false bravado because Bucky could see that he actually was shaking.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Bucky said. He put one arm around Tony’s shoulders and gently drew him out of Thor’s protective circle. “Come on, sit down. You’re okay.”

“Sorry about that,” Tony said. “Didn’t really want to get you all involved in that, I just thought Ty’d come and steal my bag and you’d let him, and that would give me enough time to email Fury.”

“Don’t you know, watching the stuff is a sacred duty,” Bucky teased. “I have to fight to the death.”

“What?”

Bucky shrugged, grinning. “It’s what Thor said, at any rate.”

“You really didn’t have to--” Tony squeaked, his huge doe eyes eating up his face.

“Not even a problem,” Bucky insisted.

“Yeah, he’s always wanted to play hero and get a kiss from the fair maiden,” Loki said. He put his chin in his cupped hands and looked expectant. “Go on then. I helped, it’s only fair I get a front row seat.”

“He ain’t wrong,” Bucky said. He was kidding -- not that Loki hadn’t been a help, because he had -- and wasn’t actually expecting anything except to embarrass Tony, who’d kissed him first, after all.

“Oh.” Tony’s tongue darted out to wet his lips and suddenly Bucky wasn’t kidding at all. His internal organs went up in flames. “All right, then. Only fair. Dashing hero gets a kiss from the rescued damsel, altho I was not even a little bit in distress, I totally had this covered, everything going according to plan, and I--”

Bucky kissed him. It seemed like the only way to get him to stop talking, if nothing else.

And it was the most magical, wonderful, awkward, but exciting, kiss Bucky had ever had.

Tony’s mouth was soft and subtle, sweet and adept. The prickle of his mustache tickled Bucky’s lip, drawing a gasp and as soon as he parted his lips, Tony’s tongue slid in. He tasted faintly of coffee, dark and rich. Bucky found himself cupping the back of Tony’s neck, holding him right where he was until Bucky mapped out the territory of his mouth completely.

“Oh, well,” Tony said, pulling back finally with a long breath. “Uh… you can watch my stuff any time you want.”

“I… uh,” Bucky said, aware that he was blushing furiously. Thor had turned aside courteous as always, talking with Jane and Darcy, while Loki was still watching avidly. “Sure, I… maybe I could--”

Loki huffed. “Tony Stark, meet Bucky Barnes,” he said, grabbing Bucky’s wrist and placing his hand firmly in Tony’s. “Go… go for a walk, take him out to dinner, something.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but as much as Loki was a meddlesome sort of fella, he might not be entirely wrong. “Want… er--”

“Walk me back to my dorm?” Tony suggested. “Just in case Ty decides to ambush me?”

“Yeah, sure, okay. That’s probably smart.”

Tony snagged his backpack and stuffed his things back inside, then draped himself over Bucky’s arm, like a swooning maiden. “My hero.”

#winteriron #pre-slash #tony stark #bucky barnes #meet cute #here watch my stuff prompt #thor #loki #darcy #jane #ty stone #college au

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winterwriter8845 · 6 years

Text

Love and Death

****Listen to Underground by Austin Wintory from the AC: Syndicate soundtrack. The lyrics in this oneshot from that song. I was listening to the song when I was writing this.****

Pairing: Jacob Frye x OC

Warnings: DEATH, drowning, ****very long****

Word Count: 4457

Clary's POV

I took a carriage to the market. Jacob would've gone with me, but he was busy with helping Henry and Evie with some templar hunting, and I didn't want to bother him. I arrived at the market and got out. I searched around the plaza until I found a flower stand. I looked through the flowers until I found white roses and purchased a bundle of them. I continued to walk through the market plaza, looking around.

"Hello, beautiful," a voice said behind me. "Are those roses for me?"

I turned around to be faced to face with two men in red uniforms. Blighters. "No, they're for the Queen."

"Oh, are you going to try to compliment and give your way into the palace?"

"No. I already work there."

The one that was speaking to me got closer to me, and I started to back up. He turned me around, pinning my arms behind my back.

I tried to wiggle out of his grasp but failed. "Unhand me! The Queen will have your heads for handling me."

"Ooh, is that supposed to scare me? You haven't heard a threat yet." I stopped trying to get out of his grasp when I felt the cool metal of a blade against the skin on my neck. Fear racked through me, and a tear escaped and ran down my cheek. "Here's what's going to happen: you're going to come with us, and your little boyfriend will never find out."

He walked me over to a carriage and covered my mouth with a rag that smelt weird. Darkness consumed me, and I fell limp in the Blighter's arms.

~~~~~

Jacob's POV

It's been about three hours since Clary had left, and I was starting to worry. It usually doesn't take her long to go to the market and come back. I walked into the study, where Evie and Henry were looking at some maps, discussing something of the creed. Evie looked up, her lips pursed, as if she was angry at me for coming into the study, still looking down at the maps.

"Evie, I think Clary is in trouble," I announced. Evie's eyes looked up at me, her eyes searching mine.

"Well, you think she's in trouble? Go look for her, then."

I let out a huff, turning around and leaving the room. "Go find her yourself," I mocked, quietly. I walked to my room, grabbed my weapons, and left the mansion. I took a carriage to the marketplace and began to look around. I didn't see Clary, or anyone really suspicious, so I blended into a small crowd. I spotted two Blighters and made my way to them, in between the crowds of people. I lowered my head, my hood hiding my face from them.

"Barron is going to be pleased with us. We have one of the Frye twins' lover."

"What?" I asked. "You said to go find Clary myself, that's what I'm doing." I took the Blighter to an empty room and sat him in the chair. I bound his wrists to the side of the chair and his ankles to the chair of the legs, and Evie and Henry walked in.

"So you brought a Blighter here?"

I looked up at her. "Yes." I straightened back up and turned to them. "I'm going to interrogate him until I get the information I want out of him, then I'll put a bullet in his skull." Once I made sure he was secured down to the chair and rid him of his weapons, I left the room. Evie and Henry followed me out into the study. "I heard him say they have Clary."

"So what's your plan?" Evie asked.

"I don't know yet. I have to wait until I get the information I need."

Evie and Henry nodded, and I walked out of the study and into the room where I was keeping the hostage. I hid in the shadows until he woke up. He started to wake up and looked around.

"Where are you, assassin?" He yelled out.

I stepped out of the shadows.

"Hmm, always hiding in the shadows like a coward."

I cracked my knuckles, grinning maniacally. "Tell me where she is."

"Who?"

"Clary. The girl you've taken."

"I've no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't play bullshit with me. You know what I'm talking about. Where is she?!" I yelled this. I was getting pissed.

He just looked up at me, something laced his eyes. Amusement?

"Tell me where she is, or I'll beat it out of you." I clenched my hands together in a fist. When he didn't tell me, I started to punch him in the face. I struck him in the jaw, and blood spurted out. "Tell me where she is!" I continued to beat the shit out of him.

"Wait, stop!" He yelled at me. "I know where she is."

"So now you confess."

"She's in a place you've been before, where you liberated the first of our factories, in Lambeth. There's a secret basement. But you might want to hurry if you want her alive."

I pulled my revolver and loaded it. I pointed the barrel of the gun at his forehead and pulled the trigger. The echo of the gunshot rang through my ears. I walked out of the room and into the study. Evie looked up at me. "I know where she is. She's in Lambeth, in a factory that we liberated. We need to hurry. She's in danger. He said that I might want to hurry if I wanted her alive." I walked out of the study and into the weapons room, and Henry and Evie followed me.

"So what's the plan?"

"I don't know. I'll think of it on the way." I made sure I had two extra revolvers and a few extra magazines of bullets. I slipped on my hidden blades and brass knuckles. Evie slipped on her hidden blades and grabbed her cane sword. Henry slid his blades into their sheaths, and we all walked out. We walked out of the mansion and took a carriage. Evie and I sat in the back, and Henry took the reigns. I started to think of a plan and told Evie as I thought of it. "There's a secret basement. So this time, we're going to do this stealthily. We're going to pick off the Blighters so we won't have to deal with them when we're searching for the basement."

"You're actually doing something stealthily? Usually, you don't."

"I know, I know. I just want to get to Clary as fast as possible." I looked out the window as I leaned my head against the velvet interior of the carriage as fear racked through me.

We're coming for you, love.

Clary's POV

I heard a metal door squeak as it opened, and a lantern appeared. I couldn't see the person who was holding it until he came closer to me, the glow of the lantern cast shadows across his face and the room. He was a man with a bushy mustache, wearing a Templar uniform.

He pulled a dagger out and lodged it into my side. I screamed out in pain as crimson started to stain the light blue material of my dress. "If you don't bleed out, then you'll succumb to an ice-cold grave. Either way, you won't be able to see your lover again." He left the room, the metal door squeaking shut.

"Jacob! Evie!" I yelled. "Anyone, help!" Tears threatened to fall.

"JACOB!" I was crying by now, tears ruining my makeup.

Goodbye, Jacob, my love.

Jacob's POV

"Where is she?!" I spat.

"Who?"

"The girl. Where the hell is she?!" I was getting annoyed. "You're not in a position to test me."

"I know where she is. Walk down that hallway to the candle holder." He pointed. I whistled, and Evie and Henry joined me. Evie took the man out of my hands, and I walked down the hallway at the candle holder. "Pull it down." I did as he said, and a secret door opened. We walked down the stairs to a room that had a hole covered by metal grating. Water filled the hole. "She's in there."

"Oh, god." A tear came to my eye at the thought of her being dead when I found her. Henry and I opened the metal grating. I took my weapons and overcoat off and sat them on the floor. I plunged into the murky ice water, and it felt like a thousand needles stabbing me. I swam to the bottom and searched but didn't find her. I came back up for air.

"I can't find her." My voice cracked. "I can't find her, Evie." I was starting to panic. A tear threatened to fall, my lips trembled from the cold water.

"Keep trying," Evie encouraged.

I took a breath and redove. I found her and kicked the cuffs on her ankles and resurfaced with my arm around her waist. I swam over to the side, and Henry lifted her up onto the stone floor.

I lifted myself up onto the floor and crawled over to her. "Clary." I shook her. Nothing happened. "Clary, baby, you gotta wake up." I cut the thin material of her dress open to reveal her corset. I loosened the strings to allow her to cough up any water. I started to do CPR. Nothing happened. More tears stained my cheeks. I checked her neck for a pulse and didn't find one. The tears dripped off my cheek and splashed on her cheek. I heard Evie sniffle, and I looked up to see a single tear sliding down Evie's cheek. My bottom lip trembled as I shook with grief. I stroked her soaking hair. "Clary," I sobbed. I was shivering, and Evie wrapped my coat around my shoulders. I held her face in my hands.

"Jacob," Evie started. "Come on. We need to leave."

I got up, slipping my coat and weapons on. I picked Clary up, bridal style, and carried her out. We all walked out to the carriage. I laid Clary on the seat on the back. I stroked her cheek. "I will avenge you, love." My anger started to flare. I clenched my jaw together as I looked at the Blighter. "Take me to your leader," I spat at him. I walked in the front of the group, with Evie, who still had the Blighter's arms pinned behind his back, behind me, and Henry following up on the back. He led us through the factory but stopped us halfway through it.

"Wait, I should go alone. He will suspect that something is up if you were right behind us."

"If you screw up, I will make you suffer." My face was inches from his. Evie shoved him forwards. "Get a move on."

He began to walk, and Evie, Henry, and I crouched down and edged along the sides of the building. The Blighter began to run, and all three of us began to run after him. He made it to the door before we could reach him, and he burst through the door. I pulled out a knife and aimed for his head. I threw it as hard as I could, and it didn't lodge in his head, it went through his skull, blood splattering onto the wall next to him. Evie and I walked through the room, with Henry following us. We walked through the door, and Henry slammed it shut. Evie leaned against it with her foot flat against it and her arms across her chest.

The Blighter leader was sitting at his desk. He was casually sitting there, a smirk on his face.

"You manky chav," I spat at him. "I'll wipe that smirk off your face before you have time to fathom what has happened, you knobhead. Are you dead from the neck up?!"

"I see you've found your lover." He stood up from his desk and walked to the side of it.

"Yes, and you're going to die for it. If I don't kill you today, which I don't think will happen, the Queen will have your head. Because Clary was her personal maid."

"Do you think that I really care about that daft cow of a slag?" He spat back at me.

My blood boiled even more. I clenched my fists together. "Shut up, you arselicker." I closed in on him. I slid my hidden blade out and pressed it against his throat. "This is for Clary." Tears glazed my eyes as I pressed the blade further into his throat until it broke the skin, then still kept pressing until blood started to gush from the wound. My face was so close to his that when the blood gushed from his wound, it splattered onto my face. I wanted him to see the pain and anger in my eyes just as he dies. I dropped the body onto the floor and turned around, my legs suddenly feeling like they had turned to jelly. I leaned against the desk, trying to relieve the weight, tears spilling down my cheeks.

Evie walked over to me and wiped some blood away. "Come on. Let's go home."

"Why did you have to be taken away from me so fast?" I whispered into her hair.

The carriage lurched forward.

I started to curl her hair around my fingers like I used to do. "You have to wake up, Clary. I was going to marry you one day." it felt like it was an eternity until we reached the mansion. Once we reached our home, I gathered the strength I had and got out. I carried Clary to our room and laid her on the bed. I collapsed to the floor. I leaned against the side of the bed, sobbing. Evie walked in a few moments later and sat down next to me. She wrapped her arm around me, and I leaned into her shoulder, the tears soaking her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Jacob. I'm sorry that this had to happen to you and her."

I was too grief stricken to speak. I continued to cry into her shoulder. Henry walked in. "We need to stitch her wound up. She's still bleeding."

I looked up to him, my eyes blurry from the tears.

"Henry and I can do it," Evie said. "It'd be too much for you to have to stitch her wound."

"Evie." She turned around, and Henry took the bin of water from her and disappeared down the hall. "I want to put her in that dress. Will you help me?"

"Of course." She walked over to the dress and took it down. We slipped her into the dress, but my fingers kept faltering with the laces of the corset, so Evie took over and laced it up. Once we were done, and Evie had left the room, I slipped the ring onto her finger. I folded her arms over her torso and clasped her hands together at her lower torso. "You need to come back. We were going to get married and have a couple of kids together. And we were supposed to grow old together." I sat them in the chair and stared at the moon outside. I began to sing a sad song:

"Take a look round lively old London Buzzing crowds we sweat and we revel Red-cheeked shouts and songs In the flicker of the gaslight

Eager Blighty bursts from the cobblestones Racing, climbing blooming fertility Born from secret seeds That were scattered in the nighttime

London is fed upon the meat of the dead They're one shallow inch below the town

Underground Underground Leave them underground

Them that whispered dreams that only poisoned us

Them that told us lies of their bravery Them that preached of progress, and put us in the poorhouse

Them done horrid murder on bloody stages Them that loudly crowed their humility Lords and dames that sung in the chapels on a Sunday

All quiet now. Their mouths are stopped up by mud. They lie flung in rags and make no sound.

Underground Underground Leave them underground

Those who fought for something better Those who taught by how they lived Loved ones taken long before their work was done," I began to sob but continued to sing, the words barely audible:

"Underground Underground Leave them underground.

Underground Underground Leave them underground."

When I was done, I was a sobbing mess. I sat down on the floor and leaned against the side of the bed, still crying.

"God, anyone, why did you have to take her from me? She was far too young. She had so much to experience. Please bring her back. I'm lost without her. She means so much to me."

Eventually, exhaustion took over, and I slipped into the darkness.

~~~~~~~

"I'm happy you were first love," she whispered.

"I'm happy I found you before any louzy man could've found you." I smiled at her. I began to draw on the skin on her waist, and she hummed.

"You know, it is our wedding night, so you know what the means..." She trailed off, and I caught onto her drift. We began to kiss again. I slipped her nightgown off.

~~~~~~

"Jacob, wake up," a voice said in my ear. My teary eyes opened to see Evie. She had her arms around my shoulders. "You were crying in your sleep."

I sighed. "It was our wedding night..." I looked down, the tears still falling. "I just want her back."

"I know." She stroked my hair. "Go get a bath. I've already sent Henry to get a bath ready."

I nodded. There was knock on the door, and Henry came in. "The bath is ready."

I nodded again. I got up and picked up the folded clothes that sat on the nightstand. I walked to the bathroom and stripped down. I slipped into the warm water.

"God, Juno, please bring her back," I plead again. "I need her. She keeps me at bay when my stupidity gets the best of me." More tears came to my eyes. It was impossible to think of life without her; I didn't want a future without her.

I eventually got out, dried off, and slipped on my clothes. I walked back to the room and sat down in the chair. I watched her the whole day, not eating nor drinking when Evie or Henry brought me some food. I couldn't think. It was around six in the evening when I think I started to go insane.

I could see a beam of light. Before me, a goddess appeared. "I am here, Jacob," her voice was angelic.

"Why are you here?"

"I heard your pleas, and I am here to fill them. I will bring her back but hear this: this is the only time I am allowing some who died to be brought back. My reason is is that you and Evie are so close to finding the Piece of Eden, and Clarissa is an excellent asset you and your sister. If Clarissa is to die again, I will not allow her revival."

"I will protect her with my life," I swore.

"I certainly hope you will. You looked lost without her." She then extended her arm out until her hand was directly over Clary's mouth. A bright, white smoke fell from her hand and was sucked into Clary's nose. The goddess left, and the bright light disappeared. I looked to Clary, who was still unconscious. She didn't show any signs of life, and I was grief stricken. Maybe all of this was dream. Maybe she wasn't going to come back. I stared out the window and started to sing my sad tune again like I had the night before.

Clary's POV

A sudden breath of air made me lurch forward. I opened my eyes to see Jacob sitting in a chair, staring out the window. He was singing a sad tune. "Jacob-" I gasped, shaking. I couldn't feel my limbs; they were numb.

He turned around, tears in his eyes. "I'm here, love." He rushed to me. "Evie!" He yelled. He pulled a blanket over me just as Evie and Henry came in through the door. They both were wide eyed but soon snapped out of it when they saw me shaking.

"Evie, help me get her out of the dress," Jacob instructed. "Henry, go get some hot pans."

Henry left, and Evie and Jacob started to undress me.

"This is impossible," Evie said. "How?"

I was in my favorite dress. Once they had me undressed and into a nightgown, Jacob slipped me under the covers.

"I plead to God or to Juno, to anyone really, and Juno answered my prayers," he confessed.

"What happened?" I asked through a shaky breath.

"You had drowned by a Blighter leader. You were dead for a day and a half."

Shock wracked through me. "As long as I'm with you, I couldn't be any happier."

A tear trickled down his cheek. I've never seen him cry before. "I was so lost without you." He started to break down. I pulled him closer, and he buried his face into my shoulder. "I didn't want to be in this world without you."

"Shh. It's alright now. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere." I kissed him, and he kissed me back passionately. I soothed his crying, and we eventually fell asleep, wrapped in each other's arms, in a warm embrace.

~~~~~~

I examined the ring. "Jacob, what's this, love?"

He got up and walked to me. He was still shirtless and in his trousers. He had a smile plastered on his perfect lips. "Clarissa Olivia Kingston, will you marry me?"

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#my writing #writers on tumblr #jacob frye x oc #jacob frye writing #jacob frye x clara #Assassin's Creed #Assassin's Creed Syndicate #jacob frye #death #spoilers for maybe story

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