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fleet-of-fiction · 4 months

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Jake Kiszka x Narrator & Sam Kiszka x OC.

Chapter Two

Summary: The Jones Family are new additions to the sleepy community of Beech Run. A tight knit scattering of rural houses, where everyone knows everyone. Deeply religious and overbearingly strict, the daughters of the family are kept under lock & key by a fanatical Father and submissive Mother. They watch from bedroom windows as their neighbours, The Kiszkas, draw intense curiosity and desire to be free. Madness of youth , hope & obsession collide to bring the danger of forbidden love to poetic ends. (Era A/U)

A/N: This chapter is particularly seeped in religious doubt. There's sexual activity in church. Spanking and cock warming and talk of it being a punishment from God. If you are particularly religious or have any trauma regarding this I urge you not to read. These views are the views of a character I have created and do not directly display the views of the writer.

Warnings:Religious trauma. Parental trauma. Intense emotions including desire, obsession, grief and yearning.Loss of virginity.Explicit sexual activity.Heavy praise kink.Severe edging.Oral sex m/f.Fingering.Masturbation.Dirty filth talk.

Summer 1984

I would have taken a thousand punishments in the wake of the memory of that hazy afternoon. Surrounded by tall grass and the sound of crickets on the breeze. Jake, and his exploration of my body, like a dream that I'd yet to wake from. Still frames in my mind, of his mouth and his eyes and his voice. I could still smell his flesh long after I parted from him. Consumed by it even as I stood at the foot of the stairs, beyond the hour of our curfew. My fate already sealed.

Jolene was unrepentant. The flush of her cheeks and the ravaging of her hair telling a story that she would never utter in words. I knew better than to ask. But when she'd appeared, breathless and without remorse, I knew that Sam Kiszka had been gifted with her heart, and perhaps more.

I don't think either of us came away from that afternoon exactly as we'd arrived. If innocence was the price paid, I felt a little richer for what I'd received in return. Perhaps a bird with clipped wings losing it's feathers, only to find that beneath there was an even greater bird just waiting to fly. That was how I imagined myself. On the verge of taking flight.

"Explain to me, boy."

Dad was standing in the hall, formidable and with a rage simmering away beneath a steady gaze. I'd only ever seen him this vexed once before, during a time when he'd been forced to reconsider the limits of his power over our brother. I thought, perhaps, that Ben would take his moment to exert his mounting power. But he wasn't the alpha, not yet.

"Car trouble, Dad." He replied nonchalantly, throwing his jacket on the bannister. "We're only a half hour late."

He would lie for us, but only to better serve his own needs. If he wanted to take Harriet Dinsmore out again and use the car, he'd have to pretend that nothing nefarious had happened out there while he was meant to be our escort.

"Don't you lie to me, boy!"

The way he spat the words out made me flinch. Instinctively reaching for Jolene's hand. The two of us ravaged and ruined by those boys, softly acknowledging that flower petals had been plucked in those fields. And we would take whatever punishment would accompany it.

"I had a phone call from Mrs. Dinsmore. Thanking me for my son getting Harriet home at a reasonable hour." He said, meeting his son at eye level. "And then she also happened to mention that young Lewis had been glad to see my girls down at the creek today."

I sensed the fear in Ben's eyes. The boy he once was never too far away. Bolstered by his freedom and the reluctance to lose it, he backed down immediately. And my lungs deflated.

"I left them in town, I swear." He pleaded, "I didn't know they went to the creek. I swear, Dad!"

It was pitiful. The way his cheek was turned as our Father struck it. That painful retrospect of what he could or should have said playing over and over in his mind as he looked directly at us. As if somehow Jolene and I had caused this. As if he didn't understand quite fully how free will worked just yet, and he'd had a choice. He could have told the truth.

"I'll deal with you later."

There was a look of reproach as Ben stormed up the stairs, clutching his cheek in a shame that was yet to properly manifest itself. He'd treat us like ghosts for the rest of the summer, but we truly didn't mind.

I was sad to see him go, still. Without the focus on Ben it meant that it was my turn to feel my Father's wrath. A wrath that he truly believed was descended from God himself. Sometimes I wondered if the truly believed that, or if it was a diocese of lies he told himself in order to sleep at night as the tyrant he truly was.

"I expected better from you." He said, standing with his finger extended at me. "I expect my daughters to uphold the values of this house and the church we embody. Not go against my word at the first opportunity."

He cast his eye towards Jolene, who would stand firm. She'd finally experienced something worth holding on to. Something she would protect, even in the face of God's wrath; which seemed to always wear our Fathers face.

"Dad, we're sorry." I apologised, although the validity of it felt like a sin within itself. "We had every intention to go into town with Ben. It was awful hot though, and we just wanted to cool off by the water. We didn't know that there would be others down there. Promise."

There were flecks of spit in the corners of his mouth as he leaned in. A tremble of his lip as he tried to keep his tongue in check. I could see my Mother lingering in the kitchen door way, like a shadow that bore no use without the shade she dwelled in. Both of them prisoners to their own demeanours. I hoped that there'd been a time, once, where they'd known how it felt to lay down and feel what I had felt that afternoon.

"Proverbs 19:9 - A false witness shall be punished, and a liar shall be caught." He quoted, as he often did, when he needed witness to his tyranny. "And I'll not have liars for children."

I didn't feel much like a child. And he would see me punished like the young woman I was becoming. Yanking me away from my sister, digging venom into my flesh with fingertips that intended to bruise me.

"You'll go to the church. And you'll pray on it until the sun comes up. And if I don't find you on your knees, you'll stay there until supper tomorrow."

Jolene knew better than to protest. Her hands flew to her mouth as he handled me out of the door and out towards the car. Her silent pleas for him to let me go left on the tip of her tongue. I wouldn't struggle. And she knew that I would go to my punishment as willingly as she would go to hers. And somehow, we knew, that we'd meet in the aftermath.

I was grateful for the sweet coolness of the church floor. The ebb and flow of a breeze that in the shade was a welcome respite from the summer heat. My knees were bent, pressed into the red velvet tuffet as I rested my elbows on the solid wooden edge of the kneeler bench. Genuflecting to the lord with my fingers entwined and a solemn knot in my stomach.

That was where he found me. Alone in my retribution. The gentle click of the church door alerting me to his presence, although I didn't turn and look. I allowed the echo of his footsteps to guide him towards me, my eyes burning into the effigy of Jesus Christ on the cross. My knuckles white, palms growing steadily more sweaty.

In the candle light it appeared as if Jesus was smiling at me. And I wondered if it were a cruel trick to lull me into thinking that I was absolved. The devil painted such a beautiful picture in my mind, and he arrived just when I thought I could be saved.

"I followed you." He said, his voice echoing against the rafters. "I didn't think he was going to leave you here, though."

He would know me in my anguish. I dared to turn my head a little, greeting him with a soft apology for the state in which he'd found me in.

"You should leave, Jake." I whispered, afraid that if my voice carried any higher God himself would hear.

He was wearing the same shorts, sunburnt shoulders now covered by a light blue shirt. Half of his hair tied back, the rest tumbling down against his neck. As I swallowed, I realised my mouth was unflinchingly dry. The sight of him an unholy memory of what he had done to me mere hours ago.

"I'm not leaving this church until you do." He assured me, slumping down onto the dusty floor, his back against the kneeler. He propped his forearms up on bent knees and sighed heavily. He didn't ask me to stop praying. He just...sat there.

"You'll be here until dawn." I warned him.

"So be it." He replied, without hesitation. "If I'm the cause of your punishment, I'll be the remedy too."

I didn't quite know what he meant. I didn't dare ask him to explain. The darkness was drawing ever closer and the temperature was dropping. The candles flickered in the encroaching draft, and my knees began to give way. The warmth of the afternoon felt like a fever dream. And he could feel the way my body began to tremble against the enormity of it all.

"Here." He offered, rising to press himself against my back, "Lean against me."

He took a little of my weight, but still didn't make me stop my prayers. He was like scaffolding around me, holding me up as I tried to right the perceived wrong I had done. His body still felt warm and tender against mine, his breath exhaling on the line of my jaw. His chest against me, arms tucked around my waist. I felt completely detached from the divine. As if my soul wanted nothing more than to dwell with Jake.

"We didn't do anything wrong today, Bonnie. You know that, right?"

I wasn't a moral compass on what was right and what was wrong. All I knew was that I'd done something which merited the endurance of midnight prayer. I couldn't speak to it, the softness within which I recalled the heat of the afternoon. It had me tongue tied as I tried to speak to God and beg for his forgiveness for such wretched wickedness. The wickedness of pleasure.

But God didn't speak to me that night. The only voice I could hear was Jakes.

"Do you want to be punished?" He asked, "For what we did?"

His question caught me off balance. My breath caught a little and a tiny, almost indiscernible gasp escaped my lips. This involuntary move made him hold me a little closer, a little tighter. Pulling my body up and more earnestly against him.

"God see's everything." I replied, trying to breathe against his palms that were flat to my sternum. "I'll be punished regardless."

He breathed an amused little sigh into my ear.

"If God see's everything, he's an immoral voyeur who knows that the flesh he created cries out for touch." He explained, taking the liberty of wrapping his fist around the hem of my dress. "Don't you think what we did down by the creek was a gift from God?"

When I thought about it like that, like it was God's hand guiding me into sin, I didn't want to believe in him anymore. And not because the God I'd been raised to fear might have been a foolish idea created by men who desired control over others, but because there seemed to be no God that could ever satisfy me.

"What are you saying?" I asked, keeping still as he pulled my dress up, revealing my underwear to the altar.

"Puppets. All of us. Moving around by the command of one puppeteer." He continued, his voice low and commanding. "All seems a little... inconceivable. Doesn't it?"

I was powerless to stop it. The thrum of blood beating in my core. The way it seemed that every muscle and sinew in my body seemed weak against his strength.

"All these moving parts, tethered by invisible strings to a hand nobody can see." He preached now, tucking the back of my dress into my bra strap, viciously pulling down my panties until I was fully exposed where I knelt. "You could kneel at this altar for hours in penance and feel nothing. Or you could let me help you feel something."

"You blaspheme." I whispered, closing my eyes as he slipped a righteous palm down the curve of my ass.

"You blaspheme!" He growled, "Against yourself, against your body...against me."

Perhaps I did. Fear was the definition of every corner I'd ever turned. Fear of God. Fear of my Father. Fear of wanting something I knew neither of those things would ever allow. It all seemed trivial though, somehow, when Jake ran such careful hands over me. When I could feel his body responding to mine. Heavenly, almost.

"Proceed, then." I allowed, fingertips digging into the bench. "If you're here to make me feel something. Go ahead."

If Jake was here, perhaps he was sent by God to instruct my punishment? Or maybe it was all just a bunch of nonsense. Maybe he was here because he wanted to be? Maybe all of this was just fuelled by nothing more than two people who wanted this?

I could feel the trembling in his body as he prepared himself. My underwear languished at my knees, my dress pulled up so that my entire lower body was on display. I remained in my kneeling position as he pulled himself back, taking a deep breath.

"Do you want to be punished, Bonnie?" He asked again.

"There is no God, is there?" I almost sobbed. "Only us?"

"Have faith in me." He replied so softly, his hand slowly riding down my thigh. "I'll never worship anything but you, Bonnie. I swear it."

I'd never forget that night in the church. The way my fear in God died and in it's place was planted a new found obsession for pleasures I'd been repeatedly denied.

Jake was nothing if not gentle with me. The soft rise and fall of his hand as it skimmed the inside of my legs, parting them a little where I knelt. His arm was pressed against my collar bone, keeping me steady when I might weaken. His subtle whispers were for me, not even God was privy to them as he spoke directly into the shell of my ear.

And then I knew his purpose. The slow roll of my body as he leaned it forward. The sharp recoil of his previously gentle palm as it reeled back. And the bitter sting of it as it connected with my flesh. The sound echoing around the church walls. And my silent scream ringing out into the far reaches of my mind, unable to flow out of my mouth as I bit down heavily on my lower lip.

Jakes hand lingered on my ass. Squeezing it as he centred himself. The very act he'd just performed seemed to draw such high levels of arousal that his breath seemed to cease for a moment. His mouth resting breathlessly against my shoulder as he pulled back once more. This time the connection was even more unyielding. And he moaned, digging fingertips into my tissue where I knew it would bruise.

Each time he spanked me I could feel myself drawing closer to something divine. Not God, not a deity I could believe in. The tears of it dripped down my inner thigh and rolled down my leg into the fabric at my knees. This was something else. Something only Jake could give me. My senses were entirely heightened. The sound of it against church rafters. The sting of it on my reddened skin. The pain of each squeeze as he revelled in it, and the way he seemed to go deeper into an arousal he could only speak of in feral groans with each snap.

"Your silence wont make a difference." He said, noticing the droplets between my legs for the first time. "Your body speaks where your voice will not."

I was still learning. "Once more." I urged.

I needed it. Whatever this feeling was. I craved it. The way his reactions made me wetter and wetter. The way his ministrations made it unbearable for him. The way I knew it was because of me that he damn near sank his teeth into the flesh at the base of my neck. Fighting for his life as he breathed harder. Kneading my ass cheek, rolling his palm over the heat.

"Tell me how much you need it." He begged, "Tell me how much you need my palm across your sweet little ass."

I began to think, perhaps, that he needed it more than I.

"Is it wrong how badly I need it?" I dared to ask, my voice quiet and small.

"No." He breathed. "You don't have to be pure if you don't want to be."

He did it again. Harder. With more vicious intent. The sensation of it sending ripples through my flesh and down into the folds of my beating pussy. That time I couldn't hold myself together. Whimpering so wretchedly that the candle flames danced in my breath.

"Again." I beseeched.

He didn't preach to me again that night. He pummelled his hand over my ass repeatedly until I gushed a river. My cries finally finding their voice. Ascending like a choir into the bell tower. With each switch of his wrist he grew more insatiable. And it seemed that he couldn't bear it any longer once he was done with me. Almost as if all it would take would be one more strike to make him ravage me.

He was exhausted by the time he hastily pulled up my panties. Ruffling down my dress, making it appear as if he'd never touched me at all. Nuzzling against my neck, his nose pressed against my jaw. Trying to swallow and breathe, like he'd lost all control. And despite the drop in the temperature, his brow was covered in a sheen of sweat.

I fell helplessly into his arms. My legs buckled under the weight of what we'd done. And he held me tenderly. The hand which had executed my desired punishment now brushing back my hair and lovingly stroking across my temple. I didn't reach orgasm, neither did he. But there was this strange comforting feeling I knew we both shared that something had inexplicably changed there in the church that night.

Once we had both calmed, we found ourselves tangled in a sweet embrace as we sat on the cool church floor. He coiled a light touch beneath my chin, cupping it in the curve of his index finger as he tilted my head up to meet his gaze. And he kissed me with all the uncontrollable arousal he'd supressed. His tongue explored mine. His gentle lips soft like pillows, opening and closing at slow intervals to allow his tongue to retract. Pulling back just enough to look into my eyes as daylight began to turn the black night into a pale blue hue.

"Why don't you ever stand up to him, your Dad?" He asked, playing absently with my fingers as we held each other. "You're eighteen. Surely that has to count for something?"

I knew he would ask eventually, I thought perhaps it would have come a little later.

"It's not like it is at your house." I sighed, "Your parents actually care about what you want. I don't think my Dad ever stopped to wonder if any of us wanted any of this. It just... is."

He stroked the back of my hand and curled both of his around it, closing around it like an oyster shell. "It doesn't have to be."

I wanted to join him in his hopefulness. But with the sun coming up I knew that I would have preferred to face the consequences of him being there alone. Another punishment. Another atonement for something I'd done that felt good.

"You'd better go before he gets here to pick me up." I responded, with my heart sinking even as the words spilled out. "I don't want you to have to deal with him."

But Jake was staunch. Sometimes I forgot that he was older than me.

"I'd take him on in a heartbeat if it meant that I got to keep you." He said reluctantly, sweeping his lips across my cheek. "Find what you love...and let it kill you."

The day I met Jake was the day that everything started to make sense. The night I spent with Jake in that church was the night I knew why. The pieces of my life finally started to fit. And there was no joy to be found in anything except for him. And I knew that I was irrevocably in love with him. Doomed, some might say.

Jolene was sitting in the window as I arrived home. Her forlorn morning stare reaching out to me through the glass as I climbed out of the car, the journey home wordless and without any conclusion. My Father had simply walked into the church, ascertained that I hadn't fallen asleep at my post, and opened the door for me to walk outside.

The weary walk to my room was peppered with my Mother taking my cardigan at the door and sheepishly asking me if I was feeling alright. I felt a sense of betrayal from her that usually simmered below the surface, but that particular morning it raged so aggressively I could barely look at her.

"May I go to sleep now?" I asked, ascending the stairs as my Dad silently nodded his approval.

No sooner had I opened the door, Jolene flew to it. Dark circles painted beneath her eyes, as if she hadn't drawn a wink of sleep either. Her nails bitten down to the quick and almost manic as she gripped my shoulders.

"Did Jake find you?" She demanded, frantic as I tried to sit at my desk. "I saw him, his car sped out of the driveway after Dad took you out. He looked pretty pissed."

There was a strange sense that my head was under water. It felt like my ears were blocked and my vision blurred. I hadn't slept, I'd been on high alert. And every time I thought it was safe to, I forgot that it hurt to sit down.

"Yes, yes... he found me." I sighed, pulling off my dress and slipping into my night gown. "We can talk about it later, now I really need to sleep."

She continued to fret as I climbed into bed. I hadn't realised that my body had been tensed, my muscles suddenly relaxing as I pulled my blanket around me. In here nothing else mattered and I closed my eyes. Feeling Jolene's unease as she lingered on the edge of her bed on the opposite side of the room.

"Let me sleep, Jo." I said, eyes still clamped shut.

She hesitated a little before responding.

"I had sex with him, Bonnie." She whispered, forcing me to open my eyes.

I wasn't really sure what I'd expected her to say. That perhaps they'd exchanged a sweet kiss. That she'd let him trail his fingers up her shirt, but nothing quite so absolute as the full act.

"What do you mean?" I asked, reluctantly sitting up as a beam of morning light began to creep in through the crack in the curtains.

She rolled her eyes and began wringing her hands between the folds of her night gown nervously.

"That's why we were late to get back to meet Ben." She explained, her eyes trained on the closed bedroom door. "All of this is my fault. I should have been the one doing midnight prayer. I'm the reason we were late. I'm the one who committed the sin."

She'd endured her own type of punishment. I could see it in the way she couldn't settle. Her knees in a frenzy as they shook up and down, her fingers in her mouth as she continued to chew on her nails. I opened up my blanket and invited her to lay with me. Immediately she drew the same calm as I had from being shrouded in pillows and blankets. Our bodies side by side as I hunkered down with her. Something we hadn't done since childhood.

"Was it what you wanted?" I asked, delicately pushing her hair away from her tired face. "With Sam? Did you do it because you wanted to?"

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Of course I wanted to. He didn't make me do anything. Maybe I got caught up in the moment, but he was gentle with me from start to finish."

He was just like Jake. She weaved a tale so soft and seeped in romanticism that I was swept away with it. The way he'd offered her his hand to hold. The way he'd wanted to show her where all the fish liked to gather at an old bridge further down the creek, and they'd sat with their feet dangling off the edge talking about nothing of consequence. It sounded like a perfect summer afternoon. And she'd let him kiss her on that bridge for the first time, her and I locked in our unfolding stories at the same time.

"One minute we were kissing on that bridge and the next he scooped me up and carried me to the river bank. I don't think either of us had any idea what we were going to do. It just...happened."

She didn't have an inkling of regret. Even though she was sleep deprived, there was a sparkle there in her eyes as she talked about him. About the way he'd soothed her with caresses, assuring him it was what she wanted when he would have stopped. Calling her his little grasshopper because she'd been so excitable. He'd been slow and careful with her, repeatedly asking if she was ok throughout the whole thing. Taking care not to hurt her. Promising to shoulder the brunt of any punishment laid out.

"He's going to ask Dad for permission to date me." She said wistfully, "I told him that it didn't matter whether he asked for permission or not, that we'd never be allowed to date. But he was adamant. He said he wasn't going to let it come between us."

Our secrets were ours to keep. I knew that the minute Sam Kiszka crossed that street and onto our porch that they would unravel. I wanted to keep our secrets safe. It didn't matter how many punishments we endured. Jake seemed to understand this. His was a far more mature and level headed approach. Jake would have followed me anywhere, in pursuit. He would have snatched me up and taken me anywhere I pleased. But he knew better than to try to defy a man who was neither sound nor reasonable.

"I know he think's that he's doing the right thing, but he can't ask Dad to date you. It'll only make things worse." I worried, careful not to bring my own intentions into it.

Jolene's eyes moved down. Gentle disappointment laced in her heavy breath. When she looked up it was with forlorn dismay. A film of tears threatening to spill over her lashes.

"He's in my bones now, Bonnie." She sniffed. " I want my chance with him in every life time, not just this one. Don't you understand that?"

Such a romantic little thing, she was. I carried the bruises of the sexual deviances of what I'd done, but she'd known something I'd yet to know. A secret that was all hers, that I was no part of. I wondered why Jake hadn't tried to have sex with me, why her and Sam had come to it so soon? She was so eager to have everything so suddenly, part of me wondered if she hadn't instigated it herself.

It didn't really matter. Her mind was so staunchly set that I couldn't argue with it.

"Ok." I conceded. "Well, did it hurt?"

The swell of her smile was enough to keep me awake. The fissures of a giggle threatening to give way.

"A little." She replied, "I didn't know what to do at first. He laid me down and touched me, told me it was so that I'd be ready. And then he kissed me all the way down until his mouth was... you know...and then he kissed me there a little while. I don't know what came over me, I just knew that I'd let him have his way after that."

A flush of pink rushed to her cheeks. She seemed more awake than she had been a moment ago.

"And then... it was like a hot knife cutting through butter. Smooth and slow. And I could feel it sting, but only for a moment. And he asked me if I was alright, he never stopped looking into my eyes for any hint of pain. I just kept nodding, trying to keep it together. Not knowing if I should make a sound or stay silent. If I should move and let him do all of it. I just laid there for the first few minutes, taking it all in. Like even as it was happening I knew I'd recall it like a dream."

Theirs was a sweet summer love. A tender fairytale I could see a shadow lingering behind. But I didn't dare tell her. I hoped that it was stay where it was and leave them be. She deserved a summer of love.

It made me wonder what was going on in Jakes mind. The opportunity to descend into sexual madness had presented itself twice now, and twice he hadn't tried to take my virginity. I questioned whether it was a long game he was playing, or if he simply did not desire to have it.

"Did you do it with Jake?" She asked, almost as if she'd heard the reverb of my thoughts.

I couldn't lie to her. "Not all the way. With him, it's like he's playing this long game. Almost like he can't bear to take it too far too soon."

I knew she would think that I judged her. But what one brother would do wasn't always going to be what the other did. She was well suited to Sam, and yet their shared penchant for chaos was the face of that very shadow I could see behind them.

"Do you love him?" She asked, yawning and rubbing her eyes as the sun crept in.

That was something which seemed to have a more simple response. I didn't know his favourite colour or the way he liked his eggs cooked. I didn't know what songs he liked to listen to in the car on long journeys, or if he ever sang in the shower. These were things I ached to know, and resolved to know in due course. The little things. It was the biggest thing which drew me to my conclusion.

"He took a risk coming to the church last night." I replied, feeling my eyelids grow ever heavy. "For that alone, I will love him."

It felt as if I'd only closed my eyes for a moment. I was drifting from a dream that I wouldn't remember when I opened them. I could hear familiar voices rising, my name somewhere on the breeze. Perhaps I was still dreaming? Somewhere in the distance I could hear my Father's voice. His venomous sermon waking me, and I sat bolt upright in a panic that I hadn't known would come.

I had no sense of the time. The sun was beating down from the centre of the sky, my curtains rippling in the warm summer breeze as my window sat at half mast. And outside the peace of the afternoon was broken by the sound of my sister's screams.

I grabbed my robe off the hook on the back of the door and flew downstairs. The front door was wide open, so rarely was it ever left like that; I knew immediately that something was wrong.

My Mother was standing on the porch, pacing a little as she watched from her safely appointed spot in the background. My Dad was standing at the foot of the driveway, holding Jolene back as he pointed an ominous finger at Sam. He was flanked by his older brothers, who were trying to convince him to pull back. Jolene was crying. Tears streaming down her face, begging to be let go of. Trying to rip at Dad's shirt, like an animal caught in a snare trying to fight for it's life.

The moment I appeared Jake's eyes lost their focus. He let go of his brother. Bile began to rise in my throat and I shook my head, terrified that he was about to move towards me. The very motion of my head seemed to break his heart. He would have made his claim, would've fought for me. But now was not the time.

"Please, Mr. Jones. Just hear me out!" Sam pleaded, trying to reach for Jolene. "I love her, Sir. I wont hurt her, I promise!"

It was as if he couldn't feel the push and pull of his daughter who wriggled on the end of a hook that only he had the power to reel in. He barely shook against the onslaught of her efforts to break free. His eyes burning into the boy who had come to ask for his permission.

"You set foot over here again, boy, and I'll call the police. You hear me?!" He threatened, "This is my land. My daughter."

Josh was still fervently attached to Sam's shoulder.

"With all due respect, Sir, my brother is a good person. He doesn't mean any harm to your daughter." He reasoned, holding a palm up towards my Dad to signal a cease fire. "We only live across the street. Only seems natural they'd take a liking to each other."

He didn't know it, but he was kicking the hornets nest. I wanted to intervene, feeling useless as I stood there with a voice that couldn't speak and feet that wouldn't move. I felt no better than my Mother as I watched the screen door over at the Kiszka house fly open. Their sister appeared, trying to explain what was going on in violent hand gestures, as their Mother stormed across the front yard and over to where her boys were trying to avoid a scuffle.

"Marie, come and take your daughter." Dad said calmly, shoving Jolene back towards the house as my Mom scurried down the porch steps to retrieve her.

I stayed close by. I didn't know what else to do.

"Boys, get back in the house!" She demanded, pulling them apart like rubber bands. "Mr. Jones, I know you're a well respected pastor in this town but I don't like your attitude towards my family. We welcomed you in to the street, we were met with indifference. So I'd kindly ask that you don't raise your voice or your hand to my son again!"

The way she stood there, fierce and unflappable. I'd only seen her a handful of times, taking groceries into the house or tending to her flower beds around the edge of the porch. Sometimes she would sit with Mr. Kiszka on the porch of an evening. The two of them sharing a drink and watching the world go by. That sort of slow living I thought only existed in movies.

"You keep those feral mutts away from my girls." Dad argued, that terrible finger of devout judgement mere inches away from her face.

But she remained unperturbed. Josh and Jake lingered at her back, Jake not knowing whether to stay behind his Mother or come to my side. I continued to subtly shake my head every time I caught his eye.

Mrs. Kiszka, with her arms folded and her eyes wide with rage, kept her lip tucked firmly under her teeth as she weighed and measured my Father. I noticed Ben lingering by the garage door, an oily rag in his hand and the car bonnet propped up as he stared at the chaos unfolding. An onlooker, no better than I. And I hated myself for it.

"If my feral mutts go anywhere near your girls, it's because they were invited." She bit back, keeping her voice low and steady. "It only seems hospitable that we extend the invitation right back."

Such poise and grace deserved accolades. She took a few tempered steps back, raising a cheerful grin as she looked back at the house and regarded only me and my sister.

"Girls, you are more than welcome over at our house any time." She said sweetly, "You know, it's downright cruel the way you keep them cooped up like that during summer."

She gathered up her boys and began the triumphant walk back across the street. I knew the rage that simmered beneath my Father's still frame was unfathomable. He remained where he stood for a few more moments, deftly trying to fight against raising his voice or going over there to continue the fight.

I left him there. Taking Jolene from my Mother, ushering her back inside to calm herself. Utterly broken by the events that had unfolded. I looked back only once, to see Jake staring at me from his driveway.

Dad went into his office and slammed the door behind him, the sound shaking the walls of the house. I sat Jolene down at the kitchen table and made some tea, her face all pink and blotchy from the tears. I could hear the sound of lawn mowers humming outside in the distance, and Ben hammering away at something in the garage.

Like it had never happened.

But it had. And there was no going back from it. Shaken and ruined by it, I sat holding her hand. Trying to ignore our Mother as she appeared, cleaning away the dishes at the sink as if she was looking for something to occupy herself.

"You girls, you know you shouldn't get him angry like that." She dithered, almost as if she couldn't see the state in which Jolene remained in. "It's so much easier to just... not push his buttons."

"And I suppose by not pushing his buttons you mean never speak a word, stay in our rooms and be on our best behaviour at church?" I replied, urging Jolene to drink her tea.

She pushed it aside. "I don't care what anyone says, I won't be kept apart from him."

Mom dropped a glass in the sink. "Oh, Jolene... you know your Father just wants the best for you. To marry a good Christian boy from the church."

"I don't want no one but Sam!!!" She yelled, our Mother flinching back as if she'd thrown hands. "You'll never understand! Just because that's what you did, it doesn't mean that's what I have to do! Look at you, like a frightened little puppy! Scared of what he'll say if you step out of line! I'm not afraid anymore. And if you want me to stop seeing Sam, you'll have to kill me."

I didn't know it at the time, but Jolene had set in motion a course of events that would never be able to wash it's hands clean of the blood that would be spilled. I would often think back to that day in the kitchen and hear the sound of that glass shattering in the sink, our Mother's hand bleeding out under the run of the faucet. And I would wonder what might have been if she'd just kept it a secret a little while longer.

That night, I couldn't sleep. My pattern ruined from the previous night of wakefulness and the day I'd spent catching up. Unable to settle in my bones thereafter, after being woken so abruptly. Jolene had spent hours beneath her blanket, refusing to be comforted. Sobbing into her pillow until her breath had gone shallow and I could discern the waves and depth of sleep that had taken over.

I kept the window half open. The heat still bearing down, even when the sun had set. The trails of the night breeze gliding over my leg as I hitched it over my blanket and tried to distract myself with a book.

The way that Jake had looked at me was etched in every single thought I had. Barely able to eat supper at the excrutiatingly silent dinner table, unable to focus on anything but the way he'd wanted to step to me. That same tangible desire that was being screamed out of Jolene's lungs existed within mine.

Only mine was a little quieter. A little more serene. But no less bold in it's approach. I wanted him so bad I couldn't read any of the words on the page. I had to actively stop myself from going to the window to see if he was waiting there with a sign. I knew that if I did I wouldn't be able to stop myself from climbing out and going to him.

I didn't need to wonder, though. The night was so thick with atmosphere, the sound of the crickets had shrouded his movements. It wasn't until his hands curled around the window frame, pulling it open as wide as it would go, that I looked up from my book and felt my heart begin to rage within my chest.

He fell into the room, knocking over my pencil pot as he climbed over my desk. Admonishing himself as Jolene stirred a little, but did not wake. He silently placed the pencils back where they belonged and stealthily moved over to my bed.

It felt as if I hadn't seen him for days. About to whisper my fears as he placed a warm hand to my mouth and hushed me before I could utter one word.

"Ssssh now." He whispered, "You don't want to get us caught, do you?"

I shook my head with his hand still firmly planted there. His body was firm against mine, his eyes scanning my face in the low, golden glow of my bed side lamp.

"You sure do look pretty when you're all tucked up in bed like that." He said quietly, smirking as he released me. "Get dressed. Meet me out on the porch roof."

I glanced at my alarm clock. It wasn't yet midnight. I knew that if I could slip back in before sunrise, the risk would be lessened. I thought about it as I watched Jake climb back out, waiting until he was completely through the frame before yanking off my night gown and carelessly picking up the first thing I could grab out of my closet. Conscious that one creak of the floor boards could wake Jolene.

Would I even care, even if I did get caught sneaking back in? Would the consequence be worth it? I clasped my bra on, pulling the straps over my shoulders as I shimmied into a pair of white linen shorts and a blouse. I shoved my feet into a pair of sandals and knew that the regret would haunt me for the rest of my life if I didn't climb out of that window right then and there.

The sight of Jake in the summer moon, silver light illuminating his side profile as he sat on the edge of the porch roof waiting me, it was all I needed to know that I might never climb back inside the window. He was looking up at the stars, completely enchanted by the expanse of little white dots scattered across the noir. And when he noticed me, his face transformed from one of spacial wonder to one that knew it's home when it saw it.

"Do you trust me?" He asked solemnly, extending his hand for me to take as I climbed out.

He was wearing a muted purple t-shirt, ripped at the hem and paired with a pair of washed out old levi's. His hair hadn't been brushed, I could make out the knots even in the light of the moon. The wild elements of him only serving to make my heart beat faster. There wasn't anything about Jake that made me think that I was about to enjoy a peaceful evening. Everything about him had my danger receptors firing in all cylinders. And yet, I did trust him.

"Why, shouldn't I trust you?" I asked, letting him guide me down the trellis that ran down the side of the porch, his hands reaching for my waist as he helped me onto the ground.

"That very much depends." He fired back, "If your Dad intends me to bring you back without knowing how much I've fallen in love with you, then no."

His words stilled me. There under the moon, he caught me with a gentle gaze that guided me into a kiss that could have been witnessed by every eye in the whole world and I wouldn't have cared. His palm rested on my cheek, his hips angled towards mine. Heaven tasted like his tongue which gently probed into my mouth and brushed over mine, sending a rush of arousal to my beating pussy.

"What happened today shouldn't have happened." He said, keeping his forehead rested against mine. "I can't pretend that I understand why the fuck your Dad is such a narcissistic bastard. But I'll take you the fuck away from here. Just say the word. I've been working at my Dad's music store, saved up enough to get my own car. A little left over, too. We can go anywhere you want. I'll look after you, Bonnie."

I almost died inside at the sentiment. Waves of heat and flutters of excitement churned away in my stomach as he awaited my response. There wasn't a single condition to the way that I loved him. I didn't know how or why or even when I knew that it was love, the exact moment I could have hand picked from the little ones we'd shared. But I knew, beyond all conviction, that I would have followed him into the fire and brimstone of hell if that was where he was destined to go.

Jake made the dead parts of me breathe again. The parts of me that I'd long since disregarded and thought could never be resurrected. And I wanted so badly to honour that. To take his hand and let him lead me as far away from Beech Run as was humanly possible. But I couldn't leave Jolene. Not with the threat of the days events still hanging over her head. Without me, there was no guiding light for her.

"I promise." I whispered against his open mouth. "One day I will ask you to take me away from here. But not yet..."

For now, I let him take me across the street and up the gravel of his driveway. Every light in his house was out, save for the flicker of something glowing behind the half raised garage door.

"I meant what I said." He reminded me, stopping right before he would open it fully. "I'm gonna show you how much I've fallen in love with you."

"Maybe I'll show you." I countered, leaving him a little bewildered as he pushed up the garage door.

"You deserve to have beautiful memories. I really hope this is one of them."

The garage was only a small space. Littered with music paraphernalia. Multiple piles of vinyl in cardboard sleeves. A few stereo systems of varying degrees of use were dotted about. There was a drum kit right at the back and a set of guitars leaning on stands sitting on a moth eaten old carpet. On the walls there were posters, some of them lovingly placed in glass frames and others haphazardly tacked to the wall and ripped at the edges. I didn't recognise any of the faces in the images, but they looked like musicians or from movies. In the centre of the room was a couch with a pull out bed. He'd taken the liberty of making it up, surrounded with pillows and several blankets and comforters like he'd tried to build a soft little nest.

And all around the room were the dainty flickers of tea light flames. Hundreds of them, lovingly placed and ignited to fill the room with a soft glow that gave me a lump in my throat as I looked at what he had done for me. If he had wanted me to remember this, it would always stand proudly at the front of everything I did that summer.

"You did all this, for me?"

He went over to one of the stereo's and at the very top was a record player. He set the pin into the grooves, and let it begin to spin. I didn't recognise the song, but it set the mood perfectly.

"This is the least of what I'd do for you." He said, pulling me in to slow dance as I rested my head against his shoulder. "And when you finally decide to run away with me, then you'll know how far I'm willing to go."

We made out on the pull out bed for a little while. His smile as I kissed his teeth made him giggle, sharing laughter as we kissed amongst the piles of vinyl and instruments. I could have stayed like that forever, just taking in the memory of his lips and the way it felt to have his arm tucked beneath my head as he pulled me in. Sometimes his hair would fall out from behind his ear and sweep across my cheek, making me shudder at the sensation of it. And he would gallantly tuck it back, taking a moment to catch my expressions in the candle light.

"Tell me what you know about sex." He said, playing with the cord on the waist band of my shorts. "Do you ever think about it?"

I suddenly felt so very small in his arms. "Of course I think about it."

The steady beat of his heart became so erratic I could hear it in his breath. He was doing anything to distract himself, twirling the little string of fabric between his fingers and only looking at me when I hadn't said anything for a while. Like he'd been waiting for me to speak and didn't want to break the spell.

"I know enough about sex to know that I think about it." I offered, "Why do you ask?"

He couldn't look me in the eye, then. Preferring to shoot his gaze at the stereo, the clear plastic hood of the vinyl section propped up like a car bonnet as the pin skipped over to the next song.

"What I did to you in the church... and in the field the other day... I don't want you to think that it's all I want." He sounded sincere, bringing his eyes back to me after he'd finished speaking.

I could see the conflict. His desire to protect me and fuck me at odds with one another. I pulled him into another superfluous kiss. It had been enough for him to do all this for me. To lay the bed out with all the soft comforters and pillows and light all the tiny little tea candles, pick out his favourite music and making sure he said all the right words.

"But I also want you to know that I would do it all again. Over and over. Because your body does something to me that is beyond all fucking reasoning." He trailed his hand down from my throat into the valley of my breasts. "It started the first time I saw you in the window. Took every ounce of strength I had not to get too hard. And then when I saw you coming towards me down by the creek, I felt dizzy for the first time over a girl. I wanted to give you something, something that would make you feel good. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to know what you felt like. I couldn't get the thought out of my head for hours, even in the church I wanted to pull your panties all the way down. I wanted to just pull my zipper down and let it happen. But I knew that if I did, I'd regret it. You deserve to be courted sweetly. Not spanked to the edge of tolerance under God's roof..."

"I liked it." I cut him off, his fingertips pushing the edge of my blouse away from the curve of my breast. "I'm not made of porcelain, Jake. I wont break. I've been treated like I shouldn't be exposed to sex my whole life. Like it was a dirty sinful thing that would land me a one way ticket to hell. I don't care where I end up after I die. I just want to live..."

"Then we'll live." He agreed, wordlessly tugging at my clothes until he had taken them off and thrown them down by the bed.

In my underwear, I'd been conditioned to feel shame. But there was nothing but power there as Jake knelt at the foot of the bed and stared at me as if he'd unearthed buried treasure. His tongue sat the edge of his teeth, his eyes moving down from the way my hair tumbled over my breasts right down to the curve of my ankles.

"You ever seen a hard cock before?" He asked, shedding his t-shirt and unbuckling his belt. "I don't want to scare you."

I couldn't help but giggle. "I'm not afraid."

Perhaps there was a part of me that was curiously on edge. It wasn't fear, but as he began to take apart his zipper I could feel the apprehension rise. He didn't take his eyes off me. Carefully watching for my reaction as he pushed his levi's down. Beneath the fabric of his white boxer shorts I could make out the line of his cock. He gripped it tightly, giving it a little shake as he released some of the tension.

"It's not fully hard yet." He explained, "Do you want to touch it until it is?"

I swallowed thickly, the lump in my throat somehow bigger as he kicked off his jeans and scrambled up the bed to lay back down at my side.

"Show me how you like to be touched." I said, letting him guide my hand over the bulge, almost like the fabric between his flesh and mine was a slow introduction to how he liked it best.

"Just wrap your hand around it." He instructed, watching as I coiled my fingers around the shaft. "Yeah, just like that. And then squeeze it a little. And move up and down slowly."

The pulse quickened immediately. A rush of blood taking him to a solidness I hadn't expected. And it made me wet. I could feel the crotch between my thighs grow moist, and he noticed it too. Tracing the line of fabric that had darkened in colour, breathing heavily as he ghosted a feather light touch over my mound.

"I'm trying to take it slowly, but I need to have your body free of these..." He pulled on the waist of my panties, moaning softly as I continued to move my hand precisely the way he'd told me to.

"We're always trying." I mused, rolling onto my back so that he could take my underwear off. "Trying to be good. To work hard. To do what's right. Why don't people ever try to do what they want, what they need?"

"Oh, they do." He replied, peppering my breasts with kisses as he unclasped my bra and threw it down with the rest of my clothes, his body above me as I looked up at him. "They just don't talk about it."

The way he slid down my body, taking my panties with him, I couldn't bear it. " Oh...I guess that makes sense."

His head snapped up from covering my stomach in soft little kisses. His hair already knotted up and fucked.

"For instance, right now all I want to do is make love to you. But that's our little secret. Nobody else gets to ruin this for us. This is ours. Between nobody but me and you. Ok?"

I barely noticed that he'd rendered me naked. I laid there without a stitch on, his body lingering above me as I watched him move back. He was so beautiful. I couldn't take my eyes away from how his stomach moved as he breathed. The way his messed up hair sat at his shoulders. Even his thighs were making me feel like I'd never really been alive up until this moment. I'd just existed through out a series of events that had brought me here.

"You have no idea how possessed I am by you." He told me, sliding his hand down behind the waist band of his boxers as his eyes closed a little. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you bewitched me."

There was humour in his inflection, enough that it drew a breathy little giggle as he pulled out his cock. He let his boxers fall to the ground, observing me as I laid on the little nest he'd built for us.

"It's got a hold of me, too." I confessed, "Whatever this is. I'm a part of it."

It seemed to be enough that we were both entangled within this spell. He stood there gently stroking himself as I parted my legs. Letting him enjoy the view, taking in the sight as I watched him right back. He seemed to know the pattern of his own touch, letting his cock stand as he rounded a palm over his balls and left a shimmery trail at his bellybutton as his tip leaked.

"I don't want to wait anymore, Jake."

There were such things as ghosts. Not the people who had once lived and had died, but the versions of ourselves that had been and were never more. I felt like a ghost as he coveted me. My thighs welcoming his body between them and the rush of arousal that flooded every nerve ending was like lightening striking the earth.

I didn't quieten myself for Jake. For him, I did not enter a room as if I were not invited. For him I opened up, offering him my heart and my virginity; the two things perhaps the greatest gifts I had to offer him. And there was no confusion over what it meant to him. He laid down on top of me, holding his weight just enough so that I could feel his intention and taste his breath. The softness of his approach in direct contrast to the unrelenting hardness resting at the unopened door.

"Can you feel that?" He asked quietly, his lips brushing against mine. "It's all for you, Bonnie. All of it."

I knew he was mine the moment he shifted. His weight rolling down, hips dancing forward. And I was a vessel on calm seas. He didn't take his eyes from mine as he slowly entered. The tip just sitting in the tightness, stretching me out and making me wince a little. But it wasn't unbearable. I placed my hands around him, keeping him tethered. Ensuring no part of him would retreat if my expressions betrayed me.

"Ok?" He checked, moving a subdued kiss across my cheek bone, sweeping his lips across to where his whisper entered my ear. "Does it hurt?"

"Just keep going." I urged, certain that the burn and the ache would subside, "Don't stop..."

He let out the most delicious sound as he slowly continued to enter. Moaning softly, his breath warm against my cheek until he was entirely within me. And I could feel his groin rub against my thighs, soft pubic hair against my mound. And there he stayed, leaning up on forearms so that he could get a better look at me.

"I'm not going to fuck you, not yet." He explained, his palms coming to rest against my temples. "I just want to commit this feeling to memory."

I'd never felt more full. Almost like he was nearing the inside of my stomach, the pain and the sting of was worth all the misery of wondering what it would feel like. Because it simply wasn't how I could have ever imagined it.

"I love you, Jake." Was all I could fathom to say, staring up at his intense brown eyes that couldn't seem to look away from me.

He mouthed the words back to me, resting his forehead against mine, breathing a little harder as I clenched my pussy around him. The action was somewhat involuntary, as the inevitable burn began to lay waste to a feeling that was entirely new. With every flex he moaned again, and the melody of it drew a throb from me that almost demanded movement.

"So... tight..." He fought against it, keeping his cock nestled inside me, making a home for it as he buried his lips against my jaw and whispered sweet words that made me fall in love with him over and over again.

He would have stayed like that forever. And I would have kept him there for eternity. But the need and the animalistic urge to thrust was one I hadn't been prepared for. The way my body felt the rigid pull back was a delight. And the slow push back inside was delicious and my senses were spilling over with every thrust, every touch. Every breath and every kiss. Every word spoken and every soft moan. My mouth filled with his tongue, my fingers digging into the soft flesh at his waist. His cock slammed into me, fucked me and made love to me so softly at first and then when I couldn't stop myself from crying out he let himself take it a little harder, a little rougher until we were moving in unison.

"You feel so good, Bonnie." He told me, breathless between kisses, "I claim you..."

"I claim you, Jake..." I panted it, my voice coming out like a desperate whine that didn't quite sound like anything I'd ever spoken like before.

He seemed to like it. Bringing his mouth down to my hard nipples and clamping his lips around them. He sucked so gently, keeping his rhythm so perfectly I could feel my body start to vibrate. Overstimulated and ascending to the stars that he had promised me.

And yet, I had a feeling that he was nowhere near to being done with me.

To be Continued...

@caprisunsister @thewritingbeforesunrise @takenbythemadness @katuschka @its-interesting-van-kleep @lvnterninthenight @writingcold @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @edgingthedarkness @velveteencatch @lyndz2names @nina-23-45 @itsafullmoon y @char289 @dancingcarbon @gvfpal @violetstarcatcher @wetkleenex-gvf @jazzyfigz @gvfmarge @ignite-my-fire

#greta van fleet #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #fanfic #greta van fleet fan fiction #gvf #fanfiction #gvf fanfiction #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka x reader #sam kiszka gvf #sam kiskza #sam kiszka fanfic

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panthera-tigris-venenata · 6 months

Text

Dinner at the Hooks

Part one of ??; cca 1k words.

Mostly just disaster threesome and Huma flirting, ngl. They didn’t even get to the Jolly Roger yet.

For future reference: Hook kids’ mother is a siren and she’s very much trying to kill James Hook. Everyone but James Hook knows this. Hooks might or might not have adopted Claudine Frollo, I’ve got yet to decide. Also, Uma has a godly father because if Mal can, so can Uma. (It’s not Hades.)

I hope you enjoy!

Harriet slams open the door to the Tremaine salon: Seems like she’s in luck today. Anthony’s in the corner, combing through Ginny’s wet hair. How convenient.

She lets her eyes linger on them for just a heartbeat before glaring around the salon and barking a sharp „Out!“

Anthony glares at her, all disapproving, as if to say, „Don’t kick the customers out of my salon, Harriet.“

Well, too bad. She doesn’t care for his customers at all, and she’s prepared to show him so – the mirror on the wall looks a little too uncracked for her taste.

She narrows her eyes at him. Little effect, really, except for Ginny’s intrigued expression and her hand reaching out to his, as if to stop him from arguing, at which he huffs and turns up his eyes. Excellent, fucking finally.

„I said, out,“ Harriet snarls at the customers that unwisely didn’t take their leave yet and at the Tremaines she doesn’t care about.

Just as the doors click, she stalks closer to Anthony and Ginny, and slams her hand into the chair behind her shoulder; Ginny straightens just a little bit.

„My parents are organising a dinner, a family get together,“ she says, „You’re both invited.“

She looks Anthony into the eyes – he’s crossed his arms over his chest and is still glaring, that bastard, – and then tilts up Ginny’s face with her pointer finger to get her attention more surely.

„Meet me by the Jolly Roger at eight.“

That should about do it.

„Did you really just kick out everyone out of the salon just to ask us out?“ Anthony asks with a hint of disbelief. She scoffs at him: The fact that she did exactly that doesn’t mean that she’ll admit to it, obviously.

„I’m trying to be nice here,“ she says instead, „Would you prefer it if I kidnapped you?“

„I would,“ pipes up Ginny.

„We know, Sunflower,“ sighs Anthony as he slides his hand onto her shoulder and curls his fingers in just slightly. Harriet smirks at the sight a bit.

„Come,“ she says, „At eight to the Jolly Roger, my whole family will be there.“ She herself isn’t sure if that’s a threat or not. „I’ll be waiting for you.“

She decides it probably is a threat.

She shows off her teeth in a smile before leaning down and kissing Ginny – she lets the kiss linger for once as she drags her fingertips over her jaw. Eventually, she tilts Ginny’s head back again and straightens up to face Anthony.

She steps closer and kisses him too, sliding her hand over the back of his neck. „Don’t you dare stand me up, Tremaine,“ she breathes into his lips.

„How could I, Captain?“ he asks, as he pulls back „With such convincing arguments that you give.“

She cackles, and as she walks away, she shows him the middle finger.

She hopes they come.

………

„Harry,“ Uma opens the door to his rarely-used cabin and leans on the frame. She smirks as he turns to her, make-up half-done and a gold chain dangling down his chest. „The dinner at your parents’ starts soon.“

In about quarter an hour, really, but the Hooks consider time a suggestion at best and showing up late is more fashionable, anyway.

„Thank you, love,“ he tells her, twirling the eyeliner pen in between his fingers, „Give me few moments to finish getting ready?“

The best part is, she could say no and he’d drop everything and go as he is now, just because she said it. She smirks at the thought. But:

„Of course,“ she says instead, „We want you to look your best, don’t we?“ (And if by „we“ she means mostly herself, well, who can blame her? It’s only her right.)

„Of course, Uma,“ he smirks too and saunters closer, „Thank you.“ With that, he draws her closer by the waist and kisses her lips. She sinks into the kiss for just a moment before lightly pushing him off her.

„Now, don’t get handsy, Hook.“

„My apologies, my Captain,“ he puts his hands up in mock surrender, „But I needed some of your lipstick, you see, to finish off the look.“ His eyes shine as he winks at her.

„You could’ve just asked to borrow it.“

„Mmm, but it’s more fun this way, Captain, don’t you think?“

Instead of an answer, she steps closer to him again, and, grabbing him by his shirt, brings him in for another kiss. There’s his answer.

„Good Gods, they’re at it again!“ sounds through the ship and Uma suddenly remembers she didn’t close the door. Well, too late now.

„There’s children around!“ protests Bonny from down the hall with exasperated scandalisation.

„There are none!“

„There are none yet, Captain,“ sing-songs Bonny, „Now, if you two keep at it…,“

„Bonny!“ Uma’s time to be scandalised – this is what her own medic is doing! The audacity! And meanwhile, Harry just laughs, pulling her closer to him yet.

„This ship needs thicker fucking walls,“ she mutters only for him to hear.

He laughs again: „I think our crew would pay a decent treasure for thicker walls, love.“

Too bad they live on a cast-off island, isn’t it? She pouts and crosses her arms and isn‘t all that much surprised when Harry kisses her hair and leads her to his shelf where some jewellery and trinkets lay carelessly scattered. Most of these pieces she has never seen, which means he just got it (stole it) recently – he tends to just give the jewels to her and borrow it later when he’s in the mood for anything other than his usual assembly of rings and earrings.

And really: „Paid a little visit to the Westergaards this morning,“ he says, „Most of their stuff was gaudy, but these looked passable. Anything caught your fancy, darling?“

„Hmm, I don’t know yet,“ she says, picking up a necklace and letting it fall back down in between her fingers, „I think I need to look at these first. Examine it. Go finish getting ready in the meantime.“

„As you command.“

In the end, Uma picks a new ring, a bracelet and a decorative comb that Harry weaves into her hair immediately; sure, they might have left five minutes after the dinner was supposed to start, but their entrance is going to be showstopping.

#disney descendants #harry hook #uma descendants #harriet hook #anthony tremaine #ginny gothel

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lyn-js · 30 days

Text

One Step at a Time | Prologue

Calvin Evans x OC Reader

Summary: Everything in Ava Mason's life was what you call normal. She has a steady job as a lab tech at Hastings, has a beautiful bungalow in Sugar Hill, and sometimes babysits her friend Harriet's kids. But that all changes when social services show up at her doorstep with, her 2-year-old niece Delilah. Ever since then, it has been keeping you from your job, going to work late, and leaving when everyone else has gone home. But a certain chemist wants to know why a lab tech is staying late.

Warning: Angst, swearing, mentions of drug & alcohol abuse, dysfunctional family, mentions of adoptions & being put into foster care, and a whole lotta fluff.

(This story is kind of based on what actually happened in Lessons in Chemistry. But no dying. We need to keep one of Lewis's characters alive.)

I also do not own any characters in Lessons in Chemistry except for my character Ava Mason.

Walking up to the sounds of little feet padding into your room, you couldn’t ever want to trade that sound in for the world. Fluttering your eyes open, you can see the little girl waddling her way to your bead, for how far her feet can take her. You can also see her hair sprawled out in different directions, and a dopy smile on her face, happy to see you. You focus your attention on your niece your big golden doodle Poppy to come to trodding next to Delilah to help her stand.

“Mornin’ Aunty Ava,” she says with a cheeky grin on her face, while also trying to hide it from you. “Good morning Bunny,” you say to her. Then, the next second you lift her onto the bed, smothering her face in little kisses while she erupts into a fit of giggle. You had to stop your kisses when Poppy jumped onto the bed and sandwiches between you and Delilah. “Poppy missin’ the kisses too Aunty,” she says while still giggling. After the laughter died down, you over at the clock that was on your nightstand. Having to move some homemade drawings that Delilah made you the other day. You read that it’s 9:30. You’re Late.

Oh Shit.

You pick up Delilah and rush out of the bed, try and get her and yourself dressed, teeth brushed, and out the door. You are getting her buckled in the car and on your way to Harriet's house. When you both arrive, you see a man across the street stretching, maybe he was getting ready for a run. But after he’s done stretching you both stare at one another. It felt like you both were stuck in time like the whole world stopped spinning, and the attention was just on you and him. “Hey Ava!” you snap out of your daze and hear Harriet walking down her porch to greet you and Delilah. You wanted to see if the mysterious tall man was still there, but when you turned back around. He was gone. “Hey… Har’. I was wondering if it’s no trouble if you can watch Del again tonight. The amino’s lab is busting my butt. I need to get some more work finished-” “Hey, It’s okay. I’m happy to watch the little bun again. Plus, we're gonna have so much fun, whaddya think Del?” Hariient asks. Delilah just jumps up and down, “YAY! Hab so much fun Aunty!” you both laugh at her squealing excitement. You kneel down to Delilah’s height and kiss her cheek. “I’ll see you later Bunny. Be good for Harriet okay?” “Otay, Bye, Bye Aunty Ava!” She says waving while being carried up the porch. You give her one more wave until she and Harriet disappear into the house. You let out an exhale, start up your car again, and put it in drive.

Off to Hastings, it is.

Most of your day was spent in the lab cleaning up beakers that were once of a failed experiment, secretly correcting the mistakes some newbies made while writing their problems, and making them coffee. They can go down to the cafeteria and grab a cup, but all of the chemists butter you up with compliments “They don’t make it as you do,” or “At least you know how to make a good cup of joe than the other ladies on the staff.” You wanted to feel insulted, you wanted to speak up and say something. But you knew they would run off to Donatti and there was a high chance, you could get fired. So just keep your head down, mouth shut and be the disty lab tech. Who apparently makes good coffee?

When walking back from lunch you were walking past the secretaries room. Suddenly you hear your name being called. “Miss. Mason…Ava?” you turn around and see the head of the secretaries department, Fran Frask. “Good morning Miss. Frask,” you say to her with a tight-lipped smile and continue walking down to the lab. You knew she was going to bug you again about the pageant. But time and time again you tell her you can’t participate because you have plans that night, meaning you are having a movie night with your niece. That was the only night you could get off on time, and have some time with Deliaha.

“I hope you can still sign up for the Little Miss Hastings pageant, you know your lab is in between secretaries and you fella could use a boost for the event.” She asks “I’m sorry, but I'm not a secretary,” I say to her being a little offended because she knew for a fact that I was a lab tech. A very good one to be at that. “Well… Ya know lab techs can participate too, it’s any female support staff.” “Thank you, Fran but pageants aren’t my idea of fun,” I say to her while grabbing lab coats and passing them out on each table. “Well, what do you consider fun Ava?” she says with a little enthusiasm in her voice. “I-I like to cook and bake.” “Well ya know, let me know if you change your mind.” “I won't but thank you. Now if you don’t mind I have a lot to clean up before the chemists arrive.” You give her a small wave and a smile so she can hopefully get the hint to leave.

She gives me another little cheeky grin and points her red-colored nails at me. “I’ll put you down as a maybe.” then walking away. Why can’t your life get any easier?

Walking around the lab once again you hear men wanting more coffee, and helping out some others who need help with their equations for the expedients. When coming around to the station where you set up your coffee, you see someone who was a part of the lab walk in with a magazine, and on the front was a man holding up test tubes and seeing what was inside. He looks so familiar, but I don’t know where I have seen him before. You think to yourself, but you snap out of your thoughts and finish making the coffee. But you keep getting distracted when all of the men keep talking about the infamous Calvin Evans. “What does he have that we don’t,” one of them said out loud. Also saying he was up for a Nobel prize, “Doesn’t give him the right to take all of our supplies. I mean how much ribose does one guy need?”

Maybe this could work, maybe if you can get back some of that ribose you can finally be seen by the lab. Not seen as some female ditsy lab tech. You can finally matter in the world.

It was now after hours and you were over at the sink cleaning up some test tubes and beakers when you heard your name being called out. It was the head of the Aminos lab, Dr. Price. Just telling me to not stay later because he would get in trouble with Donatti. You just nod your head and oblige to his rules, but not listening. After everyone leaves you sneak your way out of the lab to avoid being seen by the janitorial staff and make your way over to Mr. Evans's lab.

When you reach his lab you see on his door there are cardboard signs saying “Keep out” and “Do Not Linger” but I know for a fact that I’m not keeping out, and I’m lingering. So screw your signs. You go back to sneaking in, so you take one of your bobby pins from your hair and unlock the door. Once open you can get a full view of what the infamous chemist does in here. You see records scattered all over the tables, so many loose-leaf pieces of paper with different equations and answers on them. And his lab coat hanging over a lounge chair in the corner. But you start to look around for the back room so you can find what you're looking for.

You pick another lock to the other door, you scan the shelves to find the little tiny bottles. When you finally come across the ribose, the shelves were covered from front to back with so many bottles. How many bottles does this guy need? You think to yourself. You grab a couple of bottles, lock up the doors, and seak your way back over to your lab, finish up your work, and finally head home to see your baby bunny and finally get some sleep. But what you didn’t know was when you were “sneaking” back to the lab, the best of the best secretaries Fran Frask watched you go back into the lab while she was locking up her room for the night.

Once again you wake up late, and trying fast as possible to get ready. You arrived super late around 9:00 but of course, there was traffic, and show up at almost 11. You rush up to the lab so you can get started on handing out the rest of the equipment. But you were stopped by Fran again to tell you Donatti needed you in his office. He sums up the meeting by saying that you weren’t supposed to be staying late, and if it happened again you would be let go from Amino’s lab and Hasingscompletely. Not only that but he was forcing you to compete in the pageant. You try your best to argue why you can’t participate, but of course, he threatens to fire you. That sets you back a little bit more when Fran confers you to take a picture and be put it on the bulletin board for the pageant. Can this day get any worse than it already is?

You finally make it up to the lab. But, you stop suddenly when you see a man sitting on the table holding a miniature bottle of what you assumed was ribose.

Oh No.

“Ah, there she is. The thief,” the man says in a mocking tone. I just looked at him like I didn’t know anything. “I beg your pardon?” you ask back. He hops down from the table and starts pacing back and forth. It looked like his head was about to explode. “I have been through every department, and interrogated multiple chemists. Including ones from this very lab,” he twirls his pointer finger around and then points to me. “Who say that you, Miss. Mason have a history of ruffling feathers. And also have an arrogant attitude of self-importance.” “Have you heard yourself speak Mr. Evans?” I say with raised eyebrows. “Oh, s-so you don’t deny it? I-I mean what would a secretary have anything to do with ribose, aside from selling it on the black market.”

I just look at him dumbfounded, almost looking like this crazy man has 3 heads. “I am a chemist Mr. Evans, not a secretary!” I said back to him but he was almost out the front door. “Oh, and a fibber, now aren’t we?” I drop my jaw when he walks out the door. “Oh, yes. Because there is such a high demand on the black market for monosaccharide!” “This is very disappointing! Very–- I’m disappointed Miss. Mason.” he turned the corner, and then he disappeared.

(Calvins’s POV)

You were pacing back and forth in front of Fran Frask’s desk, deciding what I should do about this unbelievable situation.

“One: My lab was unlocked last night, so I want someone to speak to janitorial and have new locks placed on the door.” I see Fran write down on her paper and nodding her head. “Two: I have calculated the cost of the missing ribose, and I want to make it clear, that will not be coming out of my budget. Three: I want the floors sterilized. At least one person entered without my authorization. And with my allergies, I cannot risk any contaminants. You understand?” You look back at her to make sure she has every little detail down to a tea. She just nods “ Yes. I’ll take care of it, Dr. Evans.” Writing the rest down.

“And lastly, I would like the secretary held accountable.” You look up to see Fran have a little smile on her lips. “Don’t worry. I’ll have her fired.”

I furrow my eyebrows a little bit, “Well… just a formal reprimand will suffice.” I see her giving the same look back at me. “I’m shocked that it was on my face. “Dr. Evans I’m shocked that it was one of my secretaries, honestly. Um, you said it was in the Aminos lab? Because that’s Mary Ann Rogers.” She tells me the woman’s name. It’s not her. “No, no, no. Her name is Ava Mason.” She looks back up at me. “Oh, she not a secretary. She’s a lab tech. Puls she should know better, she has her masters.” she looks back down scrambling around, looking for some important papers. “Her masters? In what?” “Chemistry.” Now I look a little dumbfounded at what Fran just told me. Then she asks about the “Little Miss Hastings” pageant, asking if I will be attending. I just simply ignored her and just walk out the door back up to my lab. But, I stop in my tracks to look at the bulletin board to see the contestant for the pageant. As I look in the lower corner I see the picture of the one and only Ava Mason. For some reason, she looks so frightened. Not wanting her picture to be taken, but giving a half-smile just trying to look nice.

You just simply walk away from the board and continue your journey back to your lab. Why would she want to steal some stupid ribose, and why would she be staying late? You need to get to the bottom of this, and fast.

To all of you reading this, I hope you enjoy this story. I've said this many times with other stories, but I do have big plans for these 2 characters. So, stay tuned for what's about to happen.

Reblogs are always welcome. Unless you're under 18. I will block you. and comment if you want to be added to the taglist. If I forgot anybody message me and let me know. You will be added.

Also, If I forgot anyone on the taglist message me. I will add you.

Taglist: @petersunderoos96 @mrspedropascal5683 @callsign-magnolia

dividers are by @saradika

#lewis pullman #calvin evans #lessons in chemistry #masterlist #calvin evans x reader #lessons in chemistry masterlist

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randomstory56 · 2 years

Text

The Sun and The Moon (Remus Lupin X OC/Reader) Part 2

Warning: None

(1st-3rd year) Izzy Meikle-Small as Therese Potter

(1st-3rd year) Charlie Rowe as Remus Lupin

Series Masterlist

Harriet's P.O.V

I walk to the library to meet up with Marlene. We were supposed to be working on an art project for the girls in our dorm room. We've planned this for a while but never ended up getting into it because we always lost track of time. Now that we haven't really been doing anything for our classes we can now focus on it.

"There you are," Marlene says as she noticed me walking up to her.

"Sorry I had to tell James something," I say sitting next to her.

"It's alright," she says as we take out the things we need. "You know for you being James' sister and us being at Hogwarts for 3 years. I'm shocked you don't know his friends," Marlene says, sketching something in her notebook.

"I just met them when I was talking to James actually," I say flipping open my sketchbook.

"Really? Did they bother you with questions? It won't be shocking if they had. Especially Sirius," Marlene asks looking at me.

"Not really they just introduced themselves and then I remembered I had to meet up with you so I left," I said continuing to draw. She hmm's.

----------

Marlene and I ended up finishing our plan and sketch for the art project and we decided to work on it tomorrow. I was currently walking around the library looking for a herbs book I've been wanting to study. I was walking looking at the books and bumping into someone.

"Sorry I wasn't looking where I was walking," I say turning to them realizing it's James' friend Remus.

"It's alright it's my fault. I was reading this book and wasn't paying attention to where I was going," he says. His head slightly tilts, "Your James' twin sister, right?" he asks.

I nod, "Yeah I am but I'm the better looking one," I say, smiling.

He chuckles, "If it's not personal to ask. What are you doing in the library?" he asks.

"Oh, I'm looking for some books about herbs actually. I just got into gardening recently and wanted to see if any herbs would interest me to grow." I say.

"Oh, yeah in the next aisle there's a lot of books about herbs and how to care for them," Remus says pointing to where the books would be.

"Thanks that's really helpful. I'm not usually in the section I'm mainly in the Poetry and romance aisle. You know letting the imagination run wild." I say. Remus chuckles and nods.

"Remus lets go!" We see turn to see James. We both laugh slightly.

"I got to go, talk to you soon. Bye," he says.

"Bye," I say. He walks away and I go to the aisle of books Remus had mentioned.

----------

I was in the dorm room reading some of the books I had gotten from the library when the girls (Mary, Dorcas, Marlene, and Lily) came in.

"Tessie~," Lily said in a sing-along tone. I look up from my book to look at her.

"I heard you had a run-in with Remus earlier," She says smirking.

"Oh, yeah, I bumped into him looking for books earlier. He seems nice. How did you know anyways? That I bumped into him?" I ask.

"We heard James was talking about it," Marlene says laying down on my bed.

"He's cute, huuh~," Dorcas says sitting on her bed which was next to mine.

"I just met him, Dorcas. I mean yeah he's cute but what is he like is the real question," I say putting a bookmark in my book and setting it on the bedside table.

"That's true. We just asked cause you two would seem like a cute couple." Mary says. I look at her shocked.

"Mary we only talked twice," I say standing up and going to my trunk and grabbing my pajamas. I went inside the bathroom and changed. I brush my hair and put it in a braid. I go back to the room, “Goodnight,” I say turning off my light and laying down.

“Night,” the girls respond.

Series Masterlist

#The Sun and The Moon #original character #Harry Potter #Remus Lupin #marauders

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kaiparker-avengerssmut · 3 years

Text

Something strange pt.1

Pairings | Teresa Agnes x Thomas x f!reader

Warnings | sex pollen, smut, semi-public sex, boot riding

Word count | 828

Summary | in the safe place, you stumble along a strange pollen in the forest

Masterlist | pt.2

You were on your daily hike, followed closely by all your new friends - Thomas, Minho, Brenda, Harriet, Sonya, Aris, Newt, Gally, Teresa - when you stumbled along the strange plant.

Since arriving at the safe haven, you had all decided to explore as much of the island as possible, hence the daily hikes.

But when you all stumbled along the strange-smelling bush, everything changed.

The powdered pollen tickled your nostrils as you sat on the beach, Teresa at your side as you drew pictures in the sand.

It was an odd, burning sensation that hadn't gone away for hours and it was beginning to bug you.

You sniffed and swiped at your nose, catching the dark haired girl's attention.

"It's bothering you too?" She asked softly, and your brows pulled into a slight frown.

"You know what it is?" Teresa hummed a yes.

"WICKED used to store it, but it was never used. From my understanding, it's like a sex pollen." Teresa explained.

"Sex pollen?" You echoed and she giggled softly. The sound went straight to your core.

"Basically it makes you super horny." She shrugged before looking back at her sand drawing.

"Teresa? Can I talk to you?" Thomas's voice panted beside you, and you tilted your head back to look at him. "Oh, hey y/n." He added upon seeing you.

"Hey, Tom. What do you need?" Teresa seemed to perk up a bit, making you smirk internally. Thomas suddenly grimaced and tried to subtly adjust his jeans.

Teresa snickered as you looked away bashfully.

"I'm sorry, Teresa I need to speak to you." Thomas groaned with an urgent tone, before adding, "in private." Through clenched teeth.

"Whatever about, Tom?" Teresa giggled. How was she finding this funny? You felt like you were gonna burn up and from his desperate manner you assumed Thomas probably did too.

"Please." His voice cracked and Teresa smirked.

"Go help him, y/n. Thomas looks a little needy." She crooned, leaning back on her hands. You looked hesitantly between the two. Teresa gave you a nod and Thomas' desperate eyes seemed to plead with you to listen.

Slowly, you crawled towards him - unsure of whether you'd be able to stand upright if you tried right now.

"Shuck, please hurry." Thomas whined and your knees felt weak. You swallowed thickly when you reached him, and slowly began to work his jeans down his legs.

"That's it, y/n. Make him feel good." Teresa sighed breathily and you had to resist turning around to see what she was doing. By Thomas' lustful gaze that was fixated behind you, you assumed she was doing something he liked.

Thomas' hand tangled into your hair and you took the hint. Dragging your tongue over the swollen head of his cock, you moaned at the contact. So did he.

Teresa asked breathily, "That feel good, Tom? That what you wanted?" when you took as much of him as you could - cheeks hollowed and tongue pressed to the veiny underside of his dick.

"Yes." Thomas moaned and you tried to smile around him at how fucked-out he already sounded.

"Fuck! Good." Teresa moaned, lips pulling into a smirk at the sight of your hips gyrating down onto nothing. "Put your shoe between her legs, Thomas." She commanded.

"What?" Thomas panted.

"Put your boot between her legs - our girl is getting needy." Teresa explained and you moaned as the leather tip of his boot pressed against your aching core.

You instantly began to grind down and Thomas groaned gutturally at the sight.

"Shit." He hissed. You joined him when you saw Teresa from the corner of your eye; her hand was shoved down the front of her shorts, fingers seemingly swirling over her clit in fast movements as she grabbed at her own breasts. Her lips were parted and her face was red as she watched you take Thomas' dick down your throat.

You moaned at the sight. Loudly.

"Klunk, m'gonna cum." Thomas announced. You ground down harder against him.

"Go for it." Teresa said. You took the invitation too, sneaky a hand into your own shorts before pushing a finger into your dripping cunt.

"Fuck, y/n." Thomas panted as he came, white ropes of cum sticking to the back of your throat as you chocked on the mouthful, struggling to swallow.

You whined, high and needy as you came. Teresa followed suit, her hips bucking up into her own hand as Thomas tucked himself back into his jeans.

"Feel better?" Teresa asked, breathing heavy. She had a satisfied grin stretched over her pink, swollen lips and her hair was sticking to her damp forehead.

"You could say that." Both you and Thomas answered at the same time.

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erminecore · 4 years

Text

I really liked @doodledrawsthings’s A Hat in Time “Coffee Shop AU” idea… but also got me to thinkin. What if Vanessa’s poison was rather more immediate, so she had time to gloat, and so poor Luka had to deal with the idea of coming home to Harriet as a big snakeghost… who won’t recognize him at all?

“I’m not here to talk about custody.” Vanessa says, her smile angelic, perfect. She flicks a strand of hair from her shoulder, just to complete the illusion of the person Luka thought she’d been.

Luka’s emptied cup hits the saucer with a clatter. His nerves, which were screaming at him the whole time, rise to a fever pitch. He sharply stands, his stomach rolling, his hands hitting the table with the clatter of cutlery - but if anything, Vanessa’s smile only widens at the show of frustration. “...If this isn’t about custody, then what is this about?”

Vanessa laughs even as Luka’s stomach winds knots like dancing snakes, even as he bends double with the roiling pain of it. She laughs even as he hit the floor, his arm coming up to grip the tablecloth for support - and failing, his nerves turning to jelly, his muscles screaming as if melting under an acid kiss. “Oh, Luka. You should really know better by now. I’m here for revenge.”

From his vantage point on the floor, Luka gets a good view of the tableware as it comes crashing down around him. Forks and knives twirling like dangerous silver dancers around his spinning head, the graceful fall of a teapot in slow motion… but it is his own cup that, rolling to a stop near his arm, that draws his attention. In the tea, he sees the same purple, the same stain that is creeping down his arm - the purple of night, of pouring ink, of scribbled over legal documents and things gone wrong. Luka is aware, painfully aware, that he may be dying.

“What,” he rasps, aware of the spasming of his own arms, of the distant sound of his shirt tearing. His entire body was nothing but a ball of fire and nerves, somehow nebulous, but growing longer all the time, growing larger. “Have you done to me, Vanessa?”

In response, Vanessa stands - perhaps was always standing. Luka doesn’t know. His sense of time, of continuity, is near shattered. But he sees her perfect pink shoes, ribboned and sweet, as she walks over, and deftly kicks the cup away.

“I never wanted the child, you know.” Vanessa says, her voice full of spite. “You should have known that. I just wanted to make you suffer - to remind you whose you were.”

Luka tries to speak, tried to form the words to tell her just how awful she was, just how awful she still is. But the only sound that comes out is a soft gurgling, a pained wheeze. It’s like trying to breathe through a straw. His hands come to his neck and he feels them - large and clumsy, clawed and fumbling, two fingered, inhuman.

“You know? I don’t think you’ll be winning custody now.” Vanessa says, her voice sweet and pleasant. As pleasant as when she cut his hair while he was sleeping. As pleasant as when she told him to choose between her and Harriet. As pleasant as when she told him to stop talking to his tutor at law school. “No one would give a child to a monster like you.”

“You’re the monster!” Luka manages to spit, coughing up something black, something wretched onto the carpet. He forces his gaze upwards and yes, Vanessa’s glaring at him, glaring, but smoothing her face quickly, tightening it into a smile just like always…

“You think so?” She says, with a little chuckle, reaching into her pocket to pull out a silvered hand mirror, no bigger than her palm. It shows very little. But what it reflects nearly stops Luka’s heart.

Glimpses of black, of yellow eyes like a lantern, of fangs lit by an endless glow set above a gaping maw. He’ll never work at a law firm again - he’ll never fit in a law firm again. A long slithering tail where his legs should be… it is no wonder he cannot feel them anymore.

“You always were a little snake, my prince…” Vanessa croons, her eyes twinkling even as the monster in the mirror begins to cry. “Now the whole world will know.”

“...How could you? How could you?!” Luka sobs. He’s not thinking about Vanessa. He’s thinking about poor Harriet. He’s thinking about his job. He’s thinking about his life, in tatters. About the child he has to support. About the case he has to win. How in the world is he even going to get through courtroom doors like this? How is he going to navigate the formal attire required to be his own lawyer? What, is he going to just wear a tie on the day of the hearing and nothing else?

“How could I? How could you?” Vanessa snaps right back, crossing her arms and glaring, glaring as if Luka’s the one in the wrong. “You took my heart and ran away with it! You left me, alone, all alone in the world over a child!”

Luka sees frost beading at the edges of Vanessa’s clenched fists. Sees the tears of fury in her eyes. It explains everything. Magic? Magic. God, of all the people in the world to have magic, it has to be his ex…

“Now you understand, though, don’t you?” She says, her smile smoothing crookedly, uneasily over her face. Jagged lines and uncertain swoops. “You’re mine. Mine and mine alone. You can’t go anywhere else. No one else will accept you. No one will love you, not like me. That wretched child won’t even recognize you now.”

Vanessa reaches down, her pale hands coming to caress Luka’s cheek. Her fingers are still icy, horribly cold, all the worse on Luka’s freshly burned skin. “There’s nowhere else for you to go…”

“...I…” Luka whispers, shivering, trembling in her fingers. He sees her eyes widen. He sees the hope there. It’s the old hope, the hope he fell in love with, the light that was brilliant, that drew him in like a moth to the flame. God, he’d loved her so much, when he first saw her look up from her books, when he saw the boredom drain from her eyes to be replaced by this fire…

But that was then, and this is now.

“...I’m going to be pressing charges.” He hisses, pressing his hands into the dirt, scrabbling, sliding, slipping away into the night, however he can. He doesn’t think about it, can’t think about it - to think about it is to not be thinking about the furious howls of rage behind him, the wintry blasts of ice that shatter and smash tree branches above him - flash frozen in an instant.

Somehow. Somehow he gets away. Hauls himself up to a park bench somewhere, puts his head in his hands. Somehow, he finds a moment to think, but there’s only worry, only the same burning fear, over and over.

“She’s right.” Luka whispers, the horror dawning on him. “There’s no way the kid will recognize me now.”

He said he was only supposed to be an an hour, maybe two.

Luka had never been home late before. But, then… he usually didn’t make appointments this suddenly either. Not the day of, not thirty minutes before. But… it was with Harriet’s mom. So maybe that’s what made it special?

Harriet wasn’t supposed to know where, or with who but… she’d kind of listened in. Heard the phone call. It was… easy enough to pick up the details through the shouting, even without poking her head through a crack in the door. Subcon park, eight pm, sharp. They were going to talk about things. Talk about her.

It felt like the only thing anyone ever talked about anymore was her. But not in the way Harriet liked. Not talking about how brilliant she was, or how bright, or what she brought home from school. Talking about who she’d be happier with. Where she belonged. Who owned her.

Luka still talked about how bright she was, of course. How brilliant, how beautiful. But when he spoke about it, he was always… defensive. Or tired. Harriet wasn’t sure which one was worse.

Harriet… isn’t supposed to go out late. Or alone. But her dad is really, really late now. Maybe… maybe he got lost? Maybe it’s time to go look for him, to make sure he’s okay…

Harriet checks her phone again. Still no calls, no texts, nothing. Except, exactly as she’s looking the phone lights up, with a text from her dad -

“Dad

11:48PM

idmworot994 w”

-and nothing else. Not even the usual “Sorry I forgot it was in my pocket, kiddo!” that her dad always sends after scrambled texts. That seals it. He really must be in trouble, or he wouldn’t be so sloppy and un-Luka like…

Harriet snatches her hat from the hatstand, grabs her coat, and rushes out of the front door, into the night, unaware of the bright yellow eyes anxiously following her the whole way…

Luka follows along behind his own daughter, clumsily, awkwardly, anxiously, his body ribboning through the trees like an eel. He feels horrible doing it, but who else will keep an eye on her? Except, now he’s the embodiment of everything that he’s warned her to be afraid of in the night, the very essence of a “stranger.”

How is he going to be able to talk to her? How is he going to warn her about Vanessa, Vanessa who is even now, on the prowl, hunting for the both of them?

He waits until there is light, at least. A light and a bench and… hope. It’s risky. But he can’t wait any longer. He calls out, his voice rasping, low. Will she even recognize it?

“Hey, kiddo?”

Harriet jumps nearly out of her skin, starting back from the light - gazing around wildly into the night. She sees nothing. Just trees, darkness… and two glowing yellow eyes, suspended above a grinning mouth.

“M-monster!” Harriet shrieks, fear tingling up her tiny spine as she scrambles for the bench, crawling under it, losing her hat her haste to take cover and hide. Trembling like a leaf, too scared even to cry…

Luka feels his heart fall out of his chest to shatter on the cold ground below. Wasn’t it just like this? When things started getting rough. When him and Vanessa started fighting, and he had to turn the whole house upside down just to find the poor kid cowering under the bed…

Vanessa was right, of course. He doesn’t see any recognition in Harriet’s eyes. For the first time, he is a stranger, someone new, someone terrifying. Someone awful - a monster. He can’t blame her for hiding. But it still hurts him, leaves a sucking wound that sinks down to the pit of his soul, a chasm that might never heal…

“...H-hey, I’m not gonna hurt ya.” He chuckles, clumsily flopping down from the tree tops. The ground is hard, and the impact is harder as he lands in an ungainly heap. But the little giggle Harriet gives is worth it, even if the humor is lost as he shakily pulls himself into the light. “Don’t you recognize me, kiddo?”

Nothing. No reply, no recognition. Not even a response. He’s raised his kid well, even if it’s to his detriment. Don’t talk to suspiciously friendly people. If anything, she crawls further under the bench, keeping a wary eye on him. Luka sighs, running a hand over his head. Of course… it wouldn’t be this easy.

He spots the forgotten hat, lying on the ground, and reaches for it, stretching his arm far, grabbing it - and in that moment, when his eyes shift, Harriet makes a run for it. Smart girl. But he sees her hesitate, as he’s lying there with her favorite thing in the world. In response Luka slowly lifts up his girl’s favorite little topper, smiling forlornly.

“Come on Harriet. It’s me, Luka. I know it might be hard to believe right now but… don’t you recognize your father?”

Harriet stops. Not because she believes him. But because those words are familiar. Because when she was under the bed, sobbing her eyes out because her parents were splitting over her, over her… her dad had leaned down, with that same, forlorn smile, and had said…

“Come on, Harriet. I know it might be hard to believe right now… but it’s going to be okay.”

...In that same tone of voice…

“...D...dad?!” Harriet whispers, leaning down to take the hat, her eyes practically boggling. “What happened to you?”

Luka just laughs. That nervous, over-loud laugh he does when he’s losing a case, and pulls himself closer, wrapping around his daughter for a hug. Harriet tenses under him for the suddenness, the strangeness of it - but she doesn’t try to run. Instead she holds him back, comforting and being comforted at the same time.

“I have no idea. But we need to go. It’s not safe with Vanessa still around.”

#ahit #a hat in time #ahit 'coffee shop au'#the snatcher #hat kid #queen vanessa #writing #fanfiction time

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pikemoreno · 4 years

Text

and then i’d kiss you

pairing: marcus pike x f!reader

summary: when going undercover requires you be fake married to your longtime work crush... because of course that’s how life is going right now.

word count: 3.6k

warnings: mentions of guns, excessive pining

a/n: an idea sparked by discussions with @hdlynn and @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa about undercover!fake married!marcus. shoutout to them for the inspiration and being my think tank.

(also i hate trying to name things)

***

You slid into the conference room right at the end of the briefing, coffee in hand. Marcus stood at the front of the room, presenting the case you’d been building with the rest of the team. You’d been doing so much planning and research for the sting that you had almost forgotten about the meeting for it, so you inconspicuously took a seat at the back, pretending that you’d been there the whole time, and listened as Marcus closed.

“The gala is tomorrow evening at The National Gallery. Very fancy, very exclusive. Our targets are, as I’m sure you guessed, Mitch Pimpkin and Harriet Smith.” Their images appeared on the monitor in the conference room and every member of the team groaned. These two had been a thorn in your team’s side for months. They were particularly good at what they did. They were dangerous, not afraid of casualties, and they always covered their tracks. Agent Pike continued, “They are confirmed to be attending the gala. They are supposed to be meeting with three clients at the event. The clients are already in custody, but Mitch and Harriet don’t know that. So that’s our in.” Suddenly he called you up to explain the rest of the plan and you just about had a spit take with your coffee, looking at him wide-eyed. The look on his face told you he caught you coming in late and putting you on the spot was now the revenge. You glared at him, but the shit-eating grin remained on his face.

“Yeah, so, “ you stumbled, trying to find your bearings as you joined him at the front of the room, “According to the information we got out of the clients, Mitch and Harriet have never actually seen them, so we’ll be sending in three agents undercover. They will pretend to be the clients and catch them red-handed,” you nodded to Marcus and he put the pictures of the three apprehended clients along with their basic information up on the monitors. “First is a single buyer meeting with Harriet, name is Natalie Reyes. A real femme fatale type. Should be fun. Anyone feeling particularly strongly about acting as Ms. Reyes? Maria, interested?” You looked to the agent sitting directly in front of you.

“Yeah, I’m down,” she grinned. She was going to enjoy this way too much.

“Now the other two that are meeting with Mitch are a married couple. Allison and Shane Morgan. They’re attached at the hip, extremely into each other.” You rolled your eyes, experiences with them in the interrogation room painting your memories. “Gotta be a pretty convincing couple or Mitch will catch on. As we all know, he is extremely intuitive. He’ll run at the first sight of a lie. Anyone with any secret relationships wanting to make-out on the job?” Everyone laughed, but no one volunteered.

You missed the way one of your fellow agents, Logan, looked at Marcus. And you certainly missed the way Marcus looked back at him.

Don’t you dare.

Logan spoke up. “Well, if no one wants to volunteer, maybe it should be you two.” You gaped; Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose. “After all, it’s your plan and you are the only ones to have met the couple.”

“Plus, you two go on assignments like this all the time. You’re closer than anyone else in this room. You would probably be the most convincing,” Maria chimed in.

The look you gave her was murderous. She wouldn’t dare. She knew all about the little crush you had. You’d trusted her with that information-- actually she’d figured it out, but that was beside the point-- and now she was about to ruin everything. The most frustrating part, though, was that you couldn’t argue with any of that logic. She was completely right.

And that is how you ended up at Pike’s front door in a form-fitting black cocktail dress that flared out just enough to hide the thigh-holster and concealed gun. That was paired with strappy heels that were probably going to leave your feet numb within the hour. The duality of the job. You played nervously with the golden necklace that weighed heavy on your neck while you stood there, preparing yourself to knock. It was all starting once you made your presence known. Tonight, you were going to have everything you wanted in all the wrong ways. It was going to be so easy to pretend, because it wouldn’t be pretend. You would be feeling every word you uttered. But it wouldn’t matter after you took these heels off tonight. Lord, did it hurt thinking of how it was going to be on his end. It was all pretend to him: every touch of his hand to your back, every interlacing of fingers, every whispered compliment to make you blush, every-- God forbid-- kiss that was to come tonight was untruthful. It was all part of the gig and you resented it.

You didn’t know Marcus was sitting on the other side of the door, waiting for the minute you knocked, thinking shockingly similar things. You had no way of knowing that. You had no way of ever guessing that he was both anticipating and dreading the way your hand would brush his, how you would look at him like he’d hung the stars, how you would maybe even dare to kiss him. It was all for show and it made his stomach turn to think about it.

He blamed himself. If he had come clean months ago, he would’ve never been put in this situation, no matter what your response was. You would either be really kissing him tonight or else no one would’ve dared suggest that you be a fake couple due to “your history.” Either of those scenarios would be preferable to pretending that he wasn’t shaking right now, waiting for the best and worst night he’d had in DC so far.

You finally knocked.

He jumped up to answer the door.

Time stopped with two people looking at each other like it was the first time all over again.

He looked more handsome than you’d ever seen him before. He wore suits almost every day, but this was different. He looked nothing short of elegant in a black suit and bowtie, accents of a dark burgundy through the ensemble. His actual appearance was much the same, but elevated somehow. The facial hair was a newer addition to his look in general, but it looked its best tonight, accentuating his jaw line, making it sharper and more defined. His deep brown eyes took on a new color tonight with the way they sparkled and brightened in the early twilight’s light.

Damn, your fake husband was fine. And it killed you.

Of course you were no better with your perfectly fitting dress and the beautiful jewelry that made you look like one of the art pieces you were protecting tonight and the heels that looked like they couldn’t be comfortable to him, but oh did they draw attention to your legs in the best way. You were beautiful every day in his eyes, but the way you’d so elegantly done your hair and make-up served to accentuate that. The smile that slowly spread across your face was what really did him in, though. It was the smile he saw every day, but tonight it seemed extra special.

He’d have to be swatting others away left and right to keep them away from his fake wife tonight. But there was nothing actually tying you to him. Someone else could sweep you off your feet tonight and you’d have nothing to keep you around. And it hurt.

There was a beat of silence as all of these thoughts arose and swirled around each other.

“Uh- ready to go?” he initiated finally.

“Yep- yep let’s go. Can’t keep our convicts waiting, can we?”

“Oh, before I forget,” he patted his pockets, searching, before pulling out a ring.

Of course. You hadn’t even considered wearing a fake ring. That would’ve been a dead giveaway. He was so good at all of this.

“May I?” he asked, just above a whisper. You nodded and he slid the piece on your ring finger, gently holding your left hand in his. Your stomach flipped, swallowing hard at the lump that formed in your throat. There was nervous laughter from both sides as you looked at it now settled on your finger. He slid his own on and shook his head.

“Feels weird to be wearing this again,” he curled and flexed his fingers around the piece.

“Were these--” you started, but found yourself unable to finish.

“They were,” he smiled sadly, “Not sure why I kept them. But at least we’ve found a use for them, hmm?”

“Yeah, great thinking, by the way. I would’ve never clocked that, but Mitch definitely would’ve. And might I say,” you studied the simple, stunning ring in the fading light, “You have excellent taste, fake husband.” The warmth went straight to his cheeks.

You can have it someday, if you want.

Is what he almost said, but this was just two kids playing dress up (and anyway, he would’ve bought you a new ring if it came to that).

“Shall we, fake wife?” he put out his arm for you to take. You did with a plastered on smile. You tried to miss the warmth of his other hand as it came to rest on yours.

***

The National Gallery was already beautiful in its own right, but the coordinators of the gala really went all out with ornate chandeliers and furniture being brought in just for the event. Even the food tables were gold and sparkly, filled with all kinds of food you didn’t recognize and were frankly scared to eat. You inconspicuously rendezvoused with Maria, giving her a quick hug and pretending to introduce her to Marcus.

“Spot them yet?” you mumbled to her, thankfully covered by the echoing sounds of the other attendees and the music that was accompanying the dancing in the center of the ballroom.

“Just arrived. 6 o’clock and 10 o’clock. She’s upstairs at the railing, he’s downstairs.” You clocked them both.

“You start with Harriet first. We’ll stall for a few minutes so we’re available for back-up. I’ll be expecting a ‘cuffed’ text in 15 minutes. If I don’t get one, we’ll come check on you unless you tell us otherwise. Copy?”

“Copy.” You exchanged more plastic smiles and parted ways, though you didn’t miss the wink she directed at you, eyeing you and Marcus standing there together. His arm came around your shoulder as you walked off. You played with his fingers there in true rich-fake-wife fashion.

“Now how will we stall for time, sweetheart?” You fought with the tightness in your chest. The dichotomy between words meant only for you to hear and the term of endearment that came with the act confused you. There was no use for such words with all the noise, so why use them?

“Shall we join them, my love?” you nodded towards the people dancing.

You wouldn't have known but his stomach flipped so violently at the name that he thought he might be sick.

He nodded and grinned, leading you by the hand. His hands found your waist as you joined the others in their swaying and dancing to the classical music. Your hands looped around to the back of his neck and you absentmindedly played with the short hairs there. It was as soft and thick as you had thought it would be.

Not that you’d made a habit of imagining it, of course.

“Maria is on the move with Harriet. They look like they’re having a nice talk,” Marcus laughed, looking over your shoulder.

“That’s a good sign,” you sighed, pretending to scan the room, but purposefully finding Mitch chatting with another guest. You looked back to Marcus, focusing your full senses on the music and how you were moving with it, the pressure you felt on your waist, and how his eyes were somehow even deeper this close.

You almost missed Mitch leaving your vision, heading up stairs.

“Mitch is on the move,” you hissed, a little disappointed over the loss of Marcus’s hands on your waist as you left the dancers to trail the target. Though you took the steps maybe little too quickly to be just a normal couple, your hands swung, connected between you, hoping to still pass as a couple just looking for a quiet place to get away from the bustling party.

You stopped in a small, sparse exhibition room, hearing Mitch’s voice on the phone around the corner. The broken words you heard sounded like he was talking about a different deal entirely. You breathed a little easier. He wasn’t suspicious of you and wasn’t calling back-up.

But he would be if you didn’t think quickly.

You heard him say his goodbyes to the associate and you knew what came next. There was only one way out of the room and it was behind you. You were too close to him to try to get back out unnoticed. So you did the only thing you could think of. You could only hope that Marcus wouldn’t be totally appalled.

“Marcus, kiss me,” you whispered, noticing you were still holding his hand, you gripped it tighter.

“What?” he whispered back, not… Appalled exactly, but surprised. You couldn’t blame that, you guessed.

“He’s coming back this way. Kiss me.” You saw it in his eyes as the plan suddenly clicked for him.

Mitch’s footsteps began clicking against tile and your back was all at once pressed against the wall closest to you, hands meeting either side of your face.

“Sorry about this.”

He was hardly sorry.

You weren’t either.

And, damn, did he kiss you. It started hesitant, barely there, but it didn’t stay that way. Once you heard Mitch round the corner, you deepened the kiss- that’s the only reason you did right? Because he was coming?-- letting your lips part, fingers weaving through Marcus’s hair.

He caught on, responding, taking the space your lips allowed. One hand came down to your ass, your leg hitched up around his waist. Just to really sell it-- that’s the only reason he did it right? To sell it?

You can just barely hear Mitch let out an annoyed huff at the sight over your heartbeat in your ears.

But then came the hitch: Mitch gets another call, presumably an urgent one, because he doesn’t keep moving.

Which meant you had to keep kissing Marcus.

You couldn’t say you hated that part, but you were really wishing it wasn’t a matter of life of death.

“A fake? Where are you? ... Stay there. I’m on my way,” he clicked off, running out of the room. You and Marcus broke apart finally, gasping for breath. But still the separation came too quickly, the lack of him everywhere such a stark contrast to the cool air spreading against your now too-warm skin.

“Maria,” you whispered to him, eyes wide. “He’s going after Maria.” He pulled his gun and you followed, at some point ditching your heels in favor of speed as you took off after the thief. You made a call to the rest of the team outside as you ran. “Plan aborted. Maria caught. Come inside to make the arrest.”

You caught up just as Mitch pulled a gun on Maria who had hers already pointed at an unarmed Harriet, her hands in the air, phone smashed on the ground. You moved out to flank him while Marcus moved directly behind him.

“FBI. Drop your weapon,” Marcus announced. You watched Mitch wince, looking behind him and then over to where you stood. Then he smirked. You didn’t like that one bit.

“I see you two were having some fun on the job. Might have to bring that up in my interrogation. Doesn’t sound like FBI policy to me to--”

“Watch it, jackass,” you sneered. He chuckled and you hated that you let him get a rise out of you.

Back-up slammed in through the emergency exit to your left and it was game over. They cuffed Mitch and Harriet, taking them back outside with them while Maria went to get her injuries checked by medical. That left you and Marcus in the room alone, catching your breath on a garish, velvet covered bench. The silence was awkward until Marcus finally broke it.

“That was… Good thinking… Back there.” You laughed.

“That’s what you’re going with? ‘Good thinking’?”

“Well, what do you want me to say?” he asked, a little frustrated

“I don’t know just--” you groaned, “Forget it. Nevermind.” You stood to face away from him, crossing your arms, and willing yourself not to get upset.

Of course you already guessed it hadn’t meant anything, but now hearing it out loud made it too real.

“Are you wanting me to say that I liked it?” Your stomach turned in the worst way. You would’ve never expected this kind of cruelty from him, but his voice wasn’t accusatory. It was… hopeful? “Because I did.” You spun around to face him.

“You-- Marcus, don’t be funny about this.” He stood now, stepping in front of you.

“I’m not. I’ve wanted to do that for… Longer than I’d like to admit,” he confessed, a hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck, “Something about the way you’re acting right now tells me you might be thinking the same thing.” You smiled bashfully, thankful he was braver than you were.

“Yeah,” you brought a hand to rest on his cheek, “I loved this night with you-- other than all the life or death stuff.” He grinned, leaning into your hand. HIs bright eyes seemed to bore right through you, hanging on every word. “I was just wishing it was… Real. I guess it kind of was after all.”

“Oh, not even close.” You tilted your head in confusion, dropping your hand from where it was gently laid against his cheek. “I would’ve done it all very differently,” his voice dropped to a whisper, too close to need anything more.

“How so?”

“Well,” his eyes darted to your lips and then back to meet your gaze, “May I?” You nodded vigorously.

“Please.”

This kiss held nothing back. It wasn’t quite so vigorous as before, but was a slow and steady presence. No longer afraid to be truthful, it was free to be deep and passionate and real. So real.

“Soooo, is this what Mitch was talking about earlier?” Maria’s voice interjected. You and Marcus scrambled away from each other to find her, arm bandaged, leaning against the doorframe of the emergency exit. “Don’t stop on my account, just be back to the bureau in an hour to debrief.” You both nodded sheepishly.

“We’ll be there,” you told her, finally finding your voice. She shook her head, smiling.

“Oh, everyone is going to love this.”

“Please don’t say anything, Maria.”

“I have to,” she grinned. “We all had bets placed. I said you’d get together tonight, but Logan said it wouldn’t be until tomorrow. Looks like I won. Bye, you two.”

“We’re never gonna hear the end of this,” Marcus murmured, kissing your forehead as you watched Maria leave again.

“Never,” you agreed as you started walking hand-in-hand back to the car. “Hey, what else would you have done differently tonight? Just for… Curiosity's sake.”

“Sure, that’s all it is,” he mused. “Well, I would’ve taken you on a proper date first, somewhere you didn’t have to wear those shoes that look like they’re--”

“Shit.” No shoes. You both looked down to find your bare feet and started laughing far too loud for the middle of this pristine gala. Everyone stared. You couldn’t care less now. There was no act. You shrugged, “Good riddance. Keep going, keep going. What else?”

“On that proper date I would’ve told you that I’ve been wanting to ask you out since the first assignment we had together. I thought you were beautiful, of course, but it was really the way you worked. You were so on top of everything-- saved my ass more than once. You had such an incredible work ethic, but you made it all so fun. Like now, we’re laughing about you walking through The National Gallery with no shoes after facing multiple instances of life and death. Who else could I do that with? I would tell you that I want that every day. And then would I have kissed you.” You stepped outside into the cool, quiet autumn air.

“But first,” you interjected, “I would have to tell you that I’ve been infatuated by you since that first assignment. You were the new guy and I was a little skeptical at first, but you proved me wrong so quickly. You were so cool under pressure and it calmed me down too. I would’ve told you that you’re still a calming presence in my life; that everything’s easier around you. I would’ve told you I couldn’t understand how anyone could let you go, and it made me angry, honestly. How could they get a chance with you and waste it when I couldn’t even get one?” His thumb rubbed across the back of your hand comfortingly. “I’d tell you that you’re the most beautiful soul I’ve ever met-- and that this look tonight almost killed me.”

“And then I’d kiss you.”

“And then you’d kiss me.”

And he did.

#marcus pike x reader #agent pike x reader #bri writes

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nooneelsecomesclose17 · 3 years

Text

Though winds of change are blowing wild and free - Part 3

Final part of this one. Don't panic, there's another instalment to the series coming soon where it'll all hopefully be sorted out.

I'm playing very fast and loose with the law here so basically nothing is true to life...just go with it.

(AO3 link)

Day 253

It’s a boiling hot day when they think their luck has run out. Aaron’s bent over a car, swearing under his breath and Robert’s filling in some paperwork for one he’s just finished as well as admiring his husband hard at work when he sees it.

“Aaron.” He’s whispering although there’s no one else around except the boss who’s in the office upstairs. Aaron looks up straight away, probably because he called him by his actual name. They use the names on the passports they’ve got here, but in his fright he’d slipped up.

“What?” He nods to the two policeman up the road who are heading their way. “Shit.”

“What do we do?” He knows the odds are tiny that they’re here for him but he can’t take the chance. He wants to laugh hysterically. It’s been so long they’d almost forgotten and now the reminder is right in front of them.

“You go out the back, just as if you were on a break.” He’s making a show of handing him a car part as if they’re just chatting even though his eyes haven’t left them. “Don’t go home, just in case. Go down to the rock, where we went last week, near the river. I’ll come find you.”

“Are you sure?” He doesn’t want to leave him here on his own, feels a bit cowardly to just go, but then Aaron’s nudging him.

“Yeah. Go on. It’s probably nothing but…Go.”

He thinks he makes it look casual enough, slipping out of the back door checking around before he breaks into a run towards the river.

He doesn’t stop until he reaches the little crop of rocks they’d discovered on a walk the week before. It was a good place to sit and they’d enjoyed the peace, as well as the shade from the unrelenting sun. Now he couldn’t relax, eyes darting everywhere.

Ever since his wobble a few months before they’ve been doing so much better, trying to act less like fugitives by hiding out in the cottage all the time, trying to get out and explore the area without drawing too much attention to themselves. Maybe they hadn’t been successful enough and someone had recognised him. He’d grown his hair a little, it was more like when he’d returned to Emmerdale now, although Aaron insisted it was styled a lot better than it had been back then. As Robert had told him it couldn’t have been that bad if he’d fancied him could it. He’d even considered growing a beard but the peals of laughter Aaron had gone into had put him off that idea. Maybe the hair wasn’t enough, maybe one of the tourists that seemed to fill the pretty little village had recognised him.

He’s worked himself up into a proper panic when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

It feels like an absolute age before he turns, slumping back on himself seeing it's Aaron. Still he checks for police, can't quite get his heart to stop thumping. It feels as though it's louder than the river rushing by.

"It's ok. They were looking for stolen cars," He shakes his head, sure he heard wrong. "It's ok, you're fine." Aaron's rubbing his back, holding him close and finally he's breathing slower, doesn't feel like he's about to pass out any longer.

"Stolen cars?"

"Yeah. That's all."

It starts all of a sudden, he doesn't know why but he's laughing, he's laughing so hard he falls back on the rock he's sat on, pulling Aaron with him kissing him like there's no tomorrow.

"I thought...thought that was it.”

"Me too." He sits up looking down at him. "I called Cain when they'd gone, thought I'd see if anything had happened."

"And?" They'd stayed out of contact since Aaron had got no reply from his Mum at Christmas, partly on purpose, partly because they didn't miss home so much if they kept out of touch.

"He didn't say much, but he reckons something is up, some copper hanging round Harriet. I don't think it's about us, he would've said, but it was weird."

"Cain is weird."

"Shut up!"

"So, what now? Back to work?"

"Got the rest of the day off. Told Paul you were ill. So we can do what we want."

"Just stay here a minute." Aaron settles back down in his arms. "You were so calm. I would've...no I did panic. If one day we as have to run I don't know if I'll be any use at all.”

"Yes you will. Ever wonder where your sweater is. The red one? Or your old jeans."

"Uh....Yeah."

"There's a bag n the car. With some of our stuff. Just in case…Just in case our luck ever runs out."

“You think it will?'

"Sometimes. But then I just remember that we've already had more time than we would've had if we'd stayed."

"Yeah."

"We've made it this far...no reason we won't keep making it."

"When did you become so calm?"

“Honestly? Getting out of the village feels like there’s a weight off me. I realise now I spent too much time worrying about other people, what they think or trying to be there for everyone. I miss them, but the obvious aside I’m really enjoying it just being us.”

“It’s not just me then? We seemed to spend so much time fighting over really stupid stuff, or getting dragged into Dingle family meetings over something that had nothing to do with us. Here it’s just you and me. The only thing I’d change is Seb being here.” He feels Aaron’s nod more than sees it. He’s been on the verge of calling Rebecca a few times since they’ve been here just to ask how he is or speak to him, but he’s always stopped himself. It’s too risky. However much it hurts they can’t see him. Really it’s the only thing he regrets about leaving. Once upon a time he would’ve hated himself for dragging Aaron from his family, and maybe he does a little, but their actions and the change in Aaron now they’re out from under the gaze makes it all worth it.

Day 365

Aaron’s on his way back from his daily run when he sees a strange car pull into the small drive at the front of the cottage. He couldn’t make out the driver from the distance and he speeds up the last few metres to see who it could be. They don’t know anyone here except the next door neighbours who welcomed them when they first moved in and since have kept to the odd wave here and there, and their boss and he knows it’s not him because he just passed the garage.

They’d made it a year. Some days he couldn’t quite believe they’d done it. Not just that, they’d made a life for themselves here. Oh they might keep themselves to themselves still but they had made the most of their time together and he could honestly say it had been the best year of their life together. Now he couldn’t help but wonder if it was about to end.

He just stands there as they start getting out of the car, hand on his phone in his pocket ready to call Robert or do something if he needs to, but with a sigh of relief he recognises the first person out of the car. Cain. Followed by Victoria. The third person is someone he doesn’t recognise but he knows Cain wouldn’t lead them into trouble.

He watches for a minute, as they stare at the cottage. He guesses Robert’s not indoors else he’d be outside already. He usually watches for him to come back from his run, old habits dying hard even here.

“Not today thank you.” He speaks when he’s not far from them, enjoying the way Vic jumps in surprise. She looks great though, she’s grown out her hair again and it’s back to being blonde. He’s still curious as to why they’re here and who this stranger is but he just enjoys the hug she’s giving him. He realises he’s missed her more than he’d thought. “What are you doing here? Is something wrong? Is it Mum?”

“Fancied a little break, nothing’s wrong, and your Mother doesn’t know we’re here.” Cain answers for her. “We need to talk."

“Right, and who’s this?”

“This is Ethan. He’s a friend. Is Robert here?”

“Somewhere.” He’s still a little on edge, he’s not planning on letting them near Robert until he’s warned him though. “I’ll find him. You lot stay out here until I call ya.”

“Aaron, come on.” He hasn’t missed that little whine Vic gets in her voice when she’s not getting her own way. Robert has the same one but it’s a lot more endearing in him.

“No. I’m not ambushing him like this, so you can just wait five damn minutes Vic.”

“There’s someone else you should see before you do.” Cain’s leaning in the car as he speaks and when he backs out Aaron feels as if he’s been punched in the gut, because in his arms is Seb. Older and a lot bigger but it’s his cheeky little monkey, and he’s here, in front of him. “Like I said, we need to talk.”

“Right, in that case you definitely need to stay here until I’ve spoken to Robert.” He glares at them all as he passes, only stopping to brush a hand through a sleeping Seb’s hair.

He lets himself in the door, turning to check they’re staying where he’s told them before going looking for Robert. He’s nowhere to be found until he looks out of the kitchen window and he sees him out in the back garden. He rolls his eyes fondly. One of the first things he’d done when the house had been decorated was set about a veg patch. It hadn’t really come to much this first year but he’d lovingly tended it and if the only edible thing they’d managed to grow was carrots he didn’t care.

“You do know it’s freezing out here don’t you?”

“Just tidying, that’s all. Were you talking to someone?” He straightens up, wiping the dirt off his hands.

“Er, yeah. There are some people here.” He sees the panic and kicks himself, “No it’s fine. It’s Cain, and Vic as well as an Ethan who I don’t know but clearly they do.”

“Where are they?”

“Told ‘em to stay outside until I’d spoken to you.” He shrugs and Robert just grins at him.

“Well that’s kind of rude.”

He shrugs again, he wasn’t thinking of them when he’d said it. “I wasn’t letting them in until I checked with you. There’s one other thing…they’ve got Seb with them.”

“What?” That stops Robert in his tracks and he looks a mix of excited and apprehensive. “Bring them in. I’m fine…really.”

He needs a shower from his run but it’ll have to wait. Whatever they have to say is obviously big, otherwise Cain wouldn’t have come all this way. He was the only one other than his Mum that had a way to contact them.

After they’re inside he can’t help giving them all a warning look, because he might be on edge but he can tell that Robert’s on the verge of panic, the unknown reason for the visit and why they’ve brought Seb making it all worse.

Robert doesn’t even speak, he just lifts a now awake Seb out of his sister’s arms, holding him close, whispering something the rest of them can’t hear. Suddenly all he wants is to be just the three of them.

“Cain, kitchen’s through there, how about you make a cuppa.” He stares his uncle down until he moves, ushering Vic and Ethan out of the room. Nothing is going to be explained while Robert’s still enraptured with Seb and they don’t need them for that.

“He called me Dada, Aaron.” He’s in awe and Aaron wants to cry because he shouldn’t be, he shouldn’t have to be happy that his son remembers him. “He remembers.”

“Course he does. Hey mate, what about me, remember me?” He gets a sleepy nod and arms reaching out for a cuddle and he takes him, holding him close like Robert had. He weighs so much more in his arms now, but it’s a reassuring weight and he doesn’t want to let him go. “There we are. So, first trip to France bug, how was it hmm? Did you give Uncle Cain hell? I hope so.”

“What do you think they want?” He shrugs, part of him doesn’t want to find out. It feels like their well constructed bubble has just been burst and he’s afraid of what’s next.

“Only one way to find out. Here, take him back, I’m all sweaty.”

“Go shower.” He raises his eyebrows at him. “What? I’m not above making them wait. Besides I’ve got a year of cuddles to make up for.”

“Fine. I won’t be long.”

He takes the quickest shower possible, feeling much better after and then they’re all sat around their kitchen table. It’s a bit of a squeeze but he’s sat right next to Robert, one as a united front, the other so he’s close to Seb.

“Right, what’s all this about? You’ve come here with no warning, with a perfect stranger, so it better be for a damn good reason.”

“Can’t we just want to see you?” Vic asks, looking put out at his bluntness.

“You, yeah. But Cain knows better.”

“There’ve been some things happening that…” This Ethan starts speaking but Aaron just holds his hand up.

“I don’t even know you are.”

“Do you always have to be so rude Aaron? We’re here to help you if you’d just listen.”

“Vic, pack it in. We’ve spent the last year looking at every stranger twice just in case so you just turning up with someone we don’t know is a good enough reason to be a little rude.” Robert shifts Seb on his lap so he can grab Aaron’s hand, holding on tight, grounding the both of them.

“He’s a solicitor. He’s been working on your case.” Cain takes over, and Aaron can see he’s fed up with all the drama and it makes him want to laugh. “There’ve been some…developments in your case.”

“What kind of developments? He died. That’s pretty hard to change.”

“Just tell us what’s changed, get to the point, the details can come later.”

“Right. Well, Harriet’s been involved with this DI, and he’s turned out to be corrupt.”

“And?”

“Seems like he knows he’s in trouble and he’s taking everyone else down with him, including DS Wise.” Aaron just sits there stunned. As much as he’d come to blame him for Robert’s predicament, he wouldn’t for one minute have thought he’d be corrupt. “Which is in turn putting various convictions in doubt.”

“Including yours Rob.” Vic’s sitting forward all eager, expression changing when Robert doesn’t immediately appear happy. “You can come home.”

#robron fic

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fluffomatic · 3 years

Note

Hewwo, could you tell us more about Dr. Cackle, please? They look like a very interesting character!

Yooo this took forever to write out lmao. But thank u! I'm glad ur interested in them! Can't wait to draw more of them! (And eventually design their assistant whoops 😅)

Here we go! Also I looked up a template for this cause I needed a guide, if you're interested here it is!

First name: Alban

Surname: Cackle

Age: 23

Gender: Agender

Sexuality: Asexual Aromantic

Current residence: On the Tickle Island

Relationship status: Single (they care more for their research than forming a strong relationship with someone)

Physical Appearence

Height: 6'3"

Weight: 173 lbs

Eye colour: Brown

Hair colour: Blonde (they dyed it tho they're a brunette)

Personality

Likes: Tickling, science, being inside, alone time, traveling, adventure, seen as intelligent, their pet Buzzli, plants, bugs and animals

Dislikes: being seen as an idiot, arguments, large crowds, being over powered, people touching their hair, people calling them "sir", messes

Education: College Graduate

Fears: Large Crowds, Germs, Needles

Personal goals: To continue to expand the tickle island

General attitude: Reclusive and overly confident in themself. Sees themself as too powerful to overtake. If they feel like they're losing, in an argument, battle, etc, they will get angry and release one of their creations on the other.

Health

Illnesses : Diabetes Type 2

Sleeping habits: Poor, they tend to overwork themself. Sees their research as more important

Energy level: Low until they've had their coffee. Than it's average

Eating habits: Poor, again focuses too much on work and forgets to eat. Their assistant will sometimes bring them snacks if they haven't eaten in awhile

Memory: Excellent, will remember notes they took weeks ago

Any unhealthy habits: other than their poor sleeping and eating habits and the constant over working, they tend to strive for perfection and anything less than that is out of the question. They will do anything to make sure their experiments turn out perfectly, even if they have to sacrifice their body or anothers to do that.

History

Childhood: They had a fairly normal childhood, two great parents that loved them more than life. They were amazing in school and loved doing the work, sometimes they'd ask the teacher for more work cause they got bored quickly. They were tickled often as a child, their parents noticed they liked it, considering they told them, so they practically tickled Alban everyday. When they got a little older they started to tickle their parents back. They had the most relentless tickle fights.

Teen years: This is when they started questioning their gender. They felt uncomfortable being raised as a boy and they knew it wasn't who they were. They talked to their parents about how they were feeling and they started doing research right away. That's when they came out as Agender. Albans school life wasn't the best due to some bullying, being the schools "smart kid" they had a target on their back, however they took the bullying head on. Their confidence in themself overshadowed any negativity thrown their way. They're love for tickling only grew as they aged. They made a small group of friends and they dubbed Alban the "Tickle Monster". They constantly started tickle fights and they usually won. Luckily their friends were really sweet when they opened up and told them about their love for tickling. However the news somehow got around the school and that added to the bullying. They were embarrassed but kept their composure. They kept their tickling to a minimum afterwards.

Adult years: When Alban went to college for science they learned so much, too much some might say. In the end of their time at school they had figured out how to modify plants, on a small scale. Nothing crazy, but it planted a seed in their brain. After they graduated they started researching more at a small lab in their hometown. They learned more about modifying plants and even was able to modify their first bug, just a grub, they managed to modify the grubs body to be able to grow soft fur. This only heightend their interest. Their work got out and many science corporations contacted them for a higher paying job. One in particular peeked their interest. In the email they received from this place who were part of the government they offered them their own private island with a lab to do whatever they please with it, in return they must share their findings with them. They took the offer right away. When they got there they weren't sure what they were gonna do at first, but then they ran into Motherbloom. The huge flower asked why Alban was there and they told her, than asked what she was. Instead of telling them she decided to show them. That's when she pinned them down and wreaked them with tickles. After 10 minutes she let them up and Alban wanted in right away. They did some experiments on her and her flowers and discovered she held a potent "tickle pollen" they then used this pollen to start modifying the creatures on the island, not already changed by insects spreading it to themselves and other plants. At this point Alban developed kind of a "God complex". They felt they could do anything. As years went by they created the tickle forest. They don't know what the government is using their research for but they know that they want more of it, considering they're still paying them.

Relationships

Parents: Mother, Harriet Cackle/Father, Roger Cackle

Siblings: 1 brother, Billy Cackle

Friends: their assistant but barely

Others

Occupation: full time scientist at their own lab

Current home: the labs on tickle island

Favourite types of food: Spicy or Fried

Favourite types of drink: Just water, sometimes flavored

Guilty pleasures: Tickling, duh

Pet peeves: Small distracting noises like loud chewing or tapping

Pets: Buzzli the tickle bee

Talents: superior intelligence, cunning and can outsmart people easily

Favourite colours: pink

Favourite type of music: soft indie

If you have anything else specifically you wanna know go ahead and ask! :D

#dr. cackle #alban cackle #about oc #they've been a ler all their life #kinda a mad scientist low key #thanks for the ask!#answered ask #tickle ask

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quibbs126 · 2 years

Text

So yesterday when drawing those other drawings of the Bronev family, my mind started to wonder about any extended family Rachel and Leon might have had, and so I made these two

However I do subscribe to the theory that Rachel and Leon had no other living relatives by the time of their abduction, so if the text didn’t tell you already, these two are definitely dead by the current time of the game or any AUs I make that go into the past

The first one I made up was Theodore, Layton and Desmond’s uncle, and yes Rachel named Layton after her brother. It was mostly because while I can see Leon being an only child, I can see Rachel having a brother or two, so I made him.

Also, I was planning to make his last name Grace, because @notllorstel makes that Rachel’s maiden name and I like it, but then I realized that in their Twisted Fates au, there’s already a character named Theodore Grace, and that would just get confusing. But I also don’t know what to name him now

In terms of personality, I imagine Theodore to be a very sociable guy, and honestly I’d say the character in this family that’s closest to him in terms of personality is Descole, for the pure charisma and snark. Theodore and Rachel would bicker a lot and Theodore would constantly tease her, but it was more in a joking way, and they always had each other’s backs when it counted. He’s some years older than her, enough so that he was able to to feasibly take care of her when their parents died (I don’t know what of, just that they did). But tragically, he ended up dying in some freak accident (I haven’t figured out what exactly, either a car accident or some machinery malfunction at his work) around the time that Rachel was close to 20. So yeah, he never met his nephews and might not have even met Leon, but Desmond knows about him from his mother

I’m not sure I’m satisfied with his hair. I know I was also planning on giving him a fedora, but I just didn’t draw it for some reason. Whenever I draw these guys more, I’ll probably draw him with it

Next we have Harriet Bronev, Leon’s mother. His father wasn’t really ever in the picture (whether he died when Leon was very young or he just wasn’t involved at all I’m not sure, but I am leaning towards the absent father angle), so it was just these two

I got the idea of Leon having a single mother from @multiversal-madness How Things Change au, because there they mention how Leon’s mother adopted Luke, but his father is never mentioned, so I just assume it’s only his mother, and so I carried that over here because I liked it

Growing up she supported her son’s interest in archaeology, but at the same time was aware that his interests tended to alienate him from other kids and he had trouble making friends, which concerned her. I don’t really have much else to say about her in terms of personality, as I haven’t really fleshed that out, but I know she and her son were very close

Unlike Theodore her death was much less sudden, as it was more just due to health complications and her getting older, and she was surrounded by family in her final moments. Also she got to meet her grandchildren. Hershel liked her well enough, but it was Theodore who really liked her, and she loved to dote on her grandchildren

But yeah, here are these guys

#these were technically first drafts of these characters designs #so I might change them slightly in more drawings #also I feel like I’m better at characterizing characters in drawings than writing #so I do plan on drawing a page with them later on #but I did enjoy making these guys #(though to be honest I think I did better with Harriet than Theodore)#anyways #professor layton #professor layton oc #leon bronev #rachel bronev #bc they’re related to these guys #azran legacy spoilers #my oc #my art

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dorotheajanegilmore · 4 years

Text

She saved me - VILLANELLE

Villanelle x OC!Female

Trigger warning: Drunk, passing out, men surrounding vulnerable woman (safe to read, nothing violent occurs).

Hope you enjoy!

————————

The blonde assassin sat in her expensive blue and red floral dress, watching the crowds gather around the man playing guitar outside of the French bakery.

Villanelle siped her coffee and took a verocious bite out of the circular pastry. “Ugh.” She spat it out onto the plate just as a waiter walked by.

“Is everything alright, Mademoiselle?” The twenty-something year old waiter asked with a thick French accent, looking down at the chewed, spit covered pastry lumped onto her plate.

Villanelle looked up at him in disgust. “That was cinnamon.”

“Yes, our cinnamon swirls are made with the finest cinnamon in-“

“I hate cinnamon.” Villanelle interrupted, picking up her boutique shopping bags and storming off in a huff.

Villanelle headed down a dark alleyway, a short cut to her hotel. As the alley lit up and exposed the street at the other end, Villanelle turned the corner. Immodestly, she collided with a stranger, her bags flying into the air and landing a few feet away.

“Perfect.” She whispered to herself, feeling a cold liquid drip down her front, and her damp clothes stick to her. Her hand was in her pocket, ready to take out her small blade, then the stranger pulled herself up from the ground.

“Oh, my god. I am so sorry!” The young woman pulled herself up from the wall and held a lidless coffee cup in hand.

Villanelle frowned, there was wine on her dress but the women was holding a coffee cup. She watched the stranger stumble and realised it took her a while to get up. And she was awfully quiet on impact. Villanelle left the blade where it was and began gathering her clothes, deciding that it wasn’t worth it.

As she stuffed her brown Gucci scarf into her bag, Villanelle saw the women attempt to help, she reached down to pick up a bag and stumbled. Falling back down onto the pavement. “Sorry, M’not help. Three heels. Drain.”

Villanelle looked over at the two heels on the drain and rolled her eyes. She picked them up and began heading on her way, leaving behind the drunken state that ruined her sweater.

But as she walked across the street, she saw three young men head towards the alley way. She heard whistling and yelling and couldn’t help but take a closer look. There was something in her gut telling her to go back, to check on the intoxicated woman.

Villanelle has barely crossed the street when she saw the men gather around, kneeling on the ground. “Hey! Hey! Get away from her!” She yelled, dropping her bags and raving down the alley. Immediately the men took off, realising that her yelling would draw attention.

Pressing her fingers to the woman’s neck, She sighed when she felt a slow and steady pulse. “Shit.” She cursed.

The taxi driver helped Villanelle carry the women into her hotel lobby where the security approached. Villanelle turned to the taxi driver and handed him a tip. “Thank you so much for your help. Stacey just can’t handle her French wines.” She out on her poshest English accent and the man chuckled before leaving. The hotel security guard overheard her and guided her to the elevator.

—————

She opened her eyes and her vision was blurred. She blinked a few times before her eyes focused on the window just across from her. The night sky was lit up with stars and the Eiffel Tower a bright yellow glow, against a navy background.

She sat up and realised that she wasn’t in her hotel room. This one is far fancier. Had she gotten that drunk at lunch?

“Harriet?” She called, hoping that her best friend that she was on vacation with would answer. Instead, she was met with silence. Throwing her legs over the end of the bed, she found her legs clad in pink silk pyjamas. She looked down as saw her top half matched. She lifted her left arm and found the letter ‘V’ sewn into the wrist with champagne coloured thread.

She frowned and stood up, feeling like she had a bookcase on her head she nearly fainted. She groaned feeling the dreaded hangover take over, but nevertheless, she wandered out of the bedroom.

“Harriet?” She asked, stepping into the hall. She looked up from the ground and saw a grand living room spread out in front of her. Crisp white walls and gold accents. A huge flat screen tv and grey velvet sofas. The place was a palace.

“Who’s suite am I in?” She whispered to herself. “Oh my god!” She clasped a hand over her mouth as she realised that in her drunken state, she might have hooked up with someone.

The door to her left opened and a tall, tan blonde woman walked out, wearing a white bathrobe and fluffy white slippers. “You’re awake.” She smiled.

“Hi. I. I don’t. I don’t know what’s happening.” She stuttered, feeling anxious, scared and vulnerable all at the same time.

“What’s your name?” The blonde asked, padding over to the sofa in her soft slippers.

“Florence.” The girl’s voice faltered as she spoke, her throat croaky and dry.

“Florence.” The woman nodded. “Sit down, I’ll get you some water.”

The woman wondered into the kitchen while Florence slowly walked into the living room. The room was square with two grey double doors on the right hand side. On the left hand side was one grey door for the bathroom, and opposite the hallway she had just walked out of was a fireplace with a large tv. In the middle of the room was a white fluffy rug on top of the marble floor. Two sofas opposite each other with a glass table in between. It was lavish and expensive, it smells of fresh roses and coffee and the only sound audible being the traffic of cars outside.

Florence sank into the unbelievably soft sofa as the stranger walked in from the kitchen, two bottles of water in hand. She placed them on the table and took one for herself, gesturing for Florence to take one.

Usually, she wouldn’t take from strangers. However her mouth and throat felt like sandpaper. She removed the security seal and unscrewed the lid. The cold water felt heavenly against tongue and the relief on her throat was orgasmic. “Thank you.” She breathed as she finished the bottle.

The woman nodded with an amused smile. “You’re welcome.”

Florence noted the Russian accent and felt even more foreign. “I’m sorry but do you know how I got here?”

The woman nodded. “You barged into me in town. Spilled wine all over my expensive dress and passed out in the alley. Men tried to bother you so I brought you here.”

Florence felt sick from the information being spat at her. “Crap, crap. I am so stupid. I’m so sorry. Please, send me your dry cleaning bill, I’ll fix it for you. Or buy you a new one.”

“It was by The Vampire’s Wife.” The women stated dryly.

“I’ll buy you a new one.” Florence nodded confidently. “I’ll call the boutique, please tell me what was the name of the piece I trashed?”

————————

Villanelle frowned. She expected this woman to be nothing more than cheap trash and yet, here she was offering to purchase a one thousand dollar dress? Now the assassin was intrigued, even more so than she was.

“Forget it. But please, let me ask you some questions.”

Florence nodded and Villanelle sat up, twisting the towel from her head and letting her freshly washed hair drip onto her bathrobe to dry naturally.

“Where are you from and what are you doing here?”

“I’m from London but I’m on vacation here with friends. It’s my birthday tomorrow so.” The woman shrugged.

“How old are you tomorrow?” V asked, wondering if she had accidentally kidnapped a minor.

“I’ll be 24.”

Villanelle sighed in relief. “And what’s your job?”

“I’m a writer. You?”

Villanelle chuckled. “I’m a perfume designer.”

“Aw that’s so cool!” Florence exclaimed excitedly, a big fan of perfume and all things girly. “Can I ask you some questions?”

Villanelle nods, she supposed that was fair.

“What’s your name? And why did you help me?” Florence’s mind was going a hundred miles a minute. She felt ill, and wasn’t sure if she should be leaving and trying to find Harriet, or if she should take this woman out and buy her a replacement sweater. And pyjamas, since she was now dressed in hers. Either way, she needed answers.

“Villanelle. And I felt bad for you.” Villanelle shrugged.

Florence’s face lit up with a smile and chuckled at how blunt Villanelle was. “You don’t sugar coat it do you.”

Villanelle shrugged, feeling comfortable around this stranger. “Sugar coatting is for babies. Are you baby?”

“I could be.” Florence joked.

Villanelle’s eyes widened before Florence shook her head and and said, “I’m joking, I’m joking. I’m sorry, that was inappropriate. I should leave.”

Florence stood up and looked around. Villanelle stood up too, and watched her move.

“Do you have my phone?” Florence asked. “Did I have it when I stumbled into you?”

Villanelle shook her head and shrugged. “You came with a coffee cup.“

“Can I borrow your phone please? I just need to call my friend and let her know I’m safe.”

With that sentence, Villanelle’s eyes darkened. She slowly walked towards the girl, smirking evilly as her hand reached into her pocket.

Florence’s heart quickened as Villanelle stalked towards her. Florence took a step back and gulped. “I am safe right?”

Villanelle’s smirk dropped and she began laughing wickedly. “Hahaha! I got you! Haha I scared you didn’t I? Hahaha”

Florence’s shoulders dropped and her heart sank. “Oh..my god. Oh my god. You totally had me there.”

Villanelle took her phone out of her pocket and brought up the number pad. “Here. Call your friend.”

“Thank you so much.” Florence gratefully took hold of the phone, but Villanelle didn’t let go.

“By the way,” Villanelle started, leaning in closer to Florence’s face. “If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it by now, baby.”

#villanelle #villanelle imagine #villanelle x reader #villanelle x oc #villanelle fanfic #killing eve #killing eve imagine #killing eve fanfic #jodie comer #jodie comer imagine #lesbian fanfic #gxg #baddass female characters #original character #fanfiction #fanfic #imagine #oksana astankova

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panthera-tigris-venenata · 3 months

Text

Dead Beauty AU (Chapter 5)

Yeah I just wanna post it here too.

Oh and Maeve and Malvina are Flower's, @tiredflowercrown

When Harry exits the Hell Hall his feet are too heavy and his mind is swimming in all the wrong directions: Ivy’s fault, naturally. The mix of alcohol and whatever poison she gave him.

He swallows heavily and bangs his hook to the metal gate, just because he fucking can. He hopes that bitch is suffering as much as he is.

And holy hell, is he suffering: the metal clang just about threatens to split his skull open.

He just hopes dear Ivy heard it too.

On completely unrelated note, he really would like to know how she got Claudine fucking Frollo, please and thank you. That girl has problems, alright, and he’s the one saying it.

Y’know, maybe she decided if she’s going to hell, she might as well go with a blast, and Harry can approve of that.

If he had his flask, he’d drink to that sentiment, even.

More importantly, he still wants his haircut.

Alas, he just starts walking towards the Tremaines – hey, it’s closer, and he doesn’t exactly fancy arguing with his older sister about his methods of delivering demands, thank you. Besides, Harriet is just a fucking hypocrite.

He’s pretty sure she slept with Diego the last time she was vaguely in the vicinity of Hell Hall.

Harry smirks at that.

He drags his feet as he sneers into the shadows, twists his wrist around to stretch it – the light twirls on his hook – cranes his neck around to stretch it too.

Curiously, that seems to send a street rat or two running.

This is fine.

It shouldn’t be too long to the Tremaines now, but he could just swear the bloody streets keep stretching under his feet. He kicks on something at the ground, mutters curses under his breath. And if he loses his balance for just a moment after that, well, who cares?

Two children run by him and he sneers at them to mind their way; his vision goes blank for a moment.

Tremaines’ is right there.

He collapses at the nearest chair.

He breaks open the door, swatting his hook at the irritating decoration above it. He doesn’t manage to tear it down. Shame.

It is an eyesore.

He’d say he hopes Anthony went out already, but frankly, he doesn’t care enough.

„Dulcia, darling!“ he calls out, „You promised me the haircut?“

„Oh, I don’t care,“ he lifts his hand to make a dismissive gesture and lets it fall when he discovers how heavy it is, „Just do your worst. I want Harriet to know I’ve been there.“

She appears behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder and sighing: „Whatever is wrong with you, Hook – my dear cousin is right there, and his mood didn’t get any better.“

She tugs at his hair rather harshly, which he registers mostly because he’s looking in the mirror.

„Also, what the hell do you want me to do with this?“

Dulcia laughs: „Why, that almost sounds like a dare–“

Harry discovers his lips are too numb to form an answer; he barely manages a crooked smirk, twisted more by the cracked mirror. His face feels weird.

Dulcia tugs at his hair again, turning his head from side to side to examine her canvas, and his whole body locks in a horrible spasm. He can’t jerk away or even breathe– his chest starts to hurt.

He watches his lips turn blue – watches Dulcia notice his stiffness and his expression – and curses Ivy. She wasn’t stingy with the dose, that’s for sure–

He manages to draw in a breath, his muscles relax a bit.

„What the hell was that?!“ asks Dulcia.

„So you’re faking choking to death for fun?“

„Quiet!“

She is simply too loud, her voice too high – Harry remembers his manners again and says: „Oh, nothing to worry about.“

„Oh no, that’d be the poison Ivy gave me.“

„Oh, you moron,“ Dulcia’s voice turns soft, placating, „You played Russian Roulette with her?“

Harry hums in response.

„Did you win or lose?“

„…Yes.“

This is starting to get majorly annoying, thank you for asking.

Dulcia deals him a gentle slap over the back of his head.

„Fucker,“ she says, and his body spasms again.

Oh, and it seems the ruckus finally dragged Lord Tremaine over. How lovely.

„What’s he doing there?“ Tremaine asks, as if it wasn’t clear – he came for the haircut. Duh. He told him already.

„Dulcia, why is he choking to death in our salon?“

„Choking to death, obviously,“ answers Dulcia, sounding insultingly uninterested.

Harry would argue, but, y’know. He still can’t breathe.

Well… Why not?

It’s not like Ivy would share the antidote or anything.

Choking is fine, but that humiliation would probably kill him.

Harry watches Dulcia shrug her shoulders delicately, and, yeah. He’s reasonably sure that if he dies in there, she plans to use his head as a training dummy for the little ones.

Which is absolutely unacceptable, by the way.

He breathes in again – fucking finally – and immediately spits at Anthony: „None of your fucking business, Tremaine!“

„My salon, my business,“ he answers, voice stone-cold.

„Dulcia, take this moron to the Mims right now,“ says Anthony, „If he dies at our salon, Harriet will never speak with me again.“

„My life, my business,“ mocks Harry back, turning around to look at the marginally more agreeable cousin, „Dulcia, about the ha–“

The movement makes his muscles lock up painfully again, which is starting to get really fucking repetitive.

„That’d be a pity for sure,“ agrees Dulcia in her overly sweet voice.

Harry manages to catch his breath again: „My sister’s too good for you anyway,“ he says. He just smirks when Anthony attempts to kill him with a glare.

Really, it’s almost admirable how much contempt Tremaine packs up into one word. Just a shame Harry isn’t exactly in the shape to break his nose, right now.

„Dulcia, to the Mims, now. Before I can think the better of it. You are also welcome to just dumb him behind the corner though,“ Anthony raises his voice, which makes Harry snarl at him. What is it with the Tremaines and yelling all over today?

„Angelica, Desdemona, Deborah, go help Dulcia with him!“

„I can take care of myself, thank you,“ he says instead, pushing himself off the seat, and almost immediately collapsing forward into his reflection. Well, fuck.

„Well, good fucking luck with that,“ says Harry, letting the Tremaine harpies drag him away.

„Clearly, you can’t,“ drawls Anthony, and Dulcia grabs Harry’s shoulder, drawing her sharp, carefully manicured nails deep into his skin.

„Now go. I do not wish to deal with your sister in a worse mood than she is now.“

As he passes under the door, he finally manages to tear down the horrid glockenspiel, to his satisfaction and indigent cry of one of the girls, which doesn’t seem like his problem.

Like, at all. That thing has been causing him headaches for months.

Now, Maddy being her usual bitchy self?

That does seem like his problem.

„Absolutely not–“ the demon-witch-whatever cries out, pointing at the list of rules scribbled on the wall with something that’s probably human blood, „You know the rules! No first aid! Your overdoses are not my problem! Your relationships problems should stay your relationships problems!“

Harry sways in the place as the younger Tremaine girls back away from darling Maddy, and Dulcia steps forward a single step, once again speaking in that placating voice of hers: „C’mon, Maddy, who said what about first aid? Just give him the antidote.“

„That’s what first aid is–“ grumbles Maddy.

„I don’t need an antidote,“ chimes up Harry, catching his balance on a nearby shelf, which makes Maddy look like she wants to bite his arm off. Sweet. Maybe he’d finally get actual hook like that.

„I want my hair done, Dulcia.“

…Yeah, no. Maybe, just maybe, he’s not so fine, Harry thinks as he painfully struggles for breath.

„See?“ Maddy gestures at him; he slowly slides to the ground, as his muscles refuse to cooperate again.

„He’s fine. Now get him out of my apothecary.“

„Maddy, be a dear. Just give me the antidote against strychnine. He’s got shit ton of gold on him, you can take it as a payment before he comes to himself.“

Harry would really love to protest that. She can’t take his gold just for a stupid antidote!

However, Maddy looks like she’s considering this: „…How do you know it’s strychnine?“ she asks with some suspition.

„Ivy always uses strychnine.“

That is not a concerning statement at all.

And Maddy doesn’t look too convinced.

Dulcia shoots Harry a look that can’t mean anything else than „You’re so gonna owe me for this,“ and then tells Maddy: „If he dies, Harriet will be out of it and then Ginny will be upset too.“

„I… Suppose I can spare some antidote,“ decides Maddy finally. He didn’t know she cared for Harriet’s witch all that much, but then again, Gothel can make herself likable like nobody’s business. And she is high most of the time, she has to get the stuff somewhere. He supposes it makes sense.

After that, the Tremaine girls leave, and Maddy quickly gets tired of staring at him, instead alternating absentmindedly playing with one of her dolls, yelling at one of her cousins in a language that makes the hair at the back of Harry’s neck stand, and preventing some mangy kid from randomly tasting the shit on the shelves.

He doesn’t fight Maddy when she forces a pill into his mouth in a pause in between spasms, and doesn’t swat away Dulcia’s hand when she offers him water with it.

That should count towards his debt to her, by the way.

The kid keeps singing in the same language.

Harry tries to ignore that and just focus on his breathing and, more importantly, about ways to get back at Ivy. Might that bitch be slowly dissolved in acid while listening to this crazy little Mim kid singing the demons to sleep or whatever.

Said mangy little Mim kid comes over and pokes at his ribs.

„Is he dead yet, Maddy?“

„Don’t know, don’t care. You know how to check.“

Harry does not wish to know how the Mims check if their customers are still breathing or not.

„I’m still alive, kid,“ he tells her, „Shut it.“

„Shame,“ the kid sighs, „Maeve said I get to dissect the next moron that overdoses.“

„Maeve also said you’re not supposed to talk like that in front of the customers, Malvina.“

Harry snaps his teeth at Malvina as she tries to poke at his ribs again.

„If that’s all, ladies,“ he grits in between his teeth as he pushes himself up, „I’ll be on my way.“

Malvina steps away from his as he struggles to regain his balance – he almost falls down as the doors to the Apothecary fly open and CJ greets the shop with a bright smile: „Hiii!“ she says and turns to him, „Freddie said you’d be there, Ettie’s getting snappy again– ooh, can we get some of that candy?“ She points to a shelf of brightly coloured expired candy.

„You lot are not allowed weed,“ notes Maddy dryly.

„Why not?“ asks the little Mim kid; Harry seethes at the sentence.

„Pleeease?“ whines CJ, making big eyes at Maddy and slipping her one of her gold bracelets over the counter. Harry barks out a laugh.

„This never happened,“ says Maddy as tears open one package, stabs her nail through some gummy bears, and gives the mutilated candy to CJ, „And if it gets into your head wrong, don’t fucking come back here.“

„Don’t worry, Maddy,“ answers Harry, grabbing his younger sister’s arm before she gets any more bright ideas, „I’ve had enough of this place for quite some time.“

He leads CJ outside.

„How stabby is Harriet?“ he asks.

CJ swallows one of her gummy bears as she thinks of an answer, carefully storing the other pieces in a napkin in her pocket: „Hmm… Not as much as when I bleached her hair. Kinda about when Frollo wouldn’t stop ringing the bells cos of some celebration or whatever.“

Harriet spent most of that time too drunk to form a coherent sentence, and honestly, Harry doesn’t blame her.

„No, wait! Like when the Hearts twins got the jewelry she wanted at the market the other time!“

„Well, then,“ Harry smiles at his younger sister,„How do you feel about a new haircut, then?“

„Yes!“ she jumps in her place, „Yes! Harriet’s gonna be so pissed!“

Anthony, too, and it’s not like anything interesting is happening at the port now: He seriously doubts Ivy managed to forward their demands to her youngest cousin yet.

#disney descendants #dead beauty au #harry hook #cj hook #anthony tremaine #hook siblings #ivy de vil #dulcia tremaine #tw substance abuse #poisoning #no good coping mechanism in sight okay #take Uma off the Isle and it spirals from there

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jadekitty777 · 3 years

Text

The Thoughts We Carry

As promised, I had one entry near completion that I hoped be ready to post for @fairgameweek2021. I spent the last few days this week not getting enough sleep just to make the deadline (ssh I know it’s after midnight. Summaries are hard, okay?). I’m sorry I won’t have anything else ready in time, but I hope you all enjoy this one!

Day 4: Separation/Reunion

Dedicated to: @chiherah

Rating: K

Words: 6K

Summary: “I know everybody to some extent,” Qrow once told his nieces, and he hadn’t precisely been lying. At least, when it came to knowing other huntsmen in the four kingdoms, that is. Clover Ebi was just one of probably five-thousand examples. Yet, just as all shamrocks are clovers but not all clovers are shamrocks, all huntsmen are acquaintances but not all get to be friends.

That was why, upon arriving to Atlas, Qrow could tell there was more weighing on Clover’s mind than the Grimm addled streets of Mantle or Solitas’ fighter jet filled skies. More crushing, even, than the now-known threat of Salem on the horizon. A burden so great, it altered old routines and shadowed bright smiles.

And, as Qrow regarded the Aceops’ hasty roster change, he knew the solution to his friend’s plight was not one he’d need to seek, but one he’d need to bear.

Ao3 Link: The Thoughts We Carry

There were a few unanimous truths that came with being a huntsman:

The work was dangerous to the point most knew their future was beelining for a parking space in a graveyard.

Never falter in the heat of battle.

Keep bandages on hand because stemming an injury can extend a life from a few seconds to a few minutes.

Always know the best foods to forage in case civilization is too far or – worse yet – wiped out.

Pack light as work will require travel. It will require travel a lot.

Of all of them, the one Qrow was most familiar with was that last one. So much so, the towns he visited were just as much old friends to him as the people within them were. Vale and Patch were like playmates from primary school that were never forgotten no matter how much time had passed. Higanbaga was that party dude from university that always knew how to show him a good time. Atlas was that annoying classmate that he got stuck with one year on a group project and he was forced to put up with. And Mantle…

Mantle was that one struggling friend he knew could be doing better, if anyone would give it a break.

He felt that feeling in every swing of Harbinger, slicing through Grimm as he sidestepped potholes in the concrete and litter whirled up around his feet. Witnessed it when he peered through the city’s ever-present shadow to keep the kids in his line of sight, straining his ears to listen for the rest that shouts just blocks away nearly drowned out until they mysteriously stopped.

Despite knowing what it likely meant, he didn’t focus on it. He sheared through another Sabyr, and spun on his heels. Took in visual information in half a second: Weiss partially down an alleyway with Ren. Yang at his six. Blake a bit behind her. A Grimm leaping right for her.

His hand moved before his mind did, aiming Harbinger’s shotgun as Blake did the same with Gambol Shroud.

Another shot got it first.

A buzzing blast of green energy, not quite aura or dust, cleaved the beast in two. Similar shots rained from the sky, making quick work of the rest until the street was clear. The lampposts’ harsh red glows faded back to their calming yellow. From above, a drone expelling more green light rocketed up to the sky. As it hovered in the light of the moon and slowly floated down to ground level, its shape became more apparent and he could make out the features of a young girl with long, curling locks of ginger hair. Something about her was familiar.

It wasn’t until he heard Ruby’s choked gasp of “Penny?” that it clicked.

About a thousand questions rolled into his mind at once, but it was clear from the way his niece was suddenly bowled over by the enthusiastic android and the tears began to flow, that they’d have to wait.

After all, it wasn’t every day a cherished friend returned from the dead.

The other kids crowded around quickly, but Qrow couldn’t help but look to the one who lingered awkwardly on the sidelines, Oscar fidgeting with his cane the way Oz used to.

Something welled inside him that tasted a little like regret.

Not every day indeed.

It seemed ages before they started to make their way back to Pietro’s shop. Penny was deep in explanation on her miraculous revival, explaining how her memory chips had been recovered and her body repaired. In the back, Qrow let most of it float over his head. He wasn’t the only one.

“This is so… unexpected.”

He side-eyed Jaune, the blond’s face a mix of emotions that were hard to pin down. He couldn’t even begin to guess at what the other was trying to process. The joy of Penny’s return? The bitter unfairness it couldn’t happen for another that had been lost that day? The sorrow that Pyrrha now would never know that she hadn’t killed the android and could never make amends?

Whatever it was, it was definitely too much to handle on a regular day. Add two grueling battles, multiple aura breaks, and a long flight to Atlas on top of it all, it left little energy to deal with much else.

“But not unwelcome.” Qrow replied, catching his attention. “You don’t have to question the good things you get in life kid. You do that and you won’t stop to enjoy them.”

It was relieving it pulled out a small, but genuine, smile on the young man’s face. “That’s unusual advice coming from you.”

That’s because it wasn’t his.

Before he could think to respond, his sharp senses caught Ren tensing up. A sign he was detecting something.

His fingers were already halfway to his weapon when he heard it.

“Ah, and here I thought we had a problem. But it’s just Qrow again.”

His hand fell, a groan emitting from deep in his chest as he turned towards that painfully familiar voice. Sure enough, Clover and his poster squad of soldiers were heading their way. “Oh great, it’s you.”

“Salutations Captain Ebi!” Penny greeted with a salute.

"You know them Uncle Qrow?" Ruby asked. He could feel her curious stare burning through his cape.

"Yeah. They're Jimmy's attack dogs.” He scoffed at them. “Though considering we cleaned up this mess, they're more bark than bite."

Clover laughed, stopping just a few feet away. "You haven't changed a bit, have you?" He thumbed back the way they had come from. “Guessing you’re also the flyer of the unidentified Manta a mile west here, huh?”

“Uh, well,” He spluttered a bit, not sure how to explain that.

He didn’t have to, as the second-in-command spoke up for him, “I can’t believe you!” Harriet spat, quick in her temper as she was on her feet. “We almost deployed hostiles on that ship. You could have at least radioed in!”

“Well, see we woulda. ‘Cept our radio was on the fritz.” Yang stepped up beside him.

His other niece flanked his other side. “We didn’t mean to cause a stir, really.”

Qrow didn’t know whether to be proud of their synchronization, refined from years of getting out of groundings together, or concerned for their physical wellbeing as Elm’s eyes lit up with recognition.

“Oh Qrow, don’t tell me these are your cute little nieces!” She was in his youngest niece’s space almost instantly, shaking her hand with such enthusiasm Ruby looked a little dizzy. “I’m Elm. Qrow’s told us so much!”

“He has?”

“Oh yes, once he gets going, he can never shut up about you two. It’s endearing.”

He did his best to ignore the teasing nudges Yang gave him or the flush working its way up his neck.

“Wait, hold up a second.” Another of the soldiers interjected. “You’re the Qrow Branwen? You don’t look anything like what I thought you would.”

As his eyes met with the other’s, Qrow realized with a start he didn’t know him. “And you are?” He spat a bit harder than he meant to.

He felt a little bad when it made the Faunus shrink back a bit, his wagging tail slowing. “I, erm-”

“Oh right, you haven’t met. This is our newest recruit, Marrow Amin. He’s a bit fresh, but has been an outstanding addition.” Clover spoke up, clapping a hand on his shoulder like a proud father. It was the slight twitch at the side of his mouth that gave away he was trying very hard not to drop his smile.

The kid definitely didn’t notice, his tail wagging at full speed once again.

Qrow decided to shelve it for now.

Thankfully, the quietest member was quick to draw all the attention his way as Vine cleared his throat and spoke over them, “As pleasing as this reunion is, I believe taking this discussion away from the middle of the street would be more comfortable.”

“Right.” Clover nodded, straightening up. “The General is expecting our report and, though unanticipated, I’m certain he’d be happy to accommodate your arrival.” He tipped his head towards Weiss. “We’ll contact your sister on the way in as well. Lieutenant Schnee will be relieved to know you made it back safely.”

Despite the propaganda recordings still running on loop overhead, Weiss couldn’t hide her happiness. “That would be wonderful.”

“Sooo, when you say accommodate, you mean beds? And food?” Nora piped up hopefully.

Elm grinned. “Mess hall is always open. All you can eat!”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Oh, I like you.”

In the corner of his eye, Qrow could see Ruby shifting uncertainly. He rested a hand on her back reassuringly. This wasn’t what they’d hoped for. They had wanted to gather more information before they approached James. But it’d be suspicious not to take it and the last thing they needed was for things to go south when they were so close to the finish line.

They would just have to hope they hadn’t lost James’ loyalty like they had Leo’s.

“We could certainly use it.” He finally said. “Lead the way boy scout.”

Though sleep came fast that night, Qrow didn’t rest easy. Despite the exhaustion weighing him down, his mind refused to quiet, whirling over and over again on an anxious loop. James’ flawed plans for Amity if they didn’t tell him the truth. Oz’s deceits. The relic still resting out in the open. Salem’s unknown course of action.

Normally, when his brain was this busy, he’d drown it in alcohol. Let everyone else figure it out as long as he could get some rest from it all. But that wasn’t an option anymore. He wouldn’t allow it to be.

That was how he found himself dragging himself out of bed at the crack of dawn and wandering down the already bustling halls. Anywhere else, he’d say it would be weird to be walking past so many people so early; but Atlas had the majority of its’ facility and students on a strict military schedule. Something about how it taught basic discipline and the sleep regimen was good for promoting better health and performance.

It was a crime against sleeping in is what it was.

Despite the fact his last visit had been well over a year ago, Qrow had no trouble navigating the uniform halls, finding his way to the Ace-Ops’ quarters in record time. He knocked twice, only having to wait a few seconds before the door was flung open. The cartoon flamingos on Harriet’s pajamas seemed to mock the rest of the academy already starting the day.

It’s tactical, Clover had told him once when he’d questioned the special treatment.

Privileged, Qrow had corrected snidely, ignoring the multitude of night crews given the same benefits.

Sometimes it was just fun to see if he could get a rise out of Mr. Perfect.

Speaking of, a quick sweep over Harriet’s hairline told him he was nowhere in the room. He did spot the others though, seated around the dining table. Elm had her hair wrapped up in a towel and a piece of toast in hand. Vine was sipping on tea and scrolling through news. Marrow was giving him that same starstruck look from yesterday, a spoonful of cereal only halfway on its journey to his mouth.

“Boy scout ain’t here?” Qrow asked.

Harriet quirked an eyebrow. “He’s in the garden.”

On a Tuesday? That was new.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Guess I’ll be on my way then. See ya.” He gave her a nod of farewell, heading down the hall.

“Hey, Branwen!” He paused, seeing Harriet leaning out the doorframe, her stare almost challenging. “If you start antagonizing him, I’ll kick your ass.”

That was… also new.

He smirked. “Like to see you try speedy.”

She only scoffed. From within, he heard Marrow pipe up, “Hare! You can’t say that to-” The rest of it was cut off by the door closing, but he had a feeling it ended with ‘The Qrow Branwen.’

He started down the hall again, the foreboding that had been weighing on him since last night quickening his pace.

It didn’t take him long to get to the garden. Natural to Atas’ standards, the room was as grand as could be. Twice as large as the training facility, the greenery filled every inch of space, broken only by specifically designed pathways students or staff could traverse. Some ran to small manmade ponds with wooden bridges built over them where koi fish would swim underneath while others led to displays of delicately trimmed hedges shaped to look like animals. As there was no plant life in Solitas’ ecosystem, everything in the room had been imported. Desert roses from Vacuo, sage bushes from Vale, black pines from Anima. There were even some sunflowers he’d brought years ago from Tai’s little patch at home, still valiantly clinging to life among the rosemary bushes.

Practically on autopilot, Qrow went down the right-most path which wound along to the far side of the garden, where the trees grew taller and the branches hung down like arms reaching out for a hand, close enough for him to reach up and touch. There was one in particular, a lone willow, which had become a popular hiding spot due to its’ thick, curtain-like tresses. So much so, that it had become better known as the Kissing Tree. Though it was too early for anyone to be there now, more than once, he and Clover had stumbled upon a pair of students trying to sneak in a private moment between classes.

To say nothing of the numerous times when the tree was empty and Clover would always wink at him and say, “Looks like there’s room for two.”

The first time, Qrow had been too shocked to respond. Every time after, he’d wave him off and say, “As if you could handle me.”

Clover would laugh and they would continue on, sometimes to the exit.

But more often than not, it was on their way in to the pen.

Compared to the rest of the room, the five-foot, stock panel metal fencing was a bit of an eyesore. Doubly so with the glowing blue devices placed on every post that would activate if anyone without clearance attempted to enter. Hence why it was kept in the back.

But for Clover, it was the best place in the entire garden. Qrow could already see him to one side of the cage, sitting on a bale of hay, gently grooming a lop-eared rabbit resting in his lap while another dozen of various breeds hopped about his feet. The soldier was humming a peppy tune, so lost in his own world he didn’t notice Qrow at the gate.

“Annabelle’s eating your laces.” He announced as he tapped his scroll on the gate’s scanner.

Clover jerked a bit, but not enough to disturb Dumpling, who only thumped his back leg for his attention to continue. He rested one hand on the lop’s back, shooing Annabelle away with the other, “Lil’ menace.” Before acknowledging Qrow with a nod and a “Good morning.”

“Was looking for you.” He replied, shutting the door behind him.

The second he had, Jynx honed in on him like a missile, torpedoing across the pen in seconds to race excited circles around his feet. Clover watched the antics with a teasing smile. “Somehow, I only half believe that.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Qrow carefully stepped around the dwarf rabbit and as he made his way over, plucked a daffodil from the treat container kept on a high-mounted shelf. He sat beside Clover on another hay bale, Jynx wasting no time as she leapt onto his legs and flopped onto her side. So content she was, she didn’t even bother to lift her head when he offered the flower, just munched it down when it got close enough to her mouth. He rolled his eyes, running a hand through her soft, black fur. “Still lazy as ever.”

“She can’t help it if she takes after her handler.” Clover pointed out as he returned to his brushing.

“Making fun of yourself over there, boy scout? ‘Cause I ain’t the parent here. I’m the uncle who spoils her rotten.”

Normally, they’d go at it for a while like this, trading verbal blows that were about as harmful as throwing a handful of feathers at one another would be.

Today, it was clear his friend wasn’t in the mood when he only hummed and said, “I suppose.”

In the quiet that followed, it gave him a chance to really look the other man over. Though he was prim and proper as ever, with clothes neatly pressed and boots shined enough to reflect the light, his face told the true story. Between the deeper lines under his eyes and slight graying at the base of his crew cut, Clover appeared as if he’d aged a decade overnight. Burdened by the weight of worlds’ most damning secrets.

Ones that he knew only got worse the deeper the hole was dug. Qrow felt so far under at this point, he wasn’t sure he’d find the sky again. And the worst part was, the only action he had left was to choose if he wanted to toss the next person the shovel.

Regardless of his convictions to be as candid and brusque as possible to his friends and family, the idea of burying Clover along with him was terrifying.

A quiet chattering drew his eyes back to Jynx. Her eyes were half-closed in blissful contentment, unaware and detached from the woes of her people. He rubbed a finger between her ears, the way he’d learned she liked all the way back when she was small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Back when she was so tiny, they’d almost missed her when clearing out the illegal dust testing facility deep in Mantle’s suburbs five years ago.

The mission had been a spur of the moment thing. He’d been tracing one of Salem’s subordinates when the Captain approached him. He still recalled how Clover had buttered him up as he explained that with one of their teammates sick, he was in need of a fifth and he ‘just couldn’t think of anyone more suited than Qrow’.

He wouldn’t say it worked or anything but, well, it just so happened the person he was looking for was also said to be someone of ‘scientific talent’. He’d taken the job completely on the merit of it being a potential lead, but if Clover wanted to shower him with compliments in the meantime, who was he to complain?

Next thing he knew, he was knocking a needle-wielding chemist unconscious and lifting guinea pigs out of overcrowded cages.

It took nearly the entire day to clear the facility. Most of the animals were either unaccustomed to being handled or traumatized from it, and it was difficult to recage them without risk of further injury. It was eventually left to the animal experts that had to be called in. Yet, despite the mission being technically fulfilled, Clover had been stubborn to leave, trying to find ways for them to contribute and becoming agitated if anyone tried to derail him.

Even at the time, when Qrow hadn’t yet known the younger huntsman well, he’d understood the behavior was unusual for the other man. It was hard to say if he simply became driven to assist, his soft spot for animals painfully clear, or if it was some mild form of Hunter’s Shock, the stress and horror of the situation putting him into a repetitive state.

Whatever it was, it was clear they were stuck there until the job was done.

So, mostly trying to look busy while staying out of the way, Qrow had found himself lazily strolling through the basement’s already emptied cage ring when his eyes, sharpened by years of looking down the barrel of a shotgun, caught the almost undetectable movement of hay breathing. Sure enough, brushing it aside revealed one of the smallest rabbits he’d ever seen – though she certainly had the loudest cry when he picked her up.

Like a mother responding to a distressed child, the Captain came running. Though his expression was quick to melt when he spotted them, easing into a smile for the first time that afternoon.

Lucky Number 13, Clover had cooed to her while Qrow cradled the shaking thing against his chest. He’d carried her the entire way back to Atlas, afraid she’d get lost or injured among the other hundred animals they’d rescued. At some point, she’d bonded with him.

“More like imprinted!” Tortuga had joked whenever the subject was brought up.

Keeping the rabbits after the mission hadn’t been planned, but Clover had managed to pull enough strings on Jimmy’s iron heart that the General had come out of it thinking he’d thought up the idea all along. The pen was made in record time and the recovering warren was introduced to their new home. Within days, each rabbit had a name, a toy, a bed and enough treats to hibernate a grizzly bear. Mostly provided by the Captain himself, though some of the other facility and students had donated to the cause.

They were officially presented as a wildlife addition to the garden – they were unofficially and more truthfully known as Captain Ebi’s pets.

Though the rabbits didn’t need constant care and the gardeners attended to their daily needs, Clover still swung by frequently, fitting them into a daily routine he kept to like clockwork. Monday and Friday mornings were given over to training. Tuesdays and Thursdays to team-building with the Ops through sharing or even making breakfast together. Weekends and Wednesdays were reserved for garden visits.

The reason for the change was obvious, but Qrow wasn’t quite ready to ask.

“So. Jimmy told you.” He stated instead.

Clover nodded. “Yeah. He did.”

“And… how are you doing?”

He’d been twenty years younger, when he’d been in Clover’s position. Barely graduated, when he took that first walk through the vault, Ozpin spinning grand stories and waving magic to life before his very eyes. He remembered how terrified he had been. He was just some feral kid from the forests of Anima who could barely figure out how his own Scroll worked. In what possible way was he up to the task of saving the world?

After being in the fold as long as he had, he quickly learned even people more capable than himself all tended to feel the gravity of the job.

Even someone as confidant and unshakable as Clover was not immune, his sigh long and drawn out. “Honestly? It’s a little overwhelming. I actually thought, that uh,” He laughed embarrassedly, “James had lost his mind.”

Qrow blinked.

Maybe the world really was ending.

“I woulda paid money to see that.” He teased.

Clover pinched him. “Oh shut up.” The lack of brushing made Dumpling start to fuss again, but rather than continue to pamper him, Clover set the lop back on the grass, before he lent back, letting out another of those long sighs. “I’ve been thinking a lot about how when I was a kid, I used to think the only way Atlas could possibly stay in the sky like it does was from magic. Then I grew up and the academy taught me different. It’s… terrifying, realizing how easy it’s been to lie to a whole nation’s worth of people.”

“Guess that means you agree with Jimmy’s plan then.” Qrow surmised.

“You don’t?” He challenged back, frowning. “We have thousands of people roaming these halls, none of them knowing that a few floors down lies one of the most powerful objects in the world. Don’t they deserve to know that one day they might be in charge of protecting it?”

Shifting uncomfortably, he averted his gaze, mumbling, “I never really thought about it. I trusted Oz to make those kinds of calls. And now he’s-” He felt his chest tighten, guilt a healed-over bruise pulsing on his knuckles. “Gone. Again.”

“I can imagine how lost that makes you feel.”

“I mean, I guess.” He grumbled, if only to save face.

But deep down, he knew Clover was right. Qrow wasn’t like him, or Oz, or James, or Summer or even Ruby. He needed someone to guide him on the right path. He screwed up things enough merely by existing – he couldn’t make it worse by trying to also make critical decisions.

Maybe it was that thought that made him add, “Starting to think I wasn’t cut out for this whole gig. All I’ve done is drag my nieces and their little friends into this whole mess and nearly got ‘em all killed. Isn’t really comparable to ‘restoring world communications’.”

“Yeah, I suppose being on the front lines at Haven and ensuring a relic didn’t fall into Salem’s hands is a bit more impressive.” Before he could even try to argue, Clover placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “We’ve all had to make some tough calls lately, but I know those kids were in good hands when one of the best huntsmen in all of Remnant was at their side.”

He could feel a blush creeping up his neck. “You’re just saying that because you’re completely starstruck with me.”

“I am.” The admittance was said with absolutely no hesitation, the man’s smile growing. “Qrow, some of my very best missions have been the ones I’ve gotten to go on with you. I admire you. Not because of your skill, but because you’ve never let the job change you. You scoff at your own fame and you don’t take missions looking at lien signs first. You do it for the right reasons, every time. I think that’s amazing.”

The blush was definitely on his face now.

Worse yet, the doubts and worries that had weighed on his mind for days now seemed to lighten, just a little bit.

Gods be damned, how did he always do that?

With no idea how to respond, he mumbled out a soft, “Thanks” hoping it came out more sincere than awkward.

“Anytime.” Thankfully, Clover backed off a bit, focusing back on the rabbits at his feet, picking up Bolt. Having gotten his name from how skittish he was, the cottontail took time to calm enough so he could be brushed.

Long enough for Qrow to compose himself before he spoke again. “So, how have things been otherwise?”

“They’ve been…” His shoulders fell, “Rough.”

Any doubts Qrow might have had before about the Ace Ops’ unannounced replacement crumbled right alongside Clover’s normally strong posture.

He shut his eyes, taking in a deep, bracing breath. As he focused on his friend once more, it was with all the unexpecting kindness he could muster that he asked, “Do you want to talk about him?” For a split second, Clover looked just like the rabbit in his lap – ready to sprint as far away as he could from danger. So Qrow quickly added, “You don’t have to, if you’re not ready.”

Silence blanketed over them like a snowstorm, cold and desolate. The kind of weather that blew in fast and came down slow, pressing everything into such an unnoticed hush most didn’t notice their homes being covered until they looked up and saw they were six feet under. That’s where Clover seemed to be now, stuck inside and standing at the front door, uncertain if he was prepared to create the unavoidable mess it would take to dig his way outside.

Only this time, Qrow had given him the shovel. He just had to use it.

Leaving the soldier to sort out his emotions, Qrow idly pet Jynx, fingers scoring through her sleek black fur.

And he waited.

His gaze drifted to the ring of Cypress trees that bordered outside of the pen.

And he waited some more.

When Clover finally did speak, it seemed a struggle, the words fighting their way out. “Can you imagine how it was for us that day, when we watched our own Knights turn on Vale’s citizens? It was like a nightmare. We didn’t know what had happened. No one did. Without James to explain – to speak for himself – the council started shutting down units left and right. The AKs, the paladins, even our Manta Flyers. We had to rip out billions of lien in automated equipment just so we could fly down to Mantle.”

As if he were a Flyer himself, Bolt suddenly leapt out of his lap, landing back on the grass below. He quickly crowded himself between Orion and Sirias, trusting the giant Altexs to protect him.

Clover just let him go, dropping the brush beside himself as he shook his head. “By the time we got there, the city was overrun. Normally, we’d have enough firepower to deal with it. But James had brought most of the troops with him. Even when they came back, none of them were allowed to deploy to the field until they got questioned. It was a mess. Students and soldiers were kept in lockdown. James was incarcerated. It was months before we learned anything. And every day the public was kept in the dark, every day people feared the other kingdoms would come for us, was another day Grimm surged to our borders.”

It was a familiar story. Beacon’s fall shook the world in a brutal way, leaving no Kingdom untouched. Borders closing. Grimm everywhere. The peace between nations suddenly balancing on a delicate string, just waiting for something to break it.

Yet of everything that had come after that one, awful night, it was the personal losses that struck the hardest.

“I kept telling my own team to just… hold on another day. That things would get better soon. But then-” Clover choked for a second, having to swallow hard. “We got a report of a nest of Centinels in the basement of an apartment complex downtown. We were still cleaning up some stragglers nearby, so I sent Harriet and Tortuga ahead. It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes before Harriet started radioing in. ‘The building came down!’ she kept screaming. I’d never heard her so panicked.”

Qrow sucked in a sharp breath and for a second, he was right there with the other huntsman. Except, for him, it was with a scroll in his ear and Oz’s grief-filled voice shattering his soul as the headmaster told him one of his closest friends wasn’t coming home.

The flash of memory faded as quick as it had come, but the heaviness in his heart stayed as Clover pressed on.

“She told us that some Centinel acid had melted through a supporting wall. Tortuga had been slowing the damage while Harriet tried to get all the occupants out in time. Any other day, they could have done it. If we weren’t all running on empty, I know they could have. Instead, they were only halfway through when suddenly, it all just came down. Harriet was outside when it happened.” Clover lent forward, hay crunching under his grasp as he clutched onto it. “The whole time I was running to their position, I kept telling her everything would be fine. I’d use my luck and we’d pull him out and he’d probably laugh at us for worrying so much. Never knowing it didn’t matter how much luck I had.” He chuckled. It was a hollow, broken noise. “He was already gone. The pathologists said he’d died instantly.”

Then that chuckle turned into a sob.

Knowing better than most that there were no words that made this part easier, Qrow did the only thing he could as he slid a hand along the other’s back and tugged him close.

It was a quarter to nine by the time they were getting ready to leave. Clover gave one last cursory check to the food and water while Qrow mentally counted the warren for a fourth time – they didn’t need another incident like when Snowblossom escaped and terrorized the lavender field. He’d finished his count by the time Clover was ushering him through the gate.

He’d finished it again when it locked behind them.

As they started around the first bend of the path, he almost couldn’t fight the urge to go back just to be safe.

Luckily, Clover was a great distraction. “So now that you’re in Atlas, what do you and your entourage plan to do?”

“Uh.” Was that a trick question? “Help with Jimmy’s pet project, obviously.”

“Besides that. It’s not like we’re going to work you all 24/7.”

Qrow wouldn’t mind if they did. At least, for him. Free time seemed… dangerous, when he’d used to fill it with taking shots at the nearest bar. Really, the more he thought about it, the more he realized he didn’t really do much else. When he was bored, he went to a bar. When he had a day off, he went to a bar. When he was looking to have fun, he went to a bar. When he didn’t want to see people, then he skipped the bar, got a six pack, and drank himself to oblivion.

Shit.

He was going to have to find a hobby, wasn’t he?

In the end, he shrugged, replying glumly, “Guess we’ll have to figure it out.”

“What about training?” Clover held up a hand in a gesture of peace as Qrow frowned at him. “Not you. The kids. There’s going to be a lot ahead for all of us and the sooner we get used to working together, the better. And, well, considering their age I’m sure some of them are still rough around the edges too.”

He snorted, but didn’t argue that fact. Really, all of them were incredibly skilled, but that didn’t mean perfection. Ren was still flaking in the stamina department. Weiss had to work on her spatial awareness. Jaune needed, well, everything. After years of being a combat teacher, it wasn’t hard to pick out the kids’ flaws. To say nothing of Oscar who, without Oz as a crutch, probably would be better off if they just shipped him into a witness protection program.

It was time that worked against them all. Ideally, it’d be best enrolling them back into school, were they could finish off their graduate programs and gain the wisdoms of various professors who could help them hone their talents. But, seeing as that wasn’t in the cards, he supposed getting some pointers from some of the best Atlas had to offer was a decent replacement.

“I’m sure they’d like that.” Qrow could already imagine how Ruby would bounce off the walls at the idea of getting trained by real huntsmen. As if he were chopped liver, or something.

(He could also already picture her waving his complaints away. “Uncles don’t count. You’re obligated to do nice things for me.”)

“Great! We can work out a schedule once you’re all a bit more settled.” Clover was practically glowing, as if he couldn’t wait to start penning things in on his calendar. Dork.

Yet, he’d take this much happier, lively Clover over the despairing, grieving one he’d just consoled any day of the year.

In fact, the air was so much lighter than it had been, as they rounded another bend and the willow tree came into sight, he was already preparing himself for the other man to drop his usual line, retort already on the tip of his tongue.

Yet, as they came level with it, Clover did something even more daring as he reached across the space between them and caught Qrow’s hand in his.

He stared down at this grand declaration, then up at Clover himself, meeting questing, hopeful eyes.

Heart racing, he curled his fingers over Clover’s, and despite the other’s rounded knuckles or his own lanky fingers, despite mismatched calluses and hairline scars, despite the rings or the gloves, they seemed a perfect fit.

Perhaps, Qrow wouldn’t be so bored in Atlas after all.

#qrow branwen #clover ebi #fair game #fairgameweek2021 #rwby #fanfiction #Chase Firekitten's Tale

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laventadorn · 4 years

Text

hold this for me

A/N: It’s FINALLY done!

Read on AO3

The cold was sharp and biting, the sky craggy with dark clouds. Harriet, bundled up in her heavy winter cloak, followed the trench Snape had crushed in the snow as he walked ahead. Snow powdered on the black cloak hem, crunched beneath his boots; her breath hung cloudy in the air. The world was silent except for those breathing sounds, the breaking of snow and the settling of branches in the dark mass of the forest ahead.

Snape turned his head a little, one black eye peering over his shoulder, past strings of his hair. She smiled, reflexively. He whipped forward again, as if pretending he hadn’t been caught looking back at her. She saw the tip of his ear turn red and grinned.

The plan she’d formed last night was already getting a good set-up.

Jogging a little, she closed the gap. He didn’t look around, but he shifted the basket on his arm. Since he didn’t register discomfort until something like his leg was about to fall off, she knew he wasn’t moving it to find a better position. This was a fidget.

She hummed a little tune to herself, pleased. Snape let out a breath, like it was too much work to sigh. She grinned.

“If we were here to find anything that required stealth,” he said, his voice curling in the air like fog, “you’d be making all our work useless.”

“You wouldn’t have brought me if you needed stealth. Although I can be perfectly sneaky.”

“Sneaky is not the same thing as circumspect,” he said dryly.

“Well, we’re just here for plants anyway.”

“Some plants require stealth in order to approach. Which you’d know, if you paid attention in Herbology,” he said, like the swot he was. This would be the sort of snotty grown-up observation that would completely kill the mood if Hermione didn’t also say the same things all the time (only more nicely).

She rolled her eyes. “Gosh, how will my ego survive you trashing my Herbology marks?”

They’d come to the edge of the forest, into the shadow of the trees, the forest gloom folding over them.

“These are Frost Blooming Drops,” said Snape, still swotty. “They grow quite a distance inside the forest. If you get cold, you know what to do; you’re a witch.”

“I’m all set.” She patted her cloak pocket, where a jar of Hermione’s little bluebell flames warmed her ribs.

“And don’t wander off. We use the Forbidden Forest as a defense boundary for a very good reason.”

“I’ll be clingy,” she promised.

“Hm.” Snape’s gaze slanted along his gaunt cheekbones, then swept forward again. She smiled and followed him beneath the enfolding branches of the snow-crusted trees.

The thing with Snape was, you had to filter everything through a translator. There was normal-person speech, which would express concern by asking “Are you warm enough?” However, Snape-speech was, “If you get cold, you’re a witch.” After all, if he didn’t care, he’d have waited until she was already freezing before saying anything.

There was also this whole outing. Yesterday Snape had actually showed up at lunch, sat next to Slughorn (who was on Harriet’s left), and made noise about going into the Forbidden Forest to collect some rare seasonal flowers. It was a very long walk; the flowers weren’t even very useful, hardly seen in any potions you would use except twice every five years; pretty much a waste of time to bother collecting them. He’d go early so he could get there and back before dark.

This was clearly an invitation. He wasn’t even the Potions professor this year, and Slughorn’s attitude had clearly wondered why anyone would be so mental. So Harriet had bundled up this morning after breakfast and loitered near the empty Quidditch Pitch until Snape turned up with a basket over his arm. His face passed through some interlocking expressions that she couldn’t decipher, but all he said was, “Walk behind me,” and crunched a path through the snow. This, too, was Snape-concern: if he made a path, she didn’t have to.

The snow in the forest wasn’t as deep, so she could walk next to him. He kept fidgeting with his basket. She smiled to herself.

It might work in her favor that he was twitchy about something. She’d come on this outing with one specific goal, and she might be able to get away with it if he was too distracted to see it coming.

“So what potions do these flowers go into?”

“What do you think Frost Blooming Drops would be used for?” he retorted, which she interpreted as a desire to have a conversation. Good; it saved her the trouble of pestering him for one.

“Minty fresh breath?” She smirked.

It was his turn to roll his eyes. “I should know better than to ask you Potions trivia.”

“Probably,” she said peaceably. Her middling marks seemed to genuinely irk him, although now that he was her Defense professor and she was his top student, he didn’t seem to know what to do about it. Sometimes he seemed downright helpless.

“So, what do they do?” she asked again.

“One of them does give you the power to expel frozen breath.”

She squinted. “You’re making that up.”

“Would I?” he asked blandly.

Right, a double agent who never made things up; that was believable. “What would you need frozen breath for?”

“You tell me.”

“Mmm. It’s hot out, and you want a cold drink?”

“Yes, for a wizard it would be far more sensible to mix a potion to cool the breath than to simply conjure ice.”

She grinned. “Which is why I’m saying you made it up.”

“You’ll have to do better than that if you want to trap me into admitting anything,” he said, affecting boredom. She knew it was fake because he was picking at a sticking-out bit of weave on his basket with a split fingernail.

She pointed a mittened finger at him. “So you do admit something.”

There was a glint in his eye, but his voice was still bland and his expression smooth. “I speak generally.”

“Yeah, sure. C’mon, don’t you want me to learn something about Potions for real?”

He gave her a look: I-know-what’s-in-your-head-and-it-most-certainly-isn’t-Potions. “If I thought it wouldn’t go in one ear and out the other, perhaps I’d give it a shot.”

She shrugged, smiled, and spread her hands in their mittens. He only rolled his eyes again.

They crunched along for a bit without speaking. Harriet watched his hand fiddling with the edge of his basket and thought about her plan. She’d mapped it out last night. All she had to do was find the right moment. . . She’d say, “Here, hold this for me,” and he’d say some variation of, “Why do I have to hold something for you? Aren’t you a witch?” but he’d put his hand out anyway, and then she’d--

“Harriet!”

“Huh?” She looked around, because he wasn’t next to her anymore.

“What did I say?” He was glaring her way, one foot below the edge of the path, apparently ready to climb down something. “What did I say about wandering off?”

“Right, right, my bad.” She crunched over to him. The tops of his cheekbones were pink, for some reason. Maybe it was the cold.

She peered down the slope, where a little side trail made of rocks descended along a narrow trench, beside a gentle stream of black water. “We’re going down there, then?”

“Watch your footing.” He stressed every word. “These rocks are icy.”

He shot a spell at the rocks to crack the ice, but even without the ice, the rocks were still wet, and she did have to watch her step. At the bottom, where a little trail wound into the snowy gloom beside the stream, he put his wand away.

His glare was still giving off little sparks, like a log settling in the fireplace, so she put on her best contrite air and decided she should wait till he cooled off a little before she tried. . . anything.

She hadn’t actually been in a snowy forest before, despite living on the borders of one most of the year for the past six years. Her previous jaunts into the Forbidden Forest had been during autumn and spring, but it was. . . different now. It was almost completely silent, and the silence seemed to have a weight, almost like being underwater. She felt almost like speaking would be wrong, as if she’d entered a temple that called for silence.

The light faded the deeper they went, the shadows gaining depth, as if they were in an old photograph.

Sometimes she thought she heard voices in the distance, whispers or laughter or broken pieces of song. We use the Forbidden Forest as a defense boundary for a very good reason, Snape had said. She wanted to shiver for a different reason than the cold.

She cleared her throat quietly. “I’ve been in here before, obviously.”

“Really?” Snape said with diamond-grade sarcasm, but his voice, like hers, was soft.

She rolled her eyes, one corner of her mouth pulling up. “But it never felt like this before.”

“It’s affected by time of year. Much of what lives in the forest is either hibernating or gone, and this close to the winter solstice, there is more. . . activity among the non-living and the magical. In your first year’s detention” -- he gave her a look that said he wouldn’t forget about that little lark if he lived eight hundred years -- “you didn’t go this deep.”

She nodded and lapsed back into silence.

In the crisp, aching silence, a voice somewhere in the murky shadows began singing again. She couldn’t decide if the song was happy or sad. She didn’t think the words were English. They lifted and fell, fading in and out of hearing. Trying to catch the tune, she hummed along.

“What are you singing?” Snape asked, almost idly.

“Dunno. Whatever it is they’re singing.”

Snape stopped walking. His cloak swung against her legs and his basket bumped her upper arm. “Whatever who is singing?”

“Uh. . .” She looked around. They were the only people nearby -- she hoped? Or did she definitely not? Would it look too chicken to edge closer to him? The non-living and the magical, he’d said. “I. . . don’t really know.”

Snape’s gaze bore into her. “I repeat: do not wander off.” He even reached out and plucked at her cloak, drawing her to walk right next to him.

Oh, this was the perfect time. All she had to do was calm down the jumping beans that had suddenly rented a trampoline in her gut.

It’s easy, she told herself. Just pull off your mitten -- he’s not even wearing gloves, cuz he’s too cool for the cold or something -- and say, “Hey, can you hold this for me?”

She tugged at her right mitten. Her left mitten slipped on the woolly rounded edge. Why hadn’t she bloody worn gloves?

“Hey,” she said, clearing her stupid throat, which was wanting to stick shut for some stupid reason, “would you--”

“Look,” he said, weirdly close to her ear. His arm crossed in front of her, almost brushing her nose. The black wool had a smell like woodsmoke and wintergreen. Standing almost right up against him, she could see the individual strands of his eyelashes.

??? said her brain.

Snape sighed through his nose. “Over there.” He tapped her shoulder and pointed -- oh, that’s what he’d been doing.

She looked to the left and let out a soft oh.

Floating through the air were little blue fires, in a loose formation almost like a flock of birds. Not just floating, but drifting in the same direction she and Snape had been walking, at about head height. Against the dark trunks of the trees and the snow in the foliage above and on the ground below, they were like a constellation under construction. She’d never seen anything like it, and she felt a deep urge, almost like she’d swallowed it, to step off the path and follow them.

“What are they?” she asked in a low voice.

“Little ghosts. Not fully formed, like the ones at Hogwarts -- more like impressions.”

This would be a really good time to grab his hand. She wanted something to hold onto. But she was afraid that if she moved, she’d go running after the little ghost fires. As if Snape would let her, but she’d look really stupid.

She swallowed, trying to hold very still, like that could dissolve the lump of yearning that had settled into her core. “Why do I want to go after them?”

“They’re lures.” Snape put a hand on her shoulder, as if holding her in place. “We’ll wait for them to pass.”

“Lures?” Jesus, was her back sweating? He was voluntarily touching her shoulder and she was trying so hard not to go running off after ghost fires that she couldn’t even properly appreciate it.

“The Forbidden Forest has its share of gateways that the living should never pass through.”

Well, that wasn’t ominous at all.

They watched the ghost fires bob through the tree trunks, fading as they passed into thicker shadows. When the light of the last one winked out, Snape dropped his hand from her shoulder. He let out a breath, as if he’d been holding it in.

“This is why I told you not to go wandering off.” He brushed a hand down the front of his cloak, another nervous gesture; the black fabric was pristine. His hand shook a little, and there was a dent between his eyebrows. “Not many people would have been able to keep from following them.”

Harriet’s jostled brain processed this. That was another compliment, wasn’t it? She clenched her hand in its mitten -- Hey, hold this for me -- just say it, dammit, and take his hand, his hand had been shaking --

“Hey, uh.” She cleared her throat, which felt two sizes too big. “Would you hold this. . . ?”

“Hm?” He bloody seemed to have been thinking about something else.

“What?” He focused on her the hazy look in his eye fading.

All her courage deflated. She wanted to smack herself between the eyes, or maybe even him. It turned out that having him distracted was not good for the plan.

“Nothing,” she muttered, and tugged her mitten back on.

“Then come along.” He shooed her lightly and started walking.

Blowing out an explosive breath that ruffled her fringe, she trudged forward.

“You didn’t follow them,” she said after a bit.

“Hmm,” Snape said again. “No.”

“You said not many would’ve been able to, but it was really hard for me. You seemed fine, though.”

“You exerted control without assistance,” he said dismissively, as if the compliment didn’t matter. “They had little effect on me. They’re more interested in. . .” His mouth twisted, the glint in his eye sardonic. “The young.”

She didn’t think he’d appreciate any commentary on that, so she asked instead, “How young is young?”

“Past twenty, their powers considerably diminish.”

“What, are kids, like. . . Happy Meals to them?”

“Mm,” Snape said, bland again. “So you see, you had more to contend with.”

He turned his attention forward again. Harriet supposed she’d let him, since he seemed to be watching for more creepy things that could lure them away to make snacks out of them, and so she could smile like a dope without him noticing. Well, hopefully.

“We haven’t run into any centaurs,” she said once she’d gotten her face under control. “I thought they didn’t like people coming into their territory.”

“They don’t. But this isn’t their territory. They live farther to the east. We’re headed southwest.”

“Huh. I ran into them both times I came in here before, though.”

“In your first year, Firenze was out of bounds, deliberately. As for last year, Miss Granger knew exactly where she was going.”

Harriet had to be proud of Hermione. Trust her not only to come up with the idea to lure Umbridge into centaur territory but to actually know where to find it. Harriet had thought they just roamed the forest at will.

“Here,” said Snape, stopping, his cloak brushing against her leg. He was pointing at a black rock that towered over them on the side of the path.

“. . . a rock?” Harriet said.

Snape rolled his eyes. “Follow me.”

Then he stepped down the embankment and disappeared into the bloody rock!

Harriet jumped off the path, slid on the icy ground, saw the rock rushing at her face, and threw out her hands to brace her fall. Only instead of the rock, she plowed straight into Snape. Not expecting her to suddenly hurtle at him, he was knocked off his feet; they tumbled to the ground.

“What in God’s name was that?!” he snapped. But he was patting at her shoulders, as if checking for injuries. “Did a random ghost suddenly possess you?”

“. . . I thought the rock ate you,” she said sheepishly. There were some twigs in his hair where his head had struck the ground; wincing, she reached up and pulled one out. “Sorry, sorry.”

His face did something that was difficult to interpret even for her. She’d have called it flustered if he didn’t look so disgusted, or disgusted if his eyes hadn’t looked so wide and helpless. He snatched his hands back and twisted his face away, patting the ground for his basket, like it might have gone invisible and he could only find it by touch. She found the basket behind her and silently offered it in apology.

“Thought the rock ate me,” he said, his voice sounding funny. When he saw her holding the basket in his periphery, he snatched it out of her hands and started turning it over a bit -- well, a bit crazily.

“You just disappeared. What was I supposed to do?” She looked up at the rock walls rising above them, black and slick with ice, and the little path between the two. “It was an illusion?”

“Less than you’re thinking. The angle of the rocks makes the path invisible.” He got to his feet, brushing ineffectually at his cloak, leaving a muddy handprint that he didn’t even seem to notice. “This way.”

There was still forest detritus stuck in his hair. Harriet figured she’d mention it later.

No more disasters befell them as they came out the other side of the rocks. They’d come to the edge of a slight clearing in the forest, where the ground sloped down toward a massive tree, ancient, even the lowest of its towering branches soaring above the younger trees around it. All up its trunk sprouted piercing white blossoms, glimmering in the icy air like a cascade of pearls, and broken petals lay scattered across the frost-tipped earth, shimmering in the wintry light.

“Damn,” she whispered, her breath fogging the air.

Snape gave a delicate snort. Harriet’s mouth twitched. “I see why you wanted to come here.”

“For Potions?” He gave her an ironic look, but his long fingers flexed on his basket.

She smiled. “Obviously.”

“We can’t use the petals on the ground,” he said, gesturing for her to follow him down the slope. “Well, you could, if you wanted to make perfumed sachets. But for potions, we need to pick the blossoms fresh.”

Harriet wasn’t the perfumed sachets type, but she thought Asteria might like some. Curious, she knelt and scooped up a handful of shimmering white blossoms. Their scent was sweet and light and somehow icy.

“Do you have--” She stopped and caught the bag Snape had tossed over. “Thanks,” she said, smiling, and scooped a couple handfuls of flowers in. If she had to take off her mitten to achieve greater accuracy, well, that was just taking advantage of an opportunity.

It felt sort of sacreligious to crush the fallen blossoms underfoot, but they lay in such a thick carpet that she didn’t have a choice. She crunched over to Snape’s position by the tree -- its roots were taller than he was -- where he was peeling the petals off the flowers twined in vines around the trunk. His long fingers moved delicately, without ripping the velvety blossoms. Her bare (very cold) hand wanted to reach up and fold over his. Too bad it would look so dumb right now.

“The best ones would be those up there,” he said, tilting his head all the way back to look up at the flowers clustered beneath the tree’s lowest branches. “But neither of us is quite tall enough.”

“We could’ve brought a broom,” she said, though surely he’d have thought of that.

“Inadvisable within the forest bounds. Don’t even think about it,” he added darkly.

“I wouldn’t.” Honestly, she wasn’t a danger addict. Hermione called it a ‘saving-people thing.’ Maybe it was, but just going into the Forbidden Forest for some flowers, by herself, was a bit much. Not only did the place rank high on the Creep-o-Meter, but too many people would flip out if she did.

“Good,” he said, like one would wield a knife.

She looked up the trunk, then reached out and tugged one of the hanging vines. It was sturdy wood. “I could climb up this.”

“You’re not climbing over a hundred feet off the ground.” She could just see the ‘Why did I think it was okay to bring Harriet freaking Potter into a danger zone’ zipping through his head.

“Not that high. Pretty sure my arms would give out. Just a bit further up.”

“No,” he said firmly.

“C’mon, just, like, six feet.”

“No.”

“I have muscles!”

“I don’t -- from what?” He switched tracks in the middle, looking confused.

“I do chin-ups in the Room of Requirement. And I’ve got a punching bag.” Her biceps and triceps weren’t bad, actually. She could deadlift Asteria no problem.

Snape seemed to be thinking about something else. When she reached out to grab the vine, he came back to life and plucked it out of her hands, looking flustered. “You’re not climbing anywhere. Stay on the ground. Right there.”

“It’s just climbing a damn tree, it’s hardly more dangerous than being in the forest in the first place.”

He pressed his lips together, looking steamed because he knew she was right. Not that he ever let a little thing like a reasonable argument sway him.

She jumped up and grabbed the tree root over her head.

“Harriet!”

“It’s fine!” She hoisted herself up and then swung her legs around until she was straddling the root. Below, Snape was fluffed up like an angry owl; he had his wand out, as if preparing to keep her from pancaking on the ground. “C’mon, Quidditch is more dangerous than this.”

“And I’m so happy you play it!”

“Thanks, that means a lot.” She scooted over so she could reach out and pick the blossoms. “How were you doing this?”

“For starters, I was standing on the ground!”

“And you’re really good at it, too,” she said kindly. He replied with an angry owl noise. “Taking the petals but not the stem, right?”

He chuntered under his breath while she gently extracted a petal and held it cupped it her bare hand. “Gimme the basket, ey?”

“I’ll give you a. . .” she heard him mutter, but he floated it up. He probably wanted to yank her off the branch but had realized this would defeat the purpose of protecting her from a fall and was reduced to hovering beneath the root and puffing out little swears that floated up to her as she worked.

“All right, that’s enough,” he said after maybe two minutes of this, which showed, for him, laudable restraint. “Come down.”

“Fine, okay.” She’d carried her point, at least. She handed the basket to him and then prepared to swing down.

She was dangling from the root for a second, gauging the distance to the ground, when something brushed at her legs. Startled, she kicked out with her foot, heard a grunt and then a light thud.

“Ah shit--” she said as she realized what had happened, and staggered when she hit the ground, falling onto her rear.

Snape was sitting sprawled out in his cloak, knocked for a second time to the ground, a very exfoliating glare knifing past his messy hair. The petals had spilled out of his basket.

“Sorry! Did you -- try to grab my legs?”

There were bright spots of color on his high cheekbones; Snape did not blush prettily. She wanted to pat his face. “I thought you weren’t sure how to get down!” He tried to brush his hair out of his face, straighten his cloak, and right his basket at the same time, and just ended up worse off than before.

Harriet found this behavior both cute and worrying, and silently helped him scoop the petals back into the basket. She hoped they weren’t ruined but didn’t dare to ask. When he got to his feet and stalked around the root to get to more petals, she followed and hovered without speaking, just watching him.

It occurred to her, finally, that if Snape was distracted, there must be a reason. He wasn’t a spacey person, and around her, his focus was normally laser-searing. And suddenly, the strangeness of him inviting her into the deadly Forbidden Forest, when he regularly fretted at her even getting up on a broom, begged to be noted.

She’d almost think he was an imposter, if it weren’t impossible for anyone to act as precisely peculiar as he did.

“What’s wrong?” she asked quietly.

He stilled, staring at the tree, nothing of him moving. Strands of hair hung around his ear, which was bare to the cold and a little red. His profile, always forbidding, was harsh and remote, but she thought for a moment that something like sadness flickered in his eye before he turned his face away.

“What about our lives right now is easy?” he asked after a long moment. He extracted another flower from the vine, delicately, as if maneuvering fine glass.

“Something’s bothering you,” she said, as slowly as he was picking the white petals off the tree. “Is that why you asked me out -- here?”

She’d almost said asked me out but realized just in time that this would make him clam up from embarrassment. If Hermione ever found out about this strange limbo of affection between them, she’d have a stroke and then report Snape to Dumbledore; but the truth was that Snape was more skittish than a cloistered maiden. There was a reason Harriet had spent all of last night and today plotting just to hold his hand for two seconds.

Snape paused with a petal in his fingers on the way to the basket, and then dropped it and lifted his hand to the next one.

“I merely thought. . .” he said, still delicate, and Harriet was almost amused that they were having this conversation in slow motion. “That time. . . doesn’t wait. For any of us.”

She frowned. “What’s that mean? Wait.” She took a step closer, trying to peer up into his face, but he turned away as if very interested in a patch of petals to his left. “Is something going to happen soon? What’s going to happen?”

“It’s merely a general observation,” Snape said tightly, picking up his flower-picking pace, his shoulders tight like a shield.

Bullshit. “Is this about you taking the Defense position? Is something going to happen to you?”

“Who knows what will happen?” he asked stiffly. “I’m done.”

He spun, a little clumsily, having retreated quite close to another root to hide, and ducked underneath it to stride off. “Come along,” he threw over his shoulder, and picked up his pace when she jogged after him. She broke into a run, knowing he wouldn’t do the same even to get away, and caught up.

“Then why are you acting weird?”

“I am a weird person,” he said waspishly, walking faster with his damn long legs. Well, she didn’t have a lot of dignity, so she skipped to keep up. His face flickered with something that may have been amusement or dismay.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

“You’re being a pest, that’s what’s going on.”

“If you told me,” she said, unperturbed, “I wouldn’t have to pester you.”

They were about to get to the rock path, which wouldn’t be wide enough for her to follow beside him. He was about to speed up --

Fine.

She reached out and grabbed his hand.

“Severus,” she said.

He froze at the touch of her hand, and then calcified at the sound of his name. The clearing was silent, the forest dormant and indifferent.

“If you’re in danger,” she said quietly, “I want to know.”

Snape’s hair fell in his face, and he stood as if any movement was too much to bear.

“Who is safe right now?” His voice was barely louder than the silence. “The two of us. . . are in possibly the most dangerous positions in our world. I’m a double agent, and you’re. . .”

“Public enemy number one?”

His hand shifted slightly in hers as he inhaled, as if he was taking a fortifying breath, or sighing.

“My tasks. . . are my burden to bear. Literally. It’s -- ” She imagined his mouth twisting, though his face was still turned away. “My job.”

She was quiet, processing this. She knew better than to think she could force him to tell her what was really going on. Getting any admission out of him, even one as simple as There’s something going on but you’re not going to know what it is, was a lot. “I hate your job,” she said at last.

“Really? I love it. It’s almost as enjoyable as grading.”

She smiled, though she didn’t feel like laughing.

“Come.” Snape took a tiny step forward, as if testing that he wasn’t going to break apart if he moved. “We’ve been out in this cold long enough.”

Gently, Harriet pressed on his hand, keeping hold of it. He could easily pull free if he wanted, but she tried to convey that she didn’t want him to.

At the pressure of her hand, he went still again, but only for a moment. When he started walking, he left his hand in hers, his fingers slightly curled around her palm

For now, that was enough.

#tner tag

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