#I have been chewing drywall about this for two weeks | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

streaminn · 9 months

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Now typically Yoko left Furs to deal with Furs. Historically speaking, Fangs and Furs didn't always see eye to eye. While that particular hatchet supposedly got buried centuries ago; many of the older generations from both races hadn't quite let go of the grudge. More times than not the "beliefs" would continue getting passed down. All that to say that Yoko really was not inclined to interrupt whatever pack bonding activity was going on over there.

"It wasn't on purpose Marr-" the girl started before getting cut off.

"It doesn't matter Enid. It's the fact that it happened at all." the older boy says.

They're speaking loud enough that she can hear them clearly. She doesn't mean to eavesdrop but given her sensitive hearing and the fact that Furs in general tended to be a rowdy and rambunctious bunch, well... can't help what you can't help.

"I didn't know Marric." the girl, Enid, says.

"Of course you didn't." Marric scoffs.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Enid asks and Yoko can hear the anger building in her voice.

"You know exactly what it means. Of course some half wolf wouldn't know not to speak over a pack leader. You couldn't even tell could you? You can barely smell better than a normie." Marric mocks.

Fun Fact: Yoko hates bullies.

Before even fully realizing it, her feet are carrying her in the direction of the commotion. Oh I sure hope I know what I'm doing. By the time Yoko reaches the group she can see that the younger of the two is on the verge of tears.

She knows that before she even got close, the Furs in the group could tell she was heading towards them. Now that she's this close she can read the tension in a lot of their stances. If she doesn't play this right, Yoko knows this could very well trigger another feud between the species on campus.

Here goes nothing.

"Hey, are you Enid?" she asks, doing her best to appear genuine.

The girl in question sniffles before answering, "Yeah, who're you?"

The older boy tries to cut in but Yoko just speaks over him "I'm Yoko, the Headmistress asked me to be your guide around Nevermore the first couple weeks. You ready to go?"

At the mention of Weems, all the Furs in the group start getting fidgety. It was well known that Weems ran a tight ship and had a zero tolerance policy both when it came to bullying and discrimination, even within a species. As long as they're enrolled at Nevermore, no one is allowed to be treated different based on any status of any kind.

Yoko didn't have to say it for it to be understood: if the headmistress caught wind of what just happened, the entire group would be in boiling hot water.

Quickly the group disperses until its just the vampire and this Enid girl left standing there. The two just look at each other for a moment before Enid breaks into giggles. Yoko didn't realize how tense she'd been until she felt the relief hit her system.

"Sooo..." the blonde starts "are you actually my tour guide?"

Yoko shrugs. In for a penny, in for a pound. "Yeah, sure why not." With that, Yoko simply turns around and starts making her way to the quad with Enid skipping alongside her.

______________________________________________________________

Yoko is about to start chewing through drywall.

How in the hell can her bestie from another nestie be this oblivious? This dense? This cannot be real. Yoko feels like she's witnessing the world's slowest, most horrific car crash in slow motion.

For the past week, Yoko has watched as Enid has been borderline waited on hand and foot by her roommate. If the vampire hadn't seen it with her own two eyes she would have thought she'd dreamt up the short ass goth hand feeding Enid food in the courtyard. But no, the shared looks of disbelief between herself, Divina, and Bianca are a testament to the fact that this is, in fact, real life.

What the actual fuck?

Like don't get her wrong, Yoko wants Enid to have it all. She wants her girl to be swept off her feet and given the whole world. She just was not expecting the fuckin Demon of Nevermore, herself, to take it upon herself to fulfill that role.

(Although in hindsight, maybe there were hints that Yoko just wasn't picking up on. That hug after the Crackstone Incident was definitely charged. She just took it as the goth finally letting her walls down. But maybe it was that and more. Huh.)

Either way, Yoko simply cannot believe that Enid is not picking up on any of this. And she genuinely is not. Yoko has flat out told her that she is being courted by her roommate and all she got was a "Yokes, c'mon. She's just learning how to be more open with her feelings."

"Yes! Her feelings! Of Love! For you!"

Enid just shrugs her off. It's driving Yoko insane. The way she sees it, either Enid is just straight as straight can be or she is so deep in denial that it's an ocean instead of a river. At this point, the vampire is rooting for Wednesday. She hopes that little freak woos her bestie so good that it makes every girl on campus seethe with jealousy.

In the meantime, Yoko is gonna do her part to try to at least open Enid up to the idea that her and Wednesday could be more. Maybe she just needed to take baby steps instead of just going all in. She thinks maybe some brainstorming with Div will help. She sends out a text for the siren to meet her in her dorm after classes are finished. She gets a thumbs up emoji as she heads to her next class.

Okay, she thinks, just focus on schoolwork and then hopefully Div's got some better ideas for how to make this work.

Once Yoko has wrapped up her final class for the day, she beelines for her dorm. She's in there for only a few minutes before Divina enters and greets her with a kiss on the cheek. The two settle on her bed before she broaches the topic at hand.

"Soo, I know we both witnessed whatever the fuck that was at lunch today..." Yoko starts.

Divina snorts, "Yeah, it was cute and really sweet on Wednesday's part but also super out of character."

"Yes, yes... but like... she's definitely trying to court Enid, right? Like I'm not losing my mind here?" Yoko presses.

Divina shakes her head, "Yeah, no, Enid is for sure being courted right now. It just seems like she isn't catching on yet."

At that Yoko clambers out of the bed and starts pacing. "That's the thing, Div, I don't think she's catching on at all. I think Enid honest to god, does not believe for a single second that she could ever be courted by Addams. I try bringing the topic up and she just brushes it off. It's like she can't even wrap her head around the possibility of it being a possibility."

From her spot on the bed, Divina only tilts her head. Yoko understands the silent question.

"I know Enid's got stuff going on with her family. It's not really my place to share any of it but I know you caught the stuff that went down at Family Day. I think maybe Enid doesn't think she can let herself have this. I mean, Div she shifted for Addams. Saved her life. Fought a fuck ugly Hyde to do it. That's pretty intense for a friendship." she explains before sighing and running a hand through her hair. "That's not to say she wouldn't though. If anyone would do all that for the sake of a friendship it'd be Enid. Pup is loyal like that."

Divina hums and stands from her place in bed and crosses over to where Yoko is. The siren stops the vampire before she starts pulling hair out. Yoko leans her face into the palm resting against her cheek and sighs again. Divina presses their foreheads together before speaking.

"I know you're worried about her and that you genuinely want whats best for Enid but, Yoko, I think we'll just have to let this one play out a bit more." At that Yoko pulls her head back enough to look at her girlfriend. Divina continues before Yoko can jump in. "If you try to push her too hard, she might get scared or even upset and pull away completely. That would ruin any chance Wednesday has and we wouldn't want that would we?"

Yoko groans and throws her head back. She can hear Divina huff a laugh at her theatrics and the vampire can't help the smile that creeps onto her face. Yoko brings her head back to lean against her girlfriend and she allows herself a few minutes to sulk.

"I just want her to be happy."

"I know and I'm sure she knows, too."

"God, I hope so."

"Well I know so, and I know she'll come to you to talk through things at some point which is why we just have to let everything run its course."

"...Fuckin Addams of all people, couldn't be someone less prone towards actual torture?"

Divina just snorts in reply.

Been getting a little burned out on writing but I'm trying to write a little everyday just so I keep the habit going. Feels like words are difficult lately though, so not super happy with how this turned out

Hope the ear starts feeling better soon Stream

Hey frog no worries!! It came out great, I can really see that yoko is worried about Enid

And damn Enid... She's so dense I had to search an example of it to prove my point

But heyy, atleast she's getting that princess treatment right! Right,, totally not gonna end badly or anything aha.... 😢

(remembers how Enid dates someone else and Wednesday holes up in her house)

#Wenclair #Froggy #Writing

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mylittleredgirl · 9 months

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i'm sure the main tags do not want to hear my thoughts about my strange new worlds and related fandoms marathon, so i'm back to tagging things #trekathon. if you also do not want to hear them, please filter!

this is the part where i confess my sins (i have literally only watched the pilot of strange new worlds and have been faking all along) (because of that thing where when i will love something too much i need to stand on the other side of the street and watch it through binoculars) and then:

q&a:

"no need to shout, ensign spock" is the funniest deep cut alksdjglsj

it was so funny i had to text my ex immediately

HI HOW ARE YOU HOPE YOU'RE ALIVE so remember how fucking funny the cage is

i was going to say that "unsentimental" is probably not how i would have described captain dad under my currently understood definition of that word, but then i realize this is about "the cage" versions of these characters and i'm loving the nuance

i really don't want to ship pikeuna but i'm probably gonna aren't i

"why don't you want to ship pikeuna little red?" well see pike/vina first wired my brain as a youth and then took it out, cleaned it, and updated it to a new operating system in discovery season two

also i'm so sorry the we the people demand it become canon now discourse is tiring even from across the street with binoculars

star trek ships aren't supposed to become canon they're supposed to make you chew drywall and exchange mimeographed zines through the mail for fifty years

feel free to refer me back to this post if i start signing change dot org petitions about this next week

i miss the definite article on "the enterprise" when will she return from the war 😭

so seeing the elevator shaft makes me realize that the terrifying cavernous spaces and weird lack of spatial logic inside the new trek ships probably arose because someone was like "wait how do the turbolifts actually just go wherever?" and then hollowed out the ship like a jack-o-lantern as an answer

since i'm already here at the beginning of smiley spock's adventures, i think the cage is next?

#trekathon #i'll have to think about which discovery episodes belong in this #yes i am still across the street with binoculars i'm just kind of sticking my toe off the curb and watching for traffic

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millennialgrandma · 7 months

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Getting To Know You Tag Game

Thanks to my love @roseharpermaxwell for the tag 💚

Three Ships: we're only at the first question and I'm already having a crisis 😅 I haven't been able to shake them over the last 13ish years, so it's pretty safe to say dramione is my forever OTP. I'm down bad for panville, but I'm down horrendous for draco/neville (ship name: BadBottom), especially when you add hermione to the mix (HerBadBottom). Shout out to @whimsymanaged for being a horny monster with me about them. Can we pretend hp ships count as one and I can leave you with two more? Excellent, I'm glad you agree. Kanej. Kanej makes me want to chew through drywall. And can you tell I've also recently been obsessing over firstprince?

First Ship: it was actually one of my high school crushes that introduced me to fanfic and forever altered the course of my life. I started with hinny for a few weeks until I stumbled across my first dramione

Last Song: that Tom Cardy song that just came across my dash 😆

Last Movie: it seems I am incapable of moving past RWRB

Currently Reading: this year hasn't been a great one for reading. Work has been so busy that I don't really have the mental capacity for it? I've got months of hp fanfic to catch up on and a veritable mountain of firstprince fanfic now that I've finished the book. I started Dead Wake by Erik Larson (about the sinking of the Lusitania) on the plane a few weeks ago, so I guess you could say I'm currently reading that (even though I haven't picked it up since). Still hasn't stopped me from buying 3 more books since then, though 🤡

Currently Watching: ahahaha so uh, lately I've been watching Bluey while I eat meals. Today I watched like 11 episodes over lunch? And cried through at least 7 of them in a row? It's just so fucking wholesome and so so healing.

Last Thing I Wrote: I'm constantly writing reports for work (boring answer). The last bit of fic I wrote was circuit breaker back in May, and it involved far too much research for only 458 words.

Currently Writing: unfortunately nothing. I've got a half dozen fics started that have been languishing in my docs and haven't been touched in over a year. I would love to say it's my entry for the HP Pumpkin Spice Fic Fest, but I haven't even started brainstorming yet 🙃

Tagging: @pia-bartolini @akorah @schmem14 and anyone else who sees this and hasn't been tagged yet!

#tag game #get to know me #getting to know you

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odetolove · 5 months

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PLEASEEE that was me waiting for your reply cries ;-;

Oohh felt that! I just finished my thanksgiving break and I have two more weeks to school and then I’m off for Christmas break !! But it’s gonna be so busy once Christmas rolls around 😭 do you have a lot do for the holidays or just busy cus it’s busy?

Oh I’m gonna be finishing my 1st semester of nursing school so I’m excited !!! :3 been so stressful but it’s gone by so fast bc there’s so much to do

HEHHE I’m honestly so flattered cus I feel like I’m better with the other miya twin but hearing you say you like my Samu just makes me so T_T also considering I love your work just makes me !!!! Like my heart is SOARING rn !!!!!!

Heheh talking is also fun to bites lip giggles :3

- Samu mod

WAAHH YOURE SO NICEEEEE IM CRYING

AHH REALLY?? oh my god i’m going to hope those two weeks flyyyy by then!!! i think i have like 3 more weeks til i have my break… sobs ;; and!! it was just busy cause it’s busy :T met new people this thanksgiving and im a big homebody so that kinda drained me but!! it was fun, i can’t complain too much hehe

AAAHHHHHHHHHH OH MY GOD, i’m so excited for you, i feel like i’ve been through this with you for a little bit of ittttt, i remember you telling me you were in nursing school and was like :0 !! about it!!! im so proud!!!

hehe,, honestly rping with you gives me the biggest osamu lovebug ever 😭 i wanna drop everything im writing n just do something for him cause i feel like your characterization of him gives him like a softer and bigger loverboy face to him 😭😭 hehe im happy your hearts soaring,, your writing in your replies makes me wanna chew drywall (in a good way) JDKFJDHSJD

GAHHH?, now i’m blushing… you’ve got me blush in g im as good as dead ;^;

#samuu mod.love #I LOVE TALKING TO YOU IM KICKING MY FEET RN

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donotenteract · 9 months

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Yoko's not really sure whats going on right now but she's honestly so bored that she doesn't even care. In front of her there's some kind of commotion going on between two Furs. One looks a bit older, he holds himself with the level of confidence that gives away the fact that he's somewhere higher up in the pack hierarchy. He must be a senior. The other looks like she's probably close to her own age range. A newbie to the Academy. Now typically Yoko left Furs to deal with Furs. Historically speaking, Fangs and Furs didn't always see eye to eye. While that particular hatchet supposedly got buried centuries ago; many of the older generations from both races hadn't quite let go of the grudge. More times than not the "beliefs" would continue getting passed down. All that to say that Yoko really was not inclined to interrupt whatever pack bonding activity was going on over there.

"It wasn't on purpose Marr-" the girl started before getting cut off.

"It doesn't matter Enid. It's the fact that it happened at all." the older boy says.

"I didn't know Marric." the girl, Enid, says.

"Of course you didn't." Marric scoffs.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Enid asks and Yoko can hear the anger building in her voice.

"You know exactly what it means. Of course some half wolf wouldn't know not to speak over a pack leader. You couldn't even tell could you? You can barely smell better than a normie." Marric mocks.

Before yoko can even fully realize it, her feet are carrying her in the direction of the commotion. Oh I sure hope I know what I'm doing. By the time Yoko reaches the group she can see that the younger of the two is on the verge of tears.

Here goes nothing.

"Hey, are you Enid?" she asks, doing her best to appear genuine.

The girl in question sniffles before answering, "Yeah, who're you?"

The older boy tries to cut in but Yoko just speaks over him "I'm Yoko, the Headmistress asked me to be your guide around Nevermore the first couple weeks. You ready to go?"

Yoko didn't have to say it for it to be understood: if the headmistress caught wind of what just happened, the entire group would be in boiling hot water.

"Sooo..." the blonde starts "are you actually my tour guide?"

Yoko shrugs. In for a penny, in for a pound. "Yeah, sure why not." With that, Yoko simply turns around and starts making her way to the quad with Enid skipping alongside her.

—---------------------------------------------------------------

Yoko is about to start chewing through drywall.

How in the hell can her bestie from another nestie be this oblivious? This dense? This cannot be real. Yoko feels like she's witnessing the world's slowest, most horrific car crash in slow motion.

What the actual fuck?

"Yes! Her feelings! Of Love! For you!"

Okay, she thinks, just focus on schoolwork and then hopefully Div's got some better ideas for how to make this work.

"Soo, I know we both witnessed whatever the fuck that was at lunch today..." Yoko starts.

Divina snorts, "Yeah, it was cute and really sweet on Wednesday's part but also super out of character."

"Yes, yes... but like... she's definitely trying to court Enid, right? Like I'm not losing my mind here?" Yoko presses.

Divina shakes her head, "Yeah, no, Enid is for sure being courted right now. It just seems like she isn't catching on yet."

From her spot on the bed, Divina only tilts her head. Yoko understands the silent question.

"I just want her to be happy."

"I know and I'm sure she knows, too."

"God, I hope so."

"Well I know so, and I know she'll come to you to talk through things at some point which is why we just have to let everything run its course."

"...Fuckin Addams of all people, couldn't be someone less prone towards actual torture?"

Divina just snorts in reply.

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steviebunny · 2 years

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Your legs shook with every step, silently praying in your own mind that it wasn't noticeable you pushed forward. Your co-workers just watched you be put through the wringer and barely manage to defend yourself for a mistake that hadn't even been yours.

The man responsible for the error was currently being chewed out by none other than 'holier than thou" Steven Rogers. You're absolutely sure the shock soaring through your body was evident as you press your back as far against the wall as you can, silently wishing you could phase through the drywall.

"If I ever catch you, or one of your staff shifting blame to one of Starks analysts again, I'll have Shield wipe your identity off the face of this planet and station you in Siberia. You hear me, son?"

Captain America wasn't screaming but he was definitely loud enough that all of your co-workers could hear, their eyes away from the avenger and to stare at you.

It was too much you couldn't handle it, speed walking to the bathroom you'd locked the door behind you. Pacing back and forth trying to calm yourself down. You're fine, fine, perfectly fine, you did nothing wrong- get over it. Taking another deep breath you stop before the mirror, tears spilling from your eyes- you force yourself to make eye contact with your reflection. Get it together. You tell yourself out loud, glaring at your double.

Moving you rip off some shreds of paper towel, bundling it up and running it under the cold sink water. Squeeze, and press. You bring the damp cloth up to your under eyes, looking up and patting the swelling down as best you can. Another set of breaths later, getting yourself somewhat together you unlock and swing the door open-

-you're met with Captain Rogers’s concerned face, a hand raised in the air ready to knock. Your breath is caught in your throat, you can see as the man's sharp jaw clenches.

"I'd like to apologize for the commotion I've caused earlier today."

"It wasn't your fault"

"It wasn't your either' he retorts. 'I just wanted to make sure you knew that."

"I know, Sir." His brows furrow at the comment.

"Please it's Steve, I'd like to walk you to your vehicle later tonight if that’s okay with you?"

"Are you sure?" An avenger walking you to your car, isn't that a little... beneath him?

"Yes please, it's the least I could do after making a martyr out of you."

"Okay, yes Si- Steve."

At the day's end, Steve leaned you his arm, escorting you to the garage, the two of you shared a few chuckles as he described stories of life with the avengers.

"So, this is me. Thank you so much, Captain Rogers, I can't emphasize how much you didn't have to do this."

"It was my pleasure."

He had still yet to let go of you his eyes running over your worn down and rusted hatchback. It was safe... Just old... And maybe a little shakey on left turns.

"Captain."

"Sorry, peach. Can I pry, do you really drive this home every night?"

"Well not really, I normally take the subway but if I come need to come in a bit earlier I take the car."

"You come in early and still stay this late, it's dark out?" He addresses poignantly.

"Yeah, it's not ideal but my apartment complex has a good security network."

You try to offer him a smile, to assure him of your safety, when he manages to look back at you, those blue eyes swim with concern.

"The tower is safe, I know damn well Tony has an extra room you could stay in. Would you consider it?"

"Mr. Rogers I-"

"Steve."

"Steve, sorry. Mr. Stark is my boss, I'm not sure that's the best idea."

"Please he owes me more than enough favors, I know Nat and you have lunches together sometimes if you're not comfortable alone I'm sure she'd let you stay with her, besides Wanda's been whining about meeting you for weeks."

It's probably not the best idea, a whole manner of things could go wrong, but that look on Steve's face... Saying no to him would feel like kicking a puppy dog.

"If...you're sure. Then yes, I've skipped out on plans with Natasha a bit more than I'd like to recently, so maybe this will be good for us."

His smile brightens the deeply lit walls of the sub-garage, he extends his elbow out to you to yet again grasp onto. Once your fingertips are safely secured in the crook of his arm the both of you begin to walk back to the steel elevator doors.

"So. Does Hawkeye really live in the vents?"

Steve laughs through his nose turning his head away trying to conceal his reaction, "No, well- he doesn't live on the vents. He just spends a lot of time there."

"Персик Jarvis told us Steve was bringing you up what's wrong?".

"Jarvis?"

"Tony's personal a.i- I'll aquatint you to it later. What happened?"

You look back to Steve who was no longer there, quickly having left the scene to find Stark. Nat's hands rubbed up and down your shoulder comfortingly as you brought your attention back to her.

"Captain Rogers had concerns about me making it home safely, he asked me to stay in the Tower for the night"

Her brows drew together in thought as she processed the information "Well alright then. Let's get you situated, would you rather stay with me or one of the guest rooms?"

"If I can stay with you, I'd like that," you tell her as she escorts you through the foyer, in the brighter light of the common room floor you stood stunned (other than the incessant picking and fidgeting at your own fingers.) The room was compromised of superheroes living normally and comfortably with each other.

Tony and Steve stood off to the side discussing the parameters of your stay, A long blonde-haired god had also been sitting in the kitchen, partially listening in on the conversation and partially paying attention to the Scarlett Witch.

The woman in question seemed to have a third sense as Nat lead you into the room, hopping up from her barstool seat rushing over to the two of you.

"It's so nice to meet you! We've all heard so much of you."

"Really?" You question looking back at your friend.

"Partially from Tony, Pepper, and I- partially Clint spying on us."

"He was spying on us? He likes good coffee and sits at the back of the restaurant we go to for lunch."

"Were you ever going to tell me?"

"It was more of a precautionary detail, I didn’t want to alarm you without cause."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Scarlett." You say to the brunette woman with a nod. She looks at you for a second before small giggles escape her mouth. "Please that's just the name I'm given in the press. My real name is 'Wanda."

"My apologies!"

"No worries, you ver very respectful about it."

The three of you fell into an easy groove, as well as a silly debate sparked by Wanda, claiming she'd steal you from your closest friend.

Your eyes kept drifting to the back of the room, Tony's agreeable nodding to Steve's hand movements. Panning across the room, your eyes connected with the giant of a man, god? Who had been looking in your direction, your eyes met and widened you quickly averted your gaze back to the floor by Natasha's feet. Taking a second to reel from the contact.

"So precious peach has finally decided the grace the upper floors with her presence." Your boss’s voice rang in your ears as he addressed you.

"Sorry for the drop in Mr. Stark, Captain Rogers insisted."

"Well no harm done, Pepper's been trying to get you up here for years. Guess all it took was a 6ft something action figure." He cocked his brow motioning to Steve, drink still in hand as he does so.

Startled at the accusation you jump to defend yourself-

"No! T-that’s not- I didn't." The words stumbled out of your mouth and Natasha puts a hand on your shoulder.

"Персик he's teasing. C'mon, I have some clothes of yours you sent over for Wanda when she first moved in."

The two girls lead you away from the male-dominated space, you peer back to Rogers and he offers you a tight-lipped smile as your ushered away.

"Thank you by ze way, Pierto I'm sure will thank you for the men's clothing if you run into him."

"It was no bother- I owned more than enough and when Natty mentioned you two were moving in without anything I figured you could use some stuff before Tony and Pepper get you settled."

"Natty?"

"Don't you dare."

"Oh, no, no, you are never living this down, Natalia!"

The girls did a great job helping you feel safe in the tower, to the point all three of you essentially dog piled in Natasha’s bed for the night, she's probably the closest friend you've made since working for Stark, treating you more like a sister than anything.

Hours later your eyes seem to flutter open on their own, it's still dark outside as the sleep shakes from you.

As carefully as you possibly can you untangle yourself from your place on Nat's chest, stealing a pair of her slippers you migrate to the common room. It seems no one's there this time of night, the self-sustaining tower is still lit up much like all the other buildings littering the night’s sky.

Quietly you settle yourself down on one of the luxurious couches, pressing deep into the cushions. You lay your head back, neck-craning. You can't be sure just how long you say this way but a deep jovial voice rouses you from the position.

"Was it not a plentiful night for you either?"

Your head snaps the Norse god standing in the doorway,

"I don't know if plentiful, is the way to describe it...but I couldn't sleep very well, no."

He offers you this look, it's almost reminiscent of a puppy dog smile. It's almost strange to see him so... Relaxed? He's this huge avenger- a god, but here he stands before you in gray sweatpants and a... Captain America hoodie?

The laugh bubbles up in your throat, maybe it's your sleep-deprived mind getting to you, Thor watches all this happen as he hesitantly makes his way to the couch as well.

"I'm- so sorry!" The loud whisper burns from your throat, "I just didn't expect to see the shield on you."

He looks again questioningly, now down at his own attire, like he hadn't even noticed when he dressed. His smile grows wider in acknowledgment.

"Ha! Yes, Rogers and I once had a bit of a mix-up! We never really switched back, he still has mine as far as I know."

"Well, you two are the longest-haired blondes I'm sure the fans mistake you both for each other a lot."

He let out another rumbling laugh, moving closer for you to lean against his broad shoulder.

"I think, that is an improbable scenario."

"Why?"

"Well, we all have those that... Prefer some of us over the others. Roger's can be quite a bit aggressive."

"I can't imagine him not discouraging that."

"No, he does, he's quite good about it, but that doesn't stop them nonetheless."

A yawn manages to escape you, feeling weightless as Thor lets you snuggle into him.

"Well, what about you?"

"Hmm, what about me?"

"Are you fans as aggressive?"

"No, not at all. I fear... I fear I'm not always enough for them, it's been said by quite a few I should have done better to keep Loki off of Midgard."

"Oh Thor that's not your fault, you can't control anyone's actions but your own."

"I'm sure this is true, but at times it is difficult to believe. There are those who argue I should have known better and realized my brother was not entirely himself, and the others who say I should have stopped him from ever escaping."

"Well, both of those are stupid if you ask me. You've done great things on your own, and you shouldn't let others tell you differently."

"Thank you, it seems foolish but it's nice to be heard out at times."

"It's not foolish, everyone likes to be validated." It's the last thing you manage to say to the god, his arm pillowing you as you fall deeper into sleep, eyes fluttering shut. The blonde’s breathing is the last thing you hear.

Love and Lover's masterpost.

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sergeant-spoons · 2 years

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13. Reason

Bernadette Noel

Taglist: @thoughpoppiesblow @vintagelavenderskies @wexhappyxfew @50svibes @tvserie-s-world @adamantiumdragonfly @ask-you-what-sir @whovian45810 @brokennerdalert @holdingforgeneralhugs @claire-bear-1218 @heirsoflilith @itswormtrain @actualtrashpanda

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January in Georgia was just as gloomy as December, if not more. The English girls were better off than the American boys in spirits- or, at least, those who'd grown up in the southern half of the British island -but they, in turn, had to deal with hefty cloud covers and days on end without even boarding their planes. As their captain, Bernadette had a duty to keep Tare Squadron adhered to at least some safety precautions. On occasion, she neglected those for herself, taking up Rosie or Thelma or another girl for a flight through the dark clouds. On the 23rd, there was a hailstorm, and she had to stay circling above the clouds for nearly four hours until the storm let up. Her superiors chewed her out so bad, she didn't risk going back up like that for a week. She should have been flying alone, she knew that, and now Délia (her co-pilot that day) became nervous around her on the airfield. A temporary fright, Berni was sure, but she still felt bad for it.

Today, the 30th of the month, Berni was anticipating another talking-to from some higher-up or another. Damn Americans could be awfully terse when it came to matters of retribution in their young army. As she marched into the medbay just past eleven that morning, her back prickling from the way Polly had unceremoniously ushered her inside, she set her jaw and kept her steely eyes towards the floor.

"Flygirl."

Berni, who'd gone to the sink to run the tap over her split knuckles, looked to her side to find Joe Liebgott sitting casually on a bunk by the southwesterly window. She nodded a hello, and his halfway smile vanished when he caught a glimpse of her bloodied fingers.

"Who-"

"Joe." She shot him a frown, tired and cross. "If you're about to say something about my fighting, I swear to God, I'll-"

"Shit, Flygirl, I'm here for the same reason."

Spying the wrappings around his left wrist and the way he tried to hide a wince when he shifted his posture, she supposed he'd been in a fight, too.

"Look at us," she replied drily. "A pair of miscreants, through and through."

"The hell does that mean?" There was no venom or disdain in the question. Just curiosity.

"Means you're two hot-headed fools," chimed in a new, slow voice from the doorway to the storage room, and the two unwanting patients looked that way. Berni tried to hide her hands by pretending to clasp them behind her back. Eugene Roe, who didn't miss a thing, sighed and retreated for more bandages.

"A match made in heaven," Liebgott joked into the silence.

"Fallen angels," Berni agreed, crossing the room to his perch with a smile despite herself.

"What'd he say?"

Berni glanced up from her fingers, wondering how long it would take the blood to disappear from her cuticles this time.

"Hmm?"

"Bet you fought him for a reason, whoever it was." He leaned forward on the bunk, bracing his elbows against his thighs. "I know what that's like."

She studied his face and he studied hers for much longer than they should have. Roe came back, bandaged Berni's hand, told her she was free to leave. She glanced at Lieb, and when she saw he wouldn't be going anywhere, she decided to stay a minute more.

"Lie down," the medic instructed Lieb as if he'd been saying this all afternoon. His patient reluctantly did as asked until Roe had gone outside, summoned by an officer stopping by with his jeep and aide.

"He grabbed Rosie."

"What?"

Berni hopped up on the bunk beside Lieb and leaned against the wall, feeling the bumps of the painted drywall press through the back of her shirt. Her shoulderblade twinged but she ignored it.

"He was some bloke I didn't know, but Rosie knew him. Rosie Glass."

"What'd he look like?"

"Sandy hair, slouchy face. Arrogant. Might've been in Easy, I couldn't tell."

"Sounds like Roy Cobb."

Berni glanced at the clock across the room, enjoyed the sunlight glinting off of its surface despite knowing the beam would reflect right into her eyes in only a few minutes' time.

"Might be."

"What'd he do?"

"Grabbed Rosie."

Cobb- if that's who he was -had come up to Rosie, who was reading beneath the old sycamore near the girls' barracks. Berni was watching warily from the porch, playing Kings in the Corner with Thelma and Venus. Cobb was joined by two friends after a minute. They looked like they wanted him to go, though they greeted Rosie pleasantly enough. When she stood up, glancing towards her watchful captain, Cobb took hold of Rosie's arm and twirled her around.

Where you goin', pretty lady?

"Now that I think of it, Wynn was there."

"Popeye?" Lieb furrowed his brow. "Woulda thought he'd step in."

"He was about to," Berni assured. "I just beat him to it."

Berni jumped over the porch banister and stumbled onto the grass. Rosie attempted to pull out of Cobb's grasp, but he was stronger than she. One of his friends stepped in, pushed his arm down. Berni, jogging briskly towards them, readied her fists. She could hear footsteps behind her, but they slowed when she reached the group. She was relieved to know Thelma had paused with the knowledge her captain could handle herself in the inevitable altercation.

Good morning, she said through gritted teeth and promptly slugged Cobb in the chest.

"Fuck."

"He deserved it," Berni replied, harsher than she meant to in defensiveness. She was inching towards Lieb on the cot, mostly because her prediction of the clock's glare was coming true as they spoke, and he tried to wrap his arm around her, then seemed to think better of it. Instead, he leaned his palm against the cot just past her hip, watching the wall as silence fell between them once more. What she did not mention was how, after Polly broke up the fight, Rosie stumbled into her captain's side, trying not to cry. She took her glasses off to wipe at her eyes, trying to be subtle, whimpering I'm sorry and I'm horrid at standing up for myself and I get teased so often, I can't imagine I'm not a nuisance. Berni hugged her, brought her back towards the barracks, reassured her-

Absolutely not, you are an invaluable member of the squadron, go read your book and catch your breath, and-

-until Polly grabbed her by the arm and hauled her off to the medbay.

Journey to the End of the Night, that was the book. Some Frenchman wrote it about the first war, and Rosie had told Berni the night prior it was hauntingly similar to how the Europe of today was suffering all over again. Rosie lent the book to one of the Easy lads, Shifty Powers, last week. She'd just gotten it back to reread, if Berni was remembering right- they were friends, weren't they, him and Rosie? Shifty was a good sort. He'd keep an eye out for her if Berni asked him to. Maybe she should.

"Cobb can be a dick sometimes."

"Only sometimes?" Berni shot back skeptically.

Liebgott snorted a laugh, pretending he couldn't answer as honestly as he'd have liked to. "Sometimes," he repeated at last, and it was a more moderate response than she'd expected from him.

Berni checked three jacket pockets before she found her dwindling pack of cigarettes, and she offered one to him. He took the smoke with a slight smile and she moved to light it for him before realizing her lighter was now the property of one Thelma Duran.

"Damn." She made a face. "You think the medics keep matches around here?"

"I wouldn't count on it. But hey-" Lieb withdrew a maroon lighter from his trousers pocket with a slight flourish. "-will this do?"

She smirked and let him light her cigarette before his own. Drawing in a deep drag, she closed her eyes and felt her lungs fill with that familiar ache. Such a terrible vice, she knew, but she didn't care. She was young and the world was at war, so fuck it. They watched the smoke rise for a minute or two, then Berni got up and opened the window, coaxing the air to clear.

"How about you, then?" she asked, returning to the cot.

Lieb shot her a puzzled look.

"Who fucked up and had you to deal with?"

"Ah." He laughed, and there was a tension beneath his words she hadn't noticed before. "Some kid from Fox thought he could talk all tough. I told him to scram and he called me a dumb Jew, so I knocked him on his ass."

"And a bit more than that, I bet."

But she was smiling, and Lieb's brow turned upwards.

"What, you think I went too far?"

"For that insult? No." Berni shook out her hands over her lap, one then the other. "I've walloped bastards like that for less."

"I don't doubt it."

They shared a slight smile. This time, when Lieb moved his arm, it did settle around her waist. She swatted him down, mostly for propriety's sake. He smirked and said something along the lines of suit yourself, and, while avoiding his gaze, she grabbed his hand and replaced it on her upper waist.

"That's what I thought."

"Don't test your luck, Tadpole."

He groaned, like he always did. "Doll..."

"What do you think they'll say to me?" Berni studied her bandaged fists. "The higher-ups, I mean. The big shots."

"I usually get latrine duty from Sobel," Lieb admitted grimly. "You probably won't. Probably.”

"That's... reassuring."

"And he can't demote you, captain. But hey-" He flashed her a grin. "-you got my company to look forward to if you do draw that short stick."

She pretended to consider the pros and cons, and he was so 'offended' he flopped backward onto the cot with a gallant sigh.

"I get this close to understanding you, Flygirl, and then I figure I'm way off track."

"Not really," she admitted despite the voice in the back of her head warning she was getting too familiar. "I think we're rather alike."

He leaned up on his elbows, refocusing on her at once. "Oh, yeah?"

"For one, you fight for the same reason I do."

She tipped her head, an indication for him to sit back up, and he did.

"People think I'm a violent person," she said. "That I like sending idiots like your Roy Cobb there to the infirmary."

He shied away from her a little, but he was only teasing, and when she made a face in protest, he came right back, even closer than before.

"Yeah, they say that about me, too."

"Exactly." She leveled her gaze on his. "But we're not really that violent. Not unless we have reason to be."

He was starting to smile, understanding her train of thought. "We're just fighting 'cause we have to," he said, and she nodded.

"If we didn't, our friends and our morals would hurt for it."

"Exactly!" He threw his hands up. "And they said there was no such thing as a perfect woman."

She started to laugh, and by the time she'd composed herself, Joe's smirk was very close to her lips.

"Perfect, huh? Haven't heard that one before."

He glanced at her mouth quite deliberately.

"I wouldn't mind saying it again."

Berni thought for certain he was about to kiss her. She knew she shouldn't accept it, but she was curious, and out of any American to canoodle with, he would be her preference. For better or for worse, Doc Roe reappeared just then, hopping back through the screen door with surprising speed for a man who spoke so languidly most of the time. Berni hopped off the bunk and Joe turned his head away. Roe glanced between them but said nothing, and Berni left with the sun smarting her eyes and a dizzy sort of feeling encompassing her whole head.

A feeling that she, despite everything she ought to heed, wanted more of.

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#band of brothers #bernadette noel #band of brothers oc ficlet #tare squadron #there goes my flight #bernadette noel ficlet #bernadette noel 13: reason #band of brothers oc #band of brothers ficlet #hbo war show #hbo war show oc #hbo war show oc ficlet #hbo war show ficlet #oc ficlet #band of brothers quote #band of brothers fanfiction #hbo war show fanfiction #oc fanfiction

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keelywolfe · 3 years

Text

FIC: Snowdrifts ch.4 (spicyhoney)

Summary: It's Edge's first day as a stay-at-home child caregiver. It'll be fine, he has a plan! How much trouble can one little baby be?

Tags: Spicyhoney, Violence, Rescued Child, Medical Experimentation, Babybones

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

“All right, child, we need to come to an understanding,” Edge said firmly, hands on his hips. He was standing over Snow, who was in her highchair, sucking vigorously on her fingers and looking up at him with wide eye lights. They were alone in the Swap brothers’ kitchen in the late morning, all the others having consumed breakfast and gone off to the respective jobs or job searches as the case may be. Blue made a hearty breakfast of eggs and sausages, and if grape jelly wasn’t Edge’s preferred seasoning for sunny side up yolks, he certainly wasn’t about to start his tenure here by complaining about the food.

Tomorrow he would get up earlier to make breakfast, Edge told himself. He’d been here for two nights now, he needed to begin adjusting to his new sleep schedule and stop lying about in bed. Today he would be implementing some changes and as former Captain of the Snowdin guard, it was up to him to maintain order. He could do this and now was the time to begin.

“Today I start on my duties as your caretaker and also homemaker,” Edge announced to his audience of one. “I am going to wash the breakfast dishes now. You,” he pointed a finger at Snow and she tried to focus on the sharpened tip, her large eye lights crossing, “will remain there until I am finished. You have your cereal and toys, keep yourself busy and I will be finished soon."

With that, Edge gave her a last nod and turned towards the sink. Before he could even stick his hands into the soapy water, Snow let out a wail.

He hunched down as if struck by a blow and turned back towards her. “No,” he said sternly. “I can’t carry you all day, I have chores to do. You have food and toys, you can entertain yourself.”

Unfortunately, Snow was not at all receptive to his perfectly sound reasoning. Large tears were rolling down her plump cheekbones and she batted away the little bowl of cereal. It fell off the tray to the floor, scattering tiny ‘o’s across the linoleum. Both her upraised arms reached for him as she bawled loudly and Edge, who once walked home on a broken ankle without so much as limping to keep the weakness concealed, folded like a paper sack in a rainstorm.

He pulled the tray loose, scattering more cereal bits, and swept her into his arms, patting her back as he crooned, “All right, shhhh, it’s all right, little one. It’s all right.”

The tears dried up with suspicious ease and soon Snow was chortling happily again. Any move towards putting her in the chair made those joyful sounds melt away and Edge was forced to settle her into his lap as he sat on the floor to clean up the newest mess. Between the two of them, they picked up most of the fallen cereal with entirely too much of it ending up in Snow’s mouth before he could stop her.

“I suppose we should be grateful Blue keeps his floor clean,” Edge sighed.

“Brzzt,” Snow replied as she chewed happily on another filched floor treat.

It became an endless cycle. He would attempt to set her down, the child would cry, and Edge would cave and quickly pick her back up. The dishes sat in the sink untouched, the dregs of jelly and eggs drying into crusts while Edge could do nothing to prevent it.

It was hours later when Snow finally started drooping, her little sockets growing heavy. Edge sat with her in the recliner and rocked her to sleep, and then with the same care one might use while handling a volatile soufflé, Edge eased her into her little pillow pile and sighed in relief. If she kept true to her schedule, she’d sleep for at least an hour and that would give him enough time to wash the dishes, perhaps fold yesterday’s laundry and—

The front door flew open hard enough to crash into the other wall as Stretch came in, dusted with snow and his cheekbones flushed bright orange from the cold as he sang out, “lunchtime! what’s shakin’, bacon, got anything cookin’, good lookin’?””

He’d barely finished his verbal abuse of pork products and cookery before Snow began to wail.

“I just got her to sleep! Why would you—!“ Edge realized he was wailing at nearly the same volume as the baby and shut his mouth with a hard click, gritting his teeth until he tasted dust.

“whoopsie, sorry, sugar butt!” Stretch only laughed and Edge reminded himself that dusting was not considered a suitable punishment in Underswap, even for a crime so heinous as this one. Stretch kicked off his shoes and walked over to scoop her up, snuggling her until her cries dimmed down into tired hiccoughs. “didn’t mean to bust in on naptime.” He cocked a brow bone at Edge, who only slumped down and glared back. “must’ve been a rough morning sitting on the sofa the whole time, huh? lazing around ain’t exactly your modus operandi.”

“Lazing!” Edge sputtered. He shot to his feet and managed to lower his voice just in time as Stretch hissed a warning. “I have not been sitting on the sofa! I have been trying to get some housework done, but Snow keeps crying if I’m not holding her! I’ve yet to do the morning dishes, there’s laundry waiting to be folded. I’d planned to make lunch for you all and all I have to offer is you floor cereal!” He took a deep breath, ashamed of how close it sounded to a sob and swung away from Stretch, facing the wall and admitting to the blank drywall, “I don’t think I can do this.”

“woah, hang on,” Stretch said behind him. “pull back on the reins for a sec. edge, this is your first day at this, okay? bet you didn’t learn all your puzzles in one day.”

“Puzzles are complex tools that take weeks of planning, she is one child!”

“kids are plenty complex, edgelord, until you figure out how they work.” He sidled up next to Edge and slung an arm around his shoulders, giving him a gentle shake. “you know, letting her cry a bit isn’t gonna hurt her. if she’s clean and fed, she can take sitting on the floor for a little while.”

“No,” Edge said decisively. “I will not allow her to think her cries are going unheard, she’s not sobbing into a void in my presence.” When he turned to look at Stretch, he saw the other skeleton was giving him a strange little smile. “What?”

He only shook his head, sighing out, “oh, you got it bad already.”

“Got it? Got what, I can’t be sick,” Edge said, and already panic was starting to swell. “If I’m sick, I’ve been holding the baby all day, she could be ill as well!”

“nah, edgelord, calm down,” Stretch chuckled, “it ain’t contagious, well, not like that, and even if it was, it wouldn’t hurt anybody.” That crooked little smile widened. “think we’re all developing a serious case of superfluous adoptive parentalitis.”

It took entirely too long for Edge’s weary mind to puzzle that out and when he did, he could only sigh in exasperation. “You aren’t helping.”

“never said i was, but don’t you worry, edgelord, i got tricks up my sleeves that amateur houdinis only wish they knew. hang on.”

He went into the other room, still cradling the drowsy baby, and came back with Edge’s scarf, embarrassingly wrinkled from its overstay in the dryer. Edge watched in confusion as Stretch knotted the ends together, then tied it across Edge’s chest into a sort of sling.

“okay, snowflake, in we go.” Deftly, he slipped the baby into the scarf before Edge could protest. He nearly panicked, expecting the baby to come crashing out to the floor. Instead, her little bottom settled snugly into the pocket it created, her short legs spread on either side of his ribcage. She snuggled in contently, yawning widely as she cuddled in against his sternum, and drifted almost immediately to sleep.

“see?” Stretch said softly. “she doesn’t want your arms, she only wants to be close, and now your hands are free. well, kinda, she’ll probably keep ‘em pretty full one way or another.” He smiled wryly, tucking his own hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels. “i’d tell you to let the housework go, but i’m pretty sure i’d be wasting my breath.”

“Other houseparents manage,” Edge said, firmly, “I will, too!”

“oh yeah?” Stretch countered, “other houseparents manage with no help at all, huh. how many other houseparents do you know?”

“I know enough.”

Stretch crossed his arms over his chest. “name three.”

Edge floundered, unprepared for the sudden quiz, “Um...the Cleavers, the Cunninghams—"

“from tv doesn’t count.”

Years of experience taught Edge when it was time to abandon a strategy. “That doesn’t matter. Other households don’t matter. I will manage this!”

“uh huh.” Edge was too startled to flinch when Stretch reached up and gently took hold of his face with both hands, his slim fingers still chilly from the cold outdoors. “remember what i said about not slapping away any helping hands.”

“You did help,” Edge admitted grudgingly. He tugged the scarf a little more securely around Snow. The baby didn’t stir, only slept on peacefully. “This was a good idea.”

“gonna help more, too,” Stretch said cheerily, dropping his hands and pitching his voice low, “you head over to the breakfast dishes and i’ll get lunch on track, yeah?”

“But—”

“i didn’t starve before you got here, edgelord, i can make sandwiches.”

It was the truth, Edge knew it was, and yet it still didn’t sit well. The bargain was that he would stay home instead of earning G, he should be able to do this, how could one tiny baby take up so much time and energy…that thought was abruptly derailed and Edge nearly jumped out of his clothes as Stretch gave him a little slap on the backside before strolling towards the kitchen. Retaliation wasn’t possible while he was holding the child, but Edge made a mental note to add this transgression to his tally as he followed after him.

The urge for any revenge reluctantly vanished when Stretch suddenly swung around and leaned in to drop a soft kiss on top of Snow’s skull. It was enough of a distraction that he couldn’t react when that quick kiss was transferred to his own mouth. Stretch didn’t linger to watch Edge gape at him, only headed to the refrigerator and began scrounging through it, leaning in to survey the contents.

“hmm, we got some leftover chicken, how about some chicken salad—eep!” Stretch whirled around on a yelp, rubbing his backside as he stared in disbelief at Edge, who was already making his way to the sink and the dishes.

“What was that?” Edge asked coolly. “Something about playing chicken?”

That sudden grin should have been worrisome, but Edge only felt a trill of anticipation as Stretch said with dark, deep intent, “oh, don’t you worry, honey, i can play. but first, lunch.”

Yes, lunch, that was in order. As Edge washed the dishes, the baby sleeping warmly against his chest and the plates clinking softly in the soapy water, he considered what sort of games Stretch might have in mind. Once he got a handle on this parenting strategy, he might switch his focus to the puzzle of Stretch. It would have to wait, for now, because when he began, Edge was certain it was a mystery that would require his full attention.

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #drifters

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split-n-splice · 4 years

Photo

This arc is for introducing some faces around them. Everyone's got their problems to contend with~

[Chapter Guide | FFn | Ao3]

28. Aura of Others – 2

She knew the morning was off to a good start when a scream followed the frantic beeping of an unfamiliar alarm clock, and she cracked her eyes open in time to see a familiar blue someone flail and tumble out of bed. She was glad the lamp was on so she could catch the spectacular fall from grace.

She barely kept the laugh to herself as the startled man picked himself up, staring at her wide-eyed over the edge of the bed. Panic-stricken and stammering, he welcomed her to sleep in for another half hour, or an hour, or all day if she pleased, but she had to decline no matter how tempting. She had places to be, unfortunately.

The second Drakken excused himself hastily to his own private bathroom, she threw back the sheets to check for any sign of burnt fiber. She was pleasantly surprised and gave herself a pat on the back for making it through the night without incident, even as her face burned as she quickly dressed. She hoped the gambler wouldn’t push his luck next time either – and then banished the thought from her mind. There wouldn’t be a next time. This was a one-time occurrence. A simple test of will.

She had the feeling she was lying to herself as she wore another of Drakken’s sweaters to Buckley’s to hide the fact she hadn’t exactly changed out of yesterday’s outfit. And she knew she wasn’t fooling anyone else either when he was the first customer of the day, smiling pleasantly as she served him joe to go. When he turned to leave, Shilo had to tear her stare away from the green elastic band holding the ponytail he’d taken the time to neatly put up himself.

Eyes of future-henchgirls drove daggers into her back. She heard the low voice of Buckley in the kitchen muttering to Chester, but couldn’t make out what she rumbled. No doubt something displeased, and Shilo was sure it was about her. If it weren’t for the generous tip Drakken slipped into the jar, the baker might have said – or done – something to him to chase him off.

As it were, Drakken was in no hurry to leave, courteously holding a door open for a blithe young man with a pep in his step that made Shilo’s blood run cold before inciting the dreaded fire once again.

She felt suddenly far too small for the sweater hung around her. If only she could disappear into it. If only it wouldn’t be so childish to duck behind the counter to make Gail take the order. It was too late for hiding now anyway.

Ignoring Drakken lingering at the open door was just as hard as looking up at the next customer. She forced a smile for the increasingly familiar boy beaming back at her, and she warmed over as if standing in a sunray from heaven. She couldn’t say she liked it, but she couldn’t say she didn’t either.

“I, um. H-hey—,” she clamped her mouth shut and gave a small cough to clear her throat. She tried again before Abigail could shove her aside to take over, and managed to utter a coherent greeting the second time. “What can I get you, angel boy?”

Angel boy smothered his grin and glanced to the case. “Caramel latte and a cinnamon roll to go today, please,” he answered promptly as if he’d rehearsed it. If he was uneasy, he disguised it well.

It would have been an easy enough task if she weren’t aware of Drakken still standing in the doorway, watching with unnerving interest. She almost spilled the latte when she handed it over. As she fumbled with the register, she caught a glimpse of the felon pointing at the angel boy, almost as if aiming a finger-gun at his back.

Drakken’s raised brow and inquiring gesture didn’t help the heat spreading across her face or building in her chest. She was eager to get them both out of the shop. She even considered calling for Buckley to scare the rogue doctor away, at the very least.

For as much as he stared and beamed at her, angel boy didn’t seem to notice the peeks she shot past him, or the dismissive flick of her wrist in a vain attempt to shoo Drakken off. She didn’t need to squirm under the analytical stare of a rogue scientist when she was already caught in the radiance of an angel boy, and she was all the more convinced she needed to get a grip on herself and Lady Fate’s gift.

“Hope to see you soon,” said angel boy warmly as he left, but Shilo could only spare the tiniest wave in goodbye before hiding her hands behind the counter once more.

Dr. Drakken was still rooted in place, continuing to hold the door open and let the heat out. The young man cast a perturbed glance up at him and another glance over his shoulder to Shilo before going on his merry way. It took Drakken another moment of standing there, watching the blond depart, before he turned his eyes back to Shilo. She tried to ignore the arch of his brow or the smile that split across his face.

“Interesting,” he piped, grinning smugly her way. Her face burned and she had to wring her hands under the counter to snuff out the heat in her palms. “I didn’t take you for a nervous Nellie.”

A small hand curled around Shilo’s shoulder. Abigail was a fraction of Buckley’s size, but with a little genetic manipulation and training, she could one day compare to the role model. She’d taken lessons from her, and must have been able to replicate the baker’s sneer perfectly because Drakken took a step back out the door when Gail curtly snapped at him, “There something wrong with your order, sir? No? Then get outta here. No loitering.”

Effectively told off, Drakken left with haste.

Later that day, when Shilo was at last relieved of duty for the afternoon, she almost made a beeline for the lair, compelled to chew out the man for stirring trouble with her at Buckley’s Brew, which had lived up more to its unscrupulous underground name of Jackass Joe’s on this fine day. Between customers, she’d suffered critical glares, poking, prodding, elbowing, and snide comments like two-timer and skank. On an average day, she could take every name in the book in stride, but it hadn’t made getting through this day easier when she was already fighting to put out the hellfire stoked by an angel.

She hadn’t made it far before the chill in the air wicked away the heat, and she breathed easier than she had all day. A misty drizzle fell, and she was convinced to go home instead when she missed the bus. She had better things to do than get herself worked up over a smug man who found her plight interesting.

Better things, such as going home and sweeping up the glass she’d left scattered across her bathroom floor.

When Shilo entered her dingy apartment, she jumped, spying a large rat dart behind the fridge. Swearing aloud, she raised a hand, drawing up energy into her palm, and readied a blast fit for a rodent as she shoved the fridge back. The vermin disappeared through a hole chewed in the drywall before she could take the shot.

The ball of plasma still crackled in her palm, bubbling and dripping, and Shilo found herself unable to recall the glow still desperate for an exit. It was abnormal, but not the first time she’d been faced with the predicament, and it was an unwelcome reminder she didn’t have as much control of it as she wished she did.

She realized as she washed the sizzling alien fire down the sink that she hadn’t done much to relieve herself of the bottled energy lately. She stared into the sink, hoping that washing plasma down it wouldn’t make the pipes any leakier, and optimistically added to herself that maybe it would unclog the drain.

She mulled it over while cleaning the neglected bathroom. With no glass door to hide behind anymore, the special prescription stared her down from its perch on the shelf in the medicine cabinet. She considered, between the lack of suppressant and lack of an outlet, maybe she was spilling over. Could she overflow? She knew she could get riled up and overcharge – there was even emergency protocol for that – but she couldn’t recall a time she’d ever gone more than a week without throwing a few plasma balls for target practice at the very least.

Rubbing her throbbing head, she tried to recall the last time she’d let loose at all. She’d used her glow as a light source a few nights ago on the way home from Vegas, but that was a low-level energy release with hardly any power behind it and no heat to the flame. She’d worked on hand-to-hand combat with the henchmen, but she’d played fair. The last time she could remember really giving her glow the slightest workout was the day Drakken gave her the new gloves. That had been weeks ago.

Bathroom clean enough to stand barefoot in again, she was dressing down to settle in for the evening when she emptied the pockets of her jeans out of habit. The bracelet and note she pulled out nearly caught fire – and she once again found herself unable to extinguish it without a little help.

This time she was rinsing the plasma down the bathroom sink though, and this time the suppressant was staring her in the face. She’d circumvent it if she could. And she would. She had to – because relying on the medication would only hamper her, and that just wasn’t happening anymore. It would only put her under GJ’s thumb and at their mercy.

Shilo forgot about her PJ’s waiting for her on the bathroom counter and dressed into a new pair of jeans, one of her own sweaters, and the slicker jacket, and headed out the door into the rainy evening.

She had energy to burn off.

It was only a hunch, but it was worth a shot. Besides, she had to try, or she might never make it through a date with an angel boy capable of thwarting her self-control and setting her on fire with a single look.

So she skulked through the rain as the twilight fell, her feet carrying her to a bridge over the river that ebbed and flowed like the tide. She cast a look around before stepping over the guardrail into a prohibited area of the canal, pushing her way through branches and bushes on her descent down the muddy slope to find flat ground beneath the bridge.

The river was a safe enough target. It swallowed each blast, the green blobs of molten plasma gulped up by the muddy water. Steam rose, and not just from the water, but from herself as well. She soon shed her slicker and her sweater, and she briefly considered that she might have been better off wearing her gear out here, but it was a little late in the evening to go back for it now.

She only stopped when she heard a vehicle stop on the bridge above. She realized, with a sudden frigid wave of dread, that a fogbank was flowing out from the downstream end of the bridge. It was sure to have caught some eyes.

Heaving for breath, she held her fire – and was glad she could finally recall it – as she pressed to the wall and waited for the curious witness to leave. When they didn’t move along, she held her breath and listened for a car door. Something. Anything.

The warmth burned down her arms again, and she was second-guessing if she really had her alien fire back under control after all – when finally she heard wet tires rolling. But the vehicle didn’t go far. She heard the engine cut, a door, and soon heard the squelching of footsteps coming down the muddy bank.

If it was an officer coming to investigate, her things were simply too far away to risk diving forward and grabbing. She’d be seen for sure. So she bolted the other direction, hooking around the wall and glancing back under the bridge before staring miserably up the embankment thick with vegetation above her.

Passing through it silently was hopeless, but she did her best, glad the recent rains had at least saturated the sticks and leaves enough to soften the sound of her slippery passage.

She ducked as she reached the top, fully expecting an officer or two, or at least a police cruiser – and felt her face heat when she saw the furthest thing from it.

An old brown station wagon with a taped-up back window was parked on the side of the road.

And behind her down the hill, someone was clearing his throat.

“You know there’s a flash flood advisory, don’t you?” Dr. Drakken called up at her, although he was the one presently standing in the danger zone by the water’s edge. He held her abandoned sweater and slicker draped over an arm. He nodded to the fogbank rolling slowly downriver and added, “Lovely work, by the way.”

“What are you doing here?” she snipped down at him as he began the awkward climb up the overgrown slope after her.

“Errands,” he answered curtly. That was hard to believe when he had henchmen to run errands for him.

“What kind of errands?”

Drakken shook his head in exasperation and snorted. “Must I tell you everything?”

“Yes.”

Halfway up the slope, he paused and looked up from watching his footing. Shilo didn’t like his silence, and she had the feeling the awkward reply, “Post office,” was little more than a bluff if not a total lie.

“Have you been spying on me again?” she pressed when he reached her at the top.

“Wh—nngg! No!” he sputtered, his face turning a funny shade she knew wasn’t from the nippy weather. She might have liked to see him flustered and choking on words if she weren’t still skeptical he wasn’t lying to her face. He shoved her things at her to free his hands for flailing. “I was just – I was – I heard it was supposed to rain. I was going to give you a ride from Buckley’s, but then I got distracted and ran a little late and—”

“Try four hours late,” Shilo snorted.

His lips pressed into a flat line and he grunted and glared away toward the car. “Better late than never though, right?” He skulked off for the vehicle.

Shilo was hesitant to follow, but the rain was coming down heavier by the moment. “I’ll forgive you for being creepy and stalking me – on one condition,” she haggled.

“Which is…?” he wearily prompted with a roll of his wrist.

“Cow-n-Chow drive-thru and swing by the movie shack,” she said as she came around to the passenger side. “Those are my demands.” She should have asked for a target range, but she didn’t consider it in time. At least she was good and cool now. Burning off some energy might have done her a fair bit of good after all.

“A small price to pay,” sighed Drakken. Meeting her inside the car, he added, “And I wasn’t stalking you. I was on my way to knock on your door like any respectable – uhm – to ask you—nngh!” He curled his lip and pushed his glasses up to rub his eyes.

“Any respectable what to ask me what?”

“Nothing.”

A few minutes later, the cross man was eating fries from a bag between his knees, and the sloshing windshield wipers couldn’t keep up with the downpour. They hadn’t spoken outside of placing an order at the window and were now cutting through town to find the rental shack before closing. She hadn’t expected Drakken to strike up conversation – or if she had, she’d expected some jeering about angel boy – but instead, he gave a morose hum and looked over at her.

“What was that about anyway? Under the bridge?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t give me that. You want me to be honest with you. And I told you, so it’s your turn.”

“No, you didn’t. You didn’t give me a full answer,” Shilo retorted, hopeful to divert the subject away from poorly-managed alien fire she couldn’t keep contained.

“I was coming to see you,” Drakken shot back at her. “I thought – geez, Shego! I thought that was clear already.”

“Why?” Better yet, why was she raising her voice?

“Because I – I don’t know. Hoping I can change your mind about – what was it you called him? Angel boy?”

Shilo pressed against the door. “What?”

“I was just hopeful we’d get out Friday, alright?” Drakken grouched. “Just us. Maybe a henchman. Or not. I thought we’d go do something thrilling and dangerous, like crossing state lines in this piece of crap. Because you’re right! You’re absolutely right. I need to get out sometimes. And it turns out, I do enjoy getting out with you.”

She watched him swallow and his brow knit into deep creases. And she gave a frustrated sigh, deciding not to fault him. At least he was being honest. Or at least she had to trust he was. She hugged herself. “Next Friday night. I promise,” she said. “But you’re gonna let me do this with – with what’s his face, and you’re not gonna stop me. You got that?”

Drakken was quiet. She didn’t miss his knuckles turning white as he gripped the wheel. “Loud and clear,” he grunted.

“Don’t be such a sore loser, Doc,” she grumbled, reaching into her own bag to pull out a pinch of overly-salted fries. “It’s not what you think.”

He scoffed. “Then what is it?”

She slumped back and kicked her muddy heels up on the dash. “I have a score to settle.” She couldn’t give him any more detail than that. She’d figure it out when she crossed that bridge. She knew only one thing – she’d make angel boy pay retribution, one way or another.

Drakken was quiet for a moment before he grumbled, “I am not a sore loser. I didn’t lose anything.” Shilo couldn’t help laughing a little at his frown. “I’m just – it’s nothing crucial – I’m just a little pissed off to have Friday plans pushed off the table, that’s all.”

“Live and learn,” she said around a mouthful, and shrugged. “Don’t set your heart on anything involving an us without consulting me first. ‘Kay?”

She had to take his harumph as a grunt of agreement.

There was no reason to nod up to her darkened apartment and suggest he come upstairs. It wasn’t a feeble attempt to butter him up – because there was no reason to be apologetic for the clash of plans, much less apologetic for the existence of a boy who could stir something wretched in her. She had a movie, and movies were better with company. That was why Drakken followed her up the stairs.

The heater was kicked into operation and shoes were kicked off. Drakken’s jacket hung next to her slicker on the rack. He grudgingly agreed to the chore of popping the tape in while Shilo made the popcorn as the previews played.

She couldn’t help stealing a peek over her shoulder at the man kneeling before her television balanced on a small shelf. He was a decidedly better sight on her shaggy rug than the hoodlum with the mutt. And unlike the hoodlum, she might have been at least a little compelled to be a good host to the rogue doctor presently threatening to disassemble her malfunctioning remote from his spot on the floor.

No sooner had the stray thought of inviting the man onto her bed – to make up for lack of a couch – crossed her mind did she come to the jarring realization that she had in fact not burned herself out. A soft popping sound wasn’t coming from the microwave – but rather the bubble and ooze of her glow escaping her palms.

A small gasp slipped out, and Drakken’s tired stare turning back at her didn’t ease the flush of heat. She hid her hands behind her back and slunk off to the bathroom.

There, she locked the door and wrung her hands.

She still felt watched, but she knew it was only her imagination. She found herself facing the sink. She squeezed her eyes shut and doused the licks of plasmic flame crawling over her hands and up her wrists under a stream of icy water, and all the while the orange bottle stared down at her.

There was no reason for her nerves to spike now. She wanted to blame it on the medication’s side-effects, or withdrawals, or something. Because it couldn’t be Drakken sitting in the other room, ready to watch a movie with her. That would complicate things.

Fire barely subdued for the moment, Shilo gripped the edge of the counter, telling herself she wouldn’t – yet one hand pried away, and the other had a pill in the palm a moment later. She drew a shaky breath, broke it in half, and nipped a piece off that, just like she used to on the average rough day in between classes. It was only a fraction of a dose. Unless big brother had upped the potency, it should be just enough to take the edge off without the risk of knocking her out cold. She’d get a little drowsy at the very most, she assured herself.

Just as bitter as she remembered, the crumb dissolved on her tongue before she could swallow. She resisted the urge to retch.

The smell of burnt popcorn all but yanked her from the bathroom then. She swore as she burst out the door, and startled to find Drakken dumping the remainder of blackened kernels into the trash. Her face heated, but no more than it should have.

“Most of it survived,” Drakken informed with a nod back to a bowl on the counter.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, and ducked back into the bathroom for another moment to change. She returned once and for all a minute later, dressed in full cotton PJs of a dingy shade of green, feeling just a little overdressed after last night and twice as flustered to consider it now. She almost wished she’d been under the influence, just for something to blame the rash decision on.

She tugged at the hems of her sleeves as she passed the man sitting on her floor again, and took up a spot at the head of her bed. He made no comment on her jammies. Good. She’d thwack him if he did.

As the movie opened up to the sound of sirens, Shilo shifted in place where she sat on the edge of the mattress, just close enough for her company to hand the bowl of popcorn up to her. She nibbled for a few minutes before shifting slightly again and stopping herself from patting the spot next to her. “Why don’t you sit up here?” she blurted anyway.

Drakken slouched, his legs kicked out and crossed at the ankle, arms folded over his chest. “Thank you, no,” he said stubbornly. “I’m good.”

Her eyebrows knit together at the blatant rebuff. Without pausing to think, she reached down to grab him by the hair at the top of his head, giving it a small tug as she crossly ordered, “Get your stupid ass off the floor.” At the first tingle, she snapped her hand away in time for sparks to glint at her fingertips. She wiped her hand on her shirt as if to erase the sensation.

Grunting, Drakken hefted himself up to slouch on the edge next to her, and he only sat straighter to accommodate the bowl relocated to his lap. Shilo migrated away to the corner, a pillow behind her and another to hug. As the new release rolled on, the unhappy blue man relaxed, inching backward until his feet were off the floor and his back was against the wall. He made headway on the popcorn, but she didn’t complain. She didn’t have much of an appetite at the moment anyway with arcs of blood spraying onscreen. Not that she could trust herself to reach for any popcorn with her hands still threatening to bloom with green embers.

In vain hope of resisting the siren call of the suppressant, she worked up the nerve to lean over and reach under her bed, fishing out the stylized glass water pipe. She cleared her throat, and just barely saw dark eyes flick her way past the massacre reflecting off his lenses. “You wanna break this in with me?” she quipped as nonchalantly as she could.

Drakken didn’t seem particularly alarmed or impressed by the paraphernalia she presented, but he’d seen it before. His only reply was a withering look.

Indulging anyway with or without him crossed her mind, but Shilo sheepishly tucked it back beneath the bed instead. “I’ll take that as a no,” she mumbled, and scoffed. “Pssh. You’re no fun.”

Drakken opened his mouth to argue, but a scream from the television cut him off. He didn’t look like he was enjoying the movie, but he’d yet to leave or suggest any other tape in her meager collection.

Sighing, Shilo relaxed into her bed and wriggled a bit to get comfortable, trying and failing to make the best of her limited space with her guest in the way. Uncomfortable or not, the weight of the day settled over her, weighing her eyelids down soon enough. Or maybe it was the fraction of a pill doing her in. She wondered if the supposed villain would be courteous enough turn off the TV and lock the door on his way out when the movie was over, but she didn’t let herself count on it.

After a while of watching the blurry shapes through her lashes, movement in the dark from the corner of her eye drew her sluggish attention.

She almost lifted her head to ask if he was leaving, but kept her silence as she watched him pull a square of paper from a back pocket. Her drowsiness slowly lifted as he unfolded the slip and frowned miserably. He chewed his lip and cast a fleeting glance her way, only to jump when she croaked, “What?”

He blinked back to the television, paper crumpled and hidden between his knees. “It’s nothing – ow!” he yelped when she drove her heel hard into his hip. “For fuck’s sake, Shego. It’s personal.”

“Whatever,” she mumbled, relaxing back into the pillow she hugged beneath her. Feigning acceptance or disinterest didn’t last long. Soon she was sitting up again, making a snappy grab for the wadded note he couldn’t hold out of reach in time.

He barked her alias again in annoyance as she scooted back to her corner to unfold the slip. She stuck a heel out again to keep him at a distance. “That is none of your business!” he spat at her.

“RSVP! You’re invited,” she began aloud with flair, and settled to mumbling along, one hand precariously lit to read the hand-written invitation on floral-print notepaper smelling of powder and flowers of a variety she couldn’t place. A polite invitation to thanksgiving dinner at Mrs. Lipsky’s home in Middleton, California, finished with a guilt-tripping dig, P.S. We miss you.

Her eyes glanced over the plus-one invitation once more before she arched an eyebrow at the purple-faced man resigned to sitting on the edge of the bed, gripping his head.

“Mrs. Lipsky? I didn’t know you were married—”

“That’s my mother,” he spat venomously.

Shilo almost winced, but instead she nodded. “Ah. That makes more sense, I guess. Um. Here.” She passed the invitation back. He snatched it and stuffed the crumpled paper back into a pocket, and she stared for a second too long before sitting back against the wall. “So. You gonna go?”

“No,” he grunted, barely audible. He’d gone back to clutching his head.

“Is the cooking that bad?” Shilo quipped in a meek attempt to make light of his disturbance.

Drakken’s nostrils flared and his glare bore down at her, and she had to take a wild guess he was deeply offended on his mother’s behalf. She made a mental note not to insult the woman she knew nothing about, or her cooking. He didn’t bite back at her for the comment though, and instead grumbled, “I can’t go.”

“Why not?” she pressed coolly. She relaxed back down on her side, pillows bundled under her.

“I haven’t seen Mother since—,” he groaned and deflated. By the light of a stormy night scene glowing from the television, he looked bluer than she’d ever seen him before.

“Since?”

He heaved a defeated sigh, and she barely heard him mumble, “Since before the incident.” A small gesture to himself sufficed. It shed a little light on why he was having such a bad day.

“Oh.” She quirked her mouth and shrank down a little. She had nothing to be guilty for. The chain of events wasn’t her fault. “How’d you get mixed up with Gemini anyway?” she blurted, and immediately considered that maybe she should have kept her lips zipped.

“I don’t want to dredge up – alright! Stop kicking me,” he groused, shoving her heel roughly away. “I suppose it all began in a Hellhole I bussed when I stole the game plan from one of his agents. And then after you – after I let you go.” He glowered and chewed on something bitter for a moment before spitting it out with some more frustrated gestures thrown in. “Right after. They tried to intercept but got me instead. I was interrogated, and he was about to off me himself until I pled for my life and offered my services and allegiance. It was not my proudest moment. Are you satisfied?”

She knew Gemini. She knew he could be cruel and merciless, holding little regard for human life. Drew Lipsky of four years ago must have shown promise, whatever he’d done to sway the head of the criminal spy organization. She tried to imagine her bumbling rogue doctor, still pasty-skinned and stinking of pickles, walking on eggshells around the leader of the pack. How he’d survived more than a day without being dropped down a chute to be fed to piranhas or crocodiles was a wonder. It had to be a sore spot.

A mousy little, “Sorry,” was the only thing Shilo could think to say.

“For what?” he grumped.

She shrugged halfheartedly. “For getting you mixed up with villainy?”

Suddenly the dismal man’s shoulders shook, but before she could suspect a sob, he threw his head back and a bitter chortle erupted from him. He was well on his way to maniacal laughter, and Shilo was taken aback as he laughed in the face of her sentiment. She wished she could take it back as he shot a nasty sneer over at her. For a fleeting moment, there was something sinister behind his eyes to remind her there may have very well been something to his self-proclaimed villain title after all.

“Sister, I was born twisted. You and Gemini were just the breakthrough I needed,” he stated with a growl like corrosive acid, maybe the same acid burning a hole through his soul. She’d like to believe he was more resilient than that – but that wouldn’t make him very evil, would it? That was what she was with him for, wasn’t it?

She felt rather foolish now for lying down so comfortably. For being comfortable in his presence at all. Too stubborn and jaded to let him know he was capable of worrying her though, she kept herself in check and maintained a deadpan stare on him until the darkness behind his eyes lightened up a little.

“Twisted, huh?” she jibbed with a small chuckle. “You seem like just a big softy to me.”

There was a hint of something genuine in the smile he cracked. “Oh, I’ve got skeletons,” he assured. “You should see my basement.”

She rolled her eyes at his misuse of the expression.

#Drakgo #Drakken #Shego #TCYK #The Company You Keep fic #TOTALLY posted that right the first time fffffsss

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erintoknow · 4 years

Text

it feels like a lie

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

Three lives to juggle means three times as many more lies and conflicting agendas. How is anyone supposed to balance all of this? [Please Just Go]

[Read on AO3]

Alarms blare inside your helmet. Shit. They realized you're here.

Rosie is on the other side of the city; you had her create a distraction coating Memorial Park in smoke to try and lure The Rangers away. After the bridge fiasco last week you could use a break, sick as you are of fighting Argent.

That doesn’t do anything for the local rent-a-cops.

With a practiced haste you fold up the sheaf of papers and tuck them into a black storage bag attached to your suit belt. You’ll have to go over the rest in detail when you’re back at your best.

For now, you better cover your tracks.

The Nanovores make quick work of the rest of the filing cabinet before you turn yourself to the rest of the record room. Pulling out paper sat random, ripping shelves off their hinges and toppling over entire metal units. Damage done, you put a hand to one wall and weaken the joists.

Squaring your shoulder you back up, bracing yourself. When you charge forward, the drywall collapses into splinters and dust. Cries of alarm echo out in the hallway and someone fires a gun.

Ugh.

Idiots.

You turn towards the source and the man in the dark blue uniform takes a step back. You grab his mind, pulling him into a daymare just long enough to close the distance and knee him in the gut. Catch the gun before it hits the ground and it dissolves into dust in your left hand. “Someone could get hurt.”

You let the man drop and he just lays there, staring at you.

As tempting as it is to keep basking in the adrenaline rush, you should get out of here before Argent shows up.

Besides, Ariadne and Jane both have appointments of their own to attend to today.

To the same woman.

–––

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you adjust your sunglasses, press them up your nose and flush against your face. You’re just… going in to check on Ortega. That’s all. Nothing weird about that.

Just your friend.

Ortega.

Who is your friend.

That you’re checking on.

You step up to the door, hesitate – hand on the handle shaking. You let it go. Shit. Shit. Fucking – You turn back to the door and throw it open, storming in. The secretary at the desk looks up at you in alarm, one arm poised under her desk. “Hello! Can I… help you?”

“Ortega.” You state. Wait. Shit. Context. She needs context. “I’m here to see Ortega.”

The woman frowns at that, eyeing you up and down. “Can I ask who’s calling for her?”

You echo her frown back, cross your arms under your shawl. “I… guess?”

The two of you stand there in silence.

Oh.

Wait, shit – “Ariadne.” You offer. “Ariadne Becker.”

Her face perks up, suspicion easing slightly. “Oh! Your Ortega’s friend. I remember you now.”

You frown at that. She does? You’ve only been here, what? Twice? “I’m… sorry?”

She laughs, which only makes you frown more. “Ortega mentioned you were coming by today.” She did? “You can take a seat, I’ll let her know you're here.”

It’s not a long wait. Have to bite your lip to keep from smiling at Ortega walking out of the elevator. Raise a hand to catch her eyes. “Hey.”

She takes sight of you and smiles. “Hey yourself.” God. Just seeing her here is a relief. This building isn’t anything like the HQ your used to. Too clean and too sterile. Professional. Like the Farm.

“I – I made it. Hope you're happy.”

“You bet.” She grins, smug. No one would ever accuse Julia Ortega of being a graceful winner. “Com’on,” she beckons you after her. “Let’s head to my, uh...” She flashes a grin back at you, “special office.”

You tilt your head as you follow her back into the elevator. Tuck your sunglasses into your purse. Are you supposed to laugh at that or…? “Should I be worried?”

“Nah.” She punches a number into the keypad. “I’m too tired to get into trouble today.” She raises her other hand, shakes the coffee thermos she’s holding for emphasis.

Small talk with Ortega is an old routine. As comfortable, as it is dangerous: to forget for a moment this woman is actively working towards your destruction. That her smile is directed at an empty facade.

Well.

At least Jane gets to kiss her.

Oh –

Why did you have to think that just now?

You follow after her out of the elevator, a short walk past offices and meeting rooms and into what looks like an unfinished closet, ceiling joists exposed naked to the air. An obviously outdated computer, weighs down the desk at one end of the room while a white board with empty red circles spans another wall. But what really gets your attention is the set of out of place and utterly garish cheetah-print chairs. “What the…?”

“Donations.” Ortega shrugs, as if that explains anything. She pulls a seat over for you. Comfy enough, you guess. “Sorry Ari, I can’t chat too long,” Ortega slides into the seat across from you, a coffee in one hand. “I’ve got to meet someone for work later.”

You frown at that. “Oh. Um… sorry?” Isn’t she meeting Jane? Going somewhere else first?

Ortega blinks, taken aback. “It’s… not your fault?”

“That’s my line.” You force a laugh, trying not to look as awkward as you feel. One hand pokes out from under your shawl to fiddle with your sunglasses. “I just… thanks for meeting me on short notice like this. I… know this, um, new villain has you running ragged.”

“It’s fine.” Ortega waves your concern off. “You know… you’re always welcome to stop by when I’m at HQ.” She makes a face, sitting back in her seat. “Which is… all the time now since, well…”

“Chen still won’t let you back on active duty?” How long has it been now? Two months since she got out of the hospital? Time is starting to blur. Getting harder to track.

“He’s afraid I’m going to do something stupid.”

“Hrm. Y–yeah, that definitely doesn’t sound like you.”

“Shut up!” She laughs, punching you in the shoulder. You make a show of almost falling over, as if you’d been hit far harder.

“You poor thing.” You tsk, a faint smile fighting to form. If Ortega’s staying on a desk, she’s safe. Safe from someone that could hurt her again.

Safe from you.

You glance at the doorway. “You must be bored out of your mind, stuck here.”

Her smile gains an edge, “Don’t worry. I’m keeping plenty busy.”

You frown, searching her eyes. “I know that look Ortega. That’s a – a face that means trouble for somebody.”

Her smile only broadens. “Only the ones that deserve it.”

You eye the whiteboard. All the conspicuously empty circles. “And how’s that going?” That’s the real question, isn’t it? How aggressive can you get with your tactics before the Rangers buckle down?

Assuming they don’t collapse like a house of cards first.

Ortega shrugs, noncommittal. “I’m working on it. I’ve got a…” Her eyes flit away from you for a second before returning with a smile. “A multi-pronged approach, let’s call it. Keeping me busy at least.”

“Just… d–don’t get yourself put in a hospital again. Okay?” You try to catch her eye. You don’t have to fake this. This sincerity. The ache in your chest. “Please?”

She smiles back at you, soft, maybe a touch sad. You can never be sure with these kinds of things. “I’m taking this dead serious Ariadne. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Mm.” You frown. If anything her assurance just makes you more concerned she’s going to do something stupid. “Is that why you’re plotting in Harry Potter’s broom closet?”

Ortega gasps in mock shock, a hand to her chest before collapsing into laughter. “Ariadne! I’ll have you know this is the most secure broom closet in Los Diablos!”

You laugh, “Nothing’s secure in this city.” You should know. It’s been hell isolating your workshop off the network.

Ortega clicks her tongue and taps the side of her nose. “Not so hasty now. Maybe that's the Mayor’s line but you shouldn’t believe everything she says.”

“Ortega!” You laugh, “did you just tell me not to trust the government?”

“Well, when you put it like that it sounds silly.”

“Uh-huh. And since when did you become a technology wizard?”

“That used to be your job.”

You fake a laugh. “Hey, if anything, it’s, uh– well, it’s more my job now than it ever was.”

“Well, I had some help.” She glances away, “Angie has a bit of a way with technology.” There’s a pause followed by a wince, “Don’t tell her I told you that.”

“Why?”

Ortega takes a drink from her coffee, dragging it out. “Because she’ll kill both of us.”

“I’d, um – I’d just as soon steer clear of her.” You answer, waving the concern away. “She s–s–scares the hell out of me. She’s like a… like a… woman-shaped shredding machine.”

“Angie’s really sweet! She just takes some effort to get to know.” A meaningful glance is shot your way. “Not unlike a certain asshole in this room.”

You smile back at her. “You shouldn’t talk about yourself like that.”

“Ouch! You’re vicious today.”

“S–sorry. I…” You go silent. Not sure how to finish that sentence. What else you can possibly say…? “Hey, um…”

“Yeah?”

“You said I could pick somewhere we volunteer at… that isn’t a hospital, right?” You watch her from the corner of your eye, not quite facing her.

“Uh, hey, yeah! You had somewhere in mind?”

“Y–yeah. There’s uh… there’s this soup kitchen. Up in… Pasadena. They’re… small so we should, uh, call ahead.” Got some memories of that place. Hadn’t expected them to still be around, over seven years later.

“Pasadena?” Ortega purses her lips, thinking. “That’s around one of your old haunts, isn’t it?”

You nod. No point trying to play it off “Y–yeah.”

“Okay. You make the arrangements, let me know a date. I’ll try to make sure my schedule is clear.”

“That’s… thanks.”

Ortega takes a sip of her coffee, “So. Was that all you wanted to ask me about?”

“Not exactly… um.” How do you put this? You shift in your seat. “I’ve been, uh – seeing the news stories lately… What’s this about Argent working with vigilantes? Did you know?”

“I…” Ortega looks away, back down at her coffee. “Yeah. I mean. It’d be kind of hypocritical of me to disapprove, don’t you think?”

“Someone’s going to get hurt.” You sigh, “I mean… I understand what you mean but…”

“We made a good team.”

“...yeah.” You sigh, hold yourself up with a hand to your forehead. “But Lady Argent doesn’t seem to be a – well…”

“A team player. I know.” Ortega glances up at you, a quirk of suspicion on her lips. “But you’re retired now, Ariadne. You told me yourself, this isn’t your world any more.”

You sit back, stare out the window at the passing traffic. “I… I know. But – having…. Having you around again. It’s… hard not to care. I… want to let it go. But when it seems like the Rangers are falling apart and I’m just…”

Responsible.

“Now that sounds like the Ariadne I know.” Ortega’s voice is sad, sad enough to get you to look at her again. “You never could just sit on the sidelines. Even when it was for your own good.”

You make a face. “Well, neither could you.”

“Guilty as Charged.”

“Oh f–fuck you.” You laugh, slapping her hand away. “I can’t believe you never – never made that pun before.”

Ortega’s smug grin doesn’t leave her face. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed your helping Herald now.” She leans over to you, still grinning. “Anything I should know about?”

You lean away from her, eyes wide. “W–what!? I’m just– we’re just–”

Ortega bursts out laughing. “Relax! I’m only teasing you.” She looks up, sees the expression on your face and starts laughing again.

“Asshole.” You hiss at her, face red. “He’s just a dumb kid who doesn’t know the first thing about how to hold himself in a fight.”

“I think that fight with Ghost finally shocked him out of his comfort zone.”

“Or maybe,” You give Ortega a pointed look. “You all just weren’t training him right.”

“You were his childhood hero, you know that right?” Ortega’s smile fades. “He looks up to you.”

God. There’s a terrifying thought.

“Give it time.” You huff. “I’ll fix that too.”

–––

“There she is!” Jane flings her arms into the air, “I missed my practice buddy.”

Ortega laughs, catching Jane in the coffee shop door. “Just your ‘buddy’ huh?”

“Hmph!” Jane pouts, “You know what I mean.”

“Madre de Dios, I’m so glad to finally be out of that hospital.” Ortega smiles with her whole face, pulling Jane in for a hug. For a moment it feels like they might kiss. And then they disentangle.

Jane mirrors the smile back with a touch of puzzlement. “Did they really only just let you out?” Jane and Ortega haven’t had a chance to meet up since Ghost crashed the Gala over a month ago now. Two months? It’s getting hard for you to keep track of time. But you know she’s been out for a while now.

What’s going on?

Ortega’s smile freezes on her face as she rubs the back of her neck. “Well… I’ve been busy too. Work.” She flaps an arm in the general direction of Ranger’s HQ “Sorry. I should have at least called.”

“It’s okay…” Jane’s smile takes a bitter edge. A knot twisting in her gut. “Our date didn’t exactly… go well, did it?” Maybe that’s it. She’s just trying to spare Jane’s feelings.

“Hell, Jane, I am so sorry. And then you got… hurt because of me and…” Oh. That’s why she’s been avoiding Jane. Guilt. That makes sense. You understand guilt.

“Stop it.” Jane presses a finger to Ortega’s lips. “It’s not your fault. It’s…”

Ortega takes her hand, gently lowering. “Ghost’s.”

Jane laughs, disdainful. Weaves her fingers between Ortega’s as they move to walk down the street together. “Is that really the name now?”

“Yeah.”

“How dumb. What is this guy, emo?” Jane glances back towards Ortega. Was that a frown on her face? It’s gone. She’s smiling again. Jane smiles back.

“It is pretty dumb isn’t it?” Ortega laughs along. “I’ve heard worse ones before though.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Emperor President is still my top pick.”

Jane laughs, “That’s not dumb, that’s fucking amazing.”

“Maybe it wraps back around to that.”

“Well, maybe it does.” Still laughing, Jane twists around so she’s standing in front of Ortega. Bringing the both of them to a stop. “So. I think you owe me something.” There’s a glint in her eye. This is – this is forward. Too forward? No, it’s Ortega. Relax.

Ortega’s face is a careful blank. “Do I now?”

“Another date? I…” Jane breaks eye contact, biting her lip. “I mean. If you want to. Of course.”

Ortega squeezes her hand. “Of course.” Her smile turns sheepish as she looks away too. “Honestly, I… was worried I had, well, scared you off after everything.” It’s like a weight is lifted from Jane’s shoulders. The sun is brighter, the sky bluer.

“Hey!” Jane pats her on the face, redirects her to meet Jane’s eyes again. “It’s going to take a lot more than bombs and a mentally disturbed wacko to scare me away.” She tilts her head, laughing with her eyes. “that’s practically my day job already with all the debt BS.”

“Alright…” Ortega’s smile broadens, more confident. “Alright, great!”

Jane steps forward in Ortega’s space, “And I’ve got just the idea of where we can go…”

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero fanfic #fanfiction #fhr/Ariadne

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sugarfreecapsicle · 5 years

Text

neighborly 2/2

moodboard by the one and only @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan

moodboard by the lovely @ohcaptainmystan

part two of two for my submission to @buckygrantbarnes writing challenge! hope you enjoy!

warnings: so much fluff oh my god

NeighborAU

(gif credit)

A week ago Natasha had relieved Bucky of his cat-sitting duties. Sometimes he missed the little shit, but then he remembered all the rips in his curtains and holes under his sofa and the feeling all but vanished. The apartment was close to holding no remaining trace of Vlad the Impaler (not his actual name that Bucky couldn’t remember even if he tried) - but all he could think about in the aftermath was the tone in your voice the first and last night you’d spoken to him.

Sounds like it’s better I don’t.

Your dog hadn’t had a reason to bark, Bucky assumed - he hadn’t received another sticky note. Those he would readily admit he missed. You matched him in your short lived battle of wits, and you definitely didn’t look at all the way he’d imagined - no green skin, hairy wart on an angular nose, no peaked black hat. Alarmingly beautiful, in fact, and he wasn’t at all prepared for you.

Bucky sips at his beer and stares at the piano, still pushed up against the adjoining wall to your apartment. The floor creaks underneath his stride, new thoughts battling for the win of his ultimate decision.

The padding of the bench desperately needs replacing, but it’s an expense he can put off a while longer. The wooden cover squeaks away, revealing the tarnished ivory and ebony keys underneath. Tuning the piano had been necessary although unaffordable. The first note coursed from his fingertip to his chest, a comforting sigh against the chaotic ambiance of Brooklyn outside his window.

Beau’s ears perked, a small boof alerting you to something new. Music, piano specifically - and it sounded like it was coming from your neighbor’s apartment. A small indiscretion revealed to you that maybe the blue-eyed babysitter didn’t have a radio blasting but was actually playing.

Bowl of cereal in hand, you step barefoot over to the wall, eyebrows furrowed as you attempt to remember the tune. Familiar, maybe from high school lessons on classical pianists or even in the background of a LooneyToons episode. He started out a little unsure, tentative against the keys then gradually became reassured, confident into a beautiful rendition. All too soon, the song ended, and your heart sank as your legs bent, back sliding against the wall that once reverberated with sound. Your ears became so eager in hope for another song, you noticed the timbre of your breathing. Should you knock? Should you try to make a request through the drywall and paint?

You adjusted on the floor, setting the bowl down where Beau happily drank up the remaining milk. Pink notes danced in the artificial breeze from your oscillating fan.

Returning from another run in the park - this time notably without Steve who had taken up the mantle of team leader on a new project - Bucky wanted nothing more than a meaty breakfast and a quiet morning. He hadn’t bothered looking up from his keys until the lock turned over, and he grinned.

Talented Tenant,

Think you could play some Tchaikovsky tonight? Nocturne in C-minor is a personal favorite, if you happen to know it.

Thanks

Admiring Acquaintance

Late night television clips with canned audience laughter hummed through your otherwise noiseless apartment, Beau napping on the couch beside you. You’d been distracted at work, replaying the daydream over and over again of gentle piano music flowing into your apartment again, soon followed by your neighbor knocking on your door with variants of flowers, chocolates, something entirely corny that could only make sense in a teenage after-school-special. Being his neighbor wasn’t so bad with the cat gone, and even if Beau barked at the noise of the piano, it was nothing compared to his panicked yelping in the days prior. Even in the city that never sleeps, the sounds of the night muffled to a low din of generic noise like chatter in an office building.

And gently, lowly, you heard it - your request. Unable to hide your grin, you sink lower into your sofa, disturbing Beau only a little. He didn’t even make a noise, an eye open and single ear perked in mild interest. The melody sends you reeling, hand skirting the floor as you splay out, knees arching over your canine friend.

You don’t remember falling asleep, but thank any deity that might exist Saturday was upon you instead of a workday. Sunlight entered through the linen curtains, a soft glow filling your cozy space. Beau now lay on the floor, asleep and snoring lightly, and you allowed your body to stretch out your sore muscles from cramped sleep.

In your routine of coffee brewing and kibble for Beau, you wondered if the olive branch might reach further than one lullaby. Steaming brew in hand, you step on the balls of your feet to the front door and check.

A blue note flutters against the painted blue.

Beautiful Boarder,

I hope you enjoyed last night’s piece. Join me tonight for a private concert?

Bucky

Armed with a name and reassurance, you scribble your reply and place it by his doorknob. Your door is open when you hear the click and rattle of his and can’t stop yourself from shuffling inside quickly.

Brows knitted together, Bucky stares at your door momentarily then addresses the pink slip of paper.

Bucky,

Give me a time, and I’ll be there. Black tie affair?

He smiles, but sinks a little noticing your lack of signature.

Normally I’d say black tie, but since it’s Saturday, let’s settle for anything comfortable. See you at seven.

Maybe it’s too much that you’ve nearly emptied your closet in search of an outfit when the designation of comfort had been established. Nothing felt right, seemed right, for the occasion if it could even be considered one. First impressions long gone, but could this be considered new territory? Was it still some kind of apology?

Ten minutes to seven, you managed a shower and brushed teeth but lingered by your bed with clothes piled around. Jeans would do, your favorite pair was soft enough, and a shirt you’d nabbed from Target’s men’s section french-tucked in the front would have to suffice. Beau sat obediently nearby and watched as you psyched yourself up in the half mirror by your dresser.

“I won’t be long, bud,” you say as you fuss with your hair. “Behave while I’m gone, okay?”

Beau gets a pat on the head as you walk out, mindfully slipping keys into your pocket. You knock on the door, painted the same blue as yours, and shift your weight heel to toe and back again. His lock clicks, the door opens, and oh, he’s grinning like the sun came out from behind rainclouds.

“Glad you accepted,” he says, leaning into a one-armed hug. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to step foot in here.”

He pulls away, and you can’t help but notice an absence on his left - an arm that had once been there now gone. Your glance had hopefully only been a flicker and hadn’t interrupted your shy grin. “Jury is still out on the want, but I’ll let you know if they approve after the show you promised me.”

Bucky ushers you in and revels in your gentle gasp. Candles illuminated the space entirely, low warm light spreading from his kitchenette where a meager dinner was plated to the mainstage of the piano.

“Too much?”

You turn to face him, still a bit dazed and smirk. “It’s very Phantom of the Opera.”

“That a good thing?” An eyebrow quirks as he leads you to the proffered meal of roasted chicken, assorted vegetables and wine.

“Very.”

Bucky is sure that if you keep drinking in his efforts like a kid in a candy store the dopey grin won’t leave his face all night.

“Good. I hope dinner’s -” he pauses, looking up at you impishly. You’ve already dribbled a little sauce down your chin, and Bucky can’t resist running his thumb over the streak to smudge it away. “ - alright?”

You both laugh, a pink flush over your cheeks as you chew the remaining bite in your mouth. A thumbs up is manageable given the circumstances, and after the bite is swallowed you divulge your passion for cooking. Bucky actively listens, teases you intermittently until plates are cleared. You insist on doing the dishes, but Bucky has his hand around yours when he asks to play for you first.

At dinner you’d forgotten about his missing arm - his sparkling eyes and supple lips had kept you distracted enough as you ate, but he gathered the metallic appendage from another room before walking out to his piano. You applaud, and he bows with a light laugh.

Bucky’s still a little apprehensive, muttering that it’s been a while, and you can’t hold back a quipped, “that’s what she said” that snaps the tension in his shoulders. It’s almost a shame he’s facing away from you on the couch until you watch as his body sways along to the full-bodied music filling the room. Shoulders tense and sigh like ocean waves obedient to the moon’s pull controlling the tide, hips rock to shift his weight as he needs to reach one end or the other. A dance, almost, you’re certain as beautiful as the music itself let alone the musician.

Quietly, you move to stand near him, watch his hands fly over the keys, feebly try to memorize the way his face pulls together in concentration. He’s in another world, maybe somewhere in the sheet music that he’s not even using. Bucky slows, notes fading into the diffused city noise when his fingers no longer touch the keys.

He chances a look up at you, hopeful and full of transported youth that morphs into worry. “You’re crying.”

Your fingers swipe under your eyes, collecting brimmed tears. Bucky stands and takes your hands, replacing them with his thumbs and palms your cheeks.

“If I’m that awful, I’m sorry,” he murmurs with a playful glint in his eyes. “I warned you it’s been a while.”

You chuckle and bite your lip. “You’re wonderful.”

“Me or the music?” he counters through a bashful smile, delighted you haven’t removed yourself from his hands.

“Both.”

Heat rises in his cheeks, and Bucky is all too aware you are close enough to taste, eyes darting down to the lip between your teeth. Soft orchid wafts to his nose, hinted with a few of the herbs from dinner. Warmth spreads to his palms that cup your face.

“Well?” he asks, a whisper that dances over your nose, eyes fluttering.

“Well what?” you match his tone, darting from lips to eyes and back.

“Can I get your name before you kiss me?”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x reader #bucky fluff #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucky fan fiction #bucky imagine #bucky drabble

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yurionice-secretsanta · 4 years

Text

Bring Him Home

To @rodiniaorzetalthepenquin From @kaleidodreams

Summary: During a snowstorm, Yuri worries when Otabek is late coming home from practice.

Rating: T/Teen and Up Audiences (Just for language, though, because Yurio.)

Message: I hope you enjoy gift, Rodinia! Merry Christmas and happy holidays!

"Where the hell is he?“

Yuri pulls his coat tight around his torso as he looks over the fire escape railing, down at the parking lot three stories below. The space where Otabek usually parks his bike is still empty, covered with a light dusting of snow. Snowflakes continue to fall from the sky, clinging to Yuri’s hair and shoulders. The weather can’t seem to make up its mind what it wants to do. One minute it’ll be snowing, only for the snow to turn into sleet, then right back into snow again in seemingly the blink of an eye.

Yuri hates Otabek driving his bike in this kind of weather. He’s a great driver, but the roads are icy, and it won’t be long until the sun sets, the sky already turning various shades of yellows, oranges, and blues behind the clouds. He should had waited around at the rink until Otabek finished his session with Viktor – the two of them were polishing up the choreography of Otabek’s free skate before Four Continents next week – instead of rushing back to the apartment to start on a dinner that was fast going cold. If he had, he would have convinced Otabek to leave the bike behind and take the subway back home with him instead.

Home.

Yeah, six months later, and that’s still a little weird.

Yuri fiddles with the simple black band adorning his right hand, the ring twisting easily due to the cold shrinking his already-slender fingers. Otabek had given it to him the night they moved into the apartment together, shortly before the current skating season started. A sappy gift, one that made Yuri cry ugly embarrassing tears when Otabek slipped it on his middle finger, but it means so much to him that Otabek accepts who he is, that he still loves him despite the fact that Yuri doesn’t have the same desires as him. Their relationship is unconventional, occupying some nebulous area between best friends and lovers, yet it works for them.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he checks the clock for the third time since he came out on the fire escape. Shit, Otabek really is late; even with the bad weather, Yuri expected him to be home by now. He sighs, his breath visible in the freezing air. Should he call? He doesn’t want to distract Otabek from paying attention to the road if he’s driving, though.

He settles for texting Viktor. It isn’t helpful, but at least he feels a little better after chewing Viktor out for allowing Otabek to leave on his own – never mind the fact that the snow didn’t start falling in earnest until after Otabek already texted Yuri to tell him he was about to leave the rink.

If only he had been able to reply to the text faster…

Yuri runs a hand through his hair, frustrated.

He’s half-tempted to start looking for Otabek on his own, but he doesn’t own a car. Doesn’t even have a license yet. He keeps meaning to sign up for lessons; it’s just difficult to find the time between training, competitions, tours, and sponsorship obligations. Besides, he usually gets around the city well enough without one.

Maybe I should try calling the local hospitals?

If something bad has happened… With shaking fingers, Yuri finds the number of the nearest hospital online. The phone starts to ring in his ear just as he hears the familiar sound of Otabek’s bike pulling into the parking lot.

“Fuckin’ finally,” he says, exhaling in relief. After ending the call and sliding his phone back in the back pocket of his jeans, he leans over the railing and yells down at Otabek. “You’re late. Get your ass up here!”

He isn’t sure if Otabek can understand what he’s saying from so far away, but he looks up at Yuri after he takes off his helmet, holding his hand up in a “thumbs up” signal.

A grin tugs at Yuri’s lips despite himself. “Idiot.”

He brushes off the snow as best he can, then climbs through the window to go back inside.

Their apartment is in the loft of an old abandoned canning factory. Other than the bathroom, it’s completely open concept, with cement floors, exposed brick walls, and large floor-to-ceiling windows that look out onto the street view, letting in a ton of natural light when it isn’t so cloudy. It’s more Otabek’s style than Yuri’s, to be honest – Yuri likes silly things like drywall and ceilings that actually hide all the pipes and ductwork from sight – but his influence shines through in the pops of leopard print scattered around the room, from the throw pillows on the leather couch to the rug underneath their dining table to the duvet covering their king-sized bed.

After shrugging off his coat, Yuri starts to sling it over the back of the couch when he thinks better of it, hanging it back on the coat rack where it belongs.

Learning to live together has been a relatively smooth transition for the most part. He and Otabek enjoy a lot of the same things – the same foods, the same music, the same TV shows – and whatever differences between them tend to be complementary in nature. Yuri loves to cook; Otabek is a weirdo who actually likes doing dishes. Otabek’s better at keeping organized, so he makes sure the bills get paid on time and schedules most of their appointments. Yuri is an expert when it comes to bargain shopping thanks to his grandpa’s teachings, so he’s in charge of buying the groceries and other household necessities. They don’t argue about much, but Otabek’s annoyance with Yuri’s slovenly tendencies is their one red-button issue, a bad habit Yuri is trying his best to break.

A couple of minutes later, Otabek walks through the front door. Yuri prepares to yell at him some more for worrying him so much, but the words die on his lips when he sees the long scratch along the side of Otabek’s cheek. It runs from just a little below his left eye to almost down to his jawline.

“Oh my god, what the hell happened to your face?”

Otabek flinches when Yuri gently presses a finger against the cut. “Oh, the cat got me,” he says. “It’s no big deal.”

“What cat?” He couldn’t be talking about Potya. Yuri would have noticed the scratch earlier if that was the case. Besides, Potya isn’t much of a scratcher; he’s more likely to ignore someone altogether if he’s angry, swishing his tail as if he’s a king dismissing one of his lowly subjects.

Meow.

Yuri arches an eyebrow. “Did your jacket just ‘meow’?”

Otabek unzips his leather jacket half-way, an orange tabby hesitantly poking its head out. The poor thing is wet and shivering, large green eyes taking in its new surroundings, and Yuri’s heart immediately fills with pity. Despite his tough reputation, he’s always had a soft spot for animals – particularly cats of all persuasions.

“Stay here. I’ll get a towel,” he says, heading to the bathroom.

When he returns, Otabek has taken the cat fully out of his jacket, its increasingly loud meows as it squirms in Otabek’s arms catching Potya’s attention. Potya claws at Otabek’s legs, letting out a few meows of his own as he tries to see what is going on.

“Potya, down.” Yuri unhooks Potya’s claws from Otabek’s jeans, then gathers the skittish cat in the leopard-print towel he had brought with him, carrying it over to the couch.

Yuri frowns as he looks the cat over. It appears severely underfed; he can feel its bones with only the slightest touch. He judges it to be around three to four months old, bigger than a kitten, but not quite full-grown. No collar to be found. It’s most likely a stray, but they would need to take it to the vet to check if it had a microchip to be certain.

“Hey, where did you come from, little one?” he coos, rubbing the towel over the cat’s wet fur. The meows begin to quiet down, the tabby no longer trying to break free as it allows Yuri to dry it off.

“You know that old maple tree where I usually park my bike?” Otabek sits down beside Yuri, slinging an arm over the back of the couch. “I was just about to leave the rink when I heard it meowing from up in the branches. It was too scared to climb down on its own, so I rescued him.”

Glancing up, Yuri’s eyes widen. “You mean to tell me you climbed up a tree, rescued a stray cat, then drove all the way here from the rink in the sleet and snow with it stuffed in your fucking jacket?” He doesn’t know whether he wants to hug Otabek or smack him upside the head. Maybe a little of both. “Do you realize how dangerous that could have been?”

Between the two of them, Otabek is supposed to be the responsible one. A stunt like that is more Yuri’s style.

“What other choice did I have?” Otabek asks, scratching behind the tabby’s left ear. “I couldn’t leave it there, not when it was so cold and wet.”

“Yeah, but –” Yuri sighs, bringing his hand to Otabek’s injured cheek. “You should clean that up and put some ointment on it.”

“It’s fine,” he insists, brushing the hand away.

“Beka, go get the first aid kit. It could get infected.”

“Okay, okay.” Otabek heads to the bathroom.

While he’s gone, Potya jumps up to take his spot on the couch, watching in curiosity as Yuri continues drying off the stray. “Hey, be nice,” Yuri warns with a wag of his finger. Potya isn’t accustomed to being around other animals besides Viktor’s and Yuuri’s poodle, Makkachin, but after sniffing the newcomer for a few seconds and letting out a hiss, he loses interest, hopping down to the floor with a flounce of his fluffy tail before climbing to the very top of his cat tower.

Well, that went surprisingly…okay, Yuri thinks. Ideally, he’d like to keep one of the cats in a separate room for the time being, but in an apartment devoid of proper rooms, that really isn’t an option.

After checking to see if the stray is a boy or a girl – definitely male – Yuri sets him down on the floor and heads to the kitchen, grabbing a can of Potya’s food from one of the upper cabinets. The stray follows after him, meowing at the top of his lungs as Yuri pulls back the tab on the can.

“Hold on, just a minute,” he laughs, dumping the food into an old bowl of Potya’s and placing it down on the floor. “There. Hope you like chicken and tuna.”

He does, if the way he chows down on the food is any indication, practically inhaling it. Yuri smirks, reminded of the way Yuuri always shovels bowls of katsudon in his mouth, and squats down to pet the tabby. It had probably been days since he had a decent meal. If Otabek hadn’t found and rescued him… “Man, you’re a lucky kitty,” Yuri murmurs.

The tabby takes a break from eating, a loud purr vibrating through his emaciated body as he rubs his head against Yuri’s hand. Yuri practically dies from the cute, glad that Otabek’s not in earshot as he babbles high-pitched nonsense. Not that Otabek isn’t fully aware what being in the vicinity of an adorable kitty will do to him, but he likes to think he has some pride left.

“Oh, gotta take a pic!”

He pulls his phone back out and takes a few snapshots, choosing the cutest one to post on his Instagram. He captions it: Beka rescued this tabby from a tree near the rink. Nobody claims him? HE’S MINE!

There, he’s done his duty to try to find the owner, although Yuri doubts he has one. If he does, then they’re obviously not a very good one.

Leaving the tabby to continue eating his food, Yuri stands back up and sets his phone on the counter. Otabek still hasn’t returned to the living area, causing Yuri to frown. It shouldn’t take so long just to clean and bandage a scratch, should it?

He knocks on the door to the bathroom. “Beka, do you need some help in there?”

“No, I’m almost done. I’ll be out in a sec.”

Yuri opens the door anyway. Otabek is standing shirtless in front of the mirror, applying topical ointment to the before-unseen scratches on his chest and abdomen. A gauze bandage already covers the one on his face.

“Wow, Salchow really did a number on you,” Yuri says, leaning against the doorframe.

Otabek meets his gaze in the reflection of the mirror, cocking an eyebrow. “Salchow?”

“That’s what I decided to name him. It is a him, by the way. I checked.”

“Good name,” Otabek says, smiling as he turns around, bracing himself against the vanity. “I guess that means we’re keeping him?”

Oh, right, it isn’t just his decision anymore. Yuri forgot. Probably should’ve waited to post that picture until after they had discussed it…

“I mean, do you mind? I don’t think he has an owner, and we can’t just let him loose again…”

“It’s fine, but will he and Potya get along? You know how Potya gets around strangers…”

Potya does tend to be wary when unknown people visit the apartment, although strangely enough, he had accepted Otabek almost right away. Sometimes Yuri suspects Potya even likes Otabek better than him.

He pokes his head back into the living area, checking on them. So far, so good. Salchow is still chowing down on his food, and Potya has begun cleaning himself on top of the cat tower, completely ignoring the newcomer as he licks his paws. “I…think it’ll be okay?” he says, turning back around. “They haven’t killed each other yet, at least.”

“That’s a low bar you’ve set for feline friendship.”

Yuri rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Here, give me that. You missed some.”

Coming further into the bathroom, he takes the tube of antibiotic ointment from Otabek’s hand, squeezing a small amount on the tip of his finger and spreading it over a scratch located just above the waistband of his jeans.

At his touch, Otabek’s breath hitches at the back of his throat.

Yuri glances up. “Does it hurt?”

“No.” He presses his lips together, eyes rolling up to the ceiling, and Yuri notices his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “No, um, I’m just…sensitive…there…”

It takes Yuri a moment to realize what exactly Otabek means by that. When he does, he jerks his finger away as if he had touched a steaming hot kettle. “Oh. Crap! Sorry.”

Otabek chuckles. “It’s not like I mind, you know.”

“Yeah, but…”

Not for the first time, Yuri wonders if Otabek is really satisfied with their relationship in its current state. Whenever he asks, Otabek always assures him that he is, that he loves just being with him even if they never do anything beyond cuddling and the occasional chaste kiss, but sometimes it’s hard for Yuri to believe.

“It really was stupid of you to bring Salchow home with you on your bike, though,” Yuri says, changing the subject. He turns his attention to another scratch underneath Otabek’s ribcage. “If he had tried to escape out of your jacket and you lost control…”

Yuri shakes his head, trying to force the image of Otabek’s bloodied body laying lifeless in the snow beside the crumpled metal of his motorcycle out of his mind. It doesn’t work. His eyes well up anyway against his will, and he sniffles, swearing as he swipes his hand over his face.

This isn’t him. He’s the Ice Tiger of Russia – tough and fierce. But he can’t help it when it comes to Otabek. He loves him too much, even if it’s not the same kind of “love” that most people expect. Yuri doesn’t really believe in soulmates, but if such a thing really existed, he has no doubt Otabek would be his.

“Yura…” Otabek places his hands on Yuri’s upper arms. “I’m sorry I made you worry,” he says softly, resting his forehead against Yuri’s.

“You should be.” Yuri tries to glare at him through his tears, but it’s half-hearted at best, his anger swallowed by the overwhelming relief he feels that Otabek made it home safe and in one piece, minus a few scratches.

Sighing, he wraps his arms around Otabek’s waist and buries his head in his shoulder. “You really did scare me,” he admits in a muffled voice as Otabek returns the embrace. “It was getting so late, and the snow kept falling, and…and… Well, you should have called me!”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Otabek kisses the top of his head, hugging him even tighter. The front of his favorite sweatshirt is no doubt covered in smears of ointment, but Yuri doesn’t care, taking comfort in the warmth of his body heat. “My phone died right after I sent that last text to you. I forgot to charge it.”

“Not an excuse.”

Otabek laughs softly, but Yuri’s one hundred percent serious. He doesn’t ever want to worry about him like that ever again. “No more driving your bike in bad weather, okay?”

“Okay,” Otabek says, not even putting up the pretense of an argument.

“And keep your stupid phone charged, too. You’re usually better about that.”

“Okay.”

“And –”

“Okay.”

Yuri finally pulls away, looking back up. “You don’t even know what I was gonna say.”

“'And don’t ever leave me alone in the world'…right?”

Dammit, it annoys him when Otabek reads his mind like that. Is he really so predictable? “Well, I wasn’t gonna say it like that…” Shifting his eyes downward to stare at the tile floor, Yuri tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. “…but, um, yeah, that was the general gist of it, I guess.”

Otabek brushes back Yuri’s bangs and kisses him on his forehead. “Okay, I promise I won’t die,” he says in a soft voice.

If only it was possible to keep such a promise… Yuri wraps his arms around Otabek’s waist, allowing him to hug him once again. “Just… try not to get yourself killed,” he amends. “That’s good enough for me.”

“Deal.”

The two of them stay like that for a long moment, embracing each other until a crashing sound followed by a stampede of tiny paws breaks the mood. Groaning, Yuri releases his hold.

“I knew the peace was too good to last,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “Come on, Beka. Let’s round up the kids before they really do kill each other.”

#rodiniaorzetalthepenquin #kaleidodreams #gifts19 #YOIsanta19 #fanfic #otayuri #Otabek Altin #Yuri Plisetsky #Yuri!!! on Ice #submission

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deviant-hunter-rk800 · 5 years

Text

Break

—Someone’s broken in. Connor is the first person you think to call. But what will he choose?—

A/N: IM BACK!! So this has been on my mind forever now, and I’m so excited it’s finally done!! Please let me know what you think of it!

Warnings: kinda fluffy Connor, swearing, blood, fighting, angsty

“Goddamnit, Kyle!” You rake a hand through your hair, sighing through gritted teeth. “You’re kidding, right? There’s no damn way-”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he says tiredly, “there’s nothing I can do.”

Clenching your jaw, you hang up, nearly throwing your phone across the room. You shake your head, wanting very badly to hit something. A headache quickly forms as you mutter curses.

“Thought you were an officer, not a sailor,” Gavin taunts, laughing as he props his feet up on his desk.

“Fuck off, Reed,” you snarl, “or so help me I will shut you up myself.”

He rocks back, laughing even harder at your sour mood. Without warning, you grab the nearest object which happens to be a pencil. He jumps as you bring it down towards his shin, barely missing your mark as he crashes to the floor.

“Crazy bitch,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his head. He slowly stands up, backing away from you. He’s a good ten yards away before he turns towards the door.

“Don’t get me wrong,” someone says. Turning, you recognize Hank and Connor walking towards you, the older man smiling. “Seeing Gavin nearly get shanked brings me great joy,” he sits on your desk, taking the pencil from your clenched fist, “but you could’ve at least used a pen.”

You sigh, picking at your desk. “Don’t judge,” you mutter, “could’ve gotten lead in his blood. Made ‘im real sick.”

“She does have a point,” Connor agrees. Your lips twitch at his pun. Looking up at him, a timid smile pulls at his lips. “I thought it would help your mood.”

“But you’re just gonna ignore she tried to stab Reed?” Hank shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “Oh. Okay.”

Connor blinks, head tilting to the side. “I assumed her actions were a side effect of her fever.”

“Fever?” You and Hank say simultaneously. You don’t break eye contact with Connor as you lean towards the older man. “Jinx. You owe me a coffee.”

Hank’s head turns fast, scowling at the side of your face accusingly. You smile innocently at Connor despite the two holes being bore into your head. His brows furrow at your actions.

“You never get sick,” Hank says, the frown tipping into concern, “and now you’ve got a fever?”

“It’s not severe, Lieutenant,” Connor interrupts, “her body temperature is only at ninety nine point-”

“But you don’t get sick,” he repeats.

“Long story short,” you sigh, leaning back in your chair, “I’ll be staying at a motel for a month or so cause the pipes in my apartment building froze.”

Both Hank and Connor’s brows raise. “Holy shit, kid.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, resting your head in your hand. “Kyle — the shitty landlord? — says he can’t get anybody to come look at it for a couple weeks.”

“Why not ditch the motel?” Hank places a hand on your shoulder. “Stay with us till the shit gets fixed.”

“Hank-“

He rolls his eyes, cutting you off with a wave of his hand. “Oh c’mon, Y/L/N. I’ll even make pancakes.”

You chew your lip, considering his offer. Bunk with an old cop, his dog, and a cute android? It wasn’t the worst idea. It definitely beat getting some disease from mysterious stains in a broke down motel.

“Alright,” you say finally.

Hank smiles, a dimple pressing into his cheek. He ruffles your hair. “Alright.”

The squeal of brakes from a train echoes distantly accompanied by three solid knocks on the door. Sumo pick his head up off your lap, giving a soft woof. Setting your book down on the nightstand, you scratch his ears, earning a couple whumps of his tail against the bed.

“It’s okay, buddy,” you coo sweetly. You manage to free your legs of the blankets as the saint bernard settles again. Using your foot to swing the door open, you tie up your hair, quietly padding down the hallway.

You’ve just rounded the corner when the handle jostles. You hesitate, holding your breath as muffled curses make their way through the door. Goosebumps rise on your skin. A thousand thoughts flood your mind, the scariest one being, That’s not Hank.

The lock clicks. “Fuck,” you snap, your voice a whisper.

The door swings open, it’s handle denting the drywall as two men push through. You lock eyes with the first man, the two of you standing shell shocked for half a breath. The second, the younger looking with a heavy bruise on his cheekbone, slaps the first.

“Fuckin grab her!” He shouts, slamming the door shut. And just like that, the standoff comes to a jagged end, the first guy lunging at you, his cigarette stained teeth bared.

Grabbing his wrist, you twist his arm to the side, driving the heel of your palm into his nose. Losing his balance, he topples backwards. The second man reaches out, but with a rush of fur blurring by, Sumo latches his teeth into his arm.

“Sumo!” Cigarette Teeth seizes your moment of distraction and get you in a headlock, his forearm held tightly against your throat. Bruise punches the dog in his ribs before throwing him off. “No!”

He adrenaline coursing through you hinders rather than help, turning your motions frantic as you scratch and scream; your fingernails leave angry, red welts across his skin. Bruise moves forward. You bring your knees to your chest, a savage growl pushing through gritted teeth as you kick him in his stomach. The loss of his footing sends him to the floor, his face meeting the wood with a loud thump!

“Jesus, fuck,” the man holding you grunts, an undertone of fear taking over his words.

The slamming of your heel on the arch of his foot paired with the whip of your head against his already bleeding nose earns a well deserved howl of pain.

Finally able to slip from his grasp, you kick Cigarette Teeth in his knee, watching him drop to the floor with a loud cry. You grab the nearest object — a book off one of the many shelves — and bring its spine down across his temple. With a groan, he crumples to the ground.

“Sumo,” you murmur hoarsely, chest heaving. You quickly fall to your knees, gingerly running your hands across his fur, turning his head towards you. “Are you okay? Fuck.”

His tail wags lightly, letting out a small whine. You whip your head to see Bruise pushing himself up with a groan. Quickly looking at your options, you stand up.

“C’mon, boy,” you urge, helping the large dog limp towards the bedroom. “Good boy! Just a little more! C’mon!”

Slamming the door, you rip the chair from the desk, lodging it beneath the door’s handle. You grab your phone from the nightstand, your book long forgotten. Sumo growls.

“I know, buddy,” you say weakly, scrolling hurriedly through your contacts. 1-800-CYBERLIFE comes into view and you hit dial. “C’mon, Connor. Pick up! Pick up!”

A rumble from the other side of the door. Sumo, crouching low, bares his teeth. You back away.

Click.

“Connor?!”

“Why is it,” Hank says dully, “that every time we gotta go chase some fuckin dead end, it’s always at some creepy, abandoned, probably haunted building?”

“If it’s any consolation, the likelihood that this building is haunted is very low.” Hank turns slow at Connor’s remark, glaring at the android with a dangerous look in his eye. Connor tilts his head. “Would you prefer rat infested?”

Hank narrows his eyes, grimacing nonetheless. “I fuckin hate you.”

Connor can’t help the faintest shadow of a smile that tugs at his lips. With a shake of his head, Hank’s attention returns to the warehouse, the rusted sign worn beyond recognition. At least to the human eye; there was still enough residue from the paint for the RK800 to confirm the location, despite the many years.

“I know you do, lieutenant.”

A middle finger is thrown over the older mans shoulder. His free hand taking hold of the door handle, he draws his weapon. Dust kicks up at their feet, the squeal of the hinges echoing off the graffitied walls.

Quiet steps are placed carefully amongst broken glass. Hank pulls one hand from the grip of his gun, his pointer finger aimed at the ceiling, drawing a circle into the air. Connor follows the order, scanning the small room with a flick of his eyes. The disturbance of dirt trailing through the door on the opposite wall is highlighted.

“There,” he says quietly, jutting his chin. Anderson takes the lead.

With the ceiling half collapsed on itself, rusted cross beams hang dangerously low, the sunken roof giving way to a darkened sky. The moonlight — one drag from an old cigar away from hazy — makes the room glow. Hank’s hand lays flat, making a sweeping motion towards the right side of the warehouse. Silently, Connor tips his head.

Parting from one another, each officer carefully makes their way through the building, scanning and searching for leads. Connor ducks beneath a shelving unit, one hand resting on the wall as he maneuvers quietly. He’s sure to miss the rebar haphazardly sticking out from the floor. He stands, but not before the remnants of a bloodstain is highlighted by his sensors.

Walsh, Chris

3 days old

Suspect is injured.

His record is littered with aggravated assault, theft, multiple drug charges, and battery. Violence is nothing new to Walsh, and from previous statements, he finds a certain appeal to the chaos. Got caught more than once, but was often let out on good behavior. There’s a soft curse from the other side of the building, Hank’s flashlight piercing the veiled darkness.

Scanners highlighting an otherwise dark corner, Connor finds himself standing in something akin to a home; a rat’s nest composed of unwanted trash, the bed nothing more than stained cardboard with a tattered and worn sweatshirt acting as a blanket. The android — clean and tidy in every sense of the word, with only a few strands of hair out of place — is so very juxtaposed to his surroundings. Crouching, Connor tilts his head left, eyes darting about for a trace of the suspect. There, on a soda can tipped on its side, it’s contents half spilt onto the floor, are smudges of fingerprints.

Walsh, Chris

7 hours old

“He’s been here, lieutenant,” he calls out. But the answer doesn’t come.

Looking over his shoulder, he stands slowly, carefully awaiting a smart comment or a grumble of disapproval, but there’s only the wind, a distant siren from somewhere in the city, and the tremble of a loaded gun.

“Lieutenant?”

Connor listens, sensors heightened to a degree, he isolates Hank’s heartbeat. It’s slow, steady, and it’s not the only one. The second pulse is wild, barely tamed by ragged breathing. Straightening, the android begins to move.

“Chris Walsh.” His voice is loud in the hollow building, smooth and demanding; dangerous on a calculated level. “Detroit Police, show yourself.”

Keeping the wall to his right, Connor silently makes his way towards Anderson, finding him on his side. The android drops, assessing the remnants of ketamine in an abandoned syringe, a needle mark in the man’s arm. A bruise begins to blossom on his neck, the ugly shade of purple dark against the silvery beard.

Connor grits his teeth, a half contained, “Shit,” escaping him. He radios in to the precinct.

Code 243, 11-41. Officer down.

A frustrated howl rips through the air, the ring of a gunshot piercing. “Where the fuck are you?!”

11-99. 1083 Wilson Avenue. Repeat: 11-99.

Ducking away from the unconscious officer, Connor finds the suspect standing in the spotlight of the broken roof, his eyes darting frantically. Given the levels of chemicals in the man’s system, Connor estimates Hank will wake up in two minutes and forty seven seconds. The android is several paces away before speaking.

“Chris-“ the suspect’s eyes find a spot in the darkness, gun pointed at the yellow — now red — ring of light “-put the gun down.”

“I could- I could kill you! Right now!”

The light touches Connor’s skin, and Walsh jumps. The shadows peel back with every slow step. “No,” the android says flatly, “you can’t.”

“I’m the one with a gun!” Connor nods, not furthering his agreement. The suspect’s hand shakes, a tremor wracking his entire being. “There’s laws! Androids they-“ a shake of his head “-they can’t have weapons!”

“You’re right.” Hesitation. A smooth step closer. “There are laws. Plenty of which you’ve broken.”

Walsh bares his teeth. Knuckles pale against the black steel, he adjusts his grip, uncomfortable with its weight. Connor begins to circle him. Walsh turns in his place, frantic eyes never leaving the android.

Connor, as calm as he is efficient, watches the suspect, easily filing away every flaw. He’s dissecting him from five yards away. The bandage haphazardly wrapped around his bicep, the bloodstain dark, is most noticeable. Chris is ramabling by now — a desperate attempt at justifying his actions.

“I’m- I’m sorry, okay? I never wanted- he owed me!” His pleas go unheard. “I didn’t have- have a choice!”

Estimated time of awakening for Lt. Anderson: fifty three seconds.

Reinforcements estimated time of arrival: three minutes and fourteen seconds.

Attack: 86% chance of success

Without further thought, Connor lunges forward. The gun goes off, missing it’s mark by inches and with a dramatic clatter, it skids across the floor. Programming takes over his movements; a dog, trained to be unforgivingly vicious. And Chris – poor, poor Chris – was the cat.

A whir of mechanisms within the android urge his movements, ducking beneath a wid swing. In turn, a knee is brought to the fugitive’s stomach, folding him over with a grunt of pain. Locking his jaw, a determined look settles on his face. He wraps his arms around Connor, lifting him off the ground and tackling him into a nearby shelving unit.

The pressure on his biocomponents is unwelcome and earns a groan. Walsh takes hold of the android’s shoulders, spinning him, and driving his head into the corner of the shelf. Blue blood easily spills. Before another blow can befall him, Connor braces himself, pushing back against Walsh’s hold. But he still has his momentum and slams his own nose into the android’s elbow.

He cradles his now broken nose, blood quickly flowing between his fingers. Connor turns. LED still a blaring red, thirium drips from his left brow, the liquid following the shape of his eye socket before rolling over his cheekbone and dripping off his jaw. If he needed to breathe, his chest would be heaving. He makes no effort to fix his crumpled (and now stained) shirt nor straighten his tie. Disheveled but nowhere near distraught, he suddenly fits his surroundings.

Incoming call: Detective Y/L/N.

He answers, hesitating when he hears a hushed yet frantic, “Connor?!”

“Detective?” His mouth doesn’t move, but his voice rings through all the same. You let out a choked breath. “I thought you-“

“I need your help,” you cut him off.

He can’t see you flinch at the pounding of the door, but he can hear the fear in your voice. Hank, from the other side of the room, groans.

“Now may not be the best time, Detective.”

His answer is cold, but Walsh is eyes the door behind him, feet shifting.

“Please! Please!” A fleeting thought occurs to him that’s he’s never seen, let alone heard, you cry. “Two guys broke in, Con. They’re twice-“ your voice cracks “-twice my size and I don’t think I can hold them off.”

Sirens close in around the building. Had the call not been directly wired into his head, he would’ve missed the way your voice died at the end. Walsh’s finger wrap deftly around an iron rod. Raising it above his head, he takes a swing which Connor narrowly misses.

“What is it they want?”

“I don’t know!” Venom taints your tone. “Lemme ask em real quick!”

Chris recovers, bringing the rod over Connor’s throat, forcing him to bend backwards if only slightly.

“Think, Y/N.” The android brings his elbow to the man’s rib cage, but his grip is firm. “How do you get out of this?”

There’s true terror in your voice now. “I don’t know! Connor, please! I need-“

You’re cut off by your own yelp, the door finally giving way, splinters flying. Sumo barks wildly. There’s a thud, the scuffle of feet, and the sounds of a fight.

“Detective?”

Now he’s worried. Hell, he’s scared. Flashlights flood the room and Walsh’s head snaps to the source. Panicking, he drops the rod all together, taking off towards the back corner.

“Y/N?!”

He says it out loud this time, but there’s no response. There’s a loud crack within his own head, followed by a sickening thump of something heavy hitting the carpet.

Time slows – no, it feels like it slows. Damn near coming to a halt as the sight of Walsh’s back, his feet carrying him towards freedom. But there’s also the silence that he so desperately wishes would leave him; an ache to hear your laugh, saying it was all a joke. It doesn’t come, and with one of Sumo’s cries cut short, he knows something is terribly wrong.

And yet, he hesitates.

[X] SAVE HER

[O] CHASE SUSPECT

Want to join the revolution? Send me a message!

Break Series:

@nayscharacterstrash

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thatwritingho · 5 years

Text

Momento Mori

Chapter 6

This is hella long, or at least, it’s like twice the length of the rest of the chapters. Smut warning!

After a week's time, an impromptu flight back to her old apartment to carefully secure a few important possessions, and to say a very tearful goodbye to Mrs. Baker (which she had refused to budge on despite Charles's insistence that the Klokateers were more than capable of packing up her life for her) Olive was finally settling in to her new room.

Stalkateer had been the main one helping her move, packing up the moving truck and helping her arrange furniture once she had returned to Mordhaus, and he had actually turned out to be a pretty decent guy, when she was able to get him to talk, which wasn’t often. He seemed almost... scared of her, which was concerning, but none the less, she had managed to weasel some conversation out of him, and he had hooked her up with a desperately needed weed connection with another gear who was growing in their closet.

Her new quarters were located a mere minute's walk from the band’s personal quarters. Such closeness, of course, was necessary, in case something were to happen to one of them during the night. But it also meant that her room was directly on the path to and from their rooms, and as such allowed the perfect opportunity for the boys to pop in at any time, which they had already begun to do.

“This music ams weird, Olives.”

Olive didn’t feel particularly inclined to change from the BTS playlist that drifted from the speakers, located strategically around her room for the best sound, as she hammered yet another picture hanger into the wall.

Toki and Murderface had come under the guise of helping her arrange her room, but the Norwegian had long since forgotten his original purpose, instead settled on the floor with a box containing all of her collectible figurines, effectively stalling her own progress every few minutes to ask her who each new figure he alleviated of it’s bubble wrap prison was.

Unsurprisingly, the boy had been absolutely taken with Apophis, who now lay draped over Toki’s neck, occasionally weaving his way though the brunette’s silky hair.

Murderface, surprisingly, was actually being at least somewhat productive, but was only emptying the boxes he deemed ‘interesting.’

Still, despite the interruptions, it was nice to have company to break up the monotony of unpacking, even if they complained about her music taste.

“It’sch gay, isch what it isch. Fucking boy bandsch...”

Olive scoffed and turned to grab the framed, stylized Japanese movie poster for Army of Darkness, hooking it into place on the deep plum painted wall and stepping back to make sure it was level.

“Oh, come on, it’s not so bad,” Olive smiled mischievously to herself as she said her next words, “and you guys are technically a boy band too, you know?”

Toki and Murderface both snapped their attention to her at that, movements frozen and eyes wide as the realization dawned on them.

“What! No way! We’re men, not boysch.”

“Ya, we ams way mores brutal!”

She could only laugh, turning back to bang in another hook, mutilating the drywall further.

“You got enough schit to put on the wallsch?”

She glanced at the stacks of framed art and canvas on the floor propped against the wall before her, as well as the folded tapestries and wall hangings, and shrugged at the bassist.

“I like to have things I like around. Is that so bad?”

Toki hummed at them, too intently focused on inspecting the Faye Valentine figure in his hands to give proper attention to any conversation, the tip of his tongue sticking cutely out of his lips as he admired the paint job.

Snatching up the next victim to be suspended, Olive nearly dropped it at a sudden outburst from Murderface.

“Holy schit!”

Olive snapped her attention over to him, and felt her stomach drop as she noticed the elongated black box now on top of her bed instead of below. The lid was lifted and propped open as Murderface stood with a single hand outstretched, hesitant to touch the contents inside, and she strode forward on quick feet, slamming the lid back down as he jumped slightly at her abruptness.

“Wasch that a fucking Yoschindo Yoschihara katana in there?”

Fighting back the urge to slap the asshole for snooping, she regarded the man staring at her with wide eyes, glancing briefly over to Toki who’s attention had been piqued at the exclamation.

“Swords? Whys do yous have swords, Olives?

Oh, god damn it.

Olive crossed her arms and gave Murderface a stern look, cocking her hip out to the side for added effect.

“I think the better question is, why were you digging around under my bed? I had those hidden for a reason.”

Dark eyes shot to the door mid sentence, as footsteps resounded from the hall followed by a half-hearted knock, the door already opening as she gave her permission for entrance, thankful for the interruption.

“Olives, Murderface.”

Skwisgaar regarded the two with questioning eyes, glancing from the guilty looking man to the obviously annoyed woman.

“Ams Toki in heres too?”

The blonde walked into her room as if he belonged there, as if he owned the place, eyes dancing around the various decor and boxes which littered the room in disarray, finally landing on the brunette on her floor.

“Ah, heres you ams. We ams having de gets togethers tonights, de groupies am startinks t- Ams dat a snakes on yous neck?”

Toki positively beamed back.

“Ya, ams a reallys cool snake. His names Apop- Apopofofises.”

Forcing down a laugh at the failed pronunciation, Olive turned her attention to the new comer.

“Didn’t you guys just have a party last night?”

Icey blues snapped to dark ones, pillowy lips curling up into a seductive grin as he made a point to look her over from head to toe then back again, gaze lingering on her fishnet clad legs.

“Ja, but now we has anothers.”

“Right.”

Rolling her eyes, she latched the case closed with a pointed look to the bassist, and stalked back over the piece she had hastily hung, straightening the askew frame.

Murderface, still slightly bristled from Olive’s odd behavior, was quick to head for the door, waving his hand over his shoulder as he walked out.

“Yeah, well, I’ll schee you homosch later, wouldn’t want to keep all my adoring fansch waiting.”

Boots thumped lightly on the floor and Olive didn’t need to look to know it was Skwigaar and not Toki standing just barely too close, as per usual, his lip curling up in light disgust as he took in the art, an old anatomical lithograph demonstrating the points of incision for various hand, finger, foot, and toe amputations.

“You haves such creepys taste...” His sneer deepened a bit as he noticed the music filling the room, “Ands garbage tastes in musics.”

Cold knuckles ghosted across her arm, and she fought the urge to visibly shiver, pointedly avoiding looking at him.

“Toki, you shoulds be joinings de otters.“

Toki glanced between the pair still in the room, delicately placing the figure in his hands on the nearest shelf as he rose to his feet.

“Whats about yous guys?”

“I needs to be speakings with Olives in privates, ja?”

Toki eyed Skwisgaar suspiciously, making no move for the door.

“Whats for?”

The blonde whipped his head to shoot him an annoyed glare at the question.

“Ams about a personals medicals conskerns. Nones of yous business.”

Medical concern my ass.

Olive could barely withhold the snort that threatened to break from her lips.

“I’ll meet up with you in a few, Toki.”

With a last glance to her, the brunette turned to place Apophis back in his terrarium and headed for the door, leaving poor Olive alone with the persistent Swede. Reluctant to look at him for fear she would be ensnared in the depth of his cold eyes, she snatched up the hammer once more, placing the next picture hook in position and beating it into place as she addressed the man.

“So what is it? Don’t tell me you’ve managed to contract another STD since your test this morning? Or did you pull a muscle in your hand again?”

Calloused fingers running along her jaw halted all of Olive’s movements, and she begrudgingly allowed him to angle her chin to face him, cool pools of blue washing over all her senses with serenity, seeming every bit like the calm before a storm, and she struggled to keep her breath steady.

Before, Skwisgaar had been content to merely toss out innuendos and lightly flirt, seemingly amused and unaffected when she weaseled her way out of the situation, never actually giving him a straight answer about her attraction to him, but since the incident with the wolves, the guitarist seemed hellbent on having her. It was apparent he had never had to put forth much effort to coerce a woman to sleep with him, making this all the more exciting to him. His attempts to lure her to bed with him had become more frequent and more intense, and much to her chagrin, she was starting to lose her resolve.

There was something about him, something irresistible; a primal, raw, almost otherworldly charm, beautiful and glowing, drawing in his prey with his stunning bioluminescence, only to chew them up and spit them out after he had had his fill of their body.

“Oh, littles Olives... It ams very cutes, hows you plays de hards to get likes dis.”

The pink haired woman scoffed, jerking her face from his grip and turning away to hide her burning cheeks, setting down her tools and yanking on her boots, deeming her oversized tshirt turned dress, falling to her mid thigh, and fishnets acceptable enough attire for the night.

“I’m not playing at anything, Skwisgaar.”

What she would have given to smack that alluring smirk right off his perfect face.

The music was loud, pounding thorough Olive’s skull and causing a familiar dull throb to take root on the left side of her head. Toki had gone to grab them both drinks, leaving an empty seat on each side of her on the sofa, but that had been five minutes ago, and she could see that he had been stopped on the other side of the room by... a clown?

These parties are getting weirder and weirder.

Olive allowed her eyes to slip closed for a moment, the absence of light helping a bit to ease the aching pain.

“Yah dooin alright? Yer naht lookin so good, babe.”

Dark eyes cracked open reluctantly, trailing up to meet the green ones of the redhead standing before her.

“Yeah... Yeah. I’m fine. Just a headache.”

Pickles gave his signature lopsided grin, bloodshot eyes flickering over her, grin widening at her Tupac tee, glossy gaze lingering on the exposed portion of her thigh tattoo below the hem, and stretched out his arm to offer her an open beer.

“Here, dis’ll help. Yah need it more than I doo. Nice shirt.”

Olive was quick to snatch the bottle from him gratefully, muttering a small ‘thanks’ and sighing in relief as she pressed the frosted glass to her head, hair dulling the cold sensation enough to make it bearable.

Pickles’ chuckle rang out and sent goosebumps up her arms as he plopped down on the couch next to her, slinging an arm over her shoulders and puling her side flush to his, the smell of booze, weed, and cigarettes which constantly clung to him mixed with his natural scent invading her nostrils and having a surprisingly calming effect on her.

“Yer suppost tah drink it, babe, naht use it fer an icepack.”

“Yeah, well...,” Olive stuck her tongue out, flashing her tongue ring at him, scrunching up her nose and closing her eyes for added effect, “This is helping too.”

Another chuckle and crooked grin, and he leaned in close, eyes meeting hers with searing intensity and promise, voice dropping a bit with his next words.

“Yah know what else helps with headaches?”

Olive deadpanned at the insinuation, and Pickles’ smile only grew further, eyes twinkling in mirth.

“Asprin.”

She couldn’t help but snort, and turned her face from hm as his chest rumbled with laughter, shaking her head and taking a swig from the bottle in her hand, attempting to ease the hot blush on her cheeks from all the ways her dirty mind had conjured for Pickles to improve her mood.

Skwisgaar hadn’t been the only one trying his luck. The drummer’s flirting was becoming more and more commonplace as the days progressed and the two became closer. Their friendship was an easy one to fall into, and the flirting was fun and lighthearted, Pickles always taking her quick comebacks with stride and coming right back with his own.

And god damn it if her Inner Fangirl wasn’t absolutely preening from it all. Olive had had a giant squishy crush on Pickles ever since she had seen a recorded Snakes n’ Barrels concert in her teens, falling quickly for his cocky persona and crooked grin, not to mention how amazing he looked in those tight pants and eyeliner. That cute little celebrity crush had quickly morphed into a much more solid attraction after coming face to face with the drummer and being presented with his attention.

"Dis a snake tattoo?"

Wandering fingers tracing along her inked upper thigh sent an unexpected jolt of arousal through her body, and Olive was proud to say she withheld a squeak of surprise.

"Whaat kinda snake? I don't recahgnaize it."

"Its, um, a Japanese moccasin."

"Huh, nehver herd of it."

The fingers on her thigh splayed across her heated skin as Pickles gave a light squeeze the the plump flesh there.

"Yah should show me da rest of it."

The heat congregating on Olive's cheeks as the tips of Pickle’s fingers slipped under the edge of her shirt to caress higher on her thigh would be enough to fry an egg, she was sure.

"It, ah.. it goes up pretty far."

A positively lascivious smirk from the redhead left her unable to maintain eye contact, and she took a swig from her bottle as an excused to look away.

"Yeaah. I can tell."

Olive could feel his eyes still on her, but a shadow falling across the pair thankfully drew his gaze away from the flustered woman.

“Pickle. Olives. Mays I sits here?”

Any chance of ridding the blush from her cheeks was crushed as the blonde didn’t bother waiting for an answer, slinking into the empty seat on her other side, effectively sandwiching her between the two men as he settled in close enough to press his arm to hers, squishing Pickles’ other hand away from her shoulder and making the redhead readjust. The groupies who surrounded Nathan on the opposite end of the sofa looked over to squeal, and Skwisgaar turned to nod at them briefly, attention soon back on Olive, sneering lightly as he noticed the freckled hand on her leg.

At every turn she found herself between the two, each vying for her attention, caught in a nonstop flurry of heated glances and casual sensual touches, the sexual tension in the air suffocatingly palpable.

And damn them both, it was working. Luckily, she had become accustomed enough to keep her cool around them, even when faced with innuendos and lingering hands,

It wasn’t a good idea, sleeping with either them. Any of the band members, for that matter. They were her bosses, regardless of the rapidly developing friendships, and she didn’t want to risk her job after uprooting her entire life for it. And the last thing she wanted was for things to get awkward and weird.

But as Skwisgaar and Pickles eyed each other, blue eyes clashing with green, she couldn’t help but feel that was now inevitable. Olive was far from a saint, and expecting herself to maintain unaffected in such an environment, surrounded by attractive musicians trying to seduce her... well.

Eventually, something was going to give

This was not a good idea.

Not at all, in any way, shape or form, was this a good idea.

Yet here Olive was, allowing herself to be led through the winding stone halls of Mordhaus to Skwisgaar Swigelf's bedroom.

Between the copious amounts of booze and weed courtesy of Pickles, her mind was fuzzy, body tingly. There was no hope of her ever being able to keep up with the band as far as drinking and drugs went, what with her head being the way it was, she was more susceptible to inebriation than the average person, let alone fucking rock stars.

But she had tried, at least at first, to hang, but had ended up cutting herself off long before Skwisgaar himself had stopped, Pickles having never ceased his constant intake. She was far from being the most intoxicated she had ever been, still aware enough to walk without stumbling and vision steady, but effected enough to throw caution to the wind and say screw being responsible, I’m going to fuck Skwisgaar Skwigelf.

To his credit, once the pair were alone in the hall, away from the dwindling party and the passed out redhead on the couch, the blonde had stopped her, looking deep into her eyes and asking if she was sober enough to be able to remember this in the morning.

“I plans to fucks you betters dan anyone evers has, there amnst any points to dis if you wonts be remembrinks it.”

After Olive managed to choke out an affirmative, touched by the gesture, having not expected such a sweet sentiment from the most renowned womanizer in the world, he had once again offered her his hand, his long legs insuring he was half dragging the shorter woman through the corridor.

The door to his quarters had barely closed as long fingers gently grasped either side of her face, tilting her head as his lean form towered over her, blonde locks cascading around them both, curtaining them from the rest of the world as velvety lips moulded to hers.

Skwisgaar kissed like the protagonist of a bodice ripper romance novel, slow and sensual but still filled with a deep, insatiable hunger for more, hands cupping Olive’s cheeks to steady her, and much to her own dismay, she felt herself becoming weak kneed from the treatment, hot flames of lust spreading out from her center and licking through her limbs, goosebumps overtaking her flesh.

All coherent thought had flown from Olive’s mind, brain consumed with the man stealing her breath with the glide of silky lips and exploring tongue and nipping teeth, and she barely registered that he was backing her up to the bed until she was pressed down by her shoulders. One of the Swede’s knees wedged between her own, sliding up to provide a delicious pressure to the ache at the apex of her thighs as he hovered over her, swallowing down a rather embarrassing moan from the woman beneath him as his tongue traced the roof of her mouth.

Skwsigaar pulled away, and Olive was nearly ashamed at the way her mouth followed him in an attempt to keep his lips on hers. The blonde knelt back and gathered his golden hair to one side, licking along his lips as he took in her flustered state; her lips shiny and red and swollen from his attention, a deep, dark blush starting at her temples and spreading down her face and neck, disappearing under the collar of her shirt.

Speaking of which, that desperately needed to be removed.

Cold fingers drifted up Olive’s fishnet covered thighs, tracing lightly along the edge of her top, and it dawned on her with a start that her dagger harness was still strapped to her thigh.

But it was entirely too late to stop the expertly wandering hands as they pushed up the hem, stopping short as they uncovered the black leather affixed to her leg, Skwisgaar’s face morphing from one of sensual hunger to confusion as he glanced up to meet her gaze.

“Yous, uh... carries a knife withs you?”

“Um, yeah. Y’now, just in case I need it.”

The only thing Olive could think to do was reach down and unbuckle the strap, sitting up to toss it over the edge of the mattress, stripping off her shirt while she was already upright. Blue eyes were immediately drawn to her bare chest, breasts full and mouthwatering, and trailed down the curves of her soft stomach and plump thighs, her body lightly padded though he could still make out the defined muscles hiding underneath.

Skwisgaar shook off the concerning discovery, deciding there were much more important matters at hand, like the two peaked, pierced nipples before him.

Calloused fingertips danced across her ribs, outlining the wing of her Nekhbet sternum tattoo, and traveled to caress the swell of her breasts with a feather light touch as his eyes darkened once more, eliciting a whimper from Olive, and he pressed her further back onto the plush bed, the fur blanket tickling against her exposed skin as he bowed his head to mouth at her neck, tongue tracing her pulse. His lips brushed lower and lower down the column of her throat, searing her skin with his touch, grazing over her collarbone and finally meeting his fingertips at her breast.

Olive inhaled sharply as the warmth of his mouth chased away the chill of his hands, back arching in an attempt to press further into his touch. A deep groan rumbled from Skwisgaar’s chest as he fluttered his tongue along her tan skin, teeth latching onto the metal bar and tugging lightly, drawing a wanton moan from her plush lips as her hips moved of their own accord, rocking up to grind herself against his knee, desperate for friction at her core.

"Skwisgaar..."

He made sure to lavish each mound with ample attention, not moving on until Olive was a writhing, squirming, panting mess under his touch. With quick hands he glided her tights over her round hips, hooking onto her black underwear and pulling them down as well, sitting back on his heels and lifting her legs to slide them off one foot, kissing along her calf as he rid her of the garments fully.

Smouldering, icey eyes flashed up to her as lips pressed to her ankle, planting open mouthed kisses up her calf while golden locks tickled against her legs, the ends grazing against her thigh and causing her to squirm. Long fingers stroked up her heated skin to trace over her damp folds, slipping between them just enough to tease and draw a long whine from Olive before removing them again in favor of groping her thigh, thumb pressing into the muscle where leg met pelvic bone and massaging.

“Mmm... stop teasing me...”

She felt more than saw his lips curl into a smirk, and yelped lightly as his teeth nipped at her.

“Ja? Tells to me whats you wants, den.”

Olive chewed her lip as a hot swell of arousal coursed though her body at his suggestion, and she opened her mouth to speak, but no words came to her.

Skwisgaar outright laughed at her for this, mocking and haughty, and brought his thumb up to ghost over the wetness leaking from her core, spreading it over her outer folds, touch barely there yet still setting her on fire as her hips bucked up in desperate need for more pressure.

The Swede ‘tsk’ed at her, rising to his feet to rid himself of his own restraining clothing, taking his sweet time and enjoying her gaze trailing his every move as he stripped, especially the way her eyes lit up as his cock was revealed.

It was perfect.

Olive wasn’t sure what else she had been expecting, but she still found herself mesmerized by the erect member as Skwisgaar gave a few lazy strokes. The size was fairly average, the shaft curving up in a gentle slope, a mouth watering champagne happy trail leading down to small crop of soft, neatly kept blonde curls at the base, the smooth, pale skin fading to a soft pink gradient as it approached the plush head.

He was picturesque, standing before her with his lustrous flaxen hair falling in perfect waves, the pale skin stretched over his lithe form seeming to glow in the dim light of his room, impeccable cock standing at attention, ready and waiting patiently to send her to oblivion.

One could mistake him for an angel, if not for the conceited smirk on his face.

“Likings whats you sees, ja?”

Yeah. Definitely not angelic.

Gracefully climbing on top of her, Skwisgaar leaned in close, bumping the tip of his nose to hers, one hand planted next to her head supporting his weight while the other rubbed the tip of his cock softly against her lower lips, paying special care to her clit and sending shocks of pleasure through her veins.

“Yous wants dis in yous?”

Olive whimpered and nodded, still too overcome with the need to be filled to form a coherent sentence, and Skwisgaar laughed at her again.

“Says it, or yous gets no’ting.”

Gulping hard to move the lump in her throat, she managed to collect her bearings enough to find her voice.

“Skwisgaar, please. I need you to fuck me before I lose my god damn mind.”

“See? Not sos hards, ams it?”

A swift roll of his hips was all it took, and Olive had to grasp his shoulders to steady herself as the tip slipped finally, blissfully into her soaked, needy pussy, her moan of approval mixing with a soft groan from the blonde as her natural lubricant allowed him to thrust in to her tight heat with ease, her silken walls quivering around him as he pulled out, only to plunge back in with more fervor, sheathing himself fully and circling his hips as her legs wrapped around his hips, toes curled in pleasure.

A pale arm snaked it’s way under the curve of her lower back, lifting her torso slightly to provide a better angle as he began to rock into her slow and steady, making sure Olive could feel every inch of his cock sliding against her insides.

God.

Oh god.

It was unbelievable. It couldn’t be real, the way Skwisgaar’s cock was making her feel just from this, from basic, slow missionary, of all things. He thrust into her as if he had known her body for years, tip of his cock angled expertly to press deliciously into her gspot, his pelvic bone rubbing against her clit in just the right way. He had barely touched her, barely done anything, yet her body was reacting as if he had been edging her for hours, and she felt an orgasm approaching fast, blindingly, ridiculously fast, her blood molten and flaming as it coursed through her veins, the coil in her lower abdomen pulled taught ready to snap.

All it took was soft lips pressed to her ear, a derisive voice muttering, “Goings tos come fors me alreadys? How cutes.” and Olive was sent catapulting over the edge, walls griping his cock hard and milking the still thrusting member in vain, muscles convulsing as her head was tossed back in bliss.

“Holy fuck, Skwisgaar...”

The Swede graciously stalled his movements, giving her a moment to catch her breath as he sat back on his heels, shit eating grin on his face as he thumbed her throbbing clit slowly, making her jolt and clamp her walls around his cock.

This was, of course, the worst possible moment for the door to slam open, and both of their heads snapped to the interruption, eyes wide, Olive still panting and impaled on Skwisgaar’s cock.

“Schkwischgaar, isch Olive... Oh, schit!”

One look at Murdeface’s hand holding a cloth saturated with deep red to his thigh, dripping blood onto the pristine floor was all it took to snap Olive into action, and she bolted up on shaky legs, snatching her shirt off the floor and yanking it on, hurrying to the shell shocked Murderface and kneeling down to inspect the wound, leaving a wide eyed, unsatisfied Skwisgaar on the bed.

“Moidaface, what de fucks? Yous interruptinks, gets out!”

“What? Fuck you, I’m fucking bleeding to death over here!”

Olive scowled at their bickering, standing and turning Murderface by his shoulders to push him from the room.

“Fucking hell, come on, go to my room, this is going to need stitches. What happened? ”

Murderface had the decency to look sheepish, avoiding eye contact as they slipped into the hallway, followed by a scowling Skwisgaar who was using the fur blanket as a make shift robe, blood still oozing from the wound trailing them down the hall, staining the slate stones a deep red.

“I, uh... I was juscht, you know... Schtabbing schome schtuff, and uh, I misched and got my leg on acshident.“

Olive gave the limping man an incredulous look.

"You stabbed yourself?”

The trio reached her room quickly, and she grabbed the large first aid kit which she kept stoked with medium injury supplies as well, instructing Murderface to sit in the desk chair, a sulking, irritated Skwisgaar plopping down on her bed to wait.

Setting the kit on the desktop and popping the latch, Olive snapped on some gloves, removing the peroxide, betadine, and lidocaine, rapidly cleaning and disinfecting the area before numbing it, then threading the needle, much to the horror of the injured man.

“Oh, jeschusch, you’re really juscht gonna schew me up right here?”

“Unless you want to pass out from blood loss, yes.”

Startled voices from the hall drew Skwisgaar’s attention, and he further deflated as a wasted Pickles and Toki both barged into the room. He was never going to get off tonight.

“Dood, whats wit’ all da blood?” Pickles was slurring a bit, eyes redder than they had been all night as they glanced between Olive, with her mussed hair and kissed-pink lips, and the fully naked Swede draped only in a fur blanket on her bed.

“Ams you okays, Olives?”

Toki was by her side in an instant, concerned and looking her over to make sure she wasn’t the source of the blood trail that had drawn them in from the hall.

“Really? I’m the one that’sch bleeding here! Sche’sch fine! OW! Jeschusch, I thought you numbed thisch schit?!”

Olive had taken the opportunity of the distraction to begin stitching the wound up, but had missed her mark as Murderface shifted, poking him out of the range of the numbing agent.

“If you would hold still it wouldn’t hurt. Stop squirming.”

“Guys... what the fuck is everyone yelling about in here? I’m trying to get laid and all we can hear- is... is that blood?”

A shirtless Nathan had appeared in the doorway as well, taking in the scene before him; a bleeding and whining Murderface in the desk chair with Olive kneeling before him sewing his leg shut, Toki watching with curious eyes, and a very annoyed, pouting Skwisgaar lounging on the bed, clad only in white fur, trying to ignore the glare he was being leveled with by a very drunk, lightly swaying on his feet Pickles.

“I’m, uh, I’m just gonna... gonna go back to bed. You guys, uh, have fun.”

I’m not entirely happy with this one, but I still put a lot of effort in. Please let me know what you think, I crave the validation.

#metalocalypse #dethklok #momento mori

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tastingmellow · 6 years

Text

Stereotypes

A/N: Fourth part of this series! One more to go! Thank you for the amazing feedback and love. Remember, if you wanna be tagged you have to comment and let me know!

Warning: Fluff! Some Violence! This is really gonna be my favorite part.

Word Count: You guess right, i don't know

Disclaimer: Gif Not Mine

________________

"Erik!" You yelled out, your voice ringing out through his apartment. Your bare feet padded against the hard wood of the floor as you made your way into the kitchen. You lightly adjusted the adjusted Erik's shirt that loosely covered your otherwise bare body.

"What's up?" He replied as you entered his kitchen, being greeted with the view of his bare back as he cooked over the stove. Your eyes traveled down, an eyebrow lifting and a smirk appearing as you landed on his black boxer briefs tightly hugging his waist and ass.

"Heyyy, baby..." You spoke lowly while slinking your way over to him. You lightly bit your lip before smacking his ass, making him pause before turning around to stare at you, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you looked up at him. "Okay, Y/N. You gon' have to stop that shit." He spoke before turning back around.

You laughed, hugging him from behind as you pressed your lips between his shoulder blades. "Sorry, Thickems." You giggled as he huffed before letting him go and hopping onto the counter beside him.

"I'm done, I swear. But look, I wanted to ask you something." You spoke, catching Erik's attention as you lightly swung your feet. He cut off the stove and stood between your legs, his arms engulfing your waist and pulling you closer. "You seem nervous, if you wanna try anal just- OW!" He yelped, rubbing his chest as you punched him, your face frowned up as he laughed.

"Okay, baby. I'm done, I swear. What's on your mind?" He spoke, rubbing your thick thighs as you sighed. "We've been together for four months and I was thinking...it's time to meet the family." You spoke slowly as Erik looked at you.

It was quiet for a moment beford you heard him chuckling. "What's so funny, Erik?" He shook his head, laughing a little harder before leaning up and pecking your lips. "I'm just laughing at the fact you were really nervous." He spoke before laughing hysterically.

You rolled your eyes, shoving him off before beginning to walk away. Erik jogged after you, grabbing your waist and pulling you back into hid hard chest. "Wait, wait. Listen, Princess, if you really want me to meet them I will. And yes, I will be on my best behavior." Erik leaned forward, kissing your forehead as you smiled and hugged him.

"So, when am I meeting them, next week?" Erik inquired, walking back to the stove. "Tomorrow, at the barbeque." You spoke before rushing to his room and closing the door. "Y/N, WHAT?!"

_________________

"Erik, you're only meeting my mom, brother, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, and cousins. Not even all of them." You spoke as you applied your lip gloss. You pushed your long box braids over your shoulder before leaning over and taking Erik's face in your hands as he lightly chewed his lip. "They're going to love you, now come." You stepped out of the car, smoothing out your knee length, floral, yellow sundress before making your way to the backyard of your older brother's house, Erik in tow.

You turned around, not being surprised at the sight of Erik admiring you, from the box braids to the cute wedges you wore. "You sure we can't just get back in the car for 10 minutes, you look damn good, baby." He spoke, eyes raking over you as you rolled your eyes, holding in a smile.

You grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the gate, opening it before being met with the sight of kids running around, your aunts and mom dancing, your couins laughing with your brothers and your uncles playing cards.

The sound of the creaking gate caught your mom's attention and she squealed. "There's my baby!" She exclaimed, catching the attention of every one else. Your mom wrapped you in your arms, hugging you tightly as your brother rushed over, nearly pushing each other down.

"Look at big head, growing up!" Your oldest brother, Darren yelled as he reached out and wrapped you in his arms, your other three brothers caging you in a group hug. You giggled, breaking away from all of them as you turned and grabbed Erik's hand. "Hey guys, this is my boyfriend! Erik meet my mom, Elisa. My oldest bro Darren, Second oldest James, Third is Kenan, and last but not least is Dominic."

Your mom engulfed Erik in a hug before leaning to you, "Wow, he looks even bettee in person." You giggled and turned to your brothers, all of them staring him down. Your second oldest took a step forward, eyeing Erik before turning to his brothers.

"Oh, this the dude mom's been telling us about, I think she liked him more than you sis." He chucklee before reaching his hand out, "I'm James. You can call me J though, I hear you been taking good care of our little sister."

Erik chuckled as he shook his hand, looking to you. "Yeah, she deserves everything this world has to offer and more." He spoke dearly as you smiled, kissing his cheek as the other two youngest, oldest boys apporached, dapping him up.

Darren, however, moved back to go inside the house. You eyed him wearily before turning back to Erik who looked at you questionably. You shrugged. "Oh, boys, the family football game is about to start. Y'all should get changed!"

You squealed, turning to Erik. "Hey, what if Erik joined you guys? He's amazing, but he won't join the football team, no matter hoe many times I beg him." You roll your eyes he chuckles.

"Sound good, man! Come on, I got some clothes for you." Kenan spoke up, wrapping an arm around Erik's neck. Erik leaned over and gave you a quick kiss before making his way inside. "Meet you at the park!" You yelled as every one loaded up their cars. You reached into the pocket of your dress, grabbing Erik's car keys. "Wanna ride in a Jag, ma?" Yoh spoke, twirling the keys around your finger before laughing as your mom ran to the car, you right behind her.

_________________________

Everyone had already made their way to the park, Erik's currently chatting it up with your brothers in Darren's Lincoln.

"So, Y/N is just swinging, having a ball, then all of a sudden the curtain rod falls. The drywall comes out with it and Y/N lands in the tub. Mom is in the doorway, all of us behind her and little sis looks terrified. Mom just shakes her head and says, 'That was about a 6. But this ass whoopin'? This about to be a ten.' When I say ma snatched her up so fast. We'd never seen her move that quick!" Dominic laughed as he finished retelling a childhood story.

Everybody in the car was cracking up, everyone except Darren. "Man, Y/N stayed getting in trouble!" James spoke out as Darren parked the car.

Everyone hopped out, Darren pulled James to the side as everyone else walked out to the field, laughing and playing around. James looked at Darren. "What's up, bro?" Darren huffed, leaning against the car. "I'm just trying to figure out why y'all playing buddy, buddy with this nigga." James looked at him before shaking his head.

"Fuck is you on, man?" He asked while Darren scoffed. "This broad ass mofo just walks up with our baby sister and y'all just letting him waltz in? What kinda shit is that? You know what happened last time when we did that shit." Darren spoke, his voice raising.

James nodded, incredulously chuckling. "Is this what that fuck ass attitude is about? About a bitch ass nigga that hurt her? A bitch ass nigga that YOUR homeboy, if I remember correctly?"

Darren looked away, huffing before James continued. "Dude, not every guy dating sis is gonna do wht he did to her. Man, look at her, she's happy. She ain't even thinking about T's hoe ass." They both turned, seeing as you smiled at Erik, his arms around your waist as he kissed your cheeks repeatedly. You seemed to be squealing as he tickled you, trying to push his hands away as he pulled you closer.

Darren's gaze softened as he watched your smile grow wider, your eyes full of light. "Just give dude a chance, he makes Baby happy." James patted his older brother's shoulder before pulling him along.

Darren walked up to Erik, holding out his hand. "Hey, man. I'm Darren, sorry about earlier. Just wasn't feeling it." He spoke and you looked up at him, smiling softly as they dapped each other up. "All good man, I know how it is. Ready to get yo ass whooped though?" Erik spoke, taking Darren aback before he smirked. "Aye Nigga, don't think just because you dating my sis that I won't embarrass yo ass." You smiled at the both of them as they ran out to the field, making your way to your mom. "Darren's in a good mood, huh?" You spoke.

And she sipped her Coke before nodding. "Yeah, I expected him to be more gruff, escpecially since you know...T." She spoke sympathetically as she rubbed your leg. You took in a deep breath, looking over at them. "Yeah, well, Erik's nothing like him." You spoke. "We know, baby." You smiled at your mom, holding her hand as you crossed your legs.

______________________

The football game was going well. Erik, James, and a few of your cousins were up, Darren, Kenan, and Dominic close behind. The sun had gone down and you, your mom, Darren's girlfriend and his daughters had became opposing cheerleaders to your aunts, James' wife and their daughters as well as Kenan's daughter.

A quick break was called and the men and women parted, going to get water. You grabbed a cold bottle of water from the freezer and handed it to a now shirtless and sweaty Erik. He took it graciously, chugging half before smiling at you. "Having fun, baby?" He nodded, grabbing your waist and pulling you close.

You'd usually complain about him being sweaty but you were very slightly tipsy so that was a non-factor. "I am, Princess. Think I'm gonna have more fun with you though." You laughed as he leaned over, kissing your neck. The intimate moment was stopped as you heard yelling from behind you.

You and Erik pulled apart, the two of yoh making your way closer. "Fuck off me! This bitch coming around here acting like we good and he ain't try to fucking hurt my sister?!" You heard Dominic yelling as James held him back and your mom stood in front of him trying to calm him.

You grabbed Darren's arm and he looked at you. "What's going on?" Before Darren could speak you heard a familiar voice. "Move the fuck out my way. I ain't here for your punk ass." You turned and saw a very familiar face.

"T?" You spoke lightly and everyone looked at you, including him. Your body became rigid and your eyes cold as you looked at him. "Hey, Baby-..."

"Don't say shit to her!" Darren spoke up, pushing himself im front of T. Erik looked at him, they're eyes catching each other. "Erik Stevens? What you doin' around here?" You looked up at Erik as he pulled you to his chest.

"Always knew you was a punk didn't think you went for leftovers." T called out. Erik moved to jump at him but you pushed him back, shaking your head. "No, Erik, please." You spoke and he looked at you then back to T. "Go ahead, Y/N. Tell him how I fucked yo ass up that night, that was some good pussy right there."

Before anyone could stop you, you had lunged at T. Your heel slammed into his crotch before your hands pulled him down, his face hitting your knee. He fell on hid back and you dropped to your knees, punching him. Hit, after hit, after hit landed. You knuckles were bruised and bloody. "You. Fucking. Raped. Me." You spoke, punching him with each word.

T grabbed your fist, about to hit you before you were tugged off and Erik was pulling him up by his collar. Erik reeled his fist back, punching T repeatedly. "Don't fucking to her, nigga."

Darren pulled him off, letting T fall to the grass, bloodied and bruised face. James carried you to Erik's car and sat you in the passenger seat as you huffed. He shut the door and hopped in the back seat while Erik and Dominic rushed to get in the car.

You all pulled off with the rest of the family, making sure your mom and the children were safe. You looked ahead, the car silent as the four of you pulled up to the house. All of you hopped out, hugging everyone good bye as well as apologizing to them.

Once you and Erik said your goodbyes you two got in the car. It was still for a minute before Erik turned and grabbed your face. You squeaked before moaning as you leaned further into him. You lightly bit his bottom lip and he groaned, pressing his tongue into your mouth while his hand traveled under your dress.

Your hand stopped his, the two of you pulling away, panting. "Sorry, baby. But damn...you sexy as fuck when you mad." You laughed at Erik's comment, leaning over and pecking hid lips. "You are...a piece of work, Mr Stevens." You spoke.

You and Erik's eyes widened before he grinned, licking his lips. "And I’m all yours, mama. Now let's go home so I can tear that ass up." You giggled as he pulled off, speeding down the road. You smiled before sitting up. "Hold up nigga, you was about to fuck me in front of my mama house!'

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Das it! The fourth part is done! Like, reblog, comment, all that! Next part is the final part! Some tags still aren't working so make sure you share!

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